#the thing i hate most about being sick is the sleepless nights

[stephlastname]

[kenjakusbraincum]

can you pls write something about reader being sick and like not the cough and cold kind of sick- like really really sick, and sukuna realising how much he doesn't want to lose her to this sickness and how if she dies, he'll be alone again..🥺

You have NO idea how much I love this idea!!! I did go a bit overboard with it cause I love suffering though 👍 Still, this was SO much fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Vows

Sukuna x Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader, true form! sukuna, master/pet dynamic, fluff but most importantly ANGST, mentions of weight loss, mentions of violence, implied nsfw, reader dies in the end :( (sorry)

It's not the first time Sukuna has been made aware of your mortality. He recalls many instances when he's been reminded that you are human. Finite. The first time he wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed with calculation while you were laying under him, and you looked up at him in fear for your life. Your little hand couldn't even wrap around his wrist, much less provide resistance. Or when he'd pull your hair a little too roughly, and hear a crack in your delicate spine. When you'd get sick, and humbly refuse his healing. So little as a tummy ache had you writhing on your bed.

You are so weak, so small, clinging to life like there was anything for you in it, beyond Sukuna. By all means he hates all of these things. So what witchery is this, and why does he care about you so much? Why does he keep you for years, and why does your company bring him comfort he hasn't ever known in his lifetime?

Still, as much as he cares, he doesn't notice when it starts. He's trained you to tolerate pain, after all. It's no wonder you hesitate to tell him. Little things like tummyaches and colds occur to you all the time anyways, and you never complain. Sure, you've grown closer to Sukuna, but he was still your master, and the rules he instilled in you from the start were always fresh in your mind, not to be crossed. Bothering him with everything that feels off always seemed inappropriate.

And Sukuna is just like that. If you're not screaming or crying, he won't know you're in pain. But he notices that you're acting off. And how he reacts really doesn't help your case, or encourage you to speak up about your condition. ''I don't have all day. What is wrong with you?'', he sneers when he catches you pacing too far behind him.

So you just sleep longer and preserve energy for when you are with him. You don't skip around as much anymore, or spend time doing your hobbies. Food doesn't taste so great anymore. You have a cough that gives you sleepless nights because it just won't calm down. And the time you owe Sukuna starts to feel like an obligation. You start to dread it. Dread slipping up, dread annoying him or failing to satisfy him. Dread being disposable.

When things start getting worse, it's hard to hide it even from him. He was taking you from behind one night, and you were grateful he couldn't see the look on your face. You thought you could do it. Sukuna was always demanding, but he would never force you to do anything. If only you told him before you felt yourself struggling for air, and your chest closing in on itself in tightness. You reached one hand back, frantically grabbing his wrist.

''Feathers, feathers!'', words came out as gasps, and you slumped forward when he let you go. You were panicked and crying by then, this kind of discomfort being foreign even to you, even after weeks of pain behind you. He hovered next to you with a puzzled look on his face. He wasn't even being that rough.

''What's wrong? Tell me.'', he said, and reached his hand to feel the warmth of your tears streaming down your face. He swiped your cheek gently. He didn't seem mad at all. Why didn't you say anything from the start?

''I just feel so sick.'', you muster up in between sobs, and shut your eyes. You were too embarrassed to even look at him.

''I see.''. His hand leaves your face, and he traces it from your neck down your spine. The pain subsided slowly, allowing you to relax and find comfort in his arms.

But the effects of his healing were short lived. Just a week later the feeling of fatigue creeps back into your life. Manageable, but lingering. And the cough persists. And it gets on Sukuna's nerves too. He's been quite patient with you, but his patience was reaching it's limit.

You're sitting by his throne as you often do, and as hard as you try to hold the cough in, you just can't help it. His hand finds the back of your neck and squeezes, turning you to him. And he looks at you with all four, terrifying eyes. ''Can you shut up?''

''I'm sorry, I'm trying -'', you stutter, but just end up coughing more. He doesn't wait for you to stop.

''Get out of here.'', and pushes you away. You stumble down the pile of bones and fall, landing on your hands and knees. You don't remember him being this cruel to you in a long time. You look back at him with teary eyes, and he looks back like the merciless monster he is. The villagers awaiting him moved to make space for your fall, taking note of the tense situation.

That day, Sukuna sends word that he doesn't want to see you until you get better. You're forbidden from going outside again, in fear that that is making your 'cold' worse. It's a lonely week in your room, until Sukuna starts to crave you again. It didn't take him a while, counting the couple days he spent convincing himself he doesn't miss you. He does. So when he sends word for you again, and the servants come back to him saying you're still not feeling well... he's worried. So worried he comes to see it for himself.

Sukuna rarely comes to your room. It's the only space you have for yourself, and he doesn't want to take that away from you. Your room is modest. You have a bed, a carpet, and a couple shelves to house the books he's gifted you. There's a desk where you can eat and read, and a doorway to the garden. There's an empty glass of water and a napkin next to your bed. You're still sleeping, but the door shutting behind him wakes you up, so he doesn't get to enjoy observing you in your natural habitat for long.

It's not the first time doors opening and closing woke you up. But you know this time is different. The servants are always quickly shuffling around the room, cleaning up and moving around. Uraume clanks with plates. There is no noise now, other than your strained breathing and a cough brewing in the back of your throat. Besides, the aura that Sukuna brings with him everywhere he goes is recognizable. Especially to you. Heavy.

You turn around, and meet the gaze of his four eyes. ''Master...'', you struggle to sit up, and even a little action like that has spots forming in your vision. Then a coughing fit hits you. You pick up the napkin and put it to your mouth.

Sukuna sees your whole body strain with the effort of coughing. And when you call him master, even your voice sounds different. He knows your morning voice. He missed hearing it, but this... this is not it. You sit with your head hung low, staring at the napkin between your hands. There's a fresh splatter of blood on it. But Sukuna scares you more than the progression of your illness.

''Are you mad at me?'', you ask timidly, meeting his gaze.

''I'm concerned.", he says and sits next to you. You curl up to make space for him. "Two weeks is a long time for a frail human like you to be sick.", he looks at you, scanning your form up and down.

"I rested and drank every tea Uraume told me to!", your defense mechanism kicks in, and you start babbling.

Sukuna dismisses you with a hand and a pained facial expression. "I know.", he says. His brows are furrowed now, and he's looking at the ground, lost in thought.

You feel guilty for annoying him again. You feel guilty for the whole thing, getting sick, draining the energy it takes him to heal you, robbing him of the time with you that he deserves. Owns. He is very generous with the way he treats you, having all that in mind.

You tug on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Master... You deserve better.", and you're sobbing again. Sukuna gives you a pathetic look, but smiles as he pulls you into his embrace.

"Silly pet. I can survive a couple weeks without your assistance.", he says, rubbing your shoulder.

You run your fingers against the back of his hand mindlessly, not knowing how to respond. Caressing his knuckles, bones, veins... feeling his nails and their sharp tips against your sensitive skin. When you bring his palm up to your lips, your kiss stains it red with blood.

-

You still sleep with Sukuna sometimes. Less frequently, only on days when you feel well enough, and those are rare. You've lost weight by now, sickness making itself visible on your body. You're sitting on his lap and clinging to your robes, scared that he won't like you as much, that you won't live up to his standards. But Sukuna's demeanor about your illness has changed, as he seemed to sense something unusual about it. He flips you over so gently, like you're made of glass, and peppers kisses from your neck downwards, slowly undressing you as much as you allow him. When he takes you, he's so careful. Constantly checking you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. You feel so loved and relaxed, and pleasure comes so easy when you're in this state. It's not the first time Sukuna is this caring with you in bed, but this time is different. This time you can't help but feel like he's saying goodbye.

He holds you afterwards, tracing his fingers over the ridges of your spine and your shoulders. You were always little in his grasp, but now that he feels your protruding bones under his fingertips, you seem all the more vulnerable.

"Will you kill me?", you ask, breaking the silence.

Sukuna frowns. "Nonsense. Why would I do that?"

There's a gulp in your throat. "It won't be long before I can't even do this. I won't be of any use to you then...", you say.

"Stop.", he says sternly. "There's a lot more to you than what you provide me with in bed."

You smile to yourself, but there's still a hole in your chest. Your statement is still true, and you aren't comforted. But this is Sukuna, and you know that he's offered you quite a lot even with that little bit of reassurance. To your surprise, he speaks again.

"Don't upset yourself. It's been a long time since killing you crossed my mind.", he says. "Save the energy for something else."

You nod and thank him. Just moments later, you're asleep. Quicker than ever before, he notes. You usually love it when he lets you cuddle and talk to him. You would force your eyes open when you were sleepy, just to enjoy it longer.

He feels guilty. He's your master, he's responsible for your well being. Yet nothing he does seems to help you long term. Healing you is temporary and he knows that without accessing the source, it will never work. If he could, he would find what was making you sick and rip it out of you with his bare hands, crush it with the force of his palm. He would have to look deeper, open you, and for once, he thinks he can't open a human being. He thinks of you trashing, screaming, and worst of all, looking into his eyes. Just the thought of you like that makes his chest feel like a gaping cavity. Worst of all, he's sure you would let him. He's sure you would forgive him for spilling your blood, and find comfort in his arms again. If you survived, that is. What has he done to you? And to himself?

Now, your head rests on his chest, and you're snoring lightly. For once, a repetitive noise like that doesn't annoy him. For once, he wishes he could listen to it every night. One day, that noise will be the only thing audibly confirming you're still alive.

-

Months pass and you're only getting worse. You barely leave your room now, too weak to even do so. You eat little, and it's showing in your sunken cheeks and eyes. You feel yourself withering away, loosing color, drying like a dying flower. Sukuna is in grief. He struggles to look at you, and visiting you falls heavy on him every time. He always finds himself thinking afterwards. Regretting that he let himself get this attached, wishing that he could simply forget you. But it doesn't work that way.

He goes to see you, after avoiding you for a week. He's Sukuna, he doesn't have any shame. You're sleeping, like you usually are when he comes to visit you. Your snoring is laboured, and it sounds painful. This time, the doors and the silence don't wake you up. He watches you, curled up under a stack of blankets, rising and falling with your struggles to breathe. How foolish he was, to think forgetting you would be as easy as avoiding you for days. How evil he was, trying to forget you while you are still alive under his wing, still his responsibility. Still his.

He sits next to you and leans over you, fingertips ghosting over your face. The snoring stops and you flutter your eyes open, turning in bed and feeling his body next to yours. You smirk at him, eyes adjusting to the light, and smile when you recognize him. ''Master.'', your arms wrap around his neck as you welcome him, your voice dry, but lively as you beckon him closer. ''I missed you.''.

He comes down to plant a kiss to your forehead. ''I missed you too, darling.''. Oh, the things that escape his mouth when he's alone with you. He cups your face, enjoying how much healthier you look with a smile on your face. ''Feeling any better?'', he rubs your cheek, lingering closely above your face.

You nod, but both of you know you only feel better because you saw him. Still, the little surge of happiness that brings you gives you more energy than you've had the whole week. You wiggle to the edge of the bed, making space and inviting him to join you. Sukuna lies down, hooking one arm underneath your neck and pulling you flush against him.

You wrap your arm around him and lean your head against his shoulder. He's still as big as you remember him, unfaltering in the face of your illness. It's comforting. ''You didn't visit in a while. Were you busy?'', you ask, stroking his back. ''How were your days?''

''Monotone.'', he says. ''The villagers bring remedies for you every day, and wish for you to get well.'' It's no wonder. So many times, Sukuna found himself hesitating to kill just because you were sitting on his knee, dressed in something too pretty to be splattered with blood. In the local villages, word spread that you have ''domesticated'' Sukuna. As if such a thing was possible. Or was it?

''Oh?'', you smile. ''I didn't think they would notice my absence.''. You always were supposed to be Sukuna's accessory and nothing more. Remedies and good wishes make it sound like you're more important than just a pet. So it really is that obvious...

''They did.'', he says, and lowers his head, brushing his nose against your face. ''Some took that as an opportunity to gift me new pets.''

You blink at him, a bit taken aback by his honesty. You keep smiling anyways. ''Did you take any?'', you ask, and he sees nothing but genuine curiosity in your eyes. The truth is, you've had a lot of time to think about your place in Sukuna's mansion. You knew, especially in sickness, that you were never entitled to exclusivity with him. You knew that at some point you would have to be replaced, just by the virtue of being a mortal. A human, who would age and become ugly, wrinkled and useless. You were just unlucky enough to meet this fate sooner than you should've.

Sukuna sighs, the weight of the conversation shifting to him. ''Not to bed, no.'', he says.

You're quiet while you think of what to say. You still have a habit of picking words when you're with Sukuna, but the times when he would punish you for improper formulation are far behind you. "Why not?", you settle. You hope the implication is there, that you wouldn't be so mad even if he did.

Why not? Because he thinks it might break him. Because the image of someone else in your place, under him, feels unnatural and wrong. He thinks the guilt might eat him alive. For once in centuries, someone else's needs come before Sukuna's. He is gone, so far gone. You've raised his standards, and he's not sure anyone he takes now will be able to live up to them. Besides, training a new pet to fit your mold would take years, and even then... He couldn't train someone to love him. Not like you do.

''I wouldn't want you to hold back because of me.'', you say, and he realizes he's been quiet for too long. Years ago, if you dared to imply that Sukuna would do such a thing as hold back because of you, that he cared, you would've been minced meat ready for dinner. Now, he looks down at you tenderly when you say it. Well, a tender look from Sukuna is a docile one. You've gotten used to the way that Sukuna communicates love. Subtly, innocuously.

