#‘‘what happened to wanting peace and quiet’’

[minswriting]

ONLY NEED ME - Spencer Reid x Reader

About: You were scrolling on your phone, swiping left and right on tinder to find a date. Spencer finds you scrolling on your phone and asks what you’re doing. So you tell him you are looking for someone to hookup with. He decides to show you that you don’t need anyone but him.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (f), pussy drunk Spencer, jealous spencer

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: happy valentine‘s day my little sluts. although this isn’t valentine’s day themed, let’s pretend that it is lol. i hope you guys enjoy!

It was a rare day when there were no cases and yet, you were still required to come into work, just in case something happened. Usually, these days consisted of paperwork, going over recently solved cases to ensure nothing was missed and that everything had followed protocol. But for a team that is so action-based, having to do paperwork was entirely boring for everyone except Spencer, who was engrossed at his desk, the one across from yours, reading every file intently.

Meanwhile, you were sitting at your desk, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. It had been a long time since you had sex. With your line of work, it’s hard to find time to do anything outside the realm of your job. So you were doing what any normal person would do nowadays: resort to dating apps. You were scrolling on Tinder, mindlessly swiping left and right on people you thought were and weren’t attractive. You stopped at a certain profile, trying to decide if someone was cute or not and if you’d actually be willing to have them in your pants.

JJ walked past your desk and glanced at your phone. “Oh? Who’s this?” She asked, standing next to your chair.

You glanced at JJ before looking back at your phone. “Some random guy,” You said, showing her your phone. “Do you think he’s cute?”

JJ shook her head no, a small grimace on your face. “You can do much better, sweetheart,” She said, her grimace becoming a smile. “Are you finally looking to meet someone?”

You laughed, shaking your head no. “I’m just looking to get dick,” you replied bluntly, giving JJ a cheeky grin.

JJ laughed, nodding her head. “I get it,” she said, sighing. “Will and I haven’t had our alone time in weeks,” She rolled her eyes.

You pout in sympathy before swiping away the guy on your phone. “Do you want to help me look for the perfect person?” You asked.

JJ nodded her head, grabbed a random chair, and pulled it up to your desk. “Hell yeah, give it to me,” She grinned as she looked over your shoulder at your phone.

Unbeknownst to you and JJ, Spencer, though his attention looked as though it were on the files, had a frown on his face. To anyone, it would look as though he were deep in thought. But actually, it was due to listening in on your conversation with JJ. Why did you have to resort to some stupid dating app? Shouldn’t you know better than to trust random strangers on the internet? That’s like kind of what your job is about. Spencer felt a gross feeling in his chest, something he hadn’t felt before. Perhaps he’s been attracted to you since you joined the team some time ago and the idea of you seeking someone else for pleasure made him jealous. Not that he’d actively admit that.

As you and JJ sat there, talking and giggling with one another about random people you see on your phone, Spener bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his attention on the files in front of him. His jaw was clenched, and his hair tousled all over the place. It wasn’t until it was finally time for everyone to go home that he could get some peace and quiet. As everyone, including you, exited the bullpen to go home, Spencer remained alone with his thoughts for a little while longer.

He thought about you going on a date with some random person. How you’d get yourself all dolled up and beautiful for some random loser who likely wouldn’t even know where the clitoris is. Spencer may not have the most experience in the world but he definitely knows where the clitoris is located. He groaned to himself, realizing that his jealousy was consuming him. He rubbed his eyes before sitting back in his chair. And then, Spencer came to a sudden realization, causing him to quickly stand up and grab his satchel before leaving the Bureau.

You were in your apartment, sitting on your couch as you looked through the television channels. You were dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, your hair mostly dry but still a bit damp from the shower you took when you had gotten home from work. You were originally going to see about possibly going on a date tonight but instead, you opted to stay home, too exhausted to really want to go out and meet anyone.

You didn’t particularly care to actually date anyone. Your desires are always laid elsewhere, with a very specific coworker you had. And unfortunately, you could not have this specific coworker as it would break so many Bureau rules. But you were allowed to have your thoughts, thank you very much. And if those thoughts included thinking of Spencer pounding into you and whispering praises into your ear then that was your own volition.

It was currently eight o’clock in the evening when there was a knock on your apartment door. You glanced at the clock before standing up from the couch and walking to the door. You looked out of the peephole, seeing Spencer standing there looking a bit disheveled. You opened the door, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you looked at the brown-haired man in front of you. “Spencer…?” You asked. “What are you-”

“You know, some people use dating apps to target potential victims for violence or sexual assault,” Spencer interrupted you. “Which is why you shouldn’t use dating apps.”

Your look of confusion remained on your face. “You know, that could’ve been a text,” you replied sarcastically.

Spencer bit his lip, looking at you. “Maybe,” he replied. He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You were always so beautiful at work, dressed in mostly professional, sometimes casual clothing with light makeup on your face. But right now, you were ethereal. Dressed in lounging clothes with your hair perfectly natural and no makeup on your face. At that moment, Spencer didn’t understand why you even bothered to get yourself dressed up each day when you were perfect just the way you were.

“Why are you here?” You asked softly, noticing the way Spencer was looking at you. You didn’t question it, however.

Spencer remained silent for a few seconds, trying to think of a proper response to give you. He hadn’t completely thought this through when he made the sudden decision to visit you. Finally, he spoke, “Do you want me to leave?”

You shook your head. “No!” You responded immediately. “I just- I’m surprised you’re here is all.” You bit your lip nervously. You hadn’t invited Spencer in yet and that had suddenly dawned on you. You moved to the side, allowing Spencer to step inside before closing the door behind him. You leaned against the door, looking at Spencer as he turned to look at you.

“You shouldn’t resort to dating apps,” He spoke. You furrowed your eyebrows at Spencer, confused as to why he would come here just to tell you that. Just as you were about to respond, Spencer cut you off by speaking once more. “Not when I could help you.”

“What?” Your voice came out more hoarse than you intended.

Spencer cleared his throat, the only sign that his confidence had slightly diminished. “If you need someone to pleasure you, you don’t need to use dating apps when I’m right here,” he said again, rewording his earlier statement.

“Are you saying you want to have sex with me, Spencer?” You whispered, biting your bottom lip.

Spencer moved closer to you until he was right in front of you. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered.

Spencer nodded his head. A silence overcame the two of you before he spoke again, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” you responded.

Spencer leaned in and gently kissed your lips. It was nervous and hesitant, as if unsure if you’d actually want to kiss him or not. But when you kissed him back, Spencer became more sure of himself as he kissed you deeply. He brought his hands to your cheeks, cupping them. The two of you moved in sync, kissing one another slowly. Eventually, Spencer pulled away slightly to look into your eyes as you stared back at him. The gaze the two of you had held a hunger that neither of you had admitted to yourselves in the entire time you’d been working together.

Spencer kissed you again, this time more roughly and hungrily. A soft noise escaped your lips from the roughness but it wasn’t unwelcome whatsoever. As the two of you kissed, you gently pushed him around the apartment to try and get to the bedroom. Spencer accidentally bumped into a side table, causing a vase to fall to the ground but luckily it didn’t break. “Whoops,” he said, pulling away from the kiss to look at it.

You put a hand on his chin. “Don’t worry about it,” you said as you pulled his face back to yours. The two of you continued moving throughout the apartment until you reached your bedroom. Spencer’s lips left yours and began kissing your jawline, making his way down to your neck. His touch was like feathers as he lightly kissed along your skin. His lips brushed against your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine and causing you to clench your thighs. An action that wasn’t missed by Spencer.

“Needy?” He asked against your skin.

You nodded your head. “Very,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a hum as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. He slowly pulled the material up, moving his head away from your neck so he could pull it off of you and tossing it to the side. You weren’t wearing a bra and Spencer couldn’t help but just look at you. “Can I touch you?” He breathed out, eyes locked on your tits.

“Yes, please,” You replied breathily.

He didn’t hesitate to use both of his hands to massage your tits, feeling the flesh in his hands. He thumbed your nipples, causing you to moan softly at the feeling. “You know, some women can orgasm just from having their nipples stimulated,” he murmured, eyes fixated on your breasts.

You let out a small laugh. “I don’t think I’m one of those people,” you exclaimed.

Spencer let out a hum as he leaned down and captured one of your nipples into his mouth. The action caused you to let out a whine as he tongued the nub, his hands still massaging your boobs. He moved to the other nipple, doing the exact same thing. Your cheeks were warm as felt the sparks of pleasure being sent down your spine. Eventually, Spencer pulled away, pressing gentle kisses along your chest before returning up your neck and to your lips.

He guided you to your mattress, sitting you down at the edge of the bed as he pulled away from you. You looked up at Spencer, watching Spencer as he got on his knees in front of you. “Do you want me to continue?” He asked softly.

You licked your lips, nodding your head. “Yes, please,” you murmured.

And that’s all Spencer needed to put his hands on the waistband of your sweatpants and pull them down, tossing the material to the side. You weren’t wearing underwear underneath, causing Spencer to let out a soft hum of approval. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking at you with his puppy brown eyes.

“Please do.” You whispered, biting your lip as you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to him.

He let out a groan, his eyes immediately moving to look at your glistening pussy. Without hesitation, Spencer dived in, licking a strip down your slit and then back up, causing you to moan. Spencer hummed against your cunt, his eyes fluttering closed as he tasted you. His tongue began lapping around in figure-eights, teasing your clit with each flick. If you had told yourself that your night would end up with Spencer on his knees, eating you out, you would’ve laughed. And yet, here you were.

Spencer made out with your cunt, his lips moving against your pussy like you were the sustenance he needed to live. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub. You let out a loud moan, bringing your hand to Spencer’s hair and tugging on his curls. The action alone caused Spencer to whimper against your cunt as it encouraged him more.

You were whining and moaning, relishing in the pleasure Spencer was giving you. No one had gone down on you in so long and you had almost forgotten what it had felt like. But Spencer? He was built for this. His face was sculpted to eat pussy. If you could live with Spencer’s head between your thighs for the rest of your life, you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, throwing your head back. Spencer hummed against your pussy, his tongue dipping into your hole while his nose rubbed against your clit. He was breathing in your cunt, drunk on your juices. You could feel yourself getting closer, causing you to buck your hips. “I’m gonna cum,” you whined. With a slurp to your clit, you gasped and let out a choked moan, thighs clamping against Spencer’s face as you arched your back. “Spencer!” you moaned his name as you came.

And when you finished, Spencer pulled away from your pussy. His face was glistening with your juices as he looked at you with a smirk. “You’re so beautiful,” he said huskily as he gently rubbed your thighs. “Did I do good?”

“So good,” you breathed out, smiling at Spencer.

“Then you don’t need anyone else, right?” He asked, standing up.

“I only need you, baby.” You replied, looking up at Spencer with a dazed look. “Now fuck me.”

Spencer grinned, undressing himself before crawling onto you. “Gladly.”

And after that, you begin a new journey with Spencer where you explore each other’s bodies. Why do you need to use dating apps when all you need is Spencer?

[n1ght0f-nyx]

simon riley headcanons- returning home to you

simon riley x reader headcanons

He’s not used to the quiet. The first few nights, he has trouble sleeping because he’s so used to the hum of machinery, distant gunfire, or the chatter of his squad. You often wake up to find him sitting at the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

His hands are always reaching for his gear, even when it’s not there. You’ll catch him unconsciously checking for a weapon he doesn’t need. It takes time for him to relax his instincts.

He still wakes up early out of habit, but instead of rushing to gear up, he just watches you sleep, memorizing the peace in your expression.

He isn’t the best with words, but his love is shown through touch—tight, lingering hugs, a hand on your lower back when walking, or resting his head against yours when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable.

The first time you cup his face after he gets home, he leans into your touch like a starved man. It’s been too long since he’s felt something so gentle.

The mask comes off more often at home, though it still takes time. If you ask him to, he won’t hesitate, but he likes it when you don’t pressure him.

He’s protective—almost overbearingly so. You go to the store alone? He’s tense until you’re back. You mention someone acting suspicious on the street? He’s scanning for threats next time you step outside together.

At first, he forgets how to just be at home. You find him pacing sometimes, restless, unsure of what to do without an objective. It helps when you give him small tasks—cooking dinner together, fixing something around the house, or even just watching a show with you.

If you make a habit of reading or watching TV at night, he eventually joins you. He doesn’t always follow the plot, but he likes the routine of sitting beside you, feeling normal for a change.

Loud noises still make his heart jump, but he hides it well. If you’re holding his hand when it happens, you feel the way his fingers tighten slightly before he forces himself to relax.

He has nightmares, but he tries to keep them to himself. The first time you wake him from one, he flinches away instinctively before realizing it’s you. He hates that. You start waking him more gently, murmuring his name, grounding him before he jolts awake.

He appreciates when you don’t push him to talk about things. Some days, he can open up a little—mentioning a funny moment with his team or something that happened on a mission. Other days, he just wants to exist beside you, no questions asked.

If he leaves again, he always leaves something of his behind for you—his old dog tags, a hoodie, something small but important. It’s his way of making sure a part of him stays with you.

He’s fiercely loyal. The thought of losing you after everything else he’s endured terrifies him. He doesn’t say it often, but when he does, it’s raw and heavy: “I don’t wanna lose you too.”

He rarely asks for comfort outright, but when he finally lets himself rest his head in your lap, or lets you hold him close after a hard night, it means the world to him.

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Lazy Mornings

Eddie Munson x gn!reader Summary: Just a lazy morning spent with Eddie

Eddie was never really one to spend his days doing nothing. It made him feel antsy, feeling his body thrum with unused energy when he would sit around in his trailer all day, waiting around for something to come find him. He found it hard to sit still, hard to wind down and just be, when his overactive brain was running wild with ideas of things to do and places to be.

But with you came a sense of calm that he was missing. A simple touch from your hand to his shoulder and he feels himself melt against it. You brought peace to his chaos that he badly needed.

The soft hum of his battered cassette player, Pantera playing at half volume, filled the background with a gentle noise to break the otherwise silent trailer. Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains as the sun popped up over the horizon, painting golden streaks across the messy bed, across his bare arms, and most importantly—across you.

You were sprawled against him, head resting on his chest, your fingers moving lazily, tracing patterns against the warm skin of his stomach where you'd lifted his shirt up gently. The delicate, soft feeling of your hand on his body ignited sparks behind his skin, the feeling warm and fuzzy as he gazed down at you.

God, you were beautiful.

Your lashes fluttered slightly as you blinked slowly and lazily as you stared off into space, eyes catching the light in a way that made his chest ache. Your soft lips, were parted just enough to let out those quiet, sleepy sighs that he could feel against his skin, warm air brushing against him. Your hair, hanging messily across your back and face as you leant against him, tickling his skin, soft against his hand as he moved to run his fingers through there.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.

Eddie grinned, his fingers moving to trail up and down your back, lazy and slow, “yeah? And what if I am?”

You huffed a little, shifting to peek up at him through lidded eyes as you raise your eyebrows at him, “then I’d say you’re a weirdo.”

He smirked, fingers moving to your chin, tilting it up slightly so he could get a better look at you, “and I’d say you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen if we wanna be stating the obvious.”

Your face warmed instantly, and Eddie didn’t even try to hide his little chuckle. He loved catching you off guard, loved the way your nose scrunched when you got flustered. He’d spend forever making you look at him like that if he could.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, hiding your face against his chest again.

“And yet,” he teased, running his fingers down your back to wrap around your waist gently, “you stick around. You love it, don't even lie."

You hummed in response, pressing a soft kiss just above his heart, and Eddie melted against you, convinced he’d never move again. Screw the band practice later he’d promised to show up for. Screw the campaign notes that were half-finished on his desk. This—this was where he wanted to be.

You. His bed. Nothing else.

After a long pause, you sighed happily, “we should just stay here all day.”

Eddie chuckled, pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you, “I can only promise that if you relinquish control of the blanket.”

You only laughed softly, your hands trailing lazily up his chest. “Not gonna happen. I’ll keep you warm.”

He smiled, feeling his heart swell in a way that made him feel completely exposed, completely at ease. He didn’t have to be anything special when he was with you.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, eyes soft and so full of warmth that Eddie felt his throat tighten. You were looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You're perfect," he whispered before he could stop himself. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin. "Do you know that?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you just smiled, and Eddie could feel his chest fill with something he couldn’t quite put a name to.

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then his lips—soft, sweet, just the way he liked it.

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 29 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇Raphael being a good dad

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/n sat by the open window, gently running a carved ivory comb through Phebie’s soft, dark curls. The little girl sat on the floor between her mother’s legs, kicking her feet idly, her tiny fingers playing with the hem of her chiton. The afternoon light filtered in, casting a golden hue over the room, making everything feel deceptively peaceful.

Then the door creaked open. Her grip on the comb tightened instinctively. Raphael strode in, his usual smug smile in place, his arms wrapped securely around Adonis. The boy was giggling, his little hands grasping at his captor’s tunic as Raphael carried him effortlessly, as if he were truly his son. “Look at him,” Raphael cooed, bouncing Adonis slightly, causing another fit of giggles. “He’s been running around all day, and he still has so much energy. Just like his father.”

Her hand froze mid stroke. Her jaw clenched. His father. Adonis, oblivious to the tension, beamed up at her. “Mama! Raphael showed me how to hold a sword!”

Her stomach twisted. His name shouldn’t even be in your mouth, my love. But she forced a small smile for Adonis’ sake, her free hand reaching out to brush some wild strands of hair from his face. “Did he now?”

Raphael hummed, adjusting his grip on the boy as he stepped closer. “He’s got a good stance for his age. Natural talent.” He glanced at his wife with that infuriatingly soft expression he always wore around her, like he truly believed this was his family. “Just like you.” She ignored him, returning to Phebie’s hair. The little girl had gone quiet, curling deeper into her mother’s lap as Raphael approached.

He noticed. His lips quirked slightly, amused. “She’s always so attached to you,” he mused, adjusting Adonis on his hip. “It’s sweet.” Then, with a smirk, “Though I do wonder if she’ll ever come running to me like this.”

She finally looked up at him, her face unreadable. “She won’t.”

Raphael chuckled, shifting Adonis slightly so he could reach out and tuck a loose strand of hair behind y/n’s ear. His fingers lingered a moment too long. “You wound me, my love.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just continued combing through Phebie’s curls, her movements slow and methodical. “I told you not to call me that.” Raphael only smiled, like she was amusing him. Like she wasn’t worth taking seriously. And somehow, that infuriated her more than anything else.

Raphael’s gaze lingered on the faint scar marring Phebie’s knee, his usual warmth flickering into something unreadable. He crouched slightly, shifting Adonis on his hip as he reached out, the pad of his thumb ghosting over the mark. The little girl flinched and pressed herself further into her mother’s lap, her tiny fingers twisting into the folds of her mother’s chiton.

Her hand paused mid stroke in her daughter’s curls, her entire body going unnaturally still. Raphael exhaled sharply through his nose. “What happened?” His voice was calm, measured, but there was an edge to it—a quiet demand rather than a question.

She resumed combing Phebie’s hair as if nothing had happened, her expression unreadable. “She fell.”

His brows furrowed. “When?”

“Days ago.”

Raphael’s jaw clenched. “And no one told me?”

“There was no reason to.”

His eyes darkened. Slowly, he stood to his full height, his fingers twitching at his side. “No reason? Y/n, she’s a child—”

“It was a scraped knee,” she interrupted, her voice infuriatingly indifferent.

“It was an injury,” he corrected, his tone growing sharper. “It could’ve gotten infected.”

