#Its seven am and I have not slept

[that1notetaker]

This started as a doodle but...uh. The bunnies took over? Go give @somerandomdudelmao a big thank you for their au and our tears. I hope you don't mind me taking over but the 'Leo's spirit is basically a cat' thoughts wouldn't leave me alone,,, I was thinking that if Leo was able to stay alive outside a bubble for longer than five seconds, he'd be just as unstoppable as Turtle Tello Tot. Also. Disaster duo for the soul(ha).

[nagdabbit]

hello, i am in need of personal advice, preferably from a transfemme person and/or parent, who isn't siobhan because she is Too Close to the situation and i don't want to do anything brash like she does

[johndonneswife]

feels like i am one post away from opening the floodgates and reblogging many star trek images…ahhhrhrjf

[lalunanymph]

୨୧ zayne loses control of his evol and hurts you in more ways than one

✧.* warnings:- fem!reader, established relationships (zayne x reader), nightmares, minor depictions of PTSD, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, ANGST, breakups, hurt and comfort, jealousy, slight xavier x reader, unresolved emotions, reader and zayne are bad at communicating with each other, mentions of foods, hospitals, medication, suggestive content, language, explosions, zayne is kinda soggy and pathetic in this one, canon typical injuries, reader is in a coma, talks of surgeries, makeup sex, size kink, oral sex, girl on top, petnames (little on, my aurora, my love, darling), overprotective tendencies, possessive bf!zayne

✧.* strap in slüts (affectionate) we have 15k+ of zayne angst let's go

If someone had asked you what Zayne’s deepest fear was, you might’ve told them it was a botched surgery, or wilted carrots in his fried rice.

It’s not as if your childhood-friend-turned-lover walked around with his fears stapled on his forehead; Zayne was a private guy, and even after months of dating, you were still trying to get used to his moods and needs.

However, oblivious to you, Zayne’s fear was entirely apparent.

Time and time again, he showed you the truth—without words or fanfare—whenever he scolded you for being clumsy on the field or forgetting to eat the entire day.

Zayne was afraid of you getting hurt. 

And he was afraid of hurting you. 

The bags under your eyes have gotten worse.

A week had gone by since you had slept a full five hours, schedule packed to the brim after a deathly Wanderer attack at the train station left seven injured and five more dead. 

Zayne wasn't faring well, either. His days were consumed with operation after operation; more broken and injured people filling the intensive care units till Akso Hospital had to transfer them to their sister hospital, Mariso.

The Association had issued out a full city warning for Hunters to patrol the streets from dawn to dusk. All your colleagues were burnt out, praying for this harsh season to end so they could return back home; back to normality.

In your shared household, the nightmare was on a constant loop.

For days on end, you and Zayne were fleeting shadows passing each other—the most contact being whispered good mornings or good nights, depending on the time, and once, his touch on your lower back when he gently nudged you away from the door so he could rush out for another surgery.

Things were catastrophic, to put it mildly. 

And it didn’t help that your insomnia and his nightmares were back. 

Staring up at the ceiling, you almost didn’t hear the bedroom door opening until you noticed his broad shoulders outlined in the dim darkness.

“Hey.”

Zayne’s voice is laced with exhaustion, and wordlessly, you open your arms for him.

He’s colder to the touch than you remember, a sign of his Evol losing its composure after days of insurmountable stress and adrenaline spikes.

He’s silent, holding you tightly to his chest. You smell the hospital standard bleach and anesthetic off his work clothes, feel the stuttering of his heart underneath your spread palm. 

“When will it end?” 

His voice, quiet and in a timbre you know and love, vibrates against your cheek. 

“I don’t know,” you reply to him truthfully, bleakly. “I’ve been asking myself that same question since this all started.”

There’s a whistling wind outside the windows, rattling the wooden panes. You close your eyes, trying to put aside the mental image of a Wanderer’s snarl and how similar it sounded to the rushing breeze.

“You should go to sleep,” he touches your face, strokes the back of his knuckles down your cheek. “I’ll go take a shower.”

“Can I come with you?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Of course. If I am correct to assume, you would be doing your skincare twice tonight. Would that not tire you out? Other than this inquiry, please. Be my guest.”

You chuckle slowly, and sit up, watching him undress. Lashes of scars on his defined torso, the sinews of muscles and sharp edges all stack up to create the man you missed with your entire soul.

Zayne fights back a smirk when he feels your arms around him, face tucked into the back of his neck.

“I missed you,” you breathed. “Feels like it’s been years.”

“Only a few days,” he corrects softly. Without sparing another minute, he turns, gathers you in his arms.

You spend the next few minutes showering with him, tracing the water trickling down his defined traps, obliques and abs with your wandering eyes. Lathering up bath soap and going over the spots of your body you had forgotten to scrub in your tired fugue, you discreetly watched him wash his hair, lost in his own thoughts. 

Zayne’s beautiful green eyes flicker to the present when he feels you sneakily coming up behind him, and he almost groans like a virgin teenager at the sensation of your soft tits pressed against his back.

He stays still when your wandering hands trace down his stomach, over his pelvis where his hips tick the second he feels your tiny hands wrap around his cock.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, trying to sound gruff, but it came out breathless instead.

“Showing my boyfriend how much I miss him,” you hum. 

Zayne bites on his lower lip, glad that he was facing the shower wall when you decided to play with him in such a risque way. 

“What a little vixen,” he groans, voice dropping an octave deeper; a baritone timbre which sends shivers up your spine. “It’s amusing. If I had any suspicions, I think you’re trying to get me riled up so that I would lose control.”

His observation was apt, as usual.

“You’re correct,” you brush your lips across a scar over his right shoulder. “So, should I give you a medal, Dr. Zayne? Or, a trophy for getting it right?” 

He breaks your hold on him, and you’re breathless, thinking he is going to reject you when he pulls you into his embrace. Your back meets the tiled walls, and his large hands grab fistfuls of your ass, hitching you up high enough so your legs can wrap around his slim waist.

“All of that is useless,” Zayne whispers huskily against your lips, and you swore your heart was about to double in size and burst out of your chest at his next words. “The only recognition and reward I need is your sweet little pussy, my Aurora. May I know if I can treat her well tonight?”

He didn’t even need to ask; you would serve your cunt on a silver platter for Zayne, no questions asked or needed.

“Yes,” you breathe, twining your fingers through his dark locks and tugging his face closer to yours. “You may, Dr. Zayne.”

His nightmares always started the same.

A dimly lit room. Chocolate wrappers on the bare, wooden floor. Loud explosions outside. And somehow, there was always a broken mirror somewhere in his periphery.

Zayne dreads (no, perhaps, it’s too mild a word)—he absolutely fears—what comes next. 

There’s a little boy, no older than seven who looks at him hopefully. Zayne always ignores him, preferring to watch a blinking red dot on his screen. 

He’s different here; dressed sharply in a dark trench coat, expression like a blank slate. Nothing at all like his focused, calm self in the present. And yet, Zayne recognizes him like how someone might recognize the back of their hand even under a different light. 

The man before him was him… but not exactly him. 

He’s been dreaming of this Zayne for a long time—ever since he turned twelve. 

And right now, he was about to see the extent of this alternate Zayne’s power. 

He can predict what comes next; the stretch of skin on the boy’s face snarling, broken bones sounding in the small room. The shard of ice through his heart which eventually ends his life. 

But, this time, the boy’s cries are different. They’re higher pitched. 

Feminine, almost.

Zayne’s heart races, his movements in the dream sluggish.

Zayne! Her voice reverberates, and he recognizes it. Zayne, please! Don’t hurt me anymore! Save me. Help me. You’re a doctor, Zayne. Not this. Never this. Please. Don’t hurt me—

The boy’s face disappears, replaced by one he knew all too well. His features morphed right into yours, and Zayne desperately lunges at the dark ice piercing your chest, fighting to get it out.

It would never move, no matter how hard he tugged on it or how much he willed his power to make it melt. You were dying with every wasted second, breathing growing ragged.

Zayne, Zayne… you never stopped calling out for him.

Zayne, help me. How could you hurt me like this? Zayne… Zayne…

A burst of light explodes behind his closed eyes. Someone is shaking him awake, the cadence of her voice familiar and sweet.

“... Zayne? Hey. Hey. It’s a bad dream. Zayne, you’re fine. Ssh, you’re fine.”

Her warm hands find his cheeks, pulling him right into her embrace. His face buries into neck, and he shudders, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries from her hair.

“Zayne, you’re so cold,” you murmur into the darkness of the room. “You’re shivering.”

He was; huge tremors which rocked him from his very core. He feels the familiar tingle on his skin, the web of ice which encases his hands.

Before he can gather enough lucidity and control to push you away, it all explodes in one fell swoop.

Ice shoots out, hitting the ceiling, piercing through the wooden bedframe. 

“Zayne—!”

Your scream of pain rips through the night, and he frantically sits up, finding a huge shard piercing through your forearm. 

“No,” he whispers, fevered. “No, no.” 

His hands are stained with blood—your blood—as he tries to help you. But, the shard wouldn’t budge. 

“Zayne,” you hiccup, moaning lowly. “Shit… H-hurts…”

Nightmares become reality when it finally slams into him what he has done. 

“Hospital,” he mutters hoarsely. “We need a hospital.”

“Zayne—”

“Don’t argue with me,” there’s a feral note in his tone, a harsh reprimand which makes you flinch back. 

“Now, grit your teeth and bear the pain for a little while, Y/N. I am taking you straight to the emergency room.”

You felt like you were floating on auto-pilot. 

Colors and shapes melded into one strange blob the longer you sat in the examination room. After a few excruciating minutes of the ER’s doctor trying to get all the shards of hardened ice out of your arm, you were stitched up and given a heavy dose of painkillers, enough to knock out a horse.

But, you resolutely stayed awake, afraid that if you closed your eyes, something bad would happen.

Immediately once the minor surgery on your arm had concluded, Zayne had disappeared from your side, and you assumed he was downstairs by the general admission—filling up your details. He had stayed with you long enough for the extraction, giving you his hand to hold, though he remained tight-lipped and pale throughout the entire ordeal.

You wanted to see him again, even if it was for a few minutes. 

When the curtain parted, you looked up, expecting to find a pair of emerald green eyes, but were greeted with a pair of worried purple ones, instead.

“Hey, Pipsqueak. Zayne called me the second you got in. Grandma couldn’t come because she wasn’t feeling too well.” Caleb shifted the drapes aside, slowly stepping into your ward. He sat down on the chair by your bedside, the bags under his eyes heavy though his smile still held a teasing quality you were familiar with.

“Caleb?” you winced at how rough your voice sounded, reaching for the water bottle by your bedside. He beat you to it, grabbing the plastic bottle and tipping your head up, helping you drink.

Once your throat wasn’t drier than the desert, you sat up, the woozy sensation exacerbated from your sudden motion. 

“Hey,” he whispered, rushing to steady you. “Slow down. You’re injured, Pipsqueak.” He rearranged you back onto the bed, expression pinched. “What happened? Zayne sounded frantic on the phone and that’s something new. Always thought he could disable a ticking time bomb with how unruffled he is.” 

Despite poking fun at his childhood friend, it didn’t bring a smile onto your face. Caleb ditched his sunny disposition, becoming serious. 

“Y/N, are you okay? You’re acting strange. Did… did Zayne hurt you?”

Immediately, you whipped your head towards him, eyes wide. “N-no! Of course, not. Why would you think that?” You struggle to speak past the drugs making you slur. “He… he didn’t hurt me. Brought me to the hospital. I tripped.” 

A lame conclusion. Caleb’s eyes narrow, and he’s about to ask you again, when a familiar voice interrupts.

“She needs to rest. I thought I told you to come by in the morning?”

Zayne’s frosty glare sets off Caleb’s strained smile. Your childhood best friend's nostrils flare, and the whites of his teeth shine like the edge of a knife when he stands up to greet Akso Hospital’s best surgeon. 

“You made it sound like she was dying so of course I came as fast as I could.” Casting his amethyst eyes to yours, Caleb’s feral smile softens. “You’re right. I can see she needs some rest. Let’s go—” He clasps a hand on Zayne’s shoulder, and you don’t have to be on the receiving end to know Caleb was using his Evol to tighten his grip on your boyfriend. 

“You and I have a lot to discuss.”

Zayne grimaces, and you shoot him an apologetic smile.

Caleb turns to you with a cheery wave. You mouth don’t kill him and he rolls his eyes.

I’ll try not to, he mouths back.

Then, the curtains droop close and you settle back on the hard pillow, freefalling into a dreamless sleep.

Something was off the second you woke up.

Firstly, Zayne wasn’t with you again. 

It was Caleb’s dark bedhead which greeted you, his face inches from your arm, eyes closed and breathing steady.

You lean up, wincing when you felt your stitches pulling. 

“Hey,” you whisper, touching your best friend's broad shoulder. “Caleb? Why’re you still here?”

He groans, groggily opening his eyes. “M-morning, Pipsqueak,” he staggers through a yawn. “What time is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, feeling a huge migraine clustering behind your eyes. “Ugh, where’s Zayne?” 

At the mention of your boyfriend, Caleb blinks, wide awake now. “Ah. He told me he had some emergency surgeries lined up. He’s probably working.”

Oh. You fall into a disquiet, staring at the swathing white blankets. That uneasy feeling was back again.

“Did he say when he would be done?” 

“I don’t know,” Caleb confessed. “But, you have his schedule, so I think you’d know better than me, Pipsqueak.”

Right. Zayne was your boyfriend. Caleb would barely know the guy if it wasn’t for your insistence in the both of them meeting up once a month for dinner with Grandma.

Swallowing your disappointment down, you plaster on a bright smile. “Are you up for some coffee today? You’re always complaining about the ones at the Academy.”

Caleb smiles, and leans forward to ruffle your hair. “Y’know, if this was a normal day, I would totally take you up on your offer,” he becomes serious now. “But, you’re still healing, Pipsqueak. And caffeine is bad. Let me call the nurse to check on you first, okay?”

You nod, watching his broad back disappear out into the halls. 

Fidgeting, you touch your bandaged arm, recalling the clammy silence last night as Zayne drove to Akso Hospital; his jaw tense and eyes steadfastly not meeting yours.

He’s probably angry at himself, you reasoned. Zayne always was harder on himself than anybody else, and the guilt could be eating him alive. 

Feeling slightly reassured that nothing bad would happen, you lean back against the pillows again, closing your eyes.

You fell back asleep the second Caleb reappeared with the nurse; both of them politely closing the door and giving you some time to rest, your best friend’s eyes lingering right on your exhausted expression.

“Goodnight, Pipsqueak,” he whispers into the still air which was permeated with your steady breathing. “See you later.”

That night, you woke up to an icy cold hand in yours.

Fluttering your lashes, you find Zayne with his eyes closed and head bent forward, one hand in yours and the other braced on his forehead.

“Zayne?” 

He thaws from his uneasy doze, woozy emerald eyes widening slightly at your relieved expression.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers the second he finds his voice. “I lost control. I… I hurt you.” That last part was spat out, as if he was firmly disgusted with his lack of composure. “It was dangerous of me to even be next to you. I was aware of my nightmares and my Evol has been unstable as of late. I put you in harm’s way and I am forever sorry for doing so, my Aurora.”

His lips were cool on the back of your hand, those brilliant eyes fogged over with an unfathomable expression.

“Zayne… it’s okay.”

They flare back to life, this time electrified with an untamed emotion. “Okay?” he says slowly, like he couldn’t believe his sins were absolved that easily. “I’ve hurt you and all you can say is ‘okay’? Y/N, please. Be reasonable.” 

You open your mouth to counter his harsh words, but his hand had already detangled from yours. Zayne stood up, the look on his face awfully cold and distant.

“I don’t think this will work out.”

What? You wanted to voice out, but your words were stuck behind the lump in your throat. “Zayne…” 

You reached out for him, but all you felt was cold air where his warmth once stood. He had backed away, expression closed off and frigid. Shame and hurt filled you, threatening to pour out from your eyes.

He couldn’t bear to look at you, those emerald eyes latched to a water stain on the ceiling as if it was more interesting than the girl whose heart he was breaking right in front of him.

“What do you mean by that?” you demand, though it sounds like a plea in your thick voice. “Zayne, it was a mistake. A one-time thing. Don’t make it bigger than what it is. Please. Let’s talk this out—”

“No,” he stood to his full height, looking at you down the line of his nose. “It’s not something we can talk about. You’re better off without me, and I, you. I will drop your things off at your apartment the moment I get off work. Goodbye, Y/N.”

Hot pain sliced through your soul, leaving a gash where he once stood.

“No,” you murmured, though you were speaking to the thin air. Zayne had already turned and left. “Zayne? Zayne! Come back, we can talk it out—”

You tried to stand and run after him, but your body was weakened from the medication and lack of movement. Stumbling back, you sat on the edge of your bed, fisting the sheets and fighting back the urge to scream at him to come back. There was nothing you could do except watch the broadness of his back leave, disappearing down the hall and around the corner.

Easy. How easy it was for him to break things off like this.

Like you didn’t even matter.

You hang your head forward, the misting tears in your eyes pooling onto your lash line. You had no idea how long you stayed like this; frozen, immobile. Waiting for him to come back.

The curtains opened again, and you expected Zayne to be there with a change of heart. But, when you saw it was Caleb instead, carrying a box of doughnuts and his signature easy going smile, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment coruscating on your trembling lips.

He sensed something was wrong the second you didn’t greet him, and he was right when he sat beside you and you broke down into tears.

Sorry, you gasped in between sobs. I’m so sorry. I’m usually stronger than this. 

Caleb didn’t push you or demand you tell him the reason why you were crying. He held you close instead, patting your head. When you wouldn’t stop sobbing, he rubbed your back, telling you in his low, reassuring voice that you were going to be okay.

He never did find out why you were crying, and neither did you voluntarily supply any information. 

But, when he took you home the next day and found your things neatly packaged in boxes waiting by the front door, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

Zayne…?

You flinched when Caleb mentioned his name.

For a single second, neither of you said anything.

Caleb exhaled noisily, gripping your shoulder and pulling you into his one-arm hug. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to you.”

“No need,” you surprised him and yourself by how emotionless you sounded; nothing but exhaustion and resignation in your tone.

“It wouldn't be worth it—not at all.”

For days after that, you threw yourself back into your work.

The second Jenna called for volunteers for a dangerous mission, your hand would almost always shoot up. It didn’t matter how bad the fluctuations were or how big the threat was—your name was almost always on the list every single day. Even Xavier was starting to notice how impulsive you were becoming, though his worry was more subtle than the rest of your nagging colleagues (read: Tara).

“Wouldn’t your doctor boyfriend worry about you throwing yourself in such situations?” 

You fight back a wince, polishing the nozzle of your Hunter gun. Of course. None of your workmates knew the truth; they all still assumed you and Zayne were together.

“No, he wouldn’t,” you reply back mildly, eyeing the barrel down with a grimace. “He doesn’t care if I live or die.”

A gloved hand picks the gun from you, and you turn to find him frowning. Xavier’s pinched expression spoke volumes, though he didn’t ask any follow-up questions. 

Neither of you broke the silence, until you heard the gun clatter back down onto the floor accompanied by his tired sigh. 

“There are many, many stars in the night sky, Y/N,” he starts. You turn to him with a frown. 

Where is he going with this?

Xavier continues. “Even if one dies or explodes, another one will take its place. Don’t lose your light for a star who refuses to shine for you.”

Standing up, he extends a hand towards you.

“Since you’re not in the best of moods, I was thinking we could have some lamb hotpot tonight. What do you think? I’ll let you choose most of the ingredients.”

Though the idea of food sounded unappealing, you couldn’t help but smile at his attempts to cheer you up.

Taking his hand, you nod. 

“Sure. Can I also pick our second soup base?”

He huffed a laugh. “Why not, huh? You can hog most of the dipping sauce, too. I won’t complain.”

It was the first time in days since you had smiled, the expression foreign and almost painfully pulling your cheeks.

But, you do it anyway.

Despite his odd allegory, Xavier was right. 

Even if someone took their light away from you, it didn’t mean you had to stop yourself from shining again.

Zayne may have been the brightest star in your universe, but at the end of the day, you were the fucking sun.

And no one could take away your light without your permission, no matter how hard they tried.

Another long night at the ER, another cup of coffee.

Zayne puts down his glasses with a sigh, and hears his office phone beep. He barely has time to steel himself when the message comes through, urgent and demanding. 

“Dr. Zayne? It’s Dr. Lewis here. We have a code red down by Bloomshore Forest. Something about a fluctuation. Most of the injured are Hunters.”

His heart rate spikes and he immediately stands.

It’s been more than a week since he last saw you, and Zayne was almost at the end of his emotional tether. He had reacted poorly to the entire ordeal, and was now facing the repercussions of his hasty actions.

Nights were spent tossing and turning, his nightmares coming back at full force. Sometimes, he woke up and padded into the living room, trying to find respite on the couch where your old t-shirt still lay, smelling of you and his regrets. 

When he woke up, there was no one to greet him or kiss his cheek with her morning breath. No one who hummed in the shower while she got ready for work or left loud, theatrical smooches on his cheek before she rushed out of the door. 

There was no you in his life anymore.

Zayne was tired of shadow fighting with demons he couldn’t see.

Plain and simple—he missed you. 

And right now, he had to see if you were one of the injured; Zayne would never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t make amends. 

Rushing down the freeway, he passed by signs of destruction everywhere; torn up trees, fractured roads. Wanderers who left a trail of discord and mayhem wherever they went.

The flickering blue and red lights were what caught his attention, and he quickly disembarked from his car, hurrying to the thick of the commotion. Tents were set up, medical personnel running to and fro. 

Someone recognized him and handed him a pair of scrubs and gloves. Zayne immediately got to work the second Greyson approached him, gray in the face from fatigue.

“Dr. Zayne—”

“Give me a rundown, Dr. Greyson,” he mutters, hurrying to the closest tent. 

“Four injured and about ten with minor abrasions,” his assistant started, “We counted about two missing from the fray. A Mr. Xavier and… Miss Y/N.”

No. 

At the mention of your name, Zayne stopped in his tracks. 

Greyson looked apologetic, though for what, Zayne had no idea.

“When was her last contact?” he didn’t mean for his voice to rise, but it did, betraying his stress and fear over your whereabouts. 

“Two hours ago. A comm signal right in the middle of the N109 Zone.”

Zayne swore he felt his heart drop right into his boots. He gapes, opens his mouth and closes it, but no sound escapes.

“Dr. Zayne?” 

Greyson was waiting for his response. Zayne had to react, fast. 

“Set up the operation room for the four injured and get me a line with the closest hospital for blood transfusions. We need as many supplies as we can get our hands on. Has the Association been notified of their two missing Hunters—?” 

Before Zayne could finish his sentence, a commotion stirs at the fringes of the forest. 

Several people yell, and he looks up in time to find a limping figure supporting someone else. 

Your silhouette solidifies in the half light, dirt and blood caked on your face and limbs. Greyson gasps as well, muttering oh thank goodness. 

A nurse with a blanket rushes over to you and a fair-headed man whom he assumes is Xavier, wrapping the both of you in the thick fabric. 

Greyson doesn’t notice how his attention has waned, locked right on your smiling yet exhausted face. “We’re establishing a line with Mariso’s hospital down the block—hey, Dr. Zayne?” 

He zeroes in back on his assistant with a firm nod. “Do it, then. And keep me updated on the progress.”

There’s a pause.

“Aren’t you going to speak to her?” Greyson asks, curiosity lingering at the thought of why his superior wasn’t going to greet his girlfriend. Zayne takes one last look at you, and he drops his gaze. 

“No. I do not want to overwhelm her before her evaluations.” Straightening, he nods. “Let’s proceed with the different evals and prep. Line up the next surgery for hour 2045.”

There would be no time to let his heart take the lead. 

He had to focus on the task at hand.

Greyson’s expression fades in and out of focus. Zayne notices that Xavier has his hands on your face, inspecting a nasty cut on your cheek.

How easy it was for you to replace him…

“Hour 2045, surgery #1 is confirmed, Dr. Zayne.”

He tears his gaze away from you and nods; ignoring the hollow pang in his chest. 

“Let’s get it started, then.”

You didn’t expect to see Zayne in the distance when you returned back from a near death experience. 

A part of you wonders if your mind is playing tricks on you; if the adrenaline has you seeing things your tired brain can’t catch up with.

But, there he stands. Forlorn yet imposing. Expression a blank sleet. 

You swear he looks over in your direction, but when you look up, he’s walking away with a colleague, head bent low and eyes firmly on his tablet. 

How easy it is for him to walk away from me. 

“Hey.” Xavier brings you back to the present with a small smile and a cup of coffee in one hand. “No cream and three spoonfuls of sugar. Just like how you prefer it.”

You crack a smile, accepting the cup. “Are you sure you didn’t burn it this time?”

He chuckles, taking the spot next to you. “I told the nurse she had to make it and not me, so I wasn’t involved in the process whatsoever.” Your hunting partner blows steam off the cup, pursing his lips to sip on the dark liquid.

“Mhm. See? Sweeter than my burnt coffee.”

You follow suit and take a sip, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. It does taste better.”

Xavier follows your line of sight when he realizes you’re quieter than usual. His azure eyes land on the surgery tent in the distance where a few figures were milling around. 

“Are you worried for Tara?” 

You grip your cup tighter, fighting back a wave of self-loathing at what you had done.

“If I hadn’t asked her to accompany me near the fringe, none of this would’ve happened.” Your shoulders slump forward, and you feel Xavier shifting closer. “It’s all my fault, Xav. I could’ve gotten her killed.”

At the realization, tears prick your eyes. His arm hovers in your periphery and you sniff, imperceptibly nodding.

He wraps you in his one-sided embrace, holding your face close to his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known a protofield of that size would open. It’s not your fault.”

You thought back to Tara’s scared cries; how she dove head first to the ground to dodge the energy surges of that Berserk Wanderer.

The both of you would’ve perished if Xavier hadn’t stepped in at the last minute, breaking the field and swooping in to save you two.

“I need to apologize to her when she’s done,” you mumble softly, “I can’t get that mental image of her hurt out of my mind.”

As you spoke, someone familiar approached you. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a tight smile, Akso Hospital’s Dr. Greyson beckoned you over with a wave.

You shrugged Xavier’s arm off you and stood up, confusion clearly in your gaze.

“Hello! Miss Y/N, right? Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend? I need you to sign here as a witness for Miss Tara since her family is out of state.”

He procured a document and a pen. You took them mutely, unsure if it was rude to correct him on your updated status in Zayne’s life. But, figuring that it would be best not to trauma dump on a stranger, you sign your name on the dotted line without much resistance.

“Wonderful. Thank you. Dr. Zayne will step out and see you in a bit once he has some free time. In any case, please stay here and do not wander back for anymore Wanderers. We can’t have anymore of Linkon’s brightest Hunters hurt!”

Chipper and happy like he wasn’t in the middle of a dire situation, Greyson left you and Xavier alone.

“Nice guy.”

“Hmm,” you sit back down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Zayne’s colleague. Older than him but a sweet one. I used to bribe him with fried chicken to get Zayne’s…” your breathing hitched, and you clear your throat. “... work schedule.”

Xavier’s body stiffens underneath your cheek and you immediately retract yourself away from him. “Sorry,” you mumble, unsure what had gotten into you; how you could’ve let yourself get this comfortable with your fellow Hunter of all people.

But, he shakes his head, patting his shoulder. “You can rest here if you want. I know you’re tired. I am, too.”

Cautiously, you lean your head back on his shoulder, eyes closing.

Xavier’s cheek gently rests on your head, and you hear him exhale tiredly. “I’m dead on my feet.”

“Mhm hmm,” you mumble, fighting the exhaustion caking heavily on your lids. “I could close my eyes and sleep for days.”

“That sounds like a wonderful time.”

The both of you take a second to rest, trying to recenter yourselves back to the reality of being safe and sound away from those terrifying Wanderers. 

You hear someone approaching, gravel crunching underneath a pair of boots.

“Y/N?” 

His soft voice fringes on your consciousness, and your eyes flutter open.

Zayne stands before you, tall and intimidating. There was no spark in his lustreless green eyes which flickered towards the dozing man by your side and then back to yours. You suddenly feel cold all over, like shards of ice were prickling underneath your skin.

It doesn’t matter what it looks like to him, you glance at Xavier and pat his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up. Zayne and I are long over. 

“I need to run a checkup on you. Hunter Association’s orders. Can you follow me, please?” 

Xavier stirs the second you nod, and releases you from the swathes of blankets. A clash of azure blue meeting clear green; both men staring each other down while you shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Make sure she’s all right,” Xavier says in a soft voice, though you don’t miss the steel underneath it.

Zayne nods, and turns around. Barely even looking back to see if you were following him.

Wordlessly, you limp after his broad back, consciously touching your face and trying to smooth your hair down.

Inside the tent, Greyson smiles and leaves you two alone for the first time in days.

There’s a makeshift desk and a chair beside it. An examination bed that had been hastily drawn open stands, forlorn and waiting.

You take a seat by the desk, hands laced onto your lap and eyes on the dirt-packed floor. 

“Are you alright?” 

You don’t delude yourself into thinking there was a hint of concern in his tone. Zayne was just being your primary care physician at this moment—nothing more than his appointed role in your life.

But, wasn't there a time when he was more than this? 

You shake off those thoughts, giving him one-worded answers. 

“Yes.”

He drags the chair by the desk and sits on it, unfurling a binder and picking up a pen. It clicks loudly in the silence, exacerbating how alone you two were with each other.

“Any dizziness? Loss of hearing?” 

You shake your head. “No, Dr. Zayne. I feel fine.”

“Please look at me in the face. I am trying to give you an evaluation for your Association’s report and I need to make sure you meet the health standard.”

Exasperation mingled with professional arrogance laced his tone. You bristled, but did as you were told, lifting your face to meet his eyes.

Those green orbs were galaxies you could get lost in. Swallowing hard, you repeat what you had said, this time in a forceful tone. “I feel fine, Dr. Zayne.”

You make sure to emphasize on his title, not wanting to appear weak in front of him.

How you had cried for nights on end when he wouldn’t return your calls or messages and now here he was—feeling more like a stranger day by day.

You promised yourself you wouldn't be that stupid, brokenhearted girl anymore. This would be the last time you let Zayne play with your resolve and mind.

He picked up a flashlight, beckoning you closer. Cool fingers touched your face, and you nearly flinched when the bright beam permeated your irises. 

