#NO THOUGHTS HEAD EMPTY JUST LOVING DOOM

[pikkish]

i know next to nothing about wh40k lore but boltgun was great

[sceletaflores]

woo, my baby's got me all mixed up!

feat: logan howlett & wade wilson

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, swearing, a bastard doomed polycule, more of 'why have just one bf when you can two bf's and why have just two bf's when you can have two bf's that are also each other’s bf's???', p in v, double penetration, one (1) single use of daddy, creampie(s), fingering...kind of (fem!receiving), oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, straight up nasty porn w/ zero plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this is a shorter one-shot but i can't not format it like a full fic i have to or i'll get hives. this is also just pure freak nasty gross actually probably the filthiest thing i've ever written that i thought up off too much nyquil pm last night. kisses!

wade gets to whiskin’ (and logan's there too)…

"You're killing me babe," Wade groans lowly, cheek pressed to the slick skin of your inner thigh. "If my balls didn't feel like they just got the shit beat out of them in a back alley I'd be as hard as David Hasselhoff watching David Hasselhoff movies."

His hand is at work between your thighs, thick index finger slipped into your sensitive, puffy pussy.

It should gross you out that he loves doing this so much. It should make your stomach twist with all the unpleasant feelings a normal person might get.

It should, but it doesn't.

The familiar stretch is lost from taking Logan and Wade at the same time, a rare thing in your sex life because of how big they both are. But you were in a mood tonight.

Your pussy still clenches around him, trying in vain to tighten up, not used to feeling so empty.

The subtle pressure of Wade’s finger toes the line between pleasure and the sharp burn of 'almost too much' as it swirls along the sensitive walls of your pussy.

The first time he did it you were too fucked out of your mind to do anything other than ask what the hell he was doing.

"Gotta mix it up babe," was his reply, as easy as anything. "Don't want the baby batter to curdle, if you know what I mean."

Your heart stopped, flames lapping their way up your body as Wade scooped the thin line of come trickling from your abused hole to fuck it back in, back where it belonged.

It was so filthy, so depraved that it made you go liquid between your legs.

Your eyes almost immediately slid over to Logan, ready to see him shaking his head in irritation like he usually did whenever Wade ran his mouth in bed. You found nothing, no deep grimace or raised brow in sight.

There was an unmistakable heat in his gaze that matched your own, the inky black of his pupils blown so wide you could hardly see the hazel of his irises.

The casual raise of his right shoulder when he met your eye was undermined by the way his cock started to harden where it laid against his thigh, effectively tattling on him.

It told you all you needed to know about how he really felt watching Wade between your spread legs. That alone was enough to get you ready to go all over again.

It sort of became a thing after that.

"I'm not even doing anything..." you mumble breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't have to baby," Logan purrs from behind you, lips pressed to the top of your head. His hand skimming down the side of your body is enough to make goosebumps pebble along your skin, "Look perfect just like this."

It's been hours now, but they're still going. You're convinced that the two of them are the world's biggest horndogs, just once is never enough.

You lost track of tonight's rounds sometime after number five, not counting mouth and hand stuff of course. And it's starting to catch up to you, you’re tired, spent.

Wade curls his finger just right, brushing against the spot inside you that has a broken whine passing through your grit teeth. Your thighs start to tremble as a smug grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah, there it is," he teases, his voice low. He keeps the tip of his finger snug against that spot, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nerves. "That's that spot ain't it, gorgeous."

"Wade," you mewl, hands fisting the sheets as you fight to keep still. You're worried too much squirming will make their come start dripping out around Wade's wrist, and you can't have that.

There’s a sudden silence to your right, the heaviness of it pulling at your attention. You shift slightly, catching the faintest rustle of movement from Logan.

His breath is warm against the crown of your skill, his strong chest still plastered to your back—but he's too quiet, too still. You tilt your head just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and the sight alone is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Logan is leaning against the headboard lazily, arm that isn't circled around your waist snaking down his own with the hard length of his cock in his hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, red and leaking pre-come all over his knuckles each time he twists his fist over the thick head. Your hips grind down unconsciously, a needy moan falling from your parted lips. The wet sound of it has your cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the way his heavy balls bounce with each rough tug, still so full.

"Fuck, that's it," Wade murmurs, slipping a second finger inside you while he presses a shit-eating grin to the soft skin of your lower stomach. "You like it when daddy jerks off while I'm knuckle deep in you?"

"Watch it," Logan mutters warningly, tone gone low and dark as spilled ink. His hand doesn't slow, the loose grip of his fist slipping up and down his dripping cock in time with the slick squelch of your pussy.

Your hips buck up against Wade’s hand, a loud whine tearing from your chest at the dirtiness of this whole thing. The familiar heat starts to stir in your belly, your pussy drooling more mess over his wrist the longer he plays with you.

Wade barely muffles his chuckle against your hip, dropping a quick kiss there before pulling his soaked fingers from your velvety warmth. You whine at the loss, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

You’ll both get what you want soon enough.

"Alright, we should all know the drill by now people," he announces to you and Logan with a loud clap, pulling away from between your thighs to roll flat onto his back.

“Time to hop on the saddle, John Wayne,” he finishes, giving your ass a loving tap.

Logan snorts into your hair, dropping his cock to grab your hips and gently manhandle you until you’re situated directly over Wade’s face while Logan kneels in front of you. The jut of his cock bobbing inches away from your mouth.

Wade’s greedy fingers pry your swollen lips apart to watch the way his and Logan’s come starts to seep out from you, falling to drip onto his bare chest. He blows over the wet length of you, the cool air from his mouth has your hips twitching down in search of any friction you can get.

“Not so fast,” he scolds lightly, grinding his knuckle against the wet seam of you. Your nails dig crescent moons into his scarred shoulders, threatening to break the skin.

“You’ve gotta savor this moment, hot stuff,” he says slowly, leaning up to press a kiss directly over your throbbing clit. “You got the best seat in the house, don’t take it for granted–”

"Enough," Logan grunts, heavy hands falling on your shoulders to push you down on Wade's face, fully closing the gap. "Quit runnin' your damn mouth and make our girl feel good, red."

Wade's hands tighten their hold on your thighs, his hips bucking up off the mattress like he can't help it. His surprised moan rumbles against your clit, loud and shameless.

You cry out at the first drag of his tongue over your aching pussy, hot and wet as it slides through your dripping slit. You pitch forward, too caught up in pleasure to think clearly as you take Logan’s cock into your mouth. You take him all the way down to the root in one swift move, burying your nose in the dark hair surrounding the base. 

"Fuck," Logan bites out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He takes your hair in his fist gently, just holding it as you swallow around him. 

Your hands move to rest on his thick thighs, nails scratching over the hair scattered along his skin. His breath shutters in his chest, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly, chasing the tight heat of your mouth.

The mix of your tongue tracing along the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock and the low, wet sounds of Wade devouring you has him pulsing in your mouth.

Your thighs shake on either side of Wade's head, the steady grip of his hands the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into a boneless heap on the mattress.

Your hips twitch the tiniest bit, rocking forward enough to grind your clit over the slope of his nose. He groans under you, squeezing the meat of your thighs in encouragement as he swirls his tongue through the mess dripping from your hole.

“That’s a good girl,” Logan praises gruffly, his hips speeding up. “Shut him up, baby. Make him fuckin’ eat it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dragging your pussy along Wade’s mouth faster. You moan desperately around your mouthful, brain going hazy around the edges.

The frantic pace you set only makes their come leak from you faster, dripping down Wade’s face faster than he can keep up, and there's just so much.

A steady, thick stream of it that feels almost never ending thanks to Logan coming like he busted a pipe and absolutely flooding your insides every single time.

Wade doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest though, swirling his tongue along you with a new sense of urgency. His hands grip your hips tighter, his blunt nails digging into your skin deliciously as he slurps and sucks with unbridled enthusiasm, chasing every drop of come.

He’s sloppy with it, come sliding down his cheeks and chin in thin rivers of white.

Logan’s rough breath hitches above you, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes. His growl sends a thrill down your spine.

"C'mon, Wilson," Logan grunts, his hips speeding up. When you peer up at him, you can see the goading smile that just barely tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Spitters are quitters, you know that."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

Your Loyal Servant

Yandere Villainess/ Maid x Isekai Princess Fem Reader

TW: obsession, reader is trapped in the girl love/ GL book, DARK CONTENT, horror, yandere themes, cannibalism (reader consumes blood), SOMNIAPHILIA/ NONCON (nipple play), creepy behavior, abuse of power, betrayal, sapphic yearning, etc.

Della was once a princess of the shadow kingdom before she became your servant. A princess with dreams of ruling her kingdom until your kingdom invaded and decimated her home when she was eight. Your family’s knights easily seized her throne since her father had been greedy and tried to conquer your kingdom first. She could never forget the fire and death she saw that day… the day she was dragged up by her black locks and thrown into a cage on a cart to be sold off as a slave. The day her emotions died and left her an empty vessel.

Yet you were her saving grace. You were at the auction that day and you insisted to your butler that you had to buy her. “She’s my age! She can’t possibly become a slave, she’ll die!”

At first, Della was weary of you. Her small body curled up in her cage as she cowered in a fetal position. Did you purchase her to satiate some sort of sick sadistic tendency of yours? To rub in your family’s victory in her face? Della despised you… until you innocently smiled at her. Your hand outstretched to her dirty ones when your purchase was a success. “My name is (your name), what’s yours?”

And despite her current status of being a commoner, you never treated Della like one. You let her take baths with you and held her hand. You always requested her to lay beside you at night for a ‘sleepover.’ Della thought you were strange.

You often invited her for walks in your garden with you and shared your woes with her. Sometimes you’d even sneak her sweets from the tea parties you had to attend. If Della didn’t know any better, she’d say the two of you were friends. Best friends. Yet she never saw you as such. Your conversations were typically one sided.

“Della, I want you to be by my side until I’m old. Can you do that?” You were twelve when you made that request to her. Your maid smiled softly at you.

“Of course, mistress.” You puffed out your cheeks and pouted at her.

“It’s (your name)! You don’t have to be so formal with me all the time. Aren’t we friends?” Della just hummed which only made you sigh. All these years together and Della was still as stiff as a board. It would take years to tear down the walls around Della’s heart despite your attempts to be close to her… it made you terribly sad that you couldn’t tell Della your true secret. The secret that you were from another world trapped in the body of the original heroine, but you doubted she’d believe you. After all, you made it your goal to not die at the hands of this GL novel’s ice cold villainess. You did your absolute best not to let Della fall into depravity and turn to dark magic like she was supposed to in this doomed Yuri novel. You were on a mission to insure her happiness! At least not until you were ready to free her from servitude once you were married off with a nice sum of money. You didn’t want her to suffer…“I will always have your best interest in mind, Della. I just wished you’d see that…”

Even when the two of you grew older, you still insisted on spending time with Della. It often gave the poor maid a headache but she never complained. You were her mistress no matter how much she wanted to ring your pretty little neck with her hands. No matter how much your kindness secretly touched her heart. She was your loyal servant.

Della often found her cheeks flushed when the two of you became teenagers. She couldn’t believe you’d still try to get her to bathe you or lay beside you in bed. You two were practically adults now! That was indecent! Had you no shame as a lady?! Yet another thought couldn’t help but crawl into the back of Della’s mind. Was there a possibility you were attracted to her? The thought didn’t entirely bother Della. Most of the women in the empire were with other women so it wouldn’t be strange… right?

You often rained down compliments on Della but she hardly responded to them. She was still taciturn and stoic. You often felt as if you were conversing with a rock rather than your self-appointed ‘best friend.’ It made you feel even more lonely as the years went on. Were you doing this all for naught? Would Della still murder you like she would in the book? You hoped not! You still haven’t met your favorite character! The female lead! Except you weren’t the original, naive female lead that would be offed by the villainess…

As the two of you approached adulthood, you promoted her to head maid. Yet she still remained close to your side. You no longer asked her to bathe you or asked for ‘sleepovers,’ you were more lady like now. You also ceased with your compliments to her and her work, a small fact that bothered Della a bit. Didn’t you like her still? Why were you being so different?

Meanwhile you were antsy. The ball was coming up and you’d soon meet the female lead! She was a holy knight and she’d be the one to save the empire from the forces of evil… she was so cool and muscular! A butch from your sapphic dreams! You felt yourself internally fan girl out of excitement. Yet you didn’t want to express that to Della. No, you’d still remain civil with your maid since she didn’t seem to care much for your companionship…

Della brushed your hair as you sat on your stool, your hands in your lap as you hummed a soft tune to yourself.

And that’s when you dropped a bomb on Della. “I really enjoyed Stephanie’s cooking yesterday. Could you ask her to make me food again?” Stephanie? The new cook? What was so great about her cooking that made you praise her? Della was the one who doted on you. Della was the one who always took care of you.

“Ouch!” You jumped when Della accidentally tugged on your hair. “Della, that hurt-“ Your heart stopped in your chest when you glanced up at the look on Della’s face. Her eyes held a murderous glint in them which made you shudder. Oh god… was she going to hurt you?

Della snapped out of it the instant she heard your voice, she quickly bent down to make sure you were okay, but you swatted her hands away. “I’m sorry, Della… I can finish getting ready by myself.”

Della felt her world crash around her. She hadn’t meant to pull your hair… don’t kick her out. Please don’t do this… yet she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She instead, bit her lips and bowed her head to you. She then rushed out of your room in haste. It wasn’t until Della rounded the corner of the hall that one of the other maids pointed out that her lips were bleeding.

Della absentmindedly touched her lips and frowned. Never had she been so emotional… yet all these feelings were brought out by you. Her princess… her princess that she wanted to serve forever.

“Where is Stephanie?” Della softly asked the maid who quirked a brow. The maid told Della the location of the cook in a confused tone, “oh, she’s in the kitchen. Why?” Della just gave the maid a smile. “I just have a message for her is all.”

Yes… she was the head maid so she could use that to her advantage. She’d get the ginger bitch fired. You should only compliment Della. No one else mattered.

You were surprised when a plate was placed in front of you by Della. This wasn’t Stephanie’s cooking… this looked like Della’s. “Oh? What’s this?”

“Your favorite.” Della replied in her usual stiff tone. The maid poured you a cup of your favorite tea as well. Della wasn’t wrong but you couldn’t help but feel a bit suspicious of her. Where was Stephanie? Oh well… you’d eat your meal.

Della’s green eyes studied you as she watched you eat the meal without complaint. Your face scrunched up when the meat had a bit of a strong iron taste to it, but you kept eating. Della played with the bloody bandages on her fingers as her smile grew wide. She hoped you liked the way she tasted. What better way to stay with you forever than to give you some of her blood?

When you retired for the night, Della snuck into your room to lay beside you. Her olive hands snuck under your dress to cup your chest. Her fingers pinched your nipples to see your cute reactions. She hadn’t realized how sensitive you were… did you need her to take care of your body’s needs? She’d do it. Della would do anything you asked of her… just don’t throw her away. Della pushed your dress up as she licked her lips at the sight of your bare body. What a dirty girl you were to not wear undergarments… perhaps she’d teach you a thing or two about being indecent?

You woke up the next day with sore nipples. They were a bit swollen and red and you couldn’t figure out why. You nearly cried when you accidentally touched one. Did you have an allergic reaction to your meal yesterday? No… this was just so odd.

Della dutifully entered your room and began to help you get dressed. Her green eyes filled with satisfaction from her handiwork on your nipples. You seemed so confused… like a little lamb. Della thought it was so cute.

Della began to order the other maids to work far away from you. She needed to get you to alone so she could express her feelings for you properly… so none of the other servants knew she was going to fuck you. She didn’t want any rumors to spread about her darling princess! Della would be a horrible maid if she did that…

You were a bit shocked with how touchy Della was throughout the week. She was stuck to you like a shadow now. And you had yet to see another servant other than Della attend to your needs. You found it so odd…

“Della? Where are all my personal maids?” You asked as you sat on your stool. Della scowled for a brief second before she recovered to her usual icy exterior.

“You only need me, my princess. They’re all inferior.” You froze and turned your body around to look at your maid.

“Pardon?” You’re shocked when Della’s hands grab your face. “D-Della-“

Della presses her lips to yours in a passionate kiss. Her large chest pressed against yours as she pushed you against your vanity. You’re absolutely mind boggled at this development. What was happening?! You thought Della hated you.

“Princess… my princess.” Della whispered against your lips as she reached a hand to undo her bun. Her black curls now cascaded down her back like a cape. “I’m your forever servant and only I can properly fulfill your needs. And I mean all of your needs.”

You gasped when she yanked your legs up onto her shoulders. Your eyes widened in confusion until your face flushed in realization. Della didn’t hate you… Della was obsessed with you.

“So let me please you properly, princess. I swear I won’t disappoint you.”

[hyunebunx]

💝 with jisung 🤭

˖˙ ᰋ ── 💝- 'a sudden kiss to catch the partner off guard'

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: manaa <33 i hope you enjoy this as much as i loved writing it <3 thank you sm for requesting!

It wasn’t a rare occurrence to drop by and find your boyfriend creating, brainstorming for another song while strumming his guitar or tapping a pen on the table to the rhythm created in his head. Inspiration struck at the oddest of times, not giving him a break no matter how spent or exhausted he was. And you had to understand – when the creative juices were flowing and he was in the zone, nothing and absolutely nobody mattered until he finished the song.

You find yourself in his room, sitting across from each other on the floor as you’re listening to your boyfriend go on and on about this new idea of his, strumming random chords on his guitar as he struggled to find a note he was satisfied with.

His fluffy brown hair bounces everywhere as he talks, glasses dropping a little too low on the bridge of his nose as he hasn’t raised his head from the instrument since you came in, half an hour ago.

“I’ve had this melody stuck in my head since yesterday but I can’t seem to get it out.” He hums, in hopes you might recognize it or help him somehow. He’s out of luck because truth be told, you stopped listening ten minutes ago.

You loved his creativity and passion but sometimes, like right now, you just needed his love and affection and Jisung has been too busy to notice.

“How about a snack?” You ask, standing up to which your joints thank you joyfully.

Jisung mumbles a quick ‘yes’, granting you his attention for a split second before he’s back to his guitar, hunched over in concentration.

The house is empty except for you two, with Jisung’s roommate, Minho, away on a family trip. You’d never thought you’d miss his loud and over the top laughter but now, when your boyfriend was barely paying you any attention, its absence pains you. You never realized how lively Minho kept things around here – you need to show your appreciation when he returns.

You linger longer than necessary in the kitchen, preparing snacks and drinks for the both of you before shuffling back to Jisung’s room, thankful the door was left ajar with how full your hands have gotten.

The moment you step inside, Jisung’s head snaps up with the most endearing smile stretched across his face, glasses a little bit crooked. “Baby! I got it! Hear me out, please!”

His happiness lights up the room in such a way that almost blinds you, his smile contagious and making it hard to resist the urge to smother him with your love. Jisung has never given you a warning, for if you got one, you might’ve prepared yourself better before falling head over heels in love with him. Though, you can never prepare for these things. Love sneaks up on you the moment it finds an opening, when your guard is down and the last thing you expect is being hit by cupid’s arrow, right in the heart.

Looking back, you don’t think you ever stood a chance. You were doomed from the start, when Han Jisung walked in the room you were in, a few years ago, laughing loudly with the previously mentioned roommate. Your heart has been his ever since, the sound reeling it in and never releasing it.

He’s babbling on, excited, as you set the plates down on his dresses, making your way towards him with a newfound purpose. When you lean down to get his attention, he tilts his head up with a dazzling smile, still talking and oh so unsuspecting of your next move.

Without warning, you peck his lips, causing the words to die on his tongue as he freezes, reflexively kissing back the second time your lips meet even if his brain hasn’t caught up yet.

“Sorry,” you whisper against his lips, his mouth agape in surprise as you stare right into his hazy eyes, “you looked too adorable, I couldn’t help myself.”

The loud sound of the guitar tumbling out of his grasp startles you, and you look down in concern while Jisung doesn’t even seem to notice, too enthralled to care. Your kisses always had that effect on him, and he’s sure they’ll continue to do so no matter how many years pass. You had him wrapped around your little finger after all, the victim of the spell your love cast on him the moment he set eyes on you.

“Ji?” You shake his shoulder lightly before crouching down to return his guitar. “The song, baby?”

“What song?” Is the first thing he manages to let out, clearing his throat as he finally comes to.

You giggle, and that’s all it takes Jisung to set the guitar aside and pull you to him by your waist, cushioning your fall as you collapse onto him before his lips are on yours again, kissing you passionately.

For a moment there, he forgot his own name. How was he supposed to remember whatever song he came up with when you used your evil powers to steal all of his attention? Though, he supposes you can’t steal something that’s always been rightfully yours…

[ladybyakuya]

| ALL I WANTED + GOJO SATORU .

+cw. — female!wife!reader x clan-head!husband!(sub)!gojo satoru, arrange marriage, hurt, angst, canon typical elements, smut, f!masturbation + m!masturbation & orgasm interruption.

+wc. — 2.3k

+syn.— satoru comes home from a bunch of missions only to find his wife in their shared bedroom not wanting him, or waiting for him but busy seeking pleasure that was his share to pour into you.

+notes. — special thanks to @gojoest for hyping me up with this idea. & thanks to @sugurouge for beta reading otherwise this never get posted lol | redirect to blog navigation.

The current head of the clan you belong to, your father stands facing his back to you. He is now the housemaster, not your father. “You’re going to be married,” said he, as his palms remained tightly clasped at his back while he looked out through the window. What you once called home became a distant memory in an instant. “You’re going to be married—” as his face turned towards you, “to Gojo Satoru.” you could figure out why he was looking away. “That monster!” he screams tears streaming down his face as his lips tremble in rage and disbelief; how of all people did the marriage broker who has been his friend for a long time have even agreed with such a decision? The thought of him suggesting the idea to the council does not even cross your father’s mind. How utterly naive! a low grunt followed as your father swatted away his chair knocking it down to the ground before killing every bit of hope you had despite the rumors. “This marriage. . . it is nothing but a hopeless dream. ”

Yes! You knew that already. The housemaids and staff just love to gossip about the doom of their sole source of bread and butter. The moment your father summoned you into his study room and told you the news while staring at the greenery of the garden of this mansion you knew your life was going to turn upside down and it did, just like you expected yet you were still disappointed, frustrated even when you came back to your room. 

Satoru Gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in history ever known since Sukuna Ryomen was sealed. No other name has ever made it to the pages of jujutsu history. He is at the top of the jujutsu society regarding status, power, fame, and money. So, what do you do with the strongest of all? worship them out of devotion? subdue them with offerings lest it might lash out? swearing loyalty out of fear? Those were the thoughts that stemmed at the back of your mind when you first came to know about the fact that you were going to be the wife of the Gojo Satoru from a maid whose life never even crossed the threshold of your home. Her world was limited to the mossy parts of the mansion you resided in. Still, she could tell what kind of marriage you would be walking into.

Nothing shocking happened even on the night of your wedding. It was just as you anticipated. Two different futons were kept side by side. There was no sharing of words, glances, or kakebuton . Just both of your backs faced each other. At dawn, you woke up with your wedding kimono intact, a stainless white futon, and an empty room without Gojo. 

The maids here knew better than to talk about it, even behind your back. They were aware of the power and status you held and that made everything a lot worse than you expected it to be. You had access to a lot of things, the family history archives, the financial sources, his previous missions— everything tied to him. Your husband, Gojo Satoru, was the clan head as well as the master of this mansion so there were no elderly people pushing responsibilities onto your shoulders like back at home. There was a sense of serenity in the air but how could you breathe it in for the rest of your life? 

Satoru Gojo was the kind of man whom one could easily desire. Despite being his wife and the future mother of his children, trying to love him felt like a cyanide for you. You wanted your husband, not some Satoru Gojo oozing with knowledge and power. You wanted to look him in the eye, not just his back which you barely get a glimpse of at the crack of dawn as he occupies the sad side of the bed under a separate duvet. In earlier stages of this marriage, there was no curtain separating you and your husband’s side of the bed but after a month of utter silence and stealing glances, the first thing he installed was a curtain in the shared canopy bed. If he needed some privacy he could easily ask you to shift into another room but he bothered to talk one of those clan servants to install a fucking curtain as if the silence was not enough of a gulf in between you two. 

Sometimes you thought that he was cheating on you but you always pushed it under the rug telling yourself, “You’re the wife of Satoru Gojo. No one can take that from you unless you walk out of this marriage. Not your father. Not that marriage broker —”

— Not even Gojo Satoru himself because he only married you to silence those nosy elders of his clan who pretend to be oh-so-worried for him. You were not foreign to that concept, after all, you are wrapped in the same shroud for all your life.

