#my dad (whom i live with) and my mother (whom will have a stroke when she learns) don't know yet for. reasons

[beesinspades]

guess who's finally starting boy juice next weeeek

[flowerandblood]

Blame | Betray | Bliss

[ modern! • Aemond x stepsister! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, kind of incest but not really, mention of marital infidelity, orgasm denial ]

[ description: After they both run away they have to face the consequences of their choice. Aemond, in a gesture of desperation, asks for help from the last person from whom he would expect any reaction, and Criston wants his daughter back, believing that it is all one big, cruel misunderstanding. The power of angst, ironic, protective, bitchy Aemond. Anon request. ]

Part 1 − Rage | Revenge | Relief Part 2 − Guilt | Greed | Grace Part 3 − Pride | Promise | Price

Series & Characters Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Driving through the dark night after what they had done, after what they had said, he felt both terror and excitement at the same time − he had the feeling that he had ended something, that he had freed himself from a situation and a place that was making him a worse and worse person.

From the very beginning they had talked about what they would do after this and he had formed a plan in his head, which although it had seemed very good to him at the time, now left him with a lot of doubts.

He no longer had any other choice.

He ran his hand over his face and, on the screen on his dashboard, went into his contact list and selected his father's number − they heard the loud sound of a call, which went on and on until, after a while, he answered with a hoarse voice, clearly sleepy.

"Aemond? Son, is something wrong?"

He pressed his lips together, trying not to cry, thinking that since he had lost his eye he had never been more vulnerable.

"Dad −" He started, but his voice trembled; he swallowed loudly feeling the tears under his eyelids, feeling the tightness in his throat, feeling the same as that day, lying in the hospital.

"Dad, I need your help. Can I come to you?"

He was horrified by how helpless and pathetic his voice sounded, her hand clasped tightly in his, he felt her looking at him, felt her crying too.

There was silence on the other side.

"Yes… yes, of course, are you okay?" He asked quickly, terrified, and he stopped at the side of the road, feeling he couldn't see anything anymore.

He covered his face with his hand, trying to calm himself, breathing deeply, thinking only of the warmth of her skin, her thumb stroking the back of his hand.

"No…I'll come to you with someone, okay?"

"When can I expect you?"

They showed up at his father's house after twenty minutes − he lived in a suburb on the complete other side of town.

They got out of the car shakily, taking their backpacks with the things they had managed to pack quickly, and Viserys came out to meet them − he seemed even older and even more dying to him, pale, his short hair completely white, limping on one leg and leaning on a cane.

He thought with pain that he didn't fit into this huge, modern house in which he was left completely alone.

He furrowed his brow noticing his red cheek, seeing that they both must have been crying a moment ago, that they were pale and terrified.

"Please, don't ask. Not today." He said quietly, strangely weak, sighing.

His father glanced at the girl standing next to him − he grasped her hand gently, stroking her soft skin with his thumb.

"That's my girlfriend, Dad."

He did not explain to him who she was or how they had met; he only revealed to him that he couldn't live with his mother for a while and that they needed a few days to work out what to do next.

By the time they entered the room where he lived as a child it was four in the morning, and they had to turn off their phones so they wouldn't see any missed calls from Criston and his mother.

He knew that even if she guessed where they had gone, his mother would be embarrassed to come to his father's house with her lover and that it gave them some time − they were both of age, so he hoped they wouldn't completely fuck off and get the police involved.

He didn't share his thoughts with his stepsister, instead pulling her to him as they lay on his bed; seeing her shivering he cuddled her into him, letting out a loud breath − all around them at last blissful silence, outside the window the first chirping of birds heralding a new day.

He thought that for once he would get his father to side with him, to let them stay with him until they finished their studies and found jobs, that their lives would be honest and without betrayal, without lies, without feigned innocence.

"I love you." He whispered stroking her hair, snuggled into her with his whole body, her face hidden in his neck, her hands on his chest, her figure seeking refuge in his arms.

He heard her swallow loudly at his words, tightening her fingers on his sweatshirt.

"I love you too." She mumbled out as if relieved, as if she understood in that moment that it wasn't all for nothing.

That they had done it not to get revenge on them.

That they just wanted to be together.

His mother did not call his father until the next day, apparently treating him as a last resort, not believing that he would find out anything − her surprise must have been great when Viserys told her that her child and his girlfriend had just had lunch with him.

They looked at him anxiously, horrified when the expression on his face changed − he furrowed his brow as if he had just analysed what he had heard.

His mother had obviously explained to him whose daughter his girlfriend was.

Viserys grunted after deep thought.

"Well, Alicent, they're of age and, from what I understand, you haven't managed to marry your still recent bodyguard in those few months. According to that, in the eyes of the law − and to my knowledge − they are complete strangers to each other, young people in love. My son wants to live with me and she wants to live with him, so it is not a kidnapping. I don't know what to tell you. As if to say − it's not our problem." He said and hung up, putting the phone down; he looked at him thoughtfully, but his words were not directed to him, but to his girlfriend.

"Will you leave us alone, my dear? I would like to talk alone with my son." He said calmly. She threw him a frightened look and he nodded, so she got up on trembling legs and went upstairs.

They were silent for a very long moment.

"I need to know, Aemond." He started at last, looking blankly at his plate. "I need to know why you're doing this."

He looked at him simultaneously surprised and bewildered, having never had a serious conversation with him before − he twisted in his seat and swallowed loudly, tapping his finger against the top of the wooden table in an involuntary, nervous gesture.

"What do you mean?" He asked him coolly, licking his lower lip with his tongue, looking down at his hands, feeling his heart pounding fast.

"You and Cole's daughter. Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders, feeling like a small child who had to explain to a parent why he had accidentally broken a vase.

He felt like he was shrinking, even though he had told himself all his life that his opinion didn't matter to him, he was suddenly afraid of what he would think of him.

"I don't know. I'm just…" He sighed heavily, running his hand over his face. "…I'm just happy with her, Dad. She's the only one who understands me. She's the only one who can comfort me or reassure me. Why should I give that up? Because they will be uncomfortable?" He asked angrily, feeling a burning wetness under his eyelids.

"They didn't care if I was going to be uncomfortable, if you were going to be uncomfortable, if she was going to be uncomfortable when they started fucking each other. They got a taste of true love and built their happiness on lying to their loved ones for years, fucking great. Maybe I'm fucked up and mentally ill, I don't know, but at least I'm not a fucking liar and hypocrite. I took what I wanted and I won't apologise for it. Her place is with me. I've already decided."

There was a heavy silence between them that seemed to last him an eternity, but for some reason he felt relieved when he got it all out. His father grunted loudly.

"So I understand that you are thinking seriously about her. Good. At least now I know what to tell your mother."

Criston and Alicent appeared outside his father's house after about twenty minutes, however no one came out to meet them − when they knocked on the door his father opened it for them.

They stood in the distance, his girlfriend snuggled into him, terrified − he kissed the top of her head, tense.

"Don't be afraid. I won't give you back. Hm?" He whispered tenderly, leaning over her to see the look on her face, and she nodded, fear and trust in her big, bright eyes, her body pressed tightly against his.

Criston standing in his house, pale and panicked at seeing his father for the first time when his affair with his mother came to light was a sight from which he felt wild satisfaction. He knew his father had no intention of making anything easy for them − he looked at him with a smile of superiority from which he bit his lip, furious, his mother staring at him pleadingly.

"I came for my daughter. What you did was kidnapping." He said coolly, and he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head with amusement, his gaze cold and full of disapproval.

"My girlfriend wants to live with me of her own free will." He murmured teasingly, feeling her fingers tighten tighter on his black T-shirt, his large hand stroking her back with a reassuring, affectionate gesture.

"Honey, please, let's end this madness." He directed his words to her, trying not to explode, but she shook her head quickly.

"I − I want a break Dad. From you and from Mum. I want to stay here. With Aemond and with his dad. To focus on my studies again, instead of being constantly reminded of what happened." She said in a trembling voice, Criston snorted, furious.

"He told you to say that, didn't he?"

He opened his mouth to reply something, but she let go of him and turned towards her father with despair in her eyes.

"He didn't tell me to say anything! Do you understand? Never! He asked me three times if I was sure I wanted it before we slept together. Yes, Dad, don't look at me like that!" She shouted in a trembling voice seeing the tears in his eyes, herself on the verge of crying.

"You made an angel out of me in your mind, an ignorant innocent child. Do you think I found out about what you were doing from my mother? That I didn't hear you talking to Alicent on the phone when my mother wasn't there, that I didn't hear you leaving home in the middle of the night when you thought I was asleep? I knew EVERYTHING and I had to pretend for so many years, Dad, God, please, just give me a break, I can't take it anymore."

She mumbled hiding her face in her hands and burst out sobbing − he grabbed her by her arm and pulled her close, embracing her in his arms.

Criston shook his head, distraught and pale, turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. Alicent looked at them in disbelief and swallowed hard.

"Bring their things here, Alicent." Viserys said, turning away from her and walking back into the living room as if nothing had happened, clearly tired of standing already.

That night they lay together in his single bed snuggled together, just stroking and looking at each other − it seemed more intimate to him than anything they had done before, so close, tender and full of affection.

They fell asleep cuddled into each other, feeling for the first time in years that they had decided their own fate, that they had freed themselves from what had poisoned their minds for so long.

That they were free.

The next few days were surprisingly peaceful for them and although they both felt they had to put their lives back together, they did not despair or cry any more. Alicent brought them most of their belongings the next day, which they needed immediately without the company of Criston, who could not accept what his daughter had told him.

She had suffered because of it, but when he asked her about it she told him that she had had enough of his expectations of her and of everyone around her, which, however, he clearly did not have to uphold towards himself.

It took longer to drive downtown from his father's house and they had to get up much earlier in the morning − they shared tasks, one of them made tea and coffee, the other made sandwiches and scrambled eggs. His father slept late so they were not disturbed, they could sit together on the sofa, embracing each other and watching the morning news.

No one bothered them, they didn't have to explain themselves to anyone.

However, he had no intention of losing contact with Daeron through all of this, and forced his father to fight for him as his parent, so that his little brother would come over to visit them at weekends.

When he finally succeeded and Alicent brought him, albeit reluctantly, on the Friday after his classes his brother threw himself into his arms crying and despairing, asking him how they could have left him there alone.

He felt a squeeze in his throat and tears in his eyes, not knowing what to answer him − he promised that he could come and see them every weekend, that he could always call them if he needed to.

He glanced at them amused from the side as Daeron and she watched funny videos together on the internet, which he said he had to show her because he thought she would definitely like them and had saved them especially for her.

It was their secret and he was excluded from looking at it as someone who would not understand this kind of content.

Daeron, to his slight jealousy focused all her attention and amused her late into the evening by telling her about his adventures at school and the friend she had apparently won his heart.

He picked him up and carried him to his old room when he fell asleep, then returned to her to finally have her all to himself.

They ordered a bigger, more comfortable double bed, where they could finally get a decent night's sleep and explored each other's bodies with more tenderness and peace, without the fear of having to hurry up and run away.

It made him spend long hours with his face sunk in the heat between her thighs, taking unspeakable, savage satisfaction in her reactions, in how sensitive she was to his slightest touch.

He sucked and caressed her pearl with his lips only to sink his tongue deep inside her again a moment later, licking her sweet spot from the inside, teasing her, stopping the moment he felt she was already on the verge of orgasm.

She quivered and wriggled beneath him, trembling all over, once again in just a few minutes being so close to fulfillment, on her legs those wonderful, long, slutty wool socks he loved, under whose material he slipped his fingers, clenching them on the soft skin of her thighs.

"− please −" She mewled pathetically in a way from which a smirk appeared on his face − he hummed under his breath, running his tongue gently over her hot, leaking folds, licking what had flowed out of her.

"− I know − you are doing so well − can you hold out for me a little longer? − hm? −" He asked tenderly, running the tip of his nose over her swollen, sore clit. She sobbed quietly, breathing loudly, her hands clasped in his hair.

"− I can't − too much − please, I need this −" She mumbled with her eyes closed, her gorgeous, full lips parted sweetly, her body before him trembling and vulnerable.

His.

He licked his lower lip looking at her intently and sighed heavily, rising to his knees, with a light movement of his fingers unbuttoning his trousers, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"− greedy little thing − need my cock inside you so fucking badly? −" He asked with a hint of accusation and displeasure, from which she looked at him with a pained expression, as if she was ashamed that she was so desperate − she nodded with a face so innocent and sad that he felt like bursting out laughing.

"− I'm sorry −" She babbled out with genuine regret from which he snorted under his breath as he leaned over her and ran the tip of his nose over her cheek.

"− there, there − spread your thighs wide − that's it, that's my good girl −" He cooed, guiding with his palm the head of his swollen, throbbing cock, so eager to take her to her heat. She swallowed loudly and moaned as she felt his length begin to push into her fleshy interior.

"− Aemond −" She mewled tightening her fingers on his back with an expression of delight on her face − he slid all the way into her and clamped his hand over her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him.

"− not like that − want to get your bottom smacked? −" He growled, and she shook her head quickly, her accelerated, warm breath enveloping his face, her gaze hazy and dreamy.

"− n-no, big brother − please, just fuck me already −" She choked out with difficulty, and he chuckled under his breath, pressing his lips against hers in a brutal, sticky kiss, driving his tongue deep into her throat, holding her jaw firmly in his fingers, letting her taste herself, not moving inside her even a little.

She moaned into his mouth writhing beneath him, sliding her hands down to his buttocks, trying to move her hips in pathetic desperation and rubbing herself with it where she needed it, but his large hand clenched on her thigh warningly − he pulled away from her with a loud click, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"− stop, or I won't let you come − haven't you learned fucking patience yet? −" He hissed; she looked at him in horror and stopped moving, twitching all over, looking at him with big eyes.

He hummed under his breath placing his hands on either side of her head and slid out of her almost all the way only to open her wide again on his cock, throbbing and aching with arousal.

He licked his lips as he heard her sweet, quiet moan of pleasure − she restrained herself with difficulty not to move her thighs while his hips imposed a painfully steady, slow pace on her.

"− that's it − we will take it slow − I had to share you for a whole fucking day − I want to enjoy my little girl − hm? −" He whispered and she nodded, blushing, her one hand from his buttocks rising to his cheek and stroking it tenderly, drawing a quiet sigh of contentment from him.

"− I'm only yours −" She mumbled and he groaned low with contentment at her words, their bodies involuntarily began to slam against each other, reaching out to meet again, each thrust of his hips followed by a loud smack and click of her juices.

They both began to pant, their lips clinging to each other, the tips of their tongues teasing each other in lewd, sticky kisses.

"− do you want me to touch you down there, kid? − my little sister wants to come? −" He cooed into her mouth between one greedy kiss and the next, and she nodded quickly, a puff of relief escaping her lips, as if she had only dreamt of it.

"− yes, brother − please − please −" She begged, and he was unable to deny her.

He gasped lowly as he felt her clench on him from all sides, he had to move faster and more violently inside her to allow him to penetrate her as deeply as he wanted.

His hand slid between her thighs, collecting her wetness, and with intense, sure movements began to press the space around her clit, her head tilted back in a helpless moan.

"− cum for me − be a good little sister and cum on your brother's cock −" He breathed out, his thighs slapping against her buttocks again and again until her walls clenched tightly against him, waves of fulfilment passed through her body, his lips pressed against hers to muffle her loud moans and whimpers, keeping her pressed firmly against his bed.

He shuddered all over and sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he let go at last and felt his hot semen spill inside her, with helpless, sloppy movements of his hips pushing it as deep into her as possible.

"− just like that − fuck, baby − ohhh God −" He babbled dulled by his own pleasure, by how wonderful it felt to be inside her.

He snuggled up to her and her hands immediately embraced him, their sweaty bodies sticking to each other, he could feel her hard nipples on his bare chest, pressing against his skin with every breath she took.

"− you did so well for me − my sweet little girl −" He praised her placing soft, butterfly kisses on her hot cheek, her fingers combing through his hair making a purr of delight escape his throat.

They looked at each other, tired and breathless, running their hands over each other's bodies, breathing heavily − they kissed loudly with some kind of relief and fulfilment from which he felt hot in his chest. He stroked her hair and smiled, her eyes shining in amusement.

"What?" She asked quietly, embarrassed, thinking that he was obviously laughing at her. He hummed under his breath, running his thumb over her cheek.

"Marry me."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[maarrgarr]

The Unknown Heir

part three

masterlist of the Unknown Heir.

Gojo Satoru x fem! reader

Synopsis: The reader returns after being gone for two years and leaving her boyfriend, Satoru, without giving him a reason. But now she doesn't come back alone.

Warnings: English is not my first language, possible grammatical and spelling mistakes, some plot changes.

A year and a few more months passed since that event, and it seemed that karma was taking its revenge.

That sweet lady who had given you a job in her real estate agency had died of a heart attack. Although at first it seemed that her children were going to take over the business, they all declared that none of them could since they already had their respective jobs. And so you were left without a job.

It was a very hard blow, not only the loss of your job, but also the death of that lady whom you considered a mother.

Although you had your savings, you hated the fact of being left without a fixed income, so you started looking for a job, but this time you had no luck. Many of the jobs were part-time, and you didn't like the idea of leaving Ryusei with someone else for so long. And the ones that weren't part-time, didn't want to hire you as soon as they heard you had a son who was almost two years old. And to top it off, none of them could offer you a salary even close to what you had when you worked at the agency.

"I don't know what to do" you said frustrated to Ieiri through the call, "Well, you always have a very reliable option to choose from" she told you, while you were preparing food for Ryusei, "Oh yeah? which one?", "You can always go back and practice as a teacher here" you let out a laugh, thinking she was joking, but you stopped when you realized she was serious, "Ieiri, it's not an option to go back, tell me, how am I going to show up at school with a two year old, who happens to look like a copy of my ex-boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, who it should be clarified also teaches there? it's crazy". Of course you had thought about going back, from the first moment you did, but you didn't have the guts to face Satoru and tell him the truth. "Y/n, are you seriously thinking of not telling him, you said it yourself, Ryu is a copy of his father and therefore, surely, he's going to have the same skills as Satoru, and that makes him the future heir of the Gojo clan", there was silence in the call and she spoke again "Besides you not only have to go back for that, you also have to claim your place in your clan, your father disappeared more than a year ago and you're still the only heir". You got a shudder when you heard that, you weren't interested in claiming anything and you didn't think it was right to do so either.

"Think about it, you know I can talk to Yaga-sensei and I'm sure he will be very happy to welcome you here again." Masamichi Yaga, besides having been your teacher, was like a dad to you, he always understood you and helped you in everything, you remembered how Satoru always bothered you saying that Yaga-sensei had a preference with you and it wasn't a lie.

"Okay, I'll think about it" you told her, "Alright, I'll call you later, say hi to my cute nephew" she replied. "When he stops eating and pays attention to me, I'll tell him you said hi" you heard her laugh on the other end of the line, "Bye Ieiri" and they both hung up.

You walked over to your son and stroked his white, slightly messy hair, but he continued to eat and watch a children's program on the TV. "Hey Ryu" he finally looked up at you, his big little eyes that seemed to reflect the sky, just like his father's, and the corner of his mouth a little smeared with food, almost killed you with tenderness, "Would you like to go live near Aunt Ieiri?" you asked him and his eyes seemed to sparkle more than usual, and a smile formed on his face, showing his little teeth, "Yes, yes!" he replied. Ryusei adored Shoko, even though he didn't know her in person, he loved talking to her on video call and loved when she sent him toys as gifts.

Even though you were so scared, you made up your mind. You were going back to Japan. You needed work and maybe it was time to face the problems you left behind when you ran away.

And mostly, it was time to tell Satoru the truth.

Hii, I am very happy for the support I am receiving and I thank you very much🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷.

I was just dropping by to tell you that the question box is open for any request you want to ask me!

@idktbhloley

[benevolentcalamity]

Dragon (Maythyr) x Female!Reader [3/3]

Now, I do believe Maythyr may be the husbando I wanted him to be, which makes me very happy. So as a special treat, you guys get the special third part! Now you can fuck him. :D

My special, loving regards to my dear friend Chelsea, without whom this would’ve never been remembered.

Enjoy!

Warning: This fic contains smut, pregnancy, and references to parental alcoholism.

CURTAINS!

You remember it well, even moreso than the day you discovered him for the first time.

Maythyr had earned your father's respect and your mother's gentlehearted approval. Not just because of him clearly being a seasoned warrior, but his accolades through his time - some of them more ambiguous due to him being a dragon in disguise - as well as the good words of praise in the letters he brought. Those were surely just to stroke his own ego, but he had the knowledge of human societal customs to know he could walk the walk and provide proof of his footprints.

Now to be honest, your father is indeed the 'what you do to my daughter, I do to you' kind, which may also be why you would have men lined out the door for you if not for him. Then again that's likely so that anybody that can get past him is worthy of even breathing your air... Which is a fair improvement when he's been drinking.

After a hearty dinner with them, during which Maythyr spoke - rather happily in fact - of his recent campaign in the north. Luckily for him his armor implied what his words did not: he was from the northern kingdoms, defending them. He would go on to whisper to you that he was actually just usurping them, but he didn't have it in him to displease your parents in such a way or give them cause for concern.

Once all was said and done, he knelt before your parents - something he himself said he'd only ever do for you - and asked for your hand in marriage. After a bombarding of questions that would make the most patient of sages enraged, he received their blessing.

