#BUT YES MAY HE HATCH

[mxlfoydraco]

draco’s a single dad. scorpius hatched from his little baby egg. the pattern is intentional. hope that helps

[kissandtellus]

Hope you get well soon! Pneumonia sucks.

Maybe some little drabbles about the LADS men and unexpected pregnancy? Fluff and/or smut, your choice!

Unexpected

Synopsis: How would the LADS boys react to an unexpected pregnancy?

Warnings: Just fluff for this one! Mentions of ‘alternatives’, Sylus always hatching a plan, anxiety, mentions of pregnancy.

👣 Xavier

Xavier is staring down at the test in his hands. He has seen so many things in his hundreds of years of living, but nothing matched up to the excited, yet fearful look on your face.

He knew something was up, from the food aversions to the way you had shoved a pickle into peanut butter like it was the most delectable thing.

Xavier tries not to let the swell of tears brim in his big blue eyes. He stands slowly, approaching you. Your hands alter clasped in front of your chest, as if you were saying a prayer.

Yo hasn’t exactly been the most careful, but your lives as Hunters put a whole different fear in your mind.

“Are you upset?” You whisper. Granted, having a child means no 3 day naps for the blonde man.

He chuckles, pushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Never. This…” his hand presses against the still flat swell of your belly. “You two…are what I’ve been fighting for. Always.”

👣 Rafayel

“Did you get me a gift?”

“Kind of.”

Rafayel shoves his hand into the small gift bag. When his finger tips touch the plastic, he immediately thinks it may be a paintbrush. But when he pulls it out, confusion washes over his face.

It’s not for a few more seconds that it dawns on him. His hands have always been rather steady as an artist. But now, there is a very apparent tremble to his hands.

“Raf? Are you-“

He drops the bag and test and envelops you into a hug.

“I knew you smelled different.” To drive his point home, his face buried into the side of your neck and inhales.

“Raf?”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“Am I gonna lay Lemurian eggs?”

👣 Zayne

Zayne tapped your chart, legs crossed as he waited for the results. Between your mood swings, the vomiting non-stop, and the way you were so tender, he knew something was up.

You both waited in his office until the timer for the test went off. You immediately snatched it up before Zayne could. When your eyes saw the two pink lines your knees nearly buckled.

Zayne was quick to wrap you in his arms, pushing his glasses up on his face as he gazed at the test.

“Well then…” he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “Are you okay? Do you…would you like to look at alternatives?”

Oh Zayne, always the caring type. If you didn’t want to child, he would set you up an appointment and take you out for dessert afterwards.

But when you shakes your head, a smile breaks across his usually stoic face.

“I love you so much.”

👣 Sylus

Surprising Sylus with an ‘unexpected’ pregnancy test was like surprising a bomb dog with a detonator.

There was a reason he hadn’t pulled out, not wore condoms for the past month.

When you came from the bathroom with shaky hands, covering your mouth, Sylus sat down the gun he was cleaning and walked over to you.

He didn’t need to look at the test, he cupped the back of your head, murmuring sweet words against your skin.

“You entered my life at just the right time.” He whisperers. His hand cups your abdomen, fingers tracing the skin with a hum. “I hope you know that now I can’t let you out of my sight.”

Mephisto gives a squawk from his perch, flapping his wings. “Or Mephisto’s, for that matter.”

You clutch at his shirt, all of your anxieties fading away.

“Now, let’s go ring shopping.”

👣 Caleb

This man is an emotional wreck.

When you surprise him with a little paper airplane with the small pregnancy test attached, he nearly falls to his knees.

Another Pipsqueak?

Had God answered his prayers?

But when he sees how nervous you look, he’s cooing you, entrapping you in his arms while he rocks you back and forth with his steps.

“Do you need anything? When’s the first appointment so I can take off. You know what, screw it. I’m taking the entire year off. I’m not missing a thing.”

His lips are on yours before you can answer.

And you feel like everything is going to be alright.

[pressureplus]

Not sure if you have done it or if anyone have already requested it.. but I do like to see a headcanons (NSFW?) on the ovipositor of Sebastian. Like if reader finally agrees to let him pregnant them with his eggs. Kinda stuff like how would it feel like during/after breeding? does it will hurt? How long long does it take? How those eggs/babies develop? And how does the giving birth would be and feel like? Anything like that.

Btw, I love your headcanons and oneshots! <3

So glad you asked! I've been dealing with pain lately so Ive needed consistent care. As per usual we are writing, this one just happened to be finished first. Also, thank you for the compliment <3

♡Sebastian Solace Ovipositor Headcannons♡

Warnings: Describing this Non-Erotically, Implied Sex, Oviposition/Ovipositor, AFAB and AMAB Cannons (God Im Sorry), Pregnancy/Birth Vaguely Mentioned, M!Preg Mentioned

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜

Starting off strong, the moment you agree to have that mans babies he is all over you

Excited, yes, and at the mention of his Ovipositor being put to use he’ll be a little shy but happy to oblige! How can he not be? The idea of having a family almost makes him feel…normal. Happy and normal.

As his tendril is always sheathed, it stays very slick, which makes insertion easier. Despite his absurdly large length (he is well over twice your size) he doesn't need to be all the way inside your body to use said Ovipositor

During the process of actually putting those eggs in your body, it feels…odd. The best way I can describe this is like swallowing those Boba Pearls in drinks? But like…obviously not with your mouth

Doesn't hurt! The eggs arent too large, about an inch in length and diameter, but still not painful! You’d think they would be, right?

This is due to both the slightly muscle relaxant features of said slick, and the flexible nature of his eggs

Despite their size they can easily compress to be smaller if pressure is applied…too much pressure will pop them and make them no longer viable but yes they can get a bit smaller

They're like little jelly balls with a turquoise color

After the fact, you'll really just feel oddly full for the next day or two. These things are decently sticky and almost parasitic in nature so those that are going to continue to develop will be burying themselves into your body

Not a painful process either, by the way

Those that don't end up attaching to anything are not particularly viable as they can't take any of your DNA to make anything. So those really just have to be removed. This can be done decently easily with some pressure applied to your stomach and a bit of pushing

Produces 6-12 eggs on average, but may produce more or less, so you never really know how many actually stuck

The way these eggs develop is rather unnatural to say the least.

If you're AFAB then they'll attempt to fill your uterus much like a normal baby would. They also take as much ‘code’ from your DNA as possible, feeding off your blood for minerals similar to how Anglerfish pairs function

If you're AMAB things get a bit..sticky for you. They'll hollow out their own space inside you, kind of like a very small faux womb. This is NOT painful, but does leave a sort of dull ache like you've just worked out for a while. This small little wound will close behind the eggs as well so they won't be disturbed. They feed off you the same way as they do for those who are AFAB

This pregnancy can last anywhere from 6-9 months depending on how large the batch of eggs is. They do technically ‘share’ their meals so they'll all be ready to hatch at the same time. Think of it like an evolutionary trait for a better chance at survival.

Doesn't entirely feel like pregnancy, you'll feel weaker, bloaty, and maybe a bit sick mostly due to lower mineral/vitamin counts. But as long as you take some kind of supplements or eat healthy you'll be fine

You don't get particularly round or anything either, just a small bump that could easily be passed off as weight gain

On the Plus side for the AFABS, your body does not continue to have its menstrual cycle during these months. They release their own chemicals into your body/bloodstream for a better latch and less chances to be ‘rejected’

As for having these babies? There's conractions/cramping for sure and a bit of blood from where those eggs detach. I wouldn't call them particularly bad contractions, as they're slower and a lot less painful than normal child birth

The body doesn't have to prep as much since they're not normal sized human babies.

If you're AFAB, they'll come out the natural way. If you're AMAB, you're going to need surgery

Surgery is of course an option for both if preferred.

They pop their eggs and are ready to go the second they break, now for the most part the body can just absorb the nutrients in these empty ‘shells’ but they can also be removed. It won't cause additional harm either way

These babies aren't very big when they're taken out

In fact, they're all about palms sized. They're warm to the touch, covered in a bit of blood and whatever liquid is inside those eggs, so they're a bit sticky. But just fine to wipe clean

They’ll be oddly…blue and pale for the first while as they learn to breathe oxygen with their very small lungs. Don't worry, they'll figure it out. They look almost like normal babies aside from this, well, not including those that look more like Sebastian

They’ll develop faster than normal babies as well. Some may even be born with sharp teeth, others will get their set within the first two months.

They're already up and ready to go in about a year or less, as if they're made for survival like wild animals. However this will come at a cost. Your sanity mostly when your 1 year old is chewing through the casings of wires and chair legs.

By the time they're around 5-6 they'll be just a little smaller than the size of a normal human child.

As teenagers getting their growth spurts? Many of your children may end up BIGGER than average humans!

Overall your children will be different, as was the process of having them, but they're still perfectly healthy

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

HI I know the new Halloween character isn't out yet but I needed an outlet for my excitement (Yes, I am unfortunately a Nightmare Before Christmas girlie) 💀 so please be advised that he may not be in character here, I'm just writing based on vibes! This is technically a twisted!Jack Skellington x Reader fic, but the Reader is basically playing a role similar as Sally from the film.

P.S. I want everyone to know that I busted out my drawing tablet to make this special border for him the same day he was first announced... Yeah...

Boo.

On the nights with full moons, he liked to steal away to the Spiral Hill on the outskirts of town.

The outcrop of land overlooked a vast graveyard and field laden with pumpkins, perfuming the air with the crisp sweetness characteristic of autumn. Beyond it, uncharted territory. When he squinted into the darkness, he could make out the vague shapes of naked trees, their gnarled branches like fingers beckoning him to approach, whispering his name.

He draped his long, lithe legs over the hill, letting them hang in the frigid air. Spindly as he was, the wind easily blew them, knocking his legs around like the straw-stuffed limbs of a scarecrow. He kicked with the breeze, carefree as a child on a playground swing.

The moon stitched his pinstriped suit and tattered cravat with silver thread, touched his pointed crown at its highest points. Even the white ribbons ribbing his jacket and the pattern of bones tugged over his gloves seemed to glow under the celestial light. He liked the view, and the view seemed to like him, too.

Held in his skeletal hand was a single flower. He stroked a silken petal, then slipped another finger under it, plucking the petal free. The wind claimed it, setting it sailing off into the unknown.

He continued. A second, a third. So on and so forth, until the flower was left stripped down and barren, even robbed of its leaves.

He dropped the stem off the hill. The pumpkins below consumed it, and the once lovely flower’s body became one with the patch.

"I figured this is where you were."

He lowered his dark circular lenses. His bright eyes slid to the figure that had approached from behind, on feet so swift they hardly made a sound. They came in with the sweetness of deadly nightshade, the trace of a poisoning committed at midnight. "Not a lethal dose, just enough to knock the doctor out for a few hours," as they always said. "How else would I sneak out to see you?"

Dry, ghostly lips dashed with hatch marks pried into an open smile, both teeth and the gaps between them. Charming, in a crooked sort of way. "My dear. You've come."

You bent down. “If you don't mind, I'd like to join.”

“The spot beside me is always reserved for you.” He patted it, inviting you to take a seat.

"Such a gentleman." You sunk down, folding your hands in your lap. "And so handsome when you're brooding. You're terribly good at that."

He was, he was, especially silhouetted by the moon. The man was practically monochrome, but bathed in silver like this, his pale skin was less sickly and more ethereal. He almost appeared like a cruel angel in the light, descending to expunge evil.

"I'm not brooding," he pouted, "I'm dreaming."

“Dreaming." You reached out and tucked a strand of alabaster hair behind his ear. "Father says it’s a ridiculous, wild thing.”

"Ah, but that's what makes it so much thrilling. Life’s no fun without a good scare.”

His mouth quirked to one side, and his smile became off-kilter--as his ideas often were. "He'll bring us to ruin with his crazy, new-fangled thinking and flights of fancy," your father would complain. But you adored that about the boy. How spontaneous he was, how his curiosity was never-ending. He'd race about like a child, picking items up and sticking his face where it probably shouldn't go.

Full of life in this otherwise lifeless town.

"What's this? What's this?" he'd say. "I must know!"

"He's gone daffy," your father would declare.

"Mmm." You nodded absentmindedly, tracing your fingers along the shell of his ear and down to his arm. "What were you dreaming about today?"

He lifted his head, looking beyond the hill and to the woods. Not a word was exchanged. None had to be.

"The Hinterlands?" you whispered. "But we don't know what's out there. No ghoul or monster has ever ventured out that far."

"Then sounds like I'll be the first! They’ll put me down in the history books as a pioneer." His laughter brightened up the gloomy night. When he quieted, his gaze was solemn—more solemn than you'd ever witnessed him. "... Don't you wonder about what's out there? Stuff that's cold and fluffy and falls from the sky. Things that come in colors we haven't seen."

"Sometimes," you admitted quietly, "but those are just dreams. I don't chase them."

"Maybe you should. We should," he mused, fingers tucked under his chin. "I bet there's all sorts of things we've never even dreamed of, too. And wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

"I would. I really, really would," you told him in a soothing tone. Trying to reassure him as much as you were yourself. "Let's not doing anything dangerous though. I sense something in the wind—tragedy at hand. I can't shake that feeling that something bad is around the bend if you tread that path."

You gingerly laid your hand over his. Behind tinted lenses, his eyes widened.

"Stay here with me," you begged. "We can be together. Gaze at the stars. Be safe in one another's arms."

“… Sweetness, I would love for nothing more than to have you and to hold you ‘til death do us part.” His voice fluttered like the brush of a falling leaf upon your cheek. He regarded you tenderly, locking his fingers with yours and squeezing. “But you know that’s not the kind of man I am.”

“Yes, you’re every flavor of foolish imaginable,” you replied, pressing your forehead against his, “and I love you for that.”

“As do I.” He brought his icy lips to the back of your hand. A chill spider-walked up your arm, and you shivered.

“Then…”

“That’s why I must depart one day.” He pushed his glasses up. You caught the tragic reflection of your face in his lenses. “Out there… something more awaits us. I’m sure of that. I intend to find it and revive our town, this season that’s gone stale.”

“I won’t stop you if you decide to go,” you murmured. “And I will count the days until you return to me.”

“I knew you’d understand.” His smile—now it was touched with sadness, the knowledge of soon parting ways. “Thank you, dearest.”

He stood slowly, drawing you up with him. Your feet followed, as if pulled along by a puppeteer. How in sync the two of you were, how nicely molded your bodies were to one another’s. Your joy melded under the watchful eye of the moon.

“Shall we share a dance? One for the road,” he crooned. An errant breeze tousled his pallid hair, his tattered coattails—but to you, he was fairest of them all. “Our last dance for a while.”

“Alright, let’s make this one count,” you chuckled, “so I can send you off on your travels with a smile.”

“Excellent 🎵” He slid a hand around your waist, guiding you to lean into him. “Let the merrymaking commence!!”

“Yes…!!”

The midnight waltz began.

He led you, step by step, and you trailed after. Movements easy and effortless, like two intertwining maple leaves, spinning and spiraling. Their partner, the center of their universe.

“It’s as plain anyone can see,” he breathed.

“We’re simply meant to be,” you returned.

They danced as if possessed or an enchantment was cast upon their footwear. The moment too sweet, too succulent, to relinquish so soon. They wanted to savor it, indulge in it—and each other.

For never was there a more perfect pair than the Pumpkin King and his consort.

[keferon]

"Why do you even want to go back to earth in the first place?" Prowl asked, to distract himself from the uneasy tingle in his wires, the touch and sound of something inside him.

Something small, like a parasite. But this was no parasite and so Prowl had to bear the oddity of it all.

"I'm still technically workin' for somebody. Also, I need food." Replied the tiny organic inside his chest cavity.

"We gave you food."

"Alien food! It may be softer than metal but it ain't edible!" Jazz retorted, crawling through the opening Prowl's inside shell had transformed and made space for. It looked like the hatch he used to get inside his own mecha too.

"Woah!"

Jazz was taken aback by Prowl's interior. Sure, it mimicked his own mecha quite well but everything about it was still so...alien. Sharp angles and brighter colours made for an interesting space to pilot.

"Damn Prowl! If I'd known your cockpit would look better than my own, i'd've suggested this sooner!" Jazz hopped into the pilot seat, checking if he even recognized the controls. Luckily, those were quite similar.

"Jazz."

A voice sounded from the outside, vibrating the walls of the cockpit in a low hum. Prowl's tone seemingly a bit flustered.

"Right, lets get this over with!" Jazz grinned, flicking a couple switches and pressing a few buttons. Atleast that's what Prowl assumed he was doing based on the odd tingles he felt throughout his circuits.

"Er- I ain't actually ever controlled a living mech before, so I can't give ya much more advice than to...relax?"

Prowl felt an uncomfortable sting in his lower back plate. He almost reached out to it if he didn't know it was Jazz doing it.

"Jazz!" He vented, the whirring of his systems and his stress echoing in the cockpit.

"Sorry! Y'gotta relax! It's like tryna' drive in the ocean." Prowl heard back from his chest.

He vented again. "This is...difficult."

"Y'have to trust me, Prowler. Lean back, let me catch ya."

Prowl let his optics drift into an idle stare, trying to focus his mind on just letting go, resisting the urge to tense up. His processor screamed danger, every will and force told him to panic.

Jazz's voice echoed into his audials, telling Prowl how good of a job he was doing.

Prowl relaxed, watching as his own hand slowly (involuntarily) lifted off his lap and waved back at him.

- Going absolutely bonkers over this AU sorry for the long ask I had to type it out -

IM ON MY KNEES YES YES THIS OH M Y. G O D KFLGMGNGJKDNFBVNFKF,F NFMFMFMVNVNJG THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS THINKING EXACTLY WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT . ANON LEMME KISS YOU

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 20/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@funnybadger868 ha chiesto:wait so if mk can hear macaques past can he hear wukongs for example the circlet and the spell

Yeah he could. It's now just a matter of if he wants to use this power ever again

@cryptic-theseus ha chiesto:you're paying for my therapy btw, the bill is on the way

Blame it on the gay monkies not me. It's bc of them that my life is ruined/hj

@ayrza ha chiesto:Hey!I have an important question, where do you get your sources for the AU👉🏻👈🏻p? I mean, I just recently entered the LMK fandom and I see that there are parts that are not mentioned much in the series and it frustrates me because I feel like I only watch the anime but I'm missing the manga 🫠I love your art and your work, it's amazing 🫰🏻✨

Hi! Well I' finishing to read Journey to the West (im at chapter 80) and if I need extra info or just check I go to the fandom wiki.

@feyqueen91 feyqueen91 ha chiesto:A question for your Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (btw, I just saw your recent post for More Than A Successor Arc & I thought something light hearted was needed to even out the Angst), is Macaque able to summon something like what Red Son did with the Samadhi Sprite, and he teaches MK to do it too?

Wait what exactly? I haven't understood what you meant by sprite.

@og-glitch-punk ha chiesto: Honestly I expect this to be hidden but i also love your work on both comics, keep it up!! I forgot their names but dude- how would the lotus prince and our moon chef feels about wukong and Macaque being MK's parents? HELL. WHAT ABOUT THE TRIO? YELLOW TUSK, PENG AND THE LOIN (CANT REMMEBER HIS NAME EVEN IF HE IS TECHNICALLY DEAD/GONE). Hell even this chaotic snake man may even use MK to his advantage with the fact he is the child of Wukong and Macaque. So many possibilities and guesses, so many twists and turns we will never know bro

Oh he absolutely woud. Also about the others. They would probably act like protective aunt/uncles to that poor traumatised boy.

@thenerdnico ha chiesto:Oh my GODS that last bio dad's chapter broke me, your expressions are always amazing. I'm going to assume that at the end of Wukong's and Macaque's fight, Wukong realised Macaque wasn't moving and ran up to him, and ended up sobbing and screaming when he realised he was dead??? If that is the case, do you think MK listened to it long enough to hear that as well?

Oh for angst reason yes. He did.