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .No one . . .” 

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .” 

“You’re the wife . . .”

“You’re . . .”

But the thought of getting his dick sucked by some other woman or man, or him putting his dick into someone — it filled you with too much anger to sleep in bed that night. For the first time, you miss home because there you are free to go anywhere even at night. 

Satoru came home early that night, which was odd for his schedule, and was greeted with an empty bed after a long while. The sky is yet to be cracked open by sunlight. It is still too dark to be wandering around. Where could his wife have been gone to at this hour? He takes a spoonful of strawberry ice cream from the giant tub he held in his other hand before starting to look for you. But where should he look first? He does not know anything except the fact that he had put veils in different places of his house just to keep this house free of low-energy cursed spirits. Those veils sure did their job well but sometimes they would keep out non-sorcerers, people like you. His heart rejoices at the thought that he has to look for you in places only he is aware of, which means this is going to take a little less time, and he will find you much faster. Come to think of it, he has not been in the library section for a while but it is still as spotless as the first day he came here. Have you been visiting? Man! That sure worries him.

The pink layer of the tub has come down to half along with its skin being wet while the spoon is still experiencing the fierce appetite that Satoru had for anything sweet. He stands at the entrance of a long hallway before checking, thinking that this is the last place he has to look for but could it be possible that you were embarrassed enough to go back to your home?

Ahh…ahhh!

The spoon hits the wooden floor with a dull clatter as a wretched realization comes crashing down through his veins. Have you been cheating on him all this time? In his house? With some lowly servant ? Well, that sure makes it easier to end this sham of a marriage. He opens the door of a certain archive room as swiftly as possible trying to minimize the sound of his presence, making sure he does not shock you awake from your rendezvous. He is determined to catch you red-handed but when he opens the door he witnesses something that could have knocked the lights off his brain if he were not one of the greatest sorcerers of his time. The sight was not something of a fair appetite for ordinary people yet you sat by the marble slab of the giant window, with one of your arms nuked under your sapphire jinbei in between your legs as your skin glowed under that pale moonlight as if diamonds and pearls were embedded on your skin. 

You were sweating, arching your body, moaning and all your husband could do was watch in awe. Your free hand travels from the bottom of your cleavage and up to the apex of your nape as you turn your head opening your eyes for a brief moment. You see the world so blurred that it spikes your approaching high, but as you open your eyes for the second time your high is gone like it never existed. Your husband, Gojo Satoru stood before you like an ivory statue of certain abandoned ruined cathedrals. The dress covers most of your body so a wave of relief washes over him despite realizing how dangerous the spot you chose . . .to . . .umh. . . pleasure yourself . 

How long? How long was he watching you ? You shift your body to face him, and your hand slowly emerges from the warmth between your thighs. Satoru tries to ignore but traces of your arousal and his yearning are flourishing like fluorescence on your fingers as it rests on your thigh. You watch him gulp. Suddenly, Gojo Satoru is out of words. Teacher to his students of Jujutsu High, the strongest sorcerer, Nanami’s certified yapper is suddenly out of words. The slight slice of your boobs visible through your robe does not help either in the coherency of his thoughts. He had plans. He had plans to walk out of this marriage without being tainted as a “cheater” because the jujutsu society is so fucked up that they will not stop until they found this particular person that had made this marriage impossible to work on so that you, the wife, had to walk out it and dear God, they certainly are not fond of obstructions.

“What a nice place you chose to—” he finally looks away to keep the tub of semi-molten room-temperature strawberry ice cream on some bookshelf but before he could shift back his gaze on you again you were gone like a storm. The sound of your footsteps echoed in his ear till it stopped before he heard the click of a door. He does not understand if you are just too dumb or too brave to act the way you are acting right now. He follows you as a grunt of dismissal escapes from his chest. As he stands in front of the bathroom door he drowns yet again in utmost disbelief. He can still hear your shrill gasp of pleasure and he is not liking how his cock is responsive to it. At first, he hesitates to touch himself but the faint sound of your moans, the wet squelching sounds of your fingers moving in and out of your damp folds despite the door of the bathroom being locked buzzes in his ears like bees out in the hunt of honey. 

Satoru gave up . You hear a thud as you continue to finger yourself knowing full well that your husband must have followed you all the way here after witnessing you in such a state. Indeed, you could have been accused of cheating on him without him checking the door and it would have been much worse. He sits against the bathroom door unfurling the black ribbon with a swish to take his cock out of his baggy white pants. The tip is already leaking. His cock is throbbing in his palm as he encapsulates his fingers around it, moving his fingers up and down slowly. On the other side of the door, as you could finally feel the pinnacle of your high you heard a soft groan; a pain, that seemed familiar, was palpable underneath that shrill cry of pleasure. Still when your fingers touched the part inside you that almost felt like unknotting something from inside you, at the basal of your navel Satoru’s hand moved faster to chase the similar high that had started to bubble in his body under the influence of your ripples of pleasure. You heard your husband moan as tears rolled down your cheeks when you closed your eyes feeling the knot finally unwinding.

Perhaps, both of you came simultaneously. Perhaps not, because you immediately opened the door after you had calmed from your high, only to be greeted with Satoru sitting right at the opposite wall of the bathroom door, legs folded in L-manner so that he could keep his hand over his knee. His cock is still visible through his white pants and it is still so hard. One of your eyebrows raises in silent reply . Satoru notices that. He looks at you and then looks away. You extend your hand towards his face, gaining his stern azure pair of eyes shining against whatever dim light the crack of the bathroom door could allow. There was no sign of resistance in him so as your palm touched his cheeks, you waited and gave him time to protest. yet none ever followed,  instead, he surrendered to your touch, and your fingers curled under his chin as you ran your thumb over his lips. Satoru coiled against your touch imbibing as much as he could like a tide being high enough to touch the moon . . .a familiar voice shocked both of you awake.

“Lady Gojo. . .” 

[hoseoksluna]

ICHOR | jjk

pairing: idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after a bad day at work, you lose a sense of yourself and jungkook leads you right back to her.

warnings: crying, capitalism, death metaphors, sadness, jungkook is sweaty and is wearing that nike shirt he wore in his working out live, has fluffy hair!

note: hiii, bubbas, so this is fluff fic is partly for @frmisnow bc she inspired me to write this & i also want to make her feel better with this sacchariny-sweet jungkook, partly for me bc i genuinely wrote in detail about what i went through at work these past two days. and, also, for all you guys because i made you go through reading about such evil jungkook in my last berries fic. i hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. here's to a bit of happiness in our lives *cheers with an imaginary glass of imaginary pink, glittery, strong, fairy alcohol*. <3

You used to be a goddess, the ichor in your veins carried the color of roses, glinted with flecks of gold that would radiate your skin from beneath, make any heads turn, especially the one you loved the most. Customers at work smiled upon seeing your cordial aura, close-knit even though they were mere strangers, preferred to go to you amidst the flock of your other colleagues around. They would become radiated just the same, joy so terribly evident on their faces as their smile would grow. They would frown upon seeing the state of you at this current moment—curled up on your bed while the heat of the beginning of the summer clings to your near bareness, coming through your wide opened windows, the white, translucent curtains billowing up and down in their strange, but magnolious dance. 

You’re not Aphrodite. You’re not Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy and mirth, either. 

You’re the slain fawn at their feet—for their very own feast and for the feast of those aforementioned customers, who stand behind the dryly bloodied cause of your death. 

Work was hell, to say the least. 

You always thought death was a kind embrace, not a tight clasp of doom around the nape of your neck, your mental strain and disquietude the half moon marks that ever so slowly deepen. You mimic the movement on the hem of the linen shirt you wore for the day, one that you were too drowsy to take off when you arrived at home, having only a slight wisp of an energy to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tightness of your jeans and crawl onto your bed, knees to chest, on your side. You bunch up the fabric in your fist, wrinkling it, but you hardly vanquish the cuts that your anxiety slashes on your skin. You thought it would alleviate you of your tenseness, but as it seems—it only worsened it. 

You don’t even have tears to shed. Wept them all out in your manager’s office while she harshly, yet calmly reprimanded you for your mistake and the gravity of the fact that you almost lost your precious job, that you can’t imagine living without, washed over you and pained you like a splash of salty water in your eyes. Wept them all out when you breathed in the crooked, paralyzed expression of disappointment in her face—and that’s the sole thing that emptied out your system of that ichor, wiped out your reputation of being a good, reliable employee that everybody liked. 

Now the next unfolding of your days spent at work shall be filled with silent judgements and secretive gossip, the big talk of the entire building—something that will hang by the strands of your hair for every head to turn to until something else comes along. Another topic, another fuck-up. That’s the face of modern capitalism, the absurdity of day-to-day normalcy its features, and you’re so sick, so repulsed to be staring at it every single day of your life that you yearn to not be anymore. 

Death has flattened over you, but has not finished its job. It was Dante who described the process of hell in his Divine Comedy and you hate him for the rotten pulchritude of his mind because you find yourself to be standing in the middle of inferno with no guide—no Virgil, no Beatrice—to hold your hand and lead you through this scalding maze. You’re all alone, your mistake carving the branches of the trees burning down in your hell over your burdened, heavy heart that has been longing for the company of another ever since you walked out of your manager’s office. 

Your face screws as another agonized emotion rises in you. You can’t stand your aloneness, can’t stand your burden—and before you realize what you’re doing, your fingers have already tapped on your boyfriend’s name in your history of calls. The screen of your phone is cool against the fever of your cheek and you rub your face harder against your duvet, staining the strawberry pattern with the particular tinge of your makeup, which must have been the color of your ichor. 

You wince, the rings prolonging in your ear, your impatience running thin. 

Then, your heart drops once you hear the broken whisper of your Beatrice, faintly, barely, which causes your heart to spread its longing. Damn iPhones and their bad service. 

“Jungkook?” you call out, nonsense coming through the other end—and you repeat his name until his voice smooths out, relief sinking in like a stone in a pond. 

It turns out you were exchanging each other’s names and the intimacy of it curls the smallest of smiles on your mouth. You miss him; you need him. 

“When are you coming home?” you ask, wishing to descend into the emitting waves of the call, slide through them until you spring to wherever he is, no matter how tired you are—you’re willing to cross the distance. 

You hear him turn on his blinker and your heart almost does it for you. 

“I’m driving home right now. I’ll be there in ten,” he says and your relief expands in your chest, taking a small weight off of your heart. You place your palm against it. 

“Okay.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Why do you sound so sad?” 

Your mouth curls downwards. “Something happened at work.” 

An inhale of breath. “Screw that, baby. I’ll be there in five, okay?” 

A whimper. “Okay, drive safe.” 

And your Beatrice didn’t lie to you. Soon, you hear the banging of the front door closing, the tossing of his keys and the prodding open of your shared bedroom door. The hastened footsteps, hefty on the floating floor, the squeak of the mattress as his knee dips on it and the glide of his hand up your thigh. All before you use the last of your strength to focus your swimming vision on him. 

Hearing him alone helped you take a step further in your inferno. 

And then you can smell him. The scent of sweat clinging to his favorite ivory Nike shirt, interlaced with his natural, poetic scent, creating something divine that blesses you with the strength to place your palm on top of his hand. Your coworkers hugged you earlier, clasped your hands in theirs in reassurement and more than welcome it, you absolutely despised it. Lingered in their affection only because you thought you should let yourself be consoled, for you know they care about you. But his touch… that’s not something you sense your body to want to run away from. On the contrary, it seems to be something that it’s missing. 

You can’t part the stream of your new tears with your other hand. 

You spill, completely. 

Jungkook coos, squeezing the bare flesh of your thigh as turns you onto your back and nudges himself between them, plopping his body on top of yours. And then, he’s kissing the place your undone shirt made for him, trailing his lips up your neck, where he stays, where he conjures a garden of fluttering gardenias, their tender petals tickling you. 

“What did they do to my princess?” he murmurs against your skin, his words muffled but heard clearly by your ears. You sob, your chest shuddering in violent staccatos against his, unable to settle, unable to speak. Jungkook lifts his small head and frowns, his thumb swiping your tears away while the rest of his four fingers cradle your cheek. You lean into the balmy safety of the realm of his palm, gaze fixed on the wrinkle between his brows, mouth letting out puffs of soft, gentle exhales. He kisses your chin, the corner of your mouth, the wetness of your other cheek—buries his nose into it, right beside yours, inhaling you, giving you fresh air to breathe in. “Don’t cry. I’m gonna decapitate them.” 

The whisper, the hand that parted the stream. You whimper and he steals the traces of your despondency, pecking the new, smooth surface, planting roses to bloom, its roots bestowing you with the ability of speech. 

Two sentences, two miles further in the inferno. Your burnt down trees are lost in the far distance, swallowed by the fire, yet the forest shows every sign of growing anew the longer Jungkook’s heart beats against your breast. 

He’s so benevolently patient with you, not rushing you with your explanation. It all the more drives you to disclose it to him—and you open your mouth to speak, your fingers following suit, helping you with your words as you drag them through the soft mop of his fluffy hair. 

“I made a mistake yesterday while closing up,” you croak out, licking your lips. Jungkook lifts himself onto his elbows, clutching your shoulders, keeping the close proximity intact. His warm grip is a stability you lean on, one you appreciate with every broken shard in you. “I did it five minutes earlier and somebody came in. I sent them away and they filed a complaint against me. They wrote an email to my manager and I… I almost lost my job.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepens and you thumb it, wishing it away. You don’t want to mar his beautiful face because of your foolishness; you want it to remain that soft ball of light that he always is, but then you realize you’re asking for the impossible. His mouth flattens, pity flashes across his round eyes, which helps you perceive that if he didn’t react like this, he wouldn’t love you—and his love is the air you breathe; his love is the ointment you need for your sadness. 

As if he heard you, he kisses you delicately and you sail—skip the purgatory and land in paradiso, a meadow of wildflowers overlooking a cliff that opens the restfulness of the sea, scattered with windswept petals of those lost blossoms, coloring the surface with pinks, whites and the greens of their leaves. 

“Did your manager yell at you?” Jungkook questions, his lips lifted a millimeter above yours, his thumbs fondling the fabric of your shirt upon your shoulders. 

“No, but she was very strict with me. Told me not to cry—”

His breath wafts over your face when he looks into your eyes, displeased. “She made you cry?” 

You cried because through her words you comprehended the gravity of your mistake and its repercussions, not because she deliberately used them to open the dam of your emotions. It’s precisely why she told you not to cry, giving you a hint of her perpetually nonexistent compassion. And you tell him. 

“No, she didn’t. She was very professional with me and made me realize what I did after I apologized. I cried because I was so scared of losing my job, of disappointing her and shit like that.” 

Jungkook purses his lips, shaking his head, curly strands rippling like the tremor of leaves. “She should’ve dropped it after you apologized. Five minutes is nothing, baby. You did nothing to deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your chest heaves, his love and reassurement sifting sand into your bloodstream, the color of ichor. “I know but… you know,” you trail off, indicating the realm of respect all peers must have for the management that you don’t really want to venture into, not when Jungkook had to deal with it as well in his music company. But unlike you, he broke out of its clutches. It cost him tears, frustration and weight loss, but now he’s a free bird of paradise. You don’t wish to make him remember his cage. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah, baby, I know, which is why I’m telling you that you didn’t deserve that.” 

Your chin quivers, the negative thoughts that wore you down in his absence returning at full speed. “It affects my mental health when I’m bad at my job.” 

Brows rounding upwards, his eyes flick to your chin, a glossy wetness coating them. He pecks it before he gazes into your irises. “But you’re not bad at your job. You just closed a few minutes earlier. You’re amazing at your job. You make people happy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he says, meaning every word with the way he presses each one into your pupils. You feel its magnetism and you take it. “And I’m proud of you. Every day. You work so hard. Come home tired every day. Deal with people who aren’t always nice to you with kindness that I envy. I’m proud of you, you hear me? You didn’t make a mistake. You did good.”

And there it is, the stampede of your bloodstream—Jungkook has seeped the entirety of the sand until he emptied out his hand and your ichor charges forward, its light like a bud flaring open beneath your skin. And you're floating on that sea in paradiso, your braid adorned with the wet petals that swims back and forth to his arm that holds your body steady upon the surface, the names of the Greek goddesses lining every perimeter, sinking within. 

You’ve become them, all over again. 

“Thank you, Ggukie,” you whisper, running your hand through the front bangs of his hair, gripping them. It’s as if you’re holding the petals. “I needed to hear that.” 

He pouts, touched by the love name. “I know. You need to rest now after such an emotionally exhausting day. No more tears, okay?” 

You nod, feeling whole, feeling like you can face tomorrow with more courage. “Okay.” 

You pout, mimicking him, asking for a kiss and he gives it to you in that same delicate manner, plunging the entirety of the summer’s heat, molded by his hands, into you, making it bearable for you. 

Looks at you for a long time, after. Smiling. 

“You know, I didn’t take a shower after the gym for you,” he says, quirking a smile on your face.

You’re intimately acknowledged with the reason why, yet still you ask: “Why’s that?” 

He reciprocates the smile. “I thought you’d help me wash up. My muscles are sore and all. I lifted the double amount of your body weight.” 

You bite your lip. You’re willing to wash every inch of him with your utmost care. You deem he deserves it for enlivening you, but you’d much rather stay here, inhaling that dizzying scent of him. 

“I’ll do that, but let’s stay here for a little while.” 

Jungkook nods, kissing your jaw before he finds a comfortable place on your bosom, listening to the rush of your ichor, the sun rays upon the sea of that paradiso, inching you closer and closer to God. Augments the ending of that Divine Comedy. 

Doesn’t lead you to the final installment of death, but pushes you to life full of that brisk wind, the humming of the sea and the song of swaying wildflowers. 

Holds your hand. 

Doesn’t let go. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[marksbear2]

Hiii Papa!! I love your writing and so happy that you came back. And I hope your enjoying America!!

Im requesting Homelander x Male reader. And can it be headcanons? And also smut? I really love your spicy fics. Thank youuu

HOMELANDER X MALE READER

Hello, thank you for requesting!! I’m glad you like my writing and yes I’m having a great time in America so far. There’s not enough Homelander x reader so I’m happy to write for my man.

⚠️Warnings!!- Asshole homelander, humiliation kink, dirty talk, mentions blackmail, public, blow job, mirror, and etc. ⚠️

— You was the first ever man he ever don’t it with. He was a bit awkward but still had his cocky and brave persona. 

— He tried to top you for the first few times. He refused to let you even touch his hole. So you just let him top you until you got bored of it and decided to fuck him instead.

— Your his guilty pleasure, he hates the fact how he submitted his body to you. Not without a fight though, he wasn’t just going to let you fuck him. You had to work for it. 

— Homelander was devastated for days whenever you fucked him. He didn’t know how to act, he couldn’t believe he just handed over his ass to another man…the worst part of all to him was the fact that he enjoyed it.

— Homelander prefers taking it from behind so he doesn’t have to face you and you don’t have to see his face or anything. He always tell himself it’s a one time thing and will never happen again. 

— He swears that he hates you and your cock. He knew he was doomed that whenever he tried jerking off he couldn’t get hard at the thought of a woman or seeing a girl naked. But whenever he thought of you he got hard as an rock. 

— He refused to be kissed by you, he  struggle and avoid getting any sort of affection from you if it wasn’t strictly sexual.

— He likes taking it rough, he began to love and crave the feeling of your dick stretching his hole out and fucking him merciless. 

— He tells you not too pull or tug his hair whenever you two are fucking but doesn’t even protest when you do it. He loves it in fact. Forcing his head back and forcing him to look at you.

— He started to do good on missions and public interviews, so you could fuck him as an good job. He even began to look forward to coming over your house and even more secretly happy to be under you.

— You move his cape to the side and pull down the pants of his hero suit to fuck him right there and then. Numerous times you two fucked in the empty large office of the seven. 

— Whenever your fucking him senseless, his heat vision sometimes almost activates. His eyes glowing red as he is taking the hard pounding. He would let out moans and groans. Homelander mouth would hang open like some dog.

— He’s really bad at giving head. You’ll have to guide and talk him through it. His wet eyes slobbering all over your cock.

— People notice how he sometimes has an limp and the seven and other workers in Vought notice how he’s much more tame and has better manners then before. 

— Fucking him in front of a mirror and forcing him to watch himself getting fucked. You mocked and teased him about he’s supposed to be america’s hero and the only man in the sky the undefeated homelander enjoying having another man’s dick inside him. 

— Recording and taking pictures of him during sex turns him on. You talking about potentially blackmailing him in the future. His reputation in your hands. He doesn’t even try to cover his face or anything during the videos. Often laughed and moaned looking dead into the camera.

— Enjoys being your cumdump. He would sit on the floor or lay on the bed covered in your cum, as he beg and whine for more with his own cock in between his legs being hard as a rock.

— He would sometimes be incredibly covered in blood head to toe and the only thing he wants to do is to suck your cock. 

— He came in his hero suit before, you were mocking and taunting him calling him all sorts of things while tugging his hair and pushing him around. He doesn’t last long whenever your dirty talking to him. He can’t handle those words.

 — He’s truly pathetic for you. He would get on his knees and hump your legs while looking up at you begging you to fuck him. He would rub his boner against your legs and such. He would whine and grumble and began to imply that he will kill people if you don’t give in to his needs right now. 

— He sucks onto your nipples. He would grope and fondle with your pecs sucking your nipples and pinch and tug onto them. 

— The first time he came untouched and hands free from your cock inside him. He broke. 

— It made him realized that he only wanted you and only you. He frequently begged and asked more longer rounds and such. He would be bent over with his hands over his head shooting his white streaks of cum while you drive your cock inside him.

— You two fucking in empty alleyways in the middle of the day. 

— He would have random wet dreams about you, and also day dream about you fucking him during random times. He could be spacing out thinking about you jerking off his cock and dirty talking to him.

— You pressing him against a window and fucking him right there and then. Homelander loved the thrill. If anyone looked up they could see the Supe naked body pressed against the glass.

— Tying his hands behind his back and forcing him to choke and suck your cock while recoding him. 

— He ashamed since his guilty pleasure is that he wants a threesome. He wants you and some other man to ruin and fuck him at the same time. He wants to take both of you guys. He hasn’t told you about his wish but hopes it can come true one day.

THE END

[fuckmycrane]

Moon — Thomas Shelby.

— CW: 18+!, smut. breeding kink, (slight) housewife kink, mentions of kidnaping. Age gap. | word count: 1.7k. (not proofread!)

— a/n: I have no clue from where this came from. I'm not in the best mindset and this happened. This is also my first time writing for Tommy so don't hate me lol. This isn't canon compliant ig because I don't want it to be. I just want him so bad it's not even funny.

Vulnerability. 

It was a word he never thought he’d truly understand the meaning of. 

It was always meant to be a secret. Why? Because good things don’t last long— not for him. Never for him. 

And every time he is away from you, it is a constant heartache that not even the strongest alcohol or an insane amount of tobacco could ease. He wishes he could steal the moon from the dark skies of Birmingham and hand it to you, he knows how much you love the moon. Night after night, he raises his head to stare at it for hours, wondering where are you, if you are thinking about him as much as he is thinking of you.

Wondering if you love him as much as he loves you.

Love. Such a funny word. A meaning both so full and so empty.

He wishes he could steal you. 

He knows how much he loves you.

It is always better to be safe than sorry— that’s why he secluded you, and you understood. Perhaps it was the naivety granted by your young age, or maybe it was your blind love for a man who was doomed since the day he was born. Whatever it was, it kept both of your hearts attached, beating as one; watching the same moon.

He counts the days, the hours, and sometimes even the minutes; he is a smart man, he knows where you are and with whom, he knows what dress you wore and who you talked to. And he does it for love. Or even obsession. A strange urge that creeps into him every night when he thinks of you after a long day of work— an urge to be loved. He counts the days, the hours, and sometimes even the minutes until he is able to see you again. To hide under that perfect, warm blanket that is your arms, your kisses, your body. 

In front of your front door, he knocks even though he knows the door is open. He has guards on every corner, eyes on every window. He already lost too many precious things in his life. He can’t afford to lose you. He built you a house, a paradise for you to enjoy, cherish and take care of. He gave you everything you could ask for, even more. Growing up, you never experienced the same deficiencies and struggles he did, you never had to lift a single finger and that’s alright for him. Because on those days when he feels powerless and exhausted, he knows he can always ride back home, and regain that power by standing next to you. 

Home. Home. Home.

“Tommy!” The squeak of excitement makes the long trip worth it. Everything is worth it if it comes to you.