At first, you have admitted it confused you. By all rights, Maythyr didn't have to - he could've just swooped you up and gotten you the easy way. But in his words, the easy way was doing it 'properly' to minimize the amount of people that would be upset with him down to the boys that would chase your hips if you weren't careful. And besides, to just do that would undo all the hard work he put in to ‘appear’... well, human.

So to the village itself, he is a living legend. To you, he’s the Dragon God of War.

Now that the recap is just about over, the little extra pages that don’t mean anything will be flipped to this current moment.

The ceremony was planned admittedly quickly, as Maythyr agreed to marry you in the village. Not to say he had plans of taking you elsewhere far away - he did, you know, he just doesn’t mention it - but it wouldn’t be fair for him to have received their blessing and not witnessed the two of you together. It’s the sort of thing that kills a dragon inside, but according to him it stopped being the sort of thing that bothers him centuries ago. Actually he said decades, but you humor him.

So you’re standing here, in a white gown, as your mother gives the final touches on your hair.

“And not to worry, sweetheart,” She softly assures, tucking some stray strands back into your ‘do. “I’ll make sure [dad’s name] doesn’t drink too much.”

“I am concerned, mom, that he’s been drinking too much lately,” You frown. “It’s one thing to have some ale to take the anxious edge off, but to drink almost a full pint every couple days...”

“Believe me, it worries me as well.” She sweetly kisses your cheek. “But not to worry, Malcolm-” the village elder- “and the others will be watching him carefully.”

It is true. Your dad’s a very cheery drunk, it’s true, but he’s long forgotten what it’s like to be clearheaded and sober. When last you asked when he’d been sober, he simply pulled you into a hug and said you had beautiful eyes. Either he had no idea what you asked him, or he did know and just decided not to burden you with the truth. Whatever it is, it’ll eventually tear this family apart.

But for now, you’ll be assured everyone will make sure he’s not as drunk. Though you are brought back from those concerns when she softly nudges your arm.

“You just concentrate on Maythyr. Today is the day for both of you - nothing else matters, alright?” She finishes straightening everything out. “I’m so proud right now... My baby’s found someone!” Now it’s your turn to prevent the waterworks. “No, no... Sorry, I lost myself for a moment. Are you ready?”

You smile.

“Let’s do this.”

___

Now, considering this is a mountain village, it would be forgiven - expected, even - to not have a simple chapel. However, you lot are lucky, considering a few clergymen became a congregation, and finally with the help of donations one was erected. A huge one was unwanted, unnecessary, and so it’s a quaint building with the stained glass and angelic statues to signify the love you all poured into it. The presence of God is strong there.

Once you’re at the doors, that’s when dad hurries over. You sigh in admitted relief upon seeing his skin crystal clear and not a stagger in his step.

“Thanks, dad,” You say softly as he loops your hand into his arm, to which he gives a squeeze.

“I’m not missing a day like this,” He replies, kissing the side of your head - and undoing some of your mom’s handiwork. “Oops.”

“He won’t notice some stray hairs,” You chuckle. “... Alright, let’s do this.”

As if on cue, the doors open with a resounding, somewhat elegant ‘creak’. Rows of people dressed to the nines stand up, making a perfect aisle. Swallowing, you walk in perfect tandem with your father, nodding at some of the happy faces so that your frayed nerves will begin to calm down.

Once you look up again, there’s a breathtaking sight.

Maythyr’s abandoned his armor. Instead some deep black and white flowing robes teasing his chest a bit - you would swoon if he wasn’t wearing pants - blow in the faint breezes. His hair pouring down his back as the mountain streams, he looks right out of a fantasy novel from once upon a time. Sharply lined sapphire eyes crinkle in unfiltered happiness at the sight of you.

Wordlessly dad kisses your cheek, passing your hand to Maythyr’s awaiting one, and you stand opposite your dragon. With his touch, cradling your hands with utter delicacy, your troubles and anxieties melt to the wind, and for a moment you don’t even register anymore the music being played at the far side.

“I bid you all welcome,” The pastor greets. “We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, which shall unite [Name] [Last Name] and Knight Maythyr-” Oh, that’s right, Maythyr neglected a last name- “in matrimony.”

Blinking, you note some figures outside each window, and lean in, which Maythyr reciprocates as the pastor continues. “Maythyr, do you know them?” You whisper.

He nods, keeping his voice down. “They are my fellows.” A wink; they’re dragons too. “I gathered them during my campaign, and about commanded them to bear witness and protect us.”

“Us, you mean... well, myself,” You chortle, and it only gets worse when he chuckles in affirmation. “You do think of everything.”

“To be expected from a god of war such as I, my dear.” He sneaks a tap to your nose. “I’m more marvelous than you think.”

“Try me,” You smile, earning a suggestive smirk before you straighten your backs in unison, continuing to listen to the sermon.

“-And who choose to spend the rest of their lives together.” The pastor looks between you two with a playful scolding look. “This ceremony does not birth a new relationship between the pair of you, nor are old ties forgotten and cast into nothingness. Rather, it is the binding of your two hearts, two souls, that your love may become whole, overcoming every trial and obstacle life shall bring, and join you as one in the eyes of the gods.”

“Alvis!” A hushed voice from the dark corners by the door perks up your ears. “You idiot! That’s your cue!”

Chortling, you watch as a scarlet haired man, clearly a bit boggled, elegantly steps through the aisle, a pillow in his hands. For a moment he gives Maythyr an annoyed glance completely ignored, long ears twitching as he hands the pillow to the pastor, whom unfolds the fabric atop it. Once his work is done he retreats behind Maythyr, folding his hands before his stomach.

... Ah?

Maythyr taps your one hand in reply - a message that he will explain later - before having to break from you to receive one of the rings. It’s a fine iron, as opposed to the traditional gold. To you it means more, for reasons you’ll find words for soon, and to Maythyr it’s a symbolism of your silent, pure, and true acceptance of his being a dragon. It melts his prideful countenance, if for a moment, and clearly he’s having to restrain himself from kissing you right there.

Not yet.

“Maythyr, if you would put this ring on [Name]’s finger and repeat after me.” Maythyr follows the pastor’s instructions, slipping your ring on and clasping that hand in both of his. “I, Maythyr, do eternally swear.”

“I, Maythyr, do eternally swear.”

“That I shall take thee as my wife.”

“That I shall take thee as my wife.”

“To have and to hold.”

“To have and to hold.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“Through sickness and in health.” His adam’s apple bounces with a restrained chortle of irony, which you respond to with narrowing your eyes playfully.

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“T’il death do us part.”

“T’il death do us part.”

You hear mom choking up beside you in the front, but then you’re taken from the sound by the pastor handing you the other ring.

“[Name], if you would put this ring on Maythyr’s finger and repeat after me.”

You nod, slipping the ring onto his finger, clasping his hand in both of yours this time. Man, you feel so small.

“I, [Name], do eternally swear.”

“I, [Name], do eternally swear.”

“That I shall take thee as my husband.”

“That I shall take thee as my husband.”

“To have and to hold.”

“To have and to hold.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“T’il death do us part.”

“T’il death do us part.”

Turning pink, you allow Maythyr to return your hands into comfortably resting inside his, and the sun slowly lights up the room more and more.

“If anyone has just cause for these two not to be joined in union...” The pastor’s voice turns a bit low. “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Nervously, you turn your eyes to the congregation. Your blood runs cold, if for a moment, when dad’s hands twitch ever so slightly. As if noticing your worries, he meets your eyes, giving you a reassuring smile. Simpering, you return your attention to Maythyr, and he gives your hands a soft squeeze.

“Well, then.” The pastor’s voice is jovial once more. “By the power vested in me, I declare [Name] and Maythyr husband and wife.” He then smiles. “Kiss your bride, Maythyr.”

Without the slightest hesitation, Maythyr reaches up to cup your face, pulling you into a deep kiss. There’s cheering, there’s clapping, even some whistling going on, but you don’t care. Deep inside, there’s a stirring feeling, perhaps even a liberating one; like your soul is being warmed by a gentle fire. There’s also a sensation like something kind of poking you, but you choose to ignore that one.

At last... at long last, you’ll be together now.

__

Now this is you we’re talking about - there is no way you, a beloved part of this village, aren’t getting an absolute party  for your wedding. Matter of fact, Maythyr too was all about it, and so before you knew it there were lanterns, song, and dance lighting up the fading dusk. Not to mention the delicious food lining every corner of the venue - even the not-that-hidden dragons Maythyr invited are digging it.

One leg a bit sore from your one dance with your dad, you watch from the punch line - Grizelda’s secret - as he downs his first drink, in the general view of the village elders as promised. Well, at least he’ll be supervised...

A pair of arms loops around your waist, and you smile, reassured, leaning back into Maythyr’s chest.

“I’ll say one thing,” He murmurs, sending chills down your back. “You humans very much know how to throw a party.”

You chortle. “What, dragons don’t dance?” You tease, nudging his arm.

“Our only ‘dance’ is in combat, love.” He gives your ear a nip. “... Elsewhere, too.” The connotations aren’t unnoticed.

Biting your lip, you tilt your head back to meet his eyes properly, him softly toying with the stray strands of hair. “Maythyr.”

“Mmm?” He nuzzles the side of your head.

“My parents must be allowed to see us,” You mention. “I know you don’t like visitors, but... I don’t want to lose my family.”

“... Very well.” He’s a bit begrudging - the generic nature of a dragon being possessive - but his voice doesn’t express it that well. You can detect it all the same. “You are my treasure, but more importantly you are my mate; consider your wishes mine as well.”

You flutter inside, smiling a bit. “And our children, too... How many kids do you want, Maythyr?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, by the gods-!” You playfully smack his forearm, to which he pulls your cheek, the two of you erupting in fits of laughter as his other hand goes and tickles your belly for a moment.

“Come, now.” He starts leading you back towards the party. “If you’re not at all spent, I think it’s time they learned how to dip.”

“Maythyyyyyr!”

The both of you look, and your dad is stumbling over, tanker in hand, giving your new husband some kind of eye. A stinkeye? Can he even give those when he’s almost drunk as all fuck?

At the flick of a wrist, Maythyr readopts the cordial nature he greeted him with when he came back to get you when he promised to. With a smile, the natural growl in his voice is turned way low, and he again appears human even to you for a moment.

“Hello, father,” He greets. “Ah, it is okay to call you father, right?”

“Yes...” Dad drawls. “But you better understand one thing.”

Maythyr crosses his arms, tilting his head feigning an innocent stare.

“What you do to my daughter...” As he swigs his tanker, you notice people keeping their eyes on him. “I do to you.”

Worriedly, you look towards Maythyr, and-

Oh.

Flip-flopping from his innocent expression, his lips stretch into a smile too big for his face, narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows before wiggling them. A provocative, suggestive expression, indeed. One that double dog dares your dad to live up to it. An amused snort-hum leaves him, almost leaking fire, but dad’s already so drunk he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Realizing how Maythyr had silently twisted his words, a cold sweat perspires from dad’s face, and he starts stammering in an attempt to backtrack so his new son will stop looking at him like that. He’s drowned out, promptly, by the howling laughter of whoever could understand what was going on. Leaving the kids attending in the dark, the lot of you seemingly reignite the party, and the dancing continues as old Malcom leads dad away to sober up or throw up - one of the two.

“And just so you know,” You remember Maythyr whispering once it’s time for the lanterns to go out, having slipped you into the shadows to steal a kiss. “There’s only one thing dragons are better at than fighting. Do you dare to hazard a guess?”

You grinned.

“You’re on.

___

“A-aah!”

The palace in Arktikania, where the snow masks rotting kills and the howling wind carries song but mutes screams and moans. Dragons under Maythyr’s command as their god of war fly to and fro, fresh from reconnaissance or campaigning. But none dare disturb the palace’s uppermost rooms apart from the throne at the apex.

Why? Well...

“Hnnhhh...” Maythyr purrs, massaging the soft skin of your breasts. “Such a good girl...” Pulling one into his mouth, he sucks hungrily, watching your reactions as you struggle to keep balanced.

The proper answer to Maythyr’s question is on full display. After some non-permanent goodbyes, he took you up here to give you a proper wedding consummation. At least, that was kind of his words - his actual words were a whoooole lot hungrier. Not that they bear repeating, mostly because it’s the sort of thing he rather stay with you.

Both hands tangling into his hair, you arch your back a bit, feeling his other hand slipping down between your legs. Your naked body is protected from the climate by the insulating fabrics that curtain the bed. It’s by no means a small one, considering he also likes sleeping as his dragon self still, so there’s plenty of room for these little games. And being a creature known for being able to rage on for years if they must, well... you’ll be feeling this one when it ends. If you even want it to.

“Maythyr... Ah...” You moan, your head lolling back a bit as you feel his fingers slip into your folds. Wasting no time ‘hooking’ you in with one, his hips grind up into your legs, his lips curling into a smile whilst sucking.

All too soon he breaks from you, lifting you up and plopping you onto your back with ease. Just as you think to complain he lifts your hips, looping his arms around your thighs and pressing them against his ears. An uneven gasp rips from you as his forked tongue laps up your wetness.

“Gh-ah! M-Maythyr-!” You squeak, hands flying back towards his hair.

Like an answer to your prayers, he fully presses his face into your arousal, tongue sliding inside you with ease. Arching into him, your grip on his hair tightens, only seeming to egg him on. As though wanting to see how far you can go his pace quickens, and outside you he nips and sucks where he is able. Every nook and vein is licked and sucked with ravenous greed, and only when he opens his eyes once more and meets your pleading stare do you realize he intends to do more than just absolutely nail you.

An almost devilish grin cements this, before he plasters himself to you once more, going full-force inside you. The tips of his tongue about wrap around your sweet spot, wriggling it until a pulsing inferno bubbles in your hips. Your vision is flooding with the very stars, and your breath is wrenched from you as your heat begins to clamp down and pulsate around him.

“A... Aahh... Ah...!” You let out, before finally your orgasm takes hold. “Aaaaahhh!”

His tongue pulls out, but like a drunkard he’s gulping down all the ambrosia seeping from your trembling pussy, savoring it like a fine wine. Once you’ve given all you’re able right now, he lowers your hips once more,  moving upwards so he can kiss you. Not caring that you can taste yourself on him, you allow your tongue to be wrapped up and played with, his hands holding your head and hips grinding into yours.

Eventually, he pulls away, moving down and nipping at your neck. “I just can’t get enough of you, treasure...” He purrs, both hands caressing your breasts. “Mmm... You’re so warm, my dear... And wet.” He chuckles. “You’re so eager to be this dragon’s prize, aren’t you?”

Sitting up, he spreads your legs widely, nipping at your ankles. Unrestrained, he stares hungrily at the visible clenching.

Finally, you can bear it no longer. “P-please...” You whimper.

He snickers, nibbling at your shins. “Please what, lovely?”

Unsure if you can even hang onto your dignity at this rate, you plead, “Please, Maythyr-! Fuck me!”

His smile doesn’t falter, instead dripping with a beast no longer to be restrained. “Good girl.” Leaning forward, he pushes your knees up to your chest, hovering  so his cock teases your heat. Biting his lip in concentration - by the gods if that isn’t the sexiest thing he does - he loops his arms through your shoulders, parting his thighs to better split your legs.

Wanting to savor this, he nips your lips as he pushes inside, rumbling deep in his chest as his cock effortlessly melds into you. Moving one hand to your belly he rubs the resulting bulge with a chuckle. Once the discomfort fades, you nod, and almost abandoning restraint he’s pumping in and out of you, as if intending to mold you into his cock’s shape.

“Ahhh... Ahh... Aaaah!” You moan, arching up into him as your hands claw at his back. “M-Maythyr-! Aaah!” Stars only begin glittering your vision when he pulls your legs up into his arms, pushing your hips up so he can get even deeper. With each thrust pounding every good spot you’re left mewling, crying out, thankful for every protection around you two. He won’t care about you screaming his name into the arctic winds - matter of fact he’d aim for it. But right now, he’d rather just have this.

“Nngh...” He grunts. “Heh, if I knew you were this good, I’d have figured out a human form the first time you came to me in the mountain.”

You can’t even answer him; any attempt at words just comes out as a squeal or a moan - which he is definitely doing on purpose. After all, he did promise you the night of your life... And it’s hardly past midnight-!

“A-ah?” Something feels different.

Opening your eyes, you watch as Maythyr... shifts, kind of. His black scales become more prominent on his neck and cheeks, eyes more serpentine like his full dragon form. Inside you his cock grows larger, even seeming to change its shape a bit, and you squeak, walls clamping down and pulsing around it. The base of his shapeshifted cock swells, like a bubble, squeezing against your pussy hungrily.

Swallowing, you dare look down, and-

“Oh, by the gods...” You swoon. “M-Maythyr, you’re knotted-!”

“I know...” He groans, pushing it against you impatiently. “... Can you take it all?”

Not even hesitating, you have your legs in a higher position, ready and willing without taking anything else into account. You don’t care how sore you get or how your body has to contort; you need all of his cock. Right now.

“Give  it to me...” You quiver as he begins thrusting again. “Please...”

He leans down, licking up your neck to your jaw. “Very well... My sweet, good girl, I’ll pump you so full you won’t be able to walk for until our babies are born.”

And without a shadow of hesitation he does just that. Every thrust of his cock, his knot squeezes ever so much more, wanting to be inside you. The way your nails scratch the hardened skin of his back eggs him on, perspiration shining his face as his cock nails you until you’re seeing stars. Only occasionally does he swallow your screams with his tongue, which you respond to by desperately clutching his head.

Fuuuck... You moan as your own tongue is subdued and wrapped up, feeling the bubbling heat in your hips once again...

“I-I’m going to...” You breathe, and- “A-AAAAH!”

Almost unceremoniously, the knot pops right inside you, and that’s when Maythyr is at last at the apex. Much like he would as his fully shifted self, he throws his head back, roaring a mighty roar, and before you know it he’s cumming once; twice; a whopping six times with a driving thrust. Even then there’s still more coming out of him, the knot emptying shamelessly into your womb.

Arching, your orgasm has the combined fluids flooding down your skin and to the bed, hanging onto Maythyr as though you’ll die if you let go of him. When at last the tremors of orgasm cease, and the knot is emptied, the both of you collapse.

Falling down behind you, he wraps you up in his arms as his body is once again fully human. Nuzzling into your back, he’s too fatigued for a witty comment or even some risque implication of the morning’s activities. Instead, he’s silent for a moment, caressing your body delicately and embracing you, peppering your skin with kisses.

Nudging you so you open your eyes, he hovers over you a bit, both hands interlocked under your back. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Barely mustering the strength, you nod, reaching up with trembling fingers and caressing the apple of his mocha cheek. Snorting with palpable adoration, he catches your hand in his, kissing the heel and nipping a bit at your wrist.

That’s when you see the same expression he gave on your wedding. A gentle, endearing smile meant only for you, the only proof of his softness.

“... I love you,” He murmurs, lowering down to kiss your lips. “Ah... By the gods, I love you...”

The blizzard outside is silent once more.

___

Beyond thankful that you still are able to, you’re whiling away the quiet hours with your lyre. You’ve gotten so big you can hardly move, what with the babies seeming to multiply in your belly. Nevermind a bowl or a plate, an entire banquet could fit on it, which is a joke you’ve made many a time every meal you share with your husband.

Speaking of him, he yawns, readjusting so his wing continues to shield you as his tail locks it in place. Chortling, you crane your neck to look at him properly, his one eye peeking open once he senses your gaze.

“How are you feeling, love?” He asks, to which you smile.

“I feel like I could pop any day now, honestly, but even I know it won’t be for a time... As much as it looks like it.” Your fingers don’t even miss a string; you suppose you’re still as adept as ever.

“And that is why I’ve sent Alvis to the west in my stead.” The redhead from the wedding; one of his most trusted war generals. “I do not care the severity of matters overseas - t’is my duty as a husband and a father to be here.”

Your smile only grows. “You’ll be a good one, I’m sure.”

“Yes, I will be. And with a treasure like you as my wife and their mother... Hah, they will be this world’s greatest beings.” And there is that classic Maythyr confidence, along with a puff of his soft chest.

“Speaking of, what names should we give them?” You tilt your head. “You haven’t forgotten about that, right?”

“Of course not. Hmmm... Why not a girl’s name, first? Make that a few. I think... Valka, Lymeria, Rosarion... Yorshka?”

“Those are lovely, Maythyr. And for a boy... Hmmm... Tyr, Egil, Ragarruss?”

“Wonderful.” He moves his head so he can nuzzle you, only slightly obstructing your music. “We’ll revisit the storybooks you love so much when next you feel like walking, we’ll have an entire list then. For now, is there anything you need, or you would like? Are you hungry?”

Simpering, you lean back into his belly, the warmth helping you to relax your back. “Hmmm... I have missed mama’s chocolate cake these days.”

His head snaps back with a laugh, and along a warm snort he nuzzles you once more. “Very well.”

[happilyhertale]

Long Last Love - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader, Part 5

Summary: You are finally engaged to Aemond Targaryen. As the daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra, you will now live in King's Landing and no longer on Dragonstone. Your marriage to Aemond is imminent, as is your life together. The relationship between Aemond and your family has never been particularly easy, but the future will show whether your love will withstand this and subsequent tensions.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: In some parts Smut (uncle/niece) as well as violence

Author’s note: Hey you (:

This is the follow-up story to "Long Lost Love".

