#she doesn't know how wrong she is lord help her

[hello-nichya-here]

Hello, whats your opinion on this as a mai fan

I think this person is either misremembering the show or deliberately mischaracterizing what Mai, because what they're claiming she revealed on The Beach is the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of what she actually said.

She doesn't say "My parents used me as a pawn in their game to get close to royals" or "My parents never wanted me to learn anything about combat." She tells us that her parents will let her do whatever she likes - as long as she BEHAVES. As long as she's invisible. Out of sight, out of mind. They don't care what she does, as long as it doesn't affect them, as long as she's quiet. And that's what she says in an attempt to DOWNPLAY how bad her relationship with them actually is and how it affected her emotionally.

When Mai is complaining that she doesn't like Omashu because there's nothing for her to do, her mom doesn't try to talk to her about activities that could keep her busy/entertained, or show any concern about how she's adapting to moving to a whole new country, to a city where she doesn't know anyone. Instead, she ignores her daughter's attempts to talk about her feelings by reminding her that this is important for her father. There's no attempt to make this situation benefitial for her as well, it's all about how she needs to be grateful that someone else is happy about it.

Yes, when Tom-Tom is "kidnaped", they won't stop panicking, and are overjoyed when he's brought back safely. But there's not a word on them being concerned over Mai's well-being when she's leaving in a potentially dangerous mission. They don't show up to congratulate her at any point after she helps the Fire Nation conquer Ba Sing Se, even though that is a legendary feat. Favoritism much?

In book 3, literally the only adults we see in her home are servants, and considering one needs an airship to go to the island where the boiling rock is, it's pretty safe to say her uncle can't be dropping by too often. They let their 15-year-old daughter live in a different country, without any adult acting as her guardian - that's how much they don't care about her.

And speaking of her uncle, yes, he is doing a good job of being an attentive family member (is aware of her situation with Zuko, immediately lets her out of prison the second he knows he can get away with it) - but using that to claim "Thefore her family life is fine" is absurd because, again, that's her UNCLE, not her parents. By that logic, Zuko shouldn't be complaining about his family either, after all he has Iroh and somehow that is supposed to cancel out being raised by freaking Ozai, riiiiiiight?

And speaking of Zuko, there's a reason why, in a finale where everyone is being reunited with their family and friends, even when the travel time doesn't make any goddamn sense, Mai's happy ending involves a heartwarming reuining with him, and he's delighted to see her - but there's still nothing about her parents. Their daughter was sent to prison for life, then her boyfriend became Fire Lord giving them THE perfect chance to come rescue her, and they STILL are nowhere to be found.

For fuck's sake, AZULA showed more love for Mai than her parents did. Girl was clearly happy to see her again, and even gave her a "hug" that wasn't that touchy because Mai doesn't like it. In "The Lost Adventures" we find out that she was also the one who pushed for her and Zuko to get together (though that also ties into her knowing that was the only way to make Zuko come home despite his guilt over what he did to Iroh). Even on The Beach, she's the one who first connects the dots and realizes that Mai is always so aloof because she's used to being told to shut up when she says something inconvenient.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying her parents had no political ambitions (the Yang comics leaning into that was one of the few good things about his writting). Obviously they were happy that their daughter was best friends with the princess and dating the heir to the throne, and I'm sure Mai didn't appreciate being treated more as asset than as a daughter.

But her complaint was not about that. It was about how her parents are simply not part of her life at all. She's an outsider looking in. She can stand next to them and do as she's told, or she can leave. What she can't do is actually engage with them, mean anything to them, expect anything from them, rely on them at all.

Mai's parents are neglectful to a degree that, in the real world, could potentially have them lose custody of her because she consistently has to turn to literally anyone else instead of them whenever she needs anything.

Is it really any wonder she had a soft-spot for Zuko, aka the boy that is always disregarded by his father, to the point of literally being kicked out of his home, and is actually openly pissed off about it and will let everyone know it?

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

spending my thursday night arguing with an irl friend about milex and specifically about the question of who'd usually top or bottom in that relationship, and boyyy she is so wrong, like wow 😭 i'm *this* close to compiling a powerpoint presentation for the sole purpose of showing her just how wrong she is

[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

warnings: mentions of death

“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”

“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”

Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.

His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs. 

“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”

“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”

“Like you are giving birth?”

“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.” 

“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.

She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”

"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.

It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."

But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.

"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"

"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.

"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.

"Anthony..."

"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face. 

The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.

With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.

"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."

"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."

"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.

On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.

Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.

And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.

It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."

"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."

Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.

"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.

The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."

"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.

"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.

Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.

Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."

"She is beautiful."

"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment. 

He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.

[thehighladywrites]

“JUST ONE MORE, I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT.”

⋆˙⟡ pairing: rhysand x reader, inner circle makes an appearance , madja makes an appearance

⋆˙⟡ summary: feeling ready to finally have kids, you tell rhys who is over the moon. madja gives you a special tea to help boost ovulation. how does that turn out for you?

⋆˙⟡ warnings: a fuckton of smut, fluff, rhys cries, so does reader, breeding, aphrodisiacs ( i think ), boosting tea, pregnancy, pregnancy smut ig, Big dick daddy construction worker Rhys😍😍, protective rhys like super protective, obsession and possession. Rhys develops a new obsession with reader🤷🏽‍♀️

⋆˙⟡ amara’s note: i need a break. holy fuck. also, can i go next🧎🏽‍♀️ Plus english isn’t my first language so if there’s any errors or mistakes, i’m sorry😭💗

“is that what you’ll be teaching our children, darling? To be snappy when someone asks you something?”

Rhysand took great pleasure in provoking a reaction from you. Your day had been rough, with even the slightest annoyances causing you to snap at him. From criticizing his breakfast chewing to berating his small handwriting in his reports, your frustration peaked when rhys playfully teased, leading you to unleash a stream of unpleasant words.

And now, he was dangerously close to you kicking him out of your bedroom. You stood there, making the bed with him on the other side as you tucked in the sheets on either side.

“Fuck off, Rhys. I'm teaching my kids that their father holds the title for being the most annoying ass in Prythian's history. They'll also be well-informed about your love for relentless teasing. I'll caution them to steer clear, as mommy doesn't want them influenced by your habit of being an annoying provocateur,” you flashed him a fake smile before tugging the sheets from his hands.

His laughter resonated through the room as he threw his head back, closing the distance with a confident step. Looking you up and down, he met you face to face, his eyes filled with mirth and a touch of affection.

“Let's pray to the Mother that they don't inherit your bratty behavior,” he teased, flicking your nose, enjoying your reaction.

“And yes, before you can come up with some crude insult, you're without a doubt the most pouty, bratty, headstrong person I've ever encountered.” His smile held a mix of playfulness and genuine fondness.

“I should feel insulted, but strangely, I don't,” you admitted with a smile. Playfully ushering him back to his side of the bed, you continued fixing the sheets, ready to settle in for the night.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

Lying awake, Rhys's words echoed in your mind. The thought of having children together stirred a mix of excitement and doubt. The responsibilities of being the high lord and high lady of the Night Court loomed large, and the question of balancing it with parenthood lingered. Despite the uncertainties, a deep yearning surfaced – a want to put more focus on kids and maybe ease of the work load.

Unable to sleep, you chose to scoot closer to your mate as you put your head on his pillow, running your hand through his hair and finding comfort in the rhythm of his shallow breathing.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

The bell chimed as you entered Madja's clinic, finding it empty. You weren't supposed to be there; you had told Rhys you weren't feeling well to avoid going to the Hewn City with him. He grew concerned and insisted on staying, but after some persuasion, he reluctantly left. Now, you had the perfect opportunity to visit the healer in secret.

“Hello? Madja, are you here?”Your voice echoed in the empty clinic. After a long pause, you turned to leave, but just as you did, Madja opened a door, wearing gloves and a mask, looking confused.

“Y/n? What are you doing here? Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” You all loved Madja deeply as she was like a second mother to everyone. She expressed concern, worry evident in her eyes. You reassured her, mentioning that nothing was wrong. She nodded, explaining she had a patient and would be done in a few minutes. Madja suggested making yourself some tea and taking a seat while you waited.

After a while, Madja finished with her patient and led you into her office. She took her place behind the big table, and you sat in front of her, ready for whatever conversation lay ahead.

“What can I help you with today?”

Taking a deep breath, you opened up about your desires. “I wish to get pregnant, and I wanted to know if there's anything to know beforehand. My grandmother was Illyrian, so I think I could carry the babe, but is there any more information I should know about?”

Your words hung in the air, waiting for Madja's guidance.

A warm smile graced Madja's face as she took your hand.

“Congratulations, I'm so happy for you. Fae pregnancies are rare, and it might take a few years of trying before you see any results. Don't get discouraged; it's normal, and it generally takes a few decades for couples to be blessed with a babe. But let me check your bones to see if you're ideal for pregnancy.” Madja's hands emitted a golden glow as she held yours, assuring you that your bones were indeed a match and that you would be able to carry your and Rhysand's children.

You thanked her with a hug and stood up, ready to leave to tell Rhysand that you were ready. But you were still nervous about how long it would take. Decades seemed like a long time and you just hoped you wouldn’t get disappointed in yourself.

Madja seemed to sense your sprialing thoughts and directed you to the medicine room. She handed you a packet of some sort or herb or leaf. You looked at her with confusion asking her what this was.

Madja explained, “It's a special tea made to boost ovulation. Both of you should drink it before trying, but I have to warn you, it does have side effects. The tea activates a primal need, making you both feel like the first day of the mating bond. There will be possession and jealousy, and a strong chance of fighting unwanted guests. Some patients of mine have almost killed someone because their mates were looked at too long. Males typically get very possessive during conception so don’t be surprised if he snaps at someone who’s too close. So, again, only do this when you're alone.”

The gravity of her words settled in as she outlined the potential intensity of the tea. You nod thanking her again before winnowing back to the house.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

Rhysand was pissed off and tired as fuck. The entire night was a mess, thanks to the annoying council. He toyed with the idea of going back and killing them all but thought checking on you might be a better move. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him, and irritation etched deep lines on his face.

Rhysand walked into the house, absentmindedly unbuttoning his shirt until he halted in his tracks as he passed the kitchen. Something caught his attention, and he turned, curious about what was happening.

Rhysand was taken aback by what he saw. There you were, clad in tank top and shorts, preparing food in the middle of the night. He thought you were seriously unwell, given that you couldn't get out of bed earlier. Worried, he approached,

“Love, what are you doing up? Please, let me take you back to bed. I'll finish it up and bring it to you, okay?”

You warmly smiled at his concern but shook your head. “I'm fine, baby. I'm not sick. I'll explain everything. Just sit down at the table, and I'll be there in a minute.”

He raised his brow and you with amusement,

“So, you just didn’t want to go to the meeting? You should have told me; we could have skipped together. They were driving me crazy today. Kier wanted a higher position, Lord Orlon wanted more money, and everyone just wanted more and more and more.” His frustration with the incessant demands from the council echoed in his words.

You couldn’t help feeling guilty at the weariness in his eyes, you pouted and stepped closer, standing between his legs. Gently, you brought his head to your chest, cradling and kissing it. His arms wrapped around your middle immediately as you cooed comforting words, offering solace in the warmth of your embrace while stroking his hair gently.

“Aww, I'm so sorry, honey. I promise I'll never let you go alone. What can I do to cheer you up?”

He raised his head, mischief in his eyes, and his hands roamed up your tank top, grazing your waist and the sides of your boobs.

“I can think of something that'll earn you my forgiveness.” His playful tone sparked heat in you and you almost lost focus as you entertained the thought of Rhys’s offer. But you shook your head and smirked at him.

“Did you forget I had something to tell you? You’re quite insatiable, you know?”

He slumped his head on your chest, planting a kiss on the covered area as he warmly chuckled. Drawing you closer, he settled you in his lap, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. Rhys gazed up at you with enchanting deep violet eyes, their subtle twinkle a sight you adored.

Inhaling deeply, you contemplated ripping off the bandaid. It should be fine, right? He's always discussed future children, their names, rules for them, etc. Yet, despite everything, a touch of nerves crept in.

Rhys, sensing your hesitation, securely gripped your waist, assuring you that you could share anything with him.

“Rhys, sweetheart, I'm ready to officially try for children. Are you on board? I know you've talked about wanting kids, but is it still something you still want-”

Rhysand embraced you tenderly, tears of joy gliding down his cheeks. He buried his tear-streaked face in the warmth of your neck, softly murmuring his heartfelt thanks, each word carrying a sweetness only you could inspire.

His tears triggered an emotional response in you, prompting happy tears to well up as you smiled tenderly at him.

“It would be my highest honor to have children with you, my love.”

Rhys kissed you, chuckling, drawing you closer and peppering tiny kisses all over your face, eliciting joyful laughter from you.

“While you were away, I chatted with Madja, and she shared some tips about conceiving. She mentioned it might take a bit, so she's advising not to worry if it doesn't happen right away. She even gave me this special tea that's supposed to boost ovulation and help speed up the process. What do you say we give it a shot tomorrow or tonight?”

Rhys grinned mischievously, “Well, it's a bit surprising I haven’t already gotten you pregnant, but I guess Madja's tea might just be the secret ingredient we need.”

“I agree, Mr. Cocky, your charms might need a backup plan.” Your smile wavered as he got closer to your neck, and it completely faltered when he gently blew air on your neck before giving a playful bite.

You trembled, grabbing rhys’s shoulders to steady yourself as he kept nipping lower and lower. He palmed your tits through your thin tank, pulling and pinching on your nipples, marvelling at your scrunched up face of pleasure.

His finger moved to trail down the arch of your back while he unwrapped your legs from around his waist.

“Let's free you from these,” he murmured, gently hooking your shorts by the elastic and sliding them down to your thighs. Granting you a brief moment, he allowed you space to stand and shimmy them down to your feet, casting them aside with a tender ease.

Your confirmation to having kids flipped a switch in his brain. Numerous times had you stopped by nurseries to admire the cute babies, helped lost children find their mothers in the town square, babysat for your friends that had kids. Rhysand’s mind was filled with you carrying your child on your hip, you and him sitting down teaching them everything they needed to learn.

The mere thought of getting you full of his children, your heirs and the fact that you would carry your children, made him impossibly hard. You belonged to him, and soon, the world would see the evidence in your growing belly. It was his way of making sure everyone knew he had claimed you for good, in the most intimate and lasting manner possible.

Rhysand gazed up at you, his eyes veiled by thick lashes, filled with a darkened desire. His pupils dilated, larger than you'd ever seen, revealing the intensity of the lust that consumed him.

“I’m going to get you nice and knocked up by the end of the month, fuck what Madja said. I’m putting a baby in you soon enough, don’t worry about a thing. Just lay down and let me work on it, what do you say, sweetheart?”

His raspy, desperate voice sent cold shivers down your spine and arm. You mindlessly nod, begging for him to start.

“ Please, baby… make me a mother…” you ask so sweetly and nicely, rhys could never say no to you.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

Throughout that night, the following morning, and the entire subsequent day, Rhysand kept you awake, leaving little room for sleep. In the span of those days, you only paused for food, as he fucked you to the edge of insanity. Perhaps you should have considered that you'd chosen the most powerful man in history as your baby daddy— of course he’d have no trouble fulfilling his task with relentless success.

Rhys's eyes had darkened with a singular focus – getting you pregnant. He worshipped your body, treating you like a deity with every touch, as if you were the subject of his devoted prayers.

