#Like WHY does he feel like there’s no one back home for him??

[luveline]

jade!! can we please get something with junie’s mom and eddie? <3 missing them today

thank you for requesting! 1.3k

Eddie met you two weeks after you moved into the park, he’s pretty sure. Your baby ran out down the road because you didn’t know that all the trailers have the same bum lock, and she ended up on the Munson porch trying to get back home. 

He still remembers how she could barely talk. He had no idea how quickly babies explode with words. 

“Love you.” Junie smiles up at him, her waiting for a reciprocation all the more impressive. She’s just turned three, and Eddie would argue she doesn’t look it. She’s still a baby in his head. 

“I love you,” he says, leaning down to tap their noses together. 

“Can I have a hug?” 

Just a few short months ago she would’ve shouted “Hug!” and dove into his neck, or said nothing at all. He doesn’t see why that should change. 

“Babe, you don’t have to ask,” he says, wrapping his arms around her. 

She sighs in contentment, relaxing under his hand where he pulls it up and down her back. She’s getting bigger. Eddie can’t believe she’s already three. Where the hell does the time go? Days, weeks slip away. 

But at least they’re with you. God, he can’t believe they’re with you. 

“I’m feeling left out,” you say, laying on the floor of the trailer with your hands held over your chest. You’d been colouring with June a half hour ago, but she got bored fast and left you there. You’ve yet to get up. 

Eddie twists June in his lap so she can see you. He hugs her, and he presses his face to the top of her head, one eye open to see you and the other screwed closed. “You want us to come over?” he asks. 

You think about it. “No. I’m too tired to hug.” 

You’re always tired. Eddie knows that there’s a life he could give you one day where you don’t have to work. He’s not sure you’d let him, but he’d like to get promoted and move you out. He’d like to ask you properly to be his forever, to be permanent, and to live together as a family. Wayne’s telling him not to rush into things, but he really didn’t. You and Eddie were friends for half a year before he finally couldn’t take it anymore, and he doesn’t see that time as wasted, but he knows now that getting to kiss you is something he missed out on. 

Plus, being your boyfriend means he’s actually allowed to take care of you without dousing you in shame. You like being looked after. It’s why Eddie works a ten hour shift and comes straight home to you, so he can fold your laundry and you can get some rest. 

Every time you yawn, it’s a reminder for Eddie that he’s not making your life as easy as he could. (It’s not a healthy way to think about it. It’s not your fault or his that life is hard. But he thinks about it anyway.) 

Eddie gives June a kiss behind the ear and sets her down in the corner of the couch. He grins at her as he does, hoping for a detachment without tears, popping his head into his hand in mock nonchalance. “Babe, I’m gonna go hug your mom back to life. I’ll be right back. Cool?” 

“Cool.” 

Eddie pats her knee and she sits back to watch as he drops to the floor on his knees, crawling around crayons and gel pens and markers to your side. You laugh, flinching as his hand lands on your stomach, but he’s not there to tickle you. He holds your face in the other hand, really holds it, bending time. The mental snapshot he takes of you tired and lovely regardless can join an endless gallery. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says. 

“So are you.” 

“You want some help getting up?” he asks. 

You nod your affirmation. Eddie slides his hands under your arms, murmurs a too tender, “I got you,” as you sit up. He stands and pulls you with him, half drags your tired limbs to the couch where your girl is still sitting patiently. 

He puts you down. Kisses your cheek, throws a blanket across your knees. He picks Junie up to sit where she’d been in the corner and promptly settles with her on his thigh, the other arm open. 

“We’re napping?” Junie asks. 

“Would that be okay?” Eddie asks. “Mom’s tired.” 

“I’m not tired,” Junie says. 

“I know, baby, me neither. I was thinking we’d just lay here and hug mommy for a while, and then we’d have lunch.” 

“I don’t need a nap,” you say, though your eyes are heavy, darting to the empty place in his arms carved out especially for you. 

“Then just hug me,” Eddie whispers. Commanding, disbelieving, he knows you’ll be dozing in five minutes or less. All you need is a little light goading. 

You lay against his side. Junie wiggles to be on her front, chest to chest with Eddie as he sinks down. He kicks up his legs beside you, the three of you collapsing inward, his favourite girls in the world. 

There’s argument on if you can choose your family or not. Eddie doesn’t remember choosing you, just suddenly knowing you, and ever so slowly loving. He loves your face, your arms, the way you breathe. He loves how you turn into his chest and how you seem thrilled to be there, your hand coasting a loving line across him, fingers pressing into his stomach. It’s like you’re waving on his skin. He has no idea where you learned how to touch someone with that much love, but he leans down to kiss the skin just shy of your hairline so you know he feels it. 

Junie’s all little legs and sweetness as she yawns on his shoulder. “Mom, can I have some… some blanky?”

You pull it off your legs to cover hers. Eddie squares it up. Everyone covered, he lets his head tip back against the couch.

He’s not tired. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep. You fall asleep first in a slow series of exhales he knows well, that deepening, your fingers growing still against his t-shirt. 

Junie goes second. She squirms at first, not wanting to give in, but Eddie’s getting better at his dad-pats. He finds the space on her lower back, her off button ever since he’s known her, and he taps his hand against it until she’s breathing heavily against his neck. 

“Eddie?” she asks tiredly. 

“What, rockstar?” 

“Goodnight.” 

He scratches her back lightly. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Do you need me to take you to bed?” 

“No. We can sleep on you.” 

“Who should I sleep on?” he whispers. 

She shakes her head. Unhappy with his question, or maybe her nose is itchy. She falls asleep with her face pressed to his chest a few seconds later, leaving Eddie awake and unsure of what to do now. He trapped himself. 

He can’t find it in himself to mind, worried first about boredom, and then struck with a realisation. How could he ever be bored with you under his arm? 

He has time now to trace your nose, count your eyelashes, whatever he likes. 

“Love you,” he says, pressing his nose to your head. 

It takes a few seconds. “Love you,” you murmur. 

He rubs your arm until you’re sleeping again. It was selfish of him to wake you, but he’d wanted to hear it.

[clrasecretdiary]

Why does she give a damn about me? | Spencer Reid x Reader

cutesy, cheesy fluff

In wich Spencer thinks reader is out of his league but she could not be more into him.

Content: Garcia is a queen as always, sunshine!reader

Warnings: Maybe some light lack of self steem from spence, but nothing crazy!!

He was used to it at this point. Being the weird kid in high school and college, Spencer never really expected anyone to be into him and, after being rejected a couple of times, he had practically closed himself off in that sense. But then, you came into the picture.

You are one of those girls that everyone seemed to gravitate toward, not only because of your beauty but because of your essence. You were genuinely kind, smart and good with people in a way he wished he was, maybe that’s why he was so drawn to you, you had all the qualities he wished he had and being close to you made him feel complete.

Needless to say that he was in love with you, it had started as an admiration and when he realized he was thinking about you all the time, but he was sure you would never be into guys like him, he was sure you’d never see him as more than friends.

–

You had joined the team a few years ago, you were excited to finally be doing what you really wanted when you joined the BAU, going out in the field and being on cases instead of just working a desk job all the time. When you first met the team, everyone seemed very welcoming but you felt yourself especially drawn to Spencer out of all people, at first he seemed distant but with time you noticed how sweet he was and how much he cared for everyone around him and god that man was so funny, you loved his weird science jokes and his magic tricks. How were you supposed to not fall in love with him? You asked yourself that question every time he brought you coffee in the morning or went on his rambles about some random thing.

After a particularly intense inquiry from a very drunk Garcia in one of the girls' nights she organized at her home, you told her your feelings for Reid and she made you swear you would act on it.

“Garcia, I'm not confessing. He's not into me like that, i’ll just ruin our friendship”

“Oh honey, he practically kisses the floor you walk in, he follows you around the office like a lost puppy and practically kills any officer that dares to be the tiniest bit mean to you. There’s no way he’s not into you, at least try pretty please” She says, doing puppy eyes at you. Garcia took her job as a cupid very seriously and was not going to let this be her first fail.

“Alright, i’ll try but if he ends up hating me you’ll have to bake me cookies everyday until i die” You say rolling your eyes and finishing your glass of wine.

“Ohhh i’ll be cooking cookies for you guys wedding!”

–

So, here you are holding his favorite order from the local coffee shop and gathering the courage to press the button to the elevator

“Hey are you fine?” A familiar voice calls you, when you turn around its spencer.. Great, guess you’ll have to do this right now

“Oh hi yeah, I was just um… meditating”

“Did you know meditanting has been proven to increase your memory and is also great for reducing anxiety. I really should start doing it, what method do you use?” Spencer says while pressing the button to the elevator

“Ummm breath in, breath out i think” You say, unsure how to respond

“That's actually one of the best ways as it oxygenates your brain and helps it work better, it can also help you feel more calm since deep breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system that sends a signal to your brain to tell the anxious part that you're safe and don't need to use the fight, flight response” He says, doing the little smile and head nod thing he always does after info dumping.

You smile back at him, as you both enter the elevator and press the button to the BAU floor.

“I brought you something” You say, handing him the coffee shop bag

He opens it and smiles at you “I can’t believe you remembered my favorites, thank you so much” You love that smile so much, all you can think about is how perfect he is and how there’s no way you can continue on without dating this man.

“Actually, I need to tell you something spence… I was thinking, maybe we could go out together as like, a date or something” You say, already blushing from the embarrassment you felt and how scared you were that he did not reciprocate the feelings.

“Really? Of course i want, to be honest i’ve wanted to ask you to be honest but i thought you’d never see me like that”

“Are you kidding me spencer? I’ve had a crush on you since we first meet”

The elevator gets to the office, and you both walk in blushing and joking about how you two were so blind to each other's feelings. As you get in, garcia passes by you two stopping to stare

“There’s something happening here…” She says, pointing between you two and pressing her eyes together as if she’s profiling you two

“I asked him out”

“Oh my god finally, you see? I’m always right, I don’t even need to ask what he said, look at Reid, he’s glowing, ohh i’m so happy” She says, walking out to probably tell the news to everyone on the team.

[sturnioz]

shy!reader has an attitude that fratboy!chris isn't afraid to fix.

you're a mess, tears streaming down your cheeks and mascara smudged beneath your eyes, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, biting down harshly on the skin as you struggle to contain your emotions.

you've always been the one to bottle everything up, keeping a tight lid on your feelings until they erupt in the solitude of your own home — allowing yourself to let everything spill out, pouring your heart until you were exhausted and slept.

but today isn't the case.

you're not home; you're at the frat house, sitting on the far end of the couch, knees drawn protectively to your chest with the boisterous laughter and loud chatter of the frat brothers that roam the house, the sounds overstimulating you.

truthfully, they have kept their distance from you — watching them freeze in the doorway when they hear your quiet sniffles, then slowly back away, would've been amusing if you weren't so caught up in your own head.

chris is the only one who stays, seated on the other end of the couch, hunched over as he rolls a joint while occasionally glancing at the tv that's playing his favourite show, barely paying you any attention.

he did ask you what was wrong the first time he saw you, but when you snippily replied that you didn't want to talk about it, he scoffed and ignored you. that made you even more mad.

why does it bother you so much? you're not sure. did you want him to continue asking? to truly care? to offer you comfort? yet again, you're not sure. the confusion only leaves you more frustrated and angry.

what you do know is this; you're not okay. you're upset, annoyed, frustrated — you are everything but fine.

"damn, kid.. what's the matter w'you?" you hear nate's voice ask when he enters the living-room with matt trailing behind him.

matt gives you a quick glance before he sinks into the lone armchair in the corner, pulling out his phone. nate still hovers nearby, tilting his head slightly as he shakes a tupperware container full of salad in his hand, the sound of crunchy vegetables rattling inside.

"nothing." you reply, your voice sharper than intended, and from your peripheral vision, you catch chris glancing over his shoulder at you, his brows furrowing and his tongue prodding against his cheek.

nate purses his lips, a thoughtful hum escaping his as he pops the lid off the container, the fresh aroma of salad wafting toward you. he holds it out, a hopeful grin spreading across his face. "apple?"

"i don't want it." you retort, your annoyance flaring.

but nate is relentless, shaking the container enticingly. "c'mon. i know y'like—"

"i said i don't want it!" you snap louder, and in a moment of impulse, you shove the box away with too much force, and the contents topple to the ground — vibrant greens and reds scattering.

your heart races as you see the mess of chopped veggies, a mix of surprise and regret washing over you as you quickly look up at nate, ready to apologise for the mess and for your outburst. but before you can utter a word, chris is already at your side..

with a firm grip on your arm, he practically drags you up the stairs, away from the eyes of the others who have stopped in their tracks to watch the scene unfold. the embarrassment floods through you, and your head hangs low.

though you're still simmering with frustration, the regret for how you treated nate still gnaws at you.

when chris pulls you into his room, he shoves the door closed behind himself with a loud thud. you frown, your hands twitching at your sides as he slowly turns around to look at you with an incredulous gaze.

"what... what is your problem?" chris snaps, his voice low and intense, teeth gritted in annoyance. "huh? 'cos this attitude y'got, kid, it's fuckin' pissin' me off — you're pissin' me off."

his bluntness stings, and you open your mouth to defend yourself. "i said i don't want to talk about it. i said that so many times!!"

"right, but no need to act like a fuckin' baby 'n throw a tantrum."

you can't help but bristle at his words, shooting him a glare. "i hate you."

chris laughs at that, the sound low and mocking, a slow nod punctuating his response as his tongue prods at his cheek. a smirk spreads across his face as his posture shifts, and the way he scratches at his jaw, his gaze locked onto you sends a shiver down your spine.

you immediately regret what you said.

you're not surprised when you find yourself sprawled across his bed, your shorts and panties tugged down to your ankles, biting into his pillow as chris plunges deep into your pussy from behind, his hands smacking your ass.

you mewl loudly, lashes sticky with tears, drool seeping past your lips and dampening the material of his pillow as your hips arch back into him.