The story starts just before the wedding of Aemond and y/n and goes over the events of the first season hotd. However, the events are not quite similar to those in the series. English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 4k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Today is the day you will see your family again, whom you have not seen since your marriage to Aemond. You stand excitedly in the courtyard and look up at the sky. Your hands wander gently over your huge belly, your baby is kicking incessantly today. By now you are sure that it is not a baby, but a dragon growing inside you. You feel constant kicks, which are now so strong that your lower back hurts. To ease the pain a little, you let one hand wander to your back and try to apply some pressure, exhaling heavily. When you see carriages approaching the Red Keep. You begin to smile and slowly you walk down the stairs. Now you are standing in the courtyard, at the bottom of the stairs.

Slowly the carriages drive into the courtyard and you can't stop grinning, you are too happy to see your family. The carriages come to a halt and a servant who was waiting for the carriage to arrive announces your family, "Princess Rhaenyra, of House Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. And her Prince Consort, Daemon Targaryen, of House Targaryen."

You step forward as you see your mother step out of the carriage. Her eyes meet yours and she starts to smile, "My girl!"

She comes up to you and hugs you. Despite your big belly, you notice that your mother also has a small bulge under her dress. She is also pregnant. "Mother! You are pregnant!", you happily state.

She squeezes you tighter, "Yes, but only a few moons have passed since then. You will bring a new life into this world much sooner," she breaks away from the embrace and gently caresses your belly.

"And I am so happy for you!", she hugs you again.

You have to laugh slightly, "I'm happy too! But you never told me how exhausting pregnancy is"

"Well, I didn't want to scare you off before," she says with a smile.

Your father steps towards you, a slight smile on his lips. A "Daddy!" leaves your lips as he wraps you in his arms. He gently kisses the top of your head, "According to your stomach, I'd say Aemond touched you?"

"Dad!" you hit him. He laughs lightly. Your mother just shakes her head and has to suppress a smile.

You turn your head towards your mother, still in your father's arms, as you hear her speak, "Where's Aemond...? Are you the only one to greet us?"

"Aemond is, of course, on the training yard. And there is a council meeting going on right now. So yes, you will have to make do with me for the moment," you say with a slight smile.

She strokes your arm, "Is everything all right with you and Aemond...?"

"Yes, Mother. It couldn't be better... Except that I would feel better if the sweet little thing would finally leave me," gently you caress your belly.

"You won't say that again when you're in labour and the little thing is pushing out of you," you hear your father say.

"Don't scare her unnecessarily," your mother admonishes him.

"I'm just saying," you hear your father mutter.

You hear another carriage arrive and as you look up you see the carriage come to a stop and your brothers get out of the carriage. You walk up to them and grin. Jace grins at you and opens his arms, "Y/n, Looking at your belly, you seem to get too much food here!"

You hug him, "Shut up Jace."

He chuckles.

Luke steps towards you, he looks worried. You caress his cheek and hug him lightly, "Hey Luke. It'll be alright, we'll show Vaemond who owns Driftmark, okay?"

He tries to smile and nods, you hug him tighter.

Your brothers leave for the training yard shortly afterwards and you go with your parents to their chambers. You chat briefly as you head to your own chambers and your parents go to find Alicent.

When you finally reach your chambers, you exhale heavily. Slowly you cross your chambers and carefully sit down on the sofa in your chambers, wanting to close your eyes for a moment. Your lower back hurts. So you lie down and put a small pillow under your back. Your eyes are still closed and you try to find relief by breathing in and out slowly and deeply.

Slowly, your body relaxes a little, as the door to your chambers opens, but you do not open your eyes, perhaps the troublemaker will leave your chambers if he thinks you are asleep. But the wishful thinking does not come true. "Are you that unwell?" you hear Aemond whisper.

You open your eyes and nod, "I want him to come out soon".

He smiles slightly at you, "I'm sure she'll be on her way soon.... Unless she doesn't want to leave her mother's warm womb"

You sigh, "I don't want to advise him to do that"

He comes over to the sofa and you look at each other for a moment. You don't show any signs of wanting to move, you just want to rest for a moment. Slowly he lifts your feet up and sits on the sofa, your feet resting on his lap. Carefully he takes off your shoes and begins to gently massage your feet.

You just watch him as he takes care of you and tries to relieve some discomfort with his fingers. You let your head fall back and enjoy his touch. Your eyes close again. "I have already met your brothers," you hear him whisper.

You open your eyes and lift your head. Aemond meets a warning glance, "What did you do?"

He smiles and looks at you, "Nothing. Lord Vaemond intervened. I was just about to invite them for a little training session."

You just keep looking at him, "My Love.... I didn't do anything. I told you I would behave myself."

Now you smile a little, "But still, I know you and I know how it gets to you sometimes."

He props himself up against the sofa and leans over you. Gently he kisses your lips. As he begins to deepen the kiss and gently caresses your belly.

"I will have to kill you if you ever get me pregnant again. So hands off.", you murmur against his lips.

He chuckles and kisses your nose.

He lets himself fall backwards again. In a mixture of stroking and massaging, he lets his fingers wander over your calves.

"Do you feel well enough to go to the throne room?"

You look at him almost indignantly, "Of course. I'm not going to leave my brother standing there alone after all."

"He won't be there alone," Aemond sighs.

"But I don't want him to see only faces that are not exactly friendly towards him on the opposite side. At least his sister should stand there and encourage him."

He just looks at you, "Very well then. But allow me that if I notice you are getting worse, to escort you to our chambers"

You give him an annoyed look. You know that he only cares about you and you prefer that to him being a man who does not care about you at all... But still it annoys you.

On your way to the throne room, you cling to Aemond's arm. You don't want to admit it, but your back really hurts. Aemond looks at you worriedly as you exhale intermittently, but you keep walking.

You enter the throne room, your family already standing to your right, their eyes wandering to you as you enter. You smile at each other, but you see your mother looking at you anxiously, your arm rests firmly in Aemond's arm.

Before you pass your family, you will pass your half-sisters Baela and Rhaena, who are on the left with Princess Rhaenys. You smile at each other. You haven't seen them for what feels like an eternity. They had come to your wedding, but you had no real opportunity to talk to each other properly.

Vaemond Velaryon is also standing there, but you look away when your eyes meet. You have no sympathy for him whatsoever. You think it impertinent that he should take advantage of your grandsire's weak moment, as well as the uncertainty as to whether Lord Corlys will survive his recent injuries, and attempt to steal Driftmark. Driftmark belongs to your brother, to your family.

Aemond leads you on to Alicent, Aegon and Helaena.

Alicent also looks at you, smiling but worried. You smile at her. Aemond stands with you behind the others, his arm firmly around your waist.

You see Otto Hightower enter the throne room. You have nothing personal against him, but somehow you don't trust him. He now stands in front of the throne and begins to give a speech. You don't like the sight of him standing in front of the throne, and you can see from the look on your father's face that he doesn't like it either.

You only pay attention to Otto's speech when you hear the words Driftmark. Because your grandsire is not in a position to deal with this matter, Otto feels it is his responsibility to do so.

Otto settles down on the throne, your expression darkening. As your gaze returns to your family, you see your mother smile at you. You return the smile and nod to her. Then you notice Aemond kissing your cheek, he has also noticed how your mood has changed because of Otto.

You smile briefly at him as you hear Otto, "The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon."

Lord Vaemond steps forward and lets his gaze roam to your brother Luke. Your hand clenches into a fist. You would like to stand protectively in front of your little brother and spit at Vaemond's feet. But probably Aemond's patience with you would then really be at an end.

Vaemond steps forward and stands just in front of the throne. You see that your father is watching him closely and you know the expression on his face. His patience seems to be on the verge of breaking.

Vaemond addresses his speech directly to Alicent, "My Queen." and then turns directly to Otto, "My Lord Hand."

God how you loathe Vaemond.

"The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the day of Old Valyra."

You snort softly. Aemond immediately gives you a look followed by a light chuckle.

"For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name."

You notice your father giving your mother a look and she nods, barely perceptible. This makes you kind of nervous. But you turn your gaze back to Vaemond.

"I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood."

Angrily, you shake your head slightly. Aemond tightens his grip around your waist.

"The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."

Suddenly your mother speaks, "As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition."

As Alicent suddenly interjects, you look over at her, "You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard." Lord Vaemond turns to your mother, grinning. She looks angry.

You look just as angry at Aemond, but he only shakes his head slightly. Again you snort.

Now Vaemond speaks directly to your mother, "What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?"

But she does not dignify him with a glance.

"I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognise it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours."

He turns back in your direction, "My Queen, my Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition."

When you notice your brothers giving Aemond looks and as you look at Aemond, you see him grinning wickedly. He lightly yet firmly gets your elbow in the side. His eyes fall on you and you shake your head in warning.

"I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor.... the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides."

"Thank you Ser Vaemond," chimes in Otto Hightower.

Vaemond casts another appraising glance over his shoulder in your mother's direction and again you notice Aemond's grip tighten around you.

Your mother nods, barely perceptibly, as Otto asks her to speak for your brother Luke now.

She steps forward, exhaling in annoyance for a moment. Before her gaze turns to Otto, she looks over at you again briefly.

"If I am to grace this farce, with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very..."

Everything stops.

The heavy door to the throne room opens and all eyes turn to the door to see who is interrupting. As the guard announces your grandsire, "King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

All is silent and everyone looks towards the door, startled. You reach for Amond's hand, he holds it tightly. Your grandsire stands in the doorway, visibly straining. A walking stick supports him and with great effort he strides forward. He walks very slowly and it seems as if every heavy breath of his can be heard. No one dares to speak a word. Otto rises from his throne and as he comes down to you, you notice him and Lord Vaemond exchanging startled glances. But startled in a different way to the rest of those present.

As your grandsire steps closer to you, you see him stop, he gives your mother a long look. Your father stands in the background, but his gaze is full of concern and lowered.

He strides on, groaning again and again with exertion. But when, after an interminable time, he arrives at the steps of the throne, he looks at Otto, "I will sit the throne today," you almost hear him whisper. Otto replies with a, "Your Grace".

At the steps he comes to a stop, it seems too tiring for him, you look helplessly at Aemond. You see concern on his face too, but he continues to hold you.

A guard approaches your grandsire and wants to help him, but he only replies, "I will be fine. I will be fine."

When he has made it up a few steps, his crown falls down. You bury your face in the crook of Aemond's neck, he holds you in his arms. You hate to see him suffer like this. As you look back towards the throne, you see your father standing at your grandsire's side.

But he doesn't seem to have noticed who is standing there at first, as he says, "I said I'm fine".

But when he looks up, he sees your father, his brother. Your father must be encouraging him to go on, or at least you think he is, because your grandsire gives him a barely perceptible nod and continues walking. Your father carries his crown and helps him up the stairs.

When your grandsire finally makes it to the throne, your father stands before him. They look at each other briefly as your father slowly puts the crown back on his head.

Your father descends the steps, your eyes meet, you see the worry in his gaze.

He stands by your family's side again. Your mother also stands by Luke's side again.

Your grandsire exhales heavily a few times and groans briefly every now and then. Everyone is waiting for him to say something.

"I must... admit... my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only present... who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys", each word coming out with great difficulty.

All eyes now turn to Princess Rhaenys.

"Indeed, your Grace," her soft voice rings out.

Again you notice Vaemon's uncomfortable glances, but this time they follow Princess Rhaenys.

She steps forward until she is standing before your grandsire, "It was my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son.... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree."

You look joyfully at your brothers and they nod at you. But not everyone seems so pleased. Vaemond and Otto look visibly irritated. You turn to Aemond, but he only raises his eyebrow and snorts slightly. Again he has your elbow lightly in his side.

As you hear your grandsire speak again, "Well.... the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark..."

Once again you notice your parents exchanging glances. "... the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides."

Your mother looks visibly relieved. As Vaemond suddenly steps forward, "You break law.... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me... who deserve to inherit the name Velaryon."

You stiffen, feeling uneasy. Aemond looks at you briefly, but immediately looks back at Vaemond.

"No. I will not allow it."

Your father, on the other hand, looks almost amused. When your grandsire speaks up again, "Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."

Suddenly Vaemond shouts out, "That is no true Velaryon!". He points his finger at Luke.

Aemond takes a barely perceptible step forward and his arm is now protectively across your belly.

"And certainly no nephew of mine," Vaemond turns back to your grandsire.

You hear your mother instruct your brothers to go to their chambers before addressing Vaemond, "You have said enough."

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you..." your grandsire suddenly chimes in.

"... are no more than the second son of Driftmark."

Vaemond looks up at your grandsire angrily, "You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine."

You look at Aemond worriedly and take hold of his arm, which still lies protectively in front of your belly. He, however, only looks at Vaemond. You take another step forward and stand next to Aemond again.

"My house survived the Doom, and a thousand tribulations besides! And gods be damned...", Vaemond turns back in Luke's direction, still standing at your mother's side.

"... I will not see it ended on the account of this...", a pause filled with silence follows. Your hand seeks Aemonds and he holds it tightly. When your father dryly calls on Vaemond, "Say it."

And you can tell by his tone that he is not in a joking mood. Silence follows again, only your grandsire's heavy breathing can be heard.

Vaemond turns directly to your father, "Her children... are bastards!!!"

Your eyes grow wide and at that moment Vaemond turns in your direction, pointing his finger at you, Aemond immediately places himself a little in front of you and at the same time pushes you gently but firmly half behind him. His other hand rests on the pommel of his sword.

"But you are the greatest mockery! White hair, purple eyes! Because your mother committed adultery! Slept with her uncle! And you are also legitimised to call yourself a Targaryen! But you are also nothing but a bastard. All because the King can't control anything and your mother is a whore!!!"

You are seized with rage, you take a step forward, but Aemond pushes you back, wanting to step forward himself, his sword already half drawn.

As your grandsire stands up heavily and intervenes, "I... will have your tongue for that!"

Until suddenly a sword is brandished.

With one blow Vaemon's head is severed. His body falls to the floor, half his skull falls to the ground next to it. Screams echo through the hall. Your father stands behind Vaemond and leans on his sword.

Aemond now stands completely in front of you, protecting you, and you reach for his arm. You tremble a little.

"He can keep his tongue," your father says dryly. As Otto suddenly shouts, "Disarm him!"

But your father emotionlessly wipes his sword on his cloak, "No need."

Suddenly there are groans from your grandsire again, everyone looks up at him. He falls back on his throne and Alicent, who was at Helaena's side, runs up to him, "Call the maesters!"

Your mother goes up to him as well, "Father?"

"Please my Love, you must take something for the pain." begs Alicent as he falls weakened against her. But your grandsire is stubborn, "I will not cloud my mind, I must put things right."

A guard supports him and escorts him out of the throne room. A maester joins and supports the guard.

Alicent addresses you, "Please... go to your chambers.... I will see you tonight"

You cannot really respond, but Aemond puts his arm around you and leads you out of the throne room.

He leads you on, up to your chambers, you can't tell if Aemond talked to you on the way, you are paralysed. But Aemond is preoccupied with his own thoughts. He is relieved that Daemon has intervened. He is not sure how far he could have held you back. Nor would he have liked to leave your side. But he would have protected you at all costs, he would have struck Vaemond down in the throne room.

When you arrive in your chambers, Aemond turns you to him, holding your face gently in his hands, "Are you all right?"

You nod.

"Please don't take anything he said to heart. Promise me?"

You smile slightly. He first gently brushes his nose against yours and then kisses you. He breaks the kiss and lets his forehead lean against yours, "If Daemon hadn't done it, I would have killed him."

You are still smiling. You are shocked at what has just happened. First you were called a bastard, then Vaemond was beheaded, a bit much for one evening. Just as you are about to say something, you feel a sharp sting. You gasp and grab your stomach.

Aemond looks at you in panic, "What's wrong?"

You breathe heavily, "He's very active and.... just kicking..."

Aemond leads you to the sofa and helps you to sit down slowly.

"He, mmhm?"

You smile as Aemond walks into the adjoining bathroom. After a short while, he returns, holding a bottle. You have to chuckle for a moment. When the slightest bulge was visible on your belly, Aemond set off for the maesters. He has commissioned an oil that is supposed to be good for your skin. And since then he has been massaging it into your belly regularly. He kneels down in front of you and carefully opens your dress. He pushes your vest back over your belly. He pours a small amount of oil on his palms, briefly rubs his palms together and then begins to massage your belly.

"So a boy?"

You chuckle and nod, "I'm telling you, he's wild. That's not a girl."

He clicks his tongue, "Well, like I told you, our girl just has the temperament of a dragon."

Now you have to laugh. He smiles and continues to gently massage your belly.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[muzaktomyears]

Of the many attractive girls who hung around the Casbah, one in particular caught John's eye. She was an elfin blonde with a tense, wounded look, whom he nicknamed Bubbles, for lack of a proper introduction and because it so unsuited her. In fact, all the guys had noticed her watching them. While not a beautiful girl, she was catlike and intense, in a mysterious kind of way. She also was eager to meet them. "It must have been all over my face that I fancied John," recalls Bubbles, whose real name is Dot Rhone, "but once it became clear he had a girlfriend, I lost interest." Instead, she approached Paul with game determination, pretending to be faint in order to get him outside, where they could be by themselves.

Once alone, an "immediate attraction" developed between them. Paul discovered in Dot a person who hardly fit the profile of the other girls at the Casbah. She had grown up in a better section of Liverpool called Childwell, around the corner from Brian Epstein, the Beatles' future manager. But "it might have been two different worlds," Dot says, her humble situation being anything unlike Epstein's glaringly "posh" circumstances. "I didn't have a normal childhood. My dad was an alcoholic; he never hung on to any money. And the only reason we lived in that neighborhood was because a sickly aunt left the house to my mother." A year younger than Paul, Dot had gone to Liverpool Institute High School, "the girls' school across the road from the Inny", but had left in June, taking a clerk's job at the Dale Street branch of District Bank in order to support her family. Paul, she believes, was attracted by how needy and impressionable she was, which put her under his sway; she found him "adorably handsome, opinionated," and loaded with confidence. "He came from the first family I'd ever known that cared about each other so much," Dot says. "Everyone would gather around the piano, while Jim played songs like 'You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby', and sometimes [he] would sing with Paul and Mike." At a deeper level, they undoubtedly recognized the loneliness in each other's lives, each absent a parent - in her case because of addiction. [...]

As 1959 drew to a close, the boys spent more time with girlfriends than with one another. John and Cynthia, according to friends closest to the couple, were "besotted with each other". For his part, Paul stopped playing the field and settled down with Dot Rhone. As a couple, they had an appealingly unthreatening air. They discovered each other to be solicitous and sensual, gentle and clumsy, with Paul at times taking on a paternal and sympathetic role. Once, at a friend's house, Dot happened to mention that she'd been standing all day and he began to massage her feet, stroking them as though they were precious pets. And yet, at the time the gesture felt almost preposterous.

Eventually Paul's attention grew relentless, almost disparaging. His simple gregariousness turned uncompromising and willful. Paul was immensely charming, but there was a darker side. He had a need - Dot believes a compulsion - to control every situation. As John had done with Cynthia, he began to pick out her clothes, redesign her makeup. Dot remembers how much it pleased Paul to stand beside her and study her appearance, then, in a roundabout way, critique the way she looked - and suggest how to improve upon it. On one occasion, he insisted that she have her hair done and produced money to pay for it. Not wanting to displease him, Dot went off to the beauty parlor. "Unfortunately, they did [my hair] in a terrible-looking beehive", she says. "Paul was furious when he saw it. He told me to go home and not to call him until it grew out again."

She detected other changes in Paul that proved equally disagreeable. He had an almost stuffy, explosive air of self-importance, with his simple superiority, cool poise, and weatherproof rightness. He scorned any sign of self-confidence in her. And Dot, pricked by love, submitted. As a rule, she did not impose her will on him, certainly never when they were among friends. She would sit quietly and smile tensely for entire evening at the Jacaranda while Paul and John discussed music. If Paul glared, she would freeze like a rabbit. "We weren't allowed to open our mouths", Dot says of her and Cynthia's attendance at these nightly discussions. "They'd talk all night, and we just listened."

The Beatles: The Biography, Bob Spitz (2005)

[reasoningdaily]

From left: Charles Turner, Timothy Catlett, Levy Rouse, Chris Turner, Russell Overton and Clifton Yarborough, attend the funeral for their friend Kelvin “Hollywood” Smith on Oct. 27 in Capitol Heights, Md. (Jahi Chikwendiu/The Washington Post)

https://wapo.st/3PFKslz

Clifton Yarborough patted his chest as he turned his gray Honda into a narrow alley in Northeast Washington. “My heart racing fast,” he said. He eased the car to a stop and pointed to a garage behind a rowhouse. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s where it happened.” There was graffiti on the weathered plywood door. Otherwise it looked ordinary. There was nothing to indicate what had unfolded in the small structure 39 years earlier.

The alley in the H Street neighborhood is around the corner from the home where Yarborough, 56, grew up, but this is the first time he has been here since he was a teenager. He didn’t want to stay long. He put the car into drive and pulled away from the place where a 49-year-old mother of six from the neighborhood was found dead in 1984, the victim of a brutal beating and rape.

Then 16, Yarborough was the youngest of 17 people arrested in the case. He and seven other young men from the neighborhood would eventually be tried, convicted and incarcerated for a combined 258 years. Justice, it seemed, was served.

But the men have insisted all along that they had nothing to do with the rape and the murder. That they didn’t know anything about those crimes. That their trial wasn’t fair.

Kelvin Smith, who served 35 years before being released in 2019, died at home in October. Steven Webb died in prison in 1999 after a stroke. He had served 15 years. The other six men — Yarborough, Christopher Turner, Charles Turner, Timothy Catlett, Levy Rouse and Russell Overton — are now in their 50s and 60s.

They have completed their sentences and been released from prison. The final one got out just last year.

But this ghastly crime hangs over them. They are free, but not free.

What they want, they say, is for their names to no longer be associated with one of the most vile crimes in Washington history. And they want the government that prosecuted and jailed them to admit it was wrong for not sharing evidence they believe would have helped them prove their innocence.

All of the men now live in Washington or its close-in suburbs. They have jobs — forklift driver, maintenance worker, parking lot attendant, janitor, warehouse worker.

They have reconnected with their families and friends and are trying to shape a new life in a city and world that has changed immeasurably from the city and world in which they grew up. Their newly free lives are dominated by thoughts of what they’ve lost and what they can still salvage.

“What hurts is my character being slandered, that people say I would do such a thing that I didn’t do, especially to someone I knew,” Yarborough said. “Clear this. Make it be known we didn’t commit this crime.”

Rouse says it is hard for him to trust anyone. He was 19 when he was arrested and had a newborn son,whom Rouse wouldn’t see in person until his release in 2019.

“I wrote letters to him a lot, and when he grew older he would write me back, saying — Dad, I know you’re innocent and I’m always going to love you,” Rouse said. “It hurts me inside to know he had to go through that.”

Rouse says he and his 39-year-old-son are now the best of friends, making up for time they were apart.

Since getting out of prison, Rouse has focused on moving forward.Now a maintenance worker, he has completed computer courses from a career training school. He also counsels other former prisoners who have recently been released. And in September, he got married. “It’s wonderful, wonderful,” Rouse said. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

But even as he looks forward, Rouse can’t let go of the past. “It’s important the truth comes out because they know they was wrong,” he said.

Charles Turner lives at brother Christopher’s apartment in Southeast Washington. He has a full-time maintenance job at the Martin Luther King Jr. library in downtown Washington. He’s determined to reclaim his time.

“They took 36 years from me, so I plan to be out here alive for another 36 years,” Turner said. “I’m gonna get those 36 years back.”

Turner, 59, said he feels cheated that he was locked up when his mother died and that he couldn’t say goodbye to her. And he laments never having children.

“Being locked up, they took my bloodline,” he said. “No one is gonna ever know I was even here.”

Christopher Turner, nicknamed “the Mayor” by other defendants, was the first to bereleased. He was given a shorter sentence than the others because he had completed high school and had no criminal record. In prison, he spent much of his time reading and learning about the law. While incarcerated and in the years since his release in 2010, he has led the effort to clear his name and those of his fellow defendants.

Along the way, Christopher Turner has also become an advocate for prisoners. He is on the board of the Mid-Atlantic Innocence Project, which works to prevent and overturn convictions of innocent people, and Free Minds, a D.C.-based book club and writing workshop for incarcerated youths.

The men’s effort to continue lobbying for their innocence while reentering the workforce and reconnecting with their families and their city, Christopher Turner admits, is wearying.

“I know the guys are really tired,” he said recently over breakfast at a Capitol Hill diner. “We’re trying to move on with our lives. But this is still a fight we need to fight. As long as there’s air in my body, I’ll continue to fight.”

The men compare their case to that of the Central Park Five, the five teenagers from Harlem who were convicted of the 1989 rape of a woman and spent years in prison before DNA evidence and a confession led to their convictions being overturned in 2002.

But this murder occurred before the use of DNA in solving crimes began, and no evidence that can be tested survived. And unlike the Central Park case, no one else has come forward to admit guilt.

Over the years, the men have unsuccessfully appealed their convictions.

In 2017, at the Supreme Court, their attorneys argued that prosecutors violated the Brady rule by not turning over evidence to the defense. The court ruled 6-2 that the withheld evidence would not have made a difference in the outcome of the case. After that decision, the men were out of options.

But their attorneys and some of the most powerful law firms in Washington have stuck with them.

“I wouldn’t represent them if I thought they had any involvement in this whatsoever,” said Shawn Armbrust, executive director of the Mid-Atlantic Innocence Project and Christopher Turner’s attorney. She has been working with the defendants since 2005. “Our standard is — you can’t have any involvement in the crime. If we find evidence pointing to guilt, we’re done.”

But there are no legal appeals left to file. No courtroom arguments left to make. No witnesses left to cross-examine.

For the defendants and their attorneys, their only hope may be a presidential pardon. And that, all of them acknowledge is, a long shot.

Crime was a problem in Washington in 1984, especially in the busy, blue-collar corridor of H Street NE. Murders in D.C. were nowhere near the astronomic levels they would climb to in the late 1980s and ’90s, but they weren’t rare either.

Among them, one murder stood out: The Oct. 1, 1984, killing of Catherine Fuller.

Fuller was 49, Black, a married mother of six who lived a short walk from the alley behind H Street where she was found dead on that rainy October day. She had been beaten and sodomized with a pipe-like object. It tore through her intestines and abdomen, according to medical examiners. Her ribs were broken. Fuller weighed less than 100 pounds. She had been robbed of $50 and some jewelry.

Years later, her son David Fuller would remember her as “a loving, caring parent.” His mother, he told The Washington Post in 2017, “was the type of person who would go out of her way to do anything for you.”

The pressure on police and politicians to find the culprit — or culprits — was intense. The most promising information came the first day, when a street vendor who found the body told police he saw two men acting suspiciously in the alley, one with an object under his coat. They ran when police first approached the scene.

But there was little else to go by. Then a couple of anonymous phone tips. A caller referenced the “8th and H Crew” and mentioned a few names.

Three days after the murder, detectives, acting on the tip, picked up Yarborough. Then 16, Yarborough was a special-educationstudent at Eastern High School. His IQ was below 70, and he had difficulty reading. He was interrogated for hours without a lawyer or a parent present.

Yarborough said he told police he didn’t know anything about the crime, but he eventually signed a statement that provided some details and names. He would later say he signed the document because he was scared.

Despite the early leads, the investigation stalled. It was not until late November that a 16-year-old girl gave police the name of Calvin Alston, a person she said had talked about committing the crime. The girl later acknowledged being high on PCP when she was interviewed by police. Alston denied being involved but eventually gave police information about Fuller’s death and a few names, including Yarborough’s. Later Alston would testify that police threatened him with life in prison if he didn’t admit to a role in the murder.

The detectives brought Yarborough back in.

According to Yarborough, the questioning this time was relentless. He said detectives slammed him against a desk, injuring his knee, and held his head above a flushing toilet. The detectives denied those allegations under oath and said the injury was preexisting.

Eventually, Yarborough said, the detectives wore him down. He said they read a statement to him given by Alston and told him to corroborate it. Yarborough agreed, and his statement was videotaped.

“The homicide people interrogated me to a point where I wanted to do anything to get out and go home,” Yarborough said, sitting at a Starbucks across from a Whole Foods on a revitalized H Street that bears little resemblance to the neighborhood in which he grew up. “First they had to calm me down from crying.”

His attorneys would later argue that Yarborough’s testimony was coerced. The two lead detectives and a police officer who worked on the case either declined or did not respond to interview requests for this story.

Yarborough’s statement became crucial evidence that helped lead to the arrests and conviction of his fellow defendants and cemented the idea in the public mind that the crime was the work of a ruthless gang, the “8th and H Crew.” All of those charged, however, said there was no gang. Some of them didn’t even know one another.

Ultimately, 10 people were brought to trial in 1985 for Fuller’s murder. After deliberating for seven days, the all-Black jury found two defendants not guilty and six guilty. The jury told the court it was “impossible” to reach a unanimous verdict for Christopher Turner and Russell Overton.

The judge ordered the jury to continue deliberating, and two days later, the jury returned with guilty verdicts for both men. It had taken “40 to 50” more votes to reach a unanimous decision, jurors told reporters later.

Christopher Turner, then 20, was stunned. He was so certain he would be found innocent that he had turned down a plea deal that would have required him to serve just two to six years. Taking a plea deal for something he hadn’t done was something he objected to on principle, he said. “People still ask me, do you regret not pleading guilty and going on with your life? And my answer is no, emphatically no, I don’t regret it.”

David Fuller was 16 when his mother was killed. He knew a few of the defendants. Christopher Turner was three years older and helped manage Fuller’s go-go band. Yarborough was the same age and lived around the corner. Yarborough said he used to bring pies his grandmother made over to the Fuller house.

Fuller, who now lives in Missouri, originally agreed to be interviewed for this article but then did not respond to messages. The Post was unable to locate Catherine Fuller’s other children. But David Fuller talked about his mother and the case in 2017 for a Post story.

By then, he said, he had found a measure of peace with what had happened. “Even with loss you got to keep going,” he said.

And he acknowledged that some or all of the men may not have been responsible. “My heart goes out to some of the gentlemen if they were falsely accused, because they suffered,” he said.

Russell Overton, 65, folds his 6-foot-7-inch frame into an armchair in the living room of his 85-year-old mother’s tidy Silver Spring home. He has lived here with his sister since his release in March 2022.

Overton, the last of the men to be released, was the oldest of them when they were arrested. He was 26 then and had children. Now he is a great-grandfather and getting to know his family as a free man.

The adjustment hasn’t been easy. Overton still sleeps with his door open and wakes at every sound. He keeps his toiletries in a container on his dresser the way he did when he was locked up. He has a job at a warehouse where he is doing well but is still coming to terms with engaging in pleasantries and trusting people.

“What happened to [Catherine Fuller] was wrong. I’m sorry that it happened. Sympathy for her family,” he said in an interview, leaning forward in his chair. “But there’s no way I can have remorse when I never did have anything to do with it. I wasn’t no angel out there. I got in trouble here and there, but I didn’t do this.”

The system, he said, failed them all.

In 1995, while still in prison, Christopher Turner wrote to Post reporter Patrice Gaines, who had helped cover the original trial. He told her he wanted her to know he was innocent. Gaines looked into the murder and made discoveries that raised questions.

In 2001, Gaines reported that Harry Bennett, called as a witness in the case, told her he had falsified testimony to avoid a life sentence.Bennett said the prosecutor, Jerry Goren, “painted a picture for me. All I had to do was say yes.”

Gaines would also learn a critical piece of information never turned over to the defense. Three weeks after Fuller’s murder, a woman named Ammie Davis told police she had been in the alley that day shooting heroin and saw a man she knew named James Blue. She said Blue savagely attacked a woman and stole money from her in the alley. The week before the Fuller trial began, Blue fatally shot Davis. He died in prison in 1993.

The defendants in the Fuller case challenged their conviction in D.C. Superior Court in 2012 and learned during discovery that another key piece of information was never turned over.

One of the men who ran when police first approached the scene was James McMillan, a 19-year-old who was new to the neighborhood. Three weeks after Fuller’s body was found, McMillan was arrested in two violent assaults and robberies of middle-aged women in the neighborhood. But even though he had been identified at the scene by three witnesses, prosecutors did not share that information with the defense in the Fuller case.

Eight years after Catherine Fuller’s murder, McMillan would be arrested for the murder and forcible sodomy of a woman in an alley in the same H Street neighborhood. He is serving a life sentence in federal prison in Virginia. He declined through prison officials to be interviewed and previously denied any responsibility for Fuller’s death.

During the 2012 proceedings, Goren, the prosecutor, admitted that evidence had been withheld from the defendants. He testified that he didn’t pass on information about McMillan because he did not believe it relevant enough. He also said he didn’t tell the defense about Davis because he didn’t find her story credible.

Reached briefly by phone at his California home earlier this year, Goren declined an interview.

D.C. Superior Court Judge Frederick H. Weisberg ultimately rejected the bid for a new trial, saying the “petitioners have not come close to demonstrating actual innocence.” In 2015, the D.C. Court of Appeals confirmed that ruling. The Supreme Court decision in 2017 ended any hopes the men had of having their convictions overturned.

For some who have followed the case, the Supreme Court ruling was the culmination of a process that has been flawed at every step of the way.

“It’s reaffirmed for me that there are some deep systemic problems in the legal system and that those need to be fundamentally changed,” said Thomas L. Dybdahl, whose book, “When Innocence is Not Enough: Hidden Evidence and the Failed Promise of the Brady Rule,” tracks the legal journey of the Fuller murder defendants in the context of examining Brady disclosure requirements.

Dybdahl argues that even though the Brady rule requires prosecutors to hand over favorable evidence to the defense, they have little incentive to do so because they face little threat of punishment for not adhering to it.

The defendants in the Fuller case “didn’t want mercy, they wanted justice,” Dybdahl said. “Unfortunately, they didn’t get either.”

In 1985, Michele Roberts was a D.C. public defender representing Alphonso Harris, one of the men charged in Fuller’s murder. Roberts, who retired last year as the executive director of the NBA Players Association, remembers the “intense pressure on the government” to get a conviction. Her client was one of the two defendants to be found not guilty.

While her client went free, Roberts said the evidence withheld from the defendants would have been critical to the outcome of the case.

“If I had what we later discovered … all of them would have walked,” she said. “The most powerful evidence that you can present as a defense attorney, if it’s credible, is to be able to say ‘Not only did my guy not do it, but let me tell you who did.’”

John Williams, a lawyer with the powerhouse Washington firm Williams & Connolly who represents Yarborough and argued the men’s case at the Supreme Court, said one option may be available to the defendants to provide them some measure of justice.

Williams said he and the other attorneys are actively considering petitioning for a presidential pardon. It is a complicated process that could take years, and there is no guarantee they will be successful.

“Those are always long shots,” he said. “But these men are incredibly deserving.”

“They were wrongly labeled as murderers. The system still regards them as murderers,” Williams said. “I understand why they’re continuing to fight, and that’s why we are continuing to fight for them.”

In late October, the six surviving defendants wore suits to the funeral of their gregarious and fun-loving fellow defendant Kelvin Smith, known to all of them by his nickname, ‘Hollywood.’ On a breezy, sunny afternoon at a cemetery in Hyattsville, they walked past rows of headstones and markers to the gravesite. One of Smith’s favorite songs, “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by the Verve, played through a speaker nearby.

Smith was Christopher Turner’s best friend. On the day of the funeral, Turner said he thought about how little freedom his friend had been able to enjoy and how he wouldn’t live to see his name cleared. “I felt bad because I wanted him to have that moment,” Turner said.

On days when he struggles to find the energy for this fight, Turner said, he thinks about Hollywood and about Steven Webb, who died in prison. And he thinks about his fellow defendants and their families and friends, whose lives were forever changed by a horrific crime in a small garage in an alley in Washington almost 40 years ago.

“I’m not even sure what keeps me going,” he said. “I just know there’s a fire burning inside me to right a wrong.”

[ramrodd]

Beginning to Beginning: Out of Vietnam

Beginning to Beginning: Out of Vietnam is a portfolio of poetry that I began in 1977. I was working on an IPO and living in our offices and I didn’t have any money for Christmas presents, so I began to write these poems. It was the first time I really began to think about Vietnam and I enjoyed the writing.

I wouldn’t have missed Vietnam for the world. I had planned on making the army a career, but, when I got to Vietnam, I discovered that it was not to be my destiny. The combat was fine: it was everthing I hoped it would be, but I encountered a reality of the politics in the army that I was morally insufficient to confront at the time. My sister thought I left the army for a woman I loved, but it was to avoid tarnishing my dad’s service in any wise.

Prelude   Before the day has dried the Clinging stars, yawning light Slips across my chest to Curl upon your Face.   Barefoot  And sleepy-eyed You led me to your bed Wrappt me round in girlish warmth Then breathed your soul to mine.    Now, between light and sleep, Our bodies close, confused, Our dreams in violet hues, I wonder at your sleeping Smile and what you say, Unsaid.

Marching Orders

In those spectered times before sleep.

When old dreams push aside the light The adventures of men and rabbits Interweave their familiar ghosts.   Nightly Mother would read stories Of simple deeds and gentle tests Until, drifting into warm sleep, I took the dreams on my own.   Later, as the grand adventures Of Odysseus and old sergeants Filled my reading, I hurriedly Prepared to join their cadence.   Then, one day, thirty desperate eyes sought mine. Now, dreams of glory shimmer, incarnadine.

Jet Plane    A step past the stew, The Saigon sun slaps my Eyes, A hood of crushing Light hides the airport.   blink   Waist high grass and flowers Hide us, sprawling, Naked, The  Seattle sun Stroking her breasts.   blink   The 707 hides San Fran’s Sun as we climb onboard Sightless Burdened by dreams too Bright to see.   blink.   blinking down the stairs Unto the tarmac I Troop the line of Cobras and Clippers.

General Delivery   The sergeant told us  Fear not The one with your name. Rather  Avoid those marked

To whom it may concern.

Pep Rally   War ia the ultimate sport. Sport weakly imitates war, For sport can only compress The hour before the shower.   War reduces all the choices Of the best of men to none, For what choice can there be When the neck hair cries “Hunted”   When you send children to war Tell them “Come home with your shield, “My aging child, “Or on it” For more or less’ Will kill them   As they pay the price of admission To a game refereed by their blood.

Away Game The triple canopy Starves the forest floor For light, So the underbrush never seems Too high or very thick.   Following steep trails Worn wide by logistical traffic, The five men Invade a living stillness.   Something isn’t right. Their point man Squats, Listens, Looks Under the dark green shadows. Eyes scanning, he hesitates… That last instant our eyes   Meet   Stillness, Ruptured, is swallowed whole by Silence.

Halftime Show Halfway Through a romance Set against the Patriot’s Game, We walked out.   I’m not sure why I left. Usually, any flick Can hold me in the dark. I guess I was Restless.   Perhaps Kay’s Fingers Playing on my palm Put my mind unto another game For six months  Neglected .   Nor could she understand Why We left. For her, The romance was Beautiful.

Field Sanitation    While the afternoon sun Bakes the hill Bellies bloat waiting for Back haul.   It’s easier to smile than frown, So fat flies Crawl on eyes Set into grinning death masks.   The Freedom Bird Will return my dead soldiers To the world. Carrion birds Will return their dead soldiers To the woods.   “Dust off inbound, L.T.” “OK. Bag’em up, “Saddle up. Move

“Out”

M.A.R.S. (with Venus, ascendant)    At three hundred hours last night, I stunk of dark muddy fear. At three hundred hours, tonight, I smell of waiting room smoke.   Earlier, I visited The wounded and wrote parents, Now I wait to call The World. Date night For three whole minutes.   (Use that booth, sir, for your call) (You’re on, sir.)­   “Katy?”  (over)

  “Oh. Tom? Oh! I can’t believe “I mean, is it raining? “Oh!”   Time, so heavy, so slow, just last night Screams past. (Time’s up, sir.)   “I love you”  (over)

Change of Command   I put my back to the sun. Two ranks of fifteen men Slouch in easy alertness.

“At ease.”   DEROS. My turn to leave. Saigon. Freedom Bird. The World. Hot meals, running water Snoring, warm and dry, all night.   Eleven months, eighteen days.

“You clowns have been “A hassle, “But it don’t mean nothing “Now. “Keep yourselves covered, “Lifers.”   “Platoon Sergeant!” ”Sir?” “I’m outta here” (These contacts are all fucked up) “Take Charge”

Freedom Bird  “God, please get me outta here!”   For two days, I have seen Dreams and DEROS Fulfilled as one at Cam Rahn Bay.   I have no rifle, no frags, I don’t even have a knife! Noise and fear and clouds of dust Corner me.   (Katy, help me, bring me home)   Manifest, Twelve hundred hours. Jungle fatigues surrender To Class A Greens And one more line.   Then, rising with the Clipper “Morning Light” Our song is an animal’s Released

Return of Investment

  Wall Street Had finished lunch Returning her banker to ticker tape When we met. I knew a friend of hers. “Thank you for coming”   “Yes. He mentioned you. He’s "Dead you know.”   “I know.”

I wrote his parents.

“I have some "Letters.”   Her letters, plastic wrapped Had been tucked between rations and claymores. Very unmilitary. They should have been Burned.   “You should have seen the box of “Letters “I threw out. “He must not have been very busy “For all the “Letters “He wrote me.”   We would sit Sunning the rot between our toes, Uncoiling our spines While other men watched the Shadows. We read an hour of home Delayed six weeks. On those days out of the Shadows, It was good to be alive. Just alive. Wiggle, you cute toes, you.   “Yes. Not much to do.”   Her calendar was empty until sixish So she flattered me with conversation. Melting slightly from her Dubonnet She asked of his Death.   “He wasn’t surprised or, rather, “He would have been surprised “To come home.  “None of us expected to  “Return.”   We weren’t alone: before an attack The other guys always prepared their Coffins.   “Why did he leave, then, he was as officer “His father had contacts, he could have stayed with “me! “Why did he leave?”   Why did he leave? His own reasons,                                                                                            Selfish reasons. Like mine, The wrong reasons: Fun-Travel-Adventure (fuck the army)   “It was his job, I guess. “I don’t know”.   Interest spent, We jiggled depleted drinks. Grabbing her purse “Must run…”  Like a rip chord, “…wretched party…” She stood in the door “…let’s do lunch…”  And disappeared into the slip stream of

 “…sometime.”

Wall Street.

Infiltration Course  “How can fifteen-fucking-dollars “Get you so fucking excited!”   I guess that wasn’t the best Of all possible approaches to Win friends and influence People. He was Head Teller. (Lifer)   Attention to detail kept Me and my troops safe and Dry (most of the time) For a year, so I could Dig his program.   But, man, it is a hassle playing The game. Good como with The World means low Crawling just beneath The bottom line.