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto:AHHHH YOUR SHADOWPEACH BIO AU IS SOO GOOD!!!! I SCREAMED AT THE LAST UPDATE!!! I have a question though. You know in the series i think season 3 epsiode 5 where Wukong goes into a deep mystic monkey meditation, yeah. Well i was wondering if Mk has ever tried that but got disrupted and lost his memories or started acting strange infront of his monkey parents. It would be hilarious i can imagine him shouting, “TUDI, TUDI!”KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, no pressure though! HAVE A GOOD DAY!

Lmaooo ok ok I don't think I'll go witha small amnesia arc in the AU but this doeß sound adorable.

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto:It will probably be quite heavy, but I suggest that after Wukong saw the monkey like that he had a huge attack of guilt and anxiety and ended up injuring his left eye with his claws

Poor baby!! Nono don't worry his eye is fine.

@raylamoongirl ha chiesto:question for macaque: what was the hardest thing to teach Mk?Lmk bio parents Q&A

Mmmm so they tried really hard to teach him shadow teleportation, but he seems to not be able to do it.

@lmkobsessedmoth ha chiesto:For the Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU What if macaque and wukong go on a date and wukong doesn’t know it’s a date because he’s as dense as the rock he hatched out of

He truly would be. May the gods give him a clue or smt otherwise we wont end up nowhere here

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hey!I love your Shadowpeach bio Parent's AU But I Wonder,Does Wukong and Macaque already dance together before?

Danced??? I think so?? When they still were lovers friends I think (i think i m missing something)

Anonimo ha chiesto:I am on my knees, heart giving out, HOW IS BABY MK SO CUTE AND SHADOWPEACH SO ALLERGIC TO JUST KISSING ALREADY LIKE COME ON YOU TWO Anonimo ha chiesto:When I read the other part where swk and mac where talking about wanting MK to view them as parents at first I thought swk was proposing having another kid with Mac and I went “WOAH HEY- HOLD UP FOR A SECOND THERE U NEED TO GET UR SHT TOGETHER FIRST” and thank god it wasn’t that I thought swk was JUMPING AND ACCELERATING THEIR PROGRESS LMAOOOSo I’m actually glad they are taking baby steps, they need them

This slowburn is gonna be so slow-burning you all are gonna die when they actually kiss (will they kiss? Oh that's just for me to know ahah)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Since macaque is called mama by mk does that mean macaque is like a mother figure to mk in your au mama macaque is adorable and he gives off motherly in his character

Anonimo ha chiesto:Whos mom if there is considered a mom by MK or only dads? Is it Wu or Mac? My headcanons is Wukong basically the mom cuz he gives off mom and dad vibes together and Macaque just gives off dad vibes to me

He gives more motherly vibes, yes (Mamacaque and DadWukong forever)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hi in you bio parent au for monkie kid how were monkey king and macaque as teenagers when they had a good relationship were like they a romantic couple or had secret crushes on each other and never told each other or were they just friends love this au it's amazing

Oh I think they were definitely lovers once. And that makes their past and what happened even more tragic honestly.

@ayrza ha chiesto:I don't know who is more adorable: Baby MK or Macaque and Wukong blushingPsd. I love your AU and your art 💖

Both. Both is good

@diamondwolf23 ha chiesto:THOSE TWO BETTER KISSSSSSSSSSS-I’m gonna miss Baby Mk ;-

Me too. Me too.

Anonimo ha chiesto:You could say Wukong is a...... simpian?(like simian but yknow >>)

LMAO YES

@scififeather21 ha chiesto:You can't believe how much I love your Shadowpeach AU comic series that last part made me grin so much. Mostly because my husband and I have done that exact thing when our kids were small babies and the looks and smiles were the same too. OMG it such a nice thing to see after a long day at work yesterday. :)

THAT'S THE- SWEETEST THING?????? LIKE IM SO GLAD I WAS ABLE TO MAKE IT A SIMILAR EXPERIENCE???? TO HEAR IT'S THE SAME THAT HAPPENED TO YOU IS THE SWEETEST THING EVER

@snsp6 ha chiesto:I love ur bio dads au! I wanted to ask what would happen if smth similar to the baby mk incident happened to the immortal monkeys.Like either they were de-aged to their youth or had an amnesia rules type of situation!(I am in love w the world building in this!!! And ur art is delectable!)

I don't thing the world would be ready for non-reformed Wukong#like-#not really reformed but the guy killed so many people bc of impulsiveness#until he learned that murder is not fine

Anonimo ha chiesto: This might be a stupid question, but for your bio parents, AU is MK just always in his monkey form, or is this just how he permanently looks now?

He's on his monkey form when he trains / stays at the weekends at FFM or when he friendly duels/train with Mei and Red Son.On weekdays he's constantly in his human form

@meisawkwardashecc ha chiesto:Is Wukong potentially shorter than Macaque? 👀🥺Avatar

Yes

@miraclecactus ha chiesto:Can you show us what's going on in the Freenoodles house? I'm looking forward to knowing how they manage to calm MK down :( Puedes mostrarnos que es lo que sucede en la casa de Freenoodles? Estoy ansiosa de conocer como ellos manejan el como calmar a MK :(

They used Wukong and Mac advices until he feel asleep.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I like how Wukong asks Macaque how he knows MK won't hate him after this. Like my guy, you literally killed Macaque, and he still hangs around I think he knows a thing or two

True. Although let Wukong be the dumbass he is.

alizardonfire ha chiesto:I love the idea of macaque being wukongs *rock* if that makes sense? It gives so much character to him.

Aaaahh ty! Yeah I feel like he's pretty good at understanding when he s just out of his mind and bring him back to earth.

Anonimo ha chiesto:If this isn't to much spoiler will the next lmk comic be angsty

This will be answered too late but I will always warn you in advance if there s angst coming.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love your art! Lighthearted question since your about to bring the pain- do you think Mac and Wu fight over who gets to be little spoon/big spoon or are both of them 100% happy with Mac as big spoon and Wu as little spoon every night

So as for now, they are good with Wukong being the little spoon. Both bc Wukong is the the one who constantly craves for touch amd bc Macaque feels more comfortable in a position of "control" let's say. He can decide how much closer or not to get to Wukong.

Then in the future they would be more comfortable to switch (and the bicker about who should be the big or small)

@sallyvanna ha chiesto:HAIII FIRST OF ALL I LOVE YOUR BIO PARENT AU it makes my day every time I see a new page postedI was just wondering, why was macaque kinda nervous when he summoned rumble and savage? He was like 'ah shit I didn't want that-' 👀

It was because the kid would be afraid of them! Of course he wouldn't. But I guess Macaque still feels like his powers are a threat to him.

@redwrathroit ha chiesto:Hey, note this is something you can completely ignore but I wanted to know if you had a ref sheet for your monkey Bois, I'd love to take a try and drawing them plus I had made an Oc character of my own but I did it once and then art block hit me like a train and said; nah, never again. So it would really help me out if you have a ref, if not ignore this and have a nice day/night

Unfortunately I don't. I have a lot of panels where you can see them full body in various stances though.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Wukong being the little spoon is too cute, he spends years being the big spoon platonically to everyone that someone finally gave him what was needed, to be protected instead of being the protector

Yesss he iss!!!!!!

@froggyofdeath ha chiesto:Question abt Shadowpeach bio parents! Sooo, who kills the spiders, who screaming abt them, who the one who picks it up and try to scare the screaming one?🫠✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️☕️☕️☕️☕️

Mk is screaming, Wukong picks it up, Macaque kills it.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Can we see exactly when they decided to prepare the courtnapping room? Like when exactly did they know oh we need to prepare that our son has apparently followed in our footsteps

Unfortunately in this AU for now I don't plan tp draw a full spicynoodle arc as well. There will be moments for the ship as well but more like extras and side stories.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Your shadowpeach bio au reminds me of something..... I remember you saying to someone that they should Read a Son of Two Dad's. Have you read the entire thing? and the sequel?

Yes I did! Also the sequel, but i think it s in hiatus.

Anonimo ha chiesto:In you newest update for the shadowpeach parent au, that one scene of Macaque looking at Wukong as MK holds his finger kind of reminds me those flashback scenes in movies of the dead lover/wife that is looking at the main character from under a flowing blanket. I have no clue why but the image popped up in my head when I read that part of the comic lmao

I bet when they are back together they will re-create this exact image eventually

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love that Macaque is initiating contact with Wukong. Hugging him, holding his hands, cuddling with him. It makes my heart melt 🥹🥰 And Wukong is giving him opportunities to do so

He is opening the door for Mac to come closer, so that it's his choice how much he can get closer. The last thing Wukong wants is to rush things or do something that would make him more uncomfortable.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Omg! I love your art especially your shadowpeach parent bio au, it's adorable! Although I'm terrified for the next page. Anyway, my question is, why won't you let the monkey trio breathe from the trauma? 😅🥹

Bc apparently chat asked for it

[laceandlipstick]

side effects may vary | b.b

bucky barnes x f!reader

MDNI

masterlist

word count: 7.4k

summary: he’s infected. he warns you it’s dangerous. you stay anyway. now he’s on his knees, aching, and you’re the only thing that’ll fix it.

warnings: SMUT, dubcon (sex pollen), oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, rough sex, multiple orgasms, masturbation m!receiving, unintentional edging/orgasm denial, whiny/needy bucky (like he’s actually in pain he needs it so bad), use of pet names, dirty talk, slight love confession, soft aftercare, lmk if i missed any!

a/n: i truly think ive read every bucky sex pollen fic ever so naturally i had to write my own

The mission was supposed to be routine.

Low risk. In and out. Just recon.

You’d both heard that one before.

The two of you moved silently down the dim corridor of the abandoned HYDRA research site, your flashlight sweeping over long-forgotten computers and dusty floor tiles. Bucky walked slightly ahead, always putting himself between you and any potential threat. You pretended not to notice.

“How much longer do you think we’ll need?” you whispered, your voice echoing softly in the stillness.

“Just need to tag the central drive,” Bucky replied, eyes scanning the shadows. “Won’t take long. Then we’re gone.”

You nodded, but something about the place had your nerves humming. It was too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.

A few more steps, and you paused. The air shifted—barely perceptible, but strange. Heavier. And there was a smell. Sweet. Tangy. Faint, but unmistakable.

You wrinkled your nose. “Do you smell that?”

Bucky stopped mid-step. He turned slowly to look at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Shit,” he muttered. “Yeah. I do.”

“What is it?” you asked, frowning.

But Bucky was already moving. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

“Wait—what? Why?”

He didn’t answer at first, just grabbed your wrist and started pulling you back down the hall the way you came. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was tight. Urgent.

“Bucky, talk to me—what the hell is going on?”

“I’ve smelled this before,” he said tightly, not looking at you. “Not here. Somewhere else. A long time ago.”

The hallway stretched behind you like a tunnel, narrowing under the flickering emergency lights. You followed him, heart pounding. “What is it?”

“Sex pollen,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “Come again?”

“It’s not a joke,” he snapped, more from stress than anger. “HYDRA used to weaponize this stuff. One of the compounds they developed… it’s airborne, subtle, hits the bloodstream fast. It doesn’t affect everyone, but when it does—”

He broke off, jaw clenched, and you could see the muscle ticking in his cheek.

You swallowed hard. “Have you—”

“Yes,” he cut in. “Once. It was… bad.”

You didn’t push for details. The way his voice dropped told you more than enough.

Outside, the forest loomed dark and quiet through the broken door ahead. But as you reached it, a steel beam crashed to the floor behind you, blocking the exit. You both jumped, instinctively ducking into defensive stances.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Bucky moved forward and tested the obstruction. It wouldn’t budge.

He looked back at you, breath shallow. Sweat beaded at his temple despite the cold. “We’re not staying here.”

But the building had other plans.

When you tried the alternate routes—the lab’s north hallway, the roof access hatch—each one was caved in or sealed off by the earlier collapse. The compound wasn’t just abandoned. It was booby-trapped. The scent in the air was growing thicker now, almost syrupy, leaving a strange heat on your tongue every time you inhaled.

“I don’t feel anything,” you murmured, leaning on the railing beside him as you paused to think.

“You wouldn’t. Not everyone reacts,” Bucky said quietly. “And if you haven’t by now, you probably won’t.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and noticed what he was trying to hide.

His shoulders were tense, his breathing faster than it should’ve been. He wasn’t sweating from exertion. His pupils were blown wide, and his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

“Bucky,” you said gently. “You’re affected, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just lowered his eyes.

“I can handle it,” he muttered. “I just need space.”

Your throat went dry. “You want me to leave?”

“I want you safe.”

You stepped closer, but slowly. Carefully. “I’m not leaving you.”

Bucky looked up sharply, and there it was in his eyes: fear. Not for himself. For you.

“You don’t get it,” he said hoarsely. “This stuff… it doesn’t wear off fast. It builds. Messes with your head, your instincts. If it takes hold, I won’t be thinking straight. I won’t be able to—”

He broke off, turning away from you and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what I’m like when I lose control.”

You watched him in silence for a long moment. Then: “You haven’t hurt me yet.”

He let out a bitter laugh, but it cracked in the middle.

“Don’t test that,” he whispered.

You shook your head. “I’m not. I’m staying because I trust you. And I know you’re still in there. You’re already fighting it.”

He turned to face you fully, chest rising and falling hard. “You don’t understand. It���s not just wanting someone. It’s needing. The kind of need that drowns everything else. If I touch you—”

“Then we won’t touch,” you said softly. “We wait it out. Together.”

Bucky took a step back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not. I’m making a choice.”

He opened his mouth to argue again, but stopped.

Something flickered in his eyes—something that looked a hell of a lot like longing. Raw and unspoken.

You gave him space. You didn’t reach for him. Just sat on the edge of a metal crate, folding your hands in your lap, trying to act calm even though your heart was thundering.

You could feel it in the air now. That charged tension. Thick as smoke. It wasn’t touching you like it was touching him, but it made the space between you feel thinner, more fragile. One wrong move and it would snap.

Across the room, Bucky paced like a caged animal.

And every few seconds, his eyes drifted to you. Hungry. Guilty. Haunted.

You knew this was only the beginning.

⸻

An hour passed. Maybe more.

The scent in the air had dulled your hunger, your sense of time, even the urge to speak. You sat in silence on the cold floor of the lab’s storage room, your back pressed to a cracked support beam, watching Bucky unravel.

He’d stopped trying to pretend he was fine.

His jacket was long discarded, his shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked chest. Veins stood out along his arms and neck. He kept pacing, breathing shallow, jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a tooth.

You didn’t speak. You knew he couldn’t take conversation right now. The smallest sound made him twitch.

He moved like he was walking the edge of a cliff—aware that every step might send him plummeting. Muscles pulled taut beneath his skin. His metal hand flexed and unflexed at his side like it didn’t know what else to do.

And his eyes—God, his eyes—flicked to you with such force it made your breath catch.

Not lust, not fully.

Need.

Desperate. Consuming. Agonized.

He cursed softly, dragging a hand over his face before disappearing into the adjoining room. You waited, heart pounding, body frozen in place. He didn’t shut the door, just stepped around the corner—out of view, but not out of earshot.

You listened to the sounds of him moving. The rustle of fabric. A breath drawn through clenched teeth.

Then—

A low, choked sound. A broken gasp.

You realized, with dawning horror, what he was doing.

You turned your face away, pressing your hand to your mouth.

It wasn’t the act itself. You weren’t embarrassed. What hit you was the sound of it—like he was being torn apart. Pain colored every breath. He wasn’t enjoying it. He wasn’t even chasing relief.

He was begging for it. And not getting any closer.

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Fuck. No—”

A sharp thud—his fist hitting the wall.

You stood slowly, heart aching, and took one cautious step toward the doorway. “Bucky?”

“Don’t—” His voice was ragged. “Don’t come in here.”

“I’m not. I just—”

“Please.”

You stopped.

He was breathing hard again. You could almost hear him trying to ground himself, but it wasn’t working. The pollen had burrowed deep. It wasn’t letting go.

Another minute passed.

Then he emerged.

His shirt was half-unbuttoned, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glassy with frustration—tears at the corners, not from emotion, but from overwhelming physical strain.

You met his eyes. You didn’t look away.

Bucky swallowed hard. “It doesn’t work.”

“I know,” you said quietly.

His voice was barely audible. “It only makes it worse.”

You took a breath. “What can I do?”

His jaw twitched. “You already are. Staying away. Staying safe.”

You took a step forward.

He took one back.

“No,” he said, voice sharp. “Don’t. I can’t—” He looked at the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m not okay, and I don’t want to be the kind of man who hurts someone just because he can’t stand the way his own skin feels anymore.”

The words cut through you.

“You’re not that man,” you said. “You never have been.”

He laughed bitterly. “You didn’t see what I just tried to do.”

You moved slowly, deliberately, and sat back down. Close enough that he knew you were there. Far enough that he could breathe.

His shoulders slumped. He slid down the wall opposite you, legs bent, head in his hands. You noticed him shiver, like the heat crawling under his skin was unbearable.

He whispered, “It hurts.”

And that broke you.

You wanted to touch him. So badly. Wanted to hold his hand, stroke his hair, kiss the pain off his mouth. But he was curled up like a wounded animal, pride cracking under the weight of need he couldn’t control.

The silence thickened. The air between you pulsed with want, but heavier than that was the aching restraint. He was fighting it. Fighting for you.

After several minutes, he looked at you again. Really looked.

“I’m trying,” he said hoarsely. “But I don’t know how much longer I can.”

You nodded. Your voice was gentle. “Then we’ll take it minute by minute.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he exhaled like it cost him everything.

The silence in the room had a pulse.

It beat with his breath. With yours.

Slow and thick and unbearable.

Bucky hadn’t moved in nearly fifteen minutes, but you could see the tremble in his hands now. His skin gleamed with sweat. Every breath rattled deep in his chest. He didn’t look at you anymore, didn’t dare. He knew what would happen if he did.

He was so deep in the pull of it now, you wondered if he could feel anything but the ache. His body had started reacting to you in waves—tiny stutters of movement, involuntary flexes of his thighs, his hands, his jaw every time you shifted.

And you weren’t doing anything.

You were just sitting there.

But to Bucky, that was enough to make him sweat like he was burning from the inside out.

He finally broke the silence.

“This was a mistake,” he rasped. “You should’ve left.”

Your heart cracked, but your voice stayed steady. “I wasn’t going to leave you like this.”

His head dropped back against the wall, and he let out a strained breath.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s not just that I want you. It’s that I can feel every second you’re not touching me like a scream inside my skin. It’s like drowning.”

You stood, slowly. Walked across the room and sat in front of him—just out of reach. His eyes followed every step like they physically hurt.

“You think I don’t want to touch you too?” you said softly. “You think it’s just you suffering right now?”

Bucky swallowed hard. His eyes finally lifted to yours.

“You’re not the one whose hands shake every time you breathe,” he said, his voice a broken whisper. “I want to tear my skin off just to stop feeling. I’ve had this happen before, I know how it ends.”

Your eyes widened. “You’ve—before?”

He looked away. “Years ago. On a Hydra op. They used it on me. Weaponized it. They’d toss it into air vents, pipe it into prisoner quarters, see who’d crack first.”

“Oh my god.”

He nodded once, stiff. “You think this is bad? Back then, they didn’t even care who it happened with. They just wanted results. Wanted to see how long before the asset broke.”

You reached for him—then stopped yourself. But he saw the movement. Saw the ache in your eyes.

“I got out before anything happened,” he added. “That time. Barely. I chewed through a fuckin’ steel door with my arm to escape before it hit full peak.”

You swallowed. “And this is the same formula?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Stronger. Stark ran tests last time. He said this strain’s twice as potent and designed for targeting specific attachment cues.”

You blinked. “Attachment cues?”

He gave you a long, tired look. “People the infected already want.”

Your breath caught.

Bucky saw it. Saw the realization hit your face.

