#the fanfic writes itself i swear its not even me

[xuxudio]

i'm glad no one was home because i screamed when i realized just who grabbed each bouquet

unreal

[fioiswriting]

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew. 

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.  He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt.  It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.  A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.  And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.  Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger. 

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.  Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.  He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own. 

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.  Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.  King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.  Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you." 

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.  You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back.  It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you. 

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.  It must have been your imagination.  You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.  Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen. 

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears. 

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.  And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company. 

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.  You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead. 

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly. 

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway. 

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.  You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.  You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't." 

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs. 

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.  You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.  Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.  Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself -  but you can't help feeling your heart clench.  You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time. 

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.  A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.  Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind.  A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.  Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips. 

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.   You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you. 

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.  He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely. 

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion. 

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly. 

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience. 

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps. 

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you. 

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.  He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.  You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious. 

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching. 

He doesn't let go of you. 

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.  It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his. 

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you. 

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.  You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow. 

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.  Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.  You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet? 

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress. 

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices. 

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body. 

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry.  You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable. 

You need him. 

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears.  You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.  It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you. 

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting.  For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness. 

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you.  You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy. 

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.  You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie.  You know you should lie.  To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.  You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not." 

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips. 

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.  It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.  You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath. 

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe.  It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.  Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know." 

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him. 

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.  You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up. 

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."  Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.  He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions. 

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

[chlorinecake]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏’𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 — a yandere jungwon fanfic

𖤣 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jungwon forbid you from leaving the safe room while he was away at work, but your insatiable curiosities led you to discover secrets about his past that were better left unknown to you ~

𖥧 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nudity, forced-ish kissing and touching, hickeys (?), abduction themes, swearing, mentions of guns and violence, slow burn, angst, not proofread ~

𖡼 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k ~ Previously ⊱✿⊰

✎ note: In no way does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. I write purely for entertainment and creative purposes. Reader discretion is advised. 

YOU LAID YOUR head down beside Jungwon to rest, your ears still ringing as a side effect from his earlier and repetitive gunfire.

Cradling the shotgun in his hands, you thought back to the way his feline eyes keened in on his desired target, the weapon going off with sharp bangs as the surrounding air shattered with its force.

Your entire skull trembled each time he fired the trigger, wooden debris flying from the collisions.

“Wanna give it a go?,” he asked with the faintest smirk on his face, somewhat amused by your startled demeanor.

Jungwon helped you position your legs according to proper form, almost hugging you from behind as he helped you support the heavy weapon in your arms. His warm breath feathered against your skin as he whispered, “Once you've locked in your target, ease your finger into the trigger and shoot.”

You remember taking a deep breath, pointing the lens at a tall wooden plank just as a baby blue bird flew into frame, the gun's red light highlighting the creature's tiny body.

You tried moving the weapon away, but Jungwon's strength persisted around you, keeping your arms in place with ease.

“Jungwon,” you said so quietly that he almost missed it, his hold on you being predatory enough to make you feel like the prey. A glint of moisture blurred your vision as the song bird tweeted softly to itself, looking right back at you.

“I want you to shoot it, ____,” he whispered in a dull voice as if what he'd just asked of you was completely normal.

“Jungwon, I... no, I... I can't,” you pleaded, his grip on you tightening.

“It'll probably die tomorrow in this weather, love. If you can't shoot a bird, how can I expect you to protect yourself when I'm gone?,” he reasoned with you before stepping away from you, the sun hiding shyly behind a cluster of clouds as if it were also fearful of the sight to come.

“Do it,” was the last sentence you heard right before the loudest gunshot yet clashed with the calm atmosphere, your eyes shutting completely tight as you felt your finger sink into the trigger, the little bird and his evening song never to be heard again.

You felt Jungwon's hands sneak around your waist as you laid under the covers, his warmth still radiating onto you as he spoke the words, “I'm so proud of you today, love,” and drifting fast to sleep.

THE NEXT MORNING came by quickly, the now recognizable scent of mixed herbs hitting your senses the moment you sat up on the bed.

Turning to your side, a cup of tea sat on the nightstand, a dainty yet old-fashioned brown paper bag sitting beside it.

“That's your breakfast, my love,” Jungwon said, breaking the silence. “I decided to stop by the café earlier and get some of those sandwiches you like. Hopefully they're still fresh,” he said from the corner of the room as he adjusted the collar of his freshly ironed shirt, admiring how sweet you looked upon waking up in his heart.

“Thank you, Jungwon, I really appreciate it,” you said with an almost natural smile, reaching for the cup of tea to take a small sip, “Is that why you got all dressed up?”

“No, actually... I have work today.”

Even though you and Jungwon had grown close with each other before took you to his garden, your prior conversations never answered the big question of what he did for a living.

“Oh... I understand that you've never told me this before, but I'm curious about what you do for work?,” you asked, looking into the warm and foggy green liquid that danced in your cup. He wasn't looking at you anymore anyway, so there wasn't a problem with you avoiding eye contact.

“Nice try, ____, but we made a deal yesterday, remember? No more questions till next week,” he smiled, finally looking your way now as he walked over to you, giving you a small hug. “I'll be back in a few hours, but you can always look out the window and do the 'sun test' I taught you. There's also lunch in the first drawer if you get hungry.”

He grabbed a chain connected to a set of keys from off the nightstand that you didn't even notice were there til now, his leather boots clicking with his footsteps as he walked away, looking back as if saying goodbye with his eyes before closing the door.

And just like that, you were completely alone, which didn't feel or seem as relieving as you wished it would.

It's not that you felt down about missing Jungwon's presence, though, it was more so that you knew today would be much longer than any other day you've spent on this secluded garden of secrets.

Even longer than the days you had spent outside under a bush, your vulnerable nakedness and the harsh forest conditions growing a stronger bond than your thirsted gums and grimy teeth.

Of all the things you had to be anxious about under such circumstances, “boredom” happened to be at the top of your list, compelling your hands to find the silver key Jungwon had so carelessly forgotten on the nightstand before he left.

Or was he testing me, you thought to yourself, observing the green string that hung from a hook in one of the key loop's.

The thought of the mysterious greenhouse suddenly dawned on you, and the memory of its glassy sage exterior captivated your mind for a second.

You remembered Jungwon's anxious demeanor as you brought it up to him, contemplating with your own logic and curiosity as to whether or not you'd give in to the voice that was pulling your feet to do the unthinkable.

The gravely forbidden.

You only had enough will power to fight the urges for a short hour before it became too much, your feet finding the cold bedroom floor as you held the key in your hand, wandering down the hallway and through the field of trees before making your way up the massive path that led to a grassy hill.

Precisely where the greenhouse sat.

Deep down in your foolish heart, you were fully aware of how senseless your actions were.

Even though you were currently suspect to many natural dangers that came with being in the wilderness whilst unarmed, the thought of Jungwon catching you right now was an even larger threat.

But somehow, you managed to climb up too far to turn back now.

Praying on the slim sliver of hope that Jungwon wouldn't come back early today, you took a deep breath, toying with the key in the lock for a few seconds before the door hinges gave in, the cold aura of the space greeting you as you stepped in to observe.

From first glance, it was an ordinary greenhouse, shelves of exotic plants lining most of the space and the gentle sun rays peeking through the domed ceiling.

Clink.

So stunned by the beauty of his indoor garden, your hip accidentally bumped into the mini wooden table standing beside a feminine mannequin, a black ink pen having fell on the floor and rolling away before you swiftly leaned down to pick it up.

You felt your heart thump in your chest like a drum, thinking of how easily that single pen could’ve given away that you’d been in here today.

Getting up, you went to place it back on the table before noticing a rough sketch tucked beneath a diary with Jungwon’s name engraved on it in hangul.

The sketch was of a dress, one ordained with elegant floral accents and delicate lace trimmings.

“Every flower ought to have petals,” whispered Jungwon’s voice in the back of your mind, warming your heart before sending shivers down your spine.

He was truly in love with you.

Dangerously, even.

You picked up the journal, not even considering what better-left-buried secrets could be hiding behind the black leather cover front.

Not even reasoning with logic anymore as you flipped past the first page, the sound of stiff, old paper crinkling the still silence.

And for the love of your damned curiosity.

Nothing intrigued you from the first few pages so you foolishly kept flipping, one by one until it became obvious that the diary was filled with unspoken love confessions you weren't meant to see, dated as far back as two years ago.

One entry in particular caught your attention, the opening line from April 11, last year, reading “Things weren't supposed to end this way.”

It appeared to be a letter to Jungwon himself, but at the same time, to another soul...

Or about another lover.

Your breath stalled in your chest, almost in denial of how quickly a new and much more horrific story was unfolding concerning the charming Yang Jungwon.

Your eyes scanned one last line before closing the diary, the note being from his most recent entry:

“To ____, my second chance... may we blossom harmoniously together.”

A series of numbers followed after that sentence, a red splotch of paint dotting a log of information you didn't quite understand at the time but the eery feeling you got was enough to let you know it couldn't have meant anything good.

Slam.

You closed the book, just as the sunlight outside began to dim with your emotions, the realization of how deep Jungwon's insanity ran wandering through your anxious mind, flowing as a dead river in a forsaken village, infecting every person foolish enough to come and drink of his stream.

You stumbled out of the greenhouse, running down the hill with your nightgown clutched in your fists, careful not to let the lower hem of your dress touch the earthy ground on your way.

Jungwon couldn't find out about this.

He couldn't know that you knew everything now.

You stopped to glance at the sun, noticing how it was just a few inches from meeting the peak between the two trees as he'd demonstrated to you before.

He was almost home, and it was beyond baffling that you'd even started to call this place that.

A home.

You finally made it back to the shed, your own lungs struggling to provide enough oxygen to fuel your limbs as you chugged the tea you'd forgotten to drink, plopping yourself on the bed with your hands holding your chest as the mere act of breathing became harder and harder.

Closing your eyes, you hoped that the darkness would somehow help you think of anything.

Anything else but the truth.

Whoever that girl was, you were certain that he'd killed her, and if you weren't careful moving forward, you could be next.

JUNGWON RETURNED FROM work on time, but it wasn't until about half an hour later that he made his way to your shared bedroom in the shed, an unreadable yet unmistakably dark look on his face the moment he saw you.

“How many more conversations must we have before my rules finally stick in your stupid little brain?” He asked in a stern voice, still wearing his work clothes, but his hair appeared different.

More disheveled... and sweaty.

“Jungwon, you just got back... Where is all of this coming from?” You inquired in the most polite voice you could muster, sitting up on the bed as your stomach felt five seconds from exploding.

Your mind was still a bit foggy because you'd just woke up, but you were still present enough to know you needed to choose your words wisely.

Did he found out? No, he couldn't have, you were barely even in there long enough to have messed up anything he'd notice.

“I need you to understand something, ____,” he said in a sharp voice, sitting beside you on the bed before continuing, “As long as you’re here with me, you’re no longer your own person. You’re mine. And that means no one else can have you. Not even yourself.”

“Jungwon, we talked about this-”

“And I agreed on one thing and one thing only… do you remember what that thing was?”

Your hands trembled in your lap as his words came out like darts, your mind too focused on fear to even keep up, “You’re not being fair-”

“Is it not beyond fair that I respect your wishes of keeping my hands to myself? Despite how crazy you make me feel?”

“I remember…. Wonie, and I appreciate your efforts to respect me,” you answered with a cracked voice as he caressed the side of your face with the back of his hand.

“And so do I,” he smiled, tilting his head at you, “but... you’re still afraid of me... aren’t you?”

You knew that Jungwon could be emotionally ambivalent at times, but you really couldn't figure out what had gotten into him today, and so suddenly.

You shook your head at his words, “Why would you even ask me something like that?”

“Because it’s true… I'm smart enough to know that.”

“Jungwon, please don't say tha-”

“God, here we go with your whining again,” he spat bitterly while shaking his head, “you’re pleading with me and I haven’t even threatened you... Just admit it! You’re fucking terrified of me-”

“I can't take this shit right now, Jungwon,” you interrupted him, immediately feeling your heart rate increase as you startled yourself with your own words.

Your own... honesty.

“I... I just… I didn’t mean to…,” you tried apologizing before he cut you off.

“No,” he said softly, getting off of the bed and kneeling before you, your words having touched a soft spot in his crooked mind, “Don’t stop, love... I want to hear what you have to say…”

Though, you’re not sure if the smile he wore was forced or not, it helped to soothe your nerves in an odd way. Jungwon’s behavior was always erratic like this. You never knew when to expect a switch in him, which is what always kept you on edge around him.

His hands massaged your ankles, the gentle yet sudden touches making you feel stiff.

“Please,” he nodded, coaxing you to proceed, despite how uncomfortably you felt with him touching you.

“Well… uhm… I was just…. I thought we were working on this... On us...,” you clarified, “...together.”

His heart lit up at your use of the word “us” as if it were a spark to the dull wick in his hardened heart.

“And we are, my love. But I must ask you to understand that you abide by my rules now,” he whispered, hands carefully inching up your calves as his thumbs drew circles in your skin, “can you trust my rules?”

You gulped at the question, fingers fumbling with each other as you forced yourself to say what he had to hear.

“I can try, Jungwon...”

“Good… and can you trust me?... Without trying?” He asked, hands halting their movements while awaiting your response.

“I…” your words got cut in your throat, part of you drifting off into a thinking that you actually could trust Jungwon. You felt like a foreign force was pressuring you to agree. Not his hands from the outside of you, but something within.

Was it the way he sat before you on his knees? The way his feline eyes stared back at yours, singing a sirenic song to your heart? Was it something in the tea you finished earlier-

“Speak up, love,” He pressed, somehow maintaining patience with you.

“I can… I trust you,” you said, looking in your lap before meeting his eyes again, which glimmered like honey.

Natures fluorescent sweetness.

“Then… can you trust me to kiss you?” He asked, voice almost inaudible given how quietly he spoke. Before you even gave an answer, you felt his warm breath ghost over your knee, looking back at you with seduction in his eyes.

He hummed in satisfaction at your submission, sealing the space between him and your knee with a kiss, his lips soft and wet as you felt the kisses travel, your gown being lifted up over your thighs as he left pecks along the inside of them, sucking slightly as if to taste you.

Your hands found his head, trying to push him away as his kisses turned into pinches, but he pushed your abdomen down, your back meeting the bed as his hands hooked beneath your knees, spreading you open for him.

“Wonie~,” you whined out, arching your back as you felt his warmth approach your clothed core, his lips kissing your sensitive spot before you whined out again. “That’s enough, please,” you said with an exhausted breath, chest heaving with emotions you couldn't even put a finger on.

He looked up to you, face embarrassingly flushed as his lustful demeanor softened into a smile, “Was I not good for you, love?”

“No, it was fine, Jungwon, I just… I had enough,” you answered with a breathy voice, the wetness from his lips still ever-present on your skin as you struggled to look him in the eye.

His sexual advances were starting to escalate by the day, and it was only a matter of time before he took the very last thing he treasured about you most:

Your purity.

“Okay, my love,” he said, pulling your gown back down and standing up, “maybe next time I can do better than fine.”

Fuck.

You simply nodded at his words, trying to calm your breathing as your cheeks grew as hot as the sun. Jungwon walked towards the door, looking back at you one last time.

“And by the way, next time you try sneaking out while I'm gone without my permission, make sure to lock the door back so I don't find out,” he said, all of that with a devious smile on his face as he closed the door, leaving you alone before going off to prepare your dinner a few rooms away from you.

☆ Thank you all so much for reading this piece! I still feel really guilty about taking so long with this update, but hopefully y'all enjoyed it !!