"s'what you needed, right?" chris asks, his voice low and husky as you squirm beneath him, watching his cock pound into your sopping cunt, your hips bouncing off the bed. "jus' needed t'be fucked t'get your fuckin' attitude in check."

"m'sorry!!" you cry pathetically, your lips parting in a 'o' shape as you feel another slap against your ass, the stinging sensations making your toes curl.

"yeah.. i know, kid."

© STURNIOZ

[cherriesformatt]

sick || matt sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: reader is taking care of sick Matt

warnings: pure fluff

word count: 1k

a/n: how can you be sick and still looking like matt did? I think its only him...

I was excited to see Matt but in the same time I knew something was off when he texted me this morning to come over but than he did not answer anymore. Him and his brothers were doing this challenge that they are separated for a week for the first time and today Nick left for Japan with Madison and Matt was left alone. I was off work now so I decided to drive to his house. I walked in using my finger print on their lock and locked the door back behind me.

“Matt?” I called but no one answered me.

I frowned and walked up the stairs and when I did not see him on the couch or in the kitchen I went to his room. It was all dark so I left the doors open to see.

“Matt?” I asked and I looked at him. He was in the bed wrapped in his comforter.

I came closer and sat down next to him. He was sleeping. His cheeks were flushed and his hair were sticking to his sweaty forehead. I saw an empty bottle of water and termometr on this night stand.

“Oh my poor baby” I whispered.

I didn’t see him for some time now and all I wanted to do now was to snuggle with him and take care of him. I was so sad he got sick on the week he was off work and stuff. It’s like his body knew it could let go.

I took my attention back to him as he started to cough and he quickly sat down and sneezed.

“Hi baby” I sad smiling sadly and have him a tissue from the night stand.

“Y/n what are you doing here? What time is it?” He asked with his very raspy voice.

“It’s past 5, you are sick. Why didn’t you text me? I would bring you stuff” I said.

He looked at me as he cleaned his nose and he put away the used napkin.

“I’m sorry baby, I practically slept the whole day I knew I was going to text you but my phone was too far away. I feel like shit” he said.

“I can’t believe ve I got sick and can’t kiss you right now. I missed you so much” he said with a very sad tone and his eyes dropped.

“Shhh… it’s okay” I came closer and I wrapped my arms around him. He didn’t protest and rested his head on my shoulder.

“Did you take anything for the fever?” I asked and when he shook his head I rolled my eyes.

“Okay. Do you guys even have any medicine at home?” I asked again and he shook his head again.

“Dear God Matt what was your plan? Die from fever and dehydration? “ I rubbed his back.

“You’re all sweaty… you should shower to feel a bit better and I’ll change your sheets and will DoorDash everything we need to make you feel better” I say moving away a bit.

He looked at me and nod. He rested his back in the bed and looked around and grabbed his phone from under all the pillows and he handed it to me.

“Use my DoorDash with my card please” he said and I didn’t want to argue with him looking like that.

I stand up and I offer him my arm to help him get up and when he does he instantly shivers.

“Okay… sit down I’ll go and turn water on so the bathroom will be warm for you” I said and quickly went to do that and than when we was in the shower I got him fresh pj’s and put it in the bathroom for him as well as I change his sheets and order things. I ordered medicine, stuff for making soup and pasta, electrolytes and his favorite drinks and snacks.

I went around living room and kitchen to tidy a bit and put a blanket on the couch.

“You are the best…” he said as he stepped into the living room.

“Go seat on the couch the stuff will be there soon. I’ll make soup and homemade pasta. It will take some time but I know how much you like” I say and he comes closer to me and brings me back to his chest.

“I’m sorry I’m sick….” He whispered.

“Don’t be sorry it’s not like you could control it. It’s all good I want you to rest and let me take care of you without worrying” I kissed his cheek.

“I wish I could kiss you but I don’t want you to get sick” he said moving away.

“ I know….” I smiled and send him on the couch again.

When the stuff got here, he took the meds and I started cooking. He needed to vlog so he did w bit.

“Matt for the love of good put this hoodie back on. How can you have 101 fever and look this good? Also never mind get under the fucking blankets or no soup for you” I said I noticed him shirtless.

“But it’s so hot, this meds broke me. What if I’m dying?” He asked looking at me from the couch.

“You’re not, you are just a man with a cold right now. I know it might seems like dying but you’re not” I said very seriously.

He rolled his eyes on me and got under the blanket. When food was ready we were eating it on the couch and talking a bit about Nick and Chris and his time in Boston when I was telling him about work and what I was doing when he wasn’t here when I’d we talked almost every day.

“Thank you for the food it was so good. I feel so much better now” he said and he lay down with his head in my lap.

“You know what always makes me feel better when I’m sick?” I asked with w smile and started to play with his hair.

“I know, I know. We can watch Harry Potter movies together “ he said.

[mullermilkshake]

Yandere's meet their Darling.

Satoru Gojo

Satoru knows he's amazing and incredible, he doesn't need to hear it to know it's true. Everybody loves him, except you. A person who denies any feelings towards him, enamoured or otherwise.

So naturally, Satoru is drawn to you.

Initially, he just observes and wonders what makes you so different and why you never fall in line like the rest of them. His infatuation first begins as an inconvenience. You inconvenience him. He can get any person he likes and toss them away like trash in a landfill whenever he pleases. But you do not allow that.

You are not interested in his subtle advances, you don't even allow him to catch you staring in his direction. Because you do the opposite, in fact for a moment, it's like you try your hardest to ignore him.

Satoru does not like being ignored.

The little signs of his interest soon become stronger and the inconvenience morphs into an odd interest about you. You're pretty, that's for sure, funny too, everything he looks for in a person he'd want to speak to on a more intimate level.

But Satoru can't stand the fact that when he expressed his feelings about you, in an appropriate manner too, you turned him down. It was pure madness. Whoever disregards his feelings are utterly insane and stupidly stupid. Well, other people, but not you.

Despite your protests, he will never think badly of you. Ever.

Satoru sees this as a game now. You don't want him, but he wants you and it's certain that you are his object of affection. He will find out how you are immune to his pretty face, his lovable charm and his outstanding morals.

You don't know it just yet, but he will have you.

Whatever Satoru wants, he gets.

Suguru Geto

Suguru daydreams over the first time seeing you. Your bravery and insensitive cursing that left your lips without batting an eyelid. You still do.

Your spirit is strong, overwhelming to those who don’t know you because you cannot be broken. Suguru takes that as a challenge, to break you down bit by bit in anyway he can, while still remaining faithfully at your side just like his other fellow sorcerers.

Before Suguru decides to leave the side of purity and defending the weak, he wants you to join him. There’s no way you ever will whilst your ideals remain as pure as Satoru’s hair.

Suguru would rather just rip off the bandaid and take you away, but there’s plenty to do before he can even do it. He wants to use his cursed spirits and get rid of the vile monkeys, but he waits. Another agonising year to be correct.

Suguru waits until he’s past the age of eighteen, he’s an adult now, as are you. That means that no one can tell him what to do and you are capable of making your own choices. The last year has been torturous for Suguru, silently filling your head with nonsensical bullshit and at first, it doesn’t work, but then it does.

At first you prefer to sit next to Suguru, then study with him and then allow him to walk you home after the winter nights get darker for longer.

Then because of Suguru’s well ingrained methods, you even go to kiss him. He receives you and knows now, that it’s time to indoctrinate you.

You are the only person Suguru wants next to him when he steps foot into the new world.

And now he's moulded you just for that.

Kento Nanami

Kento can’t believe his luck when he sees you at the gates of Jujutsu high. He already sees you outside of work in the little convenience store you work in, your shifts being every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and every second Saturday. The store’s bread is currently the top on his list of regular items.

There’s just something different about you. There is indeed, a magnetic pull that keeps Kento coming back despite how terrible the other food items are.

You serve him with a smile, always a smile and it never falters. Sometime’s Kento is lucky enough to get a brush of your fingertip across his own finger during the exchange of money.

Imagine his surprise when he sees you, wandering up to the red Torii gate with a little piece of paper in your hand, you smile faded away and eyes so tired. Kento hates it that your smile has gone and later learns that it’s in fact a cursed spirit hurting you. And by chance, Kento was recommended to exorcise it.

You don’t know it’s a cursed spirit of course, just that Kento is apparently a masseuse and the lady who recommends her is the very same from that sandwich shop Kento used to frequent.

Fate has its way.

Kento knows this was meant to be and will do his best to give you comfort and continue to be the gentleman he always is. To be the respectful and trustworthy man you will call in a time of need, in fact you already have.

Accept now, you know his name. You also accepted an invitation to dinner.

Now that Kento is in your life, it’ll be rather difficult to have him exit it.

That won’t happen as long as he has a pulse.

Ryomen Sukuna

Roman Sukuna has never experienced shock, or surprise before, not until you waltz into his field of vision. Practically a carbon copy of the only person he loved during the golden age of Jujutsu.

Love is a weak emotion, but then again, it's an emotion all the same.

During the Heian ear, that person was a witch, a trickster, perhaps that's why he admires that person and it's entirely possible why he eats his words the second he spots you. Watching from a distance is all he can do for now until his brain resets itself and allows him to collect what a drooling mess he is.

Of course, he never admits it.

You by lineage, obviously a descendent are his to claim without protest from your lips. He watches you whilst he inhabits Yuji Itadori's body, noting your facial expressions, how you talk and they way you fiddle with your hair just right.

He will have you even if you don't agree, if you turn around and fight him because for the first time since his reincarnation, Sukuna senses a shift in his priorities. He hates it, shedding even a scrap of vulnerability, but that's how the world works.

Vulnerability makes people weak and he does not show it, not even allowing that punk to go through those types of memories he holds close. They are his alone and that's that.

Ripping out this body's heart could prove a useful tool to prove to you how high his affections lie, what better way to show it than giving you a still beating heart? But you strike him as the type of person who would not be that way.

You seem to be the type who enjoyed the rougher side, the raw energy of his intentions, forcefulness and unwavering perseverance.

Either way, you're coming with Sukuna when all is done and he fulfils his role as the king of curses and takes his rightful place burning the world.

With you right by his side whether you like it or not.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji Couldn't care less when he saw you.

You were nothing. A weak person with not much going for you besides having Jujutsu high as a security blanket. He originally had been watching Satoru Gojo, waiting for him to drop his guard, he noticed you too and thought nothing of it.

Then, he stands no more than six feet in front of you, you're hurting, breathing erratically with so much blood up your arms yet still standing there to face him. Even though you just watched Satoru Gojo die by his hand, he was still there on the floor with the gigantic laceration in his neck.

Still, you didn't take your eyes off of Toji, and for the first time, it stirs something up inside him. Why are you, an upperclassman even doing with these kids? Toji does his homework and you have four years on them, is it to lead by example?

You aren't setting a very good one, picking a fight with someone much stronger than you in every way, but you still remain there, ready to take Toji on. He wants to ask you, why? How can someone be so stupid to see a man, who is your cocky underclassman and much stronger than you by far get his shit pushed in and you still want to take him on?

You just stand there, trying your best to control what little hope you have left. But it isn't enough, it never is. Toji overpowers you like a butter knife to soft flaky fish, holding you in his grip whilst you struggle to make things inconvenient for him.

You don't make a dent though.

Toji has other plans than killing you like he did Satoru Gojo, he just isn't sure what those plans entail, but he'll find out soon enough.

Choso

Choso's head is splitting as he wanders through the train station, trying his best to input the new information and store it somewhere without frying his brain. He's overwhelmed and unsure of where his footing lies. A hole to crawl into seems like the best idea, until he can mull over this sense of horrid sickness.

That's until he turns the corner and sees you running past him, almost colliding into each other. You stop and look at him as he holds fast and tries his best to keep the tears from falling over his cheeks.

He looks at you and you him, and if it isn't bad enough that his head threatens to explode, images of you plague what little brain space is functional, tripping his entire head.

What Choso does not know, in this moment, was that he was imprinting on you, filling the blanks of his memories and slotting you right where you should be. He needs to protect you at all costs, because if he doesn't you are sure to die just like his brothers.

You are special. Despite what side you are on, you even ask him if he is alright. What person on the opposing side does that? You do that. You are the saving grace amongst the sorcerer's and showed him kindness.

Choso must keep you safe and not allow anyone to touch or harm you. He was not there for his brothers and he will be damned now if he doesn't protect you in their stead.

Little does he know, that he is just on the first step to becoming obsessed and infatuated with you, and will stop at nothing to keep you right where you are.

Even if it kills him.

Hiromi Higuruma

Hiromi first meets you as one of his clients, accused of murder you did not commit.

He knows you're innocent, he just knows it, the look of your innocent features as you walk through the door to the two way glass to ask for help. So innocent and doe eyed as you sit there across the desk practically begging him to help.

Of course he'll help, it's what he does best when his clients are against the odds. Conviction in Japan exceeds ninety nine percent for a reason. So he decides to help and offers his services pro bono. It's for the greater good of the public after all. Putting your pretty face behind bars is a travesty.

Your aura is simple, dainty and warm. Hiromi wants nothing more than to protect you, to look after you and nurse you from the legal system that has targeted you.

Because there is no way that you are hiding anything from him. He can just tell.

Whilst the prosecution builds a case, Hiromi does everything he can to make your stay where you are kept as comfortable as possible. Soon, he doesn't just come to see you to speak about the case, he also regularly comes to see you just to spend time before returning home.