''Worry about getting well, pet.'', he shuts down the conversation, and moves away from you, sitting back on the bed. ''Any wishes? Food? Activities?'', he asks, and feels your forehead with the back of his hand.

Food? No, but... ''I'd like you to stay, please.'', you say, and take his hand with the two of yours, feeling it up with your thumbs.

Sukuna resists the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the thought of annoying him would upset you greatly. ''That's a given. Anything else?''

You pretend to think, then just babble your favorite food. Sukuna takes your order to Uraume. But when he comes back, you're already asleep again. He waits by your side, but you don't wake, so eventually he leaves. By the evening, the plate of your favorite food remains untouched.

-

You can't leave the bed on your own anymore. Sukuna carries you outside when you're feeling good enough. You barely have the strength to latch onto him securely. Still, it's hard to slip out of the grasp of his four arms. He says you've gotten pale. You lay in his lap and bask in the sun, while he tells you about his day or reads a book out loud for you to enjoy. You wish you could talk to him more, but your voice leaves you as days of endless coughing wreck your throat. No herbs and teas ease your condition anymore. You wait for your final day.

And Sukuna doesn't know when he's given up on the idea that you might get better. But he starts spending whole days with you, leaving your side only to sleep in his bed. He tends to almost all your needs personally. You think that if you asked him to get on his knees for you, he would. He is not familiar with this ache that brews in his chest when he looks to his side and doesn't see you there. It feels violating. To be as powerful as he is, and yet completely helpless in the face of the sickness that drains you in front of his very eyes.

He plays with your thinning hair one morning, and you look at him from his lap, as adoringly as always. ''Isn't it funny?.'', you say, and he snaps out of his thoughts to look at you. ''I always imagined dying by your hand.'', you kiss his hand again, planting your dry, blue lips against his knuckles. ''Who would have thought?''.

You, you little human. You made him feel like a fool, like a coward. You made him feel powerless. Who could ever get away unscathed with making Sukuna feel like this? The thought of killing you now, even out of mercy, fills him with horror. He thinks he couldn't live carrying the burden of your death on his back. It's already hard for him as is.

When he's not with you, he withers away in his room, waiting. And when the servants finally come, and tell him you're at your last strengths, he feels as tense as he feels relieved. The servants shake in fear of his reaction, and he simply dismisses them. In a thousand years of his existence, he doesn't remember having to prepare to enter a room. His hand trembles as he brings it up to push the door open. He dreads what awaits him inside.

He expected blood, hysteria, chaos, yet there's none of it when he walks in. Just the pained noises of your breathing. A servant, your favorite, sits by your side and wipes sweat off your forehead. She talks to you in a comforting tone and pats your head gently. When he walks in the room, she lowers her head and moves to leave. It's only a second, but he sees the sad look on your face. ''Stay.'', he orders, and the servant bows and thanks him.

You move your attention to him, raising your hand to greet him weakly. He picks it up and bends down to kiss it. There's tears in your eyes as he settles into a seat next to you, and you open your mouth in an attempt to say something.

''Easy now.'', he shushes you, and helps you into his lap. You lean back, looking at him through a blur. His features appear even more doubled through the tears, and you still find his beauty mesmerizing. Your master. Your own little god and protector. Although he regrets it, you've never claimed the title of his spouse. Yet, he still stuck by your side, until parted by death. In sickness and in health.

He wipes your tears, and the mouth he conjures onto his hand kisses your forehead. One set of his hands caresses your face, the other massages the tension out of your bony shoulders. Sukuna knows how important it is for you to pass in peace. He doesn't want to curse you, or have despair turn you into a curse. "Relax now.", his voice is so soothing, as if lulling you to sleep. "It won't be long". You weep. What did an ordinary human like you do to deserve this honor? To be comforted on their death bed by a god. To be guided to death by him.

"Master.", you sob. "I'm so scared..."

Delicate touch against your skin. Sharp nails grazing your cheek ever so slightly, just barely enough to make their presence known. "Have no fear.", Sukuna looms over you like a snowdrop. "Where you go now, pain won't follow.". You speak to him a little longer. Tell him all the things you always wanted to tell him, but were scared of the consequences. Dangerous words, ones that were rarely associated with Sukuna. Love. And Sukuna is attentive, so human. Your blinking slows and you find comfort in his voice, as he returns every loving word back to you. Your pained breathing follows, and your eyelids are so heavy. But the sight of him is so hypnotizing, you wish you never had to look away. "You are so brave, my little dove. Go now, be free.". You were too good for this wretched palace anyways. The sight of him is etched in your memory as you close your eyes. "It was a pleasure to have you by my side.", you listen, feeling control over your body slip through your fingers. When you can't move, or feel his touch, you still hear his calm voice. "When you're ready, come back to me. I'll be waiting for your return.". Then everything is quiet, for you and for him. The servants cries are muffled by the sheets, where she has her head pressed by your side.

The hallways, silent except for the busy tapping of feet. Outside, the wind blows petals off of blooming flowers, leaving them bare and stranded. Autumn is here to carry you away.

Servants hold their breath when Sukuna walks by. One wrong look at him and the walls would be painted red. Just like before. Before you. And it's not long before Sukuna looks like a monster again - red eyes and a permanent frown etched on his face. Villagers bring bouquets, and lay them to the right of his throne, where you used to sit. He stares them all down, and only for a moment thinks that maybe, humans are not the scum he thought they were. But then he remembers, they only mourn you because you held him back from his destructive tendencies. Scum.

And he kills again. The first is a villager from afar, where news of your passing hasn't reached. Ripped to shreds for mentioning you. The women who screamed, their blood soaks the carpets and seeps through the wooden floor, dripping down to the cellars. He feels like himself again, unhinged, unbeatable.

Until the day is over, and he goes back to his empty room. His cold, empty bed, and the old habit of reaching for you in his sleep, only to grab nothing instead. And the crocheted figures of the two of you on his nightstand, watching him as he struggles to sleep alone. He can't bear it. So he leaves, and doesn't come back for days, weeks, months.

Smoke clouds the skies on the horizon once again, after years and years of peace and clarity. As far as the eye stretches, the world will know of Sukuna's wrath. But as thrilling as it feels to conquer again, when the village is burned and ash covers the grass on the ground, the thought of you still lingers. Your devastated eyes the first time he's killed before you. The first time he's felt guilty about his monstrous nature. When he comes back, no one's warm embrace awaits him. No one's there to brighten up his day. No amount of blood shed and villages burned replace the emptiness you left behind in his heart.

The grief settles, and sits heavy in Sukuna's chest, as he assumes position in his lonely throne again, and gazes at the row of people waiting to beg, talk, offer... bore him. Another eternity of boredom. An eternity of picking through thousands of humans, in vain hopes of finding you again. In vain hopes of recognizing you, even if it's lifetimes from now, when the last memory of your face has already faded from his mind. When generations change, and the thought of a monster like Sukuna being capable of tenderness vanishes. When the fire in his chest, ignited by love, is already a memory so distant, that recalling it feels surreal.

Maybe he will forget you by then. Maybe times will harden him again, and the idea of a pet becoming his lover will make him laugh. But for now, the thought of finding you in a crowd, taking you in his arms and never letting go, is his comfort and safe place. For now, he will wait for you. As long as it takes, like a stone, unyielding against the passing of time.

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[the-little-ewok]

An Unorthodox Method

Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Rating : 18+/E

Word count : 7600 (ish)

Warnings : It's the one bed trope!, Lil mild angst, lots of teasing, Poe being an adorable little shit, mentions of Poe having hearing problems/being partially deaf in one ear, fluff, banter, SMUT, PIV, fingering, marking (love bites and nail marks), praise kink if you squint, illusions to cum eating, mentions of oral f- receiving, overstimulation if you blink, aftercare, very brief mention of casual sex/one night stands.

Summary : All you want is a hot shower, some clean dry clothes, and to crawl into bed. What you absolutely do not want is Poe Dameron in that bed with you.

@campingwiththecharmings thank you so much for this request! I'm so excited to finally do the one bed trope for Poe! I hope you like it.