☆ taglist: @squoxle @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @03sunoos @kaykay11sworld @gigiramirezsblog @hoonsyo @en-thralled  @night-en-shining-armor @cutiejseong @j-wyoung @nikisdubblchococake @bambangan @wonbyf @4imhry @zhangyi-johee  @valhrts @lisaaannna @lovelycassy @addictedtohobi @gardenwons @nikipedia07 @tubatusoobs @03sunoos @clarisabutterfliescupcake @yevene @heecries @rosiemiayyxy @jungwonieee @edgykoo @luvmlkw @idkhoomanmaybe @sunsinmyskies @guessm0del (still didn't forget abt that collab you wanted to do if you're still interested btw) @ayadikreino @destairea @jakehooni @jjungwonss @nikilvr @jays-property @moonchus @angelicjungwon @wonniesdoll @rosiemiayyxy @rinirumi @noviadebeomgyu @pochacco-o @hapeynaaa @ikngh @maspire @mamuljji @hnnhj @legendarycowboywinnerlawyer @enhypenlovre @stxrboyjae @f4irynono @03sunoos @itwasrem @laurradoesloveu @lalalalovelalalasworld @honestimage @ro-0327 @stwberrykooki @heelvrr @wonbinisbabygurl @jungwonloveer @jungwonsmybf @kayoiw @lovelycassy @mrswolfhard3

[eternalmarvel]

MK1 BI-HAN X READER ~ belong ~

an: hello everyone ❄️ decided to write some more small fluff / filler content ! i swear there's not enough bi-han love man LETS KEEP THOSE FANFICS AND HEADCANONS ROLLING 😈also i came up with this idea while i was h!gh as hell so please excuse me if the idea itself seems a bit weird this is why i need requests from people because i am TOO lazy to think of any good ideas on my own

if u guys want something different to spice things up like headcanons or smthn just ask :-) honestly i don't know how good i'd be at writing smut so it's not of priority right now but if people request it i can certainly try

anyways i hope u guys enjoy some fluffiness to kick off the winter szn !!

note; bi-han and reader are married in this story + a little bit of toxicness but it's not from bi-han

++ this isn't proofread so sorry for any mistakes

~~

you had been married to bi-han for about a year now. your duties separate from the lin kuei often required you to travel far and abroad where you couldn't see your husband for weeks at the time. you didn't complain too much at first, but it got a bit frustrating after some time -- nothing that you couldn't overcome though. on the other hand, bi-han was IRRITABLE. it felt like the whole stronghold was walking on eggshells around its grandmaster, careful not to say or do the one thing that would set him off. he was sexually frustrated and grumpy on incomprehensible levels. everyone around the clan noticed how much angrier he had become. he'd bark orders at an unprecedented rate and mean mugged everyone who came across his path. even having the kitchen staff make all his favourite meals from when he was younger did nothing to wipe the horrible scowl painted on his face. when you were at the lin kuei stronghold, you and bi-han collectively sat down with the rest of the ninjas for dinners -- something that bi-han often avoided before meeting you. however, with a bit of nudging from you, he started to participate in group dinners more, even enjoying them (though he would never admit to this). there would still be a grimace on his face, but having you beside him made everything more palatable anyway. when asked why he seemed a little more irritable than usual, he stormed off and dismissed the question.

"i am the grandmaster, i will NOT answer to you."

smoke had realized that soon enough the only way to get him over his mood fluctuations and have some semblance of peace would be to get you back at the dojo. your phone's ringtone blared alarmingly, and you picked up the call in annoyance.

"tomas? what are you calling me about? can it wait? i'm really busy right now."

smoke lets out a sigh of relief now that he's gotten ahold of you.

"(name)! we really need you back at the lin kuei. bi-han's really ...cranky without you there," he whispers the last part, almost like he's scared bi-han will snatch him up out of nowhere. you pay no heed to tomas' concerning remarks, continuing to write down on the ledger on your desk.

"i'm sure my husband is just a little overwhelmed with his duties right now, this has nothing to do with me. give him some slack. he's fine."

smoke spoke with more urgency now.

"(name), he really is frustrated because of you. today, frost said '(name)’s hair' but he thought she meant '(name)’s here' and i swear i thought i saw his eyes gloss over like a dog seeing its owner for the first time in forever. ever since he found out frost was talking about your hair and not about you actually being here, he's been giving frost dirty looks. i think she's starting to get pissed off now that i think about it..."

you put down your pen and look up at the curtains of the hotel room in front of you, sighing. it was more serious than you previously expected. your face twisted in cruel humour, and you knew it'd be funny to use this opportunity to prank your husband and see what his reaction is.

"you know what tomas. i'm sure i can get out of these meetings and make it back to the stronghold by tomorrow dawn. i'll come back."

tomas sighs, finally unanxious.

"thank you, (name)! i knew you'd pu-"

"but i wanna play a prank on him. and you're gonna help me observe and set the environment."

tomas sighs once again, but out of exasperation.

"i don't wanna participate if it's too extreme. i've already caught the brunt of bi-han's verbal torment this week." you chuckle at his expense. "don't worry tomas, i'll make sure he doesn't hurl an ice pick at you. this prank is harmless, i promise. it's just for me to see his reaction." "fine. what are you planning on doing?" "sit tight and don't stress. i'll tell you when i'm on my way back."

you had informed tomas of the most perfect plan. you'd get back to your husband -- not long enough that he'd go back to his normal, serene state when he was with you but enough that he'd manage to calm his heartrate a bit. you were planning on inviting the daughter of a family friend of bi-han's family when he was younger. she had eyes for him all these years, still pointing to hints that she would pursue him despite the fact that he was now married to you. you would invite her over and have her bug bi-han (dare you say, flirt) and follow him all around the stronghold. you wanted to see if that so-called sexual frustration that tomas was referring to earlier really mattered in the case of every woman or if it was exclusive to only you. was it toxic? perhaps. could it be considered manipulative to use his father's family friend's daughter who had probably loved him for the last 10 years to get him closer to you? most likely. would you love every second of it nonetheless? absolutely.

you didn't inform bi-han of your arrival. as far as he knew, you were still going to be a few weeks out from coming back. you walked in through a secret back entrance bi-han had only told you about just in case the stronghold was ever attacked and he needed to get you out safely. you walked through the corridors and heard your husband's hoarse voice coming from the large drawing room across from you. you walked in quietly and sneakily, but obviously not subtly enough considering bi-han had his eyes immediately on you.

"(name)....," he almost whispered, his eyes widening.

you give everyone in the room a wave, including the senior ninjas, which they kindly return with a nod of their own.

"clear the room," bi-han asserts hastily. his tone isn't as harsh as it was before. the ninjas comply almost immediately when they've noticed his demeanor soften up a bit, realizing that you've worked your magic. as soon as the last ninja is out the door, bi-han is by your side in a half of an instant, taking your face into his broad hands.

"hey," you say softly. you were tired from your trip, but being in his presence and ironically his warmth doubled the exhaustion and fatigue your body had attempted to so valiantly fight off.

"you didn't inform me of your early arrival."

you smile into his palm, your head tilting a bit as you rest your own palm on his hand.

"wanted to surprise you, my love."

he looks at you intensely for a few seconds before snapping back to reality.

"i will excuse myself from my duties today. perhaps i can get kuai liang to take over for me."

"why, bi-han? we can catch up late. i don't want you neglecting your duties because of me."

a small scoff escapes his lips.

"it's been much of the other way around. we have not seen each other in weeks. the lin kuei can do without its grandmaster for a few hours."

you look at him mischievously for a brief second before you hear the faint sounds of footsteps outside the drawing room. your plan was coming to fruition before your eyes. rina had come along just on time.

"actually, bi-han, i think we might have a change of plans. rina is coming over today!"

bi-han shifted his gaze from you to rina, who was standing out in the hallway. it was safe to say he was unamused.

"rina. i wasn't aware you were going to be here. it seems as though i've been misinformed on MANY fronts," he says, side-eyeing you. you pay him no mind, bringing rina closer.

"i have to deal with a bit more business-"

bi-han looked at you in disbelief. who the hell did you think you were, the president? a grandmaster yourself?

"--BUT i promise it won't take too long. rina wanted to catch up with you too, so i thought why not kill two birds with one stone?," you say, trying to resist the impending smirk on your face. bi-han was clearly displeased but you gave his arm a squeeze and whispered, "just a few hours," and he knew he'd have your company again in no time. he sighed quietly, before slightly nodding again.

"if i must."

you disappeared to find smoke and left bi-han with rina to do god knows what. you found tomas sparring with some of the newer initiates out in the courtyard and ran up to him, dragging him away from kombat.

"h-hey!," smoke exclaimed.

"c'mon! i finally got bi-han to agree to meeting with rina. now we gotta go hide around the place and see how he reacts with her around."

"this is ... not nice.." smoke remarks uneasily.

you roll your eyes. yeah it isn't nice, but it's funny and it's not like you actually meant any harm by this prank. you and tomas make your way to the blindspots around the lin kuei and spot bi-han walking as rina edges closer to him. you guys get in close enough to try and make sense of their conversation.

bi-han walks into his room and changes into a new hanfu, the same shade of dark blue he often wears. the collar part of the attire is folded, and rina brings her hand closer to fix it but just as she’s about to mend it, bi-han grabs her hand.

“what do you think you’re doing,” he lowly seethes, his eyebrows furrowing in anger.

rina shakes him off, annoyed. “i was just trying to help you, calm down!”

“unless i ask for your assistance, it is not required.” he says stoically before making his way down the corridor again. you and tomas both exchange a strange look. you didn’t want rina dead by the end of this prank. silence is shared between bi-han and rina for the next minute before the latter pipes up again.

"you haven't seen your wife in a while, huh?" rina asks coyly. bi-han turns to look at her for a second before turning back around and keeping that stern look on his face.

"no. her business keeps her away from m-the stronghold quite often,” bi-han remarks quietly.

“you know most wives stick with their husbands and don’t just leave them on their own for weeks on end. perhaps there may be something that you aren’t aware of…,” rina whispers before her statement trails off.

bi-han stops in his tracks and turns around yo face her.

“do not think to insinuate such horrible things about my wife again so shamelessly. you forget your place when you spew these things -- do not forget, SHE invited you here as a token of her hospitality. i did not."

rina chuckles. at first glance, it would seem that she does this sarcastically at first, but it seems like those words really stung rina.

"i'm leaving."

"you know your way out."

tomas sucks a deep breath in while you look down in defeat.

"ooh, boy. alright, i think you were right." "you needed a prank to prove that?!"

you wave tomas away.

"i will make sure there are no further casualties," you say to tomas, as you give him a small hit on his arm and make your way to your marital bedroom. on your way there, you see rina coming your way. you have to pretend like you didn't just witness your husband eat up this poor woman. you smile and put your hands together, bowing to her.

"hey rina! how's it going? i wa-" she puts her palm towards your face and continues walking away.

"i don't wanna hear from you." you watch her as she leaves, staring off into the distance momentarily and sighing. thank god she was an asshole or else it'd be really hard not to sympathize with her.

you walk into your bedroom and see bi-han on the bed. it seems he's getting ready for a bath -- he has a robe-like hanfu loosely draped around his body with his chest visible and and legs exposed. his hair is down and he is reaching for his back like it's aching.

"done with all my duties." you say innocently, your arms behind your back.

bi-han only looks at you momentarily and not even fully before going back to closing his eyes and mending his backache. you walk up to him carefully before sitting down beside him, using your hand to gently knead his back. he lets out a small groan of relief at your gesture.

"you've probably missed my massages all week," you say coyly.

"they were not the thing i missed."

you feel a blush creeping up on your cheek. being away from you for so long made him starved, like a dog meekly asking his owner for more rations. you felt horrible for being away for so long.

"i won't leave again for a while. i promise. we have lost-time to make up for," you say quietly. you prod at his hand and he envelops your hand in his, grazing the outside with his thumb.

"i'd rather not have lies spoken to me for the sake of momentary comfort."

you get up and gently move his right leg further to the right so you can sit on his thigh.

"now you know i can give you more than momentary comfort," you say smirking (but still VERY nervous).

in the blink of an eye, bi-han flips your body over and pins you to the bed, planting a long and voracious kiss at your lips. you bite at his lower lip and he responds by wrestling your tongue with his own. after what seems like an eternity of your mouths fighting for dominance with each other, you break the kiss as a string of saliva follows your mouths.

"you know, i saw everything that unfolded with rina. i think it really is safe to say we belong to one another."

bi-han looks at you with a hint of amusement. "i should have known you didn't have pure intentions with inviting her over." he slips his hand down your frame, erecting shivers from you. he plants small kisses trailing down your midsize.

"perhaps the rest of the lin kuei should know the grandmaster's wife isn't really as much of an angel as she lets everyone think she is."

[meowzfordayz]

a hug (or, a thousand words too painful to say, but too precious to be left unspoken)

Author’s Note: this is a highly self indulgent fanfic, and is significantly coded to myself irl. 😅 Still enjoyable and readable for most anyone, but features a much more specific Reader than my usual writing. 🤗

a hug (or, a thousand words too painful to say, but too precious to be left unspoken)

Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~4,100

CW: alcohol, death content, Fem!Reader, implied canonical violence, mild sexual content

~faqs~ 

Another day, another lonely night. Glimmering in moonlight, Giyuu lies tired and still in bed. His mattress dips familiar and gentle in the center; a quiet reminder of his lack of a partner. Usually, he falls asleep this way, with a faint clenching in his sternum as he trades longing for unconsciousness, but tonight, he reaches for his second pillow — a worn and tactile belonging, saved for an elusive heart. The pillow squishes cool and small into his ribcage, and when he closes his eyes, he swears he can feel the tendrils of another’s touch; the breath of a lingering lover, smooth and warm against his skin — an embrace as secure as it is fleeting. A willowy breeze makes its way through his window, swirling around his room as though to compensate for the lack of company, and he finds himself wishing for the scent of closeness. Wishing for the press of a cheek against his chest, lips curving into a smile, arms clinging tightly—greedy, even, as though they truly desire him—around his waist, a hand rubbing slow circles into his back, the other gripping his bare skin. Exhaustion weighs more insistent on his eyelids now, goosebumps raising on his forearms as sleep conquers his melancholy, pillow happy and unmoving in its nook beneath his shoulder.

“Tomioka-san,” she says quietly, steps light as she walks beside him, “Are you going to be alone tonight?”

“I suppose so,” he shrugs, not sparing her a glance, “I intend to eat and then sleep.”

With a soft chuckle, she murmurs, “How straightforward,” expression kind as she remarks, “Would you like any company?”

“Whose company?” Giyuu deadpans, pulse quickening as his pace falters, still resisting the gravity of her stare, “Nobody likes me.”

“Now that isn’t true,” she retorts, “Kocho-san addressed you at least once during the meeting, and Shinazugawa-san was as behaved as he can be.”

“Formality is a given,” he mutters Meetings don’t count.

“And where exactly are we going?” she asks politely, a hint of amusement brightening her tone.

We? he pauses mid stride, realization settling in as the shift in greenery registers, well pruned bushes and watered flower beds trailing off to ancient trees and shadowy forest aromas, maintained cobblestones soon to give way to dirt trodden paths, spindly and senseless in their form and direction Why is she following me? Does she believe me incapable of protecting myself?

“I’m going to eat,” he states plainly, hesitating when she offers no response, “Are you…” swallowing nervously, eyes fixated on the ends of his sleeves, “Going to join me?”

“Tomioka-san, was that an official invitation?!” she exclaims cheerfully, birds scattering as she claps cheerfully, “I humbly accept!”

“I-” he begins to say, finally daring to look at her I didn’t invite you caught in his throat at the sight of bronzed sunlight glistening warm and tender through her hair, her uniform—in the style of Shinobu’s—perfectly fitted, additional haori a deep maroon not unlike half of his own, “Alright then.”