It should never be a case that he fell for you while accused of such a horrible crime, but he can't help himself. He can never help himself. His thoughts on how you'll jump for joy and have no choice but to stay with him after out of a sense of duty for pulling off the impossible are continuous.

Either that of he will just ask you out himself until you do.

After all, as an attorney, it's his job to push for all the facts to get the outcome he desires.

[almondmilktargaryen]

Duty & Sacrifice (Part Three)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Mourning child loss (written by someone who's not a parent), lying

Word count: 4.6k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four ✍️

Just as when he left Flea Bottom, the guards do not look twice at Aemond as he walks through the Keep. They do not see his face, nor the two cloaks he wore (Criston gave him his to hide the blood). No, all they see is his boots as they bow upon passing. The only words they utter are, “My prince.” Aemond faces forward. His eye does not stray. And his head stays up.

He turns sharply after climbing the stairs, finding his chamber doors in the east wing. The guard outside mimics the expected behavior before Aemond pushes himself through.

Out of all things unexpected in one night, Floris being absent was jarring. She sticks to a routine, just like him. With the candles already snuffed out, the smell of smoke had been replaced by the open air from their balcony. She should’ve retired hours ago.

Perhaps the gods wanted to leave him alone after… all of it, reminding him how alone he truly was. Still, Aemond looks around, peering past corners and squinting into dark areas at the far ends of their chambers, straining his vision with the distance as he feels the chains in his chest. They weighed down his heart and lungs as he staggered and lifted the bedcovers. Caution camouflages with his grief and takes hold just as strongly. Floris could be anywhere.

The weight, the chains stacked on themselves. Aemond discards the cloaks and mixes them in their shared dirty clothes. The view of King’s Landing taunts him; the capital he once saw from a safe distance nearly two years ago. Even in daylight, the people were nothing more than specks of dust. None of them could hurt him. He never thought it would be the reason, once again, why he felt this way. It was only more proof that he has not changed, still stupid. Three and ten, self-loathing, and stupid.

Luc used to represent his self-loathing. Now he sees Alyssa.

She was warm whenever he held her to his chest, like the sun washing over the cityscape. She was a blaze as fiery as her hair. Now she’s snuffed out like the candles in his chambers, but this time far away from home.

Aemond grips the barrier of the balcony as he falls. The stone scratches his skin as he clings to it like a cliff’s edge, yet he sinks down and down. A heave escapes him, squeezed out of him as the imagery of it all floods back, every angle pouring in as he convinces himself there was something he could have done. Before the alleyway, before Chataya’s. Surely, there was a step he missed. He had to have, so he retraced it all while shivering, like winter was here.

The door creaked open, making Aemond’s head spring up like a deer hearing a twig’s snap. He plugged his grief, picking himself up in the shroud of darkness and rubbing his face.

“Aemond!” Floris’ silhouette is barely in view, but he still recognizes it as she pushes her bangs from her forehead. Her rapid breaths grow louder with each step toward him before she’s fully in the moonlight. She’s in her nightgown. The black one from her mother that matches her hair, both now in crumpled waves. “Where have you been? Daeron has been in a state demanding to see you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

A hand remains in her hair, the other on her hip. “He won’t stop crying. A nightmare, maybe? I put him to bed hours ago, and the handmaidens said he woke up screaming.”

“I’ll go to him.”

“Wait.” A palm meets his chest, square in the center. “What’s wrong?”

Aemond stares into the dark of their chambers just above her head before falling to her blue eyes. It was wiser not to speak.

The tips of her fingers are cold as they brush under his eye. Her short nails barely scrape his unmarred cheek. The wetness shines under the moon as she turns her palm to him.

He pulled out his usual excuse, putting a hand over his patch. “Eye pain.”

“Eye pain?”

“Yes.”

“Your upsets usually force you to rest, not tears.” She observes the residue before wiping it on her gown. “I haven’t seen it this bad since Baelon’s last name day.”

“Well, it happened. It comes in waves. Or sometimes a moment’s fit.” Another way to cover himself in the future. He’s discovered grief rises in him at inconvenient times. Gods love to torture. “I can’t control when they occur, Floris.”

“I never said you could. I just—”

“I need to see Daeron.”

The children sleep in the west wing of the Keep now. After what happened to Jaehaerys, Aemond insisted their rooms be away from the royal quarters. He made sure there was a guard at their doors day and night. Jaehaera included. Tonight, however, there were two guards outside Daeron’s door, appearing dazed and confused. Yet they still had the sense to bow to their prince.

Aemond opened the door to find five handmaidens completely helpless. But like the guards outside, Aemond was also confused when finding his son not screaming. His body only bounces in place like he had the hiccups. His head was down and he gripped his little golden blanket.

“He’s tired out his throat, my prince,” one handmaiden says. Her voice shakes.

Daeron looks up when hearing the title. His little eyes are puffy from crying so hard, and Aemond’s heart, merely hanging by chords, can still twist in on itself as he watches his boy’s lip quiver.

“Leave us, please,” Aemond says.

“Forgive us, my prince. We tried our best.”

Daeron rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. “Papa, my… throat hurts.” His voice sounds like he swallowed gravel from the training yard.

“I’m sure, sweetling. Hold on,” Aemond turns his head to the group. “My son is thirsty. Please, one of you fetch him some water. Add some essence of nightshade to help him sleep.”

Their curtsies blend with their departure. The door shuts behind him.

The candle on Daeron’s bedside table revealed the redness across his face, hot and sticky with tears. Aemond walks to the foot of the bed. He’s careful not to let his weight go too suddenly, recalling the height difference this time between this bed and Baelon’s. He’s not hesitant though with stretching out his arms. “Come here,” he says.

Daeron springs from his covers, leaving behind the small golden blanket as he crawls into Aemond’s lap. He hugs him at the neck while Aemond holds him at the waist. It’s a long hug, something they both need. He smells like outside, earthy yet sweet. He lets himself feel the boy’s fragile ribs steadying themselves. His father was here now. There was no need to worry. So they took in air as they needed it—with ease. When he pulls back, Aemond grabs the spare handkerchiefs left behind. Daeron still sniffled, but refused to blow his nose. Aemond pinches it instead.

“What’s upsetting you so much?”

“Am I to be Lord of Storm’s End?”

“What?”

Snot dribbles on the handkerchief. “I had a dream.”

Aemond cocks his head. “Tell me about it.”

“I had a dream that… that we went to Storm’s End to see Uncle Royce. But I was alone. And-and—”

“It’s alright.” Aemond rubs his son’s back. “It’s alright.”

“You wouldn’t let me fly Morning. I couldn’t get back home.”

Aemond gave pause as he listened to Daeron. The boy’s lip quivers again as Aemond’s thoughts swirl, shushing his son as he remembers Helaena. Aemond clears his throat. He smiled down at his son. “I know what this is,” he says with an exhale. “Come with me.” He holds him close as he stands up, walking across the rooms to settle at his window, the other side of King’s Landing before them. Aemond used Daeron’s fleshy arm to point. “What’s that building there?”

“S-Sept?”

“That’s right. The Grand Sept. Your Aunt Helaena is there. You never got the chance to meet her.” He petted Daeron’s head, white fluffy hairs that swept to the front and covered his forehead. He looks back up at Visenya’s Hill. The sept’s cylindrical corners and golden domes draw eyes to the center of the city. One of them held three bejeweled urns with their ashes inside, and Aemond dares not sniffle. “She would have dreams like yours, except she would often be awake. They would overwhelm her all the same. We didn’t understand them.”

“What happened?” He doesn’t look up at Aemond when he asks, only straight ahead at the sept. Meanwhile, Aemond blocks the memories; gore and blood still trailed the back of his mind if he ventured far enough. His leg bounces as he exhales slowly through his mouth, sounding like a haunting wind. Daeron didn’t notice. Aemond couldn’t gather an answer. What could he say? His sister went insane. She killed herself. He found her on Maegor’s spikes. She blamed herself for something that was his fault, and he never got to apologize.

“She lost her sons in the last war. Your cousin Jaehaera’s brothers.”

“Were they soldiers?”

“No, no.” He’s perfectly between Jaehaerys and Maelor in age. The ages they remain for the rest of time. He skips that. “But she loved them so much, losing them was too much to bear for her.” He rests his chin on Daeron’s head, just catching the tear streaking down his cheek before it dripped onto his son’s scalp. Observing the sept again, he longed to be ignorant of such despair. He shook Alyssa from his mind (as best as he could) to come back. “That’s how I feel about you.”

Daeron relaxed a little, his back touching Aemond’s chest. “But what about—” he coughs. “Uncle Royce.”

Aemond ignored the name. “These dreams can be very vivid. About things we already know. Your uncle named you heir, so you will be Lord of Storm’s End one day, yes. But you will go when you are ready.” He kissed Daeron’s head, inhaling his scent as he tried sniffling subtly. “We will ensure your brother receives proper training in royal proceedings as king. Your mother and I will ensure you’re prepared as a lord.”

Daeron doesn’t speak. He picks at the leather of Aemond’s jerkin.

Aemond, in return, hugs him tight with both arms. He gets close to his ear. “You’re not leaving me for a long, long time. Is that what you needed?”

He finally nods. His little white sideburns tickle his nose.

“Good. Because it’s the truth.” He picks him up again. “Now, time for bed.” His sniffling boy buried his head into his neck as he cuddled close, his fingers wrapped around the back. It was painful to do so, he could admit, but he still pried him off. His fingers slipped off him like broken stitches as he made him settle back in bed. He was reluctant, but gave him the golden one, avoiding the black stag sewn in the corner. He kissed the boy one more time before walking to the door.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“Uncle Royce. Where is he?”

“I assume at home.”

“But in my dream, I didn’t see him there. I said I was alone.”

Aemond blinks rapidly. “Perhaps… you didn’t venture far enough to find him.”

He rubs the satin edge of the Baratheon blanket.

“He loves you very much, Daeron. He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“I know. I just don’t feel like he’s there.”

Aemond said nothing, only watched his son. His purple eyes, swollen and exhausted, darted up at Aemond briefly. They eventually went back down as he pulled his bigger blankets over his lap. Aemond could feel there was something else there, more his son wanted to say. And Aemond, for all the love he bears for his children, didn’t want to hear it tonight. So, he slowly turns on his heels.

“Papa?”

He suppressed his curse. “Yes?”

“Was… Aunt Helaena… were all her dreams true?”

Aemond swallowed thickly as he saw his wife do hours before he left for Flea Bottom. The truth is painful to keep down as he hears Helaena’s voice speaking of rats, then Jaehaerys’ head rolling on the floor just hours later. Still, Aemond looks his son in his beautiful purple eyes as he sternly says, “No. Now go to bed.”

Daeron doesn’t move for a moment, but eventually lays down. Neither of them say goodnight.

Finally, Aemond exits and heads back to his room. Keeping his head up, he pushes down his anguish with each step. He’s not out yet.

Floris barely waited for the door to close before she pounced. “Where have you been?” She is now the starkest thing in the room, all the candles alight again and casting a deep orange across their chambers and she is as dark as tonight’s sky. Only her cream skin contrasted with her hair and attire.

“I told you,” Aemond said. “At a meeting with the City Watch.”

“Her arms crossed over her small belly. “For two hours?”

“Yes.”

“When have you had a City Watch meeting last two hours?”

“Just now.”

“Aemond.”

“Floris, please.” He walks past her, cornering himself on the damn balcony. He lacks the courage to even glance at the city, choosing the brush below instead.

“What did this meeting consist of?” Her voice gets closer.

“My business with the City Watch.”

“Our baby boy wailed for his father.” Aemond can hear the way she bares her teeth. “And wherever this City Watch meeting occurred in the Keep, you were nowhere to be found.”

“It was a meeting in the city.” He spat out the first retort in his mind. “A dire meeting.”

“What could be so dire that you could not tend to your own son?”

“Someone killed a baby.”

The brewing storm halted with a catch in her breath. Her suspicion, though, is still strong around her. Aemond could smell it like rain in the air. He didn’t speak further. Rather, he found the nearest chair and fell into it. The barrier’s small columns blocked the city, similar to a cell as he thought of the woman he loved near the Old Gate. He cannot tell which one is the prisoner, as he pressed his temple with two fingers.

Floris crouched in her gown. Her gaze was heavy as Aemond did everything to keep from letting unnecessary information slip from him. “We took care of the killer. That’s what matters.”

Floris’ pale hand meets the crook of his arm. A thumb doesn’t brush back and forth like it did when his mother succumbed to her fever. The other arm does not wrap him in closer like it did when his nightmares of war jolted him and woke them both. Her thick brows didn’t slant in sympathy. They were straight and stern. “Whose baby was it?”

“What?”

“Whose baby was it?”

Aemond rips his arm away, the leather of his sleeve squeaking sharply from her grip. “What relevance is that?”

“Because you’re a kinslayer.” It rolls off her tongue so naturally.

“I’ve told you not to—”

“It’s what you’re known for, Aemond. I don’t understand how one baby would concern you.”

Aemond slams a fist on the arm of the iron chair as he stands, turning his back to his wife before facing her again. “You know I lost my nephews in the Dance.”

“After killing another.”

“Don’t!” His fingers curl into a fist. It’s when his father crosses his mind that he throws the force against his hip and lets out a shaky exhale. “Floris.”

“With your brother’s bastards rotting in the alleyways, I just don’t understand the difference.” She picks herself  up, pushing with her knees  and holding her belly. Aemond doesn’t help her.

“Because she wasn’t a bastard.” He spits out the words. Another lie, but he doesn’t care.