Special thank you to @mandinlore for the beta 😘

~~~~~~~~~

The rain hammers a steady ping ping ping on the window as you and Poe stand in the doorway to the room, your clothes soaked and sticking uncomfortably to your skin, your shoes leaving puddles of water.

"You have got to be kidding me!" You groan as Poe laughs.

You had been looking forward to a hot shower, a nice warm bed, and at least a good few hours of peace and quiet. The last part had already been thwarted by the fact some error in the hotel booking meant you only had one room with no others available, and now to add insult to injury there was only one damn bed.

"Well, this is going to be fun!" The pilot chirps happily from beside you, walking in to dump his bag on the chair and leaving wet boot prints in his wake.

Climbing into bed with the resistance's best looking pilot, who you were, if you were honest, a little bit in love with, did not constitute as fun. In fact, after the day you had spent with him, it was the very last thing you wanted to do.

Poe was always, and had always, been chatty, but today he seemed to have turned all his dials up to maximum. He'd talked non stop, made unfunny jokes, inappropriate innuendos that with anyone else you suspect he wouldn't have gotten away with, and done just about anything he could to make himself the most annoying person this side of the galaxy.

For what reason, you had no idea. You had started to suspect perhaps he had realised your warm feelings towards him, and maybe this was his way of making you hate him so he didn't have to let you down, and honestly, you might think it was starting to work.

Trudging into the room, your boots squelching with each step, you place your bags down, resigned to your probably sleepless fate.

"You want the bathroom first?" The pilot offers, despite the fact he's worse off than you, having given you his jacket to hold above your head the moment the downpour started. It hadn't helped much after the first few minutes, but you had been grateful for the shelter anyway.

You don't really register his question, your thoughts lost as you finger the worn leather coat remembering the way his scent clung to it, invading your senses as you splashed through the flooded streets.

"Hey," you look up to find the pilot watching you, his brow furrowed. "You okay?"

You drop the jacket onto the dresser, giving him a smile and a nod.

"Just sick of listening to you."

Poe snorts with laughter, grabbing the hem of his shirt and peeling it up over his head. You purposely busy yourself pulling out some dry clothes from your pack , not allowing yourself to peek, although it's a difficult battle.

"There's nobody you love listening to more than me," Poe states, thankfully not seeming to notice your internal fight of keeping your eyes off him.

You sigh, somewhat thankful his annoying cockyness is a distraction from his semi-nakedness. Picking up your sleepwear and wash bag you head towards the bathroom, trying to ignore him. Poe however gives you no quarter, trailing along behind you.

"So what exactly are the sleeping arrangements going to be?" He asks.

Frowning you turn around, your eyes deciding to flicker over his bared torso before meeting his gaze. Even the smallest glance is enough to get blood rushing through your veins, and you can feel heat blossoming across your cheeks.

Ignoring the feeling you gesture to the bed with a raise of your eyebrow.

"But what if you snore?" The pilot asks, clearly not noticing your desire to leave the room until he's decided to put some clothes on.

You pull a face, not quite understanding his issue when he's half deaf from the war anyway. The explosion that had damaged most of the resistance ships had permanently damaged his eardrums, which Poe liked to use to his advantage when he decided he wasn't going to listen to someone, although you think he hears far more than he lets on.

"Poe, you can hardly hear out of one ear as it is! Just sleep on your good ear and you probably won't hear a thing out of the other one."

He folds his arms stubbornly. "I'll hear if you're right next to my head."

"Then you are more than welcome to sleep in the bathroom once I'm done," you offer, stepping into the tiny fresher.

"Nah, I'd rather sleep in the bed. But what if you steal the covers?"

"Then you can take them back."

"What if you cuddle me in your sleep?" He fires quickly.

You give him a withering look, trying not to think about pressing your body against his, keeping your eyes trained on his face.

"Oh trust me Poe, I won't." In fact you will do everything possible not to touch him, just for your own sanity.

"But you might. I'm very into consent and if I'm asleep-" he pauses mid sentence, opening his mouth and then closing it again before leaning against the door frame. "Actually scratch all of that. I absolutely give you consent to do whatever you like to me."

The pilot grins at you and you feel a familiar surge of heat through your body, collecting and coiling in your abdomen. Combined with your patience finally snapping, it's the last straw. You slam the bathroom door in his handsome smug face.

The lukewarm shower really tops off the day.

~

"I've been thinking" Poe starts the moment he exits the bathroom, after loudly complaining through the door about you using up all the hot water.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with a sigh, the hope that he would have calmed down and go straight to sleep evaporating. You are grateful however that he's at least finally put a shirt on.

"That must hurt."

"Oi!" He protests with a shocked expression, that at least brings a little smile to your lips. He grins at you, letting you know he took no offence at your words.

"As I was saying," he continues while you lay out his clothes to dry, the ones he dumped in a wet pile in the middle of the floor. "I've been thinking, and I know what's wrong with you. I want you to know it's okay."

The way his voice suddenly goes so gentle makes you look around. The pilot holds out his hand, wrapping his fingers around yours as he pulls you closer, holding your gaze steadily. You hope he doesn't notice the way your breath catches, or the heat blazing through you that makes your hands clammy.

"It's okay to be nervous," he continues, while your mouth goes dry. "I know spending the night with me is a lot, and it's going to be so difficult for you to keep your hands to yourself, but we are going to get through this together, and you'll be able to tell everyone about it when we get home."

You snatch your hand angrily out of his while the pilot bursts into laughter.

"Grow up and get in the damn bed!" You growl, climbing into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin and turning over away from him, your heart thundering in your chest. How, even when he was joking, did he manage to get so damn close to the truth?

"Why do you want me in bed so badly, huh? Thinking about late night cuddles?" You hear the pilot ask, feeling the mattress sink with his weight.

"No. When you're asleep, you're not talking," you bite out, still stinging from the embarrassment of your reaction when he was just being his usual annoying self.

Poe ignores your hostility and you feel him shrug.

"Listen, all I'm trying to do is tell you that we could eliminate some of this sexual tension. Well, if you wanted to."

Sexual tension wasn't exactly what you would say was between you, but there was always certainly something, although with Poe you imagine he had that with everyone. With you though, your feelings for the pilot ran a little deeper, not that you'd ever dare speak those aloud. The last thing you needed was the "it's not you, it's me" speech, especially if his behaviour was to drive you away. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

You run a hand down your face with an exasperated sigh. "There is absolutely no sexual tension, Poe. What there is, is murderous tension."

Poe lets out an exclamation of excitement.

"Oh my favourite kind!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop a smile, lest you encourage him to continue.

"Please Poe, go to damn sleep," you whine, pulling the pillow from under your head and pressing it against your ear, trying to block out his incessant rambling.

"I will if you admit it."

"Admit what?" You groan, frustrated. Why can't he just shut the hell up and let you get through this?

"That you've thought about us."

"Poe I swear-" you take a deep breath, grabbing the cushion with one hand, rolling over with the intent on smothering him into silence. You're surprised to find the pilot on his side, almost nose to nose with you in the small bed.

"You've seriously never thought about us kissing?" Poe interrupts.

"I…I…" you’re thrown by his closeness, by his long lashes and soft smile, by the damn doe eyed look he's giving you.

You know there's no shutting him up until you tell him what he wants to hear so you take a breath. It wouldn't exactly be news to him, Poe knew just about everyone had considered kissing him at some point or another. The man did come with a reputation for having a rather skillful mouth after all.

"Fine! Maybe once or twice. Now go to damn sleep!" You growl, annoyed at him, and yourself.

The shit eating grin he gives you is enough to make you turn back over, tucking the pillow under your head and shutting your eyes tightly, as though that alone might drown him out.

"I knew it," he gloats with a happy sigh, clicking off the bedside lamp.

You grip the pillow, considering the option you still have of smothering him.

Thankfully he's quiet from that point and infuriatingly asleep in less than five minutes. You can feel the mattress move with his slow steady breaths.

Glancing over your shoulder he's laid out on his back, one arm tucked under his head, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he dreams, his full lips open with a soft sigh.

Turning around again you punch the lumpy pillow, trying to get more comfortable.

You will not think about kissing him. That was a one time thing. Okay, maybe three or four. Well maybe more… a lot more. You're determined tonight for once, you will not fall asleep thinking about his mouth on yours, you will absolutely not think about his lips on your skin, or his fingers caressing your breasts…

Someone suddenly shakes you and you open your eyes groggily, the room swimming and blurred as you blink sleep from your vision.

"What the hell?" You grumble, looking up at the pilot with his sleep tousled curls, still half asleep himself, one eye still shut and the other half open, bathed in the soft moonlight glow that sneaks through the blinds.

"You said my name," he mumbles, voice still sleep gravelled. "You alright?"

Flashes of his mouth sealed over your nipple, his tongue darting out to lick a path down to your navel, your hand gripping his hair, his mouth between your thighs.

Oh no. You absolutely did not have a sex dream about him. Not now, not here. Please no!

"You must have dreamt it," you swallow, desperately trying to play it cool. If Poe heard you while he was dead asleep, then you must have been loud. You feel the heat prickling the back of your neck.

"No, I definitely heard you say Poe," he insists.

"Well even if I did I'm fine so you can go back to sleep," you insist, shifting your legs restlessly. You're too warm. Well not just warm, burning hot, sweat cooling on your skin, an uncomfortable ache between your legs that screams of unsatisfied desire.

"You sure? You sounded a bit…breathless?" The pilot asks again, genuine concern in his tone. Although you can barely see him in the dim lighting you can still see the frown pulling his brows together, both eyes now open and studying you. You really don't want him to press any further. Even his voice brings back flashes of the dream, sultry whispers in your ear, his tongue lapping at your folds, the cry of his name from your mouth.

You swallow again, pushing the thoughts away.

"Really, I'm fine. Must have been a nightmare if it involved you anyway."

"Ouch." He holds his hands over his chest, collapsing back onto the mattress as though you wounded him, giving a long drawn out dramatic death rattle.

Pulling up the covers you throw them over his head with a laugh.

"Go back to sleep, Flyboy."

Laying back you shuffle as close to the edge as you can, putting as much distance as possible between you and the pilot. You wonder if it would be better for you to stay awake, just in case your dreams come back to haunt you. You absolutely wouldn't get away with saying his name a second time.

"It's okay you know," Poe speaks suddenly into the darkness as you lay rigid beside him. "If you were dreaming about me. I wouldn't mind."

You can't help but snort with laughter at that.

"You wouldn't mind if anyone dreams about you."

"True," Poe admits. You feel him shift and even though you can't see him, your eyes staring up at the ceiling, his gaze burns you.

"Let me rephrase. I'd like it if you dreamt about me." He continues.

When you don't turn to face him or grace him with an answer, you feel the shift of the mattress again as he lays back.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, and for once it sounds genuine, not a hint of playfulness in his tone. "I thought this would cheer you up. It's been a long week and you've just seemed so… I don't know. Not yourself, like you're bottling everything up. I figured maybe if you were thinking about how annoying I was, or making you laugh and fight with me, it would give you a bit of a distraction and an outlet, but I get it, maybe I took it too far, even if it is the truth."

It had been a long week, the longest in fact. While the mission itself had been a success, you had seen a lot of the First Order's destruction in the process, and it was worse than either of you had realised. You'd felt melancholy for days, the sights you've witnessed replaying in your mind. You hadn't noticed it much at the time, too lost in your own thoughts and angry that he was so loud that it was impossible to hear yourself think, but the more you think about it, the more you realise what he's been doing — trying to make you smile, keeping you distracted, making you focus on anything but what's happened. All you've done is complain to him about it.

Guilt twists hard in your stomach.

How typical of Poe to try and be helpful in the most unconventional way.

Part of you wants to reach for him, to cuddle him tight against you and thank him, to tell him you're here for him too if he needs someone. The other part keeps you rigidly pinned to the mattress, afraid to move in case so much as a finger brushes up against him, unsure if you can hold yourself back with the lingering memory of the dream.

"You mean the truth is that you really are worried I snore?" You ask, trying to break the unbearable tension.

His answer is the most serious he's sounded all day. There isn't a trace of humour, of teasing, just a tiredness, the kind that comes from pretending to smile all day, the kind that signals a surrender.

"No, I could live with that. I mean the dreaming part. I'd like it if you dreamt about me."

"Oh." You can't find anything else to say to that, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest you're sure even through his damaged ear he can hear it.

The ongoing silence suddenly feels heavy, like a crushing weight on your chest, the truth feels like lead in your belly. Poe hasn't made a single noise in a while but you get the distinct feeling he isn't asleep. You wonder if he's laying still too, muddling through his thoughts.

You can't take back your behaviour towards him but you can at least give him something in return.

"Poe?"

The response is instant, "Yeah?"

You take a breath, swallowing hard, your fingers twisting into the sheet at the edge of the bed, nervously gripping them.

"Every day," you whisper quietly.

"Huh?"

You feel a slight shift as he must turn to look at you.

You clear your throat, staring hard enough at the ceiling that your eyes start to burn, repeating yourself louder.

"I said every day. I lied earlier. It's not once or twice. I think about kissing you every day. I have for a while," you admit.

A sudden blinding light obscures your vision, making you cry out in surprise and squeeze your eyes shut against the sudden intrusion. Coloured lights flash behind your eyelids and you have to blink a few times in order to see anything.

When the room comes back into focus Poe is sitting bolt upright in the bed, staring down at you, the bedside lamp illuminating his head like a synthetic halo.

"You were dreaming about me!"

With a groan you grab the pillow and hold it over your own face, deciding if you can't smother him you could just smother yourself instead, which seems like the better option than actually having this conversation.

You feel the pillow tug back gently, but you hold fast, refusing to give it up.

"Come on, let go and talk to me. You've said it now." A grunt of effort and a hard tug on the pillow before Poe sighs. "I'm not going away so you're either going to suffocate or talk."

"Then I'll suffocate," you mumble into the pillow, already regretting saying anything.

"You know I can't hear you right? Come on." This time he tucks his fingers under yours and peels them off the pillow cover until it falls halfway off your face.

"Better," he smiles, letting go of your hands to remove it entirely. "Why are you hiding from me?"

"I don't want to see your smug smile about how right you are," you glare, trying to hide your embarrassment that you've blurted out exactly what you've been trying to conceal from him. Once more, Poe takes your attitude in his stride.

"I've thought about kissing you too, you know? In fact I've thought about kissing you at least four times since you woke me up." He gives a shrug, like you should know that, like it's completely utterly normal for someone to think about kissing you that many times in the space of ten minutes.

You bite your lip, familiar tendrils of desire reigniting in your belly. Your body, still clearly on edge from your illicit dream, thrums with tension.

"So why haven't you done it yet?"