He had stopped for maybe half an hour to research the most ideal positions for baby making and had put you in them atleast twice, much to your exhaustion and pleasure.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

Reluctantly, you both knew you couldn't remain secluded from your responsibilities forever. The rulers of the court could only be inaccessible for a limited time, forcing you to eventually confront the outside world.

“Baby, we need to go soon, remember?” You found yourself trapped between his sturdy arms, lying beneath him on the soft bed with your legs wrapped around his middle. His kisses on your neck and grew more intense, leaving behind a trail of increasingly visible bruises.

Expressing disapproval with a sound, he playfully nipped at a sensitive spot on your neck, eliciting a mix of laughter and a gasp from you simultaneously.

Rhysand absolutely hated the idea of leaving the haven of warmth and love you two had created. He cherished the solitude you shared, not wanting to face the world's challenges.

All he wanted was to stay wrapped up in the tender embrace of his mate, savoring the moments of closeness and hoping for a future filled with just the two of you.

“Darling, I'd ditch the whole Night Court for a bit more of your love. The outside world's a drag compared to your warmth. What do you say we skip the ruling and responsabilities and keep our own little haven, just the two of us?”

Summoning the will to decline felt nearly impossible; you genuinely, sooo badly, really didn't want to leave the room until everything was done. Explaining your perspective to him, you made a deal that if you both tackled just dinner first, you'd be all his afterward. With reluctance, he got up, the two of you quickly freshened up, taking a hot shower and got dressed for dinner with your friends.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

Making your way to the dining room, you were met by Cassian with a teasing grin,

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to rejoin the land of the living. I was starting to think you'd built a permanent nest in there. Ready for the real world or still basking in the afterglow?”

Catching a glimpse of Rhysand's impassive expression, it was clear he was beyond unamused as his eyes zeroed in on Cassian. You knew him well enough to sense that Cassian's continued teasing might push him to snap, especially considering his reluctance to be outside with the others now that he was trying to put a baby on you.

“Cass, I wouldn’t. Let's just enjoy the meal,” you said, clapping your hands with an exaggerated smile. Taking Rhysand by the hand, you guided him to the table, hoping to diffuse any tension and shift the focus to the meal.

You stuck to him like glue, even following him when he stood to get another bottle of wine. Sitting on another chair was out of the question. Instead, you made yourself comfortable in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You purred at his warmth and safety, wondering why the hell you even accepted this dinner in the first place. You'd much rather stay under warm covers in your bed with him by your side.

In these past few days, Rhysand had become remarkably possessive aswell. Normally unfazed by casual gestures from friends like hugs or pats on the shoulder, he surprised himself. When you and Azriel reached for the salt at the same time, Rhysand instinctively pulled you back, narrowing his eyes at Az as if marking his territory.

Azriel, ever perceptive, observed the tension, smiled to himself and wisely chose not to escalate the situation. He sensed a new energy surrounding you both, noticing how much you clung to each other. He nodded toward the salt, indicating you should take it first, showing he had the sense not to get in the middle of whatever was transpiring between you and Rhysand. It was something Cassian would usually dive headfirst into. The guy had a knack for finding trouble, and Azriel clearly wanted no part in it.

The dinner proceeded with everyone staying clear from you and Rhys. Usually, you'd playfully scold him for being overly possessive, telling him to ease up on the overbearing bat act. However, you relished in his attention and protective demeanor. Madja had told you this would happen but you didn’t realize it would apply to your family.

Right, Madja. You had almost forgotten about the tea she'd given you, the one to speed up the pregnancy process. With your friends leaving after dinner, whether they wanted to or not, it seemed like the perfect time to test it out.

Gazing at Rhysand beside you, you communicated your thoughts silently, begging him to try the tea out with you and then going back to your previous activities. He nodded in understanding. Sitting up straight, he glanced at everyone.

“I need all of you leave, right now,” he stated calmly, sipping his drink with the usual nonchalance.

Everyone paused mid-chew, glancing at Rhysand with confusion. Azriel swiftly vanished into his shadows, and Amren departed without so much as a goodbye. Mor and Cassian remained, bewildered, as they questioned the sudden disruption.

“What? Why? I'm not even done eating,” Mor protested.

Rhysand narrowed his eyes, flicking his hand and cleared the table.

"There. I moved everything to your own table in your apartment. Now, get out," he gritted, and they hurriedly made their exit, with Cassian managing a loud laugh before leaving.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

The kettle's whistle grew louder as you were lost in Rhysand's lips. Seated on the table, his arms on either side of you, the moment was pure delight, your hands traveling his body as you toyed with the waistband of his pants. The whistle became unbearable, forcing you to reluctantly break the kiss as you sighed and made your way to brew the tea. The leaves, red and golden, intensified in color as you poured the boiling water in.

“Darling, that looks deceptively inviting. Like it would lure us in with its pretty colors and then make our hearts stop,” he joked, joining you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, playfully holding you in a mock chokehold.

“Huh, deceptively inviting... sounds a lot like someone I know,” you teased, lazily kissing the strong forearm wrapped around your throat. His laughter resonated, his chest rumbling, and you felt the vibrations, savoring the moment.

He kissed your temple before letting you go, guiding you back to the table to drink the tea. Both of you nodded in agreement before simultaneously downing the concoction. The taste left you both with a disgusted expression as you placed the empty cups back on the table.

“That tastes like shit. Did Madja say what it was made of?”

You scrunched your face at the aftertaste before replying,

“I find it best not to ask her anymore. Remember the time she had us all eating that soup with fermented fish guts as a cure for that winter fever?”

You shudder at the memory of everyone lying in the hospital, with Madja taking care of the lot of you. It dawned on you that she was feeding you stuff that would've made you even sicker if you found out then. The taste of the mysterious tea was the least of your worries compared to Madja's unconventional remedies.

Rhysand shook his head at the unpleasant memory,

“You’re right. I’d rather not know.”

You giggled at his words, before standing up and putting the cups in the sink. Turning around, you looked at Rhysand with a tilted head, wondering if he was feeling anything because you certainly weren’t.

“Rhysie, are you feeling anything? I’m not sure if it’s taking extra long for the tea to activate or something but I’m not feeling anything yet.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, pondering your words for a moment.

“Honestly, I don’t feel any different either. Maybe it's just a placebo effect or Madja's way of amusing herself with our reactions. Either way, we'll survive it.”

You nodded at his words, yes that made sense.

“Okay, let’s go to my office and catch up on some reports while we wait for the effects to kick in.”

You both headed to your office, the boring tasks providing a welcome distraction while the mysterious tea's potential effects lingered in the background. As you delved into work, the anticipation of what might unfold kept a subtle excitement in the air.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

An hour in Rhysand was starting to feel uncomfortable. His forehead and neck was starting to feel warm and he mindlessly unbuttoned the first buttons of his shirt for some extra cooling.

You on the other hand still felt nothing, if anything, you started feeling very sleepy, eyelids heavy as you tried blinking back the tiredness that washed over you.

“I’m feeling really tired, rhys. Can you take me upstairs?” your voice was low and laced with sleep, complete opposite of your mate.

Not being able to find his voice, he stood up from the chaise, his movements more desperate, and walked over to you before bending down and picking you up.

Something that should've been a mundane task.

However, this time he couldn’t help but notice the difference in size, how easy he could pick you up in his arms, how your boobs moved under your shirt, the way the curve of your ass pressed against him with every move, the softness of your skin and the intoxicatingly sweet smell of you. A low, suppressed growl vibrated through him as he tightened his hold, relishing the warmth and unmistakable presence of his mate.

A possessive and obsessive surge overwhelmed him as he held you, an intoxicating certainty that you belonged to him, and he had earned every inch of your love and affection.

Rhysand was utterly obsessed with you, he showed in the way he was watching you like a hawk while he put you down on the soft bed, tucking you under a blanket.

Rhys knelt by the bed, his gaze fixed on your sleeping form. His pupils dilated so much, transforming the familiar violet of his eyes into a dark, almost black shade. His face and chest had taken on a dark shade of blush, as blood rushed to his cock at the sight of your peaceful form.

He couldn’t look away when you turned around, blanket having rolled up, showing him the lenght of your legs, so smooth and soft, Normally, the sight wouldn’t have made him behave like some sort of teenager seeing a girls tits for the first time and it made him feel like a disgusting pervert. Here his mate laid, unaware that he was lusting over something as juvenile as her leg.

Deep down, he didn’t really care. Rhysand felt like he was on top of the world.

Waves of pleasure surged through him, heightening his senses and intensifying every touch and sensation, the feeling of the sheets against his palms sent electric waves through his body. The world around him seemed to shimmer with and a blissful euphoria enveloped him, creating an intoxicating sensation that left him utterly captivated.

You stirred, sensing Rhys kneeling by the bed. As you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of him, his gaze locked on your sleeping form. His eyes, once a familiar violet, now darkened to a deep, almost black hue.

The effects of the tea finally kicked in, and your body responded with waves of pleasure. Your heartbeat quickened, the world around you blurring into a hazy backdrop as you fixated on the rhythmic sound of Rhysand's heavy breaths. A searing warmth pooled in the lower part of your stomach, almost like molten lava, urging you to clench your legs, all while a whimper threatened to escape your lips.

Feeling overwhelmed, you sought relief in the bathroom, flinging off the blanket and splashing cold water on your face and chest. Bracing yourself on the sink, you took a few deep breaths before returning to your room. As you opened the door, eyes lowered, you collided with something soft yet firm. Looking up, you found Rhysand, gazing at you with a tilted head, as if studying you like a puzzle.

“Oh, hi baby, didn’t see-”

Before you could finish the sentence, he pounced on you, grabbing the back of your head as he crushed your lips against his. Your eyes widened in surprise, hands instinctively grabbing his biceps to steady yourself.

His other hand wrapped around your waist, forcefully pulling your body towards him, leaving no room for any space. As his front pressed against yours, you felt his hard erection poking at your stomach.

A desperate need for more coursed through your veins like a wildfire, the tea intensifying every sensation. Your nipples tightened, craving his touch with an almost primal hunger. In his arms, you practically melted at his animalistic touch.

It all felt so fucking good, you thought you’d come just by kissing him. You moaned loudly when he started licking and kissing your neck, gently biting your earlobe before going back to giving you hickies.

Tears formed in your eyes as you brought a hand down your panties, hoping to relieve yourself before it got too much, however frustration filled you as your efforts were wasted. No matter how much you rutted against your fingers, it wasn’t enough. If only made you more needy and frustrated.

“no, t’s not working, please mate, please touch me. need you so badly”

Your tears eventually fell as you whined, face covered in salty tears as you begged your man for more, more of him, more of anything.

The desperation in your voice prompted Rhysand to pick you up and drag you to bed, gently pushing you into it. He swiftly undressed before pulling you towards the edge of the bed by your ankles, ripping of whatever clothes you had on. An animalistic move if anything but it made you even more wet.

“We’re not fucking leaving until I get you pregnant. I need you nice and round, filled with my cum, do you understand?“

His words were gritted, as if he was holding himself back, restrained by an invisible force.

You nodded, desperate for him.

“Please, let me make you a daddy.”

With a low rumbling growl he throws your legs over his shoulders and ruts into you so hard, the entire bed starts shaking. He bullies his big cock in you as you squirm, trying to initially get away as if you’ve never been fucked by him before. Rhys doesn’t slow down because he knows you can take it, he knows that you’re his equal, made for him as he is for you. And when you beg him to go harder he only smiles wickedly, satisfied that he knows you inside and out.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

You don’t remember know how many times he has finished in you.

You're crying uncontrollably and struggling to breathe. Rhysand gives you a gentle smile and plants a kiss on your swollen lips. His cock throbs at that fucked out expression in your eyes, and he has to look away to avoid blowing his load too soon. His mouth tucks itself into the curve of your neck. Your skin slapping continues as those quick thrusts fill the room.

If he didn’t have his hands around your legs to keep them up, they’d have fallen down ages ago. Your whole body feels loose and sloppy, a stupid, fucked out smile on your face as your teary eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Shhh, baby it’s okay. Let me fill you up again. I promise it will feel so, so good.”

You nod absentmindedly as you both come for the umpteenth time.

He was paying close attention to how your hole tightened around him, his sloppy thrusts making the white ring around the base of his dick drip with even more cum.

“You’re so fucking good to me, baby. Gonna look so pretty with your belly all round with my babies.”

His head was thrown back, eyebrows scrunched and jaw slightly dropped as he slowly thrusted in and out, milking the high before he pulled out and slumped forward, making you whine at the feeling. His sweaty body rested on top of yours, and his head lay on your rising and falling chest. His hair was damp, and with a shaking hand, you ran your fingers through it.

“I’ll clean you up in a second, darling.” Just as he was getting up you wrapped your legs around his waist. He scooped you up, arm around your ass as he brought you to the shower to clean you up. Rhys didn't put you down, knowing you might fall, so he washed you while you clung to him.

After the much needed shower, he wrapped you both in a huge fluffy towel and magically changed the sheets as he brushed you hair and put you in one of his shirts.

“Rhysie?”

“Yes, love?”

“That shower was a mighty waste. I think I need you to fuck me one more time, please?”

His eyebrows rose at your words. Never did he think you’d say anything like that. His initial shock was replaced by a proud laugh.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

And he did.

He gave you two more orgasms, and just as he was ready to pull out after dumping his load, you wrapped your legs around him and begged him not to pull out.

Rhys gave you a soft kiss and pulled you closer as you finally slept, exhaustion pulling you into a deep slumber.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

There wasn't much surprise when he successfully put not just one but two babies in you, twins.

Rhysand's male pride was on overdrive. Twins were really rare, and the fact that he managed to knock you up with them in less than a month was almost cause for a celebration. Well, he would throw a party if he didn't grow so damn protective.

If you thought Rhysand was protective when trying for a child, then this Rhysand was on another level. He actually gritted his teeth at Madja after she put her cold fingers on your body, making you hiss.

Let’s not even discuss when your belly started showing…

The moment he learned of your pregnancy, Rhys acted swiftly, weaving layers of intricate shields around you. It wasn't merely about your safety; it was a manifestation of his deep obsession. The shields were a fortress protecting not only you but also the sweet new scent you emitted, a fragrance that had sparked an intense possessiveness within him.

Rhys had become utterly obsessed with that unique scent, ready to unleash his fury upon anyone who dared to get too close and catch even the faintest whiff of something that was sacredly reserved for him alone.

During the announcement for your friends, the presence of Rhysand by your side, standing assertively close, made them wary of getting close to you. As you both stood together, your radiant happiness contrasted against his dark, protective demeanor.

You were a bit bummed, wondering why no one wanted to hug you or atleast shake your hand, then you took one glance at him and let out a sigh as you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, please. They’re not going to eat me alive, baby. It’s fine I promise.”

You embraced Mor and Cassian warmly, reciprocating their hugs, though they avoided prolonged eye contact with Rhys. Azriel's shoulder clap and rare smile conveyed a similar sentiment to a hug, and Amren, nodding, raised her glass in approval, a subtle twitch of her lips indicating her satisfaction.

You skipped back to Rhysand and gave him a kiss, calming him down as he gave you an appreciative smile.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

Pregnancy had made you both extra needy. Rhys got hard everytime he thought about the fact that you were actually carrying his babies, and you got turned on because he was walking sex.

He built a new nursery from scratch, adding an entire new wing to the river estate. Initially, you doubted it would be finished in nine months, but you quickly learned not to doubt him – he always kept his word. Lo and behold, a whole new section of the house emerged, ready for the babies and any future additions to your growing family in only 3 months. His dedication spoke volumes about his commitment to you and the little ones on the way.

He channeled his inner builder during this project, and it never failed to amaze you how desperate he made you feel. Walking around the house wearing nothing but a work belt, sweaty from new constructions, he was a vision of strength and capability. Often, you stood from afar, watching him skillfully build things, savoring the sight before the need to get fucked took over.

Your lips were bitten in silent admiration as he stood there in nothing but linen pants, hanging dangerously low on his hips while building the crib. He looked absolutely delicious , and the appreciation for his craftsmanship would be handsomely rewarded by you.

“Are you going to stare at me all day, beautiful? Come inside, I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he stood up, sauntering toward you with a grin. His hand extended playfully, a silent invitation to join him.

Deciding to tease him back, because let's be real, you need him bad right now, you chuckle and let the playful banter unfold.

“And what if I do want you to bite? What if I ask you to get us back to our room and fuck me? Would you do it?”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, attempting to portray someone innocently asking a casual question.

“Have I ever said no to you in my life, darling?” he teased, his smile darkening, before winking and leading the way back to your room.

Rhys had vanished your clothes, leaving you bare as he worshipped you. His teasing words and soft caresses brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“You're going to be the best mother ever, such a good mommy for my babes. Nurturing and caring for them. No one is better than you, my love. No one loves as purely as you, fuck,” he whispered urgently, his neediness and desire lacing every word.

His whiny, rasping words were the finishing touch you needed before coming all over his creamy cock with a cry.

Yet again, he took care of you, cleaning you up as he always did. Your mate, ever the loving and caring male, ensuring your well-being with a tenderness that spoke volumes about his deep affection for you.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

The arrival of your twins turned into a joyous celebration, filling Velaris with happiness over the birth of the new princess and prince. Your friends, throughout your journey, provided unwavering support, guiding you through the hardships and challenges of being new parents.

Now, a new chapter of your life had opened, one you couldn't wait to share with your one true love, marking the beautiful beginning of your happily ever after.

🏷️ taglist: @callmeblaire @acourtofladydeath

[flamingpudding]

I had a crack idea that I was thinking of so you know in Dan is Klarion au I was imagining a au based off of that one where all of Danny's children are Klarion is like the robin thing for Batman it started off with Danielle when nabu insulted Danny as the Ghost King and Balance

Ever since Ellie decided that she needed to get back in blood so she made the chaotic antihero Klarion and and her suppose it familiar 'cat' Teekl the way to help out her mother and mess with Dr Fate/Nabu Teekl is actually a bear with an illusion on that makes him look like a cat in the human's eyes

Whatever since the anti-hero Klarion in The Phantom family has been passed down each of them giving their own flair to the persona of Klarion with a different animal every time that they had pretending to be a cat

Tell her to finally passed on to Dan it is an honorary sibling thing each of them has their own antihero name once they passed down the title of Klarion

Diana's query and takes after his father's style of dressing and his tickle is a phoenix

First of Thanks for the Ask! Inspirational as always! Helps with my writers block [insert awkward laugh]

Either way because this is split in two asks... you get two version! One focused on how it started and the other on the reveal! Though the might be some little Shorts... Also there is something really funny to me about a giant bear letting Illusionen into a cat... So Enjoy!

(BTW still thinking over the other ask... and working on it don't worry!)

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

Ellie huffed as Danny reprimanded her for her actions. She just huffed crossing her arms. She was just helping Danny. Her mom got a lot on his shoulders and she as the sort of oldest saw that the best. Sure technically Dan was older then her but, he shrunk down to kid level again and now she was the oldest.

Well if she ignored her other brothers but they were only saved recently and still in treatment with Frostbite. So she was the oldest. End of story.

"Ellie you can't just go off like that you know that messing with an Ancient is not-"

"Mom, That Nabu-Guy was being a pain in the a- " - "Ellie!" - "A PAIN, babbling on to much about Order here Order there. How keeping Balance means keeping Order and bla bla bla!" She cut in stopping her mom before he could go on another rant about the Ancients, she needed to treat with respect.

"He doesn't respect you, the Ancient of Balance! You are the literal Symbol of Balance between Life and Death! Aside from being the Ghost King. So of course I had to mess with the one HE mentors!" Ellie added huffing as she crossed her arms.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ellie, you created an entire alternate persona!"

"Yea so?"

"You used an illusion spell on Fluffels!"

"And? Any good Anit-Hero needs a Mascot." Ellie shrugged once more looking up at her mom before looking over to Fluffels, her pet ghost grizzly that was pretty much double maybe even tripple her size and the fluffiest ghost grizzly you could find in the entire Ghost Zone, and the cutest.

Danny on the other hand groaned, wondering if he had done anything wrong while raising Danielle. Sure he had been a teen himself but good damit why the hell did Ellie decided messing with the Ancient of Order or rather his mentee was a good idea. "I am calling Jazz! You can explain to her what you were thinking!"

He was definitely to overworked and stressed to deal with Ellies mischievousness right now. Well she did call her alternate persona Klarion, Lord of Chaos. Nope! He was not dealing with this right now, so Danny did the sanest thing he could think of. Turning on his heel and walking away. Where to? Who cares maybe he would check in with his old man Clockwork and see what Ellie had actually been up to, instead of just reading through Nabu's complains.

Ellie on the other hand blinked watching her mom leave before calling after him. "Does that mean I have to stop, being Klarion?"

"Mom?!"

"MOM!"

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

"Well hello my lovely Amadillos! Long time not seen!"

Ellie shouted cheerfully as she twirled into appearing hair styled into a horn like form, black suit and she might have over done it a little with the black eyeliner but hey it was an iconic look wasn't it. She smirked as Fluffles growled which translated into a meow for the mortals before her thank to the illusion spell.

The mortal teen looked up at her surprised as she floated down her hand glowing with red ectoplasm (a color change from her usual green ectoplasm that had taken a while to learn from Pandora). Young Justice was currently transporting something of interest to her. Well of Interest for the Justice League, really but Doctor Fate was involved which meant Nabu was involved, which naturally meant she would get involved. It didn't hurt that she would also get to try to try some new tricks.

"You got something interesting there... and I want that." She grinned. Ellie didn't give them long before she acted using the new tricks she had learned.

"Woah! Hey there, watch the pointy and sharp thowies!" She laughed making a quick shield as she blocked some batarangs and arrows before blinking.

"Hey they look different. Robin, did you change equipment? Did you get a new haircut too?" She asked curious but didn't really receive an answer as they ignored her questions and shouted something about distracting her while the others continue the transportation. Still she bend down to pick one of them up twirling it between her fingers. "What gives didn't they have a different design before?"

In hindsight it was probably not a good idea to just abandon her original goal but Robin was making her curious. And she could always find a different way to mess with Nabu. Her mom had given her an indirect okay years ago anyway.

"Teekl!" She called out and only her eyes could see how Fluffles jumped at the call growling in response as he swatted away some of the more annoying Young Justice kids. To the mortals it probably looked like Teekl was using ectoplasm, or well magic, in their eyes.

She used that change to go up into Robins face smirking widely as she looked at the other more closely, trying to get a read on him. "You are different! You aren't the same Robin I meet before!"

She ducked in time avoid Superboy as she hopped back excited with a new idea for her family.

But first she would have to deal with the little chaos and mischief she was creating.

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

".....and that is how I learned that the Robin title is getting passed down. So I was thinking of doing the same!" Ellie broadly stated looking at all her younger siblings before her. "We all get pretty annoyed with the way Nabu treats Mom so there always has to be a Lord of Chaos to 'balance' Nabu out!"

She grinned at her siblings expecting the same kind of excitement she had and they didn't disappoint. Danny had been there for all of them, even going so far as in to find a way with Clockwork to save some of their lives. So of course they all would jump at the change to mess with the one Ancient that was badmouthing their Mother just because Balance didn't entitle Order the way they wanted.

After all Chaos was needed to Balance Order out.

This was going to be fun...

[Follow up part Linked here]

[gglitch1dd]

Glitch, I have a few things to say.. I am COMPLETELY OBSESSED WITH YOUR WRITING! *most especially, DILF Izu!

And major question, Is Inko still alive in the Cheating DILF Izuku universe? If so, Would she be able to figure out what the Number 1 couples' situation is?? Maybe she would start noticing the signs? Am seriously such a sucker for how you write angst! Hope you're in good health always ♡

Cheating Dilf Izuku Pt2.5

[Cheating Dilf Izuku Masterlist]

Inko is still alive!!

It's just that after the funeral and everything, Izuku and reader were rather hesitant to accept her help because they didn't want to not be able to do it on their own (they couldn't). And Inko does see it and notices it.

Inko and her son are very close but so is Reader and Inko too. She notices that the couple stops talking about one another, she notices that the boys seem rather on edge and she notices that you both look drained. She notices and she really does want to to do something.

"Okaasan, I have no idea what you're talking about." Izuku stated as he held his phone to his ear as he organised the laundry as he sat on the floor in the laundry room.

"Izuku, I'm smarter than you give me credit for. I know something's wrong." She said gently but still stern. "All I'm saying is, you can bring the boys to me and I can take care of them for a week. You and Y/N can go and spend some time together. Like you used to."

Izuku paused as he held a pair of mismatched socks. His mother wasn't entirely wrong. You and him did use to go on little mini vacations together. Usually not spanning more than a weekend every six or so months where you would just spend time as a couple. It was something you both always looked forward to, despite loving your boys to bits.

Often than not there was a resort in Okinawa that the both of you loved to go to, just the two of you. But it had bene just more than a year since you last went, especially since you were both supposed to go five months ago but Lord knows that didn't happen.

Izuku sighed as he set down the socks he had in his hands. "I don't know. Okaasan." He let out with a sigh. "Y/N and I... we just... I don't think she'd want to go."

"Stuff and nonsense, Izu. Why wouldn't she? I know how much she knows you adore her."

That was painful. Izuku bit back a grimace as he sighed. He leaned back, surrounded by laundry baskets that were labeled for each boy. He looked over to one that stayed filed up at the top away from sight. A label on it that read a single name. Shoyo.

"Okaasan..." He whispered as he looked up at the basket. "I really messed up." He said quietly. "I... I don't think things will ever be the same."

Inko was silent for a moment before a small sigh left her mouth. "Izuku, I won't lie to you and say that you're wrong. You're right. It won't ever be the same. Losing a child is an unbearable sort of pain that hurts more than anything imaginable." Izuku closed his eyes not wanting to think about it. "And I wish I could say that it doesn't change things. It does. However, we can only pick up the pieces and try to make life a little bit better. Talk about this to her and see what she says. I think it would be good for the both of you if you got away for a while."

Izuku was silent for a moment as he thought about it. He let out a sigh as he leaned back for a moment. There was no harm in asking and the worst you could say was no...

Actually he was wrong. The worst you could say would probably make him feel like a damn fool and no would be the best thing you could say.

But if he wanted to win his wife back... He'd have to try everything he had until his last breath.

He sighed. "Fine. Fine, I'll talk to her."

He heard some giggles on the otherside of the line before a happy laugh. "Izu you won't regret it! I can't wait to see my grandbabies again!"

Izuku raised an eyebrow as he put the socks in the washing machine like he was doing previously. "Is this you trying to help my marriage or you having an excuse to see the boys?"

"... both." He could hear her smile and it made him laugh.

After finishing with the laundry, Izuku mustered up the courage to walk into your bedroom. You were laying in bed with your laptop in front of you while Koda took a nap beside you. The little four year old held onto your arm in his sleep as you typed away on your laptop. A bunny sitting at the foot of your bed.

Izuku closed the door behind him as he kept himself a good distance away from you, not wanting to overstep. "Y/N."

"Hm?" You didn't look up at him as you kept busy at whatever you were doing. Before, you used to always pause and listen to whatever he had to say. But then again, that was when he deserved it.

"How about we go to Okinawa?"

The question made you freeze. Your eyes flicked up from your laptop before you slowly turned to look up at him. Your eyes slowly went into a glare. "To do what?" You asked, not hostility in your voice but apprehension.

"You know, just..." He shrugged. "We could spend some time there, you and me. We haven't gone in a while and I think it would be nice." You stayed silent as you just watched him. He felt nervous at your eyes on him like that. He took a step forward. "Just after our holiday with the boys and everyone, we could... if you want."

You stared at him for another minute. You then let out a scoff and turned back to continue whatever it was you were doing on your laptop. You continued to type as you kept your eyes on the screen in front of you.

Izuku let out a quiet sigh, not exactly surprised. His shoulders dropped as he turned to head to the shower.

"I'll think about it."

The sound of your voice made him freeze in place. He turned back to look at you but you continued to type away, ignoring him otherwise.

That was enough to make him smile, knowing that you gave him just a lick of hope was enough to make him happy with your answer.

-Glitch1d

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

-

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

-

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

-

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

-

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

-

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

-

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

-

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

-

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

-

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

-

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

-

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

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[louebel]

Hi! Can I request fluff Law x fem!reader where reader is feels sick but tries to ignore it/do things on her own (she’s not used to ask for help) but as a doctor law easily can tell by the signs and it happens during their sea journey on the polar tang? Hope I’m not asking too much love ya 🥺

Feel free to add angst or anything else to your writing ^•^

this is super old and the only request i'll ever do (atm) since i had a wip— ANON SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER <\3 reader is gn since i used the second person and no description.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: trafalgar law × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 6,124 wc. a bit angsty, ends with fluff, emotional reader for the sickness, law is bad at emotions. this turned longer than expected, i hope it's decent xdd hit me up if there's any mistakes lol. supposed to be called windows of the soul,, divider by @ benkeibear my lord and saviour. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: sickness overtook your body and worsened your already pitiful situation. law has been ignoring you and you have no idea why... but with how you felt, there was no way you could confront him at the moment.

scrub, scrub, scrub... 

"... phew ..." 

scrub... poof! 

"Oh! — damnit — aargh..." 

Cleaning today has been a nightmare. Never been so tedious. 

Like, it was already uninteresting compared to all the other things you could do, but today it was ten times worse. You could bear it, seeking to make dusting shelves fun by humming some random tune to yourself. It was okay, something you had to do every once in a while. You could do it. 

If only you weren't sick. 

"Achoo! Achoo! — urgh... Achooo..! Damn." 

You began feeling like this some days ago, or so you told yourself as you delicately hunched down to the floor, hoping to grasp the yellow sponge soaked in foam and water without experiencing excruciating pain. However, your hopes soon shattered as your back screamed in agony and your legs trembled with soreness, almost giving up on you. 

Just the flu, you insisted, it would go away. A couple of sneezes mean nothing. You would feel better and all would go back to the ordinary. 

... Oh, how wrong you were! And how stupid for not getting a day off. 

You were capable, though! You counted on your immune system (it sounded heroic the first time you thought of that). One night is all you needed. 

Or not. 

"Ow, ow..." 

You should've told your captain. Sure, it would cost your courage, pride, and dignity, but at least you'd be cured. You'd rather die than tell him you got sick because of the one herb he instructed everybody to avoid. 

What's worse is that he's been rather distant, and he's unquestionably avoiding you. The way he shoots daggers — no, whole machetes in your direction every time you do anything, smart or not, is so clear even the crew can see it. And the worst part? You do not know why. 

It had been like this for a while now, and you detested this whole plight with passion. Everything was okay between the two of you, you were sure of it! What did you do that spurred such a reaction? From one so dear to you? 

Those sweet memories... 

From new findings you excitedly presented him, to revealing himself, his past and adventures to you after almost a year of sailing. You knew everything about him. He knew everything about you. 

So why? Why stop so abruptly? You didn't mind when he digressed about his newfound coins. When he murmured under his breath while he pored over medical books or mulled about a particular topic. When he stressed over labor and called for a brief break, where you or the crew would attend to him by delivering him a meal or helping when he wasn’t looking. He's so stubborn.

"Uurgh..." 

From captain, to Law, to captain again. Not to mention how he deftly stopped you from hanging out with him. You thought he needed space at first. Maybe he was tired and had to rest for the next few days. That’s alright. However, your thoughts deteriorated as the days passed. But well, right now it's better if he doesn't see you at all. Nor the crew‌ — oh, the damn crew. Those two.

The "two" being the pair of nitwits that constantly stand by law's side and grin at you. Seriously... 

You do not understand what Penguin and Shachi find so amusing about your situation with him. It's a tragedy, not a comedy. You love them both, truly, the minute you stepped into the polar tang they were the first ones to get you to open up and all, but goodness, you wish you could beat them for sitting there, cackling and clapping their hands while confiding some mysterious comments to each other when la — the captain, showed up in the area and walked past you with an unreadable gaze. He'd constantly salute you and the others with a bow of his head or more, depending on his mood. 

Now? If he saw one inch of your form? 

Sigh. His face always went red. 

Why can't those two just tell you? Even Ikkaku seemed to know something you didn't. She was more subtle about it, though. Jean Bart wasn't slick either. You could see him smile from a mile away. Hakugan and Clione? Shachi and Penguin 2.0, except they hid behind Jean Bart. The rest pitied you instead, sometimes patting your back — sometimes shaking their head almost in disbelief. Oh, and Bepo gave you suspicious smiles! Every time he tried to say something to you, those two animal hat-wearing goblins silenced him. Did they just want you to suffer? 

And if they did want that then their curses were working because even after grabbing the sponge (almost losing your temper as it slipped through your gloved palm twice) and straightening back to an erect pose, your head was still banging with fervor, muscles barely reacting. 

If only you could snuggle with the fluffy, warm mink right now. A bitter sigh rushed past your lips at the thought. 

Those two were just so mean. But Law was much meaner — the captain, the captain... Yes, the captain. That... That dummy. 

You groaned and shook your head while forcing your wobbly arms to scrub the table, exhausted mentally with this never-ending train of thoughts and these fanciful fists leaving invisible bruises all over your poor body. Not to point out those hands pinching your brain like dough... 

Just — you... Goodness, what was it he suddenly despised so much? The submarine felt like home. It was home, especially when he joined you. Now when he does, he — the aura he emanates is intimidating, yet everyone is either unaware of it or not affected by it. 

What made him so resentful? You can barely say anything when he strides into the place, too panicked to learn how he would perceive you or talk to you if you go on. It's like you're back on step one, isolated, too scared to be yourself with your family. Because of one man who's supposed to be the head of it. 

Being you felt like a sin when close to him, as if he preferred the private variant of who you are, and shunned your curious and spirited self. You could understand since he’s rather closed off and well, in a certain aspect you are too, but — did he not like you at all? Was it all an act to not offend you? He didn't seem to dislike your vivid reactions initially, or your foolish gestures when nearing a fresh island. You were often silent, smiling and listening to others converse, but when around your companions, you easily liked to open up since it was the only time you could do so. And they were more than just that. You entrusted all the members of the heart pirates. They meant everything to you. Even him, who stopped including you. 

Ugh... 

You wished it could all go back to normal. 

This disease enjoyed fumbling with your previously scrambled sentiments. Law did mention it brought a high fever and emotional susceptibility. You didn't consider it'd be this severe. 

"... Okay, I'm done." 

You certainly weren't, with your bed unmade and furniture still dusty; floor imploring for a good wash. However, with the croaky voice you had paired with your runny nose, you doubted you could do more. Even if you did, it'd be better not to. 

You peered down at the bucket full of water that probably smelled better than you at the moment, ignoring the small puddle beside it made by your poor handling sponges skills. Grimacing, you decided to leave it where it was in case carrying it back turns out to be a challenge. Hopefully, Ikkaku can provide you help later. 

Looking around, your droopy eyelids dimmed your perspective and further provoked you as both exasperation and exhaustion mixed and boiled in your gut, room so messy it mirrored your current state. You didn't know what was irritating you more: the light of the lamp or the disarray you resided in. 

Howling dejectedly, you turned and plodded to your bed, opening your arms, ready to throw yourself on the mattress. The more you sleep, the sooner you'll get better. Yeah, you're so brilliant. You closed your eyes and — 

knock knock. 

— reopened them a second after, remaining immobile for an extra few before glowering at your door, contemplating whether to go open it or linger to determine if they'd leave. Hmm. 

You waited. 

... knock knock. 

Fantastic.

You gritted your teeth, drawing a profound breath to settle your nerves, haywire thanks to the hellish illness. They didn’t deserve to withstand your rage, but who knows, maybe by seeing your shape, they'll show sympathy and tell you. That could work. 

Okay. 

You sluggishly trudged to the door, not bothering to adjust your unbuttoned pajamas and faking a cheerful facade. You hoped your face didn't look too awful, but you couldn't care less right now. 

Gripping and twisting the knob, you pushed it open, greeting them with the feeblest voice you've ever had, your sore nose making it unthinkable to inhale air. You rubbed the back of your head while doing so, eyelids closed to evade any light. 

"Yo, Penguin, Shachi, how can I—" the words automatically came out of your coarse and blazing throat, opening your eyes a bit to look at... them... 

Then you saw a tattoo. And more tattoos. No white, poofy boiler suits in sight. 

By barely seeing light before, you tried giving yourself mercy, but now you were only slaughtering yourself to make sure the person in front of you was, well. Him. 

Your jaw fell while your brows lifted in consternation, but shortly returned down thanks to your declining headache. Your pupils then scaled the mountain of mass before you and arrived at the peak. Another pair of eyes. 

Cool, gray eyes. The ones that just a week ago welcomed you with compassion and comfort. Now they drive you to wither away from this world. Even if you look up to them. (Hehe, get it? man, you're so silly, wow.) 

"—help … Captain. Uh, hello." and there goes your comfort zone. 

You tried swallowing down air but got pounds of mucus down your stomach instead, curved posture closing up even more in his presence, ashamed to be seen in such a weak state, instantly regretting not managing your appearance as his gaze scrutinized you from top to bottom, probably displeased with how you presented yourself.. 

You looked everywhere but at him. He only looked at you. 

Envy spurted from the plant’s toxins. How could he focus on one thing and have so much confidence to stare at someone without breaking eye contact at all? If you do the same for longer than two seconds, it feels like whoever looked at you has seen your entire personality, life, darkest secrets that you didn't really have, closest people to you — everything in poor words. The windows of your soul, perpetually agape.

How does he keep them closed? Why can't you seal them at all? Why?— 

"—so care to explain the meaning of this?" 

"Huh?" 

You stupidly stared at him, blinking and glancing at his shoulders, then back at him to break whatever spell he put on you, not able to concentrate at all. 

Barely could you see the annoyed expression on his face. You hoped he wasn't dealing with excessive stress. Making him feel worse was not your intention. 

"I said, care to explain what this is? You look... terrible—" you cringed at that, "—and you haven't come out of your room since this morning. Do you have any idea what time it is?" His scrutinizing tone made you want to crawl under your blankets and stay there forever, but his patronizing gaze didn't let you. 

You could merely fidget with your fingers and glance back at the floor to relieve your worries, which mixed with pain, fatigue, and dirtiness. You called for sleep so badly. 

"I'm—I'm sorry, Captain. I, uh, I didn't—" sniff, "—mean to skip my duties. Sorry." 

His brow creased in suspicion at your raspy voice and poor shape. 

"Is that so? Look at me while you say it." if his words weren't menacing enough, his tone was too. He knew you couldn't do that. Especially now. 

"Uh..." you unconvincingly whispered, continuing to play with your fists, until rubbing your nape once more, shuddering at how chilled your hands were compared to it. 

Your actions were, again, spotted by him, and if one more thing occurred, then he'll be correct. 

"Well? I'm waiting." 

"..." 

Sighing exasperated, you raised your head to look into his pupils once again.  

Unbeknownst to you, he already confirmed another of his impressions while taking a further view of your sullen visage. 

"I, uhm, overslept, Captain. That — that happens sometimes, yeah? Sorry about that. I'll—I'll..." stopping for a moment, you squinted your eyes and scrunched your nose while the man before you attentively fixated his stare on your frame and— 

"Achooo!" —covered half of your face whilst he recoiled back at the loud sneeze you let out, not expecting it at all. He blinked, then you sneezed again, and again. Streak of three. 

If your voice and glossy eyes already told everything to the doctor, the continuous sneezes only reinforced his thesis. 

You exhaled haplessly as he sternly said your name. 

"You're sick." his firm and coherent words could not be fooled. Your fate was sealed. 

"...Yeah." at this point, you didn't care. He was gonna scold you, nothing you could do about it. You could only hope he'll do that after you're cured because right now, you could barely stand still without shivering. You were sure if he wanted to do something he would have already, so he definitely will have a talk with you after you're healthy. 

"Why?" you've been proven wrong so many times this morning — afternoon. Evening? That you don't know what's gonna happen next. 

You stared at him numbly, almost done with everything. 

"What do you mean 'why'? I don't, I don't know. Probably our... Ugh, our last stop, isn't that obvious—" 

"Not that. Why didn't you say anything? To the others? To me?" 

If it wasn't for your head beating incessantly and the aching of your tendons ruining everything, you would think this was a dream. 

You kept gawking at him like a goldfish. His timbre wasn't as stern as it regularly was. It was a bit, just a tad bit lower. Like, barely. His eyes were softer, and if you met the man yesterday, you wouldn't be capable of identifying his mood. It's because you knew him for so long that you could distinguish it. 

"I..." you mumbled talks under your breath, awfully feeble to maintain the discussion, barring your eyes and hitching away when Law planted his freezing hand on your forehead. You fussed in protest, although it didn't last long. 

"You're cold... Off." 

"My hands are perfectly fine. You're burning," he interrupted you, stating the obvious. But you were far too deep to listen, fatigued. 

"Yeah... M'sorry." you nodded while deliberately looking down in shame, almost dropping to the ground out of fatigue. Everything seems hazy, the pressure in your skull fading, while the breaths you took were meager. 

Something skimmed over your shoulder and nape — ah, his fingertips — palm carefully tilting your head back up. Your mouth hung open, and you attempted to focus on your captain's facial features and the iconic hat to not fall asleep. 

"It's fine." But his gentle approach and mellow maneuvers set you in a soothing trance, where you couldn't do anything other than auscultate him. 

It’d be an exceptional moment to speak up about these last days, his odd actions. 

"It... It is? You, ah... You're not..." but you struggled to do so, chest too heavy to speak. He narrowed his eyes, striving to make out what you were saying, but it was all incomprehensible to him. 

"I'm not?" he urged you to proceed, getting closer — he felt warm. Wasn't he cold some seconds ago? Ah, he’s draping his coat over your shoulders, so, so cozy, — and holding you as if you were glass. Why was he holding you? It felt nice, undoubtedly nice. Oh, you were going to fall, you think. 

“Hey—hey. It’s okay. I got you. I got you.” 

Cradling you in his arms, Law cursed and crouched down, snaking an arm under your knees and sweeping you up, a short "there" slipping from his tongue, keeping you close to his breast. Naturally, you snuggled close to the source of heat, losing consciousness, unaware of your surroundings, his distress, and jogging to the infirmary. 

“Hey. Keep your eyes open. No, no, open—yes, yes, like that. Good job. A bit more, then you can go to sleep, alright?" 

While nodding lazily when he said your name again, you curled up for more warmth, and he mellowly followed your movement, hefting you up and pressing his lips upon your forehead, his frown deepening at how high the temperature was. He needed to administer medicine quickly. 

"Law …'m sorry if I smell." 

He scoffed. Thinking of such idiotic things was exactly like you, sputtering them out so bluntly. Rolling his eyes was natural at this point. 

"That's my last concern. We'll think of your scent and hygiene later. Don't speak. Shh." 

So stupid, so stupid. He should've confronted you ever since you left the island. He should've. It's been a recurring pattern these days. He couldn't see you because of his work but spoke with the others at breakfast, lunch, dinner... They all grew concerned about your distance. Uni shared that it began right after the departing... He knew something wasn't right with you, he could feel it.

Back in that inhabited location, he quickly took note of your drooping posture and fatigued breathing. He wanted to ask about it, but the following days, you acted normal, and Law thought you were queasy because of the heat.

Then he got busy checking on the crew's documents, medicine supply, the damn broken scope Hakugan sadly reported, bounties, news — and something else. He managed to give a check-up to everyone but you. It was mandatory after leaving an island.

With you evading him and him doing the same, this happened. Great. He could only hope it wasn't contagious.

... Wait.

He gritted his teeth in sour realization — Not once has he seen you in the halls or dining hall. No one mentioned you, either. Have you eaten anything at all? Oh, you imbecile.

He palmed your skin through your suit, easing your laments and whimpers, walking through the hallways of the Polar Tang and reaching the infirmary. Kicking the door open while lulling you a bit, shushing and fluttering his eyelids at your sick and quaking form. 

"There we go. Shh, I know, I know, it's awful." 

Uplifting the blankets, he quickly covered you and began searching for his equipment, rustling and metal clicks tangling with your whines. 

"U- uuh... W- where..?" 

"I'll be there in a second. I'm here." 

As he said that, he quickly came back to you, already stirring medicine in a cup. He had to give to you before you blacked out or fell asleep. Sliding a hand under your back, he carefully pushed you up, gaining a groan from you; you sounded so tired. Tipping your head forward, he brought the rim of the cup to your lips. You were delirious, could barely see or feel, but managed to follow his direct instruction to "open". The first glass was tasteless, fresh... water. 

The second tasted awful. 

"E—eugh..." 

"A couple more sips and we're done. Come on, you're doing good." 

Once you drank it all, with a small praise from Law, he gently laid you back down, about to check your vitals. He knew you were in no condition to do as he instructed, it would be all him. Idiot, idiot... 

Just looking at you made him guilty. He never saw you this awful. However, what truly pushed him were your next phrases. 

“Do you feel better now..?” 

Low and dry, they all were. He halted his movements, his hands in the bag, shifting his attention to you. 

Your question puzzled him. 

Feel better? Him? He was fine. Perhaps you thought the disease was contagious? No; you would've phrased that diversely. His forehead creased, slightly tilted to the side. 

"What?" 

“I … I missed you." 

And as clear drops cascaded down your cheeks, his limbs froze, a bittersweet ache striking his chest. 

"I—I thought I did something wrong … I’m sorry … Should've told you. 'M sorry ... really...” 

Shit. 

“No, no, don’t be. It’s alright, don't—don't speak. You did nothing. Shh...” 

And if you stayed conscious for some more seconds, you could've seen those severe pupils mitigate. The windows of his soul open up; the "stern" gaze he preserved for you withering in an instant at your vulnerability. 

All he wanted to do was clear that up. When, now..? 

“I—I’m the one that should’ve apologized, damn it…” 

"Aargh..." 

Warm. 

"Mmh..." 

It was very warm. Pleasant. 

"Hn..." 

The boilersuit felt different. Heavier, and not … poofy. Hm. 

The pillow was so nice, though... 

You sought a better position under the comforting and amiable regime of your blanket, squinting your glistening eyes as if sand had struck them; eyebrows knitting in distaste and discomfort, choler cramming up your insides — but not for long, extremely achy and sleepy to lament. 

Shouldn't it be easier to relax now that you are tired? Shifting left and right left your muscles throbbing. The peace you could achieve in your dreams was all you begged for. But no, you just had to rise two more times in the span of minutes or hours. 

When you woke up the third time, someone surprised you. He was perching on a chair near the infirmary's bed, head, presumably about to doze off. An encyclopedia of vegetation and exotic environs sat in his palms and dotted jeans, the cover made of green-coloured leather, firm to the touch. 

He looked peaceful. 

"... Law?" 

Your lashes fluttered at the fierce shudder that rocked his frame, the textbook about to fall, his eyes snapping open and rapidly darting up to you. 

"Oh. You woke up. Good. Good evening." 

You were mad at him. You were mad at him. 

His lips were indubitably moving. Whatever he was saying, you were not listening. Something about being out for hours, but you were too out of it to pay attention. 

And looking down at your body, your eyeballs almost popped out of your sockets at the sight of... Not your boilersuit. 

"I'm in my pajamas?" 

"And — hm? Oh. I changed you." Pause. "With my devil fruit, of course. Obviously. You were way too hot in it." 

"..." 

"..." 

Pause number two. 

"I'm hot?" You bluntly said,

"Not in that way." And he quickly retorted, bashful. You immediately got gloomy.

"Oh..." You and Bepo were alike. He couldn’t help but sweatdrop.

"No, no, no, don't — you look fine. That's not what I meant." 

A hoarse chuckle ripped from your sensible larynx, a noise that he hadn't heard in a while. His back loosened at your jovial note, the pressure applied on the envelope of the manual lessening. 

There was a superb illustration of the flora you accidentally whiffed. 

"You inhaled it, didn't you?" 

... Silence followed. Then a sigh.

"A simple allergy with a sore throat and emotional instability in the first phase caused by the pollen, weakened muscles and headache in the second, and heightened senses, nausea, and worsening of the body in the last one. You felt them all." 

Quick and precise, each symptom he mentioned appeared throughout the weeks you boarded on the Polar Tang. He hit the mark. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you nodded sheepishly, feeling hot in your cheeks. 

"Y—Yeah." 

"I thought I mentioned dodging those peculiar red flowers. I don't expect you to recall the name, but to avoid it. Thankfully, you only inhaled its pollen, or else you would've been in this bed the moment we departed." 

"O—oh... That bad?" 

"No, not really. The symptoms would've developed quicker, but nothing dangerous. Perhaps you would have slept over two days, as all cases do when encountering this allergy," He narrows his eyes at you, shutting the book and crossing his long legs, his foot jouncing. "Not at all fatal, only worrying when the patient in question mentions nothing about the symptoms and overworks themselves.” 

“Hey—” 

“You're fine." 

A small huff left your lips, nodding lazily. Nothing was uttered after from both sides. Occasional groans from yours. Only then he spoke. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"..." The answer was simple. He immediately found the illness yet couldn't pinpoint the cause of this? It was almost ironic. Your quietude wasn't taken well. 

"Well?" 

"... You ignored me. You made it clear." 

And he was faking ignorance. That glance, his attitude. You knew him too well, but had no energy to call him out. 

"I—I didn't." 

"Don't play coy, Law. Did I do something? Even the others know. Penguin and Shachi told me. I—" 

You paused when he raised his hand, glancing at it in confusion, then back at him, twice or more. He sighed and dropped it back on his thigh again, using his other one to rub his temple in distress. 

"You did nothing. I don't know what... Shachi and Penguin said," You tilted your head at his peculiar manner of quoting them. "But I've got nothing against you." 

He stopped rubbing and lifted his head to check on you again and you were unsure of what to say. His brows wrinkled the tender skin of his forehead, severity, and minor unease painting every fiber of his appearance. 

You just... didn't know. 

"Really? Then why those weird stares? Why leave the room the moment I come in? I mean." you flailed your hands around, looking everywhere as if you could find an explanation. "You never behaved this way, Law, not with anyone. I... It was fine before, right? Let me ask again, did I do something wrong?" 

"Of course not!" 

At his hasty exclamation, you blinked, uncertain why he became as rigid as stone. Palms back on the blanket, you awaited an elaboration of his thoughts, observing his adumbral face to detect any key to figure out what caused him to alter his ways with you. However, his hat, which you've always appreciated for its fluffiness, turned out to be an issue. Those eyes you've grown so fond of refused to meet yours. 

You just couldn't get it. The surrounding air grew an intoxicating no romance book would mention, one that did the contrary of setting your heart aflame, that poor muscle of yours. 

If he explained, it would've been easier. 

"Okay, 'of course not' ... Sure—" 

"We are not having this conversation. You need rest." 

He briskly cut you off, and your heart felt constricted. The words felt bitter upon both of your tongues, so bitter and revolting, they made his jaw clench and your eyes water. You weren't having it. Absolutely not. 

"I feel better now, thank you, and I say we're having this right here." You pushed, ignoring how he clenched his tattooed fist.

"No—" 

"Yes, Law! I don't know what I did, but if it bothers you, shouldn’t you tell me? There are things we can all miss." 

The pang in your brain was still active, and you had no patience nor strength to argue. Either he spoke up or you'd go straight to sleep. 

"I... You did nothing that bothers me." 

His speech was almost a whisper, a low rumble, and were you in your regular state, you'd feel sad to see him like this. Law had no trouble speaking up— perhaps with apologies, or admitting to be wrong when in the midst of a conversation. Maybe something genuinely bothered him. But he'd tell you, wouldn't he? He had to.

But you weren't the only one who had to consider the consequences. He also had to do his part. 

"... And?" you encouraged him, to gain something, something that would lead you both to that damned thing you were both chasing, that ounce of understanding. 

“And—and what?" alas, it served another wave of blistering dissatisfaction down upon the membranes of your boiling stomach. 

He couldn't be serious. 

"... Whatever. I'm going to sleep." 

"What?" 

You detested how you were feeling, a volcano of passions, the pounding in your skull, and the heat, and the ludicrous, nagging insecurity, all these wretched, gristly sensations shoved in your mouth and scraping your gullet, such a relucting and squalid dish, contaminating your palate and inflaming the gums of your teeth. 

But all Law could see was how your eyes moistened and reddened, the crinkles at the corners of your mouth, the contracted tissues above your nose. 

You couldn't feel how his heart plummeted, either. Again, he caused you to cry. 

"Hey... I—" 

"No, Law, no! I said leave! You ignored me for almost two weeks and now—now you're just..!" 

Perhaps you were being a bit too "dramatic" for something you could solve with a modest exchange, something that, compared to all the obstacles you and Law went through, was a sheer grain of dust in your shoes. Yet you erupted for the frustration, the plant's effects and that nameless thing you'll bring in your grave, for if he knew, he'd probably pity you. 

Maybe, just maybe, he should've kept ignoring you. If solely to dim that warmth. The glow in your eyes that only sparked with him. 

"I don't mind if you need time. I don't mind if you're busy or whatever, that's obviously fine! But can't you tell me? Is it that hard? Instead of treating me like a stranger? Just—just, just leave..." 

Your snotty voice seemed ridiculous, resounding through the infirmary alongside your sobs and sniffles. Vision tarnished by your tears, staring at the ceiling with resignation. It alarmed Law, whose emotions were already scattered; unnerved, anxious. 

He couldn't take seeing you like this. He couldn't. 

"That’s not it! I... I just — I..!" His broken explanations fell as your cries didn't stop; spasms traveling through your frazzled nerves. He swore under his breath, getting up and coming to you, standing close but so, so distant. His fingers jerked, impatient to wipe your tears, to calm you down, to assure you everything was alright, and this was all on him. 

"What..?" you meekly whimpered, gazing at him as he appeared in your sight. 

"I, I..!" if only he could express himself. You'd figure out. If only he could, without buckling and tearing apart at the weight of his own feelings. 

"... You what, Law?" 

It was tough to see with all those tears coating your scleras, but... His lips quivered. His jaw tensed. 

His hands craved yours. 

"I like—I like you!" 

... You wondered if illusions were part of the symptoms. Your eyelids were all but relaxed. Popeyed. 

"There. I said it. I mean it. Seriously. I—I think I love you." 

You could feel his frantic grip, slightly pulling the blankets in his direction, tense as him. You've never seen Law so … jittery with you. Perhaps when he slowly spoke of his past, or when his plan failed. 

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I... I was confused. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't... No, okay. I, I love you, but you don't have to reciprocate, really. ‌I just wanted to clarify that I wasn't—" 

This was different, however. Not the same vulnerability, nor agitation. That teetering edge coating his sayings, not at all close to those instances. 

"... Law." 

"—ignoring you, I mean, I was, but I just couldn't face you, you know? I didn't know how to act—" 

That glow, those feelings. The twinkle in his eyes Bepo mentioned when you spoke of something that fascinated you, that rare grin on his lips, and that sweetness, the swelling in his chest, and the red, and the breath of fresh air, and the intoxicating romance books loved to talk about... 

Those tints blooming in his cheeks. The faint relaxation of his defined brows. How he covered his pretty, vulnerable self. 

He's no different from you. Oh, oho ho, no, he wasn’t. Only now did you realize. 

"Law." 

"—but I missed you so much, I missed your presence, being with you, I—" 

Your heartbeats matched. 

"Law!" 

You understand now. The definitive yell induced him to quit his blabbering, and eventually, he found your gaze. Those windows were not locked at all. Not marginally, not halfway. They were fully open. You could see him. 

"It's... the same." 

It was all you could utter. His jaw loosened, and you could recognize his wide, stormy irises. 

"Huh? Wh — what?" 

"I feel the same way, Law. I—I love you too." 

Yours were open, too. They always were- yet he never acknowledged what dwelled inside. Two fools you both were. 

"... Oh..." and a breathless whisper was all he could offer. 

The silence dissipated. A delightful warmth occupied your rib cage. The pressure was gone. 

All is back to normal. 

"If... If you weren't sick. I'd kiss you." He mumbled, and his lips looked more luscious than ever. He shouldn't have said that. Now it was even harder. 

"P—pfft... Of course, of course. Can you come closer, at least?" you pouted, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster. “Pretty please?”

"... Fine. It's — not contagious, anyway," he huffed, his cheeks a light pink, and he sat on the margin of the infirmary's bed, hustling just a tad bit closer... 

Closer... 

"Closer?" 

"Alright." 

His ears grew pink at your giggles. Your fingers graced each other, "DEATH" entwined with you. His hands were lukewarm. Long, slim, calloused in some places, but also tender to the contact. His metacarpals were partially discernible, defining the shadows. He took care of his nails, ensuring they were cut short, although they appeared slightly, just somewhat lengthier than usual. Not considerably, however; they were still short. 

How you missed holding it. 

"Sorry, by the way. About everything." Squeezing his hand, you attempted to show him what it meant to you. He squeezed it back, brushing the top of your hand with his thumb, a pensive and solemn look on his face. 

"No- I should apologize for not saying anything sooner. I neglected and avoided you. I … I don’t know what to do. You know I’m not the type for relationships.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement, but weren't as worried as Law. You'll wait. Nothing would change. 

“Mmm. I can wait for you, Law.” Saying it seemed to take him off guard, as if he hadn't thought about it. Or, rather, didn't expect you to propose it. In his head, it seemed silly because it's him. If you were to ask in his place, he'd also wait. 

He felt lighter. 

“… Truly?” 

“Yeah. We can figure it out together. Like we always did. I’ve loved you for years." He inhaled deeply, your words buttery and sweet. "I’m fine with waiting longer.” 

Thinking you wouldn't accept, if he asked, was stupid of him too. Of course you would. Of course. With another squeeze, he nodded, and turned his head away from you a bit. 

His eyes glistened. 

“I’d like that. Thank you.” 

You smiled, too, saying nothing in return. 

He can take all the time he needs. 

After some days, everything went back to the typical routine. The first thing you did was knock Shachi and Penguin's heads, (supported by Ikkaku) and since Hakugan and Clione were on duty, you couldn't do the same for them. 

You puffed your cheeks and enjoyed chewing the well-earned treat you snagged from the kitchen, reorganizing boxes since this morning. 

"Tired?" 

Peeking at the door, a smile adorned your mouth at the sight of your captain leaning on it. 

"Mm, there were a lot of them." 

"You could've asked for help. You know I don't want any of you to strain yourselves with tasks." 

"I had it. Don't worry. Although..." another bite. "I miss it." 

"Hm?" he crooned, tipping his head forward. "Miss what?" 

You gazed into his eyes, "Miss getting pampered by you when I was sick." lovingly observing how they enlarged a bit before returning to the stoic stare he always wore, swaying his head to dismiss your remarks. The chambré tint on his cheeks was as clear as day, like his light smile. Not that you'd tell him, he'd immediately disregard it. 

"... Meet me at my office once you're done." 

As he turned his back to you, his boots making clicky rumors with each step, your smirk amplified... After all, who could wait to get coddled by none other than their favorite captain?

[thatdeadaquarius]

Imagine a horribly clumsy creator in the sagau... like trips over their own feet, starts coughing due to choking on air randomly, knocking a vase off a table that was in the middle of the table somehow???? Silly goofy stuff like that (I pull these silly goofs often personally)

(obv goes w/o saying sorry for being so late to reply /gen) ;-;

clumsy reader is so me core idk why i didnt think of this lmao

(this gif is liek the modern equivalent of Charlotte posting ur embarrassing clumsy moments on insta Steambird acc lmao)

(so sometimes im lazy and dont include the ask stuff esp if its shorter like this, so here's at least the characters in this one: Fontaine ppl <3 along with a G for general audience, barring cuss words)

Navia would politely ask you to go the edge or whatever area ur in whenever she pulls out her cannons/guns LMAO

every time you and either Clorinde or Neuvillette are walking next to you, or doing rlly anything, its like night and day

ur out here finding all the cracks in the sidewalk, bumping everything that could even possibly have a liquid in it, and have constant bruises from hip checking/stubbing toes on mechas walking around

Clorinde is impressed at that point bc mechas are actively programmed to get out of your way, so how u managed to put them back into ur way rlly fascinates her 😭😭

Neuvillette would like to wrap u in fabric/bubble wrap equivalent for his old ass, in an attempt to desperately stop u from hurting urself lol

u get a new coat or new pants from him all the time, u just thought at first he was rlly into giving u Fontaine fashion until Furina pointed out that it was spring/summer and you wouldn't wear thick woolen pants and fur-lined coats everyday 💀

(poor dragon guy doesn't rlly get the practical side of clothes, he likes fashion, but he inadvertently subscribes to the "hoes don't get cold" philosophy by being an ancient dragon lord)

Wriothesley is unfortunately nice enough to constantly try and catch his poor god, which ends well for neither of you 50% of the time

its not even ur weight takes him down, he's buff as hell after all, and he's dealt with rowdy inmates, its just.. ur clumsiness spreads.

if ur tripping, and the poor Duke reaches out to catch you, ur reaching out at the same time to steady urself on a side table w/a vase full of water, which u then knock off, drenching ur back and his face at the same time LMAO

he doesn't learn, despite u literally begging him to stop trying to help u, then u try and compromise to just let u fall and help u afterward asdfghkl-

Wrio's too chivalrous tho, the most u can get him to do is always grab ur arm instead of trying to bodily catch you

if u think after the first like, ✌️ TWO times Lynette is willing to help you, u r so wrong lmao

she's seen her brothers clumsiness, she knows theres no saving u

she does comfort u after slipping (not even falling but just flailing dramatically) for the 5th time in the puddles around water fountains tho

Lyney and Freminet are lowkey legit convinced someones cursed their god atp 😰

Freminet always had bandaids for u, and Lyney keeps a supply of ur fav candy to cheer u up after embarrassing urself by falling ass backwards right into the Fountain of Lucine right in front of Opera house lmao

...

...Charlotte thinks this is all vv hilarious, no she has no respect for ur godliness, her archon was Furina like LMAO- IM SORRYYY

(she has started a small section in the steambird of a near daily- DAILY picture of u being clumsy 😭)

(u, not srsly, threaten to smite her and she just giggles)

(its ok they take it all in a cute/endearing trait type of way)

☆

again, sorry for lateness, when i reopen askbox (soon, FINALLY-)

ill try and stay more on top of it and try and sort whatre just chats/non-requests better too 😭😭

hope u guys are having a good week!! tysm for being patient and nice to me :')

Safe Travels Kai,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit / @chinuneko / @silvers-tongue

@kiyomi-uchiha777

<3

[transmasc-rose]

I'm thinking about the horror of the Doctor from the perspective of non-companions again, especially as it relates to people those companions know.

Rose? "Ran away" (not wrong) for "a year" (a week) with a "man" (alien) "twice her age" (approximately 50 times her age but yeah, he is Time Lord middle aged), and then gives absolutely no explanation for how or why that happened, except that she was "travelling".

Then when her mum does get an explanation (which, frankly, is only comforting because of the unfamiliarity of the alternative given. The devil you know.), Rose barely checks back in.

She almost dies for him. When she thinks he's dead, she's changed in a way her family doesn't know how to handle. Then she's gone for who knows how long and comes back with the Doctor wearing a new face.

When her original tenure as a companion ends, and Rose lives in Pete's World, she works for Torchwood/UNIT (they become the same organization). She volunteers for the Dimension Cannon. She explains to the alternate earth how to rig up a time machine.

She's changed in ways that no one else can really understand.

Amy? There's everything with River Song of course (though I'm still not there in my viewing), him running away with Amy the night before her and Rory's wedding, and also the connection between the Doctor and the Time Crack being the reason all of Amy's family's dead. Obvious stuff.

However he's also the strange man who broke into this child's house and made a mess of her life that she never got over, that promised to take her away from here, that she wrote about and drew and carved and made her friends dress up as.

And they sent her to psychiatrist after psychiatrist without any help. In their perspective, to work through what she imagined. In her perspective, to tell her that her reality wasn't real.

And then he comes back.

And to some extent, later, when he shows himself to everyone, isn't that more frightening? That the story your child told you, of the strange man she met as a child, of time travel, of nearly being stolen away, hadn't been a lie, or a misinterpretation, or an imagining?

And so he shows up at her wedding. And steals her away again.

Donna I feel like has the least horror until her final episode. I think exploring the in between section of her meeting the Doctor and finding him again would be interesting, but not exactly horror. More an exploration of how obsessive the companions can get about him, how it eats their whole lives with even one encounter, even as it makes them better people.

And then, obviously, the horror of having your mind altered and erased against your will by someone you trusted. For your own good, of course. Because he knows best. How could you know better than him? He's ancient. He's practically all knowing.

Shouldn't you be grateful?

(And he's forgiven.)

[janearts]

okay but what is the state of astarion's kidneys? what has roisia observed in regards to astarion's kidneys? i must now know!

[Anon is referencing this post.]

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Who knows? Roisia's observations below the read-more.

[Just a wee reminder that I'm not a medical professional. Take everything I say below with a grain of salt as I am just as likely to be flat out wrong. I also want to acknowledge that I'm mixing in some stereotypical vampire traits with what we can figure out about vampires in BG3.]

Roisia believes that Astarion has a partially functioning cardiovascular system. That is to say, he certainly contains blood. He bruises and he bleeds. He can even perish from exsanguination himself. He can experience erections (presumably, anyway). Why he doesn't have a heartbeat is beyond her. Does his blood just sit stagnant in his arteries and veins? What the hell is going on in there?

In the living, kidneys form a pivotal function: they filter the waste (urea) in your blood and create urine to be expelled from the body via the bladder. They also perform a critical function by regulating the blood in your body (volume, pressure, acidity, etc.).

So Roisia knows, for example, that the average medium-sized humanoid has roughly 5 litres of blood in them. The kidneys make sure you stay at whatever level is natural for you, because excessive fluid will increase the pressure on your arterial walls. So the question for Roisia becomes: if Astarion drinks blood to excess, would he experience hypertension or bloating? Or perhaps both? Or maybe neither?

In some form or fashion, the waste that Astarion intakes (e.g., if you're into the vampire version of menstruation sexy times, if he drinks from Roisia's external jugular, etc.) or generates through his own bodily functions needs to be expelled. Does he piss it out? Does he sweat it out? Does he vomit it out? Does it misty escape out of his body while he rests?

The answer could simply be: the waste is magicked out of his body and that's that. If Roisia knew that Astarion urinates, then she would assume his kidney is probably functioning to some degree. If his urinary system is non-functioning, then she would be curious as to how the critical functions mentioned above are managed or if they're even necessary at all for the undead.

TL;DR: Roisia would likely have some sort of idea, but I (IRL) don't have the information I feel I need to even hazard a guess. And I must say questions like this would make Roisia want so very, very badly to take a peek at his insides or at the insides of any vampire or vampire spawn. She is not a Dark Urge character, but that is her dark urge born from an insatiable curiosity to figure out how people—living, dead, or undead—work.

Bonus Points:

Roisia would answer her own questions above with the following theories:

Digestive system could be partially functional if the blood that is consumed is sent to the stomach and then absorbed in whole or in part through the digestive process.

Respiratory system is also likely partially functional. I.e., Astarion can use his lungs (to speak or sigh, for example), but neither a vampire nor a vampire spawn requires air.

Endocrine system is likely no longer functional. (This is my own headcanon so Roisia doesn't have to worry about an unwanted pregnancy.) She knows that the endocrine systems of a Vampire lord are likely somewhat functional due to the existence of Dhampyr. His colder body temperature could be the result of the lack of function of the hypothalamus.

Integumentary system is likely functional to a certain degree. E.g., vampires and vampire spawn are naturally regenerative, but if you were to shave Astarion bald, would his hair grow back to the way it was prior to his death? Skin also helps with temperature regulation and provides a barrier from UV radiation, so it may not be fully functional if his body is a colder temperature and is extremely sensitive to sunlight. (Are his melanocytes dysfunctional or dead?)

Lymphatic system is likely functional to some degree. This would assist the blood consumption + waste removal processes, presumably. It's a bit of a stretch, but since Astarion can experience a diseased condition type (e.g., Flesh Rot, Contagion), perhaps surviving that (after 25 turns) could be spun as an indication of a non-magical immune response?

[reignof-fyre]

I'm gonna say it: it's aemond's own fault he lost his eye in both the show and the book. Both times, he snuck out to claim vhagar. In the show, he wasn't stopped. In the book, three year old Joffrey Velaryon was with his dragon because he was an early riser and told Aemond to stay away from Vhagar, so Aemond - who was much older - pushed little three year old Joffrey over and, in his fear of being caught because he knew he was doing something his parents would like, claimed Vhagar and flew her for the first time.

Baby Joffrey, all of three years old, then of course runs to get his big brothers, likely crying and terrified. Because he's, y'know, A BABY.

In the show, Aemond claims Vhagar and with arrogance and smugness returns to the castle, high on the fact that he'd just claimed Vhagar, uncaring of how rude/insulting it may have been to claim Vhagar on the night of her previous riders funeral, like A NORMAL PERSON.

When, in the show, Rhaena and Baela confront Aemond with Luke and Jace, they're clearly upset. Their mother has just died, its her funeral, and their last tether to her - Vhagar - has been claimed by Aemond. They say he stole her, and while dragons can't be stolen, he did use underhanded tactics to obtain her and bond with her. And his haughtiness afterwards, towards the daughters of the woman whose dragon he just claimed, is what makes the altercation his fault.

Baela, upset: Vhagar is my mother's dragon!

Aemond, uncaring: Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now.

Rhaena: she was mine to claim!

Aemond: then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.

Rhaena then hits Aemond, provoked into this by his cruel words and actions. Was it right? No. But it's literally the night of her mums funeral, Vhagar has been claimed by someone who clearly doesn't care about her mother, and he just insulted her. Aemond pushes Rhaena to the ground, so Baela slaps him in defense of her sister, and he punches her in the face.

Aemond: come at me again and I'll feed you to my dragon!

Now aemond is threatening to murder his cousins, which is par for the course for hid character. He always had kinslaying in him.

The fight devolves even more, and Jace and Luke get involved, defending their cousins. Luke, a little kid, is whacked and shoved to the ground, so Jace jumps in. Then Baela decides to help, and she and Luke - both of them younger and smaller - start wailing on Aemond (u go kids).

Aemond kicks Luke off of him, throws Baela off, and stands only to grab Luke - only five - by the throat and hold a rock over his head and threaten him.

Aemond: you will die screaming in flames just as your father did, bastard.

Luke, terrified and upset: my father is still alive!

Aemond, amused: he doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong.

This is when Jace pulls his knife, literally the size of my thumb, and attacks. Jace us quickly unarmed by Aemond, who is still holding the rock, and Luke sees the blade. Aemond holds the rock over them, smirks at Rhaena and Baela, then gets sand thrown in his face and Luke slashes at him wildly, not even aiming for his eye, just aiming to stop Aemond from hurting Jace and himself and his cousins, because at this point Luke has heard death threats, and seen Aemond take on him and the other three easily and win, so of bloody course this terrified little boy used a weapon to defend himself when it became necessary.

After, Alicent makes the situation about her because she's a poor uwu baby (gag me with a chainsaw, I loathe her) and attacks Rhaenyra as though Rhaenyra and her kids were in the wrong? Gurl.

Aemond will then go on to use him losing his eye as an excuse to use his war dragon to chase fourteen year old Luke on tiny baby Arrax and have the FUCKING AUDACITY to look shocked when it went wrong? Aemond is still at fault for Luke's death even if "he didn't mean it" or "he lost control" (he's not a true dragon lmfao)

In the book, Joffrey - who is three - returns with Jace and Luke, who grabbed wooden swords - they won't help against Vhagar bbys - in defense of their brother.

Despite it being three on one, Aemond was winning the fight until Luke slashed him, and good thing he did otherwise Aemond wouldn't have stopped in my opinion. He'd have kept going, beating the boys to bloody pulps. It was stable-boys who had to end the fight, where were the guards? Cole was probably simping over alicunt tbh.

Also, Alicent was the first to demand Luke's eye in recompense for Aemond losing his soz not soz ya uwu Queen is a cunt heh

Aemond will then, years later, attack Luke because of this and kill him and start the Dance of Dragons in full because not only did he cause the events that took his eye, but also the worst war in history, all because he's a little bitch baby sociopath with genocidal tendencies lmfao

Also, Aemond got off lightly, merely losing his eye - do u know what the punishment is for people who attack a princes' daughters and the heir to the throne sons? Calling them bastards, which is treason!!!! Death. Bitch shit should be exuberant that he merely lost an eye. Unfortunately viserys is a bitch and didn't send Aemond to the Wall like Jaehaerys would have for fucking real lol

[dragon-kazansky]

When the raven calls

Morpheus x Female Reader

You, his raven, die protecting Jessamy while rescuing the Dream Lord. When Morpheus returns to his realm, he mourns your loss, only to find a stranger waiting for him in his throne room. The stranger claims to be you, now in human form. He doesn't understand, but his raven will always watch over him.

{Masterlist}

{Next Chapter}

Notes: This story will follow the series on Netflix. This is separate from my other fic that I wrote. This plot was given to me by @missdreamofendless 💕

Chapter One - Loyal little raven

☆☆☆

You are perched on the steps looking up at your king. Lord Morpheus was about to leave the Dreaming in search of a Rogue nightmare. It was very rare this happened, and he didn't often visit the waking world. There were many dangers in doing so.

However, you knew your king and knew he could handle this. You just wished he would permit you to go with him. You look up at him with your beady raven eyes.

"You are coming back, aren't you?" You ask.

"Why would I not return?"

"I don't know... I just have a bad feeling about this. You know what he's like. Wouldn't it be better if I went with you? Just to keep an eye on things?"

"No. I won't be long. Wait for me here." Morpheus gazes at you. You sigh and nod your head once.

"Fine."

Lucienne looks concerned, too, but doesn't voice it. She stands with her hands clasped together, looking up at him. You fly from the stairs and land on her shoulder.

Lord Morpheus put his helm on. He leaves for the waking world, surrounded by his sand. He's gone just like that.

Lucienne looks at you. "Come join me in the library while we wait."

"Yeah, okay..."

You fly on ahead. You knew Lord Morpheus could more than handle himself, but you're just not sure today was the best day. You've had a bad feeling from the start. Just the terrible thought something would go wrong.

You wanted to be proven wrong.

In an hour or so, you were certain he would return with The Corianthian in tow. All would be well again.

Lucienne took a seat at her desk and began to go through her books. You landed on the edge and decided to help the best you could. Jessamy even came by to help, too. Lucienne was adamant about keeping you both busy until Dream's return. She was good like that.

So good, in fact, that several hours passed before you were done. It was only when the last book was on the shelf that you realised a whole day passed and your king had yet to make an appearance.

Lucienne realised too.

"Why hasn't he come back yet?" You ask, looking up at her.

"I don't know. I'll go search for him."

"I'm coming too."

Lucienne knows there is little sense in arguing with you. With you flying over her, she makes her way around the palace. She asks residents and staff if they have seen any sign of their king. No one had an affirmative response.

The fact that if he had returned and not immediately came in search for you was the biggest worry. Lucienne knew you were his most trusted confidant.

You were very clearly worried about him. She could hear Jessamy trying to come up with reasons why he may be late. They weren't helping much, but you also didn't seem to mind her doing so.

The throne room is the last place you both check. By then, you have lost all hope. You land on his throne. The librarian can see from your behaviour how dejected you are.

"I'm sure he's fine."

Her reassurance is appreciated, but not quite enough to cheer you up. Your king was still gone and worry had settled within your feathers.

All you could do was wait.

☆☆☆

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Months turned into years. Lord Morpheus had not returned to his kingdom. The residents of the Dreaming had become divided by his disappearance. A majority of them left, either to search for their lost king, or because they believed he had abandoned them.

You never thought such a thing. He would not abandon his home, his people, his responsibility. He took pride in being the dream lord.

You waited every single day.

The mkre time that passed, the more you wondered what coukd have happened. Something had clearly gone very wrong. Had The Corianthian hurt him? No. Despite being a nightmare who ran away, you didn't believe he would be Dream's demise.

"Where are you, sir?" You curl up in your wings, just wanting him to be safe.

Sleepy sickness set in among the mortals. Some either could no longer sleep or would not wake up from sleeping. They were suffering now that the Sandman was gone.

Lucienne stayed in the Dreaming. She was loyal as anything. Jessamy also stayed, wishing her beloved king would return.

Then there was you. You would never abandon your beloved Dreaming. Your home was here. All the centuries spent serving Lord Morpheus meant more to you than anything. You were his loyal raven.

Sleep eluded you. You could not rest without his presence in the kingdom. Lucienne had noticed from the day he disappeared that you could no longer sleep. She worried about you. Most of your days were spent in the throne room waiting.

Jessamy would do daily tours around the now crumbling kingdom to search for any signs he might be back. So far, nothing.

Your hope was dwindling.

A few more years pass, and there is still no sign of him. You had been badly affected by his absence. Lucienne was even more worried about you. The bond you shared with Lord Morpheus was much more than just two companions working together. There was clearly an invisible bond that tied you both together, and it was breaking the longer he was gone.

Jessamy started to visit the waking world. Lucienne wasn't so sure about letting her go, but she eventually caved in. Jessamy was doing this for your sake. She was worried about you too.

For the longest time, she came back with no news. Then, one day, in England, she caught wind of an interesting conversation. A supposed demon trapped in a basement.

Rodrick Burgess. A magic user, apparently. Insanely rich and powerful. Jessamy had gone to investigate where he lived.

She could feel him. She could feel Lord Morpheus close by. She had never flown home so fast before. She immediately went to Lucienne, who no longer had a library. It had vanished over the years along with most of the Dreaming.

"Lucienne! Lucienne!"

The librarian looks up and sees Jessamy flying in at high speeds. She goes in for a landing and stumbles. She's too excited to slow down right now.

"I've found him!"

"What?" Lucienne looks at the raven in confusion. Her mind went straight to her finding something on their king, but that can't possibly be true.

"I've found him!" Jessamy says, her voice full of hope.

"You have found the Dream lord?"

"Yes!" Jessamy flaps her wings.

"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely certain. I felt him. He's being trapped in a basement under a manorhouse." Jessamy explains.

Lucienne looks up. "We must tell her."

Jessamy nods her little head and takes flight again. She flies right toward the throne room. Lucienne does her best to keep up with the raven.

The throne room doors open, and Jessamy flies in, heading right for the throne. You lift your head to look at her as she comes over. She seems happy.

"I've found him!" She tells you.

You stare at her. Lucienne approaches the stairs and looks up at you. "Jessamy believes she has found Lord Morpheus."

You look back at Jessamy, who nods at you. "He's being kept prisoner."

You stand up and stretch your wings. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Are you sure you wish to go?" Lucienne asks.

"At the very least, I need to know where he is. Jessamy can come with me. If we can free him, we shall."

"Very well. Return soon. I do want to lose either of you as well."

Both you and Jessamy nod and take flight. You follow her. Lucienne watches you both go, wishing that all goes well.

☆☆☆

You land in the tree with Jessamy and look down at the fancy house. It's huge. Clearly, this Rodrick Burgess is wealthy. However, you hate the man with a passion.

Just like Jessamy could, you sense the presence of your king. He is here. You are certain it is him. You try and seek that connection you share with him, but it's weak. Still, you hope he felt you trying to get through to him.

"He's definitely here." You say.

"Yes. I'm certain of it."

"What do you know of this house?"

"Not a lot. Many people come and go. There are guards everywhere. However, I think if we can get inside, we can definitely work out a plan and get in there. I am certain he is being kept below the house."

"So we just need to find a way to him." You take a good look at the house.

"Should we go back and make a plan with Lucienne?" Jessamy asks.

"No." You look at the door of the house. "If he's here, I want to rescue him as soon as we can. I say we go for it."

"Are you sure?" She asks, uncertainty in her voice.

"I've never been more of anything. We can do this together. Let us go and see what they have done to him."

Jessamy nods and lets you take the lead into the house. You fly down and through the front doors. You find somewhere to land and examine the house.

There aren't that many people inside, it seems. Jesssamy comes up with a plan to start a fire. You watch her fly into the office. She sets the room ablaze. Jessamy rejoins you, and you wait. You follow her gaze to what you assume is the basement door. It's got its own security system. The door opens, and two people come out. Both you and Jessamy instantly fly through it.

The door leads to some dark stairs. You both go in and land on the rungs of the gate inside.

You almost can't believe it.

There he is. Lord Morpheus. He's completely naked and trapped in a class cage. His eyes find yours, and he slowly stands. You feel relief as you see him. You and Jessamy fly over to the glass cage. Morpheus raises his hand to where you fly above him. You would cry if you could.

Jessamy starts tapping into the glass as hard as she can. You realise she's trying to break it. You snap back to reality and join her. Both of you fly into the glass as hard as you can. Dream watches you. If you can break the glass, he can tell you what to do from there.

The sound of a pair of footsteps echoes behind you, and you stop tapping the glass to see a young man with a shotgun. You panic as he aims for Jessamy.

"No!" You gasp. You fly into Jessamy, who loses her balance and tumbles out of the way. The gun goes off.

Dream is left heartbroken at what remains of you. Jessamy gets out of there as fast as she can, leaving her beloved king behind.

There is barely anything left of you on the ground. Morpheus can't tear his eyes away as they fill with tears. There's a deep searing pain in his chest that takes hold of his heart. He kneels down and delicately reaches out as if he could touch your body.

Rodrick orders Alex to dispose of your body, and then he leaves. Morpheus watches as Alex picks up what remains of your body and drops it into a wastepaper bin.

He can't even bury you like you deserve.

Alex looks at Dream and then leaves quietly.

Morpheus curls up in his prison and stares blankly ahead. He won't let his tears fall. Alex Burgess would get what's coming to him. One day.

Morpheus will get his revenge.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @sitkafay - @snowsatsu - @ladyofketterdam - @thoughtsfromlayla -

[triptychgardener]

Hello sorry if this is a bother but I am asking in good faith where is the reading for transmasc nepeta. I’m asking this cuz of your last ask (the June one) and I see aradia Dirk and Jane. Thoes all I have seen post and analysis about. But I have not really seen anything about nepeta.

Okay so first thing you gotta understand is that gender in Homestuck, for lack of a better way to say it, can be understood in how characters reflect and relate to each other. That being said to understand Nepeta's gender, we gotta understand the gender of at the very least one other person.

Dave.

And more specifically.

Davepeta, Homestuck's very own first(ish) trans character.

Davepeta is noted to be a sort of platonic ideal of existence for both Dave and Nepeta. Somehow, through a strange series of cosmic coincidences, these two end up making an odd sort of parallel. Both having a strange relationship to a man who loves him some goddamn horses. The whole Akwete Purrmusk thing. I mean, Dave canonically engaged in semi-nonironic furry roleplay with Nepeta offscreen, and given what we know about what becoming a furry in Homestuck means, it's not a leap to describe this as their ideal form.

But, although we don't see a lot of Nepeta's character arc, we do see a lot of Dave's. He struggles his whole life under an incredibly oppressive masculine force (both of Bro and, indirectly, Lord English), and once the game is over ends up deconstructing and largely rejecting that.

So when Davesprite, who's also probably been thinking about this for even longer, bereft of purpose or identity, finds a kindred soul in a spunky catgirl... well the rest is Davepeta.

And similarly, there are points in the story where Nepeta acts kind of uncomfortable with how others see her as exclusively something to be protected. The whole "Dear, sweet, precious Nepeta" grates on her early on, as Equius uses it as an excuse to control her actions. The whole of moiraillegience as it is originally explained (i.e. one party helps to calm down an especially brutal and violent person from outbursts of anger, and in turn that person will protect the more docile, even-tempered soul from external harm) even kind of FEELS like the way heterosexual relationships are portrayed in a lot of conservative spaces, where women are nuturers and caretakers while men are protectors. And Nepeta is supposed to, in this situation, be the person who helps Equius manage his emotions, which she feels some consternation at!

Now, over the course of Hivebent, their relationship appears to evolve and get a bit more balanced, but it still carries these overtones of "I will protect you, and you will handle my outbursts." Notably, when Equius goes to seek the Highb100d, and leaves Nepeta behind.

And of course not after roleplaying as each other.

Which. I mean come on.

But notably, Nepeta doesn't just stay put! She doesn't really want to be protected all the time! And when push comes to shove, she leaps out to defend, or at the very least avenge, her best friend.

And then, we don't really see Nepeta for a while!

Until we get to the end of the comic.

During their whole "date", Nepeta seems a little uncomfortable with Jasprose's affections. She may be a bit flattered, but Jasprose also fully admits later that she was frankly looking for any girl she could fall in love with after the tragic death of her girlfriend and possible more tragic untimely resurrection.

But then the pivotal handshake happens, and we get to see who is perhaps the most happy being in all of Homestuck.

Then we get into some of the only actual discussion of gender in Homestuck. We don't get much besides that, for both of their lives, Dave and Nepeta both felt something was missing. Something felt wrong that they couldn't quite place that made them both miserable. I don't think it's a massive stretch to say this could be gender dysphoria.

And when they combine, they feel the fullness of the gendered experience they were missing, melded together like a two-piece puzzle.

Now while the abovementioned "strong identities as a boy and a girl" might throw you off, I would point to what Victoria Lacroix said about this passage: note the lack of the word "respectively." I rest my case.

Now full disclosure, my personal headcanon for Nepeta is genderfluid transmasc. The whole affinity for roleplaying lends itself to a more shifting identity and I just think Nepeta, given more time, would love exploring the little nooks and crannies of gender.

This isn't going into the more complicated shit with Gender when it comes to Equius and Dirk and all that other stuff. Here's a quick summary so you can see exactly how my brain is broken.

Anyways, thanks for the question! I hope I answered my thoughts on the topic adequately! If other people have more to say about this, please feel free to add on!

[heisenberg-simp257]

I saw the Requests open so, yeahhhhh

The 4 lords (separate) with a crush!reader who's, yes have a crush on

Who's really, really, really, oblivious, like a lot, that they can't even take one small Hint,

And the 4 lords (separate) Finally confessed, The confession took 4 hours to understand the reader.

Thank you for reading!

I think I understand! Hope you enjoy! 💖 Sorry if it's wrong anywhere!

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

The Four Lords with an Oblivious Crush!Reader

Alcina Dimitrescu

-When it comes to having a crush on someone, Alcina is usually very patient. She's not one to get giddy or overly excited, but she does feel a sense of pleasantness when around her crush. That being said, it's very hard for said person to realize her fondness because she is very subtle about it.

-Especially when that someone is as oblivious as you are.

-You don't recognize anything as flirtatious, which upsets her because Alcina always believes that her subtle hints were brilliantly thought out, and then you don't even see it. She tends to sulk a bit afterwards, and you have to pry her on why. Which sucks because Alcina gives up on telling you the exact reason.

-Her daughters try to help in any way they can because their mother has ranted about your oblivious behavior to them, but even those three can't get through to you. They won't tell you about Alcina's feelings out of respect, but they sure as hell give hints.

-One day she can't take it anymore and prepares some wine to tell you about how she feels. Knowing Alcina, it was very dramatic and a lot of words were used. But still, to anyone else, it would have been very straightforward. Except for you, who kept thinking she was talking about friendship.

-It only took four grueling hours for you to get what she was talking about.

-You confessed that you never realized what she was trying to get across and apologized profusely for it. She was a bit strained during this whole exchange but was relieved that it was over and you returned her feelings for you. Now you'll recognize all her gestures were coming from love.

Donna Beneviento (and Angie)

-Donna is extremely shy when it comes to having a crush on someone and it all stems back to her insecurities. She never feels like she's good enough for someone to love, but Donna is trying to push herself to express her feelings to that person she likes. But she is very very subtle about it, which doesn't help anyone.

-Especially you, who can never recognize a hint.

-And it's not always your fault because Donna isn't even the best at giving hints. Everything she does would be considered friendly, even by a person who isn't as oblivious as you. She would make you things, fix things for you, and make you all this tea. You interpret it a lot differently than how she's trying to display it as. Every time after, she would go to her room and just stare out the window.

-Angie is way more upfront about the whole situation, but the funny part is that she never brings up Donna's feelings. The doll just gets angry at you for "not getting it", which you don't understand in the slightest. Donna has to come and apologize with a red and flustered face.

-It takes Donna literal months before she realizes that this isn't going to work and she needs to just make the first move, which honestly scares her even more. She just wants to do it fast like ripping off a band-aid. It would be just Donna's luck that she would have to explain herself over and over again because you didn't understand what she was trying to say (due to her mumbling and your obliviousness).

-Four hours later and she's an emotional puddle on the floor.

-You were embarrassed for her and yourself as well for not noticing her advances (which weren't too much to be honest). Now you both were being kind of awkward as you tried to explain your own feelings for her. Each time she does something for you now, you pay extra close attention to it because you want her to know you understand now.

Salvatore Moreau

-Moreau is a big bundle of love when it comes to having a crush on somebody. Not only that, but he gets a crush quite easily. All it takes is a smile or a laugh before his attention is just on you. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and he's not one to give up when it comes to giving signs. Moreau is oddly patient which is good because it's going to take him a while to get the message across.

-You were a very oblivious person when it came to things like this.

-However, sometimes Moreau doesn't even realize that you didn't understand what his little gestures meant. He's so excited to give you more affection that he didn't know it went over your head. In your eyes, he was just being really nice to you since adjusting to life in this area had been hard. You didn't even realize that his affections go much farther than that.

-Eventually though, Moreau recognizes that his gestures aren't doing anything. He isn't stupid no matter what Heisenberg says. He starts to realize that he's going to have to take another approach. Unlike the other lords, he doesn't get nervous or embarrassed when it comes to things like this.

-It was easy for him to sit with you and explain his growing feelings outright. Moreau was direct and concise, probably adding more words than needed, but he was just that kind of guy. He thought was easily getting the point across and that it was going to end well. Moreau didn't expect you to be as dense as you are, no offense.

-It took him a whopping four hours for you to realize his crush.

-At this point, he was beyond exhausted yet relieved that you finally knew. You felt a little embarrassed that he had to explain all this just for you to understand how he feels. With that in mind, you were a little flustered as well. But you were grateful. Now, things can have a more special meaning.

Karl Heisenberg

-If Moreau is a ball of love, then Heisenberg is a vacant field of isolation. He's never had a "crush" on anyone or he might just crush himself. To him, love is a weakness that needs to be eradicated. And perhaps that view of thinking stems from the fact that he didn't know or understand any form of real love. But when he gets a crush on you, he's in for a ride.

-Because you are the densest and most oblivious person he knows, and it kills him.

-Heisenberg didn't know how to give hints about how he feels towards you because he's never experienced this before. To be honest, your obliviousness was most likely also due to his inexperience. Still, it gets him frustrated that his little acts of kindness go unnoticed because that's just how Heisenberg is when it comes to things not going his way.

-The more this goes on, the more Heisenberg fears that he will have to speak up about it otherwise it was going to drive him nuts. He can't handle his emotions very well, so sometimes his aggression is directed from his inability to handle how he feels about you. He'll also self-isolate which also gives you the wrong impression. But it's the sit down with him that's kind of scary for you.

-Because of the obliviousness, he has to sit with you face to face in order to get the message across. Not only that, but you have no clue what he's about to discuss with you because you never recognized the signs he was giving. Frankly, it was because he also didn't hand out many signs. Heisenberg was stubborn, stuttering, and overall nervous as he told you how he felt. Which also didn't work in his favor.

-This led to four hours of him having to repeat and explain himself.

-He thought his face was going to melt from how hot it was. Congratulations, you have finally broken Lord Heisenberg's walls and turned him into a puddle of mush. He sincerely hopes you return the feelings for him otherwise he will just combust and probably smush himself under a piece of scrap metal. You were probably just as flushed as he was about the realization, promising to be better about it from now on. Give him a hug and he will explode.

[bravo4iscool]

Levi Baby🖤

The way I adore you for pairing Simon with a Chubby girl. I bring a thot to you if you're interested:

Bodyguard!Simon Ghost Riley x chubby f!reader

- He's newly retired , gets asked for a favor from Price for a friend's kid

- Said kid is a mid 20's thicc woman who is all business since she's a lawyer in Human Rights and involved with the UN.

- He thinks she's going to be a snob based off looks bc girl loves to dress and she does it well, she observes Simon as he is. Brooding, Haunted and Self Assureed with a drizzle of dark humor but loyal.

- They get off on the wrong foot [Simon was being an irrational ass forgetting his manners and respect], reader isn't scared of him and doesn't take lightly to being disrespect3d for no apparent reason.

- They're holed up living together under the radar since the thr3at to reader was pretty big seeing it was world leaders

- They're going to have to learn to live with each other, where Simon barks orders - reader is anamused and calmly condescends. He can't even get annoyed bc she's antisocial and a houseplant but he's trying

- doesn't help that he's so.so attracted to her.

*make this as suggestive as you want (give ghost heart attacks with her choice of home clothes please. We know he's touch straved, emotionally constipated and needed a therap session.

Make her stress him out by confronting all of that in her short fiery demon way please.

I hope your new year is sweet Love💋

oh lord. oH LORD. how can you write this and not think about me fainting😭 THIS IS- URGH- AMAZING AHHHQGACQGQVQZQZAVQ!!!!

i hope i can do this justice😭 normally i try to imitate simon’s accent but bro… i was just too tired to do it now, so i hope you can forgive me for that🥲

KEEP HITING ME WITH STUFF LIKE THIS OH MY GOD😩

not really happy but i tried my best :) also not proof-read!

(masterlist)

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

“There’s no but’s!” Simon argues while almost dragging you—his protégée—along the hallway inside the safe house. “You’re in danger and it’s my job to protect you!”

“I’ve been perfectly fine on my own before,” you argue, trying your best to wriggle away from his grip. You hated it when he manhandled like that.

He turns around, his eyes fiercely staring down at you and you feel like they’re piercing through your soul. “Have you ever had the Taliban threaten you, huh? Or fucking ISIS? I don’t think so; so stop whining and follow me!”

You want to argue with him, tell him he’s not allowed to talk to you that way but damn, you knew he was right. Ever since you started working for the UN you’ve been threatened—you were getting used to it—but only by small groups not someone like the Taliban.

“We’re gonna stay here until the threat is eliminated for not serious anymore.” His statement leaves little room to argue but you’re itching to say something anyway. It’s wasn’t your nature to just shut up. You were a lawyer, you were used to arguing.

You grimace as you force yourself to accept your fate. You didn’t want to but in the end you knew Simon was right. So, you follow him, an annoyed look on your face. You hated it when he was right.

“It’s only temporary,” he grumbles as he kicks a door open and pushes you inside. “It’s not like I want it, okay?”

You only roll your eyes, throwing a halfhearted ‘whatever’ at him and inspecting the room he hauled you into. “This is where I’m gonna stay?” you ask him, a slight hint of defeat in your voice.

“Pretty much, yes. I’ll be on the other side of the hallway,” he explains, leaning against the door frame. “In case anything happened, of course,” he immediately adds; just so you don’t get a…wrong picture of this whole thing here.

“We got wifi here?” is you next questions when you turn to look at him, your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“No wifi. No contact to the outer world,” is his answer and you feel your blood start to boil.

“You have to be kidding me! How am I supposed to work then?” You throw your hands in the air, letting out an angry huff. “You can’t just cut me off civilisation!”

He only shrugs. “I can and I will. Work can wait, alright? Your life is more important now.” Again his voice leaves no room to argue but this time you won’t take it. You put your hands on your hips, looking up at him.

“You think that’s how it works? Then, please Lieutenant Riley,” you spit out his rank “fly over to the dozens of war criminals and tell them to stop too! Oh wait-“ you act shocked. “That’s not how it fucking works! You can’t expect me to sit still and look pretty while the world drowns in injustice!”

“Would make things a lot easier tho,” he mumbles under his breath while pushing himself off the door frame. “Just…do something that doesn’t require wifi or anything like that, alright?” Before you can even think of an answer he leaves, shutting the door behind him. Why the hell was he treating like some little child?

~

“How old is she?” Simon wants to know as he hands his old Captain the picture of you back. He’s sat on a chair, his legs spread, one arm resting on the back rest.

“Mid 20s,” Price answers, placing his folded hands onto the table. “She needs security and her father’s not really…trusting the usual companies; and since you’re nearly retired I thought you could use the job.” Simon holds Price’s gaze and nods along. “He trusts me, therefore he trusts you. She’s a lawyer, heavily associated and involved with the UN and human rights.”

“What are the details?” Simon slightly tilts his head, curiously raising his eyebrows.”

“24/7 protection. The full package. You’ve done it before,” Price explains and Simon once again nods along. “Before you take the job tho-“ he pauses. “She’s, well… she’s a lawyer Simon. You need to know what you get into.” The Captains gaze hardens, his back straightening. “She won’t like that she’s on protection detail, therefore she’ll be treating you like that.”

Simon only smirks, flipping his well kept coin between his fingers. “There’s nothing I can’t handle John. I’ve met people like that before and I was perfectly fine.”

Now Price was the one smirking while shaking his head. “I know and I don’t question your abilities but she’s a civilian—the one you’re protecting. You can’t handle this the way you’ve handled other subjects before.”

“I know what I’m getting into,” Simon assures in a calm tone definitely not knowing what he was getting himself into.

~

“Fucking hell,” Simon mutters when he first sees you. You’re walking straight to you office—the one he was sitting in—involved in a heated talk with that seemed like your secretary.

He’s able to make out single words but well, his hearing wasn’t the best anymore after nearly 20 years of military service. And now he thinks he probably should’ve stayed in the field.

The way you’re waking and talking and dressing just screams ‘snob’ at him. He slightly lowers his head to gaze at you, once again playing with his coin. Maybe he should’ve declined the offer and taken on the underground wrestling instead. Would’ve been more fun for sure.

As soon as you spot your guest you send your secretary away, bracing yourself for the following conversation. You weren’t a fan of getting security and you definitely weren’t a fan of the fact that it was a friend of your father’s friend and he—apparently—was everything but easy.

“Lieutenant Riley,” you greet him, extending your hand to him. When he stands up to his full height you slightly crane your neck; the professional smile still on your face.

“Ma’am,” he greets in a gruff voice, the skin of his hand raw and calloused as he return the handshake. “Pleased to meet you.” He isn’t. He just wants to leave but he brought this on himself so he needs to finish it now. ‘One year’, he told himself. ‘Then I can quit.’

“I can only return the pleasure,” you smile, clearing your throat. “Would you mind sitting down at my desk?” You ask, pointing towards said desk. “I think it’s easier to discuss business over there.”

Simon agrees, towering over you as he makes his way over to one of the chairs in front of the desk. You take place behind it, carefully straightening your blouse. He needs to warn himself not to stare. Fuck, why were you so pretty? A pretty little snob…

~

“This has to be taken seriously!” Simon raises his voice at you, successfully blocking the door of your office.

“This is nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” you argue with him, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “So please, Simon, let me get out of my office and back to work.”

He huffs, “Not a change. You’ll be staying here until the threat is cleared.” He glances over his shoulder, loving and hating the fact that you had a glass office. “Are these bullet prove?” he asks, looking at you again.

You sigh, “No.”

“We’ll have that changed,” he immediately answers and you start to shake your head.

“We’ll have nothing changed! You weren’t hired to renovate my office!” You walk towards him. “Now, Mr. Riley, please step aside so I can continue working.”

“Not happening.” He straightens up to his full height, expecting you to back off but you do the exact opposite. You swat your finger at him, looking up.

“I don’t care what you think, you will stay here; if you want it or not.” His voice is stern and stoic and you need to do your best to not full on scream at him.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” you hiss, your index finger jabbing his chest. “I can make my own decisions, I’m a responsible adult. So don’t you dare talk down to me that way!”

When Simon doesn’t make a move you let out an angry huff and shake your head. Then you turn away and stalk towards your desk. “Fucking military man,” you curse under your breath, ignoring the way he stared you down.

~

You stare at your open suitcase, debating what to wear. On the one hand, you kinda were on your own, on the other hand, Simon was with you.

You were comfortable in your body—no question—you actually kinda liked the extra cushions but sometimes you felt like Simon was staring at you. Like he wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you and that made you…feel something. Something you were afraid of.

“Ah fuck it,” you say under your breath, fishing out some shorts and a shirt. You could care less about what Simon thinks. You both are only work related. Nothing else.

You tap down the stairs, walking straight into the kitchen. “You want something to eat?” You ask Simon, glancing at him when you hear him enter.

“You willing to make some?” he jokes, expecting you to say ‘no’ but when you say ‘yes’ his eyes widen and he pauses for a second. When you notice it you let out a small chuckle, opening the fridge and multiple cabinets to see what you could make.

“Any friends that’ll miss you?” he asks once you place a plate in front of him, looking up at you with curious eyes.

You shake your head, “Nope. Not really.” You sit down opposite of him, grabbing your fork. “Too busy to have friends.”

He tilts his head, blindly picking up the food either his fork. “No boyfriend?” He knows you don’t have one. You have no dates, no flings, nothing; but he wants to hear it from you. Maybe then his fantasies wouldn’t be so forbidden…

“Please,” you laugh. “We’d be divorced before we even married.” You take a sip of water and look at him. “I don’t have time for relationships and that kind of stuff. I have a target to pursue. Ain’t no time for distraction.”

He only nods in an understanding manner, playing with his beer bottle. “And you?” you ask. “You got someone?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve got you to deal with. That’s enough.” He smirks when he sees your facial expression, letting out a low chuckle. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” he continues joking. “But no. I don’t have anyone. Never really had.”

“Oh…” you say in an almost pitiful tone and he hates it. It not that he couldn’t get someone. He just didn’t want to. That’s a big difference. “Well not really different for me,” you then snort, slightly grimacing. You had this one guy ask you out for prom but that turned out to be a bet rather fast and after than you decided to not to date in school or university anymore.

Yeah sure, you were more chubby than other girls but that doesn’t mean that you’re not lovable, right? By now you were comfortable in your body—you were in your mid 20’s—but sometimes you felt yourself slipping back into the insecure girl you once were. The one who thought that no man would ever lay his eyes on her in a lustful or loving manner.

Simon’s itching to say something; to ask why you don’t have anyone… You’re perfect. You’re nice—even if he hated to admit it. You’re pretty, you’re so fucking soft… Did the men around you not see that?

“Simon?” You wave your hand around in front of his face, chuckling when he slightly flinches, his pupils blow. “Are you alright?” you carefully ask, eying him as if something was wrong.

But he only clears his throat, “Yes. Everything’s fine.” Then he hastily stands up and nods at you. “Thank you for the food.”

You watch after him as he leaves, a frown on your face. Was he really okay or was he just lying to you?

Simon on the other hand was probably turning red as a tomato. How could he allow himself to slip like that? Fuck, he needed to keep himself better under control.

As soon as he reaches his room he shuts the door and leans against it while opening his pants with shaking hands.

He had a—growing—problem and he needed take care of it. Now.

-

Approximately one week into the lockdown Simon finds you in the living room, crouched over a bunch of files and documents.

“What’s that?” he wants to know, looking over your shoulder.

“Work,” you simply reply, taking notes and pushing the papers around. You were so close, this close to finally finish this case but something was missing and it stressed you out.

He slowly nods, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And how did you manage to get these files?”

“I’m a lawyer Simon. I have my ways and connections,” is your plain answer and you can basically feel him tensing behind you.

“What if they give away your location,”

“They won’t.”

“How can you be sure?” He tries his best to be calm but god, you were testing his nerves. He gave you strict orders and you were supposed to follow them.

You turn around with an annoyed sigh, looking up at him. “Because my father brought me those. You think he would sell me out to the enemy? I doubt so.”

You raise your eyebrow, waiting for any other complaint by him but be only looks at the files behind you, then at you again. “Maybe check the mission reports of the special forces.” With that he leaves you alone, more than confused.

You know why Simon told you what he told you when you find what you need exactly there. The mission reports were sitting somewhere beneath everything else because you didn’t pay much attention to them; in the end they were the solution.

Now you could finally link the crimes to someone and with that to the government or the military at least.

The next time you see Simon you almost jump into his arms, thanking him over and over again. “Now the case is finally closed,” you tell him with a big grin on your face, completely forgetting that you’re usually not so happy when around him.

Simon just awkwardly pats your back, pushing you off him and ignoring the burning desire deep within him. He knew it was risky to give you a tip but you were struggling and he didn‘t like that. He just hoped that you wouldn’t ask him why he knew that you should look at the mission reports. Once you knew that he was a war criminal this job would be over. And while you certainly were a pain in the ass sometimes he felt a very present attraction towards you.

-

Simon realises he’s a goner when he wakes up one morning and sees you walking around in a shirt. Just a shirt, as far as he can see and it does something to you. His hands are itching to touch you and he finds himself excusing himself more and more to the bathroom.

And you? You started to notice the kind of power you have over him and it makes you boast with pride. You, a chubby little lawyer in your mid 20s, has him, an almost 40 year old retired military Lieutenant, wrapped around your little finger.

After that you decide to play a little game. Wouldn’t hurt, no? Just subtle touches. Brushing his arm when you walk past him, patting his chest when he helps you with something, your legs touching his whenever you sit beside him.

He tries to shrug it off but you can practically feel how worked up he gets and how hard it is for him to keep him shit together; and that fuels you only more. How long would it take for him to break? To crumble beneath your touch, huh? You wanted, no, you needed to find that out.

Simon knows what you were doing. He isn’t stupid but he hates it. How was he so weak that you were able to play with him like that?

After a week, maybe two of you dancing around him he has you caged in against the kitchen counter, towering over you.

“What makes you think you can just play with me like that, huh?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes scanning your face for any reaction. “You think it’s funny? Working me up like that every day?”

You try not to be intimidated—or turned on—by him but god, he’s just- you don’t have any words for it. He’s tall, broad and fucking strong. You once got a look at the muscles under all his clothes and you weren’t the same after that. Nu-uh.

“I thought you like it,” you reply with a cocky grin, trying to overshadow your uncertainty. “Do you want me to stop?” You blink at him, acting all innocent and pure. In the corner of your eye you see his grip on the counter tightening. Oh, you had him where you wanted him.

A ‘bloody hell’ is all you get before his lips crash down onto yours and he heaves you on top of the counter. His hands find their way to your hips, scarred fingers tracing them and squeezing, wanting to pull you even closer.

The moment his lips touch yours you forget everything else. This is want you wanted—needed—for weeks. And lord, that man knew what he was doing.

You weren’t a fan of him dragging and pushing you around but right now? Right now you couldn’t wish for anything else. You bury your hands in the dirty kind strands of hair on the back of his head, gently pulling at them which results in him groaning in your mouth.

“Take me to the bedroom and maybe I’ll stop teasing you,” you breathlessly tell him once he breaks the kiss only to kiss you again immediately making you all hot and tingly.

You can feel him smirk against his lips before they trail down your neck towards your collar bone. “Ain’t gonna take you anywhere love,” he whispers and you’re able to once again feel him smirk against your skin. “Gonna fuck you right here on that kitchen counter. You want that?” he looks up at you through hooded eyes, which makes you swallow.

“Words love, words.” His tone is playful even tho you can see the desperation in the way his hands move all over your body, letting you see stars already.

“Yes…please,” you almost choke out, feeling like everything you want to say is being swallowed my your throat again. You’re unable to talk.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Simon teases, straightening up to kiss your lips again, cupping your cheek. “Gonna take good care of you,” he promises. “I’m gonna show you how a real man treats you,” he swears and you can feel a familiar but also unfamiliar heat building in the pit of your stomach.

(i got scared to write the rest👍🏼. i’m sorry, i’m still new to writing smut😭)