“Then whose baby was it?”

The chamber doors groan slowly. Aemond doesn’t move from his wife, but refuses to answer. Even as he sees her anger boil her skin and streak her cheeks, he keeps his mouth shut and watches the doors.

“Forgive me, my prince. Princess. I do not mean to disturb.”

“Cole.”

Even in a tunic and linen breeches, he stands like he wears his Kingsguard armor: feet apart, hands collected at his front. No blood in sight, and his hair is disheveled as if someone tore him from bed.

“Leave us,” Floris snaps over her shoulder.

“Cole, what news?” 

He delays in reply, clearing his throat. “Once again, we require your presence, my prince.”

“With what?” Aemond slips around Floris before she can stop him.

“With, uh, burial arrangements.”

Aemond stood still, frozen.

“If the baby has a family, they can decide for themselves,” Floris says. “I don’t understand why such matters require my husband.”

“The family is quite… distraught, princess. As a mother, I’m sure you can understand the idea of such pain.”

Floris’ eyes falter slightly to the floor before glaring back at Criston

“The maesters have wrapped the body and prepared her for her final journey.”

“I’ll go,” Aemond says.

Floris snatches Aemond at the arm. “No!” Her heels skid on the stone floor.

“Do you wish to see the child’s body yourself?” Aemond snaps back at her. “For proof she’s real and your husband has a heart?”

He expected Floris to let him go, in every sense of the phrase. But her small fists only coiled tighter around his forearm. Everything hard about her expression fractured before him. The blue in her eyes glisten brilliantly as she shakes. “Please, Aemond.”

“It won’t take long, princess. I assure you. Your husband will be back soon.”

“Don’t leave.”

Aemond sighs. But he looks his wife in the face as he pulls his arm from her hold a second time. He walks to Criston.

“Please.”

It falls on deaf ears.

Neither speak a word as they make their way through the Keep, nor create any sense of urgency with their footsteps. The only ones who look them in the face are a number of Gold Cloaks, either nodding or appearing extra sullen.

They don’t exit through the front doors. No disguises with them now. Instead, the pair navigate through Maegor’s tunnels to find their escape, opening one (of many) secret doors. The scale of Aegon’s High Hill meets them, the white waves of the Blackwater and a bobbing rowboat just below.

“How did you do it? Is Alyssa—”

“Not now.”

Criston jumps down first, landing on a small area of flat rock. He scales down the small mountain with ease, and Aemond follows with enough distance to not disturb each other’s footing. They hug the jagged walls and Aemond keeps his eye focused down on his own feet, his impaired sight working against him more than ever, with only moonlight just barely revealing shadows here and there. Criston even turned around to help him with some of the hill’s slimmer edges, but he refused, wanting to retain his focus. Over time (and with an absurd amount of patience), they meet at the bottom. They let the steep decline guide them to the small beach, meeting the rowboat.

“We have paid some Gold Cloaks to act as alibis in case your wife wants to inquire. They have already spread the word to others.”

The pools of Floris’ Baratheon blue eyes stick with him. She barely faltered upon word of her father’s fall in battle, nor a tear shed at his funeral. She maintained a grace fit for an unmoving force like her. Yet it was Aemond who pushed her tonight. He pushed her to tears. “And the maesters?” He inquires while clearing his throat. “What you said back there, that was true?”

Criston stretches his arms out to steady the boat. “Watch your step,” he tells him. But before Aemond can even take a step, he’s holding out his hand. Aemond looks down at it.

“I can get in fine on my own, Cole.”

“Just…” He gestures again and keeps it out until Aemond reluctantly takes it, one palm meeting the other. Criston guides him in and continues holding tight as the wood creaks under his boots. He doesn’t let go until Aemond sits down, the boat wobbling. Then Criston steps in on the other side, the Blackwater just missing his ankles, rocking the boat all the same. He grips the edges as he steadies it before reaching down.

Even the late night couldn’t hide the bundle of white waxy cloth, the small bloodless being that he held himself just hours ago. He can still feel the phantom wriggling in his arms from her twin’s screams. Now she is here, still. Still and cold as Criston handed her over. But even as the wind blows, Aemond hovers over her to shield her from the chill. He whispers to her as he does.

“I asked Maester Orwyle to wrap her, so we have another alibi should we need it. With her… injury…”

Aemond traces over her eye. Where her eye would be.

“There was no reason to suspect she was anything but a peasant child.”

“And Royce?”

“The less you know, the better.” Criston then pulls their weight with the boat’s oars as Aemond’s fingers brush the outline of his daughter’s face. The noise of moving water surrounds them as he pictures her. He pulled her into the world first, and he never thought bringing his third child into the world would affect him as deeply as his first two. He never imagined she would leave the world the way she came: wet and screaming.

It wasn’t until Criston docked the boat on the other side of the bay that he thought about asking where he—they—were being taken. He still stood unsteadily when stepping out, eyeing the breathing mountain amongst the young trees: his Vhagar. White birds that were perched on her spine flew when she picked up her head. She doesn’t yawn as she normally does when she wakes up, leaving Aemond to wonder, again, just what they’re doing here.

She peers from her high vantage point, neck fully stretched out as her acid green eyes peer at them both, watching them trudge through the brush of her dwelling. She sniffed the air harshly, sounding like a long hiss if Aemond wasn’t looking. Criston continues pushing the vegetation aside (as he had clearly done before, given the faint imprints of feet in the lush grass). It’s not until they make a circle around her that he sees the pyre; a shadow of dry black timber. Thick logs made the foundation as smaller sticks crossed each other to make the bed.

“She was a Targaryen,” Criston says. “She deserves a proper sendoff.”

Aemond clings to the cloth, securing her against his chest as if he is concealing her under his cloak all over again. He stares at the stick bed, and Vhagar lying behind it. Her chest rumbles, something like a hum that causes the earth to tremor under them. Her neck cranes down for a closer look, and Aemond can see the slashes in her pupils as he feels the creaking of her ancient joints when she tries standing.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond tries adding some force behind his High Valyrian.

She doesn’t listen. One foot forward, and the ground quakes. Roots and leaves shiver. The length of yellow teeth come into view as she takes another sharp breath.

“Lykirī!”

Still nothing. Her snout is inches from his forehead as her sniffs are smaller and more rapid. Her pupils drop to his chest, then back to him as she nudges him. Aemond has to step back to replant himself, but doesn’t order her to be still. His hold on Alyssa remains firm, closer to his chest than her mouth. She closes her lips, and the vibrancy of her eyes disappears when they do the same. Aemond’s forehead meets her snout, and Vhagar is silent as Aemond keeps his sobs down. He clenches his teeth hard and his jaw already aches from the tension.

Eventually, Vhagar steps back, leaving Aemond to walk to the pyre. He was not sure how long it took him to get there. Neither Criston nor Vhagar spoke. The strain from his temples to his eye, and now his jaw, made every step feel glacial. But eventually he did. He couldn’t imagine the sticks being more comfortable than that cot, but he didn’t pick her back up. He swallowed the snot and bile, meeting in the middle of his throat as he stepped back. Criston stood next to him. Vhagar looked at him.

“Dracarys.” He orders it as pathetically as he did before.

Again, she doesn’t follow him. She opens her mouth with no dragonfire. Her massive head twitches to one side, looking at him as she did the first time he ordered her to fly at Driftmark. But just as Aemond can feel the ache in her bones, she can feel the chains in his chest.

Neither of them wants to do this.

Aemond takes a breath, swallowing something like courage. “Dohaerās, Vhagar! Dracarys!”

Her head drew back with another hiss and her pupils thin out before her eyes close. Her neck curls back and she stretches her jaw. It’s always slow. Even the green color that lights up her mouth. He would be convinced that the pyre lit at the same speed, but Aemond fell into the grass; his knees giving in like the wood did under the intense heat.

Criston is still there as Aemond sobs freely, the sounds of it drowned out by the cracks of sticks and logs. He holds Aemond tightly as he buries his face into Criston’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” he tells him. “She’s ascending to the heavens where she belongs. No one can hurt her anymore.”

Aemond blocks his nose in the cloth of Criston’s shirt, sucking in air through his mouth so he doesn’t smell any of it. He remembers how Helaena wailed when she held Jaehaerys, his body limp and the blood soaking into her dress. The woman he loves screamed the same way. The cry of emptiness, a gaping wound inside. Aemond doesn’t have the lungs to scream like that. He just thinks of Helaena on the spikes. “I have to go to her,” he finally says. He pulls away, and Criston’s silhouette is nothing but a bleary shadow. “I have to before—”

“You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

“It doesn’t mean she won’t need me. We still have a child to take care of.”

“She has a child to take care of. You have three. Two of them are here. Another will be in the coming months, and your wife does not need the extra stress of questioning your whereabouts.”

Criston now sandwiches Aemond’s face between his hands. He doesn’t scream at him, but the force of the bones in his hands is hard against his skull.

“Don’t make me build a pyre for your fifth child, Aemond.”

His voice catches in his throat. Neither mother of his children wishes to see him now. Helaena once felt the same, but Aemond’s mistakes called him and Aegon to war, leaving her to grieve on her own. He turns to the pyre, a green haze that occasionally spits at the sky. The smoke burns his nose, making his eye clench shut against the sting. In that darkness, he remembers his mother and the knife to Rhaenyra’s eye. She understood sacrifice. And it was now his turn.

Criston stands up. His outline is still blurry and black, but Aemond can just see his hand outstretched for him. “Your family needs you.”

Aemond remembered his role. And he took Criston’s hand.

Taglist: @paprikaquinn @immyowndefender @teal-anchor @dixie-elocin

[pedroshotwifey]

what about a drabble about a first date with logan who's trying so so hard to have manners and be a gentleman but he's nervous and keeps messing up and its so adorable and cute????? of course reader tells him to chill out and be his normal fucking self because that's who she likes. I felt so bad for him in a clip that's circulating on tiktok where someone says to him that he's not the kind of guy they'd take home bc that's only for good guys

Okay so I loved this so much and then I got excited ab writing Logan and it turned into more of a fic than a drabble, but here it is 😭

First time writing him so I hope it sounds alright! I did use a little something from the recent movie to add a bit of oomph to the ending. Again, thank you much for this request, it's so cute 🥰

Just realized I made it an f!reader insert, but if you want to message me, I can easily switch some things around and repost if you want a diff reader!

The Right Guy

Pairing: f!reader x Logan/Wolverine

W/C: 1.1k

Fluff/diet angst, Just a few F bombs here, nothing bad (they told me absolutely no coke)

******

You scold yourself as you check the small watch on your wrist for the tenth time in ten minutes. In your defense, the time is absolutely crawling by. Logan should be here for your first date in about five minutes, and you’re nervous as hell.

You’ve been crushing on him since you were hired at the mansion a few months ago, so since he asked you out a week ago, your stomach has been constantly swarmed by butterflies. He’s sweet, funny, carefree, but mature—and not to mention sexy as hell. You really don’t want to mess this up. 

Lucky for you, it seems that he feels the same. He tends to be a little more nervous around you, his blush more prominent when you tease him. It both comforts you and gives you confidence. He seems to genuinely like you for who you are. 

Because of that, you decided to wear your favorite dress for your date. He told you he’d be taking you to a restaurant, but didn’t get specific, so it was honestly the safest choice anyway. It’s one of those that could be casual just as easily as it could be fancy. A few well-selected pieces of jewelry can make a world of difference, after all. 

You glance in the mirror, and then back at your watch. It’s right as the long hand makes a round to signify that it’s two before seven that you hear a sharp knock at your door. You jump up from your seat, slightly startled. If anyone had been in the room with you, you'd probably be embarrassed. 

Thankfully, since you’re home alone, you ignore the scare and head for your front door. You take one more deep breath and pull on the knob to reveal your handsome date. You look Logan up and down, expecting his usual outfit—blue jeans, a white shirt, and either his leather or jean jacket. What you get instead, is a suit. You have to make a physical effort to not show your confusion. Okay, maybe you expected a nicer shirt or something—ironed jeans if he really wanted to go crazy—but a suit? 

“Oh, hey!” Unfortunately, it’s a bit harder to keep the confusion out of your voice. Don’t get it wrong, it’s nice of him to try to dress up for you, and he does look very nice, but he doesn’t look like Logan. Your eyes catch on his hair—the usual tufts you love so much look to be somewhat flattened by a gel. 

It’s while you’re distracted by this that he reveals a hidden hand holding a bouquet of flowers—your favorite, actually. So why do you feel almost…disappointed? No, that can’t be it. It’s so cute that he’s putting all this effort in for you, but you really just want the normal Logan.

“Oh, wow,” you say, trying to shake off whatever this strange feeling is. “Thank you, Logan.” 

You carefully accept the flowers and step aside to let him inside while you put them in water. It’s strange that he hasn’t said anything else yet. Wait, should you say something? No, he usually says something. There’s usually a joke cracked by now. It’s weird that he’s not, right? Ugh, maybe it’s you being weird? The awkward tension between the two of you is suffocating.

You’re almost disoriented with your overthinking as you move about your kitchen, pulling down a vase to fill with tap water. Logan, of course, notices. 

He softly clears his throat. “Everything alright?”

You set the vase down on your island and look at him, lips pursed. Should you say something? Well shit, he probably sees something wrong by now—you’re staring at him like you want to say something. Damn it. 

You open your mouth and close it again. How do you even say what you want to say though? 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you lie. Right to his face. 

You smile and walk back to him, trying your best to ignore the expression on his face. Great, now you’re being weird, too. Why the fuck is this weird? 

You breathe out as you close and lock your door, mentally prepping yourself for what you’re really hoping will be a good date. Logan’s waiting for you next to his—

Car? 

Where the fuck is his bike? 

Whatever—it doesn’t matter, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s probably just in the shop or something. 

You give him a tight-lipped smile as you walk to the vehicle, and he opens the passenger door for you. You slide into the seat and wait for him to shut the door before exhaling again. This is all very sweet, but you’ve got to say something. 

You stare at him as he gets into the driver’s seat. Again, he notices. There’s a thick, momentary silence.

“Look, bub, whatever it is, I—”

“You’re not acting like you,” you blurt. 

He stares at you for a second, but you’re pretty sure he knows exactly what you’re saying. You’re pretty sure that’s exactly what he’s trying to do. 

“Logan, you don’t have to put on this show for me,” you say as gently as you can, though it comes out maybe a tad aggravated.

He lets out a slow exhale through his nose and closes his eyes for a blink. You feel bad pointing it out, but there’s no way you can go through a whole date with this stiff act. He opens his eyes back and you offer him a sympathetic smile, your hand reaching out to cup his jaw. He leans into your touch, his own hand coming to envelop yours. 

“I want to go on a date with the Logan I already know, with his bike, and his blue jeans—you move your hand to his hair, messing it up enough to loosen the gel hold—and his crazy ass looking hair.” 

He huffs a laugh, looking at you with tired eyes. You understand how much he must have stressed over all the little details he put in for you. 

“It was very sweet of you to do all this, but you don’t need to perform for me, Lo.” 

He nods slowly, taking a moment to think over everything. “It’s been a long time since I took a chance with somebody,” he confesses, his gruff voice holding an emotion that makes your heart ache for him. “I wanted to be the right guy for you.” 

Your stomach flips. “Logan, you are the right guy for me. You’re always the right guy.” 

Before he can say anything else, you lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips. Surprise halts him for a second, but he’s quick after to reciprocate, his lips moving slowly but passionately with yours. One of his large hands snakes behind you to cup the back of your neck, the other gently tilting your chin. 

You kiss until you’re out of breath, and when you pull away, you let out an airy laugh. Despite the suit, he looks like your Logan again. Wild hair, wild eyes, pink in his cheeks. 

“C’mon, Romeo,” you tease. “Let’s get that damn jacket off and order a pizza and beer.” 

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #51 - Sad Boy]

"When Jungkook comes home sad from work and you cheer him up."

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life

Warnings: mention of losing one's partner to death, Koo is a sad boi after work, but she cheers him up, he is a little shit and she is just as much of a little shit, hehe they're annoying <3, and sooooooo in loveeee!!!, casual non-sexual nudity, backhugs with non-sexual fondling of the teeds, he is just the cutest <3

Wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: i was struck by the random thought that ogc!koo would most definitely cry to his wifey if one of his customers had a tattoo wish with a sad backstory, so this snippet was born hihi he is actually the patootiestest <3 i luv him <3

You didn’t have work today and therefore made dinner. Jungkook should be home any second now and you are really excited for it. You made some of his favourite tonight because you wanted to make him happy. Not that there is a day where you don’t want to see him happy, but you felt like surprising him tonight.

Bam has been in the kitchen with you when his ears suddenly perk up. He lifts his head and sniffles, then suddenly stands up from where he was resting to run away. You know exactly what this means. Jungkook is home. 

Feeling like greeting him by the door tonight, you follow Bam. 

You find him and Jungkook in the hallway. The latter is kneeling, hugging Bam as tightly as possible. 

“Hey there, my sweetheart”, you greet him. 

Jungkook lifts his head, giving view to his teary eyes. 

“Did you cry? What happened?” you gasp, instantly jumping into worried mode. “Kookie baby, what happened?”

Jungkook stands up and closes the distance, “I had a really sad day”, he says, hugging you tightly. He lets out small sound, melting into you.

“No, I’m sorry to hear this. Did something happen that made you sad?” you ask him, holding him and rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes”,  he squeaks out, having to sob. 

“Noo Googie, I’m here. Let it all out.”

“___ you, you can’t ever die. You have to promise me to, to never die.” 

“I mean that’s a rather ambitious wish. Why are you asking me that all of a sudden?” 

Jungkook coughs out a sob, making a sad sound.

“Let’s sit down first, okay?” 

“Yes, okay”, he whimpers.

You guide him to the living room, sitting down next to him and holding his hands. The walk from the front door to the sofa gave him enough strength to finally tell you what made him so incredibly sad today. He does so with his head lowered and his sweaty hands clasping yours as if he needed your touch to survive.

“I had a customer today and, and he wanted a tattoo and it was”, his voice quivers in tears, “it was his wife’s star sign and then I started and he cried and told me that his wife died a week ago and that he wants to keep her with him always. It was so sad”, he whimpers, “he cried through the entire session and I cried with him and it made me so sad and made me think of how it would be lose you and, and you can’t die, ___ please you have to let me go first, I can’t go through losing you.”

“Oh Kookie, you sweetest person you”, you breathe, scooting closer to drape your arm over him, “this must have been such an emotional moment. I’m sorry that you had to go through this.” 

“It was so sad. I had to, to take breaks because I kept crying so much”, he drops his head on your shoulder, “my head hurts so bad and I have ringing in my ears. I’m sad, please can you promise me not to die before me?” 

“So I should deal with you losing you?”, you ask in a chuckle. 

“Yes.”

You laugh. He laughs with you, but sniffles vividly.

“You’re a doofus.”

“A really sad doofus.” 

You snicker, kissing his forehead.

“Mhm, I promise you that I won’t leave you for a long time. I don’t wanna think about this day for too long because it’ll make me sad too, but I promise you it’s still going to be a long time till it happens.”

“I promise you too. And I love you so much. You’re my soulmate and my best friend and my life partner. Everything I do, I do for you.” He lifts his head, cradling your cheeks. His eyes, although teary, are filled with love. “Life for me began when I met you. I knew from the very first moment I saw you in Seokjin’s diner that I loved you. And ever since that moment, everything I did was for you. I love you, ___, I always have.” 

“Oh god Googie, I love you too.” You cup his cheeks. “My soulmate, my best friend and my parter for life.”

Jungkook smiles, leaning into your touch.

“Also my cute, sappy doofus.”

He giggles, agreeing with a nod.

“If I didn’t tell you how I felt tonight, I would have imploded. Witnessing my customer grieve so deeply really hurt me. I felt his pain as if it was mine.”

“Of course you did. You have such an empathetic, loving soul. I’m sure that he felt deeply comforted to be understood this way. I’m sorry that it made you feel so sad though.”

“Thank you”, he mumbles and sniffles, “I feel better already. Talking about it really helped. Thank you for listening. I love you  so much.”

“I love you too and I’m always happy to listen. We’re a team, we go through everything together.” 

He nods his head, eyes softening. 

“Maybe we could die together. When we're old like in- Oh no I’m crying again - like in The Notebook. ___, I’m so sad”, he wails, throwing his head back dramatically. 

“Gosh you, come here”, you chuckle fondly, hugging him again. 

“They were so in love and went together. I can’t do this today.”

“Gosh you, it’s okay. I’m right here.” 

“I can’t do this, please just melt into me.”

“I’m trying, I really am”, you tease, ruffling his hair. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

“I love you too, so much.”

“And I made Tangsuyuk tonight with lots of different sides.” 

“Wow, Tangsuyuk”, Jungkook whispers, forgetting all about crying at the mention of his favourite dish. “My favourite. Thank you so much.”

“Of course, everything for you my darling.” 

He lifts his head, letting you wipe his tears and snot.

“No, don’t. It’s yucky.”

“It is. So yucky”, you agree and scrunch your nose, “you snotty baby you.” 

A shy smile washes over his face. It morphs into a shocked gasp when seconds later you wipe his snot into his shirt.

“Did you just wipe my snot on my shirt?”

“Mhm I did”, you grin, standing up to run away from him, “what are you gonna do about it?”

Jungkook feels his heart flutter. When you are being playful like this, he forgets all about his sadness. He jumps to his feet, chasing you all the way to the kitchen.

“Come here you”, he calls after you.

You squeak and increase your steps, making him laugh and do the same.

He catches up with you, swooping you off your feet. You squeal and cackle, throwing your head back in joy as he twirls with you. 

After the twirling he has the audacity to wipe his nose into your shirt, snickering boyishly at the yelp of complaint you let out. 

He sets you down, laughing giddily when you push him away gently.

“That was so much. Why did you have to do that? Eww I can literally see the slime stick to the fabric.” 

Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back and rubbing your waist. 

“Tch, you’re rancid”, you say, swiping his hands away. You pull your shirt over your head.

“Baby wow”, he gasps, eyes instantly landing on your bared chest. “No bra?” 

“We’ve been living together for how many years and you still get surprised that I don’t wear that shit at home?” you ask him, leaving the kitchen. 

Jungkook follows you. You take the stairs down to the cellar where you have your laundry room. It is a very beautiful and homely cellar and feels more like an underground living area than an actual cellar. 

“Your boobs never lose their power. Obviously I’ll keep being surprised by them”, Jungkook says.

You scoff in amusement, wiping some disinfectant on the fabric. Jungkook is going to do laundry tomorrow either way, but you just want to get rid of the worst. 

Suddenly you have two hands on your breasts and two arms around you, a naked chest against your naked back and lips on your shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” you ask him in a chuckle, leaning into his embrace. 

“Just making sure that you’re real”, Jungkook whispers, guiding his kisses up to your neck and ear. 

“And you had to take your shirt off for that?” 

“It was dirty too”, Jungkook says and takes your earlobe between his teeth to tug on it gently, giving your breasts a playful squeeze at the same time. 

You shiver and laugh at the same time, placing your hands over his’. 

“For someone who had a sad day, you’re being very touchy right now.” 

“I’m not trying anything just…” he sighs against your neck, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as possible, “...I get happy when you laugh. And if my goofiness makes you laugh, I keep doing it.”

“It does. You do. You make me laugh a lot”, you say, having to laugh a second later when he blows raspberries on your neck. “Not like this! I hate this, it tickles”, you squeal in giggles, fleeing him as he goes in for a second attack. “Jeon Jungkook, keep doing this and I’ll die right now out of spite.” 

“No, you won’t. I won’t let you”, he says, picks you up and sits you down on the laundry machine. He is between your legs, hands on your waist and lips claiming yours in a kiss. 

You smile and hum, tangling your fingers in his hair. He smiles as well, tugging on your lower lip before putting distance between your faces.

You cradle his cheeks, rubbing them softly. He leans into your touch, rubbing your waist. His eyes are spilling over with love and as he speaks, he does so in a soft voice.

“I just love being alive with you”, he says. He caresses your waist, your hips, your stomach and chest before landing on your face. “I love the way your skin feels, warm and soft. I love the way your hair falls, so beautiful and perfect. I love the way your eyes are so full of life and beauty and love how soft your lips are. You’re perfect and I love you.”

You smile, kissing his thumb as he guides it over your lips.

“I love you too, Kookie.”

“No but, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Jungkook lowers his eyes shyly, “I’m sorry, it’s getting too much, right?”

You tilt his head back up, mirroring his adoring gaze, “this could never get too much, my sweetie.”

He smiles giddily.

“Although I do fear that dinner might be getting cold if we keep being so sappy.”

“Oh dinner! I totally forgot. Wow baby, I’m so happy to be home”, he says, widening his eyes dramatically and rubbing his own tummy, “I’m so ready to eat, wah baby seriously.”

You snicker, “me too, baby.” You jump off the washing machine and take his hand. “First I wanna put on a shirt though. I’m not down to get sweet and spicy sauce on my titties.”

“Why not? You have me. I can clean everything you get on your boobs. I promise, I’m an expert.”

“You’re a dork, that’s what you are”, you say in a chuckle and a fond roll of your eyes.

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

cw: modern au, chronic pain, mention of Sirus' family but no talk of abuse, some talk of traumatic injury

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Sirius hates the cold. It makes him look ill, his nose always runs, and he does not have a head made for hats. 

The walk to the rink yesterday was bad, with the chill and the early hour and the dark mood that seemed to permeate him like it infused his very blood, but you made it better by being yourself. He suspects you might have even been going out of your way to be sweeter than usual, given that you knew it was the anniversary of the day Sirius ran away from his family’s home. You’d tried to cheer him up. Still, yesterday was bad.

Today is worse. 

You’re silent as you stalk down the sidewalk, one boy on either side of you. You said hello to both him and Remus as you stepped out the door of your apartment, and then that was it. If it were Sirius it might make sense, but you always have an unnatural amount of energy in the mornings. Obviously you’re not speaking to him. And Sirius is still upset about the addition of the death spiral to your routine, so he’s not speaking to Remus. And Remus is hardly one to spark up conversation during an uncomfortable silence, so that just makes the three of you a very sullen, very silent procession to your early fucking morning practice. 

Except when you arrive, the rink is already bustling. You take one step inside before going back out the door, forcing both boys back outside with you.

“What the fuck?” Remus tries to peer inside. For once, Sirius agrees with him. “Who’s taken our slot?”

“I don’t know,” you say, but you’re still standing in front of the door like you’re barring their entry. “I’m going to go find out. You guys stay here.” 

“Why?” Sirius asks.

Even when you look at him you’re not really looking at him, your eyes distant. If you’re trying to make him feel like shit, it’s working. “Because I don’t need either of you going in there to bite someone’s head off. I’ve got it.” 

With that, you slip inside, not giving either of them a chance to argue. Sirius supposes he could go after you anyway, but you seem like you’d bite his head off, and he’s hurting enough from the cold without that extra ailment to contend with. He pulls out a cigarette instead. 

“You really shouldn’t do that,” Remus hums, but when Sirius looks over the other boy is lighting up too, a cig dangling from the corner of his mouth. When he sees Sirius struggling with his lighter, his fingers frozen and clumsy, he rolls his eyes and steps closer. 

Sirius goes still as Remus cups a hand around his cigarette, lithe fingers an inch from his mouth. The lighter rasps once, and the warmth next to Sirius’ face is a welcome sensation. When Remus steps away Sirius straightens his shoulders, expression carefully impassive as he inhales. He doesn’t thank him. 

“She’ll have your ass for doing it, too,” he says. 

Remus lifts a brow, blowing smoke out one corner of his mouth. “Why? I don’t need my lungs for anything.” 

Sirius shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. She thinks she should be in charge of the whole world.” 

A soft chuckle. Remus looks out to where the sun will rise in a few hours, the sky still a sweet blue. “Maybe she should be.” 

Sirius can’t help a little smile at that. He takes comfort only in knowing Remus doesn’t see. “Don’t let her hear you say that.” 

They lapse into a brief silence, easier and more contented than Sirius would have thought possible between the two of them. It breaks only when you come bustling back out the doors. 

“Okay, so apparently—” You stop, looking between them both. “Guys. Seriously?” 

“What?” Remus asks, but Sirius knows better, dropping his cigarette and stamping it out. 

Your gaze flicks over him, almost approving but still a far cry from friendly. He swears your mouth wants to smile at him, only you’re not letting it. 

“Those are so bad for you,” you tell Remus. 

He levels you with a dry look, the brave bastard. “What does it matter? I’m not an athlete.” 

You wince but don’t back down. “Athletes aren’t the only ones with reason to live past fifty.” You give him a hard look. It takes a while, but eventually Remus relents, dropping his cigarette as Sirius had. You nod, crouching to pick up both dog-ends and taking them to a bin. “Each one shortens your life by eleven minutes, you know.” 

Remus meets Sirius’ eyes, incredulous. “She comes prepared with statistics?” he asks in a hushed voice. 

Sirius nods. “Told you so.” 

You brush your hands off on your pants. “Okay. Anyway, hockey practice got moved up.” 

“You’re joking,” says Remus. 

“Nope. And, someone else got wind of it before us, because the slot they had at nine has already been filled. We can’t practice today.” 

Sirius shakes his head. “Bullshit. Why did hockey get moved?” 

You shrug, hugging your middle so your hands can burrow under your arms for warmth. “Management said they didn’t know, only that someone on the team asked for a different slot just for today. Seems like they were sweet-talked into it.” 

Your eyes meet Sirius’ for half a second, and he takes out his phone, frigid thumbs anger-typing away. 

“So that’s it then?” Remus asks. He looks like he’d really like his cigarette back. “We’ve just woken up before dawn and we’re not going to practice?” 

You sigh. “Seems that way. We can come back during open skate, but you know how that is.” 

Sirius scowls, and Remus’ expression twinges with distaste. “Yeah,” says Remus, “let’s wait until tomorrow.” 

You all break where you usually do, though hours ahead of schedule, Remus going off towards his place and Sirius walking you in the direction of yours. 

“Fancy a coffee?” he asks you, voice intentionally light. 

It has the expected effect. You bristle at his easy tone, keeping your eyes ahead. “No, thanks.” 

“Fair enough.” Sirius would really like something to warm his hands, but he suspects he needs to pick his battles with you today. “Fancy telling me when we’re going to be friends again?” 

You blow out a harsh breath. It crystalizes in front of you, and you walk right through. “Don’t be daft. We’re always friends. It’s because I’m your friend that I’m so pissed off with you.” 

He nods slowly. “I don’t follow.” 

You shake your head, anger quickening your pace so that Sirius is nearly jogging to keep up with you. “Why can’t you ever stay out of your own way?” you ask him. “I know yesterday was hard for you, but you can’t be an asshole to everyone just because you’re having a bad day.” 

“Hey now, that’s not fair.” Sirius knows joking probably isn’t the best tactic with you right now, but he can’t help himself. “I wasn’t an asshole to you, was I?” 

“That’s what I mean!” You stop so hard he nearly plows into you, but you don’t so much as flinch at the possibility. Your stare is fierce. “You can’t keep trying to scare him off. It’s not going to work, and we need him. Can’t you see how much better he’s made us already? I know you didn’t want a coach, but Remus is good for us. So you can stop being so difficult.” 

“I am not being difficult,” says Sirius, though he often is. You stick your tongue in your cheek, annoyed, and he fights the urge to take your face in his hands. He hates having you cross with him, but at least you’re talking. “And you don’t know what we would be like if he weren’t here. We might’ve been fine.” 

You sigh, looking suddenly tired. And so, so disappointed. “That’s not the point anyways. You know what you said to him yesterday was wrong.” 

Sirius feels a dull stab in his gut. He knows. He does. He knew it the second it came flying out of his mouth, and he has no idea why Remus doesn’t seem as livid with him as you are. Remus, with his even voice and his exasperated, knowing looks and that stern little wrinkle between his brows, who seems able to wind Sirius up better than anyone else. A match to his short fuse. 

“How would you feel?” you ask. Some of the anger has fallen away from your voice, leaving it soft and sad. “What if we went to competition in a few weeks, and you injured yourself so that you knew you could never skate again. And then someone used it to mock you.” 

“He’s risking us doing that,” Sirius says, stubbornly, though he can hear the plea in his own voice, “by asking us to change the routine.” 

“He’s trying to help us,” you reply firmly. But your shoulders droop, and you sigh. “I know you feel bad about it. I’m done being mad at you now. It’s exhausting.” 

Sirius feels too hollowed out to revel much in the victory, but your arm linking through his does help some. “Some could say that was my plan all along,” he jokes weakly. 

You make a halfhearted attempt at a chuckle. “Good thing I know better. If your hands are in danger of falling off, you could stop at mine, make yourself a coffee.” 

“When I asked you for coffee five minutes ago you said no.” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t done punishing you yet.” 

[todoriin]

adore me, hold me and explore me | moze x afab!reader

18+ NSFW, MDNI or i will delete your account, vanilla ass sex, no established relationship, obsessive themes from moze, cunnilingus, p in v, porn no plot

Being Feixiao’s closest advisor means you get to experience various interesting interactions.

Since joining her ranks, you feel as though you’ve lived through countless lifetimes, consulting and strategising with her and Jiaoqiu against formidable foes and expansive armies. You’ve seen the Merlin’s Claw swing her blade and slash countless enemies in half, learnt medicinal techniques from Jiaoqiu that may cure simple illnesses, like the common cold. 

However, the most interesting soul, without a double, is a certain Shadow Guard of the Xianzhou Yaoqing, one you have the pleasure of working with most intimately. Figuratively and… literally.

There’s a creak coming from the windows of your bedroom, the hinges wincing softly as they’re pushed open gently but too wide to be an action of the wind. At this stage, you’re no longer surprised by the stealthiness of the intruder, after all, you had purposefully left the windows open, waiting for the moment an intruder who could coat himself with invisibility would show up. 

Besides, it’s nearing dusk, he promised he’d visit then. 

“Good evening, Moze,” you greet, back turned to him as you look in the mirror, swiping balm over your lips before puckering them. 

A breath of satisfaction leaves you when he finally materialises before you, purple haze clouding out around his silhouette, revealing the usual, skin-tight attire he opts for daily. It’s a shade you’ve grown to love now, seeing it everyday (and taking it off for him a few times a week).

“You look nice,” he comments, words curt but sweet. 

You omit to tell him that you didn’t doll up because you doubt he’ll live longer with that information. “Thank you,” is all you say, smiling up at his reflection. Then, a cold hand comes up to your neck, fingers resting over your pulse as he traces your skin, eventually snaking back to fix your hair.

“The lipstick you wore today also looked nice,” he mumbles, meeting your gaze with his piercing one. 

You turn around in your vanity stool, swinging your legs over to the other side of the seat as you look up at him. His hands move up slightly to cup your jaw, indiscernible eyes gently admiring your features as you look up at him. Here, in your home, he can unwind, a skilled assassin let in to a haven too safe for him and the blood on his hands.

That’s why you’re perfect for him, because you know how to slice a man’s neck and leave him begging for more.

“Did you like it, Moze?”

He’s silent as ever, opting to just play with the strands of your hair. There are moments when Moze is silent because he does not wish to speak, but there are always thoughts circulating in that head of his, you realised that a year into the job when he started providing a sarcastic retort whenever he could. This time he’s silent because he doesn’t know how to respond, rendered speechless as you blink up at him. 

It’s an honour to render a man like him speechless, but you still want to have your fun.

“So quiet, I’ll take it as a no?” You ask, rising from your chair and walking past him. An arm snakes itself around your waist before you could get too far, tugging you right back against the chest of the Shadow Guard. “Use your words, Moze.”

“There are no words worthy enough to describe your beauty.”

Your mouth drops slightly as a sudden shyness creeps up your expression, an uncontrollable smile that you can’t hide behind your hands tugging on your lips. “Smooth talker,” you retort, pushing his chest lightly, but he hardly budges. 

You’re used to being the one to initiate all the conversations, as well as ending them.

“The day must have been treacherous. I’ll make some refreshments for you.”

Just as you turn to go downstairs, he’s once again tugging you back against him. This time, he leads you to the edge of the bed where he sits down with you standing between his legs, now a head shorter than you. Your positions have switched, now it is you running your fingers along the hood he keeps on his head, looking down into his multi-coloured eyes.

“No need for any of those,” he denies, “I am well.”

“Are you sure? No tea, snacks?”

“I have no desire for any of those, only you.”

You look away from him, bashful from his flirtatious words that he says in that serious tone of his. Seriously, how can he say that with a straight face?

“Okay, fine. You can have me,” you mutter and a phantom of a smile appears on his expression, eyes glimmering when you finally give him the indication he’s been waiting for. The thin strap of your top is being dragged down your shoulder and you shudder when he hovers a ghost of a kiss over your pulse point, getting flustered when you then feel him smile against your skin. “Please don’t tease.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” in an instant, your chest is bared to him and his hands creep up to explore the expanse of your body, touch gentle but purposeful, as if he was sculpting your curves himself, careful not to ruin you with any rogue or unwelcome grazes. “I’ll reap what’s mine.”

Then, he yanks your shorts off and cups the back of your thighs. A yelp leaves your lips when he suddenly switches you around so that you are now sat on the edge of the bed, and he, awaiting on his knees before you with hungry eyes.

There’s no time to think because all of a sudden, his mouth is on you, infiltrating your most sensitive part and the whimper that leaves you cannot be held back. You don’t know when your leg got on his shoulder, but it grants him more access as his tongue licks up a slow, torturous swipe up your entrance. 

“Moze!” You exclaim, legs twitching as if trying to kick him away, but he immediately holds you down you, an arm wrapping around your thigh to keep you there. 

You’re his target after all, he won’t stop until he’s through with you.

“Be good and take it,” he says against you, pressing a kiss to your clit before sucking and you gulp at the sensation as filthy sounds fill the atmosphere. No matter how many close nights you’ve experienced together, you’ll never get sick of him, grip inhumanely tight to keep you still as you beg for mercy, but the feeling of his mouth is too sweet to push away. The apex of his tongue circles the nub as his spare hand crawls up, collecting the slick from your entrance before two fingers intrude, breaching your walls. 

When he curls them, you know you’re done for, falling against the mattress to try and deal with the onslaught of pleasure that Moze knows how to inflict. It keeps coming in waves and waves, and neither his fingers or tongue lets up. You didn’t even realise you were crying until you felt tears drop down your face and onto the sheets. 

He’s pumping into you, briefly curling and scissoring his fingers, and his ministrations on your clit go from suckling to tracing shapes with the bud; a cruel torture that eventually results in a buildup of tension in your lower abdomen. 

You warn him about your incoming orgasm with a shrill cry of his name and a babble of words that loosely resembles a sentence, and the only thing he says in response is:

“Let go, pretty.”

So you do, mind becoming cloudy, hazed with nothing but the feeling of pleasure. Moze has now swapped his mouth and fingers, tongue lapping up everything you give him, licking you clean whilst his thumb rubs your clit in circles, trying to prod more out of you; a routine choreographed for your demise.

“Perfect,” he murmurs against your core, letting you come down from the high as he presses a few kisses up your stomach. 

His hawkish eyes watches as your expression untwists itself, no longer contorted by overwhelming pleasure. He can’t help the way his gaze then drifts to your chest, how it rises and falls hurriedly, still trying to regain your breath after he stole it. 

Your reverie is interrupted when you feel his tongue licking your entrance once again, folds pulled back by his fingers to bare more of you, and your nerves flinch at the sensation of pleasure enhanced to the maximum. “Moze! Stop!”

He obeys, pulling away immediately, serious expression unchanged save for the little glimmer of disappointment in his eyes.

“Next time,” he gruffly promises. 

Wrapping both of your thighs around his waist, you’re maneuvred further up your mattress by the assassin, completely helpless in his grip as he moves you however he wants. You would not have wanted him to stop anyways. 

Nimble hands shed his clothes and you unabashedly admire the sight between your legs, eyes so brave to wander across a scarred body that none others will get to lay their eyes upon. You trace the curve of his defined torso, how the shadows and light dance along the crevices, enhancing his already-impressive muscles. You leisurely run your gaze further down, following his abs to his cock.

Red and leaking with precum. 

It was intimidating when you first came face-to-face with it, and whilst you’re still impressed by his size, he’s taken care of you through the process every time, walking you through the pain and adaptations whilst being completely patient with you.

You want to prepare and take care of him like he had with you, so without thinking, you reach out and begin stroking him exactly how he likes it and a grunt passes by his lips, composure faltering ever so slightly.

There is no other Moze would bare himself like this to and, as a sign of his own twisted desires, he wants you to think the same of him. He wants you in ways he cannot justify, especially the part of himself that drips with violent and obsessive tendencies.

Should he get too close, he fears he will devour you when neither of you are expecting it.

Although, recently it seems that Moze allows himself to indulge in pleasures that he hadn’t permitted before, and as his hand wraps around your wrist to stop your ministrations, he can’t help but smile at the small pout that graces your lips. Rubbing his erection along your cunt, your slick coats his underside whilst his hand leisurely travels around your torso. Your supple skin hasn’t seen the severities of the battlefield, hasn’t fought and handled the brutality of men and blades like he has; the distinction between the two of you almost makes him seem like a monster.

A monster who wants to hide you from the darkness in which he lives in. 

“What are you grinning at?” You ask from under him.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, lowering his face to yours to press delicate kisses on your skin and you shift impatiently, eyelashes fluttering and hands clenching into fists. 

He notices the subtle action, takes it as sign of desperation that he wants to devour and dissolve into his veins, as if keeping a part of you with him forever. Aligning his cockhead with your entrance, your moan is unrestrained when he finally breaches your walls.

Slowly, Moze bottoms out, hands holding your hips to press you flush against him as you squirm. He doesn’t mind the way you wriggle around trying to adjust to his thickness and length, he’ll patiently hover above you, pressing soothing kisses along your face whilst staying as still as a shadow.

Even as your walls twitch and clench, he doesn’t budge, refusing to move until you are ready for him to. In a way, being connected with you like this makes him feel closer to you, and it brings a sense of peace that he cannot find elsewhere.

You are the source of it, the centrepiece of all his desires and he cannot swallow you down anymore. 

“I’m okay now,” you whimper.

He reels his hips back, almost pulling out before slamming right back into you and you cry loudly. “You sure?”

“More, Moze, please don’t be cruel to me.”

Cruel? He wouldn’t dream of it.

Setting a bearable pace, the room is filled with a cacophony of moans and continuous ‘plap, plap, plap’s of skin meeting skin. You are still the centre of his vision, eyes hardly straying away from your expression and body, keenly watching every microreaction of yours. He notices the way you shut your eyes tighter when he angles a particular way, cock breaching the most sensitive but pleasurable parts of you. 

It’s insatiable, his appetite for you. The only thing he wants to do is bring you to endless highs, over, and over, and over again.

Gradually, his pace speeds up over time, violating your insides with the neverending push-and-pull. Every time his hips snap back to meet yours, cock buried to the hilt, you feel the strands of your sanity slipping away. All you can do is babble his name and whimpers of how good he feels, hands reaching blindly for any part of him that you can hold.

He dives right into your open touch, torso leaning down to now hover directly over yours and the added heat of his body temperature makes you feel even more lucid. His shoulders are so broad, the planes of his chest defined, and stomach so toned that it drives you insane with desire; added with his precise strokes and thick cock, you don’t ever want him to leave. You don’t ever want him to stop. 

“Moze-” his lips are pressed against yours, swallowing the moan of his name and every other small noise you make as his member relentlessly spears you. 

He kisses you again and again, never straying too far, but parting often to let you catch your breath. 

“Moze, I’m-” you cry out in between kisses, “I’m gonna-!”

“Me too,” he gruffly responds, “relax for me, you’re clenching too hard.”

His words have the opposite effect because next thing you know, you’re cumming again, spasming around his cock as his strokes try to lure more out of you, draining you for all you’re worth. When you’re done, all of your nerves are fried, limbs weak and unable to hold themselves up for long without any support, but Moze hasn’t come yet, so all you can do is take his desperate and hurried strokes as he catches up to the last bit of pleasure.

Then, he comes to a halt whilst hot ropes gush into your cunt as he twitches inside you. Suddenly, his teeth latch on to the juncture of your shoulder and your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. 

You catch your breath in unison, waiting for him to finish completely before moving again, and when the final load is emptied, he’s capturing your lips in a kiss again. It’s hot, and your muscles feel like jelly, but he’s still desperate for more of you despite being as humanly close as possible. 

So, only moments after both of you have descended from the peak, he begins moving again, gently shushing any of your protests with a light kiss that breaks down your already weak defences. 

The squelches and plaps this time are obscene as he slowly eases in and out of you, grinding weakly whenever your walls twitch around him, but none of it is enough to quell his desire.

And he won’t stop until he has his fill. 

© todoriin 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site

[kokokoula]

mornings (birthday special)

a/n: i legit sat down and spent a whole day to pull this one out of my ass. i just wish i could post this earlier. if i fail my exams, i swear-- quoting sei: "i'm the reason why i'm stressed." (btw this is not the soft spot fic just something for tsukki's birthday.)

---

tsukishima remembers akaashi mentioning that the dullest way to start a story is a character waking up to the sun shining.

"it's so overused, and there's nothing hooking the readers. writers really need to up their game..." akaashi had complained, something really rare. guess the stress can really get to people sometimes.

tsukishima cracks his eyes open and sees your figure, though blurry, sleeping peacefully beside him the first thing in the morning, with the sunlight spilling onto the bed and adorning your face. it's so ethereal yet fragile, this moment; maybe this is what the writers were trying to capture.

tsukishima can't remember when the last time he woke up before you was. he's used to seeing your eyes gaze up at him and hearing your giggle when his meets yours. "good morning" will be softly whispered follow by a light kiss on the cheek.

he knows that he might wake you, but kei still entangles his legs with yours and shifts closer to wrap his arm around you. he presses his lips against the the crown of your head, taking a second to breathe in the familiar scent of the shampoo you always use.

adulthood is never easy, especially if you have to juggle both a museum job and a volleyball career. tsukishima loves what he does, seriously, but sometimes it gets exhausting. it's running errands, running on court, and repeat. emails. blocking. artifacts. spiking. records. training--

kei finally catches a breath when he sees you at home at the end of the day, wearing one of his shirts and half asleep on the couch, waiting for him to return. it hits him that he's never going to be alone for the rest of his life, and that alone somehow comforts him.

you stir awake. his arm around your waist tightens. he feels your hand coming up to the nape of his neck, running through the strands of blonde hair. it feels good.

"morning, kei." he responds with a hum and another kiss to your head.

you pull away and he groans, but shuts up when you kiss him on the lips. it's long and lazy, he loves it.

"happy birthday, beanpole." oh right, it's the twenty-seventh.

"thank you."

"you're getting old." you say and stifle a laugh. he clicks his tongue in mock annoyance. "that just means i'm wiser than you."

he pulls you in again. comfortable silence settles, with the occasional sounds of the busy world outside. he could stay like this.

after a while, you tap his arm, sitting up.

"we should get ready. we're meeting tadashi and the others, remember?"

"do we have to?"

"obviously."

just when you are about to leave the bed, he catches onto your hand and kisses the back of it.

"you owe me strawberry shortcake later." you both know he'll end up paying anyways, and you'll bicker about it like an old couple.

"okay, you big baby."

tsukishima smiles.

[milunalupin]

— take a chance on me

james potter x reader ★ 761 words

James knew from the moment he saw you, you were the one.

He sees you every week at the same bakery, ordering the same drink and the same pastry. You were the one he'd befriend, subtly flirt with, and eventually ask on a date. He'd pick you up with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, take you to dinner nearby. You two share a dessert, the kind James carefully spoons into your mouth with an adoring smile. Like the gentleman he is he'll walk you back home, brushing his hand against yours until he's brave enough to just take it.

After a few months of seeing each other he'd ask you to be his, officially. Probably with a box of pastries from your favorite bakery, and a cheesy card that makes his heart skip a beat when you laugh at it. You two would spend the evening eating takeout and watching your favorite movies, finishing off the night with him feeding you the last fruit tart in bed. He'll whisper sweet nothings until you fall into a beautiful slumber in his arms.

He'll tell you he loves you. Probably on the beach, because Sirius wold his it's romantic and girls like that sort of thing. He'll most likely be in tears as he tells you how much you mean to him, and that there's no one else in the world who could make him feel this way. You'll laugh while wiping his tears as well as your own, only making him cry more when you tell him you love him too.

James wants you to meet his parents. Just a casual dinner at the Potter's, he'll tell you. He'll watch in adoration as you fret around your room figuring out what to wear, you don't want to give off a bad first impression. He'll tell you they'll love you, because he does so why wouldn't they? You'll laugh as he pepper your face with kisses and showers you with every compliment in the book.

The Potters are nothing if not kind. Once arriving at his childhood home, James will take your coat. Mr. Potter will give you a handshake, and wonder how you put up with his son. Mrs. Potter will laugh and usher you into the kitchen, where she'll have tea ready for you. You'll all have a good chat over home baked biscuits, and play a round of blackjack or two. By the end of your stay you'll already be called 'daughter-in-law', and have a tin of leftovers to take home.

James will be nervous to ask you to move in with him, but you'll jump into his arms and say yes. It'll take you two along with the help of Sirius and Remus to carry in all of your things, except the latter will sneak off with you to drink lemonade in the kitchen. Sirius will whine about how it's not fair that he's come out with chipped nail polish and frizzy hair while Remus was gossiping with you. Remus will remind him that he has chronic pain and the exercise will be good for his tattooed friend.

You'll come home one day to a box of chocolates and a letter laying by the front door. The letter will be filled with loving words and directions to a secret location. It'll lead you to a park, one where James had taken you several times on picnics. This time, there will be a rose-filled path leading you to a small platform where your boyfriend will be nervously standing. A small speaker will accompany him, your favorite love song playing softly.

Once you reach him he'll shakily get down on one knee, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacker and pull out a small velvet box from his pocket. He'll open and close his mouth, unable to get any words out. You'll bend down to cradle his face, telling him he doesn't have to say anything, and kiss him.

The two of you will plan and have the most memorable time of your lives the day of your wedding, with much help from your loved ones. Your now husband will not be able to keep his emotions in check, not even when you're in the hotel bed at the end of the night. He'll tell you there's nothing else he could wish for, now that he has you for the rest of his life.

James knew from the moment he saw you, you were the one.

He only hopes that one day you'll look back at him.

[egoistars]

HIIII I just saw your post about your event and thought I'll be silly and request smthing ^_^ ok sooo first time meeting ness ! 😯 (one shot or hc whichever you feel more comfy writing! <3) have a great dayyy (⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠) ♪

ACADEMICALLY SMART BUT EXTREMELY STUPID alexis ness

aka. how u meet ness aka academic rivals to lovers but ness dont gaf bc hes just trying to #play #ball

you meet him at quite a young age and share a few things in common

ill fitting school uniforms and the wandering eyes of any child

while you find yourself fascinated by the numbers written on your teacher's chalkboard, ness is folding dinosaurs and stars on pieces of scrap paper, mumbling to himself

you didn't mind him and he didn't mind you

you guys were classmates and that was that

but then middle school came around and you started acting like you had a stick up your ass 24/7 as long as ness was around

like wtf that mf almost never studies why is he at the top of your class...

suddenly you get distracted in classes because you're focused on drawing mini ness figures with fat x's covering his face and devil horns

ness sees this one day after your notebook fell to the ground and at first is like omg!!! cute drawing of me as a fantasy creature but then he was like wait what the fuck why do they have it out for me????

he barely thought about you until then but apparently you've developed a passionate hatred for him just because he scores higher grades

he still has no clue

you are FUMING

so you start studying even more if that's even possible

while you go to your schools library to bust your ass in the textbooks ness goes outside with a ball he managed to shove into his bag and starts kicking it around

ness: :D ball!!!! no school!!! ball :D

you: KILL YOURSELF KILL YOURSELF KILL YOURSELF KILL YOURSELF

after one particularly hard test that you flopped (it was like an 80% be serious) you caved in and asked ness with help studying

he looked at the material and was like man idk it just makes sense

little boy thought you were going to punt him into hell like he does with his football

him, terrified out of his mind and just wanting to go to his football club meeting, sits down and looks at the material

you show him your notes and he quickly explains it but is running late on time

he gives you his number and says hes going to text you help

you went home that day like ???? that dude lied to me he isnt sending me shit ??? before it clicked

he does not text you because he does not have your number... he gave you his number...

so you swallow your pride and shoot him a message, begging for help a second time in the same day and on his end, he laughs at you a little but offers to call

you guys work on the subject for a good couple hours and before you hang up, you offer to study together for future exams because he's admittedly a good teacher

ness is trying to find a way to say "no thanks i don't care about school good luck tho XD ROFL LOLLLLL" but then he realizes that it's going to make his parents trust him a little more

he accepts and you guys go to the library together once a week

he finds that you're actually kind of funny and cool and not just a human bomb that's plotting his death

he tries to be slick about offering to meet more often

"oh... this unit is a lot more difficult than the last one.... you wanna heh.... come back tomorrow? *gulp*"

"ok"

"WOOOO"

one day ness told you he was going to try out for bastard munchen and you somewhat knew of them because of ness going on tangents about football

you supported him on it, not realizing it would cut down your weekly meetings

suddenly there was an alexis-shaped-hole in your chest but you didn't want to admit it to him

and for alexis, there was a you-shaped-hole in his chest that he tried to fill by training with kaiser and the rest of bastard munchen

yes, the team was filled with dicks, but none of them had the same foul personality you had!!

texts dvery day checking up on each other but it was nothing like hanging out in person

calls were better but still not the same

as soon as he heard about his first off day, he called you and asked to hang out

you tried to be nonchalant about it but who were you kidding both of you guys wanted to see each other again

although the directions of life the two of you were headed towards were almost polar opposites, being reunited at a stupid library table for the first time in months was all that mattered

[f0point5]

Now im imagining Emilia gifting Max a cardbord cutout of himself as a gag gift.. I mean, he got a pillow of himself it's not that far fetched (god I'm so starved of them)

I wanted to write this ages ago and then I totally spaced on it but @nearlynadin brought back the cardboard cut out lore and I just had to!!