He hugs you, keeping you tight against his chest wishing he could stay that way forever, basking in your delicate soul, your selfless heart. Thomas calls your name in an affectionate way that no one could evoke in such a genuine way. He kisses you with such passion that makes your blood boil and your heart flutter.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, ignoring how his mind scolds him for the hint of vulnerability that laces his voice. 

Placing your hands over your stomach, his body tenses at the small bump underneath your expensive, tailored dress. “We feel good, we missed you— I missed you” You reply with adoration. He is finally here.

“I’m here,” He says as if you needed confirmation that he is in fact in front of you. 

“How is everyone?” 

“Good” He places a large hand over your stomach, rubbing it with his palm. “Ada keeps asking me when I will bring you back to Small Heath”

“And when will that be?” Your question gives him a pang of guilt. He wishes he could have an answer, his face says it all. “It’s alright, love. I understand things are… difficult”

“Enough about that” He breathes, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He wants the distraction, he wants the warmth, he wants you. “I’m here to see my wife, not to talk about work”

With a giggle, you kiss him. “Fine. Whatever you want”

And he loves that. He loves how willing to please you are. He loves how you let him guide you upstairs, undress you, and adore you. Thomas’ hands caress the small bump in your stomach as he carefully lifts his hips to thrust deeper, enjoying every small moan and gasp. Normally he isn’t this gentle, but he will never harm you or your baby. With his occasional grunts and pants, he grabs your thighs, increasing his pace. Watching you bounce on top of him is a heavenly sight and is in these moments when he is sure you are an angel sent from heaven from him. He might not believe in God but whatever exists in this cruel world granted him with a Goddess.

“I m–missed you” You moan digging your nails into the pale skin of his shoulders. “I missed you s–so much”

That damn wave of vulnerability washes over him, the bed creaks with your combined weight, creating a delicious, sinful melody that he evokes on those nights when he is too desperate for your body and has to find relief in his own hands. 

His large hands cup your breasts, paying attention to your swollen, sensitive nipples. Thomas pinches them gently watching you tremble. He can already imagine them full and heavy, ready to take care of the baby that you are expecting— his baby. A louder groan falls down his lips at the thought. Such a wonderful mother you will be. Such a perfect, precious housewife. 

Such an angel sent from heaven.

“I love how you look” He confesses in a husky fashion, bouncing your tits in his calloused palms. “I can’t wait to see you— to see you all round and heavy with my baby”

His words send a shiver down your spine, clenching around him and making Thomas hiss from the raw pleasure of your tight pussy. “Please— don’t stop��

“I wasn’t plannin’ on, doll”

Thomas dares to increase the pace, using one hand to grope your ass to keep balance. Your moans also increase in volume, igniting the primal desire to claim you inside of him. “You are so fucking tight— I will fucking pump another baby into you as soon as you have this one”

You nod fervently, closing your eyes and scratching his chest. “Yes! I’ll have as many as you want Tommy— anything you want! Anything”

The loyalty he so loves. 

His lust wins over his composure for a moment, landing a sharp slap over your asscheek that makes you whine and clench again causing him to grit his teeth. He is aware of how much you adore it when he is rough with you, he thrives on the submission you gave him since day one. Unable to help himself, your husband slaps your ass repeatedly, relishing the cries of pleasure that call him like a siren to a poor, lost sailor. 

“Say you are mine” He grunts after another hard slap. He isn’t going to last any longer. Not with such a breathtaking view. 

“I belong to you!” You comply instantly. “I am y–yours! I’ve always been” He knows you are telling the truth. That’s why he had to take you away from your home, to manipulate you in order to give up your last name, to cast you under his spell— that’s why he had to have you since he first landed eyes on you. 

But at the end of the day, he was the one wrapped around your finger.

He is the one wrapped around the velvety, soft walls of your cunt, squeezing him for dear life and silently begging him to breed you, use you, claim you…

Love you.

With a strained cry, you come around him. He could watch you unravel on top of him for hours— in fact, he has.  Your movements were slow, deliberate, and intense. He could feel his breath hitch as you moved, and his heart raced as you arrived at your climax. His gaze was unwavering as he watched you ride out the waves of your pleasure. Thomas followed you seconds after, moaning your name under his breath; he fills you up just the way you both adore, it’s evident that when the hours pass, time is the only thing left to waste. Panting above him, he carefully settles you next to him, spooning you and keeping his softening cock inside of you. This is how he wants to end every day, to wake up every morning. 

Kissing your sweaty neck, he breathes you in, memorizing your scent once again. He knows his time with you is limited before someone notices his absence and begins to track him. Thomas needs to be two steps ahead of anyone. Your soft giggles make him smile, a genuine smile that feels so foreign to him. Under the darkness of your bedroom, his hands caress your hot skin, providing you with the heat and care he knows you crave. 

“I love you” You whisper, closing your eyes and falling asleep rather quickly. He listens to your heavy breathing, peaceful and unbothered; and that’s how he wishes it could stay forever. Away from worries, stress, fear. 

“I love you, more than you can imagine” He musters, hiding his face on the crook of your neck.

It’s true. Because love is such a funny word that gives him such a funny feeling. 

A warm, fuzzy feeling.

He opens his eyes, raising his head to look at the windows. The curtains are wide open, the weak glow of the full moon casting a divine glow over your naked body. His lips land on your shoulder, allowing the sensation to wash over him. It's a moment of peace and serenity, a moment in time that will never be forgotten. A moment he doesn’t want to end. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he will bring you back where you belong. It doesn’t matter the consequences, it doesn’t matter if the whole world finds out Thomas Shelby was the one who kidnaped Jack Nelson’s younger sister. As long as he has you, he is alive.

And he swears it to the moon.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook misses you before he even leaves.

idol!jungkook x reader / angst, fluff / word count: 3.7k

content/warnings: they both cry, they’re so in love and anxious of being apart 🥲 pls somebody give my babies a box of tissue damn it!!! / making out :") might be one of my favs i’ve written heh cherry koo ily

> in which masterlist!

note: hi hiii this serves as a prologue kinda to the giving up drabbles <3 and as to not confuse the timeline, this one takes place in sept 2018 and the first giving up drabble june 2019 ^^ hehe reblogs/feedback are appreciated + as always i’d love to chat abt ur thoughts 🥺

—

“i’ll call you when i arrive at the dorm, baby. let’s pack the rest of my things together, hmm?”

you hum softly in agreement, hiding your face on jungkook’s chest so he won’t see you yawn.

you’re so adorable, he thinks to himself with a grin.

matching his outfits with you in preparation for his travels has always been one of the little ways you spend quality time together. yes, you will be physically apart for most of this year and the next… but if he just pushes that fact in the back of his mind for an hour or two so he can make you laugh with his purposely horrendous choices, he thinks he may be able to leave with a lighter heart.

one last kiss is granted to your forehead, and you nuzzle your cheeks against his warm hands to cherish every ounce of his touch you can manage to steal.

you peek from the small space of the door to smile at your lover, which he then returns rife with fondness. you wave and bid your silly bye bye’s to each other, and it’s you who ultimately closes the door despite the voice in your head bewailing its protests.

it creates a clicking sound as you push it all the way, and after that, the defeaning silence fills your apartment like a toxic gas that makes it impossible to breathe. with no other soul left to witness it, your walls involuntarily come crumbling down. your eyes become blurry with unshed tears, and they fall one by one, some getting caught by your eyelashes. they hang heavy until they inevitably roll down your cheeks, as if they’re desperate not to crash and break, as if they’re horrified of their fate towards doom… much like you are.

recognizing the sensation of your weak knees threatening to give way, you lean your forehead on the hardwood to relieve some of the weight burdening your shoulders.

your chores have piled up while you were recklessly spending every second you had left with your boyfriend. you have better things to do than to cry. however, you can’t control your face that contorts to express the pain of having your heart mercilessly squeezed in your chest, tighter and tighter as the distance between you and jungkook grows, and it will only continue to do so.

you wind up as a heap on the floor, an intricate collection of love yet to be given and shards of memories calamitous and beautiful, knees hugged to your chest as you weep.

you swore you wouldn’t do this. you fucking swore you wouldn’t do this to yourself.

since losing your family, you’ve been alone, trying to survive in this world like a leaf in the eye of a storm, carried by a raging river that travels to an unknown sea. you then promised that no matter how much you affection you’ve grown to have for someone, if there comes a time that they make you feel lonely (skin-on-skin or heart-to-heart), you will be the one to walk away first. even if it hurts, even if it leaves you empty inside. for one, you’ve never liked wasting your time. you know what you want and what you need— someone who will stay within reach. your day-to-day life is far too draining for you to find the energy to beg for love and attention… and for the love of god, there’s already too many people you wish were still by your side.

your friends have witnessed you annihilate hearts and egos, leaving behind a string of jaded lovers.

but jungkook, with his bunny-like smile and endless gestures of kindness… has somehow slithered his way into a space in your heart where no one has ever been.

the apartment feels too empty with him not around. he’s not knocking rhythmically at your door from the inside to announce his arrival. he’s not in the kitchen humming songs while chopping vegetables. he’s not in the shower yelling at you because you forgot that turning on the sink makes his water cold. he’s not in the living room watching a movie on your laptop. he’s not snuggled closely with you and snoring execessively by your ear.

it’s going to be like this for a while. it’s always going to be like this, you realize.

you’re so fucking lonely.

you’ve only gotten used to him being here, and now you need to re-learn what it’s like to be without him.

you’re forced to gasp for air as you sob uncontrollably, interrupted by occasional hiccups that make your body jolt. you taste the salt in your tears as they seep into the crevice between your lips, can feel them beginning to poison your skin.

you let jungkook come too close. he slept on your bed and he learned that you’re always cold. he enveloped you in the safety of his warm embrace and you couldn’t will yourself to leave after the first time. you’ve surrendered to him the control over your body, and also your heart, which you may be breaking alongside your rule but… walking away would mean forsaking yourself.

for the first time, you are crying not because of the absence of love, but the abundance of it. humans are essentially a collection of dead stars that are brought back to life when they are consumed by the electric ache of love and yearning. you are addicted to the antidote that is the touch of another body that burns the same.

you’re free falling.

if you were to choose the cause of your madness, you would choose this.

because for the first time, you are not cursing a name, but the universe and its twisted ways. in your one-bedroom apartment, you don’t feel small; your arrogance is as big as the sun that threatens to swallow the earth whole. the empty space on your bed is now in the shape of the man who loves you.

the back of your head hits the door, and you sigh at the new predicament that presents itself to you: the fluorescent lightbulb at your doorway is flickering as if to signal its impending death.

your bad vision begs you to look away.

it’s too high. it’s too high for you to reach. jungkook isn’t here anymore.

you bury your face in your hands, another wave of tears spilling over before you could get a hold of yourself. your cries are unapologetic; you sound like a little child who got their hair pulled at the playground.

you would much rather wait for him than find a solution. you want to bear the weight of him in every possible way there is. you want to have him in mind every time you flip the light switch, because you always seem to forget that it’s dying after a long day at school.

but for now, all you can do is sit on the floor and smell his perfume on your clothes as you wait for his call.

—

jungkook is still frozen on the driver’s seat, struck with a suspicion that he left something behind in your apartment, but he can’t figure out what else there is besides his heart in the palm of your hands.

he opens up every single compartment of his backpack, but he soon carelessly discards it at the backseat because he has no idea what it is he’s even looking for.

“what is it? what is it? what is it?” he mutters absentmindedly to himself, wide doe eyes still actively darting around the car as he mulls over what could possibly be missing. “am i an idiot? am i just making things up in my head?”

but he is leaving for tour after all, it would be a big headache if he forgets to bring something important.

something important such as…

proceeding with a final inspection, he starts patting around his body, from his chest down to the pockets of his sweatpants.

“ahhh-” he makes a noise of enlightenment when he discovers one of them to be completely empty.

it then becomes vivid in his mind— the memory of him lazily setting down his wallet on your study table before he crawled on your single-sized bed as if it’s his own.

“…shit. i need to go back.”

—

he has a smirk plastered on his face as he jogs his way up to your apartment floor. radiating with pure excitement unbeknownst to himself, he even begins to skip a step with every long stride he makes across the staircase.

thanks to his forgetfulness, he found an excuse to be with you for a few minutes more.

the fourth door straight ahead, he still remembers chanting in his head the first time he visited your building on his own.

he stands before it with the intention to surprise you, but ironically, he is the one who ends up freezing in place. your muffled sobs escape through the narrow cracks of the door, and his hand slowly slips away from the handle until it drops back to his side. his vision becomes unfocused, mind going blank, only registering the shortness of his breath and the powerful punch to his gut.

that sweet, heart-fluttering smile that comforted him must’ve killed you inside.

—

“i won’t forget to call after every show.”

“that does sound nice but…” you scrunch your nose cutely. “i won’t be upset, if that’s what you’re worried about. go straight to sleep when you’re exhausted. i know you won’t have much time to rest.”

“please! you can watch me sleep too.” he pouts. “you know i always make it work. while i eat, while i shower! that won’t change. i need to see you and gain strength… or else i seriously think i won’t survive this one.”

and jungkook hopes that he’s not too much of a burden for loving you.

although, you did tell him once in passing— that anyone can be passionate, but not everyone will bravely go on stage every night to showcase those passions, even if it means testing the very limits of the human body.

“i can’t allow that to happen, can i?” you click your tongue, copying the angry frown of your boyfriend, who you find so, so, so cool.

his features soften after you pinch his soft cheek.

“your hyungs might kill me if i make their little one mope around missing me too much.”

“w-what do you mean?” he becomes flushed with embarrassment. “what kind of things do they tell you?!”

“nothing much.” your eyes shine with a glint of faux innocence. “when we were trainees, jungkook did this… since meeting you, he’s gotten more stubborn… can you tell him to wake up earlier if he plans on showering for an hour? you know, just things like that.”

“aish! jimin-hyung!” he releases a deep sigh to express his exasperation, knitted forehead not doing much to diminish the roundness of his eyes. “i bet one of them is jimin-hyung! i’m right, aren’t i? you- you’re getting too close with him! i can’t allow this- really, i- ah! no! no!”

the burst of laughter that fills the room only confirms his suspicion. you roll over on the bed to cover your face, half of your body collapsing on top of his, and you clutch your aching belly when he begins to aggressively shake you in a joking manner.

“listen, you can’t become best friends! you hear me? don’t! my secrets… what’s going to happen to them? who else can i tell them to?!”

immediately recognizing his poor choice of words once they have left his mouth, jungkook purses his lips in regret, and it’s his turn to feel his lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

“oh, really?” you slowly sit up as you stare at him with raised eyebrows. “and what kind of secrets do you need to keep from me? huh?”

he doesn’t waste a second to reply, scrambling as to not leave any space for you to formulate more doubts in your head.

“nothing! nothing, baby!” he flashes a dreamy smile in return to your sharp glare. he gently cups the back of your head to pull you back closer, puckering his lips as he tries to meet you halfway. “come here- give me a kiss.”

you ignore his advances, moving away from him with a scoff you don’t even bother to hide. the annoyance bubbling up inside of you feels irrational, and yet you can’t stop it from controlling your body language.

his jaw slacks in disappointment. he despises being denied affection, more importantly, a kiss meant to be shared with you.

“are you mad?”

you turn your back against him, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, but jungkook doesn’t waste time in chasing after you.

“baby!” he whines, seizing your arm and tightly embracing you from the side before you can escape. “i was just joking- i promise- i swear. you’re even the first person i share my secrets with nowadays!”

you sigh in defeat, eyes fluttering shut as you allow him to caress your face and pepper your cheek with loving kisses. loud, and slightly wet, which you used to not be fond of when it came to the lovers you had before, but as for jungkook and his dewy lips, you weirdly don’t seem to mind.

“please don’t be mad.” he coos lightheartedly before ducking his head to press his lips against yours. “i don’t want us to fight before i go.”

“i’m not mad.” your reply is quiet, and it drips with hesitance. “i just don’t want to think about you having secrets while you’re away.”

you turn to communicate directly with his eyes. if you feel sick to your stomach imagining him as a person you’d never have the grace to forgive, you don’t show it.

“you understand where i’m coming from, right?”

he meekly nods.

this is another reason why he is eager to spend all his free time with you, albeit through a screen smaller than the palm of his hand, and perhaps buy you trinkets from every city that welcomes him because everything reminds him of you. he wants to give you the reassurance that he doesn’t have any plans on doing something that may hurt you. this will be excruciating, he knows, but it is also a chance to prove himself as a boyfriend worthy of your tears and sacrifices. this can’t end before it begins. he doesn’t think he’d be able to bear that. he just celebrated his first birthday with you. it hasn’t been long since you uttered the three words he’s been anxiously waiting to hear.

“i love you. please give me your trust for now… i won’t waste it. you’ll see, at the end of this, we’ll be stronger. i promise i won’t forget my responsibilities as your partner even if we’re physically apart.”

he tenderly strokes your hair, eyes filled with galaxies memorizing every inch of your face. he’s scared, too. he’s scared that he’s overestimating himself. too ambitious, too greedy for wanting both the world and the most beautiful person he has ever seen in it to love him. he’s scared of getting too exhausted. he’s scared that you won’t be there anymore when he opens his eyes.

“i will probably mope around, though, missing you too much…” he pauses, then he makes up his mind.

him getting more stubborn since he met you— it might just have some truth to it that he’s too sheepish to say out loud, especially if his members were around to hear it.

“yes, i will seriously be a handful.” he nods to himself. “so i’m already apologizing early.”

“what are those responsibilities exactly?”

“to show you that i love you!” he exclaims in a tone that screams obviously. “to make you happy, to keep you safe… to stay committed to you- yah, you already know these things!”

but still, it’s nice to hear him say it. this bed of roses is a bed of thorns; he has chosen to sleep on it with you.

you giggle heartily at the sight of his face getting flushed. “you’ve been doing a great job then, baby.”

the praise causes his doe eyes to sparkle with glee. “really?”

“really!” his heart skips a beat when you softly cup his face in your hands, wearing that kind smile he can’t help but fall in love with over and over again. “don’t worry, i won’t let you miss me too much. i have my share of the responsibilities too.”

—

he swallows the lump in his throat, shakily sitting on the floor with his back against the door. he doesn’t know how long he stays there. he only knows that it’s near sunrise because the lights across the hallways have gone out one by one.

with an elbow resting on top of his knee, he fiddles with the laces of his shoe with no rhythm or rhyme— silently crying with you, clueless as to what he should do. he didn’t learn about this in school, nor during dance practices. no one teaches you what to do when you hurt a person you love but there’s no fault to fix and apologize for.

every now and then, a tenant passes by, and he is overwhelmed with the urge to scream at them to fuck off and mind their own business.

adding to his frustration is his phone, which has been vibrating with calls and text messages. he only spares them a dismissive glance before clicking the off button. yes, he fucking knows it’s already 5am. yes, he’s still with his baby. however, he is forced to send a reply to his manager when asked if they could finish packing his luggages for him to save time. no. no, no, no.

on the other side of the door, the pitter-patter of mechanical rain tickles your ears. your nimble fingers doesn’t cease on tapping on the keyboard even as your eyes stray to the contact name above the conversation, just to make sure that it’s your boyfriend you’re texting.

to: my jungkook

babyyy the sun is about to rise

so i’m not sleepy anymore :(

you're not home yet?

wait. if you're still driving just reply later

be a good driver before a good bf for now ☺️

ohoh i don’t mind if you don't have time to call anymore. just text me rq before you take off pleaseee so i know you're safe and sound

and after the flight ofc!! 😭

i love you! ❤️

seconds later, a pounding at the door makes your body jolt in shock. you carelessly rush to stand up, the safety measure of looking through the peephole not even crossing your mind before you swing it open.

jungkook stuns you with his presence, chest heaving with every breath as he studies you in a fog of haze. your messy hair perfectly frames your pretty face. your parted lips are raw from the crime of your sharp teeth forcibly putting an end to your crying. your eyes are still damp with tears, and they shine every time the warm light hanging above your head flickers.

if you could only read his mind, you won’t have to worry about him wanting anybody else.

once again, he finds himself helplessly infatuated. why do you have to look utterly bewitching even when you cry? fuck, and your texts… how did he get so lucky? you fuel something carnal inside of him that he has difficulty putting into words.

and so, he allows his actions to speak for himself.

“jungk-” his name is interrupted with a high-pitched whimper caught in your throat. your trembling hands desperately grasp the sides of his hoodie as you stumble backwards, struggling to recriprocate the unrestrained fervour of his kisses.

he’s out of control. he has never kissed you like this before. you don’t know if he doesn’t feel your weak fists punching his chest or he just doesn’t care. you feel dizzy… dizzy, dizzy, dizzy.

you’re confused why he’s still standing at your doorway. you’re terrified of losing your balance. you’re crushing a pair of sneakers underneath the soles of your feet and it hurts. but his fingers are tightly tangled with your hair, the others playing a saccharine hymn along the keys of your spine, and for the pleasure he gives, you can endure to live with the pain.

the familiar taste of mint on his tongue is far too addictive for you not to indulge. you can’t stop craving for more of it, more of him, and you let your lungs burn.

but soon it mixes with the salt in his tears as his emotions crash on the shore like a tsunami. the seal of your lips is broken by a quiet sob, and in shame, he ends the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“____, what do i do? i don’t want to leave.”

your heart shatters into pieces as he sniffles, voice cracking as he musters up the courage to confess to you in between.

“jungkook…”

the words of sincerity feel heavy on his tongue. he’s never been good at this; always relied on his ability to feel. in spite of that, he wants to bare all of himself to you, and he prays that you believe him when he says- “i can’t imagine my life without you anymore.”

“so don’t. you don’t have to think about things like that.” you sigh as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, subtly swaying your bodies to soothe him. “come on, love. why are you crying…? you know where to find me, don’t you?”

you feel him nod before he mumbles pensively. “here… or school, or the restobar.”

“that’s right.” you chuckle. “just don’t lose your key. i’m not going anywhere.”

but he fears it’s his goddamn mind he might just lose. he squeezes his eyes shut, embracing you tighter as he counts the seconds in his head. he will let go after thirty, then perhaps he will stay for another ten.

in another lifetime, jungkook wishes that he could tell you the same.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 9

Kink: Somnophilia

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Tags/Warnings:  SMUT, Somnophilia, established relationship, petnames (doll, baby), p-in-v, f masterbation (brief), vaginal fingering, creampie, sex dreams (not in depth but mentioned)

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: You always tell Bucky to wake you up when he comes back from missions but you never specified how.

As always I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or copied. My warnings are non-exhaustive (even though I do try to capture everything) but please read at your own risk. I am not responsible for your content consumption.

I hope you enjoy; comments, likes and reblogs are always welcome!

A/N: I know, I know. I'm late. Apologies. I'm going back to my home country for my birthday this week and I'm trying to get all of my uploads scheduled! So, I have the last few from last week to upload and then next week there will be a LOT of posts haha - Love Grem x

Prev | Next | Masterlist

Bucky had been on back to back missions, and although you insisted on him waking you up so you could make him food or cuddle him, he'd declined. He hadn’t wanted to ruin a good night's sleep for you; he knew how precious that was.

"Buck, I promise I'm okay with you coming to bed after a mission. I don't care if you wake me." You'd argued with him before he left again. You had been adamant about him not sleeping on the floor or sofa in fear of waking you up. You much preferred waking up to his pretty face than an empty bed.

"We'll see, doll." Bucky sighed, pecking your lips quickly as he headed out the door. "Love you."

"Love you."

When the door closes behind him you sigh to yourself. Maybe one day you'll manage to convince him.

Two days before Bucky was scheduled back you lay awake in bed, vibrator on your clit, dreaming of your boyfriend being home.

Every time he was away you missed him terribly and it didn't take long for you to cum to the thought of him more than once (although nothing would compare to the real thing). Your pyjamas and panties are lost to the sheets, a wave of tiredness washing over you as you clean up your vibe and wash your hands with strategically placed wet wipes.

You roll onto your back and stretch. You couldn't be bothered to make an attempt to find your panties. You were doomed to your fate of being pantyless, sprawled on your bed, wishing your boyfriend were home.

Your eyes flutter, heavy with sleep. Bucky'd be home soon. Maybe you should propose the idea of waking you up with sex. You make a hum of contentment to yourself. Maybe you will. But then again, any kind of sex with Bucky is sex you want to be having.

Bucky and sex with Bucky are still on the forefront of your mind as you drift to sleep.

Bucky's mission finished two and a half days early.

His plan was to get home to you as soon as possible, flowers in hand as always. Due to delays it wasn't until past 1am that he managed to get through the door.

He dumped his bags and gently placed the flowers on the dining table. You had already gone to bed so he would have to wait until tomorrow to surprise you with them. Bucky scanned the quiet apartment whilst Alpine brushed up against his legs.

