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nereidprinc3ss · 5 months

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do you believe me now? | 3

in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded

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18+ (smut) warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!

You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time.

It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned.

You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire.

“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”

He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground.

“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati.

Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing.

“Uh… four hours ago.”

“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”

He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face.

“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”

You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy.

“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”

His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep.

“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”

Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes.

“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”

Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment.

“But we made such good plans,” he laments.

You kiss his cheek.

“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win.

“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”

You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.

“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”

The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”

“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”

“You seem exhausted.”

“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.

Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.

“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy.

Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them.

“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”

Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”

“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”

Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all.

“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Um…”

Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets.

“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table.

His eyebrows raise.

“I’m sure, honey.”

“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly.

“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”

It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that.

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly.

“Nothing. I just missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”

A slow smile spreads over your face.

“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”

You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably.

“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”

“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”

“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”

You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor.

“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”

Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly.

“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”

It’s a ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips.

“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”

“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him.

“Yeah? Like what?”

And just like that, you’re shy again.

“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”

“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”

And how could you ever deny him anything?

As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands.

“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”

Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against.

Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”

A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention.

“You okay?”

You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think.

“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”

It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have.

“Do you want to?”

Woah.

Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.

You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.

“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”

Show you how?

Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea.

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try.

“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”

You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do.

“Got it.”

He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch.

“Scoot back a little, angel.”

Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and—

Your breath catches.

Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him.

So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is.

The size sinks in a quick second later.

You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?

No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving.

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response.

Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”

Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening.

“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch.

“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.

“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”

It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath.

“Okay. What do I do?”

“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”

You look up, alarmed.

“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”

“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously.

Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre.

“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation.

“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”

Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh.

“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong.

“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head.

“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away.

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”

You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”

Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him.

“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it.

“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out.

For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours.

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?

“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”

You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs.

“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”

“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident.

“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”

“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”

“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you.

“Because I like to listen.”

“What if I do, too?”

In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped.

“Jesus, fuck.”

You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is.

Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought.

You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, baby?”

He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?”

His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers.

“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”

“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”

Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.

“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

Wide eyes dart up to his.

“Really?”

Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek.

“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”

“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”

“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind.

Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower.

“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears.

“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate.

“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh again.

“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”

You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away.

“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile.

“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers.

You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.

From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”

You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible.

“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him.

Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence.

You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”

You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets.

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can.

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips.

“It’s okay, Spence, I—”

“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”

“Do you care what I think at all?”

Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing.

“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”

It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt.

“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer.

“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”

He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance.

“That was really good, baby. You did well.”

You blossom.

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?”

I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls.

Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.

Fuck.

He really wants to tell you right now.

“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest.

It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.

“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”

“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”

You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated.

“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”

Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him.

“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”

“Oh.”

Spencer thinks he sees where this is going.

“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”

“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”

Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face.

“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”

Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now.

“What got you all excited?”

“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw.

“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”

You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.

“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”

“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”

Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again.

“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him.

“Stand up.”

You frown.

“But—”

“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy.

You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him.

“Why?”

“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing.

As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—

But no.

There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—

“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”

“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh.

“Sit.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” he says, simply.

“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”

“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”

Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again.

“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and his grip tightens ever so slightly.

“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”

Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening.

“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there.

“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?

“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him.

“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”

You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit.

“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”

You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all.

“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath.

“Yeah? Does it?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty.

“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh.

“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”

You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it.

“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”

You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words.

“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”

“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.

“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”

But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.

You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.

“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”

In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.

And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.

part 3.5

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

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

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

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

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her laughter enters first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he wakes up painfully aroused.

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

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

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

>>> It doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but she pulls back.

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

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

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

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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illyrianbitch · 9 days

Text

Of Our Own Devices — Part Five

For @erisweekofficial Day 5: War

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Since the moment he first tasted hatred, Eris Vanserra has harbored one relentless goal: to rid the world of his father. Now, the time has come to wage the war he's been preparing for his entire life—the war against his own blood.

Warnings: well... death, violence, cruelty, injury, mentions of animal abuse, animal death, mentions of child/spouse abuse. basically, we go into eris's mind as he kills beron.

Word Count: 5.1k

authors note: i'm not a huge fan of long fight scenes, so here is my spin on one. i thought it was important to show that wars are not only won on battlefields. this might be one of my most favorite writings.

Part Four | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Eris knew that war wasn’t just physical; it was mental, political, emotional. He was a curious child, indeed. A collector. He'd collected secrets, absorbed the hatred and indifference around him like an animal adapting to its environment.

It taught him every skill he held dear.

Eris was skilled in combat, of course. He'd trained himself to be. He fantasized about killing his father with his own hands, dreamt of watching the life leave him, longed for the feeling of his father's power draining into his own veins. But he knew this war would, inevitably, be won another way.

He understood that true victory was achieved through subtler means. That with the right words, with the right plan, you could convince a foe to destroy himself before you ever laid a hand on him.

Eris scanned the room, his gaze sweeping across his men. They were scattered, blending seamlessly among the guests, but each one met his eyes the moment they felt his attention. Subtle nods. A flicker of recognition in their eyes. They were ready—every one of them, waiting for his signal, prepared to do whatever was necessary.

Without needing to turn his head, Eris could feel the weight of Rhysand’s gaze on him, the High Lord's presence nearly tangible, a suffocating pressure that seemed to reverberate in his mind. As much as Eris hated to acknowledge it, to feed into his inflated ego, Rhysand's power pulsed like an unseen echo. His father feared it for good reason, hid his fear through disdain, through disgust.

Eris had seen Tarquin in another far corner. He’d managed to sway the young High Lord, convincing him that his rule was inevitable, promising that he could prove himself where his Father had faltered. He'd seen something in Eris's eyes. And somehow, it had worked.

Spring was absent, as expected. Tamlin had yet to appear in any event, had yet to return to his proper existence. Eris knew he should feel some semblance of empathy, that he should feel for a fellow male wronged by the cards dealt, a male who made errors under the presumption of the greater good. But he didn't.

Winter was also absent—Vivianne had blocked any chance of their participation, had convinced Kallias to flee in haste and not spare a moment for the princeling. Eris had anticipated this, of course, had known that Mor’s influence would weaken his alliances in certain courts.

He had worked with Helion, though it had taken time and effort to even secure a meeting. Eris attributed Helion’s openness to Rhysand’s ability to balance his hatred for Eris with his vision of a stronger, united Prythian. Even he was shrewd enough to recognize that.

Now, Helion stood poised and ready, a few feet from Rhysand, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he were searching for something specific, seeking for something he had yet to find. Dawn was unable to attend, but Thesan seemed more open to Eris's words, seemed willing to hear him out despite his presentation the last time he was in his court, his words during the High Lord meeting.

It was enough.

Because Eris wasn't relying solely on them.

His alliances were tools for strength and backup, sources of power he lacked himself—like the ability to cloud the minds of those who might intervene. But other than that, Eris believed in his own abilities, believed in his rage even more.

The moment he had been preparing for his entire life had finally arrived. Every piece was moving exactly where he needed them to be.

Except for you.

Eris’s jaw tightened as his gaze fell on you once more. You hadn’t moved since the dance, your eyes still locked on him. He should have known better.

His heart pounded harder in his chest.

He almost growled in frustration, willing you to leave. Begging you, silently, to turn away, to walk out of the room before things spiraled further. But you didn’t move. You stood there, defiant as ever, and he knew in his bones that you wouldn’t leave him—not tonight, not ever, maybe. It was a comfort and a curse all at once, and he hated himself for expecting you to be anything but exactly what you always were: stubborn, unshakable, and entirely unwilling to leave him at surface level.

Eris thought he would've convinced you to leave, that you would've left the ball and never looked back.

He wanted you to give up on him.

Well, perhaps wanted wasn't the right word. He needed you to give up on him. But the conversation of tonight had steered a different way, he'd felt a tug in chest, a longing to say something to you that you would hold onto. He wanted to make things right if this night didn't go as he had planned. Just in case.

His hands clenched into fists, anger simmering under his skin. It wasn’t directed at you—no, it was at himself. For dragging you into this, for wanting you there even now when he should have been protecting you, not keeping you in the line of fire. His thoughts raced, but before he could find a way to fix this—to get you out of here—Beron's voice cut through the room.

“Thank you all for joining us this evening.” Beron’s voice carried a chilling glee as he addressed the assembly, his dull, dead gaze sweeping across the gathered guests. “Your presence here is both an honor and a testament to our shared interests.”

Eris resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

His father stepped down from his throne, his movements slower than usual, though not without their characteristic arrogance. With a subtle struggle masked by his usual flair, Beron flicked his wrist, summoning long banquet tables in a grand, sweeping motion.

Eris knew what to expect—the feast was an integral part of the Autumn Equinox ball, a hallmark of Beron’s gatherings and a grotesque display of excess. It wasn’t just about wealth; it was Beron’s way of reminding everyone of his power. The elaborate food and endless wine were symbols of his dominance, meant to impress, to intimidate. Everything served had its own twisted meaning, every bite meant to feed not only the stomachs of his guests but Beron’s insatiable ego.

“Let this night be remembered,” Beron said, a thin smile creeping over his lips, “For it is not just a feast, but a celebration—a dedication.”

His eyes finally settled on Eris. “To my eldest son, my heir," He drawled, his voice mocking. “So powerful, isn’t he? Could stand here—just like me.”

The room fell into a hushed confusion. From the corner of his eye, Eris noticed Rhysand and Feyre exchange a subtle glance. Then he took notice of the slightest of movements from his men and Beron’s guards alike, their hands inching towards the hilts of their swords.

“Why don’t you step forward? Take a seat." Beron’s grin sharpened as he gestured toward the throne looming behind him. "Tell me, is it warm enough for you?”

Eris didn't move. There was something in his father's eyes that unnerved him more than usual, something that prickled at his skin. Eris wanted to turn and look at you, wanted to find some feeling of comfort. He resisted the urge, resisted as he had for centuries.

Even Eris’s brothers seemed to sense the sinister glint in Beron’s eyes, stepping aside from their usual positions, retreating from his throne and his shadow. Their movements were hesitant, almost apologetic, but they did not challenge Beron or attempt to shield Eris. Instead, they distanced themselves, as they often did.

Eris felt a sharp pang of betrayal. It was expected, of course, but it hurt him still. He had loved them, raised them, spent countless hours teaching them how to hold a sword, how to pet a hound— shared with them the fragments of compassion he had left.

If Beron chose to make a move against him now, if he decided to execute him as he had done to others, as he had done to Lucien’s first love, Eris knew his brothers would not intervene. They would not rise to his defense. They would, instead, hold him down, their faces betraying no sign of conflict or hesitation. The years of affection and teaching he had given them would simply vanish, be replaced by a cold compliance that made them unrecognizable.

Eris didn’t loathe them for their cruelty. He understood their desire for acceptance, their need to survive in the oppressive shadow of their father. They weren’t as strong as he was—that was a fact Eris had long since accepted. But he did harbor a certain resentment, a bitterness reserved for those who shared his blood, for their spinelessness. It was a raw, bitter hatred born of disappointment, for they had succumbed to the very weakness he had fought to overcome.

Yet, deep down, Eris knew that hatred was unfair. They weren't as strong as he was. They had found safety, a semblance of life, in aligning themselves with Beron, in becoming mere extensions of his will. They were each equally awful, equally numb, void of the personality and warmth that once marked their youth.

His heart ached when he reflected on it too long, when he looked at the males before him and saw only shadows of their younger selves—reminders of who they might have been before Beron had shaped them into tools of his power.

Beron’s lips twisted. “Seems like you’re stuck. Not enough energy? Don’t have the appetite?” His voice took on a mocking softness. With a sudden cruel smile, he motioned for the feast to be revealed. “Perhaps you need something to satiate you.”

Eris felt his stomach twist, but it didn't show on his face, didn't show in his stature. He’d perfected it over the years, that calm, amused mask. Yet beneath it, something churned—something he couldn’t name.

And then the reveal came.

With a nod of Beron's head, attendants moved swiftly to unveil the centerpiece of the feast.

The array of food was lavish, an impressive display of excess. But as the cover was lifted, a collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a collective step back. Eris’s hearing fuzzed, his breath catching in his throat as a wave of despair crashed over him.

There, displayed as if it were the grandest prize of the night, was one of his hounds. One of the first he had ever raised, ever loved. The animal stared back at him, its body bound, gagged with an apple.

Slain and displayed as a macabre trophy.

The sight sent a shudder through the room, a sense of disgust even reaching the eyes of Beron's soldiers, of the males standing around the room.

And clearly, like a piercing alarm in the dead of night, Eris could hear your voice—a sound of horror, of sadness—interwoven with his own, as if your emotions were etched into his own heartbeat. But now only anger consumed him. He saw red.

Beron wallowed in the shock, bathed in it like a pig in mud.

“My dear son, so arrogant, so ready to take my place. I hear the chatter.” He gestured disdainfully toward the hound. “What a shame that your beloved playthings aren’t immune to the cost of defiance.”

Eris took a deep breath.

“You’ve spent your entire life preparing for this," Beron walked over to two of his guards. They presented him with two ornate swords. “How satisfying it must be to finally face your grand plan.”

He turned and threw a sword at Eris’s feet, the blade skidding across the floor with a clatter.

“Pick it up,” Beron commanded. “If you’re so eager to prove yourself, then do it properly. Give your court a show.”

Eris’s gaze followed the sword. While Eris knew he didn't need to fight to win, he wasn't going to miss out on a bit of fun, wasn't going to resist his chance to decorate himself in his father's blood before his plan came to fruition. He felt eerily calm, felt strangely numb, as he bent down to retrieve the weapon, feeling its weight settle into his hand.

The first time Beron had struck Eris with true malice, he had been no older than sixteen. Instead of the usual heavy hand, Beron had chosen a different method of discipline that day.

He had targeted something deeper—something soft.

Eris was still young at the time, but old enough to have developed a bond with his hounds, creatures he had raised and trained with care. Only one of his brothers had been born at this time, too young to understand his affection for the animals, but Eris—Eris had always felt responsible, protective. He'd been the one to fight for them in the first place, had managed to summon the courage to convince his father they were useful, needed for the Court.

It was a simple mistake during hunting, on a trip Beron had granted them all to take. Eris had let the hounds range too far ahead, and when one of them startled a stag too soon, Beron saw red. Instead of turning his fury on Eris immediately, he called for the hound.

Eris’s stomach had dropped when he saw his father’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching in that way that signaled violence was coming. But it wasn’t for Eris—yet.

Without hesitation, Beron grabbed the dog by the scruff and brought his hand down with a sickening crack across the hound’s side. The sound of bone snapping and the sharp yelp that followed was enough to freeze Eris in place, horror clawing at his chest.

“Your mistake,” Beron had snarled, glancing at Eris as the hound crumpled to the ground, whimpering. “It’s only fair it pays the price.”

Eris had wanted to run to the animal, to shield it, to beg his father to stop, but Beron’s gaze had pinned him in place. The message was clear: any sign of weakness would only make things worse.

“That’s the thing about care,” Beron continued, voice calm, detached. “It makes you vulnerable. Weak. Never let them see.”

Eris's weakness wasn’t something entirely physical—it was the things he loved, the things he couldn’t afford to lose. He was sixteen and wanted to be great. He was sixteen and loved his family. But he knew, then and there, that Beron would never hesitate to use those things against him.

So Eris learned to mask it all, to bury the things he cared for deep beneath a layer of cold indifference. He learned to find the weaknesses in others and use them before they could be turned against him.

Find the thing that makes them vulnerable, Eris collected, and exploit it until they're weak.

Beron’s vices had been his easiest prey— his pride, his paranoia.

Beron was already acting out of fear, already on edge. He was quick to draw his sword, quick to make rash decisions. Who could blame him, Eris thought, after he’d come across those letters? He could still feel the seething anger, remember the way Beron’s face had twisted as he read those messages from his high-ranking officials, his allies.

They spoke of Beron’s incompetence, of their desire to betray him. It was so convenient how Eris’s brothers had intercepted those letters, so strangely timed that they ended up exactly where Beron would find them on that fateful night.

Beron had been so angry, so furious, that he hadn’t realized the writing in the letters carried Eris’s careful hand. The curve of the a’s, the dotting of the i’s. Eris hadn’t even fully attempted to hide it. It was a fun little game.

The first strike came fast, Beron’s sword flashing in the dim light as it clashed with Eris’s blade. The impact rattled up Eris’s arm, but he held steady, his face betraying nothing. His father advanced again, faster, more aggressive, but Eris met him blow for blow.

“You think you can stand against me?” Beron spat, swinging again. His strikes were wild, reckless, fueled by a rage that had long since burned out of control. “You think you can take what’s mine?”

Eris sidestepped the blow. “I think you’ve already lost it,” he said, parrying another strike. The blade sliced through a thin layer of skin on his father's arm, the fine fabric soaking up a pool of crimson. Beron’s lips curled in a snarl. The blows were becoming harder, less controlled.

“Ungrateful whelp,” he hissed, “After everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done.”

“Done to me,” Eris corrected, as his blade deflected another attack. The steel met his father's skin once more.

He could feel the fury rising, could see the cracks forming in Beron’s controlled facade. Every swing was growing sloppier. Eris bit back a grin.

Beron’s face twisted with rage, his teeth bared. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Playing your little games, whispering in the shadows.”

Eris didn’t flinch. His eyes locked on his father’s, unblinking, steady. “I learned from the best.”

As expected, Beron was desperate to prove his strength, his dominance. His face reddened, the veins in his neck bulging as he swung wildly.

He kept his soldiers at bay, clearly wanting the court to witness him vanquish his son with his own hands, to send a powerful message. But as the fight wore on and Beron’s frustration mounted, Eris could see the flicker of temptation in his father’s eyes, the near impulse to call upon his troops.

