#I can see the opener when I close my eyes

[dragonbarbie]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

aemond targaryen x baratheon!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: aemond targaryen is tasked with bringing the stormlands to his brother's side. but when he arrives he finds the new regent, old lord Borros' young widow, isn't as pliant as he had anticipated. he finds himself drawn to the poised, commanding lady of storm's end, much to his horror. but he refuses to leave without bringing this storm to heel

word count: 12 k (ye gotta suffer for ye smut what can i say)

tags: mentions of past forced/arranged marriage, reader is a member of a minor baratheon branch and is Borros' widow but no other traits are described, smut, handjob, choking kink, fingering, p in v sex, hate sex, creampie, cowgirl, mention of moontea, hints of dom!aemond? or hes just being a control freak i mean the line is very thin [lmk if i missed something]

sidenote: this was such a fun one shot to write, i was writing aemond after so long i think i got a bit carried away hytftgyhuijo do comment/ask and lmk if you'd like this as a series cause i might just have ideas for that

The hall of Storm’s End was cold, the stone walls rising around you as you watched the storm raging outside through the window, expecting to see your guest arrive at the dreary scene any minute. The screech of a dragon approaching managed to reach you, louder even than the sound of thunder. You did not wait to catch a glimpse of the creature for yourself, instead your black gown swept as you made your way to your late husband’s seat, the dark fabric pooling around your feet as you sat, spilling over the stone like a dark tide.

The unmistakable roar of Vhagar’s wings heralded Aemond Targaryen’s arrival, accompanied by a loud ‘thump’ of what you imagined was the ground straining under the beasts feet, to signal just how close to your home the dragon had landed. The dragon’s arrival even rattled the windows, a reminder of the power the prince carried with him—power you knew he intended to wield like a blade. Your jaw tightened for a brief moment. Vhagar’s presence wasn’t just a spectacle, a grand display of power and might; it was a threat.

Your lips curled ever so slightly in distaste. The prince’s arrival on the back of a dragon, no less the largest alive, was nothing less than a veiled threat. He wanted you to know the might of the greens, to feel the heat of dragonfire on your doorstep.

You stretched out your hands and placed them on the arms of the stone seat, chin up, back straight; determined, to be seen as a commanding presence. You wore no crown, but you would impress that this was your land. Your posture must reflect as if you were carved from the same storm-hardened stone that made the keep, a Baratheon through and through, even if from a lesser branch of the family.

 You belonged here, not merely as the old lord’s widow and the new one’s mother, but by your own right too – you had to hold onto that as the gates to the hall were flung open after a few minutes of anticipation.

In he stepped—Aemond One-Eye, cloaked in Targaryen arrogance, his long strides purposeful, each movement precise, till he reached the middle of the hall. His single eye fell upon you immediately, his gaze sharp and assessing, like a man who expected you to yield at the first word. You did not move.

After a few seconds, he continued his steps once more and you let him approach, watched him close the distance until he stood before you. Then, with all the decorum expected of his blood, he bent low and kissed your hand. “My lady Baratheon.” His voice sounded as cold as his hand felt against yours.

“Prince Aemond,” you said, your voice as smooth as silk, yet laced with an undercurrent of steel. “Storm’s End bids you welcome… and your dragon.” you tilted your head ever so slightly, the hint of a smile on your lips. “I must say, it is not every day one finds a beast as colossal as Vhagar at their gates. Her presence is... difficult to miss.”

Aemond straightened, his eye narrowing ever so slightly. “Vhagar’s presence is a reminder of the strength our House offers to those wise enough to stand with it, my lady. A reminder, of a promise of protection.”

“A reminder,” you mused, leaning back in your chair as though you held all the time in the world, “or a threat?”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “Only to those who would stand against us, my lady.”

“Ah,” your eyes danced with playfulness, “and I suppose I must decide whether to accept this…. protection…or risk the wrath of your beast?” Your displeasure at being forced to house the ancient creature as you made the decision about whom to side with was clear. Vhagar’s presence cast such a long shadow, it hung over every word that was spoken in that great hall. You knew Otto Hightower had expected the mere presence of the dragon would encourage the frail, young lady, who’d only been appointed regent because she had the good fortune to give birth to a son unlike Lord Baratheon’s first wife, to come on side without much fuss. You were going to cause him much disappointment.

Vhagar might be mighty, but you would not give in to the feeling of fear at her attendance. You would stand your ground before the prince, and not let him make the mistake to think that he could intimidate you.

Hands clasping behind his back, the prince’s good eye bore into your face, his voice low, laced with a hint of warning “you appear to be a wise woman to me, my lady. You understand how unwise it is to provoke a dragon.”

You laughed softly, the sound ringing across the otherwise eerily quiet hall “Is that what I’m doing, Prince Aemond? Prodding at the dragon’s belly?”

He was trying to impose upon you the upper hand he held, to dangle the danger of his dragon over your head to get you to agree to his demands – you deflected it as if by a flick of your wrist, which left him surprised. He knew you understood him perfectly well, and he was starting to understand you too now, as you lifted your hand to your chin, and leaned on your palm to watch him almost lazily.

Your eyes sparkled with an unspoken challenge as you watched him, letting the silence linger, enjoying the way his patience seemed to thin with each passing second. You could tell he was uncomfortable with how the tension had shifted, though his eyes never left yours and his expression betrayed nothing but you observed how his nose flared up in an indication of the underlying anger and frustration. He was a dragon, yes—but one that had yet to learn patience. You would teach him.

“You know why I’ve come,” he finally said, trying to pull the conversation back into his control. “My grandsire has written to you already of my intent. A marriage alliance between our houses. I would take in marriage one of your stepdaughters, in exchange for the strength of the Stormlands at our back.”

“Ah,” you sighed, “such a generous offer. The strength of Storm’s End married to the might of your house would certainly be something. At the very least it would ensure your brother cannot be defeated outright in a land battle.” You had gone over this with your husband’s advisers multiple times, you knew the strength of your army, the advantages it brought to either side, like the back of your hand. “And yet…” you paused, lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. Aemond straightened his back, tapping his leathered foot, realising you were not going to make his work easy.

“… I have to wonder, why you think I would choose the promises of the Hand over the promises of… others?” you spokepointedly but did not mention the name of his half-sister Rhaenyra, but he understood where you were signalling. “Your brother is not the only claimant with dragons.”

Aemond forcefully replied, in an attempt to demonstrate his advantage while keeping his bubbling anger in check, “The largest dragon in the realm is before your gates. The whore of Dragonstone with her bastards could never match Vhagar.”

His words were filled with vitriol, but they did not move the lady Baratheon. You simply mused “I confess, the notion of the mighty Vhagar at my beck and call is... tempting–” Aemond’s jaw clenched at how you implied him or his dragon would be at your ‘beck and call,’ but he bit back his tongue “–but power is a fickle thing, your grace, is it not? Today, it flies at my gates; tomorrow, it may burn them. If not your dragons’, then your half-sister’s. To stand with either one of you is to stand against the other. And their dragons.”

Aemond took another step forward, refusing to let your words unsettle him. “Storm’s End has always been loyal to the Crown. We expect no less now.”

“Yes but which crown must we bow to now remains unclear, yet.” You casually replied as you rose from your seat, the dark material of your gown swirling around your feet once more. The firelight caught the fabric, casting shifting shadows that made you seem like a figure from a half-forgotten tale – larger than life, and ethereal, not quite inhabiting the same plane as the prince. “As I am sure you are aware my late husband’s father swore an oath to support Rhaenyra. While I do not dismiss this hand of friendship your grandsire, the Hand has offered us, I cannot accept it either.” You met his gaze as you looked up at him, unflinching, your smile pleasing yet razor-sharp. “Loyalty, Prince Aemond, is a curious thing. It can shift, like the sea winds of this land. And I... well, I would prefer to remain more flexible in my allegiances. At least until I’ve had time for some careful consideration.”

Impatience grew within Aemond, you could see the tension in how rigidly he stood. He could sense you were slipping from his grasp, just as easily as the wind slipped through the cracks of your keep’s stone walls. He needed to push harder, to make you commit.

“This is a matter of great urgency, my lady, I—” He was about to press further when you let out a soft sigh and brought a hand to your temple, feigning weariness. “Forgive me, my prince, but I find myself dreadfully fatigued. The burdens of leadership weigh heavily on one such as I. You must understand... after all, I am but a woman, and we are so very frail. We were not built to rule you see… is that not the core reason your brother has raised his banners against the Princess after all?” your eyes seemed to goad the prince to challenge you on your words.

Aemond clenched his folded hands behind him, but betrayed none of the irritation simmering beneath his surface. He could see right through your act. There was nothing frail about the Lady Y/N Baratheon. This was another move in your game, a way to delay him. You were stalling, that much was clear.

“Lady Y/N,” he began, stepping forward again, “we cannot afford—”

“There will be time, Prince Aemond,” you interrupted, finality in your tone, a dismissal thinly veiled behind sweetness “Plenty of time to discuss alliances and armies. Storm’s End is yours for as long as you need it. Make yourself at home.”

Aemond stiffened, realizing that you had no intention of continuing this conversation tonight. You were dismissing him, and there was nothing he could do to force your hand without showing his own weakness.

You turned then, moving toward the doorway with a graceful ease that contradicted your words of weariness. Aemond was fuming with frustration which had finally sept through the cracks of his unbothered exterior. This was the first task he had been assigned as they had started to draw their banners, the first contribution he was expected to make for his family’s cause. He refused to go back empty handed. To win the Baratheon’s to their side was his duty, and he had no intention of returning without anything other than the Stormlands in his pocket.

Just as you reached the threshold, you stopped, casting a glance over your shoulder, your voice light but edged with mockery. “Oh, and do let the staff know whatever your beast will be having. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting, would we?”

Aemond’s grinded his teeth at how you were daring to treat Vhagar as if she were no more than a hound at the gates. His dragon, the largest and most fearsome alive, reduced to a mere beast by your dismissive words. Aemond would not find it so easy to deal with the new lady of Storm’s end as most had expected. Borros’s widow may not have the years of experience to strengthen her, she was a young thing yet, that the old lord had married for the purpose of producing him sons; yet, even he would have never expected you to become this formidable a defender of his seat as you had become.

He watched as you disappeared into the shadows, having given him nothing. Everything in your manner told him one thing: this woman would not bend easily.

You stood beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of your son’s little chest. Seeing him safe and sound was all that kept you going, so whenever your mind would be distressed over the politics and games around you, you would try to be around your son to remind yourself why you were doing all of this in the first place.

Royce slept soundly, a peaceful expression on his innocent face, his tiny hand curled around the edge of his blanket. But peace was an illusion here in Storm’s End, where every decision threatened to shatter the fragile balance you were fighting to maintain. You smoothed a stray lock of dark hair from his brow, your heart heavy with the burden of his future. All this you did for him, to ensure his safety, his future, his seat. One wrong move, and you would not pay for it alone.

Behind you, the crackling fire in the hearth could not chase away the cold reality of the letter from Rhaenyra, now resting on your writing desk – it served as a reminder for you, a reminder that a storm was brewing outside. Ser Byron Swann finally brought you out of your brooding thoughts. “You’ve been quiet for some time, my lady,” came Ser Byron’s voice, tinged with concern as he stepped forward, his armour gently clinking in the quiet room. Byron had been a faithful bannerman to your late husband, and so far to you. You appreciated his counsel and concern.

Not taking your eyes off Royce, you spoke “To choose incorrectly would mean risking his future. The Stormlands could tear itself apart.” Your bannermen, always watching you with suspicion for being a woman who dared to hold power over them, had already whispered their concerns. Some remembered the oath Borros’ father had sworn to Rhaenyra years ago, binding them to her claim. Others had made their displeasure plain—a woman on the Iron Throne, abomination they had muttered darkly, displeased with the idea of a queen ruling over them. The Stormlands was teetering on the brink of division. Then there was the fear of dragons, which prevailed over all else.

You straightened, hand lingering on the bedpost as you turned away from the sight of your son and addressed your counsel more directly. “Choosing Rhaenyra might honour the oath, but it could also fracture the Stormlands beyond repair. Choosing the Greens...” You hesitated, the thought of Aemond Targaryen flashing briefly through your mind. “...may bring us under the protection of dragons, but at what cost?” Otto Hightower was perhaps the most infamous schemer in the land, and the ‘King’ Aegon was by all accounts a useless drunk. Not to mention his younger brother…

Byron crossed his arms, brow furrowed. “Neutrality is not an option either, not with the eyes of both sides upon us.”

You sighed wearily, and agreed “No, choosing neither would invite war right to our doorstep instead.” You paced toward the hearth, placing a hand on the frame of the fireplace as you watched the flickering flames that seemed to reflect your thoughts, anxiously moving, untamed. You had been strong when facing the prince, unwilling to back down or give away any fears you might privately have. Now you had no need to hold onto such a façade, you could admit to yourself that this was an extremely slippery situation you and the Stormlands were in. Your brow furrowed with worry as you looked into the flames, willing for an answer to leap out from them.

Byron's eyes followed you closely. As if he could read your mind, he tried to voice your thoughts “There is no right choice, my lady, you can only hope to pick the lesser of two dangers.” If only you could tell which was which, you thought of who Borros would pick momentarily, but then found yourself thinking that you’d never much cared for his strategic opinion anyway, so there was no reason to rely upon it now.

“what did my lady think of the Hightower’s messenger, the one-eyed prince?” Swann curiously asked.

What did she think of Aemond? A dangerous man, undoubtedly—sharp, calculating, and ever poised for battle, even when the fight was merely in words.

And yet… there was something more. Something you would not, could not, name aloud. His cold, unyielding demeanour stirred something in you—something that made you wary, but also intrigued. Aemond Targaryen was not a man easily thwarted, and that made him dangerous. His arrogance was palpable, his strength undeniable, but beneath that was a fire, simmering just beneath the surface. You had seen it in his eye, in the way he watched you. His features were sculpted as if by marble, standing so close to him you could see why your septa use to tell you the Targaryens were closer to gods than men, you had verified the fantastical accounts of their Valyrian beauty for yourself. You found yourself tilting on the side of agreement with those opinions.

Your fingers tightened ever so slightly on the stone beneath it as you leaned towards the fire. You weren’t a fool. You knew the allure of power, of danger. And Aemond embodied both.

The memory of Aemond’s lingering touch when he kissed your hand, and the veiled threat of the dragon that waited outside your walls, sent a chill down your spine.

You drew in a slow breath, forcing yourself to focus. Attractive or not you could not afford to be distracted by immodest thoughts of the Targaryen prince, not when everything hung in such a precarious balance.

You turned back to meet Ser Byron’s eyes with your own hardened gaze. “Only that to take Aemond Targaryen lightly could prove to be a grave mistake.”

Aemond stood at the narrow window of his assigned chambers, watching the endless churn of the sea beyond Storm’s End. The wind here was relentless, beating against the stone walls with the same fury that seemed to linger in the air since his arrival. It matched his mood—restless, frustrated. He had come to Storm’s End to secure an alliance, to bring the Baratheons to his brother’s cause. But instead, he found his thoughts tangled in something far more distracting.

Lady Y/N Baratheon.

He stepped away from the window and moved towards the small desk, settling into the chair. A half-written letter to his grandsire lay before him, waiting to be finished. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room. Aemond dipped his quill into the ink and resumed writing.

My Lord Hand, I arrived at Storm’s End to find the lady regent in full command of her seat. Y/N Baratheon is not as easily persuaded, as was expected...

His quill paused. His mind drifted back to your first meeting in the great hall. You had been seated on the Baratheon throne, the seat of you late husband. Yet you did not look out of place in it for a second, one could have been easily forgiven for mistaking to think you had been born to it and were not merely guarding it as your son’s keeper. Your alluring eyes had met his without flinching, without the slightest hint of deference. You were calculating, composed, and beautiful—there was no denying that. But it was more than just your appearance that held his attention. There was something in you that challenged him, intrigued him.

Aemond set down the quill on the table with force, flexing his hand in frustration. The same hand, he realised as he looked down upon it, which had held your own to his lips only hours ago. He had felt it then, a pull. A quiet draw towards you that had nothing to do with the game of politics and alliances.

He had seen it in the way you looked at him, how your eyes had lingered when he kissed the back of your palm—a small, fleeting moment that had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He had sensed it the moment you welcomed him with that cold smile, that hint of mockery in your tone when you’d spoken of his dragon. Vhagar was meant to remind you of what he could bring to bear against your house, yet the you had barely blinked. Instead, you’d made a jest of it, turning the veiled threat back on him with the ease of a seasoned player in the game.

You wielded your wit like a blade, much like he wielded his sword. You had unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. And that pull he felt towards you was as unwelcome as it was undeniable.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. This was not what he had come here for. He was not a boy, not some green fool led astray by a pretty face and a clever tongue. He was here for duty—for the future of his house. For his brother’s crown. Y/N Baratheon might be all captivating, but she was merely a pawn he needed on his side, nothing more.

Aemond shook his head and returned to the letter.

I will continue to press our advantage and remind them where true power lies.

With a resolute shake of his head, Aemond signed his name to the letter.

Duty. Only duty.

The days at Storm’s End had settled into a routine of formal dinners and polite conversations, surrounded by the awful weather which seemed ever present outside the walls of the ancient castle. Aemond had been introduced to Lady Y/N’s stepdaughters soon after his arrival, and each one, in her own way, seemed determined to gain his favour.

This was very much to Aemond’s annoyance, and very very much to your own entertainment. You held no great love for your stepdaughters, Floris was the only one you tolerated really. All four of them had been rather uncourteous to you when you, young as you were, not much older than the oldest of them, had first married their father so quickly after their mother’s death. You hadn’t been able to voice how unfair it was for them to lay the blame for that on your feet when it was your father who had practically forced you into the union with Borros. After their father’s death the girls were pretty much on your mercy, and you had decided to be generous enough to keep them under your protection – they were your son’s family after all, even if utterly tiresome. You supposed the responsibility to get them respectable marriages also befell on you, when you thought of Aemond’s offer.

Upon hearing the news of the arrival of a prince they had leapt at the chance to be introduced to him, which you had obliged. That ought to keep him occupied in the meantime, you’d thought with a smirk.

Cassandra, the eldest, had made the first move. She had practically thrown herself into the role of hostess, her wide-eyed enthusiasm grating on Aemond almost immediately.

“Oh, Prince Aemond!” Cassandra exclaimed the moment they were introduced, clasping her hands together as though she were greeting a long-lost friend. “What a joy it is to finally meet you!”

Aemond inclined his head stiffly, already sensing where the conversation would go. She wasted no time in becoming over-familiar with the man who seemed to do nothing but ice her out. Cassandra was pretty enough, but her excitement bordered on ridiculous.

“Tell me,” she continued, undeterred by his silence, “is it true that your dragon is the largest in the world? What a marvelous thing to behold! My father always hated those things but I assure you, I don’t share his aversions one bit—”

Aemond barely managed to suppress an eye roll. Cassandra’s chatter washed over him like the ever-present rain outside—relentless, loud, and entirely uninteresting. His mind wandered as she continued to babble about the wonders of dragonriding, and before he knew it, his gaze had drifted across the room to where you stood, speaking with one of your bannermen.

Unlike your daughters, you were calm, composed, your every movement deliberate. You had a way of carrying yourself that commanded attention without demanding it. There was no loudness, no need for theatrics. You simply were.

“Prince Aemond?” Cassandra’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he blinked, realizing she had asked him a question he hadn’t heard. He looked down at at her out of the corner of his eye, her eyes were wide with anticipation, waiting for a response.

He forced himself to focus. “The sight of Vhagar is stunning, yes, though I doubt she would be as charmed by your enthusiasm as you imagine.” There were few who could stand before his great dragon and not buckle at the knees, he did not think the eldest of the Baratheon girls was one of those rare few.

Cassandra giggled, utterly oblivious to his lack of interest. “Oh, I would never presume to charm a dragon! I’m sure it takes someone with great strength and skill to command such a creature.”

Aemond only nodded, eager to end the conversation. His thoughts were already drifting back to you, who had now turned and caught him watching. You smiled faintly, a knowing glint in your eyes, before turning back to your conversation. He felt a flicker of frustration. You were too aware of his distraction, and it seemed you enjoyed keeping him off balance.

His encounters with Maris, the second eldest, were no better. Maris was clever, and her need to prove it often left him feeling as though he were being interrogated.

“Prince Aemond,” Maris began one evening during dinner, her eyes gleaming with a curiosity that made Aemond immediately wary. “I’ve always been fascinated by Valyrian history. The legacy of Old Valyria, the blood of dragons… surely, someone like you must know its intricacies better than most.”

It was one of Aemond’s favourite topic of study, and thus, initially he was intrigued by her interest in it. “yes, I have read the histories diligently. What parts hold your particular interest?”

“Oh the doom, of course.” And there she lost the prideful dragon-prince, for he was as attached to the legacy of his family’s old homeland as one could be, at the mention of its downfall his face turned to an immediate grimace.

Which was apparently a hilarious scene.

A stifled laugh from the other end of the table made him lift his eye off the younger girl to you, who were hiding your mouth behind the white napkin.

His gaze had drifted to you many times that night already. You had sat at the head of the table, right across from him. Your demeanour blasé, unbothered by the efforts of your stepdaughters to capture his attention. Every now and then, your eyes would meet his, and there would be that faint glimmer of amusement in your gaze, as though the entire charade was a source of quiet entertainment for you. And now, you had dared to openly laugh.

It irked him, the way you seemed to understand his thoughts without him ever voicing them.

Maris pressed on, oblivious to his distraction. “I’ve read that Valyria’s fall was as much due to internal strife as external forces. The dragons, the magic—such power, yet they crumbled from within. Do you think that fate could ever repeat itself here, in Westeros? Could our dragons fail us the way theirs did?”

That question got on his nerves and Aemond’s patience frayed. His thoughts were still tangled with you, and the incessant questioning only worsened his mood. He glanced at Maris, his tone sharp. “You ask too many questions than are appropriate, I think, of a noblewoman, Lady Maris.”

Maris blinked, caught off guard by the sudden coldness in his voice. For a moment, her confidence faltered, and she offered a sheepish smile. “Apologies, my prince. I suppose I can be a bit… overzealous.”

Aemond said nothing, his gaze flicking back to you, now sipping wine with an expression unreadable, though the faintest trace of a smile lingered at the corners of your lips. You raised your goblet slightly in a mock toast, eyes sparkling with levity as if you knew how little interest he had in your stepdaughters.

You both became the last two to depart from the dining hall that night, and walked back to your chambers in stride with each other. The corridors of Storm’s End were quiet, save for the soft rustling of your gown and the faint echo of footsteps. With a sly glance, you broke the silence.

“You were rather harsh with poor Maris tonight,” you said, your voice carrying a playful lilt. “I think you might have left her heart in pieces. All that talk of Valyrian history and you simply dismissed her with a single, icy look. Quite the cruel prince, aren’t you?”

Aemond cast a sideways glance at you, “I have little patience for those who speak without thought.” he stiffly replied.

You let out a soft, playful laugh, eyes twinkling with mischief, completely unbothered by his frigid demeanour “Yes, I noticed. But tell me, Your Grace, do you always deal with such cruelty, or was Maris simply the unlucky target of your wrath?”

Aemond slowed his pace, his gaze narrowing slightly as he looked down at you. “I am not cruel by nature, Lady Y/N. But I value directness. Your stepdaughters prefer to dance around what they truly want.” His voice lowered, carrying a hint of something more, something that suggested this conversation was no longer about Maris. “I prefer a more… forthright approach.”

You arched an eyebrow, your smile deepening, though your eyes remained sharp. “Forthrightness is an admirable trait,” you mused, the tone almost purring. “But sometimes a little patience goes a long way, don’t you think? Not everything worth having is so easily won.”

Aemond stepped closer, closing the gap between you as you walked. His gaze was intense, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that what this is, then? A game of patience?” His eye flickered over your face, searching for some crack in your composure, some indication that he was getting through the walls you so carefully kept in place.

It would be so easy, you found yourself thinking, for something to occur between the two of you in this very hallway, without no one being the wiser. You couldn’t deny, the temptation was there for you. What you could not predict was how similar line of thinking was running through the prince’s head as well, how painfully easy it would be for him to press you against the stone wall and take you then and there. He wasn’t sure you’d even resist.

He forced himself to steer clear of those thoughts when he next spoke, “I wonder, Y/N, how long you intend to keep me waiting.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully,  gaze unwavering. The flirtatious spark in your eyes faded, replaced by the calculation of powers you had to keep track of every moment as the regent of the Stormlands. “What exactly are you waiting for, Prince Aemond?” you asked, your low voice carrying all the weight of a challenge.

Aemond’s eye darked, the tension between you both thickening. He leaned in, his voice low and smooth. “An answer, perhaps. To the alliance. You know why I am here, and yet you continue to delay. You say patience is a virtue, but I wonder how much longer we’ll pretend this is a game.”

