#retreats into my Cave of Slumber

[cl0ckw0rkz]

goobdnite wooden fence painterz, the sleepedy deeby calls to me

me rn 👇

[gogobootz1]

At War

Luke Castellan x Reader [fem!daughter of Apollo]

Summary: There's nothing like some friendly competition, but when planning rival parties, you and Luke are a little less than friendly.

Word count: 2k

Every year, there came a time for the retreats- a chance for children of the gods to bond and have some special fun. One big retreat seemed pointless, so camp faculty allowed two. The two retreats accidentally split the boys and girls, and naturally, they turned into an (unofficial) competition. As one of the oldest and most experienced campers- you’d been volunteering to champion a retreat for years. Traditionally, you’ve hosted a slumber party equipped with PJs, dancing, games, movies, braid trains, nail polish, and basically anything anyone could want. You also, of course, have the best food. Each year, it’s been a hit, and it’s only gotten better with time. 

The only problem is that you have tough competition. The day after the retreats, you always hear about what happened at the other one. Paintball, camping, fishing, mad romps through the wood, scary stories- barbecue. Everyone loved it. And every year, you’ve had to quietly conceal your anger and jealousy. It pains you to admit that Luke sure can throw a party (maybe even better than you can). But this year, you are more determined than ever to outdo him. 

The two of you have long been in competition, and things have only escalated. As hilarious as Mr. D found both your antics last year, Chiron was extremely unhappy about the fact the two of you had exceeded the budget by miles. He’d told you both to reign it in this year or no more retreats. When he felt that didn’t sufficiently move you, he threatened to let other people plan them. You both caved and vowed to stick to the budget this year. 

You’re always a little frantic the day of, and today is no different. To your chagrin, Luke is cool as a cucumber. It pisses you off to no end. 

“Nervous?” A smug voice voice asks from behind your back. You drop the spoon you were using to push mashed potatoes around your plate. 

You turn slowly on the bench, “Why should I be?"

“Usually, you’re pulling out your hair before the retreats,” he says skeptically, “perfectionism taking its toll.”

“Yeah? Well, my perfectionism makes my parties perfect,” you flaunt. The few sisters that can stand to be around you when you’re stressed roll their eyes. It’s clear to them this is escalating. 

“What about when Susie vomited in your bouncy house last year?” He taunts, and you glare at him. That girl should not have been jumping after four bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and two Redbulls- it was hardly your fault. 

“How about when Aidan got a concussion after falling off the mechanical bull?” You snap back. 

You don’t notice Luke’s shadow until he pipes in, “Are these people okay?” 

“They signed waivers!” You say at the same time, and the new Poseidon kid takes a defensive step back. You send Luke a glare when you realize you spoke in sync. He huffs before smirking at you. 

“Good luck with your sleepover,” he mocks, “You’re gonna need it.” Before you can reply, he marches away, protégée in tow. 

“Eat shit!” You call out after him. 

“That was weak, girl,” one of your sisters says.  

“Shut up, I know,” you shake your head at her, “now come help me set up.” You drag her up by her elbow to make your sacrifices, then get to work. 

Five hours later, the main hall looks great. Your disco ball is glimmering, the mini photo booth is equipped with feather boas and pink cowboy hats, the food is all laid out, and the stage you bribed some Hephaestus kids to build looks great. 

“Perfect,” you whisper, pleased at your surroundings. 

“Fucking finally!” Your sister throws her hands up and walks away. You’ve very likely driven most of your half-siblings insane today. 

“Thanks for your help!” You call after her, and as she goes, you spot some prying eyes through the window. Percy, you think his name is, looks afraid now that you’ve caught him peering in through the window. In a few swift moves, you leave the room and block his exit from the patio. 

“Can I help you?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Just admiring your excellent disco theme,” he says, putting an ultra-sweet smile on his face. As charming as the boy is, you take your retreat very seriously and feel a deep-seated urge to protect it from potential sabotage. 

“Mhmmm,” you nod, “and you wouldn’t happen to be reporting back to anyone about what you’ve seen?” 

“Whaaaaaat?” Percy asks, awkwardly chuckling. 

Your shoulders drop, of course, Luke would stoop to employing spies. You dig into your pocket and pull out a ten-dollar bill, “I’ll give you this if you act as a double agent.” 

He eyes your money suspiciously, “Do you really think I can be bought?” 

You roll your eyes and pull out another bill, “How’s twenty?” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he grabs both bills from your hand and shakes it. Percy happily walks past you, shoving his new earnings into his pocket. 

You grin, “Make sure he hears all about how awesome my party is!”

“I’m on it, boss,” he calls over his shoulder. After a short walk, he’s back to the boathouse lounge where Luke has been waiting for his report. 

“Well?” The older boy asks him, jumping up from his spot on the couch. 

Percy shakes his head solemnly, “Bad news, boss.” 

“What?!” He asks, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me she went over budget. She didn't get another mariachi band, did she?” Percy shakes his head and files this new information away. With what he’s been hearing about the last few retreats, he’s almost sad to have missed them. 

“No, but it does look super cool,” he nods, and it really wasn’t a lie- he saw a chocolate fountain on that snack table. 

“Damn,” Luke’s face twitches in annoyance. 

“But your party will be great too, I’m sure,” he smiles, nodding reassuringly. 

“Of course, it will,” he says defensively, “make sure you check back in over there from time to time. I want to know how it’s progressing.” 

“Sure,” Percy nods, but his concern at the competitiveness underlying this event grows. He wonders just how bad this will get tonight. But check back in he does, and he won’t deny he enjoys himself at the sleepover. Every time he visits, you give him a new sparkly mocktail, and the Aphrodite girls give him a new feather boa. At one point, he’s wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and eating some cake. He was very impressed when M&Ms fell out of the middle as you cut it. Apparently, it’s also one of your newest sisters’ birthdays- he’s heard whisperings of some big special present for her yet to come. 

Each time Percy returns to the other retreat, he can see Luke get a little more tense. The fact that he’s exaggerating doesn’t help either. When he tells the older boy that you have an ice sculpture spitting Dr. Pepper, he thinks he sees steam pour from Luke’s ears. It’s not like people aren’t enjoying his party, but Percy can that Luke wants to one-up you and feels like he’s falling short. 

“And I’ve heard she has a special surprise in store for Sophie since it’s her birthday. Apparently, she’s the newest addition to their cabin, so she wants to do something special,” Percy nods at him, eating a taco he had brought back from your party. Luke cuts him off by grabbing the taco from his hand just as he’s about to take another bite. “Hey!” He protests when Luke puts it right in the trash. 

“When is this surprise?” He asks the twelve-year-old. 

“The Aphrodite girls told me I should be back in like twenty minutes so I wouldn’t miss it,” Percy tells him. 

“And when was that?” 

“Like twenty minutes ago,” he shrugs, and Luke just stares at him. “Ohhhhh,” he says when he realizes how long it’s been. 

“Come on,” Luke shakes his head and starts out the door, Percy in tow. They can hear the surprise before they see it, an ABBA song blasting out of the building. Only, they don’t realize who's performing it until they walk in. Along with two of your musically-inclined Apollo sisters, you’re dressed in bell bottoms and sleeves. And you look like you’re having the time of your life- until you spot them, that is. 

“Look, look, look, look,” you pull the microphone away to mutter to Tanya. Her shock is visible, but you both keep performing anyway. The crowd goes wild at the end, and Sophie runs up on stage to give you a big hug. You let Tanya take over host duties and make your way through the crowd to the party crasher. 

“That was,” Luke starts, but you are not keen to hear whatever he has to say about your outfit, or your performance, or your party. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

His expression instantly sours, “I wanted some Dr. Pepper from your ice sculpture, where is it?” 

“What are you talking about?” You’re highly confused until Percy gives you the cut-it-out motion from behind Luke’s back. “We put it back in the freezer,” you say, and Percy gives you the thumbs up. No matter what you think of him, Luke’s not an idiot. He turns around in time to spot Percy’s gestures. 

“Wait a second, are you two colluding?” He looks between the two of you in shock. 

“You were colluding with him first,” you shrug, crossing your arms. “You really earned that twenty dollars, by the way,” you compliment the kid, and he gives you a pleased nod. 

“Dude,” Luke turns toward Percy, betrayed. 

“She outbid you,” he shrugs. “Hey, what if you guys just went to each other’s parties?” 

You both eye the boy suspiciously, “Why would we do that?” You ask him, and Luke nods in agreement.

“Well, you’re both so desperate to know about the other’s party, so why don’t you just experience it for yourselves?” Percy asks, and when he feels you aren’t sufficiently moved by it, he tries again. “If you attend both parties, you can decide who wins.” 

“Good enough for me,” Luke wanders off into your party.

“Yeah, okay,” you head for the door. 

“Hopeless,” Percy mumbles, shaking his head. 

An hour later, you and Luke meet in the middle of your respective parties. You stare at each other for a minute before you admit in sync, “I had fun.” 

“We have to stop doing that,” you shake your head. 

“Agreed.” 

You’re both silent again for a minute. “The slip and slide was a good idea,” you say reluctantly, soap still in your hair, “low budget but lots of fun. Tubing was good too. And the campfire.” You had changed out of the disco attire and into shorts and a T-shirt over your swimsuit. 

“Did you try-“

“Chris can really grill,” you nod. After some hesitance, you finally choke out a confession, “I am very displeased to call you the winner.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. 

“What?”

“You totally won,” he shrugs, “the disco was killer.” You only now realize he changed into pajamas. 

“You actually embraced the sleepover?” 

He flicks some grass off your shoulder, “You gave my party a fair shot.” That’s true, and you nod, looking away for a second. “The chocolate fountain was a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“And I was trying to tell you earlier, but your performance was really cool,” he admits. 

“Yeah?” A genuine grin grows on your face at this. Most everyone in the Apollo cabin loves music, but some of your half-siblings are more keen to perform than you. Hearing this, and from him especially, means a lot. 

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling now too. “You’re the winner here.” 

“Let’s call it a draw?” You offer, and he nods. 

“What if we just worked together and planned one party next year?” He asked, and you pretend to consider it for a moment. 

“That could be cool,” you nod, “imagine what we could do with the combined budget.” 

He grins and scrunches his nose, “How about we enjoy this year’s party until then?”

“We could do that,” you nod, “where to?”

He swiftly wraps an arm over your shoulder and starts guiding you back to your party, “Let’s boogie.” You laugh, and he thinks it’s a sound he could get used to. 

-----------------------------------------

I've been awake for too long so idk if this is coherent but I had fun <3

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God

Chapter 14: The God's Eye

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence, angst, grief, death

Words: 3.5k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

It comes to him in a dream first; the ghost. Faceless, colourless and shapeless, he knows it is coming for him. It follows him wherever he goes, until he can hardly tell the difference between waking and dreaming.

He can scarcely remember his burning of Pinkmaiden. He remembers heat, screams of terror and then agony, the light of Vhagar’s fire, burning as bright as the sun and banishing the darkness of night. He was reminded of how his brother had sounded in the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, his raw, throaty screams as his flesh mingled with his melted armour. Which would be a worse fate, dying or surviving to endure the pain for so long?

Where Aegon’s suffering had made Aemond the equivalent of a King, Pinkmaiden had only made him more of the monster that he is.

He feels it, settled on the edge of a cliff overlooking Ironman’s Bay, the empty feeling in his chest, as though the Gods are withholding fragments of his soul.

He doesn’t know where his brother is now. Perhaps Aegon had found some sense after all and crossed the Narrow Sea to seek refuge in the type of life he always wanted, far from the Keep, far from the crown. He doesn’t know why their men fight for a King who could be dead, or who could have abandoned them altogether. And yet he knows his role in this war has been set out for him, one which he follows mindlessly. He is his family’s terror, the only one who can give Daeron and Cole enough time to rally their forces.

He hears so little as of late. He hasn’t seen another person’s face for weeks. For a time he allowed himself refuge in a tavern with his hood over his hair and his sapphire eye hidden in shadow but eventually he decided comfort was not worth the risk.

Daemon is in the Riverlands, he knows that much, hunting him but never able to catch up to him. So far his uncle has not thought to look this far north, where he can see the Iron Islands clustered in the west and Seaguard to the east. Ships pass the sea before him but he remains unnoticed, as does Vhagar, buried on the shoreline amongst dirt, sand and rocks. If she is hungry she will find a flock of sheep or a herd of cows, but for now she is content to lull herself into a long slumber, occasionally letting out a low grumble as she breathes.

He hunts rabbits and does little to shelter himself from the harsh sea air, the rain and the spray of the sea when there is a storm. He is numb to the cold and the discomfort, retreating into his dreams in the hopes he might find some comfort in a vision of his mother or his sister.

More than that, he prays the Gods will show him an image of Lucerra. He would take anything. The small, stubborn girl disturbing him in the library, grinning as she presented him with a winged pig. Her furious little face when he held her by the throat in the cave below Hightide. He would take the tears she shed in the Hall of Nine, her silent, wide-eyed pleas for forgiveness. He would take the woman who stood before him at the Red Keep, at Storm’s End, the feeling of her skin, the sound of her breath.

Her voice is less than an echo in his head after so many moons. The memory is elusive, he fears he will never picture it clearly, but he can remember her words. My blood is precious, uncle, if you want it you shall have to earn it. 

In Rainwood, they say a ghost circled Shipbreaker Bay in the days after his niece’s apparent demise.

When the dragon with pale grey scales finally comes to him, he knows what it means. Not a ghost, not the one he had been imagining. Grey Ghost, the wild dragon, the beast that attacked Daeron and Tessarion in the Reach, now the second mount of Princess Lucerra.

He mounts Vhagar as the sun sets, its light bleeding across the sky like an open wound, spurred on by desperation and something hungry, like bloodlust. Grey Ghost is quick, flying out of his view but he can guess where the dragon is leading him, southeast, towards Harrenhal. Aemond does not know if they fly to death or salvation.

There is hardly any blue left in the sky when the five towers of Harrenhal fade into view. The setting sun burns in the west like dragonfire, licking at the darkened clouds and shining down onto the surface of the God’s Eye.

The black banners of the pretender, Rhaenyra, hang over the gates to the castle. Below its walls, by the lakeshore, is not the opponent he had expected to meet.

Caraxes rears his head to the sky and lets out a shrieking roar, teeth bared and eyes ablaze. He can feel Vhagar lurch in anticipation. All of her battles, save for Rook’s Rest, have been like bloodsport to her. She wants to fight, wants to rip her talons into flesh, sink her teeth around something larger than a farm animal. But he feels something else, a slight hesitation, a sad sort of growl sounding in her throat, 

Daemon has donned his riding leathers and stands beside his dragon. He holds Dark Sister before him, resting his hands on the hilt.

He sees no sign of Grey Ghost, nor his rider. 

He lands Vhagar along the lakeshore, keeping Caraxes out of reach to avoid premature violence. He is determined this will be done properly. His boots land with a crash against the pebbles once he climbs down, his hand lingering on Vhagar’s saddle.

He remembers the night of the dinner, Viserys’ final hours, as his uncle had stood between him and Jace, eyeing him like a parent stares down a petulant child, a faint smile on his lips. It had amused him, watching the bickering of boys.

Now there is no amusement in Daemon’s eyes, no sense of excitement. They have all suffered too many losses for anything other than pure hatred.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were slaughtered at his order, Helaena left to rot in her grief, to leave her last living child motherless. What were the children to Daemon Targaryen? They were his kin, his brother’s grandchildren. Their deaths didn’t put him closer to the throne, didn’t win him any allies, but it wasn’t about strategy, was it? It was about pain.

Aemond doesn’t care to count the seconds or minutes they spent in a silence, broken only by the rush of the waves and the hisses and growls of their dragons.

It is like standing face to face with a wild animal, anticipating what he may do, which move he may make.

He sees Daemon’s eyes flicker momentarily to the sapphire that sits in his left socket, and smirks. In some cruel twist of fate, a dull pain blooms at the base of his skull, but he endures it.