He looked to the sofa then to your bedroom door. Alpine mewled haughtily; every time he came home he'd fall asleep with her on the sofa but tonight it was different. He thought about what you said before he left. How you said it every time.

Wake me up when you come home.

With a pat to Alpine’s head, Bucky padded to the bedroom quietly. The door whined on it hinges as he pushed it open, but as he slinked through he could just about see you through the light in the curtains.

Bucky took in your sleeping form; tangled in the sheets and sprawled out almost entirely on the bed. You looked so peaceful. Not even close to elegant but peaceful and it brought a smile to Bucky’s face.

Then you huff and murmur his name. Bucky inches forward, thinking you've woken up. There's a miniscule amount of guilt but the thought of seeing you beam up at him quickly replaced it. But you don't open your eyes. You shift in the sheets, moving your hips upward and kicking the comforter further down your body.

You're so pliable in this state, relaxed and soft. Bucky only needs to tap your knee outward gently for you to spread your legs wide for him. You're wearing nothing but a cropped shirt that barely covers your tits. Bucky's eyes scan the covers and find your pyjama shorts and panties discarded in the covers; clearly you had some fun before falling asleep. He bites back a chuckle and looks back to you. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but you look so good right now he can't help himself. Didn't you say you wouldn't mind being woken up by him? You didn't specify how.

Bucky traces the insides of your thighs, curious if you'd stir. You shift slightly and hum in your sleep but you don't wake up. Bucky releases a breath he didn't realise he was holding, and runs a finger along your still glistening folds experimentally. This time you let out a breathless whimper and spread your legs even further.

Watching you mewl under his touch even when you're asleep makes his cock ache. He shifts closer to you, sitting between your legs for a better reach of your wet folds, his thumb finding your clit easily. The noises you made when his thumb brushed over your already sensitive nub had his free hand freeing his hard cock almost immediately. You writhed beneath him limply, your legs making lazy, half hearted attempts to close, but Bucky's broad body was in the way.

"Look at you, doll." Bucky huffed quietly, pumping his cock as a finger slipped inside of your eager pussy, making you cry out Bucky's name quietly. "Bein' so good for me even while you sleep."

Bucky adds a second finger shortly after, stretching you open. You were already so wet you probably didn't need it but Bucky was adamant to ensure you woke up to only pleasure. He can feel you clench around his fingers, your gently, sleepy gasps coming more rapidly. You were going to cum so quickly and easily around his fingers, dreaming of him no less.

Bucky removes his fingers from your pussy and you whine quietly in complaint. He gathers slick from your folds, running the tip of his cock teasingly up and down, and biting back his own loud groan. You feel ridiculously silky and wet but the thought of you waking up with him buried inside you has Bucky’s cock twitch against your clit. He lines himself with your entrance and slowly pushes into you, watching your face as he does.

Your eyes flutter briefly, and Bucky’s hands come up to cup your face in the almost-darkness. When his cock reaches its hilt he tries to groan quietly; your pussy flutters and clenches him, still desperate for more.

"Bucky." You huff, head turning into his palm. Your eyes flutter again and you have the familiar toe curling feeling brewing at your core and the feeling of being filled to the brim.

"Yeah, doll?" Bucky murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your cheek. He moves his hips slowly, almost taking care not to move to hard too fast, although he's desperate to cum.

Your eyes flutter again but this time they stay open. It takes you a minute to register waking up from the sex dream you were having, eyes adjusting to the darkness around you. The weight on top of you, inside you, makes your pussy clench when you recognise your boyfriend's aftershave. Your eyes are like dinnerplates in the darkness but you can see the rise and fall of Bucky's chest, and just about make out the blue of his eyes looking back at you.

You lick your lips as you feel his cock throb inside you, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him closer to capture his lips in a sleepy kiss.

"Welcome home, baby." You mumble, wrapping your legs around his waist a little tighter. Bucky sinks back further into your pussy as he kisses your face, and this time you moan a little louder.

"'M sorry for waking you." He says, thrusts getting quicker. You're awake now, there's no reason for him to hold back. You're body is wide awake, ripping you from your sleep state and throwing you over to pleasure.

"'S okay," you pant out, your grip on his is still lazy and sleepy, but your body feels like it's on fire as he fucks into you mercilessly. Your first orgasm rips through you quickly, too sensitive from Bucky's teasing and your earlier me-time to withstand the pleasure Bucky is giving you. Your cry out his name with a whimper, turning to gasps of ecstasy as you cum over his cock and he smiles against your neck whispering praises as your cunt milks him. Bucky cums after your second orgasm, your pussy fluttering around his cock too much for him to bare. His thrusts slow ensuring he's filled you to the brim with his cum before stopping entirely to relish the state you're both in.

Panting together, Bucky rolls off you slowly, and you huff at the loss of heat on top of you.

"You okay?" He murmurs, wrapping his flesh arm around your waist. He snuggles in close, pressing kisses to your shoulder. You chuckle turning to him and pressing a kiss to his nose.

"Better than okay." You sigh dreamily. "I wanna wake up to that all the time."

Bucky snorts gently. "I'll keep that in mind, doll."

"I'm glad you're back and that you came and woke me up." You smile and cuddle closer into his arms. As you're settling next to him, your eyelids begin to droop, getting heavy again.

"So am I," Bucky says, yawning loudly clearly feeling the same unstoppable have of tiredness. Travelling home and fucking in the same night after a long mission meant he'd be sleeping well tonight.

You hum happily. "Love you."

"Love you, doll."

Wrapped in each other's arms you both fall asleep quickly, waking up the next to one another the following day and repeating the night's activities.

[xxchumanixx]

Helloooo

could you write a Tim Bradford X rookie!reader, when they meet for the first time in a bar and have a one night stand (with smut if you feel like it) and then in the morning they both have to go to work, and it turns out she is his rookie ??

and from there, he really tries to be hard on her but he can’t because he is scared to hurt her feelings ?? Even if she is kinda of a badass, so every time he is hard on her she is not afraid to talk back, and teases him for sure (dirty jokes about their one night stand).

Doomed

Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Warnings/Tags: smut, 18+ mdni!, p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), oral (fem and male receiving), slight dirty talk, fluff

Word count: 3.477

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! I really like the idea and it was very fun to write!

Maybe, just maybe, gonna make a series out if this.

Enjoy!

Sitting at a bar, drinking before your gonna start working for the police the next morning, maybe wasn't the best idea.

But you were nervous (even if you'd never admit that out loud), and a drink paired with foreign faces seemed to be a good way to relax.

Sitting at the bar with a martini in front of you, you played with the bowl of peanuts, occasionally picking one and eating it.

Contemplating if you should ask for more, someone sat beside you. From your first glance you could tell he was handsome - a little older than you, but you didn't mind that.

He must have caught you looking, cause after he ordered a beer his gaze fell on you.

"Hi." he greeted you, a small smile gracing his lips that looked more than kissable. "Hey." you gave back, smiling as well, as his gaze fell to the bowl.

"Hungry?" he wanted to know, chuckling lightly. "Oh!" you made, chuckling as well. "No, I just played with the bowl and somehow ended up eating all the peanuts that were left."

He chuckled again, as he held out his hand to you. "Tim." he introduced himself. "Y/N." you gave back, shaking his hand. It was big and warm, his long fingers brushing over yours as you let go.

"Nice to meet you." he said, gesturing to your drink. "Want another one?" Your gaze followed his to your almost empty martini. "Sure, that would be nice." you gave back, smiling.

His hand rose, gathering the barkeepers attention. "Another martini for the lady, please." he ordered, to which the barkeeper nodded, starting to mix your drink.

"Thank you." you told him, head resting on your hand as you looked up at him. He nodded, smiling.

"What brought you here tonight?" he asked, elbow resting on the bar with his body turned towards you.

"I start my new job in the morning and I was a little nervous about it." you explained. "Thought a drink and foreign faces would help." His head tilted, looking at you in interest. "What job?"

Swallowing you decided to lie. He didn't need to know that you were to start as a cop.

"I'm at a marketing company as a media designer." you explained, proud of your little lie. He nodded, smiling. "Sounds great."

The evening went on with you two talking and drinking, and before you knew it it became a little more.

"What do you say...." he started, biting his lip, averting your attention for a second. "If we go to my place." Heat rushed through you, a smile stretching your lips. "I like that idea."

He smirked, before he payed for your drinks. Then you both walked out and to his car. Climbing inside the truck you felt giddy, knowing exactly what was about to come - that was if he wasn't a serial killer.

The drive felt like it was sparkling with electricity, an atmosphere so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

When you reached his house he parked, before you got out, following him to the front door. Your fingers trembled in anticipation, as he opened the door, before heading inside.

Once the door was closed, his lips were on yours.

They really were kissable.

It was all tongue and teeth, his hands gripping your waist, tugging you closer. The bulge in his pants pressed against your belly, and you bit your lip as his brushed down your neck.

Breathing heavily, you pushed his shirt up, tugging it over his head and discarding of it on the floor.

His hands did the same with your tight dress, pushing it up to your hips, his hands grabbing your ass as his lips found their way back to yours.

Moaning you buckled into him, his hands pressing you against him. Then his kisses went down further, over the bit of cleavage that was exposed by your dress, one of his hands kneading your breast through the thin bra you wore underneath.

Biting your lip you held back a moan, causing him to look up at you again. "Don't hold it back." he told you. "I wanna hear it."

Another wave of heat rushed through you, and you did as you were told, his words turning you on even more, as you moaned, cheeks flushed.

He kneeled down, lips ghosting over your stomach, before he pushed the dress up further, bunching it up just above your belly.

Breathing heavily you followed him with your eyes, gasping as he looked up, his fingers ghosting over your clothed cunt.

"So wet already." he mumbled, and your cheeks flushed harder. He kissed it, before his fingers hooked under the waistband of your lace panties, tugging them down your legs.

Biting your lip you stepped out of them, before his hands guided you back to him.

Placing one of your legs on his shoulder, you gasped, as his breath fanned over your heat. Steadying yourself your hands found their way into his hair.

As his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, you moaned loudly. One of his hands gripped your ass, pressing you against him as his mouth began to devour you.

His tongue flicked over your clit, sucking it into his mouth, causing you to see stars as you tugged at his short hair.

Releasing your clit with a wet pop, his tongue found your entrance, pushing inside. You were a moaning mess under him, melting away like butter in the sun.

His thumb drew figure eights on your bundle of nerves, the dress sliding back down a little, but neither of you cared really, as his tongue continued its assault on you.

"Fuck." you breathed, looking down at him with hooded eyes. Meeting his gaze your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as you rode his face.

His thumb left your clit, one of his fingers slowly pushing inside you. You gasped, clenching around it as the knot in your belly tightened more and more.

He began fingering you, fast. As his tongue flicked over your clit, almost matching the speed of his finger, he added a second one.

It made filthy sounds as he licked and fingered you just behind his front door, the thought making you moan again. He was relentless on you, making you whimper, as he lightly bit down, the pain shooting pleasure down to your toes.

Screaming his name you came on his tongue, the knot in your belly exploding so suddenly it stole your breath; riding out your high on him as he took everything you gave him.

Gasping for air you slowly came down, letting go of his hair, as he set your leg back down. He stood back up, chuckling at your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing.

Kissing down your neck he gave you a moment to calm down, before he sucked at your sweet spot, making you moan again.

It felt like he knew your body without even having touched it before.

Kissing you, he guided you backwards, not stopping until you hit the bedroom door, fumbling for the doorknob.

Opening the door he walked you backwards to his bed, until your legs came in contact with it. He turned you around, opening the dress, before sliding it down your body.

His fingers followed your curves, making you shiver in delight, before he opened your bra, discarding of it on the floor as well. Turning back around he pushed you onto the mattress, getting rid of your shoes, before he unbuttoned his pants.

Sliding them down followed by his briefs his cock sprung free, making your mouth water at the sight.

You slid off the bed and down on your knees, looking up at him.

His mouth was slightly agape as he stared down at you, fingers brushing through your already disheveled hair.

Smiling you took his cock in one hand, pumping it a few times. He groaned, eyes closing for a moment as his head tilted backwards.

Chuckling, your tongue licked from bottom to head, his hand gripping your hair almost painfully at the sensation.

Your tongue circled his sensitive head a few times, brushing through the slit, eliciting a moan from him.

Slowly, you took him into your mouth, pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, as your head bobbed up and down, hollowing your cheeks.

He hissed, as his hand started to guide your moves. Saliva dribbled down your chin, but you didn't care. He pushed deeper, making you gag and he groaned, doing it again as he looked down at you.

Tears stung in your eyes, your free hand rubbing your clit. Moaning around his shaft he moaned as well, fucking your mouth.

When he suddenly tugged your head back, his cock popping out of your mouth, he helped you back onto the bed.

"I wanna come inside you." Biting your lip at the thought, you slid up on the bed, him following, after putting on a condom. Lying on top of you again, he kissed you, tongue meeting yours.

His hands roamed your body, body's pressed together. He pumped himself a few times, looking in your eyes as he waited for permission.

Nodding you gave him your okay.

Slowly, he inched forward, stretching you deliciously. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades, as you watched him go deeper and deeper.

When he was fully inside you he waited a moment, before he slowly moved back out, only to ramm back inside you.

Moaning loudly your head tilted backwards, exposing your neck. Kissing down your throat, he started to fuck you.

You fell into a steady rhythm, getting deeper with each thrust. "Fuck, your so tight." he mumbled and you clenched down on him, making him hiss in return.

His lips found yours again, his fingers brushing over your clit causing you to buckle into him. Chuckling, his thumb drew figure eights on it, eliciting even more moans from you.

You were puddy under him, a moaning mess ready to shatter at his hands.

Your legs wrapped around his middle, taking him even deeper, as he gained speed. Breathing out his name, you tried to warn him of your impending high.

Smirking, he looked down at you, as he drove you towards the edge. "Come for me, baby." he whispered into your ear, and so you did.

Falling of the edge you screamed his name, back arching off the mattress. Clenching around him, pure bliss pulsed through you, blinding you momentarily.

He followed closely, as your clenching did the rest, moaning your name. Riding you through your highs, his lips brushed your pulse point, before he stilled.

Breathing heavily he pulled out, causing you to whimper at the emptiness.

Chuckling he lay down beside you, catching his breath as you did the same.

It was silent for a while, in which he discarded of the condom, before you swallowed, looking at your watch. "Fuck!" you breathed out, causing him to look back at you, brows furrowed.

"I have to get home, otherwise I won't be able to make it to work in time tomorrow." you explained, sending him a crooked smile.

Nodding, seeming a little disappointed though, he sat up. "Yeah, I totally get that." he spoke, standing up and starting to collect your things. You did the same, only then realizing that your panties were somewhere at his front door.

Blushing, you dressed, as he did the same, before he awkwardly walked you to the door, where you picked up your ruined panties.

Huffing a laugh you shook your head, bunching the fabric in your fist. "Uhm, I don't know how to get home." you told him, cheeks reddening even more.

"Right." he nodded, searching for his keys. "I'll drive you." Eyes widening, you looked at him. "Oh, you don't have to do that!" you said, but he shook his head. "I insist on it."

Smiling gratefully you nodded. "Okay, thank you."

The drive to your apartment was a little awkward, but you decided to make the best of it.

"I mean, now that you know where I live, maybe you want to come over sometime?" you offered, biting your lip. "For a round two, you know?"

He chuckled, smiling. "Yeah, maybe."

When you arrived, he made sure you got in safely, before saying goodbye and parting ways.

You hoped he would eventually take you up on your offer. The sex you had only minutes ago, was the best you had in a long time.

When the alarm went off the next morning, you felt like you'd been run over by a bus.

You hadn't slept that much, given the time you were home and lay awake, but you had no other choice than to get up, shower, brush your teeth and get ready.

Driving towards the LAPD your fingers nervously drummed on the steering wheel. It was your first day and you didn't know who'd be your TO for the next year.

Would he or she be nice? Or would you get one of those that liked to make their rookies suffer?

Getting inside you made your way to the locker room, changing into your uniform, before walking into the conference room, where the others were already waiting.

Brushing over your neatly done hair, your gaze wandered over the already seated officers, before it abruptly stopped.

There, between two women, sat Tim.

Your one night stand Tim.

Eyes widening you pleaded for him not to turn in your direction, but he did exactly that, like he heard your silent prayer.

His eyes widened as his gaze fell on you, mouth agape.

Cheeks reddening, trying to catch your breath you walked toward the seats in the front row, sitting down.

This couldn't be happening.

Before you could have thought more about it, the watch commander, Sergeant Grey, entered the room.

The other rookies stood up front and you did the same, trying to forget Tim for a moment.

"We got some new blood this morning." Sergeant Grey started, hands on his waist. "After six months together in the academy, you've earned the right to be here, but you'll have to prove yourself to stay. The way we do things matters. Protocol and tradition are the metal, from which every cop in this city is forged."

As he talked, you tried your best not to let your gaze wander towards Tim. His eyes seemed to burn holes into your skin, as you tried to concentrate on Sergeant Grey.

"Understand?" he wanted to know. "Yes, sir." you all gave back. "Sit down." he then told you. You did as you were told, breathing in deeply.

"It's time for playing the officer match game." Grey continued, reading on a paper. "Our contestants are Alec Miller, Y/N Y/L/N and Richard Stevens. And the winners are: Officer Harper, you get Alec Miller. Officer Lopez, you get Richard Stevens. And Officer Bradford, you get Y/N Y/L/N, who's looking like she just saw a ghost."

Laughter erupted, as your gaze fell on Tim. His teeth grit and you got the feeling, that he was Officer Bradford.

"Now hear me: Today is your first day, don't let it be your last." Grey explained, causing your gaze to snap back to him. "Forget the academy, listen to your TO's. They'll teach you the way it should be done. That's it."

You flinched, as his hands made contact with the pult rather loudly.

Again, this couldn't be happening.

Trying to calm your racing heart down, you stood, bracing yourself for meeting your TO.

"Hello boot, I'm Officer Tim Bradford." he introduced himself like you'd never met before, as he stood in front of you. "Nice to meet you, sir." you played along, doing your best not to look away.

He nodded, motioning for you to follow him.

As he told you the basics, like your task to get the bags and stuff, your mind drifted off briefly. He must have noticed, because he stopped talking, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Did you even listen to what I told you the last few minutes?" he wanted to know, his tone cold and harsh. Flinching you nodded. "I did, sir."

Praying for him not to test you about what he explained to you (you probably wouldn't have passed that test), you entered the shop.

He was driving, telling you a few things you had to keep in mind when sitting in the shop. "This is you work place." he told you. Nodding, you buckled up, suppressing a sigh.

This would surely get awkward.

Leaving the garage it grew silent, as he drove and you looked out the window, not sure what to say.

If you were even supposed to say something in the first place.

"You left something in my car." he suddenly broke the silence, not looking at you, though. Racking your brain you tried to remember what he meant, as he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Your, uh, your panties." he then said, and you swore his cheeks turned pinkish.

Eyes widening you gasped, not having noticed that your panties were even missing.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." you told him, cheeks growing hot. This only made the situation ten times more awkward.

He nodded slightly, swallowing, but didn't say any more.

It crackled, as the radio turned on. "Adam-7-19, we have a 10-67 at Burlington Street." It fell silent again, as Tim grabbed the mic. "Adam-7-19, taking over. Code four." he gave through, changing course.

"Suspicious person." you mumbled to yourself, but he heard you. "Person calling for help." he corrected you harshly. "10-66 is suspicious person. You need to know the codes so you'll be ready when you arrive!"

Brows furrowing you looked at him. "You can't expect me to know every single code already." you gave back, not caring that he was your TO.

He slammed the break - luckily you were on an empty street as your body jerked forward, only being held back by the seat belt.

"What did you just say?" he wanted to know, turning towards you in his seat. "I'm your TO and I rate you every single day. If you don't know the codes correctly, you need to learn them. If you don't know them by next week, you're out."

Mouth agape you stared at him in shock.

He was one of those TO's, that let their rookies suffer.

"Wow." you breathed out, leaning back against the window. "Wouldn't have expected you to be such an asshole, after last night."

You shouldn't have said that.

You really shouldn't.

His hands balled into fists, teeth gritted. You saw that he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes bored holes into yours.

Suddenly he sat back in his seat, starting to drive again.

Cocking a brow you shook your head. Sure, he was your TO, but did he really have to treat you like that?

"Can I ask you a question?" you wanted to know, looking at him as he drove. He simply nodded, motioning for you to go ahead.

"Are you like this with all your rookies?" you wanted to know, elbow resting on the door. "Like what?" he gave back, brows furrowing. "Shall I really repeat myself?" you retorted, cocking a brow at him.

Huffing, he shook his head.

"I treat a rookie based on his needs." he explained. "Wow, last night I was tight, now I'm dumb." you concluded, shaking your head.

His gaze snapped to yours briefly, before it fixed on the street again. "I'm sorry, what?" he wanted to know, sounding almost angry.

Your brows rose, as you bit your lip.

Yeah, definitely shouldn't have said that either.

"Nothing, forget it." you mumbled, fumbling with your belt.

It grew quiet, as you noticed that you might have gone overboard. It was your first day and he had the power to make it your last.

"What happened last night won't repeat." he clarified, not looking at you. Swallowing, you nodded.

Of course it wouldn't. You were his rookie now, after all.

Or boot, like he had called you earlier.

"I would be glad if we could just forget that it happened." he told you. Taking a deep breath you huffed. "Will be hard to find a comparison, though." you spoke without thinking,

Covering your face with your hands, you wanted to apologize for your inability to keep your mouth shut, but he was faster. "Yeah, I know." he mumbled, biting his cheek.

Your brows shot high at his words, biting your lip.

Damn it, he was smoking hot, your one night stand and now he was your trainer as well. Not thinking about the sex you had last night would be hard.

Speaking off, you felt how your cheeks grew hot.

God damn it.

You were doomed.

-> Part two

[lloydskywalkers]

moats and boats and waterfalls

Read on AO3

Post-Crystalized — after surviving apocalypse no. 2 (possibly 3, currently under debate) the ninja now face the unspeakable horrors of budgeting.

(Years late to the Crystalized party but here's part one of my seven billion fanfics about this season because there are Thoughts to be had about this one)

As it turns out, rebuilding a monastery is a whole lot more trouble than rebuilding the Bounty for the eightieth time. 

And by trouble, Cole means incredibly expensive.

“Re-installing central heating costs what?!” 

Kai’s horrified cry reverberates throughout the half-constructed monastery, the echo from the noticeably empty rooms only adding to insult. 

Oh, what Cole would give to have his bed back. 

“I guess we’ll have to use you during the winter,” Nya sighs, patting Kai on the back. “Lloyd, get ready to supercharge him.”

“Forget heating, do you know how much Wi-Fi costs?” Lloyd stares at the estimated summary like it’s personally kicked his pet. “Who even has that much money? God?”

“If god had money, he could’ve given Sensei Wu his inheritance and we’d all be loaded,” Jay mutters. “But noooo, ‘material possessions are the death of the soul’, blah blah blah, we’ll see whose soul is dead when the gas cuts out and he can’t make midnight tea anymore.” 

“It does seem a bit extreme, looking at it all like this,” Zane remarks. Somewhat ironically, as he’s taken one look at the bill then wisely retreated across the room. 

“Well, blowing up the entire monastery with us in it was extreme, so it figures repairs are just as bad,” Nya grumbles. 

They all shift, the mood dampening at the reminder. 

Lloyd opens his mouth. “I’m sor—”

“Do not,” Kai stabs a finger at him. “Even try.”

Lloyd slumps. “If I hadn’t gotten caught—”

“We all agreed to the plan, okay?” Cole says. “Also, no one knew we’d be sending you to Harumi, so the whole thing was doomed from the start.”

While he looks a bit miffed, Lloyd gives it up. Though perhaps that’s mostly in part because he desperately wants to avoid any more conversation about—

“So speaking of Harumi,” Jay starts. 

Lloyd springs for the window. 

Unfortunately for Lloyd, said window is currently boarded up by heavy-duty plywood, since quality window glass fell low on the list of priorities, which gives Kai plenty of time to tackle him before he can even raise his leg to kick it in. 

“No!” Zane cries. “We can’t afford anymore plywood!”

“Or like, Band-Aids at bare minimum, so don’t you dare!” Nya adds. 

“—overdramatic phase has gotta go, what are you, five — hey, no biting!”

Lloyd makes a muffled sound as he wrestles on the floor with Kai. Cole turns, very slowly, to glare at Jay.

