#you had the opportunity to be one of the greats

[erinwantstowrite]

Dick and Tim would be REALLY good on reality tv,,, they're both charismatic (please do not forget that Tim makes friends/allies easily just like Dick can), handsome, CLEVER, and know how to play to a persona. i think they'd go on shows for fun and to de-stress. like one too many things piss them off in their daily lives and they could pretty much get a vacation from it just to go on these shows. no one in the family can talk to them and they get to annoy people, crack jokes, and get fun puzzles in the form of a literal puzzle or figuring out social dynamics of the other players.

sometimes they go on shows by themselves but mostly use it as a brotherly bonding activity. if it's a show where they can be a duo they're GOING to do it. and they're going in to play to a storyline, not to win. they don't need the money, they don't need the publicity, they just want to have fun. sometimes if they figure out that everyone on the show sucks and they get competitive, they'll win. but mostly their goal is "how can we make the funniest plot line look the most natural." or something like that. i know a producer LOVES to see them coming. i bet EVERYONE tunes in when they're on a show because they're fucking hilarious even if half of what they say are inside jokes. the rest of the family watches and they KNOW what those shits are pulling, they have betting pools where they guess what the two are gonna do next, they're the FIRST to make memes for both internet and for the family group chats.

one time they convinced Bruce to go (it's been many a years since he really had to play up the Brucie role, cause he's a dad now and the older he gets the more people expect him to mellow out, and even back when he was full Brucie, reality TV wasn't his thing). it was one of those survival based shows where you come is as a team and try to win together. Bruce got lost in the woods after going on a hike. The camera men literally lost him and Tim and Dick were playing it up for the camera. Dick cried and invited the other teams to a funeral. Tim had a speech that was basically "I think he's fine but this is my perfect opportunity to embarrass my dad with stories." The producers were like "we fucking killed Bruce Wayne oh my fucking god" and Bruce shows up at the funeral like "oh what a beautiful service my boys are so great." They won by pure luck and circumstances and they were actively TRYING to lose that game. They were gobsmacked at the end and everyone uses the moment they looked at each other in confusion and shock as reaction gifs

[whiteraven90]

Your take on griffins is so cool 👀 Do you have worldbuilding notes somewhere? Like what their dynamic is with humans, or what their habitats and habits usually are? I’d love to know more about them!

Hey, thanks for asking! I actually had written a little species description for them, but I shelved it until I draw illustrations for it. However I might as well post it now with less relevant pictures. Who knows when would I get around to drawing those illustrations. First of all... there are no gryphons on Tetra. No mortal ones, just spirits.

Spirits were created by the gods to be sentient blueprints for species. Flora & fauna were created out of chosen spirits (e.g. polar bear, barn owl), and the leftovers were repurposed (e.g. great horned gryphon, common pegasus).

In addition to the whole range of shapes/forms spirits were designed to take as part of nature, they also had their would-be behavioral patterns pre-set into them. So now lets see how the Great Horned Gryphons would have lived!

Great horned gryphons (also simply referred to as 'griffins' from now on) are sexually dimorphic, and live in pairs. They are very resource-conscious - individuals not raised properly may hunt their food sources to extinction, after which they either starve to death or get themselves killed while ravaging the animals of other griffins or humans. Each pair oversees a vast territory filled with wild herd animals. They engage in several behaviors that are basically animal husbandry. They will protect their herds from other predators and even natural disasters. They will herd their animals toward quality food. They can recognize juveniles of many species - humans included -, and will not eat them. They sometimes raise the abandoned offspring of other species, not because they plan to eat them, but because they get a kick out of it. They don't hunt, per se. They hit up one of their herds, select a specimen, and carry it home for lunch. They like to construct their nests atop cliffs and similar high points overlooking their territory.

Their relationship with people is complex (and hypothetical, as is everything else), since people may want to claim the same lands for the same purposes. But typically if they saw a lone human child, just waltzing around on their territory, they'd pick it up and put it down near adult humans. Solitary adult people tend to be safe as well for different reasons. The staple of griffins is large animals, and they like to conserve their energy. Normally they won't get up for 1 lone human nugget.

If an adult pair spots an unrelated juvenile griffin on their turf, they leave it alone, but they don't tolerate mature trespassers or other pairs. They are hostile to all other species of gryphon. Given the opportunity, they will kill and eat them. Great horned gryphons are viviparous and give birth to 1 chick at a time which stays with the parents for several years to learn some manners. Mostly moderation, recognizing important animal species, and caring for their animals. Their lifespan is 40-70 years.

And that's more or less it. At present, great horned gryphons are not plural. There's just one spirit, Griffin, representing the whole species, either until the heat death of the universe or until he bites the dust. Spirits are shapeshifters with a range of native forms as opposed to one original form. They have some rules among them on etiquette, such as when is it ok to take the form of another spirit. Griffin mostly uses his adult male form, and lets Phoenix take his adult female one.

Several of his species' characteristics can be felt in his personality - excels at relaxing, hard to anger or scare, won't hurt kids or pets and is good with them, extraverted, resource-conscious, enjoys having vast lands. His relationship with humans is... complicated. Nowadays he kinda pretends to be a pet at the palace of the emperor of the Karkian Empire, and is banned from or unwelcome in several other countries. Sorcerers summon him sometimes, but the jolly fucker usually charges by the hour for his spirit-y services, and may even screw the summoners over if he doesn't like them.

[hanafubukki]

Been thinking about a time travel au where you go back to the past and follow Lilia’s life. You always show up when he needs it most.

The amount of time you’re there could differ from hours to days and sometimes years (rarely), but you always disappear.

You didn’t age but Lilia did (time seems to work for you differently compared to him). Not only that, Lilia is the only one who can see you.

Some instances when you meet with Lilia includes:

The first time is when he’s been newly appointed as the Right General. He’s shocked to see you as you wonder about your whereabouts. He tries to question you, threatening violence if need be. The raucous brought other guards along but they couldn’t see you. Safe to say, he doesn’t live it down the next few decades. Meleanor teasing him that he must be nervous in his new position. You’re left questioning about your situation and how come only he could see you before you’re gone.

You join him during patrols sometimes. Keeping him company as he looks for the princess during her escapades.

Other times, you share a meal together (well, he eats and you two talk, and thank the Greats for that because his food looks questionable at best).

Sometimes, you show up during his trainings and you can’t help but wonder if the way he moves, giving emphasis to his muscles and length, is done purposely or not but you are not complaining at the beautiful view. What do they say? I hate to see you go but I love the view. And did you love it.

Another instance is when Lilia is about to be hit by a tank during his mission to deliver a message and look for Levan. Your shout has him escaping death but not without injury.

You keep him company on his track to Black Scale Mountains. Extra vigilant for any enemies while he’s holding the egg. The one to watch his back during the rare moments he would rest.

The days that were the toughest yet were the following months after Meleanor’s passing. It was also the time you felt the most frustrated and useless. Lilia during those times were desolate. Practically a vegetative state. It took you time and years of frustrations. Words heated and full of hurt on both sides. But you never let go of him nor he you.

You’re there when he’s on his mission to hatch Malleus. You’re there throughout his travels. Angry in his place when he’s treated with callousness. With worry when he collapses in fatigue. You dance with him in cold winter nights when all is quiet. Just you two and one else.

You’re there when Malleus hatches. Cries with Lilia at the little dragon, so stubborn and yet fiery for a newborn. You’re there when hair is burned and cotton candy is snuck in.

You’re there when peace talks are finalized and Silver is found. You’re there for diaper changes and late nights.

Until one day, you’re not there anymore.

At least not as a ghost, but as you. A person. Living and breathing. Someone everyone can see.

You’re in this world that is familiar but different in ways you are not used to.

Awkward and anxious as everyone stares at this new comer. You don’t know what to do or say.

But then…

“There you are sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

I had to use that line 💞☺️😘🫶 how could I not? It was the perfect opportunity. 💚💚

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ footprint in the snow ˎˊ˗ cregan stark

cregan stark x fem!lady!reader words: 12.1k synopsis: "The stones of Winterfell have always been blissfully cold against your palms, and Cregan’s presence has always naturally attended you." notes: hi!! this is my first cregan fic [so pls be gentle] but im excited to write for him more... still trying to work out his character but. ily @useralba and @dipperscavern ... febu frong anyways <3 i didnt edit this sorry but hope u all enjoy <3 warnings: canon-divergent au; dance does not/has not happened. north-centric AS IT SHOULD BE. characters aged 23+. slight jealousy, betrothals & poorly made up politics (actually made up so much lore sorry i do that when im nervous), brief mention of parental death, fluff, friends to lovers, smut (fingering, slight breeding kink), brief finger sucking what, light dirty talking. masterlist requests are open.

FOR AS LONG AS YOU’VE KNOWN, THE EVE OF WINTER HAS BEEN SAID TO COME IN A SHARP WHISTLE DOWN THE MOUTH OF THE PEAKS TO THE NORTH. 

Sharp, precipitous - the wind that breaks bones and scatters breath; it howls through the northern curls of the Wolfswood, piercing its glacial breath through trembling needles of pine, hissing up and over the stone of the North Gate. Tales of chipped slabs of sharp, which fly from the Old Tower in a gale of old; stealing the breath from lungs old and new, whipping away parchment, stealing flight and life from those southern ravens white of feather as far as the Bloody Gate. 

As a babe, your mother would sing of the sharp teeth of the Threnody; nursemaids and maester alike whispering of its wail against chamber doors even in the deepest of the castle. Your father, a less cagey spirit - still, he’d not stop the furrow of brow at the blow of hard iced snowdust that gathered within the stables on the outskirts of baileys. 

And perhaps it is not yet time for the howling of the wind when the wolves still linger in the woods; when life may still yet subsist away from the spitting crackle of hearth within castle walls - but you do not feign ignorance. 

Winter is coming. 

It comes in wind; and, just as the Threnody of old, it is subtle and piercing, perniciously beautiful. 

Lord Stark of Winterfell sits at the end of the hall, in a fur cloak that nearly swallows over the bulk of his wide frame; the lick of flames over his skin dance with the murmured din of the crowd as you watch, a cat-eyed weariness from your corner spot. It is not often this loud, though the Great hall has been much more full as of late - with the Southern company from the Reach, Winterfell has bursted at the seams just in the eve of Wintertide. A less than optimal time to host guests; but your Lord is a steadfast one, and knows an opportunity for trade when he sees one. 

Your father speaks to him - you watch the men with vague interest until the elder catches your eye across the assembly; a gesture of his hand, beckoning you to their side. And the Lord Stark, face young, weathered - handsome as he is dour in the torchlight, nodding with a surprisingly warm gaze when your eyes meet.

You do not heed your father’s summon; you remain rooted instead, struck with a sudden fatigue as some odd taste of jealousy from the nest of your bosom peeks into your mind, whispering of the woman who sits only three tables away from you. 

The Southern Rose. Her father, a man visiting to treat in way of increased wheat and salt trade with Winterfell; preservation starts soon, the harvest has found its end - leaves curl tight as a grip frozen in fist now, even near the Neck. She accompanied her father - words whispered from advisors of a potential betrothal - and as she is a girl just two years your junior, your father had instructed you to accompany her through her visit to Winterfell. 

Truthfully, you’ve found her quite wonderful - a sweet girl, though fairly plain-minded: innocent smiles, soft polite nods. You spent the fortnight riding through the Wolfswood, needlepointing - tasks rather simple, though torturous only when you caught glimpses of Lord Cregan and his men in the yard, in the halls, or treating. A yearning festered in your breast during these past days - a desire to attend matters of the mind instead of, perhaps, such soft matters. 

Though no fault of her own. A kind girl, you do swear by the gods - though each simpering look to the man who walks with Ice at his back twists a dagger deeper into your gut; A fine wife for a wanting Warden, the lords had advised - and you, with an ear pressed to the closed oaken door of Cregan’s hall like some bright-eyed maiden. An alliance with a house South would allow for a stake in the Southern lord’s trade route to Dorne; A smart match, perhaps, if Cregan searches for reach outside his North. 

You’re not particularly convinced he does. 

Though the hearths are large and heavy tonight, you yearn for that curling reach, that whisper of agony that cradles limbs into chests - and with a spare step towards the crack in the hall’s entrydoors, cool air pierces the tissue within your chest. 

Outside is the swirling ink of the owl’s hour. 

If you could see through the song of night, up and over the walls of stone which keep the first whispers of Threnody at bay - you might find the ridged roofs of Winter Town; and even beyond, those breathing hills that bring the Kingsroad up and back down. And cold, that creeping wolf, that slither of ragging which drags clouds to the ground and whispers promises of winter. 

You press your lips together; Who would wish to look beyond such persevering beauty? 

Cregan’s voice is low across the hall, though you can hear it through the din of the feast as he converses with his men; a swirl of affection, that comfortable specter in the corner of your thoughts. A glance back through the oak door to that sirened wail of glacial, ancient breath; the southern rose… and you, a pine in wildflowers. 

The yard below the great hall swirls with untouched crystals; miniscule, they glimmer in the open air and twirl in a mesmerizing dance - the ale in your palms is much too warmed by the blood that pumps through you.

A young man beside you gestures rather agitatedly; and you, bristled with the realization that you allow the creeping draft to leak into the hall, step forward once, allowing the doors to once again shut. The hall is warm and your mind is fuzzy; you step away, hugging the outskirts of the wall and avoiding the heat of your cheeks. 

Lord Stark rises in your peripheral when you begin the short promenade returning to your seat.

It is inevitable at any feast, his company - Cregan, a man only three namedays your senior and, even before becoming your Lord, a very close companion. Youths tied up in the training of noble roles, you and Cregan got on rather well - your father advised Lord Rickon, as a vassal house of the Starks; now, he serves Rickon’s son just the same. 

Your brief respite near the exit of the hall is short-lived when his boots pave their way towards you, bisecting your path though you pretend to pay the man no mind, a grin growing on your lips - there is only a breath of his own amusement in the short cat-and-mouse game you begin on the way to the trestle table; the stones of Winterfell have always been blissfully cold against your palms, and Cregan’s presence has always naturally attended you. 

Trots of hooves through the Wolfswood, trailing steps hurried through halls to keep up with long strides – a brief nod in passing when Maester Kennet would end the young Stark’s studies early. You’d learned to shoot a bow with him and his late brother in that very yard below; shared huffs of amusement when your arrow sailed wide. 

And even now, well over your youth; it remains how it has always been, with your roots so very sunk into the hard earth of the North; the Kings of Stark over your family’s barony of land just half-day’s west of Winterfell. And when Lord Rickon drew his final breath - and some years later, too, when Bennard’s slow relinquishment darkened the skies - you never dared worry of how life might change. 

You call him Lord Stark now - though in the quiet moments, he oft prefers Cregan; still the boy who convinced your father and his own to let you attend seasonal hunt, who sat with you in the rookery for hours of silence when your mother left the mortal realm; who did not protest when you insisted you did not wish to discuss it; who wiped tears from your weary skin so they’d not freeze; who waited patiently as you watched wind blow needles from the pines and ravens drop from clouded sky. 

And you, still with some melancholy whisper from the air that blows crystals over the hills towards Last Hearth; a Threnody of your own, your chilled craving despite the warmth of your soul. Cregan calls you my lady now - though he was keen to do so just as oft in youth, despite the blushing of your cheeks and quick glances to the snow-licked ground. 

He approaches you this evening with a storm of a stare and a hint of a smirk that, to any other, would look merely as his usual stoic countenance; though there is a bright in his eyes, a twitch upon his lip as he takes in the shifting of your boots upon the stone. 

You busy yourself traveling to your seat without tripping upon your feet - but still he meets you, eyes hooked upon the curve of your jaw and sliding over the apple of your cheek when you arrive to your spot, concealing your smile with a nod. 

A cacophony of laughter from the wolf’s council - you feel much more at home when the attention is off you and your Lord, hidden in the backlit corner. 

The hall is warm; warm, when all you can see are dark locks, drawn brows, pink lips, stubbled jaw. Your heart clenches when his arm brushes your own, if only for a moment.

 “Lord Stark.” Your voice swims; a wavering, perhaps from the mead that lingers on the back of your tongue, or at the stare that hooks itself upon your own. His eyes take you in - slowly, as if appreciative - an active repression of any fluttering at such a gaze, knowing him much too well to allow yourself a stirred feeling. 

“My lady,” He greets back; he’s obscured you with his height from the brunt of the hearth’s breath - a small relief, as your chest grows hot under the slow roll of his tone and your eyes fall from the mountain of his comportment. His gaze finds the doors at the hall entrance before returning to you, alight with something less than mirthful but not completely chastising. 

“Is the feast not satisfactory?” A drop of tease in a river of adherence; you hear it though, you feel it - and with the flow comes a tide of affection in your stomach. A small smile that smoothes your hot cheeks, “It is wonderful,” You mend, biting your lip, “I am rather keen to find momentary respite outside, though.” 

He seems sated enough with your words, nodding just once. “You’ve always been one for the cold.” He absently observes as his eyes flick to the table briefly, “I suppose you’ve been kept inside the walls too much as of late, aye?” 

A reminder of your recent charge - of the girl, eyes shining as clear as day, gazing upon the mountainous frame of Lord Stark from across the hall.

She much prefers the hearth to the raw air; and you’ve done nothing but acquiesce, placating the whims of the girl who might one day be your Lady Stark - an unpleasant thought, though one that could very well be a reality. Your throat tightens in a bough of unwarranted jealousy at the thought and, with a tight swallow, you nod to your Lord, gaze leaving his own. 

 Your fingers trace the silver prongs upon the table, left after you’d finished your meal half-eaten in search of the whispering sirens of flurry in the courtyard; you do not find it within yourself to speak, and perhaps that is why Cregan worries so for your disposition. 

“You’re distant tonight,” he decides, eyes lingering for a moment longer on the flush of your cheeks - perhaps from the drink, perhaps from something else entirely - and though he is just inches away now, he makes no unnecessary movements - an approach calm, unwishing to ward off a skittish creature. A wolf upon a pup. 

You, in your avoidance of his ownsolemn disposition, nearly miss the opportunity given for you to respond - and so you start with a breath and a lifted stare. 

“Perhaps it is because I was not seated with all you lords at the grand banquet table,” you quip; a rather surprising use of attitude in front of such company. An inkling of rather instant regret - you ought to watch your tongue around the members of the Household. 

Mercifully, Cregan only provides you with a stern glance and a lifted brow, that trickle of amusement only a breathed whisper across the cool gaze of piercing eyes. 

He certainly is aware of your quiet yearning - perhaps in a degree more at least than your yearning for himself, which has never been spoken but has often been rather obvious  - but instead to follow your father’s footsteps; an advisor to the Warden, a trusted voice, in the eve of wintertide. 

You have, for all the exhausted topics Cregan and yourself have touched upon in your many years of companionship, not outwardly admitted such hypnagogic desires; implied, perhaps. But a dreamy wish, a foolish one for a noble girl like yourself. 

His eyes swim between your own, perhaps waiting for more words that do not yet come. You should apologize for your tongue, though away from any other ears, it is oft that your Lord prefers you to speak candidly, uninhibited by much courtly restraint. It is indeed the most common times you’ve been successful in pulling a chuckle or laugh from the man. 

Though this time, he makes the decision for you. “Too much ale?” 

You lift a brow in challenge of the amused tone that barely leaks through, setting the mug down upon the banquet before you. 

“Too much heat,” You excuse instead, hoping your fuzzy mind does not lead to slurred words as your jaw directs his gaze to the massive hearth that threatens to swallow him from behind - and then, with that quiet voice once again, “I apologize for my tongue, my Lord.” 

A frown that looks heavenly on such a countenance- and a brief flush upon the strong ridge of nose; he shifts, vague but endearing from one large trunk of leg, corded with thick muscle, to another. 

“You need never apologize for a gift. So long as you know well enough when to use it.” He murmurs - and after a stilled moment, you nod with tight lips, heart thumping quietly; unintentional as it may be, such words from him sends your desire for him into a gallop. 

In an effort to conceal your affections, you laugh quietly against the heat of your cheeks. “You will come to regret such words, surely.” Your jest falls upon his ears and he hums low, finishing the ale in the mug held by large hands, eyes burning into yours even as he finishes the last gulp. “I doubt that, my lady.” 