“My apologies,” he mumbled, and you thought he meant the intrusive medical checkup when his next words catch you by surprise. “I didn’t have time to answer your calls or messages. I was busy cleaning up after last week’s attack. Please, forgive me.”

He whispers that last part and your mind blanks.

You don’t know what to say, or how to react. So, you settle for silence.

Zayne frowns, clicks off the flashlight. He writes down his findings and brings out his stethoscope. 

The cool circle touches your pulse point, your chest. He closes his eyes, listens to your heart.

“It’s beating faster than usual,” he mumbles, removing eartips and going back to his report. “Any fatigue? Dizziness? Perhaps vertigo hitting you when you least expect it?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, Dr. Zayne. I told you.” Sighing, you plaster your eyes back to the ground to avoid his piercing stare. “I don’t think you should waste your time on me. There are other patients who need your expertise—starting with Tara. But, thank you for seeing me, anyway.”

He doesn’t get a chance to dismiss you before you’re standing up and walking out of the tent with your head hung low.

Zayne doesn’t call you back, and neither do you turn around to give him one last look, like you always do before you leave his office.

Meters of silence and unsaid words stretch between the both of you; coldness replacing once fond memories.

The flap of the tent falls close and a forlorn wind whistles through the air, ruffling the papers on his desk.

Zayne tears his eyes off your form, ignores how his heart squeezes when he sees you returning back to Xavier’s side. 

The other man smiles at you, and the look on your face is far from detached. Warm and inviting, Zayne can’t recall when was the last time you looked at him like that.

Shit.

Never one to be steeped in regret, Zayne finds himself wishing he could turn back the hands of time; change his actions the second after he had lost control of his Evol.

Not only had he injured you, but he had left you behind like so many others did before. 

That was the one thing he promised your Grandma that day he dropped by for lunch: I will protect her with everything I have, ma’am. I will never leave her alone for long.

And this was the best he could give you? Broken promise after broken promise?

For the first time in his life, he feels like a failure; an idiot with nothing but a lofty title and his big-headed ego.

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Zayne grimaces, knowing how well you could hold a grudge if you wanted to. It looks like he has to temporarily play the role of the fool to get you back.

However, he relents and accepts his fate: this Herculean task of winning back your heart.

He would never say it out loud, but he admired your tenacity and determination; how you would always stick to your principles and never let yourself be swayed by a different current.

Reclaiming back your love wasn’t going to be an easy task. You would put him through the wringer—he was sure of that.

But, it’s what he deserves; what he could stomach and take after treating you so cruelly.

It was time to let the begging game begin. 

“... Tara, what the heck is all this?”

You had walked into work one day to a deluge of roses heaping onto your desk. Tara was halfway signing off the delivery man’s note with a gleeful smile, before she turns and offloads the last huge bouquet into your arms.

“Looks like someone’s ex-boyfriend misses her.”

She winks and skips away, leaving you floundering with at least six bouquets of blood red roses swarming around your desk.

You flush with embarrassment when Jenna walks in, her expression one of open curiosity at the sight of all those flowers.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer,” your boss muses. “Or, someone’s boyfriend has done something really wrong. Wild shot—I’m leaning more towards the former.”

It was no secret you were dating Dr. Zayne, but to have it so brazenly rubbed into everyone’s faces was making you cringe from head to toe.

“I’m so sorry, Jenna,” you blurt. “I’ll toss this all out. Don’t want bees in anyone’s hair.”

You chuckle nervously when she gives you a look.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Just hand them to the gardener downstairs. I’m sure she’ll know what to do with them. Such pretty flowers would be wasted in the trash.”

Nodding, you pick up every single bouquet, struggling to not drop one on your way out of the office. Tara sits smugly behind her desk, not even offering to help; wanting to see how far your pettiness could take you.

“Good… morning?”

You peek past the crest of roses to find Xavier’s scrunched nose and confused expression examining the blooms in your arms.

“Morning,” you mutter hastily.

He drops his bag and plucks two bouquets from your arms.

“Are we throwing a party? Or, did someone from our department get engaged?”

You feel like you could spontaneously combust, steeling yourself to reply to his innocent question.

“These are… for me. I think.”

Xavier pauses mid-stride, glancing at you through lowered, ash blonde lashes.

“Oh. Are they from Zayne?”

You pretend not to feel your heart soar in your ribcage at the mention of his name, preferring to plaster on an irritated glare.

“I hope not. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

Xavier doesn’t prod anymore, and neither do you offer to keep the conversation rolling.

He helps you duly dispose of the roses, the gardener’s toothy smile a small consolation for saddling her with this many blooms.

Once you get back to your desk, you pick up your phone and bring up Zayne’s name, finger hovering over the call button.

But, you change your mind at the last minute and click on the chat bubble option.

Please don’t tell me you robbed an entire florist to send me those roses.

Send.

Instantly, a chat bubble appears, his reply coming faster than you expected. 

Your accusation is inaccurate. I did, in fact, leave the old man a huge tip for procuring those roses in record time. You’re welcome.

Brows knitted together, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

I don’t want them. Please, don’t waste your time or effort on me anymore. It’s not worth it. 

The bubble appears again. Then, it disappears. Reappears.

You wait on the other end with baited breath. Never did a pair of ellipses make your chest hurt this painfully; wildly thrumming heart caught in your throat.

Your tone suggests I am far from forgiven for what I did. If that is the case, would you like to join me for dinner at The Promenade tonight? I recall you adore their chestnut ice-cream. I can pick you up from your apartment. I would very much like to make amends, Y/N. 

Clear and dry cut. Zayne was putting all his cards on the table for you to pick apart and prod.

You switch your screen off, unable to formulate a response.

The memory of how coldly he had treated you resurfaces; the cruel blankness on his face. The ease in which he left you like a man who had done it many, many times before.

Tightening your hands into fists, you fight back a fresh wave of tears which threaten to take you under.

Someone clears their throat, and you snap back to the present, blinking hard and pretending you had something in your eye.

Bless his heart, Xavier willfully ignores your lapse of control; he gives you a small smile, gesturing towards the pantry. “They… just brought in some new instant noodle flavors. I was going to make a cup. Do you want some?”

You plaster on a fake smile, nodding. Suddenly, your stomach rumbles, and he exhales a laugh at the well-timed interjection.  

“Noted. The beef broth one?”

“Sounds good.”

“Roger that,” he turns on his heel, and you don’t know what possessed you to call him back. He turns, waiting for you to speak.

“What’re you doing tonight?” you blurt, and he pauses, tilting his head to the side.

“Not much. I have this movie I really want to watch. Why? Wanderer hunting?”

Knowing it was your favorite thing to do to let off some steam, he waits for you to formulate your response.

“No. I need to inspect something. At that forest again. Something about the fluctuation pattern those few nights ago… Something doesn’t add up.”

Xavier considers it, shifting from one foot to another. “And if we do find it? What, then?”

“We come back here and fill in the team,” you mutter. “And we can finally match the fluctuation pattern to Onichynus’ fabricated Protofield. It would give us a clue to their plans.”

Despite his reservations at letting you delve deeper into this conspiracy theory, Xavier had a hunch that if he didn’t follow you, you were bound to do it on your own.

Whatever happened between you and Zayne must’ve driven you down this frenzied yet determined path; choosing to prioritize your job over the feelings you haven’t sorted out yet.

And who was Xavier to complain? If he had a few more moments to spend with you, he would take it, no matter the motivation.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “I’ll meet you tonight at the Fringe. 8 o’clock.”

You nod, casting your eyes back to your phone’s dull screen. Zayne’s text message taunts you, and you sensed there would be hell to pay for ignoring him.

But, you turn off those thoughts and focus on your desktop, sorting out your emails and mission debriefs.

There were more urgent things on your plate that needed your focus than an indecisive ex-boyfriend.

The biggest storm of your life was on the horizon, and you were so sure that come tonight, you would finally get the answers you needed.

The tapping of his fingers on the table resounds like a metronome in this quiet restaurant.

Zayne picks up his cup of water, brings it to his lips and pauses. Setting it back down, he glances at his watch for what feels like the 178th time in an hour. A bouquet of fresh jasmines lie on his lap, and he thinks they might be wilting by the second for every minute you don’t show up.

Though it was unlike him to jump to conclusions, Zayne held a small flicker of hope that you would change your mind and see him tonight—despite how his text to you remains unanswered.

Someone clears their throat, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Sir, may I bring you some appetizers while you wait?” 

The waiter’s smile is thin, and behind his sincere question, Zayne senses the pity shining in his eyes.

It bothers him, somehow, that people would feel sorry for him. 

If anything, he thinks they should mind their own business; not jump to conclusions.

He heaves in a deep breath and shakes his head. “No. Please, get me the bill. I apologize for taking up your time.” 

The waiter nods and disappears back to the kitchen—presumably to gossip to his colleagues about a random lonely man he had to serve tonight who was stood up by his date.

Somewhere to his right, a table full of young women were eyeing him, whispering behind their manicured hands. But, he pays them no attention, signing the bill and standing up, clutching the bouquet of flowers by his side.

Zayne steps out of the restaurant, and notices the darkening sky roiling above. 

It was going to rain tonight and he hoped that wherever you are, you would have an umbrella on hand. He wouldn’t want you to get sick, and was about to pull out his phone and remind you when he stops short at a message flashing across his screen.

She’s hurt.

Dr. Greyson’s chat bubble appears, and then pauses. It starts typing again, and Zayne holds his breath, suddenly feeling uneasy all over.

Your girlfriend. You need to come to the hospital now.

He barely wastes anytime, rushing right to his car. Zayne guns it down the highway, straight for the hospital, no thought in his mind besides worrying for your safety. When he arrives, it was like that night he met you near the Forest; a nurse was hurrying into the ER, someone was yelling for more bags of blood, and there, in the fray, was Xavier, broad sword strapped to his back.

“What happened?”

Zayne feels his heart in his throat when Xavier turns to him, grim in the face.

“A calculated attack… an explosion.”

“Explosion?” The surgeon feels like his head is about to combust. A vein throbs in his temple and he narrows his eyes. “What caused it? Is she okay?”

“I’m trying to find out, too,” Xavier mumbles back. “Besides, it was my fault. You don't have to worry anymore after what you did to her.”

Frost sparks on his fingertips, and Zayne tries to control his temper; willing his Evol to stay in line.

It wouldn’t be wise to lash out at Xavier; it would do nothing but make you madder at him.

“Which surgery room is she in? I can help resuscitate her if necessary.”

The Hunter opens his mouth, but it's Dr. Greyson who interjects. “Dr. Zayne, she’s in Operation Theatre 2. Awaiting anesthesia.” 

Zayne turns on his heel, leaving Xavier alone with his silent judgement.

“I need a full body evaluation on the patient to determine the exact location of overpressures and debris. Keep the defibrillator on standby. What category is the blast coded as?”

“Tertiary, Dr. Zayne.”

He swore under his breath, wincing. The same blunt force injuries that would traumatize a person who was involved in a car crash, fall, or collapsing building. 

What did you get yourself into, Y/N? 

Zayne has no time to ruminate; he has to save your life.

A hand on his shoulder stops him. Greyson’s heavy eyes permeate through his soul, rooting him to the spot. For a single second, the fatherly concern shining in his gaze reminded him of another elderly doctor; one who was forever lost in Mount Eternal. “Are you sure you can do this, Dr. Zayne? Are you well enough to take on this task?”

The implicit concern was clear.

This is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Can you handle trying to bring her back from the brink of death?

Zayne nods, bracing himself for another long night.

“I will try to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson.” 

He stops, correcting himself. “I have to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson. I believe I do not have a choice.”

Suspended. Floating.

Trapped.

It was completely dark where you were, no light but a flickering blue ember in the distance. Reaching out to it, you found it dancing just out of your reach; taunting you with even more confusion. 

You had no idea how you came to be here or what happened that led you to this strange place. 

In this limbo, time neither exists nor moves forward. 

You were just here. Just being.

Hours must’ve passed. Or, was it days?

You felt a softness wrap around you. Once or twice, you thought you remembered the feel of someone’s lips on your forehead. The shape of a hand whose fingers intertwined with yours. A whiff of a familiar cologne you couldn’t quite place.

It was dark where you were, but you were never alone.

Someone was always beside you. Talking to you. Drawing you closer and closer to that blue flame.

“... I’m sorry…”

You caught that word a lot.

Sorry. 

Sorry. 

But, for what?

Who was that voice apologizing to? 

And what had they done wrong?

You would never know the answer. Except, one day, it appears before you, shining like a periwinkle blue sky opening to a new world.

The blue flame glows brighter, almost encompassing you. 

Please… I’m scared�� 

You tried to scream, tried to push back.

But, it grew bigger and brighter. About to swallow you whole.

Was this how a new star was born? Did they see an unbearably bright light before they were engulfed in the flames of being? 

Were you a star right now?

The flames hurt—fuck, they were lapping at your hands. Your arms. Your flesh turns a sickly pale blue, about to drop off your bones.

But, you don’t fight back this time. The burn feels almost sacrificial. Sacred.

Like a ritual you had to push through to see the other side.

So, you gritted your teeth and dug your heels in the ground; staying absolutely still. Letting the embers flicker at your feet, caress your sides and hair.

“... she’s waking up!”

“... quick… nurse!” 

“Zayne… she’s back…”

There’s a commotion in the distance. You feel like you’re about to orbit another universe, your space ship drifting and attempting to dock with this strange planet’s gravity system. 

The bright light pierces through your sticky lids, and you feel askew, like you could fall off this new planet’s axis anytime.

A familiar sharp scent permeates your nose, and you groan, the sound low and groggy.

“Ssh, don’t be scared.” His voice is familiar, a low timber which sounds exactly like home. “I’ve got you. Come back when it feels safe for you.”

Despite your hesitation, you drift back into the abyss, feeling the warmest brush of lips on your forehead again.

You want to reach out to that bright light, hold it in the middle of your palm. Fighting hard now, you wade past the molasses of your sluggish mind, forcing one eyelid to pry open. And then, another.

Finally, you blink, slow and unhurried. Swiveling your head to the side, it felt like you were in slow motion, every action delayed by three seconds.

The word was entirely made up of a blur. It was all too white. Too loud.

Someone cradles your face, and your world tilts. You find yourself sitting up slightly, a familiar face you knew and loved swimming into view.

His bright green eyes solidify, and you make a sound in the back of your throat.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, full of reassurance and relief. “It’s quite alright, my Aurora. You’re safe now. Safe here.”

“Z… Zay… Zayne?” 

You force your tongue to cooperate; it feels like a clumsy eel in your mouth, twisting and turning in a slippery mess. Moans and low grunts emitted from the back of your throat, and you wince with every word you struggle (and fail) to enunciate.

“Ssh,” he mumbles, and you feel something circular and hard slipping in between your lips. “It’s water. You have to drink it from the straw. Do you remember how to sip?”

The motion comes back after a few tries, and you hesitantly imbibe the cooling liquid. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, patting your head gently. 

You struggle to pin your eyes on him, wondering what type of lights were shining above for him to appear so bedazzlingly in front of you.

The room is empty, and it’s only him here with you. Outside, the world was pitch black, but here, you feel like every beam was dancing in Zayne’s eyes; the relief in them washing over you, calming your spiking heart rate.

“You’ve been in a coma for three days, Y/N,” he informs in a low whisper, sitting beside you. Taking your hand, he presses it to his lips, kissing each knuckle reverently. “I don’t want to push you, but you need to rest. You suffered quite the blast from that attack.”

It all came back to you in an instant: Xavier’s wide, azure eyes, the flash of golden light. Searing pain and an impenetrable darkness.

You start to shake, and Zayne notices, immediately bringing another blanket from your bedside shelf and wrapping you in it. When that doesn't work, he twines his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. Ever so tender, he cradles your body, gently rocking you from side to side like you were a terrified child.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re alright. It is normal to feel shocked after what happened. But, you’re safe, my Aurora. I have made sure of that.”

You paw at his shirt, fighting to roll the words off your tongue; remembering the unanswered text message and your instant regret when you realized far too late during your failed mission that you had basically told him not to care for you anymore.

“S… Sorry…”

“Please,” he says in a soft, tired voice. “No more apologizing. Don’t ever apologize, Y/N. It was never your fault.”

Zayne tilts your head up, his eyes soft and warm in the dark blue expanse of this hospital room. His thumb grazes your cheek, your jaw and lower lip. 

“You should rest,” he murmurs, smiling when you start to pout. “Alright, my love? I am right here. I will keep you safe.” Leaning forward, he presses the softest kiss to your forehead, its warmth achingly familiar.

“I love you. Please—rest.” 

You close your eyes, inhaling his comforting scent. Nodding off, the last thing you felt was his lips in your hair, his soft whisper of, “I am so sorry for how I treated you” dissipating into the recesses of your subconscious.

Once more, you succumb to the darkness, but this time, you do so with open arms.

“Bedrest and lots of fluids,” Dr. Carol says sternly, much to your chagrin. 

Her salt and pepper eyebrows shoot up, daring you to fight back. You stay silent, staring at your lap glumly. 

The day is much too nice to be bound in bed; sun streaming in through the frosted glass windows, cherry blossoms dotting the sill and bird song fills the air—the heart of winter thawing right into a dazzling spring. 

Zayne is beside you, holding onto your purse while the doctor gives her diagnosis, trying hard not to smirk at your crestfallen expression. 

“I will write a note to the Hunters Association to give you a month off. Lay off the dangerous missions, wandering into closed off zones, and getting yourself into trouble.”

She signs the paper with a flourish, tears it, and hands it to Zayne. Not even giving you a chance to protest. 

“Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Carol,” your boyfriend says with a curt nod, pocketing the strip.

She returns his gesture, pushing her rimmed glasses up her blunt nose. “You take care of her, Dr. Zayne. Keep her out of trouble.”

Zayne helps you stand, letting you lean against his arm for support. “Oh, believe me. This little Hunter will be very well rested before she’s finally allowed back onto the field.”

You fume next to him, though with your warming cheeks, Zayne thinks you look a lot like an adorably pissed chipmunk. Before the door closes, you remember to politely give a small bow to Dr. Carol, despite how you were livid at her treating you like a wayward child. 

“Don’t pout,” he murmurs, poking your side as you both tread down the narrow hallway. You flinch, glare deepening. 

“What am I going to do for one month? Sit around and collect dust? Zayne, you have to speak to her. I can’t stay at home all the time,” your tone goes whiny, and he musters a quick chuckle.

“Darling, you know I can’t just interfere with another doctor’s advice. Besides, I wholeheartedly agree with the decided diagnosis.”

Warm sunlight spills across your cheeks; you take mincing steps, still getting used to walking after a full week of rotting on the hospital bed. But, Zayne is patient with you, holding onto your arm while he keeps you steady, matching his pace to yours.

He continues. “You’ve been overworking yourself since we took a break. You need to rest before your body shuts down.”

At the reminder of the separation you both endured, you made a face. “Maybe I should’ve stayed broken up with you for a little while longer to find my answers…”

“And risk throwing yourself headfirst into more conspiracy theories like a pig-headed fool? Be grateful we were given another chance,” he retorts without missing a beat. “You would be severely injured if I weren’t here to give you a voice of reason.”

You quieten, watching a cherry blossom break off a tall branch and float to the ground. 

Zayne notices your silence, and nudges you. Glancing at him, you see a shadow of a smile etched on his lips. 

“I know you must miss the outside. How about we come to an agreement? Take your medication, get loads of rest, and I’ll bring you out every evening to see the cherry blossoms. Would this be more suitable for a ‘punishment’, my Aurora?”

Your heart skips a beat; you’ve missed hearing your favorite term of endearment from him.

“Okay,” you murmur, considerably happier. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Holding out your pinky right in his face, Zayne chuckles again, but indulges you, wrapping his smallest finger with yours.

“It is a deal,” his voice is softer, fringed with amusement and tenderness. 

Zayne is a man of extremes; rarely meeting you in the middle.

When Dr. Carol had advised against strenuous activities for at least a week while your body heals, she didn’t take into account that Zayne would refuse to even touch you in any way other than as a caregiver.

He would fix your meals, help you around the house, and even tenderly bathe you if you so much as breathed a request for it.

But, he would never—in any circumstances—take it further.

How long has it been since we’ve last been together?

You fidget in your seat, staring out a window. 

Far too long, the answer comes back to you like a nefarious whisper. You should do something about it.

And you do have a plan. Granted, it’s half-baked and needs a dash of liquid courage to work, but nevertheless, it was a plan. 

Zayne would be home in exactly an hour, and that was the bulk of time needed for you to get ready.

You washed your hair, brushed your teeth, did your skincare and makeup; there was an attempt to style your locks but you gave up halfway only to let it air dry while you slipped on some silky lingerie. It was his favorite set—black and lacy with a sheer mesh covering the cups that left little to the imagination.

Catching your lower lip in between your teeth, you try to rearrange yourself on the sofa, chest out and hoping your lipgloss hadn’t faded yet; squirming to position your limbs so that it didn’t look like you were a splayed starfish.

The door unlocks, and you hold your breath, a big grin fighting to break through your expression.

Zayne blinks the second he notices you, his doctor's coat bundled up in one arm and the other hand holding his briefcase.

“... Hello?”

You sit up, hoping to God you were at least seductive when you cross your legs, giving him a sweet smile.

“Hello, doctor. Welcome home.”

Those gorgeous green eyes flit to your chest, and his jaw ticks under your scrutiny.

You expect him to at least compliment you, or ask what you were doing in bewilderment. Not say—

“You are going to catch a cold if you keep this up.”

Before you can react, he sets down his briefcase and wraps you in his coat, drawing you to his side.

“Zayne—” you mumble, dismayed. He keeps you tightly to his chest, like you were going to disintegrate without his support anytime soon. “Zayne!” You fight free from his grasp, giving him an exasperated glare.

“Hello? Here I am trying to seduce you, and you just mother henned me!” Pressing your palms flush to his broad pecs, you push him back firmly—exasperatedly. “This is so embarrassing!” 

Petering off into a whine, you huff and cross your arms. Missing how his eyes darken ever so slightly at the sight of the skimpy fabric stretching across your tight nipples.

Taking in a deep breath, Zayne fights the urge to throw you over his shoulder and give your ass a firm squeeze (or smack, seeing as how his self-control was steadily declining). You were making it so hard to keep his composure under lock and key. He channels that frustration into a huge sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“You are single-handedly the most infuriating woman I know on this planet.”

Without warning, he nudges you back, until you’re flush with a wall. He leans forward, and you hold your breath, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw.

“You know other women?” 

He can’t fight back an exhaled laugh at your petulant words. “No. Of course, not. None of them can compare to you, my Aurora.”

His minty cool breath fans across the sensitive strip of your neck, drawing goosebumps down your arms. 

“You are so infuriating,” he noses the length of your jaw, breathing you in. The heat emanating from his broad chest is overwhelming; it makes you dizzy with lust, thighs squeezing together to alleviate the tension throbbing in between them. 

“A menace… you’re impossible to deal with.”

His large, veiny hands grip the fleshy domes of your ass, squeezing them heartily. “Haven’t had you in so long.” Longing coats his every husky exhale. “I miss you so much… but, you aren’t at your peak health, my love. I do not want to hurt you again.”

Zayne’s dizzying warmth distances away from you and you actually cry out softly, grappling onto his shoulders to keep him in place. He gasps, low and taken aback, hips clipping into yours.

“No, please…” you feel your face burning up; never were you this desperate to feel him. “I need you, Zayne. I really, really need you.”

His groan reverberates in his chest, sounding like it came straight from his tortured soul. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

Strong hands lift you up, pin you right to the wall. 

Zayne doesn’t give you any time to breathe. His mouth is on yours, ravenously drinking your moans and mewls. 

For a man whose Evol is ice, his hands run ridiculously warm; grabbing at any flesh he can find purchase on—your thighs, ass, breasts—squeezing them firmly. 

Fuck, you gasp into his mouth. Oh… Zayne… 

The room spins, nothing but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears filling your mind.

He sucks on your bottom lip, desperately rutting his hips into yours. You feel him growing harder against your thigh, straining behind his slacks.

Boldly, your tinier hand rests on his bulge. 

Naughty girl, he rasps. You’re asking for trouble now, little one.

A shiver runs up your spine which has nothing to do with his now colder hands running down your sides.

His Evol drops the temperature around the room, a faint glow of blue ice coating his fingertips. He runs those freezing pads down your exposed skin, catching right on the tops of your breasts. Your pelvis. Inner thighs.

You cry out when he teases your mound through the lace with those cold fingers, back arching wantonly.

“I want to see this pussy beg for me,” he murmurs. “I want to see her drip.”

Slowly, like you were a present he was leisurely unwrapping, Zayne pushes down your bra straps, until the cups are barely clinging to your heaving tits. He presses loving kisses down the strip of your throat, stopping shy of your areolas. 

Stop teasing me, you whine, and his warm breath caresses your nipples as he exhales a laugh. 

I can’t… I’m having too much fun, my Aurora. 

He licks and sucks on them until they’re dripping with his spit, achy and tender to the touch. While he loves on your nipples, one hand slips in between your thighs, finding your twitching center.

Zayne eases the seat of your panties out of the way, and you bite down on a whimper when the cool air brushes your swollen clit and damp folds.

“So wet,” he murmurs. One finger drags through the slick mess, finding your clit and rubbing circles on it tenderly. 

Proving he was more man than robot like how you always teased him, Zayne slides to his knees and looks up at you with pure devotion.

I’m going to eat you out right now, my Aurora, he whispers. Is that alright with you?

Fuck, yes. You almost scream. He didn’t need to even ask; you were begging for it. His tongue, friction, anything—you swore you were about to die from the anticipation. 

Hitching your right leg over his shoulder, he eyes your pussy with a dark look, one which makes you think of a predator cornering his prey. 

She’s so pretty, he muses. I wonder if she’s missed me at all.

“Yes,” you breathe into the darkening living room. The blinds are still wide open, streetlights staining his apartment floor a warm, orange glow.

She’s missed you so much, Zayne. 

The sight of his pink tongue flitting out to touch the corners of his lips, the perfect arch of his cupid’s bow running against the slinky lace, almost makes you explode.

Prying your panties crotch to the side with his teeth, Zayne breathes in your scent, his perfect nose pressed right to your glistening cunt.

“Good,” he mumbles to himself. “Because I’ve missed her like crazy, too.”

His tongue running through your folds catches you by surprise, your cry rebounding across the room.

If it weren’t for his strong grip around your thighs and waist, you would’ve melted to the floor like a snow draft on a hot summer’s day. Zayne held you up as he ate you out; lips and tongue giving you the sweetest friction you had been dreaming of.

You’re so worked up, he breathes in between sinful licks. Zayne mouths your clit, tongue sliding through your folds like he was made for this. There’s nothing but the wet sounds of his mouth on you; his tongue flattens, and you drag your clit over it, hips twitching, getting yourself off.

His cock twitches and he knows he would be the one to swallow his own words; how he wants to get you dripping when he’s the one leaking in his pants like a horny teenager.

Fuck, fuck, Zayne mumbles, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. He bites on the plush flesh, loving how you tense and squeal.

His teeth grazes the sensitive flesh, making you flinch. You’re so responsive, it’s making him heady.

Deep groans well from his broad chest, and you swell with pride. Only you had the power to make the reserved, stoic, measured Zayne go crazy on your taste. 

And he duly gives you the credit you deserve.

“You drive me insane,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin. 

It’s intimate—how he’s looking at you. Those thick, black lashes that frame his perfect emerald eyes lowering; lust pooling in their depths. 

Zayne’s lips are puffy, coated with your juices. There’s a light pink dusting on the high of his cheeks. 

“Are you alright?” he mumbles softly, running those large hands you love up and down your thighs.

You nod, teeth catching on your lower lip. “Zayne,” softly, you voice your need. “Can you please fuck me?” 

How polite. He fights back a smirk, lowering your right leg back to the ground, giving your inner thigh a soft kiss.

He stands back to his full height, towering over you. His sheer size makes your heart quicken, and your back presses flush to the wall, anticipation right in your throat.

But, he’s gentle, as he always is, when he takes your hands, pressing them to his chest.

“Undress me first, my Aurora.”

A stern command wrapped in silk—I won’t touch you until you show me how much you want it.

Your shaky hands move to his shirt, tugging on it until those pesky white buttons loosen. Scars line his chest and pecs, each of them a road your tongue, lips and fingers have explored. Down his stacked torso, more of those white indents make a home on his skin, and you briefly touch them, grazing your fingers on the happy trail leading right to his defined ‘V’. 

The buckle of his belt goes next. You slip it off, working on his slacks and underwear. Zayne silently watches, not giving a reaction. He loves this part; how you huff and warmth surges on your cheeks—hating how much of a tease he was.

But, you’re always an obedient little thing for him. 

You would do as he said, knowing the rewards that lie behind these slight humiliations.

He shrugs his shirt and pants off, and you’re already on him.

Fumbling in the cocooning darkness, your lips paint over his collarbone and neck, right to his jaw. Zayne leans down, kisses you fully on your mouth as he lifts you back into his arms.

Swiftly, your legs wrap around his narrow waist, and he brings you straight to the couch; too impatient for the bedroom.

Your back meets the soft surface, a cushion haphazardly arranged underneath your head so you didn’t have to strain your neck. 

The mastermind has thought of it all. Your musings were cut short when he unhooks your bra, a deft, fluid motion with little to no fumbling. A surgeon’s hands surely were the steadiest.

But, they trembled lightly when he plucked at the band of your thong, gently tugging it down your thighs. 

Beautiful, he whispers, half to himself. 

Zayne, please. You twine your fingers in his hair, tugging his face closer to yours. Feeling his warm breath on your lips. Don’t keep me waiting. 

Hold on, beautiful. Zayne slots himself in between your legs, letting them rest around his waist. He grips your left thigh, hooking it on his shoulder and turns his head slightly to give your plush calf a kiss. His cock catches your attention, fully hard and glistening with pre-cum. Like his physique, it was girthy and thicker; imposing and intimidating. 

Will it fit inside of me after so long…? 

A bead of his excitement pearls on his tip, rolling down the impressive shaft. You smear it across his tip with your thumb, not missing how he shivered.

“I’ll go slow, darling,” he mumbles, locking your fingers with his, drawing your hands above your head and keeping it there with one hand. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?”

He kisses you fully on your parted mouth, drinking in your hitched gasp. I love you, my Aurora. 

Giving his cock a few strokes, he lines it right to your drooling hole, dragging his tip through your folds to prime you up. 

The thickness of him breaches past your tight opening, and you cry out, back arching. Zayne shushes you, focused on not splitting you open too fast. 