“Oh come on, we were all thinking it,” Jay defends, reluctantly standing to help pry Lloyd from the floor. “Fine, hey, I promise we won’t talk about certain loser ex-princesses who are nice and cozy in their prison cells right now, okay? There, there, little gremlin, she can’t hurt you anymore—”

“I’ll bite you next,” Lloyd threatens, but he returns to his seat, wincing as Kai scuffs his hair. 

“Turn Oni again, and that might be an actual threat.”

Lloyd startles terribly, staring at Kai with wide eyes. “That’s — not — I wouldn’t—”

“Kai,” Nya hisses.

“Woah, hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Kai says quickly. “It’s supposed to be positive reinforcement! Easing it into a normal thing, y’know?”

Lloyd growls. “Nothing about this is a normal thing—”

“Except none of us are normal, so therefore it is,” Kai interrupts him smoothly. “Also we already loved you when you were a tiny demon, turning into a literal one is nothing. Give us some credit.” 

Lloyd pulls his hood over his flaming face, thunking his head against the table. Kai pats him cheerfully on the shoulder. 

“Additionally, unless we can swindle someone by selling Lloyd in his Oni form on the black market for cold cash before stealing him back, I don’t see how this helps matters.”

Zane finds himself on the receiving end of five blank stares. Lloyd, successfully having been pulled from his hood, whistles. 

“I forget how evil you can be, sometimes.”

Kai gapes at him. “So that makes you feel better?”

“I mean, in terms of normalizing it—”

“Alright!” Cole slams his hands on the table, silencing them all. He glares them down. “Meeting room in five. We’re figuring out how to make this place livable if it kills us.”

There’s a brief silence, then Jay hesitantly raises his hand.

“Hey, so uh, we kinda don’t have a meeting room right now?”

Cole collapses on the table in despair. 

---

Twenty minutes and one session of shoving chairs into what could have been the living room later — it’s hard to tell, with all the construction markings and plywood still up — they’ve kicked off the official first meeting of the Finish-Making-the-Monastery-Livable plan. 

“Alright,” Lloyd announces, brushing his hands as he steps back from the chalkboard that may or may not have been stolen. “At the top of the list we have Wi-Fi, central air and heating, beds — huh, maybe those should go higher — running water, electricity — that one’s debatable, me and Jay can tag-team it if we get desperate — blankets-slash-pillows-slash-etcetera, stuff to cook with, actual food — y’know what, I’m putting that closer to the top—”

“So basically, we have nothing,” Cole says blankly. 

Lloyd glances at the list, then to the sliver of chalk left in his hands. “Uh. Yeah.” 

“Take the weaponry, sure, but all my albums?” Jay mourns. “I spent years collecting those.” 

“I lost the blanket we stole from that super fancy apartment we lived in for like five minutes when Lloyd was a kid,” Kai sighs. “That thing literally made it through the apocalypse, just to bite it now.” 

“Two apocalypses too many,” Nya says.

“Did the Preeminent count as an apocalypse? Like, a minor one?”

“Three apocalypses. It took three apocalypses to vaporize my closet,” Cole sinks lower in his seat. “Man, the hoodie you got me for my birthday was in there.” 

“All of our photographs are lost, too.” Zane stares at his hands. 

Lloyd murmurs something under his breath that sounds a lot like family pictures and figures. 

The mood plummets a bit more, after that. 

“Motherfu—”

“Alright, this isn’t helping,” Cole claps his hands. “We can all cry again later. Lloyd, overall mission status conclusion?”

“Well, like you said, we basically have nothing,” Lloyd sighs. “So unless Zane wants to stop chickening out and abandon his morals so we can just hack into everything and get it free, we need to find some way to pay for all this.”

“Again, I cannot hack in to rebuilding an entire cooling unit throughout the monastery, much less make the latest clothing line from Gucci materialize,” Zane says. Kai swears. “Also, that is called stealing.” 

“You call it stealing, I call it a charitable donation,” Nya says. “I turned into the ocean for this city, the least they can do is cut me a check.” 

“Besides, even if it is stealing, what are they gonna do, send us to jail again?” Jay scoffs.

Lloyd jabs the piece of chalk in his direction. “Don’t jinx us.” 

“Too bad we wasted our chance at crime and didn’t even get rich,” Kai mutters. “All we got was Nya.”

He yelps as she punches him in the arm. “What, too soon?”

“You should be so lucky to have me,” she sniffs. 

“Hey, but going on the donation thought train — do we know anyone who’s rich?” Jay asks. “Why don’t we have any rich friends?”

“Hey, you know what’s rich? That coming from the son of a billionaire.”

“Hey, you know what else got blown up? My inheritance!” 

“Please, let it go,” Zane says. “We do have rich friends, I’ll remind you, we’re friends with actual monarchy. But we can’t exactly go and ask anyone else for money, since they all already helped out so much in getting the monastery rebuilt.”

There’s a moment of pensive silence. Lloyd draws a little sad face on the chalkboard next to ASK FOR DONATIONS. 

“What if we just…sued Harumi,” Cole says. “Like, there’s gotta be some law that could work in our favor here.”

“I don’t think the court would go for that,” Lloyd mutters. “Since they’re all morally corrupt frauds who hate us.”

“Yeah! Down with the system!” Kai punches his fist in the air. 

“Also, Harumi likely has very little in the way of money, either,” Zane says. “Considering she blew up any and all assets she might have had claim to.”

“Haha, what a loser,” Nya crows.

“What if we sued Garmadon?” Cole tries. “The courts have to hate him more than they hate us.”

Lloyd scowls, scrawling a large NO on the chalkboard. “Not worth the effort. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s still couch-surfing at Vinny’s, which means also penniless.”

“We could sue Kalmaar,” Nya cracks her knuckles.

“Isn’t he dead?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Nya looks disappointed. 

���Did anyone survive that we can sue successfully?” Jay muses. “And actually get money out of?”

“Vangelis,” Cole snaps his fingers. “Wait. No, we ousted him from the throne, so he’s probably broke too.”

“Vangelis survived?”

As they dissolve into bickering over the status of enemies potentially living-or-dead, Kai squints at the chalkboard, where Lloyd is still scratching out letters despite having completely lost the room. 

“We…are…fu—Lloyd!” 

“Well it’s true,” Lloyd huffs, finishing off his message with a flourish. “Tada. There’s my grand plan.”

“That’s not a plan, it’s a pessimistic estimation at how things are gonna go.”

“It’s extremely rude language, is what it is! I thought we taught you better.”

Lloyd simply looks pleased with himself at having recaptured the room’s attention. It is, of course, then that Sensei Wu walks into that room. He stops, looking from where they’re all frozen in place, then to the chalkboard. 

Lloyd pales. 

Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closes his eyes. 

“My dearest nephew, you have three seconds to make that disappear, or I’ll be forced to—”

Lloyd springs for the chalkboard in record time, wiping frantically at his writing with the sleeve of his gi. 

“People would kill for that thing, and here he’s using it as a chalkboard eraser,” Jay mutters. 

It isn’t until later, when they’ve all retreated to the collective mass of blow-up mattress and borrowed blankets they’re calling a bedroom, that anyone breaches the topic again. 

There’s a loud rustling as Cole turns over where he’s precariously shoved between Kai and Zane. 

“…can we sue the mayor?”

There’s a noted pause of silence, only broken by the whirring of the cheap oscillating fan. 

“You know,” Zane says slowly. “In terms of slander and defamation…” 

An evil, sharp-toothed smile spreads across Lloyd’s face. “I like the sound of that.”

“Hey, let’s sue the new ninja, too,” Jay grins. “Can Pixal retroactively trademark our vibe?”

“You cannot sue them based on vibe appropriation.”

“Yeah, but I can sue them for impersonation.”

---

They cannot, as it turns out, sue the mayor, because legal work like that costs even more money. 

They can, however, ruin his year by filing (and forging) every possible insurance claim under the sun, so they all walk out of the office a little more satisfied than before. 

“I hope all your socks go missing in the laundry!” Nya yells toward the building as they hit the streets. “I hope you have a rock stuck in your shoe for the rest of your life! I hope you’re plagued with a mildly inconvenient headache every waking moment and never fully enjoy anything ever again!”

“Alright, alright, we’re getting looks,” Cole grabs her arm. “Let it go.”

“As much as I appreciate it, I am not going back to jail,” Jay shudders. “Twice was enough.”

Kai frowns. “Twice? When else did you get arrested?”

“We all did, re—” Jay cuts off, suddenly aware of the absolute daggers Nya is staring at him. “Uhhh…aw, snap, another mental breakdown, haha!”

“Is this the whole ‘we all have missing memories you guys are definitely hiding from us’ thing again? ‘Cause I swear—”

“I said I’m getting to it, it’s a really boring story anyways—”

“Didn’t you say you lost an eye—”

“Oh look, a window!”

This time, Jay is thwarted by Lloyd, who’s simply jumped out enough windows to recognize when someone’s about to try it themselves. Except Jay is aiming to jump inside a window this time, so they both go crashing into Pixal just as she joins them. 

To her credit, she barely flinches. “I thought I heard clown noises nearby.” 

Lloyd stares at her in such utter betrayal, the mental breakdown thing might become valid.  

“Pixal,” Jay simply begs. “Please. Help your clowns scavenge our clown dinners.”

Pixel surveys them all, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “There is a nice pizza place down the block.”

The cheers she’s met with nearly succeeded at knocking her over where Jay failed.  

Dinner that night comprises of actual, warm, take-out pizza, which nearly moves Cole to tears.

“Definitely changing the priorities order,” Lloyd says blissfully through a mouthful of cheese. “Food goes at the top, no questions.”

“Seconded,” Kai mumbles. 

“Thirded.”

“Fourthed.”

“I cannot believe, that after everything we’ve been through, we did not qualify for the post-apocalypse discount,” Zane bites out. 

“Well,” Jay says brightly. “Pixal hacked the card reader, so technically we got a hundred percent discount.”

Zane stares at her, in equally utter betrayal. “Pixal?”

She shrugs. “They can try to send me to prison. They will fail.” 

---

Two days later, Skylor cements herself as everybody’s most favorite person in the entire world by not only saving them from starvation by demanding they sit their butts down in the restaurant and eat for free, but also donating six pillows and a year’s worth of shampoo. 

“I know it’s not a lot, but I’m on the lookout for more,” she tells them. “I’ve asked other people to help chip in, too, so hopefully that’ll make things a little easier.”

“Skylor,” Cole nearly sobs into his new, beautiful pillow. “If Kai doesn’t marry you, I will.”

“H-hey!”

“No marriage necessary,” she snorts. “Consider keeping you all fed my way of saying thanks.”

“But you already helped out with the monastery,” Nya says, around the same time the rest of them assure her there’s no need for thanks, despite the fact that no one has the slightest desire to relinquish their food. 

“Fine, then,” Skyler huffs, her cheeks turning pink. “Make me say it out loud, will you — consider it my way of showing that I care about you all. Very much.” 

“Aww,” Lloyd says. 

Kai makes a face somewhere between melting and heart eyes. 

“I hate all of you,” she mutters. 

“We love you too, Skylor,” Cole grins. 

“Hate you!”

Despite her words, they all leave with six boxes of leftovers and free dessert. 

This, of course, brings another slightly-pressing issue to mind.  

---

They end up getting a refrigerator for a steal of a bargain, which is probably again influenced by Pixal’s criminal extremely generous activity. 

Given how enthusiastic they all are about getting it installed, Kai is half-expecting there to be no work left for him at all by the time he returns from the food run. 

He’s…not entirely disappointed when he walks into the kitchen, though he is rather baffled. 

The room freezes as if on record-scratch. Jay is perched on top of the counters, Lloyd has a sledgehammer raised halfway in the air, and Cole is on the ground beside the refrigerator crying. 

“What?” Kai asks, blankly. 

“The fridge…doesn’t fit…” Cole moans into the floor. 

“We didn’t leave enough space between the cabinets,” Jay informs him through a mouthful of gummy worms. “So the door can’t open.”

Kai looks at Lloyd. “So the sledgehammer is for…?”

“DIY home improvement,” he shrugs.

“Huh.” Kai glances at the cabinets. “Put some safety goggles on first, okay?”

Lloyd only gets about two swings in before Zane descends with the all wrath of the Ice Emperor and adds to the tally of times-the- Green-Ninja-almost-met-his-doom, but it’s fun while it lasts. 

They were ugly cabinets, anyways. 

---

While his love for his family could potentially fuel a nuclear power plant, Kai does grow tired of being the living team space heater rather quickly. 

The effort of keeping his power going all night just gets annoying (and exhausting) — so by the time he’s tagged in Lloyd to use his power to keep him going, they’re up to two moody ninja short on sleep, and no one wants to deal with that. 

While they’ve scrounged up a few dollar-store quality blankets, Jay takes the opportunity to highlight his accomplishments in arts-and-crafts.

“You mean your mom’s accomplishments.”

“Hey, we made it together! It counts.”

The it in question quickly gains the name “god-awful-t-shirt-blanket” simply because the blinding combination of all their cast-off shirts sewn together is impressively terrible. 

“I still think this is a waste of good clothes,” Kai grumbles. “It’s not like we have outfits to spare these days, you know.”

“Do you wanna keep heating the room at night or no?” Nya threatens. 

Kai quickly shuts his mouth and returns to sewing Cole’s old plaid shirt to one of Jay’s neon blue shirts that features a dolphin printed in enough colors to kill a man. 

“So, what do we think?” Lloyd steps back, wiping at his forehead with his arm as he surveys their masterpiece. 

Staring at the multi-colored mess they’ve patched together into a quilt, Nya announces, “It’s the ugliest blanket I’ve ever seen.”

“Harsh.”

“Hey, we did our best!”

“See if I ever sew for you again,” Lloyd huffs. 

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing,” Nya quickly interjects. “It looks a little like us!”

“Are you saying we’re ugly?!”

“Nya, no, our family genes are enough to carry us through this, I promise—”

---

They’re in the middle of figuring out how to steal Wi-Fi from the government when Tox drops by, Karloff in tow. 

“You really…need…to get an elevator…or something,” she pants, red-faced and sweaty as she hauls several large bags behind her.

In contrast, Karloff looks unfazed, casually toting a hideously floral-patterned sofa over his shoulder. 

“Skylor mentioned you need furniture, no?” he says. “It’s not much, but you need somewhere to sit.”

“Karloff,” Jay tells him, very seriously. “This is the most beautiful sofa I’ve ever seen.” 

“Haha! Karloff is right once again,” he brags to Tox. 

Tox stares at Jay in flabbergasted despair. 

“You can’t put that in your home,” she mutters. “You can’t. It’s a crime against eyes everywhere.”

“Well, it’s better than no sofa, and we’re literally turning down nothing these days,” Nya says cheerfully. She leans over to peer at the bags Tox has managed to drag up. “Speaking of…?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tox heaves the bags in front of her. “Skylor said you guys needed help interior decorating? So I brought a couple rugs. She also mentioned something about the ugliest blanket she’s ever seen, so we called up some of the other Elemental Masters and got like, six or seven together. They’re not exactly works of art, but they’re okay?”

Kai tears open the first bag, his eyes lighting up. “They’re beautiful,” he whispers reverently. “Hey, guys, we got blankets! Dibs on the one with a wolf.”

“Oh, no, not that one, it’s from my awful middle school phase—”

“What do you mean, dibs, I want the wolf one!”

“Oh yeah? Down to fight for it?”

“You’re on. Training ground in five.”

“Absolutely not, we are not fighting over a blanket we’ve been so generously gifted,” Zane snaps, snagging Kai and Cole by their collars. 

“Yeah, we also don’t really have a training ground anymore,” Lloyd says, half-buried in a blanket embroidered with countless bug-eyed fish. “It went ka-boom.”

Nya rubs her temples. “Zane?”

“Already factored into the expenses,” he sighs. 

“Oh wow, you guys weren’t kidding,” Tox says. “Do you want, uh, like a keychain? I have some mints here too I can donate…man, Karloff, help me out!” 

“Does the monastery need a metal helmet?”

“We’re really not that broke,” Nya says hastily, pushing away the offered mints. “But thanks.”

“Speak for yourself.” Lloyd snags the mints, clasping his hands together in prayer at Tox before slipping back into the emerging blanket battle. 

Nya sighs. “Do you guys want tea? We’ve got three whole mugs, now.”

Tox glances from the other ninja, where Jay has been successfully rolled into a blanket burrito and is in potential danger of being rolled right down the mountain, to Karloff, who’s the reason said danger is potential. 

“We can spare a minute, I guess.”

The t-shirt blanket is later relegated to the living room, where it lives as a throw blanket over Karloff’s floral sofa. They unanimously decide it’s the perfect home for it, and the only real critic is Skylor, who’s almost reduced to tears the next time she visits. 

---

They celebrate their achievement of having a living room by all eating dinner on Karloff’s floral-patterned couch. This comes with a good deal of kicking and squirming and the tragic loss of Kai’s fortune cookie, but they make it work. 

“This is kind of depressing, though. Sitting in the dark,” Nya remarks. 

A muscle in Jay’s jaw twitches. “Well, maybe if someone hadn’t melted all our candles—”

“You were the one who had the brilliant idea of trying to barbecue with them, genius!” Kai snaps. 

“It was a pretty spectacular fire,” Lloyd admits. Then, hastily, “In a really cool way!” 

“Perhaps a lamp should go next on the list,” Zane says. “Rather than relying on Kai as our light.”

“Hey, I’m a great light,” Kai scowls. “I’m the light of your life. I could light this place up all day!” 

“Yes, and I’m sure it would end similarly to the time you nearly burned down a building under the belief that you were achieving your true potential, but were, in fact, just dehydrated.”

Kai gapes at Zane in betrayal. “You said you’d take that to the grave!” 

Zane carefully laces his fingers together. “Technically, I did.”

“No you didn’t!” Jay interjects. “We never buried you, so you never had a grave! Ha!”

Zane looks affronted. “I didn’t get a grave?”

“You got a statue!” Kai quickly consoles . 

“Yeah, what’d you want us to do, pick your exploded pieces out of the street for half a year then toss ‘em in the ground?”

“Oh, as if that’s any worse than being left to pour your corpse out in cups of water.”

 “It wasn’t my corpse, I was still alive!”

“You were the literal ocean. Fish swam in you.” 

“Ew, does that mean—”

“Finish that sentence and I will drown you where you stand—”

“You’re all in desperate need of counseling,” Pixal mutters. 

“Tell me about it,” Lloyd says, leaning back on the armrest of the sofa. 

Cole shakes his head. “Lost causes, all of them.”

Pixal stares at them both, expression pinched, before deciding to respect the hopelessness of lost causes. 

“Hold on, I think Kai’s crying,” Lloyd moves to sit up, only to wobble, slip sideways, and go crashing to the floor gracelessly.  

“Just like when I fell to my doom off the Bounty,” Cole reminisces.  

 Pixal’s eyes glaze over. 

---

Later that evening, Pixal adds “therapy” to the list of potential expenses on the fridge door. Regretfully, it loses miserably in the debate against hot shower expenses, so it too joins the pile of repressed memories that will undoubtedly haunt them in the future. 

“But hey, a hot shower can cure depression on a good day,” Cole says, and that settles that. 

---

Hot showers, as it turns out, are a hard-won priority. 

It’s less so after Jay, Nya, and Pixal camp out overnight near the pipeline and perform their own less-than-legal maintenance, but one of Zane’s carefully filed insurance claims actually went through the other day, so they’re taking their luck as they can. 

It’s not until they get working on the bathroom itself that the true difficulty makes itself clear. 

“Hey, uh,” Kai stares down at the patch of rotted floor he’s ripped up, wiping at the fog that’s spread across his safety goggles. “Is the base layer supposed to look like that?”

“Look like what?” Cole abandons the tiling he’s been placing to glance over. His face drops. “Uh-oh.” 

“Is that all black mold?” Nya gags, nearly dropping her bottle of cleaning bleach.  

“FSM, no wonder we’re all crazy,” Cole mutters. 

“Alright,” Kai strips off his rubber gloves. “Nothing for it. Back up, guys, I’m barbecuing this baby.”

“Wait wait wait don’t—”

Ten minutes and a good deal of hacking and wheezing through teary eyes later, Cole murders Kai while they all look on. 

Well, he attempts to.

“You filled the monastery with chlorine gas, you absolute moron—!”

“How was I supposed to know that would happen, I’m not a chemist—”

Nya glares ahead darkly as Lloyd gingerly treats the reddened blisters on her hands. 

“None of you,” Zane says, through gritted teeth. “Are touching cleaning chemicals for a year.” 

---

“Not sure I wanna know how you pulled off poisoning yourselves, but I’m kinda impressed you did a better job of it than most criminals would,” Ronin tells them, once the monastery has been successfully de-chlorinated and the bathroom tiles firmly put in place, sans black mold. 

“Maybe we can hire ourselves out to them when we’re strapped for cash,” Nya sighs.

“We’re literally always strapped for cash. We’re broke.”

Ronin laughs, clapping Jay on the back. “Welcome to adulthood, kid.”

“I don’t think normal adulthood gets their home blown up on a regular basis,” Lloyd hisses.

“Fair point,” Ronin nods. 

“Well, thanks for saving us all from a slow and painful death,” Cole scrubs his hands over his face. “We can pay you back sometime in the next century. Maybe.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Ronin waves them off. “It’d be like kicking a dog when it’s down, askin’ you all to pay. Besides, I probably owe you one.”

“You sure do,” Jay glares. 

“Hey, hey, I said I was sorry for the whole human sacrifice thing,” Ronin placates. “Want some good news, at least?”

“Is it actually good news?” Lloyd eyes him shrewdly.

“Lighten up, captain trust issues.” Kai barely snags Lloyd before he lands himself back in jail. “I looked into some more of those insurance claims you filed, and you actually got somethin’ out of it. I, uh, helped the bank along a bit, with the refund.”

“Bank?” Cole whispers.

“Refund?” Jay’s eyes shine. 

“Yeah, got you all your checks right here,” Ronin says, tugging six neat envelopes from his jacket. “Just don’t blow ‘em all at once, okay? Haha.”

Zane looks as if he might propose to him on the spot. 

“Hey, this isn’t too bad!” Kai exclaims. “We got money!”

“Guys,” Lloyd says, staring at his check. “You know we should probably pool all this together and spend it on necessities, right?”

“Yeah,” Cole sighs. 

“It would be the smartest course of action,” Zane adds. 

There’s a noted silence.

“Or,” Lloyd says. 

---

In their defense, they spend exactly two-thirds of their checks on household items. 

Whether or not these are needed household items remains a debate. 

“If we’re all buying lamps for the living room, can we at least attempt to match?” Zane sighs. 

“Booo, where’s your joy and whimsy?” Jay sticks out his tongue. 

“That isn’t even a lamp, it’s a light-up axolotl.”

“The heck’s an axo-lot—”

“It lights up, doesn’t it? Ergo, it’s a lamp.”

“Ergo, what are you, Sensei Wu—”

“We’re never having guests over again,” Cole remarks, as Lloyd and Nya maneuver a five-foot-tall rendition of Godzilla into the shopping cart that may or may not light up. 

“The monastery’s gonna look rad as heck, we’re forcing everyone to come over and look at it,” Kai corrects as he tosses a set of flame-patterned curtains into the mess. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“I actually might like them,” Zane muses. “They would capture the energy of our kitchen perfectly.”

Kai beams. “Flame curtains are a go!” 

In the aftermath, they total around six individual blankets, five mismatching lamps and one light-up axolotl, a table that no one knows how to put together, one set of flame-patterned curtains, another hideous couch, and enough cutlery and kitchenware that no one has to eat out of Sensei Wu’s incense bowls anymore. 

“Alright,” Lloyd says. “We’ve got three hours until the stores start closing. Everyone take the rest of your checks, don’t think about how much of a disaster the monastery still is, and start thinking about how valid retail therapy is.” 

“Aye-aye,” Kai salutes, before immediately booking it for the clothing outlets. 

---

Three hours later, Kai’s happily blown his entire check on a new wardrobe and exactly one pair of name-brand brand shoes. He’s unreasonably proud of himself for his restraint, until he catches Cole with three pairs of his own name-brand shoes, and immediately regrets being responsible. 

He spots Jay going off in the N-Pop section of a music store, Nya investing in a sinfully-priced espresso machine, and Zane walking toward the clothing outlets himself with a high-quality pair of noise-cancelling headphones. 

He doesn’t find Lloyd until well after he’s picked up his own clothes, already sporting an oversized hoodie he could’ve just stolen from Kai. 

He’s more concerned when Lloyd proceeds to blow the last of his check at the sporting goods section of the local convenience store. Considering how long Lloyd spent looking wistfully at the candy aisle, Kai is baffled by the decision. 