He leads her in silence, sun lazily sinking from the treetops to their branches to their trunks to their roots, a hazy darkness clinging to their silhouettes with the onset of night, hunger hastening his footsteps, an unfamiliar heat filling his chest with every peek behind him, her determined smile anchoring itself further and further into his memory.

—

“Tomioka-san.”

Grunting, Giyuu tilts his head, refilling their sake cups with a soft, “Huh?”

“Hashira don’t do this often, do they?”

Part of him wants to play dumb, wary of her openness and honesty, wondering if he should perhaps, not share his sake with her, her cheeks far redder than when they first entered the tiny restaurant, but a larger part of him revels in her earnesty. She hasn’t experienced enough loss is his guilt laden impression, sorrow spiking through his veins as he watches her down her cup. This has to stop he decides, lead in his gut as he braces himself to push her joy from his proximity.

“We’re usually too busy training to stay alive, trying to stay alive, or mourning those who couldn’t stay alive.”

“I understand,” she replies simply, taking his bluntness in stride, “Rengoku-san makes similar statements, albeit with a bit more enthusiasm.”

“Would you like to finish the sake? I’m tired, and will be leaving shortly.”

She blinks once, twice, and he nearly grimaces at the underlying disappointment in her eyes, voice steady as ever when she answers, “I’ll finish it for you,” for us, “Would you like me to accompany you to your next stop?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Of course, have a good night, Tomioka-san.”

A chokehold of regret grips him as her demeanor changes, heady comfortability dissipating between them faster than it thickened, the clang and clatter of other patrons suddenly louder than he recalled, facade of intimacy popping.

“Will I see you again?” he ponders aloud, alcohol speaking life into his treacherous thoughts.

“Do you want to?” she counters, raising an eyebrow, “I was under the impression that I bothered you.”

Standing slowly, he reaches out to pour the rest of the sake into her cup, tremor in his elbow noticeable only to her keen eyes, “I am alone, and it would be selfish of me to live otherwise. I don’t do this often,” ever, “Because it toes the line between duty and survival. You want to survive, don’t you?”

“I want to live,” she responds gently, a light fingertip resting atop his elbow, her other hand raising the full cup to her mouth, “I want to make the world a place where everyone can live.”

“That is admirable,” he murmurs evenly, back already turned to her, anxious to disappear into the ache of the dark, “May I see you at the next meeting,” may you continue living till then.

Where is she? Giyuu wonders, taking in the profiles of his fellow Hashira Surely…

“Tomioka-san, whatever is on your mind?” Shinobu coos loudly, “Never have I known you to actually daydream about someone!”

How unfair he thinks petulantly, haori feeling tight around his shoulders as he breathes in deeply, “Kocho-san.”

“That is indeed my name! Good of you to remember, we’ve been colleagues for so long anyhow.”

Eyes flashing with irritation, his nostrils flare, noting the distinct lack of a scent—her scent, swirling of amber and lavender, of dusky woodland and sundrenched wildflowers—drowning instead in the strength of Tengen’s perfume. The line up of Hashira feels incomplete, her petite figure typically squished somewhere near Mitsuri, her hurriedly tied hair missing from his peripheral, palette of stares otherworldly without the grounding brownness of her eyes.

“Kocho-san,” he repeats, certainty in his tone now, “Someone cares about me.”

“Oh?” she gasps, delighted at his sudden bite, “How wonderful, Tomioka-san! I would be honored to meet whoever’s oblivious enough to befriend you!”

Teeth gritting, his expression blankens, shame prickling at his skin Using her as leverage when she isn’t even present… how low of you…

“Would you like to dine together?” Shinobu chimes, “After this meeting? Do you have any old haunts worth revisiting?”

“I would not like that.”

“I suppose nothing could shine brightly enough to keep your focus,” Shinobu laughs lightly, good natured glint in her eyes as she quips, “That’s Tomioka-san, as sullen and single minded as always.”

“Does it shock you?” he ventures, “That someone could care about me?”

Head tilting at his question, Shinobu eventually smiles, silently mouthing as Kagaya comes into view Not at all, but I’m shocked you could notice in the first place.

“You weren’t at the meeting,” a frustrated voice mutters, cool body slipping into the seat beside you, “Oyakata-sama didn’t mention you either.”

“I was recovering from a mission,” she explains, not bothering to greet him, enraptured by condensation sliding down her glass of water, “Congratulations on your success.”

“The loss of the living is never a success,” Giyuu snaps, muscles still fatigued, his heart even more threadbare, “Slaying demons is just the physical aspect of being a Hashira.”

“And existing in the shadows and shrugging off praise is the other aspect?” she snorts wryly, unperturbed by his harshness, “Certainly, you are my senior, Tomioka-san, but you seem to be missing out on the true nature of your position.”

“I do not care for material treasures,” he says sharply.

Laughing at his assumption, she rolls her eyes, carelessly nudging his bicep with her own, “I’m not a Hashira for the sake of a salary. You believe me to be so shallow and stupid?”

“I don’t know you.”

“And yet, this is the second time we find ourselves in the same place at the same time.”

“You followed me the first time,” he grumbles, “This is my spot.”

“You didn’t leave when you saw me here,” she hums, gesturing at the bartender for more sake, “In fact, you willingly sat beside me.”

“I will not be bullied away from my few comforts.”

She lapses into silence at his indignation, mouth twitching as she considers his subtle confession — the extent of his self inflicted punishment.

“Of course not, we’re both Hashira, we couldn’t bully each other if we tried,” she jokes lightly, warming her palms on the newly arrived bottle of sake.

I wonder how they would feel, if I could offer her the heat of my own skin Giyuu frowns, “I’m stronger than you.”

“Not in the heart.”

Immediately, her attention focuses on pouring the sake, tiny clay cups reflecting her embarrassment back at her, chest nearly bursting at the pressure of waiting for his reply — of waiting for him to simply up and leave, again.

“If I was any stronger in the heart, then I would be dead.”

Pinching one of the cups between his thumb and index finger, he sips slowly, then all at once, head pitching backward, messy hair blurring the redness of his face, the outline of his feelings.

“Our line of work is tragic, isn’t it?” she remarks, following suit as she drinks from her cup, tongue tingling at the bittersweet flow of sake, “There are the silver linings of gratitude and the sunrise, but it’s grueling on the soul.”

“Your soul radiates ease,” he admits.

“And you envy me for that?” she asks gently.

“No. I don’t understand.”

“Tomioka-san, I-”

“-Giyuu. Call me Giyuu,” he interrupts Before the chance to do so escapes us both.

“Giyuu,” she tests the word delicately, unaware of the pricking along his spine, the flimsy defense of his clenched fists, eyes distant and guarded as ever, “So you cared about my absence.”

“And you revisited my restaurant.”

“Your restaurant?” she grins teasingly, “I didn’t pin you as a business owner.”

“Kanroji-san missed you,” he ignores her banter, reaching across her vision to pour the next round, “Should I be concerned about your love for sake?”

“Should I be concerned that you seem incapable of conversation without the tactical distraction of sake?” she retorts, neglecting to inform him that I only drink with you.

Mustering his courage, Giyuu breathes in the flickering glow of late night stupor and lowered inhibitions, surrounding patrons oblivious to the gnawing turmoil in his toes, working its way up his calves, his knees, the bend in his hips as he leans over the countertop, granting her a sideways glance, “I’m afraid I’m beginning to enjoy these moments of normalcy.”

Eyes widening, she sits upright, voice tinged with gruff amusement, “Normal? There isn’t a normal bone in your body, Tomioka Giyuu.”

“And is that okay?” he dares to venture Or is that why everybody hates me?

“It’s wonderful,” she declares, meeting his solemn stare with an overwhelming smile, “I’m positive there’s more to you than you’re willing to entrust with me, but perhaps someday, gradually, I can earn your honesty.”

“Would you accompany me to my estate tonight?”

“Feeling more scared than usual?” she chuckles, tentative hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, unable to hear the I should’ve done that struggling through the din to the forefront of Giyuu’s thoughts, “What’s different?”

He can’t bring himself to tell her I’m terrified, can’t bring himself to tell her This tightness in my lungs, how could I survive if a demon hunted me now?, can’t bring himself to tell her I’ve been too engrossed in yearning for my ghosts to get closer to the living, too buried in self contempt to feel the heat of anyone’s patience.

“Nothing’s different,” he lies, “I’m striving to be a better mentor.”

“Mentor?” she giggles, rolling her eyes, “How old are you, Giyuu?”

“Twenty one,” he stifles a sigh, relieved she let his omission go — disappointed she didn’t press further.

“And I’m twenty two.”

“Your kills?” he pries carefully.

“Fewer than yours,” she murmurs, “But my rank isn’t simply a pretty gesture.”

“My estate isn’t far,” nor is it much to see he tacks on silently.

“We’re all lonely, you know? I wouldn’t abandon you, even if you demanded me to.”

Her determination stirs a fierce emotion in his chest, maroon of her haori bleeding into his veins as he allows her promise to curl into the hollow of his throat, tone steely and splintered as he holds out his hand.

“Don’t utter such nonsense. Everyone departs eventually,” but maybe, just maybe, we could depart together.

She’s quiet as she reaches for his fingers, her callouses somehow familiar yet unexpected, warmth licking from her body toward his own coolness, unable to coax him any closer. I wonder how we appear to others Giyuu muses, an odd sensation spreading from the base of his spine up to his nape How her hand looks grasped in mine heart filling with nostalgia as he turns toward his estate Could we be…

—

“Oh…” her nose crinkles, eyes having long adjusted to the stillness of the night, “This is you.”

“This is me,” he affirms, grip still intertwined with hers, forgotten in the easy rhythm of their companionship, “Are you…”

“Willing to come inside? Judging your lodgings? Going to let go of your hand anytime soon?”

Blushing faintly—too faintly for even a Hashira to see under the foliage of midnight—Giyuu swallows thickly, no longer able to conceal his discomfort behind a sip of sake, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Oh?! And I didn’t even think to bring a housewarming gift,” she jokes softly, instinctively squeezing his hand, the flustered uptick of his pulse audible, “We can say goodbye here,” eyes closing against the dizzying rush of longing Sake, I’m sure it’s just the sake, “Until the next meeting.”

“What if I asked you to stay?” he whispers, unmoving, tired, sapphire eyes stuck, for once, on her face.

“Are you?” she smiles knowingly, releasing his hand with a gentle rub to his knuckles.

I wish I knew how to embrace you, how to ask… how to feel closeness without… “No, I guess not.”

“May I hug you, Giyuu?”

Her abrupt request cuts through the wayward spiral of their unvoiced desires, boldness propelled less by any sake, and more by the sorrowful gleam in his eyes, bodies drawn together by a shared craving to soothe each other’s listlessness, a haven of sweet, languid energy cocooning itself around his dampened, stoic posture. Barely able to nod, he swears he’s floating, slipping through her fingers as she melts into him, her head tucked precious and snug beneath his chin, mouth curving fondly at the scratch of his haori against her cheek. Her arms wrap slow and shy around his waist, forearms resting hesitant above his hips, light pressure of her sweaty palm touching the small of his back. Is this okay? she seems to say as her movements pause, waiting for the tension to seep from his shoulder blades. Are we alright? as she holds her breath, practiced and steady, allowing herself to gradually exhale as his eyes close, trembling fingertips grazing the hem of her haori, curling as if to tug her nearer, tighter, into the sloppily stitched patches of his heart.

“Tomioka-san!” she shouts excitedly, spotting his lithe figure slinking through the lower gardens, pointedly ignoring the amused snorts around her, “We’re going out for dinner, join us,” waving exasperatedly at Tengen’s dramatic groan, Kyojuro’s curious Oh?, Shinobu’s giddy laughter.

A slight shake of his head disappoints her, the sting of his rejection sharper than she anticipated, albeit the dimmest trace of a smile tells her where he’ll be instead.

“I don’t know why you bothered to invite him,” Tengen huffs, arms crossing, “He declines everyone and everything.”

“He is not the merriest individual,” Kyojuro nods thoughtfully, “Difficult to read.”

“I beg to differ,” Shinobu chimes in, “Tomioka-san isn’t difficult at all to read,” sly glint narrowing her eyes, “But why would anyone care to read him?”

“You’re all dear to me,” she murmurs softly, not striving to be heard, “Tomioka-san too.”

Brow furrowing with disapproval, Tengen chooses to disregard her remark in favor of questioning Kyojuro about his latest mission, Shinobu grabbing your arm to pull you along, the tug of Giyuu’s long gone presence halfheartedly resisting the Insect Hashira’s efforts for a fleeting second.

“Kocho-san…”

“Hm?” she hums quickly — too quickly to successfully feign oblivion.

“Never mind.”

“He’ll accept you, if you offer yourself,” she winks, dainty elbow jabbing at her side, “Few people accept him, he’s so aloof. You might even smile together.”

“I smile plenty!” she protests, face warming at the memory of Giyuu’s fingertips brushing feather light against the wrinkles of her uniform, “I always stop and smell the roses!”

And he needs someone as vibrant and upfront as you Shinobu titters, pinching her pink cheek with a smug grin, “Seems to me you’re quite enjoying the scent of a particular rose.”

“Kocho-san…”

“Hm?”

“I regret telling you anything!”

—

“How did you escape Kocho-san?” he asks, tall glass of juice nearly empty beside him.

“I simply explained I had someone important to see.”

Important? a dent forms between his brows, eyes shinier than she remembers.

“No sake tonight?” she smiles shyly, gesturing at his drink, “Saved a little for me?”

“If you’d like,” he offers smoothly, committed to unraveling his feelings—the odd sensation still nestled in his nape—after a much needed pep talk with himself (which would have continued through the entire night, had she not shown up).

“I think we should talk,” she says, not quite avoiding his display of intimacy, but anxious to unfurl the storm behind his gaze.

“You could sit?”

“Or we could walk,” she counters, “It’s a lovely temperature outside,” and I might run if I try to do this in here.

“You’re welcome to stay,” he declares softly, a warning haze of heat cupping his jaw, reddening his cheeks, not even sparing the tip of his nose, “At my estate. There isn’t much,” ... “But I’d feel…” I’d feel happy, “I’d feel better, knowing you’re somewhere…” dry? Safe? Within reach? “Somewhere less lonely.”

“You would share yourself with me, like that?”

“I have been, haven’t I?”

He moves swiftly, before she can respond, paying his tab, hand deftly finding hers as they head out the door, the feeling of her pulse in her wrist distinctly different—unbearably clearer—without the demanding buzz of alcohol in his bloodstream.

—

I have been, haven’t I? the sentence tumbles over and over in her head as they travel to his estate, its location vaguely familiar to her after only one visit, the plush of his hand so delicate yet firm as he guides her, almost too aware of every breath, every glance, every jump of his heartbeat, as though she might change her mind — as though she might forget their embrace, too painful and complicated to cherish.

“Giyuu-Oof,” she yelps as he suddenly stops, the front entrance shrouded from her view.

“I apologize,” he sounds so close, turning as she blinks, gripping both her forearms, “I fear I know what you seek from me, and I,” mouth shutting, his grip tightening, “I cannot be so selfish to indulge you.”

“Feelings are not an indulgence,” she whispers roughly, breast aching at his avoidance of her stare, unable to caress his jaw, unable to ask him to Look at me.

Knowing he might shatter if she did.

“My sister died. My best friend died. To protect me. Countless below me have died, those above me will die too. I will die. I can’t have it on my conscience, your faith in me, your… your pursuit, of me. I am as dedicated to the living as I am destined for an early death, and you-” speaking harshly now as she listens in silence, his body pleading for her to interrupt him, his heart clinging to the solace of her presence, “-You will die.”

Don’t ask me to mourn you, to trace the scars upon your skin as you leave me behind, to wallow in the numbness that used to be your scent, your laughter, your life against my chest.