“That’s why it’s only affecting me,” he said quietly. “You didn’t get hit with it because it’s me that wants you. Not the other way around.”

“Don’t say that,” you whispered. “You don’t know how I feel.”

His eyes darkened. His voice dropped to a hoarse growl.

“You’d be feeling it if you wanted me half as much as I want you right now.”

You flinched, not at the anger—there wasn’t any—but at the need underneath it. The ache. The fucking agony of being so close to someone you craved with every breath and knowing that touching them could shatter everything.

He looked down at his hands. The metal one clenched into a fist. The flesh one twitched—he was losing control of it in microbursts, shaking with restraint.

“Earlier,” he said, voice raw. “When I tried jerking off? It made it worse.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just listened.

“I didn’t think that was possible. But it’s like… it’s not about the act. It’s you. My body knows it’s not you. So it just—” He shook his head. “Punishes me harder.”

A beat passed.

You whispered, “What happens if you don’t… if we don’t—”

“I won’t die,” he said. “But it’ll feel like it.”

Your heart ached. “And you’d go through that… just to protect me?”

His eyes lifted to yours again, and they were glassy now. A little wild.

“I’d rather rip my goddamn arm off than touch you in a way you didn’t ask for.”

You couldn’t stay where you were anymore. You crossed the space between you on your knees, stopping just before your legs touched his. He looked like he was bracing for impact.

“I trust you,” you said gently. “I’m asking. I want to help you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s not how this works.”

“Why not?”

His voice cracked.

“Because when you touch me—when you kiss me—I won’t be able to stop. I’ll take and take until you can’t breathe, and then I’ll keep wanting more. I don’t want to use you.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“You don’t know that.”

He leaned forward, eyes wild, chest heaving.

“I want to fuck you until I forget my name,” he whispered. “I want to mark you up so deep everyone knows you’re mine. I want to taste you, ruin you, own you—”

You gasped, eyes going wide.

He slammed his mouth shut, like the words had escaped without permission.

You sat there frozen, stunned into silence, heat rising up your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He blinked.

Your voice trembled. “Yes. I want that. I want you.”

A beat.

Then another.

And then Bucky let out the softest, saddest sound you’d ever heard.

A choked little groan, like his soul had just cracked open.

He dropped his head to your shoulder—not touching you anywhere else, not even leaning into you. Just resting his forehead there, breathing like he was dying.

Because he was.

⸻

Bucky stayed like that—forehead pressed to your shoulder, body shaking, breath hot and ragged.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You let him have this moment, because you could feel how hard he was fighting himself.

Not to beg.

Not to snap.

Not to break.

His voice, when it came, was hoarse and nearly silent.

“Every part of me is telling me to grab you. To push you down and make you mine. To fuck you until I stop hurting.”

You swallowed. His breath was against your collarbone now.

“But I don’t want you scared of me. I don’t want you thinking this was just the serum.”

You shook your head gently, brushing your lips against his hair. “I’m not scared of you.”

He groaned softly—like even that was too much.

“I can’t even think straight,” he whispered. “It’s like… everything that makes me human is on fire. And the only way out is you.”

Your chest ached. Your thighs pressed together without meaning to.

“Tell me what you need,” you said.

He laughed—dry, broken, bitter. “I need to be inside you so deep I forget who I am.”

You felt your body shudder.

“I need your hands on my chest, my back, my face. I need to feel you wrap around me, claim me—make this stop.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He finally lifted his head. His pupils were huge, his mouth parted, his jaw clenched tight enough to tremble. A bead of sweat slipped down his temple. His hair was damp.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he rasped.

“I want you to say it,” you said. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t need this.”

“I’ve already tried—” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I tried to take the edge off. It didn’t work.”

You looked down between his legs—and your throat went dry.

The bulge in his pants was obscene now, the fabric stretched tight with pressure. He looked painfully hard. You wondered how long ago he’d tried, how long he’d suffered since.

“What happened?”

He leaned his head back against the wall, shut his eyes.

“I touched myself. I thought if I could just come, it’d stop. But my body—my brain—it knows. It knows you’re here. And it knows that if it’s not you touching me, it doesn’t count.”

You were already crawling closer before you could stop yourself.

Bucky tensed, but didn’t stop you.

You knelt between his spread legs. He still didn’t touch you—his fists were clenched at his sides, white-knuckled, arms shaking with restraint.

You brought your hand to his thigh, hovering just an inch above the fabric.

“Can I touch you?”

He opened his eyes. They were tortured.

“Please,” he breathed. “But slow. I’m close. I—I don’t want to come just from you brushing me.”

You nodded and let your hand press to his thigh. His muscles jumped beneath your palm.

“You’re so warm,” you whispered.

He gave a strained laugh. “That’s not warmth. That’s burning.”

You slid your hand a little higher. Still not to where he was hard, still gentle. His hips jerked slightly, but he locked himself down with a hiss of breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “That already feels better.”

“You’re really not gonna hurt me,” you said. “Even like this, you’re still holding back.”

He looked at you, agony and adoration bleeding into one expression.

“I always hold back,” he said. “With everyone. But especially with you.”

Your breath hitched. “Why?”

His voice cracked.

“Because I knew that if I ever touched you the way I wanted… I’d never be able to stop.”

He leaned forward slightly, nose brushing your temple, breath hot at your ear.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered. “You’re not just the antidote. You’re the fucking trigger. I’ve been half in love with you for months. And now every part of me wants to bury myself in you so deep you never forget how I feel inside you.”

You whimpered.

Bucky growled, pulling back fast, his fists slamming against the floor.

“Shit—I didn’t mean to say that—I didn’t—”

“Bucky,” you gasped, “look at me.”

He did. Wild. Wrecked. Near feral.

You climbed into his lap slowly, straddling him without grinding or teasing—just being there. His whole body tensed, cock straining beneath you, twitching in his pants.

“Is this okay?” you asked.

His hands hovered near your hips, but didn’t touch.

“I don’t know,” he rasped. “I’m scared I’ll lose it. I’m scared I’ll grab you and not stop. I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you said. “I know you won’t.”

“I don’t trust myself.”

“I trust you.”

He made a soft, broken noise—like he was trying not to cry.

“Tell me what to do,” you whispered. “Tell me how to help.”

His hands finally landed on your hips—light and trembling.

“Just… stay with me,” he said. “Don’t leave. Even if I break.”

You leaned in and pressed your forehead to his.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He shuddered beneath you.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, voice raw with hunger. “I want your thighs on my shoulders, your hands in my hair. I want your skin under my tongue, your legs wrapped around me while I fuck the pain out of both of us.”

You whimpered and your hips twitched by accident. His jaw clenched—hard.

“Don’t move,” he hissed. “Fuck, doll, I’m gonna come just from you being here.”

You stilled.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.

“I’ve never wanted anything so bad,” he whispered. “And it hurts. I didn’t know it could hurt this much.”

You brushed his hair back from his face. His expression was wrecked—tormented, desperate, holding on by threads.

“Then let me help,” you whispered.

He looked at you. Really looked.

And for the first time, you saw something break.

Not in fear.

Not in control.

But in surrender.

Bucky was panting beneath you.

Not softly—not like someone turned on. Like someone wounded, like a man on the battlefield bleeding out, like he was praying to survive the next ten seconds.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe right,” he murmured. “It’s like my lungs forgot how unless you’re touching me.”

You slid your hands up his arms slowly—reassuring, grounding.

“I’m right here,” you whispered. “You’re not alone in this.”

He leaned forward again, his forehead resting against your collarbone this time, the tip of his nose brushing over your skin.

“I don’t know how long I can keep fighting it,” he said. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

“Then stop fighting,” you whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

He laughed—a low, pained sound that melted into a moan.

“I’m not even inside you and I feel like I’m gonna die.”

His hips twitched under you. Not thrusting—just a reflex, a cry for relief. You felt him—thick, rock-hard and straining against his jeans. He must’ve been leaking for hours. Your thighs clenched instinctively.

You moved your hips—just barely. One slow roll, not even direct pressure, but enough to make him gasp.

“Jesus—fuck—don’t—” he begged.

“Shhh,” you whispered. “Easy, Bucky. Let me help you.”

Another gentle grind. His hands grabbed your hips hard, trembling—but not to stop you. Just to anchor himself.

“You don’t get it,” he hissed. “I’m gonna come in my fucking pants like a teenager—”

“I don’t care,” you said. “Let it happen. You’ve been holding back too long.”

A desperate little whimper escaped his throat. His jaw was clenched, his head thrown back now. You reached up and brushed your fingers through his hair—his favorite thing, usually—and his whole body jerked like he’d been shocked.

“Please,” he said. “Please, just a little more—fuck—please—”

You rocked against him again, just a little harder, just enough pressure for both of you to feel it.

His body snapped.

He grabbed you—carefully, still careful—but pulled you flush against him, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder again, and humped up against you once, twice, three times, his cock dragging up between your folds through the layers of clothing.

He was soaked.

“Bucky—”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I can’t—I need—need it—can’t think—”

“Come for me,” you whispered, voice firm, lips at his ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Let it happen.”

That undid him.

He let out a guttural moan—raw, feral, completely undone—and his hips ground up into you again, erratic now. You felt the first pulse through his cock. His body locked up, and then…

“F-Fuck—!”

Hot. Wet. So much. Even through his pants, you could feel it as he came violently, grinding into you, clinging to you like a lifeline. His whole body was quaking.

You held him while he shook through it. You didn’t stop touching his hair. You didn’t flinch when he whimpered against your skin. You just let him go.

It lasted longer than you expected—waves of desperate, aching release. Even when the worst was over, he kept rutting softly, hips twitching, trying to milk every drop of relief from the contact.

Then—finally—his breath began to slow.

He went limp against you.

For a minute, neither of you spoke.

You just stayed there—your thighs sticky from his release through the denim, his arms wrapped around you, your lips pressed to his temple.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice ragged and exhausted.

“Don’t be.”

His fingers tightened on your waist. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I chose to be here,” you reminded him.

He nodded faintly. “I don’t think it helped, though. The serum—I still feel it. I thought maybe if I came it would… I don’t know, reset something.”

You pulled back to look at him.

He looked wrecked.

His hair was damp, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly parted and lips swollen from biting them too hard. There were tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I feel a little better,” he admitted. “But it’s still there.”

“How bad?”

“Like I haven’t touched myself in weeks,” he muttered. “Except now every nerve in my body is screaming your name.”

You felt heat flood your body.

“I’m gonna take these off,” you said softly, tugging at his shirt, “and you’re gonna let me help you through this.”

His eyes fluttered open, stunned. “You—you mean—”

“I’m not saying we fuck right now,” you said, firm but gentle. “But if your body’s still suffering, then we’re not done. And I’m not leaving you like this.”

You grabbed the hem of your own shirt, pulled it off, then reached for his.

“Trust me?”

“More than anyone,” he whispered.

You helped him undress slowly. When his pants came off, the evidence of his climax soaked the fabric. You tossed them aside without judgment.

Bucky lay there now, bare to the waist, hard again, cock twitching faintly, swollen and flushed and leaking already despite just having come. He looked embarrassed by it—but you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You’re not in control. But I’m here. We’ll get through it together.”

He gave you a look that almost broke your heart.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” he whispered.

You smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Lie back. I’m gonna take care of you.”

⸻

The next time he came, he didn’t even want to.

You had your back against the cold wall of the containment chamber, legs spread, and Bucky was curled up between them, head on your chest, panting like he’d run ten miles. Sweat rolled off his temples. His back was tense. His cock — red, swollen, leaking — was still pressed against your inner thigh.

He’d already come once — thick, helpless spurts across the concrete floor — but it had barely dented the pain. His body was still demanding, still begging.

“I don’t know what to do,” he groaned into your shirt. “I don’t—why won’t it stop?”

You cupped the back of his neck. “Because it’s not about finishing. It’s about needing.”

“I tried—before you came in—I tried to get it out—jerked off until I couldn’t breathe—but it didn’t help. I came and I still wanted to fuck —”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know, baby.”

His hips shifted. His cock slid hot and slick against your thigh.

He sobbed.

You swallowed your own panic. You could feel the strain in his muscles, the tension that vibrated under his skin like he might split apart.

“I can’t fuck you,” he rasped, pulling back enough to look you in the eye. “You get that, right? Not like this. Not until I know I can stop.”

“You won’t hurt me,” you said. “I trust you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

You let your hands slip down to his hips. His skin was burning up, soaked through with sweat. He looked ruined — flushed, eyes glassy, hands trembling with restraint.

“Then let me help another way,” you whispered.

Bucky didn’t speak. Just nodded, barely.

You guided him off you slowly. Laid him flat against the floor — rough concrete beneath him, the thin blanket from the cot crumpled under his back. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air until you took one and placed it at his side.

You knelt beside him. His cock stood red and angry against his stomach.

You leaned down and kissed the tip.

He cried out — full-body, involuntary, like his nerves were misfiring.

“I c-can’t,” he gasped. “I’m gonna lose it—”

“You already did,” you whispered. “So let me take the pieces.”

You wrapped one hand around the base of his cock. Warm, slick. Twitching.

You kissed him again, just under the head.

He whined — high and desperate — and it lit something inside you.

You took him into your mouth.

He jerked so hard his back left the floor. His metal arm hit the wall with a sickening clang.

“No—no, I—fuck, it’s too much—”

You pulled off just enough to speak. “Tell me to stop.”

He looked down at you — eyes huge, soaked — and said nothing.

You took him back in.

You worked him slowly. Sucking, stroking, dragging your lips along the swollen shaft as if he hadn’t just come an hour ago. You knew how sensitive he was. You could feel it. Every twitch, every jolt of his thighs, every clench of his abs as he tried to hold it back.

“I want it,” you whispered, mouth still brushing him. “Come for me again, Bucky. Let me feel it.”

“I’ll break,” he whimpered. “I’m gonna break—”

You sucked harder.

He shattered.

He came with a strangled noise — no warning, no words — just a ragged, throat-torn cry that echoed off the sterile walls. You swallowed him down, every drop, holding him with one hand as his hips bucked, his body convulsed. He was twitching, gasping, shaking beneath you like he’d just had a seizure.

When you pulled off, he was glassy-eyed. His chest heaved. His legs were still trembling.

But he was still hard.

Still leaking.

Still burning.

“Still?” you whispered.

He nodded miserably.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice raw. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You kissed his thigh. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not stopping,” he choked out. “Nothing’s working. I keep thinking if I come again, maybe—maybe—but it just makes me need you more. I need—fuck, I need to be inside you so bad, it’s like something’s wrong in me—”

You moved slowly, crawling up to sit across his lap, keeping his cock pressed to your folds but not letting it in.

“You’re not broken,” you whispered. “You’re just overwhelmed.”

“Hurts,” he muttered. “Hurts so bad.”

“Then I’ll stay right here until it doesn’t.”

He blinked, looking up at you like you were light in a storm.

You started to grind against him — not hard, not fast — just dragging your slick folds over him, your clit brushing his shaft. His hands flew to your hips, trying to hold still, to not thrust.

“Don’t,” he gasped. “I can’t—if I move, I’ll—”

“You can,” you said. “You will. I want it. All of it. All of you.”

His head dropped back. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not a bad way to go.”

And then he broke again.

He came a third time, sobbing your name, his come hot and wet across your thighs, thick and heavy and never-ending. It was everywhere — on you, on him, on the floor. His body bucked, twitched, sagged.

You collapsed onto him, both of you breathing like you’d run for miles.

Silence, finally, as his cock finally softened just a little.

His eyes were half-lidded. “Still there,” he whispered, hand twitching toward you. “Not as bad. But not gone. I don’t think it ends until…”

“Until?” you asked softly, brushing sweaty hair from his eyes.

“Until I’m inside you,” he whispered. “Real. Deep. Not just for release. For connection.”

You kissed his jaw.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

He looked terrified.

“But I need you to ask me,” you said. “When you’re ready.”

His lips parted. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’d die if I did.”

“You won’t.”

His cock stirred again.

“Next time,” he breathed. “Next time, I need to be inside you.”

You kissed his lips.

“I’ll be ready.”

⸻

You were both so quiet.

The air buzzed with what wasn’t being said — the pounding tension between your legs, the ache in your core, and Bucky’s need still crackling in the space between your bodies like static.

He’d come so many times. It hadn’t been enough.

Not for him.

Not for you.

Now you were both kneeling on the floor — his back propped against the cold wall, you straddling him, clothes tugged out of the way but not removed, the tension between you so taut it felt like breathing too loud might snap it.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Bucky whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “Not just because I want to fuck you… but because I’m scared I will. Like if I let go—really let go—it’ll be too much.”

Your fingers were in his damp hair. You held his face in your palms like something fragile, something worth saving.

“Let me take it,” you said. “You won’t lose control.”

He shook his head against you. “You don’t understand what it’s like inside me right now. It’s tearing me apart.”

“Then give it to me, Bucky. All of it.”

You took him in your hand again — already semi-hard, already twitching. Just the touch made him groan deep in his throat.

“I don’t want to break you,” he murmured.

“You won’t.”

“You’re not afraid of me?”

You leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. “Never.”

That’s when he gave in.

He didn’t say yes — didn’t need to. He just sank his metal hand into the back of your thigh, the other resting firm on your hip. You felt his cock pressing up again, hard and hot and ready, and you lifted just enough to line him up.

Your slick made it easy — but your nerves made it slow.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “Please. Just breathe for me.”

You nodded.

You sank down.

And oh god—

It wasn’t gentle. Not at first.

Not when he was so thick and hard and desperate. His cock pushed in with a stretch that made your breath catch, your hips stall.

His head thudded softly against the wall. “You’re so fucking warm.”

You grabbed his shoulders, nails biting into flesh, and bottomed out slowly — inch by inch, until he was fully buried inside you, until there was no space left between your bodies, until your legs trembled from the pressure.

Bucky made a broken sound in your neck — part relief, part agony.

“Fuck—” he whispered. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—so long. I thought about it all the time. Touched myself thinking about you—every night—felt so guilty—”

“Don’t,” you breathed. “You’re here now. I’m here.”

You stayed there a moment, just… letting him feel you.

Letting the heat of your body melt into his.

Letting the intensity settle.

Then you started to move.

Slow. Careful. Up just a little — then down. Your body swallowed him so perfectly he groaned like it physically hurt.

“Can’t believe you’re real,” he said. “You’re mine. You’re mine—”

You kissed him, silencing the spiral. Tongue sliding over his, hands cupping his jaw. And when you moved again — a little faster, grinding down instead of lifting — Bucky’s moan vibrated straight into your mouth.

His hands gripped your hips hard, guiding your rhythm even when his brain felt too scrambled to think. His eyes never left your face. He watched you ride him like he was seeing the sun rise for the first time — wide-eyed, reverent, and a little bit undone.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed. “I—I can’t—shit, I’m not gonna last—”

“You don’t have to.”

“But you—”

“Let me finish you, Bucky,” you whispered.

His hips surged up — just once — and your breath hitched at how deep he went.

He was so far inside you it felt like he was lodged behind your ribcage.

“Again,” you begged.

He thrust up again — harder this time — and you cried out, fingers scrambling at his chest. It wasn’t graceful anymore. It was raw. Bodies slamming together in rhythm. The slap of your thighs, the wet drag of your folds, the sound of his groans getting louder.

You were chasing something now. So was he.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—inside—” he gasped.

“Do it,” you said. “Fill me. I want it.”

“You’ll be dripping with it—”

“I don’t care.”

And that did it.

He snapped.

His body seized — whole frame tensing so violently his metal hand crushed the edge of the wall behind you. He was panting, almost growling, as he spilled inside you. Hot and thick and so much you felt it flood you immediately, leaking down your thighs, making a mess of both your clothes and the floor.

You came with him — loud and sudden, spasming around him, mouth open in a wordless cry as your vision blurred. Your muscles locked, shaking as he throbbed inside you, each pulse sending another wave through your body.

It took minutes — long, ragged minutes — for either of you to move.