He’s even more baffled when Lloyd proceeds to box up his purchase for delivery instead of keeping it himself.

He’s utterly horrified when he sees who it’s addressed to.

“Are you serious?!” he asks shrilly, torn between ripping the box from Lloyd’s hands or immediately calling the mental health hotline. “You’re sending her gifts?”

“It’s not a gift, it’s — look, it’s a long story, you wouldn’t get it,” Lloyd grumbles, plastering another layer of duct tape over the box. “Just help me deliver it to Kryptarium and I’ll show you, okay?”

Kai very much does not help, because he’s not an enabler and he cares about his brother’s mental health, but he does follow Lloyd to Kryptarium Prison and lurk behind him as he eagerly watches the surveillance screens. 

Harumi stares at the box before her, looking every bit as baffled as Kai is. 

“Who would send me a volleyball—”

She freezes, her face going utterly blank. A muscle in her jaw twitches. 

There’s a brief flash of what could be amusement, a brief expression as if she’s eaten something sour, then a fury like no other eclipses her face. 

“LLOYD! I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF, YOU THINK YOU’RE HILARIOUS—”

Lloyd’s still laughing by the time they’re escorted from the premises, hard enough that Kai has to catch him when he trips at the top of the steps. 

“What’d you even write on the note?” Kai finally asks, a bit in awe. 

Lloyd grins. “I told her good luck getting together her villainous volleyball team in jail.”

Kai blinks. “Do I…want to know?”

“Nope!” Lloyd says airily. “But I’ve made my point.”

---

Regardless of some behaviors, the mental health hotline remains a constant idea. It simply happens to come up at inconvenient times, such as when Cole drops a dresser on his foot halfway across the courtyard. 

He swears so loudly the whole monastery echoes with it. 

“Oh geez, Cole, are you okay? Why’d you lift the whole thing on your own?”

“We could have helped,” Zane rushes over. “You don’t have to do it all yourself—”

“Yes I do!” Cole yells. “I’m stronger than that, I’m supposed to be stronger, I have to be stronger or you’re all going to die next time—”

He cuts off abruptly. Zane looks heartbroken. Jay—

Is suddenly busy smacking Cole upside the head. 

“No, you don’t!” he snaps back, even louder. “You don’t have to do it by yourself! None of you do! Every time anyone tries to do something by themselves it all goes wrong and we lose someone, so we’re never — doing that — again!” 

He seizes Cole around the arms, his wild eyes meeting Cole’s wide ones. “No one blames you for the stupid tunnel. I don’t care how strong you are. We’re all here and that’s what matters, so don’t you dare put that at risk.”

“But I—”

“No.”

“Jay, I—”

“No.”

“I—”

“No!” A manic expression overtakes Jay’s face. “No, no, no! No one’s taking the blame. No one’s isolating themselves. No. One. Is. Going. Off. Alone. You hear me?!” 

The others are frozen, halfway outstretched hands caught as if suspended in ice. Kai’s expression is twisted painfully. Lloyd’s eyes are on the ground. Zane is as frozen as the metaphorical ice, and Nya looks devastated. 

“No more being alone,” Jay says, the fire in his voice giving way to something wetter and considerably more sniffly. “No more. Don’t — you can’t—”

“Okay,” Cole whispers. He carefully takes Jay’s hands from his shoulders, grasping them in his own instead. “Okay. No more going at it alone. I promise.”  

 The monastery courtyard seems a little colder, in the silence.  

“Anyone feel like circling back to the whole ‘suing Harumi’ idea?” Kai finally speaks up. 

Jay gives a wet snort. 

“Well, we’re probably gonna need to afford tissues,” Lloyd says. His own voice isn’t exactly dry, either. 

---

The downside to sticking therapy smack at the bottom of their priorities is that they all really are, in fact, not okay. 

Most of the time, they manage. 

There’s a solace in being together, a comfort in having the people you trust and care for most in the world right next to you when the nightmares get bad. When Jay awakens screaming for Nya or clutching at his throat for air, Nya is already holding his hand and Cole’s holding the rest of him.

When Zane lapses into silence too long, emotions a roiling mess that leave him paralyzed, Kai is there with one-two-three’s for breathing and Lloyd is there to draw little cats with him until the world subsides again. 

When Cole’s eyes shadow in training and his hits grow wild, Zane is there to pin him before he bloodies his hands and Jay is there to sing horrible off-key songs he loves until the panic ebbs.

When Nya stares at the water too-long, her eyes misty and her expression dreamy, Jay is there to hold her tight and Kai is there to talk until his voice goes hoarse and hers returns. 

There are other times, though, when it’s harder. 

It hits Kai this time about halfway through painting the walls of the kitchen a cheerful yellow, said paint splattered up to his elbows, courtesy of Lloyd. He glances down — to joke, to laugh, to not think—

And pauses. With the headband he’s stolen from Pixal in place, pushing back the mass of thick blond hair, Kai can just see the purple-red edges of the swollen, irritated wounds that scar Lloyd’s scalp. The twin marks are a better sight than when Kai first glimpsed them, bleeding circles that looked as if someone had drilled into Lloyd’s skull — but not by much. 

“S’fine,” Lloyd mutters, catching Kai’s devastated expression. “I can’t even feel ‘em. Not really.”

“Liar,” Kai rasps. “They look awful.”

Lloyd makes a face. “Gee, thanks a lot.”

“I mean it. What if they get infected, or worse, or — have you had Sensei look at them?”

Lloyd wraps his arms around himself, avoiding Kai’s eyes. “No. I didn’t really…I did what he asked. What they both did. And then screwed the whole thing up, so it was all useless anyways, so I—”

He bites his lip, hard enough to crack the already dry skin. 

“I don’t really wanna hear anyone telling me what else I’m doing wrong with myself, right now.” 

Kai is angry enough to feel sick. 

“That’s stupid. That’s so stupid, he should — it shouldn’t be like that, it’s — why didn’t anyone—” he shakes his head. “Why doesn’t anyone ever ask us if we wanna be — if we wanna—”

Lloyd’s hand closes around his wrist, gently tugging Kai’s own hand from where it’s clawed unconsciously at his arm, leaving ugly red stripes against his skin. 

“You asked,” he says, quietly. “That meant a lot.”

Kai looks away. “Lot of good it did.”

Lloyd’s grip tightens. “It meant the world to me,” he repeats, stronger this time. 

“But I couldn’t—!”

Lloyd abandons his hold on his wrist to wrap his arms around Kai entirely, holding tight. Bony and strong and familiar, Kai’s little brother to the core. 

“Thank you,” he says, fervently enough that Kai can feel the ache in his voice. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

Kai’s voice is a miserable mess of fought-back tears. “I couldn’t even do anything.” 

“You asked me what I wanted,” Lloyd says once again, and Kai can hear the edge of tears threatening his voice, now. “That was everything.” 

Giving in, Kai drops his head into the mess of blond curls and hugs Lloyd back. Lloyd’s hair smells like blood and paint and steel and the strawberry shampoo Skylor gave them, and now it’s gonna smell like Kai’s stupid snot and tears. 

“Hey, having another hug party without me is lame.” 

Kai gives a wet, broken response as Nya throws her arms around them both. 

“Idiots,” she murmurs, resting her head atop theirs. “I love you both, you know that?”

“Ew, gross,” Lloyd snorts wetly. “Hey Kai, Nya loves us.”

“Little jerk, who you callin’ gross? And here I thought you loved us too.” 

“Well obviously I love you guys back, who’s the idiot now—”

Kai simply clutches them both and cries harder, as if holding onto them will stop himself from falling apart.

It works, in the ways that matter, though it’s always because they’re holding back even tighter. 

Later that evening, Zane bathes Lloyd’s head in antiseptic and Jay forces them all to sit through the PowerPoint presentation he’s made with Nya titled “Every Super Cool Totally Good Character with Horns Ranked”. He loses them the minute he brings anime characters into it, as everyone suddenly develops incredibly passionate opinions about the rankees, but Lloyd’s laughing too hard to have his own opinion and Kai doesn’t feel like he’s drowning under inadequacy anymore — just choking to death under the weight of Jay’s elbow for daring to insult Re:Zero as an anime “since it actually has Oni in it, idiot, your opinion is trash—” 

They get things back to being okay, one way or another. 

---

Somewhere in the third month of renovations, they finally scrounge up six whole beds. It takes a good deal of dragging and cursing, but they finally manage to move into their own rooms, the once-empty spaces looking a little less lonely. 

“Now we don’t have to all sleep together in the same room anymore,” Jay announces. There’s no small amount of celebration at that.

The celebration lasts up until sometime around three in the morning, at which point the  consistent nightmares land them all right back in the pile of communal air mattresses. 

“Just for like, one more night,” Kai yawns, as Lloyd curls closer beneath his arm. 

“Totally, yeah,” Nya echoes, one leg spread across Jay, her arm sprawled over Kai. 

“Go to sleep already, FSM’ sake,” Cole begs, before slumping over Zane. 

For all Cole’s begging, he’s still the first to act when Zane suddenly lurches up from the bed, gasping for air like he’s drowning and giving them all joint heart attacks. 

“—hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just us—”

Cole’s hands hover, non-threatening, as Zane buries his face in his palms, breathing ragged. The others have begun to get up now as well, the slow kind of approach that lets Zane know exactly where each of them are. 

“I despise this,” Zane spits, as his hand drags down to fist over his chest. “I hate feeling like this. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it—”

“I know,” Cole says. “I know.”

“This is why — it’s so much easier—“

“It’s okay, it’s—”

“It is not! I do not need to breathe, and yet I can’t!” Zane bursts out, frustrated and frightened. “I’m not supposed to break down like this, I do not, I do not—”

“You’re not a machine,” Cole says steadily. “You get to break down.” 

“But if I—”

“You don’t,” Lloyd murmurs. “You don’t have to turn ‘em off, Zane. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” 

Zane’s head lowers, his eyes shadowed. “It wouldn’t hurt,” he says, but it’s reluctant. 

“Yeah, you’d never hurt, but you’d never be happy, either,” Kai says. “And that’d suck.”

“It’d suck for us, too,” Cole speaks up. “We’d have to live without your laugh. Without your sassy remarks. Without your kindness.”

“We’d live without you,” Lloyd says, quietly. “And you wouldn’t really be living, would you?”

Zane crumples, his shoulders shaking as he allows Kai to pull him close. 

“If it gets too much, just come to us,” Jay says. “We’ll be more, okay? We’re pretty good at that.”

Zane gives a wet, stifled laugh. 

“Don’t go, even if it’s just your emotions leaving,” Nya murmurs, her head against his. “It isn’t worth it.”

With slowing shudders, Zane lets himself relax, the warmth of their little family pressing around him. Kai is an immovable barrier at his side, save for where Lloyd’s tucked beneath his arm. Jay’s legs tangle with Lloyd and Cole’s, his hand held tightly in Nya’s.  

“Leaving isn’t worth it,” Nya echoes. “Not in any lifetime.”

---

Bit by bit, the monastery comes together. 

The smell of new paint gives way to a familiar scent of mixing elements and laundry soap, one that’s followed them since the first Bounty. They comb through every online shop until they find the exact brand of sheets that feel like the first apartment they ever lived in together. Thrift shops and sales and birthdays stock closets once again, new hoodies that are quickly stolen and passed back and forth. The collection of CD’s and movies rebuilds into stacks once again through shared movie nights and pirated music.

And little by little, with the consistent passage of time, photographs line the walls of the monastery once again.

 A little older, a little worn, but a collection of family all the same. 

---

“Except we still don’t have damn central heating—” 

“Suck it up and light the fireplace, hothead.” 

“No respect in this city. None at all.” 

[m3vl0vesu]

Too safe

Red Hood x Reader No real warning, just a bit of sleep deprivation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

A tired Red Hood had just stepped into your apartment for the umpteenth time this month. Despite him being built like a tank, you never, never, heard him coming in. It’s not exactly the best thought to know that the crime lord could just easily break into this shitty place you called home. If being on the fifth floor didn’t stop him, why and how would some lousy lock? 

.

.

He’s less than pleased when he sees his latest interest wide awake. That was another thing you also should be concerned about, the way he had a habit of breaking in just to…watch you sleep. Not in a weird way! Of course, it was…friendly. Yeah, friendly. He watched you through the helmet, the way your eyes were barely paying attention to the bright screen, the way your hair looked messier than usual, the way the only sound that filled the room was your breathing. He loved and hated seeing his precious person so exhausted. Your skin crawled at the robotic voice calling your name, almost jumping. But you knew, knew that it was him, knew that he’s been later than usual and that he’d probably try to drag your body to bed

“Red.” Wow, when did your throat get so dry? Where was the water bottle, or water bottles? You rubbed at your eyes, it didn’t help but oh well. What was the time? You were still in your apartment right? You were so out of it, countless hours had passed since your e/c eyes weren't glued to a device that your eyes actually stung when you looked away. “It’s almost four.” The robotic voice spoke again, that pounding head of yours finally faced the familiar tic tac shaped helmet. “I…knew that.” Nope, you did not. “Why aren’t you asleep?” For some reason he had the ability to pull the answers out of you, even if your brain didn’t really process the questions. Maybe it came with the whole vigilante schtick. Or the fact that he had killed people before…probably the latter. “Can’t.” The one word answers and shrugs will have to do for now, you needed water. Sadly the water bottles that were scattered in front of you were all empty. Huh. You didn’t remember drinking all that, but then again most of the week was a blur. Work, home, Gotham's shittiness. All an endless cycle of despair that you were trapped in… “Hey.” Right. Red was still here “Hm?” Or was she hallucinating again? God, everything felt heavy. The clothes on your back, the hair on your head…your eyes…

.

.

.

“Drink this.” Huh? Oh, right. He was here.

Your eyes glanced at the littered coffee table, clean water in a clean glass. Swore they were all dirty. As one hand steadied her laptop sitting on her…lap, one lifted the glass to your lips. It soothed your dry throat but it was an odd feeling knowing who was staring at you, well you didn’t really know him but you get the gist. His presence certainly didn’t go unnoticed, I mean who could ignore the literal brick wall towering over them as they sat on their worn out couch. Not you. “Your eyes are bloodshot” were they? “And your eye bags…” Hearing the sigh that escaped him didn’t surprise you, after all failure expects disappointment. As seconds pass by you continue with the doom-scrolling, eyes only just scanning over the media. There's a second sigh, you practically could hear the eye roll. “No more, of whatever you're doing.” he said, gesturing towards you. Ouch. Why did that kinda hurt? Did you need to be doing something right now? Emails…? As your brain tries to use its last working cells you feel the device being pulled away from your hands. “No-hey…” you tried your best to be annoyed but really you were too weak to fight back. You did need sleep but…no you couldn’t. “Let's get you to bed.” Curse him. Curse his amazing physique, curse his demanding aura, curse him. Even with the voice modulator you could tell that he was being genuinely caring, something you probably needed. “But I have stuff to do, I know it. Maybe with work I...”

You were rambling, your ears tuning out the sound of your own voice. Why was this armed man never annoyed with you? You could faintly feel his gloved hands on the small of her back. Gloved, they were always gloved. Maybe he was a germaphobe? Hah…that would be funny. You feel the softness of your covers take over you and you realise he’s winning. “My laptop is-” “Safe and not needed.” Awh. You wanted the last word.

 Knowing this was the first time you had touched your bed in like 58 hours was making it hard to come up with some snarky remark. Maybe…a nap wouldn’t hurt. Was she still rambling, was he still here? She probably should be hoping that he wasn’t but for some reason, some idiotic reason, she felt safe with him. Too safe…but it was probably nothing. . . . He was tired, but seeing you finally asleep set something off in him. This certainly wasn’t the last time he would smile softly at her behind the helmet, and it certainly wasn’t the first. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N:I am very sleep deprived sadly :'( Always let me know what you think and what I could improve on!! Like always M3v loves YOU

[dovedewdrop]

Scratch My Back

Masterlist

Joel Miller x reader

word count: 889

Summary: The tide is pulling you under, just like it has plenty of times before. Your husband helps you communicate.

A/N: I’ve been struggling with my mental health & looking after myself for a long, long time and I was getting myself all psyched up to get a shower but I didn’t end up getting in and decided to write this lil thing that I’ve been thinking about for a while! I hope you enjoy it and if anyone out there is reading this and is struggling too, just know that you are not alone and that if Joel Miller were real, he would scratch your back❤️

Also thank you so much for 100 followers🥹🫶🏻 really brightened up my spirits a lil bit💓

Warnings: No Outbreak. Depiction of poor mental health. Sadness. One big loving man (it’s Joel Miller) (Not a warning but I didn’t want it to seem all doom and gloom😅) No use of Y/N.

To Joel, it was just a Wednesday, your day off. To you, the ceiling was caving in. Before he left for work you were sound asleep, your thoughts at bay, laying still against the sand, he placed a gentle kiss to your temple before rolling out of bed. Now that you were awake your thoughts were thrashing against the cliffs, the mental whiplash you were facing ultimately draining your body of all its energy.

You watch the clock on the bedside table blink from one minute to the next. You thought about all if the things you should probably be doing; showering, tidying the house, preparing that home cooked meal you’d been promising your husband for over a week but all you could do was slip in and out of sleep, that was the safe option, the one that would keep you somewhat sane until he returned. You didn’t want to bother him, didn’t want to text him those three words because you knew he would stop everything for you, everything would be put on hold so that he could soothe you and you didn’t want to add that onto the ever-growing list of things to feel bad about. So you waited.

“Honey?” His voice reverberated off the walls, the sound of his gentle tone floated up the stairs. You didn’t have the energy to shout back, the sound of his boots hitting the wooden steps told you that it wouldn’t be long until he was by your side anyway. He took in the sight of the drawn curtains, the sight of you facing them, still in your t-shirt and underwear and you felt the bed dip behind you, the warmth of his body encompassing yours, his scent filling your scenes. 

“Something happen?” A gentle kiss placed to your shoulder blade, the feeling of his lungs emptying and filling behind your back soothing you. You shook your head, allowing a silence to draw over you both as Joel’s arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you further back into the curve of his body. He was always so patient with you, so tender.

“Scratch my back.”

Scratch my back, a cry for help. A promise made between two lovers. A rule established when you’d first started dating. Joel knew that you struggled with your mental health, you’d opened up to some extent, brushing him off with a ‘I’m having a tough day but I’ll be ok x’ text in the beginning, even then he gave you your space. 

One week in spring however, everything was not okay. He hadn’t heard from you in four days, no text and definitely no phone calls. At first he thought that this was your way of letting him know you were no longer interested and selfishly, he couldn’t let it end that way. So after days of mulling it over and chewing his bottom lip raw, he drove over to your apartment and that’s where he found you, dark circles engulfing your eyes, threatening to swallowing them whole, hair unwashed, apartment flooded in gloom.

He took a bath with you, washed your hair as best he could. The spring air still had a slight chill to it so he’d made sure your new set of pyjamas were on the radiator ready for bed and he laid with you in silence until you turned into his chest and he felt the wet of your tears seep into the fabric of his shirt. 

“You don’t have to talk to me.” He pressed a kiss into your hairline. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to talk to me, I mean obviously you can, when you feel comfortable and ready to but there is something I want you to do for me baby,” another soft kiss. Your eyes travelled up his face to finally look him in his eyes, those soft brown eyes that made you fall in love with him in the first place. All you could do was give a small nod, you would do anything he asked. “I want you to come up with a word or a phrase,” he continued, “so that when things get bad and you don’t feel like you can talk about it…” he trailed off, his hands drawing shapes up and down the length of your spine.

“Like a safe word?” He let out a huff of air at that, a small smile adorning his face.

“Yeah, kinda like a safe word, so I know that you’re safe,” his palm came to rest on your cheek, thumb cupping your jaw, “up here,” and his fingers tapped gently on the side of your temple.

“Scratch my back,” It was soft, the way it came out, tears threatening to spill over, “because if you promise to scratch mine, i’ll always scratch yours.” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling then, the last thing you wanted was for Joel to see you like this and to become his burden, but the way he’d shown you such care and compassion made your head feel a little less foggy, you wanted to promise that you could do that in return, that it wouldn’t just be him constantly looking after you.

“Oh sweet angel.” Both of his hands were cupping your cheeks now, pressing a light kiss to your nose and then your lips.

[mangoshorthand]

Hii I'm a real sucker for your smuts and I was wondering if you could do a five one where he walks in on reader riding their pillow and thinking about him while doing it (and they haven't had intercourse in a long while because of apocalypse stuff and all that) and the aftermath where you can do anything with it after but I'd really like it if five was being gentle to the reader :<

Sorry this is a long req I hope you write it and it's okay if you dont wanna, thankiee 🫶

Your welkiee! Hope you enjoy. 😊 Lucky Fucking Pillow | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 3k words, Rated E

It had been four weeks: four fearful, lonely, miserable weeks. You felt stupid, irritated with him. You hated the fact you were waiting at home for him like the sweetheart of a world war two vet, living on the letters he sent from the front lines. 

You held it together until just before he left, duffel bag over his shoulder.

“The situation’s dangerous; unpredictable. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

On the floors below you, you could hear a bustle of activity as his siblings made similar preparations to leave.

“Why is this your responsibility?”

He looked at you, disbelievingly, the hand not supporting the bag went directly into his pocket.

“This is the world. Am I supposed to sit at home and wait to be subsumed by another apocalypse?”

You shook your head, bringing your knees up to your chest, not able to articulate what you were feeling.

“Let me come with you then.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, picked up the last of his morning coffee and knocked it back, shaking his head. 

“I’m not having this discussion again. I’d want you beside me in anything else, but not in this. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. Your best chance of survival is staying well away.”

“What if you die? What am I supposed to do?”

From slight irritation, he softened further. Bending from the waist, he kissed your forehead.

“I love you, okay.”

He crossed to the door, but a strangled sob made him turn back. Your face was suddenly red, tear-streaked. When you spoke, the words tore themselves from a tight throat. 

“Don’t go!” 

He closed his eyes, hand still on the door handle. He let out a breath and dropped the duffel bag, turning back around, crossing the room in two strides and holding you close, your head against his chest.

“I have to, angel. I’m so sorry.”

Since then, your days had been spent scouring the horizon for impending doom and following the news incessantly for any hints of what was going on. Your nights had been spent sleepless, remembering Five’s caresses and trying to get your head around the fact that you and everyone else could die at any moment.

You at least knew he wasn’t dead. He got messages to you sporadically; short dispatches from the field. They appeared mostly via an ancient telegraph machine stowed in Reginald’s old office. The most recent of these hadn’t been very encouraging:

We’ve got a plan, but it’s tenuous. If it doesn’t work, we’ll really be fucked. If that’s the case, then I hope to see you on the other side, -F x

smut below cut

They were four sexless weeks too. You quickly discovered that it takes more than the threat of imminent death to crush the human capacity for horniness. Before that month, you would have thought it would be a deluge of cold water on your libido, but that was far from the case. 

On the contrary, knowing that time could be short, all you could think about was having Five in your arms again: running your hands all over his body, the feeling of his lips on yours and the sensations of his lovemaking. 

As you lay in bed, his phantom was a heavy, intoxicating presence. Your need for him was strong tonight. You rolled to look at his empty side of the bed and imagined his head on the pillow. His eyes (that fickle forest green that masqueraded as blue in some lights and brown in others), you imagined them shaded by his hair. You saw his raised eyebrow, his smile, soft and suggestive, with the dimple that only appeared on one side of his face, recessing two large freckles by his mouth.

You pulled his pillow to you and buried your face in it. It smelled of him. You inhaled it deeply: his aftershave, his antiperspirant, his shampoo, a hint of coffee and something more  indefinable: a more fundamental scent that was all him.

It was this last smell that made your stomach flip, that made you breathe in the scent of the pillow again. It awakened something primal in you: ripples from your center outwards; flutters down each of your limbs. 

Before you knew it, you were stripping off your panties and kneeling up in bed. One hand held his pillow to your face and the other held your own pillow between your legs. When you started to grind, it was him beneath you. In imagination, he was teasing you: not allowing you to get on his dick until you came from humping his leg.

It wasn’t enough friction, so you sped up your hips, snapping them back and forth desperately. There was a whisper of something, a tingle from your neglected pussy, so you chased it, sinking deeper into the fantasy and imagining his hands squeezing your hips, guiding you as you rode him.

“Oh, Five,” you whispered, feeling your body begin to respond, wetness gathering between your labia, “Five, fuck.”

You threw your head back and closed your eyes.

“Hm,” said an approving voice from the doorway, “that lucky fucking pillow.”

You gave a violent start, dropped his pillow and turned around. There he was, framed in the open doorway. You gave a grateful, ecstatic cry.

“Five!” 