Poe rolls his eyes, as though the answer is obvious. "Clearly I'm building up the sexual tension for it!"

You're done letting him have the upper hand in this. In a surge of confidence, and to stop the smug look on his face, you wrap your hand around the back of the pilot's neck, before you pull his lips to yours. You feel Poe's brief smile, probably of victory, against your mouth before he kisses you back.

It's soft at first, almost sweet tender kisses, short and playful, getting to know each other. He kisses your top and bottom lip, he gives you tiny pecks of affection, he licks playfully at your bottom lip.

Effortlessly he shifts his weight over you, slotting himself between your thighs as though you were made to fit together. His tongue licks into your mouth, slick and hot, sliding against your own as he presses his body against yours, your kisses descending into something much more passionate.

Maker, the rumours weren't wrong. He is good at this, better than good actually, infuriatingly good. You can't even find any fault to tease him about.

You tangle your fingers in his curls, tugging gently and causing the pilot to moan into your mouth. You give a shiver of desire at the sound, your mind filled with thoughts of how you can draw it from him in other ways. Poe's mind seems to be on a similar track, his hips grinding against yours, pressing himself against your core and causing you to let out a gasp of surprise at the jolt of pleasure.

Perhaps there was a little sexual tension after all.

The pilot pulls away, his chest heaving, eyes dark and lips kiss swollen, his curls messy and tousled from your fingers.

"Fuck, sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away so quickly," he apologises, swallowing hard as he clearly tries to get a handle on himself, holding his body off yours, allowing a brief respite for you both to collect yourselves.

"I don't mind getting carried away," you admit, still feeling feverish with his closeness, your mind filled with the fantasy of your dreams. You raise your hips, pressing up against his clothed length, making the pilot let out a choked moan of surprise before his eyes darken.

"Well in that case," he grins, recovering all too quickly. Desire coils in your belly and before you can drag his mouth back to yours, in true Poe fashion, he continues talking. "Why don't you tell me what I was doing in this dream of yours?"

You give him a coy smile. As if he's going to get it out of you that easily.

"Fulfilling my deepest fantasy," you answer as Poe licks his lips, eagerly leaning forward to listen.

"Oh yeah? What fantasy might that be?"

"You were quiet for a whole five minutes," you sigh dreamily. It takes a second to register with him before he leans back bursting out laughing. You can't help but start to giggle yourself.

"Okay, I deserved that!" He laughs. "My methods may be unorthodox, but they work!"

He was entirely correct in that him being his usual annoying self was exactly what you had needed as a distraction, although you're sure there were less annoying ways to achieve the same means.

"I don't know. I actually considered murdering you at least a few times. Maybe I still will, when you're fast asleep and least expecting it," you warn, running a finger along your throat in a playful threat.

Poe hums, leaning back down over you, caging you to the bed with his arms.

"What exactly makes you think either of us will be going back to sleep?"

Oh.

There's another rush of heat that tingles against your skin, shooting straight down to your aching core. It's not at all helped by the fact Poe leans down to capture your lips, his tongue slipping between your teeth as he moves one hand to grip your hip, sliding it slowly up your body and under your shirt to trail his fingers across your breast.

You moan into his mouth as he rolls your peaked nipple between his fingers, grinding yourself up against him, uncaring of whatever commentary he wants to make as long as you can deal with this rapidly intensifying desire.

When he finally pulls away once more it's hard to get your breath, especially as he continues to steal little kisses from you, his fingers still resting against your skin.

Bracing himself on one arm above you, the other slides down to tiptoe over your hip.

"Do I have your consent to remove these ugly pants?" He grins teasingly, pulling at the waistband of your shorts. They had seen better days in all fairness but you hadn't really considered anyone else seeing them.

"Hey, they aren't that bad! Not like you're the pinnacle of fashion." In retaliation you poke your finger through a hole in the leg of his threadbare sleep pants, making the pilot laugh.

"These are my lucky pants."

You can't help but snort with a roll of your eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard."

Poe raises one eyebrow, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

"They got you into my bed didn't they?"

You scoff, "The hotel management got me into this bed."

"You know what, you're right. Maybe I should go thank them now," Poe muses, his grin turning into a laugh as you wrap your arms around him, preventing him from leaving.

"Will you please just stop talking?" You laugh, wondering how much of the night is even left. You swear if the sun rises and you haven't resolved this, you will combust of need, and you will take the pilot out with you.

Poe raises his eyebrows.

"Well, I would, but you still haven't answered my original question."

You stare at him, trying to figure out what exactly he's talking about before you realise.

"For the love of… Yes Poe, I give you consent to do whatever you want to me as long as you stop dragging this out like a massive tease!"

The pilot lets out a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, a soft gesture in a stark contrast to what leaves his mouth, "dangerous words, sweetheart."

You almost shudder with the flash of desire that bolts through you, making sharp heat rush across your skin and your pussy clench.

"I need you to make me a promise first though," his fingers slip across your abdomen, resting just above the waistband of your pants. The feverish desire at his touch is overshadowed by annoyance that he's still talking. Maker, you swear he won't survive till sunrise.

"Po-

"I'm going to need you to be loud," he purrs in your ear, cutting you off as his hand slips under your waistband. "I don't want to miss a single noise you make."

Even if you wanted to be quiet, the pad of his finger slipping across your clit causes your body to react in a primal way, letting out an embarrassing loud moan for such a little touch.

Poe chuckles.

"Just like that." He praises, sliding his finger down further to dip into your entrance, letting out a soft groan of his own at how wet you are, before he drags it back up, spreading your slick over your aching clit and making you whine again. "Can you do that for me? Can you be loud enough?"

The best you can muster is a whimper as he slowly thrusts his finger knuckle deep into you.

"Nu-huh," Poe chides, "loud."

A second finger quickly joins the first, stretching your walls and filling you more than your own ever could. This time you arch your back off the bed, chasing the blissful feeling as a much louder groan tears itself from your throat.

"Better," Poe grins. "I heard that one."

You want to smother him, you want to kiss him, but most of all, despite his annoying little smug smile, you still desperately want to fuck him.

You decide on option two, at least for the moment, pulling his lips down to yours.

His tongue licks into your mouth as he thrusts his fingers inside you at a leisurely pace, swallowing each whine and moan you give at the pleasure skittering and coiling in you.

Poe curls his fingers, pressing up against that spot inside you, making you pull away from his kiss to throw your head back in pleasure, a loud groan of his name escaping. You're half expecting him to make some sort of cocky comment, but Poe seems as lost in this as you are. He drops his head to press open mouthed kisses across your neck, biting and sucking, marking and claiming you as his.

When he works a third finger into you, his thumb brushing against your clit, you come undone. Normally you would feel embarrassed about how loud you are, the way your body shudders and heaves, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers, but the shaky little fuck Poe groans in your ear, obliterates any notion of embarrassment.

As you come down from your high, your body still trembling from the aftershock, whining as he slips his fingers from you, you realise he's breathing almost as heavily as you are, his breath coming out in short pants as he looks you over.

"I need to fuck you," he growls, clearly struggling with his own needs.

You're already nodding before he gets halfway through his request. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants, you'll give it to him without hesitation.

He all but tears your pyjamas from you, making short work of removing them and throwing them across the room, before his join the unceremonious pile on the floor.

This time you allow yourself to look, you allow yourself to take in his broad chest, the little scars crisscrossed with a larger one, old and new, your gaze trailing down across his abdomen to the line of hair that guides your eyes down to -

"Are you done admiring?" Poe's amused tone makes your eyes snap back up to his, your face growing warm with embarrassment that you've been caught staring, although you know he has probably done exactly the same to you.

"I don't know about admiring," you shrug as though your pussy isn't pulsing at the thought of him burying his cock deep inside you. "Think the resistance needs to re-evaluate their best looking pilot status."

Poe simply grins at you, seeing through your nonchalance all too clearly.

"Good to know you like what you see. Tell me, how wet did it make you to see me earlier, all soaked and shirtless?"

"Didn't," is all you are able to punch out as he leans down, pressing his body against yours, rolling his hips just slightly so his hard cock brushes against your slick folds, holding himself at your entrance like the tease he is.

"Really?" He smirks, "Somehow I think you are lying. But alright, I'll get the truth out of you, one way or another." The threat gives you a rush of excitement, wondering exactly how he's going to do that. Not that you're going to let him know that so easily.

"Are you going to keep talking or are we going to-" your question cuts off into a gasp of pleasure as he presses himself inside you, slowly, so you can feel every vein and ridge as he stretches your walls.

"Are we going to what?" He grins.

You slap his arm in reply but there's no power behind it, you're too busy concentrating on the wet noise as he pulls out of you before slowly pressing back in, making you whimper in need. The first time your pussy clenches around him it's involuntary, the second time it's just to enjoy the little groan the action draws from the pilot.

"Stop," he warns, his head dropping to your shoulder, clearly trying to steady his breathing as you clench around him a third time, just for fun. "Taking it slow."

"You don't have to take it slow," you assure him. For a moment you think it's sweet he's considering your comfort but you're more than ready for this.

"I want to," he grits as you clench around him again. The tone of his voice lets you know he's digging his stubborn heels in and nothing will change his mind. Even so you need more than he's offering. This has gone on too long, the tension is too much, the need drumming through your veins screams to be sated.

You whine, you beg, you plead, you drag your nails along his back and arch your hips against him, but he doesn't give. He rocks into you slowly, achingly slowly, maddeningly slowly, and for all your initial protests you enjoy every second of it.

The pleasure builds just as slow, each roll of his hips winding the cord tighter and tighter until you're sure you can't take any more, and then it pulls further. You can't do anything but surrender to the bliss it offers, raising your hips to meet his in the hopes his resolve will eventually break.

"You're incredible you know?" He pants against your mouth, sweat beading at his hairline, his curls sticking to his forehead, his eyes hooded and glazed. "Not just at this, but this too."

All you can do is stare at him, somewhat dazed, wondering how he's even thinking in coherent sentences right now, let alone speaking them. Somewhere your subconscious registers his words and it accompanies a host of butterflies in your belly.

"Just you, exactly as you are. You are incredible," he repeats, only this time it comes with a much harder thrust. You arch against him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your head drops back against the pillows.

"Poe, please," you beg, unsure if you are able to take much more. Clearly neither can he, his name on your lips undoing his patience. He wraps his fingers around your thigh, hoisting your leg up over his hip as he sinks deeper into you, picking up the pace.

His hips slam into yours, filling the room with the sound of flesh on flesh, accompanied only by his curses and praises that fall freely and loudly. For all his requests for you to be loud the pilot's own moans are enough to drown yours out.

Working a hand between your bodies you press a finger to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the hardened nub as Poe angles his hips, pressing up against the blissful spot inside you. Your whole body almost arches up off the bed with the combined pleasure catapulting through you, an almost screamed curse fighting its way out of your throat.

Poe groans low and shakily, barely holding his own climax back, his thrusts becoming messy and mistimed.

"That's it baby. Fuck wanna feel you cum, wanna hear you," he groans, completely wrecked.

That's all it takes. Your orgasm hits suddenly and brightly, your whole body writhing and stiffening as the pleasure overtakes you, coursing through your veins like lava, making your vision go white as you tremble through it. Poe had wanted to hear you, but the purely feral noise you let out, you wouldn't be surprised if the whole damn hotel heard you. You're sure Poe would probably enjoy it if they did.

It's almost too much for your oversensitive body to feel Poe thrusting into you faster and harder, chasing his own end, babbled curses and praises falling from his lips. You shake with overstimulation when his hips stutter, emptying himself deep inside you, your nails leaving crescent moons on his shoulders as you cling desperately to him, your thighs trembling, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Poe half collapses on you, letting your leg down slowly as he presses soft kisses to your neck, against every love bite he's given you in the heat of the moment. You suspect there may be quite a few questions when you get back to the base tomorrow. Turning your head you press a soft kiss to his cheek, making him lean up to look at you.

"Better than you dreamt?" He grins, still flushed and panting.

"I didn't dream about that," you giggle breathlessly, shaking limbs melting into the mattress, sated and tired. Poe raises his eyebrows, letting out a thoughtful hum before he suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper and immediately miss the feeling of him inside you.

Shuffling down your body he presses a soft kiss between your breasts. You frown at him, confused by his sudden movement and how he still has so much energy. How is it you're a wrecked mess and he's still acting like he can go another ten rounds? Why can't he just be still for one second?

Another kiss to your ribs, first the right side, then the left, moving slowly down, before he pauses, looking up through his lashes at you.

"You didn't dream about us making love?"

You go to make fun of his choice of language but before you have a chance he licks a hot stripe down to your naval, making your breath catch with the sudden rush of pleasure. You're starting to question if he's able to read your thoughts, if he knows the truth of your dream already. Perhaps you had said more than just his name in your sleep?

"Nope, not about us," you breathe unsteadily, trying to hold yourself back from begging anything from him again. You suspect you know what's coming next and honestly, you're not sure if your body is able to handle it, barely over your first two climaxes. Still you weren't about to give in to his questions, he'd never shut up if you admit it. "Told you, I wasn't dreaming about you."

"You are a terrible liar," Poe states, his hands gripping your thighs, pushing them apart. The rush of cold air against your heated flesh makes you gasp and the pilot smirks, his eyes flickering down to your swollen cunt, leaking with your combined climax before coming back to you, a devilish grin taking over his face.

"'Whatever I want to do to you' still stand?" He asks.

All you can do is nod mutely, a fresh wave of need building despite your exhaustion.

"Good," Poe grins, pinning your thighs to the mattress, preventing you from moving. "Because I'm going to get the truth out of you my way."

He does exactly that. He drags the truth out of you to every question he wants answered and more, twice with his mouth, then again with his cock, reducing you to a babbling trembling mess, willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know, and he's infuriatingly smug about it.

~

Poe had been surprisingly tender afterwards. He'd carefully cleaned you up, brought you a glass of water, massaged your sore muscles, before he'd finally pulled you into his arms, holding you close against him.

Of course you had known Poe was kind, of course you knew he took care of the people he was close to, even those who only spent the night with him. There were enough stories around the base to give you a general idea of that, but for some reason you can't place this felt different, it felt intimate.

What surprised you more than anything was how quiet he was now. Appart from a few murmured words about how good you had been for him, and to check you were alright, he hadn't said much at all. It was almost unnerving after his behaviour all day. Really if you had known this would have shut him up you might have jumped on him hours ago. But now, the silence seems worrying.

"You okay?" You ask, your head still against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as his fingers draw mindless patterns against your back.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I was just thinking…maybe we can do this again? Sometime soon? Be in the same bed I mean." The pilot asks. He doesn't sound like the cocky confident Flyboy you're expecting. If anything he sounds a little unsure of his own question.

You won't give him the satisfaction of the enthusiastic yes that tries to escape. The last thing you want out of this night is to become some regular casual hook-up. Poe wasn't exactly known for keeping long term relationships, citing the fact it was too difficult during the middle of a war, which you suppose you could understand. He was at least always very clear about that with whoever he got involved with.

Equally you don't want to say no. You want this, him. You want the moments of passion and quiet, you want the teasing and fights, you want more in whatever way you can.

In the end you go for the middle ground, giving him an option of more, while closely guarding yourself against this being a casual fuck.

"Hmm, suppose if you buy me dinner first then I might consider it. I don't make a habit of sleeping with people without dates."

It's disarmingly sweet when he presses a soft kiss to your head, tightening his arm around you. Your chest aches all the more for moments like this.

"Alright. A date it is." You can hear the smile in his voice, sleepy and happy.

You didn't exactly expect him to agree to that so easily, and while it gives you a flutter of hope, you don't quite trust he catches your meaning.

"I said I'd consider, I didn't say I'd agree. I might have other options," you warn, trying to get him to consider what he wants you to be to him.

Poe lets out a soft chuckle.

"You say that like your pretending it wasn't the best fuck of your life, and you're desperate to do it again."

You lean up on your arm to look at him, raising an eyebrow and fixing him with an unimpressed look at his cockyness.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges confidently, "because if I am, then I'm just going to have to keep trying. The aim is to make you fall hopelessly in love with me eventually."

"Through sex?" You laugh, ignoring the now familiar butterflies that tell you he might be closer to his aim than he knows.

Poe shrugs, "through whatever necessary means, as long as I get to keep you as mine."

It's almost a knee jerk reaction to open your mouth and tell him you aren't a pet or property to be owned, but as you meet his gaze you realise you are once more judging him a little too quickly and all too harshly. It's clear he means more than that, his gaze open and vulnerable.

A warm feeling of familiarity, of safety, of something bigger, spreads through your very bones, something that shows there is much more than lust and affection, perhaps for both of you.

Your response is much softer than your initial reaction might have been, had you not taken a moment.

"Take me to dinner tomorrow then?"

"I think tomorrow might be today," Poe smiles, nodding towards the window where the faint pink light of dawn is starting to peek through the drawn blinds. You groan knowing sunrise both means you really should untangle yourself from the pilot and head back to base.

"Well honestly I think I've had enough of you for one day." You tease, pushing yourself off him and sitting up, debating if you can handle another cold shower. In all honesty a cold shower is probably exactly what you need after you make the mistake of glancing down at Poe, still naked, the sheet barely covering his more private parts, his curls messy from your fingers, peering up at you with a half smile.

"We both know you can never get enough of me," Poe states, before he wraps his arms around you and drags you back down onto the bed. He throws one leg over yours, effectively trapping you next to him as he snuggles up close to you.

You don't bother fighting, too tired from the night's activity to argue your way out of his grip. Sighing you sink into the bed, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

"I knew this would work," Poe hums happily in your ear. You mumble enough of a sound to make him realise you're asking what he means.

"Getting you in a hotel room with me would make you admit you wanted me."

You give another tired hum in acknowledgement before his words finally hit you, and you sit up to stare at him, suddenly wide awake. Poe grins back at you, knowing exactly what you are thinking.

"Tell me this was not some plan to get me into bed!"

Poe feigns a comedic shocked expression, holding one hand to his chest as he stares open mouthed at you.

"Of course not! What do you think of me? Why is your opinion of me is so low that you think I'd go as far to break the ship engine, so we'd be stuck here alone, find the busiest hotel on this planet, specifically book one room knowing the others would be booked already by the time we got here, ask for the smallest bed-"

He doesn't get to continue. Picking up the pillow you repeatedly hit him hard with it while Poe laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I'm joking. I'm joking, I swear," he laughs, grabbing his own pillow and hitting you back. "I'd never purposely break a ship."

"You manipulative little shit,"

Neither of you surrender until the bed is covered with feathers, the pillowcases empty and discarded, your limbs tangled together, lips pressed against sweat salted skin. This time it's you who pries the truth from him, your way.

"My methods may be unorthodox but -" he gets no further before you smack him in the face with your pillow, causing him to dissolve into laughter once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[creative-caramel-coffee]

Secretly Shot

Pairings: Wandanat x R || avengers (platonic) x R

Word count: 2K

TW: Injury, getting shot, hiding injuries, angst (with happy ending), arguments (with wanda and nat and you), mean avengers (cuz they’re annoyed), hate, fainting (kinda), blame,

Summary: you and the team are at odds, what happens when you go on a misson without them and get hurt?

A/n Kinda more angst than I normally do but it was fun to write. Hope you like it :)

It wasn’t uncommon for little squabbles between the three of you but this time it was different. wanda, Natasha and you had been arguing at the top of your lungs. and no matter how much you loved them and you knew they loved you you worried they would leave you for being difficult and needy. you know they were stressed but it didn’t make you feel any better.

“y/n I’m so sick of you always mess things up. you never do anything right. always causing problems.” nat yelled and wanda piled on the sentiment.

“y/n if you cant just stay out of trouble for once i-i. argh. just stop making issues we always have to clean up after.” wanda said angrily. you knew they were just stressed but it still hurt. the last mission had ended when you made a mistake and weeks of prep had been for nothing. the team was angry with you but none had yelled at you. but you knew wanda and nat had spent many sleepless nights on recon missions for this and you had blown it.

after the two of them stormed out you angrily packed a bag and retreated back to your old room. angrily wiping away tears jarvis summoned you to the conference room.

after a tense ride in the lift with clint who wouldn’t look at you, you slunk into the conference room. fury had a mission for you. you tried not to cry. all you wanted was for your girls to hold you but you knew that wouldn’t happen any time soon. what you didn’t know was that they already felt horrible and were trying to find you.

“when do i leave?” you asked fury who gave you a sympathetic look he knew the team was blaming you.

“right away. but i get it if you want to say goodby-“

“No. I’m ready.” you said.

“ok jet leaves in five.” he said dismissing you. you slunk back to your room took your suit and made your way to the jet not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. if they wanted to know where you were they could ask jarvis. about three hours later the jet touched down in Moscow.

wanda and nat were beside themselves with worry. Jarvis had told them you had left on a mission and they were wreaked. you never left without saying goodbye to them. they knew how dangerous your line of work was so they always made sure to have proper goodbyes. but what worried them most was you going on a mission when the last time they saw you you had looked like a kicked puppy. they wished they could take it all back but no matter how forgiving you may be this was something they knew would take time.

the mission had been going well. you had almost made it the whole way uneducated. it was a solo mission, no backup so you had to be stealthy. but as you slipped through the long hallways of hydra you rounded a corner to find a large group of guards. one spotted you and you dove to hide behind the corner again but one managed to shoot you. the bullet hit your shoulder and you let out a strangled cry. grateful it hasn’t hit you in the leg you took off. making it back to the jet you quickly took off. the mission had been successful but you worried how the team would react to you messing up another mission. you couldn’t loose this job. you wanted to be an avenger. you always had. if you lost this job you lost everything.

after setting the jet on autopilot, you began to strip off the top half of your suit until you sat there with it down by your waist and in a sports bra. carefully you did you best to clean and bandage the wound and you silently thanked bruce for the mini first aid course he had given you when you joined. it was hard because you couldn’t see it properly but you hoped it was clean. the bullet had gone through and from what you could tell as you stitched it up it hadn’t hit anything important.

After you finished wrapping the bandage around your shoulder you went back to the cockpit after cleaning up all traces of your injury and had put away the first aid kit just as it had been before.

after dozing lightly in the cockpit jarvis alerted you that you were getting close to the compound. you switched off autopilot and landed the jet lightly.

wanda and nat heard jarvis alert them you had arrived back and they caught you in the hall by the med bay on their way to find you.

“y/n? are you hurt? did you see bruce?” nat said narrowing her eyes. truth be told you hadn’t, the team couldn’t know you messed up again. you could deal with it yourself. their eyes landed on your bloodied suit. you had stolen some supplies from the med bay and they were hidden in your bag.

“this bloods not mine.” you lied with anger still in your voice. “now i need to get back to write my mission report so if you don’t mind, get out of my way.” you growled still mad they had made you feel so awful earlier. wanda flinched slightly at your tone and nat’s glare returned. you pushed past them, hiding a wince as you jostled your shoulder slightly. the two girls let you go and you almost cried at how easily they had, you almost wanted them to fight you on it. but at least they would honour your wishes.

you set the bag down the the bed and opened your laptop to start the report. typing hurt your shoulder so you began to write it with your right hand only. it took almost double as long and so halfway you decided to take a shower. as you stood the world tilted and you balanced yourself against the wall. hobbling slowly to the shower you stripped and showered trying to keep the wound dry. after you threw away the blood-soaked bandages and rewrapped it carefully. it was better this time as you had a mirror but unfortunately you could see how poor the stitches were and how red and angry the wound looked. you winced as you finished dressing it. you knew you needed to see bruce, to get it treated properly but you couldn’t see anymore disappointment on the faces of your team without crying. you changed into comfy loose clothes and Wanda’s hoodie before curling up in bed again with your laptop to finish the report. you knew you had to write about the injury so you gave the basic details. although as you finished up your eyes drooped. they were heavy and you struggled to stay away. in the low light you drifted off seeing it as nothing but being tired.

it was a mere few minutes later that a knock came on the door. At the lack of response wanda hesitated before opening the door. her and nat peered in to the dimly lit room. they saw a lump in the bed and slowly came in not turning on the light. wanda carefully took the laptop from your knees and nat nudged your shoulder to wake you up. when you didn’t stir she removed her hand. it felt wet and sticky and as she looked at it her heart stuttered. it was covered in blood. looking back at your shoulder she saw a dark patch covering your left side as blood seeped out of the wound.

“wanda bring the laptop and come with me.” nat said scooping you up. wanda looked up at the urgency in her girlfriends voice and immediately gasped as she saw your bloody shoulder.

“dammit y/n/n.” she said stifling tears. the two of them rushed to the med bay with you in Nat’s arms.

when they arrived wanda began skimming your report to give the information to bruce to treat you better. her breath caught in her throat as she released you and been shot. she couldn’t help the tears that fell when she realised you felt you couldn’t tell them.

“whats going on?” bruce said.

“y/n/n was shot on her mission.” wanda said and bruce and Natasha took off your clothes leaving you in the fluffy pants and a sports bra. bruce winced at the sight of the bloodied bandages knowing he didn’t do them. carefully he cut them off and gasped at the sight of the poorly done stitches. no wonder you had passed out, the stitches had barely stopped the bleeding and you were loosing too much blood. carefully and with wanda and nat watching on he cut the stitches, checked the wound and redid them in much neater rows. after about seven stitches he tied off the last one and rewrapped the wound. he fiddled with an iv as he began to give you some more blood to replace what you had lost. wanda and nat watched with bated breath. they felt awful. this was all their fault.

they sat in silence by your bedside as bruce went back to his office to give them some privacy. after a few minutes they heard you groan and they both sat up straighter almost in unison.

“y/n/n?” wanda said stroking the hair from your face. nat held you hand as you groaned again.

“aww bubs your ok.” nat said

“your in the sick bay baby you passed out.” wanda cooed.

“why didn’t you tell us you were hurt.” nat said frowning slightly.

“didn’t want you to be disappointed again.” you mumbled still on a-lot of pain meds.

wanda’s heart broke audibly as nat somehow felt worse.

“no detka you could never disappoint us. never ever.” wanda said.

“but i messed up.” you mumbled eyes glossy with tears.

“baby we will love you no matter what.” nat said using her thumb to rub circles over your knuckles. wanda was quick to wipe away the tears that fell down your cheeks as your chest shook.

“honey we are so sorry and you hope you can forgive us. you didn’t need that stress right now we just need to focus on getting you better sweets.” wanda cooed.

“i already have.” you muttered and nat gave a sad smile. they knew you had a kind heart, you had forgiven them almost straight away but that didn’t make the two girls feel less guilty about their actions.

“sleep now bubs, we’re not going anywhere.” nat said and you shuffled over with a wince indicating you wanted cuddled with sleepy grabby hands.

wanda chuckled “I’m not sure we’ll all fit baby.” and at your pout wanda knew she couldn’t say no. careful of your IV she picked you up and laid you on-top of her as nat came and laid beside wanda as she threw an arm over your lower back. wanda’s hands came to your hair to give you a scalp massage as you rested you head into the side of her neck. you hummed softly and drifted off the sleep knowing you were safe in the arms of your girls.

MASTERLIST

[3615rose]

A long recovery (Lu Four x Reader)

Tw : PTSD, past abuse from reader, reader is afab, and canon typical violence

You sat outside of the ranch for another sleepless night. Those were reoccurring more frequently these days, feeling back everything you his behind the walls you created.

Did you talk about this to the chain ? No. They all defeated a greater evil either being Ganon, shadow images of themselves or black magician, so being traumatized by its own mother is kind of weak.

With them, you forget most of your problems, and at the ranch, you would talk about aliens with Malon for eight hours straight if no one interrupted you. But there were those times where you felt on your own, against your own demon that you can't even defeat.

You aren't a knight in shining armor, or a blacksmith speaking in tongues, you're just a lost girl that nine guys kept along. Why though ? You weren't good in combat, just to make potion and healing, cleaning wounds before any fairies or potions.

At least you felt normal with Malon. You would both laugh at the cows that roamed at night in the farm, talking about books, different places you saw, how she loved Time too.

Drops of rain made you realize you were still outside, and the shining stars were hiding behind a large cloud, filled with electricity. You sighed again, leaving your mind wander.

With every drop, you relived each hit you mother put on you, with each roar of the distant storm, you heard her insult you. The hands would clasps around your neck until you were dizzy, your nose was broken more than enough to make you wake up from not breathing at night.

You hated sleeping since then.

So you were outside, and when your brain would calm down, the soothing melody of raindrops against the cows barn calmed you.

"Where the fuck are you ?"

You recognized that voice. One of the Link, Four to be precise. He was one of the guys that cursed the most too.