You collapsed against him, face buried in his neck, and he held you like you might vanish.

He was crying. Just a little.

Silent tears streaked through the grime on his cheeks.

“You okay?” you whispered.

“I feel like myself again,” he said. “For the first time in hours.”

You kissed the tears off his face.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

You smiled. “Not even a little.”

His lips found yours again — this time soft, slow, tender.

Not a kiss of need.

A kiss of thank you.

A kiss of I love you, without saying it out loud.

⸻

Bucky didn’t move at first.

You stayed curled against him, both of you still tangled in your half-removed clothes, his cock softening inside you while the mess between your legs dripped down and pooled beneath you.

There was no bed. No softness.

Just the floor, his arms around you, and the buzzing silence in the aftermath.

You stroked your fingers gently through his damp hair. It clung to his forehead in sweaty curls, and his chest rose and fell beneath yours like a storm still receding. Every now and then, his grip around your waist would tighten — like he had to confirm you were real.

“I’m here,” you whispered into the curve of his neck.

“I thought I was gonna lose myself.”

“You didn’t.”

“I came inside you—fuck—too much—are you okay?”

You nodded, nuzzling into him. “I’m okay. Really.”

He groaned, like he didn’t know whether to cry or curse or hold you tighter. Maybe all three.

“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he mumbled. “Should’ve pushed you away.”

“But you didn’t,” you whispered.

His voice cracked. “Because I’m weak.”

You lifted your head then, met his eyes, and cupped his jaw in both hands. “No. You’re not weak. You’re human. You warned me. You tried. You never stopped thinking about protecting me — not once.”

He blinked at you. His pupils were finally normal. His breathing calmer. But his eyes…

They were glassy.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his gently — not with heat this time. Just a simple kiss. One that tasted like salt and closeness and everything you’d both been too afraid to say.

“I stayed,” you said softly. “I made that choice. You didn’t take anything from me. I gave it to you.”

He swallowed hard. His voice came out low. “You gave me more than I deserve.”

You shook your head. “You deserve peace. You deserve softness. You deserve someone who wants to be the one holding you when you’re not okay.”

He looked like he was going to cry again.

So you kissed his cheeks instead — both of them — and whispered, “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

You helped him ease out of you slowly, gently. Your thighs were sticky, soaked with his release. He hissed at the sensation — not out of desire this time, but raw oversensitivity. You both winced when you saw the mess between you: your clothes ruined, skin slicked and shining in the harsh light.

There were a few scratchy towels folded in a bin by the wall — probably left there by whoever prepped the room in case something like this happened.

You wet one under the tap, came back to him kneeling, flushed and quiet, waiting for you.

You cleaned him first — gently wiping him off, the stickiness between his thighs, the remnants of you on his skin. You were slow, careful, watching his face the whole time in case he flinched or pulled away.

But he didn’t.

He let you.

Then he cleaned you.

With shaking hands, he knelt in front of you and murmured soft apologies as he worked — wiping the slick from your inner thighs, dabbing carefully between your legs, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” like he still didn’t believe you weren’t angry.

“You’re not hurting me,” you promised.

“I know. I just… I feel like I don’t deserve to touch you. Not after what I was thinking in that corner.”

Your brows knit together. “Bucky—”

“I wanted to take you. Wanted to come so bad I didn’t care how. I’ve never… I’ve never been that far gone. Not even after Hydra. It scared the shit out of me.”

You knelt down in front of him again and placed your hand over his heart. “But you didn’t touch me until I said yes. You waited. Even when it hurt.”

“I wanted you,” he said, voice cracking. “But I didn’t want to want you like that.”

“And now?”

He looked at you like you were sunlight after a winter that lasted years.

“Now I just want to be near you,” he said. “Touch you when it’s not about needing. Just… wanting. Loving.”

You both stilled at that word.

He looked down fast, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Like it slipped out before he could catch it.

You didn’t push. You didn’t say it back.

You just leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his.

And that was enough.

Eventually, you both changed into the spare clothes folded in a crate by the wall — grey cotton shirts and loose sleep pants, both far too big, but dry and warm. You bundled the soiled ones and left them near the drain.

The room didn’t have a bed, so you laid a fresh blanket down in the corner — still on the floor, but now wrapped around each other. You fit together easier now, bodies limp and pliant, exhaustion making everything heavier.

Bucky buried his face in your hair and didn’t let go for a long time.

You both dozed there — not fully asleep, not fully awake. Just… together.

And when he finally spoke again, his voice was soft and real and bare.

“I want to kiss you again.”

You smiled, already tilting your face up to his. “Then do it.”

This time, his lips were slow. Sweet. And when he kissed you, it wasn’t a thank-you.

It was a beginning.

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

You had always been curious about the Lucky Egg Dispenser, a mysterious device rumored to grant adventurers a lifelong companion. Most people who used it received magical creatures, loyal beasts, or helpful familiars.

“It doesn’t hurt to try” you muttered, inserting the required currency and pulling the lever.

With a soft clunk, a smooth white egg rolled out, settling at your feet. You picked it up, weighing it in your hands. The display indicated it would take three days to hatch, not an issue for you. You had raised creatures before, and you always loved trying new things.

But when the time came, and the egg finally cracked open… Instead of a creature, instead of an animal or familiar, a man stepped out.

Tall, elegant, dressed in pristine white with a knowing smile curling at his lips. His bright golden eyes gleamed as he stretched, as if waking from a long dream.

Then, his gaze landed on you.

“Ah” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “So you’re the one who called me.”

Before you could react, he took a step forward, grasping your hand gently but firmly, bringing it to his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

“You may call me Sunday” he said, smiling sweetly. “And from now on—” his grip tightened, his golden eyes never wavering from yours “I belong to you.”

Baby duck syndrome is not what you expected.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Sunday remained close, his golden eyes studying you with a quiet fascination. There was something unsettling about the way he observed you, like you were a puzzle he had already solved but still wanted to take apart piece by piece.

Then, his expression shifted. A small, tired sigh escaped his lips as he leaned ever so slightly against you. “I feel… strange” he murmured, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.

Your instincts kicked in before you could think.

“Are you feeling weak?” you asked, scanning him for signs of illness or exhaustion. He had just been born, after all.

Sunday only gave a slow nod.

You hesitated before gently guiding him to the bed. “You should rest” you said, pulling the blanket over him. “I’ll go out and buy some food. Stay here and sleep.”

Sunday blinked up at you, his golden eyes half-lidded, his lips curling just slightly at the corners.

“Okay.” he whispered.

You left, unaware of the way his gaze lingered on your retreating figure. Unaware of the way his fingers lightly traced the sheets you had just touched. Unaware of the way he let out a quiet chuckle, his exhaustion nothing more than an act, a simple game to see how easily you’d care for him.

How quickly you’d let your guard down.

When you returned with bags of food, he was exactly where you had left him, still curled beneath the blanket.

The next morning, as you prepared for work, Sunday sat up with a slow, lazy stretch.

“Take me with you” he said.

You blinked. “You want to go dungeon crawling?”

He tilted his head. “You’re my partner, aren’t you? I should be by your side.”

You hesitated. Taking an inexperienced person into a dungeon was dangerous, even if he had come from the Lucky Egg. But from the way he looked at you, so expectant, so patient, you found yourself agreeing before you could think too hard about it.

“Alright. But first, we need to get you supplies and a weapon.”

Sunday smiled. It was a slow, knowing smile, like he had expected you to say yes all along.

The weapon shop was one of the best in town, known for testing adventurers to determine what kind of weapon suited them best.

Sunday walked in beside you, his golden eyes sweeping over the neatly arranged weapons, his expression unreadable. The shopkeeper, an older man who had seen countless warriors come and go, greeted you with a nod.

“New recruit?” he asked, looking Sunday up and down.

You hesitated before nodding. “Something like that.”

Sunday said nothing, only offering the man a polite smile.

The shopkeeper gestured toward the testing area. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Unlike most adventurers, Sunday didn’t reach for a sword or staff.

Instead, he walked toward a shelf lined with old spellbooks.

He stopped in front of one, tilting his head before picking it up. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the book shuddered, glowing symbols unraveling from the pages, floating in the air like restless spirits.

A deep hum filled the room. Sunday's golden eyes gleamed as the magic coiled around his fingertips. He flipped the book open, running his hand over the text.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he spoke a single word.

A shockwave burst through the shop, every candle flickering, every item rattling on its shelves. A surge of energy shot forward, splitting the testing dummy apart with precise, clean cuts, the edges of the wood scorched from pure magical heat.

The shopkeeper let out a slow breath. “…You sure he’s a beginner?”

Sunday turned to you, his smile small but unmistakable.

As if he was expecting your reaction.

The dungeon entrance loomed ahead, an eerie cavern pulsing with an unnatural glow. You had been here before, countless times, even. But this time, you weren’t alone.

Sunday walked beside you, his book tucked under one arm, golden eyes bright with curiosity. Unlike most newcomers, he showed no hesitation. If anything, he looked amused.

“Stay close” you warned as you stepped in. “Dungeons aren’t predictable.”

Sunday merely smiled. “Of course.”

The first wave of monsters lunged at you.

You raised your weapon, already preparing to fight, but before you could react, Sunday murmured something under his breath. The spellbook in his hands flipped open on its own. Ethereal pages glowed, symbols lifting into the air like drifting embers. A pulse of invisible energy rippled outward. The monsters stopped instantly. Their movements slowed, their eyes unfocused, as if they had forgotten what they were doing. Then, one by one, they turned, lumbering away, their aggression erased from their minds.

You stood frozen. “Did you… just make them forget they were attacking?”

Sunday hummed, flipping another page. “Mmm. Something like that.”

Before you could question him further, a second group of monsters appeared. This time, Sunday didn’t wait. He spoke another spell, his voice lilting, almost gentle. The creatures turned on each other.

They screeched and tore at their own kind, their minds completely overwritten, their perception of friend and foe altered in an instant. By the time you stepped forward to deal the final blow, there was nothing left to fight.

“Was that helpful?” he asked lightly.

You didn’t answer immediately. Because no matter how useful his magic was, no matter how effortless he made it seem, there was one undeniable fact. Sunday’s power wasn’t just about attack or defense. It was about control.

After emerging victorious from Sunday’s first dungeon dive, you decided to celebrate.

The bar was lively, filled with adventurers boasting of their conquests over drinks. You found a table for two, ordering food and drinks, letting the adrenaline from the dungeon finally settle.

Sunday sat across from you, golden eyes watching your every move. He hadn’t touched his drink much, merely swirling the liquid in his glass, seemingly more interested in you.

"You did well today" you admitted, taking another sip of your drink.

His lips curled slightly. "Mmm. Did I?"

You gave him a look. "You know you did."

Sunday hummed, tilting his head. "Then… will you keep me by your side?"

Something about the way he said it sent a strange shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, a loud scoff interrupted.

You turned, eyes narrowing as a group of men approached your table. You recognized them, regular adventurers, ones who never liked newcomers.

"Never seen you around before" one sneered, looking at Sunday. "A fresh recruit, huh? Got yourself an easy ride with a partner like that?"

Sunday blinked at them, expression unreadable.

You sighed, already annoyed. "We're just here to eat."

"Yeah?" Another man chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder. "Then maybe you can spare some of those dungeon points for us, sweetheart."

Before he could finish his sentence, he froze. His eyes went blank. His fingers twitched before he abruptly pulled his hand away, stepping back as if he had touched something burning.

The other men stilled, confusion flashing across their faces as the atmosphere shifted.

Sunday was still seated, his book closed, his expression pleasant.

"You're being quite rude" he murmured.

The men stiffened. Their faces twisted as if they were struggling to understand something, as if their own thoughts weren’t their own anymore. Then, without another word, they turned. And walked straight out of the bar.

You stared.

Sunday smiled at you. "Shall we continue our meal?"

You didn't reply immediately. Because once again, he had done something—something unnatural.

By the time you returned home, the alcohol had settled in, leaving you slightly sluggish.

Sunday followed you closely, perfectly composed despite drinking with you earlier.

"You should rest" you mumbled, pushing him toward his own bed.

Sunday let himself be tucked in, golden eyes watching you with quiet amusement.

You turned to leave for the other room, but suddenly, an arm wrapped around your waist. You barely had time to react before you were pulled down into Sunday’s embrace. Your breath hitched as he buried his face into your shoulder, his grip firm.

"Stay" he whispered.

You tensed. "Sunday—"

"Just for tonight" he said. "You're warm."

Your body was too heavy from exhaustion, too sluggish from the alcohol to argue properly. Eventually, sleep pulled you under.

The next morning, you woke up sore.

Your body ached from the awkward position you had slept in, Sunday’s arms still loosely wrapped around you. You groaned, shifting slightly. That was when you felt his fingers brush against your back.

“…You're in pain?” His voice was quiet.

You sighed. “Kind of. You held on too tight.”

“I see. My apologies.”

His tone was light, casual, even. But when you turned to look at him—He was smiling. And somehow, you got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t sorry at all.

It wasn’t surprising that Sunday’s abilities had drawn attention. After the dungeon raid and his effortless control over enemies, it was only a matter of time before a guild or authority figure took notice.

They approached the two of you after a routine dungeon run, their uniforms crisp, their expressions unreadable.

“You there! Sunday, was it?”

Sunday barely spared them a glance.

“We’d like to speak with you. Your abilities are… unconventional.”

Sunday smiled. Not his usual playful one. Not his amused, knowing one. This one was cold.

“I’m not interested.”

The guild members exchanged glances, clearly not expecting such a blunt dismissal.

“You should reconsider. If you join, you’ll have access to—”

“I said,” Sunday cut in smoothly, “I’m not interested.”

The conversation ended there.

You didn’t press him about it. Not yet.

A few days later, you finally had some free time. Deciding Sunday needed to learn more about this world, you took him through the city, explaining how things worked, the market, the trading system, the different factions of adventurers. He listened with interest, though he often focused more on you than on the surroundings.

Then, while passing by a street vendor, you noticed something. Sunday had stopped walking. He was staring at a display of rings, delicate, polished bands, some plain, some adorned with small gemstones.

You raised an eyebrow. “Interested in jewelry?”

Sunday blinked, as if caught off guard. “No” he said, too quickly.

You smirked.

Ignoring his weak denial, you picked up a simple silver ring and handed it to the vendor.

“I’ll take this one.”

Sunday’s eyes widened slightly as you took his hand, slipping the ring onto his finger.

“There” you said. “Consider it a gift.”

For a moment, he just stared at it. Then, he flexed his fingers, golden eyes unreadable.

“…You shouldn’t give things like this so easily.”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

His lips parted as if he wanted to say something.

But before he could, a familiar, sinking feeling settled in your gut.

You weren’t alone.

You barely had time to react before figures appeared around you, their movements precise, their presence unmistakable.

Guild members.

And they weren’t just here to talk this time.

Sunday stepped in front of you immediately.

One of the guild members raised a hand. “We don’t want trouble. We just need him to come with us.”

Sunday’s fingers curled. You felt it before you saw it. The shift in the air. The way reality itself seemed to bend around him. One moment, the guild members were standing firm. The next, their movements turned sluggish, hesitant.

Some faltered entirely, eyes unfocused, their minds clearly muddled.

“Leave” he said

And they did.

Not because they wanted to

But because Sunday had made them want to.

By the time you got home, the tension had finally faded.

You let out a relieved breath, turning to Sunday. “That was… intense.”

He simply smiled. “I handled it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Then, softly, you asked, “Sunday… why were they after you?”

He hesitated. His usual ease, his usual playfulness—gone.

“…Does it matter?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

Then, with a small chuckle, he looked away.

“Let’s not ruin the mood.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

But the weight of your unanswered question lingered. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sunday was keeping something from you.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. Sunday was too strong, too intelligent, too unnatural.

His level skyrocketed after only a few dungeon runs. His magic wasn’t just powerful, it was absolute. He could alter minds, erase memories, bend reality in ways no normal adventurer could.

And now, the guild wanted him.

But for what reason?

And why wouldn’t he tell you?

You decided to start with the Adventurer’s Registry.

Every adventurer, no matter their origin, had an entry in the system. Even those spawned from the Lucky Egg Machine would at least have basic data—name, level, class, stats.

But when you searched for Sunday, something strange happened. There was no record.

Not incomplete data. Not a hidden file.

Just… nothing.

As if he didn’t exist.

A cold feeling settled in your gut.

Something was wrong.

Determined, you dug deeper.

If the registry didn’t have his records, then maybe the guild—

Error

Your access was blocked.

That was odd. You weren’t a high-ranking adventurer, but you should have been able to see basic guild logs.

Why would Sunday’s information be classified?

Unless…

It was dangerous to know.

That night, you confronted him.

“Sunday,” you said firmly, stepping in front of him. “Who are you?”

He blinked, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Then, he smiled. “Your partner.”

“Don’t do that.” Your voice was sharper than intended. “I looked you up. You don’t exist. Not in the registry. Not anywhere.”

He sighed.

“…You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“Sunday” you whispered. “Tell me the truth.”

He tilted his head, studying you, fingers tracing the ring you had given him.

Then, softly, almost regretfully—he murmured:

“I was never meant to be found.”

And just like that, you realized

Sunday wasn’t just powerful.

He was something else entirely.

Your investigation led you to an unlikely source, an old researcher who had once worked with the guild. The meeting was secretive, hidden within the ruins of an abandoned archive.

"You’re looking into that boy, aren’t you?" the researcher murmured, flipping through aged documents. "Sunday… That’s what you call him?"

You nodded. "You know something, don’t you?"

A sigh. The researcher slid a file toward you. The papers inside were yellowed with age, some pages missing, others barely legible. But what you could read chilled you.

[Project: Daybreak]

An artificial entity, created through forbidden magic. Designed to manipulate perception, rewrite reality itself. A prototype abandoned before completion—

—escaped from containment—

—no known weaknesses—

—do not engage without extreme caution—

Your hands trembled as you turned to the researcher. "This… This means he’s not-"

"Not human" the researcher finished. "Not even from the Lucky Egg Machine. He’s something far more dangerous."

And you had been traveling with him, trusting him, without knowing any of this.

Your breath came fast, panic setting in. "I have to—"

A shadow loomed behind you.

Too late.

A gentle hand rested on your shoulder.

A familiar, comforting voice whispered:

"You shouldn’t have seen that."

Your body tensed, magic seeped into your mind, curling like soft whispers in your thoughts.

Forget

The world blurred.

When you woke up, you were in your bed. Sunday sat beside you, reading a book, his golden eyes calm as he noticed you stir.

"Morning" he said, voice light. "You were out for a while."

Your head felt… strange.

Something was missing.

Hadn’t you been—?

You blinked. What were you even trying to remember?

Shaking the strange thought away, you sat up. Sunday smiled, reaching out to brush your hair from your face.

"You should rest more," he murmured. "I’ll take care of everything."

You nodded slowly, the unease already slipping away.

Because Sunday was your partner.

And there was nothing to worry about.

Right?

[treshchotka]

Donald and Daisy's family for my NWRLD Au

Honestly I dropped ducktales after s3 ep5 so I can only guess what DonDaisy and May n June's interactions are like. Hence, I fanonized them greately (for the sake of the AU ofc)

First of all, the twins are biological kids of DonDaisy and about 18 years yonger than their cousins (the girls are around 8yo whereas the boys are abt 26) Yeeeeeeah, no clone stuf here, and no FOWL too, cuz Idontlikeit.

When they hatched (one of them in may and another in june), Della was banned for even suggesting how to name them. Donald managed to avoid having Jet and Turbo in the family, he knew it too well how his sister might name his daughers.

In the end, they are Margaret and Juniper Duck. Unlike the boys, they don't mind being a little bit too similiar. They like to pretend to be each other and mess with people. They have their personal traits, of course. May, for example, is an iron-willed young lady who would out-argue anyone. She's good at art and craft, whats to be a singer or a seamstress. June is ever-curious and energetic, but much softer than her sister. She takes great interest in marine creatures (and probably knows how to hot-wire a boat)

Yes, their dresses where made by their super-awesome mom. Yes, they both know how to sail a boat. Yes, they give their parents headaches cuz one time they invented their own language and refused to switch back to english.

