#seeing something beautiful come from rage for the first time?

[mrs-hatake]

 JJK Men and Their Toxic Traits

Pairing: Toji x F!Reader, Gojo x F!Reader, Nanami x F!Reader, Geto x F!Reader & Yuuta x F!Reader. ⟡ Genre:  love bombing, obsession, silent treatment as punishment, possessiveness, mentions of drug and alcohol addiction, self harm, suicide attempt, self loathing, stalking and younger man x older woman ⟡ Word Count: 2527 ⟡ O.D.P (Original Date of Publication): December 22nd, 2024

A/N: idk what to tell you besties. i did have fun writing nanami’s tho, and i think sukuna’s the most accurate lol tell me what y'all think :D

Toji

I Indifference

after dating Toji for years, putting up with his recklessness during his assassination assignments, watching him bleed on the bathroom floor while shiu poorly stitches him up, having to move apartments every few months because someone with a grudge or an enemy hunts him down. 

dealing with all of that crap, you’ve exploded once you’ve reached your boiling point.

as much as you love toji with all of your heart, as much as you want him to see the beauty of the world and feel alive again, you simply cannot stand by while the man you love kills himself.

that’s why you gave him an ultimatum; change careers and he fixes his life  or you walk out.

you’ve known from the start that toji’s a stubborn mule but you didn’t think that he’d choose his job over you. 

though heartbroken at first, you eventually end up packing your things. maybe now that things have gotten serious and toji sees you slowly removing pieces of yourself from his life, it’d serve as a wake up call.

toji doesn’t even bat an eye.

he’s lounging on the couch, mindlessly watching a baseball match from the television set he’d stolen from his family.

even when you block his view— hands on your hips and all —he just scoots aside and continues watching.

“you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start.” comes toji’s monotone voice after your yelling, “i’ve warned you and you accepted who i am.”

silence fills the room.

you stare at him, hoping that once toji sees the heartbreak, rage, frustration and that little bit of moisture glistening your pretty eyes, he’d see the error of his ways.

but no such thing happens.

instead, toji continues to sit on the couch with his mesmerizing forest green eyes, the very ones that made you fall in love with him, are glued to the screen.

when you march to your bedroom to drag out your luggage, toji doesn’t even offer a goodbye. he doesn’t even watch you leave. toji doesn’t bother to chase after you when you’re halfway down the stairs.

Satoru

II Love Bombing and Obsession

having been born as the blessed one, nothing really impresses gojo satoru. 

he has mountains of money in his bank account, a stream of endless good luck and women kissing the ground he walks on. with a snap of his fingers, he can have whatever he desires at the palm of his hand.

yet, once you reject him, something inside satoru snaps. no one, no one has ever rejected gojo satoru. it’s always the opposite. 

when you reject him for the fourth time in less than a week, satoru draws up a plan that will surely win you over.

it starts off small. he sends breathtaking bouquets of flowers to your work place with cute little notes praising your beauty. whenever he sees exquisite jewelry, he’s sending them to your house, asking you to wear them. when he’s feeling very d̶e̶s̶p̶e̶r̶a̶t̶e̶  determined, satoru will wire you almost 8 million yen. satoru is then showing up to your work place with the excuse of wanting to take you out for lunch. embarrassed by the glances not so subtly thrown your way and the loud whispers haunting your ears, you agree.

and, honestly, satoru isn’t that bad. he’s got that boyish charm to him, he can be pretty funny and he’s intelligent. maybe you were too harsh with him…is what you initially thought until satoru’s true colors started to show.

he will call you throughout the day asking you what you’re wearing, what you’re eating, what will you eat, who are you with, who were you with, who did you talk to, who are you talking to, who will you talk to and you get the idea.

satoru goes as far as installing tracking devices in your car, cameras in your home and at work just to stay updated. he even threatened your male co-workers, relatives and friends from talking to you as he strongly and firmly believes that he’s the only male you need.

gojo satoru is like a disease you can’t escape.

Kento III Silent Treatment

nanami kento’s biggest hatred in life—aside from the corporate tyranny—is adults who are quite immature.

and you know this.

but sometimes your emotions get the best of you.

like the other night, you had a pretty nasty fight with kento. you had accused him of flirting with another woman at the end of the year party the company kento is working at had hosted. when kento defended himself and explained that the woman was all over him, you yelled that he did nothing to get her to back off.

it was a heated argument which consisted of you yelling your head off and kento constantly defending himself.   

“i’ve had enough of this.” kento mutters as he snatches his pillow and blanket from your bed to go sleep on the couch in the living room. 

come the next morning, you realized your mistake. you barely slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning at your immaturity. guilt lodging itself deep into your soul as you accused kento of infidelity when that man is crazy over you. he works a job he hates just so he can provide for you and for your future family.

with a clearer head, you send him a text.

wanna grab lunch after work?

my treat 🥰  

hopefully, the warm and cozy ambiance of your favorite restaurant will remind you of just how loyal kento is, which will then allow you to apologize and trust him even more.

you go about your day; showering, eating breakfast, cleaning the penthouse. all the while glancing at your phone. you’ve worried your lips so much that they’re bruised and cut, metallic flavor dancing on your tongue.

when kento doesn’t return home, you call him about twenty times, only for them to go straight to voicemail.

kento only returns at around nine in the evening. he doesn’t greet you, doesn’t even glance at you. it’s like you’re a ghost. 

you convince yourself that kento is still angry and probably needs some time to cool off but when this behavior continues for almost two weeks, you’re at your wit’s end.

“baby,” you stand in your walk-in closet, reeking of desperation, as kento is busy tying his tie for an important ceremony at his company later that evening, “talk to me.” you plea but he’s silent as the dead.

tears blur your vision as kento continues to ignore you while adding the finishing touches.

“please.” you stand in front of the mirror, obstructing the view of his reflection. “don’t ignore me, kento. please. i was wrong. i shouldn’t have accused you and i shouldn’t have doubted your love for me. i let my insecurities get the better of me. i’m so sorry.”

for the first time in weeks, kento looks at you. actually, looks.

his hands tightly grip your waist and lift you off the ground to place you away from the mirror.

dejected by his rejection, tears are crashing down your cheeks like an angry waterfall. 

you try to sand in front of the mirror but kento stops you. just as it feels like the last piece of your heart is about to shrivel up and die, kento leans in and kisses your cheek.

you’re so surprised by the gesture, you don’t notice kento leaving.

it’s only when you hear your phone buzzing on the nightstand that you’re brought to your senses.

i’ll be home late. don’t wait up.

tonight is the first night you’ve had a well rested sleep since your fight.

Suguru

IV  Self Sabotage

the road to recovery is a long and arduous one. but geto suguru is proud of his accomplishments. the challenges he had faced were insanely difficult but meeting you has made things much easier. 

it has taken a while but, eventually, suguru doesn’t feel his fingers twitching for his next fix. he no longer drinks himself to sleep to silence chaotic thoughts. suguru also managed to throw out all of his razors, his arms and inner thighs haven’t been marred in quite some time. 

yet all of suguru’s hard work goes to waste when the two of you had your first major fight. it was cruel. it broke both of your hearts. it forced you to leave suguru’s apartment for a few days to calm down. had you known that your fight, that you leaving suguru, would come with major consequences, you wouldn’t have left. 

you receive the call at around three in the morning. suguru’s in the emergency room after a drug overdose and slitting both his wrists. you’re in no condition to drive as you can’t stop crying, wailing your lover’s name, so your best friend had to drive you to the hospital. 

the doctors inform you that suguru’s chances are slim and you believe their words because you’ve never seen suguru so pale. even when you've first met him, he wasn’t as ashy. his face wasn’t sunk in like it is now.

it’s your fault!

you broke him! 

you ruined him! 

you killed him!

you don’t deserve him!

you don’t deserve anyone!

menacing thoughts abuse you throughout the early morning. by the time the sun comes out and the nurses stop by suguru’s room to check up on him, you’re dead on your seat. 

thankfully, you’ve been rescued from your torturous thoughts by none other than suguru. he stares at you with a haunted expression. his tongue darts out to moisten his chapped lips.

“y/n,” he croaks your name and you hurry to silence him, lest he irritates his throat any further. but one glance from suguru has you sitting back down, “i’m so sorry.”

suguru’s voice is so low that you have to lean in to hear him.

“please don’t leave me. i can’t live without you.”

a sickening wave of terror welling up from your belly at each word suguru uttered. how could i have been so stupid? why did i fight suguru when i know just how sensitive he is!

shame washes over your like tidal waves.

“i’m sorry, baby.” you whisper as reach for suguru’s hand. you place a gentle kiss on the gauze wrapped around his injured wrist. “it’s all my fault. i won’t do it again.”

you search suguru’s amethyst eyes for forgiveness.

“promise?” suguru asks, sounding so scared.

“i promise.”

Yuuta

V Stalking

dating yuuta is like dating an overgrown puppy. 

he’s so loyal to you that one might actually call it blind devotion. yuuta will jump through burning hopes to please and satisfy you. in his eyes, you’re the most beautiful woman blessed on earth.

dating yuuta can be exhausting as well. since he’s five years younger than you, he’s quite energetic. which is exactly what you’ve been searching for after being married to your lazy husband who barely lifts a finger to scratch his ass.

and it was fun at first but now you’re exhausted to the bone and can barely keep up. that’s why you decide that it’s time to hit the gym. you need to build up your stamina if you want to keep up with your good little boy. 

“good luck with gym today!” yuuta is standing at the apartment genkan to send you off. the tail only you can see is wagging in excitement, ready to hear a compliment for doing a good job packing your gym bag.

“thank you, my little puppy.” yuuta beams at the baby voice you use and is as light as a feather when you peck his lips not twice but four times.

“be a good little boy while mommy’s gone.” yuuta fervently nodding his head sends you into a fit of giggles at just how adorable he is. 

yuuta waits about ten minutes before he’s sprinting into your bedroom to quickly change his clothes, yanks the apartment door open where he takes the stairs by twos and hops on his bicycle, cycling as fast as his legs can allow him. 

he’s stopping right across the street from your gym just as you drive into the basement parking lot. state of the art binoculars at the ready, yuuta enters the abandoned building next to your gym and makes his way to the rooftop.

yuuta isn’t stalking you. really, he isn’t. he just…follows you around to make sure nothing happens to you. 

it’s just like he did before he started dating you. yuuta would follow you around town, patiently waiting for him to plant himself in your world like a may flower. he knows all of your favorite places; restaurants, cafes, stores, etc. yuuta knows where you like to go when you want to be alone and he even knows where your parents live despite the fact you’ve been dating for only two months and you have yet to bring up your parents. 

Yuuta’s grip tightens on the binoculars. he despises the fact that there are male instructors at your gym. he has to watch from the side as your male teacher comes closer and corrects your posture. yuuta’s eyes zero in to make sure that the instructor’s touches don’t linger. 

after about an hour, yuuta receives a text that you’re going to grab coffee with the girls from your pilates class, girls yuuta has pulled up all and any information on them to ensure they aren’t harmful, that they won’t corrupt you.

okay mommy ♥️

yuuta will a good boy and wait for you 😇

yuuta’s on his bicycle, subtly following your car to your favorite cafe by the riverside. 

[nightcorecarseatheadrest]

Do you think there’s beauty in anger as well? Do you think kipperlilly saw something beautiful in the face of love’s rage?

[satoblue]

“RESEMBLANCE” — gojo satoru

to satoru’s surprise, his first-born looks nothing like him. | wc: 1.0k+

f!reader, established relationship (you are mrs. gojo), pregnancy mention, you’re in the hospital after giving birth to your beautiful baby girl who looks a lot like you, satoru is a menace to society (and you), talks of sex (so may be a bit suggestive) | star divider by @/cafekitsune, swirl divider from pinterest + edited by me

the first few stages of emotions satoru feels upon seeing and holding his healthy, newborn baby girl in his arms are 1) relief, 2) joy, 3) surprise, and 4) confusion.

as he stares down at the child in his arms, that big mouth of his opens once and all havoc wreaks loose.

“this baby isn’t mine.”

the words are simple but not in meaning as it invokes such a reaction out of the nurses and you.

with a few, shocked gasps ringing in the air, you feel all eyes in the room aside from satoru’s (whom is still fixated on your newborn) come onto (the both of) you.

the heat on your cheeks in that moment is nothing compared to the utter rage brewing within you at his audacious behavior.

disbelief written all over your features, you try to ignore the avoidant side eyes of the medical staff. of all the times to spout some ridiculous nonsense, your husband chose now? — what the hell was he playing at? was this bastard accusing you of cheating?

“excuse me?! have you lost your mind?”

“i mean —” he licks his lips as if choosing his next words carefully (which he doesn’t). “she looks nothing like me. are you sure we got the right one?”

you can hear the whole world go silent aside from the beeping monitors in your hospital room. the nurses quickly (and wisely) hurry out.

“looks nothing like you?”, your eyes narrow, repeating his words dangerously low as if you were about to combust. he could practically see the steam coming out of your ears and holds back a chuckle.

“gojo satoru,” he winces at his full name. “that is your daughter — your daughter that i carried inside my stomach for months!”

and it was no easy feat.

perhaps it has something to do with satoru being the strongest, and in that way he has a mutant’s sperm — but your pregnancy was more difficult than the typical one which left you bedridden at only four months. and that is without even mentioning how your child felt the need to come earlier than her due date.

there should be absolutely no doubt in his mind that this is his child, one who is full of surprises right from birth.

“i know… but she doesn’t even have my hair or my nose or my lips! not even my big ears,” he pouts as he inspects the baby, turning her all sorts of (safe) ways to get a better look.

“all that there is, is you.” he finishes, gaze softening with a double meaning to his sentence, and he finally looks up at you sitting on the hospital bed.

“is this what this is about?”

“yes!”, a pitiful whine leaves his lips. “she should’ve come out looking exactly like me — my twin!”

“why does it even matter, ‘toru? she’s still yours in every way but appearance.”

“because, i want everyone to know i did this to you, that we made this child together — but my genes didn’t even put up a fight! how else will everyone who sees us together know you belong to me in such an irreversible way?”

then his sights dart to your stomach, hidden behind your thin hospital gown, his white brows furrowing. “maybe i didn’t fuck you hard enough…” he ponders, lips pursed.

his tone is low, but you hear it. your hands fly over your tummy to shield it from his piercing gaze, heat returning to your cheeks as you let out the scandalized gasp of the century.

there is a certain gleam in his eyes at your reaction — and you don’t like it one bit!

you think about hitting his head with the pillow to knock some sense into him (though it’d likely prove fruitless since his head is so big and boneheaded), but you’d save his beating for later when he isn’t holding your precious girl.

“you—”

with a sudden gasp, he reaches out a hand to you, waving it slightly to satiate your temper. he shushes you gently, whispering, “wait wait — she’s opening her eyes!”

quieting down, the both of you lean in, curious and in anticipation as your little one’s lashes flutter open slowly.

at what stares up at you, your lips part in sheer awe — and your husband stays uncharacteristically silent beside you.

“oh, satoru,” you absolutely melt.

with a coo, you whisper, “she has your eyes.” the very cerulean color you fell in love with once before and have again right now for the second time.

noticing how he hasn’t uttered a single thing, you look over next to you, before your eyes widen at the sight that greets you.

satoru, your husband, is crying. salty tears slip from his ducts and down his flushed cheeks, cute brows scrunched, blue clashing with blue for the first time.

“aw, baby. are you okay?” your own eyebrows knit together in worry and in contentment, noting his tears are of happiness.

all you get in response is a nonsensical blubber and a sniffle.

satoru’s heard it over a hundred times — how his eyes are pretty, beautiful, ethereal — even from you. he’s never cared much for it. to him, they were just eyes and the only value he saw in them is the power they gave him over others.

but now, he understands. and he thinks he’s starting to fall in love with them too.

“she’s so beautiful…” his lip wobbles, voice shaky and quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“i know,” you breathe.

putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, you smile. “happy now?” you’re barely able to conceal the amusement in your voice.

“mhm.” he hums, eyes still shimmering and glassy, lips in a pout.

“wanna go home?”

“yes, please.”

there’s nothing more that he wanted to do in that moment than take his baby girl to the loving sanctuary he deems the closest thing to heaven, his paradise — and he’s never letting her go.

extra:

“i can’t believe she only has my eyes, though. i guess i’ll just have to try harder next ti — ow! that hurt!”

[mellowwillowy]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Yan! Sugar Daddy who fell in love with you at first sight in the cafe he often visited for his daily to-go coffee. He had seen lots of beauties but you were the first to catch his breath.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who tried to woo you, he tried his best to not scare you and subtly flirt with you. It took him a huge courage to approach you and ask for your number.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who found out you were still just a college student who was most likely to be struggling with financial issues, or so he assumed from how most of the students there were.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who took his time bonding with you before subtly offering an arrangement with you, a mutual arrangement of a sugar relationship. Instead of sex, fancy dates, or a plus one to those higher-ups events, he wanted your company all the time if he could.

You were wary and hesitant but his silver-tongued nature convinced you that this would change your life for the better.

While you were inexperienced in most of it, Yulian made sure to make you feel comfortable about it and him. The weekly allowance and PPM were enough to make you never lift a single finger to work anymore.

The more you spent time with him, the less it felt like an arrangement. It felt like a man treating you with utmost respect while spoiling you with luxuries you would never imagine to have.

But with such great benefits came a great price. You noticed that you had been seeing your friends less because of the attention you had on him.

You noticed the higher-ups never stopped sneering at you for being a commoner or his pet whenever you attended the fancy events with him as his plus one.

You noticed how you had almost less to none freedom, always heavily guarded by what seemed to be his bodyguards. Who was he and why did you even need this sort of protection?

One day you decided to trick his bodyguards with your flat-out white lies so that they'd leave you alone. They did not expect someone like you to ever lie and put them at risk so they left you alone.

All you did was wander around in awe, checking the grand balcony to go to the washroom as normal people would.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who was seething in rage when the bodyguards came to him, tricked by your childish lie. But there was no way something bad would happen with this slight mistake right? You were not his spouse by any means.

But oh did everyone know you were someone he fancied for the first time in his whole life. Part of his brain just tried to look at this mistake in a bright light and it backfired.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who had to be endlessly teased by his great-for-nothing cartel friend. He had to endure the stress of losing you and the risk of not being able to take you back.

It's not like the Drug Lord couldn't help him, it was simply humiliating for him to endanger you by not keeping a close eye on you.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who could track you down in less than a week and ordered a mass slaughter on the faction that imprisoned you. You were not wounded terribly but a wound was still a wound.

Yan! Sugar Daddy was just a confidant to the Drug Lord and an infamous lawyer. You only knew he was a lawyer but never the lurking threat of his other occupation. No wonder he was always wary of his surroundings.

How could someone from such a cold underground world have the heart to fall in love with you? That was what you thought when you woke up to his concerned face.

Weeks passed and it didn't take him so long to propose to you, for you to become his spouse.

"I truly love you, dear. I have never even once seen our arrangement as something strictly business instead." He showed you a velvety box with a diamond ring in it. "I admit, it was not the best approach but I thought I could work my way into your heart while profiting you with all the benefits and luxuries you could have from me."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, "I wanted you to see how capable I am."

Something told you that nothing good would come out of your refusal. And instead, logic swarm into your brain. You had been in an arrangement with him for almost a year already and had never even once felt any hardships.

He was nice to you, downright kind and loving even. He cared for you deeply and wouldn't hurt you in any way. It was your fault that you broke free from the barrier of protection he granted you.

With great fame and luxuries, came all sorts of threats. He wasn't disloyal like those higher-ups. He didn't belittle you like others would. He loved you.

Even if you didn't love him, you knew how great it felt to be loved by him. There was not a single loss from this arrangement which was a marriage, right?

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x Female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Fluffy, Aemond finally makes a friend, characters will be aged up next chapter, reader is from a made-up house

AN: This is my first time writing for HOTD and I'm excited and terrified to share this story with you. I've had this idea in my head for so long and decided to finally get it out. Hope you enjoy xx

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

~~

He was used to playing for second best.