“You’ve come out of hiding at last,” Daemon says.

An unease pools in his stomach. For a moment he thinks he sees movement in the sky above him, but when he looks, there is nothing. 

“I was under the impression I was being hunted,” Aemond retorts.

Daemon laughs. He means to mock him but it’s not quite careless enough to be convincing. “Do not flatter yourself, boy,” he says. “Your whore said you would come.”

An unsettling feeling washes through him, like he is being watched.

Alys. He had left her in a cell with the bloody remains of the rest of House Strong, evidently not long enough for her to starve before Daemon’s return to Harrenhal. “Did she care to say why?”

Daemon’s lips curl into a sneer. “Do you still believe you are owed a debt?”

He recalls a cold thrill that had come with killing Rhaenys. It hadn’t been enough to justify the anguish he had seen his family suffer, how they have continued to suffer. He wonders if killing Daemon will satisfy him. 

Still, his uncle is not the reason he followed Grey Ghost to the God’s Eye.

She must be here somewhere and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. He hungers for her like a man starved. He wants to feel her, her heat, her blood, his hand around her throat and her heartbeat under her skin. He wants to see her eyes again, full of fire and fury. 

He can feel Vhagar’s urge to fight beginning to boilin his blood. He welcomes it, lets it fuel his anger and his grief, pounding in his chest like a war drum. “You have lived too long, uncle,” he says.

Daemon sheathes Dark Sister and reaches up to grab at Caraxes’ saddle, ready to mount. His voice is solemn but his eyes are dark with vicious intent. “On that much we agree.”

And so Aemond mounts his own dragon, fastening the chains that secure him to the saddle. He looks to the sky, then to the castle, waiting for a flash of pale grey scales, a dragon’s cry or a girl with dark hair. He finds nothing. Grey Ghost must be here and yet there is no trace of him or his rider. He clenches his fists around Vhagar’s reins and digs his teeth into his lip. His patience is wearing thin.

Caraxes moves first, leaping from the ground with an ear splitting screech, breathing a stream of fire into the air as he flies.

Vhagar is slower to follow, scrambling over the pebbles to push off from the ground. He feels the force of her wings against her own body, hauling her to ascend, pursuing Caraxes into clouds of grey and red, the sea of flame.

He braces against the fire, roaring in his ears as they break through the clouds and come into the vastness of the sky. Daemon and Caraxes are nowhere to be found. Through the spaces in the clouds and the fire below them, the God’s Eye watches, bathed in red by the setting sun. Soon enough it will all be black.

Vhagar roars, deeply and furiously. A bait, a call to battle.

As suddenly as a thunderbolt, the red dragon breaks through the clouds. Caraxes surges towards Vhagar with eager teeth and talons. She breathes a plume fire unlike anything Aemond has ever seen. Caraxes avoids the stream as he goes for her side, slashing at her belly with his claws and screeches as he rears his head, ready to strike her neck.

But Vhagar gets there first. Aemond’s jaw clenches instinctively, the taste of blood pooling on his tongue as Vhagar sinks her teeth into Caraxes’ shoulder. The dragons writhe and thrash in a deadlock, unrelenting in their attacks but determined to escape each other.

They start to fall. It is a chaotic struggle, beating their wings, screaming in agony and rage, pulling away and ripping at each other.

There’s nothing Aemond can do. He tries to urge Vhagar with the reins, tries to scream at her to let go, to obey, but his efforts are all lost to the wind, the spurts of dragon’s blood rushing through the air, desperate bursts of flame.

Until Caraxes wrenches his claws away from Vhagar’s side. His wings struggle as they fall but he scratches at Vhagar’s head, urging her to release the grip on his shoulder. She does, only to close her jaw around his neck with another snap of her jaws.

The lake is getting closer.

For a moment he wonders if he could jump before the dragons hit the surface of the water. He probably wouldn’t survive the fall, and even if he did, his riding leathers and the chains that keep him fixed to Vhagar’s saddle would weigh him down.

They will die with their dragons then.

He hears the call of a dragon, not the aged roar of Vhagar, not the piercing cry of Caraxes.

Through the haze of blood and fire, his eye finds a pale figure on the lakeshore, another dragon.

His heart stops.

Grey Ghost darts into the air, and glides around Vhagar and Caraxes, coming clearly into view.

And he sees her.

He can hardly make out the details of her face and he feels all the more deprived of her. A silver breastplate glimmers on her chest like dragon scales, catching the final crimson glow of the sunset. Dark hair flies behind her with the force of the wind.

Her hands aren’t on the reins, her arms are outstretched. At first he thinks she is reaching for something, until he realises she’s holding a bow when she reaches for an arrow from a quiver strapped to her back. 

He feels frozen, helpless as he watches her position the arrow and pull back the bow string. It would be a quicker death than drowning, and it would be by her hand. He might find peace in it, if only he could see her face on final time.

It is just, surely. He threatened her, demanded she repay her debt with her body and then her eye, pursued her through a storm and watched as she fell through the clouds with the pieces of her dragon.

He tells himself he deserves it, for the way his mother looked at him when he returned from Storm’s End, the way Helaena couldn’t stand to be near him, the screams echoing in his memories, for all the pain he has caused.

The anticipation doesn’t have a chance to set in. He feels himself knocked back by something lodging itself in his shoulder and even then he cannot take his eye from her.

Vhagar lurches, screaming in pain as something hot and wet seeps through his leathers and the shirt underneath.

The shock takes a matter of seconds to wear off, then there is just a searing pain.

His dragon releases her jaws from Caraxes’ neck. Caraxes’ claws continue their assault on her head, aiming for her eyes, but she is almost indifferent to it as she turns her attention to Grey Ghost.

Vhagar can hardly move from underneath Caraxes, but she can drag him with her. Grey Ghost seems to be larger than Arrax was, but it will only take Vhagar a single snap of her jaws to claim both dragon and rider.

He can’t watch Luke die again. He will not.

He can scarcely breathe, can hardly think straight or see anything clearly, but he musters all the force his lungs can manage and wrenches on the reins. “Daor, Vhagar!” he commands. “Ziry daor!” Not her.

Against her desire for blood and her own stubbornness, Vhagar obeys. She turns her head once more to Caraxes. With a slash of her talons, she makes another tear in his belly. Blood gushes from the wound like a river, streaming through the air as the black surface of the God’s Eye comes closer, and closer. 

This will be a battle with no victor. As Vhagar delivers her blow, Caraxes twists his neck and sinks his teeth into her throat. She tries to cry in pain, but it is muffled as she gargles on the blood that floods her gullet.

Aemond tries to look for Luke and Grey Ghost again, but he cannot find them. He sees blood, he sees flames, he sees the colours of sunset in the sky and the lake.

He has to get out of the chains, but he does not know if he has the strength.

He looks up, or what he thinks is up, following along Vhagar’s neck, to where Caraxes’ jaws are clenched around her flesh, along his red hide, to his back.

Daemon is standing in the saddle, Dark Sister unsheathed and poised before him. He should be falling– in fact he is, falling with the dragons, down, down, down, his sword ready to strike.

Daemon means to kill him, before they can meet the water.

He would give his life to Luke, but he will not allow his uncle the satisfaction. 

He doesn’t stop to consider if he has the time, he knows he has to act. First he takes hold of the arrow in his shoulder, snapping off as much as he can of it, bearing his teeth through the pain. Then he heaves the heavy chains to unhook them from the saddle.

As the point of Daemon’s sword comes to meet him, Aemond hauls his body out of its path. With his left hand he reaches for the hilt, and clasps his fingers around it.

With the force of Daemon’s falling, the Princes are dragged from Vhagar’s back.

Aemond has one final chance and seconds in which to take it.

He grips the hilt of Dark Sister as harshly as he can, crushing Daemon’s hand under his grip. He twists his uncle’s wrist, driving the point of the sword into his stomach and driving it forward into his flesh, as far as it will go.

He doesn’t hear a cry of pain, a final grunt or an exhale of breath before the treacherous waters of the God’s Eye consume them.

The noise of their battle, of screaming dragons and roaring fires, are engulfed in a cold, black void. Everything drags him down, his leathers, the force of two dragons hitting the water, and the weight of the limp body run through on Dark Sister. 

Aemond does not fight it. He feels the sting of cold water against his skin and in his nose and throat. On his tongue he tastes blood but cannot decide where it is from, torn between icy numbness and pain. It is everywhere, his shoulder, his limbs, his chest…

Vhagar is gone. For the first time in so long he feels incomplete. 

But even then the thought of grief fades into the cruel quiet of the lake.

Perhaps his end will be peaceful after all. He is not sure he deserves it, but he wants it all the same.

He hears his heart now, pulsing in his ears, echoing through his veins. 

He thinks of Helaena and his mother and wonders if they are being kept together or apart. He thinks of Daeron, fierce, young, vulnerable, the only dragon rider their family will have left. He thinks of Aegon and Maelor and can only hope they are safe. He thinks of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, little white nightgowns seeped with blood, and tightens his grip on the hilt of Dark Sister.

Something disturbs the water above him.

He can see their faces through the darkness, a thousand and one, constantly shifting. Without saying a single word they tell him he is safe.

Something like a limb curls around his torso and grabs him. The pressure on his chest is excruciating but he cannot scream with water in his lungs. It hauls him up. He feels the break through the surface of the lake but he still cannot breathe. 

He wonders if this is the Stranger himself crushing come at last to claim his life and face whatever judgement the gods will pass on him.

Until he lands on solid ground, though not quite solid. It shifts beneath him, cold and sharp under the palms of his hands and the side of his face. With his heart drumming frantically in his ears, his body acts for its own survival, pushing him up onto his hands and knees, retching up blood and water, gagging on the taste it leaves in his mouth.

He hears something land on the ground before him and knows it is a dragon. Through his own struggle he recognises the sound of footsteps against the pebbles, slow and cautious.

His vision is blurry and the only light the sky can offer is a gloomy red. He can see the gleam of it against Dark Sister, the sword of Visenya, Maegor and Daemon, just beyond the reach of his fingertips. 

A hand that is not his own closes around the hilt and brings it out of his line of sight, the point coming to rest at his throat.

Retribution will come with fire and fury…

He drags his body back to rest on his haunches so he can look up at her.

She’s covered in red, her skin under the sunset, her skirt and the sigil of the three headed dragon embroidered on her riding leathers. But she is unmarred by blood, either her own or another’s.

She looks eerily peaceful, a quiet rage simmering under the surface of tired eyes and a soft, rounded face. He does not take his eye from her and she meets his gaze without shame, without fear or pride. He thinks then, he would be content to die at her hand.

He waits for the blade to pierce through his throat, for whatever warmth is left in his body to fade and for the world to go dark again. He waits for the pain to finally end.

… and so it will be your salvation.

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General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

Series taglist: @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarsslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

[mamaskullz]

~Mommy~

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

┊┋ Pairing:Marko x black!fem reader

┊┋ The Queen of The Damned/The Lost Boys AU

┊┋ Notes: the reader is a vampire, the

┊┋daughter of Akasha

┊┋ Tw: light graphic, lewd dream

┊┋Content:18+ MDNI, mature content:

┊┋sex with minimal plot, unprotected sex, oral

┊┋(m and f receiving)

┊┋choking, spitting, cunnilings

┊┋cowgirl, riding, Nipple sucking, handjob

┊┋ mentioned “mommy” "goddess" "baby boy"

┊┋ praises, blood kink, light degradation, begging

┊┋ fdom, mdom/msub, masturbation

┊┋ no.1

┊┋ Sequel to An Unforgettable Night part 2

┊┋ ~Enjoy~ checkout my masterlist

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

After the meeting with you at the boardwalk, the boys commenced strategizing on their journey back to the cave, contemplating the next encounter with you. Each one of them longed to catch another glimpse of you, a stunning goddess unlike any they had ever seen before.

"She is a powerful woman, one we should not take lightly.", David said informing the boys while getting ready for their slumber. "She is so beautiful.", The rest of the boys nod when Paul mentions your beauty, they are obsessed with the way you looked, and your blood made them yearn for more. They all discuss their plans for you, there are plenty of plans on what they want to do with such a beauty, they all discuss how they are going to enjoy you once they have you, they make sure to plan it out carefully and thoroughly, they all cannot wait.

Marko pondered upon the encounter, his mind fixated on the elusive words whispered in his ear. The sun began to ascend, signaling the boys to retreat and seek shelter from the penetrating light. Taking advantage of their flight capabilities, they assumed a bat-like position, hanging upside down within the safety of a cave. As Marko dangled, his thoughts consumed him, intensifying his yearning for you - your essence, your physical presence. His mouth watered, and he found himself muttering incoherently as he gradually succumbed to slumber, under the influence of your manipulative powers, within the realm of his dreams.

In Marko's Dream

As Marko soared through the darkened skies, he became aware of a familiar voice calling out his name, urging him to find its source. The beckoning sound resonated deeply within him, captivating his senses. Your voice, in particular, possessed an enchanting allure that he found impossible to resist. Determined to reach you, Marko pushed himself to his limits, propelling through the air with unparalleled speed. His heart pounded in his chest, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, as he raced towards the origin of your captivating call.

Flying closer to the sound of you , your voice sounds more and more irresistible, more and more seductive. He sees you up on the balcony as the weather clears up for him to see you, he sees you in his most desireful dream. In this dream he can't wait to get to you. Marko is flying so fast and so quick to get to you, he wants to fly through the windows and to be in your arms. Marko's desire is so strong he wants to hold you and to kiss you.

Landing on his feet on the balcony he couldn't see you as he calls out for you. "Anippe! Anippe! I'm here! Where are You!", He calls for you beckon before you speak again. "Marko~ Come Here Marko~", Hearing you as it was coming from inside, Marko couldn't see what from inside not realizing his feet was walking towards the darkness that was coming from the inside, looking around for you only to be met with hands behind him wrapping your arms around his torso making him turn around towards you now coming face to face with you.

Upon catching sight of your countenance, Marko instantly recognized that he had entered a state of bliss. Your impeccable beauty captivated him to the point where he couldn't divert his gaze, and he found himself completely entranced by the allure within your eyes. This was the ultimate longing he had fervently sought after.

Embracing him, you enveloped him with a sense of overwhelming emotion, as if your hug was the epitome of intimacy. Your exquisite allure and irresistible charm left him utterly infatuated. Marko's heart raced uncontrollably, unable to resist being captivated by your beauty, as if it were comparable to that of a goddess.

While playfully denying Marko the opportunity to kiss you, you persistently whispered, asking him, "Do you long for my presence?" The tantalizing words escaped your lips as you teased and enticed him, leaving him yearning to taste your essence.

While playfully denying Marko the opportunity to kiss you, you persistently whispered, asking him, "Do you long for my presence?" You tantalizingly teased and taunted him, brushing your lips against each other's, as he yearned to taste your kiss. In a seductive tone, you inquired, "Do you crave my affection?"

"You don't know how very much I desire you; you are so gorgeous and irresistible. Your beauty makes me hunger for you, like your blood is calling me to feast in your sweetness." Marko is overwhelmed by his intense desire for you; your stunning appearance and irresistible charm captivate him completely. Your beauty ignites a deep longing within him, as if your essence beckons him to indulge in your delightful presence. He can hardly contain his excitement; he yearns to savor every moment with you, to embrace and relish in your essence. The mere thought of your alluring sweetness drives him to the brink of madness.

"Then beg for it, it's that simple", Speak softly to him and gently request it, as it is a straightforward matter. As you do so, let your hand slide into his pants, feeling the lingering hardness that you aroused when you first encountered each other at the boardwalk. Begin to caress and stimulate him.

"Please, *please* let me taste your sweet blood, I need to feed on you, I need to consume you, your beauty has driven me insane.", Marko pleaded desperately, urging you to grant him the privilege of savoring your exquisite blood. The insatiable desire to consume you overwhelmed him, as your captivating beauty had driven him to the brink of madness. With your hand caressing him incessantly, his longing intensified to an unbearable level. The intensity of your touch clouded his thoughts, rendering him incapable of rational thinking. His sole fixation became the insatiable craving to feast upon you, as his hunger had completely consumed him. He yearned to possess you, to have you entirely for himself.