Donald and Daisy... I don't have much to say about them. A designer and a sailor (fr this time), a perfect couple, and wonderful parents. They have a lot of on their plates, but hey they have a family to help them out.

My designs were heavily inspired by Willy Wont's idea of using actual sailor fashion for dresses. Go check their awesome designs (guys you definitely should check it. The artstyle tastes like the happiest childhood memory and candies)

Commission info

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Ain't That a Kick in the Head?

HAPPY (belated) DBDANNIVERSARY! I started this little thing a few months ago when I realised A) just HOW tiny that office sofa at the centre of soooo many Payneland smut fics is, and B) that Edwin was lounging on it with the back cushions at the ends. I dusted it off and wanted to get it finished for the anniversary but for various life reasons, my writing brain was not braining! Fingers crossed, I have a little more free time for projects now! Payneland, 2.3k, T, fun getting-together fluff, also on Ao3 (only visible to logged-in users)!

“Edwin?”

“Charles.”

Charles hummed, spinning his vintage football on his finger. Wasn't vintage when he got it, mind. But twenty-odd years being bandied about the same pokey office had made an antique of the old girl. “Been thinking ‘bout what Crystal said. About the sofa…”

Edwin gave him a look of mild betrayal over his book. “Oh, Charles. Not you as well.”

“Well, got a point, hasn't she? I mean —” Charles gestured broadly down to his knees — which were propped up against Edwin's knees. When they sat like this, cross legged and facing one another, they sort of met in the middle. “Barely room for one of us, mate! Not the best place for a living person to kip when she misses the last tube, is it?”

“Then we shall acquire a trundle bed. Or one of those —” he waved his hand — “newfangled inflatable mattresses. I hardly see the need to cast the entire office into disarray.”

“Not exactly a big redecorate, is it?” Charles teased, nudging Edwin's knee with his own. “One little sofa. Well, big sofa, hopefully. Bigger than this one. Maybe a bit softer, bit less, y’know... ancient.”

Edwin made an offended sound through his nose. “Charles! This sofa has been a stalwart of the agency since its inception!”

“Only 'cause the landlady let us have it with the flat,” said Charles.

“It has a history! Stories to tell.”

“You know Madam Seine was like, a madam madam, yeah?” said Charles, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis. “Ran a brothel out of this place when she was alive. Reckon some of those stories are pret-ty raunchy, mate.”

Edwin pursed his lips and fidgeted. “Well. Be that as it may. You cannot simply — simply oust something for being a bit worse for wear and... and a bit old fashioned.” He sniffed haughtily. “It is bad form. Dreadfully disloyal.”

Charles softened. He bit his lip. “That right?”

“Yes.” Edwin primly turned the page in his book. “I shall hear no more of it.”

Charles sighed, rolling his shoulders back against his cushion. They never sat with the back cushions on properly, these days. In the first five years or so yeah, maybe. But not for ages. Nowadays they took the back cushions and propped them at the sides, against the curved armrests, so's they could face each other from opposite ends of the sofa.

Charles wasn't sure exactly when they started doing it, or when it stopped being a one-off and started being the norm. But it just made more sense really, didn't it? They didn't have a telly to point the couch at, weren't ever watching something else when they sat side by side, so what was the point in looking at anything but one another? It was better to be facing each other when they were chatting, telling stories long into the night. Better for hatching plans and theories. Better for playing games, for cards and catch and crosswords and cat's cradle. Even if they were both doing their own thing, like now, Edwin with his books and Charles with his ball games, there was something dead nice about doing it with the other in the background.

But it was a tight fit. One of them alone didn't have room to stretch his legs out on this thing — the two of them? This was the least amount of contact they could have, both their legs crossed and their kneecaps nuzzling. Sometimes they wound up tangled at the shin, or the knee or even the bloody thigh, both too long in the leg and too lax in the boundaries to give a toss.

Lately though, well, what with Edwin telling him what he had on the steps to Hell, Charles had been thinking...

“Reckoned you might like a bit more personal space, too, is all,” Charles mumbled, picking at a flake on the worn leather.

Edwin frowned at him, bewildered. “This amount has been perfectly adequate for the last two decades.”

“Yeah, but it's a bit different now, innit?”

“How so?”

Charles opened his mouth, then closed it. What was he supposed to say? Because you're in love with me now? Because I've not been able to stop thinking about your bloody knees touching mine for the last two hours and if that's me, just in like a mates way, you must be going bonkers? All sounded a bit bloody dickish, didn't it? “Just is.”

Edwin stiffened. “Oh.” He closed his book. He looked... upset. “I see.”

“What?”

“I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Charles balked. “You didn't — Christ, I didn't mean it like that!”

“Well then enlighten me, Charles, because I fail to see how else you could have meant it.”

“I meant — it's not me, it's you!”

Edwin's eyebrows pinched together in helpless bafflement. “What a... uniquely distressing platitude.”

“I mean…” Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead. God, he was mucking this all up. “I'm just saying if it's a bit... I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, yeah? Or — or make you feel like I'm... I dunno. Rubbing it in.”

Edwin's eyebrows over the course of the awkward explanation crawled progressively higher, like they were backing up very slowly to his hairline. “‘Rubbing it in’?” He parroted, disbelieving.

Charles groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Shut up. Fuck. Trying not to be a dickhead, here.”

He heard a sound, a soft huff of air, and peeked through his fingers. Edwin was smiling — no, Edwin was laughing. Small and restrained, but a definite laugh. He closed his book.

“Charles,” he said — the word all warm on his tongue. “While I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I am perfectly capable of managing my more... inconvenient feelings for you when we are spending time together.”

Charles snorted, scrubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “Are you, now?”

“Yes. Though it is certainly a struggle; reigning in my amorous inclinations when faced with the irresistible temptation of…” he glanced down, smirking. “Your knees.”

Charles mock gasped. “Oi! My knees are fit.” He leaned in closer, making their kneecaps nudge. “Eh? Eh?”

Edwin raised his eyebrows and, deliberately, picked up his own knees and planted his feet flat on the sofa. “If your master plan is to persuade me to part with a perfectly serviceable sofa via knee seduction, I am afraid you'll not find me so easily swayed. Regardless of the relative 'fitness' of the knees in question.”

“Got my number, haven't you,” Charles grinned. He cracked his neck and sat up a bit straighter, propping his elbow on his thigh. “Alright then. New deal: thumb war.”

Edwin groaned. “Oh, honestly…”

“Winner gets final say on the couch. Deal?”

“Charles, we have not had a thumb war since the great poster debacle of ninety eight. We both agreed the fallout was too great.” He looked off past Charles’ shoulder, soberly, looking a dead ringer for a poor shellshocked world war one lad in a black and white army hospital photo. “And that is to say nothing of the collateral damage…”

“Just a one-off yeah? Friendly competition. Peace treaty goes right back into effect afterwards.”

Edwin gave him a look, but he sighed and set aside his book. “Very well.” He scooted a bit closer, straightening his pullover with a brisk tug. “But I thrashed you in ninety eight and I have every intention of doing so again.”

“Them's fighting words, lad,” Charles laughed, face warm, pleasant, bubbly anticipation in his gut. Something about Edwin getting physical, getting competitive always made his stomach flip. Just nice, wasn't it? Seeing his uptight best mate cut loose. “You're bloody on. C'mon then. Put 'em up.”

Edwin positioned his elbow, flexing his long fingers — regarding Charles with a self-assured quirk of his lip. “Queensberry Rules. No funny business.”

They locked hands, fingers in palms, thumbs bared. Did the business, back and forth, voices chiming in perfect polite unison “One, two, three, four, I declare thumb war —” and then let each other fuckin’ have it.

“Bloody hell,” Charles huffed, straining. “You been doing thumb push ups or summit?”

“Well, they do say the pen is mightier than the sword,” Edwin hummed, all nonchalant — but Charles could see the strain under the cool expression, see the tic in his jaw as he gave everything he had.

Charles grit his teeth, snatching his thumb back. Usually his tactic was brute force, get in there quick and wrestle Edwin down, but the cheeky sod was quick, and stronger than Charles gave him credit for. Their thumbs dodged and weaved, a tangle of near misses; Charles had a feeling all Edwin needed was one bang-on strike and he'd have Charles on the ropes.

He risked a glance up — and found Edwin staring at his face. “Oh, you're wrestling me without looking now?” Charles snorted. “Show off. A-ha! Gotcha!” He got his thumb hooked firmly over Edwin's, pushing down, so close to victory he could taste it.

And then he got a taste of something else.

Edwin's lips were gone almost before Charles felt them — but bloody hell, he felt them, alright. Quick as a flash and twice as blinding; Charles could've fallen through the sofa, the floor, six bloody storeys like a stone through a pond. He blinked, thunderstruck, mouth flopping like a fish.

Edwin cleared his throat and, politely, pushed Charles’ unresisting thumb down.

“And three, two, one… there. I believe victory is mine. Oh dear, what a shame, no new sofa for us. Still, I am sure we shall soldier on somehow. Now, if you will excuse me.”

He was all prim about it, brisk, proper stiff upper lip — boarding school lad leapt right out. But Charles made a grab for his knee before Edwin could unfold himself from the sofa and scarper.

“Yeah, just a tick, mate,” said Charles, a bit strangled. “Um.”

Edwin fidgeted on the spot. Well, he unsteepled and resteepled his fingers a couple of times. “Yes, I... I do apologise. I am not quite sure what came over me. You were sitting very close, and... it is. Inexcusable. Perhaps you are right after all. Perhaps it is for the best that we —”

Charles kissed him.

He could taste Edwin's little hitching breath on his lips, along with the fizzling, ectoplasmic energy of him. Christ, how could anyone walk through him and find a cold spot; he was so warm, a cosy log fire Charles just wanted to curl up against. His knees, still pressed against Charles', smoldered like hot coals and Charles wanted to touch him more, touch him everywhere, see what it felt like when they overlapped at the shin or the thigh or even —

Charles pulled back with a gasp of surprise. “Fuck,” he blurted, steadying himself on Edwin's knees as the realisation clipped him round the ear. “I proper fancy you!”

It was Edwin's turn to flop like a fish. “I... do… are you quite sure?”

Charles laughed. Couldn't help himself. He clapped his hands either side of Edwin's neck, thumbs tucked behind his ears — had he always had such cute ears? Where had Charles been? — and just sort of looked at him a moment. His best mate had one of the best faces out there. Charles wanted to smooth out the little confused scrunch of his bushy eyebrows with his thumb. Count the colours in those clever eyes; lean in and catch those soft, pink lips.

"Kiss me again,” he mumbled, leaning in close. "And I'll show you how sure I am, yeah?”

And Edwin, well, turned out he didn't need telling twice.

~

Probably shouldn't be that simple, should it? Flipping the switch from Edwin’s best mate to barmy about him. But the fancying Edwin thing, that had been the tricky bit. The bit Charles hadn't been sure he could do, or do enough.

The loving him bit? He'd been doing that for ages.

~

“Well that was… an unexpected conclusion.”

Charles grinned, dopily, at the ceiling. There was a crack in it they should probably do something about sometime, but that didn’t matter ‘cause the view seemed pretty brills to him, sprawled as much as a tall lad could sprawl on their tiny little sofa — and Edwin sprawled right alongside. And slightly on top of. “Bit better than collateral damage, eh?”

He could feel Edwin’s smile against his neck. “Considerably better, I’d venture. I might even be open to re-negotiating our treaty if we now have… alternative avenues of conflict resolution.”

Charles chuckled. Their legs looked proper daft, draped over the end of the tiny couch, feet all tangled up in the air. They really needed a bigger one, now they had so much more stuff they could be getting up to on it. “Right, then. About that. Is it a good time to point out you did sort of just cheat, yet?”

Edwin sighed. He didn’t have a leg to stand on and he knew it — those bloody lips of his were weapons of mass distraction and he’d hit Charles with both barrels. “Very well. I concede defeat.”

“Proper decent of you, mate, cheers. Brills! New sofa, then?”

Edwin hummed, twirling Charles’ necklace once around his finger. “Very well,” he said — with the same dangerous nonchalance he usually had when he was about to whip out a piece of evidence that'd nail their suspect to the bloody wall. “Dispose of the sofa on which we shared our first kiss, if it pleases you to do so. I shan’t protest.”

“... Oh, you bastard,” Charles laughed, tangling his hand in Edwin’s messed up hair — so bloody help him, he was about to get it even messier. “Kiss me again, you evil genius.”

And oh, he kissed him again. And again, and again. And their socked feet bobbed high and stupid over the arm of their too-tiny little sofa the whole time.

…Modern airbeds were probably pretty decent these days anyway, right? ~~~

This one felt a bit weird to write honestly, it feels very much like the sort of lighthearted, sweet Payneland one-shots I was writing in my early days of the fandom, which just isn't my specialty anymore! But it was a fun little trip down memory lane 🥰 So, what's next for Mr. Bees in DBDA fandom year 2? Well, obviously I have some fics to finish -- Lonely Bones got backburner'd but I WILL get my head down and get the last chapter out eventually (and thank you so much if you've left a comment there I haven't replied to, I'm at the stage now where I find myself saving comments for when I actually have something new to add to the story 😅). Ditto with Somewhere Beyond the Sea, although there's a fair bit more of that to go yet! Chapter two is almost there but needs One more quite big scene because I moved the chapter break. Apologies for the long hiatuses on both of these, but as usual, I've bitten off more than I can chew and I find myself really only able to focus on a max of two big projects at a time! Two things you may see first: -the Ghostcat Howl's Moving Castle AU, which I have been working on for months with dear_monday and two_ravens (and idliketobeatree who is doing the most INCREDIBLE art!!) and is now in the edit stage: it's long, it's FUN, it's magical and romantic and playful, and we have had such an UNBELIEVABLY fun time writing it and can't wait to share it! Even if poly ships aren't normally your thing, if you have any enjoyment whatsoever for Catwin/Catland/Payneland I hope you'll take a crack at it, because it's gonna be a blast! -my Big Bang fic! Which, actually, will not be posted on this account, because it WILL contain explicit scenes! It's long, it's Payneland, it's tender and sensual and also the most tragic and bittersweet thing I have ever written, and if you want to read that when it comes out and you don't already know my secret-not-secret smut side handle, feel free to DM me for it! (but only if you're 18+, please and thank you!) I also may, for the sake of ease of finding because stuff does get lost on tumblr, think about making a work on here to post some of my DBDA art from the last year and into the future, because turns out I've made a LOT of it! I have other fics, long and short, that I really wanna get to at some point, but we're very much out of the initially hyper-productivity stage and into the slow, simmering-the-idea-on-the-stovetop phase of my fandom experience. I look calm and quiet but my little legs are working under the surface! I may post less frequently now but I certainly hope to be posting for a long time to come 💛 Well, that's all I can think to say for now so once again, thank you, everyone's who's read along, everyone's who's talked to me either here or on tumblr or in the groupchats, everyone's who's also created such wonderful stuff and made this fandom such a thriving creative hub, I love and appreciate all of you and I hope we'll all be sat on this porch for a long, long time together 💛💛💛 Until next time!

[fraugwinska]

Minors DNI - 18+ - Explicit Sexual Content - 4,6k words Attention: Mentions of fictional Witchcraft and Voodoo (I know this is a very sensitive topic, which is why I threaded very vaguely and lightly. I mean absolutely NO disrespect to either of those spiritualities)

Master of Puppets

You paced nervously through your room. The clock ticked the safe seconds away, the seconds Alastor where wasn't here. The seconds where Alastor didn't know.

He liked you, of course. At least enough to experiment with you, that much you could say with confidence. He had shown interest in the little witch inventor that joined the hotel, sharing the same proficiency in magic as himself. Although, unlike him, you had been an eclectic witch in your lifetime, and used more traditional western magic, whereas Alastor wasn't familiar with that, relying fully on voodoo practices he learned from the women of his family. So, you taught him and he taught you, and over the shared hours of lessons, discussions and practices, things got more and more... handsy. Until one day even the last gap between you was closed, and before both of you knew it you were sharing a bed more often than a book on sigils or rituals.

It was a mutual thing. You were insanely attracted to him, and he liked you well enough to indulge in activities he'd normally frown upon. Which made you feel special - It didn't soothe the nerves though, as you fumbled around with the little objects in the black carved box, making sure everything was perfect, before hastily slamming it shut when you heard knocks on the door.

"Yes?" you said, as if you hadn't been expecting him, as if your heart wasn't trying to leap out of your chest.

"Darling, it's me! May I come in?" you heard him say, and the door opening before you could answer. "I hope I'm not too early."

You turned around, giving him a shy smile after glancing at the clock on the wall. "You're right on time, as always."

"Punctuality is one of the only virtues I try uphold." He took a few steps towards you. "Is everything alright? You look nervous."

"Do I? It's... Nothing. I just have... I'm excited for something to show to you."

"Really?" He was intrigued, leaning in a little. "Well, now I'm curious. Is it the skinning spell you've been working on? I might have some test subjects in mind, if you are already finished."

You cleared your throat, feeling your heart beating painfully in your chest. "Not quite. I made something new, though."

"Oh?" he said, tilting his head to the side. "What is it?"

You fidgeted, not knowing how to start, how to ease him into it. He was a man that didn't appreciate if one beat around the bush, so better to rip the band-aid off in one violent, leap-of-faith-kind of way. You went to the black box, fingers trembling as you lifted the golden hatch, and before you could change your mind and call the whole thing off you scooped the small voodoo dolls out and held them out to him.

"I made these. For you... Us."

He was taken aback for a moment, not saying anything as he stared at the two little cloth figures, then down at you. They were intricately made replicas of you both, you had spent hours and hours sewing them, even going so far as to design and make identical outfits for them. He took both of them out of your hands, turning them slowly in his own, examining them with a frighteningly unreadable look.

"So you solely tried your hands on my profession I see. Why?" his eyes were boring into you, the smile on his face tight and tense, and you had to fight yourself not to stutter.

"I-I figured..." You swallowed hard. "I thought it could help us to... to be closer. More connected, in a way. And I thought you would like to... try this."

He blinked slowly, and the grin he wore stretched a bit further, the static getting louder in your ears. You were starting to think he didn't like it. You were starting to regret this.

"It is an unusual gift." His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity, but you still couldn't relax. "Quite a surprise, too."

"Is that good or bad?" you asked, and he chuckled softly.

"I don't know, darling. That depends on how it will be used." He holds up your miniature, his brows raised expectantly. "Tell me how it works."

"Uh... Well, it's more of a mix between your and my magic. T-they have some of my spells sewn into them, and then I enchanted them on your altar. All that's left to do is to tie a hair around the neck of it and offer a drop of blood, and... we will be able to feel anything that's done to the doll."

"Feel?" He cocked his head to the side, eyes gleaming with dark excitement.

"Anything." Your throat was dry, the words almost catching there.

"That sounds positively delightful."

Your heart did a flip in your chest as his voice lowered into a purr, his eyes fixed on the tiny you, the static rising around him. He was captivated, but also suspicious, and that didn't make your anxiety lessen one bit. More so as he found the red stain on your dolls chest and the shimmer of a hair around its neck. Your version of a peace offering.

"It seems this little thing is already prepared and ready to use, isn't it, dearest?" he hummed, looking at you, the smile stretching wide and showing his sharp teeth.

"Yes... if you wanted to... see how it worked first. To decide whether you want to give it a try."

He laughed, and the sound made you shiver. There was no humor in it, but sheer anticipation. Hunger. "Well then. Better not waste such a generous opportunity."

He sat his own replica down on the nightstand next to your bed, and settled down on the mattress, patting the spot next to him for you to join. You did, sitting as stiff as a board, your eyes trained on him as he looked down at your little doll. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, before running his fingers across the doll's body, and you gasped.

All your hard work evidently payed off - The touch felt eerily real. Warm, like the heat of his hands was spreading all over you, a soft caress up the middle of your stomach, a tickle around your waist. His fingertips traveled upward, pressing softly against your chest, and your breath stocked in your lungs.

"You've really outdone yourself with this one darling. So receptive..." Alastor's smile widened into a full grin, and the fact that he didn't need to touch your skin to see the blush creeping across your cheeks was one detail he seemed to particularly enjoy. The rough feeling of his claws grating against you was replaced with the hot touch of phantom lips, pressing gently against your neck as he pulled the small shirt collar aside, his tongue licking across the doll's shoulder.

The sensation almost felt out of place in comparison, making you fall onto your back with a gasp, into the soft covers of your bed, unable to maintain any sort of composure. Instead of feather light touches, his mouth felt way heavier on your skin than it should. Warm, wet... As he scraped his teeth along the little doll's neck, a low moan slipped between your lips.

"And what attention to details. It's almost a shame to ruin your hard work, but oh well."

His eyes stayed on you as he hooked a fingertip under the dolls garments, cutting it clean off of it, and even though yours stayed fully intact - what you were feeling was a whole different story. Your eyes betrayed you: Even fully clothed you felt the cool air of your room on your skin, you felt exposed, bare and utterly vulnerable. It made your skin break out in goosebumps and your lips part in an unstifled sound of arousal.

"Gorgeous, darling... Absolutely wonderful. A truly masterful piece of magic." The tone of his voice was tingling all over you, a mixture of warm affection and dark cravings. You had never been one to enjoy being praised by a man, but it made you close your eyes and squirm with absolute and desperate need when it came from Alastor. Mouth already open to say something, the words died in your throat, replaced by a high whine when you felt a wet sensation traveling over your stomach down to the inside of your thighs. Your eyes snapped open, finding Alastor's again, his irises practically glowing and locked on you as he ran his tongue all the way across the small body. Teasing. Playing. He narrowed his eyes and traced every curve with the same meticulous patience you knew him for, the sensation sending shocks of excitement and adrenaline through you as it circled the dolls skin, drawing closer and closer to the most intimate parts, until there was nowhere else to trail, nowhere else for it to run to. He stopped, leaving you flushed and panting and shattered next to him on the bed.

"My, my, sweetheart..." he cooed, poking the little doll in his hands into it's side with the softest touch, making you jerk into his side. "At this rate, this seems more like a gift for you than for me."

The blush on your face deepened and you averted your eyes. "...You're probably not wrong."

"No, I'd say I am absolutely right," he chuckled, shifting closer and tracing a hand up your body and to your throat in a smooth motion, and your body arched into the touch with the ease of a moth to flame. For a moment, he didn't move, resting his claws wrapped around your neck, his fingertips heavy on your skin. He seemed to weight his options, deciding on how to proceed. Finally, he leaned into you, bringing his lips closer to yours and when he spoke it was barely a whisper.

"I'll trust you to rectify this circumstance then."

Your eyes widened when he stood up, gently placing your doll down and switching its place with his own. You sat up, watching how he carefully plucked a hair from his head, wrapping it tightly around the neck of his miniature alter ego. It looked almost sinfully elegant and downright seductive, how his long fingers tied it tightly, before he turned back to you, his grin splitting his face in half. There was something in his expression you haven't seen before - hesitancy. It was only a second, but you still held your breath as it passed, and he chuckled as he bit his lip, dark, almost black blood dripping onto the chest of the doll in his hands.

"A rare occasion for me to spill blood. I hope you'll make it worth it."

You swallowed heavily and he grinned, reaching for your hand and gently putting the doll on your palm, giving you a stern, commanding look. "My turn."

You nodded as he settled himself on your bed, now stretching himself fully on the mattress. Lifting your other hand you carefully laid one finger on top of his dolls' throat, before drawing your fingers across and down, over its chest and its sides, making his form shiver and his ears twitch. As you undid the small coat and shirt, dragging your nail gently over the dolls abdomen, Alastor gave a resounding, pleased sigh. You stared at him in wonder of your own work, silently asking yourself if your touches on the fabric in your hands felt as intensified as his did on yours before.

With a spark of nervous excitement you followed a whim of insanity, a quick glance confirming Alastor had his eyes closed. He had never before allowed you to touch his ears - now, their artificial counterparts were at your fingertips, and with a racing heart, you drew a stroke from the base of his ear right across its entire length, all the way until the fine point. A loud, drawn-out groan filled the room and your cheeks burnt crimson when his back arched and his hands twitched towards you, the knuckles white as he clenched them into fists, a tremor going through his shoulders. The groan ended in a long whine, the eyes snapping open and locking right into yours, and your breath hitched as you saw the smoldering embers. His grin grew tighter, strained, and he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and the intensity of his gaze made your stomach drop, your whole body feeling exposed and naked despite still being fully dressed.

"Testy little thing. Always going for most dangerous experiments..." He shook his head as he exhaled slowly, his breath ragged and labored and in the soft illumination of your bedside lamp his neck was dusted a light pink. You marveled for a second, mesmerized. That was, until his tone dropped an octave, making your body snap back to attention, your nipples hardening painfully beneath your clothes. "How about another then, darling. You do that again..." His shadow tendrils shot out from nowhere, wrapping around your waist and thighs and lifting you over his face as you yelped and almost let the doll slip from your hands, the hem of your skirt pushed aside and heated core right above his watering mouth. "...while I do this."

With no time left for a reply, you felt your flimsy panties flicked aside and your body lowered onto his waiting tongue, all thought replaced by a sudden wave of blinding ecstasy. There was something truly addicting about the heat and hunger of his lips, the way they locked around your clit and sucked you down in the best form of torturous pain like life depended on it, his nails digging into your hips with force, while your brain was practically erasing every input but the burning sensation below. The doll in your hands, pressed to your heaving chest, was long forgotten as your head fell back and each swipe of his cursed appendix sent a shockwave through your spine. You groaned, you whimpered, and Alastor could taste the waves of delicious agony on his tongue. When he withdrew, the loss of his wet heat and the chill of the cool air against your slick folds made you almost break out in tears.

"Focus, dearest, on the task I gave you. Or do I have to repeat myself?"

The growl in his voice snapped you out of it and made you take a shaky breath before you finally composed yourself. Your fingers trembled as they grazed the tips of the dolls ears again, your movements almost trance like as your whole body yearned for it to return onto his lips. Alastor's brows furrowed, lips pursed for a second as you drew a slow, sensual line up the miniatures length, stopping and softly kneading at the pointed tip.

"Good girl." he murmured, voice breathy, and for a second you could have sworn you saw his eye twitch, though his grin stayed firmly plastered onto his face. His words sent an instantaneous warmth pooling in your lower stomach, and your chest fluttered as you tried to swallow down the intense elation that shot through your veins at those words - the same words Alastor used when you mastered one of his magical exercises, and although the praise was always flattering, in this context it felt downright lewd and utterly divine to be called that. When your hand lowered a bit, massaging the base of the dolls ears, Alastor's noises became low growls and deep purrs around the wet skin his lips devoured. The black vines on your waist and legs tightened their grip as well, pushing you deeper down onto his mouth.

You hadn't even registered what happened, but with a snap your top was ripped in the front, the clasp of your bra followed, and the familiar humming sound of his static made you squeal in surprise when his voice was suddenly much louder, his tongue shoved into you as far as he could go and his shadows ripping your clothes off at lightning speed. With both hands stroking, massaging and pulling the dolls ears now, the pure pleasure hitting you was almost too much, but as much as your hands ached for the real thing, to run your nails over the red fluff and trace the soft curves and edges of the dark antlers growing on the sides of his head, all you could do was imagine, with all your fingers on the dolls soft material instead and moving furiously up and down its head, to do exactly the same thing.

Alastor growled underneath you, the sound deep and rumbling, sending vibrations through your trembling thighs and against your sensitive skin, and it sounded so much more desperate and disoriented than you had ever heard from him before. Had you been looking down, had you been able to see anything beyond the mind-shattering pleasure, the wide blown pupils and the unfocused gaze in the glowing red irises, you might have wondered why that was - Alastor's control was slipping, and his smile finally was showing that.

In an instant your body was turned and placed on your back, your limbs shaking in the grip of his shadows and body utterly at the mercy of the tall red man leaning over you and undoing his bow tie with the rapidity and precision of a professional magician. His hair had gotten a little ruffled in the process, and his red shirt hung open and wrinkled against his skin.

"A compelling exercise indeed, my dear." he spoke, the rasp in his tone and the ragged breath accentuating his words. With a swift movement his jacket joined the shirt and harness that already had been thrown onto the floor somewhere, and then the shadows were back and prodding against the soaked cloth, the only thing left around your hips. They snuck into every slit they could find, exposing more and more of you, while their owner's gaze hungrily devoured every bit of exposed skin. The stretchable fabric made for easy work, but you had the distinct feeling they wouldn't have needed it at all as the shadows literally dissolved every thread they encountered. Alastor reached for your replica again, seemingly collecting himself and catching his breath.

"You are quite talented, and it'll be a joy to discover what other marvels your mind can come up with." His claw dragged down over the dolls' hips, one set of real, the other set of simulated hands following it a millisecond after, right along your bare and barer sides, sending waves of anticipation down the inside of your thighs. In an instant, two very corporeal, long fingers were back between your folds, knuckle deep into your seeping core, and Alastor chuckled lowly at your surprised whine, the smug and devious purr rumbling in his chest as he took note of every twitch your body made to the tune of his strokes. "But I think it's about time to return the favor though, don't you agree?"

Still stroking that sweet spot inside of you with his fingers, the hand that held your puppet glowed in bright green, and in between your moans and pants your wide eyes can't tear themselves from the strange symbols that appear around it, swirling and sparkling. You've seen Alastor perform magic countless of times, have watched and marveled at every spell he cast and his flair for the dramatic was only matched by the elegance of his every motion. But this? This was something else. The nonchalance with which his fingers pumped in and out of you, working meticulously, tactically, teasing you and working you into a mess with such a proficiency while he traced symbols with his free hand and the script, the raw power of it, the surge you could feel radiating from him, all that and his unflinching composure drove you mad with both desire and fascination.

The light and the symbols faded, and in his hands - the puppet, similar yet not quite. It felt off, almost lifelike, the fabric more skin-like, and with a gasp, you saw..

"Let me now see, if my own little contribution can be counted as an improvement, my little witch."

If someone asked you later on what had actually happened, you couldn't have said a single word - it was too salacious, too outrageous, too much outside of what you had ever expected from Alastor. How could you ever recount the way he pulled his throbbing cock out with his free hand - thick, dripping with precum and inhumanly beautiful. How his fingers were guiding your tiny copy to align with its tip, while he never left your eyes, smile almost manic.

He made holes. And seconds later, when he slowly pushed the doll onto his length, with his fingers still buried deep inside you, you knew that they worked. Oh, and how they worked.

"Oh m-my... god..."

It was heaven and hell. Bliss and torture, the feeling abhorrently delicious. The magical connection allowed every ridge, vein and vibration of his cock to transfer perfectly through the dolls body to you, making you shudder and keen at the intensity, the sheer tightness, and simultaneously Alastor groaned - a broken, rugged sound, loud enough to make you glance up with misty eyes from your debauched position. Your insides clenched hard around his fingers and the ghost of his cock, your toes curling as you whimpered, a picture perfect representation of how utterly sinful he looked with his dark lashes resting on his red cheeks, eyes shut and the mouth agape as his chest was rising and falling, breaths coming hard and labored.

He noticed your raptured gaze, looking down at you through hooded eyes, his smile positively obscene.

"Mh, I like the way you pray on me instead of one of your silly deities, darling. But you can call me Alastor."

And oh, how it felt, when his hand closed tightly around the little voodoo doll that was stuffed so full of him. You arched your back and writhed against the firm hold the tentacles had on you, pressing your knees against the pillows as he pulled his drenched fingers out of you, bringing them up to his face to lick them clean. He groaned at the taste, closing his eyes and making an effort to concentrate, his control crumbling in tiny pebbles around you, and his hips started to snap, sheathing the miniature you further on his cock, thrusting in increasingly fast paced movements. A string of whimpers escaped you, his name spilling throughout them like a mantra, as you were unable to do much more but twitch, shake and tremble as his ministrations came faster, harder, and Alastor let his head fall back, baring his neck and swallowing.

"You're so-" He groaned, squeezing your dolls body, forcing it closer against him and sliding it off and back on at an excruciatingly slow pace, your moans climbing and escalating with every inch that moved through the magic veil and in and around your sopping center. "-goddamn perfect, perfectly made for me." Your body didn't know how to react anymore, you stuttered incoherently, everything full with his praise, with this cock that wasn't there but was, the heat that shouldn't have been possible to fill you but did. You felt every bit of skin and fur and sweat and the realization only dawned on you when it was already too late: That you were about to come harder than you ever did, and that Alastor was losing his mind just from watching your reactions to his assault on your doll.

"S-So tight and needy. What a perfect... little... toy you are." If they were meant for you below him or the doll in his hands - you didn't know. But the panted words and almost dirty, explicit praise spilled from his lips in a flurry, every syllable seemed strangely calculated, aimed like a dart straight into you and tearing down all defenses as your pussy twitched helplessly around the sensation of being stretched and fucked open on the image of his cock. When he chuckled and sank your doll to the base, grinding your little figure against him so the head of his cock poked and prodded you where it had never reached before, you all but screamed his name as you came, and your pathetic cries pulled a harsh string of groans and grunts out of the demon towering over you, his breathless cursing and rambled obscenities underlined by the vicious snaps of his hips as he used your simulacrum like a glorified sex toy. His nails pierced the outer layer of the doll as your walls constricted and contracted around the thick nothing as he finished you and himself off into the realm of oblivion.

Everything went white for a moment and when your senses returned, Alastor was carefully cradling you into his arms, the little replica sitting next to his own on your bedside table, their heads almost tenderly leaning on each other. He was gently raking his claws through your damp, disheveled hair, placing little kisses down the back of your neck and on the thin skin behind your ears as he mumbled silent praises against your skin. He kissed along your jaw, gentle as anything, a soft thumb grazing along your lips, cheeks and your temple as he traced the lines of your features until he found the pulse on your neck. The cold touch of his lips was a nice contrast to the hot breath, and you moaned softly at his affectionate gesture.

"It's never a disappointment with you, love, quite the contrary." He hummed, scraping his sharp teeth almost teasingly along the crook of your neck before kissing it, covering your skin with static electricity. "What a marvelous surprise you prepared for me, my dear, truly magical." His lips pressed into yours in a rare kiss, and you leaned back into his naked embrace and smiled, the giddy feeling of accomplishment spreading in your belly and mixing in beautifully with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"I'm glad... you liked it."

"Oh, that is hardly the phrase I would use," Alastor chuckled as he pulled back, making you blush as his red iris glowed dangerously. "But you, my dear, will have a little work to do, seeing as I'm positively spoiled after this gift. You have no idea of the things I'm thinking about, all the possibilities of what we can accomplish if we put both our minds – and magic - to it."

Alastor pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing his chin and cheeks across your scalp and shoulders, coating you with a generous amount of his scent as if to mark you before pulling the blankets up and covering the two of you as his arms locked around you possessively, letting you settle against his chest as he hummed a melody you didn't know. But you knew him well enough to know that it was a clear sign of him being absolutely pleased and content.

You smiled, his good mood infectious, and as you glanced to the two dolls that sat together like a matching pair, stripped of their clothes and as close together as you and the real demon were now under the sheets, it made you feel like the cat that ate the canary. The cat had been fed by Alastor, sure. But he had also had his fill and then some, and really... that was all that mattered to you.

[carebooks]

to all those new comers to the Percy Jackson world and being off on shipping Percabeth because Poseidon and Athena are uncle and niece, it’s stated in the books (specifically The Lost Hero) that gods don’t have DNA the way humans do.

and if that still doesn’t convince you or you may think it’s not a real or valuable explanation, let’s recall other ways that births happen in both greek myths and the Riordanverse:

- Zeus birthed Athena from his brain

- Athena’s demigod children are born the same way. out of her mind. so Annabeth is already way off from the usual goddess birth route

- Zeus also birthed Dionysus from his thigh

- Hephaestus was born from Hera and Zeus, but in a lot of versions its actually Hera who just had him by herself. she got pregnant and it happened. they’re gods. (then chucked him down a mountain) again, they’re gods.

- Hebe, goddess of youth, was born from Hera and a piece lettuce she ate

- in the Trials of Apollo, we learn that Kayla Knowles, daughter of Apollo, has a human father, Darren. meaning she has two fathers: Darren and Apollo. no mother involved in her creation whatsoever.

- Zeus has impregnated quite a large number of people during his time and in various different forms. one of the weirdest ones by far was when he came to a queen in the form of a swan, embraced her as that swan and nine months later she gave birth to two eggs. they hatched and inside was Helen of Sparta (as in Helen of Troy), Clytemnestra, Castur and Pollox.

- Poseidon and Medusa had a child and that child was born from Perseus cutting off Medusa’s head. that child was Pegasus. (yes, that Pegasus) (also some other dude was born too)

- Aphrodite was born out of sea foam made from the severed genitals of Ouranos that fell to the oceans

have i convinced you already? are we done here?

[iceandpeaches]

Hii I was hoping you could do a Luke castellan and Dionysus reader and the iconic line of “But Daddy I love him!” Imagine that Dionysus doesn’t approve of it at first and makes sure that reader and Luke don’t have activities together and it’s miserable for Luke, so Luke goes up to Dionysus makes him listen to him and Dionysus let’s them be together but threatens him but none the least let’s them be together! It could be a angst to fluff

(Sorry if I rambled!)

ohhhh this is good i lurv it! i hope u like it!

but daddy, i love him!; luke castellan

it was great that your father, lord dionysus was the director at camp half blood. when you first came, you were claimed almost immediately since he recognised you. weird claiming, but whatever.

you would often spend time with your father, given his frequent presence at camp. it would’ve been odd not to be close to him. but there was someone else who wanted to be close to you too. luke castellan never understood why and how a demigod could love their father like you did. he found it rather fascinating, since he didn’t really like his own father much.

so at every opportunity he could, whether it be sword fighting training or just at the campfire he’d try to talk to you… which pissed off dionysus. he didn’t want his only daughter, his little girl, to be taken away by the charming hermes boy. he despised the thought of it.

from that day onward, dionysus made sure that the hermes cabin had no activities that clashed with his own cabin. he made sure that the dionysus cabin teamed up with teams other than the hermes cabin for capture the flag. he did all he could to keep luke castellan away from his darling daughter.

it infuriated you, a simmering frustration bubbling within as you observed the repeated efforts of your father to keep luke at arm's length. each instance felt like a slap to the face, a reminder of the barriers created between you and someone who sought nothing but your company. you couldn't understand why your father was so adamant about keeping you apart, especially when you wanted to get to know luke.

you saw how at every opportunity, your father seemed to push away the hermes boy’s opportunity to talk to you. you saw how miserable the boy seemed, his eyes wandering to yours before breaking eye contact with you. you sigh, getting up from your table to talk to your father who sat with the satyrs.

“daddy, why are pushing luke away?”

“it’s simple, sweetheart. i can’t have my little girl swooned by handsome jerk.”

“you don’t even know him, daddy.”

“neither do you, y/n.”

your brows furrow, with your arms crossed against your chest. you had told your father previously about your admiration toward the boy, which was probably why there was a change in his attitude.

“but daddy, i love him!”

you exclaimed, luke watching you bicker with your father from a distance before watching you storm off. wonder what they were talking about. it hurt luke to see you upset, but he did notice that your father was staring in his direction. yeah.. they definitely talked about me.

luke felt the need to talk to the god about it. he couldn’t bear being so close yet so far from you. he hated that he couldn’t be the guy you laughed with. he got up from the hermes table, making his way toward the camp director.

“lord diony–“

“you may take your leave. i don’t wish to speak to you today.”

“i’ll get you a sauvignon 1992?”

“although that sounds delicious right now, still no.”

the god walked off to find his daughter, giving up after about 5 or so minutes then retreated to his sleeping quarters. luke on the other hand, was hatching a plan to persuade dionysus. he had to get him to say yes somehow.

for luke, the next few days was full of pestering the god. for dionysus, the next few days would be some he dreaded most. he saw luke’s face first thing in the morning and last thing at night. at this point, luke was going to beat chiron’s record of being in his face at all times.

luke finally got the time to sit down with dionysus one to one after curfew, after countless times of offering him a wine he stole while out in the city.

“sir, about your daughter.”

“so this is about my daughter, huh? you’ve been a real pest all day about it.”

“let me date court her, please.”

dionysus took a sip of the wine, savouring the sweetness of the dark red liquid. he hummed, swirling it in his glass.

“prove that you’re good enough for my daughter.”

“prove.. prove it?”

“you heard me bucko.”

the following day, luke did things he thought would prove his worth to dionysus. he helped out with tasks he usually wouldn’t take up and kept his day extra busy. by the end of the day, luke had done everything at camp. there wasn’t anything else he could’ve possibly done to prove himself, right?

“luke, my table.”

he heard a familiar voice speak, turning to see you which caused him to smile. he just hoped he didn’t look too foolish. he followed you to your table, sitting across from you and dionysus who was already for you both.

“okay, my blessing is given to you to court my daughter.”

wait.. it was that easy? dionysus stared down the hermes boy, his daughter practically giggling and blushing beside him.

“you better not break her heart kiddo. if you do, you’ll be shovelling pegasus poop for the rest of your time at camp.”

luke had no desire to for the rest of his time at camp shovelling poop, not like he would break your heart anyway. he had spent so much time trying to get your father’s blessing, so why would he break the heart of the only girl he envisioned his life with?

“yes sir.”

“alright alright go before i change my mind.”

dionysus flicked his wrist in a shooing motion, luke grabbing your hand and bringing you over to the hermes table.

a/n: i know the threat isn’t that serious but… personally i wouldn’t want to shovel poop…

[katiefrog217]

Walks with Aziraphale were always so amusing, especially when he took one of his different forms. Tonight, Crowley took note of a few different reactions:

1. Much to his bemusement, quite a few people crossed the road entirely just to avoid him (he didn't know why, he thought this particular form was very charming).

2. Those who didn't avoid them either didn't notice at all, or cooed adoringly at his companion. A few snake enthusiasts tried their best to impart advice upon him (Yes, he was aware it was a chilly night to have a python outside. Yes, he was aware that he had a few extra rolls on him, and he would appreciate it if they didn't body shame him, please and thank you).

3. He had a particularly interesting encounter with a stranger who tried his best to buy Aziraphale from him (he didn't know whether to laugh or be offended on his companion's behalf when the person subsequently dropped their price offering upon learning he was male. He turned them down, of course).

This just in: local vampire hunter tries his hardest to look cool in front of his crush.

I said soon and I guess I meant now haha.

I could help but draw Crowley and Aziraphale from @mrghostrat 's new Vampire AU (thanks for the permission btw!!) and I'll be damned if I couldn't pass up the opportunity to draw Ball Python Azi after being deeply entrenched in Ball python morphs and drawing them for the past few years.

I'm also a big sucker (har har) for any kind of vampire au, so I was incredibly excited to draw this!! I'm still not confident in my ability to draw Crowley (or jackets oof) but I tried.

On that, while I have ya'll here, a few fun facts about Ball Pythons and Morphs:

Azi looks to me to be based on a Blue Eyed Lucy (Leucistic) ball python. Leucistic is different from Albino - both lack pigment, but Leucistics only lack pigments in parts, rather than entirely like with Albinism. The fastest way to tell the difference is the eye color.

Blue Eyed Lucies have eye colors that range from Black to Blue - blue obviously being the more popular eye color.

The whiter the snake, the more sought after it is (not all Lucies are pure white, depends on the morph combo)

Unlike a majority of ball python morphs, Blue Eyed Lucies don't have a distinct gene combo that defines them. Generally, their morphs included Mocha, Mojave, Lesser, Butter, etc. The combos are generally endless. A Super Mojave (Mojave bred to Mojave) will produce a fairly grey/white snake, but their heads tend to be a very dusty grey, and isn't an ideal combo for a Lucy.

A snake that seems incredibly white when hatched may change color as it ages and become less white. This is common for all morphs, and their patterns define themselves and get stronger with age.

In breeding, males are generally less desired than females, and run at a lower price generally. This is because a single male can breed multiple females, so it's less effective to have more males in a clutch than females.

Obesity in snakes IS a real thing, and generally hard to manage if you do have an obese snake. Snakes tend to retain weight well, so exercise is really the only method to help bring their weight down (plus smaller meals). Good luck if you have an obese snake that isn't particularly inclined to be active.

Ball Pythons generally tend to have what's called a 1,000 gram wall - in which a snake that hits 1k grams stops eating and will not gain more weight. No one is 100% sure why this phenomena happens, but it's incredibly common.

Not a fact but opinion: Paradox ball Pythons are my favorite morph. If you want to see some incredibly interesting genetics, look them up.

[bumblesimagines]

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 15

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Being Queen and King during a time of war is tricky for the inexperienced. But desperate times call for desires to be put aside.