Shit, you’re tight, he hisses. I may not be able to hold myself back, my Aurora.

You shake your head, glossy eyes making something in his chest twinge. Don’t—let me feel you entirely, Zayne. 

“Almost,” he mumbles, and you feel the glorious stretch; how it burns in the best way. 

The sounds falling from your mouth were much too lewd, easily heard past the thin walls; though at this rate, you didn’t care who would complain.

He breathes hard, sweat bulleting down his forehead. Finally, with one push, he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

The both of you groan in relief, his forehead knocking softly into yours. He lets go of your hands, letting them wound around his broad shoulders.

You bury your face in his neck as he starts to move, tentatively rolling his hips to get you used to him again. 

“Taking me so well even after so long,” he breathes hard. “You’re always so perfect for me, aren’t you, my Aurora?” 

Mhm, your slurry moan brushes his heated ears. 

Falling apart. He was dissolving for you faster than snow under the sun. 

“I can feel your pretty pussy fluttering around me.” He brushes his lips across your cheeks and nose, those gorgeous heavy lidded emerald eyes sending jolts down your spine. “You really wanted this.”

You can’t do anything but moan for him, pleasure unfurling across your body like a cresting tidal wave. 

His hips clipping heavily into yours, the dense sensation of his cock filling you up over and over again, coarse pubic hair catching on your clit—all of it were slowly edging you towards the biggest release of your life.

He fucks you slower this time, wanting to draw out the moment. 

Weeks of separation and anxiety were condensed within this singular moment; thick gasps flowing from his mouth into yours and back again, filling the air with an unbearable tension.

I love you, he repeats again, figuratively and literally drilling his devotion into your lax body. I love you so much, my Aurora. 

My Aurora. Mine. 

His.

Zayne’s possessiveness leaves you reeling, overwhelming your senses. He was right, as he always was; you belonged to him, body, heart and soul. Every beat of your heart, every trembling breath—it was all his.

Only he could fuck you this good; this deep. Only he could make you tremble from such an onslaught of emotion and sensation. 

His thumb slips into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue; your lips hollowing around it, sucking on his digit like you would his cock. 

Good girl, he rumbles, removing his thumb and replacing it with his index and middle finger. So good for me—you’re my sweet little girl, aren’t you? 

Yours, you mewl, mouth and voice thick with his digits. All yours, Zayne.

The pressure builds—reaching a fever pitch. All of it piles up; heady breaths, sloppy thrusts, his moans and groans slurred into your hair. 

He moves his mouth to your throat; sharp sting of his teeth blends with his murmured praises. But, you can’t focus on anything beyond his cock pumping inside of you, the mess he’s fucking out of you. It smells like sex in this room; musky and heady. 

The couch is shaking, clawed feet dragging across the floor. Somewhere in your foggy mind, it registers that his downstairs elderly neighbor would surely be storming up to confront him. But, no distractions exist when you’re in the circle of his arms. 

He probably wouldn’t even hear her knock over your keening moans.

Something about Dr. Zayne—the meticulous, righteous Dr. Zayne—ignoring someone’s distress because he was too busy fucking you, makes the taut string of your impending orgasm snap. 

Good girl, he whispers; groans when he feels your nails stab into his shoulders. Doing so good for me. Generous hands grip your ass, lifting your back slightly off the sofa. Can you give me another one? 

His selflessness would be the death of you. Zayne hadn’t even cum once—too focused on your needs.

Your head lolls back, feathery moans tainting the air with pure sin. Your thighs spread further, taking him deeper.

“Zayne…”

“My Aurora?” 

He groans softly when you glide your tongue over the shell of his ear, breathily moaning, “Can you please cum for me?”

Strong shivers wrack his body; his sharp mind drawing a blank.

“Please,” you mouth his pulse point, drawing your hands back to his hair to give his dark locks a tug. “Give it to me, please… wanna feel you all hot and pulsing inside of me.”

Fuck, he bites your shoulder, thrusts growing sloppier. Fuck, fuck—

He’s been holding back on you; not wanting to hurt you when you wanted it to hurt. 

You wanted the heat, the overwhelming need. Whining, you whimper please, please, please, over and over again. 

Give me your cum, Daddy. 

That does it. Zayne grits his teeth, a lusty groan of pain and ecstasy brushing against your neck. His cum fills you up steadily, first in spurts, then a fulfilling warmth which coats your walls, drawing deeper into your body with every pulsing contraction; a mini release set off by his own.

He slumps over you, skin growing cooler to the touch. You glide your fingertips over his sharp shoulder blades, feeling frost coating your fingers. They melt instantly at your touch, leaving your skin damp with both sweat and the residue of his Evol. 

Zayne shudders, rubbing his cheek against your jaw and neck like a sated beast.

You twitch your hips, and he pulls out slightly; the fullness of him unplugging and dribbling down to join the mess of both your releases onto the couch. 

He stays deep inside of you, lips tangled with yours; the both of you unable to let the other go.

“Are you alright?” he asks into the afterglow. You squirm a little, feeling his softening cock twitch. 

“Mhm hmm,” you flash him a satisfied smile and he fights back a chuckle. You wiggle your butt, biting on your bottom lip. “I love how full I feel of you right now.”

Zayne squeezes your hips, an exasperated and exhausted smirk gracing his perfect mouth. “Little minx.”

He holds your cheek, smoothes his thumb over your lower lip.

“You do know how much you mean to me, don’t you?”

His face is hazy, eyes soft and full of love in the faint light. 

You rest your palm on the back of his hand, melting into his warmth with your eyes half closed and a small smile lifting the corners of your lips.

“Perhaps.” 

You don’t give him time to recover from your quip, flipping him over, both of you still connected from base to tip. 

Zayne doesn’t think he’s ever seen such raw beauty held in one person before; how your skin glowed in the muted orange glow, pretty eyes filled with a passionate ruin.

“But, if you let me take care of you this time, Dr. Zayne, I might be inclined to believe so.”

His hands span across your lower back, smoothing down your hips.

“Anything,” he mumbles hoarsely, an accessory to your seduction. “Do anything you want to me, my Aurora.”

You mumble his name, honeyed with devotion and lust.

And Zayne doesn’t care how many times fate would push you two away; like the tide to the sea, he would always come back for you. 

As many times as it would take. For as long as he could.

“I love you, Zayne,” you whisper, tinier palms pressed to his chest; taking your turn to fuck him.

And he knows you would do it again, too; go through it one more time for him. It was the nature of your love—a push and pull as old as the sea tides. 

But this time—most definitely—he makes a firm vow that it would be the very last time you were taken away from him.

— it is safe to say i am insane over this man i fear. reblogs and feedback are appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunaymph. do not copy, repost, translate or share across any other platform

[tiredofthehumanlife]

I like our kitchen is that okay with you?

Barbie dolls: five hargreeves x gn! reader

Words: 3.6k words

Summary: you guys are just lovey dovey while getting ready for Grace's birthday party

Warnings: set in those few good minutes of s4 when everything was fun and nice, insinuated you're an early riser, Viktor doesn't get kidnapped everything is perfect, you sleep on your stomach now, five touches your butt, mention of nonsexual nudity, you lean your head of Five's shoulder, insinuated you don't want kids but five could be joking who knows, you work at the library now and are a massive music freak, Fives a thrifting GOD, pretty much just docile and sweet five and you, five is still at the CIA oops sorry, you're kinda a passenger royalty Five will not let you open a single door, mentions that you have a bag but its not specific on what kind could be a purse could be a backpack could be a fucking draw bag tbh, you are fun, okay bye

Request: dude stop snooping on me how did you know it was a request

Five was the worst to wake up next to. He snored with his mouth open, drool slipping down to his pillowcase. Somewhere during the night, he flung his hand towards your face, pushing the blanket over your eyes. His hand was still resting on your forehead, palm to the ceiling. Somehow, one of his legs was hanging off the edge of the bed while the other was thrown over your butt. You thought about not sleeping on your stomach anymore so he’d stop kicking you on the ass at 2:46 am every night, but you worried you’d miss his contact. You had one hand resting over his heart, and as gentle and regular as your position seemed Five made up for it with his 'I'm a fallen spider’ position every night. Five jerked in his sleep, knocking the back of his hand into his chin. You sat up, glancing around the room.

With sleep clouding your vision, you gently move Five into a slightly less strange position. You pulled both his hands to his stomach, letting them rest there. You moved his one leg away from your behind, letting the other stay where it was halfway off the bed. You got out of bed, tucking the blankets back in on Five’s sides so he wouldn’t feel the difference in warmth. You still weren’t entirely sure if Five knew he slept so weirdly, you woke up before him every day.

You watched Five from the doorway. He smiled in his sleep, something fun must be happening in his dream. He snuggled further into his pillow, letting out a sigh. You headed towards the kitchen, playing your music very quietly as you started breakfast.

This was a pretty regular routine. By the time you were setting the plates down on the breakfast table, Five was stumbling through the doorway. You glanced up at him. Five squinted at the light peeking through the curtains from over the kitchen sink. He looked around the room, his shoulders sinking when he found you. Five headed straight for you, reaching his hands out for your face. He greeted you with a kiss. You pulled back from the kiss with a smile.

“You know, I never move. I don’t know why you look around the room like you’ve never been here before.” You said, pulling his hands away from your face to hold them. Five shrugged.

“Maybe I like looking at our kitchen.” You hummed at him, pulling away to settle into your chair. As you both ate breakfast, you studied the kitchen more than usual.

It wasn’t anything crazy. A strange part of your brain, that you didn’t like to talk about much, assigned colors to lots of things. For example, the number seven was orange however eight was green. If you had to pick a color for your kitchen you’d pick that weird middle ground between yellow and orange that sounded like swings squeaking when you tried to fly as a kid and staring up at the trees and watching the sunlight shine through the leaves.

Your kitchen was in a small rectangle shape. The cabinets were brown and a small rounded dining table was shoved into the back right corner. On the one long side of the rectangle were the sink, oven, refrigerator, and many cabinets top and bottom. It had a window over the sink, so you could peer into the backyard as you did the dishes. The other long side of the room was the open, welcoming the sight of your living room. A small line of bottom cabinets jutted out on that side along the line where a wall would be. You never added barstools on the side in the living room but you could’ve.

As of right now, it was that time in the morning when it had the calming feeling of the night but the warming sun of the morning. The light was peeking through the kitchen window, shining through the floral curtains Five found at some estate sale. The light caught in the beaded curtain you made and hung behind the small floral curtains and made colors dance on the kitchen counter and couch arm.

There were pictures of you and Five hung on the refrigerator with tiny magnets that had different foods on them. Once again Five found them at some estate sale. You looked down at your plate, remembering the tablecloth Five brought home from a thrift store because it was your favorite color with the tiniest embroidery of your favorite animal.

You leaned forward over the table, knocking Five’s chin up, and capturing his lips in a kiss. It was kind of gross. He had a bit of syrup on the side of his mouth and he tasted faintly of bacon. You settled back into your chair, continuing your breakfast as if nothing happened. Five squinted at you, wiping at the corner of his mouth and sticking his thumb in his mouth. You grimaced.

“What was that for?” Five asked. You shrugged.

“I don't know, I like looking at our kitchen.” Five stared at you for a moment like he was trying to read your mind. He hummed, paying his attention back to his food.

A few thirty minutes later, Five was rushing out the door while fixing his tie. You followed after him, half-ready yourself, your shift didn’t start for another thirty minutes.

“Briefcase?”

“Hand.”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“New toothpaste and everything.”

”Lunch?”

“Other hand.”

“Coffee?”

“They have some at work.”

“You hate that coffee.”

“I can’t hear you over me about to be late.” You glared at Five’s sass. He made a frown at your look. “Sorry.”

“Socks?” Five stuck his foot out at you, showing off his lovely charcoal grey socks. ”Summer colors, beautiful.” You said sarcastically.

“It's the CIA, my love, not a Betsy Johnson fashion show.” Five said, slipping his shoes on as fast as he could. He glanced up at you through his mop of hair.

“Did you do your hair?” Five glared at you. You dropped it, moving on to the next thing.

“Wallet? Keys? ID card?” You asked. Five pulled his other shoe on, standing up straight. He faced you again, smiling as he leaned down to grab his suitcase.

“It’s fine, baby. Just like literally every other morning. I’m not going to forget anything. It’s basically impossible.” Five said. You followed him to the door, holding it open as you waved him down the hallway. Once he turned the corner, you returned inside. You furrowed your eyebrows when you felt like you were missing something. Chalking it up to you still not being dressed for work, you headed back for your bedroom. You stopped in the living room when you heard the front door open. You walked back to the front door, bumping into FIve halfway there.

“Turns out I can forget things.” Five muttered.

“It was your keys wasn’t it?” Five shook his head. He leaned down and gently pulled you into a kiss. He pulled you closer by the front of your pajama shirt. You would’ve returned the ferocity, but you knew better than to wrinkle his suit. You held your hands up in the air next to your head but still leaned forward towards him. Five pulled back, still keeping small contact.

“I have to go.” He said, muffled by your lips. You wouldn’t have understood him if you hadn’t had this problem multiple times before.

“You have to go.” You repeated, and yet still leaning forward. FIve hummed.

“I have to go.” He said again, although there he was still keeping his eyes closed and lips pressed to yours. He pulled back, finally breaking whatever spell you two were under.

“I have to go.” He said for a third time, walking backward towards the door. You followed after him, nodding along. Five stopped in the doorway, staring at you. You motioned for him to go. He sighed.

“I love you.”

“Go.” Five nodded, slipping outside and down towards the driveway. You stood by the door again, watching him walk towards the car. You are startled when you realize you didn’t say it back.

“I love you!” You yelled after him, watching him spin around and blow you a kiss before settling into his car.

Hours and hours later, you were shelving books, as your average librarian does. You had one of your headphones in and playing your music. It was quiet, as many libraries are. You pushed another book into the right spot, before turning back to the cart. You pushed it down the aisle between the shelves. You heard the bell over the door ring. You abandoned your cart and moved through the shelves to get to the front door. When you got close enough you knew they could hear you, though not see you yet, you spoke up.

“Welcome, Let me know if you need anything.” You said before turning the corner. Lovely Five was waiting by the door with a bouquet. He was still in his work suit, though his briefcase must still be in the car. He smiled when he saw you. You walked the rest of the way to the front door, greeting him by wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Whatcha doing here?” You asked, smiling at him. You hoped most of the patrons were in the back searching for a book. Five moved the flowers away you two so you wouldn't crush them. He leaned towards you, pecking your lips.

“I came to pick you up. Thought my car would be better than the bus.” Five said. You hummed. You sighed and pretended like you weren't giddy just being around him.

“Yeah, I guess. My shift ends in 15 so start reading.” You gestured towards the shelves. Five nodded and headed off for the nonfiction section. You finished shelving and were riding home in Five’s car in no time. He brought the flowers for you, so they rested in your lap on the ride back.

By the time you were pulling into the driveway, you had two hours to get ready. Five ran as fast he could to get your side of the car. You stared at him confused as you opened your door. Five slapped your hand away from the door, shooing your head back in the car. He shut your door before pulling it open again and holding his hand out to you. You glared at him before giving him your hand. Five walked with you into the house before you split up after taking your shoes off.

You headed off to the living room to replace the dying flowers in the reading nook. Five headed off to change out of his Work Suit. You both got ready, moving at your own pace. You shared a shower in which Five watched you with a loving smile as you danced ridiculously to your music. Also where Five remembered how much he missed you shampooing his hair.

Then you were pacing around the house as you got into the outfit you planned your head for the party. Five skittered past you when you were working on transferring everything you needed from your work bag to your ‘I'm going to hand this to Five once we get there so it's no longer my problem and I can play in the ball pit’ bag. He slid into the bathroom with his socked feet and when you heard the hair dryer turn on, you focused back on what you were doing.

You talked yourself out of taking a book. (Very hard) Then you were being rushed towards the door by Five as if he wasn't the one stuck in the bathroom for 45 minutes with the blow dryer going. You pulled your shoes on as you stumbled out the door. Five locked the door behind you as you both jogged down the steps.

“Do you think Grace will like her present?” You asked, now worried she might hate what was inside the wrapped box in your arms. Five snorted, pulling his car keys from his pocket.

“Well if she doesn’t, I know Diego will like it.” Five said, taking the box from your hands to set it in the trunk. You hummed. It did make you feel a little bit better. You thought about Diego gasping with joy louder than Grace and stealing the box from her hands. You doubted he would do that but it was fun to imagine his dramatics. You settled into the passenger side. Five handed you the aux cord as he pulled out of the driveway. You took it from him, imeditally plugging it into your phone and playing your music. Five bobbed his head along while you sang along. He’d even throw in a hand movement sometimes.

When you reached the party you were just barely 15 minutes late. Shocking. You took he box inside from the trunk, letting Five hold the doors open for you. Five lead you through the building by your elbow. You smiled when you saw familiar faces. Diego came over to you two first. He took the box out of your hands, staring down at it in confusion.

“What did you guys get her? An entire litter of puppies and a bike?” Diego joked. You waved him off.

“No that’s ridiculous, the bike is in a different box.” You joked making Diego grimace.

“Oh, Ha-ha,” Diego said sarcastically taking the box towards the already growing gift table. Five stood next to you, shoving his hands into his pockets. Your shoulders slumped.

“I thought it was funny.” You muttered. Five rubbed your upper arm, cooing.

“It was hilarious, I almost pissed my pants.” Five said, pecking your cheek. You gave him a small smile before patting his side. He slipped his arm around your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his waist, giving him a weird-sided hug. You pulled away, gripping onto his hand and leading him to the next family member you had to say hi to.

You approached the group of Luther, Klaus, Ben, and Claire. They were all facing each other, making a circle. You stood behind Luther.

“Excuse me, Sir. You can't be unattended without a child.” You said, raising your pitch so you sounded squeaky and, quite frankly, annoying. Luther turned his head around with a confused face. Once he spotted you, he smiled brightly and wrapped you in a hug. You dropped Five’s hand to hug him back.

“Oh it's so good to see you,” Luther said, pulling away from you. He moved out of the way, letting the rest of the group see you. Klaus cheered and clapped his hands. Claire immediately pulled you into a hug while Ben let out a groan. You stood back next to Luther.

“I’m here, too.” Five said, moving to squeeze into the circle between Luther and Klaus. Luther patted him on the shoulder. Klaus reached over and shooed Five away with his gloved hands without touching him. Five glared at Klaus. Luther pulled the conversation back to the center.

“So what are you two up to now?” Luther asked, looking between you and Five. You shrugged.

“Domestic things. Decorating our house, going to work, and trying new recipes on the weekends. It’s actually quite nice being a human and not in the center of an apocalypse.” you said. It actually felt really fucking nice that your biggest problem was what color to paint the bathroom. Five hummed.

“Right, so when are you two going to make me an uncle?” Klaus asked. You weren't entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Five scoffed.

“Please, we’re too old for kids.” Five said, glaring at Klaus.

“Not to mention you're already an uncle.” You added. Klaus pouted at you two and hovered his hand over Claire's shoulder to simulate a pat. Five moved away from Luther's side and stood next to you instead.

“You know he's coming up on three years of sobriety?” you gasped at Claire. Five leaned forward as Luther smiled.

“Really? Klaus, that's amazing. I'm so proud of you. You should throw a party or something.” You said. Klaus shrugged. He shook his head.

“It's really no big deal,” Klaus muttered.

“Yes, it is. You should be proud of yourself Klaus, sobriety is hard work.” Five said. Five reached around the back of your arm and hugged your arm to his chest. Luther nodded.

“I'm very proud of you, I know that must've been a struggle,” Luther said. Klaus shrugged again. You hummed.

“Right well me and Claire are going to plan a celebration for your three years whether you like it or not.” You said. Klaus turned to Claire and shook his head no with a grimace. Claire started nodding back at him with an evil smile.

“Yes. Yep, uh-huh. It's happening.” Claire said. You tugged on Five's elbow.

“Right well, we have to go say hi to the others.” Five said, following after you as you walked away. You and Five split up. You went around to his siblings and had long talks with each of them over their current jobs, hobbies, and problems. Five went to find someone to complain to and find a beverage. The party flew by as you two went around to say hello to everyone. As soon as you were wrapping up your conversation with Viktor, it was present time.

Everyone circled the present table and more importantly Grace. Grace stared at the large pile of gifts and turned back to Diego and Lila.

“I don’t know which one to open first,” Grace said.

“Oo ours, Grace. Open the one from us.” You said. Five moved closer to you, holding your hand again. Grace nodded and pulled down the box covered in wrapping paper that Five picked out. Grace tore through the paper like it was butter and handed the scraps to Diego. The box was blank and held together with tape she could tear through. Grace pulled the box open and gasped when she could see inside.

She reached inside, pulled out two of the laser tag toy guns, and pointed them to the sky pulling the triggers over and over again. She laughed maniacally at the sky. Diego and Lila laughed. Grace spun around and pointed the guns at her parents, pretending to fire again.

“We got enough for the twins, Grace, and you guys so fun for the whole family!” Five shouted over the chaos. You smiled at Diego and Lila fighting back against Grace, turning her attention back to the presents. You leaned your head on Five’s shoulder. He hummed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Presents flew by after that, everyone else gave her lame presents and you’re definitely not biased in saying that at all.

“Okay kids, this is your last chance to play. The parents are going to clean up and then we’re going to leave so play now.” Diego shouted over the short heads of children running around him. You gasped and pulled yourself away from Five. You handed him your bag, which he swung over his shoulder. You leaned down and slipped your shoes off, handing them to Five as well. He kissed you goodbye as you sprinted off towards the ball pit.

You played with Grace in the ball pit as the lame adults were cleaning up. You pulled Grace up into the air. making her squeal before dropping her back into the ball pit.

Grace quite enjoyed playing with you and about thirty minutes later, you were out of breath and even Grace was tired. Five walked over to the ball pit, standing next to the edge. He held his hand out, helping you out of the pit. You pulled Grace over the edge. She ran off to Lila, who spun her around in a circle.

“Did you have fun in the ball pit?” Five asked. You knew he was probably being sarcastic. He leaned down towards the floor with your shoes. You leaned back against the ball pit wall as he gently lifted your leg to pull your shoe on.

“Yes! It was amazing, you should’ve joined us.” Five glanced up at you, shaking his head. He finished with the other shoe and stood up straight.

“Not really my style.” He muttered. You rolled your eyes. You rudely mimicked his voice. Five latched onto your hand and dragged you towards the door.

When you finally made it home, you both undressed into your pajamas in a speedy fashion. You faceplanted into your shared bed, groaning. You rubbed your arms around in the blankets.

“I missed you.” You whispered to the sheets. You felt Five settle on top of you, using you as a full-body pillow. It was a little difficult to breathe with a full-grown person on your back but you’d let it slide.

“I was only gone for three minutes. And you say I’m the clingy one.” Five muttered, pulling his head over your shoulder and kissing your cheek. You hummed.

“Still think you are.” FIve groanded at you. “Not that it’s bad, I love you being clingy. At least you’re not being a dickhead. Well, more than usual.” You said, leaning over to kiss the side of his mouth. Five tried to hide his smile, knocking his nose into the side of your neck.

A few moments went by where you and Five just sat together. You nudged him off your back. He slid off your back, laying next to you instead. He scooted closer, throwing his arm over your back. You pulled your arm over his side, squeezing him even closer. Five sighed, his weight sinking into you in relaxation. You were so glad it was a Friday because tomorrow you could wake up and stay in bed with Five for hours. You ran your fingers through his hair, making him squeeze you closer.

[httpsserene]

Heyy, i was wondering if you could do an Toto wolff x reader. I was thinking kitchen sex?? Like Toto getting turned on because he found out that reader was trying to make him his beloved pumpernickel bread for breakfast. I’ve been seeing tiktoks of Toto and his love for pumpernickel bread, and was just wondering if you could write abt it, though it’s TOTALLY ok if you don’t. Sorry if this was a little messy, this is my first time rqsting something. ♥️

𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐰/𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you make toto his favorite bread. he’s going to thank you for this surprise properly. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. implied age gap. kitchen sex. rambling about bread. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. morning sex. reader and toto are married. beta-read. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.2k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: toto wolff x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: can't take my eyes off of you (i love you baby) • lauryn hill

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: can you tell i did way to much research on the types of pumpernickel bread? no, well, i don’t care 🙂 i WAS NOT familiar with toto wolff and pumpernickel bread so a quick youtube search opened my eyes to it and uh what can i say, this was born. ALSO: i feel like i’ve self-diagnosed myself; i am ashamed to admit that my kink might be somebody making me their wife…because why can’t i go one fic without making the reader be referenced to as a wife (m sorry i crave love). i honestly feel like it could be better, but y’know i hope i did your request justice (sorry it took me so long, ktober beat my ass). anon! i hope you see this, and i hope all the toto wolff lovers enjoy !!!

the yellow dish gloves on your hands protect your brown skin from most of the heat of the scalding tap water. the sound of your hums airily reverberate within the high ceilings of your open-plan kitchen as you clean the expensive dishes you’ve dirtied. you’ve taken off your wedding ring and placed it on top of your phone in the middle of the island to avoid any possibility of it falling down the drain or getting damaged. 

you woke up a little after dawn, quickly shutting off your alarm to avoid waking up your husband; it’s the off season for him, you won’t wake him up at insane hours when he’s not needed to work. sneaking out of bed was a battle of its own—there were several close calls as you struggled to slip out of the tight hold of the austrian man. it took seven minutes for you to escape his warm embrace, but you made it through by thinking of the surprise you were going to cook up for Toto—or bake up for him. it’s no secret to anybody that the mercedes team principal loves pumpernickel bread, and that he’s very particular about how he likes it. of course, there’s no way you would be able to make the traditional german pumpernickel bread before he woke up—it takes fourteen hours to cook and it needs to rest for an entire day to allow it to form properly into its crunchy, cookie-like consistency. so, you decided to make the simplified recipe that only takes roughly an hour and a half to bake and prepare, while the original takes its time cooking. your husband will have to be happy with the more loaf-like treat until his preferred bread is ready. you’ve never been more thankful to have two ovens. 

everything went well. both breads are prepped and baking away at their respective temperatures, and you’re carefully attempting to clean up the mess you’ve made in the process. you may not have been quiet enough based on the footsteps you hear heading your way. Toto pauses in the doorway and you smile, not needing to turn around to see the baffled expression on his face. you turn the faucet off and grab the cloth resting on the oven handle to dry your hands, “good morning, bär. slept well?” you teased gently with a small smile in Toto’s direction. you take an appraising glance of his form; he’s only wearing this pair of pajama pants covered in the mercedes logo (George gifted him those when the team did secret santa last year; Toto said he’d never wear them), leaving his toned torso exposed for your viewing pleasure, sleep lines from his pillow are still faint along his left cheek, and his hair is ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it. your husband nods half-heartedly, and blinks in confusion as he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen.

you're wearing one of his white button-up shirts—half of the buttons are fastened, the sleeves are rolled up and cuffed right above your elbow. you aren’t wearing a bra based on the way he can see how your nipples are pebbled through the shirt, and he assumes you’re only wearing underwear based on your bare legs. your feet are warmed by a pair of black, fuzzy house slippers, the bottom of the shirt rests along the middle of your thighs, and the collar is shifted to the side exposing your collarbone. your hair is free, allowed to rest however it wants to on this winter morning. he starts, making to finally enter the space of the kitchen and give you a proper morning greeting, but notices a smudge of flour along your jawline. and then he sees the baking utensils gathered in the sink, and a rich aroma starts to permeate the air. it smells slightly like coffee and slightly like dark chocolate—it’s sweet. then, it dawned on Toto, you’re baking pumpernickel bread. for him. his heart flutters; you usually sleep as late into the morning as possible, but today, you woke up at an insane hour just to make him his favorite bread from scratch. you’ve always teased him for how difficult he acts about his breakfast treat yet you sacrificed hours of sleep to please him. Toto’s mushy mindset is broken, as you cock your head at him, wondering why he hasn’t responded to you, and the collar of his your shirt shifts and falls to expose the top of your chest. mmm, yes, he should thank you properly.

you don’t even have time to register toto crossing the space between you, before your lips are interlocked in a passionate kiss. a shocked squeal is muffled against toto’s lips, as his large hands hold your waist steady, and your own hand flies up to hold his head. your other hand rises to tap at his chest frantically, as you begin to run out of air, and toto pulls away with an amused chuckle. dazedly, your hand on his chest pulls back to touch your lips, like you needed further verification that he just kissed you. 

Toto smirks, “good morning, schatz.”

you nod unsteadily, “yes—g-good morning.”

your husband laughs louder at your stutter, and tugs you into his chest for a proper hug, rubbing at the nape of your neck with a heavy hand. the two of you stand tangled in the middle of the kitchen, uncaring of how many seconds fly by, and your eyes flutter shut at the relaxing motion of Toto’s massaging hands. 

“i’m going to fuck you on the island, now, “ Toto informs you kindly.

you startle, pulling your head back to stare up at him with wide eyes. his gaze is serious, and you can’t help how your cheeks warm under his attention.

“well…” you murmur, “i’m not going to say no.”

from there, it’s all a rushed haze. you go from having two feet firmly planted on the tiled floor to being lifted and placed on the marble island as toto speeds through unbuttoning your collared shirt. you try to shrug it off, but Toto halts your motions firmly telling you to leave it on. you hum absently and pull him into a kiss. Toto moans into your mouth, and the sound has your hips bucking forwarding to grind against the bulge in his pants. his hands reaches for your left hip and assists you in grinding against him, and a sigh of pleasure parts your lips. the austrian eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth, and he tastes a bit of sugar from whatever you snacked on while making his bread. oddly, that causes more of his blood to rush south and he breaks the kiss to lean back and tug your panties off. 

you simultaneously pull his pajama pants down, and squirm happily at the fact that he slept without boxers. Toto gently guides you to lie back on the countertop, and coos softly when you shiver from the cold surface; he’ll warm you up soon. he pulls your panties off from where they were dangling around your right ankle and drops them to the floor, kicking them to the side along with his pants. tugging you forward, your ass rests on the edge of the counter and he leans down to press kisses on your throat.

moaning highly, you crane your neck to expose its full length to his mercy. your right hand tangles in his hair to guide him exactly where you want, your left hand holds at his shoulder for support, with your nails digging into the meat of his muscles. Toto pauses, and pulls back to grab your left hand. a broken whine falls from your lips, and you buck your hips upward searching for friction, the slide of his cock along your folds feels delicious. his knees buckle at the sensation, and he forces your hips back down with his free hand, as he pulls your left hand in front of him to look at it.

“where’s your ring, liebling?” Toto asks, warm eyes focused on your bare ring finger. you laugh disbelievingly, amused and surprised at the fact that he managed to feel the absence of your wedding ring, and pull your hand out of his grasp smoothly. you reach behind you and pluck your ring from its spot on top of your phone, and slide it back on your finger. brandishing your ringed-hand in his eyeline, you impatiently try and buck your hips upward to no avail, his one-handed hold on you is unbreakable. 

“okay! fuck me—now, please,” you demand desperately.

Toto hushes you, and holds your left hand steady. he stares into your eyes as he presses a kiss on the wedding ring he bestowed you with. your cheeks burn hot, and you roll your eyes as if your heart didn’t liquify at the show of devotion. your husband guides himself to your entrance, and pushes in carefully—thankful he fucked you open last night. you whimper softly, tender and sore, but you nod frantically to encourage Toto to push further in. he groans throatily as he bottoms out, throwing his head back in pleasure, and your moan harmonizes at the feeling of fullness. the stretch burns slightly, but you’re more focused on achieving an orgasm than the space he caves out in your walls. 

you squeeze your knees around his waist, and grind up on him to encourage him to move. Toto grabs your left leg, bringing it to rest over his shoulder, while your right leg remains resting on his waist, both fuzzy slippers falling from your feet at the movement. it has him sliding slightly deeper inside you, and a spark of pleasure races up your spine. Toto begins to thrust, setting a quick pace from the get go. he fucked you open eight hours ago and the tightness of your cunt has him considering that he didn’t fuck you well enough. the bruises in the shape of his hands on your hips suggest differently. it’s ridiculous, how lost the two you get in each other’s bodies. your moans are punched out of you with every thrust, his cock dragging against your most pleasurable spot every time he sinks in you. Toto should be embarrassed at how quickly this is ending, but your sounds are too erotic for there to be any other outcome. 

he lays his hand on your navel, gently adding pressure over where he’s reaching inside of you, while his thumb circles rapidly over your clit. your back arches sharply as you screech from the unexpected flare of pleasure, raking your nails down his back in thin red lines as you cum at the added stimulation. it’s a multitude of sensations and emotions that had you hurtling over the edge quicker than you thought possible, and Toto has no choice but to follow you into the abyss, unable to hold back his orgasm at the unbearably hot and wet grasp of your cunt. your husband rocks into you through the afterglow, pausing only when you start to whimper in too much, and not feeling good. staring up at toto with a blissed-out smile and half-lidded eyes, you sigh sweetly as he slips out and leans down to kiss you again. the press of his lips is syrupy sweet and you find yourself getting lost under the feeling of him pouring his love and devotion into you—even though you don’t need the reminder—and the timer you’ve set on your phone blares jarringly causing you and toto to jump apart, startled. 

“what the fuck,” Toto deadpans as you scramble around to turn off the alarm. 

you sigh in relief once the aggravating sound is silenced, and nudge at Toto’s hip with your foot, “well—don’t just stand there! get the bread out before it burns!”

the austrian huffs exaggeratedly, like it’s such a chore, and pulls on the oven mitts to take out the pumpernickel bread adaptation after you direct him to the proper oven, not wanting him to disturb the traditional bread baking. the sight of the known headphone-smashing, hothead mercedes team principal completely naked spare for a pair of oven mitts is amusing, enough that you can’t quiet your snort, uncaring of how Toto glares at you. he places the baking tin on the cooling rack you set to the side, and hums happily at the aroma—even though it’s a far cry from the usual bread he prefers. like the oaf he is, Toto reaches to pull a piece of the fresh pumpernickel to eat, but with lightning quick speed you reach over and slap his hand away before he defiles the bread. 

“aht aht! what do you think you're doing? it needs at least forty-five minutes to cool before you can take a slice,” you scold the grown man.

Toto pouts (astounding, honestly), and then he brightens considerably, a sleazy smirk spreading across his lips, “ah? we have time for a second round then, maybe three…” you laugh hysterically, ignoring the way your stomach flips pleasingly at the suggestion, and slide off the counter, buttoning up your collared shirt, and you bend down to pick up the discarded pieces of clothing lying on the floor, “there’s no way you manage to get hard twice in forty-five minutes, old man–” Toto balks at your words–he’s really not old, or at least not that old, “–however, it’s enough time to finish washing the dishes you distracted me from doing.”

taglist: @saintslewi@cherry2stems@lorarri@inloveallthetime@mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

© httpsserene2023

[lulujeno]

lowkey — park jisung ᡣ𐭩

summary : you and jisung like keeping your relationship lowkey

warnings : slight mentions of parties/alcohol 2x, other than that its fluff(?)

wc : 0.5k

a/n : gn!readerrrrr :D wrote this at like 3 am so pls lmk if there are any mistakes </3 was listening to niki's lowkey and got inspired to write this!! has a few easter eggs from the song but the story doesn't really match up with the song tho 🤕 (plsplspls lmk what you think since its my first time writing like this)

You and Jisung were shoved into your room. It was Haechan’s party and he had the genius idea of playing 7 minutes in heaven. Unsurprisingly, he somehow turned it into another one of him and his friends’ poor attempts in getting either you or Jisung to confess to each other. Ever since you joined their highschool your brother and his friends have been trying to get the both of you together. You two were shy at first but eventually got comfortable with each other since it didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon.

“Do they really not know?” Jisung asked as he sat on your king-sized bed, patting the spot next to him to tell you to sit there.

You opted to lay your head on his lap instead, feeling his fingers softly massaging your scalp. “I mean, we are trying to hide it from them. It’s better like this anyways, peace and quiet without them teasing us” you say while admiring how cute your boyfriend looks from this angle.

An aggressive knock is then heard, making Jisung jump a little. “Five more minutes!” you hear Chenle shout through the door, reminding you of your limited time together.

The boy above you notices you yawning and asks if you’d rather take a quick nap instead, letting you know that he’ll wake you up when time is up. You shake your head before letting out another yawn. Jisung lets out a slight chuckle before placing your head on one of your pillows. Too sleepy to open your eyes, you hear shuffling sounds and feel your bed dip a little next to you. The arm on your waist and hand in your hair confirming that it was your boyfriend and not another person who came in and suddenly slept on your bed.

“Stop Ji, what if they barge in on us?” you warned him, not really wanting this moment to end.

A smile forms on Jisungs face, you look so cute in his eyes right now. “That’s a problem for us to face later on. Let’s just take a short nap for now.” He says while stroking your hair softly as if you were the most fragile thing on earth.

Chenle giving a three minute warning was muffled in the background as he was too focused staring at you, not believing that you were finally his after years of desperately crushing on you. You suddenly turned around, almost giving the boy a heart attack. Luckily you were deep asleep so he didn't have to deal with you teasing him for staring.

Jisung lifted his arm from your waist, grabbing his phone that was in his pocket to check the time. It read exactly two thirty am, one minute before the seven minutes were up. Suddenly, he gave you a quick peck on your lips. The impulse coming from the alcohol in his system gave him the confidence boost. While admiring your features after, he thought that maybe it was time to be more than lowkey with you.

Perfectly at the seven minute mark he fell asleep, not caring about the vibrations from his phone and the banging on the door from his friends telling you guys that time’s up. You both can deal with it later when the sun is up.

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀʀ ɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ..."

Word count: 6000.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

Warnings: Angst.

FALLING — 7. Her.

During the first moons of her stay at the Red Keep, everything seemed new and exciting. There was some sense of freedom in not having her family around, but with each sunrise, it became more complicated, and the longing grew stronger.

The letters she received from her mother initially brought comfort, but soon they became short. No matter how many words her mother wrote about her, her siblings, and her father, it was never enough. She wrote daily, though she only sent them every three days. She would tell her about her day, always omitting her nightly outings, and tried to hide how much she missed them, and her mother, worried, always asked about Aemond's progress.

Over time, even all the letters became inadequate; they couldn't fill the void she felt. She longed to hear their voices, feel the warmth of their hugs. She questioned a few times if it had been a good idea, but she quickly dismissed those thoughts to remain resolute.

Aemond spent most of his time in the yard, both morning and evening, promising to become the best warrior for her. This caused their visits to the library to decrease. Nevertheless, every night without fail, they slept together, face to face, finding solace in each other's presence.

Her lessons with the septa became increasingly tedious, or perhaps she just grew more easily bored. She spent a lot of time in Helaena's room, who seemed happy to have her. Helaena continued to intrigue her with riddles and enigmatic phrases, making her wonder when each prediction would come true. So far, none seemed bad, so she wasn't frightened or worried. Helaena also helped her improve her embroidery technique, although there wasn't much to be done; it wasn't her strong suit. Soon, the lack of activities even led her to become interested in her insects, delighted to see her aunt’s enthusiasm.

One day, while sitting on the floor, Helaena placed a ladybug on her hand. "It tickles" she said, laughing softly as the insect walked across her palm. Helaena smiled at her, happy to share her passion with someone.

"They all have seven dots, the red ones" Helaena said, revealing an interesting curiosity. "She likes you" she added, looking her in the eyes with a slight smile. She thanked her for saying that.

"What about those?" she asked, pointing to a wooden box with a transparent lid, where several insects could be seen inside. There were some spiders and others she couldn't name.

When Helaena turned to look in the direction her finger pointed, her smile faded a bit. She took the box in her hands and allowed her to observe them from above, while the ladybug continued to walk between her fingers and fly from one hand to the other.

"I do not trust them yet" she said quietly. "I am not sure whether their wishes are for good or ill."

“Why?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Helaena pointed to a large black spider from above and said: "They weave intricate webs, and sometimes those webs can hide important secrets. I'm still trying to unravel which ones" she said, frowning. "But what I know is, we have to beware of the guardian of secrets" she warned, as if wanting to protect her from an-as-yet unknown danger. She simply nodded, hoping nothing bad would come of it.

As time passed, life at the castle continued with its ups and downs; Aemond's training, the enigmatic conversations with Helaena, the whispers of the people, and the few letters from her mother. Even through it all, she found moments of peace, and convinced herself that despite the challenges, she was exactly where she needed to be, next to him.

Occasionally, she found distraction by visiting her grandsire's room. She spent hours there, reading to him, listening to his fascinating stories about their ancestors and the old Valyria. Often, she asked for tales about her mother's youth, seeking to feel closer to her.

She had also begun to insist on Lyra's presence during every meal, finding in her company a sense of familiarity, a relief from her growing homesickness. As expected, everything began to feel cramped, and Lyra, as perceptive as ever, had noticed it, and she herself could no longer ignore it.

She missed her family terribly, and there was nothing that could ease that pain, except the obvious. She felt trapped, guilty for wanting to go to Dragonstone and leave Aemond behind, but she couldn't help it.

"Could it be that, perhaps, I've made a mistake coming here?" she asked one night, her voice filled with doubt and shame for exposing her deepest thoughts.

"I do not think things are that simple, princess. You came here with good intentions, and missing your family is only natural, it does not mean you have made a mistake" Lyra replied gently.

She nodded, acknowledging the truth in those words. "I do really miss them" she murmured, longing evident, head bowed. "No matter how hard I try, this is not my home."

"Why do you say that, princess?" After dinner, Lyra had drawn her a warm bath, and now, in her nightdress, Lyra was gently brushing her long hair.

"I've heard the whispers when I walk alone in the halls." Lyra nodded, understanding the situation and listening attentively to her words. Both were sitting on the bed, and she was with her back facing her lady-in-waiting, between her legs. "It's as if they believe me deaf. I know what they say or think, and it's not... good" she confessed, pain reflected in her voice.

Upon hearing her last words, Lyra set the brush aside and drew her close, wrapping her in a comforting embrace. Lyra was the daughter of one of Rhaenyra's ladies-in-waiting and had lived her entire life in that family. Though only a few years older, she felt a deep maternal love for the princess. 

"We must not let such foolish words disturb our ears, and if they do, let us ensure they do not enter our precious minds, yes?" Lyra said, whispering with firmness. "They mean nothing."

She nodded, and unable to contain herself, she began to cry softly in her caretaker's arms. They remained like that for a while until she could calm down. She appreciated Lyra's love and understanding, feeling fortunate to have someone like that by her side, watching over her well-being.

After some time, Lyra left the room, wishing her goodnight. This was her signal to get up, put on her cloak over her shoulders, dampen her face a bit to erase any trace of dry tears, and take the gift she had prepared so much for him with the help of her mother. With a mix of excitement and nervousness, she headed towards her destination, seeking to find another place of peace and connection amidst the storm of emotions that assailed her.

Aemond's nameday wasn't until the next morning, but she never had much patience for such things. That night, like all others, she entered the room with a candle in one hand, only now she hid the gift behind her back with the other.

Aemond was sitting by the window, his gaze fixed on the night sky. She closed the door with her hip, as both her hands were occupied, and walked over to him. Aemond's face showed signs of fatigue, even some sadness. She knew he was trying to stay awake while waiting for her, as always. The notion of time had escaped her during the shared moment with Lyra, and he always ended up terribly exhausted by his training. Seeing her arrive, Aemond settled and offered a tired smile. She circled the bed, placing the candle on the small table, and with her free hand, she took off her cloak, hiding the gift underneath on the nearby chair.

She walked towards him slowly, observing the clear sky. The moon shone over the city, enhancing the delicacy of his face.

"This is how the night was when I claimed Vhagar" he said, with sorrow. Her heart squeezed at his words, she sadly knew he would never have a flight like that again.

"What was it like?" she finally asked, cautiously. She had never dared to ask about that moment, fearing to reopen wounds, but now that he mentioned it, her curiosity stirred again.

He smiled, still looking at the sky. "I never imagined flying would feel like that" he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "Did it ever trouble you when I did?" he asked.

"What? Claim Vhagar?" she inquired, surprised by his question.

"Yes" he said softly, his voice tinged with apprehension.

She smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder, her eyes reflecting pride. "Of course not. It was meant for you, a warrior destined for a warrior." Her words carried a sense of admiration and certainty, a testament to her unwavering belief in his capabilities. "And that was just the beginning, Aemond. Together, you will be unstoppable" she said, her voice whispering with conviction and anticipation. "I do feel safer knowing we have you as protectors."

"Thank you" he expressed, hopeful. She knew the journey was just beginning, and the horizon stretched like a promise of all the adventures to come. "I did it on behalf of us both." She smiled gratefully, gently squeezing him.

"I know they will write books that will pass through all the ages, Aemond, about your courage and triumph" she said, walking towards the sofa.

"I'm not sure about that much" he replied, laughing lightly at her words.

"Then I will be the one to write them" she said, pulling the gift from under her cloak. "Close your eye" she instructed, with an excited smile. Aemond obeyed, but not before giving her an odd look.

"Open your hands" she indicated once she was in front of him again. He did so without question, and with a gentle gesture, she placed the gift in his hands, which lowered slightly at the unexpected weight.

"Now you can look" she whispered. Aemond did so quickly, and looked surprised at the delicate blue velvet bag. She was looking at him with excitement and a touch of nervousness. It was the first time she had given such a planned gift to someone, and she hoped not to disappoint. But even if she did, she would never find out, as he would never show it.

"It's your nameday present" she explained with a radiant smile. "I couldn't wait to give it to you on the morrow, and I wanted to be the first one to do it" she said, letting out a small laugh from her lips.

"I love it" he replied, placing the gift on his lap and looking directly at her, the faint moonlight adorning his gaze with a softness that made him appear even more beautiful.

"You haven't even seen it!" she exclaimed, softly laughing. "Come on, open it."

"I would love anything you gave me" he said laughing too, while untying the laces of the velvet bag to reveal the gift. She had a premonition that his words were sincere.

He carefully pulled the wooden case out of the bag. It was made of ebony, so its color was dark like the night, almost black, and was decorated with delicate carvings. He ran his hand over the surface, appreciating the abstract shapes as if they were a work of art. He had a slightly open mouth as he admired the case with admiration. Then, carefully, he opened it, revealing the true gift.

Inside rested a valyrian steel dagger, shining and forged with impeccable craftsmanship. Its sharp, polished blade reflected the light with a silver shine. Each side of it was adorned with intricate engravings that wound from the hilt to the edge.

His eyes lit up upon seeing it, and a sincere smile spread across his face. "It's valyrian steel" she explained enthusiastically, "so you'll always carry a piece of our roots."

The handle was equally impressive. It was wrapped in black leather, a material that, according to the smith, provided a more comfortable and secure grip. However, the highlight was the sapphires embedded in the handle. The sapphires, of a deep and radiant blue, were skillfully set into the metal, creating a vibrant contrast with the silver. Each sapphire was carefully polished, capturing flashes of light that gave the impression of small stars embedded in the hilt.

The guard of the dagger, also made of steel, was decorated with intertwining motifs that complemented the sapphires in the handle. Aemond took it in his hands carefully, observing every detail meticulously.

She had often heard him speak about Viserys's dagger, seeing the longing in his eyes when he did so, as well as the sadness knowing he could never possess it. That's why she had tried to make something unique for him, something exclusively his, perhaps even something that could be passed down to future Targaryens, always remembered as his.

He set the dagger aside and looked at the box. Inside was a sapphire too. She knew some people carried those precious gemstones as talismans, believing they protected the eyes and helped see beyond the physical. Besides, she had always thought the color matched his eyes. It seemed like a thoughtful detail, but she didn't dare mention its significance.

"My father gave me two he brought back from one of his expeditions to the Stepstones a few years ago" she explained, smiling as he held the sapphire between his fingers, admiring it in the light streaming through the window. "I have the other one" she added shyly. "So you always have a piece of sky, or sea, and I hope it always reminds you that you are destined for something big." He set the sapphire aside and continued to observe. She wondered if he would be attentive enough to explore further, and of course, he was.

The box was lined with more velvet and there was a small cushion where the dagger rested. During her lessons and visits to Helaena, she had embroidered the fabric, and the tailor had turned it into this. She had tried to depict waves and the moon in different shades of blue and teal, with some white stars. They might not have been perfect, but she had poured her heart into them.

He traced the fabric with his fingers, still not saying a word.

"I embroidered it" she added proudly. Then he put the dagger back in the case, but kept the sapphire in his hand. She waited anxiously for his words. "I’m sure it does not compare to Viserys', but..."

"It's perfect" he interrupted, his voice sincere. She let out a sigh she didn't know she'd been holding, a wave of relief and happiness at his reaction. "I..." he began, hesitating. He shook his head slightly, searching for words. Then he put the case back in the velvet bag and stepped away from the window ledge. Once face to face, he hugged her unexpectedly. With one hand he held the gift and with the other he held her tightly. She returned the embrace with a smile, now more relaxed. 

"Thank you" he whispered, holding her even tighter, their hearts almost merging in that hug. When they separated, his eye sparkled, holding back some tears, just like hers. "Let us go to bed" he said, noticing his body was cold from being pressed against the window glass. He approached a shelf where he kept some of his most precious books and now his most precious object, then headed for the bed, placing the sapphire on the bedside table after admiring it again.

Smiling, they both got under the covers, facing each other, feeling their bodies warming up again. They both reached out their hands at the same time, their hands meeting in the middle. They laughed softly and intertwined their fingers in the middle of the bed. It was their routine, talking like this, face to face, until they ran out of things to say, with their hands joined. Then they slept together, sometimes with her head on his chest, sometimes with him nestled in her arms.

"I loved it" he said sincerely. "Absolutely everything," he assured her, "no one has ever given me a better present."

She smiled proudly, happy with his words. "I'm glad you liked it."

They looked at each other in silence. It was a comfortable silence, warm even. It was at that moment, suddenly, while they looked at each other, that hundreds of thoughts flooded her mind like a torrent. Did everyone experience something as wonderful as this? Did everyone have someone to whom giving the whole world, along with their heart on a silver platter, seemed not enough? Did everyone's heart beat so wildly when looking someone in the eyes? Or was it something that only happened when it was the most beautiful face in the kingdom gazing back at them?

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when she saw that he seemed to want to say something too. They both remained silent, waiting for the other to speak first.

"You can go first" she said softly.

"No, you're a lady, you go" he insisted courteously.

"No, please, you tell me" she said, almost pleading with her eyes, though she wasn't exactly sure what she hoped to hear, still trying to understand the strange sensation in her chest.

"Tell me, please" he echoed at the same time, and they laughed again at the coincidence.

"You're my best friend" he exclaimed finally.

"You're my best friend" she replied, in perfect sync.

They laughed again, and as they truly heard each other's words, they smiled. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks. At that moment, everything made sense to her. That special, innocent feeling, that pure joy, so complex yet so simple, was love. She didn't need to fully understand it to know it was real, and that it was reciprocated.

They lingered for a moment, lost in each other's gaze. Aemond's eyes glowed with a tenderness that mirrored her own. Without needing more words, they leaned in slowly and shared a hug filled with affection and silent promises. The moonlight bathed the room, enveloping them in its silver glow. Every moment seemed magical, as if time had stopped just for them.

In that instant, in the tranquility of the night, they both knew that despite the challenges, they would always have that special bond that united them.

Finally, they settled comfortably under the covers, still close, their hearts beating in unison, and they embraced the serenity.

Once back in her room, she spent the day with Lyra again. If it were up to her, she would have spent the entire day with Aemond, but she knew he would break fast with his mother as usual. Later, he would be busy with his training, something that excited him especially now, with the anticipation of wielding a real sword, finally, as he had come of age for it.

At dusk, after writing to her mother and enjoying a hot bath, the woman helped her dress in the carefully chosen attire for the occasion. She opted for a flowing blue dress and some delicate jewelry. As Lyra began to brush her hair, preparing to style it up as she always did, she decided to change her mind.

Aemond had always praised her curls, often running his fingers through them in the night until he drifted off to sleep, and she thought it would be a pleasant surprise for him to wear her hair loose, something she only did in the privacy of their rooms.

When she was almost ready, Lyra was about to accompany her to the hall where the feast would take place, but they heard soft knocks on the door. Few were the times someone sought out her room, so both were intrigued. Lyra walked towards the door and opened it, while she adjusted the sandals that complemented her dress. When she looked up, she found Aemond standing in front of her, looking at her in awe, with Lyra behind him, barely able to hide her huge smile biting her lower lip.

She felt the blush rise to her cheeks, they were not accustomed to being so close in front of other people, so she didn't know how to react, a little flustered with her lady-in-waiting standing there.

Aemond's hair was neatly tied back in a half ponytail. His left side was partly covered by the patch he wore during his training, and he was dressed in a handsome green suit.

"I’ve come to escort you, princess" he murmured shyly, mindful of the third presence. She smiled and nodded, walking towards him and taking his right arm.

"Happy nameday, my prince. May you both enjoy a good supper" Lyra chimed in, opening the door for them to leave.

"Thank you, my lady" Aemond replied courteously before walking out of the room.

Once out of the enthusiastic gaze, she squeezed his arm and looked at him. "Happy nameday, my prince."

He looked at her with a smile that radiated happiness as he guided her through the dimly lit corridors by torchlight, the sun already hidden. "Thank you, my princess." The next words seemed to come with a touch of adoration and nervousness. "You look beautiful tonight... well, you always do, but tonight especially so."

She responded with a grateful smile. "You look lovely too, as always, my prince." He smiled faintly, an expression that denoted a hint of skepticism, as if he couldn't quite believe all the compliments she gave him. As they walked together, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor, she broke the silence with a curious question. "What gifts have you received so far?"

With a gleam of joy in his eyes, he replied, "my grandsire had a new saddle made for Vhagar. It's magnificent." His voice filled with enthusiasm. "My mother gave me some ancient books from Oldtown, and she also surprised me with Daeron's visit. I barely remembered his face." She widened her eyes in surprise, vaguely recalling Daeron, who was her age and whom she had seen only once. "Helaena gave me a suit embroidered by herself, with two intertwined dragons" he said with palpable excitement, hoping it meant something. "And Viserys gave me a Valyrian steel sword, with a belt that also has space for a dagger. Aegon mentioned he would give me his present later" he concluded happily. 

She smiled, glad that each gift sounded well thought out, just right for him, although still puzzled why he referred to his father by his name. As they finished their conversation, they found themselves standing in front of the imposing doors of the grand hall. Instinctively, both separated their arms as the guards opened the large doors, announcing their arrival. 

The guests stood in the center of the hall, conversing animatedly, except for the king and the Hand, who were already seated. The queen approached them with a maternal smile and planted a kiss on her son's forehead. "We were waiting for you, my dearest" she said affectionately. Then, taking his hand to guide him to his seat, she turned to her. "Princess, we did not expect you. What a lovely surprise" she added with a smile.

She felt a small knot of uncertainty in her stomach, wondering if she was intruding, but Aemond wouldn't have sought her out if that were the case. She returned the queen's smile and noticed how she gestured to the servants, who quickly added a chair and tableware next to Helaena. Helaena smiled at her and, before she could greet her, moved towards that newly added chair, giving up her place directly in front of Aemond, which she appreciated. Perhaps Helaena wanted her to sit opposite her brother, or simply preferred not to be near Aegon, an understandable preference.

She sat down with a grateful smile, though still somewhat uncomfortable. The feast began, and musicians played cheerful ballads that filled the air with a festive atmosphere. Laughter and conversation flowed along the table, and she almost forgot how much she missed her family, caught up in the distraction of the moment. She noticed that the wine jug beside her needed refilling more often than others, and wondered how long it would be before Aegon spoiled the mood. He was fun and pleasant when sober, but she couldn't say the same when he was drunk.

"Princess, I heard you've been learning High Valyrian" said the king, smiling at her with somewhat weary eyes. She smiled happily at the question, and Aemond paid attention, interested in the conversation.

"Yes, your grace. Aemond has been an excellent instructor" she replied proudly.

"She is making incredible progress" Aemond added, shyly.

"I bet it comes easy to you, just like your mother" the king said, smiling before taking a sip of wine. Perhaps to an untrained eye, Aemond's slight disappointment might have gone unnoticed, but she saw it, and understood why. She couldn't blame the king for loving his daughter so much, as her mother was a splendid person, but she felt sorry that he didn't see the fortune in having Helaena and Aemond, who were just as intelligent and kind.

"With Aemond as my guide, it's only natural for me to learn quickly, your grace" she said, smiling at Aemond. He seemed to appreciate the gesture, and the king looked pleased with the response, nodding before moving on to another conversation. Aegon's raised eyebrows and mischievous smile did not go unnoticed.

Helaena was showing her a figure she always carried, a wooden butterfly that Viserys had given her when she was a baby. She wondered if maybe that was the origin of her fascination with insects. As they continued talking, she felt an unfamiliar finger tangle in one of her curls, pulling it lightly. It was Aegon, who was looking at her hair with mocking attention.

"The Arryn blood is strong, is it not, niece?" he said sarcastically, and in a low voice, ensuring the king did not hear.

She tensed at the comment, and Helaena looked at Aegon disapprovingly. Her body stiffened, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. In that moment, she inwardly cursed herself for not wearing black and for wearing her hair loose, proudly displaying her curls. Aegon simply removed his finger and engaged in another conversation, losing interest in teasing her, but she couldn't return to her previous state.

Helaena gently squeezed her hand, offering a small supportive smile, but it did little to calm her. Aemond didn't seem to hear the remark, for which she was thankful.

She felt more alone than ever, like an uninvited guest in a place she once called home. And she came to understand her siblings' anger at such insults, not to the same extent, of course, but she did.

The rest of the dinner passed without further incidents. Some guests joined in a lively dance once the meal was over, and laughter was heard in the hall as the wine continued to flow.

Aemond glanced at her several times, concerned about her obvious discomfort. She didn't want to spoil his celebration, so she tried to offer a reassuring smile whenever their eyes met.

She found herself caught up in various pleasant conversations with the other nobles present, mostly with Daeron, who was her same age, and Heleana. She tried to keep away from Aegon as much as possible. Aemond, on his part, approached her on several occasions, rescuing her from the dull talks of the elders. He tried to distract her with amusing anecdotes from his training or asked her about stories of dragons, which she knew by heart. Though her mind was elsewhere, she appreciated his efforts to make her feel comfortable and protected.

Finally, as the feast began to wind down into the night, Aemond approached her with determination in his eyes.

"Princess, would you like to take a walk through the gardens? The night is beautiful" he suggested.

She smiled, grateful for the chance to get away from the bustle. "I would love to, my prince."

Together, they left the main hall and made their way to the quiet gardens of the castle. The moon shone above them, illuminating their flowers lined path as they walked silently along. Aemond seemed less tense now, more relaxed under the starry sky, offering her his arm courteously.

"I'm sorry if anything made you uncomfortable tonight" Aemond finally said, breaking the silence. "I hope nothing else happened" he murmured, a slight concern in his eyes.

She shook her head gently, feeling comforted by his worry. "It's not your fault, Aemond. I'm fine. Just... I'm not used to being without my family."

He nodded, looking at her with understanding. "I know. And I know sometimes people can be... thoughtless" he said, almost apologizing again.

They walked a bit further in silence before she found the courage to speak about what she was really thinking. "Do you ever feel that way, Aemond?" she hesitated for a moment. "Like you don't quite fit in?"

He stopped and looked at her directly, uncertain. His eyes, under the full moon and clear sky, seemed deeper, more reflective, sadder at her question. "Sometimes," he admitted softly, "but when I'm with you, princess, everything seems to fall into place. I do hope you feel the same."

Her heart skipped at his sincere words, feeling a twinge of guilt for longing to return to her family. "Thank you, Aemond. Should we head back? It's getting chilly."

He smiled, softening his features. "Yes."

They continued walking together, enjoying the peace and serenity of the night. As they progressed, leaving the gardens behind and climbing the keep stairs, she said, "I hope you've enjoyed your day, my prince." He nodded. Once they reached the hallway they shared, she whispered: "Should I visit you tonight?"

"Of course" he replied naturally, offering a comforting smile.

"You said Aegon would bring your gift, I wouldn't want to arrive at an inopportune moment" she said, reminding him.

He nodded, realizing he had forgotten his earlier conversation with his brother. "You're right. Maybe I should come instead. I can come right after he leaves" he suggested, and she eagerly agreed to the plan.

When they finally stood in front of the door, with no one in sight, her hands began to sweat nervously. It was just a temporary farewell, like countless others before, so she didn't understand why her body felt so restless, or why her heart was pounding so hard. And why were her thoughts centered on whether kissing him would ease her mind?

Before pushing the door, she turned to him, catching Aemond’s smile, oblivious to her internal doubts. "May I, perhaps, try something?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, hoping she hadn't misinterpreted any signals.