"Here. I am enjoying the rain."

With a korok leave he approached you, you were literally soaked in rain from head to toes.

"Are you fucking crazy ? You're trying for being sick the quickest ? Get back inside."

He was cute when he was angry, you always liked him, like a big brother that forgot to grow in size. But he was powerful when working on a sword, smithing like you never saw.

Now that you think of it, you liked being with him, the nice cut grass smell that lingered on his clothes, his expressive face with a big goofy smile when he was happy. You liked when he hugged you for the first time, you were panicked after cutting a bokoblin head. You liked it when he gifted you a small fairy he made with scrap metal.

For now, he was holding your wrist, putting you inside his workshop where the fire of the force felt nice on you.

"I'm gonna get your pyj and some towels, they're on the bed right ? Try to warm up during waiting."

He wasn't angry weirdly, more concerned. You knew it as he was the type to go nuts for the smallest thing, but here, he wasn't.

You looked at the flames, twirling in the oven, like a fragile ballet. Then it hits you again.

She's back, you weren't good enough so you had to put more wood in the fireplace, you burnt yourself, but no, it needed more. To be a grownup you needed to suffer. It was her words. Her shadowy figure taking your hand and putting it directly in the flames.

"Woohoo, are you with me ?"

Four was back with some towels and your nightgown. He was too nice.

"Yeah, excuse me... I was thinking."

You grabbed the first towel to dry the hair.

"Looks more like someone is having past events that haunts them"

You looked at him dead in his eyes. His wonderful blue eyes.

"And ? I didn't fight evil like you, it's only kids stuff."

He took a chair from across the room to bring it in front of you.

"Everyone have their inner demons. You can fight evil a thousand time, it won't change what you felt at this time and it won't help to bottle it up until it explode."

You ruffled your hair a little in the towel before putting it on the empty table next to you. It wasn't the cleanest place but it would do.

"All Smithy, that's the nicest thing someone said to me for a long time."

He laughed a little then almost laid back in the chair.

"Like 'You are one beautiful cuckoo with a nice hay hair'? Or more of 'you're a Malon my size I can protect'?"

You blushed heavily at this sentence. This is how he felt or these are only encouraging words ?

"I didn't know you were the romantic type little one."

He smirked then crossed his arms in front of him.

"And you didn't tell me it bothers you too. Should I deduce something ?"

You laughed back. He was a cunning one.

"Well, mister Link, you got me there, and by the time, I guess you weren't able to sleep too."

Now he looks annoyed, his usual annoyed.

"Nope, I was sleeping fine until your door slammed shut because you forgot to close the window and made some air."

Oh. That's the reason.

"Oh sorry then. How can I repay your lack of sleep ?"

He started to grin. And it was always a weird idea when he had this face.

"Well, now that you kept your room in the cold condition I won't let you get sick by leaving you to your room, what about sleeping in mine ? And if you get those bad dreams, I can be here to chase them down!"

You loved the idea, and even though your clothes were still humid, you jumped against him.

"Oh my knight in shining armor! I would be honored! Except if it... Embarrass you in front of the others..."

To your surprise, he hugged you and placed a kiss on your cheek.

"Who cares, they probably put a bet on who would got you first, but they doesn't understand the love, its like forging a blade it requir-"

You cut him off.

"OK now you'll put me to sleep just by talking about blacksmithing, keep it for the bed. Let's go and we'll see who took bets tomorrow."

You jumped off of him and laugh a little as the transfer of humidity on his tunic, he held your hand, and you kept your nightgown under your arm like you would go to a sleepover.

"Make yourself at home princess, I won't look trust me."

You waited to be sure he wasn't looking to remove some of your clothes. Checking him if he wasn't looking sometimes.

"Okay all done ! I can hide under the blanket while you put your pyjs on!"

He laughed again, silently to not wake up the others.

"Do as you like princess, its nothing you didn't see."

He kept his light pant and only the white shirt on as a sleeping gear. You asked yourself if he was feeling comfortable in it.

"Remember princess, if you feel like you have any problem, wake me up it won't be a problem."

You liked being called princess. And the warmth of his body against yours. Enough to make you forget that one time, someone wanted you dead.

Morning arose , and the lively chat was already spreading in the common bathroom upstairs. You were still sleeping against Four that held you softly, caressing your hair.

"Wake up sleepyhead, we'll miss breakfast."

You yawned a little and nudged against him.

"Please five more minutes."

He removed you from his embrace and stood up, buttoning back his shirt and putting on his tunic.

"Okay them, I get to eat your portion then."

You grumbled and left the bed too. Your hair was a mess.

"Let's see who got what and I'll ask a percentage of it."

He laughed again, seeing you as a grumpy bear before fixing a little your hair.

"That's my girl, we'll share then"

And the percentage was good, Hyrule lost to Sky, Wild to Warriors and Legend even gave some rupees to Four himself.

He gambled on this night. And you weren't even mad.

[behoright]

i like you (love countdown series) | a. svechnikov

summary: part 2! nervous, sexually frustrated and sleepless andrei wonders how to ask you out.

wordcount: 566 

warnings: 18+ - minors dni. sexual situations (is jrking off considered smut?) I still suck at writing.

♩  ◦   ₪   ˚   🍎   ︵

Ever since last week, Andrei had been going through his routine with a pit in his stomach. Wake up, get ready, drive to the rink and focus on the puck. All with the beating of his heart getting louder and louder in his ears. He hadn’t seen you since before Rod announced the “besties trip”, as the team was jokingly referring to it now. He knew if he saw you, he had to ask you - no other choice. Andrei had tried to forget about it, maybe leave it as a last minute thing so the chances of you not being able to make it would be higher. Sorry guys, she was just too busy with school - but I’ll be happy to meet your friends. However, no one around him would let it go. They were all pretty good at staying off of him for the most part, all except for Rod. It was always at a critical time - after a great game, before he went home, or after watching some replays together:  “Don’t forget about the trip, it’s going to be here before you realize.” “What has Y/N said? Is she thinking about it?” “She won’t be the only girl you know; many guys are bringing their sisters and cousins.” “Svech, the trip. I expect to get confirmation from you before the end of the week. Go get some rest.”. Yeah, rest. Andrei never had any problems sleeping, not after how hard he worked everyday; until now. He was going to bed a lot later, laying awake at night, thinking about how in the world he was going to ask you this without sounding like a fucking idiot. He knew you’d say yes - you had been there at every game that mattered to him, picked him up and taken care of him when he was too drunk to drive or go home with someone, made him his favorite soup when he was sick. There was no way you’d say no, so how in the world was he going to get through this trip?

And before he knew it, it was midnight, one, or the early hours of the night. For a couple of days, he called more girls to come up to his place, to make him feel good, but it just made it worse. He hated having to touch someone else while thinking of you; what would her thighs feel like? All the things he would do to run his fingers through her folds and…No. No. He couldn’t do this. 

The girls were boring, the sex boring, so as more days went by, he thought to save himself the time and usually ended up with his cock wrapped tightly in his hands. When he would splay out in bed, wondering and thinking and attempting to come up with a plan on how to stay sane and get through this, his thoughts would always get interrupted by the feeling of his dick swelling. So he would lay there, alone in his room, with all the lights off and find himself moaning your name and groaning as loud as he could, head tilted back and chest flushed, until he came with a shudder all over his sweaty, heaving chest. The first morning after he found pleasure alone, he realized that he seemed to get his confidence back a little - maybe, just maybe, he could do this. 

[tagapagsalaysay]

Well I'm sick of being burdened with knowledge. TL;DR. Why is there a minor working for a known studio that brands itself as an adult animation studio? Where is the money going?

So everyone knows that project about the mermaid and the chef. Of course you do. It's been heavily advertised, it's even got dangling keys of being set in the PH. Low bar, but the animation industry in the Philippines is so open to fresh talent and projects and what not. So you look into it. Then you get hit by the fact that it's produced mostly by Americans, but it's PROBABLY Filipino-Americans, that's a thing, they're good pioneers. That's fine. Most of them are Asian-Americans anyway. Flag #1.

I'm known to be a contrarian. I hate on everything almost by default, I have contempt over too much of the local art scene for focusing on anime styles and highly rendered stuff too much. And so I kept myself from hating too much because I may not be giving them a chance. So I stepped back and observed what the project had in store. But over time it felt odd. Why does this studio commission so much promotional art? I can understand 3 pieces, but I couldn't even count how much they had exactly. It was a sheer amount. Some from known Filipino and Filipino-American artists, to other artists. But it was almost too derivative. Almost like they had just as much context as everyone else. You have the formula of the dynamic, which by standard should have been a yellow or red flag, of the usual. The characters in a vague dynamic of predator and prey and it's sapphic. But that's about it. And the constant reminder of it being WLW and Filipino. It was mildly annoying (and I did my best to just leave it be), but the sheer amount of artwork got me questioning whether they actually devoted enough budget for the production of the animation. Didn't even know they already had a Patreon feeding into the project, and that they werent a studio attempting to pitch for some funding. Flag #2.

I spent months of circling whether I was being too much of a hater. I spent time thinking whether they actually do animate, until they posted a short scene breakdown recently a few weeks back. At least some work is going into it. I was going to wait it out until something proved it existed or didn't a la Schrodinger. Run to the latest news of a teaser for the project. Mildly excited, mostly relieved that it was probably going to be more public because I feel like I'd have sleepless nights if I thought too hard about it. Still not fully out. Sure. More breakdowns, more scenes. More info coming soon.

But then I found out that it turns out that there was a minor on the crew. Which I found odd for a studio who wanted to uphold this image of a professional studio. Then I realized that it was even worse, because the project is supposed to be for adults and the entire studio is branded as an Adult Animation Studio. At this point I don't think it matters if it's haterism. That is troubling me deeply. Why do you have a minor on the crew? It doesn't matter if they're close to becoming an adult or whatever man, it's just super weird now. Your entire marketing hinged on the project being Adult. It's just so unprofessional at best and horrifying at most. Flag #3. It's just too much.

Conclusion is I really don't want to pick a fight with more studios. I'm sick of it. I'm just really bewildered, also not even the head of the studio's graduated from university yet. For the longest time it felt like a disaster waiting to happen. Which was fine to watch and see if it would fail, but they got a minor involved.

[huntinglove]

Hoi!

How about 😵‍💫 - Who has the weaker stomach, you or your f/o?,

🕳 - Do you know your f/os worst fear? is it something classic like the dark, heights, or more existential than that?,

🪚 - Would your f/o survive a Saw trap? (Yes, there is a Saw amusement park ride. Perfectly valid question.),

🕰 - Who has better time management, you or f/o? Who's showing up ten minutes late no matter what, and who's trying to get ready thirty minutes early?

for all the current mains?

-@redwingedwolves

Hi hi!! Thank you so much for the ask!! I'm gonna answer these for the mains I'm the most focused on right now!!

😵‍💫 - Who has the weaker stomach, you or your F/O?

Charlie has a weak stomach when it comes to gore and rollercoasters, he just can't help it, so I usually keep some medicine for his stomach in hand, just in case something happens!

Sir Pentious is hard to disturb, surprisingly! He may get scared or tense depending on the situation, but it's never gotten to the point of making him nauseous or sick

Simon has a weak stomach to specific foods as well as strong smells, other than that he's fine with pretty much all disturbing sights and even with harsh movements

Jacob would only feel sick to his stomach if something extreme happened to me specifically, and even then, it'd make him see red before anything else.

🕳 - Do you know your F/Os worst fear? is it something classic like the dark, heights, or more existential than that?

Charlie's worst fear is losing all control of himself and being stuck as a secondary character in his own life. He's terrified of the idea that one day Charles will just take over his whole life and that he won't be able to regain control over his own body and personality.

Sir Pentious is generally terrified of pain in most ways, even if he's used to some of it because of his line of work. He flinches and absconds very easily when confronted with the threat of physical pain.

Simon is scared of the idea of losing his mind once again. He's very prone to accidents, especially when it comes to cursed items, and the idea that one day he might just feel himself waking up another thousand years in the future, with no other emotions other than regret and confusion causes him many sleepless nights.

Jacob hates the idea of ending up like his mother in any way, shape or form. It's very haunting for him, especially when hints of her personality make themselves known in himself, her anger and lack of self control flood his mind over any inconvenience. Sometimes, looking at his own reflection can be too much, seeing glances of her in the mirror makes him sick.

🪚 - Would your F/O survive a Saw trap? (Yes, there is a Saw amusement park ride. Perfectly valid question.)

Charlie absolutely would not. His anxiety would get the best of him and he wouldn't be able to remember most of the instructions given to him, if he didn't accidentally activate the trap himself instead.

Sir Pentious would not. He wouldn't take it as seriously as he should, being by himself would make things a lot harder as well, he would most likely try to break himself free fruitlessly until time ran out.

Simon could, in specific cases. It'd take a lot out of him to be able to listen to the instructions while keeping himself from panicking. If it's solely about pain, he'd definitely make it, if it was a juggle between strategy and time, things would be more difficult for him.

Jacob would have a very small chance of making it out alive. If it was a trap set only for himself, he'd be able to keep calm until the very last minute. If it was a punishment trap, he'd sacrifice anyone to make sure he'd escape.

🕰 - Who has better time management, you or F/O? Who's showing up ten minutes late no matter what, and who's trying to get ready thirty minutes early?

Charlie has a bit of time blindness, especially when he's nervous so he tends to be late a lot. I'm usually very early to any plans I have, so I'm his personal calendar and alarm, whenever we have to go to an appointment or head out in general!

Sir Pentious is punctual, he enjoys being on time and considers someone being late as something rude. We're always on time to anything we have planned!

Simon also enjoys arriving early to any plans we have for the day, he always makes some wiggle room in his schedule to make sure we won't be late if something else comes up!

Jacob honestly bases his time management around how important he believes something is. If it's something important to him, he'll show up early and prepared, otherwise he'll get there when he's able to.

[seomsehan-98]