TW/CW: Typically HOTD warnings

~~~

(Y/N) couldn't help the suffocating ache that formed in his chest, stealing the air from his lungs and making it difficult to breathe without feeling the overwhelming urge to weep. It'd been a joint decision, one hastily agreed upon after the slaughter of Jaehaerys, to send their youngest and most vulnerable sons away from Dragonstone to be watched over in the Vale by the distant relative of Rhaenyra, Lady Jeyne Arryn.

It still hurt, however. He couldn't bear the thought of not being able to hold them in his arms when his thoughts were consumed by drowning grief. They'd be safe, he knew that. The Eyrie was impossible to attack, impossible to breach without being immediately spotted and detained, and Lady Jeyne was a notably fierce and stubborn woman. She'd protect them well, at the price of a dragon, of course. No one would agree to such an offer in time of war without gaining something hefty in return.

The boys would have Rhaena, too. Though from the glum look in her eyes, she was far from pleased at the idea. Whilst her sister and would-be brother-in-law flew their dragons, attended meetings, and were allowed to voice their opinions, Rhaena was left to sit idly somewhere else. No one wanted to be the caretaker to some small, fussy princelings, but she was family, and the boys liked her well enough that they wouldn't give her much trouble.

"We cannot spare a fighting dragon, but I send what I can," Rhaenyra explained to Rhaena, glancing at the guards and servants carrying belongings, boxes, and the caged hatchlings toward the ship. They chirped and trilled, confused by the sudden restriction of their freedom. "Stormcloud and Tyraxes are small, but they will grow. It is for you to remind Lady Jeyne of her pledge and persuade her of the urgency of our need." 

(Y/N) reached out to the young girl, affectionately cupping her elbow and running his thumb over her clothed skin. She looked so much like her mother in certain lights. It was impossible not to miss Laena's quick wit and Laenor's easy-going humor. "It may not sound as glorious as fighting, Rhaena, but diplomacy is just as important. You will be our voice in the Vale, and what you say and do will reflect on us. These duties are of utmost importance, even if they do not seem like it." (Y/N)'s brows rose with his words, and Rhaena gave a small nod of understanding, but her lips remained turned downward. 

The gravel crunched beneath the weight of his boots as he approached the dragonkeepers huddled around the glimmering dragon eggs. It'd taken much discussion and convincing for the dragonkeepers to agree to hand them over for the Vale. They'd argued plenty of how dragons had no place in the Vale, how they ran the risk of growing petrified and never hatching, but Dragonstone ran the risk of falling during the war, and the Targaryens couldn't risk losing their biggest advantage. There were four eggs in total, each a different color and equally fragile, and they'd be left to be tended to by Rhaena.

Rhaena let out a soft gasp at the sight of them, her mouth parted in surprise and realization as she approached with Baela and Jace. Her widened eyes shot away to meet Rhaenyra's when she placed a hand on her shoulder. "These eggs are even more fragile. But should all come to ruin here.." Rhaenyra swallowed and took in a small, shaky breath. "You will bear our hope for the future."

"Your Grace..." Rhaena exhaled, but before she could speak or even properly process anything, a little voice interrupted. 

"Mommy," Joffery whined sleepily from below, his arms too short to fully wrap around his mother's legs whilst he buried his face into the crimson fabric of her dress. His pouty lips tugged at (Y/N)'s heartstrings. 

Rhaenyra steeled herself with a deep breath and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, her fingers brushing over his brown strands. (Y/N) bent down on one knee and took his little hand into his own, his teeth dipping into his bottom lip to keep his emotions at bay. It hardly helped that Joffery looked more and more like Luke with each passing day, from the roundness of his chubby cheeks to his big, curious eyes, and his growing sense of adventure. (Y/N) squeezed his hand.

"Be good to Rhaena, Joff." He instructed him softly, waiting for him to nod before he leaned forward to peck his forehead. 

Rising to his feet, it was time to say his farewells to his youngest boys. They were far too young to fully comprehend everything going on around them, too young even to begin to understand the severity of their situation. Viserys blinked at him curiously, always so observant and alert of his surroundings. He was clever and picked up on things more quickly than most children his age, but he was frail and easily bruised when he tripped or bumped into objects. Viserys reminded him of himself, and he prayed the young boy made it into manhood to show the Realm his intelligence. 

Then, there was Aegon, just a little older than his brother. His dark purple eyes tracked him intently, the corners of his small lips curling upward when he neared. (Y/N) loved all his sons equally, no matter how fussy and defiant they could be at times, but he'd always felt a stronger connection to Aegon.

Perhaps it was because he'd been the first son he could publicly treat as his own without sideway glances. Delicately, (Y/N) brushed his fingers over Aegon's chubby cheek and watched him lean into his touch. He'd be counting down the days until he could reunite with his little ones.

Reluctantly, (Y/N) stepped back to allow the maids to carry the toddlers to the ships, his chest stuttering with a breath as they walked away with Joffery trailing behind. Rhaenyra's hand found his, squeezing tightly with all the emotions she refused to show before their servants. Unspoken words hung in the air, even between the twins. There was a chance they'd never see each other again, be it due to falling in battle or being captured and killed. 

"It is.. for their own good," Rhaenyra whispered shakily. "They will be safer in the Vale than they were here. Erryk's attack proved that well enough."

"It does not make it any easier," (Y/N) murmured in response. Is this what his mother had gone through when she'd been forced to choose between following her husband to Kingslanding or remaining in Oldtown with the rest of their family? She'd left behind sons of various ages, but they'd all been her babies at the end of the day. "I hope this war does not drag on for longer than a year." 

Rhaenyra's mouth pressed into a line, uncertain. "Let us pray this ends by next spring, then."

His family was notoriously stubborn, but even his father would sooner than later choose a path to end the war as swiftly as possible. War was costly and far too expensive to keep going for longer than a year. But it'd only just begun. The Battle of the Burning Mill was the first spark, one that'd lead to a dozen more until the whole of the Realm was set ablaze.

With dragons dancing and kin slaughtering kin, would Westeros survive, or would it fall as it had hundreds of years ago when the Black Dread and his rider first began conquering the lands? 

(Y/N) and Rhaenyra stood at the doors of Dragonstone in somber silence, watching the ship depart from the dock with their sons onboard. Baela dismissed herself to patrol with Moondancer, a simple job she'd been given under the firm instructions that she only report back sightings and never engage. Whilst he'd done little to show it publicly, Laena's death had shaken Daemon enough. He hardly needed to lose both a brother and a daughter in a single year. Who knew what madness that type of grief would consume a man like Daemon.

Once the ship became a mere blip on the horizon, (Y/N) and Rhaenyra walked through the halls of Dragonstone until they reached the shared bedroom of their youngest sons. Their toys remained scattered across the stone floor, with only the favored ones missing as they'd been packed so they could play with them on the ship and in the Vale. Rhaenyra kneeled down on the floor, her trembling hands picking up and cradling one of the wooden toys. She sniffled quietly and finally allowed the tears that'd welled up in her eyes to fall, salty droplets tumbling down her cheeks.

The room felt so oddly... silent. It was deafening. Their boys weren't loud and chaotic, but he'd grown used to hearing their soft babbling or cooing. He was supposed to be watching them begin to learn how to form words, watching them learn how to walk without stumbling. They weren't supposed to be on a ship on their way to lands they weren't familiar with, to be watched by a woman whose care and protection were conditional. (Y/N) inhaled deeply. It was all so damn avoidable. 

His fingertips brushed over his forehead to soothe away the incoming throb of a headache, and he stepped away, leaving Rhaenyra to process her grief on her own time. His legs led him through the long hallways, briefly stopping to allow the doors to his bedchambers to open before he stepped inside. His eyes automatically locked on the desk along the wall, and his fingers curled into uncertain fists. 

Ever since the death of King Viserys and the following death of his son, his sister relentlessly wrote him letters. His father had as well, once, but those quickly ceased once he realized it was futile. He refused to open any of them after Luke's death, partly due to his time being swallowed up by weeping or allowing grief to leave him with gaps in his memory. His nostrils flared with an exhale, and he approached the desk. 

My dearest brother,

There are no words to express the heavy sorrow I feel in my heart for your loss. I regret that I cannot be there for you whilst you grieve the passing of Prince Lucerys, but know that I pray to the Mother each night and morrow so she may ease your suffering. We were one once in the womb of our mother. Your pain is my pain, just as your grief is my grief. A deep despair grows in my chest each day we spend so painfully apart without speaking. Please know it was never mine nor Father's intention to bring such pain upon you and Princess Rhaenyra. I implore you to speak with Rhaenyra and accept the terms of peace our father sent. Let us prevent further bloodshed and sorrow. Let us reunite once more, on happier terms. I meant every word I uttered the last night we saw one another.

Your loving sister, Alicent Hightower

My dearest brother,

I despair each day I receive no word from you or Rhaenyra. No amount of apologies will undo what cannot be undone once the Stranger comes for one, but know you have my deepest condolences. You are one half of me, and Rhaenyra was once my closest friend. These years were not kind to our relationship, but know I will always care for the both of you. War is brewing. I beg of you to order your allies to step down and bend the knee to Aegon before this transforms into something that cannot be undone either. Lives will be lost. Neither of us wants that on our conscience, and I'm certain neither does Rhaenyra.

Your loving sister, Alicent Hightower

My dearest brother,

I find myself thinking of our mother more often. This is not what she would have wanted for us, (Y/N). We were always meant to be one. We were always meant to stay on the same side of every conflict that came our way. I could have been a better sister. I could have been a better mother. I pray to the Mother Above every night to keep our children safe. I beg the Stranger to give us more time. I do not know what will come of me if I lose you in this needless war. There are days I wish we could return to simpler days when all we worried about was the weather and who to favor at tourneys. Gwayne will have to ride out to battle in the name of Oldtown if this does not end soon, (Y/N). Be angry at me, if you must, but do not turn your back on the rest of our siblings. Our family is distraught and sick with worry. Hightowers never leave each other behind.

Your loving sister, Alicent Hightower

(Y/N) rolled his quivering lips into his mouth and slumped down on the chair, his fingers releasing the strip of paper to fall among the rest of the letters he couldn't bring himself to read. Gwayne. The rest of his brothers who'd chosen knighthood for themselves. It was inevitable that one or more of his beloved siblings would die in battle, either struck by a sword or reduced to mere ashes by a dragon.

His eyes fluttered shut, memories of his younger days playing out in his head. What would have come of him, he wondered, if he'd complied and married someone? Rhaenyra would've been a distant memory, and their sons would've been someone else's. 

For the first time in many years, (Y/N) felt compelled to ask the Father Above for guidance. 

The doors rattled open hurriedly, and (Y/N) wiped his fingers over his cheeks roughly to erase the tear streaks. "My Lord," The guard called out to him, and he angled his head to nod for him to continue. "The Lady Baela has returned from her patrol with crucial news about some knights she spotted."

(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat, and then lurched into his throat, his eyes flickering over to the letter unfurled on his desk. Gwayne will have to ride out to battle in the name of Oldtown. His eyes squeezed shut, and he rose onto unsteady feet, one hand pressing against the desk until he regained his balance. Seven fucking hells. When would the torment end?

Clearing his throat, he adjusted his coat. "Alert Her Majesty and the Small Council."

It took less than ten minutes for everyone to gather in the Chamber of the Painted Table and turn to pay their whole undivided attention to Baela. She appeared nervous under their expectant gazes, but with an encouraging nod from Rhaenyra, she took a deep breath. "I was patrolling with Moondancer as ordered when I noticed armor glinting from below. Ser Criston Cole with some half-dozen other knights, I'm sure of it. Perhaps a scout party for a greater army."

(Y/N)'s insides twisted and churned uncomfortably. It was all becoming too real too fast. 

"The ravens confirm it, Your Grace." Maester Gerardys piped in from beside (Y/N), his body leaning over the Painted Table to move one of the pieces. "Lord Farring has reported a larger force moving northeast towards Rosby."

"Could you be certain it was Cole from such a great height?" Rhaenyra questioned Baela gently, her arms tightly wound around herself as a means of comfort. 

"It was not such a great height," Baela revealed quickly, sparing the couple a glance when their eyes snapped toward her. She pursed her lips. "You said not to engage, so I didn't... exactly." She was her father's and mother's daughter, at the end of the day. (Y/N) couldn't help the trickle of amusement despite Rhaenyra's disapproving frown.

"Your Grace, My Lord, we commend the Lady Baela for her sharp eyes, but we can tarry no longer." Lord Celtigar spoke, his voice naturally shaky from age, but it trembled more with urgency. "The time for action is surely now."

"Your Grace, My Lord, I must agree and request your permission to return to Rook's Rest and fortify my lands." Lord Staunton added hurriedly, his features pulling into a tight, worried grimace that felt tremendously understandable. 

From across the table, Lord Massey clicked his tongue. "You shouldn't fret, Lord Simon. They'll be making for Harrenhal."

"'Tis Prince Daemon who ought to worry." Ser Alfred agreed.

At the mention of Daemon, Lord Celtigar turned his attention back onto the two. "Cole will look to increase his numbers, and he may call upon a dragon of his own to even out the field with Prince Daemon and Caraxes."

"This is why you must act now, Your Grace, My Lord." Ser Alfred implored gruffly, stepping past Maester Gerardys to stand beside them with knitted brows. "Loose the dragons. Root Cole out and burn him."

(Y/N)'s gaze traveled over the Painted Table, flickering between names and houses until he spotted Oldtown with the wooden piece of a tower meant to represent Hightower. There was little to no chance his brother (or brothers) wasn't amongst the knights traveling with Cole to Rosby. Gwayne, with his floppy light auburn waves and his cheeky little grin.

The only dragon his brother was sure to know was their youngest nephew's dragon, Tessarion, but he'd watch her grow. She'd likely never snapped or growled or even vaguely threatened him. And now, he'd fled from Moondancer and was sure to be burned down to the bones by a dragon who only saw him as the enemy.

He could feel their stares burning into them, into him. If Rhaenyra chose not to comply with their wishes, they'd flock to usher their pleas and opinions into his ears in hopes of getting him to convince her. He was certain plenty of them wished the crown rested upon his brow instead of hers, and there were certainly plenty of men who wished it was Rhaenys and Corlys they took their orders from instead. But, despite their aggravating flaws and big mouths, they'd chosen to keep their word to King Viserys instead of fleeing to the Hightowers.

Rhaenyra inhaled sharply. "We have heard your arguments. And will consider them." With that, she ran her hand over (Y/N)'s arm and spun on her heel to leave, her departure swift and anxious.

The heavy disappointment in the air was notable, and (Y/N) sighed. "Lord Simon, you may leave to warn home of the approaching army. Do what you must to protect yourself and your family. If it comes to battle, you will do us great honor defending our cause against Cole and his army. We wish you safe travels." 

With a grateful, quick nod, Lord Staunton bowed his head in farewell and excused himself from the table, his strides long to save time without full-blown running. With an army encroaching on his lands, Lord Staunton's choices were limited. He'd likely be offered one last chance to bend the knee to Aegon and be named a turncloak, or he'd stand firm at the risk of dying for their cause. Death on the battlefield was a fate they'd all have to quickly accept lest they wished to be branded as cowards.

"And while your passion is appreciated, Ser Alred," (Y/N) continued, withholding the urge to sigh like an exasperated parent lecturing their child for the tenth time. "We cannot be sending out our dragons for every problem we come across. They're our only means of protection. If they grow injured or die early on, we'll be left with nothing to protect us from the likes of Vhagar and Sunfyre. Our dragons should only fly out to battle against other dragons."

"Very well, My Lord." Ser Alfred dipped his head. 

His thumb twitched toward the silver ring adorning his finger, pressing into it and rubbing it as he searched for the right words to say before the council. He preferred it when they discussed amongst themselves because in moments like these, he realized how out of their depth he and Rhaenyra were. Nothing good ever came from a reign that began with war.

"Maester Gerardys, keep in frequent contact with Lord Farring and Lord Simon Staunton once he returns home so that we may remain updated on the army's movement. If the army does indeed descend upon Rook's Rest, Lord Simon may require supplies and men." (Y/N) instructed the Maester, who nodded firmly. He inhaled, coasting his eyes over the council gathered before they settled on the young curly-haired girl beside him. "You did well today, Baela."

"Thank you, My Lord." She smiled and exchanged a prideful glance with Jace, the corners of her eyes crinkled with barely contained glee.

With a small nod, (Y/N) dismissed himself from the meeting and turned on his heels to depart from the room. His thumb pressed harder into his ring, twisting and turning it around his knuckle until it slipped and nearly fell onto the floor. He pushed it back down to his knuckle with a soft exhale, listening to the sound of his shoes smacking against the stone floor. The halls felt eerily silent, as if everyone knew of the impending destruction Cole's army was surely to bring. He couldn't help but nip at his lip again in thought. 

When he stepped inside their shared bedchambers, he found Rhaenyra standing before the fireplace with a faraway gaze in her eyes. She stared at the flickering flames with a blank expression, save for the slight furrow in her brows. The sound of the doors rattling shut startled her out of her thoughts, and she turned toward him with a weary smile, her arms extending out toward him for an embrace.

"Rhaenyra," He muttered softly, arms automatically circling her waist. She hummed. "I'm afraid Ser Alfred, however ambitious he may be, has a point. If the army faces resistance, they'll send a dragon, likely Vhagar. We cannot sit idly by anymore while they continue moving forward."

She shook her head, the strands framing her face bouncing off her cheeks with the movement. "I do not want violence to be my legacy, (Y/N)-"

"Rhaenyra, we've run out of time. It would've been one thing if more than half of the lords had kept their oaths, but Westeros is split. Few are the families that have chosen to remain neutral. Lady Tyrell will never put her little son at risk, and the Red Kraken thrives on chaos. I'm afraid we're out of options, Nyra. Peace will..." (Y/N) trailed off with a strangled breath. He could see Gwayne's vibrant eyes as clear as the blue sky on a sunny evening, staring at him in his memories. How many of his family would be left in the end? His eyes flickered away. "Peace will only be achievable after the war."

Rhaenyra shook her head again, her eyes squeezing shut in chipping denial as she peeled herself from him. "I cannot become what they've made me out to be. They call me cruel, (Y/N). They believe me capable of bringing harm to an innocent child and his mother! I do not want to be Rhaenyra the Cruel. I-" She inhaled sharply and brought her hands to her face, a shaky breath trembling past her lips. "I want to be a good queen. I want to make my father proud."

"I know you do... but the time for waiting is over, sweetheart. There is nothing we can do but meet these usurpers head-on. Mayhaps if we do, it will all blow over quickly. Rhaenyra, I do not mean to offend, but your family's legacy was built on bloodshed and destruction. Aegon the Conqueror did not become the ruler of Westeros by waiting for it to be handed over to him. He took it by force and fire. You do not need to force your subjects. You just need to force your enemies."

Her arms fell limply to her sides, her features constricted in faint frustration and vague apprehension. Her gaze returned to the dancing flames licking up the stone walls of the fireplaces. "You sound like a Hightower." She whispered, faint enough he nearly missed it.

(Y/N) could only grimace. "I am a Hightower. That is your advantage, though. I know how my father and sister work, how they think and act. Though I suspect their advice to Aegon goes in one ear and out the other. But that is... good. He is young and reckless, and eager to prove. He will make a mistake sooner or later that we can exploit."

Rhaenyra's hand raised to massage her shoulder, a dejected frown on her face. "And now you sound like Otto."

Rhaenyra hadn't slept much, he knew that well. He'd felt her tossing and turning all night, occasionally curling up against him, only to turn after a couple of minutes. Sleep was fleeting in recent times, with strategies and worries running circles in their minds despite their exhausted bodies. More than three hours of sleep was a rarity, but he was certain Rhaenyra hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since their last conversation on the army. 

And now, she'd chosen to remain behind to mull over decisions instead of attending their latest council meeting. 

The disappointment and exasperation in the shoulders of their council was palpable. He could feel it in their heavy stares as they watched him and exchanged irritated glances at the lack of their ruler's presence. He couldn't blame them. If he were amongst them, just a mere ally to Rhaenyra, he would've begun having second thoughts ages ago. Rhaenyra was clumsy with her ruling thus far, but given the circumstances, nobody could truly blame her.

Baela cleared her throat, her hands delicately interlaced before her as she tilted her head toward him and waited for his nod to go on. "Ser Criston Cole's host has taken to exploiting the tree cover to conceal its movements. He now only travels by night to confound our dragons." She explained, her voice surprisingly steady for a young woman with so much riding on her patrols and sightings.

"And what is Cole's heading?" Lord Celtigar questioned, voice devoid of any emotion aside from boredom.

"It is difficult to say, but there were signs of an army moving northwest... I believe." 

There was a mocking chuckle and muttered words from Lord Massey, a quiet sigh from Lord Celtigar, and quite a few exchanged glances. Baela pursed her lips, her cheeks puffing out slightly in annoyance and a hint of embarrassment, before she moved around the table to stand beside Jace. There was a bit of back and forth, nothing (Y/N) paid much mind to as he studied the carved map on the table. Jace's defense of Baela brought him back, and he straightened his shoulders.

"Be mindful of how you treat our Lady Baela. She will one day be Queen Consort." Baela and Jace's mouths twisted upward into sheepish, flustered little smiles that they swiftly smoothed over to look more proper. (Y/N) snorted softly and smoothed his finger over his brow. "The army continues growing, and anyone it comes across either bends the knee or meets a gruesome fate. Their destination is certainly Harrenhal, or someplace in the Riverlands. What do we know of Daemon?"

Maester Gerardys winced, and (Y/N) withheld the urge to sigh. "Letters were sent to Harrenhal seeking news of Daemon's progress with the Riverlands, My Lord. None have, as yet, returned."

"My Lord," Ser Alfred rose from his seat with a certain determination (Y/N) had seen plenty of times from him before. "We must act now. You are our King Consort, My Lord. You are a ruler as much as Her Grace is, so use your voice to command us; otherwise, this council is rudderless. We do naught while the Greens do as they please throughout the Crownlands."

"You should mind your tone when you speak to your ruler, Ser." A new voice, one (Y/N) hadn't heard in near weeks, boomed throughout the room from the doorway. 

Lord Corlys strolled into the room with a faint limp, his cane hitting the floor in rhythmic tap tap taps, and narrowed eyes zeroing in on Ser Alfred, who notably went rigid under the steely gaze of the Sea Snake. Lord Corlys scoffed loudly, purposefully to make his disappointment known to each of the men. He watched Ser Alfred until the knight took his seat once more, only then raising his gaze to eye each of the men. He stopped to stand beside his wife, though Rhaenys hardly batted an eye at his presence. 

"My apologies, My Lord." Ser Alfred bowed his head. "I should not have raised my voice."

"No, you shouldn't have. I grow weary of having to reprimand you time and time again, Ser." (Y/N)'s palms pressed against the table when he pushed himself up to stand. "Speak out of line again, and I will have you removed and sent elsewhere. Let that be a warning to everyone else in this room. Am I understood?"

(Y/N) caught the corners of Lord Corlys's lips faintly turning upward at his words, and a certain relief settled on (Y/N)'s shoulders with the chorus of 'Yes, My Lord' that followed. It wasn't easy wrangling men old enough to be his father or even grandfather, but he noticed with enough threats and jabs, they eventually fell in line like obedient dogs. 

"I know many of you grow restless and concerned, but trust that my wife, Her Grace, desires the same thing as each of you. Some of you may not agree, but it is not weak or cowardly to wish to refrain from harming innocents who will certainly get caught in the crossfire of this war. Women, children, elders.. not to mention how costly it will be to rebuild what is destroyed. We've all seen the damage Harrenhal suffered from King Aegon and Balerion's attack. It's a castle still being repaired to this day, many generations later. You are thinking of the present, Her Grace and I have to think of the future, for our children's sake and yours."

(Y/N) took a deep breath, his fingernail picking at a small ridge on the table. "Having said that... I do believe that is... about time we send out a dragon." He admitted, and watched as the men of the council immediately perked up at the revelation, their bodies straightening and shoulders squaring. It even captured the attention of Jace and Baela, whose chins rose and chests stuttered with sharply inhaled air. "Unfortunately, it isn't a matter of when, but of who. We may have more dragons, but many of them are riderless. Daemon took Caraxes with him, thus leaving us with three dragons capable of flying into battle."

Not many of the men caught the unspoken words, but Rhaenys did. (Y/N) could tell from the quiet hum that vibrated in her throat, thoughtful and agreeable. Jace and Baela were simply too young to be allowed off into battle, no matter how many times they argued about being grown. They were old enough to marry, old enough to begin having children if they so wished, but whenever (Y/N) looked at Jace, he only saw the little boy with round cheeks and floppy hair he'd raised. Losing another child would break the rest of the pieces of his heart that managed to remain after Luke's death.

Solemnly, Maester Gerardys was the first to speak. "Who will fly out then, My Lord?"

Before anyone could pipe in or potentially offer themselves, Rhaenyra appeared in the doorway clad in that familiar shade of red she so often wore. Silence settled over the room again, this time more forced, like a group of children with a secret they wished to keep. She strode into the room, swift and graceful, it would've looked as if she were floating if it weren't for her shoes appearing and disappearing beneath her skirts with each step.

She greeted Lord Corlys with a nod and came to stand between Baela and Jace, gazing over the map before she raised her head to address the room. "Admittedly, I have been dragging my feet these past few days. I inherited eighty years of peace from my father. I needed to be certain and clear about my choices before I was to end that peace, and I have found that there is no other path to take. My lord husband helped me see that. Only one choice remains to me: either I win my claim or die trying." 

While many of the men in the room likely felt relief as they erupted into chatter and plans, (Y/N) only felt dread. It was hard to look at the positives when there were none, not with the hand they'd been dealt the moment the crown came to rest on Aegon's head. People were going to die, people were dying, and there was nothing they could do other than add to the count of lives lost until one side was no more. He'd never wanted to bloody his hands. He wasn't like his knightly brothers who enjoyed a good tussle and the rush of victory. He wasn't Daemon, who loved the taste of blood and power. He supposed he had to get used to it now.

"Cole's shift from marching to Harrenhal and then choosing to march on Rook's Rest is worrisome," (Y/N) spoke up amongst the ocean of voices, effectively silencing them. "He likely received word of Daemon's presence there, and he'd be a fool to march towards a fiery death. As Ser Alfred claims, he may attack Rook's Rest because of Lord Staunton's support.. and perhaps until word reaches King's Landing of his need for a rider to help defeat Daemon. We all know Daemon. He'll be inclined to attack if the army gets anywhere near the riverlands. Cole cannot risk that without backup. Someone must fly out to Rook's Rest and weaken the army before they resume their journey."

Rhaenyra nodded, her previously tight features softening. "There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing." Her back went erect, and she raised her head with a firmer nod. "I will go-"

"My Queen," Lord Corlys immediately protested.

"Rhaenyra," (Y/N) clicked his tongue, and Jace's shoulders slumped with a long, heavy sigh. "You cannot go to Rook's Rest-"

"I will not lose dragons to a war whilst I hide here in my castle, (Y/N)."

"Our allies raise their banners for you, Mother. If you die, all is lost." Jace spoke up, his hands coming to rest on the hilt of his sword. "Send me."

The unanimous answer from (Y/N) and Rhaenyra came sharply: "No."

Jace's jaw clenched. "I will burn Cole's lines and withdraw before King's Landing can even raise the alarm-"

"You are barely man-grown, Jace, you and Vermax lack the experience to ride out into battle alone." 

Whatever words Jace wished to respond with clearly weren't meant for the ears of mere strangers, because he let them die in his mouth and puffed out his cheeks irritably instead, his hands clenching and unclenching as the anger rolled over his body. (Y/N) could see himself in his eyes, could see the boy who defied his father at every turn, and felt eternally grateful that Jace was more obedient than he had been at his age. (Y/N) wasn't sure what he'd do if Jace had taken completely after him in more than just looks.

Instead, Rhaenys stepped forward, her mouth tugged into a joyless smile. "You must send me, Your Grace, My Lord. Meleys is your largest dragon and no stranger to battle. I will meet Cole." 

While nobody verbally protested, the air was heavy. Rhaenys had been the anchor for a straying ship in the days after Luke's death, her voice mighty during meetings and presence grounding for the two young rulers she'd watched grow up. There was a distance there, one that remained ever since the day she lost her children, but she remained despite her grief.

She advised without being asked to, defended when no one else did, and flew out day in and day out for them. Neither (Y/N) nor Rhaenyra could utter a single word against it. It was either Rhaenys or the children, and neither the Targaryens nor Velaryons wished to see their little ones harmed.

Taking their grim silence as an answer, Rhaenys took a deep breath, glanced at the man she married at sixteen, and departed from the room to prepare. They all knew what flying into battle meant. The chances of her returning were as high as the chances of her dying brutally in the field, and the realization seemed to dawn on Lord Corlys because he quickly strode after his wife. Baela hesitated, her widened eyes flickering between (Y/N) and Rhaenyra until she received a nod to follow.

"Princess Rhaenys honors us with her offer." (Y/N) began softly, watching Baela hurry after her grandparents. It tugged at his heartstrings. "We must stay vigilant, updated, and prepared for anything, regardless of the outcome at Rook's Rest."

Within the hour, (Y/N) couldn't help but make his way to the bedchambers Rhaenys had taken as her own during her frequent stays in Dragonstone. She stood before the window, fiddling with her riding gloves and watching the waves crash into the cliff below in silence. She glanced at him, the corner of her lips quirking upward.

"Has the Boy Who Never Smiles come to say his farewells?"

(Y/N) chuckled, fingertips dragging over the top of the nearby table when he walked past it. He stopped at the end and leaned his hip against it, his eyes tracking the lines along the floor. "Rhaenyra and I have never made your life easy, Rhaenys. We've been a pain, more than not, but you've become a figure akin to the mothers we lost in our youths." His words made her grow still, thoughtful. "It is why I.. I cannot allow you to go into battle without speaking to you first."

"What about, child?" Rhaenys questioned softly, wiggling her fingers into her riding glove before approaching him curiously, her head tilting to the side. 

"Rhaenys..." (Y/N) swallowed and raised his head to finally peer into her eyes. "That morrow in Driftmark, the day after Laena's funeral... it was not Laenor who was murdered. A plan was conjured, one he was involved in, to fake his death so that he and Rhaenyra would be free of their marriage. It was a servant whose body was burnt. Laenor fled Driftmark under the cover of the morning fog with the man he loved. Seasmoke's recent behavior leads me to believe he may have passed, but I like to believe he lived a happier life, free of responsibilities and judgment, with Ser Qarl."

Rhaenys remained silent, her brows tightly knitted together and her eyes wide with glittering tears. (Y/N) reached out, brushing his fingers over her elbow. "I hope that in telling you this, it gives you some peace of mind about Laenor.  We didn't kill him, Rhaenys. He didn't die that day, and everything you've done for us hasn't been a betrayal of your children."

[sexisbetteronthemoon]

Keith LOOKS like he’d be a freak who only orders black coffee, lance thinks it’s disgusting. BUT may I suggest Keith having the biggest sweet tooth? Like Hunk made jelly donuts, turns around, any mysteriously four are gone, and Keith is skedaddling out of the kitchen with a plate

lol you can suggest anything you want! :)

i don't see him as a sweets guy, but! i do see him as a guy who will eat literally anything and everything he can get his hands on, regardless of whether or not he likes it or if it's bad for him.

my hc is that after his dad died, Keith grew up food insecure until Shiro came along. so when presented with food, he ate it even if he didn't like it.

so, if he's hungry, and he sees jelly donuts? down the hatch. chew quickly and swallow.

milk slightly past its expiration date? smells funky but no visible lumps. don't breathe and down the hatch.

bread with mold? pick it off and eat it.

and while this should mean he constantly gets food poisoning, i think his galra side has saved his ass countless times and only given him indigestion.

then there's the other things. things Lance notices once he starts paying attention.

Keith eats like he's being chased. he tends to inhale his food, barely savoring it. he keeps one arm on the table, nearly hugging his plate to himself, and he hunches over like he's hiding it.

Lance doesn't ask about it.

Lance cooks different things, and he watches.

he cooks sweet, sour, savory, bitter etc and he takes note on what Keith slows down for. he cooks more of that. he cooks less of other things that Keith doesn't pause to briefly savor. he also makes sure to stock up on things Keith likes, putting his own things further into cabinets so Keith reaches for what's in front first.

the day it takes Keith more than five minutes to clear a plate nearly makes him cry.

but Keith still eats too fast.

Lance decides to take a more hands-on approach to see if he can slow Keith down.

so one day, he serves a single plate of finger foods and sits on Keith's lap.

Keith stares at him, intrigued. he knows something is coming, and he's excited about it, but he probably can't guess what Lance means to do.

and when Lance starts feeding him a bite at a time, spacing them with kisses and sweet words, Keith still doesn't get the point of the game. he starts to think this is a reward and not a game at all. he doesn't know what he did tho. he decides he'll ask later what he's being rewarded for.

distracted by Lance and Lance's kisses, it takes Keith nearly half an hour to finish his food. and when he's done, Lance says, “Good boy.”

that gives Keith pause and a boner.

it was a game, not a reward. Lance only calls him a good boy when they're playing. tho it hadn't felt like a game. what had Lance been testing?

he doesn't ask. it's more fun to him when he doesn't know the rules of the game. figuring them out is part of the fun.

Lance does this more and more, and Keith isn't complaining a whit. then, after a week, Lance sits beside him and not in his lap. Keith misses him, but they're holding hands, and he still gets kisses between bites.

after another week, Lance has Keith feed himself, and makes sure to give him kisses between bites.

Keith notices that Lance tends to squeeze his hand during the kiss.

he doesn't think anything of it.

the next week, Lance doesn't kiss him, but Keith finds he takes a little longer to finish his food than usual.

the next week is the same, and this time, he notices that Lance is squeezing his hand between eat bite, making him pause to chew more thoroughly before he tries for the next bite.

Keith puts down his fork and glances over.

“did you pavlov me?” he asks.

“yes,” Lance says, not even trying to deny it.

“why?” Keith asks, baffled.

“to make you slow down.  how's your stomach lately?”

and Keith thinks about it. he has been getting less indigestion.

he leans over and kisses Lance.

“thanks, beautiful,” he says, and Lance gives him a kiss for that too.