As a smirk graces your face, you draw closer and share an ardent, tender kiss with him. The sound of his gentle moans fills the air as your lips meet, while you delicately caress his arousal through his trousers. Transitioning from his lips to his neck, you give his manhood a gentle squeeze, skillfully stroking it to ensure he feels each and every touch. Marko whispers, "Please, take care of me," causing a delightful shiver to run down your spine. Smirking, you relish in the power he has bestowed upon you and take pleasure in sinking your teeth into his neck, savoring the exquisite taste of his blood.

Marko's transformation from Dominant to Submissive was unexpected, but it turns out he had always harbored secret desires to be submissive, particularly to Paul. However, since his encounter with you, he has discovered a newfound willingness to be dominated by you. As you increase the intensity of your strokes on his cock, Marko's head tilts back, his cries of pleasure filling the air and gratifying your senses. "You're such a well-behaved boy," you praise him, while maintaining a steady rhythm, feeling his throbbing member glide against your fingertips.

"Please take care. Please take care of your Good-boys cock.", Marko, as he expresses his desires towards you. His warm breath on your neck carries the enticing scent of your blood, tempting him to come closer. Slowly, he opens his mouth, retracting his fangs to taste your blood. However, he is abruptly stopped by a firm grip on his cock, causing him to cry out in pain. As a small punishment, you release your hold on him, leaving him in a state of arousal. With a commanding tone, you question his eagerness, reminding him that he is not permitted to taste you without permission. He responds in a whimpering manner, confessing his desire to taste you like David did. He pleads for your forgiveness, expressing his remorse. The pleas escape his mouth, accompanied by various sounds of desperation. As you gaze at him with desire, you push him onto the bed.

Marko reclines on the bed, captivated by your enchanting allure as if time slowed down. He observes your hair gracefully swaying, while your reaches up to untie the strings on your dress, causing the delicate spaghetti straps to slip off your shoulders, unveiling your alluring figure with tantalizingly rigid nipples. This sight leaves Marko breathless, in awe of your stunning physique. As your dress gracefully descends, revealing more of your body, he cannot contain his anticipation any longer. However, before he can proceed, you gently place your hand on his face, urging him to pause and tilting his head back to meet your gaze…

"Did i give you. Permission? Slut~", with the lips that fell upon turning Marko on with the name calling quickly sulking looking at the temple of your body feeling the smooth skin with his cold hands, restraining himself to obey but was tempted to disobey just to see what you might do. "I'm sorry Mommy, I just want to taste you.

"I am amazed by my mommy's extraordinary beauty, charm, and allure". A gentle touch of our noses creates an enchanting sensation, with a soft whimper escaping him. This intimate gesture heightens the sexual tension, instinctively causing me to squeeze my own breasts. As this moment progresses, I find myself completely immersed in the feeling of his mouth opening, as his warm, moist tongue glides over my stomach, gradually moving upwards towards my belly button.

You relished the sensation of Marko's wet kisses on your stomach, knowing that your arousal was mounting. You watched in delight as he lavished your body with adoration, like a goddess deserving worship. Marko cast an upward glance, smirking at your evident enjoyment. As your hand slipped lower, it grazed over your belly button, sending a cascade of blood down your thigh. The sight had Marko drooling, spurred on by your words of invitation, 'Taste it. Taste what your need desired.' With your hip pressed against his, he held you close, enraptured by your seduction. "Mommy," he whispered before greedily consuming the spilled blood, leaving not a single drop to stain, and smearing it across his face.

Imagine tasting how sweet your blood was, getting messy with blood on the bed when you were both naked, covered in blood, with his blood smeared on your lips, and with your smile on your face and his, Marko leaned close to kiss your neck with the mixture of blood both on your bodies. You're so beautiful, mommy, I want more, could you please let me have more? " The Pleads, The Seduction, The Temptation, The Desire are all there for the taking.

"Indulge, Mother, my little one," he seductively requested, observing the excited smile forming on his face. He proceeded to passionately kiss your neck, maintaining the intimate connection between his lips and your skin. Moving downwards, he left moist kisses on your collarbones and ventured towards the space between your breasts, lavishing attention on your bosom and nibbling on your hardened nipples. The sensation of his lips on your body caused you to shudder, experiencing a pleasurable sensation that made your toes curl. As he continued to suck on your breasts, he gradually made his way down your body until he reached your waist. "Oh, Mother," Marko murmured in between kissing your thighs and inner thighs, "You are truly magnificent, absolutely delectable, Mother. I have never encountered a woman as enchanting and captivating as you, Mother~" His semi-whispered words threatened to weaken your resolve, but you knew you wouldn't easily succumb.

He began by kissing around your intimate area, slowly making his way back to where he started. His focus shifted towards your clitoris, giving it the attention, it deserved as he gently licked it. With his hands gripping your thighs, he held you down, ensuring you couldn't escape his grasp. His tongue flicked skillfully on your sensitive spot, while you watched him intently, captivated by the beautiful sight unfolding before you. The sensation of his wet tongue on your most intimate area sent pleasurable tingles throughout your body, causing you to squirm in delight. However, as the intensity grew, you started to feel weakened by his overpowering strength. He then shifted his attention, moving from your clitoris to your folds, exploring every inch with his tongue. The taste of your arousal was evident as he savored your juices, indicating just how aroused you were from the passionate encounter. "You're so incredibly wet for me, Mommy," he teased, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. Maintaining eye contact with you, he never broke the connection as he continued to pleasure you, thrusting his tongue inside your wetness with a hint of aggression.

He continues to explore the patterns in your intimate area, and as a result, your moans become increasingly louder. The sensation of his sharp nails tearing the sheets doesn't bother you as you are fully absorbed in the pleasure he is providing. With your back arched and your legs held down, you feel a sudden sharp twist in your stomach accompanied by tingling sensations, indicating that you are nearing climax. "Baby boy, I'm almost there. Mommy is close," you warn Marko, which only further excites him and intensifies his desire to pleasure your wet and tight area. He begins to adopt a more assertive and aggressive approach, increasing the speed of his movements. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you reach your limit and start squirting uncontrollably. The sound of his moans resonating within you only serves to heighten your pleasure, causing you to become overstimulated. As you reach down to grip his messy golden curls, your toes curl in response to the mounting sensations. Your legs tremble, covered in a sheen of sweat, as you struggle to catch your breath. Marko, with heavy breaths, then proceeds to clean up the remnants of your enjoyment, relishing in the taste of your sweet and sticky essence. Looking at you with a contented smile, he remarks, "You taste absolutely delicious, mommy~". Leaning in, he gently kisses you, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

Marko inquired, "May I please engage in sexual intercourse with you, Mommy?" You responded, "Certainly, for being such a devoted individual to me, you may engage in intercourse with me in any manner you desire." After catching your breath, Marko reached down and firmly grasped his penis, stroking it vigorously to ensure it was coated with your natural lubrication. Moaning with pleasure, he expressed his desire, "Could you guide me inside you, Mommy? I yearn to experience the sensation of penetrating your sweet, wet, and tight vagina." As you listened to his passionate words, you looked up at him with a mischievous smile, gripping his penis tightly with your hand and causing your nails to dig into his skin, resulting in a slight bleeding. This sensation brought him immense pleasure. Leading the way, you guided him towards the entrance, aligning his penis with your vagina.

After positioning him, you gently guide him in, feeling the pressure as his member enters your intimate space. Your toes curl from a mix of pain and pleasure, and Marko observes as his length disappears inside you. The grip of your walls around his cock causes him to wince and moan. As he fills you completely, you can't help but feel the enormity of his size, stretching you to your limits. Allowing you a moment to adjust, Marko gazes into your eyes, captivated by the intensity of the moment, and leans down to share a passionate kiss. His hips begin to move involuntarily as he can no longer contain his desire. With a whisper in your ear, he expresses his longing for you, relishing in the tightness of your pussy that nearly milks his throbbing member.

"Oh Fuck~ Thats it Babyboy start off slow~ Never knew a sloppy pathetic bloodlust whore bitch would be such a good fucktoy~", It is astonishing how derogatory words can unknowingly enhance the pleasure, as you gradually increase your pace. Your expressions of enjoyment intensify as you firmly hold onto the bed sheets, unable to resist moaning his name while he reciprocates with yours. "I am completely devoted to you, my dear. Oh my! Oh my!" The sounds of pleasure engulf you as your partner's passion-filled words fill your mouth, now leading towards another sensation as his thrusting continues.

As it was apparent that both of you were thoroughly enjoying yourselves, he lifted you up in his arms while you held onto his neck tightly, expressing your pleasure through moans that resonated in his ear. "My dear, you feel so incredible on me that I may reach climax," he cautioned you, making you aware of his growing intensity, which mirrored your own. Sensing the imminent release approaching, a knot formed in your stomach. Marko began thrusting vigorously, causing your breasts to bounce as he caressed one of them and proceeded to suck on it, all while the moist sounds of your intimate connection resonated. "My love, I'm reaching my peak soon," he warned. "I am too, my darling," you replied, embracing the intensity of the moment.

As they were both on the verge of climax, entangled in a passionate and intense encounter, consuming each other's blood and mingling it with their sweat, Marko was abruptly awakened by Dwayne. "Hey, wake up!" Dwayne shook him vigorously, as the night sky loomed outside. Marko stirred, feeling a dampness in his pants, and instinctively reached down to investigate. He clenched his fist, hearing the sounds of disappointment before he let out a sigh. "Gentlemen! We have a special evening ahead. Let us make the most of it!" With David's encouragement and the enthusiastic howls of Paul and Dwayne, a flushed Marko checked his pants after changing his underwear, yearning for you after experiencing the dream that felt all too real.

But don't worry you two will meet again surely...

~A/n~ Deftones will be played in the part two but I hope you enjoyed the sequel, I’m not good at making intimate scenes but I practice from time to time.

[thecozykirin]

Day 6 - Feelings

( Another piece centered around my husband’s OC! Credit to him for helping me write this little flashback piece )

@daily-writing-challenge

The cub’s tiny chest rose and fell, the silhouette casted by the lantern light over her tiny body made it seem as though the edges of her fur were rising blades of shadow. Yasashi quietly marveled at her ability to sleep, no older than a few hours and already, she slept with her face against the cold plate of his chest just as well as she had been within her mother’s arms during the sparse moments Soo-ha had been able to hold her before succumbing to exhaustion. Soo-ha slept at his side, curled up on the only sleeping roll they had…and would most likely need to dispose as it was soaked from the aftermath of the birth.

For the past few hours, Yasashi felt uneasy to look away from her, as though if he dared to for a moment then the life he had worked into her lungs would suddenly flee and she would fall still and quiet once more. An uneasy feeling crept up his spine at the thought and his brow fell. It was strange. There were many fathers and mothers within the ranks of the Shado-pan, and he had heard idle chatter here and there over matters concerning their cubs. He heard their worries, their fears, their love…. But this girl was not his cub, not his blood and yet…when she first laid in his paws, still and quiet he was gripped with a fear that filled his veins with ice. Now, she lay in his arms content and that ice had long since thawed, giving way to a warmth in his heart he could not quite place.

Sinking back against the wall of the cave, he tucked the edge of his frayed scarf around her body where it had come undone, with the same gentleness of one handling a thin pane of glass….and she did not express discomfort at the action, rather, she cooed and Yasashi was taken aback as tiny digits, no bigger than a clump of rice, curled around his retreating claw.

His paws which had been beaten and broken, stained with the blood of friend and foe alike were now regarded as something of a protective shell by perhaps, the purest thing he had ever beheld. With a slight tremble in his paws now, he gently stroked her little cheek until a small bubble yawn left her, and her face buried itself against his breastplate once more, falling into a deep slumber.

Blinking rapidly, his eyes lifted from the cub and then to Soo-ha and then back down to the cub and there…he came to his decision. Tightening his hold a bit on the infant, he finally found the courage to turn his gaze away and onto the raging storm outside.

[zero-to-zero-to-zero-again]

Cold Nights And Fox Friends

Word Count: 1,432

TW's: Accidental Fearplay, Intentional Fearplay (brief), Mentions Of Death (brief), Referring To Someone As "It" (also brief)

Characters: C!Dream, C!George, C!Sapnap

Summary: Dream gets caught out in a winter storm and needs a place to stay for the night. He finds a place, alright. It's just not as...vacant as he'd hoped.

Cold fic! Everyone stay warm for the holidays! <3

Dream was so cold. So cold that he couldn't even feel the white, icy matter pressed against his skin as he shuffled through the waist-high snow. He gave his numb wings another pitiful flap before allowing them to droop back down behind him. No dice. His eyes scanned the wintry landscape around him. The snow left a fuzzy, white blur over his vision. Of all the times to get kicked out of his place, why'd it have to be on the night of a blizzard?

If he squinted, he could just barely make out what the more cynical part of him was apt to brush off as a mirage. There was no way he could have stumbled across a live fire in the middle of nowhere, was there? He approached with a cautious spark of hope igniting in his chest. It was quite possibly the only thing keeping his legs moving.

He dared to shuffle ever closer. A cave. He wasn't very fond of caves. Too many predators made their homes in there. However, he was far more fond of caves than the whipping, wintry winds slashing away at his skin.

He hardly even hesitated as he stepped up to the mouth of the cave-a decision it didn't take long for him to regret. The instant his foot touched the stone, it was quite clear that the fire hadn't miraculously appeared there by some act of God. Rather, it was made.

Made by two beasts who laid there bathing in the heat given off by the flickering flames. Dream retreated back a step. Maybe he would have better chances of surviving out there in the cold. In the end, the decision was made for him. The wind had shoved him onward and covered up his tracks to ensure he'd only succeed in losing his way if he tried to set out once again.

He swallowed thickly. He carefully approached the burning logs with his head on a swivel. With any luck, the pair of canines would remain lost in their peaceful slumber and he could simply leave either when his wings thawed or the storm subsided. Whichever came first.

Unfortunately, there was one thing Dream forgot. He would consider himself many things. Strong, swift, cunning. What he never considered himself was lucky. And with no random bout of fortune on his side, he soon found himself trapped in an intense, amber gaze.

The fox lifted its head slowly, pointed ears aimed directly at him. It let out a soft snarl. Its snow white companion stirred but never woke. The fox's eyes never left Dream as it growled a little louder. Hardly even a twitch from the other. It almost seemed to roll its eyes before letting out a sharp bark that ricocheted off the cave walls, echoing straight back into Dream's ears. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who heard it.

The white fox's head snapped up. Its blue eyes were narrowed as it glared at its orange counterpart. It wasn't long before both predatory gazes found their way to Dream. He raised his hands up placatingly. Obviously they were intelligent enough to build a fire so maybe they were intelligent enough to hold a conversation?

"Um, h-hi," he greeted them sheepishly. It was a bit hard to fit words around his relentlessly chattering teeth. "Great weather, huh?"

The white beast seemed wholly unamused. It continued to glower at him with the intensity of a thousand suns, daring Dream to continue rambling just so it had a good reason to do away with him. The sparrow sighed.

"Look, I promise I'll be out of your fur as soon as I can. It's just really c-cold out there and I can't even see my hand in front of my face. P-please I would be b-b-beyond grateful if you let me stay."

He offered the pair the most charming smile he could muster. The corners of his lips spasmed with even the slightest movement.

The pair of foxes exchanged a long glance with one another. The conversation was silent, practically telepathic. The only indication of deliberation was in the subtle twitches of their faces. Ultimately, the orange fox's pleading puppy dog eyes seemed to win the argument.

The two nodded in unison. The platinum fox's head dropped back down atop its paws while the other turned to look to Dream. The nod was brief but it was all he needed.

He let out a sigh of relief, practically melting beside the fire.