She finally looked at him, and for a moment, something cold flickered behind her gaze. “It didn’t.” He held her stare, searching her face for any sign of remorse, concern—anything. But there was nothing. Just the same distant, apathetic expression she always gave him when she wanted him to shut up.

Raphael inhaled deeply, willing himself to stay calm. “You should have called for a healer,” he pressed, his voice dropping slightly.

She turned her attention back to Phebie, who had nestled her face into her mother’s chest, sucking lightly on the fabric of her chiton. “There was no need.”

“Not even to tell me?” Raphael took a step closer, shifting Adonis to his other hip. His smile was gone now, his patience thinning.

She didn’t respond. His fingers curled into his palm. He had seen her be tender—had watched her press soft kisses to Adonis’ temple when he was tired, had seen the way she instinctively reached for Phebie when she cried. That warmth, that care—he knew it was there. But when it came to him, there was always this unbearable distance.

His hand twitched, aching to touch her, to bridge that gap between them. Instead, he turned his gaze back to Phebie’s small, fragile form.

“She’s your daughter too, you know.”

She gave him a look then, something unreadable flashing across her face before it was gone. She didn’t argue. Didn’t correct him. She just went back to combing through Phebie’s hair, her movements slow and methodical, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Raphael stood there for a moment longer, waiting for something—anything. A glance, a remark, a fight. But there was nothing.

With a quiet exhale, he forced himself to step back, adjusting his hold on Adonis. But the tension in the room lingered, thick and suffocating, refusing to fade. Raphael gently pried Phebie from her lap, lifting her into his arms with practiced ease. The little girl clung to his tunic, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric as she let out a soft sniffle, still nestled against his chest.

He hummed soothingly, pressing a kiss to her dark curls. “There, there, little dove,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Papa will make it better.” Y/n didn’t acknowledge his words, but he felt her watching as he carried Phebie across the room. With one arm securing her against his hip, he reached for a small wooden box on the nearby table. Inside, delicate pieces of honeyed figs and candied nuts sat neatly wrapped in parchment—sweet treats imported from a distant land, ones he had ordered specifically for Phebie.

He unwrapped a piece and held it to her lips. “Here, little one. This will help.” Phebie hesitated for a moment, peering up at him with wide, teary eyes. Then, slowly, she opened her mouth, allowing him to place the treat on her tongue.

“There’s my adorable daughter,” he whispered, rocking her slightly as she chewed. Her sniffles quieted, and after a few moments, she reached for another piece. Raphael chuckled, indulging her without hesitation. “Ah, so you do like them,” he teased, brushing a stray curl from her face. Phebie nibbled on the sweet, her small body relaxing against him. The tension in the room seemed to ease—at least for her. But when Raphael glanced up, his gaze met y/n’s, and his smug satisfaction dimmed.

She wasn’t softened by the sight. She wasn’t grateful. She was merely watching, her expression unreadable, as if she were assessing him like a stranger.

His grip on Phebie tightened slightly. “See?” he said, forcing a smirk, though it felt weaker than usual. “She needs me.” She tilted her head, her gaze flickering between him and their daughter. And then, without a word, she simply turned away. Raphael clenched his jaw, returning his attention to Phebie, who had now rested her head against his shoulder, completely content in his arms.

Even if she wouldn’t see it now—one day, she would understand.

——

Y/n stood at the threshold of the garden, her grip on the doorframe tightening until her knuckles turned white. The golden glow of the afternoon sun bathed the courtyard in warmth, casting long shadows as Raphael swung Adonis into the air, the boy’s delighted laughter ringing through the open space. “I got you, little warrior!” Raphael declared, holding the boy to his chest as Adonis clung to him, breathless from giggling.

Her stomach clenched painfully. That should have been Telemachus. It was supposed to be him teaching their son how to fight, carrying him on his shoulders, letting him tumble into his arms with unshaken trust. Adonis was Telemachus’ child. His son. His blood.

But instead, it was Raphael. Him. The man who stole everything from her, from Telemachus, from the life they should have had together. Her vision blurred, her breath shallow. It felt like she was watching a lie play out before her, one so convincing that even Adonis had fallen for it. The boy’s wide blue eyes—so much like Telemachus’—looked up at Raphael with something close to admiration.

She turned sharply, her chiton sweeping behind her as she retreated into the palace. Each step she took felt heavier, like wading through thick, choking mud. By the time she reached her chambers, her chest ached, her hands shaking as she pressed them against the cool surface of the vanity. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the bile rising in her throat.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She had spent so long resisting, fighting back against the false world Raphael built around her, yet somehow, it was still creeping in—warping everything, stealing everything. A small creak broke through her thoughts.

“Mama?”

She turned, her pulse still erratic, and found Phebie standing in the doorway. Her tiny fingers were curled into the fabric of her chiton, her dark curls slightly tangled from sleep. She blinked up at her mother with wide, expectant eyes, oblivious to the storm raging inside her mother.

“Will you play with me?”

She barely heard her. The lingering image of Raphael and Adonis still burned behind her eyes, fueling the roiling mess of anger and grief inside her.

Then, the words came—sharp, unthinking.

“You weren’t supposed to be born.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Phebie froze, her small mouth parting slightly in confusion. She blinked rapidly, as if she had misheard. “Mama?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her heart lurched.

The girl’s lip quivered, and then—

A wail.

A sound so pure, so heartbreakingly innocent, that it shattered whatever anger had been gripping her chest.

What have I done?

Phebie staggered back a step, her hands reaching up to wipe at her tear streaked cheeks, but it did little to stop the sobs wracking her tiny frame. Pandora couldn’t breathe. She had done that. She had caused that pain, carved it into her daughter’s small face with nothing but careless words. Guilt and horror crashed into her all at once, sending her stumbling forward.

“No—no, Phebie, come here,” she said, her voice breaking as she reached out. But Phebie only whimpered, curling in on herself like she wanted to disappear. Her chest squeezed, and she pulled the child into her arms, pressing her close, as if holding her tight enough would erase the damage she had done.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean it.”

But hadn’t she?

Hadn’t some part of her truly thought those words, even for just a moment?

The thought made her sick.

Phebie sobbed against her, her tiny fists bunching into her mother’s chiton as she buried her face in her mother’s chest. She rocked her slowly, her own tears slipping down her cheeks. She hadn’t realized she was crying until the wetness touched the top of Phebie’s head.

“I love you,” Pandora whispered, voice shaking. “I love you, Phebie.” Phebie didn’t respond—only clung to her tighter, her sniffles quieting but not stopping. Shestroked her hair, pressing a soft kiss against her temple, but the weight in her chest only grew heavier.

Because no matter how much she loved her daughter, the truth was undeniable.

She would always look at her and remember him.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

Big day in the morning

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Your name was everywhere.

Trending on Twitter. Flooding the news. Fans were demanding your comeback, and you had no idea what the fuck to do about it.

It wasn’t like you didn’t appreciate them. You loved your fans. They were the reason you stood where you did. But none of them knew what was actually happening behind the scenes.

None of them knew how tired you were.

And now, thanks to Utahime’s drunk impulsiveness, the internet was going crazy over your almost-kiss.

Last night, at the club, Utahime had pulled you into a dance both of you tipsy, breathless, laughing. And for a second, just a second, you two had leaned in a little too close.

Shoko had been the one to pull you back before anything happened.

But Utahime? That little traitor?

She posted the damn picture.

Now the entire world was obsessed with the idea that you two were dating.

You groaned, throwing your phone onto the bed. "What the fuck was she thinking?"

But honestly, a part of you didn’t even care.

Because there was something else weighing on your mind.

Something that had been suffocating you for weeks.

Nanami.

He had promised he’d be home by 6 PM.

But as always he wasn’t.

And you didn’t even have the energy to be mad anymore.

So you just went to bed.

morning

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You woke up feeling warm.

For a moment, you thought it was a dream.

The familiar weight of an arm draped over your waist. The quiet sound of steady breathing.

But when you opened your eyes

Nanami was actually there.

For the first time in weeks, he was sleeping beside you.

Your heart clenched.

Carefully, hesitantly, you reached out and ran your fingers through his hair.

"Nanami?" Your voice was soft, still heavy with sleep.

A low hum rumbled in his throat.

"Mmh… I’m sorry for coming home late yesterday, love," he murmured, voice thick and drowsy.

His golden eyes fluttered open, looking up at you with something tender.

And fuck.

How could you not love him?

But then

Then you remembered.

The hickey. The perfume. The woman in his office.

Your stomach twisted.

You shoved him away, the warmth of his embrace suddenly suffocating.

Nanami didn’t resist. But his grip on you tightened.

"Please," he whispered. "It was just… a moment of weakness."

Your chest ached.

A moment of weakness.

Was that all six years meant to him? A moment of weakness?

A thousand words fought to leave your lips. You wanted to scream, to cry, to ask him why.

But in the end

You said nothing.

Because despite everything, despite knowing you should walk away

You forgave him.

Because you loved him.

Loved him so much you were willing to put up with his bullshit.

"I saw your tweet."

Nanami’s voice broke the silence as his fingers traced slow circles over your stomach.

"You wanted to get married, hm?"

You stiffened.

"It… It was just an excuse to get them off my back," you lied.

Of course you wanted to marry him.

You wanted it more than anything.

He hummed, unconvinced.

"You must have seen the news, then," you continued. "Everyone’s trying to figure out who the lucky man is."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yes," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "And I don’t mind you posting me at all."

You sucked in a breath.

Then, as if he could read your thoughts, he cupped your face tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him.

"I meant every word I ever said to you," he whispered.

Your lips parted.

"I worshipped you," his voice dropped, low and intense. "I still do."

"Do you know what you are to me?" His voice was soft, but it carried weight.

You swallowed, unable to speak.

"You are the first thought in my mind when I wake up," he confessed, his lips ghosting over your temple. "And the last thing I think about before I sleep."

Your breath hitched.

"You are my peace, my chaos, my greatest weakness," he continued, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I have loved you in a way I never thought I was capable of loving anything."

He exhaled slowly.

"And it terrifies me."

You blinked, startled by the rawness in his voice.

"I have never been a selfish man," he admitted, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist. "But with you? I am."

Your heart pounded.

"Because I don’t want to share you. Not with the world, not with your fans, not with anyone." He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against yours. "I want you to myself."

"You are the only thing that has ever made me feel truly alive," he murmured. "And if I lose you, I don’t know if I could ever feel that way again."

You swallowed hard, heart pounding.

"So don’t doubt me, love," he murmured. "Because my heart has always been yours."

Fuck.

You forgot everything.

The cheating. The lies. The pain.

You forgot it all when he held you like this.

And you hated it.

But you smiled back anyway.

Because loving him hurt, but not loving him felt impossible.

a day off

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Nanami took the day off today.

And for the first time in so long, things felt normal.

You spent the morning baking together. Flour dusted his shirt. Dough stuck to your fingers. He chuckled softly when you stole a bite of cookie batter.

And yeah.

You totally posted a couple of pictures.

Muhehe.

Then, later he took you out on a date.

It felt like old times. Like before.

Soft words. Affectionate glances. His fingers brushing over yours just because.

"You look beautiful," he had whispered. "You always do."

Your heart swelled.

And just like that

You fell in love with him all over again.

Night

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The day ended peacefully.

Nanami sat beside you on the couch, reading a book while you scrolled through your phone.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

And yet your heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Because you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

That this happiness was temporary.

That sooner or later everything would come crashing down.

And you weren’t sure if you were ready for it.

Somewhere other the universe

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Gojo Satoru had never been a man of patience.

So why the fuck was he still here?

Scrolling through your posts. Clicking on your pictures. Watching the videos of you and Nanami with a scowl on his face.

He told himself it was just curiosity. Just harmless interest.

But the truth was so much uglier.

It boiled his blood to see you with Nanami.

Nanami. Of all people.

An old classmate, a so-called friend someone Gojo had always thought was too stiff, too rigid, too unfeeling to love someone like you.

Were they happy? Sure.

Would Gojo ever fucking admit it?

Absolutely not.

Because deep down, he knew he wasn’t just criticizing Nanami.

He was jealous.

And fuck, he hated it.

Gojo had never been particularly close to you. Sure, you had been featured in his songs. Sure, he had spent hours replaying those tracks just to hear your voice.

But beyond that?

Nothing.

You were a fellow artist. A colleague.

And yet

To him, you were so much more.

He had tried to forget it. Tried to drown himself in distractions.

But it never worked.

Your voice was still the one he searched for in crowded places.

Your face was still the one he found himself watching during award shows.

Your name was still the one he typed into search bars at 2 AM just to see if you had posted something new.

And now, as he sat there, glaring at yet another picture of you and Nanami

He decided enough was enough.

He was done watching.

If he wanted to hear your voice so badly he would make it happen.

A remix.

That was the perfect excuse, wasn’t it?

A new collaboration. A remastered version of one of your old songs.

Just an innocent business proposal.

Not an excuse to see you. Not an excuse to hear your voice up close.

Not an excuse to remind you that you had other options.

That maybe just maybe you were better off with someone else.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his snowy white hair.

"She just needs to sing for me," he murmured to himself.

But deep down

He knew he wanted so much more than that.

Gossip in the group

He then went to the group to share about his idea to feature you in his remix, and fuck, as always, it was useless.

It was always the same eye rolls, dismissive texts, insults disguised as jokes.

But did that stop him?

Hell no.

If they weren’t going to support his genius plan, then screw them.

Gojo would make this happen on his own.

But he was genuinely shocked when Geto actually backed him up. Of all people, he expected Geto to be the first to shoot him down, not the one defending his idea.

So this bastard actually liked your songs? And he had been pretending he didn’t just to avoid getting teased? Unbelievable. Gojo smirked oh, he was never letting this go.

IS GETO FUCKING KIDDING HIM

Suguru. Of all fucking people.

Gojo could handle Nanami.

Nanami was stiff, reserved, predictable. He was a good man, but he was a man who followed the rules. And rules? Rules were meant to be broken.

But Suguru?

That shocked him to his core.

Because Suguru wasn’t supposed to want you.

Yet he did.

Gojo had always known, deep down, that Suguru secretly listened to your songs when he thought no one was watching.

He knew Suguru had pictures of you tucked away in his room.

And yet, every time he confronted him, Suguru would just smile. Brush it off. Deny it.

But now?

Now, Suguru admitted it.

Now, Suguru said it out loud.

And worst of all Suguru had the audacity to say,

"She was never yours to begin with."

Gojo knew that was the truth.

But he didn’t want to admit it.

Didn’t want to hear it from Suguru, of all people.

Because Suguru knew.

Suguru knew Gojo had an eternal, fucking pathetic, all-consuming crush on you.

Suguru knew that Gojo wanted you in ways he didn’t even know how to put into words.

And yet, if Suguru ever got the chance to be with you?

Gojo wouldn’t be able to bear it.

He’d end it.

He’d ruin it.

Because the thought of you with Nanami was frustrating.

But the thought of you with Suguru?

It was maddening.

His best friend. His brother. The only person who could truly challenge him who could steal you away from him.

It was unbearable.

Because Gojo didn’t want to share.

Not with Nanami.

Not with Suguru.

Not with anyone.

He wanted you for himself.

And he didn’t even know how.

Maybe just maybe he’d take a turn that was insane.

Something that no one would expect from him.

His fingers twitched. His mind raced.

Then, abruptly

He slapped himself.

A loud, sharp smack that snapped him back to reality.

And then he laughed.

Because fuck.

Maybe he was already losing it.

Don't have the motivation to continue to series :( and fuck i lost some of my works

@blushedcheri @kazupop @thesunxwentblack @fuffyfun123

Previous___. Next____

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

I Just Wanted To Play

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~400

Warnings: implied smut

Summary: You and Spencer return from an afternoon of paintballing. Your mother is less than thrilled when she sees what he did to you.

Square Filled: "I just want to play." for @mfbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

It’s a peaceful afternoon in the Y/N household. Your mom got up early and enjoyed her coffee on the wrap-around porch in the cool spring sun, she read every bit of the newspaper, and she even did a bit of the crossword puzzle that came with the paper. She’s retired so she doesn’t have any plans besides sitting at home, watching her shows, and enjoying time alone. You moved back in with her once rent got too high, but she loves having you back with her.

She’s at the kitchen island going through the many coupons that came in a booklet when the front door slams open. She jumps from the sudden noise but calms when she hears both your and Spencer’s voices.

She loves Spencer, don’t get her wrong. She loves that you love spending time with him. She doesn’t love what his job entails. You work in a corporate building as a social media manager. He works in the FBI with dangerous criminals. She admires what he does. She admires that he is able to bring down people who inflict harm on others, but she doesn’t want you around it.

She’d been around it since your father was in the FBI. He died on the job several decades ago, and now she hates you being around anything that involves danger. Still, she’s not going to tell you who you can and can’t hang out with, but she’ll definitely frown upon you dating Spencer or anyone else in the field.

You know she’s like this because she loves you. If you do end up dating someone in the field, you know she’ll eventually learn to accept it. Your mother looks up when you come storming into the kitchen covered in paintball splotches.

“How was paintballing?” she asks.

“Come on, it was a joke,” Spencer says, following after you.

Funnily enough, he doesn’t have as much paint on him as you do.

“I’m mad at you,” you glare.

“Why? I just wanted to play.”

“Because when we went paintball shooting, I said to avoid my face. What’s the first thing you do?” You pull your collar down to expose the purple splotch on your neck. “You shoot me in the fucking neck.”

“Spencer, you have to be careful with her,” your mom sighs. “She’s fragile.”

“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Go take a shower before you repaint my entire kitchen.”

You wait until your mom has left before turning to Spencer with a mischievous grin.

“Do you think she bought it?”

“Yeah, it was convincing. I liked it.”

You grab Spencer’s shirt and pull him into you. He sides one hand into your hair, grips it, and tugs your head back to control the kiss.

“If you’re quiet, we can shower together so I can mark your pretty little neck up some more.”

You shove him away from you and run from him, giggling when you hear his footsteps coming after you.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[flwrkid14]

Valentine’s Day in Gotham

The thing about Valentine’s Day in Gotham is that it’s never normal.

There are no quiet, peaceful date nights. No simple dinners by candlelight. No perfect, romantic moments uninterrupted by sirens, crime, or the occasional villain trying to make a statement with heart-shaped explosives.

No, Valentine’s Day in Gotham is chaos. It’s stolen moments, fleeting kisses, and love tucked into the spaces between sirens and shadows.

Still, the Batfamily makes do.

–––

The museum alarms are already blaring when Bruce arrives, dropping soundlessly through the skylight.

Selina is standing in front of a glass case, admiring the diamond necklace inside.

“B, you always know how to surprise me,” she purrs, not even turning around. “Did you come to stop me or join me?”

Bruce sighs. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Selina smirks. “So it is.” She turns, stepping into his space. “What do you say? Let me have this one, and I’ll let you catch me next time?”

Bruce shakes his head, but his lips twitch. “You already stole my wallet.”

Selina grins, holding up his credit card. “And your heart.”

She’s gone before he can respond.

–––

At a tiny diner in Blüdhaven, Dick grins across the table at Rory, their fingers tangled together between plates of half-eaten pancakes.

“Did you know,” Dick says, eyes twinkling, “that Valentine’s Day originally started as a Roman festival where people ran around naked and hit each other with goat hides?”

Rory stares at him for a long moment. “You tell me the most romantic things, babe.”

Dick winks. “I try.”

Rory laughs and throws a crumpled napkin at him.

–––

The gunfire has barely died down when Jason drops onto the fire escape beside Roy, pulling his mask off with a sigh.

“Well,” Roy says, stretching his arms behind his head. “That was a hell of a date.”

Jason snorts. “Better than last year.”

“Last year, I got shot,” Roy reminds him.

“Exactly.”

Roy groans and tilts his head back. “We are the worst couple ever.”

Jason glances at him, then, after a moment, leans in and kisses him—slow, deep, lingering.

Roy blinks at him when he pulls away.

Jason smirks. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Roy swears under his breath, then yanks Jason back in for another kiss.

–––

Cass does not see the point of Valentine’s Day.

Steph, on the other hand, loves it.

Which is why, somehow, Cass finds herself standing in front of a heart-shaped piñata, blindfolded, while Steph cheers her on.

“C’mon, babe! You got this!”

Cass sighs, gripping the bat. Then, without hesitation, she swings.

The piñata explodes, showering them both in candy.

Steph gasps. “You broke it in one hit! You are so hot.”

Cass smirks, pulling off the blindfold. “Kiss?”

Steph grabs her face and kisses her breathless.

–––

Duke and Izzy are caught in the middle of a convenience store robbery.

“You couldn’t have waited until we checked out?” Izzy complains, holding up their bag of snacks. “We were literally paying.”

The masked robber looks nervous, but before he can respond, Duke casually disarms him and zip-ties his hands together.

Izzy sighs. “I just wanted to watch a movie and eat junk food. Is that too much to ask?”

Duke kisses her forehead. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She huffs. “You better.”

–––

Tim wakes up to find a Post-it note stuck to his forehead.

Good morning, love of my life. Check the kitchen. <3

Tim blinks, groggy, and stumbles out of bed.

In the kitchen, Danny is standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. There are sticky notes everywhere, covering every surface.

I love you is scribbled across the fridge. Your coffee is ready sits beside his favorite mug. You are the best thing that ever happened to me is stuck to the sugar jar.

Tim stops in the doorway, staring.

Danny turns and beams at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Tim swallows past the lump in his throat. “You’re ridiculous.”

Danny kisses him. “And you love it.”

Tim does.

–––

Damian does not believe in Valentine’s Day. It’s a frivolous holiday designed to pressure people into excessive displays of affection.

Jon, however, is determined to change that.

Which is why Damian comes home to find a very large, very poorly painted banner hanging in the Batcave that reads: DAMIAN, WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?

Jon grins at him from behind it. “Well?”

Damian crosses his arms. “You defaced the Batcave.”

“Technically, I decorated it.”

Damian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are an idiot.”

Jon grins. “But am I your idiot?”

Damian glares at him. Then, after a moment, he sighs and mutters, “Yes.”

–––

Valentine’s Day in Gotham is never normal.

But somehow, it’s always perfect.

Happy Valentine's Day !! <3

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower II

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: She wakes in another unknown place. Healed and alone, she ponders and dares to explore - but the peace is only sweet for a short while. Suddenly, images flashes before her eyes, and while she feels all hope is lost once more, a man holds her. A man unknown or is he?

Word count: 2.2K

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the love and support on the first chapter. It's gotten me all riled up and so inspired that you guys got me writing every night :,))) It really means a lot to me. Happy valentines! I hope whatever plans you have turn out to be enjoyable. I am sitting alone with wine, pizza, and Catullus (a roman poet) that I have to translate :pppp My ideal night honestly. (i'll probably also write... tihi)

Dictionary for this chapter:

Chiton = a form of tunic worn by men and women of ancient greek Agora = the central place of a city state, where people would tend their businesses and politics. Everything important happened here. Hellas = The ancient greek name for greece

It was not long after my arrival at the marble house that I was in the hands of a medic. A flute was playing off in the far distance and chatter were daring to make its way past the curtains, which kept me safe.  

I had felt exposed when I woke up. I was dressed in a finer material, but I did not feel like any hands had touched me. I felt clean. The medic had tended to me and poured a liquid down my throat that no longer scratches. My head feels clearer.

I woke up in a bed of straws covered in silk – a material I didn’t think I ever would get to feel again. The smoothest of all and the softest to touch. Although it made me feel at ease at first, an eerie feeling now replaces it and creeps through the cracks of the walls. Stone walls filled with words and greetings. Words, I cannot read, but still, I understand.

This room does not look to resemble the marble room in which I fainted. Here I feel a peace, a quiet before the storm, but it doesn’t cover its intentions – they are spelt out all over. It’s me, my bed, a side table and a little window at the top. By the looks of it, there is no light outside, so it must be night.

With a deep inhale I dare myself to feel the engravings. My fingers stumbling over each dent, each scratch filled with history. A kind feeling of doom invites itself inside my heart. I’m not the first to be here. A smile hitches and pushes my cheeks aside. I do not know why this agony from past slaves is giving me such cheer. It feels a waste to mourn the dead.

Whatever they’ve given me, I think to myself, I would like an ocean of that.

There is no chaos other than outside the curtains, and even there it has seemed to calm down. The only other life nearby seems to be the flame dancing in the dark beside the bed. I let my fingers wander down my drapes as I pull myself up to sit. It’s a chiton in a pale white with subtle embroidery of gold. It echoes the few moments in the marble room, almost like a reflection of the endearing pillars.

Our pillars.

My jaw tenses. No slave bears these drapes that I am sure of. But I am not sure if I want to admit to it. Had my destiny shifted once more? There is no blur now to confuse, so it must be true. What are these drapes supposed tell me about their intentions with me?

The silk beneath me suddenly gets a whole new meaning, it’s almost like an apology. But who is it from? The effect of the mystery liquid is wearing out. The ache is coming back but it’s starting to feel wrong. Am I to feel gratitude?

The emperors had not touched me, not that I would’ve felt it, but no matter how hard I search I see no filth.

I had only gotten a glimpse of them. An idea of who they really were. In Hellas they were known as the worst of mankind, especially after the attack, but that voice of … Caracalla were no man. It was a tormented soul. And, I suppose, Geta were no tyrant. He sounded as common as a sparrow. It was the riches that alienates them in my head. The blood of my people around their necks. My brothers and sisters’ nooses twinkling on their chest - as I only can imagine. I never got a real look at them. I do not know how they look.

Are they nearby? How was I to know.

I push my feet over the bedside and let my bare feet meet the cold floor. The chiton following swiftly and rhythmically. Slowly, I make my way towards the curtain and try to ease my curiosity by softly pulling it aside. I only dare to do so because the only noise that can be heard is one merely echoing like a word under water.   I find myself looking at another wall which stretches to both the right and the left. It’s small and narrow like a tunnel. I must be underground. I wait a second before stepping outside, carefully tiptoeing to make no sound. There is no one, and if there truly is no one, I have a chance at escape. My first in months.

There is a light to my right, which seemingly is leading upstairs. It’s a chance to be taken.

Horrors return to my head. Images. Blood. Screams. Voices.

I grab a hold of my head, squint my eyes close. I must make it stop. But the images never stop. They feel so real. I see them so clearly.

Wasted bodies on the shore, by the agora. No politics, only war flooded the streets.

“Quiet!” Is the clearest thing I hear.

The images keep changing. I see my brother on the beach. His head is underwater. His body on shore. His clothes unraveled. There’s laughter and humiliation. The soldiers, they grab the body.

I lean to my right up against the engravements, hoping that history will hold me one last time.

“Shh! Quiet!” It’s an intruder to my nightmare.

Suddenly I feel myself wheezing, struggling to pull air in my lungs. I become strangely aware of my body beneath the fabric. It feels as if a hand grabs at my waist. Tears start to stream, unfortunately they have returned, but somehow, they make the wall seem less coarse. A hand between me and the wall.

The weight of my body disappears as my feet fall beneath me, but I do not hit the floor.

“Stop… stop… I do not know how to make this stop.” The voice becomes clearer. It feels too real and too foreign to be in my head. I continue to puff. My lungs crumbling beneath my rib cage.

There’s a pain placed not in my heart but on my cheek. It stings. Senses rush back and I hear sobbing, not only of my own but also of somebody else. A mutual in this pain. I force my eyes open, slowly not to blind myself.

It’s a man. Snot running down over his rosa lips and unshaved chin. His cheekbones spotted with small faults and scratches. His hair messy and slightly curled, the color a shade of pure but dirty gold, almost a shade of orange. His eyes red and irritated, filled with tears, showing pure distress. They are glassy, reflecting every feeling within me. “Please stop.” His voice, so coarse like he has been screaming.

There is a sound of boots beating the ground, armor clashing against itself. The man is quick pull me back behind my protective curtain, where I probably should’ve stayed. I trip and so does he, but he is quick to try and save me from hitting the floor rather than himself. I gasp, feeling his hand on my back – the other covering my mouth. He sits us down on the ground. My knees and his slightly scratched by this movement. Fear is raging in the depths of his eyes. He clenches his hand against my mouth, lightly scratching my skin. I quiver without sound.

The boots pass by, and the man lets go, but only for a second. His thumbs remove my tears eagerly and then cupping my jaw. Usually I would be afraid, because no man holds a woman in such way without it being with dirty intention – but this is different. He’s holding me like he had lost me. A touch so rough and selfish yet so caring. I am frozen in his touch.

There is a calm.

He does not dare to break the silence. He’s busy removing every sign of ache that might’ve trailed my face. I just remain still and watch his every move.

He’s wearing a white toga, which barely covers up his body as intended, revealing a hairy chest. His arm is slightly toned but as his cheeks, there is a layer of fat bulging more than muscle. This is a man of status but not far up. Perhaps only a slave, on the run. Perhaps he is just like me.

“Who are you…?” I whisper in Latin, cautiously, examining his face, waiting for a reaction.  I dare not to think that this is another one of my hallucinations. This feels too real. Too raw.

He seems slightly surprised by my question at the same time as his eyes somewhat clears up. He sniffs. “Who am I?” His jaw moves astray like he is holding back. Like I should know.

I nod hesitantly. By the looks of it, he is not in his right mind. But neither am I, so I dare not trust every thought popping in my head. I hold tight onto the feeling of gratitude towards this stranger as it keeps me at bay. He’s still shaking, and so am I.

“That… that doesn’t matter.” He sniffs. His voice seems so fragile that I could imagine it would break if the tiniest of winds would try to puff it off balance.

“…Okay.” I softly respond and look into his eyes. His blue, naked eyes.

He is looking from one eye to the other. No other words are needed. The contact is all we both need to calm. I notice he too has stopped crying. I can only wonder what has caused him pain. I reach out tentatively to dry his tears in the same manner, but before I reach his face, he grabs my wrists. He’s still on guard.

“It’s… it’s okay.” Is my only try at reassuring him.

His only response is a single nod as he slowly lets go, dropping his hands to his lap. And so, I tend to his distress as a return of his kindness. His face softening for every tear I remove. I grab the silk off the bed to dry his nose, patting it carefully to not disturb the calm breathing.

“I will keep you safe.” He proclaims and sounds if he is promising it more to himself than me. “I will remember you tomorrow and claim you as mine.”

The words rush through my bloodstream like burning iron, daring to turn cold and keep my body in shape, frozen in movement. The words “claim you as mine” echo.

His eyes seem quick to worry, grabbing a hold of my wrists once more, but this time to pull me in to hold me at his chest. His arms are clamming my body close. An act so compassionate, a feeling so claustrophobic. Merely four words and all hope are lost. Reality hitting, the imbalance revealing itself. His voice returning in my head, not as how he just spoke but as a reminiscence from earlier. The burdened.

It's the emperor.

Questions arise. What is he doing here? Why is he being chased? What has he done? Why is he holding me so close, so dear? I am not his friend; I am his enemy. Does he not know?

“I know how you feel.” The burdened sniffs. “I know how you feel right now. I knew it from the moment I saw you. You and I are the same.” His hand goes to grasp my head once more, squeezing me closer, choking me lightly. Or maybe I’m just holding my breath.

He knows not of my pain.

“That man was so cruel. He knows nothing of health. Nothing!” His fingers turn to pierce my scalp, but inventively as he is quick to stop again. “Oh- I’m so sorry – so sorry, meus flos.”

He speaks of words I do not know. I try to suppress the panic, not to alarm him. I am afraid of a reaction. I place my hand against his toga, pushing myself slightly away, and he softens his touch, letting me go. Scared, I let my eyes land on him again. I try to take every bit of him in. One of the men responsible of my lands abuse.

I should’ve known it was him. I should’ve stood on guard. He is nothing like me. Not at all. He is of wealth, obtained from plunder of the poor, of me.  

But why is he showing me mercy? Is this a cruel joke played by the Gods? Oh, how they mock me.

“I do not wish to hurt you.” He shakes his head childlike. The personality from earlier taking shape right before me.

He reaches his hand to hold my jaw once more, but I move away instinctively. And oh, how it seems to hurt him, but only for a short while.

“You’re right. We need rest.” I am unsure wherever he is imagining that I told him off. “GUARDS!”

The sudden yell startles me, and fear grabs me once more. What is he going to do??

As quick as a water droplet hits the surface, guards dressed in armor, wearing purple come maraging in. I have no time to react.

“My emperor-“

“Enough! Escort me and meus flos to my bedroom. And bring her a separate bed.”  

The guards look shocked, speechless even.

“QUICKLY!”

Apollo, what are you doing to me?

Next chapter: 16th February :)

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Ten: The Weight of the Crown

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Author's Note: Hello everyone! It's been a while, but I'm glad to be back. It's been about 3 months since I last updated (for those reading along with the uploads), so I recommend reading the last chapter as a quick refresh. Thank you for reading and your continuous support. Be sure to comment on how you're feeling after the end of this chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts. You'll understand why soon enough. Happy reading!

Chapter Warnings: Graphic depictions of miscarriage, sexism, angst, we're mentally ill folks.

The sea air clung to the rocks of Dragonstone as Gaelithox, carrying you from King’s Landing, flew into the sulfuric caverns of the Dragonmont, emerald wings beating. It was a bitter homecoming but a welcome one nonetheless. The constant rush of the clouds, the cold winter sky above, and the dark stone of the castle all felt familiar. Despite everything that had happened, Dragonstone was where you felt safest. The echoes of the storm that had just passed felt distant as you made your way toward the castle’s entrance, the weight of the journey lifting with every step. 

It had been a turbulent time at the Red Keep. The petition against Luke’s claim to the Driftwood throne, the death of Vaemond Velaryon at Daemon’s hands, and the lingering tension still hung between your two families. The most unexpected event was the moment with Aemond within the darkness of your childhood chambers, feeling his touch, unsteady and desperate yet confident of its path. Despite all the turmoil in his arms, you felt a sense of peace that had long eluded you. The vulnerability in his gaze, the careful way he held you, and those memories clung to you; though you had not spoken of it, a quiet joy bloomed inside you.

Your family was only away for a day, but it felt like a moon. Dragonstone was your sanctuary, its halls frigid but comforting, its chambers filled with memories of the past. Yet, somehow, they felt different now. For better or worse, something had shifted.

As you entered the Hall of the Painted Table, you saw your family settling in after their return, and you were the last to take leave from King’s Landing. Your mother, the ever-gracious heir to the Iron Throne, spoke softly with Daemon, their conversation punctuated by brief smiles as she stroked her swelling stomach. Luke and Jace laughed in the corner, clearly relieved to be away from the tense atmosphere of the Red Keep as Baela and Rhaena stayed at their betrothed sides.

You offered Jace a forced smile, unable to hide how your heart stopped at seeing him next to your cousin. Perhaps Dragonstone was no longer a place of consistency that you remembered. That needn’t matter now; all that did was your future, which was no longer tied to Jace.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation building inside you as your mind wandered. If your mother agreed, you would soon wed to Aemond. The thought of it sent a surge of hope through you, but the joy was not one you could share openly. 

As you moved to join your family, Jace’s eyes found you immediately. His sharp gaze lingered on you with a curious intensity. His brow furrowed as he stepped toward you, and a glimmer of concern flickered across his face. 

“You seem different,” Jace remarked, his voice low enough to keep the conversation private. “You were distraught last night, and now you’re practically floating. What happened?” 

Your heart skipped a beat. Jace had always been perceptive; he was your twin and a part of your mind and soul. The last thing you wanted was to have him probing into your emotions. Still, you couldn’t lie outright.

“I am just glad to be home. It has been a long two days,” you sighed, offering Jace a smile that did not quite meet your eyes. “We all have our burdens, brother. Mine are not so heavy now.”

Jace’s gaze softened, but his eyes remained wary. “Is that all? You were…” He hesitated, struggling to find the words as your despair from last night echoed in his mind. “You seemed so unsettled.”

You bit your lip, unsure how to explain without revealing your secret. It was unlike you to withhold something significant from your twin, but you were uncertain if you wanted to tell him, knowing how Jace felt about Aemond. The truth was, you had not expected to feel this way after everything that happened. The hope you had harbored for so long that one day you could mend the broken promises had somehow become a noiseless reality. The thought of a life with Aemond, beyond the shadows of the courtly politics and grudges, filled you with joy, but it wasn’t something you could tell Jace.

“I am simply… finding peace with our mother’s decision,” you said, your voice vague but resolute, smoothing your wrinkled riding skirt. “Tis nothing to concern yourself with.”

Jace’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, clearly unconvinced, but he did not press further as Baela grabbed his attention. He gave a short nod and clapped a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Well, I am glad you have found some comfort. I love you, sister, and if you need anything-”

“I am fine,” you interrupted sternly, giving him a tight, reassuring smile that stretched your wind burnt cheeks.

As Jace walked away, still looking back over his shoulder with a knowing frown, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. You hated lying to him, especially when you could see the concern written across his face, but something inside told you this happiness was yours to keep for now, at least until the time was right. 

You looked across the mixed waters of Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea through the high, arching windows, savoring the silent joy you felt. You knew that whatever came next, whatever trivial battles you would have to face with this decision, whatever challenges would arise, this moment was yours alone. For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that, perhaps, this was the beginning of something pure.

The sun shone in a wash of molten gold as your mother leaned back in her study chair, the weight of her unseen crown seemingly heavier than usual after all that unfolded in King’s Landing. Her blonde hair gleamed in the warm light, strands catching like spun silver webs against the intricate embroidery of her black and red gown. You tentatively approached your mother as she poured over her writing desk, deep in thought, and stood before her, heart hammering in your chest, struggling to form words.

“Mother,” you began hesitantly, your voice wavering. 

Your mother looked up from the pieces of parchment strewn about the oak top, her gaze light as she noticed your fidgeting fingers. 

“I must tell you something before you return to King’s Landing.” You had battled with telling her of the proposal since Queen Alicent discussed it, scratching your scalp until it was tender and raw.

Like yours, yet so different, your mother’s sharp eyes squinted, filled with curiosity and faint weariness as she raised a light-colored brow. You could sense her anxiety slowly pique at your statement, but she hid it well, allowing you to continue.

“Go on,” she prompted, her tone gentle but carrying an unmistakable authority. You understood yesterday had taken as much of a toll on you as her with the light indigo crescents underneath her eyes.

Swallowing hard and clutching your hands to stop them from trembling, you inhaled deeply. It was best to finish it now, like ripping off a freshly healed scab. “Queen Alicent has requested that I accompany you to King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra’s forehead wrinkled slightly, a flicker of suspicion darting across her face. “Oh?” She straightened in her chair. “And what reason might that be?”

“The Queen,” you said, your voice faltering as you twisted three fingers in your fist, attempting to channel your anxiety, “has proposed a betrothal between me and Prince Aemond.”

The silence followed was as heavy as the stones forming the Dragonmont itself. Your mother’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. For a moment, you feared she might refuse outright, her pride and long-standing animosity with Alicent taking precedence.

“She thought this would help heal the divisions,” you hurriedly continued as if to justify the decision, taking a few hurried paces towards her. You felt like a child begging your parents to allow you to stay up past bedtime. “I agreed, and so did Prince Aemond.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, though a shadow of unease remained. She rose from her seat, ambling toward you, her hands clasped tightly. “You spoke with him, and he agreed?” she asked quietly. “Truly?”

You nodded, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. “Queen Alicent came to me while packing my belongings and proposed the courtship. I was hesitant at first, knowing our history, but,” you paused, swallowing the abrupt lump in your throat, “I believe this to be the best course of action for our House.”

A faint sigh escaped her lips as she placed a hand on your shoulder. Rhaenyra remembered when she was in a similar position, her father having arranged an engagement tour that ended with the threat of disinheritance and a loveless marriage. It would be better for you to choose your suitor, she decided. She did not want you to suffer the same fate.

“While I am not pleased that Alicent didn’t bring the matter to me first,” she began, voice terse and arms crossed as she sighed softly. “If this is what you desire, and if it will bring peace to our families, then so be it, but understand this partly stems from my fear of how Alicent might react if I refuse. The path of political marriages and alliances is best traveled with our minds and not our hearts.” Your mother’s angular face displayed a profound sense of intensity, one you had never seen before, as her lithe fingers tenderly stroked the crown of your loose hair. 

“We must tread carefully, my brave girl.” Her words carried devotion and caution, and while her agreement brought relief, the tension in your chest refused to dissipate entirely.

“Rest now. We shall return to the Keep with the good news on the morrow,” your mother ordered, her voice softening as she cupped your face briefly. “We have a long journey ahead of us, and you’ll need your strength.”

You nodded obediently and left her chamber with a flutter in your ribs, unable to hide your smile. Sleep eluded you as you tucked yourself under the soft covers of your bed. Your mind raced with thoughts of Aemond—of his piercing violet eye, the quiet intensity of his presence as you felt the textured warmth of the scar on his cheek. The idea of him lying in these elegant blue sheets with you stirred something thrilling yet terrifying within you.

Finally, unable to bear the restless energy that gnawed at you, you rose with a swift flick of your covers and slipped out into Aegon’s Garden.

The sun hung halfway on the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the sprawling palace gardens. The gentle, melodic symphony of the ocean’s crashing waves flitted through the air as you knelt amidst rows of once-lush vegetables, fruits, and flora. This patch of dirt was your sanctuary, a plot you tended not for the court’s tables but for the smallfolk who occasionally relied on its yield. 

Sod clung to your fingers as you dug into the soil, feeling its cold, gritty texture. A faint smile graced your lips as you recalled the baker’s son’s joy when you handed him a basket of potatoes from the prior harvest. However, your family did not share the same sentiment, scolding you for being unguarded with the smallfolk.

The garden around you continued to buzz with the beginnings of life as you fell into a calm rhythm. A gentle breeze carried the sweet aroma of the crocus blossoms. Winter was almost ending, and you needed to ensure the ground was ready for spring. Still, you could only focus on the excited feeling in your gut. 

In an instant, your serenity was torn apart by the swift swish of skirts and the panicked voice of your handmaiden, Edwina. Her breathless urgency sliced through the calm, each word tumbling out in a rush as if the very air around her crackled with unease.

“My Lady Velaryon!” Edwina’s voice quivered a fragile sound that echoed in your chest. 

As you looked up, your heart plummeted at the focused image of your maid standing before you. Her eyes, usually bright and full of warmth, were now wide with distress and glistening with unshed tears. 

“What is it, Edwina?” you inquired, brows furrowed, and your voice tinged with concern. Hurriedly rising to your feet, the soft, loamy scent of freshly turned dirt from the garden still clung to your clothes and mingled with your faint citrus perfume. 

“Your mother,” Edwina stammered, clutching her skirt as though trying to steady herself. “She… she’s in labor.”

You felt the world tilt, a disconcerting sway that threatened to pull you off balance. It was far too early for the babe, mere months into its fragile journey. Fear knotted in your stomach as you took in the reality of the situation. With each heavy breath, your fist gripped the wooden handle of your trowel, feeling the rough grain beneath your fingertips. You held it tightly as though it was the only solid thing in the chaotic swirl of your thoughts. 

“Where is she? I must-” you began, a frantic pounding in your chest, but Edwina’s trembling voice cut through.

“There’s more,” she whispered, as though speaking it aloud would make it more true. “The king, your grandfather…” she couldn’t get the words out, breathes coming in pants. “King Viserys is dead, and they’ve crowned Aegon in your mother’s stead.”

Time seemed to slow as the words echoed in your mind, clashing and overlapping like waves against jagged rocks. 

Dead. 

Grandfather, the man who barely held the family together, a monarch who, despite his flaws, had been a steady presence in your life, was gone. You knew it was inevitable with the state he was in, but so soon after you left King’s Landing? It made your heart sink into the cold dirt below. And your mother… your mother was losing the child who might have softened the blow of this loss. 

Your mind raced with thousands of thoughts as the future was overturned. You should have known this happiness was just another farce, that your existence was meant to be one of turmoil and suffering. Perhaps you were not destined or deserving to experience a fraction of the happiness others around you possessed because of your inherently sinful nature, what happened with Aegon, and what you did with Jace. 

Breath hastening, you quickly withheld the tears you desperately wanted to shed. “How?” you managed to choke out, voice hoarse. “How did he die?” 

It did not matter how your grandfather died. The answer wouldn’t change the outcome. Still, you wanted to know, to have the weight lifted off your conscience for not being there in his final moments. 

Edwina hesitated, her eyes darting to the ground as though searching for the courage to speak. “They say… they say it was in his sleep, but there are whispers, your highness. Whispers of treachery. The Queen was the last to see him in his chambers and said he wished for Aegon to be king.”

The confession struck you like a blade. Treachery and lies, the court was rife with ambition and deceit. You had grown up amidst its murky depths, but to imagine someone close, your kin, being a victim was unbearable. Your fingers curled into fists, the dirt beneath your nails now a stark reminder of the life you had just been cultivating. Life and death intertwined in cruel, unrelenting cycles.

“I have to go,” you blurted, your tone turning to steel despite the tempest of emotions roiling within you. Brushing past Edwina, your mind raced with grief, fear, and fury, but as you stepped onto the stone path leading to the castle, you paused, returning your gaze to the garden.

The rows of upturned dirt seemed almost mocking in their stillness, a sharp contrast to the chaos consuming your world. A thought flickered through your mind. What would become of the realm? Innocents would perish because Alicent, Otto Hightower, and whatever gluttonous lords decided to place their kin on the throne. 

With your grandfather gone and your mother’s precarious position as the true ruler falling into position, it was your duty to step into your rightful place in the line of succession as her heir. You would display the fruits of your studies and handle this uncertain path with an intelligence and dignity worthy of being the rightful queen’s heir. To the whole realm, you would prove to the Great Houses that your blood House Targaryen, ruled by women, was one of unimpeachable strength and wisdom.

You swallowed hard, setting your jaw as your mind calmed. This was not the time for rash decisions filled with emotions. People like you could not afford such luxuries when others’ lives were at stake. There would be a time to grieve, but not now and not in front of others.

“Tell the groundskeepers to send someone to tend to the garden. I fear I won’t be able to for some time,” you instructed Edwina with a stern nod. “The smallfolk must not suffer because of the Hightowers’ greed.”

And with that, you strode toward the castle, heart-shattering with every step. Yet amidst the grief and uncertainty, a seed of resolve took root. If your mother was still breathing and at least some of the Great Houses remembered their oaths, you would ensure the world did not crumble beneath your kin’s feet. 

While war was imminent, you could still attempt to salvage alliances and oaths before bloodshed. Part of you hoped that, somehow, the brief future that you envisioned with Aemond was not a fantasy but an end to a long and bloody path ahead.

Screams were heard throughout the halls, servants and maids averting their gaze from you as if they were looking upon the Stranger as they instinctively bowed in their red garbs. The tension in the air was palpable as you hurried to your mother’s chamber, thick skirts in your fists. You could hear her ladies before you entered, voices taught with terror and encouragement as they begged your mother to allow them to help her.

Entering without proper announcement, you swiftly approached your mother, crouched beside her bed, face buried between her legs. Blood stained her once pristine smock in an ombre of crimson and pink, tears of empathy welling in your eyes as you kneeled beside her.

“I’m here, Mother,” you announced, trying to comfort her and not invade her space. She lifted her head from where it was focused on the bloodiest part of her dress, covering what you knew hid beneath it.

She seemed at war with wanting to push you away while also craving the comfort her eldest daughter brought. Rhaenyra knew there was something different about this birth, more than the apparent premature arrival. It hurt differently than her previous ones, a pain so unusual to her body that it felt as if she was passing a beast instead of a child as another contraction seized her muscles. Her father and her throne were stolen from her within seconds, and now her child. Rhaenyra could never imagine such a fate.

“Your grandsire is dead,” your mother declared through gritted teeth, nails digging into her thigh to distract from the pain as she stared at the ceiling. “And Aegon sits on the throne.” 

“I know, Mama, I know. I’m here for you, not to scheme. To do my duty as your daughter and help you through this,” you confessed with a sob, tears finally falling free and blinding your vision as you wiped at the sweat glistening on her brow. “You are strong. Stronger than you give yourself credit for, mother. I’ve watched you politic and navigate the courts and come standing with your pride. You have just come from securing Luke’s inheritance. Your father, who had not been seen sitting on the Iron Throne for years, did so for you.”

It hurt to see her in such a state that you could not help but let your heart speak. Your proud, fierce mother, who dealt with slimy lords and deceitful ladies with unwavering grace, was now forced to fight another battle, one against her own body, where words could not protect her.

Love shone through the discomfort in her amethyst eyes as your encouraging words momentarily distracted her. “Where is Daemon?” She asked her lady-in-waiting, Elinda, who shared the same puffy, distraught visage you did. 

You took this opportunity to take the clean linens from one of the helpless maids and a basin of fresh water, returning to your mother’s side. 

“He’s gathered the council members, your highness,” she answered, an anxious wrinkle on her forehead. 

Another wave of pain passed through Rhaenyra at the thought of her husband plotting his war in his grief, abandoning his wife in her desperate time of need. There was no telling what Daemon would do in his madness.

Anger erupted in your veins as you soaked a rag in the cool water and placed it on the back of your mother’s neck. You should not have felt pleased for her to see the man Daemon was in this way, but you knew he would do this. It was in his character, though you wished he would have revealed himself more opportunistically. 

“I will fetch him for you, Mother,” you offered sternly, but she waved away the idea. 

Your mother grunted with exertion as she pushed herself up, using your arm for support as she paced to one of the stone pillars streaming the yellow daylight into the room. 

“No,” she replied with a raspy tone, leaning against the structure with a groan. “I need you now, here with me.” The loss of her father was fresh, a slice to her bleeding heart. 

When agony did not blind her, Rhaenyra’s mind wandered in her grief, thinking of what would happen in the following moments, days, and years. The realm was teetering on the brink of civil war, and it was only a matter of time before the scales tipped and the dragons danced. 

She looked to you, her daughter, her only daughter, a girl still so young and kind despite experiencing the horrors of life that threatened to pull you into despair. 

Rhaenyra knew in her soul that this child would not survive; it was only a matter of expelling it before it ended her, but you… you were alive. For how long, she wasn’t sure. The thought crept into her mind like the shiver of death’s hand, but right now, you were here with her, devoted and by her side, no matter how pained you to see your mother this way. 

You didn’t leave your mother’s side, not even as she limped from one place to another, using you as your late grandsire did to his cane, wiping the sweat, blood, and birthing fluids that stained her porcelain skin. It felt as if your mother was in this gruesome cycle of sitting, standing, pacing, and squatting as she screamed for the child to leave her womb. 

Rhaenyra thought of her mother as she so often did when it came to birth. She wondered if this was the terror Queen Aemma felt when she realized the babe would not go and that she was doomed. Rhaenyra didn’t want to die, even if it seemed like the world wanted her to. She would not allow this child to be the last of her if not for her living, breathing children who stared at her with concern as they entered her room to spite the traitors who were stealing her birthright. 

Jace and Luke gazed at you and your mother as she doubled over with a bout of pain, quickly squatting as you wiped away a stream of viscous blood that ran down her leg. 

“Mother!” Jace shouted in concern as they stopped at a distance, afraid and uncertain of his mother’s agony.

Your mother heavily panted as she tried to gain the energy to speak. “Your grandfather, King Viserys, is dead,” she exhaled through her teeth. “The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned king.”

Jace looked at you with wide eyes, understanding what this meant for you, him, and the realm. You gazed back with certainty, speaking without words. “What is to be done about it?” he questioned, ever the eager and dutiful son ready to protect his family.

“Nothing yet,” your mother declared as she gained the energy to continue her pacing cycle.

“And where is Daemon?” Jace interrogated again, anxious gaze flicking between you and your mother. 

You led your mother to rest against your shoulder to distract and take some of the pressure off her contracting limbs as she inhaled a jagged breath. “Gone to madness,” she sniffled, nose buried into the crook of your neck, stroking her stomach. “Gone to plot his war.” 

Your heart broke for her in every possible way, fracturing into tiny little pieces like a shattered mirror of loss, betrayal, and sadness across your slippered feet. Your mother did not deserve this. No one deserved the loss of a child—to have one thing after another stolen in such rapid succession with no one to support her. But you would. You would stay by your mother’s side as her heir and support her claim more steadfastly than any other because that was the right thing to do.

There was an unspoken understanding between you, not just as mother and daughter, but as a woman and girl. A bond that was unbreakable no matter how much it was twisted, bent, and weathered. She loved you. She made you into the woman you are today, one that would create a new order together.

Turning your tear-streaked face to your brother, you spoke without words, commanding him to deal with what you and your mother could not. He curtly nodded as Luke continued to stare with his wide brown eyes.

“Leave Daemon to me,” Jace declared and swiftly made his way to the exit, but your mother called out to him, lifting her head as she repeated. 

“Jacaerys!” 

She could not lose you. Not now, not in several moons’ time when war fully unleashes, and you ride into battle on dragonback. Rhaenyra understood she couldn’t stop her sons from riding as it was their duty as princes and men, but you were her daughter, and daughters did not go to war. At that moment, she decided she would never let you. Despite the hypocrisy that struck Princess Rhaenyra’s conscience, she could not allow you to be in a position that brought you so close to death.

With what little strength she had reserved, your mother separated herself from you as you attempted to reach out in concern. She need not burden herself more, at least not alone and with someone who truly loved her. Another wave of agony washed through your Queen Mother as you watched how her knees buckled, gritting her teeth through the pain as you hooked your arm under hers. 

Her bleary violet eyes met yours, deep and holding thoughts inside them that you could not decipher as she tightened her mouth in pain, gaze now fixed on Jace.

“Whatever claim remains to me, you are now its heir. Naught is to be done by my command,” your mother declared, her voice unwavering. 

Time seemed to stand, and Jace and Luke halted their movements abruptly as they stared at the two closest women in their lives with terrified confusion. You felt the life drain from your face, a bleeding heart leaping out of your chest and falling to the stone below. 

She couldn’t mean that. She couldn’t. You were her heir. You were the firstborn, destined to rule the Seven Kingdoms just like her, no matter what others thought. You were to create a new order, a better and just kingdom that reigned in prosperity. This was what you spent your life preparing yourself for. Countless hours of studying history, politics, philosophy, and arithmetic were all meant to prepare you for the best monarch you could be. It was to prove to the Lords of the realm that women were too inferior, that they were too gentle of the heart to rule like a man were wrong. 

And now, as you felt tears not of empathy rise, Rhaenyra Targaryen would prove all of them right. 

“Mother, you can not mean that. I am your heir. The line of succession deems it so,” you stated indignantly, feeling your muscles weaken. 

“I know, my sweet girl, but this is what needs to be done,” she explained, brows furrowing with another contraction as she gathered her words. “You are my daughter… my only daughter, and I cannot lose you to another man’s senseless actions. I know you and what you’ll do. You are not one to stand idly at the hands of injustice, and it shall get you killed.” 

Your world was burning, and the dragons had yet to take the skies. 

“I need your mind with me, by my side as my-” she beseeched, another contraction cutting her words short, “as my council.” 

Your breath was stolen as she spoke, and you felt yourself deflate, your face falling and shoulders hunching. You dropped your arms and stepped away from your mother. 

“You can not mean that, mother. You’re-you’re unwell. The stress of everything has consumed your mind. Do not make any decisions yet. Now is not a time of action. Wait until your body is in good health, and we can reconvene with your council,” you desperately ranted, emotions slowing welling inside of you as you felt yourself clawing your skin.

Your mother shook her head, wiping her sweat-dampened lips as she braced herself against the carved wooden footboard of her bed. “No. My decision is of sound mind and final. You will understand in time that this is what is best for you—for our House.” 

You refused to accept that your mother would reduce you to nothing but another passed daughter, though you were more prepared and deserving than your younger brother, yet lacking only one unobtainable thing. Anger began to replace your defeat, boiling into a rage that spilled over into the venom of your words. 

“You claim to be the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms, yet you choose a younger son over the eldest daughter for your legacy. Do you not see your hypocrisy?” you exclaimed, hands waving with every sentence as Jace stood in the doorway, shoulders hunched. Sinkingly, you realized he would not refuse your mother’s decision. “You prove by your actions that the Greens are correct in naming Aegon as king. You claim to be the new rule but desire to be the exception.”

“My girl,” your mother began grunting as she reached for your embrace. Stepping away from her, you crossed your arms, refusing to offer her the comfort she needed when she disregarded yours. “My strong, brave girl, please do not hate me for this. I cannot handle your anger in my time of anguish.” 

Fury crackled with a sinister fire in the hollow cavity of your chest, flames of vengeance licking at the edges of your soul. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, and you hurriedly brushed them away, desperate to regain some semblance of composure. Your mind was shrouded in a thick fog of rage, and the most treacherous thoughts, words you would never dare to entertain even in your bleakest moments, surged forth, threatening to consume you entirely.

“If you do not want me, perhaps I should return to King’s Landing and bend the knee to my Uncle? I know Alicent would appreciate my value more than my flesh and blood,” you spat, nails digging crescents into your palms.

Your pain made you blind to all rational thoughts. The mere idea of bending the knee to Aegon was repulsive. No matter how distressed you felt, it was an image you couldn’t comprehend. You would instead take your own life than pledge allegiance to your rapist, but that wasn’t the main point. You wanted to hurt your mother in the same way she had hurt you.

“You would never,” she panted, clutching at her bloodied skirt. Your mother’s footing slipped as she fell against the stone floor, crying out in agony and gripping the footboard to channel her pain. 

“No!” you cut her off, shaking your head. “You swore I would be your heir, yet you chose him!”

Jace looked at you in alarm, his face twisted with guilt. “Sister, this isn’t the time-”

“It is exactly the time!” you snapped, stepping back. Jace was just as much to blame, with no refusals for his new title. “I will not stay here and listen to these fallacies.”

Your heart hardened to a chilling frost at her rejection as you disregarded her pain. Though her labor would soon reach its climax, lasting only a few more agonizing hours, the humiliation of being eclipsed by your younger brother would trail you like a dark shadow for the rest of your days. She made you a victim, much like the plight she faced, yet unlike her, there would be no rallying cries or banners raised in your honor.

With a delicate sniffle and a sharp inhalation, you steadied your ragged breath, transforming into the dignified princess the realm demanded you be—the poised princess who sat silently behind the imposing castle walls, gazing wistfully out the grand window of your gilded prison. 

Curtsying, you forced your lips to stretch into a thin smile, willing the hurt to disappear. “I pray your labors are swift and painless. I shall join the rest of the council members and sit and twiddle my thumbs as is your will, my Queen.” 

With no more kindness left, you lifted your skirts, wiping the sweat and blood from your hands as you exited your mother’s bed chambers without a passing glance as she shouted your name. Jace stood there motionless, too stunned to speak, let alone force you to return to her as you strode by. You were still his eldest sibling and held that seniority despite the sudden thrust of a new title. He was not accustomed to giving orders, let alone to his older sister, who was the one who mothered him.

Throwing your brother a look over your shoulder that ordered him to follow you, you trekked down the torch-lit halls to the Council Chambers, where Daemon no doubt was, as your mother’s cries became nothing but muffled noise. Your anger had created a wall around your heart, shielding you from any sympathy for her pain. She certainly had no regard for yours. 

“You need to stay with her,” Jace finally said, mouth syncing with his mind as he slightly jogged to catch up with your swift gait. 

You flashed your twin a sneer in response and flicked your hand in dismissal, continuing your path to Daemon as the sound of male voices grew louder. “I am not the heir. ’Tis not my duty to ensure the survival of the head of our House. I’m but a mere daughter.”

“Do not lose your heart simply because of your anger. It only proves why Mother chose me,” he antagonized, his frustration and pride getting the best of him. 

Without thinking, you spun on him, pushing Jace against the jagged stone as you smacked him across his sharp cheek. “Don’t ever say that again! You will never be as good as me, Jacaerys!” you shouted, finally releasing the fury you held back. “She only chose you because I don’t possess a cock, not because you are a better fit. Don’t ever forget that.” 

You were one soul, one mind, yet different bodies, and no one knew how to hurt someone better than their sibling. Jace had always felt inferior to you for as long as you could remember, no matter how you tried to help him. He never dedicated himself to his studies as much as you did, preferring more to play a pretend knight with Luke. It wasn’t his fault for the skewed priorities; he, too, was under the assumption that you were going to be queen. There was no pertinent reason to impress his studies at the time before yours.

Turning away from Jace, you continued on your path, your conscious an unfeeling stone as you scratched at the hair uncomfortably lying on your scalp. You wanted to claw yourself out of your skin—rip the flesh right off your limbs until there was nothing left but bones. All you wanted was to feel the pain sear your nerves like the hurt you felt on the inside. 

“I’ll fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tully’s support,” Daemon’s voice echoed through the halls as you and your twin entered the chamber unannounced. 

The Rogue Prince stood imposingly; your mother’s most trusted advisors circled a table map with tense expressions.

“You will do no such thing,” Jace interjected, shoulders squared as he feigned confidence. “My mother has decreed no action be taken while she’s abed.”

Your stepfather gazed at you under his light brows, purple orbs shifting to Jace and back to you. He seemingly questioned without words as to why your twin was speaking instead of you. His time-worn visage wrinkled in defiance as silence stretched longer than necessary, ignoring Jace. “It’s good you’re here, my young prince. You’re needed to patrol the skies on your dragon.”

“Did you not hear what I said?” Jace questioned as he stepped forth. Each Lord standing around the dimly lit Chamber of the Painted Table stared noiselessly, tense eyes sharing worried glances.

“Patrol the skies, my prince. The heir and I must discuss matters of the realm,” Daemon responded. You did not meet his stare as another fresh wave of tears burned your nose and twitched your lips. 

It seemed as if time stood still as your shame was laid bare before the ruling Lords, chin trembling with hurt and embarrassment. The quiet pierced through your gut like a blade, twisting it inside your organs as the men continued their noiseless stares. You felt their confusion soon morphed into pity as Jace stood with his back ramrod straight, only confirming their conclusions when you refused to speak.

“The ravens, Lord Bartimos,” Daemon reminded as your twin wordlessly asked you for assistance. Your mother made her choice, and it was Jace’s responsibility to bear it as you would have. 

Suddenly, your mother’s scream cut through the Lord’s hesitance as his weathered gaze flicked from Jace, you, and Daemon. “I shall see it done,” he nodded, leaving. It was fruitless to argue with the Rogue Prince.

“Summon Ser Steffon. Our kingsguard are needed on the Dragonmont,” your stepfather commanded next as you observed him effortlessly ignore your brother and, by extension, your mother. It took everything within you not to smirk as Jace pleaded for you to back his standing. “Come with me, and I’ll show you the true meaning of loyalty,” Daemon ordered without a glance at you or Jace, walking briskly between the two of you with his palm on the hilt of Dark Sister.

He left no room for discussion, his imposing aura exuding an air of confidence that only a man like him could have. Your interest in what Daemon could be conjuring up inside his mind as a display of “true loyalty” guided your movements as you followed him, not bothering to see if Jace was too. 

Your stepfather guided you through the dim halls of your home and onto the rocky cliffs of Dragonstone, the wind whipping your hair as you stood beside him. Jace was close behind, standing tensely at a distance as his face betrayed a perplexed annoyance before the two Kingsguards. 

The air was cold, causing gooseflesh to rise on your arms as Daemon began to speak. “You swore an oath as knights of the Kingsguard,” he stated, one hand behind his back and the other on his sword. 

“As do all who wear the white cloak, my prince,” Ser Steffon Darklyn replied, his silver helmet tucked underneath his arm as he squinted in the gray afternoon sunlight. 

“To whom?”

You cast a sidelong glance to Daemon, curious about where this was going. Ser Steffon and Lorent Marband were loyal men, Ser Darklyn primarily as he and his ancestors served your House steadfastly. You supposed it wasn’t unwise of Daemon to ensure that the very men who protected you did not turn cloaks, but it did feel a little excessive to make a grand display for you and Jace. 

“I swore first to King Jahaerys, my prince, and then to His Grace, King Viserys, when he succeeded him,” Ser Steffon answered confidently, showing no effect on Daemon’s intimidation. 

“Do you acknowledge the true line of succession?” the Rogue Prince interrogated. Both the knights agreed in unison as Daemon made eye contact with you and then Jace, showing pride that only he could possess as your brother glared at him. 

You felt a sympathetic understanding radiating from your stepfather that you had never seen displayed before. His violet eyes flicked back to you, strands of hair coming loose from your updo as he placed a wordless hand on your shoulder. It took everything within you not to smack his hand away, understanding the importance of showing a powerful united front. Just because you shared the same fate, another disregarded victim in the line of succession, did not mean your hatred of him lessened. 

He breathed in through his nose, attention back to the pair of Kingsguard. “Do you recall whom King Viserys named heir before his death?”

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Ser Steffon answered as Daemon replied with a low sound.

“I’m grateful for your lifelong service to the crown. I’m presenting you with a choice,” Daemon confessed, voicing a soft timbre that made your hair stand on end.

The ground beneath you began to shake, pebbles rolling over the top of your head as the screech of a dragon roared above you. The lithe form of the Blood Wyrm came forth as he snarled and bared his arm-length fangs. Ser Steffon and Ser Lorent Marbrand flinched in fear as Caraxes low rumble vibrated your chest, enormous head coming so close you could smell the dragon and heat radiating from his scales.

“Swear your oath to Rhaenyra as your queen,” Daemon began, briefly looking at you as he sighed deeply. It seemed his following words pained him to say aloud. “To Prince Jacaerys as heir to the Iron Throne. Or if you support the usurper, speak it now, and you will have a clean and honorable death. But if you choose treachery, if you swear fealty now only to turn your cloaks later… know that you will die screaming.” 

This was power… this was what your mother barred you from, and you would never forgive her for it.

Smoke swirled through the air, thick and suffocating, wrapping around you like a shroud and making each breath a struggle. You stood frozen, watching the flames hungrily devour a small fabric bundle no more significant than your forearm, its colors muted and shadows flickering in the firelight. Your family stood by in solemn silence, each person lost in their thoughts, the weight of their grief palpable in the heavy, overcast atmosphere.

The tiny form of your baby sister lay on the makeshift funeral pyre, occupying barely a quarter of the space on the slab. She was so small, so delicate, that it felt wrong, almost surreal, to see her there amidst the crackling flames as the waves of Dragonstone crashed against the rocks.

The maids remarked that Visenya was more monster than human as they exchanged disappointed glances in your direction. Scales lined her back, resembling those of a dragon. This sight reminded you of the ancient texts you had studied about your ancestors, which spoke of stillbirths, not of human origins, every few generations. 

Occasionally, these texts mentioned unusual traits, such as over-calloused skin on certain parts of the infant’s body or the unexpected discovery of a tail akin to that of a snake. However, they often dismissed these occurrences as mere medical anomalies. You had not heard of such conditions affecting other women; they seemed exclusive to those of full-blooded Targaryen descent.

Your family prided themselves on their dragon blood, and perhaps, you thought, it wasn’t such an expression but a piece of their essence woven into your heritage millennia ago. Dragons were too powerful for even that of Targaryens.

This day would forever be etched in the annals of your family’s history, a day marked by sorrow and despair that would cast a long shadow over the years. The echoes of grief would resonate throughout the realm as the weight of this tragedy burdened not only your loved ones but the people you resided with.

Jace instinctively leaned on you for reassurance when feeling the same sadness and dread as the rest of you. It was part of your shared nature to seek solace in one another, but something inside you had broken. Your deep-seated love for your twin had fractured under the weight of greed, death, and duty, leaving you despondent to his affections. 

Gently moving Jace away from your body, you slinked to the other side of your family where Rhaenys stood. A woman who held such distaste for you was more comforting than the brother you shared the womb with. He had Baela now to hear his worries and dry his tears, and you… had no one. No longer your twin and no longer Aemond. It was your destiny to be aggrieved. 

You suppose you were the only one the Seven saw fit to handle such agony repeatedly, meant to bend and stretch but never break, though you felt moments away from it. 

One by one, heads turned to something you could not see behind you, but you didn’t care, stares trained forward to where your little sister’s body smoldered. Suddenly, a Kingsguard you didn’t recognize came into view. A brown satchel slung over his shoulder, and he continued to walk atop the grassy hill to where your mother and Daemon were. Your mother’s guards quickly readied their swords, blocking the knight from getting closer. 

“I mean you no harm, brothers,” the man said, removing his helmet as the men hesitantly lowered their blades.

They allowed him to continue, taking the bag from his shoulder. He kneeled before your mother and revealed the item he carried—the golden crown of her father and the Old King Jaehaerys. The metal glimmered with a history of power and legacy, and the knight swore an oath before your mother, who gazed at the unexpected gift with wide, astonished eyes.

“I swear to ward the queen with all my strength, to give my life for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

His sincere vows resonated within you, expressing a devotion you could only dream of. This man risked his life and traveled across the water to ensure that your mother received the crown that belonged to her father and grandfather. With unwavering resolve, he pledged his life to her service, his words a promise steeped in loyalty and love.

If he made it, could Aemond? 

Reality shattered your fleeting hope, scattering it like feathers. Even if he had been allowed to escape and pursue the proposal, deep down, you understood that his loyalty, much like your own, would remain immutable, unmoved by the wistful echoes of childhood dreams of love. 

Daemon took the crown from the knight, gazing at it and contemplating its significance and the power it would bring. He turned to your mother, and they shared a moment you couldn’t perceive from your distance. He placed the crown atop her silver hair while the wind gently caressed her loose strands as Daemon knelt before her. The crowd followed suit, with every court member, guard, brother, and cousin bowing before their Queen. The scene before you showcased the power your mother would now wield, which she rightfully deserved over the entire realm if not for the Greens, her piercing amethyst eyes locking onto yours.

You wished to show her your wrath, refusing to bow despite the sternness in her face. The crown emboldened her as she refused to move her gaze away from yours. As you stared longer, vision traveling to that of your stepfather, you realized that no matter what outrage you held, no matter how unfair and hypocritical she was, she was still your mother. 

And you still loved her.

The ground was cold and damp beneath your navy dress, so swarthy it seemed black as you knelt, your funeral veil covering your cold cheeks. With your mother at the helm, there was still hope for a future with little bloodshed. Your love was strong; despite everything, you would give your life for hers if the situation arose. Yet still, you would never forget her decision or forgive her as the sun set over the sea.

Masterlist of Series

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Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf, @nessjo, @fiction-fanfic-reader, @qvnthesia, @hotvillianapologist, @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest, @readerselegance, @gothamgurl2024, @aleemendoza2425-blog, @vaylint, @ln8118, @prettyduckling22, @primroseluna, @baybaybear1

Sooooo... how are we feeling after this? Did you see that plot twist, or were you surprised by Rhaenyra's actions? I grappled with whether this would be out of Rhaenyra's character. Still, in my head, based on how she treated Rhaena and Jace in season 2, I believe Rhaenyra would pass over her daughter, especially after losing her only girl.

I understand the reasoning behind thinking she wouldn't choose a son over a daughter, but if you look back on season 1 and how she treated Alicent when she was married to Viserys (stuck inside a castle and forced to squeeze out heirs scene), you'll see how she doesn't realize the insensitivity of her words to Alicent. In my head, too, I believe Rhaenyra has "only child syndrome" with desiring to be the only "special one," even if it's subconscious. That's just my head cannon.

Thank you for reading!

[cod-thoughts]

I know, how I feel when I'm around you

Word count: 5.1k

Relationships: NikPrice, PriceNik

Tags: Established Relationship, slice of life, just them being domestic as fuck, fluff, they're so in love <3

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: This is a gift for @nekrosmos Happy valentines day !!! You're really such a kind soul in this corner of the internet, insanely talented in all aspects seriously why can you draw and write that well excuse me?? The way you encourage people and leave comments/tags on peoples stuff is absolutely insane in the best way possible <33 along with this im virtually gifting you a bunch of freshly baked cookies and some flowers. Thank you for sharing your work with us and happy valentines day bud i hope its a good day for you <33

The flat was wrapped in the slow, golden hum of afternoon when Price stirred, the warmth of sleep still clinging to his skin. The scent of coffee curled through the air, mingling with the faintest trace of something sweet, and the distant sound of music—low, familiar soft rock—drifted in from the kitchen.

The sheets beneath him still carried the remnants of body heat, the space beside him long since gone cold. He turned slightly, pressing his face into Nik’s pillow, inhaling deeply. The scent there—warm, familiar, something clean with the slightest hint of spice—was grounding, safe. It settled something in his chest, the kind of quiet comfort that came from knowing exactly where he was and exactly who he was meant to be with.

He stretched, wincing slightly, feeling the pleasant ache deep in his muscles. A reminder of what happened earlier, when they had stumbled through the door, tearing at each other with hands and mouths, sinking into the desperate kind of closeness they had been starved of for weeks. That had been rough, urgent, and now his body bore the proof of it.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he rolled onto his back, letting out a low, contented groan. The soreness was a good kind, the kind that settled deep in his bones and made him want to stretch into it, made him want to chase it all over again.

Then, from the kitchen, the unmistakable clink of a spoon against ceramic.

Price cracked an eye open. He could keep lying here, wrapped up in the last traces of sleep, but the source of warmth and scent had moved. And he had never been much for staying in bed alone. Better to follow.

The cool floor met his feet as he stood, stretching once more before reaching for the first thing within arm’s length—a soft, worn t-shirt he must’ve tossed aside last night. He pulled it over his head, running a hand over his beard before ruffling his hair absently. Nik had once told him he looked downright domesticated in moments like this. Price had scoffed at the time, but right now, walking towards the scent of coffee and the distant hum of music, he understood what Nik meant.

Nik was sitting at the kitchen counter, pen moving in smooth, sure strokes as he wrote, his attention split between the two cookbooks splayed open around him. A fresh cup of coffee sat within reach, the steam curling lazily above the rim. Their mail was laid out beside him, mostly ignored, and the soft music hummed in the background.

The whole scene was so effortlessly Nik. A careful balance between order and chaos, planning and instinct. He looked as he always did—composed, intent, his focus shifting between his notes and the open pages in front of him, the kind of quiet determination that made Price certain he’d already memorized half the bloody recipes and was just double-checking for the sake of it.

Price leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, taking in the sight.

“Started without me?”

Nik looked up immediately, and the way his gaze lingered—just for a second—before his lips curled into a slow smirk was answer enough. The amusement in his eyes was unmistakable, dark and knowing. “You looked too peaceful to wake.” He reached for the second mug on the counter, sliding it across smoothly. “But I saved you a cup, Captain.”

Price pushed off the frame, stepping into the warmth of the kitchen, taking the offered mug. The first sip was rich, slightly sweet. His brow furrowed, lips pursing slightly. “You put cinnamon in this?”

Nik took a slow sip of his own coffee, watching him over the rim. “You like it. No need to lie.”

Price grumbled, but didn’t stop drinking it.

Nik chuckled, setting his pen down, stretching back slightly, all slow, effortless ease. The kind of movement that came with knowing exactly how to take up space without ever needing to try. “How are you feeling, my love?”

Price made a vague sound into his coffee, but then stretched again, rolling his shoulders, shifting his weight just enough to make a point. “Bit sore. Can’t imagine why.”

Nik’s smirk deepened. “Perhaps I was too enthusiastic in welcoming you home.”

Price huffed a quiet laugh, taking another sip. “That what we’re callin’ it?”

Nik only shrugged, gaze still keen, amused, appreciative. There was something about the way Nik looked at him—like he was something to be admired, like he was something worth lingering on. It was heady, that kind of attention, something Price wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to, something he never wanted to lose.

“Enjoying the view?” Price asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Nik didn’t miss a beat. “Always.”

Price rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Instead, he let his gaze drift down to where Nik’s hand still rested against the edge of his notebook, fingers ink-smudged at the tips from flipping through pages. His other hand rested against the counter, broad and steady.

For a moment, Price just looked.

Nik—mussed hair, soft t-shirt, relaxed posture, the slow, meticulous way he wrote out the grocery list, cross-referencing books, occasionally tapping his pen against his lip as he considered something.

He was stunning like this.

Price didn’t even think before he moved, stepping behind him, hands landing firmly on Nik’s shoulders as he leaned down, lips ghosting along the curve of his neck. “Y’know,” he murmured, voice low, lazy, “We could just stay in bed. Forget dinner. Just us. Right here.”

Nik exhaled a soft laugh, but Price felt the way his shoulders relaxed slightly under his touch. “Tempting,” he admitted, setting the pen down, tilting his head just slightly before turning around to face Price.

Price took the opening, settling in between Nik’s muscular thighs, trailing his mouth along the warm skin of his neck and collarbones.

Nik hummed, his hands sturdy, warm, and large, smoothed over Price’s sides, settling firmly against his stomach.

Price barely had time to register it before Nik squeezed gently, thumbs pressing into the muscle and fat there, slow, almost absentminded. Price looked down and it was absolutely unfair how much of his broad frame Nik’s hands could hold. Nik’s hands traveled up then back down, mapping out his torso, deliberately slow before pausing just under his sternum. “But you need to eat,” he said, low and thoughtful. “I have to fuel my Captain properly.” A pause. “For missions, of course.”

Price scoffed, shifting, just enough for Nik’s hands to dip slightly lower. “Sure it’s just for missions?”

“Of course.” Nik’s hands suddenly shifted, catching Price off guard as his grip tightened around his waist. “Which is why we need to get going, lyubov moya.”

Before Price could argue again, Nik moved.

One second, Price was standing there, digging his heels in, perfectly content to make a case for staying right where they were—the next, he was slung over Nik’s shoulder, the world tilting with an undignified oof as Nik hoisted him up in one clean motion.

“Nik—put me the fuck down—”

“Time to get dressed,” Nik said easily, completely unfazed as he carried Price towards the bedroom. “Before you try to seduce me out of feeding you.”

Price’s bark of laughter nearly drowned out Nik’s own amused huff. He let his head drop against Nik’s back, the warmth of him grounding in a way that was entirely unfair. His body fit against Nik’s like it belonged there, like being carried around by this man was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Nik chuckled, patting Price’s arse for good measure. “You love it.”

And Price couldn’t exactly argue against that now could he?

By the time Nik finally set him down in the bedroom, Price was already plotting revenge. He landed on his feet with a slight stumble, quickly regaining his balance as he shot Nik a sharp look.

"You’ve got some nerve, Nik."

Nik, utterly unbothered, simply stretched his arms over his head, smirking. "I have no idea what you mean, Captain."

Price narrowed his eyes, but he could feel the corners of his mouth twitching. He wouldn’t give Nik the satisfaction of a grin—not yet, anyway. Instead, he stepped past him, tugging open the wardrobe and rummaging through the clothes inside. His muscles still ached in that pleasant way, every movement a quiet reminder of the hours spent tangled up in each other earlier. A reminder that if he played his cards right, he could make this evening end the same way.

Nik, for his part, seemed to sense the shift in mood because he hummed low in his throat, stepping up behind Price.

"Here," Nik said, reaching past him, his fingers grazing Price’s waist in a way that felt entirely intentional. "Wear this."

Price glanced down at what Nik had pulled out—a dark jumper, one of the nicer ones, along with a jacket to match. It was a small thing, but the fact that Nik had picked out his clothes made something warm settle in his chest.

"You dressing me now?" Price mused, eyebrow raising.

Nik grinned. "If I let you do it yourself, you would wear something that makes you look like you just got out of bed."

Price scoffed but took the clothes anyway, stepping into them without further protest. The fabric was soft, still carrying the faintest trace of Nik’s cologne from where it had been folded beside his things.

Nik, meanwhile, had already changed. Nothing particularly fancy—just a well-fitted sweater and a comfortable coat—but somehow, the bastard always looked effortlessly put together.

"Not bad," Nik said, surveying Price with an approving nod.

Price huffed, pulling on his boots before running a hand through his hair once more. "You act like I can’t clean up well."

Nik leaned in slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "No, I just prefer you without clothes,"

Price rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the flush creeping up his neck as he stepped past Nik and towards the door. "Come on, let’s get this over with, and maybe you can make good on that."

Nik’s chuckle followed him down the hall, the sound rich and warm.

---

The air outside was crisp, the kind that nipped at any exposed skin but wasn’t quite cold enough to be uncomfortable. The lingering warmth of the day still clung to the pavement, the last hints of sunlight casting a soft, golden hue over the city streets.

Price tugged his jacket tighter around himself, glancing sideways at Nik. The bastard looked entirely unbothered by the cold, walking with the kind of confidence that made it look like he belonged anywhere he went.

The streets were busy without feeling overcrowded—just enough people milling about to fill the space with a low hum of conversation. A street vendor nearby called out cheerfully, the smell of roasted chestnuts wafting through the air, mingling with the faint trace of coffee from a café a few doors down. The city was alive, but in a way that felt comfortable, familiar.

Nik’s eyes flicked over to him, lingering just a second too long.

"What?" Price asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nik shrugged, expression infuriatingly neutral. "Nothing."

Price huffed but let it slide, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way towards the market.

As they stepped through the doors, the market was much warmer than the cool air outside, the scent of fresh produce, baked goods, and slow-cooked meats filling the air in a way that made Price’s stomach tighten in anticipation. Overhead, bright lights illuminated the aisles and different stalls, casting a soft glow over neatly arranged displays of fruits, vegetables, and cuts of meat lined up behind glass.

Nik, as always, moved with purpose.

Price watched, amused, as Nik examined the butcher’s selection with the kind of scrutiny he usually reserved for high-value targets.

"Bloody hell," Price murmured, arms crossing over his chest. "Forget how much you like running this like an op."

Nik didn’t even glance up. "You would rather I pick at random?"

"I’d rather not starve while you analyse every cut of meat in the shop."

Nik ignored him, murmuring something in Russian to the butcher as he pointed out his selections.

Price took this as his opportunity.

With Nik distracted, he veered off toward a nearby aisle, his gaze landing on something far more important than whatever ‘perfect cut’ Nik was debating over.

The snack aisle.

Nik would argue he didn’t need it. Nik would insist that the tactical addition of biscuits, crisps, and maybe a pack of chocolate-covered raisins was unnecessary.

Price disagreed.

He had just slipped the first pack of crisps into the basket when a voice came from behind him.

"John."

He turned slowly, already knowing exactly what he was about to be scolded for.

Nik, holding the basket, gestured with his chin. "What is this?"

Price raised a brow. "Tactical addition."

Nik sighed. The kind of exasperated sigh that said ‘I love you, but you’re impossible.’ "We are not here for this."

"You say that," Price said, casually adding another pack. "But I say we plan ahead."

Nik gave him a flat look before just shaking his head and walking off, mumbling something about impossible Englishmen.

Price, smug, grabbed another pack for good measure.

---

The queue moved quickly, and Price busied himself by checking over the total as the cashier scanned their produce, while Nik loaded their groceries into some bags.

The cashier—an older woman with sharp eyes and an easy smile—had been chatting amicably, making the usual small talk about their dinner plans.

Nik, ever the charmer, engaged just enough to be polite, while Price mostly let him handle it.

And then it happened.

"How long have you and your husband been together?" the cashier asked, smiling warmly as she handed Nik the receipt.

Price stalled out completely.

His fingers, mid-reach for the bags, twitched ever so slightly.

Nik, the absolute menace, didn’t even blink.

"Mm," Nik hummed nonchalantly, tucking the receipt into his pocket. "A while."

Price blue-screened.

His brain short-circuited so hard that, for a terrifying moment, he genuinely thought he might have forgotten a major life event.

Husbands?

Husbands?

What?

The cashier, utterly oblivious to the existential crisis she had just triggered, simply smiled at them both.

"That’s sweet. Special occasion tonight?" she asked, still cheerfully beaming.

Nik smirked. "Ah, something like that."

Price felt himself buffering.

His heart had definitely skipped a beat—he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. His face burned, warmth creeping up the back of his neck, and yet his entire body had forgotten how to function.

Nik, ever the bastard, just nudged him.

"What do you think, mishka?"

Price panicked. His mouth opened. Nothing came out. His jaw worked uselessly before he let out a strangled sound, something between a grunt and a choked cough.

The cashier, completely misinterpreting his silence, laughed lightly. "Oh, don’t tell me he forgot it's your anniversary or something!"

Nik made a quiet, amused sound. "No, no. He would not forget."

Price was going to keel over.

"Right, well—" he finally managed to get out, clearing his throat as he straightened his shoulders. His voice came out gruff, far too casual for the absolute existential crisis happening in real-time behind his eyes. "Best get these home before it gets too dark, yeah?"

The cashier beamed. "Of course! You two have a lovely night."

Nik just smirked, tipping his head. "You as well."

Price all but shoved the trolley forward, practically marching them out of the store as Nik strolled lazily beside him, completely at ease.

They walked in silence for about half a block before Nik finally chuckled.

"You alright, captain?"

Price exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face as they slowed at a crossing.

"She called us husbands," he muttered, as if needing confirmation that it had actually happened.

"Mhm," Nik hummed, not the least bit bothered. "She did."

Price blinked at him, the weight of that settling in his chest in a way he hadn't quite expected.

Nik was watching him, eyes dark and warm, amusement still curling at the edges of his lips.

"You bastard," Price hissed, his ears burning.

Nik chuckled, slinging an arm around his shoulders, utterly relaxed. "You looked so shocked, I did not want to ruin her fun."

Price let out a strangled noise. "Her fun? Nik, she—she thought we were married."

"And?"

And?

Price stared at him. "That’s—Nik, that’s not—"

Nik raised an eyebrow. "Not what?"

Price’s mouth opened. Then closed. His brain refused to supply a proper answer. Nik just smirked, squeezed Price’s shoulder, and leaned in slightly.

"Something to think about, no?"

Price made another strangled noise as they walked home, choosing resolutely to think about that later.

The cold air hit again the moment they stepped outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of the shop. Price adjusted his grip on the trolley, letting Nik guide them down the pavement at an easy pace. The streets had quieted just slightly as the sky darkened, golden hues giving way to the deep blues of early evening.

The city had settled into that familiar lull—lights flickering on in shop windows, the occasional chatter of people heading home, the distant hum of a bus engine groaning as it pulled to a stop nearby. The smell of roasting meat and something fried drifted out from a takeaway shop down the road, mingling with the crispness of the evening air.

Nik had one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other gripping one of the bags, walking with that same relaxed confidence. Price, still reeling slightly from the exchange in the shop, kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

Nik looked entirely at ease, as if the cold didn’t touch him, as if he had all the time in the world to stroll back without a care. His gaze flicked lazily over their surroundings, sharp but unhurried, and Price had the distinct feeling that if anything out of place happened, Nik would clock it before he even had the chance to notice. Years of instinct, second nature now.

“You’re quiet,” Nik observed, voice low but easy.

Price exhaled, shoving his free hand deeper into his coat pocket. “Long day.”

Nik hummed, unconvinced. “Mm. And yet, you still had enough energy to sneak half the shop’s snack aisle into our basket.”

Price smirked. “Tactical additions.”

Nik huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but there was something fond in the way he did it.

“What about you?” Price asked, tipping his chin toward him. “What have you been working on lately? Haven’t seen you buried in your schematics in a while.”

Nik shot him a sidelong glance. “You are suddenly interested in my engineering?”

Price shrugged. “I like to know what you’re tinkering with. Especially if it means you’re gonna disappear under that helicopter for hours again.”

Nik chuckled. “You sound jealous.”

“Not jealous,” Price muttered, shifting his weight as they walked. “Just making sure I don’t have to drag you out of there when you forget to eat.”

Nik clicked his tongue, his smirk deepening. “You do that anyway, lyubov moya.”

Price grumbled something under his breath, but Nik only looked more amused.

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the sounds of the city filling the space between them—car tyres rolling over damp pavement, the distant murmur of voices as people stepped out of pubs, the rhythmic tap of their boots against the concrete.

“And you?” Nik finally asked. “Have you been reading anything good lately?”

Price scoffed. “You’re the one with the library in the flat.”

Nik smirked. “Yes. And yet, you still steal my books. So, which one?”

Price didn’t bother denying it. Instead, he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, thinking. “Been picking through that history book you left on the table.”

Nik raised a brow. “The one on Cold War espionage?”

“Mhm.” Price took a slow breath, his shoulders rolling slightly. “A bit dry in parts, but it’s interesting. Bastards were creative, I’ll give ‘em that.”

Nik huffed. “That is one way to put it.”

They turned the final corner, the sight of their building coming into view ahead. The golden light from the windows made the place look warmer, more inviting, like it had been waiting for them to come home.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the warmth of home wrapped around Price again—the lingering smell of coffee from earlier, the faintest traces of Nik’s cologne that always seemed to cling to the walls, the soft hum of the heating as it kicked on to ward off the night chill.

Nik wasted no time unloading the bags, moving through the kitchen with that same quiet efficiency. Price hung back for a moment, watching him, watching the way he moved like he belonged here in every sense of the word.

Nik’s hands moved without hesitation, pulling out ingredients with the same kind of precision he used when handling weapons. The roll of his shoulders as he reached for the cutting board, the way he shifted his weight slightly as he inspected the vegetables—it was all so calculated, so deliberate. Price had seen him work a battlefield with that same sharp focus, but here, in their kitchen, it softened just enough to make something in Price’s chest clench.

He shook himself from the thought, stepping in to help.

Nik glanced at him, lips twitching. “You sure you would rather not sit? You have done so much work today.”

Price snorted, nudging him with his shoulder. “Piss off. You still need me.”

Nik made a thoughtful noise, watching as Price began stacking the vegetables onto the counter. “Mm. Suppose I do.”

The words landed heavier than they should have. Not in a bad way—just in a way that made Price’s fingers still slightly before reaching for the knife. It was simple, the way Nik said it. Natural. Easy. A statement of fact.

The sound of a bottle uncapping had him glancing up just in time to see Nik pouring them both a drink, setting a glass beside him before taking a slow sip from his own. The rich, amber scent of whiskey filled the air, blending with the first hints of butter melting in the pan.

"I thought you wanted to help, Captain?" Nik teased, one eyebrow raised as he stirred the sizzling garlic.

Price hummed, swirling his glass. "Reckon I could be convinced to get my hands dirty."

Nik huffed a laugh, nudging a knife and a few tomatoes toward him. "Then you can cut these."

Price rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, taking a steady sip of his drink before setting to work. The kitchen filled with the familiar, rhythmic sounds of cooking—the sizzle of oil, the scrape of a knife against the cutting board, the low, absentminded hum of Nik’s voice as he worked.

They had done this countless times before, and yet, there was something about it tonight that settled differently in Price’s bones. Maybe it was the warmth of the whiskey, maybe it was the way Nik had looked at him earlier, or maybe it was just the quiet understanding that filled the air between them, the kind of thing that didn’t need words.

As they worked, Price’s hand brushed against Nik’s—once, twice—until finally, instead of pulling away, Nik let his fingers linger for a moment, warm and steady. It was such a small thing, but it made Price’s breath hitch slightly, made something shift under his ribs in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Nik smirked like he had noticed, but didn’t comment.

That was the thing about Nik—he always noticed. He saw the way Price had been watching him, saw the way his shoulders had eased the moment they stepped back into the flat. He saw everything, and he never needed to say a word.

The scent of seared steak filled the kitchen as Nik flipped the meat with practiced ease, the edges crisping into something golden and perfect.

"Here," Nik said suddenly, holding out a spoon with a careful dollop of the sauce he’d been reducing. "Try."

Price leaned in, the deep, savoury richness hitting his tongue immediately—just the right balance of heat, something smoky, something that lingered.

Nik watched him expectantly.

Price swallowed, licking his lips. "Not bad."

Nik huffed a quiet laugh. "You’re impossible to impress."

"Hard to be impressed when everything you make is good," Price murmured.

Nik took a spoonful for himself, closing his eyes as he tasted it. The satisfied noise he made was absolutely sinful and completely exaggerated yet it still sent a sharp jolt down Price’s spine all the same.

Price inhaled slowly, steadying himself. "You’re doing that on purpose."

Nik cracked an eye open, all innocence. "Doing what?"

Price shook his head, biting down on a grin. "Nothing."

Nik’s smirk lingered as he turned back to the stove, his hands moving with the same practiced ease that Price had seen on countless occasions. It was a kind of control that translated across everything Nik did—whether he was cooking, fixing his helo, or handling a rifle, he always worked with the same quiet, unshakable confidence.

Price leaned against the counter, pretending to busy himself with his drink, but he couldn’t help watching Nik move. The way the muscles in his forearms flexed as he reached for the salt, the way his fingers tapped absently against the pan as he waited for the sauce to thicken.

By the time the steak was resting and the last of the side dishes were plated, the kitchen had turned comfortably warm. The steam from the food curled into the air, rich with the scent of butter and garlic and something deeper.

Nik grabbed the plates, nodding toward the table. "Go sit."

Price snorted. "What, you think I need an invitation?"

Nik smirked. "I think you will stand there all night staring at me otherwise."

Price opened his mouth to argue, but—well. Nik wasn’t entirely wrong, was he? He rolled his eyes instead, shoving down the warmth creeping up the back of his neck before moving toward the table.

The dining table was cluttered, as it always was—scattered books, half-folded newspapers, a notepad with Nik’s half-finished schematics. Price swept a few things aside, making room as Nik placed their plates down with practiced ease.

They sat across from each other, mismatched chairs tucked around the wooden table, the meal between them still steaming.

Nik had gone all out, as usual. The steak had a perfect golden crust, sliced thick and resting beneath a drizzle of sauce, while the roasted garlic mash sat beside it in neat, whipped swirls. The salad was a simple contrast—fresh tomatoes, crisp greens, a light dressing that cut through the richness of everything else. It looked damn near perfect.

Price grabbed his fork, giving Nik an approving nod. "If this is your idea of ‘fueling’ me, I might let you keep doin’ it."

Nik hummed, already cutting into his own steak. "Good. Would be a shame if you wasted all my effort."

They dug in, exchanging only a few murmured remarks between bites.

The first mouthful melted against Price’s tongue, the perfect blend of smokiness, richness, and just a hint of heat from whatever Nik had worked into the sauce. It was the kind of meal that slowed a conversation, made them pause between words just to enjoy it properly.

Price huffed quietly. "You really are too good."

Nik raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Price gestured with his fork. "Everything you make, it tastes too good. Makes it hard to pretend I can cook better."

Nik smirked, sipping his drink. "That is because you cannot cook better, mishka."

Price scoffed but didn’t argue.

After the last plate was scraped clean, Price made a move to clean up, rolling his shoulders as he reached for the dishes.

Nik, predictably, was already stepping in.

"I’ve got it," Nik said, nudging him towards the living room. "Go sit. I’ll bring you tea when I’m done."

Price scoffed. "What, you think I can’t wash a few plates?"

"I think," Nik said, placing a firm hand against his back and steering him towards the couch, "you need to let me take care of you every once in a while."

Something in Price’s chest twisted slightly at that, the quiet certainty in Nik’s voice settling somewhere deeper than he expected. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way Nik said them. No hesitation. No question about it. Just the simple fact that he would take care of Price, whether Price let him or not.

Price exhaled sharply, but he let himself be moved, sinking into the couch with a quiet grunt, one arm draped over the back as he listened to the sounds of Nik cleaning up in the kitchen.

The warmth of the flat, the weight of a good meal, the slow buzz of whiskey still lingering in his veins—it all made his eyelids feel heavier than he realised. He let his head tip back slightly, blinking slow, feeling the faintest pull of exhaustion settle into his limbs.

Nik moved around in the kitchen with practiced ease, the soft clink of plates and the gentle rush of water filling the space. After a few minutes, the sound of a kettle boiling replaced it, the low whistle blending into the soft hum of the heating system kicking on.

Price barely registered the exact moment Nik joined him, just the quiet shift of the couch as Nik settled beside him, his large hands wrapped around a mug.

He blinked down at it, fingers curling around the ceramic. The steam rose lazily from the surface, the faint and familiar scent of honey and black tea curling into the air between them.

Nik scooted closer towards Price and wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, slowly guiding his head to Nik’s warm shoulder with his palm. Price could feel Nik’s fingers softly scratching at his scalp around his temple, easing the tension there. Price murmured something—something he meant to be grateful, but it came out more like a tired grumble.

Nik chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Sleep, lyubov moya."

Price barely managed a small smile before the warmth of Nik underneath him, the steady sound of his breathing, and the gentle, absentminded stroke of his fingers through his hair pulled him under completely.

There was no need to fight it. No need to overthink anything. Not when Nik was here, solid and steady, warmth radiating from his side like a quiet promise.

Safe. That was what this was. That was what Nik had become.

Price let his body sink into it, let himself be drawn into the deep, dreamless pull of sleep, his last conscious thought a simple one—

Nik. Always Nik.

[newkatzkafe2023]

wukong 1999 but this

https://www.tumblr.com/newkatzkafe2023/772443036089303040/we-seen-what-would-happen-if-they-found-out-they?source=share

Mad Love all over again❤️

(Wukong) The call it creeping I say loving, it's the only way for me, filling papers, sighing wavers but I stay outside her reach🎶🎵🎶

I name your mother, and your father, and the first pet that you keep, I know your favorite place to dine at when your cheque comes in each week🎶🎵🎶

I know you do your wash on sundays and separate your whites, and that your bike needs tires because last week I set those spikes🎶🎵🎶

(Lotmk Wukong) Mad Love is the best way to describe what you to had, Wukong had been tethering over the edge for a while. He was so cute to you looking like an adorable little stray, and to him you were a new goddess in his life looking up at you with hearts in his eyes. He would do anything for you and to have you near him even if he had to break your wheels, to your cart.

(Wukong) i got a million Polaroids, with the dates penned in red ink🎵🎶🎵

I sneak a walkie talkie in your room to listen to you sleep🎵🎶🎵🎶

Meanwhile you would cooed and snuggle and kiss his soft lips, never failing to give him endless affection. You would draw pictures of Wukong whenever you stalked him at the time, and you still think he might know your looking at him. As he would slowly strip out of his clothes looking over his shoulders with looks of lust and desire, begging you to come over and get him🫦. Wukong is also aware of the listening device as he would purpose moan and chirp pretending to be asleep.

(Wukong) You just down know yet, but you love me, and I love you the same. One day, we'll have a pretty wedding, and I'll be your everything🎵🎶🎵

We'll be together yes forever, we will never ever part oh you don't know it yet but baby I already got your heart🎵🎶🎵🎶

(Y/n) Some call it stalking I say walking just extremely Close behind, I'm sure if I sat down and asked you Well, you really wouldn't mind🎵🎶🎵🎶

You got those eyes that drive me crazy and I got eyes to watch you sleep, I brought a packed lunch and some tea for my stake out in your tree (outside your inn)🎵🎶🎵🎶

It's always fun to tempt Wukong whenever your with him, strip teasing him and calling him your baby boy. Wukong would give you this empty-headed look with foggy hearts as he lick his lips wanting to taste you. You would smirk and chirp as you watched over him sleeping away, the pilgrims didn't know about you quite yet. Though you would sneak in at odd hours and give his thick tall "staff" a good old wake up kiss.

Gotta be quiet as a mouse, or else they will call police and get done in for something stupid like disturbance of the peace🎶🎵🎶🎵

And piece by piece im collecting at the things you leave behind, and when you don't i rummage though your bins to see what I can find🎶🎶🎵🎶

The final straw being how Wukong would leaven many things behind, for you to swoop in and take. Building a collection of memories of your darling husband, while he would hold things that would have your senct on it and never letting go of it. Wukong hates how has to keep his darling peaches a secret away from heaven and the world, but it's also so hot knowing your his warm and sexy secret to have to himself forever and ever.

(Y/n) You just don't know yet but you love me and I love you the same one day we'll have a pretty wedding and I'll be your everything

We'll be together yes forever, we will never ever part you just don't know it yet but baby I already have your heart

Wukong and you love each other, more then anything in the world and nobody will separate you two.........God help anyone who tried🔪

(Both) You just don't know yet but you love me and I love you the same, one day we'll have a pretty wedding and I'll be your everything

We'll be together yes forever We'll will never ever part, you just don't know yet but baby I already have your heart🎶🎵🎶💚💚💚

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG💋

[ros3mari3]

Little Kisses for Quiet Nights

Bucky x reader

3rd Person POV !!

The soft hum of the night filled their apartment, the gentle breeze from the open window carrying the faint scent of the city below. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room. She sat by the window, nestled into one of Bucky's old shirts—slightly oversized, the fabric soft and comforting. The cool air felt like a balm against her skin as she let out a contented sigh. Her legs were crossed beneath her, and her head tilted back as she closed her eyes, basking in the quiet.

It had been a long, chaotic day—one of those where everything felt too much, too fast. But right now, it was just her, the breeze, and the stillness of the night. She felt at peace.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Bucky stirred, his brow furrowing as he reached out instinctively for her, only to find the bed empty. His heart skipped a beat. He sat up, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room. Where is she?

A rush of panic flooded his veins. It was almost second nature for him by now to react like this—his mind always racing back to the moments of uncertainty and danger. He threw off the covers, his feet hitting the cool floor, and rushed out of the bedroom, his pulse hammering in his chest.

Y/N?

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. His eyes darted to the kitchen, the living room, the hallway—but no sign of her. His mind raced. Was she in danger? Had something happened?

But then he heard it.

The soft breeze, the faint sound of a chair creaking as it shifted with her movement. And just like that, his fear subsided—just a little bit.

He rounded the corner into the living room, and there she was, exactly where he had feared she wasn't: sitting by the open window, her back to him, her long legs tucked beneath her. His heart slowed to a steady beat, the relief so overwhelming it almost made him dizzy.

She looked so peaceful, her face illuminated by the soft light of the moon, the night breeze tugging at her hair as she sat there, unaware of his frantic search.

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice rough with the remnants of panic.

She turned her head at the sound of his voice, a small, sleepy smile forming on her lips. "Bucky?" she said softly, her tone full of warmth and affection. "What's wrong?"

Bucky’s heart fluttered as he made his way toward her, still half-awake, his bare chest and low-rise sweatpants a sharp contrast to the chaos that had been running through his mind moments ago.

"You’re… you’re not in bed," he murmured, his voice a little more strained than usual, still trying to shake off the adrenaline. "I woke up and—I couldn't find you, and I—"

She chuckled softly, the sound like music to his ears. "Bucky, you know I’m always right here. I just wanted some fresh air." She patted the seat next to her, inviting him to join her.

He exhaled, his shoulders sagging in relief, and without another word, he lowered himself into the chair beside her. The soft fabric of the old shirt she wore was a comforting reminder of all the little things they had shared over the past three years—lazy mornings, quiet nights, stolen kisses, and everything in between.

Bucky reached out, his hand brushing against hers before he gently wrapped his fingers around hers, holding on as if grounding himself. "I’m sorry, I just—" He shook his head, his blue eyes soft with concern, yet still clouded with the remnants of worry. "I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you."

She squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at her lips as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I’m safe. I promise. Just needed some space to breathe."

He nodded, though he still couldn’t completely shake the unease in his chest. He knew how fragile their lives were, how fragile she was. No amount of security in their apartment could prevent the danger that seemed to always follow them.

"You sure you’re okay?" His voice was low, tender, the concern never far from the surface.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice sleepy, laced with affection. "Just enjoying the breeze." She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her eyes half-lidded, the exhaustion from the day creeping up on her. "Come on, Bucky. Come back to bed with me."

Bucky’s lips curled into a lazy grin. "You sure you’re not planning to stay out here all night?" He couldn’t help teasing her a little, though he already knew the answer.

"Well," she said, giving a soft yawn, "maybe, but only if you join me. I’ve been missing you in bed." She tugged at his hand, coaxing him to rise, her voice laced with playfulness and tenderness.

Bucky chuckled softly, his heart swelling with warmth at her words. He rose, pulling her gently to her feet as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Alright, alright. I’m coming."

But as they walked back toward the bedroom, he couldn’t resist pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a second too long, as if savoring the moment. "I’m glad you’re here, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with sleepiness and love.

She looked up at him, her eyes soft. "Always, Bucky."

He led her back to their bed, the sheets warm, the room now filled with the comforting quiet of their shared space. He settled them both back under the covers, his arm pulling her close, his fingers tracing circles on her back as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Sleep, babe," he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection. "We’ve got all the time in the world now."

With a contented sigh, she snuggled into him, her body relaxed in his embrace. The tension from earlier had melted away, and she let the exhaustion of the day take over. She felt safe, wrapped in Bucky’s arms, the man who would always be there, no matter what.

As sleep claimed them both, the security of their new life together, away from the chaos of the Avengers Tower, felt more real than ever.

And in that quiet, peaceful moment, they knew that as long as they had each other, they could face anything. Together.

[honey-bitch]

୨⎯ Aphrodite in the Signs ⎯୧

When asteroid Aphrodite (1388) appears in your natal chart, it reflects how you embody and attract beauty, sensuality, and romantic energy, as well as your personal ideals of love and desirability.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 For 0° - it doesn't have a delegated sign and therefore it will take the qualities of the sign it's in.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Aries (1,13 ,25°) - You embody a bold, impulsive, and energetic approach to love. You pursue what you desire fearlessly and exude a raw, physical magnetism that makes others take notice. Attraction happens quickly for you, and there’s a competitive streak in your romantic dynamics. You’re drawn to partners who challenge you or can keep up with your fiery intensity. For you, beauty is power and action, and you often feel your best when active or in the heat of a new pursuit.

ᯓᡣ𐭩Taurus( 2,14,26° ) - You are deeply sensual and grounded, expressing love in a steady, patient, and physical way. You value the finer things in life—luxury, touch, good food, and beautiful surroundings—and you want your relationships to reflect those qualities. Your allure lies in your calm and confident presence, and people find your natural beauty and warmth irresistible. You’re most attracted to relationships that promise stability and pleasure, and you approach love like an artist: with care and appreciation for detail.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Gemini (3,15,27° )- Your love language is conversation, and your charm is effortless and playful. You’re witty, curious, and love the thrill of intellectual exchange. Relationships for you must keep your mind engaged—attraction often begins with laughter or a fascinating conversation. You’re highly adaptable, and others are drawn to your youthful energy and quick thinking. Beauty, for you, is about versatility and keeping things fresh, whether that’s in your appearance or in your connections.

ᯓᡣ𐭩Cancer (3,15,27° ) - You embody a deeply emotional and nurturing form of love. You crave intimate, heart-centered connections and radiate warmth and tenderness that makes others feel safe. People are drawn to your softness and the sense that you truly care for them. You’re most attractive when you’re being your authentic, vulnerable self, and you value relationships that allow you to build a shared sense of home and emotional security. Beauty, for you, is tied to sentimentality—you may find beauty in nostalgia, traditions, or things that evoke a sense of belonging.

ᯓᡣ𐭩Leo(5,17,29° ) - You radiate a dramatic and magnetic energy in love. You know how to shine, and others are drawn to your confidence, charisma, and joy. You’re expressive in your affection, and you love relationships that make you feel special and adored. Grand gestures, attention, and admiration light up your heart. Beauty, for you, is tied to self-expression—you see yourself as art, and your style often reflects your vibrant personality. You want love to feel like an epic, star-crossed adventure.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Virgo (6,18°) - You attract love and admiration through your quiet elegance, intelligence, and attention to detail. You notice the small things about others and often show affection through acts of service, problem-solving, or simply being dependable. People are drawn to your modesty and natural refinement. Beauty, for you, is simple and understated—you value cleanliness, quality, and things that are functional yet graceful. You crave a relationship that feels practical but perfect in its own way, and you often bring out the best in your partners.

ᯓᡣ𐭩(Libra (7,19°) - feels completely at home, radiating charm, grace, and an effortless ability to attract others. You value harmony and balance in relationships and have a natural talent for creating beauty in both your appearance and your surroundings. People are enchanted by your elegance and fairness. Love, for you, must be a mutual exchange of romance and affection, and you’re drawn to relationships that feel peaceful yet passionate. Beauty is everything to you—you have a strong aesthetic sense and an eye for what’s pleasing to the soul.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Scorpio (8,20°)- You exude a dark, smoldering allure that draws people in on a soul-deep level. Love, for you, is intense, transformative, and deeply emotional—you don’t do shallow connections. Others are captivated by your magnetic energy and the way you seem to see straight into their hidden depths. You seek relationships that bring out your most vulnerable and powerful self, and your beauty is tied to your mystery and raw authenticity. Love for you often feels like a phoenix rising—passionate, consuming, and life-changing.

ᯓᡣ𐭩Saggitarius (9,21°) - You radiate a sense of freedom, optimism, and adventure in love. You attract others with your enthusiasm, humor, and expansive view of life. You’re drawn to relationships that let you explore the world, either literally or through ideas, philosophies, and experiences. Beauty, for you, is tied to authenticity—you find it in the natural, the wild, and the untamed. Others are charmed by your adventurous spirit and the way you make them feel free to grow and explore.

ᯓᡣ𐭩Capricorn (10,22°) - You embody a grounded, timeless kind of beauty and love. Others are drawn to your quiet strength, discipline, and ambition, as well as your ability to make them feel secure. Love for you is about trust, loyalty, and building something long-lasting. You’re most attractive when you’re confident in your goals and steady in your affections. Beauty, for you, is about simplicity and quality—you gravitate toward classic, elegant styles and relationships that stand the test of time.

ᯓᡣ𐭩Aquarius (11,23°) - You attract love through your unique, eccentric, and independent energy. Others are drawn to your originality, intellect, and ability to challenge conventions. You value relationships that allow for freedom and growth, and you’re most interested in people who see the world a little differently. Beauty, for you, is tied to individuality—you’re likely to find attraction in unconventional styles or ideas. You crave relationships that feel like partnerships, based on shared ideals and mutual respect.

ᯓᡣ𐭩Pisces (12,24°) - You exude a dreamy, otherworldly energy that captivates others. Love for you is spiritual, transcendent, and deeply emotional—you crave a soul-level connection and are often drawn to partners who inspire your creativity or compassion. Beauty, for you, is tied to the ethereal—you’re most radiant when you’re lost in your imagination or expressing your artistic side. People are enchanted by your softness, empathy, and ability to see the best in everyone. You often embody a sense of romantic, timeless allure.

©️ 2024 honey-bitch All Rights Reserved

DISCLAIMER: this post is a great generalisation and may not resonate with you. I would recommend buying a reading from a professional astrologer to get more insight

[m4rv3l-girl]

Man Up, Barnes

Bucky x Y/N

Post TFATWS, Bucky is settling into a ‘normal’ life. Will one coffee change everything?

Warnings: None, just fluff!

The bell above the door had chimed softly when Bucky Barnes stepped into the small café, the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon brought a sense of comfort. He didn’t have a particular reason for coming here - just another quiet spot he’d stumbled upon while attempting to navigate his life post-Flag Smashers and post-therapy, post-everything. Sam had been hounding him about getting out more and talking to people.

He figured this was a pretty good start.

His eyes swept across the café, taking in the happy glow of hanging Edison bulbs, honey-colored shelves lined with mugs and the occasional patron tucked away into the corner, lost in their own world. It was cozy.

Safe.

And then he saw her.

Sitting near the window, curled up with a book, was a woman who looked like she belonged here. The crisp autumn outside accentuating her warmth - engulfed in a thick knit sweater, legs tucked under the chair. Her fingers were delicately holding open a well-loved copy of The Hobbit. Her hair fell softly around her face, her nose scrunched slightly in concentration, completely taken by Tolkien’s pages.

Bucky didn’t realize that he was staring until the waiter approached her table and placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate down in front of her.

“And this,” the waiter added, sliding a small folded napkin next to the drink, “is from me.”

The woman blinked up at him, clearly startled out of her reading, before looking down at the napkin. Even from where Bucky sat, he could see her cheeks go a brilliant shade of red. She stammered something, probably a thanks, and the waiter gave her a smirk before walking off.

Bucky found himself chuckling under his breath. The shy reaction, the sheer awkwardness of it, was endearing. There was something about how flustered she got that made him want to go over and tell her it was okay, that guys like that were a dime a dozen.

Except…he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who just walked up to strangers and struck up a conversation.

But then again he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore.

He was Bucky Barnes and Bucky Barnes was trying to be a better human being.

‘Man up, Barnes.’

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face before he stood up and walked over. His boots were silent against the hardwood floor as he crossed the café and before he could change his mind, he plonked down into the seat across from her.

“Hey,” he said, resting his metal arm on the table as casually as could muster.

She jumped a little and her eyes went wide as she took him in - first his face, then his unmistakable vibranium arm. He waited for the flicker of recognition, the usual shift in demeanor that people had when they realized who he was. But it never came. Instead, she blinked and tilted her head slightly, her lips parting as if she were going to say something and then thinking better of it.

Finally, she settled on “Uh…hi?”

Bucky smirked. “I saw what happened. The waiter. You looked like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.”

A small, embarrassed laugh escaped her. “Oh god, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

She groaned and buried her face in her hands for a second before peeking at him through her fingers. “He caught me off guard, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting-” She gestured flustered, toward the napkin. “That.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Not used to guys hitting on you?”

She scoffed. “Not in such a direct, ‘here’s my number, call me maybe’ kind of way.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, well…at least he’s got confidence.”

“Mm.” She nudged the napkin away with one finger, shaking her head. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I just wanted to enjoy my book in peace, y’know?”

His eyes flicked to the worn pages of The Hobbit and something in his chest softened. “Good choice.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You’ve read it?”

He grinned. “Doll, I read it when it first came out.”

For a second, she just stared at him before realization dawned on her. “Oh…Oh.”

There it was. The recognition.

But instead of recoiling or looking at him with wary eyes as he was expecting, she just laughed and shook her head in disbelief. “You mean to tell me you were around when Tolkien was still writing?”

Bucky chuckled. “Not personally, but yeah. 1937. I remember picking up a copy from a little bookstore in Brooklyn.”

“Okay, that’s actually really cool.” She leaned forward slightly, the initial shyness from the waiter long forgotten. “So, what’s it like? Being a man out of time and all?”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “You want the short version or the long one?”

“Whichever one involves less existential crisis.”

He barked out an airy laugh, the sound surprising even himself a bit. “Alright, well… it’s weird. A lot of things don’t make sense. People talk too fast, coffee’s too expensive, and apparently pumpkin spice is a personality trait now.”

She giggled “Guilty as charged.”

He smirked. “Figured.”

She let her fingertip circle over the smooth rim of her mug before asking, “So what made you come over here? I mean, its not that I mind or anything, but I have a feeling you don’t make a habit of sitting down with strangers.”

“You looked… safe.”

She blinked, it was a rather odd statement. She assumed it was a compliment.. “Safe?”

Bucky nodded, exhaling through his nose. “Like home, kind of. You weren’t trying to impress anyone, you weren’t staring at your phone like the rest of the world. Just you, your book, and a hot chocolate.”

Her lips parted, and for a second she looked down at her book as if contemplating things. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Bucky glanced away, a little sheepish. “Just telling the truth.”

Smiling, she took a sip of her drink. “Well, since we’re being honest… I think you’re a lot more charming than you give yourself credit for.”

That caught him off guard. He tilted his head at her, searching her face for a hint of dry sarcasm. There was none, just a welcome warmth.

Something in his chest relaxed. “I… don’t hear that much.”

“Well, you should because it’s true.”

They talked for what felt like a minute and a day at the same time. About books, movies, the absurdity of modern slang (her having to explain what “it’s giving” meant), and the strange comfort of his new life routine. He found himself lessening up and his shoulders lost their usual tension. She simply sipped her hot chocolate and listened to him like he was just a normal guy.

Eventually, the café began to empty out, and she glanced at the time on her phone, sighing. “I should probably head home before I get too comfortable and decide to stay here forever.”

Bucky hesitated before finally saying, “I could walk you home.”

She blinked at him, surprised, but then smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I want to.”

For a moment, she just studied him, as if trying to decide something. Then, with a warm, shy smile, she nodded. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

And as they stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Bucky realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just existing.

He was living.

——————————————————————————————————

Just a little peek into my imagination here! 🫶✨

[thechaoticcherub]

Ohmygodddd I love your writings SO much. I saw your requests were open so here’s my idea:

I LOVE the way you write ddlg/daddy kink. I was thinking… what if reader loved sitting between joel’s legs on the floor and leaning on them when he’s on the couch. It makes her feel small and cocooned, in the best way. She likes resting her head on joel’s bare inner thigh while blowing him- but not the usual enthusiastic bj- one that’s comforting and slow, almost as if his dick was her pacifier. It soothes her to feel his weight on her tongue. And joel massages her scalp absentmindedly with the fingertips of one hand. Time just slows down and they both savor each other.

Thank you for reading my thot and for possibly writing a little something!! 🙈💕

Thank you so much!!!! This was such a fun prompt!!!

Dreamland

Pairing: Daddy!Joel x reader

Summary: You come downstairs in the middle of the night and you aren't sure if you're awake or not.

Warnings: 18+ please, ddlg, age gap, dubcon(?She wants it but might be asleep idk), somno(kind?), blowjobs, cum play, cum swallowing, metaphors on metaphors, actually kind soft, softdom!Joel

Word Count: 1.9 K

Notes: I hope you enjoy it, I really liked writing it. I sometimes really like flowery lovey things as long as theres something...kinky kinda driving it.

The house was still and quiet except for the pitter patter of rain on the roof and the crackle of the dying fire in the fireplace. You were just as still as the hazy late night while you stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the scene in the living room. Joel was reading an old paperback book on the couch, the only light came from the reading lamp on the side table and the embers in the fireplace. You were supposed to be asleep, gone to bed hours ago while Joel stayed up to do whatever it was that Daddies did whenever their charges drifted off into the dreamland. 

A part of your wondered if you were still cocooned in that dreamland as you drifted down the stairs, the house didn’t feel real and the world beyond your sleepy little home definitely didn’t seem real. The worries of an infected earth and a tentative peace didn’t affect your dreamlike reality right now. A stair creaked under your foot, alerting Joel to the presence behind him, he turned and saw you standing halfway down the stairs, in your half-stupor you watched his eyes soften as he saw you. 

“Well hello there, sweetheart,” He said, a touch of amusement in his voice. You reached up and rubbed at your eyes, trying to push sleep away from them, trying to decipher whether or not this was reality. 

“Hi Daddy,” You mumbled, walking down the last few steps, half stumbling over your clumsy feet as you reached the ground. 

“Whoopsy-daisy, don’t fall, darlin’” Joel chided, sitting up as you stumbled as if he would be able to catch you if you fell even though you were still out of arms reach from him. Joel studied your face, you noticed him searching for something in your eyes, just like you tried to search reality for answers about whether or not this was really happening. “You sleepin’ still, babygirl?” he asked as you walked over to stand in front of his knees. You slow blinked at him, one of your eyes closing before the other following. Joel chuckled and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees to look at you. 

“I don’t know, Daddy,” You mumbled truthfully. Joel reached up and cupped the side of your face, his big thumb running across your cheekbone. Dream or not, his calloused, big fingers always felt good on your skin and now you felt such a powerful affection for your old man that you wanted nothing more than to nuzzle into the hand that held your cheek. You turned your face into his hand and breathed in the smell than lingered on his hand, smoke and wood from the fire. Lavender from the soap in the kitchen. Leather from the reins on his horse and his belt and boots. Sweat. If this was a dream, it was certainly vivid and you didn’t want to rise from it anytime soon. 

Joel reached out with his other hand out and took your hip, trying to guide you into his lap but you had your own ideas of what you wanted. Joel humored you and watched you start to sink down onto the ground. He opened his knees to accommodate your body as you settled yourself on your knees in front of him. He was used to seeing you there but he was surprised by your willfulness, resisting his tug to drop to your knees instead. It sent a spark of excitement through him, gently beckoning his cock out of hibernation and into a state of almost reluctant arousal. 

You settled down with your feet splayed behind you and your bottom pressed into the ground, your legs almost making a W. You tilted your head to the side as you looked up at him, your eyes only half lidded. 

There was a shimmer around Joel as you looked up at him, like he was glowing from the inside. You wouldn’t put it past him in both reality and in your dreams. Joel shone, god-like, in your eyes; a beacon of warmth that was the author of both comfort and pleasure in your body. The first person to write about either in the book of your life. Your fingers crawled up his strong, jean clad thighs almost absentmindedly and he reached down and stroked your hair back. 

“I think you’re mostly asleep, my girl,” He whispered to you and you nodded, in no place to argue with him. You turned your head and placed a kiss and then a bite against the meat of his thigh, the feeling barely making it through the denim. Joel’s thumb drifted to your lips, rubbing the bottom one. 

“What do you need?” He asked. You didn’t have words for it, it was different than usual. Typically, the lust drove it home, making it easy to ask for it. But tonight, in the haze of stars and a dreamlight that rested over the whole scene, the lust was there but didn’t drive. It simply lived in the passenger seat, giving vague directions. You nuzzled your face into the denim of his pants again before glancing up into his face, blinking again, unable to answer but hoping the primal need in your eyes was answer enough. 

Joel petted your hair back, his dark brown eyes were scoping you out, trying to find a sense of your need and what was going to be appropriate in this dreamland. 

“Oh, I think I know, dreamy girl.” Joel gentle peeled your head off of his thigh just so he could stand up. You sat back enough to tilt your head up and watch him as he took his pants and boxers off with as much grace as an old man could muster without disturbing you too much. He sat back down on the edge of the couch and your cheek rested against his bare thigh, looking up into his eyes. Joel wrapped his hand around his hardening manhood. Your eyes stayed on his face, waiting for more. 

In all truth, you were afraid that if you looked at his cock, the dream would melt away, unable to conjure up the image with enough clarity to be reality so instead waking you up. If this was a dreamland and all of this wasn’t real, you didn’t want to wake up. You wanted Joel. Distantly, there was a rumble of thunder and you scooted closer into the space between his legs. Joel wrapped them around you, cradling you in that crook of his body. 

Joel stroked your hair softly with one hand while the other held his own cock, stroking it up and down. The sound of his skin on skin made you unable to resist looking so your eyes dropped to his cock in his hand and you smiled as the whole image of him didn’t disappear. Instead the glow intensified around him, his hand around his half hard cock burned into your brain and you opened your mouth, willing him to understand what it was you wanted. 

Joel knew how much you enjoyed something in your mouth and it was so easy to indulge you right now. He guided his cock into your waiting mouth and watched as your lips wrapped around the tip, starting to suckle on it. Your tongue lazily lapped around the head, feeling it harden even more in the wet heat of your mouth. You scooted your head forward, taking a little more of the length of him into your mouth. The weight of him against your tongue soothed an ache in you that you hadn’t even been away of before this moment. 

Joel looked down at you, you looked so content with your cheek pressed into the skin of his thigh, your mouth snuggled tight around his cock head. Your tongue drove his pleasure, lavishing the tip of his rapidly hardening cock with little licks, tasting his precum as it dribbled out. One of his hands softly stroked your head, running his fingers through your hair. The other held the base of his cock, languidly stroking to make sure he stayed hard in your mouth. Not that he thought you would really mind. Your eyes were shut and you seemed to melt into him. 

“That’s my good, sleepy girl.” Joel cooed as he stroked your hair. “Daddy’s got ya,” he said as your lips tightened around his tip, suckling so sweetly, your mouth making quiet, wet noises that blended with the sound of rain and thunder. 

Your eyes slid open to look up at your Daddy above you, his hand guiding his cock into your mouth, letting you use him like your own personal pacifier, easing you further and further into that dream-like state. Being enveloped in dreamland. Joel’s legs tightened around you, seeming to gather you up against him as he watched you. Your eyes were glazed, your tongue moving in an hypnotic motion around and around the very tip of him. Joel let his head fall back against his shoulders, enjoying the slow pleasure of it. 

The pleasure of knowing his cock was your comfort. The pleasure of your tongue tracing up the slit, spit mixing with precum. The pleasure of watching you, glassy eyed, fall deeper and deeper away from the world, your head heavy on his thigh. 

Neither of you were sure how long you stayed like that, sucking on him but it was enough for him to soften in your mouth, and then slowly but surely harden again while Joel stroked himself up and down. You felt him swell to the point where all you could do was lick and suckle at the very tip while he rubbed himself up and down, working himself up. 

“Daddy,” You said very softly into his erection as you looked up at him, you could feel the tenseness in his body and it was disturbing your languid peace that came from being allowed to suck on him for so long. 

“I know, darlin’,” he said, smoothing your hair back. “Daddy’s jus’ goin’ to feed you his come and then he’ll relax again,” You felt a glow of pleasure, like the embers from the fire, stoked at his words. Your lips opened a little and Joel sighed, 

“Babygirl, keep suckin’ on Daddy’s tip,” He said, keeping his voice soft and gentle, not wanting to scare you or wake you up more. You did as you were told, your lips wrapping around the heat of his cock head. It was the thickest you had felt it be that night . Daddy’s muscular hand was  pumping himself up and down and you stayed lazily against his leg, still and accepting. Joel moaned and guided his cock head directly into your mouth, stilling his movements as he came. You stayed sucking him, your eyes barely even opening as his hot come filled your mouth. You swallowed each gush of his spend as if it was nectar and Joel watched as he milked himself into your mouth. 

Joel’s breathing was shaky for a moment but you were undisturbed, keeping his softening cock in your mouth, nuzzling your nose into his thigh. After a while, Joel reached down and stroked your hair, leaning down to speak into your ear, 

“Let’s get ya to bed, dreamy girl,” He leaned over and picked you up, grunting as his knees creaked when he stood up, holding you with your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck. Your head rested on his strong shoulder , looking up at his face. Come had dribbled onto your chin so Joel reached up, with his middle and ring finger and gathered up the drip and bringing it to your lips. He pressed his fingers into your mouth and you happily accepted another part of him to suck on while he carried you upstairs. 

[into-the-hellaverse]

Charlie's Bad Day

For @lilacwriter07 ! If you don't like this one, blame them (that is a joke please don't be mean to them. They gave me good ideas.)

Part of The Bad Day series!

p.s. I take commissions. Visit @asmerlotus for more info

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

Adam was an...interesting man, from Charlie's perspective. He always bragged about being the First Man, not just in Eden, but in Heaven as well. He would brag about his family, his wife and children, the girls who begged to sleep with him, anything and everything under the sun that would put him on top. So seeing him at the doors of the hotel, soaked by the blood and acid rainstorm, was a shocking surprise.

Her gut told her no, to turn him away. He spent thousands of years murdering the people of her kingdom, tried to start another war because of her hotel... But if Adam wanted to change, if he was capable of redemption, then surely everyone would be capable of redemption, right?

She let him in and dried him off, fixing his minor burns from the acid rain (must've been pretty tame that day since he didn't completely melt), and gave him a room in a more quiet hallway.

"I figured you'd like the peace and quiet," she told him, showing him the small room.

"I, uhh, don't want to sound rude, but..." Adam started. "Ya got anything bigger?"

"Sorry, but no," she told him sheepishly. "This is the biggest room we have, aside from mine and Vaggie's room. And...can't exactly let you stay there, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah... Thanks, um..." He trailed off.

"You can call me Charlie!" She told him with a smile.

"That...feels a little personal. It's not like we're exactly friends after everything that happened, Morningstar..."

Charlie smiled brightly at him. "Morningstar works! Until you feel comfortable with Charlie."

Adam just nodded. He seemed so distant at the time. "Yeah..."

Charlie had stood there awkwardly, and she remembered how she tried to inch away towards the door. "I'll...let you get settled in..." And then, she left him for the night. She went up to her room and talked with Vaggie, able to convince her this was a good decision and if they could get him redeemed, then Heaven could finally take them seriously. They just had to wait.

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

The days passed slowly and Charlie watched Adam get warmed up to everyone. He would frequent the bar and talk to Husk and Angel, he'd fight with Vaggie (for fun. For some reason they really like to try and stab each other.) He even found a way to get along with Alastor, somehow. He somewhat avoided Lucifer, and that made her a little upset.

"You can only change your future if you can fix your past," she told him as she led him up to Lucifer's tower. "If you can bury the hatchet with my dad, then the path of redemption will be a piece of cake."

"I don't think I can just 'bury the hatchet' with your dad, Morningstar," Adam tried to protest. "What he did..."

"A-dud-dud-dud-dud-duh! No passing the blame. You messed up, he messed up, forgive and forget!" She handed him a bouquet of white lilies, her dad's favorite flowers, and harshly knocked on his door before rushing off.

She turned a corner at the end of the hallway and peeked out slightly, watching her father open the door and stare in shock at the sight of Adam. Adam handed over the flowers, they talked for a moment or two, and Lucifer gently pulled him into the room. Once the door clicked shut, Charlie smiled and did a little victory dance. "HELL YEAH!"

"SHUT UP, I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!"

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

It was only a few weeks, but Adam and Lucifer grew close. They hung out a lot and went out on the town together, they shared dinner, they would cuddle real close in the little sitting area they had in the lobby. Right next to the fireplace, with KeeKee trapped on their laps with lovings and all the pets in the world. Everything seemed perfect. Charlie knew he wanted to be redeemed, but she almost hoped he would stay in hell. They could be like a perfect little family...

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

Charlie was hanging out with Vaggie at the front desk, talking about a few random things when someone got their attention.

"Oh! Hello!" She smiled and gave them her full attention.

"Yeah, I, uhh, heard you guys help people get redeemed?" The Sinner asked.

Charlie tried to hold back her excitement. "Mhm! It's what we do at the Hazbin Hotel!"

"So, you're wanting to be redeemed?" Vaggie asked, pulling out a book to keep track of the guests at the hotel.

"Yes! Well, I wanna try at least..."

"Wonderful!" Charlie piped up. "Can we get your name for our records?"

"Oh, it's Cameron."

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

The atmosphere seemed to shift after Cameron arrived. Everyone seemed...tense, would probably be the best way to describe it.

"There's something off about that kid..." Husk told her soon after he arrived.

"He gives off a creepy vibe," Angel said to one day.

"He seems kinda sleazy," Vaggie told her before they went to bed one night. "We shouldn't have taken him in."

"He's a total bad boy." Nifty wasn't really helpful.

Charlie tried to placate everyone. Everyone down here is sleazy or gives off a "creepy vibe", and that's why they come to the hotel. To better themselves and their future.

But even Charlie seemed put off when Cameron started hitting on her dad. He would always get too close, and Lucifer would always make an excuse to leave.

She'd have to talk to him about personal space and boundaries.

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

"Why would he do this?!"

"I'm sure it was an accident, Charlie."

"How is setting your hair on fire an accident?!"

Adam was causing a lot of trouble. More than what he was worth, honestly. He had broken their prized chandelier, trashed the front yard, and this was the fourth time someone had gotten caught on fire because of him.

"Look, Charlie. I've known Adam for centuries," Vaggie said, pulling her now-short hair back into a tiny ponytail. "He's not the kind of person to just do that stuff to people he respects."

"So he doesn't respect us? Is that what you're saying?"

"No- Charlie-" She paused and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "When Adam was leading the exterminations, he saw us as equals. We weren't just mindless soldiers. He treated all of us with care and respect, because we were on the same level as him. And now he is on the same level as us. He wouldn't do this kind of stuff. Someone else is probably doing it and framing him."

"No one in the hotel would do that kind of thing!" Charlie yelled.

"....Cameron might..."

"He would not! He's a total sweetheart!" Charlie defended. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Charlie, you've seen the way he acts around your dad. It's like he has a crush- No, obsession with him," Vaggie explained, cleaning up the small mess from the impromptu haircut. "He might be trying to get Adam out of the way to get with your dad."

"That's gross, Vaggie. I don't even want to hear it."

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

Charlie considered herself a patient person. She was incredibly forgiving, but this... This crossed a line.

She had no clue how she slept through it all, but Adam had somehow destroyed the entire lobby. The counters were destroyed, the carpet was ripped up, broken glass and torn wood everywhere, and everything that couldn't be destroyed was ruined with gold spray paint.

"Yay! Clean clean clean!" Nifty had seemingly pulled a broom out of her ass and started sweeping up the mess with lightning speed.

"He broke my Glen McKenna! How did he even get to that shit?! I kept it in a safe for a reason!"

Lucifer looked around at the destruction. "Holy shit..."

"Charlie, I know what you're thinking," Vaggie started. "But Adam-"

"Don't, Vaggie..." Charlie said, staring at the destruction.

Adam had mercilessly slaughtered her people for thousands of years, insulted her to her face, and when she decided to graciously take him in instead of throwing him out to the street, this was how he repaid her kindness?

"I don't like that look on your face, Charlie," Vaggie started. "Babe, just tell me what's on your mind."

"Believe me, Charlie. I'm pissed at Adam, too," Lucifer started. "But I think you need to go calm down. Just go upstairs and rest. You don't want to make any rash decisi-"

Charlie didn't wait for him to finish. She turned and walked over to Adam, who standing in the middle of everything looking dazed and confused. She stopped in front of him, glaring for a moment or two. She knew she had to choose her next words carefully.

“Adam,” she said, unnaturally calm. “I want to help you. I really do. But this-” She paused and gestured to the lobby. “Has crossed so many lines. I have treated you with kindness, compassion, generosity, trust, and respect. And this… this is what you do with it… I want you out of here by tonight. No excuses, no exceptions…” She turned and walked up the stairs, followed quickly by Vaggie.

"Charlie, you need to go apologize to Adam," Vaggie said as she followed her.

"Why should I have to apologize to Adam for what he did?!"

"Because you were out of line, Charlie!" Vaggie yelled, grabbing Charlie's wrist and stopping her in her tracks. "Adam didn't do this!"

"Why are you defending that bastard?!" Charlie yelled, ripping her arm away.

"Because I know him better than you! And I know he wouldn't do anything like this!"

"You can't keep making excuses for him!" Charlie said, turning and walking away from her.

"I'm not making excuses! Charlie! CHARLIE!"

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

Charlie had finally calmed down by noon and gotten changed into her suit, heading back to the lobby. Everything seemed to be in perfect condition, like the destruction never happened. Nifty was humming happily as she finished cleaning up the last of the spray paint.

"All clean!"

Charlie gave her a tired smile. "Thanks, Nifty," she said, petting the top of her head. "Hey, Cam!"

Cameron waved her off as he left the bar, having taken a half-full bottle of wine. "Yeah, Claire. They all fell for it."

Charlie raised an eyebrow and started to follow him.

"Yeah, they did! They thought he did it! I knew my plan would work!"

"What?!" Charlie exclaimed.

Cameron turned around, wide eyed and nervous. "Fuck... Claire, I gotta go."

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

"Charlie, how can you be so hypocritical?!"

"I'm not being hypocritical!"

Charlie and Vaggie fought from time to time, but they never had fights that lasted weeks on end.

"Charlie, you thought Adam did all of that shit, you kick him out. Cameron actually did it, framed it on Adam, and all you did was give him a stern talking to!"

"Because Cameron is a good person at heart!"

"Adam already is a good person, Charlie! The only reason he came down here is because he killed a bunch of people!"

"My people, Vaggie! He killed my people!"

"So your treating him like garbage because he did what was ordered of him?!"

"YES!"

Vaggie stared at her in disbelief, her silence hanging heavy in the air. "Do you hate me for it?"

Charlie crossed her arms. She didn't want to say. "....sometimes...."

Vaggie said nothing and left the room.

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

"Alastor," Charlie asked as she walked up to him. "Have you seen Vaggie?"

"Why are you asking, my dear?"

"Well, we had a terrible fight last week and I wanted to apologize, but I can't find her." Charlie looked away, seeming embarrassed by the way she acted.

"Oh, right. She left a few days ago," Alastor said simply.

"She left?" Charlie asked in disbelief.

"Yes. And she wanted me to give this to you," He handed her a note and walked away.

Charlie held the not in shaky hands. She didn't want to read it. She didn't want her fears to be true. But she knew she had to.

"Charlie,

For the longest time, it felt like we were perfect for each other. I thought you were my forever person, my soulmate. But ever since Cameron arrived, you've changed. You used to be so kind and welcoming, but now you harbor so much hate it your heart, it's disgusting. I can't stand to be around you, and now, I know you don't even want to be around me.

I hope you can redeem yourself.

-Vaggie"

Charlie felt tears well up in her eyes. This wasn't real. This was just a dream.

A really, really bad dream...