Beron would be sorely surprised if he made the call.

Eris briefly registered the movement of a few of his men, clad in his rich green colors, subtly inching closer to Beron’s soldiers. They didn’t advance to engage, no, but shared a knowing look with a few of the crimson-clad guards.

Before his brothers were born, Eris played often with his mother. She taught him countless games—strategy and thought alike. It was during those moments that Eris learned the most dangerous moves were the ones no one saw coming. He realized that the easiest games were often played with those unaware of the parts they were playing. At school, he could win every game if he hid just enough of the truth, allowing his tutors to think they knew the rules, when they didn’t know half of it.

Infiltration had been a long game.

It had taken Eris years, centuries, to meticulously cultivate and train the right individuals. It was thanks to him, whether his father acknowledged it or not, that Beron's men were stronger than ever. His newest soldiers, only a couple hundred of years old, had risen swiftly in rank, filling positions of power precisely when Beron needed them most. They emerged just as Beron’s senior troops had fallen ill of a strange form of Autumn Fever. The healers had said it came with the weakened state of soldiers, that their bodies were too tired to fight off such potent infections. Their weakened state created an opportune void.

The new recruits had seamlessly integrated, even believing themselves to be loyal supporters of Beron. Eris had been careful with them, had played the part of a helpful heir. They were eager for power, viewing their positions as a win-win—high-ranking regardless of whatever outcome. Eris had demonstrated his own worth, had shown his influence by granting them such positions. Without even trying, he'd earned their loyalty, ensured they had no reason to doubt him.

They remained loyal to their benefactor.

After all, everyone wanted to feel like they'd be on the winning side.

The clashing of steel and the cries of combat filled the room. Eris felt the sting of a fresh wound on his side, a searing pain that only seemed to heighten his sense of power. He fought through the pain.

In the chaos, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—he hoped, with a fervent intensity, that you weren’t watching. That you had found a place to hide, tucked away safely from the brutality of the scene. The notion that you might be witnessing this carnage, seeing him in his raw, bloody glory, gnawed at him.

He pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford distractions now.

There was a time and a place for them. Because sometimes, distractions— disruptions— were useful. They could turn tides.

The mercenaries were easy to hire.

They didn't ask questions, didn't question the gold they were handed. Eris truly believed, deep in his core, that they found it fun, found enjoyment in creating chaos in the court's infrastructure. He was sure it was cathartic for them, therapeutic for these court outsiders to ruin the place they despised, to be paid to do so of all things.

The acts, though not catastrophic, were enough to inconvenience Beron, to create issues in his supply lines. All of the small riots, the court disturbances—each one had begun to eat away at his composure, had begun to sow seeds of doubt. The constant irritation of these minor upheavals fueled his rage. It angered him to think that his lower-court members, the very people who had sworn loyalty to him, would dare to believe they could challenge his authority. In his mind, it was an affront to his pride. Beron was driven to prove himself repeatedly, to show that he was still the supreme ruler, to assert his dominance even more cruelly than before.

Eris moved with a grace that belied the savage intensity of the fight. If this fight, this moment with his father, were a symphony, Eris was its masterful conductor. Precise, deadly. With a swift maneuver, he brought his blade to Beron’s neck, the tip dangerously close to ending the High Lord’s reign.

Beron’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear momentarily breaking through his usual composure.

As Eris had suspected, Beron's need to reassert control following the disturbances had led him to become increasingly harsh and unforgiving, to become the cruelest version of himself. It wasn’t just the overt displays of cruelty; at times, even Beron’s own loyal men were visibly taken aback by the severity of his punishments. The once-feared High Lord now seemed to revel in his own brutality, meting out harsh reprisals for the smallest perceived slights.

Citizens of the Autumn Court had begun to pray fervently for change.

Eris took note of their desperation. He began to frequent churches and visit temples more often, subtly goading the very prayers that begged for relief from Beron's tyranny. He felt a pang of guilt for the suffering inflicted on those innocent fae who bore the brunt of Beron’s cruelty. The weight of their pain was not lost on him.

But their suffering was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause. The freedom of all, the chance to redeem the Autumn Court from the grip of a tyrant, to restore his own tarnished name.

Eris’s sword was struck from his hand with an almost too-easy motion, as if he had allowed it to happen, had planned for it. But Beron didn't notice, didn't think too much of the act as his grin widened.

He examined the blade of his sword. Then, with a dismissive flick, he tossed the sword near where Eris’s lay, the clatter echoing through the chamber.

"My son," Beron sneered. "Let me show you how a real ruler fights."

He took a step forward. The crowd took a step back. And then, Beron threw a heavy punch at his son, the impact so forceful that Eris swore he heard a crack. As Eris staggered, Beron’s demeanor shifted, his mockery giving way to raw aggression. He moved in and began to deliver a relentless series of blows.

There had been a point where Eris feared he might have undermined himself, might have jeopardized his plans. A moment where Beron confronted him, unevenly calm, about his meetings with Night Court trash. When he'd unleashed a fierce punishment in response to his alliance with Briallyn falling.

Beron had seen Eris for what he truly was: a significant threat.

Beron was not stupid.

But he was easily distracted, easily provoked. The more Beron’s attention was consumed by rage and suspicion, the less he could focus on the real threats closing in around him. Eris had shown submission, a form of fear, and his father's attention shifted to other alleged wrongdoings, other supposed acts of treachery.

Beron’s fists hammered into Eris with unrelenting force, each punch landing with a sickening thud. Eris’s world narrowed to the sharp pain with each strike. His father was monstrous now, uneased at how quickly his son seemed to fall.

When Eris finally fell to his knees, he was barely conscious of the cold floor beneath him. His father's grip on his neck was ironclad, dragging him upright. He felt the trickle of his own blood mingling with the sweat on his face, the warm, metallic taste filling his mouth.

Through every blow, Eris's cheeked ached with the desire to smile.

As a child, Eris had seen eager men tear each other apart in brutal brawls, rage consuming them entirely. He had watched with cold fascination as he stirred up hidden snakes beneath fallen leaves, prodding them into a vicious battle. He'd seen them strike and coil, each one consumed by its own fury.

He realized, even as a child, that the evil eat their own.

All he needed to do was provoke them and step back.

Beron's supporters were as simple as he could be. Animals led by their desires, by their emotions. It had been endlessly entertaining to create disunity between them. Each faction, desperate to curry favor and secure their own power, began to betray one another. The resulting chaos caused Beron to question everyone’s loyalty, leaving him isolated and paranoid. The more they scrambled with conflicting stories and accusations, the more Beron became convinced that everyone was deceiving him. They all suffered. They all fought.

Beron’s eyes blazed with fury as he picked up his forgotten sword and pointed the blade at Eris.

"Fight back!"

But his son did not.

Eris had exploited Beron’s vices with a precision that only years of calculated cruelty could achieve. He was observant, had to become his father to know how to defeat him. And one thing about Beron: he indulged. He was gluttonous to his core, carelessly so.

Beron’s high-ranking members had wanted to gift him something of luxury—something they’d only heard whispers about, whispers that they couldn’t trace but were plentiful. Interesting how that worked, Eris mused, how easily rumors could spread. But everyone wanted to get into the High Lord’s favor, so they pursued it, presented it to Beron. He accepted it with greedy, sin-sticky hands.

Beron hadn’t wanted the faebane antidote, never had enough contact with the poison to recognize it—didn’t know what it tasted like, how to test for it. It helped that, over the years, the crafters of Prythian had become inventive, altering and manipulating it, infusing it into drinks that were delectable, even addictive. The gradual degradation of Beron’s grasp on reality only made his anger more volatile. Eris wondered how his father hadn’t noticed his deteriorating health, why he never questioned why his strength seemed to ebb or why his flame flickered erratically when summoned.

But Eris also understood. Beron’s pride prevented him from admitting any weakness, from seeking help. He was desperate to maintain an image of invulnerability. What good was a High Lord who couldn't handle his liquor?

What good was a High Lord who grew sick?

None at all.

Eris took another kick and the slash with a stoic defiance.

“This is your chance, boy. Take it. Take it before I rid you of your pathetic life.”

Eris’s response was a grim chuckle, his laughter punctuated by a spray of blood. His chest ached with every breath, yet he couldn’t stop the dark humor from spilling out.

"I already have."

When Eris was nineteen, a male his age was stung by a bee. It was a seemingly inconsequential event—just a small, buzzing creature that landed on the boy’s skin. Yet, within hours, he was dead. The sting had triggered an allergic reaction so severe that the male's immortal body couldn’t cope.

In the aftermath, as Eris watched the reactions of those around him, he learned a profound lesson. The deadliest threats often come in the most unassuming forms, in the things that are overlooked—vital to life, but neglected nonetheless.

Beron lunged forward, blade aimed straight for Eris, for the heart he often forgot he had. But just as the weapon descended, Eris’s gaze shifted to something behind his father. Despite the searing pain, despite the specks forming in his eyesight, a smile managed to curve Eris's lips.

A wave of pride, of relief, washed over him as he watched his mother—sweet, neglected, and unassuming—strike true, slicing through Beron's back with a smooth, lethal precision.

The force of the strike caused Beron to stagger, his blade’s path shifting, falling and cutting deep into a lower area of Eris’s abdomen. With his slackened grip, the blade fell from his father's hold. Eris grimaced as its weight dragged it out of his flesh, as it went clattering to the floor beside him.

His vision was clouded with pain, but he remained transfixed as his mother moved with a fierce grace. Her hand, now wreathed in bright, licking flames, grasped Beron’s throat. With the other, she twisted the blade deeper into his father’s body, the fire searing his neck.

Eris’s ears rang, drowning out all but the relentless drum of his heartbeat. Despite the chaos, he could make out his mother’s voice, the words crisp in the oppressive silence.

“This is for my children.”

There was a sputtering sound from Beron, sick and wet, as the blade was twisted deeper. Eris felt a burning sensation, pain so overwhelming it took his breath, his vision blurring as the agony consumed him. It was beautiful and excruciating all at once.

He had never felt so alive, so broken at the same time.

Beron’s body crumpled beside him with a lifeless thud. Eris blinked through the haze.

Around him, chaos erupted—people running, screaming, power crackling in the air. He strained to focus, his gaze drifting past Beron’s corpse, and through the chaos, he saw something glorious.

An angel, perhaps. Something of breathtaking beauty. The glow around it, a song that called to him. Rushing toward him, screaming his name.

It was you.

At least, he believed it was you. Eris wasn’t sure anymore.

No, he managed to tell himself, it was you. He knew you.

He knew you the way one knows the pull of the moon on the tide, the way his soul knew the other half of itself.

It was your voice, mingling with the din of madness, your voice that called to him. Eris wanted to close his eyes at the sound, to bask in the feelings it stirred. You fell to your knees beside him.

He felt his mother’s hands on him, steady and warm.

Then, everything went black.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: hi guys how did i do??? i just think the idea of a sneaky lil eris letting the people around him fall like dominos is sooo entertaining. i strongly do believe his rise to power will be rooted in SUCH small, calculated moves hes made around people.

a big thank you to my love @sarawritestories for reading this for me<3 mwuah

eris week/of our own devices tag list 🫶🏻: @i-know-i-can @scarsandallaz @anainkandpaper @ratgirl2020 @nyenye @rcarbo1 @katana180-blog

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

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@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

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@angel-graces-world-of-chaos

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kingdomoftyto · 1 year

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I'm crying laughing, the DVDs are even worse than I remember... Season 1's menus are silent with a single static jpg of the same key character art they use for everything else, and the episodes on the Season 2 discs don't even match what's listed on the box! Absolutely stunning lack of shits given. Truly unparalleled. But I really shouldn't be surprised given... well... everything about how this series has been treated since the very beginning.

Time for a quick ~✨PHANDOM HISTORY LESSON✨~ to give newer/less hyperfixated folks more context for why the graphic novel being as great as it is is such a HUGE deal:

Danny Phantom was one of Nickelodeon's MAIN cartoons, in its time. It was a central pillar. One of the top three or four of their lineup, which is saying something when the competition includes the cultural juggernaut that is Spongebob.

Despite this, and despite its superhero theming making it perfectly marketable, it got basically ZERO official merch.

What little we did get was often ugly and very, very cheap. The dedication at the start of the graphic novel that jokes about collecting the Burger King toys? That's because it was some of the most notable merch the franchise EVER had. (I sadly do not have any of it. There was no BK in my hometown. Here's a pic from the internet, though, to give you an idea.)

If you think I'm exaggerating about that being the most significant physical merch to come out of the series, consider that the first video game had an entire menu option specifically for the Burger King promotional tie-in:

That video game, by the way, was one of only two ever based on the show. The first was an adaptation of "The Ultimate Enemy" in the style of a short sidescrolling beat-em-up, and the second was themed around "Urban Jungle" and (as far as I can tell--I've only played the first couple levels) was an arcade-style scrolling shooter. Both were for the Gameboy Advance, and both are...... fine, as far as cash-grabby video game tie-ins to kids' shows go. This was pretty normal for the time, so I suppose we did okay in that department, actually. They're not GOOD, but they're playable and have at least a bit of effort put into them.

But besides those two video games (plus a handful of simple, long-defunct Flash games on nick.com)? In the decade and a half since the show ended?

Nothing.

No books, no games, no comics, no web shorts--unless you count mega-crossovers with every other Nicktoon (a la Nicktoons Unite), or soulless promotional material like "Fairly Odd Phantom" (which, trust me, despite being the first new DP animation in over 10 years was not even worth the effort of watching).

...I think there was a limited edition FunkoPop once?

So yeah.

A Glitch in Time is not just the first cool, well-made thing we've seen from the franchise in a while. It's the first THING we've seen since the show. PERIOD. And arguably the first worthwhile supplementary material to EVER come out of the show, depending on how you feel about those GBA games and the Nicktoons crossovers.

This franchise is widely beloved even now, almost 20 years after it first aired, and it feels like that fact is now, finally, FINALLY getting some official recognition.

PLEASE read A Glitch in Time. Tell other people about it. The series--no, the fans--deserve this (and more of this, if the folks in charge see enough of a response and decide to grace us with any followup). It's LONG overdue, but better late than never.

#Danny Phantom #this is why I've been losing my mind repeating ''please buy it'' over and over btw #this is the FIRST and maybe ONLY time we'll ever get to directly show support for the series #it is a uniquely huge deal for this fandom #it's totally fine if you can't (or just still won't) buy it of course but I am begging folks to consider it IF they can.#not for any moral guilting or anything just.... for me. for the fandom. (for yourself because it's a cool story lmao)#long post

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tparker48 · 7 months

Text

Finding a job is hard nowadays with the lack of experience. Everywhere you turn for work its easy for others to deny your applications at a first glance. At least, that's what it was like for Adam. He went from job to job to find a position for himself, showing much of his skills he gained from college, but they always denied his claims, due to being the size of a munchkin.

He closed himself off from his social activities, scouring the web for leads to assist in his effort. One day, he found a job that was willing to take him up, but first, he had to pass their interview with their representative. This was his chance to prove himself, and he was going to ensure it was perfect.

Getting up early, he made breakfast for the house, before taking to his study. The silence was deafening as the sunrise peered into his window, the morning birds chirping in the distance. He circled the phone slowly, awaiting for its tune to ring.

"Okay, let's go over this again." he cleared his throat. "Hello! My name is adam, I'm your next employee for the job. Ugh no that's too brash. Howdy, I'm here for your job position! No that's not it either. How about-"

"Snack!" a voice boomed from through the room, startling the small man. He turned toward his sliding door, fingers curling on the side of the frame as they yanked the door to the side, a broad figure stepped inside.

He placed a hand at his hips, scorning them. "First, stop calling me snack. Second, how many times have we talked about this? No barging into my study unannounced!"

"Yeah I know, but its an emergency!"

"What? What's the emergency?"

"It's tragic, simply tragic.." He slid the door wider, a plate held in his other hand. "The eggs are getting low in the kitchen. Could you make some more?"

Sometimes he can't help but think his stomach is a bottomless pit. "You ate through the eggs already, that was a whole carton, Dunkin."

"Come on you know me, buddy. It's gotta be a lot more than a pan to fill this gut." He slapped at his belly." He spooned the rest of the fluffy eggs into his mouth, stirring the fork around a piece of bacon. "Just a few more eggys, And I promise that'll be it."

"Not now. I have an interview remember?"

"Oh? Ooh that's right, your call thing." He groaned as he groaned as he nibbled at the strip of bacon. "Nah, fine. You don't have to do the eggs. But then you have to do tummy time."

"Tummy time? Bud, its going to take longer before-"

"Tummy Time! Tummy Tummy!" Dunkin roared as he held his gut, hopping around Adam as it plonked im his grasp. "Come on, it's been a while since we got the chance to do it. It'll get the stress off your mind."

"I don't know how long it'll be. I have to-" his friends' round gut wobbled into view, the tufts of hair swaying like blades of grass.

"Pleaase? You don't want to make the mood sad?"

"Pft, you mean for you or the tummy?"

"Mmm..both?" He beamed shyly, tossing his belly in a circular motion across his head.

Adam tried to his best to hold back a smile, looking to his bookshelf to distract himself from his friend's pestering. But despite his lounderimg around, his puppy gaze was too much too ignore, holding his stomach like a hound with a new bone. His gut spilled his cheek, Dunkin's innocent smile peering over is edge like a sunset.

"So..Tummy time." Dunkin said starry eyed.

The stomach groaned in his ear, rumbling at his body. If he didn't know any better, it's learning a thing or two from him. He cracked a smile a smile, throwing a soft punch into the barreled gut. "Fine, Tummy Time. If you just give me-" arms wrapped around his form like a net, sending his chair in a spin as he was lofted in the air.

"Oh I knew you'd come around, little buddy! Its gonna be so great!"