I still cry about it. I perfectly know it’s over and that I’m on my way to move on but the process of it is so so painful. Full of setbacks every couple of weeks. I still miss him, I do. Even though I hate myself for it and I know I deserve better for myself, for my person that is yet to come and I should just focus on knowing my worth and keeping the standards up to it. Truth is, I think I knew my worth all along, I’ve been completely conscious of it yet I let that happen. It seems I purposely let him do those things to me, I knew I was so much more and deserved so much more than what he was giving me. I knew it yet I let that happen. It’s like as if the pain and this hellish rollercoaster was still full of hope and in the end I would’ve ended up successfully changing him for the better. That, on the long run, it would be all worth it. All the sleepless nights thinking about him, waiting for him to pull up and then being left on read or hear about the same unchanging raincheck that would inevitably happen everytime. I still don’t understand and don’t know why I would let all of this slide. Was it love? Was it all just emotional dependability ? I hate him for making me go through that. But the person I hate the most in the end is still me. The worst thing is having to get over someone that doesn’t even know he broke your heart. It all feels so unfair. I still wanna scream at the top of my lungs how much it is all unfair, how I didn’t deserve any of it. I feel like I was completely taken advantage of and I know part of it to be true, yet the guilt is eating me alive. I wanna scream it to everyone, Im not even looking for pity here. Compassion is probably what is needed here. No matter how many times my friends tell me they empathize with me over this situation, it doesn’t seem to faze me. I’m still trapped in all of this, I’m the neglected one, the true victim in all this so why on earth am I STILL wishing I would’ve acted differently just so we can have another ending. Why am I still hoping. Some people come into our lives as lessons. They never intended to stay nor were supposed to. That’s what I heard. It is said they only appear to teach us how to love ourselves better, they inflict that pain onto us just so we can reevaluate our standards and recognize finally our worth. Just so that we never allow ourselves to get into that type of situation again, so that we realize our previous our heart is and learn how to open and give it to the right people. Love is the most precious thing out there. It contains so much power. Trying to turn on the tap to share that previous fluid, attempting to make it fit what is a way smaller container at all cost, just won’t work. It will just end up by overflowing and it will spill everywhere. All going to waste. You should find the right container for your love, just as you should confine your trust and feelings to the right people. Those you know will appreciate it for what it is and have the ability to take care of it properly, knowing it’s worth. I’m just so sick of this stagnant numbness and hopelessly waiting for my mind and heart to move on. This has been going on for way too long already. I miss my old self. I just wanna find myself again, this peace of mind is all I’m looking for now. I just want to stop hurting.

[atroquinails]

to be perfect in every way

(ace attorney trilogy spoilers, 712 words, cw : blood)

| what it means to be a von karma, and why names are sometimes deceiving. |

to be perfect in every way.

that was the von karma creed, was it not? so why, after fifteen years of being raised by a man who appeared to be perfection incarnate, is miles edgeworth still so completely, irrevocably imperfect?

what made manfred von karma scream until his final breath that edgeworth was his curse (was he talking about the boy, or his father, i wonder?) and what, despite this, made him so clearly favour the man over his own daughter?

franziska, the rising star in blue and white, doing at thirteen what most couldn't as adults - maintaining complete perfection. she is a force to be reckoned with, deserving of her last name as manfred was, certainly more of a von karma than miles would ever be (he'd never associate himself with that name anyway) and yet she was never the favourite, always second place to miles.

god. fuck miles, franziska often thought. fuck miles and his foolish way of speaking and acting, a mirror of manfred, a reflection that franziska could never even hope to be.

if franziska is a star, then surely miles is a black hole - cold, terrifying, infinitely more threatening and eventually, after years of destruction, reducing those below him to nothing, collapsing under his own weight. dressed in red, reminiscent of danger, sacrifice and blood-slicked elevator floors, the demon prosecutor demands respect with his very presence. if he could bring himself to take the von karma name, he would certainly leave franziska behind - fortunately for her, even the thought of becoming miles von karma makes edgeworth sick to his stomach (he was called that, once, in a newspaper headline, and he had torn his room in the old house apart, only stopping when he shattered a mirror and cut his hands).

as they say, though, where there is anger, there is always pain accompanying. miles knows this as well as any, sleepless nights spent rotting in nemesism and anguish, knees drawn to his chest, waiting for sunlight to break over the hills.

he never left the elevator, not really, and even five, ten years on he still stands with the pistol in his hands, watching the blood drip into the empty shaft of the elevator, making a sickening noise as it hits the metal. the smell of iron clings to his clothes and his skin and his hair, the forward corner of the elevator turning copper as the blood seeps into the cracks. 

miles had resigned himself to decaying within those walls, but no sooner than he had come to terms with it the doors were pried open and a future that he neither knew what to do with nor thought he deserved was returned to him. it scared him, the possibility of living, and so he ran, didn't stop running until he was far away from everyone who knew him - he went into hiding, half-longing to be back in the elevator with the pistol in his hands because guilt was all he knew how to live with and he'd much rather die in solitude than ever face phoenix wright or his sister again. 

his sister. little franziska, who had tried her hardest to win the approval of the man who called himself her father, who had tried for so long to be first place, but always fell behind miles.

eventually, when they finally stand face to face, franziska says it - i've always hated you, miles edgeworth - and miles listens with a blank face and a heavy heart, guilt settling in its place around his ribs. franziska had finally been in the spotlight, with no one in her way, and just as she thought she'd be able to do something that neither manfred nor miles was able to do, her case was ripped from underneath her, the bullet in her shoulder only serving as another reminder that she would never live up to manfred or his reputation, and miles dared to question her perfection. franziska burns with rage, how dare he question me.

if she was anyone else, she'd have screamed horrible things about his father and how you could never understand perfection, miles edgeworth, you do not deserve a place with us.

she didn't, though, for emotions are just another thing that von karmas are above.

[riverguns]

I was supposed to have taken a rest day yesterday. Sort of did that, as in I didn’t do handstands. However, I did leg strength, which was extremely challenging. I literally think I do leg strength because a friend I have, that’s skinny and has a great physical aesthetic, told me it burns the most calories. Then today, back to the handstands, teaching, conditioning, and did contortion training (oof.) That counts right? I rested?

This is a hard topic to discuss. I try to focus on the fact that I really like my body’s ability in the realm of handbalance. That being said, I look and feel like an elephant. But hey, that’s a circus discipline too! I’m extremely lucky to almost have two years clean and sober and instead have this be an issue. But it always was. It’s so incredibly stupid. Such a self centered fixation and I really fucking hate this about myself. I don’t know how to get rid of it.

Sometimes, this has happened in the past few days, I’ll have had a good training or I’ll feel like I did a good job coaching but THEN, I happen to see my reflection or end up somewhere with a mirror and everything goes to shit. Like whatever I did wasn’t enough. And then come various not good actions. Nothing that comes close to heroin but it still is something I definitely want to be rid of and don’t know how.

It’s also a lot of the time better to just be by myself because the way I am legitimately feels embarrassing. The fact that this goes on in my brain is embarrassing too.

The closest I ever came to not hating my body was also the time when I did the most drugs and on the verge of death. That thought process scares the absolute shit out of me. I don’t miss being dopesick every day. I don’t miss the insanity that was in my brain or the sleepless nights or the compulsive desire to die. I also don’t miss the men and the things I had to do to avoid getting sick. All I miss is my body and the escape a little. But I’m MORE capable now. I’m happier now. I’m healthier now. I still feel it sometimes but I don’t want to die every single moment of every day. I want this thinking to fuck off. But it doesn’t it gets worse.

I can’t talk to anyone about it. I know some women that have had similar struggles. I know these conversations can do more harm than good a lot of the time. I don’t want to remind anyone else how this feels. I’d rather keep it and suffer than share it with someone and risk giving them some of it. I know it can be that way. I used to use tumblr for that shit when I was a teenager even.

In short, self centered idiocy that paints the picture of being a bad person in massive zoo animal body, which frequently makes me feel like I should be getting high or not alive at all.

Positive part is 1 year 11 months and 1 day clean today.

[creatingjaemi]

Today Sell came back... Sell is a sociopath and like most sociopaths, he wears a mask and never lets anybody close enough to remove the mask. If anybody gets too close, he immediately pulls away. I heard once that you won't 'know' a sociopath when you see one, you'll 'feel' them before you see them and that couldn't be more true for Sell. I showed the same video to about 15 people but the minute Sell heard about it, I hated the video and wanted to end it immediately. That's when I knew, Sell has issues. Not me. I guess I always knew, but after I could see all the viewers reactions, I knew that Sell was creepy. Obviously, he looks like that Nickelodeon guy who's all over the news right now, but sociopaths don't look at you like a person, they look at you like an extension of themselves. They know their frauds and so by extension, you're also a fraud to them. If you aren't a fraud, and like you're what they're pretending to be, and if you have the misfortune of being in their path, that's when they start to abuse you. Frauds are insane. They're all over the business world. That's what I go to school for. I'm one class away from my second business degree and I was so sick of the frauds, I went into the nonprofit space. I know frauds pretty well by now, but I guess I didn't expect it in the nonprofit space. In competitive for-profit worlds, you could find two sociopaths having coffee... it gets annoying and old. They're like chameleons, always changing with the next deal their making and it was exhausting, and it isn't just men - women use their wiles to get everything, and the word 'frenemy' is very popular in the for-profit world, but in the social sphere and in the small hokey town of Stuart Virginia, literally theirs less people here than my social media following, but it almost makes it easier for the sociopaths and narcissists to control people. If they can keep up appearances with a few big fish, then that pretty much controls the masses here... but I know that by comparison to where I was, surrounded by socialites, politicians, and business leaders... these guys are just big fish in a small pond and in my space, even though I know it would be different, I'm still emotionally on a string when I'm around these energies. It's also annoying. Sociopaths can make themselves seem important to the important people and suddenly everyone just trusts them... that's how it was in the courtroom... insane... I spent hours fighting that case every single day but I was abused to tears at every continuance until the final hearing I was numb... the decision was deafening... I fell asleep in my living room chair on the phone with my brother... exhausted... six months of sleepless nights... just to be faced with people who think they're above the law... I'm innocent... they didn't care... it was the worst... but it's the reason I was saved. Jesus saved me and I believe he's going to save a lot of people through me and my story. I don't know how other people deal with sociopaths but for me, I just pray to Jesus and ever since I started doing that, I notice miracles in my everyday life again. I noticed I was able to connect with strangers again. That was really hard to do, but I humbled myself, and now I know it isn't me... I can't really make those connections on my own... what I mean by that is it's easy when you're in love or you have money or status... but me, alone, by myself, without any of that, I can't really find a common ground with most people... I'm just an outsider, a loner, and that's how it's always been. Only after I left my abuser, I started opening up the concept of really living. Having something to do, someone to love, and something to look forward too. I still think that sounds nice and so maybe I can have that one day. Who knows. I do believe that with Jesus, things can only get better. That contradicts everything I said in an earlier post but I promise I'll explain later. Until than; stay safe in this hell hole and I'll see you soon.

[getyourblisson]

God Bless Our Mothers

Whether you are a human mom, a fur baby mom, a surrogate mom, a stepmom, or some other type of mom. May you be honored every day, and not just today. You are in such an important and valuable role in our world.

Mothers remember: 1) Children may not always let you know that they care - no matter how distant or separate that they grow from you. 2) No matter how far your children go from you; their hearts will always keep you with them. 3) Your job may be thankless much of the time; but you are deeply appreciated for all of the things that you do - no matter how small your large they are. 4) Most children cannot appreciate all that you have done for them, until they get much older in life; and have their own children, face hardships, or even until you pass. 5) Your love and actions matter; even when you think they don't 6) You matter, even when you think you don't; or that your children don't care.

Children remember: 1) Your mother is not always going to be around; so, take the time to tell her that you love and appreciate her frequently. 2) You may think she is nagging on you, telling you what to do, or interfering in your life; but she really is just saying that she loves you. 3) Do not wait until she is gone, to realize how much she has done for you in your life; even if you feel that it wasn't what you wanted or needed. 4) Mothers make mistakes; but they do mean well, even when it seems that they don't. 5) There is no heartbreak like a mother who does not know that she is loved, and who does not hear from her children. 6) Even when your differences or disagreements come up; remember that she has loved you through all of your difficulties, your challenges, your hard phases, your tantrums, the times you said you hated her or betrayed her in some way. 7) She has loved you when she was tired, sick, and didn't know how to keep going. 8) She probably didn't do as much as you wanted at times; but she did her best. 9) She had to be willing to let go of you and let you be your own person; even though she would have wanted to keep holding on to you. 10) She knew you needed to have your own life, and probably become a parent of your own. 11) Her love for you has caused her more pain, worrying, anxiety, and sleepless nights than you will ever know. Most likely she never let you know; and only said "I am glad that you are safe". 12) Her anger was usually out of fear and feeling as if she had failed you. 13) There is no one in the world that will love you the way a mother does. 14) So much goes unspoken, and most of her sacrifices will never be known to you; because she just does them, without an ounce of praise. 15) She has done more for you on a daily basis; but was never appreciated for it, because it was always taken as just being her "job". Well, it wasn't just a "job" to her to do all that she did; it was a way of telling you every day that she loved you.

Being a human mother was not my path in this life; although, I have known the joys of being a fur mother at times. I am grateful for all of you that had the guts without the glory to be one. You are loved and valued in this world even when it is unspoken. You play a very important role in our world, that no one else can do. All of your different personalities make you even more special.

In codes a mother represents true abundance. She is the source that teaches us about our true wealth; and is there to show us how to let God's Love flow through us. She teaches us the importance of caring about all life on the planet. She is there to help when we are struggling to help ourselves; but trying our best. She represents Eternity. She encourages you to carry out your own ideas and places; and she teaches you how to create a fortunate future. She is the essence of courage and sacrifice; and shows us that it is always about giving and caring. She helps you see that your efforts will pay off, if you are patient enough to see things through to completion; and even if it takes time to see that happen.

Of course, not every mother is perfect in all of these areas. Contrary to popular belief, they are not perfect; and they will falter and stumble at times. If they are full of their own challenges, they can be the opposite of these things and create deprivation or other aspects in your life. However, I ask that you do not fault them or blame them for having their own issues in life. You may never know their energetic patterns that kept them from giving and being all that is the essence of the mother energy. Instead, take the time to nurture yourself through the Divine Mother, and allow the Divine Mother energy to provide for you what your biological mother couldn't. God holds mothers sacred; because they are God's Abundance flowing through us. They are the form that God chose for this; so, no matter our own place in the world, may we honor and respect this today and always.

[bunnymermaidsblog]

Hi! I forgot to post this, but now it's here!

Have I written anything other than Knights of the Alder crossovers this year?... Look, at least Im writing and having fun! Isn't that why we're here?!jk

This one unfortunately doesn't have Ákos, but I hope you'll still enjoy it!

Turns out I actually really like Adél and Aiden's dynamic! (And I hope you do too)

Also, I desperately hope I didn't horribly misrepresent Aiden's emotions here by accident (I'm a little nervous about that one ngl)💀

As always, I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think!

Aiden belongs to @writerfae

Adél belongs to me

Sleepless night's hug🌙🌟

Summary: Aiden and Adél had much in common, despite these similarities not always being obvious. What was obvious, tough was this: they both loved hugs...

It was a reare night when Aiden could sneak out of his room without Talon waking. He was honestly so proud of this achievement that he'd pat himself on the shoulder if he could.

The only problem that remained now was his loneliness. That ever-present little thing, that made him feel like a child in need of constant attention and care. It may go quiet sometimes, especially nowadays when the time of every day was filled with smiles and laughter. Sometimes, Aiden almost forgot about it. He silently hoped now that he had Henry back, one day the feeling would leave completely.

But right now, under the bright light of the full moon, with only the song of the wind, the buzzing of mosquitoes, and the rustling of leaves for company, Aiden felt alone.

He let the grass tickle his ankle, let his cape drag across the ground, and took a deep breath of the cold air.

That's when his ear caught something that was far from a natural sound. It was the opposite, actually. The sound of a machine, not from the fae realm. The quiet, precise, timed clicking of mechanical wings from Galla.

The noise lifted Aiden's chin, directing him to look up, like Talon sometimes would when pulling him into a kiss. There, floating in the empty air was Adél, still in her ruffly nightgown.

Just as the clicking of the machine caught Aiden's attention, so did the rustling of the cape's fabric catch Adél's.

She loved swinging her legs above the colorful ground, letting her wings do most of the work. However scared she might have been when she first learned to fly, she quickly realized that the free air gave a wonderful hug. Hug, that was cold and most certainly not human, but one that encompassed a person's whole body if they let it. 'Is this what being in an egg feels like?' She sometimes wondered.

That was why she was floating now. For a hug.

...Well that was part of the reason.

Right now the wolf pack that was all of Adél's fears kept biting at her in the form of a question that she knew very well was irrational "What if you were to open his door and Ákos wasn't there? What if he's still 'dead'"

And what a silly question! She remembered the day's events very clearly. She gave Ákos kisses and hugs. She played with him and the others when they went on a walk in the forest. They told each other 'Good night!'

But the wolves of fear didn't care. They just kept going: "What if he's not there? What if he's not there?"

Adél despised "what ifs" so much. They made her disgusted, shudder, sick to her stomach. She absolutely hated them. Doves! Her hatred and fear of "what ifs" was a big part of the reason Bendegúz and her set out on a quest to find Ákos in the first place! Because Adél was horrified of having to just live with the thought: 'what if Ákos is alive and all alone' even more than she was afraid of going down into the Black swamp herself!

The worst part was that right now she was too much of a coward to just take a look and make sure he was in his bed.

She couldn't go and find her little brother, but she didn't have the heart to wake anyone up with a silly question either. So she asked the air for a hug instead.

She already calmed down, having been out here for the past 15 minutes. The wind stroked her face like the kindest of mother.

That's when she heard the rustling of fabric and turned to see Aiden standing there, seemingly just as much in need of a hug as her.

Adél looked down at Aiden as he looked up at her. Their expressions were made of the same type of rozy flowers. They weren't twins, no two petals were exact after all. But they had felt things that were so similar, despite their differences.

'Where are you?'

One thought by an abandoned little boy, who no one wanted to abandon.

The other thought by a terrified girl, not that little, but not big either, who absolutely needed to quell the fears about a "what if."

Find their brothers. That's what they both did.

Adél lowered herself to the ground in front of Aiden, shuddering when her bare toes touched cold grass.

"Hello" they both said, then slapped their hands on their own lips at both the unison of the greeting and the awkwardness of it.

What were you supposed to say when stumbling on each other in the garden by accident while everyone else was asleep? All the while, you both looked like you woke from the most abstract of nightmares?

After a moment Adél broke the quiet again:

"I... couldn't sleep" She felt like she needed to give an explanation as to why she was flying around at the dead of night.

Aiden glanced away for a second, almost shyly.

"Me neither..." he said.

"Oh..."

Biting the inside of her rozy cheeks, Adél looked Aiden up and down, and tried to figure out if tiredness was the thing making his shoulders slump like a mountain was tied to the top of them or something else entirely. Whether triedness was the thing keeping his usual, happy smile captive or not.

The girl briefly wondered if she was just projecting her own discomfort onto her friend, like a light from inside the house forced shadows of the window frame to lay outside in the cold. But it couldn't hurt to ask:

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It was funny to Aiden. The way Adél's voice jingeled like hundreds of tiny bells.

But kicking the grass and weaving together his fingers uncomfortably behind his back, he couldn't force himself to answer the question.

"Not really" he simply said.

Now that he wasn't the only one in the palace garden the loneliness receded a little, like the shadows would retreat from moonlight, but Aiden could still feel it trying to scratch at him, sink it's thorns into him. He was a little embarrassed to admit, but he was familiar with his own heart enough to know that if Adél would turn to leave it would be (perhaps even will be) excruciating not to reach out his arms to keep her here. To reach out his arms like he did so for his family since even before he could remember. To reach for his mother's hand, for his father to pick him up, or even for Henry's ears.

Adél blinked at him thrice, eyes shiny like newborn snow, blue as the sky's essence. With each flap of her eyelashes, she weighed her options carefully, like she wanted to handle the most delicate of things.

"Okay" she settled on. Then she swiftly moved forward, long hair following her like smoke. With confidence that she knew others never expect from her, she pulled a surprised Aiden close.

Ákos always claimed that Adél's hugs were magical. He was ready to get into fights in defense of the statement, despite the fact that he wasn't really one for fighting.

Now, with the moon and the stars, the trees of the Willow court's palace garden as his witnesses Aiden understood.

The short girl put her head against his face so that out of the corner of his eye, he could see the light gliding on her golden hair. She slid her arms around his body as if she was braiding hair and squished him against herself tightly.

Aiden knew that the loneliness would be back eventually. But for now Adél pushed it away with the warmth and closeness of her body. She shrunk it down as if by magic that she didn't have until it was nothing more than the smallest worm in an apple.

Stunned, for a moment, Aiden just stood there. The night's noises were so quiet, yet undeniably there once you listened. Little animals: mice, bats, bugs scurrying about their business.

All of a sudden, Aiden remembered Adél's expression from when they first noticed each other. The one that looked like an old, worn rag that you just squeezed water out of, and he lifted his own arms to her back too, his hands coming to rest on her shoulderblades.

She seemed to relax from this, leaning against him a little, muscles going slack, even though Aiden hadn't noticed that they were tense when she first touched him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He half asked, half wondered aloud.

Even if he wasn't that keen on talking about his own emotions, rarely having the right words to describe them, that didn't mean others were the same. If Adél needed to be listened to, Aiden would gladly throw himself at the opportunity to be the wall of sky from moon and starlight that she could confide in.

Adél whined, burying her forehead into the side of his neck even farther.

"It's silly... just... Ákos is in his room, right?"

Aiden frowned, his raised eyebrow sliding under the shadow cast by his bangs.

"He should be... Why?" He felt his lungs get constricted, exactly like when he used to be sick as a child, barely able to breathe without a fowl, germy taste."Is he not there?! Did he disappear?!"

"No!" Adél hurried to say, feeling the boy's panic, and wanting to wash it away as quickly as possible "No, no, no" she rushed out the words so fast she bearly left a gap between them "He's probably there... it's... just... that..." The gaps started to grow from miniscule cracks in the sidewalk to wide riverbeds "...he wasn't"

Confused, but still hugging her, not at all planning on letting go, Aiden tried his hardest to figure out what Adél could possibly mean. If Ákos didn't disappear, then why was...

It slowly dawned on him, like a cup filling up with raindrops.

Of course. Who wouldn't be scared of that?

The stars sparkled in the sky like millions of blinking eyes.

Who wouldn't be scared of that?

Aiden thought back to a Henry with a fond sigh, carrying him home on his back from their walks in the woods when they were very little. Then the second bed in their room one day became empty.

Who wouldn't be scared of that?

Aiden himself was sometimes...

"He's there, don't worry!" He said, pushing Adél back just enough to be able to give her the most encouraging grin he could muster."Do you want us to go check on him? I'll come with you, if you'd like!"

The offer was so sweet. Aiden's smile was so sweet. Aiden was so sweet. Sadly, it still didn't stop a thousand long needles from plunging into Adél's stomach, the wild shaking of her knees at the thought of taking even one step towards Ákos's possibly empty room.

"No" she said, feeling just a little ashamed "I don't think I can"

Aiden made his smile wider.

"Okay! That's fine!" He reassured.

He had no intention of forcing Adél to do something she was scared of. 'Gods or doves or whoever knew she had enough of that for a lifetime' Aiden thought. Luckily for both of them, he had a pretty good idea as to how to calm her down without going anywhere.

"He's there!" He said, said it as if he was saying the sky was blue or the grass green, and as proof he added: "I kissed him goodnight too, so I know he is!"

With every word Adél felt the power of her fear, the fierceness of its bite lessen. One by one it's teeth eased their painful hold of her, until she felt light, almost wanting to go completely limp in Aiden's arms, she just didn't want to scare him by doing that.

If Aiden said Ákos was okay, then he most likely was.

"Thank you" she murmured, cuddling him close.

The hair of the trees, leaves of the willows swayed in the air. Shadows hid the two people in the middle of the garden like a veil hides a bride. But they were soft, those shadows. Certainly not so dark to make one think they'd gone blind. An owl hooted, its big eyes searching for food in the grass, that seemed to be turquoise right now.

"Aiden?"

"Hm?"

"We're not going anywhere"

Aiden's mouth fell open for a beat. He wondered whether anyone else heard the sound his jaw made, which was uncannily similar to glass shattering.

Then he butst out laughing, loud and so hard tears streamed from his eyes, so hard he would have had to clutch his stomach if he wasn't holding Adél to his chest.

'Is Adél perceptive or am I just so obvious?' He wondered.

Adél blinked.

For a moment, a small part of her feared that she said something so wrong that she completely broke Aiden. But she knew she didn't, because his laugh was jolly, his smile bright and the hug he squeezed her into warm.

-

Callan suppressed a yawn as he made his way down the soft carpet of the hallway in search of his dear husband. He was wishing for one simple thing at the moment: a warm cup of milk with honey. And to get his hands on that, he needed Henry's expert assistance.

Now, one might think that the king of the Willow Court had enough staff in the kitchens to make him a hundred cups of warm milk with honey within two minutes, but you'd be wrong. Henry was the only one who knew how to prepare it, so it was just right.

Callan's husband would deny this, calling him way too picky. That was fine with the king as long as he said it all the while stirring the beverage with a sparkly smile.

When Callan turned the corner to enter the library, he honestly wondered if he was still asleep, squeezing shut one eye, then the other.

First off, there were Aiden and Adél shaking hands, smiling, congratulating each other on something, like they just made the best business decision of the decade (despite the fact that neither of them knew anything about business.) They also looked like they hadn't slept enough, which was concerning.

Secondly, sitting on the floor next to each other were Hela and Bendegúz, sharing a large bowl of wallnuts. They were starting straight ahead, as if watching the most amusing of comedy performances ever. Following their gaze, Callan finally noticed that the library's big, wooden doors were blocked off by a large array of furniture.

"What happened here?" He asked.

"Adél and Aiden locked Henry and Ákos in the library so they can't disappear again" Bendegúz and Hela said, mouths full, eyes still fixated on the door.

"Oh" was all Callan answered.

The end

[bipolaritea]

Mettle: an ingrained capacity for meeting strain or difficulty with fortitude and resilience (Merriam-Webster dictionary)

You can't control your circumstances, you can only control your reaction to them. I never expected to find myself being the primary support for three people with chronic mental health conditions. Had I known, I would have spent more time preparing. Maybe I would have saved a bit more money and enjoyed my kids' childhoods a bit more instead of looking forward to their adulthood. I definitely should have built in better self-care habits ahead of time instead of faking my way through two decades on coffee and takeout whenever I felt exhausted.

I can't do that anymore. I can do many things, but I can no longer pull patience and endurance out of thin air. Sheer force of will can get you far, but once you've drained your tanks, they're empty.

Almost two years after my daughter was diagnosed with bipolar 1, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I'd barely caught my breath from helping my child only to be thrust into caring for my parents. They lived two hours away and I became their person for navigating the medical system through terminal illness. Mom died nine months later and then Dad, four months after that. Then I had to settle their estates.

By the time I was done, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My face and body were bloated from sleepless nights, fast food, and hospital coffee. My skin was sallow and grey, my hair was falling out, and I couldn't climb a flight of stairs without getting winded.

It was bad and I was secretly worried I was going to have a stroke. I work in health care and one of the doctors I worked with pulled me aside and said they were worried about me. I was too.

Diet changes didn't really do much, and I tried to make a difference in things by using the old treadmill in my basement. No luck, it was like I was too far gone.

So I did the thing I most hated. I joined the gym.

That was six years ago. I'm still going. I still hate it. But I love it too.

Now, hear me out, I'm not going to tell you I dropped 100 pounds and wear a size six. I didn't. I was plus-sized going in, and I'm still plus-sized. I do eat better, but my portion control is the shits especially in times like these when I am stressed from being pulled in 100 directions. I'm definitely not saying I'm perfect or there isn't room to improve. I will always be a work in progress.

I have anxiety and depression. Not at all surprising considering the things I navigate with my family. It sucked having to accept my own referral for mental health, but among the easiest of the recommendations from the psychiatrist I met was getting regular exercise.

We already go twice a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. Typically, we get a good rhythm going, and then someone gets sick or something happens where we get sidelined for a week or two every few months. But here's the key: we go back and start over.

I hate it. I hate it every single time. But then I go, and the endorphins kick in, and I am always glad I did it. I have to force myself to go 97% of the time and then thank myself 100% after. I always leave feeling better about myself, and I always leave feeling better in general. I've noticed that for me, the good feeling from endorphins lasts about two to three days. So, the twice-a-week model is the minimum I need to feel as positive as I can in any circumstance.

So, of all the self-care things I do to keep myself going, this one is, by far, the most important. I'm only talking about endorphins, but we could also talk about energy levels and muscle strength. There is no way I could have, at my age, survived the multiple long days and nights caring for my family over the past 18 months without it.

I need as much mettle as I can muster to make it through. Ironically, one of the best things I can do for myself is lift a little metal.