Your lips twitched into a smile, though there was no warmth in it. “It’s late, my prince,” you replied after a beat, stepping back ever so slightly, putting just enough distance between you both to break the moment. “Surely, even a man as determined as you must know when the hour is too late for such discussions.”

Aemond hummed lowly in frustration, sensing the shift. You were pulling away, retreating just as he thought he had gained some ground. His voice remained steady, but there was a hard edge to it now. “The hour is late, but the war waits for no one, My Lady.”

You sighed at his tenaciousness but did not reply, turning around towards your chamber “Good night, Prince Aemond. Do try to get some rest. You’ll need it—”  You turned to have one final look at him as you closed your doors, “—I believe Cassandra is planning on accompanying you to our library here in the morrow.” You smirked, as you shut the door on him.

Aemond stood still, his fists clenched at his sides. He had come close, but once again, you had slipped through his grasp, leaving him with nothing but the lingering tension and the maddening sense that you were still in control of this dangerous game.

Ellyn, the third-born, was, if anything, the easiest to deal with—if only because she was utterly uninspiring. She made no effort to engage him in conversation, content to let her sisters fight over his attention while she sat in silence, staring into her food.

“It rains often here,” Ellyn said one afternoon, as they both stood by the windows watching the storm outside. “You get used to it.”

Aemond glanced at her, waiting for more, but that was all she said. No follow-up, no elaboration, just a dull observation about the weather. He resisted the urge to sigh. This, too, was a waste of time.

He found himself watching you again, speaking with one of the castle’s servants in the courtyard. Even in these small, everyday moments, you commanded attention. It was infuriating how easily you pulled his focus away from everything else. He was here for an alliance, not to be distracted by a woman who was clearly dangling him like a child’s toy. What infuriated him even further was, he didn’t think you’d meant for this to occur at all. He was falling into a trap all of his own making, tormented by his own desires. Your simple presence doused those flames. Who needed enemies when his own lust was doing the work.

As he caught you stretching your neck, clearly tensed and in pain after having to run around and manage the affairs of the household as well as the work that should have been your lord husband’s, he could not stop himself from wanting to reach out and ease that burden for you. He wanted to ease all your burdens truth be told…

He closed his eye and took in a deep breath to steady himself. No, you were not the one he was here to court, at least not beyond courting an alliance.

Floris, the youngest, at least didn’t waste his time. She barely spoke at all, her fear of him palpable. Every time he caught her looking at him, she would quickly avert her gaze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. At dinners, she sat in near silence, her eyes fixed on her plate, only daring to glance up at him when she thought no one was looking.

Floris was undeniably beautiful, he noted one night at dinner—delicate features, soft dark hair, and a quiet grace that set her apart from her more eager sisters. She had a certain fragility, the kind that made her seem as though she might shatter under the weight of his gaze alone.

As he had expected, the moment their eyes met, alarm crossed her expressions. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she quickly averted her eyes, her hands fidgeting, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Aemond allowed a moment of silence before speaking, his voice low and steady. “Lady Floris, you’ve barely spoken all evening.” Floris was startled, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes flickered up to him for the briefest moment before falling back to her lap. “I... I didn’t wish to intrude, my prince,” she stammered.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do I frighten you, Lady Floris?” Her eyes darted to him again, wide and filled with anxiety, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. Aemond leaned back, feeling more indifferent than curious now.

Floris was beautiful, yes, but her beauty was fleeting to him. It lacked depth. His mind wandered, almost involuntarily, to you. How could he think of Floris when her stepmother sat just across the table, quietly capturing his eye without ever saying so much as a word?

You were something else entirely—your beauty had a sharpness to it, a confidence, a power that Floris sorely lacked. You knew your worth and how to wield it, and it was the graceful way you held yourself that lingered in his thoughts far longer than Floris’s timid presence ever could.

You took no note of him this time, too engrossed in conversing with your bannermen Ser Byron. Aemond couldn’t explain why the sight of you leaning towards him and talking in whispers with the man set the hair on the back of his neck on fire. That closeness with another man was not appropriate of an unmarried woman, he bitterly opined.

He was glad when Ser Byron had to abruptly leave after a servant delivered him a letter in the middle of dinner. But the hurried steps the knight took also arose his suspicions about the letters contents. “Has something happened?” he had asked you as he watched Swann leave, you simply dismissed it as some trivial dispute among your staff that needed mediating. He said nothing but did not think to take your word as it was.

Like a moth to a flame he sought you out once more as you walked back to your chambers. Sensing he was following you with quiet, almost hidden footsteps you abruptly spoke up “You seem troubled, my prince,” smiling at him as you stopped in your tracks and turned around towards him, “Are my stepdaughters proving too much for you to handle?”

“They are persistent,” Aemond replied, his tone carefully neutral. That earned him the first real, open laugh he had heard out of you. “Yes I suppose that is one way to put it. Are you still as adamant on marriage with one of them after meeting them or have we finally deterred you?”

The prince stuck out his chin most stubbornly, “I still intend to secure the alliance if that is what you ask.” That caused your smile to falter as you shook your head and turned towards your chambers, “of course you do.” Here you were delighted at one light moment with the dark prince, but Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not steadfast.

“Your persistence could almost give theirs’ competition.” You teased before leaving.

Aemond’s patience was bound to eventually run its course. For days, he had watched you receive messages, carried in by suspicious birds, and each time you’d dismissed his inquiries with vague answers and a smile that only fuelled his frustration. After receiving a letter from his grandsire demanding to know his progress, he realised he had very little to show for his time here and decided he had been played with quite enough. Tonight, he had no intention of being so easily brushed aside.

He strode through the corridors, his jaw clenched, his boots striking hard against the stone floor. Without hesitation, he pushed open the heavy door to your chambers. Inside, you sat on an ornate desk, your husband’s, a letter in hand, with your gaze flicking up to meet his slowly. You didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You merely raised an eyebrow, as though his intrusion was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

“Prince Aemond,” you greeted scornfully, not attempting to hide your displeasure at his unannounced entry, “You enter, insolently, without permission. I hope you have an urgent excuse behind such an incursion on my privacy?”

“Enough of your games, Lady Y/N,” Aemond snapped, his voice dangerous as he advanced toward you. “I’ve seen the ravens, the messages you’ve been receiving. Do not insult me by pretending I do not know who they are from.” He spat out.

You remained still, your expression unreadable as you took your time to set the letter aside. "And who, pray, do you imagine my correspondents to be?” you refused to match his tone, carefully keeping yourself in check.

“The bitch mother of bastards – Rhaenyra” Aemond hissed her name like it was a curse. “You’ve been stringing me along, all this while sending your little birds to her. I won’t be made a fool, not by you.”

Your eyes flashed at the accusation, but your voice remained steady, cutting. “Foolishness is something one brings upon oneself, Your Grace. If you feel such, do not lay the blame at my feet.”

The prince’s temper flared, and he walked forward in a swift stride, his presence filling the room with barely contained fury. He pressed his fingertips on your dark oak desk, to imposingly lean forward towards where you sat. If the feeling of looking up at a furious dragonlord pressing down upon you made you scared at all, you didn’t show it. “Do not make the mistake to think I am unaware of your little schemes. Keeping me here, playing coy while you weigh your options. But I warn you, Y/N—”

You took a breath, your chin lifting as you met his gaze head-on,  interrupting his little speech “You warn me?” Your voice dropped, deadly calm, as you slowly rose from where you sat to match his stature. “And what will you do, Aemond? Bring your dragon down upon me? Burn Storm’s End to ash because I don’t bend to your will?”

Aemond’s lips twisted into a cold smile, his voice softening into something more dangerous. “You think I won’t?” This was not a man who would let insults go unanswered.

You were the storm’s daughter too though, not one to back down at the first sight of strong winds. “Burn it down if you wish, but it will not win you the Stormlands. It will not win you this war.”

You stood only inches apart now, close enough for you to feel him breathing down on you. Aemond’s eye narrowed, his anger palpable as he spoke, each word laced with cruel intent. “It would be nothing more than rubble if I wished it, and you, Lady Baratheon, would be nothing more than a forgotten name in the ashes.”

Your eyes blazed with fury, never leaving his as you sidestepped the table to stand next to him. “You think threats will bend me? That I am some weak-willed lady who’d cower before your dragon’s mere breath?” Your voice was sharp, holding back a tidal wave of anger. “I am no stranger to men like you, men who believe they can brandish fear like a sword.” After all, Borros had tried to break you and failed, you had prevailed over him. Your son was your victory. Now your husband laid six leagues under the ground while you sat on his seat. If Aemond Targaryen thought he could break you, he would be proven wrong too. “Know this—Storm’s End will stand long after you and your beast are dust. Dragon fire or not.”

They were too close, the air around them crackling with the force of their anger. For a moment, neither spoke, their eyes locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to give an inch. The heat between them had shifted, it had become something trecherous, as Aemond’s gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

Without warning, the tension snapped.

Aemond moved first, his hand gripping your arm as he pulled you to him, his mouth crashing down onto yours with a force born of fury as much as lust. You responded in kind, your fingers grabbing onto his leather coat as you kissed him back with equal fervour, both of yours’ anger feeding the fire that had long been building between you.

Aemond’s hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers almost clawing at your soft skin. Your hand instinctively bawled itself around the leather beneath it, pressing your body impossibly close to his.

It was not a kiss of tenderness, but of conquest, a desire ignited by the very battle that raged between you —fierce and unrelenting. Neither of you attempted to be gentle, perhaps being rough and demanding was just in both yours’ natures.

Aemond only broke the kiss to knock down the various trinkets that had been occupying the late Lord Baratheon’s desk, to then lift you with ease and make you sit atop it. You felt guilty at destroying your late husband’s things so callously as you caught sight of the now broken, spilled ink bottle on the floor, when the thought of how Borros had never even bothered to learn how to read to actually make use of the thing, made it disappear. Besides the dragon prince did not leave you much time to have thoughts anyway. His mouth was soon upon yours once again, as he parted your legs to make space for himself between them.

When his cold hand suddenly slipped underneath your heavy black dress, you couldn’t suppress a gasp at the feeling, which he used to slip his tongue inside you, deepening the kiss. The feeling of his hand trailing up your thigh made the hair on the back of your arms stand. Your hand found its way to the prince’s perfectly kept up hair, entangling themselves in his silver locks in knots, as if you wanted to ruin it, ruin him. When you tugged at his tresses sharply, you caused him to growl into the kiss, a sound which made you deliciously crave for him.

It seemed you had called forth some beast in that act though, for Aemond abandoned your lips entirely and the hand on your thigh moved towards your core, starting to remove your small clothes. In your own impatience, you helped him guide the cloth down till it was off of you, your hand then moving to undo his breeches with hurried fingers.

You gasped at the feeling of having his length in your hand, it had been a long time since you’d felt anything similar, having been widowed many moons ago. You spat in your hand to use it as moisture before you pulled on his manhood firmly, feeling your cunt become warm and wet at the very feeling of having him in your palm. Aemond’s breathing had become more ragged, responding to your actions. His hand found your neck, pressing itself around the frail little thing till you saw stars and the movement of your hand became sloppy, but you never once told him to stop. Your head titled back as if transported off Storm’s End to a world altogether new in pleasure. When his hand finally released you, you coughed back to reality, and your hand stilled.

His hands moved to your shoulder as he pulled himself to your ear to breathe down, “I don’t remember telling you you could stop, Lady Baratheon.” His words left you on edge and you swallowed, quickly nodding as you continued to move your hands over his now hardened length. He gave you a twisted smile, as his hand faintly pulled your hair stands away from your face, “You look more suited to play this obedient servant of the crown than that feeble attempt at playing the lord of the castle you have been doing, my lady.”

Even if your brain could have managed to come up with some biting remark for him, the sudden invasion of two of the prince’s spindly fingers inside your pussy cut those thoughts out. “Seven hells” you cussed out at the feeling. Aemond hummed approvingly at your response. His free hand found itself pulling on the gown as it draped over your shoulders, tearing the cloth with a screech so it would expose to him your bare shoulder.

His lips moved over the uncovered, soft skin of yours with gentleness which contradicted the brutal pace at which his hand moved against the walls inside you. It seemed he wanted to torture you with his pace, tease you just as much as punish you for how you had been holding out on him since he had arrived. Aemond Targaryen demanded nothing if not complete control, and you had taken that from him the moment you had met him. Such a treasonous act demanded retribution.

You felt a sharp pain when his lips against your skin were replaced by his teeth, biting hard enough to leave the place blue for the next day, but not content with letting you adjust to just that, he also placed another finger inside you in that moment, overwhelming you with sensations.

“Aemond—” you gasped, only to have him command you, “you do not yet have the leave to call me by name. if you’re forgetting your manners, we can cease this now” “no!” the negation tumbled out of your mouth embarrassingly fast, the feeling of his fingers moving inside you having caused all your previous haughtiness and resolve to disappear. “Your Grace—” You corrected yourself, “—I think… I think I’m” before you could get the word close out of your mouth, you found yourself suddenly empty, his fingers removed.

You didn’t know if you had it in you to beg him to fuck you, but thank the gods you didn’t have to go that far. For it only took a moment for Aemond to replace his hand with his cock, filling you in one go till tears formed in your eyes. He mercilessly filled you till there was nothing left but the tight of feeling your walls squeezing around him. “When was the last time you were properly fucked, hm? Did fat old Borros Baratheon even fill this cunt half way?” He taunted you, but you could merely moan in reply, your mind clouded.

He emptied you and let manhood hit you to the tilt once more in a swift action, knocking the wind out of you, your mouth hanging open in a silent gasp. Aemond did not prepare you for his pace by starting slow, but instead pulled out and pulled back inside of you with the full force of his length till your fingers grabbed the edge of the desk beneath you for some kind of support. His hips moved at a brutal pace, his hands holding onto your legs to keep you in place, to keep you open for him. You hadn’t been fucked in so long, to be filled like this repeatedly was too much for you. You shook your head and tried to keep a hand on his chest, “slower, please… your grace…” your breathed, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“shhh” in an act of uncharacteristic tenderness, Aemond pulled you to himself till your chin rested on his shoulder, his hips never ceasing their assault. “not yet.” You whined at his denial, tears starting to run down your cheeks, but you did not reject him. He continued to touch your sensitive spot with each thrust, and you simply took it, almost helpless in your obedience.

“How docile, how sweet…” he cooed. He liked this, for the first time since Vhagar had landed in these lands he had felt a sense of control. It wound him up more than anything else, to have you in his hands, for the first time his plaything, rather than the other way around. The way he could elicit your face to distort in pleasure, cause you to give up that stature of authority and move as he commanded, made him harder than he thought possible.

The way your breathing had become more rapid and your walls were closing in around him, he knew you couldn’t this take much longer, and so he finally allowed, “Let yourself come on your prince’s cock, Y/N” You curled your toes at the pleasure surmounting, your mouth unable to stifle a cry as you came around his cock. Your cum streamed down your thighs, ruining the dress you wore in the process.

The act had left you too tired to even sit up, you collapsed till your back hit the wood of the desk as Aemond continued to chase his high inside you. You could only whimper at the feeling, till you felt his cock twitch and unburden itself inside you, your mind too numb to protest.

As Aemond pulled out of you, you closed your eyes attempting to even out your breathing and calm your heart. Your mouth had gone dry and an ache had formed between your legs from the vigour of the prince’s pace.

The sound of the prince’s leaving steps sounded across the room till the door he had brazenly pushed open earlier, shut close shut behind him. Once you were alone you finally opened your eyes and sat up on the table.

As you walked over to the washbasin your servants had placed in the corner, to splash water to cool down the fire the prince had ignited within you, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Dishevelled hair, torn clothes and flushed cheeks. This wasn’t how you’d expected your negotiations to leave you.

Aemond was up at the crack of dawn, despite the little sleep he had received the night before, his body too set in its routine to allow him to sleep in. He’d remained distracted all morning though, from his usual training to breakfast, his mind still buzzed from the night before— with you.

His thoughts lingered on the memory of your body pressed against his, the taste of your lips still vivid in his mind. Truth be told such thoughts had barely allowed him to sleep, he had to do everything in his power to restrain himself from marching down to your chambers to have you once again. Come morning, it seemed his feet had made up their own mind as they carried him to the grand hall where you broke fast every morning, determined to speak to you. But speak to you about joining the war, or joining him, he wasn’t sure as he took strong steps towards those stone gates, until a shaky, scared servant reluctantly blocked his way with bowed head.

“Prince Aemond,” the servant began cautiously, “Lady Baratheon is indisposed this morning.” That gave him pause. Now that he looked around, there seemed to be more activity around the castle, it was certainly peopled with more men than usual. There was something different in the air, you were up to something. The servant carried on stammering “She-she re-regrets that she is unable to see you, but she extends the c-c-courtesy of allowing you to escort one-one of her stepdaughters for the day….should you wish.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the message, his eyes narrowing slightly. It wasn’t the refusal that stung—he had known you would be up plotting, woman of action as you are —but the implication that he should entertain one of your stepdaughters instead. His mind briefly flickered to Floris, Cassandra, Maris, and Ellyn—each dull and uninspiring in their own ways. None of them possessed your sharpness, your strength. His patience for their company had worn thin days ago, and now, after the night he had shared with you, the thought of spending an entire day with one of them felt intolerable.

“Which of the ladies would you prefer to accompany today, m-m-my prince?” the servant asked, still refusing to meet his eye. Aemond barely suppressed a sneer. “None,” he stared at the closed gate ahead of him. He wondered what you were doing behind those doors, wondered if you were mulling over his proposal or planning how to betray him to his half-sister. He wanted to know how you were thinking of this situation, how your mind would tick at the facts before it. He wanted you. He placed one hand on the stone gate, feeling the cool surface beneath his palm. You were so close to him, almost within his reach.

Yet, he thought as with decisive steps he turned around and started to walk away, so far.

He spent the day inspecting the grounds, trying to gauge the situation. He understood soon you’d called your bannermen to counsel you, but which way they would sway you remained unknown.

He mulled over the previous night in his mind often, no matter how much he tried to deny how he felt with you, he had to admit you had awoken something in him. You were unlike any woman he had seen – someone bold, someone who challenged him. You had surrendered in the end, but not without making him work for it. It had been a hollow victory, one that left him dissatisfied and wanting for more.

As the day wore on Aemond found himself restless. The usual routine of the castle felt stifling, and your absence only deepened his bitterness. By nightfall, his frustration had grown, it was perceptible in the way he stared into the fire, sitting in his chambers, waiting for news.

A soft knock at the door of his eerily quiet chambers alerted him. Aemond straightened, his brow furrowing as he rose to open it. Beating him to it, to his surprise, you opened it without invitation, dressed in nothing but a white, silk nightgown. The firelight flickered behind him, casting a warm glow across your features.

Your lips curved into a faint smile, “I hope I’m not disturbing you, my prince,” you teased. Aemond’s gaze lingered on you in a suspicious manner, his expression unreadable. “You rarely come without purpose, my Lady. What is it tonight?”

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you as you moved further into his chambers. “After much consultation with my bannermen,” you began, your voice steady with a note of finality, “I have made my decision.”

He was intrigued as he matched your steps to meet you half way across his chambers, agitated to hear this “And what have you decided?”

 “Storm’s End will declare for King Aegon.”

Aemond’s chest tightened, his thoughts racing as he processed your announcement. He had done it, finally done it. He had brought you to his brother’s side, fulfilled the promise he had made to his mother and grandsire. He had proven himself worthy. He would not be the son who shirked duty like his brother, no, he would be considered the one who stepped up when his family needed him most. His chest swelled in self-pride at the thought.

But there was something more to it of course, he thought as he saw how your eyes followed his every move, as if attempting to pierce through him and grasp his soul. He had to be in your debt for this, he knew that. He wasn’t sure how well he could have done at his task had you made up his mind against him. “The crown will not forget your loyalty” his leather boots took the final steps to close the gap between you both, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you to his chest. He stared down at you as he added in a whispered voice “…and I’m certain it will find a way to express its immense gratitude.”

You words were raspy as you answered staring up at him, captivated. “Consider it a reward for your… persistence.” He hummed in response, bending just a little so his lips were at level with yours, never touching but hovering like phantoms.

Your own lips curved upwards as you began to comment with a hint of amusement “My stepdaughters will be waiting with bated breath, eager to hear which one of them you’ll choose as your bride.”

Aemond’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, he turned his head so his nose grazed your neck as he took in your scent, his breath tickling your skin. “Any suggestions to make my choice easier? You do know them better than anyone.” He muttered against you, before pressing his lips to your ear lightly.

You tilted your head thoughtfully, allowing him access to your neck, trailing kisses down it.  “Cassandra is the eldest,” you began dryly. “But she’s air-headed, always prattling on about nonsense. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sensible word out of that one.”

Aemond chuckled softly, as he considered your words. “And the others?” he baited you to go on, his hands starting to lift your sheer nightgown to allow his fingertips to graze your thighs.

“Maris is clever,” you continued, your breathing hitched at his actions though there was a flicker of exasperation in your voice as you added “Too clever, sometimes. That girl never learned the art of silence. Always chattering, always thinking she knows better.” You sighed, your expression shifting to mild disdain. “Ellyn is dull. Always whining about something—nothing ever pleases her.”

Aemond arched a brow, smirking, finding your frankness far more entertaining than the thought of any of these girls. “And Floris?”

You laughed softly, a melodic sound that carried a trace of mockery. “Floris is beautiful, yes. But she’s already scared half to death by the mere sight of you.” Your eyes flicked to his face, and before he could react, you lifted your hand and reached toward his eyepatch, smitten. “I wonder why that is...”

Your fingers brushed the edge of the leather patch, but before you could go any further, Aemond’s hand shot up, gripping your wrist firmly. He pulled your hand away, his gaze dark and intense as he leaned closer. “And you, my lady?” he asked, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it. “Are you no longer scared?”

Your lips parted slightly, and your heart raced as you stared up at him, unflinching. A slow, wicked smile spread across your face. “You could not scare me if you tried,” you murmured, goading him.

In a flash Aemond had pulled you to him by grabbing your wrists. He wrapped his long, slender fingers around those dainty things, and pulled them behind himself, till you crashed into his lips.

With your body held captive like this you felt as if this was the prince taking his war prize in advance of the actual battle. His lips left no room for you, gave you no quarter. You weren’t protesting much about the abduction though. The prince may conduct himself as an aloof noble, a dragonrider who was above mere mortals in public, but when alone like this, you’d realised he showed a hunger of a poor man, a man denied, who was searching for his redemption.

He only released your hands to lift you up, your legs wrapping around his thin torso for dear life as he swiftly carried you to the bed, your lips refusing to leave his even as your arms hung around his shoulders for anchor. It was only when he threw your back to the mattress that he broke the kiss. You realised the prince was already hurrying with untying the strings which held his breeches, an impatience within him.

He used his knee to pry open your legs, making room for himself between them as he took his cock out in his hands and helped himself, looking down on the site of you sprawled all out for him, in just a sheer nightgown. Hair all over the place, legs open and ready to receive him. He mused with the hint of a smirk, how the mighty, commanding lady Baratheon had been reduced to this state.

You could feel his gaze upon you as if dragonfire itself, but you refused to turn away. You looked into his face, the expression of fervour in his eyes. He had you under him, in every way possible, and you knew he was relishing in that feeling. He had his army, and he had the woman.

You, on the other hand, were far more discreet in your sense of achievement. After the day of discussions you had had, the terms you and your bannermen had drawn up, you knew that the crown would not get the Stag for cheap. But you were happy to let them enjoy in this victory before you presented your full terms, after all a content prince was probably easier to haggle with than an irked dragonrider.

Yet still, the thought popped in your head as the prince leaned forward to enter you, pressing you beneath his weight, you didn’t have to give up all your sense of control. Your legs hooked around him, and your palms pushed at his shoulders to flip you both.

“You are our guest under this roof. Allow me, my prince.” Your voice sounded more as if you were taking charge, than acting the welcoming host. Last night he had been the one to make you feel helpless, and as much as you had enjoyed the feeling, you weren’t one to take what came at you lying down either.

You were the one looking down at him now, his silver hair covering the white sheets till the colours melted under the moonlight, his expression remained distrustful, still reluctant to allow himself to be beneath you, give you the reins this once. You didn’t want to allow him to dwell on that feeling and change your positions. You wasted no time in lifting yourself up and gathering your nightgown till it pooled around your stomach, taking his length in your hand and positing it with your cunt.

If the prince was going to protest, those words left him as soon as your warmth sunk down on him. He grunted as his head titled back in pleasure, your eyes unable to leave the sight of him as you yourself bit down on your lower lip at the feeling of the initial insertion.

“Sīr ȳrda” so tight, he let out through gritted teeth as his hands found your hips, though you were unable to understand his ancient tongue you took it as encouragement. You placed your palms on his chest for support as you rolled yourself on his cock, feeling him hit your spot with every move. You hadn’t been this bold with your late husband, who would visit you every second day to pump himself in you with a few thrusts and leave once he was satisfied. You would have never had the liberty to take him on like this, riding atop him, chasing your pleasure impaling yourself on such a cock.

You kept your movements slow, with little experience in such a position you didn’t think you could take faster snaps before becoming overcome. The prince had already displayed his aversion for patience though.

His hands moved to snake themselves around your waist fully as he sat up, “allow me, my lady” he almost mockingly threw your words back at you, with an almost sadistic half-smile. He lifted you slightly before thrusting himself upwards at you, quicker each time. You drew in a sharp breath at the feeling of becoming filled so fast, again and again and again. You refused to give him the satisfaction of telling him to slow down this time though, simply bracing yourself to take him.

Still subconsciously looking for some semblance of control, your fingers found his hair. you couldn’t help yourself from clutching at his long locks, jerking his face to jut out his chin. He grunted lowly in response, his hand coming down on your buttocks suddenly with a loud smack as punishment. You whimpered at the sensation; in pleasure or pain, you weren’t sure. Your eyes wandered to the pale skin of his neck, how it glistened with sweat under the moon. You pressed a kiss to it, tender, trailing up to his lips as you felt your thighs becoming feeble with his every movement. You moaned as you kissed him fully, your tongue slipping inside his mouth.

You felt his fingertips slip under your nightgown and trail up and down your back almost affectionately, but his cock hit your walls so mercilessly you could feel a throbbing ache. He was a storm of contradictions, Prince Aemond. Just when you thought you could understand him, he would turn everything upside down.

He gave you agony and satisfaction in such an equal measure, your body had become mush, acting only on his unsaid whims. He broke the kiss to gaze upon your serene face, twisted from the bombardment of sensations. “Do you swear–” he thrusted into you, “—fealty–” another thrust, “–to your prince?”

You were so close now, you could feel it, your nails were digging themselves in his skin, breaking it. You couldn’t answer him in your haze, which caused him to slap your bare buttocks once more, “yes” you immediately replied with a gasp.

“My prince I’m close… Aemond…” Aemond’s hand reached to hold your face in his hand as you could feel that wave of pleasure about to crash, “come undone for me, y/n” he whispered in your ear, which broke the dam for you.

You chanted his name as you came, feeling him reach his peak in your walls soon after. Somewhere far in your mind you had the thought to obtain some moontea the next day, seeing as you had allowed the Targaryen inside you twice now, but in that moment, you pushed such things aside. You sat together, you stradling his lap, him still inside you, his face pressed to the crook of your neck as he panted lightly with exertion. Your hand reached to brush the hair falling down his back as you sat there, with only the moon to witness your moment of solace.

He finally broke the silence with a hum, pulling you both down to place you next to him in bed, not bothering to pull out of you. “Stay.” His words had the force of an order, but his eyes pleaded a request. You smiled at the fondness he couldn’t bring his tongue to convey but that his expression betrayed. “As you wish.” You felt no hurry to leave his side either, you realised.

The soft light of dawn filtered into the room, casting a pale glow across the stone walls. Aemond stirred, the warmth of the bed a stark contrast to the chill in the air. His hand stretched out to find you missing from his side. He looked around the room, and didn’t allow his face to disclose the relief he felt when he saw you were still with him. You stood in your nightgown, staring out the window in silent contemplation.

Aemond sat up, as you turned to face him, realising that your expression was at ease, but there was a trace of calculation behind your eyes, as though the events of the night before were already giving way to something more pragmatic.

“We need to work out the details of the treaty,” you stated as a morning greeting, stepping away from the window and crossing the room toward him. “Before the official declaration of Storm’s End for King Aegon, we must solidify the alliance, the exact conditions.” Gone was the sultry Lady Baratheon of the night. In the morning it would be the reigning lady of the house who was meeting him. “And you need to decide which of my stepdaughters it will be.” You matter-of-factly added.

Aemond studied you for a moment. There was no playfulness in your tone now, no teasing—only the cold reality of the marriage alliance that had brought him to your doorstep in the first place.

You were no longer the naïve girl who had held hopes of falling in love with your husband when you had first married. Borros had made sure of disabusing you of that notion. All that stood in place of that girl now was a hardened woman, one who knew fiction from reality. And a prince falling for her was certainly the former. You would get what you needed, security for your son, and Aemond would achieve his objective and marry one of your husband’s pliant girls. You held no grudge against him, you were just interested in moving along with what needed to be done.

He did not share your straightforward view though, because as he considered your words, something else occurred to him, something that made his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

“It occurs to me now,” he began, almost thoughtful, “that my specific instructions were to secure House Baratheon through a marriage alliance. It was never specified that it must be one of Borros’ daughters that I marry.”

Surprise overtook you so fast your face couldn’t hide it under its usual, crafted mask. You watched him in silence for a moment, your brow arching ever so slightly. Did he jest? Or did he mean what you believed he did?

“And what exactly are you suggesting, my prince?” you did not want to bring your hopes up, you had trained yourself not to, yet your measured voice carried an unmistakable edge. A glimmer of hope.

Aemond rose from the bed, his gaze never leaving you. He’d met all four of your daughters and not one of them held his interest for a moment. You though, were intelligent and knew how to hold yourself against him. You wouldn’t be a pretty liability he would have on his arm, but an intelligent counsellor to be at his side through the upcoming war. He recognised the value that would have. In addition to that, even he couldn’t deny the attraction he had for you, how your magnetism pulled him in. He couldn’t resist you if he tried.

So then why try? A voice in his head had dared. Why try, when marrying you would secure the Baratheon’s just as much as marrying any of those silly girls would.

He walked to you, his smirk deepening as he spoke. “I’m suggesting that there may be a more suitable match within House Baratheon than your stepdaughters.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, attempting to suppress a full grin. “An intriguing offer. I would love to see Otto Hightower’s expression when he’s apprised of that.” From what you knew of the Hand, he wasn’t a man who took to surprises warmly. “Leave my grandsire to me.” He assured you as he stretched to place his hands on your arms as a pledge. “All you need to worry about is preparing for your arrival at King’s landing.” He would tell Otto Hightower what he knew to be the truth: having you by his side would bring all of them closer to victory, than the alternative.

A slow smile broke across your face, you stood on your toes to press a quick kiss to him. “As my Prince commands.” You finally answered, your words on their face were an open attempt at fawning at him, but he could sense the oblique pride and challenge that hid behind them. You hadn’t even known how you’d managed it, but even as he stood as the one who had achieved all his aims, you felt like the victor in this arrangement.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Seventeen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 4K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. PTSD, references and descriptions of domestic violence , grooming, manipulation, pregnancy. Simon's back story. Trauma. Bun opens up a bit more. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt. Simon is a nervous dad. Emotional confessions.

“It’s Beth.” Simon wipes the countertop, chasing little dirty fingerprints with a wet cloth, before fixing a hesitant set of eyes on yours.

“That’s pretty… I like it.” There’s something odd about his expression, something haunted almost, a deep, dark well filled to the brim with rancid, stagnant water. You sense it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

He motions to the chair and slides your mug into your waiting hands. “Sit.”

“Simon?”

“It was my sister in law’s name. My brother’s wife.” Was. Your throat goes dry, muscles tensing.

“Was?” He pulls your fingers into his, cradled in the palm of his hand, thumb rubbing circles into your skin, over and over on a loop. A mechanism of comfort, connection. A thread stitch into the fabric between your heart and his.

“They died, sweetheart. My family… I lost them.” Grief, a shared experience you know now, froths in the pit of your heart. You tremble, he holds you steady, though it should be the other way around.

“What… what happened?” He sighs, dragging your palm to his lips.

“Let’s sit down on the couch.”

He holds you as he talks, diaphragm rumbling against your ear. You’re laid on his chest, unable to see his face, watch his expressions, but for this, you don’t feel the urge to dissect each one.

You’re content against him. Listening. Mourning.

There’s a swath of silence afterwards, and then he clears his throat. “So, I was dead. Dead until I met Johnny, I think. And then everything changed.” Johnny’s words from weeks and weeks ago make more sense, Simon’s actions and reactions rapidly gaining clarity. “When we found you, I saw it, the look in your eyes. It was the same one that used to haunt my mother’s.”

“You saved her.” He burrows his face in your neck and shakes his head.

“I did what I could to piece them back together. Helped get Tommy clean and on his feet, got rid of the old man for good, but the damage… the way she suffered, it was irreversible. The best I could do was be there as much as often as possible.” You comb through his hair, short strands of silk like Penny’s, and hold him close. “I promised myself, when I met Johnny, when we fell in love, I’d do better by my own family. For him, and then by Penny. And now you. Promised I wouldn’t become him.” Your heart clenches, squeezing in on itself. “Violence may have been a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part of me.” His fingers dance along your spine until they reach your chin, tilting you back to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t need to ask for your trust, he already has it.

“Johnny thinks I’ve got a bit of a savior complex now, but I want you to know… that’s not what this is, bunny.”

“I know,” you clear your throat, fighting through the thick of emotion building there, accumulating in heaps, “I know that.”  

“But we do need to talk about him, you know that?” Darkness creeps along the wispy, dream-like cocoon the two of you built on the couch, and you push it away, try to banish it, basking in the comfort of his arms instead.

“I can’t, I… right now it feels like I’m in a dream where nothing hurts and nothing can scare me or hurt me, and I don’t-“

“You’re not in a dream, bunny. That’s your reality. This is real. Nothing can, or will, hurt you, scare you. No one will ever touch you again.”

“I need more time. Please.” Simon sighs, but doesn’t push, and the two of you lay there, together, suspended in comforting silence. For another moment, your world is a dream. A safe, beautiful dream, where happy endings are real, where love stretches on for eternity, unconditional, limitless, unbreakable.

You’re so different now, stark changes shocking to the girl you once knew, the one who doubled back on her routes to and from work, the one that walked everywhere with her hackles up. Little pieces of black rot now turned a blinding white, a brilliant beam seeking to shine on the whole of your life.

It’s a dream.

One you won’t easily surrender.

“I was really young.” It comes during a lapse in conversation, practically a blurt, an interruption pushing heat to your cheeks. Expelled from your mind, your body without choice, cracks appearing in the preservation that you’ve so defiantly clung to. You have to tell them, eventually. You have to break it all apart, let them see. Johnny’s mouth opens, and Simon’s hand darts to his wrist faster than a snake could strike, a clear signal. Don’t speak. “Obviously now, looking back on it, I realize I was groomed, or I guess, easily influenced. He was older, and I graduated early, started college early. I was in my second year when I turned eighteen. My mom,” the lump in your throat nearly chokes you until you swallow it down, “my mom busted her ass for me. I went to college on scholarships and her hard work.” Metal clanks against ceramic, forks settling on the edges of plates. “Anyway, everyone always thought I was a know-it-all and pretty awkward. We weren’t officially like, together right away but it was pretty serious from the day I met him. Eventually… he started to change me. Change my goals. He even manipulated my career path.”

“What did you go to school for?” Simon asks casually, head tilted.

“Bioscience. I wanted to be a doctor, so I thought it would transition well for med school. Thought I could become a surgeon.” You were a girl then; you know that now. Naïve, misguided by a hand that sought to control you, not love you as you hoped. It’s embarrassing, baring this, showing these broken bits and pieces to them, shattered shards of a mirror never glued back together.

“What happened?”

“He did.” Johnny squeezes your hand. “Made it to pre-med but ended up leaving and starting a nursing program instead. It’s what he wanted, and by then, I couldn’t say no.”

“But ye didnae want it, to be a nurse.”

“No. I didn’t. I love my job now, of course, and I’m happy in it, but originally, I wanted something else. He tricked me, in all honesty. Showed me something that wasn’t real, reeled me in, and then revealed his true colors.” You shudder. “The first time… the first time it happened, I shook it off, forgave him. I-“ the memory is still so strong, it stuns you. The blood from your busted lip is fresh on your tongue, sting on the side of your face turning to a blooming ache.

“Bunny?” Johnny’s grip moves to your elbow, strong, but not too tight. An anchor. You shake your head.

“Sorry.”

“Ye’re alright, ye can stop if-“

“No, I… I want to share these things with you. It feels like I’m supposed to, like you should know me… like this.”

“We already know you, sweetheart. Don’t push yourself.” Simon’s tone is serious, and you nod.

“It’s embarrassing, looking back on it and realizing how bad it was, how bad I let it get. How I let him cut me off from everyone, change my career, squash me like a bug.” You laugh, but it’s empty.

“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Johnny’s lips press together, muscles in his jaw straining, “was never yer fault.” You don’t answer, just trace the woodgrain of the table, texture moving beneath your fingers. The conversation is draining you, leeching light away like a horizon swallowing the last of the sun.

“He’s rich. Like, fuck you money rich. Rich like make problems go away rich, and his job…” your head shakes again. It’s the most you’ve ever said, heavy buried secrets finally dug up, resurrected, the truth trembles through your bones. “He has resources. Has chased me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I know you’ve said you’re not really sure, but did he ever tell you what his job entails?”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.” Johnny shifts in his seat, antsy, and you shrug. “He kept that part of his life very, very private. There was even a room in the house that was always locked.” Your head is heavy, lead upon your shoulders, and Johnny tucks his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“I know this is hard bun, but ye’re so brave for us. Lettin’ us know ye this way. I’m proud of ye.” He murmurs, lips to your forehead, and you fully relax, wrapping around his middle.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, eyes closing, and he rubs your back.

“Let’s get ye to bed then.”

“Your child is too big for me to carry!” You announce, hand on your hip, little backpack straps looped around your arm. Simon closes the door behind you, chuckling, and Penny plops onto the floor. She goes to a nursery day program now a few days a week, something that was a contentious subject in the house for far too long, opinions and arguments ping ponging over your head until the decision was finally made.

“It’s not safe.”

“Ye cannae keep ‘er locked up here forever, love.”

“Why not?” Simon bounced Penny against his chest, unimpressed look on both their faces, so alike you almost busted out laughing.

“Because she’s a child. She needs to be w’other children, not just us.” Johnny brings his free hand to his lips, squeezing Simon’s wrist. “I know ye’re scared.” Simon’s not the only one who’s scared, you thought. Phillip lurked at the edge of your mind, worry that he might find Penny plagued you, even though they both assured that wasn’t their main concern.

“She’s too little.”

“Simon. We agreed on this,” Johnny gives him a sharp look, “do yer research, find the best one. Ye know this needs to happen, for her. She needs to make friends, learn how to interact with kids her own age. Ye know this.”

“Fine.”

“She cannae be, not m’wee lamb.”

“She is.” You rub your shoulder. “Sheesh.” Penny’s stomach gurgles at your feet, and Simon grimaces.

“There’s a bug goin’ around the kids, teacher told me today.”

“Not surprising. Nurseries are little petri dishes.” You straighten your back, rolling your shoulder, and wince.

“Hurts?” Simon’s thumb digs into the soft spot there, and your lashes flutter.

“Maybe ye need a hot bath,” Johnny suggests, and Simon ushers the two of you up the stairs.

“I’ve got Pen. Go relax.”

“This is nice.” Johnny soaps your back, lavender and vanilla steam swirling around in the bathroom as you lean against him, his chest to your back.

“Aye.” The cloth drags across your chest, teasing your nipples, and you revel in his touch, soaking in every second he gives you, the brush of his cheek against yours, his lips on your neck. “Like havin’ ye all to myself sometimes.” You blink.

“Does it bother you? When we’re not all together?”

“No. Ye have a relationship wit’ me, and wit’ Simon, and we have a relationship all together. No one is the same. I like it.”

“Me too.” You settle again, loose and tender in the bath, soaped hands running up and down your back, kneading your shoulders, releasing the tension coiled in your bones. You groan.

“Feel good then?”

“Yeah.” He presses a hand over your heart with a deep breath, before he takes another.

And then one more.

“What’s wro-“

“I love ye bun. Wholly. Think ‘ve loved ye since the day I opened my eyes to ye leaning over the bed in hospital.” You turn, twisting to face him, and he dabs your nose with his thumb. “I dinnae have any expectations of ye, or yer feelings, but I had to be honest. I had to tell ye.” The confession fights its way forward, begging to be let out, to be freed.

Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him you love them, that they’re your light, that they’ve chased the darkness away and replaced it with the sun.

You can’t.

Instead, you rest your forehead against his, syncing your breathing, sharing the moment, holding onto him so tight in case he slips away.

“I can’t say it.” You whisper, and he nods. “But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“An’ that’s okay. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for ye as long as ye need.” There’s no pressure, no demands, just Johnny and his arms, his understanding and patience, his love.

You blink back tears and crash your lips to his. “Thank you.”

Your stomach is what wakes you.  

Something it in is burning, tossing bile around, the sensation strong enough your lips curl, and you try to draw a deep breath through your nose.

You wriggle, trying to pull free from where you’re tangled up in Simon and Johnny, carefully and slow, hoping to avoid waking them though you know even in their dreams, they sleep with one eye open.

 Still, you manage to make it to the bathroom before feet are padding across the carpet on your heels.

You sink to your knees in front of the toilet, stomach bubbling, sending the scorching remnants of dinner up your throat.

The door clicks open. “No, get out. I don’t want you to see-“ you gag again, tap turning on at the sink, a cold washcloth folding over your neck.

“Shhh,” Simon murmurs, rubbing your back, “get it all out.”

“Oh god,” another wave swells, and your muscles tense, body expelling bits of bile and not much else.

“That’s the way, good girl.”

“This is gross.” You gasp. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’ve seen way worse than you puking, sweetheart.”

“She alright?” Johnny half yells from the bedroom and you groan. The guilt of him having to maneuver himself out of bed, still not one hundred percent healthy, still not back to full strength, draws a shiver from your spine.

“I’m fine, don’t come in here!” Your stomach pitches, fingers tightening against your thighs, but nothing comes up, again and again, until everything settles and you’re breathing deeply, steady, back straight.

“Let’s get you some water.” There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s going to do what he wants to do when it comes to taking care of you, you know that now. It’s painfully clear as he tries to help you drink from the glass, and then puts toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“I’m fine.” You assure weakly, but he only watches you, concerned.

“Think it’s the nursery bug?”

“Probably.” You sag, energy drained completely, and he steadies you, cupping your cheek. His touch is cool, and you lean into it, savoring the reprieve it brings against your throbbing temples.

“Want to go back to bed?”

“What if I throw up again?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll jus’ clean it up.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You glance up at the timid mouse of a nurse, brand new, fingers clutched around a tablet like she’s drowning and it’s her life vest.

“What’s up?”

“Can you… can you look at these orders for me?” She looks terrified, and it tells you everything you need to know. She’s probably caught a mistake.

Baby nurses begin their careers in a delicate position. They’re overwhelmed, fresh off a whirlwind of orientation, overloaded with policy and procedure, and depending on their preceptor, either somewhat prepared or completely lost. Pitting a baby nurse against a provider, even a first-year resident, is like sending a lamb in to confront a lion. The result is usually tears.

She hands you the tablet and you spot it immediately. Incorrect dosage.

“Good catch.” You reassure, coaxing a small smile, and she nods.

“What do I do?”

“We go find the provider and clarify the dosage.” You’re not going to leave it up to her, alone, hang her out to dry and probably get run over by whatever moron ordered it in the first place, who happens to be-

Marshall.

Your eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “The pharmacy is also very on top of seeing errors like this, but it’s good you’ve noticed too, for the patient and yourself. Liability for things like this can be very tricky.” She nods again, trailing behind you, brand new squeaky sneakers echoing your own steps.

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes you when you find him, leaned up against a wall, arms crossed, smirking, cocking his head at your companion. “What’s up?”

“Can you take a look at this for me?” You purposefully zoom in on the meds tab, practically painting a bullseye around his error. He scoffs, defensive immediately, dismissive, before he takes a closer look, jaw clenched.

“That’s my mistake.” You blink. Marshall rarely ever takes responsibility so gracefully. Your eyebrow lifts.

“Care to fix it?”

“Of course.” His agreement is punctuated with a smile, though it’s off kilter.

“You can go,” you nod to the nurse, “good job.” Her eyes dart between you and Marshall, and without another word, scampers off.

“She’s new?” His usual interest in new nurses is less enthusiastic than ever.

You hate Marshall. He’s a scumbag. But he’s also been your coworker since day one, and you can’t help yourself. “What’s up with you?”  

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never owned up to a mistake that quickly, and you didn’t even make some smart-ass remark. Or berate her. Or give me an attitude.” He winces.

“It’s nothing.” But it doesn’t seem like nothing. It seems like something is wrong, like he’s sad, or depressed, and try as you might, your bleeding heart can’t walk away.

“What’s wrong.” You phrase a statement, a demand, instead of a question, and he blows a frustrated breath.

“It’s… I’m seeing someone.” Your eyes go wide.

“Who?” Please don’t say a nurse, please don’t say a nurse, please-

“Anna. From radiology.”

“Oh my god. The cupcake girl?” Anna was a fan favorite. Not only was she kind, but she was also quick with her reads, and baked cupcakes for the entire floor almost once a month. As far as radiologists go, she was better than most.

“Yeah.”

“Okay…”

“I really like her but… she’s always been aware of my reputation and is trying to take it slow. Too slow.” You could lecture him with a million reasons why she’s in the right, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got the resolve to handle it.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s dragging her feet. Doesn’t want to hang out more than once a week, rarely stays the night. I’ve been to her place a handful of times, but that’s it.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two months.” You laugh.

“That’s it?”

“It’s a long time for me!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Two months is no time at all. Have you discussed the… reluctance with her?” He seems uneasy, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you enjoy watching him squirm.

“Yeah. She says she’s happy, but isn’t trying to jump into anything,” his air quotes carry a whiff of the condescending asshole you know too well. This conversation couldn’t be timelier, and you think back to what you told Johnny the other night.

“Just because she’s taking it slow doesn’t mean her feelings for you aren’t there. You have to respect that. If she’s still putting up with you after two months, I’d bet she’s just being cautious. Getting hurt sucks.” He nods thoughtfully. “Give her the time she’s asking for, and don’t give up.”

Don’t give up.

The sentiment twists a knife lodged deep in your heart. Is that what will happen to you? Will they give up? Get tired of waiting for you to spill all your secrets, get tired of waiting for you to take the final step? To tell them you love them?

Get tired of waiting for you to let them use your real name?

“I didn’t expect her, didn’t expect to feel this way.” The mask comes down, revealing a hopelessly lovesick heart, the depth of it shining in his eyes.

“I don’t think anyone ever does expect it. That’s the surprising thing about love, I guess.” You sway, a palm pressed to the wall as your hand flattens over your stomach.

“You alright?” Marshall’s voice is far away as you breathe through your nose, trying to fend off the nausea tightening your throat.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit under the weather. Think I’ve got a bug or something.” Your stomach roils in warning, and you barely grit out an apology before dashing away.

Just in time to toss your breakfast up in the toilet.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you in the toilet. You didn’t sound fine, and you shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.” Your manager shakes her head like she’s disappointed, and you glare. You both know if you had called this morning talking about a stomach bug, she would have told you to suck it up unless you were actively vomiting.

“Look around. Do you see an excess of nurses on the floor?”

“We’ll manage. Or call someone in.” You shake your head.

“We’re already way past policy ratios.” You bite your tongue when safe nearly slips out, not wanting to piss her off. That’s the union’s job.

“At least go sit down or something. Take a break. Come back in twenty minutes and let me know how you feel.”

Your closet is cozy, and for once during the day, unoccupied. The nausea has subsided, for now, and you shoot a text to the guys, asking about Penny. If you feel like this, you can’t imagine how she feels.

You curl up and imagine you’re home instead, maybe in bed with a sleeve of crackers and some soda, warm chest at your back, a hand stroking over your hip. Maybe you’d have some soup, maybe the three of you would watch a movie after Pen went down for bed. You start to drift in the domestic fantasy, sleeping curling itself like a blanket over your shoulders, until you’re startled by the vibration of your phone, foot kicking forward in a jolt against a shelf.

A box falls to the floor.

HCG strips.

You stare at it for a long time, numbers and dates and weeks mashing together, calculations getting lost in the fray.

You’re not…

No.

Ridiculous. Not even possible. You’re on the pill. Religiously.

You have the nursery bug that Pen brought home. Get a grip.

Still…

You use the fifth-floor bathroom, one of the only single occupant toilets in the whole damn hospital, nausea now coming from a completely different source.

The timer on your phone is incredibly slow, or maybe it’s just time itself, the world turning in slow motion, every second elongated into turbulent silence, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much of everything to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Sadness.

Grief.

It’s grief that is the strongest. Grief for something that Phillip stole, mourning for something that was once so close, so real, and then gone in an instant.

If you close your eyes, you can still feel his boot in your stomach. The press of a steel toe, jammed beneath your ribs, wild, deranged eyes staring down at you in a rage.

But-

Buried so, so far beneath the crushing weight of it all, there is a bright little pocket of sunshine. A small little sliver of light, beams of hope stretching for the sky, warmth spilling over until your hands tremble with the conflict warring inside you.

Nothing has changed, but everything could.

The timer goes off with a shrill chime, and you lean over the sink to where the small strip sits on top of a cup.

A bold pink line.

And then another, more faint, but certainly there. A simple equation, one plus one equals two. Simple math.

Tangible. Present.

Pregnant.

[absfawn]

abby loves light taps. or even light slaps. there’s something about seeing you on your knees, between her wide legs, with your lips wrapped around her strap, strings of spit running down your chin, cheeks hallowed, and her brain always feels fuzzy when her fingers graze your face, only to send a light tap to the side of your cheek, encouraging you to go faster. for a few seconds her blue eyes widen when you’re gagging, worried she’s overstepped, done something you weren’t keen on doing, but when you whimper around her cock, she smirks before tutting and doing it again. “dirty slut, use that pretty mouth of yours and maybe i’ll slap you more, hm?”

or when she’s got you underneath her in her bed, limbs feeling like jelly, hands gripping any inch of her you can grab onto, while one of hers holds your hip,  grip that is sure to leave bruises tomorrow, the other holds your leg over her shoulder and she’s grinding her hips into yours at such a brutal yet delicious pace that has your back arching and toes curling. the sounds tumble from your mouth shamelessly. you’re on cloud nine, abby is too, and she can’t stop the shit eating grin that appears on her face when you’re tapping at the hand she’s got on your hip. “what, baby?” abby rasped out, voice strained and rough.

“need it.” was all you could whine.

“need me to give you a slap, huh? s’that what you want, pretty girl?” she taunted, looking down at you with that devious smirk on her lips. you didn’t offer her a response, just nodded deliriously beneath her, closing your eyes and gasping at each of her thrusts, not caring how loud you were being. “s’not how you ask. ask me.”

your eyes fluttered open at her words, and you whined softly under your breath. nails sinking into the skin on her arm, ignoring the small hiss she lets out. you were too in your own world, the pleasure your girlfriend was giving you had you falling deeper and deeper. “please,” you choked out, “want it.”

realizing you weren’t even focused on her words, abby removed her hand from your hip, ignoring the grunted whine slipping past your lips once she did so, she leaned down more and over you. her eyes trailing over your perky pebbled nipples before reaching up and gripping your chin between her fingers, prodding your lips with her thumb gently, but tutting when you go to wrap your lips around it. “s’not what you want this time, you can have them in your mouth next time.” abby promised, and she growls at the elicit whimper that rips through your throat when her hand slaps lightly at your cheek. wishing she could feel the way your cunt clenches around her cock. “you’re so dirty, hm?” she scoffs, rubbing the skin with her fingers to soothe the sting. “just a dirty little slut.”

“more.”

your eyes were wide as you looked up at her with a lazy smile on your lips, you had caught her off guard for a couple of seconds, not knowing just how much you enjoyed it when she gave you slaps or even the light taps on your cheek. she doesn’t even to do it sexually, but sometimes she gives your cheek a soft pat after she gives you a kiss before she leaves, and doesn’t notice your soft eyes, or feel the way your skin heats up at the action. 

the second slap she gives your cheek is a little harder, but the blood rushes to your head, your skull feels fuzzy, and a choked-out moan falls between your swollen lips. abby simply can’t help but laugh at your rection before pressing a gentle kiss to the skin of your cheek, soothing it as carefully as she could. “you truly are so fucking dirty, my dirty girl. gonna let me do it a few more times before i let you cum?”

how could you say no to that?

[its-avalon-08]

Hello, my favourite Lando Norris writer. Can I request something with Lando where Reader has a son from a previous toxic relationship and Lando thinks she's like hiding something from, like cheating but she confess everything and Lando becomes the dad that stepped up. 🫶

miracle family (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - neglected child, tears, comfort

Lando sat at his dining table, staring at his phone. It had been a few days since he last saw Y/N, and though they’d spoken, something felt… off. She’d been distant, always rushing through their calls, making excuses to cut their time short. He told himself he was imagining it, that she was just busy, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind wouldn't let it go.

He thought back to their last date. They had planned to spend the entire evening together, but halfway through dinner, Y/N had gotten a call. She stepped outside to take it, her expression unreadable, but when she returned, her mood had shifted. Her usual brightness had dulled, and she seemed distracted for the rest of the night.

"Sorry, Lando, just some work stuff," she had said with a quick smile when he asked about the call. He didn’t press further, not wanting to seem pushy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

Then there were the texts. Every time they were together, Y/N seemed to be checking her phone, typing quickly before locking the screen and setting it aside. She never let him see who she was messaging, and when he casually asked if everything was okay, she’d brush it off.

"Yeah, all good. Just a friend going through something," she had said once, her eyes darting away as if she couldn’t meet his gaze.

But the real moment that had started gnawing at him happened the previous weekend. Lando had invited Y/N to one of his races, excited to have her there with him. She’d always been supportive, her energy infectious, but this time, she’d been oddly quiet. When he asked if everything was alright, she just smiled tightly and said she was tired. But after the race, instead of joining him for drinks with the team, she had left abruptly.

"I’ve got to go, Lando. Something’s come up. I’ll explain later, okay?" Her voice had been apologetic, but her eyes… something about them seemed conflicted, like there was something she wasn’t telling him.

He didn’t know why, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone else. Was she hiding something from him? Maybe she was seeing someone behind his back, someone she wasn’t ready to tell him about. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her directly.

Instead, Lando had chosen to observe, watching her carefully over the next few weeks. The phone calls, the quick glances at her screen, the random moments of detachment—it all added up. But every time he was about to say something, the words got stuck in his throat. What if he was wrong? What if she wasn’t cheating, and he was just overthinking everything?

Yet the doubts remained. He found himself scrolling through their old texts late at night, trying to pinpoint when the change had started. He remembered how things used to be—how open and carefree Y/N had been with him. But lately, it felt like there was a wall between them, one she wasn’t letting him break through.

And then, there was that one time she came over to his apartment, looking tired and worn out. She had barely spoken, her eyes heavy with something she wouldn’t share. He had asked her if she wanted to talk, but she had only shaken her head.

"I’m fine, Lando. Just a lot going on."

"Is it work?" he had asked, gently pushing, hoping to understand what was weighing her down.

"It’s… complicated," she had murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Lando hadn’t said anything more that night, but the silence between them had been louder than any words could have been. He had held her close, but even then, she had felt far away.

Now, as he sat alone in his apartment, his mind spinning with unanswered questions, Lando couldn’t help but wonder: was Y/N hiding something from him? Or was it something bigger—something she was afraid to tell him?

Either way, he knew he couldn’t keep pretending everything was normal. Not when it felt like he was losing her, piece by piece.

time skip

Lando strolled through the supermarket aisles, humming softly to himself as he checked items off his shopping list. It was a rare day off, and he decided to take care of some errands. He rounded the corner into the cereal aisle when a small, energetic blur collided with his legs.

"Oh, sorry!" Lando exclaimed, looking down to see a young boy, probably around five years old, grinning up at him.

"It's okay, mister!" the boy chirped. "I was just trying to find the cereal with the marshmallows. Do you know where it is?"

Lando chuckled, kneeling down to the boy's level. "I think it’s a couple of shelves down. What's your name, buddy?"

"I'm Ethan!" the boy said proudly. "What's yours?"

"Lando. Nice to meet you, Ethan," Lando replied, ruffling the boy's hair.

Ethan's eyes widened with excitement. "Like the race car driver?"

Lando laughed. "Exactly like the race car driver."

Ethan's eyes sparkled with wonder. "Wow! My mummy loves race cars! She watches them all the time."

Lando smiled, charmed by the boy's enthusiasm. "Your mum has good taste. Speaking of which, where is she? Shouldn't she be keeping an eye on you?"

Ethan pointed towards the end of the aisle. "She's over there! Mummy! Mummy!"

Lando turned his head in the direction Ethan was pointing, his heart skipping a beat as he saw Y/N standing at the end of the aisle, a look of shock and surprise on her face. She quickly made her way over, her eyes wide with a mixture of emotions.

"Lan?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Y/N, uh baby," Lando replied, equally stunned. "I didn't know… I mean, Ethan is your…?"

Y/N nodded, kneeling down to scoop Ethan into her arms. "Yeah, ummm this is my son, Ethan."

Ethan beamed, oblivious to the tension in the air. "Mummy, this is Lando! He's the race car driver!"

Y/N managed a weak smile. "I know, sweetheart. Why don't you go pick out the cereal you wanted?"

Ethan nodded eagerly and ran off, leaving Lando and Y/N standing there, an awkward silence hanging between them.

"Why didn't you tell me, Y/N?" Lando asked softly, his eyes searching hers.

Lando stood frozen, Y/N’s words echoing in his mind.

“I have a son.”

The bustling supermarket seemed to fade into the background, the soft hum of conversations and the clinking of shopping carts drowned out by the weight of her confession. Y/N stood before him, her hands trembling slightly as she held onto the shopping basket, her eyes wide and filled with fear, as though she was bracing herself for his reaction.

Lando blinked, trying to process the information. “You… you have a son?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with disbelief.

Y/N nodded, biting her lip, and that was when her composure began to crack. Her eyes welled up, her breath hitching in her chest as the emotions she had tried so hard to suppress finally surfaced. "Lando, I didn’t know how to tell you. I was so scared you’d leave if you knew. I’ve been hiding it, and I’m so sorry. I—"

Her words choked off as tears streamed down her face. She dropped the basket, her hands covering her face as she sobbed, right there in the middle of the cereal aisle.

“I didn’t want you to think I was hiding it because I don’t trust you, it’s just… Ethan is my whole life. His father was—he was awful, and I didn’t know how to protect us. I’m so sorry, Lando, I should’ve told you sooner—”

But before she could finish, Lando was there, dropping everything as he closed the space between them. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her into his chest as her body shook with sobs.

“Hey, hey,” Lando whispered, his voice soft and soothing. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Y/N.”

Y/N clung to him, burying her face in his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt. "I'm so sorry," she cried, her words muffled against him. "I didn’t want to lose you. I was so scared."

Lando tightened his embrace, his hand gently stroking the back of her head. "You’re not losing me. You could never lose me."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her tear-streaked face. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “I wish you’d told me earlier, but I get it. I get why you were scared. But I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. You and Ethan—you’re part of my life now. I want to be here for both of you.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes wide with disbelief and hope. "You really mean that?"

Lando nodded, his voice steady and full of conviction. "I do. I love you, and if Ethan’s a part of your life, then he’s a part of mine too."

Fresh tears filled her eyes, but this time they weren’t from fear or sadness. They were from relief, from the overwhelming realization that she wasn’t alone anymore. "Lando… I don’t even know what to say."

“You don’t have to say anything. Just… trust me, okay? We’ll figure this out together.” He pulled her back into his arms, holding her tightly as her breathing slowly steadied, her sobs turning into soft sniffles.

In that moment, surrounded by the quiet chaos of the supermarket, Lando knew that nothing else mattered. Not the people passing by, not the curious glances from other shoppers. All that mattered was Y/N and the promise he had made—to be there for her, to be there for Ethan, no matter what.

And as he held her, he realized that this was what love was about. Not just the good moments, but the hard ones too—the moments where you drop everything to be there for the person you love, no questions asked.

At that moment, Ethan came running back with a box of cereal, his face glowing with excitement. "I found it, Mummy! Look!"

Y/N and Lando both laughed, the tension dissipating as they turned their attention to the enthusiastic boy.

"Great choice, Ethan," Lando said, giving him a high-five. "How about we go check out and then grab some ice cream?"

Ethan's eyes lit up. "Yes, please!"

As they made their way to the checkout, Lando glanced at Y/N, his heart swelling with love and commitment. He knew that their journey together wouldn't always be easy, but he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. For Y/N, for Ethan, and for the family they were about to become.

--- extra scene p.s.a - abusive partner ----

As the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the park, Ethan ran ahead to the playground, his laughter filling the air. Lando and Y/N watched him for a moment, their hands intertwined as they sat on a nearby bench.

"He's really something," Lando said softly, a smile playing on his lips.

Y/N nodded, her eyes fixed on Ethan. "He is. He's my whole world."

Lando glanced at her, squeezing her hand gently. "Y/N, can we take a walk? There's something I want to talk to you about."

Y/N looked at him, a hint of worry in her eyes, but she nodded. "Sure, Lando."

They stood up and began to walk along the path that circled the playground, the sounds of children playing fading into the background.

"Y/N," Lando began hesitantly, "I want to understand more about Ethan's father. About what you went through. But only if you're ready to talk about it."

Y/N took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around Lando's. "It's… it's not easy to talk about. But you deserve to know."

She paused, collecting her thoughts as they walked. "Ethan's father, Mark, was… he was charming at first. But it didn't take long for his true colors to show. He was controlling, manipulative, and it only got worse over time."

Lando's grip on her hand tightened in silent support as she continued. "He would get angry over the smallest things, and his anger… it was terrifying. He hurt me, Lando. Physically, emotionally. I stayed because I thought I could change him, that things would get better. But they never did."

Y/N's voice broke, and she wiped away a tear that had escaped. "When I found out I was pregnant with Ethan, I knew I had to leave. I couldn't let him grow up in that environment. I was scared, but I knew it was the right thing to do."

Lando stopped walking, turning to face her. "Y/N, I can't even begin to imagine how hard that must have been for you. You're so strong."

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face now. "I don't feel strong, Lando. I felt broken and alone. But I had to protect Ethan. I had to give him a chance at a better life."

Lando pulled her into a tight embrace, his own eyes glistening with tears. "You did the right thing. And you're not alone anymore. You have me, and I'll be here for both of you. Always."

Y/N sobbed against his chest, the weight of her past finally lifting as she felt the warmth of his love and support. "Thank you, Lando. Thank you for being here, for understanding."

He kissed the top of her head, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you, Y/N. And I love Ethan. We'll make this work, I promise."

They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the world around them fading away. When they finally pulled back, Lando gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Let's go back to Ethan," he said softly. "He's probably wondering where we went."

Y/N nodded, a small but genuine smile forming on her lips. "Yeah, let's go."

As they walked back to the playground, hand in hand, Y/N felt a sense of hope and peace that she hadn't felt in a long time. She knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with Lando by her side, she was ready to face whatever challenges came their way.

[emmyrosee]

Pls pls pls help a girl out!!

Its shark 🦈 week and whenever I’m in shark week I crave angst full on body angst ne you write it best 😭 pity me

I write it the best…? 🥺🩷 also no specific character in mind for this, but yall are married so 🫶🏻

————-

You’ve been yelling at each other for hours.

The circles of verbal assault haven’t slowed its pace, vile, cruel words flying from one mouth to pierce the heart of the other, only for the other words to come harder, meaner, louder. The throes of anger keep you both pinned in place, unable to stop, think, and see the damage you’re causing each other.

Your hands are swollen from your fists being so tightly balled, migraine forming from your scowling. His brows are stuck pinched in the center of his forehead, so deep you’re convinced they’ll stay there for days after you’re done. His teeth are grit so tight together that you want to massage his jaw to make them loosen before he shatters his pearly whites into pieces.

The culprit? A cold cup of tea, that now sits to the side dejectedly.

Because of that cold cup of tea, you’ve been screaming for two, going onto three hours, with no end in sight.

But, it’s not about the cold tea. It’s about the fact that the urgency in your love is gone, the quickness and determination to be with each other has dissolved into nothing but sugar melting in a mug of tea. Your time together has been awkward, it’s been minimal, and in your search to do something nice for him, like a warm cup of tea, he allowed it to get cold, and… what happened next?

There’s boundaries being crossed, lines of truce being broken as you cast vicious words against each other, the use of insecurities to make the other crumble and conjure a look of hurt, only to morph to disgust and yell back something even more heinous.

And yet…

“What did I even marry you for?” He snarls, throwing his arms out. “I’m certain it wasn’t for this! So why are we wasting our time right now?”

Your world stops.

In an instant, all words die on your tongue. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish as all you can think about are his words. They repeat in your head, almost in slow motion, as your heart sinks in your chest.

“What…?” you croak. Your throat is dry, mouth cottony, and you silently pray to anything, holy and not, merciful and malicious, that you didn’t hear him right. Your mind is lying, so tired of fighting you’re seeing the worst in him as a defense mechanism.

“You heard me,” he barks. “Your life is so miserable? You hate it here so much? GO.”

You heard him right.

You wished you hadn’t.

Your arms come up to cradle yourself in comfort, the fire swirling in your chest now extinguished, the once lively fight now being reduced to a ringing in your ear.

You’d… when did he…

“You don’t get to sit here, call me a cheater, a loser, a liar, all for your own good mind. Not when I’ve put my whole LIFE into you. I gave you my WHOLE. LIFE.”

“Why…”

“What?” He snarls.

You sniffle. Your bottom lip wobbles, and you blink a line of scalding tears out; you’re surprised they don’t sizzle your flesh from being so hot with frustration.

“Why… are you being so mean?”

“Mean?” He snaps. “Mean, you’ve called me some of the cruelest shit I’ve ever heard in your vocabulary, but I’m being mean? Do you even hear yourself, IM THE MEAN ONE?”

“Do you really wonder why you married me…?”

Your voice is so quiet, you wonder if he heard you.

He opens his mouth to spew his venom, only to stop dead in his tracks. His brows soften as his eyes widen, jaw slacking subtly. For the first time tonight, the room is quiet; still thick enough to cut the tension with a blade, but it’s quiet enough where you both can gather your thoughts.

You wipe your nose with your arm, “do you really think I want to stay here and fight with you? Is that how you think I want to spend my night with you?” You sob softly, “because it’s not. I don’t want to fight with you over cold tea… I don’t want to…”

You can practically see the lightbulb over his head light up. That’s right, you think to yourself. This is about tea.

“I…”

“I don’t question why I married you,” you whimper. “I know exactly why- because I love you. But the man I know would never, and I mean never, verbally assault and question his love for me over a cold. Cup. Of. Tea.”

“I don’t…” he shakes softly. “How did we get here…?”

“You started this war,” you hiss. “I didn’t.”

“Baby…”

“Don’t you fucking baby me,” you snap. “No. You don’t get to do that as a way to weasel out of this. You’re not going to guilt me with pet names to forgive you.”

“No, no, baby- damn, no, I mean-“

“You know what?” You pull your lips down into a frown and throw your hands out in defeat. “You want me gone so bad? I’m gone.”

“No, no, wait,” he begs, reaching out for one of your hands. You whip them back like he’s made of fire, and he reels away, as if keeping you safe, “no, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t question my love for you, I’d rather die than ever have you wonder if I love you-“

“Then you’d better have a goddamned good explanation for this,” you hiss. “Because right now? We’re done.”

“No!”

“I’m…” your strength is gone. Your lip quivers and your hand comes up to cover your mouth, and you wail as you make a dash out of the room, darting for the bedroom. You lock the door and slam your fist against the wood, screaming, howling in agony at the heartbreak of potentially losing your husband over a cold cup of tea.

Things spiraled so far out of control, that he questioned his love for you. How are you to come back from that? Angry words are truth shrouded in cruelty, and you are not going to let him berate you in such a manner as to wonder if this marriage was a good choice. You deserve far more, far better, than that.

On the other side of the door, you hear a soft poomf, then a thump. You stop crying to try and figure out the noises and their purpose.

“I’m here,” he says quietly, a far different tone from how he was speaking to you not three minutes ago. “I won’t try to come in. I won’t make you talk to me. But I’m here… and I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“Bite me,” you choke.

You hear him sigh through his nose, “I… I know why I married you,” he whispers. You don’t say anything. He continues regardless, “because you’re you. And on our first date, you were late because you hated the outfit you had planned, but you looked so fucking good, I couldn’t handle it. And it was that day, I decided I wanted to wait for you, forever. You are more than worth waiting for. And…” you hear him clear his throat, but there’s an emotional block in his voice, “I’ll keep waiting for you. Right here, on this floor. I’ll sleep, I’ll eat, I’ll piss I’ll die here, I don’t care, I’m right here. And I’ll stay here to prove that you’re worth waiting for.” He shudders.

“I’m happy to wait for you.”

———

haikyuu: daichi, kageyama, tsukishima, kuroo, yaku, iwaizumi, mattsun, hanamakki, oikawa, kyotani, ushijima (different font), kita (also different font), atsumu, osamu, suna, sakusa, meian

bnha: bakugou, dabi, hawks

jjk: gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, toji, shiu

tokyo rev: baji, draken, mikey, hanma, rindou

[flwrstqr]

۟⠀｡♡ ENHYPEN REACTION TO YOUR BREAK UP SONG

(NOTES) ex!enha hyung line x singer!r && exes 2 lovers, requested 🐰 dani notes: oh my gosh. i kept giggling while writing this no joke. writing maknae line tmrw or the day after ㅠㅠ

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 (이희승)

heeseung's jaw drops when he hears your new song blast through his headphones, realizing it’s about him. the lyrics hit a little too close to home—those late-night fights, the messy breakup, his stupid smile you swore you were over. halfway through, there’s a line about missing him in ways you never admitted, and he pauses the track, his heart racing. “no way you actually wrote that,” he mutters, smirking. a few texts later, he’s standing at your door, eyes gleaming. “so... you miss me, huh?” he teases, leaning against the frame. you roll your eyes but can’t hide the grin. “shut up, i was just—” he cuts you off, stepping closer. “nah, i think you meant every word. but maybe we can talk about it over dinner?” you groan, but deep down, you’re already thinking about dessert.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘 (박종성)

jay's sitting in his car when your new song starts playing on the radio, and the second he hears the opening verse, he knows it's about him. the lyrics hit hard—every fight, every stupid thing you both said—and then there’s that line about how he still makes your heart race. he scoffs, smirking to himself. "oh, so she’s still thinking about me?" he mumbles, turning up the volume. by the time the chorus hits, he’s grinning like an idiot, texting you before he can stop himself: 'nice song, you miss me?' five minutes later, he’s outside your door, sunglasses on. “you know, if you wanted me back, you could’ve just called,” he says, leaning in close. you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but he can see the smile tugging at your lips. "who says i want you back?" "the song does."

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 (심재윤)

jake's scrolling through his phone when he sees everyone talking about your new song, so he clicks play, not expecting it to be about him. as soon as the first line drops, his eyes widen. the lyrics spill all the feelings you never said during the breakup—how you missed his laugh, how his hoodie still smelled like him. halfway through, he’s laughing in disbelief, shaking his head. “seriously? you’re still thinking about that?” he mumbles, but there’s a grin creeping up. he can’t help it. five minutes later, he’s at your house. when you open the door, he’s already leaning against it, smirking. “you know, you could’ve just told me you missed me,” he teases, giving you that signature playful look. “shut up, jake. it’s just a song.” he steps closer, smirk deepening. “uh-huh, sure. but do i still smell that good, or…?”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 (박성훈)

sunghoon leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, as your new song fills the room. the lyrics cut deep, and his jaw tightens at certain lines—ones he knows are about him. "so that’s how you felt?" he asks, voice low, eyes never leaving yours. you glance at him, shrugging, but the tension is thick. "just a song, hoon." he chuckles, though there’s no humor in it. “sure, just a song… about us.” his gaze softens for a moment. “you still thinking about me that much?” you smirk, but it’s shaky. “maybe i never stopped.”

[darnell-la]

I can't stop thinking about how Logan would be like "yeah those boys are not enough for you you need a man like me to take care of you" pleeeese do a story based on that <3 Love you guys works btw

note: Logan Howlett is an eater.

———

Logan had originally come to y/n’s apartment to drop off dinner. Wade had told him she hadn’t been eating proper food because of her study hours, so he cooked and packed it, ready to foul her up.

When he arrived, he heard noises from the young woman’s room. Two voice. Hers and someone else’s. A man’s. A boy.

He held himself together, understanding that she was young and experimenting. At least she better be. She shouldn’t be dating right now. He won’t allow it.

The man went to turn around and leave, maybe come back in an hour, but he heard a moan. Her moan. “Fuck no,” the man said, changing his mind about experimenting after he heard her with another man.

“Y/n!” The man knocked on the door hard, making the two jump in the bed. “Fuck, that’s Logan — M-My friend’s friend. My friend. J-Just get dressed,” y/n got up quick as well as the boy.

“Goddamnit,” he cussed, angry that he didn’t get to finish after touching y/n for the longest to get her wet. “Can you just like shoo him away or somethin? I’m fucking hard,” the boy said.

“I can’t, he’s like family. And he wouldn’t leave anyway,” she said, making the boy roll her eyes. “Get him outta here or I ain’t comin’ back,” the boy said, making her roll her eyes, but she was also horny now. She needed something.

Y/n cracked the door, hoping to talk with Logan for a quick second before sending him off, but he pushed open the door, causing Y/n to fall back.

“You ain’t comin’ back. Get the fuck out,” Logan snapped at the boy. His attitude was unacceptable. Even his appearance in her room was unacceptable.

“Dude, get out of here — We just got-“ Before he could say anything, Logan grabbed the boy by his collar and pulled him out of her room. “Don’t come back, or you’ll regret it,”

Logan shut the door and then turned to look at y/n who was embarrassed. “Logan, I-“ she went to say but he cut her off. “You what? Fuck boys during your study time?”

“What!? No, I- I mean — Logan, why are you here?” She asked, trying to switch the conversation which made him chuckle. “To give you dinner that you never have time to eat. Now I see why,”

Y/n felt bad. Now Logan knew she didn’t show up on Friday nights because she was fucking some random boy.

“You ditch family for a boy that can’t respect you? Let alone, properly make you wet!?” The man asked, shocking y/n. “H-He does make me wet,” y/n said, not knowing why she would tell Logan that. She just felt defensive.

“Oh, really? You know I can smell ya, Bub. Right?” Logan asked the young lady as he placed her dinner down on a desk before walking towards her. “And you’re already all dried up,”

“Logan that’s- That’s very inappropriate,” she said as she backed up, the back of her legs hitting her bed. “Is it? Then I must be a nasty son of a bitch, because I smell for you every time I’m around you,”

Y/n didn’t know how that got her on her bed, spread open for him, but she was, legs spread and cunt leaking as he stuffed his face in between her legs.

“So fuckin’ tasty. Gotta lick that son of a bitch off of you,” Logan groaned onto her heat as her hands tangled in his hair. “Oh god, Logan,” y/n threw her head back as her bud swole.

“Sweetest pussy that lives, baby. So fuckin’ good,” Logan couldn’t stop eating at her. He lifted a hand up and used two fingers to push at her entrance until he could curl in the right spot.

“F-Fuck,” y/n cried, making him lean back to watch her as he finger fucked her cunt. “You like that?” Logan asked as she nodded, head still leaned back and eyes closed.

“Yeah? Gonna start callin’ me instead of the boys?” He asked her, making her nod quickly. “Yeah, these boys aren’t enough for you. You need a man like me to take care of you,”

Y/n whined as she grinned at his fingers, chasing her orgasm. She was close, and he had just started. He was definitely better than any boy she’d been with. He was even better than herself.

“Give it to me, baby — Cum on my face — Need my face drenched,” the man looked into the girl's eyes and began to cross and roll back.

“C’mon, baby, give it to me — Give it to your man,” Logan kitty licked her bud to give her a better sensation that Wii jot sent her over the edge with a loud moan.

Logan latched his lips around her lips as he continued fingering her, humming into her cunt to get this amazing feeling in.

She tried to push the man off and close her legs, but he kept slapping her hands away and speeding her legs further with his free hand.

“G-God, Logan,” y/n cried out, feeling a bit embarrassed, and he felt it. He slightly loved the idea of her being shy from now on. The animal in him loved the look of a deer in headlights.

[writersdrug]

omg! I read your goth reader x Simon and I’m not sure if you’ve already made a post but I’d love to see how Simon met reader or how he did pull her 😂😂 love it btw

Augh I've wanted to write more for Simon x Goth!Reader

He drops the 3-pack of men's black t-shirts on the counter, digging into his sweatshirt pocket for his wallet. He takes out his card and looks up.

You're sitting with your back to him, hunched over on a small stool with your face stuck in a mirror. He can see your one eye magnified in the reflection as you held your cheek taught, slowly dragging an eyeliner pen across your lid.

He stands there another moment, wondering if you even know he's behind you. He politely clears his throat.

"One sec." You say, concentrating hard on making the line perfect. You have your mouth hanging open, your one eye closed and the other wide as a dinner plate. Simon huffs quietly. You remind him of a zombie, dressed in a typical retail uniform.

You eventually put the eyeliner pen down and stand, grabbing the shirts from the counter. He watches you as you scan the item - only one of your eyes are done, beautifully enhanced with an artistic flourish of eyeliner, mascara, and eye shadow; your other eye is untouched.

"Is that all?" You ask, looking up at him, and he has to stifle a laugh. Thank goodness for his balaclava.

"Yea." He responds, sticking his card into the reader. You bag his shirts and hand them to him - he accepts the bag and puts his card back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Receipt?"

"No thanks."

You nod - he stays there, staring at you with a rather blank expression. You purse your lips and tap the counter, adverting your gaze to anything but him. You were used to getting stares because of your makeup, but this guy in particular wasn't even subtle about it.

"Is that all?" He says, jutting his chin towards you.

You blink, staring back at him. Does he mean my makeup? "Oh- heh, no. Still gotta do my other eye."

He nods. "Looks good."

"Thanks..." You say. You're not sure if he's being honest or sarcastic. But before you have the chance to question it, he turns on his heel and walks out the door, the bell clanging behind him.

You shrug to yourself and sit back down, digging inside your makeup bag for a brow pencil.

You're uncapping your lipstick when someone slaps something on the counter - not aggressively, but it still makes you jump. You turn around to find that same guy from last week, the one with the balaclava and the moody eyes.

You head to the register and look down. There's another pack of black shirts on the counter. You scoff and look up at him. "More? What, are you eating these?" You say as you scan them.

"See you finished your other eye." Simon grumbles, pulling his card from his wallet. "Did it take ya the whole week?"

You glare at him, shoving his shirts into a bag. "It did." You say sarcastically, and he grunts, taking the bag as you hand it to him.

Simon watches as you turn to the side, assuming he was already on his way out the door. You popped the cap off your lipstick and parted your lips in front of the tiny mirror on the counter - he felt something akin to surprise when your lips were smeared in black, rather than the red he was expecting.

You feel a pair of eyes on your back. You turn around - that guy is still there, and you fight back a frown.

"Can I help you with anything else?" You say, trying to stress the weirdness of the situation in your tone.

"I like this." He says, using his free hand to circle his face. "Looks good on you. Unique."

You smile, genuinely pleased with the compliment. Most of the time, if people (other than your friends) weren't ogling at you, they were saying how strange and "ugly" your makeup looked (this was a common comment among the older ladies that came to the store).

"Thanks." You reply. "You want a makeover?"

Simon chuckles quietly. "Nah, not really." And then, as quick as he came, he's gone again - out the door before you can even try to carry a conversation with him.

Simon comes back the next week - this time, for a pack of smokes and some new gloves. Uncharacteristically, he finds himself a little excited to see you again, despite never saying more than fifty words to you in total. He gets to the counter and places his items down - his heart sinks a bit when he isn't greeted by you and your half-finished goth makeup.

An older lady steps forward and scans his items. "Do you have a rewards card with us?"

"No."

Would you like to sigh up for one?"

"No."

She doesn't even look at him as she slides the cigs and glives back to him. "Fifteen twenty-seven."

He slides his card in. He can't help but wonder where you might be; not that he misses you or anything, he's just a curious man. He doesn't like not knowing things, and you're a rather difficult, raven-haired puzzle to decipher.

"S'cuse me, but-" he shifts his weight as he pockets his wallet. "Where's the other girl? Y'know, the one with all the-" he waves his hand in front of his face. "She usually works Thursdays."

The woman looks at him with a tight-lipped, glazed-over expression. "I'm not allowed to share any employee's schedule information, sir." She drones in a monotone, customer service voice.

He blinks for a moment, wracking his brain for a response. "I'm 'er uncle."

"Oh - she quit."

"Really?" Simon says - he's rather upset that you, an artistically-talented cashier he's met twice, is no longer employed at the lackluster retail store. "What happened?"

"Manager told her all that shit had to go." She leans her hip against the counter. "All that ugly face paint - it was freaking the customers out. She threw a hissy fit and stormed out."

He hummed, thiugh he took what she said with a grain of salt. "Right. Thanks." He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The woman sighs. "I mean, people paint themselves to look like the devil and expect to be treated like a normal human. Is that crazy, or am I just old?"

Just an old hag. "Dunno." He shrugs.

"Oh-" she holds up a finger, signaling for him to wait as she meanders to the end of the counter. She grabs an envelope and comes back to the cash register, handing it to Simon. "Give this to your niece. She never came back for her last paycheck."

He hesitates, wondering if he should make up some excuse like "Oh I'll tell her to pick it up." But, he said he was her uncle - now he has to deal with the responsibilities of it. He takes the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Nodding towards the lady. "I'll make sure she gets it."

Simon hasn't tracked you down yet. Truthfully, he hasn't realy tried to; he wants to respect your privacy and chose not to look for you on social media - but he does frequent the restaraunt across the street from your old workplace, hoping to catch you if you ever decided to come back for your check. He's getting worried at this point - what if you show up and he doesn't see you, and then you start freaking out about getting your paycheck stolen by some random guy? That would be the highlight of his vacation leave. He isn't sure if Price would bail him out of jail for that one.

He's inside the restaraunt today, sitting in a booth and sipping on a mug of tea. Rain pelts against the windows, providing a background of white noise to his ever-active mind. He scrolls through his email on his phone, but as always, he's focused on work. The briefing doming up within the next week, that sergeant that failed the sniper placement, having to listen to Soap talk about how he spent his leave with his girl... it muddled around in his head, nothing staying in the forefront of his mind, but never dissipating, either.

He hears the door open, just as a peal of lighning crashes through the sky. Someone stomps their boots on the entry mat a ways behind Simon, and he hears the jingle of metal with each step towards the bar.

"I'm here for an interview."

Simon nearly snaps his neck with ho hard he turns his head. There you are - you've got your hair down, definitely not as teased as the last time he had seen you. Your makeup is less goth, although you've outlined your lips with a black liner that fades inwards to a crimson red, and your eyes are still sharp and smokey. You're wearing black jeans and a deep, red top, and an interesting pair of boots, decorated with small chains and studs.

Professional, but still incorporating your style. He can appreciate that.

Someone comes out from the back and walks over to you - you shake his extended hand with a smile, and he leads you to a booth farther away from Simon. He thinks he must look like a creep, staring at you in broad (rainy) daylight, but he can't help himself. He doesn't even know why, but you've got his attention like the moon pulls the waves of the ocean.

He stays there for a while - he can't hear every word you say, but he eats the comments and laughs that do filter through with a hungry mind. You sometimes model for any Goth-forward magazines; you're relieved that the owner of the restaurant doesn't care about toning down your style; you're honest - your roommate hadn't paid rent for a month and a half so you let them go, and now you need a little bit more cash than what a measly retail job can provide.

He can hear it in the man's tone: you're hired. He likes your forwardness and unique charm, and frankly, so does Simon. He's addicted to it. The last time anything had his attention like this was when he found out Gaz could do the splits - the shock factor had him surprised with how easily it truly wis to distract him when he comes across something so unusual. But this time, there was less of a ridiculousness, and more of an admiration.

He hears a lilt in the conversation; he turns to see you standing with an excited smile. Of course you would get the job, just look at you. You shake the owner's hand and grab your bag, a black canvas ine with all sorts of studs and spikes, and start heading towards the front door.

Simon can't let you slip away that easily.

"Movin' on from retail?" He says as you pass his booth.

You turn, looking confused, staring at him for a moment. It takes a few seconds before you recognize him, though your smile still holds some wariness to it. "Hey, weirdo...!" You say, standing next to his table. "You stalking me or something?"

He decides to be honest. "Was tryin'."

You furrow your brow an bit, your hands curling around the strap of your bag. "You were?"

"The clerk from the store gave me your check." He clarifies, pulling the envelope from his pocket. "Figured you weren't comin' 'round anytime to get it, so I tried lookin' for ya."

You wonder how this man was somehow able to get your paycheck, but you were a little less put-off. He seemed nice enough. You dropped your bag on the table and took the envelope, shoving it somewhere in your disorganized pockets. "You waiting on someone?" You ask.

"Was you." He comments, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Now, no one." God, he must look pathetic.

"Nice." You slide into the opposite side of the booth, your boots clacking against the legs of the tables. "Want another round? Some fries?" You look at him with those shadowed, big eyes, and he wants to keep you in this booth with him forever.

He chuckles. "You really don't-"

"Don't tell me what to do." You snap with a smirk. "Just choose. Drink, or fries? Or whatever you want, really. I haven't eaten lunch, and you look like interesting company."

He feels himself melting at your cocky, triumphant smirk as you dig around in your bag for your wallet. What did he do for life to deposit such a pretty thing right in his lap (we'll, a few feet away from it)? "Could go for a burger.

You smile, relaxing into the polyester seat. This big, quiet, lumbering thing has you intrigued, and apparently, the feeling is mutual. "What's your name?"

He smirks. He's not wearing his balaclava, but he doesn't really care about that at the moment. He takes a sip of his whiskey. "Simon. Yours?"

[chvoswxtch]

epilogue

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you and frank start a new chapter together.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of pregnancy, the world flooding from my tears bc this is the final chapter, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i'm not going to get emo in this section (there will be a separate post for that when i've processed my feelings about this ending), but i want to say again from the bottom of my heart to all of y'all, thank you. this is for you.

[previous chapter] | [series masterlist]

One year later.

Stepping through the familiar threshold, a light breeze enters behind you, bringing with it a crisp chill of autumn and the lingering smell of impending rain. There’s a soft clink when you toss your keys into the small emerald green ceramic bowl on the side table in the foyer. Slipping your long  gray wool coat off your shoulders, you can smell freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air, and there’s a murmur coming from the kitchen of two distinct voices you’d recognize anywhere.

A tiny smile graces your lips catching snippets of the conversation, and you shake your head with a light chuckle, hanging up your coat on the hook by the front door before making your way down the hallway adjacent to the spacious living room.

“This could be a huge bust. I mean, it’s five years worth of intel, and there’s a small window of opportunity here-“

Leaning against the entryway of the kitchen, you cross your arms over your chest and clear your throat.

“Dinah.”

Both heads of dark hair suddenly turn in your direction. Upon seeing you, Dinah straightens up, a fleeting expression on her face resembling that of a child getting caught doing something they’re not supposed to. Arching one of your brows, you barely suppress an amused smile that briefly tugs at the corner of your lips.

“My husband is retired.”

Dinah’s lips part to speak, and then she abruptly closes them. Her brown eyes flicker over towards Frank sitting across from her at the dining table, silently asking him for back up. Catching her eye, Frank gives a subtle shake of his head, bringing his mug of coffee up to his lips with one hand, and making a gesture of surrender with the other, attempting to hide his smirk.

“You heard the woman.”

Dinah gives him a pointed, exasperated look and purses her lips at his lack of cooperation.

“I’m just asking for a consult-“

“You got the whole goddamn CIA under your belt, ask one of them. You want a consult ‘bout a remodel, you let me know.”

Frank sets the mug of coffee down on the table, shrugging his broad shoulders covered in worn dark green flannel. Dinah faintly narrows her eyes at him, letting out a deep exhale through her nose. 

“Fine.”

As she stands, the chair scrapes against the hardwood, and she looks down at him in subtle defiance with an arch of her dark brow as she buttons the middle button on her navy blue blazer.

“I’m thinking about redoing my kitchen. Let me know when you’ve got time in that busy schedule of yours, Castle.”

A deep rumble of laughter sounds in Frank’s chest at the dripping sass in her voice, and his eyes crinkle in amusement as he gives her a faint nod.

“See what I can do.”

Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes and turns around to leave the kitchen, her heeled boots clicking against the hardwood floor. When she reaches you, she pauses and gives you a light smile, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Hearing the front door open and shut, your eyes drift over towards Frank, narrowing your eyes with a look of faux accusation. Frank’s hand pauses midway in bringing his mug up to his lips, and his dark brows furrow as his face scrunches slightly. 

“What?”

Arching one of your dark brows, you bite back a smile as Frank sets the mug back down and leans back in the chair, the wood creaking under his weight, bunching up his shoulders and loosely gesturing with his large hands in a show of defense of his innocence.

“She called me-”

“Mhm.”

Frank pursed his lips in lighthearted annoyance, scrunching up his face adorably, and you finally broke. Your laughter filled the kitchen, and he shook his head and rolled his eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he turned to look at you again, his dark eyes wandering over your figure.

“You ever not gonna be a pain in my ass?”

“Nope.”

Grinning, you walked over towards where he was sitting, and a grin stretched across his own lips as he reached out immediately to grab your hips, pulling you down onto his lap to straddle him.

“S’pose I signed up for that, yeah?”

Frank nuzzled his large nose against your neck, and the coarse dark hair of his beard brushed against your skin, tickling and sending a shiver down your spine as you laughed.

“Legally.”

Leaning back slightly, you gazed at him adoringly, bringing your hand up to brush back some of the loose dark curls that were laying against his forehead, carding your fingers through his grown out hair. Your hand slowly slipped down his temple, caressing the full beard covering his cheeks and the lower half of his face, a smirk spreading across your lips.

“You know, this whole…hipster thing is really working for me.”

Frank blew out a puff of air through his lips, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in moderate annoyance. Pursing his full lips, he looked at you, his warm brown eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes.

“Yeah? Think I should go full man bun?”

A deep laugh escaped you at the dryness of his voice, shaking your head as you ran both of your hands through his soft hair from the thick roots down to the loose curls at the base of his neck. Leaning in, you brushed your lips against his gently.

“I like it just the way it is.”

Frank’s large hands splay against your back as he pulls you further against his firm chest, but before he can kiss you, suddenly you perk up and lean back.

“Oh! I have something for you.”

Patting his chest, you untangle yourself from Frank’s arms and get off his lap, slipping down the hall. Frank’s dark brows knit in confusion, glancing down at his lap where you just were and then flickering his gaze towards the entryway of the kitchen you’d just disappeared down, craning his neck as he listened to your footsteps.

“I’d rather have what you were just about to give me.”

Hearing his grumble from the kitchen, your laugh echoes from down the hall, and as you reappear in the kitchen, you can’t contain your grin seeing him sitting in the wooden chair and pouting like a petulant child. Shaking your head slowly, you resumed your position on his lap, placing a soft kiss to his large nose.

“Hey, the role of the impatient one in this relationship is already filled, thank you very much.”

“Has been since the beginning.”

Rolling your eyes at Frank’s sassy remark, you smile as you pull your hand out from behind your back, holding out a small velvet black box in your hand. Frank glances down at it, his face contorting in an expression of pure puzzlement. He glances between it, the ring on your finger, and the band on his own left hand before looking at you, arching one of his dark brows.

“You know we’re already married, right?”

“Just shut up and open it.”

Rolling his own eyes in return, Frank grabs the small box in one of his large hands, keeping one of his arms wrapped around your waist. Flipping it open with his thumb, you watch in amusement as the temperate confusion previously on his face shifts into pure convoluted perplexity. Frank stares down at the little T-shaped plastic device displayed upright in the slit of the velvet square.

“Oh…wow. That’s…this is…it’s a…really nice-“

Frank blinks a few times, eventually lifting his head to look at you in a mixture of apology and uncertainty.

“-sweetheart I got no idea what the hell this goddamn thing is.”

Letting out an amused laugh, your lips spread into a soft smile as you brush his curls back with your fingers. 

“My IUD.”

Frank blinks a few times, his face a blank canvas. There isn’t a shred of recognition in his eyes.

“My intrauterine device.”

His dark brows raise up his forehead slightly, glancing between the small plastic device and you, eyeing you curiously as he speaks hesitantly.

“And…you’re givin’ me this…because…?”

Realizing that Frank genuinely has no idea what the significance of the small thing he’s holding is, you decide to take mercy on him.

“Frank, it’s my birth control device.”

Frank’s rugged features are twisted up in confusion as he repeats your words slowly.

“Your…birth control…device?”

“Modern medicine has come a long way, big guy. Birth control isn’t just pills. It’s also that.”

When you point to the small box in his hand, his dark eyes flicker down between it, your patient gaze, and the tiny plastic device again.

“And it’s…in this box.”

You can see the gears turning in Frank’s head, piecing the new information together. Nodding, a smile leisurely spreads across your lips as you suppress your laughter.

“Which means it’s not inside of me.”

All of a sudden, it was like a light bulb went off, and you could see Frank’s eyes light up with understanding.

“Wait, you mean-“

Hearing the hesitant hope and excitement in his voice felt like a fist tightening around your heart, squeezing it in a vice. 

The idea was still new. Over the past year, you’d seen that desire steadily building in him. Whenever the two of you went somewhere, the sound of a child’s laughter would grasp his attention and hold it captive. At first, you thought the look in his eyes was lingering grief, reminiscing on that sound in his memory that had come from his own lost children once upon a time. 

But in the last few months, you’d come to realize that the emotion in his gaze wasn’t just nostalgia, it was also longing. You saw the way his eyes softened as he stood at the sink, watching the neighborhood kids playing in the street out the window, his eyes faintly crinkled as a tiny smile graced his lips when he didn’t think you were looking. All the kids in the neighborhood were drawn to him, and he was all too eager to fix a bike chain, or demonstrate a perfect football spiral.

The interactions granted you a glimpse of what Frank had been like as a father, and it sent a crack through your own chest that he’d been robbed of something he was so good at, something he should’ve had more time to do. You could see that it was something he wanted, but you could also see the hesitance. You didn’t know how to bring it up. Frank was happy, and he’d found a semblance of peace in this new life, but that void of loss would always be there. That pain would never truly go away.

You wanted Frank to know that it was okay, that it wasn’t wrong to want to try again. You wanted him to know that moving forward didn’t have to mean forgetting. You’d eased him into the idea of visiting the cemetery, something he hadn’t done in years, and you’d held his hand tightly as he placed three sets of flowers on the headstones, encouraging him to talk to them, to get out all the words he never got to say. 

You’d hung up the worn photograph of Maria and the kids he’d been carrying around for the last few years, the only one he had left, in the living room so he could see them everyday instead of hiding them away in his memory. You wanted Frank to know that they had a place in your shared home, that they were still a part of his new life, even if they weren’t physically here. That he could talk about them, share fond stories of them, and include them.

“We don’t have to start trying right away, but-”

“The hell we don’t.”

Frank grabbed your hips with renewed vigor and stood up, setting you down on the edge of the dining table he’d built himself. A bubble of surprised laughter erupted from you, but was quickly cut off by Frank’s lips as he kissed you deeply, slotting himself between your parted thighs as his calloused hands hiked your skirt upwards. When his thumbs hooked into the sides of your panties, brushing the pad along the skin of your hips, you shifted them upwards to assist him in slipping them down.

Your fingers swiftly sought out the buttons of his flannel, popping each of them with growing urgency, shoving the worn green fabric off his broad shoulders and down his arms. While you reached for his belt buckle, Frank untucked your blouse, tugging it up your waist and over your head, carelessly tossing it onto the hardwood. Your heels slipped off your feet, falling to the floor with a soft thud, and the sound of his zipper being undone echoed in the kitchen as Frank pushed his hips forward against your welcoming hand, cupping your breast and squeezing as his lips latched onto the juncture of your neck.

Feeling the blunt head of his cock nudging at your slick entrance, you pressed your palm against his firm, warm chest and panted breathlessly.

“Frank.”

Pulling his head back slightly, his warm brown eyes darted back and forth between your own, dropping to your lips before looking at you with hooded lids.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Letting out a soft breath, you brought your hand up to cup his bearded cheek, biting down on your bottom lip gently as you gazed into his eyes and spoke softly.

“If…if you’re not ready-”

Frank gave a faint shake of his head and dipped down to kiss you tenderly, murmuring against your lips.

“I’m ready.”

Pushing his hips forward, Frank filled you in one swift thrust, and your head dipped back as your mouth hung open, your eyes fluttering shut at the euphoric sensation of being so full. Frank let out a quiet grunt as your tight warmth enveloped him, wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you firmly to his chest, slipping his other hand in your hair to cradle the back of your head as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, you grabbed onto the back of his neck, slipping your fingers into the loose dark curls as you brought your legs up to lock around his waist. Frank nuzzled your neck reverently, flexing his hips forward, thrusting in slow and deep strokes. Letting out a desperate moan, your lips brushed against Frank’s bearded cheek, seeking out his kiss, and he turned his head to capture your mouth passionately, gliding his tongue along the seam of your lips and seeking entry.

He swallowed every noise of pleasure you spilled into his mouth, sensually caressing your tongue with his own the same way his hands caressed your body in dedicated worship. The wooden table creaked as Frank pushed you to lay flat on your back, bending to press his chest flush to yours, grabbing your wrists gently to guide them upwards and pin them above your head. He interlaced his fingers with yours and squeezed your hands, pressing his forehead against yours as he gazed deeply down into your eyes, his warm breath caressing your lips as he panted.

“Frank-”

“I know.”

Your eyes fluttered shut and your back arched as he nuzzled his nose against your throat, trailing warm open mouthed kisses along your jawline and neck, dripping praises and sweet nothings into your ear like honey. You gripped onto his large hands, using them as an anchor to his moment, tightening your legs around his waist to eliminate any space between you.

As your breathing got quicker and more shallow, and your moans grew in volume and pitch, Frank increased his pace in tandem, grunting into your ear. Feeling the tremble in your thighs and the contraction of your tight walls signaling your impending release, he brushed his lips against the shell of your ear.

“I love you.”

You never got tired of hearing those three words in his deep gravelly voice. All at once, they made you shatter into a million little pieces, and your body seized up as an intense wave of gratification crashed over you, nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your eyes rolled and you writhed beneath him as your prayer of his name echoed in the kitchen, repeating those same three words back to him over and over and over again.

Frank was right there behind you, his hips stuttering as his rhythm faltered, letting out a guttural groan and holding his hips still against your own as the seed of a new beginning was planted deep within you. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, both of you panting heavily as you clung to each other tightly. Frank felt a buzzing bliss spread throughout his body, reveling in keeping himself buried within your comforting snug warmth, but he also felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

Hope.

»»———　　———««

Laying in bed with the sheets draped over your naked figure, your head was propped up on your elbow, and you watched as Frank stood in front of the sink in the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Your eyes wandered over his body slowly, taking in his tan skin littered with various faded scars. When you’d first met him, you hadn’t known how many were still healing internally, but you could see it now. There was a lightness to him, in the way he carried himself now, brick by brick of trauma and grief slowly being lifted from his shoulders. 

Frank didn’t have nightmares anymore. Attending Curtis’ Veterans group had given him the space to divulge the things he didn’t know how to say to you. As hard as you tried, there were just certain things he’d been through you couldn’t fully understand to offer comfort, but they could. He still had his moody moments, and that familiar brooding expression would shroud his features, but it wasn’t as hardened as before. That impenetrable steel guard had been slowly dismantled over time, and now it was nonexistent. You knew that broken man was still in there, still healing from wounds you couldn’t see, and maybe he always would be. There would always be that jagged piece of him that had donned a bloodstained, bullet filled white skull and waged a one man war on a world that had taken everything from him, but the curvy edges were softening to fit somewhere. 

It was such an interesting dichotomy, that Frank could be so familiar to the stoic broody bodyguard you met two years ago and yet so different as the loving husband that built you a dining table with his bare hands on his day off because you couldn’t find one you liked.

Shutting out the light in the bathroom, Frank turned to walk into your shared bedroom, and he raised one of his dark brows when he caught you staring at him.

“What?”

Lifting your gaze from the tantalizing view of his gray sweatpants draped low across his bare hips, you looked up at him with a faint smirk, lifting one of your own brows.

“I can’t admire my husband?”

Frank’s lips always split into a goofy grin hearing you call him that. In two short strides, he was crawling onto the bed, climbing on top of you and placing his hands on either side of your head as he leaned down to nip at your bottom lip playfully.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, you’re gonna be pregnant by sunrise.”

Letting out a soft laugh, you leaned up to brush your lips against his teasingly with a grin.

“Promise?”

Frank gave you a wide, tooth-bearing smile as he leaned in and captured your lips in a soft and sweet kiss, letting out a deep exhale of content through his nose. After a moment, he pulled back slowly, caressing your face tenderly with his knuckles before he brushed your hair back and cupped your cheek. For a minute, he just stared down at you, taking you in like it was the first time he’d ever seen you.

“Thank you.”

A soft furrow nestled between your brows, and you placed your hand on top of his gently.

“For what?”

“Givin’ me a second chance.”

Frank’s voice was so soft and quiet, full of genuine gratitude and admiration, and it tugged at your heartstrings. Gently grabbing your left hand, he gazed down at the ring on your finger, and slowly lifted your hand to press a soft kiss to it.

“I don’t…I don’t know how much of this I deserve, and I don’t know what I did to…to get here after…ya’know. I just…I wasn’t plannin’ on makin’ it this far, or makin’ it here ever. And I don’t know why you didn’t give up on me, God knows I gave you many reasons to, but you didn’t. And I…I don’t know if I've ever thanked you for that. I mean…all of this…I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

The vulnerable honesty in Frank’s voice had tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You understood the deeper meaning behind his words. He didn’t just mean here in this bed with you. Frank hadn’t cared about living since the day he lost everything. Everyday that followed, he’d been prepared to join his family. From the day you first met him, and even the night everything went down with Billy, he had been ready. You couldn’t even bear to think about a world that Frank Castle didn’t exist in.

Frank gently brushed a stray tear away from your cheek that had slipped, gazing down at you with nothing but pure and honest adoration and commitment. To you, to your marriage, and to this next chapter of your life together. By some cosmic force or grace of a merciful deity, he’d been granted a second chance, and he wasn’t going to waste a second of it. He was all in.

“Thank you, for all of it. For bein’ patient with me, seein’ me, puttin’ my ass in check when I need it.”

Both of you shared a small laugh, and Frank gently brushed the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Thank you for lovin’ me the way you do.”

Staring up into the warm brown eyes of this magnetic force of a man you were lucky enough to love, and to be loved by, you gently cupped his bearded cheek and brought him down for a reverent kiss, allowing your lips to linger before slowly opening your eyes to look at him, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

“It’s my job, baby.”

tags:@thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[bombuni]

contains: mean dom jongho x sub reader, kinda humiliation, kinda voyeurism, name-calling, guys i need him to yell and be mean to me so bad

minors dni

“You never listen.”

You attempt to scoot closer to Jongho as you kneel in front of him, his cologne still infiltrating your senses and clouding your thoughts. Even as he berates you for being a brat and annoying him to no end, he’s elegant. He holds your head up by your hair to make sure your eyes are focused on him, tugging every time he sees your eyes wander to his lap in front of you.

As much as he complains and punishes you, he likes your brattiness. He thinks it’s fun how you try to win again and again, even though you know exactly how it’ll end every time. With you crying and begging for mercy, asking for whatever punishment he sees fit. Your desperate pleas are so cute to him.

Jongho sighs as if his patience is at an end and lets go do your hair, “Take off my belt.”

You look up at him with a dumb look on your face and he challenges you with a raised brow, “Did you hear me? Take ‘em off, cockslut.”

Your eyes well up with tears at his words, but your hands still ache to grab him and make him feel good. The flurry of emotions is frustrating, “D-don’t call me that…”

He smirks down at you, alluring and intimidating but still your Jongho, “It’s what you are, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been sending me all those videos while I was at work. Cause you’re a cockslut.”

Jongho unbuckles his belt before bringing his pants down. He’s stiff and so fucking picturesque as pre-cum drips down the front of his boxers. The bulge in front of your eyes is already making you soak the carpet below you, but he grabs his cock and starts palming himself, excited by the sight of your pretty eyes leaking tears just for him.

“Shit…you wanna suck this cock, don’t you?”

You nod dumbly, hands twitching and moving towards him. You’re surprised when he tuts at you, bringing you to a stop as he removes his boxers and lets his cock spring free. It’s so pretty and chubby, leaking all over itself and you’re practically salivating at the sight before you.

He grabs his cock, firmly gripping the base before he starts jerking off right in front of you. The pre-cum makes it so easy for his hand to glide over himself as he keeps his hand moving with his eyes focused on you. Jongho grasps your chin, pulling your mouth open roughly and pushing onto your tongue with his thumb. He plans to keep you open and waiting for him.

He grunts through his motions, “You’re gonna sit there until I finish. Then you can show me how bad you want this cock, do you understand?”

Your bratty attitude breaks free at the sound of this, whiny voice calling out, “Jongho, no…”

Jongho drags his hand down to your tit, pulling it out of your tank top and tugging at your nipple as a deep groan reverberates through him, “Shut up. Keep your mouth open.”

You do as you’re told for once, satiated by the feeling of his hand toying with you as you can do nothing but sit there and let him. You enjoy being his little doll, to be used as he pleases. He keeps going, his hand moving faster as you play with your tits for him. Your mouth still hangs open in wait for him.

You know the tell-tale signs and sounds when he reaches his climax, you know everything about Jongho. It’s your job. As his groans become louder and deeper and his hand starts stuttering, you lean down and close your eyes as you feel his cum splatter onto your tongue, the salty taste satiating the smallest of tinges in your stomach. You feel a belonging and a pleasure fill you when he reminds you who you belong to.

Jongho drips his last remnants into your mouth with a flushed face and panting breaths, “You look pretty with my cum in your mouth,” you swallow when he finishes, bringing your tongue out again to show him and he smiles sadistically, “You just look pretty being my slut.”

Jongho leans down to press a kiss to your lips, fighting his tongue inside you to remind you who’s in charge. In case you forgot.

bom note: hi..im still here.. still thinking about freaky jongho. recently rewatched my fav movie (secretary 2002 pls watch if u want a good version of 50 shades of grey) and got inspired

[rosenclaws]

Logan Howlett x gn!reader who’s not a mutant, but has a very high precognitive sense (in which they can sense when a ball might hit someone and catch it without looking / or anything similar to the matter heh)

warnings: gn!reader, the reader is crazy flirty with logan, some drunk assholes being dicks, it gets a little suggestive idk how I keep doing this.

a/n: Okay i can’t lie i was struggling a little bit coming up with an idea but i did my best. Shout out to @huffle-punk for helping me ily bitch

Logan was no stranger to seedy bars. In fact he might call them his home away from home. He just needed an out. A place that actually served alcohol for once. The mansion was nice and all but sometimes the man needed a drink. So he hopped on his motorcycle and rode for a while until he stumbled upon some hole in the wall.

He scoped out the bar as soon as he walked in. Taking note of everyone who was there. It was mostly dead. Some loud assholes by the darts and a few people sitting in the booths but that's about it. He was naturally alert. His kind weren’t always welcome in places like these.

“What can I get for you?" The bartender nods towards him as he sits on one of the bar stools. Logan takes out a 20 and hands it to the guy.

"You got Molson Ex?" The guy nods and cracks one open for him.

"Whiskey sour please." A voice next to him says.

He glances over to see you standing at the bar. Now that peeks his interest. You look too good to be here in a place like this. You catch his glance and smirk.

"Never seen you here before." You take the seat next to him. He was a stranger for sure but a very good looking one. Logan cocks an eyebrow before taking another sip of his beer.

"Not a talker huh handsome?"

"You always this forward with strangers?" Logan asks, slightly amused by your flirting.

"Only when they're hot. You should be flattered."

The bartender comes back with your drink and before you can pay Logan gestures to put it on his tab. You take a sip of your drink and set it down close to his beer. Logan turns his body towards you, letting you see just how built this man was. You bite your lip as you shamelessly look him up and down.

"You got somewhere to be?" Logan asks a playful smirk on his lips.

"Nope."

You don't know how much time has passed since you started talking to Logan. He was one of those mysterious brooding guys, not even a last name as you flirt up a storm. That's okay, you don't need to know his last name. The space between you two got smaller and smaller as the night went on. Moving away from the barstools to the back of the room. More hidden, more private. His hands have found their way to your back. Holding you close as he leans in close.

"Logan..." You hum as you trail your hand up his chest. Gently grabbing onto his shirt. You roll your eyes as the group of guys by the darts start to get rowdier. The more alcohol they have in them the more obnoxious they get.

"We should get out of here." He hums, he registers your words but he doesn't move. Instead leaning closer, his lips ghosting your jaw as he gently nips below your ear.

You body tenses as your hand shoots out before you can even think, catching the dart that was heading directly for Logan's neck. Logan looks at you in slight confusion. How you managed to react so quickly.

"Hey assholes!" You slip out from Logan's arms and march over to them.

"Watch where you're fucking throwing these things." You throw the dart on the table.

"Or what?" One them gets up, he's not as intimidating as he thinks but he's clearly drunk. You roll your eyes and turn to leave. A hand grabs your wrist harshly and pulls you back. In a flash Logan is by your side. Practically ripping the guys hand off you and pushing him into the table.

"Don't fucking touch 'em bub." Logan growls.

Your eyes widen as you see metal peek out from his knuckles. He's a mutant. The drunk guys scramble away from him. You tug on Logan's arm. Noticing stares from the rest of the people, fear in their eyes. "Come on," He sheathes his claws and looks around. Wordlessly he storms out of the bar with you hot on his heels. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a cigar, letting out a small groan as he lights it.

"You alright?" Logan asks, noticing that you've followed him out.

"Yeah I'm okay. Are you?" He takes another puff of his cigar and nods.

"Those are some crazy reflexes."

"Yeah, I don't know I've just always had them but I'm not a..." You trail off as you become unsure if you should say anything.

"A mutant?" He finishes for you. He laughs, shaking his head as he gets on his motorcycle.

"Wait Logan! I, I like you and I'm sorry those assholes ruined our night but I don't want it to end." You place your hand on top of his.

It's been flirty, fun, casual up until now but there's a clear attraction that you can't ignore, you don't want to ignore it.

"You sure you can handle a mutant?" Your hand jerks away as his claws come out. Oh that's how he wants to play it.

"I can handle some kitty claws Logan," You tease, running your fingers along his claws.

"The real question is, can you handle me?"

[leeechin]

✷ sugardaddy!jay fingering you while on a business call (18+)

𐀔 hard thought ! reqs r open

warnings: daddy kink, age gap (LEGAL) but ages r not specified,, fingering, literally what the title says lol. yuta (nct) cameo hehe.

⊹ enha m.list | post queue | navigation

you knew that you were playing with fire the moment you stepped into jay's office. he often enjoyed your quiet company while his eyes were glued to his computer for a long period of time. but this time, you were just too needy and couldn't wait another 2 hours until he was done with all of his work :( and now that's why you're seated on your sugar daddy's lap on his couch, stifling your moans by biting on your fist as jay is two fingers stuffed deep into your cunt, flicking his wrist at an angle that had you in the clouds.. while on a business call.

and you were more than certain that your arousal is dripping all over the expensive leather material of jay's couch.

muting his audio on the call for a bit while continuing to let his business partner continue talking on the phone, "so tight around my fingers, baby. so fuckin' filthy for letting me fuck you with my fingers while someone is on the other line of my phone." jay chuckles at your state, "it's so good—! daddy ohhhh." you moan, feeling the tip of his fingers brush against your sweet spot, hands grasping at the loose material on his trousers, seeing the very evident boner covered by it. "i'm going back on speaker, can you be quiet for me?" and you're quick to nod, stuffing two of your own fingers into your mouth.

"you still there jongseong?" yuta on the other line asks, oblivious to what's going on the other line of his. "i'm listening. go on nakamoto." a huge smirk splays on jay's face watching you continuously struggle to keep yourself quiet, allowing a few soft choking sounds from you lodging your fingers deep in your mouth to escape. jay increases his pace, thick digits dragging along the spongy parts of your walls. so entranced at your look with your fingers, all jay wanted to do was hang up the call and watch you take him down your throat.

knowing that you were close, jay gave you a look that you both knew granted you permission to cum. you slowly grind yourself over his fingers, rushing the release of your climax as you let the coil snap in your stomach, nearly screaming when a third finger was along to the two digits. "mm such a good girl, stayed quiet while i was on the call." jay compliments in satisfaction, sucking your release off his fingers. you now had his full attention for rest of the night. <3

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: cute silly little gesture from drewseph 😋 progress progress

one | two | three | four | five

authors note: this is just part 2 of day 2 so i’ll incorporate the movie night in the next part fs. let me know if u still want to be added to the tag list through replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

you’re awoken by the light coming in through the blinds. it’s subtle, but it’s there. it bothers you and causes you to stir awake.

you can hear drew snoring—a habit you know all too well, but you ignore it. your eyes flutter open as you look around the room, then you look at him.

he’s dead asleep, but he’s on his stomach, his face parallel to yours. his mouth is a little open and one of his arms is underneath his pillow, hoisting him slightly higher, while his other is reaching toward your side of the bed.

you yawn as you twist your body and grab your phone off the nightstand, then check the time. it’s already noon. the others must be up and awake by now.

you drop your phone on your lap and use that hand to shake drew awake gently, but when he doesn’t wake up the first time is when you get a little rougher.

“star,” you tell him, in hopes that he gets up at least now or soon. you don’t want either of you to miss any of the plans going on that day. “wake up, come on,” you say, and drew’s eyes open once before he closes them again, and his legs move underneath the blanket slowly. he’s waking up.

“mmh,” he moans, and because his eyes are closed you know that he’s trying to fall back asleep. you retract your arm and get up from the bed. you figure he’ll wake up anyway, he knows he has to.

you walk over to the door and open it, then peek your head out into the hall. you look around for anyone, but all you find is theo walking upstairs to his and leila’s room with two plates of food.

“hey,” you say, then pause to clear your throat. you’ve already caught theo’s attention. “what are we doing today?”

theo shakes his head, his mouth full of his piece of toast. “not today,” his words are difficult to understand so he drops the piece of toast on one of the plates. “tonight. leila has this checklist that’s guiding our everyday, and she said she’s been wanting to just stay in one night, relax, watch some movies. it’s gonna be chill, but it’s only that.”

you nod, patting the doorframe twice. “thank you,” you say, then pull back into your room as you add, “and good morning!”

“‘morning,” theo says, and you close the door gently.

when you turn around you see that drew’s awake. or at least he’s changed positions. he’s lying on his side now, facing you again. you watch him as you return to your side of the bed. he has to flip onto his other side again when you even leave his sight.

“free day until movie night tonight. leila’s orders,” you say, and there’s a small smile on his face before he rubs his eyes with his palm. you look around the bed for your phone with a frown, “could sleep in ‘til tonight if we wanted to.”

“we?” he asks, and it’s like he’s caught you already suggesting plans for the both of you.

“if i . . . wanted to,” you correct yourself, then pause for a moment while you rub the back of your neck, looking away. “libby did say she could help me with some audition tapes today though.”

drew groans, stuffing his head back into his pillow. “why are you working during the two weeks we’re supposed to do anything but that?” he whines, as if you’re dragging him along to do it too.

you shrug, “some people are expected to book their next role as soon as possible. now that tempest is over, i want to start working on my next big thing.”

“tempest was the next big thing, you won an mtv award for it,” drew reminds you.

you think back to your tv series that had went on for six years, a good chunk of your life, before it ended just recently with its final season. tempest is the reason why you met drew in the first place—he shared his praise for your lead role at one of his movie premieres years and years ago.

you shake your head at him. “okay,” you say, deciding to get up and out of bed.

“where are you going?”

“i’m not gonna work but i’m not just gonna lay around in bed all day,” you tell him, and you leave the room to freshen up in the bathroom.

you hear a few footsteps that descend the staircase and you can’t help but peer over your shoulder to see who it is. it’s oscar. you’re seated at the kitchen island, and he’s just minding his own business as he retrieves something from his backpack it seems like, then he looks to you.

he’s kind. there’s a genuine smile on his face as he nods his head at you. “good morning,” he says.

he turns to leave and you try to return it, “good morning.” you clear your throat as you continue to watch him head upstairs. from there, you can see someone walking across the hall, just from their feet.

you can recognize his patterned socks. it’s drew.

“hey!” leila’s voice is a jumpscare and you can’t help but react quickly, facing forward like you’re a child getting caught stealing candy. leila laughs when she realizes she scared you. “sorry . . . i thought you heard me come in. are you ready?”

you’re dressed to go out to town, as leila said earlier that she wanted to visit the local market nearby. you nod your head at her and shuffle off of the chair.

“who’s driving?” drew asks as he jogs down the stairs and pulls his crewneck over his head. you barely cast a glance at his body before you look into his eyes, and he walks over. “am i?”

“yes—” leila tries to say before you cut in.

“you’re coming with us?” you ask. you don’t necessarily have a problem with it, it’s just why was it kept from you?

“problem?”

“i don’t know. is there one?” you furrow your eyebrows at him and tilt your head to the side, but you realize the way you’re talking to him.

he squints his eyes at you in question, then glances up at leila. he’s not sure whether you're teasing him or not, but he lets out a short, awkward laugh. “okay, let’s not get dramatic,” he says lightly.

leila, sensing the unease, smiles as she steps in. “i figured we could all go together! it’s a trio outing now! plus, you two are joined at the hip anyway.” she says it like it's the most natural thing, blissfully unaware of how the statement lands between you and drew.

you swallow the discomfort and force a smile as you get off the chair, grabbing your bag. drew’s eyes linger on you for a moment before he turns and follows you both out the door.

“careful,” he warns you about your blatant attitude.

you know he’s right, and you mutter out, “sorry.”

the car hums as you’re driven down to the beach market, then get out to enter. it’s not a huge deal being seen out in public together—you’ve done this before. but of course it’s different now. there’s something strange about holding drew’s hand when you know, deep down, it’s all for show. but you don't pull away.

when you reach the town, you spot a few people recognizing you—actors always catch eyes, even in quieter towns like this one. drew stays close, his hand still gripping yours, a comfortable smile playing on his lips as the three of you wander around.

a couple of fans approach you, their faces lighting up at the sight of you and drew together. “oh my god, i loved you two in hellraiser! this feels like a dream," one of them gushes, and for a split second, you feel drew’s hand squeeze yours tighter.

you try to play it off, laughing softly as you and him pose for a quick picture with the younger girl.

after, drew steps beside you, leaning forward with his hands behind his back as a few record him. “we’re glad you enjoyed it,” he says, flashing his grin. you feel a familiar flutter in your stomach, a reminder of all those moments you used to share during press events like this.

another girl beams, and what seems like her mother is standing there with her, “you look even prettier in person! can we take another photo?”

“of course!” you laugh, and you part from drew to tend to the few of them.

drew is just standing a few feet away, his gaze locked on you. his expression is unreadable—something between admiration and something deeper, something heavier.

leila catches onto his lingering stare, and she approaches him with a smirk, nudging his arm. “you’re staring,” she teases, her tone light. drew blinks and breaks his gaze, glancing down at leila like he’s been caught.

“was not,” he mutters. his eyes flick back to you for a second, but he quickly looks away again.

leila’s inspecting a few trinkets before glancing back at him, a knowing look on her face. “you’re a terrible liar, you know,” she says. “you’re staring, and don’t think i didn’t notice at the firepit either.”

drew shifts uncomfortably, trying to find a way to defend himself. “okay, well yeah, because she’s my girlfriend!” he says a little too loud, and even you look up at him and furrow your eyebrows before returning to what you’re doing.

“okay, i’m joking. god, please lighten up. you can stare at your girlfriend all you want. who cares?” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “is everything good with you two?”

drew hesitates, glancing over at you as you smile politely at another fan. “yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, the words coming out too quickly. “why wouldn’t it be?”

leila narrows her eyes, watching him closely. “i don’t know, you’re acting a little . . . weird. normally, you’re more laid-back when she’s off and doing stuff on her own. but lately, you’ve been all . . . protective. intense, even.” she pauses, studying his face. “is something going on?”

he rubs the back of his neck. “no, we’re good. we’re good.”

leila hums, her fingers tracing one of the bracelets on a stall table. “you know, i talked to y/n last night,” she says carefully, her voice soft. “she said you guys have been stressed with work lately, but that everything’s good between you. still . . . i don’t know, something feels off. you both seem a little . . . distant.” she gives him a gentle nudge. “i’m not trying to pry, but i just want to make sure you’re okay. i already asked her, so now i’m asking you.”

drew stiffens slightly, but forces a small laugh, trying to brush it off. “yeah, work has been a lot lately. it’s probably just that—stress, you know? juggling schedules, auditions, appearances . . . it’s hard to get time for ourselves.”

“i get that. trust me, theo and i have been there too with our careers. it can get messy, but...” she trails off, giving him a sincere look. “you and y/n have always had something really special. and i know it’s not my business, but if something’s really bothering you—or her—you guys should talk it out. don’t let it fester.”

he shifts on his feet, the words striking closer than he’d like. he nods, though, appreciating her concern. “yeah, you’re right. i know we need to talk more, make time for that.”

leila smiles, “good. i’m here for both of you, okay? if you need to blow off steam or talk, don’t hesitate. i can tell there’s more going on than just ‘work stress,’ but i trust you’ll figure it out.”

drew forces a grin, trying to play it cool. “thanks, lei. we’ll be fine.”

leila holds his gaze for a moment longer, then nods as she steps back toward the vendor. “you better be. you guys are a strong power couple around here,” she jokes lightly.

as she glances over drew’s shoulder, her gaze settles on a nearby flower shop across the street. she doesn’t say anything, but her eyes linger, then shift back to him. there’s a soft smile playing on her lips, and she raises her brows in a silent suggestion.

he follows her line of sight, his eyes landing on the shop. it takes him a second, but he gets it. leila doesn’t need to say the words. he knows exactly what she’s trying to tell him.

“really?” he asks, dropping his smile. “you’re playing wingman?”

“wingwoman, but you know.” she gives a small, almost teasing shrug. “i mean, they’re her favorite, right? might not fix everything, but it’s a start. little things, drew.”

his eyes flick back to the shop, an old habit of buying you flowers bubbling up in his chest. “yeah, she always liked those kinds of flowers,” he murmurs, half to himself.

he nods, muttering a quiet “thanks” under his breath, as leila gives him a knowing smile before turning back to browse a nearby stall.

drew makes his way over to the flower shop, eyes scanning for your favorite blooms. the vendor helps him put together a simple yet thoughtful bouquet, and drew can't help but feel anxious but hopeful.

a few minutes later, he looks for you amongst everyone. you’ve already found leila, as you two inspect something on a stand just a few stalls down. you must not have seen drew when he was handling the flowers.

he makes his way over, and his presence is warm behind you that causes you to peer over your shoulder. you’re startled when you realize there’s actually someone there, and he’s so close. you immediately notice the flowers.

your eyebrows lift in amusement as he grins. “oh, what’s this?” you ask, your tone teasing, though there's a flicker of surprise behind your eyes.

drew holds the bouquet out, his voice soft. “for you,” he says. “maybe to make the day a little better.”

you look at the flowers, hesitating for a second before taking them. there’s a small warmth in your chest that you try to suppress, but it shows in the way your lips twitch upward into a faint smile. “thank you,” you say quietly, studying the flowers briefly before your gaze shifts back to him.

you can’t help but wrap your open arm around his neck and pull him close. his gesture is sweet and unexpected. drew’s arms finds your waist before he’s hugging you back, even tighter, but trying to be polite with how long he squeezes you.

you feel bold, and you lean away from him before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. it’s brief, almost hesitant, but enough to make drew’s breath get caught in his throat for a second.

as you pull away, you notice his glance toward leila, who's standing just a few feet away, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever she's holding. but she can’t hide the small wink she throws his way when he meets her gaze, a playful, silent “you're welcome” before she turns back around.

you catch it at the very last second and your mouth gapes open, so you take a step back. “are you two conspiring now?” you ask, in fake shock.

he chuckles softly. “just trying to be a good boyfriend.”

“mhm,” you murmur, but your smile lingers, and you look up at him to mumble a small “thank you” again, to which he waves it off like it’s nothing. even though you're hesitant, you can't deny that the gesture worked—at least a little.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains

[hyunebunx]

Wow I’m stupid I pressed send way too fast 🩵 with Lee Know??

˖˙ ᰋ ── 🩵 - kissing in the rain with Minho

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: a teeny tiny amount of angst but it has a happy ending

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: thank you sm for requesting!!! <3 i had soo many ways of writing this in my head that i struggled lol. i really hope you like what i came up with. it's loosely (very) based on the rain scene in pride and prejudice so enjoy!! <33

Arguments were not a usual occurrence in your relationship. Most of the time you managed to settle any disagreement before it could escalate to such heights, the perfectly communicating couple all of your friends couldn’t help but feel a little envious of.

Now was not one of those times; your stress and emotions were getting the best of both you and Minho in the most unpleasant way. You hated arguing with him, getting angry and unable to see the other’s point of view, clouded by the desire to be right and make each other understand where you were coming from.

“You don’t get it.” Minho shakes his head with a sigh, forearms resting on the wheel as the rain poured outside your safe haven, hitting the windshield at an alarming pace and preventing you from seeing anything, even with the headlights on.

“Explain it to me, then!” You bite back, body facing his in the heated passenger seat that was keeping you warm and cozy despite the chill outside. Even when arguing you could admit Minho was the most considerate person alive – you didn’t ask him to turn on the heat, he must have done it when he noticed you trembling like a leaf after getting in.

He surprised you after work, dropping by and driving directly to one of your favorite restaurants just in time for dinner and a well deserved date night. Everything was perfect, the location, the food, and especially the company, laughing and having a great time with the love of your life.

Until things turned sour on your drive home, and what started as a silly disagreement turned into a full-on argument about something you didn’t find significant enough even to remember.

“That’s what I’ve been doing for the past ten minutes but it seems you don’t want to listen!”

You’ve been walking (or driving) in circles, with him getting frustrated and you following right on his tail until the car came to a stop right in front of your apartment building.

It’s not like you didn’t want to listen or care to hear him out, it’s just that Minho seemed to make something out of nothing, insisting and pushing forth the same idea like you were nothing more than a child who lacked basic comprehension. It was frustrating and exhausting, especially after the long day you’ve had.

“Min, I’ve been listening.” You try to smooth things over, warm hand landing on his thigh comfortingly. “Just because I’m not giving you the answers you want doesn’t mean I’m not hearing you.”

Minho remains silent, head turned the other way to stare out the window and not acknowledge your presence. When the silence stretches on, you give up with a sigh and retract your hand, reaching for your purse in the backseat and opening the car door in the same breath.

“What are you – “ You close it right before he can finish the sentence, set on getting inside with or without him to finally take the bubble bath you’ve been daydreaming about all day at work.

“Kitten!” His voice follows a moment later, the sound of the car door slamming louder than him amongst the deafening rain. “Y/n!”

Despite yourself and the insanity of spending even one more minute in this storm, you stop and allow him to catch up, not protesting as his warm hands land on your shoulders and turn you around almost desperately.

“Where are you going? We are not done talking.” He states, dark hair and clothes getting soaked at an alarming pace as the rain spares neither of you.

“But I am!” You exhale, the chill settling into your bones. “We won’t reach an agreement like this so let’s just stop!”

His eyes widen as he pulls you closer, chest to chest, figures illuminated by the bright headlights almost blinding. “Baby, wait – “

“I hate fighting with you, Min.” Without meaning to, you interrupt him once again, reaching up to cup his face and drag him closer. “I’m sorry, okay? We can talk this over calmly inside after we cool down. Just not like this, please, I can’t do it anymore.”

He nods instantly, agreeing without a doubt and most likely seeing his faults too, and not only yours. Then, when you expect him to let go and finally follow you in, Minho surprises you the second time tonight by leaning over and connecting your lips in a kiss full of passion and love, reminding you once again that the heart in his chest beats first and foremost for you. His upper limbs cling to your body just like your clothes, hugging you tightly while your hands squeeze his face affectionately, a smile sneaking past and pulling one from him as well, on the verge of beaming into the kiss.

The rain seems to disappear, the cold too, like you weren’t bothered by either in the first place. Minho has that effect on you, helping you see the good in every situation. Sure, the location was not ideal – nothing could be less romantic than a barely lit parking lot – but as always, the company mattered more. And the message he was trying to send. When words failed you, actions worked better, speaking louder and getting your point across without much effort.

Sure, the argument wasn’t resolved but you both managed to make the other understand what mattered the most. You might be disagreeing now, momentarily stuck in a small pothole along the way, but you still loved each other, you would get over it and be okay in the end.

Because that’s what true love meant. Getting through things together and continuing to walk down your joined paths, hand in hand, no matter how many potholes or rough patches you encounter. A small setback won’t ever erase your feelings for each other, or make you forget all the beautiful moments you’ve shared.

And maybe, just maybe, a kiss was all you needed to finally understand Minho’s point when you sat down and resolved things that night. He, on the other hand, needed a few more to be satisfied.

[threestarsinline]

The Gala

Jason Todd x reader one-shot

Summary: It was supposed to be simple. Just accompany Jason to the party. It was also supposed to be quick. Just go in, talk to a few people, and out. But then, you find yourself meeting your boyfriend's family.

Word Count: 9.3K

Category: Fluff (established relationship) and a tiny, tiny little bit of angst

Warnings: Rich people?? Bahahsjsjs Mentions of alcohol

Author’s note: My Wayne gala fic debut (with a super original title, I know jskdks), hope you like it!

You look at yourself once again in the mirror. The truth is that you love the image that looks back at you. You feel comfortable and true to yourself, as well as beautiful. The dress that you’re wearing playing a big part in it. Your fingers slowly trace the hem of the bright red of the soft fabric.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You know that the dress probably won’t live up to the standard of the women that will be at the place but for you, it’s beautiful and elegant, making you feel like a seven year old girl wearing her favorite princess dress and giving you the confidence that you will need tonight.

Even if the style of the dress is not as chic or as sophisticated as others, you’re sure that the red will stand out. The thought increases your nerves. You don’t usually wear red but when you saw this dress you knew that you had to buy it, you could easily see yourself in it. And also, you couldn’t wait to see Jason’s reaction.

You knew that he would love it, or so you hoped. He always liked it when you wore red, or anything for that matter. No matter how you looked he always looked at you with the same silly smile and caring eyes. But there was something in wanting to see him swoon all over you. You smile thinking of him. Even if the night ends in a disaster, you both will be at each other's side.

Just as you do a little spin to see the movement of your skirt just a bit up your knees, the doorbell rings. When you open the door Jason is looking around stressfully, breathing heavily, his hands alternating on running through his hair as if trying to fix it and adjusting his tie. He doesn’t seem to notice that you have opened the door.

“Hey,” you say softly. He turns to you.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly in return, and by the way that he’s taking you in, you can tell that it isn’t for the same reason as before. You look down shyly and put a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You then take him in, and to say that you’re not ready for the full sight in front of you is an understatement. Jason was already handsome but to see him in a suit… Your insides are doing crazy things.

“Y/N, you look… incredible.”

“Thank you.” You take a small step and on your toes you give him a kiss on the cheek. “I have to say that you look great. I think that I could get used to seeing you in a suit.” He smiles warmly but suddenly he seems to come out of his daze.

“Listen, I’m so sorry I’m late and that I kept you waiting. I got caught up before and then this stupid tie wouldn’t work with me and…” You shush him softly with a kiss and then shake your head.

“Don’t worry, I just got finished too.”

He sighs in relief, and then, with a life of their own, before you can help yourself, your hands lift to fix his hair to give it his usual style but less messy, although as always, the white streak stays as rebel as ever. Your hands slide down his neck to the lapels of his jacket and then adjust his tie that was crooked to the left.

“You know how to do that?” he says, referring to the tie.

“Not really. I have just always wanted to do that. You know, like in movies and so.” You can’t help but giggle a bit while you say that.

“Well, that makes two of us.” He takes your hands and places a kiss on them. You sigh happily, the soft gesture making you melt. You’re sure that this man is going to be the death of you. The care and affection with which he always touches and looks at you was both deadly and invigorating. “Ready?”

“I think so.”

“Because if not, you know that I wouldn’t mind one bit to stay here and take a more careful look at this gorgeous dress.” His hands find your waist and after a peck on your lips, his own meet your neck.

“I know. And that’s why we have to get going, we’re already late.” You put a hand in his chest to place some distance with the temptation of his lips, that now are pouting.

“‘A queen is never late, everyone else is simply early,’” he deadpans.

A laugh threatens to escape from your throat. “You just did not.”

“What?” he says feigning innocence, but the smirk on his lips gives him away.

“You just did not quote the queen of Genovia,” you say amused.

“Okay, first, Julie Andrews is always right. And second, you were the one that showed me that masterpiece so, you should have seen it coming.” He’s grinning from ear to ear. You wish that you could always see him like this. So happy and carefree.

“Can't say that you’re not right,” you reply while hugging him, resting your head on his chest and letting his calming scent surround you.

He then takes your face in his hands and with your noses touching he whispers, “I love you.” 

Your smile at those words never faltered. “I love you too.”

When you two reach the manor Jason drives past the main gate and goes directly to the secondary one that leads to the back entrance of the manor in order to avoid all the fancy cars and limos that litter the road of the main one.

Even from outside you can tell that the party is already in full swing, the windows of the main living room that in these cases often transforms into a dance hall, the only ones with light in them and cluttered with people.

Jason parks the car but his hands do not leave the steering wheel. His grip tightens and untightens around it as he takes a deep breath and looks towards the back door of the manor. You know well how even though the manor is a home to Jason, in events like this it almost feels like a cage.

“Hey,” you whisper softly while you take his hands into yours. Immediately, Jason’s eyes leave the manor and turn towards you. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here. And it’ll be quick, we just have to show face for a little while, just like we talked about. And then as fast as we’re in, we’ll be out,” you reassure him while softly rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs.

Jason gulps and nods, trying to will the nerves away, though his hands have stopped flexing and now lay relaxed in your grip ever since you touched them.

“Or we can leave right now. Forget all this. Spend the evening alone, just you and me. Maybe even some Batburger?” you tease with a smile, letting him know that he always has an out with you. Your calming words seem to work as a small chuckle leaves him and he lifts your hands to kiss them once again.

He shakes his head.

You tilt yours. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I just needed a moment. Besides, if I don’t go in I’ll never hear the end of it. Also, if we get this out of the way now, we won’t have to come to another one for a long while. And like you said, it’ll be quick.”

You nod and give his hands an encouraging squeeze. “Exactly. And remember, if you want to leave early, you just tell me.” 

He nods, a lot more sure of himself than just a moment ago. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” you echo.

Jason gets out of the car and you know better than to try and get out yourself, having learned in the very early stages of your relationship that if Jason can help it, you will never have to open a door again. And like always, your door opens and he extends a hand to help you out.

Despite the temperature dropping slightly during the night with the summer reaching its end, it’s a very nice evening. A soft breeze grazes your arms and the cut of your dress but it’s not enough to make you feel cold, mainly due to the warm hand that settles on your lower back. In the sky, the stars that would be impossible to see downtown accompany the moon in illuminating the night.

You two make your way through the gravel path that leads to the back door hand in hand, giving each other courage for the night that awaits ahead.

Once inside, it’s like entering another world entirely. Chatter and glass clinks fill the air and you’re just glad that at least this way your entrance to the party won’t make that much of a fuss as you would have done if you had used the main door.

“I was starting to think that you weren’t going to appear, Master Jason.”

At the sound of the voice both you and Jason stop dead in your tracks near the kitchen, almost like two kids getting caught trying to sneak out instead of sneaking in.

“Alfred!” Jason greets him exaggeratedly, trying to distract from the fact that you two have been caught arriving late. The British man can’t help but mirror Jason’s big smile, even as it breaks his teasing smirk. You smile as you watch them hug and then Alfred turns to you.

“Oh, and you’ve brought Miss Y/N as well! So great to see you again, dear,” he says as he also gives you a quick hug.

“You too, Alfred,” you reply with a smile. “Though it’s just Y/N, please.”

“You know I’m not going to do that, Miss Y/N.” The crinkles of the butler’s smile reminding you that trying to argue with him was a futile attempt.

You had only met him once before but that had been enough to get to know each other quite well and to already care for each other.

You had met him some weeks before, when Jason took you to the manor for the very first time one weekend as a kind of romantic getaway, as it had been left deserted and empty by Alfred and Bruce due to a business/Batman trip and Tim and Damian were away with their respective friends. It was an opportunity like no other.

It had been a wonderful long summery weekend, spent cooking together, lounging in the pool while sharing lazy kisses in the water with your arms and legs wrapped around him, his hands holding you as the sun set behind you, and watching movies in the home theater. You had never felt more at peace or relaxed.

And then, Alfred had come back a couple of days early. You and Jason had been cooking lunch (well, Jason had been cooking while you admired him perched on the counter), when Alfred entered, surprised to see anyone in the manor. After the initial surprise, friendly introductions had been made since from all of the members of his family, Alfred was the only one that Jason wasn’t wary of you meeting.

Jason could only thank whatever was out there that it had been Alfred who had come back early and not Bruce. He wasn’t ready to handle that yet.

Alfred joined you two for lunch and even though you were slightly nervous at the beginning at meeting a member of Jason’s family, you were glad that it was Alfred since he instantly made you feel welcome and at ease. Jason had watched your conversations with a small smile, glad to see and not surprised at all that you got along so well.

After lunch, Alfred left you two be to enjoy the rest of the day as well as the next day since it was your last in the manor. However, he still insisted on making you two breakfast the next day and you got to try Alfred’s famous pancakes. There was no doubt from where Jason had gotten his excellent culinary skills.

You still crossed paths with Alfred a couple more times but they hadn’t been awkward at all. During that short time of seeing you and Jason interact, Alfred saw just how happy you two made and loved each other. He could clearly see the certainty of your relationship and he couldn’t be happier for the young boy that had once been the second Robin. He totally deserved the happiness that you brought him.

And as Alfred insists on calling you Miss Y/N, with the sounds of the party drifting into the kitchen, just like he had done the first time that he met you, the same thought crosses his mind.

That the only way in which he would ever call you something other than that would be when you became Mrs. Todd. Something that he was certain would happen from the very first moment that he saw you laugh with Jason before he had made his presence known that summer afternoon. A truth as plain as the sun.

Now, seeing that the British man isn’t giving up upon your insistence on calling you just by your first name, you sigh defeatedly. “Alright.”

At that, Alfred smiles and turns back to Jason. “Your brothers will be glad to see you’ve been able to make it.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

You smile at his antics and squeeze his hand. The thing was that at each Wayne gala, as it was to be expected, a few members of the family should be present. But considering the fact that all, literally all, the Waynes hated the galas, having Waynes at a gala had long been a recurring problem.

No one still talks about the time that at one of them, not a single Wayne had appeared. The press had had a field day with it and it took the Waynes months to repair the damage.

For a rich family in Gotham that lead a double life as vigilantes, they sure hated the appearances and masks that came with having to entertain the socialites. You have always found the fact extremely entertaining.

And so, in order to avoid the great gala disaster, as Jason had explained to you, they had come up with a system. Taking turns attending the galas and doing so in different groups as they all knew that no one, absolutely no one should have to suffer through a gala alone (except Bruce, who sometimes had to go alone, downsides of being the face of the company).

For example, a group could be Bruce, Dick and Damian (who, lucky for him, has never had to experience the torture of going to one alone, still being a kid and all), or Jason and Dick, but never just Jason and Tim alone, the two always looking to make an escape and neither of them keeping the other in check. However, if they were accompanied by someone else it was manageable. The pairings and different groupings going on and on.

But tonight, however, it was the turn for all four of the batboys to be there, Bruce out on a mission. And so here you were, having offered to accompany your boyfriend when he told you that he had to go to the gala. Jason had said that it wasn’t necessary but you could see the relief in his eyes when you assured him that you wanted to go with him, knowing how hard these things could be sometimes.

Though not liking large crowds either, you were no better. What a pair did you two make. But you knew that together, you could face this night. Now, apart from the overall challenge of enduring the night, came the very real possibility of finally meeting Jason’s brothers. It wasn’t that Jason was trying to keep you away from them or hiding you, they did know about you, it’s just that it was a delicate issue that he wanted to handle at his own time and when he was ready.

You understood that and of course never pushed him on the topic. You knew that if it were for Jason, he would scream that you two were together a hundred times a day, he had no problem holding your hand in public nor kissing you until you felt dizzy in the middle of the street.

Either way, when you two realized that you could meet them, Jason came to the conclusion that it wasn’t so bad. That way they’ll stop pestering him about meeting you and you would do it in a more relaxed ambience than what a formal dinner with all of his family, including Bruce, could be, with all of their eyes fixed on you and asking you millions of questions. At least this way, with the gala, distractions were easy to come by if a quick escape was necessary.

So, if you met them, good. If you didn’t, good as well.

Though still, the nerves persisted.

After exchanging a couple of phrases more with Alfred, he returned to his duties at the party and with your arm looped through Jason’s, you stepped into the space that had been turned into a ballroom of sorts, all of Gotham’s elite there. Either to donate to a Wayne fundraiser (sadly, the least likely of them all), invest in Wayne Enterprises (more likely), drink (very likely), or to snoop around the mysterious Wayne manor and find out more about the peculiar family (the most likely of them all).

You have to say that you're impressed with what has been done with the space. Added chandeliers and carefully placed lamps give the room a golden glow, highlighting all the luxury of the attendees, from expensive watches, to even more expensive necklaces, and making all the glasses of champagne around the room sparkle.

On one side, a bar has been set up, on the other, on a small stage, musicians play for the dancing couples on the dance floor that has been put up in the center. And scattered around the room, high tables where people place their drinks and gather for conversations.

The lack of chairs does not go unnoticed, just a couple every few tables and the stools that surround the bar. The lack no doubt made deliberately, that way, no one would settle for long, either forcing them to mingle and spend some money on the gala or directly leave. The Waynes really do not like to have people in their house. You have to stifle a laugh at the thought, you could relate to that.

Though it makes perfect sense, given that no one wants too many people on the floor above the headquarters for Gotham’s vigilantes for long. You also know that in whatever way they can, they always try to have the galas either at Wayne Tower or at any other place, but sometimes, having one at the manor once in a while was inevitable.

You can’t help but tense up as you notice more and more people start to look towards you two. You don’t even notice that your anxious nature has gotten the better of you and that your grip on Jason’s arm has tightened until his other hand covers yours, the touch immediately grounding and soothing you. You look up at him and take a deep breath as his green eyes look at you encouragingly and gratefully, telling you that you can do this and that he’s thankful that you’re here with him.

You smile before squeezing his arm back and then you two plunge into battle. Showtime.

You make small talk with a few of the guests before approaching the bar to get something to drink. As you wait for your drinks you feel Jason lean down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to the bathroom real quick, I’ll be right back. You okay?”

You nod with a smile, telling him that it’s okay before he gives a quick kiss to your temple and then disappears into the crowd.

Your eyes scan the room as you take the refreshment that has been placed in front of you and take a sip, trying not to draw too much attention upon yourself while you wait. You’re no vigilante but as a person that prefers alone time, assessing the room before making any social interaction goes without saying. You’re even thinking of seeking Alfred and asking him if he needs help with anything when your eyes clock Jason again on the other side of the room, cornered by a bunch of socialites.

He has a pleasing smile on his face as he listens to what they’re telling him. To any other person, it might seem like he’s genuinely interested, but you can read him like a book. The corners of his smile are tense, apart from the fact that it doesn't reach his eyes, and his too constant nodding tells you how he is feigning the interest. His eyes find yours for a moment before returning to the lady speaking to him and in that split millisecond you can see how his smile turns real for you, before becoming fake once again.

You leave your glass on the counter of the bar to make your way to him and save him from the people crowding him when suddenly-

“Care for a dance?” a smooth voice says at your side.

You turn to decline when you’re met with eyes of a vibrant shade of blue, a boyish youth and mischief in them, but also slightly hardened with years of experience dealing with the worst of Gotham. His black hair is perfectly styled, a winning and charming smile on his lips and clad in a black suit with a bow tie that highlights all of his features. You can see how he’s a handsome man but still to you, he doesn’t hold a candle to Jason.

Of course you know who he is.

Gotham’s golden boy.

“Dick Grayson.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” His smile widens and you realize that this is happening whether you want it or not. You’re meeting one of Jason’s brothers. Your eyes flick back to Jason but he’s no longer surrounded by the socialites. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found. He must’ve managed to escape somehow. Looks like you’re going to have to face this alone. You had even been starting to think that this moment wouldn’t come since you hadn’t seen any of Jason’s brothers since you arrived.

You turn back to Dick and he’s still in the exact same position, leaning with one arm on the bar, carefully watching you with a knowing smile. Everything in his demeanor open, easy.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,“ he says, extending his hand.

Your force your body to release the small tension that it has accumulated and with a small smile you shake his hand. “You too.”

“Glad to see that Jason hasn’t made you up. We were starting to doubt that you really existed,” he comments playfully.

You know that he isn’t intimidating you or trying to scare you, merely wanting to meet you, know more about Jason’s life, see the reason why he’s the happiest that they have ever seen him.

“I’m very real, yes.”

“So, how about that dance?”

You pause for a second. “I’m not the best dancer.”

“Come on, please. How am I supposed to get to know my new sister-in-law otherwise?”

“By just talking?”

He chuckles. “Alright, fair enough. How about this, how am I supposed to get to know my sister-in-law without gossiping rich people interrupting us over and over again?” Dick nods to the side and you see how a few of the guests are looking towards you two, no doubt about to walk up to you and force you to establish conversation.

“Lead the way,” you end up saying and Dick’s smile beams even more, his joyous nature and openness making you feel at ease. You feel like he’s trying to make this easy for you, knowing how awkward meeting your boyfriend’s family could be.

He then offers you his arm to guide you to the dance floor and in no time you’re joining all the couples waltzing around it.

“So… Y/N, tell me. What are your intentions with our dear Jaybird?” he jokes in mock seriousness while arching an eyebrow.

“Jaybird?” you ask, never having heard the nickname before but already liking it.

“Oh, Y/N, I have so many anecdotes to tell you. We’re going to have so much fun.”

You smile at the prospect of hearing stories about Jason. “Can’t wait. But to answer your question, my intentions are to just be with him. For as long as he wants me.”

Dick nods, as if you just confirmed something that he already knew. “I feel like that’s going to be a long time.” You feel your cheeks warm at his words. You really hope that it is too. Forever, if you can help it. “Though are you sure that you want to put up with him for so long? He can be insufferable,” he adds, and you chuckle.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Afterwards, he asks you about your job and your family, and you ask him about life in Blüdhaven. You’re glad for his easygoingness, allowing you to feel comfortable and a sense of camaraderie and friendship already between you. You’re also glad that you’re dancing since you’re sure that if you weren’t, conversation wouldn’t have flowed as easily without the privacy that it has given you.

“My turn, Grayson,” a voice suddenly speaks.

You two stop dancing and turn your heads to the side, and then slightly down to find a young boy. His dark combed back hair and his straight posture making him a shadow of his father, his green eyes looking up at you expectantly and his tan skin inherited from his mother. Talia al Ghul.

“No, it isn’t,” Dick replies. 

“Yes, it is,” Damian retorts, holding Dick’s gaze. It’s like they are challenging one another while also having a mental conversation.

Finally, Dick sighs. “Fine. But only if Y/N is okay with that."

“It’s alright,” you say softly.

“See?” Damian insists and Dick rolls his eyes. You smile at their interaction and then Dick turns back to you.

“Thanks for dancing with me, Y/N. It’s been really nice finally getting to talk to you.”

“Likewise.”

Dick squeezes your hands in goodbye before letting go, Damian taking his spot to dance with you. “See you around.” Dick says and you nod and watch as he takes his leave, until a throat clears in front of you and you begin dancing once again.

“You’re Todd’s girlfriend then? Y/L/N?”

“That’s me. You must be Damian. It’s nice to meet you.” Damian nods solemnly before staring intensely at you, as if deciphering you. His movements are graceful and elegant, even more purposeful than Dick’s even. You suppose that all the grace must have something to do with growing up with ninjas and practically being raised like royalty.

Not one to back out, you hold his gaze and stare back at him. He’s shorter than you but you have no doubt that in no time he’ll be taller than you.

“You’re a great dancer, Damian,” you finally say and you can see how something in him changes, no longer putting up the intimidating facade, allowing himself to relax slightly.

“Thanks. Mother taught me.”

“That’s nice. I hope I’m not making you look too much like a fool.”

Damian shrugs. “You’re alright.”

You smile, taking his version of a compliment as a win. Then you take another look around the room, wondering where Jason could be. Maybe Alfred has asked for his help on something. You turn back to Damian, who looks around the space uninterested.

“I’m guessing you don’t like these galas much,” you say, trying to get him to open up a bit more.

“They are… a responsibility.”

“Yeah, well, I’d much rather prefer doing something else. Like going to the aquarium or the museum.” Damian’s eyes shot back to yours like a flash, a small sparkle in them.

Bingo.

You try to contain your triumphant smile. “Have you seen the new art exhibit? Jason told me that you like drawing,” you continue.

And just like that, whatever it was that Damian was wary of disappears as you two make conversation, discussing different painters, Damian’s art and your own hobbies. Then, for a second, Damian pauses in thought, like a jury about to deliver their decision, making you wonder what he’s about to say. 

“You’re cool. Todd was right about you,” he finally says as the current song ends and you two come to a stop.

You smile softly in thanks. “Glad to hear that.”

“Though I’m not yet quite sure what you could be seeing in Todd. You’re clearly way cooler than him.”

That makes you chuckle and you don’t miss how a smile twitches on Damian’s face.

“Thanks, I guess? Though he’s not that bad. Not at all.”

Damian just shrugs at your statement but you have the feeling that behind all the picking, there’s fondness and a brotherly bond between him and Jason.

“Anyway, I have to go feed my animals. It was nice meeting you, Y/N.” Your jaw almost drops, but you manage to avoid it before your lips twist into a wide smile.

Damian’s calling you by your first name. When Jason has told you that he never does that with anyone. Not even Dick.

“You too, Damian.”

He nods in goodbye before going towards the exit of the ballroom. You leave the dance floor and take a deep breath. Well, that wasn’t so bad. It was fun, actually.

You decide that you need some air in order to take all of the recent events in and head towards the open patio door that looks out to the gardens. Even though you can still hear the party, as the door is still open, the change of ambience is very much welcomed. You inhale the fresh air before releasing a content sigh at having a moment for yourself.

You lean on the railing surrounding the few steps that separate you from the grass as you gaze up at the clear sky, the moon illuminating the patio and the late summer evening breeze creating ripples along the surface of the pool. It’s a nice break from the scorching nights that Gotham can have along the summer. You can’t wait for the fall.

As you let yourself relax in the quiet evening, you think back to what has just happened. You just met two of Jason’s brothers. And everything went well. You still can’t believe it. You let out a soft chuckle at the thought that your social skills haven’t failed you this time. Despite usually needing a lot of time with a person to open up and build trust, you’re surprised at how easy it came to you with Dick and Damian, already getting along and having the feeling that you’re going to become good friends. Family, someday.

Maybe it’s due to Dick’s easygoing personality or the things that you have in common with Damian but you feel like it’s more than that. The knowledge that these kind of connections don’t come easy for them either, given all the secrets that they have to keep and the fact that they don’t have to tiptoe around you. The fact that you all love Jason Todd dearly.

You’re just glad that you click with them as well as you did all that time ago with Jason. Who, by the way, is still MIA. It’s been a good while since you saw him. Where could he be?

“Do you want some?” a voice suddenly says, interrupting your thoughts and making you turn towards its source.

Well, looks like the meeting-your-boyfriend’s-family night isn’t over.

Tim Drake stands on the doorway, holding two glasses of champagne. He’s wearing a suit as well but his appearance isn’t as neat as Dick’s or Damian’s. His hair is slightly tousled and his tie is loosened around his neck. His blue eyes, a shade lighter than Dick’s, look kindly at you.

“Sure, thanks,” you say as you take the glass that he offers you. The truth was that you weren’t a big drinker, only having a few sips on scattered special occasions during the year, like champagne on New Year’s Day or the rare instances in which you found yourself in glamorous parties like this.

You take a small sip of the sparkly drink as Tim comes to stand next to you.

“So, what do you think of the gala? Having fun?”

“It’s alright. You all do know how to throw a party,” you answer.

“What can I say? If there’s one thing we’re good at is appearances,” Tim says jokingly.

You nod with a smile while taking another sip, though this time you can’t help the grimace that you make at the growing bitter taste of alcohol in your mouth.

“Not a fan?”

“Not really,” you respond honestly, deciding to leave the glass on the outdoor table for now.

“Me neither, actually.”

And then, your eyes widen when, just like nothing, Tim literally throws the content of his glass, his untouched and what you’re sure of is a very, very, expensive champagne towards the grass and leaves his now empty glass next to yours.

Seriously, what was wrong with rich people?

You shake the thought as you and Tim start making friendly conversation. He’s telling you a story in which Jason faceplanted once during training, when it strikes you that it really is amazing how all the Robins somehow actually physically look like family despite not being blood-related. And it’s not just the coincidence that all of them have clear colored eyes and dark hair, but rather the way in which they hold themselves, something in their stance and attitude giving them a similar aura. An aura of shared hardships and experiences.

“I’m sorry that it took so long for us to meet,” Tim says after a small moment of peaceful silence. You shake your head and you can feel the shift in the air as his expression turns more serious and continues talking before you can say anything.

“I know that we can be a lot, and you haven’t even met all of us.” You tilt your head, listening, waiting to see where he’s going with this. “Things between us and Jason are good, though of course, like with any family, there are some rough patches.” He pauses for a second, leaning with his hip on the metal railing while crossing his arms. “We really wanted to meet you and we feared that something that we hadn’t realized had been going on with Jason and that he was retreating again by refusing to introduce you to us.”

You shake your head again. “It’s not that at all, Tim, I promise. Things are good. He just gets doubtful sometimes and needs to take things at his own time.”

Tim nods, letting you know that he understands. “I’m just sorry that we boarded you like this, we thought it might be easier taking the pressure out of it. Instead of having a formal family dinner or something, just meet you today in case that Jason decided to bring you. All in all, I’m glad we did, we probably wouldn’t have met you for a lot longer, probably until it was strictly necessary, if we hadn’t intervened.”

You’re processing all the information when before you can reply, you finally hear Jason’s voice again.

“Y/N!” he calls as he approaches you after spotting you outside. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you alone. I was ambushed by the guests before going to the bathroom, then Alfred asked me to go help him with something in the kitchen and then Dick couldn’t fucking wait to ask me something about a case. It was just one thing after the other, I’m so sorry,” he rambles, a hand running through his hair in distress, knowing how you hate this kind of events as much as him.

Just as he finishes his rant, he finally reaches you and as he takes your hands in his, you can visibly see how his distressed state morphs into a relieved one just by being next to you. It’s like during your unexpected time apart Jason had been underwater the whole time and has just been finally allowed to come up for air to the surface and fill his lungs just by seeing you and being near you again.

You just shake your head and gently bring a hand to the nape of his neck to press your foreheads together so that he can ground himself and focus on you, showing him that you’re okay. You just know he’s feeling guilty for leaving you on your own when you two promised to be together to face the night.

“It’s okay,” you say softly in a low voice, trying to calm him.

And then, after connecting the dots between what Tim and Jason have just said, everything clicks. It’s not a coincidence that you’ve met Jason’s brothers one right after the other and that Jason just so conveniently had been missing from your side to prevent that from happening. You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips upon realizing what has happened, finding the Waynes’ antics and dramaticness quite entertaining.

“And don’t worry, I had company,” you add.

And just as you say that, you can see how Jason feels movement to his right and turns his head like a hawk to find Tim shifting on his feet. Jason hadn’t seen him earlier since you were the only one visible through the open door and once outside, Tim’s side of the terrace was covered in shadows.

You see the exact moment in which Jason’s gaze hardens staring at Tim, realizing just exactly what had actually happened, all of his family plotting to distract him so that they could meet you. You know that Jason isn’t actually angry, just slightly annoyed from the ruse and from being kept away from you, and now he’s channeling all of that towards Tim, making it seem bigger than what it actually is.

“Tim…” Jason says through gritted teeth in a threatening tone as he separates himself from you and starts stomping towards Tim. It’s almost comically funny how Tim immediately scrambles and bolts to the other side of the terrace, putting the outdoor table between him and Jason, extending his arms in front of him to protect himself as if he was some defenseless animal and not a well-trained vigilante.

You almost have to stifle a laugh.

Sibling dynamics at its finest.

“Listen, Jason, I-” Tim starts to plead his case but before Jason gets too far away from you, you grab his hand again. And it’s incredible the way in which Jason turns towards you and immediately his posture softens. Tim doesn’t waste the opportunity and escapes into the gala again, leaving you and Jason alone.

“It’s alright, they just wanted to meet me,” you say and Jason sighs, deciding to let the matter go and just come back to your arms, his hands on your waist, giving a small subconscious squeeze.

“Yes, but they had no right to play with us,” he answers, pressing your foreheads together once again.

“I know. But, hey,” you lift your hand to push some hair away from his forehead, “nothing bad happened. I’m still here.”

Jason nods and his gaze softens before closing his eyes, relishing in your touch. You close your eyes as well and you two stay in your embrace for a moment. Letting the night envelop you, surrounding yourselves with the evening sounds of the faded chatter from the party, the breeze rustling the bushes, the water in the pool, the night time insects and an owl in the distance.

“I think it’s time for us to leave,” Jason finally says, looking at you once again, having had enough of the social night.

“Yes,” you wholeheartedly agree, wanting to have your boyfriend all for yourself.

With that said, Jason nods, kisses your forehead and takes your hand firmly in his in order to not lose you again and you two make your way out of the gala. You don’t even bother to say goodbye to anybody. As you two leave, on the side of the ballroom, Dick, Tim, Damian and Alfred all stand in line, watching you fondly, glad to finally have met you and seen how happy Jason is with you. Before disappearing from view you give them a small wave and they smile.

You still have to meet Bruce, but that’s a problem for another day.

When you finally get home and Jason closes the door behind you, the two of you having already decided that he would spend the night at your apartment, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders. Finally home. You take a deep breath, shedding your social armor. Jason feels relief too at having finally left the manor, because even though the place will always be a home to him, the very definition of the word changed when he met you.

Jason watches you mesmerized as you leave your purse on a table and then move to the kitchen to drink a cold glass of water. He stands idly in your living room following your every move, a cast spell on him.

You’re beautiful.

Even though your hair isn’t as perfectly done as it was at the beginning of the evening and there’s a tired drag to your feet, you are. You always are.

He still can’t believe that you’re with him.

The way that you move around him as comfortably as you’d do if you were alone amazes him. It amazes him that you feel safe enough with him to just be yourself, not putting on any mask like you did in the gala with the attendees. He’s just so immensely grateful that you let him see you like this, open and being so undoubtedly yourself.

You’re saying something about cooking something quick or maybe ordering takeout when you brace yourself with a hand on the back of a chair to take off your heels with the other. But before you can take off your shoe, Jason softly grabs your hand, stopping you mid-rant.

He pulls you to follow him and you don’t put any kind of resistance, letting a comfortable silence fall upon you two. The only sounds the passing cars on the street and the steps of your heels on the floor. Once you reach the couch Jason makes you sit on it and you watch as he kneels in front of you and then, with a care and gentleness that no one would expect from the man known as Red Hood, he begins to undo the straps of your heels.

And there’s just something in the sight in front of you that makes your heart flip in your chest. How someone as big as him gets down on his knees before you, for once him being the one looking up at you instead of the other way around, almost as if worshiping the ground you walk on, as if you were the one that brought him back to life and not some mystical pit.

Now it’s you the one that watches him enchanted, wondering how you were so lucky as to have him love you. He takes one of your heels off, his eyes never leaving yours for a second, and then gives your free foot a slight massage to help the soreness out of it and you sigh in relief.

How is he even real?

And then, just before slipping the other heel off, with one of his warm hands on your lower calf, you watch with your heart in your throat how he kisses the inside of your knee.

You let out a small gasp and it’s crazy how much your heart is racing because you just know that he did it just for the heck of it, an act so loving, so simple, with no major intention rather than the selfish feeling of wanting to feel your skin against his lips.

But what raises goosebumps all throughout your body is not the action in itself, but rather the dark sparkle that crosses his eyes upon hearing your gasp, promising you something for later, for when he’s drawing shapes all across your body, as if tracing a map signaling a treasure. Except that the map itself is the treasure and he’s just taking his time exploring it, enjoying it, admiring it, worshiping it.

Jason then finally takes off your other heel and gives your foot the same quick massage treatment as the other one. When he’s done he gets back up on his feet and offers you a hand.

You take it and he pulls you to your feet again. And then, in the same silent comfort that has settled over you, with the same care and gentleness that Jason has treated you with, you slowly undo his tie, your gaze still fixed on his, saying a million different things that do not need to be said out loud. Most of them having to do with how much you love him.

After you discard the tie somewhere on the couch, you undo the first couple of buttons of his shirt, releasing him from the uptightness that comes with them and you feel his muscles relax even further under your hands. Next, you slip his jacket from his shoulders and he helps you take it off of him while he looks at you with the same intensity that you regard him with, reveling in how you take care of him.

Then, Jason rolls his sleeves up a bit his forearms before taking one of your hands in his and then, with his other arm around your waist, pulls you flush against his chest, practically fusing you two together, as if he could never pull you close enough, needing you as physically closer as possible, just as much as he needed oxygen, if not more.

“We didn’t have a chance to dance,” he whispers then with your faces inches from each other, still not disturbing the peaceful silence.

You hum in agreement and before you know it, you’re already swaying softly together in the living room, both of you with your eyes closed, your head resting on the crook of his neck and his on your hair. There’s no music but it doesn’t need to be, you feel so at peace and content, none of the opulent galas in the world could compare to a quiet evening with Jason.

You have no idea how much time you’ve spent there, barefoot and wrapped in Jason’s arms, swaying to the sounds of Gotham’s nightlife and your own heartbeats, only knowing that you would gladly spend forever like this.

“Thank you.”

You lift your head to find that Jason’s already looking at you.

“For what?” you ask in the same soft tone as him, a lilt of confusion in your voice.

“For coming today.” Before you can respond he keeps talking. “For sticking around. For putting up with my family.” A pause. His eyes leave yours to look to the side. He shrugs. “Just… for being with me, I guess.”

Your gaze softens and you feel a pang in your chest as you see Jason’s insecurities eating away at him. You stop your swaying and bring your hands to Jason’s face to make him focus on you, his hands moving instinctively to hold your waist. But Jason’s still avoiding your gaze and you hate the doubt that you see creeping in your favorite shade of green.

“I’m always going to be here. I’m right where I want to be. I love you. And I’m not putting up with anything, I want you. I want to be part of all the parts in your life,” you say, softly caressing his cheek with your thumb, having the suspicion that these doubts have something to do with meeting his brothers tonight.

“I know. I just…” Jason takes a deep breath closing his eyes, taking a moment to organize his thoughts before looking at you again. “I just can’t believe that you’re still here. I have this… this feeling that one way or another I’m going to screw up and lose you.”

You open your mouth to refute him but Jason shakes his head, presses his forehead to yours, closes his eyes to concentrate on what he wants to say, and continues before you can say anything. “And I know, trust me, I know that you love me and that you’re not going to leave. You show me every single day. I was just afraid that if neither myself nor me being Red Hood hadn’t driven you away, my family surely would.”

When Jason finishes he doesn’t move, his forehead still against yours and his eyes still closed, as if he doesn’t want to face what may come next, and his hands on your waist in the same position, if anything, holding onto you even tighter.

Holding onto you as if it were the last time, as if his confession would finally be the thing that would drive you away. You close your eyes as well for a second and take a deep breath.

How can you even begin to express how much you love this man?

Your heart is bursting with how much you feel for him. The love that you hold for him begins in the depth of it and as your heart pumps blood through your body, it also pumps that love through every single vein, nerve and cell in it. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It’s something that lies beneath every single movement and action that you make, to the point where you’re not sure if what sustains you are your bones or your love for him.

And that love of course, is interlaced with the pain that comes from watching the one you love hurt. You know that Jason is telling you the truth, that he knows that you’re not going anywhere and that you love him. But there’s this underlying fear in him, an instinct acquired from having lost all the good things in his life, things that he loved, from both his mothers to wearing the Robin mantle, that makes him subconsciously always expect the worst.

That’s why he prolonged you meeting his family for so long.

Without knowing, he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment in which the rug will be pulled from under him and he’ll fall into the void. He survived all the previous things, more or less, but he isn’t sure that he would if you were to leave his life.

Because now everything, every single piece of him is rooted in you, like the earth orbiting the sun, the very thing that allows life on the planet in the first place. And that’s what you are to him, a source of warmth, comfort and life. And he’s sure that if he didn’t have that he would crumble. He might technically survive it but he wouldn’t be the same.

But the thing is that just as much as he's rooted in you, you’re rooted to him. He’s the anchor to your boat lost in a storm, the earth to your forever spinning moon. He’s your anchor, your earth, your sun, your everything.

You know that the doubts and insecurities aren’t going to disappear overnight but maybe, together, you two can make them lessen.

“Jason. Look at me,” you say when you open your eyes once again, pulling back slightly so that you can look him square in the eyes. Jason sighs, not wanting the quiet moment, the infinite second in which he can just be in your embrace and forget everything else to end. But then he slowly opens his eyes, showing you his troubled thoughts.

“I love you. So much that I can feel it in every single part of my body. It’s like you’re part of my DNA. And nothing, absolutely nothing, can make me want to leave you. And you’re not going to screw up anything. Call me selfish but I want to be near the things that make me feel strong, like I can achieve anything I want. The things that comfort me when I need it most, that are always there for me, even when I’m not at my best and I feel like a burden.”

Now Jason is the one that shakes his head and wants to refute you but you move your thumb from his cheek to his lips to shush him. “The things that make me feel loved. And you’re the only thing that makes me feel all of that. God knows I have my baggage too and it still amazes me that you understand me, that you want to carry it with me, that you’re proud to do so.”

You take a deep breath. “So no, I’m not leaving. Ever. I’m always going to be here. And I’m very glad that I met Dick, Tim and Damian tonight. They’re nice and they have allowed me to see more of you. And if there's something that I can’t get enough of is you. Okay?”

Jason nods as he leans into the touch of your hand, his eyes bright with love and admiration for you. And then he closes the small distance between you and kisses you, gripping your waist tightly, one hand coming up to hold your face and deepen the kiss. Your hands drop to his shoulders and you don’t waste a single second to kiss him back as fervently as he does. He hasn’t answered to your reassuring words but you don’t need him to. He’s telling you everything you need to know in that kiss.

When his lips first came in contact with yours, he said, Okay.

Where his hands are grabbing your body so tightly but oh so gently, he’s saying, You’re what I treasure most in this world.

And as you stand there in the middle of the living room, being kissed like nothing else exists except you two in this very moment, he’s saying, I love you.

You could have been like that just a couple of minutes or a couple of centuries for all you know, always forgetting the outside world when he kisses you. And when you finally part to catch your breaths, foreheads against each other, your hand softly caressing the hair at the back of his head, the shine in his eyes tells you everything that his lips have just said and more.

Still, he wants to make sure that you’re aware that he isn’t going to let his thoughts eat away at him and so he finally whispers, “Okay.”

“Good,” you whisper back, your hand finding his cheek and caressing it once again. And then you find his lips again, because if there’s one thing that you could spend doing forever without ever growing tired of is kissing him.

And without speaking, your lips tell him something too. Something that he feels as certain as the sun, the moon and the stars. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[corkinavoid]

I'm pretty sure this has been done before (and several times), but brain going brrr, so

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids

Bruce doesn't even get to say anything when the door to his study opens with a slam against the wall, and before he knows it, he gets an armful of kids. As in, a bouquet of them.

"I'm so done," John Constantine breathes out, raspy and exhausted, looking like a trainwreck incarnate. Granted, the man always looked like one, but right now, the effect has been greatly worsened. The dark circles under John's eyes are, in fact, black, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

Bruce looks down to the small gaggle of children in his lap that he caught in his hands by sheer reflex.

All three of them look up at him with identical, sky blue eyes. They could be twins if it was not for their obviously different ages - the girl looks no older than three, while the boys are probably around five and six.

The older boy scrunches his nose. The girl pouts, but it looks directed at Constantine rather than at him.

Bruce looks back to John, a silent question in his eyes.

"They are- Well, not mine, for starters," the man begins, placing his hands on the table right over the sheets and documents, and leans on it, hanging his head down. Then, he raises one hand up and waves it in the air, "Not yours either, thank the Gods for that." He takes a deep breath.

Bruce's eyebrows raise all the way up to his hairline. The girl starts trying to wiggle out of his hands, but the middle boy holds her back, keeping her in Bruce's lap. She pouts harder.

"And you've brought them here why?" Bruce breaks the stretched out silence, gently repositioning the kids into a more comfortable hold. John raises his head up at him, and the magician's eyes look straight up pleading.

"You're the only person I know of who is, one, a parent, two, acquainted with supernatural, three, a man of great patience, and four, owes me a favor." Constantine lists off reasons that don't really make sense all together, especially regarding kids. Then he thinks for a moment and adds, "Five, owes a shitton of liquor."

"John, what-"

"Listen, I've been dealing with them for a week, I'm at my limit," Constantine interrupts him, desperate and close to whining, "I haven't slept in more than three consecutive hours for days. I don't remember the last time I ate. Or took a shower."

Yes, Bruce can see that. Or, rather, smell it. But that answers none of his questions as to who, why, and how.

"I would kill for a bath," John admits, like it's some sort of a secret. The middle boy opens his mouth, but Constantine points an accusing finger at him, "No, the puddle of melted ghost ice does not count for a bath. And don't come at me with your death puns."

The child rolls his eyes but closes his mouth back and slumps. Bruce resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but only because he is holding three kids. His hands are full, quite literally.

"John, I need you to explain," he asks, somewhere between a demand and a careful inquiry. Because, really, the man looks on the brink of losing his sanity, that much is evident. Bruce might not like the man, but he can at least partially sympathize with dealing with kids.

His bare minimum of sympathy - and isn't it a bizarre thought, emotionally sympathizing with John Constantine of all people - does not ease his growing worry and irritation. The girl starts trying to get out of his hold again.

John takes a very deep breath, holds it, and then-

"I stole them," he says, looking Bruce dead in the eye, with a sense of resigned, if a bit unhinged, determination. And, before Bruce is able to ask literally anything else, he keeps going, "Their parents are shit, a branch of government is out for their guts - as in, literal guts - there was- there is a backdoor to the afterlife in their basement, and also they are dead and because of some Realms fuckery and their spiritual granddad being a huge pain in the ass, they are all wrong ages."

Bruce blinks. Then blinks again. Processing that sentence turns out to be a lot harder than he estimated.

The oldest kid in his lap gives John a middle finger, nearly sneering. The girl starts snickering, somehow making it soundless.

"Oh, and they are under a silence charm because if I hear one more references to fucking Ghostbusters I will shoot myself," Constantine finishes matter-of-factly.

Distantly, Bruce wonders if John can make that spell into some sort of an amulet. God knows, Dick really needs one sometimes. Steph does, too. And Jason. Actually, all of them need one.

He looks over the kids again. They don't seem scared or unsettled, neither by the fact they are sitting in a lap of a stranger nor by Constantine's bullet point version of a summary to their lives. They mostly just look annoyed and grumpy, and a bit embarrassed in case of the middle boy.

Bruce sighs and decides to start somewhere.

"Do they have names?"

[part 2 ->]