"An hour.." He garbled, slinking from beneath the massive arm. He paw at the sides of the big guy's body, his palms sinking into his muscle as he escorted him to the door "Now, why don't go watch some TV, While I work on my stuff."

"You got it! Tummy time, here we come-!" He closed the door, shuffling back into his seat.

"Finally a chance to get some quiet. Now where was was I?..oh yeah."

-------

Time slowed as Adam practiced pick up lines for his talents, writing them down in his notes to use as reference. Every structure, Ever word had was set to perfection. And yet, he couldn't help but feel unsettled.

He looked to the phone sitting at its charging post. The amount of time he spent practicing, and still no ring. The clock next him ticked as its arms reached towards noon. They should've called by now, what could be taking them so long? Did he miss it? Did they reschedule?

His mind filled with possibilities, spiraling around his head as if it were a merry go round. He tugged at the curls of his hair abstently, tangling its ends along his finger as his vision tunneled to the phone's call sign.

A knock came from the door, it's force snapping him out of his tranced state.

"Adam!" Dunkin' sung from behind the door, "It's tummy time!"

Already? He didn't think it'd go that fast. He stumbled to his feet, waddling toward the door as fingers curled along the door frame. It slid back an inch, before he jammed his foot in its path.

"I..I'm not ready just yet Dunkin."

"What? But you said an hour. And I've been waiting patiently!" The wood along the dor creaked, pressure increasing upon his foot as it slid back.

He place a hand against the wall behind him. "I..still need to be hers when the interviewer call-"

Another set of finger pushed below, sliding the rest of its arm as the gap widened. Adam gritted his teeth, his his whole weight to slow it down. But his foot slid to far, the rest of his body following as he toppled onto one of his chairs in the corner.

The door swung open, Dunkin filled the door. "Caught ya slipping."

Adam paused as he looked at his towering friend. Looking to the phone, he hopped toward his desk as he grabbed from its charging station, and a door connecting to the next room. He barely jiggled the handle before a palm clasped at his shirt, yanking him into Dunkin's arms.

"You can't just go and extend tummy time. Its a sacred tradition." Dunkin yearned, hoisting Adam upon his shoulder.

Adam fanned his arms into his friend back, hoping to deter him from continuing. Its impact softened against his muscle, its force softening before the rest of his palm connected.

"Heh, good try. But you and I both know that wom't work."

"Dunkin please, I need to be in a stable place for this call."

"And I need you take a load off."

Adam's gaze tilted as he faced the hallway, a bumpy surface caressing his back as the ceiling grew bigger. The fireplace came to view as furniture rested against the wall. Before long, he was pitched off from Dunkin shoulder as he plummeted in front of of him, landing on the soft cushion of his couch.

He paddled to get up, but wheezed as Dunkin sat on his legs. "Oh no you don't, you're not running off just yet." He said. "And just so there are no distraction.."

He leaned his weight into Adam, his armpit planting atop his head. It stuck to him like a face mask, unleashing a rip odor as if it were smelling salt. He fanned his arms as Dunkin's slid into his, wrapping around his arm holding the device. He clenched his finger as they grabbed the edge of the phone, but he didn't have the strength to hold it, as slid free from his hand, and into dunkin.

His armpit peeled away, before his rear stamped at his torso. "The phone!"

Dunkin giggled to himself, wiggling the phone in his hand as if it were a treat. "You want the phone so badly. You're going his pay the toll." He lifted the phone higher, tucking it into his belly button. "With belly rubs."

"What? No, Dunkin-"

"Bup-bup! No Dunkin about." He said with a soft smile. "Only tummy time."

Adam reached over the ridge of his belly, pawing into the soft muscle in efforts to retrieve the phone onto the couch. "Come on..come on."

Dunkin merely smiled at his little friend's efforts, kicking a foot upon his lap. "The more you continue to fight it, little buddy, the more the phone's going to be out of reach."

He can't be serious, adam thought to himself, reaching higher as hid arms repelled against his pudgy gut. within that moment, his limbs slumped to the sides. "Fine, I do you rubs."

Dunkin peered an eye, his smile growing wider. "I knew you'd see it my way, little buddy." he slid off the edge of the couch, planting his back along his legs. "don't keep my belly waiting now."

Adam groaned, reaching his palms over the ridge of the warm, soft stomach. he pressed his fingertips into the corners of the soft flesh, a soft gurgle escaping from within as he massaged over it. It was as if they were purring, Dunkin's soft grunts following as he crossed he crossed his arms behind his head. he looked toward the clock along the top shelf of the living room, looking at his phone that swayed over the way of fluffy muscle. He fumbled weakly at its stem, hoping to knock it out of place form its position, but it was yanked away as Dunkin took in a satisfied breath.

silence dwindled as the moment ticked by, Adam kneading into Dunkin as he stared at his phone. not a moment later, he finally called it. "Alright, there you got your rubs." he removed his palms from his stomach, reaching a hand higher to the edge of his torso. "now if you can just-"

Dunkin inhaled, rolling his stomach away. " What? But that was barely a rub. you can't cut it off that early."

Adam wiggled weakly beneath him, rolling his waist into the gaps between the cushions. but he only manage to wiggle Dunkin's body, before his grew tired.

vibration rattled into his body, the phone dark screen lighting up.

"The interviewer!" Adam shoved at his friend's stomach, bucking his torso to reach from the device. but its soft flesh knocked into his chin, as Dunking got to his feet.

"No! You need to finish my rubs." He ran behind the table. Adam followed behind as the two circled around. He ran toward the hallway, his little friend following as their feet boomed to the next room.

"Give me the phone!" Adam lunged to his shorts, gripping to the waistband to slow them down. but his weight couldn't cause friction, before was lofted to the air, flailing in the wind like a pair of laundry in a storm.

Dunkin zoomed through the other room and back toward the living room. Spiraling and rolling to shake off the baggage along his shorts. Adam's stomach twisted, the inertia jumbling him about before gravity stood still. He saw the man's legs tense up, lunging past a marble table as he looked at his own reflection. the meaty feet slammed onto the carpet below him, and he was swung between Dunkin's thighs and onto the couch.

He and his friend met each other's gaze. Turning himself upright, he took a step from the couch, but stopped when Dunkin raised the phone in his hand.

"Not so fast." He said, holding the phone over his mouth. "Not one step closer, or I'll swallow the phone."

"What? Don't be daft, you can't do that."

"Oh yeah?" He cocked a brow, his tongue extending from his mouth, It lathered its slimy tip around the ringing phone, Adam's heart twisting as the appendage wrapped around it like a vine. he dragged the phone into his mouth, the contours of the phone bulging from the side of his cheek. "How about now?"

He's not bluffing. "O..okay, buddy..there's no need to be so hasty. We can talk about this later, but first I need that phone."

"So you can go back into your room and be stressed? No thank you." Dunkin replied, maneuvering past the table. "I don't think you understand the importance of Tummy time. Allow me to remind you of our timely bond. You see, when two best buds share a bond of tummy rubs, it's sacred and-"

"Damn it buddy, I don't have time for this." He threw a blanket toward his face, lunging upon his shoulders.

"Hey! I was explaining something here!!" Dunkin swayed his body around.

"The call's almost up! I can't miss it!"

He clinged to the collar of his shirt, Dunkin bouncing from wall to wall to shake him off. He pawed at his puffy lips to free his entombed device, but his jaws were too tight move without being drench in his saliva. Their tussle for control lasted seconds, before Dunkin stumbled toward the couch.

"You asked for it." He planted his feet, leaning into a trust fall onto the couch.

Adam wheezed as he was sandwiched between them, Dunkin thick head, pinning him down like an upside turtle. "Dunkin I don't have time for this!"

"Fine, fine." Dunkin replied, the bulge in his cheek rotating softening before his lips parted. his drenched phone peeked from his jaws, risen by his tongue. "Hea..tak eet."

Adam looked at the call sign, the interviewer's number flashing upon it. "Finally, Hopefully they won't too-" the phone lowered from his grasp, plunging into Dunkin's jaws as they clicked shut. "What the-?"

"Haha, too slow." Dunkin said, opening his mouth again.

Adam tried again to retrieve his phone, but the fleshy tongue managed to slip through before it vanished behind his pearly white molars. After another attempt to grab the phone, He gripped at Dunkin's nostrils, forcing his gaze toward him.

"Listen here, I have to that phone before-" A belch erupted from the depth of Dunkin's belly, the tainted scent of eggs and bacon filling his mouth before it reaped into his nostrils. "Ugh! come on man!"

"Now you did it, you made my stomach upset. Well I suppose that's what you-" a foot stamped at the center of his stomach, cutting him off as he jerked to its impact.

Gulp.

The sound pierced Adam soul, looking to Dunkin neck as the muffled ringtone of the device vanished down his thick throat. He took to his mouth, forcing it open to the inside. The empty cavern was all that remained, the back of the throat winking as it worked the phone into his stomach.

"You swallowed the phone!"

Dunkin stood up, vibrations rumbling from his stomach. "oh..crap, that wasn't supposed to happen."

"Spit it out! i need to answer it!"

"spit it out, I can't just cough thing's up on demand, my tummy has a mind of it's own." He said, his stomach growling. "You said it belly. the only way you're gonna get that call is if you go inside and get it."

Adam's eye twitched, his gaze shooting to the rounded belly of his best friend. Stewing in there was his phone, surrounded by who knows what and more. If that phone gets damaged, he'll not only lose his chance at a new job, but his data along with it.

Don't worry though, I can always fetch it later-" a palm jammed into his mouth, another hand forcing it wide as Adam climbed onto his shoulder.

A soft wince escaped from him, before he leaped into the damp cavern. Flesh hugged everywhere at his body, tightening like vice as it guided him down his friend's food pipe. he wormed himself toward the end of the throat, smearing passed chunks of eggs caught in its folds as he curled into his stomach.

"Where is it?! Where is it?!" He tossed around the clumps of his friend's breakfast, pressing into the tight abdominal walls. a more complex object pushed into his thighs, spiraling around as he reached toward it. It floundered through the darkness, sliding around his finger tips before the dimmed green screen illuminated a patch of the stomach.out from the outside.

"Hello?" Adam said, wiping the juices from the speaker.

"Yes, Im callimg to speak witha man named Adam."

"This is he, I've been expecting your call."

"I see. Well we're calling to explore your potential career at our company. If you don't mind venturing through our questionare, we can.."

they speech trailed off as the howls of the stomach boomed around Adam, a pound echoing from above him. "Bud?..Is everything good in there?"

"I'm sorry, is this a bad time to call?"

He kicked at the side of the stomach wall, a grunt shaking the walls before he curled into a ball. "No, not at all. Just..took a bit of time travel is all."

-------

The seconds ticked by as Adam chatted with the interviewer, listing many of his qualifications that may help with the position. Waves of stomach juices splashed as Dunkin walked traversed through the house, carrying the added weight inside his gut as he sat upon the couch. he placed an ear to his stomach to listen the conversation inside, his friend's words garbled as the wall of flesh softened them. he tempted to lean closer, but a nudge deterred him as he lifted his head away, fiddling with his thumbs to pass the time.

After a few more minutes, activity began to stir as his stomach wobbled.

"Really ?! You really mean it?! Thank you, thank you so much!" He heard his little friend muffle.

Silence filled the room, his stomach becoming motionless as its gurgles sung its tune. Dunkin returned his ear toward his gut, listening to its distant sloshes like a sea shell. "Buddy...how'd it go?"

"I got it.." His voice muffled. "I got the position!" His stomach thrashed about, his muffled cheers outshining his guts tunes.

"Ay, I'm glad to hear you managed to get it little buddy, I knew you could do it." He smiled at his stomach, but grew sheepish as he scratched at his head. "I uh..sorry for swallowing your phone. I went a little too far when it came to tummy time. you just seemed stressed about the job I wanted to-"

A soft impress met the side of his stomach, the contours of handprints wrapping as if to hug it. "Water under the bridge bud. I appreciate you trying to cheer me up." Adam said.

Dunkin choked at his words, drawing asoft smile as he cradled his gut into himself. "Good."

"but I didn't expect to let tummy time get this far."

"I'll say, didn't think you'd just hop inside my mouth like that." he patted his stomach.

"Yeah well, I didn't expect it either. Besides I don't think my insurance covers stomach juices." He pushed at the elastic wall of the stomach, Dunkin holding it in his grasp.

"Speaking of stomach, I'm not exactly sure how long I can keep you down there." He heaved at his stomach, small belches escaping as the weight of his friend jostled at the valve. "It'll be a while before I can cough you up."

"I see."

"But you know..if your up for it, we could finish..tummy time?"

"Thinking of tummy rubs at a time like this?"

He fiddled at his fingers. "W..well..I mean since we have time-"

He was cut off when pressure met the side of his stomach, the bulging handprints creating soft hills.

"Of course I can't leave my best bud hanging. Even after your efforts to cheer me up." Adam continued his rubs, adding his feet into the mix as his stomach wobbled like a hatched egg.

Dunkin shuddered at the sensation, his legs becoming queasy as the slick strokes rubbed around his body. he sat along sofa, nuzzling into his belly. "Now you really are a snack."

"It's not too late to give you a stomach ache, Dunkin."

"Hehe, you can try."

#Gentle #accident #oral vore #size difference

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entomolog-t · 1 year

Text

The Shadow We Cast

Author Notes: Content warning, but the CWs make it sound far scarier than it is. Unless you struggle with any of the topics its fairly lighthearted.

Another finished a G/t July Prompt; Bird! This takes place after Sal and Mark meet for the first time (Loosely based on this comic that I will inevitably redraw) acting as a sort of Chapter Two. The Title for their story is still up in the air and I am more than welcome to suggestion.

Word Count: 3184

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

CW: Adult language, mild gore (blood, hunting, animal death), derealization/questioning sanity

---

The warmth in the air was uncomfortably muggy. I could feel myself break a sweat and I’d barely started my trek to the outskirts of the property. It reminded me of whenever he got too close. The way he radiated heat… the way he seemed to use up all the air around me, leaving the air feeling used and wet with his breath. Stretching my arms skyward I couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of the strange human; The shared shock as we saw one another, the way he fumbled over himself to assure me he wasn’t a danger… and that hilarious scream he’d let out at the sight of my innocent little spider. I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face. I’d never imagine I’d talk to a human, let alone spend the better part of an hour trying to get one to calm down!

The image of him, face flushed and sputtering had been comical. He’d been so embarrassed. Rightfully so. Why would a creature like him be scared of such a sweet little spider? Ridiculous. Picking up my pace, I began to jog towards the tree line, hoping those masked birds hadn’t yet found the berrying tree. Chewing on my lip, I found my mind being drawn back to the human. He’d called himself Mark. Once he’d calmed down he’d apologized up and down for his outburst. He was strange. I had sat down on his window sill as he asked question after question. What was I? Where had I come from? Why was I trying to get into his house?

His… Mark’s house had been empty for so long… was I not supposed to take my chance to see humans up close? There's something invigorating about even just being in the presence of people… When was the last time I’d even seen another being capable of conversation, let alone had a conversation? Sure, it's not like I planned on popping up directly in his line of sight, but … despite my better judgment, I found myself happy I did. I’d had my first conversation in years, and for some strange reason I was feeling as if it had left me bursting at the seams with renewed energy. Whether it was from the interaction or maybe from the strange food the colossal coward had given me… an Or-we-Oh? Was that what he’d called it? It didn’t really look like food… more like two disks made of soil with something unnaturally white between them. While it may have looked wrong, it had tasted far better than it looked.

My stomach growled at the memory. Whether it was the human food or the conversation, I’d made up my mind. I was going back. Though, not empty handed. These stupid tree-berries were always such a hassle to get.

The trunk of the tree was thinner and smoother than what grew deeper in the woods making them profoundly annoying to climb. Worse yet, the stupid branches only really broke off in a convenient fashion after a sizable climb, and even then, they grew at an such an angle that I could never just stand. The lack of hand and footholds along the lower portion of the trunk always left me exhausted, but the deep red berries were, regrettably, worth the effort.

Hand over hand and feet pressed firmly on the trunk I climbed up the tree, letting my weight hang downwards effectively anchoring my grip on the trunk. I grit my teeth. Climbing like this was always a pain. I could feel the muscles in my arms swell and ache as I made my way up the trunk. Better sore than hungry. I thought, as my hands finally gripped onto a branch. Hoisting myself up, I surveyed the scene. Those stupid birds had definitely gotten here before me, with one or two of them still darting on and off the branches. Even still, those smooth deep near purple berries were still relatively abundant.

Those stubborn pests ignored my shouts and attempts at shooing them away as I maneuvered along branch after branch, filling the sack I’d brought until it was nearly overflowing. If I had any hopes of trading that human for more of their strange food, I would need more than just a couple berries.

I sat, letting my feet hang over the edge of the branch as I tied the mouth of the bag. This was weird, right? Wanting to see a human? To spend time with them? I shook my head, ridding myself of doubt as quickly as it came. Mark had been weird, sure, but he could talk!! An unwelcome thought seemed to bubble to the surface…

How long has it been since I’ve heard a voice other than my own?

Yeah, no. Bad thought. No time for those. Rising to my feet, I heard the sudden flutter of wings as those pesky masked birds took flight, swooping away from me and deeper into the woods. Figures, they’d leave now that I-

My thought was interrupted by a resounding screech.

Fuck.

---

The sticky summer air struck like walking into a wall. I made my way out of the sanctuary of my air conditioned house, and into the frying pan my porch had become. Was this real? A tiny man... There had been a tiny man in my house. Sal… that was the name he’d given me. He was a rough looking creature, and I had no doubts after just one glance at him that he had been living outside. He had warm, sunburnt skin, and was covered in an unsightly layer of grime. I found myself wishing I had got a closer look at him, but there was no way in Hell I was getting within arm's distance of that creepy little spider he’d had accompanying him. I shuddered at the thought. The image of it crawling liberally all over him as we spoke made my skin crawl.