In his short life he became used to disinterested gazes, murmurs of his supposed cold heart and fits of rage, avoidant steps when he passed, the curse he possessed as the scarred second son. 

But never from her.

She looked at him as though he put the stars in the sky. She looked at him as if he was the reason the sky bloomed with breathtaking colors in the early morning.

He felt himself unworthy of her attention and affection, something she was aware of, and she would hold him and tell him all the love she gave him was very much deserved.

It was a sentiment he always had trouble not disputing instantly. 

She made his miserable heart full. 

Aemond couldn’t believe his luck himself for the sun that entered his world and brightened his life. 

He never believed he was worthy of her love. 

And she spent her entire life trying to prove him wrong.

~~

It was a beautiful, sunny, cloudless day.

A day Aemond was dreading. 

It wasn’t often their family made trips away from King’s Landing. His father was King and most visitors made the effort to come to the Capitol and spare them the effort of a visit, but a sudden trip had their entire family uproot their usual routine and he found himself hating every moment of it. 

Being dragonless, he was left to endure the crashing waves of the sea that made his stomach turn. 

“This place is disgusting.” Aegon said the moment they landed on solid ground. 

“Aegon.” His mother admonished with a steady glare. “The Ixtal Islands are a beautiful place and they’re home to one of the most powerful houses in the seven kingdoms. You would do well to show them some respect.”

“Not like they’ll offer me anything of importance.” He muttered bitterly. Rumors had spread of his mother and father’s desire to wed him to his sister Heleana, his future already planned for him.

His mood was immediately soured at the realization that none of the beauties he saw on the Island shore were his intended, but that wouldn’t stop him from having his fun. 

“Why are we even here?” Aegon whined immaturely, making his mother suppress yet another eye roll in response.

“The Lord of Ixtal is an old friend of your father.”

“I still don’t understand why that demands my presence here.” Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Our council is in need of a new Master of Coin and your father is considering his dear friend. We are here for negotiations and our family is nothing if not loyal. Your father, our King, needs us.” Alicent answered shortly. 

Aemond was excited to finally see the Island he had read so much about. He knew their history, their riches and goods they traded with the entirety of the realm. The Ixtal Islands were the most plentiful and prosperous house in the realm and he was in awe to see his readings come to life before him.

It was the socialization he dreaded. 

Nobles would look at Aegon with respect, respect he didn’t deserve even being the first born son of the King. Helaena would be regarded with reverence, a comparison to the Realm’s Delight. 

But he was nothing more than a second son, easily brushed over.

Daeron was still just a babe, too young to understand the slight they possessed not having been born first, but Aemond understood all too well. 

Their family was escorted into a grand throne room and Aemond was in awe of the intricate ornaments that decorated the hall and he briefly wondered why King’s Landing was where the most powerful man in the realm sat when this place existed.

His wide eyes eagerly took in every sight in front of him, admiring how the vast forest behind the castle casted a mystical green glow on the room from the giant window sitting behind the intricate gold throne. 

“Viserys!” A cheerful voice called and for the first time in a long time, Aemond heard his father laugh, a genuinely delighted sound as he embraced his friend.

Aegon shared a brief look with him, his shock at hearing his father's laughter clear in the way he furrowed his brows in bitterness.

“It’s been too long, my friend.” 

“Alicent, always a delight to see you, my dear.” 

Aemond noted the blush on his mother’s cheeks as the charming lord embraced her. He shifted on his feet as his siblings were introduced. He knew what came next, the flippant dismissal was familiar yet it stung each time. 

He looked up as the Lord shook hands with Aegon and gave Helaena a polite nod, her body language giving him the signal she wasn’t comfortable with anything else. 

As he stepped in front of Aemond, he suddenly felt two feet tall under the man’s gaze. Until he smiled. It was a gesture filled with warmth he hadn’t been expecting.

“Aemond, a strong name for a strong lad.” The lord clapped his shoulder and Aemond felt his body straighten, his confidence reappearing the second he realized he wasn’t going to be passed over yet again.

He looked up at the Lord with a smile, feeling more respected by the stranger in front of him than he ever had from his own father.

“You remember my wife,” The Lord gestured to a finely dressed woman who smiled and bowed to them courteously. 

“My son and-” The lord stopped abruptly, suddenly noticing the absence of the person who was supposed to be next in line and looked to his wife who was already wincing, having expected the abrupt drop in conversation due to their eldest daughter’s absence.

“My apologies, my daughter has lived here all her life yet still feels the need to explore.” The Lady of Ixtal explained, the lack of anger in her voice that gave way to begrudging acceptance made it obvious this was a common occurrence.

Viserys laughed and looked at his friend. 

“You could not possibly think your children would give you any trouble, would you?” He chided sarcastically to the Lord who could only laugh in delight at his beloved daughter’s antics. 

Aemond watched the interaction with wide eyes, intrigued by the sense of ease that surrounded everything. 

If they were in King’s Landing and he was late to an event, his mother would have his hyde.

Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and an armored knight was seen running into the room, his hand latched onto someone small who was giggling in delight.

“My Lord, My Lady, I am so sorry, she wanted-”

“It’s quite alright, Ser Jerrod. I know my daughter could not have made it easy for you.” The Lord dismissed the unnecessary apology and smiled down at his daughter who smiled somewhat sheepishly as she passed by to take her place in line. 

She smoothed her hands down the front of her silk dress and stood straighter, putting on the air of the perfect and primed daughter, as if they hadn’t all just seen her enter in a tizzy five minutes late.

Her mother looked down at her and leaned over her brother’s shoulder to pluck a leaf from her disheveled hair. Her eyes widened slightly, fearing retribution for her antics, but her mother only raised a teasing brow, silently admonishing her. 

The girl brushed her messy hair off her shoulder and finally moved her gaze to their guests, a smile coming to her face as she met the eyes of the silver haired boy in front of her.

Aemond was rooted to his spot, his expression one of perplexed confusion. The smile she sent him, the gesture which was so simple - and usually faked by most at court - was blinding. 

He was taken aback by the fact that she hadn’t looked at the powerful presence that was the King or the Queen faithfully at his side. She hadn’t looked at Aegon, Daeron or even Helaena, the only girl close to her age in the room. 

She looked at him first. 

She smiled at him first.

It was a gesture that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to him, it meant everything, it lifted the veil of neglect he was so familiar with from his shoulders, leaving him to feel lighter than before.

He listened as the Lord introduced his daughter and he ran her name over and over in his head, feeling his cheeks heat, a blush easily coming to his face as she greeted everyone, but her stare came back to him, smiling shyly.

~~

“This place is beautiful.” Helaena spoke dreamily as she took in their surroundings. 

They were granted leave to look around while the servants prepared to set up the welcome feast. 

Aemond couldn't take his eyes off the white sand and the crystal blue water. He breathed deeply, relieved to smell nothing but fresh flowers and ocean water and not the filth that permeated King’s Landing.

“Father should take over this place.” Aegon mused, earning looks of disdain from his siblings, which he easily shrugged off. “What? It’s much better than our shithole of a home.” 

Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother’s crass nature and kept walking, praying Aegon would somehow get lost or at least get bored of his company and leave. 

The sound of a loud laugh caught all of their attention and they walked their way through the lavish gardens to find it. Aemond suddenly became nervous as he saw the children of the Lord and Lady of Ixtal. 

The oldest son was playing some sort of ball game with his younger brother. The youngest sibling was reading quietly with her Septa. But the eldest daughter was nowhere to be found. 

As they stepped forward, the youngest son straightened and nudged his brother to stop. Catching sight of the young Targaryen princes and princess they let the ball they were playing with drop to the ground as they bowed respectfully. 

“Hello.” Helaena spoke brightly and the two young boys were helpless against her sweet nature and they both smiled and greeted her warmly.

“Where’s the other one?” Aegon asked rudely, looking around for the pretty girl from earlier who was missing. 

Aemond grit his teeth, praying Aegon wouldn’t drive her away before he even had the chance to speak to her.

“She’s in her tree.”

“Her tree?” 

The oldest brother pointed to the enormous willow tree behind them. 

He called out to his sister, alerting her to the presence of the royal children and just seconds later, Aemond watched with a slowly growing smile as a lithe form began to descend the ancient tree. 

She was slightly out of breath as she jumped the last few feet to the ground, brushing her already tangled hair out of her face as she practically skipped towards them.

As if her Septa’s teachings and her mother’s scolding from that morning had finally caught up to her, the smile on her face fell slightly, remembering she was in the presence of royalty. She slowed her pace and curtsied slightly clumsily as she came before them. 

“It is lovely to see you all again. I hope you are enjoying Ixtal.”

Aemond felt his face heat with a deep blush at the sound of her voice, the slight accent he heard capturing him instantly and he wished nothing more than to take the book from her young sister’s hands and demand she read it to him just so he could continue to hear the beautiful sound of her voice. 

“Your home is lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Helaena spoke, breaking him from his thoughts. She moved towards the girl, the two of them engaging in easy conversation. 

Aegon began speaking with the two brothers, learning the rules to the ball game they were playing, the young boys instantly getting along. Which left Aemond to stand by himself. 

He shifted on his feet anxiously, contemplating if he should leave and find his mother. He’d at least have someone to talk to then. The pit in his stomach that grew as the familiar feeling of loneliness settled over him broke abruptly at the sound of the beautiful voice again.

“Would you like to sit?”

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and for a moment, he wondered if she had actually been speaking to him. His gaze found Helaena who was now kneeling to talk to the youngest of the children who was mesmerized by her lavish dress.

Which left the oldest daughter alone and her gaze on him. 

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and stepped forward slowly, his heart racing as he took a seat on the bench next to her. 

“What are you writing?” He asked after clearing his throat, wincing to himself at the nerves that lingered in his words. 

“Drawing actually.” She corrected. “And not very well by the looks of it.” She shifted closer to him to show him the sketches in her notebook, the scent of lavender invading every one of his senses as her shoulder brushed against his.

His eyes looked over the shaky drawings of flowers and the willow tree she had been sitting in just moments ago. 

“They’re beautiful.”

She smiled and the sight was enough to leave Aemond thankful that he was sitting. 

“Do you draw?”

“No, nowhere near as well as you.”

“You must be shit then because these are awful.”

Aemond choked on his breath at her words, his wide eyes looking over at her in shock. She had a carelessness to her that he thought he would’ve found arrogant, it was certainly how he felt about the other ladies at court who were so brazen before him. 

But he found he could only feel enamored by the girl beside him. 

A quiet laugh escaped him, his stomach flipping in ways he had never felt before. 

“They’re not so bad.” He spoke quietly, his nerves reverting him to his bashful nature. 

“You’re quite the flatterer, Aemond.”

No words came to him, he was left to stare back at her, completely taken aback by her easy nature and blinding smile. 

She continued to show him her other sketches, the conversation between them flowing easily, something that Aemond had never experienced. 

Later, as their guards escorted them away to prepare for the feast, Aemond’s ears rang with the sound of her laughter, leaving him to hope he would hear it again before he had to leave. 

He spent the night with a smile on his face, behaving more animatedly than he had in all his life. Alicent had looked at her second son with barely contained emotion, delighted to see him so at ease. 

She was so caught up in her emotions, she hadn’t even noticed how his eyes never strayed too far from the eldest daughter of Ixtal. 

~~

The mischievous island girl was known to walk around the halls of the castle at all hours. It had happened so often for so long the guards didn’t bother to stop her anymore and no one batted an eye when they saw her wandering. 

She made her way to her parents chamber hours after she had been put to bed. 

She couldn’t stop the thought in her head and she had to see it through. 

With a smile to the guard at her parent’s door, she strolled in as if it were her own chamber. Her parents looked startled for all of a second before they sighed in resignation. 

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Darling?”

“I was.” 

Her father huffed out a laugh. “So what brings you here, Troublemaker?”

She let out a breath, her shoulders straightening, as if portraying herself as proper would help her cause. 

“I want to go with you to King’s Landing.”

Her request did not go over as easily as she wished, she spent the next hour arguing with her parents, pleading her case. She may have overstated how much her decision to learn more about court, but her parents did not need to know her desire lay purely with her need to explore what the Capitol could offer. 

Her parents knew she loved to explore and the chance to see a new part of the realm was too tempting to not indulge her in. Her parents loved her more than anything, they loved and doted on all their children in ways that left Lords and Ladies from other houses to scoff and roll their eyes in disdain. 

They couldn’t say no to her. 

By the next morning, she stood at her father’s side as their ship sailed to King’s Landing, her arm linked through his, her head filled with the wonders of what this new place would have to offer. 

A smile grew on her lips as she pictured the shy boy who had complimented her drawings and her excitement began to grow. 

~~

She was more reserved than she had ever been as she sat beside the table of royals. King Viserys had planned an extravagant welcome feast for the Lord of Ixtal, his new Master of Coin and his daughter to welcome them to King’s Landing. 

She had never experienced so many Lords and Ladies approaching her before, giving her their hand to shake and curtsey before them in greeting. It felt as though she had never truly existed until she made it to the Capitol, where the matters of the court actually held weight and prospect.

Her father had regaled many a knight and Lord over the course of the night, leaving her by his side to sit quietly, the overlooked daughter. She knew the power her house held, she knew the reason most Lords gave their good fortune to her father was to ensure their trade routes would continue prosperously. She knew she was nothing more than fodder at her father’s side.

She picked at her food unhappily, contemplating her decision to venture so far from her home, so far from what was comfortable. Her eyes rose from her plate, surveying the large throne room before her, catching sight of her father in talks with a large group of Lords from around the realm. 

With a heavy sigh, knowing she couldn’t interrupt her father, her eyes moved to the head table where the Targaryen family sat. 

The head seat where the King sat was empty, he was busy at her father’s side. She let her eyes roam over the queen, taking in her quiet servitude and demure presence. Her gaze fell to the heir, Princess Rhaenyra sat with her husband Laenor Valaryon, her brows quickly rising at the sight of the brown haired children sat beside the silver-headed wedded pair. 

Her eyes fell to Queen Alicent’s children, a small smile growing as she caught the gaze of Princess Helaena, the quiet girl sparing her a wave to which she eagerly reciprocated. 

She was never one to fade into the background and she eagerly took the Princess’ gesture as a sign of goodwill, standing from her seat to make her way to the head table. 

Helaena beamed at the girl as she approached, oblivious to her elder brother’s lustful intrigue and her younger brother who sat up straighter as the girl approached. 

“Hello, my Lady, I hope King’s Landing is treating you well.” Helaena greeted the girl happily. 

“It is lovely, Princess. I am sincerely grateful to your father for allowing myself and my father to reside in your home.”

“We are delighted to have you.” Helaena assured her. She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, her face turning bashful for a moment. “The ladies of the court will be gathering tomorrow, you should join.”

“I’d love to.” She responded eagerly, relieved to know her newfound solitude would not be long held. 

“You should join us for breakfast as well. I can show you my collection.” Helaena added excitedly. 

“By the Gods, Helaena.” Aegon groaned beside her. 

“Collection?” She asked, staunchly ignoring the prince sitting next to the blushing princess.

“My insects. I’ve collected quite a beautiful group of them. I’d love to show you.”

Helaena had a lovely innocence to her she was powerless against. 

“I’d be delighted to see them.” She told the princess sincerely, hoping she had found a friend in the eccentric girl. “I’ve also heard wonderful things about your library. I’m eager to read the works about Valryian history and the Targaryen dynasty. There are only rumors where I come from.”

Aemond sat forward in his seat, his eagerness to interject himself finally coming to a head.

“I can show you to the library.” Aemond offered, finally making his presence known. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take you from your duties.”

“You won’t.” He insisted, positive his face was blooming with a pink blush as her attention now lay on him. “There are many books that have not been translated, I would be happy to read them to you.”

He seemed to melt under her gaze that watched him curiously. 

“You would do that?”

“Of course.” He insisted.

“That would be wonderful.” 

He was thankful he was sitting because her smile would have knocked him off his feet. 

By the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, he was sitting in the library, anxiously anticipating her arrival. He didn’t have to wait long until the door creaked open and her eager eyes took in the vast shelves around her. 

She greeted him with happiness as if they were long time friends, causing his stomach to flutter in ways he had never felt before. 

“This is incredible.” She mused, eyeing the many books she had to indulge in.

They spent the afternoon together, her at his side as he read the Valryian texts of their history, stopping every few minutes to answer the many intrigued questions she had. 

Aemond was sure his face was on fire, he had never blushed so hard. No one had ever taken such an interest in him, no one had ever paid so much attention to him, no one had ever bothered to listen to him.

But here she was, this girl at his side, eager to know more, asking question after question, trusting him to give her the answer. As soon as he began to fear he had spoken too much, taken too much of her time she’d drawl out ‘tell me more’ or ‘what happened next’ and he was rooted to his seat, turning to the next page as he explained the history of the Targaryen dynasty to her eager ears. 

He had never felt so important. 

~~

King’s Landing proved to be just as wondrous as she dreamed it. Granted, it didn’t have the luxurious beaches or sprawling forests her home did, but she was just thrilled to be exploring a new corner of the world.

Aemond had quickly become her closest ally. He had taken to showing her every inch of the place he thought she would enjoy, dragging her along to the mazes of gardens, the weirwood tree, the luxurious Sept, but her favorite had to be the library. She had spent many late nights with Aemond at her side, perusing through the many ancient works of Valyrian history. 

It fascinated her, but she couldn’t deny she loved to hear Aemond’s voice as he read to her, enthralled with stories of Aegon the Conqueror and his two sister-wives, stories of ancient dragons and their riders, of wars long passed.

A week into their stay, as she broke her fast with her father, she was practically bouncing in her seat, shoveling her food into her mouth as quickly as she could, eager to get the meal over with so she could meet with Aemond and Helaena, the two of them quickly becoming her closest confidants.  

“Slow down, my love, you’re going to choke.” Her father warned with a chuckle at her enthusiasm. 

“Sorry.” She mumbled through the food in her mouth, causing her father to grimace at her very unlady-like behavior. 

“Your eagerness wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Targaryen, would it?” He asked slowly, his knowing smile teasing her clear affection for the young boy she was growing closer to each day. 

“Helaena and I are good friends.” She shrugged, effectively dodging her father’s prying. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, watching her thoughtfully. He had no idea where she had gained such a witty mouth, it certainly wasn’t from him or his sweet, quiet wife. 

She finished the rest of her breakfast at record speed and hopped out of her seat, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek.

“I’ll see you at dinner!” She called out over her shoulder as she skipped to the door. 

“Be safe!” He called out, but she was already racing down the halls. He looked to the guard at the door pointedly who nodded and trailed after the rambunctious girl. 

She slowed her pace once she reached the courtyard, suddenly very aware of the many eyes that would be on her if she was caught sprinting through the halls. She spotted a head of silver hair by the gates and she beamed, throwing all care out the window as she began to jog towards him.

“Aemond!” She called out and watched as the boy turned to her, his own smile growing at the sight of her. 

“Took you long enough.” He jested playfully and reveled in the dramatic scowl she sent him. 

“I’m not late. You are just an insane man that voluntarily wakes with the sun.” 

It was so small, something so miniscule, but it still managed to make his heart race. Knowing she remembered a small detail about him, no matter if it was something that was so inconsequential, was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.

He hadn’t expected it to affect him the way it did.

~~~

She found herself with Helaena in the gardens, finding any bugs she could for the enigmatic

princess. Digging a jittery bug out of the dirt, her nose scrunched in distaste as the many legged creature crawled over her hand.

“What is this thing?”

Helaena peered over curiously and a wide smile beamed on her face.

“That’s a beetle.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they?”

The princess laughed in amusement at the widened eyes that met her gaze and she shook her head. “No, you’re safe.”

The girl nodded and, though still on edge, was less stressed as she held the bug in her hands. 

Helaena, preoccupied with her own bugs, stole frequent looks at the girl next to her, noting the unease in her eyes. She smiled lightly and leaned in close to her.

“You don’t have to do this with me. I know not everyone likes the things I like. I can do this by myself.”

The girl looked startled by her words, a frown growing on her usually bright features and she looked down at the bug in her hands again, her eyes shifting from a look of disgust to one of determination, as if she could force herself to not feel grossed out at their existence.

“I like being here with you.” She said softly. “I don’t really have anyone else here.”

Helaena frowned, the thought of her brother immediately coming to mind and the smile that would grace his usually sullen face every time he was with the Island girl. As if she had conjured him herself, she looked over her shoulder, noticing him coming their way.

“Hello, Brother.” She smiled, though it was futile as his attention was locked onto the beauty beside her.

“Hello.” He spoke, though his eyes never left his sister’s friend. “What are you doing?”

“Finding bugs. Would you like to join?”

Helaena, having expected a ‘no’, given it was always Aemond’s answer anytime she asked him for help digging through the gardens, was shocked as he took a seat among them and dug his hands in the dirt before them without question.

The Princess watched with barely contained delight as her brother and friend immediately started conversing as if she weren’t there, the comfortable ease between them thriving. 

Usually she would feel slighted by such an occurrence, but rather than feeling ignored, she was happy to see her brother, who was usually so serious, look completely unburdened. She worried about him, about how tightly wound he was, but since the Lord of Ixtal and his daughter had come to King’s Landing, she had noticed his demeanor change, as if he could finally take a deep breath and release the things that so often held him down.

Aemond looked at the dirt beneath his fingernails and mourned at what his night routine would be subjected to, but he found he didn’t care all that much. The stolen glances to the girl beside him had all sense of propriety out the window. 

“Do you do this every day, Princess?” She asked the Targaryen who shrugged shyly.

“Most days. I find I prefer the company of bugs over people.”

The bark of laughter that left her had both the siblings smiling, her joyful nature contagious. 

Aemond was transfixed, until he heard his name and he was forced out of his daydreams. He looked up at Aegon who was standing before them, judgment painting his features.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re digging for bugs, Brother.” Helaena answered innocently, her eyes thankfully locked onto the caterpillar on her finger so she didn’t see how her brother rolled his eyes in disdain.

Aemond glowered at his brother, his mood dampened, his protectiveness for his sister rising involuntarily whenever he was around. He hated seeing Helaena’s eyes dim with every one of his hurtful words.

The Island girl looked between the siblings, beginning to understand just how different they were to her and her own siblings. The more time she spent with Aegon, the more she disliked him. She looked back at Aemond and frowned, noticing the dower expression grow on her friend’s face, and she called his name. 

“Hmm?”

“What are these?” She asked, her dirt covered fingers trailing over the petals of the flowers in front of them, diverting his attention from Aegon.

“Marigolds.” He answered quickly, as if he wanted her to be impressed by his knowledge. “You don’t have these in Ixtal?”

“No. It’s a shame, they’re beautiful.”

Aemond bit his lip, his heart racing as she moved back to digging for bugs. He ignored the nerves that coursed through him and reached out to pluck the flower. 

“Here.”

She looked up and her eyes widened, her cheeks burning as he tucked the flower behind her ear, his shy smile mirroring hers, his hesitance clear, but his bravery clearer.

Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pair. 

The noise caused them both to glare at the older Targaryen, their eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“You two are pathetic.”

“It’s not our fault your pea sized brain cannot comprehend the idea of caring for someone other than yourself.” She snarked easily, making Aemond’s eyes widen as he nervously looked between her and his brother whose face twisted in anger.

Thankfully, his brother was smart enough to know not to start a fight with her and he stomped away, most likely in search of more wine.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Aemond mumbled, his worried eyes lingering on his brother’s figure as he stormed off.

“Do what?”

“Antagonize him.” 

“Someone needs to knock him off his high horse. Why can’t it be me?” She shrugged, perfectly content to be the antagonist in Aegon Targaryen’s life.

“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why would anything happen to me?”

“Because… he’s… it’s Aegon.” He stressed, as if his brother’s existence was enough explanation.

“Yes, and he’s an absolute cock.”

Aemond’s eyes widened, not expecting the vulgar word to leave her lips. Helaena giggled and leaned into the girl at her side. His shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to laugh, amazed yet not surprised at her ability to evade him of his worries. 

~~

A body crashed into her as she turned the corner, almost knocking her off balance, but arms that quickly wrapped around her waist stopped her from falling to the floor. 

She recognized the boy immediately. 

“Aemond.” She greeted breathlessly with a smile. He pulled away from her instantly, taking a step back to create space between them, his head bowed downwards, avoiding her gaze. 

But she saw the tear streaks through the stains of ash on his cheeks. Her smile fell and she stepped towards him, her hands gently lifting his chin, though he vehemently refused and harshly pulled himself away from her. 

“What happened?” She asked, trying to keep the hurt from her voice at his avoidance, something she had never experienced from him.

“Nothing.”

“Aemond.” She admonished gently. She hated when he acted like this, so unlike the kind boy she knew. 

He kept his head down and she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I won’t leave you alone until you tell me what happened.” 

Aemond huffed and side stepped around her to continue on his way to lock himself in his chambers and wallow, but she was too quick. She grabbed his hand to stop him and pulled him back towards her. 

He spoke her name, the groaned pronunciation indicating he wasn’t in the mood. 

“I just want to go to my chambers.”

“Fine. We can go together.” She said simply and linked her arm through his as they began to walk.

Aemond let out a long breath, his annoyance flaring for a second, but the moment he looked over at her it faded away into nothing. He brought his arm that was linked with hers closer to his chest, as if needing her touch to soothe his nerves. 

He thought he wanted to be alone. After his mother had brushed off his tears and scolded him yet again for venturing through the dragon pit, he just wanted to wallow by himself, but with her arm in his, her steady presence at his side, he found he wanted nothing but to be with her.

Once they made it to his chambers, he reluctantly let go of her and practically slumped his way to sit on his bed, his head bowed down to his feet, his brother and nephews' latest prank ruminating in his head, causing shame and anger to cascade over every inch of him. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened now or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

Aemond huffed at her words and began to fidget with his fingers, focusing on the sand that lingered on his skin rather than meeting her inquisitive gaze. 

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him on the bed, brushing the sand from his hair. 

“Were you in the dragon pit again?”

He nodded wordlessly and she felt something inside her clench. She would never understand the hole in Aemond’s heart, how his lack of a dragon made him feel so worthless. 

“They said they found a dragon for me.” He mumbled, causing her to look over at him with concern, her stomach sinking at the hurt she heard in his voice, knowing his dreams hadn’t come true that afternoon. 

She knew it could only be a cruel prank at his expense. 

“They gave me a pig.”

Her shoulders slumped, her hand reaching out to grab his, intertwining their fingers with an ease as though she had done it a million times before. She had only held his hand a few times and it made Aemond blush bright red every time, even now as he wallowed. 

“I’m sorry. They shouldn’t be so cruel to you.”

“They’re right. It’s pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon.”

“Aemond-”

“Maybe I’m not worthy and I’ll never get a dragon, maybe that’s why my egg never hatched. I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop it.” She spoke sternly, gripping onto both his hands in an effort to calm him down from his ranting. “You are every bit as good as any one of them, dragon or no dragon.”

Aemond sighed shakily and moved his gaze back down to his shoes, feeling as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“What if I never find one?” He asked quietly, as if afraid to speak the possibility out into existence. 

“You will. I know you will.” She assured him, though it did little to release him from his sadness. “There are plenty of Targaryens that didn’t claim dragons until later in life.”

Aemond gave her a plain look, to which she just smirked. Serves him right for teaching her about his family history. 

“Aemond, we’re young, we still have so much life to live. It’s not over because you don’t have a dragon yet. You have so much time to find what you’ve always wanted.”

The breath that escaped his lips left him feeling lighter, his hand finally gripping hers back, sending a bashful smile her way, hoping it was enough to convey how grateful he was for her. 

He didn’t think he could ever find the words to tell her. 

“You’d be with me, won’t you? For my first ride?”

“You would want me there?”

“Of course I would.” 

She smiled and he was powerless but to return his own. “Then I’ll be there.”

~~

Aemond’s glare was steady on his face, his eyes locked onto the Strong bastard that twirled her around. 

How dare he ask her to dance, how dare he touch her, how dare he make her smile.

His disdain for his nephews was clear, they certainly didn’t give him much reason to be cordial, but this was the last straw. Seeing Jacaerys’ hands on her made his blood boil. 

Those damned nephews of his had already stolen her away from his side that afternoon. He could only watch helplessly as she played around with the bastards and spoke politely to his half sister Rhaenyra. 

He almost resented how sweet his friend was. He loved her kind heart, he just hated when it extended to his elder half sister and her sons who he despised. 

He hated when Jacaerys and Lucerys stole her away from his side. It was happening more and more as they became closer. He felt like he was losing her, the more times she spent breaking her fast with his eldest sister and her brood, the more he dreaded every moment away from her. 

She was his only friend, the only one he felt truly understood him, or at least made the effort to. Losing her would mean losing the only shred of happiness he’d managed to find for himself. 

He averted his gaze from Jace and the Ixtal girl, the sight of both their bright smiles becoming too painful.

“They seem to get along well.” His father mused, prompting Aemond to torturously follow his gaze to the pair yet again. 

His heart began to race at the insinuation, at the knowing look in his father’s twinkling eyes. 

“Yes, he seems to be quite taken with her.” Rhaenyra noted with a loving smile. 

“They’d make a fine match.” His mother added. Aemond looked to his mother, betrayal in his gaze. His mother knew how much his friend meant to him, she knew someone so precious shouldn’t be shackled to a bastard. 

He refused to hear another word. His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he abruptly stood and made his way out of the room as if there were no air left for him to breathe. They couldn’t take her away from him, they couldn’t give her to that bastard. 

He raced to his chambers, hoping he was quick enough that no passing guards could see the tears forming in his eyes. 

By the next day, he found himself in the gardens, his eyes locked onto the open book in his lap as he read and re-read the same sentence over and over, his racing mind not allowing him to focus on the words in front of him. 

The dread he had been feeling since the night before had not dissipated in the slightest.

“Aemond!” 

His heart leapt within his chest at the sound of her voice. His hopeful eyes looked around the garden before landing on her and a feeling of lead settled within him, bringing him right back down to his dour mood as he noticed Jace and Lucerys beside her. 

She motioned for him to join but he just shook his head softly and moved his gaze back down to his book. 

He let out a long breath, trying his hardest to ignore the bitterness that grew in his heart, one that was all too familiar from before he met her. He startled slightly as a body slumped next to him. He looked up and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her looking at him questioningly.

“Why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

She breathed deeply, as if disappointed by his obvious lie. “Why didn’t you join us?”

He shrugged, he couldn’t very well tell her the truth about how he despised his nephews and seeing her with them was like a dagger to the heart, how he feared losing her, his greatest friend. 

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He spoke softly. 

Her eyes narrowed at his words, her gaze moving to the two Velaryon boys who were talking quietly amongst each other, their curious eyes occasionally drifting to her and Aemond. 

She knew there was tension among them, the way they seemed to side with Aegon and play along in the cruel pranks he would play on Aemond always made her stomach twist. She suddenly felt guilty that she had never considered how it would make Aemond feel to be forced in their vicinity after how they treated him. 

She turned to her friend and shuffled closer to him. 

“You could never intrude.”

Aemond looked over at her, but quickly averted his gaze, finding it just too much to look in her eyes while she sat so close to him. 

“You don’t have to stay with me. If you want to be with them, I won’t stop you.” He spoke quietly. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel smothered by him. 

“I’d rather be with you.”

Her answer left him using all of his willpower to keep himself from marching directly to his father and demanding a betrothal this instant. 

She chose him. 

No one had ever chosen him.

~~

She was bored out of her mind. With Aemond and Helaena gone to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral, she was left without her closest confidants, leaving her little to do in their absence. She wished she’d been granted leave to attend the funeral with them, but her father had never met Laena and had been tasked with extra duties while the King was gone, leaving her to stew in her loneliness.

She was curled up on the settee by her bed, her sketchbook in her lap as she scrawled out an attempt at drawing Dreamfyre, to horrible failure. 

A soft knock on her door made her lift her head and she sat up straighter when her father entered. The look on his face made her stomach twist, dread falling upon her like a crashing wave. 

She got to her feet quickly, feeling unsteady on her now weak legs.

“Darling, there was an… incident on Driftmark.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart racing. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t privy to all the details but all I know is that Aemond has been injured.” 

The breath was knocked out of her and at the first sign of her face crumbling into despair, her father crossed the room and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as the first sob broke free. 

“Is he alright?”

Her father let out a long breath at her hiccuped words, holding her tightly. He knew his daughter had certain affections for the young boy, but hearing her now made him realize just how deeply she cared for him. 

“The Maesters say he has lost an eye.” 

A shuddering breath escaped her and she suddenly felt faint. She had no idea how, what could have unfolded, who would dare to do something so barbaric to him. 

The next days were spent in agony. She barely left her chambers. Every time her father came to check in on her, he found her sitting by her window, her gaze locked onto the horizon, waiting eagerly for the Targaryen family’s arrival. 

On the third day of her lonely torment, she finally spotted it. Dragons on the horizon. She was on her feet in a second and racing down to the courtyard. She was out of breath and disheveled by the time she made it, but her pace only quickened when she saw Helaena with her mother. 

She called out to her friend and Helaena let out a breath of relief when she saw her, her arms opening for her as she approached. 

Helaena didn’t let many touch her, but she was one of the lucky few she allowed. 

“Are you alright? Where’s Aemond? Will he be ok?” She fired off questions, not even able to get a breath out through her frantic words. 

“It’s alright, my Darling. Aemond will be fine.” Alicent consoled her, placing her arm around the shaking girl’s shoulders.

“Where is he?”

“He’s been taken to the Maester’s solar. He’ll have to spend some time there while he heals.” 

“What happened?” She asked breathlessly.

“What I told him.” Helaena interjected calmly. “He gained a dragon, but he had to close an eye.” 

She looked at Helaena with shock. “He… he claimed a dragon?”

She couldn’t make sense of the despair, relief and joy she had felt all at once. Knowing Aemond and his endless plight to gain a dragon, she knew he would see it a worthy trade, but the thought of him injured, permanently maimed, made her want to crumble to the ground below her. 

After bidding goodbye to Alicent and Helaena, she made her way to the Maester’s wing of the Keep. She was denied entry, but she was determined to not let it stop her. Each day, at the crack of dawn, she’d drag herself out of bed and, before even breaking her fast, would make the trek to the Maester’s wing and ask to see Aemond.

She was refused each and every day, but it did little to deter her. She kept trying. 

It had been weeks since she had seen Aemond. Her heart was aching without the presence of her best friend, without the boy that made her smile like no other could. 

On the fifth day of the third week, as she made the familiar walk to his door, the guard stopped her, as usual, though his words were different.

“The Prince does not wish for any visitors.” 

She frowned. It always used to be the order of the Maesters or Alicent, claiming her son needed his rest, but now it was Aemond himself refusing her. 

She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but she knew she had felt her heart crack in a way she had never felt before. 

She walked away from the door with her head bowed in defeat.

The hurt she felt mirrored Aemond’s own. Refusing her made him ache, but the thought of her seeing him as he was and looking at him with disgust was unfathomable and he would delay that inevitable despair as long as he could. 

He sulked in his bed, the dour expression on his face one that had been constant for weeks. 

His mother was by his bedside as she had been for weeks. He couldn’t stand to see her wince or her teary eyes everytime she looked at his ghastly scar. 

She had been trying, in no subtle terms, to get him out of the room, even going as far to bring up his friend, the one he longed to see yet dreaded ever seeing the same look on his mother’s face on hers. 

“It’s been a few weeks. She’s been worrying herself sick.” His mother told him, making his already weak heart more fragile. 

He stayed silent, his frown deepening in despair. 

“Aegon and Helaena will be heading out tomorrow to Ixtal. You should take Vhagar and join them.”

Aemond shifted uncomfortably. He knew his friend was leaving tomorrow, to visit home for her mother’s name day. They had all been invited, but with his father’s fading health and his mother’s refusal to ride on dragonback, it left just Aegon and Helaena to join the festivities. 

“Aemond.” His mother prompted again, the disappointment in her voice clear. 

“I don’t want to go.” He mumbled, one of the few sentences he’d managed over the past few weeks. 

His mother sighed in defeat and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, leaving him to his solitude as he preferred. 

The next morning, Aemond lay in bed, the wound over his eye itching gratingly. He longed to claw at the wicked scar, to scream in anger, to enact his vengeance on that Strong bastard. The fury festered in him like the open wound on his face, red and flaming. 

The soft sound of his door opening and closing made him stir, assuming it was his mother yet again. As he lazily turned his head, dread settled in his stomach, his remaining eye widening in horror at the sight of her, the one he longed for yet resisted. 

She froze in her place at the door, her jaw falling slack, a shaking hand covering her mouth as a hitched breath escaped her at the sight of him. 

Aemond’s face twisted in agony. This was exactly what he wished to avoid. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked angrily, tears forming in his remaining eye. 

“I just wanted- I wanted… we’re leaving soon.” 

It was faint but he heard it. Fear. The stuttering of her words, the quiet, almost docile way she spoke that was so unlike her was like a hatchet to his heart. The look on her face was even worse. She could barely make eye contact with him.

“Get out.” He spoke lowly through gritted teeth.

“Aemond, I-”

“Get out! I don’t want you here!” He screamed at her, tears steadily falling down his cheeks. 

Her own tears began to fall, her face twisting with agony. He hated it. He didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want to see the disgust on her face that everyone would face him with for the rest of his life. 

“Leave me alone! I never want to see you again!” 

She let out a sob and turned on her heel, leaving the room with haste. 

Aemond slumped back in bed, placing his hands over his face, ignoring the way it made his eye ache, and he cried for what he had lost. 

Not just his eye, but his love, his happiness. His everything. 

~~

She stood on the balcony of the banquet hall, breathing in the fresh ocean air. She missed home. She had thought of this moment for weeks, had been eager and excited to finally visit, yet now that she was there, it was bittersweet. 

The sound of the waves weren’t as peaceful as she remembered. The food she ate wasn’t as delicious as she remembered. The music and the dancing wasn’t as exciting as she remembered. 

“Darling?”

She turned to see her mother approaching, concern written across her face as she moved to stand next to her daughter, her arm crossing over her shoulders, bringing her in close to her side. 

“Are you alright? I thought I’d see you dancing all night.”

“I’m fine.”

The Lady of Ixtal looked to her once vibrant daughter worriedly. She was far from the girl that had left all those months ago. From all the letters she had sent, it seemed her daughter was having the time of her life in King’s Landing. The girl she saw now wasn’t the one who had gleaned nothing but happiness.

“Was it not what you expected?”

She stiffened, the need to defend her friends and her new found home rising. “No, it’s- King’s Landing is lovely.”

Her mother sighed. She had gotten a short re-telling of the last few weeks in the Capitol from her husband and she was starting to put the pieces together. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your friend isn’t here.” 

She looked up at her mother, her wide doe-like eyes giving everything away. 

“Aemond?”

She felt her cheeks heat and she turned her attention back to the view before her, focusing on the waves of the ocean, mirroring her breathing with each crashing wave. 

“He’s not my friend anymore.” She spoke quietly through the lump that grew in her throat. 

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds as though he is going through an awful time, something no one, especially someone so young, should ever have to endure. People don’t exactly act rationally when they are hurt. It is easy to speak things that are untrue in that state.”

She stayed silent, taking in her mother’s words thoughtfully. It was easy enough to explain, but it didn’t lessen the hurt she felt. 

“You can stay here if you wish. The Gods know I would love to keep you in my arms, but I don’t think that is truly what you want.”

She let out a shaking breath, her mind a mess as she thought of her life in King’s Landing, of what she’d be leaving behind. But, if Aemond was being truthful and he didn’t want to see her or be her friend anymore, what would her life be like there?

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Her mother assured her. “Or else we’ll have a dragon landing on our shores demanding you come back.”

The smile on her mother’s face made the hurt inside her melt away slightly. Her conviction that Aemond would forgive her for her intrusion, that he would bring her back into his life and his arms made her hopeful. 

Her mother was never wrong and she prayed she wouldn’t start now. 

~~

She clutched onto Helaena’s waist as they flew on Dreamfyre back to King’s Landing. No matter how thrilling it was to ride a dragon, no matter that she felt as light as a feather, that she could touch the clouds and feel as though she was in a magical, untouchable realm, it felt wrong. 

Her first ride shouldn’t have belonged to Helaena, it shouldn’t have been with Dreamfyre. It wasn’t what she promised. 

As they dismounted, Helaena’s hand held hers and stayed, holding tightly as they made their way from the dragonpit to the Keep, as if knowing her friend needed the comfort. 

As they parted, Helaena promised she’d spend the day with her tomorrow, knowing she needed the distraction from Aemond.

She smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual, and with a wave, they parted. She stepped into her chambers and sighed heavily, mourning what her time in King’s Landing would hold. 

She moved to her bed, content to hide under the covers for the rest of the day, but she stopped, noticing a bundle of flowers on her desk. She frowned, she certainly hadn’t put them there before she left. 

She stepped closer, her fingers gently tracing along the soft petals. They were perfectly bloomed and freshly plucked, most likely just placed on her desk mere minutes before she arrived. 

It suddenly struck her. 

They were marigolds. 

She remembered the flower Aemond had tucked behind her ear, the ones he would bring her on occasion simply because he knew she was fond of them. 

Her heart began to race, her stomach flipping at the merest notion that it could’ve been from her best friend. She picked up the bundle, inhaling their fresh scent with a small smile. 

She noticed the slip of parchment below them, the simple words in familiar handwriting brought tears to her eyes. 

I am deeply, truly sorry.

I didn’t mean a word of what I said

Please forgive me

- Your Aemond

Her breath hitched, her chest feeling tight with sorrow. 

The words he had screamed at her that day hurt her deeply, yet the thought of not having Aemond by her side, not having him as her friend, was unfathomable.

She spent the remainder of the day in her chambers, picking sparsely at the food her father had sent to her, knowing she wanted her solitude. By the next morning, having thought of nothing but Aemond all night, she was determined to see the end of their rift.

She dressed quickly and stepped out of her chambers, determined to march her way straight to Aemond, but she was stopped by her guard.

“The Prince has requested your presence in the gardens.” 

The crease in her brow that signaled her determination smoothed out, leaving nothing but hopeful nervousness as she quickly made her way through the halls of the Keep. She ignored the looks of disdain from the ladies of the court as she raced past them, ignoring the whispers of her undignified behavior. 

They were the last things on her mind.

Her heart was racing within her chest as she approached the gardens. She walked the familiar path, one she had taken countless times, to get to their usual meeting spot. Her feet came to an abrupt stop as she turned the last corner and saw him sitting on their bench, the one they always congregated to over the months together. 

Nervous butterflies fluttered within her as she approached him. 

She called out to him softly, cursing herself for how her voice shook in hopeful anticipation. 

Aemond turned to face her and she was shocked to see the eyepatch across his face, covering the angry looking wound she had seen that morning in his chambers. 

Her heart ached at the sight of the red scar that peeked out from the patch. It looked painful and the reminder of what he had gone through, what his own nephew had inflicted on him made her want to cry. 

He spoke her name in greeting, giving her a small, weak smile. He winced slightly, the pull of his cheeks causing his scar to flair with pain. 

Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He seemed smaller, as if he sat hunched over, trying hard not to take up too much space in the world. 

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out before he could speak. He looked up at her incredulously, his stomach twisting at the despair he saw on her face. “I shouldn’t have just barged into your chambers. I knew you wanted privacy and I ignored your wishes and I’m sorry. I never meant-”

Aemond spoke her name breathlessly, stopping her rambling apology. He had never seen her so frantic before, it was unnerving to him, nothing at all like the lively girl he was used to. And it was his fault.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He told her softly. He looked down at his hands that fidgeted in his lap, shame overcoming him as he thought back to that day, when he had yelled at her so callously. He had replayed that moment over and over again in his head for days and it was torturous each time. 

He couldn’t get the sight of her tears out of his head. To know he was the cause was his greatest shame. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke earnestly, looking her in the eyes intently, hoping she would believe him. “I never should have spoken to you that way. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never will again, I promise.” 

She let out a long breath, his words stirring something inside her she couldn’t recognize.

He frowned deeply at her lack of reaction, shuffling over and patted the space next to him on the bench, motioning for her to take a seat beside him. 

She moved slowly, hesitantly taking her seat next to him. 

“I’ve never seen you that angry before.” She spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that dreadful day. 

Aemond sighed and bowed his head. 

“I…” He started but soon found he had no words, no excuses for how he had treated her. Nothing would ever make it ok, never to her. “I hated to see you look at me like that.” Was the only thing he could think to say.

“Like what?”

“Like you were horrified of me.”

“I was horrified.” She said and he felt his insides turn to stone, his throat tightening with emotion. “But not of you. Never of you.” She added quickly, causing him to look over at her, his eye wide and shining with unshed tears. 

“But-”

“Aemond, the thought of what happened to you, the thought of you in pain… it hurts me.” 

The vice around his heart lifted instantly. His mind was spinning with the insinuation of her words.

“You… you’re not-”

She reached out, taking his hand in hers, causing words to fail him.

“I could never be afraid of you. I could never feel disgusted by you, I could never think any less of you, or whatever other horrible thing you think I feel for you now. No scar will change how I care for you.”

The weight that had been suffocating him for weeks now seemed to lift just the slightest, allowing him to feel as though he could finally take a breath. 

He let out a shaking breath and tightened his hand in hers. She smiled softly and leaned in closer to his side, letting her head fall to his shoulder, letting him revel in her closeness.

He hated the stares he got from the ladies at court, he hated the winces, the horrified gasps as he passed them. He hated the worried looks he received, as if he was seconds away from collapsing like a weak mannered child. 

But none of it mattered. 

She still cared for him, she was still by his side, her hand in his.

Even the burning fury he held for his nephew seemed dim in the wake of the pure delight he felt in her presence.

“But, if you ever raise your voice to me like that again I will smack you.” 

Her threat, that held no anger in the slightest, made him laugh and duck his head against hers as his body shook with each breath of laughter. 

His first laugh since the incident. 

From then, they were closer than ever. One was seldom seen without the other at their side. 

The Ladies at court through the two of them were just about the most darling thing they had ever seen. Yet, not everyone was rooting for the threads of young love to flourish. 

Alicent watched her son in the training yard with a frown. Her second son, so dutiful and so smart, was becoming distracted. Her eyes never strayed from him as he neglected his own lessons to play around with his friend, watching with a scowl as the two of them laughed together, as if there was no care in the world.

The sight of the young girl in the training yard was enough to leave her appalled, but her son’s willingness to indulge in such unseemly behavior was worrying. 

“We cannot let this go any further.” Her father spoke from beside her. 

“I can’t very well tell him he cannot be her friend. It would devastate him.”

“Let them be friends, but make it clear that is all it will ever be. Aemond can’t get any ideas about marrying this girl.”

Alicent chewed on her lower lip anxiously. The thought of tearing her son away from such happiness turned her stomach, but the thought of him marrying a girl so unpredictable was just as unfortunate. 

“Would it really be so bad? We could gain leverage with her father.”

“Ixtal is a neutral house. They have never taken a stand in any war, that won’t change now. We cannot risk Aemond allying with a house that could not give us leverage for Aegon’s claim.” Otto hissed angrily. 

Alicent wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes falling back to her son, taking in the sight of his smile while she still could. She doubted it would be a common sight once he was forced away from the Island girl. 

But they all had a duty to perform.

~~

Her arm was looped through his as he guided her past the dragon pit. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at the structure that housed the mighty Targaryen dragons they had just passed. 

“Vhagar doesn’t stay there. She doesn’t fit.” Aemond explained, a slightly smug smirk crossing his features as he subtly boasted about his newly claimed dragon.

Her smile twitched slightly, her nerves suddenly overtaking her. She’d been hesitant when Aemond offered to introduce her to his mount, but the reminder of the great beast’s sheer size had the beginnings of fear creeping through her veins. 

Noticing the subtle shift in her expression, Aemond tightened his grip on her arm. 

“I would never put you in danger.” He assured her. “Vhagar is bonded to me, she can feel what I feel for you and she would never hurt you.”

“If I could hear that directly from Vhagar I might be able to breathe properly.” 

Aemond snickered and led her forward excitedly. 

Soon, they arrived at the crest of the hill, Vhagar’s enormous form coming into view. A shuddering breath escaped her when she came face to face with the historic dragon that fought in wars long before her time. 

She could barely comprehend such a beast of her size existed among them, that the sweet boy beside her commanded her or even willingly approached her. 

“Relax.” Aemond told her softly, moving out of her hold so his hand could take hers, intertwining their fingers. 

The pair of them stepped towards the sleeping giant. She watched, mystified, as Aemond spoke a few words of Valaryian, the dragon's eyes sleepily opening, her large head lifting towards them. 

She felt her body freeze, the blood in her veins running cold as the mighty dragon looked past her rider, her curious gaze landing on her. A low rumble shook the ground, Vhagar’s protest to the stranger before her. 

Aemond soothed his dragon, placing an affectionate hand on her snout as he spoke soft commands. 

She doubted a few measly words would suddenly convince Vhagar that she wasn’t a tasty snack, but she could only watch, her eyes widening as the dragon became disinterested by her presence, laying her head back down on the warm grass she had been slumbering on. 

Aemond looked over his shoulder at her prone form several feet back and smiled, motioning her to come closer. 

She shook her head adamantly, her feet frozen in place. 

He spoke her name, holding his hand out to her. 

She looked to his hand and then to his dragon and back again, contemplating the risk to her life. 

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked and her tense shoulders sagged. She had no reason to doubt her best friend. With one look in his eye, she knew he would never let any harm come to her. 

She took slow steps forward, her fear not allowing her to move any quicker. 

She reached out and took Aemond’s hand in hers as soon as she was close enough, holding on tightly.

“It’s alright.” He assured her. 

He guided her hand toward Vhagar, watching the girl beside him closely, gaging every expression that crossed her face in a matter of seconds. From fear, to doubt, to disbelief and suddenly to awe. 

A shaky laugh left her lips as her hand softly rested on the rough scales of Vhagar’s side. Pure delight was etched across her face as she pet the mighty beast as if she were nothing more than a house cat. Aemond saw how excited she got when one of the many stray cats that roamed Flea Bottom ventured their way into the Keep. 

The excited smile she wore now as she pet his dragon was the same one he saw when she would cradle those strays. 

The thought made him laugh and he leaned in close to her, letting his head rest against hers. 

Seeing her now, fearless by his mount’s side, only confirmed what he already knew. 

She was meant to be with dragons. Meant to be with him. 

~~

I will hopefully have the next chapter out within the next couple of days! And yes, every chapter is going to be long, I have no control. Hope you liked it xx

[runa-falls]

what a mess~

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader cw: smut, established relationship, superhuman stamina, overstimulation, cum EVERYWHERE, 'use a condom, it's too messy X(', 'bitch stfu i'll show you messy'..., so many sheets, reader is a pushover (bc I WOULD BE TOO) wc: 1k + a/n: i um... just take this and I'll go to a corner of a room and think ab what I've done.

---

Having a superhero boyfriend is great – he gets you discounts at your favorite restaurant, he easily carries you home after a long night out at the bar, he saves you from getting kidnapped by his arch-nemesis for the fourth time this month (though isn’t that his fault in the first place?....) – but there are aspects of the relationship that you didn’t consider before. 

Apparently, with great power comes great… stamina. 

To put it plainly, Miguel’s (sex) drive is unheard of. You better clear out your schedule for the whole day because he can go for hours. And most nights, you can barely sit up after he fucks you.

You like that – or you did when you could afford to be sore every other day. You like how enthusiastic he is – how much he wants you. It makes you feel desired and beautiful. But it’s not just the intense workout you risk every time you steal a kiss that turns into more – it’s the number of times he can…finish. 

Every time you think he’s finished, he’s still hard and thrusting into you, overstimulating you until black stars start to fill your vision. 

It’s a mess in the end. 

You lay on top of him, filled to the brim, dripping all over his lower stomach and onto the sheets under you, breathing so hard you’re sure you’d rupture a lung. You feel like you’re barely conscious on the bed as your heart beats harshly against your chest from how hard you came. Hair sticks graciously against your forehead as your eyes struggle to stay open to see Miguel, who gently pulls out and watches his mess spill out of you. 

He whispers sweetly of how well you took him, how pretty you look all fucked out, how much he loves that he can turn you into a blabbering – mindless whore. Being the possessive man he is, he attempts to shove it back in, using two of his thick fingers to gather and push his essence back into you, hoping that, against all odds, it’ll take, despite the fact you take your birth control religiously. 

Of course, when he sees how your thighs shake and squeeze around his hand from the overstimulation of him fucking his fingers into you after you just came, he immediately gets hard again. 

He gazes down at you with apologetic red eyes as he bites his lip under a sharp fang, “I can’t help it when I see how wrecked your pussy is for me…”

It’s nice – it’s hot – but you end up having to change the sheets 5 times a week. He’s insatiable… well ok, you’re just as thirsty as your boyfriend, but the amount of maintenance you need for each session is ridiculous. You basically gave up washing your sheets after every fuck, and instead ordered several identical sets of bedding to make the process easier. 

Many sheets have been destroyed beyond recognition. Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but the amount of cum-stained sheets in your linen closet is insane. How are you supposed to hide this if you were to have guests over?!

After staring at the layers of folded-up and stained sheets that you’ve accumulated over the past few months, you decided you were going to do something about it. 

You can still have fun without the mess.

…right?

—

Miguel has you on your back at the end of the bed with your legs resting on the crook of his arms. You have on a cute little nightgown – white to symbolize purity (though what you were about to do was far from pure) – with nothing underneath. It was one you bought just to get a reaction out of him – and now you got it. 

He holds you open for him, regarding you like he would a special gift – though there’s nothing to really celebrate (unless you count his raging erection). He breathes harshly against your neck as he paints your skin with kisses and nips. You’re nearly folded in half with how closely he’s pushed against you, but you can barely recognize the mere tinge of soreness in your legs with how fluidly pleasure seems to travel from his lips down to the apex of your thighs. 

Miguel O’Hara, the strong, independent Spider-Man, is truly a mess in front of you. His once neatly ironed tie now hangs loosely around his neck, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, and his hair a tangle of unruly curls. His fingers, now caressing your body, are already dripping in your slick from when he forced a couple of orgasms out of you right when he got home. 

You find a sense of satisfaction in the disheveled state of his appearance, relishing how his once meticulously groomed demeanor has been disrupted – how his eyes transition from their usual chocolatey brown to a striking blood red, how his lips swell sweetly with lust. 

Miguel groans deeply as he grinds his clothed hardness against your wet center, “Mm…I want you so bad.” He unbuttons and unzips his pants, sighing as he releases himself from the tight fabric. No underwear? 

“Wait, Mig." he pauses his movements, waiting patiently – prepared to do whatever you want. “Get a condom.” …Except maybe…that. 

“Condom?” He could barely hold back his sneer, but you could faintly hear the growl vibrate from his chest. 

“Mhm, we’ve been too messy lately. We can’t just keep buying new sheets every week!”

“...We could…”

“Miguel!”

“I don’t see what the problem is… this is just how it is.”

“But it’s too messy.”

“I thought my baby likes to be filled up…”

“...I-I mean, I do sometimes, but –”

“Don’t you like it when I get you all messy?” He leans in close, distracting you from denying him. “Have you dripping with me for days?” He presses closer, and you can feel his hard cock slip against your wetness, dragging against your sensitive clit. 

“Miguel.” You whine.

It’s so hard to deny this man.

“How about we just try to be more careful, hm?” He presses against you gently, nearly entering you, but not quite. It feels so good, the tip of him barely stretching past your entrance. 

“Okay…j-just this once though…” You surrender with a whisper.

[shizunitis]

Ghostfire Shen Yuan loyally following the lonely, undying, forgotten Luo Binghe from the original outline.

They never even met.

Shen Yuan had died long before Luo Binghe’s story was set to start. Abandoned by his System, he was left wandering the realms, searching for anything to latch onto, anything to stave off the darkness encroaching on his consciousness whenever he stopped. He keeps himself entertained with little jokes and references that will never reach anyone. At least back home, there were other people on the opposite side of his screen reacting, seeing. Paying attention.

He never would have thought he’d miss the times he was perceived by others. He’d give anything, though. Anything.

He stumbles upon the protagonist as he’s ascending the stairs of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect for the first time. Dressed in rags and heaving with the effort, Luo Binghe is exactly as Shen Yuan had pictured: a little bun, soft and kind and so very brave.

The excitement wears off soon enough. When the tea ceremony is held, Shen Yuan watches, hopelessly trying to stop the cup from hitting Binghe’s head. He lunges at Shen Jiu; let him be identified and exorcised, at least he would have done something with himself, however useless. It doesn’t work. Of course not—nothing can come between Luo Binghe and his fate.

Shen Yuan thinks about leaving. Many times. But every time he considers the possibility of going back to wandering the world, or just passing on… Well. There’s still a lot to see, isn’t there? It will get better. It will.

Only, it doesn’t. Not really.

There’s no harem; there’s no warm comfort offered to Luo Binghe by a sympathetic beauty, no wedding celebrations, no moments of gentle companionship, however brief, however superficial. There’s no camaraderie with his demon underlings, his generals, his allies; it’s all casual cruelty and dismissals, before it’s violence and subjugation.

There’s no joy. There’s no hope. There’s no ‘better’.

Something is wrong, that’s clear. Something is wrong, and Shen Yuan has no one to blame.

This is not the Proud Immortal Demon Way he knows.

Centuries later, when Luo Binghe begs for the heavens to allow him to die, Shen Yuan hears. When Luo Binghe rages against the passage of time, alone in the wreckage of his palace, left behind by everyone he’d ever known, Shen Yuan accompanies him. When Luo Binghe lies down in the Holy Mausoleum and refuses to get up, Shen Yuan waits, as he had for centuries, until Luo Binghe opens his eyes again and takes to the road.

They end up in a hidden realm so filled with Yin energy that Shen Yuan can channel it to manipulate his form into that of his former body. It’s not detectable by the living, but it’s there. He feels stronger, too. He can walk, float, fly, interact with what few other ghosts they encounter.

Still, Luo Binghe cannot see him.

Luo Binghe doesn’t talk much. Well, that makes sense, he was never in the habit of talking to himself, but still. It’s lonely.

They end up in a town where a diviner takes one look at Luo Binghe and offers him a free reading. Shen Yuan can’t enter her tent, well-warded against foreign entities as it is, so he waits outside.

She tells Luo Binghe of the little hanger-on he’s got. A powerful one, too, though he’s still getting used to his powers. He’s been here for a long time, she says. Since he was a child. He comes from far away—farther than even the most distant star.

Luo Binghe begins talking to him. Shen Yuan isn’t sure why, but he’s not complaining!

Luo Binghe also begins meditating again, trying to soothe the damage done by Xin Mo over the centuries. For every meal, he places a few fruits or snacks across from him on a plate he’d made himself, which he eats only after finishing his own dish. He makes space by his side whenever he walks on a narrow road. He stops at every landmark and tells stories about them, always starting the same way.

“Do you remember when…” becomes Shen Yuan’s favourite phrase.

One night, Luo Binghe sighs and looks across the table. Shen Yuan places himself so that he’s in Luo Binghe’s focus.

“What is it, Binghe?”

Luo Binghe doesn’t answer him, of course. Still, it feels like a conversation, when he says:

“I wish I knew your name.”

Shen Yuan frets. He’s been trying to manipulate the physical world, but he never got the hang of it. He’d tried drawing in sand, with water, just pushing things off shelves. And yet, nothing.

“I’m sorry, I wish—” he tries, but Luo Binghe is already talking again.

“I wonder if we ever crossed paths when you were alive.” He’s expressed this thought more than once. Shen Yuan never likes to think about how they’ve missed each other, how they’d been set up for failure from the start. “I wonder if we would have been friends.”

Shen Yuan scoffs. Of course not. Him and the protagonist? No way.

But—those cold star eyes, blindly searching for him, trying to land on him… They make him want to say, I would have liked that.

He reaches a hand out to touch Luo Binghe’s forehead. He’s taken to doing it whenever Luo Binghe broods, or makes a silly joke Shen Yuan wishes he didn’t find funny. It’s soothing.

He wishes Binghe could feel it.

When his finger touches the demon mark, it blazes. Luo Binghe gasps, that heavy gaze settling on Shen Yuan’s face.

Shen Yuan startles, and jumps away.

“No! Wait!”

Shen Yuan hesitates. Luo Binghe is looking around himself, eyes begging for even a wisp of Shen Yuan’s shadow.

He can’t deny Luo Binghe this.

He can’t deny himself this.

He reaches out again. This time, he cups Luo Binghe’s cheeks. When those eyes clear of panic and widen in awe, he whispers, softly, “Shen Yuan. My name is Shen Yuan.”

Luo Binghe looks like he’s been handed a treasure so precious he’s afraid to touch it. He hesitates, raising his hands in careful starts and stops, before taking Shen Yuan’s face in them, gently caressing the soft, cold skin of his face. His eyes dance with the haste he takes in memorising Shen Yuan’s features.

Then, he smiles. Helpless and weak and so, so precious. Shen Yuan has not seen hope so bright in Luo Binghe’s face since that fateful day on Cang Qiong Mountain.

“Hello, Shen Yuan.”

[salsakiyoomi]

i ii

sukuna feels like he has met you before.

something about you was sickeningly familiar — perhaps it was your smile? or maybe your voice? or maybe it was just the way you cooed his name ever so softly like he was something more than just a regular customer at your coffeeshop.

he doesn't know what it is about you that gets him to have this ever consuming feeling of deja vu, like he had met you before — maybe he'd seen you on the street weeks prior to coming into your coffeeshop, or maybe it was simply another lifetime that he met you in, or another universe — yeah, the multiverse theory or whatever, did he actually believe in that shit? not really, but he did entertain the thought.

he doesn’t know, really, really doesn’t know why he gets that sickening feeling of deja vu whenever he sees you — your smile was like one from his dreams, and your visage belonged on a medieval painting just from how beautiful it was — absolutely breathtaking, he’d even say.

nevertheless, the all time business and stoic ceo finds himself falling for the loving and bubbly barista at the local coffee shop he gets his usual coffee from.

“ryo!” you exclaim and god, the way his nickname falls from the tip of your tongue — while being all too familiar — it also painfully flutters him, and he can tell there is already a hint of red at his neck.

“hey, beautiful.” he greets, leaning against the counter and he catches the faint glimpse of a blush blooming on your face — probably from the nickname. he smirks, glad he has an effect on you.

“the usual?” you ask with a smile, clearing your throat.

“yeah.” he hums. watching as you go and attend his coffee — black and bitter, exactly like him. he thinks, if you were a coffee, you'd be…iced caramel macchiato, light on the heart and sweet of the tongue.

woah, where did he get that thinking from?

well, he actually knows where got it from — the moment he met you, along the intense feeling of deja vu, he fell for you. like, actually fell for you, no exaggeration. sukuna loved you for all he knew. well, actually, he didn't know he was capable of any feeling other than unadulterated rage towards his employees.

but you proved him wrong, because every time he saw you, he got that sickening feeling of his heart fluttering and his chest tightening, along with butterflies stirring in his stomach.

fuck, he was hopeless for you.

“there we go.” you say, handing him his cardboard cup of coffee, “hope you have a good day, ryo!”

and for a moment, he really considers it — considers asking you for a date, or giving you his number maybe. or perhaps confessing his undying love for you — no, wait. that was too much.

but the point is, he really, really wanted to take you out on a date, maybe to a classic restaurant just so he’d see you all dolled up and he’d hold your hand and tell you how beautiful you looked, and maybe the night would end with you at his place, in his bed while he made love to you and —

he decides against it.

not yet, he thinks.

and for the first time, the overconfident ceo thinks he isn’t ready — whether he was too shy or he simply just wasn’t ready for you to reject him, he wasn’t sure.

and so, he smiles back at you and takes the cup from your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours for a split second.

“yeah, you too.”

and he decides, that for the time being, he’ll settle for the deja vu and the multiverse theory.

a/n : this drabble by @deathofacupid inspired and pushed me to make part two of the 'soul ties' drabble lol

[uzurakis]

hiii! I’m here to request a scenario (headcanon? Drabble? it doesn’t rlly matter; do whatever fits best, just as long as Yuta and Megumi is in it :3, you can add another character if you want or something!!) when the reader is being admired/stalked by another person? Like jjk men hear a snap sound and whip their head to see someone taking a picture of reader, or jjk men noticing the same person commenting + viewing reader’s social medias all the time, etc etc! It doesn’t rlly matter how you want it to play out; do what you like :3

STALKER IN SIGHT?!

featuring: fushiguro megumi. yuuta okkotsu. gojo satoru. itadori yuuji.

n. thanku for the request and the creative liberty on this one nonnie <3 have fun seeing them all protective with their own ways for you !

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi and you sat together in a quaint little café, savoring the warmth of your drinks and the comfort of each other's company, a faint click disrupted the moment. lost in conversation, you barely registered the sound, but megumi's keen senses picked it up immediately.

"what’s wrong?" you asked, puzzled by the slight shift in his demeanor. “i think someone just took a photo of us," he replied, tone tinged with concern.

you glanced around, but saw no one with a camera. "really? i didn't notice anyone."

he nodded, his gaze focused on a young man a few tables away, phone in hand, a smug grin on his face. without hesitation, megumi rose from his seat, his movements purposeful yet controlled.

with a protective instinct, he strode over to the guy, calmly but firmly retrieving their phone. "i'm sorry, but i'll have to delete that photo," he said, his voice carrying a subtle warning. as for the person, they were taken aback by his assertiveness, complied without hesitation.

“thank you," your boyfriend said, his tone polite yet tinged with a subtle warning. "we do appreciate your cooperation."

with that, he returned to your table, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. "sorry about that," he said, taking a sip of his black coffee. "i just wanted to make sure our moment wasn't interrupted."

GOJO SATORU

"babe, do you feel like we're being followed?" unsure, you sounded apprehensive.

he chuckled lightly, his gaze scanning the surroundings with practiced ease. "don't worry, darling. i've got my eyes on everything. if there's anyone following us, they'll regret it."

relieved by his assurance, you relaxed, allowing yourself to get lost in the beauty of the moment. but as the evening wore on, the feeling persisted, growing stronger with each passing minute. and then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of movement, a shadow flitting among the trees.

your boyfriend noticed first. his face clouded, and a flash of rage lit in his body. "stay close to me," he said, voice low and menacing.

"alright, enough is enough," he declared, cutting through the silence like a blade. "whoever you are, show yourself.”

“you don’t wanna get on my bad side, really.”

from the shadows emerged a figure, their features obscured by the fading light. "i-i... i just wanted to... to…"

your boyfriend’s eyes narrowed and his tolerance wore thin. with a quick burst of speed, he closed the distance between them in an instant, his palm clutching the stalker's collar like a vice. "you just wanted to do what?" stalk us? follow us around like a creep?” gojo’s aura exuded an undeniable terror that sent shocks down the stalker's body.

the stalker trembled beneath his grasp, their breath coming in shallow gasps. "i... i'm sorry, i didn't mean any harm. i just... i just wanted to be close to her."

gojo's grip tightened, eyes flashing with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the darkness. “if i ever catch you following us again," he threatened, "you'll wish you'd never laid eyes on us. understood?"

ITADORI YUUJI

together, you and itadori were enjoying a serene moment in the park, laughing and chatting as a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. the silence was abruptly broken, though, by the sound of surrounding camera shutters clicking.

itadori's smile faltered as he noticed a group of guys discreetly taking photos of you both. his expression turned from confusion to annoyance, his brows furrowing in irritation.

"not cool, dude," he called out, his sound firm but not overly aggressive.

the guys turned to look at him, their faces displaying a mixture of surprise and defiance. one of them chuckled nervously, attempting to brush off itadori's remark. "hey man, just capturing the moment, you know?"

your boyfriend, however, would not have it. his movements gave off a subdued threat as he walked towards the group. "i understand, but you’re making me and my girlfriend uncomfortable. so stop it.”

taking advantage of the crowd, one of the guys moved forward with aggression, their fists balled up with rage. "who do you think you are, telling us what to do?" itadori's muscles tensed, his gaze hardening in anticipation. however, he refrained, showing strength in his control, before things might get out of hand.

the guy, taken aback by itadori's composure, hesitated for a moment before backing down, his bravado replaced by a palpable sense of fear. "o-okay, man, we'll stop," he muttered, trembling slightly.

with a final warning glance, itadori returned to your side, a huge grin painting his lips. "as i was saying," he continued, as if the whole tragedy didn’t happen a few seconds ago. “we have to watch jennifer lawrence’s new movie together, babe, okay?”

YUUTA OKKOTSU

you were laughing and chatting as you looked through the shelves of a pleasant shop with yuuta, exploring the various products on exhibit. your boyfriend trailed along behind you, half-heartedly staring at a customer's phone nearby as you moved to make a purchase.

his expression shifted subtly as he noticed the username, the same one that had been relentlessly stalking you for months, liking and commenting on your social media posts. his jaw clenched with a mixture of concern and irritation, but he maintained his composure.

leaning casually against the counter, yuuta shot a seemingly innocuous question towards the customer, his tone deceptively casual. "the girl's pretty, huh?"

the customer, caught off guard by the sudden inquiry, hesitated for a moment before reluctantly answering, "y-yeah, she is."

with a small, knowing smile, yuuta straightened up, his gaze piercing as he delivered his response. "well, sucks for you, that's my girlfriend."

the customer's eyes widened in realization, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "i-i didn't mean any harm, i swear," he stammered.

yuuta's expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. "i don't care what your intentions were. you've been making her uncomfortable for months, and that ends now. stop stalking her, or you'll have me to deal with."

the customer nodded hastily, his hands trembling as he pocketed his phone and made a hasty exit, leaving behind a palpable sense of relief in his wake.

turning back to you with a soft smile, yuuta wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "what happened?" you asked with a chuckle, he was suddenly clinging onto you.

"nah, just grateful i have the prettiest girlfriend alive."

@uzurakis — rqs are open <3

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

beauty and the beast pt.2 (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: Alternative Title - Mattheo Riddle in the Great Kitten Adventure

A/N: This was just wildly self indulgent and a compilation of all the deleted scenes from the first part tbh

Part 1

The room was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that made you uncomfortable, wanting to fill the silence with meaningless babble. The silence that didn't make you overthink but instead lulled you into a white tranquil.

The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting soft gold across the green-and-silver sheets tangled around your legs. Rain tapped gently on the windows now, the storm long since passed. And in the warm silence of the Slytherin dorm, you lay curled against Mattheo’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

His hand traced slow, absent-minded circles across your back, like he couldn’t stop touching you—even now, even after everything. Like he was still convincing himself you were real. That you were here. That he hadn’t lost you for good.

Your fingers danced lightly over the edge of his collarbone, and you felt him shift slightly beneath you. One eye cracked open, heavy-lidded and warm with sleep.

“You’re staring.” He murmured, voice thick with the kind of softness he rarely let anyone see.

“You’re beautiful.” You whispered back.

That made him blink—really blink, like he was trying to reset his brain. His mouth twitched at the corner, caught between a smile and something more fragile. Something unsure.

You’d been apart for a month. Thirty-one days. Seven-hundred-forty-four hours.

And even now, tangled in each other again like nothing had ever come between you, something heavy hung in the space between your ribs. Unspoken. Unsettled. You could feel it waiting, coiled like a question in his chest.

It came as soon as his fingers stilled on your back.

“…Can I ask you something?”

You swallowed, “Yeah.”

His voice was quiet. Careful. “Why did you break up with me?”

Your entire body tensed before you could stop it.

He noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed.

“I’m not mad,” He added quickly, “I swear I’m not. I just…”

He exhaled, shaky, “I’ve been thinking about it every night since it happened. Wondering if I did something. If the guys said something. If I said something. If I—if I made you feel like you weren’t enough. Like you weren’t what I wanted. And I hate that I don’t know.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping the sheets around yourself, suddenly chilled despite the fire. His eyes searched yours in the dim light, wide and unguarded in a way that made your heart ache.

“I overheard something,” You said softly, the words tasting like old shame, “Some girls. I don’t even know their names.”

He went still.

“They were talking about how I couldn’t keep up with you. That it was only a matter of time. That I was just your… corruption kink. That I couldn’t give you what you really wanted.”

The room went dead quiet.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Mattheo hadn’t said anything. Not yet. He just stared at you, his jaw clenched so tight you thought he might actually snap. His fists were tangled in the sheets now, white-knuckled, like they were the only thing keeping him from flying out of the bed and straight into the dungeons to track them down.

“…I’m gonna kill them.”

Your breath hitched, “Matty—”

“No, I’m serious.” His voice shook with rage, but it was still soft, like he didn’t want to startle you, “Who was it? Just give me one name. I’ll unhinge their jaws since their mouths are of no fucking use.”

You looked down, eyes stinging, “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”

His head snapped toward you, “Baby, don’t do that.”

He sat up, voice rising—frustrated, not at you, but for you.

“Don’t do that. Don’t protect them. Don’t let them get away with making you feel like you weren’t enough. These bitches ruined my life for a month. They made you cry. They made you leave. I am entitled to some revenge.”

You gave a soft, tearful laugh, but it faded quickly.

“Matty, really…”

Your fingers twisted in the sheets.

“It wouldn’t have bothered me so much if… if it didn’t feel true,” You admitted, “That’s the worst part. It felt true. I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I don’t know the things other girls do. I haven’t—”

You broke off, biting your lip hard, “They weren’t wrong, were they? I can’t give you what you’re used to.”

The silence that followed was thick and painful.

Then Mattheo moved.

He sat up slowly, scooting closer, his hand reaching out to gently tilt your chin up. His eyes locked with yours, warm and dark and burning with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re right,” He said softly, “You can’t give me what I’m used to.”

You blinked, breath catching in your throat.

“You can’t give me what I’m used to,” He repeated, “Because what I’m used to is shit.”

His voice shook. His hands were gentle, but his words burned.

“What I’m used to are fake girls who only want me for my name. Hookups that mean nothing. Kisses that leave me cold. Sex that makes me feel empty. I’m used to waking up and feeling like there’s a hole in my chest.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

“And then you happened,” He whispered, in awe of you, “And for the first time in my fucking life, I didn’t feel empty.”

You were crying now. Quiet, steady tears slipping down your cheeks. He brushed each of them away with his thumbs.

“You’re the most—fuck, I love you,” He murmured, voice low and raspy as he tried to gather his thoughts. Then he kissed you, soft and slow, his lips trembling just a little.

When he pulled back, he looked at you like you were made of something sacred.

“Words can’t describe how much I love you, (Y/N). How much enough you are for me. How much more you are than I ever prayed for.”

His voice cracked, but he kept going.

“I love when you blush when I say certain things. When you still get nervous when we kiss too long. I love how kind you are. How real. When I’m with you, I—fuck—I love you, (Y/N). You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re everything to me. Don’t ever forget that.”

And then he kissed you again.

Slow and deep and full of every word he hadn’t said, every tear he hadn’t shed, every second he’d spent aching for you.

When you finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours again, breathing you in.

You stayed like that for a long time—just holding each other. Letting the rain fall. Letting the hurt melt between kisses and whispered promises.

And for the first time in thirty-one days, your heart felt full again.

***

You weren’t sure how you got here.

Your hands were numb. Your robes were soaked through. Every step across the cold stone floor squelched beneath your feet. Your pants and fingers were stained with dirt. You didn’t belong in the Slytherin common room—not like this, dripping wet and trembling—but somehow, your feet had brought you here anyway. Straight to him.

Mattheo Riddle looked up from the fire the moment the door swung open. His eyes locked onto you, and every muscle in his body froze.

For a heartbeat, the room held its breath. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the dying fire and the distant rumble of thunder echoing through the walls. Then Mattheo rose so quickly the book in his lap slipped to the floor.

“(Y/N)?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even blink. You just stared at him, as if speaking the words aloud would make everything more real. Your lower lip trembled. Your hands curled tightly inside your sleeves. You took a tentative step forward—and then you broke.

Tears spilled over, big and hot against your freezing skin.

Mattheo was in front of you in an instant.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was sharp, dangerous—far louder than before. It sliced through the stunned silence, turning every head in the room.

You flinched—not from fear, but from the raw pain in his voice. His hands hovered uncertainly, unsure where to touch first—your cheeks, your arms, your soaked hair. You shivered, not just from cold, and he pulled you tightly into his chest as you began to sob. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other gripped your waist, grounding you in his strength.

“Who hurt you?” He asked again, his voice low but burning with intensity, “Tell me who it was. I’ll make them choke on their own blood.”

You shook your head, voice breaking, “It’s not… it’s not me.”

He frowned, confused.

“I’m not hurt,” You said quickly, meeting his eyes—wide, watery, and raw, “Someone destroyed the kitten shelter.”

You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your soaked sleeve, but it did nothing to stop the tears.

“I went to check on it after dinner, to bring them in because the storm was getting worse… and it was gone, Mattheo. Torn apart. Scattered like garbage. Like it never mattered. I searched for hours, in the rain. I thought I’d find them, but… I couldn’t. They’re just… gone.”

His eyes darkened, a storm gathering behind them—but he didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even breathe.

“They’re just babies,” You whispered, “They don’t know where to go. It’s so cold… I don’t know if they’ll—”

Your voice caught and broke. You dropped your head, shoulders trembling with the sob you couldn’t hold back any longer.

For a long moment, that was all you could do—stand there in his arms and cry.

Then he pulled back just enough to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, and the look in his eyes shifted—softness replaced by fierce determination.

“I’m going to find them.”

You blinked up at him, “You—you are?”

“Of course I am,” He said without hesitation, “I’ll search the whole forest if I have to.”

“I’ll come with you.” You said immediately, wiping your runny nose with your sleeve.

But he was already shaking his head.

“No.” He peeled off his jumper and tugged it around your shoulders, “It’ll be easier if I don’t have to worry about you getting pneumonia. You’re soaked and freezing. Go upstairs. There’s dry clothes in my trunk. Change. Lie down. Rest for a bit. By the time you wake, the kittens will be safe.”

“I don’t want you to be alone.” You whispered, voice thick with worry.

Mattheo turned slightly, and you followed his gaze, "Will I be?"

His friends were watching, expressions a mix of surprise and petulance. None of them wanted to spend the rest of the night slogging through mud in the rain to search for a litter of kittens.

Just as one of them opened his mouth to complain, you turned to them. Your cheeks flushed, tears still shimmering in your eyes—making them look like tiny diamonds catching the firelight.

Your expression softened, tilting into the most pleading, vulnerable look they’d ever seen.

“You’ll… look for the kittens?” You asked, voice barely more than a breath.

In that moment, they understood.

Why so many had lovingly dubbed you the Hufflepuff sweetheart.

That look—wide eyes, trembling mouth, silent plea written in every line of your face—made them feel like if they didn’t find the kittens, they’d be worse sinners than Voldemort himself.

Mattheo glanced back at you, tugging you gently toward the stairs.

Then, cupping your face one last time, he whispered, “We’ve got this, love. Go get warm. We’ll bring them home.”

“Promise?” You asked, voice cracking one final time.

He smiled faintly.

“Promise.”

***

It had been just over an hour.

You’d done what Mattheo asked—well, sort of. You’d changed into one of his oversized sweaters, warm and smelling faintly of mint and smoke. You’d curled up in his bed, tucked beneath one of the Slytherin-green blankets. But there’d been no nap. Just you, lying there, wrapped in his scent, haunted by the images you couldn’t shake.

You couldn’t stop picturing them—tiny, soaked, trembling. Fur matted. Mewls swallowed by the storm. Eyes wide with fear, not understanding why their warm little home was suddenly gone. Why the world felt so big. So cruel.

You’d cried again. Twice. Maybe three times. You weren’t keeping count.

Your cheeks were raw from wiping them too much. Your eyes ached. Your chest ached. And just as the heaviness began to lull you into something like sleep, the dorm door creaked open.

You bolted upright, every muscle tight with hope and fear. And there he was.

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, boots caked with mud, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends from the rain. In his arms—wrapped carefully in a towel—was a bundle that meowed.

You nearly sobbed.

He met your gaze and smiled, soft and tired. “Hi there, princess,” He said, voice quieter than usual, “We’ve got something for you.”

You scrambled off the bed so fast you nearly tripped on the blanket, “Really?”

“They’re all here,” He said, stepping inside and gently lowering the bundle onto the bed, “Cold. Scared. Probably traumatized—but alive.”

You dropped to your knees beside the bed, hands hovering as the towel shifted—and one tiny, damp paw peeked out. Then another. Then a soft, broken mewl.

“Oh—” You gasped, hands flying to your mouth, “You’re okay. Oh my god, you’re okay.”

Mattheo crouched beside you, brushing a piece of your rain-frizzed hair behind your ear, “They got separated, poor things. But your amazing, heroic, stupidly handsome boyfriend—who absolutely deserves a bunch of kisses—found them all for his one true love.”

You let out a watery laugh and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek—

But the dorm door slammed open, bouncing off the wall.

In trudged Theo and Enzo, soaked to the bone but looking victorious, each holding a mewling kitten like they’d just won the Triwizard Tournament. Blaise followed behind them—somehow the least wet, but easily the smuggest—and last came Draco, looking like a disgruntled ghost. He was wrapped in a blanket charmed for warmth, dripping rainwater with every irritated step.

“Oh come off it, you bloody plonker,” Draco muttered, glaring at Mattheo, “I was the one who fell into the damn lake.”

You laughed—sudden, bright, and trembling with relief.

Everyone paused at the sound.

Even Draco, mid-rant, stopped and turned. And when he saw the tears still clinging to your lashes, the shake in your smile, the way you cradled that moment like a lifeline—they all softened. Just for a second.

Then came the grins. Small. Sweet. Real.

“This little one ran straight to me,” Enzo said proudly, holding his kitten to his chest like a medal. It let out a happy little meep and burrowed deeper into his jacket, “I wanna keep it. His name is now Lorenzo Purrkshire the Second.”

You snorted through your tears, “I think that’s animal abuse.”

Lorenzo gasped, scandalized, “Excuse me?”

Mattheo let out a surprised laugh beside you.

“You corrupted her,” Lorenzo said, turning to Mattheo in mock accusation, “She makes fun of people now. This is your doing.”

“You love it.” You muttered with a grin, wiping at your cheeks. The tears were still drying, but your chest felt lighter. Warmer.

You reached down and gently picked up the smallest kitten from the pile. It was still shivering, but very much alive—and the moment it felt your warmth, it curled against your chest with a soft, sleepy sigh. Like it had been waiting for you.

You pressed a kiss to its damp little head.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” You whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Mattheo glanced around at the others—muddy, dripping, thoroughly disheveled—and then back at you, “You don’t have to.”

“But I—”

“Sunshine,” He murmured, cutting you off with a kiss to your cheek. A few raindrops from his hair landed gently on your skin, cool and soft, “It was our pleasure.”

“Oh, please,” Draco muttered from across the room, still wrapped in his soggy blanket like the world’s grumpiest ghost, “Speak for yourself. I hate these damn furballs.”

A soft mewl came from inside his arms.

Everyone turned.

Draco stiffened, “...That was my stomach.”

The moment shattered into laughter.

Even Draco cracked a smile—though he tried to hide it behind his scowl.

“You guys are amazing.” You whispered, blinking quickly as tears threatened again.

Mattheo reached for you, cupping the back of your neck, and pulled you into a slow, lingering kiss—soft, warm, and steady. A kiss that said home. A kiss that said you’re safe.

You melted into it, arms curled around the kitten, heart finally beginning to mend.

Outside, thunder still rolled—distant now, low and fading.

But inside Mattheo’s dorm, surrounded by love and laughter, by muddy footprints and tired boys and soft little mewls, the storm inside you had finally quieted.

***

Sunlight spilled through the enchanted ceiling in soft golden streaks, casting a warm glow over the long rows of tables. You sat at the Slytherin table, nestled comfortably beside Mattheo, a steaming cup of tea in your hands and a sleepy little kitten curled up in your lap beneath the table. Its tiny body rose and fell with slow, contented breaths, the gentle purring almost meditative.

The boys were in various states of half-awake.

Mattheo was buttering toast one-handed, his other arm lazily slung across the back of your bench. Enzo was attempting to eat while Lorenzo Purrkshire II repeatedly tried to climb into his oatmeal. Theo, meanwhile, was barely pretending to listen to Blaise’s opinion on The Daily Prophet—because he was too busy glancing at the Hufflepuff table out of the corner of his eye.

Or rather, at one particular Hufflepuff. And judging by the way he suddenly straightened up, trying his best to appear nonchalant (even though everyone around him could see he was pathetically chalant), you knew exactly who had caught his attention.

You’d barely taken a bite of your scone when the unmistakable sing-song voice of Daisy drifted across the hall.

“Well, well, well,” She chirped, positively smug, “Look who’s alive.”

You looked up just in time to see your four dormmates approaching the Slytherin table like a pack of hyenas. Imari led the way, arms folded and smirking like she’d just caught you red-handed. Daisy, Lila, and Evangeline flanked her like backup dancers, eyes glittering with nosy-girl intent.

“Oh no.” You muttered.

“Oh yes.” Imari said, stopping just in front of you, “Care to explain why you didn’t come back to our dorm last night?”

Lila leaned in, dramatic, “Because someone spent the night in their boyfriend’s bed…”

Draco immediately choked on his pumpkin juice.

Mattheo didn’t even blink—words not even registering—as he took another bite of toast, voice maddeningly casual, “She wasn’t exactly sleeping, if we’re being honest.”

You smacked his thigh under the table, hard, “Mattheo!”

Daisy’s mouth dropped open, “Oh my god. You didn’t!”

Your face lit up like a furnace, “No! It’s not what you think! We—we found the kittens!”

The girls gasped in unison, instantly switching from scandal to squealing.

“Seriously?!” Lila gushed, “We looked for hours yesterday and couldn’t find them! Honestly, I thought you were about to cry yourself into the hospital wing.”

You nodded quickly, “Mattheo found them. All of them. I stayed behind to help bathe them, feed them, make sure they were okay—wait.” You ducked under the table and gently lifted one sleepy kitten into view, “See?”

The girls practically melted on sight.

Evangeline sat down beside you uninvited, her expression softening as she reached out to stroke the kitten’s ears. Across the table, Theo sat a little straighter, trying and failing to look effortlessly cool.

“Hey,” Theo said, clearing his throat, “Not to interrupt or anything, but—uh—I also helped rescue the kittens last night. Just saying. Like… a lot.”

He lifted a kitten like a trophy, holding it up one-handed with a flourish, “This one personally leapt into my arms from a burning bush.”

You blinked, “There was no fire. It was sopping wet.”

“Well, not literal fire,” Theo amended quickly, “More like… metaphorical danger. Life-threatening stuff. You had to be there.”

Evangeline raised a brow, reaching for the kitten, which happily abandoned Theo in favor of curling up in her arms. She began scratching under its chin with practiced ease.

There was no way Theo could’ve known this was her favorite of the litter. Right?

She looked at him, face unreadable, “Wow. A real hero.”

Theo lit up, “Right? I mean—I wouldn’t say that, but if you want to, I won’t stop you.”

Evangeline blinked slowly, voice deadpan, “Uh-huh. Nice.”

Blaise coughed into his napkin to cover a laugh, while Enzo snorted outright, nearly inhaling his eggs.

“Leave him alone,” You said around a grin, nudging Evangeline gently, “He did get scratched a lot.”

“That kitten launched itself into my shirt,” Theo protested, affronted, “Claws out. I have battle scars.”

“Stop whining, you prat,” Enzo muttered, wiping oatmeal off Lorenzo II’s nose, “I was chosen by destiny.”

“You should go to the hospital wing for those scratches, Theodore,” Evangeline said, not looking up from her kitten. She smiled softly as it began pawing at her tie, “I’ll treat you to a butterbeer next weekend to apologize for my baby’s actions.”

You paused, sharing a look with Mattheo, who smirked, amused. Looked like you wouldn’t be the only couple in the group for much longer.

Mattheo leaned over, resting his chin on your shoulder with a sleepy sigh, “I love you.”

You didn’t kiss him—mainly because your entire dorm was still standing there, staring at you like you were a live soap opera—but you did reach under the table and squeeze his hand, your heart warm and full.

“I love you too.” You whispered back.

***

The Slytherin common room was unusually calm when you stepped inside—low golden firelight, boys draped across the couches in various states of lazy sprawl, and Mattheo sitting in the corner, absently twirling his wand between his fingers while Blaise rambled about something Theo clearly wasn’t listening to.

As soon as Mattheo spotted you, his face softened, the corner of his mouth lifting into that crooked little smirk that always made your stomach flip.

And then you saw him.

“Lorenzo, my baby!!”

A delighted squeal escaped your lips as you dashed across the room.

Theo’s mouth dropped open.

Mattheo’s entire posture shifted—one second relaxed, the next, tense and coiled like a predator. His eyes narrowed sharply.

Enzo looked like he’d just been told his death was imminent. “Oh Merlin,” He muttered, “Don’t kill me, mate, I swear I didn’t do anything—”

Draco muttered, utterly horrified, “Are we sure that’s her? Could be Polyjuice.”

“Or Imperius,” Blaise added, suspicious.

“Or maybe we’re all dead and this is the afterlife,” Theo offered.

Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard it could’ve cracked diamonds.

He sat up straighter, brows low, eyes already locked onto Enzo, hand curling around his wand.

“Why the hell is she running at you like that?”

But before anyone could answer, you skidded to a stop in front of Enzo’s chair—not even sparing him a glance...

…and scooped up Lorenzo Purrkshire II, who was curled up on the carpet in a sunbeam like a spoiled prince.

“There you are, angel!” You cooed, lifting him to your chest and peppering his fuzzy little face with kisses, “Look at your little feet! You’ve grown so much! Who’s my handsome boy?! You are! You are!”

The kitten meowed once in reply, very pleased with himself.

Dead silence followed.

Enzo dropped his head into his hands, “Oh thank God.”

“We need to change the damn cat’s name.” Mattheo grumbled, slumping back in his seat with a scowl.

“Absolutely not,” Enzo said immediately, clutching the air dramatically, “He is my son. My legacy. The blood of my blood. Lorenzo Purrkshire II will NOT be stripped of his title like some street rat.”

The kitten yawned, completely oblivious.

***

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—again.

It was just bad luck. Or maybe terrible timing. You’d only come around the corner to return a library book one of the boys had left in the common room. But the moment you heard your name—followed by the unmistakable lilt of a familiar voice—you froze.

“...Honestly, I didn’t think the whole roof would collapse.” She said, laughter dancing in her words.

You paused.

This time, you recognized it. That voice from the hallway weeks ago—the one that had twisted its way into your mind and nearly torn everything apart. Now it had a face. Three, actually. Ravenclaw girls. The ones who always bumped into you with sugar-sweet apologies and empty smiles that never raised suspicion.

The same girls who’d smiled as they lit a match behind your back.

“I told you not to use that spell,” Another voice hissed—half-amused, half-annoyed, “I said a mild hex. Not… whatever the hell that was.”

“Whatever,” The third scoffed, her tone dripping with venom—the same venom that had claimed you weren’t enough to keep Mattheo happy, “She’s so dramatic about everything. Like, I get it—you found a couple of scraggly kittens. Congrats on being a hero or whatever.”

A sharp laugh followed.

“And now everyone thinks she’s this soft little saint. It’s revolting how she stomps around acting like she’s queen of Slytherin.”

You stiffened.

Heart thudding. World tilting.

They’d done it.

They were the ones who destroyed the shelter.

Your body went still—cold at the core, then suddenly, violently hot. Your hands prickled. Something shifted under your skin like the crackle of a storm. You didn’t even realize your wand was in your hand until you felt the pulse of magic thrumming through it.

You’d once asked Mattheo why he got into so many fights—why he couldn’t just be the bigger person and walk away.

And he’d told you the truth.

There were moments, he said, when he couldn’t think. Not after someone insulted him or jabbed at a wound that was already bleeding on the inside. Something would snap. A fire would rise up in him—rage, pure and primal—blinding, paralyzing, consuming. It was like his body was no longer his. All he could think about in those moments was tearing them apart.

At the time, you’d just kissed his cheek and placed one of your favorite stress squishies in his hand—an adorable little elephant with wobbly ears and a face that made him snort in spite of himself.

So you have something else to crush instead of bones, you’d told him.

You hadn’t understood.

But now you did.

Because standing just behind that tapestry, their voices slicing through the air like knives, you felt it—that same fire. That storm. That ache in your bones that made you tremble—not with fear, but with want.

To curse.

To hex.

To make them bleed.

Your magic surged like a tidal wave, crashing through your veins, rushing to your fingertips. Your breath came sharp. The blood roared in your ears. Your grip on your wand tightened.

You took a breath.

Then another.

And a third.

The voices were still laughing as they walked away.

You didn’t stop them.

You didn’t hex them. Didn’t scream. Didn’t demand justice, or revenge, or even an answer.

Maybe you had less courage than Mattheo.

Or maybe—

Maybe you just had more patience.

***

It was an unusually quiet morning in the Great Hall.

You were squeezed between Mattheo and Enzo, toast untouched, eyes slightly glazed over as the boys bickered about something or other. Across from you, Theo leaned over to steal a bite of your fruit, Blaise was humming a Celestina Warbeck tune under his breath, and Draco looked one wrong word away from snapping his quill clean in half.

To your right, your dormmates—Imari, Evangeline, Daisy, and Lila—were deep in a whispered debate about whether Professor Flitwick’s socks were charmed or just a tragic choice. Their laughter drifted toward you like warm honey.

Then it happened.

A flurry of owls swooped into the Great Hall, wings rustling as they delivered scrolls and parcels with their usual morning chaos. Most students barely glanced up—until three particularly sleek tawny owls dropped letters directly into the laps of the very same girls who had whispered you into heartbreak just weeks ago.

The change was instant.

At first, they just blinked at the parchment. Then, as if on cue, their expressions shifted—eyes widening, hands trembling.

And then the sobbing began.

Loud, dramatic, mascara-streaking-down-their-faces sobbing.

One clutched the letter to her chest like it had personally betrayed her. Another dropped hers entirely, gasping like she couldn’t breathe, while the third let out a high-pitched shriek of, “I’m grounded until I’m married!”

They burst into hysterics right there at the Ravenclaw table, drawing confused stares from every direction in the Hall.

And then they bolted—darting past the Slytherin table in a disheveled storm of ruined eyeliner, exposed secrets, and absolute despair.

The entire Great Hall went still.

“…What the hell was that?” Theo asked.

“Did someone die?” Blaise blinked.

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, tracking the path they’d disappeared through.

You took a long sip of your tea. Shrugged. “Who knows?”

Silence.

Every head at your table turned toward you immediately.

Blaise dropped his fork with a clatter.

“…Okay,” Evangeline said slowly, eyes narrowing, “That was suspicious.”

“You didn’t even flinch.” Imari murmured.

“Not even a ‘poor thing.’” Enzo added.

“You didn’t offer a tissue,” Theo whispered, scandalized, “You always offer tissues.”

Mattheo shifted beside you, one arm slung lazily along the back of your chair, the other hand resting on your thigh beneath the table. He studied your face like he was trying to decode an ancient spell, “Sweetheart. What did you do?”

You tilted your head, all syrupy innocence, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Liar.” Daisy said flatly from further down the table, eyeing you like a cat about to pounce.

“She’s definitely lying.” Lila agreed, leaning closer, smirking.

“I’m not lying,” You said sweetly, “I just… maybe might’ve told their professor they were cheating on last week’s exam.”

Jaws dropped.

“And maybe,” You went on, picking at your toast, “I let their boyfriends know they were also… cheating on them.”

Imari slapped a hand over her mouth, “Oh my god. You didn’t.”

You took another sip of tea, entirely unbothered.

“And one of them had a pregnancy scare a few weeks ago… and I may have mentioned it in passing to her parents. Who apparently didn’t know she was seeing anyone.”

Theo looked like he’d glimpsed death itself, “What the fuck is happening right now?”

“I simply suggested the benefits of homeschooling,” You said cheerfully, “For peace of mind. Safety. Parental bonding.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then—

“Uh huh, princess,” Mattheo drawled slowly, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. Something in his chest fluttered—something dark and infatuated. Merlin help him, he was clearly not right in the head. Your fault, obviously. Why did you have to look so beautiful while ruining people’s lives?

“And is there any particular reason you decided to have blood for breakfast this morning?”

“Well, I got mad!” You snapped, eyes flashing.

Enzo yelped, flinching so hard he spilled tea all over Draco’s notes.

“Bloody hell—” Draco hissed, shaking parchment off his robes.

“They were the ones who destroyed the kitten shelter,” You gritted out, voice trembling with barely contained fury, “I overheard them laughing about it.”

“Uh huh, right… but perhaps did we escalate too much?” Daisy asked gently, already knowing the answer. You always got like this when animals were involved.

“We did not,” You replied haughtily, “Really, I can forgive breaking me and Mattheo up. But nearly killing innocent creatures? That makes me want to burn them alive.”

The table froze.

Everyone’s gaze flicked to Mattheo, fully expecting him to leap over the bench and go full Death Eater.

You stiffened too, suddenly remembering just how… intense his reactions could be. How angry he’d been when he first found out why you’d broken things off.

But Mattheo didn’t move.

He just looked at you like you’d hung the stars, the sun, and the moon in the sky just for him.

“Every day,” He said softly, “I can’t believe I fall more and more in love with you.”

You blinked.

Then giggled, “So you’re not mad?”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Oh, I’m furious,” He said sweetly, “By the end of the day, all their belongings will be turned to coal. They’ll be coughing up slugs and covered in hives for the rest of the month.”

You gave him a nervous smile. There was no changing his mind.

“Oh,” He added like it was an afterthought, “And I’m gonna fight their ugly boyfriends.”

He paused.

“Or… ex-boyfriends now.” He corrected, eyes gleaming, grin wicked.

“Oh, Salazar, there are two of them.” Draco whispered, horrified.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

Harry Potter Taglist:

@downbad4reid

@revesephemeres

@catiwinky

@psh-pjh

Mattheo Riddle Taglist:

@redeemingvillains

@baekjeonheo-blog

Slytherin Boys Taglist:

@laufeysvalentine

@theodoresvalentine

[overwhelmed-alien]

Jake “Hangman” Seresin: Passenger Princess

The general consensus in his class is that Jake must think he’s up there with royalty, and therefore deserves to be driven around. That’s where the whole “princess” thing came from, originally. Jake of course rolls with it, plays up the prim “driving is beneath someone like me”, chuckles at the good-natured eye-rolls, and hops into someone’s -anyone’s- front seat and immediately fiddles with the radio just to be a brat.

The true reason, one he will never utter out loud, is that driving terrifies him. He grew up in rural Texas with hundreds of miles of straight, flat roads from horizon to horizon. Roads that frequently were completely empty, maybe you’d meet a tractor once in a while. So 12 lanes of bottlenecked California traffic, horns honking, engines revving, cars swerving in and out of lanes, the bright sun making it hard to see, unnerves Jake more than anything. Up in the sky he’s fearless, but the planes, he reasons, aren’t crowding around you not caring if you live or die as long as they get to brunch with the girls on time.

Bradley clocked it first, naturally. They’d lived together for years, back when they were “Bradley and Jake”. How Jake would never ask to drive, never grab the keys on the way out, would always sweetly beg -“honey come grocery shopping with me, it’ll be fun!” - Bradley to accompany him anywhere he went. Bradley could never deny him anything, so off they would go, either in Bradley’s Bronco or Jake’s truck, him driving, Jake in the passenger seat. He always thought it was adorable, Jake hopping up beside him grinning like a loon when he got his way, grin wider when Bradley inevitably calls him Princess. But he started noticing subtle things that he wouldn’t have noticed years ago. How Jake closed his eyes and gripped the handle when someone swerved in front of them. How he fiddled and played with dials or his phone or the strings of a hoodie to avoid looking out the window. The film of sweat on his face that, thanks to the blaring AC, had nothing to do with the Cali heat. The knee that bounced until they arrived at their destination.

He’d tried bringing it up once or twice, Jake had always laughed and played it up, “baby I’m too cute to drive, we’ve established this.” So he drops it. But if he’s more engaging in animated conversations with Jake to distract him, if he sings just a little louder and dances in the drivers seat a little sillier to draw nervous green eyes his way and not the speeding line of traffic beside him, if he smiles a little sweeter and the “Princess” comes out a little more heated so Jake forgets the entire world around him for a time, well, he’d do anything for the boy in his passenger seat. When they break up -why did they break up again? He can’t even remember - he always worries about Jake, so much his heart hurts. Is he having to drive himself?

At the Hard Deck, with some secret mission looming over their heads, and Jake looking so damn good, so damn pissed off, so damn hurt -he’d really screwed up, hadn’t he? Jake had wanted to go home early - something about beauty sleep, Javy, please! - and Bradley, stopping his piano serenading immediately, without even thinking: “I got you, princess. I’ll take you home.”

And Bradley swears he can see every single emotion, from rage to relief, regret to guarded happiness, and so much fondness in those nervous green eyes he still loves so damn much.

(I won’t make Jake say “show me the way home, honey” because I guess it’s cliche by now, but I’ll still heavily imply he does with my whole chest)

[multific]

 Eternal Currents

Namor x Reader

Summary: Namor offers you a place in Talokan, but to be with him, you must leave your world behind.

The first time Namor appeared before you, it was like a dream, strange, surreal, and fleeting. 

He emerged from the water as though the ocean itself had crafted him, eyes gleaming and muscles shining in the moonlight.

You should have run.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stood frozen on the rocky shore, watching as the king of the depths observed you with quiet intensity. 

You had heard of him in whispers, a ghost story among sailors and scholars, a myth used to explain things that had no logical answer. 

And yet, here he was. 

Real. Breathtaking. Dangerous.

“You do not belong here,” he said, his voice low, deep, like the current beneath the waves.

You swallowed, pulse quickening. “Neither do you.”

His lips quirked in something resembling amusement. “The ocean belongs to me. I go where I please.”

That first meeting set everything into motion.

---

Namor was not a man who courted mortals. 

You learned this quickly. 

He did not waste words, nor did he shower you with soft promises. What he did was offer you pieces of himself in quiet, cautious moments.

He would bring you coral trinkets, vibrant and unearthly in their beauty. He would guide you through underwater caverns, showing you Talokan’s wonders with a rare softness in his gaze. 

He would listen when you spoke of the world above, even when he disagreed with its ways, and he would share glimpses of his people’s history in return.

Little by little, he became something more than a myth. More than a king. More than a god whispered in fear.

He became yours.

And against every bit of logic you had, you became his.

---

But love was never meant to be simple. 

Not with Namor.

The night he made his offer, the wind howled against the shore.

“Come with me,” he said, watching you closely. “Live in Talokan. Be one of us.”

Your breath caught. 

The words were simple. The meaning was anything but.

You had imagined this moment before, hadn’t you? Some part of you had known it would come. 

But now that it was here, a war raged within your heart.

You wanted him. 

Gods, you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything. 

But Talokan was a world unknown, a world beneath, and leaving your life behind meant severing everything.

Your family, your home, the sky above your head.

Namor stepped closer, his fingers ghosting over your cheek. “I see it in your eyes, the hesitation.” His voice was softer now, reverent almost. “I will not force you, but know this-I am very serious about you.”

You swallowed, heart hammering. “Namor… I don’t know if I can.”

A flicker of something crossed his features. “Because you fear my world?”

“Because I fear losing mine.”

He nodded as if he understood, but his grip on you tightened, firm but not forceful. “You would not be alone.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because he was right. You wouldn’t be alone. 

But you would be separated from everything you had ever known, from the sunlit world above, from the life you had spent years building.

You took a shaky breath. “Give me time, please.”

He did not like the answer. 

You saw it in the way his jaw tensed, the way the muscle there twitched. But he did not argue.

Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours in the quietest act of devotion. “I will wait.”

----

The following days were torment.

You tried to convince yourself that staying was the right choice. 

You could go on as before, meeting Namor in stolen moments, loving him in the half-light between your world and his. 

But the idea of watching him disappear beneath the waves, of knowing that there would always be a barrier between you, became unbearable.

One evening, as you stood by the shore where it all began, you closed your eyes and whispered the truth to yourself.

You could not stay.

You turned at the sound of water breaking and found him there, watching, waiting. 

His eyes held a question he did not voice.

Slowly, with purpose, you stepped into the tide.

Namor reached for you, quickly holding you close to him.

You didn't see but you could imagine the smile on his face. 

With a kiss to your temple, he guided you towards the depth, into the unknown.

Into home.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[prentissluvr]

the language of love isn't dead — dean winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, frenemies to lovers, petty arguments, ft. sam!, dean is annoying obviously <3, reader speaks latin (i used google translate and it is probably very wrong lol), kissing, one mention of a sexual innuendo, a few joking death threats, non-serious mentions of choking, poorly edited, 2.4K words. requested !

summary : you tend to compliment dean in the dead language of latin after fights so that he doesn't know what you really think about him.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“you’re being ridiculous,” you frown at dean, arms crossed against your chest as you stare him down in tonight’s motel room.

“ridiculous?” he parrots, indignant. “this is baby we’re talking about. my car. you know, the ‘67 black chevy impala i would kill a man over?”

“yeah, i know her,” you reply, sarcastic in tone. “and your homicidal tendencies when it comes to her. i’m very familiar, dean.” you roll your eyes at him because you just can’t help it. dean makes it very easy to get annoyed at, for a multitude of reasons.

reason number one, he’s annoying. reason number two, he’s very hot when he’s angry. reason number three, he’s very hot pretty much all the time. it does not help that sam got first dibs on the shower, so he’s still covered in a bit of grime and blood from the hunt you just walked away from. it’s his best look, aside from any time that he smiles.

“well, then you should know that getting her perfectly tended to and polished leather seats dirty with wendy’s barbecue sauce is like a goddamn felony and i should sentence you to life of never even stepping foot near my car again,” he fires back, and if you didn’t know him well, which you do, you’d venture to guess that he’s joking. he’s not.

you groan in frustration. “for the last time, i did not get barbecue sauce on your car seats,” you insist.

“i saw you sneaking fries before we got to the room,” he counters, narrowing his eyes at you. “you could have gotten grease on the leather too.”

“i ate two fries dean, and i was careful. i used a napkin and i did not open my barbecue sauce!” you spit back at him. you can’t believe you’re arguing about this right now. except that it is so believable and so like you and him. it’s not like either one of you is going to back down, certainly not about something so petty and meaningless.

“then how come i found some in the back seat?” he says for what feels like the millionth time.

you throw your hands up in the air. “i don’t know! i don’t even use my barbecue sauce for my fries. there’s no reason for me to have opened it!” you argue, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “and how do you even know it was barbecue sauce?”

“it looked like barbecue sauce, it wasn’t there yesterday, you’re the only one who orders it and the only one who’s sat in the back since then. therefore, barbecue sauce,” he admonishes, crossing his arms over his chest to punctuate his point. you can’t help but laugh at him a little bit. he just sounds so ridiculous.

“well then, let’s say it was barbecue sauce—which it wasn’t. did the leather get damaged?” you ask pointedly.

“that doesn’t matter!” he practically rages, taking a step towards you. god, he’s beautiful and you hate him for it (you really, really love him for it). “what matters is that you got it dirty!”

“jesus, dean! just drop it, your car is fine!” you chastise, your voice raising a little in volume as you take another step towards him. you can see his light freckles better now. they’re so goddamn pretty it makes you want to choke him.

“just drop it?” he repeats, fuming. “i will not ‘just drop it.’ this is about baby. i can’t ‘just drop’ something about baby! how can i even trust you enough to let you in my car again, huh?” this is the point where he’s serious, but not that serious. there’s clear frustration and anger in his voice, but he’s stuck with you and he knows it. and when he asks that final question, his volume lessens and he shrugs. he’s looking for you to grovel or offer something to appease him. the question is whether or not to give him that. your instinct is, of course, to not. you let out a huff of breath.

“well, maybe because i’m excellent company in the car,” you suggest, a gloating tone making its way into your voice. “and i like your music better than sam does. which means we always outnumber him. that’s very important.”

he’s unimpressed, clearly. “you gotta come up with something better than that, sweetheart,” he goads.

you curl your lip at him and roll your eyes. “you absolutely suck, dean,” you state. he raises his eyebrows and you groan and roll your eyes yet again. that’s not the word to use around him unless you want a sexual innuendo thrown in your face. “you are absolutely horrible, dean,” you amend.

he laughs at you and his annoyance mostly subsides. “which means i have no problem getting back at you tenfold for getting goddamn barbecue sauce on my car seat.”

“te respicere bonum cum iratus es, ita dampnas,” you grumble, shaking your head and glaring at him. like tradition, you end the argument with a certain latin phrase full of choice words. 

now dean, sweet, lovely, silly, gorgeous dean, has no idea what you’re saying. he doesn’t care to learn enough latin for that. he doesn’t need to know, he thinks. your tone of voice says it all. he thinks those choice words are the type that one fills an insult with. today you tell him, “you look so damn good when you’re angry.” which, funnily enough, is not an insult.

it’s the perfect way of looking him in the eye and just spitting it out. you get to say without consequence what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, what you want to tell him so badly. it’s not the same as him knowing, but it helps. it eases your tension until the next time, it softens the blow a little.

sam fails to hold in his laugh behind you. you whirl around and glare at him, freshly dressed and out of the shower. you hadn’t even heard him leave the bathroom. narrowing your eyes at him, you tell your long time best friend, say something and you die. he puts his hands up in surrender, still laughing at you a little.

“shut up,” you grumble, then turn back to dean with a scowl.

“what was that little nerd exchange?” dean teases, realizing sam understood what you said.

“nothing,” you glower. “i’m showering now!” 

dean throws his hands up in protest. “you’re making me shower last after getting barbecue sauce on my car?”

“dean, i swear to the lord in heaven, if you–”

“fine, fine!” he relents, the sarcasm and teasing still clearly present in his voice. “you’re right, you should shower first, you probably have barbecue sauce all over ya.” you raise your fist in a threat and it’s dean’s turn to put his hands up in surrender. “i’m just saying!”

“stop saying!” you groan. “just– stop talking, i’m gonna lose my mind.” if i have to stare at your gorgeous face and listen to your gorgeous voice for another second i will go crazy. you sigh heavily. god, you wonder if you could survive not kissing him. monsters and demons and all the strange shit in the world… that’s fine. it sucks but, jesus, at least you know how to deal with them.

but doing it all with dean? you have no idea how to deal with that. so far, it’s by arguing with him, complimenting him in a dead language, and keeping him at an arm’s length. and so far, it’s not working out too well, because you still want him. you still want him to want you back. you still wish and wish and wish that the language of love isn’t dead, not for you and him, not yet, at least.

maybe the shower will help. this motel doesn’t have the worst showers; the water pressure is decent and the water stays hot for a while longer than some others.

you’re not annoyed when you finish, at least, not about his stupid accusations of you getting condiments on his car seats. unfortunately, you are still annoyed about how attracted you are to him. even more unfortunate, you suppose, is that you’re attracted to him, period.

you sigh because you can’t bring yourself to actually try not to be. not that anyone can reverse feelings, but you let your feelings run rampant, more than you should sometimes. you let him eat away at your heart like a goddman movie zombie that’s too stupid to remember it eats brains. then, you figure that the thought of him eats away at your brain too, because he messes with your rationality sometimes.

his eyes are on you as you leave the bathroom and you wonder if sam’s tattled on you. when you shoot him a look he shrugs and shakes his head. you’re not convinced, but you let it slide. you plop down on the pullout couch bed and pack your old clothes away, ignoring dean’s heavy gaze. only when the door to the bathroom opens and closes do you flop against the bed with a heaving sigh.

“i hate your brother,” you grumble, barely loud enough for sam to hear as the muffled sounds of the shower turning on hits your ears. you turn to your side and curl up, not even bothering to pull the sheet over yourself.

you can’t see sam, but you hear him scoff from his spot on his own bed. “sure you do,” he quips, completely sarcastic.

“no, i really, really do,” you insist, not meaning a word of it.

“well, he hates you too, then,” he answers, voice heavy with implication. you know what he means because he knows what you mean. hate, of course, is love.

“no, he doesn’t,” you counter, sad about it. you bet that no one’s ever sounded so disappointed that someone doesn’t ‘hate’ them.

“you’re hopeless.” sam’s probably shaking his head at you as he reads the words on the book in his lap.

“i’m hopeless,” you sigh.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s not until a few days later that dean confronts you about your little latin digs at him. sam did tattle, only because he’s tired of your pining, but dean won’t tell you that. he’s smart enough to know you’ll end up with your hands around sam’s neck if you end up finding out, and he’s not trying to have his… person strangle his little brother.

“hey, idiot,” he starts, the word layered with affection. “why do you always insult me in latin? sorta feels like you lose the point of insulting someone to their face like that.” 

he’s leaning against the hood of his car, beer in hand like always. it’s oddly uncommon to find yourself like this; outside, alone with him. the motel’s not busy and there are barely any other cars in the parking lot, and even less people. it’s just you and him as far as you can see. the night air is mild, cicadas singing as summer begins to slip away.

“well… maybe the point is that you know i’m saying something about you, but you don’t know what,” you shrug, sort of proud of the smooth answer. you’re not even lying. inside, you’re panicking a bit. this is dangerous territory.

“the stuff you’re saying is that horrible, huh?” his tone suggests a joke. his eyes suggest otherwise. it makes you pause. 

how unfair is it, to the both of you, to lie? to even joke that you’d say such mean things about him? about dean winchester, whom you know sort of hates himself. who has just two people by his side, you and sam.

and you, who only argues with him because it’s easier than being nice. you, who deserves what you want but won’t let yourself even try to have it.

“no,” you sigh out. “i’m not saying horrible stuff about you.” you don’t look at him, you don’t mess around. you take the joking in his voice and strip it away. you take the look in his eyes and put it in yours. it makes him look at you, for once. it’s easy to imagine his eyebrows raising, his lips caught somewhere between his signature smirk and a curious frown. “not in latin, anyways,” you add, letting a huff of laughter leak into your bitter voice.

dean keeps looking at you. you know you’re supposed to explain after saying something like that, but you’d much rather not.

“no?” he asks finally. now you have to say something more.

“no,” you confirm, still staring at the trees across the street instead of him. the street lights are orange in color, and it feels either cruel or hopeful that it’s such a beautiful night. “i… say it in latin because it’s something nice. and you can… ignore this, if you want. i say it in latin because i like you a lot, dean. y’know, more than a stupid, fucking friend.” you roll your eyes a bit, like you’re upset with yourself. then you swallow thickly and ignore the fact that you can see him in your peripheral vision. he doesn’t look like he normally does. he doesn’t look angry.

dean is torn between teasing you and kissing you. you sound mad about the fact that you have feelings for him, like you wish you didn’t. ‘more than a stupid, fucking friend’ is a real funny way to phrase things, if he’s honest with himself. the question is, does he say that to you, or does he look for something better to say? he’s not good with ‘better things to say,’ whatever that might be.

“a little aggressive for a love confession, no?” his voice isn’t even that teasing. it’s sort of gentle. he wants to slap his hand over his mouth for saying that godforsaken four letter word. you had said ‘like.’ it’s freudian slip, he supposes, since he loves you.

“this isn’t funny, dean,” you murmur, voice sort of defeated. and yet, you hear it. it’s not funny to him either. he wasn’t trying to be funny, he was trying not to feel. he was trying to say at least something, because he was having trouble coming up with anything else.

“i know,” he relents. he draws in a deep breath. “will you look at me?” your lips part, then close. you blink a few times. you turn your head and look at him. god, he loves you back. he’s got to, or there’s no other way to explain how he looks at you.

and there’s definitely no other way to explain him kissing you. he looks you right in the eyes and he leans in until his lips are touching yours. 

his eyes flutter closed, yours follow. you kiss him back, he kisses harder. the language of love isn’t dead. all you had to do was say something.

[moonlight-joy]

The North Remembers

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: You are a member of House Hightower, sent north as a hostage to secure peace after the Dance of Dragons. You and Cregan fall in love, but your relationship is doomed from the start.

Pairing: Reader/Cregan Stark

The wind howled through the walls of Winterfell, carrying with it the biting chill of the North. Snowflakes fell steadily from the sky, blanketing the ancient stone keep in a sea of white. The fire crackled in the hearth of the great hall, but even its warmth could not chase away the cold tension that hung in the air.

You sat by the window, watching the snow fall in silence. It was peaceful here in the North—a far cry from the chaos and bloodshed of the Dance of Dragons. Peace had come at a cost, one paid in dragonfire and shattered alliances. And now, as a member of House Hightower, you had been sent to Winterfell as a political hostage, a symbol of the fragile truce between the crown and the North.

At first, you had felt like an outsider, your southern ways foreign to the people of Winterfell. But slowly, the North had begun to seep into your bones. You had learned to endure the cold, to find beauty in the endless snow, and to respect the unyielding strength of the Starks.

And then there was Cregan.

Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, had been an enigma to you from the start. Stern and stoic, he carried the weight of his duties with quiet dignity. Yet beneath his reserved exterior lay a fierce heart, one that burned with loyalty and passion. It had taken time for him to lower his guard, but when he did, you found yourself drawn to him in ways you never expected.

It had started with stolen glances across the hall, fleeting touches that lingered just a moment too long, whispered words shared in the quiet corners of the castle. What had begun as a tentative friendship had blossomed into something far deeper—something forbidden.

You knew it could never last. The North would never accept a union between a Stark and a Hightower, not after the betrayals and bloodshed of the Dance. But no matter how hard you tried to deny it, your heart had already chosen Cregan.

And his had chosen you.

One evening, as the storm raged outside, you found yourself standing by the hearth in the great hall. Cregan entered quietly, his footsteps soft on the stone floor. He crossed the room to stand beside you, the firelight casting shadows across his chiseled features.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. “If anyone sees us…”

“Let them see,” Cregan replied, his voice low and steady. “I don’t care what they think.”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “They’ll never accept us.”

His eyes softened, and he reached out to take your hand in his. “I don’t care what they accept. I care about you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you searched his face, desperate to hold onto this moment, knowing it could slip away at any time. “Even if it means war?”

Cregan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t hesitate. “Even if it means war.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. You knew the risks—knew that your love could spark another conflict, one that neither the North nor the realm could afford. But in that moment, none of it seemed to matter. All that mattered was him.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips like a prayer.

Cregan pulled you into his arms, holding you as though he never wanted to let go. “And I love you. Always.”

Days turned into weeks, and your secret love affair continued in the shadows. But secrets never stayed hidden for long in Winterfell. Whispers began to spread, rumors of the southern hostage and the lord of Winterfell growing closer than propriety allowed.

It wasn’t long before word reached Oldtown.

A raven arrived from your family, demanding your return. The letter was terse and formal, reminding you of your duty to House Hightower and the consequences of defying your kin. You read the words with a sinking heart, knowing that the fragile peace you had found in the North was slipping through your fingers.

Cregan found you in the godswood, the letter clutched in your trembling hands. The ancient trees stood silent around you, their branches heavy with snow. He approached quietly, his gaze dark with concern.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You handed him the letter, unable to speak. He read it in silence, his jaw tightening with each word. When he finished, he crumpled the parchment in his fist, his eyes blazing with anger.

“They have no right to take you from me,” he growled.

“They’re my family,” you whispered. “I can’t just ignore them.”

“And what of us?” Cregan demanded, stepping closer. “What we have… it’s real. It matters.”

“I know it does,” you said, your voice breaking. “But if I stay, it could mean war. The North can’t afford another conflict. Your people have suffered enough.”

“I don’t care about politics,” Cregan said fiercely. “I care about you. I won’t lose you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you reached up to cup his face. “And I won’t let you destroy everything you’ve worked for. You have a duty to your people, Cregan. You can’t throw that away for me.”

“You are my duty,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “You are my heart.”

The godswood stood in solemn witness as you shared a final, desperate kiss, the taste of salt and sorrow lingering on your lips. When you pulled away, you saw the pain etched into Cregan’s features, a reflection of your own heartbreak.

“I’ll come back,” you promised. “Somehow, I’ll find a way.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Cregan vowed. “No matter how long it takes.”

Your departure from Winterfell was a quiet affair. The people of the North watched in silence as you rode through the gates, their expressions unreadable. Cregan stood on the battlements, his cloak billowing in the wind, his gaze fixed on you until you disappeared from sight.

The journey south was long and cold, each mile taking you further from the man you loved. The walls of Oldtown felt suffocating after the vast, open skies of the North. Your family greeted you with cold formality, their eyes sharp with suspicion.

“You’ve shamed us,” your father said, his voice stern. “Fraternizing with a Stark… it’s disgraceful.”

“I love him,” you said simply, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve.

Your father’s expression darkened. “Love is a luxury we cannot afford. You will marry as we command, and you will forget this foolishness.”

But you knew you would never forget. The North had changed you. Cregan had changed you.

Months passed, and the ache in your heart never faded. You longed for the cold winds of Winterfell, for the warmth of Cregan’s embrace. But duty kept you bound to Oldtown, a prisoner of your own blood.

One night, as you sat by the window of your chamber, a raven arrived. You recognized the seal immediately, your hands trembling as you broke the wax.

I’m waiting for you.

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a thousand promises. Tears filled your eyes as you clutched the letter to your chest.

The North remembers.

And so did you.

Please support my work with like and comment

[kaivenom]

OP DILFs with a sweet , calm (very librarian vibes) reader but one day they find out their partners secret stress relief is something mental like cage fighting or whatever and their personality is just a 180 until they see them and are back to all polite and sweet (in a good way)

OP Dilfs with a calm s/o who cage fights for stress relief

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

A/N: at first they all think that you are cheating on them and that's why they follow you.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He tries not to judge.

He himself can get agressive sometimes, but he gets it out on the battlefield and you dont go there.

He could even feel a little offended that you didn't count with him for this kind of thing.

He sits there, waiting patiently and taking notes to make you train.

Even if he is a little upset he still wants you to get better at your thing.

When you get out and he goes to you, you talked to him really sweet and nice.

"Don't do that, now i know that you are more than capable of doing things in battle... next time please ask me."

Donquixote Doflamingo

He is in pure bliss, if he could fall in love with you again... that would be the exact moment.

If he could he would even propose to you right there and then.

Seeing you all bloody and bruised from your enemies and ready to break more bones.

But the thing he liked the most was your rage screams and your filthy mouth insulting everyone of your opponents.

When you got out he was there to greet you and maybe continue fighting, but you were all nice and sweet again.

"NOOOO, please, go back to it, yell at me, crush my face with your feet... do something of what you did there."

Sr. Crocodile

He feels like he just saw a whole new potential for you.

He has been spending money on bodyguards and private detectives for this.

For you to be a small little demon full of rage and fully prepared to defend yourself.

He couldn't deny that he gets a little excited about this, you seem beautiful, but he has a reputation.

He even put a bet on you, seeing that you were doing so well.

And when you won, he got to the changing rooms and kicked everyone out, you smiled inocently and went to him.

"You just made me win a lot of money, but mostly i love you even more, maybe we can set this as 'our couple night'."

Smoker

He is surprised and even concerned.

He starts to think about you being under hypnosis control or things like that, that brutal and animalistic person couldn't be his partner.

Is like you awakened something on him but still he wasn't ready for that.

When the battle ends, he doesn't go to you right then, he waits for you to calm yourself and get outside.

When you welcomed him so sweet and kind he felt relieved.

"Ohh, god. I was scared that you would yell at me too, i am glad that you are still my Y/N."

Akagami Shanks

He is surprised... and mostly drunk.

He thinks for a moment that it is a vision cause he couldn't believe the rage you were fighting with.

The things he loves most about you is your calm personality, your passion for knowledge, your chill pressence... and you are here like this.

He even calls some of the crewmates to come see and reassure him that he isn't dreaming.

When you go out and spot him, you came to the stair and he is just amazed.

"I love you but the next time you tell me that i am being to loud i am going to kick you butt... but lovingly cause i still love you:"

[dollyswishingwell]

Can I request a Yandere Lads x Reader where the reader gets easily jealous over them, and one day she decides to prank them, but they think she’s actually hurt and take things a little too far, which ends up scaring her?”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Prank

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒�� 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ reader being jealous for no reason, you really scared them lol.

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ A prank is never truly harmless around them.

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You weren’t mad.

Not really.

Just…a little stupid.

Okay, very stupid.

You quit your job to sit at home waiting for him, he’s home most of the time..yes. But every now and then when he goes to his exhibitions without you (only because you were too tired to go), your jealously rages. Imagine all the people staring at your beautiful husband, thinking they can have him.

And worse of all, He smiles,

One of his usual lazy, detached smiles. Never one of those soft, amused ones he saved just for you. Yet somehow your silly jealousy blinds you.

So when you got home, with that little knot of jealousy still warm in your chest, you had a brilliant idea.

A little prank. Just to get a reaction out of him.

Something dramatic. Something that’d make him worry, just a bit.

You dabbed a smear of red paint near your temple, knocked over the stool in the hallway, and lay down at the base of the stairs with your eyes closed and your phone beside you.

Then you texted him:

[Come quick. I slipped by the stairs. I think I hit my head.]

You didn’t expect him to answer in under ten seconds.

You really didn’t expect the door to burst open like a bomb had gone off.

“Pearly?”

His voice echoed, loud, raw.

You peeked.

He was soaked. Hair dripping, white shirt half-open, no shoes, no bag, no keys. Just wild blue-pink eyes scanning the room like he was ready to kill someone.

And when he saw you, He didn’t scream. He froze.

Dropped to his knees beside you like something inside him had been ripped apart.

“Cutie—love—no, no, no, no, no—look at me, please look at me—” His hands were trembling as they cupped your face. His breaths came in shallow, panicked bursts. “Don’t close your eyes. Don’t go quiet on me—don’t you dare—”

You sat up in a panic. “Rafayel! Hey! I’m okay—I’m okay! It was a prank, I was just playing—!”

The silence that followed was worse than his panic.

He stared at you.

Just stared.

Like he didn’t understand the words coming out of your mouth.

“…A prank,” he repeated. His voice had dropped to something distant. Something too calm.

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t think you’d freak out like that. I just—I wanted to see if you’d care, that’s all. It was dumb, I know—”

He laughed.

Low. Quiet. Too soft.

“You wanted me to care?” he whispered, a tilt to his head, a coldness to his smile. “You made me think you were gone.”

His gaze dragged over your body like he was confirming you were still whole.

“I was going to burn down this whole building looking for whoever hurt you,” he murmured. “I didn’t even bring shoes. I ran here. I thought—” His voice broke. “I thought I’d lost you.”

You tried to reach for him. “Raffy—”

But he grabbed you first.

His arms wrapped around you too tight, his grip shaky but unrelenting. He buried his face in your neck, exhaling raggedly. “Don’t do that to me. Ever again. Don’t even pretend.”

You felt your heart thud painfully in your chest.

He was smiling again, but his tone hadn’t softened.

“I’ll forgive you. Of course I will.” He pulled back just enough to kiss your cheek gently. “But next time, love… if you want my attention…”

His hand slipped up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“Just ask. No more fake blood. I don’t want to learn what I’m capable of if I think you’ve been taken from me.”

You blinked, wide-eyed. Breath caught in your throat.

He kissed your forehead like nothing happened.

“…Now come to bed. We’ll wash the paint off together. And maybe I’ll show you how real bruises feel.”

You didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly as he led you away, barefoot steps quiet on the marble.

Behind you, the door locked with a soft click.

And your phone?

Gone.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It started with a nurse.

Pretty. Young. Laughing way too loudly at something Zayne said in the hospital corridor.

You knew he wasn’t interested, Zayne barely tolerated small talk, let alone flirtation, but still… it made something hot and petty spark in your chest.

You’d teased him about it at dinner.

He just gave you one of his cold, unreadable stares and replied, “If I wanted ‘just anyone,’ I wouldn’t have fought this hard for you.”

You knew that. but you wanted to be stupid.

Just a little prank.

Something small. You were always the dramatic one anyway, his pampered housewife, lounging in silk robes while he returned home exhausted from saving lives. What was one tiny guilt trip between soulmates?

You picked the marble stairs in the east wing, just outside the private library he bought for you.

Dabbed some foundation to your cheek. Scattered your robe belt. Let one slipper fall off halfway down.

Then sent the text:

[Zayne. I think I fell. I hit my head. Can you come home? Please.]

You even ended it with a heart.

Because it wasn’t that serious.

Until it was.

You didn’t expect his car to screech up the driveway in less than ten minutes.

You didn’t expect the front door to slam open like he’d kicked it in.

You didn’t expect the sound of his polished shoes running across the marble, Zayne never ran.

When he found you at the stairs, he stopped breathing. His chest didn’t even rise.

Then: “Sweetheart?.”

His voice—low, clinical, urgent. Already scanning.

You tried to sit up with a nervous laugh. “Zaynie, wait—it’s just a—”

He was on his knees in an instant. Hands already on your face. Fingers searching your skull for trauma. “Where does it hurt? Did you lose consciousness? Answer me. Right now.”

“Zayne—babe—it’s not real, I was just—”

He paused.

Slowly.

His hands stopped moving.

Then dropped.

“…What?”

You flinched. “It was just a joke. I wanted to see if you’d rush home. Because of the nurse, and— I know it’s stupid, I didn’t think you’d—”

His eyes were stone.

“You… pretended to be injured.”

“…Yes?”

He stood up so slowly it chilled your blood.

“I canceled two open-heart surgeries.”

You blinked. “Zayne—”

“I drove through five red lights.”

“Zayne, wait—”

“I thought I’d find you unconscious. Bleeding out. Maybe dead.”

His voice didn’t rise. But it cut.

You tried to step toward him, but he held up a hand.

That same hand that always held you against his chest while you napped. That now made your stomach twist.

“I can’t believe you’d play with me like that,” he said softly. “With this.”

There was no fury in his face. No tantrum. Just pure, restrained rage. And beneath that, hurt.

Real hurt.

It made your heart sink.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was jealous. I wanted you to—”

“Be afraid you died?” His voice was sharp now. “Mission accomplished.”

You flinched again.

Then silence.

And finally, He stepped forward and gently took your chin between his fingers.

“You don’t ever need to fake an injury to get my attention,” he said quietly. “You’re my wife. You already own all of me.”

His fingers curled just a little tighter.

“But if you ever do something like that again… you’ll regret it.”

You nodded, throat tight.

Zayne leaned forward and kissed your forehead, slow, almost reverent.

Then he picked you up effortlessly, carrying you down the hall without another word.

The lights dimmed behind you. The doors locked with a quiet chime.

And your phone?

It disappeared into his pocket.

He had surgeries to reschedule.

But you wouldn’t be leaving the house for a while.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You should’ve known better.

You’d seen what Xavier looked like when someone even threatened you.

The quiet shift in his expression. The way his blue eyes lost their light. That eerie silence that fell before someone vanished from the N109 zone like they’d never existed.

But…he’s talking with someone.

Talking. Willingly talking.

It was some girl from the association HQ, blushing and handing him a cup of something warm, too close, too casual, saying something like “You should smile more, Xavier.”

So… you got a little jealous.

And then, stupidly, you got petty not knowing he was only talking to her because she was telling him about a new restaurant, pink, frilly, something you’d like.

You slathered fake blood (lip stain, technically) on your forehead, dropped to the ground near your shared penthouse balcony, and sent him a text with just five words:

[I think I’m bleeding.]

Then you laid down and waited, fully expecting a dramatic “Darling, are you alright?” and some doting forehead kisses.

What you got was silence.

Then the unmistakable, terrifying sound of the glass balcony door shattering as Xavier sprinted through it, gloves still on, eyes wide, weapon in hand.

He dropped to his knees beside you without a sound. Gloved fingers ghosted over your skin.

“Y/N,” he murmured, eyes fixed. “Stay still. Don’t close your eyes.”

“Xave—wait, wait, it’s not real—”

His hands paused.

The blood-red smear didn’t match human injury patterns. Too perfect. Too glossy.

He blinked once.

“…What?”

You sat up awkwardly. “It was a prank. I’m not actually hurt. I just—I got jealous. I thought maybe—if you thought I was in danger—”

He didn’t speak.

Just stared.

Expression perfectly blank.

“…Oh,” he said softly. Too softly.

“Xavier?”

“Understood.” He stood up so slowly it was mechanical. Clinical.

Like he’d just been given a new protocol.

You expected a sulk. A quiet pout. One of his awkward huffs as he curled around you sleepily to make you feel bad.

Instead, he walked calmly across the room, hands still stained red from the fake blood.

Picked up your phone.

And crushed it in one hand.

“Xavier!”

He tilted his head at the broken glass door. “You didn’t open it. You were lying there bleeding, and the door was locked.”

“It was part of the—Xave, I didn’t think you’d—”

“I thought someone hurt you while I wasn’t here.”

His voice didn’t rise. But his tone was flat. Unreadable.

“I was prepared to kill someone.”

Your mouth went dry.

“…But no one’s here,” he added, blinking slowly. “It was just you. Pretending.”

He turned back to you, quietly stepping over the broken glass.

And knelt down again.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, cupping your cheek with his gloved hand. “I do not respond to false alarms.”

“I’m sorry—”

He nodded once. “You won’t do that again.”

You nodded too. More quickly.

Xavier blinked again.

Then… gently kissed your forehead, right where the fake blood had dried. “Next time you want my attention, tell me. Or pull me away. Or just sit on my lap. I’ll listen.”

You hesitated. “Are you… mad?”

“No,” he said immediately.

And then, like a flicked switch, his expression melted into a soft, sleepy one. As if nothing happened. “But I think I’ll hold onto you for a while now. Just to make sure you don’t try it again.”

You didn’t sleep much that night.

But Xavier did, right beside you, arms wound tight around your waist like a peaceful lock.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You wanted to get a rise out of him.

Sylus never panicked. Never wavered. Never looked anything less than amused or five steps ahead.

Even when others tried to flirt with you in front of him, he’d just smile. That smug, unreadable smirk, followed by a slow sip of wine or a lazy drawl:

“You can do better, little crow.”

So when he came home late, again, smelling like smoke and battle and someone else’s perfume (from interrogation, always), you thought: Fine. Let’s see how he likes a little drama.

You smeared fake blood (scarlet ink) on your side and curled up in the marble hallway near one of the antique armory cabinets. You even knocked one of the swords to the floor for effect.

Then called out, weakly: “Sylus…”

A whisper.

Enough to draw him in.

The front doors opened within minutes.

Bootsteps. Slow. Measured. His usual confident stride.

“Kitten?” his voice echoed. Smooth. Calm.

He found you a second later.

And everything changed.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t shout.

He knelt beside you, silent as death, his red eyes glowing faintly.

You tried to grin. “Gotcha.”

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

“…It’s fake blood,” you added. “A prank. I’m fine.”

He still didn’t move.

“…Sylus?”

Finally, he reached out.

Ran a gloved thumb through the red stain.

Tasted it.

Then looked you dead in the eye, that ever-present smirk gone.

“…Do you think death is funny?”

His voice was low. Even. Controlled.

Your heart skipped.

“No,” you said, suddenly smaller.

He rose to his full height slowly, towering over you now, shadow stretching long in the low light.

“You were lying here. Still. Cold. Covered in blood.”

“It was a joke—!”

“Was it funny?” His tone was deadly soft. “Did it feel good to see me scared? Did you want to see what I looked like when I thought I’d lost you?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He knelt again.

Not to comfort you.

To lift you.

Effortless. Like you weighed nothing.

He carried you through the halls, past the security doors, into the reinforced wing of the penthouse. Where none of his men were allowed. Where all the security feeds went dark.

Your throat tightened.

“Sylus—”

He laid you down in silk sheets and climbed in beside you.

“You frightened me,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his finger. “You know I don’t like being frightened.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

He leaned down, voice a breath against your ear.

“I could’ve killed someone for this.”

And he meant it.

Fully.

You shivered.

Sylus kissed your neck once, then again. Slower. Tender.

“You’ll stay here for a while,” he said casually, brushing fake blood from your collar. “No events. No distractions. No exits. I’ll cancel everything else.”

You blinked. “You’re cancelling your schedule?”

He smiled now. That dangerous, knowing smile. “Why not? If you wanted attention this badly, you could’ve just asked for it.”

His eyes gleamed.

“I’m yours. Every last drop.”

You swallowed.

You had wanted more attention.

But maybe… not like this.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

It was just a joke.

Caleb had been all over you lately. Fussing. Shadowing. Acting like you’d break if you so much as yawned too hard.

So when he left for a short military inspection, one of the few times he wasn’t glued to your side, you thought you’d pull a little prank.

Just to remind him you weren’t completely helpless.

You spilled a vial of red dye across the living room floor of your Skyhaven penthouse. Dropped your comm beside it. Then curled up just out of sight, peeking to see his reaction when he got home.

And oh, he came back fast.

Boots slammed against the metal flooring as he ran, voice sharp through the door:

“Pipsqueak?”

You suppressed a laugh.

He burst in, gaze instantly locking onto the red stain and your dropped communicator.

And everything stopped.

His smile vanished.

His hand twitched toward his holster.

You peeked your head up from behind the couch. “Surprise?”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

You stood slowly. “It’s fake! Just dye. I was just—”

“…Just dye,” he repeated, voice flat.

You nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to scare you. Just messin’ around—”

“You pretended you were injured,” he said softly. “While I wasn’t here.”

The tone of his voice wasn’t calm.

It was controlled.

And that was worse.

“Caleb, I didn’t think—”

“No,” he said, stepping forward, now towering over you in his black and purple Farspace uniform. “You didn’t.”

His eyes, usually that warm violet glow, looked dark now.

Disappointed.

Deadly.

“Y/N,” he said, voice barely a whisper, “do you have any idea what I would’ve done if I thought someone touched you?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I would’ve launched a full-scale lockdown. Grounded every civilian ship near Skyhaven. Put the entire security team through interrogation. Pulled Fleet funding. Threatened command.”

You stared at him, horrified.

He exhaled slowly. “For a joke.”

There was a pause.

Then, with a faint buzz of static, his Gravity Evol activated. The air shimmered, those purple wings forming behind him, haloed in a soft glow.

He picked you up gently.

You didn’t fight it.

He floated you both up, off the floor, toward the private observatory level.

“Where are we—?”

“You’re grounded,” he said. “No comms. No public access. No contact with anyone for the next 72 hours.”

You blinked. “Caleb—are you serious?”

He smiled again.

That same gentle, boyish smile he always wore growing up beside you

But his arms around you were steel.

“Dead serious,” he said, nose brushing yours. “If you want attention, sweetheart, you don’t need blood. Just say the word.”

Then he tucked your communicator into his jacket pocket.

Smashed it.

And kissed your forehead, warm and possessive.

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”