“And what can I have?” she finally interjects, voice brittle with soured anger, “If I am marked for death, then why can’t I at least live? Why can’t I feel to the furthest extent of my limbs? Give to the deepest void of my soul? Hold you as close as you deserve to be held?”

“I don’t deserve to be held,” Giyuu hisses, still gripping her forearms, still teetering, “I deserve to kill for those who died in my place, to wander for those who couldn’t see the world, to die for those who deserve, much more than I do, to live.”

“Just shut up,” she snarls, shoving in closer to his glassy eyes, not wanting to shrug him off, but wanting him to, “Look at me, Tomioka Giyuu. Look at me. Tell me, Giyuu, what is living to me?”

“Certainly,” he seethes, “It isn’t me.”

“But it could be,” she persists, desperation clawing through her words, leaves crunching as she presses closer, closer, closer, the most tender of glares illuminated by the indefinite guard of the moon, haori sleeves falling slightly as her forearms lift upright, forehead nearly touching his collarbones, “I’m this close already, so what’s stopping us?”

“You said so yourself, I’m weak in the heart,” he mutters, releasing her arms, flinching when she promptly wraps them around him, frozen at the crossroads, “I’m stopping us.”

“Are you?” she whispers, gaze searching for his, stubborn brown burrowing into choppy seas, a wooden boat sinking, sinking, floating.

“Am I what?” he retorts, malice all but lost as a warm heaviness seeps through his cracks, “I am weak.”

“Are you going to stop us?” as she rises onto her toes, fingers tangled in the memories, the despair, the love, of his haori, “Are you going to live?” as her eyes close, that little wooden boat still floating, still slicing through the grief and deep of his vast blue, “Will you live with me?”

His lips part. A breath to say a thousand words. A breath to say nothing. A gentle snaking of his arms around her waist, palms cold and decided, cupping the back of her head, supporting the weight of her trust as she falls into his touch, throat bared for the barest graze of his teeth, the low groan of his broken desire caressing her skin, making its way to her jaw, nipping light and unsure at her earlobe, sucking soft and wet across warmth of her cheek, hesitating at her mouth.

“Giyuu,” she says, and he kisses her.

He kisses her smile, tasting of salt and relief, his eyelashes fluttering when she tugs on his haori, that odd sensation finally dissolving, devoured by the pressure of her closeness, body jolting as her eyes open, a life worth learning glowing before him, like molten starlight cradled against his heart.

“I will share all of myself with you, if you can tolerate my pace,” he rasps, feeling as though he’s gasping for breath, hurting at the emotional transaction of truth, “I am far from ready to live,” a poised, fateful edge lingering, even as he grasps her hands, guiding them to his neck, his jaw, his face, tracing the outline of his devotion, “But I…” a low sob erupting, posture crumpling, “I want to learn,” her haori dampening, his tears dripping one by one onto its stiff collar, “I want you to know how I feel, for how I feel to grow,” a sliver of his trust as clear as his pain etching itself into the walls of her heart.

“Giyuu,” she murmurs, “Giyuu, Giyuu, Giyuu,” hoping he understands.

As they walk the ten steps to his estate, hand in hand, he tells her, with a shaky, silent pause to tuck her hair behind her ear, that Someday, I swear I will.

[inurecity]

Exhausted

Hey!! This is my first ever fanfic I’ve written,, I’m extremely sorry about any mistakes I made </3

I struggled to capture Soap’s accent in this; I hope you all won’t mind!! He’s an American for the time being 🥲

Minor Warning: Shitty spelling/grammar mistakes, most of it is fluff though 💕

This is also pretty short!! If this writing seems to be well received, I may add on to it or make more chapters :)

Please let me know if you have any suggestions for future fanfics, I love to write and I love my 141 and KorTak babies even more <3

The mission went swimmingly. No casualties (on their side, anyways), little to none injuries. A miracle, honestly—the task forces assigned were biting off way more than they could chew. As Simon Riley, or “Ghost”, heaved his weight onto the back of the truck, the yells of what he assumed to be of Price’s echoed around the area. Close behind followed John “Soap” Mactavish, who plopped himself right next to where Ghost had chosen to sit.

With a cocky smirk spread across his face, Soap leaned his body weight against Ghost. “Heard you roughed ‘em up pretty good, LT.” He slid his hand along Ghost’s shoulder, hugging him closer.

Ghost let out a grumble, shoving him off of his body. “Heard you got fucked yourself. How’s the arm?” He returned the smirk (which Soap could just barely make out with the balaclava Ghost was wearing covering it), poking Soap’s arm.

As Soap flinched away—and Ghost swears he heard a hiss as he did so—Price eyed them both from the opposite side of the truck. When had he gotten there? Ghost hadn’t realized. Weird.

“It’s just fine.” As Soap massaged where Ghost had touched him, Ghost took the chance to scoot farther away from him.

As the truck began its rocky pace back to HQ, Ghost (whom had previously snapped at Soap for falling asleep on him on the way back from a mission) couldn’t help but occasionally rest his eyes before he fully began to drift off onto the unsuspecting shoulder of Mactavish himself. He was spent, Price had put more weight than usual on him: assigning two god damn squads filled to the brim with militia. It was an easy win, obviously. That didn’t stop him from being exhausted by the end of it.

Soap, who had now began to realize Ghost’s proximity to him, cracked a smile, careful not to disturb the moment. He nudged his free arm in the direction of Gaz, who was sitting next to him, and the two shared a moment of pure excitement. It was shocking in itself that Ghost let his guard down enough to actually manage to drift off, but on someone else? Completely unheard of. Ghost, full of surprises to say the least, nuzzled his head into the crook in Soap’s neck, mumbling incoherent bullshit. Gaz (whom has been waiting to witness a moment like this) smiled innocently at Soap, batting his eyelashes. “Looks like you two finally got together, eh?”

This caught the attention of Price, who had been trying to ignore his.. well, children at this point, and he pulled his head up slightly to get a better view.

Soon after Ghost was fully asleep, Soap carefully placed his hand on top of his, eyes distant and longing. As much as he was enjoying this, he didn’t want their first time properly holding hands to be when Ghost was asleep. So, he retracted his own, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards.

Seeing what Soap had did, Gaz leaned in closer and hissed in his ear. “It’s not every day you get to hold his hand, ya? Go for it.” He smiled at Soap, holding eye contact for a second with an encouraging look in his eyes before shifting his attention back to the chaos going on in the other side of the truck.

With a flinch of awkwardness, Soap reached out again and laced his fingers with Ghost’s own. He knew Ghost’s hand would be limp, and that it wouldn’t be like the real thing, but he still felt beyond euphoric to do something so intimate with Ghost.

“I swear to god, if either of you tell him this happened, it’ll be the last thing you do.” He spread his pointed glare to Gaz and Price, whom agreed via a nod of the head and a knowing smile.

Throughout the ride, Soap had forgotten he was holding Ghost’s hand; he had been holding it for too long to not see it as natural.

But Ghost? He had woken up halfway through the ride, not moving a muscle. He kept his place on Soap’s neck, hearing the hum of his vocal cords as he talked with Gaz. He would never admit it, but the sound relaxed him; his hand laced with Soap’s even more so. Slowly but surely, he inched his fingers to close over Soap’s with a soft smile under his balaclava.

As the truck lurched to a stop, Soap looked down to both his and Ghost’s hands. He smiled to himself before loosening his fingers. Ghost, who realized what Soap was doing, huffed into the warm skin on Mactavish’s neck and squeezed his hand.

With a wide-eyed Soap staring at him, Ghost took the chance to stroke his thumb across his palm. “Ya gonna just sit there lookin’ pretty, or ya gonna hold my hand again, sergeant?” His voice was gruff from not talking for hours, the hum pressing into Soap’s neck.

With an excited side glance to Gaz, he tightened his grip on Ghost’s hand. “Jus’ keepin it warm for ya, LT.”

“Likewise.”

Thank you so much for reading!!

Typed this all out on my phone lol, sorry if it sounds lazy 💕

[evilwickedme]

Ooh, do you have any good Jason fic recs?

anon I cannot tell you how long I've been waiting to see those words!!!! yes I have good Jason fic recs in fact I have so many good Jason fic recs that after narrowing it down I still have fifteen links for you

I have read more fanfic for Jason Todd than maybe any other character ever. I do not understand the hold this man has on me but it's simply the situation we're in. anyway

Jason comes home fics

Make a Little Birdhouse In Your Soul is hands down my favorite. I'm talking favorite DC fic, top fics of all time period, not just from this list. I love this fic series. It is actively and regularly updating, thank fuck, because that little boost of serotonin is everything keeping me going I swear

The 70 Days After Groundhog Day is technically from Dick's POV, but it's about the aftermath of a timeloop that Jason was stuck in. it's. oh my god it's so good. just trust me on this one.

Emotional Motion Sickness is the "bruce goes to therapy" fic series we all want. canon get on this level

Retrograde Motion - I never used to like de-aging fics; not for any particular reason, I just never vibed with them. Recently I decided to see what all the fuss was about (bc there's so goddamn many in this fandom) and I'm glad, because I opened this fic and it's just. oh my god. the use of the de-aging trope here is truly incredible. after a whole week of dipping my feet into the trope I never need to do so again, because this fic made me fucking lose it. this is not going where you think it's going. also, for some reason there's not that much rebirth outlaws fic, and I really like what this author did with that team

matching wounds haha just gonna sneak my fic series on here and pretend that it was an accident, wait how did that get there (some jayroy later in the timeline too which can be read on its own if Jason coming home fics aren't for you)

other non-ship

Too Much Fucking Salt deals with the straw that broke the camel's back. I've read all 22k words of this in one sitting more than once. this is the anti "Jason Todd comes home" fic (this is in itself a whole genre of fic too honestly).

take his name out of your mouth (you don't deserve to mourn) is about Jason mourning himself, which he fucking deserves to. also he smokes a joint with Dick

Sown in Winter is about Jason pulling himself out of a depressive episode partially through the power of Stardew Valley. also technically jayroy, but it's honestly incidental to the story for the most part imo

JayRoy

I do read other ships for Jason but unabashedly this is my favorite, so

A Solid Resume - competency kink. that's all I have to say.

Tenderize is a series of oneshots all of which slowly build Jason and Roy's life together and coparenting lian and I just !!! could also double as a Jason coming home au but honestly that's mostly in the first fic. also a lot of discussion of various chain grocery stores in the united states that I will probably never actually step foot in

Dick Grayson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Two to Three Weeks (But Who's Counting) is so fucking funny I die every time I reread this. there's a scene early on in a coffee shop that just. I don't even know what to say everything about this is perfect. I AM the girl sticking her nose in their business, at least spiritually.

dust devils on the horizon isn't even the only western au I've bookmarked for these two. something about jayroy and horses, man

unity of time: april 27th, 2020 is just,,,, super sad, man, idk what to tell you. it's f!jayroy, but happens after Roy died in sanctuary during the 24h of Jason's death day, so all of it is very fucking depressing. It's also fucking beautiful. I want to reread it now.

Promise After That I'll Let You Go is a poisonivory fic. I was introduced to poisonivory through the daredevil fandom earlier this year and may I tell you when I found out that this author writes for jayroy I lost my goddamn mind. this is my personal favorite, but I almost recommended at least two more aus. Their jayroy sugar daddy au is one of the only sugar daddy aus I've ever truly enjoyed. also really like the one where roy has had feelings for dick since their teen titans days but still starts a fwb thing with Jason. poisonivory can make me into kinks I'm not even into I s2g. anyway this one has lian literally dragging roy back into jason's life

finally, Reciprocation (or: Sex as Violence) shouldn't even really count as a jayroy fic but I feel weird putting it in the other category since it is sort of a jayroy fic. it's ace-aro!jason, which is one of my personal favorite interpretations of Jason (with so much textual evidence wtf), but there's still like... a lot of sex in this. Jason does not have a healthy relationship with sex in this fic. I would describe this as ending in a QPP for jayroy and lian.

honestly there's a lot of good jason and roy and lian fic out there I didn't rec cause this is already long enough

so yeah this is my very VERY pared down fic rec list for Jason Todd let me know if you want more and thank you so much for asking

[luna-writes-stuff]

Day 3: Hey Stephen, Steven Grant

Song link

Fanfic, gn!reader

Fluff

Word count: 3263

Tw: Steven being his own anxious self, mutual pining (I'm a slut for those), first date.

Summary: Steven has been fawning all over you since the day you met. And you have been dropping hints all over to confirm that you liked him too. But he was oblivious. And a raging ball of anxiety. At least, that was, until one car ride home.

"Hey Stephen, I know looks can be deceiving But I know I saw a light in you."

Wave, greet, smile, stutter, turn around so she can’t see your goofy smile.

Five steps Steven followed religiously when you would pass him in the halls. You had worked at the museum months before Steven had, switching from area to area, but regardless of your current line of duty, you would always walk past him. And even after all this time, he felt his entire face heat up when his eyes met yours.

Unbeknownst to him, you had picked this route on purpose; you could have walked ten other halls, but this was the one you would always visit. Steven had left an impression since his first working day. He had a lot to tell about the museum itself, and its attributes - regardless of working behind a register -, he had been twice as friendly as your usual museum staff, and he had this adorable habit of falling over his words when you would initiate a talk with him.

It was not difficult to like him.

And for him, you were not difficult to like either.

"And as we walked we would talk And I didn't say half the things I wanted to."

“Hey, Steven,” You greeted as you let your arm rest against the counter.

From below the register, you heard a rough thud, followed by a groan, and a disgruntled face.

“Hey-hey,” He stuttered, rubbing the back of his head as he rose from his spot. “How are you?”

You smiled at him, voicing a ‘good’, before grabbing a pen from the cup filled with writing utensils, and laying it on the counter. Steven merely stared at it, unsure of what you meant by it.

“Two forty, correct?” You pointed out, drawing your card from your pocket.

He could feel his ears heating up upon realizing that you wanted to purchase the pen. From a museum gift shop. Where he worked behind the register. Fumbling with the keys of the system, he scanned the pen, nodding at your earlier question.

You paid the pen, putting it in the pocket of your shirt, waving of Steven’s offer for the receipt.

“I don’t think I will return it,” You mused through another smile. “It was merely a reason to see you again.”

And with these words, you walked out of the shop, sending a wave over your shoulder. Steven simply stood there, unsure of what to say or do. He watched you leave, the ghost of a smile on his lips. And then his cheeks warmed up again. And he turned around, before you were to walk back at catch his stupid grin.

"Of all the girls tossing rocks at your window I'll be the one waiting there even when it's cold."

It wasn’t until the end of his shift that he would see you again. He was helping a customer with a notebook and a snow globe, you being the next person in line. But he hadn’t seen you yet.

The girl in front of him kept chatting about her terrible ex-boyfriend, and how she had so desperately hoped to find her new partner in a museum. Steven, bless his heart, had tried to comfort her by telling her that perhaps she would still meet that special person today, and she had taken it the wrong way. For now, she was fawning all over him, her arms both on the counter as she kept leaning forward, until Steven could swear she’d fall on his side if her arms were to give out.

You patiently waited behind them, silently laughing to yourself at Steven’s more than uncomfortable face. A tiny snicker escaped you whatsoever, drawing the attention of your friend behind the counter, who shot you a helpless look.

"Hey Stephen, boy, you might have me believing I don't always have to be alone."

“Can I pay for this book?” You spoke up, trying to wipe that grin from your face. 

One dirty look was received from the girl, which was returned with a mocking smile, immediately losing your patience with rude customers. But Steven had already called you forward, simultaneously dismissing the girl, who sauntered away.

“The museum’s index of our Egyptian exposition?” He questioned, raising his eyebrows in attempt to make you smile. A successful notion.

“A dear friend of mine told me it was worth the read,” You explained, to which Steven nodded, that foolish grin threatening to return to his face.

“Well, than that friend must have known it is not entirely accurate.”

“Yes, well,” You began, offering your card again. “I was rather hoping he’d read it with me, so I shall know which tales to believe, and which not to.”

"'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else I can't help myself."

At these words, Steven bent down to grab a bag under the counter. Not to hide that incredible blush on his face.

“Could I offer you a ride?” You continued after accepting the bag. “Before I’m being called awake at night because someone ended up on the other side of London again.”

Chuckling nervously, Steven stepped away from the register to let his co-worker take over his shift. “I did not mean to fall asleep on that tube.”

You shrugged, offering him his jacket, which you had already fetched from the break room, followed by a cup of warm coffee. A look of surprise crossed his face, but he tried not to make a big deal out of it, instead, putting his jacket on and accepting the coffee.

“God knows you need it.” You spoke, gesturing towards the cup, before walking towards the car.

"Hey Stephen, I've been holding back this feeling So I've got some things to say to you."

The drive to Steven’s apartment was not a long one. But it had been a while since you had eaten. And when you drove past the second McDonalds, you were not able to control yourself any longer.

“Do you mind if we go through the McDrive?” You asked, already taking the exit. Steven only hummed, lost in thought. He would not have admitted it, but his head had kept replaying the entire scenario from earlier that day; ‘It was merely a reason to see you again’, you had said. And those words have been on a loop in his head constantly

It wasn’t until the big, yellow M came into sight for him as well that he woke up from his daydream. Now, it wasn’t that Steven wasn’t hungry; quite the opposite, but he did not want to go to McDonalds. Well, he did. But he didn’t.

"I've seen it all, so I thought But I never seen nobody shine the way you do."

“Hey,” He spoke up, swallowing thickly, his hands already finding each other, toying with his fingers nervously. Your eyes flickered towards him briefly, before returning towards the road.

Nerves began to pierce through his stomach, his hands now shaking, even though they were laying on his lap. But you had not noticed yet.

“I heard there is this great new restaurant only five minutes from here.”

You smiled at his words, nodding in agreement. Yes, you had heard of it as well.

“I would love to go there, Steven,” You sighed, still driving towards the snackbar. “But I am afraid I am a little low on money right now.”

The man remained quiet in his seat, staring out of the window absentmindedly. Yet, his mind was spinning. You took his silence for a disappointed answer, and frowned slightly.

“With the mortgage from my new apartment, and rent and everything,” You mumbled, referring to the new home in central London you had finally managed to buy. “I am afraid I’ll have to wait for ten more days until I get paid. I don’t have the money now.”

“N-no,” He interrupted, now turning back to you. “I meant it as a question.” 

Now it was your turn to remain silent. And now Steven understood how a silence could be so deafening and uncomfortable. It did not make his proposition any easier.

“Would you allow me to take you there?”

"The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name It's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change."

The stutter in his voice was adorable, and you could not help but show a tiny smile.

“As a date?” You prodded, a teasing edge to your voice, but you were sincere nonetheless.

“Well,” Steven chuckled nervously. “Only if you want it to be. It could be a fun little frien-“

“Steven,” You interrupted, showing him that kind look on your face that only made this moment so much harder for the poor man. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Swallowing thickly again, he nodded, casting his eyes down to his lap.

No other words were spoken, and the lack of answers were terrifying Steven. If you would say no, he’d have nowhere to run to. He’d be stuck in a car regardless, and pretend he was fine. He won’t ever let himself live that one down.

But if you were to reject him, would things change? Not only would this car-ride be absolutely horrible, he’d have to be forced to look at your face every day with a secret longing, even after you denied him. He could never bring himself to go to work if he had to live with that. 

Why did he ask? Silently, he was already punishing himself. He knew you deserved better, of course you did. But he always held hope you might have liked him back as he had. And this silence was the worst, especially for the consequences it would bring.

"Hey Stephen, why are people always leaving? I think you and I should stay the same."

“I just came back from work,” You finally uttered. “I look horrible.”

“You look beautiful,” Steven quickly countered, not even realizing the words he had just spoken. “You always do. And, and the good news is, you do not have to get dressed up. I already like you, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Now it was your turn for heat to rise to your face. Perhaps you had begun to understand the reason Steven always turned from you after greeting you.

“You don’t either,” You spoke honestly. “I would be a fool to reject that offer.”

Beaming in his seat, Steven finally let go of his hands, resting them on the seat calmly, though inside, he was grinning from ear to ear. For years, he had pined over you from a distant, only striking up occasional conversations.

And now he sat there, with you beside him, on your way to your very first date. He was thankful he did not have to take the tube to the restaurant. He would have gotten some weird looks for that stupid smile.

"'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else I can't help myself."

The diner had gone surprisingly well. From the moment you had accepted his offer, Steven changed completely; he opened every door for you, would hold your seat, named your order to the waiters, and even insisted upon dessert, after you had told him you did not want him to spend that much money for a little cake.

He was even more endearing than he usually was. And the looks he gave you throughout the entire night made your heart swell with love. How you had never seen him looking at you like that before, you did not know. But now that you noticed, you did not think you could ever unsee it. His eyes were filled with so much adoration and patience, it was nearly too good to be true. 

But he was real. 

And he was sitting in front of you

"They're dimming the street lights You're perfect for me Why aren't you here tonight?"

When the two of you left the restaurant, the sun had already began to set, and the streetlights illuminated the roads. Your stomach was fuller than it had been in the last couple of weeks, but you had a blast.

Steven was still smiling, walking beside you as he observed you gently. This time, as you turned to look at him, he did not look away, as he usually did. Instead, he brightened his smile, his eyes crinkling as he did so.

“Something on my face?” You wondered, aware of his staring.

“No,” he denied, shaking his head. “Just looking.”

You hummed at his answer, content with the diner dip, as you had called it. Yet, you could not help but grow increasingly aware of his eyes on you. They were not uncomfortable, but it was new.

"I'm waiting alone now So come on and come out And pull me near And shine, shine, shine."

Trying to ignore it, you walked closer to him, your arm wrapping around his, matching his steps. Steven tensed at the notion shortly, his other hand clenching his fingers together. He felt his heart speed up, and he wondered if you had any idea what you were doing to him.

He’s had crushes through the years, but with you, it felt different. Not a crush, but he was in love. Completely and utterly head over heels. And he had known it since your first talk.

And now, your arm was around his.

And your head suddenly on his shoulder, your steps ceasing. For a short second, Steven wondered if he had done anything wrong. But when your eyes fell upon the sky, he realised that had not been the case.

Your eyes had landed on the sky above you, the stars hanging in the dark canvas above.

“A clear nightsky in Central London,” you mused. “I didn’t think I’d see the day.”

"Hey Stephen, I could give you 50 reasons Why I should be the one you choose."

Steven remained silent beside you, his eyes now rising to the stars as well. Your arm began to slip from his, settling for his hand instead.

It was extremely warm, perhaps because he had been nervous earlier. You had been too. But it was a pleasant feeling. And, without any poetic meaning to it, his hands simply felt as…his. What you had always imagined his hand to feel like, his fingers entangled with yours, it felt exactly like that. And there was something deeply enchanting to it.

For someone who worked in a museum gift shop, his hands had been surprisingly calloused, though. You had not expected that.

“Do you know anything about astrology?” Steven asked, trying to get his attention off of the incredibly soothing contact your hands made. It was almost overwhelming to him.

“No,” you answered honestly. “I just like to look at the stars.”

He ‘aww’ed in understanding, his mind trailing off to a book he owned about astrology and starsigns. He might let you borrow that one later.

For now, he stood there, enjoying the moment in the cold afternoon air.

"All those other girls, well, they're beautiful But would they write a song for you?"

The car-ride to Steven’s apartment was short. The restaurant had been walking distance from his flat, but you insisted upon driving him home. You even insisted on walking with him to his room.

“Will I see you again?” Steven asked meekly as he stuck his key in the door.

“Well,” you smiled. “I work tomorrow. You work tomorrow. If you show up.”

“Yes, sorry,” he sighed, understanding your underlying notion. “It’s just, I have this sleeping problem-“

“Steven, it’s okay.” You reassured, resting your hand on his shoulder. “You can’t help it.”

His eyes softened upon the words, his shoulders slumping. You frowned at the sudden change of his mood, cursing yourself for even uttering a word about his absence at work.

“And if you don't,” you tried to cheer him up. “I will cover for you to Donna. She likes us both too much to fire us.”

“I doubt that.” 

You retrieved your hand, holding it up to lay emphasis on your words. “Who else am I supposed to buy my pens from?”

"I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else I can't help myself."

Opening his door, he turned back to face you, his face set in sudden anxiety. He wanted to do this with you again. He didn’t want to see you during work hours only. And you had seemed to enjoy yourself. Why would you not want to?

“Hey,” he spoke up, changing the subject. “I know a great bookshop in a hidden alley in London. Maybe we can find some books about astrology there?”

You grinned, dropping your hands to your sides.

“Is that a second date?”

The teasing edge on your voice was now easily caught by Steven, who answered your question with a sudden boost of confidence.

“It is.”

You looked at him in surprising, nodding in admiration.

“Okay, handsome,” you agreed. “I’ll keep you to that.”

"If you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else I can't help myself."

And there it was again. That stupid rush of warmth running over his cheeks. He used to hate it as much as he loved it. But now, it had simply become endearing.

“Okay,” he whispered, his hands finding his pockets as he leaned on the balls of his feet.

Before the moment could get awkward, you walked up to him, leaning forward slightly to place a light kiss on his cheek. As you leaned back, you found Steven frozen to the ground, and it almost reminded you of a Looney Tunes moment. You kept that thought to yourself.

“I had a wonderful time tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow, Steven.”

With that, you turned around, offering a wave behind your shoulder as you always did. It wasn’t until you began descending down the stairs that Steven was ripped out of his thoughts.

“Y-yes!” He stuttered. “See you tomorrow…”

He heard your laugh echoing through the halls until your footsteps were no longer audible. His heart had only been speeding up since that talk, and he found his clothes sticking to him uncomfortably tight. A quiet ‘I love you’ slipped from his lips, before he stepped into his apartment.

The second his door closed, his back leaned against it, and the man let out a sigh of relief and satisfaction. He replayed everything that had happened in his mind, letting it all process properly.

And then he laughed, running a hand through his hair. A cheer erupted from his throat as he turned around, facing the door.

“A second date.”

The same words you had uttered as you reached the bottom floor, doing a little dance of victory.

"Can't help myself, I can't help myself."

[bramble-scramble]

Bramble’s Fanfic Collection

Hi friends!! I’ve been wanting to do this for a while: since I don’t, as of yet, post my work on AO3 or anywhere else besides here, I wanted to get together a collection of my writing. I will keep this post current, so if you are looking at this from a reblog, be aware that it might not be up to date unless you visit the original post!

This isn’t everything I’ve written in my life, of course, but it’s everything that lives here. I have much older stuff that I might port over here gradually if I decide I’m still happy with it. 

Nothing I write is too explicit, but it sometimes may deal with body horror, injury, death, and distressing themes such as depression and suicidal ideation. Content warnings are given on individual posts.

Fanfics are collected into general fandom categories below. Thanks to anyone who’s ever read, commented on and enjoyed my work!

Super Mario RPG

I first played SMRPG over half of my lifetime ago, but it never really captured my imagination until the remake came out. Being older, I felt like I was in a better spot to appreciate some of its more subtle themes, and became enamored with the Smithy Gang in particular. I haven't written all that much yet, but I'd like to do more.

The Forging - A Spear is born.

Smithy Gang Headcanons - My personal timeline and background from which I hope to eventually build more ideas.

Mack/Claymorton Headcanons

Mario + Rabbids

This is the fandom that brought me back to tumblr and got me to stick around, and also got me writing on my own again after ages of drought. Years ago I would have never believed that rabbids would get me to write so much, but here I am, and I’m grateful for it!

Most of these so far are about Woodrow and Palette Prime more generally, because that’s where my brain lives, and the catastrophe poet is very special to my heart. I’ll eventually branch out more though, I swear.

I write a bunch of Phandrow (Phantom x Woodrow) stuff specifically; it started out with me trying to justify a crackship to my own brain and then whoops! I became obsessed

Of Verses and Curses 

My magnum opus of fanfics, as of yet, and the longest work of fiction I have written independently in my life, this is a story of finding the person who loves you even if your passion in life seems to only bring failure and misfortune. It’s a deeply personal story built off a lot of my own feelings and struggles. It’s also a story about two gay rabbids who have never canonically met. [Phantom x Woodrow, also includes plenty of Dryad x Sweetlopek] 

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Music of the Night

The dark inverse to Of Verses and Curses, set in the Sparks of Despair AU created by @pastelprince18​, this is a far more upsetting tale of doomed love and unhappy endings. There is a monster at the end of this book.

(Body horror warning, especially at the end, so just be aware before you get invested.)

Chapter One - In Sleep He Sang to Me

Chapter Two - Do I Dream Again?

Chapter Three - Our Strange Duet

Chapter Four - To Glance Behind

Chapter Five - Those Who Have Seen Your Face

Chapter Six - Where Night is Blind

Chapter Seven - Angel of Music

Other Woodrow or Phandrow stuff

Bwahstrella’s Warning - an exploration of what might happen when you push the galaxy’s own disaster poet to the heights or the depths of his passion. [Phantom x Woodrow]

Poetry Slammed - Sweetlopek’s perspective of a certain boat incident. [Sweetlopek and Woodrow, platonic]

Happy Phandrow Things - not really a fanfic so much as a collection of thoughts/headcanons but they make me happy so they’re going here, gosh darnit!

The Eulogist - Woodrow necromancer AU. Not sure I need to say more than that. [character death and slight body horror warning]

Wolf of the Woods - An exploration of a Werewolf Woodrow AU! While not much in itself, people liked it; not only did it spearhead a lot of fun discussion/art, but it’s pretty much what got me writing again and therefore led to EVERYTHING above!

Unmerged - Not really a fic, but an exploration of an idea that makes me too sad to think about too much D:

An Appeal to the Heavens - In a time long past, a poor poet makes a desperate plea to the god he yearns to serve.

Pocket Poet, Part 1 | Part 2 - my one exploration of the Borrower AU: tiny Woodrow experiences the theatrical world of his lover, up close and personal.

Non-Woodrow Stuff (wtf, it DOES exist)

Something from Nothing - before we really knew what the Tower of Doooom was about, we had thoughts. Unhappy thoughts. [featuring Spawny and extra-evil Phantom]

M+R Timeline Analysis - Not a fic, but some background on how I view this universe.

Tools of the Traitors - A mini Super Paper Mario crossover between Kanya and Dimentio.

The High Seas AU

Sirens and Soliloquys - a pirate poet who bears a curse in secret is tempted by a siren's song, and gets more than he could have possibly imagined as a result.

Further worldbuilding and character background ideas for the AU!

Sea Legs - just a little more Phandrow silly sweetness

The Vampire [Phanpire?] AU

A Phandrow-centric AU that really speaks for itself, collaboratively created. Usually Phantom is the vampire and Woodrow his willing prey, but sometimes the roles are reversed, sometimes the ""victim"" is Prima Donna (Phantom's drag persona), sometimes they're both vampires- look, we like to have fun here.

As a general warning, pretty much anything in this collection will deal with blood and mild injury.

A Bite for Good Luck - my starting point for this AU, and its companion piece from Tom's perspective.

Burning Like The Sunrise - a little prequel to the above. A tale of passion at first bite.

One Paw in the Grave - Woodrow learns just how vulnerable a vampire can be.

Bat's Eye View - A vampire shows his beloved the world as he sees it.

Batsong - Lord Phan runs into misfortune; but thankfully, it's only of a rather amusing kind.

Various Vampire Phandrow Ideas: A Duet | The Lord's Protection | Thoughts on Sleep | Something More Than Blood | Nothing Wasted | Paeans to Prima Donna | Sacred Anatomy

Donkey Kong/Banjo-Kazooie/Rare-Playtonic Universe

A Donkey Kong’s World - this is a narrative record of the homebrew D&D campaign I was in, and includes elements from all of the things mentioned above, as well as Sea of Thieves and the Mario series. I’m including it here because not only was I involved as one of the characters, but I actually novelized most of the whole story (taking over from our DM who did the first few chapters) based on our session recordings. It was an extremely special experience for me, and is quite a long read, but if you’re a big fan of any of these franchises I think you might enjoy coming along with us. [Link is external and goes to the forum where the story is hosted.]

Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga (+ Bowser’s Minions)

These are years old, from before my tumblr hiatus, so they may not be quite up to my current standards... but I still like them.

Anamnesis - While Popple and Rookie plan their biggest heist yet, Rookie tries to remember who he is... and almost does.

Wallflower - In the quiet moments, Captain Shy Guy realizes just how much he cares about that silly Goomba... [Captain Shy Guy x Captain Goomba]

The Stolen Birthday - a little headcanon for a Popple backstory.

That’s all for now!!

[allfandomstan]

After Dark~(Batman x Vigilante Reader), Chapter 1.

Read Chapter 2! found on my ‘posts’.

Genre: action, mystery, crime, Noir..

Setting: Gotham City from ‘The Batman’ 2022.

Warnings: swearing, mention of violence, dark themes, mutual ‘tension’😉.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author Notes: Hi, this is my first time writing a fanfic (hope its not too bad!) and this is certainly my first Dcu fanfic. Most characters are adapted from ‘The Batman’ and character credits goes to Matt Reeves, the director. I’m hoping to make this an ongoing series, depending on the feedback I receive and motivation I get to write😫. Anyways, the reader is a newbie vigilante in Gotham(you'll know more about her in later chapters) and she's doing her own little ivestigative work when she crosses paths with Batman...

pls, tell me what you guys think (constructive criticism is always welcome) and hope you enjoy!

P.S there ought to be a lot of ‘tension’ between reader and Vengeance.😏😏

Fuck.

You witness the Mayor getting hammered by some fucked-in-the-head maniac, wearing a dull green trench coat and a leather- green face cover. He had a large, white question mark painted on the side of his coat.

‘What the hell could that mean?’

You blinked twice as you took in the sight  of the man taping the Mayor’s head in Duck-tape and writing something on it.

With his own blood.

“Sick Bastard”, you murmured to yourself as you focused the binoculars even more to read what he wrote on the Mayor’s taped up face. 

You couldn’t see it. 

You had to get a better view, but you couldn’t go down now. If anyone caught you, you’d be a prime suspect in the upcoming murder case. And that would only consist of them digging further into your background which you figured wouldn’t go down too well for you.

You had to wait it out. And wait for the sick Fucker to leave, or you could end up like the unfortunate Mayor.

****

An hour passed and you soon saw the outside of the Mayor’s house crowding up with Police Officers, detectives and the forensic crew. Shit, you even saw Jim Gordon. 

And seeing Gordon meant that ‘he’ could be nearby.

Hurriedly and by instinct,you looked up at the sky.

And there is was.

The notorious ‘Bat signal’ was lit.

It was the only thing that had been scaring the living shit out of the crime underworld of Gotham for the last two years. Well, it’s safe to say that Gotham itself is a crime underworld. Corruption, brutality and lies everywhere. Gotham wasn’t a compassionate city, nor was it a hopeful one..

Upon the realisation of the signal up in the sky, you immediately rose to your feet, taking your backpack and binoculars. You had to get out of the roof soon enough or Vengeance just might interfere. He’s always seen on high ground, right? On roofs and shit like that.

He stalks the city from above, and you were too vulnerable.. You had to get down, and now.

You raced to the door leading you to the stairs of the abandoned building which will take you down to the street.

You were breathless by the end of your journey down the damn stairs, and you had to convince yourself to get out of there fast. You crossed the street and went to the back of the Mayor’s house to catch a glimpse of what was going on, but you had to stay far away to keep a safe distance between you and the house. It felt like a fucking ridiculous plan but all you could find was a bush. 

Great.

Making use of what you had, you crouched down behind it. Nevertheless, the spot you were in allowed you a great vantage point to the window of the Mayor’s TV room; the place he was murdered.

So, you held up your binoculars and watched.

Closely.

Trying to find clues or vital information about who the fuck the crazy maniac who did this was.

You made sure to stay low, watching the officers and crew scrambling around, clicking pictures and searching the furniture for hand prints. Minutes passed by and nothing out of the blue happened. Until…

You could faintly hear shouting and sensed the tension rise. You saw people running around, shuffling and shouting to one another.

And then..

You saw him.

Everyone seems to have froze, as The Batman walked in. Slow and steady in his movements, but no less fucking intimidating. You froze as well, a chill running down your spine. 

This was going to be, interesting…

Hell yeah, fucking interesting..

You were extra cautious now that he was here. If he caught you, you were beyond fucked. Not that you were involved in the case in any shape or form right?..Or were you?

You just came here to spy on the Mayor,  nothing evil at all! 

And he ended up dead.

But Mr.Batman here wouldn’t understand that, now would he?

You crouched down even more from the position you were in and watched closely. You saw Jim Gordon trying to get Batman’s attention but his gaze was glued to the Mayor. Or to say, his corpse.

Suddenly the light lamp opposite you in the Mayor’s compound lit up, and it shone to the glass of your binoculars.

Shit.

The shine immediately reflected of the glass and onto the Mayor’s window…

The TV room window.

You didn’t notice it at first, but then you realised. And it was too late.

Vengeance took note of the shine and walked towards it, eyes desperately searching for the source. And then he took note of you, crouching down behind the bushes, with binoculars in hand.

You locked eyes with him..

Shit, shit, shit.

Immediate flight instinct.

You jumped out of your position and start running. Running away from the compound. A bit like a caught-in-the-act criminal, who knows he’s fucked it. A bit too much alike.

You run as fast as you could, not knowing where to go but still running as far away as you could from the Mayor’s house.

‘Could he be after you right now?’

You didn’t want to know.

Or you didn’t dare to look back and find out. You had no time anyway. You took a sharp left and ventured into a dark alleyway. You stopped running, trying to catch your breath but not getting enough oxygen.

Fuck, you ran like a bitch.

You haven’t ran as fast as that in your life..

You turned around to see if there was anyone behind you.

There was no one.

He probably thought you were a random curious reporter. 

‘He probably let it slide, right?’

You frantically look all around you, eyeing your surroundings to make sure you aren’t being stalked or followed.

You look around yourself, but you don’t look up.. At the roof.

Suddenly, as if it were a gust of wind, a black figure jumped down from the roof. Before you had time to run or even react, he took hold of your arm, swinging you around and smashing you into the brick wall. You winced in pain, as it all happened so quick like the speed of light.

The tall, dark figure closed the gap between the two of you and held you further against the wall, his tall form hovering over you.

His hand went up to the bandana scarf that was half covering your face.

Oh no.

Oh hell no.

Quickly with your free arm, you hit his intruding hand away. He growled in annoyance, and took hold of your free hand in his other one.

“The fuck do you want?”, you shouted in utter hostility.

“To see your face”, He replied in a low growl, still resisting your restless form trying to break free from his firm hold.

“Yeah, right! Like you’ll even come close-“

With a swift move of hand, he snatched the scarf right off your face..

For the first time in your life you felt naked. Truly exposed. For what you are and what you’ve done.

You were about to shout, when you felt his large hand cover your mouth shut.

Something was wrong.. You realised weren’t alone.

You suddenly heard the loud banter of very obviously ‘drunk’ men walking by the alleyway. There was a club nearby, which explains it.

Vengeance made sure you stayed quite until they were gone, and then he released his hand from your mouth.

But this time you didn’t say anything. You just stared. 

Into his eyes.

His gaze was intense, fixed on your face like he was trying to read you like an open book.

You wouldn’t let him get to you that easily, would you?

To his scrutiny you looked down.

But soon enough he placed his fingers under your chin harshly and tilted your head up forcing you to look at him.

“Look at me” he said sternly with a dark tone. You had no choice but to comply.

“Why were you there?”

“Why the hell does it matter to you?”

He pushed you further into the wall, reaching to a point where you found it difficult to breath.

“Tell me”.

You struggled against his form, wriggling under him and trying to find a way to break free.

You knew your own share of martial arts and things but he put you in quite the sticky situation here. Well, the man was pretty heavy.

Wheezing you say:

“I would tell you if you weren’t smouldering me to death!”.

You stopped fighting and let him think about the offer.

He backed away.

Now you felt like you were finally able to breath properly again.

“Now, tell me” he growled, maintaining an alert posture incase you tried to run.

“Alright, alright won’t you give a lady her space?”

He didn’t respond, instead just stared at you ominously, his steely gaze fixed on you. Damn it, you felt like prey being watched by its predator.

You knew he wanted answers and fast, so, you gave in. You decided to at least give him something to sooth his nerves, even though it wasn’t entirely the truth…

“Fine..I’m a GCN reporter and I was trying to get some scoop on the Mayor, since y’ know the election is near and he could be down to something that reporters like me just don’t wanna miss. But then…”

You trailed off, the memories of the murder flooding into your mind. He was listening, carefully.

Now you didn’t entirely give in.

You weren’t going to give him the entire details.

“Then what?”, he pushed.

You took a moment to inhale sharply. You then decided to give him a not-so-retarded answer that didn’t make your little lie so obvious.

“Then I got an important call from my friend, and I had to leave.. And when I came back to spy on Mitchell I saw that he was murdered and dead, sitting on the TV room chair with his face taped up.”

You prayed that it was a reasonable enough answer and that it would convince him to let you go. 

But no..

“Bullshit” he murmured. 

He took a step closer to you, a bit too close for comfort. He gazed down on you with utmost spite he could possibly muster.

“You saw who did it, didn’t you?”

You were offended. How dare he suspect you of lying?

“Listen Batboy, I don’t have a lot of time here and I don’t think you do too. So it’s  better if you just let me go my way and do my thing, and you do yours. I didn’t kill anybody and didn’t do no wrong. I was just trying to do my fucking job here, and I think you should do yours-“

“Tell me the truth!” He growls, and places a hand on your throat. And holds on a little too tightly for your liking.

“OR WHAT?” You challenge, looking straight into his burning eyes.

“You’re not a reporter, nor did you leave when Mitchell was getting murdered. You stayed right there and watched it happen…You know saw killed him”.

You were astonished.

‘How the fuck was he able to read through you?’

Like a fucking open book.

There was no use in trying anymore. In trying to lie anymore. It would only make him suspect you even more.

‘Maybe there’s no use in lying?’

‘Maybe both of you can call it a truce?’

‘Maybe you and Vengeance can get along and come up with some, compromises?’… ‘And maybe even some ideas?’

All of it for the exchange of information and maybe even a little ‘cooperation’..

“And what if I did?” You ask with cockiness lacing your tone.

His eyes grew bigger, possibly by realising the possibility that you truly did see what happened.

He took another step closer and now your chest was flush against his abdomen.

“What are you gonna do, baby?.. Arrest me?”

You flutter your eyelashes at him, tone laced with the same cockiness from before, but this time also teasing.

“Maybe..”

With his head bent towards you, ocean blue eyes searching for answers, he adds:

“Maybe I’ll let you go if..you cooperate”.

You look into his eyes and then your gaze wanders to his lips and to his sharp jawline. You scan his face, noticing the sharp-chiselled features.

Damn, the man certainly wasn’t ugly…

Snapping out of your little day dream, you think about his offer.

‘He’ll let you go if you cooperate?’

Well you didn’t really want him to let you go. Not that easily, anyway.

“Cooperate? Me and you?”, you ask trying your best to sound surprised.

But he saw through your facade and silence was all you received.

“That would be a little dangerous don’t ya think, Batman?”

“I don’t care”, he replied with a heavy tone.

“Well, you seem to like danger don’t you?”

You held up your hand to cup the side of his face when he suddenly caught you by the wrist to stop you.

There was silence…

Moments passed as he spoke up again.

“Who are you?” He asked, unable to hide the curiosity within.

You cocked your head to the side, arching an eyebrow with a mischievous smirk forming on your lips.

“Oh you’ll soon find out, sweetheart.”

Just as He was about to speak, the sound of police sirens and tires interrupted him.

“Looks like your friends are here. They’re probably looking for you”.

He turns his head to look onto the road.

You were about to yank your wrist out of his firm hold and run, but he tightens his grip even further.

“I’ll find you”, he says, blue eyes focusing in on yours.

“I bet you will”, you smile..

You quickly slip a small piece of paper into his utility belt.

You didn’t think he noticed, as he was so focused on your eyes.

“Maybe we can..cooperate?”

The sound of car doors closing and footsteps approaching snapped him out of his daze.

Using his lack of focus as the trump card, you quickly snatched your hand away and ran off further into the alleyway, turning a corner and disappearing out of sight.

‘Perfect’, you thought.

He didn’t chase after you.. After all he was going to find you.

Bruce was interrupted with the loud footsteps of Gordon and two other cops following behind him.

“Why the hell did you just run off like that, Man?”…

“Nothing. Just thought I saw somebody.”

“Oh and you sure did. Who were you talking to?”

Bruce lets out a long, heavy sigh.

“It was just a GCN reporter. She was just snooping around.”

“And you let her go!?”, Gordon asks frustrated.

“She’s of no use”, Bruce insists.

“Man, she could’ve been a witness!”, Gordon shouts, unable to hide his anger.

“She’s got nothing, believe me”.

The commissioner groans in annoyance and and brings his hand up to palm his face, shutting his eyes.

“I thought we agreed in deciding on things together”.

“We did”, Bruce responds almost instantly without hesitation. Gordon just stares at him in disbelief.

“So you let go of a possible witness without even confirming with me-“

He was cut off.

“I told you, she’s got nothing” Bruce interjects, passing the commissioner a glare.

He resigns, shooting his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, I believe you man but if I ever find out you’re lying to me, you and I are going to have to talk”.

And at this Bruce scoffs.

Gordon backs away with his officers onto the street, and passes Bruce one last look before saying:

“I’ll be in the car”..

When Bruce was finally left alone in the dark alleyway, he took out the note you had given him. After all, he did notice your little trick…

It was a small, white, crumbled piece of paper. It had some digits written on it.

Your number….

[uncaaj]

Fanfic: Blade Runner Starring Donald Duck Chapter 3 - Gladstone's Bad Day (DuckTales x Blade Runner)

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | chapter 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | MORE COMING SOON...

READ NOW ON AO3!

The tape crackled with the snow on screen before cutting into a sideways view of a lone metal table, upon which sat the box, as we called it- the Voight-Kampff test machine. White light with a hint of green streamed in from a CinemaScope window, under which stood Gladstone, blond curls perfectly set. If he wasn’t half-duck, half-goose, he’d be a peacock, I swear. The sun was a common sight at McDuck Corp, but it was still a cold light, haze giving form to the rays as it floated throughout the room.

I heard the sound of an opening door, Gladstone didn’t flinch. He merely adjusted his trench coat collar and shook his arm out. “Come in,” he said. The replicant identified as Launchpad approached and stood by a chair. He looked tense, like a deer in headlights. Gladstone took a seat and booted up the machine. He motioned across the table and smiled. “Sit down.”

Launchpad did so. “Care if I talk? I’m kinda nervous when I take tests,” he said with a chuckle.

“Uh, sure, buddy,” said Gladstone slowly. “Just don’t move, please.” A tiny mechanical arm extended from the front of the box and positioned itself at Launchpad’s eye-level.

“Sorry,” he said, “I already had an IQ test this year. Don’t think I’ve had one o’ these, though-“

“Reaction time is a factor in this, so pay attention, okay? Answer me as quickly as you can.”

“Sure.”

Gladstone sat back and picked up a sheet of paper. The box hummed to life, and I knew from experience the dials were self-tested and reset to the left position. The arm at Launchpad’s eye was a camera, and it was focused right on his cornea. Gladstone returned his gaze to Launchpad. “One-one-seven-eight Fantomius.”

“Oh, that’s the hotel.”

“What?”

“Wh-where I live,” Launchpad clarified.

“Nice place?” Gladstone asked, charming yet hardly betraying an emotion.

“I guess...is this part of the test?”

“Don’t worry. Just warming you up is all.”

“Uh, okay. It’s nothin’ fancy but it does the job.”

Gladstone nodded and looked at the box again. I couldn’t see the dials clearly, so I couldn’t gauge the reactions for myself, but the outcome had been provided to me already from Mallard, so it hardly mattered.

Gladstone propped a boot up onto the table and looked back down at the paper. “You’re in a desert walking along in the sand-“

“Is this the test now?” said Launchpad.

“Yes,” said Gladstone, then he picked back up as if he was never interrupted. “You’re in a desert walking along in the sand when all of a sudden-“

“What desert?”

“What desert? It doesn’t matter which one. It’s hypothetical.”

“But how come I’d be there?”

Gladstone shrugged. “Maybe you’re fed up. Maybe you wanna be by yourself. Who knows?” He paused to make sure Launchpad didn’t ask anything else, then turned back to the paper. “You look down and you see a tortoise. It’s crawling toward you-“

“Tortoise? What’s that?”

I rubbed my chin. Inquisitive, this replicant. And getting more jittery by the second. These weren’t even the hard questions.

“Know what a turtle is?” Gladstone asked.

“Yeah,” said Launchpad, stock-still.

“Same thing.”

Launchpad scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve never seen a turtle…” Gladstone paused. “...but I see whatcha mean.”

“You reach down and flip the tortoise on its back.”

“Do you make up these questions, Mr. Gladstone, or do they write them for you?” Launchpad asked suddenly.

Gladstone didn’t acknowledge him. “The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun. It’s beating its legs trying to turn itself over but it can't, not without your help. But you're not helping.”

“Whaddaya mean, I’m not helping?” Launchpad raised his voice but remained statue-like.

“I mean, you’re not helping.” Gladstone smirked. “Why is that, Launchpad?”

What a guy, Gladstone. His wiles would make the quietest canary sing. He was truly blessed with his charisma, and he milked it for all it was worth. Made me wonder why he stuck with us low-lives.

As for Launchpad, he was visibly sweating.

There was silence for a time. Gladstone glanced at the box. I could only assume the dial he was looking at had stabilized. Obviously a strong reaction, but Replicants had no empathy for animal suffering. They weren’t designed that way.

“They’re just questions, Launchpad,” said Gladstone, betraying nothing in his voice. “To answer yours, they’re just written down for me. It’s a test designed to evoke an emotional response.”

I thought I saw a twitch in Launchpad’s face. His eyes were wide before but they seemed to be growing even wider. It was bordering on unnatural.

“Shall we continue?” asked Gladstone, returning to the sheet of questions. “Describe, in single words, the only good things that come into your mind about...your mother.”

“M-my mother?” Launchpad stuttered. A touchy subject for anyone.

Gladstone nodded. “Yeah.”

Launchpad paused again. “...let me tell you about my mother.”

Gladstone withdrew himself behind the box again. There was a flash of sparks under the table. It shook violently and Gladstone was blown back through the wall behind him, the material crunching as it collapsed away. 

Launchpad rose to full height, a laser pistol in his right hand, and fired again. The direct hit sent Gladstone flying off-screen and the tape went dead, bathing the room in the chaos of static, then a blue glow.

I sat back and sighed. This must’ve been how they coined the term “dumb luck.” I pondered to myself the pros and cons of just skipping out of here and selling some organs to jump a shuttle off-world. I quickly tossed that scenario out, not unlike Gladstone was, and instead decided to pay the gander a visit. Couldn’t turn out much worse than what I had just brought upon myself.

+++

Gladstone on a stretcher was a sight I thought I’d never see. He was always a pain in my tail feathers with his smug air and shifty way of working, yet here I was, resolved to pay him my sympathies. We’re funny creatures, ain’t we? 

His breath came in rasps. I always knew our standard-issue piece packed a wallop, but it truly revealed that even Gladstone was not invincible from the violence of the city. He was still hurt, but he was lucky nothing important inside was fried. 

“Whatcha readin’?” I asked in the doorway.

He tensed up and looked toward me. His eyes lit up and he set his book down. “Donny-boy! Good to see ya, buddy!” I walked over and he showed me his book. “Treasure Island, old favorite.”

I couldn’t help but size him up. He was bandaged in several places, perfect chest feathers singed over the collar of his gown, and his face twitched unnaturally here and there. It felt like I was watching a breathing oxymoron, a duck healing from something his luck couldn’t escape.

“Pretty awful, huh?” he said.

“Nah, you look great!” I reassured him. Once Gladstone was down in the dumps, it took a village to raise him out of it. Better to distract him. “Never saw ya look better. Suit’s as nice as ever too. Who’s your tailor?”

He smiled through wet eyes beginning to overflow. Clearly this was past distraction. “Look at me, for gosh sakes!” he choked out. “A big lumbering skin job wrecked me up! Broken ribs, shattered leg, my favorite coat, roasted!” He slumped against his pillow like an actor seizing a beat. “It ain’t like it used to be, Donald. It’s tough now. They’re no different than you or me.”

I felt bad about my joke. This was really affecting him. “Tell me what you know.”

He sighed, tinged with gravel. “Ten days ago, security at the McDuck Corp finds three intruders in the records room. They waste one, two get away, okay?” I nodded. “They do a routine autopsy on the one that got aired and...whaddaya know? A skin job, one of the ones that busted out!

“I decided to check out all the new employees at McDuck. I test 26 boring jerks until in walks this guy Launchpad. Nothing special but very big…” He trailed off, looking out the window. At what, I didn’t know. Could’ve been a passing ad lady, or something else that only he could see.

“You Voight-Kampff him?” I asked, hoping to get him back on track.

“Yeah! I thought maybe I was getting something...maybe it doesn't work on these ones…” He shifted away from me and seemed to stare off into nothing again. “It's all over, it's a wipeout. They're almost us, Don. They're a disease. They're…”

“Take it easy, Gladstone. Look, McDuck’s got a 5Y. I’m gonna V-K it later.”

Suddenly, Gladstone convulsed and a yelp hitched in his throat. I backed up as he grunted through gritted teeth. “Push it! Push that button!”

I ran to where he pointed and pushed the button. “What’s it for?” I exclaimed.

Gladstone heaved, his chest rising and falling rapidly before he slowly stabilized. “...pain.”

I looked down and shook my head. It was all I could do to not roll my eyes. Always the drama king.

He was right about the 5Ys, though. If Gladstone was left in this sorry state by some wandering Replicants, I was going to have my work cut out for me.

If only I knew then exactly how right he was.

[youngyoo-apologist]

Writing fanfic with like 90% of the plot already planned is so funny but also so painful because every time there’s a mystery I purposefully put into the story as something that will be foreshadowed to revealed and revealed later in just praying people don’t think its a plot hole.

Like for example, the timeline OG Cale and Choi Han living in being different from TBoaH with some similarities. (The major differences being that Lily Henituse is alive, and while the rest of the continent took a pretty hard hit with the war, the Roan Kingdom managed to rebuild some of itself later in the war) , this one is so important because like, things aren’t supposed to be that way! I didn’t change canon for no reason! That happened for a reason! Guys! I swear!

Same thing with like KRS and OG Cale being able to hear eachother since they were young through their dreams, like that also has a reasoning behind it I promiseeee guys I swear😭😭 it’s like my biggest irrational fear that people will think that I’m just doing these things with nothing to back them up even though I know I shouldn’t rlly think abt it too much and just write the story like I intended 😭😭

I feel like a part of writing fanfic, especially LCF fanfic that makes me so nervous is the fact that canon is already and established and really well written universe. If things change, I feel like I need to make it OBVIOUS that they changed on purpose and not cause I’m changing things for the sake of changing them.

Sometimes I re read older chapters and go “wow, the delivery of this line sucked! I should re-write that slightly” because I’ve gotten better at phrasing things but WHAT IF ITS TOO LATEEEEEEE 😭😭😭😭😭😭 when I don’t have a limited vocabulary anymore it’s going to be the day I write something real good

Like I’m reading the early chaoters of [In the Borderline] and it’s like, FUCK some of these things just look like a dues ex machina even though they have reasons behind them.

I think a huge part of it is because of the wording, and how sudden everything is, I should have emphasized the characters confusion to these things to as a way to show that yes, things are off, BUT I DIDNT BECAUSE WHEN I WAS WRITING I FORGOT TO PROOF READ 😭😭😭😭 AND NOW ITS TOO LATEEE

Idk I’m just saying stuff at this point, but I guess my point is for a story like lcf, I want my fanfic to be something good becauee I really love lcf. I want to be able to write a story that shows how much I love the characters and things I want to see happening, but without erasing importance of characters or anything from TCF because I firmly believe that KRS is important no matter what.

There are things I will never change, like KRS being the one to name Raon, KRS being the children averaging whatever years old’s father, KRS having the silver shield(cause I think that’s like THE ancient power that represents him, that and Vitality of the Heart)

In a regression fic like [In the Borderline], where the time line has diverged so much, and in general is a fic that plays the long game when it comes to plot points, I just want it to be clear that everything happens for a reason and that I’ll never change KRS’s importance to the story, cause in that fic, OG Cale and KRS are both so important.

Choi Han too but he’s like, supposed to be cool and mysterious rn I can’t reveal too much abt him and TBoaH and why the world Cale and Choi Han lived in has so many differences from TboaH novel

[trashbins-stuff]

"Why do you love us?" (A ttc fan fanfic but its fluff this time i swear)

Radimufbin fluff squeeeee, im praticing writing dialogues lol, also this can be read as established queer-platonic relationship but can also be read as best friends (who kisses sometime) :]

It was a calm day in the afterlife, there isn't much going on, somewhere under the beautiful pink sky, Cherry Muffin was reading a book on a soft cloud with Radi0 was leaning agaisnt her.

"Hey, Radi0".

"Mhm?".

"Why do you love me?-" She turn to face them.

"Oh, well..you're pretty and strong and really nice! You also give me some rlly cute trinklet after you return from your adventu-!".

"Hey darlings, whatcha talking about?" Bin say, flopping down on radi0's lap.

"Oh hey Bin! Radi0 was jus telling me why they uhm..like me so much, i mean i dont think i'm really that special, you know?" Cherry muffin awkwardly laugh.

"Whatttt, no way!" Bin got off Radi0 and scoot over and hold her. "You are the most awesome object i know!".

"Ehem.." Radi0 cough.

"Ah-ONE of the best object i know" Bin quickly correct its sentence. "Everyobjects are different and unique!! You have your own specialty too!".

"Yeah right, at being as blind as a bat that is" Cherry Muffin say sarcastically as she move one of Bin's hand away.

"Remember those yummy garlic bread you baked for me? I GOBBLED THEM ALL IN ONE SECOND" Bin flap his arm, he talk so fast that she doesn't understand half of what he said.

"And then you proceeded to choke on them! We thought you were gonna die! Again!" They laugh at Radi0 remark.

Gosh, they can be stupid sometime but she couldn't help but love these dorks, her stomach feel warm and fuzzy when she look at their face.

Bin slapped Radi0's back while laughing so hard, they kick it's shoulder in return and they started to tackle eachother on the ground.

"Alright guys, wrap it up-oof!"

Radi0 accidentally kicked Cherry Muffin in the stomach.

"Whoops! Sorry Muffy, heheh-" radi0 slowly stop laughing as they saw her pulling up her sleeve.

"Hi-ya!"

She jump in and it become a three-way fight, things only heat up at every strike.

After a few kicks and punches, Bin suddenly trip and drag Cherry muffin down with fem, she grab Radi0's tail and they were on a standstill, if none of them move, they'll be safe..

"Achoo!"

"FROG DAMMIT BIN!!"

"AHHHHHHHHHH"

They shouted as they fall off the cloud.

"Oof!..huh?"

Oh that's right, they are in the afterlife, there's cloud everywhere! They all breath out a sign of relieve.

"Are you guys okay?" Radi0 get up.

"Yeah, we're good!" Cherry Muffin dusting herself off.

"Duh! It's CLOUD, stupid."

"What did you just say?" Radi0 charge at them and knock both of them over.

"Aha!! Radi0 1, Binny and Muffie ZERO!!" The three break into laughter,s not even bother to get up.

As the laughters die down, they were still lying on top of eachother, they were content and happy in eachother's arm.

Afterlife isn't so bad.

"So Bin?"

"Mhm"

"Why do you love us?" Cherry Muffin asked, catching Radi0's attention int he process.

"Uhm..hmm..i just do i guess"

"...what do you mean?..by that" Radi0's face suddenly get serious, they're sitting up now, their eyes staring at Bin's direction.

"Well, i mean if i have a reason to love you, them wouldn't i have a reason NOT to love you?"

"Huh?.."

"Like if i were to say..i love you because you guys are pretty, then wood that not mean i won't love you giys anymore if you guys were ugly and old?"

"Oh-"

Bin pratically throw itself on top of them and bury it's face in their chest.

"I will ALWAYS love you guys, no matter what, and nothing will EVER make me stop loving you, not in this world or any other world"

"..We love you too Bin" Cherry muffin place a hand on Bin's back.

"..Even if im ugly and old?"Bin look up at them. Radi0 chuckled slightly at that.

"Even if you're ugly and old" Cherry Muffin reassure him, rubbing his back"

"..Even if i-"

"Okay we're not doing this."

"Fair enough."

They help eachother up and walk along the cloud. Cherry Muffin and Bin wrap their arm around Radi0 as they talk about whatever funny thing they can come up with.

And it was nice.

"In This World or Any Other World."

--

A/N: Yo yo yo! BIN HERE, i wrote some fluff for ur guys lol, i hope u enjoy!!

Words count: 681

[writebackatya]

🍲🍢🥮

Sorry for the delay, Shy! Let’s do this

🍲 When did you start writing and why?

Pretty sure they made us write in school and if I didn’t I would fail.

But honestly, I feel like before I got where I am today I was off-and-on when it came to writing. I think the first fanfic I ever wrote was some Sonic crossover fic that I wrote on Deviantart when I was going through a bit of a Sonic phase. (Not so much a Sonic fan these days, but that series will always have a weird spot on my heart). It has a few chapters and then I just stopped and gave up on it

A couple or so years later when I was going through my Brony phase (yeah, looking back there were definitely a lot of bad people in that fandom but I met a friend in that fandom that I still talk to to this day so I don’t regret that. The show was also pretty good and has some cool people in the fandom these days) I remember writing a couple of fanfics during I think when the show was on its third season. Mainly one shots. I think the last thing I wrote was going to be a multi-chapter I wanted to do, I wrote one chapter and that was it for that writing phase

Flash forward to 2021. I finally watched DuckTales and wanted more stories featuring these characters. Especially Della Duck. I start looking into fanfiction. I find there are plenty of writers in the fandom that write her really well. That inspired me to want to write my own DuckTales fanfiction because I realized I too had a lot of ideas of what happens next for this family. Still not motivated to write because I just don’t know where to begin

Then one day. Me and my bro were high. We do what usually do ever since we both watched DuckTales; we started making up different DuckTales jokes/scenarios. One of which was what if Della Duck was caught by the boys while smoking weed. I remember I was like “The boys would all be cool about because Dewey and Louie would be all ‘Cool! That means we can smoke now!’ and Huey would be like ‘Oh so you found out that marijuana is legal now’ and then Della would be like ‘Weed’s legal now? That’s cool.’”

But then immediately my mind was like “No she wouldn’t! She’d take the situation about more serious because this is her boys we’re talking about here!” And then from that moment I guess I just knew I had to write that story

Moral of the story. Any time is a good time to start writing. Even if you have a past that kinda makes you cringe when you think about those works. It’s all part of the growth you’ll make as you write on

🍢 Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

Oh yeah. I got that one Della Duck hater who made a comment on a couple of my fics. Clearly commented to try to grind my gears. It didn’t work, I found it funny. They did leave one comment on Indi-Quack! that I deleted because it was a joke made in poor taste that had nothing to do with the fic or any of the characters in it

And one time I got a comment accusing me of using one of those AI writing programs. I swear I’ve never used any of those AI writing programs for any of my fanfics. And strangely enough the comment itself felt like it wasn’t written by an actual human

🥮 Do you have any writing milestones you’re working toward?

I guess finish one of my multi-chapter/story stories: Indi-Quack!, The Three Caballeros (and Della)!, or The Iron Duck of Steel: The Gizmoduck Movie, Part I! someday.

None are close to being finished but I do have a general idea on how I will end them

[captainelliecomb]

Ten Most Recent Fics Meme

Killing time before a delayed flight. Found this via @nossbean​.

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway

Not tagging anyone, but I hope some of you do it anyway.

All but one are Jaime x Brienne.

My takeaway from it: I need to: write more monster fucking, space aus, and weird west stories, and finish the Quest fic.

Jaime Lannister and the Quest for the Missing Sword

Summary: "You told me you found Tarth." Jaime narrowed his eyes at Tyrion. "Here, in the frozen North. You mock me still."The woman jerked. Her expression was easily readable for a moment. Surprise. Fear. Hope?It was gone before he could decide.Tyrion looked between them. "Sweet brother," he said in that knowing tone. "I present to you Brienne, the last of the Tarths."

Archaeologist and librarian AU of a sort. My first story with Jaime POV chapters. I love writing Brienne’s POV, but dual POVs worked best here. Trying to wrap this up soon.

Smoke and Mirrors

Summary: Jaime was a feast for the senses.

Modern AU. I have notes on a much longer chefs AU, but I had to cut it back because of the word limit on the exchange. The longer version will be written eventually.

Winter Knights and Spring

Summary: They were winter knights still living for the spring.

Book canon. I wanted to write something sweet and fluffy. I think it worked.

Tell Me a Story

Summary: Tarth has its fair share of ghost stories. The drowned, ships of the dead, sweet songs luring men out to sea.

Book canon. I love the idea of Brienne singing for Jaime when she never allowed herself to sing for Renly or Cat. What better place to write it than in a story about stories and songs. Shame I don’t actually write songs, or I would have included one.

Never Easy Prey

Summary: The sun was almost gone by the time she made it to the source of the glint, a long, narrow metal box. Unlocked. Easy to open. Inside, a small pack filled with packets of pureed something. Food, from what she'd seen elsewhere, but there was no telling what went into it. Water. A spear taller than she was and surprisingly light. The inside of the lid was completely covered in writing. Most symbols she had never seen before. One short line looked Yautja. And a human word. English word. Run.

Alien vs. Predator, Scar x Alexa Woods. I didn’t notice quite how far I’d gone into the Jaime x Brienne rabbit hole until I saw this was the only non-JxB fic I wrote since 2021. There isn’t even any monster fucking in it!

Oh So Easy, Oh So Hard

Summary: Riverrun is their beginning.

Show canon AU of a sort. One of the prompts was to write the 8x04 scene in a different setting, and I ran with it. I obsessively listened to one song per chapter, which I’m not sure I’ve done before.

Finest, Furthest, Most Unknown Edge

Summary: For the rest of her days, Brienne will never know what causes the crash. All she wants, more than her own survival, is for the Stark girls to be safe. Instead, they're trapped on an alien planet filled with unknown danger. Then she finds the man, bound, and battered, and broken. The biggest threat may not be the planet itself but whatever horrors follow a fallen Lannister.

Space AU. I love space aus. This is one of the few I’ve written. I should do another. 

Come Over and Make Up My Mind

Summary: Five times Brienne swears it's the very last time...

Modern AU. The prompt was “Conflicted”, one of the few Halestorm songs I’d never heard before. Quite enjoyed going back to my writing roots. All porn all the time.

Drink Deep

Summary: Murderer. Monster. Man without honour. She loves him, all of him, even so.

Vampire western AU. Technically monster fucking, though I rarely count vampires in that. Do love a good weird west au.

Here We Go to War

Summary: War to the east, the Dragon queen and her foreign armies come to take back the Seven Kingdoms with fire and blood and demand the North bend the knee.

War to the south, the Lannister queen took her throne in wildfire and the blood of innocents and demands the head of Sansa Stark.

War to the north, beyond the Wall, the Night King and his army of the dead demand nothing but death.

War comes for them all.

In the middle, two tired knights try to protect the ones they love and the ones to whom they're sworn.

Show AU. Jaime leaves Cersei after she blows up the Sept and things escalate from there. As did the story. Started as one scene, a love confession in a bath, and ended up going on for nearly 50,000 words.

[poor-sickies]

irreconcilable differences

Read my post first! - TLDR: I'm releasing unfinished drafts!

Long prologue, fic is under the cut! (sorry about that)

Okay, I’m not sure if I’ll continue this or not, but it has been sitting on my drafts for literally five years, has gone through many edits, and I just want it out. Will I ever finish it/edit it? Maybe. If I do I’ll put it on AO3. If not, have this unfinished version. Edits were very inspired by my bf’s elbow surgery - things like this always make me wonder if the universe wants to curse me for writing whump, or urge me to keep doing it.

I swear this one will be the death of me. There’s fanart and everything. I might post it one day.

Initial goals with this one: This is a fanfic that started out as me just wanting Keith really miserable, and just wanting to grasp the concept of a nearly permanent injury. He broke his arm really badly, he knows how bad this is. In the back of his mind, he’s worrying if his arm will still work after recovering. Then I decided to turn it into angst - Keith living with the blades and “running away” from voltron, Pidge knowing about his kamikaze moment at the end of S4, Shiro finding out about that, and just putting everyone in a room to deal with their emotional stuff. Just angst in general. Ends with Keith writing to Shiro after a huge fight, sort of apologising and updating on his medical state. This is also the fanfic of Shiro yelling at Kolivan about the Blade’s protocols, which took me five years to get one single scene that I liked. It plays around with the Blade’s modus operandi and morals, and Voltron’s own view on that - and how much they might disagree, which I feel could have been something to explore in the show.

Plot: Set during S4 and S5. Double (or triple?) agents screw up with Marmora mission, also interfering with a Voltron mission. Stuff blows up where it wasn’t supposed to blow up, and Keith gets badly injured. Shiro wants to get to the bottom of this, so he sort of interrogates Keith soon after he wakes. Meanwhile, Pidge is sulky at Keith, as she knows he was about to off himself a while ago, and a difficult conversation ensues. Mission - it was a small Voltron Coalition outpost - the “blade members” had sent a message, warning Blades that the outpost was getting attacked by the Galra (this is an important, strategic outpost, and it’s important that the Galra don’t get it). They call specifically for high rank backup - that means Kolivan, their original target. But Keith goes instead, while Kolivan had stayed behind for some reason. When Keith goes in, the outpost is already taken over, and he’s attacked by the double / triple agents. Keith sends a message, but Kolivan doesn’t receiveit, because the comms were sabotaged.

There’s more, this is part one, I suppose. I have more written, but I need it to be more intelligible before I post it.

Keith feels himself being manhandled in and out of the ship by Kolivan, legs moving on its own accord, and not very efficiently, judging by Kolivan’s arms wrapping around his back tighter to keep him up. There’s voices around him, frantic, stressed, but he can’t make out the words. His ears are still ringing, and he can still feel the aftershock of his whole arm being twisted backwards, ligaments snapping and bones breaking instantly, making a nasty crunch in his shoulder first, and then in his elbow, when the Galra soldier had twisted more.

That moment, he had looked behind him, making out the Galra uniform, and the expression on the face he stared at wasn’t one of kinship. Keith’s hadn’t even begun to process his own confusion, when a cybernetic hand grabbed Keith's wrist and crushed it like a couple of twigs in his grasp. A knife had been jammed in his shoulder, and taken off quickly with a downward motion.

What followed was probably half an hour of trying to keep himself alive.

Now, the blood loss was certainly making itself known, with black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Adrenaline cursing through his veins, Keith was barely keeping himself up, even with help, and the pain was so indescribable he was incapable of forming words. His right arm screams with pain, muscles and ligaments throbbing in tandem. His chest aches where they kicked him, making every breath burn.

It briefly goes through his head how badly injured he is, before he finally succumbs to exhaustion.

*

When he wakes up again, it's slow and gradual. His elbow throbs with pain, and all of the other aches make themselves known quick enough. He wants to rub his eyes, but when he attempts to lift his left arm, pain explodes in his shoulder.

His vision blacks out, and tears immediately pool in his eyes. He grits his teeth and exhales, trying to get through the worst if it. When it's finally more bearable, he realizes his arm hadn't moved an inch when he'd tried to move it. With his good hand, he fumbles around in the dark, touching his shoulder first, then moving his hand towards his chest, where he feels a stinging sensation. His arm is in a sling, and from the tight sensation, wrapped in many layers of bandages. His breath hitches, and his fingers trail the path down his arm, until he feels a splinter, holding his wrist straight. His chest is bandaged too, and breathing takes a little more effort than usual. And to his dismay, he feels the prick of a needle sticking out the back of his good hand. He tries to ignore that.

Opening his eyes, he winces at the bright lights of the infirmary. A twinge of homesickness hits him when he realizes he’s at the Castle of Lions.

On his left, he hears a rustling sound.

"Keith...?" Shiro voice sounds, echoing a little, traced with exhaustion. "Are you awake?"

"Shiro...?" Keith slurs out, finding his voice not fully responsive. He rolls over carefully in bed, towards where Shiro seems to be, and gasps when his whole arm protests.

"Hey, don’t move," Shiro says, much more alert now, and Keith can hear his slow footsteps towards him, before he comes into his field of vision. He’s wearing his black undersuit, and has deep dark circles around his eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit," Keith confesses, with a weak exhale.

Shiro’s hand finds his good shoulder, and rubs soft circles there. Keith closes his eyes and focuses on the motions the best he can.

"My - my arm, " he says, making his best to sound coherent. "How bad?..."

Shiro doesn't answer right away.

"Bad," he finally sighs. "Compound fractures, torn ligaments... Kolivan was hoping to get you here and into a cryopod immediately, but unfortunately one of the big crystals that powers them up is gone. Allura, Hunk, Lance and Pidge went out to get more."

"Bad timing to get this fucked up then," Keith chuckles humourlessly.

“Never a good time,” Shiro chides disapprovingly. “At least we still had some good painkillers, though they’ve probably worn off by now, huh?”

Keith shivers - if this is what’s like with painkillers, he doesn’t want to imagine without. “Uh, yeah, definitely,” he groans.

“You also lost a lot of blood, so it’s normal if you’re feeling weak. We had to stitch you up too,” Shiro adds. Keith glances at Shiro’s left arm, noticing the bandage peeking from the inside of his elbow. It’s hard to feel lucky right now, but by now, Keith knows he would be screwed if he had gone to space without an universal donor like him. He’d hug Shiro right now if he didn’t feel this bad. Guilt twinges at the bottom of his stomach. His eyes fill with tears again.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Shiro reassures, “you’ll be fine. I’ll go get Coran to give you something for the pain, yeah?”

Keith tries to nod, but he’s still dizzy, so he just grunts in acknowledgement. He knows if he tries to speak he’ll probably just start crying.

“I’ll be right back,” Shiro says, before walking, well, pretty much running out.

And Keith goes under again.

*

"Do you remember what happened?" Shiro asks.

It’s a few hours later. The Castle is practically deserted, with pretty much the whole team on the mission to retrieve the cryopod crystals. Coran had stopped by to give him some painkillers and check on him, and Shiro just brought some tea, and the alien equivalent of toast. Keith doesn’t eat - even with the painkillers, the pain is bad enough to make him nauseous. He sips the tea carefully, and even just that seems to sap all of his energy.

"I - we received a message from a fellow blade. The Kellan outpost was going to be taken over. We had two Blades stationed there… they attacked as soon as we left our ship. I - I don't remember much else."

“They attacked you? The guys that supposedly belonged to the Blades?”

“Yeah. Soon as I showed up.”

"Do you remember getting here? Kolivan brought you."

Keith nods.

“Keith… we need to know… what were those guys doing? Why were members of the Blade of Marmora blowing up the Kellan base? What did they know?” Shiro asks.

“It wasn’t part of any plan… I don’t understand. Those guys must have gone rogue, I- I really don’t know, Shiro,” Keith sighs, closing his eyes.

“Did you call for backup? When you realized something was wrong?”

“Yeah,” Keith rasps out. “I thought they’d received my message. But our comms were tampered with,” he says, shaking his head, “only realized that later.” He puts the tea cup back on the tray.

“But Kolivan knew you were in there,” Shiro insists, “why didn’t they come in for you?”

“I don’t know, Shiro.” Keith grits his teeth, and opens his eyes again to stare pointedly at Shiro. “I haven’t really had the time to ask Kolivan what exactly was their strategy after that. Maybe they wanted to play it safe, since a couple of guys we thought we could trust had just managed to sabotage everything.”

Shiro sighs. He knows it’s no use to torture Keith with more questions, especially not in the state he was in. He had to get his answers elsewhere.

“Get some rest,” he says, gently. Keith’s eyes close again, and he grimaces painfully. “Anything I can bring you? Do you want me to stay?”

Keith shakes his head. “Just need to sleep.”

“Okay,” Shiro says, placing his hand carefully on top of Keith’s, avoiding the IV. “I’ll be right here.”

*

Shiro is usually proud of his good temper.

How he's able to keep a cold head when things get heated - his good manners and politeness were what conquered the hearts of the Voltron coalition.

And even with the frequent battles they get in, and the stressful days that come with being a defender of the universe, Shiro is able to keep his good spirits.

Not today, though. Screw manners.

"I need more details on the mission Keith was sent today," Shiro demands, with an unwavering tone.

Kolivan doesn’t seem to react much. But then again, his usual expression betrays nothing. "That’s Marmora intel. We can’t simply-”

"He spent almost an hour there before you came in for a rescue!! With your ship hovering around the base!!" Shiro exclaims, waving his hands in the air. "How could you possibly-"

"We had been compromised. We had to make sure-”

"So he was all but lost bait for you? Was that it??"

"I couldn't safely assemble my men for an extraction right away. Under the circumstances, we did the best we could. We had no safe way of getting him out of there so quickly, and we couldn’t risk-"

"His right arm is destroyed!! He was alone for forty five minutes fighting rogue blades!! What kind of organization are you running when-"

"Enough!" Kolivan says firmly, enough to make Shiro quiet. "Keith knows the risks of participating in missions with the Blade - the same risks that are implied in any mission as a paladin of Voltron, might I remind you. He made his choice when he agreed to join the mission. We do not take risks. Better one man less than two men less, and he knows it. After a breach in security, we have to be extra careful, and not rush in foolishly."

Shiro stays silent for a moment, before muttering.

"We would have saved him immediately. As soon as we knew."

Kolivan lets out a huff, cold and bitter, more than Shiro has ever seen.

"If that’s what the Voltron coalition calls strategy, we may have to rethink how we work together."

Kolivan shakes his head, angry and offended, and turns off the comm.

It doesn't leave Shiro any more content. He feels hung up, stressed, like something inside him is wired up. He turns around and leaves the bridge - there’s someone who needs him right now.