He’d laughed at my reaction too, as if I was the one being weird.

He’d told me he’d bring me back a treat in exchange for the Oreo. I’d half heartedly tried to tell him there was no need but… if I’m gonna be honest? I wanted him to have a reason to come back.

I stared up at the sun. The strange little man apparently wasn't very familiar with the concept of hours and had told me he’d meet me when the sun was “around there in the sky” as he pointed vaguely at an angle that seemed to suggest sometime around noon? Maybe?? I took a seat.

This was crazy. Was I crazy? I mean… a little man… a tiny yet full grown man had just pulled himself up onto my window sill? I ran my hands through my hair, my loose grasp on reality making my stomach knot. It had felt so real… but it couldn’t have been… and yet here I was, sitting on my front porch in this awfully muggy weather waiting to rendezvous with something, someone rather, straight out of a fairy tale.

The minutes dragged on lazily, as if the muggy weather made time itself move sluggishly. Fuck, was I actually losing my grasp on reality? I mean, I had seen him, heard him, but I hadn’t touched him… I had no pictures, no proof to fall back on. I felt my brow furrow as I swallowed dryly. I’d fucking lost it. Staring up at the sky, I watched as a hawk circled lazily overhead. I’d go into town tomorrow and see if I could get in with a doctor. A solid two days away from the city and I’d managed to develop some form of cabin fever. Just fucking great.

I closed my eyes and leaned back. Man, it was hot. Somewhere above, the hawk screeched, seemingly in agreement with my thoughts. I thought about going inside to get water… or better yet, a beer, but I couldn’t leave my spot. It was as if I was holding onto a shred of hope, desperate to prove to myself that the miniscule little man had really existed.

The longer I thought about him, the more doubt seemed to surface in my mind. His voice, while relatively quiet, had been deep. Did that make sense? Surely someone that small would be pitched up? Thinking back, he may have had pointed ears, but everything else seemed perfectly human-

A strange cacophony interjected into my rambling thoughts; another shriek from the hawk, although this time, much closer. There was the rustling of grass and the puffing sound from flapping wings. I cracked my eyes open and sat up. I knew they were skilled hunters but I’d never seen one in action, and although morbidly curious, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to see the aftermath of whatever poor little creature ended up in its… talons.

Poor little creature…

SAL.

I sprung up. Reality be damned. What if… what if he really was real… what if he’d been-

I pushed the thought from my mind as fast as it had surfaced. Don’t think. Just go. I ran down the stairs and out towards where I’d heard the sound, begging that the hawk had just picked off one of the little finches or waxwings that flitted about the property.

When I saw rustling in the grass it was as if my heart was trying to crawl out of my throat. No. No. No.

Please be alright… My head spun with worry as I moved aside the grass, heart sinking at the sight. A red tailed hawk moved awkwardly on top of something… something small. No feathers were scattered about, no flapping of wings beneath its grip...

Oh God…

My throat felt tight. I lunged at the creature, hoping desperately that whatever damage was done wouldn’t be fatal.

A yelp.

I nearly fell back from the soft sound of shock that came from beneath the bird. Everything seemed to slow as my brain struggled to keep pace with what I was seeing. There he was. That tiny little man… Sal… Covered head to toe in blood. I felt as my own blood drained from my face, bile rising up in my throat. He was soaked. Oh God, was it fatal? What was I supposed to do? Who was I supposed to call for help? How could I-

He smiled.

His teeth were bright white against the gruesome crimson that covered him. Why was he… smiling…? The limp weight of the hawk in my hand suddenly felt a good deal heavier. I looked from the hawk, to him and back to the hawk.

Had he…?

“Well?” He said, placing his hands on his hips and craning his neck to look at me, “Fair trade?”

Things were moving too fast for my brain to keep pace. To start, I wasn’t losing my mind. The tiny man was real… and he had killed a hawk… a dead hawk which I now held in my hand. I swallowed the urge to gag. What had he meant by trade… Oh- Oh no.

---

His face. Oh man, his face. That near death run-in was worth every cut, scrape and bruise to be witness of the realization dawning across that massive face. He turned his head back and forth between me and the redtail hanging limply in his grasp in rapid succession. He looked uneasy. I felt my smile grow even wider. There was disbelief in his eyes. I liked that. I wanted his gaze on me to stay that way. Looking at the bird in his hands I could only feel my pride grow. Fuck those stupid berries, now that was a meal fit for a human.

“Don’t worry,” I chuckled, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the bird’s blood from my face, “I’m not that rude of a guest. I’ll prepare it for you. Can’t go bringing unfinished gifts, now can I?”

I stared up at him, awaiting some kind of response. Wow Sal, that's incredible! Or Oh man, that's a pretty big bird, I doubt I can finish it all, or-

“Prepare…” The colour drained from his face. I snorted. The last family that lived here hadn’t seemed to have to do much with their meat either. Sure, it wasn’t the most pleasant experience but someone had to do it. He crouched down, staring at me with a strange expression; his brow furrowed and his lips pursed.

“Dude, that's gross. I’m not eating hawk?”

Oh.

That simple remark seemed to puncture something in my chest. I felt deflated. My smile wiped away in an instant. Did humans not eat redtail…? Why... why was it gross? That strange expression on his face suddenly seemed to come into focus in my mind; disgust.

Not wanting to look at that expression any longer, I busied myself with looking around the grass.

“Ha, oh yeah, that’s… I had something else. Um,” I felt heat rise to my face. I didn’t get what was wrong with it? What was I missing? “It should have fallen around here somewhere…”

Fuck, I felt small.

I was all too aware that even as I cast my gaze downward, he could see every movement I made. His presence loomed over me. Small. What had felt like an insurmountable feat just a few moments ago was a dismissable nothing to someone like him.

A cruel voice seemed to rise from the ether within my mind. So are you.

---

Shit.

He had been really excited, hadn’t he? He’s done the equivalent of slaying a fucking dragon, and how do I react? By saying it's gross?? I mean, the idea of eating a wild hawk most definitely is gross, and questionably legal, but… My thoughts trail off as I stare down at the crestfallen little man. He doesn’t meet my gaze. That borderline uncanny confidence seemingly eviscerated by a single tactless comment.

I chew my lip and groan, albeit, internally.

“Sal…” he doesn’t look at me, but I catch him flinching at his name, “You know… Now that I think about it, it’s probably pretty similar to turkey.” His head snaps back to me, eyes full of hope. I offer him a smile.

“I’ll give it a shot. Can’t let a great catch like this go to waste.”

It’s as if a switch goes off, and suddenly he’s beaming, his cocksure grin even wider than before. It would be an adorable sight… if not for the fact he was drenched in the blood of his prized catch. I cringed internally as I offered him my hand. He took a step back, as if unsure of what I was doing.

“You can use my kitchen to prep the meat, but only if you wash yourself off first…” I paused, “Please.”

His grin never faltered.

“You got it, Tree-Top.” Despite absolutely dreading his meal, I couldn’t help but grin right back at him.

He took a hesitant step onto my open palm, looking back and forth between my face and my outstretched hand as if asking if it was okay. I nodded encouragingly, repressing the urge to gag as I saw the tiny bloody handprint he left on my thumb. Gross. Gross. Gross.

Instead I focused on the absolutely wild sensation of holding small… human…(?) in my hand. The sensation was beyond bizarre. Nothing like holding a small rodent or lifelike doll could come close to comparing. I could feel how intentional every movement was, as if I could sense the human intelligence behind each carefully placed step. The thought that I was quite literally holding a life in my hands was overwhelming, and I teetered back and forth between excitement and anxiety.

I stood. As he rose upwards in my cupped hand, he gripped onto my thumb with an unnerving amount of strength for a being of his size. Looking down at him, my own stomach lurched. With seemingly no instinct for any form of self preservation, he leaned over the edge of my palm on his hands and knees, watching with rapt excitement as the ground disappeared beneath him. He turned his attention to me briefly, shooting me a cheeky little cocksure grin, before going back to watching the ground pass by in awe as I made my way back towards the house.

In those moments, I was all too aware of every item I had ever dropped in my life, and suffice to say it was more than a few. My heart felt as though it would beat itself out of my chest as he let himself nearly dangle off the edge of my palm. Slowly, I leaned my palm against my chest and curled my fingers inwards. Sal was unphased with the change in position, absentmindedly shifting to standing, his feet perched firmly on my pinky while he leaned precariously over my index finger.

His excitement only seemed to grow as we entered the house. His head was constantly on a swivel, taking in every detail he could catch. Which arguably wasn’t much as I hurried toward the kitchen counter, the sticky feeling of quickly drying blood on my hands leaving my skin crawling. Ew. Ew. Ew.

“Stay right there.”

Placing him and the bird beside one another on the counter I hurriedly turned on the sink, letting out a deep sigh of relief as the rush of water cleaned my hands. The last thing I needed was a bloodied little man exploring the area where I made my food. I bit my lip, trying my hardest to keep the disgust from forming on my face, not wanting to upset my gruesome little guest.

“Here,” I grabbed a table cloth and wet it, offering it to the little man. He didn’t hesitate to begin wiping himself down. As I went to lay out a cutting board, I paused, my stomach sinking. Fuck, I thought, am I going to have to … I grimaced.

“Um, hey man, are you going to need me to-” He cut me off with a wave of his hand, shooing me away as he strode over to my knife block as if this were his kitchen.

“No, no,” he said dismissively “I got it.” He smiled over his shoulder as he yanked out a serrated knife from the block. Nope. Don't wanna see this. I turned to leave, but a small shout made me pause. Sal stood atop the hawk, knife slung over his shoulder like an oversized video game sword, waving me down with his free hand.

“Can you grab me a bowl?”

“Why do you-” he cut me off,

“Organs.” I gagged and silently prayed he didn’t notice. Right. Gross. I tried to hide the revulsion as I plopped a bowl down on the counter, averting my gaze from the carnage on the cutting board. I needed a beer. Or four. Not wanting to wait around in case Sal thought I could make myself useful I disappeared down the hall, now more thankful than ever that I had kept my college mini fridge as a beer fridge away from the kitchen.

#TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY??#An absolute mad man #Sal is basically a cat #Mark is going to spend the next 3 weeks cleaning his kitchen #CW blood #cw derealization #cw animal death #Giant/tiny #G/t #g/t writing #The Shadow we Cast #SalOC #MarkOC #Entowrites #Borrower au #g/t story

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tangarang · 1 year

Note

So any word of Coupon Kids or are you unsure/trying to keep quiet about it for right now? I like quat's redesign. It's more visually distinct than the original.

tldr: I am trying to pick back up on Coupon Kids, reworking the story (yeah , the actual story) with a lot more intention! Idk how long it will take, but just know that I'm taking it seriously.

If you want the LONNGGG story of it, here it is!

Last time we left off in the comic, I was in quarantine with my niece and sister! I was helping to raise my niece so my sister could get out of a horribly abusive relationship. I was a full time nanny which was tough! Cause I had to still make rent from home on commissions, but no one was buying them because we all became RLY RLY poor all at once.... go figure.

I turned to Coupon Kids for support because umm I was kinda fucked tbh 6_6. I had run out of money and had no time to make more, but I SQUEEEZED out the last of the Halibut Jones arc! (which, even at the time of completion, I knew it was an underwhelming piece of work, but I finished it and I'm proud I did!) Thanks to everyone's support, I had enough financial padding that I could rely on Patreon's passive income and refocus on supporting my sister/niece as well as plan to make the move down south to continue my schooling once the quarantine let up. So thats where I had left the comic for the time being in terms of story, with a sprinkle of short strips here and there, but nothing plot related, because the plot was horribly fucked right from the get-go.

I had to take multiple severe hiatuses with Coupon Kids because I got my ass handed to me on several accounts through ought. Horrible breakup, friend break up, severe mental illness, best friend got cancer, best friend died, quarantine, unexpected parenthood, gallbladder disease, then school. All the while Coupon Kids was something I made in the deepest pits of my depression.

I absolutely hated my self, my work, and my art. That all looped back to being a strange source of peace for me to make stuff w/o fear of judgement. No one could hate Coupon Kids as much as I did. I was the #1 Coupon Kids hater and I ruined it by making it. (this is a retrospective pov obv... I dont think my work is worthless anymore thx wellbutrin lol)

Coupon Kids was very liberating to write in that I had no standards, but the lack of structure kinda eventually lead to its own downfall once I started to get better. I had a very loose idea of what I wanted the story to be, but I was so disoriented by chemical imbalance and weed (I smoked SOOO much weed) I didn't rly care about the ending because tbh I thought I was gonna be dead before I got anywhere near the ending. But then Kira died, So I officially abstained myself from death's sexy loins and committed myself to giving life another go.

Sorry for the autobio dump: its kinda hard to convey Coupon Kids development w/o getting into the nitty gritty of what I was going through at the time of making it. The point is this: I made Coupon Kids with the intention of it being a stain on my legacy- but then I ended up loving the stain and it's inhabitants. Its made coming back to it difficult, because I want to put genuine effort in it but that clashes with it's overall tone. Instead of creating in spite, I'd like to create it in celebration of my artistic short comings and to do that is to completely rework the entire moral of the story and all of the characters. If I'm gonna do it right, I'd like to take my time.

Not sure how many people made it to the end of this one! Sorry I'm so quiet about my process. tbh the last 4 years have been the best of my life despite holding a lot of dread. I'm doing a lot better now and am really excited to work on what I love and be grateful I have the power to do so ! So thank you for reading if you are still interested, it means a lot!

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istadris · 1 year

Text

The King and the Imperator

Translation of this story ( @elitadream keep an eye out, there's more to come)

Or : when the universes of two short-stacked, moustachioed heroes collide, and their respective nemesis find a common ground.

The creature was towering over him.

An impressive feat on its own, given how Caesar was taller than most of his peers. What was most remarkable, however, was the creature itself: a curious hybrid between man, turtle and lizard, one that could breathe fire and break stones with its bare fists. Dragon, his mind kept suggesting, despite his best efforts to avoid dwelling on the ludicrous idea.

Even more interesting was the fact that the creature was smart enough to think, talk, and was, from what he had gathered, a king, a ruling leader.

Smart enough to bark a laugh in reaction to Caesar’s offer.

“So you wanna work for me? You?”

“An alliance is what I’m offering,” Caesar answered coldly, “as our goals seem to align for the time being.”

“An ‘alliance’ implies we both got something interesting to bring on the table. I have the biggest army in the world, the best magicians at my service, and I am the most powerful of my kingdom. What could a twiggy little thing like you offer me?”

“Many things, O king, but most of all what you are currently lacking: strategy.”

The creature snarled at the implied insult and stomped suddenly towards Caser, huge, sharp fangs bared in a vicious snarl. It took all of Caesar’s self-control to not reach for his sword; not that it would do much against the thick scales of his opponent.

“Watch your words, human. You’re a funny distraction for now, but you’re not that amusing.”

Yet as brutish and foul-tempered as this monster was, it was smart enough not to give in to his rage and listen to what Caesar had to say instead. So he stared back in the red eyes, standing tall and proud.

“You said it yourself: you lead the greatest army of this world, you dispose of vast resources…yet what of your conquests? How have you not yet bent this entire world to your rule?”

“Ha, because you think you can do better than ME?”

“‘Better’? I’m leaving this debate to philosophers. I only know I had no throne to claim by birth right, nor fortune or magic. And yet today I’m the master of an empire in all but in name; I am feared and respected by my citizens and foes alike as the conqueror of most of the known world. All who dared opposing me submitted to my armies or perished. Can you claim the same?”

Black smoke erupted from the creature’s nostrils in a low snort, the words clearly striking a chord, but not to the point of causing aggression for now. Caesar even dared to walk a few steps away from his interlocutor, his arms crossed behind his back as he took in the landscape surrounding them as he went on:

“Only one small village of indomitable Gauls still holds out against my troops. But unlike me, they have at their disposal a…magic providing them with incredible strength. Otherwise, they would have been wiped out a long time ago.”

Some of them might have cunning and ingenuity on their side as well…but Caesar didn’t need to mention that detail.

“Two of them, in particular, keep fooling my plans. A pesky duo made of a little runt and a tall bumbling fool following him around. From what I was told,” he added with a smirk in the direction of the king, “we share something in common in that aspect.”

“Might be. Get to the point.”

“It’s very simple,” Caesar said as he turned to face the monster. “You’re used to magic, and there's no doubt as to your strength: even with their powers, you would be quite the challenge to my enemies. As for yours…no matter how powerful they are, two men wouldn’t be able to fend off an organised campaign of my design against their kingdom. A little village where they can focus their effort, yes. An entire country? I beg to differ. This is my offer, mighty king: remove the last obstacles in the way to my hegemony, and I’ll make sure your army can defeat this kingdom standing up to you.”

“And why would your plans be more efficient than mine?”

“Because I have seen your troops in action…if I noticed such a lack of organisation in mine, my centurions would get the whip for such incompetence. A fickle chain of command outside of their king, battle plans relying on capricious and unstable elements, basic and repetitive tactics…”

He let out a small laugh.

“If I can’t do better, I can hardly imagine doing worse.”

“And let me guess,” the monster snarked in a honeyed tone, “I should give you free reign with MY army in MY kingdom.”

The smarmy smile turned into a cruel grimace as the king raised one of his paws, suddenly unsheathing knife-sharp claws and casually looking at them

“What if instead, I killed you and took as my own that army you’re so proud of, hm?”

“Then kill me now, instead of wasting my time,” Caesar shot back with a dismissive wave of his hand.

For the first time since their encounter, arrogance made way for surprise on his interlocutor’s face, but Caesar kept talking without giving a care:

“I thought I was dealing with a king able to see where his interests lie and seize a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but if I’m only facing some mindless, prideful beast, might as well spare me the headache and give me a quick death.”

Red eyes seemed to ignite before narrowing, focused on their prey.

“SO BE IT!!”

The creature suddenly lunged towards Caesar in a deafening roar, his throat blazing with the promise of fire.

And yet despite the danger, Caesar was…not reassured, but…calm. He had dealt with this kind of people before, brash, temperamental and straightforward; the monstrous king was not the kind to waste time over a decision, nor did he seem squeamish at dirtying his own hands in getting rid of a troublesome element.

Whether he lived or died, Caesar would find out very soon. So he remained impassive to the threat, intent on keeping his dignity until the very end.

For several seconds the monster glared at Caesar, teeth bared…until his snarl slowly turned into a fierce grin and he suddenly threw his head back, laughing loudly:

“GWAHAHAHA!! You got nerve, Twiggy, I’ll give you that!”

Caesar managed to let out the breath he had been holding despite himself without the king apparently noticing.

Said king turned his eyes again on Caesar:

“Are you sure you can get rid of these two pains in the rump?”

“Most certainly. But only if you can return the favour.”

The king snorted, looking more annoyed than insulted this time.

“Are all humans so annoying to deal with?” he grumbled, not waiting for Caesar’s answer before continuing, “but you’ve got a point: with how long these moustachioed menaces have been ruining my plans, I can’t let slip any chance to finally put them down. If you can give it to me…I can be very grateful.”

For the first time since the start of the negotiations, he was displaying a serious, dignified demeanour befitting a true king while staring down at Caesar no longer as a troublesome hindrance but as a potential ally.

“Give me absolute victory and I’ll offer you a conquest. What do you say?”

That’s what he had been after from the beginning…and yet Caesar took a moment before answering.

This was a land of madness. Bright colours, absurd landscapes, ridiculous creatures. But under their ridiculous appearance, these strange beings were as strong as resilient and they had magic. Power.

He had to bring but a sliver of that power back to Rome.

Caesar was also aware of taking a big risk. He was alone, away from his armies and his usual influence. He could see the limitless ambition of this beast of a king as it reflected his own, and he would need to make sure it didn’t include Caesar’s own empire. He would need to watch carefully his back less he found himself with a knife in it the second this prideful ally got what he wanted.

But he had not become the most powerful man of his world by playing it safe.

Alea jacta est, he decided as he held his hand out to conclude the deal.

He managed not to flinch when the large paw all but crushed his bones in the handshake.

However, he did stumble and collapsed to the ground at the thunderous slap on his back, the king’s laughter booming above him.

“You know what? I think we’re gonna make a great team.”

#super mario bros #asterix #bowser #Astérix #julius caesar #my writing #Ista writes #my stuff #crossOver #translation #happy birthday to myself here's the wildest crossover I ever wrote of my two latest hyperfixations

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nanaosaki3940 · 1 year

Text

Touya [The Crimson Butterfly]

Synopsis: It wasn’t until he met her for the first time that their encounter made him believe that the world is just as beautiful as her. She was brighter than the summer sun, prettier than the spring flowers, kinder than the winter moon & warmer than his blue flames. She was his first and only love, his life, his biggest fan, his supporter, his playmate, his healer, his everything... Even after his supposed ‘death’.

|| My Hero Academia ft. Tokyo Ghoul || (Follows the canon storyline of MHA & is up-to-date with the manga.)

Pairing: Touya Todoroki X OC/Reader X Shoto Todoroki

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Angst.

Note: Shoto and my OC are of the same age (16 yrs old) and Dabi/Touya is 8 yrs older than them (24 yrs old) - Just like how it is in the manga.

(A snippet of my MHA fanfic "The Crimson Butterfly". I know this is an xOC fic, but you can read it as a self-insert if you like.)

Nana’s POV (The fateful day: The beginning of the 2nd War)

Around 10 AM this morning, Midoriya and I made our way towards an abandoned city outside UA to meet up with Aoyama. When we finally reached the designated spot, we found our blonde friend standing alone in the middle of a huge parking lot in front of a shopping mall.

"Thank you for coming..." Aoyama greeted us in a quiet yet monotone voice with a dull look in his eyes as Midoriya and I flew down from the sky and landed just a few feet away from him on the ground.

"Why are you out here, Aoyama? Weren’t you being detained?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"My parents’ lawyer got me released..." Aoyama replied and this brought a big smile to Midoriya's face.

"We gotta tell everyone!" Midoriya stated in relief, turning around to leave. "We can rejoin the search effort and-"

"Wait..." Aoyama spoke up again, causing Midoriya to halt on his spot while I stared at the blonde boy with a skeptical look. "I’d like to speak to you two. It’s almost funny… That courts and the illegal system still exist despite Japan being in ruins. With society as it is now, would the old ways of living really get you anywhere?"

"What do you mean Aoyama?" I asked with furrowed eyebrows, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Let me tell you All For One’s real goal..." Aoyama continued and this got our full attention. "With the state Japan's in... do you know what’s become of the rest of the world? The sudden crash in the value of the Yen… forced Japanese corporations into bankruptcy. That, plus the coordinated uprisings of villains caused the damage to spread worldwide. Now the world faces a crisis much like the Great Depression or the period around the advent of quirks. Record unemployment, loss of faith in currencies… an era of total chaos."

"What are you talking about, Aoyama?" Midoriya asked, getting a bit uncomfortable with this talk.

"Lacking the strength to implement long-term policies, Japan's society devolves into one scrambling for short-term safety. While the nations who have abandoned Japan prioritize their own stability. In such a world imagine a country lacking potable water. Imagine if a quirk capable of producing that water were to suddenly appear. Or electricity or gas. Or strength. As the world is plunged into this state of chaotic decline, we suddenly have an arena ripe for a certain remarkable individual to take the initiative. he would become the world's arbiter; its very own Demon Lord. He only had to rock that balance somewhere. It didn’t matter how." Aoyama added.

AFO's ultimate plan is... Capitalism... To become a World Bank?!

Like seriously?! You gotta be fucking kidding me!!

"I don’t think so… The world would never go along with that." I countered back in a strong tone.

"Nana-chan's right. Besides the world still has us!" Midoriya added.

"True. Which is why it all has to end here." Aoyama stated with a saddened face and teary eyes, his voice cracking in the end as a certain someone emerged from behind him. "I’m sorry. Alas, I had to protect Mama and Papa."

"All For One!!" Midoriya and I gasped out in unison, shocked, our eyes widened in the process.

"Splendidly done, Yuga Aoyama." AFO stated, clapping his hands who was in formal attire with a black skull mask covering his whole head. "How terrifying it must have been to turn on your friends like this. How heartrending, to betray someone who put their faith in you. But you overcame the fear and pain! And that speech about my ultimate goal? Wonderful! Wrong in some of the details but that's fine. Did your parents explain it all to you?"

"Yes..." Aoyama replied in a trembling tone with tears rolling down his cheeks as he held a remorseful look on his face. "They said you promised us a blessed existence in your new world."

"Aoyama, did you really betray us again?!" I yelled out through my gritted teeth, clenching my fists in anger and frustration. "How could you?!"

"We believed in you dammit!!" Midoriya cried out, panicking.

"My pain cannot be measured…" Aoyama trailed off before suddenly he turned around and blasted AFO with his Navel Laser. "By that singular word 'uncle'!!"

And right on cue, Midoriya immediately let out a large amount of his smokescreen to block AFO's view, and taking the chance, Aoyama quickly moved away from his previous spot and hid behind me for protection. AFO was caught off guard by the sudden attack before he figured out what just happened. It was just all a fake play to lure out the Demon Lord from his hideout.

"Ungrateful little…" AFO grumbled out through his gritted teeth.

"That was such a believable performance, Aoyama!" Midoriya praised the blonde boy.

"Yeah, excellent job!" I added with a wide smirk on my face, coming out from my previous facade as I stood protectively in front of him. "You're gonna win an Oscar for this Aoyama!"

"I had no choice! Otherwise, we could not have lured him here!" Aoyama cried out from behind me, still trembling in fear. "And I must say, both of your actings were tour-de-force as well!"

"We couldn’t help it once your tears started flowing." Midoriya chuckled out as he and I got into our fighting stance once the smokescreen started to dissipate away.

"The tears are real! I truly am scared! In fact, I think I may have wet myself!" Aoyama cried again.

"You did great, Aoyama!" I reassured him once again, my eyes now locked on the floating form of AFO.

"This is for Mama and Papa! For all of my friends and for myself! I shall fight AFO!" Aoyama declared with all his determination.

"Disappointing." AFO sighed in annoyance before taking off his coat and just then using his Warping quirk, he began to summon the League of Villains, Paranormal Liberation Front, and Nomus all at the same time which included Touya, Tenko, and Toga. "Trap or not, Ghoul and One for all is here within reach. The Search quirk tells the user the location and weaknesses of those they see. And heroes Tomura saw in the previous conflict are deployed and dispersed across the country. They will not make it in time to assist you. They didn’t happen to notice that my people were drawing near! And now I’m afraid they are entirely too late!!"

My heart skipped a beat when I locked my eyes with Touya who just walked out of the gooey warp gate and landed on the ground.

He's here... Touya's here... He's finally here...

His beautiful bluish-turquoise eyes went wide open a bit upon noticing my presence while his instant sorrowful expression didn't go overlooked by me when we gazed at each other from afar before he decided to turn his head away from me and break the eye contact. As I continued to stare at Touya with hope and yearning, I noticed the new outfit he was wearing at that moment; a tattered overcoat, boots, and pants all colored white, with bracers on the sleeves and a belt on his waist. His new outfit also lacked a shirt underneath which caused him to expose his chest.

"What act of sluttery is he wearing?" I mumbled to myself, a small blush appearing on my cheeks as I scanned Touya from head to toe, trying hard not to facepalm. "Did he seriously decide to walk into this war like a whore?"

Although my words didn't go unheard by Midoriya and the poor green-haired boy tried his best not to burst out into a fit of laughter. I also noticed Tenko looking the same, not to mention even worse; completely topless, in a pair of black pants, his traditional red shoes, and a long ragged-looking cape hanging on his shoulders.

What the hell is up with these villains and their fashion sense these days...?

"Mama and Papa told me something else…" Aoyama spoke up again, causing me to snap out of my trance. "They told me what it is you fear most, AFO. You fear the world learning that Japan isn’t finished yet. You feel the light and hope that will come with recovery. And you fear Japan inspiring the world to unite once more. So today is the day and this is the place where you fall!!"

And just then AFO got alerted when he suddenly noticed a black mist appearing behind Midoriya which happened to be Kurogiri's quirk, confusing the Demon Lord to no end and soon realized who it actually was; it was none other than Monoma from Class 1-B who copied the misty warping gate quirk and now using it to bring out the heroes from our side.

"Didn't see that coming, huh AFO?! Suck, doesn't it?!" I taunted him as Endeavor, Mirko, Fat Gum, Edgeshot, Tamaki senpai, Nejire senpai, Gang Orca and the others appeared by our side.

And so the rumbling begins!!!

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!! The man behind the curtain!!" Monoma laughed hysterically, being all full of himself like always, as he brought out more and more heroes from the warp gate.

"Just as expected, he's brought his army along!" Detective Tsukauchi stated out through the comms from the headquarters (The Central Hospital). "All squads, take action!"

"If he steals Ghoul and OFA, he'll have no need to run and hide ever again! They'll attempt to bring it all to an end right now!" All Might pointed out from beside Tsukauchi.

As we the Heroes and Villains all charged toward each other, Tenko touched the ground, only to notice something peculiar, so commanded Touya to attack.

"Dabi..." Tenko called out.

"You ain’t the boss of me, leader!" Touya shouted back before he dashed straight toward Endeavor, his hands already ignited with his blue flames. "Fancy running into you here, dear old dad!! Come to watch your pals get cremated?!"

Touya was prepared to burn everyone with his fire and as soon as he shot out a huge gush of his flames toward the heroes, a large explosion of ice appeared from the misty warp gate and canceled out his fire; emerging from another warp gate, Shoto and our whole Class 1-A just joined the battle.

"Not on my watch, Baka Aniki!!" Shoto yelled out.

"Shoto!!" Touya yelled back in excitement, getting all pumped up.

"Like cockroaches…" AFO groaned out in annoyance and just then, among the sea of villains, I noticed the ones I needed to go up against; Shuu Tsukiyama and Rize Kamishiro, all decked up and ready to fight like always.

"It's been a while, Nana-kun!!" Tsukiyama shouted out with a huge grin on his face as he and Rize dashed their way toward me.

"How many years now?! Almost 3 years, right?!" Rize added, unleashing her Rinkaku kagune from her back.

"Oh, how I've been itching all these many years just to finish you guys off!" I taunted back and immediately unleashed both of my Rinkaku and Ukaku kagune while bringing out my scythe. "Time for payback for what you guys did to me 3 years back!!"

"Operation Troy-Tempt and Trap!! Activate!!" All Might commanded through the comms.

Upon his commands, suddenly, the ground beneath us started to shake violently before cages emerged from beneath the battlefield, surrounding all the villains in individual metal containers and as soon as the villains were being trapped in those metal cages, Monoma began to summon several more warp gates around the cages while we the Heroes prepared ourselves to shove them all in, to split up the villains.

"Cages? They can’t be serious!" Touya commented before getting trapped into one of the cages.

"I’m pulling these strings!! Everyone now! Shove them in!!" Monoma ordered us before looking over at me. "Osaki!! Use your repulsive force now!!"

"Roger!!" I replied and started to use the Repulsive force technique of my Gravity Manipulation quirk to push the metal cages into their respective warp gates.

"This cage is moving?! They really think this tin can is gonna hold us?!" one of the villains cried out.

"Break it open! Quickly!" Toga screamed out from inside her cage.

As I continued to push the cages into the warp gates, Touya suddenly used his flames to melt down the metallic container he was trapped in before trying to get out from there.

"Your pathetic cages didn’t even last three whole seconds!" Touya mocked and just then Shoto and his gang appeared in front of him to push him into their respective warp gate.

"3 seconds is all we needed!" Shoto countered back as the two brothers began to attack each other with their flames while submerging into the gate.

"Lock them down for an instant! Break them into smaller groups! Seize the slightest advantage! All of this to shove you into those warp gates all at once and split you up without fail!!" All Might continued through the comms once again.

"Deku!" Bakugo called out to Midoriya as he headed towards Tenko.

"Yep!" Midoriya responded and began to follow the explosive blonde.

"Ahahahahaha! I’m the mover and shaker!!" Monoma continued to laugh while still keeping Kurogiri's quirk activated.

Among us heroes, Uraraka and Tsuyu headed towards Toga's direction while Kaneki and Ayato joined by my side a few seconds later to go after Rize and Tsukiyama. Just as we all were about to enter our respective warp gates, an unusual occurrence happened. From two different warp gates, two whips came out and grabbed me and Midoriya individually by our wrists. And before we could even realize what was happening, we were being pulled away from our respective comrades.

"What the?!" I gasped out in shock.

"Huh?!" Midoriya gasped out as well in confusion.

"Nana!!" Kaneki called out in worry as he tried to reach out and grab me but failed.

"Nana-Nee!!" Ayato called out as well in concern.

"Huh?! Oi, Deku!!" Bakugo called out to the green-haired boy but it was already too late.

Both Midoriya and I were pulled into two separate warp gates which we weren't supposed to enter. After entering the unknown scene, I immediately landed on the ground as soon as I passed through the gate and began to look around to see where I actually was; Ground Zero in Kamino Ward.

What?! Ground Zero?! Why am I here?! Shit!!

I was supposed to be on the other side of the Kamino City with Ken and Ayato, facing off against Rize and Tsukiyama!!

"They are divided! Now we shift to phase two!" All Might commanded through the comms again.

"Nana?!" familiar voices called out my name in shock, causing me to turn around and face them; it was Shoto, Iida, and Endeavor's sidekicks (Burnin, Kido, and Onima).

"What are you doing here?" Shoto asked in surprise. "Weren't you suppose to be with Kaneki and Ayato?"

"I was, but..." I trailed off in confusion before looking down at the wrist where the whip was still wrapped around.

"Sorry, Babydoll." a familiar deep masculine voice spoke up from just a few feet away from us and we all looked over at the man himself; Touya, smirking down at me while firmly holding the other end of the whip. "Couldn't let you go so easily, you know... You're just too precious."

"Touya... but how?" I asked in confusion, furrowing my eyebrows a bit.

"That crazy woman gave it to me, said it might come in handy. Hate to admit it, but she was right." Touya replied, referring to Toga as 'the crazy woman', causing me to click my tongue in frustration as I unwrapped my wrist from his whip before the news was sent to us by Tsukauchi through the comms that Midoriya was warped to an aquarium, alongside Gang Orca, Uraraka and Tsuyu by Toga using her whip.

"So, Izuku isn't with Katsuki and Jeanist at the UA High right now, huh? That sucks." I stated in a calming tone though I was kinda panicking from the inside before I looked back at Touya and locked gazes with him. "Looks like I'm stuck here with you, for now, Touya."

This wasn't supposed to happen...

I wasn't supposed to fight Touya...

What should I do now?!

"Indeed, Doll-face..." Touya agreed in a mocking tone as he climbed up on the All Might victory statue before unleashing his blue flames around us, causing us to get into our fighting stance at once. "So, now... where were we?"

Fuck!! This is bad!! This is really, really bad!!

Right now, Shoto, Iida, and I were at Ground Zero in Kamino Ward, where Touya was completely burning everyone down in a fire tornado while being accompanied by a spiky Near High-End Nomu, dwindling down our accompanying heroes.

"There are already so few heroes left and you are losing more by the minute..." Touya stated in a calming tone, glancing around with a bored look in his eyes while hanging onto the All Might victory statue as he began to reminiscence on the current event being similar to the Hosu Incident. "Let’s see, we have got a Nomu in a raging sea of fire. This is really bringing back memories even if it wasn't that long ago. Seeing that battle in Hosu spurred me to take action, you know?"

"Nana! Shoto!" Iida yelled out in concern from outside the ring of Touya's fire tornado as he couldn't get any closer to us or else the fire would damage his engines.

While Shoto and the others could resist the fire and the heat, I, on the other hand, was using the Repulsive Force of my Gravity Manipulation quirk to push back the flames away from me. Using this repulsive force as a defense, I could repel nearby opponents or attacks without breaking a sweat like for example I could use this force to disperse flame attacks which could also strike the user back. But in this case, I wasn't doing that because my intention was not to attack or hurt Touya. It was just to protect myself from his flames.

"The sheer heat! It's extraordinary!" I commented in surprise yet amazement while Endeavor's sidekicks used their quirks to absorb Touya's hot flames as much as they could for now.

"Oops, sorry. Just yapping away to myself." Touya stated, letting out a sigh as he propelled himself up into the air by shooting out flames from under his feet. "Once again, he won't pay me any attention. It really bums me out that all I get is his third son and his three merry helpers. Is that really his answer to me?"

"You keep back, Kido. Your body's got no way to withstand the heat." Onima stated, looking back at his comrade.

"I’m good. You know I can alter the trajectory of anything so I have just gotta make all that heat air swerve around me. Nothing new for me. Keep a cool head and go about it logically. That’s how I have done it for a whole decade. Just like always. I’m here to follow our main man’s orders because I want to." Kido replied while doing his job.

"His family drama may be a can of worms, but Endeavor shows up and gets the job done, even if he does stink like an old fart!" Burnin commented, frowning up at Touya before looking back at me and Shoto. "And that includes today! And now he has handed off us three junior stinkers to you! So you have got our full support, kid! You too, Nana-chan!"

"Thanks for that Burnin." Shoto responded back, his gaze locked onto Touya.

"No thanks needed! Save your energy!" Burnin joked with her signature laugh.

"Touya… Dabi…" Shoto carefully called out, furrowing his eyebrows in the process. "You have got it all wrong. I’m not here on anyone’s orders. I’m standing here now because I made the decision to stop you."

"Stellar job, being the perfect little pawn Dad always dreamed of." Touya mocked his little brother as smoke came out of his mouth.

And this caused me to get worried even more. Months ago, back at our fight in Jaku City, Touya wasn't covered with as many burns marks as he was covered right now. As I carefully observed his new scars and burn marks in concern, I realized that his body was burning away even more as he continued to use his quirk wildly. My chest tightened and my heart hammered hard against my chest in concern. In concern for his wellbeing.

"If I ignored you and kept trying to be a hero anyway that just might be true..." Shoto replied in a strong tone.

"Hey, fair enough…" Touya stated casually with a shrug. "This war is all about the people involved. It’s not the mindless soldiers following orders who are the real movers and shakers. This is what happens when everyone's got feelings and urges that start firing off. Some wanna change the world they live in. Or destroy… The warped imbalances built up over time that we all just came to accept. Behold, the limitations of a superpowered society. That's me. That’s all of us."

"Touya..." I called out in a soft tone with small tears forming in the corner of my eyes, causing him to look over at me. "Please stop this. You're burning yourself alive."

"I don't care anymore, Babydoll. I just really don't care..." he replied in a monotone voice with no trace of emotion in his voice, aching my heart even more and this frustrated me to no end.

"Why are you being so stubborn like this, huh? Though, to be fair, you had always been a stubborn guy. But, that raises my question... You survived back then… So, why didn’t you come back home?" I asked, frowning at him and Touya let out a chuckle in amusement.

"You really wanna know, Doll? Fine. Happy to share. Rotten or not, I’m still your Touya." Touya replied with a grin as his already burned flesh around the right side of his face began to crumble and fall off, leaving him horribly disfigured while a portion of his jaw and teeth, as well as muscles and tendons, were now visible and his burns continued to spread around his face, leaving me shocked and concerned. "Here is the story of how I became Dabi… and the reason I’m still alive and kicking to tell the tale… Even when I never stopped burning hotter than you, Shoto, his masterpiece!"

~~~~~

Flashback (11 years earlier, at Sekoto peak)

'Hot! It’s so hot!!' a 13-year-old Touya thought to himself in pain and agony as he continued to burn himself to a crisp on top of Mt. Sekoto while burning everything else around him to ashes. 'No, no, no! I don’t wanna die!! I still haven’t… I still haven’t shown him anything! And Nana-chan?! Oh, Nana-chan! I can't leave her behind just like this!! I wanna live a long life with her!!'

Desperate while on the verge of death, Touya frantically began to run around in the midst of the ocean of his own flames to find any source of water to extinguish the fire on his body before finding a lake nearby and jumping into it to quell the flames. And soon after when Touya lost consciousness and laid there in the water all burned and crisped, almost turned into charcoal, his charred body was later discovered on the very spot by the Demon Lord himself, AFO.

After this, three whole years passed by before the white-haired Todoroki boy finally woke up from his long comatose. A 16-year-old Touya let out a gasp before snapping his eyes wide open and the first thing that came to his view was a white ceiling. Shocked and confused, he immediately sat up and looked around at his surrounding while trying to figure out what was happening right now. He found himself laying on a bed and with all these childish decorations around him, he realized that he was in a nursery school.

'Where am I? I’m alive…?' he thought to himself as he walked down the hallway before entering a room full of kids younger than him.

"Oh! he’s awake!" A young girl with short hair stated gleefully, causing the others to shift their attention towards him while Touya stared at them in pure confusion.

"Sleepyhead is awake!" another little girl with long hair added with a bright smile on her face.

"Where are we?" Touya finally spoke up before halting himself from speaking any further.

'Was that really my voice?' he thought in shock, realizing how deep and manly he sounded just now.

"This is where we live, silly!" the short-haired girl replied with a giggle while the long-haired girl rushed towards the other room to fetch their sensei. "It’s um… three years, sleepyhead! You were asleep for three whole years! At least that’s what sensei told me… since I haven’t been here all that long!"

Touya immediately went rigid on the spot upon hearing those words, his eyes went wide open in shock and disbelief.

'Three years? How? What happened? What’s going on? I was on Sekoto peak and then… I burned up and… I have to get home!'

"We can’t have that now can we, sunny?" the sensei (creepy-looking dude with a sunflower head and a buffed body) stated with a bright smile as he and Touya were now in an office room, talking about the situation.

"Why not?!" Touya asked in confusion.

"From now on you live here with everyone!" the sensei replied, still with a smiling face. "Your very own place under the sun! They're your new family! You'll come to love it, as sure as the sun does rise!"

"Huh? That can't be!" Touya argued back in desperation, tears forming in his eyes as his voice began to tremble. "I gotta get home! I bet that Dad… was just too busy with work to come see me, right? Probably? Yeah, he must be really worried! Those were some awful things I did and said. I should apologize to Mom and everyone. And Dad still needs to see what I can do. And above all, Nana-chan is waiting for me! I need to go and see Nana-chan!"

And just then a very deep yet eerie masculine voice spoke up from a computer on a table beside them. It was AFO.

"Sadly your hope is in vain." AFO stated and Touya looked at the screen of the computer in confusion. "Restoring your burnt and broken body was a monumental task. Your missing pieces had to be replaced via regenerative tissue. You’re a changed man with that burnt rictus look on your face and yet you survived."

"I’m changed? I don't get… what you're saying…" Touya trailed off as he put a hand on his throat, suddenly getting worried.

"You’ll never exhibit the power you once did. Every organ was damaged. Your senses, your ability to feel pain, all dulled. Your body is debilitated. And you will never be the same again." AFO replied, causing Touya to put a hand over his own mouth, horrified. "But alas, despite our best efforts, we wanted to welcome you in at your full strength… We failed."

And the word 'failure' caused Touya to fall into even more despair, breaking and crumbling his soul and spirit into pieces as he began to recall what Enji used to call him back then over and over again; a failure.

"You must be suffering, you poor thing." AFO continued, using his sympathetic voice to lure Touya. "But, I must just be able to restore your flames at their full glory! Well, what do you say? Will you join our family and allow me to raise you?"

"Shut up…" Touya hissed out through his gritted teeth, looking down at the ground while covering his face with a hand as he viciously denied the Demon Lord.

"Hmm?" AFO hummed out in confusion before the white-haired Todoroki boy looked up at the computer with fury and hatred in his eyes.

"No way am I getting trained by anyone else." Touya added with finality in his voice, showcasing his unhealthy obsession with his father Enji Todoroki aka Endeavor.

And with that Touya somehow managed to escape from the nursery school after burning the whole place down with his own blue flames. Later he did go back home, and even though his body was weaker and he didn't have anything to look forward to anymore, he wanted to see if anything changed. However, seeing his butsudan (funeral altar) in his old bedroom, and Endeavor's continued abuse toward Shoto, reminded him of his purpose as a failed creation, and his family had already left him behind.

Flashback ended

~~~~~

3rd Person's POV (At a prison)

"I suppose, the big day has begun then?" Dr. Kyudai Garaki (aka Dr. Ujiko) spoke up in a tired tone from inside his cell causing a gorilla police officer who was standing down the hallway to frown at his words.

"Be quiet." the cop ordered.

"You are light on guards today. So it’s pretty obvious." Garaki pointed out. "All to prepare for today. That's why we sought out twisted raw material born into this world. Warped seeds that could serve as his vessel. That one too was born with some cracks in him. No, maybe, from the very start, it wasn’t just cracks... Maybe that boy was born with everything."

And with that, the doctor began to tell the exact same story of Touya Todoroki to the police officer.

"He had already been too molded by his upbringing for us to lead him astray. He was already festering away inside. Even the man who had known absolute control far and wide couldn't exploit the boy’s obsession with his father. Those kids were our spares, in case anything happened to Tomura Shigaraki. A seedbed of ferocity and hatred. One full of vessels for the demon king. Dabi as one of those spares was a failed experiment." Garaki went on.

"How despicable!" The cop grumbled in disgust. "No, never mind! What are you even trying to say?! More crap about how AFO had everything planned out from the start?"

"I’m saying they'd better watch out. ‘Cause that one boy never did buy what we were selling. Nah, we gave up on Dabi and let him run loose cause after his body came back to life and he was up and about, he wasn't supposed to live for more than a month. What a surprise, when the broker Giran brought him back to our doorstep. Why had he come back? How was he still alive? I had to know what Dabi was really thinking, so I arranged a moment when we would be alone just the two of us..." Garaki continued as he referred to their meeting where he and Touya went to meet the Near High-End Nomu, Hood in one of their hideouts; the same Nomu that was taken down by Nana, Endeavor, and Hawks back at Kyushu.

"Ujiko-san, you're the one who kept me alive right?" Touya asked as he stared down at Hood in front of him.

"Why I’m tickled pink that you realized!" Garaki chuckled. "Now tell me, what's been keeping you kicking?"

"Seeing this walking corpse here gives me a decent idea of what you people were planning to do with me. And I’m back now… because this seemed like the perfect place for my funeral." Touya stated before looking back at Garaki over his shoulder with a murderous glare in his eyes, sending a strong shiver down the doctor's spine.

"That one glimpse told me everything. He had kept his dying body tethered to this world through a pure blazing grudge." Garaki stated. "Heat is energy born of living things as they move and thrive. AFO who seeks to live forever had no use for that mad heat, rushing headlong toward death. The Demon Lord himself had to abandon that frenzied flame of death."

Nana's POV (Back at Ground Zero)

I stared at Touya with wide eyes and a dropped jaw upon hearing the story from him.

AFO saved Touya and recovered him to almost full health?!

Touya was in a coma for three years?!

Touya was a replacement in case Tenko couldn't become the next successor of AFO?!

But they saw him as a failure because of his quirk and his body, so they wanted to use him in their Nomu program instead?!

Thank God Touya ran away from there before anything bad happened to him...

'Cause for sure that the potato-headed bastard would've used him and turned him into a Nomu...

"Nana, Shoto, I did come home actually..." Touya spoke up again as his fire started to grow even more in comparison to size, strength, and temperature. "Even though I was weaker than ever and there was no way that what I was hoping for was there. I still just wanted to be seen… but then… but I was sure something must have changed… that’s all I wanted to see. Instead, I was shown once more… after three years away, I witnessed that old familiar scene. The reason I was born. The fact is, as a failed creation, my life had been pointless. this family had left me behind in their past."

Touya started to fly higher and higher into the sky and began to emit larger flames from his whole arms, burning his skin even more.

"When you surpass your limits… it’s like everything you have built up is flipped around upside down. I focused on honing my flames so I won’t be so weak when next we met. This body of mine kept peeling away and falling to pieces but I never felt a thing. You want battle moves? I have seen them all, over and over." Touya went on and my eyes widened in concern, seeing him burning himself up even more.

"Kids! Listen, I think-" Onima shouted out worriedly.

"Yeah, he has been prepared to die from the start!" Shoto added with a frowned face through his gritted teeth, getting ready to counterattack.

"Touya!! Please just stop already!!" I cried out in desperation, but all my words fell deaf in his ears.

"Every time that thing saved the city, every time that thing got a boost in popularity, my heart kept pounding away!! Ever since the day that Touya died and Dabi was born!!" Touya continued, getting ready to launch an attack called 'Flashfire Heatfist' as he stomped over All Might's statue, melting it down in the process. "Once I have burned away all that that thing holds near and dear, that will be the mark I have left on this world!!"

"Like I said, Baka Aniki, not on my watch!!" Shoto responded back, putting his hands together to create an attack.

Ultimate move, Flash Firefist; it builds up internal heat to the maximum threshold before unleashing it as an attack. It’s the peak manifestation of fire achieved by a young Endeavor. When Endeavor mastered this move in his quest for power, he came to understand his own limitations and that fire produced a shimmering heat haze that warped and distorted all that he gazed upon.

"All right! That little chat has got me pumped for this! Thanks for listening to my tale!" Touya yelled out, getting all pumped up before looking over at me for a split second. "Now Babydoll, step aside! This battle here is between me and my little brother!"

Touya doesn't wanna fight me...?

Also, he’s faster than Shoto at raising his temperature! There is no hint of hesitation!

A huge ocean of blue flames surrounded us while Touya standing on top of a melting All Might statue was looking like a walking, talking inferno.

"Now that I’m thinking about it with a cool head, even if Dad ain’t here, you’ll make for some prime kindling all the same, little brother!" Touya stated as he continued to shoot more and more fire around us, trapping us inside a firey tsunami.

"I’m the one who'll stop you!" Shoto yelled back, still controlling his fire and ice sides.

"Hey, now, don't get the wrong idea! I’ve got some legit thoughts about you too, Shoto!" Touya countered back, ready to finally launch his attack. "It began when I worked on boosting weakened flames. Turning up the firepower was all I knew. 'Your potential surpasses my own'; that's what he had said. That encouraged me. The numbing of my body stripped away my limitations which was ideal, following his lead with max output."

"Nana, get away from here!!" Shoto and Burning shouted out, pushing me behind them.

"Flashfire Fist: Hell Spider!!" Touya unleashed his attack, sending a wide array of fire spirals all outside the tornado. "Are you a fan of All Might, Shoto?!"

Touya's Hell Spider attack was similar to what Endeavor once used on the Nomu called Hood back at Kyushu, but his flames were rawer and more intense. Touya's firepower and the heat were so strong, just the sheer strength of his quirk overwhelmed me to no end, leaving me completely stunned and speechless. I always knew Touya had the potential to surpass his own father, but I had never imagined that he would grow this powerful and strong, and that amazed yet scared me all at the same time.

"Incoming!!" Burnin and the others announced, getting ready to stop Touya's attack.

"Hot! Hot! Is that Endeavor's move?!" heroes who were fighting that big spiky Nomu yelled out.

"So much thicker though… and so haphazard!" someone else added.

"Ready yet, Shoto?!" Burnin asked.

"I am!" Shoto replied, ready to launch his attack.

But just then with the help of my Ghoul quirk sensing ability, I sensed Touya's speed blitzing and slid behind Shoto with the help of his flames in a matter of seconds, almost melting the ground with his fire in the process, before the bi-color-haired boy could even do anything as a counterattack.

So fast! The Hell Spider was a smokescreen!!

"Shoto, behind you!! Watch out!!" I shouted out as a warning but it was already too late.

"One thing I just gotta ask, Shoto. What was the look on your face..." Touya yelled out before launching a firey punch on Shoto and hitting him right on the face, causing Shoto to fly way back from where he originally was. "While you were holed up at UA with all those scared little civilians?!"

Touya then immediately dashed forward and continued his assault on Shoto by throwing a series of fiery punches and kicks at his little brother with no sign or intention of stopping or whatsoever.

"Son of Endeavor, brother of Dabi… Calamity incarnate, concentrated down into a boy-sized package!! A worthless mix of fire and ice!! Awful brazen of ya, Shoto!! Have you no shame at all?!" Touya asked as blue flames started to come out of his mouth like a dragon while he continued to mock Shoto even more.

"Shoto!!" Burnin yelled out in concern. "That’s more firepower than even Endeavor can boast! But if he keeps the heat dialed up like that…"

"Blessed with the ideal body and ushered into a place where you could shine bright, but still, you depend on everyone else!! The boy born with everything! But you sure don't capitalize on it!! Can't even man enough to own it!! No one's willing to say it to your face, so allow me!! You're a feckless, half-baked puppet!! You’ll never make a damn thing of yourself!!" Touya continued as he unleashed a beam-looking Jet Burn attack like a strong fiery punch that blasted Shoto up in the air and launched him directly into a building; an attack so strong that the whole building shook and slightly bend back after Shoto crashed into it.

"Oh my god, Shoto!" I cried out in concern.

At that moment, I was amazed and scared all at once. It was a very weird feeling, something that I couldn't explain to myself. Amazed because Touya had grown really strong and I was proud of his improvement. Scared because of the fight that was going on right now in front of my eyes and how Touya was beating up Shoto while burning himself up with his own flames even more.

If Touya doesn't stop, he's gonna burn himself to death!!

"You're not wrong about me…" Shoto finally spoke up from the building he crashed into with scratches, small burn marks, and blood all over his body but didn't look like Touya's attack damaged him that much. "I took a long way around… A half-baked dummy. That’s me. And was full of doubts all the while…"

He neutralized Touya's heat?!

"Here I thought you were only focusing on Dad! But, no, you were nice enough to take a close look at me too. Glad to know it." Shoto stated and Touya frowned at him in fury and hatred. "I stumbled onto this… while working on that old move in the hope of keeping pace with the others. I turned Flashfire into something more. Now it’s a move made to stop you. I may be your half-baked little brother, but let me say this… Dad was a madman! Our family was screwed up! But when you burned all those people to death, that was your choice! You're not taking any more innocent lives!!"

And with that Shoto jumped off that building and headed straight towards Touya to launch his new ultimate attack.

"You damn golden boy!!" Touya snarled out vigorously, also dashing towards Shoto to fight back.

"Just aim all your rage at us!! Flashfire fist: Phosphor!!" Shoto added before unleashing his ultimate Super Move, Flashfire Fist: Phosphor on Touya.

Phosphor allowed Shoto to channel both halves of his quirk throughout his body via his circulatory system, using his heart as a generator to circulate the chilled and hot blood around his entire body, merging the two halves of his Quirk into a single ability. The move granted Shoto an incredible defensive and offensive advantage against most opponents, especially those wielding pyrokinetic quirks. The flames created by the technique were described as being a 'Cold Fire' of sorts, allowing him to both burn and freeze his opponents. This move was first developed during a training session between members of Class 1-A in the UA courtyard before this war started. It was described by Shoto as his body coming together 'as one', as well as creating 'a body even Touya can't burn'. The move usually took a certain amount of concentration and focus to build up, so if he lost control, he had to build it back up again, and thus because of that, it took Shoto this much of a time to launch the attack on Touya.

"Icebound crash: Coldflame's Pale Blade!!" Shoto launched another firey-icy attack on Touya as soon as Phosphor hit his older brother, sending the white-haired older Todoroki flying back. "Maybe this is the way to cool your head!!"

So he's got himself a body that can withstand Touya's scorching heat and he found the power to chill Touya's inferno…

"Aren't you the perfect man for this job, huh?!" Touya taunted him, recovering from the attack by using his own fire as he jumped backward and landed on the ground. "What a wonderful sense of morality you have, brother! You go on and on about right and wrong choices. But I knew it! We might share the same blood, but we ended up real different!! Once you stray from the right path, there’s no turning back! A warped rail can never mingle with a straight and narrow one! The limitations of a super-powered society! That's us! You hear me?! Running in parallel but forever apart!!"

Shoto ended up losing control of his Phosphor and needed to switch it back on. But just then, right an instant, Touya touched the ground beneath him and pushed his fire into it, unleashing gigantic volcanic eruptions all over the battlefield. The whole ground of the battlefield shook violently beneath us and was now breaking apart with enormous splashes of bluish magma and lava gushing out from it, shooting high up in the air and smoldering anything and everything it touched within its vicinity.

"Now burn to ash! Die for our sake!!" Touya shouted out as he continued to burn himself up even more than before which was ultimately leading him to lose his already burned skin and flesh as both of his arms began to burn to the bones, skin melting off his face; his whole body was now engulfed with his own blue flames, making him almost look like a character called Johnny Blaze from the Ghost Rider movie.

"Touya, please stop!!" I cried out in concern and desperation, immediately using my Gravity Manipulation quirk on us before lifting myself and the others (excluding Touya) high up into the air to avoid Touya's volcanic eruption that was coming out from the ground before looking over at Shoto with a pleading look, my anxiety level had already crossed its limiting point. "Shoto, please do something!! Stop him from killing himself!! Please!!"

"Shoto… you couldn't be more right!" Burnin groaned out in pain as she and the others already took the brunt of the damage to protect me and Shoto.

"I’m sorry, you guys!" Shoto cried out, getting ready to unleash another attack.

"Quit it. Save your energy!" Burning chuckled out.

"Thank you!" Shoto added and looked over at me once again, getting all ready with his new attack. "Nana! Put me back down on the ground! I'm ready!"

"Promise me you'll stop him?!" I asked him with tears forming in my eyes, causing Shoto to soften his gaze on me.

"I promise!!" he reassured me in a gentle yet firm tone.

Right on cue, I immediately put Shoto back on the ground who using his quirk split blitzed, and went up in front of Touya before putting a hand on Touya's chest. He was so fast that Touya couldn't even realize what just happened to respond back immediately to the situation.

"There is always turning back, even if it is by force..." Shoto stated and Touya's eyes went wide open upon hearing those words. "We're gonna mingle, whether you like it or not. So please, just stop already, at least for Nana's sake..."

And with that Shoto unleashed his final ultimate move on Touya, Great Glacial Aegir: Arctic Tsunami, a gigantic wave of cold fire that shot directly through his older brother's chest, and the fire all over Kamino were later immediately frozen over by his ice as he grabbed ahold of an unconscious and alive Touya in his arms. The intensity of the fiery battle between the two Todoroki brothers overwhelmed me so much that my heart stopped beating for a few seconds and I was trying to register the situation in front of me right now.

Shoto Todoroki had won the fight and stood as the final victor on the battlefield.

It took me a moment to finally realize that Touya was really taken down and was also unconscious before I put down myself and the others back on the now icy ground. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I immediately dashed forward at lightning-fast speed toward the Todoroki brothers and pulled both of them into a warm bear hug. Proper words wouldn't come out of my mouth in joy and relief as I held the brothers dearly into my chest with tears continued to roll down my cheeks like a waterfall and I couldn't just stop sobbing. The fight was over and both of the Todoroki brothers were alive in my arms, breathing. I was happy, I was relieved. That was enough for me.

"I-I kept my promise, Nana..." Shoto coughed out, moving a bit away from me, all beaten and bruised up as he kneeled down on the ground beside me, his lips curled up into a small smile. "I promised you that I'll bring Touya-Nii back into your arms..."

I couldn't help but smile back at Shoto as I slightly nodded my head in response and wrapped both of my arms around Touya's unconscious body, pulling him even closer to my chest before burying my face into his spiky yet soft snow-white hair; his body was burning, sizzling hot and he smelled like smoke, dust, and burned flesh, but I didn't care any of that. I was so happy and relieved that I didn't care about anything anymore at this very moment. I was just simply happy by the fact that I could touch Touya again, I could feel him, sense him and inhale his scent like the old times once again. Finally, Touya was back in my arms and this time I won't let him go ever again.

"Thank you, Shoto..." I sobbed out, tightening my grip around Touya even more. "Thank you..."

After Shoto’s overwhelming victory followed by Touya’s defeat and arrest, I carefully handed over Touya’s unconscious body to Onima (one of Endeavor’s side-kicks) before making my way back to Shoto and Iida to see how the former was doing. Iida had Shoto by his side kneeling on the ground, just a few feet away from Touya and Onima, as the bi-color-haired boy huffed and puffed from exhaustion, bruises and burn marks were evident on his body.

“Your engines stalled, right? Sorry…” Shoto apologized to Iida in a soft yet gruff tone.

“You have nothing to apologize for!” Iida immediately assured the injured boy, draping an arm around his shoulders.

This interaction caused me to smile at them before I spoke up.

“Shoto…” I called out softly, causing the said boy to look up at me. “Thank you…”

Shoto’s bi-colored eyes widened in shock in response while I continue to speak up.

“Thank you for everything, Shoto… I know I asked a lot from you and I have been selfish-“ I blabbered out before Shoto immediately cut me off.

“It was nothing, Nana, really.” He stated with a smile that warmed my heart. “Compared to whatever you have done for me and my family up until now, this was nothing… also, Touya-Nii is my brother, there’s no way I can ignore him. This is something I have to do and I’m glad it’s over now…”

Hearing that, I smiled back at Shoto in response. Shoto did everything he could do to stop his older brother and I hoped his words really did reach Touya at some level. I really hoped Touya had calmed down now. And just when I was thinking about Touya and Shoto’s earlier interactions, I heard Onima suddenly speak up to himself and his mumbling voice reached my ears.

“How is he still alive in this state…?” Onima mumbled while holding an unconscious Touya captive.

At that moment, I noticed something strange about Touya. I looked closely from where I was standing with the boys and noticed a spark igniting in Touya’s stomach. And seeing this, my eyes widened a bit in confusion.

“Shoto… what’s that?” I asked, pointing at Touya, and in response, Shoto looked over at his older brother. “That spark in Touya’s stomach…”

Both Shoto and Iida also looked at the older Todoroki in confusion and for some reason, I didn’t know why, I started to feel anxious again.

“Shoto, this isn’t good. Something’s happening to Touya.” I stated in concern, furrowing my eyebrows as I sensed Touya’s breathing was getting heavier with the passage of every second. “Touya’s regaining his consciousness again…”

Onima and Kido also might have noticed the change in Touya and they were about to do something about it when suddenly, something horrific happened right in front of our eyes. Within mere seconds, large spirals of blue flames erupted out of Touya’s charred body and the said boy immediately attacked the two side-kicks with his flames. Touya was quick with his moves and attacks which threw Onima and Kido off guard in shock and his blue flames were so hot and so destructive that it was too much for the other two to handle.

Shoto, Iida, and I watched the whole scene in shock and horror when Touya finally regained his consciousness, watching him burn off Onima and Kido with a devilish grin on his face. At that moment, Touya looked nothing like how he did before. He looked like a walking, talking mummy in an inferno now and his facial expression was so demonic that it literally scared me. Touya wasn't looking human anymore at that point.

“Touya, what the fuck?! Stop this already!!” I screamed out in concern and frustration but unfortunately, the said boy didn’t pay any attention to my words.

“Given how this worked out… it’s actually great that I fought you first…” Touya stated to Shoto with a grin before he started laughing while holding a burning Onima by the neck with his left hand. “Ha, ha! Experiencing something yourself just hits differently! Intuition helps when getting the idea of how it works… Right before you put me on ice, I took a chance and mimicked your big move!!”

“Run, Nana, Shoto!!” Burnin yelled at us.

“Am I doing it right, Shoto?!” Touya asked as we noticed a crossed blue flame in the middle of his chest.

“Touya copied Shoto’s Phosphor move?!” I gasped in shock.

I always knew Touya was smart and intellectual…

But I never thought that he was this smart…!!

“Onima-san, no!!!” Shoto screamed out in concern as Touya tossed a burned-up Onima away from him.

“It isn’t just sheer firepower, Shoto. This whole time, Touya has studied and trained his quirk on his own! Your brother’s honed instincts are bolstered by his hard work and obsession!” I pointed out, frowning at Touya who was now creating a huge sea of blue flames around us.

“You’re right…” Shoto agreed with me through gritted teeth, frowning as well.

Touya's inferno started to endlessly increase and consume the city once again and against all odds, he was still standing in front of us. It felt as if we weren’t standing on the hard ground anymore; it was as if we were standing on an ocean of raging blue flames. The flames literally consumed the ground beneath us, causing me to levitate myself and the others a few feet up from the ground with the help of my Gravity Manipulation quirk. Touya’s flames were so hot and ferocious that it was preventing us from even going near him. I then started using my Repulsive force as a defense around me and the boys to protect ourselves from the wild wrathful flames of Touya.

“Skeptic!!” Touya suddenly yelled out at the High-End Nomu which was going up against the other heroes in Kamino.

“Ahem, I’m busy! Don’t pester me, Mr. Daddy Issues!!” Skeptic’s voice yelled back at Touya from a micro-device that was on the back of the Nomu. “You want Endeavor? He is trading blows with AFO at the Gunga Villa ruins!!”

“Talk about firepower!!” Burnin gasped at Touya who was erupting even more of his blue flames from wherever he could.

“Touya, please stop this nonsense!” I yelled out again, frustrated, as tears started to roll down my cheeks and I was about to walk towards Touya.

“Nana, wait!” Shoto called, immediately grabbing my wrist to prevent me from moving any further.

“Even you were burned by that, Todoroki-kun! You must not engage him again!” Iida stated in concern, all of our eyes were locked on Touya who was now using the flames from his feet as jets to fly high up in the sky. “You have already hit your limit with your phosphor move!”

“We have all hit our limits and then some!” Shoto snapped, his frown deepening even more. “We gave it everything! And yet he is the only one still standing! He's trying to fly over to our father!”

“This goes way beyond powering through with that sheer will he has inherited! It does not make sense! I thought his body was not made for heat?! How the hell is he not falling to pieces?!” I added in confusion but also in concern.

“Get back here, Touya-Nii!! I’m still on my feet!!” Shoto yelled out at his older brother. “You wanna kill me right?! Looks like you are the half-baked one now!!”

But just then Skeptic’s voice spoke up again through that device on the Nomu.

“Ahem, Mr. Daddy Issues! I know I said no pestering, But I have fantastic news! Apparently, you’ll get to travel free of charge!” Skeptic informed.

And right on cue, all of a sudden out of nowhere, Kurogiri’s misty portal appeared before Touya and immediately sucked him in, teleporting him to the Gunga Villa Ruins.

“Touya!” I gasped, calling out to him in desperation but he had already left without even looking back at me once.

Touya seriously left… he left to fight Enji-san… And he didn’t even look back at me for once… Also, I didn't do anything to stop him... Did I seriously just stand there and watch Touya leave?

And with that, Touya left for Gunga Villa Ruins and as soon as he left, the blue flames got extinguished from the scene on its own.

“Not yet! It's not over yet!” Shoto gritted out through his teeth in pain, frustrated as well while Iida tried to help him stand up from the ground.

“You’re still feeling the blowback from your phosphor move, Todoroki-kun!” Iida pointed out, extremely worried.

“I said I’m fine! They are saying AFO will reach Midoriya! But I’m still on my feet! I must do whatever I can…” Shoto stated.

“The thoughts of your brother must weigh heavily on you…” Iida added, softening his facial expression. “I can only imagine the feelings that drove you to stand against him like that. The suffering you have borne… You’re the kind of soul who made me to never forget who I want to become. Why is this your emotional burden to bear?”

I also started to worry about how to stop Touya. Not only we needed to stop Touya from burning himself alive, potentially killing himself as well, but also I needed to go and stop AFO and Tenko. I needed to face and go up against AFO and get my own revenge for my parent’s death. But here I was, wasting my time like this. At that point in time, I was getting frustrated at myself.

This isn’t who I am!! This isn’t someone I want to become!! Why am I wasting my time like this, standing here and doing nothing?! I need to go to AFO as quickly as possible and fight him!! I need to confront Tenko as well!!

“Ah, ah… there!! I got through!! You three!! You're still with us, right?!” a familiar masculine voice spoke up from the comms in our ears and we immediately realized who it was – All Might.

“Toshi-chan?!” I gasped out in surprise upon hearing his voice through the comms.

“Every moment counts, so I’ll make this quick!” he started, addressing me, Shoto, and Iida. “You need to run over to Gunga right now! Dabi is on the verge of exploding and a stalled evacuation block is in the blast radius! Endeavor is keeping an eye on Dabi right now. But his quirk can't do a thing to stop the explosion!”

My eyes widened in shock when I heard those words. My heart dropped and it felt like my pulse died down for a moment. The whole world around me went completely silent, deadly silent which was literally suffocating me now.

Touya’s gonna explode…?!?! Did Toshi-chan say Touya’s gonna explode like a nuclear bomb?!?!

“Nana-chan, you know how to fly fast, right?” All Might asked me, pulling me out of my trance. “And Todoroki, kid… The body and mind are two halves of the whole. You know that better than anyone, with the inner turmoil you have carried.”

“But All Might… AFO, he is…” Shoto was about to say something but All Might cut him off.

“Fear not!” All Might replied in a gleeful tone and I could feel him smiling on the other side of the comms. “You have still got a mighty ally waiting in your wings! Battling on won’t bring you victory if you carry doubts. But I have got the utmost respect for youngsters full of doubt who nonetheless honor whatever it is that drives them. Put a stop to Touya-kun! Make everyone feel safe again, so you can be your best self. Now if anyone can do a darn thing about the impending crisis at Gunga, it would be a dynamic duo… with Ghoul, Gravity Manipulation, and half-cold-half-hot. You’re their only hope! You’ve got this!”

And with that, All Might cut off the line, saying his farewell, and the other side of the line went silent again.

“He wants you to fly fast like a jet plane?” Shoto asked in confusion, looking over at me with furrowed eyebrows. “I know you can fly fast, Nana, but the distance… Does he realize how far it is Gunga Ruins?”

“Tch! Doesn’t matter, Shoto.” I stated, clicking my tongue in frustration before grabbing Shoto by his wrist. “We need to stop Touya from killing himself as quickly as possible. And after that, I need to go and confront AFO and Tenko. I wasted enough of my time here already!”

And wasting no time, I immediately flew up into the sky while holding onto Shoto before we zoomed through the air like a fighter jet plane, making our way towards the Gunga Villa Ruins to stop Touya from exploding while leaving Iida, Burnin, and the others all behind at the Kamino Ward.

3rd Person’s POV (Back at the Gunga Villa Ruins)

Right at that moment, before Endeavor, Hawks, and the other heroes who were all now injured and battered, a young healthy AFO was standing there on the ground with a gleeful smile on his face, satisfied with the outcome of what went down with Skeptic and the heroes at the Central Hospital where Kurogiri was kept locked up.

“You kept Kurogiri in the dark, so to help him take immediate action, I planted a micro-device in one of Nana Shimura’s hands. Yes, Iguchi-kun played his part!” AFO stated calmly to the tired injured heroes in front of him, referring to Skeptic’s actions. “What’s more…”

AFO then trailed off when suddenly a number of Kurogiri’s misty portals appeared and opened up behind Endeavor and Hawks. Endeavor looked back and noticed Touya coming out from one of those portals.

“Heya, Dad!!” Touya greeted him with a grin and Endeavor’s eyes widened a bit in shock upon his son’s current burned skeletal appearance.

And just beside Touya, a number of Twice clones started to appear from the other portals, indicating that Toga had used Twice’s blood, which Touya gave her a few days ago. And seeing those Twice clones left Hawks in utter shock.

“Oh, Hawwwwks!!” the Twice clones greeted the man as they were coming out of the portal and Hawks was left stunned at the sight.

“The death of that sad, sad man gave rise to rancor in a young woman’s heart. The man who would overrun the world to make good on his grudges gave that femme fatale just the tool she needed to bring ruin to all.” AFO stated, referring to Touya giving Twice’s blood to Toga. “Now you have got a front-row seat, Takami-kun. Time to learn how it might have turned out if you had not made his death your top priority back then.”

And hearing that, Hawks immediately yelled out an order to his fellow heroes at the battleground.

“Kill them!! Right now!!” Hawks yelled, referring to the Twice clones before them.

Through those portals, Uraraka and Asui also suddenly arrived at the scene as they both followed Toga there and then started to help Jiro and Tokoyami to fight back the Twice clones. Hawks was now facing off against AFO who was trying to escape from the scene to reunite with Tomura, bickering and taunting back and forth to each other, and meanwhile, on the other hand, Endeavor was getting himself ready to confront Touya.

“Those flames on his chest… Is that the phosphor move Shoto mentioned…?” Endeavor mumbled to himself before speaking up loud at Touya. “Touya… what would you do to Shoto?”

“I was hoping to bring you his head, but he was a tough cookie…” Touya replied, flying up in the air above his father while looking down at him with raging turquoise eyes. “Now my grand dream will never come true… but at the very least I will take as much as I can. Whatever you hold dear! Whatever you try to protect!”

“Endeavor-san!” Hawks yelled out while facing off AFO, stopping the Demon Lord from leaving the scene. “The divide-and-conquer plan is a bust! Our allies can't battle in this nasty heat! And if we fall here, the villains are gonna converge on Deku, Nana-chan, and Tomura!! Please, put a stop to Touya-kun!!”

Hearing that, Endeavor looked back at his son with determination who was now dashing toward him at full speed.

Duties… This time around… I’m really seeing you, Touya…

Another big fight then suddenly broke out between AFO and the remaining heroes as more and more help from the hero’s side (Inasa, Camie, the Pussy Cats, etc.) started to appear in the scene. Gigantomachia also later arrived there after a minute or two with Mt. Lady, Shinso, Kirishima, Mina, and Mineta following his trail from the Jaku Hospital Ruins to the Gunga Villa Ruins. While this was all happening, Endeavor was running away from the said battlefield with Touya following him from behind so that he could confront and talk to his son without any hindrance or anyone disturbing them.

Meanwhile, on the other side, the Counter-Force continued to report on the evacuation blocks' movement and AFO's location. Detective Tsukauchi asked if there was anyone left to stop him, but the officers said that almost all the remaining heroes from each of the battlefields were out of commission. Another officer freaked out when he recognized Touya's heat signature in Gunga, telling them that ever since his initial defeat, he had been internally compressing thermal energy and that in about ten minutes, his body would explode and cremate everything within 5 kilometers. Tsukauchi and former criminal La Brava realized that while most were back online, some of the evacuation blocks that stopped in between UA and Shiketsu were still underneath Gunga, meaning that they would be directly within the estimated blast zone. Meanwhile said civilians, including the rest of the Todoroki Family, proceeded to quickly evacuate to the surface as the shelter continued to crumble apart. Another officer reported that AFO was speeding up and was almost in range of Tomura to use his Warping Quirk, knowing that if they reunited, they were done for.

Meanwhile, in one of the prison lockups, prisoner Geten was speaking to his neighbor, prisoner Mr. Compress, about how the Himura blood ran thick within their blood vessels. He explained how in the past, the Himuras were village leaders that maintained their wealth and pride by creating branch families, however, the rise of Meta Abilities led to their downfall, as they didn't want to dilute their bloodline. Compress then remarked on what Spinner would say hearing about a "snobbish bloodline prejudiced against heteromorphs". Geten continued that this resulted in many marriages between the branch families and their distant relatives, however by insulating themselves it led to the Himura clan dwindling over time. Once the head of the family started selling off the children into marriages, it marked the end of the line, resulting in the remaining families scattering, with Geten revealing he was one of them until Re-Destro recruited him. He stated how Meta Abilities would grow more complex with each generation, with new powers lying dormant in the user's body, while people's hearts never managed to evolve, wondering what changes they would witness. Geten then concluded his speech with a smile asking Compress if he heard anything from the police force or heroes since there was nothing left to do but kill time until the final war was over.

Back to Endeavor’s situation, he was now facing Touya, far away from AFO and the others, and through the comms, he learned from the Counter-Force about Touya’s impending explosion.

“An explosion you say?!” Endeavor exclaimed in shock and concern after hearing this.

Touya was now literally like the burning sun, cremating away the trees and almost everything within and beyond his reach.

“It’s not just the evacuation block that’s in danger… but also Pixie Bob’s group which is fighting back against Toga's doubles!!” Endeavor said to himself, huffing and puffing, as he kept luring Touya away. “Dammit! Fighting AFO did a number on my legs! I’m not sure how much longer I can keep luring Touya away…”

“D… Da… D-Dad!!” Touya yelled out in a cracked tone, charging at his father again, engaging in a combat with Endeavor. “Watch me!! Watch meee!!!”

As the combusting Touya manically screamed out for his dad to watch him, Endeavor began to see the young Touya in his eyes before the current adult Touya unleashed a devastating Vanishing Fist, even bigger and more powerful than Endeavor’s, that completely enveloped the older man while decimating the ground he was standing on. Losing his right arm after unleashing that attack, Touya then grabbed ahold of him as Endeavor desperately tried to convince his son to put out his flames, and that he didn't want to watch him die, but Touya continued to repeat the same things over and over with his mind long gone.

“Come on, Touya!! Put out those flames!!” Endeavor yelled, holding onto Touya. “I don’t want to watch you die!!”

“Watch meee!!!” Touya screamed out again with an incoherent mind. “Natsu-kun! Let's play?!?!”

And hearing that, Endeavor’s eyes went wide open in shock.

His mind is gone long! This fire is hot enough to burn even me… So how is it possible that he can still hold himself together?! Touya, what is it about you?!

Endeavor then reached out to Touya’s chest when suddenly he realized something absolutely shocking and baffling.

That visceral sense of danger, when facing death, sometimes a near-death experience can trigger a quirk to awaken. On the other hand, people can also summon absurd power in a crisis when it's do-or-die. That's different from a quirk awakening. That power only manifests as the Reaper draws near…

As Endeavor thought about how when someone had a near-death experience, it might cause their quirk to awaken or summon an absurd power in a crisis, and unlike a quirk awakening, this latter power only manifested when they were truly at death's door, he then slowly realized that within Touya's Phosphor, he recognized Rei's ice quirk which was indicating that Touya had manifested the ice power within his flame quirk, meaning he always had that ice quick within himself all along, this entire time.

While envisioning a hellish dance with his son in hell, Endeavor’s life began to flash before his own eyes and he started to wonder what he had done in his life. He envied All Might and produced these designer children to surpass the former No.1 hero, he did everything he could to have a child like Shoto when in reality Touya had always been that prodigy child he truly wanted and craved, someone who would inherit his fire quirk stronger than him while also would inherit his wife’s ice quirk at the same time. It was like a slap on Endeavor’s face when he realized what he had done to Touya and the rest of his family.

Endeavor then began to recall back the words he said to AFO earlier.

I’ll win today and keep my eyes on Touya!!

“I take full responsibility… I swore to bear that burden and live my life atoning for it all. However, you have been watching me all this time. While I couldn’t be there to watch you… You were someone I especially needed to do right by…” Endeavor said to himself before hugging a combusting Touya in his arms and starting to fly up in the sky.

It’s always the same dream…

My whole family is there but not me…

“No, I can’t let you meet your end alone!!” Endeavor yelled out. “But I won’t let anyone else get caught up in our tragedy!!”

Endeavor grabbed ahold of his son, and was preparing to use his son’s blue firepower to propel the both of them into the sky, to explode together but however before he could get too far, as Touya’s body continued to crack, Rei suddenly appeared before the two of them out of nowhere and started using her ice to stop them.

“Rei?!?!” Endeavor exclaimed in shock and confusion.

The reason why and how Rei even got there was when after the heroes managed to take out AFO's subordinates within the evacuation center, Kendo of Class 1-B called out to the civilians that the foundations of the system were sabotaged, ordering a retreat to the surface. They made their way out, with the U.A. robots being there to let the civilians evacuate to wherever they wanted to go. However, just outside, they all had to witness the immense heat and destruction caused by Touya's Blue flames, noticing the gigantic sphere of a fireball that literally looked like the sun was about to explode like a nuclear bomb anytime soon. Seeing this, Rei rushed away from her children toward a robot, telling it to take her to the center of the storm, to which the robot responded they exist to serve humans' desires.

And now Rei was there and was using her ice quirk to attempt to shield herself from the heat, while also trying to cool Touya off, calling out to him.

“Touya!!!” Rei screamed out at her son.

“No!! Why are you here, Rei?!” Endeavor yelled back, burning away with Touya in his arms.

Are you trying to cool him down, Rei?! You must have coated yourself with a layer of ice to get even this close…

“Get away now!! Or you will burn to death!!” Endeavor added.

“You mean the way… You and Touya are about to die?!” Rei snapped back and that’s when Touya turned his attention to his mother.

“M-M-Mom…?!” he called out and that broke Rei’s heart.

“Oh, Touya…!! I’m so sorry!!!” Rei screamed out.

“Natsu-kun…!! Fuyumi-chan…!!” Touya added and Rei looked behind her, realizing that her other children had followed her, using their ice quirks to protect themselves from the heat.

“No, don’t!!” Rei warned, shaking her head.

“I can’t!! I can’t take any more loss!!” Fuyumi cried out before looking over at her older brother. “Touya-Nii, please!! Don't take everyone down with you!! I can’t bear to lose anyone else!!”

Natsuo then started to think about the old times from their childhood and wondered if he just had listened to his older brother’s ranting and complaints about their father like how Nana did instead of turning away and ignoring him. Unlike him, Nana was always there for Touya and listened to his words and complaints. She selflessly shared her moments and time with Touya giving him the attention he needed which Natsuo couldn’t do despite him being his younger brother.

“Cut it out already, man!!” Natsuo screamed out with a frowning face. “Quit causing trouble, Baka Aniki!!!”

As the Todorokis continued shooting their ice toward Touya, Endeavor could only beg his son to not let anyone else die and he should be enough. In response, all Touya could let out was a couple of muffled laughs, while having a vision of him and his family being happy again.

Meanwhile, at the Counter-Force center, they reported on how the rising temperature of Touya's inferno was slowing down, thanks to the intervention of the Todoroki Family. However, despite this, the temperature was not dropping, meaning the explosion was inevitable.

Back at the center of the impending blast, Rei, Fuyumi, and Natuso, now all burned and bruised up, continued to unleash their Frost quirks to try and cool Touya down. While he cackled to himself, Touya thought about how everyone was finally watching him, and looking at Endeavor, realized this was what it was like, thinking about if it was so simple, why it didn't happen sooner.

‘Everyone is watching me…’ Touya thought to himself while on the verge of exploding any time soon. ‘So this is what it's like…? If it was so simple a thing, then why…? Why not sooner…? It’s like everything is flipped around upside down. My origin as Touya and Dabi… if it was so simple a thing… if only we had butted heads like this sooner… there are still arguments I wanna have and things I still wanna say!!’

And just then something unexpected happened. When everything seemed lost, when it felt like there was no hope, two familiar individuals zoomed in and appeared on the scene like the heroes they were meant to be – they were none other than Nana Osaki and Shoto Todoroki.

Nana’s POV (Now at the Gunga Villa Ruins)

Zooming into the vicinity of the Todoroki family where Touya was about to explode, Shoto and I just flew there, dashing at the speed of light with the help of my combined quirks (Ghoul and Gravity Manipulation), while Shoto began to prepare his attack which he would unleash on Touya to extinguish those raging blue flames.

“You ready, Shoto?!” I called out, tightening my grip on him.

“Ready when you are, Nana!!” Shoto yelled back.

And right on cue, just within mere seconds of anything bad happening, Shoto released all of his power and unleashed Great Glacial Aegir once again on Touya, completely consuming the inferno in his ice, as the fire began to dissipate and burn out. The collision of Touya’s fire and Shoto’s ice move had a huge impact on the area which caused me and Shoto to wait for a bit before I noticed Touya and Endeavor who got hit by that ice move were now falling towards the ground from the sky. I immediately let go of Shoto and quickly dashed forward, eventually catching the injured father-son duo in my arms in mid-air. I slowly landed on the ground and safely placed Endeavor by the side while still holding Touya in my arms, close to my chest.

I looked down at a crisped, partially frozen Touya and noticed how he was looking way worse than just a few minutes ago. He had lost his right arm, similar to his father, and his whole body was now charred with no skin left. There was even a crack across his face which was an indication of his previous impending explosion. Then my eyes traveled down to his scorched chest where I finally noticed ice coming out from it, leaving me in shock and confusion.

Wait, what…?! Ice on Touya’s chest…? It doesn’t seem like Shoto’s ice… Don’t tell me this is Touya’s ice…? Touya had ice power?! Since when?!

I then looked over at the other Todorokis and noticed that almost everyone was burned and scarred, but their situation wasn’t as bad as Touya’s. Endeavor also lost his right arm and was all burned up too, but he was somehow still alive. Rei, Fuyumi, and Natsuo were also injured and burned but nothing major or serious. Shoto had a few burns and scars from his previous fight with Touya at Kamino but other than that, there wasn’t anything much on his body as I kept him protected from the other attacks with the help of my Repulsive Force.

I then looked back at Touya once again and my eyes started to tear up at the sight of his charred body while my heart ached for his well-being. At least he was still alive and breathing and that mattered to me the most at that moment.

“T-Touya… you fucking idiot…” I let out a muffled cry, holding him close to me so gently as if he was this delicate precious being and would shatter into millions of pieces if I didn’t handle him well and carefully.

“Our whole family… is here…?” Shoto huffed and puffed, letting out heavy sighs in exhaustion as he stood a few feet away from us, just beside his mother and his other siblings. “Well, not great… But… Maybe it's for the best… Cause my Great Glacial Aegis alone might not have been enough to stop this… Ever since round one back there, Touya-Nii’s fire just kept growing… He reached uncharted territory where I can’t tread. Maybe I was never actually the masterpiece creation…”

My face softened at Shoto’s words. While Endeavor chased after All Might his whole life, engaging in a quirk marriage with Rei and creating designed children to surpass All Might, eventually having Shoto while thinking that he could be that masterpiece Endeavor always wanted and there was Shoto, who was standing in front of his whole family now, acknowledging the power and strength of Touya that he could never have or even reach to that level, the same Touya whom Endeavor thought as a failure years ago. What a pitiful situation it was really.

“You all… die already…” Touya suddenly spoke up as I kept on holding him in my arms, his voice sounded hoarse and cracked as if he was crying at that moment, and hearing the sound of his voice broke my heart once again for him. “Dad, you scum… Just die… You all and me too… Drop dead…”

“Please, don’t say such bad things, Touya… Please…” I sobbed alongside him, noticing how he was freezing from the inside out.

“N-Nana…” Touya mumbled in a shaky tone and in response, I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on his burned forehead.

“I’m here with you, Touya. Don’t worry.” I reassured him, sniffling a bit while tightening my grip on him in a secure way.

“Well? What now? All that awaits us is pure hell…” Natsuo spoke up with a frowning face from beside his mother and his sister.

“Touya!!” Endeavor suddenly spoke up from where I placed him on the ground and crawled up to us before placing his left hand on Touya’s frozen chest. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I never made it to Sekoto Peak!!”

And that threw Touya completely off guard. He never expected an apology from his whole family nonetheless from his once abusive father. I noticed the shocked look on his face as Touya’s body quivered a bit in my hold. At first, I got a bit concerned for a second but then realized that Touya was trying to hold himself back from breaking down in front of his whole family.

“Hate you all…” Touya sobbed out again, his voice choked as he spoke, and seeing him like this made my eyes teary once again. “Hate you, Dad!! The whole family too!!”

“Go on… Really. Let me have it! Keep it coming!” Endeavor stated as he also started sobbing. “Rei, I’m sorry for pushing you to the breaking point. Fuyumi, I’m sorry for leaving you to pick up the pieces! Natsuo, I’m sorry for neglecting you like I did! And Shoto… I’m sorry!”

The whole situation was overwhelming for me. Despite not being a part of their family, I was still close to the Todorokis simply because of their connection with my parents. Touya, Shoto, Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Rei, all of them were dear to me and I cared about them as if they were my own family. Even Endeavor as well, though my relationship with him wasn’t as smooth after Touya’s disappearance 11 years ago.

But right now, the concerning matter for me was, had Touya finally calmed down after getting the apologies from his family which he truly deserved? Had Endeavor’s apologies and Shoto’s acknowledgment finally reached him?

Read the entire fanfic on Quotev and Wattpad.

Links for other MHA fanfic snippets - Link 1, Link 2, Link 3

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