There is a draft that catches the edge of your skirts; it carries, beckoning you - the doors have opened, and Lord Cerwin steps outside with a swift nod to Lord Stark and yourself. Some break of the seal which held together your remaining composure; you let out a breath, eyes flickering back to the storm of interest that watches down upon your visage. “I regret I could not attend to you these past weeks.” He murmurs again- rather talkative this eve, it seems. You eye the goblet dwarfed in his large palms; perhaps the ale has done him in as it has you. 

A flip of your stomach, heartbeat picking up at his words - attend you? He must see your expression; for he shifts as flames lick up the leather upon his back. “It has been nearly a moon since I placed a blade in your hand.” He mends, face solemn; a breath from your lips as you exhale shortly. Ah. 

Many days - wind whipping at your cheeks, piercing through your heavy cloaks; Cregan’s few minutes found in spare days to show you parries and ripostes, castigating gently when you try a cheap sweep at his legs and barking in amusement when you fall upon your backside. 

A small burst of cracking embers rise from the hearth just over his stalwart shoulder - you smile at the man before you, watching his own lips twitch at your small huff of amusement.

 “There were more important matters,” Your voice light. “-Negotiations, alliances,” You clear your throat, “matters of the realm.”

His eyes, hawkish as he shifts once more; the shadow of his figure swallowing your own frame as your hand falls onto the table to stabilize yourself against his stare. “Aye,” He nods, gaze briefly flicking to the row of men at the front of the hall; your father finishes his ale, in discussion with Lady Gilliane and the Southern lord. “Tomorrow eve they set for the Kingsroad. And they will have my trade agreements.” His words come as some promise. You’d well noticed the thirty men and women preparing to leave Winterfell; they are guests at this feast indeed. You resist a snarking comment in rebuttal, instead heeding his politeness - and nod slowly.

Another guest leaves the feast and you follow the swish of her skirts and furs with your stare. Just out those ajar doors, tendrils of flakes fall from the skies. You long to feel them kiss the crown of your head, feel them settle upon the downy cloak that sits crooked upon your shoulders; a small draft that kicks again, and the chill begins to settle your flaming cheeks. 

The Southern Rose sips upon a goblet of sweetwine across the way with her few ladies-in-waiting; she smiles brightly at you across the hall and you smile back, aware of the brooded stare upon your visage from beside you. “Only trade?” You finally wonder, unable to look at Cregan, finger tracing the wear of the wood below your palm. 

After a small breath - Lord Stark must direct his glance towards the previous subject of your attention before turning back to you, a frown carved by the gods into the solemnity of his gaze. 

Your heart jumps when he shifts, his arm brushing yours - fingers, large and calloused, adjusts the clasp upon your cloak, knuckles kissing the line of your jaw before dropping away. 

Your cheeks are impossibly hot, though his are just as well. “Only trade,” he echoes, though there’s something within his tone - some secret assurance, one which sets your stomach in warmth. It is a simple silence which follows; his cloaked arm is warm against the fabric of your gown, though you do not mind it. 

“I would not keep you any longer from your respite.” He finally decides, gesturing to the open oak doors, to the pull of chill; A dulcet resonance - you stare at the crawl of flames around his ribcage, flicking over the bulk of muscled mass swathed in furs. You nearly request he join you, though it is swallowed by the polite nod he sends to the girl who sits across the hall, watching with curious eyes. 

“You have a good evening, my Lord.” You bid him, heart fluttering at the pearly soot of his gaze, at the warmth that leaves you as you take a step aside to gather yourself. 

His eyes do indeed follow your movements, tracing the familiar bend of your spine from your peripheral. 

“You as well, my lady.” 

THE NIGHT BRINGS HOWLS OF WINTERTIDE.

And the morning reaps a chill that does not subsist from the core of your bones - even when you pace through the outer hall of the Great Keep, fingers tapping anxiously against the fabric of your skirts, cheeks sharpened by a flurry across the yard. 

There is a great excitement that has stirred in your chest; some disbelief, tethered to the echo of men’s swords in the yard and of hushed whispers between bearded mouths in the halls - though as you recall Maester Kennet’s words written and delivered to your bedchambers late last evening after the feast, you cannot help but bite a smile back between your lips. 

Schooling such girlish giddiness in the brunt of impending adversity, still your heart swells; a glance up the spiraled stones of the Keep’s exterior, you eye the grimed window of your Lord’s study with a huff of disbelief. 

Maester Kennet informs you Lord Stark has accepted your request for private audience - just thirty minutes past your initial supplication - and so you begin to creep your way up the inner spirals of the structure, tracing the old stone with some newborn interest. 

Your hands do not waver when they knock, though you’d hesitated just a breath when you’d made it to his study; Enter, you hear him call - ever practical in his deep tone; a flutter of affection blossoms, spring in the forest of your heart. You once again wipe your perspired palms along the length of your silvered cloak before heeding his beckon.  

The long croak of the oaken door behind you drags against dilapidated stone; with a scratch, the hinge shuts and you slide into the warm chamber, blinded momentarily by wintering light. 

Your lord looks up from his own desk and you trace your gaze along the outskirts of the study; a rather humble room, if the beauty of Winterfell’s castle could ever have such a thing - leatherbound histories, candles that once wept tallow, waxy tears now hardened into dots of bone upon his desk. 

Lord Cregan indulges in his own sweeping glance over your figure wrapped in only lighter furs, your hands clasped and twisting before your dark dress. 

“My lady,” he greets - a girlish tickle within your stomach spurs at the use of title, as though you’ve not bore it your whole life. 

“My Lord, good morrow.” You greet, resisting a short rock upon your toes. 

Cregan leans back in his chair, thighs spread as he wastes no words. “You awaited my acceptance from Maester Kennet,” He observes. At your nod, he continues, “You’ve no need to request an audience when you wish to speak with me. I’ve told you just as much before, have I not?”

Your smile, though faint, is genuine; you relieve yourself of the distance between you and Cregan, finding your seat with gentle grace just across him. You fix him with a glance, “And just as I’ve told you,” you echo, “-as long as you remain my lord, I shall remain mindful of your duties,” Your brow raises just so. “-Whether you wish it or not.” Your voice is rather coy, unable to contain the giddiness in your heart that arises, despite your maintained perplexion - the root of your visit to the Lord in the middle of the morning. 

For half a moment, a flash of amusement upon Cregan’s lips at your familiar stubbornness; but then, he leans forward - large palms curling over the chair’s arms; you eye the worn wood enviously. “Of what do you wish to speak, then?” 

You take a breath; a sweltering heat has begun to stir at the base of your neck - perhaps under the icy stare of the man before you, or the quick gallop of your heart within your chest; outside, the same whistling howl of winds that laces itself through the song of the hounds in the kennels below. 

“I’m…” You shift after beginning, eyes flicking to the quill and ink well that lie abandoned beside him, letter halfway handscribed. A surprising bout of shyness you’ve been struck with under his attention, under the memory of the letter delivered to you last eve. 

Your frown is one of far-off considerations, recalling the information that’d been served with your evening tea while you prepared for slumber last night, a syrupy sleepiness to your hands from the remnants of the feast’s mead; News, given by way of Maester Kennet’s handscript, informing you of your new station. 

A twist of anticipation and determination; you level Lord Stark with eyes icier than his own. 

“I suppose I’m rather surprised that you’ve appointed me to your council, my Lord.” 

The truth is blunt - it feels relieving to rip it off your skin; and so you press on, watching the stern visage before you, wondering if you’ve ever noticed him looking at you without such tender absorption as you see now. 

Your voice continues, strong. “-It’s uncommon for a woman to serve on the Warden’s council, unless she is the Lady of the House.” You fight to ignore the thunder of your heart at such a sentiment - you, Lady of the House - and add with a voice just as strong, “-and we both know I am no such thing.”

A call of raven outside; and a laugh bubbling off somewhere in the courtyard below, melting into a long howl of a hound in the kennels. Cregan watches you carefully, holding your gaze; moments pass under his stare, but you do not squirm - no, as always, you stare back.

 “Would you not accept?” He wonders finally, tone rather unbiased - and for a brief moment, you believe his question is directed towards your latter sentence; a drop in your stomach, though you recover in a breath, swallowing thick. 

You rush to deny it in your accidental hesitance. “-No, my Lord, I'm honored. It’s just rather…unexpected.”

The quiet looms, a cloud rolling over the morning sun; eclipsed in the backlit shadow of daylight by his frame, you begin to pick at the thread of your dress. A fine gown, hand-needled by your own hands just a fortnight ago. 

And then, with a breath; his lips twitch ever so slightly - merely a brief uptick, but you know him. His stare, stark as the wintered sky as he nods curtly - you fight your own grin at the shift. 

“You’ve a good mind for these matters,” his voice is even, face serious. “Some at my table will do well to learn from you.”

You let out a soft laugh, not particularly out of amusement but rather out of surprise at his words, heart stumbling. “I wasn’t aware you thought so highly of me.” You admit, though you both know this to be untrue. 

His gaze doesn’t waver, and neither does his opinion. “I’ve always thought highly of you.”

The words lodge themselves true into your chest. 

And yes, you’ve never been one to underestimate your own intellectual prowess, nor to shy away from an opportunity; though your mind still reels in befuddlement, and you press to hear more, to understand. “You have wiser men - those who served your father well before you.” You observe, tilting your head; a wintery sunbeam ices through the looser strands of your hair, and Cregan's grayed pools trace their colour in the sun. 

“Aye,” He nods as his gaze returns to your own, “Your father is one of them.” 

He is firm; an intimidation in his broad frame, the haloed bright of snowed refractions around his head. “Though it is not about who is wiser, nor who has served longer. It’s about knowing when to speak, and when to hold your peace. When to challenge me.” And Gods be good, his lips curve slightly; a whisper of a smile, some sweep of chilled wind over the face of a mountain.

Your heart stirs at his words, a rush of emotions that burst below your composed exterior. Memories of mulish disagreements, of sliding glares at his youthful visage and stubborn stomps of your foot. Your voice remains firm, though rather surprised. “Challenge you?” You echo with a small smirk. 

“Aye,” he responds without hesitation. “Many lords surround themselves with voices that tend to echo their own thoughts. But you,” His gaze never leaves yours; pinned you remain, eyes unblinking against his, “-you will tell me what I must hear, even when it is hard. Will you not?”

Heat that blossoms over your cheeks as you nod at him - your throat is incredibly dry, “Yes, my lord.” 

He hums, eyes in a brief flash over your sat figure before returning to you. “Good.”

And in the burgeoning moment, a pounding of your heart; you shift in your seat, flattered as a beam of wintered light graces the colour of your stare.

Your fingers still their nervous picking at your gown as you take a slow breath. “And if I do not always agree with you? If I say no, when you would rather hear yes?” 

Cregan leans in just slightly. “I trust no other as I trust you. You'd not dare speak something you do not believe, simply because it pleased me.” 

An absence of concern in your heart at his words, instead filling you with a fierce warmth that curls around the sweet ice coursing through your veins. “You have my word, Cregan. I will advise you as best I can when needed.”

His expression does not waver; though there is a flicker within his gaze. “I never doubted it.”

And then, a gust of breath from the heavens; a rattling gentle against thick pane of glass, though a chill still finds its tendrils in your bones when hard flakes of snow whirl against the exterior. 

“The Southern company leaves this eve,” You observe, eyes glancing out the window, “It will do them well to set off before supper. Lest they become caught in the storm of Wintertide.” And then in your mind, an echo of lovely, sweet laughter; and a curl of unwanted envy at the woman behind the voice, a haunting within your own mind. You are plagued, it seems - thoughts of her kneeling before the weirwood, of his cloak round her shoulders. 

“Aye,” Cregan's voice pulls you back, “We'll not hold meeting until they have left. House Cerwin’s host returns this eve, and I must attend to them.” 

He rises, then - and you, with him, fingers clenched as you register his words informing you not with any air of casual discussion, but rather as a Lord does his vassal. You tamp a grin, nodding instead, following the warm guide of his hand hovered above your back towards the door. 

“I will see you at my table on the morrow, my lady.” He promises when you turn back to him; with a rush of affection, you let yourself smile.

WIND WHISTLES BETWEEN NEEDLES OF PINE AND LEAVES OF OAK IN THE GODSWOOD. 

A rather divine earth upon which you kneel, mind clear with the prayers you whisper to the heart before you. 

It is growing cold, steadily these days - and though you have known the North your entire life, you rather forget how biting it can be when the afternoon snowfall comes. 

You’ve seemed to have forgotten today, as well - your spine shivers just so, the cloak around your shoulders much too light for the tempest that has grown in the skies; flakes that kiss your braids and lick down your cheeks as you finish your intercession, eyes opening to meet the bleeding stare of the heart tree. 

You choose to remain despite the frost that curls around your knees - and after a few moments of quiet, there are footsteps in the snow. 

You know quite well the heavy drags of boots over the whitened crust of earth - a silence that echoes through the woods that you know can only be your Wolf. 

He arrives, perhaps only moments before you register his presence; you had not known he had returned. With a thrill, you wonder if he came straight to you once crossing the gates back into Winterfell. 

“My lord.” you greet, nodding as you feel his warmth behind you - and you can almost imagine the shake of his head at your knelt form. 

“A northerner should know better than to come out in the cold without a proper cloak.” 

A faint smile tugs at your lips, though you don’t yet turn from the tree before you. “The snow came after my prayers. I wasn’t unprepared.” You defend with a twitch of a smile - and then, just to your side, a leather glove extended for your grasp. 

He pulls you to your feet with ease - and there you find Cregan, the low pool behind him echoing the breath of cloudy sky. His eyes are warm and knowing when you trace his irises with your own gaze. 

Flakes continue, shed from the heavens; A white crown of winter falling upon his hair as he takes you in. 

“I came to speak with you.” He says after the moment of quiet you allow; he drapes his thick outercloak upon your shoulders though you glance at him rather sheepishly at the gesture, second in nature in your long years of companionship. 

It is remiss that your first few days appointed in the new station has seen a lack of advisory; alas, Cregan has finally returned after two days with Lord Cerwin and his host, and you will adjoin this evening for strategy.

“I thought as much,” your voice is soft; perhaps residual from your prayers whispered into the listening quiet of the Godswood. “Of what do you wish to speak, my lord?” There is indeed much to discuss now that the company has left Winterfell - winter comes soon enough, and the Wall indeed calls for your Lord’s visit. 

His voice is only rougher as though the words take a coaxing to admit, “Before you were appointed, the lords at my table…” he begins, and your brow lifts as he stares ahead to the tree. “they spoke of a match.”

Your heart stills; you turn to face him fully, swallowing the dip in your stomach. “A match?” you repeat. 

“Aye,” he confirms, “the Southern Lords proposed I take one of their daughters to wed,” He is rather impartial in tone. “Though my men… they advise I take a bride from the North.” 

Perhaps it would be more of a surprise to you, had you not spent the better part of your freetime pressing ears to the council doors; indeed you are familiar with the pressure upon Cregan to take a wife. 

“And…” you begin carefully, “Will you wed the Southern Rose?” 

His jaw clenches; a flutter of flakes against skin though his gaze still holds you with an intensity to make your blood hum; “I denied betrothal to her,” he murmurs, breath puffing in a soft cloud of mist against thicker snowfall; he grows more quiet, then, and it stirs in your chest. “Though as for the proposal set before me by the men of my hall…” He pauses just briefly, and you blink snowflakes from your lashes. “It was not something I rejected.”

A sacred stillness; a raw breath from you as the implication of his words hit you - here, in the Godswood, before the heart tree.

The cloak he’s brought, wrapped around your shoulders, warming your chilled flesh; a kiss of sage and leather as you watch his visage - patient, waiting. Devoted.

A breath puffs from your lips in exhale. 

“You speak of me,” you whisper; his eyes remain on yours, anchored to the press of your teeth into your bottom lip. 

“Aye.” His response is firm, evergreen, rooted. “I speak of you.”

The trees of the Godswood whisper in that quiet way they can; breaths of creeping air that lived long before your ancestors were here. They watch you, how your fingers curl tighter into Cregan’s cloak - how your veins pump with the same blood that runs through his own. You had known this was a possibility - hints from your father’s mulling eyes as you and the Lord had returned from sparring lessons, cheeks winded and amusement laced into small glances and brushes of arms. 

There is a long yearning affection that burns in your heart when you glance back up at his looming height, a small smile teasing your lips. Perhaps, as your fingers brush over heavy fur, you seek to cut through the thick silence which has found you tense with anticipation.

“Well,” you begin lightly, hoping to mask the tremor in your voice, “I suppose you would not be the worst choice for a husband, Lord Stark.”

Cregan’s brow lifts slightly at your words - and a flick of amusement swallowed by a softening; he does not brush off your words with the same playful jest you offer. A step towards you, a hand seeking your own, leather against worn leather. A hollow gust of wind across the gulley of pine to the side of you, and a red bloodleaf falls to your boots. 

“I hope,” he says slowly, eyes anchored on his thumb across your knuckles. “to be the best I can be.” he continues, his voice unwavering as snow dusts his hair, his cloak.

You can only nod through a thick swallow, heart thundering. “You could never be anything less.” You ensure him. His lips part, pink against the light of afternoon; warmth spreads through your chest as his tongue wettens them just so under your watchful gaze. 

“You’ve spent your life here,” he murmurs, “The North is in your blood as it is mine - Winterfell has always been yours.”

Cold, which nips at your skin and aches your bones - it is so distant now. Now, when his breath plumes between you gently. Now, as your hand squeezes his own, even faintly; Now, in a smile that you must bite back as your mind floats, his words rooting into your heart. 

You grin, and it’s softer now. “You make it sound as though it’s already decided.”

Cregan’s broad form towers over you as he leans - though an effective protection from the wintered wind, you feel a shiver down your spine. “I would not presume to decide such things without your consent,” he ensures, “But the thought of another standing beside me… it has never felt right.”

And perhaps, then, he’s always known of your yearning - for how could you not know so familiar the face which looks you back in the mirror, whose heart bleeds your own blood; to know is to love, perhaps. You smile, your other hand falling onto his chest - beneath thick furs, beneath leather and tunic, a heart beats strong. 

A palm, large and calloused as it graces over your cheek; you press involuntarily into his burgeoning warmth, a small smile upon your lips. “It is a good thing I suppose, that I could not imagine leaving Winterfell.” You admit - and then, fixing him with that same intent stare he brings to you: “I will marry you, Cregan.” 

His breath, stuttering only momentarily as his eyes search your own - and then, a clear of his throat. “Then it will be settled,” his thumb lingers against your cheek, his touch warm against the cold that swirls - and it is more than what you'd wished for your whole life; after all, the Threnody would chase you right back to Cregan if you'd gone anywhere else.

“I will be yours, my lady.”  

THE HOWL OF THE THRENODY IS A NEAR SONG ON THE DAY OF YOUR WEDDING.

The tub has been placed rather precariously aside the larger of windows awarded to your chambers; you sit in the smoldering heat of the bath, tendrils of oiled steam snaking up and curling into fog at the corners of your vision. 

Outside, scarce birds chirp - a morning early enough, although in this sharp of wintercoming the creatures prefer to retreat to their nests as you stir in your own, sighing away a small dreamy breath. 

It has been five and a half moons since your betrothal; your eyes flicker with a bout of excitement over to the wardrobe across the way, wherein hangs your gown and maidencloak awaiting your presence later this afternoon. 

A smile unbounded, you press palms to your cheeks, attempting to cool them under the thought of what will come tonight. The handmaids have been asked away; a peculiar request from you, but you wish to enjoy a moment of serenity before you begin the day’s preparations - of which there are many - and you worry they will scarce find a moment to eat and enjoy themselves before they are tasked with your hair and your body. 

It snows only in the way trees shake dust from their bones - a heavier pile of white which burdens lower limbs, and you watch the ground of powder stir when it is imbued by the weight. 

Winter is near; words for so long, though now, it is true. And a fine day it is, the Gods have blessed you and Cregan - but indeed, the last of the alpine flowers have curled around a layer of frost, the lakes and ponds have crusted into flat planes thick of ice. Threnody, its whistling song in the dead of night, beckons - winter comes, and the North is prepared. 

A hand falls submerged in the bathwater and you lift it once more with a stinged gasp; the skin over your middle knuckle is cracked and near raw. Maester Kennet administered a salve to it daily since your return with Cregan, Lord Cerwin, and your father - a weekslong trip to oversee the fortification of supply lines in the coming of winter’s harsh brunt. 

Split skin, cracked by the iced wind; and a warm palm to hold you, lips brushed over the top of your temples in a murmur. Your cheeks burn hotter than the bathwater enveloping you; Cregan.

And true that when you lie in your lone bed each evening, plagued with an aching and catch-of-breaths that find you after the memories of chapped lips brushing your own, firmly tender touches that are more fleeting than they are anything else. When you are plagued with such thoughts, you truly think it had all been so much simpler before the betrothal. 

Simpler; glances across halls - stolen moments while he’d chide to you in lessons, quiet words in the library or prideful smirks during a hunt in the Wolfswood. Anticipation is a torturous excitement, perhaps - his hands, you used to wonder - how would they feel against you? 

And you know now - how they hold your cheeks, caress your shoulder, your back; you know, yet you must wait to let them truly hold you, to truly touch you how you so desire. 

A sweet torture, restraint has become. Touches, kisses - far too brief, far too constrained. Your gaze falls upon the stain of red through the Godswood outside, your stomach turning with anticipation, with hunger. 

And yet, the day advances. 

A knock at your quarters starts you just slightly, clearing your throat as your head turns to the door. A stare at the oak, wondering if the doors to your marital chambers will look so similar as these. 

The oils of mountain thyme and coltsfoot bead upon your skin when you sit upwards slightly, wondering aloud who awaits behind the door. 

“-It is me, my lady.” 

Not your handmaidens yet, it seems - Cregan’s voice jumps your heart into a gallop. 

With a flush, you press your lips together, grasping the edge of the tub to rise from the tendrils of steam - the bleeding bundle of leaves which hemorrhage the treeline in the distance abandoned. 

Perhaps only now, as you pad over thick furs upon stone to reach your robe, do you wish you’d allowed your handmaids to remain with you; if only to aid you with some slip that is less revealing than the thin satin you slip on. The stone beneath your feet is warm; you bite your lip gently. 

“Come.” You call; only a breath before the oaken creaking reaches your ears - you’ve pushed your hair back, droplets of oiled bathwater cascading down your temple, over the edge of your chin, kissing the skin of your chest exposed with the loose robe you tie. 

Perhaps you should better ensure your modesty - though by nightfall he will be yours, and you his. What difference does it make now, to let him see you?

Cregan’s frame is backlit by the corridor; a broad figure, ducked only slightly in such tall stature, shoulders brushing the stone sides of the frame - your eyes meet, though swiftly he averts his gaze, turning his head rather sharp as his chest shutters only slightly. 

“My apologies.” His voice holds some tight restraint; you have no power to stop the warmth that spreads upon you at his tone, some hint of arousal at the drop in timbre. “I did not realize…” He trails off, lingering in the doorway - a glint of amber over his dark hair and you swallow a flustered giggle before it can escape your parted lips. “I will return when you are not occupied.” He decides. 

You interrupt gently, shaking your head as your fingers press to your damp palms; an earnest hope he will not leave, now when he’s already here. “There’s no need to apologize,” you gesture to the table and chairs beside the hearth. “You may stay, Cregan. Please.”

His gaze does not return to you yet; palms, large and calloused with life and labor - you press your thighs together in a momentary weakness as your eyes trace over thick forearms that remove a thick fur cloak, dragging over veins which swim up skin kissed by afternoon light. 

A quiet grunt when he sits himself in the chair, thighs spreading as his eyes finally meet your figure once more - gray as the clouded heavens, penetrating as you cross the room to follow him; how those eyes follow the trail of damp water droplets slipping beneath your robe’s loose collar - how they find the rivulets that slide down the bare of your thighs, dripping just slightly onto the stone beneath you. A heat in your cheeks, spreading low over your neck, chest - and lower more, as you find yourself before him, waiting for his eyes to flick up to your own. 

Your chambers in Winterfell have always been much too large in your opinion, for just one woman - though they hold a most divine view of the Godswood; now, the room is impossibly small with the frame of him, silent, watching you slide into the chair across him. 

“Does something trouble you, Cregan?” You wonder finally, searching the face drawn by a stern brow, how his jaw flexes at your question. 

A half-shake of head; a beam of light once again has found his face, an ethereal sight of such a man softened by the wintered sun. He hums, “I came to…” He pauses momentarily, as though struggling to find his words; his eyes once more wavering as a bead of water slides down your damp leg. His eyes flick back to you, swallowing, “I came to ensure this marriage is not being forced upon you.” 

A startle from you; though spoken with a lilt of care, such blunt words hit you rather suddenly, and your heart pangs. He does not see how you crave him, even after these last moons? How your cheeks grow hot under his attention, how your arm laces through his when he walks you to your chambers after meetings - how your lips seek his own in every darkened corridor you might scarcely find? 

 How you return your affections for him each time he murmurs them into your ear in solitude - how you have loved him since long before there was such a word? 

 “I’ve never been more certain of anything.” Your voice does not hesitate; neither does your heart. His eyes, so dark in the yards of Winterfell, so bright by light of your solitary quarters; though he does not respond for a brief moment, and in the silence you grow concerned. 

“Cregan,” your voice is soft as you lean forward just so. “Do you want this?”

He blinks at that - daring to be surprised by the question - and for a moment, as his lips part, no sound comes out. The hesitation upon his breath strikes your heart; faint doubt lingers in your chest. 

“I’ve thought about it long before the idea was brought to me.” He admits; a deep tone, eyes fixed upon yours as he murmurs. “Before it became a matter of duty,” his gaze is as steadfast as the words which fall from his pink lips, “I wanted you.”

The breath upon your lips hitch; a warmth that sprouts within your heart begins to spread, against the wide windows behind you, against the man who sits with knees nearly touching your own. 

Tonight, you will meet him under the leaved arms of your ancestors; of those haunted, ancient spirits which call to you in the wind, who blow the Threnody through sharp ravines, who watch you with solemn edict. You will whisper words that have waited upon your tongue for years - he will drape his cloak upon you, and you will taste his faith when your lips find his own under the sight of the Old Gods. 

Dark, his hair blows gently in the quiet of his breath - and perhaps struck by the sheer beauty of the North within him, that steadfast stare cooling the heat upon your skin - you rise from your chair.

His eyes, a hawk; they watch you, head tilting back as you rise to stand before him, your palm gracing his arm; a tinge of pink that creeps over his countenance, a low snowcloud over the breath of dawn upon his cheeks. 

Under your palm are the thick muscles of his bicep; and a heat, one from his skin through the tunic, melting you just the same as his own breath catches. No hesitance from him at your boldness - instead a large, warm palm comes to cup the back of your thigh as you stand before him; and a thumb that traces over the goosepimples that grow at his touch. 

A slide upwards and over his shoulder - your breath quiet, nearing labored as a rising growth of hunger stirs in you. Your eyes catch the armoire across the way, where you know your wedding gown awaits; the material gentle, lined with fur and coloured the refraction of cloud and snow - and wolves, silver and embossed with the darker patterns of your own house sigil. 

The thought stokes your mounting desire for Cregan; your hand slides along the thick warmth of his neck, turning to cup his jaw. Rough stubble which catches on the soft of your palm when your thumb strokes his cheekbone; and eyes, those dark lashes, fluttering only slightly when he blinks up at you - silent, waiting. 

You do not make your lord wait much longer. 

“Cregan,” you whisper, eyes finding some wonderfully reflective taste of devotion laced through his own stormed gaze, and your breath falls with your confession. “I have long wanted you. I wish not to wait anymore.”

His chest moves with a breath - and in lieu of words, a calloused hand wraps around your spare hand, pulling it towards his own shoulder; guiding you. 

With hot cheeks, you allow it - his breath is warm as it hits your cheek, though you gasp when his hands move once more with a gentle motion towards his lap.

You stumble slightly against his powered tug; knees, knocking together as you’re drawn upon his lap - and a small, breathy laugh from your lips. Some flutter of anticipation within you as his own hands come to steady you, taking in your flushed cheeks as he holds you firm atop him, steadying you with a hint of a smile ghosting his visage.

 Gods - you’re close to him, now; closer than you have ever been. And his clothing, fine and smelling of sage, is warm against your robed figure - intoxicating. 

“We need not wait much longer,” He murmurs now, “We’re to marry tonight.” 

As if you’d not been aware - a smile grows on your face as you shake your head. “Yet it seems so very far away.” You sigh. His eyes do not waver; and in a passing moment, a bird calls outside.

Longing falls in puffs of breath from Cregan’s wanting lips; drank in and breathed back out by your own, you shift only slightly, feeling the stutter of his breath, how his chest brushes your own with each inhale.

You both simply stare - allowed, finally, to enjoy the arresting starkness of beauty laced through your veins and his own, that sturdy, hardy northern resolve that persists in the truest of souls. 

Outside, there are preparations; household members prepare the hall - polishing the long trestle tables, setting goblets and trays. Cooks prepare a feast in the kitchens - garlands of evergreen and coltsfoot lifted to archways, Maester Kennet gathers texts and prepares the ceremony. 

The skies are calm, low swirls of snow-caught breaths fluttering up and down when boots fall upon the ground. Outside, the sun bleeds its love unto the harder layer of snow fallen during the eve previous - and you will follow that path, that leads out to the Godswood tonight. 

“You’ll have all of me soon enough,” He promises - and the tone; a deep stirring within you. 

Your eyes fall to the man you’ve known for your better life; and still he watches you, hands firm and unyielding, gaze quite the same, melted only by the breaths that come from your lips and caress his own. Love, held in communal - that is what you feel when his hand slowly slides up the ridges of your spine, his chin tilting up to where yours begins to fall, as if called upon by the same spirits.  

And slowly, shyly - as if you do not know Cregan as you know yourself, as if you do not know how he breathes, how he speaks, how he is -  you lean forward. 

His eyes flutter closed just as your own do, his fingers flexing against your waist. 

The kiss that comes is nearly tentative; gentle as it is, it still shoots through you, a deep warmth and need when his mouth presses, a test against your own. Your fingers curl, of their own volition searching nape of neck, strands dark of hair. 

His own hands, one sliding up your spine, thick arm circling you, pulling you into his orbit - and the other, resting where your hip meets the breath of thigh; a thumb, pressing just so into the divot, curling around the top of your backside, warm against the thin of your robe. Heat surrounds you when you pull away just a bit, your breaths mixing, eyes opening to flicker between each other. 

And he pulls you back to him once more, a small hum in his throat when his lips slide to part against your own. Gods - you shiver, hands grasping the thick muscled frame of his shoulder and neck, shifting to press up into him, chasing that tingling chill of hunger. 

Perhaps it is when you shift upon his lap once more, growing hot in your burgeoning desire - or perhaps when his tongue slides against your lip and you part them, coaxing him into you; he tenses, then, pulling back as muscles fall rigid under your hungry palms. 

Your fingers trace the rapid beat of his heart beneath his skin. A teasing tug upon your lips, exhilarated at the blush that’s grown across his cheeks.  “Have I made you nervous, Cregan?” your lips brush, tantalizing against his.

Cregan’s hand tightens slightly on your waist, the other reaching up to cup the side of your face; his palm dwarfs your visage, thumb brushing along your cheek before pressing against the soft flesh under your jaw, coaxing you to look up just so. 

“No,” he says, though his voice has muffled itself as he brings his lips to the soft patch of skin against your throat, lips ghosting your own pounding heartbeat. Shivers of arousal through you; and a near growl as he hums, “though you have made me an impatient man.”

A thrill through you at his words - an admission rather echoed by your own sentiments, you nearly let out a small mewl at the aching desire gathering between your thighs. 

And as his teeth scrape over the junction of your neck, you tug him gently back to look at you- a dark gaze, clouded by the anticipation of your coming union, of the coming night that will be spent within each other’s arms, finally. A sunbeam wintered and frosted across his chest and yours; they rise and fall together in your shared breaths of desire. 

It’s hungry, eager when your lips once again find each other - noses sliding against each other, a sigh into your mouth. Cregan’s palms paw at your waist; and as you’re pulled tighter against his sturdy chest, the feel of his body hard beneath you sends a shiver of anticipation. 

His hair is silken under your fingers; tugging gently as you deepen your embrace, Cregan lets out a short groan into your mouth. The sound vibrates through you - an ache of arousal that bleeds through each layer of skin, clothing, tissue that separates your soul from his own. His own grip grows rather impatient when your hips seek more of such a feeling; a raw, urgent indulgence, your mind reminds you there is still a wedding to be had - that you will need to prepare for it very soon. 

The press of lips, a hot, open-mouthed trail down your jaw, your neck - and you gasp softly, your body arching into his palms. “Cregan,” your voice is a near whimper, some unspoken plea as you shift upon his lap once more. 

A grunt, his lips pulling back from your flushed flesh - and a puff of air and a tightened grip to hold you against him as he murmurs. 

“You test me, woman.”

It is a valiant effort on your part to resist a grin at the desperation laced through his breathy grunt - though you simply hum, smiling sharply. A thrill of need - breaths fall fast from your lips, spurred by the arousal that grows within his own dark stare. “Do I?” You wonder - and a stern look no more than teasing upon his visage, lips glossy with your previous kiss. 

“Every day of my life.” He grunts, then - a low tremor of restraint that begins to break with a tempered softness he holds only for you. “You know what you do.” He murmurs upon your lips, large palms reaching the expanse of your back, tugging you into him. 

With a flutter, you admit, “I do.” And how very close you are to giving in; to wait until this eve seems torture when you could simply ask him to take you right here, right now. A glance of heat between you and your soon to be husband - his breath falling upon your lips. “And do you know what you do, Cregan?” You wonder, a static of hunger spurring your hand to catch his wrist in your own grasp. 

Eyes watch with hawkish interest when you guide his hand lower, lower - he drags his rough palm over the downy satin of your robe, swallowing thickly as you press his hand the the warm, damp skin of your upper thigh. His breath is hitched - perhaps given up on a response, or rendered unable to from the heat of your flesh upon his own. 

A whisper of a curse, perhaps upon his lips - his eyes break from yours, the mountainous frame of his shoulders under your palm. It seems he has finished speaking with you - a tension has snapped, the final thread pulled; and though he teases you with a light kiss now, his fingers - they are not so patient. 

A trail - one previously led by you as you’d tugged his palm to your thigh - is slow, achingly so as his fingers slip under the hem of your robe. Your breath hitches, now - and he, with a rumbled voice: “Tell me. Tell me what feels good.” 

Shivers of arousal send your spine curling to seek his warmth; your hips buck just so, feeling the length of his own hunger press deliciously into you. “Cregan,” You can only murmur, and his head tilts just so. A tease - a gentle one at that, but still what you’d not expected; indeed it sends jolts of desire through your body when he hums, fingers digging just lightly into your thigh. 

“Use your words, my lady,” His voice orders you, though there is some desperation in his wanting tone, “I’ll not move until you tell me what it is you desire.” 

You've waited much too long for him to stop now, to duck and retreat merely from some pious embarrassment; and in your bout of shivered hunger, you groan. “Touch me, Cregan.” And, perhaps as a last-ditch hope he will indeed understand the extent of your desire, “I’ll do anything.” 

A guttural sound escapes from Cregan's throat - the growl of a wolf, the howl of wind through a valley; and his lips brush over your jaw teasingly soft, as if savoring the power he’s found over you despite the strain of his own hunger. He says nothing, heeding rather quickly to your request. 

Sharp gasps from you in succession when his thumb slowly presses over the pooled heat - a stolen breath or two before you let out a quiet moan, hips instinctively bucking into Cregan’s touch. 

“Easy,” And his voice is no more than a whisper, some tender coaxing as his other hand steadies your hips, drawing you into the slow-burning torturous circles he draws with his finger. It is indeed a sensation you’ve tried to explore yourself on many restless nights in these very chambers - but his fingers sturdier, calloused, gentle - and his presence, warm and loving against the bright of day. 

It is wholly too much and not enough at once, and when he shushes you gently against your lips, a shiver thrills down your spine. 

Your hands grasp at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as the pleasure slowly burns through you - his fingers explore you, your molten heat; and his lips press warm and insistent upon yours. A slip into the depths of him; some choice warranted only by breath of desire, by the knowledge that come this evening he will be your husband and you his wife. 

His forehead falls against your own, breath uneven as you slowly buck your hips, letting his other hand guide you in a motion that sends pleasure curling around the tips of your fingers. “Wife.” 

The word spurs you; with a jolt you whimper into him, voice breaking desperately as you keen into his large palm. Your lips find the thick column of his neck - a warm smell, saged and spiced; your teeth grazing along the beat of heart upon his throat, a grumble low in his chest. 

“Husband,” You respond, though the word is strangled as one finger, dragging through your molten heat, prods at the entrance of you; with a gasp, you whimper, “please, please.” 

He hums, shifting only slightly beneath you; a whimper from you as the heel of his hand presses deliciously onto your swollen bud, tensing your thighs as you swallow dryly. 

“My sweet wife,” He repeats, brows drawn as his eyes rove over the exposed flesh revealed from your loose robe, “Tell me, how does this feel?” 

Your eyes pitch back, hair tangling in his grip around your back as you shiver, his hand pressing into your cunt - “Good,” You respond pathetically, unable to formulate any semblance of reflection when you begin to see spots of pleasure in your vision; your fingers sliding to grasp at his neck, at his hair. “I’d- I’d like more,” Your face burns at the meekness of your own tone; only in the girlish fantasies, in dreams of Cregan climbing to share your bed under a heap of furs, have you allowed yourself to consider such things falling from his mouth. 

A kiss to your throat, the nip of teeth gentle against your jaw. Perhaps, if you were any less enraptured with the thrill of his touch, you’d feel the small smirk that presses against your throat.

His breath is warm, though you nearly jolt as one finger presses slowly, languidly into you; you keen as he groans, feeling your tight warmth envelop him. 

A very slow torment as he begins to move his fingers against you - you’ve grown rather speechless in pleasure.  Eyes lidded, cheeks hot, lips parted as you watch him; and he nods smally, murmuring, “-Is this what you needed?” 

A kiss to your lips, silencing any broken response that attempts to fall from your hungry mouth, fingers curling to fist his tunic as slowly, another finger joins his first. 

His other hand, a strong grasp - he guides your hips in a slow roll that leaves you both breathless and gasping, your slow peak building after only a few moments. 

Once again, his forehead falls against yours; the uneven stutter of his breath falls against your skin as he watches you intently, eyes gauging every sound you make, each furrow of your brow in pleasure as he takes you apart. “You mustn't-” You swallow, unused to your voice laced with such desperate pleasure, “-you mustn't dare stop,” 

He dares to chuckle against your throat - a brief vibration as fingers press deeper into you, reaching the spot within that has your eyes rolling to the ceiling; you’re suddenly staring at him wide-eyed as his thumb finds your clit, and with a near whimper, you buck your hips. 

And then he pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours - his thumb still lazily circles over you, pushing you closer to the precipice with every pulse of heat. His countenance is more gentle, though he watches your body keen into his touch with brows furrowed and a strong inhale. 

“Tonight,” He murmurs, thumb stroking excruciating strokes over you, “I will take you as my wife, and you will take me as your husband.” 

You’re nearing the very edge of bliss, muscles rigid, his voice low and thick as you buck against him. “We will finally have each other. Completely.” He promises, his stormed eyes never leaving yours. It mounts such pleasure; your eyes flicker to the armoire, wondering how he might use his strength later this evening to rid you of the gown’s intricacies; how his touch might burn you - how your touch might burn him. 

How he might sound, as he finally pushes inside of you - taking you, as you’ve so yearned for him to; how you might one day be gifted by the Gods and swollen with his babe, round and glowing. How he might give you many children, and they will be rooted with the same fierce durability, same gentleness, the same love their parents have forged their whole lives. 

Shivers down your spine as Cregan’s hand cants your jaw to face him once more, cradling your flushed cheek as his fingers take you apart so easily - so intimately, so knowing. 

How could it ever be anybody else? 

And that gentleness, so at odds with the raw need in his touch, so known by you - he, so known by you - each slow stroke of his fingers within you, dragging pleasure in waves. He says your name and it echoes in the pounding of your heart.

“Tonight, I will make certain that you feel all of me.”

You’re helpless at the pleasure he’s built - his thumb moves with a maddening precision as you clutch him, sage and pine and wildflowers and love; your lips part with a moan, the last threads of control loose.

“Do you wish for that?” he murmurs, thumb pressing down just slightly harder, sending a fresh wave of heat through you as you desperately try to stave off your crest if only in hopes he will never cease the words that fall from his honeyed lips. “Have you yearned for it, every night as I have?” 

You are unable to respond as his words and ministrations bring you to your crest of pleasure, shuttering as your body bends into your peak. He grunts when your hand tugs at his tresses; though his hand does not cease as your cunt clenches around him, pleasure swirling and clouding your mind. “Yes,” you moan out finally, ecstasy pulsing through you as his lips trail over your jaw with jagged breaths. 

His name, pressed from your lips into his heated skin as he guides you slowly through your wave. “Cregan,” You exhale breathlessly, lips pressing to his skin as you begin to fall from your peak, aftershocks tremoring through you. 

His hand, leaving your hip to soothe up your spine - and an awakening of hunger when he presses you against the hard line of his own arousal; a shiver at the craving hunger it awakes within you. 

Your legs have lost their tight rigidity; you are rather slumped within his grasp, the afterwave of your peak rendering you rather sensitive. His fingers slide out of you slowly, and you watch with parted lips as he brings his hand between your heaving chests. 

A hunger rekindled when his fingers slide past his own lips, a grunt as he tastes you upon his tongue; and a whimper from yourself involuntary and helpless, unable to do anything more than pant in desire. He must see the hidden desire, as he grows merciful - with a slow motion he drags his thumb, to you - and slicked with yourself, over your bottom lip. 

Your taste on your own tongue - earthy, mountain thyme and desire - sends a shiver of unknown desire through you - never in your darkest, impurest desires could you have imagined Cregan here, as he presses his thumb past your parted lips and upon the flat of your tongue. You stir against him and his breath hitches; a promise of the eve to come as he pulls his hand away from you. 

It is upon his lap, with his arms around the bend of your spine, that you rest - within the heart of Winterfell’s castle come clangings, shouts of merriment as the beginning of the celebrations are set. 

Your cheek upon his shoulder, his head against yours as you both relish the small bit of solitude you’ll have before you rejoin finally within your marital chambers this evening. 

And, as it came, the day advances once more. 

Your heartbeats have slowed, though his arousal is a present reminder pressed against the soft of your inner thigh; he presses his lips to your temple, emitting a reluctant sigh. 

“I regret to leave you.” 

You knew it would come; though you mind not, for in only a few hours, you will be with him once more. 

“-but there are preparations yet to be made.” His fingers trace a gentle path along your neck - similar in devotion and exploration as the one you trail over his sturdy chest. 

A playful thought crosses your mind as you consider him returning to his own chambers to prepare for your wedding: “Will you be shaving before the wedding, my Lord?”

Cregan's brow arches - perhaps at your use of his title or the question itself, as he inquires in response, “Would you prefer I do?” 

You beam at him, cheeks heating in memory of the first time he’d asked you if you’d prefer he shave: No older than ten-and-four, when he’d returned from the Wall with his Lord father and you’d faked horror at the sight of the stubble gracing his young visage for the first time. He’d not listened to you then, though you were rather boisterous and impressionable as a young girl.  

Much has changed. 

“Yes,” You decide after a moment. He grins at you and it sends your heart into a race, his hand pulling your inner wrist up to his lips. 

“Then it is done,” He decides, stubble tickling your soft skin as he presses a chaste kiss to your wrist. “I will call your handmaids back, if you wish.” 

A gentle nod from you and he presses a kiss to your warm cheek, returning to his full height and setting your rather unstable legs onto the stone floor. 

“I will see you this eve, my love.” he promises; your heart flutters at the term.

And after one last kiss to your knuckles, you watch him shut the oak doors of your chambers - the wind howls down the slopes outside, though Winterfell shines cold and unstirred. In the distance, the bleeding leaves of the heart tree shimmer, spreading a warmth through your chest as you slowly ease yourself back into the tub, waiting for the maidens to return and begin the preparations. 

Birds chirp outside; there is already a new signet and silver wax prepared and sitting upon your desk - it boasts the sigil of the Direwolf. It is forever yours.

taglist/moots ; @softspiderling @cregan-starks @useralba @dipperscavern @benjinotes @earth4angels @nightfyres @astrxq @oldtowrs @ficlovegirlie @sanzuandmikey @dozcan123 @inkandarsenic @writtenapoiogy @vee-mage @xxselenite @cregnstark @princessvelaryon @princessbellecerise @hxtd @divinesolas @bucksplum @manhandlememando @housetargaryenloyalist @v3lary0ns

[ammoniteflesh]

Some rambly thoughts on the player choices thing.

[Context.]

It is really not difficult to account for player choice, actually. If variable=true, use this bit of text. If variable=false, use this other text. It's that easy!

I get that Bioware has a LOT of different choices to account for, and there is a level of difficulty inherent in that. But, to be blunt, that is the entire job of ludic storytelling. You're making an RPG; that's what you're here to do. If accounting for player choice is becoming an inconvenience rather than an opportunity then that, to me, suggests that you are not making great use of the medium.

Epler's discussion of the location shift is also one I have capital-t Thoughts about. And it actually took me right back to when Inquisition came out! Remember the Dalish elf boon in DA:O? The land granted to the Dalish in the Hinterlands? I did, and I was so disappointed to see no sign of it in Inquisition.

The stuff Epler is saying here is straightforwardly correct: moving to a new location between games is a fantastic idea when it comes to player choice. To this day, I wish Inquisition had been set entirely in Orlais rather than returning us to Ferelden. Moving to a new location lets you show the consequences of player action without getting bogged down in the thorny implications. DA2 did this beautifully - you can bump into the last members of House Harrowmont, on the run from Bhelen's people! You can find that one shipment of blood to the Wardens, if you let Avernus keep doing his thing!

But the crucial thing here is that the stuff I just described still acknowledges player choice. Because you're not in Ferelden at the minute, you can throw that stuff in there without it derailing the plot. You don't have to answer a billion questions about it, you can just let the player speculate. But it gives you that excitement of knowing you made a difference to the world, and that the world continues to turn even when you aren't looking at it.

In some ways this is a corner that the franchise started painting itself into with DA:I. When you shift from 'a series of relatively self-contained stories set in the same world' to 'an ongoing meta-plot', you have to make adjustments for that. And teething problems are inevitable.

I think I've shown my bias here: I kinda think that making that shift at all was a bad idea, tbth. I don't really want or need to know what's up with every weird thing that happens in Thedas - I much prefer it as a big world full of strange corners. I like the idea that not all of the consequences of my actions will be immediately apparent, that things will keep ticking away without me, that I can brace for an explosion that might never happen.

But if you are making that shift then you need to commit to it, dammit. And this doesn't feel like the way.

[goldsbitch]

Not on the menu

Making out in public is not something to be shameful, right?

light smut, minors DNI, angst

note: this is my first Franco fic. this man came, served and what are we suppose to do?!

When it feels this good, it's worth breaking few rules.

You and Franco. Very well protected love affair. A fling. Just two young people who somehow end up in each other's beds whenever the opportunity arises.

Working in F2 as one of the production assistants was more exciting than one might think. Everyone would always praise F1, the size of the teams, the budgets, the glam surrounding it. F2 was different, more loose and less on the spotlight. Full of professionals, who just like drivers, worked their asses off just for a chance to progress into F1. But you were just so young, just starting and unlike with the drivers, you had no rush, plenty of time for that in the next years. It was all about learning, getting to know people and also, occasionally, having some good fun. It's hard to keep young people on a leash. Lot of travel involved, hotel rooms and many people mingling around, leads to just one thing. It wasn't special or albeit scandalous to fool around with a fellow crew member, in fact many marriages started like that, no matter the rank or department. Life on the road has its habits.

So when you first ended up on a dance floor with the ever-so-charming Franco at one of the opening events for F2, it was not such a surprise that you ended at his hotel room. Way less wondering eyes and almost no glam was at these evenings, the exact opposite of F1.

By some miracle, you managed to keep it a secret, apart from few closest friends, who served as an excuse for you two to actually hang out together. These few trusted souls witnessed their fair share of tipsy make outs and laughed collectively at your hickeys, which turned out to be his speciality. You never texted, never addressed your fling when sober. Deep down you knew you were curious to see how he was as a serious partner. But he never gave off that kind of a vibe. So you protected yourself, remained cool and decided that this was the peak your relation would ever be, and that was ok enough.

"So what about you and Franco?" a friend of you both asked you, once again. You hated when she did that. In her mind, it would be a great idea to have two of her friends together. But the truth was, she was way closer with him than you were. Nothing wrong with that, but it only reminded you of how shallow your interaction were. In order to keep you dignity while fooling around with a player, you pretended to be one as well. "You know how these things are, it's just physical. I don't think he's the kind of person I'd like to date." False. You knew that, but..! You stayed on the ground, he was just a bit out of your league. Simple as that. Soon enough he was gonna catch the eye of some model and you'll be old news. The whole thing would be way worse if anyone knew that you would actually be open to at least try and date him. It was hard to stop the daydreaming sometimes. "Yeah, that makes sense," was the only thing your friend, disappointed by your response, answered. You only wondered if she had conversations like this with him as well about you.

Life was good that one evening in August. At the time, you had no idea it will the last evening of that era. It was one of the typical dinners the wealthier members of the teams organized, a nice chill place to wind down after stressful days. You were sat few places from Franco, who was charming as ever. Raining smiles on everyone and stealing glances with you.

A text notification - Bathroom?

You gulped, locked eyes with him and gave a small nod. His smile was probably crafted specifically for you, somewhere in the depths of hell. Impossible to resist.

He got up and you followed a minute later, giving a knowing look to your mutual friend. She understood and happily covered for you in case someone else caught on.

It wasn't exactly the right thing to do, lock yourself in a room dedicated for nursing mothers. But better than blocking a bathroom.

"Aren't you a little old to be in this room?" you asked when you joined him and secured the door behind you. He was leaning over a counter, fingers tapping on the top. "I can't help it, I am hungry," Franco responded and gestured you to come closer to him. With a challenging look, you took few steps towards him. "This is a restaurant, you're at the right place."

"The things I want are not on the menu." He was done playing sneaking around and crashed his lips onto yours, as if to prove his hunger. He was just too good with his tongue. Taking you, like his little victim, making you forget the outside world still existed. His hand went to grab your neck, behind your ear, because by then he had figured out that keeping you in check was the thing that made your knees weak. His lips were locked with yours, in heated frenzy, not allowing any breath to be wasted. You knew how to play the game as well, and with a soft bite into his lower lip, drawing a gasp from him, you pulled away slightly, not allowing him to take full control. "Oh," he said, trying to steal another kiss from you while you pulled away more with satisfied smile. "Is this how it is now?" he continued, tone laced with intrigue and challenge. Your tongue reached to lick his lips once again. His hand suddenly lessened the pull towards him. "Oh, hermosa," he whispered, "two can play this game." Butterflies occupied your stomach. He stepped back and to your questioning look responded with another bloody wink. And then, then he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up in the air and sat on the counter. You gasped, only amusing him more. Lost for words, you only raised your eyebrows. "Better," he said and with audacity only young boys have lifted your shift up. Without much of a thought you put your arms up and helped him get you slightly more naked. His eyes were shamelessly focus on your chest. "Almost there," he said and gestured towards your bra. "Go on. Take this horrible thing off." You chuckled, because as charming and suave he was, taking a bra off was a moment where he failed each time. Desire fueled you into making this quick. Now that you were sat, his eyes were at a similar lever to your boobs and there was something hot about his hungry look, watching you undress even more. Once you were finally fully bare, he observed you and the locked eyes with you once again.

"Pretty," was the only thing that he said before putting his lips on your left nipple for a gentle peck and then on the right one, which received a light bite. He decided to stay focused on that one, few kisses here and there and began to suck on it while his hand pinched the left one. Arrows of pleasure flew into your lower belly. He knew your weakness, he must have because this was sending you into other dimensions. Anything that feels this ecstatic would make anyone crumble. Whatever he did seemed to always work on you. He wasted no time with gentle touches. Not enough time for that. After nearly sending you over the edge with his lips dancing around and sucking on your nipple, moved a bit upwards and went for his signature move - marking your breasts with hickeys so purple it would take a week to heal. You bend your head backwards, trying to contain any loud noises your body wanted you to make in reaction to his actions. Another twirl around your sensitive nipple, bite into your skin and a hard squeeze. You did not want him to stop, too deep in it to think straight. But that must have been his plan from the beginning, because he put you on edge and then back away. You almost let a soft "No..." escape your mouth. With a puzzled look you slowly came down and remembered you were still in public. Heavy breaths and you gulped your way back to normal. He stepped back a bit and observed his mark on you. With an approving nod, he had the audacity to fix his boner up so that it was not so obvious. "Looking forward to seeing you later?" he asked with a tone that indicated the answer was obvious. You just nodded and reached for your bra, hoping his hickey was low enough it would not be visible. But, he had never made that kind of a mistake. You hopped down and gave him one more kiss, a slow and gentle this time, before he parted back to the dinner table. You joined in a minute, after fixing yourself up and trying to make your cheeks less red. Thankfully, there was only one another amused person when you came back to the table. Your friend raised her brows at you and drank her wine as if nothing ever happened.

Everything shower, hair on point, favorite perfume - you were all set and ready for how the evening would inevitably progress. This time you even made sure to clean your room. You got too comfortable with your expectations. Watching his every move, you noticed immediately when his expression changed from a casual smile to focused frown when reading a text on his phone. Was it something serious? Would he confide in later, sometimes it happened by accident. Secrets shared among tangled sheets. He got up and sent you a cheeky wink. You had to bite your cheek in order to stop the smile your body wanted to respond with, a small bruise burning inside your bra.

It took you fifteen minutes to realize he was not coming back from his phone call. You had his number, you could easily text him. But you didn't. And just like that, he was off to F1.

[olderthannetfic]

I accidentally killed my own desire to write, and I need some advice. To be really blunt about it, what's the point of writing? When I would spend lots of time laboring over making a good story with a plot and characters who were in-character and connecting all the dots narratively so payoffs were satisfying, my reward was dead silence and virtually no clicks. I posted some mindless smut to my side account one day and got more hits in a day than most of my other works combined got in a year. I know, I know. "Write for ~*~yourself~*~" is the common response. It's the "be yourself!" of writing. It's supposed to be a magical phrase that'll make everything okay. But... I don't like knowing that something I spend months working on won't be read by anyone while something I write in a car while bored got thousands of clicks. I don't like making something I'm proud of and then no one ever looks at it. That's not fun for me. It's not fulfilling.

For a solid decade, I've tried to ignore how the level of interactivity in fandom is falling. Fewer comments. Fewer kudos. No comments in the bookmarks. You put your tumblr and Discord in the AN and get a handful of asks and one person who adds you, talks to you twice and then ghosts you. Most of the comments are "well, actuallys", made even more annoying by them being wrong as opposed to actually correcting an error. I avoid fandom drama, wank, and infighting. I don't engage with things I know will make me unhappy. I try to be happy over in my own little corner. I comment on every single work I read. I want people to enjoy fandom. I used to.

Some dumb smut I wrote in 40 minutes gets five times the hits of the writing I'm most proud of, and it gets it in just under three months. I am not a great smut writer. I haven't stumbled onto an incredible talent I had that makes it so the issue is that I'm so amazing my smut brings all the boys to the yard. People just don't like what I write and put effort into. It's very likely that despite 20 years of writing fic, I suck at writing. And people enjoy my writing most when they don't have to put up with anything substantial and can just skip to the sex.

So for the last eight months, when I write, I just sort of give up. Close the Word doc without saving. No one will read this. No one cares about this. There is no fan eagerly awaiting every update like I await updates from my favorite authors. There's not even someone saying, "update soon!" Close the Word doc. Delete old WIPs. There's no point. I do not tell stories worth reading. I used to. In the FFN days people genuinely enjoyed my work. I'd never have had an opportunity to do the 'I won't update until I get 3 reviews' thing because getting that many on a chapter was usually something I'd do overnight. Post before bed. Wake up. Read the reviews before school. I peaked in high school, I guess.

And now I'm just sort of lost. I still have lots of ideas. Ideas for fics fall into my head all the time. That's never been a problem. What I don't have is any motivation to write them. What's the point of writing? If no one else is reading, I guess the point would be so I could go back and read my own story and have fun with it. Write for myself. But I can review the story and have fun with it in my head without writing it down. It's substantially faster and more importantly, isn't incredibly depressing.

So, at the risk of definitely being calld the second-coming of True Art Anon or a troll or validation-seeking or haha mentally ill haha... what's the point of writing?

--

Okay, so write porn in a car while you're bored.

Look, you can whine all you want about my response, but what you've written here is blatantly about depression.

Lots of people in fandom are still interacting. And no, it isn't just on fics that are objectively written to some pro fiction standard or whatever. Teenagers still breathlessly review poorly spelled cracky masterpieces about this year's big anime and so forth.

Yes, there may be reasons why you in particular are in a slump when it comes to fandom friendships or "plz update" comments. We can talk about that. But this ask is all gloom about fandom in general. That's not realism: that's you having a problem.

--

As for why a person should write: because the actual hours you spend doing the writing are fun.

If they aren't pleasurable in some way, find another hobby.

--

But if you want an answer to the age old "Why did my 5 minute fic get 1000000x more asspats", I've seen meta about this for literally decades.

The most likely reason is that the fic we write quickly and without much thought often feels fresher and more fun. The things we labor over endlessly can feel overworked. Even in cases where they don't, they're often heavier subject matter or more niche subject matter. On top of all that, we just care more, so even a high level of feedback doesn't really feel like enough for the effort and care we put in.

--

Do you really need me to tell you why you don't feel the same as in high school when things were fresh and new?

Go read up on combatting burnout or dealing with post-college anxiety or managing stress in a dead-end job in your 30s or finding meaning in your 40s or whatever is going on.

Everyone goes through fallow periods in fandom and in life.

Feeling reinvigorated has to do with internal factors and some general life circumstance stuff. It doesn't have that much to do with number of kudos. That's just the surface trigger for a mood that was already there.

[angelyuji]

I saw this post

https://www.tumblr.com/angelyuji/760364279022190592/vampire-stan-and-frankensteins-monster?source=share

And I raise you Dr. Frankenstein Ford with Frankenstein's monster reader, but instead of rejecting you he gets a little too invested in his creation....

oh u cooked. i honestly think i started with dr frank ford but i was like technically he’s human but anyway no smut sorry

tw // grooming, dubcon, (i cant think of anymore so pls lmk if i missed any)

he first created you to see if he could create life, to see if his genius is truly that great. then when you first breathed, he felt like he truly created something amazing. you are supposed to be better than him, better than humans. but... he doesn’t really see you as your own person, to him, you are and forever will be his creation.

at first, his goal was just to teach you how to act like a regular joe yk. so when you ask him why you look so different from people outside, he’ll get scared that you’ll be treated like he was when he was younger and he’ll try to scare you into staying inside.

it’ll work, but you’ll grow restless. watching movies and shows about humans making you increasingly more curious. he never lets you watch anything explicit, fearing that it would dirty your pure mind. however, when ford leaves for his research trips, you take the opportunity to watch movies that he had 'hidden' away.

“ford, have you ever kissed anyone before?” ford chokes at the question. you sit across from him.

“why-why are you asking such a thing?” he clears his throat, composing himself. you pout and ford's eyes drift down your lips.

"i saw in the movies that every human does this." he could see the innocence in your eyes, you were truly curious.

ford swallows, carefully choosing his words, "my darling, you shouldn't fall for these things. humans are disgusting, debaucherous creatures. haven't i told you to not watch these silly things?" he shakes his head, hoping you would drop it. you stomp your foot.

"humans are not disgusting!" your eyes well up, "i am disgusting!" you pull at the stapes and stitches holding various parts of you together. ford gets up, trying to stop you. "no one will ever love me." you wail and run off to your room.

ford's so confused on where the sudden shift in your behavior, but hours pass and you remain locked in your room. fearing the worst, ford decides to talk to you.

he sits at the edge of your bed, watching you silently lay. “kissing… and similar things,” you turn to look at him, “are things humans do with people they love. it’s not something that-”

“i love you. does that mean we can kiss?” your eyes shine and something stirred in him.

“no! i mean-” he sees the tears well up.

“you don’t love me?” your voice breaks and his heart stings. he moves to your side. he gently pets your hair, hand falling to rub your cheek affectionately.

“my darling, you are my creation, my world… of course, i love you.” ford coos. you open your mouth to talk and he holds a hand up to stop you. “if this is something you need, i will do this for you…." his hand touches yours, "i would do anything for you.”

GULP ….. anyway

it’s very much a weird situation but… im kinda into it idk

[aziraphales-library]

Hi,

Could I ask for some roommate fics? A little pining is great but I'm not a huge fan of too much angst.

There is one roommate fic I remember that I'd love to find again, it was set during lockdown, and azirphale was a virgin but was talking to Agnes on zoom with plans to date. Crowley offers to teach him about sex, and it gets physical, even though they're straight buddies ..of course. 😏

Thankyou

We have a #roommates tag. Here's the one you're looking for and a few more to add...

Not a Mounted Dildo but a Fuck Machine by NaroMoreau, summerofspock (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley have lived together for three years when lockdown goes into effect. When Aziraphale meets a nice girl on Tinder who he thinks is his perfect match, he's delighted. There's just one hurdle: that pesky virginity thing. Lucky for him, Crowley has always been there for him. He's helped Aziraphale with every other problem through the years, why not this one?

Tinder Dates Gone Wrong by OceanLace (E)

Aziraphale decides to take a risk and brings a man home but doesn't realize that his roommate and best friend had the same idea. Things don't turn out the way either of them were expecting but end up exactly how they wanted.

Principles of Proximity by Cannebady (E)

Crowley's plan is to get through grad school in one piece and then live his bachelor dream life. With a less-than-wholesome upbringing and no real human ties to speak of, he's made a life for himself. It's just fine, actually. And he's fine too, while you're at it. Enter new roommate, Aziraphale, who just might teach him the benefits of putting down roots.

…And They Were Roommates by Mimsynims (E)

“You know… I just remembered that Richard and I were going away for a few days next month.” Something devious came over him. “Richard paid for it, but the booking is in my name.” Crowley quickly caught on to what he was getting at. “Ooh, I see. That’s convenient.” He grinned. “For us." When Aziraphale's boyfriend Richard (Dick) breaks up with him, he and his roommate Crowley hijacks an intended couples' vacation and uses it for themselves. Lines that had started to blur even before their trip gets even more blurry - which perhaps isn't the best thing when both are hiding a crush on the other (and communication isn't their strong suit).

make it with you by NaroMoreau (E)

PAID RESEARCH OPPORTUNITY: A romantic couples study!! ------ Aziraphale and Crowley are broke roommates who are struggling to keep up with rent and a harsh landlord. After Crowley loses his job and Aziraphale's bookshop hasn't managed to make enough profit, they'll resort to anything to save what they love, and when they come across with the idea of a paid study for couples... Because some ideas are good until they aren't.

You Can Stay At My Place (And We Can Fall in Love) by IneffableToreshi (E)

Anthony Crowley is an art student with a heart of gold and a broad assumption about himself and his own (apparent lack-of) sexuality. When he meets literary student Aziraphale, he thinks he's found a great friend and possibly the perfect roommate. But when an exceptionally idiotic idea turns into Aziraphale reluctantly agreeing to pretend to be Crowley's boyfriend, Crowley rapidly realizes that he may not have been nearly so asexual as he originally thought...

10,000 Hours by AnnaTheHank (E)

Rich playboy Anthony Crowley has finally broken the last straw. He's been disowned by his grandmother, and turned away by his family. With no money and no where to go, he heads to the old family cabin to lay low until it all blows over. Romance writer A.Z. Fell has been given use of her publisher's cabin to get away from the city and work on her newest book-her first erotica. Neither expected the other to be there, but there they both were. And AZ finds that Crowley's vast knowledge of sex may just make up for her own lacking knowledge when it comes to writing her book.

- Mod D

[aerithmybbgmypookiemywife]

Toy Salesman! Childe x Partner! Reader

your husband is a travelling toy salesman, but is he really just a travelling salesman?

A toy salesman who played a balalaika arrived at your village and quickly became the talk of the town. Not only did he have handsome looks but he was charming too, parents also commented that his toys seemed to be of good quality so they approved of him.

You met him when your little brother wouldn't shut up about wanting a new toy, so your parents told you to accompany him to the toy salesman. As soon as you laid eyes on him, he was the prettiest man you have ever seen... You found his red-tinted nose from the cold cute too.

A little flirty too... But... it turns out it was only towards you.

The short fling didn't last long as he had to leave the village for another one. You thought that was the last time you'd ever have anything close to love but you were wrong. As he came back... and back again... again... again... again...! Soon, your relationship that was just a fling turned into... being a couple!

"Childe!" you smiled as you ran up to him, he opened his arms as he wore that charming smile on his face. You jumped right into his arms as he held you tight, spinning you around a little out of excitement. "You're back... I missed you..." you mumbled as you buried your face in his neck.

He let out a small laugh, "Yeah... It's really great to be back to you." he slowly placed you down and kissed the top of your head. "Come on! My brother was waiting for you... My mother also cooked some soup for us!" you told him but he grabbed your hand, stopping you. You turned to him, confused.

But your eyes widened when he slowly showed a gold ring, before he could even say a thing, you just hugged him and kept chanting 'Yes!'.

The wedding was simple, it was held in the town square. You were surrounded by family, friends, and neighbors during your special day which made you happy but... Leaving them for another town did hurt a little.

"Are you sure? Why can't you both just settle here?" your mother asked. "Well... Childe's work requires him to go from town to town so we decided it'd be best to just move somewhere that can help him with his job." you replied. Your father sighed, "I... still don't really understand what you see in him. He isn't rich, and I fear for your future as he's just a mere toy maker." he commented, your mother smacked his arm.

"Dear, if you ever feel lonely or if anything happens, you can always come back here. You're always welcome back here in the village, alright? Don't hesitate to ask for our help." your mother told you to which you nodded.

You said your final goodbyes and soon set off with Childe to a bigger town with bigger opportunities. When you arrived at your supposed new home, you were surprised! It was huge! You asked how he was even able to afford it to which he just laughed off and said that he saved up.

Things were going great between the two of you, you were starting to adjust to your life there but... Something seemed off... Like Childe was hiding something... It's just... Suspicious how much money he spends to spoil you... Could he really earn that much money as a toy salesman?

Of course, you were grateful, but at the same time it... was suspicious...

Childe seemed to notice you were deep in thought, "Is there something wrong Y/n?" he asked, hands wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. The two of you were in bed making it a little harder to try to avoid his question.

You hummed in response. "Really?? It seems like you're mad at me... you avoided my kiss this morning." He told you to which you let out a small laugh, "I just got embarrassed because of my morning breath, I just woke up at that time." You replied. It wasn't really a lie... you hated giving kisses when you still hadn't freshened up in the morning but at the same time, you had your suspicions that you didn't really know the full truth of his job.

He didn't say another word and only just hummed in response. You then closed your eyes, thinking that was the end of it only to get jumpscared when he starts leaving wet kisses on your neck.

Safe to say the two of you got intimate that night as you folded so quickly, under zero pressure too. You cursed at yourself in the morning though as you were too sore to even try to investigate what your husband could be doing behind your back.

The following day, you decided to go to the snowy forest, you just chose to distract yourself from any useless thoughts. You were looking for snowberries to make a lotion with. "Hmm... I should give Childe a lot of it... His hands are rough and calloused after all." you mumbled. You soon notice a familiar figure, that build... That structure... That height... Hair... Oh my god...? "Childe!" You shouted his name.

He turned to you, his facial expression looked like he was glaring at you for a second before switching to a smile. "My love! What brings you here?" He asked. Weird, he's not one to call you pet names. "I thought you were supposed to be in another town, what are YOU doing here?" you asked as you looked around.

"Where's your toy st-" he cut you off. "That's not important. Look... How about we just head home, hm?" he asked as he gave you a smile. Weird... Very weird... His smile didn't make your heart skip. Instead, it left a shiver down your spine...

"Al... Alright..." you mumbled as he started heading towards the town, you followed him from behind. Your gut tells you something is very wrong... But you just can't put your finger to i-

Wait... He doesn't have his toy stand... he usually has that... Plus why would he be in a forest- Oh... Oh...!

"Childe... Have you... Thought of something to do on our anniversary for tomorrow yet?" you asked. "Hm? That? Hmm... Maybe we should go to the town for a date." he responded. Your anniversary was months away.

You stopped on your tracks, who the fuck was this man? You knew damn well Childe would never ever forget your anniversary, that... that... weird feeling in your gut... it was... Telling you to run.

So there you go, you fucking booked it. You turned your heel around and started running away from it. It was hard to run away in your heavy clothes, you felt like you were being suffocated or you were running out of air from how much you panted.

It quickly noticed you running away but you didn't dare turn back to see how far away it was from you. That was NOT your husband, that was an imposter... If so then... Where is Childe now?? Is he dead?? What the absolute fuck is happening!?!

You could hear a loud rustle of feathers behind you, why would it sound like fathers...? God it just confused you even mo- "AAAAAAHHHH....!!!!" You let out a loud scream as the creature seemed to have flown in front of you. You abruptly stopped running, causing you to fall down, butt first in the snow.

You couldn't even describe what the fuck you were looking at right now... It looked like a crow but... Big...??? It was frightening... And that... Fucking eyes... It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Ah... How did you even know? It was a perfect disguise..." It spoke as you only trembled in fear, slowly backing away. Is this how you die...?? On the hands of a monster, you don't even know about...? It slowly approached you...

You whimpered in fear as you quickly started backing away, your body froze when your back hit a tree. Was this really how you die?? Without knowing whether your husband is dead or alive?? Oh god... What happens after it kills you?? Will it kill other people in the town too?? What will it do to you?? Is it going to eat you alive or just kill you firs-

*Thud*

You watched the creature's head fall to the ground. Your lower lip trembled as your body felt pure relief when you saw Childe holding some sort of weapon. The head opened its mouth but Childe just crushed it. Childe had an indifferent look on his face, his eyes looked lifeless but...

He looks up at you, his eyes having a gentle gaze. "Y/n..." he rushed to you as he wrapped you around his arms, you held him tight as you sobbed. "Hey... It's okay now, I'm here..." he reassured you.

You didn't know the full truth of his job, but it might be better to not know more. All you knew was that Childe would never bring harm to you.

[corviiids]

ooh idk if you've talked about this one before, but what about goro akechi for the kira game?

HI RAPS

verdict: im prepared for this to be controversial, but consider this: ive never been wrong in my whole life. i think goro akechi could beat kira, but i don't know if he'd be happy with the outcome.

could goro akechi identify light yagami

im answering this one first because i want to make a point about this. listen. i feel like due to akechi's whole Plot where he Fakes Solving Cases For Clout, people forget that he actually is a really smart person and a good detective. like, he's not the super prodigy genius he pretends to be, but he's not a fake detective. he faked solving those shutdown cases for extremely specific reasons:

he was the fucking perpetrator so it served him to take control of the public understanding of the investigation into them and control the narrative; and

those cases were particularly high profile and would have been impossible to solve by anyone else, so 'solving' them would catapult him into notoriety faster than anything else - it was a clout speedrun, which is what he and shido needed.

but there are numerous other cases and puzzles in various bits of p5 media that he solves without faking them, plus we see plenty of occasions where he demonstrates his high intellect. the casino is a great example because i feel like the game takes that palace as an opportunity and relishes in letting you know what akechi can really do. the anime and the mementos mission manga both have subplots where akechi solves / helps to solve legitimate mysteries. and of course the famed unused mementos request in p5r which i think about all the time. it's kind of a shame that akechi's fake cases end up overshadowing all his real ones when he's a legitimately competent detective, even if he's not the impossible prodigy he projects as and even if he's nowhere near the level L is.

of course there's also the obvious one! while we are all aware that the phantom thieves are the least subtle people on the planet, and all ren's confidants eventually work it out just because he's so deeply unsubtle about it, it is still the case akechi identified them as persons of interest very early on, before pretty much anyone else (partly by intellect, partly by his metaverse advantage, i'll get to that). that's relevant because i think the phantom thieves are reasonably analogous to kira in the sense that they're utilising supernatural methods to target individuals which are untraceable via ordinary means.

now i dont think akechi could identify kira nearly as quickly or cleanly as L could, but i do think that if you placed him in charge of the investigation with all the investigative resources of the prosecutor's office / police department, he would be able to identify light as at least a person of interest in a reasonable amount of time, for two main reasons

light is more sneaky than the phantom thieves, but also makes the same kinds of identifiable mistakes that the PT do (eg targeting people in a set area, operating in such a way that it's possible to identify him as a student, being easily provoked, etc); and

unlike L, akechi has supernatural powers.

which brings me to:

could goro akechi intuit the mechanics of the death note

no, i don't think so, not on his own. but he wouldn't need to, because he has access to the metaverse.

we're back at the universe question. i think to fairly answer 'could they beat kira' questions we have to give our detective character all the advantages they have access to in their home universe, which means that akechi not only has his intellect but also has the metaverse, his persona, and his experience traversing the collective unconscious. (by the way, here's my post about what if light yagami had a palace.)

which means that once goro akechi has identified light as a person of interest, not even needing to ID him as a particular suspect, he can check whether the metanav gives him a hit. then he could infiltrate light's palace / find him in mementos (let's be real it's gonna be a palace) and find out the rest of what he needs to know from there. the metaverse isn't only useful for changing hearts and causing shutdowns. shadows are very forthcoming about their evil plans. all akechi would need to do is find light's shadow, and he'd find out everything he needs to know about the death note and kira's new world.

(follow-up question for fun: if akechi didn't have the metaverse, would he be able to intuit the mechanics of the death note? i think that akechi would ultimately get to the same point as L, namely, that kira needs a name and a face, but the specifics of 'magic murder notebook' would escape him. so no.)

could goro akechi survive

i think this would really depend on the context in which this investigation is taking place, but broadly i think it's likely? not certain, but it's likely. it depends on how reactive light is and depends on how well akechi reads the kira situation early on.

akechi is pretty shrewd, with the exception of major blindspots where someone he has a grudge against is concerned (hence why he's vulnerable to shido and to ren's plots). but i think kira is dangerous enough that akechi would be on pretty high alert from the start. in canon he's cunning enough to make false statements to the media to trick the thieves into thinking he's at least partially on their side / not an unambiguous enemy (that's the same strategy used in romance ha ha ha) so i think once akechi identified a person of interest he wouldn't be stupid enough to publicise that he's closing in on them and would probably start leaking false theories to make light think he's completely off the trail - after all, unlike L, akechi's name and face are completely public, so it would be way too risky to make light feel cornered. it would be smartest to play up the shallow celebrity angle to make think light he's just a dumbass idiot talking a big game.

i think akechi would bank on kira's MO of only killing criminals. after all, light didn't try to kill L until L deliberately goaded him into it - it's unlikely that akechi would have a reason to think that light would try to kill him just for investigating. up until that point kira has been masquerading as an icon of justice, so it would (and canonically did) take a lot to make kira veer from that ideology into killing investigators just because they threatened him. however, it's not impossible given nobody really knows anything about kira at that stage, so while akechi might make it public information that he's investigating kira, he wouldn't let on that he thought light was a threat.

then he could either:

initiate a surprise raid on light to get the death note based on information gained from light's shadow - risky because if it goes wrong light will kill him, but this will net him the most glory

(pre-phantom thieves) kill light - stops the murders but means akechi doesn't get clout for solving the kira murders single-handedly, not preferable

(post-phantom thieves) change light's heart - akechi also doesn't get credit and would be reluctant besides

so it depends how we're defining success i guess. could akechi beat light by killing light? likely yes, by simply causing a shutdown before putting light on notice that akechi was on his trail at all. could akechi beat light by apprehending light? maybe, it depends, it's risky. could akechi beat light by changing his heart? only if the thieves are involved.

so i guess the answer is yes i think akechi has the capacity to beat kira but probably not in a way that akechi himself is satisfied with and it wouldn't be a sure thing. it could go either way.

[synthetickitsune]

hoshi,,,blind date,,,fluff

Hoshi (SVT) | Blind date fluff | 0.7k | gn!reader

The evening was… nice.

And that’s about all that you can say about it.

Honestly that is in part why you seldom say yes to blind dates. But since your one-plus-one deal coworker and trusted friend in one insisted you and their other friend Soonyoung should give it a try, you eventually agreed.

There was nothing wrong with him. He was nice. A little awkward, his shyness matching yours, but you didn’t mind much. He was laughing at your jokes a little too hard, but it was endearing. The conversation flowed well, he was kind, funny. Nice.  

Not to mention handsome. Maybe slightly cuter than a guy has any business being, but it works so well for him. It’s very charming, actually.

But for a date, it was nothing special - which is to be expected, of course. It was obvious he liked you, as much as you could like little more than a stranger, which made him less of a social butterfly than he is at the office (at least from what you could tell from his stories). You’re sure that the next date would be better since you’d be more familiar with each other, but honestly… Is it worth it? Perhaps you had too high expectations after a long and tiring week, just craving something magical to make the struggle worth it.

You feel slightly guilty for feeling that way when Soonyoung has been nothing but sweet the whole time, even now as you’re strolling along the river with the setting sun shining down on you, he’s great. It’s quiet, the comfortable kind of quiet. You’re grateful for the brief pause in conversation as you sip on the cold drink in your hand. 

The park on your other side is getting empty, but there’s still plenty of people chatting on the blankets having a late picnic. The insects are buzzing, the water is rippling. It all makes up a nice ambiance of dying summer.

While you’re pondering the pros and cons of a second date, the kids in front of you finally talk their parents into buying them some ice cream. Just as you’re passing by them, the youngest one tries to run away from its siblings and the ice cream suddenly splatters on the ground as they wobble. The kid looks at the mess like it’s the biggest tragedy to ever befall mankind.

You bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from laughing. Soonyoung next to you isn’t so successful.

He starts walking faster, about to burst, and his barely contained laughter only makes it that much more difficult for you so you match his pace, and then all it takes for you to lose it is one glance at each other. At least you’re out of earshot of the parents fussing over the kid.

“It’s not nice,” a shaky breath interrupted by laughter, “To laugh at something like that.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” you don’t take the scolding to heart, instead you try to calm your breathing. Which just makes Soonyoung laugh harder, which in turn makes you laugh again.

“We’re really messing up our karmas,” he finally manages to say relatively calmly after a couple minutes. He wipes at his eyes quickly and you take the opportunity to do the same.

“I’m so glad you started laughing first,” you take a deep breath, “I thought you’d judge me.”

“Never!” his hand shoots up to clutch at his chest as he acts all offended.

“Are you sure?” you tease, “I’d be very disappointed if that was a lie.”

“My sense of humor is really childish,” he waves you off. His ears look a little red. Soonyoung really is a bit too cute. And you still don’t mind.

“Yeah? Give me your worst joke,” And that challenge is your undoing. 

How you got here, sitting by the river and leaning on Soonyoung because you’re laughing so hard, you have no idea. It’s a blur - and the memory is filled by too many jokes that would just make your cheeks hurt more. He really wasn’t kidding, the jokes are bad. Horrible. Childish. And exactly your taste. And just what you both needed to relax and be comfortable apparently.

Somehow you’re still sitting there when the sky gets dark, just talking. The contrast of before and now is night and day. Suddenly you’re reluctant to leave even though you really should. And your date doesn’t seem too excited about the idea of leaving either - not even after you already scheduled another date.

Although you think just one more won’t be enough.

[leahrintarou]

HELLO GIRL HOPE YOU'RE DOING GOOD 😊

i wanted to request for dabi x fem!villain!reader. she loves dabi but he's a brat to her just like himself, like with everyone. and after one mission reader goes somewhere and drinks fuckload of alcohol and she's super lightweight so she's out after one/two shots. and that night she gets like tons of alcohol. so she's obviously drunk and she has no idea what she's doing and she calls dabi. and he cares for her he's just acting this way (i severely believe that he's the guy who falls for someone and IMMEDIATELY had a pushing away mechanism going on because of his past and stuff). and he comes to pick reader up and she's not even able to stand straight. like she's pretty fucked AMD SHE'S A BABY WHEN DRUNK, LIKE LITERALLY WHINING CRYING AND BEING A CUTIE. and he takes her with him and she has few more bottle hidden somewhere with her, and she keeps drinking and he's concerned because she's extra lightweight. but she keeps getting those bottles so he throws one of them out of the moving car window😆 and she's like why would you do that it was a great whiskey (or whatever she can drink). but she's not sad for long because she takes out another bottle, and he does the same thing. and after that she starts crying because it was her last bottle and he's so mean. AND then at night she gets sick because of all that alcohol she has earlier so she's having a huge fever, she feels like dying, so she whines a d cries about her feelings and him rejecting her and she confesses to him and says a lot of stupid things how pretty he it and how good he looks shirtless and stuff like that. AND then next day when she wakes up he teases her about it and she's embarrassed af, but it ends up fluff with him confessing back😊😊❤️❤️❤️

I'M SORRY IT'S SO LONG BUT I HAVE A LOT OF THINGS GOING ON IN MY HEAD AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SHORTEN MY THOUGHTS🤣🤣 I'M SORRY 😞 but i still hope you'll write it🥺

✩₊˚.⋆ RELUCTANT HEARTS - dabi/touya todoroki

CW: y/n is drunk, alcohol intoxication, communication issues, y/n's in love but dabi is being dabi, he doesn't know how to talk about his feelings, swearing, reader with she/her pronouns, non-detailed mentions of throwing up, fluff, some angst if u squint tbh.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: (i'm doing well, anon! :p) i hope you guys enjoy reading! it came out a bit longer than i was planning but oh well lol. leave a like or reblog to support!

the bitter warmth of alcohol lingered on y/n's tongue as she downed yet another shot. she'd long lost count after the eighth, the need for a chaser fading as the taste softened, dulled by her numbing senses. "ma'am, we'll be closing soon," one of the bartenders murmured, the same one who had filled her glass every few minutes without fail.

she nodded, her vision doubling with the motion. nausea crept up on her, and she sighed at the inevitable. a lightweight by nature, she usually capped her nights at fewer than ten shots when drinking alone, but tonight was a different story.

her solo mission had been successful, but not without needless resistance from heroes who showed no mercy. shigaraki had barely scolded her, while dabi took the opportunity to belittle her inefficiency. it wasn’t like her to slip up so badly, but dabi never missed a chance to hold her mistakes over her—so long as they bothered her, he’d never let her forget.

despite her hating the fact that she had to, y/n fumbled with her phone, squinting at the blurry screen before finally locating dabi’s number. her thumb slipped as she pressed call, the dial tone ringing painfully loud in her ear.

“what?” dabi’s voice was sharp, instantly irritated.

“touya…” she slurred, her words tumbling lazily. “i need… i need you to come get me,” she mumbled. there was a pause, then a scoff. “what the hell? you sound trashed. where are you?”

“uh… somewhere,” y/n mumbled, blinking as she tried to get her thoughts straight. “i’m just… out.”

“out? where’s ‘out,’ y/n?” his voice was flat, but she could hear the growing annoyance. “you’re not making any sense.”

“just… come get me,” she groaned, frustration bleeding into her slurred words. “i can’t… i can’t even walk straight.” she glanced down at her lap, where her free hand rested as she twisted the singular ring at the base of her index finger.

dabi snorted. “no shit, you’re drunk off your ass. what are you doing, wandering around aimlessly?”

“not wandering,” she mumbled. “i’m sitting.” a bit of annoyance crept into her voice. apparently, liquor couldn't stop dabi from pissing her off so quickly. “okay, sitting where?” he asked, now sounding both amused and irritated. “what? did you pass out in an alley or something?”

y/n rolled her eyes, which only made her dizziness worse. “ugh, no. i’m in a… bar.”

dabi paused, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “of course. a bar. you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“just come get me, touya,” she grumbled, her voice slurred but laced with irritation. “unless you want me to blow chunks on someone's shoes. your call.”

he clicked his tongue, clearly frustrated but now understanding the situation. “you’re such a mess, y/n. fine. send me the address.”

“yeah, yeah,” she muttered, fumbling to type it out. “thanks, touya.” she smiled to herself. "knew you'd come through even if you're a dick about it."

"don't push it," he snapped before hanging up. even though he'd put on an act like he didn't care, she knew he'd show up. and, despite himself, so did he.

---

it wasn’t long before the rumble of a car engine cut through the night air outside the bar. y/n groggily looked up as dabi stepped inside, his usual scowl firmly in place as his eyes swept the room. the second he spotted her slumped over in the booth, he shook his head and made his way over.

“seriously?” he grumbled as he stood in front of her, arms crossed. “this is the state you’ve gotten yourself into?”

y/n glanced up at him, her head spinning as she tried to focus. “don’t… don’t start,” she mumbled, her words slurring together. “i’m not in the mood for your shit.”

“too bad. you’re in no position to make demands,” he shot back, leaning down to help her up. he wrapped an arm around her waist, feeling her lean heavily against him. “let’s get you out of here before you make a scene.”

“hey, i can walk,” y/n protested half-heartedly, but the moment she tried to stand, her legs buckled beneath her. dabi’s grip tightened, and he half-dragged her toward the exit.

“yeah, sure you can,” he said dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm. “you’re a real lightweight, you know that?”

“shut up, touya,” she grumbled, though the annoyance in her voice was overshadowed by a hint of affection. “you’re not my dad.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, pushing open the passenger door of his car and easing her inside. “but someone has to make sure you don’t drown in your own stupidity.”

“whatever,” y/n muttered as she settled into the seat, her head resting against the window. “i could handle myself fine… if you weren’t so annoying.”

“annoying, huh?” he shot back, sliding into the driver’s seat and giving her a sideways glance. “you know, you called me. but hey, if you wanted my attention, this wasn’t the way to go about it.”

“because you’re the best at picking people up from bars,” she replied, a slight smirk on her lips. but then her expression faltered, and she turned serious. “i… i really appreciate it, you know?”

“don’t get all mushy on me,” he said, rolling his eyes. “it’s not like i’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. i’ve got a reputation to uphold, and rescuing your drunk ass is just good PR.”

“you’re such a brat,” y/n shot back, though her heart fluttered at his teasing. “i’d like to see you handle it better.”

“please, i wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” he replied, his tone dripping with disdain as he pulled away from the curb. “besides, if i didn’t show up, who else would have to deal with your mess? i’ve got a reputation to uphold, remember?”

“right, because you care so much about your reputation,” she said sarcastically, turning her gaze to the window, watching the city lights blur past. “you’re just here for the free entertainment.”

“entertainment? you think this is funny?” he replied, glancing at her with an eyebrow raised. “watching you stumble around like a newborn deer isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“well, at least i’m amusing,” y/n shot back, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “you should thank me for keeping your life exciting.”

“exciting, huh?” he scoffed. “more like a headache. i’d rather face a horde of heroes than babysit you in a bar.”

“oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “you secretly love it.” y/n reached into the pocket of her hoodie, pulling out the smaller bottle of alcohol she bought earlier.

“love it? not even close,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “you’re lucky i have a soft spot for lost causes.”

“lost cause, huh?” she challenged, feeling a rush of emotion she couldn’t quite suppress. she lifted it to her lips, taking a singular swig before it was snatched from her hands. a bit of it dripped down her chin, and dabi rolled his window down before throwing it out. the sound of the glass shattering against the pavement echoed a second later.

"what the hell, touya!" she yelled, using her sleeve to wipe the liquor from her face. "that was mine!" she fussed.

"not anymore," he said flatly, glancing at her before his eyes returned to the road. "you're not drinking any more tonight. it's a miracle you were even able to walk back there."

"you don't get to decide that," she snapped, a flash of anger igniting in her chest as tears pricked her eyes. but deep down, a familiar wave of emotions washed over her, stirring something fragile. "you're such a-"

"a what? a what?" he challenged, cutting her off. "a responsible person? you think i want to see you hurt yourself more than you already have?"

"you don't get it," she said, her voice trembling as her frustration morphed into something more vulnerable. "i don’t want to get it, y/n. stop doing this to yourself if you don't want to paint that image for your name."

“i’m not that bad.”

“keep telling yourself that,” he said, glancing at her as they hit a red light. “but here you are, drunk and needing a ride home.”

“yeah, well…” y/n started, but the warmth of the alcohol mixed with her frustration made her voice waver. “at least you came.”

“you really think that highly of yourself, huh?” he shot back, though there was a hint of something softer in his eyes. “just be grateful i did.” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “i am grateful, you jerk,” she said, her voice suddenly small as she looked down at her lap, fiddling with the ring on her finger. “you’re the only one who shows up when i need help.”

“yeah, well, don’t go getting all sappy on me,” he warned, trying to maintain his usual bravado, but the way his eyes softened gave him away. “it’s not like i’m doing this for the accolades.”

“sure, keep pretending you don’t care,” she replied, feeling the warmth of vulnerability creeping in. “but i see through your tough-guy act.” she shrugged.

“whatever,” he said, pulling into her driveway and turning off the engine. “let’s get you inside before you throw up in my car.”

“you just want to get rid of me,” she teased, but there was an undercurrent of something more serious beneath her words.

“you’re not wrong,” he said, smirking as he opened the door for her. “but it’s not because i don’t want you around. it’s just that your idea of a good time and mine are clearly on different planets.”

“how sweet of you, really,” she said dryly, though with a tone of sarcasm. “you’re lucky i’m feeling generous tonight.”

“generous? is that what you’re calling this?” he laughed, helping her out of the car and steadying her as she swayed slightly. “more like a recipe for disaster,” he retorted with a snarky tone. “shut up, touya,” she said, her voice softer now as they walked toward the door. “just… thanks for being here.”

“don’t mention it,” he replied, his tone lightening a bit. “but if you ever do this again, i’m leaving you to fend for yourself.”

“noted,” she said, a little too aware of how much she wished she could reach out and grab his hand, the feelings simmering beneath the surface threatening to spill over. “but you’re going to be there. i know it.”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head as he watched her fumble with her keys. “just don’t go falling for me or something.”

her heart raced and she stayed silent, making dabi give her a glance that showed him trying to read her expression. she made sure to turn away from him, especially when he called her name. “gonna try to get some sleep,” she quickly said, using the guardrail to get upstairs and to her room.

y/n felt the wave of nausea wash over her as she laid on her bed, the world spinning around her. the bitter warmth of the alcohol still lingered on her tongue, a reminder of the night’s escapades. she groaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to block out the throbbing in her head. as the room tilted and swayed, she pushed herself up just enough to pull the blankets over her body, seeking comfort in their warmth.

it wasn't long before she heard the familiar sound of the door creaking open. dabi stepped inside, his usual scowl firmly in place as he leaned against the doorframe. “what a sight,” he muttered, glancing around her room. “you look like you’ve been through a blender.”

“thanks for the compliment,” y/n mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. she felt a bit of embarrassment wash over her as dabi sauntered over and sat on the edge of her bed, pulling out his phone to scroll through it. a part of her wanted to feel grateful, but the way he acted—like he was doing her a favor—was hard to ignore.

---

half an hour ticked by, the silence punctuated only by the sound of his scrolling. but y/n's nausea began to build again, the urge to throw up clawing at her insides like a feral animal. she bit her lip, feeling the heat rise in her throat as she fought against it, but it was no use.

"touya," she whispered, her voice hoarse and shaky. he glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "hey, you alright?" he asked, but his tone was more sarcastic than concerned.

"not really," she muttered, clutching her stomach. before he could retort, she stumbled toward the bathroom, barely managing to reach the toilet before the contents of her stomach surged forth.

"nice going, genius," dabi called after her, his voice dripping with mockery. "you're really winning at this whole 'not throwing up' thing."

y/n heaved, feeling the world tilt precariously beneath her. the bitter taste of the alcohol mixed with the remnants of her dinner assaulted her senses, and she groaned, tears brimming in her eyes.

dabi was right behind her, his cool presence both annoying and comforting as he knelt beside her. "just breathe, y/n," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "try not to make this a regular thing, okay? i’ve got better things to do than babysit you."

as she gasped for air, she could feel his hand resting gently on her back, and despite his snark, there was a genuine concern in his touch. leaning into his hand, she felt a flicker of gratitude amid the chaos.

finally, the wave of nausea receded, leaving her breathless and trembling. dabi stayed close, waiting until she could lift her head and look at him. "feeling better?" he asked, his tone still laced with sarcasm.

"yeah," she whispered, her voice thick with sleepiness.

y/n felt like a train wreck as she sat hunched over the toilet, the remnants of her night swirling in her stomach like a storm. the bitter warmth of the alcohol lingered, and each heave felt like a betrayal to her body. just when she thought she was done, another wave hit her, and she groaned in frustration.

"seriously?" dabi’s voice cut through the haze, low and unimpressed. he leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between annoyance and concern. "you’ve got to be the worst drunk i’ve ever seen."

"thanks for the encouragement," she managed, glaring at him with half fury, half exhaustion. "what are you doing here, anyway? i thought you didn’t want to babysit me."

"don’t flatter yourself," he shot back, but there was an undercurrent of something softer in his eyes. "i just didn’t want to deal with you throwing up in my car. that’s a real hassle."

"nice to know my well-being is your top priority," she replied sarcastically, but the dizziness made it hard to keep up her bravado. she stumbled back into her room, leaning against the wall as she caught her breath.

dabi followed, eyeing her critically. "you didn’t answer my question earlier, you know. when i said, 'don’t go falling for me,' you totally dodged that." his tone was light, but there was a seriousness in his gaze.

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to brush it off. "what do you care, anyway? you’re always so mean to me!"

crossing his arms again as he leaned against the wall "you don’t get to deflect now. just tell me, why didn’t you respond?"

"maybe i didn’t think it was worth addressing," she replied, her voice shaky, but his intensity made it hard to dismiss him. "really? because it sounded like you were trying to avoid something," he said, narrowing his gaze.

she let out a frustrated huff, flopping onto her bed. "i don’t know, touya. you make it hard to breathe sometimes. i get that you think you’re being helpful, but your sarcasm feels like a shield. and it hurts because i—"

"what is it, y/n?"

"i can’t help but feel something for you," she blurted out, exasperated. "even though you’re mean and a total brat, i… i like having you around, even when you act like you don’t care. and that just makes me feel more frustrated, like i’m some lost cause."

"y/n," he began, but she wasn’t done.

"you push me away, and i don’t understand why. you’re so pretty and infuriatingly attractive, and i hate that i’m drawn to you, but here we are." she sighed, the weight of her confession pressing heavily on her. "and i’m sorry for being a mess. i really am, but sometimes it feels like you’re the only one who sees me. even if it’s from a distance."

dabi watched her in silence, his expression shifting from annoyance to something deeper. "you think that’s what i’m doing?" he asked finally, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "pushing you away?"

"maybe," she admitted, feeling the heaviness of the alcohol wrapping around her thoughts. "i don’t know. i just… i feel like every time i try to get closer, you shut me out. it’s like you want to keep me at arm’s length."

he was quiet for a moment, and she could see the gears turning in his head. "and you think i want you to feel like shit?" he asked finally, his tone softer now. "you’re not some joke to me, y/n. you’re just… complicated."

"complicated, huh?" she snorted, her frustration bubbling back to the surface. "that’s one way to put it. you’re so busy being an asshole that you don’t see how much i wish things were different."

"different how?" dabi asked, genuinely intrigued, and for a moment, it felt like she had his full attention.

y/n fidgeted on the bed, her heart racing as she tried to gather her thoughts. "different as in… sometimes i wish you could see me for more than just a nuisance," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "i get that i can be a mess, but it feels like i’m always just… your project to fix."

dabi shifted his weight, an unreadable expression on his face. "you really think i see you that way?" he asked, his tone surprisingly soft.

"i don’t know," she replied, frustration creeping back in. "you’re always so wrapped up in your own world, and it makes me feel like i’m chasing after you for attention. i guess… i just wish you could let me in. i want to be someone you want around, not just someone you tolerate."

he remained silent, watching her with an intensity that made her heart flutter and ache all at once. "you’re not just a project, y/n." he finally said, his voice low. "but you’ve got to understand that i’m not great at this stuff. i’m not the guy who knows how to make things easy."

"yeah, i get that. but…" she sighed, struggling to find the right words. "it’s hard not to feel something more when you’re the one who shows up for me, even when i’m at my lowest. it’s like i can’t help but want you to be part of my life, in every way. and that scares me."

dabi opened his mouth as if to respond, but then fell silent again, letting the weight of her words hang between them. y/n could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away, not wanting to show that kind of vulnerability. "i’m such a dumbass," she mumbled, forcing a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. "i shouldn’t be pouring my heart out to you when i’m like this."

"y/n—"

"no, really, forget it," she interrupted, her voice cracking. "i just… i don’t want you to think i’m some lovesick idiot or anything. it’s just hard to ignore what i feel when you’re right here, acting like you don’t care. i’m sorry for being such a mess."

dabi let out a sigh, unable to speak, and only shook his head in frustration. y/n wasn’t the only one at a crossroads. he too knew that there was something up with the way he felt. he always felt it, but the feeling only got stronger when he was around y/n. the feelings brought him confusion, and dabi hated that feeling, hence the reason why he took it out on y/n anytime they were in the same vicinity of one another.

right now, he was failing to realize his true feelings. he failed to point out what it was exactly. he hated the feeling, and as he stared down at y/n, whose eyes were gradually heavying with sleep as stray tears dried, it only worsened.

he knew something was there, and it killed him since he didn’t know what.

---

as the morning light streamed through the curtains, y/n slowly stirred awake on her bed, the remnants of last night flooding her mind like a relentless tide. the dull ache in her head reminded her of the shots she'd had-and the impulsive confession she'd made to dabi. she sat up, rubbing her temples, and glanced around her room, half-expecting to find him sprawled beside her. but the bed was empty, and a wave of relief washed over her.

after a moment, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the wooden floor cool against her bare feet. y/n took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing thoughts. she stood up, feeling slightly unsteady, and made her way to the bathroom to splash some water on her face and brush the taste of last night's mistakes from her mouth. the cool water helped, but did little to erase the embarrassment now gnawing at her chest.

once she felt somewhat human again, she headed downstairs, the house settling into its usual stillness. glancing into the living room, y/n was surprised to see dabi lying on the couch, still fast asleep. the sight of him made her cringe, her mind replaying fragments of last night's disaster. she sighed, scolding herself as she stepped into the kitchen and set the kettle on the stove.

the kettle's whistle was loud, painfully so, and she cringed, knowing it might wake him. grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, she placed them on the counter, her mind swirling with thoughts of how to navigate the morning ahead. she wanted to avoid him, but the temptation to face him and clear the air was stronger.

while the memories of the night were hazy, she recalled enough to feel mortified-her indirect confession, the sting of tears, and the bitter taste of regret. she felt like a mess, and her pounding headache only confirmed it.

y/n rubbed her eyes, trying to shake the weight of last night's events, but dabi's voice cut through her thoughts.

"morning."

she poured hot water over the tea bags she'd placed in the mugs, nodding in response as she turned to hand him one. his hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, and the remnants of sleep lingered in his eyes. "morning," she muttered quietly.

just as she was about to leave the kitchen, his hand caught her wrist. "what are you doing?"

her gaze avoided his, her usual confidence nowhere to be found until he spoke up again. "about last night-"

"forget about last night," she interrupted, her voice wavering. "i was drunk. didn't mean to say all that bullshit. i'm sorry."

"why are you apologizing?"

"because last night was a complete shit-show. i can't handle my liquor, and i don't even know why i drank so much, but i regret it. i put us in an awkward situation, and i'm sorry for that." she spoke in one hurried breath, not giving him a chance to respond before continuing. "i'm not expecting anything from you out of pity for feelings i know can't be returned. i just... i'm sorry."

she tried to pull away from his grip, but he held her in place. "touya, it's fine. let go. keeping me here, forcing me to face you, is torture."

"you done whining?"

"i'm not whining." her brow furrowed as she finally met his gaze with a glare. he set his tea down on the counter, and before she could react, his hands were on her cheeks, pulling her in close.

"touya..." she whispered cautiously.

"don't freak out."

and with that, his lips were on hers, warm and firm, leaving no room for doubt. it was a rash decision on dabi's part, driven by a feeling he didn't fully understand. but it was real, and for once, he wasn't running from it.

there was no hesitation, no second thoughts, just the warmth of the moment. y/n's hands instinctively gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as their lips moved in sync. dabi's hand slipped to her waist, tugging her toward him until their bodies were pressed together, a sigh escaping his lips.

the kiss broke suddenly, leaving y/n breathless and dabi smirking slightly. "i think that went better than your confession. i win."

"shut up, touya. it's not a competition."

"oh yeah?" he teased, but his voice softened as he let out a deep sigh. for dabi, apologies didn't come naturally. he scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze as he leaned against the counter. "look," he began gruffly, "i'm not good at this. feelings, whatever. you already know that, so don't act surprised."

y/n remained silent, her eyes focused on him, waiting.

"i didn't mean to make you think i didn't care," he continued, clearly struggling with his words. "i just... don't do all the emotional crap. alright?"

the silence between them was palpable, her gaze heavy on him as he clenched his jaw in frustration.

"i don't know what the hell i'm supposed to say. i didn't even realize i was feeling... anything until recently. and you think i know how to handle that?" he laughed dryly, rubbing a hand over his face. "i'm not used to it. but i don't want you thinking i don't give a damn."

finally, he met her eyes, his expression more serious than usual. "i want to be with you. i don't know how to say it right, and i'll probably mess up again, but... i'm not blowing you off. this is just... new for me."

he shoved his hands in his pockets, half-turning as if he were done, but then muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear, "i care, y/n. more than i thought i could. so... there. happy now?"

it wasn't the most graceful confession, but for dabi, it was as close to vulnerability as y/n had ever seen. and she accepted it, even if she couldn't resist teasing him.

"wow, touya," she said, crossing her arms. "that was almost... cute. maybe you should write a book on feelings. 'how not to apologize 101."

"oh, fuck off, y/n."

with a sudden pull, dabi wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her toward the couch. "what are we doing?" she asked, stumbling slightly. "barely got any sleep last night because of you," he grumbled, settling back and pulling her onto his chest. "so, we're fixing that." he sighed. "what if i don't want to sleep?"

"you do realize talking to me instead of sleeping is like asking a cat to fetch, right?" he groaned, pulling her closer.

"fine."

"thanks," he muttered, closing his eyes. "and y/n?" his voice was soft now. "hmm?" she questioned.

"i'm shit at communication so i know i don't have the right to say this, but promise me it won't take you getting wasted to tell me something that important again."

"deal."

"no. say you promise."

"i promise, touya."

with a kiss on her forehead, silence fell between them-this time, it was peaceful, a welcome contrast to the chaos of the night before.

got a request? send it in and i'll write it :D

Taglist: @nemoo888 @delicatexmoonchild @flowerpjimin @tedcruzumakii @sugacor3 @selysixn @mitsuyas-version @matchaismylove @cyberrthegreat @ivydoesit23 @riririntaro @ilovechickfilasauce @sincerelyzee @daydreamteardrop @satorusluvrgirl @tired-jaz

[fairiesthrum]

au where viserys and aemma had a son before rhaenyra [currently unnamed oc]. he is about 3 years old when viserys is chosen as king by the great council. growing up, he had a great relationship with rhaenyra. although incest was common with the targaryens and he was expected to marry rhaenyra when she came of age, he refused from the beginning, only seeing her as his little sister. although having an heir, the king and queen still try for more children because of their love for each other.

the young prince is asking questions constantly about his father being next in line for the throne. the prince is loved by all, respectful to the help, being well versed in the histories, a good student, artistic and musical ability, fluent in high valyrian, and was labeled the realm’s delight as a teenager—his only flaw being his soon-to-be-shared illness with his father, leprosy.

otto, once introducing his daughter into court, has intentions of alicent becoming queen through the prince. and of course, alicent has no say in this and has to listen to her father regardless of her happiness.

she’s heard the rumors of how great the prince is but still finds herself dreading life at court until she lays her sights on the beautiful prince with long straight locks, curly silver lashes, and valyrian purple eyes. the prince was charismatic, kind, and unlike any other and she couldn’t help falling for him as she got closer to him under the instruction of her father.

one day, the prince confesses his feelings for her in the gardens to which alicent breaks down crying, the guilt eating at her and she reveals that she only got close to him because of her father. he tells her that he doesn’t care and that he loves her either way. if anything, her father had brought them together.

from that day on, the prince had officially started to court alicent to otto’s approval. things were good until the prince’s illness had gotten worse [kind of like a king baldwin type situation]. the prince had started covering his face and isolating himself, taking the warmth he spread with him. his only wish before he died was to wed alicent but he died in his sleep before he was ever able to.

alicent was distraught and so were the rest of his family. otto was disappointed that his plans had been foiled but grieved as he helped raise the young prince and saw his ambition to become a good king firsthand.

the story goes on like normal, aemma dies during childbirth during the tournament and viserys has to find a new wife and produce a new heir. the king’s hand takes this opportunity to resume his scheme and gets alicent to visit the king. once viserys chooses alicent to wed, rhaenyra is even more mad at her father and alicent than originally. after all, her older brother had been completely besotted with alicent only for her to be married off to his own father after his and their mother’s recent death.

throughout alicent and viserys’s marriage, even more so after the king’s sickness had become worse, she couldn't help but see parts of the prince she loved in his decaying father.

let me know if you want a series abt this [this is unedited so i’ll probably come back and change the format and decorate stuff]

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

10. Day off becomes show off

Note: hope you know how to fight

(Side note: i fcking love this gundam armoured aespa fr)

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the dorm as Y/n checked his phone. As usual, his mind was prepped for the day’s chaotic schedule, expecting back-to-back appointments, rehearsals, and meetings. But as he scrolled through the group’s calendar, something strange caught his eye.

No rehearsals. No interviews. No photoshoots.

A day off?

Y/n blinked. It had been ages since they’d had a full, unscheduled day since MAMA, and for a moment, he didn’t believe it. After double-checking to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

This was the perfect opportunity to give the girls a break—away from the stress and cameras.

Throwing on a hoodie, he knocked on each dorm room door, rousing the group from their sleep.

“Wake up, everyone! I’ve got something planned.”

Giselle was the first to emerge, hair sticking out in all directions, still wrapped in her blanket. She rubbed her eyes groggily. “Is it breakfast? Tell me you made pancakes…”

Y/n chuckled. “Not quite. But get ready. We’re going to the park. I made a lunch basket for us.”

The reaction from the rest of the members was similar—confused but intrigued. Winter poked her head out from her room, eyes half-closed. “A park? What are we, in a drama? And why is it sound romantic” She yawned loudly.

Karina followed suit, still looking half-asleep. “A park sounds… nice, I guess?”

“Hey, we can't just stay indoors when the sky is this nice.” Y/n grinned, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s get moving.”

An hour later, the group found themselves standing at the entrance of a quaint city park. It wasn’t grand or flashy, just a small, peaceful spot nestled away from the usual bustling city life. A winding path led to a pond, ducks paddling lazily in the water, and a few bicycles stood nearby, available for rent.

“A park, really?” Winter raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “This was your big plan?”

Giselle stretched, taking in the scene. “I’m not complaining. It’s nice to have some quiet time.”

Y/n held up a tote bag filled with snacks. “Look, we’ve been running around nonstop for weeks. A relaxing day in the sun will do us all some good.”

Karina eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of snacks?”

Y/n smirked, pulling out bags of sandwiches. “The good kind.”

That seemed to do the trick. With renewed enthusiasm, the girls grabbed a few bikes from the rental stand, gearing up for a leisurely ride along the park’s paths. Y/n followed, feeling confident this would be a simple, peaceful day.

Well, until Ningning almost ran over a duck.

“Watch it!” Y/n called out as the youngest member veered off course, narrowly avoiding the waddling creature.

“I swear these bikes are taller than I remember!” Ningning complained, trying to steady herself. “Or maybe I’ve gotten shorter?”

Meanwhile, Karina wobbled dangerously as she tried to pedal forward, clearly struggling. “I think I forgot how to ride one of these things…”

Before Y/n could offer help, he was too busy dealing with his own issues. As soon as he pushed off, his bike’s front wheel jerked violently to the side, and he lost his balance, crashing into a nearby bush. The sound of his spectacular wipeout echoed through the park, causing an eruption of laughter from the girls.

“Nice strike, Y/n!” Giselle called out, barely able to contain her giggles. “You’re really setting a great example for us!”

Y/n groaned as he disentangled himself from the bush. “Okay, fine. Maybe I suck.”

It took a few minutes—and a lot more laughter—but eventually, they all managed to get moving smoothly. The group cycled leisurely along the park’s paths, the fresh air and rare freedom lifting their spirits. Despite the shaky start, the atmosphere was light and carefree.

At one point, Giselle and Winter challenged each other to a race, leaving the others trailing behind. Y/n, never one to back down, joined in—only to accidentally steer himself and Giselle straight into a patch of tall grass, much to the amusement of Karina and Ningning, who were practically in tears laughing.

“Maybe stick to managing, Y/n,” Karina teased as he pulled his bike free from the grass.

“So mean, Jimin” Y/n grumbled, but he couldn’t help grinning. “I’m just warming up.”

After a while, they parked their bikes near the duck pond and wandered over to feed the ducks. Y/n handed out snacks, though he wasn’t entirely sure feeding crackers to ducks was the right move.

Karina tossed a few pieces into the water, watching as the ducks swam around, fighting over the crumbs. “You’re supposed to give them bread, right?”

“I think we’re not supposed to give them anything, actually,” Y/n replied, scratching his head. “But... they seem happy enough.”

"Yea, they're the presences of their own kind." Winter joked. "Idiots…"

"I heard that, crybaby."

The group spent a good portion of time by the pond, laughing at the antics of the ducks. One particularly clumsy duck kept missing the food, prompting Ningning to point and say, “That one reminds me of Y/n.”

"See? I told you Ning." Winter chimed in, clearly amused by the comparison.

Y/n rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t stop smiling. For the first time in a while, it felt like they could just be themselves, without the constant pressure of schedules, rehearsals, or fans.

Well, except for one fan.

His eyes landed on a figure standing not too far away, partially hidden behind a tree. The person was wearing a hoodie, the hood pulled up over their face. It could’ve been anyone—a park visitor, maybe—but the way they lingered, half-concealed, raised alarm bells.

Y/n’s stomach tightened. He’d seen this kind of behaviour before. Sasaeng.

“Everything okay?” Karina asked, noticing his shift in demeanour.

Y/n kept his voice low, not wanting to alarm the rest of the group. “Don't wanna scare you, but there’s someone following us. Don’t look, he’s at 5 o’clock ”

Karina’s expression darkened. “Sasaeng?”

“Probably,” he confirmed, his eyes never leaving the figure.

Karina let out a frustrated sigh, clearly fed up with the constant intrusion on their privacy. “Can’t we just have one day? Just one?”

Y/n nodded grimly. “Unfortunately, no. But I’m going to check on him.”

Karina hesitated. “Be careful. Some sasaengs... they don’t exactly handle being confronted well.”

Y/n glanced over his shoulder, noticing that the figure had gotten closer. It was now or never. “Ehhh..I’ll be fine. Just stay here with the girls.”

As he approached the sasaeng, his heart raced, but he kept his voice calm and steady. “Hey, my guy, can I help you with something?”

The figure stiffened but didn’t move. Up close, Y/n could see they were holding a phone, angled just enough to capture footage of the group from a distance.

“I’m just a fan,” the person mumbled, their voice muffled under the hood. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

Y/n clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to escalate the situation, but he also couldn’t let this slide. “Hey hey hey, I understand you’re a fan, and that’s fine. But right now, the girls are trying to enjoy some time off. This is their personal space. Please respect that.”

The sasaeng’s eyes flashed with something Y/n couldn’t quite place—frustration? Defiance? Either way, they didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving. I just want to see them.”

Y/n’s patience was running thin. “I understand, but they just want a breather from the public for today. Please don’t make this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

The tension hung thick in the air, and for a moment, Y/n wasn’t sure if the sasaeng was going to back down. But then, with a huff of annoyance, they turned and started walking away, though Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t done.

He returned to the girls, who had been watching the whole exchange from a distance. Karina must've told them.

“Did they leave?” Giselle asked quietly.

“For now,” Y/n replied, though his gut told him this wouldn’t be the last time they saw that particular fan.

Winter’s expression softened. “You handled that well, you know.”

Y/n shrugged, trying to play it off. “Part of the job.”

When the fun resumed, Ningning was busy trying to feed a particularly stubborn duck while Giselle and Karina lounged on the grass, seemingly forgetting tension that had just passed.

“You good?” Karina asked, her tone casual, though Y/n could tell she was watching him closely. "You've been tense since that happened."

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. “Everything’s fine.”

But as the day went on, Y/n couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that they were being watched. Every now and then, he’d glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the sasaeng again.

It wasn’t until they were packing up to leave that he caught another glimpse—this time, from a different part of the park. The same hooded figure, lurking in the shadows, watching them.

Y/n’s stomach twisted. That guy hadn’t left.

As they piled into the van, he made a mental note to stay vigilant. Today had been fun, but he knew the peaceful days were always short-lived when it came to protecting the girls.

As the van pulled away, Karina, sitting next to him, gave him a sideways glance. “You think we’re safe?”

Y/n forced a smile. “We’re always safe... as long as I’m around.”

"Damn, Oppa is confident now." Ningning teased.

"That's how I blitz through things, Ning-ah."

But deep down, he knew things were getting more complicated. Being their manager was more than just keeping track of schedules and rehearsals. He had to protect them, even on their days off.

And something told him that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d face off with that sasaeng.

-

The fan meet was supposed to be the highlight of the week—one of those heartwarming moments where aespa could connect directly with their fans.

However, things were rarely so simple for Y/n.

The chaos of his daily life as the group’s manager had become his new normal, but today was different. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, a gnawing anxiety he couldn’t quite shake.

It wasn’t just the usual nerves, either. Ever since the incident at the park with the sasaeng, Y/n had been on high alert, his senses sharper than ever. Though the obsessive fan hadn’t made a direct reappearance, there were subtle signs—cryptic messages left on social media, strange accounts following aespa’s every move, and more importantly, a lingering presence. Y/n knew they hadn’t been forgotten.

It already has issued into SM, but Y/n was still definitely on high alert.

Still, today was about the fans. The usual logistics of organizing a fan meet were challenging enough, but this time, Y/n had to be even more vigilant. He’d personally gone through each gift from the fans, carefully making sure there were no suspicious items. Everything seemed to be in order, and the meet was progressing smoothly.

The girls were laughing, chatting with their fans, and signing albums while cameras flashed, capturing every moment. Y/n was supposed to be standing off to the side, handling minor hiccups as they came. But the real trouble began when the gifts started piling up backstage.

“Y/n, can you help me move these?” one of the staff members called out, struggling with a box of gifts that had been left near the entrance. Y/n nodded, quickly setting aside his tablet and running to help.

The problem? He hadn’t exactly been paying attention to where the gifts were being taken.

Somewhere between moving boxes and juggling event logistics, Y/n realised he had lost track of the pile of fan gifts meant to be distributed to aespa later. By the time the fan meet was in full swing, fans were asking about their gifts, only for Y/n to feel a rising sense of panic as he scanned the backstage area, the gifts nowhere in sight.

“Where are they?” he muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

Giselle, noticing his distress, sidled up to him with a teasing grin. “Lost something, Y/n?”

"…maybe?"

"Oh." Giselle replied nonchalantly. "Surely not the fan gift right?"

He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may or may not have misplaced the gifts... all of them.”

Giselle let out a snort of laughter, causing Ningning, who was standing nearby, to join in. “Seriously? All of them? Haven't seen you messed up majorly for a while.”

Y/n groaned. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But this is bad. The fans are going to freak out.”

Ningning shook her head, still giggling. “Don’t worry about it. Fans love sitcoms—it’s relatable. They’ll probably get a kick out of it. You know, seeing their gifts disappear into the void, never to return.”

Y/n managed a weak smile, appreciating their attempts to lighten the mood. “You’re probably right. Still... this is not my best image yet.”

The girls, seeing how genuinely stressed he was, huddled around him in support. “Don’t sweat it,” Karina said, giving him a reassuring nudge. “We’ve dealt with worse. Besides, the fans are here to see us, not obsess over some missing gifts.”

"Confident much?"

"Someone did say that's how he blitz through life." Karina mocked. "Now I thought about it, it was you, Y/n"

He appreciated their positivity, but the uneasy feeling in his chest refused to go away. The gifts were one thing, but his gut told him that something far more sinister was on the horizon.

As the fan meet began to wind down, Y/n made his rounds, keeping a watchful eye on the crowd. Most of the fans were energetic and cheerful, thrilled to be interacting with aespa, but he couldn’t help scanning for any suspicious faces.

That’s when he saw the guy.

Near the back of the room, hidden among a cluster of fans, was the same hooded figure from the park. His blood ran cold. It was the sasaeng, and they hadn’t come empty-handed.

"Guards on standby, we got a Code S." Y/n talked over the radio. "Please don’t cause a scene and find him."

Without causing a scene, Y/n subtly moved closer, positioning himself between the sasaeng and the girls. As he did, he noticed something glinting under the sleeve of the sasaeng’s hoodie—a knife.

His heart skipped a beat, and the world seemed to slow down. This is it.

Y/n had been trained for situations like this (he said trained, but he only had a taekwondo certificate a while ago), but nothing could truly prepare him for the moment it actually happened. He quickly scanned the area, assessing his options. Security wasn’t close enough to intervene immediately, and he didn’t want to alarm the fans or the group.

With a deep breath, Y/n locked eyes with the sasaeng. “Hey, you, nice seeing you again,” he called out, his voice steady but firm. “I need to talk to you.”

The sasaeng’s eyes darted to Y/n, and for a split second, Y/n saw it—the sheer obsession, the dangerous mix of admiration and delusion. The sasaeng clutched the knife tighter, their knuckles white.

"Ah fcking damn it…" Y/n muttered.

There was no time to wait for backup.

Y/n lunged forward, grabbing the sasaeng by the arm. The fan reacted immediately, swinging the knife wildly in his direction. He narrowly dodged the blade, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he wrestled the weapon from their grasp. The crowd hadn’t yet noticed the struggle, too focused on aespa.

The sasaeng fought back, landing a punch to Y/n’s side, but he didn’t let go. He managed to twist the fan’s arm behind their back, forcing the knife to clatter to the ground. Finally, security rushed in, pulling the sasaeng away and detaining them.

Panting, Y/n stood there, clutching his side, still trying to process what had just happened. The girls had noticed by now, their faces pale with shock. Ningning and Giselle were the first to rush over.

“Oppa! Are you okay?” Ningning asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Y/n nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah... yeah, still alive.”

The fan meet was quickly wrapped up after that, with security escorting the sasaeng out and the remaining fans ushered toward the exits. The event had been going so well until that moment, and the sudden chaos left everyone rattled.

Later, in the safety of their van, the girls were silent, the weight of what had happened hanging in the air. Winter was whimpering after her intense bawling from worrying about her childhood friend. Y/n could just only chuckle at his adorable best friend.

“You saved us,” Karina finally said, her voice quiet but full of gratitude. “That could’ve been so much worse if you hadn’t been there.”

Y/n shook his head, still processing everything. “I was just doing my job.”

But the gravity of what he’d done wasn’t lost on anyone, least of all him.

-

The next day, Y/n rolled out of bed with a groan. His body still ached from the scuffle with the sasaeng, and while he wasn’t one to complain, the dull throb in his side was a constant reminder of yesterday’s chaos. He stretched, wincing slightly, before getting ready for the day.