"Th-thanks," he muttered. He curled up as tightly as possible, hugging his knees close to his chest. The heat was heavenly once he actually began to feel it. The radiation gradually worked its way up to his skin to gradually thaw the parts of him that were frozen solid.

He dared to shut his eyes just to soak in every second of bliss. He was so engulfed in the heat that he failed to notice the click of claws against stone behind him. The fuzzy warmth wrapping around him nearly startled the soul straight out of his body. He sat bolt upright with a gasp, gawking at the orange fur encircling him.

He traced the tail back to its owner, who only laid there drowsily gazing at him, oblivious to the heart attack it had nearly just caused. There was a soft sigh from behind him.

"Don't touch that thing, Sapnap," a drowsy voice chastised. Dream whirled around to find an almost human boy reclining by the fire. If the blue eyes weren't enough of a clue as to who this was, the white, triangular ears atop his head surely did the trick.

A shifter. Just like Dream.

The boy managed to convey just as much irritation in his shifted form as his animal form. Bored eyes squinted down at Dream, his lip curling ever so slightly in disgust.

"Oh, come on."

Dream's hair stood on end at the sound of the second voice far too close for comfort. He dared to pivot on his heel to find yet another shifter towering over him.

"Look at how cute he is!" the second shifter cooed.

"He won't be as cute when he gives you the plague," the platinum-haired shifter was quick to point out.

"Birds don't carry the plague."

"Everything carries the plague, idiot!"

Dream nearly got whiplash from keeping his attention divided between the bickering pair.

"Uh...I don't feel sick," the sparrow interjected. He immediately regretted saying anything at all. The two stared at him. For just a moment, he wondered if they were thinking about tossing him out on his rear just for having the audacity to talk to them.

A hard pressure gently ruffled the mess of golden locks atop his head. He flinched away from the touch but it seemed to follow him.

"See, George, he's the picture of health."

The white-haired shifter-George, Dream presumed-scoffed.

"If I told you I was dead, you'd start mourning," George retorted.

Dream chuckled, cutting his own laugh off abruptly when George's focus sliced back to him. The fox shifter didn't seem quite as cross with him as before, tight expression going slightly slack.

"But I guess he can stay," George grumbled, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the small shifter. He turned over on his side. In a blink, the human-ish boy was no more. In his stead lay a fox that Dream would almost assume was already fast asleep if he didn't know any better. Sapnap giggled.

He finally removed the blunt of his claw from Dream's head, opting to trace a line up and down Dream's arm with it instead.

"He likes you," Sapnap remarked quietly.

"That was him liking me?" Dream demanded, matching the fox's volume. "I'd hate to see what he does to people he doesn't like."

Sapnap only tittered. He pulled his hand away all at once. Dream nearly toppled over, mortified to realize he'd been leaning into the soft touch to the point that he was using it to keep him upright. Sapnap's head tilted skyward. His mouth opened wide as he showed off each and every sharp canine the size of Dream's head.

Dream gave into the contagious nature of the yawn. When he opened his eyes, the orange fox had returned. Its heavy eyelids fluttered shut. Dream followed suit not long after, bracing his arm beneath his head as he laid down on the cool, cave floor.

An orange tail coiled loosely around him. And maybe this wasn't the safest place for Dream to spend the night but in that moment, he'd never felt warmer.

[mamashenanigans]

I had a premonition this morning.

I saw a terrible viscous beast of red. It pulsated and roared as it had finally roused from its deep slumber and set its eyes upon the village in the valley below its chasm.

The hard-working people had become complacent in the monster’s absence. Only a few still whispered of it, concerned as to its plan and worried over a surprise attack that the walls surrounding their kingdom may be ill-fitted to stop. As to not alarm the other residents, this small group of troubled citizens convinced one warrior to take a dangerous vigil beyond the wall.

As the ignorant masses continued their daily labor, this one warrior sat in wait.

It was then, as the clock struck noon and the denizens elated in their much deserved rest from their hard work, did the creature move. It slid slowly towards the ramparts, but its trek did not go unnoticed. For the warrior heard something—perhaps the breaking of a twig or the rustling of the brush—and sprang into action.

Too soon after the lunch bell rang, so too did the bell of alarm.

The populace, though at first anxious over what the future may hold if the monster would breach their barricades, shook off their fear and immediately acted as one unit: they used anything they could to erect another makeshift wall outside their domain.

Though some of the creature was able to make it through, the warriors were more than capable of pushing it back.

Exhausted, but victorious, the citizens took their monthly posts and, for the next week, would continue to do so.

For the beast would always grow tired after such a time and retreat back to its cave beyond the valley.

So, anyway, yeah, my period started today.

[zevlors-tail]

Hi I feel really bad for sending in an emergency request but bakugou, deku, or kaminari comforting and helping a reader who is going through a major depressive episode with suicidal thoughts. I’m so sorry I feel really bad for asking

A/N: I could not have gotten this at a more convenient time. I just want to say thank you for requesting this, and please don’t be sorry for asking about this. If you want to talk my dms are open, but I hope this helps! This was extremely cathartic for me to write. I only did Bakugou for the moment, but I fully plan on coming back at some point to at least add Denki (and also Deku eventually). Bakugou as a secret comfort character for me? It’s more likely than you think.

TW: Suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, suicidal reader, depression. PLEASE DO NOT READ if these things trigger you. It’s extremely descriptive and emotional!

Bakugou Katsuki

“Hey...are you okay?” 

You barely snapped out of your foggy trance as you slowly blinked, your coworker’s face coming into focus eventually as you gathered your surroundings you had long since forgotten about. Your response was immediate, familiar words strung together with little effort after saying them over and over again. No longer did they drag you down and taste like lies in your mouth; now they were just the ghost of a feeling you struggled to remember, an empty shell with hollowed out meaning. 

“Oh, yeah...just tired,” you drawled. And you were.

There weren’t too many days anymore that you didn’t feel drained, didn’t feel like the weight of the world was sitting on your shoulders. You felt heavy- both mentally and physically, like there were weights tethered to your arms and legs. It made you feel utterly exhausted at the end of every day and stole your motivation to get up in the morning. Your bed never seemed more comfortable, and your sheets never seemed so warm. If you had the choice, you would allow yourself to lie there forever, to skip work in favor of sleeping through the whole day, because what good was there in being awake, anyway? Lately it just seemed like everything was a waste.

“Are you sure? You just seem...down.” Your coworker gave you a concerned look, and you thought it ironic that the day you felt you might snap was the day everyone chose to finally ask if you were alright. Maybe she could see it on your face, or maybe you finally looked how you felt inside. Whatever the case, you didn’t care. In fact, you hardly cared about anything; it was hard to care about your life when you felt there was no value to it.

“I’m fine! Just really tired,” you repeated without hesitation.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” She seemed to take the explanation without any further question, shrugging and turning around to get back to what she had been doing before. “Just make sure management doesn’t catch you staring off like that; I think they’re in a bad mood today.”

Logically, you knew you were dealing with depression. Depression was not something new to you; this had happened before, and you had managed to dig yourself out of your own hole each time, but this time was...different. Logic didn’t stop the thoughts rampaging through your mind, didn’t quiet the voices that told you others would be better off without you. You felt like a burden to everyone, a walking problem that caused trouble everywhere you went. Just this morning at work you had dropped something accidentally, and it had spilled all over the floor and under the tables, the mess reaching into the cracks and crevices of the tiles where it would be harder to get to. You had done the best you could to clean it up, but in the end, the janitor had to step in and clean up the mess that you made. Maybe it was just an accident, and maybe you didn’t mean to spill your food, but you couldn’t see past the fact that you were always like this. Always spilling things, always causing problems for others, always inconveniencing everyone you came into contact with. Maybe...it would be better if you had stayed in bed all day instead of coming to work.

Maybe it would be better if you had never woke up in the first place.

...No!

You shook the thought from your head, doing your best to ignore it and focus on something else. Come on, you told yourself, focus on your job. But your mind remained hazy as you continued on with work, and it only served to cause more problems for you. By the end of the day, you had accidentally dropped a couple more items, slipped on some water and fell face first to the ground, and towards the end of your shift, just as you were clocking out, you bumped into an unruly customer who was clearly having none of it today. Hands reached out to shove you away and you stumbled, tripping over your own feet as you tried to get a grip and regain your balance.

“Watch where you’re going, god! Are you blind or something!? Jesus!”

For any other person, it might have just made them upset or angry, but it would have been passed off as a bad day, a bad moment in the grand scheme of things that would go away with time. But for you? For you it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Whatever motivation and will to live you had left, it was gone within the instant, replaced with a numb, empty feeling. What was the point in all of this? If this was life, if you were constantly going to cause problems and get in people’s way, what was your purpose here?

If nothing was enjoyable anymore...you just wanted it to end. It was too late for you anyways; you felt too far gone to be saved. And honestly...what was even left to save? You felt like a shell of your former self.

And that was how you left the store, feet dragging against the ground as you numbly walked to your car to go home. It took you a while to collect yourself, so you sat there for a few minutes in the parking lot, keys stuck in the ignition and hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. Finally, you worked up the will to actually start the car, and then you were on your way home. Home...where you would probably just lie through your teeth again and go lay in bed for the rest of the night.

Bakugou was in the kitchen making dinner when you padded through the foyer and announced your arrival, the smell of spices overwhelming rather than inviting or enticing. But then again, you didn’t have much of an appetite lately, and you found the thought of sleep to be more appealing than the thought of food anyways.

“I’m home.” Your voice was quieter than usual, your tone flat and monotonous. Bakugou didn’t respond for a minute, and you wondered if he had even heard you over the sound of something sizzling in a pan.

“Y/N, that you?” A head poked out from around the corner, red eyes meeting E/C. “How was work?”

“It was work.” You blinked and kicked your shoes off haphazardly, your body already caving in on itself as you made your way to the bedroom. If Bakugou noticed the change from your usual demeanor, he said nothing about it, only going back to what he was doing in the kitchen when you retreated to your sanctuary for the night.

Finally alone with your thoughts, you crawled under the soft sheets with your work clothes still on and curled up, eyes already shutting even before your head hit the pillow. At some point you must have managed to fall asleep, because the next thing you knew you were being shaken awake by Katsuki, a sweet and savory smell drifting through the air. Your stomach rumbled, and though it felt empty, you still didn’t feel like eating emotionally. The only thing you seemed to feel now was a heaviness settling on your soul.

“Y/N, come eat.” Either you were imagining things or Bakugou’s normally gruff voice was more gentle and relaxed as he woke you from your slumber.

You protested with a whine, your face scrunching up in annoyance from being woken up. “Tired...” you mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you haven’t had anything since you came home from work, babe.”

“That was only an hour ago...” you started, your voice still thick from sleep. But as you looked towards your alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed, you were surprised to find that the little digital numbers read 11:58 pm. You’d slept for a little over five hours since you had arrived home. “Shit-!”

That seemed to do the trick, and you were scrambling up and out of bed in no time, panic and confusion washing over you from your prolonged nap. Had you really slept so long? You hadn’t meant to, but it did feel nice to have a small break from everything you felt when you were awake. And again, you caught yourself wondering if maybe the world would be better off if you never woke up. Eventually the haziness of your dream state faded, leaving you with the same reality you had been facing earlier in the day. You wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and curl up in your state of melancholy, but you were up now, and Katsuki would worry if you didn’t eat anything.

The two of you made your way to the dinning room table where a plate of reheated leftovers sat along with some silver cutlery, a cute little holiday napkin leftover from Halloween resting next to it. You stared at the pumpkin covered paper for a while before picking up your fork and stabbing at whatever dish Bakugou had decided on for dinner. Lately he seemed to be on a vegetable kick, though a healthy dose of fruits and meats were also thrown into the mix for balance. You mindlessly chewed, not really paying attention to the flavor if there was any at all. In fact, it felt like you were chewing cardboard. You didn’t enjoy the taste or feel; you only ate purely out of habit and need to.

“Do you not like it?” Bakugou pulled you from your reverie of thoughts, your head snapping up in his direction when he spoke.

“Huh?”

“The food. You’ve barely touched it in the last ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? Since when had that much time passed? Looking down at your plate, you realized he was correct. Over half of your food remained untouched, bits and pieces of it spread around from your fork and pushed to the side as if it was your least favorite meal. You hadn’t even noticed you were playing with it, and you wondered how long you had been just sitting there scooting food around with a blank look on your face.

“No, it was good.” Liar. You’d hardly been able to taste it. But it wasn’t just food that had lost it’s merit to you, if you really thought about it. The world just didn’t seem as lively; colors seemed washed out and faded, food held no taste, and music just didn’t sound the same. Nothing was enjoyable for you anymore.

“Y/N. You know you can tell me if there’s something going on, right?” Bakugou’s eyes bored into you while you just stared at the brightly colored napkin.

“Yeah, I know!” you chirped back, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his gaze before returning to orange pumpkins.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” It sounded like a question, but really it was an invite. He knew there was something going on with you. Asking you was his way of giving you room to explain yourself before he decided to pry. Usually he was mindful of any boundaries you might have had, but Katsuki was never a fool, and you tended not to open up easily. Sometimes a little pushing and prodding on his part was necessary.

“Not really? Just work, but it was the usual. I’m just tired.” Even as you tried to pass your unusual behaviors off as a bad day at work and exhaustion, you couldn’t hide the sour note that slipped into your voice along with the visible scowl you made. But the emotions were short lived, and you were back to feeling defeated and down within mere seconds.

“Hey...” You felt compelled to look up at him when he softened his voice even more, but everything in you told you to hold back and keep staring at those damn balls of orange on the napkin. Why, you weren’t sure- maybe it was to keep from crying, or maybe it was to suppress the feelings that were slowly surfacing within you, or maybe it was just because you no longer cared. “Are you alright?”

You visibly winced when he asked. Suddenly everything hurt; everything was a mess, it was all wrong, all of it, and you just wanted it to stop. The pain, the numbness, the thoughts- everything. It felt like you hadn’t been able to catch a break since the day you were born. Day in and day out you lived like that, and no one would ever ask if you were okay. No one took the time to check on you properly; no one seemed to notice when you felt like you were at your worst. Well...no one except Bakugou. He’d been your rock for a long time now, but lately everything had gotten much worse, and you had kept certain things from him so as not to burden him with your troubles. In your eyes, he had enough of his own problems; hero work was already rough on him as it was, so you kept things to yourself so he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. 

“Why does everyone always ask that when it’s already too late?”

The words tumbled uncontrollably from your mouth as your brows furrowed, a pained look clouding your dull eyes. Bakugou took a moment to process what you said before responding, eyes still locked onto you.

“What does that mean?” He already knew. You could hear it through the apprehensiveness in his voice, see it in the way he gritted his teeth anxiously. “Y/N, what does that mean?”

You glared at the blurry orange shape below you (were you crying...?), refusing to look Katsuki in the eyes. You were afraid of what might happen if you did. “I’m just...a waste of space.” There was a strange conviction to your voice, as if you’d made up your mind about something. Bakugou did not miss this. You, however, did miss the flash of fear in his ruby eyes as you spoke. “I cause problems for everyone I meet. I’m just a giant inconvenience to the world, and everyone would be better off without me. I don’t matter.”

“Y/N.”

“Would anybody even care if I was gone? I mean really, what difference am I making here?”

“Y/N, look at me.”

“It would be better that way. People wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore, and I don’t have to deal with all of...this.” You made some sort of gesture with your hands, your voice cracking as you held back hot tears. “Life. It’s just...it’s so exhausting. I’m so, so tired of having to wake up every day and drag myself out of bed and live. Nothing is fun anymore, and it’s hard just to breathe. I mean, seriously!? Come on, ya know? I didn’t ask for this, I don’t want to live like thi-!” You choked up, silent sobs wracking your shoulders as you buried your faced in your hands. 