He arched an eyebrow, curious at her question, but nodded in consent. Without further ado, she took a step forward and, with determination, closed the distance between them. She pressed her lips gently against his, all her questions melting away in that fleeting moment. She closed her eyes, unable to see Aemond's initial surprise.

When they parted, Aemond's face was flushed, his eye wide with astonishment, causing a flutter of concern in her chest. Before she could apologize, he mirrored her action, leaning in and returning the innocent kiss. This time, both closed their eyes, letting themselves be carried away by the moment as their hands instinctively intertwined.

As they pulled away, shy but content smiles graced their faces. The special discovery left them breathless.

"Goodnight" she whispered, a thrilling buzz inside her.

"Goodnight" he replied with equal softness and carrying the same exhilaration.

Once inside, the room was again in perfect order, something she was thankful for. Aemond always seemed to value the organization and she wanted him to feel like in his own space. Peaceful, comfortable, happy. Her chambers were perfectly illuminated by the moon and the glow of the fire burning in the fireplace, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.

She walked to the door she used every night, leaving it slightly ajar, then shed her dress, donning her nightgown and slipping immediately into bed. She tried to immerse herself in the book on her nightstand, but her mind kept returning to the shared kiss. Touching her lips with the tips of her fingers, she wondered if it had also been Aemond's first time. She hoped it was.

Soon she realized it was futile to try to distract herself with the book. Her heart still raced, and her mind was full of questions and anticipations. She tossed and turned in bed, unable to stay still as she waited for Aemond to arrive. She was worried, fearing she had ruined everything with her impulsiveness. Or worse, that Aemond had changed his mind after that.

Exhaustion finally overcame her, her head swirling with thoughts, and she fell asleep hoping everything would be okay between them.

The sun stung her face as she began to wake, the warmth of the morning enveloping her. There were faint noises in the room, but still too sleepy to make them out, she tried to ignore them. Suddenly, her eyes flew wide open and she sat up abruptly. The bed was empty, but the secondary door remained open, an invitation to scolding from her lady-in-waiting.

Lyra soon noticed she was awake. With a sorrowful expression, she approached the bed slowly and sat beside her. The princess's gaze searched for answers, but none of her assumptions came close to the reality.

"A raven has arrived today from Dragonstone, my princess..." Lyra began softly, choosing her words carefully. She nodded, attentive and anxious to know more, urging her to continue. "Your father, Prince Leanor, has passed away" she announced.

With those words, the princess's entire world shattered once more in an instant. Tears began to cascade uncontrollably, unleashed without any permission, but she knew it was only a matter of time, a storm that had been brewing finally erupted. Her overwhelming feelings of longing for her family and the unsettling sense of being like a stranger in the castle where she had grown up intensified her anguish even more. Guilt and regret gnawed at her, constricting her chest and stealing the air in her lungs. Lyra tried to soothe her, urging her to breathe, but it was in vain. 

So many moons spent in the Red Keep, precious time lost with her father that could never be reclaimed. Now, with the loss irreversible, she couldn't even seek answers about how it happened, the trauma of Harwin Strong's death still raw. Her chest tightened, heaving, as her mind spun relentlessly, refusing to accept what her ears had heard.

Lyra enveloped her in protective arms, a bulwark against the whirlwind of emotions crashing over her as the harsh news unfolded before her. "We must leave immediately, there is a ship waiting for us" she murmured softly, aware of the princess's magnitude of pain, but to the urgency of the situation too.

Tears continued to flow unabated as she nodded, succumbing to the overwhelming sensation of loss and guilt that engulfed her. She allowed herself to be consumed by it while Lyra hurriedly guided and helped her dress. Once ready, servants entered to assist with the luggage, moving efficiently as those who understood the gravity of the moment, and Lyra asked her to wait while she gathered her own belongings.

When the lady disappeared from her sight, she, with a pounding heart, hurried to Aemond's room. Upon arrival, Queen Alicent was just stepping out, her face a mask of concern and sorrow.

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss, princess" she said with palpable sincerity in her voice, closing the door behind her, but condolences were a luxury she could not afford now. She needed to see if everything was okay with Aemond before leaving, the thought of departing without clarity on their relationship or at least a farewell filled her with unease.

"Is Aemond awake? I wish to see him" she implored softly, tears silently streaming down her face. People passed around her—members of the council, servants—all casting sympathetic glances that went unnoticed.

"He does not wish to receive visitors at the moment" the queen replied firmly.

"But it is urgent" she insisted, desperation seeping into her voice. She tried to move past her and grasp the door handle, her hands trembling but determined, but the queen stopped her.

"I'm very sorry, princess, but you must understand" Alicent said, her tone unyielding.

On the brink of collapse, with each passing second more overwhelming than the last, she pleaded, "please" but received only refusals.

Moments later, Lyra appeared carrying a suitcase, hurrying towards her. "My princess, we must depart now" she said, after offering a courtesy to Alicent.

"But I need to see Aemond" she insisted, her voice a desperate whisper. Lyra looked to Alicent silently pleading for a concession, searching for a shred of sympathy, but the queen remained unmoved, her gaze fixed on the princess.

"We can exchange letters by ravens, yes? But the ship will depart soon, princess" Lyra said, her words weighted by both empathy and urgency.

She felt frustration and helplessness engulf her, on the verge of shouting in rage. With no other choice, she took Lyra's hand and let herself be led away, each step a battle against the hopelessness that surrounded her.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me

Last part from her POV as kids!

[notjustjavierpena]

His

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This has been on hiatus since July. I have finally decided to finish up another chapter. I have no idea where this is going but I am just going with it at this point. They’re fun! Enjoy part 4 of mean!joel ❤️💖

Summary: After Joel kisses you, something shifts. You find out a hard truth and take matters into your own hands.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, a mishmash of feelings, dubcon-ish themes, a hint of sub!joel (?!!!!?!!??) but he is not happy about it, a hint of edging, handjobs, degradation, humiliation, riding, unprotected piv, slapping, dirty talk, empty threats

Word count: 3.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48179338/chapters/135617983

His

Something shifts after Joel kisses you and leaves. Especially because he did it in a way that made it seem like he was bolting out of a burning building, leaving you inside for the walls to come tumbling down around you. You hardly blame him for reacting like he did that night; he is the most emotionally unavailable man you have ever had the (dis)pleasure of meeting, and you doubt that he even has the vocabulary to put words to why he fled your bed like it was the scene of a crime. It isn’t like you’re going to ask him though, not even despite being curious about his reasoning and intentions. 

For you, it is not a mystery what the shift is. The arrangement between the two of you used to be anticipation, fury, and lust. Now it’s a gentle tug at your heartstrings when you catch a glimpse of him in the streets and he doesn’t look your way, knowing you should not want him in the way you do. 

How you want him is harder to pinpoint. It’s not wedding bells, it’s not children padding around on the wooden floor of your home, it’s not doing laundry for him and watching him do the dishes after sharing a meal. It’s something less complicated than love. You don’t want him to love you, but you wouldn’t mind being his only and his favorite. 

Though irony would have it that it turns out you are indeed not his only source of whatever fucked up thing the two of you exchange once in a while. 

During a short break from a late-night meeting of your patrol group (Joel had decided last week to switch to another), one of the newcomers to Jackson snickers girlishly as she tells the rest of you about how Joel Miller had made her come four times last weekend. It makes something uncomfortable swirl in your stomach, makes it drop as you feel foolish about thinking you were special. Additionally, it takes all the willpower in you to not blurt out that he had made you come seven times during one of the nights you’d spent together.

To your surprise, It isn’t that he has slept with someone else that hits you. It’s the little piece of information that your new patrol member lets slip with a giggle. 

“Such a gentleman,” she says, basking in the attention of the circle of women standing around her. Their collective sigh makes you wonder what they’d say if you let them know that Joel forced you to suck him off the first time you were together. A part of you suspect that she is lying as she continues, “They don’t make ‘em like that anymore, girls. He was just so attentive and sweet.” 

After the meeting, you feel like you’re about to suffocate if you don’t leave the building quickly. The tightening in your chest makes your heart feel caged, desperate to come out into the open and bleed all over the place from making its way past your ribs. Desperately, you push past anyone who does not jump out of your way immediately. 

Once outside, you find a quiet spot behind the community center where people only come to be alone. You rest your forehead against the side of the building, breathing deeply in through your nose and exhaling shakily as you suppress the tears that threaten to roll down your face. 

“Fuck,” you say bitterly as a droplet still manages to escape from the corner of your eye. You wipe it away with a quick swipe of your hand as if to hide the evidence from the world and yourself, “Fuckfuckfuck. What the fuck are you crying over him about?”

However, the single tear seems to have opened the floodgates because you find yourself properly crying a few seconds later. It is ridiculous, you know this, but you cannot help the shaky breaths that leave your mouth as your cheeks stain with tears. 

Joel is not anything special. Joel is rude and arrogant, bordering on narcissistic and psychotic. You’re not even sure if he can smile, if he’s funny, or if he’s capable of not ruining things when touching them. He sure has ruined you, ruined both your nights and days because they’re spent wondering about him. 

Then again, surely he must know this because he looks at you from across the room the way he does. He must know what he is doing to you, and it makes you fucking furious because how did he ever think that he had the right to pursue you? Make you want him? And, to top all of it off, how does he think he has the right to not appreciate you? 

Rage slowly builds in your chest. Your heartbeat is threatening to make you pass out with how fast it is going, but you ground yourself by taking a few deep breaths that eventually stop your tears as well. 

I’ll fucking show him, you think, and it’s the white-hot fury in you that is talking.

You stalk across the streets of Jackson, earning a few concerned glances but no warning words. It’s a relief that you look angry enough for people not to bother you, because you wouldn’t be able to articulate your reasons for wanting to implode with how furious you are. 

Your legs take you all the way to Joel’s house. You stomp angrily up the porch’s stairs, but it’s only when you burst Joel’s front door open that you realize that you actually haven’t been in his home before. It’s also only then that you realize that you have no idea what you’re going to do now that you are here, too angry and out of your damn mind to explore the many pictures on the walls, the wooden carved figures on the shelves and… is that a guitar? 

You mentally shake yourself.

“Focus on the task at hand,” you say quietly with exasperation, and then the search for your betrayer begins.

You walk through the house with determination, but you soon realize that he is nowhere to be found downstairs. It doesn’t surprise you that he hasn’t locked his door (nobody in Jackson does), but you still feel disappointed that you can’t make a big dramatic scene of throwing a plate in the kitchen or a cushion in the living room. You feel slightly like a rage-filled balloon that’s slowly losing air. 

So you decide to go upstairs whilst still clinging to your rage, planning on waiting in his bedroom for his return but realizing that Joel is already in and sleeping in his bed. It’s late enough, you suppose, and you know he has a series of hard labor tasks on certain days.

You try your hardest not to feel too intoxicated by the smell of him on the sheets, need your head clear as you slowly start to undress right in front of his sleeping form. He looks so peaceful and so unlike his usual stoic self, and so vulnerable that the opportunity is too great to miss. 

You freeze the times he stirs slightly but he never wakes up, and soon, you are down to your underpants and nothing more and you are so wet with the anticipation of both sex and power in the room, even more with Joel being so unaware of it.

The bed creaks as you crawl onto it. You manage to straddle Joel before he wakes up fully, immediately lifting his arms to grab you and defend himself but when he realizes it’s your body on top of his, he falters.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” His voice is filled with sleep but he is nowhere near panic as you had hoped. 

You lean down over him and grab at his chin with the hand that’s not holding you up. You smile down at him but Joel is already staring down at your chest as you hover above him. You shake his head slightly, “Eyes up here, you bastard.”

“Shouldn’t look so pretty then,” he retorts. 

“Heard you were screwing around with that new bimbo. I thought you liked a challenge,” you tighten the grip on Joel’s jaw, push him back into the mattress, and catch the way he is connecting the dots in his head but the time it takes him makes you realize that there has been more than her. You growl, still hovering over him, and leaning down to ghost your lips over his whilst your eyes roam over his face, “It’s a damn fucking privilege to be breathing the same air as me.” 

“Cute,” he says quietly and brattishly. 

You push down briefly before letting go. Your eyes look down at his lips but you don’t kiss him like you want to, don’t want to give in when it would seem so vulnerable to give in to that temptation. 

Instead, you reach up to hold your palm in front of his mouth. You smile innocently, “Lick it.”

“What?” He chuckles in disbelief.

“Go on. Do as I say.”

Joel lets out his tongue and wets his lips. He gives in faster than you have anticipated, licks a long stripe from the start of your wrist to the middle of your palm, and coats your hand in disgusting, hot, and dirty saliva. 

“Did she do that?” You ask. You feel behind yourself to slide a hand down into Joel’s jeans and then past the waistband of his underwear, “Put you in your place because she knows how disgusting you are?” 

Joel is already half-hard as you take him in your slicked palm, and his cock comes alive fully not a moment later. He gasps into the bedroom but still looks cocky as ever, “Which of ‘em?”

“Fuck you,” you stroke him slowly and his breaths come out in small puffs that hardly make him seem calm and composed. You realize how much you’ve needed, craved, to put your hands on him. 

“That can be arranged,” he says, trying to catch a glimpse of what you are doing to him. He starts to move, makes an effort to flip you around but you catch him before he can follow through. You tighten your grip around his cock, squeezing him around the base until he gasps softly. 

“No one but me,” you say, “Okay?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart, what is this?” He rolls his eyes and moans when you stroke him once and then twice. 

“Are you going to behave?” You ask with a harsh grip again. You let your lips touch briefly now. 

“What?” Joel looks slightly disgusted. 

“I asked,” you begin and now you start to stroke him properly, mimicking what you have seen him do to himself when he has wanted to come on your face, “Are you going to behave, Joel?”

“No,” he teases. 

“Don’t make me ask once more, baby,” you move your hand up and down quickly, almost forcing him to near orgasm before you squeeze around the base to edge him. He hisses, neck blushing with how his heartbeat must be on overdrive. 

“Fuck,” he groans, throbbing in your hand, and with his snark, you almost just want to spend hours tracing the vein along his length with your fingertip, “Whaddaya want? You want me to be your little boyfriend or somethin’? Don’t be dumb, it don’t suit ya.”

“Listen,” you say, scooting back slightly and leaving a stain of your slick on the bottom of his t-shirt, “I’ll stick your big cock in me right now and let you come in me if you say I’m your only girl. You’ll never need another pussy than this.” 

He says your name as you straighten on top of him again but you let him know it doesn’t mean anything to you. Your free hand reaches to pull your panties to the side, and then you hold his cock in place as you slide down onto it and let it stretch you by bottoming out inside of you. You try your best to look motionless but he has a girth that stings.

“Say it,” you demand, slightly out of breath at the feeling of sitting on his thighs now. 

Joel is silent. He stares up at you, looking as if he has won because he is already inside of you but when you don’t hear an answer, you start lifting yourself off of him again. Joel grabs your hips in protest, holds you down, “No.”

“Then say it,” you reply, “Now.”

“You’re my girl,” he moans helplessly as you reward him with a roll of your hips. You make a noise as well, something closer to a tiny cry for him but you aren’t going to give in just like that.

“The only?” You inquire when you regain your composure. 

“My only girl, even if she’s a fuckin’ pain in the ass,” he groans. You flex your thighs to grip him around the middle and then you squeeze his length, letting your walls clamp down and it sends his eyes rolling backward. He bucks up his hips and you moan. 

However, you still have more to say and do. You don’t move yet, “I don’t believe you.”

Joel rolls his eyes, his grip on your hips tightening but he still doesn’t force you to ride him, “Jesus Christ, what the fuck now?”

“I think you’re a liar,” you inform him, trying to ignore how much every instinct in your body is telling you to use his dick for yourself. You squeeze around him again, “I think you’ll say anything to get pussy.”

“No one’s got a pussy like yours, sweetheart. You think I don’t know that?” He bares his teeth like an aggressive, cornered dog and he groans at the feeling of your soft, wet walls, “You’re like fuckin’ cocaine. Need more each time or I’ll never recover.”

“Don’t go finishing in me, Joel,” you scold. 

“I ain’t gonna,” he bites back, “I do have some self-control.”

“With the way you’ve been whoring around?” You tut, experimentally rocking your hips forward to feel him slip almost all the way out of your cunt. You move back to let him bury himself deep once more and whine, “Riiight.”

“Watch it, we’re only doin’ this because I allow it. I could break ya spine like a fuckin’ toothpick,” he breathes, hands going up along your thighs until he lets them glide up your back as if he is going to make truth of his threat, “Don’t forget who has the upper hand here.”

You relish in his rough hands on your lower back and finally start up a pace to ride him properly, not caring about how your thighs start to burn as you seek out pleasure. It’s a fun contrast to what Joel has just told you because his eyes glaze over in a way that shows you that he wouldn’t even know how to snap you in half if he wanted to. 

His breath has quickened, each intake and exhale becoming airy, whilst he holds your soft sides in his calloused grip. You rest your palms on top of his forearms, undulating your hips until his eyes roll back. He seems like he might lose his mind this time around, so submissive in his own way now that what you are doing to him has hit him by surprise. 

He shamelessly groans your name. Its roughness spurs you on, making you lean forward a little further to give him more. You ride him as if your life depends on it until something burns delicious in your belly and his pelvic bone grinds into your clit. 

Your first proper moan leaves you, high and squeaky. The angle has you baring your teeth, your breathing shaking, from how his cockhead stabs at your front wall repeatedly. You start spitting filth to not sound pathetic even further, “Fuck, Joel, your big cock is enough to make a girl lose her sanity. Makes my eyes wanna roll back.”

But Joel says nothing as he seems pissed off by what you have made of him. Instead, he breathes hard through his nose and occasionally lets a moan fall from his mouth. It pisses you off too. He had such a smart mouth just moments ago, and now he has resorted to being spiteful. 

You make a rash decision then. You move steadily on his cock, rhythm not faltering once, whilst reaching down to his face with your dominant hand. You smack his cheek hard enough to make a point and a noise, eyes narrowed, “Snap out of your ego tripping.”

Joel responds not with words but by curling his hand around your wrist and yanking it away, and then he takes hold of your smaller body once again and starts snapping his hips upwards, crashing them into yours until you nearly topple off of him after crying out. He tightens his hands on your body whilst you hold his forearm with one hand and have the other firmly planted on his chest, and suddenly you are working together towards a crescendo. 

“Give it to me!” You yell with your eyes screwed shut from the pressure against your clit and g-spot. Joel is swearing and his chest is glistening with sweat but he gives in to your command, making you bounce in his lap until he throws his head back and yells with you. 

“Fuck, honey,” he grits out, “Gonna make me come inside ya tight pussy.”

“Oh, it talks?” You quip, trying to hold back a pathetic string of cries but to no avail. Joel smooths his hands up to cup your body just below your breasts, digging his thumbs into your rib cage. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he retorts. 

“I’m gonna come,” you say instead and furrow your brow. 

“Yeah?” He mocks but then his face goes slack and you feel him twitch inside of you, impossibly close to the edge too, “Fuuuck, I can feel ya. Choke my cock real good, Doll.”

You come hard, unable to catch your breath as you keep moving back and forth on his length. Your whole pussy pulses, tight walls gripping him even further. The fingers holding onto his forearm make little indents and your nails on the other hand scratch into his chest until red lines form. And you cry. Oh, you cry and cry for him whilst singing his name.

The clenching of your cunt around his dick makes him reach his own point of no return a moment after. He does a sharp intake of breath and when he exhales even sharper, a groan follows, and his cock releases come inside of you. 

You use your last bit of energy to ride him through it. Your delirious mind, hazy with pleasure, makes your mouth run as you slowly drag your hips to match each twitch of his length, “See? She can’t love you like I do. Is that really what you want, Joel?” 

Joel pants underneath you. He tenses up when he hears those words but instead of pulling away, he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you down, “What the fuck did you just say?”

Your eyes widen slightly at the realization. In your chest, your pulse beats rapidly, “Just ‘cause I said it, doesn’t mean that I meant it.”

Joel tightens his grip briefly but then lets go. He sighs, then reaches up to rub his forehead in frustration, “I don’t have the strength.” 

“What’s so bad about it?” You ask, figuring that you might as well jump into the conversation now that you’ve been stupid enough to start it. 

“Don’t,” he warns, letting out a noise as he moves to pull out of you. Your panties move back into place, causing you to shiver.

“Please,” you know it is weak of you.

Joel says your name, mimicking the tone of a parent who is tired of hearing their child pestering them about something. He finds your eyes but doesn’t say anything else. 

“Just let me try something,” you continue and earn a raised brow. He stops trying to move. You swallow thickly but decide to be brave. 

Carefully, you curl your fingers into Joel’s chest hair and reach for his cheek with your other hand. You close the distance between the two of you, finding his mouth with your own and kissing him with a lot less vigor compared to what you have just done.

Underneath your palm on Joel’s chest, you can feel him exhale in something resembling relief. He doesn’t fight the kiss, no, instead he moves his arms and holds your waist. He kisses you back with closed eyes and soft hands, and you try not to ruin it by becoming eager. 

A few moments pass. When you finally pull away, he looks like a deer in the headlights of a car but you talk before he can, “Go to sleep. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything; I can see you’re exhausted.”

You move off of him to lie down at his side instead. Besides you, Joel closes his eyes without hesitation as if he needs to escape any conversation but when his breathing slows down further and you realize that he is drifting off, he looks mostly like a tamed beast. 

Ever so gently, you run a hand over his hair. He shifts only a little bit, so you do it again and suddenly you’re stroking the salt and pepper curls repeatedly.

To think that he had been ready to fight if someone touched him just half an hour ago. You continue for a few minutes before leaving the bed, heading for his bathroom to get cleaned up, and when you return again, he doesn’t react this time either.

The next day, you’re back in the same patrol group. 

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[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SEVEN: INHIBITION (OR LACK THERE OF)

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SUMMARY ↳ The three C's (carnival, chaos, and cuddle pollen). Jon lets you drag him away, looking back to see Damian squinting at him through the mask. Making your way out of the venue you catch onto Ivy’s parting words. "In a world of violence and chaos, my cuddle pollen offers a moment of peace, a false but blissful reprieve. It's almost poetic, isn't it?" Fuck. Your. Life. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: mentions of having sex (as a joke/none is actually had), cuddle pollen (kind of non-con cuddling and kissing, but reader really doesn't mind) wc: 4.4k

Nari wakes you up by screeching in your ear. You groan and roll over, snatching him up and gently throwing him off the bed. You sit in bed and contemplate if you really have to get up and function as a normal person, but alas, you do. Grabbing your phone, your eyes widen a tad. Jesus, you slept till ten? Good thing it’s the weekend.

You have the day off from work, so it’s up to you to find something to do. You feed Nari, making sure to give him a bunch of apologetic kisses. Maybe you’ll swing by the Den today. It won’t hurt to work some more on the badassium.

You groan and stretch, doing some warm-up exercises. Nari perches on your back as you do push ups. He weighs nothing, but it’s the thought that counts. Karen pipes up from your laptop.

“I’ve done you the liberty of adding Victoria’s contact info on your phone.”

You release a fond sigh. “Bit of a meddler, are you?”

“I am simply saving us time.” You snort. You grab your phone, changing Victoria’s name and shoot her a text.

sugar mommy

whats good how we doing

i dont need anything just wanted to say hi

also its [name] btw

Her response comes a minute later.

[Name]???

How did you get my number?

karen did

shes kind of my guy in the chair

does all the super cool behind the scenes stuff yknow how it is

I thought I was your ‘guy in the chair’

fym ur my sugar mommy

Her only response is a money bag emoji, making you chuckle. She’s got personality and it makes you smile. A knock at the door catches your attention. Probably May coming to make sure you’re not dead. She’s gotten used to leaving early now. The lock clicks as you open the door.

Oh, it’s not May. It’s Jon .

“Jon!” you say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles, a friendly one. “Hi, [Name]. I was just visiting Dami, but he seems to be in a mood… so I was wondering if we could hang out?” he asks, hopeful. “If that’s okay with you?”

You coo internally. You’ll never get over how sweet he is. “Yeah, of course. Just text me next time, yeah?”

He nods, stepping inside as you open the door for him. Nari trots over to him and rubs against his ankles. “What time did you get up? I don’t think Metropolis is that close to GC.” You feel a little evil, putting him on the spot because you know he flew here.

He pauses, thinking of an appropriate answer. “Uh, I don’t know. Six, maybe?” he winces, hoping that answer makes sense. You don’t have it in you to do the mental calculations so early in the morning, so you nod. You wouldn’t actually out him like that, anyway.

“Got any ideas are we just gonna have hot sex the whole day?”

Jon, to his credit, only lightly blushes. He’s long gotten used to your sense of humor. “There’s that carnival that just opened.”

“Mmm, maybe later. Carnivals always look better when it’s dark.”

“Then…” he thinks, “...let’s just go for a walk. See what we find.”

You grab your keychain with far too many charms on it and your other essentials, hooking your arm in Jon's. “Lead the way.”

May doesn’t have any outward reaction save for a knowing look as you exit the building. You squint your eyes at her in response. The noise of the city greets you as you walk out. People around you go on with their days, each living their own complex life.

It’s silent for a moment as the two of you walk. You take the moment to just think for a moment. You thought life was crazy when you found out you had crazy spider powers, but then you turned it around and made it into something good. You thought life was crazy when you got asked to officially join the avengers, but then you found a family in them. You thought life was crazy when you found out about the ‘spider verse’, but from that you realized you weren’t alone. You should’ve known better than to think it couldn’t get any crazier than that, but here you are. Very far from home.

You just wonder what will come out of this .

“You’re quiet,” Jon notes, voice barely a murmur.

“Just thinking.”

“That’s not good,” he jokes. You scoff and consider flicking him, but it would probably hurt.

“Just thinking how hard it’ll be for Damian to look me in the eye the next time I see him.”

Jon raises a brow. “What… happened between you and Damian? Is that why he was in a mood?”

“So crazy story, he walked in on me making out with my kind-of bully.” Jon’s eyes widen incredibly. His pace stutters and he chokes on air. You grin as you watch his flail. “Making out might be generous, but it was pretty passionate.”

You continue, “God, you should’ve seen the look on his face. He genuinely stopped functioning for a sec! He’s a bigger virgin than I thought. Or maybe it was just that it was with Tori of all people. It’s okay though, she’s not all that she seems.”

Jon stops walking altogether, accidentally yanking you to a stop as well. You blink at him.

“Ok…” he starts, “first of all, you kissed your bully?” he asks incredulously.

“Well, like I said, she's not all that she seems,” you shrug. He nods, still looking at you in disbelief.

“So… what? Are you guys… dating?” he hesitates to say the word.

You scratch your nose, looking down. “Nah… we talked it out, she uh…” you trail off, “...it was a spur of the moment thing, we’re just friends. Now, anyway.” You feel bad saying you rejected the girl who was in love with you, but you also can’t say everything that went down.

You look at Jon, seeing him also looking down in thought. His brows are furrowed, you wonder how strange it is to Damian if it’s so strange to Jon. He nods after a bit, continuing his walk. His arm holds yours a bit tighter.

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” he laughs disbelievingly.

Probably because this isn’t your universe. “Probably because I’m so awesome all kinds of people want a piece of me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” you grin.

For as drab as Gotham City is, at least this carnival provides a little bit of color. The vibrant lights provide an enchanting atmosphere. You can’t help but grin. Jon watches you with a smile.

“What do you want to do first?”

“Pie eating contest.”

He blinks. “Okay?” He’s a little confused by your quick and confident reply. Now don’t be alarmed, you usually eat three meals a day. The meals are just… well, some might argue if they’re actually meals or not. Tony estimated that you should be eating five proper meals a day to combat your increased metabolism. You’re not starving or anything as you are now, but if you ever get injured your increased healing won’t help.

“I wanna eat,” is your only explanation as you drag him to the stand.

Jon chuckles as you drag him along, his smile widening at your enthusiasm. “Alright, I’ll join you,” he smiles, matching your energy. The two of you approach the stand where a small crowd has gathered around a makeshift stage. A lively carnival barker stands at the front, rallying contestants and spectators alike.

“Step right up, folks! Who’s got what it takes to be the pie-eating champion of Gotham tonight?” the man announces enthusiastically, his voice carrying over the excited chatter of the crowd.

You and Jon sign up eagerly, taking your places at the contestant table. The rules are simple: eat as much pie as you can within a set time limit. The pies, piled high with whipped cream and fruity filling, look delectable under the carnival lights.

The contest begins, and you and Jon dig in with gusto. The pies are delicious, each bite bringing a burst of sweet flavor. The crowd cheers and laughs as you both devour your way through the pies, alternating between bites and glances at each other, each trying to outpace the other.

Jon manages to finish his first pie just as you’re halfway through yours. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, grinning at you challengingly. “You’re pretty good at this,” he remarks between bites.

You flash him a competitive smirk, determined not to be outdone. “I eat a lot,” you quip back, mouth full of pie.

The contest continues, the pace quickening as the time ticks down. Cheers and encouragement from the crowd spur you on, adding to the thrill of the competition. Despite the messiness and the rapidly filling sensation in your stomach, you keep going, driven by the desire to win and the sheer enjoyment of the moment.

Finally, the timer buzzes, signaling the end of the contest. You and Jon set down your forks, breathing heavily but grinning broadly at each other. The man approaches to determine the winner.

“And the winner is…” he declares dramatically, waiting. After a tense moment, he announces, “It’s a tie!”

You and Jon exchange a look of surprise and then burst into laughter, both of your mouths covered in pie and thoroughly satisfied. The crowd applauds, appreciating the spirited effort you both put into the contest. You fancy yourself smug, seeing as you kept up with a kryptonian.

Jon wipes his hands and face with a napkin, chuckling as he looks at you. "I can't believe we tied," he says, shaking his head in amusement.

You nod, still grinning widely. "Yeah, I can’t believe you kept up with me.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

The man hands each of you a small prize—a colorful ribbon that declares you both "Pie Eating Champions of Gotham City Carnival". You both accept the ribbons with good humor, pinning them onto your shirts proudly.

As you step away from the contest table, Jon nudges you playfully. "So, what's next on our carnival adventure?"

You glance around, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling carnival. The vibrant lights of the rides beckon in the distance, and the aroma of cotton candy and popcorn fills the air. "Let's hit the Ferris wheel," you suggest, pointing towards the towering structure adorned with sparkling lights.

Jon nods eagerly. "Sounds good to me. Let's go," he says, grabbing your hand as you make your way towards the Ferris wheel.

The line isn’t too long. The worker wishes you a good ride as the two of you step into the brightly colored gondola, slowly ascending to the sky.

As the ride reaches its peak, you both fall silent for a moment, taking in the view. The city skyline looms in the distance, a stark contrast to the colorful and carefree world of the carnival. For a brief moment, you feel a sense of peace and contentment, grateful for this simple yet memorable night with Jon. 

"This is nice," Jon remarks, leaning back comfortably in his seat. You nod in agreement, admiring the view.

Jon looks at you, thinking. There are a million things he wants to say, wants to admit to you. He wonders how you would react to each and every one of them. With only positivity, he’s sure. You’re the type to go with the flow, whatever happens, happens. He’s certain he could trust you with his life, eventually.

He takes a deep breath, unsure what’s about to come out of his mouth. “[Name]–”

The Ferris wheel rocks violently for a heart stopping moment. For the other riders, mostly. You and Jon immediately stiffen to attention, because Ferris wheels aren’t supposed to do that. Jon crosses over to you, locking you in his embrace as he looks over the edge. You try to look as well, but a simple tense of his arms prevents you.

A threatening green is making headway across the carnival grounds, sending people running. Vines bloom, crawling over stands and attractions. Poison Ivy, looking as prickly as ever, strides in gracefully.

"This carnival is a blight on this land," Ivy declares, her voice carrying over the chaos. "You trample on nature for your own amusement, but no longer. Tonight, the Earth fights back."

Oh, great. You can’t do anything because you’re stuck in the air with Jon. Jon can’t do anything because he’s stuck in the air with you. You sigh, leaning back against him.

With a wave of her hand, flowers bloom amidst the destruction, a stark contrast to the panic around her. Ivy's plants begin to dismantle the carnival, reclaiming the area for nature. Her message is clear: the environment will no longer be taken for granted, and anyone who harms it will face her wrath. Vines crawl up the Ferris wheel, wrapping around the gondolas in a nightmarish display.

“Um. Any bright ideas?” you ask Jon.

He says pulling out his phone, he pulls it out of your view and begins to type furiously. You bet a hundred bucks it’s Damian and Jon is furiously texting him to haul ass and get here now .

A vine thrusts itself into the box, making Jon yank you both to the floor in the middle. It spreads slowly, hauntingly, slowly encompassing the gondola. Flowers bloom… ah shit—

Jon shifts the two of you, blocking you from the flowers. Also putting himself directly in front of them. “Jon don’t–” you warn, because regardless of his heritage, it can still affect him. Even more so since he’s only half. He presses your face into his chest right as the flower coughs, releasing the spores right in his face.

“Don’t breathe them in,” he growls. Thanks, you weren’t planning on it anyway. You hold your breath, anyway.

He’s getting antsy. “[Name],” he mutters gravely. “Please. Close your eyes and trust me.”

You internally sigh, preparing how you’re going to act like the most aloof fool after this. You nod and close your eyes. Jon picks you up, arms under your knees and around your back. You wind your arms around his neck and rest against his chest.

Jon, to his credit, doesn’t just fly down the ride. You feel him jump down the bars of the Ferris wheel, making sure to keep you secure in his arms. His landings are precise and calculated, avoiding the chaos below. You hear the gasps and shouts from the people around you as Jon navigates through the mess of vines.

Finally, you feel the solid ground beneath you as Jon gently sets you down. “Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he says softly.

You open your eyes and find yourself standing amidst the carnage, the Ferris wheel towering above you. Vines continue to spread, and the air is filled with the panicked cries of carnival-goers trying to escape. Jon stands protectively beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Ivy.

“We have to stop her,” you blurt. He looks at you incredulously. You ignore it and look around, trying to find a way to do this without Spinnerette. Eyes narrowing, you spot something in the distance.

“There.” You point at a nearby water tower. “If we flood the area, it might disrupt her control over the plants.”

“Good plan. You should leave it to the professionals.”

You blink, turning around. It’s Robin who spoke, arms crossed and looking at you. However, it’s the sight of the 6’2 emo bitch dressed in a bat fursuit that makes you stiffen.

“Robin! You came!” Jon brightens, before coughing into his fist. “I mean. Of course you came, you’re Robin.” The urge to roll your eyes at his silliness is strong, but you resist.

Batman doesn’t react, though you’re sure he just sighed on the inside. “You should get to safety with the rest of the civilians,” he grumbles out in his Batman™ voice.

You nod rapidly. “Yup yup. Yessir Mr Batman.” You grip Jon’s wrist and drag him away. Fuck that, majorly. If he says leave it up to him, you’re perfectly fine with that. You’re pretty sure he’s gonna take what you said and connect some dots, and you don’t wanna be around when that happens. He can take his theories and shove it up his ass.

Jon lets you drag him away, looking back to see Damian squinting at him through the mask. Making your way out of the venue you catch onto Ivy’s parting words.

"In a world of violence and chaos, my cuddle pollen offers a moment of peace, a false but blissful reprieve. It's almost poetic, isn't it?"

Fuck. Your. Life.

Jon is looking just a tad bit worse for wear (you’re lying, he looks haggard) when you arrive at your apartment. May, thank god, wasn’t at the desk, so you managed to get by without having to deal with that. You  shove Jon onto the couch, wincing with a small apology. Frantically typing, you google how to deal with cuddle pollen.

The number one suggestion is to visit Gotham General Hospital, but given Jon’s less than human nature, that's a no go. Other results suggest drinking lots of water and sweating it out to dilute its affects.

You throw your phone somewhere and quickly fetch some water for Jon. Nari meows at Jon, sensing something is wrong. When you make your way back you see that Jon has trapped Nari in his arms, cooing unintelligibly at him.

“Drink,” you tell him urgently, lifting his chin. He leans into your touch, obeying. You make sure he drinks every last drop. When he finishes you turn around to get some more water, only to be yanked back. You crash into Jon’s arms, watching as Nari trots away, happy to be free. You wish you were Nari right now.

Jon nuzzles into you, humming contently.

“Jon…” you warn.

“Yeah, baby?” he hums. Jesus.

“You’re under the effects of cuddle pollen. Your mind is scrambled. Just let me get you some water–”

He hugs you tighter at the mention of you leaving, standing up with you in his arms. You try to get free, holding your own for a bit. But alas, he wins. Stupid kryptonian biology. He carries you to the bedroom, setting you down on the bed.

You blink. “Okay, hang on–”

Jon belly flops right on top of you, earning an ‘oof’ from you. He wraps his arms around you, snuggling into your collarbone. He sighs in content as he relaxes on you. There’s no hope for you to escape, is there?

“Jon, come on. Let’s… do jumping jacks or something. Sweat it out of your system. You can even hold my hand!”

Jon grumbles, burying his face in your neck. “I know something else we can do to get sweaty.”

You blink. Then snort. Damn, is that the cuddle pollen talking or is your influence taking effect? You feel Jon smile against your neck.

Sighing, you acknowledge that you’re not getting out of this situation. You hesitantly rest your arms around him. You feel his grin get wider, and then he surprises you even further by laying a goddamn kiss against your neck. You grumble and mutter, “I am going to make fun of you so hard after this.”

Laying there, you think. If you didn’t just compromise yourself to Batman, then hopefully you won’t be approached when you next patrol. Or worse, when you're just being a regular civilian. 

You blink, deciding you’re gonna be a little shit.

“Jon,” you say, “give me your phone.”

Jon reaches into his pocket, unlocking his phone and handing it to you. It’s got a couple cracks in it, and his wallpaper features a photo of a sunset over a vast farm. You scroll through his contacts, clicking the one that says ‘damian !! (stinkin loser)’. You click the call button, hoping he’s done superheroing and has time to answer.

He answers on the third ring. “Jon, you fool, what were you–”

“Damian,” you interrupt before he says something you’re not supposed to know. The line goes quiet on the other end. “I’ll keep it brief. Jon got absolutely fucked over with a face-full of cuddle pollen and he won’t let me go. We’re at my apartment, so if you can pull some rich people strings and get an antidote or something I would very much appreciate it.”

“...He won’t let go of you?”

You roll your eyes and snap a picture of Jon wrapped around you. “Help,” is all you say after you send it.

You hear him sigh. “I’ll be there in fifteen,” is all you hear before the call cuts. Jon yanks the phone away from you, throwing it somewhere in the room as he flips the two of you over. You lay on his chest now, feeling his chin rest on your head and his hands come up to rest on your waist, fingertips creeping up under your shirt.

Your phone is in the other room and you didn’t see where Jon threw his, so you’re left to stew in his arms until Damian comes. You begin to hum a song, for your own peace of mind, ignoring the way Jon’s hands rub your skin in a back-and-forth motion. Jon removes one of his hands and places it on the back of your head, pushing you into his neck. The bastard lays another kiss on your head, muttering comforting words.

Damn, you think you’re starting to fall asleep. Sue you for feeling safe in his arms, he’s literally Superboy. It doesn’t help that you're lying in bed and he's rubbing your back so softly you feel like he’s your boyfriend comforting you after a long day.

You hear your door kick open, and the only reason your fight response doesn’t kick in is because you’re still stuck in Jon’s arms, and because you know it’s Damian. Jon on the other hand, immediately sits up, glaring hard at your hallway. When Damian shows up in your doorway, bag in hand, he relaxes. He lies back down in the bed, snuggling in to you.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

He ignores your weak greeting, digging into his bag and pulling out a syringe filled with what can only be the antidote. You pointedly make a note to definitely not mention how the needle is green.

“Just be careful he doesn’t grab you. He’s… really strong,” you mutter.

He grabs Jon’s head, pushing it aside to bare his neck. You’re surprised Jon lets him, but cuddle pollen does leave people without inhibition. Damian sticks the needle in, making Jon groan. You watch the fluid disappear, feeling peaceful knowing that this will soon be over. Damian finishes administering the antidote and takes a seat on the bed.

“Thanks for… coming through,” you say. You don’t know what else you can really talk about right now.

Damian just looks at you. “What were you even doing there?”

He means the carnival. You furrow your brows. “Hanging out? Sorry we didn’t predict that Poison Ivy was gonna be there. Maybe you should talk to Batman about that.”

“You could have been hurt. Jon did get hurt.”

“It’s just cuddle pollen, Dami,” you reassure, placing a hand on his arm. He grasps it tightly. “You gave him the antidote, he’s not hurt.”

Damian’s grip on your arm is firm, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re lucky it was just that. It could have been worse.”

You nod, understanding his concern, but feeling a bit annoyed at the same time. “I know, I know. But we’re fine now. Jon’s going to be okay.”

Damian's expression softens slightly at your reassurance, though his concern is still evident. He looks at Jon, who seems to be coming out of the pollen's effects, his grip on you loosening. Damian then turns his attention back to you, his gaze intense.

"You shouldn't take unnecessary risks," he says, his voice low but firm. "Especially not with someone like Jon."

You raise an eyebrow at the implication in his tone. "Are you implying something about Jon?"

“Jon is… brave, but restless. Just be more cautious.”

You give him a playful smirk. "Are you worried about me, Damian Wayne? That's almost sweet."

He scowls slightly, clearly not amused by your teasing. "I'm serious, [Name]. This city is dangerous enough without getting caught up in avoidable situations."

“I promise to be more careful in the future,” you say, eyes earnest. It seems to settle Damian, for now.

Jon groans under you. He sits up, taking you with him. You fall to his lap as you look at him. He blinks for a moment, taking in his surroundings. You hear his heartbeat slowing, calming. He looks at Damian, looks at you. Stares at you, whom his arms are around, in his lap.

He freaks, shoving you out of his embrace and scrambling back. Damian catches you, growling, “You fool, Jon, careful!”

“I’m so sorry!” he cries. “I was… oh my god, I’m so sorry–”

You hold out your hands to placate him. “Jon, it’s okay! I’m fine, I don’t care. You weren’t in control. You didn’t do anything.”

“I should have left when I got hit,” he growls to himself.

You sigh, looking at Damian for help. “What’s done is done. No use in whining about it now,” he huffs, shifting you to sit up.

Jon purses his lips, looking like he wants to cry. You open your arms, “Come on.”

He hesitates, so you grab him and haul him into your embrace. He stiffens, before wrapping his arms around you. He melts into your embrace.

Damian clears his throat, making Jon pull back with a sheepish expression. “I should really get home before my parents worry.”

You nod, patting his arm. “Of course.”

He thanks Damian as well on his way out. You don’t hear the door open, so you figure he just got antsy and couldn’t stay in the room longer. You don’t blame him. You sigh when you see he left his phone, grabbing it and handing it to Damian.

“Thank you,” you mutter. You look into his eyes, he looks back. In a moment of weakness, you place a hand on his cheek and lean in, pressing your lips to his other one. The kiss is chaste, barely lasting for a second before you pull back. “You’re paying for my door.”

Damian says nothing in response, simply watching you. He raises his hand, clasping yours and gently bringing it down. He nods.

“It was nothing.” And then he and Jon are out the door. You sigh, laying down in your bed that smells like Jon now. No patrol tonight, again.

notes: jon was about to risk it all on that ferris wheel just saying

[levisolace]

[7] Expendable Hearts (Levi x F!Reader)

Chapter 7: The Breakup

WC: 9,089 Chapter Warnings: tiniest bit of steamy but bigger angst Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do. Note: Hi, I am back again. I know I said we might have smut this chapter but it didn't really feel right for it lol. Honestly, not very satisfied with the chapter but I hope you like it!

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When you woke up, the unfamiliar warmth of soft sheets and the faint scent of something unmistakably Levi brought you to a sudden clarity. This wasn’t your apartment. You blinked, taking in your surroundings—the room was dimly lit, with soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Levi’s apartment. The realization settled slowly, like ripples spreading across water.

You sat up, your head heavy with a dull ache from last night’s drinks, and as you took in the stillness of the room, memories from the last night washed over you. You groaned in annoyance with yourself. How could you let this happen? When had you been careless enough to be that drunk?

The last seven years have taken you far away from this part of your life. Perhaps it was the absence that lowered your alcohol tolerance. Perhaps it was Hange’s mix. You don’t know and you don’t remember. Well, you do remember Levi arriving and helping you in fragments.

Last night was different. There had been warmth in Levi’s touch when he carried you to his bed, something almost tender in the way he looked at you, even if only for a moment. You don’t remember anything after passing out on the bed, hopefully that was the only thing you did. He was nowhere to be seen, and as you sat there on the bed pondering, the soft creaks and sounds of the apartment settling only heightened the absence of him.

You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, feeling the coolness of the morning air against your skin, protected by the fabric of Levi’s jacket. The comfort of Levi’s presence last night had been undeniable, but now, is it bad of you to hope that the tension between you two had finally subsided? 

You stood, making the bed carefully and neatly, and made your way to the doorway. In the living room, Levi was sleeping on the single sofa, arms crossed over his chest, his head slightly tilted to the side. 

He looked… worn. Even in sleep, his body held tension, his jaw slightly clenched, arms crossed over his chest like he was still defending himself from some unseen battle. His head had tipped awkwardly to the side, and the shadows under his eyes were deep, telling the story of someone who didn’t rest easily. You remembered how he never had good sleeping habits—his insomnia was something he never spoke about in detail, but you had seen its effects more times than you could count.

Crouching down, you looked at him more closely. His sleep was shallow, restless, as if even in unconsciousness, his mind couldn’t fully let go. There were faint signs of exhaustion etched across his face—the slight crease between his brows, the constant tension in his hands, the weariness that clung to him like a second skin. 

You thought back to when you were together, the nights when you’d wake up and find him sitting at the edge of the bed or drinking tea. He rarely slept for more than a few hours, and when he did, it was never restful. 

Now, seeing him like this—curled up on that too-small sofa, lost somewhere between exhaustion and restlessness—it hit you how much Levi had endured. His eyes, which always carried that sharpness, were softer in sleep, but the strain remained. The man who was always composed, always in control, seemed fragile in these stolen moments of rest.

“…when the breakup happened, Levi didn’t take it well.”

Kuchel’s words rang in your head, settling a frown on your face. You watched him breathe, the steady rise and fall of his chest, your hand hovering close to him but not touching. This was Levi—strong, guarded, and yet so painfully human underneath it all. Seven years and this hasn’t changed for Levi. 

In this city where much has changed, you wonder what else has remained? 

Levi stirred, his brow furrowing before his eyes slowly blinked open. He blinked again, his sharp gaze instantly locking onto you crouching beside him, your face only inches away from his. His expression shifted from sleepy confusion to guarded awareness in a split second, his body tensing as though he was expecting something.

You froze, caught in the act, your breath hitching. The silence hung heavy between you, as his sleepy, narrowed eyes tried to process the situation.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was rough, still thick with sleep, but there was that familiar edge to it, the one that made you think he wasn’t too pleased with the unexpected proximity.

You scrambled to stand up, feeling your face flush in embarrassment. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you. You just looked…” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain why you had been crouched there watching him sleep.

He let out a slow, deep exhale, shifting his position as he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes softened for just a moment, but his guard was quickly back up, the tired lines on his face doing little to hide his discomfort at being caught like this.

“Didn’t mean to wake me?” he repeated, voice laced with skepticism, “You’re practically breathing down my neck.”

You winced, your embarrassment deepening. “I was just… worried. You don’t look like you’ve slept much.” You couldn’t help the concern that laced your voice, remembering all the times he would wake up in the middle of the night, never admitting how little sleep he actually got.

Levi’s expression shifted slightly at your words, but he brushed it off with a dismissive grunt. “I’m fine.” He stood up, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders, clearly trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. He was stiff, his movements betraying how uncomfortable that small sofa had been, but he didn’t say anything about it.

The awkward tension lingered between you as he ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the disarray caused by sleep. He glanced at you again, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he spoke, voice quieter now. “You shouldn’t stare at people when they’re asleep.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” you murmured, eyes lowering as you awkwardly shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

Levi’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer, then he sighed. “Do you want tea?” 

He walked toward the kitchen without waiting for your response, but the stiffness in his steps didn’t go unnoticed. For a few minutes, you stand there in the living room alone, a strange mix of emotions settled in your chest—relief, awkwardness, and something else. 

In the kitchen, Levi was standing by the stove with a tea cup in his hand. His back was turned to you, his posture rigid, his face unreadable. The warmth from last night seemed to have vanished, replaced by the familiar, distant version of Levi you had always struggled to understand.

He didn’t turn when he heard your footsteps, didn’t offer a greeting or acknowledge your presence in any obvious way. The silence between you was heavy, and suddenly, you felt like an intruder in a space that was no longer yours.

“Morning,” you said quietly, lingering by the doorway. Your voice sounded small, hesitant.

Levi didn’t respond immediately. He took a sip of his tea, still staring out the window. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat, almost indifferent. “Coffee or tea. Help yourself.”

The casualness of his words made your chest tighten. After last night, you had expected—maybe even hoped—for something more. You even joked a little in the car. But now, it was as though nothing had changed at all, as though the small, unspoken connection you had felt last night had dissolved with the morning light.

You stepped into the kitchen and prepared yourself a cup of tea, the clink of the cup against the counter louder than it should have been in the quiet apartment.

“I didn’t mean to impose last night,” you said softly, gripping the cup a little tighter than necessary. “Thanks for letting me stay and take the bed. It ruined your sleep.”

Levi finally glanced over at you, his expression neutral. “I told you it wasn’t a big deal. And I don’t use the bed much, anyway.”

You paused. “Do you still have trouble sleeping?”

He doesn’t answer. You took a sip of your tea, the taste of his premium tea leaves grounding you in the awkwardness of the moment. “Right,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “No big deal.”

The two of you stood there in the kitchen, silence filling the space between you as you indulge yourself with the warm drink. 

“Levi,” you began, your voice hesitant. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say. Maybe you wanted to ask him why he had shown up outside your apartment, why he had seemed so different last night. Or maybe you just wanted to bridge the gap between the person you used to know and the man standing in front of you now.

But before you could say more, Levi cut you off, his voice low but firm. “You should head home after tea. You’ll feel better after you rest.”

It wasn’t a harsh dismissal, but it was enough to tell you that he wasn’t ready to talk. And maybe you weren’t either. Despite feeling wrong, you nod and turn your back on him. The years apart had created a distance that couldn’t be bridged by one day. There were too many things left unsaid, too many pieces of your lives that had moved in different directions. But you should at least try to settle some things. Besides, that talk with Kuchel really got to you. 

But something inside you refused to let this be the end of the conversation. You turned back toward Levi, your voice soft but determined.

“Levi… can we—” you hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Can we talk?”

For a moment, Levi didn’t move. He stood at the counter, his back to you, gripping the cup in his hands. The air between you grew heavy, thick with unspoken things. When he finally turned, his face was calm, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed him—an intensity you hadn’t expected.

“Talk?” he repeated, his voice low. It wasn’t sharp, but there was a weight to it. “About what?”

The directness of his question hit you harder than you expected. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

 “I just… I know things didn’t end well between us. And I want to know if we can…” You faltered, not quite sure how to finish the sentence. What were you asking for? Friendship? Closure?

Levi raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. He looked tired, as though this conversation was something he’d been bracing for, but also something he didn’t want to face. “You want to fix things? Is that it?”

“I don’t know if it’s about fixing things,” you admitted softly, shifting your weight awkwardly. “I just… I don’t want things to be like this between us anymore.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was trying to figure out what you really meant. He let out a breath, setting the cup down on the counter with a soft clink. “You think we can just… talk and things will magically be fine again?”

You shook your head, stepping a little closer. “No. But we could at least try to talk about it.”

Levi’s expression didn’t change much, but you could see his jaw tightening. “You left without a word,” he said quietly, the frustration finally seeping through. “Didn’t even say goodbye. And now you want to talk?”

The pain in his voice was subtle, but it was there, cutting deeper than you had expected. 

You understand now that time doesn’t heal everything for everyone. If Levi, the kind person that you know he is, still holds a grudge against you like this, you must’ve hurt him immensely. If you were still as closed off as you were, you would’ve told him off for this as you did back when you first saw each other. 

But now, you flinched, swallowing hard. “I didn’t leave because of you, Levi,” you started, your voice wavering. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” he asked, crossing his arms. He wasn’t angry—at least, not in the way he usually was when something upset him. He just looked… tired. Tired of this, tired of you bringing it up.

You looked down, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I left because I needed to figure things out for myself. My future. My career. It wasn’t about us—”

Levi scoffed, shaking his head, cutting you off. “It was always about us. Don’t act like it wasn’t.”

His words stung, and your chest tightened. “That’s not fair,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. You had left to chase something more for yourself, but in doing so, you had severed ties without even explaining. The guilt that had lingered for so long resurfaced, leaving you feeling exposed.

Levi took a step forward, his voice quiet but firm. “You just left, like what we had didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.”

You wanted to argue, to defend yourself, but your throat tightened, choking back the words. You remembered how things ended between you—how, instead of explaining yourself, you’d shut him out completely. You’d thought it would be easier that way. You were wrong.

“I thought… I thought you’d be fine without me,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. 

Levi’s expression darkened, his fists clenching. “You thought I’d be fine?” His voice was sharp now, but it was the kind of sharpness that came from hurt, not anger. “You think it was that easy?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. “I’m sorry, Levi. I didn’t know how to stay. I didn’t know how to…”

I didn’t know how to be enough.

Levi’s frustration flared again, but there was something else in his eyes now—something raw and vulnerable beneath the subtle anger. 

“Because I wasn’t enough for your dreams,” he snapped. “You left without looking back, like I wasn’t enough to make you stay. And now that you learn I’m successful, you want to make amends?”

You opened your mouth to respond, to explain, but the words got caught in your throat. The accusation lingered in more of an offensive way but at the same time, you get him. How could you explain something that had been eating away at you for so long? It angers and pains you that he thinks of you this way. But what can he do when it was your own fault that he had this image of you? 

“I… I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice breaking. What were you saying sorry for? A million things. Two words are nearly not enough for your regrets and mistakes. “It’s not like that.” “You keep saying that,” he stepped closer to you, face inches away from yours. “You keep saying it wasn’t like that but I’m not hearing the explanation.” "I know it hurt you. But… it was never about us, not like you think. I just—" She faltered, trying to hold his gaze. "I didn’t know how else to handle things back then. Couldn’t we at least try to find some middle ground?" 

Levi stared at you, his breathing heavy, his frustration mounting, as if what you asked of him was what triggered his anger. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out of him, as if he was too speechless and offended.

And then, without warning, he moved. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between you, hands caging in on your face. You barely had time to react before his lips crashed against yours, silencing whatever you had been about to say.

It was intense, almost desperate, as if he was pouring all his pent-up emotions into that single moment.

It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t tender. The kiss was filled with everything unsaid, all the anger, the longing, the pain that had built up between you over the years. His grip loosened almost instantly as if he was giving you the chance to push him away, his other hand finding the small of your back loosely. Your mind went blank, your heart racing as you responded instinctively, your body betraying the emotions you’d been trying to suppress. You kissed him back with as much passion, a hand shooting up to rest on his shoulder.

With acceptance on your part, he presses his hand on your back, pushing your bodies closer together. Hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips and the small of your back. He pressed you against the wall, his body flush against yours, as he deepened the kiss. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and when you granted it, he explored your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

Levi’s hands slid up your body, his fingers tangling in your hair as he angled your head to gain better access. He kissed you like a man possessed, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your mouth, every sensation, every taste. It was overwhelming, consuming, and you found yourself responding in kind, your own desire rising to meet his.

For a moment, the world around you disappeared, and it was just the two of you—caught in a storm of emotions neither of you had been able to express. When Levi finally pulled away, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened,” he whispered, his voice rough, his eyes still closed. “But I’ll accept your apology if you tell me one thing.”

You stared at him, stunned, your lips still tingling from the force of the kiss. “Levi…” you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure of what to say. You had expected an argument, maybe a cold rejection, but not this. Not the raw, unchecked passion that had just erupted between you.

You took a shaky breath, steadying yourself as the silence stretched between you. The intensity of Levi’s kiss still lingered on your lips, but you knew this moment couldn’t end like this—without clarity, without addressing the feelings that had been left festering for years. You weren’t sure how to navigate the conversation ahead, but you knew it needed to happen.

“Why did you leave?” His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the anger simmering underneath.

You froze. You knew this question was coming, had expected it, but now that it was here, you felt the weight of it crush your chest. You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out at first. The real answer—the full answer—felt too dangerous, too raw.

“I… I needed space,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I needed to figure out things. I wasn’t ready for everything that was happening. I wasn’t ready for us…”

Levi’s eyes darkened, and you could see the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “That’s not the whole truth,” he said, his voice sharp. “You left without a word, without even explaining. And now you expect me to believe it was just because you ‘needed space?’”

You flinched at his words, but you didn’t have an answer that would satisfy him. He wasn’t wrong. There was more to why you left, but the truth felt like too much to bear right now. “It’s complicated, Levi. I—I can’t explain everything. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Levi’s voice rose, his anger spilling over. “You’ve had years to figure it out, and you still can’t give me a real answer? After everything?” His voice echoed in your mind, the accusation laced with disbelief. 

You didn’t know what answer he wanted, what answer could ever fix the damage that had been done. You had thought about this moment a thousand times before—imagined what you might say, how you might explain why you left, why you didn’t say goodbye, why you broke his heart without looking back. But now, standing here, with his anger burning in the space between you, the words you’d rehearsed felt hollow.

His next words cut deeper. “You ran,” he said, and you flinched, the truth of it like a slap. “You always run when things get hard.” You felt your pulse quicken, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. He wasn’t wrong. You did run. You ran from him, from the life you thought you couldn’t have, from the overwhelming fear that you weren’t enough, that you couldn’t hold it all together.

“You know what Hange told me when she first saw you again? You cried. You cried in her arms like a child. Don’t expect me to believe that meant nothing but missing a friend.” 

You closed your eyes, remembering the moment you saw Hange again. The way everything you had been holding in, all the grief and guilt, came rushing out the moment she hugged you. It wasn’t just missing a friend—it was the overwhelming realization that you hadn’t let yourself feel anything for so long. You had locked it all away, telling yourself that it was better this way, that you were stronger alone. But seeing Hange again had broken the dam. You had cried because, for the first time in years, you realized how much emotions you’ve been hiding away. And in that moment, you realized just how much you missed the people you had left behind—how much you missed the old you. 

“You always run when things get hard. And you always leave me behind like I don’t matter.” Hearing him say it out loud—it crushed you in ways you hadn’t expected. Because he wasn’t wrong. You had left him behind, not just physically, but emotionally.

That stung. “That’s not true,” you snapped back, your voice trembling. Deep inside, you know he’s right. But you didn’t want to accept it. You’ve put on multiple walls for the past seven years and even before that. You don’t know how to accept yourself and that’s the truth. But he never meant nothing to you. Not in the slightest. 

“I’m the one lying?” Levi’s voice was filled with disbelief. 

You didn’t want to admit it to Levi—not now, not when he was standing there, looking at you with so much anger, with so much pain—but he was right. You had left him behind like he didn’t matter, even though he had been the only thing that mattered for so long. You couldn’t deny that, no matter how much you wanted to.

But what could you say to him now? What could you possibly tell him that would make this any better? The truth was too complicated, too messy. You had run because you didn’t know what else to do. You didn’t know how to stay, how to let him in. And now, all these years later, you still didn’t have the answers he deserved.

You could feel the conversation spiraling, slipping out of control. The more Levi spoke, the more you could feel the anger and hurt from both sides surfacing. “I didn’t know what else to do!” you shot back, your voice louder now, matching his intensity. “I thought it was the right thing at the time.”

“Well, it obviously wasn’t!” Levi shouted, stepping closer to you, his eyes burning with frustration. “You didn’t give me a choice. You just insulted me and let me figure it out on my own.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid for years. You could see the pain in Levi’s eyes, but beneath it all, there was still something else—something vulnerable that he was trying to hide.

You opened your mouth to speak, to try and explain again, but before you could get a word out, Levi grabbed you. His hand gripped your arm, and in an instant, his lips were on yours—rough, urgent, cutting off whatever you were about to say again. 

“Stop it,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “Stop making excuses or I���m going to kiss you again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His words hung in the air, and the tension between you was palpable. The heat of the moment was overwhelming, his nearness pulling you in despite everything. 

“It’s your choice,” he repeats.

You searched his face, trying to find the right words, something that would break through the anger and pain, but the look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for more of your excuses and vague words.

“Levi…” you whispered, but before you could say anything more, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips, the threat of another kiss looming between you. You knew he meant every word, and the intensity of it all made your heart pound even harder.

His voice was rough, but there was something raw beneath it, something unspoken that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m serious. One more excuse, and I won’t stop myself.”

You swallowed hard, torn between the instinct to push him away and the undeniable pull that still lingered between you. The anger and hurt were still there, but so was everything else—the longing, the lust.

The room felt smaller, the space between you shrinking as Levi’s words echoed in your mind. The look in his eyes dared you to say something more, but the weight of everything kept you silent. And maybe it was the way he had already kissed you two times that you yearned for more. 

Maybe it was how he looked awfully beautiful in his in-house morning clothes. Maybe it was the way his lips looked soft enough as a pillow that you want to lie on. Maybe you just missed his touch that you weren’t able to think straight. Maybe it was the pain—the longing that threw all the rationalities out of the window. 

“Kiss me again.” 

Levi’s eyes widened for a moment, a flash of pain across his glossy eyes until it was replaced by clouded lust. 

He leaned in with his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched, as if he was fighting his own desires. You almost flinch when his head drops on your shoulder, subtly nuzzling his nose on the skin of your neck.

“Then at least tell me this,” he mutters. “Are you really okay now?”

Tears fill your eyes and you let out a deep exhale.

“Yes,” I whisper while nodding, looking straight ahead. “Yes, I am.” 

And that wasn’t a lie. He knows that.

With a soft groan, he leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. 

His tongue dances with yours, his hand sliding up your back to cup your head, pulling you even closer. His other hand moves to your waist, his fingers gripping your hips as he deepens the kiss. 

You start letting out soft grunts as if trying to tell him how pleasurable it is for you, as he latches his lips to the curve of your neck. You gasp for air when he sucks on your sensitive skin, only the ceiling in sight as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It had you holding on his shoulder for dear life.

"Levi," you moan, shivering and grasping at his hair as he attacks your neck with open-mouth kisses. Levi nips at your jaw next, harsh as if he was devouring you.

His roaming hands finally made their way to your chest, palm over your breast. He squeezes once, slowly but hard. Realizing your shirt was getting in the way, his hand slips inside the skin tight cloth to the clasp of your bra. 

And then he freezes. 

As if he was thrown ice-cold water, he pulls away. He stumbled back a step, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide in shock. His gaze flickered between you and the space between you, as though he was trying to make sense of the moment. You stare back at him, breathless and probably looking like a mess. 

You blink, your own breathing labored, and the reality of what just happened hit you like a wave. 

You continued to stare at him, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. The tension that had been building, the unspoken emotions, the years of unresolved feelings—it had all come to a head in that kiss. And now you were both standing there, stunned by the gravity of what had just happened.

Levi ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. His usual composed self had cracked, and you could see the confusion and regret warring in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn't find the right words.

The silence was unbearable. You wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but nothing came out. You just stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, realizing that the line between you and Levi had just been blurred in a way you hadn't anticipated.

Levi finally broke the silence, his voice rough and barely above a whisper. "I... Sorry." His eyes dropped to the floor, as if he couldn't bring himself to look at you. “I think we got carried away.” 

You couldn't find your voice, your mind still reeling. You knew he was right—this wasn't supposed to happen. But it had.

And now everything feels even more complicated than ever before.

When are you going to make the right decision?

Levi’s grip on the counter was tight, his knuckles white, as if holding onto something solid could stop the whirlwind of emotions spinning inside him. His broad back was tense, shoulders stiff like he was bracing himself for something. You watched him, feeling the weight of the silence between you both, the air thick with everything left unsaid. The view of his back reminded you too much of that night—the night you walked away, leaving him with his heart shattered, and now here you were again, uncertain, fragile.

Your heart raced in your chest, waiting, praying for him to break the silence. You needed him to speak, to say something, anything to ground you in the moment, to pull you away from the memories. Then, after what felt like an eternity, his voice broke the quiet, low and careful.

“I can offer friendship,” `he said, his voice strained, as if the words were dragging out of him. “Slowly. If you want it.”

Your stomach twisted at his offer. Friendship. The idea felt both like a lifeline and a blade. After everything, all the history, the love, the pain, he was offering you the safety of friendship because that’s what Levi did—he built walls to protect what was left of himself. You could hear the fear behind his words, the hesitation, like he was terrified of opening himself up to you again. And yet, part of you understood. Starting over felt impossible; you’d both been broken by what happened, and it scared him just as much as it scared you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke. “Is that what you want?”

His shoulders shifted slightly, but he didn’t turn to face you. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice almost too quiet. “But I know I can’t… risk everything again. Not right now.”

His words stung, but you couldn’t blame him. The kiss had stirred things up, emotions both of you had buried long ago, and now you were both standing on the edge of something dangerous, something you weren’t sure either of you could survive if it went wrong again.

You took a shaky breath, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what you wanted. Did you want friendship? Could you even be just friends with him after everything? The thought seemed impossible. But maybe he was right. Maybe it was all either of you could handle right now.

“Okay,” you whispered, unsure if you meant it, but needing to say something. “Friends, then.”

Levi exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time, but he still didn’t turn around. The silence stretched on again, heavy with the weight of everything left unspoken between you. You could feel it in the air—the unresolved hurt, the lingering desire, and now this fragile truce you were trying to build, one step at a time.

The sight of his back still haunted you, a reminder of all the ways you’d hurt him before. But this time, as painful as it was, you stayed. You weren’t walking away. Not again.

You stepped closer but not approaching him entirely, careful not to break the chance given to you. You don’t know what to do with yourself—how to step outside yourself. But you were willing to try.

“I’ll make it up to you, Levi,” you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. 

Those words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of promises that neither of you knew if you could keep. The truth was, you didn’t know how you’d make it up to him. How could you? After everything that had happened, after all the years you’d spent apart, it felt impossible to bridge the distance between you. But you had to try. He was giving you this—friendship, the smallest of openings—and you would take it, even if it hurt. Because it was Levi.

Levi, the one person who had meant more to you than anyone else.

And now, standing in his kitchen, the same man who had once been your entire world was offering you a lifeline, even if it was wrapped in his own fear and hesitation. You could feel his reluctance, the way he was trying to protect himself from being hurt again. But you could also sense the vulnerability beneath it all, the part of him that still cared, despite everything.

You didn’t expect him to answer right away. Levi was always slow to speak when it came to his feelings. He wasn’t the type to lay everything out in the open. You knew that about him. But still, the longer the silence stretched on, the more anxious you became. Maybe you had said the wrong thing. Maybe he didn’t believe you could make it up to him. Maybe he didn’t believe in second chances.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and controlled, though you could hear the cracks in his composure. “Alright. Make it up to me.”

Levi felt her drifting away. 

It was in the middle of the last semester before they graduated. Obviously, their schedules were hectic. She was barely around to study with him. Before, even if they were as busy as this, they would find time to be together, and even if they were not remotely doing anything romantic per se, they were still together, spending time and feeling each other’s warmth. Levi couldn’t even keep up with what she’s doing anymore, always running around somewhere he doesn’t know about. Whenever he asks, you do tell him but it’s not like he could force you to stop. Before he knew it, things were piling up on him too. 

That night, Levi hadn’t seen you for over a week. Your conversations had become few and far between, your texts cold and distant. But he convinced himself it was just stress. You were busy; you both were. He planned a quiet evening together, something to help you both relax and remind you that everything was going to be fine.

You just needed a break, that’s what he told himself. 

So when the doorbell rang unexpectedly, his heart skipped. Maybe you’d missed him as much as he missed you. The past weeks had driven him crazy. All he wanted was to see you, to hold you, to feel like you were still okay. With him, with the two of you.

Levi opened the door, excitement barely contained in his movements. There you were, standing still and quiet on his doorstep. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a hug, a rare gesture from him, one he reserved almost entirely for you. But something was wrong. Your body was stiff, unmoving in his arms. It felt like hugging a mannequin—cold and unresponsive. It worried him but hasn't addressed it yet.

“I’m almost done cooking pasta,” he informs you, guiding you to the kitchen. You follow him quietly, grim and almost soullessly. It was time that he had enough of you looking like that. He needed to know what was on your mind.

“Baby?” he whispered, worry creeping into his voice.

He stepped back, reluctantly letting you go, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of warmth, of familiarity. But there was none. You look up to face him with an expression he didn’t recognize—cold, distant, like a stranger. His heart dropped.

Levi repeated by calling your name, this time more carefully, as if saying your name too loudly might shatter you. His voice was soft, pleading, hoping for some sign that this wasn’t what it looked like.

“Levi,” you said, but your voice was distant, detached. You said his name like it was unfamiliar, like you’d never said it before, as if you were reading it off a page.

A knot twisted in his chest. “Baby… what—are you okay?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength, and when you spoke again, your words came out softly but with an edge that cut straight through him. “I… I can’t do this anymore.”

His heart sank further. “What do you mean?” His voice was calm, but inside, he was fighting the panic rising in his chest. He knew what you were saying, but he wasn’t ready to face it. As he says that, he leans on the kitchen for support for whatever you had to say.

“This,” you said, gesturing between you two. “Us. It’s not working.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” he snapped, frustration bubbling up inside him.

“Us, Levi. We’re not working,” you said quietly, but with a firmness that left no room for misunderstanding.

Levi didn’t respond at first. He just stared at the floor, the tension between you thick and heavy. You weren’t sure if he hadn’t heard you, or if he was just trying to figure out how to respond. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

“I don’t understand,” he shook his head, his voice growing desperate. “Don’t be like that. Tell me what’s wrong. I—I’ll make it work.”

You shook your head, your expression unchanging. “You.”

“Me?” His jaw clenched, frustration and hurt swirling inside him. His voice was low, controlled, but you could hear the edge of frustration underneath. “What do you mean, me?” 

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. He can see that you were having a hard time. “I don’t see you anymore,” you said, your voice cracking just a little.

He scoffed, pushing off the counter and taking a step toward you. “Of course you don’t! You’ve been pushing me away! I’ve been trying to see you, to be with you, but you’ve shut me out. Is that all this is?” 

“No, Levi, that’s not what I meant,” you said, exasperation seeping into your voice. 

“Then what?” he demanded, his voice rising as the desperation took over. 

You hesitated, your breath shaky. “I don’t… see you in my future.”

The room fell silent. The air grew thick with the weight of your words. Levi’s eyes widened as he processed what you had just said, each word feeling like a punch to the gut.

“What?” His voice came out weak, barely above a whisper. “What?” He repeated, louder this time, his disbelief palpable.

“My plans, your plans… they don’t align,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of the words was too much.

His jaw tightened, and he shook his head slightly.  “I’ll make them align. It’s not as hard as you think.” 

“It’s not that simple,” you replied, your voice steady, but the finality in your tone sent a shiver down his spine. 

“Yes, it is! You just don’t want to take the risk, do you? You don’t want to take a chance on us, on me.” Levi’s eyes flickered with something—hurt, anger, disappointment—it was hard to tell. 

“…No, I don’t,” you admitted after a long, agonizing pause.

A bitter laugh escaped Levi’s lips. “So that’s it, huh? You think so little of me?”

“I do,” you said, your voice unwavering. “You don’t have a plan, Levi. You’re getting a business degree because you don’t know what else to do. You don’t have dreams, not like I do. I can’t afford to take that risk with you,” you babbled on, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you said softly, feeling the weight of your own words crushing you. “But I can’t stay.”

His breath caught in his throat. “Have you always thought this about me? Always?”

“Yes,” you said, without hesitation.

Levi’s face hardened. He turned away from you, his back tense. “Is that why you’ve always put me last? Because you think I’m just some spoiled, grumpy brat?” 

“Yes,” you said, your tone flat, emotionless.

“So I’m supposed to believe you never loved me at all?” His voice cracked, anger and heartbreak bleeding into each word.

Levi stood still, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. For a moment, you thought he might say something—anything to make you stay. But when he turned back to face you, his eyes were cold, detached.

“No,” you whispered. “I did love you.”

Levi’s heart sunk more than it could. Did. So you don’t even love him now? He doesn’t understand. He wants you to make him understand.

“Then why?” he asked, voice trembling. “Why are you throwing us away?”

Your eyes finally lifted to meet his, and the softness in your gaze returned, just for a moment. “Because I have to. You’re the only part of my life I’m willing to let go.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Levi stood frozen, his back still at you, his world crumbling around him. 

The weight of that sentence crushed him, making him feel small, insignificant, like everything he’d thought you two had built meant nothing. Out of all the things in your life—the stress, the pressure, the struggles—he was the easiest to discard. It was as if his presence, his love, had been optional all along, something you could abandon when things got too heavy. 

He had always tried to be your constant, your steady hand when everything else felt out of control. And now, hearing that he was the only part of your life you could afford to lose, he realized just how replaceable he’d been to you. It tore at him, leaving him feeling hollow and questioning whether he’d ever really mattered at all. 

But what can he do when you’ve made up your mind?

And so, even though it hurt more than he ever thought it would, he let you go.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “Do what you need to do.”

He just stood there, watching you go, the start of the distance between you two that would only grow as the years go on.

He could still remember that night vividly, the finality of your words sinking in as you walked out of his apartment, out of his life. He replayed every moment over and over, trying to understand where things had gone wrong. How had he not seen it coming? He thought everything was fine, maybe strained, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. He was wrong.

Everyday went on like he was dragging his feet. You would not even look at him on campus, making it so that his schedule would not align with yours. 

Hange and Erwin were torn. They were his friend first but you had already wiggled your way into their hearts. Despite you hurting him, he hoped that it was something temporary—a lapse of judgment, one could say. So, he gestured Hange to still accompany you at times, making sure you’re eating right and taking care of yourself. Even at a distance. He believed that he could make it happen. He would just have to wait for you.

That was until you left without a trace. 

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the empty streets as Levi made his way to the bar. Erwin had called earlier, insisting they meet for drinks—something Levi had been avoiding ever since you left. It had been a few weeks since graduation, and Levi still wasn’t ready to face the world outside of his apartment, let alone his friends. But after persistent texts and missed calls, he’d finally relented. He didn’t want to talk, but maybe being with Erwin and Hange would help distract him.

As he pushed open the door to the bar, he immediately spotted them at a corner table, Hange waving him over with her usual exuberance. Erwin gave a more subdued nod, his brow slightly furrowed as he watched Levi approach. Levi sat down without a word, not bothering with the pleasantries.

“Glad you could finally make it,” Hange said with a smile, though Levi could see the concern behind her eyes. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “How’ve you been holding up?”

Levi shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Fine.”

Hange exchanged a glance with Erwin, who leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to pretend with us, you know,” Erwin said gently, his voice calm but firm. “We know about what happened. We’ve been worried.”

Levi stiffened, his gaze dropping to the table. He hadn’t talked to anyone about the breakup. The thought of explaining how you’d left him, how you said he wasn’t part of your future, was unbearable. But Erwin wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

“Levi,” Hange said, her tone softening. “We know she’s gone.”

Levi’s stomach dropped at the sound of your name, and he finally looked up, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

Hange blinked, taken aback. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Erwin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s left the city, Levi.”

Levi’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt the air leave his lungs. “What?”

Hange bit her lip before leaning closer, her voice gentle but hesitant. “I went to her place. You know, to check on her. I was worried when she hadn’t been around, and… well, it’s not her place anymore. There’s someone else living there now.”

Levi’s chest tightened as the words sank in. You hadn’t just broken up with him—you’d left. Without a word. Without telling him. “What do you mean, someone else is living there?” His voice was low, almost a growl, but Hange didn’t flinch.

“I spoke to the new tenants,” she explained. “Apparently, she and her grandma moved out a while ago. Sold the place. It’s like she… disappeared.”

Levi felt a cold chill run down his spine. He had known something was wrong when you broke things off, but he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected you to leave everything behind. “Why didn’t she say anything?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotion he’d been trying to suppress for weeks.

Erwin sighed, his hands clasped on the table. “We don’t know, Levi. I wish we had more answers.”

Levi’s mind raced, trying to piece together what could’ve happened. He knew you’d been under a lot of stress, but he never imagined it would lead to this. Moving out of the city, selling the house you shared with your grandmother—that wasn’t just a breakup. That was cutting ties completely. Why would you do that? Why didn’t you tell him?

“I don’t understand,” Levi muttered, more to himself than to them. His thoughts were spinning out of control. The cold distance in your eyes that last night, the way you’d told him he didn’t fit into your future—it all made sense now. You had been planning this for longer than he’d realized. He’d been so focused on trying to make things work between the two of you that he didn’t see the signs of something much bigger happening in your life.

Hange leaned forward, her voice softening. “Levi, maybe… maybe there was something else going on. Something she didn’t feel like she could talk about.”

“Like what?” he snapped, but immediately regretted it. Hange didn’t deserve his anger. She was just trying to help.

Hange hesitated, glancing at Erwin again before speaking. “We don’t know. But people don’t just disappear like that for no reason.”

Levi clenched his fists, his mind going back to all the moments he had missed, the times you had pulled away or brushed him off. He thought you were just busy, just stressed about school and your future. But there had been more, hadn’t there? And he had been too blind to see it.

“She didn’t even tell me,” Levi muttered bitterly, the betrayal cutting deeper now. “She didn’t even tell me she was leaving.”

Erwin placed a hand on Levi’s shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. “That doesn’t mean she didn’t care, Levi.”

Levi shook his head, pulling away from Erwin’s touch. He couldn’t accept that right now. You had walked away from him, from everything, and hadn’t looked back. How was he supposed to believe you cared? If you had, you would’ve told him. You wouldn’t have left him here, in this city, to find out from someone else. Was he so repulsive that you would leave a city you told him you would never leave? 

The café was suddenly too quiet, too suffocating. Levi stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back. “I need some air.”

Hange opened her mouth to protest, but Erwin held up a hand, signaling her to let him go. Levi walked out of the café and into the cool night, the sounds of the city barely registering in his mind. He stood on the sidewalk, staring blankly at the passing cars, his thoughts spinning in a million directions.

You were gone. Really gone.

And for the first time since that night, it felt real. The hope he had clung to—the hope that maybe you just needed space, that maybe you would come back—it was gone. You had moved on, left the city, left him behind.

Levi pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing. The ache in his heart was unbearable, the weight of it pressing down on him until he could barely stand. He had been fooling himself, thinking that this was something you both could fix. But it wasn’t. You were gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He thought back to all the times you’d talked about your future, about the things you wanted to accomplish, the life you wanted to build. He had always assumed he’d be a part of that. But now, standing on the cold street outside the bar, Levi realized that he never had been. You had left him behind long before that final conversation.

Levi ran a hand through his hair, feeling the anger and sadness churn inside him. You were meant for bigger things, and he… he was just a part of the life you left behind. He felt insignificant, like a small chapter in your story that didn’t matter anymore. And the worst part was, he couldn’t blame you for it.

The day after you left, Levi didn’t even get out of bed. He lay there staring at the ceiling, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a lead blanket. His mind swirled with disbelief. He could still hear your voice, still feel the coldness of your touch when you said you didn’t see him in your future. It felt like his entire world had crumbled beneath him, leaving nothing but emptiness. Levi wasn’t one for breakdowns, but that morning, he didn’t have the strength to face anything. Not the day, not the world, not even himself. He was too stunned, too shattered.

Days blurred into weeks, and Levi found himself trapped in a cycle of withdrawal. He barely left his apartment, hiding away from everything that reminded him of you. His phone buzzed now and then, messages from Hange or Erwin, but he ignored them. What was there to say? He knew they would ask about you, and he wasn’t ready to explain, to admit that you were gone for good. The thought of telling anyone made him feel nauseous, like acknowledging it out loud would make it even more real than it already was.

At first, Levi convinced himself that you just needed time. That’s what he kept telling himself. Maybe you’d come back, maybe you’d realize you’d made a mistake, and things would go back to the way they were. But with each passing day, that hope dimmed until it was nothing more than a flicker in the back of his mind. You weren’t coming back.

And it was his fault, wasn’t it? He had never been good enough for you. You were destined for something bigger, something more than what he could offer. He was just… Levi. Some guy getting a degree in business because he didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t like you, with your drive and your dreams. You’d always been so full of ambition, talking about all the things you wanted to accomplish, all the places you wanted to go. And him? He didn’t have that. He was fine with just being by your side, supporting you in whatever way he could, but he should’ve known that wasn’t enough.

Levi spent hours sitting in his living room, staring blankly at nothing in particular, the silence of his apartment suffocating. He’d barely eaten in days, and his sleep was restless, haunted by memories of you. There was still your perfume on his dresser, and every time he caught a whiff of it, his chest tightened painfully.

© levisolace. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. my works are cross-posted only on my ao3 account. reblogs, asks, and comments are also greatly appreciated. thank you.

[theteasetwrites]

Daddy's Home | Part 1

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 (Alexandria) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)—oral sex (male receiving), dominant-ish Daryl, doggystyle, so much dirty talk, like one tiny spank (just a little one), mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, oh yeah and DADDY KINK, language ❧ Word Count: 4.3k

❧ Summary: When Daryl comes back home from a week away, he doesn't want to sleep. He just wants you.

❧ A/N: Ok so yes I know the title is ridiculous, but like... what else was I gonna call this oneshot ok? Anyway, here's some major daddy kink. Like a lot of daddy kink. Daryl is just daddy. Sorry but he is. I can't explain it. Actually, yes I can. He's a protector, a provider, a big softie. He's a daddy, and I don't even have daddy issues but just let me have this. Goodbye I am never showing my face here again. <;3 Also I simply cannot get over how hot he is in this gif holy mother of god.

The quiet was nice, late nights in Alexandria, gentle summer breeze prickling at your skin. It was nice to leave your bedroom window open through the night. Daryl hated it, always going on about how someone could climb the trellis outside your window and sneak in while you slept, but when he was gone, you’d indulge yourself in that one simple luxury.

When he told you that he was Alexandria’s newest recruiter, you knew you’d be in for some lonely nights ahead. Still, you also knew Daryl was the best man for the job—you’d seen him bring dozens of people to the prison, providing them shelter while expecting nothing in return, and then going out the next morning to do it all over again. That was when he wasn’t going out on his hunts to find food for everyone, often bringing home the biggest deer you’d ever seen, until he’d do it again next week, and bring home an even bigger one.

Yes, there was no doubt about it—Daryl knew what he was doing out there, but it didn’t stop you from worrying about him. Missing him. So while the quiet was, indeed, nice, you still could not get used to being alone, in this perfect little suburban townhouse, waiting. 

Your waiting became so monotonous, sitting up in your bed and reading another old Agatha Christie novel, that you decided, at length, to migrate downstairs, the living room. When Daryl would come home, you thought, you’d greet him right away. That was how much you were anticipating his arrival. 

One week was nothing, really, but it was the longest you’d been apart since knowing each other, and with the world the way it was, a lot could happen in seven days. A lot of bad, bad things. 

So you flicked on the lamp, snuggled yourself into a knitted blanket, and curled up on the sofa, book in hand as you let out a quiet huff. “Daryl…” you said to yourself, scanning your book to relocate the exact sentence where you left off. “Where are you, you big meatball.”

Your nervous jitters only worsened with the passing hour, your legs shaking involuntarily, your finger tapping on the edge of the book, your toes wiggling nonstop. All you needed was the sound of that bike, that big, stupid bike. That would ease your fretful heart. Well, what would really make you happy was seeing that man of yours, no doubt in need of a shower, but still, your man nonetheless. 

Speak of the Devil, as they say, and he doth appear.

It started out as just a distant hum, perking your ears and making your spine straighten in anticipation. Still frozen, you listened intently. A rumble, now, mechanical and getting louder with each second your heart began to beat faster. At one fateful moment, the roar of the makeshift machine was at its highest volume, and before you could even stand, a bright beam of white light shone through the blinds of the front window. 

All at once, the light and the rumble ceased, punctuated by a low huff, followed by an exasperated grunt. Heavy footsteps plodded along in a familiar pattern—you even recognized the sound of his no doubt mud-caked boots scraping against the edge of the steps leading to the front porch. You could only hope that this time, he’d take the extra precaution of removing his boots before he stepped over the threshold. 

There was a spring in your step, you wrapping the terry cloth fabric of your robe over your chest as you flitted towards the front door. Finally, you stood just a few feet back, your eyes transfixed on the shiny bronze doorknob. Inevitably, a wide grin made your cheeks swell until they almost ached, but the wait was worth it. 

When he came through the door, his head was hanging low, until he felt your presence. Lifting his gaze, he met your great big smile with a smaller one, though the movement of his body betrayed him. The door shut with a strong thud, just before he stepped forward to let his crossbow fall from his shoulder. With a soft grunt under his breath, he buried his nose in the warmth of your shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. 

For a good while, he stayed like that, only taking in the sensory relief you provided him—your faint scent of rose, your softness, your tender chuckle as your hands rubbed in vertical motions up and down his aching back. Despite the rigidity of his tired muscles, he melted into you, letting himself bask in the comfort you provided him. To hold him like this was nothing short of a ritual between you two, whenever you were apart for long enough to begin missing each other to the point of near grief. 

A man like Daryl—who’d been through so much as he had, who’d seen so much and had still so much room in his heart to give of himself to others—deserved to be held the way you held him. Few people in this world had a heart as big as him, though he did not show it in ways most people would recognize. He showed it in acts of service, in providing for people who could not provide for themselves, in the ones he loved safe. It was what you always adored about him: how he gave of himself, and expected nothing in return. 

“Hey, there, tough guy.” Daryl buried his face deeper into you, now snug in the crook of your neck, where he caught the scent of your perfume, applied much earlier in the day, yet still lingering sweetly. Though you adored how much he clung to you, you longed so much to see his face. Your hands grabbed a hold of either side of his head to lift his gaze to yours. 

As usual, his disheveled hair hung low over his forehead, obscuring one of your favorite features of his—his eyes. Between strips of tattered brown curtains, you could make out the blue-grey hue of his irises. Pushing them back, you smiled again at those deep-set pools of silvery cobalt blue. You always found their mystery to be intriguing. 

“How are you?” you asked, though you knew from the state of him that he must’ve been exhausted. He hadn’t even muttered a word, and yet the more prominent than usual bags under his eyes spoke for him. “You must be tired, hon. Let’s get you in bed.”

But as you turned towards the staircase, a firm grip pulled you back by the wrist, until you were in his arms now, laughing at his sudden burst of energy. Despite your amusement, he did not smile, only looked at you with a heavy, dark gaze, and a lick of his lips.

In your surprise, you hadn’t even noticed that both of his hands were now wrapped around each wrist, so tight that you nearly feared he’d cut off your circulation. 

Something was wrong, had to have been. You’d never seen him so… intense. Of course, Daryl could often be intense, when he was angry especially, but this wasn’t that. Anger was something you could recognize in Daryl. He’d never directed it towards you, but you knew it, and this was something different. 

“Are… are you feeling okay, sweetie?”

Silence, just that gaze holding you hostage, and a heat rising from his body that you could’ve sworn caused a bead of sweat to form on your brow. 

Now he was scaring you. 

“Daryl?” 

Your voice tempted him further. If only you knew just how much he missed you, how much he needed you. A week was too long. A week without you, a week without your touch, a week without your sweet, dulcet voice. And oh, how that voice awoke in him a terrible burning, a conflagration of deadly proportions, a fire that could only be extinguished by the one he loved. 

Entranced by his stare, you hadn’t noticed that he had you pinned against the wall, his strong, heaving chest keeping you there. 

And when he pressed himself against you, you knew. It was obvious, the way he nearly thrusted into you. 

When you realized what he wanted, you felt a wave of relief wash over you: he needed you just as much as you had needed him the past week. From the night he left, you’d not stopped thinking of him, and when you’d turn in your bed to feel for him, and he wasn’t there, the ache for him only worsened. 

There was no way in Hell, though, you were going to initiate sex when he got home. You knew he���d be tired, and a good night’s rest was what he needed before you even thought of asking him to make love to you, but now, with that wild look in his eyes, that hungry snarl in his lip, that flare in his nostrils, that beating of his heart… 

“Oh,” you sighed, your teeth biting back your lower lip as your eyes trailed up and down his body. With your hands finally free, you ran them up his arms, letting them settle on the broad, firm shoulders you loved so much. 

For just a moment, he leaned forward, forehead and tip of his nose meeting yours. With his hardening cock beginning to dig between your thighs, and his vaguely tobacco tinged musk tickling your senses, you could only utter one word. 

A soft, nearly whimpering mewl: “Daddy.”

By the time he got you to the sofa, each of you were already panting, hands moving relentlessly as you both clawed for any part of each other’s body you could get your hands on. Your mouths worked tirelessly, tongues spinning sloppily around the other’s in your haste to finally have each other again. 

When you successfully removed his leather angel-winged vest, you worked on unbuttoning his black shirt, but his hands stopped you. 

“Need your mouth,” he said. 

Leaning back on the sofa with a low grunt, he began unbuckling his belt, while you slotted yourself between his legs, hands massaging his clothed thighs, thick and flexing against your palm. 

When his cock sprang out of its confines, you’d already stripped yourself of your underwear and your robe. In only a transparent silk nightgown, your hips swayed instinctively as you watched his hand begin to stroke himself, up and down the long, thick shaft you’d come to know and love so much. 

“Come ‘ere.” His hands reached out to grab either side of your head, bringing you down to his cock. Panting lips began to drool a bead of saliva down the side of his growing erection. Knowing what he wanted, of course, you took the reddened, swelling tip into your mouth, much to his immediate relief.

“Fuck.” As your mouth slid a little lower, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. His grip on your hair tightened as his head fell back on the arm of the sofa, a soft breath of your name on his lips. 

Returning to watch you, he lifted your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tilting his head to get a better look at you, your eyes fluttering up to meet his gaze.

“Pretty angel.” Even just the utterance of that affectionate pet name made you feel an overwhelming need to touch yourself. With your free hand, you lifted your nightgown to slot your fingers between warm, velvety folds of aching flesh. “Ya look so good like this… Suckin’ on Daddy’s cock.”

It was somewhat of a tradition now, using that phrase, though only in the context of sex, in your most private, intimate moments. It was silly, you knew it, and he knew it, too, but you both found it excruciatingly sexy all the same. It was sacred in that you’d probably die of embarrassment if anyone else besides Daryl knew of your little… kink.

But neither of you could quite help it, you adoring his strong, protective nature, and him just finding it so alluringly sinful. Guilty pleasure type of thing, with emphasis on pleasure.

And besides, his dirty talk was sex all on its own. 

As your mouth took him in progressively deeper, your fingers moved faster, increasing the friction against your sensitive spot, then slowly dipping down into the embrace of your entrance. 

Not only could he admire your mouth, and your sweet soft moans, but he could watch your fingers enter you, your hand shaking as you penetrated yourself to match the rhythm you knew he liked when he had his cock in you.

“Love when you fuck yourself like that.” He only wished he was the one doing it. “You thinkin’ of me?”

Well, it was hard not to think of him, with his cock in your mouth. 

Taking the opportunity to catch your breath, you answered him. “Yes, Daddy.”

His hands pulled you back down onto his cock, your lips forced open by his tip. “Just don’t make yourself come,” he said. “That’s for me.”

Yes, Daddy. 

Sliding over your tongue, his cock dug deeper, towards the back of your mouth. Going down on him was always a bit of a challenge, given just how big he was, but the weight of him inside you, wherever that may be, was far more rewarding. And when you got to feel that little twitch, his cock moving all on its own as it begged for release… It only made you suck harder, sliding your mouth up and down, taking him in deeper until you were nearly gagging. 

But he liked that, the sound of you struggling just a little to take all of him. Daryl was a sensitive man, yes, but he was still a man—proud of his big cock, even if he was insecure in most other areas. At least he was big, and at least he knew how to use it. 

With his hand on the back of your head, firm, but still gentle enough to let you up if you needed it, he pushed you down just a bit more, hearing your gag become more guttural, more strangled. It did not hurt, though. It only turned you on, your fingers curling inside you to tickle that special spot, and your other hand fondling his balls, tightly drawn to the underside of the base of his cock. 

For several moments, the only sounds coming from either of you were your strained groans, his slipping from between his agape lips, yours muffled by his length filling your entire mouth. Between those sounds of pleasure were the sloppy squelches of your lips soaking him with your saliva. You were always so messy when you went down on him, but how could you not be? His cock provided you no room to lick up your drool, stuffing you until your spit had nowhere else to go but down his veiny, hard length.

Of course, he’d have to tease you about it, how sloppy you were. “Messy girl,” he said, his hand gripping your hair to pull back your bangs. You fluttered your eyes open to meet his, and you were greeted by his crooked smile, with just a sliver of those shiny teeth showing. “Gettin’ Daddy all wet, huh? Nice and wet so I can fuck you good.”

Yes, Daddy.

Eyes rolling back slightly, he bucked his hips up with a jolt, your sucking beginning to tip him over the edge. Just in time, too, for your hand was getting tired of rubbing, and you needed him to finish you off.

“F-fuck, angel. Imma need ya to get that pussy ready for me.”

Whatever he wanted, you’d give him. After all, you were his good girl. Always his good girl. You couldn’t think of a time you’d ever been a bad girl for him. Daddy deserved his good girl.

Yes, you were a good girl, but you could still be… needy.

“Oh, Daddy.” Now straddling his waist, your fingers went straight for the first button on his shirt. “Want you.” He loved when you whined, just a little, and when you were so needy for him that you couldn’t quite make out a completely proper sentence. “Want your shirt off.”

He let you undo just a few buttons, exposing the hairs on his chest that drove you crazy, made you want to feel those wiry hairs between your pursed lips as you trailed your kisses all over his broad chest, made so strong and big by all the manual labor he did, and that heavy crossbow he always used. 

That very same strength pulled at your wrists, then raised you up only to lay you down, sprawled out on the other side of the couch. Now he hovered over you, the tip of his cock hanging down to be tickled by the fabric of your blush pink nightie. He always liked pink on you, matched the color of your cheeks when he talked so dirty to you, made you feel like a whore, but not in a disrespectful way. Never in a disrespectful way.

Besides, you knew you were more than that to him. You knew he loved you. Two years together, through some of the most abject pain and suffering imaginable, would do that. But in moments like this, it felt good to be just his personal whore, whom he happened to love very, very much.

Tenderness blossomed between your lips and his, where he kissed you so deeply, so sweetly. And yet, you still clawed at his shirt, your fingers begging for him to let you see his gorgeous body, after so long away from him.

“Shit,” he laughed into your mouth. Sitting up, he began to undo the rest of the buttons, then peeled off his shirt with his chest puffed up, clearly a bit cocky. When your hands shot up to grasp at his pecs, the faded ink of the tattoo above his left nipple having taunted you, he chuckled again.

“Daddy,” you laughed back, your voice a drawn out, dramaticized whine. “Come on.” 

Now you were testing him, and he held back the rest of his laughter to put on a stern, domineering face. “Hey, now. Be a good girl.”

He felt your thighs squeeze together underneath him, and your hips jolting upwards. He knew what you wanted, and he’d give it to you, but this position wasn’t quite right. 

With a breathy grunt, he grabbed you by your waist, flipping you over, then lifting your bottom until it was sticking out at just the right angle. Lifting your nightie, he licked his lips to watch you move your hips from side to side, as if to taunt him. 

“Cute little ass,” he practically cooed. Leaning over you, his chest pressed firmly to your back, he nuzzled his nose against your pillowy cheek. All the while, you felt his hand slide between your now nearly dripping wet folds. Eyes closed softly, you hummed a soft whimper at the feeling. His hands were always different from yours, so much bigger, stronger, rougher. You’d never felt a touch quite like his, and part of it was because he touched you with such tenderness, even if he tried to manhandle you a little. He was still always gentle, somehow.

In the most honeyed, silky, yet scratchy, voice, he rasped in a whisper, “Did ya miss me, angel?” 

“Yes… Daddy, I missed you so, so much.”

“Mm, I missed you, too. So much.”

Finally, you felt his tip just barely graze your hole. Not only was he torturing you, he was torturing himself, but he loved it. He needed it, otherwise he was sure his peak of pleasure would go away just as fast as it would come. With you, in this moment, he needed to prolong the desire as much as he could. He could feel it coming soon, though, that tensing in his muscles, that tingling in the pit of his stomach, that twitching that made his cock seem to bounce against your folds on its own accord. 

As he slid further into you, you felt his lips find the back of your neck, where he left little kisses the more he sank into you. It felt so good to feel him again, that fullness. It was a feeling only he could give you, his unique way of moving, his cock fitting so perfectly inside you. 

Underneath your nightgown, his hands found your breasts. Tense, strong fingers curled like claws at the soft tissue. Even in his dreams, of which he had many while he was away, he could not recreate that texture—that pillowy soft flesh swelling against his fingers. And the inside of you, the warmth and tightness that hugged his cock and accepted him with each pass, in and out. 

Soon, he leaned back to watch your body envelope his, the shiny, milky coating of your arousal making it easier to slip in and out of you, his hips thrusting in ever increasing speed.

“Daddy…” 

God, he loved being called that. Much more than he should’ve. But, then again, he’d probably find you sexy even if you were calling him “dickhead.” He really didn’t mind, as long as you were calling him something. 

“Mm, angel… Daddy’s here now, sweetheart.” He delivered a harder, stronger thrust, pulling a loud, strangled moan out from deep inside of you. “That feel good?”

“Fuck, yes!” 

As if to praise you, he delivered just a small, weak slap to your bum. That was about as hard as he was willing to spank you, given how much he hated the idea of hurting you, but he knew you liked it, and he liked it, too, the clench of your body from the slap making him jolt forward. 

“Takin’ it good… Real good.”

With one hand still squeezing your breast, the other now drawing tight circles over your clit, he made your lips tremble and your muscles tighten as you began to approach the height of pleasure. You could feel it, just on the brink of release. And he felt it, too, which was why he pulled himself out of you, flipping you over again like a ragdoll. 

You were startled when he pulled you down by your ankles, until you were closer to him. He gave his fingers a good, long lick, then let them sink into you, where his cock had left you stretched wide open and dripping wet. 

Three fingers. Three thick, strong fingers, curling up inside you, making you writhe and groan as your hands shot up to grasp at his shoulders. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched his neck bulge with the strain of trying to keep himself from coming, and it only aroused you more—those muscles flexing and throbbing and burning underneath hot, sweat-dripping skin, tanned by days on end out in the sun. 

What he needed so badly was his own release, after so long of working so hard out there, risking his life for the good of Alexandria. As his forearm and biceps flexed with every push of his fingers inside of you, his chest heaved harder and harder, while you reached between your legs to find his cock. With your hand pulling on his length, and your walls clenching around his fingers as your release reached a tipping point, you both would soon be giving each other much needed relief. 

“Daddy,” you sighed, tugging harder on his cock as frustration overtook you. The closer you got to orgasm, the more you couldn’t wait any longer. “Make me come… I wanna come.”

“Ah, angel… I’m gonna come, too.”

Just moments later, you tensed and gasped and writhed and moaned, rocking your hips upward as his fingers stayed inside you, squeezed by your contracting walls. “Oh, Daddy!”

He leaned forward to lay on top of you, his sturdy weight keeping you in place as you rode out your high, soaking his fingers with your arousal. The heat of your cheek seemed to burn his lips as he kissed you there, then rubbed his button nose in delicate circles to soothe you. “Yeah… Daddy’s got ya, sweetheart.”

With your hand still tugging on him, he gasped a heavy breath, spilling out over you right then and there, his hips thrusting into your hand in desperate, sloppy motions. The orgasm was so strong that he lost his composure for a moment, his head falling into your chest as he groaned your name, over and over and over again. 

And now he freed his hand, using it to rub up and down the sides of your torso, your skin like fine silk under his worn, calloused fingers. In his hair were your hands, massaging his scalp the way you knew he liked, until he lifted his head to offer you a gentle smile. 

“Mm, I’ll never get tired of that.”

You tilted your head with a wide grin. “I didn’t think you’d want to do it tonight. I thought you’d be exhausted.”

He breathed a low huff before rolling over onto his side. You did the same, letting him hold you with his chest pressed firmly to your back. There wasn’t much room on that tiny couch, but you made it work. After all, even if you were in bed upstairs, you’d probably still be this close to each other, clinging for dear life, never wanting to be separated again, though you knew someday you’d have to.

“I am,” he said. “Just… I dunno, needed you, s’all.” Observant as he was, he took notice of your shivering, and reached back to grab the knitted blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He covered the both of you, then tucked his chin into your shoulder, where it seemed to fit perfectly. “Missed ya so much, could hardly stand bein’ without you.”

Even now, after you thought you’d be used to his sweet words, he still had a way of sending those butterflies aflutter. “Well, now you’re back home.”

That sounded so good to him—back home.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Masterlist

Part 2 (coming soon)

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: What use is honor in war?

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

*Clouds of ash part to reveal burnt out husks of barracks complexes, shatter communication towers, and looming over all of it was the crumbling structure of the once proud command center itself.*

*Setting down in front of the command building a small squad of human soldiers approach and form a cordon to either side of the lowering boarding ramp.*

*General Marius Fimble slowly walks down the ramp flanked by a pair of black clad honor guard. His robotic left foot slamming against the ramp with a resounding cannon like echo until he reaches the bottom*

Colonel: *Salutes* General.

Marius: *Returns salute lazily while scanning surroundings* Colonel.

Colonel: You can relax sir; we’ve cleared the area of all resistance.

Marius: Complacency breeds overconfidence; never forget that.

Colonel: Sir!

Marius: Do you have him?

Colonel: We are keeping him in the main building to prevent escape.

Marius: *Confused* Have they made attempts?

Colonel: First one he killed three and injured twelve.

Marius: First?

Colonel: Second he killed seven and injured six, then again three hours later with eight injured.

Marius: He’s tried escaping three times already?

Colonel: Oh no.

Colonel: Those were all within the first seven hours of capture; we’re on twenty seven attempts by now.

Marius: *Grunts*

Marius: Let’s get this over with then before he kills any more of my men.

*Colonel escorts the general and his guards inside the command center. Descending three flights of stairs the group comes to an armored door guarded by twenty soldiers and an auto turret pointed at the doorframe*

Marius: Open it.

*The armored door slowly creeks open as all twenty guards take aim at the opening. The auto turret slowly begins spinning its turrets in preparation to fire as the general walks by.*

Marius: *Waves his bodyguards* Wait here.

Colonel: I would not recommend that, sir.

Marius: *Walks past Colonel and into the room* Noted.

*The door slams behind Marius as he takes in the surroundings. A single light hangs from the ceiling illuminating a lone figure secured firmly to the ground my numerous heavy chains*

Marius: Commandant Fring, we meet at last.

Fring: *Spits out glob of purple blood at Marius’s feet*

Marius: *Steps over it without acknowledging it*

Marius: I had heard tales of the great Grung military back in my academy days and I must say after fighting you, I am deeply underwhelmed.

Fring: *Low growl*

Marius: *Circling the room* Over a thousand years of military prowess and I took you apart in less than a day.

Fring: YOU STRUCK WITHOUT HONOR!

*Fring lunges at Marius who doesn’t flinch. The chains straining under the sudden pressure with Fring just out of reach of Marius’s throat*

*Marius watches in silence as Fring continues for several minutes before relenting*

Marius: I never understood that.

Fring: What?

Marius: Honor.

Fring: You do not understand it because you have never held it.

Fring: You preach of taking down our military when you attacked like cowards and thieves in the dead of night! Slaughtering my warriors while they slept rather than dying by their hands on the field of battle!

Marius: The purpose of war is to win.

Marius: Everything else takes a back seat to that one concept; because if you don’t win nothing you were fighting for matters.

Fring: And yet it is the manner of how you fight that defines who you are.

Fring: And you are a coward!

Marius: So you justify your incompetence by claiming I am a coward?

Fring: You dare!?!

Marius: You were unprepared for an attack despite declaring war on my people. They should have been mustering for war and already onboard troop ships heading out of system; instead they were…how did you put it? Ah yes, they were sleeping.

Marius: *Leans in close to Fring who lunges again only to be grabbed by the general’s hand*

*The general’s grip is iron and Fring claws at it as he gasps for air. There is no emotion behind the eyes of the human leader as he watches his foe*

Marius: Honor, is a novelty for those who can afford it. A justification to fight in a manner of combat they prefer regardless of how many souls die by the outdated ideal that is “Honor”. I fight to win wars, and though my victories seem beneath you I ensure that my men, my soldiers, will return home safe and sound because I fought using my head and not my heart.

*Marius let’s go of Fring who collapses to the ground*

Marius: *Looks down at Fring* You fought with your heart and you lost five field army’s worth of soldiers in a single night.

Fring: Do you keep me alive just to mock me? End me then, for I will hear none of this.

Marius: *Chuckles* I’m sure I had a reason for keeping you alive, but seeing you now I can’t for the life of me wonder why I thought it was worth the effort.

Marius: *bangs on door and the door opens*

Marius: *motions to the soldiers* kill him.

[ms--lobotomy]

@liar-anubiass-blog hi! Tumblr has a habit of deleting the very ask I want to write for when it is its turn. Here's your Emps being a bit of a silly billy.

---

summary: you are a poor unfortunate immortal who the emperor happened to take an interest in before the whole imperium of man thing. have fun with that

word count: 1353

content warnings: a bit of gore, a bit of longing for death, a very yandere man (god?) thing, also this shit is TOXIC toxic so beware, also he uses female words so if youre not a girl just pretend he used masculine pronouns i guess

---

It all started when you were minding your own business, crossing the street sometime in the 3rd millenium. It was late at night, and you were walking alone to your car, parked a little ways away from your workplace. You started to cross the street. A car barrelled towards you, moving haphazardly through the street. You barely had time to turn your head before it collided with you, flattening your frail body. Bones cracked open, flesh fell apart and blood poured from every opening.

After the offending car had frantically drove away, you felt your bones moving back to where they should go and fresh blood oozing back into your form. Soon you were standing up right where you had been before you were struck, work uniform and all. You raised a hand to your cheek. The blood was inside, where it was supposed to be.

You never told a soul about the event. After all, who would believe you? But this was not the only thing you found strange. As you grew older, you never aged. It was a little strange around your 30s or 40s, but you knew something was up once you hit 50. Faking your death was challenging, but you somehow made it work, ready to start life in a new city.

And city to city you roamed, never staying in one place for too long. You began to hate, loathe this curse that had been put upon you. One part of humanity that everyone else had shared was no longer yours. You wanted to die, you wanted it to end when your time was up. But time marched on, and so did you.

You'd moved onto your next city, ready and resigned to this process you had carved out for yourself. Get some crummy job serving slop to people who sometimes yelled obscenities at you, find a place to rent for a little while, and hunker down and hope your secret would be safe.

But something was different about this city, you felt a pair of eyes on you no matter where you went. You weren't sure where they came from, but you now walked a little brisker and you certainly now slept a little less soundly. You requested, you begged to work at the back of the seedy restaurant you worked at, a request which was never granted. So you toiled away at the front, ever cautious to remain inconspicuous.

But all of that would be for naught in the end. You were once again walking home from work, complete with a disheveled uniform. He was a taller man who hadn't had to do much to keep up with your brisk place. He was adorned with long black hair, honey-brown eyes and golden skin. His voice was deep and commanding.

"I know what you are." He put a hand around the back of your neck, his index finger tapping it lightly.

You froze. He stopped walking next to you, looking down on you. "Hell of an opener," you said after a few moments of silence. "Ever introduce yourself?"

"You'll know who I am soon enough," he replied. He tightened his hand around the back of your neck. How tall was he? Maybe around seven or eight feet? "Keep quiet and follow me or I'll snap it."

You felt a lump form in your throat. You'd been very careful to keep your secret from the outside world. If your neck was snapped in broad daylight and you somehow came back from it, there would be no more secrets to keep.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

You walked through the busy streets, never meeting the gazes of the city folk. Some of them looked at their feet when you stared back at them, some of them kept looking. "What a lovely couple!" exclaimed an older lady before meandering past the two of you. You thought your feet were going to fall off before the strange man turned into a more suburban area of town. "Not too far left to go," he said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

As soon as you felt you couldn't do it anymore, he led you up the steps of a beaten-down two-story house. His grip was tight enough that you couldn't even consider running away. With his free hand, he pulled a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the door. As he turned it, his hand trailed town towards your waist, grip tight as ever.

"Welcome to your new home," he smirked.

"My rent is due tomorrow," you remarked.

"You're not going to need it ever again," he said, pushing you into the house. This strange man had a maximalist aesthetic, little decorations were crammed into every corner of the place. He closed the door and led you through the halls, going slow to let you take in every little bit of it.

"So you're kidnapping me," you said flatly.

"That's a bit of an unkind way to put it, don't you think?" he asked. He pulled you close to him. You felt your heart beating in your chest. Not now, you thought.

"Think about it this way. You have a secret. A secret that I have as well. Don't you want to hide? Don't you want to slip under the radar?" he asked again. His hand slipped off of your waist and he knelt towards you, taking your hand in his.

"Do I know you?" you asked. You tried to pull away, but his grip was so tight it was bound to leave a nasty bruise.

"You may not know me, but I know you to your heart," he replied. "I've seen all that I need to see. You working long hours at that dead end job all but broke my heart. Those customers didn't see what I saw. I saw a beautiful individual stuck in a terrible existence. I saw you before me, living in fear. Don't you think you deserve to be freed from that existence?"

Your mouth hung slightly open. "You were the one following me," you said softly. "How did you have the time for that?" You pulled your hand away from his, and this time he relented.

"You can't explain the day you died and came back, can you?" he asked. "It's a little bit like that, don't you understand? I'm like you. I can help you. I can save you."

Your expression softened. "How?" you asked.

He stood up. He towered over you still, casting a shadow over you. "How about we head upstairs," he suggested, grabbing your arm and tugging you up the wooden stairs.

His bedroom was just as cluttered as his house was, if not more. There may have been around a dozen pillows on his bed, partially obscured by silky curtains. Light filtered through a window on the side of the room, illuminating books and statues and other little pieces of art.

"Where did you get all of this?" you asked. His hand trailed down your arm to meet your hand, engulfing it.

"I've lived a long time," he replied, leading you to the bed. He sat on it, pulling you onto his lap. "Longer than you have. Longer than you could comprehend." You could hear your heart beating in your chest again as he wrapped his arms around you. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you sat there for a moment, still. The curtains to the window fluttered slightly, the light made its way onto the both of you.

You weren't supposed to feel safe. You'd never seen this man before today, he all but kidnapped you. But you thought of your old life, hiding in nooks and crannies that the world couldn't find. Even if you would have to leave this area one day, you knew you weren't the only person afflicted with this curse.

You leaned back into his touch. You relaxed, going limp in his arms. He turned and planted a kiss on your exposed neck, just above where your collar ended.

"Good girl," he said.

[geothewriter]

Any Other Way - A post-war Zutara One Shot

Happy Birthday (slightly early) to my good friend @achillmango

I wrote ya a lil something because you're an awesome person and a great editor! I legitimately couldn't have made all of this progress on Vermillion Seas Cardinal Skies without you. So... here! I ran with an idea we talked about a while back.

Special shoutout to @demaparbat-hp for helping me edit this fun piece. You helped me add the polish to make this special. <3

And so with this, my first public action as your regent Fire Lord, I declare all aggression over. Our troops will withdraw home, now, to the Fire Archipelago, or to the colonies. On that topic, as I'm sure you're well aware, the colonies are a difficult subject to consider. The newly appointed peacetime council and I have already begun correspondence with King Kuei of the Earth Kingdom to begin ratifying a joint act we like to call the Harmony Restoration Movement. It is a long road, but together, we will travel it well. I'm sure many of you are wondering why an old war general is attempting to herald peace. Why would the Dragon of the West hope for less conflict? I am an old man, and I have seen the atrocity of war. Many across the seas will know me as something else, but I assure you, I am no longer that young man. If I must answer for my past crimes and ambition, so be it. Make that call, and I shall answer. If you call prior to the passage of the next seven years, a council of responsible individuals will head this fine nation. After those seven years have elapsed, my nephew, Prince Zuko, will take the throne as Fire Lord. Until such a moment arrives, he is to contribute to communities around the across all lands, gaining post-war-time political and worldly experience prior to– Zuko gently placed the article that formerly acted as packing paper on the table. His uncle sure could write a speech when he put his mind to it. Three years. He had three years left before his freedom came to an end. A long time, to be sure, but could he really prepare himself fully for the throne in only three years? A terse sigh escaped Zuko’s lips before he turned and pulled another mug from the box on the table. Unwrapping it with care, he placed the porcelain cup in its belonging place, up in the cupboard. Another delve into the box, and he withdrew a rather large plate.  The protective paper fell to the side as he placed the tableware in another cupboard. He wondered, could it really be so simple? Would he really be able to settle down in a new location every few months for the next few years? It wasn’t like four years helped him fit in with the rest of the world. If he wasn't normal by now, then there was no way on earth three more years would do the trick. Zuko sighed. At least the nightmares had stopped midway through last summer.  It was when she joined him. It was the promise, really. “If things don’t work out, and we’re both lost and aimless in the world, promise you’ll find me?”  “Only if you promise the same.” They sealed the oath with a hug and parted ways after his Uncle’s coronation. A year passed with little contact. Zuko was too busy to think beyond the next day, and she was too busy rebuilding the south to write.  She found him in Jang Hui, while he was supervising the removal of the vast quantity of rubble from the destroyed metal foundry located there. He was overburdened, having taken on both that and the difficult job of establishing a more robust local government, as well as setting up a makeshift hospital to get them back on their feet. He was more stressed than he could ever remember. He hadn't slept properly in days. Hadn't eaten, either.  Then she happened. 

Continue Reading on AO3.

[fireismine]

DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 6: House Targaryen → Targaryen Women + Love of Flying

Rhaenys the Conqueror

Rhaenys, youngest of the three Targaryens, was all her sister was not, playful, curious, impulsive, given to flights of fancy. No true warrior, Rhaenys loved music, dancing, and poetry, and supported many a singer, mummer, and puppeteer. Yet it was said that Rhaenys spent more time on dragonback than her brother and sister combined, for above all things she loved to fly. She once was heard to say that before she died she meant to fly Meraxes across the Sunset Sea to see what lay upon its western shores. Whilst no one ever questioned Visenya’s fidelity to her brother husband, Rhaenys surrounded herself with comely young men, and (it was whispered) even entertained some in her bedchambers on the nights when Aegon was with her elder sister. Yet despite these rumors, observers at court could not fail to note that the king spent ten nights with Rhaenys for every night with Visenya. - Aegon’s Conquest, Fire and Blood

Rhaena the Black Bride

At the age of nine, however, Rhaena was presented with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone, and she and the young dragon she named Dreamfyre bonded instantly. With her dragon beside her, the princess slowly began to grow out of her shyness; at the age of twelve she took to the skies for the first time, and thereafter, though she remained a quiet girl, no one dared to call her timid. Not long after, Rhaena made her first true friend in the person of her cousin Larissa Velaryon. For a time the two girls were inseparable…until Larissa was suddenly recalled to Driftmark to be wed to the second son of the Evenstar of Tarth. The young are nothing if not resilient, however, and the princess soon found a new companion in the Hand’s daughter, Samantha Stokeworth. - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

~

Princess Rhaena had many a suitor as well, but unlike her brother she gave encouragement to none of them. She preferred to spend her days with her siblings, her dogs and cats, and her newest favorite, Alayne Royce, daughter to the Lord of Runestone…a plump and homely girl, but so cherished that Rhaena sometimes took her flying on the back of Dreamfyre, just as she did her brother Aegon. More often, though, Rhaena took to the skies by herself. After her sixteenth nameday, the princess declared herself a woman grown, “free to fly where I will.” - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

Aerea Targaryen

Little and less need be said of the return of Rhaena Targaryen from Estermont after her daughter’s death. By the time the raven reached Her Grace at Greenstone, the princess had already died and been burned. Only ashes and bones remained for her mother when Dreamfyre delivered her to the Red Keep. “It would seem that I am doomed to always come too late,” she said. When the king offered to have the ashes interred on Dragonstone, beside those of King Aegon and the other dead of House Targaryen, Rhaena refused. “She hated Dragonstone,” she reminded His Grace. “She wanted to fly.” And so saying, she took her child’s ashes high into the sky on Dreamfyre, and scattered them upon the winds. - Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Their Triumphs and Tragedies, Fire and Blood

Alysanne Targaryen

The last years of Alysanne Targaryen were sad and lonely ones. In her youth, Good Queen Alysanne had loved her subjects, lords and commons alike. She had loved her women’s courts, listening, learning, and doing what she could to make the realm a kinder place. She had seen more of the Seven Kingdoms than any queen before or since, slept in a hundred castles, charmed a hundred lords, made a hundred marriages. She had loved music, had loved to dance, had loved to read. And oh, how she had loved to fly. Silverwing had carried her to Oldtown, to the Wall, and to a thousand places in between, and Alysanne saw them all as few others ever would, looking down from above the clouds. - The Long Reign: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny and Pain - Fire and Blood

Alyssa Targaryen

The princess was seldom long away from the Dragonpit after that day. Flying was the second sweetest thing in the world, she would oft say, and the very sweetest thing could not be mentioned in the company of ladies. The Dragonkeepers had not been wrong; Meleys was as swift a dragon as Westeros had ever seen, easily outpacing Caraxes and Vhagar when she and her brothers flew together. - The Long Reign: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny and Pain - Fire and Blood

Laena Velaryon

Though Princess Rhaenyra had been proclaimed her father’s successor, there were many in the realm, at court and beyond it, who still hoped that Viserys might father a male heir, for the Young King was not yet thirty. Grand Maester Runciter was the first to urge His Grace to remarry, even suggesting a suitable choice: the Lady Laena Velaryon, who had just turned twelve. A fiery young maiden, freshly flowered, Lady Laena had inherited the beauty of a true Targaryen from her mother, Rhaenys, and a bold, adventurous spirit from her father, the Sea Snake. As Lord Corlys loved to sail, Laena loved to fly, and had claimed for her own no less a mount than mighty Vhagar, the oldest and largest of the Targaryen dragons since the passing of the Black Dread in 94 AC. By taking the girl to wife, the king could heal the rift that had grown up between the Iron Throne and Driftmark, Runciter pointed out. And Laena would surely make a splendid queen. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

~

The Hightowers of Oldtown were an ancient and noble family, of impeccable lineage; there could be no possible objection to the king’s choice of bride. Even so, there were those who murmured that the Hand had risen above himself, that he had brought his daughter to court with this in mind. A few even cast doubt on Lady Alicent’s virtue, suggesting she had welcomed King Viserys into her bed even before Queen Aemma’s death. (These calumnies were never proved, though Mushroom repeats them in his Testimony and goes so far as to claim that reading was not the only service Lady Alicent performed for the Old King in his bedchamber.) In the Vale, Prince Daemon reportedly whipped the serving man who brought the news to him within an inch of his life. Nor was the Sea Snake pleased when word reached Driftmark. House Velaryon had been passed over once again, his daughter, Laena, scorned just as his son, Laenor, had been scorned by the Great Council, and his wife by the Old King back in 92 AC. Only Lady Laena herself seemed untroubled. “Her ladyship shows far more interest in flying than in boys,” the maester at High Tide wrote to the Citadel. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

Rhaenyra Targaryen

At the center of the merriment, cherished and adored by all, was their only surviving child, Princess Rhaenyra, the little girl the court singers dubbed “the Realm’s Delight.” Though only six when her father came to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen was a precocious child, bright and bold and beautiful as only one of dragon’s blood can be beautiful. At seven, she became a dragonrider, taking to the sky on the young dragon she named Syrax, after a goddess of old Valyria. At eight, the princess was placed into service as a cupbearer…but for her own father, the king. At table, at tourney, and at court, King Viserys thereafter was seldom seen without his daughter by his side. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

Baela Targaryen

“She is overly fond of boys,” the castellan wrote Baela’s father, Prince Daemon, after that incident, “and should be married soon, lest she surrender her virtue to someone unworthy of her.” Even more than boys, however, Lady Baela loved to fly. Since first riding her dragon Moondancer into the sky not half a year past, she had flown every day, ranging freely to every part of Dragonstone and even across the sea to Driftmark. - The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant, Fire and Blood

Rhaena of Pentos

During the first quarter of 135 AC, two momentous events were the occasion of great joy throughout the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. On the third day of the third moon of that year, the people of King’s Landing woke to a sight that had not been seen since the dark days of the Dance: a dragon in the skies above the city. Lady Rhaena, at the age of nineteen, was flying her dragon, Morning, for the first time. That first day she circled once around the city before returning to the Dragonpit, but every day thereafter she grew bolder and flew farther. - The Lysene Spring and the End of the Regency, Fire and Blood

Daenerys Stormborn

Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch. Rivers running bright and blue below, glimmering in the sun. Will I ever see such sights again? On Drogon's back she felt whole. Up in the sky the woes of this world could not touch her. How could she abandon that? - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

~

Then all of that had faded, the sounds dwindling, the people shrinking, the spears and arrows falling back beneath them as Drogon clawed his way into the sky. Up and up and up he'd borne her, high above the pyramids and pits, his wings outstretched to catch the warm air rising from the city's sun baked bricks. If I fall and die, it will still have been worth it, she had thought. - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons