#I am indeed sober for this

[kiestrokes]

Hi, I am back to review now 🫡

You try to control your face as you look at Jungkook. What did he just say?

these bitches

“Y’know, I think I’ve heard of you. You’re a cook, right? I think my halmeoni watches your show.”

just gonna leave this here

“Yoongi gave you a lap dance?!”

shit I would have (metaphorically) gotten pregnant too

“No, it’s ok, finish your thought. Tangents and diversions are good right now,” Jennie informs you.

ok but this is exactly the conversation my capricorn friend and I had when I told her I wasn't going to have kids and she told me she was pregnant 🥺 Sunny its spooky how you nailed this with Jennie being a cap.

Sammy my love

“Is this seat taken?”

NOOO SUNNY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I CANT HANDLE ANOTHER ROUND

Oh, but you’ve had my noodles, YN, what do you think? Do they compare?

SUNSHINE

“You do like it spicy,”

☠️

“All I know is suffering,” Jisoo sighs.

me right now, me too jisoo

“Jin,” you begin, stepping out of his embrace, “I need to tell you something.”

Sunny 🥲that's it, bring on the hurt

Paradise | JJK - Fourteen

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: drinking, references to blow jobs that happened like 60 seconds before the chapter starts, Jungkook's a bit possessive, Jin's a bit jealous, mentions of pregnancy, references to sex, 2021 AMAs Jungkook is the wedding visual, special guest stars Woosung and El Capitxn

Word Count: 7.5k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!

A/N: Happy two years of Paradise!! 🎉 Two years ago today, I posted the first chapter of what was going to be a five-part series. So to say I can't believe we're here is really no joke!! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, reblogged, sent me asks or DM'd me about this series - this is all because of you! 💜💜💜

Unbeta'd as usual. Please don’t be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you! Taglist is open. 💕

Previous Chapter ♦️ Paradise Masterlist

Turns out that impulsiveness looks pretty good on you. 

Or so you think to yourself, catching your reflection in the mirror of the men’s room as you leave Jungkook to collect himself after giving him the best blow job of his life (your words - although, based on the look on his face as you’d swallowed, you might not be far off). 

You hadn’t planned on dragging him into the bathroom like that, but upon seeing him walk out onto the terrace in that grey belted suit, looking like an absolute dream, well, you simply could not help yourself.

You also hadn’t meant to tell him you missed him last night. But you had, because you did. God, when had you turned into this - this massive simp? It was only yesterday morning that you’d woken up in Jungkook’s embrace. You’d barely spent 24 hours apart - so why were you so desperate to get back into his arms?

Of course, none of this matters right now. There are only minutes to go before the ceremony begins, and you need to pull your head out of the clouds and get back to Jennie and the others. Starting by escaping the men’s room sight unseen.

“YN!” 

Or not.

As soon as you close the door, you hear Jin’s voice calling to you. He’s standing at the other end of the little hallway, near the entrance to the reception room.

“Hey,” you reply, trying to be the most nonchalant you’ve ever been in your life, as if you weren’t just gagging on Jungkook’s dick in a public bathroom. 

Jin smiles as you approach, but there’s a gleam in his eye that makes you nervous, and you’re so busy trying to come up with a valid excuse for why he saw you emerging from the men’s room that you apparently forget how to walk, trip over the hem of your gown, and crash directly against his chest. 

“Easy, tiger!” he laughs, arms locking around your back as he helps you stand back upright. “I’m used to ladies throwing themselves at me, but only you’ve taken it literally.” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re pretty sure he’s not lying about fighting off admirers, given that he looks like a supermodel in his crisply tailored tuxedo. His bowtie is a little crooked thanks to being squashed by your face during your ungainly landing, so you gently fix it, and Jin thanks you with a soft grin. 

“I left my glasses at home, so tell me - did I just see you leav-” Jin suddenly stops in the middle of his sentence, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. “Oh. Nevermind, I see.” He takes a step back, arms falling from your waist.

Another hand slips into yours. 

Jungkook didn’t wait very long before following you out of the restroom. He squeezes your hand as you glance at him, but he stares directly at Jin, nostrils flaring slightly, eyes narrowed, lips pursed tightly as if - as if -

Oh, shit. 

“You left this behind, jagiya.” Jungkook turns to you, his face shifting into a softer expression as he produces your clutch like some sort of trophy. You must’ve left it on the counter. “Did you want me to hold it during the ceremony?” 

Your brain is lagging severely at the moment, trying to process two major facts at once. Fact one: Jin obviously realized that you were with Jungkook in the bathroom. Fact two: you completely forgot to tell Jungkook that Jin would be at the wedding. Which, given the events of the last 24 hours, it’s understandable that it slipped your mind, but this isn’t how you’d expected to officially introduce them. And he doesn’t exactly look thrilled to run into him now. 

On top of that, Jungkook has asked you a question. And is now waiting for an answer, while Jin watches in polite silence. 

“Um. Yes. Sorry, yes, can you keep an eye on it for me?” 

Jungkook nods, tucking the clutch into his jacket and patting it lightly. “Of course,” he says, nodding solemnly, as if you’d just asked him to protect precious goods and not a cheap bag full of tissues and mints. 

Jin clears his throat lightly. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, Jin, this is Koo- Jungkook. Jungkook, Jin.” 

Of all the ways for these two to meet, this might not be the most embarrassing, but it’s definitely up there. There’s still a bit of Jungkook’s taste lingering on your tongue as the two men shake hands, Jin wincing slightly. 

You try to quickly fill Jungkook in. “Jin’s the best man.” 

“Sure am.” Jin grins. 

“He and Yoongi grew up together,” you add, ignoring Jin’s little interjection, knowing that Jungkook didn’t miss it based on the way his jaw flexes violently, as if he’s gnashing his teeth. 

“Nice to meet you, Jungkook. That’s quite a grip you have there.” Jin slides his hands into his pockets. “YN’s told me a little about you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Jungkook replies, inclining his head slightly. His hand returns to yours, fingers locking firmly. “Wish I could say the same, but YN never mentions you.” 

You try to control your face as you look at Jungkook. What did he just say?

Jin just grins wider. “So… she said you’re a dancer?” 

“Yeah, I'm a dancer. But I’m also an artist,” Jungkook replies, chest puffing out slightly. 

“Yes! You should see his work, Jin. He’s an incredibly talented painter,” you add, and the corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a smile. “I might actually have a photo on my phone…” 

Jungkook doesn’t give you any time to check. “Y’know, I think I’ve heard of you. You’re a cook, right? I think my halmeoni watches your show.” 

If Jungkook intended that as a jab, Jin shows no sign that he felt it. “Well, technically, I’m a chef. And a restaurateur. But yes, I do host a successful cooking program - actually, it’s about to be turned into a series for a major network.”

“Right. So like I said. You cook.”

Jin’s the one twitching now, his eyebrow rising slightly at Jungkook’s blasé tone. But rather than looking annoyed, Jin looks amused. Meanwhile, Jungkook is still glowering. You, though? Your smile feels a little strained as you try not to react to the snarky shots being fired off around you. Jungkook seems more rattled than you’d expected by Jin’s presence. You’ve never heard him talk like this. 

“You’re right, I do cook a little,” Jin laughs. “I’d like to think I’m pretty good at it. But YN could tell you, since I’ve cooked for her a few times.” He glances at you, the sparkle in his eye you’d noted earlier back and twinkling a little too merrily for your comfort. “From what I remember, she’s been pretty satisfied every time.” 

And you’d thought this couldn’t get any more awkward than running into Jin post-beej. How silly of you. 

Jungkook’s fingers grip yours tighter. “And yet not satisfied enough to ever bring it up. Huh. Sounds like it was kinda forgettable.” 

Jin’s eyes flicker to yours questioningly and you cringe, still struggling to come up with anything to say that could make this conversation less tense. At this point, you’d be better off wishing for the ground to open up beneath you, as useless as your brain is being.

Jin coughs. “Anyway, YN, Yoongi asked me to tell you to tell Jennie that the officiant is running a little late. Nothing to worry about!” he adds hastily upon seeing your concerned face. “Just caught in traffic. But on his way.” 

Great, another thing for Jennie to stress out about. “Okay. I’ll let her know.” 

Guests are starting to fill up the rows of chairs on the other side of the glass wall. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Lisa heading towards you, waving your bouquet. Thankful for the interruption, you stretch out your hand. 

“Come on, we’re cutting it close on time!” she announces. “Hey, what happened to your lipstick?” 

“Uh…” Rather than answer, you opt for escape, tugging on Jungkook’s hand lightly to urge him to follow you. “One sec, Lis. Come on, Jungkook, let’s find you a seat.” 

“See you at the altar!” Jin calls behind you, and you wince, feeling Jungkook stiffen momentarily. 

There’s an empty chair on the end of a row on the bride’s side. Jungkook folds himself into it, placing your clutch delicately on his lap. 

“Um, so, we already took photos earlier, so I’ll just come find you after the ceremony.”

“Okay.” Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, nodding. 

An unsettling feeling comes over you. Should you apologize for not telling him about Jin? Or say something about what just happened in the hallway? What did just happen, anyway? 

Through the glass, you can see Lisa waving, pointing at her watch. Shit. Whatever happened, you’ll just have to talk about it later.

As you turn to leave, Jungkook grabs your wrist. He threads his fingers through yours, pulling you closer to him, until his lips brush your cheek. “See you soon, jagiya.” He gives you another soft smile, sunlight sparkling in his eyes. The angry scowl from the hallway is nowhere to be seen. 

Your head is a mess as you follow Lisa. How had you not mentioned to Jungkook that Jin would be here? Damn, maybe he was right - maybe you really never talk about Jin. 

Both men had warned you when you started dating them that they could get competitive. Apparently that meant passive aggressive disses and weirdly possessive behavior. If this is how the two of them are going to behave, you’re in for a long day. 

A small room cordoned off from the rest of the rooftop restaurant has been turned into the bride’s waiting room. Jisoo’s doing a last pass on Jennie’s makeup when you arrive. She takes one look at you and reaches for a tube of lipstick sitting on the makeshift vanity. 

“Babe, what happened to you? You look stressed.” 

Rosé hums in agreement. “I expected you to stumble in here looking more satisfied than that. You dragged Jungkook away at lightning speed!” 

“Pucker up,” Jisoo orders you, and you obey, letting her fix your lips. 

“Mmm, well, I found her talking to both Jungkook and Jin in the hallway, so maybe that has something to do with it?” Lisa pipes up, eyebrow raised. 

“Oh shit, did something go down?” Rosé asks, a little too excited for your taste. 

“Well, actually,” you start to say, then shake your head. This is the last thing you need right now. This day is too important to be derailed by your love life. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Oh, but Jin did say that the officiant’s running a little late, Jennie. He’s on his way, so there’s no need to panic, but the ceremony might start a few minutes later than planned.” 

“Oh, see, Jennie? I told you there was no reason to worry - now you’re not the only one who’s late!” 

“Jisoo!” Lisa hisses. Rosé covers her mouth to suppress her giggles. 

Jennie, who has been sitting silently since you walked in, inspecting her appearance in the makeup mirror, lets out a strangled sound that’s a cross between a laugh and a wail, and buries her face in her hands. 

“Girl, please do not make me fix your makeup again,” Jisoo pleads as she crouches next to Jennie. You pull up a chair next to her and sigh, rubbing Jennie’s arm lightly. 

“Ji’s lame attempts at humor aside, how are you feeling?” you ask.

Your best friend is absolutely radiant in her white gown, dark hair tumbling in gentle waves down her back as she turns to you. 

“I’m still okay. I know things were a little… dramatic yesterday, but really, I’m okay today. You guys don’t have to keep asking me how I’m feeling.” Jennie clasps your hands, giving you a soft smile. “I’m excited and I’m nervous but more than all of that I’m ready to marry the love of my life.” She pauses. “I think maybe I should use the bathroom again, though. I guess I have some time.” 

“I’ll help you,” Lisa volunteers, gathering Jennie’s train and following her out of the room. 

You’re quiet until the door closes behind them. “Okay, was anyone else expecting her to freak out about the ceremony starting late?” 

“She’s keeping it together, somehow,” Jisoo shrugs. “I think she’s still a bit in shock, honestly. But she’ll be okay.”

“She’s fine, as long as no one mentions anything about the you-know-what,” Rosé informs you, crossing her arms as she glares at Jisoo. 

“You don’t have to censor yourself when she’s not in the room.” Jisoo rolls her eyes. 

Your friends fall into their usual bickering, but you’re too deep in your thoughts about Jennie to bother telling them to knock it off. Maybe Jisoo’s right and she’s still adjusting. Just another reason to try to stay focused on her and make sure everything goes perfectly for her and Yoongi.

It’s the least you can do for your friend, after the day she had yesterday.

Yesterday

Friday morning brings you a sweet surprise. You weren’t expecting to wake up with Jungkook in your bed. He spent most of the night making you forget all about Taehyung’s joking offer to drop to his knees at your promise to help him, doing such a good job that you’d almost forgotten your own name, too. You’d figured he’d slip out in the middle of the night after you’d fallen asleep. 

You were wrong. He’s still here, all messy bedhead and sleepy eyes, laughing quietly about alarm clocks and wrapping you up in his arms. He follows you like a puppy as you start your morning routine - into the shower, back into your room, and then into your kitchen - and honestly it’s no wonder that you decide to take the day off to spend it with him. The thought of repeating yesterday and hanging out with him all day is too tempting to refuse. Even though you’ll see him pretty much all day tomorrow at the wedding - look, if he’s down for it, then why not?

And then somehow the universe decides that your day has only been maybe a solid eight out of ten so far and decides to kick it up a few more notches, by offering you a possible life boat off the sinking ship that is your job. 

Hey YN!

I know this is ridiculously fast, but my company has an opening, and I think you’d be great for the job! Long story short someone unexpectedly quit yesterday, so now we have a position we  need to fill immediately. I hope it’s okay, but I’ve given your name to our VP in charge of hiring and she’d like to bring you in for an interview! She asked me to reach out and see if you’d be all right with coming in next week - I know that’s fast, but this is for a new project that’s being rushed to production so we really need someone to crunch some numbers ASAP! 

Let me know if you’re interested!

Best,

Wendy

As if that’s not enough, Jungkook offers to help you practice for the interview, and suddenly you can’t see through the hearts in your eyes. Could he be any sweeter? You thank him, and he kisses you, and you melt, lost in his warmth. 

Jungkook’s voice brings you back to reality. “How many more emails do you need to answer?” 

“Um…” you stare at your laptop. “Let me just respond to Wendy and then I’m done.”

“Cool.” Jungkook stretches. His t-shirt rises with the motion, his Adonis belt briefly visible, and you know he’s caught your stare when he smirks. You quickly turn back to your computer, but he just wraps his arms around your shoulders, catching you in a back hug.

“I’m gonna go home and take off these dirty clothes,” he murmurs, teeth nipping your earlobe. “Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting.” 

“Fuck,” you breath. Jungkook laughs, obviously pleased at the effect he has on you. He’s such a tease sometimes. You’re trying to figure out how to flip the tables on him when your ringtone starts trilling.

Be still, my heaaaaart…

“Oh god, I bet that’s my boss, wanting to talk me out of taking off.” You frown as you check the screen. “Shit, it’s Jisoo. I gotta take this.” 

“Hey, do you have a second?” Jisoo’s voice comes through a little strained. And loud. She’s talking over some sort of high-pitched wailing. It takes you a minute to figure out that it’s a person’s voice making that sound.

“Ji! What’s going on? Wait, what’s that sound? Is that Jennie? Is she crying?”

“Yeah, that’s Jennie. She’s - she’s had - well,” Jisoo sighs. “Look, I’m over at her place because I wanted to treat her to a manicure today because I know she’s been too busy to schedule one and you know how she gets about her nails so I thought it would be a nice surprise but when I got here - oh, you know what, this is not important to the story, why am I telling you this?” 

“Just get to the point, Ji!”

“I’m trying! I’m sorry, it’s been a big morning and - what?” There’s a muffled conversation happening suddenly, and you stare blankly at your computer as you wait for Jisoo to return. You don’t know what the hell is going on, but you don’t like any of it.

“Just ask her to come over!” you hear Lisa say in the background. Lisa’s at Jennie’s, too? 

“I was getting to that!”

With a frustrated sigh, you try to get Jisoo’s attention. “Okay, okay, I’m coming over!”

“Do you mind? I know you have to work-”

“No, I’m not working today, I….” You pause, knowing that Jungkook’s just in the kitchen, likely able to hear everything you’re saying, not wanting to embarrass yourself by admitting that you took the day off just to be with him. “It’s a long story, I’ll explain when I get there.” 

You don’t end up explaining anything once you arrive. That’s because as soon as Lisa opens Jennie’s door, she greets you with a tiny white stick bearing two little pink lines. Rosé is right behind her, beaming from ear to ear. 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know!” Lisa grins, throwing her hands in the air. “Baby Min, coming to you soon!” 

You frown, glancing over Lisa’s shoulder. “Where is she?” 

The sound of Jennie’s crying gets louder as you approach the master suite. When Lisa stops outside the bedroom closet, you grab her arm. 

“Before I go in there - are those happy tears or sad tears?” You’re pretty sure you already know the answer, but you need to know what to expect. 

Lisa grimaces. “Somewhere in the middle, I think.” 

Jennie’s curled up beneath the hangers of clothing stuffed into the closet that she shares with Yoongi. She’s wearing one of his oversized hoodies, sniffling into the black material as Jisoo, smushed into the corner beside her, carefully untangles herself. 

“Tag, you’re in,” she says, taking the hand you offer to pull her to her feet. 

There’s not a lot of room for you but you squish yourself in as best you can, and immediately tuck Jennie against you. Jisoo closes the door behind you. 

“Hi, babe.” 

“Hi,” Jennie’s voice is wavery and small, so far from her usual confident, cheerful tone, that it hurts your heart. “Did they tell you?” 

“I saw.” 

Jennie settles against you, hiccuping slightly through her tears. “This wasn’t part of the plan.” 

“I know.” 

Jennie has been mapping out her and Yoongi’s future pretty much since the day they met. They both want to start a family, but Jennie insists that they enjoy their honeymoon period first. And she’s determined to make tenure at the school where she teaches before taking time off to have kids. She wants to have it all, but at her own pace and on her own terms. Which means timing everything out so meticulously. So carefully. 

Gently, you brush a lock of hair from her wet cheek. “So… do you know how…” 

Jennie sighs. “Pretty sure it was the night of my bachelorette party. I came home and Yoongi asked how it went and um, I kinda couldn’t stop talking about my lap dance.” Your friend’s face flushes at the memory, and you bite back a grin. You’ll have to tell Jungkook he left a lasting impression. “And Yoongi… well, you know how he gets competitive sometimes?” 

You can’t help it. You burst into laughter. 

“Yoongi gave you a lap dance?!” 

“God, I wish I’d seen that,” Jisoo says from the other side of the closet door. “I’d love to know if he’s got moves.” 

In all your years of friendship, you’d never known Yoongi to do more than a simple side-shuffle whenever Jennie would drag him onto a dance floor. The thought of him performing an erotic lapdance is too much for even your overactive imagination to conceive.  

Jennie just smiles to herself. “Believe me, he does.” She glances at you shyly. “He’d kill me for telling you this but… you don’t think Jin choreographed his routine all by himself, do you?” she laughs, referring to the night Jin danced for you, and your brain breaks a little trying to picture Yoongi doing the same moves. 

The closet door flies open. 

“I’m gonna need to hear every last detail about that,” Lisa proclaims. 

“Same,” Rosé adds, and Jennie laughs for the first time since you arrived. She sits up, dabbing at her face with the sleeves of Yoongi’s hoodie. 

“Ugh, my face is going to be so puffy tomorrow.” 

“No, it won’t. We’ll take care of you,” Jisoo promises, already on her feet. “I’ll go raid your kitchen for supplies. Do you have any cucumbers?” She’s gone before Jennie can answer, Lisa scrambling behind her.

“Anyway… we always use protection, but you know how they say it’s not 100% foolproof? Yeah, turns out they’re telling the truth.” She stares at her sweater paws, suddenly forlorn again, and you give her a tight squeeze. 

“I’m sorry, babe. I know this is… a lot.” 

“Yeah. And I just…” You don’t say anything, just wait patiently until she finds the words she’s searching for. “I just feel like a failure. You know? Like, it’s so stupid, but…” She shrugs. “I feel like everything’s ruined now.” 

“Oh, Jennie, no!” Wrapping both arms around her, you sigh. “Accidents happen. That’s life! You can make all the plans you want but you can’t control everything. There’s chaos everywhere! And even if you do your best to avoid it, sometimes it gets through. And it’s not always bad! I mean… look at me and Jungkook. He came out of nowhere. I didn’t plan to start dating him and Jin at the same time. I didn’t know it was gonna get serious. I thought…” you trail off, realizing you’re making it about yourself. “Sorry, this is not about me.” 

“No, it’s ok, finish your thought. Tangents and diversions are good right now,” Jennie informs you.

You bite your lip, weighing your words. “Back when Jin and I met, when you introduced us, I just thought… this is it. This is my chance to have what Jennie and Yoongi have. Something real. Something safe and steady.” 

Jennie nods, encouraging you to continue. 

“And then Jungkook… he’d always been so close but I’d never gotten to know him. He came in and opened my eyes to another possibility. To something exciting and different and - and passionate, and, oh god, I sound like a shitty romance novel, don’t I?” Burying your face in your hands, you laugh. 

“No, go on!!” Rosé says. 

“I’m just trying to say - plans don’t always work out. But that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. And sometimes, the unexpected can be exactly what you want. Or need.” 

Jennie sighs, and you can feel her relaxing against you for the first time since you sat down beside her. 

“I hear what you’re saying. And I’d like to believe that. It’s just… really difficult for me to accept that I’m not always in control.” 

“That’s a fucking mood,” Jisoo says, returning from the kitchen with a mug of tea in her hand. Lisa carries a bowl of some sort of cucumber concoction, and the two of them settle on the floor outside the closet. 

Rosé scoots across the carpet until she’s close enough to take one of Jennie’s hands. “Back to your chaos, if that’s what we’re calling it. Is it too soon to ask you what you’re gonna do?” 

Jennie groans, pulling the oversized hood over her head. 

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.” 

“I just want to get through the wedding,” Jennie states, voice muffled by the soft fabric. “I’m getting married tomorrow! And I don’t want anything to - to ruin it. Or make things weird, or more stressful than they already are. I mean, fuck, I think my halmeoni is already upset that we’re not doing a traditional wedding. Imagine if she finds out I got knocked up before marriage!” 

“Okay, then we’ll make sure no one finds out tomorrow.” Lisa glances at everyone and you all nod in a wordless pact. “We’ll do whatever it takes to make sure your day is as perfect as you’ve planned. You know we will!” 

“Does Yoongi know?”

Jennie peels her hood back to look at you. She shakes her head. 

“I took the test this morning, after he left for work. I’ve been so busy lately that I didn’t even realize I was late until today! Ji was the first person to find out when she showed up, and then she called the rest of you.” She pauses, fiddling with her sleeves again. “I think I’m going to wait to tell him until after the wedding. We’ll need to have a serious talk, and there’s too much going on right now.” She glances up. “Is that - do you think that’s okay?” 

Once again, she seems lost. This time, when you go in for a hug, Rosé joins you. 

“Babe, you can tell him whenever you’re ready! It’s your body.” 

“Yeah, but we’re in this together…”

“And you’ll be in it together still, no matter if you tell him today or tomorrow or next week.” Jisoo declares. She holds the mug out to Jennie. “And we’ll be here too.” 

“Yes. Maybe this is good chaos. Maybe it’s bad. It’s up to you to decide how to react - how to move forward. Whatever you decide, you know we’ll be by your side the whole time,” you declare, your sentiments echoed by the other girls. 

Jennie blows lightly on the steaming drink. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you guys,” she says, choking up slightly, and everyone else starts talking at once. 

“You deserve the world!” Rosé coos. 

Lisa shakes her head. “We’re the lucky ones, babe, having you in our lives!”

“How’m I gonna depuff your face if you keep crying?” Jisoo tuts. 

You just rise to your feet, laughing. “Come on. Ji said something about manicures earlier. Let us pamper you today, so you’re ready to knock Yoongi off his apparently very talented feet tomorrow.”

NOW

The officiant is only a few minutes late, and the ceremony goes off without a single hitch. You and the other bridesmaids join the groomsmen flanking Yoongi at the altar. In addition to Jin, there’s Yoongi’s brother Geum-jae, and two of his friends from work, Yi-jeong and Woosung.

As a string quartet plays the wedding march, Jennie walks down the aisle, beaming more brightly than the sun, and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s face, bearing such an openly reverent expression that it makes your eyes flood with tears. The officiant begins his speech, and Jennie and Yoongi stare at one another as if the rest of the world has fallen away, with nothing left but the two of them and their love.

Watching them almost feels like you’re intruding on a private moment, so you turn your face to the rows of guests, searching without thought for Jungkook, smiling when you find him already gazing your way. Your chest nearly buzzes as warmth spreads there, matching the glow in his eyes. 

Because Jennie and Yoongi chose to take photos before the ceremony, there’s no cocktail hour after the ceremony. Instead, everyone is seated for dinner. The happy couple sits at a table for two on a small dais in the front of the room. 

There are no tables large enough for the entire wedding party. There are also no seating arrangements for all of you, either. Jennie had worked very hard on the seating chart for all of the guests except the wedding party. (“You guys figure it out. I’m tired.”) So you quickly claim a seat at one of the two empty tables left open, with Jungkook taking the spot next to you on one side and Jisoo the other, with Rosé next to her. 

As the wait staff brings out the first course, you slide your chair a little closer to Jungkook. “Hey. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that Jin would be here.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Jagi, it’s ok.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure it is,” you reply. “That was not the way I wanted to introduce the two of you. It was, uh, not ideal.” 

Jungkook’s silent as he sips his water. He works his bottom lip between his teeth again, and you wish you could see inside his head, could get some sense of what he’s thinking, because sitting here waiting for him to say something makes your stomach churn a bit.  

Finally, he sighs, reclining back in his seat as he looks at you. “I’m sorry if I made that uncomfortable. I wasn’t expecting to see him.” 

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t mention he was part of the wedding. Truly, it slipped my mind.” Repeatedly. You bite your lip, struggling to figure out what to say. This doesn’t have to be a thing, but you also don’t want them at each other’s throats all night. “But there’s no reason it has to be weird or ruin the night. Because I’m here with you, Kookie. Not him.” 

Your pulse begins to pound. It’s like you’ve just laid your heart on the line. Jungkook’s furrowed brows relax, doe eyes blinking slowly as he absorbs your words. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You turn to find Jin standing with a hand on the empty chair across from you. 

Jisoo lets out a tiny “Yessss, game on,” and you covertly kick her under the table. 

“Uh, I think Lisa is going to -” Glancing around, you don’t finish your sentence as you spy your friend sitting with the groomsmen. Oh, right. Lisa has her eye on Yi-jeong, having basically all but explicitly called dibs that morning when she saw him in his tuxedo. You can’t really blame her. “Nevermind.” 

“Please, join us,” Jungkook offers, gesturing to the table. He says it so kindly that you can’t help but gawk at him in surprise. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but his palm rests on your thigh, rubbing lightly. Reassuringly. 

Your heartbeat returns to normal as Jin smiles. “Thanks.” 

Despite the ceremony being so modern, Jennie and Yoongi opted for more traditional dishes for dinner. For several minutes, there’s mostly an easy silence over the table, as everyone enjoys the janchi guksu and banchan in front of them, only the noise of clinking utensils filling the air. Well, that and the sound of the servers running back and forth to the bar, trying to keep up with drink orders. 

Jisoo, as usual, is the first one to break the silence.

“Okay, Jin, professional opinion on the guksu?” 

Jin chews thoughtfully for a few minutes. “I think they went a little heavy on the spicy soy sauce in the broth, but the noodles are just as tender as the ones I make. Oh, but you’ve had my noodles, YN, what do you think? Do they compare?” 

All eyes focus on you, including Jungkook’s. You swallow quickly. “Um, I think these are just as good! And I really like the broth, to be honest.” 

“You do like it spicy,” Jungkook murmurs under his breath, quiet enough that only you can hear him, and when you glance over, you’re met with that teasing smirk of his. It’s back again. For some reason, that’s more comforting to you than Jungkook’s hand on your thigh. Your heart does a somersault. It’s getting a real workout tonight. 

“You know, I never really thought about it, but it must be hard for you to eat in public. People are probably always asking you for your opinions on their food, or tips on how to make it better,” Rosé says. 

Jin shrugs. “Comes with the territory, I guess. I’m not gonna complain if people value what I think - and I’m always happy to help anyone improve their skills.” He swirls his wine glass before taking a sip. “But I suppose there can be a downside, too. Sometimes I just want to enjoy a meal without being asked to provide a full critique.” 

“I can understand that,” Jungkook replies. Again the other heads at the table swivel. 

“You can?” 

Jungkook nods. “Yeah. Like, right now, I bet you’re all expecting me to be the first on the dance floor, right?” He laughs as everyone suddenly becomes very interested in their meals. “It’s okay. That’s how it is whenever I’m out with friends. I can’t just sit at the bar and have a drink. And I definitely can’t just sway with the crowd. Everyone expects me to show off.” 

“I mean, I’m definitely hoping to see you turn up,” Rosé confirms, and Jungkook laughs again, gesturing at his point being proven. 

“Sure, that sounds annoying. But outside of going out with your friends, how often are you in a situation where you’re asked to dance? People stop me everywhere. When I’m out shopping. When I’m on a plane. I even once had someone ask me for deglazing tips while I was at a funeral! It’s not quite the same as being asked to do the robot at the club.” Jin shakes his head dismissively. 

Rosé mumbles, “I thought you weren’t gonna complain…?”

The two men eye each other for a few seconds as you hold your breath. Then Jungkook huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s not the same. That sucks, dude.” 

You exhale, settling back in your seat. 

Jin just hums, eyes darting back and forth between you and Jungkook before he speaks. “I suppose it’s just a small price to pay for being so successful.” He tips his wine glass back, emptying it. “Where are the servers hiding? I need a refill.” 

“See, this is one of the benefits of being a financial analyst - absolutely no one wants to talk to me about what I do,” you grin. 

“That’s because no one understands what you do,” Jisoo declares. 

“She’s right.” 

“Thanks, Rosé.” 

Jisoo points her spoon at Jungkook. “Okay, but real talk, you are going to dance tonight, aren’t you? You wouldn’t deny us a show!”

“Ji, we just had an entire conversation about this!” you groan, throwing your hands up. “Can you not?”

“What? I’m just saying! The man is a born performer. Right?” 

She looks at Jungkook, who nearly chokes on his wine in his haste to answer.

“Uh. Yes?” 

“Right. So there’s no way you’ll leave us disappointed.”  

“Let me get this straight - if Jungkook doesn’t dance for you, you’ll be disappointed?” you ask. “Hold on while I call Jimin and Taehyung real quick. Wait, sorry, I mean Min and Tae.” 

“All I know is suffering,” Jisoo sighs.

“Oh, relax, Kitty Cat,” Rosé giggles, nearly doubling over at the confused look on Jin’s face. 

As Jisoo loudly laments her choice of friends, Jungkook bends towards you, mouth brushing your ear. 

“Don’t worry, jagi, whether or not I dance here, you can still have a private performance later. I’d never deny you.”

Heat works its way through your body as you shift in your seat, squirming slightly from the low rumble of his voice and the promise laced within. There’s a sudden prickling at the nape of your neck, that nagging sensation of someone watching you, but when you follow the feeling and glance over at Jin, he’s staring at his empty wine glass. 

The tapping of a fork against stemware draws your attention to the married couple’s table. To your immense relief, Yoongi and Jennie had decided to nix the best man and maid of honor toasts, opting to say a few words themselves. Normally, Jennie does all the talking for the pair, but to your surprise, Yoongi rises to his feet, and the room falls silent.

“Jennie and I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you for coming. It means the world to us that you took the time out of your busy lives to celebrate with us.” He glances down at his bride, who smiles back, and Yoongi’s gummy grin gets bigger than you’ve ever seen it. “As you all know, Jennie and I have been together since our first year of college. We’ve been through so much together - college, grad school, finding jobs, losing jobs, moving from apartment to apartment - but we weathered it all, because we always had each other.” 

Jennie’s cheeks are wet as she smiles at her husband. Yoongi takes her hand. 

“Jennie, I don’t know what life has to throw at us yet, but I want you to know that I’m never worried, as long as I have you by my side.” He presses a kiss to the back of her hand, and there’s a chorus of awwww’s from the guests, including yourself. Jisoo rolls her eyes, but they’re already spilling over with tears, and you poke her in the side as she laughs.  

“Here’s to you, my love. And to all of you with us here tonight. We can’t thank you enough for your love and support. Geonbae!” He raises his glass.

“Cheers!” his brother shouts, and the cry is echoed around the room as everyone raises their glasses to the couple. 

Just when you think you couldn’t be happier, once again you feel a hand slip into yours, pressing palm to palm, fingers threading through. Jungkook doesn’t say a word, too busy clinking his drink against everyone else’s, but his hand tightens around yours when you look at him, and you feel as though you could float right through the ceiling if it weren’t for his strong grip. 

To think that you nearly hadn’t asked him to come here with you. What a mistake that would’ve been. Thank god you’d ignored the constant fear and doubt in your head and listened only to the steady sureness of your heart. 

You’re getting better at it.

YESTERDAY

After you coax her out of the closet, you and your friends turn Jennie’s apartment into a mini spa, trying to help the bride-to-be relax. By mid-afternoon, as everyone is giving each other manicures, you realize that the window on your day with Jungkook is swiftly closing, so you text him to let him know you won’t be coming home any time soon. 

Not long after that, the door to Jennie’s apartment opens, and Yoongi walks in, trailed by Jin. 

Jennie greets her fiancé happily, hugging him with her hands held straight out so as not to smudge her pretty new pink tips. “You’re home early!”

“Couldn’t focus. Decided to call it a day.” As ever, Yoongi seems completely unfazed to see you and your friends at his apartment. Sometimes you wonder what it would take to ruffle him. Probably something extreme like the zombie apocalypse. “Figured I’d grab my stuff and then get some dinner with Jin.” 

Although they weren’t holding to every tradition, Jennie had insisted that they spend the night before the wedding apart. So Yoongi would be crashing at Jin’s tonight. 

Jin nods at the sound of his name. “By ‘get some dinner’, he means ‘take advantage of his friend’s restaurant and score a free meal.’” 

“As if you weren’t the one who offered,” Yoongi drawls, ignoring Jin’s squeaky chuckling.

“Sounds good, baby,” Jennie smiles as Yoongi presses a kiss to her cheek before he shuffles down the hallway towards their bedroom. “Do you guys wanna get some takeout?” 

While Lisa, Rosé, and Jennie argue about what they feel like eating, Jin catches your eye. “Hey, you got a second?” He jerks his head towards Jennie’s kitchen. Rising from the couch, you follow, closing the door behind you. 

“What’s u-oh!” Your question becomes an exclamation when Jin suddenly pulls you in for a hug, long arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you tight. 

“Just wanted to get you alone,” he says, nose brushing yours as he smiles. “Hi.” 

This is where the butterflies should come in. Standing this close to this incredible specimen of a man, this paragon of perfection, would normally send them flittering through you. Shivers should be running down your spine. Any number of excited reactions should be happening right now. 

Right. 

Now. 

Except… they’re not. 

“Hi,” you echo, grinning a bit weakly. Jin doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong with your smile, locking his hands behind your back. 

“I heard you got some good news today.” 

Your eyes widen as your stomach goes into freefall. 

“You know?” 

How? How on earth could he know about Jennie being pregnant?? Shit, did Lisa leave the pee stick out somewhere? Jisoo told her to put it -

“Of course I know! It’s my show.” 

“It’s your show?” What the fuck does that mean??

Jin honks in delighted laughter at your obvious confusion. “The interview Wendy emailed you about - that’s for my show! The one Nosh picked up?” 

The room tilts as gravity returns your stomach to normal. “Oh! Oh, wow!” Of course. The new project Wendy had referenced - it was Jin’s cooking show! “Wait, so we might be working together?” 

“Yes! Er, maybe! I don’t know how closely or whatever, but basically, the Nosh execs told me Wendy’s firm is responsible for budgeting and figuring out revenue streams and - and that’s really all I remember, sorry.” He laughs. “Most of what they said went straight over my head, to be honest. But I spoke to her on a conference call today and she told me they had an open position for the team that’s assigned to my show, and she’d asked you to interview.” 

“Wow, that’s really…” you trail off, lost in thought. “Isn’t it… the other night at the networking reception, weren’t you saying it might be a travel show?” You have a vague memory of Jin telling you what he wanted to do with his show if it got picked up by a network.

“That’s right. I pitched it as an exploration of local delicacies that often get overlooked by tourists. I’ll be going around the country, visiting tiny, off the beaten path restaurants and bars, and learning how to make their favorite dishes.” 

Traveling for work. That was one of the perks Wendy had rattled off when she’d given you the sales pitch for her company. So, if you got this job, did that mean you’d be traveling with Jin? 

Your mind is already wandering, thinking about what this new job might entail, when Jin brings a hand up to cup your face. His thumb traces your jawline. 

“Wouldn’t it be amazing? You and I, on the road together. Me, discovering new meals to cook for you…” His voice drops, a low murmur meant only for you to hear. “Maybe picking up some new dance moves to show off…” 

He rolls his hips slightly, jostling you right out of your tumultuous thoughts. 

“Doesn’t that sound good?” 

“It does,” you reply, mouth moving on autopilot, not waiting for your head to decide if it agrees. 

“I know I haven’t had the time to take you out properly, and I’m sorry for that. But this is my chance to show you that I’m still in this.” He sucks in a deep breath. “I like you. And I’m hoping it’s not too late for me to say that.” 

If this were a romantic movie, the music would swell now, strings soaring as he tips your mouth towards his. It’s a perfect moment, lush lips caressing yours, sweet and unhurried, lingering like he doesn’t care if anyone else walks in. 

It’s a perfect moment, for sure. Just, not for you. 

“Jin,” you begin, stepping out of his embrace, “I need to tell you something.” 

A/N Pt. 2: To be continued!! (Sorry, the chapter was getting a bit long and this felt like a natural stopping point… what do we think so far??)

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[tenshusuto]

𝐇𝐎. 𝆹𝅥ㅤ𝐇𝐎. 𝐇𝐎. · ˚ ༘ ❅ * It's time to spread some seasonal cheer, so Merry Christmas!

[ellecdc]

Evan's little freak (affectionate)

prompt: There's something oddly comforting to me about how if I was freaking out about something and they were in their blitzed out state they'd help me calm down while sort of thinking I was a weird freak. - @moonstruckme

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who is having some sort of mental breakdown [1k words]

CW: reader is having a quasi-panic attack, rosekiller do their best to help but they truly Don't Get It™, they think she's weird but love her anyway

Evan found himself very much unprepared and ill equipped to handle this right now. 

You’d come flying into the flat in a tizzy rambling on and on about some great injustice or upheaval in your life at a million miles an hour without hardly even sparing him or Barty a glance. 

Granted, the second blunt may have been a little much, but he generally did not know how to handle big emotions. The horrified and uncomfortable expression that Barty was wearing told Evan that he, at least, felt the same. Neither boy grew up exactly encouraged to feel their feelings out loud; pushing down all upset didn’t exactly lend itself well to empathy and compassion.

He wondered if he was simply imagining the heavy smoke in the room or if you were just oblivious to it; either way, you were clearly not on the same level as the two boys.

He’d come to the conclusion about two and a half minutes into your tangent that no one was dead or dying, and when he deduced that those were the only scenarios worth this amount of anxiety, he more or less sort of tuned you out; only registering the panicky quality of your voice.

Barty had tried calling your name a few times which only seemed to spur you on and cause Barty to look over at him in a bemused sort of concern. “What the fuck? Are you seeing this?” Barty seemed to be asking. 

I am seeing this, what the fuck, indeed.

“Poppet,” Evan tried in his most authoritative tone, hoping to hell that his words didn’t sound as slow and languid as the felt on his tongue, “you need to settle down.”

That had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say if the way you turned your body towards him with wild eyes and nearly shaking hands meant anything. 

“I can’t!” You shrieked, causing Barty to actually wince at the pitch your voice took. 

“But…why not?” Barty asked cautiously, and you burst into tears.

“Fuck me.” Evan groaned under his breath as he stamped out the end of his blunt; he was clearly done for the day. “Alright, hold on. Let me get my shit together so I can talk some sense into you. Calm down.” 

“I can’t.” You keened, Evan tsked at you. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re wild today.” He commented as he flung open the windows. Barty was already in the kitchen grabbing bottles of water and some snacks; following proper sober up protocol. 

Evan took the time to actually move the ashtray to the opposite side of the room, hoping to have as clear a head as he possibly could to deal with his wound tight little minx. Ruining his high by being all adorable and weird.  You were lucky you were so cute. 

“Treasure, you need to go sit down.” Barty murmured then as you seemed to be frozen in some sort of panicky fright in the centre of the kitchen. “Or maybe light up for a minute…” He added sarcastically under his breath. Unfortunately for Evan, you heard him.

“I can’t do that, Barty! I get paranoid!”

“As opposed to whatever you are right now?” Barty asked incredulously then, and you let out a gut wrenching sob. 

“Okay! Okay, fuckin’ hell. Come here.” Evan called as he sat back down in his chair and beckoned you forward with one impatient hand. 

“This is too much, pet.” He chided as he pulled you down onto his lap. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” 

“But-”

“Enough; your only job is to breathe right now, got it?” 

You sucked in a shuddering breath as you nodded; eyes squeezed shut, forcing a steady stream of tears down your cheeks. You looked pitiful. 

“He didn’t say to hold your breath.” Barty commented gently as he sat on an ottoman in front of Evan’s chair and tried to hand each of you a bottle of water - Evan took both. But the breath that escaped your lips was forceful and left you panting for more. “Oi! Not like that, hey. Deeper breaths, Tres.”

“Y/N. Relax, doll. Relax. You’re fine.” Evan chided; his hand resting on your lower back and his thumb drawing circles at the space between the top of your jeans and the bottom of your shirt gave way to skin.

The flat fell quiet save for the sound of your breathing - at first shuddering, then practised and intentional, and finally settling into a more natural cadence - as Evan drew lines up and down your back with one hand and drew circles with his thumb on your knee with the other, and Barty fiddled distractedly with your fingers. 

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered eventually, and both Evan and Barty let out sighs of relief. 

“That was fucking wild, Treasure. Absolutely deranged.” Barty scolded playfully, pulling your fingers to his lips for a kiss.

“Scared the shit out of me, poppet. I thought someone was dying.” 

“I didn’t mean to worry you…” you offered shyly, shoulders curling in on yourself as if you sort of wanted to disappear. Evan pulled you roughly into his chest and stamped a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m always worried about you, weird little freak.”

“I’m gonna need like, five more blunts after that. Do I have grey hairs? I feel like I have grey hair now. You’re ageing me, Treasure. You’re sending me to an early grave.” Though you clearly accepted Barty’s teasing for what it was when you returned his kiss fervently. 

“No more blunts.” Evan called as Barty moved to put on a record. “Next time she comes in like a bat out of hell, I would like to have our wits about us. Hm? Give us a fighting chance.” 

“So we’re rawdogging our way through life from now on? Alright, Ev; but if I start having meltdowns like our perfect little freak over there, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself!” 

“....Maybe one blunt a day?” Evan asked you when Barty disappeared around the corner; murmuring the question into the slightly damp hairs at your temple.

“Maybe so.” You agreed with a tired chuckle turned sigh. He couldn’t blame you; if he was tired after all of that, you must be exhausted.

[silvvermoon]

lover, not a liar ♡

Aki, your best friend, has agreed to teach you how to suck cock. But you need more than that.

pairing: aki hayakaya x reader

wc: 3.7k

tags: friends to lovers, slightly tipsy sex, dom!Aki, rough sex, blowjobs, pet names (baby, princess), calling u good girl, praise, slight dacryphilia, creampie, fluffy ending ♡

“Aki,” you slur, mouth wet and feeling all too warm from the drinks you’d had earlier in the evening. “Are you gonna show it to me or what?” 

You’re sitting on your knees and staring up at your best friend’s erection straining through his grey sweatpants which is, well, pretty unexpected. And definitely not how you pictured spending your Friday night. Aki’s above you, palming himself softly while you wait eagerly for him to teach you how to suck cock. And seeing him like this makes you feel hot. 

It wasn’t something either of you had planned on or even touched on before. You’ve never even shared a kiss with Aki, not a proper one anyway. You’re friends, platonic friends, and that’s all. But tonight, during your usual pizza and movie catch up, the stress of the week finally caught up with you. The awkward silence from your latest 3-month-long fling has been sitting on your mind all night and you just wanted to toss those thoughts all away. Get drunk, complain to Aki, and get distracted by whatever Netflix has to offer. 

Well, that was supposed to be the plan.

Except you forgot how much you overshare once you get a few drinks in you. And Aki’s not exactly 100% sober, despite him holding his alcohol a lot better than you. You never even did get around to ordering that pizza because once you were feeling buzzed enough, all you could keep saying was “and before he started ghosting me, that asshole complained that my blowjobs were terrible. Too much tongue, not enough suction, fuck. Like come on, I wanted to make it good for him but he never told me what he wanted until after, when he just threw negative fucking feedback at me. It’s so humiliating, Aki. Look at my phone! He gave me a rating like I was his Uber driver. Who does that? Who?”

And Aki had, indeed, taken a look at your phone, winced, and then handed it back to you. “I think you dodged a bullet with this one,” he’d said, “and don’t listen to it. I’m sure that’s the last time anyone will suck his dick for him. Even if he offered to pay.”

You’d snorted, laughed so hard that you almost choked even though Aki was dead serious. “But what if he’s telling the truth? Maybe I am shit at giving blowjobs.”

Aki looked at you then, softly, maybe a little bit tipsy too. “It’s the enthusiasm that counts, knowing that you want this so much is what makes blowjobs feel good,” he’d said, and then “besides, I’m sure you’re not shit at them, I’ve seen the way you eat your ice-cream. That’s some real devotion, right there.”

You giggled again, “Sure, sloppy. With no real technique.” And that was that. Your laughter died into  easy silence and Aki was prepared to switch the show on Netflix, until your tipsy brain got the sudden idea of doing something incredibly dumb.

And later, you blame it on the alcohol, you blame it on the way Aki’s too easy to open up to, you blame it on the way his body is so welcoming and relaxed next to you. Hell, you even blame it on Netflix for having absolutely zero worthwhile anything available to distract you from Aki and blowjobs and thinking of his dick while he’s literally right fucking there. You blame it on Aki’s face, which is clearly a weapon in both seduction and destruction on its own.

Nope, not your fault at all. Never.

And, you know all too well that being tipsy makes you act on things you would otherwise keep locked away in the back of your mind. You wouldn’t have felt this way if you hadn’t felt Aki’s own hot gaze on you when he thought you weren’t looking.

So, here you went.

“Hey, Aki, maybe I could… try it on you?” you smiled, face feeling hot from more than just the alcohol. “Can you teach me how to give a better blowjob? With guidance, you know? I mean, if it’s too weird you can say no.”

Yep. You said it. No take backs now.

“You want me to-” Aki paused, swallowing. And then he looked at you, maybe for a second too long where it felt like he was calculating too many things for one night to have. His cheeks were only a little bit red when he turned the TV off and said “sure, I’ll do my best.”

~

And that’s why you’re here. With Aki. Waiting desperately for him to give you permission to pull down his briefs. It should feel weird, awkward, maybe at least a little bit wrong, but it doesn’t. It’s just you and Aki and the growing heat between your thighs.

“Firstly, you’ve gotta open your mouth,” Aki says, and he reaches out with one hand to cup your jaw, thumbing at your lip. He hasn’t kissed you or anything, simply easing you down to the floor with a pillow to prop yourself up on. You open your lips and let Aki press his thumb in against your tongue, taking in the softness of his skin.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s a good girl.”

You nod, humming. Aki’s voice makes your stomach tighten, the way he calls you a good girl. His fingers feel nice in your mouth, as do the ones threading through your hair, massaging your scalp while you lazily suck. 

“Teach me?” you ask, mouth still full of his fingers.

Aki grips your hair just a tad bit tighter. “That’s what I’m doing, but I need you to be patient for me,” he says, and then “we’re taking it slowly, making sure you know where to touch,” he takes your hand, pressing it to his thigh, “and where to tease,” he says softly, bring your other hand to rest against his erection. You can feel him, so thick and hard beneath the tight fabric. With Aki’s encouragement, you give him a soft rub, just ghosting your fingers over the outline of his bulge, keeping your touch light and without expectation.

“Just like that,” Aki murmurs, and when you glance up at him you can see the blush on his cheeks, eyes heavy. He’s turned on, and there’s something incredibly hot knowing that it’s you doing this to him. Aki’s your friend, yes, but you’d be lying if you said that you’d never been attracted to him.

And you’d be an even bigger liar if you said that asking this of him tonight was purely so you could ‘learn’. 

Aki reaches to pull his briefs down, swatting your hands away as you try to do it for him too hastily. “Slow down, what did I say about being patient?” he says. But your pouting turns to arousal as soon as his cock is out, all for you. Aki’s hard as fuck, his cock incredibly thick and girthy with a nice soft curve that you know would hit all the right places inside you. It’s gorgeous, you think, no, you know. You haven’t seen it before but fuck, you’ve definitely thought about it. At night, when you’re horny and tired and too lazy to look at porn, you’ve wondered what Aki’s cock would look like, feel like in your hands, your mouth, your pussy.

And from what he’s showing you, Aki doesn’t disappoint. His girthy cock is the most perfect shade of flushed pink that you’ve ever seen.

“Open a bit wider for me, that’s right,” Aki whispers, cock twitching when you say an over exaggerated ‘ahhh’ and stick your tongue out. His hips move forward gently, his cockhead resting against your tongue, dribbling small amounts of sticky precum on to your tastebuds. He tastes good; only slightly musky with a hint of salt. Way better than anyone else you’ve had in your mouth. 

“Aki, gim’ mor-“ you try to say around the cock in your mouth, choking off when Aki thrusts in unexpectedly. You automatically open your mouth wider, adjusting to the sudden fullness that’s about to hit the back of your throat. Aki doesn’t even move, just stays like that while your eyes tear up and you try to just breathe.

“I’m impressed,” he marvels, thumb brushing against your lower lip that’s stretched around him. “Just wanted to test your reflexes, pretty girl. Didn’t expect you to take me in so well,” he smiles, starting to rock his hips back and forth. 

You can’t do anything other than force yourself to relax, mind hazy as Aki’s thick shaft fills your mouth over and over again. You can feel the wetness beginning to grow between your own thighs, your cunt slick with arousal just from having Aki praise you for sucking his cock. It’s embarrassing. But it doesn’t stop you from desperately reaching down to rub at your clothed pussy while you continue to give him head. You need to rub yourself just to relieve some of the pressure that’s building in your aching little cunt.

Aki only pauses for half a second when he sees you do this, watches you hurriedly shove your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties to rub at your throbbing clit, and you know he must like what he sees because you feel his cock twitch hard against your tongue.

“Turned on?” he breathes out, which you both know is obvious from the way you’re getting yourself off so frantically. The sound of your slick folds squelching as you finger yourself is even louder than the gasps Aki lets out when he nudges his cockhead against the back of your throat. You choke every time he does that, eyes watering from the lack of air and from feeling so used , but your hand never stops rubbing your clit. No, you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. The alcohol in your system isn’t even what’s making you so forward, it’s the fact that you’re just so fucking riled up from having Aki in your mouth, fucking your throat. 

Aki’s the reason why your panties are stained with a thick layer of your cream. Aki’s the reason why your pussy is desperately clenching around your fingers, pulling them further into your wet heat. Aki’s the reason why you’ve become such a shameful slut who can’t stop touching herself the moment she gets a taste of her best friend's dick.

“See, baby?” he whispers, pumping his cock deeper into your mouth, “you already know how to give a good blowjob, look at you, showing me just how horny you get from letting me use your mouth.” Aki murmurs all this while stroking your hair, his fingers in your scalp so he can hold your head still while he rocks into you.

It’s all so much, your own fingers in your cunt and Aki’s cock in your mouth. All of it feels so good and you know Aki’s meant to be teaching you how to suck properly, how to use your tongue, but now you just desperately want to feel his cock inside your pussy. You mewl around his length, stuffed full and barely able to breathe. All you know is you want him to pound you right now. Nothing else matters. 

“Keep playing with your pretty little pussy for me, okay baby? The view I get from here shows me just how much you want this.” 

And fuck, those words do something to you, because the knot in your stomach grows and you desperately add another finger into your cunt, twisting and rubbing against your sweet spot.

It’s not enough.

You pull back off Aki’s cock for a gasp of air. “Aki-” you breathe, spit soaked lips sore as you speak, “m’ fingers aren’t enough, need more, need you,” you sob. “I wanted to make you cum with my mouth but, I need- just, I need your cock-” you choke off. And it’s embarrassing how needy you are in this moment, but you don’t feel any of it when you’re this aroused. 

Aki grips your chin, soft but firm. “You need me to fuck this princess cunt of yours to make you happy? You want it that bad that you can’t hold out any longer?” you nod in response, still rubbing softly at your own swollen clit. Aki bites his lip, stroking your jaw, and says “Well, I guess you deserve it, since you’ve been such a good girl for me, taking my cock as deep as you can down that pretty throat.”

“Fuck, Aki, please yes that’s what I-.”

It all happens so quickly after that. You don’t get the chance to even say anything before Aki’s picking you up by the waist and urging you onto the couch, spreading your body out on the cushions while he looms above you. Your mouth is still wet with his precum, but Aki leans down to kiss you anyway. He presses his lips against yours for the first time, groaning softly into your mouth while he rocks his leaking cock against your bare thigh. It’s a stark difference to the control he had before when he was fucking your mouth, he’d been easy to talk no matter how deep you took him in, only letting out small gasps every now and then. But now? Aki’s moaning, soft little choked back noises just from kissing you. It’s hotter than it should be, and your only response is to wrap your arms around his back and pull him in for more.

Any other time you’d want to indulge Aki with more kisses, but now you just need him inside you. 

“Aki,” you murmur against his lips, “need you to stretch me out. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“You’re still so impatient,” he says, strong hands parting your thighs and pulling your soaked panties down to your ankles. “And you’re this fucking wet from just taking me in your mouth?” he says, swiping a finger through your slick folds, brushing your swollen clit and making you shiver. Your pussy is fully exposed like this, skirt hiked up high above your stomach while Aki settles between your legs, his length pressed up against your soaked pussy. You’re both leaking, and you honestly can’t tell if it’s your own wetness or Aki’s precum that’s making the squelching sounds when his cockhead slaps against your fluttering entrance.

There’s only a fraction of hesitation, Aki looking down at you with heavy eyes, “are you sure?” he asks, and “oh my god Aki, fucking yes,” you tell him. You’re really fucking sure because if he doesn’t keep going, you’re going to explode.

And then he’s pressing in. No prep. You’re so wet that you don’t even need his tongue or fingers to ease the stretch from his cock. Aki’s kissing you while he slowly enters you, giving you time to adjust to the slight sting of the stretch. “You’re doing so well, such a good girl for me,” he whispers, moving down to kiss your neck, nibbling at your sensitive skin there. “Knew you��d end up with more than just sucking my cock, you wanted this,” he finishes, bottoming out with his length fully stuffed inside your cunt. 

You gasp, whimpering into Aki’s shoulder while he nudges his cockhead against your sweet spot. “You knew? I didn’t- fuck, I didn’t plan it like this,” you choke out. The pleasure is hitting you harder now. This isn’t your fingers inside of you, this is Aki . And he’s pretty and strong and gorgeous and seemingly already knows how you like the shallow thrusts against your g-spot. “A-Aki,” you stutter, your body writhing against his while he fills you over and over again.

“You hoped for it though, didn’t you?” he murmurs, slow, shallow thrusts that stretch your tight walls around his length. The sensation is intoxicating for both of you, and your mind goes blank at the sound of his deep voice. Yes. He’s right. You wanted this, Aki fucking you, hidden behind some flimsy pretense of teaching you how to suck him off. He knows, you know, and now you can’t shy away from his lips against your own. You nod into him because there’s no point denying it now. He’s your best friend and he knows you.

Aki kisses you like he’s been waiting for years. And he has been waiting for years. It’s all tongue and teeth while he pounds your pussy hard and god you’re a mess. All you can get out is a gasping “I think I’m gonna cum, Aki, please, I need it rougher,” with your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head when he fucks you harder. You almost cry when the head of his cock bumps your cervix, it’s a mix of sharp pleasure and pain and you love it, your pussy letting out small squirts each time he rams into your cervix. Your hands curl against the fabric of the couch, trying to find some sense of stability while your body is getting pushed to the limit. You’re not even drunk from the alcohol anymore, just all love drunk from Aki’s perfect cock. 

You’re about to warn him, but Aki gets in before you, his voice raspy in your ear while he thrusts into you. “Yeah you’re close aren’t you, baby? I can feel your pretty little cunt clenching around me, so fucking tight for me even after everything I’ve given you.” And his words only make you tighten even more, your walls clinging to his shaft as you start to reach your peak. You cry out, moaning his name pathetically. All you feel is the warmth from Aki’s cock abusing your sweet spot over and over again, distantly, his voice saying “cum on my cock princess, yeah, that’s my good fucking girl,” and the sound of squelching while Aki fucks your gushing heat through the waves of pleasure. Even when you’re coming down, struggling to breathe, Aki keeps fucking you through the last of the contractions, making you twitch as your poor abused pussy gets overstimulated.

Your heart is racing and you’re entirely fucked out but Aki’s still hard, and more importantly, he’s still inside of you. He’s slowed down though, you’re aware of that much. You’re aware of how only the head of his cock is in your entrance and he’s littering kisses across your collarbone while he waits for you to come back to him.

“Was I too rough on you?” Aki speaks into your skin softly. He sounds almost apologetic, lazily thrusting into your heat while you hold onto his broad shoulders.

“No, s’ good, Aki. Felt so good,” you slur, breath hitching when Aki thrusts a little bit harder into you. “Want you to cum inside me, please Aki,” you pout with whatever sliver of energy you have left, and you’re well aware that he’s waiting for you to give him permission to keep going. As rough as he’s been, and as much as he’s pushed you tonight, you know that if you say you’re too tired, he’ll happily pull off of you and go finish himself off in the bathroom. You don’t want that though. Definitely not tonight.

“Yeah?” Aki nibbles at your throat, breath hot on your skin. “You want me to fill you up?” he asks, reaching down to swipe his thumb over your sensitive clit. He’s pumping into you steadily, and having his cock rubbing up against your g-spot while his fingers play with your small bundle of nerves is just too much. You can feel the heat building rapidly in your belly again and you almost want to sob. “I know, I know, but you’ve done so well, just one more for me,” Aki coos, kissing the wetness leaking out the corners of your eyes, and tells you “I really wanna stuff your princess cunt full of my cum, n’ I know you can take it for me, baby,” while he fucks you steady, urging you even closer than before.

“ Oh, fuck - yes, please, need it so bad,” you whimper, your second orgasm hitting you just as hard as the first. Aki’s words draw it out of you, your gushing pussy clenching around his cock while he groans and fucks into you harder, even rougher than before, pumping you full of thick cum. You love the soft moans he makes, but you love it more when he collapses on top of you, pressing his lips into yours and lazily kissing you while his cock slowly softens inside you. You feel full. And when Aki finally pulls out, still trailing kisses and little bites down your throat, you wince at the feeling of his seed leaking from your puffy entrance. 

You’re an absolute mess, and so is the couch.

“C’mere,” Aki says, tugging you up into a sitting position before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. You’re still dazed, and watching Aki move around the room to grab you a towel and some tissues is all too much for you. When he finally sits back down, he’s spreading your legs to wipe away  the sticky mess leaking from between your thighs. “I’ve wanted to do that for years, you know,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry, I kinda went all out tonight after you asked me to, you know- I didn’t know if I’d get the chance-”

You stop him, reaching out to hold his forearm and keep him steady for the first time tonight. You know you need to say it. “I’ve wanted this too, Aki. I mean, that is why I asked if I could blow you,” you laugh. You want him to know the truth, and you want to lighten the tension he’s holding over himself. Your chest clenches when he cracks a rare smile at you. You can't hold yourself back from tugging him into a tight hug, holding him so close that you can feel his heart beating against your own.

Aki’s so pretty. He’s always been so pretty. And now that you know what he tastes like, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop yourself from needing him. Wanting him. They’re the same thing in your world.

Aki sighs and leans in to your touch, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “Shower? I think we both need to clean up a bit, and I promise I won’t try to make you cum again once we’re in there.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you smile. You feel so warm, being held by Aki. Your body feels wrecked but god, it was so worth it.

[wonijinjin]

countless

author's note: sorry for not posting this sooner, i have been sick for the last week unfortunately, and just started to recover, hope you can understand:) (btw this is part of the 200 followers event, fell free to check it out!)

synopsis: your boyfriend is very eager to show you how much he loves you.

word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff | pairing: mingyu x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, painkillers

the first thing you heard after waking up was a knock on your door, followed by a loud thud. you were still sleepy so you couldn’t really decipher the meaning of these sounds, since you were not expecting visitors at such random time in the night. well, except for your boyfriend, who was out with his friends, saying that you shouldn’t wait up for him, since he would be out for quite a while. “what is he doing outside? did he forget his keys?” you mumbled to yourself as you jogged to the door, in order to help mingyu unlock the door. however to your surprise the sight which greeted you wasn’t very usual; it was wonwoo, at his side your clearly tipsy boyfriend, wonwoo’s arms holding him up (as well as he could handle a giant like mingyu). “what do we have here, hmm?” you questioned with a raised brow, not the happiest with the situation since you knew you would be the one taking care of him and cleaning the aftermath of his mess. “umm, hi. so…he drank a bit more than he should’ve.” wonwoo greeted you, awkwardly trying to stop mingyu’s limbs from escaping his hold. “hi sweetheart!” mingyu hiccuped, smiling sheepishly like an idiot. “oh gosh, what a sight.” mingyu could see that you weren’t pleased with his state, but the giggle you were trying so hard to hold back assured him it would be fine. “here, let me take him from you.” wonwoo handed you your big koala boyfriend in an instant; now that you gave it some thought he must’ve been extremely tired, afterall mingyu had been working out for years, building extreme amounts of muscle. “thanks. he has been whining about wanting to kiss you, so don’t be surprised if he attacks you. anyways, I will be on my way now I think. take care!” wonwoo waved, leaving you alone in the living room with mingyu. “i have missed you so much baby! give me a kissy kiss!” mingyu screamed (where he got the sudden energy burst from, you had no idea) while hugging you, smushing your face in his hands. he showered you with kisses, never stopping if it wasn’t for you making him pause. “wonwoo was indeed right, although you attacking me is nothing out of the ordinary.” you giggled, his face turning redder than it already was.

“I need more kisses!” he repeated for not the first time after a while, not leaving you alone. “mingyu baby I love so very much and missed you just as much, however I am tired. it is the middle of the night, you know? besides, how many kisses has it been? I cannot even remember how long has it been since we sat down.” you answered. “but I even planned on telling you all about my night! the boys told me so many stories! they are so interesting!” he pouted with big eyes; he looked exactly like a kicked puppy whose spirit has been destroyed. “oh really now?” your crossed arm and the way you were already standing in front of the couch only appeared to mingyu upon closer inspection, leaving him missing your lips even more. “yes! please at least this one story! it was about how minghao got into the situation where he had to wear a peacock costume on tv…” your exhausted mind couldn’t really process this, so you decided to end the conversation there. “tell me about that when you are sober, okay? now let’s get you to bed instead.” you urged as you dragged his almost limp body to the bedroom, tucking him into bed, and kissing him good night one last time, but not before putting a glass of water and painkillers on his nightstand. “sleep well, I will be waiting for that interesting story tomorrow, alright?”

[endless-ineffabilities]

this world was never meant for a fire like yours (part 4/5)

Daemon Targaryen x modern f!reader

word count: 6k

series masterlist ▪��� main masterlist

series synopsis: After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.

themes/warnings: language, separation, intense yearning, actual bonding between Daemon and Vizzy, magic use, manipulation

September 2023 / the 9th Moon, 113 AC

The fire in the hearth flickers weakly, casting shadows on the stone walls in Daemon’s chambers. His fingers drum restlessly on the arm on his chair, his mind elsewhere.

Across from him, Viserys is lounging calmly, the faintest smile playing on his lips. He had invited himself in Daemon’s company, under the pretence of discussing the plans of the Realmwalkers. And they did just that, but the King’s eyes remain bright with amusement—a cruel irony, given his brother’s predicament.

Daemon has been back from Korzion for several moons, and he yearns for you to such a degree that it lingers like an ache in his bones.

“So, what was this other realm like?” Viserys breaks the silence, his voice curious. But Daemon mistakes it for taunting. 

“What was it like?” Daemon repeats, his voice a low rumble. He can feel his temper rising, as it almost always does when anything related to you is mentioned. When he has to speak of you, and be reminded that you are an entire world away.

Viserys leans forward, with a boyish eagerness to listen to tales of distant lands. “We never did get to have a proper discussion, brother. I would love to know. The… priestesses… called it the Realm of Steel. Now what does that mean? And its inhabitants are connected to devices? That must have been odd, indeed.”

Daemon stares at the fire, its fading warmth doing little to soothe the melancholy creeping into his thoughts. “You saw it.”

“Why, yes, brother,” Viserys nods thoughtfully, reclining again. “In the brief whisper of a moment that I spent in that realm, I was certainly able to familiarise myself with their ways.” His tone is clearly teasing, but Daemon finds no humour in it.

Daemon clenches his jaw, forcing the words out. “The only thing worth mentioning from the realm, the one thing that would have kept me there—”

“—is her, as you have mentioned before.” Viserys cuts in smoothly.

Daemon glares at his brother icily, his jaw clenching.

Viserys’ smile only widens. “Must you be so cross?” 

“I am not cross,” Daemon responds petulantly. “I am mourning.”

Viserys waves a hand dismissively, as though swatting away a trivial complaint. “You will see her again!”

“And until then, I will remain in mourning.” The finality in Daemon’s tone seems to sober Viserys, if only for a moment. 

“Daemon, you and your penchant for theatrics,” Viserys says, leaning back in his seat, indulging in a private jibe only he understands.

“Are you mocking me?” Daemon’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. For all his love for his brother, there are moments—far too many moments—when Daemon considers drawing his blade, simply to see if Viserys would still be so smug with Dark Sister at his throat. 

Viserys holds up a hand in a placating gesture, though his eyes still sparkle with mischief. “What if I am? Will you strike at your King?” When his brother merely glowers at him, he continues, “There was something on her table. It possessed a dark hue, with a sheen to it. It looked stiff and peculiar…”

“Aye, she calls it a laptop,” Daemon says, his voice turning softer. He could see it so vividly in his mind—the glowing screen, the smooth surface of the strange object that seemed to hum with a life of its own. You had been understanding when he broke the one you owned originally in a fit of desperation, when the sentient overlord in the object called Google offered no answers.

Viserys’ face twists with confusion. “A lap… top?”

Daemon chuckles darkly at his brother’s obliviousness. “I called it a magic box at first.”

Viserys laughs out loud, the sound filling the chamber. “A magic box?”

“Pray tell,” Daemon drawls, “are you simply going to echo every word I utter?”

“Forgive me, brother,” Viserys says, his laughter dying down. “I am simply… amused.”

Daemon turns to face the hearth, the smirk that tugs at his lips growing impossible to hide. It was absurd, really—the man he had become in that world. A prince, warrior, and dragonlord brought low by strange, glowing boxes and foreign jargon that tumbled awkwardly from his lips. 

But you… you had made him feel like none of it mattered. In your arms, he wasn’t so out of place. 

Daemon sits silent for a moment, the memory of your time together tugging at him as he stares blankly into the flames. His lips twitch into the rarest of smiles—something soft and affectionate, uncharacteristic of the Rogue Prince.

“I nearly set fire to her home once, trying to cook us supper.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow. “You? Cooking?”

“I was so determined. Yet I managed to make a complete mess of something they call pasta. She ended up fixing what I ruined.”

“She must possess the patience of the Mother herself.”

Daemon hums in affirmation. You were a marvel, an anomaly, because you took him in—a complete and total stranger. You saw him, accepted him… and you loved him.

You love him still, Daemon hopes.

“She once took me to this…gods, what did she call it?” Daemon waves a hand vaguely, trying to summon the word from his mind. “A farmer’s market. A market without any actual farmers, mind you. Just a sea of stalls with trinkets and food. She insisted we buy strawberries, and they were strange—too sweet—but she fed me one anyway. Right in front of everyone.” He chuckles at the thought. “We were walking along, her hand in mine, not a care for the smallfolk surrounding us.”

Daemon’s eyes glaze over with a fondness that was rare for him, as he continues sharing more of your world with Viserys. He speaks of how you worked as something called a nurse– a healer—but you were far more skilled than even the Grand Maester himself. He shares how you introduced him to coffee—some bitter, muddy brew he loathed at first but came to crave due to its association with early mornings spent nestled with you on your couch. And how you made him try pizza, which he found oddly addictive.

“She insisted on doing things,” he says, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “Not just ruling or politicking. Simple things. Like spending hours in a bloody shop trying on clothes that I did not need. But... It made her smile. And I would have done anything to see that smile.”

For a moment, the tension between them lifts, and Viserys watches his brother with an expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. Daemon, the fearsome warrior, enchanted by something as lowly as venturing into a mundane market, utterly captivated by a woman who lived a life so unlike anything he had ever known.

But as Daemon’s musings grew quieter, his gaze hardened again, the sweetness slipping away. “Enough of this,” he says gruffly. “We must direct our attention on how I will be with her once more.”

October 2023 / the 10th Moon, 113 AC

The hospital’s antiseptic scent wraps around you like a damp cloak as you trudge through the hallways. Every beep of the machines and the chatter of your fellow nurses feels like a reminder of the normalcy you are desperately trying to hold onto. Little do they know, you are living a life that has been effectively tinged by dragonfire. 

You don’t quite feel like a beacon of hope; more like a walking, talking paradox. You try to save lives while secretly plotting how to summon a Targaryen prince from his world.

Your mind flickers to Daemon as you begin your shift. His silver hair, that smug smile, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world — any world. If only he was back at your apartment to welcome you after your rounds, maybe things wouldn’t feel so heavy. But alas, you’re stuck in scrubs and not some elegant and puffy gown like those worn by the noble ladies in his kingdom. 

Hours pass, and after a particularly exhausting shift, you finally make your way to Dessa’s apartment, your mind buzzing with excitement. She is an odd mix of energy and seriousness, her presence a grounding force. The moment you enter her living space, you’re assaulted by the scent of herbs and spices, the walls adorned with what looked like genuine dragon scales. Or maybe they’re just really expensive home decor from an antique shop? Who could say?

“Ready for another night of magical chaos?” Dessa asks, grinning as she sorts through her collection of peculiar knick-knacks.

“Chaos is my middle name,” you quipped, waving a hand dramatically. “At least it is now, thanks to you.”

“Just what I want to hear, my child. And I am honoured to be your guide through this madness.” She picks up a sliver of moonstone and winks. “Shall we start with the moonstone or the raven’s feather this time? Or should we just sacrifice a bloody goat and see what happens?”

You snort at her dark humour. “Let’s stick to the gemstones for now. I’m not ready for gruesome sacrifices.”

Dessa grins as she hands you the moonstone. “Good choice.”

The two of you settle in for your practice, the atmosphere thick with magic and your unspoken hopes. You take a deep breath, recalling the steps that would lead you to Daemon. This is your chance to strengthen your connection, to reach through the veils of reality and grasp him once more.

“Envision your destination clearly,” Dessa instructs, her voice encouraging. “You don’t want to end up in the middle of the Dothraki Sea.”

You laugh nervously, though you’re unsure what or where a Dothraki is. “Right.”

“Priorities, my dear.”

You prick your palm with the moonstone, and the sharp pain jolts you into focus. The blood meets the raven’s feather, and you begin to chant in High Valyrian. The words roll off your tongue, you can feel the energy building, swirling around you like a hurricane, almost intoxicating in its intensity.

But as the ash begins to swirl around you, that familiar sensation of panic surges in your chest. You focus harder, envisioning Daemon, and that wicked smile of his that haunts your dreams. The way he smells, the way he tastes. Just when the memory is strengthened in your mind, a wave of fatigue crashes over you, and everything immediately falters.

“Dessa, I—” You gasped, collapsing against the couch. “I can’t… It’s too much.”

“Take a breath, you can do this,” she urges, but the energy flickers out like a dying flame. “We can try again.”

“I’m starting to feel like a joke,” you mumble dejectedly. Are they sure that you are one of them? Maybe this was all a fluke.

But you try once more and you fail. Over and over. Each attempt feels more hopeless than the last. You could practically hear Daemon's mocking laughter in your head, though you knew he wouldn’t be so cruel—not to you. 

“Let’s take a break,” Dessa suggests, concern knitting her brow. “You’re pushing too hard. It’s not a race.”

But all you could think about was the chasm of distance that lay between you and Daemon. “I just want to see him. I want to feel him.”

After the long night of failure, you trudge home, fatigue pulling at your limbs like lead. You slump onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. The room feels empty, devoid of magic and warmth and Daemon. The excitement that had buoyed your spirits is now like a distant memory.

Just as you begin to drift off, the memory of Daemon flickers behind your eyelids. Suddenly, something sparks within you, igniting the embers of your determination. You shoot up, adrenaline surging through your veins. The thought of giving up is unbearable. The very real possibility of losing him for good is enough to pull you out of your rut.

With a newfound sense of purpose, you gather the same tools from earlier, the moonstone and raven’s feather, and focus your thoughts. You envision Daemon, standing with him in the middle realm.

This time, your heart races not with self-doubt and gloom but with renewed hope. “I will find you,” you whisper to yourself. “I will.”

You prick your palm again, reciting the chant with a fervour you didn’t know you possessed. The energy swirls around you, coiling and tightening, feeding off your will. The feather turns to ash, and the world around you begins to shimmer and crackle, and with a rush that sends a thrill through your core, you feel yourself being pulled into the connection. The fog envelops you, and suddenly, you reach it.

But it isn’t just the middle realm. It’s everything you wanted, everything you long for. 

And then, just like that, he appears. His silver hair gleamed in the soft light, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of surprise and wonder.

“This is real?” 

Your voice comes out soft, hesitant. You’re unsure if you’re speaking to Daemon or to yourself. 

Your senses are overwhelmed, and you feel somewhat floaty, as if you’re nowhere at all. Perhaps you are nowhere, not in your realm and not in Daemon’s, but somewhere in the middle. Everything feels so distant and dreamlike as you glance around, taking in the fog that seems to curl around the furniture, draping your bedroom in a surreal haze. 

“Am I doing this?” You murmur in disbelief. “Is it working?”

Daemon doesn’t answer immediately. He stands frozen, his eyes wide and burning with an intensity that nearly undoes you. Then, something in him breaks, and he charges forward with a purpose, as if nothing else in the world matters but closing the space between you.

He grips you, his hands rough, desperate, holding onto whatever part of you he can—your face, your hips, your hands. His touch is possessive, like a man who fears he’ll lose you again. His lips crash into yours with a raw hunger, and it’s as if the entire world melts away, leaving only him. Your Daemon.

“My darling,” he breathes between kisses, his voice rough with desire. “All of this is fucking astonishing, and we can certainly marvel at what you can do to no end, but quite frankly, right this moment I could hardly bring myself to care.”

His lips devour yours, moving against your mouth with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. He kisses you as if it’s been years, as if this moment might be the last chance he’ll ever get. And for a brief second, the sensation overwhelms you — the smell of him, the feel of his hands gripping you with such raw need. Your fingers tangle in his silver hair, pulling him closer as if you could merge your two bodies together.

Daemon is not one to waste time, that’s for sure. His lips trail down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbone as you arch into him.

“I miss you,” you breathe, as he kisses the hollow of your throat.

“As I you, my love.” Daemon purrs, breathing you in. “You simply have no idea…”

But even in the heat of his touch, the fog surrounding you reminds you of the truth. This moment, as real as it feels, is a trick—a fragile connection. You feel him, but not entirely. His body presses against yours, but there’s something missing. You can’t feel the warmth of his skin, can’t hear the familiar rustle of his breath against your ear.

It’s not enough.

“Daemon… this is…” You try to voice out your concern, despite the moment. Dessa was right, your corporeal forms cannot meet through your projection; the two of you stand in your bedroom, but everything seems to be enveloped in a thick haze. If you press hard enough, you think your fingers will simply pass through Daemon as if he were a spectre. You realise that he knows this, too, but chooses to ignore it. 

He tries to brush it off, tries to ground you in the present. “This is the closest we’ve been in far too fucking long, my love.” His voice cracks slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “It would have been sooner if those cunts made greater effort to—”

You snort, confronted once more with how brash he can be. “Daemon, those cunts? Really? I am one of them, you know. Besides, it’s not their fault.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he mutters, his lips tugging into a slight smile as he rests his forehead against yours. His hands roam your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “Let me have this. Have you. I need you.”

He’s right. In physical form or otherwise, he is still your Daemon. And you have craved each other too much to be denied any kind of reunion.

“Okay.” Your hand reaches up to cradle his face, and he leans into it. He then looks around, appraising your chambers, as he used to say.

“Nothing has changed.” He hums, while holding you tightly to him, as if he’s afraid that you might dissolve into the fog. “What is this now? Ever the reader, my heart.” He reaches for the crisp, new paperback novel lying on your dresser. 

You snort softly. “Oh, that’s… yeah, someone lent it to me.”

“It certainly does not seem too suited to your tastes.” His tone is bemused, and he turns the book over in his hand. 

You let out a humourless laugh. “Astute observation. It’s my neighbour’s. He apparently thought I needed something new to read.” When he gave you the book, Tom happily explained how he thought you should, “…expose yourself to other things. Things you possibly haven’t tried out before. New films, books, friends. You know to help you forget all about…”

Daemon’s eyes narrow slightly, the shift in his posture immediate, almost imperceptible, but you’ve always been able to read him. He lowers the book slowly, his gaze hardening with suspicion. “Your neighbour — what was he called? Tim?”

“You remember his name, Daemon.” You roll your eyes at your lover, and his poorly-veiled jealousy. You were one and the same.

Daemon’s lips curl, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “You have been letting him inside your house?” His voice drops an octave, the dangerous undertone unmistakable. His hand rests on your waist, possessive, reminding you that you are his.

You nod slowly, carefully. “He’s been visiting every now and then. It’s not a big deal.”

Daemon tilts his head, his smirk darkening into something more sinister. He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Has that mongrel taken my place, dearest?”

Your breath catches in your throat, his words sending a jolt of heat through your veins. There’s an unspoken challenge in his voice, and your heart races in response. But you don’t back down.

With a calm you don’t entirely feel, you lift your chin and meet his gaze, eyes locked in a battle of wills. “Has any lady taken mine? In that amazing, grand realm of yours, Prince Daemon?” Your fingers slip beneath the collar of his tunic, the soft fabric yielding to your touch as you ghost your fingertips across his skin.

 Only Daemon has ever been able to elicit this out of you.

He enjoys the way you directly meet his eyes, unwavering in your stead. No one ever looked at him in such a way; not one has ever seen him as you do. Daemon has always inspired fear and intimidation in others. Those who find themselves comfortable enough to hold a conversation with the Rogue Prince tend to feel ill at ease or on their guard. As if he might turn on them at any moment. 

People usually mosey up to him because of a favour. Because of his status, his reputation. Because they want something out of him. 

But not you. No. Daemon knows that he has only ever inspired love in you.

Well, that and what might have been absolute surprise followed by wariness, when he was suddenly sprung into your world, injured and in a coat of full armour.

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound, before kissing you again, slower this time, savouring the feel of your lips against his. The kiss is deep, full of promises and unspoken words, and when he pulls away, he whispers, “No one can ever replace you.”

He has never been a devout man, but in that moment, he curses all the gods that you two are apart. Meeting in this middle-realm is insufficient. He feels you, somehow. But he does not feel you truly, not the goosebumps on your skin and the hitches in your breath. You are there, but you are not. 

But it will have to do. For now.

“Is this ailing you? Sustaining a connection like this, in this place?” Daemon asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

You shake your head. “Not really,” you admit, though there’s a heaviness in your limbs that you know will come crashing down later. “Dessa says I’ll feel quite exhausted afterward, but it shouldn’t take too big of a toll on me. At least, it’s not as bad as when I will actually be able to transport myself fully. I’m learning the ropes, and there’s a lot to learn. I mean… this is fucking insane.”

Daemon’s eyes flicker with something unreadable—pride, awe, something deeper. “And here you thought me extraordinary. When it was you all along.”

“Hardly.” You smile in return. “I’m not the only one, it seems. And, my great-grandmother… she was from your world.” 

He brushes a stray strand from your face.

Suddenly, the memory of that first night hits you, and maybe you had already known then. Maybe you had always known.

“The Rogue Prince and his Realmwalker. We were always meant to find each other.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them away quickly, unwilling to break the fragile spell that’s bound the two of you in this moment. “Always,” you whisper, the word filled with every ounce of longing you’ve carried for him.

But then panic grips you as the fog begins to dissipate. You can feel your magic waning, the connection fraying. 

“Daemon!” you call, but his figure fades quickly.

With a sudden rush, you're pulled back into your realm, losing him once more. 

“Fuck!” Daemon curses aloud, his voice echoing through the empty tower. Treesa, ever watchful, takes a cautious step back, unsure whether to comfort or retreat. She’s seen Daemon angry before, but this—this is different.

“My prince?” she inquires softly. “I felt the shift. She made contact, didn’t she? You saw her?”

He shoots her a dark glare, emotions swirling within him. “Get out,” he growls, the anguish unmistakable in his tone as he wrestles with the loss of you.

“She will find a way,” Treesa says, her voice filled with conviction, just before walking through the doorway. 

He wonders what you’re doing now. Are you just as exhausted, lying back in your bed, trying to regain your strength after the toll of the projection? He imagines you staring at the ceiling, thinking of him, feeling the same ache in your chest that he feels now.

He curses under his breath again, fists clenching at his sides. 

This is unbearable.

December 2023 / the 12th Moon, 113 AC

The clutter of your apartment feels oppressive, and you feel as if you don’t recognise it anymore. Like it’s no longer yours, but not only because of Daemon, but because of everything you've been going through in the past month.

 Shadows cling to the corners, stretching out as the waning light filters through the window. Shards of moonstone and ashes are strewn across the floor, remnants of failed attempts, each one a testament to the desperation that fills the air. In the centre of it all, you stand, your palm decorated with pinpricks of blood.

Dessa, once a nurturing figure whom you thought you can lean on, has become an intense shadow, her eyes blazing with expectation. “Again,” she commands, her voice unwavering.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to focus. You feel the familiar warmth of your magic stir within you, a fountain of energy waiting to burst forth. “I can’t keep doing this,” you admit, your voice strained. “I’m exhausted.”

Dessa’s expression hardens, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You must,” she insists, her tone sharper now, laced with an urgency that makes your stomach churn. “Time is running out. You need to learn to harness your power. It’s the only way to reach Prince Daemon.”

A flicker of anger rises within you, as it had several times before. On one occasion, you had nearly screamed in an outburst, saying, “If it’s that important, why can’t you just transport me to Westeros yourself? You’re the one with the experience.”

The air had grown thick as Dessa’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “If I could, don’t you think I would have done it already? It takes immense power to transport another Realmwalker, and it might harm me in the process.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you. Dessa has sacrificed so much,  and it’s not fair to place your own frustrations on the woman who has dedicated herself to training you. Yet, beneath the guilt lay an undercurrent of anger—a rising tide that threatens to drown you in self-doubt. 

“I’m tired of feeling weak,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dessa’s expression softens for just a moment, but it quickly hardens again. “Weakness is a luxury we cannot afford,” she replies, her voice firm. “Every moment you hesitate, you risk losing him forever.”

The words strike a chord, igniting a fire within you. You feel the heat of your magic surge, almost instinctively. It catches you both off guard, your energy force spilling out unbidden. 

The air crackles around you as your power begins to swell, something that demands to be unleashed. Your connection to Daemon calls to you, guiding you through the storm. And for a moment, you stand on the precipice of something immense.

“Channel that feeling!” Dessa encourages. “Let it guide you! You’re capable of so much more than you realise.”

With a determined breath, you extend your hands, feeling the now-familiar rush of energy coiling within you. You recall the incantation, the rhythm of the words echoing in your mind, and you begin to chant.

Dessa watches, her expression shifting from pride to mania, and you catch a flicker of something darker behind your mentor’s facade. The obsessiveness in her eyes, the way she leans in closer as if willing the magic to surge faster—it’s unsettling.

“Keep going!” Dessa urges, her voice now tinged with a hint of urgency that hints at deeper stakes. “You’re almost there!”

Your pulse races, the magic thrumming through you like a living entity. But you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. It feels like a game of cat and mouse, where you are the latter, running from unseen predators lurking in the shadows.

You feel the world around you dissolve, and in the swirling chaos, you steel yourself for what lies ahead. 

With a final surge of strength, you push yourself into the void. 

You are no longer in your apartment.

The familiar surroundings of your measly apartment have vanished, replaced by a darkness punctuated by the soft glow of stars overhead. A cool breeze brushes against your skin, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp soil. As your heart races, a thrill courses through your veins—you’ve done it. 

You’ve Realmwalked, so to speak, and the woods you stand in are unfamiliar, but you sense that you’ve landed in Westeros. Hopefully, close to where Daemon is, if your visualisation proved effective. 

But something feels off. As you stand there, trying to catch your breath, an uneasy sensation creeps into your chest. There’s something lurking in the shadows. Something—someone—is watching you. 

With quick, purposeful steps, you begin making your way through the dense trees, senses heightened as you listen to every rustle of leaves, every whisper of wind. The path before you is faint, but you follow it, hoping it will lead you closer to Daemon. The thought of him fuels your determination, but the further you walk, the deeper the sense of unease sinks into your bones. The woods feel alive, as though the very ground beneath your feet is shifting. Something is wrong.

Then, as if answering your fear, a figure steps out from the shadows. She’s tall, with sharp, regal features and eyes that seem to pierce through the darkness.

You freeze, heart pounding in your chest. 

“You are finally here,” the stranger says, her voice smooth yet dripping with sinister intention. “We have been waiting for you.”

Panic rises in your throat. “Where… where is Prince Daemon?” The question flies out of you.

Her lips curl into a predatory smile as she steps closer. “You have come to us, just as we hoped. Dessa was right. I can… feel you… and you are more powerful than my sister made you out to be.”

“What do you want from me?” you demand, though a part of you already knows the answer. If Dessa is her sister, this can only be Treesa or Verness. Realmwalker too, from what little you’ve heard of them. 

There’s something deeply unsettling about the way she looks at you—like you’re not a person but a weapon, an object, something to be used.

“The time has come to fulfil our plans,” Treesa replies, her smile chilling as she closes the distance between you. “You were the last Realmwalker in Korzion. Your power is vital for what is to come.”

“I won’t be part of your plans. I just came here for Daemon,” you spit, taking a step back. But as you do, you feel the weight of Treesa’s magic press down on you, nigh inescapable.

“You do not have a choice,” she says, her voice soft and musical, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “You are part of something much bigger than you can comprehend. You cannot escape it.”

And then it hits you. This was a trap all along. You were led here—by Dessa, by their lies—and now they have you. All the training, the pushing, it was never about helping you find Daemon. It was about getting you here, into their hands.

Before you can react, Treesa makes her move. With a flick of her wrist, a sudden wave of magic surges toward you. Your entire being feels heavy as the force of it pulls you down. You try to fight it, adrenaline roaring through you as you attempt to run, but it’s too late. She has the upper hand.

Treesa steps closer, her voice laced with satisfaction. “You are ours now.”

Your vision blurs as Treesa’s magic takes hold, and suddenly, everything becomes fuzzy.

“No,” you mumble weakly, your body collapsing against the cold, damp earth. “I won’t let you…”

“Let me?” she laughs mockingly. 

Just as you succumb to nothingness, you mumble weakly, “Daemon will find me...”

Not far from the edge of the woods, a few smallfolk huddle near their huts, tending to their evening fires. The sky above is painted with the deep coating of the midnight hour when they notice something strange—a woman, dressed in unfamiliar garb, struggling against another in the distance. They don’t dare get too close, but they watch, wide-eyed, as the second woman drags the first into the shadows of the trees.

A few whispers are exchanged, and soon, one of the men runs off to report what he’s seen to the Gold Cloaks.

Hours later, word reaches the Red Keep. The rumour travels quickly—Gold Cloaks to the Kingsguard, the Kingsguard to the Hand, and finally, it reaches the ears of King Viserys himself.

He listens with a frown, trying to make sense of the strange report. But it isn’t until Daemon enters the room that everything clicks into place.

Daemon’s expression shifts the moment he hears the tale. The description of the woman—the unfamiliar clothes, her behaviour—it all points to one thing, one person.

You.

“She is here,” Daemon says, voice tight with certainty. “I know it.”

Viserys looks at him, startled by the sudden intensity in his brother’s voice. “Do you truly believe so?”

Daemon nods, his heart pounding. “She has to be.”

Before Viserys can respond, the heavy doors of the throne room swing open. Otto Hightower enters, purposefully striding towards the gathering at the head of the room.

“Your Grace,” Otto begins with a slight bow, his eyes flickering over Daemon. “There has been another incident. The priestess Treesa… She is nowhere to be found within the Red Keep. Her chambers have been emptied, and we also questioned the servants, to no avail. She is no longer here to be subject to questioning.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, a fury building inside him. His voice is cold, his temper barely contained. “When did anyone last see her?”

“in this previous twilight's hours,” Otto replies. “Since then, there has been no sign of her. I have sent guards to roam the keep, but nothing.”

Daemon lets out a harsh laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Of course she is gone. Mayhaps they have been planning this the whole time. And we let them.”

The realm feels unsteady beneath his feet, the ground trembling with the potential for chaos. Do they not know who he is? Are they not afraid of what he is capable of? Even devoid of sorcery and magic and whatever fucking trickery those priestesses have devised, he is still Daemon Targaryen.

“Prepare the men,” he orders, voice sharp and decisive. “We will search every inch of the Seven Kingdoms until we find her.”

If they think they can take what is his, they will learn that he is not called the Rogue Prince for nothing. 

And he will find you.

*flashback* February 2023 / the 2nd Moon, 113 AC

One chilly evening, you decided to introduce Daemon to the concept of proper movie night. You had gathered a few classics, a mountain of blankets, and an assortment of snacks that would put any royal feast to shame.

“I still cannot believe that this is how you spend your evenings, ” Daemon mutters sardonically as he examined the spread.

“You know it. It’s all about relaxation and enjoyment,” you replied, tossing him a handful of popcorn.

You settled onto the couch, and as the opening credits rolled, Daemon found himself surprisingly captivated, laughing at moments that you found endearing.

“What sorcery is this?” he exclaimed after a particularly action-packed scene. “How can a mere flickering light command such power?”

“It’s all about storytelling,” you explained, leaning closer. “It takes you away from your world, even if just for a moment.”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “And what story do you wish to escape to, my love?”

As you paused to consider his question, you felt a warmth spreading within you. The film played on, but your mind raced to find the right answer. For the first time in your life, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to escape to anywhere anymore. 

You glanced at Daemon, his eyes reflecting the light from the screen, a small smile dancing on his lips. In this shared space, enveloped by blankets and laughter, you understood that he had become a part of your story. Whether it be in distant lands or magical realms, or simply in the confines of your apartment, if he was with you, then it would be an adventure.

It would be a tale worth telling. 

“I think,” you said softly, as you faced the screen with a faraway look in your eyes, “I’ve found a place where I want to stay.”

Daemon’s brow furrowed slightly, and he studied you with a look that suggested he understood more than you had said.

“As do I,” he replied. 

series taglist: @omgsuperstarg @moonmaiden1996 @iilsenewman @padfootsvixen @teapartydreams @sleephereicome @dixie-elocin @simplymurdock @cecespizza01 @imissyoudarling @rentsturner @itevilhag @kindaslightlyacidic @naelys-the-aster @zoleea-exultant @moongirl27 @schniiipsel @dreaming-for-an-escape @llovinjoonie @outocean @caspianobsessed @grimistangel @ladespedidas @nanabarnes @luckythirtxn97 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @stella-cadante @milber32 @canvashearts @nitimurinvetitumsposts @kryzeira @captainweirdo42 @eternallyvenus @fuzzybunny83 @cookielovesbook-akie @queenofshinigamis @avadakadabra93 @rebeccawinters @partypoison00 @misspendragonsworld @praline357 @mysingularitybts @milber32 @rikishima19 @ivvypg @novellaquill @fan-goddess @ayamenimthiriel @uniquecroissant

Some notes in the margins...

This chapter was a bit dry, I must admit. But consider it as a setup for the fiasco that is the finale, which will be 18+. Just a heads up.

Any guesses on what will happen? As always I am keen to hear your thoughts 🖤

[cinnamoodles]

what are ur favorite anthony bridgerton five

hi! i'm assuming this says fics, and i am SO HONOURED that you trust me to recommend my favourite fics to you!

first up… the amazing and fantastic @fayes-fics, one of THE MOST skilled writers alive. she never misses!

some of my personal favs from her are:

➥ a beneficial arrangement [ ⭐️ ]

a marriage pact with a viscount. what could possibly go wrong?

➥ rescue and ruin

anthony rescues something for you… and it will likely lead to your ruin.

➥ the friends+ series

modern AU. series of fics that feature anthony & journalist!reader’s burgeoning relationship.

those are just a few of my favorites, but READ HER ENTIRE MASTERLIST! you will not regret it, promise.

secondly, a series of fics by the wonderfully talented @rubysunnday, and once again, be sure to read all of her masterlist!

➥ take my hand

as much as y/n appreciates anthony’s matchmaking efforts, it’s hard to accept them when he’s the only man she wants. luckily for her, a fall in the lake allows her to voice her feelings in more ways than one

➥ a long, long time

y/n has waited a long, long time for anthony bridgerton to finally decide to get married. but by the time he finally decides to find a wife, y/n has run out of time and anthony is suddenly faced with losing her to someone else.

➥ it’s a bad idea, me and you [ ⭐️ ]

y/n was ready to give her entire heart to anthony bridgerton. only for him to shove her aside in favour for sienna rosso. but, now, sienna is gone and despite what y/n keeps telling herself - anthony truly does own her heart.

now, for the queen of the modern!anthony au, @eleanor-bradstreet! some of my favorites from her are…

➥ gala

you attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

➥ locked out

when you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

➥ take me instead [ ⭐️ ]

you and anthony find yourselves in the middle of a bank robbery on an ill-fated day.

next we have @colettebronte, BRIDGERTON SMUT AUNTIE HERSELF WOOO!

(warning, these fics are VERY mature, and include BDSM and other possibly triggering material).

➥ rise and breathe

newly arrived back in london after a long journey across the mediterranean sea, you encounter a pathetically drunk viscount bridgerton the night he is rejected by sienna rosso. after a sobering morning on all counts, you sense that he is indeed lost and in need of a new purpose and direction. through submission and service, he may just find it.

➥ what (who) are you doing on new year’s eve?

a mysterious benefactor invites you to ring in the New Year with them.

➥ kinktober day ten: blindfolded

your tenth evening with your client. day ten for kinktober. I’m going with two prompts tonight, blindfolded and massage.

finally, we have some individual fics that stole my heart.

➥ diamonds and pearls by @multiharlot

diamonds and pearls do not make up for the lack of love in your marriage.

➥ enamoured by @dreamwritesimagines

everything you heard about matters of heart and desire told you the same thing; love could lead to heartbreak at best and disastrous results at worst. yet, you were convinced that everyone was wrong. they had to be, because love was supposed to make everyone happier, no confusion or pain in sight. regardless of how naive it sounded, you were sure that you were ready to fall in love and lose yourself in the infamous bliss. that assumption right there was a terrible mistake, though. you were nowhere near ready.

➥ right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch

you and anthony have been in love with one another from the moment you met, but it seems as though nothing will ever happen between you. after you catch the attention of another gentleman, he realizes perhaps it's time to finally do something about his feelings.

➥ right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

the only way he could rationally find a suitable wife was by removing love from the equation all together. courtship was game of jumping through hoops he really did not want to play, and he was a viscount. surely there would be a father with a more than suitable daughter he could simply ask for your hand and get it. or the one where your arranged marriage with anthony bridgerton isn’t a loving marriage… until it is.

➥ melt away by @healmydesires

the night you give your love and body to your husband.

➥ sham, pride, and illicit affairs by @peeterparkr

or, the story of how you rejected his proposal because you once loved him.

➥ enchanted by @imthebadguyyy

you and anthony don’t need words to converse.

➥ better man by @midnightfictionlibrary

anthony must rectify his rakish ways and wed, but he has a lot to think over if he doesn’t want to lose his dearest friend forever. 

➥ no longer in denial by @iwritefandomimagines

anthony has made no secret of not wanting to marry, despite it being more than clear that he is head over heels in love with you, his “best friend”. benedict decides he is fed up of anthony’s denial, and takes matters into his own hands — by inciting jealousy from his older brother.

➥ the language of flowers by @cinnamoodles (shameless self plug)

you and anthony have been friends for as long as you can remember, but what happens when his world turns upside down? will he open his heart and let the woman silently pining for him in?

AHH ok that was it, and these are the bridgerton fics i love with all of my soul. thank you so much for your ask, it was so nice to see all these wonderful fics again.

xo, lottie !

[yourlocalabomination]

HI I NEED EVERYBODY TO LOOK AT THIS RN

Uhhh... What do you MEAN that I'm taking headcannons from other fanartists?

.... Sorry, you're right. @yourlocalabomination's "Taking whats not yours" - Jennybear post made me sooo normal. So uh........

COLLEGE!JENNYBEAR! BUT THEY ARE STUPID WITH BAGGY PANTS CAUSE. ITS THE 2000'S, and I was born in 2006 and all i remember wearing then was pink leggings and a sparkly shirt- as wal mart might have. you know you know.. AND I HAVE NO SENSE IN FASHION, BUT these radical, nerdy, edible taking sweethearts are special to me.

And you cant tell me that ted never put on a fake. Like... Personality to seem SOOOO much cooler than he actually was. He was impressing no-one from left to right. And looked like such a loser but Jenny always was like. "Oh, yeah. You looked SO cool Dwdw." and ted knows shes just joking around, but hes still like "ikr B)"

Anyways, jenny gets rollerskates, ted gets a skateboard, and they have matching piercings, and jenny has a necklace and she paints their nails, but ted totally pickes at it subconsciously, and jenny tried taking him rollerskating once, and he was good at it. But when he got older he totally forgot how, and if he tries skating, he'd look like a cool. And I think that's a good thing, cause jenny would love to see him fall and try again.

And I think about them alot............

[simpforrooster]

i love when you call me pete.

pete ‘maverick’ mitchell x f!reader

t/w: mentions of an age gap, some smooching. drunk!maverick

summary: maverick almost drunkenly tells reader how he feels about her

a/n: lowercase intended! wrote this on my phone and have autocaps off xD two fics in one day!!!

maverick laughs as jake, one hand over his own eyes, takes aim at the dart board.

jake hits a bullseye. mav pulls out his wallet, and reluctantly hands jake a folded bill. your eyes roll at the captain’s stupidity. jake never misses a bullseye.

the guys surely hustled the poor man. mav’s hand falls on jake’s shoulder as he finishes off his beer.

“how long are you gonna stare at him?” phoenix asks with a raised brow.

“i am not staring,” you counter, knowing full well that you are indeed staring.

not that you could help it. the man may be twice your age, but he’s hot. even phoenix, happily engaged to bob, gets her an eye full of the elder captain.

you wipe down the bar in front of phoenix and hand her another lemon drop. tucking the rag in your back belt loop, you turn to hand another regular their drink.

ever since penny hired you, you’ve managed to take care of the bar almost as good as she does. she lets you take on the slower days of the week alone, and the two of you manage the weekend crowds together.

once everyone has been taken care of, you turn your attention back to your friend. you catch her admiring her ring. she looks up at you with a grin.

“sorry,” she shrugs. you shake your head.

“no indeed. i’d be gawking at that rock all day if it was mine.”

“you know you said that entire sentence looking at him and not me, right.”

you startle. she’s right. you’d basically been undressing maverick with your eyes. imagining your left hand heavy with a ring.

“you’re impossible,” she laughs.

your heart picks up its pace as maverick saunters, or better yet, sways up to the bar.

“four more, please. on my tab, babe.” maverick holds up five fingers, a giant grin on his face.

babe?

you lean over the bar and lay his thumb back against his palm. “that’s four.”

maverick looks down at you and then back to his hand. a chuckle falls languidly from his lips. “you’re right.”

phoenix raises a brow at you, out of sight from mav, who is looking at you like you’re his center of gravity.

“have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?” maverick says, still holding up those four fingers. the comment turns your insides into jelly.

“are you drunk, pete?” you ask him. there’s no way he’d be saying any of this if he were sober.

his hand falls to the bar top and his eyes fall closed. he stands there a moment, gathering himself, you assume.

his eyes open, those blue irises almost knocking you off your feet with how intense they look at you.

“i may be drunk, but that doesn’t mean i’m lying about you being gorgeous.”

phoenix grins at you over his shoulder, maverick completely oblivious to her.

no, he’s definitely only noticing you. every moved you’ve made, he’s tracked it. well, as well as he can given that he’s shitfaced.

maverick shrugs a shoulder. “maybe sober me is just nervous to tell you that.”

“pete,” you breathe. “you’re a naval aviator. there’s no way i make you nervous.”

“god, i love how you say my name,” he admits. before he can say anything else, jake and rooster appear at his side.

“come on, pops, we’ll get you home.” the men each take an arm, seeing as maverick can hardly remain upright.

he tries to shake them off. “i can’t go until i ask y/n out.”

your hand comes up to your mouth, your heart picking up pace again.

“let’s try tomorrow, mav,” rooster murmurs to his godfather. maverick vehemently shakes his head.

“no. i have to tell her now. i have to tell her i—,”

“oh no you don’t,” jake says, forcing maverick away from the bar. “you will not finish that sentence until you’re sober. she doesn’t deserve a drunk admission.”

rooster shoots you an apologetic look, handing you his card to close out the three of their tabs. you move on autopilot. punching in the men’s names, clicking on them, swiping the card, repeat. you hesitate on pete’s account. god, he did have a lot to drink.

that’s all that was. drunken words. he won’t remember any of this in the morning.

once the men are out the bar and pete is loaded in the back of the bronco, you turn to phoenix.

“what the fuck?” she screeches.

“i told them not to let him approach her with as far gone as he was,” bob comments, saddling up in the barstool next to his fiancé.

“what are you talking about, bob?” you ask.

bob shares a look with phoenix.

“you’re nuts if you’ve never seen the way he looks at you.”

“please don’t get my hopes up, bob,” you tell the bar, already fearful of those hopes plummeting once maverick comes to his senses and takes everything that just happened back.

you close out the remaining people at the bar. phoenix and bob hang around with you, walking you to your car once you’ve got the hard deck locked up.

the dagger squad take turns staying with you when you have a closing shift. they’re more protective of you than a set of new parents.

you hug your friends goodbye and drive to your apartment.

~

the next morning, your doorbell wakes you up with a start.

literally rolling out of the bed, you hit the floor tangled in your sheets. the doorbell chimes again. searching for a pair of pants, dread fills you as the doorbell rings once again.

what could be so urgent at..7 am?!

your mind runs through every possibility.

the doorbells chimes for a forth time just as you throw the door open, shrieking, “what?!”

pete mitchell stands on your stoop. he looks like hell. the two of you stare at one another, while pete grips the flowers he’s holding with a death grip.

you open the door wider, silently inviting him in. he follows you to the kitchen and settles at your island. the silence in the room thickens as you set to work making coffee. you feel his eyes on you the entire time.

“listen, y/n,” maverick starts, but you cut him off, sharply holding up a finger. you fish two mugs from your cabinet. you fill his mug to the brim, spooning two teaspoons of sugar in it. you fix yourself a little coffee with your creamer. setting the coffee in front of him, you step back and lean against the counter across him.

waving your hand, you tell him to proceed.

“i’m so sorry about last night,” he says, finally laying the flowers down. he runs his hands down the front of his jeans, wiping away the sweat.

“if you’re about to take it all back, i really don’t want to hear it, mav,” you tell him.

“mav..” he repeats to himself, looking at your counter top. “last night you called me pete.” he brings his eyes to yours.

you stare at him. okay, he remembers that.

“i don’t want to take any of it back, y/n.”

your breath catches at the back of your throat.

“i want to apologize,” he continues. “you didn’t deserve a drunken admission. i was being cowardly. because believe it or not, you’re ten times scarier than an f-18.”

when you say nothing, he keeps on.

“i know how to handle an f-18. i know what makes it work, how to get it back on track. i know that plan inside and out.” he takes a breath. “i don’t know how to navigate this. you.”

“me?”

“you. god, y/n. you have the ability to wreck me to my core. and i have so terrified to admit my feelings to you.”

“come on, pete, you can’t mean that,” you tell him, folding in on yourself.

“of course i do. the guys told me talking to you drunk was a bad idea. i thought i could handle it, but you just looked so gorgeous, i couldn’t help it.”

you are fully aware of how you looked last night during that fiasco. and gorgeous surely wasn’t it. not with your tank top and cut offs. and you know your hair had to be a mess. it always was at the end of a shift.

maverick rises from his stool. coming around the kitchen island, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking terrified as he walks over to you.

“i am sorry i tried to do this shitfaced,” he whispers, a breathe away from you. “tell me i didn’t ruin anything.”

he’s never stood this close to you, and it’s doing odd things to your heart.

“you didn’t ruin anything, pete,” you tell him. his eyes drop down to your mouth, silently asking permission. you nod, not trusting your voice to not betray how much you want this.

maverick pins you to the counter, his hands on either side of you, holding his weight off you. you speed him up by balling your hand in his shirt and pulling him down to you.

maverick grins as his mouth meets yours, falling back into his normal self. you can fill the confidence flowing through him as his hands move from the counter to your body.

his expert hands fall exactly where you need them. he deepens the kiss, his tongue running along your bottom lip. opening up to him, he pulls you tight against his body.

“fuck,” he breathes against your lips.

“tell me about it,” you murmur.

he plants tantalizing kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“pete,” you moan. he tightens his hold in response.

“i love it when you call me pete,” he says, returning his kisses to your mouth.

masterlist.

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. XIV

chapter fourteen

tags: @hueanhdang @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @purple-1995 @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97 @mandeepandee1997 @pedro-pascal-love @thelastemzy @reyndaisy @saintkittykat @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @alexandra-001 @itsaslaminak @iv7867

After being 'haunted', as Cregan might have called it, Daenys was throughly disoriented throughout the rest of the night. Taken back to her chambers and held in Cregan's protective embrace, she told him of what she saw.

Frowning, he could only offer her words of his Northern wisdom. "Your brother wouldn't blame you for that. Nor the Princess or young Prince." He said, soothing a piece of hair behind her ear.

In the dim light, she looked up at his porcelain features. The white light of the moon made him look statuesque, with only small scars along his face disrupting the smoothness of his skin. The largest being the one across his chin, from the fall he took as a boy. Delicately, she traced over them, then to the faint freckles dotting the apples of his cheeks.

Finally, she nodded. "Mayhaps he would not. That doesn't change the fact that it is true. If I had flown down to Storm's End that night...Aemond wouldn't have killed Lucerys."

Cregan lifted a straight brow, "how could you know that? He might have simply taken you both, to spite the Queen by taking two of her children."

She shook her head, "I don't believe he killed Luke to spite my mother. He must have known Luke would be sent to the closest place to find an ally, just as he was. Years ago, when Luke took his eye, he became a completely different person. Because of Vhagar or his eye, I do not know." She sighed.

"Anyone with a dragon is dangerous—intentions be damned."

Daenys smiled shortly, huffing a laugh. "Am I so dangerous to you?"

Cregan matched her smile, running a thumb over her cheek. "Indeed, the fierce dragon of the South, who rides the Lightbringer. A fearsome sight." He paused, "I would hate for you to face Vhagar again. I have only heard tales of her size and ferocity, but I can only imagine given the sight of Caraxes and Morningstar."

Tensely, she nodded. "As big as Harrenhall itself, perhaps. Or Dragonstone, I do not quite know. If I had gone alone, I would not be here now."

"The same goes for the incident at Storm's End. You would have only suffered the same fate as Lucerys." It was a brutally honest thing to say, but perhaps it was what she needed to hear.

Daenys hesitated slightly, "I could have talked to my uncle. It was only the night before that he proposed to join our families in union. If I had offered him something greater than revenge..." She trailed off, looking away from his eyes.

"You're not a bartering object, Daenys. Even if you had offered your hand—you couldn't have wed in this time of war. He knows that. You'd be a prisoner under the Red Keep or dead below the depths of the sea." Cregan sternly told her.

"You asked for my hand in exchange for 4,000 fighting men. Is that not a barter?" She asked in a hushed whisper.

He stilled, shifting away slightly from her as if sobering up. His face changed between various expressions: confusion, guilt, and another she couldn't quite capture. "I am sorry for that." Cregan murmured. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel like an object, something to be coveted and traded. You are the furthest from it. I treasure you in my heart, and I always will." He took both of her hands in his, kissing her wrists in a display of apology.

"It is too late to recind our betrothal. The North does not forget. They would be furious with the Crown if I wed another. But—If you wish it, you can have your choice of lover after we are wed."

She tensed, brows furrowed together angrily. Does he not understand that is not possible for a woman? Men may do so as they please, fuck a million whores and father a hundred bastards with no consequence. She would be the one carrying the heirs to Winterfell, not him. Her mother did the very same thing, taking on a paramore for her marriage with Laenor. Rhaenyra suffered for it then, and has her claim to the throne weakened now because of it. For him to ask that of her, knowing it was impossible, was frustrating.

For him to doubt her loyalty was appalling.

"I would not." She grit out, pulling her wrists away. He was so intent on allowing her freedoms within their future marriage, without acknowleding that there was no freedom to be had in a marriage for her. An offer of peace, he intended, to soothe her fears and worries.

His words only served to complicate her feelings more. Daenys returned the sentiments he had spoken to her back on top of The Wall, some weeks ago.

Daenys forced the tense thought from her head. Cregan wasn't the target of her anger. He never was. Taking it out on him would be cruel.

She started, "I am not regretful of our engagement, Cregan." The honest truth. "I wish it had been in different circumstances, perhaps, but I..."

The hopeful look in his eyes returned, reminding Daenys of a kicked pup. "You...?" He trailed, offering her a start.

She shook her head, unable to find words to place her emotions. She never could, it seemed. Not in the way Cregan so easily could. No grand confessions of love and affection nor comfort could be provided from her. Her heart felt heavy at his downtrodded look as he nodded in acceptance.

Instead, he settled back into the sheets, allowing her space to do so too. Further apart now, the air felt tense with unspoken words and misunderstanding. Daenys wished to balm the wound she had given Cregan so cruelly, but found her throat tight and tongue unmoving.

Cregan, deep in his thoughts, could only think of the first day he had seen the dragon Princess. She had the exact look she wore now, filled with a sense of longing and loneliness.

🗡

Cregan, one and ten at the time, had been ecstatic at the offer his father gave him to visit King's Landing. As any important Lord, it was Rickon's duty to occasionally make appearances in formal events at least every few years. The last visit had been over ten years ago, when Rhaenyra Targaryen was named heir to the Iron Throne by the King Viserys.

The reason for celebration: Rhaenyra Targaryen's eldest daughter's nameday. Daenys Velayron, the young girl who had many rumors attached to her name. Some called her a dragon dreamer, like her ancestor Daenys Targaryen. Others called her mad, or a witch, telling of screams that kept the Red Keep awake for fortnites at a time. Cregan was intrigued by the girl, curious as to what or who she truly was. Perhaps she was like his father, who was able to warg into his companion falcon. Many in the Stark line could, Rickon had told him once, and perhaps more than just their line that they were unaware of. Thinking on it further, his father was never scared or in pain when he warged, so perhaps not.

Now, Rickon decided it was a fine time to head South once more to formally present his oldest son to court. And perhaps, to show the young man the true ways of the Southerners and the snake pit that was the Crownlands. Any Lord needed to know how to navigate such tidings, even if visits were few and far between.

It was months travel on the King's Road, though Cregan didn't mind. He enjoyed the ride on his horse, Red, an eighth nameday gift from his Lord father. He had heartily chuckled when Cregan told him the foal's name, commenting that if his son continued with such a simple name streak, his children might one day be called 'Boy' or 'Girl' to follow suit. Though Cregan blushed, he remained steadfast in his choice of name. To this day, Red remained a reliable steed.

Along the way, they had passed a massive stone structure with ornate pillars in the front.

Welcomed through King's Landing's gates, Cregan was in awe of the differences between the capitol and the Northern keeps. The architecture, the peoples' apparel, the accents. It was all so overwhelming for the young boy, who had never been so far from home.

The heat did not help. Cregan found himself sweating through his tunic, face shining with sweat that he was unused to dealing with besides in the training yard. Winterfell had its moments of warmth, during the peaks of summer moons, though it never got hot enough like King's Landing apparently did.

He had no clue how these citizens faired in such weather their entire lives. He wished for the coolness of a stone floor—or even a damp field of grass. Why couldn't the Princess have been born in winter? It was only spring, yet the sun shined as if it never turned from the Crownlands.

Turning to his father, Cregan asked. "Is that the Red Keep?" In a hushed tone.

Rickon laughed, shaking his head. "That is the Dragonpit. All of the Targaryens' dragons lie there now, in the depths."

Shivering at the thought, despite the warm weather, Cregan was both scared and intrigued at the thought of witnessing a real dragon.

Guided by the steady hand of his father, Cregan was led through crowds to the stairs of the onlooker stands of the arena.

They were able to sit beside many other high Lords and Ladies, none recognizable by Cregan. Rickon shared curtious greetings with a few before sitting by his son. The other side of the stands, past the dirt field that the joust would be held in, was filled with citizens of King's Landing.

Leaning forward on the edge of his seat, he glanced at the royal box. Shaded and decorated by many colorful flowers, servants rushed around before the event started to fill cups and ensure the comfort of the royal family.

He wriggled around in his seat, craning his neck to try and look past the rushing people. Was the Targaryens' hair truly silver, like people said? With eyes as purple as violets? Gasping, he caught a glimpse at a tall woman surrounded by two brown-haired boys fluttering about in front of her. The woman had shiny silver hair, like the tales said, and a flawless, smooth face like a statue.

The boys in front of her must be Jacaerys and Lucerys Velayron, her sons. The only two of the royal family to have brown hair. Rhaenyra Targaryen, he knew now. 'The Realm's Delight' she was named years ago, which Cregan thought did not do her enough justice for her great beauty.

Announcers called for the first joust to commence, great trumpets almost bursting his eardrums from how loud they were. Out, on a silver mare, rode a handsome man with tan skin and pure white hair. Glancing at the royal stand and guaging the cheers, he could attach the name Laenor Velayron to the man. Another one stood beside Rhaenyra, quietly clapping though not cheering like the boys were. Ser Laenor's competitor rode in on the opposite side, though he maid his name and House little mind.

The girl had silver hair and pale skin, an image of her mother. Daenys Velayron. The one who's nameday was being celebrated. She looked embarrassed to be standing and clapping, knowing hundreds if not thousands of eyes were right on her as she did.

The other tales must be true, too, Cregan grimaced. Bastard princes, the realm whispered when the two were born with curly locks of brown hair. Daenys, too, could hardly escape the allegations, looking too much like her mother and not anything like her father. He sympathized with their struggles, knowing how his sister Sara struggled with finding friends and allies in her own home beyond just her family.

Rickon nudged him to pay attention as the joust commenced, telling his son that it was rude to stare. He nodded eagarly, sitting up to watch the joust.

Though Ser Laenor had won, Cregan found himself bored immediately by the event. Throwing men from their horses with sticks, not the most appealing sport to a young boy who grew bored so easily. He slipped off, telling his father that he needed to relieve himself before running down the stairs.

Glancing at the royal box, he found that the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra was missing, though Rhaenyra didn't seem to have a worried expression at all, as if it were normal for the nameday girl to be missing at her own celebration. Shrugging it off, he continued on his way.

He wished to explore the Red Keep while he had the chance. From the arena, the great fabled Red Keep of King's Landing could be spotted. It was close, just a quick walk and he'd be back before his father could be suspicious.

Bumping into something, he immediately stammered out an apology to the offended person. Finding it to be a young lady, perhaps a few years his elder, he flushed in embarrassment. The girl was a picture of beauty, with tan skin and perfect curly black hair framing her brown eyes. She looked at Cregan with an annoyed but uninterested corner-eye glance, turning back to her two friends beside her.

"Oh! Are you okay, Lady Tyrell?" The red-headed one fussed, presumably her lady-in-waiting.

"I'm fine, Lyra." Lady Tyrell sighed before turning to Cregan with a spark in her eye.

He nearly flinched at the intensity, though he recovered quickly. "My apologies, my Lady. I did not mean to run into you like that." He bowed his head slightly in sincere apology. The last thing he intended was to offend a Lady.

Lady Tyrell giggled before covering her mouth quickly to cut herself off. She hummed, nodding along with a widened smile. "Pray tell, my Lord, where are you from? I've never heard such a unique accent." She said demurely, clasping her hands in front of her with her folded fan.

He glanced between them all, unaware of their shared looks. To him, she was the one with an accent. Though, not an unpleasant one. "The North, my Lady." He answered simply.

The blonde one next to the redhead giggled in turn. Whispering to the Tyrell in a not-so-hushed tone. "The Nawrth, my Lady." She repeated in her ear. Lady Tyrell quickly swatted her away, though bit the inside of her cheek to prevent a laugh.

"What's your name?" She asked, keen eyes watching like a hawk.

"Cregan Stark."

"Cruh-gun?" She awkwardly pronounced, looking to her entourage coyly. "I've never heard that. Must be a Northern name." Lady Tyrell pronounced the 'Northern' in her sentence the same way Cregan had previously, earning a sharp giggle from her friends.

He could only watch on, utterly bemused by the interaction. Did he say it wrong? Perhaps she did not hear his name right.

"So, you are a Stark, then? I've always heard they were tall. And pale. Long face, tall nose, and my, are you sick?" She asked, concern dripping in her honey-sweet tone as she leaned close to him and felt his cheeks and forehead with the back of her hand.

Confused, Cregan shook his head. "No? I feel just fine." He slightly leaned back, unused to a stranger in his space so carelessly.

Lady Tyrell tutted, shaking her head like a worn mother. "I think you are. Poor thing, all skin and bone forced to live in a desolate snowstorm like Winterfell. You must be sick, with that color missing from your skin, its all gone to your cheeks. My mother says that is what happens when one is sick." She nodded to herself, sure of her own words.

Cregan hesitated. He felt fine, of course. Perhaps Southern sickness had gotten to him in the days he had stayed in various inns. Were there different illnesses for different lands? True, he was thin and gangly now, growing much faster than other youth his age, but his father assured him that he was the same way as a boy, and he grew to fill out his frame naturally.

"I—Yes, thank you. I must be off now, my father is waiting for me." Flustered, he rushed off on his original path, hearing the unfiltered laughs fill the space behind him. Finally, he made it to the stairs of the Red Keep, surprisingly unguarded as the doors were left open so that servants could easily flit in and out of the courtyard and keep. Trays of food and caskets of wine filled busy hands that passed Cregan, none sparing him an eye as a feast was prepared for after the tourney.

Carefully, he slipped by each of them to not disturb their duties. The ceilings were hung high, Cregan having to turn his neck at an uncomfortable angle just to gawk at them. Pillars rose from floor to roof, and stone carried his feet as he walked to the throne room. The doors were wide open, and the Iron Throne stood menacing at the end of the room. His steps echoed as he strided in, though did not dare get too close. If anyone saw him, he may be accused of trying to sit the throne himself.

Cregan moved on fast, hoping that no one saw him. A long winding hall was his next curious trail, each passing window overlooking a new view. From the height of the castle, he could see crowds of people flocking below, noble and common alike. At the corner of a hall, a room opened up before the turn. Peeking his head in, he found it to be a small nooked library. Perhaps a lounge room, hence the pillows and low tables on the floor. On the windowsil, another cushion sat on a flat and long bar. The Princess, Daenys, sat atop it.

From afar, Cregan could not notice such details that Targaryens held. Now he could, with such a short distance between them. The silver hair was silky, yes, but also held a satisfying curl to it even though most of it was held in intricate braids. Pink pearls lined her braids, matching her pink dress and white lacing across the necklace and wrist cuffs. A soft blush held to her cheeks, perhaps natural or the work of rouge like his mother wore at fine occasions. Pretty, was his first thought. Normal, was his second. Daenys Velayron did not look crazy. She looked like a young girl locked away in a maddening castle. She did not whisper spells or curses towards the bystanders below, nor carry a crazed and vengeful look on her face.

As he was about to take a step forward to announce his presence, and perhaps make a friend of the girl, he stopped himself.

He paused, not taking another step further. She looked peaceful at first glance, but upon further inspection, Cregan found the look in her eyes told a different story. Deep, glossed violet eyes seemed to be longing to be part of the crowd. She hugged her knees to her chest as if she could shrink herself into the cushion. Small hands fiddled with each other, picking at any skin on the edge of her fingertips. He could spot traces of a bright red on some of her fingers, showing that she picked them raw and hardly even noticed. Similar to her posture in the royal box, where she seemed to want to disappear from view the entire time, she looked quite unlike her heiress mother. Though they shared all the right features, the younger was not the picture of confidence and regality as the elder. Many said that the heir had been a fiery and rebellious woman as a youth, only maturing and calming after her marriage to Ser Laenor. It seemed her daughter did not share such a boisterous disposition.

Daenys looked lonely, though he guessed people surrounded her all the time. King's Landing was never without eyes or ears.

Would he sound strange to her? Look sickly pale so she might think he would contaminate her with a foreign illness? Cregan thought long and hard, eventually backing away from the room and leaving the solemn princess in peace. None in the South could be his friend, only his ally.

Cregan went back to his father's side, disappointed at his own hesitance.

Years later, after nearly three years of his Lordship over Winterfell and the North, Daenys came to him in ask of fighting men. He thought her to be just as beautiful as she was upon first sight, only growing from her soft features that childhood gave her into sharper and more refined graces.

The look in her eyes stayed the same, too. Lonely and longing, though her own hesitation held her back from her wants.

He became determined not to back away this time.

🗡

Neither slept for the remainder of the night, only laid in a distant silence until the sun rose. Together, they dressed again. Routine had become their grounding, something to look forward to at the beginnings and endings of every day. When Cregan moved to fix his hair half-up as he usually did, Daenys stopped him. Guiding him to her vanity chair, Daenys started to gather strands of brown hair in her hands.

Confused, Cregan looked to his bethrothed but did not argue. The feeling of her hands carding through his hair left shivers down his spine. No one had done his hair for him—ever. Though he spent many hours with Sara's hair, trying whatever styles she wished, Sara had assumed he would hate styles in his own and consequently never offered.

Daenys braided his usually simple strands of hair back, tying them together with the black tie that blended to his hair well. When he was about to stand, she reached over his shoulder to grab the little grey pearl. Carefully, she used the loose ends of the braids to wrap around the pearl snug into the center of his hair.

"Cregan," she spoke up, wringing her hands nervously. Her cresent nails dug into her palms and wrist back and forth, alternating to keep her mind busy with the stimulation.

He craned his neck back, reaching to grab her hand and squeeze assuringly after he was sure she was finished. He waited for her to start, knowing not to interrupt her thoughts.

Cregan stood from the stool, comically small next to him, to properly face Daenys. He cradled her face in his ungloved hands, the warmth and roughness a familiar contrast to her skin. "I know." Was all he said, eyes warm and understanding.

"I'm not good with words. You know this." She glanced at his eyes through the mirror before moving her gaze back to their joined hands. "I don't know if I'll ever be, not like you are. But...I want you to know I have no regrets with anything concerning you."

It was no direct confession. No romantic display of true feelings like Cregan had done for her. Perhaps she could, one day, but not now. Not when death was looming at the steps of their door, waiting for them to take one clumsy step and fall into its arms.

When they had gotten ready, packing their things up, Cregan and Daenys went to the entrance of Harrenhall. There, Simon had been informed of their plans and met them to bid farewell.

Daenys bowed her head slightly, taking Ser Simon in a brief hug. "Thank you, Ser, for your kind accommodations. I know we haven't been the most discreet guests, but we are most appreciative."

The older man smiled, though not the placating and tense one he always wore around Daemon. This one was genuine and understanding as he nodded and waved the young girl off. "It was no trouble. There are worse guests to host here." They shared an amused smile, and Cregan and Daenys were off to Morningstar.

The young dragoness was lying in a field of damp grass when they came out, Daenys attaching their bags to her saddle bag once more. "Just a short flight, girl. I'll get you to the dragon keepers." She swore, petting the dragon's snout and earning a chuff in return.

Cregan settled behind her, slightly less tense than he was for his first flight. Still, he clutched her abdomen tight, ever cautious and expecting the worst.

Morningstar took off swiftly, swaying slightly as she found steady flow to her flight. The wound didn't seem to falter her much, Daenys noted gratefully.

It was a quick flight, only filled with anticipation in different manners from Daenys and Cregan.

Daenys, both excited to see her family and scared to see their reactions to Rhaenys' untimely death, was gripping the handlebars with whitened knuckles. Cregan was thinking of the Black Council and how he could fit himself into their already established motions. He wondered if the Queen would accept him, as young as he was compared to the rest of her advisors. His mind strayed to Dusk and his marching men, reminding himself to check in on their progress when he was alone.

When approaching the island, Cregan's brow furrowed. "I knew Dragonstone was a large castle, but it is much more daunting than I imagined. A...heavy presence to be sure."

Daenys nodded. "It is the home of the first Targaryens to grace Westeros. Many have lived and died here, and a certain presence of the people who lost themselves to fate has not left it's halls. Quite eerie, I prefer to spend my time on the beaches or in the dragonpit."

The dragonkeeper standing at the archway gaped at the sight. "Princess!" He shouted, bowing to the young princess. "We did not expect your arrival. The Queen is currently readying to hold council."

The landing was swift, if not slightly rough from Morningstar having to fold her wings to fit through the cave's mouth. Cregan seemed tense from the confinement, scanning the cave intently. The dragon landed at the perch, allowing the two riders to slip off without trouble from the cave's depth. Around them, rumbles could be heard from dragons waking at the sound of kin coming in. Vermithor, perhaps, or Syrax. Silverwing spent most of her time sleeping, having nothing to do but guard her clutch close to her. Daenys had been eager for the eggs to hatch, for Morningstar to have more young dragons to play with. The elders were busy slumbering most of the time, choosing to not be active anymore with no riders.

Tyraxes, Vermax, Arrax, and Moondancer were her main company. Now, perhaps it was only the three left to roughhouse with her in the skies as she liked. Though Syrax was closest to her size compared to her brothers' small dragons, the golden beast did not 'play' outside like they did, enjoying her nest with Caraxes. The white dragon would not have any dragons her size for a long while, with Vermax and Moondancer growing at a much slower pace than she was.

"Please take care of Morningstar for me. She has been wounded."

"Wounded, my Princess?" He asked, a heavy frown dragging his old face down.

Narrowing her eyes, she thought for a long moment. No ravens were sent informing Rhaenyra or anyone else at Dragonstone of Daenys' surpirse visit to Rook's Rest. Lord Staunton's keep was still under the Green's control, heavily guarded and watched. All they knew was that Rhaenys and Meleys were not coming back—dead.

"Claw marks, on her shoulder." She stated vaguely.

She passed the silent dragonkeeper on her way into the castle. He could only watch on as the mysterious man accompanying her followed suit close behind her heels, like a protective guard dog. The Princess had never taken a passenger on Morningstar before, save for her younger brothers, so the sight was jarring to the man who witnessed most of the girl's youthful years.

Daenys, in only a simpler Lady's gown, dained to dress herself properly in her own clothes before presenting herself to court. Cregan waited patiently outside her chambers as Franny attended to her Princess. While waiting, he uneasily scoped out the parts of the castle he could see. Though it was daytime, the halls still seemed dim and droll, echoing every step Cregan took on the way to her chambers.

A door a few yards down the hall creeked open, a deep sigh escaping the man exiting it. Taking a few steps, Cregan was swiftly noticed. The dark, curly hair revealed himself as Prince Jacaerys, if Cregan's memory served him well. He bowed politely, "My Prince."

Keen brown eyes narrowed in a way that contrasted Daenys' greatly. He was made of the sharp, polished features befitting of a Prince, though only lacked the Valyrion traits most people in his family shared. "Lord Stark." He spoke, a graveling and almost spiteful spit.

"What are you doing outside my sister's chambers?" He asked, resting his wrist upon his sword's pommel and standing up straight, sizing the man in front of him up.

Cregan was unmoving, though felt slightly scandalized by the unspoken allegations. "I am waiting for Daenys to finish getting ready." He answered, careful not to shift Ice at his shoulder to draw attention to the longsword. He was not to be made a threat in the Prince's own castle.

The Prince in front of him seethed, "Daenys? Is it common for Northerners to call a Princess by her given name? I was unaware of such...traditions."

"Of course not, my Prince. I apologize—" As he was attempting to balm the miscommunication, Daenys popped her head out from the chamber door. "Jace!" She said, rushing to hug her brother. Now, in more suited clothes, Daenys wore a deep crimson dress with embroidered golden laces on the corset and sleeves. Black dragons wrapped around her waist, a detail she must have done herself in passing time. Her sleeves reached down to taper at the wrist, covering the bite mark. Though her hair was tied back in a bundle of romantic tuck braids, leaving the scar on her neck for all eyes to see if they looked close enough. Cregan thought the powerful colors suited her, though the soft pastels of Harrenhall's dresses had given her a youthful and soft appearance that he admired too.

Though Jace easily accepted the hug, he glared daggers at Cregan still, only placeted when Daenys tore herself from him and guided him closer by the arm to her bethrothed. "Jace, this is Cregan." She introduced, squeezing his bicep when Jacaerys did not speak at first.

He sent a look to his elder sister, pursing his lips before nodding. "It is a pleasure to meet the Lord of Winterfell."

"And it is an honor to meet the Prince of Dragonstone." Cregan said, matching his tone cooly.

Daenys smiled, looking between the Prince and Lord. "Let's go to the council room. I'm sure they are impaitient to start." She said, urging Jacaerys on with still-interlocked arms. Passing Cregan, who fell in step with her, Daenys glanced up at her bethrothed with annoyed eyes, nonverbally apologizing for her younger brother's brashness. He stifled a smile, looking forward to center himself for the meeting.

Entering the room, Jacaerys and Daenys were formally announced. They matched a refned grace in their powerful strides down the steps and towards the glowing table, which Cregan took interest in. It was a mirror of the Targaryen legacy, painted in 'Fire and Blood' just as their namesake called for.

Daenys stepped slightly forward, clasping her hands together. "Your Grace." She first acknowledged, nodding to her mother. "This is Lord Cregan Stark, here to stand place as your Master of War in Ser Broome's place."

Lord Staunton's seat was empty, too, right next to the head of the table. The loss seemed heavy on the council's shoulders. The older men who knew the Lord well were saddened by his cruel death at the hands of the Greens. The Lord was one of the wiser amongst the members, and the Blacks had taken a heavy loss with his demise and Rook Rest's new occupation.

"You are welcomed to Dragonstone, my Lord, and to my council. I trust my daughter's opinions, and in lieu of that, I extend my trust in you. We are to be family soon, more than merely allies in a time of war or peace. I hope that the union of our two Houses can prove to be fruitful for all of us." She gestured towards the seat at the end of the side of the Painted table, only one space between where Rhaenys had sat only yesterday morning.

Daenys took an end table seat next to Jacaerys, and the freshly joined Baela, parallel to her mother. "He is still making progress with the liege House. Oscar Tully is still waiting for his grandsire's move to choose a standing. He expressed his wishes to join us but cannot act without being officially Lord Tully.

Rhaenyra swiftly moved on, discreetly nodding to her daughter to welcome her back, too. Though warmer greetings could be shared later in privacy. "I received a raven from Ser Simon Strong of your residence at Harrenhall, though still have received nothing from the King Consort. What is the progress of the Riverlands?" She asked, brushing her black dress down to take a seat.

The Blackwoods have sworn to us. Though, after the battle at Burning Mill, tensions are high between the Riverland houses. Those who have chosen their fealties are already eager to fight amongst each other before orders come from Your Grace." She finished, leaving out any unimportant details. Daemon's frustrating lack of communication was his own fault, not hers.

Rhaenyra nodded, taking in the information appreciatively before moving to question another. "What of Rook Rest's state?"

Lord Celtigar spoke up, "Lord Staunton has been executed in his home, leaving his daughter Lady Kalla to take his place, though she is held prisoner and at the mercy of the soilders watching over the castle. Duskendale, too, has been taken by Criston Cole. We still have no ground army but the one Daemon is in the midst of raising."

Cregan spoke up, "I have 4,000 men strong marching down as we speak. They will have neared the Twins by now, it is only a matter of time until they are in the South and ready to be stationed at the Queen's command."

"I am sure the Blackwoods will be sending a strong force to support your cause." Daenys said quickly after. "And, if we are lucky, the Tullys will decide soon enough that their rightful queen is to be supported. With the Tully's support, the whole of the Riverlands will shift to our side, surrounding the Crownlands and the Reach once the Northmen join them."

Rhaenyra nodded to Cregan and Daenys, grateful for the information. "I cannot afford to simply wait around for Lord Glover Tully to either choose a side or for the young heir to take his place. Send to Maidenpool and Crackclaw point. Let them man their garrisons and give them stores or weapons if they find them wanting."

"We must answer Rook's Rest, my Queen."

"They are lost already. But, Vhagar is depleted after such a hard fought battle between her and The Red Queen." Lord Celtigar spoke up, interrupting the knight in front of him.

"We will hear of Vhagar's state soon. Her return to King's Landing was said to be a clumsy one. I would wager that Rhaenys landed a few solid blows to the old beast."

Daenys looked between Cregan and Rhaenyra, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve as the men continued to interrupt and speak over each other. Cregan met her eyes, nodding encouragingly as he grasped her hand under the table.

"Vhagar and Sunfyre are injured." Daenys spoke up.

The council stilled, earning sharp and confused looks from different people. Rhaenyra, growing to a realization, asked. "Injured? How do you know of this?"

Jace looked to her, too, a concerned look gracing his face.

"Morningstar was able to bite off a good chunk of her tail, in the midst of battle. Though Meleys fell, Vhagar will be taking time to recover at King's Landing. Sunfyre, too, will not be defending anything with his injuries—his wings are burnt and torn. I doubt he will be able to fly again, if he and Aegon survived the fall and his injuries."

Silence met her words. The Lords and knights exchanced bemused glances, wondering how they were so unaware that the Princess had joined the fight. Jace was pale, though silent, too.

Rhaenyra spoke first. "You went to Rook's Rest. Alone—with two dragons." She rubbed her forehead, seemingly having aged ten years from the news her daughter gave her.

Sheepishly, Daenys nodded. "I..." She glanced around, aware of the outsiders listening carefully. "I heard news of Sunfyre and Vhagar on their way to Rook's Rest. I knew something was amiss, so I followed in hopes that they were not going directly to Dragonstone for an ambush."

Rhaenyra nodded, understanding her underlying meaning. "And Aegon joined this battle? How was his state?"

"I am unaware of it, I saw him and Sunfyre hit by Vhagar's flames and go down, but I don't know their status otherwise."

"Aemond struck down his own brother?" Ser Steffon asked, horrified by the Green's apparent infighting.

"I can go again." Daenys offered, glancing at her brother and cousin. "Perhaps with Vermax or Moondancer. We can easily take back Duskendale and Maidenpool with three dragons against a small force of men."

Rhaenyra thought for a moment, considering the proposal. She turned to Lord Celtigar next to her. "These two keeps are absolutely needed for our fleets, correct?"

The Lord nodded quickly. "If they have a standpoint so close to our waters, our ships could be burned down easily."

The Queen pursed her lips, solemnly conceding. "Very well. Moondancer will be sent to Duskendale, which is reported to have the least amount of men stationed to protect it. Vermax and Morningstar will go to Rook's Rest."

The three across from her glowed with acknowledgement, firmly nodded at the command.

"However—" She paused, lifting a hand.

"If there is a dragon still stationed at Rook's Rest, you will turn around."

Jacaerys and Daenys agreed, and the council was formally dismissed. Cregan squeezed Daenys' hand once again before standing, glancing at the Queen. "I will meet you by your chambers." He was beckoned out by Franny, who flitted to quickly show him his prepared guest chambers.

Daenys was left with only Jacaerys and Rhaenyra. They all stood to circle, exchanging tender hugs of greeting. When Rhaenyra pulled away and pushed a strand from her daughter's face, her dark eyes shot to her neck. "What is this?" She gasped, tracing the scar with a ghostly touch. Jace leaned in to see the fuss, glaring down at his sister for a proper answer to the new wound.

🗡

"It is old by now." Daenys sheepishly brushed her mother's hand away, attempting to quell their worries.

"Old? You did not have that before you went to fetch Lord Stark." Jacaerys said.

"I did." She stated firmly. "I got it on my trip to the Wall—"

Jace threw his hands up in frustration, pacing around a few feet from his mother and sister. "I told you, mother! Lord Stark can not possibly keep her safe in a place like the North. He took you to the Wall, alone?"

Daenys, as if realizing only now that her travels alone with Cregan were not a proper way of doing things—especially considering their stations—flushed. "He did protect me. This is simply a consequence of my own misjudgement. Which, I might add, I handled."

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, stepped back from Daenys. "It is too late to recind a bethrothal anyway. Daenys has stated her content with it, so I must trust that she is being truthful. You as well, Jace." She reminded her ornery son sharply.

"Now, about Rook's Rest..." Rhaenyra turned her intimidating ire to Daenys.

Jace shrugged when she glanced over her mother's shoulder in a desperate plea for help. There's no getting out of this.

Daenys sighed softly, avoiding her mother's intense gaze. "I saw Criston Cole's army marching in the cover of a forest. From Ser Simon's tellings, it was Rook's Rest they were approaching. They led scorpions and arches, I knew it was an ambush meant for a dragon. In a place so close to Dragonstone—I feared it might have been one of you they were intending on meeting." She said, eyes glossy from the memory of her grandmother.

Rhaenyra nodded sympathetically. "I am not happy with you running into battle with Vhagar like that, but I am sorry that you were alone when Rhaenys fell. Did she...?"

Daenys nodded solemnly. "Morningstar almost saved her, but she refused my hand when the time came. She knew her fate, I suppose." Though she wished to have her wise and sturdy grandmother still at her side, her one comfort was the acceptance on Rhaenys' face when she last saw it. "Aemond did not give chase, even when he had the opportunity to."

Rhaenyra nodded thoughtfully. "Even if he did, Morningstar could easily outfly him."

She shook her head, ashamed of her actions. She had only survived out of luck and not skill. "If he did, I would have put every resident in Harrenhall in danger—Cregan, Ser Strong, Alys. All the servants, too." She wrung her hands, letting a shaky breath fall from her lips. If Aemond wanted, he could've burned Harrenhall completely down with no issue.

"It didn't, sweet girl. That is what matters. You are alive, safe again at home." Her mother soothed, squeezing her hand. Behind, Jace nodded his agreement.

Rhaenyra faced him, gesturing for him to stand by Daenys, which he did smoothly. Together, the pair looked alike only in skin tone and clothes, though any could tell that they were siblings. Rhaenyra looked over them with clouded eyes, knowing that a third and fourth were missing from the picture. Little Joff, sent away to ward with strangers. Young Luke, taken by the salt and sea. They were only half of what they once were, though stood tall despite the absence weighing on their minds.

"When you go to Rook's Rest, I want you to do no more than I have asked. The sight of two dragons alone should be enough to send the men running, and even if it is not, they will be easily defeated. The matter of Lady Kalla and her younger brother, Kallus will be more difficult, I presume. They will be guarding inside, where your dragons cannot follow."

"We will simply drag them out." Jace said, determined as ever for the cause.

Rhaenyra eyed him, grateful for the eagerness yet worried for she knew his recklessness grew every day. "You have not fought real battle like these men have, Jace."

He scoffed, "what have they fought, a few battles along the Crownlands from House to House, outnumbering the Lords in their own homes? I reckon most have their swords unbloodied still."

He had a point. A time of peace had been carried since before Viserys' time. Most swords were unused beyond petty fighting between Houses, tourneys, and duels. Daenys had to wonder if the only ones in Westeros left with real experience were those up North guarding the South from Wildlings.

"We will take care of it when the moment arises, mother. We have no way of knowing until we get there." Daenys said calmly, looking between her mother and brother.

The Queen sighed and agreed. "I am putting my faith in you three to get the coast back from the Greens. I have no doubt that you will succeed, but promise me you will be safe."

Daenys and Jacaerys tensed at the words. The very same ones she had spoken to them and Luke before Lucerys had died. They all stayed true to their oath, indeed, but at the cost of Luke's life. They nodded together, no book to swear upon but their own hearts.

"We will."

🗡

Cregan had used the time in his guest chambers to warg into Dusk again. There, in his direwolf's body and mind, he had discovered the location and status of his bannermen. The greybeards were not far from The Twins, as he had expected, while the younger soldiers were only a few days behind and approaching steadily.

With his mind eased, Cregan allowed his bannermen to lead themselves once more. He grew antsy with all the sitting around he was confined to, though dared not complain. There was nothing he could do until his men made it deep into the Riverlands.

Outside of Daenys' chambers, Cregan found her waiting. "Apologies, Princess, I found myself held up."

Amused, she smiled and accepted the apology with ease. "I will leave with Jace and Baela soon. Hopefully, I will be back before the morrow."

Cregan felt his chest tighten at the words, though he already knew of her assignment. At the Painted Table he was unable to express his concern for her, but he knew it had to be done. Jacaerys would accompany her, which brought him comfort. He was unaware of the princeling's sword skills, but knew he had no experience besides training.

"Is there no way I could accompany you?" He asked, bringing her hands to his own and squeezing slightly.

Daenys squinted slightly, pondering his ask. "Perhaps...I could use you for ensuring Lady Kalla and her brother come out safely from the guards' watch. I don't know how they will respond to us at the gates, and we do not have time to starve them out."

He gave her control of the decision. "Whatever you choose, I will stand by it." He swore.

To clarify, he meant for her to be allowed to take a mistress/lover if she took moon tea or whatever so there wasn't bastards in their name yk

simon def thinks Daenys is his grandniece I can't lie

About Winterfell-I imagine it NOTHING like GOT shows it to be. It is unbelievably tiny in the show, with silly round roofs, short and thin walls, and a tiny Godswood. In the books' depictions, the walls are super thick and 80 feet high, the Godswood is acres long alone and so is the city, and the roofs are pointed to actually let snow slide off. Winter Town is just outside the walls, making it a more lively place than we see. In the show it always shows Winterfell being completely isolated in the middle of nowhere, which would be super inconvenient for its people.

was it casual when you were the first person to do my hair?

Had the Rook's Rest scene planned for a few chapters for I know the plot for it just haven't written it yet. Though, I don't know if I should bring Cregan or not. On one hand, he would sit useless at Dragonstone. On another, he might steal the spotlight from Daenys slightly if he did come. What do y'all think? The main plot of it wouldn't change anyway hehe

sorry for delay again, I CANNOT catch a break these past weeks. 🥹 action next chap finally, wanted to get this out.

[dragonbarbie]

𝐖𝐇𝐘'𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇?

modern!aegon ii targaryen x reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: reader thinks aegon can never be more than a one night stand, and aegon is intent on getting her to give him a chance.

word count: 2.5k

tags: modern!au, smut, drunk!aegon having sex with sober!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, tity sucking, pussy eating, p in v sex, unprotected sex

note: i very much write fanon!aegon, not the canon, show!version.

sidenote: is this lowkey inspired by my irl situationship who wont quit calling me every time he gets drunk?? maybe

it was a regular friday night for aegon. his frat was throwing a big party, and he had organised everything down to the last detail. he had a reputation to maintain after all, known affectionately as the king of parties of dragonstone university. he had already drunk his own weight in alcohol, flirted (and then proceeded to get handsy) with a couple of girls but he’d been too distracted to follow through with any of them.

his mind instead wandered back to a couple of weeks ago, at another party, where he’d met y/n. she’d been chatting to cregan stark, wearing a little black dress that hugged her in the best way imaginable. he knew, looking at her enchanting laugh at stark’s dumb joke, he had to have her. putting on his most charming smile, he’d approached her.

she’d been wary of him because of his reputation around campus (who wouldn’t be) but after a few disarming jokes as his fingertips grazed the side of her thighs, he’d managed to convince her to give him a chance.

drunken steps were then taken back to her dorm room, and they’d had what aegon could only call amazing sex.

now hold on, you have to believe him when he says amazing, alright? he’d slept with too many women to count, after a while the nights blended to the point that he couldn’t much differentiate between what having sex with each of them had felt like. so, when one such night stood out for him? it meant it had met a very high bar indeed. after all, he thought, he didn’t go around spending the night at every girl’s place.

he'd thus expected a little warmer treatment come morning and was rudely shocked at her attempting to throw him out. still, wearing his jeans in such a hurry that its button and fly was undone, unlaced shoes, bare-chested as he held his rumpled shirt in his hand, he’d had the audacity to offer her a lazy grin and promise “i’ll call you.”

“please” she’d snorted with an amused look, “everyone knows aegon targaryen is not the type to call.” taking no note of his offended expression, she’d shut the door in his face.

he’d been wondering about those words ever since. sure, she hadn’t been wrong but, hey, he’d meant the lie this time! with tits that great, ass that perfect, why wouldn’t he want a repeat of last night? he’d thought to himself.

determined to prove her wrong, he’d asked around the frat house and found out her number. but as his hand had hovered over the call button, something had stopped him. she’d caught him spot on, he realised. he wasn’t a relationship guy, and she wasn’t expecting the relationship-thing with him. perhaps it was best he left her alone.

he’d done just that, at least while sober. drunk aegon on the other hand, found it much easier to pick up the phone and dial her number.

“who is this?” there was panic and sleep in her voice, having picked up an unknown number at 2 in the morning “sweetheart! you picked up” he’d grinned, words slurring. he could practically hear the eyeroll on the other end. “aegon… to what do i owe the pleasure?” “i was just missing you.” he sighed. “sure.” nothing in her voice indicated that she believed him.

“i’m actually not far from your dorm. how about i come up with a bottle of tequila and we can… catch up?” he suggestively added. “it’s 2:14 am…. on a tuesday.” she pointed out, but her words didn’t seem to mean much to him as he replied, “so?” an exasperated sigh could be heard over the phone, “good night, aegon.” click. he stared down on the iphone in his hand in disbelief, she’d hung up on him.

he decided maybe he’d come out too strong, so the next time he texted first. he’d stared at the text for a couple of minutes, and when he saw that she was online but hadn’t bothered to text him back, he’d walked over to the nearest girl and proceeded to make out with her in the bathroom. until he was interrupted with a buzzing in his pocket, “just a minute” he’d mumbled against her lips, unbothered by her disappointed expression as he fished for the phone in his pocket hurriedly.

he saw that y/n had finally replied to his ‘u up?’ with a ‘depends.’ his brow furrowed at her response in confusion, he typed back ‘on what’.

the notification arrived with a ping. her response read ‘are u drunk?’. something told him instinctively to lie. he typed out a no, but once the message sent, he realised it had autocorrected to ‘yo’. he corrected it to a no and sent again, only to find the same mistake committed again. it was only after a string of typos had been sent, did he blink and realise autocorrect wasn’t to blame at all, his damn fingers just refused to cooperate with his inebriated brain.

ping. after receiving the string of nonsense, she finally replied ‘i got my answer.’ “aegon?” the girl in front of him looked at him impatiently, only to have him grab the handle of the bathroom door, leaving with a quick “gotta go”. he immediately called up y/n as he walked out of the party, but the call went straight to voicemail. all four times.

thus, every night aegon had gotten drunk since, he found himself being distracted by thoughts of y/n, frustrated at her refusing to engage with him.

that night too, once the clock on the wall started to look to him as if it were melting off and his feet seemed to stumble wherever he walked, his brain suddenly thought showing up to her dorm was the best idea ever.

reaching her door, he ran a hand through his hair before knocking. no response. impatient, he loudly whined “y/n! c’mon, open up!” met with more silence. he whipped his phone out, blinking at the bright screen as he concentrated to make sure it was without typos, he sent her a text, ‘m 0utsidee’. he pounded with his fist on the door one more time, before a door opened, but not the one he was standing in front of.

three doors down, y/n stood against her doorframe in her small black shorts, red tank top riding up slightly to reveal skin just above them. “wrong fucking door, idiot.” aegon grinned as he walked towards her. “you’re lucky baela’s out of town for the weekend, otherwise she would have kicked your ass for banging on her door like that.”

ignoring her, he pouted as he leaned his head against her door frame, looking too much like a wounded puppy. y/n felt a tug at her stomach at how undeniably cute he looked. “why don’t you ever pick up my calls?”

“why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she asked instead of answering. “what?” he mumbled, confused. “high….why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she slowly repeated, as if talking to a two-year-old. “i’m not interested in someone who needs to be drunk to call me. i don’t want to be your booty call.” she shrugged. his lower lip jutted out further at her response, crease appearing between his brow. oh, gods, y/n found herself thinking, how could someone manage to look this pathetic and this cute at the same time.

“you’re not a booty call.” he groaned in protest. after all, there were enough girls at that party willingly throwing themselves at him, he could have been with anyone, and yet… it was her door his drunken steps had taken the path of.

“go home, aegon. it was a one-time thing. it’s not happening again.” she insisted. her words seemed to have no effect on him, as he placed a hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. he bent down to her ear and whispered, his words slurring, “let me show you all the reasons that this should be more than just a ‘one-time-thing’.”

he pressed his lips to hers, softly at first. she didn’t immediately kiss him back, but the feeling of his lips on hers felt more intoxicating than whatever it was that she could smell off his breath, and she found her lips moving against his within seconds. he bit her lower lip playfully, at her response. she parted her lips to allow him to slide his tongue past them. his hand, meanwhile, slid under the material of her tank and travelled upwards, thumb pressing against her nipple as he squeezed her breast. breaking from the kiss for a second, he smirked at her, “didn’t bother wearing a bra to greet me?”. “i was preparing for bed!” she hissed in response. “excuses” he shook his head at her, teasing.

with his hand he lifted her tank to reveal her bare breasts. “aegon!” she attempted to keep her voice low, lest her neighbours wake up to the scene, “we’re in the middle of the hallway, anyone can walk in!” the idea of someone catching them only made it all the more exciting for aegon, “relax.” he told her with a laidback smile.

before she could protest, his head dipped and he captured her nipple in his mouth. a moan escaped her lips at the feeling, and she stumbled back, her back hitting her doorframe. aegon continued his tongue’s assault on her sensitive nipple, one hand gripping her waist to keep her in place, the other reaching behind her to squeeze her ass. her hand held the nape of his neck, as her head was thrown back in pleasure at his actions. she whined when he abruptly stopped.

he kneeled down and his fingers reached up, pulling her shorts and panties down her legs, causing a shiver to go up her spine. chewing on her lower lip in nervousness she weakly said, “we should go inside” but she couldn’t deny that the thought of getting caught made her even more wet. there was a hint of recklessness and danger in his eyes, “where’s your sense of adventure?”. he threw the clothes inside her ajar door, then lifted one of her legs over his shoulder. she audibly gasped as she felt his tongue upon her already soaking pussy.

“aegon…ah!” her hand gripped his hair as his tongue played tricks on her core, her eyes rolling back till she could see stars. his grip on her thigh remained firm, and she was certain she would be waking up with a bruise. “close… so…close…” she had begun to say after a few minutes, feeling her muscles tense, when he stopped.

he stood up and started to undo his pants, freeing his length. he grabbed her by the waist, letting the tip of his cock tease her folds. she was already moaning for him, “want me to take you right here? make you scream my name, till your neighbours come checking?” she swallowed at the thought, lust overtaking her eyes.

“let’s do one thing.” he smiled as if he’d struck upon the most perfect idea, but the gleam in his eyes told y/n it couldn’t be anything good. he turned her around by her waist, hand coming to her front to rub her clit as he whispered in her ear, “you see that door?”. she knew he could only mean the door to the elevator which was the way to enter her dormitory floor. she managed a nod in response, unable to form words as his fingers pressed down on her so ruthlessly. “keep looking at it.” he commanded as he grabbed her hips back to push his cock inside her. “aegon!” she gasped at the feeling.

he entered her completely in one go, pulling out punishingly slow before pushing back in. he continued speaking as he impaled her, “someone’s gonna walk in any moment now…” he teased, “…and see you in this mess… see you bent over, taking me from behind…like a whore” the thought embarrassed her, yes, but what embarrassed her more was that she found herself almost wanting it to come true.

“even when they walk in, i won’t stop.” he threatned, his thrusts becoming faster. “you’ll be on display for everyone to see… to see how well you take my cock.”  he gathered her hair in his fist in one hand, and she felt him pulling it lightly. “yes, oh, yes!” she found herself moaning, eyes intently trained on the door. “you’d like that? of course, you would, little slut.” she only whimpered in response, his words bringing her closer and closer to her edge. “you’d love to have everyone see just how well you receive a ‘booty call’” he chuckled. she could feel herself going weak at the knees at his pace and dirty talk.

“aegon… i—ah!” pleasure spread over every inch of her body, as she came all over his cock. he continued to thrust into her, chasing his own orgasm, until he emptied inside of her with a grunt.

her legs felt wobbly as he pulled out of her, turning her back around to face him. “next time i call—” he panted as he spoke, exerted from their activities, “—pick up.” she smirked, in contrast to his dominating actions mere moments ago, his words now sounded more like a pleading request; one she felt gracious enough to grant him as his juice and her own dripped down her legs. “i will. promise.”

his pearly white teeth showed as he grinned at her response, pleased. “oh, but i’m not nearly done with you for the night, just yet.” he lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he shut the door behind them as he walked back inside her dorm.

the next morning, she didn’t kick him out like the last time. she let him linger around her bed, aegon placing a trail of kisses down her body as a manner of greeting her good morning. he was needy and showed it by being as tactile with her as could be. yet she felt comfortable with his touches, allowing herself to lie with him for hours, their legs tangled. even as she bid him goodbye from her door, she had to practically tear her lips off his, neither able to get enough of the other.

she felt content as she’d shut her door behind her, leaning against it as she thought back to the night that had passed, when her phone started to ring. she picked it and smiled as she saw the name being displayed, ‘aegon (don’t pick up)’.

 “see i am the type who calls. a lot” she laughed at his words through the phone, able to hear him standing right outside the door. “and also the type who does breakfast. what do you say, brunch in an hour?”

[shiratamahatsumiyo]

Another alternate universe where Riddle's sibling dating Ace and coming out gay--......I should make this a series.

In the Heartslabyul Dorm Lounge, Ace is playing cards with Deuce instead of doing homework.

???: "....a......where.....he....."

Ace: "Hm? Hey Juice, do hear that?"

Deuce: "Ugh, for the last time--"

A student suddenly ran past the lounge

Heartslabyul Student A: "I-I-It's bad! Everyone, save your heads!"

Deuce: "What the--"

Riddle: "GET OUT MY WAY, TREY!!! AAAAAACE TRAAAAAPPOLAAAAAAA!!!!!"

Deuce: "Ace! W-What did you do this time?!"

Ace: "I didn't do anything, i swear!"

Trey, trying to stop Riddle: "Cater, hold him back!!"

Cater, summoning clones: "I'm trying!"

Riddle: "I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!!"

Ace: "What did I even do?!--"

Sibling!Rosehearts arriving

Sibling!Rosehearts: "Riddle, calm down! It was just a confession!"

Riddle: "CONFESSION OR NOT, I WILL HAVE THIS FOOL'S HEAD REGARDLESS!!!"

Heartslabyul Student B: "S-someone do something!"

Deuce: "Uhhhh....I-i summon thee. CAULDRON!"

Riddle: "ACK!"

A cauldron dropped on top of Riddle, effectively knocking him out.

Sibling! Rosehearts: "Phew! Thanks, Deuce."

Deuce: "Um, no problem?... I'll probably be get beheaded after this..."

Ace: ".... Sibling! Rosehearts. Did you tell him?"

Sibling! Rosehearts: "He only listened halfway."

Ace: "So uh, we gonna drag him to the infirmary or...?"

At the infirmary

Ghost: "Ok, his head injury doesn't seem to show any complications. But I suggest he stays here just in case."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "Thank you, sir... Trey, Cater, Deuce. Can you guys leave me and Ace some space?"

Deuce: "Why--"

Cater: "Oh, don't worry, Sibling! Rosehearts. Cay-Cay, Trey, and Deucey got your back!"

Trey: "We're gonna be at the dorm lounge if you need us."

Trey, Cater and Deuce left Ace, Riddle and Sibling! Rosehearts in the infirmary. Leaving a long silence between the two.

Ace: "....."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "....."

Ace: "....I thought we agreed to keep US a secret?"

Sibling! Rosehearts: "So you think WE can keep living like this? A lie? We can't fool everyone, especially my brother."

Ace: "I know, it's just.... I don't know what my family might feel. What the rest of the guys might think."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "Me too..."

Ace: "..."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "... Maybe you're right. I think we can just keep this a secret a while longer--"

Riddle, sober and wide awake: "KEEP WHAT A SECRET?"

Ace: "OH SHIT! HE'S AWAK--"

Sibling! Rosehearts: "SSSHHH! Don't shout! His head might still be ringing!"

Riddle: "Oh no, no. I heard EVERYTHING clearly."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "Well shit."

Ace: "Well shit, indeed."

Surprisingly the elder Rosehearts did not scold the two and instead brought another silence. He finally speaks up.

Riddle: "...How long?"

Sibling! Rosehearts: " What?"

Riddle: "How long were you two together a secret?"

Sibling! Rosehearts: "Since we participated VDC."

Riddle: "Why him? Can't you see he is obnoxious? Can't you see he's a horrible influence on you? Do you not see that he's a male? What will mother--"

Sibling! Rosehearts: "What mother says is not always right. She tormented us. Eventually leading you to Overblot. We have our own bodies, our own souls, our own LIVES. She cannot place us in an impossibly high pedestal to begin with."

Riddle: "... But... You..."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "I am still me. No matter how much I change, I'm still your sibling. But I feel trapped. I still yearn for my freedom to do anything. I feel suffocated for I can't have my own way of loving someone without thinking of what will our family might say."

Riddle, tears building up in his eyes: "...Why are you like this?"

Sibling! Rosehearts: "...if you still don't understand, it's ok. I'll--"

Ace: "Alright, you know what? FUCK IT. Riddle, your only sibling are trying their best explaining to you why they want to break free from your mom's astronomical expectations. We thought you already learned this after your Overblot. How she also chained you down to be defined as her trophy. If you can't accept Sibling! Rosehearts for the way they are then... Maybe you're still holding on to what's left of the chains."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "... A-Ace..."

Riddle: "........"

Ace: "I... Love your sibling just the way they are and they love me back despite me being a major asshole. Don't believe me? How about this..."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "ACE WHAT ARE YOU DOING--"

Ace opened a window next to Riddle's bed and inhaled a large sum of air. He didn't care if someone listened or not. He's gonna shout it out to the top of his lungs anyway.

Ace: "I LOVE SIBLING! ROSEHEARTS WITH ALL MY HEART!!! IF SOMEONE REJECTS THAT, FIGHT ME!!!!"

Riddle: "!!!"

Sibling! Rosehearts, all red-faced: "A-A-ACE STOP THAT YOU MIGHT GET DISTURB THE CLASSES!"

Sibling! Rosehearts immediately dragged Ace by the collar and shut the window.

Riddle: "Ace... You're lucky I can't move right now. Otherwise I'd strangle you."

Ace: "Sorry, but I gotta since you won't believe me."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "That doesn't mean you should shout it out!"

Ace: "I can't prove it any way else other than that!"

Riddle: "Actually, there is. If you manage to beat me in a game of croquet, I'll let you court Sibling! Rosehearts. If you lose, I'll collar you for a year."

Sibling! Rosehearts: "Great Sevens, Riddle!"

Ace: "Ah crap."

The three hear snickering outside the door. Sibling! Rosehearts opened it and Trey, Cater and Deuce came falling in.

Sibling! Rosehearts: "!!!"

Riddle, with a cruel smirk: "Well, well, well... It looks like you three weren't supervising the dorm."

Ace, shocked: "SHIT YOU GUYS HEARD ALL OF THAT?!?!"

Cater: "Uhhhh... hahaha...."

Trey: "...S-sorry for eavesdropping?"

Deuce: "RIDDLE PLEASE I'M SORRY DON'T KILL ME PLEASE--"

[a-aexotic]

request for rafe:

rafe is being oddly quiet when everyone in his friend group is pestering him about getting a one night stand. Reader walks in and he just goes all starry eyed, but he doesn’t wanna admit he loves her even though… its so obvious. (grumpy x sunshine)

(love your work, i hope you’re doing well 🫶🏻)

pairing. rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings. fluff!!!, ooc rafe, mention of weed + alcohol, one kiss at the end, lmk if i missed anything!

summary. rafe has the biggest crush on y/n, when topper finds out he decides to help his best friend get with the girl of his dreams.

➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. masterlist. taglist. ❫

Rafe had just about enough of his friends. It'd been months since he'd had a girl over and they were starting to worry. Why had he suddenly just stopped liking girls?

Topper was worrying maybe Rafe was about to just end it all. He knew Rafe wouldn't actually but they hadn't seen Rafe this sober in years.

"Dude, she's checking you out." Topper whispered to Rafe. He looked over at the girl and she was indeed checking him but he immediately gave her the cold shoulder and turned away.

Topper was confused. She was pretty; nice bathing suit, pretty eyes, a big ass. What more could Rafe want?

"Nah, I'm good, man." Rafe sighed as leaned back into his chair. He had eyes for one girl and one girl only, and she wasn't there yet. Topper furrowed his brows.

"Dude, what? She's a total catch, I mean, look at that-"

Rafe cut him off with a glare making Topper scoff and turn away. Was something wrong? He was getting more and more worried about Rafe.

"Dude, you okay?" Topper mumbled. They were at this fun party, hot girls everywhere, weed everywhere and he doesn't want anything at all. That wasn't like Rafe at all.

Rafe rolled his eyes and groaned in annoyance. Topper's nagging was really getting on his nerves. "Yes. I am. I just don't want to fuck every single girl I see, okay?"

"What about smoking?"

"I don't want to anymore, okay? That shit's bad for your lungs." He remembers you telling one of your friends that you hated smoking because of how bad it was for your health.

Hearing Rafe say that made Topper fully think he had somehow shifted into a different parallel universe. This was not the Rafe he'd known since third grade. This was a doppelganger because no way in hell that Rafe Cameron just insisted that smoking was bad for your health. Topper's jaw was on the floor.

Rafe looked back at Topper with an annoyed expression but quickly shifted his gaze to someone behind him. His expression morphed into a delighted one.

There you were, with all your glory. Pink tube top, light blue jean shorts with your iconic white high-top converse. His cheeks had begun to turn pink as Topper had to where he was looking and suddenly it clicked. Rafe had a crush.

You were greeting your friends and Rafe caught your eye. You sent a happy wave his way and he gratefully answered with another wave.

Topper smirked and then looked back at Rafe. "Oh, I see what's going on here."

Rafe's expression dropped as he turned to Topper. "What?"

"You like Y/N."

Rafe rolled his eyes. "You just realized that, dude?"

Topper was again, shocked, by Rafe for the second time tonight. Rafe admitting his feelings? Where was Rafe and what was this imposter doing in his place?

"I mean, who wouldn't. She's gorgeous and smart. I just wish she wasn't so nice, it's making it harder to bond with her." Rafe mumbled the last part, making Topper nod along.

Topper had known Rafe essentially all his life and he's never been whipped for any girl. He wanted to know why she was so special. "Can I help?"

"No." Rafe said simply, making Topper scoff.

"I'm really friendly, man. I can like, help you, trust me." Topper put his hand on Rafe's shoulder and squeezed it. "Do you have her number?"

"No, I don't. I've been trying to send her an dm but I feel like that's not classy enough. Plus she probably has like 100 other guys in her dm's, I wanna stand out." Rafe ranted, genuinely perplexed.

Topper sighed, "you're making it way too hard. Just go up to her."

Rafe turned to Rafe, glaring daggers his way. "It's not that easy."

"Yes, it is. It's really not that hard. She's just a girl." Topper spoke, like it was the easiest thing ever.

"Just a girl?!-"

"Shh, Rafe. Get up and talk to her, be a man." Topper pushed Rafe up and away from the chair, making Rafe grumble. He noted to make sure to punch Topper for that later.

He looked for you at the party, Topper's voice echoing in his mind. Be a man, be a man, be a man. Rafe turned a corner and then there you were, sitting with your friends. He felt his heart drop and Topper's voice was fading. He was just standing there, like an idiot.

You turned and you saw him standing there and you had a big smile on your face. You excused yourself from your friends and walked over to him.

He immediately whipped his gaze to the seat next to him and sat there immediately, trying to look like he was doing something. He wanted to face palm himself; when did he become such an awkward guy? He was usually so smooth, especially with girls.

"Hey." He recognized your voice and his heart skipped a beat as he turned to face you. How could someone be so pretty?

Rafe cleared his throat as he smiled. "Hi."

You took a seat next to him. "Noticed you just standing there, I was wondering where Topper was? He's usually always with you."

He groaned subconsciously at the mention of Topper. "He's clingy."

You laughed at that. "Yeah, but that's okay. That's kinda cute."

"Topper? Cute?" Rafe stumbled out. Did you like Topper? He made a disgusted face at that; how could a 10 like you, end up with a 3 like Topper?

"No, he's..." You tried to find the right wording. "He's okay." You tried not be mean, he was attractive - but not you.

Rafe relaxed at that. "Yeah, he is. He's just okay, I don't know how anyone could find him attractive."

You laughed but instantly stopped yourself, "that's mean." You still had a smile on your face. Rafe smiled at that.

"Why are you just sitting here alone?"

Rafe shrugged, "Topper was getting on my nerves. He, uh... wanted me to smoke."

You furrowed your brows in disgust. "Wow, did you?"

He shook his head in slight delight. "Nope. Smoking isn't for me."

"Wow, I'm glad to see someone not succumb to peer pressure, good for you." You smiled knowingly.

You've known Rafe since middle school; you know he loves smoking, you've seen him scream and break a chair in half then jump into the pool: no sober person would do that. You weren't mad that he lied to you, you found it sort of endearing.

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's just like, really bad for your lungs."

You couldn't help but giggle at his words: he was literally you quoting word for word, not deliberately. It's so cute. "God, you're so cute."

You both stopped at stared at each other for a few seconds. A blush rose from Rafe as you felt your heart literally stop.

"You think I'm cute?" Rafe spoke quietly, an octave above a whisper. You could barely hear him.

You couldn't get yourself out this one. You couldn't just lie, might as well just rip the band-aid off. You nodded. "Yeah, well you are."

"I am?"

You laughed at that, trying not to turn red from embarrassment. "Yes, Rafe. You're cute."

"You're cute, too." Rafe felt like a little kid confessing to his crush and he was scared of rejection, he was avoiding your gaze. I mean, you already had confessed.

You found it adoring how shy he was. Like mentioned, you'd known him since he was a kid and you've watched him grow. He was always confident and it was a sweet how shy he was all because of you.

You grabbed his hand and his skin began feeling hot as he looked back up you. Your hand was just as soft as he imagined it would be. You both made eye contact. Rafe's eyes kept wandering down to your lips, then back to your eyes. It was a silent gesture of saying 'kiss me.' As you were leaning in, you heard a shout from behind.

You both turned to see Kelce and Topper. They walked towards you both, a huge smile on their faces. Rafe's anger was radiating from his body; he could not believe his jackass friends just ruined his almost kiss with you.

"Wow! My plan worked, Rafe. You guys are holding hands now, see! Told ya being a man worked." Topper was obviously drunk and oblivious to the awkwardness he was causing. Kelce nodded.

"I didn't know you liked Y/N, man. The more you know." Kelce talked to Rafe. He turned to you with a smile. "I don't blame you, dude, you are gorgeous."

You nodded and smiled at that. "Thank you, Kelce. I appreciate it." You know he didn't mean it in a weird or creepy way, so you found it endearing.

He cleared his throat. "You dumbasses are ruining my moment. Can you guys fucking leave?" He whispered to them, trying to make sure that you didn't hear it. But you were pretty close to him so you could.

Kelce and Topper looked at each other, then you, then back at Rafe. They nodded. "Okay, bye Y/N."

They both left and Rafe turned his attention back to you. "See what I'm dealing with? They act like fucking children, I swear."

"Rafe."

"What?" He turned to you and you put your hand on his face, leaning in to plant a single kiss on his lips. He was so caught off guard but when you pulled away, he instantly wanted more.

You smiled. "Let me give you my number."

"Y-Yeah, sure." He was still in shock, stumbling over his words, the taste of your lipgloss still on your lips. He handed you his phone.

You looked down at in and smiled. "You have to unlock it." You held in your laugh at how out of order he was just because of one kiss. He took his phone back, opening it with Face ID. He gave it back to you.

You put in your number and then put in your name. You then opened his camera, snapping a quick picture then putting it as your contact picture.

You gave it back with a grin as you stood up. "Text me, okay?"

He nodded, "Sure. Yeah." As you walked away, he couldn't help but lick his lips and the taste of your lipgloss was still on it. He couldn't believe that just happened.

[shadesoflsk]

DRUNK WORDS ARE SOBER THOUGHTS

pairing: arthur morgan x fem reader

summary: arthur didn't believe he was worthy at all. however, you made it your duty to turn harsh words into self love.

warnings: reader is drunk, mentions of death, a bit suggestive at the end.

word count: 1.7k

Arthur was a man of few words. Blunt and straightforward statements were his way to go. He was well-spoken, don't get it wrong. But it seemed that his knowledge in words shone the brightest when a plethora of adjectives slipped from his lips at the sight of him in the mirror.

Staring back at him, was a madman. A garbage at most. Dull, horrible, and not worthy of a penny even though a bounty was placed on him.

However, life worked in mysterious ways when someone appeared in his life. He was no longer a cloud on a sunny day but a star in a clear sky. His eyes, at least for now, had a glint that has been lost ever since…—he doesn't know when or which was the ultimate instance in which happiness left his life.

You were a sight for sore eyes, a bandaid for a wound. A one and only in a world of forever ‘ifs.’ A constant where finite was the sole possibility. And lastly, a sweet fragrance mixed with the smell of gunpowder and death. 

However, he seldom thought about a calm life. He was not deserving of silence since it meant replaying his life through his eyes. Maybe that’s why his own mind was sabotaging his happiness. Life as an outlaw at least gave him a purpose, trying not to get killed left him with no time to dwell on his own low self-esteem. 

“You ugly bastard…” Sour as always but not less honest. In his mind, it was a payback. An attempt to not be in debt with life or whatever entity above him. He didn’t deserve a good life, so a few insults at himself would make things even.

Despite the harsh words he shared with himself, there was a chirping but endearing voice that told him otherwise. Ugly would be replaced by beautiful and old with young. 

But words weren’t enough if his shell was hard to crack. Therefore, the change had to come from him and not from a third person. 

"Arthur….” An intoxicated voice called him and brought him back to reality, to his reality. Both of you have shared some drinks that led to being somewhat drunk. Alcoholic beverages affected you a tad more than him, but that didn’t mean you were unconscious.

You were indeed very conscious.

“You know I love you, right?” And perhaps his own demons subtly pull him to believe your words are just drunk rambles. Lies mixed with a hint of just neediness and stupidity. No wonder, he doesn’t let you drink. Because he now has to deal with the slow poison of not being actually loved.

Damn you.

You share a cabin, you share a room and you definitely share days in which boredom was the pillar of your new life. A boredom not less welcomed but still so foreign to the rough man. But of course, in his messed up mind that didn’t mean you loved him.

“You’re drunk…”

His insecurities drowned out any joy he could feel. Dismissing your words was easier than accepting a reality he had never experienced.

Loving himself.

“I am drunk. You’re completely right sir.” The little show you were giving him was rather amusing. He had dealt with a drunk you many times before, but now it seemed there was a sense of purpose behind your actions. 

“But I’m simply telling the truth.” A waterfall of I love you’s escaped your lips. As if every one of them tried to make its way deeper into his system and plant a seed of self-worth.  

Clumsily, your body fell on top of him. However, you were conscious enough not to knock him towards the bed but rather straddle his lap. A poor attempt at caging him and stopping him from evading your words.

A faint of irritation coursed through Arthur as your voice rose slightly. But not at you but at his own incompetence of believing your words as beautiful as they sounded. Nonetheless, he was weak when feeling the warmth of your body embracing his. A reminder of you being alive and well next to him.

“Quit your rambling and sleep, you drunken fool lady.” His words may have sounded harsh but deep down, a tender tone hid behind his call out. Especially with how his hands protected you from falling. 

A smile formed on your face as you felt Arthur’s hands on your lower back. A few months ago, you had told him you felt safe with him, his reply was no more than a scoff but that moment wouldn’t leave his mind. And although he could only see the hands of a killer, he ought to protect you no matter what.

That was the least he could do.

“You may say that but…” Your hand caressed his stubbled cheek. “Drunk words are…” A hiccup escaped your lips. “Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

And they damn were. Even when alcohol wasn’t running through your veins as it does now. I love you’s were more common than greetings at this point.

“You ain’t makin’ any sense, woman.” He whispered, brushing back some hair that was sticking to your forehead.

“You don’t make any sense either, Arthur Morgan.” You replied, this time a bit more serious than all of your previous ‘yapping’.

He groans, knowing you were right. There were days in which his existence didn’t make any sense, at least for him. 

You knew that this simple talk wouldn’t do anything to the so-wounded Arthur. His heart has built an armor so strong that not even truthful words could destroy it. You shifted in his lap and slowly moved closer to him.

“Let’s do something else.” A glint appeared in your eyes as you came up with an idea to sort out the root of the problem.

However, Arthur completely misunderstood your intentions.

“I ain’t doin’ nothing with you. Look at the state you’re in.” He stated firmly. 

“You fool of a man. It ain’t nothing to do with that sort of thing.” You softly punched him in his chest, not really aiming to hurt him but rather reprimand him. 

“Just… hear me out, okay?” Your eyes locked with his blue-ish ones. Amidst the drunken state you were in, your intentions were as clear as if you were sober. “You’re gonna repeat after me, got it?”

“I don’t like this.” Arthur muttered, his nose scrunching up a bit.

You paid no mind, already getting your plan to work. “Listen closely.” 

A hint of curiosity flashed through his eyes as he couldn’t really make out what you wanted him to do. 

“I love you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at your words. Words he had heard (and said) so much. But there was not a day he did not yearn to hear it from your lips. 

He couldn’t help but sigh, a facade to hide how much he was starting to let himself drown in the feeling.

“I love you.” He finally obliged, his eyes squinting when he saw you grinning.

“Oh honey… I know.” You cooed but your chuckles were obvious to a confused Arthur. You were light-heartedly teasing him.  “But you were supposed to change the ‘I’ for ‘You’ and the ‘you’ for ‘me,’ silly”

“That’s not what the word ‘repeat’ means.” His words are accompanied by his own self of teasing. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Shut up Arthur….” 

“A little demanding for someone who can’t even sit straight on my lap.” And finally, a feeble smile adorned his face. 

“Go on.” You frowned, already waiting to continue with the little game or experiment you were both taking part in.

“You love me?” He repeated questioningly, expecting some kind of correction on your part.

“Very much.” You emphasized, letting your words linger in the air for a bit before coming up with another phrase, another affirmation he had to repeat. “Now… ‘I’m worthy’.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, he hadn’t even said the word yet and it already felt so foreign to him. Worthy of what?

“Say what?” He feigned ignorance, knowing damn well what your little plan was. A playful smile was on his face.

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” You persisted, not allowing him to escape from the inevitable. “Repeat it.”

You gently held his face, your noses brushing in an endearing display of affection. And for a few seconds, both of you just stayed there, embracing the warmth of shared love and unspoken intimacy. 

Maybe he was indeed worthy. Worthy of having someone next to him every time he wakes up. Worthy of having a warm meal every day, and having someone he could so easily love.

Both of you are grinning like idiots, you were drunk on alcohol and he was in the love you were—or rather always provided. 

Reluctantly, slowly, and carefully. He thought about those two words and let them set in his brain before saying them. 

“I’m worthy.” He finally repeated… or confessed? His mind was still adamant to believe it. But acceptance is the first step for a change and you have taught him about the art of betterment.

A lump formed in his throat as he looked into your loving eyes. A feeling of purpose suddenly rushed back to him. After all these years, this was the first time he actually felt worthy. 

“So worthy…” A loving kiss was pressed against his lips. Your words were a silent prayer and the dim room was your sacred place. If God existed he surely did an amazing job forgiving him. 

Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed as your lips locked with his. He was no stranger to your affection but damn he would never say no to them. A strange sense of hope washed over him, maybe this was the beginning of a new era.

He had everything, it was time to enjoy it.

“So worthy…” He repeated even though he wasn’t mean to. Those were your words, but now he managed to sing them as if they were a song he was learning. 

And the phrase was repeated over and over that night. When your eyes got tired of being opened and when the alcohol finally took its toll on you. It was repeated when you finally fell asleep and he admired the face of his life partner. And it was repeated over the course of days, when he found his home inside of you, letting his body show how much he adored you.

Arthur was a man of few words. But now, his mental dictionary was completed and the insults were soon replaced with only words of affection.

Worthy of life and love.

[geisterzeit]

it affected how i percieve the world and my place in it, and i feel like i played the game at the exact perfect time in my life because of that. its absolutely heartwrenching and uplifting and real and has grabbed my brain and told me to get up off the floor and keep trying even if i'm a pathetic sopping wet mess who forgot what money is

hi hello this is my main but you might remember me from my art blog where you told me to play disco elysium. i would like to formally issue a request for emotional compensation and a therapy session or two because i am now a changed man after playing this game. god damn its so good thank you so much for pushing me to finally start playing it for real. genuinely

I do remember you, and I am VERY happy to be able to introduce someone to something like that, Disco Elysium is among the most beautiful stories I've ever read and also turned out as one of the best things for my mental health in the long run kinda ironically lol. Certified special interest and it's cool I could share it with someone

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: (Part Thirty-two)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Time to cry.

Both you and Mig were hesitant to leave the closet. Despite the abysmally horny scene you’d both made in the lobby in the throes of Mig’s prey-driven rut, now that you were both a little more sober, the thought of facing your colleagues was less than enticing. You didn’t want the little whispered concerns about whether you were okay, and you certainly didn’t want the snickers about Miguel’s size.

And besides, he was ever so warm. You loved the soft fuzz of his legs as they brushed your cheeks, leaving a glow on your skin. You loved the heat of his torso when he hugged you, and the little sigh he did as he rested his chin on the crown of your head.

But, you couldn’t exactly stay in there forever.

You creaked the door open just an inch and peeped your head around the corner, allowing just your eyes to appear. Mig did the exact same, slowly sliding his head around the door just above your own, like curious prairie dogs.

To your relief it seemed that the party was already in full swing. There was music playing, people laughing, cheap plastic pumpkins cackling, and huge groups of spiders all hurrying about in full costume.

Nobody would notice you. But, would they notice the room?

You glanced back over your shoulder at the mess of webs you’d left behind.The sticky stings were dripping with some kind of obscene liquid. Whether it was saliva or something else, though… well, of that you weren’t sure. Your eyes met, and in near unison you agreed:

‘They’ll just think its decoration.’

You spread your leg forward as if to leave, only to then duck out of sight once more as a gaggle of spiders rushed past, squishing yourself behind the door with Miguel awkwardly pressed up against your chest. You eyed him and your little mess up for the second time.

‘Is this… Is this a health hazard, Mig, do you think?’

‘Why are you asking me that, arañita?’

‘You’re the super genius!’

‘I’m not a doctor.’

‘A genetical physicist is better than doctor!’

‘Ay, arañita, be careful who you say that to…’

‘No, just- come on. I trust your judgment. You will ease my guilty conscience.'

‘… I mean we have never gotten sick from it.’

‘A very good point, Mr. O’Hara. A very good point indeed. In that case, I am sold. Let’s just leave it.’

Once the noise immediately outside the little closet door had passed, you allowed yourself to slip out and join the fray. Mig followed close behind.

Your hands instinctively interlocked as you headed towards the main party. It was a little nerve-wracking to be around people knowing the state of your body. You could feel the little web plug still sitting snuggly inside you, which would undoubtedly stay there until later that evening when Mig would finally and reluctantly pull it out, only to most likely stuff you again.

You were very, very, VERY full, and it was unbearably distracting.

As you took your first few steps into the crowd you glanced up at Mig. You looked at him with the expectation that you’d see the same concern on his face, that shared fear of being found out, but to your surprise, Mig looked the exact opposite. His eyes were glinting with a smug, primal sheen that you could only describe as possessive pride. He was relishing the knowledge that he’d stuffed you up and now got to parade you around while filled with his seed, his web knot, even if he put up a shy front before all the other spiders.

You huffed and gently elbowed his leg, causing him to stumble.

‘Mm! Arañita? Are you—’

Mig glanced down in shock at your unexpected nudge, but the moment he saw your expression he knew what you were thinking. He at least had the sense to break into a bashful blush as he shook himself out.

‘… I will not apologize for my instincts’ he grumbled.

‘Mig—’

‘I will not! I can’t help it. It’s in my nature to feel pride about such things.’

‘Mig, come on—’

‘Nature! It is my nature! I cannot argue with nature, arañita!’

You tried to pout, you really did, but as you stared up at his red cheeks and those big red eyes that even now betrayed a deep level of possessive adoration, you couldn’t help but break into a smile yourself. You giggled and tried to cover your mouth while Mig grunted.

‘What? Why are you now laughing?’

‘Oh, nothing. Nothing.’

‘What is so funny?’

‘Nothing!’

You decided to tease him a little more, and broke into a slight jog so that he was forced to scurry after you across the floor.

‘Ah- arañita?’ he chirped as you sped up. You saw his legs shuffling faster and picked up the pace, breaking into a run.

‘Mmm, come on. Faster’ you purred.

Mig purred back as he obediently followed. ‘Faster?’

‘Come on. You wanna know why I’m laughing, you gotta catch up’ you giggled.

Mig bristled with joy as he started to speed up alongside you. It pleased something in his primal brain to be chasing you, pursuing you. He moved his legs faster, clambering over fake pumpkins and spiders passing by as he tried to keep up with your pace.

Neither of you even paid attention to the other hoards of spiders who all jumped aside as Mig barrelled through. All you could think about was how fun it was to tease him, and how fun it would be when he caught you. In those moments, it was only you and him.

‘Arañita!’

Mig breathlessly called little nickname as he scurried through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the top of your head. He kept having to duck beneath plastic spiders hanging from the ceiling, though even at his most careful he took a number of pumpkin garlands to the face. Soon he was draped in paper decorations like a giant Halloween statue.

You finally skipped to a halt in front of the big open craft table, a movement so sharp that Mig barely had time to course-correct his own lumbering body. He skidded on the slippery tiled floor and bumped right into your back, pushing your stuffed belly into the table with a slight ‘oomph’.

A handful of people looked over with a mixture of disgust and morbid curiosity, but you ignored them. You were too busy giggling.

‘Jesus, Mig- oof, my god.’ You grunted as Mig withdrew from you, his hands outstretched to cup your shoulders as he ensured you were alright.

‘Arañita, you stopped so suddenly. Are you okay—’

‘I forgot how big you are sometimes’ you groaned, cutting off his little interjection. Mig snorted.

‘Excuse me? That seems untrue, mi amor.’

You tilted your head back and your brow tilted with it, shooting him a slightly confused expression. ‘What?’

‘That you’d forget I am big’ he repeated back. Immediately you rolled your eyes again. ‘Ohhh, okay. Okay. Really? A double entendre?’

‘A what?’

‘Your dick, Mig. You’re talking about your dick, right?’ you whispered back.

You were too busy giggling at Mig’s wide eyes and gormless expression to care about the spider people standing within listening distance, all of whom were now frozen in horror. He huffed and tried to play it off, glancing anywhere except your face.

‘I- I did not, necessarily mean that, arañita’ he insisted. Your lips curled into a smile so wide it hurt. His enormous legs were scuttling and shifting from side to side, something he only did when he was doing a terrible job of lying.

‘Oh, Mig. It’s not like you to be so coy’ you teased. You made a point of tickling the spot between his foreleg and his abdomen, knowing it would make him skitter and dance. His little tufty paws hopping back and forth always brought you joy.

‘Oye! Not there, mi tesoro’ he hissed back. He attempted to grasp and hold you still with his front paws but you just tickled those as well, noting the way his scarred, muscular body twitched and tensed as you did. Oh, to make that terrifying beast of a man quiver. It was pure joy.

He wrestled with you in the most childish form of PDA until he finally had you clutched to his chest. He held you there, one hand on your head and both forelegs wrapped around your chest, and he purred as he felt you squirm and laugh. His exasperation quickly turned back into a worn but gentle smile pulling across his chiseled, weather-beaten face.

‘Mi tesoro- ay, Dios Mio. You are in a state tonight, aren’t you?’

‘It’s a party, my love. Can I not enjoy myself?’

His smile deepened. You watched those little lines appear by his eyes as the corner of his lips tilted upward, the lines you could now count off by heart. His fangs flashed white in the spooky lighting.

‘I would love nothing more, arañita’ he murmured back. ‘I promise, I would love nothing more.’

He gave you another firm squeeze before letting you go, but his clawed hands remained on the small of your back. It was just a light touch. Not enough to herd you, but just enough to let you know he was there. It was enough to let you know he loved you.

When you turned back around all the other spiders had left. It seemed your little sickly romantic display had put them off their food.

You shrugged it off and tried not to focus on it too much, mostly for Mig’s sake. Instead, you focused on the food.

‘Ooo, they went all out.’

You picked at a few spider-themed cupcakes while Mig peered over your head. You could feel his chin on the crown of your head, nestling into your hair.

‘Mm… I remember these, I think. From before I changed’ Mig murmured to himself. He picked up a cupcake between the claws of his thumb and forefinger, coyly raising it to his face. You grabbed one for yourself and hopped up so that you were seated on the table's edge.

‘How’s it look?’ you asked, taking a bite of your own. Mig turned it a full 360 degrees barely an inch from his eyes, then took a cautious lick.

‘Mm… I’m, unsure if my stomach can adjust to this’ he grunted. ‘I’m so used to raw meat…’

‘What?’ you snorted. ‘You still have a human stomach, right?’

‘Yes… But it will pass down to my spider half’ he noted. He took another lick and visibly bristled at the sudden, overwhelming taste of butter and sugar on his tongue. You watched every hair on his abdomen stand up at once.

‘Ach! That is- overwhelming’ he hissed. You tried and failed to stifle a giggle as he bared his fangs at the little dessert.

‘Alright, alright. I’ll ask if there’s any raw venison around’ you teased, and with your free hand you grabbed the cupcake from him so that you had two.

‘No! No, I can… I will not be, defeated by this, sugary nonsense’ Mig insisted. He eyed up the cupcakes like they were about to bite off his finger, tepidly tapping back and forth as he worked up the courage to take it back once more, but as he dithered on his decision you got an idea.

‘Okay. Okay, come here. Let’s share’ you offered. When Mig raised both brows you peeled the wrapper off of the cake and placed half of it between your lips, leaving the other half hanging out for him to take. You leaned up, coaxing him down with those soft eyes you knew he couldn’t resist.

Mig almost blushed. His little abdomen wriggled with excitement, his paws tapping, and slowly he lowered his legs until you were both at the same height.

You felt his breath, his nose, the little bump of his forehead. He parted his lips, moving forward and back as he tried to find the right angle, and then he closed on the other half of the cake.

Your lips touched, and you savored it for just a moment before messily pulling apart.

Crumbs covered your lap as the middle of the cake collapsed, and you rushed to swallow between fits of giggles. Miguel was so flustered he swallowed his half in one go, forcing him to cough and thump his bare chest. That only made you giggle more.

‘Oh my god, Mig—’

‘Ah- ah. I-I don’t think I even tasted a bit of that’ he wheezed. You laughed so hard that your belly started to hurt.

‘God damn it! Alright, alright, let’s try another one—’

‘Hey! You two!’

A sharp voice drifted over the ambient spooky music, and for just a second you tore your eyes away from Mig to search for the culprit.

To your surprise, it was Jess. Miguel’s second-hand elite was moving with exorbitant speed and grace towards you and Mig, and her eyes were fixed on you in particular. You panicked and rushed to brush the crumbs off of your suit.

‘Jess! Hey, what—’

‘Where’s Miguel?’

You paused.

‘Uh, Mig? He—’

‘No, Miguel’ Jess stipulated. She looked weirdly distracted as her eyes darted around the room. ‘You know, our leader? Head of the society, the guy who should be here?’

‘Oh, uh… I-I’m not, sure’ you replied. ‘He—’

‘He is in his office’ Mig interrupted. You could feel his enormous torso leaning in over your shoulder so he could look Jess in the eye, and you could also see the way she stiffened at his presence. You bit back the urge to scowl.

‘His, office?’ Jess replied.

‘Yes. He ah, he offered to stay up late working on our project. The uh- the cross-universe serum, ma’am’ he added. ‘I offered to stay with him, but he said I should… enjoy myself, down here. With my mate.’

Jess took only a moment to dissect Mig’s response before immediately scoffing. ‘Uhuh. Uhuh. Wow, very interesting. VERY interesting.’

Her dry tone didn’t exactly land well with Mig, who instinctively took it at face value. He purred at the notion that he had, indeed, told Jess some interesting news, which only made you bristle more. You couldn’t stand the way people would talk to Mig, even if it was unintentional.

‘What’s the issue?’ you asked.

‘Oh, nothing. Just, it’s a very good story for him, isn’t it?’ Jess added sarcastically. ‘He’s being all altruistic all of a sudden, so he doesn’t have to attend the party.’

She spun in a circle and glared up at the entrance to his lab as if Miguel could somehow see her through all those dense walls. At this point Mig had finally caught on that his response hadn’t been taken as well as he assumed it would be, so he quickly shuffled forward to speak more clearly.

‘He did insist’ Mig said. ‘I offered to remain with him, but he insisted he continue working. We are very close to finding a solution, after all.’

Jess grumbled. She seemed perturbed that Mig was suddenly on Miguel’s side.

‘Ahuh. Alright. Guess I’m the honorary leader then, again, as always’ Jess said. ‘He calls me for backup when he gets his ass handed to him, and when everyone votes to throw a party I’m the one watching over it like you’re my hundreds and hundreds of spider kids—’

‘I apologize’ Mig suddenly blurted, interrupting her complaint in such an abrupt manner that both she and you jumped. Jess cocked her brow at the tentative-looking spider.

‘You- what?’

‘You seem…

Jess blinked. She blinked, and she gaped, and then she sighed. ‘My god… I forgot what you were like. Look, I’m not mad at you. I’m just- your uh, variant, is kind of a pain in the ass sometimes. Okay?’

Mig purred, his face unphased. ‘… Yes. I, believe I understand’ he purred back.

‘I’m sure you do’ Jess grumbled, and before you could even have a real conversation with her she turned and began to walk away.

‘I’m gonna go find Miguel in his office then. God damn antisocial little—’

Her mumbling faded into the background as she pushed through the crowd, leaving just you, Mig, and the ambient spooky music in the air.

As she hurried off you noticed Mig’s eyes following her. He had a blank expression as he watched her leave, but his eyes seemed instinctively driven upward to the huge gaping door that you knew led to Miguel’s office. You saw him shuffling in thought.

You knew he was probably thinking about going back himself. He looked antsy, shuffling his paws and his abdomen like a little saltshaker. You knew he was pining to finish that damn serum.

But you’d gone too long without just enjoying his presence for a while, and you were loathed to give him up now. Besides, Miguel was meant to be working on this project to make up for all the time he’d spent trying to pry you apart. You deserved to spend some one-on-one time with Mig now.

You reached out and tenderly tugged at his fur, urging him to meet your gaze.

‘Come on, my love’ you said gently. ‘Let’s go relax.’

Mig reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the office at the sound of your voice. It drew his head down until your eyes met, and he huffed at the sight of your smile. Your face was perfectly framed by the cheap Halloween lights, your lips turned up into a goofy grin that dimpled your cheeks.

He just wanted you to be his. He couldn’t stand another day without having you in his universe, in his world.

But… Perhaps, he could just enjoy you for a while. Just a while.

‘Okay, arañita’ he purred, and he returned your smile with one of his own. You adored the way his weathered, chiseled face shifted to accommodate his full lips tilting upward, the little lines by his eyes and the flash of his fangs. He never half smiled. He would always give you a full, wide, fang-filled grin when he saw you, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

‘Good boy’ you whispered, before patting his flank and heading back into the fray. ‘Come on handsome. Let’s do some good ol’ Halloween fun.’

With Mig’s hand gripped tight in your own, you dragged him into the depths of the party to see what Miguel had allowed them to get away with.

It seems he’d allowed them to get away with a lot.

The training station with the pop-out targets had been turned into a makeshift haunted house. They’d put up fake holographic haybales to hide the pop-outs, creating a labyrinth of twists and turns with pop-up villains around the bend of each corner. The lights were so dim that spiders kept falling into themselves.

You dragged Mig in with you. He didn’t quite understand that the fear was supposed to be fun, however, and every time something popped up and caused you to squeak with shock he would instinctively pounce on it like a wild beast, crushing and tearing the flimsy holographic cut-out to pieces. By the time you reached the end the poor thing was sparking and fizzling, now nothing more than a boring hay maze filled with decapitated doc oc figures spewing gibberish one-liners.

You hurried away and hoped that anyone going in after you didn’t realize who had destroyed it. Either way, it was certainly fun.

On the higher levels, they’d set up a fake trick-or-treating scenario, with spiders lounging in different offices so others could show up, knock on their doors, and beg for candy while showing off your outfits. You were pretty excited to show off your moth costume, especially with Mig at your side, but every time you knocked on a door the response was almost always the same. They’d open it with a cheery laugh, expecting to see one of their fellows in costume, only to blanch at the sight of Mig at your back. They never even gave you the chance to speak. They’d just throw candy at your feet and slam the door, leaving you to awkwardly scoop it back up.

At least twice you’d knock and receive on response, only to realize that the spiders were peering at you from behind the curtained window. The moment you’d lock eyes the curtain would fall, hiding their cowering faces like mice from a cat. In those instances, it was Mig who had to drag you away.

It was a little disheartening, but you refused to let it bother you too much. You went through the entire hall, knocking on every door, and then led Mig to a balcony overlooking the main lobby below so you could swing your feet and share your haul.

You basked in the quiet time together. You’d throw candy into his mouth only to get it stuck in his fur, and then you’d horrify him by getting it out with your teeth. You’d test him on sour candy to see how much he could manage, and giggle at the way he writhed and rustled at the overstimulation.

Once you’d calmed down a little you made your way towards the games corner, which was a little more fun. There was a re-creation of a classic arcade, ones that in Miguel’s timeline were almost extinct, and you tried your hand at those with Mig. He was god awful at video games. His hands were huge and undexterous, barely capable of holding either the panel controls or the guns, but he liked seeing you win, so he just pretended to be trying.

There was a room hosting a screening of old, spooky horror films in black and white at the far end of the building, but Mig was too big to even fit through the door, so you sat in the doorway and described the film to him in horrifying detail. You may have exaggerated a few things.

When someone complained you were letting in too much light you used your savings to buy up the entire popcorn stand and ran off with it bulked onto Mig’s back like a horse, followed by a trail of irritated, hungry film viewers.

The moon was at its peak by the time you began to slow down. You’d been absolute menaces in just about every activity the night offered, and you’d been left with a flushed face and a mild tummy ache. Still, you weren’t perturbed. You were extremely content with Miguel’s hand gripped in your own, and so was he.

Mig hadn’t felt this good since he turned. In fact… The more he thought about it, he hadn’t felt this good ever. He was such a punk teenager that he could never allow himself to be happy, and Alchemax was a slog. Dana had loved him, sure, but looking back, it felt… superficial. It felt, childish.

He was so immature with you, by all accounts. The rabid sex, the possessiveness, the menace energy, and the constant breaking of rules. And yet… He felt older with you. He felt, settled. It was like he was clawing back the decade of life he lost out on in the woods alone, and you never once complained.

He was in love. He was a giddy, stupid fool in love, and that made it so much more real.

‘You having fun, my love?’

Mig paused in his contented daydreaming to glance down. You were peering up at him with those soft eyes, your face glowing as you smiled. He smiled back.

‘Yes. Of course, mi tesoro. Why do you ask?’

‘Your butt’s wiggling.’

Mig’s smile faltered for a second. He spun around and discovered that, just as you’d said, his abdomen was rustling with glee. It was an involuntary reflex he’d never learned to control. He turned back with a rather flushed expression, but that embarrassment wasn’t allowed to fester for long. You threw yourself against his side and squeezed him, burying right into his fur.

‘Oh, you goof. God, it feels so good to see you happy.’

Your voice almost cracked as you spoke the words directly into his soft down. Mig was left speechless.

Happy. Yes, he was happy. Truly happy.

‘Do we have anything else left to try?’ Mig asked. You pouted and turned a full 360 degrees in a circle, pondering that same question. You could see the holographic hay maze, the food stand, the apples and the—

‘OH!’

You grasped Mig’s hand and pulled, attempting to drag him towards the far side of the lobby.

‘DANCE!’

Mig remained rooted to the spot, totally unphased by your attempt to shift him. You had his hand in yours and you were tugging, your feet slipping on the fine marble flooring, but he didn’t move a single inch.

‘Mi tesoro…’

As Mig spoke he lightly tugged, and immediately you were lifted off the floor and into the air. He raised you by your hand as if you weighed nothing before dropping you into his arms.

‘What? What’s up?’ you asked while settling down. You could see the avoidance in his expression, the way he darted his eyes and shrugged.

‘I don’t… Know if I can dance, here’ he replied slowly.

‘You love dancing though! What? Is it—’

You paused and darted your own eyes. People were still staring.

All day, they’d been staring. All day.

The staring, the whispers, the judgment. You couldn’t stand it a second longer. The idea that even now, when he had every right to just exist, Mig was still afraid of being squashed like a bug, it was too much. You finally felt your bristling, broiling irritation at their gawking eyes spill over.

‘No! Come on!’

You squirmed like a hyperactive puppy in his grip until he was forced to let you go, and without saying a thing you grabbed his hands and began guiding him again. Mig sighed.

‘Tesoro—’

‘Come on! We’re gonna dance!’

‘Arañita—’

‘Baby! Baby. Just- okay, listen to me.’

You tugged one more time before pausing, but you kept both of his hands tightly gripped within your own. You felt every bump, every calloused ridge, every fine hair on his knuckles, and every sharp claw protruding from the ends of his fingertips. He returned your stare.

‘I want you to be happy’ you insisted.

‘I… Arañita, I am happy, I just—’ Mig choked on his words when he saw the group staring at him from across the lobby. You pinched his hand to draw him back.

‘They don’t matter’ you whispered. ‘They don’t. And I’ll sit here until you’re ready, but… You love dancing. I know you do. It makes you happy. So let’s do it, Mig.’

The great, terrifying spider stared down at you in a state of absolute stillness.

For a moment, you worried you’d perhaps upset him.

You hadn’t though. Instead, it was the opposite. He was staying utterly still so that he didn’t break, so that he didn’t fall into a rustling, tapping, mewling mess. That enormous, terrifying, muscular beast of a man felt his heart nearly triple over so hard it hurt.

He did love dancing. And you knew that. And you didn’t care who stared.

He pursed his lips to avoid letting out any, ‘unmasculine’ noises, which you immediately noticed. Your eyes widened and your lips parted in an attempt to ask, ‘Mig are you crying?’, but the words never came.

Because before they could be spoken, the air was filled with a soft, dull, tap.

Mig tapped his huge paw, and then the next, and then the next. He moved closer to you as he did.

Tap, tap, tap.

You knew people were staring. You felt their eyes glowing in the dim light, like bats in a cave, straining to watch this odd display. They would always be staring, and you knew that now.

But right now, it was just you. It was just him.

Your smile widened until it hurt your cheeks, and you began to tap right back.

You moved with him towards the hall, letting the music fill your ears. Louder, louder, pulsing under your feet. His tapping got faster, and he began to match the rhythm.

Never once did he let go of your hand. Never once did he let go of you. You were all he could see, dancing and swaying and moving with all the grace of an impromptu, drunken rave with a partner three times your size. Miguel was graceful, precise, just like the spider he was, but your clumsiness only endeared him more.

Round and round you went under the golden glow of the lights above. You moved until you were dizzy, you spun and crossed your feet until your ankles hurt.

Mig got so excited that he whisked you off of your feet. He raised you to his chest and reared his body high, raising his front four legs as if throwing you up into the heavens. You squealed with joy and instinctively grasped his face, and he gazed at you with all the revelry of a dying man staring at an angel.

In that moment, time seemed to stop. Your mouth widened into the widest smile, ready to burst into a fit of pure, unspoiled laughter.

But your laughter never reached him.

That sweet, beautiful sound was cut short by a dull rumbling from further up the building. It was not explosive, nor was it even particularly loud, but it was deafening. It seemed to drown out every other sound in existence.

Mig stared at you, and in unison, your smiles began to fade.

You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to turn your head. You could see the hair on Mig’s abdomen slowly rising to stand on end, the sign of his animalistic instincts kicking in, and in turn, you felt the hair on your nape rising with the goosebumps running up your skin.

Something in your subconscious could feel what was about to happen far before your other senses ever felt it. Call it a spider-sense, call it a sixth sense, or call it dumb intuition. Whatever it was, you knew.

You knew.

The explosion followed soon after.

A horrifying whistle filled the HQ, echoing through each corridor before punctuating in a violent burst. A flash of fire erupted from one of the higher chambers in the higher HQ, and its debris scattered across the open-plan beams in a raining cascade.

‘ARAÑITA!’

Mig’s instinct was to grasp you to his chest. You were nowhere near the fire and yet it was all he could think to do. His forelegs and human arms reached out and snatched you, drawing you close to his body as he turned his back on the sound, as if he could somehow swallow all of the potential damage with his own form.

But no damage came. As the society gasped and cried and even screamed, you barely heard it, because your ear was pressed too close to Mig’s chest. All you heard was his heartbeat, thudding hard and fast against the side of your head.

It took you a moment for the shock to die down, but the moment it did you began wrestling your way out of Mig’s grasp to assess the damage. You were still a hero, after all. Mig kept his hands close to your waist as you scurried over him and gazed out over the ground to assess the damage.

Luckily nobody seemed to be hurt. Their spider senses had kicked in with enough time to jump aside, and the debris was only a few smoldering lumps.

Instinctively your eyes went up, following the trail of destruction to its source. A single, open hole in the side of the wall, a gaping maw now spewing black smoke from within.

Mig’s eyes followed your own, and immediately he froze. Your blood ran cold.

‘No, no, no—’

You both knew where the fire was coming from. The smoke curled in the air like a snake, slithering out from the entrance to Miguel’s office.

It felt like your heart exploded.

‘Miguel…’

You moved reflexively. You were a spider, after all, and your instinct was always to protect, but this wasn’t just anyone. In that moment, despite all your animosities and the strangeness of your relationship, you felt fear. You felt pain. You felt terror that Miguel was hurt, or even worse, gone.

You prepped your web-shooters and rushed into action, but Mig wouldn’t let you move. He caught you by the nape right as you moved to swing and dragged you back to the floor kicking and yelling.

‘Mig! He—’

‘I know!’

Mig spat you out onto the floor with all the tenderness his panic would allow him to muster. His head was darting so fast it hurt, spinning between you and the smoke as he scuttled on the spot.

‘MIG! He was in there—’

‘I KNOW! I am going, you stay here!’ Mig insisted, his voice rising into a firm bark.

‘Mig, what are you doing!?’ you cried.

‘You stay here! It could be dangerous!’

‘I-If it’s dangerous then I should GO, why should you go?! I don’t want you to get hurt—’

‘I have to go, arañita!’

‘Mig—!’

‘HE’S ME!’

That was all Mig could say before he barrelled his way through the crowd, leaving you behind in the dust. He didn’t bother to look at who he pushed aside, nor who he trampled on his way.

He knew in his heart Miguel was alive. He felt down to the core of his soul that he would have felt it if Miguel died. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t injured. It didn’t mean he couldn’t still die, and so he pushed his body to the brink of its physical capability to climb that impossible architecture, because he refused to know what it felt like. He refused to feel his other self die like this.

When he reached the corridor entrance the other spiders were all trying to evacuate. They blocked his body like a tidal wave, a sea of tiny bodies pressing on his legs and threatening to buckle them in their panic. He had to physically force his way through them, using the strength in his upper arms to help propel the smaller spiders to the exit.

‘GO, GO!’

‘Mig?!’

He glanced up and squinted in the darkness, but he could only see the faint outline of someone moving towards him. Luckily, he remembered that voice.

‘Jessica?!’

‘Fuck- FUCK! Something blew in there!’ she cried back as she hurried towards his voice. ‘I left him in the middle of some- fucking- I don’t know what he was doing, but then the air just hit me—’

‘It’s okay. Go back down, I’ll find him.’

‘You- what?!’

Jess paused and spun right as she reached the exit, only to lose Mig into the dark, curling smoke. She screamed after him to no avail.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!’

‘MIGUEL!’

Mig’s first call elicited nothing. He heard someone yelling at him from back out in the main lobby, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was solely focused on the thick of the smoke and the body he knew was contained within it.

‘MIGUEL?!!’

His second cry echoed as he stumbled forward, blindly grasping at the walls for guidance. The smoke grew thicker as Mig descended toward the main lab. As a larger beast than any other in the society he could just about handle the intake into his lungs, but not for long. He knew he had to be fast.

He blindly clambered deeper, stumbling over fallen debris and smoldering electronics. With one hand over his mouth, he screamed again.

‘MIGUEL!’

Through the crackling of the fire, a response finally came.

‘GET OUT!’

Mig felt his chest lighten. That was him. That was Miguel.

‘I’m coming through! Can you move?’

‘GET! OUT!’

Mig paid no mind to the repeated cry. He could tell Miguel’s voice was hoarse and slightly muffled, implying he was trapped beneath something. He continued forward until his clawed hands finally grasped the rim of his laboratory door.

It was a mess. It looked like a shockwave of some kind of flown out and destabilized a lot of the beams above, and it had sent the floating desk plummeting into the ground. The broken electronics must have caused the fire and the smoke. He could see them flickering and burning in the corners. 

‘MIGUEL! I AM HERE, TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE!’

‘Argh- STUPID, BASTARD, BUG—’

Miguel's last angry cry thankfully drew Mig’s eye straight to him. He was just visible through the debris. His body was crushed under several pieces of rebar, with only his upper torso visible through the swirling grey. Thankfully he didn’t seem to have been pierced by any of them. He had his head down in an attempt to avoid breathing in the smoke, which meant he likely couldn’t get out on his own.

Mig wasted no time scuttling across the floor towards him.

‘Miguel!’

With almost painful ease Mig grasped the rebar and eased it upward, filling the room with the spine-tingling scraping of metal on metal. Miguel gritted his teeth and dragged himself out like a cat, digging his claws into the floor before wrenching himself forward as far as he could. The moment his rear and thighs were free Mig dropped the rebar and yanked him by the nape the rest of the way.

‘ARGH!’

The two men collapsed on the verge of the exit, panting and coughing from the strain. Miguel’s suit was torn and sparking around his hips and thighs, the hologram seemingly torn in huge strips across his skin, but he was otherwise alive.

‘It… I-I don’t know what happened’ Miguel gasped.

‘Was it a test?!’

‘A-Argh… I-I was just, trying to run the tests, and it—’

Miguel broke down mid-explanation, sinking into another coughing fit.

‘What? It what?’ Mig snapped. ‘Where is the serum?’

‘I… I saw… I saw…’

Miguel heaved his chest as he forced the words out. ‘I-I thought I saw… A-An anomaly…’

‘A what?!’ Mig cried. He raised his head to try and make anything out, but he could see only one thing through the heavy smoke: The lab desk, the holograms, and their work still precariously balanced on its surface.

The desk where they worked had thrown a lot of the testing equipment to the floor when it collapsed, shattering it in the process. The antidote for Micaela was still safely held inside a holographic cube cage, which was designed to withstand gravity by keeping the contents inside stable at all times.

But the serum for you…

The serum had been taken out for its test, and the container had shattered. Half of it was smeared across the desk, dripping to the floor, shuddering with unstable energy as it morphed and fluctuated like liquid silver. The other half of it was still in the container, which by some miracle was propped up by a single textbook.

He could salvage it still. There was enough to salvage their experiment, he knew it.

He went to move, to save it, only to freeze once more. His eyes were drawn upward by a low, shuddered creak.

Debris. Heavy, creaking debris, slowly inching downward from where the presumed explosion had dislodged it.

Mig felt his whole body go cold.

‘I-I panicked’ Miguel wheezed. ‘I… I-I shut it down mid-test, it just- the fuses blew—’

‘No, no, no’ Mig whispered. ‘No, no—’

The debris was moving. That precarious, hanging debris was now swinging from side to side, like an axe preparing for the block. It creaked with an almost eerie, otherworldy groan.

Mig’s pupils dilated as he stared that debris down.

It wasn’t going to hit him. He knew that. But it would hit what was beneath it.

His eyes lowered and fixated on the table beneath the debris’ path.

One on side, the serum that would allow you to live in his universe. On the other, the serum to heal Gabriel’s daughter.

The debris began to groan as it inched ever lower. He felt his blood run cold.

No, no, no, NO, NO.

He had time. He had time to grab both. He had time. He had TIME.

Mig began to scurry towards the table, his spider legs struggling to move over the uneven terrain.

No, no, No, No, I have TIME! I HAVE TIME!

The debris inched lower. A wire strained and screeched as it struggled to hold its own weight. Metal poles and broken concrete littered the floor, impeding his movement like the hands of fate.

I CAN GRAB BOTH! JUST GO! I CAN GRAB BOTH!

A wire snapped. The debris sank deeper.

He moved faster, physically clawing on all fours to reach the table. He could see and feel nothing else in that moment but the dangling claws of fate above.

NO! NO, NO, NO—

And then, it snapped.

In that moment, there was only a second. There was no time to choose, no time to think. It was only instinct that could guide him. There was only something higher, something deep inside him that knew to act on pure adrenaline alone, that could make the decision that it did.

Mig threw himself at the table.

In one second, he’d grasped in.

In two seconds, he’d rolled out the other side.

In two and a half seconds, the debris had hit the table.

In a violent clatter the table burst and his body hit the floor with a deafening crunch. He could feel the concrete beneath cracking from the impact. He rolled twice before collapsing onto his back, his huge abdominal legs folded in for safety, and his hands clutched tight to his chest.

Between his tightly bound fingers, a tiny little glow was emanating.

He’d made it just in time, but only to grasp the antidote for Micaela.

Mig’s hands were shaking as he clutched it to his chest. He was wheezing, coughing painfully from the strain of the smoke, but he couldn’t even think about his own lungs in that moment, because his heart hurt more.

He was in shock. He was frozen.

It took Miguel physically screaming to draw him out of his own stupor.

‘MIG! GET OUT OF HERE YOU IDIOT, NOW!’

Mig was numb as he raised his head. He couldn’t hear anything beyond a muffled cry. It felt like he was underwater, with everything moving painfully slow. He shuddered as he pushed himself up onto his knees.

‘I… N-No, no…’

‘MIG, RUN!’

He blinked at the sight of Miguel clawing towards him. He blinked, and he turned, and he saw it.

A tiny, unstable black dot, one that seemed to spark and burst like a solar flare. It was slowly formulating out of the fallen debris, moving upward from the spot where the serum had been.

He frowned, unable to even comprehend what he was seeing.

‘… W-What, is that…?’

He clutched Micaela’s antidote and squinted at the growing dot. It looked… unnatural. Like a physical hole in reality, like a dead pixel on a camera brought to life. He blinked, and he could have sworn it’d gotten bigger.

Growing. Morphing. Eating.

A universal anomaly. A disruption. A glitch.

Miguel was beyond rational thought at this point. His eyes were so wide they’d gone bloodshot, his fangs extended to a painful degree. He was eyeing up that black, glitching spot like it was a demon straight from hell, like it was a ghost coming back to haunt him. He was in a living nightmare, and all he could see was red. He had to fight to stay lucid, to not slip back into the screams of a little girl he couldn’t save.

He screamed again.

‘MIG PLEASE! GET OUT OF HERE!’

Mig stumbled to his feet all while staring at the growing anomaly. It was tainting everything in its path. It would touch a piece of debris and cause it to shudder, glitching in and out of existence before finally being consumed by the darkness. He moved around it in a circle, like prey pacing around a predator, until he felt Miguel grab his arm.

‘GO, NOW!’

The sharp pinch of Miguel’s claws finally triggered Mig’s instincts, and he turned and fled. Miguel fled behind him, all while screaming on his phone to get a stabilizer in there now.

The two variants burst out of the entrance to Miguel’s office and out of the smoke-filled hallway in a flurry of coughs and wheezes, only to be met by a gaggle of terrified spiders. Their voices created a deafening hum around them, one that was impossible to drown out. You were at the front of the crowd when the two burst forth from the smoke, and without even thinking you rushed immediately to Mig’s side.

‘MIG! Jesus, christ you—oh my god, you’re okay!’

Your wailing did not move Mig to comfort you. In fact, your voice didn’t even seem to reach him. He stumbled blindly until his forehead hit the nearest wall, all while you watched in stupefied horror.

‘Mig?!’

You followed him closely but your hands hovered, unsure of whether to touch him or not. You’d never seen him so shell-shocked.

‘Mig? Baby, hey- hey, look at me sweetheart, I’m here—’

Your voice was just dead noise in his ears. Mig couldn’t hear anything but ringing, and he could see nothing but that little black void slowly growing on the floor. A black hole, an endless sucking abyss, the dark iris of an eye sent by the cosmos to mock him.

You continued to tug at Mig’s fur as he gripped the wall, pleading for him to look at you, but you turned when you heard Miguel wheezing. He’d staggered out into the fray in an attempt to appear in control, and was waving away the spider nurses with one hand while ringing up Lyla with the other.

‘Lyla, get the… G-Get the team in, now. We need… We need emergency, anomaly control’ he panted.

‘Miguel?’ you squeaked. He shot you a quick, red-eyed stare before turning away, unable to hide the agony your face caused him. The confusion in your eyes, the fear, the fact that you didn’t know what had been done, it made his chest so tight that it hurt.

‘Lyla! I said… I said, we need emergency anomaly control, now! No—’

‘You…’

Miguel froze when he heard that violent, echoing hiss, as did you.

Mig turned on Miguel with vicious eyes. Out of seemingly nowhere his soft, frightened face had been twisted with a deep, paranoid rage, a feeling of hopelessness that could find no outlet but despair.

‘YOU—YOU DID THIS!’

He launched himself at Miguel, the two tousling as they collapsed onto the hard floor. A horrified cry rang out through the other spiders but they were far too afraid to intervene, not when the saw the splash of scarlet erupt from Mig's claws. For a moment you were also too shocked and confused to even intervene, but when you saw Mig physically slash Miguel’s chest you darted forward to try and drag them apart.

‘MIG- STOP, SH- MIG!’ 

You screamed to get his attention, but he wasn't listening. He pinned Miguel down and try to claw at his face. 

‘YOU! YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE, DIDN’T YOU!’ he wailed. 

No matter how hard you pulled at Mig’s fur he refused. Miguel choked and gasped, his claws scraping at Mig’s face in an attempt to snap him from this emotional trance.

‘I DIDN’T- DO, THIS—’ Miguel wheezed.

‘YOU DID THIS! YOU BLEW IT UP, DIDN’T YOU!’ Mig screamed. ‘YOU COULDN’T STAND- ME- BEING HAPPY, YOU COULDN’T!’

‘I DIDN’T, DO THIS, YOU IDIOT—’

‘I’LL KILL YOU!’

‘MIG!!’

In a moment of panic, you bit Mig’s finger. You sank your teeth into the skin with just enough force to create an impression, but nowhere near strong enough to cause damage. You just wanted him to stop. You just wanted him to stop. And somehow, he did. The sudden jolt of pain broke through Mig's concentration, though it did nothing to stop the red mist coating his senses. He squirmed and spun and shook his hand on instinct, throwing your body to the floor. It was the sound of your pained squeak that broke the spell fully.

‘Arañita?!’

He looked down and finally saw you there, clutching your hand, and his eyes flashed. He saw Dana, clumped and bloody on the floor. He saw the anomaly growing. He saw all the dreams he’d had where he’d hurt you, where he’d broken you, where he’d given in to his instincts and eaten you whole.

‘Arañita, n-no, no—’

He collapsed and reached out with shaking hands, too afraid to touch you. It was you who had to take his hand, showing him that he wouldn’t hurt you again, though you couldn’t hide the disappointment and hurt in your eyes at what he’d done. You knew it was an accident, and you hadn't been hurt badly, but that didn't make it okay. However, in that moment, your discomfort only furthered his panic. 

'N-No... No, no, mi tesoro, I'm so sorry.' 

‘M-Mig, just… Just calm, down, we can talk—’

‘I’m sorry’ Mig wailed. ‘I-I’m sorry, I didn’t- I-I didn't see you, I-I can’t—’

‘Shh, hey—’

‘I don’t want to hurt you’ Mig sobbed. ‘I-I don’t, I don’t, I—’

He turned and saw the hundreds of spiders staring at you all, their eyes a blurry sea of judgment. It was like staring at some eldritch monster with a thousand eyes, all of them peering right into his soul. He couldn’t stand it.

‘I-I don’t want to hurt you’ he sobbed. ‘I-I love you, arañita, I-I love you—’

‘I love you Mig’ you replied, and this time your own voice broke. ‘G-God damn it, just- listen, please—’

‘I-I’m sorry, arañita—’

‘I know, I know—

‘I’m sorry!’

In the middle of Mig’s breakdown, Miguel finally pushed himself to his feet. Once again he pushed away the nurses and first-aid professionals trying to tend to his new wounds. Instead, he turned on Mig, his eyes narrowed and glowering.

You happened to see him staring, which drew Mig’s eyes to the same spot. All three of you stared at each other.

Miguel could have snapped at him. That’s what the old Miguel would have done. Snapped at him, blaming him for all of this mess, right before turning and fleeing the scene.

But he didn’t.

Miguel stormed forward and grabbed Mig by the head. He pressed their foreheads together, holding them nose to nose, and he shared in that despair.

‘I swear, I didn’t do this, but I- I’m sorry’ he forced out. ‘I’m sorry. I know. I know, and I am sorry.’

As unflattering as it was to admit, Miguel could only truly relate to his counterpart when he saw his own suffering inside him. Even before his attempt to reconcile for his own hypocrisy, this had held true. He’d saved him from the Dana accident for a reason. He knew what it meant to feel as if they were doomed, to fight so hard for a life where they could just be happy only to be told by the very universe itself that it could never be.

When he saw the pain he tried so hard to hide reflected in Mig’s eyes, his eyes, it broke him. He could deny it no longer.

‘I’m sorry’ Miguel whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly from its usual cold, husky tone. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

Mig couldn’t take it. He broke, his body heaving a single, dry sob of despair, too exhausted to even wail. His lips parted but no sound came out.

‘I’m sorry’ Miguel repeated. He sounded miserable. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘S-Stop it. Stop saying that’ Mig wheezed.

‘I’m sorry, Mig.’

‘We have to- we- we can try again.’ Mig swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried his best to speak. ‘We just have to try again. It’s okay. T-The instability, the explosion, I think it set off the anomaly, but it’s not… It’s okay. We just need to be careful. It’ll be okay. We can try again.’

Miguel didn’t reflect Mig’s optimism. Instead, he looked drained. He looked broken.

‘… We can’t, do that, Mig.’

‘Why?! We nearly had it, we—’

‘Mig.’

‘No! NO, We nearly had it—’

‘Mig, please—’

‘NO! NO, NO—’

‘Mig…’

As Miguel held his gaze, Mig saw again that deep, haunting well at the pit of his iris. The darkness that went down, down, to a memory that had been burned into his eyes forever. The memory of just one, little, black hole, swelling until it consumed an entire universe.

A million people’s blood on his hands, and the ghostly stain of a little girl cradled in his arms.

Miguel hadn’t even realized that his hands were outstretched. He looked down, slowly, and realized he was frozen in the same position he’d taken on that day, when she vanished from his grip. When he’d cradled her so hard he thought he could somehow will her back to life.

‘I… There was an anomaly’ Miguel repeated slowly, almost as if in a dream. Mig felt his body caving in. He buckled like a horse, sinking and melting beneath the weight of what he knew was to come. ‘When it broke… You saw it, Mig…’

‘We have to- we have to try’ Mig repeated desperately.

‘There was an anomaly, Mig’ Miguel said, and the coldness of his tone drew even Mig to pause.

‘There was an anomaly, when it broke. That was exactly what I feared. We are meddling with things far beyond ourselves, far beyond the natural order, do you understand?’

‘No, no… It, just…’

‘Mig.’

The spider hybrid froze, his claws outstretched in a pleading manner. He looked broken.

‘Mig, I can’t allow this’ Miguel hissed, speaking in tones that only you and Mig could hear. ‘I can’t. I saw what messing with the canon like this does, and I will never see it again. I-I would rather die. Do you understand?’

Mig swallowed hard, only to find his throat had closed up. ‘… Please… Miguel—’

‘I saw this before.’

This time Miguel whispered, and he leaned in against Mig’s ear so that you couldn’t hear him. ‘I did this before. I messed with the universal stability, the webs. I tried to force myself into a universe I was never meant to be in. I-I did it for a family. I did it so I could be happy. And I watched that anomaly grow, and consume, and eat up my baby until she was nothing.’

Mig felt like ice water was going down his spine, trickling over the sharp bone beneath his skin and chilling him to the core. It was the most unpleasant, agonizing sensation he’d ever felt. He could almost see it; the little girl, the screams, the vanishing.

‘I. Would rather. Die’ Miguel repeated in slow, sharp terms, making his stance clear with not a drop of uncertainty. ‘I would rather throw myself, into that anomaly, than see anyone else ruined by it. I can’t. Mig, I can’t. I can’t see any more lives lost.’

Mig wanted to say something. He wanted to say anything.

But what did he say?

When he looked at Miguel, he knew there was no changing his mind. He had no serum left to test, no serum left to double-check. He’d saved Micaela’s antidote instead, because deep down, they were Spider-Man for a reason. Miguel O’Hara was a miserable creature, who loved far, far too much.

And he would suffer for that, forever. And so would you.

‘T-There’s… There’s nothing we can do?’

You finally stepped in and croaked out that question to Miguel, almost as if in shock. Miguel sombrely nodded.

‘I’ll do whatever I can, with the other elites’ Miguel murmured. ‘I might be able to get an agreement to sanction the relationship, even without the serum. The test still doesn’t prove that being together will cause any complications, just… Just that a combining of universal DNA might. So, no serum, and… And no children.’

‘But, we can still be together?’ you whispered. Miguel refused to nod, which caused your gut to twist.

‘… I’ll do what I can’ he murmured. ‘I will push the process as far as it can go. I promise.’

Mig nodded, but he looked numb as he did so. He didn’t even move when you crept back up to take his hand. He squeezed your fingers, clutching your delicate wrist so hard he could have snapped it, but he didn’t look at you.

Even when you whispered, even when your heart broke and your eyes grew wet in the face of his coldness, he didn’t look at you.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t face the loss.

That beautiful life was gone.