A Toast to Drinking Alone

 It’s just that Talking is what we needed.   When you came back to happy Kisses We came back to a Sign Nobody believed ”America is Proud of YOU, SOLDIER!”   (Out-Processing, Ft. Lewis, Washington) (Calley convicted. Buy Enstrom Helicopters)   My War wasn’t all that different From yours: 

“Do advancin’ Blisters hurt as much as Retreatin’ blisters?” Willie asked Joe.   Yes.   Mud and time slid nervously Towards the next moment after. Our knees grew weary of the Genuflect we offered to the Shadows just up the trail. They were as good as we were, As good as you were, Sometimes winners, sometime losers. You remember how they were, Don’t you? They were the same for us.   But Ernie Pyle was killed, And Bernard Fall was French And Walter Cronkite was the most Trusted man in America   And we came back to a sign Nobody believed.   And no one to talk to.

Cancer’s Kiss. Slippery From lazy love making We soak in the June Breeze   Pleased With our bodies We purr our twilight pleasure.   Bodies Relaxed, yours renewed, Mine  consumed,  content   We Drift in dreams Tangled up in pulse. 

By Dawn’s Early Light   When first I held your warmth, Your shy kisses became full. As your breasts settled, You traced my leg, Arched your back…   …we slept, weightless…   Awake to sleepy eyes,   Your breathing whispers Past my hand holding Your hair in light Slowly turning blond.

Song to Thor

  With velvet helmet hard on top, Your one-eyed gaze can find, The deepest of the clinging mine To crawl, all warm, inside.   You stand so straight, a soldier proud, To take a hand salute, From maidens who have lost their heads, To a legless, spitting newt.   Ah, comrade dear, my darling chum, We’ve traveled many a mile, I, a pilgrim to maidens fair, And you, to make them smile.   So, come my friend, let’s stand again And pass in proud review, I’ll gird my loins for battle fair, You stab her wound, anew.

Compass Course

  Don’t hold too dear a loss, My Love, Lest the loss become a cage. I wasn’t meant to lead, My Love, You can see as well as I.   Now, let my eyes, the Morning Sun, guide you to my side, My arms, the Earth, shall give you strength, but not a place to hide, Sweet water’s touch shall cup your breasts, to soothe the pain inside, As my soul, the summer breeze, blows freely by your side.   If the Butterfly stays caged, My Love, She cannot go my Way, Don’t hold too dear a loss, My Love, The Butterfly lives free.

 Dreams in 2/2 (cut) Time

 Once when I was walking At the age of twenty one, I met a grey-eyed Lady Who promised me a son. We spent that day together On field just newly green, And sad grey eyes were laughing As they shared their colored dreams   I slippt away at twenty two To chase a boyhood’s prize, Through twilight worlds with bursting stars It bled me for it’s price. At twenty four, I stumbled home To a field of withered green, I stumbled home and couldn’t find My Lady’s grey-eyed dreams.   Lady, where’d you go, Don’t you want to see my prize.  I spent my faith upon it, It has emptied out my eyes. We shared a life together On a field of pregnant green, But sad grey-eyes have turned away From childish stillborn dreams.

 Sudden Stops

 Don’t you know In those late hours Away from the smiles Away from the chorus “Now you are making sense” You keep making the wrong turn.   Don’t you know In those long hours All you need to say                                                       “Yes, I can see the truth In what you say. Yes, what you say is true” And it will be so.   Don’t you know In those lost hours As their eyes glint, As their smiles fellate As their logic glitters with promise It’s not your battle.   Don’t you know In that short beat As your dreams whisper (madness) (madness) It’s not the fall that kills.

Lazy Eight   Survivors see NOW Clearly, A focused dream, Complete, No value nor shadow Nor beauty nor hope; Taste of the air, Infinity

Prelude

 There are the little pains we taste, Infrequent and unexpected, Which distress us beyond their nature, The jab before the novacaine.   I have a friend from other days Who I adored beyond good reason. The passion has long since faded, But, at seeing her (even now) Old comrades and dreams tug at me. I have friend I met today With a familiar cocksure laugh.   Too long lulled by complacent illusions, Those half-forgotten needles Startle me.

[earlgreydream]

loyalty (2).

| golden!era wolfstar & daughter!reader | angst | fluff |

very requested. part 2 of loyalty. 

You’re a death eater now, living with the aftermath of your decision to betray your fathers, your friends, and the Order.

Horror, disappointment, devastation, confusion. 

Any of those words could have been used to describe the feelings when Sirius Black and Remus Lupin found out you had become a death eater. The snake and skull was permanently branded into your skin, a physical manifestation of who your loyalty lied with. 

It shattered Sirius. 

“Remus, it’s happening again!” Sirius’s agonized scream echoed through the halls of the Order, shaking everyone. 

“He got to Regulus, and he got to Y/N too!” Sirius sobbed, collapsing to his knees in front of Remus. 

It’s all my fault. If only I had loved them more, if only I had shown them more attention. If only I was there for them.

Sirius blamed himself. The Dark Lord had managed to sink his bloody grip into you, just like he had with Sirius’s younger brother all those years ago. Sirius tried to stop it, but he always managed to fail to protect his loved ones. 

“It’s not your fault, my love. It’s not anyone’s fault.” Remus’s fingers stroked through his dark locks, trying to comfort his heartbroken husband. Remus was sick with heartache, but he wasn’t ready to give up on you yet. Like Regulus, there was hope for you to change your mind again and return to your family. 

Fred and George Weasley cried all night when Remus informed the Order of your betrayal. Nobody was the same after, a hole ripped in their lives by the enemy.

“You’ve made me incredibly proud.” 

You nodded, bowing to the Dark Lord. His cold, papery hand touched your head, and you shivered. Narcissa pulled you into her arms when you returned to sit with the Malfoys, mothering over you like you were her own daughter. Draco squeezed your hand under the table before you payed attention for the rest of the death-eater meeting. 

Voldemort sent you and Draco to Hogsmeade to search for one of his missing followers who had been last seen there. You drew a black cloak around you, walking through the dark streets with Draco. 

“Y/N!” You turned, your hood dropping as wind blew past you. Your father, Remus stood in the street, Harry a few meters behind him. Draco drew his wand, and you grabbed his arm. 

“Y/N?” Draco looked at you, and you pulled his wand down. 

“Draco, that’s my dad. Don’t,” you whispered. 

“Why, honey? Why did you do it?” Remus asked, and you gripped Draco, feeling the ground sway beneath your feet.

“Because you don’t love me. Sirius doesn’t love me. Harry is more your child than me. I was overlooked at the Order. I didn’t belong there. I belong with my family, with my cousins who love me and appreciate me... no matter the cost.”

“You know that isn’t true. We all love you. I love you.”

“We love her.” Draco spoke, and you felt a burning as the tattoo on your arm moved, reminding you who you belonged to. 

You murmured a spell, and you and Draco suddenly were in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. 

“Are you okay?”

You nodded before shutting yourself in your room, tears pouring down your face. You laid in bed, sobbing as images of Remus’s pain flashed in your mind. I love you. It echoed in your head, and the weight of your choices rested heavy on your chest.

Months passed, and you stayed clear of the Order. You only left the Manor with Draco, and rarely at that. You avoided places where you could run into your ex-family and friends. 

And, you had managed to stay out from under the Dark Lord’s eye.

Until death eaters dragged prisoners into the manor, one of whom was Sirius Black. 

You didn’t understand why Lucius was dragging you to the dining room, where the death eaters had gathered with their prisoners. Sirius’s dark eyes locked with yours, and your heart stopped.

Draco was standing off to the side, being held back from running to you by Narcissa, who’s own eyes were filled with fear. The cold hands of the devil came to rest on your shoulders.

“Now is your chance to prove your loyalty.”

Nausea washed over you, and you were suddenly unable to breathe or move.

“No, no you can’t make her-” Draco yelled, and Narcissa put her hand over his mouth, trying to silence him before the Dark Lord retaliated for objecting his orders.

You forced yourself to break your gaze with your father, turning to look into the beady eyes of your master.

“What do you ask of me, my lord?” your voice was the only sound in the crowded room.

“I want you to kill him.”

He placed your wand in your hand, and you stared at your father in front of you. Draco broke out of Narcissa’s arms, running to you. 

“Draco...” Voldemort warned, and Draco stood in front of you. 

“Move out of the way, Draco, before Y/N kills you too.”

Draco shouted something you didn’t understand, grabbing your wrist and pulling you through a portkey.

“No! No, Draco, my dad!” You screamed, looking around. 

“Y/N!” Sirius stood up, and Draco let go of his arm, panting. 

“What?”

“I have a portkey, I pulled the two of you through it,” Draco said, and you looked at Sirius before running into him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I couldn’t have done it. I wasn’t going to. I would’ve let him kill me first,” you sobbed, holding onto him. He hugged you tightly, nodding thankfully at Draco, now a traitor of the cause.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” you wept.

“It’s okay, honey, we’re okay. I love you so much.” 

“The others, I’m sorry, I couldn’t...” Draco stammered. 

“It’s alright. It’s okay, you did great.” Sirius hugged Draco too, holding his daughter and cousin.

“We can protect you at the Order, Draco. Come with us.”

You expected to be ostracized, but when you entered the Order, Remus hugged you tightly.

“Thank Merlin you two are safe.” He squeezed Draco’s shoulder reassuringly. Draco looked frightened and uneasy, jumping when Fred and George came barrelling down the stairs. 

They hugged you, and you were shocked that they loved on you, just being happy you were safe and not harmed.

“Malfoy,” George nodded, and Draco swallowed.

“Draco, please. I’m not one of them now,” he breathed, and George nodded.

“We’re happy you’re here, Draco.” 

The two of you got settled in bedrooms, and you were thankful Harry wasn’t around to be hostile with Draco. He stayed near your side, and the two of you were fed and protected and safe.

[chilly-me-softly]

I’m here • Declan Rice

After four years together, your relationship with Declan had come to an end. The love had faded and in its place was nothing more than a simple friendship. You had tried to carry on thinking it might just be a temporary phase given the last full periods, but you felt you were mature enough to stop pretending and free yourselves.

Your love affair had literally started with a bang. You had slept together before you even knew each other's names, a holiday that had turned into something more when you had seen him enter the café where you worked again and again and again.

"I have a son" he had confessed to you one morning as you were busy getting dressed for your shift, the shirt in your hand suddenly lying on the floor and you back on the bed next to him. You had begun to think that his behaviour, the unusual hours of your meetings, were due to another relationship. That he was another guy who was only thinking about having fun and not looking for something serious as he wanted you to believe.

"What does this have to do with our feelings?"

"(Y/N)-"

"Declan, unless you're still with the mother I don't care. Babies don't bite, and if it's not a problem for you it's not a problem for me either" he had kissed you and never let go, risking making you late.

And maybe that was also why you had pushed your relationship for months, even though you knew deep down that there was nothing left to fight for. Little Rice, whom you had met when he was just over a year old, had immediately formed a relationship with you, so much so that he called you mum as soon as he was able to speak. You were always his mother, the only one by his side, and he was always like a son to you.

You thought of him too. Many people disappear from children's lives when the relationship between adults ends and you didn't want that to happen to you, even though you had no right to that child. He was still too young to understand the situation fully, but he had certainly picked up on the change that was about to take place in his home.

You watch him lose interest in his toy train, a sad expression on his face as he sits on the floor in his play corner. When he had realised that you had only come back to that house to get the rest of your things, he had walked away leaving you alone to fill those boxes.

"Can I sit down?" you ask softly playing with the bracelet on your wrist, sitting down across from him after a nod from him.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing" he continues to keep his gaze down as you brush your hand against his train before sighing and tapping your hands on your legs to pull him closer to you.

"Come on" you urge when he looks at you uncertainly until he stands up and wobbles, ending up in your arms. You settle him better by running a hand through his hair before leaving a kiss there.

"I know this is hard, it's hard for me too"

"Then why are you leaving?" the boy in your arms asks rightly and you sigh.

"Look, sometimes things get broken and fixing them isn't possible. No matter how hard you try. But hey" you gently take his chin with one hand to make him look into your eyes, "it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong and I promise your dad and I will do everything to make sure you get everything you need"

"What if I have a fever?"

"If you're sick ask your father to call me and I'll come right away"

"What if I miss you?" you smile softly stroking his head, a grip tightening on your heart. You knew it would be difficult but reality overcomes any kind of fantasy you might have imagined preparing for that moment.

"Same thing, your dad has my number"

"Listen honey, I'm going to try to be there like before. Only I'll be in another house, where you can come whenever you want by the way"

"Really?"

"Of course! There'll be a room all to yourself waiting for you" he launches himself towards you wrapping his arms around your neck and you hold him tightly to you closing your eyes. "Nothing will change between us, you will always be my baby and I will love you forever"

"I love you too mummy"

"And be good to your dad, it's not easy for him either okay?" he nods finally finding the smile on his face again, picking up his train set and starting to play.

You watch him for a while before getting up to get your things, passing through the kitchen before leaving. Declan flashes a smile as he approaches, "Need a hand?"

"No, it's fine"

"Would you-would you like to stay for dinner?"

"No Dec, better cut the head off now. Or I'll never leave" he nods then running a hand behind his neck.

"Well then..."

"Bye Dec" you place the box on your side to pass an arm around his waist, but it's not enough so you place the box on the table so you can hug him properly.

"Thanks for earlier" the boy nods towards the living room and you smile shaking your head. "I meant everything I said, he doesn't have to pay for our choices. I know we've talked about this before but don't have a problem calling me if anything happens"

"I love you (Y/N)"

"I love you too Dec" a few tears escape your control as you close the door of the Rice house, another chapter now awaiting your life.

[fairyoftbz]

spring tenderness | l. sangyeon

🌱 word count: 2.1k 🌱 pairing: dad!sangyeon x mom!reader 🌱 genre: tooth-rotting fluff, dad!au, very domestic! au 🌱 tw: mention of food, past pregnancies and breastfeeding 🌱 synopsis: just a cosy morning where you spend some time with your husband and your two boys, Hyungseo and Youngjae. (yes i took kevin and eric’s korean names, don’t ask) 🌱 a/n: i’m not used to write this kind of au but it was so soft and domestic, i’m pretty sure that sangyeon will be a good dad one day 🥺🥺💖 i’m tagging @staywithmoon bc you wanted to read it and i can only thank you for that bub! <33

╰☆☆☆☆╮

You smiled when childish laughter erupted from the garden, the sound warming your heart at your son's joy. The curtains in the children's bedroom filtered the sunlight, generating a subdued and colourful atmosphere. Your son was in a deep sleep, his tiny shut fists resting delicately at the sides of his head, his pacifier moving to the rhythm of his breathing. With the back of your finger, you tenderly stroke his cheek, a joyful smile on your lips.

You sighed lightly, remembering your husband's reaction the day you announced the good news. When you first learned that you were going to be a mother, you weren't sure what to think. Sangyeon's potential bad reaction terrified you, having no idea how well he was going to take this news. The weight had come off your shoulders as he fell to his knees in front of you, eyes sparkling with happiness and excitement, you knew you wanted to live this experience with your boyfriend by your side.

Three years have passed since that wonderful event, and it's safe to say you've never been happier. A beautiful, healthy little boy had joined your pair, and Sangyeon had become an overprotective father, always ready and prepared to take care of his son by relying on the many readings and Internet researches that he had completed during your pregnancy. While you were feeding your son or resting, he would transform into a man-of-all-work and help around the house. It took a huge weight off your shoulders, just like when he woke up instead of you to soothe your child who was struggling to sleep through the night, allowing you to sleep and recharge your batteries. Your husband made a great daddy and loved you and your son to death, showering you both with unconditional love.

You announced your second pregnancy on his birthday, a few weeks after returning from your honeymoon. You stumbled across a video in which a woman was giving her husband baby clothes for his birthday on social media, and you decided that it was a creative idea and did the same.

During all these years of living together and this new experience as parents, Sangyeon had decided that you were the one with whom he wanted to settle in and share his life, proposing to you two years after your son's birth. The preparation for this fabulous event had brought you together a lot, and your skills in relationship communication had evolved exponentially.

Here you are now in a life of four, living in a house with a dog and a garden, a place your oldest son loved almost more than his bedroom and his toys. He spent most of his time there when the weather was nice and warm, having fun playing soccer with his father. He also loved making angels when the snow was in abundance, the smile that radiated on his face filled you with the greatest happiness in the world.

Taking your new born son in your arms, you rocked him gently against you, feeling his warm body all wrapped up in his pyjamas against your chest. He struggled to open his eyes and let his dummy fall against his chest. He was so cute that you couldn't suppress a smile, your son returning almost instantly the second his eyes met yours. The big brown orbs he got from his father held a lot of love, and his little feet wriggled in excitement when you kissed his forehead.

"Did you sleep well, my little angel?" Your thumb stroked his cheek, and he continued to gaze at you in awe, your heart softening with tenderness as he let out a gurgle to answer. Gently fixing his position in your arms as his cheek rolled against your chest, his eyes still misted with sleep bored into yours as he slowly emerged from his slumber.

Opening the patio door to the balcony, you tightened your cardigan around yourself as a light wind blew, creating a slight chill in the comforting morning heat of late spring. Your eldest son was chasing a foam ball, your husband standing in front of the miniature goal that reached his thigh, purposefully missing the ball for your son to score.

"Goaaaaaaaal!" Your other son threw his little arms in the air and ran around the garden, your dog following him with his tail wagging. Sangyeon shrugged but smiled, amused by your son's attitude and enthusiasm. You smiled too from your spot on the balcony, gently cradling your other son in your arms. "Good job, Hyungseo!" Your husband looked around the living room for a short moment, looking for you, but he gave you a smile you couldn't imagine brighter when he noticed you up there, congratulating your son for his accomplishment, but the latter didn't hear you.

Once he finally stopped, breathless, Sangyeon walked over to him while chuckling, bending down to be at the same level with him. You watched your husband whisper something into your son's ear, who almost immediately looked up at you. You gave him a little wave with a smile, and he came running up, locating himself just below the balcony, a huge smile on his face.

"Hi Mom! Hi Youngjae!" He moved his small hands from side to side, and you gave him a flying kiss, Sangyeon lifting him from behind to settle him on his shoulders. He laughed as he kept waving, sending him a playful wink in return as you couldn't reach him. 

Your husband grabbed Hyungseo's hands and started running around the garden, still with him on his shoulders, a crystal-clear laugh falling from their lips as they were brimming with energy already so early in the morning. You walked down to the garden, and they stopped when they saw you, Hyungseo touching the ground again. He ran to you as you sat in a lounge chair, watching his younger brother with attentive eyes.

"Are you going to feed him, Mommy?" He asked, and you nodded, making sure your new born was comfortably positioned in your arms. "Come on Hyungseo, let's go make some bread and jam, hm? Youngjae needs to be calm to eat. We can come back to them as soon as we prepared breakfast, okay?" Your husband explained to your child, whose face immediately lit up at the mention of food. “Yesssss!" Your son exclaimed and clapped his tiny hands, Sangyeon gently pushing him inside the house. You looked up smiling, closing your eyes for a quick second as he kissed your lips. "I'll be back in 5 minutes," his hand came to cradle your cheek, and you nodded, enjoying the tender gesture.He kissed your forehead before striding towards the kitchen, closing the sliding door behind him.

You took the opportunity to breastfeed your son, who had his tiny hand resting against your chest, trying to cling onto his food source as your two other boys bustled about and laughed in the kitchen. Your thumb stroked his chubby cheek and you beamed, the tightness you felt in your breast from the milk not being able to compete with the happiness that bloomed in your heart.

"Here you go Mommy," your son's frail voice reached your ears again as your gaze stared into space for a brief moment out of exhaustion, your hand still against your child's face. Hyungseo was holding a tall glass of juice with his two hands, Sangyeon appearing again, balancing three plates in his hands. He put two on his side and one at the other end of the table where Hyungseo usually sat. You kissed your son on the forehead as a thank you and took a few sips, feeling the sweet, pulpy liquid run down your neck and quench your thirst.

"Breakfast served for the best mom in the world," he handed you a plate with two slices of toasted bread spread with butter and honey cut into small squares, smiling at the fact that he had thought about you and your health. "Thank you very much honey," he kissed the top of your head and watched for a few moments Youngjae in your arms as he suckled quietly, his finger caressing his tiny, plump arm. "He's just as handsome as his mother," Sangyeon muttered before looking up at you, a tender smile on his face. You kissed him again, this time on the cheek, your heart going fuzzy at the notable sweetness and sincerity behind his words. 

Your husband sat down with Hyungseo and began to enjoy breakfast, chatting and exchanging looks with great affection. You had never been so complete, and you could only thank life for making your path cross with Sangyeon's. He gave you a wink and quickly wiped off the chocolate spread that decorated the corner of your son's mouth with his finger before bringing it to his own mouth, the latter asking a lot of questions about his little brother and his health. 

He was indeed going through the phase when curiosity was the only thing on his mind, your husband sometimes losing patience as your son wondered about anything and everything. Fortunately, he hadn't yet been amazed at how he and his little brother were created and brought into the world, but it won't be long in coming.

"Mommy! Are you coming to play with Daddy and me?" Hyungseo ran to the rocking chair in which you always fed Youngjae, your eldest child stroking his little brother's skull with his hand. "No Hyungseo, leave Mommy alone, she needs some rest. Nourishing a child can get pretty exhausting for your mother, but she will come and play soon," Sangyeon explained as he carried the plates to the kitchen, his body in the glass doorway. He nodded to his son to follow him, and he obeyed, a sad pout decorating his lips. "Honey, I'll come and play with you after I put Youngjae to bed for a nap, okay?" Sorrow left your son's eyes almost immediately, beaming as he heard his father call him from the kitchen. "Come on, go help Daddy with the dishes. Mommy promises to take care of you as soon as possible," he trotted back to your chair and pressed his lips on your cheek in a slobbery kiss before running to the kitchen. 

You chuckled through your nose when you heard Sangyeon scold him for running around barefoot before shifting your attention back to your son, who was looking at you with a lot of admiration in the eyes. Giving him a lovely smile, your thumb came to caress his cheek again, a wave of relief flooding your chest as he finally let go of your breast. After you burped him, you were about to go upstairs to change his diapers, but Sangyeon emerged from the kitchen right at the same time, smiling at the sight of you cradling your son on your shoulder.

"It's okay, I'll take care of it," he winked at you before taking his son from your arms and kissing him on the forehead, Hyungseo walking up to you to hug you, his little arms struggling to wrap themselves around your thighs. "Come on, Hyungseo, let's brush our teeth and then we'll play, okay?" He nodded, still leaning against you, and you took his hand, leading him to the second floor, following the same path your husband had taken a few seconds ago. 

Being the big boy he wanted to be and in a hurry to get back to playing with his foam ball, your oldest awkwardly brushed his teeth on his own, putting toothpaste all over his face and fingers. You lowered yourself to his level and showed him the right movements he needed to do to brush his teeth properly. Sangyeon was in the corner of the room, a smile on his lips as he changed your son's diapers, moved by the attention you paid to your children's education. He gently wiped Youngjae clean and tickled his belly once he was done clipping the press studs of his bodysuit, your son immediately giggling at his father.

"Everything's good, you can go back to play, but don't run down the stairs," you ruffled your son's hair with a tender hand, Hyungseo dashing outside the bathroom. You were about to raise your voice, but you listened to him go down the stairs one by one with a content smile, satisfied that he obeyed you. "Thank you," you mumbled, wanting to take your son off the baby-changing table, but Sangyeon was quicker.

"You already carry him all day, let me relieved your back and take care of him," you rested his head on his shoulder as he hugged your son, feeling a hand cling to your cheek, making you laugh as Youngjae also wanted to participate in this moment of tenderness. "Come on, let's go downstairs before our other one gets all jealous," you chuckled before kissing your son then husband, letting him grab some sunglasses and a little hat for your son. 

Grazing the railing with your fingertips, you sighed with ease, feeling loved and cared for by the three men who lived in your house. You used to have many doubts and insecurities about motherhood, but your husband's help and support had erased them all. You were happy to be a mom, and nothing could change that.

[alldayangst]

gold rush (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Inspired by gold rush by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants Tom, but you don’t like a gold rush. WC: 2.7K words. 

“Y/N, I just wanted to say again, thank you for coming in today and doing this for us.” Tom’s dad, Dominic, said as he displaced papers across desks, earl grey swaying like an angry lake in his mug. Approaching footsteps hinted that the star of the show was soon to be hold. In other words, Tom was running behind.

The door creaked and light from the corridor crept through like Sun peeping through curtains of the Night. It refusing to shut after Tom budged and pushed was maybe divine punishment for him being so late, and maybe provided the bit of laughter you needed after rolling out of bed at 6am for this, for him. When the door eventually did close, Tom turned around and saw you in all your glory; much taller than he remembered, more assured than he’d imagined, and more gorgeous than drowned out and half forgotten memories of you could ever fabricate.

You and Tom ran in the same social circles, but hadn’t seen each other since Tom’s career imploded when you were both nineteen. As much as Tom felt he owed his heart and soul to the UK, he maintained an almost permanent fixture on the States. It started to feel like his trips back to England were in fact actual holiday. At one point, you were in love with Tom, but meeting became a constant battle of ‘here, not there’ and your heart grew tired of the duck and goose chase. The gravity of the situation was too much for you, whom hadn’t even tasted their twenties yet. 

“Y/N!” Tom launched at you and held you in tight embrace. You let go of the hug, but he didn’t. And his dad watched on in momentary awe as you wrapped your arms around Tom once again, who breathed in every part of you with unwavering adoration.

“Tom!” You rubbed along his back as he hummed. “When I was told we were gonna have a ghost writer, I had no idea it was gonna be you.”

Tom and his dad (being an author) were collaborating on a book, a million dollar idea that’d been years in the making. Tom had stalled it, his dad told you out of simple insecurity. Now that the world was a stage, he was worried people would criticise his dyslexia with every line he wrote, that every stroke of his pen would reveal him as a rare type of monster that lacked intellect, he pondered that he wasn’t insightful enough in some way. His dad may have written a book about Tom outfaming him, but Tom felt like he’d always live in Dom’s shadow in this respect. Fresh from Oxford with an English Bachelor’s degree, Dom employed you to get grease on the gears to commence writing. Tom had always come out of his shell when you were around.

Your writing session lasted from 8 til noon, when Tom had promo with LadBible or Entertainment Weekly or whoever had bid the highest from his presence that day.

The door swung open and three men in all black and mics saddled around their waists called for and led Tom out of the room.

“Tom, session’s over. We need to get you to your BBC promo in 30 and we’re already running behind schedule.’ One cloaked Tom in a jacket you were sure was more expensive than your own home and another whispered something into a walkie talkie: “Holland is on the move. Check the back entrance is clear.” With that, Tom rose to his feet and left completely opposite of the way you came in. Without a word, no goodbye.

You and Dom left the building together around ten minutes later, where ten men with large cameras stood, lenses focused on you, glaring at you, not sure what to make of you. One of the men screams “Hey! You dating Tom Holland” and after that all you hear is clicks and all you see is bright flashing lights and Dom clenches your hand and leads you to your taxi cab.

The next time you see Tom is sooner than expected. The Hollands were hosting a last minute dinner party and you found yourself sitting opposite Tom, feeling his hard, hot and heavy gaze on you. The tension in the room was so thick not even a chainsaw cut through.

“Next topic,” You picked up a card from the deck and read it aloud. “Politics!” You said devilishly as you sip on what was left of the white wine in your cup, and now that your thought process is blurred; Tom’s longing gaze puts you at dismay.

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, and you hear their mother hiss. “Fuck I hate politics, there’s no making it out alive!” he remarked as he drummed on the table cloth, drunken excitement brewing a new energy in the room.

You go on like this for hours until dinner party is dinner party no more. And while Dom, Nikki and all of Tom’s siblings have chosen to exit stage left, it’s 1am and you and Tom have yet to leave the scene.

Tom sets down your deck of debate cards in favour of a genuine moment.

“What are you doing these days, Y/N?” Tom’s not looking at you, he’s looking at your knee as he rubs circles on it. You want to look down there too, see what he finds so intriguing; but you decide against it in fear you might spontaneously combust. You don’t know if this moment’s supposed to be intimate or innocent and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

So you put up a wall.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Holland.” You say sarcastically. “What have you been doing these days? I haven’t seen you around.” Your eyebrows scrunched up together but you’ve got a big, idiot grin on your face that’s more than telling. Tom giggles at your facetiousness.

Tom scratches his head in mock thought. He never clocks out, always putting on a show. “I don’t know - uh.” You’re laughing before Tom has even told the punchline, ‘cause I guess anything’s funny when it’s said by the one you love.”I’m kind of -” He snatches an old Spiderman comic off the floor. “I’m kinda doing this acting thing at the moment. Playing, y’know, this guy.”

“Well I wish you better luck in the future.” Tom has stopped rubbing circles but instead places his two hands on your knees as you rock back in laughter.

“I’m serious, Y/N. What do you do now?”

“Um.” You suddenly forgot your entire career as Tom, with no shade of subtlety, stares right into your soul. “I got my degree. I write like little stories, y’know? Have you ever heard of folklore?”

Tom shook his head.

“They’re like these little, old beautiful myths. And I write them for a living. And if I’m lucky, they get published in The Times. If I’m even luckier, I get to work with my old best friend - ” You feel your world stop temporarily as you call Tom your ‘best friend’ and you pause for all of 0.3 seconds to register Tom’s reaction but his face doesn’t flinch. “-Writing a book with him and his dad.” And that makes Tom smile. So he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you, you just know.

‘Undivided appearance’ and ‘undivided attention’ don’t necessarily mean the same thing in Hollywood as they do in real life, and you learn that the hard way in your writing session.

Tom may have been sat right next to you, but he was miles away. He was doing press with Cosmo, who hadn’t stopped tagging him with blue hearts on his Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat stories, causing his phone to go off every two seconds. You looked at the phone and then at him who then got the hint and put it on silent. Then there was a knock on the door. Tom rushed to open it, expecting that Dom had sent down a food delivery to egg you on finishing this chapter. You rehashed his childhood like a million times - in fact, you were part of it - so when it came to writing the parts that hurt, where you took a more supporting role in his life, you needed his help. The fact is, the knock at the door had come from one of Tom’s men (Tom liked to call him Man In Black no. 3) who hadn’t said as much as a ‘hi’ before he made his announcement. “Tom, you’re on the line with Cosmo in 10.” The man stepped back and pulled out his walkie talkie, “Holland knows he’s on the line with Cosmo at 10.” And then continued to pace around the hallway.

Cosmo called as he said they would and you almost felt for. second like tom might enjoy an entertainment magazine’s company more than yours. The interviewer made glaring comments and passive flirts at Tom who just blushed and chuckled and sipped his water like the woman on the phone calling him ‘hot’ was just too much to handle. At one point, she says: “What must it be like to grow up that beautiful, Tom? With your hair falling into place like dominoes.” You’re not expecting it when Tom tilts the phone so you’re in view. “Well I’m with the most beautiful being on Earth right now so..” Tom looks at you as if to ask ‘is this okay?” and you know it’s too late for these kind of questions, because that moment is headline fodder, so you smile not to make him feel bad for opening Pandora’s box. But Tom is merciless and likes to rub salt in the wound. “This is Y/N! Y/N’s helping me write the book with my Dad! We go way back.” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it. “Shit! They’re not supposed to know about the book yet.”

This is the moment, you think, where you believe when they say your first love is the one you never let go.

And you can’t think of anything purer than the love you have for him.

Tom thinks being on land is boring. He likes being strung from chords 30 feet in the air, and drowning in despair through scenes of emotional turmoil. You want to tell him you’re an arrow from Cupid’s bow about to reach him, but you couldn’t recover from the splinters if Tom shut you down. After all, Tom was a gold rush. A treasure that everyone had discovered but nobody owned. How precious is a jewel that anybody could take home with them?

Tom had invited you to a visit to Brighton with him, a city near the coast, for some inspiration on writing his section of the book. 

You accepted. And because you did, you found yourself at the beginning of the end, on Tom’s boat in Brighton. “We don’t have to talk about the book right now.” Tom throws a stack of blue tinted paper on the floor. His dyslexia meant that spelling and reading was so much easier when done on blue pages, and you could only guess that was the reason the body of water around you brought him so much peace. So when you saw that something might compromise your best boy’s happiness, you point it out. To give Tom a little bit of time to exit before things got ugly.

“Tom, I see someone in the bushes.”

“Yeah. It’s a pap.” Tom mumbled nonchalantly. 

“They’re here to get pictures of me,” He turned to face you. “and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the fans ship us. Think we’d be a good couple after that Cosmo stunt. We would have been a good couple when we were like, 18.” He laughs.

“Huh, yeah.” You look down.

“The best one around.” And you can’t tell if he’s serious.

You rip off one of his blue sheets. “I’m coming. I got hit with inspo.” And you trail to a different section of the boat. A very obvious click of the camera from a shrub nearby coaxes your pen to write without a second thought, How is he so accustomed to this? Fake private moments, protected by sheer glass curtains?

You scrunched your paper, well his paper, into a ball. 

Your mind had turned his life into folklore. You weren’t sure if that was crossing a line, so you just put the ball into your bag and hide it until he hits you with the spark again.

“Let me see it.” Tom says.

“No.”

“You ran off to write it and won’t let me see it?” 

You held your bag at your hip in defence. “No, Tom. Drop it.” 

Tom’s face drops a little bit, but then he reaches into his own bag and reveals a deck of your debate cards. “I know what will cheer you up, good ol’ Y/N.” He sets a card on the wooden table between you two. 

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

You toyed with the pendant around your neck which revealed your faith. “Do you?”

“I don’t. But I believe in soulmates.”

You look to the left to really ponder on what Tom is saying, and a paparazzis captures another photo of you in the corner of your eye.

“And you don’t think there’s a higher power that manufactures our souls to make our soulmates?”

Tom feigns a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

You scoffed. “How very contrarian of you.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“It means you contradict yourself, Thomas.” You laugh as he holds his chest in fake hurt.

“Are you implying I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Never.”

Never. Because you didn’t believe that to be true. 

“Good. Cause you’d have to be punished.” Tom picks you up and throws you in the water below before jumping in with you.

On your way home you stop at the yours and Tom’s writing booth, scavenging through your bag to drop off Tom’s notepad, some scrunched up blue and white papers you and Tom thought could still help you write his book. You’d made an addition to your love-hazed scribblings about Tom and reckon you’d die if he found it. You managed to throw the other in the water, excusing yourself with “It’s utterly awful.”, to which you and Tom agreed you wouldn’t throw any more paper in the ocean cause the poor fish already had it hard enough.

You and Tom had a session the next day. Tom was excited for the day, and you could tell because he’d given his phone to one of his big babysitters for the time he had you.

“I think that’s all of yours.” You and Tom made a business out of unscrunching your paper balls to see if they had any useful ideas. You were certain you reached the end of Tom’s. All of his notes had ‘T.H’ written on the back in big and were scribed on blue paper. When it came to your little ‘secret admirer’ notes you weren’t worried - you had an English degree and were quick to think on your feet and was ready to make something up when it came to opening it. 

“No, this one’s mine.” He’s confident, so you let him have it. He goes to pick up your tea and then realises it’s nowhere near warm, and was the one you made for yourself when you crept in yesterday evening. Tom has a smile on his face, and then he doesn’t. Before he goes to read it aloud, his eyes tell you he’s reading it again and again and again. “At dinner parties, I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit, and the coastal towns we wondered round will never see a love as pure as it.”

The look on Tom’s face gives you the splinters. He tries to look at you but you know he can’t. You don’t blame him. You can’t look at him either. “I really thought this was a good friendship.”

You hum and nod your head in agreement, pull your lips into a thin straight line as streaks of tears abandon your eyes. This was worse than Tom rubbing salt in your wounds. He’s rubbing dirt in your painful fucking gashes and you are reminded of why this didn’t work before, why it will never be.

And you wouldn’t dare to dream about him anymore.

Masterlist

Upcoming Works

[80sakaashi]

➣Next Step

One shot: Mom!Reader x Adriah Tomas

My English is not my first language, I’m sorry.

Warning!VERYSOFT IM-, a little mention of BokuAka.

Words count: 1270

Adriah's face when he saw the brunette pass through the gym door was unique and apparently everyone had noticed about that, he was still surprised to have a girlfriend as attractive as she was. Her hair was a long reddish color tied in a messy ponytail, her slightly unbuttoned blouse giving an incredible view that none had gone unnoticed, that black tube skirt along with those stockings and those black stilettos that drove him crazy. The boys had turned away their looks embarrassed except for Atsumu who seemed to enjoy the view more, but his sight was ruined by that six foot boy going to hug his girlfriend with so much emotion.

"Y/N-chan!" Exclaimed the tall one who had also been received with a huge hug.He left a small kiss on her forehead, the stocky girl had black lines resting under those beautiful bright eyes of hers, her pink lips pouting which made the older one laugh slightly.

"Did I come very early?" She asked a little worried and behind her, a certain black-haired man approached the couple. "Akaashi-san and I finished early so we decided to come."

He nodded and Bokuto ran towards him, excited by that visit, giving little shouts of excitement.

Adriah just laughed to take her hand and lead her to the bench next to Sakusa who was drinking some water, the boy did not move away from her. He had noticed the girl's hygiene and the way in which she kept her distance from him with him so as not to damage her comfort zone, Y/N only greeted him with a nod which was reciprocated by the boy.

The tallest of her crouched down so he could look at her from below, Y/N had always adored the puppy looks that his boyfriend gave him every time he wanted something or when he was quite excited about little things. She had gotten used to little nights out or last minute dates for the simple fact that he was left hungry after training, or the times she worked late he would send her and Akaashi food to the publisher.

But he didn't say anything to her, they just looked at each other as if they were the only ones in the place and Sakusa simply moved away from there to give them some space.

"Do you know how much I missed you princess?" He asked and for a few moments he saw as if the boy had a tail wagging from side to side. "God even right now you look like a goddess, please sit on my face."

Y/N’ s laugh was enough to make the taller one laugh, the good thing is that they both didn't get so tall so it didn't make it difficult for both of them to kiss each other without the need to bend down or stand on tiptoe— at least Adriah did. Made her beg for that—, or just for Y/N to leave little kisses on his neck for every time the black-haired man was stressed by the jokes that Inunaki made him or when he didn't know how to get revenge on the smallest.

Despite the almost four years of relationship, everyone could think at first glance that both had only been dating for months because of the closeness and above all the love that they seemed to waste as if they were teenagers. But even with time they remained the same and love did not disappear, Akaashi had always told Y/N that they were both for each other. She really wasn't going to deny how much fun she could have with Tomas.

And what she loved the most was the fact that he treated her children as if they were his own.

"I missed you a lot too." She caressed her cheek with her thumb and left a small kiss on her lips which the older one responded immediately.

"I know we've been together for a long time, but I want to take the next step." Tomas felt his stomach turn when he said that, he had never told her what he really felt; he wanted to tell her to live together, perhaps he would not agree to give her a child of her own but with the ones she had he was satisfied because he really adored them as if they were his children.

Y/N licked her lips frightened clearly understanding what Tomas was referring to, she knew that if she hadn’t children the answer would be completely different - she wouldn’t have even thought about it and she would probably have been able to move in together a month after they were dating - if she did not have two children whom he adored with his life, she would not be between a rock and a hard place. Her children should also give her opinion on the matter and that made her tremble a little at the way her boyfriend gently grasped her hands, hinting that every answer was valid.

"I-I don't know Tomas ... you know this doesn't depend-" she was abruptly interrupted by a huge hug, so she released the boy, leaving him sitting on the floor.

"Mom!" Two cute boys appeared, a cute eleven-year-old boy and a little nine-year-old who seemed completely excited. “we did very well in school!”

The oldest of the children saw that something was strange in the environment, so he sat next to his mother and watched Adriah for a few seconds to see his cute mother again who seemed a little worried. The boy turned his gaze to his younger brother who had sat between the legs of the taller one who had rested his chin on the boy's head, surrounding him in a strong hug that made the innocent boy laugh.

"Mom ... did something happen?" She sighed, watching for a moment at Adriah and then at the youngest, surrounding him in a small hug which only corresponded.

"Haruki-chan," Y/N spoke affectionately as she stroked her son's hair. "Tomas and I want to take the next step ..."

The named opened his mouth but was interrupted by the minor.

"Is mom going to marry Tomas?" A huge blush appeared on the older man's face, who just hugged the boy a little more tightly, making him laugh.

Y/N just laughed back at that tender behavior, her boyfriend quickly shook her head.

"No Haruka-chan, I mean we want to move in together" she let go of Haruki's grip and took his little hands "as a family."

"So ... you and dad" Haruki blushed at the mistake, surprising the adults, he saw how her boyfriend released a few small tears that caught Y/N's attention. "Will you and Tomas-san live together at last?"

"The four of us would go to live together and we will have a cat that we will name Misifus," Tomas unconsciously blurted out, attracting the attention of the three of us.

"Mom ..." the older whimpered this time, hiding in his chest and wrapped his arms around him worried to see his little boy crying "you shouldn't ask us that, if you're happy with dad, just tell him yes."

That was enough to make both seniors cry this time, which caught the attention of the others who came to see what was happening. Tomas and Y/N got up to give each other a huge hug, to merge into a sweet kiss. They were really happy that the four of them could finally be together as the cute new family that they were.

[catsnuggler]

The only ancestor I honor is my mother. Her time came for her too early. She wasn't right about everything, but she had a heart, and she learned.

Despite being a Good Mormon Girl raised in insular (culturally, not geographically) Idaho, she learned a lot, considering the times she lived through. She evolved a lot on race, bridging gaps with people of different backgrounds and filling the gaps in the history she was taught, growing up; or, rather, wasn't taught, growing up.

It was only a little after she had her last child that she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Fearful, since this was out of her control, and in despair, since chemotherapy didn't seem quick enough for her; and, to be fair, it is Hellish; she turned to the advice of a nutritionist who, in a nutshell, got her believing carrot juice could cure cancer. Her cancer had advanced to an irreversible, terminal state before she turned back to conventional medicine, by which point she simply had to bear out her last days, and take pain medication to somewhat reduce the immense pain she felt with every movement of her joints.

Hurricane Katrina struck before she died. Damn the Bush Administration, and the US, itself, for how they failed New Orleans, leading to the deaths of many residents, most of whom were Black. Double damn then for it, because my mother knew that's exactly why the government didn't step in, and she lost every last shred of her broken hope because of that. She wept to my dad, lamenting the kind of world her kids would be raised in. If the government would leave people to die because they were Black, what other injustices might the government commit against other people?

Her broken heart beat its last in early September, 8 days after her 39th and last birthday. She couldn't eat the cake that day, and she wept. On the morning of the same day she died, she ate a bowl of cereal. Not hot cereal, but cold cereal. She walked up to the kitchen sink when she was done, my dad holding her up, as she scrubbed her bowl. After eating cold cereal for breakfast, which she only half finished, it took her five minutes to scrub the bowl. My dad wanted to do it for her. He didn't want her to suffer any more than she needed to. But she was adamant about doing it, herself. An act of resistance to death, itself; she would be a responsible woman until death had fully taken her. Even though she'd likely had a stroke the night before, she did that.

I doubt my mother would want to live in this world. Another good reason she's dead, is because she was anti-vax. After she died, my dad was damn sure to get us all vaccinated. But, back to the first thing, while I doubt my mother could tolerate the state of the world now, she didn't bear me so I could die as young or younger than her. She bore me so I could live, so I could give to the world the love it's given me, and the love I wished it had given me. She bore me so I could pass on to others the love she gave to me. I hardly remember her, but I will not forget her kind, caring character.

She was denied the fullness of her life, made some mistakes, but was loving on the whole. The rest of my ancestors were mostly conservatives, and all of them were/are completely unabashed colonizers, who got theirs, and fuck everyone else. I don't know how sympathetic my mom would be to decolonization, and it's too late to know that, but she was certainly opposed to anti-Indigenous racism.

Thus, as far as I'm concerned, my mother is the only biological ancestor I'll ever venerate. For all her faults, her heart was mostly in the right place. I hope I'll have descendants, but that will depend on the world. If I do... I hope I will prove to them to be an ancestor worth venerating, not cursing. I hope I can and will help do what it takes to set things right. For the world. For my mother. For the childhood I should have had, but didn't. For the others who, while children, lost their mothers. For myself.

[spacedaddymando]

All Heart and Beskar : Chapter 2

Synopsis - A bounty hunter turned bounty, you find yourself as the assistant to one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy, and his little green child with big ears.

A/N - This is long!! I’ve written and rewritten this chapter all week because there was just so much I wanted to do! I hope you enjoy it, and please leave feedback if you want! 

Warnings - 18+, descriptions of violence and death. 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 

[7.7k words] Chapter 2 - Long Days, Dark Nights

dar’manda - Not Mandalorian (used in this context that the character is no longer Mandalorian). Udesii - Calm Down Hut’uunla - Cowardly

Mando had apparently gone to check your ship the morning after and couldn’t salvage anything from the burnt wreckage of your ship. That news had made you cry more. You think you must have spent the first week crying in the uncomfortable cot in the ship before you convinced Mando to buy a mattress when docked in Nevarro.

You’d been living with Mando and the kid for 4 months now. It had taken Mando a while to trust your partnership. A lone wolf for the majority of his career he was unsure of how it would work long term. Short term partnerships suited him better but there was something about watching you hunt the bounty that changed his mind. The two of you worked together seamlessly.

You also took a while to fall into the Mandalorians routine, but once in it you never wanted to leave. Mando ran a tighter schedule of bounty hunting than you had. Early mornings and late nights with little rest time took a while to get used to. In the beginning you were asleep as soon as your head hit the thin pillow in the cot, exhaustion wearing you out. Mando however never seemed to feel the fatigue. A few hours here and there were enough to recharge the Mandalorian.

You found yourself becoming more and more intrigued by the armored man with whom you now lived. You’d catch small glimpses of skin, a sliver of wrist here or a peak of his neck there, but never more than that. Mando was stoic and guarded. His armor just added to that. By contrast you were the opposite, talkative and loud. Where Mando covered up, you relished in not having too. Often walking around in the shirt he gave you on the first night and a pair of pants. Mando never made an indication that it bothered him, having you walk around half naked all the time, but you could never tell what he was thinking under that helmet.

After a couple of weeks you noticed that the ship's heating stayed on for longer, and a warmer blanket had been purchased. So you figured that he didn’t mind, and maybe even enjoyed seeing you dress like that. You both slept on the same bed but in shifts, often you’d go first, while Mando would fly you away from whichever planet you were on before coming down to eat with you in the hull.

Mando became more talkative as the days passed. His modulated voice became your favourite sound as he asked questions about your previous life as a solo bounty hunter over bowls of soup. Conversations were still brief but Mando would let you chat to him about anything and everything.

Mando had taught you how to fly the ship after one of your hunts went wrong and Mando had to fly you into hyperspace whilst you held a bunched T-shirt to his rib cage to stop the bleeding. You had argued that you would have figured it out eventually ‘as you did have a ship too once’. Mando had held off originally as it was the one part of his life you hadn’t gotten into. The quiet hours away from you in the cockpit, whilst you slept, allowed him to get lost in his thoughts.

Now the pair of you sat in the hull of the ship, the child asleep in the cot. Mando had been cleaning his blaster when you woke up, and you settled across from him to clean your knives. The silence between you was comforting, just the groans of the ship flying through hyperspace could be heard.

Mando watched you polish your knives, visor fixed intently on your hands. You worked the cloth into the flat part of the blade, buffing out any smears or stains until it shone in the dim light of the hull. Mando sat with his arms resting on his knees, back pressed against the ship's wall. He looked relaxed, or at least the most relaxed you’d ever seen him look.

“Where did you get them?” His voice broke the silence between you.

“My uncle made them.” You placed the knife in your hand back in its leather sheath. You turned the sheathed knife in your hand, carefully checking the leather for any damage.

“What are they made from? I’ve never seen you sharpen them.”

“Beskar.”

Mando moved towards you, reaching across the hull to grab the knife that you hadn't got round to cleaning yet. Your eyes flickered up to watch him. He picked it up carefully, turning it over in his gloved hands. He paused, contemplating, holding it in front of his visor. He tapped it against the vambrace on his left sleeve, a sharp singing note rang out. “So it is.”

You watched him, hand subconsciously tightening around the knife still in your possession.

“Where did you get the beskar from?”

“My Dad.”

“And where did he get it?” Mando’s voice was level, but you knew his body language well enough by now to know he wasn’t feeling what his voice portrayed. His shoulders were stiff, and the grip he had on the knife was tight.

You bit your lip, unsure of whether or not to give up this piece of information to Mando. Despite all this time, this felt too vulnerable to share.

Before you could reply Mando spoke up. “Did he steal it?” His voice was accusatory. You snapped your eyes to his visor.

“He didn’t steal it.” You swallowed. “He died. My uncle made me them out of something he owned. Something that would be useful to me.” You looked away, fiddling with the knife in your hand.

“That doesn’t answer where the beskar came from.” Mando leaned in, the soft light glinting off his helmet. He placed the knife down gently on the floor. “Tell me.” His voice was commanding, but softer than it had been.

“He..um.... was dar’manda.” You spoke softly. Mandalorians who had lost their way, their creed, weren’t favorably looked on by true Mandalorians. “He lost his clan. They shunned him, but he kept his helmet and….when he died my uncle melted the beskar down into these knives for me.”

“Why?”

“Why did he get shunned?” Mando nodded. “He showed his face… to my mother. Before they got married. She saved his life. He didn’t want to live without her, and he couldn’t bring himself to kill her…. So he left.” Mando scoffed.

“Hut’uunla.” Mando’s voice was low, his hands curled into fists. Your mandalorian was good enough to understand what he had called your father. Cowardly.

Anger wells up in your chest. “He was not a coward.” You spit at him. “He couldn’t kill my mother because she was pregnant.” Angry tears burn your eyes, you unsheathe the knife slowly. Anger burned in your chest, white hot and red. You toyed with the knife between your hands, contemplating your odds against Mando.

Mando watches you. He sat as still as a statue. He can feel the anger rolling off you, you had a wild look in your eye. You looked every bit the dangerous bounty hunter who he’d come to know.

He raised his hands, palms open and towards you. “Udesii...calm down...I apologise. That was cruel of me.” You were still angry but you knew better than to try to fight Mando. Even with two beskar knives.

“He wasn’t a coward, Mando. He risked his life over and over to protect us.” Your voice was quiet and thick with sadness. “He risked everything to save my mother.”

“I am sorry….” Mando trailed off as you interrupted him, holding a finger up to stop him from talking.

“No you’re not. You reacted how any Mandalorian would. It is not the way.” Your tone was sharper. Of course Mando would have reacted like that. No Mandalorian abandons his clan. No Mandalorian shows their face.

“Still he was your father.” Mando sat back against the wall, legs stretched in front of him. He crossed his arms across his chest. Silence washes over the ship again.

You start to vigorously clean the other knife, wiping the cloth up and down the blade in fast but rhythmic strokes. Usually this process would help calm you down, help to erase any stress but not this time. You could see a slither of your reflection in the blade, your eyes were glassy with angry tears and your cheeks looked flushed. You chewed on your bottom lip. You blinked back the tears in your eyes, refusing to cry anymore in front of Mando.

“How much Mando’a do you know?” His gruff voice broke the silence again.

“A small amount.” You forced yourself to meet the emotionless gaze of the visor. You wished you could see his face. “My dad only ever used it in small phrases.” Mando nodded.

“How did he die?”

“He was a rebel fighter. From Alderaan.” You took a deep breath. “He got killed in the clone wars.” Mando stayed silent for a moment, helmet slightly tilted to one side.

“And your mother?”

“Dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She was ill. Nothing could help her.” You smiled weakly. “She was a wonderful woman but I’m glad she is no longer suffering.”

“The rest of your family?”

“Dead. They were killed when Alderaan was destroyed. My mother and I had left to find a healer.” You huffed out a short, callous, laugh. “Some tragic backstory huh? What about you Mando?”

“Parents dead. I was saved by Mandalorians. I became a foundling and now I’m here.” His answer was abrupt and emotionless.

“We’re more alike than I thought.” You smiled sadly at Mando. The angry tension between you both faded. Mando’s shoulders visibly relaxed as you placed the other knife back in it's sheath. You waited a bit before asking him another question. “Have you ever taken your helmet off?”

“Never.” His reply was short, not cold, but short enough to signal he didn’t want to discuss further. He got up, armor chinking softly. “Get ready. We’ll be landing in an hour.”

You went to get up, legs buzzing from lack of use, and you staggered forward. Mando steadied you, his gloved hand was warm through the sleeves of your top. You blushed, a different kind of warmth spread through you. “Oh...thanks.” He nodded but didn’t release his grip on your arm.

The ship jolted, dropping out of hyperspace, catching you off guard. You fell into Mando’s chest. You braced your hands against his beskar chest plate. His hands moved to hold the tops of your arms. You looked up at him, craning your neck to meet his visor. Neither of you went to move, choosing to stand still watching each other. One with wide eyes, the other hidden behind a mask. Your heart was beating fast, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“I really am sorry about your father, and your mother. I shouldn’t have said those things.” Mando’s voice was soft and quiet. You two were so close you could just make out the baritone of his actual voice. You felt something tug deep inside you. Oh maker.

“It’s okay.” Your voice was a breathy whisper. Your cheeks felt hot under the unwavering stare of the visor. “I… uh…” you trailed off, unsure of where you wanted to take that sentence.

Mando cocked his head to one side. You were sure he was studying your face. Again you wished you could see past the helmet.

Mando moved one of his hands, slowly sliding it up your neck. You held your breath, not wanting to move an inch and break the spell. The warm leather of his glove stroked across your skin sending shivers down your spine. Mando let his hand tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, softly tugging. You let out a small gasp. Mando lowered his head slowly toward you.

The cool beskar of the helmet is what you registered first. It was icy compared to your flushed skin. You jumped slightly, before relaxing. A Keldabe kiss. You closed your eyes, and allowed yourself to lean into him. You let out a shaky breath. You lifted one of your hands from his chest and rested it gently against the side of his helmet. You opened your eyes and stared into the darkness of the visor. You wanted to see his eyes. You wanted to see him.

The touch was innocent enough. No more than a friendly Mandalorian greeting, but it was so much more than that for you. You never wanted to move. Mando’s thumb was stroking up and down the side of your neck, coaxing the muscles to relax.

Mando moved first. Lifting his head and moving his hand from the back of your neck to cup your cheek. He softly ran his thumb over your cheekbone. Oh Maker…. Whatever fondness you had for the Man who saved your life had just tipped over a metaphorical cliff edge into a full blown crush. And you hadn’t even seen his face.

Mando broke away first. Stepping away from you, dropping his arms to his sides. His helmet looking to the floor. “We need to land.”

“Do you want me to fly?” He shook his head, he was about to speak but you cut him off. “Let me fly. I’ll quickly get ready and then you can sort the kid out.”

Mando’s head tilted to watch you, considering your offer. A low came grumble from the helmet. “Fine. He needs to be fed.” With that he turned and disappeared up the ladder. You let your shoulders drop as he disappeared. You felt over exposed and emotional. With a long sigh you stripped off your clothes and stepped into the fresher. A quick, hot shower helped clear your head. Reluctantly you turned the water off, and walked back into the cool hull of the ship.

You bent down to your bag and pulled out your winter clothes. This next bounty was hiding out on Maldo Kreis. Thankfully Mando had made you buy winter clothes when you’d been on Coruscant for a different bounty. You got dressed into your underwear, chucking the towel in the direction of the ‘fresher.

You were sitting in your underwear in the cot tugging on some thick socks when Mando descended the ladder from the cockpit. He stopped when he saw how little you were wearing.

“Sorry!” Came the modulated voice.

“It's fine...er.. could you turn around please?” Mando turned away from you, and you jumped down out of the cot, turning to grab your thick, fur lined leggings.

“He should be in the tavern in town.”

“Okay, is he alone?” You pulled on an undershirt, tucking it into your leggings.

“No. I don’t think he will be.”

“Great. And he’ll definitely be in the tavern?”

“I hope so. I don’t want to trawl this stupid ice planet.” You laughed. Mando hated all extremes of temperatures.

“Neither.” You bent down to lace up your snow boots. You finished getting ready, strapping the knives to your thighs, and walked over to the ladder. Mando turned and watched you. You felt a small flash of warmth as his visor followed your movements across the hull. You smiled at him.

“Where’s the kid?”

“Asleep. I’ll lock him in the ship.” You nodded and climbed the ladder and opened the door to the cockpit.

The little green gremlin child of Mando’s was inches from pressing a button on the console when you stepped over the threshold into the cockpit.

“Don’t touch that! Come here trouble!” The kid froze in place, turning its big eyes around to you. You gathered him into your arms, just as tears started to form. “Oh no baby, it's okay. I’m not angry.” His little mouth quivered so you cuddled him closer, Mando would probably kill you if you made the kid cry.

Settling the kid back in his chair, you sat in the pilot seat. Maldo Kreis loomed in front of the cockpit window, a formidable icy planet. You tapped in the coordinates to the only big town on the planet, hoping that would be where your bounty is hiding.

As you sat in the chair, your mind was in a whirl. What had Mando meant by that? It was so soft and affectionate. You tucked your legs up on the chair.

The keldabe kiss was a sign of affection between couples. You frowned. You weren’t a couple. You wracked your brain for more information on the Mandalorian greeting but couldn’t come up with anything useful. The way Mando touched you left butterflies in your stomach, and a wetness between your thighs. The gentle caress of his leather clad fingers turned you on more than you were willing to admit.

Flicking a few more switches on the dashboard of the ship, you began the descent into the atmosphere. Frost began to appear on the edges of the windows as you descended. Maldo Kreis’ landscape was mountainous and rocky. Snow covered every inch of the planet and there were barely any trees or vegetation. Flying low to the ground you found a place to conceal the ship. Mando liked to land the ship away from towns if he could. It helped with protecting the kid. It was only a small ridge of rocks but it would hide the ship from the harsh winds that whipped around the planet. You lowered the Crest as gently as you could, the old ship groaning and creaking as the landing gear came out. Once down you powered down the engines but kept the heating system running. The kid would freeze otherwise.

The door to the cockpit opened with a soft hiss, and Mando walked in all decked out in his armor. The kid babbled at him incoherently as Mando scooped him out of his seat. You double checked the ship's security systems, before slipping out of the chair, following the Mandalorian down the ladder.

Mando was settling the kid in the cot when you jumped off the ladder, swaddling him in blankets. You watched him take care of the child, smiling softly at how gentle Mando was with him. “I’ve left the heating on.”

“Thank you.” Mando didn’t turn to look around at you, but his voice was affectionate. You blushed. You could hear the kid babbling away to Mando, and low mumbles of Mando talking back. You felt your heart squeeze watching them both.

Turning to the weapons cupboard, you slipped on your knife belt, and sheathed your knives into the holders. Mando soon appeared by your side, as you contemplated taking a blaster, staring into his extensive collections of weapons.

“Here. Take this one.” He reached in and passed you a small blaster. You took it carefully, double checking the safety, before tucking it into the waistband of your leggings.

You walked back to your bag on the floor, pulling out your warm fur lined coat. Tying your hair up in a ponytail, you shrugged the coat on, the soft fur tickling the back of your neck. “Are you ready?” You asked Mando, as you pulled on some gloves. He nodded.

The kid sat in the cot, covered in warm blankets. You smiled at him, both placing a soft kiss on the top of his head. “Be good, little one!” He smiled up at you, little hands making grabbing motions at you. You gave him your finger to hold, as Mando said goodbye. You chuckled at the image, two fearsome bounty hunters saying cute goodbyes to the big eared green creature who you both adored.

Mando clicked a button on his vambrace, and the cot door slid shut with a click. “Let’s go.” He walked towards the ramp, clicking another button to lower it. Freezing cold air rushed into the hull, so you pulled the hood of your jacket up over your head, fastening a button to keep it in place.

Mando strode off the ramp, with you scurrying behind him. He still didn’t quite realise that you had to walk two steps for every one of his. Stepping off the ship, you were blinded by the bright white light of the snow. You held your hand up to your face to shield your eyes. You could only see white snow for miles. The ramp creaked and groaned behind you as it closed, a lot louder than normal in the dead quiet of the snow. The wind was blowing into your face, the cold making your eyes sting and water.

“Town is ½ a mile that way.” You gestured to the right a bit. “I saw it as I landed.” Mando started to walk in that direction. You walked behind him, using his body to shield you from the wind. The untouched snow crunched beneath your feet. You smiled remembering a memory of snow fights with your dad as a kid.

Bending down quickly you gathered a handful of snow into one gloved hand, compacting it into a ball with the other. You glanced up. Mando was still walking ahead of you, unaware of your plans.

Splat!

The snowball hit the Mandalorian square in the back. You giggled as he turned to face you, the dark gaze of the visor studying you. “Did you… just throw a snowball at me?”

You froze. Oh no. Mando was so serious, you didn’t know if he’d even understand what a snowball fight is. You hang your head, and mumble a yes.

Because you’d hung your head, you didn’t see him lean down and grab a handful of snow, until it hit you square in the chest. The force of his throw, making you stumble.

“Ooof…. hey!” You laughed. You reached down and grabbed another handful, lobbing it back at his head. It hit his shoulder.

“Missed.” Came the low rumble of his voice, and it sounded like he was laughing. “Come on, lets keep going.” He turned and walked on. You jumped after him, jogging slightly to catch up.

“I didn’t know Mandalorians did snowball fights.”

“Good target practice.” You grinned at him, happy that he indulged your little game.

The town soon loomed into view. Mando paused, taking out the bounty puck. A faint red light was flashing, and the ever familiar beeping could be heard. “Hopefully he’s still here.”

“There’s nothing for miles.” You add, trying to remember the landscape around the town. “The east side of the town has a port, and then it's just mountain ridges and flat tundra for miles and miles.”

The town walls are dark and crumbling, no guards are at the outpost, so you both saunter into the main square. There’s not much in town, it's small and half abandoned after being favoured by smugglers. The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, and you could see fires flickering in the windows of some of the houses. The streets were covered in a grey/blown slush from people walking through to the only tavern in town. Mando checked the bounty puck, it was blinking softly. So he’s here somewhere.

Mando paused a little way down the street. “I need you to go in first. Scout the area, and let me know.” He handed you the earpiece comms link. You slipped it on. “Can you hear me?”

His voice sounded in your ear, deep and rich. You felt a flash of warmth pool in your stomach. Oh maker…. You nodded your head, trying to clear your head. You’ve used the comms link a lot, and each time you have the same reaction to his voice. “Good. Go on in, I’ll wait here.”

You slip inside the tavern, the stark contrast of temperature brings a small flush to your cheeks. You tip your hood back, just enough so you can see, but not enough to take it off and expose the comms. The bar of the tavern was softly lit by candles, and a big hearth fire blazed in the centre. Pots of chowder bubbled away as they hung over the fire, a Mythrol cook was standing close by, wearing an apron smeared with food.

You walked over to the bar, assessing the rest of the tavern. Groups of people sat huddled around tables. A pair of Dyplotid’s glanced in your direction as you came in but they went back to their cards. The barkeeper smiled as you walked in.

“Ah...hello. What can I get you?” His voice was gravelly, his skin old and weathered.

“Just a mintea. It’s cold.” He let out a chuckle.

“First time here?”

“Hmm, yes. Didn’t realise it’d be this cold.” You pulled out a bar stool and settled in, resting your arms on the table. The barkeeper placed a mug of mintea down in front of you. You wrap your hands around it, the heat permeating through the gloves.

“What brings you here?”

“I needed to rest. I’ve been flying for a while. I’m on my way back to Coruscant.” The lie slipped easily off your tongue. It was nice to be off the ship. Maldo Kreis was in the outer rim, and the journey to here had been long. Longer than you had anticipated. Especially as Mando’s ship doesn’t do anything above hyperdrive, which although fast is still slow in comparison to your old ship.

He nodded and then turned to chat to one of the other patrons who had come up to the bar. You took another glance around the room. You couldn’t see anyone who resembled the bounty.

The comms link crackled in your ear, and Mando’s soft voice filled your head. “Are you going to sit at the bar all day while I freeze out here?” You can hear the amusement in his voice. You glanced out to your right to the window, you could see him leaning against the wall outside. His pauldrons and helmet were covered in a light dusting of snow. You smirked.

You tap your chest twice, just above your heart. It was a signal you and Mando had come up with to signify that an area was safe without having to use words. Mando pushed himself off the wall and walked into the tavern.

More people looked up when he walked in. Larger than life, and in a full suit of armor, he commanded attention. He glanced over at you before walking to a booth at the back of the room. The bartender’s eyes followed him as he moved.

“A Mandalorian.” He said, not to anyone in particular. Then he glanced at you. “A friend of yours?” You shrugged, not wanting to give anything away. He laughed, a deep throaty laugh.

You smiled at him, relaxing a bit now Mando was inside. Mando would contact you if he needed you. “How long have you been here?” You took a sip of your mintea, the warmth of the hot liquid spreading in your body.

“All my life. Never left.” You raised your eyebrows, you couldn’t imagine a life stuck on one planet. “Haha, not everyone gets to travel the galaxy girl.”

“Some people need to hold down the fort at home.” He nodded at that.

“Exactly. Who will take care of all the lonely, single travelers if I don’t?” His voice was soft, and he looked you up and down. You met his eyes, they were dark and glittering under hooded eyelids.

You took another sip of your drink. When he spoke again, his voice was different. It was harsher than before. “So I’ll ask again, what really brings you out here?”

“I told you. A rest stop on my way back home.”

“Nothing to do with that Mandalorian over there?” He lifted his chin, gesturing to the back of the tavern, to the secluded corner Mando had placed himself in.

You shook your head instead of answering. He raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, I don’t believe you. He hasn’t stopped staring in this direction since he entered.”

You feel a blush creep into your cheeks, just as a knot of anxiety coils in your stomach. Something is wrong. You smile at the barkeeper. “Can’t blame him for staring.”

You place the mug back on the table, and move one of your hands down to your leg. You tapped your knee twice with your thumb. Another little signal to Mando. You then lift your hand and fish into your pockets for some credits. “Thanks for the drink.” You chuck them down and start to slide off the stool.

The barkeeper keeps his eyes on you. You notice the Dyplotids’ raising out of their chairs. Shit. Shit. Shit. You curse internally for letting yourself be fooled. You remain calm, tugging your hood up over your head, pretending to be getting ready to leave. You turn to flash a smile at the barkeeper. He watches you, eyes flickering to you and then the Dyplotid’s behind you.

“They’re following you.” Came the low voice of Mando in your ear again. You make no movement to acknowledge his voice as you walk out onto the street. “There’s an alley to your left. I’ll follow in a minute.”

You spot the alley. It’s darker than the Main Street but not enough to hide in. Dammit. You slip into it regardless, hearing footsteps crunching on the snow slush behind you. You keep walking. Where is Mando? The alley comes to an abrupt end with the outer wall of the town looming above you. You stop and turn.

You were met with the faces of the Dyplotids. Four eyes each stare down at you, dark and angry.

“Who are you?” One hisses.

“A nobody.” You reply, praying that Mando appears soon.

“Some nobody being friends with a Mandalorian.” The other speaks.

“What do you want?” You glare back at them. If you acted quickly you’d probably be able to take them. Your fingers twitch, brushing the hilt of your knives.

Before they could answer, two blaster shots rang out. The Dyplotids fell forward, two giant burning holes in their backs. You glance up to the top of the alley. Mando was standing there, lowering his blaster.

“Let’s go. He’s not here.” His voice came through the comms link. You walked over to him, while he waited for you. His visor fixed on you. He held out the puck. The light was off and it was silent.

“Thank you for saving me.” You looked up into the dark visor.

“You’re welcome.” You could hear the modulated voice, and the deep rumble of his real voice in your ears. You stared at him, transfixed at his voice. He let out a small snort. Arrogant dick was probably smirking under the mask. You shook your head, trying to shake yourself out of your delusions.

“What now?” You sidestepped him and started to walk down the street. Mando fell into step beside you.

“We need intel on where he could be. I am not traipsing the whole planet.” His voice was only coming through the comms link. Practically you knew it was to help maintain a low profile, but subconsciously you hoped he never stopped, you could listen to him all day.

“There is a port with landspeeders for hire?”

“Too expensive.”

“Well it's either that or walk.”

“He won't be far from the town. There’s nothing for miles.”

“That’s what you think. There might be something out there and we won't find it on foot.” Mando was often too stubborn. “I say we go to the port. Leave it to me.”

Mando gazed down at you, you folded your arms across your chest. You could be stubborn too, and you had a plan.

“Fine. But you pay.”

“Fine.” You looked around for a sign to the port.

“It's left.”

“I know.” You huffed.

The walk to the port was short. You didn’t see any other townsfolk, which was odd considering the altercation back at the tavern. Maybe people are scared?

A ferryman stood next to a couple of old landspeeders. You could hear Mando mumbling about a waste of money in your ear. You ignored him.

The ferryman looked up. “What can I do yous for?” He grunted.

“I’d like to hire a landspeeder.”

“Yeah. And where are you going with it?”

“I fail to see how that’s your business?” You questioned back.

“Hurrmph.” Came the grunted reply. “My ‘speeders, my business.”

“You can’t argue with that logic.” Mando’s voice rang in your ear. You wanted to elbow him, but thought better of it. You looked back at the ferryman, he was another Mythrol. His blue skin barely visible through his hood.

“I need to see Salvius.” Might as well go big or go home.

“What if he don’t wanna see you?”

“He’s expecting us.” You swallowed. You felt Mando stiffen beside you.

“Oh is he? What does he want from you?”

“Now that is none of your business.” You quip back dryly. You could feel that coil of anxiety growing in your stomach. What if he’s bluffing and just takes you into the middle of nowhere?

“It's gonna cost ya.” 

“Name your price.” Mando huffed next to you.

“1000 credits.” You balk at the price.

“No. 550 and that’s it.” Panic tinged your voice. Shit.

“750. Or no landspeeder.”

You caught Mando’s hand moving to his blaster holstered on his hip. Please don’t do it. 

“I suggest you take what the lady offers.” Came the soft hiss from the helmet. The Mythrol stared at the Mandalorian.

“Or what?” Mando didn’t give him the courtesy of an answer before he blew a hole in the centre of his chest with the blaster. You jumped with the loudness of the bang.

“FUCK MANDO!” You cried as the ferryman's’ body crumpled to a heap on the floor.

“I didn’t trust him.”

“No shit!” Your heart was pounding. Mando whipped round to glare at you.

“Your plan was stupid.” A small twinge of anger hit your chest.

“At least I had a plan.” You spat back.

Mando stared at you for another second before bending down to grab the landspeeder keys from the Mythrols’ belt. He jumped into the closest one, starting the engine. You clambered in after him. He placed the puck on the dashboard, using it as a sort of navigator.

Mando drives fast. Probably too fast. The cold air whooshed around the vehicle, chilling the exposed parts of your face. You hunker down in the seat. Mando’s helmet dipped towards you, before turning back to face the land ahead. His hands pushed a few buttons on the landspeeders dashboard and hot air was suddenly blowing into your face. The small gesture was sweet, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I forget you feel the cold more than me.” His voice was sympathetic.

“Thanks.” You were going to make a comment about how you don’t have a beskar'gam, or iron skin, to protect you but you left it.

The landspeeder sped over the flat snow, mountains rising up on your left. You were travelling further and further away from the ship. A small pang of guilt tugged your heart at the kid being all alone.

A red light caught your eye. The puck was flashing.. “Stop!” You grabbed Mando’s sleeve.

“What?” He slowed the landspeeder.

“The puck!” You scanned the area. A small glint of light caught your eye. “There up on the ridge.”

Mando turned to look. You knew he was scanning the area through his visor.

“Do you see anything?”

He grunted in acknowledgment. “There’s a group of people.” You strained to see what he was seeing, but your eyes couldn’t make out anything against the snow.

“Do you think they’ve seen us?”

“Definitely.” Mando started the landspeeder again. “They have the higher ground. We can’t get to them until nightfall.” You glanced up at the sky, the clouds were so thick you couldn’t make out the sun.

Mando zoomed over towards an outcrop of rocks and hid the speeder behind it. He kept the engine running. “We’ll have to wait here.”

“We’ll stick out like sore thumbs.” You gestured to your dark snow clothes, and his dark grey beskar.

“That's why we’re waiting. We’ll be more disguised in the snow at night.”

“What about heat sensing?”

“I have a plan.” You snorted. Great. You settled back into the seat, tucking your knees up. Might as well rest for a bit.

When you woke up your face was pressed against Mandos' right pauldron. You blinked in the dark. There was some sort of pressure on your leg, on the inside of your knee. You glance down, Mando’s leather clad hand resting there. It was so casual, the way it was draped over your knee, giving you better access to his arm to sleep on. Mando felt you stir.

“Are you awake?” He squeezed your knee, so softly that you weren’t even sure it happened.

You hummed a response, lifting your head from his shoulder. The landscape was dark around you, barely any light from the moons filtered through the clouds. Mando lifted his hand, making it easier for you to sit up. “They’re still up on the ridge.” You glanced up, you could make out a soft glow of orange. “They lit a fire.” Mando confirmed your thoughts.

“How many?”

“A few.”

You exhaled softly. “Think it's Salvius?”

Mando shrugged. “Potentially.”

“What’s the plan?”

The plan, as it turned out, was for you to roll in snow to reduce your heat flare. Mando apparently didn’t because ‘his armor doesn’t get warm, or show up on infrared.’ You didn’t quite believe him but felt like starting an argument about it was worthless. The second phase of the plan, after Mando shoved snow down the back of your top a little too zealously, was to sneak up to the ridge and scout out the people.

You were shivering as Mando led the way towards the ridge through the snow. You stuck close to his back, head down, following his fresh footprints in the snow.

As you walked you let your mind wander. Something has changed between the pair of you. Sure Mando has touched you before, he’s helped with injuries or fastening up jackets but the past few touches felt different. They felt softer, kinder, more personal than the other times he’s touched you. And the keldabe kiss? What does that mean?

You were so lost in thought you didn’t see Mando stop, and you collided into his back.

“Watch where you're going.” He mumbled.

You looked around. The landscape was dark and grey, the sky was also dark and grey, and the man you were following was dressed in dark grey colours. You could just about see your feet. Mando carried on walking. The terrain beneath your feet got steeper, and more icy. You must be nearing the top of the ridge. Mando held his arm out, you stopped. His visor was fixated on the campfire.

“Somethings wrong.” He murmured.

“What?”

“There’s more than I thought.”

You glanced across at the campfire. The hike up the ridge had gotten you pretty much level with the campfire, although you were about 200m to the right of it. You couldn’t make out individual shapes, just a dull orange glow.

“The fire is low.” Mando nodded next to you.

“They have lots of boxes. A land cruiser as well.” He glanced around, and then at the puck strapped to his chest. The red light was blinking. “This will be them.”

You looked around you, trying to make out surroundings. You and Mando were on a rocky ridge that jutted out from the main ridge line. A steep cliff fell away in front of you, the bottom of it cloaked in darkness. The campfire sat on another ledge. To get there you’d have to climb.

“Is it worth it?” You were only asking due to the landscape. Neither of you had an advantage here. If anything it was a foolish mission.

“Yes.” The response was abrupt.

A noise to your left, caused your heart to race. You froze as Mando whipped his head around. A voice sounded in your ear. “They’re behind us.” No shit.

“Have they seen us?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

Mando didn’t get a chance to respond before a blaster shot rang out, narrowly missing your head. Mando pulled you close to him. “Stay close.”

You pulled the blaster out of your waistband, quickly clicking the safety off. You couldn’t see anything. The clouds were thinning slightly but they were still covering the moon.

Another blaster shot rang out, you hid behind Mando. You felt one of his hands wrap around and rest on your hip, keeping you close. He lifted his blaster up and fired off into the dark.

You heard a few cries as he shot a few people. Mando staggered backwards as a shot hit his breastplate. He let out a low groan at the force. Blaster shots were ringing out all around you. You fired aimlessly into the dark, praying that you hit someone.

You glanced up at the sky again, a gap was appearing in the clouds, faint moonlight filtering through. You looked around Mando, 12 people stood blasters firing at the pair of you. You aimed and got two of them, they fell down with a thump. A blaster shot whistled past your head, and you ducked back behind Mando.

The clouds parted and the moonlight shone down onto the ground. You aimed your blaster again, hitting 3 more people in the chest.

You fired your blaster again, but before you could pull the trigger, searing pain ignited on your leg. You looked down. A shot had just skimmed your thigh leaving a burning hole in your leggings and melting the leather of your knife holder. Your flesh was burnt and blistered. The pain took your breath away, and you cried out. Gritting your teeth you fired back in the direction of the shot, before falling to the ground groaning. The moon disappeared again, plunging you back into darkness.

Mando ran over to you, shielding you with his body again as you quickly packed snow onto the wound, trying to numb the pain. The blaster shots were becoming less and less frequent, until they stopped altogether.

Mando spun round and dropped to his knees. “Are you okay?”

“My leg….” you groaned. You didn’t want to be a baby but, stars, it hurt. Mando’s hands fluttered carefully over the wound, unfastening your knife holder and peeling your burnt leggings away. You hissed in pain.

“Sorry. I have to get a better look.” You clenched your hands into a fist, digging your nails into the palm of your hand. Mando placed a hand on your knee, to stop you twitching whilst he got a better look. “It doesn’t look deep. We need to…”

Before Mando could finish his sentence another shot rang out, hitting him square in the back. He fell forward onto you with the force of the blow, crushing your leg under his armor. You cried out in pain. Mando pushed himself off, whipping around, blaster drawn and firing behind him.

Moonlight lit the ridge up, illuminating the bodies of the attackers. Blaster shots rang out, the noise echoing off the rocks. You turned over onto all fours, pain stabbing through you. Breathing deeply you stood up on shaky legs, grabbing your knife from the floor. This time the assailants pressed closer, moving towards you and Mando.

Once up you pulled out your other knife. Waves of pain throbbed through your leg. But before you could adjust your balance, a blaster came crashing down into the side of your shoulder, knocking you back to the floor. You rolled with the movement, before springing up as fast as you could. You hit out with one of your knives at your attack, managing to cut his shoulder. He hissed, and pulled out a dagger, lunging at you. You sidestepped his movement, and he fell slightly, off balanced. You took the opportunity to jump on top of him, knife sinking into the side of his neck. Easy. He tried to grab you as you both fell back into the snow, but his strength quickly faded. Ripping the knife out you turned, just as another man lurched towards you.

You rolled out of his way, narrowly avoiding his weapon. Jumping up again you stand ready to attack. He turns and jabs out at you with a knife. You dodge it, before diving in to stab at his exposed chest. Your knife glances off his rib cage, leaving a small cut through his clothes. A hand grabs your wrist as you pull back, pulling you to him. He twists one of your arms behind your back, the muscles in your shoulder screaming at the angle. You kick upwards with your boot, colliding your heel with his balls. He bends over, loosening his grip just enough for you to wriggle out. He tries to pull you back but you stab him in the arm, just enough for him to release his grip entirely. His eyes shine with anger as he glares at you, before running towards you, knife out. You duck to the side and swipe his legs out from under him. He falls into a heap, and you leap on top of him, yanking his head up. You slit his throat. You feel him shudder beneath you as he bleeds out. You stand up, leg shaking with pain.

Your victory is short lived. Turning around you’re met with three faces. They stalk towards you, and you scurry backwards. One goes in for a jab and you block and catch his chest with the edge of your knife, just as another dives at you. You step backwards.

You hadn’t realised how far you’d gotten to the edge of the cliff. As you step backwards you feel ice and rock crumbling away from beneath your feet. You glance back at the men inching towards you, and then towards Mando who was fighting off 4 men. You don’t see until it's too late. One man steps forward and shoves you. With nothing to catch your fall you slip. You cry out. You can hear Mando screaming your name.

You’re weightless as you fall through the air. You hit the ground with force, for a split second all you can feel is pain, and then everything is silent and dark.

[80ssatori]

➣Next Step

One shot: Mom!Reader x Adriah Tomas

English is not my first language, I’m sorry.

Warning!VERYSOFT IM-, a little mention of BokuAka.

Words count: 1270

Adriah's face when he saw the brunette pass through the gym door was unique and apparently everyone had noticed about that, he was still surprised to have a girlfriend as attractive as she was. Her hair was a long reddish color tied in a messy ponytail, her slightly unbuttoned blouse giving an incredible view that none had gone unnoticed, that black tube skirt along with those stockings and those black stilettos that drove him crazy. The boys had turned away their looks embarrassed except for Atsumu who seemed to enjoy the view more, but his sight was ruined by that six foot boy going to hug his girlfriend with so much emotion.

"Y/N-chan!" Exclaimed the tall one who had also been received with a huge hug.He left a small kiss on her forehead, the stocky girl had black lines resting under those beautiful bright eyes of hers, her pink lips pouting which made the older one laugh slightly.

"Did I come very early?" She asked a little worried and behind her, a certain black-haired man approached the couple. "Akaashi-san and I finished early so we decided to come."

He nodded and Bokuto ran towards him, excited by that visit, giving little shouts of excitement.

Adriah just laughed to take her hand and lead her to the bench next to Sakusa who was drinking some water, the boy did not move away from her. He had noticed the girl's hygiene and the way in which she kept her distance from him with him so as not to damage her comfort zone, Y/N only greeted him with a nod which was reciprocated by the boy.

The tallest of her crouched down so he could look at her from below, Y/N had always adored the puppy looks that his boyfriend gave him every time he wanted something or when he was quite excited about little things. She had gotten used to little nights out or last minute dates for the simple fact that he was left hungry after training, or the times she worked late he would send her and Akaashi food to the publisher.

But he didn't say anything to her, they just looked at each other as if they were the only ones in the place and Sakusa simply moved away from there to give them some space.

"Do you know how much I missed you princess?" He asked and for a few moments he saw as if the boy had a tail wagging from side to side. "God even right now you look like a goddess, please sit on my face."

Y/N’ s laugh was enough to make the taller one laugh, the good thing is that they both didn't get so tall so it didn't make it difficult for both of them to kiss each other without the need to bend down or stand on tiptoe— at least Adriah did. Made her beg for that—, or just for Y/N to leave little kisses on his neck for every time the black-haired man was stressed by the jokes that Inunaki made him or when he didn't know how to get revenge on the smallest.

Despite the almost four years of relationship, everyone could think at first glance that both had only been dating for months because of the closeness and above all the love that they seemed to waste as if they were teenagers. But even with time they remained the same and love did not disappear, Akaashi had always told Y/N that they were both for each other. She really wasn't going to deny how much fun she could have with Tomas.

And what she loved the most was the fact that he treated her children as if they were his own.

"I missed you a lot too." She caressed her cheek with her thumb and left a small kiss on her lips which the older one responded immediately.

"I know we've been together for a long time, but I want to take the next step." Tomas felt his stomach turn when he said that, he had never told her what he really felt; he wanted to tell her to live together, perhaps he would not agree to give her a child of her own but with the ones she had he was satisfied because he really adored them as if they were his children.

Y/N licked her lips frightened clearly understanding what Tomas was referring to, she knew that if she hadn’t children the answer would be completely different - she wouldn’t have even thought about it and she would probably have been able to move in together a month after they were dating - if she did not have two children whom he adored with his life, she would not be between a rock and a hard place. Her children should also give her opinion on the matter and that made her tremble a little at the way her boyfriend gently grasped her hands, hinting that every answer was valid.

"I-I don't know Tomas ... you know this doesn't depend-" she was abruptly interrupted by a huge hug, so she released the boy, leaving him sitting on the floor.

"Mom!" Two cute boys appeared, a cute eleven-year-old boy and a little nine-year-old who seemed completely excited. “we did very well in school!”

The oldest of the children saw that something was strange in the environment, so he sat next to his mother and watched Adriah for a few seconds to see his cute mother again who seemed a little worried. The boy turned his gaze to his younger brother who had sat between the legs of the taller one who had rested his chin on the boy's head, surrounding him in a strong hug that made the innocent boy laugh.

"Mom ... did something happen?" She sighed, watching for a moment at Adriah and then at the youngest, surrounding him in a small hug which only corresponded.

"Haruki-chan," Y/N spoke affectionately as she stroked her son's hair. "Tomas and I want to take the next step ..."

The named opened his mouth but was interrupted by the minor.

"Is mom going to marry Tomas?" A huge blush appeared on the older man's face, who just hugged the boy a little more tightly, making him laugh.

Y/N just laughed back at that tender behavior, her boyfriend quickly shook her head.

"No Haruka-chan, I mean we want to move in together" she let go of Haruki's grip and took his little hands "as a family."

"So ... you and dad" Haruki blushed at the mistake, surprising the adults, he saw how her boyfriend released a few small tears that caught Y/N's attention. "Will you and Tomas-san live together at last?"

"The four of us would go to live together and we will have a cat that we will name Misifus," Tomas unconsciously blurted out, attracting the attention of the three of us.

"Mom ..." the older whimpered this time, hiding in his chest and wrapped his arms around him worried to see his little boy crying "you shouldn't ask us that, if you're happy with dad, just tell him yes."

That was enough to make both seniors cry this time, which caught the attention of the others who came to see what was happening. Tomas and Y/N got up to give each other a huge hug, to merge into a sweet kiss. They were really happy that the four of them could finally be together as the cute new family that they were.