Across the table, Bakugou slid from his chair and made his way to you, feet thudding against the floor as he quickly closed the distance and kneeled down to your level. “I knew something was wrong, but...” He gently cupped your face in his hands, palms warm against your tear stained cheeks. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

You struggled to remember when this all started. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, and days to weeks that blurred into months eventually. Time blended together, and you couldn’t recall the last time you felt able to get up in the morning without feeling like it was a chore. “I don’t know...” you answered honestly.

Bakugou rubbed his thumbs against your face carefully, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he brought you into an embrace against his chest. You didn’t fight it, instead leaning into his touch while crying, and the two of you stayed there for quite some time before Katsuki spoke up about how he was feeling.

“You may think that you don’t make much of a difference here on this earth, but that’s just utter bullshit, Y/N. You make a hell of a big difference to me and everyone else around you, and you would be sorely missed and grieved over. Don’t you dare for one second think that you’re not important or loved, because you are; you are so, so loved.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you cried.

“I know, babe. It’s hard to see it right now, I know. Your mind is telling you the opposite. But believe me when I say you are the most loving and caring person I know. You’re always reaching out to others, maybe even a little too much, and you’re always checking on them. You’ve made a world of difference to everyone. Your friends need you, your family needs you, and I need you here. And I would be devastated if anything were to happen to you.” It was hard to believe anything he said. You wanted to, you wanted to so desperately. But you weren’t sure of anything anymore, and the most you could do was cling to him like a koala and hope that what he said was true. “Let me in. Let me be there for you. Trust me, please.” You’d never heard those words from Katsuki before. They sounded odd coming from his mouth, like they didn’t really belong on his tongue. But you listened because it was Bakugou, and you wanted to trust him. You wanted to be able to feel okay, and he’d always been there no matter how much you’d tried to push him away.

“Okay,” you murmured against his chest, your tired eyes drooping shut in exhaustion. Your shoulders followed suit as they slumped downwards, and you gave in and crumbled into his arms. 

“You’re not a waste of space. You’re extremely important to me, and I don’t tell you that enough. Every day when you leave for work, I miss you. I love when you come home and greet me, and I’m a better person because of you. Y/N, you’ve gotten me through shit I didn’t think I was going to make it out of. And you know what? We can do this. We can do it together, and it’s going to take a lot of work, but we will do it. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” You couldn’t help but to smile at that. “And I know you feel like a burden, but you’re not. Your problems are never a bother. People are here for you, they want to help support you and listen to you. I want to support you. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Everything’s gonna be okay. I love you.” 

You couldn’t stop the fresh tears from falling, quiet hiccups taking over you as you cried into his shirt. “I love you too,” you managed somehow.

Bakugou rubbed a hand over your back, his chin coming to rest on your head as he sighed. “I’m not going to let you give up on yourself, no matter what.”

[quillsareswords]

The One Where He Has to Wake You Up

Damian Wayne x Vampire Reader

Idk man I'm still losing my mind but summer is on the horizon and vampires make me happy so here we are

Prompt List and Masterlist in Bio.

As a vampire, you don't need a lot of sleep. In the span of a seven-day week, you only need about twenty or so hours. Now, that's not to say that you don't sleep more than that. A lot more. It's not your fault that one of the many prices of your powers is the perpetual exhaustion or that Damian is so warm and inviting when he naps on your couch or passes out after patrol.

But, that twenty hours is non-negotiable. You typically like to take it all in one go. One long stint of sleep in which your phone is shut off and your doors are all firmly locked.

(Your boredom-fueled week long "practices for death" are less committal, as your phone stays on and you leave a few windows unlocked in case of vigilante emergency, but that's another story.)

Damian has the only copy key to your apartment on his keyring. He's welcome any time, weather you're asleep or awake or hone at all. It's not unusual for him to crawl into bed with you without warning, or to wake up to him stretched out on your couch watching television in his comfiest clothes.

Sadly, not every time he has to use his key is so domestic.

You feel it in your bones that you shouldn't be awake yet. You brain is still trying to roll and twist out of the clutches of sleep when you pause to ask why, on this green earth, it's trying at all.

With an aggravated hiss, your mind forces you to register the firm grip on your shoulder and the wicked stench of human and caffeine.

Your eye, the one not buried in the pillow, cracks open. Your red lamp still glows from the corner of your room, giving away familiar features on half of a familiar face. He offers you an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers, mindful of your sensitive hearing not yet reacustomed to anything but quiet white noise from the street below your window. "I wouldn't wake you if it wasn't important."

The noise you make is somewhere between a pathetically tired whine and an annoyed groan. Your eyes squeeze shut again.

"I know," he consoles softly, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your back to rub soothing circles. "But we really need you at the Cave. You can go right back to sleep in my bed when it's finished, I promise."

It's very enticing. His room always smells like the most heavenly concoction of sandlewood and his calonge and fresh linen and something entirely and solely him. It's admittedly your favorite place to sleep.

Your eye cracks open again, eyebrow arching. What else can you squeeze out of this deal? How desperate is he for your help?

Not that you really need anything else to help him.

But you do need something else to will yourself out of bed.

"I brought you your favorite," he tries, carefully tilting the tall paper cup in his hand. "And Alfred promised any baked good you can think of."

That's the ticket.

You slap your palms to the mattress and haul yourself upright. You take the cup from him and chug a fourth of it. He watches you with something between admiration and distain in his eyes. You snatch a hoodie off the foot of your bed, where it'd likely been abandoned when you flopped down eight hours ago. "Fine, but I'm not getting dressed."

He stands and starts weaving his way out of your den. "You say that as if you ever do."

You pick up a scattered throw pillow and smack him with it. Because you're an adult, unlike this heathen before you. "I'll wake you up in the middle of the night sometime and drag you across the city. We'll see if you feel like getting dressed."

He leads the whole way out of your dark apartment. Hands you your sunglasses at the door and jerks your hoodie over your head for you. You shove your free hand in your pocket while you stand in the hallway, sipping your coffee while he locks your door.

He drives you to the Manor. Explains briefly what the situation is on the way—a new serial killer who popped up last night, one they're thinking is another vampire—and from the sound of it, they're probably right.

Your coffee is nearly empty by the time you're moping out of the steel elevator. It earns a heavy sigh. "Let's make this quick, yeah?"

They do. It takes all of twenty minutes to sort through the intel they've already got. Tim asks you to point out all the vampire friendly clubs and bars, an old trick he's been pulling for years to get a list out of you. You hold firm, though, and throw him a sly smile before you shake your head.

By the end of it, you're more than ready to get back into bed. And as promised, Damian walks you up to his room like the gentlemen he is.

You prance past him like a child the moment his door opens, beaming at the sight of a familiar dark room and the coziest bed you've ever had the pleasure of knowing. You launch yourself onto it, burrowing beneath the blankets with a sharp smile that threatened to light the room up.

His low chuckle from the doorway is the only thing that keeps your eyes open for a moment longer. Silk sheets and heavy blankets and oh lord Alfred the Cat is curling up against the back of your neck. Slumber is inevitable.

You hadn't even noticed him crossing the room until the mattress dips with the weight he leans on it. His lips press against your temple. "Sweet dreams, darling dearest."

You hum, smiling sleepily into the silk pillow shams. "You gonna join me later?"

"Later. After patrol. I'll try not to wake you." You're already too close to sleep to tell him you wouldn't mind if he did, so you hum again instead. There's a dull thunk, then you hear his footsteps retreating toward the door. "Your phone is on the nightstand."

Your phone? You don't remember grabbing that before you left. Did he get if for you? Or do you just not remember?

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, not when you're squished between his blankets and silky sheets, swaddled in his scent in his room with nothing to do but sleep.

[devilfic]

❝sunshine❞

plot: you’ve been worrying about something. albedo can’t work unless you tell him. pairing: albedo x gn!traveler!reader. cw: fluff, can be read as platonic or romantic if you squint, emotional hurt/comfort. words: 1.2k.

a/n: I’m having a bad self-esteem day so I wrote this in a little under an hour to get my mind off things.

“Is something the matter?” Albedo doesn’t even look up over his work at you, “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

For a man so often too enthralled in his own work to even remember to eat, you’re rightfully shocked at his perceptive skills despite how hard you’d tried to appear casual. 

Paimon rests on your lap in a deep slumber. The wind howls outside the cave the alchemist had set aside for research, warning that a storm was on the horizon, and you’d accepted that you’d be stuck here a while with “taking a walk” scratched off your list of possible excuses. You supposed you could lie to him, but he’d know the truth. All that’d do is irritate him so much he couldn’t work, and then he’d probably send you off to fight slimes again in retaliation. The very thought is somehow more unpleasant than the matters of your busy mind, “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing to do with the sword.”

“Well, that is a relief.” He murmurs, and you think that is that of the conversation. You wait for the tell-tale sound of his tinkering to start up again so you can stare into the unending white, consumed by your follies... but it does not come. You have a bad feeling about that. “If the sword is not the cause of your troubles, I might be of some actual help. So, what’s bothering you?”

His concern gives you pause. While you’ve only known Albedo for a short time, you’d come to know him as a simple stoic. You liked that he didn’t concern himself with trivial things. The braid in his hair was the most intricate thing about his person, for everything else complicated was left solely to his work. When anyone brought any fickle matters to his attention, you had since grown accustomed to picking out the exact moment when he’d turn his brain off and retreat into his work once more. It was rather funny.

Now, you’d only wished he’d do it with you.

“I thought you were working on something?” You inquire, feigning interest as you point at his crafting table. There lies an array of ingredients you had no earthly clue about. 

Albedo almost – almost – falls for it. His eyes narrow over his work, “I can’t possibly work with your dark cloud fogging up the room.”

You scoff on instinct, but a laugh follows right after. You swear you see his mouth quirk up a bit. The actual concern in question is rather vague, and so you wonder, if you’ll actually tell him, how. Your mind is already much like the storm raging outside. To construct a coherent thought would be like stringing a needle and thread through each individual snowflake to make a garland. 

“I suppose... you’re aware of how insignificant we all are,” you start, unsure where you’ll end up, “how we are made up of very basic properties. I met a person recently who used to be very important in this world, someone who many people looked up to, and now... he chooses to live a life of solitude where no one knows his name. I thought it sort of strange. Giving up a life where you’re known and loved in exchange for simplicity. Not that there’s anything wrong with simplicity, but-”

“-you’re curious as to why.” Albedo finishes for you, no intention of being rude.

You nod solemnly. “I was once very overwhelmed by this world, which sounds silly given that I’ve travelled here from another, and each day it grows stranger and stranger. I realize there are so many people I’ve met so far, but so many I won’t meet. All the lives I won’t know. All the lives I will eventually leave behind. Once I find my twin, I will go home. And... will people remember me? Will I matter? In a few months time, will my name be stricken from memory, replaced by the next biggest thing?”

Despite your earlier confusion on how to word your worries, it seemed the very things spilled from your lips like water. It must have been weighing rather heavy on you to come out so easily.

The alchemist hums with thought, one arm propped under his chest while the other’s elbow rests on its wrist, allowing his chin to sit on his fist comfortably in thought. He doesn’t look at you, rather past you, and for a moment you wish to apologize for distracting him from his work so much. “If you’re so worried about being remembered, I suppose you could request that bard to write you a ballad.”

The thought of Venti writing a song about you almost makes you laugh, “He’d jump at the chance, but no.”

“If it helps any, I’m certain your influence on the people of Mondstadt- no, the people of Teyvat, is far too strong to simply be ‘stricken from memory’. Why, I’d worry greatly for future generations if they were to be so dull.” Albedo’s lips purse as he speaks, “And if I’m around for any longer, I’d certainly not let your name turn to dust. You’ve helped me so far, given so much of yourself, and proven that you are no ordinary being. Even the Archons themselves would be lucky to have you among their ranks with how much you’ve done for their peoples.”

Albedo’s honesty shocks you. While many had sung your praises before, you’d never heard the alchemist utter much more than vague, interested phrases at you from time to time. There were some moments where he leaned into more grateful monologues, but ever the minimalist, he kept them short and to the point. 

“And even if said peoples were to forget you, I never would,” you almost don’t hear him over the howling winds outside, but you do, “you’re far too important to forget. I’d really hope you wouldn’t worry yourself over things like that... at least while I’m working.”

You’re speechless, the way Albedo stares at you from across the cave. Even taking a moment to swallow would feel far too intimate, too vulnerable, when he’s looking at you. Despite the apparent carelessness of his last line, you are certain that the sentiment he puts forth is genuine. He wouldn’t bother to fluff you up with niceties. He had far more important things to do than to engage in such frivoloty, so that could only mean...“Thank you, Albedo. Really."

He stares at you for just a few blinks too long before nodding and going back to his work. Bottles clink and parchment is written upon, lulling you into a sense of ease once more. 

Your shoulders feel a bit lighter than before. You hadn’t expected Albedo to be a particularly good ear to vent to, and even more so, you hadn’t expected him to care so much. What was only a few moments of his time meant far more to you than he could imagine. A peaceful sigh leaves your lips as you shut your eyes to the storm, smiling and letting yourself meditate on better thoughts. You could do that much. At least while he was working, you told yourself.

Albedo’s voice chimes in a few moments later, uncharacteristically playful, “Would you look at that? The sun shines once again.”

[aseioh]

The day the earth stood still

TW: Character Death

The inhabitants of Castle Dimitrescu barely managed to survive their battle with Ethan Winters. Alcina mutated to her dragon form but to no avail and is barely holding on to her life. Bela, Cassandra and Daniela were not spared and have suffered heavy injuries as well, due to the decrease of temperature in the Castle the three of them have barricaded themselves to the bedchamber were they have first dragged Ethan in. Patching each others injuries and licking their wounded pride.

  A single man had managed to crush the Dimitrescu bloodline.

A loud crash outside startled the young women, braving the unknown Cassandra opened the door only to see their mother’s bloodied form slumped by the wall. The three hurriedly half carried/half dragged their mother, her unconcious form making it hard to carry her near the blazing fire. The castle was still, not a soul stirred from within. Even the Moroaica and Samca which they have loosened around the castle grounds are quiet. The three women huddled close to their mother not knowing what would happen next.

Did the other Lords fared better than them? Did they manage to end that cursed man’s existence.

 Did Mother Miranda knew this would happen?

By the second day, Alcina began to stir from her slumber. She was still weak and can barely open her eyes, but seeing the high ceiling of the bedroom she surmised that she had managed to survive her fall from the tower and dragged herself back inside the castle. The rest of the journey were just blacked out. Straining to look at her left, she found her three daughters slumped against each other. Bela her eldest has a nasty gash on her forehead, her left cheek a mottle of blue and yellow color; a reminder of the time she had found her daughter near the kitchen, bullet holes littered her cold body - buckshot from a shotgun, that monster-.

Cassandra her second daughter and best hunter was wearing a loose fitting shirt, beneath it was a swathe of bandages covering her whole torso. She remembers the screams and gunshots she heard from the second floor, remembers her stumbling and finding Cassandra barely breathing, the young woman profusely apologizing to her and to Bela for not avenging her, for not killing the man-thing. And finally there was her younger daughter Daniela, her sweet Daniela. When the first signs of trouble have began to stir she had opted to lock her youngest inside the library. Daniela was an excitable child and with her sudden mania when on the hunt it was more prudent to keep her hidden and away from their guest.

It was all in moot though, Ethan managed to find the key that opened all the doors of the castle. Daniela managed to escape with minor injuries but the fact that Ethan managed to enter the library and still inflict injuries to her was the final straw. Alcina blames herself on this 'if only I was not blinded by my anger, I shouldn’t not have left the key in my room'. She remembers the phone call and the sudden rage that had her throwing her dresser table to the wall, never had she ever felt rage against Mother Miranda in her entire life until that point.

'My daughter was almost killed and she still though of her damned ceremony' and with that thought another grave though crossed her mind

"She never cared for any of us" Her sudden speech stirred the three slumbering women. Seeing their mother awake, the three women hurried by her side.

"Mother!"

"Mama!"

"Are you alright, where does it hurt?"

An onslaught of questions came from her daughters, worry written on their faces. Cassandra puts up a brave front but Alcina can see that her torso still bothers her. Alcina tries to sit, but is unable to do so, she was still laying on the floor and although one of her daughters was kind enough to put a pillow beneath her head it was still rather uncomfortable.

"I am fine. Weak but alive, and so are you my treasures." at that Daniela burst into tears and gently tries to hug her arm, Bela and Cassandra both teary eyed tried to do the same on her right arm.

"Mother can you stand? if you can maybe we can move you to the other bed." Bela asked as she eyes the bandaged side of Alcina.

"I'm afraid not Bela, I'm still rather weak"

Cassandra motions to get up and walking towards the door "It's been quiet inside the castle mother, I think Ethan has left. Maybe I could go to the wine room and get you some blood, that would help you right?" wincing slightly at her movement.

"I'll do it Cassandra, I'll be right back." Daniela stands as well, motioning for Cassandra to return to Alcina's side.

"Thank you be careful, we don't know what's still outside. there may be stragglers" Cassandra cautions her sister

---

The inside of the castle looks like a warzone. Shattered vases and cabinet glass littered the floor, and the once pristine floor of their hallway now has holes and bullet casings. Bullet holes littered the wall, the smell of gunpowder and blood still permeates the air. Daniela cautiously climbs to the second floor where the wine room was located, ears straining to hear even the smallest sounds. They were lucky she supposes that their were no windows inside the castle, that the doors of the kitchen were thick enough to insolate them from the cold coming from the courtyard.

Entering the wine room she was glad that Ethan had not decided to destroy their supply of wine, 'At least his not that petty' she thinks as she grabs five bottles of their finest, ones she knows were specifically for her mother's consumption. Walking back down, she wanted to investigate the extent of the damage made by the man but her priority was in the health of her mother.

There will be time for that later. They can rebuild, they were after all the Dimitrescu and they were all alive.

---

Back inside the room, Cassandra and Bela had managed to help Alcina sit on her chair.

"And how are you two, are you're bodies regenerating?" Alcina asked trying to be comfortable in the chair, her regeneration has been slowed due to the lack of blood. She was more concerned with her daughters, as she new that the insects making up her daughter's body do not reproduce. She will need to introduce new batches of flies in the swarm, hopefully that would allow for faster healing within her daughters.

Daniela came back with bottles in hand, she poured her mother a glass and gave Bela and Cassandra a bottle each. Alcina drank the liquid eagerly, she can feel the blood sustaining her, feeling slightly better she sighes. 'I wonder how the others are faring' Alcina thought as she looks at her daughters faces. Daniela and Cassandra were drinking their blood fast, meanwhile Bela was nursing hers, a worried look in her face.

'Ah. Of course. Donna' Alcina can see her eldest thinking, worrying about her beloved. She herself was worried, the Lords knew that Donna was the weakest in terms of strength preferring to use psychological tactics. Donna has never seen combat, she was more at home using her plants for hallucinations and turning men against each other than direct confrontations.

'If Ethan Winters almost killed her in both her forms...' Alcina shivered at the thought. She looks at Bela once again, Bela meets her gaze head on. She was thinking of the same thing, and with that though her dread rises and her arms begin to shake.

"Go and be careful, and remember I love you Bela" Hearing the permission, Bela embraces her mother and makes her way out of the room. Her swarm of insects more chaotic than normal. Cassandra and Daniela looks on as their sister vanishes from the room.

"WIll she be alright" Cassandra asked concern clear in her voice.

"I do not know love, but we will be here when she returns. Ready to support and mend" Alcina says with finality.

---

Bela rushes through the castle grounds, barely stopping to dress properly against the weather. Stepping out of the castle she was greeted with a blanket of frost and silence. No sound can be heard around the border, not even the hustle and bustle of the nearby village could be heard. She remembers that the Lycans went through the village earlier and though for a second if even a single villager manage to survive.

'Focus! Bela' Making her way to the eastern part of the village she was greeted by the Duke.

"Good afternoon Miss Bela, I'm glad to see you alive" the portly man greeted her.

"Duke what are you doing here!? You were helping that man!" Bela shouted readying her sickle and aiming for the Dukes head.

"Now, now... it was only business miss, and besides your family survived. Everything else can be rebuilt" The duke supplied trying to placate the young woman in front of her. "Besides, shouldn't you make your way towards Lady Beneviento's estate. I've just seen Mr. Winters leave the premises. I believe his on his way to Lord Moreau's reservoir."

The new information silenced Bela, looking at the four winged door and seeing the usual locked door open made her panicked.

"NO!" as she turned and ran towards Donna's mansion

"And remember miss, Everything can be rebuilt!" The Duke shouted to the retreating back of the young woman, chuckling to himself "Everything can be made for a price..."

---

Bela didn't stop running until she was near the grave of Claudia Beneviento and even then she can see the devastation that Ethan Winters caused. Dead Moroaica littered the way going to the estate from the the potter's field to the hanging bridge that connects the estate to the village. Claudia's grave itself had been open, the contents ransacked. Close by the slumped body of the grave giant can be found no doubt killed because it was doing it's job.

A cold chill enters Bela's body. If the giant can be killed, how could her Donna fare against that man.

Steeling herself, she enters the small cave that houses the elevator that would take her up the mansion. Bela was starting to feel numbed, the whole day feels like a century. What she thought started as a man trespassing in their castle to be eaten soon, became her worst nightmare. Bracing herself in the elevator, she fears for the worst.

'Donna please, be safe my love'

please please please please.... the plead continued like a mantra, she was praying to whoever deity that would listen to her.

----

Arriving at the top, she carefully exits the elevator, wary of every corners and listening to the smallest sounds.

The mansion superimposes the great waterfall, both a sight of wonder. Still there was something wrong, and she couldn't place what it is. the garden in front of the house looks undisturbed, as if it was left only to be tended again tomorrow.

the first sign that something was wrong was a broken box near the entrance of the mansion.

Seeing the broken thing, Bela's heart stopped.

 No.

 No..

 NO...  

"DONNA!!" Bela burst through the door only to stop dead in her tracks.

The mansion was in disarray. The dolls Donna so lovingly brushes and takes care of are strewn around the floor. The devastation done on the castle is repeated here. Some of the walls have fresh blood smeared across it. It's as if someone was running around without a care in the world.

Bela sways where she stands. "DONNA!?!" she calls again hoping to hear the woman she loves. straining her ears to hear even the smallest of sounds.

 It was silent

She cautiously enters the house. She stops and falls to her knees, there on the ground lies the crystalized remains of her beloved.

Bela cannot breath, each gulp of air just brings more cold inside of her. She crawls towards the crystals, eyes wide and unbelieving.

"Donna... Donna, this isn't funny. You're not supposed to leave me" tears stream down her eyes and her sight narrows, darkness encroaching from the corners of her eyes.

"DONNA!!!!"

Outside the waterfall covers the scream of a broken heart and the mansion stands quietly, guarding it's mistress and her beloved's anguished cries.

---

Because the thought "what would happen if Bela and Donna were a couple during the events of the game and one of them didn't make it?" kept running around my head

[lorei-writes]

Lost Letters

Masamune x MC Fluff Parts of this work include suggestive content. [To avoid suggestive content, skip the following months: May, January.] Word Estimate: 2k

Honourable Customers,

We are pleased to inform You all the lost letters were successfully delivered.

Your trustworthy messengers, Azuchi-Kasugayama Postal Service Crew

Content Warnings: war mention, injury mention, suggestive content, food mention, anxiety mention

To my beloved Masamune. It is March now, and the frost has begun its retreat from the air. You are not here, and I do not expect to send this letter… Yet I miss you so much the words seem to be writing themselves without much help. In this very moment, I wish I could ask how your day was. It is one of those rare instances where I miss modern technology – my helplessness is simply disarming me completely. I console myself with the thought that you will be back tonight. I missed seeing your face so bad. There are so many things I want to tell you, my heart is overflowing. I don’t think I should let any of them spill, yet I cannot hold all either. So, even if just on this paper, I must confess: I love you, Masamune. I love you so much it hurts. I could not focus on anything but your return the entire day. I cannot let you see this letter. You will never let me forget it. Although maybe... Maybe I should.

To my beloved Masamune.

It is March now, and the frost has begun its retreat from the air. You are not here, and I do not expect to send this letter… Yet I miss you so much the words seem to be writing themselves without much help.

In this very moment, I wish I could ask how your day was. It is one of those rare instances where I miss modern technology – my helplessness is simply disarming me completely. I console myself with the thought that you will be back tonight. I missed seeing your face so bad. There are so many things I want to tell you, my heart is overflowing.

I don’t think I should let any of them spill, yet I cannot hold all either. So, even if just on this paper, I must confess: I love you, Masamune. I love you so much it hurts. I could not focus on anything but your return the entire day.

I cannot let you see this letter. You will never let me forget it. Although maybe... Maybe I should.

~

To my courageous Masamune.

It is April now, and you came back all beaten and tattered. Your muscles tensed whenever I touched your skin. The disinfectant seeping into your cuts did not help either, I suppose… But you hugged me tight all the same, and did not let go for long. Your breath tickled my neck as you held your ear pressed against my pulse. I wonder, how bad was it this time? But do not get me wrong. I do not mind, I can stay in your arms for however long you desire.

This time, however, it was different. I cannot describe the feeling that I felt when you looked up at me and simply said you feel terrible and need rest. You… Appeared so vulnerable? And I know it never comes easy to you to be in this state.

I love you so much. Thanks for coming back yet once again. I am writing this as you sleep only a few meters away. Please, rest well – and thank you for trusting me yet once again.

~

To my flirtatious Masamune.

It is May now, and the weather has got quite warm already. However, my dear tiger, treat this as a note of complaint! Although… You will never see it, hopefully. You would see all the other ones then.

Never mind that! How dare you! You big, unruly, sneaky…!!! You know my knees get weak when you kiss me, and yet…! In the middle of the crowd, at that! Truly, my “knees were not a problem” as you put it after lifting me up, but my face surely was! I was red like a crab, Masamune!

How dare you uphold that air of coolness! If it were not for what you whispered… Curse that too, argh! Surely, nobody realised, and you always walk this fast, but… But it is the next morning, and I still am a mess after all the things you did to me the last night!

How dare you stay on my mind even now. Well, you did leave some marks, so surely, it is hard not to think of it, but… ! I want to lay in your arms a little longer, but alas. You had to start work early today of all days…

~

To my caring Masamune.

It is June now, and somehow, I managed to catch a cold. It is nothing much, really, but you insist I don’t leave bed today… Honestly, I feel a little guilty, but I am enjoying myself. You’re spoiling me quite a lot, my love, and I can hardly oppose it…

You brought some of your work here, so that you could watch over me while I napped. You checked my fever, brought me more covers when I was cold, even got Shogetsu to cuddle me up. When I woke up, you cooked me porridge, and I don’t know what rituals you did in the kitchen,  but it was beyond delicious. Or perhaps I’m getting better?

My eyelids are heavier and heavier… And you’re insisting I stop writing and cuddle with you now. You didn’t want to move to sleep in a separate bed either…  How could I refuse? I swear, tiger, some may say you hardly care, but whenever I see you acting like this, my heart beats faster.

~

To my curious Masamune.

It is July now, and this is both a letter of praise, and of complaint. For somebody who learns so fast, you surely never learnt not to get taken away by challenges. However, here end my complaints, as it… Surely is quite entertaining.

We are still running away from our own allies now. We have just settled for the night, and you are calling for me to come eat and sit with you by the fire. Have I ever told you you are the most beautiful when you are free and wild? No? Because your eye sparkles so gorgeously now.

You’ve made me appreciate so many new sides of life. I love sharing it with you, both the good and the bad. I don’t know what you’ve made, but let’s be honest, there are only starts above us and I couldn’t care any less about food right now.

Yes, yes, I’m coming, you impatient cat…

~

To my hardworking Masamune.

It is August now, and you are swarmed with work. I do not know how you manage to stay on top of it… But truly, you seem tired now. You set off early, and come back late, and it takes little before you fall asleep.

You… You cannot know it, but each night, you return my embrace quite strongly, even if deep slumber has already claimed you. You are adorable – your nose crinkles slightly whenever I kiss your forehead. I started telling you I love you, and you usually mumble back that you love me too… Then you generally get a little upset and nuzzle into my neck, and sometimes scoff about some pillows or radishes, whichever one it is this time around.

I must never reveal the fact that you talk in your sleep if you are tired enough. What if you forbid me from ever indulging in it ever again? I don’t think I could live without it anymore.

Signed,

Your Beautiful Futon

~

To my joyous Masamune.

It is September now! I want to go celebrate with you, so this letter will be brief:

Thank you for having been born, Masamune.

Please, live a long life. I want to love you plenty more. I need to love you plenty more. To hear you laugh, to see your smile… Your happiness is infectious, and I want for it to last for as long as it can.

~

To my resilient Masamune.

It is October now, and it came in sour, as if to balance the joy of the previous month. This battle was harsh. You emerged victorious, but at what price? So many were lost… Although I think you would care even for a single person just as much. War is a dreadful thing, to say the least. You know it better than I will ever be able to. That is why you protect me from it, is it not? I wish I could carry half your burden...

When you returned, you only latched onto my wrist. Your hands were cold, and you looked almost lost. Were you scared that I would be gone too? My love, my heart… You held yourself together bravely the entire time, but I am glad you let yourself unwind once in our quarters. I needed to feel that you were alive too.

I helped you wash, and you seemed to relax when I ran my fingers through your wet hair. Perhaps the bath was a good idea in the end. I hope no nightmares come your way today – but if any do, I will do my best to chase them all away. I know you would do great by yourself… But I love you, so please, do share some of your concerns.

~

To my grumpy Masamune.

It is November now, and oh my, I got to pay you back for how sweetly you cared for me when I was ill. It appears it was your time, my love. I did not expect you to resist so much! “Sleep in a different room”?! As if I would even consider that much! But… You were quite sweet once you caved in. If we were in the future, I would give you a good patient badge!

Kojuro came in later too. You were so adorable when he started telling stories from your childhood! Ah, and you were locked in bed, so for once, I got a chance to actually listen to them too! A shy little Masamune… I wish cameras were a thing in this time.

It was a good day, but please, do not fall ill much. I will always care for you, it is only that… As much as your pouts were a sight to behold, I love your content smile even more. I will have to make some of today up to you.

~

To my thoughtful Masamune.

It is December now, and you surprised me yet once again. I do know we celebrated Christmas together once, but I did not expect for you to hold onto the idea. This time, you organised everything by yourself, with your own twists to everything.

The party was great – the music, the food, the gifts, I loved every single moment of it. You dressed well too, and I swear, you look even more handsome in the more so festive clothes. It was just cool enough for me to shamelessly cuddle into your side as well… Did you plan that as well?

I must thank you for the gift tomorrow. You must have had ordered this fabric months in advance. It… It really feels amazing knowing that you truly listen to what I say. I love you, Masamune. Somehow, you have this way of making me feel loved even without using any words.

~

To my adventurous Masamune.

It is January now, and winters in this part of the country tend to grow rather harsh. The snow is thick, and it seemingly keeps on falling, and falling… I did not expect for you to suggest taking a trip, much less one to the hot springs.

I do not know what heated me up more – your kisses or the water. Good thing we retreated to our room fast, otherwise we could be thrown out of the estate. I am quite relaxed after we have made love… Perhaps my initial fear of you suggesting doing it in the snow was completely unfounded. Well, you would not force me to go forward with it anyway, but your drive for novelty is infectious at times.

You went out to get some food for us to share, and I am still lying in bed. The pillow smells of you, and the covers are pleasantly warm from our shared heat. I think you will want to slide right next to me once you are back, will you not? I know you do better with cold than the heat, but is it not too tempting? Ah, I think I can hear your steps… I wonder, what are those plans for tomorrow you have made.

~

To my calm Masamune.