In nothing but your t-shirt, you were across the room in a leap and bound and throwing yourself against him, holding him to you with sudden, tight urgency.

He immediately stiffened and let out a sharp groan of pain. You loosened your grip

“Oh my god, what happened? You’re hurt! Are you okay? Is it over? Is everyone okay? Is the world okay?”

He was holding himself stiffly, but now his pain had faded, his face was amused. He leaned forward and kissed your lips. On your side, the kiss was desperate, joy-filled; on his, more passionate. His tongue flicked between your lips before he broke away.

“How about this? l answer each of your questions if, each time, you answer me one in return?” he said, smirking. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, smiling gently, “but that wasn’t a question.”

You were too happy to see him to have space to be irritated by this game.

“Fine. What happened to you?”

He moved as if to put his bag down on the chair. Seeing his wince, you took it off him and placed it there yourself.

“Thanks. It’s just a wound. There was an explosion. I was hit by a piece of flying steel.”

“Shit,” you whispered, looking down at his chest and the bandages that must be underneath his shirt, “oh my god, are you okay?”

“Hey,” he admonished, “it’s your turn to answer a question now. What were you doing when I came in?”

You looked at him with annoyance.

“You know what I was doing.”

“Yes,” he smirked, “I want to hear you describe it.”

“I was masturbating.”

“How were you masturbating?” he pushed.

“It’s my turn to ask a question now,” you said, using his own tactic against him, “How long will it take to heal? Are you seriously hurt?”

“That was two questions,” he said, stepping towards you, “but I’m feeling generous: I’m not seriously hurt. It’s a flesh wound. It’ll heal nicely.”

You looked at him with concern and he shook his head with a smile. 

“Now it’s my turn: what exactly were you thinking about when you were humping that pillow?”

“You,” you mumbled, “I missed you.”

“What exactly? You didn’t answer properly.”

You feel your face flush.

“I was thinking about fucking you. On top. Riding you.”

Five’s smirk grew, biting his lip and raising his eyebrows suggestively. You hurried on.

“Is the family okay?”

“All present and correct.” he said, moving even closer to you and stroking your hip in gentle circles.

It was a long, long month without you. There was barely time to think, let alone have the privacy for any ‘self care’ sessions of his own. Now that it was all over, his dick was complaining rather vocally about this neglect; insisting that if it didn’t get inside something warm and tight within the next five minutes, it would be most seriously displeased with the rest of him. 

As if to punctuate the point, it was now requisitioning rather a lot of blood from his brain, leaving him rock hard and almost lightheaded with the rush. 

“You’re so horny for me, aren’t you? Humping your pillow like a dirty little girl?”

“Was that a question?”

“Yes.”

You sighed as his hand snaked around to your ass. He stroked one of your buttocks up and down slowly, palm cupping the curve of your skin.

“Then yes: I’m horny for you.”

“How horny?” he said, immediately, squeezing you gently.

“Did you save the world?”

“Are you wet for me?” he said, huskily.

The fingertips of his other hand came to rest on your thigh. His eyes, dark in the low light of the bedroom, captured yours and held them firmly, authoritatively.

“If you’re not going to answer my question, I’ll have to find out for myself.” 

You looked back at him and his lips twitched. Slowly, he walked his middle and index fingers between your legs and parted your labia. He let out a low ‘oh’ as he felt the sopping folds waiting for him.

A jolt twitched down the boner now pressing insistently against the crotch of his pants. 

“How about you ditch the pillow and have a piece of the real thing?”

His fingers slipped slickly up and down your slit and you nodded, trying not to let your knees go weak. Your hands came to the hem of your shirt, pulled it over your head and discarded it so that you were standing naked before him. 

As your breasts bounced free, his befuddled mind could only think how much he’d missed them. He bent forward eagerly to try and take a nipple into his mouth, but froze mid-stoop with a wince and harsh intake of breath.

“Ow. Shit.”

He straightened up slowly, stiffly and leaned against the door, experimentally stretching out his limbs.

“You okay?” you said, worried. 

“I’m fine.” he muttered, hand over his injury, “Got a bad case of hornybrain. Made me forget I was impaled by a steel bar for a hot second there.”

You winced in sympathy and rubbed his clothed stomach in circles. When the pain had abated and he was again looking at you with lust behind his eyes, you leaned in and whispered to him.

“Looks like you’re going to have to stay still and let me do all the work.”

His lips parted but no words came out, for once unable to think of anything cocky to say. You could see the glisten of saliva on his tongue. You smirked and lowered yourself so that you were kneeling in front of him.

He laid his head against the door and exhaled as you deftly freed him of his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He squeezed his eyes closed, thoroughly undone by the mere suggestion of being sucked. He was even hornier than he realized. 

He groaned in a strange mix of satisfaction and need as you licked him through his underwear, using one hand to pull the fabric taught around the thick five and a half inches imprinted there in harsh relief. The stretch and your saliva made the white material semi transparent and you felt a pleasant twist in your stomach as the hint of soft, flushed skin beneath. You lost yourself, aware of nothing but the perfect outline of his glans beneath your tongue and the heady, pheromonal smell of him. 

He made another tight, needy sound as you put your lips around his still-clothed head.

“Please.”

How could you refuse him? Pulling at the elastic and reaching in, you pulled him out to twitch in the open air. It looked painfully hard, as always curving slightly to your left but otherwise sticking straight out like an exclamation point to his arousal.

Slowly, still inhaling that intoxicating scent, you took him into your mouth, slowly sucking him. You hummed appreciatively at his solid, hot skin between your lips. You were in heaven there, happy to keep sucking him as long as he’d let you.

“You don’t know how much I need this,” he said, weakly, knees buckling as you built to a steady rhythm. You paid close attention to his head, enjoying the little pop it made as it left the tight seal of your lips.

He looked down at you with hazy eyes, watching the way your lips pouted as you slid your lips up his length. When you caught his eyes, the pupils suddenly widened and he immediately looked away, head snapping straight back to look up at the ceiling.

“I can’t look at you right now,” he breathed, by way of explanation, “You’re too perfect; I’ll come too fast.”

You flushed, glowing with his praise. Though Five was a loving partner, his compliments were usually hidden beneath layers of self-consciousness and sarcasm. Him saying this now was evidence of how overwhelmed he was: inhibitions swept away in the rush of reunion. 

Slowly, you withdrew and laid your head against his stomach so that his cock rested on your cheek. You looked up at him adoringly, simultaneously enjoying the intensity of his arousal and giving him time to calm down.

“I love you Five.”

“I love you too, baby.” he said, voice breathy and hoarse, “Now, please god, take me to bed and treat me like that pillow.”

You smiled, rose to your feet and led him to the bed, helping him out of the pants around his ankles. Standing by his side of the bed, you kissed his lips gently, enjoying the way his dick stabbed and pressed periodically at your thighs. When you broke apart, you looked into his eyes, at his soft look with his thick eyelashes shading his eyes. 

Aware of his injury, you supported him as he lay down, helping him to ease onto the mattress with the bare minimum of pain. His solid presence in your arms as he let you assist him was bliss.

Though you were being careful not to place any weight where it would hurt him, he pulled you into his arms. 

“Please,” he whispered, “I want you to fuck me. Ride me. Just use me to get off. Use me like a goddamn dildo. I don’t care.  I need you.”

You smirked at this.

“Who are you and what have you done with Five?”

“Please.”

More begging. You didn’t have it in you to tease him, not when you too were desperate to feel his body against yours, to feel him inside you, to mingle your sighs and your pleasure with his.

You slipped him inside you and gasped. The resumption of this perfect coupling alone told you just how much you needed it. You knew you missed it, but now he was inside you again, you realized that it made you whole. His small keen as he slid home was enough to send a fluttering shudder from your center outwards.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, leaning close to him.

He nodded, biting his lower lip and caressing your hips.

Slowly, you began to grind against him, rolling your hips with him inside you, moving on top of him just as you did the pillow. This time, it really was Five beneath you, his cock twitching inside you, hitting and charging that sweet spot inside you until it felt like you were buzzing with his electricity.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, “Five!”

“I-don’t-deserve you,” he panted, “So perfect. Perfect. Beautiful girl…so goddamn sexy. I love you. I-fucking- Ah!”

He always got more talkative yet less coherent the closer he got. He was watching your swinging breasts, hanging a few inches above his face. You leaned forwards immediately, keen to give him what he couldn’t take for himself a few minutes before.

He took the hint eagerly, taking your nipple into his mouth and groaning along with you at the change of angle. He suckled enthusiastically, hungrily; hand leaving your hip to rub your breast with his palm. 

His groans now sent miniature, warm vibrations onto your nipple, creating a new center for charge to build upon. As it crackled down your limbs, stoking the heat in your stomach and groin, you moaned, wanting to ride him hard- ride him like a bike - but you were reluctant to let loose in case you hurt him. 

Instead, you rolled your hips upon him desperately. Judging by the sudden shout from him and the ache from your pussy, this motion was to both of your liking. You were on the edge now, teetering.

“Gonna come. Gonna come.” he whispered, urgently, removing his mouth from your titty with a wet sound.

He meant this to warn you but, instead, his desperate voice gave you the final push.

As you came, your pussy clenched, squeezing him suddenly. His eyes shot open and he all-but squealed at the unexpected stimulation. His hips surged upwards, the pain from his chest eclipsed for the moment by this maddening, raging orgasm. It felt like your pussy was milking it from him, pulling his rapid shots of come up into itself. 

At last, you came to a stop. 

“Is the world safe?” you asked, after a warm breathless minute or two.

“Yes,” he said weakly, “the world’s all okay.”

You carefully climbed off him, laid beside him and held him. There was the fresh smell of his shampoo and antiperspirant. The smell of home if ever there was one.  After a minute or two becoming heavier in your arms, he spoke again.

“Well, the world’s certainly all okay now.”

He stroked your stomach as if you were made of paper-thin glass, inclining his head towards yours as he spoke again.

"I meant what I said: you are perfect, you know."

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 25 Loss Of My Life

Chapter 25 of Moonlight

A/N- 💔🖤

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy and blood, ANGST, some fluff? Violence, death, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 469-490

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

How long can bliss last when it’s being poisoned by the knowledge of a dooming death?

Night soon turns to morning and you have yet to utter the reason why you came after Aemond. Then again even if the sun is miraculously out in the rainy slums of the Riverlands, for you it’s like the sun's light never rose and replaced the dark night. For you, the world is dull and dark as all that occupies your mind is the thought of his looming death.

Or so that’s what Helaena said.

You try to deny it. All night you tried to be in denial and think that she was wrong, but you know better. You know she’s never been wrong about a dream she’s foretold, so why would this one be any different? And it’s not like she’s deceitful to try and play it off that way. She’s right and no matter how many alternatives you try to think of, there’s no way around it.

Except if you leave and are never found again. It would hurt those you love to leave without a word or a trace, but if it saves Aemond from his doom then you can’t be against it. You aren’t…

Is he?

But are you really not against it? Leaving your mother behind? Vanessa? Your cousins, and…him too? Everything you have ever known?

One thing is dreaming of leaving. One thing is thinking about it without actually attempting to do it, and actually planning to leave is another thing. Are you really able to do it?

You think about the answer as you watch how the stream moves downriver. You’re meant to catch fish for lunch later, but so far you’re empty-handed and simply full of thoughts until the moment Aemond’s reflection appears on the water and pulls you from the depths of your unraveled mind.

“Should I still hold faith in your skill?” He says lightheartedly as he notices the lack of fish, making you stand up from your crouched position and flash him a very faint smile. You try to respond with something witty, but at that moment you’re so plagued by your poisonous thoughts that you can’t muster the energy to do so. You just lose your smile and look down at the ground as you fiddle with your sapphire ring.

Aemond takes note of your lack of response right away and can no longer ignore how quiet and melancholy you’ve been all morning.

“What’s wrong?” Aemond finally picks on your silence and long dragging frown.

You stop fiddling with your ring but keep your eyes downcasted, stealing a breath before you finally share what’s been plaguing you. You can’t avoid it anymore or it will destroy you from the inside out.

“Aemond…I came to find you because,” you pause and take another breath as if what you’re going to say is the most taxing thing ever. “Helaena told me…that you are going…to,” you stop and lightly shake your head as you can’t accept what you’re about to share out loud.

However, you do, you say it but with every word hurting every part of you. “…Die in fourteen days.”

Not a single breath of shock escapes past Aemond’s lips. He doesn’t utter a word of disbelief, or move to express any single emotion. He stays where he is and remains as still as he was, making you believe that he somehow didn’t hear you or that he’s just speechless, so you slowly trail your eyes up to read him, but you don’t catch what you expect. His lips are parted but when your eyes find his, he closes his mouth and looks at you with his eyes simply caught under a mist.

Nothing of what you just revealed seemed to have fazed him so you slowly work around that confusion and begin to assume that he already knew.

It looks like he does and you only just found out his secret. That’s how you read his face.

“You…”

“I knew,” Aemond finishes for you since can barely voice your response. “Helaena told me the night you found out about your father leaving.”

You’re hit with shock. Instead of Aemond, you are the one hit with disbelief that causes your eyebrows to knit together, and your lip to form into a deeper and more displeased frown.

“But,” Aemond interjects to try and immediately console you. “It’s not true. I am not going to die in fourteen days or at all during this war,” he says but lacks confidence, you can hear the attempt to sound so, but you can’t feel it oozing off him or displayed on his long face.

“She was wrong. You can’t trust the words of a mad woman, and Helaena has never been sane,” he adds but nothing of what he says works to comfort your aching soul or running mind—“I am going to outlive her prophecy.”

“Story,” you mutter under your breath and step forward with a spike in energy and take his hands to hold them within your hold before you drag your hands up his arms, and then slowly slide them up to his face as if taking your time to take note of the smallest details.

“We can leave,” you share a plan that you mindlessly have no more doubts about. You say the words to him and you know that you can in fact leave it all behind for him. You found your answer in his eye.

“Together,” you continue with a nervous smile as you stroke his face. “I need only fly to King's Landing to get Aerion, but after that we can take our dragons and escape to Yi-Ti, to somewhere far, somewhere beautiful where we can raise our children. Where we can have the rest of our family and not worry about any feuds between our families. We could build a keep of our own by the sea so we can teach our children to fish, where we need not worry about a thing. Where we only have to think about our love and our children. Our family.”

You nod softly in hopes that he will mirror your actions and escape away with you, but no matter how intently he listens and holds your glistening eyes, he doesn’t utter a word or even let his head twitch. Thus you continue.

“Our children wouldn't have to have anything stolen from them like things were taken from us. They wouldn’t have to yearn for what they deserve. They wouldn’t have to be bullied or be sent away. They would grow happy and have everything we didn’t. We,” you press breathlessly and put more force on the hold you have on his cheeks. “We would be happy. We would be together until the rest of our days.”

Aemond holds your gaze with nothing to say with neither his words nor his eyes. He looks at you with a soft and admiring gaze that lets him press his forehead against yours and makes you believe that he will finally give in to your proposal.

Alas as that relief and happiness start to spark and attempt to take down your agony and cure you of that poison, when he pulls back he looks at you with a confidence he couldn’t muster before. Thus that cure, that relief, and that joy die out just as quickly as they started to grow, making you desperate and causing those tears in your eyes to grow a lot thicker than before.

“Please,” you beg and stroke his cheeks again. “Please Aemond.” You cry.

Aemond tilts his head as he swallows back thickly and you read his refusal to accept your proposal, causing you to peel away from him and step back with a gasp.

“Trust me,” he finally gives voice to the thoughts that have been running behind his eye. “My love, trust that I will win. That I will live. You hold so much blind faith in the words of mad witches and women that you fail to see the reality. Vhagar is strong. Vhagar is powerful. Vhagar will kill Caraxes and Daemon. We will win this war and give our children that same happy life that you want them to have in Yi-Ti, here. I will not die.”

You want to believe him. You want to believe every word that just came out of his mouth. You want to believe Helaena is wrong, but you would be oh so stupid to do so. And you can’t be stupid, not when it comes to your sanity because if you let yourself believe what he wants you to believe the reality will destroy you. There’s already little left of you, you can’t handle more pain. Not like that. Not again.

“You believe that?” Your voice quivers.

Aemond stays quiet for a second before he nods stiffly. “I know it,” he deadpans.

You blink repeatedly as tears crawl out of your eyes and nod before you step back and throw out a response he isn’t expecting. “If that’s what you believe then so be it, but I will not stay and watch you fight because I know the truth. You are going to die if you don’t leave and I for one won’t be around to watch it.” You throw out with tears crawling down your cheeks before you turn swiftly in an attempt to storm away, however, Aemond is quick and captures your arm to turn you and face him.

He’s about to say something to counter what you just said but you pull your arm from his grasp and continue voicing your emotion-filled argument. “No. No! You don’t know what it’s like watching someone die in your arms. You,” your breath trembles. “You don’t know what it’s like hearing someone take their last breath. You don’t know what it's like to feel helpless as you hold the dying body of someone you love. You don’t—you don’t. You don’t know!” You exclaim and shove him back with force brought by your grief and frustration.

“But I do, I lived it. I live it every day in my dreams. Jacaerys dies again and again every day in my dreams. My father does too. Every night. I watch them die in my arms every night and every night I’m reminded that I couldn't do anything to save them. To save Jace,” you mewl and wipe away the stream of tears off the curve of your cheeks. “I won’t have you haunting my dreams too. Grieving you every day of my life will be enough pain already. I won’t put myself through more just because you have a death wish.”

Aemond draws in a deep shaky breath and brings his chin up to look down at you with a glossy eye and pain.

“You’ll leave then?” He mutters to the bitter air. “Back to her? You’ll leave me again for her?”

You let out a shaky sigh and grow softer this time. “It’s because I love you that I’m leaving,” you remind him of something he should know, but something that he himself isn't sure of after he heard your speech. It’s like your lack of belief in him pierced his heart. It aches.

“It’s because I love you so much that I have to go,” you continue to say. “I love you Aemond. Everyone I know says I shouldn’t, everyone I know says you’re bad for me, but to me, that’s all nonsense because I love you. I am in love with you and no one can ever replace you, but it’s because I love you so deeply that I can’t watch you die.”

Tears continue to run down your face, as well as down Aemond’s face. You both look at each other with such a deep and harrowing heartache that only people who love each other could ever express.

“If that’s what you believe then,” he says in a shaky voice. “You must know…no, you must remember that you are the love of my life. I will never and I have never loved anyone as much as I have loved you.” He nods gently, and you stand there before him and just cry as you take in his words—“the truth is you are the only person in this world that I love. You are my weakness and strength. My heart belongs to you and only you. So go if that’s what you want. I won’t stop you. I won’t fight you. Not anymore.”

You ignore the screaming pain and nod since you can’t form a single syllable before you turn and walk away, with every step you take not being able to stop weeping.

You clutch onto your chest in hopes that will ease the pain, but you can’t breathe. You can’t see anything but the cloudy field that your teary eyes leave.

Nothing makes sense and everything hurts. It hurts so much, so deeply that you can’t think or feel. You’re numb as you walk further and further away defiantly, but, with every step that defiance to leave faltering until it completely breaks and you find yourself at a stop before you can reach your dragon.

Albeit before you can turn and return to Aemond, you let thoughts cross your mind and every single one of them tells you to get on your dragon and return home or join the Northern and Rivermen army, but your heart, oh, your feeble heart takes you back to Aemond, and you find him as he’s heading back to the hut.

“Swear,” you cry out. “Swear that you will fight with your life. Swear that you will live and I won’t leave you ever again. I will follow you anywhere and everywhere. Just swear.”

Aemond looks deep into your eyes and feels baffled at first, but when he sees that you’re being sincere he responds with what you’re seeking. “I swear.”

You take a deep breath and nod stiffly. “Okay,” you mutter.

——

Minutes turn to hours. Hours to days and days turn to two weeks.

Two weeks of always trudging along with the memory of Helaena’s words of the future, of the fate that awaits Aemond, the infamous love of your life.

He says such a fate is impossible, be assured he keeps saying. Believe in me he says over and over again, and as much as you want to, as much as you want to look at this foretold future in the face and deny its cruel tellings, if you let yourself believe then you will be crushed. You’ve known it before and you know it now.

It’s like a stain you can never remove. It’s always there in your peripheral vision, annoying and coming to your attention every time you forget about it.

“What happens after? After you kill Daemon?” You query slowly as if speaking as such will grant you more time.

Aemond looks away from your intertwined hands and briefly meets your eyes. “We join Daeron. With Cole dead there’s nowhere to go but to my brother.”

That’s if Daeron is still alive. The two dragonriders went to stop him and two old dragons with more experience than Tessarion should be enough to have taken Daeron down. Yet you don’t have a way to know in the middle of the forest.

“I’m sad Ser Gwayne had to die too,” you comment and earn Aemond’s immediate attention—“he was nice and good to be around.”

Aemond huffs and you smile faintly at the water surrounding your naked bodies.

“But seriously now, what of Aegon,” you continue to wonder. “There’s been no word of him so my guess is he’s still alive. Besides, the worst ones always have good luck don’t they?”

Aemond starts caressing your knuckles and sighs deeply before he sits up straight in the tub and looks at you smugly. “What is a cockless man worth to a building legacy? To a kingdom? He’s worthless now. If he’s found I’ll make him pass the crown to me. I have an heir, he doesn’t. I have the ability to have more children to continue our legacy. He doesn’t. I’m worth more than him, he’ll be…thrown aside.”

Well he is right about that, a king needs his heir and by their terms, he doesn't have them nor can he have them anymore, so he’s not much use to anyone, but would he give up the crown so easily?

Doubtful but he is gone so who knows?

“I suppose you’re right,” you interject to not answer him with silence.

Aemond hums in return and lets his head loll to the side as he now takes his time to study your face carrying a permanent sorrow, as if your eyes have already seen the tragedy you have to suffer tomorrow.

“Once we meet with Daeron I suppose we would stay where he is until the twins are born. They’re almost here,” he says and makes you pick your eyes off the water to pass him a faint smile.

“What is it?” He doesn’t hesitate to pick up on your sadness that’s a lot more prominent today. Just a day before Helaena says he’s going to die.

“Just worried,” you share even though he knows because he’s heard it multiple times already and he can see it so clearly on your face.

“It’s misplaced,” he brings up quickly as if the words were recited. “I told you I won’t die soon. Not against Daemon. Not during this war.”

Your eyes soften as your grief threatens to bring tears to your eyes, but you refuse to cry so you just look at him with a saddened look that pulls his body to you so he can sit in between your legs and lay his head back on your chest.

“I’ll be okay,” he says softly.

You hold his gaze to seek for more reassurance, to clutch onto some sort of bliss to ease your aching chest, but as you look deep into his blue eye all you get in return is more agony. It’s such a burning thing. So heavy on your chest. So plaguing.

Why is it that Aemond tends to make you so sad? Is this what love brings? Is this what it has to offer? A lifetime of sadness? Is loving someone supposed to hurt so much?

Staying in the hut, counting down the days to the foretold day has made you open your eyes to this nonstop sadness he keeps cursing you with and it’s truly disheartening, like cold water to the naked body. It makes you wish at times that perhaps you should have stayed true to your screaming desires and left when he said he would continue fighting despite being told he would die. You should have saved yourself the pain, but you stayed like a love-sick idiot.

You stayed and stay despite your troubles, insisting on sticking by him, and following him away from the hut on dragonback because like a fool you make yourself believe those words he kept repeating over and over again in your ear.

There’s not even hints of realization penetrating your mind that his doom can be only a hairsbreadth away when Aemond is proven right in believing Daemon would be at Harrenhal, the jewel of the Riverlands. You believe the promises Aemond made you because you refuse to think Helaena is right even though you spot the Red dragon Caraxes resting by the blackened castle the moment you fly above it, casting large darkened shadows with your dragons that give a short false sense of belief that the grey cloudy day was shunned and taken over by the night.

You believe Aemond is right with the fragments that remain of your heart. You believe him even through the sorrow he’s made you feel because that’s what he asks of you. You believe because no matter what, you love him. And it’s because you love him that you grab his biceps with force and plead one more time before Daemon can meet you and Aemond in the field.

“There’s still time, Aemond. We can mount our dragons and leave. We don’t even have to go far, we can fly to Daeron. Just choose before he comes.”

Aemond slides his arms away from your grasp to be able to cup your cheeks and pull in closer to you. “Your head is still in the clouds dreaming. Just like when we were young,” he speaks softly, but with no sign that he heard a word you said—“I’m not running. Not from Daemon. Not from this fight. The climax of this war is finally at hand, I will not cower now when my victory is near. Can’t you feel it?”