(You) didn’t know it at (nineteen)

“And I was thinking-“

“I’m home,” Max’s voice calls from the hallway, bringing an instant smile to your face.

He’s only been gone for the day, back to the factory to root around that tractor looking for the pace of last year, but you’ve missed him.

You smile one last time at your day’s companion before you skip out to the hallway to meet Max.

He’s slipping off his rucksack by the door, sighing heavily. He shrugs off his jacket next, accompanied by another sigh as he starts toeing off his shoes.

“Hey, champ,” you grin, making your way over to him. Max rolls his eyes at you and you roll yours right back. He doesn’t like being reminded of his title much these days, but you feel like it’s your job to make sure he knows that he’ll always be champion to you.

“You’re back early,”

He shrugs, squeezing the back of your neck as you press a kiss to his lips.

“Is someone here?” He asks, looking past you towards the living room.

“No,”

“I heard you talking,” Max counters, his eyes narrowing slightly. There’s an uncharacteristic amount of suspicion in his voice, and his gaze doesn’t hide the fact that he doesn’t believe you.

“Oh,” you smile, deciding it’s not wise to tease him today. “Well, I did a thing,”

Your sheepish smile softens Max instantly, his shoulders sagging in what seems like relief as he looks down at you.

“A thing?”

“I bought you something,” you clarify, taking him by the wrist and pulling him after you down the hallway.

“I thought we agreed no more cats,”

“It’s not a cat. Although it has been said that he has a very feline energy,” you tell him, flashing him a smirk over your shoulder.

“He?” Max almost looks nervous.

“Max,” you drawl, pulling him into the lounge and pointing him in the right direction. “Meet Verstappen 3.0,”

Max gives you a small frown for half a second before he clocks it. The almost-life-size cardboard cutout of him standing by his shelf of trophies. His 2017 self stares back at him with a goofy, trained smile, hands on his hips, a challenge in his eyes.

“What the fuck?“ Real Max says through a wheezing laugh, pointing at it helplessly. “Why?”

“Partly because I got wine drunk one night a couple of weeks ago while you were in MK,” you say with a shrug, “But mostly because of this,” you nod at him, your smile widening as you take in his.

He rarely smiles on factory days anymore. When you talk to him on race weekends, there’s an exhaustion in his voice that you are only starting to get used to. He’s happier at home, but the mere mention of F1 deflates him in a way that reminds you that it’s his job where once it only ever seemed like a passion.

“This what?”

“You,” you say, “smiling,”

This makes him blush. You’re not sure if it’s because of the way you’re looking at him, or because he’s a little embarrassed that you can see how much work has been weighing on him. Even in these bonus years, he still cares so much.

“Plus, I can never resist a sale,” you say, saving him from burning a hole in the floor staring so hard.

“Maybe I was on sale because I have no calves,” Max scoffs now, eyeing the cardboard print. He’s right, the website said life-size but it isn’t, it’s about 10cm short, which is neither here nor there, except all the height is lost in the calves. There’s only a few inches between his knees and his ankles. It makes the whole thing even funnier, as does the look of offence on Max’s face. “I look like I’m in the movie with the short guys and the one with the walking stick,”

“Gandalf has a staff,” you correct, looking over at the cutout. “But yeah, they did you dirty on the height,”

Max scoffs at the gross understatement. “You wouldn’t even go out with me if I was this tall,” he points out, wrinkling his nose as he looks at his younger self.

“True,” you concede, looking him up and down. “You’re kind of pushing it now,”

Max rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know the rule. Five foot ten or over,” he looks back at Baby Max and you wonder idly how the hell he even knows about the 5’10 rule, never mind remembers it. It was something you’d come with before you’d even stopped growing.

You turn to Real Max and slide your arms up around his neck as you step closer to him.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re still kind of short for me,” you say, tilting your head to look up at him. “I broke all my rules for you,”

The words are whispered as you pull him closer, but right as you mean in Max balks.

“I can’t kiss you with that thing watching me,” Max groans, pulling away from you as he keeps one eye on…himself.

“Well, darn, I only got him because I figured you’d finally agree to a threesome if it was with yourself,” you say, winking at him. He squeezes your hip in response.

“Me at that age couldn’t handle you,” he says with a wry smile.

“Oh, you think you have me handled now?”

“Definitely not,” he huffs, letting go of you. He puts his hands on his hips, mirroring the cut-out’s pose, and you fight the urge to laugh at how little he’s changed. “So, where shall we put him?”

“I know the perfect place,”

You grab the cut-out and shuffle along the floor around the couch and over to his sim corner. You place Baby Max behind his set up, between his right side screen and the centre one, so that he’s peeping over the top of it and the unfortunate leg situation is hiding behind the tech.

Pleased with yourself, you turn to Real Max. “Where would a 19 year old Max Verstappen rather be than near a simulator?”

“I can tell you where 26 year old Max Verstappen would rather be,” Real Max says, his voice low, eyes looking strangely dark despite their clear blue colour.

“Do not scandalise Baby Max,” you say in mock indignation, reaching over to cover Baby Max’s ears.

Real Max scoffs. “You have no idea the things he used to think about back then,” he says pointedly as he rounds the couch and comes towards you.

“I’m sure you had a wild imagination,” you tease, “because you were definitely not getting any,”

“Hey,” Max chides, close enough to reach forward and pinch at your exposed thigh. “Don’t be mean,”

“Okay, okay,” you concede. “I know all your fantasies were about me anyway,”

“They were not,”

“Ouch,”

Max shrugs. “You were less possible than a world championship,”

“And yet, you won both. Baby Max would be proud,” you say, glancing over at the cut-out. It’s starting to creep you out now, how the expression never changes. You take Real Max’s hand and start to pull him out of the room. “Come on, let’s go do all the stuff 19 year old you would be jealous of,”

You hear a laugh behind you. “I won’t argue with that.”

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate (14) - Does it Always End in Ruin? (TEASER)

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 14 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 10,980

Work count for Story: 107,440

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children, one of whom has special needs, and the other loves everyone. I started a Patreon, and I would be grateful if you donated to help me make ends meet while I am out of work because I almost died in August of 2024.

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This chapter does have pack dynamics, Alphas fronting, a scenting session with hints of a panic attack, comfort, possessiveness, angst, and mentions of giving aphrodisiac-laced chocolates to Jungkook without his knowledge. There are also nightmares containing mentions of past trauma, violence, abuse, and threats of death.

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

You can scent me in the car.

You… can… scent… me… in… the… car…

It’s not like he is gonna do anything untoward– right?

Your body flushes with thoughts of the many ways the scenting session could go “wrong,” like pinning you in the corner against the door and backseat, ravishing your neck in a way that ensures you have a mark that anyone can see.

Following the hyper-focused Prime Alpha of Bangtan Pack to allow him to scent you in a car like you both were some horny teenagers with no control makes the walk through the Gala a blur.  

With how firmly Namjoon holds your hand and guides you with determination, you aren’t the only one feeling it, right?

But what would the rest of the pack think? 

Your mind was going from things that were not safe for work while simultaneously trying to throw on the breaks.

You were too much in your head battling away the thoughts you shouldn’t be having for a mated man, much less a mated man at a public event with other hybrids that you were 100000000% could smell just what you were thinking of. 

MATED MAN!

Your mind is yelling at you, coming through like a spotty radio, while your body is thrumming with the charged atmosphere that now encapsulates the two of you.

You could be making this up and reading into things too much. You did that in high school, which is why you started shying away from skinship. Who wouldn’t after getting humiliated day in and day out about being an attention-seeking fat whore in the cafeteria with no help from the staff?

Whatever, back to the issue at hand. He has mates waiting for him to come home. You should excuse yourself to the bathroom and call one of them. 

Jin would be a good phone call, and he is the oldest. 

Then there is Yoongi, who is almost powerful enough to be the Prime himself. 

Taehyung is supposed to be helping right now; maybe he… he can… Agh! What teleport to the Gala and leave with Namjoon instead of you?

No, you already let Jimin’s Alpha scent you at your packhouse. Jin, Yoongi, and Jungkook intentionally scented you, with permission, in your current bedroom, which means Namjoon should be able to scent you in a car. 

They all have said they want skinship, and you said you would be willing to try. Now get it together, woman!

Besides, you told Hoseok that everyone deserves a second chance. This is Namjoon’s second chance. You have never turned away someone in need before, and clearly, whatever Lee Min Ho did triggered Alpha Joon to come out, and he needs the scenting session to calm down. 

You were their Playmate, which meant supporting the emotional needs of your assigned hybrid(s) was also part of your job.

The next thing you feel is Namjoon letting go of your hand, which brings you out of your internal argument as he drapes your cape over your shoulders. You watch him as he secures the closure and fusses with it to make sure it is lying correctly.

You are searching for anything to tell you exactly where he is with any of this. You notice the rigid set of his jaw, which hasn’t relaxed since you saw him at the start of the dance with Min Ho. His breaths are almost a perfect count of seven in and seven out, which means he is doing that for a reason. 

When he looks at you again, those forest green eyes are dark and piercing. It’s like time freezes; unlike his even breaths, yours seems to be caught. You can see so many emotions moving behind those eyes, but they are flashing so fast, and you don’t know him well enough to tell what they are before they are gone. 

“Prime Alpha, sir, ma’am, your car is here,” says Jen. Startling you like she came out of thin air. Smiling at Jen and moving towards the car, you hear Namjoon speak with her in hushed tones. 

Now that you can breathe again, you take some cleansing breaths before you climb into the car and buckle up. Scenting is simple. It doesn’t have to be extravagant. 

You are in a car, for god’s sake.

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[misasimagines]

this isn't well written or anything I'm just. I'm Desperate to get Ren out of my head he's been living here rent free and I NEED to switch into Taiga mode to write that request so. Please enjoy structureless Ren rambles. He doesn't come off as character with Much Nuance (like some others, Rui!! Jin, Subaru, Haku, etc) but like. When he's been sitting in your head for the past 14 business days....things unravel.

I'm not like citing sources here. This is pure vibes. Please don't crucify me if I got smth wrong 🙏

So he has a Thing about the ocean. He watches horrors movies related to it, he seems especially grossed out by it, but he doesn't seem like he's never had experience with it. Which is why I just can't not think he came from a small, coastal town (like from Aquamarine lmao). The kind that has a Barrage of tourists in the summer and over holidays and he Hated it because now he can't just go anywhere without risking being in the background of someone's vacation pictures. And I also can't help but feel like he probably had a parent/parents who parentified him, probably not maliciously, but they still did it. Like two immature parents or one immature parent and one completely absent one, so when it came to actually being responsible about things, he had no choice but to step in. Which is why he's so annoyed by and against hard work- he's done enough of it and he doesn't want to keep getting involved when he now doesn't feel the responsibility to. He probably feels a lot of resentment towards them for what he had to take on. Whether he feels bad about that resentment or not, I can't say.

He doesn't like messes or the animals in Jabberwock. He doesn't want to have to care for anything besides himself. Haru might remind him of his family which is why he's so hostile towards him. Because like Notably, Ren isn't BAD at hard work. He does go to classes, does missions, has a job at the diner, and still has to help around Jabberwock no matter how much he tries to avoid it. He's even dedicated to his mobile games, which seems silly, but those require a lot of routine daily to keep up and it seems like he has a few he keeps up with! And if we consider the Jabberwock chapter, even though he was against Calamari and resented taking care of it, he still did and he still felt guilty when he didn't do a good job at it, so much so that he ran off to the beach to try to revive the poor thing. Not the actions of someone who truly is selfish and doesn't care. Him carrying Haru to safety too- yes, leaving him to die would have been really. Kind of reprehensible but he carried the guy and rejected any kind of thanks and appreciation for it. He could have used that as guilt-leverage to try to get out of things later but...did he? Not as far as I know.

Like he does all of that no matter how much he complains. Also, who ELSE has a campus job? I'll wait. 🥱. Sho doesn't count, the food truck is a passion project. Even BROKE ASS Kaito doesn't have a campus job. Why is Ren working? Does he NEED the money or does he feel some kind of compulsion to make it for some reason? Because he's responsible? Because he sends it back home? Because he wants to have money for post Darkwick life? Who knows!!!!! He got that job like INSTANTLY bro enrolled and got that work study like the first damn week.

And this is way less in the realm of Theory Crafting and conspiracy and more just a pure hc but I just feel like maybe his hostility towards other people, the MC included, is because he might be dealing with the aftermath of a damaged or lost relationship. Not exclusively romantic but like possibly? Like if he grew up in a small town, he probably knew the people around him from childhood to adulthood. And it's not unlikely that he had a childhood friend that stuck through all the years with him. And it's not unlikely that, if they were friends that long, that people would start making jokes and suggestions about them ending up together long term. And! It's not unlikely that! He felt some kind of pressure to at least pretend to reciprocate feelings towards them. So maybe a close friendship became a relationship and maybe he did have feelings for them and maybe he didn't or just wasn't ready for them. Either way, now he's in Darkwick and given how unhappy he is, it doesn't seem like it was his first choice to be there. Is he running away? Does he not have a home to go back to (either self imposed or true exile)? I just. I have questions.

Please someone ramble with me I'm going crazy here. I'm like God I'd kill this guy [thinking about making out with him sloppy style]. Hate him truly he's so annoying I'd argue with him every day. What if this were us