#I became a single mother to a baby in three hours | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barbieaemond · 8 months ago

Text

Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.

Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

taglist: @multyfangirl @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @darylandbethfanforever9 @zaldritzosrose @alphard-hydraes-blog

Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.

Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.

She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.

Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.

The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to strenghten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.

Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.

Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie.

“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”

At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”

Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”

“Thank you, husband.”

The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.

But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.

She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.

“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”

She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.

No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart.

He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.

She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.

“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”

“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.

“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.

“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”

It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.

She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”

You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”

She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.

“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.

The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”

“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”

"No, I-I ought to.”

The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”

“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”

She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.

The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”

The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”

The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”

The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.

She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.

According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him.

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.”

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh.

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth.

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time.

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.”

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing.

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches.

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—”

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes.

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly.

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them.

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.”

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh.

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

“I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

4K notes · View notes

thedensworld · 4 months ago

Text

Stay Supple | Y. Jh

Genre: fluff, humour, smut

Summary: two ordinary worker have to deal with a baby. What should they do? Stay supple!

Missing Yoon Jeonghan hour:( but having so much fun writing this?

The weather was perfect, the sun shining just enough to complement the mood. Both you and Jeonghan waved as you split from the elevator—like clockwork. You headed left towards the design team, while he turned right to finance. Just another day as two regular employees at a food label under a large South Korean company.

"What's your relationship with Ji Y/N?" Jeonghan was first asked this after the two of you were seen leaving work together.

"She's my friend," he'd answer, as simply as possible, before walking off, leaving behind a trail of curious colleagues.

But when your coworkers found out you actually knew "the pretty guy from finance," their questions were relentless: “Is he single?” “Are you two dating?”

"He's my roommate," you revealed one day, much to their shock. "And, believe me, he looks way better than he actually is."

Exposing Jeonghan's less-than-angelic personality to his adoring fans became your daily amusement. It was a shock to everyone when they realized the two of you shared a flat. You’d known each other since junior high, moving to Seoul together in pursuit of better education, career prospects, and, maybe, love. But living in the capital wasn’t some dreamy K-drama. Everything was overpriced, especially rent. So, with some initial hesitation, you two decided to share an apartment.

"You failed your test?" Jeonghan mocked you years ago, when you returned from your architecture exam. He wasn’t surprised—you were hopeless at STEM subjects, and he loved to rub it in.

"I told you she was a snake," you reminded him when he came home heartbroken after his three-month relationship in university went up in flames. She'd used him to get through finals. Classic.

There was an ongoing joke between you two: "There are two types of people in this world—smart but evil, and kind but dumb." It didn’t take much guessing which label each of you wore.

“How was work?” Jeonghan asked as you both trudged home from the bus stop, a routine you had grown used to. The walk was long, so you filled the time with idle chat, unless you'd had an argument the night before, then it was all awkward silence.

You beamed at him, barely containing your excitement. "Amazing! The project I pitched was a hit! I can practically smell a promotion coming."

Jeonghan chuckled, amused by your enthusiasm. "Good for you. Finance was a bit of chaotic today. Did you know the production costs are getting cut by 2% next month?"

Your excitement dimmed. "Wait, what?"

Jeonghan laughed at your panicked expression. "Don’t worry. We're trying to keep it from affecting your department—maybe even that project of yours."

You sighed dramatically. "You finance people really hold the whole company together, huh?"

As you reached your floor and walked down the hallway, the sound of a baby crying echoed. You grimaced and commented on how loud it was, while Jeonghan mindlessly scrolled through his phone.

“Jeonghan,” you stopped just a few feet from your door, a strange feeling twisting in your gut.

Jeonghan turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, eyes still on his phone.

You pointed toward your apartment door. He finally looked up and saw what had rendered you speechless.

A baby box was sitting right there, in front of your door.

“Well, that's... unexpected,” Jeonghan quipped, scratching his head.

You stepped out of the police station, practically fuming, your brows knit together in frustration. Whatever happened inside had clearly pushed you to the edge.

"Do I look like a mother? Do I look old?" you snapped at Jeonghan, still seething over the way the officers had assumed things about you and the baby. You were taking it personally—way too personally.

"We need to investigate this situation further. There’s no CCTV on your apartment floor, so it’s hard for us to confirm whether the baby was really left there or if it’s, well... yours,” one of the officers had said, completely indifferent to your rising anger.

Jeonghan sighed, still holding the baby box as if it weighed a ton. His day had been chaotic enough at work, and now this? He just wanted to take a nap, but instead, he found himself standing in front of the police station, accused of something as wild as fathering a baby outside of marriage.

Yet, somehow, he wasn’t as furious as you.

"So, what do we do with this creature?" Jeonghan gestured at the baby, still sounding far too calm for your liking.

"It's a baby," you muttered.

"I know it’s a baby. But what are we supposed to do? The police won’t take it without more evidence, and we can’t exactly keep it," he said, his voice getting louder, almost desperate. His raised tone startled the baby, who began to cry—loudly.

Jeonghan sighed deeply, the sound of the wailing infant pushing him to his limit. He shot you a pleading look, as if expecting you to pull some miracle solution out of thin air. "You’ve never thought about being in a situation like this before?" he asked, clinging to the hope that you might have a plan.

You shook your head, helpless. "I don’t know... I want to cry too," you mumbled, your frustration bubbling over.

Jeonghan groaned. "Great. That’s exactly what we need—two people crying."

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, resigning himself to the situation. "Let’s just... take it home first. Then we can figure out what to do."

The two of you exchanged a look—one that spoke volumes about how absurd your day had become—before heading back to your shared apartment, a tiny, crying bundle now in tow.

You and Jeonghan sat on the floor of your living room, the baby box placed carefully between the two of you. The baby was still crying, its tiny wails echoing off the walls, and neither of you had the faintest clue how to make it stop.

"Do you think it's hungry? Or maybe... the diaper’s full?" you asked, throwing out the first guesses that came to mind.

Jeonghan instantly grabbed his phone and started Googling. "Yeah, uh, let me just... get some baby stuff," he mumbled, still scrolling as he stood up. He made it a few steps toward the door before turning back to point at you, with a smirk. "And don't do anything dumb while I’m gone. It may be a baby, but trust me—it’s judging you."

You glared at him. "Shut up!" you snapped, though there was a hint of panic creeping into your voice. You had never felt so out of your depth in your own apartment before.

Jeonghan laughed softly under his breath and hurried out the door, leaving you alone with the crying bundle. You sighed, looking down at the baby, and for a second, you swore it was staring back at you, its cries growing more impatient as if it really was judging your lack of maternal instincts.

“Okay, okay, I get it... I’m not cut out for this,” you muttered, feeling a tiny bit of guilt, though mostly stress, wash over you.

When Jeonghan returned home, the sight that greeted him was the last thing he expected. You were sitting on the couch, cradling the baby in your arms, swaying gently as if you'd been doing it for years. The baby was finally quiet, its tiny face peaceful for the first time since you’d found it.

“What did you get?” you asked in a whisper, your voice barely above a breath, as if any louder might undo your newfound peace.

Jeonghan held up a bag and gestured to its contents. "Baby milk, diapers, and... these," he said, showing you a bottle and a baby-sized nipple.

You raised an eyebrow, a little amused. "You got the essentials. How’d that go?"

Jeonghan sighed, a bit sheepish. "The staff asked me how old the baby was. I panicked and just said, 'Uh, it’s a baby... like, you know, baby.’ She gave me the weirdest look because I kept calling it it.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, careful not to disturb the baby. “Good job,” you said, offering him a sarcastic thumbs-up before handing the baby over.

Jeonghan, now holding the baby with a mix of terror and curiosity, watched as you headed to the kitchen to prepare the formula. He could hear you from the other room, opening a tutorial video on YouTube, the sounds of "how to make baby formula" echoing faintly through the apartment.

“Will it be too hot?” you called out once you’d finished preparing the milk, holding up the bottle and inspecting it like you were conducting a science experiment.

Jeonghan smirked, bouncing the baby a little in his arms. "If it can handle my hotness, I think it'll be fine."

You shot him a withering look and promptly kicked his leg, just enough to make him grunt in pain.

“Ow,” he grumbled, trying to keep his voice low, but the baby squirmed in his arms, clearly disturbed by the commotion.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed quickly, gently rocking the baby back and forth. You couldn’t help but smile at the scene—a rare sight, Jeonghan being careful and gentle, though his usual antics weren’t too far behind.

"Careful, 'hot stuff,'" you teased, handing him the bottle. "You wouldn’t want to disturb your new fan."

Jeonghan gave you a mock glare before turning his attention back to the baby, slowly offering the bottle. "Let’s see if this works."

Neither of you had gotten a wink of sleep. And for once, the reason wasn't work—it was a baby. A very fresh, very loud baby. After fumbling through the process of changing a diaper and discovering the baby was a boy, you immediately passed him over to Jeonghan, wincing.

“I feel like I violated his privacy,” you mumbled, shoving the squirming infant into Jeonghan’s arms. “I didn’t have his consent.”

Jeonghan just rolled his eyes at your dramatic excuse to get out of diaper duty. “Right. Smart-dumb way to avoid the work.”

The next morning, utterly exhausted and desperate for some relief, you two were saved by an unexpected visitor. Your neighbor, a sweet woman in her 50s, knocked on the door, her face full of concern. She’d heard the crying all night and was curious about the sudden arrival of a baby in your apartment.

You and Jeonghan immediately launched into a frantic explanation, stumbling over your words as you described how you’d found the baby on your doorstep. To your immense relief, she offered to help babysit while the two of you went to work.

Now, finally, there was a moment of peace as you both leaned back in the bus seat, your heads resting against the windows. You shared a glance, silently hoping the short 10-minute bus ride would somehow erase the exhaustion weighing you down.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“She raised four kids. She’s more qualified than we are,” Jeonghan muttered, closing his eyes, the weariness catching up with him.

You sighed in agreement, sinking deeper into your seat. For now, all you could do was hope for the best and enjoy the few minutes of quiet before diving back into the chaos of your day.

"You should boil the bottle before using it, to kill the bacteria. Otherwise, the baby could get a stomachache and won't stop crying," your neighbor advised, her tone gentle but firm, as though the two of you were first-time parents instead of accidental babysitters.

Jeonghan and you stood there, nodding along, taking in her wisdom with wide eyes. "And don’t forget, after feeding, make sure he burps by patting his back gently. It’ll help him feel comfortable and sleep better."

With the baby in Jeonghan's arms, you both returned to the apartment, the weight of her advice hanging over you. You dropped everything you were carrying onto the floor, grateful when you noticed she’d even given you a small container of side dishes. You quickly stored them in the fridge while Jeonghan sat down, still rocking the baby gently in his arms.

"You should sleep," Jeonghan said after a few minutes. "I’ll watch the baby for now."

Without a second thought, you hummed in agreement, too tired to argue. You leaned over and gave Jeonghan a quick, tired kiss on the cheek as thanks before dashing off to your bedroom, ready to collapse. Jeonghan rolled his eyes with a smirk, though the small gesture made him chuckle.

As the door to your bedroom clicked shut, Jeonghan looked down at the baby, who had finally stopped fussing. “Well, it’s just you and me now, little guy,” he muttered, gently swaying from side to side. Exhaustion pulled at him, too, but the baby’s small face, now peaceful, kept him focused.

He yawned. "I need sleep as much as you do, buddy," he said softly, but continued rocking the baby, hoping the rhythmic motion would send him—and maybe himself—into a peaceful sleep.

Days of raising a baby you didn’t make—a running joke between you and Jeonghan to keep your sanity—were slowly becoming more manageable. The sleeping schedule was still a mess, but somehow, the two of you had adapted. You had even begun to master it. The real hero in your eyes, though, was Mrs. Moon, your neighbor, who had not only been babysitting but also offering wisdom, keeping both of you sane as you navigated this new, unexpected life.

One night, after a week of taking care of “Baby”—what you’d both started calling the little one—you and Jeonghan collapsed onto the couch. Baby lay peacefully in the rocking bed Mrs. Moon had lent you, her granddaughter's old one.

As you both sat there, half-delirious from exhaustion, the conversation inevitably shifted to the cost of suddenly having a baby around—mentally, physically, and especially financially.

“No wonder people in Korea aren’t having kids anymore,” you mused aloud, running a hand through your hair. “It’s a lot.”

Jeonghan, sprawled on the couch beside you, hummed in agreement. “I mean, it’s not news. Everyone knows how hard it is.”

“I’m so tired,” he said, his voice dripping with fatigue. “Like, mentally drained. All I want is to down five bottles of soju and just... disappear for a bit.”

You nodded, feeling the same way. “Right? I should be at a club right now, dancing, living my best life—maybe even finding someone to date,” you mumbled half-jokingly, staring at the ceiling.

Jeonghan turned his head to you, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to find the love of your life at a club?”

You shrugged, barely amused. “It doesn’t have to be love, you know... could just be, you know—distraction,” you said, hinting at something more casual.

Jeonghan gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Cheap,” he teased, his eyes wide in mock judgment.

You swatted his arm, your voice dropping to a whisper, trying not to wake Baby. “I lost my virginity at 22! I wasn’t that cheap,” you hissed, more amused than angry.

Jeonghan burst into soft laughter, knowing full well you were just messing around. He’d known you for too long to take any of this seriously. “I’m just saying... you don’t exactly scream ‘wild-child looking for a one-night stand.’”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling under your breath. “Yeah, well, I could surprise you.”

“Uh-huh,” Jeonghan replied, still smiling. He glanced over at Baby, who remained peacefully asleep, and then back at you.

“When was the last time you had it? With Joshua?” Jeonghan asked, breaking into personal territory the two of you rarely ventured. He was referring to your ex, the American-Korean guy who had ended things when he had to leave the country.

You hummed thoughtfully, rubbing your face. “Honestly? I think I’ve forgotten how it even felt,” you admitted, casting a sideways glance at him. “What about you?”

Jeonghan leaned back, scoffing slightly. “With my last ex, obviously. I’m not some playboy, Y/N, no matter what you think,” he replied, sounding a bit annoyed by the label you often teased him with.

You smirked, resting your chin on your hand. “Was it hard? You know, to only do it with a few people?”

He nodded, glancing at you seriously. “Yeah. I only ever do it when I’m emotionally attached to someone.”

Your eyebrow quirked up. “Like when you did it with me?” you asked, playfully hinting at that one time between you two.

Jeonghan’s gaze shifted toward you, a small, knowing smile forming as he nodded slowly. “Yup. Including you.”

For a brief moment, the air felt heavier between you, the shared history lingering in the silence. But then, as always, the familiarity between you and Jeonghan smoothed over any tension, settling the moment into a comfortable memory rather than an awkward one.

“You want me to what?” Jeonghan asked, his tone laced with disbelief as he stood frozen by the door, still in his campus jacket.

He had just returned from a long day filled with senior-year responsibilities, juggling group projects and graduation prep. Lately, the two of you had barely exchanged more than a few words, with both your schedules completely packed. You were interning at an American-Korean company, and by the time you got home, you’d make a beeline straight to your room, too exhausted for much interaction.

“Please, Jeonghan,” you pleaded, sitting on the couch with clasped hands. “I don’t know who else to ask. I only trust you.”

Jeonghan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He always knew you could be impulsive, but this? This was next-level.

“It’s not something casual, Y/N,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to comprehend what he was hearing. “It’s... complicated. You seriously want me to take your virginity?”

You pouted, your eyes wide with a mixture of desperation and resolve. “It’ll be a one-time thing,” you assured him. “I promise it won’t change anything between us. I won’t treat you differently.”

Jeonghan groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn. “We’ve been friends for eight years,” he reminded you, his voice soft but serious. “What if it doesn’t go well? What happens then? Where am I supposed to live? Are we just going to keep splitting rent and pretend nothing happened?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, amused that he was worried about the rent in such a moment. “It won’t change anything. I swear.”

He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. He wanted to make sure you understood what you were asking for, that you were truly serious about this.

“I’m serious, Jeonghan,” you added softly, your voice more determined now.

He sighed again, his internal conflict clear. “You know this could get messy, right?”

You nodded, eyes unwavering. “I trust you.”

Jeonghan sat down beside you, still visibly unsure but also knowing that in all the years you had been friends, you had always been honest with each other.

After a long, tense pause, he finally spoke. “Alright. If you’re absolutely sure about this...”

The two of you took half a day off work, though the morning had started as any other. While you were still in your tank top, getting ready for the day, a knock on the door interrupted your routine. Thinking it was Mrs. Moon, you casually opened the door, only to be met by a police officer.

"Mr. Yoon? Are you Ms. Yoon?" the officer asked.

Caught off guard, you quickly excused yourself to change, leaving Jeonghan to greet the officer. When you rejoined them in the living room, the officer handed both of you a document.

"It's about the report you filed last week regarding the abandoned baby," the officer explained. "We apologize for the delay, but we've since received information about a missing person—a woman in her twenties who disappeared along with her infant."

You and Jeonghan exchanged looks, tension building in the room.

"So, we'd like you to bring the baby to the station. We'll meet with the family to confirm if the baby is theirs."

Later, at the police station, the baby was confirmed to be the missing woman's son, just two months old. The officer showed you and Jeonghan footage of a woman carrying the same baby box, wandering near your apartment complex before leaving it behind. While you weren’t given the full details about the mother, the footage left no doubt.

It was an unexpected turn of events, but also a relief.

“No more baby to babysit,” Jeonghan remarked on your way to work, a mix of exhaustion and amusement in his tone.

You nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of the last few days finally lifting. “We should get Mrs. Moon that apple mango she’s been wanting,” you said, your voice light. Jeonghan made a mental note, closing his eyes as he leaned back in the car seat.

Finally, peace was coming—real peace, and not just the brief moments of quiet between diaper changes and late-night feedings.

"I'm sorry to ask, but I just want to make sure—are you two married?" The officer's tone was polite but curious.

Both you and Jeonghan shook your heads simultaneously. "No, we're not. We're just roommates," Jeonghan replied, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glanced at you.

The officer nodded thoughtfully, taking in your response before offering a friendly smile. "Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any further questions or information, don’t hesitate to reach out."

As the officer turned to leave, you and Jeonghan stood in front of the company building, the bustling city life continuing around you. The weight of the past week was beginning to fade, replaced by a sense of relief.

Jeonghan let out a small chuckle, breaking the momentary silence. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if we had been married? The rumors would have been wild!"

You laughed, shaking your head at the thought. "Thank goodness for our status as roommates, then. At least it keeps things simple."

With a shared smile, you both stepped into the building, ready to face the day ahead—less burdened by the unexpected chaos and more in tune with each other than ever.

You arrived home a little later than usual, the warmth of the evening lingering around you. After a lively team dinner filled with laughter and a few glasses of soju, you decided to take a cab home, the comforting thought of Jeonghan waiting, to take care of the drunk you, made the ride feel shorter.

As you stepped inside, you were greeted by an unexpected sight. Jeonghan was slouched on the couch, drinking alone and engrossed in a variety show. The table in front of him was a chaotic scene of five bottles of soju and a box of fried chicken.

"You really have five bottles of soju?" you muttered, you sobered up from your own six glasses as the reality of the situation sank in.

"Hey, want to join?" Jeonghan offered, a lazy grin spreading across his face when he finally noticed your presence.

"You weren't joking when you said you would drink five bottles of soju," you replied, taking a seat beside him and pouring a shot of the clear liquid into a glass that had been left untouched, took in in one shot.

"Chill, girl. Did anyone bother you there?" Jeonghan asked, his words slightly slurred, yet still managing to express genuine concern.

You shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "Not really. But some higher-ups still made me pour drinks for them."

Jeonghan furrowed his brow, his expression shifting from playful to serious. Though he was clearly drunk, he was fighting to stay focused. "Which man should oppa kick his ass today?" he asked, referring to himself with a playful tone.

You chuckled, knowing how much he enjoyed the title. "Jeong Kiha," you mentioned, naming the vice president, which caught him by surprise.

"He came to your team dinner? That's rare," Jeonghan said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can’t help you there; he’s my boss as well."

You leaned in, amused by the whole situation. "What would you even do if you could? Challenge him to a drinking contest?"

"Absolutely! I’d take him down for you," he declared with exaggerated bravado, raising his glass in a mock toast. “But let’s be honest, I might need more practice after five bottles.”

"But if he bothered you, I might just have to make it personal." He continued.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Personal, huh? What do you have in mind?"

With a playful glint in his eye, Jeonghan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I could always take you out. Just the two of us. A more... intimate setting.”

Your heart raced at the suggestion, the alcohol fueling your boldness. "Intimate, you say? What would that look like, Jeonghan?"

"Maybe a cozy little restaurant where we can share more than just food and drinks," he teased, inching even closer. "I could help you unwind after your stuffy dinners with the higher-ups. Just you and me, no distractions."

A flutter of excitement surged through you. “And what else would we do, hmm?” you played along, your voice low and inviting.

Jeonghan smirked, leaning back slightly, eyes dancing with mischief. "I can think of a few ways to help you relieve some stress. You know, like teaching you how to really enjoy your drinks."

You laughed, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Is that your idea of a fun night? Getting me drunk so you can have your way with me?”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone turning serious for a moment. “But only if you want it, too. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

His sincerity was disarming, and the tension hung in the air, electric. “You know, it’s tempting,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “Very tempting.”

Jeonghan grinned, raising his glass again. “Then let’s toast to temptation and see where the night takes us.”

You clinked your glasses together, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment, both of you fully aware that this night could lead to something unexpected—and perhaps a little dangerous.

Jeonghan knew he was screwed the moment you asked him to take your virginity. The eight-year crush he had nurtured for you transformed into something much more profound once he kissed you for the first time. It felt right—like the universe had aligned in that single, electric moment. Your lips tasted sweet, like vanilla; maybe it was the chapstick you always used, or perhaps it was simply how you tasted. Either way, it was everything he had fantasized about.

He touched you with a gentleness that belied the whirlwind of emotions inside him, laying you down on his bed, because you didn't want to mess up your own. Watching your face shift through various expressions as he explored you sent shivers down his spine. He couldn’t believe you were under him, something that the adolescent version of himself would have dreamt about while fantasizing in the dark, his hand working over his shaft as he thought of you.

The day after he took your virginity, you kept your promise, treating him as a friend and nothing more. And that, honestly, was the most disappointing part for him. While you moved on as if nothing had changed, his feelings remained steadfast, unwavering in their intensity. Eight years had passed since that night, yet his heart still raced at the thought of you.

Now, sitting beside you, he was acutely aware of the space that had grown between you, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. Jeonghan leaned in, cupping your cheeks in his hands, feeling the warmth of your skin against his palms. His heart pounded as he captured your lips with his once more. After all these years, you were still as sweet as he remembered, and the taste sent him spiraling back to that first kiss, igniting the flame that had never truly faded.

In that moment, all the years of friendship, all the laughter and shared memories, faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was the soft connection between your lips and the lingering sensation of what could be. He pulled back slightly, searching your eyes for any sign of what you were feeling.

“Do you ever think about that night?” he whispered, vulnerability creeping into his voice.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering with uncertainty. “I try not to,” you admitted, your tone light but edged with honesty. “I didn’t want things to change between us.”

“And yet, here we are,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I never stopped wanting you.”

The weight of his confession hung in the air, and you could feel the tension between you shifting. Jeonghan’s heart raced, hopeful yet anxious, waiting for your response. Would you finally see him for more than just a friend?

You met his gaze, a mix of emotions dancing in your eyes. “What do we do now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s figure it out together,” he replied, closing the distance again, this time with a sense of urgency and purpose.

Jeonghan pulled you onto his lap, his hands roaming over every contour of your body, exploring the soft curves he had admired for so long. You kissed him with a passion that felt life-altering, pouring every ounce of desire and longing into that moment. The heat radiating between you ignited something primal in him—the idea that you wanted him just as fiercely as he wanted you was intoxicating.

He carefully unbuttoned your blouse, mindful that you would scold him if he broke even one button. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his fingers gliding over your bare skin, teasing your breast while his lips trailed kisses along your neck, igniting every nerve ending.

“J—Jeonghan…” A moan escaped your lips, and the sound sent shivers down his spine as he marked your neck with his lips, claiming you in ways that made his heart race. “I got you, baby. I got you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

Your top lay discarded, and in a frenzy of desire, Jeonghan couldn’t even remember when he had removed it. He lifted your skirt, grabbing your ass as he kissed you deeply, pouring all his pent-up longing into that one kiss. He guided your hands to the hem of his t-shirt, encouraging you to strip him of his clothes. Your fingers traveled across his bare chest, and he let out a soft whimper at your touch, the sensation igniting a fire within him. This was the moment he had been waiting for—finally feeling your skin against his, a craving he had long held.

“Can you feel that?” he asked, thrusting his hips upward to let you feel how hard you made him. He noticed your cheeks tinting with a lovely blush at the revelation. “That’s how you make me, baby.”

He laid you back onto the couch, lifting your skirt higher until your thighs and underwear were fully exposed to him. One of his hands found its way to your breast, overwhelming you with sensations, while the other traveled lower, exploring your core beneath the thin, damp fabric that clung to you.

“You’re so wet, baby. And it’s all for me,” Jeonghan whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he nibbled on it playfully, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His tongue painted a path along your neck, igniting every nerve ending with desire.

“I need you, Jeonghan,” you whimpered under his skilled touch, desperation lacing your voice. But he hushed you with a passionate kiss, drowning your pleas in the heat of the moment.

“Be patient, baby… Just a little longer,” he replied, his voice a tantalizing promise as he continued to explore every inch of you, savoring the sweetness of your body and the thrill of this intimate connection.

He watched you gasp as he slid one of his fingers inside you, pulling it out slowly while your walls clenched around him. A smirk crept onto his face when you pleaded for more, and he was more than happy to oblige, moving his finger skillfully.

“Is it like the first time? When I fingered you, is it like what I did to you eight years ago?” Jeonghan teased, his voice low and sultry. You whimpered under him, craving everything he had to give.

“It feels amazing. Always.” You struggled to mutter the words, the pleasure overwhelming you as Jeonghan added another finger.

“You’re so tight, baby. I’m not sure you can take me well,” he breathed out, his fingers moving faster, each thrust eliciting a wince as you felt a pooling sensation deep in your tummy.

“I—I can, please… J—Jeonghan…” Your arms pulled him closer, your lips pouting for a kiss, and he obliged immediately, his lips capturing yours while his fingers continued their delicious torment.

“I want to cum,” you mumbled between kisses, and Jeonghan smirked against your lips. “Give it to me, baby.”

He could feel you tightening around his fingers, your body responding to him in a way that made his heart race. He pistoned his fingers with a brutal pace, feeling the pulsating tension building in your core. A loud moan escaped your lips, followed by your first orgasm with him after eight long years, and it was all for his fingers. The thought sent a surge of excitement through him; he couldn’t wait to make you cum with everything he had.

Withdrawing his fingers, he licked them clean, his gaze locked onto your blissed-out expression, riding high from the waves of pleasure he had just given you.

Without a word, he scooped you up from the couch and carried you to his bedroom. In one swift motion, he threw you onto the bed, his desire palpable as he pulled down his pants and joined you.

With an impatient urgency, he hovered over you, lips meeting in a heated kiss that spoke volumes of the longing built up over the years. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as your bodies melted into one another, igniting the passion that had simmered beneath the surface for so long.

"You want me raw or…?" Jeonghan asked, his voice low and filled with anticipation. His question sent a jolt through you, darkening your gaze as you whispered, "Raw." It was a bold confession, one that set the stage for everything that followed. "Just so you know, I’m on the pill."

He swore he could have died right in your arms at your admission, the thrill of it igniting something primal within him. As your hand traveled down to his abs, you let your fingers tease his skin for a moment before they finally grasped his hardened cock.

“Oh my god—” Jeonghan choked at your touch, his breath hitching. The smirk on your lips told him you were acutely aware of the effect you had on him, and it only intensified his desire.

“Put it in, please,” you begged, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. Jeonghan nodded, leaning in for one last, lingering kiss before he positioned himself, rubbing the tip against your slick entrance, feeling the heat radiating from you.

“Don’t tease,” you urged, your hand playfully pinching his arm, and he chuckled softly, the sound filled with desire.

With a teasing smile, Jeonghan finally pushed his member into your tight heat. He gasped at the overwhelming sensation, feeling you envelop him completely. Every inch of you was warm and inviting, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him, and he knew this was only the beginning.

He stilled inside of you, wanting you to adjust him for moment. You motioned him to move, a whimpered escaped his mouth as he pushed deeper to you slowly. Your walls clenching him tightly, pulling him deeper and making his head spinning. He pulled slowly before his hips thrusting, hitting you right, gaining a sensual moan from you.

"Keep it down, baby. Don’t want Mrs. Moon to hear us," Jeonghan murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he pushed deeper inside you.

"Faster, Jeonghan…" you breathed out the words, your voice a desperate plea laced with urgency. The thrill of being so close, yet so vulnerable, sent your pulse racing.

He obeyed, quickening his pace as he filled you completely, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself amidst the intoxicating sensations.

The bed creaked beneath you. Jeonghan’s lips found yours again, silencing any sounds that threatened to escape, kissing you fiercely as if to drown out everything but the two of you.

"God, you feel so good," he groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched your expression morph from pleasure to pure ecstasy. "I’ve wanted this for so long."

You responded with a whimper, the sound echoing in the small space, and you felt the heat pooling in your core grow stronger with each thrust. "I want you to finish inside me, Jeonghan. Please," you begged, your words spilling out in a breathless rush.

His breath hitched at your request, and he felt himself teetering on the edge of control. "You’re going to make me lose it," he warned, voice thick with need. But the fire in your eyes only urged him on, driving him to give you everything he had.

"Then let go, baby. I’m ready," you encouraged, your body arching against him, meeting his thrusts with fervor. The world outside faded away as you lost yourselves in each other, the only sound filling the room being the rush of your breaths and the soft, wet sounds of your bodies moving together.

With one final, deep thrust, Jeonghan buried himself inside you, his body tensing as he let go, the pleasure washing over him like a tidal wave. You followed right behind him, your body tightening around him as your climax hit, drawing out every last bit of ecstasy from both of you.

As you both came down from the high, he collapsed beside you, breathless and spent, while you curled into his side, feeling a mix of satisfaction and disbelief at how far you had come.

“That was... Amazing?” you said, your voice breathless but filled with satisfaction. The choice of word earned a tired laugh from Jeonghan, who could sense your smile before you leaned against his chest, the warmth between you still lingering in the air.

Jeonghan, his heart still racing from the intensity of what had just happened, felt a wave of heat creep up his cheeks. He couldn’t hide the flush staining his skin, and in an attempt to conceal it, he covered his face with his arm, laughing softly. You shifted, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes, clearly enjoying his sudden bashfulness.

“Where’s the confident, cocky Jeonghan I know?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic shyness.

Without missing a beat, Jeonghan pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. He rested his chin on the top of your head, refusing to let you see just how red he had become. It was rare for him to feel this flustered, but there was something about being with you that turned his usual bravado into something far more vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words muffled against your hair.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with curiosity. “Sorry? For what?”

“I just... I can’t help it,” Jeonghan confessed softly, his voice almost shy. “I—I really like you. It’s been driving me crazy for years, and now that it’s all out in the open... I’m still not sure how to act.”

His confession felt light, as if every action, every kiss, every touch was its own declaration of the feelings he had been holding onto for so long. Saying it aloud didn’t feel like it added anything new, but he needed you to hear it anyway.

You felt his heart beating faster under your palm, and instinctively, you tightened your hold on him. “I... I really like you too. Honestly, I don’t even know when it started, but after all these years, I finally have the courage to admit it. I don’t just like you, Jeonghan. I love you.”

Your words hung in the air between you, sweet and sincere, filling the room with a warmth that rivaled any physical closeness. Jeonghan’s heart soared at your confession, a feeling of complete contentment washing over him. He had dreamed of this moment for years, but nothing could have prepared him for how real and incredible it felt to finally hear you say it.

You chuckled softly, resting your head back against his chest. “You really should’ve told me earlier, you know,” you teased, playfully poking at his side. “Like... earlier earlier.”

You watched the football game on the field, your eyes catching a lanky boy with long hair, dribbling the ball as if his life depended on it. His movements were fluid, almost effortless, and it was hard not to be impressed.

"Who's that?" you asked one of your friends, pointing toward the boy, curiosity getting the better of you.

"That? Yoon Jeonghan," they replied casually, as though everyone already knew his name.

Days later, you found yourself standing in front of Jeonghan's desk, clutching your math homework nervously. He was deep in conversation with his friends, his usual calm demeanor unshaken by the chatter around him. Mustering up your courage, you pulled the book from your bag and held it out to him.

"Teach me math! I heard you're the best," you declared boldly, your heart racing, half-expecting him to brush you off.

551 notes · View notes

writingroom21 · 4 months ago

Note

Hey boo, this is the anon who gave u the idea of the locked room one-shot thank you for writing it ❤️

I was wondering if you can write a one-shot like the reader is a daycare worker🤪 (her age is like 18-19) (I think you spoke about yourself working with children) and she looks after Rafes son named Felix or whatever u wanna name him and he is really clingy with the reader never lets go off her and gets jealous easily (Felix thinks of the reader as his mother since his birth mom left him after she gave birth) and he draws a painting of him, rafe, and reader. Rage doesn't know who reader is so Felix explains reader to him rafe falls in love and invites reader to babysit him paying her more than her daycare job and obviously there is smut❤️

Playing House

Warnings: 18+, smut, age gap (Rafe is 32 and reader is 20), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up), cream pie, breeding kink, (let me know if I missed any!)

Wc: 4.1K

This is a two in one request with this one

A/N: hey Anon! I just have to say loving the requests. Your brain is like amazing. Keep them coming

Being a single dad at 29 was not on Rafe’s bingo card.

When the girl he was regularly hooking up with sent him the positive pregnancy test he laughed at the image. There was no way she was being serious. SUre he didn’t like to use condoms but he pulled out and she said she was on birth control. There was no way in hell that she was actually pregnant.

Then she sent him a sonogram picture with her holding it up in the doctor's office. He was honestly fucked. At first he tried to play it off like it wasn’t his. Saying she must have been sleeping with others. But when she didn’t protest a paternity test he started to think she was telling the truth. Then nine months flew by and his baby boy was born. The moment he laid eyes on him he knew that was his son. The paternity test just confirms it.

It only took a week for her to run off leaving a note saying she wasn’t ready to be a mom. As if he was ready to be a dad. It took a lot of trial and error to get into a routine. He wanted to rip his hair out everytime he woke up in the middle of the night due to crying. But once again he would look in his eyes and he couldn’t. He’s learned a lot from being a father over the last three years.

He’s become more patient with others which is completely different from who he used to be. Not to mention he seems to actually have a heart. The mean old Rafe Cameron is now a gentle dad. But don’t get him wrong, he would fuck up anyone who messed with his son. That’s why he was worried when he was forced to put Felix in daycare shortly after his third birthday.

Rafe got lucky having two younger sisters who were willing to watch him along with friends. But over time it became impractical to rely on them to watch Felix. They all had their own lives and couldn’t spend hours on end with the child. That led to Rafe signing him up at Happy Bee’s, one of the best daycares in Kildare. That’s where Felix has been spending his days for almost a year. It seems to be doing good for him. Felix seems to have friends that he wouldn’t stop blabbering about. But then one person always on the little boy's mind is you.

If Rafe has to hear about you one more time he might bash his head into a wall.

“Daddy wook! Miss help me.” That’s what Felix calls you, Miss. Maybe that’s what you had the kids call you or maybe Felix just doesn’t like saying your name. Everything is always Miss this or Miss that. The other day Felix refused to eat his veggies, making a disgusted face. “C’mon bud you gotta eat them.” Rafe’s trying to shovel them into his mouth but Felix moves his head. “No. Miss doesn’t make me.” Rafe’s eye twitches at the mention of your nickname. “Well I’m not Miss, I’m dad. Which means what I say go’s, now eat your veggies.”

For ten months Rafe has heard how you don’t make him do this or you let him do that. He honestly had enough after Feliz threw a tantrum so he didn’t have to go to bed. The following day he went into the center ready to have Felix switched to another worker. But as he was waiting for the director to talk to him he watched as you interacted with the kids. They all seemed to love you, hanging on to every word you said.

Then there was his little boy.

Felix clung to you like velcro. Wherever you went he followed close behind, holding on the back of your shirt. Not once did you get mad or pull him off of you. In fact you got the kids sentled with ease like it was second nature. In his 32 years of life he has never seen someone be so natural with kids. What really got him was seeing you read to Felix. His baby boy was curled in your lap with your arms wrapped around him. If he didn’t know any better it would look like a mother with her son.

He just watches as Felix babbles to you and you can’t help but seem excited. You effortlessly make him laugh and it’s mesmerizing. “Mr. Cameron. You wanted to see me.” The director is standing in front of him now but he keeps staring at you. “Actually I changed my mind. I’ll see you at pick up.” With that he got up and walked out the building with a sense of determination.

At pick up he waited until all of the kids were gone before going to get Felix. “Hi sorry my meeting ran late.” He apologizes to you, liking the way you smile up at him. “Hey buddy, how was your day?” Felix jumps in his arms, giving him a big hug before looking at you. “Made drawings.” Rafe looks at you with an amused look which you match. “He was a real picasso. You should be proud, you got a good one.”

Your voice is soft, making you seem more approachable. “I’m Rafe. Don’t think we’ve really met.” You shake his hand telling him your name. “I was actually wondering something.” Rafe examines your features waiting to see your reaction. “Is everything all right Mr. Cameron?” Your eyes stare up at him and they look so innocent. You have to be young, if he’s guessing maybe 19 or 20.

“Yeah but I wanted to offer you a better position. Come work for me. Felix is obsessed with you and I think you’d be good for him.” You’re taken back by his request. “I’m sorry Mr. Cameron but I can’t just leave my job.” The next excuse is ready to fly out of your mouth but it stops when you hear his voice. “Rafe, call me Rafe. I’ll triple your pay and you can move into the guest bedroom.”

Triple pay and a free room? This is a great deal and you don’t know if you should turn it down. You do need the money as you help your parents with your younger siblings. Not to mention you really love Felix. The boy is like your shadow and you’ve grown fond of him. His little eyes stare at you as if he’s waiting for your answer as well. His blue eyes are a perfect match to his fathers. But you think Rafe has specks of gold in them, making them even more beautiful.

“Why me?” Rafe shifts Felix to the other side of him. “He won’t stop talking about you. I want the best care for him. You wouldn’t be able to do that while watching other kids, so here’s my solution.” Lie. He wants to see you in his house. He wants to come home to see you playing with his son, greeting him from his long day of work. The more he thinks about it the more he believes this is for himself. Looking at you he knows this is for himself more than Felix.

“Okay.”

♡♡♡♡♡

You’ve been working for Rafe for seven months now. If you are being honest it’s really great. Felix is super chill so you get to just have fun all of the time. The pay is amazing, even after you talked him into paying you normally. The house is fancy and you get to experience what the kook life feels like. Overall you would say things were great. But there was one issue you really haven't grasped.

Rafe is fucking hot.

Not any normal type of hot but DILF I’d make him a dad again kind of hot. You can’t tell if it’s a pro or con of the job. Usually you would say it was a pro because you got to see him everyday. But the downside is he’s your boss who probably looks at you like a kid. It’s not like you are. You’re 20. He’s only twelve years older than you, that shouldn’t be a problem. But you guess it wouldn’t be professional and you need the job.

It’s not like he makes it easy on you. Every morning he goes on a run coming back with his shirt off, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Then he likes to make his way over to the kitchen where you are to chug water as he asks you what the plans of the day are. You can’t count how many times your eyes drifted to his abs or how many times you lost your train of thought. He always sends you a wink before heading off to shower. Leaving you in the kitchen trying to stop yourself from following him.

Then there’s the time where he walked around the house in the tightest pair of briefs. The outline of his dick prominent as he passed you. You almost fell to your knees right then and there. There have been little moments where you catch him staring at you or checking you out. To be fair you started to dress nicer, noticing he likes it when you do. This even led to small touches.

It started with a hand on your lower back when he passed by. Everytime his fingers would find a way to lift your shirt slightly. Until one day his hand was just touching your bare back, sending shockwaves through your system. It’s like every chance he gets his hands have to be on you. Not to mention the gifts he’s been giving you.

He had come home one day after going into the office with a box of chocolates. You gushed how they were your favorite and now they magically appear in your room every week. Then there’s the shopping sprees. For the past two weeks he’s been bringing you to the main land on Saturday’s under the pretense of getting this for Felix. But as you are shopping around you end up in some of your favorite stores. As if he doesn’t do enough for you, he encourages you to get whatever you want. Rafe just swipes his card not even caring what the total was. You were being spoiled in every way.

The attention has been getting to your head. It makes you feel special thinking that he cares about you. It also doesn’t help when he doesn’t correct people when they think the three of you are a family.

You were rummaging through Felix’s bag trying to find the snacks that he likes. He’s been getting fidgety and maybe a snack would help keep him occupied. “Don’t worry about it. We can just go to the restaurant down the street. He gets food and time to relax.” You let out a sigh feeling bad that you may have forgotten to pack the snacks. “I swore I packed them before we left.”

You keep moving things around hoping they’ll pop up. “Daddy, eat.” Felix’s little voice grapes your attention. Giving up, you sling the bag over your shoulder again. Rafe picks him up, kissing the top of his head as he throws an arm around your shoulder. “I know bud. We’re going to go eat right now, right?” He looks at you so you could agree. Nodding your head you tickle Felix, kissing the hand he tries to use to push you away. His laugh is contagious, making the two of you let out your own. “Let’s get some food into that tummy, little man.” The three of you were wrapped up in your own world you didn’t see the lady watching.

“You have a beautiful family. You must be very proud.” She has a soft smile, eyes filled with joy as she watches you. Rafe responds before you can correct her mistake. “Thank you. I couldn’t be happier.”

Ever since then there’s been an energy around the two of you. It’s like the wall you two kept up were starting to crumble. Rafe was constantly texting you when he was actually in the office instead of working from home. Letting you know that he missed you and Felix or saying he can’t wait to go home to the two of you. Every message made you feel butterflies that didn’t help you stay neutral. You really hit your breaking point three days away.

Rafe had worked late today and Felix was already in bed. When you put him to bed he was already half asleep. But when you were closing the door you heard him call out to you. “Night mommy. Love you.” You had been thinking over the words when Rafe got home. He had found you in the kitchen, leaning over the counter with your back to him as you ate ice cream. “Hey. Sorry the meeting ran late so everything was pushed back.” He loosens up his tie, taking it off expecting you to answer but you don't.

He walks up behind you, his hands finding your hips. “What’s wrong baby?” The close proximity would normally send tingles down your spine but it isn’t. “Felix called me mom today.” Rafe freezes behind you for a second. He knew that his son loved you but he didn’t realize how deep that love actually went. It’s honestly not like he didn’t see it coming. The three of you have been practically playing the part of a family since you started.

He leans his head on your shoulder and kisses it. The action a new addition to the others he’s picked up over the months. “Well you’ve been a big part of his life, our lives. He wouldn’t be wrong to see you that way.” You turned in his arms staring up into his eyes. “He wouldn’t?” Rafe places his forehead on yours, brushing your nose with his. “No baby he wouldn’t. But how does it make you feel?” His eyes are closed, enjoying being this close to you. His hands are squeezing your hips, fingers spreading themselves under your shirt. “I guess it made me happy and confused. I just don’t want to hurt him.”

Your hands move their way up his arms, finding his shoulders before the hair at the nape of his neck. This is the closest the two of you have been. It doesn’t feel like a boss with their employee anymore. “We won’t.” That’s all he says to you before he’s kissing you with an intensity you’ve never seen. His lips are crashing onto yours, emotions spilling from him to you. The kiss is making your head spin so much you didn’t even realize he had lifted you to the counter.

He slots himself between your thighs, slowly moving his hips into yours. The friction makes you through your head back giving him the chance to kiss the exposed skiing of your neck. Then as if the world was playing some cruel joke it all went away. “Daddy!” Felix’s voice echoes through the halls. Rafe pulls away, his head resting on your chest as you two catch your breath. “He must’ve had a nightmare again.” He places a kiss to your skin detaching himself to go check on the boy. “I’ll go make sure he’s okay.” His right hand grabs the back of your neck and brings you in for one last kiss before heading out of the room.

That was the last time you got to be with him alone.

The next morning you woke up happier than usual. Only for you to get downstairs and see a suitcase by the door. Making your way to the kitchen you see Rafe already having breakfast with Felix. “Hey.” The two boys look at you and smile. They have the same exact one making your heart ache a little. “Daddy’s leaving.” You give Felix a sad/shocked face before turning to look at Rafe. “Oh he is?” Rafe’s eyes deflect from yours, feeling as if he was under inspection. “Yeah, just for a couple of days. They called me this morning and I can’t pass up this deal.” You just nodded, grabbing the extra prepared plate to eat yourself.

“Well I guess it’s just you and me, little man.” The rest of breakfast was awkward. Rafe was trying to talk to you but you only focused on Felix. Then after Rafe said his goodbyes. “Bye buddy I’ll see you when I get back.” Felix hugged him tight before running off, leaving the two of you alone. “I swear I didn’t know about this last night.” You crossed your arms. “It’s fine I get it.” Rafe winces at your tone, not liking how it didn’t sound like you.

He grabbed your waist pulling you closer. “Promise when I get back I’ll make it up to you. Take care of our boy. I’ll see you in a few days.” He pecked your lips before getting his bag and leaving. Our boy. You may be sad that he’s leaving you for a few days but how can you be upset? He just implied Felix was your boy and you couldn’t be happier. Guess you’ll just have to wait for him.

Today has been a long day. Felix had cried all day asking for his daddy, wanting to seek comfort in Rafe. You were woken up to the choked sobs of Felix telling you he didn’t feel good before throwing up everywhere. The day was spent cleaning your room as Felix sleeps in your bed. Every few hours you took his temperature to see that it was still normal but slightly raised. Rafe didn’t seem too concerned saying he may have eaten something that upset his stomach.

By the time it hit nine both of you were both knocked out in your bed. The tv plays an episode of Bluey, the background noise easing you two into a deep sleep. The front door opens, Rafe lugging his things in. “I’m home.” Rafe looks around to see no lights on besides the night lights for Felix. He checks Felix’s room only to see no one in there. The next room he checks is his. Sometimes Felix will sneak into his room and cuddle him to fall back asleep. He expected to see him there but when he didn’t he started to panic. Rushing to your room, he swings the door open, freezing when it does.

There you were with his baby boy, holding him to your side as you both slept. His heart rate races as he watches the two of you. Quickly he gets ready for the night, taking a shower and getting dressed. Slowly he makes his way back to your room and slots himself on the other side of the sleepy boy. For a few minutes he convinces himself this is how it always was. You, him and Felix.

In the morning when you woke up, you stretched in bed noticing that a certain someone was missing. You shoot up from the bed worried that Felix may have gotten out. In your groggy state you see a tall figure walking into your room. Now you're scared someone broke in. “Easy there. I got my sister to watch Felix since he was feeling better.” You rub your eyes trying to see if you are dreaming. “Rafe? What are you doing here?” He pushes you back to the bed and sets a plate on the table next to you.

“Taking care of you.” He kisses your check. “Thank you for taking care of him.” His lips skid across your skin, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Did you mean it?” He pulls back to look at you. “Huh?” You avert your eyes, scared of what the answer might be. “The other night when you said Felix wouldn’t be wrong for calling me mom.” The corner of his mouth lifts, a hand cupping your check. “Yeah baby I meant it.”

You crush your lips to his, throwing all caution to the wind. He meets you with the same fever. The kiss is different from the one in the kitchen. It feels like there isn’t a rush, just an excitement to explore each other. Which is exactly what Rafe wants to do. He pushes you back, his lips making their way to every inch of your skin. A moan slips your lips when he finds the sweet spot on your neck.

Before you know it your sleep shirt is on the floor, his own following along. “God you’re fucking beautiful.” You blush under his gaze, hands pulling down his pants. Rafe’s lips move lower, placing sloppy kisses over your chest. Sucking a nipple into his mouth, he takes your shorts off. His middle finger slips through your folds feeling how wet you are. An involuntary moan leaves his throat. “Who’s making you this wet baby?” You squirm under him, squeezing his finger as it glides into you. When you don’t say anything he pulls away.

The hand that was just in you grabs your face forcing you to look at him. “Answer me.” Your eyes snap open, meeting his blue ones. “You, Rafe.” He smirks at you, lowering himself once again. As he’s face to face with your pussy he smirks up at you. “That’s right baby. Don’t forget it.” His lips wrap around your clit sucking hard as he moves his hand to pump his fingers in you. His fingers are long and thick. Everytime they pump back into you, they curl hitting your g-spot.

It didn’t take long until you were pushed over the edge. Your legs trembled locking around his head. His left arm wraps around your hips, keeping you in place as he keeps devouring you. Even though you are over stimulated he keeps going until another orgasim is rushing through you. When he finally came up for air you were laid out on the bed catching your breath. He kisses up your stomach until he reaches your lips. “How you feeling?” You kiss him again, taking a hold of his dick to line him up. “Really good.” You tease his tip, rubbing it up and down your slit. Impatiently he pushes in, groaning at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

He gives you a moment to adjust before moving his hips. Slowly he rocks his hips back and forth. The feeling is overwhelming. If you thought his fingers were thick, having him inside you was a different feeling. Rafe takes a hold of your right leg, lifting it over his shoulder as the other rests on his hips. From this angle he feels more intense. “Rafe, so good.” His forehead rests on your shoulder, hips rocking into yours. His pelvis hitting your clit each time. “Fuck if you keep talking like that I’m going to fill you up.” You clench around him, liking the thought more than you’ll like to admit.

He bites your shoulder holding back a moan. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Want me to fill you up baby?” You moan, the leg around his hip pulling him closer. Nodding your head you moan. “Yeah. I need it.” You wined out. His hands tightly gripping your shoulders using it to pull you onto him. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll fill you.” One of his hands moves down to your stomach, sprawling his finger out.

“Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you. Make you a mom and give Felix a sibling.” You let out a loud moan at his words. Nail markers litter his back as you keep clawing at it to keep yourself grounded. “Please.” He keeps fucking you but his movements are starting to stutter. His hips lose their movement as he starts to reach his peak. “Please what? Say it and I’ll give it to you.” Your mouth gaps open, sucking in air as you feel like you're suffocating. “Say it. I need you to say it.”

The tone of his voice breaks you. “Fill me please. I want you to fuck a baby in me.” His eyes meet yours. “Please Rafe.” His mouth drops open, a moan escaping. “Ah fuck.” The warmth of his cum filling you triggers your third orgasim of the night. The two of you come down, holding each other. A few minutes go by and he finally detaches himself from you. Laying next to you Rafe turns to look at you. “You know I think we may need to do that again.” He leans over you to peck your lips. “Oh yeah?” You giggle. He nods, kissing you again.

“Don’t think it worked. Gonna have to fill you until we know it did.”

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #outer banks smut #drew starkey smut #obx

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adventuringblind · 2 years ago

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Hi this is my first time requesting anything but would you be able to do single mother!reader x the F1 grid. The love interest could be anyone you like xx

In Your Arms

2023 F1 Grid x Leclerc!reader, Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Genre: flangtsy (fluff and angst, get it? I'm a genius)

Request: yep :) Though I'm not sure if this is exactly what you wanted. Sorry if I didn't get it right 😥

Summary: Max Verstappen takes on the role of lover and father to the girl he’s seen go through hell

Warnings: mentions of r*pe and SA but no graphic depictions. Mentions of being drugged.

Notes: this feels heavy in the beginning. Written in second person

Masterlist

You didn’t know how it happened. It was supposed to be a safe place. Security is everywhere.

Though security probably didn’t have reason so suspect an engineer of doing something so awful. Defiling someone’s body without their consent.

You’d come to see Charles’ home race. Granted you live in Monaco and spend majority of your down time with drivers, their partners, and families. You’d grown up around them having gone with to see Charles race and then Arthur.

Your three older brothers had promised to keep you safe. Lorenzo felt that he had to fill your fathers shoes after his passing. Not that he saw you as helpless, but you’re always going to be his baby sister.

You wonder where they are now as you sit in Charles’ driver room. Your clothes crumpled around your body and hair tossed in every direction. You want nothing more then to peel away your own skin.

Something was in your water. She blamed it in chemicals or something, but the more you drank it the thirstier you became. Having downed the whole bottle in five minutes.

The dizziness set in after that. Body now lax and head foggy.

Charles had picked up in your now rather sick complexion and suggested you watch from his room in the motor home. An offer you gratefully took.

Right before the race, someone came to the door and opened it without knocking. A stranger in red who’s face you can’t make out.

Your phone had been buzzing nonstop with texts from your family about her location. Texts you didn’t answer. Limbs to heavy to reach for the phone.

One thing stuck in your mind is what Max is going to think of you now. You’d only been dating for a year. Would he look at you with pity in his eyes? Wonder why you didn’t fight back?

It was funny how you and Max came to be. Much if it having to do with Charles being sick of you two making heart eyes at each other growing up. He’d went as far as to throwing you in Max’s driver room and telling the two of you to confess.

Needless to say it worked.

The hours seem to drag on. Your phone still buzzing. You want to answer but you can barely move. The vertigo no letting you move further then an inch at a time.

Charles is the first to find you. Though you don’t know it’s him. The voice at the door sounds like it’s underwater and your brain can’t make out his face. For a minute, you panic. Charles’ hands are on you, trying to get you off the floor but your wailing at him to stop. Slurred words that he can’t understand fall from your mouth.

Charles can barely get close to you. So he switches tactics. Your family meets him at the door and takes one look at you. Immediately, your moth has a sense she knows what happened.

She’s so gentle. Careful not to touch you and she examines your face. She knows she’s going to have to get you to a doctor. That’s a given. However, she doesn’t know how to do so when you keep flinching at all your brothers who are wearing Ferrari red.

For now, she tries to get water down your throat.

The Leclerc’s find themselves waiting at the hospital. The best news being that you weren’t overdosed, but definitely close to it.

Charles is pacing furiously. Angry that the security around the paddock didn’t see anything strange. Arthur is trying to piece together how it could have happened and Lorenzo has been stringing together angry sentences in French over the phone.

It all comes to a halt when Max comes barreling through the door. He looks scared. Charles had called him to tell them where they were but had given him no details.

“What happened?”

Everything feels wrong. Your throat is sore. Your head hurts. Your muscles ache. Thoughts seem to be stuck somewhere.

It all comes rushing back as you remember what happened earlier that day. The room is dark, so you assume she slept for a while, but you can’t get her heart to slow down.

Max is stroking your hand gently. His eyes are sad and you can tell he's been stressed. "Nobody is telling me what happened. They said it should be you."

Some part of you is relieved, and the other is wracked with guilt.

"We don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to." He's still running his fingers along her arms.

"He was wearing red." Your nails start clawing at your skin.

It clicks and he's angry.

It's been a month and a half.

It's a slow process of getting out again.

Max refuses to leave you alone because you've been sinking further into herself. Then you're always around people. Out in the open. Stuck to someone you trust.

This morning is spent at home in bed. Max's arm tucked gently around around your waist, pulling you further into him.

It's the overwhelming feeling of nausea that has you diving out of bed and into the bathroom. Her stomach contents now not wanting to be in her body.

Max feels her panic and runs after you, trying his best to shake the sleep from his eyes. As soon as he figures out what's happening, he's holding her hair back and rubbing comforting circles on her back.

You clutche the pregnancy test in your hands. It makes her sick again. Five positives and a single negative. Three different brands.

Just when you feel you're getting better, now you have to tell everyone you're pregnant, and it's not Max's. Sobs overcame you before you can get up from where you sunk down to the floor.

Max finds you hours later, still on the floor looking and the blue lines.

"I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to apolize for, lovely. Just know I'll support you on whatever decision you make."

It's not an easy decision to keep the baby, but she can't see herself parting with them.

The sucky part is knowing that the biological father is still in the Ferrari garage somewhere. Charles, despite his best efforts, could not catch him. He must be some really nice guy that everyone likes. It's always the to nice ones that end up being evil on the inside.

Max has decided he'll take the role of father if you let him. He's been attentive. Making sure your every need is taken care of.

He's also still looking for the man who decided to take something that wasn't his. He's in the Ferrari paddock or hanging around the garage with Charles to see if anyone even looks at you funny.

Eight months in, and you're exhausted. Your mom has been staying with you while Max is traveling for races. He calls every chance he gets to check in on you.

Carlos has been sending you videos of why he is going to be a better uncle than Lando. Then Lando goes and brings you food and baby things to prove him wrong.

It's night, and you're tucked into bed, wishing Max were here cuddle with you. Then, the sensation of water leaking down your legs makes you call for your mother.

You stay calm while she drives to the hospital. You were expected to carry to full term. Neither of you expected the baby to come a month early.

You're calling Max repeatedly. The time difference puts him at prime sleep time.

Eventually he answers.

He's on the next flight home.

You waited as long as possible. Max had gotten there in the nick of time. He held your hand the entire time.

You were in labor for over a day. The pain getting unbearable at times.

When you finished, you were holding a healthy baby girl.

Isabella is your everything. Practically attached to your hip. She took more of your traits than you were expecting. Something that you're grateful for.

Your brothers spoil her to peices. Charles rarely says no to her, Lorenzo loves to show her how to boss the other two around, and Arthur has expanded her vocabulary is ways that are less then ideal.

Oscar was probably the most reliable to leave her with if Max or your brother aren't available. Having sisters comes in handy when he's combing through her hair. She falls asleep in his lap during almost every race weekend at some point.

Her favorite place is either on top of Landos shoulders or in Max's arms.

Max treats her like his own. He's said she's his daughter on multiple occasions. It was nice like this. Creating your own little family.

It takes two years after she's born for someone at Ferrari to ask you about her. Personal questions that were starting to make you uncomfortable.

Memories you'd locked away quickly find themselves flooding into your brain. Why is he so familiar?

You're outside the paddock, thankfully. People are within view.

"I want my daughter." He rasps. He is very much in your face now and You can feel his breath sticking to your face.

Your brain and chest short circuit. You send a silent prayer to whoever is listening that someone comes to save you. Thankful at yourself for leaving Isabella with Lando and Oscar.

Max had managed to catch a break and was on his way to find you. A small hop in his step at the thought of finding you and the little girl.

He freezes as he comes around the corner. His legs are carrying him faster than his mind can think. Max's hand finds his shoulder, effectively shoving the man away from you.

It takes everything in you not to fall into him as he slides in front of you protectively.

Your quick to take the opportunity to text someone to come help. Your definitely not strong enough to break them up if this gets physical and you don’t want to risk Max getting in trouble.

It's not long until Charles is barreling around the corner. Lando and Oscar close on his heels.

"You're trying to take away something that's rightfully mine." His voice is scratchy and angry, dripping with venom.

"Just like you took someone's body? I'm pretty sure taking a child is kidnapping." Max is practically growling.

Lorenzo comes running around the corner, Isabella running around the corner away from him and straight to you.

She's too far gone to stop. You lean down and scoop her up in your arms. Holding her head into her shoulder.

Max is still in front of you and her protectively. "You messed up, and now you're missing out." He spits.

Security is able to pull the Ferrari man away. Much to your relief because Charles was getting ready to swing.

You break in Max's arms once he's gone. Isabella is confused at the sadness but is still trying to cheer you up.

Max just holds you. Both of you.

"It's okay now, I'll always keep you safe."

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ieatfanficforbrunch · 1 year ago

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Steve is Worthy

He based all his self-worth on others. He knows he got it from years of living with his parents for so long.

They were by no means rich, just rich for Hawkins. Lowest High Class if you will. With that came the constant reminder of their Reputation. His father was an Assistant Director for Coke-a-cola and, whether he liked it or not, the Harringtons were in the public domain.

Of course, that meant he had to be perfect, there was no choice.

When he was three, his father took him to a store to get a toy for his birthday. Little Steven in his kakis and a sweater vest with a collar, wanted a baby doll.

He picked one out, something perfect for him. A baby doll with dark hair and blue eyes. Its body was a cloth material, and its head, arms, and legs were plastic. It came with a bottle and a pacifier; it was everything the toddler could ever dream of.

When he picked up the toy it was ripped from his hands, his father scowling down at him.

“You know better Steven. If you want to make me proud, go find a car. Honestly, what must I have done to get a son who wants a doll?” The words brought tears to his eyes, but he knew better than to cry, he was a boy, and he needed to act like one.

When he turned seven his mother threw him a birthday party. He was grateful, ecstatic that his friends from school would be coming to see his room and his cake. He picked out the best cake in the world, a small one with delicate flowers in blue and white. It was perfect for him, soft and gentle.

His parents told him to stay in his room until 6:30, his mother specified that he needed to wear the outfit she chose for him. He waited for hours, excited at getting to celebrate his special day. When the clock struck 6:30 he took the stairs two at a time, excited to see what his mother had planned.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he didn’t see any of his friends from school, he didn’t even see any kids. There were adults from his father’s company, all with a glass in their hand. On the kitchen table there sat a small blue cake with a baseball bat on it, not a single flower in sight.

His eyes once again burned but he knew better than to cry.

“We have to keep up appearances, Steven,” his mother said, “Your friends are not good enough for you, you are no longer prohibited to speak to them. As for the cake, you know better. Flowers are for girls; you are a boy. Your father has signed you up for baseball, basketball, and the Swim team. I expect you to attend every practice.”

Steve just nodded.

For years he did everything they said, everything they wanted him to do. His mother picked out his outfits, his father found suitable friends for him. Those friends made the decisions for him, he followed along blindly. He knew that the only way he was worth anything was if he was perfect and obedient.

He would go to every event his father told him to, only date who his parents allowed, and never once did he step out of line, because when it was all over and he got an award or a date or a good grade he would be rewarded with a “well done, Steven,” from his father.

When his parents bought an apartment close to his father’s office, Steve was left to take care of the house. He was left without direction. He was free.

The first thing he did was get in a fight with Johnathan Byers, the second was kicking his friends to the curb, the third was getting broken up with, and the fourth was fighting an interdimensional monster.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he also (accidentally) became the ‘mother’ to the nerdiest kids on planet Earth.

From a young age, he learned that his worth as a person was connected to what he could give people. For these kids, he would give protection, free movies, and his life if it ever came to it.

Robin tried to help him realize his worth as Steve, but nothing worked, and then things went from bad to worse.

Steve was shell-shocked, to say the least, as he carried Eddie’s limp, bleeding body through the upside down. He was desperate, Desperate to make himself useful, desperate to save his new friend and lover, he needed to be useful.

He got Eddie out of the Upside down, to a hospital, and in the care of the only people who could help him. Then, he waited.

He didn’t get treated, couldn’t, wouldn’t, because one of the kids may need that help, or the earthquake victims, or anyone who wasn’t him.

Robin could only sit by and watch, knowing that Eddie was the only person who could convince Steve that he was worth enough to get his wounds treated.

Eddie woke up 6 days later to Steve holding his hand.

The lights were bright, the sounds were loud, and everything was cold. Everything except Steve. His skin was like fire against his.

Eddie blinked slightly, glancing around the room. Wayne was in the corner, sleeping in some terrible chair, Dustin was asleep on a tiny cot next to the bed, and Robin was leaning up against the wall.

“What happened…?” Eddie asked her.

Robin sighs, “Your Stevie here carried you out, got you to a hospital. The doctors said you should heal with minimal damage, but it will take a couple of weeks…”

Eddie nods, asking, “Is he…okay?”

Robin pinches the bridge of her nose, a habit she picked up from being around Steve so much, “He’s refusing treatment, says the supplies need to go to people who actually need it…I think the wounds are getting infected…”

Eddie sighs softly before gently shaking Steve’s shoulder.

“Stevie…Baby, wake up, it’s time you go to the doctor,” Eddie whispers.

Steve grumbles softly before opening his eyes. A smile spreads across his face as soon as he sees Eddie. For a moment they just looked at each other, and then Eddie pulled Steve to his chest. The embrace was anything but silent, sniffles, escaped sobs, giggles, and even ‘I missed you’s are shared between the two.

Eddie doesn’t let Steve leave his chest as he talks, “Ok Stevie, time to get those bites taken care of…yea? Scars are Metal, dying because of infection…not so much.”

Steve looks up at him, prepared to protest, but Eddie shushes him, getting a bitchy glare from Steve.

“Come on Baby, please. You are so important to me, and I need you to get better, ok? I don’t care if you think those people need it more, you not only helped save the world, but you saved my life. Do you understand? No one in this world deserves to be patched up more than you,” Eddie whispered, cupping both Steve’s cheeks.

Silent tears stream down his face and he reluctantly nods. Robin immediately runs to get a nurse.

“You are my everything Steve, my entire world. If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do. You are Worth Everything. Ok? Everything,” Eddie says, gently kissing Steve’s cheek, then his other cheek, then his forehead, then his chin, then his nose, and finally his lips.

Steve smiled, getting the treatment he not only needed but deserved. He was moved into Eddie’s room where he was showered with love, affection, and encouragement. He felt happy, he felt loved, and, most importantly, he felt worthy.

#eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #eddie the banished #stranger things #eddie x steve #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #wayne munson

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makethatelevenrings · 2 years ago

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Breakfast for Three // J. Todd x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: reader has a kid, swearing, talks of poverty (if u haven’t been able to figure out, I am a leftist and I am tucking my lil handkerchief into my collar and preparing to eat billionaires)

Summary: Being a single parent is hard. Being a single parent in Gotham feels impossible sometimes. Two people change things for the better.

Listen, raising a child on your own was a test on its own. But being a single parent in Gotham? You had to be absolutely out of your mind.

But you loved your kid. You wouldn’t go back and change your decision. Every morning, you woke up to the giggles and shrieks of your four year old climbing all over you. Lucy was always up before your alarm and while you needed every minute of sleep, you would miss these moments whenever she became too cool to hang out with her mother. So you just bundled her wriggling body up into your arms and peppered her head with kisses as she laughed and wrapped her little octopus limbs around you.

Breakfast had moved from a coffee and a granola bar as you rushed out the door to work to Bluey pancakes for Lucy and even more coffee for you before you rushed out the door to get her to preschool and you to work. Every day felt like it was flying by too quickly.

Her birthday was quickly approaching and that’s how you found yourself out on the fire escape of your apartment with the baby monitor clutched between your hands and sobs escaping you despite your best efforts to stifle your cries.

You couldn’t afford any of the popular toys or games that kids were obsessed with. Hell, you could barely afford rent this month. Living in Gotham wasn’t as bad as other places in terms of rent but raising a kid was expensive and you were struggling to make ends meet thanks to work being slow. God, she was going to be so disappointed. Maybe you could start eating only one meal a day? That would save some money on groceries…

“Are you okay?”

The voice came from the shadows and the subsequent heart attack you received practically launched you into the air. The person cursed and then stepped out of the shadows. Okay, less scary but still pretty fucking terrifying. Red Hood stared down at you, or at least, you thought he was looking at you. The helmet made it difficult to figure out what direction he was facing.

“I said, are you okay?” he repeated in a gruff, no-nonsense voice. You nodded quickly and swiped away your tears with the back of your hand.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Don’t you have skulls to bash in or something?”

A huff of laughter escaped the vigilante’s helmet and you cocked your head to the side. He could laugh? He was capable of humor? Surprises were all around tonight.

“Already did that. And then I heard someone sounding like they just watched Marley and Me three times in a row and figured I should come check.” He eased himself into a crouch next to you and you admired how large and imposing he was yet he didn’t seem terrifying when he was next to you. You weren’t his target so there was no reason to fear him.

“Gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s stupid,” you muttered. You turned your attention back to the baby monitor to see Lucy fast asleep in your bed. The one bedroom apartment you rented didn’t have space for another bed so the two of you shared one. Luckily, she was a deep sleeper so she never stirred when you crawled in a few hours after her bedtime and got up early in the morning to get ready for the day.

“Nothing that makes you cry is stupid,” Red Hood retorted. “Hit me with it.”

“My kid’s birthday is coming up and I don’t have the funds to pay for anything. I can barely keep our heating on. She’s going to hate her birthday and I’ll have ruined it forever. I’m already working sixty hours a week, but I can’t ask Mrs. Hayes to watch her longer. Fuck.” You scrubbed a hand down your face and bemoaned your rotten fucking luck. Fuck your shitbag ex. Fuck the system that prevented single parents from succeeding. Fuck it all.

Rustling beside you made you look up to find Red Hood rummaging through his pockets. He let out a triumphant hum and then outstretched his hand. A stack of bills rested in his gloved palm and your eyes widened at the offering.

“Absolutely not,” you blurted out. “I’m not taking blood money from you. Who knows where that’s come from? And what if you show up in five years demanding the money back with some huge fucking interest rate?”

He chuffed out another laugh. “Christ, your mind is an interesting place. It’s legit, I promise. And it’s not a loan. It’s a gift. Take it. I’ve got enough cash.”

You watched him warily as you reached out and grasped the money. Your lips moved as you counted out the values silently and inhaled sharply once you got to the end. Three thousand dollars. That would pay rent for two months, leaving your paycheck to cushion you.

“Holy shit. Thank you. Thank you so much,” you gasped. But when you looked up, there was no sight of Red Hood. He had simply disappeared into the shadows once again. Only the rough paper of cash in your hands made you realize that it wasn’t a dream.

You spent the rest of the night going over your finances and figuring out where you could use the cash and how much you could spend on Lucy. With enough to bolster you for a bit, you decided to take her by a bakery on her way to pre-school. With her dinosaur backpack firmly settled on her back, Lucy bounded towards the bakery with you hot on her heels. Where the hell did she get all this energy?

“Woah,” a man exclaimed as Lucy tripped on a raised edge of the sidewalk. He caught her before she went sprawling onto the pavement, saving you from a torrent of tears and skinned knees.

“Gotta be careful there, kiddo,” he said as he righted her. You caught up to her finally and kneeled down to check her for injuries. Unscathed, thanks to the stranger. You raised your head to meet his eyes and thank him and found yourself captured by searing teal eyes.

“Thank you,” you blurted out. “I should really get her one of those backpack leashes.”

His full lips curled up into a grin and your heart stuttered at the sight of it. Small scars littered his tan skin, but it only added to the handsome rogue look he had going for him.

“I get it. The cinnamon rolls at this place are fu-” His eyes darted towards the squirming child in your hands. “Freaking amazing. I practically run here every morning to get one.”

Lucy gasped. “You like cinnamon rolls?”

The man shrugged. “Well, yeah, who doesn’t?”

“Sad people,” she replied wisely. You burst into laughter at the solemnity of her words and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“I love you, kid,” you announced.

“Love you too, mommy. Can we go now?”

You stood up to your full height and the man did the same, but he was much taller than you. He offered his hand and you shook it.

“I’m Jason. How about I buy you two breakfast?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do it. If anything, I owe you.”

His smile grew and you marveled at the slight dimple in his chin. “Yeah, but this way I can be a gentleman before I ask you out.”

There was no way this exceedingly handsome, Adonis-like man was asking you on a date. No fucking way. You had toothpaste on your shirt and a four year old currently clinging to your leg. No man had even looked at you since your ex knocked you up and left.

But he was kind and genuine and there was some kind of soft emotion in his eyes that made you want to ask him how the world had hurt him. And Lucy seemed to like him from just their first meeting.

“Okay. Breakfast sounds nice.”

If only you knew how a simple breakfast would change your life forever.

tag list: @mcrmarvelloki @gone-batty-fics @someoneimsure @perpetual-fangirl900 @visagebrise @cursedandromedablack @alexxavicry @the-wayward-daughter @raging-trash-of-mind @kat-nee @khaylin27 @igotanidea @princessbl0ss0m

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #jason todd fluff

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nymphofthefountain · 1 month ago

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Again and again, even though we know love's landscape [Chapter I]

Chapter I: If your eyes looked up and met mine one more time

Levi Ackerman/ Reader | Reincarnation!AU| 6.5k words

Masterlist | AO3 | Next Chapter

CHAPTER SUMMARY Levi people-watches every day after work. He perches himself in any downtown restaurant with outside tables and searches for your face on the streets.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This was written for LeviWeek24’s day one (Prompt is “Happy Birthday Levi”). It was originally supposed to be a one shot, but it got out of control. So out of control that this ended up being a 6-chapter fic. I didn’t even get to write the fics I had outlined for the other days — they might become extremely late entries, depending on how hard the new year hits me. Anyway, this is a Reincarnation!AU that alternates between the reencounter of Levi and the reader (written in present tense) and the birthdays Levi spent with the reader on their first life (written in past tense). Hope you enjoy it!As always, all comments (thoughtful analysis, keysmashes, concrit, emojis) are welcomed <3

Levi remembered on his seventh birthday.

It had already been a shitty day.

It had snowed the night before —nothing but sleet; enough to coat the entire neighborhood with a slimy brown mock. That morning, when Levi peered through the window, all he could see were trails of mud. Kenny brought it inside when he arrived that afternoon. His boots splattered dirt all over the hallway, and Levi had to follow his steps with a wet rag —Kenny called him a pathetic rat, the smoke of his last cigarette still trapped in his throat.

So, by the time he was waiting in the decorated living room for the party guests to arrive, the prospect of having the nasty neighboring brats come to make a pigsty of his mom’s new house was appalling.

No one came. No child wanted to spend Yule at the birthday party of the poor, grumpy, fucking creepy kid. His mom waited half an hour before she became all sorrowful caresses and pity smiles. They just don’t know you yet, my beautiful boy , she said. Kenny laughed in that rough way of his, extending his large legs on the couch. A giant in a doll’s house.

“Don’t listen to him, my baby. We can always celebrate, just us three.”

Levi stood in front of the homemade cake —white frosting, “ Happy Birthday Levi!” swirled in green, artful cursive. His name was slightly raised: Kenny had passed his finger across the top of the cake to taste the icing, and his mom had to redo it.

The early sunsets of winter had darkened the room; the single candle in front of him cast reddish hues on the faces of his family. He blew the flame. And through the thin line of smoke, the paper serpentines and balloons his mom had hung from the ceiling formed some sort of monstrous eye.

He felt them first, the time-worn sensations of a life ago.

The weight of the metal trigger on his palm. The inexorable void in his insides —that heartbeat before the cables pull forward. The constant burn of the wind. The stinging safety of the leather digging into the arch of his feet. The deep pain: his leg, his fingers, his face. The memories were engraved in his trusted flesh, in those genetically soldierly bones and muscles and sinew and blood.

Next, it was the anger. The shame. The separation like his beating heart ripped off his chest. The all-encompassing despair that rose like hot air from a scorched earth.

Levi knows he must have screamed, then. Some fervid wails that tore down his throat as he clawed at his face. That’s what his mother told him between sobs the next morning, when he woke up tied to a hospital bed with every sedative known to man shoved up his arm.

He felt the visceral awareness of your loss before he could understand anything else.

Levi people-watches every day after work. He perches himself in any downtown restaurant with outside tables and searches for your face on the streets.

Sometimes, he glimpses a feature that tricks him just enough to let hope gather in his gut. A certain slope of the jaw. A similar mouth. Gentle eyes. And, for an instant, the force of habit makes it cherished, familiar. But then, he sees those faces again and they’re nothing more than strangers.

He stays until the servers stop asking him if he’s going to order more tea. Then, he takes his backpack, filled with finger paintings, a pharmacy’s worth of alcohol wipes, and the sporadically forgotten teddy bear, and returns to his apartment amidst imaginings of your new life.

He wonders if you are properly covering yourself from the raw winds of late autumn, if you are happy at your job —he would let you complain about your shitty boss at night, fingertips following the outline of your neck. Then, he cooks dinner. Some quick, easy meal, much more nutritious and appealing than any of the shit from back then.

On the nights when the phantom pain in his leg, in his eyes, in his fingers, doesn’t let him sleep, Levi makes lists of all the details of your body that this new existence might have changed. A softer face, less weathered by the filth and the blood and the suffering. Smooth hands: no scars left by Kenny’s ruthless training; no need for the calluses accumulated during two decades of trusting maneuver machines with your very survival; no wars for the recoil of a rifle to form blisters. The kinder body of a kinder life.

He would recognize you, either way, if he saw you on one of his scouting evenings buying winter boots or eating pastries in a downtown bakery or coming out of a movie theater on a miraculous Thursday.

Levi was seventeen when he decided to search for you. His mother had just died.

Again, too young. Her hair was still pitch-black. Levi liked to brush it for her at night; as the bristles ran through her hair, it seemed to shine with an iridescent glow akin to oil in water. He never got the chance to notice it in his first life.

Again, devoured by illness. She hadn’t agreed to shave her head —the drugs were buying her mere months, anyway. So, at the very end, when Levi brushed her hair, he pulled out heaps of black strands. She had bald spots on her head; Levi never told her.

So, newly burdened with grief and custody, Kenny took Levi with him on some sort of bonding trip.

They ended up in some decrepit cabin in the middle of Rose’s woods with cobwebs in every corner and dust on every cobweb. His uncle taught him once again to wield a knife. He took him fishing and forced him to drink a bottle of whisky just to make sure Levi knew how to hold his alcohol.

On the last day, Kenny sat him on a rotting bench in the backyard while lighting up one of his cheap cigarettes.

The dark smoke stung Levi’s eyes. It permeated his clothes. It made him think of the scent of burnt flesh rising above a flattened earth. He was about to go back inside when Kenny started speaking.

“You know you are not crazy, right kid?” He told him.

Levi immediately understood what his uncle meant. The memories were perpetually pulsating in his head.

His mom hadn’t remembered. At home, she used to smile at Levi’s comments about the stale air of the Underground as if he was describing an imaginary friend. Then, she sat him in front of a long line of pediatrists, reciting all the states of brokenness that a child with a somewhat ordinary home life shouldn’t display. Little Levi had violent nightmares about fields, towns, nations of mangled, bloated corpses. Little Levi got startled so easily and clenched his fist and went for the throat. Little Levi was so withdrawn, so quiet —but he was so gentle, so helpful.

“What the fuck, Kenny?” He all but snarled.

Only when Levi kept the memories secret had the onslaught of child psychologists and their shitty dissections of his drawings stopped. But his body made the past so fucking difficult to stifle. The weight of your head on his chest, your callused fingers caressing his thumb, the warm presence beside him on the bed, they felt as real as the delicate hands of his mother lulling him to sleep.

Levi had been so fucking lonely all of his childhood: his mother’s worry, Kenny’s cruel sneer, your absence.

“In that pitiful birthday party Kuchel threw for you, you didn’t go nuts. You remembered.” Kenny was vehement, even if he tried to hide the wide eyes behind drags of his cigarette.

And there was relief in the confirmation that someone else shared the fucked-up loneliness of it all. Because it was real; he could find you now. The grief corralled in the corner of his ribcage would stop pushing in.

“Did you-” Levi asked the only question he could bring himself to think about. “Have you found someone? From back then?”

Kenny laughed with that bitter cruelty of his. He slapped Levi on the back. Hard. So hard that Levi gasped, and the fumes of cheap tobacco stuck to his mouth.

“Us Ackermans, we remember. We awaken to it like we used to back then.” He paused. It was a glimpse, but Levi managed to catch the sad gaze. “But the others…”

Levi understood the despondency and then tucked it into the innermost part of his chest. Deep enough that, two decades after first recalling you, it only comes out in those long early mornings when he hasn’t slept and he finds himself alone in his bed.

For today’s search, he sits at a cafe. It’s new, filled with the rustic signs and nonsensical beverage names that presage overpricing.

It’s already late and dark. He stayed in school two hours after class, letting one of the kids paint his face. Late Yule shopping, the mother explained between giggles when she finally appeared, as if her little girl hadn’t sobbed to death at pickup time.

He parses the streets. Multitudes appear and disappear from his sight, all carrying armfuls of shopping bags —toys and trinkets and candy and all those things of opulence Levi and you never had in your previous childhood.

It’s Yule’s eve and Levi has no reason to leave Mitras. Kenny has performed his routine disappearance; he will turn up in five or six months, lungs even more rotten, just to stink up Levi’s couch for a week.

Tomorrow, he’ll spend his birthday roaming around the boulevards. He’ll brave the frozen, empty streets, and maybe he’ll find you staring at one of the holiday vitrines with their wooden automatons and cotton snow.

Brats running on the sidewalk point at him and laugh. Their parents are mouthing their apologies and half-heartedly scolding them when the waitress arrives.

“Buying the gifts for the kids?” She asks while staring at his left cheek.

Levi lets her believe whatever she wants and orders a tea blend. He keeps the tradition of a lifetime ago and takes it plain.

Two girls are returning from the Yule Market. They reek of mulled wine. They are stubbornly holding hands as they stumble through the sidewalk, choking with giggles. One girl stops solely to kiss the other on the lips; they both grow dopey grins. It’s their first date; Levi recognizes it in the averting gazes.

Levi did the same back then. When he was a teenager, he absorbed every movement you made; he chased you with his gaze and, just when you noticed, he glanced away.

The waitress is all smiles when she returns with his tea. She has a little boy, she says, and he adores this one expensive pastry prepared with chocolate handcrafted in some pretentious atelier in Orvud. Levi says he’ll buy it before realizing that tomorrow he won’t see any kids whose shitty parents forgot to pack them lunch.

The tea is mediocre. A slight bitterness accumulating on his palate reminds him most baristas don’t know how to brew for shit. In the cold air, the steam seems whiter, denser. It rises and disappears in front of the twinkling lights.

He examines another wave of unknown faces. Nothing. Once in a while, a car drives down the street. Headlights drag across the buildings’ facades in one sweep of light.

The cafe is playing some new Yule songs. They haven’t changed much from his first life. The same empty verses about snow, love, and gifts repackaged in a pop melody. Levi doesn’t think you’d like it, but he knows you’d sway at the music, anyway.

His phone vibrates; he knows someone has just called him unhinged somewhere on the internet. Occasionally, after correcting his little students’ attempts at capital consonants, Levi posts about the Paradis of before. He writes about the Underground and the Walls and the Survey Corps and the Fall of Maria and, when he’s bitter and tired and discouraged, he writes about the Rumbling. It is as useless as waiting to see you walking on the sidewalk. Still, he checks the notification.

The waitress returns just to tell him she’s put apart the pastries for him. Levi orders another tea.

When she brings it, she asks how old his child is.

The apron sharply folded in his backpack has borne the grunt of fifteen grubby pairs of tiny hands. They tend to pull at it when they want his attention. It’s smudged with face paint —blue and yellow and red and green— because Levi hasn’t successfully taught them how to clean their hands.

“Five,” he says.

In the Underground, Levi and you were already pickpocketing at that age.

“They are such little monsters then, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

You would like the kids; you would like their silly stories and their passion for gifting Levi the coolest rocks they find during recess.

Levi returns his attention to the multitudes on the street. A group of children that certainly shouldn’t be out so late surround a King Fritz impersonator —glued white beard, a shiny plastic crown, and a faux-fur lined tunic with the department store logo printed on the cape. He’s giving out candy. A couple navigates the little congregation. He promises her that the fireworks will start at midnight. Someone has dressed their dog in a tiny winter jacket; the poor animal is quivering, nonetheless.

Then, Levi sees you.

Woolen hat, woven scarf. The most familiar of faces.

His body reacts by instinct. A pulling in his ribcage. Levi stands up. Quick. So quick, he almost topples the table. He has half a mind to stop it from falling over. But you are across the street, merging into the multitude. The teacup smashes against the ground.

The piercing noise of ceramic breaking is always so jarring; then, there’s the tinkling of the sharp pieces scattering. He walks over them. A shard lodges in his boot’s sole. It crunches with every step.

The waitress calls for him. He left his backpack.

He’s already navigating through the crowd. Children and women and men sipping hot chocolate and eating roasted chestnuts and holding enough presents for a lifetime. Levi brushes someone’s shoulder. Hard and fast. They might have dropped their paper bags. There’s crinkling and yells. But he can see you right in front of him. Just a street away.

Levi calls your name, and you turn. He finds relief in looking into your eyes again. Tenderness swells and swallows whole the grief in his chest. And, even if it disappears in an instant, Levi sees it in your eyes —a quick glint of recognition.

The shard continues to dig into his boot as he makes his way across the road.

He does not see the car.

A woman screams when the car hits him. But Levi’s body remembers, even if he’s not a soldier anymore. Reaction by instinct: he lurches forward, he braces.

The car barely grazes him. There’s no blood. The meager impact only makes his shoulder pop. A quick, violent pain; the nausea that rises and the habit that makes him swallow it immediately. It was common back then: a miscalculation of his own strength, a gear malfunction that hurled him towards a tree, an overhasty movement to prevent a comrade’s death.

His head is resting against the cool metal of the bumper. Melted snow is seeping through his jeans. The crowd flocks around him. Bodies squeeze until they form one solid wall. Headlights seem to bounce on the pavement and cover everything in a blinding white light. The same screaming woman keeps sobbing somewhere in the mass of people.

Levi cannot see you anymore.

He tries to stand up. A man holds him down. Someone has already called an ambulance, he says. Levi shouldn’t stand up yet, he says as his disgustingly hot hands, greasy from the sausages he was eating, press on Levi’s shoulders —furious throbbing, like a heart in his fucking arm. The idiot doesn’t notice where Levi’s only injury is.

Levi grabs the guy’s wrist. He squeezes with more force than he should have, but Levi knows it’s not enough for it to break. Greasy hands release their grip. Levi pushes up and through as the man recoils —one step back, hand over his wrist, dumbfounded.

Levi mutters, “Fuck off. My shoulder.” He does not stay to see if the guy understands.

You had been a couple of steps away. Two, maybe three. He had seen you standing on the sidewalk. A woolen hat covering up the tips of your ears. A big knitted scarf that could cover your nose from cold gusts. It was green, and Levi could almost picture it billowing and fluttering like the old Survey Corps’ capes used to. But you are not there anymore.

Stores and cafes have closed up, even if the twinkling lights and jolly dancing figurines of the vitrines stay on. Levi has bruised his leg; he notices a slight tension on his right thigh as he goes down and up the sidewalk, wishing to meet your gaze one more time. There’s a ceramic shard in his boot.

Without the morbid attraction of blood and guts spilling on a busy commercial street, onlookers dwindle.

His wet clothes siphon any form of heat. It’s getting too fucking cold. And the throbbing ache in his shoulder is setting in. The shard fucked up his sole; rubber comes apart under his weight.

The same moronic man gets close to him again. He apologizes. He didn’t realize that Levi had hurt his shoulder, he says. Levi should stop moving, he goes on. He knows because he did a shitty first aid course, he doesn’t stop talking. The car’s driver sees him alive and approaches him. It was Levi’s fault, she yells. There’s a scratch on the bumper that wasn’t there before, she keeps on yelling. Levi has to pay for it; she points at her shitty old car with its peeling red paint.

He answers to shit. His leg starts to hurt. It’s that brutal pain that begins at the marrow and spreads with his heartbeat —the aftermath of the thunder spears’ explosion, of the battle of Heaven and Earth. Eyesight blurs on his right side. He feels the sting of burning shrapnel piercing the skin.

Back then, you had watched as Hange patched him up, shaking hands smoothing his singed hair.

Levi inhales. The ghost of the blazing air in his lungs makes his breathing short. He sits down and tears the fucking shard away from his boot. He digs his fingers into his face —he can only feel eight— and allows himself to howl one painful, sharp fuck .

He stays there until the flashing red and blue drowns all the Yule lights.

Year 831. Thirteen

After the third day of rain, the Underground flooded. Frigid water rose the shit and piss off the latrines to create a nauseating, putrid sludge that swamped the roads. It happened every few years. The flood would wane in a couple of days. And then Levi and you would have to shovel the shit away and hope for the inevitable plague to be merciful.

But for now, you were both locked in the plank —closed windows, all gaps in the frames stuffed with wet rags; food reduced to scraps of stale bread and bites of the canned vegetables that shouldn’t have been opened before the deep winter. The rooms were isolated enough to limit the stench, but the air had become dense, harder to breathe.

Levi counted the coins again. Under the labile light of the oil lamp, the blotched metals seemed to elongate and contort. Most of the money had been Kenny’s. Months after he left, you’d found the wooden box with forty golden pieces under the planks. Odd jobs and the poor pockets of the better-off residents of this cavernous hell provided the spare bronze coins. Levi shared with you a fortune of one thousand marks. Dreaming cost five thousand.

“Here,” you said, placing something on the table. Round and metallic. It wasn’t a coin —the slithering of many linked golden rings followed suit when Levi grabbed it. “I got it before the first night of rain. They’ll give us good money for it. I don’t think it’s solid gold, but it seems nice enough.”

Levi held it in his palm. These sorts of contraptions were relegated to the pages of Mitra’s mail-order catalogs —those scraps of paper that arrived in the Underground years after the ink had set, crumpled and jammed in the boxes of piss-whisky. But he remembered his mom talking about them, the few times she had described her childhood on the surface. A little metal gadget that men from above kept on their chests to tell the hour.

A pocket watch. Levi had hoped to get one someday. It would have made him look more like the gentleman his mother always said he was. You would have been impressed with it. But those ideas were now drowned under a thick film of mud and shit.

“Who the fuck buys this shit here?” He asks. The flickering flame made the watch’s coating gleam; it reflected a distorted circle of white in the splintering wood of the ceiling. “We all make do with the shitty clocks they put on the stairs.”

“A food merchant.” Your voice sounded sick, hoarse; it was the air. You sat down in front of him, all smirks. Across from the flickering flame, your eyes gleamed too. “He probably wanted to brag. He doesn’t think about leaving, it seems.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Levi spat out. Today started the season of shriveled bodies rotting on the sides of the roads. It was never the cold —not in this shroud of a city; always stifling, always filthy. It was the hunger: by the end of winter, the scarce grains merchants brought from above were too expensive. “Here, he can make us all beg, but he’d be fucking scum in Mitras.”

He looked at the watch again. There was an engraving on the side: some bullshit verse from the Walls’ zealots. He ran his fingertips across the surface, feeling the crisp edges of the fine letters.

“We can’t sell it yet. The smugglers will be even scummier after this shit. They’ll try to give us water or rotten fruit for it,” Levi said.

“It’s better to wait, anyway. The merchant might search for it,” you said.

The machinery was still ticking; it beat against his palm like a mechanical heart.

“Will you get one? When we live on the surface?” You asked.

Levi stashed the watch in Kenny’s little wooden box. It felt heavier. The small hope it would keep that weight once he’d exchanged the stolen artifact with the smuggler’s money briefly lightened his chest. But the trinket would make one hundred marks at most —just five golden coins. It was absolute filth compared to the price of the stairs.

You smiled again. As if this ruin of a house wasn’t surrounded by shit, as if the winter didn’t herald months of stale bread and hunger, as if the citizens aboveground didn’t throw all their disgusting waste through the only breach of this vault that let you have a glimpse of the sky. As if Kenny hadn’t left. As if his mother hadn’t rotten in that cot after a bastard infected her with some vile disease.

“The shit outside is enough. Don’t sputter any more. Citizenship is five thousand marks. And they’ll raise it again.” Levi was harsh when he stood up; the chair screeched against the unvarnished wood while you stared at him with sad eyes. “I can’t get us out,” he confessed.

Levi itched to wash himself, but the scant water stored on the plank was to drink; he didn’t know when he’d get to go back to the well. The overflow of all of humanity’s miseries kept you both trapped inside. He couldn’t get farther than the window.

He muttered a sharp fuck and tried to ignore the reproach in your silence. Levi looked outside, but without the light of the wall torches, there was nothing to watch but the permanent darkness.

You sighed. It was a deep, tired breath —so similar to the one you exhaled when Kenny’s desertion became undeniable. Then you stood up.

Levi followed you with his eyes, even after the shitty lamp didn’t illuminate your back anymore. He saw your silhouette rummaging in a cabinet —cheap tins clashed and clinked.

“Levi, close your eyes.” You weren’t facing him when you spoke; body still crouched and hands still searching for something.

“What for? It’s not like we can see shit in this place,” he snarled.

“Please,” you said, voice softer.

He yielded to the word.

The wooden board’s groans announced each one of your approaching steps. One, three, four, until he could feel the air shift around your body.

“Now what?” He asked just to appease the hairs raising on his nape.

The kiss on his cheek was hasty and warm and the tickling of a thousand feathers. He felt you breathe against his skin, a quick exhale. His eyes widened.

“Happy birthday, Levi. I love you very much,” you say.

The shadows in the room inflated as the oil in the lamp dwindled. A flickering darkness covered half of your body. It elongated your newfound smile —some hopeful thing that made his cheeks burn.

Levi thought of apologizing: it was somehow his fault that Kenny left, and he couldn’t do anything else but break, steal, stab, kill, and you didn’t deserve to live in shit. But he did not have the eloquence for that. Heavy tongue. Tingling belly. Trapped breath.

“Now extend your hands,” you told him.

He obeyed.

You were hiding something behind your back. He only realized it when the object was revealed and placed in his palms.

“This...”

Smooth ceramic of a glossy white. Brushstroke flowers adorning the body. A loopy, thin handle. His mother had taught him to drink tea. She sat at the table, set with an old tablecloth pristinely washed and ironed, and in the most regal of postures, she showed Levi how to hold the cup correctly.

“It’s not a pocket watch. But you need to stop drinking tea from that tin mug,” you said.

He stared at the precious object.

Two years ago, Levi broke his mother’s cup. His new unforgiving strength and the dried blood on his nails and the porcelain crumbling in his hand. The handle was still hanging from his fingers as Levi fixated on the shards scattered on the floor.

“No. I’ll break it again. I’m too much of a beast-”

“Don’t say that.” You slid your hands under his. They were warm. Levi could feel the scars left by knives he’d never wanted you to wield. Something tugged at his heart. “You are gentle with me. Aren’t you? You can be gentle with a cup.”

You had once stolen an encyclopedia —one of those clandestine books that people from the surface died for, but that abounded for the apathetic, famished eyes of the Underground. Levi didn’t care much about it, not like you did. But he enjoyed reading about the birds: rare celestial creatures, so far above the putrid stench of the earth. Unrestrained. They flew because their bones were hollow, amazingly light.

And, as he stared at the cup, Levi had the stupid thought that maybe it was, too, made of an aerial material.

“Thanks,” Levi managed to mutter.

“I could only get the cup. But we’ll buy an entire set when we live above.”

The paramedics catch him tightly clutching his leg and Levi wins a useless ride to the radiology department; they insist on pushing him in a wheelchair. The nurse behind him is too cheery to be working on a holiday. She chatters about her New Year’s plans, her —honestly deadbeat— boyfriend, and the poor kid she shouldn’t have had with him. She’s too much like Gabi.

And, although the floors of the Hospital exude alcohol and bleach instead of the all-consuming scent of carrion and scorched earth, Levi is almost back to the refugee camp where he lived for two years back then. The phantom ache in his leg exacerbates.

“It’s just the shoulder. I only popped my shoulder,” Levi repeats to the radiologist. But once again, he’s fucking ignored.

He’ll go again to the same cafe tomorrow. He can be there early. The street will be empty; most people don’t buy their gifts on Yule Day. Levi will get his bag back, and he’ll pay for the tea and the broken cup. He’ll take the fancy pastry if it’s still there. He’ll try to map your movements from today while surveying the street. And he’ll hope for you to come back and look at him again.

The same nurse takes him to the treatment bay. The room is empty enough that the voices of the other patients rebound off the walls. After forcing him to lie down on the gurney, she wishes him a happy Yule.

There’s a chair next to the hospital bed —black plastic, a flat cushion upholstered with some burlap-like fabric. He spent months sitting in one like that while looking after his mother. She would collapse inwards, whole body contorting towards her stomach. Sallow face. Shaking hands. The rattle started weeks before her death. When she heard herself breathe, she would stare at Levi with this frightened expression. He could only readjust the cannula and wipe the pink froth from the corner of her mouth. Then the palliative doctors assessed her stable enough to return home; Levi and his mom stayed there until the prescription of morphine wasn’t enough, or until a fever didn’t break, or until all food became unbearable.

The fireworks show starts. Crackles and booms are dulled by the hospital walls. Some patients, those well enough to walk, gather around a window to catch glimpses of the falling sparks at the very center of Mitras. The lights must seem so far away from the emergency room.

He had also spent entire nights watching over you. A lifetime ago, in hospital beds made with wooden frames and mattresses stuffed with cotton batting. Broken ribs. Torn abdominal muscles. Head injuries that required you to stay conscious. You two would talk about foolish shit for hours. Levi would tell you about the terribly ugly boots that were fashionable in Mitras —some sad taxidermized rodents that very much looked back when Levi stared down at some noble’s feet. And you would laugh and let the resentment against those fat bastards make you feel bad for the animals. Then, you would tell him about the latest love triangle between the new recruits —teenagers that should have been stealing the apples of their neighbor’s orchard but that, instead, were fucking behind the canteen while the fear of monstrous hands and monstrous teeth kept them awake. By morning, you were tired enough to bring back your and Levi’s childhood dreams. The quietest of voices talking about a cabin in the woods with two horses and a cow and an icebox for fresh food —with snowy fields in winter and a lake to swim in summer.

Levi sees the doctor arrive: the shitty dividing curtains are translucent. She is wearing white scrubs with some red pattern, and a yellow Yule crown made of cardboard. She has a cheery smile and his imaging results under her arm.

“Well, Mr. Ackerman. I have good news for you,” she says while rolling the lightbox closer to the bed. She points to a luminescent bone creepily floating in his arm. “You only dislocated your shoulder!”

“I know.” He’s already sitting up, body bracing for the one push that’ll set the shoulder back.

He will take the tramway home. He knows now that you are in Mitras —maybe he’ll get another chance today.

“I will move the shoulder into position. But first, let me relax those muscles!”

It’s almost three when Levi is discharged from the hospital. The doctor’s readjustment maneuver is smooth, painless. Nothing like the brute protocol of pushes and pulls he grew acquainted with; the Survey Corps’ Medical Team did not have any wonder electromagnetic machines to see people’s insides nor had alchemized poisons to make the muscles weaker.

“You were awfully lucky, if you ask me. It’s such a Yule miracle!” The doctor exclaims before finally letting him go. “But no more running on the streets without watching!”

He’s tired. The sole fucked up by the shard seems unsteady, and Levi knows he’ll have to watch where he steps if he doesn’t want to drench the sock. His entire arm feels boneless, loose, as if the only thing keeping it from flapping around was the shitty sling.

And yet, he does not think he’ll sleep. A galvanic undercurrent rushes alongside his blood; giddiness accumulates in his gut.

He throws on his coat. He can only put on one sleeve; the garment merely drapes over his bad side.

Then Levi steps outside.

You are there, a few meters away from the ER’s glass doors. Green scarf covering up to the bridge of your nose. Eyes glossy from the cold.

You startle when you see him. You straighten your back; you fidget with the lapel of your coat. The scarf falls down to your chin, and Levi gets to see your face once again —the same slope of the nose, the same cheeks, the same mouth.

You totter a bit as you walk towards him. It’s the cold; you’ve probably been waiting for him outside. You give him a nervous smile.

“Hi.” You don’t raise your voice much. It’s faint, cautious.

He knows it, that voice. It’s been woven in his daydreams for decades. It wraps around his heart and squeezes.

“Hello,” Levi replies.

There’s a slight rasp in his voice. That stupid yell must have fucked up his throat somehow. He wants to step closer, to let his fingers prove your skin is still as soft; he doesn’t move.

“A waitress gave me this. She said it was yours,” you tell him.

You are holding his backpack. He hadn’t even noticed. When Levi grabs the carry handle, his fingers touch your palm. You don’t jerk away. The skin is glacial, and Levi wants to hold that hand between his to warm it up.

You used to do it for him after the morning drills for vertical maneuvering. In winter, frozen wind pelted exposed skin to numbness; fingers stiffened around the gear’s triggers. You would seek him after training. You would rub your hands against his. Then, you would hold them close to your mouth and have your exhales surround them in warmth before kissing him once on each palm, right under the thumb.

“Yeah,” he says. He lets the bag hang from his side. The weight is enough to remind him of the slackness in half of his body. “Thank you.”

You smile at him again, a half-happy, half-nervous gesture; there’s no recognition. Still, he revels in it —the overwhelmingly real, corporeal, alive wrinkle of your eye.

“Yes,” you answer to nothing in particular.

“Yeah,” he echoes.

Then, none of you speak anymore.

Tardy fireworks burst in the distance. You are inspecting his face, brow so slightly furrowed. Levi lets you stare; he does it as well. He wants to keep looking at you, count your lashes, and itemize the little changes brought on by this new life.

An ambulance rushes to the vehicle entrance. You flinch at the loud wailing. Levi stops himself from moving you further away from the driveway.

After staring at his face one last time, you lower your gaze. Then you chuckle.

“What?” He can’t help but smile back.

“You have a sheep with a green hat here.” Your hand reaches for his cheek. The motion seems all so natural. But your hand falls before it can touch him.

“It’s a goat with a wreath crown,” he replies. “The kids had a face-painting party today. To celebrate the last day before the winter holidays.”

“Your kids are very talented.”

“That specific girl is.”

She loves gifting Levi her little drawings. He always takes them home, puts them in plastic sleeves, and adds them to a binder. He’ll show them to you one evening after work.

The weight of the bag starts to sting. So, Levi lets it fall to the sidewalk.

“Is it serious?” You ask, unavoidably focusing on his sling.

Levi wishes to tell you that he’s seen worse. That you had to cut the shredded leather straps away from his chest so that Hange could estimate the damage. That after the explosion, his lungs were raw. That every time he breathed, his whole chest burned.

“No. It’s just sore,” he replies instead.

“That’s good.”

There’s genuine relief in your expression.

“What about you? Are you sick?”

“No. I-” You pause, slide your thumb across your scarf, toy with the fringe. “A man with sausage sauce in his jacket told me they would bring you here. He was the one that called the ambulance, I think.”

The ambulance drives by again. This time it’s slower, silent.

“And this is weird. But is it maybe-” You go on, cadence faster, as if you wanted to fit every word in one long breath. “Maybe it is your birthday?”

There’s this wretched bliss in hearing you came here for him.

“Yeah. It is.”

You smile fully this time. Eyes bright, as if you found some sort of revelation in his answer.

“Well. Happy birthday, then.”

“Thanks,” he replies with a half-whisper. “Thank you,” he repeats, choking on all the devotion that you wouldn’t understand.

He sees you shiver and try to huddle yourself. So, he bares his heart in the only way he truly knows how.

“It’s cold. We should warm up somewhere.”

“I-” White air leaves your mouth. Levi wishes you’d let him adjust the scarf over your face. “Yes. Where?”

You go to the hospital’s cafeteria. It’s a drab, almost empty room with shitty plastic tables and too bright lighting, but it’s warm enough for you to stop shivering. The beverages are shitty; the tea bags barely tint the very much clear water. But they’re hot; Levi sees you wrap your fingers around the cheap paper cup.

“You can get something to eat,” Levi says. He knows it’s a paltry offer; they only have hard cookies and day-old sandwiches with soggy bread.

“It’s fine.”

Some nurses are chatting at a faraway table. Their words arrive as a low buzzing.

It seems familiar. Evenings in the Underground, when food was scarce, and Levi and you filled your stomachs with water to appease the hunger. Early mornings in the canteen before the survivors of the last expedition came for their breakfast. Late nights in his office, when you helped him sign a massacre of death certificates and condolence letters.

“I’m sorry but-” You doubt for a moment. Your eyes examine his face once again. “What’s your name?” You ask a question you’d never asked back then.

“Levi.”

“Levi,” you repeat. “Of course.”

Hearing you say his name feels like second nature.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi x reader #leviweek24 #happy birthday to our beloved capitain #leviweek24 day one #again and again

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carakook · 10 months ago

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The Astronaut ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"He feels like he’s an Astronaut who discovered a new moon colored in shades of your love, beautiful little stars surrounding it with Saebyeol’s precious little face in every single one. He has no idea how he got so lucky."

•¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*••¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*•

✧Pairings: dad!Kim Seokjin x mom!reader

✧Synopsis: Being new parents is hard, most of the time it’s much harder on the mom than the dad… Kim Seokjin would silently argue that isn’t always the case. Today your baby had her first round of shots, and Jin is a mess after seeing her cry. Dramatic and blubbering, you have to comfort the poor man before he turns into a baby himself.

✧Genre: Romance/Comedy/Fluff

✧Word count: 2k+

✧Warnings: Lots of talk about babies!!! Mother and fatherhood, crying, Jin being dramatic and sappy, no smut so this one is fairly tame! Talks of labor and delivery, immunization/vaccination talk (it isn’t that serious I promise), fluffy fluff fluff, lemme know if I missed anything!

✧Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

✧A/N: Here is my second request! This was a request for Jin being a dad with major fluff. It is exactly that lol. I hope you guys enjoy this lil Drabble/one shot, poor Jin. By the way…. I fucking miss Jin??? Daddy Jin better get his ass home soon I stg 😭 love you guys!

•¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*••¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*•

“Jin, Jesus, please come out of the damn bathroom.”

You wait with your forehead pressed against the bathroom door, have half a mind to fucking bang your head against it at this point honestly. Because Jin, in Jin fashion, is being so goddamn dramatic.

It hasn’t been long since you’ve both became parents, and although it wasn’t exactly planned, you’re both so fucking happy. Never have been happier.

But with becoming a parent, also comes a lot of mixed emotions. For you, of course your hormones are at an all time high after giving birth, so you’re extra sensitive. The mood swings are volatile; one moment you’re crying because your daughter hiccuped and it was too cute, the next moment you’re on the verge of committing murder because Jin looked at you the wrong way.

But even then, you’re overwhelmed with joy. Sure, the emotions give you whiplash, but it’s worth it.

Jin, however, sometimes you swear he’s more dramatic than you are. Like today, he’s a fucking mess. Today marks two weeks of you giving birth, which means you had to take your daughter, Saebyeol, to get her checkup… which also means she had to get some of her immunization shots.

Jin did not handle this well at all.

Of course the baby cried, every baby does, even adults do when getting shots; who likes getting poked with a sharp needle? But you were easily able to calm her down after the shots were done by feeding her and holding her.

It’s now been three hours since the appointment, and Jin is still in the fucking bathroom, crying like a little baby himself.

You swear that he has become more sensitive than you most days. The moment Saebyeol cries, so does Jin. If she seems upset, so is Jin. If she’s hungry, Jin is on your ass saying ‘feed my baby, you’re starving her!’

It can be sooo fucking irritating… but also, it’s the cutest fucking thing, especially since Jin is usually so calm and collected in situations like these; he’s always been the level headed one.

Your entire pregnancy, he was the level headed one. When you were worried about something being wrong with the baby, or you started nesting and fretting over every little thing around your home, Jin was there to reassure you and calm your worries. Even during delivery, he was there to soothe you; you have no idea how the man managed to stay completely calm when you sounded as if you were actually dying before getting the epidural; but he did. And he was calm the entire time…

Until he saw Saebyeol.

The moment Jin laid his eyes on her, it’s like that calm demeanor never even existed. He was a fucking mess. He started bawling his eyes out, repeating over and over again, ‘Oh my god, my baby, my star, she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,‘

After that, it didn’t stop. Two weeks later and he’s still as sensitive and protective as ever. He’s so in tuned with both you and Saebyeol’s moods and emotions, it’s as if he takes them on himself. Whatever you’re both feeling, he feels too, but ten times the amount.

More so Saebyeol’s than yours.

Which is why he is having a fit in the bathroom right now. Of course he was a wreck at the appointment, the man looked as if he wanted to punch the nurse in the face. And yes, he cried, immediately snatched Saebyeol up after the shots which caused you to have to pry her out of his arms so you could feed her. ‘But they hurt my poor baby! It’s so cruel, she’s in pain…’

God, so dramatic. But oh so sweet.

On the ride home he was crying on and off. Has been even since you both got home and Saebyeol went down for a nap. You couldn’t quite understand why, and he was being so stubborn about it. Kept saying it’s stupid and he doesn’t want to talk about it.

It is kind of stupid… but also, seeing Jin cry is almost as bad as seeing Saebyeol cry, because Jin doesn’t cry often at all. It’s heartbreaking to see this calm man breakdown over something so small.

“Jin, please, you’re starting to worry me. Can you tell me why you’re so torn up at least? Just come out of the bathroom, I’m gonna go insane…”

You try to coax him out. He did end up calming down after you both got home, but it didn’t last long because he walked in to check on Saebyeol after she fell asleep (he has a habit of compulsively checking on her, has woken her up more than once at this point doing it.) and he broke down again. But this time, the tears didn’t stop, and he ended up locking himself in the damn bathroom like a child.

What really happened, was he saw the little bandaid on Saebyeol’s arm and he lost it again. He remembered the little pout she made before she started wailing from the prick of the needle, and then he remembered the wailing, and then the sniffling, and ugh he couldn’t take it.

So yes, he is indeed in the bathroom crying. Because how dare they hurt his precious little girl? It was necessary, of course, but still, how dare they? The only reason he’s in the bathroom is because even he knows damn well how dramatic he’s being. Jin has always been a bit dramatic, it’s just part of who he is, but this time he can’t help it. And he doesn’t want to bug you with his blubbering, he knows you’re going through enough postpartum as it is, he doesn’t want to add to your stress.

But his poor baby, his poor little star got pricked with a mean needle, and he just can’t get her sad little face out of his head.

“Just give me a minute, I need to cry.”

You groan, because he’s said this four times now. You get it, he needs to cry, everyone does sometimes. Being a new parent is hard and it’s normal to be sensitive and a bit over worried about your baby. But can’t he at least explain?

“Ok, but what exactly are you crying about? She’s fine now, sound asleep as if it didn’t even happen…”

You try once more to coax him out as you speak through the door. He knows you’re right, she’s fine now, but can’t a man cry over his little girl getting hurt?

“She looked so sad… I could die, I swear, I don’t ever wanna see her cry like that again.”

You want to snort at this, because you know damn well Saebyeol will cry much worse than she did today at some point. As babies grow into toddlers, it’s inevitable that they get hurt sometimes. You can’t even imagine how he’s gonna react when she has her first fall or first knee scrape.

“Jin, baby, she’s a baby too… she’s gonna cry. She’s gonna get hurt. And she’s also gonna be ok.”

“I am not a baby. I am a father who is in distress about his baby being hurt!”

Dramatic mother fucker… literally.

“Ok, ok, I know, I know. Just come out of the bathroom, let me love on you and make you feel better.”

He sniffles at this, is starting to feel his tears dry up as he swipes at his eyes. He feels selfish for his reaction, and also a little childish at how he’s locked himself in the bathroom. But god, he’s just worried. Worried about Saebyeol, worried about you too. He doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t care about your feelings, he knows you’re going through it far worse than him.

But he could use a hug.

So reluctantly, he gets off of the toilet seat, pads over to the bathroom mirror above the sink and tries to readjust his pitiful tear stained expression, and then opens the bathroom door.

Seeing you just makes him start to cry again.

You immediately get on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his shoulders, put your fingers in his hair, and bring him in for a close embrace. “Oh baby, such a mess…” you coo at him.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and sniffles again so pitifully, taking in your comforting scent. He’s starting to think that somehow your pregnancy hormones have worn off on him, because now he isn’t crying because of Saebyeol, but because of you and how fucking pretty motherhood looks on you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Y/N. I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me…”

You kiss the top of his head and tsk at him, “Don’t apologize, you’re just a dramatic baby is all. S’fine. Just hate seeing you cry.”

He grunts into the crook of your neck, “I am NOT. I’m just a father. A father with a precious baby and beautiful wife. Can’t handle it. Don’t know what I did to deserve you two…”

Your heart both warms and breaks at the same time, because Jin deserves everything. Seriously, he has been so good to you, has given you everything you could ever wish for in life and in a relationship. He works hard for you, for Saebyeol, and for himself too. He deserves all the good things, and you wished he wasn’t so humble about it.

He doesn’t agree. Jin has always been an incredibly cocky man, loves himself so much. Has always loved himself more than anyone else… until you came along and stole his heart. He lived selfishly before you, served himself and was proud of his accomplishments. But as time went on, he learned to live selflessly, and everything he did was for you.

He never imagined he could love anything more than you, but then you got pregnant, and you had his child. He is so full of love that he can’t handle it sometimes. He feels like he’s an Astronaut who discovered a new moon colored in shades of your love, beautiful little stars surrounded it with Saebyeol’s precious little face in every single one; its why he wanted to name her Saebyeol. He has no idea how he got so lucky.

“You deserve it more than anyone Jin. So stop crying. Me and Saebyeol are happy and healthy, you should be too.”

“I am— that’s the issue, I am so happy and I have no idea how to handle it. Makes me a goddamn mess.”

You pull back a bit, flat on your feet again as you bring your hands to his forehead and brush his hair out of his face. Smile at him sweetly. God, you got lucky with him too.

“That’s ok. But maybe don’t cry over every little thing, yeah? You’re stressing me out.”

You’re only joking, of course. You’re thankful he cries, even if it breaks your heart; it shows he’s comfortable with his emotions. You just wanna make him laugh a bit, scold him playfully.

He huffs at you and pulls away, flicks his hair even as he sniffles, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. At least I didn’t cry when they forgot the ranch at McDonalds.”

You feign offense, pinch his arm as you huff at him, “Hey! I was pregnant and needed that ranch!”

You both start giggling at each other, which doesn’t last long because Jin’s crying seems to have woken up Saebyeol, judging by the little noises you hear coming from her nursery.

Thank fucking god she isn’t crying.

He gives you a sheepish look, “Oops.”

He isn’t sorry though, not really. He’ll never admit it, but sometimes he will consider waking Saebyeol up on purpose just so he can see her pretty little smile… but he never does, knows his precious little star needs her sleep, and his beautiful moon needs a damn break.

Doesn’t stop him from getting giddy when she finally does wake up, though.

You both walk into Saebyeol’s nursery, and there she is, cooing at nothing while she sucks on her fingers.

“Ugh! She’s starving, do you ever feed her?!”

He immediately rushes over to her as if the kid hasn’t ever been fed properly. Sometimes you wanna smack him, because you feed her literally so many times a day. There’s no way the little thing is actually staving.

But again, he’s dramatic. One of the things you’ve learned to just deal with, especially when it comes to his star.

You roll your eyes as you watch him pick her up and coddle her. But your eyes warm quickly when you see the adoration in his eyes as he holds her. He really does love her so much, loves you too, you’re both his entire universe.

She lets out the tiniest giggle at his pouty face, a smile following as she reaches up to touch his cheek curiously.

“She’s so pretty. Just like me.”

Yeah, ok, you roll your eyes again. Because of course Jin would say some shit like that while looking so serious about it.

“Yah, what about me?” You pout at him as you cross your arms, lean over a bit to look at Saebyeol as he holds her.

He waves his free hand at you, “Yeah, sure, you’re pretty.”

You’d definitely smack him on the head if he wasn’t holding Saebyeol right now.

But of course he’s kidding. He thinks next to Saebyeol, you’re the prettiest girl in the world. Could stare at you for hours, wishes he could imprint your face on his brain so everything looks like you.

He smirks at you, bumps his shoulder into yours, “Seriously babe, you’re pretty. Prettiest ever. But I guess that’s expected, I’m world-wide handsome, you know? Of course I’d have the prettiest wife and daughter.”

You cackle at this, because it is so sweet, but such a Jin thing to say. Of course he’d make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world, while also reminding you he is the prettiest man in the world.

Your cackle doesn’t last long though, because Saebyeol starts whining. She’s hungry, not starving like Jin swears she is, but she is hungry.

“Oh, poor baby, such a hungry baby, daddy will feed you, don’t you worry… won’t let mommy starve you.”

You glare at him as you walk away to prepare the bottle for Saebyeol, mutter a few unsavory words under your breathe.

Time to feed the baby before the other baby has another fit.

#bts #bts jin #bts seokjin #kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #jin #jin fluff #seokjin fanfic #seokjin fluff #jin x you #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfic #jin bts #bts fluff #jin x y/n #seokjin x y/n

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ajesterwrites · 5 months ago

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1. first day blues

summary: while grappling with secrets and the trauma of your parents' deaths, you prepare to start your junior year of high school. thankfully, bonnie is there to lend a hand.

pairings: bonnie bennett x reader (platonic), jeremy gilbert x reader (familial), jenna sommers x reader (familial)

warnings: brief mention of substance abuse and sex, nothing else because this chapter is pretty boring sorry 😭

word count: 3K

A/N: This is my first time posting on tumblr so please be kind. any feedback is greatly appreciated <3

Y/N E. GILBERT was a force to be reckoned with.

When you were one, you took your first steps despite being told that a critical injury would permanently hinder your ability to walk.

When you were two, you ate an entire bowl of broccoli without a single complaint, and your mother even managed to throw in a few brussels sprouts.

When you were three, your mother gave birth to a baby boy named Jeremy. He soon became the obstacle to your reign, but certainly not the end of it.

When you were four, you accidentally locked yourself in a storage closet. Your parents didn't find you until two hours later since they'd been tending to the child who stole your attention.

At five, you won her first participation trophy. At six, you earned second place in the school spelling bee. At seven, you befriended Bonnie Bennett and Caroline Forbes. At eight, you developed your first crush... but he purposefully rejected you in front of the entire school, so you broke his nose. That was the first time you'd been sent to the principal's office.

At nine, you stole a pair of earrings from the shopping mall because you thought they looked nice. The officers called your parents, and you were grounded for a month. That was just the beginning of what would be an extensive rap sheet.

By the time you were fourteen years old, you were acing every class in high school. When you were fifteen, you fell into the wrong crowd and was introduced to the twisted world of sex, drugs, alcohol, and peer pressure. But despite your flaws and addictions, you began to date the nice guy known as Matt Donovan. To the outside world, you two were the perfect couple. But behind closed doors, you were a hurricane of issues.

And when you were sixteen...

When you were sixteen, the life you knew was shattered to pieces.

Dear Diary,

I can't believe I still write in this thing. Today is the first day of 11th grade. Yay.

It's been about four months since the accident. Holly says that writing my thoughts and feelings may provide some sort of consolation, but all I feel is grief and guilt. I know I can never tell anyone what happened, and the secrecy is killing me inside. Maybe I deserve it.

For the first time since school ended, I'm going to see Bonnie and Caroline. I haven't spoken to either of them over the summer because I was in rehab. They don't know that. They don't know anything.

But after staying there for quite some time, I've learned to master the art of saying "I'm fine" and actually looking like I mean it.

But enough of that. Today is the day I put on yet another mask and hope no one is able to see right through it. Wish me luck.

Closing the journal, you sighed. Today was your first day of school...and even though you'd gone through this process for a decade, this year was different.

You tucked the pen and journal underneath your pillow and hopped off the edge off your bed, ready to go over your look for the hundredth time in the vanity mirror. Your hair was tied in a ponytail. Your red blouse showed enough of your chest to elicit minor bullying, but not enough to get dress-coded by a dean. To be safe, you pulled a white tank top underneath.

It wasn't until you heard your Aunt Jenna blasting Taylor Swift music did you run downstairs, just in time to belt the lyrics "And I was crying on the staircase, begging you please don't go!" in unison an off-key harmony. Jenna looked at you, her eyes glistening as you screamed the rest of the song in a manner that was sure to wake up any neighbors in a three-block radius.

When your performance was over, the two of you burst into giggles. Nostalgia hit you like a train as you reminisced the fun times you'd shared with your aunt and mother whenever Jenna would come to visit. You hadn't had fun like this in months, not since your return home.

"Turn that garbage off!" Jeremy shouted, running down the steps as Here We Go came on next. Jenna paused the song, and when Jeremy came into view, you judgmentally surveyed your brother's outfit. It seemed he was taking his job as a resident emo kid very seriously.

"Don't be a hater," You commented, walking over to the counter to pour herself a nice steaming cup of coffee. "You're just mad because Kearney's more emo than you—and he doesn't have to try so hard."

Truth be told, you didn't know anything about Mat Kearney. But you knew nothing would grate your little brother's nerves more than hearing that some random pop singer could possibly be more emo than him.

Jeremy rolled his eyes and looked at your aunt for backup. "Jenna, are you just gonna let her talk to me like that?"

Jenna scoffed. "You just insulted Mat Kearney. Of course I am."

You laughed victoriously and looked to see Jeremy roll his eyes once again like the moody teenager he was, but you could've sworn you saw him fighting back a smile—the first one you'd seen since you'd gotten back. And though it was brief, it was your first real family moment.

"I made toast!" Jenna suddenly announced.

Bing! Two slices of scorched bread popped up. Jeremy wrinkled his nose at the smell.

You tilted your head, forcing yourself not to laugh as you asked, "Is it supposed to be black?"

A disappointed crease formed in Jenna's forehead as she frowned and shook her head. "No, it is not," She replied dryly. "It's your first day of school and I'm totally unprepared."

"Hey..." You drawled, thinking of a way to make her feel better. "Extra crisp means extra flavor, right?"

Jenna smiled, even though you both knew that's not quite how cooking worked. "And this is why you're my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece."

"Exactly, which automatically makes you my favorite," Jenna reasoned. She held up a five-dollar bill. "Lunch money?"

Jeremy looked at you, but you chuckled softly, shaking your head. "I'm good."

He took it and shoved it in his pocket. With her free hand, Jenna handed you a bottle of coffee creamer.

"Anything else?" Jenna asked, shoving her wallet into her purse. "A number two pencil?"

"Nope," You and Jeremy chimed in unison.

Jenna wasn't just your aunt—she was your legal guardian. As the sister of Miranda Gilbert, your mother, it'd been her responsibility to step up and take you in. Otherwise, you and Jeremy would've ended up in the foster system under the care of whoever fate appointed.

But Jenna wasn't exactly a parent. At best, she was a college kid at heart, relatively young and looking to have a good time, so she was struggling with her new role as an almost-mother. But she still tried the best she could, and that was all that mattered.

"By the way, you're late to your presentation," You mentioned nonchalantly as she stirred the creamer into her drink.

"No I'm-" Jenna started to say, frowning as she looked down at her wristwatch. "Crap! Will you be able to hold down the fort while I'm gone?"

"Of course." You tossed your spoon in the sink. Jenna's eyes hastily darting across the kitchen, muttering the words I'm late incessantly as if that'd somehow stop time. Her repetition of words was one of the many things she did whenever she was nervous or panicking, and lately, it happened more often than not.

You picked up a ring of keys on the counter and dangled them in front of her, not even looking up to see the relieved look on Jenna's face as she grabbed them.

"Thanks, I love you, have a good day at school!" Jenna shouted hurriedly as she dashed out, barely giving you or your brother time to process what she was saying. It seemed that since she took you in, she'd stopped prioritizing her own needs, granting her practically no time to process her grief or in this case, make it to work in good time on an important day.

"Good look with your presentation!" You yelled back just before the door slammed shut. The car screeched as Jenna peeled out of the driveway and vanished down the street.

Sighing, you brought your coffee mug to your lips and let the tv play in the background. It'd been turned on to a news channel. And normally you found the news boring because it was always about some upcoming event in Mystic Falls, but this time, the headline seized your attention.

According to the reporters, two college kids had been fatally attacked by an animal on the road. Their pictures flashed across the screen: a pretty, blonde woman and her handsome boyfriend.

"Damn," You mumbled and sipped your drink. The town of Mystic Falls wasn't an interesting place. It had an extremely low crime rate, and most misdemeanors were committed by drunk teens. Even accidental fires were a rarity. Animal attacks just didn't happen.

To avoid the disturbing thoughts that would undoubtedly resurface, you gulped the rest of your coffee down, leaving not even a drop in the ceramic mug.

But as you went to go wash it out, you noticed Jeremy at the counter, hunched over as he sipped his coffee. A troubled look burned in his baggy eyes. He hadn't slept. Of course, he hadn't slept. It was the first first day of school since your parents died. And though it didn't quite compare to the agony of holidays, it was an anniversary.

After washing it mug and leaving it to dry, you poked him in the shoulder. "Hey," You said gently. "Frank Iero wannabe, you good?"

Even though you knew the answer and how much the question annoyed him, you couldn't help but ask. Ever since your parents' deaths, he took on the appearance of a punk rock emo kid—and he had the black nail polish to prove it. However, his aesthetic wasn't the issue. In fact, you'd found his new style quite cool. What you didn't like was the attitude and the isolation. It was dangerous, especially at a time like this.

Jeremy lowered his mug and scoffed for what seemed to be the fifth time that morning. "Don't start," He snapped, reminding you why at the age of 14, he needed his morning coffee. He was usually a lot meaner than this, but now he looked too exhausted to even try to hurt your feelings. Not that he could anyways...he seemed to think you didn't have any.

You started to respond when a car honked outside. She flinched at the sudden noise and walked to the kitchen window, peering outside to see a pale blue Toyota Prius hanging in the driveway.

Frowning, you let go of the blinds and turned back around. "Jeremy, there's someone in the driveway."

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you," He began, though the leveled tone of his voice let you know that wasn't the case. "I called Bonnie to pick you up. Since you don't have a car and you two haven't spoken all summer."

You raised an eyebrow. You weren't mad, just...surprised. Much like her, Jeremy seemed too wrapped up in his own personal issues to give anyone else's a second thought. That's how things had been the past season, so the random act of kindness brought a smile to your lips.

Bonnie blasted her horn again. You laughed, recalling Bonnie's impatience when it came to you, and grabbed your things before ruffling Jeremy's hair just to irritate him. He scowled at you and slapped her hand away, eliciting yet another giggle from you.

"Don't leave the house too late," You instructed. Just like old times when her father had to rush to the clinic and her mother was too busy organizing some big charity event to send them off. You'd been driving him to school before you'd even gotten your permit.

Jeremy nodded, checking his reflection in the refrigerator door, and you rolled her eyes as you left, hoping that he'd lock the door behind you.

You rushed to hug your best friend, the remarkable and irreplaceable Bonnie Bennett. You'd known Bonnie since childhood but you'd lost contact over the summer. And what lost contact really meant was that while she was lifeguarding and trying to plan the best summer of their lives, you had suddenly stopped returning her calls. Then, an unexpected ghosting session soon blurred into a full-blown disappearing act with zero explanation.

But as far as bad blood went, there seemed to be none between the two of you. You were glad, although you suspected your other best friend might take a little longer to forgive you.

"So, how have you been?" You asked after she got settled inside the small car.

"Great," Bonnie replied as she pulled out of the driveway. "Caroline and I missed you."

Caroline Forbes, your other best friend who wasn't exactly the forgiving type, but was the missing third in your blissful friendship, as questionable as she could be.

"On a scale of one to ten, how mad was she?"

"Enraged. You should've seen the steam coming out of her ears—she looked like she was going to burn Godzilla to death. With her eyes."

You couldn't help but laugh at the unusually vivid picture in your mind. Caroline had a temper that could scare even the toughest of men and monsters.

"I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch over summer break," You said sincerely, knowing full well that an apology was in order. "I was sent to this place to find peace and thought it'd be easier to deal if I did it alone."

You wished Bonnie would've said something along the lines of You still could've at least had the decency to call, but instead she smiled reassuringly and the words that tumbled out of her mouth were, "Don't sweat it. I'm just glad you're okay."

You pursed her lips together, almost frustrated with her friend's understanding nature. Bonnie and Caroline had been by your side since you were seven years old...and you'd just abandoned them. No warning, no explanation. That called for some sort of repercussions.

"How's your Grams doing?" You asked coolly. You didn't want to get so sucked up in your thoughts that Bonnie realized something was wrong.

"Glad you asked," Bonnie cheerfully responded. "So Grams is telling me that I'm psychic. Our ancestors were from Salem, witches, and all that-"

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah!" Bonnie grinned at the surprised look on your face. "I know, crazy, but she's going on and on about it and I'm like- put this woman in a home already!"

You laughed at the pure life in Bonnie's eyes and demeanor.

"But then I started thinking," She continued. "I predicted Obama and I predicted Heath Ledger, and I still think Florida will break off and turn into little resort islands."

"Yeah, but if that happens, the parts without water are probably going to turn into a series of mental institutions."

I probably shouldn't be making jokes like that, seeing as I-

"Oh my god, you're right!" Bonnie agreed, laughing.

"So about this psychic thing. Think it could actually be true?"

"Totally."

"Let's test it," You suggested. You knew Bonnie didn't really believe she was psychic, but figured it was worth exploring. At least to you, it was.

"You want me to predict something?"

"Yep."

Bonnie chuckled. "Really? Last I checked, you scoffed at anything supernatural."

"That's not true!"

"Um, yeah, it is, Rae," Bonnie giggled. "You avoided my Grams like the plague. And you forced me and Care to play with that ouija board just to prove it wasn't real. I still have nightmares!"

Bonnie seemed to be amused, but you felt...you weren't sure what. Had you really been that much of an asshole?

You cleared her throat. "I'm not the same girl I was. What's in my future? Am I gonna die an old, lonely, psychotic cat lady, or will I find love?" Bonnie burst into laughter, struggling to keep her eyes on the road. You couldn't help but grin. "I'm serious! Come on, it'll be fun."

"Alright, fine," Bonnie said once she composed herself, but a bright smile still lingered on her face. "I see..."

A beak smashed into the windshield and zoomed past. You nearly jumped out of her skin. Bonnie instinctively slammed her foot on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop and black crow feathers drifted onto the hood of her car. Your heart palpitated...and not in a good way.

"What was that?" Bonnie gasped. You clutching her chest in an effort to tame your heartbeat. "Y/N, are you okay?"

You faced the window, closed your eyes, and quietly counted up threes.

"I'm so sorry, I think that was a bird or something, it came out of nowhere."

You looked at Bonnie and smiled. "It's okay," You replied nonchalantly. You didn't even have to turn your head to see the persisting worried frown on her face. "I'm fine, really. I mean, I can't be freaked out by cars forever, right?"

There was a slight pause. But when you looked into your friend's eyes, it wasn't pity you saw—it was silent, sparkling support and encouragement, pride even. "I predict this year is going to be kickass," Bonnie said. "And I predict all the sad and dark times will be over, and you are going to be beyond happy."

A real smile tugged at your lips. "I hope so."

Bonnie nodded with an even bigger smile. And when she returned her eyes to the road, she wasn't too quick to drive. Instead, she counted down from five to one before continuing down the busy street.

To ease the lingering tension and calm your nerves, she turned the radio on full volume. Moments later, you and Bonnie were shamelessly screaming the lyrics to Avril Lavigne's Girlfriend at the top of your lungs, even rolling down the windows so the entire town could hear your chaotic harmony.

--- --- ---

Did I just put two instances of characters singing in one chapter? Why yes I did 🙂‍↕��

Okay it won't happen again

Hope y'all enjoyed <3 Just thought I could start on a light note since it gets dark ✨️

#bonnie bennett #tvd season 1 #jeremy gilbert #jenna sommers #tvd x reader #tvd x you #I was like 14 when I wrote this #bear with me #Spotify

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verybadatwriting · 1 year ago

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Blood and Marrow

Summary: Reader is the child of a hard-working single mother and a long-forgotten one night stand. One day the consequences of their father's identity catches up to the Reader

Warnings: Imprisonment, needles, improper conditions for prisoners, bone marrow stealing, surgery without anesthetic, torture essentially, kidnapping, in-world curse word, parental death, iv’s

Notes: It’s a little slow to get started, but whatever.

Gn!reader, Fett!reader

Word count: 4030

The whispering streets sped by as the train picked up speed. Another day was done, you and your mother were finally on your way home. Even though today wasn’t the longest she’d ever had to stay at work, it sure felt like it. All but two cooks and half the servers got food poisoning, so you had to help out. Normally you got to sit in the corner and do your schoolwork, instead you were ferrying meals and dishes back and forth between the kitchen and customers.

Your mom had been working here since before you were born, so it was like a second home to you. A dirty, noisy home, full of strangers, but a home nonetheless. When you were a baby your mom would park you in a corner with some toys and just keep half an eye on you while she worked.

That corner became your spot, permanently. Everyone knew not to seat customers there, except on the days you worked. Today it was occupied by an elderly Mon Calamari couple. They ordered crab-stuffed cream puffs, and complained that they had too much crab, and not enough stuffing. You tried explaining that it’s stuffed with crab, so the crab is the stuffing, but they were firm.

Eventually you just took the puffs back to the kitchen, waited a few minutes, and came back out with the same plate. This time they were “absolutely perfect” and they asked why “You didn’t make them like this the first time?”

Putting on your best customer service face you simply smiled and told them to enjoy their meal.

“What I really wanted to tell them,” You said to your mom, “Was that they looked like a bunch of shriveled up–”

“Alright!” She interrupted sternly, “That’s quite enough.” She tried giving you her signature ‘mom-glare’ but you could see a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

The train ground to a halt at stop G17, and you disembarked. This was the worst part of the commute; strolling through the slums. Ever since you were little you had hated your neighborhood. The neon lights and bottles strewn about, the clusters of people who never seemed to disperse or do anything other than stand around.

About two years ago things got really bad after a rough batch of layoffs, and the standing around turned to rioting. Rioting turned to looting, which turned to robberies. You and your mother hid in the bathroom as men ransacked your apartment. Crashes rattled the ground as they tossed through dressers and drawers looking for valuables.

They were about to open the bathroom door when an authoritative voice ordered them to put their hands up. Obviously they didn’t obey, and the sounds of fighting erupted. An electric zapping sound buzzed and the robbers thunked to the ground.

“Apartment building 5C clear.” The man said.

“Wait– scratch that.” Said another, identical voice. “One room left.” The door slowly opened, and the man pointed a flashlight inside. He didn’t wear the uniform of the Coruscant Underworld Police, instead his armor was mostly white with red accents. He lowered his stun baton when the light passed over the scared forms of you and your mother.

“Now apartment building 5C is clear.” He said into his com, then to your mother, “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She said, “We’re fine.”

“Thorn,” The other trooper called into the bathroom. “We’ve gotta get moving. Stone needs help with the riots to the west. Latest reports say three dead.”

The troopers arrested the robbers and quickly left, leaving you and your mom alone in your completely trashed apartment. It took hours to clean it all up. Even longer to even start to feel safe again.

Now, as you finally slid off your shoes and settled down on your bed, you felt a little safe. The doors were locked and bolted. In the past two years nobody else broke in, and things were calm enough.

“Try to catch some sleep, Y/n,” Your mom poked her head into your room.

“Mhm.” You nodded, “I’ve just gotta finish up some homework. I promise I’ll be in bed by one.”

“That’s my kid.” Your mom went to the joint living/dining room and spread a blanket on the couch. She laid there, and you listened to her breathing slowly steady as she drifted off to sleep.

Your blinks got longer and longer until you set aside the work and stilus to finally sleep. Just like you promised, it was a few minutes before one. What felt like a moment later, you woke up with a start.

At first, you couldn’t tell what woke you, but then you heard footsteps clanking in the living room. They stopped again, and you heard a brief, muffled yell from your mother. The clanking started again, and seconds later, a tall metallic figure stood in your doorway. It approached, and pressed a cloth over your mouth and nose. The world went fuzzy and then dark as you clawed at the metal arm.

Some time later, you’re not quite sure how long, you woke up with a splitting headache. You tried to rub your eyes, but found your arms were immobile. The room spun around as you reoriented yourself. At first you thought you were lying on your back, but in reality you were hanging from the ceiling by two shackles on your wrists. Your feet barely brushed the floor, so all your weight was pulling down on your arms.

Your eyes slowly acclimated to the darkness around you. The walls were slick durasteel. The floor was metal as well, but slightly slanted towards a small, round drain in the center. Layers of old, dried crud that no one had bothered to clean up streaked toward it.

As you just hung there, breathing heavily because of a stabbing pain in your sternum. You also had a stabbing, unending pain in your head. Before all of this had time to fully register, the door slid open, a blinding light was turned on, and a Skakoan man entered. His dark blue robes draped loosely from his hissing pressure suit. Tubes reached from his neck plate to the upper chest plate, which featured nozzles and ports. The metal caught the light and glinted.

Closely after him, a 2-1B surgical droid followed. The shiny metal of its body was all straight lines and perfect curves. The ends of its arms were equipped with tools; tools you couldn't even imagine the purpose of. Its lifeless, glowing eyes stared through you.

“Shall we begin, Emir Tambor?” It asked, holding up a container.

“Of course.”

Tambor took the box from the droid, opened it, and removed a long, sharp needle. There was a clear collection area at the base. He sterilized the instrument. The droid, meanwhile, was approaching you. It was holding a bottle of disinfectant, which it sprayed onto your right hip after moving aside the clothing that was in the way. Your skin rose with goosebumps at the cold.

The Skakoan approached, holding a scalpel. Slowly it was pressed into your side, through layers of skin, then muscle. Then it held back the layers of muscle while Tambor raised a drill and pushed it through the exterior of your bone. Your chest tightened in pain. You bit your tongue. You tasted blood in your mouth from biting too hard, while more trickled down your leg.

“Syringe.” Tambor said as he removed the drill and held out his gloved hand to the droid. It glinted against the harsh light as it passed between them. It plunged into the freshly-drilled hole in your bone and into the squishy marrow. The container at the end slowly filled with a dark red liquid. Darker than blood.

“Suture,” The droid said, holding out a tool to the Skakoan scientist.

“You deal with that. I have what I need; 18.44 precious ounces of bone marrow.” Tambor started towards the door, cradling the container like it was worth more than a hundred kyber crystals. The door slid closed behind him, leaving only you and the dead-eyed droid.

Finally, you allowed a sob to rip through your chest. Your chest heaved as you drew a shuddering breath, then devolved back into tears. The sound echoed off the shadowy walls. When Tambor left, the overhead lights turned off automatically, plunging the room into near complete darkness. Only the droid’s glowing eyes provided light. Even then, they were fixed at patching up the mess that was your hip.

“It would assist me if you could stay still,” It said.

For the next few minutes you tried to think of anything else than the metal digits nimbly stitching up your flesh. Where were you? Why are they doing this? Who is ‘they’? Did they kidnap your mom, too?

The thought of your mom hanging from her wrists in some dark cell, just as you were, was enough to make you cry again. The droid whirred disapprovingly. You stifled them as best you could.

It was almost over. The droid just had to finish stitching together the final layer of muscle, and apply a bacta patch. It never got the chance, because the door blew open, and a few clone troopers marched in, guns blazing. They shot down the surgery droid the moment they saw it. Behind them, you saw a half dozen more blue -armored soldiers in the hall.

“This one’s alive,” called out the one nearest to you, “Kix, get over here!”

“Can you hear me?” The medic asked, opening his kit.

You nodded.

“This is gonna sting a little,” He said, pressing a bacta patch over your still bleeding hip. The sting was the least of your worries. Even that slight amount of pressure was enough to make you gasp in pain.

“You’re okay,” Kix said reassuringly to you, then he barked at his brothers to unfasten the chains holding you up. Almost immediately, they snapped the right chain and all your weight swung onto the other arm. Kix put his arm under your shoulders, and held you up while one of his brothers worked at undoing the second manacle.

“Can you walk?” Kix asked once his brother had freed you. You tried putting a little weight on your leg, but couldn’t manage it. Your other leg nearly buckled, and only Kix’s arm kept you standing.

“No.” You hissed through clenched teeth. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He said, “What’s your name?”

“Y/n,” You answered.

“We’re going to take you to our ship, Y/n,” He said, “You’ll be on the first flight out of here.”

“Mhmm.” You said, the blood loss making you a bit woozy. Your head lolled to the side, and rested against Kix’s shoulder.

“Kix,” one of the soldiers said. His helmet had a blue downwards-pointing arrow, and a smaller red triangle above that. His armor was battered, just like the rest of them. The paint was worn away in places.

“This area still isn’t secured. They’ll have to wait to be evacuated.”

“They can’t wait,” Kix replied, “Look at that, Dogma” he pointed to a puddle of your blood on the floor, “Look at it. They’ve lost too much blood already. We’re getting them out, now.”

After a moment of thoughtfully looking at the blood he nodded and said, “We’ll cover you.” Then he spoke into his comm, “Civilian evac needed. Be ready to provide cover fire.”

“Hear that?” Kix asked you. “We’ll get you out of here.”

“Hardcase, and Dogma, on my mark,” came a voice over the comms a moment later. “Three… Two… One!”

Dogma leaned out of the door and chucked a grenade up the hallway, and at the same time, another clone did the same thing from a room across the hall. They both ducked back inside, and covered their ears as two small explosions shook the walls.

One soldier with pale blue stripes on his armor jumped out into the corridor with a 6-Z rotary cannon and started firing massive sprays of blaster bolts towards the droids. At the same time, Kix shifted to carry most of your weight, and started running towards the turbolift at the opposite end of the hall.

The whole escape was a bit of a blur. The hallway was one long, straight passage from the room you were being held in to the lift. Unfortunately, that meant there was barely any cover. Even with the clones mowing down rows of droids, a few bolts still sailed down the hall towards you. It was so loud.

But the noise stopped suddenly once you saw into one of the other rooms. Everything stopped. The world stopped. Maybe even the whole galaxy.

In that room, one identical to the one you had been held in, hung a woman. Her wrists were bound in chains, her head hung limply. Her clothes were bloodsoaked. Worst of all, she was absolutely still.

Nothing – not the pain in your leg, not the slicing scalpel tearing flesh, not the needle siphoning marrow – no, nothing could ever come close to the pain of seeing her like that, and knowing she was gone.

You felt Kix tug you forward, ripping you back to reality where everything was moving and there was no time to mourn. Before you knew it, the two of you were in the elevator. The smooth doors slid closed, drowning out the sounds of battle.

Through the curved window, you could see you were on an asteroid. The rocky barren landscape was littered with ships, troops, and the flashes of blaster fire. It looked like the Republic was taking the whole place.

“We’re almost there,” Kix said softly. “In the transport there’s an IM-6 medical droid that will take good care of you. You’re gonna be okay, kid.”

Finally, you reached the roof. Three low-altitude transports awaited you. You rushed to the closest one, Kix pulled down an emergency cot at the back, and set you down. He had to go back to the fight, but he dosed you with something first. It made the world fuzzy. Your pain dulled.

You barely even registered the little floating droid working diligently on your leg and your chest. Kix came back twice, both times half-carrying one of his wounded brothers. He set up the other two cots for them as the droid floated over to assist.

Not too long later, the transport started to fill up with soldiers. They were tired, but not completely exhausted. They quietly cracked jokes to one another, despite injuries.

The doors slid closed, the ship started rumbling, then flying.

Kix stood in the back, near the cots, to assess his brothers. Once they were situated, he squatted down next to you.

“It’s been a little while,” He said, quietly. “How’re you holding up?”

“It still hurts,” You said, “But the meds help.”

“Good,” He nodded. “Is there someone you want us to contact, tell them you’re alright?”

You gained a faraway stare and paused as your eyes welled up.

“Were there any other survivors?” You asked, dreading the answer.

“There were not.”

“No, then,” You said, voice perilously close to cracking. “I only ever had my mom, and as of today, she’s dead.”

You reached up and wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Where do you live?”

“Coruscant,” You said. “But I don't have anywhere to go. I’ll be put in foster care till I age out, then I’ll just be dumped on the street.”

“It’ll be okay,” Kix said. “We don’t have to figure it all out right now.” He looked at the datapad clipped to the side of your cot. His eyebrows wrinkled.

“Are you having trouble breathing?” He asked.

“A little. Why?”

“Your respiratory muscles are working harder than expected. I’m going to give you something to help them relax.”

He pushed a small dose of a clear liquid through your IV and almost immediately you felt your muscles relax from head to toe.

“You’re gonna be okay,” He said. You found you couldn’t keep your eyes open, so you slept.

You awoke when the transport landed in the hangar of a much larger ship. The able-bodied clones hopped out quickly, and were soon absorbed by the throngs of people all fixing, refueling, and disembarking from ships.

The two injured clones were transferred onto stretchers. As they floated by, you saw one was missing the lower chunk of his leg. The other clone was only half unconscious. His chest plate was battered with blaster burns, and as he drifted past, you smelled the unmistakable scent of burning flesh.

Kix scooped you up, and set you down on a hoverchair. Almost immediately you felt more awake. On the journey to the medbay, you watched others that followed the same route as you. Most injuries weren’t that bad. The general mood was celebratory, even in the medbay.

“I’m gonna help you into a bed,” Kix said, “But then I have to go help my brothers. I won’t be far.”

Once more he lifted you gently, making sure not to put pressure on your hip, and laid you down in the bed. You watched as Kix went from bed to bed bandaging and comforting the injured.

Slowly, everything settled down. One by one the patched up clones were sent on their way, and the medbay was calm. There was still work to do, but the medics were no longer running from one task to the next, instead they took inventories of what materials were needed, and updated medical logs.

It was then that your trouble breathing got much, much worse. Despite trying your hardest, very little air moved in or out of your lungs. Pain coursed through your chest as your muscles tried to pull in what little breath they could. You coughed, hoping that would help.

All that did was bring the taste of blood to your tongue. You sat up. A drop fell from your mouth and onto the pristine white sheets.

Kix turned at the sound of your cough. He set down the data-pad and rushed over when he saw you sit up and spit blood.

“You’re okay,” He said, placing a stethoscope on your back, “Keep coughing.” He turned to another medic and said, “We’re gonna need a needle, tubing, and a container.”

He grabbed the bedside table.

“Lean on this,” Kix said, pulling it closer. You turned, sitting on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off, and you braced your forearms on top of it, still coughing and trying to clear your lungs.

The medic returned quickly, all the necessary supplies in his arms.

“You’re gonna feel a sharp prick on your back, just below your ribs,” Kix said, picking up the syringe and securing the tubing on one end. “On three, ready?”

You nodded.

“One, two,” He pushed the needle through skin, muscle, and finally lung. It was uncomfortable and caught you off guard, but immediately the pressure started to decrease. A moment or two later, you could breathe with not too much difficulty.

Kix arranged everything so that you could sit up against the pillows.

“What’s wrong with me?” You asked.

“There is fluid leaking into your lungs,” Kix said, “I’m not exactly sure what it is; there’s at least some blood in it.”

“What caused it?”

“I’m guessing they weren’t too careful when extracting bone marrow from the sternum, and somehow nicked your lung. We can keep draining it, but we’ll have to fix the puncture at some point. We’ll probably use the drainage tube to access it…”

You kept listening as he worked on possible solutions. The events of the past few hours suddenly washed over you, and your eyes once again drooped closed.

When you woke up, there was no longer a bag attached to your side. Where the tube had been, there was just a simple bacta patch.

The medbay staff had changed. They looked less tired. Kix was in the corner, near the door, talking with a blonde trooper. When they noticed you were awake, they came over.

You’d seen the other trooper before. He held his helmet under one arm, the jaig eyes peering out at you.

“Y/n,” Kix said, pulling up a chair next to your bed, “This is Captain Rex. He leads the 501st.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, “The ones that got me outta there.”

“Kix was just sharing that you’re healing well,” Rex said.

“I definitely feel way better, now that I’m not coughing up blood and struggling to breathe,” You said.

“I am very thankful we fixed that,” Kix nodded, then another medic called him over.

“Excuse me,” He said, then walked to the other end of the medbay.

Rex was quiet, as though he didn’t really know what to say.

“Anyway,” he finally said, “I’m here to see if you have any information that might help us.”

“Uh… I don’t really know much.”

“That’s fine, just tell me what happened.”

“Well, they kidnapped us from my mom’s apartment on Coruscant. Some droids drugged us and we must’ve been out for at least a few hours, since when I woke up in that cell, they had already taken bone marrow from my chest. I hung there for a bit, then they took marrow from my hip, and that’s when y’all showed up.”

“Can you think of any reason that the Separatists would want to target you or your family?”

“Nope. Mom and I aren’t politically active or important. Truth be told, I haven't the foggiest who my father was.”

You talked for a bit longer, and just as Rex was standing up, Kix came back. His eyes were fixed on the datapad held in his hands. His forehead was deeply creased; his expression the epitome of concern.

“Wait one moment, Captain,” He said. “This… this is bad.”

“What is it?” You and Rex both asked.

“The team on the ground just finished uploading their reports on the equipment. It’s for advanced genetic sequencing. They were working to reconstruct Jango Fett’s DNA.”

“What were they even working from?” Rex asked, eyebrows scrunching together.

“They spliced together DNA from one of Fett’s children, their mother, and one of our brothers.”

“Jango didn’t have any children.” Rex said, then asked, “Right?”

“That’s what I thought, before I found this lab, at least” Kix shook his head, then turned towards you, “Y/n, I ran a paternity test on you. You are Jango Fett’s child.”

“Okay?” You said. “I have, like, zero clue what that means.”

“Have you told the general yet?” Rex asked Kix, completely ignoring your confusion.

“I’m on my way to do just that.”

With that, Kix left, clutching his datapad.

A few weeks later, you had fully healed.

Going through your old apartment was difficult. You only found a few things worth keeping. Most held too many painful memories. Nothing of value was left, since after people figured out it was empty, it was seen as an easy target.

Sifting through the piles of overturned mess was too hard, so you didn’t. Instead, you picked up a few things. A necklace. A hologram of you and your mom, both beaming at whoever took it.

You snapped it closed, and pushed yourself to your feet. You took in your ransacked apartment one last time. It reminded you of the last time this happened, two years ago. The only difference now, is that you had a place to go.

“You ready?” Came a voice from the doorway.

“Yup.” You said, voice wavering, but not breaking. “Let’s go, Kix.”

Word spread fast that you were Jango’s child. The troopers of the 501st took you under their wings. Kix trained you in the medical field, and Rex taught you to shoot.

They set you up with a bunk and a drawer, which was all you needed. Sleeping in the same room as countless clones was calming. Their rhythmic breathing lulled you into a feeling of safety.

Over a late night of swapping stories, you learned that Jango had another child. A boy named Boba.

You knew you had to find him. All you had to do first was track him down.

#star wars #tcw #writing #marvel #clone wars #the clone wars #star wars clone wars #x reader #gn!reader #rex x reader #rex x teen!reader #kix x reader #kix x teen!reader #teen!reader #clone trooper kix #clone medic kix #medic kix x reader #medic kix x teen!reader

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ashcal99 · 1 year ago

Text

Golden Hour : Rosalie Hale~

Prologue

"She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night. I don't need no light to see you shine. You slow down time in your golden hour."

Summary: By the young age of twenty years old, Grayson Cly had been through his fair share of trauma. Trauma that had left him a single father. Trauma that only grew more complicated when he joined his cousin Sam Uley as a shape shifting wolf. But, what happens when he imprints on the one thing he was born to protect the world from? Can he stick to his instincts when it comes to that protection, or will the persistence of that imprint derail his life even more?

Warnings: Eventual smut (18+ only), mentions of death, depression, violence, general angst, slow burn

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Not sure how many parts this will be but yahhhh. Comment if I missed any warning or anything plz. Lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list thnx.

Soundtrack

Series Masterlist

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Grayson had always been mature for his age, taking every shocking thing that came his way with stride. So, when his girlfriend, Evelyn, of three years became pregnant with his child the beginning of their senior year, he promised himself he would be a better father than his had been for him. A father that their child deserved. His life had of course grown more complicated given the baby that grew more and more day by day, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of course he was terrified. Terrified of not being enough, terrified of what this meant for not only his future, but Evelyn’s as well. That didn’t stop him from being excited at the end of the day. Deep down, he knew that this was what he was made for, the instinct of being a parent seemingly being born inside of him. So, when the day came that the contractions started, he had felt as prepared as possible, despite the butterflies filling his stomach. He had held her hand throughout the entire labor, her squeezing so hard that he was sure she would end up braking something.

The cry of his son as he entered the world made him the happiest he had ever been in his life. And then everything else shattered around him. Everything was seemingly fine, until the bleeding wouldn’t stop. So much blood. Something was horribly wrong, that much was obvious, and the panic began to set in. There was nothing he could do, but sit back and pray to whatever god there was that the doctor would be able to save her. In the end, his prayers weren’t enough, and what had been the happiest day of his life had quickly also become the worst.

So as he sat there, on the plush worn out cushions of his mother’s couch, just days after loosing the love of his life, he stared into the beautiful eyes of his child. The same eyes that he had gotten from his mother, and he allowed himself to feel the pain of her loss. The pain that left a gaping hole in his chest. Tears pricked at his eyes as he attempted to blink them away, but if there was one thing that he knew now to be true of grief is that it demanded to be felt.

Despite the help his mother had been giving him in his time of need, the same mother who had raised him single handedly, he felt utterly alone in that moment. His heart ached so badly his whole body was sore as he realized that the beautiful child in his arms would never know just how wonderful his own mother had been. He would never feel the warmth of his mothers embrace, never feel the touch of her kiss on his forehead, and the thought sent his brimming tears over the edge.

The big blue eyes of his son blinked up at him curiously as he eyed his father. Footsteps trailed into the room, a soft hand landing on his shoulder, flinching back as she felt the heat radiating off of his skin. “Why don’t you get some fresh air, Gray? You seem a little overheated.” She suggested, concern coating her voice as she gently took the baby from his arms, ushering him towards the back door.

Grayson nodded, sniffling slightly as he moved forward, attempting to wipe the tears away as he pushed his body numbly to the door. A cool summer breeze blew through his hair as he shut the door behind himself, sucking in a shaky breath. The grief stabbed him in the chest, finally having been by himself long enough to feel all of the emotions he had been bottling up since her death. How was he expected to do this alone? Why her? She didn’t deserve to die, why was this world so cruel as to take her away from him?

An agonizing sob left his lips, the memory of her smile running through his mind. A smile he would only ever see again on their son. Sudden anger flooded his heart, anger at whoever had taken the woman he had loved so dearly. Red hot pain seared through every inch of his being as something ripped inside of him. Fire raced across his skin, muscles tearing and growing back together all at once in a moment in time. Seconds morphed into hours of unbearable obliterating pain, before, almost like nothing happened at all, the pain vanished. It had taken a moment to realize anything had actually changed as his eyes trailed down to the ground that was occupied by a very large pair of paws nestled in the tall grass surrounding him, the white fur a stark contrast in the dark green landscape. The anger he had felt just moments ago vanished as it was quickly replaced by shock.

“Don’t panic.” A voice rung through his mind. A voice he recognized. His eyes shot up to the large black wolf in front of him, knowing almost instantly who the figure was. Memories of the Quileute legends rushed through his mind as he realized that despite having learned the stories himself, the memories had been coming from the other wolf, seeing himself as a child within those memories.

Suddenly everything was clear. It was all real, everything, and Sam was right there in front of him, explaining it all. They had grown up together, cousins on his mother’s side, spending hours upon hours together as children, so when the words had come from him, it had fairly quickly calmed the panic that had previously held a tight grip on his chest.

So much had changed in so little time, it was almost as if he had reached his peek. So many emotions had been filling his heart in the past weeks that hearing that the legends were not only real, but included him didn’t set his world on its’ side like it should have. Vampires were real and the fact should have terrified him, but instead, knowing it gave him a sense of purpose. It was his job now to protect his child from the cold blooded monsters and he would be damned if he didn’t put every ounce of effort into doing so.

As the months went on, the pack grew, along with the danger of the blood suckers around them. His newly found brothers created the strongly knit support system that he needed to cope through Evelyn’s death, and even though he knew he would never truly get over the loss that had left a gaping hole in his heart, he would try his best to be okay. To be the father that his son needed. To be the protection that he needed from the evil in this world, because there was no way in hell that he would ever let anything harm him.

Next Chapter -coming soon

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remuslupinschocolat3 · 9 months ago

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My stardew valley headcanons because no one can stop me!!!!!!!

Part one

In alphabetical order

Abigail:

💎Bisexual

💎she/they

💎Hates children

💎In a Polycule with Sam and Sebastian

💎Shares a braincell with Sam

💎smoked weed once with Sebastian and threw up afterwards

💎has random beef with Haley that Haley isn't aware of

💎gets piercings just to spite her dad

💎was only good in English class in highschool

💎regrets being on 2020 alt tiktok

💎 secretly vandalizes their father's yoba shrine (he thinks it's Sebastian doing it)

💎their gay awakening was Keira Knightley in Pirates of the Caribbean (she just like me fr)

Alex

🏈the definition of comphet

🏈himbo

🏈gay man/lesbian alliance with Haley

🏈his first crush was the team captain of an Opponent's school gridball team

🏈 doesn't drink alcohol because he's scared to be like his father

🏈he had a pathetic crush on Elliot when Elliot first moved to the valley

🏈has a bottle of the perfume his mother used to wear and sprays it on his pillow when he's sad

🏈used to go to a gym in Zu City but stopped after a boy there asked him out

🏈dated Haley in highschool for half a year until both of them came out to the other in hopes to let the other down gently

Caroline

🍃not a single thought behind those eyes

🍃fell out of love with Pierre ten years ago

🍃grows marijuana plants in her tea house (have you seen her two heart event?)

🍃dyed her hair green once when she was 15 and never tried a different color again

🍃has a few secret tattoos

🍃the necklace she wears is a gift by Rasmodios

🍃best friends with Jodi and Robin

🍃loves to gossip, she knows everyone's business

🍃almost became an almond mom but stopped before it could affect Abigail in the long run

🍃she has no enemies, everyone loves her but hates her husband

Clint (it's red cus he's a red flag)

🔨4chan user

🔨incel

🔨used to tell his mom to make him a sandwich

🔨called his parents by their first names

🔨knows the Irish dance (I don't know what it's called lmao)

🔨can't have friendships with women because he always thinks they fall in love with him

🔨hasn't exercised since he finished highschool

🔨stalks Emily (that's canon) (stay away from her)

🔨can you tell I hate him yet?

Demetrius

🧪is the reason his first marriage failed

🧪controlling and possessive (Maru's two heart event)

🧪so boring

🧪thinks missionary is the only way to have sex

🧪I know people headcanon him as autistic but I think he's just petty

🧪 arrogant, thinks he's smarter than everyone else because he knows science

🧪was actually an okay step father to Sebastian until Maru was born

🧪him and Robin are not compatible but neither of them want to go through a second divorce

Elliot

🦀 gay and proud

🦀in his mid thirties

🦀 can't swim

🦀 used to write star trek fanfiction as a teenager on fanfiction.net

🦀so fucking tall

🦀went through three separate gender identity crisis before realizing that he just isn't comfortable expressing himself as a stereotypical manly man

🦀demi romantic

🦀gay man/lesbian alliance with Leah

🦀sees Leah as the little sister he never had

🦀 isn't really broke, he's a trustfund baby who wanted to experience what it's like to be a starving artist (thinks it makes his art more valid)

🦀Leah beat him up when she found out

🦀 obsessed with his hair (I'm so jealous of his luscious curls 😭😭😭)

🦀so dramatic (used to be a theater kid for sure)

Emily

🔮the character I headcanon as autistic

🔮 pansexual and asexual

🔮they/she, trans

🔮dating Sandy

🔮knows everyone's zodiac signs

🔮names her plants

🔮gets the zoomies after work (at night)

🔮Haley hates it

🔮Haley's biggest supporter

🔮vegan

🔮thinks of Clint as a genuine friend (save yourself girly pop)

🔮calls Sandy the weirdest nick names "hello my cuddle bear" "it's been too long since we last saw each other my strawberry jam"

🔮suckles on Pennies (she just like me fr)

🔮reads books about crystals for hours on end, Haley has to take the book away from her and drag her to bed sometimes

🔮has befriended the junimos

🔮Sandy sells the clothes she makes

🔮hates the taste of strawberry in candy and stuff

🔮would vape if vapes existed in stardew valley but not in a I'm a thirteen year old boy way but in a I like the taste and I enjoy making smoke rings kinda way

🔮you can't tell me that she's not a pothead

🔮knows Haley is a lesbian years before her sister figures it out

🔮besties with Shane (refuses to sell him alcohol at the Stardrop saloon)

🔮gets extremely flustered around people she deems as attractive

🔮is really bad at doing her own makeup (Sandy or Haley do it for her)

🔮has a huge tattoo that covers almost her entire back

🔮her energy is contagious

🔮high School was very hard for her but college was the best time of her life

🔮wants to buzz her hair so bad but has enough restrain to keep herself from doing so

🔮loves to make cocktails (she makes Gus try them and he always loves them and puts them on his menu)

🔮makes Shane, Sandy and Haley cosplay with her (none of them want to but they can't say no when Emily looks at them with that wide eyed grin of hers)

🔮unleashed a group of rats in JoJa mart because Shane complained once (1 time) about his working conditions, the store closed for two months

🔮can you tell how much I love Emily?

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew headcanon #abigail stardew valley #alex stardew valley #caroline stardew valley #clint stardew #sdv demetrius #stardew elliott #stardew valley emily

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isabeauwolf · 5 months ago

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Monsterhaul x Mary: She Wolf and the Beast AU

Prologue: Fairytales and curses

Once upon a time, a young lord took over leadership after his father's passing.

As the old man laid on his deathbed, he begged his only son to take a wife, raise a family in the hopes that with a loving and gentle wife, his overly proud sons heart would soften.

Kai Chisaki was headstrong and as stubborn as his father, looking his masked covered noise down on everyone, muttered how filthy and beneath them they were as he scoffed.

The King supposed it was his fault for being so hard on him, his heir. But the old man had another reason and hope for his son's change of heart, the family curse that befell their male line would soon strike after his death. If his bratty son could love another, earning their love in return by the time the enchantresses red rose last petal fell, the curse would be broken.

If not he would remain a beast until his dying day.

He told his three children the stories: the legend of an ancestor who fell under the same curse. A cruel, selfish and unkind man who was cursed by the same enchantress when he refused her offer of a single red rose as a token for seeking shelter from the bitter cold that one winters night.

The lessons within the stories - that beauty was found within, love and genuine kindness makes a man more brave and stronger, and that true love could break any spell.

🌹🌹🌹🐦‍⬛🌹🌹🌹

Kai listened to his father's words, but shrugged it off. He had heard this story hundreds of times since he was a boy. Yes, he loved his father, his mother and his youngest sister, but his other sister ran off and married some commoner. Abandoning their family. Kai was still bitter about the whole affair while their father merely gave the happy couple his blessings with a melancholy smile and Eri cried in her brothers arms for the lost of her only mother figure in her life.

A month later, their father's health slowly became weaker and frail.

After the second year, Kai took over in his father's stead.

Kai inwardly sighed as he watched this once tall, strong and wise ruler yet commanding man before him be turned into a shell of his former self. Clenching his jaw and his fists behind his back, with his father gone it would just be him and Eri in this castle, he would be forced to raise her alone.

First their mother had passed shortly after childbirth, his sister left and now his father was on death's door. Kai didn't have time for fairytales and ghost stories, all week he had been preparing for the worst when the doctor pulled him aside and informed him of his fathers body failing. He knew it was a matter of time, but hearing the news hit the young lord like a punch to the gut.

It's the middle of the night and Eri was already in bed. Kai didn't have the heart to wake his baby sister at this ungodly hour, he knew she wouldn't understand, would cry and fuss from being woken up, she wouldn't understand why her father was dying. I must be strong for her sake. Kai thought to himself. He had rushed immediately to his fathers bed chambers without another word from the doctor as he ordered for his trusted aids to wait outside his fathers room.

Damned paperwork could wait until morning. His father was more important.

Kai's heartbeat thudded hard in his chest, nervous butterflies and dread twisted in his stomach as he walked closer and closer towards his fathers room. It felt just like yesterday that him and his father waited outside the birthing chamber, listening to his mothers moans and wails of pain, screams as she pushed for hours until Eri was born.

And now, he was having to say goodbye again. He hated it.

Standing outside of the heavy door, his hand hovered, Kai took a deep and calming breath as he knocked on the cherry wooden, hand craved door and announced his presents. "Father, you wanted to see me?"

"Come in." His father's voice called from behind the door.

Kai obeyed, turning the handle and a sense of déjà vu hit him; instead of his mother laying there in the bed on the bring of death, this time, it was his father.

The old King's voice brought Kai out of his thoughts, "Kai, my son." His father reached out towards him with his big, pale and thin hand, voice frail, "Come closer." Even on the brink of death he still smiled, yet his furry brows furrowed with worry in his dark eyes. "I'm running out of time, I know it." He swallowed thickly, gasping and his breathing become more and more labored.

Keep his face impassive, he walked through the threshold and entered the room and towards the bed, Kai took his father's hand in his gloved palm, his sharp golden eyes softening. "What is it, father?" He asked, his voice gentle as he frowned underneath his duster mask. "You need to rest and save your strength." Scolding lightly as his heart ached within his chest.

His father chuckled, light and airy, a hint of a rasp. "Always hiding your worrying through scolding just like your mother."

"Let me give you something for the pain, at least." Kai insisted as his grip tightened on his father's hand but not enough to hurt him.

His father shook his head, "No, you must listen, Kai."

Kai licked his lips and nodded his head. Though, he had an idea what his father wanted to say. It was the story, the curse again. He bit back his groan of frustration and listened, he wanted to hear his fathers voice just a bit longer, if it was this ridiculous story, so be it. Kai was a man of logic, of reason, what harm could silly old ghost stories do to him?

"You must find a wife," he began, "someone who will love you no matter what form you take... as your ancestor had done... as I had done in my youth... our family curse."

Kai reached for a glass of cold water on the nightstand and offered it him, which he drank slowly and whispered his thanks as Kai put it back and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I suppose it is time to find a wife." He agreed, "Eri is still too young to be able to take care of herself." He shook his head, frown deepening, and added, "These things take time, father."

"Kai... the curse is true..." His father pressed, hardening his voice a pitch. For a moment, he sounded like his old self again. The man who governed over his people with kindness and was ruthless to his enemies, even if, he had never gone to war in his long rein, he held friends close and his enemies closer, and refused to spill innocent blood. One of the many old traditions in their house. "You must... be.. believe me..."

There was a pause, only the sound of his fathers ragged breathing as the pair of men stared at each other, dark black meeting gold.

"It's a story, a fairy tale... nothing more, father." Kai spoke calmly, his thin brows furrowed and twitched with irritation as he tapped at the scar on side of his forehead from when he was a boy, fighting with the neighboring King Enji Todoroki's eldest son, Touya and his cousin Tomura Shigaraki.

Both brats were wicked and twisted little shits, refusing to leave Kai alone while he was reading underneath the old oak tree when the pair insisted on him playing with them. It resulting in the trio bickering, fighting and each were injuries. Enji gave all three of them a heavy scolding while his father laughed and said, "boys will be boys, old friend." Kai had a cut on the side of his forehead, Tomura a cut on his on clapped lips and underneath his eye, and Touya had a broken jaw.

Last Kai heard of the duo, Enji forced his wife to have two more children and their was a huge fire in the family home, resulting in the eldest Todoroki's death. Good riddance.

Kai shook himself, he didn't have time to be thinking about that obnoxious, loud-mouth, cruel and sadistic bastard as he cleared his throat, awkwardly, this night was already overwhelming him and heartbreaking as it is. He didn't want his last words with his father to be a fight, he knew, he would regret it for the rest of his life. Closing his eyes and sighed, "Alright, alright. I'll humor you, father." Reopening his eyes as his brows furrowed once more. "Say I do fall under this curse.... how will I know that she's the one? What will happen to everyone else within the castle? Why isn't there any proof of the curses existence?"

Kai hated the unknown, anything that wasn't within his control or power frightened him. Anything he couldn't overhaul with his quirk would make him feel powerless, his free hand clenched at his side as well as his jaw.

A feminine voice answered for the King, "The staff and everyone within the castle will be cursed along with you, young lord."

Kai jumping and turning towards the intruder as his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" His trained reflexes kicking in, getting into a battle stance, quickly beginning to remove one of his white gloves. "Speak woman."

The woman was dressed in a cloak made of silver as the moonlight, shinning as it matched her silver-white hair and violet eyes which held genuine sadness. Her voice was soft and light, otherworldly yet human, but the sight of her made the room grow colder and a chill went up Kai's spine as the hair on the back of his neck raised, warning signs going off.

"Enchant...ress..." his father answered, weakly.

Kai tilted his head, glancing at his father to the mysterious woman who magically appeared in the room. He knew all of the ancient and secret passages within the castle, he memorized the blueprints like the back of his hand, even the ones only his father knew. How did she get in here?

The woman ignored the young lord and meet the old Kings gaze, and bowing in respect. "We meet again, your grace. It's a shame that we meet on such a sorrowed filled moment, my apologies, old friend." Her violet orbs met gold, she smiled. "My how you've grown, young lord and are just as handsome as your father in this youth." Her tone brightened and her eyes widened, "Oh, you've even got your mothers eyes. How wonderful."

It had been a long time since anyone commented on Kai's eyes and comparing them to his mothers, he heard it dozens of times growing up. It made him falter and hesitant, then Kai shook himself once more, "I won't ask again. Who are you and why are you here, witch?"

The woman giggled, "Stubborn as your father I see. I am known as 'The Enchantress', young Lord Kai." Bowing in respect once more, smile widening, showing off her sharp and pearly white teeth and canines. Her smile dimmed, frowning, "Sorry that we must meet during this dark hour, but it's fate, I'm afraid my brave warrior."

"You haven't.... age.... a day... my dear.." His father replied, trying to sit up by himself, but couldn't. "Kai... welcome... our guest... for the.. night."

Kai turning, helping his father sit upright against his pillows and re-tucking him into bed gently, then turned his hard molten gaze back on the woman. "Enchantress?" Patience thinning as he asked in disbelief, "You come on my fathers deathbed and expect me to wish you welcome and stay?" He scoffed.

The Enchantress nodded her head, "Yes, in exchange, I will offer this single red rose as a gift as a token of my thanks." A brightly crimson colored, single rose held in between her fingertips, it looked freshly plucked from a garden, but they had no such colored roses on the castle grounds.

His mother loved roses, he'd never seen one this brightly color before. It seemed to glow against the beams of the moons light.

"Thank you..." The King smiled, a fondness in his eyes that he usually held for his family and closes friends. He gently pat, his sons arm, encouraging him. "Go on...Kai."

Kai stood, his muscles still tense and on high alert. His father knew this woman, this woman knew of him, his father and mother, but he didn't know her. She was an outsider. Why should he listen to her? Accept her offer? It's such a simple request. It's not as if they didn't have enough rooms to spare, he could house hundreds underneath his roof, if he wanted to.

Kai was as stubborn as he was proud. He was torn, on one hand, he wanted to obey his father, but his inner phobia for germs kicked in. He didn't know where this so called "Enchantress" came from, nor her gift. The unknown and withheld knowledge made his skin crawl, phantom itches made him shudder in disgust as his gloved hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his nose scrunched underneath his mask. "That still doesn't answer my other questions," he bit out, narrowing his eyes down at the gift in her hand. "What of my subjects? They wouldn't like to be governed by a monster." He pointed out, raising a thin brow.

"Everyone outside of the castle will simple forget its existence until the spell is broken, my young Lord." The Enchantress replied as if it was a matter-of-fact, nodding.

Kai's eyes widened, he repeated, "Forgotten?" His surprise was short lived and replaced with anger and accusation. "What sort of magic and cruel trick are you playing at? How will my so called true love come me, if she doesn't even know where to find me?" He pointed out, gesturing around the room with his gloved hand.

"In time, she will come to you." Twirling with the rose in her hand. No matter how many times the flower swung in a circle, the petals didn't fall.

Kai scoffed and began pacing, his anger slipping through his tone as he ran his gloved hand through his short hair. "Let me get this straight." Counting on his fingers, "You curse me, my sister, my sickly father, everyone in my entire household for gods knows how long." Shoving his hands into the air and turning towards the woman headily, his brows drawn as he tried to piece everything together. This whole mess was overly complicated and ridiculous, "Expect me to fall in love with a stranger, a woman I've never met and for her to fall in love with me in this supposed accursed bestial form? I can't sit around and wait forever. I'm a busy man."

Clearly, he needed to make her see reason.

The Enchantress sighed, "I will give you one day, but no more." She walked past the young man and went towards his fathers bed, smiling sadly, glancing over her shoulder at Kai, "May the moon goddess unite you with your beloved soon, young lord. I will tell you more tomorrow as promised." Turned her head back to his father as she leaned down and kissing his fathers brow as tears welled up in her eyes. "Goodbye, go to your wife."

Kai's eyes widened as he rushed to his father's bedside, "Father." Tears welling in his eyes, his voice rough and cracking as he reached for his hand again, a tiny spark of hope in his gaze.

"Take care of Eri, Kai...." His father smiled as his eyes grew heavy, vision blurring as he seemed to look through his son instead of at him. "Yukiji...you've... come... for me..."

Kai closed his eyes as he brought his fathers hand to his forehead, his shoulders shaking. Mothers come to bring father to the other side? He knew he should be happy, and yet, the greedy part of him wanted his father to stay longer. He wasn't ready to become the new lord, he still needed his fathers guidance. "I love you, father..." he whisperer, lifting his head and placing the limb over his chest.

His father looked so peaceful as if he was merely sleeping.

Wiping the tears from his eyes as he ripped off his soiled mask and gloves, overhauling them and slipping on a new set of each. He stood and turned towards The Enchantress, golden eyes seething and cold. "You've got what you wanted," he hissed angrily, waving his hand, dismissing her. "Now get out of my sight."

The woman sighed, "As you wish, my lord." Turning on her heels without glancing over her shoulder, "I will return tomorrow." With the flick of her wrist the rose vanished from her hand and appeared between the old Kings hands. "Remember my words and your fathers wisdom, King Kai Chisaki."

The Enchantress disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

Kai picked up the rose, such a fragile and beautiful flower usually filled him with comfort and fond memories, but now.... this gift gave him more heartache for a lifetime. Rage, frustration, sadness and grief swirled within him, its thorns twisted, prickling and festering to his very soul as he crushes it his palm, overhauling it as lose pelts fell and landed on the floor. "Curse be damned." He muttered darkly, watching as the thorns from the flowers stem cut into his hand as he bled, reactivating his quirk and healing himself.

Shaking his hand to rid himself of the gift, he walked outside where his most trusted aids Chronostasis and Mimic were waiting outside. He knew they had heard every word, but would never tell a soul without their lords permission. "Mimic, tell the doctor my father is dead. We will make funeral arrangements in the morning with the Undertaker."

"Yes, Boss." Mimic nodded disappearing into the walls and heading towards his destination.

"Chrono." Kai clenched his gloved fists and his jaw underneath his black duster mask. "Search the attic and bring me anything about our family curse and this Enchantress."

Chronostasis nodded and bowed in respect. "Yes Sir, Overhaul." He took his leave.

Kai felt his scar throb painfully as he slammed his hand into the wall, the wood cracking and breaking into splinters as his quirk activated and he roared in fury. Yes, he needed to be Overhaul the next time he faced the devilish witch, not the young lord Kai.

Overhaul, his secret alias while in the underground and black market.

Pulling out the red and gold birdlike mask he had crafted for himself from within his coat, he tore off his black duster mask, slipped it into his pocket and covered his face with the plague mask. He breathed in through the air filters, take deep breaths until his breathing had calmed.

He felt whole again.

Blinking Overhaul noticed the damage he had done, he frowned underneath the beaked mask and whispered, "Sorry father." He slowly spread his palm against the damaged wood and fixed it, feeling the familiar hives and itching along his skin. "I'll need another bath before bed." he murmured to himself as he walked towards his bedroom.

Even if his anger and temper had cooled, the castle felt colder and his foot steps heavier as it was just him and his little sister now.

Overhaul will find a wife, but it will be on his terms and not on hers, or some curse.

Freshly showered and dressed, he felt exhausted as these past few hours played in his head. He knew his father wouldn't gave approved of him lashing out and snapping at the witch, but who could blame him?

Slitting down on his bed and falling back into the mattress, he stared at the ceiling. Silk pajamas and matching sheets covered him, wrapping him and the only comfort he had at present. His fathers passing sinking in, his new title as the new King sinking in... He knew he needed to find a wife, but it would take time.

He needed someone who could run his castle while he was away on business both Kingly duties and his responsibilities in the underworld. Someone who would be able to look after Eri as if she was her own child, help raise her into a young lady, kind yet strict. He didn't care what his future bride looked like as long as she was decent to look at and could give him children. He shuddered at the though of bedding a stranger, ugh, he would have to bed her until his seed took root, then send her towards the queens chambers.

Love.

Kai loved his father. He loved his mother, Eri and his other sister at one point, but he didn't see why he needed to love his future wife. What was the point? He'd seen how brokenhearted and torn his father had been after his mothers passing. Why should be force himself to give into such heartache and pain when he could easily lock his heart away?

Crawling underneath the heavy duvet, his eyes immediately closed.

When he confronted the witch he could have answers.

Kai fell asleep, he didn't see a The Enchantress waiting outside his window watching and whispering to a raven perched on her hand.

"You can't fight fate, Kai." she giggled to herself as the raven took flight as she walked towards the balcony, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing grin, sharp canines gleaming and violets flickering to an icy blue. "If you are as stubborn and overly headstrong like your father was at your age, you will come to regret not accepting my offer the first time. Good night, my King." She jumped down and landed with grace, continued walked towards the forest. "You will beg for my forgiveness."

Another rose appeared beside a vase on the new Kings nightstand, beside the water pitcher, it glowed brightly as the magic within the flower pulsed, it's thorns sharpened and blackened, then dimmed; turning back into an ordinary looking rose.

--------------

Okay, I made it a bit shorter than I originally had it XD

I'm sorry for tutoring our poor beloved birdman so much, but he will be happy in the end, don't worry! If you've read my other fanfic, do you recognize who The Enchantress is? ;)

I figured it would be best to kill off pops and shove Eri's mom out of the picture, but have Kai be the overprotective and sweet big brother to Eri. Stubborn birdman! Oh, but I still adore him.

Tell me your thoughts! I'd love to hear them! Let me know, if you want me to tag you in future fanfics, one or all of them!

@fanofflames @slayfics @ijichikiyotakaswife @staitc-rj @madamebloodmoon @s-k-3-l-l-y @xxchisakislittleangelxx @x-kiwi-03 @chainslobber @inorganicone2230 @angelblueflame @nikki152006 @cherry-queens-blog @chisvki @metranart @fabled-lady-twilla @wtf-ask-baddie-overhaul @fairymama624

#overhaul #villain lover #kai chisaki #yakuza lover #yakuza husband #birdman #toucan king #my hero academia #Monsterhaul x Mary: She Wolf and the Beast #Monsterhaul x Mary #Monsterhaul x OC #Beauty and The Beast retelling #Spooky Season #She Wolf and the Beast Prologue #She Wolf and the Beast Prologue part 1

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luinhealthcare · 1 year ago

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Hello lovely Lofty❤️

What would you say is the pros and cons of EMS work?? Or like, things you would say to someone looking to be an EMT?

I have a full time job I don't plan on leaving, but tbh learning about what you do and reading your stories has kind of put it on my heart and I was curious if volunteer EMT jobs are a thing. Like, getting all the training done and then volunteering when I can?

Idk, I was just curious if you had anything to say regarding this😅

I could probably google some of this info but if if you feel like answering it would be appreciated! I value your opinion❤️

Ok, give me just a sec—*SQUEALS excitedly into pillow*

Hello Anon! :D That’s so exciting to hear!! I’m glad you’d rather just do it volunteer, as career EMS pays very little (my nursing job is what keeps a roof over my head, not my EMS one lol), but nearly every agency in my area has volunteers so I imagine it’s the same for your area!

So general pros and cons for EMS:

Pros

Tight knit work crew - These people see some bad things together, and trauma bonding is a thing, so they tend to be pretty close and have a lot of fun together. A note of care, we all have dark senses of humor. It’s a natural coping mechanism for people, and it can make life really funny too. But generally, working with EMS providers is quite fun! There will probably also be things like banquets, cookouts, and other fun bonding activities!

Boo boo bus - Driving is one of my least favorite parts of the job, but it is very fun to drive the truck around with lights and sirens and have the power to stop traffic and go through a red light lol. Super dangerous, but very fun

Knowledge - You learn so much in EMS! Medicine and our understanding of diseases and injuries is constantly changing, so you’ll always learn something new if you keep up with your training. Speaking of which, your agency will provide training opportunities to help you grow!

Patient care - You’ll find that the majority of your calls aren’t actually emergencies, but when you can actually take care of someone who needs you, you’re gonna ride that adrenaline high for ages. I still remember calls from years ago where I actually made a difference in someone’s life, and it’s a thrilling feeling.

Shift style - We work in 12-24 hour blocks, which means you knock out your work week in 2-3 days. As a volunteer your hour requirement would be much less than 36, but you could knock out a 24 hour monthly requirement in a single day if you wanted. Also, depending on a few factors (day vs night shift, busyness of your run area), you could literally just be spending your time chilling between calls. Sometimes I bring video games to work and play the switch because we have so much downtime. At night we get paid to just sleep if nobody’s calling 911.

Cons

Management/staffing - Like most jobs, somehow we’re all cursed with idiots in charge. Obviously this is variable, but a general trend in EMS is to overwork its people and toss them out to sea before they sometimes feel ready. And also like most jobs, we’re perpetually short staffed and everyone gets stretched thin to make up for it. Luckily for you, this shouldn’t be as big a problem because volunteers are usually treated very well!

Patient care - It’s a pro but it’s a con too. 85% of your calls are going to be for things that people should have never called 911 for. Your big pretty Boo Boo Bus is mostly going to be an Uber. And it will get frustrating, and you will have frequent flyers, and some people are not kind at all. They’ll call for your help and then get pissed off at you for trying to help. Anyone who’s worked customer service can relate, I’m sure. You get trained to handle life and death emergencies and then instead you’re picking someone up for a cough they’ve had for three days and you’re wondering when you became their mother/father and have to take the baby to the doctor when they haven’t tried anything to take care of themselves at home or see a less urgent health facility. It will burn you out if you’re not careful.

TMI - Speaking of patient care, get ready to see people at their absolute lowest. Hoarder houses, maggots, abusive households, all that jazz. Another reason for trauma bonding with your coworkers! 👍🏻 (This won’t be the majority of your calls, but you’ll see them)

Physical strain - If you don’t take care of your body, this job will hurt you. I’ve thrown my back three times working EMS; there were times where I was hobbling around like an 83-year-old and I was 22. You’ll be lifting patients of every weight, you’re gonna be contorted in weird positions trying to splint someone, CPR is a cardio exercise in itself (lol), you will probably be sore after some calls like you just went to the gym. Also, we don’t take meal breaks - you eat when you can, and you will become a speed eater very quickly in this line of work.

Mental strain - You’re gonna learn a lot about yourself and others in this work. How do you cope with stress? You will watch people die, you will see suicides and shootings and stabbings, you will watch family hurt each other and grieve over lost loved ones. You will be on edge for the majority of your shift as you wait for the tones to drop, you will be stressed trying to find an address or navigate the road and make sure nobody gets into a wreck with you. Military and first responders are so alike because the stress level and distribution is quite similar - downtime with boredom gets interspersed with spikes of huge adrenaline rushes. Have good coping skills, have a strong support system, take care of yourself. 95% of the people I know on duty are in therapy to stay sane.

Overall, I adore EMS. If I could survive off EMS pay I’d work it full time and do nursing as a side gig for funsies lol. The majority of the work is fairly mundane, but when you get to make a difference boy do you get to make a difference. And you’ll have so many funny stories to share. And the people are awesome.

Hope this helps! :D

#asks #I’m so excited you’re interested!! :D #EMS is very fun and fulfilling #Despite all the grumbling we do about our work we couldn’t imagine life without it #I’d be very sad if I had to leave EMS #even if working two jobs is definitely burning me out lol

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masterwords · 2 years ago

Text

out of these shadows comes the light

Summary: Hotch is particular about getting his hair cut. (autistic!Hotch)

Pairing: Hotch/Haley -> Hotch/Morgan

Words: ~5k

Warnings: implied/referenced past child abuse, violence, self-harm/suicide attempt, internalized ableism, ableism, scars, pain, sex (brief at the end, not explicit), food, divorce...if I missed any please let me know.

Notes: Written because of this ask, and I took it to some pretty intense depths but I love squeezing every single drop out of a backstory every time. I probably could have turned this into a 50k word multi-chapter event, all of the simple ending of getting Derek to cut Hotch's hair. Nothing is ever easy with me. In other news, you can expect updates to each of my on-going big stories this week as I should have a few hours each day to devote to writing for once!

Read under the cut or on AO3 here!

Grace Underwood was a young mother. Maybe too young. Twenty-three, fresh out of college, pregnant by the first man who took her to bed. She’d been a good girl, everyone said. All girls private school led her to an all-women’s university. She should have been saved from all of the worldly temptations.

But then there was Edward Hotchner and his roguish charm. His wild blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes told her lies from the moment they met. Lies and temptation that hid all the regret that would come later.

One night. It started out as one wild night, a frat party at Georgetown that she and her friends were invited to. It was a two and a half hour drive so they got a hotel room and decided to stay the weekend in the city. She never saw the hotel room, only Edward’s dorm. After that it became weekends book-ended with long drives for her (he wasn't allowed at her university and she liked the city), and then they were hot and heavy and she was lost in love. He had plans for his future, big plans. She loved him for them.

But those plans didn’t involve a screaming, crying newborn baby while he was studying for the bar. That had been a surprise, and Edward Hotchner hated surprises. Those plans didn’t involve having a toddler digging through his briefcase with high profile case files and sticky peanut butter fingers. And they certainly didn’t involve late nights with a young boy who couldn’t seem to do anything without it being a production.

He pulled his diaper off and shouted “scratchy!” and “owie!”...brand new expensive disposable diapers, thrown away hardly used. Back to the old cloth and safety pins. He would peel his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches apart, fold up the bread with the jelly side and eat it while discarding the peanut butter side. “Ick!” he would shout, because he didn’t have any other words. He wore the peanut butter but he wouldn’t eat it. Cups of milk spilled on the floor. He liked Cheerios but not Chex. If he could speak he would have told them that the Chex hurt his mouth, the corners of the little squares were sharp and he didn’t like it...Cheerios being round were okay. He didn’t have the words to explain all of that yet, so he pushed his bowl away and shook his head no.

“You’re spoiling him,” Grace’s mother would say to her as she cleaned his little hands. “He should eat what you eat.”

“He won’t.”

“He would if he was hungry enough.”

“He won’t.”

She was right, he wouldn’t. He’d gone an alarming number of days refusing to eat, and it had been enough to frighten even his father who finally pulled down the wheat bread and grape jelly from where they’d hidden it in the cupboard above the fridge, somewhere he couldn’t get to, and threw it at her in a huff. The jar of jelly hit the floor with a thud and a pop, deep purple goo oozing around jagged glass at her feet. “Feed the kid for christ sake, Grace! Look at him!”

“I thought you said…”

“I was wrong, dammit. Feed him before we end up in the hospital.”

Aaron ate just the bread greedily until his father got back from the store with a new jar of jelly. A bag of them. All grape. He’d fill the whole damn cupboard with the stuff if he had to.

The arguments over food ceased when his vocabulary grew. He was precocious, learning new words by sitting outside his father’s office door while he met with clients or spoke on the phone. He would play with his little toys, pretend to run his own office, be the one in charge.

“He needs a haircut,” Edward said one day. “Kid looks like a damn hippie.” Aaron was four and his hair was...long. His mother thought it was gorgeous and she was a little overly sentimental about it, her baby’s hair was a special thing. She’d been content just to let it go. There were occasional trims to keep the unruly ends in check but he seemed to like his hair long. He would play with it sometimes, and if he was anxious she would find that he had it in his mouth. He didn’t just suck on it, he seemed to almost chew on it. She was forever walking by and hooking her finger into the lock against his cheek, sliding it out from between his teeth with a gentle smile. Some part of her already knew that cutting it would prove to be a challenge and she wasn’t sure she was up for it. If his aversions to certain fabrics and foods was any indicator, she was going to be in for a fight to get clippers anywhere near him.

She was right. It was a complete disaster that ended up with him in tears, her in tears and the barber telling them not to come back until the kid had learned some damn manners. His haircut happened but not without it becoming a traumatic endeavor for everyone involved.

The long walk home down the old gravel road was fraught with tumultuous thoughts. What was she going to do now? They lived in a small town, there was only one barber...she would have to try to take him to the city or do it herself if Edward thought he needed another cut. But she looked down and Aaron looked so pleased, walking along at a steady clip beside her, rubbing his hand up and down the back of his head against the freshly shaved hair.

“Do you like it hun?”

“Yes!”

They arrived home to a message on the answering machine. It seemed that the barber had second thoughts about his previous stance on the matter and pleaded with her to bring him back when he needed a trim. He had some ideas. “I mighta pulled his hair some, he had some tangles in there and my clippers weren’t in tip top shape.”

Aaron was apprehensive but he was a gentle boy, quiet and forgiving. He didn’t have any friends and people were pretty averse to him in general – that the barber wanted to have him back was enough for Grace. And Aaron was willing to try again because he hated the way the hair felt tickling the back of his neck when it hit that awkward mid-length, and having it short was sweet relief. He also loved the feel of running his hand up his hair against the grain, it was soothing as it brushed his palm.

“I think you should go, ma’am. Let me to it, just the boys.”

She trusted Ernest Brooks. He was a pillar of the community, so she went next door for a cup of coffee and a dozen donuts. She didn’t need a dozen, not in a million years. But if Aaron was good and he got his haircut without all the fuss of the last time, hell, she’d let him eat his way through the whole damn thing as a treat. Well, most of them...she managed to eat three while she sat anxiously waiting for her son to finish.

Mr. Brooks walked Aaron into the donut shop a half hour later crisp and clean and smiling.

“How did you do it?” she asked, flabbergasted. Yeah, she was going to let him eat every single donut left in the box. All eight of them. (She managed to polish off a fourth without even realizing it.)

“A magician never reveals his secrets. Come see me next time, kid.”

She began bringing him in every six months for a trim. It gave her a free morning, and he and Earnest Brooks began a friendship that she couldn’t quite understand. The man was in his sixties, and more than once Edward wondered aloud with a bottle of whiskey open on his desk what the hell a man that age wanted with his son. It wasn’t enough to make him do anything, he had more important things on his plate than policing his odd son’s friends but it was always in the back of his mind. And if it kept Aaron out of his hair, well, all the better.

For both of them.

They played chess and dominoes with some of the other old men who congregated outside of the barber shop. Aaron was little but he was smart, he caught on quick. Ernest called him peculiar, the little intricacies in the way he did things baffled and amused him. No one used the word autistic, not at that time, but they all knew he was operating just a little different than the other kids who hung around and caused trouble. He didn’t seem to take any interest in what they were doing.

Aaron was always different. He wanted to learn everything he could, he wanted to listen to old war stories, to stories about what his little town looked like long before he was born. He wanted to hang out in the barber shop after school and learn how to shave faces and talk like the men talked.

When he would show up with bruises that he couldn’t (or wouldn’t explain), they knew and were furious but there was nothing they could do except give him a soft place to land. His dad was powerful, he had connections that could put anyone in town out of business. “You come work for me,” Ernest had said when Aaron was thirteen and had started to fall in with the wrong crowd. He’d gone from that sweet boy who knew too much and was particular about his haircuts to a sullen teenager who didn’t know how to tell his friends no. He wouldn’t stand up to them, would go along with everything they said because he so desperately wanted to fit in. The overwhelming need to be part of his peer group had finally taken hold.

The problem was, as he got older, the social dynamics at school almost forced it. In a small town like that, if you didn’t fit in, you were ostracized. He was handsome and he was wealthy, he had all the components and what he lacked he learned quickly to fake. He was able to fake his way through a lot of things. Unfortunately, the more things he had to fake in order to fit in, the more he realized how unpalatable he really was on his own and he suffered for it.

The first time he tried to kill himself, he used a straight razor he’d been given by Mr. Brooks when he started developing facial hair. It was a thoughtful gift, the first blade he bought for his shop. Of course, that caused a lot of problems he hadn’t foreseen, being a child still. Mr. Brooks was treated like an accomplice, like he’d encouraged Aaron and while Aaron was hospitalized in an attempt to fix his brain and make him love being alive again, Mr. Brooks was put through the ringer. When Aaron was released, Mr. Brooks wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t let him in the shop anymore. He went from cherished friend to liability.

Aaron, in all his teenage glory, rebelled and began causing more trouble. Where he’d once been tethered, the one place he felt like he’d ever belonged was gone from him now and he was left only with darkness. Despair.

He threw a brick through the barber shop window with some of his friends and ran away before the other kids looted the shop. His dad managed to convince the police that he wasn’t involved in the break in, was there for the broken window but left before anyone went inside. He would be liable for repairing the window, of course, and he’d pay for it himself...right before they sent him to boarding school. It was Mr. Brooks who asked for that, knowing how Aaron was. He still believed the kid had a good heart and he wouldn’t rob his store. The brick was a cry for help, it was a child acting on his anger and abandonment, not an intent to steal from him.

Part of the admittance to the school he was sent to was a buzz cut, military style. Aaron panicked beforehand, and when they clipped the plastic gown tight around his neck and began roughly shifting his head forward and back, clipping and buzzing around his ears, he thought he might really have a heart attack. None of his usual calming tricks helped, he was completely beside himself by the time they finished and shoved him back into the line to move on to the next humiliating experience – getting the uniform. Scratchy wool sweater, stiff canvas and khakis, he was in hell.

But he survived it, and when he came home to finish high school at the local public high school and help his mother with his father’s sickness, he was a changed young man. Probably not better, he still suffered from depression and anxiety but he’d become an expert at hiding in plain sight. No one else would get the drop on him.

Meeting Haley had been a blessing...and a curse. When he found out who she was, who her grandfather was, he almost abandoned his pursuit but he couldn’t. He fell in love with her almost instantly. It was infatuation, pure and simple. He woke up thinking about her voice and went to sleep thinking about her smile. His mother told him to ease up, back off, don’t be so intense but Haley didn’t seem to mind. That was the best part. So he did things a little differently and he behaved in a manner that wasn’t exactly congruent with the way other boys his age did...she liked his little quirks.

The other boys his age were assholes. He was...nice. He was kind and thoughtful and he took care of her. She told her mom that he was like a knight in shining armor. Her mother had concerns but didn’t voice them, she trusted her daughter.

It was Haley and Jessica, both interested in psychology, who brought up the notion that he might be autistic one night over a little too much wine. “It makes sense,” Jess said with an authoritative nod, tipping her glass almost far enough to spill it. Somehow her drunkenness didn’t discredit her statement, not in her sister’s eyes. Aaron and his own wine soaked thoughts scoffed. “You check most of the boxes.”

“I do not.”

“No?”

“Jess stop. It’s okay if he doesn’t want to do this right now.”

“He’s never going to want to, sis…”

“That’s up to him. Go get another bottle!”

He eventually looked it up himself and found that he didn't disagree with their assessments as much as he'd originally thought. He didn't care much for the idea that they read him so well, but the fact that they saw all of him and stuck around was enough. He never sought out a diagnosis, and after an initial weekend spent spiraling his way through endless research papers he was content. One more piece of his mind's puzzle clicked into place. They never brought it up again.

Her grandfather sold the shop and gave her his clippers, told her how Aaron likes his hair cut. They hadn’t spoken in years, not since the brick incident, but he still harbored a soft spot for the gangling kid who had grown into a confident young man.

She did it perfectly, and so did Jess. They joked that it was a Brooks family secret, cutting Aaron Hotchner’s hair. Some families passed down recipes, but not them.

He learned how he liked to have his hair cut, and the brand of suits that fit him in a way that felt comfortable and made him feel good. Not just passable but good. Really good. He found a tailor that would cut his suits a little large so the fabric didn’t bunch in his armpits but made him look fashionable enough.

The BAU gave him an outlet he’d never had before. A place where the way his mind processed information was actually helpful, almost like a superpower in some regards. And he loved feeling that way for once in his life, like he was good at something and he didn’t need to pretend so much.

But it pulled him from the safety of his little world with Haley further and further. He developed a deep friendship with Derek Morgan, someone who he never would have imagined in a million years would want to do anything more than punch him in the nose. Steal his lunch money. (And maybe he still did want to do both of those things, friends or not.) He looked at Derek and saw everyone who had ever tried to bully him in that confident way he strode around, but when he got to know him...really know him...he realized that he wasn’t the only person masking. Who pretended to be something they weren’t to make themselves more palatable or to fit people’s perceptions of who they should be. It shifted his perspective about a lot of people, and made him almost cling to Derek.

During his suspension, Haley cut his hair. It had been a while, he’d been playing around with letting it get a little longer, just keeping it trimmed around the nape of his neck but he was tired of that look and something about being able to run his palm over the short fuzzy hair was something he was almost craving. He felt like he’d lose it entirely the longer he went without it. The idea of leaving the BAU, transferring to save his marriage, Gideon going radio silent instead of communicating with him during their joint suspension...he was already on the verge. Barely maintaining so he didn’t frighten Jack with his outbursts. So she shaved his hair short and he smiled more and she was able to believe for a little while longer that their marriage was not a sinking ship.

But he couldn’t manage it. The BAU was pulling him back, and the phone call...the phone call that he’d known was coming...it was too much. He couldn’t cling to her anymore, she’d betrayed him. What else could it be but another man?

Failing to see the irony in the situation, he left her for another man too. Derek called and begged him to come help them, they were drowning and Strauss was killing them all. He couldn’t see another choice. If his transfer hadn’t been put through yet, he was in dereliction of duty. That would be damning to his future...Haley had to see that, right? He wouldn’t get his transfer if he didn’t do his job. That thought spun around like a top in his mind until he felt sick and dizzy. It didn’t matter anyway. In a way, he figured she made the decision for him. Because what was she going to do with this other guy once he transferred? In his experience, once you go down that path you don’t just come back.

And when Haley left him, it was Derek that he confided in. Alone in his big house, neat and tidy, he cried. He didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. For days he existed on nothing but coffee from the office. It wasn’t even that he wasn’t hungry, it was just that he kind of forgot that he needed to stop what he was doing and make time to eat. It seemed unimportant. Fell off his radar entirely.

Derek noticed, though. “Let’s go to lunch. You look like shit.”

“You said you didn’t want to hang out with me. That you just needed me to lead this team.” The sarcasm, which should have been obvious, came laced with a deep sadness that made Derek ache. Did he say that? To Hotch? Who takes everything just a little too literally?

“That’s not how I meant it. Don’t look for reasons to be mad at me, I’m on your side. Now come on, I’m buying.”

Lunch became a standing thing, when they were at Quantico. And when that reached its threshold, it became weekly dinner dates that sort of turned into casual sleepovers. Hotch discovered that he loved to wake up beside Derek, the feel of soft stubble coming in on his usually slick head. On days off he would smile sweetly and ask Derek to put off shaving for a few extra hours so he could enjoy it.

And Derek never called him weird for it. Sometimes he got a little irritated and wanted to shave his head and be on with it, but he was kind. Hotch’s job was stressful, his life had more or less fallen apart, and if he wanted to rub Derek’s head for a little while in bed or on the couch while they watched the morning news and drank their coffee...there were worse things.

Hotch made an appointment with Dave’s barber when he needed his first haircut after Haley left. Dave insisted his guy was the best. A true artist.

It was an unmitigated disaster. The man talked too much and expected responses out of Hotch that were unreasonable in their depth. All Aaron wanted was to sit in silence and have his hair cut. The barber tucked that gown so tight around Aaron’s neck he thought he might choke. Every time he swallowed he could feel it pull tight against his adam’s apple and it made him feel sick.

The worst of it was that though though he brushed the tiny cut hairs off of the back of his neck to clean him up, in the end he only really brushed them down into Aaron’s shirt.

He felt like there were tiny needles in his suit all day. He was miserable and grouchy. He snapped at everyone. It was apparent he was in distress when he even snapped at Garcia.

The next haircut was done begrudgingly by Jessica, just because she couldn’t stand to see him looking so miserable. She came to his apartment, used the clippers Haley had left for him and managed it in exactly the way her grandfather had. He hadn’t felt so good in weeks. He felt confident, felt like himself. And as much as she was certain she was going to find it awkward to be cooped up in his apartment after the divorce...she found it to be the opposite.

So she did it again for him, and again. She was good at it and she did enjoy their short visits. Like old times. She missed him.

But after Foyet, he didn’t want her to see him like that. He couldn’t bear it. And maybe she couldn’t either.

He needed a haircut, he needed it badly. He was maintaining the stubble on his chin with an electric shaver just barely but he knew he’d only mess up his hair so he let it grow. Emily mentioned how long it was getting, told him he was starting to look like a hippie.

Derek liked it, the way it was soft when he was so full of sharp edges now. He was in pain day and night, hardly spoke two words for hours at a time, lost completely in his head or Foyet’s files. The wounds had healed on the outside but the internal damage would take months, and he couldn’t hide it at home.

“Let me cut your hair,” Derek said one night when he noticed Aaron brushing it angrily out of his eyes while he worked through a consult on the dining room table. He didn’t even look up.

“What? No. It’s fine.”

“It is not, and Jessica says you’re particular about it but I think I can handle it.”

“She says I’m particular?” He didn’t like the way that sounded. Maybe he was being overly sensitive but he supposed he was allowed to be a little, in some ways. He was reminded of their joke, that cutting his hair was their family secret. It made him feel like a sideshow suddenly when it never had before.

“She does. You disagree?”

“No. I don’t...it’s just...that’s a little rude don’t you think?”

“She didn’t say it like it was wrong, man, chill out. I just mentioned that you’ve been acting like you wanted a haircut and she said she could show me how you like it done because you’re particular.”

It didn’t sound any different than before but he knew he was prone to being angry now, almost looking for a reason to fight. He didn’t seem to be able to cool down anymore. Every day was a battle against his temper, and his angry inner voice had started to sound an awful lot like his father. But Derek was the last person he wanted to fight with. Derek was the only person he wanted anywhere near him.

“Okay. You can try.”

“Your confidence in me is encouraging.”

Aaron finally looked up at him, really looked at him. “I’m not particular on purpose, Derek. I try not to be.”

“I know. I shave my head every damn day, and I do a good job. I think I can manage.”

He did ask Jessica for some pointers though, while Aaron went out for a morning run to clear his head and blow off some excess energy before allowing Derek to touch his hair. It seemed like a good start. Running was slow and painful, a humiliating experience at times when he had to stop and lean against a tree or sit down on a park bench to catch his breath. The searing pain in his chest was unbearable and he couldn’t tell if that was panic setting in over the idea of Derek cutting his hair and seeing him that way, or if it was Foyet.

It didn’t matter. The pain was there and he had to embrace it, move with it, live with it. He ran home just as fast as he’d started and found his entire dining room set up like a barber shop. His clippers were sitting out beside a towel and Derek had turned The White Album on at a moderate volume, even though he couldn’t stand it. The sound was just enough to drown out the din of the clippers but not enough to be overwhelming.

“You ready?” Derek asked, watching Aaron slip his shoes off at the door and kick them to the side. He looked more on edge than when he left, and when he walked toward the kitchen for his post-run glass of water, he held his palm flat against his sternum like he was holding it in place. “Aaron?”

“I need a minute.”

“Something happen out there?”

“No. I just need a minute.”

Derek knew him well enough now that he didn’t ask him to explain. I need a minute usually just meant he needed to sort himself out, and with his glass of water he headed toward the bedroom to do exactly that. It only took a few minutes before he was coming back down the hall not looking much better but it seemed to be enough. Derek knew he had ways of mitigating things when he got overwhelmed, some of them were healthier than others but he tried not to be too vocal about the ones that he thought seemed harmful. Aaron was a grown man, he knew what he was doing. The look in his eye was changed from wild to something akin to calm. He ran his thumb over the edges of his fingernails as he approached and forced a smile.

“Sorry about that.”

“All good baby. Have a seat, let’s get this goin’. I’m not sure how much more of this album I can take.”

He started by running his fingers through Aaron’s hair. Up the back, over the top, scratching gently at the scalp until Aaron’s muscles seemed to relax. He liked that. He’d always liked his hair being played with. When he finally began cutting, he was gentle. His hand led the way, dancing through the hair with clippers following in hot pursuit. No tangles would meet the blades that way. By the time it was over, Aaron was nearly in a trance. They hadn’t said one single word.

“Shower,” Derek whispered, kissing him on the tip of the ear first and then down his cheek. “Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. There was a towel around his neck but it didn’t stop all of the renegade bits of hair from settling against his skin. Derek started there, washing the back of his neck first, taking care to remove every little stray hair he could before running his soapy hands over Aaron’s freshly cut hair. Aaron was not only relaxed for the first time in over a week, he was relaxed enough that he let Derek’s kisses turn him on in a way he couldn’t even imagine enjoying again after being under Foyet.

His chest still ached but it wasn’t so bad with Derek’s lips dusting wet new scars, wasn’t so bad with the shower rinsing away the last of the soap and leaving him feeling fresh and clean. His skin tingled and there seemed to be showers of sparks left behind each one of Derek’s kisses.

“I’ll be gentle,” Derek promised and Aaron could only smile.

“Don’t be,” he purred, gripping Derek’s shoulders tight. “Please.”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hotchgan #criminal minds #autistic aaron hotchner #mind the warnings!#fanfiction

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