It is February now. You seem to be at home plenty, and I welcome the change. We cook together nearly everyday, and I am enjoying it a lot. At first, those were more of classes than anything else, but now… We recreated some of the future dishes I told you about. Is that not amazing? You truly could be a chef in my original time.

However! Today I shall take my revenge! Just you wait and see, Masamune Date! I will pay you back for all those hugs from behind, and “sampled dishes”, and for all those “you seem to have a bit of the sauce over your lips”! I prepared something you did not expect yourself, and you have made me this devil!

I hope I can get this surprised face out of you. It should be tasty enough for that? I should carry it to you before it gets cold…

~

To my beloved Masamune.

It is March again, and I love you all the same.

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71, @rikumorimachisgirl, @bestbryn, @kink-rabbithole  @ikesenfangirl @themysticalbeing If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, do remember to specify fandoms (and characters, if you are interested only in some) :D If it ever happens that you wish to be removed from my taglist, for any reason, do let me know. I will not ask why, it’s all fine ^^

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

HI 💕💕💕 can I request fluff with oikawa and #11 🥺🥺 i’ve been in my feels lately LOL written please :) if you want to change anything it’s fine✨

Physical fatigue consumed every inch of the setter’s body, with tension stretching along his shoulders, developing numerous knots between his muscles. While walking along the hallway to his apartment, he sunk his bandaged fingers into the flesh, applying pressure to ease the ache, but his limbs were of little use. The final set of the evening left his fingers in dire need of rest, and since he departed from practice they throbbed incessantly under the tape. What he truly required was a weekend of rest, preferably one where he spent at least one day in bed, cuddled into his loving partner’s embrace. Unfortunately, the cure to his problems would not be available until Sunday, as you were invited to a sleepover hosted by your college friends. He doubted you would be home now, and the thought only increased the setter’s dismay.

Maybe he could ask that you return home one day early? That wasn’t too unreasonable, was it?

A chorus of heavy sighs parted Oikawa’s lips as he entered the apartment. A bitter expression painted his features, directing his bottom lip to curl out slightly. Except, his bitterness was short-lived, instantly evaporating when he caught sight of an adorable little person, sulking on the couch. There you were, dressed in a brand-new pair of pajamas, with a matching sleeping mask attached to your head. The amount of accessories decorating you from head to toe was so damn excessive; it was hard for him to maintain a frown. When you finally noticed your boyfriend, a loud whine vibrated inside your throat as you wigged your fingers at him, gesturing for him to enter your embrace.

“What happened? Did they cancel?” After lowering his gym bag onto the floor, and removing his shoes, he padded across the room to where you were sat. Upon reaching the couch, he placed a hand against the back cushion just above your shoulder, before dipping down to plant a single kiss against your forehead. “I would join you, but I’m covered in blood and sweat right now. I don’t think you want me to stain your brand-new pjs, do you?” The teasing edge to his low voice did not eliminate the alarm rising inside your core – did he just say blood?

Instantly, your mind abandoned the self-pity party it was partaking in, as your y/e/c irises scanned him for any visible injures. “What are you talking about? Did you get hurt?” Your palms framed his face after you failed to locate the source of his pain. You delicately guided his face from one side to the other, permitting you an additional opportunity to analyze his visage for any sign of blood. But once again you found nothing.

“It’s an expression, y/n. I’m not bleeding. Though, I did hurt my fingers.” His caramel irises flickered to the couch, where his bandaged fingers were sinking into the back cushion. It was strange but your presence alone helped lift some of the stress that plagued him. Who knew that his pain was no match for the presence of significant other?

“What? Oh my god, Tooru!” A horrified expression crossed your visage at the sight of his worn out limbs. “You know what, you’re ban from volleyball now. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.” A little huff was exhaled through your nostrils to demonstrate the seriousness of the matter, but the noise only earned you another laugh from the setter.

“You’re always so dramatic, my sweet angel. How about this instead, I won’t play volleyball for the next two days, and instead you and I will have our own slumber party, hm?” Curving his eyebrows, he awaited your response with a wide beam displayed. Spending the weekend cuddled under a pillow fort was actually very enticing – hell, he would do anything as long as it was with you.

“Hmmmm.” Squishing his face with your palms, you tried to appear deep in thought, knitting your brows together. “Okay. Deal. Go shower, pretty boy. We have a long two nights ahead of us!”

While your boyfriend showered and selected his outfit for the impromptu sleepover, it was your task to begin building the largest pillow fort known to mankind. After watching a few Youtube videos on how to construct a proper support for the fort, you elected to include the rod from your mop and broom as the frame. A thin mattress cover was draped over the rods, connecting them to the loveseat couch in the living room. All that remained now was to add the pillows inside and to decorate the outside with some fairy lights. You were about to exit the fort to gather the pillows from your bedroom when you heard your boyfriend comically question your absence.

“I wonder where my pretty little angel is?”

Poking your head out from under the sheet, your plan to return his comment with sarcasm was withdrawn when your eyes landed upon him. His skin was glistening under the dimmed lighting, and while his mocha mane lacked its usual puff, you were overcome with the urge to play with the wet strands. He just appeared so soft, dressed in a plain t-shirt and flannel pajama pants.  

“What? Did you think I’d look worse after a shower, angel face? I take offense to that, you know.” A hand was placed against his hip as he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“No. You just… never wear pjs. You look so…” Why the hell were you stuttering? Growing exasperated with your own inadequacies, you sighed out the remainder of the compliment “cute. Why the hell are you so cute?”

“I don’t know. Should I ask my mother?” Humour released in the form of a melody, demonstrating the playfulness of his retort. Your heart was seized by adoration when the soundwaves hit your eardrums.

“You are so annoying, Tooru. Stop teasing me and go bring me some pillows!” With one hand clawing at your forehead, a series of grunts were growled out.

“I’ll do that in a minute.” Instead of retreating to the bedroom, and complying with your demands, he advanced closer, kneeling down to where you were sat. “You know, talking about my mother… I think we should take a trip back home soon. Don’t you think it’s time you met her?” While his voice was projected confidentially, Oikawa was a tad bit nervous. Two years into dating – wasn’t it time that you two met?

The suggestion was enough to force you out of the comfort of the fort and into your boyfriend’s arms. Once you tackled him onto the ground, he mumbled a little “ow” but a smile remained glued to his features. “You’re very sus right now, Tooru. Why are you saying this now!?”

Oikawa did not mind being walled in by your arms on either side, even if you were interrogating him. Particularly because now he was provided a perfect view of your face. “Well, I can’t propose to someone she hasn’t met before, now can I?”

Your arms almost caved in upon hearing his explanation – were you hearing this right?

“Excuse me!?” Underlying your words was a demand for some clarification. He seemed to have understood that, as he provided you one seconds later.

“You heard me. No one’s ever stuck with me for so long before, y/n. Well, except for Iwa-chan!” His eyelids fluttered shut for a second, while his mouth twitched into a large smile. How could he not want to marry you?

Inside of your chest, your heart squealed in joy, and the additional amount of blood rushing through your veins left your mind in a daze. “Lucky me then. I’m glad none of your ex’s stayed, because if they did, I would have never met you.” Soon, tears formed at your waterline as the weight of his words slowly sunk in. “I love you, pretty boy.”

Your reaction was everything he could have wanted and more. Reaching up, he brushed his thumb along your cheek, swiping away the liquid sticking to your skin.

“I love you, y/n.”

A/N: I 100% do not know how to write small things WELP. BUT I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS. I hope you enjoyed it! <3 Thank you for participating! 

[brucewayneargento-moved]

FEARS

Fic also avaliable on Ao3

Summary: after a run in with Scarecrow, Batgirl and Robin return to the batcave

.

That fateful night Scarecrow had decided to break out of Arkham and to try and poison Gotham's water suppl with fear toxin. Luckily enough Batgirl and Robin were on the case under Batman's commandment.

Both duo arrived at the scene and managed to defeat the villain but not without coming down with a horrible case of "Fear Toxin Exposition", in which both heroes turned up badly injured and had to retreat as soon as the fight was over.

The darkness of the cave was a mere mirror of how both of them were feeling.

Stephanie barely had the energy to ride her bat-cycle, but she didn't have any other choice considering she had lost her comms during the fight and that Damian was still unconscious. So she grimaced and brought them back home half dead.

Oracle had probably alerted Bruce about the situation since he had two vials filled with the fear antidote loaded and ready to go as soon as they arrived. It took all of Stephanie's willpower to not fall flat on his face when she got out of the vehicle and to carry Damian out of it.

The boy grunted in his slumber, tears falling down his face. Stephanie would have been shocked in any other context but she had been exposed to the same fear toxin  and it was also taking a great deal of effort on her part to not break down in tears,  she couldn't really blame the kid.

Damian pulled away from Stephanie suddenly, making her fall on the ground, and stood up in a fighting position, looking around him, paranoid.

She looked at him but before he could do anything Bruce appeared behind him and jabbed him in the neck with a syringe filled with a red substance.

The father shushed his son and held him closer to his chest. Stephanie stood up carefully as she made out the words "It's over" and "You're safe." from Batman.

The man took the unconscious boy to a medbed and instructed Steph to sit down in another one for the antidote to be administered to her.

"He's still small for his age." Bruce said as she jabbed her. Steph took that to mean that the fear toxin would still be in his body for a while longer than hers.

"I'm sorry." She said. Although she wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for. Perhaps it was a reflex from her Robin days or maybe it was just the antidote doing its job.

"It's not your fault," Bruce looked her in the eye. "If anything I'm glad you were there."

She tilted her head in confusion, that had almost sounded like a compliment. Bruce caught on that.

"Stephanie," he pronounced her name in a rough manner." you might not be my child but you are Damian’s big sister."

Stephanie's widened in surprise by how open and nonchalant Bruce was about this particular topic but she was also shocked to learn that apparently she was someone's sister?

"I mean," she tried to downplay it a little, and try to hide how overwhelmed she felt right now. "He has Dick."

"And he has you," Bruce insisted. "He looks up to you."

"Bruce, did you hit your head?"

"I'm serious." And with that he left the room, Stephanie looked after him and her confusion only grew when he came back with an archive in his hands. He handed it to her.

"Here."

She almost dropped it when she saw the name on it: Violet Matthews (nee Brown) "This is…"

"Your baby 's file," Batman confirmed. "His friend, Colin, just got adopted into the same family as her."

"W-what?" She said barely above a whisper as she caressed the file.

"He's been collecting info on her in case you'd like to meet her."

Stephanie looked at the file and then at the boy slumbering on the medbay next to her. Now her eyes were watering.

"He's had a hard life and doesn't always know how to communicate but Stephanie...when he loves someone, he devotes to them."

They stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. As Bruce returned to his computer to fill in the reports, Stephanie picked up a chair to seat next to his brother and to keep him company. The pre-med graduate checked his vitals and accommodated his pillow a few times.

"Bruce…" she finally said.

"Yes, Batgirl?"

"Who 's Ravi?" 

She could practically hear him smirk. "What are you planning?"

"To return the favor, of course." She answered chirply.

"He was Damian's mentor back in the League of Assassins, he was punished and had his sight taken away from him and he couldn't save him…"

"That's a nice way of putting it."

Both Batman and Batgirl Turned around at the medbay, where Robin was sitting with his arms crossed but with a weak posture. He looked down.

"He lost his sight because of me…" Damian said and sighed. "Yet he still wants me in his life."

Stephanie got closer to him on her chair. Damian refused to look in the eye. "Why don't you visit him then?"

He sighed, defeated or perhaps he didn't had enough energy to bite back "I don't know…"

Another pause. Although Steoh could tell Bruce had left the room while they weren't paying attention.

"In any case, I think you should visit your child." Damian said.

"I don't even think she'll want to see me, I mean would she even say to me?"

"Make a comment about your height while threatening you with a sword?" Steph snorted.

"I'll tell you what," she said after the laugh. "Let's make a pact, I'll visit my daughter if you visit Ravi. Deal?"

Damian blinked then offered his hand. Steph shocked it. "Deal."

"Alright!" She stood up and stretched. "I think I'll go crash at Cass' room and then erase early for work–

"Oh ok, leaving the injured kid alone, how noble of you, Brown."

"A strange way of asking me to stay, Wayne."

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 30

Ignoring an Injury

Ao3

For @fidothefinch, I really hope you don't mind how fluffy this one got.... This one gave me a lot of feelings about Dick and Damian.

Summary: Damian get's injured on patrol, and out of fear of being sent away, he says nothing.

-o-o-o-o-

The Batmobile came screeching to a halt inside the cave, and Damian did not waste a single second jumping out of the car and stalking to the changing rooms; his cape carefully placed over his shoulders and his hood pulled up to make it seem that he’s as grumpy as he looks.

He’s not grumpy. Not right now. But Grayson doesn’t need to know that. Damian just needs him to believe it for the moment.

“Damian, you did good out there,” Grayson calls, but Damian ignores him, biting the inside of his mouth. He’s sure if he turns around, he’ll see Grayson wearing a hurt face beneath his pulled down Batman cowl. Damian doesn’t care.

He shoves himself past the butler who’s holding two steaming cups of calming tea, something he normally looks forward to at the end of a patrol, but right now must be ignored. The second he vanishes into the changing rooms, he releases a shaky breath and locks the door behind him. He waits until Grayson begins to whisper worries to the butler, things about how he thought Damian was in a good mood tonight and sometimes he’s not sure how to read Damian...

Which is fine. Damian doesn’t be read tonight.

It makes it easier to shrug off his cape and look at his side, where his red tunic is stained a darker shade of the same color. He brings his fingers to his side and pokes his fingers through the hole in the fabric, wincing at how the stab wound in his stomach smarts angrily and dribbles a few streams of blood down towards his pelvis.

He winces and brings his hands away, wiping his gloves off on his tunic. Stupid. Pathetic. Reckless. Rash. He’s normally better than this. The thought that this wound was delivered by a druggie made his toes curl in shame. He was only trying to take the drugs away. He didn’t see the small switch blade until it was in his stomach.

It’s a good thing it hasn’t hit anything important. Damian can tell.

He’s learned to be able to tell from a young age.

He exhales as quietly as he can through his nose before looking around the changing room for his clothes. Thankfully, the change of clothes are all loose fitting and warm. Sweats, a long sleeved shirt, and a hoodie that he slips over his head with minimal breaks in between to force himself to ignore the pain in his side. 

He takes a deep breath, fixes his clothes, then stuffs his Robin tunic under his baggy sweater. 

It presses against his wound, which hurts, but it will be hidden so he can retreat upstairs with minimal questions. .

With a final, encouraging inhale, Damain exits the changing booth and makes a bee-line towards the manor stairs. Grayson seems to be inside his own changing room, and the Butler is simply standing by the computer giving Damian his normal narrowed eyes.

He’s not stopped leaving the cave, and he’s not stopped in his fast walk through the manor. He keeps his breaths even and he forces himself to ignore the stretching of his abdomin as he rushes upstairs. Eventually, he finds himself in his room, biting his lips to push through the pain. He locks his door behind him then kneels down by his bead to pull loose a single floorboard. He pulls out a small first aid kit filled with things he’s slowly stolen from the medical room in the cave over the few months he’s been here and then settles down on the floor. He slips off the hoodie and the shirt before digging through the first aid kit, bringing out a curved needle already attached to a long length of thread.

His stitches are perfect. When he wraps bandages around his belly, they’re perfect as well. It doesn’t take long at all before he’s stuffing the kit back under his bed and wiping specks of blood from the floor. As he’s forcing himself to breathe through slipping on his shirt, he hears a pair of footsteps approach outside his door.

Ignoring how badly his stomach aches, he runs to the door, unlocks it, then jumps into his bed. The door opens when he settles with the comforter over his head, his back towards the door and his face turned at the wall.

He recognizes Grayson’s breathing. Damian bites his lip raw until he hears a sigh and the door closes once again.

Damian then immediately goes boneless under his bed covers. With a single hand placed against his side, Damian closes his eyes, and meditates until he forces his aching body to fall asleep.

-o-o-o-o-

Ignoring the stab wound in his side for the entirety of the next day is a difficult feat to do. Luckily, Damian manages. It’s a weekend day, and Grayson has unavoidable meetings with Lucius Fox and the rest of the Wayne Enterprises board. So really, as long as Damian stays out of the way of the butler and doesn’t make any sudden movements, Damian will be fine. He’s even managed to sneak into the medicine cabinet and take some painkillers without anyone catching him.

Really, the closest he got to anyone finding out was just in the morning when Grayson wrapped him in a goodbye hug. Damian barely contained his flinch but redirected it into simply struggling out of the embrace. Grayson gave him a concerned look, but didn’t ask, perhaps just chalking it up Damian simply not wanting to be touched today. 

Not that Damian ever wants to be touched... especially if that touching is as useless as a hug.

By the time the sun is beginning to set and Grayson returns home haggard and wearing deep, black bags under his eyes, Damian has almost hyped himself up enough to not dread patrol.

It takes all of his strength to hide his relief when Grayson mentions being too tired to patrol tonight. Damian pretends to argue, and then retires to bed.

He sags against his bedroom door when it clicks behind him. His stomach still hurts badly, but at least he will not be forced to jump around and pretend everything is normal tonight, so he won't reopen his stitches. Besides… he hasn’t had time to clean and fix his tunic yet. He takes a few deep breaths, then wobbles over to his bed to once again pull out the first aid kit. He brings it to the bathroom his bedroom is connected to and then stands in the mirror as he slowly works his shirt up and off his sore body. His bandages... do not look good. There’s a weird stain where his wound is.

Apprehension settles in his gut as he slowly begins to unwind the bandages.

Soon enough, he’s staring in the mirror at his wound. The stitches look irritated, and his skin looks red. Near the sewed up seam of his wound, there’s little beads of almost transparent yellow liquid. 

Infection. How... how has that happened? He’s been careful today...

He looks at the festering stab wound and bites his lip, trying to remember what to do if you ever get an infected wound such as this.

It would be helpful if he could sneak down to the cave and grab some of that ointment the butler likes to use... except Grayson has an alarm on the grandfather clock, and the second Damian goes down there without permission Grayson will know. 

He can’t let Grayson know... Damian isn’t weak. He can’t let Grayson see his foolish mistake of an injury. 

He turns on the tap and wets his fingers, he then runs the water over the wound until he’s about to blink out tears from the pain. He pats the wound dry with a clean towel, then takes a deep breath and wraps his wound once again before he slips the shirt back over his head with close to laborious effort. Once he exits the bathroom and he’s close to crawling into bed, there's a soft knocking on his bedroom door. He sighs, wipes his cheeks to make sure no tears have fallen, then straightens his posture.

He opens the door to find Grayson standing sheepishly on the other side. 

“What is it?” Damian inquires with disinterest. Perhaps if he acts not in the mood for conversation, Grayson will leave sooner. 

Grayson smiles, and Damian glares. “Hey, kiddo,” Grayson greets, his voice deeper than what it normally is. He’s exhausted, Damian can tell. Not that Damian cares... “Alfred was just telling me that he was cleaning the uniforms, and your tunic’s missing. Any idea where it could have gone?”

Damian makes sure to keep his face straight. “Perhaps the servant just misplaced it.”

Grayson’s eyebrows lower slightly. “Dames...”

“I’m tired, Grayson. I do not know where the butler has misplaced my tunic, but I expect it to be found soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retire to bed.”

Grayson opens his mouth to perhaps argue, but Damian doesn’t allow him to. He shuts the door, locks it, takes a deep breath and then stumbles like a dead man to his bed. He can almost imagine Grayson standing outside his door, a worried frown on his young face, fist lifted to knock on the barrier separating them.

However, he can also imagine Grayson sighing and shaking his head; lowering his fist and walking away.

Damian doesn’t get much sleep that night. In fact, by the time he finally falls into something that can be mistaken as sleep, the last set of numbers he remembers being illuminated on his phone’s screen is 03:46. When he wakes up, it reads 05:23, and Damian feels like he’s tussled with the embodiment of death itself while he was in the laughable excuse of slumber.

His body is hot. Too hot. His brain is woozy and when he just barely manages to stumble to the bathroom, he finds his wound looking more awful than ever. He frowns, tries to wipe more water on it, but stops when the pain becomes too great. He just barely manages to rewrap the wound and crawl back into his bed.

It’s Sunday. Perhaps Grayson and the butler will leave him alone today and not notice.

A few hours pass, and his door ultimately has a fist politely knocking for entrance. Damain thinks that if he ignores it and pretends to be asleep, the intruder will just go away. Unfortunately, his hopes are squandered when the door opens anyway, and Grayson’s soft voice calls his name.

“Damian? You up?”

Damian bites his lip, glad that he’s at least facing the wall again.

He listens to the footsteps that trek across his floor, and he resists a flinch when a hand falls on his shoulder. 

“Dami, hey,” Grayson coos, like a worried hen. Damian scowls then opens his eyes before Grayson can begin shaking him. 

“What is it?” He demands, turning to glare at Grayson.

Grayson’s eyes widen, and Damian realizes his mistake too late. 

“Woah, kid,” Grayson breathes, and Damian can’t help but flinch when Grayson wraps his hand around Damian’s forehead.

There’s a scowl on Grayson’s face when he feels how warm his temperature must be. So, instead of dealing with Grayson’s worry, he smacks his hand away and shifts so his back is towards him. His entire stomach protests at the movement, but he has hope that he can get out of this without Grayson realizing anything. 

“Tt, I’m fine.”

“Oh no you’re not,” Grayson argues, and Damian immediately knows his hopes and plans are out the window. “You obviously have a fever... Are you feeling sick? Throw up? Diarrhea?”

Damian frowns. Then sighs. He might as well just rip the metaphorical bandaid off. “My tunic is under the bed,” he mumbles.

He listens as Grayson stills, then bends down to search under the bed. By the time Grayson comes back up, Damian is biting his lip so hard he’s afraid he might chew through the flesh. 

He can tell the exact moment Grayson finds the bloody hole in his uniform. He gasps harshly and... fearfully. Next thing Damian knows, he’s weakly struggling as Grayson rips off the comforter and tugs Damian up so he’s sitting. Fingers lift up his shirt and ghost over the bandages. 

“‘m sorry,” Damian mumbles as Grayson looks up at him with an intense worry in his eyes. It’s so odd that that look is directed at Damian. No one has ever looked at him like that before. No one ever cares about Damian that much. He swallows, feeling guilty and scared. “I think it’s infected... please don’t send me away...”

And that worry turns into shock. “Send you away? Why would you think I’d send you away?”

Damian goes to bite his lip again, but a hand curls gently under his chin and coaxes Damian to look Grayson in the eyes. 

Damian can feel those traitorous tears forming again. He takes a deep breath. “Because I’m weak. I got hit... Robin shouldn’t be weak... you shouldn’t have to worry about me getting hurt-“

And then the world blurs as Grayson tugs Damian forward into a tight embrace. It hurts Damian’s stomach. Badly. But he wraps his arms around Grayson before he can even think about how pathetic that is. Grayson’s arms are just so warm, and strong, and safe, that he can’t help it. He can’t help but feel at home in them.

Damian never quite feels at home anywhere else. 

“You don’t have to be strong, Dami,” Grayson whispers. “You can tell me when you’re hurt or scared or just feeling a little unwell. I will never send you away. Never.”

Damian chews the inside of his cheek before he nods his head. He believes Grayson. Grayson has never lied to him before. “Are you mad?”

“Just worried,” Grayson assures, “which is why I’m taking you to Leslie, and you’re gonna promise to never hide an injury from me again.”

“... okay.” 

“Good.” Grayson tightens his embrace and Damian lets out a shaky sigh. A single tear leaves his eye, but he wipes it away in Grayson’s shirt. 

Next thing Damian knows, he’s leaving Leslie Thompkins’ medical clinic already feeling a little better. Grayson has a paper in his hands for a prescription of antibiotics, and a plan to head to the nearest Walgreens and then the nearest restaurant that makes acceptable ice cream shakes.

By the time they head back to the manor, Damian is practically asleep on his feet. But Grayson doesn’t let him retreat to his bed just yet. Instead, he scoops Damian up into his arms and carries him to the living room where he turns on the TV and inserts a colorful looking disk that must have some sort of sort of childish Disney or Pixar film loaded onto it.

Once Grayson grabs a blanket and collapses into the sofa, Damian knows he will be helpless but to stay here in Grayson’s arms to suffer a movie beneath his level.

“This... is the story of how I died...” the movie begins, the animated screen zooming in slowly on a tree with a wanted poster on it. 

Damian sighs, then allows himself to curl into Grayson’s side. The movie begins, and admittedly it isn’t awful even if the singing is cheesy. Grayson’s arms squeeze him gently in a one armed hug, and Damian surrenders himself to a night of cuddles and Disney’s Tangled. 

He doesn’t know why he was worried. 

He falls asleep in Grayson’s arms, feeling safer and more wanted than ever

[crispmarshmallow]

idk if youre still taking prompts but modern AU Rhaenys and Aegon - Rhaenys has an intervention for Aegon because its finals week and hes drinking 8 cups of coffee a day

Rhaenys plucks her heels off her feet and ventures further into the apartment that Aegon has been staying in while he studies at KU. She takes note of the pieces of paper and obscene amount of coffee cups scattered around.

Ser Oswell had not been exaggerating when he called her to inform her that Aegon has been spiralling into an unhealthy pattern as finals approached. Aegon has never been the most organized of people but Rhaenys knows that he does enjoy some sort of order.

Rhaenys enters the kitchen to find her little brother seated at the kitchen island hunched over some textbook. He looks up as she walks towards him and blinks in surprise. It gives her a moment to study the dark circles under his eyes.

Seven Hells. When was the last time he had some sleep?

“Rhaenys.” He says in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Rhaenys deposits the bags that she brought near the fridge before she leans on the kitchen island and crosses her arms over her chest. “Hello to you too, little brother.”

Her eyes travel to the counter and the number of coffee cups that surround him. She picks up the one that is nearest to her. She takes a whiff of its contents and wrinkles her nose at the bitter scent. Rhaenys has always preferred tea to coffee. “How do you even drink this much coffee?”

“I just do.” Rhaenys sees that he is irritated by her appearance. Aegon deprived of sleep is akin to a dragon awakened from its slumber. “How did you even survive law school without it?”

“I survived it by not overdosing on caffeine.” She begins to gather all the cups into her arms. “People who like coffee confuse me.” Rhaenys spies painkillers on the counter and she bites her lips in worry. She surmises that his hands have begun to hurt again because of the stress. It is something that happens whenever he is overwhelmed with tension.

She is about to ask him about it when he rolls his eyes. “You confuse me. Why are you even here?” He runs his fingers through his silver hair in irritation. “I’m busy.” He points to the book opened in front of him.

She puts the cups into the sink before running her fingers through his hair causing him to slap her hands away and growl in anger. “When was the last time you showered, Aegon? Your hair feels disgusting.” She avoids answering his question. Aegon does not take well to accepting help especially when he needs it desperately.

“None of your business.”

Rhaenys clicks her tongue in disapproval before swiping his textbook away. Aegon shouts in frustration and tries to take it back. She dodges his attempts.

“Rhaenys. Give that back.” He grits out. His lilac eyes are blazing with anger. “Now.”

“I doubt you even remember when was the last time you took shower.” She ignores his request. “I can’t have my brother be like that.”

Aegon lunges for her and she darts out of his reach. “Give that back and get out, Rhaenys.” She shakes her head and puts even more distance between them for safe measure. She smiles sweetly which infuriates him even more.

“I don’t have time for this.” He pinches the bridge of his nose before sighing with exasperation. He does know how persistent she can be. “Fine. Will you leave if I take a shower?”

Rhaenys’ smile widens. She hums and Aegon takes that as a yes. He glares at her and turns on his heels to make his way to his bedroom. “You better be gone when I’m out.”

She lets out her breath when he disappears. She is fortunate that Aegon gave in so easily. It is testimony to how tired he is or he would have put up a much bigger fight.

Rhaenys doesn’t leave as he told her to. She begins to unpack the items she brought with her and warm up some dinner for him. Oswell had told her that Aegon had been living off instant noodles and junk food since finals season started and that would not do.

She has laid out a plate of warm rice and butter chicken on the table for each of them by the time Aegon comes out. His eyes fall on the dining table and Rhaenys swears that she saw him smile.

“You’re supposed to have left.” He says though it lacks any bite.

“I never said I would.” She replies and motions for him to take a seat. He does so without protest and immediately digs into his food.

“You cooked this?”

“Uh-huh.” Rhaenys nods. “Right before I came over.”

“I can never make butter chicken as good as you do.” He comments as he takes another bite.

“I know,” Rhaenys answers smugly. Aegon rolls his eyes at that and sticks his tongue at her. She laughs in response.

“Nevermind.”

Rhaenys surrenders the textbook after dinner. She knows that there is no use in trying to make Aegon go and rest. It will only infuriate him and that would be counterproductive after she has made him relax this much. He retreats to his bedroom to study while she makes camp on the couch. She spends her time scrolling through Instagram and her messages.

She is chatting with Arianne when Aegon comes out of his cave. “Are you going to stay up all night?” He asks.

Rhaenys looks up from her phone and shrugs. “Someone has to protect the coffee machine. You have been abusing it far too much.”

Aegon rolls his eyes and waits a few moments before asking, “When do you have to show up at your office tomorrow?”

“Around 7:30.” She turns back to her phone as she answers.

“You’re a nightmare if you don’t get your beauty sleep. It’s almost 1.”

“I know.” She scoffs and adds, “I am never a nightmare. Thank you very much.”

She hears Aegon chuckle and then silence falls upon the living room. Rhaenys thinks that he has returned to studying and is startled when he speaks up again.

“I’ll go to sleep.”

Rhaenys has to bend her head down to hide a victorious smile. She quickly wipes it off her face and looks back up at him nonchalantly. “If you want to. Your choice.”

His eyes narrow at the almost jubilant tone of her voice. “Uh-huh. Good Night, Rhaenys.”

“Night, Egg.”

He starts back to his bedroom. “Feel free to use the guest room.” He says before Rhaenys hears his bedroom door shut with a click.

She doesn’t go to sleep immediately. She doesn’t trust Aegon enough to follow through with his words. She spends another thirty minutes on her phone before she quietly opens Aegon’s door to check if he did go to sleep.

Rhaenys is quite good at stealth. It had been a necessary skill when she wanted to lure her cat into his bathe. So she is sure that Aegon is not faking it when she sees him fast asleep on his bed. Also, his light snores do sound rather authentic and so she leaves his room and calls it a night.

Rhaenys leaves the apartment around 6:15 in the morning. However, not before pasting a sticky note on the coffee machine threatening him that she will show up again if he doesn’t take it easy on the coffee and eat healthily and rest properly. She adds a You’ve got this! and a smiley at the bottom.

She continues with her day doing her duties as Lady of Summerhall as she usually does when she is interrupted by her Uncle Lewyn marching into her office with a paper cup and brown bag in hand. He deposits it on her table.

“Order for the Princess.” He says with a grin.

Rhaenys’ eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I didn't order anything, Uncle.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Did you order it then?”

Her Uncle shakes his head. “I did not.”

She narrows her eyes at him as she reaches for the cup and bag. “But you do know who did.” He wouldn’t bring it to her otherwise as it would be a security risk.

She opens the bag to find a blueberry muffin - her favourite kind of muffin. “I do though I’m afraid I can’t say who, Princess.”

She puts the muffin down and brings the cup to her lips. She sips on it and savours the taste of tea - warm and ginger just as she likes it.

There are only two people in Westeros that can order Ser Lewyn to withhold information from her and Rhaenys is sure that her father did not send them. She is left with a single possibility and it makes her chuckle.

“That idiot could have just said thank you.”