Today was supposed to be business as usual—another trip to the SM building for rehearsals and meetings—but nothing about this day felt normal. After all, it wasn’t every day that you made headlines for tackling an obsessed fan. And while Y/n wasn’t exactly thrilled about the attention, he knew it was inevitable. He’d been in the industry long enough to know how fast news spread, especially when it involved something as dramatic as a knife-wielding sasaeng.

When he met up with the girls during breakfast in the living area, they were already buzzing with energy. Kind of wild that they moved on from the incident that quickly.

Ningning grinned at him, clearly enjoying the spotlight this incident had brought to their usually quiet manager.

“Ready for your big day, supernova?” she teased, nudging him as they walked toward the van.

Y/n shot her a look, shaking his head. “Please, no, Ning. Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“Too late,” Giselle piped up from behind, her voice full of amusement. “The whole building’s probably talking about you right now. Yunjin and Somi is gushing in the gc at the moment.”

As much as Y/n wanted to protest, he knew she was right. Ever since the news broke, he’d been flooded with messages—both from fans and people in the industry. It was surreal, really. He’d never expected to be at the centre of attention, especially not for something like this.

When they arrived at the SM building, the atmosphere was different. Usually, the bustling halls were full of staff going about their daily business, but today, there was an undeniable buzz in the air.

As soon as they stepped inside, heads turned. The receptionist, who usually gave them a polite nod, smiled broadly at Y/n, her eyes twinkling with admiration. “Good morning, hero,” she greeted him, her tone playful.

Y/n blushed, ducking his head awkwardly. “Morning…"

The teasing only got worse as they moved through the building. Other managers, particularly Minji and Joon, came up to him, clapping him on the back and offering words of congratulations.

“Hey, Y/n! Saw the news—man, that was some serious balls. How are you feeling?”Joon asked, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Y/n mumbled, trying to downplay it. “Just... doing my job.”

“Doing your job?” Minji laughed. “You tackled a guy with a knife! I’d say that’s a bit more than your typical day’s work.”

Before Y/n could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind him. “There he is—the man, the myth, the legend!”

Y/n turned to see Taeyong and Mark from NCT walking toward him, grinning from ear to ear. Taeyong immediately pulled him into a friendly hug, his eyes twinkling with pride. “We saw what happened, Y/n. That was insane. Are you sure you’re not secretly an action movie star or something?”

Mark nodded enthusiastically, his smile wide. “Dude, you’re like the coolest manager now. Everyone’s talking about how you saved the day.”

Y/n’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I secretly invested my stats in strength.”

But the teasing didn’t stop there. As they made their way up to the practice rooms, other idols—some Y/n had trained with back in the day—came up to him with wide grins and playful jabs. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

The final straw came when they passed by one of the SM rookies who was clearly too shy to approach him directly. The young trainee whispered to their friend, their eyes wide with awe as they looked at Y/n. “Is that him? The manager who stopped the sasaeng? He looks so cool...”

Y/n sighed, shaking his head as the girls stifled their laughter. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but there was no escaping it. He had become the talk of the building, whether he liked it or not.

By the time they reached the practice room, Y/n was ready to crawl into a hole and hide. But the girls, ever perceptive, noticed how uncomfortable he was and rallied around him.

“Look,” Karina said, giving him a rare smile, “you might hate the attention, but we’re really grateful for what you did. That was seriously brave.”

“Yeah,” Winter added, her voice soft but sincere. “You're maybe an idiot, but you were genuinely cool back there.”

Ningning, of course, couldn’t resist adding her own playful twist. “Plus, now you’re famous! Maybe you’ll get your own fanbase.”

Y/n groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please, no fanbase. That’s the last thing I need.”

But despite his protests, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The girls’ words meant more to him than any praise from strangers. They were the ones he had sworn to protect, after all.

As they settled into their rehearsal, Y/n leaned back against the wall, watching the group with a small smile. The chaos of the past few days had been overwhelming, but it had also solidified his place in their lives. He wasn’t just their manager anymore—he was part of their family.

Just as he thought things had finally calmed down, the door to the practice room burst open, and Seulgi from Red Velvet, his bias, poked her head in. “Ya, Y/n! Heard you’re the building’s new hero! When’s the movie adaptation coming out?”

"Seulgi-noona, not you too…"

The girls burst into laughter as Y/n groaned again, knowing he’d never live this down.

But deep down, he didn’t mind. He faced down a knife-wielding sasaeng, after all. He could handle a bit of teasing.

[silverynight]

Welcome home

<---Previous

Chapter 5

They decide to go to a cafe; the place is nice and cozy, and Izuku will have the opportunity to ask questions to every single one in order to get all the details about the mission; he wants to know how they used their quirks and why they decided to use them that way.

The tables have bench cushions around; Katsuki and Izuku sit on one and Uraraka, Hagakure and Todoroki on the one in front.

Even though he tells himself to calm down, Izuku can't help it and starts asking about the rescue. He listens with a fascinated smile on his face as Hagakure explains how she used her quirk to blind the villain when he tried to attack them.

Then he starts rambling about her quirk for a while, all the data he has gathered about her during the time they have met each other, she seems interested or at least he hopes so. He's too focused he doesn't even realize Uraraka is looking at something with amusement until she makes a gesture with her hand towards it.

Izuku turns around, only to find Katsuki with a hand on his chin, quietly staring at him with a fond smile on his face.

"What?"

Katsuki looks a little bit flustered when he notices Izuku's confusion, but he doesn't say anything.

"Midoriya, do you want something to eat?"

"Right!" He says, embarrassed. He looks back at Todoroki as his cheeks turn slightly pink. "Sorry for rambling! You must be hungry!"

"It's alright, I don't mind," the pro hero with mismatched hair assures him. "Actually, everything you say is fascinating. I feel like I'm learning a lot about quirks after listening to you."

Izuku can feel the moment his face turns even more red; Katsuki hisses next to him. When he looks at him again, he realizes he's get irritated. He must be starving too.

"What do you want to eat? I'll get it for you."

"Uhh..." Before Izuku can answer Todoroki's question, Katsuki is already getting up while glaring at the other pro hero.

"Don't bother. I always get Izuku's food."

"Well, I want a strawberry churro and Uraraka wants a croissant. Thanks for asking! Yes, we both are here too, in case you have forgotten!" Hagakure cuts in, half irritated half amused at the situation.

"Sorry! I'll go get them for you!" Izuku says.

"Not you, darling! Sit down!"

However, no matter how much Uraraka insists, Izuku ends up in the line with Katsuki and Todoroki.

"Midoriya."

Katsuki growls as a warning, but Todoroki ignores him completely.

"I'd like you to consider working at Endeavor's agency instead."

That definitely wasn't something Izuku expected to come out of Todoroki's mouth.

"I was really impressed by your performance these last two days; you're really smart and I think you'd be a great asset for our agency."

"Oh, fuck off!"

"Kacchan, please," Izuku has to grab the blond pro hero's arm in order to calm him down a bit. Then, when his friend looks less murderous, he turns towards Todoroki again: "I appreciate the offer, but I'm really happy where I am."

"Take that, half and half!"

Rolling his eyes, Izuku is glad they're next in the line. It's a nice distraction. Perhaps food is what everyone needs to feel less irritated.

"What happened?" Uraraka asks, grabbing her croissant and the coffee Izuku decided to buy for her. "I was watching you from here and Bakugo got more grumpy than usual."

"Half and half here wants to steal Izuku from m–us!"

"What do you mean?" Hagakure asks, sounding curious already. By the time Todoroki explains, even the women get slightly annoyed.

"No!" Uraraka huffs, grabbing one of Izuku's hands in hers. "Get your own green bean! This one is ours!"

They keep playfully scolding him for it and even he starts smiling at them. However, Katsuki moves closer to Izuku until their legs are pressing together even though there's plenty of space on his side.

After a while, the four pro heroes start talking about their time in the UA; Izuku can't help but laugh at all the things they tell him about Katsuki.

"They had to put a muzzle on him because he was so angry at Todoroki for not trying harder at the sports festival!" Hagakure chuckles, while Katsuki narrows his eyes at her.

"He even won, but didn't look happy with the results!" Uraraka adds, laughing along with Hagakure.

"He probably thought he didn't deserve it," Izuku cuts in. "That's why he was so mad."

He looks up at the blond pro hero before stroking his cheek; Katsuki closes his eyes and leans into the touch, content.

"It's alright, Kacchan. You did your best!"

"I didn't," Todoroki says then, getting Izuku's attention again. "But that's because I didn't truly accept myself back then."

"But now you do, right?" Izuku asks, smiling kindly at him.

"Now I do."

***

As they sit back in Katsuki's car, Izuku realizes that he's still frowning. Probably because Todoroki asked Izuku to think about his offer.

"I'm not going to work at Endeavor's," Izuku assures him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He relaxes somewhat before looking back at the green haired man with an intense expression on his face; Katsuki does that a lot lately and he has no idea what he's thinking about.

"Stay with me tonight."

"Okay, Kacchan," he says, smiling at him softly. The truth is that he still wants to spend a little bit more time with his friend after what happened.

But staying is a mistake because Izuku likes Katsuki's apartment; it feels like home even though it shouldn't.

The next days he barely stays at his own place and every time he goes back to it, it feels colder and less like the cozy apartment he once acquired.

Katsuki basically gives him one of the guest's rooms; he has a closet for himself in which he keeps a few clothes because he also stays during work days and it's more "convenient" that way.

Somedays, Izuku feels like he's fooling himself.

There's green tea now in Katsuki's kitchen, chocolate, and blueberries on the fridge that Izuku makes disappear quickly.

"You seriously don't want the last bit of honey?" Izuku asks, looking tempted to pour it all over his bread, but he wants to offer it to Katsuki first. He doesn't think he has ever seen him touch the bottle, but he's not there ALL the time.

"I don't like sweet food," Katsuki says from the couch, browsing through Netflix's catalog, looking for a good horror movie.

"But you do like honey!" Izuku argues. "I mean, you bought this..."

That bottle was there before Izuku started staying in that apartment a few times a week.

"I bought it for you," the pro hero says casually, already selecting a movie. The thumbnail looks like it'll give Izuku nightmares.

He looks back at the now empty bottle, feeling warm inside out of the sudden. He smiles, thinking about all the things Katsuki does for him...

"Well, I'll go back to my room now!"

"None of that, nerd!" Katsuki turns around, looking at him over the back of the couch. "You promised!"

"Fine!" Izuku pouts, getting ready to close his eyes. "But if you complain about me clinging to you, I'll leave, okay?"

Being as close as possible to Katsuki is the only thing that makes him feel safe when they watch those kind of movies.

Katsuki snorts.

"Have I ever complained about that?"

"No, but just in case," Izuku mumbles before sitting right next to him, even though there's a lot of space on the couch. "I don't know why you want me here, to be honest. All I do is cover my eyes, gasp and wrap myself around you every time. Sometimes, I even end up on your lap! That can't be pleasant for you!"

Katsuki's smirk makes his eyes glimmer with amusement.

"That is actually very pleasant for me. You have no idea."

It must be because he enjoys Izuku's suffering... his friend is still a jerk sometimes. But he buys a lot of sweets for him and lets Izuku cuddle him so he'll forgive him for that eventually.

To no one's surprise, Izuku ends up covering his eyes and Katsuki's space.

The pro hero looks like he's having the time of his life, but he's kind enough to put a hand over Izuku's shoulders and nuzzle against his green curls to calm him down.

He falls asleep like that but wakes up on his bed in the morning.

***

"Trying a new style?" One of his coworkers asks as a form of greeting. "Well, you look good with everything, Midoriya!"

"Isn't that too big for you though?" Another one says, frowning a bit.

Some days, he wishes he didn't blush that easily; it makes him look like he's hiding something.

"Kacchan gave it to me," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. It's not his fault that Katsuki's clothes are very comfortable; it's true that wearing black is not Izuku's style, but he likes the fact that the hoodie feels like it's hugging him.

He's not sure if that's completely true, though, because most of the time is just Izuku "stealing" things from him that the pro hero ends up giving him.

"I see," the man in front of him grins in a way Izuku doesn't like. There's nothing to "see" there.

He runs back to his station then.

An hour later, he decides to pay a visit to Hatsume. He wants to ask about Kaminari's gear; something happened during his latest mission and it ended up damaged, but Izuku doesn't understand what prompted it to act the way it did. And he needs to understand in order to write a report about it.

But he's also very curious.

Right outside Hatsume's department, Izuku remembers why other people are not allowed there unless they let them know they're coming beforehand.

Izuku forgot to do that.

"Not again!" He manages to hear someone complaining before Hatsume laughs.

"It's alright! We always learn from our mistakes," she says right before something inside explodes and sends Izuku backwards.

There's smoke everywhere; his ears start ringing a bit, but he realizes he's alright, although his back hurts.

"Are you okay, Midoriya?" Hatsume asks, leaning over him. "You shouldn't be here."

He gets that now. At least the people from support are completely fine, mostly because they wear special clothes all the time. In case something like that happens.

"Are you sure you're fine?"

"Yes, don't worry!"

"Alright, then let me turn off the alarm in your device before he comes running here..."

Honestly, Izuku had forgotten his pretty necklace was a security device. But now as he looks down he sees a red dot in the middle of the X.

"IZUKU!"

"Too late," Hatsume mumbles, right before turning it off. She moves away from Izuku to give room for Dynamight to fret over him.

"I'm fine, Kacchan, I promise," he assures him as he manages to sit.

Katsuki kneels on the floor next to him and Izuku notices his hero suit; it looks clean and impeccable, which means he was about to go out.

His red eyes start scanning his body from head to toe, desperately looking for wounds.

"Where does it hurt?" He asks, touching Izuku's back of the head with his fingertips. When the green haired man flinches, the pro hero's eyes lose their shine. "I'll take you to the infirmary."

"Kacchan, wait!"

Katsuki growls. He's obviously still in distress, and Izuku can't have that. Pretending no one is watching, he cradles his friend's face and rubs their noses together.

The fear he notices in his eyes shocks Izuku for a moment.

"I'm fine, Kacchan," he whispers, smiling softly at him. "I promise."

He watches as the blond's broad shoulders lose some of their tension. His arms wrap around Izuku's completely before he presses his lips against one of his freckled cheeks gently. After he takes a deep breath, he does the same against the other.

Izuku's heart skips a beat.

"Alright! Let's go back to work, everybody!" Hatsume says, clapping her hands together to get her workers' attention. "There's nothing to see here!"

As the smoke clears, Izuku turns as red as a strawberry.

Katsuki doesn't seem to care about having an audience or not.

"When I heard the alarm, I panicked," he admits, pointing at a bracelet on his right wrist. Izuku had thought all this time it was a simple accessory.

"I'm fine," he repeats, mostly because his own heartbeat doesn't let him think that much.

Katsuki leans to give him a kiss on the forehead, making even more difficult for Izuku to actually focus.

"Let me take you to the infirmary anyway. Please, it'll help me feel better."

"Okay, Kacchan."

As the doctor explains to them both that Izuku doesn't have a concussion and the incident only got him a few bruises, he realizes, as he remembers Katsuki's soft kisses on his face that me might have feelings for his best friend.

And that could be a problem.

***

Perhaps the best thing is to stop staying with Katsuki; Izuku's feelings will only grow if he keeps spending that much time with his friend.

It's a good thing he never moved in with him like Katsuki wanted. He'd be kicked out immediately if the pro hero found out about Izuku's crush on him.

Except that it doesn't feel like a simple crush.

As they both walk down the stairs, Izuku takes a deep breath and thinks about an excuse to stay at his own apartment this time.

"Here, take this, nerd," Katsuki stops for a moment to give him a key. "This is just in case you need it, but you know you only have to type the code to get in."

A copy of Katsuki's apartment door key. And he's going to give him the code too.

"It's 0715," the pro hero says in a whisper. His face turns so red Izuku worries about him for a moment. "So when... I'm on late night patrol you can get in without me and stay there."

"Oh, that'll be easy to remember!" He says, chuckling. His friend probably hasn't even realized what those numbers mean. "It's like my birthday! What a coincidence!"

Katsuki chokes on air, blush spreading down his neck. Maybe he's getting sick or something...

"I know you are really smart, but sometimes you make me question your intelligence."

"Kacchan, that's so mean!" Izuku tries to look offended, but he fails miserably. Besides, his mind is preoccupied with something else.

When they're inside Katsuki's car. Izuku takes a deep breath.

"Take me to my apartment, please."

"Why? Did you forget something?"

"No... it's just," he bites his bottom lip before continuing: "I mean... I live there after all, I should stay in my own apartment."

"Or you can finally move in with me."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Katsuki turns his head towards him; good thing he hasn't started the car yet.

"Why not? Does something in my apartment bother you? We can redecorate it if you want. I just bought you a display cabinet to put your ridiculous All Might figure collection. It was a surprise, by the way. So pretend to be surprised when it finally arrives."

Katsuki is making it really difficult for Izuku not to fall in love with him.

"Uhh... it's..." Izuku blinks as his eyes start getting wet.

"What is it, Izuku? Talk to me. You know you can tell me anything," he says; he's never heard him speak that softly to him. His thumbs wipe his tears off before he presses his forehead against the sweet nerd's.

Katsuki deserves to know so he can decide for himself if he wants to keep some distance between them from now on.

It'll break Izuku's heart, but he can handle it.

"Listen, Kacchan, don't freak out, but I think I have f-feelings for you. So it'll be better if we–"

"Wow," Katsuki chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really are an idiot, Izuku."

"This is not funny, Kacchan! I'm trying to tell you something important!"

"So am I!" He smiles, red eyes glimmering with unrestrained happiness. He cradles Izuku's confused face, before giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "Izuku. I am in love with you."

"What?" He blinks, getting slightly dizzy as Katsuki keeps pressing their lips together. Kisses pressed against his face as he turns so pink his freckles disappear momentarily.

"I have never been subtle about my devotion to you," Katsuki smirks, enjoying the fact that Izuku gets so flustered after being kissed to speak properly. "That's why everyone in the agency thinks we're dating. Yes, I know about those rumors too, the only difference is that I have never shut them down."

"But why you never told me anything?"

Katsuki's smile vanishes for a moment and Izuku wants to take the question back immediately.

"I thought you didn't love me the way I did."

This time it's Izuku the one who initiates their kiss, although Katsuki is the one in control. He smiles against his lips before taking his time to explore Izuku's mouth.

"Move in with me, Izuku."

"I'd love to, Kacchan."

***

A lot of things have changed in a month; Izuku finally left his old apartment and is now living with Katsuki.

And sleeping on his bed too.

Waving a hand in front of his face to stop himself from blushing, Izuku focuses on the task at hand.

He has practiced that curry recipe a lot, torturing his friends in the process, although Todoroki claims that the first time was perfect.

Uraraka couldn't even finish it, Kirishima gave him a thumbs up, but didn't look like he was enjoying it.

However, the last one was a success, which means he's ready to make it for his boyfriend.

He wants to surprise Katsuki this time; he's the one who cooks for them and he knows he does it gladly, but Izuku wants to show him he can make an effort too.

A loud sigh escapes from his lips when he finishes just in time for the door to open.

"I'm home, Izuku!"

He rushes towards the entrance because that's one of his favorite parts of living with Katsuki, that he gets to greet him in his own home.

In their own home, and wants to do that for the rest of their lives.

The realization hits him by surprise, and both Izuku and Katsuki just stand there, frozen, staring into each other's eyes like they know exactly what they're both thinking.

"You look cute with that apron," Katsuki breathes deeply, as if he had forgotten how to and pulls Izuku into a tight hug. "Is it too soon to ask you to marry me?"

"It's us," he whispers back, trying not to cry. "We have never been a conventional couple to begin with. It's fine."

"Is that a yes?"

"It is."

After a long kiss, Izuku pushes his boyfriend away a bit, chuckling when Katsuki chases his lips desperately and pouts when he keeps turning his head away.

"Come on, nerd! Just one more!"

"Wait, I need to tell you something first."

"What is it?"

"Welcome home, Kacchan!"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but the glimmer in them and the wide smile on his lips tell Izuku that he's just as happy to hear that as Izuku is to say it.

***

Thank you so much for reading this story!

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