A pit grows in your stomach and a mist already covers your eyes, but you don’t dare believe anything else but what he says.

“Now come on,” he adds as he pulls away and leads the way away from the dragons, revealing your presence to not only Daemon but Alys too. She trails behind him with her eyes stuck on you.

“Nuncle I hear you have been seeking us,” Aemond breaks the silence first, but can’t break through that tension building up as Daemon gets closer and closer with no hint of fear, disbelief, or hesitation. He looks as he always does, smug, but probably even more so now that Aemond is right across from him.

“Only you,” Daemon retorts but then his eyes find you. “I can’t say I’m surprised, Princess. I can’t imagine your mother's heartache though.”

You swallow back nervously and cast your eyes down to the ground out of shame.

“Who told you where to find me?” Daemon then continues to direct at Aemond. “The princess?”

“Where else would you be?” Aemond remarks sassily. “Besides, I was told to come here by my sister.”

You slowly bring your eyes back up and glance at Aemond before you look back at Daemon, catching Alys stopping a few paces away from where he stops.

“You were a fool to come alone,” Aemond continues to throw at Daemon and puffs his chest out with a boost of confidence. “Or are you going to let witches fight your battles now?”

Daemon steals a glimpse at Alys and shakes his head before he meets Aemond's gaze. “No, she’s merely a friend who told me you’d come meet me here. She was right, and I’m right in knowing that you wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t alone.”

Aemond scoffs and flashes him a smirk. “Yet you are, and here I am. You have lived too long, Nuncle.”

Daemon nods stiffly. “On that much we agree,” he deadpans before he starts to turn around, only stopping to look at you before he can give you and Aemond his back.

“Do right by your mother, if not just don’t bother returning home,” he gives it to you bluntly without hesitation or remorse. Rather he sounds concerned and looks it too before he gives you his back and starts to make his way to his dragon.

However, before he can get too far, you interject. “Daemon.”

Said man comes to a halt in his tracks and lifts his head but doesn’t look back, letting you know he’s paying attention regardless.

“Is there anything you want me to tell Baela or Rhaena? Or my mother?” You ask not because you’re certain he’ll die but just in case he does.

Albeit he doesn’t pass you any messages. He simply shakes his head and speaks up in High Valyrian about another matter. “<Be the great fire that you’re meant to be. I know you can.>”

Your lips part in surprise and you’re left behind completely taken aback by what he chose to say. It’s true that your last interaction was kind, there was no resentment from you. You actually…became acquainted, but despite that, hearing him be kind is still surprising. It makes you think that perhaps if you hadn’t been so adamant about hating him you would have enjoyed having him as a stepfather.

Maybe in another life…

In this one, once he’s put some distance between him and you, you turn to Aemond with a shaky breath and see him walking to you with Blackfyre in hand.

“I want you to take care of it while I’m fighting Daemon,” he shares and hands you the sheathed sword.

“Why?” You probe as you look at it before meeting his gaze with confusion, seeing him look at the other sword around his hip; the one you had done for him a while ago with the Valyrian steel chain your grandmother had gifted you.

“I have this one. I prefer this one,” he says and looks back at you, making you hum softly with a flustered smile spreading on your lips.

Yet that smile soon thereafter falters, and a tense frown replaces it as you’re overfilled with worry as the time to fight Daemon is upon him.

“You swore,” you whisper shakily and he drops his head as he closes the gap between you to gently place his hand on your cheek. “Aemond,” you call out for his reassurance. “You swore.”

He nods softly before letting his eye find your gaze, feeling at that exact moment his eye softening and his pupil dilating. You both want to say so much, you want to speak so many I love you’s, but what are words compared to your love-filled gazes already speaking a thousand words that otherwise would have gone unheard?

“Do you believe in me?” He asks and with those words asking for your confession that he already knows but needs to hear for reassurance, and you…whatever doubt you had, whatever fear you have been carrying since you heard his fate, is nonexistent at this very moment. You believe him wholeheartedly.

“I believe in you,” you reassure him and drop the sword to throw your arms around his neck and clash your lips against his.

Aemond quickly secures his grasp on your cheeks and deepens that kiss. He savors the sweet taste, making it easy for you to linger in the moment, in the passionate gesture, and take more and more from him in hopes that would convince him to stay.

Alas, his mind is made and after a while, when you both need to breathe he parts, leaving only a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

“I love you,” you say breathlessly and a smile flickers on his lips.

“<I love you too,>” he redirects in High Valyrian and continues to look deep into your eyes as if trying to memorize every detail. All while you do the same with him to delay the inevitable.

If only you could stop him, but…reality comes knocking as he pulls away, stealing one last moment before he turns away from you and goes toward Vhagar, leaving you stranded where you stand unable to do anything but watch him reach his old dragon and scale her.

Once Aemond has mounted her he looks down at you from his saddle and flashes you a confident smirk, causing you to pass him a sweet smile in return and let it linger until he looks ahead and you’re no longer reflected in his eye.

Yet it’s only once Vhagar has taken to the skies that you pick up Blackfyre and turn to Alys.

“I know where we can watch the fight,” she says first as you can’t find any words to say, not at that moment. You find your breath and the ability to form words, but you don’t actually share them because you’re going to ask how this fight is going to end and she will give you the answer one way or the other, and you don't want to know so you remain speechless and follow her to the highest tower Harrenhal has.

A tower so high it almost touches the clouds, the wind is sharp and bitter, the lake looks like a glimmering sheet, and the view of both dragon and Dragonriders is clear. So clear and so close in fact it’s like you’re almost on top of your own dragon and there with them in battle.

Yet the distinction is clear right away when the first attack is given by Caraxes as he barrels down on Vhagar and Aemond, sinking his sharp teeth in her neck, and you not being able to do anything to help. You forcefully stand there frozen in shock and your breath stolen as if you had been hit yourself when you see the force Caraxes uses to slam into Vhagar.

Thankfully, the dragons are the only ones harmed, filling the air with their sharp and pained shrieks, and exchanging gashes with their piercing claws. Despite not wearing armor, Aemond is still unharmed and secured on Vhagar, making you fully and blindly lean towards believing him and believing that what you heard was false. It’s just not so foolish now, is it? Even though Caraxes refuses to loosen his jaw around Vhagar’s neck, your spirits are high because Vhagar is bigger, fierce, and battle-hardened.

The she-dragon jabs her claws in Caraxes’ flesh, making the dragon breathe out fire in hopes of burning her enough to stop, but she mirrors his blast and their fires paint the sky like an unsettling fiery storm. All whilst not burning any rider, but letting you and Alys feel heat waves crashing over you again and again until Vhagar shrieks so loud and so full of pain that it almost feels like the stones that make the tower shake beneath your feet.

And since both dragons are barreling towards the God’s Eye, you press your hands on the stone railing and lean over to look down as they sink down faster, letting you catch the way Caraxes’ teeth sink deeper in Vhagar’s flesh, pulling out a stream of blood from every wound.

In retaliation, the green beast only sinks her claws deeper into Caraxes’ belly and this time manages to slash his belly open. She then chomps down on Caraxes’ shoulder and tears away his wing, filling you with an urgency to see Aemond act against Daemon, or attempt something to strike the man down. Albeit both dragons are falling too fast, and neither of them attempt or can get away from each other just enough to gain more momentum. They’re falling fast and taking their riders with them.

Or so that’s what it seemed like because from one moment to the next you catch a glint against Daemon’s shining armor as he moves. Yes, Daemon sits up and swings one foot over his saddle, all while unsheathing his sword from his hip.

You part your lips to warn Aemond, to tell him to try something to escape the man’s wrath, but all you can do is draw in a sharp and shaky breath. The horror that hits you leaves you mute and keeps your breath, hostage, as you watch Aemond release one of his restraints to attempt to move away as he catches what Daemon is going to do.

Alas even as Aemond is on his last restraint, his attempts are futile, Daemon jumps off his dying dragon nearing the lake at a great speed, and gravity pulls him down to Aemond’s own saddle at a quick speed, causing your eyes to widen with despair and terror. Yet not a single word or breath continues to come out of you. You remain frozen and hopeful. You believe.

You have to believe in some miracle because Aemond is strong. He is skillful. He is smart. He can fight Daemon’s wild actions. You believe and believe with all your might. With all of you.

However, no matter what, or how much you plead, you witness Daemon swing his arm back before he pierces Dark Sister through Aemond’s remaining eye so hard, and so fast that the point rams out the other side, striking your hope and riddling you with shock and horror. You try to cry out his name, but a blood-curdling cry leaves your gaping mouth. And when the dragons at last slam into the water, your soul and those remaining fragments of your heart shatter.

Alys reaches out for you, she grabs your shoulder and tries to turn you around as she calls your name so you can calm down. Not for you but for the babies, but you’re so shocked by the scene you were just a witness that your first instinct is to refuse to accept the facts. Thus you push her away and run.

You run down the flight of stairs with your blood pumping wildly in your veins, leaving you unable to hear anything but the rushing blood, and leaving you unable to see a thing but what is right directly in front of you.

You’re so driven by your refusal to accept what you saw that your way to the lake is a blur. All that occupies your mind is Aemond. Aemond. Aemond, and Aemond.

He’s going to be okay. He’s alive. He’s alive. He’ll be okay. He promised. He promised. He swore!

Please, please, please…

Your feet hit the water and you snap out of your stupor to search the blood-tainted waters for any sign of Aemond either trying to swim away or still clung to his saddle. You don’t bother to keep an eye out for Daemon, you forget about his existence as you slosh through the bloody water.

“Aemond!” You cry out. “Aemond!”

A hand clutches your shoulder so you snap around swiftly but you’re greeted with Alys’ green eyes.

“No,” you mutter as you recognize that it’s not who you’re looking for. “No.”

“Stop, you can’t go any deeper. Daemon,” she pauses and you catch tears brimming in her eyes. “And Aemond are dead,” she says to try and make you come to terms with the truth, but you’re ignorant to the truth and angry that she would dare and make such a horrible claim. “There was no surviving that strike. And there’s no surviving that fall. They’re gone. They’re dead. Now come on, it’s not good for you or for—”

“I don’t care!” You yell back and slap her hand off you. “I don’t care!”

You turn back around and continue to trudge through the water which becomes heavier and heavier to manage as you go in deeper.

“Aemond!” You cry out. “Aemond…please…” you trail off into a broken whisper and come to a stop as the water hits your chest.

“Aemond!” You call out and search the waters, every perimeter that you can see, but dragon remains are all that float on the surface.

Yet even then you cling onto hope and wait, wait, and wait some more in hopes he’ll descend from the bloody waters and come to you to prove that he fulfilled his promise to you so as to not leave you alone in this cruel world.

He can’t leave you alone. He’s going to…survive so you wait to avoid feeling the sea of pain you’re holding back.

Eventually, the water once boiling by the steam coming from the dragon's blood is cool, and your body starts to shiver since you are not immune to the cold like you are to the fire and the heat’s touch, but still, you wait and avoid the truth, believing Aemond will rise from the depths of the water.

Alys continues trying to pull you away but again you push away her attempts. It’s not until you’re forcefully turned around and facing…Addam that you start to return to reality.

“A-Addam?” You call out in disbelief and raise your hands wrinkled by the water to touch his face and prove to yourself that he is in fact here, holding you. “Addam, wh-what are you…”

“I will tell you later, you just need to get out of the water. You’re freezing and shivering.” He scolds you and starts pulling you. You move with him but then stop and look back at the gruesome scene sinking in the water.

“But…” you trail off as you slowly start to grasp onto truth. “Aemond,” you breathe out and start to gape like a fish out of water as the truth starts to seep through.

“Oh,” you gasp and flashes of Daemon piercing his sword in Aemond’s skull and killing him at that instant passes through your head, making the undeniable slap you in the face.

“No,” you quiver and let Addam go to turn and face the remains sinking in the water. “Aemond,” your voice trembles, and your chest clenches, it hurts. Your entire being hurts. It all hurts.

“No, no, no…” you trail off and lose balance, but luckily Addam catches you and pulls you up. When you meet his eyes that look at you with pity all those emotions that you were pushing back burst through all the barriers you put up and flood your system, filling you with agonizing pain that starts from your chest and spreads like waves all throughout, shattering everything you are, what little you held onto, and leaving nothing but a sad little husk of your body. That’s what it did, Aemond’s death left nothing but a shell that’s riddled with the memory of pain. And all you can do is cry out, filling the cold air with your heartbroken wail.

“Come on,” Addam tries to lure you out of the water. He grabs your arm to drag you out, but you fall limp and your knees hit the lake floor.

“I can’t. I can’t,” you repeat and shake your head. “No. He promised. He promised me. He has to come back.”

Addam looks at Alys but she couldn’t even break through your stupor so she lets Addam continue to help.

“He’s gone, okay?”

You weep at the sound of his words and he hisses as he realizes his mistake.

“He has to come back to me,” you cry. “He has to. He promised. I love him. I can’t leave him here alone.”

“I know, I know,” Addam mutters and grabs your face so you have no other option but to look him in the eyes. “I hear you, but listen, he’s gone. He’s not coming back. But you. You’re breathing and your babes, his babes, they need you alive. All of them. Would he want you to die here?”

You shake your head as your falling streams of tears add to the lake's body. “I love him,” you mumble. “Please.”

Addam frowns and takes a deep breath without adding anything because what is there to add that you haven’t heard?

Yet his silence still pierces like a thousand swords and you’re riddled with more agony. “It hurts,” you weep. “It hurts.”

Addam nods. “I know. I know, now come on. Let’s get inside please.”

You look out to the water one more time in hopes you’ll see a glimpse of Aemond, but once again, you’re met with nothing, so you’re left doing as Addam says.

——

*LATER*

There below your feet lays a material you easily sink into. It’s grainy and soft, but when you lower your head to identify what you stand on, there’s more of the same darkness that consumes the entire empty hall you solely occupy.

You try to strain your eyes. You squint to catch a glimpse of anything that might clue you into where you are, but it’s like you stand in a void. Yet it’s not a deafening void. You’re not surrounded by silence, in the shadows that surround you, you hear someone humming a song. You just can’t pinpoint who it is you hear, but you hear the humming coming from the end of the hall.

“Who’s there?” You ask the void and step forward, but the moment you do, you��re startled when you catch something from the corner of your right eye light on fire. Something grand that finally illuminates your side with light, and when you quickly snap your head in that direction, you come to an immediate halt when you see that it’s a body set ablaze. But who’s?

You can’t tell. You can’t identify who they are, just that it’s a body. And they’re not the only ones, five more bodies are set ablaze around you, blinding you instantly, but finally providing a bright light with their hot fires that consume away the darkness.

When your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness that broke in the hall, the first thing you catch is what you stand on. At long last your curiosity is fed when you see that you stand on ashes. What are the ashes in particular?

You don’t know, you won’t, and the truth is you don’t want to know. You happily leave that as a mystery to not strain your withered self and instead drift your attention to a bloody set of footprints staining the stone ground.

They seem to lead forward, so you try to follow them with your eyes, but as your eyes scale to the next set of footprints, suddenly those too are set ablaze and light a path that your eyes follow down the room, letting you finally figure out that you don’t stand in some desolate void. You finally lift your head with the intent to watch the blazing path and see that you’re standing in the middle of the Red Keep’s throne room, but that’s not all. At the foot of the stairs that lead to the Iron Throne sits an abandoned wooden throne.

No one before, and no one that you know has used a wooden throne. Not even your grandfather Viserys. There’s no need for it when the great throne is standing behind it in all its glory. Why is it there?

That’s a question you do want to feed an answer to, but alas, as you mindlessly walk down the blazing path guiding you ahead and setting the ends of your gown on fire, that wooden throne is also sustenance to the great fire. Its ravenous flames quickly swallow the wooden throne whole, making you stop in your tracks and look at it with more confusion. What does this all mean? Why are you here surrounded by fire?

You need to know, yet more questions infiltrate your mind when you catch that someone is sitting on the Iron Throne. You can see the soles of their bloody feet hanging down from the great throne. They’re the ones who are filling the hall with their humming. Can it be? Only one person comes to mind when you think of someone sitting on that throne.

“Mother?” You call out in the burning hall, and the humming at last comes to a stop.

You slowly scale your eyes up the throne to look at her in the eyes, but when your eyes land on the face of the person sitting on the throne, you gasp and stumble back when you see that…it’s you.

You’re sitting in that throne room with your blood-covered hands lazily hanging off the armrests and carrying something hidden in the shadows.

You sit there comfortably with a scowl on your blood-stained face. You sit there with your nose in the air, and your gleaming eyes reflecting the fires that surround the hall and stand between you on the floor and you on the throne. You sit there with a chainmail veil hanging off your head dripping blood on your cheeks, making it look like you’re crying blood. You sit there…it’s you that’s reflected in your eyes. And the person sitting on the throne at last acknowledges you standing baffled on the floor and begins to lift their bloody hand, pointing Aegon the Conqueror's blood-dripping crown at you.

You don’t tell yourself anything, you just menacingly point the blood-dripping crown at yourself, causing your breath to hitch and your widened eyes to stay focused on the crown.

There’s so much you could say, but there’s no words you can actually form and voice. You stand in stunned silence until you blink as your eyes go dry with how long you were staring without blinking, and you’re ripped away from the incredibly confusing scene and brought back to a firelit hall in Harrenhal, watching Blackfyre glimmer against the fire warming the hall.

Now you should go mad with confusion, you should be shocked and demanding to know what it is that happened, but alas you’re at Harrenhal, there’s only one explanation to what you just saw, so you at last lift your eyes off the sword and look the culprit right in their green eyes.

It was Alys. There’s no question about it. There’s no need for reassurance, she passes you a faint knowing smile, and with that gesture alone you know it was her that let you see that vision. As for why? She won’t say, no matter how much you ask. You have to figure out the meaning by yourself or wait for a version of that vision to come to life because it is coming. As to when well that will come to you soon enough.

“How are you liking the Riverlands, Addam?” You hear Alys probe.

“Well they're…wet,” he says lightheartedly with a small chuckle. “I have been here for fourteen days and I have never seen more rain in my life than I do here. How do you do it?”

“When you live here as long as I have, you grew to miss when it’s not raining,” Alys says back. “So is it safe to say you would not find a home here?”

Addam scoffs. “No, no. Perhaps visit once in a while, but no. I’d miss the sea, and the sun.”

Alys laughs softly and then adds something aimed to make you interject. “You and her are the same, just like cats, only prowling when the sun is out of hiding.”

You give no reaction, you don’t even acknowledge her or anything besides. If Addam and you weren't by the fireplace neither he nor Alys would be able to tell that you exist in the hall, you blend in with the silence and the stillness of the room as you remain too grief-stricken to speak or move a muscle. You just keep looking at the Valyrian sword that you hold against the floor as if it carries some kind of hope that you will be able to see the man you lost one more time.

“Here,” a whisper captures your attention but doesn’t make you move to look at it, you remain frozen until a bowl is placed above the handle you keep clutched—“It’s warm, and Alys says it’s your favorite stew of hers.”

You blink and look over at Addam now sitting beside you, his gaze not riddled with worry, but an attempt at reassurance with his eyes soft and only focused on you.

“Eat please,” he insists gently whilst he slides his hand down to wrap it around yours and give it a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t say anything, he just offers you a comforting smile before he pulls his hand away and remains in his new seat. You then take this stolen moment to really look at him and finally come back to that question he never answered before; why is he here?

“Addam, what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse as you finally find a reason to make yourself present.

Albeit he doesn’t answer right away, he looks at you and his lightheartedness fades but only for a flickering second because he then offers you the same assuring smile.

“How about I tell you tomorrow when you’ve rested okay?” He offers

You immediately shake your head and press him, finding the motivation to focus on something else besides your grief. “No, I’m leaving today. Tell me now.”

Addam’s face falls completely and he then shares a concerned look with Alys before he shifts in his seat and clears his throat, watching you scoop a spoonful of your food before he gives you what you asked for.

“Well…I’m here at Harrenhal because I heard the fight from the Isle of Faces, and when Seasmoke and I went to check we saw Caraxes and Vhagar…”

You swallow back thickly as you physically react to the name that reminds you of Aemond.

“…crashing in the lake. I didn’t know if Daemon was alive, he might have been and he might have needed my help, so I came and that’s when I saw you.” He shares but that only answers part of the question.

“Okay,” you drag out as you nod your head and take another bite of food, taking your time to chew and think about what he did give you before you swallow and follow up with more. “But what were you doing in the Riverlands in the first place? Why were you at the Isle of Faces? You’re meant to be home with the Queen. Are Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf back? Is Daeron dead?”

Addam blinks and glances down, shaking his head just slightly before he answers verbally. “No, and no…Ulf and Hugh never returned,” he pauses and he looks back at you with a slightly angry look, but mostly his face is contorted with distress. He then says your name and reveals what you didn’t know because you were with Aemond in a hut for fourteen days.

“Hugh and Ulf betrayed Queen Rhaenyra. They betrayed our side and instead aided Team Green in taking Tumbleton.”

You shake your head, but not because it’s unbelievable. You can’t be shocked over something that was expected. You’re just caught in disbelief because it happened and you weren’t there for your mother. It happened and you weren’t there to help her deal with that aftermath or a plan for a counterattack.

“The Queen was so struck by the news that she also suspected me of being a traitor,” he keeps sharing and this time the news is starting to sound unbelievable—“She sent guards to take me for questioning and arrest me, but Lord Corlys warned me just in time to escape,” he says with more of a droop of emotions in his voice. “That’s why I’m here in the Riverlands because I ran, but,” he presses with more stress and his eyes wide and desperate. “I did not scheme with them. I did not betray your mother or our side. I didn’t know what they had in mind. You have to believe me.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, making him believe that you also believe he was in cahoots with the other two, but that’s far from the truth, that doesn’t cross your mind whatsoever. You’re just going through the disbelief in your mind about your mother succumbing to panic and pointing fingers so quickly when other times she would hang onto the hope that he wasn’t like the other two. You have to wonder what she thinks of you now, and what made her turn her back on Addam so easily.

Moreover, with what you know now a more urgent need to leave Harrenhal to do what you need to do grows within you.

“I believe you,” you assure Addam as you wrap your hand around his arm to give it a comforting squeeze, hearing him sigh with relief as he offers you a relieved smile.

“I know you wouldn’t do that. It’s unfortunate that we lost Vermithor and Silverwing though. Alys,” you drift your attention to her poking the fire. “Do you know the casualties?”

“The Rivermen and the Northnermen took a heavy loss. It was a bloody battle, your numbers were depleted when the two dragonriders turned their cloaks,” she shares without hesitation, making you tighten your grip around Addam’s arm out of concern that begins to gnaw at your chest—“That’s all I know.”

You have the need to ask about…Cregan. He barges into your mind, but if he were gone she would have told you, no?

He must be okay.

“That only means that Daeron and his army are closer to King's Landing, and with three dragons, victory is on their side,” you mutter with growing frustration.

“We need to join the Rivermen and the Northnermen,” Addam cuts in, catching you by surprise. You would assume he would pressure you to return home where you’re not exposed to high threats, but you heard him right, he said ‘we’.

“We need to rebuild the armies and counterattack before the Greens make a move on Kings Landing,” he finishes with confidence rising with each word.

“We do?” You press him and he then turns his head and meets your gaze with a hint of hesitation before he sits up and nods confidently.

“We do. The Green men advised me toward taking that path,” he shares, making you look over at Alys to ask for confirmation as if she was a part of that conversation, but she just shrugs and turns away with her hair swiftly turning with her.

“They,” Addam pauses and when you return your attention to him his eyes dig deep in your soul with a sense of fascination. “…they put my hand against a Heart Tree and that’s where I saw you as clear as day bathing in fire without getting hurt. You were a part of its power. You were the fire that brought destruction to Tumbleton.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief but don’t dare question him or his vision. You are going to ask about the Green men, but not now. Right now you are going to back his decision.

“Good. I wasn’t going to return home either, I need to make it right for my mother,” you say as you hold his gaze with the same fiery determination that now inflames your kindred souls. “We leave today.”

Addam reacts with hesitation this time and pulls back to question you. “Are you sure? I'm sure the army won’t move with the losses they took. We can meet up with them tomorrow morning.”

You shake your head and turn around to face the fire and continue eating. “No, we leave today. I don’t want to stay here longer than I have to.”

Not because of Alys. You wish you could spend more time with her, but alas there’s things you have to do and now this place will forever be a reminder of the loss of your life. Aemond will haunt you here, and you can’t just sit and think about how he was ripped away from you or you’ll cease to exist. That’s why you’re leaving today. That’s why you need to join Cregan today…at long last you will at last reunite.

The mere thought revives something within you. Something you thought was lost.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- 👀

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber