#NOT PRESSURE ITS PRESENCE FFS

[novaursa]

can i request something with aemond?

him going to harrenhal and having visions of his niece who he’s like in love with and he’s just going crazy

He Never Wanted to Leave

- Summary: Aemond encounters your specter in Harrenhal, and you start to torment him days and nights alike - and Aemond never wanted to leave.

- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are now closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

Aemond Targaryen's chambers are shuddering with the chill of Harrenhal. The ancient fortress is filled with the weight of its cursed history, the very stones whispering tales of blood and betrayal. But tonight, it feels as though those whispers have become voices, murmuring secrets only meant for Aemond.

He sits on the edge of his bed, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles are white. His usually composed face is marred by the strain of sleepless nights, his mind haunted by the act he committed. The fire that once burned so brightly within him now flickers with a cold, unrelenting guilt.

In the low light of the chamber, Aemond stares at the floor, his eye unfocused, as if he's trying to drown out the voices in his head. But then, he sees you.

You stand before him, as clear as day. You are not a ghost, and yet, you shouldn't be here. You're miles away, safe in Dragonstone or perhaps King's Landing, alive and breathing. But here you are, in his chambers at Harrenhal, as real to him as the icy air that clings to his skin.

He dares not blink, afraid that you will disappear. You are dressed as he remembers, a vision from his childhood, from a time when your presence brought him a comfort he could never name. The long, silken strands of your hair cascade over your shoulders, and your eyes—those eyes that once held such warmth for him—now burn with something darker.

"You're not real," he whispers, his voice trembling with a fear he hasn't felt in years. But his words are hollow, even to him. Because you feel real. The scent of you—a mix of salt from the sea and the wildflowers that used to grow around Dragonstone—fills his senses, so potent it steals the breath from his lungs.

You tilt your head, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. "Aemond," you say softly, your voice a haunting melody that echoes through the chamber. "Do you truly believe that?"

His chest tightens, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. "What do you want?" His tone is harsher now, defensive, as if he can will you away with the force of his anger.

But you step closer, your bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. He watches, frozen, as you reach out a hand, your fingers grazing his cheek. The touch is like fire, searing through him, and his resolve crumbles. He shuts his eye, inhaling sharply. He can feel you, warm and alive beneath his fingertips.

"Do you remember the last time we were together?" you ask, your voice gentle, almost loving. "Before everything changed?"

Aemond shudders, the memory flooding back to him with a painful clarity. He remembers the way you smiled at him, the way you laughed at his dry jokes, the way you would look at him as if he were the most important person in the world. It was a time when you were still untouched by the weight of your family's feuds, when he could still believe that there was something pure in his life.

But that was before. Before the bloodshed. Before the war. Before Luke.

"Stop," he whispers, but the word is weak, a plea rather than a command.

Your hand trails down to his chest, resting over his heart. "He was your kin, Aemond. My blood. Do you think I could ever forgive you for what you did?"

His eye snaps open, and he jerks back as if struck, his face contorting with pain. "It was an accident," he says, but the words are hollow, even to him. The truth is a heavy weight in his chest, pressing down on him until he feels like he might break under the pressure. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I—"

"You killed him," you interrupt, your voice sharp now, each word a dagger to his heart. "You hunted him down, Aemond. You wanted to hurt him, and you did."

The room seems to close in around him, the air thick with the stench of his sin. "I didn't want him to die," he says, desperation seeping into his tone. "I swear to you, I didn't."

Tears prick at his eye, but he blinks them away, refusing to let them fall. "Please," he begs, his voice cracking. "Please, forgive me."

But you don't move, your expression unchanged, as cold and unforgiving as the stone walls of Harrenhal. "You took everything from me," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "And you think you deserve forgiveness?"

Aemond shakes his head, his whole body trembling now. He drops to his knees before you, the proud prince brought low by his guilt and shame. "I'm sorry," he breathes, the words tumbling from his lips like a prayer. "I'm so sorry."

For a long moment, there is only silence. The specter of you looms over him, a reminder of everything he has lost, everything he has destroyed. He feels the warmth of your hand on his head, your fingers threading through his hair as you once did when he was just a boy, lost in the world and seeking solace in your presence.

But this time, there is no comfort to be found.

"You cannot undo what you have done, Aemond," you say, your voice soft but unyielding. "The blood you have spilled will stain your soul forever. You will carry it with you until your dying breath."

He crumples further, pressing his forehead to the cold stone floor, his tears falling freely now. He feels your touch retreat, the warmth of you slipping away, and he wants to scream, to reach out and hold on to you, to keep you with him even if it is only a cruel trick of his mind.

But when he looks up, you are gone. The room is empty, the chill more biting than before, and he is alone with his guilt, his regret, and the weight of a sin that no amount of tears can wash away.

Aemond stays on the floor, broken and weeping, the sound of your voice still echoing in his ears, a reminder of what he can never have: your forgiveness.

Another day passes in the desolate halls of Harrenhal, but Aemond Targaryen finds no solace, no escape from the torment that gnaws at his very soul. The oppressive air weighs heavy, and the once proud prince can feel the darkness creeping ever closer, as if the very walls of this cursed place are conspiring against him.

He hasn’t slept since the last vision of you, your voice still haunting him, your words cutting deeper than any blade ever could. He tries to shake off the memory, to bury it beneath layers of anger and denial, but it clings to him like a persistent shadow.

As the evening falls, the flickering light of the candles casts eerie shapes across the walls, and Aemond finds himself seated in the same chair where he last saw you, his thoughts a tangled mess of regret and longing. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, but its warmth does little to chase away the chill that has settled deep in his bones.

He closes his eye, willing himself to forget, to block out the memories that threaten to overwhelm him. But as soon as he does, the air around him shifts, the familiar scent of salt and wildflowers filling his senses once more. His eye snaps open, his heart lurching in his chest as he sees you again, sitting on the edge of the bed, your gaze fixed on him with an unsettling intensity.

"You again," he whispers, the words trembling on his lips. He doesn't move, doesn't dare to breathe too deeply, as if the slightest motion might cause you to vanish like a mirage.

But this time, you don’t remain distant. Slowly, with a grace that is both mesmerizing and terrifying, you rise from the bed and walk towards him. He watches, transfixed, as you approach, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of how much he still wants you, even now.

You stand before him, your expression unreadable, and then, without a word, you lower yourself onto his lap. The weight of you feels real, solid, and the warmth of your body against his is a cruel reminder of what he can never have. Aemond’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he closes his eye, trying to convince himself that this is all just another hallucination, another trick of the mind.

But then you speak, and the sound of your voice sends a shiver down his spine.

“Do you remember,” you say softly, “the day you hurt me?”

Aemond’s eye flickers open, and he meets your gaze, his face pale, as if the blood has drained from his veins. “I never meant to hurt you,” he replies, his voice hoarse with emotion. But even as he speaks, the memory comes rushing back, vivid and sharp, like a wound that has never fully healed.

You lean closer, your lips hovering near his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “You did, Aemond. You hurt me, and you knew it.”

He shakes his head, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I was angry,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

“You were jealous,” you interrupt, your tone unyielding, as if you are determined to make him face the truth he has been running from for so long. “You couldn’t stand the thought of me being with someone else, even though you had no right to me.”

The memory is clear now, as if it is happening all over again. He sees you standing before him, tears in your eyes, your face etched with pain as he spat cruel words at you, words meant to wound, to drive you away. He had been so consumed by his own insecurities, his own fears, that he hadn’t cared about the damage he was doing.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, his voice breaking as he looks into your eyes, seeing the hurt reflected there. “I was a fool.”

“You were,” you agree, your tone cold. “But that didn’t stop you from hurting me. You wanted me to feel the same pain you did, to make me suffer for your own jealousy.”

He feels your hands on his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, and the sensation is so real, so tangible, that it sends a wave of longing and regret crashing over him. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he says again, his voice trembling. “I love you.”

Your laugh is soft, almost bitter, as you pull back slightly to look him in the eye. “If that’s what you call love, then I pity anyone who falls under your spell, Aemond Targaryen.”

He winces at your words, the truth of them cutting deeper than he ever thought possible. “I was wrong,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was wrong about everything. But please… please, believe me when I say that I never wanted to cause you pain.”

You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes his heart ache. “And yet, you did. Over and over again.”

He can’t deny it, can’t escape the truth that you are forcing him to confront. His hands, trembling now, reach up to cup your face, the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers making his heart twist in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words spilling from his lips in a desperate plea. “I’m sorry.”

You close your eyes for a moment, as if savoring the sound of his apology, but when you open them again, there is no forgiveness there, only a sadness that cuts him to the core. “Sorry again? Sorry won’t change what you did, Aemond,” you say softly. “Sorry won’t take away the pain, or undo the past.”

He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek as he holds you close, as if by holding you he can somehow make up for all the wrongs he has done. But even as he clings to you, he knows it’s futile, knows that this moment is nothing more than a cruel illusion, a reminder of what he has lost forever.

“I’ll never forgive myself,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “But please… tell me you don’t hate me.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze locked on his, as if you are searching for something within him. Then, you lean forward, pressing a soft, almost tender kiss to his forehead. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a shiver through him, his heart breaking all over again.

“I don’t hate you, Aemond,” you whisper against his skin. “But that doesn’t mean I can forgive you.”

He closes his eye, his body trembling as he feels you begin to fade, the warmth of you slipping away like sand through his fingers. He tries to hold on, tries to keep you with him, but it’s no use. When he opens his eye again, you are gone, the room once more empty and cold, and he is left alone with the crushing weight of his guilt and the memory of your touch lingering on his skin.

Aemond slumps back in the chair, his body shaking with silent sobs, as the walls of Harrenhal seem to close in around him, the cursed fortress now his prison, his tormentor, and his confessor.

The morning sun is a pale, distant orb in the sky as Aemond Targaryen stands at the edge of the pond just outside Harrenhal. The air is cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faint, metallic tang of the nearby ruins. The water is still, a dark, glassy surface that reflects the twisted branches of the trees and the crumbling stones of the cursed fortress.

Aemond's eye scans the water, but his thoughts are far away, lost in a labyrinth of regret and guilt. The memories of the past few nights—of you—haunt him more than any ghost ever could. He had hoped, foolishly, that the daylight might offer some reprieve from the torment, that the sun's warmth might banish the cold grip of your specter. But here, at this pond, under the cold light of day, he finds no peace.

As he gazes into the murky depths, he sees not just his reflection but the shadows of the sins that weigh heavily on his soul. The stillness of the water is unsettling, almost as if it is waiting for something—someone. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the air feels thick, each breath more labored than the last.

And then, as if summoned by his darkest thoughts, you appear.

You emerge from the trees, your steps light and soundless as you approach him. He doesn’t startle this time; he’s almost come to expect your presence, even in the waking hours. But the sight of you in the daylight is no less jarring. The sun catches in your hair, creating a halo effect that makes you look ethereal, otherworldly. Yet there is no warmth in your gaze, only that same sadness, that same coldness that chills him to his core.

You stop beside him, close enough that he can feel the ghost of your warmth, and you stare out at the pond with him, your expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches out, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Finally, you break the silence, your voice soft and lilting, but with an edge that makes his skin prickle. “Do you ever think about drowning yourself, Aemond?”

The question hangs in the air between you, shocking in its directness, in its cruelty. Aemond turns his head to look at you, his eye wide with a mix of horror and sorrow. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in his throat. How could he answer that? How could he admit that the thought has indeed crossed his mind, that the weight of his guilt is sometimes too much to bear?

But you don’t wait for his answer. You continue, your gaze still fixed on the water. “I do,” you say, your tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “Sometimes, I think about slipping into the water, letting it take me. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? Just to stop fighting, to stop struggling, and let the darkness swallow you whole.”

Aemond’s heart pounds in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a death knell. He can hardly breathe as he listens to you speak, the words wrapping around him like a noose, tightening with every syllable.“You could end it all,” you murmur, your voice almost seductive now, tempting. “No more pain, no more guilt. Just peace. Just silence.”

He clenches his fists, the nails digging into his palms, the pain grounding him, keeping him tethered to the reality that is slowly slipping away from him. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I can’t do that.”

You finally turn to look at him, and there is something in your eyes that makes his blood run cold—a sadness so deep it feels like an abyss, one that he knows he could fall into and never find his way out. “Why not?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “What’s left for you, Aemond? What’s left after everything you’ve done?”

He shakes his head, his mind racing, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. But every thought, every memory is tainted, corrupted by the weight of his sins. “I… I don’t know,” he admits, the words slipping from him like a confession. “But I can’t… I can’t just give up.”

You take a step closer, your hand reaching out to brush against his arm, and though the touch is as fleeting as a breeze, it feels so real, so tangible, that it sends a wave of longing and regret crashing over him. “You’re already lost,” you whisper, your voice like a dagger to his heart. “You’ve been drowning ever since you let that darkness into your soul.”

He swallows hard, trying to push back the tears that threaten to spill over. “Why do you keep coming to me?” he asks, his voice trembling. “Why won’t you let me be?”

You tilt your head, considering his question, and then you smile, a sad, weary smile that makes his heart break all over again. “Because you can’t let me go,” you say simply. “Because you’re still holding onto the past, to the guilt, to the pain. And as long as you do, I’ll be here, reminding you of what you’ve done, of what you’ve lost.”

He looks away, back at the pond, at the dark, still water that seems to beckon to him, promising release, promising oblivion. The thought of it is tempting, so tempting, but he knows that even if he took that step, even if he let the water claim him, your specter would still follow him, even into death.

“I won’t do it,” he says, more to himself than to you, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. “I won’t give in.”

You sigh softly, almost as if you’re disappointed, but you don’t push him further. Instead, you lean in close, your breath warm against his ear as you whisper, “I’ll be waiting, Aemond. I’ll always be waiting.”

And then, just like that, you’re gone.Aemond stands there, staring at the pond, the silence pressing in around him, the weight of your words sinking into his soul. He knows, with a dreadful certainty, that this is far from over. You will haunt him, day and night, as long as he remains trapped in this nightmare of his own making.

But for now, he forces himself to turn away from the water, to take a step back, away from the edge, even as your voice lingers in his mind, a constant reminder of the darkness that dwells within him.

The walls of Harrenhal seem to pulse with a life of their own, as if the ancient stones are attuned to Aemond’s every thought, his every desire. The air is thick, charged with something electric, something dark. And within the oppressive atmosphere of his chambers, Aemond finds himself lost once more—lost in the presence of you.

You appear to him as you always do, suddenly and without warning, as though stepping out of the very shadows that cling to the corners of the room. But this time, there is no coldness in your gaze, no sadness weighing down your features. Instead, you look at him with the same fire, the same passion that once ignited the depths of his soul. And it’s enough to make him forget everything—his guilt, his pain, his regrets. All that exists in this moment is you.

Before he can speak, before he can even draw breath, you are upon him, your lips crashing against his with a desperate hunger. It’s a kiss filled with years of longing, years of unspoken words and suppressed desires. Aemond doesn’t hesitate—he responds with equal fervor, his hands moving to cradle your face, his fingers threading through your hair as if to anchor himself to you, to this moment.

Your bodies collide, heat and need overwhelming any semblance of reason. Aemond pulls you close, your bodies pressed together as if you are both afraid to let go, afraid that this fragile moment might shatter and leave him alone in the cold once more. He guides you back toward the bed, the world outside these chambers forgotten, discarded like an unwanted memory.

You fall together onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and desire. His hands roam your body with a familiarity born of memory, of dreams that have haunted him for so long. And yet, each touch feels new, electrifying. You arch into him, your breathless gasps filling the room, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from losing control.

As your clothes are discarded, piece by piece, Aemond’s mind races, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotion. He’s aware, on some distant level, that this can’t be real—that you are not truly here, that this is yet another trick of Harrenhal, another way for this cursed place to torment him. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if this is real or not. All that matters is that, in this moment, he has you.

When he finally sinks into you, the world around him blurs, and all that exists is the two of you, lost in a rhythm as old as time. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, over and over, as if by saying it he can make this moment last forever. His movements are frantic, desperate, driven by a need that has been buried for far too long. And you meet him, move with him, as if you’ve never been apart, as if you are still the only thing in his world that makes sense.

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I’ve always loved you.”

You moan in response, your nails digging into his back, and the sound drives him closer to the edge, closer to the precipice of oblivion. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, the scent that has haunted his dreams, his waking moments. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and it makes him feel alive in a way he hasn’t felt since Rhaenyra stole you away.

“I never stopped,” he confesses, his voice thick with emotion. “Not for a single day. Not even when you were taken from me.”

Your response is a breathless gasp, a tangle of words and sounds that only spur him on. His movements become more urgent, more desperate, as if he’s trying to pour all of his love, all of his regret, into this one moment. And when he finally tips over the edge, it’s with your name on his lips, a whispered prayer, a final plea for forgiveness that he knows he doesn’t deserve.

Afterward, he collapses beside you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared breathing, the only noise in the otherwise silent chambers. He reaches for you, pulling you close, needing to feel your warmth, your presence against him. But even as he holds you, as he brushes his lips against your hair, a cold realization begins to settle over him.

This moment, this passion—it’s not real. He knows it deep down, knows that the you he just made love to is nothing more than a phantom, a specter conjured by the darkness of Harrenhal. But even knowing that, he can’t bring himself to let go. He can’t bring himself to leave this place, to return to a world where you are forbidden to him.

His thoughts drift to the letter from his mother, the one he has read a hundred times over, the one that pleads with him to return to King’s Landing. Queen Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne now, and the realm is on the edge of being consumed by fire and blood. His duty calls him, his mother calls him, but all of it feels distant, insignificant compared to the pull of Harrenhal, compared to the pull of you.

Here, in this cursed place, he can have you. Even if it’s only an illusion, even if it’s only in his mind, he can still have you. He can still feel your touch, hear your voice, lose himself in your embrace. And isn’t that better than the alternative? Isn’t that better than a life without you?

“I can never leave,” he whispers to the empty room, though in his mind, he’s speaking to you. “Not now. Not ever.”

The truth of it settles into his bones, as solid and unyielding as the stones of Harrenhal itself. He is bound to this place now, bound to the specter of you, and he knows that he will never break free. Even if it means forsaking his duty, his family, his very soul, he will remain here, in this place where the lines between reality and illusion blur, where he can hold onto the one thing that still matters to him.

In Harrenhal, he can have you. Forever.

And that, he realizes, is the only thing that matters anymore.

[eclecticmiasma]

Size Gap (Foul Legacy Childe x Reader)

Working through Childe's trauma by literally riding it out.

NSFW

[Warnings: tooth decaying fl*ff my lord, a bit of cumflation]

By the time it happens, you're none the wiser until it's all too much to bear. It occurs in the dead of night, during the rare moments where Childe is truly vulnerable with you. The moments where he's fresh from the kind of assignment that plucks at his nerves rather than energizes them, where he's buried his face in your neck and wrapped you so tightly in his arms that you feel nothing but his presence.

Whatever happened earlier this evening must have opened old wounds. The typically boisterous man falls into you without a word as soon as he enters your bedroom, desperate to get your bare skin on his own as soon as possible. His rough palms splay across every inch of your heated flesh as if he's memorizing every curve by hand.

When he does speak, his words are nonsense in your ears. Frenzied, babbling praise. Precious thing, so good, so incredibly good, dushen’ka**, so tight, my love. All of it comes flooding out as your body accepts him, as you desperately ride the waves of his outpouring of sincerity together.

Secretly, this is the Childe you prefer. The Childe that doesn't remove his length for even a second for fear of leaving the safety of your body, but rather drags it along your walls with such deliberation it's as if he's trying to meld your bodies into one. The Childe that groans so sweetly in your ear that his voice becomes hoarse and shattered. The Childe that wets the pillows beneath you with saliva and, though he'll never admit it, tears. Even though you can barely breathe with how strongly he holds you close as he takes you, the feeling of his heartbeat reverberating through your chest is sheer bliss.

Just as that familiar feeling is building in your gut, right before you tangle your fingertips in Childe's fiery locks and drag his lips to your own, a strange sensation hits you. A twinge of pain around your opening. Your hands still, but Childe continues thrusting into your wet heat as if everything is right with the world, nearly whimpering with pleasure. In fact, he hasn't noticed that your moans have ceased, your body's movements with them.

You feel it again, a stretch. This time accompanied by pressure in your lower abdomen.

"Ch-Childe," You breathe, unsettled. A sound that you've never heard your lover make meets your ears as he releases a guttural growl into your shoulder and continues rutting his hips as if his life depends on it. His body feels heavier somehow, crushing you beneath its weight as you struggle to inhale. Every thrust strikes deeper, and deeper. Your lower back stings where Childe grips you, almost as if his nails are pricking into your skin. This time you whine as the pressure in your abdomen suddenly builds again and searing pain begins, "Ajax!"

As a last ditch effort, you shout his given name and beat on the Snezhnayan's sweat-slicked back, enough of a shock to jolt him into reality for long enough to still his hips. When he looks up at you time itself seems to stop.

Blue. It's the first word that comes to mind and the only word that rattles around your reeling brain as you search his features. One of Childe's eyes is glassed over and a brilliant, dazzling blue. The other is wildly flitting between your face and his own body as he scrambles, sitting himself up and cursing loudly.

Your neck strains as you look up at him with something between horror and curiosity nagging at the edge of your nerves. He must be a full head taller than usual, half of the skin over his rippling muscles blackened and charred. Childe's hair flows behind him, shoulder length and the color of sunset. Hulking, frightening, beautiful.

"Y/n," He says, voice cracking, "I..."

The source of your discomfort is obvious to you now, as your eyes trail down Childe's abdomen to meet where your bodies intertwine. Though your own body had forced most of your lover's hefty member out as it grew, its tip still sits snugly just past your opening, stretching it open painfully. You swallow hard at the sheer size of it, certain that even wrapping two of your hands around its girth would be a struggle.

Childe's grip on your waist releases as he shifts to unsheathe himself, shame written in his movements. In a split second decision your hand flies to his own, intermingling with his clawed digits and squeezing hard.

When Childe told you of his time in the Abyss, it had been the closest you felt you would ever come to understanding him. Through haunted eyes he spoke of the trials and tribulations, of the mentor who helped him through, and of the self-proclaimed monster he could become as proof of the taint the Abyss left on his soul. He spoke of it with clear disgust, and something akin to fear.

"Stay here..." You plead softly. Childe looks down at you in disbelief. Though he has made it very clear that you were to never see the physical manifestation of his trauma, a secret desire to do so has always floated in the back of your mind. To love someone is to love every part of them- and you couldn't love what you couldn't see.

For the first time since you met him, Childe looks uncertain. His eyes, both glowing and not, dart from your face to your body to his own mutated hands. He starts to shake his head, crestfallen, and you know what you have to do.

It hurts, Archons does it hurt, but you shift your hips just enough to stretch the seeping opening of your cunt slightly. Childe makes a strangled noise, voice deepened by the change in his body, and a jolt of arousal hits you over the pain. Despite everything in you screaming to pull away, you want to hear it again.

You squeeze his hand for dear life and move again, gasping as your hole is stretched to its limits. Childe's massive length slides in millimeter by millimeter, and through your ministrations your lover begins to change more. His skin darkens further and hard scales flare out over his chest. His other eye becomes clouded and glows as he watches you spear yourself along his throbbing member, a mesmerizing sight for the both of you to behold. You sweat as his cock finishes its transformation, growing ever so slightly larger still.

"Y/n..." The hulking man sighs deeply. He lets you move along him at your own torturously slow pace, wrapping his massive clawed hands around your torso and pressing his lips to your cheeks, eyelids, and neck. His long crimson hair falls over your brow, and as you inhale through it all you realize he smells inexplicably like the universe itself.

It isn't easy and it isn't graceful, but Childe's baritone grunts of pleasure lead you to finally, finally bottom out. For several moments the two of you simply breathe together, the sweat from your bodies soaking the bedsheets beneath you. Even Childe's cock is warm inside of you, as his new form seems to radiate heat. It pulses in anticipation and you cling to your lover's back, ready for whatever is to come.

What happens next is a blur. Childe trails wet nips and kisses all the way to your lips. He pauses, giving you a look so full of adoration you feel that you might burst. You card a hand through his crimson locks and bring his lips to your own, opening the floodgates.

As Childe begins to unsheathe his enormous girth, his tongue slides past your teeth and nearly down your throat. You moan desperately around the intrusion in response, gripping the man's shoulders for dear life as he completely and utterly takes you.

At first, it seems impossible. The painful stretch of your cunt around him is almost too much to bear. Childe is so lost in the pleasure that you barely have room to breathe, his lengthened tongue and his cock wrecking you from both ends. You'll split apart, surely, or suffocate around the wet muscle that bullies down your throat in the process.

Just as your consciousness starts to fade at the edges, Childe drags his tongue from your pharynx and growls your name against your open mouth. His length stretches you open again and again as he ruts into your heat, thrusting so deep it feels as if your stomach is in your chest.

"...[Y/n]...[Y/n]...Archons..." The pain subsides as pleasure slowly takes its place, and the way your abdomen bulges with every snap of Childe's hips has you practically screaming his name. No one had ever seen Childe like this, his rawest and truest emotions manifesting in the creature you lay with now. To know you've brought this out of him, you alone, it fills you with unparalleled elation.

Your back arches as your muscles tense. As you clamp down on Childe's cock like a vice, he eagerly fucks you through your orgasm so hard you see stars. He sputters on about how beautiful you look, how good you are for him, how much he adores you. Tears wet the corners of your eyes as a second wave of spasms hits you, and you sob into the crook of his neck all the way through.

Childe uses his massive arms to pull your spent body off of the bed and spears you bonelessly on his girth like a ragdoll. All you can do is feebly wrap your own arms around his neck and let him, sobbing as he somehow cants deeper and deeper.

It takes every ounce of energy to stop him when he announces his own climax, pulling halfway from you before you force your cunt to slide back down to the hilt. You want him, all of him, even to be filled to the brim with his release.

Childe's semen spurts out of him in thick ropes, warmer than anything you've ever experienced. You moan and gyrate your hips in his lap, milking every last drop and gasping as it seeps out around your swollen hole. His nails dig into your skin as wave after wave of spasms wrack his heaving form.

When he finally stops shaking, gazes down in awe at the swell of your abdomen. It deflates as he begrudgingly lifts your trembling, a flood of white fluid coating his cock as your womb empties.

Exhausted, Childe flops down next to you and immediately wraps you in his arms. Though he's returned to his usual self, he still radiates a warmth that invites you to entangle your sticky, sweat-slicked body with his own. Dazed, weary, and floating on feelings of pure love for your partner, you ignore the aches and pains starting to make themselves known and fall into a much needed slumber.

Childe says it when he's sure you're fast asleep, quieter than most would be able to register just in case. Two words that he's found nearly impossible to utter since his fall into the Abyss all of those years ago.

"Thank you."

**my soul

*do not edit or re-upload. please consider reblogging, as mature content is often buried by Tumblr!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

[rappaccini]

one of the Biggest Things By Far that bothers me about the owl house is an amalgamation of a few smaller issues:

amity quickly becomes The Protagonist's Girlfriend and loses the ability to contribute to the plot on her own.

hunter is introduced far too late in the story and as a result his arc is rushed as fuck.

every time hunter wanders onscreen, lumity gets dimmer, because he has the same connection with luz and far greater plot relevance.

and hunter and amity make each other redundant because of how similar they, their relationships to luz and their arcs are.

.... so. the elephant in the room is that amity and hunter are the same character.

(cut for length)

prodigious teen witch with high social status among their peers

who comes from a privileged but abusive background and is under a world of pressure to be the Perfect Child

with one sympathetic caregiver (a male abomination witch) overpowered by another abusive one who's central to running the boiling isles oppression machine and plans to induct said teen into it whether they want it or not

(and sympathetic caregiver goes through the process of becoming disillusioned with abusive caregiver/their worldview and plans to separate from them and take custody of the kid).

(ffs alador and darius are the same character too)

teen witch begins as antagonistic and mean-spirited towards luz and her friends, putting them in harm's way

and through interactions with luz, reveals a hidden soft side, starts to question their worldview, and forms the connections necessary to leave their abusive family environment, loosen up, and live a normal teenage life with friends, family and romantic interests who genuinely love and want the best for them.

so. same arc. they're not even foils or anything. if they were foils, amity would find redemption while hunter would spiral deeper into villainy, or vice versa, and luz would have to learn from her experience relating to one to reach the other with a difference in how she approaches them.

but that doesn't happen. both arcs turn out the same, and luz instantly empathizes with and wants to understand both.

they're just a cut and paste of the same arc on different plot relevance scales with an aesthetic change.

furthermore, controversial opinion: not only are they the same character, they aren't even equal. hunter is better. unquestionably. amity is the first draft of the much more well-conceived, plot-relevant hunter character.

by this i mean: if you remove hunter from the plot, it stops functioning. we lose eyes in the emperor's coven and a connection to our central antagonist, luz's narrative foil, the meter by which we judge whether the story's themes are progressing and the link to the original sin that broke the story's world (caleb and philip, and all that happened with them). the biggest issue with his story's execution is that it blasts through his development far too quickly. it's like the writers desperately wanted their own zuko but failed to understand how important pacing was to zuko's arc succeeding. they skipped all the antagonism, conflict and forgiveness to get the payoff.

if you remove amity, basically nothing changes except luz doesn't get a love interest. everything amity does and represents can be reshuffled to one of luz's friend group, boscha, or to hunter especially. amity begins the story as its most interesting, complex character with the strongest arc.... and then she becomes Luz's Girlfriend. pretty much as soon as amity becomes her love interest, she mostly stops functioning as a character in her own right and moves into the Supportive Love Interest role, with glimpses here and there of the much more intricate character she could have been if she wasn't stuck in that box. it's very post-atla katara in the worst way possible.

add onto that the contrast problem: amity alone would simply have been Not Great, but hunter's presence in the story makes it worse because him individually and his dynamic with luz being this plot-essential keep shining a light on how unessential amity is.

yes, the representation amity brings to the show is groundbreaking and important. i am not disputing that. it's huge that a disney cartoon's main couple is between a bisexual gnc girl and a lesbian (not to mention it being interracial). and that their visual designs aren't 'tomboyish brunette girl in blue/red x girly blonde girl in pink/purple'

but if the writers wanted amity's character to succeed beyond representation importance and wish fulfillment (i can't explain it, but she gives off such strong 'wouldn't it be great if the girl who bullied me in middle school was secretly in love with me, and changed her behavior to be with me' vibes. which, yeah, it would be great. it would also be great if this character had something to do other than be your gf.) they needed to 1) integrate amity and the relationship more thoroughly into the story and 2) not create alternative love interests for them both that satisfy the narrative arcs that lumity doesn't.

we've discussed 1. as for 2: the same narrative arc of amity being a deeply unhappy victim of an unfortunate home life and strict parental expectations taking out her anger on a girl who's different from her, before befriending that girl and using that connection to pull away from her toxic family, embrace being a teen and find her happiness.... could have been satisfied with willow.

not to mention that willow has a long history with amity that luz simply doesn't, wherein her friendship with willow was forcibly ended in order to turn amity into a vessel for her parents' expectations, and as amity becomes her own person again, she also has to reconcile and regain that friendship with her. if anyone was the best fit to help amity work through that arc, it was willow.

(and for the representation-over-all cronies: if amity gets with willow instead of luz, you still get a major wlw interracial romance in a disney cartoon that would even follow the same trajectory as lumity. you're not gonna lose that rep.)

2: i dunno man it's just real fucking interesting that caleb the witchhunting human from bonesborough fell for a wild witch from the clawthorne family and left his toxic brother for her the exact same way hunter the powerless witch serving a witchhunter fell for a wild witch from bonesborough who's basically eda clawthorne's adopted daughter and left his toxic brother because of her influence. like... HELLO?????????

(you can't convince me that willow being hunter's love interest wasn't primarily to make sure they were both occupied romantically and were no longer 'a threat' to lumity.)

(literally the bare minimum would be 'scribble evelyne out of the wittebane bro backstory')

2: it's just wild to me that toh found the four characters best suited to romance arcs, figured out what those arcs needed to be, and then paired up the wrong people.

anyway. the point is: amity and hunter are the same character who undergo the same arc, one far better than the other, and the result is that the show falls into repetition, amity is particularly underserved by having a far more plot-essential character highlight her shortcomings, and the relationships feel awkward because every second we're reminded that the romances could be doing a better job if they just partner swapped.

(... though tbh where i fall in the great toh ship debate is it's not that i'm pro-lunter or anti-lumity, or even that i think that partnerswapping lumity and hunlow would've fixed those issues. yeah, i guess, it's better than what we got, but honestly there's a much bigger change that would've been far better and i'm fully in its camp. i'll write that post someday, i'm sure)

[cr4yolaas]

thank u for tagging me :3

started writing

tbh i have no idea … i probably started writing ff when i was 11 LOL. i grew up as an artist first and that was my obsession but when that died down and i did other extracurriculars i divulged into writing a bit more. exposure to wattpad was definitely the gateway to this tumblr blog but i think that’s how it is for everyone

started blogging

i’m 90% sure my account is ~4 yrs old rn ?? i made my account when alice in borderland s1 was at its peak (still new) and i was super into this one series i saw while searching the show up so i finally decided to download the app after that

followers

i have 1.3k but a lot of it is definitely from older fandoms i’ve been in (namely aib, arcane, genshin etc etc) that i don’t write for as much anymore and there’s a decent percentage that might be bots. tbh i have no idea where they all came from since my presence on this app is very on and off and i’m not very communicative with my “fan base”

communication

i don’t rlly want to say i’m an ambivert bc i don’t actively seek out social interaction at all unless it’s necessary but i do bounce off of other’s energy pretty easily (both irl and online). i try to stay on the quieter side though, although i do love when ppl talk to me on here bc like i said above i don’t interact with my followers / mutuals at all

likes

last time i checked i had 22k likes total ?? which is insane ?? but tbf this account is decently old and i have quite a few posts. i don’t rlly stress abt numbers too much but i will say it definitely determines what posts / content i keep up on my blog

requests

my requests have always been open; i don’t get any these days which is relieving bc i kind of don’t work well under pressure LOL. i used to get a lot for arcane and genshin which was actually pretty fun

writing

i have a love hate relationship with writing. i’ve noticed that people interpret things (symbolism, parallels, etc etc) in my work that i don’t notice / intend to put there but when they do it makes a lot of sense. i kind of just vomit words that sound pretty and paint a nice picture and hope and pray it makes sense. a lot of my inspiration actually comes from music (i’m a band kid … i play a few instruments) rather than written content i read. i feel like i’ve had a relatively consistent style that just has a fluctuating vocabulary and rhetoric

works i’m proud of

melody of the moon is my magnum opus, and i don’t think i’ll ever cherish a work more than that one. it’s a viktor (arcane) fic that i obsessed over for quite a bit and i remember going over it with my online friends (who knew very little about arcane) countless of times. it was a work i definitely projected myself into and finishing it was such a great feeling. i love that work to bits and pieces, despite it not being one of my most popular ones. i think the weight of words could’ve been close to it if i wasn’t so rushed with it and if i put more effort, but i loved the idea.

tags (don’t feel obligated): @froyaoya is the only one i can think of rn + anyone who wants to do it

Behind the scenes of a Tumblr Writer - Tag Game

Hey there, I love behind the scenes and since this is something that's rarely talked about, let me start the chain... if you feel uncomfortable with a question, just skip it. You can add some if you want as well.

Started writing: I wrote my first Harry Potter fanfic at age 10. Started posting around 15,16 years old. I'm now 31, so...

Started blogging: I started on a German fanfiction site around 2010/11 I think. Might have been earlier too, but back then I was mostly reading, no posting. I really started when I got into One Direction (very late, tbh)

Followers: Currently at 961, which is wild to me. I don't even know that many people IRL. I convince myself that half of them are bots tbh, so I don't freak out all the time.

Communication: The people I talk to regularly are: a few writers who answered after I constantly reblogged and commented on their works and a few people who commented and reblogged my work. Writing and blogging on here can be pretty lonely, depending on your personality and the time you're active (I'm from Europe and a lot of my followers seem to be living in Northern America, so there's the Timezone thing) ... And I found that the best way to strike a conversation is to reblog, comment, and to not be shy. I do wish I got more asks, though....

Likes: I actually filter them out. I have 793 original posts up at the moment. It doesn't give me anything to know how many likes a fic has other than to tell me which characters are liked more than others or maybe that one fic does especially well. My activity only shows me comments, asks, reblogs with tags, and answers to my own asks. I live for the tags and the comments.

Requests: I love talking to people about ideas. That's how I started the plotbunny game because I have so many ideas and so little time. And sometimes an idea just doesn't want to be written out fully. Requests are fun because YAY, I get some mail... but then I freak out because I don't really know how to write this NOW and then I freak out because it's been a week already, two weeks, wait, two months? I'd rather have suggestions where people tell me vague things like "I'd love to read something about this side character" or "Have you ever considered this character with a soulmate trope"? because then I don't have the feeling of failing the request when I write it a little bit differently.

Writing: I am a fast writer. I know that's one of my talents. I can churn out a oneshot of 1k words in less than an hour. People read slower than I write. That can suck sometimes because you've just posted this and you want to know what people are thinking but they're not as fast as you are. I do have a lot of ideas. I want to write constantly but my brain doesn't always want to. I am trying to respect that.

There are also certain things that I just feel wrong writing. I cannot write anything suggestive (I also don't like reading it) and everything past that gives me panic attacks. I can hardly write mean characters and jealousy feels so wrong to me that I cannot write it. I've also overdone it with the soulmark trope and now I feel like everything I write about it feels lifeless.

I write best in the mornings before going to work, but I don't have much time there. I don't need special music (but it helps), but I need to have at least some energy left and at best, no distractions. But I have been writing for over 20 years, so I will say experience helps a lot.

Tagging: @revasserium @shoulmate @lemurzsquad @screamin-abt-haikyuu @toomanygoldfish @satorisoup @emmyrosee @reverie-starlight @alienaiver and @writingsofanomnivore and everyone else who wants to join

[034463]

Maxiel fanfic rec

yes thats right you heard me a maxiel fanfic reclist because apparently im crazy and ive been reading so much maxiel tht i can make a reclist now. its all so very catered to my taste soooo have fun

1. With The Sun In Our Eyes by screwstyles | T, 36k

“A fake dating AU set in 2025: It’s bad enough that Max is outed by an ex in the middle of racing season, and then his team suggests he pretend to date Daniel to soften the blow. It’s as bad an idea as it sounds.”

a maxiel classic, theres just something about fake/pretend relation ship that just gets me. also a lot of miscommunication so heads up for that”

2. you pick me up and take me home again by wintrs | M, 28k

“It feels like a dream, seeing Daniel again after all these years. It's a second chance Max knows he doesn't deserve, and he isn't going to waste it.Or: Max isn't racing in 2027, although he couldn't tell you exactly why. But it isn't a big deal. He's fine.”

max deals with his feelings and also his past trauma. very very angsty.

3. Little Drops of Anguish by semperama | E, 45k

“After a crash in Baku 2021 leaves Max unable to race, he's left trying to figure out what to do with his life—and with Daniel, who doesn't seem to want to let him go.”

also like fic no 2 max cant race and must face the fact tht theres a life beyond racing and daniel showing him that.

4. well we can settle down by tiredtiredsharl | M, 24k

“Sometimes Daniel watches the tapes back and he thinks: shouldn’t I be jealous of this kid? Or: Max drives the way we all aspire. Or: Christ, I’m in the presence of someone who will go down in FIA history.He never says any of that. Because after he watches Max stumble through an interview with a journalist who quotes Toto, he realizes that the pressure is the last thing Max needs.Max is one bad race away from combusting. Or going into the wall again. And Daniel can’t handle either of those options. For reasons he can’t examine right now. Or ever.”

dont remember much of the plot except that i found myself finishing the ff at 6 am in the morning and the light were coming through my window. amazing shit

5. The Dog's Home by dm3rv | M 33k

“Max Verstappen liked dogs. Max Verstappen loved cats. The jury was still out on people.Max has spent years climbing the ranks at an Animal Welfare Charity, moving from volunteer to intern to Animal Care Manager. The dogs and cats he cares for are his life - if only he didn't have to spend so much of his time putting up with 'VIPs'; entitled celebrities and donors with image-based agendas. Daniel is going through an image and identity crisis after an uninspiring season with McLaren. Keen for an image overhaul, he gives his time to a local animal shelter. What he doesn't expect is the prickly Animal Care Manager who has been assigned to look after him. Animal Shelter AU.”

THE BEST! max vet au youre crazy and dog boy daniel scared of dogs? good content also dont forget to check out the side galex. also good shit.

6. The Drive Of Your Life by  littleprism | ?, 70k

“Daniel is a semi-known actor. Max just got his second WDC a few months ago. There was absolutely no reason for them to meet.

Until a fateful crash in testing changed that.”

b list actor danny and racer maxy playing in a movie together. theres some plot holes but if you dont really think about it its soo good. 

7. anything to get to the rush by kingsguarding | E, 18k

“It’s so stupid, that’s the thing.Every year, the World Champion gets to choose another driver to … celebrate with. It’s an old tradition, apparently. As old as the sport itself. Part of the prize of winning, part of your reward.Max has never understood it.”

the ff that made me realize im soo deep in maxiel lore that i will sink w this ship. basically two emotionally stunted boys doing emotionally stunted boys thing

8. MV33 by Whippasnappa | E, 14k

“Daniel finds out Max is on Grindr. He's curious. He's just going to download the app, just to see. Just to look at Max's profile. He's curious how Max picks up men, curious if Max puts his real face out there. He's definitely not going to message Max. He's definitely not going to do that. He messages Max.”

yeah.....

9. Happier than Ever (so why are you crying with blue-sky eyes) by Whippasnappa | E, 30k

“From the first time they met at RedBull, Max knew he never wanted to be without Daniel. A look through their relationship as Max tries (and fails) to keep his feelings for Daniel hidden, as Daniel leaves for Renault, then McLaren, as Max tries to hold himself together.”

it hurts but it hurts so good. retelling of their whole history

will be updated as i read more ff

[chihomichannel]

i wish you all the happiness in the world

| pairing: oikawa tooru x short female! reader | summary: In which you loved each other for all this time but timing was never on your side | genre: angst, fluff, suggestive, kinda smut but not really | warnings: MANGA SPOILERS, cursing, alcohol, NOT EDITED ‘cause i’m tired | word count: 6964 words | a/n: hi hi! this is my first haikyuu ff. hope you like it! ヾ(＠^∇^＠)ノ i have to say though, i’m not really satisfied with this smh. it’s more like a summary of an entire fanfic i’ve thought for oikawa siiigh. this also was kinda rushed by the end ‘cause i wanna post it already jhbksdjna

icon used

You treasure your time back in childhood. Whenever you think back to those days, you would be reminded of the times you spent with Oikawa and Iwaizumi by your side. Still young and ignorant to the world other than your own little bubble, you played around and made memories that even years later, you could still remember what you felt back then. What it felt like to pull on your sister’s hair and the terror that went with it, what it felt like to accidentally injure yourself after you tried copying that one commercial you saw on TV, what it felt like to trip over your own feet as you dived head first to receive a ball for the first time - and with all those times of stupidity and utter fun, Oikawa and Iwaizumi was always there. You don’t even remember the first time you met them. All you knew was that they were already a part of your life for as long as you could remember.

You and Oikawa are next-door neighbors and Iwaizumi lives just right around the corner by the end of the street. For everyday that passed by, you three were always joined at the hips. You can’t even remember a time in your childhood that you weren’t with either of the two. Or maybe it was because it was so long ago that you don’t remember everything now that you’re a bit older.

But a distinct memory of Oikawa forcing both you and Iwaizumi’s pinkies to his as he shouted in promise “Someday, we’ll make it all to nationals!” Nationals. What a fancy word for such young dreamers.

But hence, when you reached the age of kindergarten, your parents made it a mission and a promise to always, always enroll the three of you in the same school. They thought your friendship was cute and special. Even everyone in the neighborhood found your little group endearing. They could never imagine one without the other two or either of the bunch. You would always be three and that would never change. At least that was the ideal reality that everyone imagined for you three.

Though that ideal friendship remained true for years and years. But in your final year of middle school, that was when everything shifted its course.

It was when Oikawa and you were alone in between the two gyms that separated the boy’s volleyball team and the girl’s volleyball team. You were a setter, a genius setter. And during that time, you didn’t know the animosity Oikawa held towards genius volleyball players. So when he told you “You’re a really great setter” And with the small smile accompanied by those fluttering words, a great wave of pride swelled in your chest to hear such a comment from such a great setter, a tinge of pink painted across your cheeks.

You let out a small shy “Thank you” Your eyes stuck on the ground with your hair hiding your reddening cheeks. You didn’t notice the slight quirk in the corners of his smile. Too busy with your head in the clouds, you failed to notice the envy that flashed through his dark chocolate-brown eyes.

While you were busy pining over your new realized feelings, Oikawa was also busy over his conflicting feelings for you. You were his friend, his best friend along with Iwaizumi. So why does he harbor so much jealousy towards you? It was him who got you into volleyball in the first place. It was him who dragged you out of bed every morning for as long as he could remember just to play volleyball. But seeing you do so much better than him, even when he would never face you on the court, he couldn’t help but feel insecure in your presence.

He thinks he could do more, be better and surpass every living genius in the world of volleyball. He wants to be the best. He needs to be much much better. And with the green-eyed monster controlling his need to be the best, without knowing it, he held a resentment against you.

And you, none the wiser of your friend’s bitterness towards you, you found more reasons to be around Oikawa more. More than you already do. Which to be honest did not help calm the growing storm Oikawa harbors in his heart. You always just seem to be everywhere and seeing you always reminds him of what he’s lacking. Feelings of guilt, envy and your sudden overwhelming presence is what drove him to finally snap. To finally pull the trigger and kill whatever’s left of his fondness towards you.

Iwaizumi had told you that Oikawa has been pushing himself much more than normal. Oikawa has been losing his cool and Iwaizumi has explained the pressure, the constant need to be better and the inferiority Oikawa feels towards players like Kageyama and Ushijima. But neither you nor Iwaizumi knew you were one of those Oikawa felt inferior to.

So one late afternoon, the sun has set and the sky is minutes away from dark. Hours after classes were dismissed and the rest of the players had been sent home, you entered the boy’s volleyball gym alongside Iwaizumi to see that Oikawa is still hell-bent on practicing.

You frowned. You could see how exhausted he was but still, he stood on his two feet, determined. Before you could even call out his name, Kageyama caught your attention as he made his way to his senior “Oikawa-san, please teach me how to serve”

As if something inside him snapped in half, Oikawa’s hand flew towards Kageyama only for Iwaizumi to catch his arm in time “Get a grip you moron!” Stunned silence echoed through the gym, only heavy breaths and wide eyes spoke volumes of what just happened. “I’m sorry” Oikawa relaxed and Iwaizumi let him go. But his eyes, he was just as shocked with his actions as much as everyone was.

“Kageyma, I’m sorry but we’re done for the day” Iwaizumi’s spoke and with that, Kageyama walked away, eyeing Oikawa warily as he passed him by.

“Tooru?” Your voice caught his attention. You being there sent him in overload and before he could stop himself, before Iwaizumi had the chance to stop the words that flew out of Oikawa’s mouth, he snapped once again. But this time, there was no stopping it.

“You!” He bellowed, you flinched “I hate you! I hate you and your presence and everything that is you!”

“Huh?” “Wha-? OI!”

“-Why are you always everywhere? Why do you have to be a part of my life? You’re always in my eyes! You’re always there and I am sick of it!” Oikawa huffed, tears brimming on his eyes. You’re already crying.

“You like me don’t you?” 

He knows

“-Well I don’t like it! Stay away from me will you! You overwhelm me!”

He knows

You clenched your hand, shaking.

“-WHY DID YOU HAVE TO BE A SETTER?!” With a frustrated cry, Oikawa dropped to his knees and suddenly, you realize.

‘He hates me’ You thought. You didn’t even dwell as to why when you ran out the gym. You heard Iwaizumi call out your name but you ignored him and ran. You ran and ran until your lungs forced you to stop, tumbling down to your knees as you sobbed in the empty road under the street light.

You can’t understand for the life of you. Had you been mean to him? Have you done something wrong? Or is it because he knows you like him and he doesn’t feel that way towards you. Maybe you made him uncomfortable. His mother doesn’t really help as she always gushes about how you should be her future daughter-in-law. You had overwhelmed him and now he hates you.

It was only the night before Monday did you remember what he last told you.

“WHY DID YOU HAVE TO BE A SETTER?”

‘Ah’ you thought as you realized the roots of his new found resentment towards you.

Oikawa has always been ambitious and successful at whatever he sets his mind into. But he was no genius and his skills were practiced, it did not come naturally. You remembered those times he ranted about Ushijima and how unbelievably strong he is. And Kageyama and how he’s younger yet so much better than he is. And then there’s you.

He had never complained about you. Or at least none that you knew about. You should have realized when people started calling you a genius. You should have noticed the change of his demeanor towards you. How he doesn’t smile genuinely anymore. How you weren’t actually friends anymore. 

You didn’t love volleyball and maybe that’s one of the reasons why he hates you. Or maybe that’s the exact reason why. You don’t even love it yet you’re so good at it. No wonder he was frustrated about you. He’s not just envious about your skills, he’s also frustrated to see you obtain something he wants when you’re only half-hearted into the game. It was a reminder that no matter how hard he pushed himself, there would always be some genius that would trample over his hardened efforts.

You couldn’t believe how fast you could go from liking someone to hating them the next.

You avoided him after that incident. You avoided him like the plague. You still talk to Iwaizumi though but not as much as before. You distanced yourself from them and before you knew it, you had graduated.

Over the summer, that was when people noticed the shift in the dynamic of your friendship. The three became two and you’re now only one. You don’t leave your house, not even when Iwaizumi called out your name for an hour because you knew Oikawa would be there.

Oikawa did not make any effort to reconcile with you and it annoyed you to no end. It was always Iwaizumi acting as the mediator but eventually, even he gave up. It was tiring to force two people to reconcile when neither party wanted anything to do with the other.

It doesn’t mean Oikawa didn’t feel guilty. His guilt was one of the reasons why he exploded and it was also guilt that made him ashamed of facing you. You were a precious friend, a childhood friend, a person who’s known him for so long. A person who knows him better than his family and yet he pushed you away. 

And now you won’t come back.

At the opening ceremony in high school, he waited for you. He thought that he would make peace with you. Apologize once and for all. You were already in high school for god’s sake. You had let the whole summer wash away the broken pieces of your friendship with no way of reconciliation. You had wasted a whole summer and Oikawa’s determined to bring everything back to where it was. Even if it meant to pick up all the pieces of the broken fragments of your strained friendship. He would do so. Because you’re precious to him, more than you nor he could understand.

But you never came. And at once, all that courage and determination in him was also washed away.

You went to Karasuno for high school and swore your soul to the gods that exist that you would never ever step foot into a volleyball court ever again. You had decided to quit on volleyball. Sure, you were a genius at it but you didn’t love it. At least not as much as some people you know. But that promise was also thrown away when Sugawara, a classmate, begged you to be their manager.

He was resolute and you were annoyed. And so you rejected his offer. Though that did not stop him from pestering you, begging you down to his knees which is why you found yourself watching a practice match held in the school’s volleyball gym.

‘They’re weak’ You thought. You didn’t really care as you watched the team pathetically lost. You could not stress enough the difference in power between your school and the away team. It was truly and utterly pitiable.

You had heard about the tale of the once powerhouse that is Karasuno and you wondered what happened. You learned that your school had once managed to make it to the nationals so why is the team so weak now? No coach, no manager, just players.

You were already leaving, indifferent to your school’s volleyball team when your ears perked up on an insult, an insult that sent you to overdrive and before you knew it, you were screaming. You screamed at your school’s team. You screamed a vow, a vow to get them to nationals once again. And so beyond your belief, you were on the court once again. Though this time, you were only at the side.

It was in the Interhigh Tournament did you and Oikawa look at each other once again. His eyes were wide while yours was determined, glaring at him as if challenging him. He knew of your abilities and how well you could use that to coach others. He knew you could use that to examine opponents and use that knowledge against them. You were a genius that way. And so seeing you in the opponent’s team as their manager made him nervous. Just because you were a manager doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be able to help the team technically.

But how can you help a team that doesn’t want your help in the first place? It was only you and your other fellow first years that were bitter when you lost in the first round. Your seniors seemed to accept that your team just wasn’t good enough. And the frustration sent you to silent tears as you questioned your decision of being involved in volleyball again.

And Oikawa, being the ever jackass that he is, used the opportunity to tease you. An excuse to talk to you. And imagine the delight he felt when you gave him the attention. And so started the rivalry you never imagined you would have with him.

You thought that maybe if he hadn’t chosen to tease you that day, you would’ve quit the volleyball club. And maybe if he hadn’t teased you that day, you would have probably never talked again.

Three years passed and it was your last year at high school. With the addition of promising first years, you faced off against Aoba Johsai in the Spring Interhigh Qualifiers. Karasuno won and would face off Shiratorizawa for the finals. You should be glad, ecstatic even. So why are you sad? Why are you mourning for your childhood friends’ loss? Why won’t you look away from the opponent and celebrate with your team?

But how could you when you could see the two special people in your life fight off the tears that threatened to stream down their eyes. And the night after Karasuno beat Shiratorizawa, you thought ‘Nationals’ 

You were the only one who made it to Nationals. And you weren’t even a player.

The thought of that stupid childhood promise left a bitter taste on your mouth.

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The high of the nationals died down once it was over and you and your fellow third years now focus on studying for the finals and upcoming university entrance exams. It was dismissal time and having no volleyball club activities any more, you head straight home, parting ways with Sugawara at the intersection.

You sighed. The sky is orange with hues of pink, purple and blue painting the sky gradient. You had arrived by your house’s gate when you heard the ruckus of voices. Male voices. So you turn and lo and behold, it was Oikawa, Iwaizumi and number 2 and 3 from what you could remember.

They turn to look at you and their ruckus dies down. You turned your back at them, already opening the gate when Iwaizumi called out your name. You turn your focus back at them “Would you mind tutoring us?”

“Please, she’s bad at math” Oikawa commented. You felt a nerve pop out of your neck “You bitch, you suck at everything but volleyball!”

“Excuse me, I’m in class 6-” “Doesn’t matter”

Iwaizumi could only sigh as Matsukawa and Hanamaki watched in amusement. ‘So you’re the famous childhood friend’ they thought.

You and Oikawa stared down at each other, neither backing down. For added effect, you crossed your arms which earned a snort from the setter “Please?” Iwaizumi pleaded. With a sigh, you looked at your friend “Fine. I’ll just tell mom first”

Why did you accept? You didn’t know. But you knew you didn’t mind being around Oikawa now. Though you don’t really trust him, not anymore.

Your mom was surprised to hear you would be going to Oikawa’s house. It’s been years and she could not hide the glee on her face as she practically pushed you out of the house. With a deep breath, you made your way to his house.

The door opened to his mother who, like your mom, albeit a bit more enthusiastic, was ecstatic beyond relief at the sight of you. She asked you continuously without giving you any chance to reply “Did you finally make up? Are you friends again? You’re talking again? How splendid! Why did you stop talking in the first place? I was so sad. I missed you so dearly. It wasn't the same without you”

She kept on beaming and you only replied in awkward chuckles, not wanting to kill her joy and tell her you still very much held a grudge against her son. But fortunately, she left you to the company of the four boys who sprawled all around the couch, bags thrown at the side with the television on in a music channel. A girl group is performing.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be studying?”

“Shh, Miho-chan is singing” Oikawa held a finger on his lips. You could only grimace at their focus on the girl group. Maybe you should go now.

But before you could even turn around, Iwaizumi had turned off the TV much to the boys’ protests “Fanboy later you horny scumbags”

“You know I’m here, right?” You say and Iwaizumi sent you an apologetic smile.

“You don’t count as a girl anyway so it doesn’t really matter” You felt your heart drop at Oikawa’s comment. You frowned, dropping your books down on the coffee table with a slam. The three boys jumped, startled. They were sitting down on the floor when you did that.

With a huff, you sat down at the end of the table while Matsukawa and Hanamaki sat beside each other and across from them sat Oikawa and Iwaizumi “So-” You cleared your throat as they looked at you in synchrony “-what is it you need help in?”

๋࣭     ࣪ ˖        ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ˖ ࣪ ٬     ุ๋ ⸱ ๋࣭     ࣪ ˖        ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ˖ ࣪  ๋࣭

You looked up to the digital clock hanging on the wall. 8:47 pm, it read “Aren’t you guys gonna go home?”

Oikawa is fast asleep on the coffee table, head resting in his arms. Matsukawa has given up on his practice test and Hanamaki sat spaced out. It was only Iwaizumi whose focus is still on his notes. Even you gave up 15 minutes ago, feeling your head ache as the words start swirling incoherently in your mind.

You received a hum of reply, everyone focused on their own little worlds. You sighed, closing your book and tucking in the notes in your bag in a hurry. You stood up, groaning at the ache that has built up on your legs from hours of sitting. The others noticed this and copied your actions, slowly standing up and slinging their bags on their shoulders “You all should rest for the day. Just continue tomorrow”

Iwaizumi did not budge from his position and you walked out of the living room to the front door, Matsukawa and Hanamaki hot on your heels. Once you were outside, you were about to bid them goodbye when Hanamaki beat you to it “Hey, I’ve been thinking. Why didn’t you go to Seijoh?”

Matsukawa hit Hanamaki in the back of his head, earning a hiss from the latter “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that”

“Why? Did they talk about me?” Your smile was sad it could come off as a frown. The two boys looked at you sheepishly and you chuckled, turning away from them as you unlocked your gate “We’ve heard the three of you were close and that something happened. They didn’t really elaborate. You’re a really touchy subject” This made you laugh

“Damn” You turned back around to face them to see that they’re still on the same spot, waiting for your response. But you only gave them half a smile, bid goodbye and entered your house.

The next day, you slept through your alarm. Only waking up when your mother woke you up with a screech. And so you skipped on breakfast, snatching a biscuit from the top of the refrigerator and dashed out of your house. Only to be met with Oikawa getting on his bike, obviously late like you are.

“Shouldn’t you be at morning practice?” “Shouldn’t you know that 3rd years don’t go to practice anymore?” You rolled your eyes.

“Geez, how could I know? I don’t go to your school, dumbass” Oikawa pedaled to match your pace “You sound like Iwa-chan, chibi-chan~”

You held your tongue, though your frown failed to conceal your annoyance. Oikawa gazed at you, pursing his lips as you refused to look at his way “Hop on, chibi-chan. No matter how fast you go, you’ll still be late with those tiny legs of yours”

“Can you shut up?!” “What? Is that your best retort? How lame~” You kicked the wheel of his bike sending him trembling out of balance “Hey!”

You huffed. You did not sign up for so much annoyance so early in the morning. You groaned, head looking up at the sky in exasperation when Oikawa blocked your way “Please, please get hit by a truck” Oikawa looked offended

“Ouch, chibi-chan. Just hop on already, you know I’m right” He gave you a grin which only aggravated you more “No”

“Don’t be so stubborn, little girl” “I am not little” “Your height says otherwise” “I’ll kill you!”

Both of you were locked out of the gate that day.

Your review with the four boys continued everyday after school. As well as your morning walk to the school being bombarded by Oikawa. When he learned what time you go to school, Oikawa made it his mission to walk with you. Always biking at your pace as he ranted on and on much to your dismay. You had begged Iwaizumi to go to school with the two of you since Oikawa doesn’t give any signs of giving up on you. But Iwaizumi only gave you a grunt for a response, mumbling about respecting his sleep.

And came one Friday morning, 2 weeks left of school and 3 days before university entrance examinations. Oikawa is waiting by your gate as always and hopped on at the sight of you “Morning, chi-bi-chan~”

Closing your gate, he waits for you to walk but was pleasantly surprised when you sat on the back of his bike “Huh?”

“Bike” You said and so he did. He began telling a story about Iwaizumi tripping in front of his crush, elaborating on what happened that day. And you, you were uncharacteristically quiet. 

Usually, you’ll banter with him. And so when you called out his name, Oikawa could feel that you were about to say something heavy. So he continued rambling, zoning out your voice and filling the air with his words.

“Tooru” He paused, his heart thundering against his chest. It has been years since he last heard you call him by his name “Yeah?”

“Why are you acting like we’re friends” Oikawa let out a strained smile but you didn’t see

“Damn, that hurts y/n-chan” He said in jest but you could hear the genuine hurt in his voice. Oikawa felt your hand tighten as you clutch on the back of his jacket.

“Tooru-” You leaned your head against his back ‘-it’s weird how this makes me feel happy but hurt’ You thought

“Tooru-” ‘-I’m glad we’re talking again’

Oikawa could feel his heart go erratic, longing for whatever that is on your mind. Voice it out, he thought. Voice it out. But you don’t

“Tooru-” ‘-how come I still like you?’

That night, everyone is staying over at Oikawa’s house except for you. It would be weird considering you’re the only girl and your parents didn’t let you. But here you were, shivering in the cold as you knocked on the window outside Oikawa’s room. He was there because it was him who called you out at 2 in the morning, begging you to come. You shouldn’t have come but you couldn’t really resist him. Not even after all these years. Not even after convincing yourself to move on from him.

You’re whipped and you’re annoyed by it.

‘He’s a jackass’ You think as he holds your hand to support you down ‘He shouted at you. Never apologized, rejected you before you even had a chance to confess. He’s an annoying son of a bitch’

Your heart flutters when you stumble against his chest, Oikawa holding you by the shoulders to steady you “You’re cold” He says, his breath raining down on your hair. His breath was hot and your cheeks turned warm.

You fought the urge to look up at him but when he wrapped a blanket around you, your eyes unconsciously made its way to his face to see he was glowing red despite the darkness of his room.

“The others are in the living room” He says, pulling you down with him on his bed. Shuffling of sheets echoed around the room as Oikawa dived under the blanket. He had his arm under you while his other pulled you to his chest. He kept his arms around you, his chin on your head as you flushed yourself to his chest.

You could feel his heart, beating its way out of his chest. His heart slowly lulling you to sleep. He called out your name. You reluctantly pulled your head away from his chest and looked up at him “Hm?”

Oikawa bite his tongue, mulling over the words in his head. Should he tell you right now? What would your reaction be? He doesn’t want to hurt you again. He doesn’t want to repeat the same mistakes. He doesn’t want this moment to stop. For the world to pause and let him hold you close to him.

He thinks it over - deciding he should tell you soon. But not know. Not when your cheeks are red, your half-lidded eyes glossy as you gazed at him longingly. Oikawa leans in, planting a soft kiss to your forehead that tells you exactly what he feels. You could feel yourself shrink under the affection.

You didn’t notice that you fell asleep. Did not know that his eyes scanned every nook and crevices of your face. How beautiful you looked to him. How you would always be the prettiest in his eyes. How he looked at you so utterly and deeply in love it hurts to know that the time is ticking.

Oikawa brushes the strand of hair on your face, pushing it behind your ears in an agonizingly slow pace. He takes his time feeling your skin, placing his lips on your forehead and falls asleep with your warmth wrapped against his.

After that night, you and Oikawa grew more affectionate with each other. Sure, you still banter. That would never change. But there was a shift in the air and you knew there was something in there. But neither of you admitted anything. Still friends but much more than just that. Nothing was official and no one acknowledged the elephant in the room.

And you were glad it was never official. Because after graduation, Oikawa’s mom threw a party for him. A graduation party. A farewell party.

It seems like night brings out the intimacy that the morning shies away. Oikawa had led you to the playground behind your house. You remembered playing here with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, practicing volleyball as always.

You climbed up the slide and sat down at the top, letting your feet dangle on the edge. Oikawa sat beside you, his long legs dangling down beside yours. You studied the difference and smiled to yourself.

“I’m going to Argentina” He says, refusing to look at you. His hands are pulled into a fist, trembling. You placed your hand on top of his, his shaking stops as he finally looks your way “That’s great” You said, and you mean it.

He smiles at you but it doesn’t reach his eyes. So you held his cheeks, head tilting to the side “It has always been your dream, Tooru. I can’t believe it’s finally happening”

“It’ll be hard” You snort “Of course. It’s Argentina dude. Japan is still miles away from their skills” Your eyes glint at that, giving Oikawa a determined smile “But we’ll beat you, just you wait”

“I’ll win first” And he means it. You laugh, hand dropping from his cheeks “I’ll look forward to it”

Oikawa gazes at you with so much adoration in his eyes. You were the only person who didn’t tell him his plans were stupid. And he loves you for that.

“I love you” he was the first to crack. Your cheeks turn red, expression shy at his intense gaze “I-I love you too” You stutter, a bit overwhelmed.

Oikawa chuckles “You’re cute” His words don't really help to die down the red in your cheeks. In fact, it only worsens it “Shut up” You grumble indignantly and he laughs.

“Hey, will you be my girlfriend?” At this, you looked at him with a sad smile.

“We can’t” Oikawa knew your answer before he even asked. But he didn’t expect the pain would hurt that much.

“Can’t we try?” His voice is painful and it broke your heart to see him so broken “Tooru” He looks at you pleadingly and he speaks

“I think I've been in love with you all this time. But to be honest-” He bitterly chuckles “-I was envious of you more than I liked you"

"And that's why it's a no" you smiled sadly.

"You love volleyball, Tooru. More than anything else. More than you. More than me" The atmosphere was somber. Until a thought passed by your mind and you tittered.

"More than milk bread" The both of you giggled.

"Yeah...more than milk bread"

Neither of you moved. Not even when the sun rose from its sleep and in a few hours, he'll leave.

He'll leave.

And you have to let him go. Even though he's right there beside you. So close yet so far away. He's there and he loves you. But for his dreams. For him.

You let him go.

And then he's gone. On the other side of the world, thousands and millions of miles away from you. And you regret the three years that could've been so much more if the two of you hadn't been so stupid and so prideful.

And just like that, years and years passed. Both Oikawa and Iwaizumi left abroad and only you stayed. Though you did move to Tokyo and worked at a hospital for a few months until the opportunity to work as an assistant manager and physical therapist for MSBY Black Jackals came up. You could only thank the stars for connections. In this field, you only get a chance if someone in it knows you. And luckily for you, you know a ton of them from your years as a manager back in high school. 

It’s 2021 and 8 years have passed and you remained in contact with Oikawa. Though you don’t talk as much as you two now have your own separate lives. He has volleyball and you have your athletes. And of course, during the course of those 8 years, the both of you had dated several people. Some long term, some not so long. And inside those 8 years, you’ve finally convinced yourself you’ve moved on from Oikawa Tooru.

The olympics is this year and along with Iwaizumi, you were pulled in to be a manager and their physical therapist. You had made quite the reputation in the industry. What with your genius mind for volleyball, opponent teams that know you fear your analytical skills and your ability to use that knowledge for the benefit of your team. Really, all professional volleyball teams want you. It just so happens that it was MSBY Black Jackals that called you first.

Oikawa doesn’t know that you and Iwaizumi are part of the Japan team. And so when his team emerged, ready to face old rivals, Oikawa swore his eyes jumped at the sight of you and Iwaizumi.

Your heart swelled with pride, lips outstretched to a big smile. You’re proud of him, so so much.

You could only yelp when Oikawa sprinted towards you and pulled you and Iwaizumi in a tight hug. It’s been such a long time since you saw each other. And a thought passed by your head.

The three of you didn’t make it all in the nationals, but you sure did all go to the olympics.

When Japan lost and Argentina won, you didn’t find it in yourself to be sad. Instead, you were happy. Ecstatic. Euphoric. You’re so proud of everyone, of your teammates and rivals. To have made it this far, they were truly beyond just amazing.

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“You could stay with me” Oikawa says nonchalantly as he takes your bag from your hand, the hubbub of the crowd ringing in your ears as you exit the airport “My car’s right here” He tells you as you near a red sports sedan. Unlocking the car, he placed your bag at the backseat as you sat at the passenger's seat.

You’re in Argentina for the weekend for a seminar for sports physical therapists. Just two days, sure nothing could happen for such a short time.

“Nah, just drive me to a hotel” Oikawa gazed at you mischievously

“What? Afraid I’ll do something?” You threw a box of tissue at him “Shut up bitch” He laughed, taking a seat before starting the car “So you are” 

“Please” You scoff.

You ended up staying at his guest room.

His house is in an apartment - a kitchen, a couch, a TV, a fucking gym, and pictures on the wall. His apartment is surprisingly cozy, you noted. 

You dropped your phone on the bed, collapsing in fatigue. Your eyes were about to flutter shut when Oikawa’s voice boomed in the room “You should shower. Ya stinky from the flight” You rolled your eyes.

You reluctantly pushed yourself out of bed, passing by him and snatching the towel from his hands. You noticed he already changed into a shirt and shorts. You could see the outline of his muscles, lining down his chest. His thighs in view, you tried hard not to stare.

But of course, Oikawa being the ever asshole that he is, comments “Take a picture! It’ll last!”

Once shower was over, you fell down beside him on the couch, the television on in the sports channel. It’s Schweiden Adlers against Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets. You smiled thoughtfully at the sight of Ushijima and Goshiki on TV.

“What time tomorrow is your seminar again?” Oikawa asks, passing you the milk break from the coffee table. You took it “8 in the morning until 5” He hums, bread down his throat.

“Wanna go out after? My practice ends at the same time” You yawn “Sure”

True to his words, he picked you up from the university 30 minutes after five. Oikawa took you everywhere, to the beach, to a restaurant, to a park, even to a club. Which is probably why he’s dragging your drunk ass to his apartment at 1 am.

You slipped from his arms and landed on the floor with a thud “Shit” You heard him curse under his breath as he hurriedly closed the door behind him. You felt arms curl around yours causing you to giggle “That tingles”

“How can you get drunk from 2 glasses of vodka?” He mused but you only giggled at him. Oikawa glanced at the clock, 1:42 am. Sighing, Oikawa put a hand under your knees and back, carrying you bridal style to your room.

“Tooru” You exhaled, your hot breath sticking to his face as he laid you down gently on the bed. Gulping, Oikawa turned away, grabbing the blanket to put it over you. He felt your hand enclose his cheek, forcing his gaze to you.

Your cheeks are red, illuminated by the moon that is the only light source in the room. Your hair is a mess and your breath stinks of vodka. Your eyes are closing, hands collapsing on your side as you exhale, dropping your head on the pillow. Oikawa notes the way your eyelashes squint and the mole in your left eyelid. And suddenly, Oikawa felt like he was eighteen again.

You could feel his breath, hear his heavy breathing and you flutter your eyes open. You shrink under his gaze, lips parting unconsciously and Oikawa fought with all his might not to kiss you right there and then. His eyes are half-lidded, filled with desire, longing, and love.

Love. Suddenly, you’re not so drunk anymore.

“Tooru” You breathed out in a soft voice. As if something in him snapped, his lips zoomed into yours in a passionate heated kiss. You moan, slinging your arms on his nape, pulling him closer to you until he was in between your thighs.

“Tooru” You slipped out when he removed his lips on yours only to kiss you again. You could feel the heat of his skin on yours as you pulled and pulled him closer as humanly possible. 8 years flashed through your eyes and all you could think about was how good it feels to have his lips nipping on your neck.

He moans your name, fingers combing through your hair in a desperate attempt to feel all of you. He’s wanted you for so long he couldn’t think straight when he felt your hands dig under his shirt, the cold of your hands digging into his back. He groans, kissing you again in the lips before letting you slip his shirt off his shoulders.

You hum, pulling away to kiss his collarbone, hands feeling his chest down to his abdomen. You felt him tug your shirt and you giggled into his chest, taking your shirt off only for Oikawa to roam his hands on your back, to your front then to your chest. He pressed a soft peck on the flesh of your breasts that wasn’t covered by your bra and he looked up at you and asked “Are you sure?”

“Yes” You exhaled and that was all it took for Oikawa to push you gently deeper to the bed, enjoying the feeling of his fingers working its way down to your legs. He took off your pants, Oikawa took a deep breath at the sight of your cunt. He goes back up to you, nuzzling his head into your neck and whispers “God, the things you make me feel” He airly chuckles.

You took a hold of his cheeks, kissing his eyes, his nose then his lips “I love you”

“I love you too”

-

“God, I’m nervous” Oikawa starts, jumping lightly as he holds your hand. You rolled your eyes but a smile plastered on your face. You grin at him and he continues “I’ve been an idiot for a very long time-” He pauses and smiles

“-still am” You snort “-but a tad bit better now that I’m with you” A soft, endeared smile crept onto your lips

“I won’t say that I don’t regret all those years that I could’ve been with you. But we both know that was crucial and all that matters is that now I’m with you” His eyes shone and his lips creased into a smile that reached his ears

“I promise to never leave you,” he pushes the ring into your left ring finger “-not even death can do us apart” You hear your family and friends laugh in the background

“I will bother you every step of the way-” you could not help the roll of your eyes “-and love you for the rest of my life”

“Actually, scratch that. I’ll love you even when I die. I’ll love you in my next life. And the one after that, and the one after that. No matter how many times I reborn-” Oikawa takes your hands to his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his soft lips on your knuckles

“-I vow to find you and love you. Like I’ve always had and always will”

For all of your life, Oikawa Tooru has been a constant even at times you wish he wasn’t. There was a time you loathed him, a time you missed him, a time you forgot him, and a time you realized you will never stop loving him.

And as you stand before your creator, in front of your friends and family, promising to love each other till the end of time. The sound of “I do”s and cheers reverberating around the hall, as he kissed you with a tilt of his head. 

You fell in love all over again.

i suck at ending lines ajhbsnckl. i’ma edit this later when i ain’t tired AND hungry

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Firefly’s Glow Part 9/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4   Chapter 3: Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7  Chapter 4: Part 8 | Part 9  You are Here

From the Beginning: FF | AO3 Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix. This part ~  876 words –  Virgil, emotions. -----

For the record, Virgil did not storm off angrily; he walked emphatically. There was a difference, and Virgil was well in control of his own self despite the pressure building behind his eyes. He rubbed them raw on the way out of the lounge. Away from… whatever that was.

Virgil’s long strides were no match for Alan and Grandma, that second hesitation of a family divided all he needed to get a head start. Once he stepped away, his feet did the rest, leading him toward his studio, creating distance between himself and the situation, the fact that they thought Gordon had died, that his partner wouldn’t look at him and that he and their eldest brother had teamed up against him. That he was on his own to reconcile the hurt in his heart.

He marched past his easel and the half-painted canvas waiting upon it. The field of yellow sunflowers just starting to emerge upon the background of the Kansas sky was too dazzling to look at in that moment. The storm brewing beyond his windows was much more apropos. Their island paradise blurred beyond the large glass panes of his art sanctuary. Between the moisture stuck to his eyelids and the sprinkle tapping at the structure, he saw only a haze of grey.  

His shoulders shook with the effort to keep himself collected where he stood with one arm draped over his torso, clasping at the opposite wrist where he rubbed his fingertips over the protective flannel sleeve.  A heaving breath sucked in his pain, swallowed it down deep where he could keep it hidden in his gut.

It was about Gordon, really; he knew that.

But for all Virgil’s degrees in engineering and his medical licenses, for all the time he spent honing his skills protecting his brothers and learning what they needed by their body language not what came out of their mouth, and the time he dedicated towards helping Gordon in particular with his injuries, he didn’t have the skillset required to fix this strange, particular condition that had taken hold of their brother nor, it seemed, their relationship.

He needed to fix it.

Yet he still didn’t know what he did, what caused Gordon to treat him so harshly.

No, that was a lie. He knew why Gordon had hesitated in his presence; he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.  

The reality was that somewhere along the way, he’d lost Gordon’s trust. Whether it was the fact he couldn’t keep a steady hand to heal him properly in the medbay, or the fact that they couldn’t find him before he was injured and Thunderbird Two was too far behind, or the fact that Virgil had been so focused on the rescue that he hadn’t noticed Gordon being taken in the first place, or all of those reasons together, he didn’t know.

While Scott was the one that would be more inclined to lay the guilt thick on himself on the best of days, Virgil couldn’t sugar coat the response he’d gotten. It was enough for Virgil to not trust himself.

He didn’t blame him, and he knew trust couldn’t be earned overnight. It was one of the strongest forces in the world, but as fragile as pastels, powder disrupted with the smallest of vibrations, and once settled anew, it would never be as radiant.

And it would take time. Like the clouds rolling in, at their own pace, with the accompaniment of rain nudging the glass.

There was music on the edge of his fingers, pressure at his wrist where subconsciously he imprinted sonatas into his skin. Minor key. Because that was the song he felt his trapped piano cry out to him from the distant lounge.

He heard the footsteps cut through the song before the timid knock on the door.

“Virgil?” Alan called through the closed door. “Grandma wants to bake. Can you come help me? Please.”

Grandma baking was not a good sign; stress-baking was often the cause for when she mixed up baking powder and baking soda. It told him she was hurting. So was Alan. The “please” stabbed at him, reminding him that his family was in pain too and that he was only alone out of his own choosing. They didn’t have to leave when Gordon threw Virgil out, and yet they followed him anyway.

And he’d hidden.

“Coming!” He turned away from the growing storm and crossed the length of his studio in just a few long strides, opening the door to a red-eyed Alan who fell quickly into his arms.

“You ok?” the younger boy croaked into his chest before Virgil even had a chance to think.

He wrapped his arms around the smaller figure, pulled him closer, fingers enveloped in blond hair. Not the right blond. “Not really. You?”

“No,” Alan admitted. “I thought I lost a brother today.” He pulled away, with a sheepish shake of his head. “I needed that hug, wanted it to be his. You’re the closest to it at the moment.”

“How about one more?” This time the hug was for them, until the drifting smell of burning reminded them that they had both a kitchen to save and a Grandma to comfort. ----

[the-yearning-astronaut]

Tags by @scificrows EXCUSE me?? Did you have to hit me so hard with this??

Now my brain is racing with what ifs and what if MB didn't immediately have to deal with BE and their bullshit immediately after NE? What if it has a moment to itself. Just long enough for its brain to go ok but remember how ART was dead just hours earlier and remember how empty that felt? But also the rage? And then something just sorta... Snaps. Inside. And it finds itself somewhere with the overwhelming urge to... Do something. Anything. It thought it had worked through its grief when it tore open the Targets but apparently not because it wants to tear something to shreds again it wants to scream. there's a pressure building behind its eyes that finally bursts when it lets out a scream of rage before blindly swinging a fist at a bulkhead wall only to stop a breath away from making contact. And it stands there, breathing heavily for no FUCKING reason, and it relaxes its fist and places its palm (gently, so gently) against the wall. And that's when the pressure breaks and its leaking lubricant fluid from its eyes (not TEARS ffs its not human) and it slumps against the wall, forehead pressing into it as it slides limply to the floor, where it curls up into a tight ball, pressing itself against the solid metal, feeling the rumble of ARTs engines.

And that's when ART realizes something is wrong. It had so much of its focus on its crew (safe and whole and ALIVE and back where they belong) and on the BE ship and the planet below that somehow it didn't notice (how didn't it notice?) what was happening to MB until it felt its feed activity spike suddenly and terribly before dropping out to barely more than a whisper. And then ART pulls abruptly out of the community feed without so much of a warning leaving its crew stunned. But it's already raced through the feed to find MB in less than a fraction of a second because it nearly lost this stupid little idiot of a SecUnit already and had it missed some part of the alien contamination? Had it not been thorough enough and now MB was hurt and dying and it would NOT lose it it couldn't --

And then it's there and pouring itself into the connection between it and Murderbot and it has so little context for these sorts of organic emotions that are drowning everything else out but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because it can still recognize the hurt and pain and under it all is Murderbot's feed presence curled as tightly as its physical body. And ARTs an asshole it knows it is but it's also a teacher and a caretaker and it's perfectly capable of being calmer and softer if it needs to. So that's what it does. It slows down and eases slowly and quietly into the feed, brushing up against the glitching ball of code barely holding itself together. It pings a query at it and MB's glitching hiccups to a stop before unfurling and wrapping what it can of itself around ART. And ART freezes because it had intended to send some banter at MB to draw it out and distract it but now MB is clinging to it and ART is sure it has no idea how much of itself is leaking through their shared feed. There's nothing coherent here just mess of haphazardly tagged emotional variables and ART is highly intelligent and has an unfathomable amount of processing capabilities but it's still learning emotions and handling them this way is not at all the same has caring for its humans and so it spends 2.78 seconds in a stunned stupor before gently (carefully -- it's only just realizing how small MB really is in this state and how completely vulnerable and how simple it would be to just... Smother it into oblivion) curling around MB.

There's little warning before MB drops out of the feed and the only reason ART doesn't lose its metaphorical shit is because it had just queried MB for a status update and received it right before [performance reliability: <12.7%] [involuntary shutdown initiated] appeared. It withdraws some of itself to take over some of the nearby cameras, needing to physically check on MB now that it's, for lack of a better term, passed out. It's still curled on the floor but its body has relaxed in the bizarre way construct bodies relax -- rigid and sharp where the inorganic framework is most prevalent and soft and pliable everywhere in-between. The autonomic functions controlled by its organic neural network are still working -- its chest rises and falls, rises and falls and it's unexpectedly reassuring for ART to watch, which it does while quickly determining which of MBs humans it should contact to provide a status update to (It settles on those designated as Ratthi and Amena) while also directing a few of its service bots to this corridor to move MB to a private cabin. It's easy enough to infer that MB would hate being found in this vulnerable state; shutting down due to losing 56% of its internal fluids and 32% of its organic components is one thing but shutting down due to emotional distress is something else entirely.

The entire incident is over in less than 2.5 minutes.

When Murderbot reboots some 6hrs later, it startles upright in a panic but ART is instantly there, warm and close and loud within their feed connection. MB sends it an aimless ping, which ART immediately responds to before sending over a data packet that includes a detached and clinic (but not impersonal) report on what had happened in addition to a status update of every human and augmented human on board. MB sits there reading through it, its processers frustratingly (and embarrassingly) slower than normal, by 0.87%. It grows increasingly uncomfortable and it hates that. But ART doesn't say anything. No asshole comments, no snide remarks. No teasing. MB starts to hate that too but before it can work itself up into a defensive rage, ART pings it gently, reassuringly, before leaning against MB and pulling up their shared workspace.

Murderbot is wary at first and still uncomfortable, but it slowly relaxes enough to turn to the data files ART has pulled up about BE and begins to work.

They don't talk about the incident. But they don't really need to, either.

"If this was really ART, then where the hell was it? I sent a ping. It was almost like it echoed in the empty feed, like the giant presence that should be here was just... absent. Like the heart of the ship was hollow."

Okokokokokok

[dimigex]

New Altered Reality Chapter!

A03 / FF 

I think it’s been like . . two years since I updated this story XD oops. The story is linked at the top if you want the full chapter and/or story. This is only a portion of the new chapter because it’s over 6k words 

"Why don't you go train for a little while? It might take your mind off things." Rin made the suggestion as gentle as possible, ignoring the frustration that seethed just beneath the surface of her calm. She wanted the apartment to herself for a few hours and desperately needed Kakashi to stop fussing over her. Then, she'd be able to relax the way that she was supposed to. The man's constant attention put her on edge.

Since the doctor's appointment four days ago, Kakashi had been acting like a brooding hen. When Rin stood up to get her book from the bedroom, he'd jumped to his feet and offered to go instead. He didn't want her standing long enough to cook or clean, so he'd taken over those duties as well. While Kakashi was decent in the kitchen, he'd kept everything bland and refused to add any salt to the dishes. If the man mentioned her blood pressure one more time, Rin was fairly certain that hers would rise to dangerous levels when she yelled at him.

At Rin's words, Kakashi glanced up from the book in his lap. The man's brow furrowed as he marked his place with a finger. "What if you need something while I'm gone?"

"Then, I'll get it myself," Rin answered. She moderated her tone to placating rather than annoyed. It was more difficult than she expected. "I'm hardly an invalid, you know?"

"The doctor said you needed rest." Kakashi argued for the umpteenth time, as if Rin had forgotten it, as if he would give her a chance to forget it.

Rin held up her hand to stop Kakashi's next arguments before they could form. Slowly, she counted to five under her breath. The idea of laying in bed or on the couch for even one minute longer made her physically ill. She had done everything that she was supposed to: drinking glass after glass of water to keep herself hydrated, keeping the lights dim and the room quiet, resting on her left side whenever possible. There had been a dozen tiny things that might make a difference, or might not.

While that scenario would sound like a dream for some women, to Rin, it was a nightmare. She missed the days when training and missions kept her mind and body racing. When she was in the village, Rin kept herself busy wherever the hospital needed an extra set of hands. She hadn't chosen her specialization yet, but she was leaning toward pediatrics. Most medical nin worked in triage and emergencies, but there were plenty of quiet days as well. Rin liked the idea of helping children feel better rather than focusing on battle injuries.

Rin realized that her mind had drifted from the topic at hand and brought her eyes back to Kakashi. She couldn't help but appreciate the changes in her husband in the past few days, even when they annoyed her. In some ways, he was more like himself and others, he was totally different. Rin could manage the symptoms of her pregnancy; she'd done that when morning sickness left her more or less living on the bathroom floor for two months. But, she couldn't handle the hovering worry that radiated off of Kakashi.

"Why don't you go see if Minato has an update on your team?" Rin suggested, pushing into a sitting position.

Apprehension entered Kakashi's eyes. The man still hadn't been able to explain his nervousness over the chunin exams, no matter how much he tried. Rin almost felt bad for bringing up the memory, almost. Team Seven was the only distraction that could get Kakashi out of her hair for an hour or two. Sensing the man's wavering resolve, Rin pushed. "I'm just going to take a bath anyway. A cool one," Rin amended when Kakashi opened his mouth. He had been reading one of her many books about the dos and don't of pregnancy; Rin wished that she'd thrown them out once she finished.

"I'm sure he would have sent someone if there was news," Kakashi countered. His voice lacked its usual certainty, however. He wanted to know what was happening with his students as much as Rin wanted some time to breathe.

Rin nodded, running a hand through her hair. "Probably, but it would be good for you to get your mind off this mess." She gestured around the apartment. "Besides, if I need you, I can create a clone to find you. I still know how to do some things."

Over the past few months, Rin had been developing her chakra control. Once her pregnancy had been confirmed, she'd been removed from active duty. With missions off the table, she spent more time at the hospital. Even so, Rin was only permitted to assist with certain cases, so she spent her free time working through exercises that improved her control. Hopefully, that would allow her the freedom to study more medical ninjutsu after the baby was born. If she'd learned anything from being on a team with hotheaded Obito and reckless Kakashi, it was that a medic was always necessary.

"You promise you'll come find me if you need anything?" Kakashi's voice held a note of uncertainty that surprised Rin. When she nodded, he tucked a strip of cloth into the book on his lap and placed it on the table. "I won't be gone long, but maybe you're right. I'm sure there are rumors about teams finishing the second exam by now."

"Take your time," Rin offered, schooling her face to impassivity. If she looked hopeful at the free time, Kakashi would see the trap. He stood, stretching the stiff muscles in his back, then glanced in her direction. A slight frown appeared on his face.

He's debating whether or not to kiss me, Rin realized with a start. While Kakashi had changed significantly over the past few days, the hesitancy about displaying emotions with her remained. Honestly, it didn't bother Rin as much as his lost memories did. Kakashi had always been private and reserved with his affections. Deciding to meet him halfway, Rin caught his hand with hers and squeezed. Kakashi exhaled in relief.

"Go on," Rin prompted, dropping her fingers away. "I'll be good, I promise."

A smile tugged at the corners of Kakashi's mouth as he stepped closer. To Rin's surprise, he leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. An unfamiliar explosion of heat washed through her chest at the gesture. "I'll bring dinner home," Kakashi continued, completely unaware of the effect he had on her. "Don't even think of trying to make it while I'm gone."

"Promise," Rin laughed, hoping that her smile disguised the fact that she had just been considering that very thing.

When the door shut behind Kakashi, Rin glanced at the calendar on the wall. She calculated how much longer she'd have to endure Kakashi's worrying before life could get back to normal. If everything went perfectly, they would meet their son in twelve weeks; Rin could hang on that long. She didn't have a choice.

When a brief knock sounded on the office door, Minato glanced up from the paperwork in his hand. Shikaku slipped through before he had time to answer, and Minato's heart leaped into his throat. "Has there been news?"

The second chunin exam was coming to a close, and there still hadn't been any word of Naruto's team. Minato knew that his son and his teammates were talented shinobi, but the exams were designed to be taxing. He'd seen just as many groups fail because of bad luck as poor skill. With the relative peace in the shinobi nations, fewer genin were advanced to the next rank. Minato agreed with the changes, but he could still remember all too well how quickly the ninja wars had started.

Shikaku shook his head as he shut the door behind him. "None about Team Seven."

Minato understood what the man wasn't saying; there were more important things to worry about than Naruto's advancement. Shikaku's son was also competing in the exams, he had to be wondering about the same things as Minato, but Shikaku remained detached. He stayed focused on the other matters that required his attention to keep the village running. Shikaku had been an excellent pick as Minato's second in command, and Minato didn't know what he would do without him most days.

Dipping his head in understanding, Minato pressed a thumb and forefinger against his eyes to stave off a headache. It had been a stressful week. When he wasn't torn between worries over Kakashi's memory and Naruto's performance, Minato had been dealing with chaos of having multiple villages together. There had been half a dozen fights to break up, tempers that needed soothing, and the exhaustion of hosting delegates. He cringed. "What is it this time? A broken nose over which kage is the strongest? Blood feud over the death of a distant relative? A comment taken the wrong way?"

"None of the above." Shikaku didn't crack a smile at Minato's attempted levity. Whatever he had come to say must be bad. Minato waited in silence. "I wasn't sure what to make of the report, so I brought it to you immediately. Someone made an attempt against the village barrier."

Minato shifted, mind flashing back to Kakashi's warning about Orochimaru. Even so, he forced himself to think logically rather than responding with a knee jerk reaction. "Did the Anbu tasked with that portion of the village find anything out of the ordinary? Which team was it?"

Again, Shikaku shook his head. "Obito's team deemed it a false alarm, something bound to happen with this many foreigners in the village."

Minato nodded without answering. Technically, his advisor shouldn't know the names of the men and women in Anbu, but Obito's presence hadn't been easy to hide, especially from someone who worked closely with Minato. Shikaku had been an effective jonin commander because he knew the strengths and weaknesses of every jonin in the village. There were few who weren't under his purview at some point, but Minato had no doubt that the man knew them as well. He wouldn't be good at his job if he didn't.

"Was there any evidence to suggest otherwise, anything at all?" Minato hated asking the question, but he couldn't afford to be lax with village safety during the chunin exams. There had been too many warnings to write this off as a coincidence. Though, he knew that if Shikaku had more information, he would have supplied it already.

Shikaku's sigh spoke volumes. He'd been under the same pressure as Minato the past couple of weeks. "No, everything appears to be in order."

Minato wondered if Shikaku had been thinking about Kakashi's warning when he brought that message. As much as Minato wanted to, he hadn't been able to keep that solely between himself and Inoichi. He relied on Shikaku too much to withhold such critical information. Even so, he held back as much as he could about Kakashi's memory loss. Until he figured out the cause, the less that everyone else knew, the better.

Tapping long fingers against the polished wood of his desk, Minato considered. He wanted to hear the report from his Anbu, but that would require summoning Obito. Or, perhaps, he could get by with asking Tenzo about it. The remorse that Obito had shown for what he did to Kakashi wasn't enough; the boy needed to realize that his behavior would not be tolerated. Minato decided to summon Tenzo once Shikaku left and get the full report on the disturbance. Though, he suspected it was a false alarm.

Sensing that he'd only skimmed the surface of Shikaku's reports, Minato nodded. "What else?"

A wry grin twisted the jonin's commander's face as he glanced down at the notes in his hand. "Uchiha Fugaku has requested a private meeting with you." Minato's eyebrows rose at that, wondering who Fugaku would want to talk about, one of his sons or Obito. It wasn't like the clan head to meet with Minato for something minor.

Minato dipped his head in understanding, then Shikaku continued his thought. "He requests a private meeting in the Uchiha compound."

The locale didn't surprise Minato. Fugaku must have found out something about the mystery surrounding Kakashi, but it wasn't something he wanted to risk being overhead. Which meant that it probably touched on some clan secret. Having the Hokage come to the compound instead of the other way around would raise the clan's opinion of Fugaku, at least. There were still some people, particularly in the Uchiha clan, who wished that Fugaku had become Hokage instead of Minato. Hopefully the man's information would be worth the hassle.

Minato glanced at the clock. It wasn't quite noon, and he was already longing for home. "When am I supposed to be there?"

Shikaku consulted his notes to be sure he was correct before speaking. "Tonight. Your schedule was too full to allow time during the day, and with the second exam ending in the morning, there wasn't another opportunity."

Fugaku didn't want to wait that long, Minato realized after a moment. He dipped his head in understanding; there were a million loose ends that needed to be tied up before the final exam could begin. Even problems as important as this one had to wait. Minato rubbed at his temples in frustration, then gestured for Shikaku to continue. "What else?"

(Full chapter and story available on A03 and FF, linked at top of the post)

[novaursa]

Where Dragons Dare (2/3)

- Summary: After your declaration to marry Alicent in the small council meeting, the day of the wedding finally comes. And so does your first wedding night.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️ Battle of the Stepstones is add as a bonus, because I love writing dragon battles. The last part will be posted later tomorrow once it is done.

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

The grand hall of the Red Keep is awash with the glow of thousands of candles. The flames dance across golden tapestries depicting the histories of Old Valyria, but today the storied past pales in comparison to the momentous occasion unfolding before all in attendance. The wedding is one spoken of in whispers and rumors, but now it blooms before the gathered lords and ladies with all the splendor and gravitas worthy of House Targaryen. 

You stand at the altar draped in black and red, the rich silk of your doublet catching the light in subtle ways. The fine Valyrian embroidery at the hems speaks of dragons in flight, each thread imbued with dark crimson that shimmers like fresh blood. A black cloak, edged in deep scarlet, flows from your shoulders, fastened at your throat with a clasp shaped like a coiled dragon. Your hair, the silvery-white of pure Valyrian descent, is tied back, letting your angular features and sharp violet eyes take in every gaze, every emotion displayed openly or hidden away. At your side hangs Blackfyre—your birthright as Prince of Dragonstone—its pommel set with a ruby that gleams like a beating heart.

Before you, Alicent Hightower stands radiant in a gown of deep emerald green. The dress, fitted perfectly to her frame, billows out in layers of silk and fine lace, each shimmering with golden accents as she moves. A delicate crown of silver leaves and pearls rests atop her auburn hair, carefully arranged in elegant curls. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of brown, reflect a mixture of pride, joy, and the quiet steel she’s honed under the pressures of courtly life. There is a softness in her gaze, however, reserved only for you as her eyes meet yours—a silent understanding, a shared relief, and a promise of what is to come.

The Septon's voice rings out, leading the words of the traditional vows. Beside you, Rhaenyra is practically glowing with excitement. Her smile is unrestrained, her eyes darting between you and Alicent with genuine happiness, a sister’s joy at seeing her twin brother embrace his own fate. She wears a gown of pale red, adorned with the colors of House Targaryen and a crown of silver atop her flowing locks, her presence radiating confidence as the heir’s sister and a firm ally to your cause. 

King Viserys is seated in a place of honor, his face full of warmth and pride. His smile is wide as he watches his only son wed the woman who has become a daughter to him over the years. He has the contented look of a father who finally sees his children happy, a rare expression in a court filled with ambition and schemes. He lifts his cup in a subtle toast to you and Alicent, his eyes misting over slightly with emotion.

Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, stands near the rear of the gathered nobles, his silver hair catching the light as he observes the ceremony. His expression is inscrutable, but those who know him well enough can see the slight curve at the edge of his lips, the way his gaze sharpens whenever it falls upon you. For all his unpredictability, there is a flicker of pride there—a satisfaction, perhaps, that you finally asserted yourself against the forces that sought to control you. Daemon has always favored those who carve their own path, and today you have done just that.

As the ceremony draws to a close, you step forward to place a cloak upon Alicent’s shoulders, the symbol of House Targaryen enveloping her as you claim her as your own. The green of House Hightower blends now with the red and black of the dragon, a union that cements alliances but more importantly binds two hearts that have long yearned for this day. When you lean in to kiss her, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way her lips meet yours, and the hall erupts in applause, though the world shrinks to just the two of you in that fleeting moment.

As the applause dies down, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, watches with a carefully controlled expression. His eyes flicker between you and Alicent, a mixture of satisfaction and unease buried beneath his calm demeanor. Though this is a victory for him in securing his daughter’s position, there’s a tension in his jaw—he had hoped to control this outcome more closely, but you’ve slipped from his grasp, a dragon untamed. He studies you with the gaze of a man who sees both a rival and a dangerous ally.

At the feast, Rhaenyra approaches you first, practically throwing herself into your arms. "You did it, Y/N! I knew you would," she beams, her joy infectious. "Alicent looks so beautiful, and you—you were magnificent. I’ve never seen the council so speechless!" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "And Uncle Daemon, I think he’s actually proud of you for once."

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around your sister. “He probably is. But I didn’t do this for him or the council. This was always for her.” Your gaze drifts back to Alicent, who’s engaged in conversation with a group of highborn ladies, her laughter soft and genuine.

Viserys claps a hand on your shoulder. "You’ve brought honor to our house, Y/N. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. Your mother would be so proud, too." His voice carries a slight tremor as he mentions Queen Aemma, but it is quickly overshadowed by his joy.

You offer him a warm smile. "Thank you, father. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that this union strengthens our house."

Daemon is the next to approach, a goblet in hand and that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "I didn’t think you had it in you, nephew," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you’d let others chart your course forever. But you’ve surprised us all, haven’t you?"

You meet his gaze squarely, your own smile more restrained but no less confident. "Some paths are worth fighting for, uncle. Even if they’re not what others expect."

Daemon raises his cup in a mock salute. “Spoken like a true Targaryen. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than I thought.”

The feast carries on with music, laughter, and the clinking of cups. You and Alicent share dances with the lords and ladies of the realm, but every now and then, your eyes find each other’s, and the world falls away again, leaving just the two of you in this sea of people.

When you finally manage to steal a private moment with her in a quiet corner of the hall, she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I was so afraid,” she admits in a hushed voice, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Afraid that we’d never be able to reach this moment. But here we are.”

You brush a strand of hair from her face, letting your hand linger against her cheek. “You’re mine now, Alicent. I’ll fight for you, for us, against anyone who tries to tear us apart.”

A flicker of relief passes through her expression, followed by a warmth that softens her usually reserved emotions. “And I’ll stand by you, no matter the storm we face.”

The words hang between you like an unspoken vow—one more binding than anything recited before the Septon. 

The night deepens as the feast continues, a blur of music and the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the ornate dishes piled with food. Laughter and the sound of clinking goblets fill the Great Hall. You and Alicent sit side by side at the high table, your hands occasionally brushing against each other beneath the table. The touch is small, but each time it happens, there’s a comforting warmth, a silent reassurance between the two of you. Alicent’s soft smile, reserved just for you, never quite fades from her lips.

As you’re enjoying a brief moment of quiet conversation, the sound of footsteps approaches. Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, strides up, his eyes bright with joy. "Sister! Y/N!" he greets, his voice tinged with the exuberance of youth. His resemblance to Alicent is striking, though his features are more angular, his posture that of a man eager to prove himself. "I couldn’t let the night end without offering my congratulations." He gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder, his grin broad. "It’s about time someone put a spark in this old court! You’ve done well, my friend. I’ve known you since we were boys, and I’ve always believed you’d find your way."

You return his grin, reaching out to clasp his forearm in the familiar gesture of comrades. "Gwayne, your support has never gone unnoticed. I’ve always valued your friendship, even when we got ourselves into trouble as children. But I think this time, we’ve both stepped into something greater than mischief.”

Gwayne chuckles. “You certainly have, Y/N. And Alicent—” He turns to his sister, his tone softening with genuine affection. “I’ve never seen you look happier. I’m glad you’ve found this happiness, even if I’ll be the one who has to keep a closer eye on courtly matters with you from now on.”

Alicent smiles warmly at her brother, her hand gently resting over yours atop the table. “Thank you, Gwayne. Your words mean more to me than you know. And don’t worry, we’ll both make sure to keep you busy in your duties, though perhaps with fewer pranks than when we were children.”

The three of you share a laugh, the ease of old friendships and sibling bonds lightening the mood.

Soon after, the familiar figures of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys approach. The Sea Snake is every bit the powerful figure one expects, his deep blue doublet adorned with intricate silver embroidery resembling the waves of the sea. Rhaenys is resplendent in crimson and gold, her presence commanding yet warm. There’s a certain wisdom in her gaze as she looks between you and Alicent, as if she sees beyond what most do.

“Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent,” Corlys begins, his voice deep and steady. “Congratulations are in order. The union of Targaryen and Hightower is a strategic move, and one I hope will bring stability to the realm. But more than that, it’s clear to see the bond you share.” His eyes linger on you, a hint of approval in his expression. “And perhaps this is the start of a new chapter where the young find their own path amidst the expectations of the old.”

Princess Rhaenys nods, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “It is good to see love and strength walk hand in hand. The history of our houses has often been marked by conflict, but this—” she gestures subtly between you and Alicent, “—this has the potential to change much. You both carry the future on your shoulders now.”

You bow your head slightly in respect. “Thank you, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys. Your wisdom is always welcome. I hope to earn that respect in time and prove that this union is more than just a political move.”

Rhaenys’ eyes glint with something sharp and approving. “Oh, I believe you will, Y/N. The blood of Old Valyria runs deep, and you’ve shown you’re willing to chart your own course. I, for one, look forward to seeing what comes next.”

As they step away, Lord Tyland Lannister, clad in rich reds and golds, approaches next. His sharp features and keen eyes give away his nature as a man ever mindful of the shifting tides of power. “Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent, it is a joyous day indeed.” His voice is smooth, practiced, yet there’s an undercurrent of genuine intent behind his words. “House Lannister is ever eager to lend its support to the Targaryen line. May your union be fruitful and prosperous. It seems the dragons have found a way to blend strength with the grace of the Reach.”

You nod, ever cautious with Tyland’s honeyed words. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. Your support will be remembered, and I hope our alliance will benefit all corners of the realm.”

He offers a slight bow before moving off, ever mindful of where the winds blow.

The feast begins to wind down, and as tradition demands, there is the looming expectation of the bedding ceremony. The air in the hall thickens with the anticipation of it. Some lords and ladies begin to gather, murmuring and glancing toward you and Alicent with barely hidden excitement. The tension, the ribald jokes, the whispers—it all threatens to reduce the sanctity of this moment to a spectacle.

Before anyone can make a move to initiate it, you rise to your feet, the air of command in your posture silencing the crowd before the teasing can begin. “There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” you declare, your voice clear and firm, leaving no room for argument. The hall quiets instantly, the murmur of protests caught in the throats of those who thought to see the night end in such a manner.

Daemon, standing with arms crossed at the edge of the hall, lets out a low chuckle, his approval evident in the sharp nod he gives you. “Let the young prince make his own choices,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. “There’s enough spectacle in these halls without turning the most sacred of nights into another charade.”

The crowd hesitates, unsure whether to push the matter. But when you meet your father’s gaze, Viserys nods slowly, an expression of both surprise and respect on his face. Otto Hightower, who had been watching with tension in his eyes, finally relaxes, a subtle sigh escaping him. His face settles into an expression that resembles something close to approval, a rare look from a man who values tradition and order above all.

Alicent looks at you with deep gratitude and admiration, her fingers squeezing yours as she stands. You turn to her, your expression softening as you offer her your arm. “Shall we retire, my lady?” you ask, your voice laced with tenderness.

She dips her head slightly, eyes shimmering with emotion. “Let’s,” she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper as she takes your arm.

Together, you walk down the long aisle toward the doors leading out of the Great Hall, every eye on you both as you leave. There is a certain weight lifted from your shoulders as the doors close behind you, the noise of the hall fading as you enter the quieter, more intimate corridors of the Keep.

As you walk side by side toward your chambers, the echoes of your footsteps and the distant flicker of torchlight create an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Neither of you speaks, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the knowledge that this is just the beginning. When you reach the doors to your shared chambers, you pause, turning to face her fully. You lift her hand to your lips and press a soft kiss to her knuckles, your eyes never leaving hers.

“No more performances,” you murmur. “This is just us now.”

Alicent’s eyes shine as she steps closer, her other hand rising to rest against your cheek. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you, like this, away from prying eyes.”

With that, you open the door and guide her inside, the world outside forgotten as the heavy oak doors close behind you both, sealing away the courtly intrigue and the expectations of the realm. In this moment, it’s just you and her, bound together by choice, love, and a shared determination to forge your own destiny.

The chamber is bathed in the soft light of the fire, shadows flickering across the stone walls as the door closes behind you both. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but full with the awareness of what comes next. For all the warmth you share, the affection that’s blossomed over years of quiet moments and unspoken glances, this is new for both of you. The air is tinged with the sweet fragrance of candles, the soft rustle of fabric as you both stand there, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

You turn to face her, meeting Alicent’s gaze. There’s a nervousness in her eyes, a slight quiver in her breath, but beneath it lies trust, and something more—desire, hesitant but real. You step closer, reaching out to take her hands in yours, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gentle, soothing motion. “Alicent,” you murmur, your voice softer than usual, tinged with both affection and concern. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready—”

“I am,” she interrupts softly, her voice a tender whisper in the quiet of the room. Her cheeks flush pink, but her eyes never leave yours. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

You nod, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Slowly, you lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss, tender and delicate. Her lips are warm against yours, the kiss a gentle exploration rather than a fervent rush. You both linger in the simplicity of it, letting it ease the tension from your bodies. When you pull back, you see her chest rise and fall as she steadies her breath, her eyes searching yours for reassurance.

Your hand moves to the clasp of her dress, fingers hesitating for a moment before you look at her once more. “May I?” you ask softly.

She nods, her voice catching slightly. “Yes… I want you to.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp and let the fabric slip from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath. The dress pools at her feet, and she stands before you in just her shift, delicate and vulnerable. Her eyes flicker down, shyly avoiding your gaze as you take her in. In turn, she reaches out, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unlace your doublet. There’s an unspoken agreement between you—a mutual understanding that this moment is as much about trust as it is about desire. You help her with the laces, guiding her hands until your clothing is cast aside, leaving you both bare in the warm glow of the fire.

For a long moment, you simply stand there, your breaths mingling, your eyes tracing the curves and lines of each other’s bodies. There’s a sense of curiosity mixed with reverence, your gazes shyly meeting before drifting again, both of you learning and memorizing the sight of each other.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. Alicent’s breath hitches at the word, her eyes shining as she looks up at you, her lips parting as if to say something, but words fail her. Instead, she just reaches out, fingers brushing over your chest, her touch sending a shiver through you.

You gently take her hand and guide her toward the bed, the furs soft beneath your feet as you lead her down onto the mattress. You lay her down with the utmost care, your eyes never leaving hers, searching for any sign of discomfort. Her lips part as she draws in a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze is steady, trusting.

You lower yourself beside her, your hand caressing her cheek as you lean in to kiss her again. This time, the kiss is deeper, a gradual melding of lips as you both begin to relax into each other. Your hand trails down, brushing against her collarbone, then lower, until it rests just above her breast. You pause, your eyes flicking to hers for permission, and when she nods slightly, you continue, cupping her breast gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin. A soft gasp escapes her lips, her back arching slightly as you explore her.

“You’re so beautiful, Alicent,” you murmur against her lips, and she responds with a soft sigh, her hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer.

Your kisses begin to wander, trailing down her jawline, to the tender skin of her neck. You feel her pulse quicken under your lips, her breath growing more uneven as you move lower. When your mouth finds her breast, she gasps, her fingers threading through your hair. You take your time, savoring each reaction, each soft sound she makes as your lips and tongue explore her.

As you move lower, her breath catches, her fingers tightening in your hair when you kiss the curve of her hip. You glance up at her, seeing the mixture of nerves and anticipation in her eyes. She’s never experienced anything like this, and neither have you—not truly. But you remember the lessons Daemon half-teased, half-instructed you on during that one visit to the brothel, showing you the ways of pleasure in a more practical, if unconventional, manner. While you hadn’t partaken that night, you watched, curious, and the knowledge lingers now, guiding your movements.

You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she lets out a soft whimper, her fingers clutching at the furs beneath her. You murmur a line from an old Valyrian poem, the words ancient and filled with meaning, letting the sounds roll off your tongue as your kisses grow more intimate. “Gevives isse tolvie jelevre—beauty in every breath,” you whisper, your breath warm against her skin.

When your mouth finally finds her core, she gasps, her body tensing for a moment before she melts into the sensation, her hips shifting instinctively toward you. Her breath comes in shallow bursts, her hand gripping your shoulder as you apply what you’ve learned, taking your time, listening to the way her body responds. When she lets out a soft moan, her voice trembling with pleasure, you smile against her, murmuring another line from the poem—words of love and devotion that have been passed down through generations.

Slowly, you trail your kisses back up her body, feeling her trembling beneath you. Her hands reach for you, pulling you close, and when your lips find hers again, the kiss is hungry, filled with the taste of her desire and the passion that’s been building between you both.

You position yourself above her, your eyes locked on hers as you ask one last time, “Are you sure, Alicent?”

Her response is a breathless nod, her hand cupping your cheek as she whispers, “I want this. I want you.”

You enter her gently, inch by inch, mindful of her innocence, watching her every expression for any sign of pain. She winces slightly at first, her brow furrowing, but her fingers dig into your back, holding you close as she adjusts. When she finally opens her eyes again, there’s no hesitation, only trust. “Move,” she breathes, her voice barely audible, but full of need.

You start slowly, each movement careful, deliberate, letting her body adjust, her warmth enveloping you. Her breaths come out in soft, quick bursts, her nails dragging lightly across your skin as she holds on to you. The tension in her body gradually gives way to something else, her hips meeting yours in a rhythm that’s both instinctive and hesitant.

As the moments pass, the awkwardness gives way to a deeper connection. The tenderness remains, but passion begins to take root. Alicent’s breath hitches when she wraps her legs around your waist, her hands pulling you closer. You respond to her need, moving with more urgency as she finds her own rhythm, her body moving against yours in a dance that’s both new and timeless.

When she pushes herself up, shifting into your lap, there’s a sudden surge of boldness in her gaze, something wild and free. You guide her movements, your hands steadying her as she takes control, her breathless gasps mingling with your own. The intimacy between you grows not just in the physical connection but in the way you respond to each other’s needs, desires, and unspoken fears. It’s a union forged in trust, love, and the desire to explore the depths of what you share.

Eventually, when the night reaches its quiet peak, you collapse together into the furs, breathless and spent, your limbs entangled as you hold her close. Here, in this moment, there’s only the warmth of her skin against yours, the sound of her steadying breaths, and the knowledge that this is only the beginning of your shared life together.

As sleep slowly claims you both, you press a final kiss to her forehead, murmuring words of love in Valyrian, promising her with every breath that this night is just the start of what you’ll build together.

The sky is a bruised shade of twilight, thick with smoke and ash. The stench of blood, sweat, and salt fills the air as the waves crash against the jagged rocks of the Stepstones. This place is a wasteland—a battlefield stained with the bodies of the dead and dying. For over two years, the Crabfeeder’s men have held these islands, turning them into a butcher’s yard. But today, you intend to end it. Today, the dragons return in fire and fury.

You sit atop Dallax, your black-scaled beast, perched on a ridge overlooking the main encampment of the Triarchy’s forces. His green eyes gleam in the dim light, and his body shifts restlessly beneath you, eager to unleash his wrath. His teeth, hidden within the dark flesh of his jaws, retract only when his rage is stoked—a menace lying in wait. You run a gloved hand along his neck, feeling the raw power coiled within him. “Soon,” you whisper, your voice firm yet laced with anticipation. “We will end this.”

Below, Daemon Targaryen plays his part to perfection. Clad in soot-streaked armor, a white banner clutched in one hand, he approaches the enemy lines. The Crabfeeder’s forces, a mix of hardened sellswords and conscripts, watch from behind their sharpened stakes and crude fortifications, unsure whether this is truly surrender or another of Daemon’s ruses. The Prince of the City moves with a calculated slowness, his steps deliberate, his head lowered just enough to give the impression of defeat. But you know him better. There’s a fire in his eyes—a fury barely contained behind that facade of submission. The plan hinges on this moment, on the Crabfeeder’s arrogance and greed.

From your vantage point, you spot Lord Corlys Velaryon’s forces hidden in the shallows, ready to pounce the moment the trap is sprung. The Sea Snake commands his men with a veteran’s precision, their silence a stark contrast to the braying jeers coming from the Crabfeeder’s ranks.

Daemon finally stops, mere feet from the Crabfeeder’s line, where a grotesque figure emerges from the shadows. Drahar, the Crabfeeder, is a ghastly sight, his face hidden behind a cracked and twisted mask, his skin mottled from disease. He raises a hand, halting the jeers, and for a moment, silence reigns.

Then, chaos erupts.

Daemon’s false surrender is cast aside as he draws Dark Sister in a blur of Valyrian steel, cutting through the nearest soldier in one swift, practiced motion. Blood sprays into the air, catching the dim light as the battlefield roars back to life. The Triarchy’s soldiers charge forward, desperate to claim the prize they believe within reach, but they are rushing headlong into a trap.

It’s your moment.

With a word in Valyrian, you urge Dallax into a dive. His wings unfurl, dark as midnight, blotting out the dying light. The air screams past you as you plummet toward the battlefield, the ground rushing up to meet you. “Dracarys!” you roar, the command slicing through the din of battle.

Dallax responds with a torrent of flame that incinerates everything in its path. The first line of the Crabfeeder’s men is engulfed in a roaring inferno, their screams swallowed by the relentless fire. Armor melts, flesh sizzles, and bone turns to ash in mere moments. You bank sharply, pulling Dallax into another dive, this time focusing on the siege engines positioned along the ridge. The ballistae, meant to keep the dragons at bay, are shattered under the crushing weight of dragonfire and claws. Timber explodes, splinters raining down on the screaming soldiers below as you rip through their defenses with ruthless efficiency.

You catch a glimpse of Daemon, now fully engaged in the melee, his sword a blur of lethal grace as he carves a bloody path through the Triarchy’s forces. He fights with a savage joy, laughing as he dodges and counters, the battlefield his stage. Corlys and his men surge from the shallows, catching the enemy in a brutal pincer. The once-confident soldiers of the Crabfeeder are thrown into disarray, their lines crumbling under the combined might of dragon and steel.

You circle back, eyes locked on Drahar, who attempts to retreat deeper into the labyrinth of stakes and pits his men have constructed. But there’s no escape. You guide Dallax lower, skimming the ground, his claws gouging the earth as you close in on your prey. The Crabfeeder looks up in desperation, his eyes wide behind his mask as he realizes his end is near.

“End him!” Daemon’s voice echoes in your mind like a phantom’s dare, though the words are drowned out by the roar of battle.

Dallax’s jaws snap open, his teeth glinting as they slide out from their hidden sheaths. With a snarl, he lunges, clamping down on Drahar with a sickening crunch. The Crabfeeder’s mask falls away, revealing a twisted visage frozen in terror before his body is torn apart in a spray of blood and gore. Dallax shakes his head, flinging what remains of Drahar’s corpse into the dirt before incinerating it with a final jet of flame.

Around you, the battlefield is a scene of utter carnage. The ground is slick with blood, littered with the hacked remains of soldiers. Men scream, their limbs severed, or burn as they try to flee, only to be cut down by Corlys’s disciplined troops. The cries of the dying are a symphony of suffering, underscored by the relentless roar of flames. Dallax moves among the survivors like a shadow, crushing and burning any who dare to resist.

As the last pockets of resistance are snuffed out, you land amidst the ruins, stepping down from Dallax’s back. You scan the battlefield, taking in the broken fortifications, the piles of charred corpses, and the men who now kneel in surrender. Victory is yours. The Stepstones are won.

Daemon approaches, blood splattered across his armor, a wild grin on his face. “Well done, nephew,” he says, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I thought I might have all the fun, but you’ve stolen quite the show.” His eyes gleam with shared triumph, the bond between you strengthened through battle and bloodshed. “The Crabfeeder will feast no more.”

You smirk, wiping sweat and grime from your brow. “Someone had to keep you from getting killed. I couldn’t let you take all the glory.”

He laughs, the sound cutting through the dying echoes of the battle. “You’re learning. Perhaps there’s more of me in you than anyone cares to admit.”

As Daemon moves to rally the remaining men, your thoughts drift, carried away on the winds of victory. The image of Alicent appears in your mind—her gentle smile, the way her hand rests on the curve of her belly, swollen with the child she carries. You think of your son, Aegon, barely more than a year old, his bright eyes so full of curiosity. It is for them that you fight, for the future you intend to build, for the family you have claimed as your own.

The taste of blood and ash lingers on your tongue, but underneath it all is the yearning to return to them, to hold Alicent in your arms and feel the soft weight of your son as he rests against your chest. You think of how you will recount this victory to them—how Aegon will listen in awe, his little hands reaching out as if to grasp the tales of dragons and battles. You smile to yourself, imagining the way Alicent will scold you softly for the bloodshed, though you know she will be proud all the same.

“Soon,” you murmur to yourself, the words almost lost in the wind. “Soon I’ll be home.”

But for now, the battle is done, and the Stepstones are yours. The fires burn low as you gaze out over the broken landscape, your thoughts with your family, even as your dragon’s shadow stretches long over the conquered land, a reminder of the price of victory.

[ladylynse]

Chapter 12 [FF | AO3] of Whirlwind (SQ fic): Jake should be used to ominous predictions by now. Randy should know better than to blindly follow McFist. Adrien should think twice before sneaking away. And Danny should’ve expected something like this when he got that phone call.

Previous | Timeline post

-|-

7:46 PM

“Don’t come here,” Gabriel hissed. “If you’ve captured Chat Noir, simply take his Miraculous! I want that ring.”

“Bringing him to you while he wears his ring is the same as bringing his ring to you,” was her infuriatingly mild response. “Unless you care to revise the terms of our agreement and specify that you would like only his ring?”

Gabriel ground his teeth. He knew what she was trying to do. “Take his Miraculous,” he repeated. “I have no use for the boy. If you bring him here, his fate is on your head.”

He thought that would give her pause. Instead, she asked, “Are you so afraid of him?”

“I know you don’t like needless death, Dracona,” he snapped. “If you believe bringing him to me will save him, you are sorely mistaken.”

“You don’t want to know who he is?” she asked lightly. “For the next time he foils your plans?”

“There won’t be a next time if you give me his Miraculous this time.”

“How can you be so sure of that when he could face you using a different Miraculous?”

Gabriel stilled. How did she know that? He had never told her of the Miraculous beyond asking her to fetch Chat Noir’s, and he didn’t recall naming the ring as a Miraculous until now.

She must be guessing. She couldn’t know more.

He wasn’t willing to bet on that, though. She’d surprised him by having that blood magic of hers; he wasn’t about to assume she was ignorant of other magics. “We’ll meet on the rooftops, then. The former venue.” He didn’t want to make this concession, but she’d use a refusal against him. It was far better to meet her away from prying eyes than to have her find him where he stood now. Besides, he knew to be careful. She’d only captured Chat Noir; the other heroes he’d seen acting earlier were still out there, as was her son.

He suspected this was her new way of opposing him. She was still trying to bargain with him, trying to find loopholes in their agreement. Still thinking she could get the upper hand. No matter; he’d prove her wrong soon enough.

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?” He spoke slowly, letting his threat soak through the words at her audacity of trying to dictate more terms.

“Go to the roof of your hotel. I’ll find you.”

“I’m afraid—”

“You’re not from here, and this is hardly a residential district. You’re staying at a hotel nearby. Your first choice tells me that much.”

Gabriel let out a growl, and Dracona added, “Or would you prefer I come straight to your room?”

The cane in Gabriel’s grip trembled slightly, and he forced himself to relax. He didn’t want to let her know how much her insubordination irked him. “Very well.” Once he had Chat Noir’s ring, he could recall her akuma and be done with this. She may have inside knowledge of other magical artefacts that might be useful to him, but it was abundantly clear that she wouldn’t part with that knowledge if he didn’t have some leverage. He’d hoped Nooroo’s magic would be enough to keep her on a short leash, but if she could push back this much, he was better off declawing her.

Fortunately, while she wouldn’t remember the incident, he’d know everything she’d told him. That would have to be enough for him when he found his next target.

“Dark wings fall, Nooroo,” he said, letting the magic wash over him.

Nooroo appeared in front of him. “Is this wise, Master?”

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

“No, Master.”

“Then what more can you tell me of her magic? How she could possibly know about the Miraculous?”

Nooroo hesitated.

“Answer me.”

“These things are not meant to be spoken of, Master.”

“Consider this an exception.”

Nooroo swallowed. “Dragons believe themselves to be the protectors of the magical world. While the Order of the Guardians have striven for utmost secrecy themselves, it is likely the dragons are aware of the Miraculous.”

Dragons.

“And you did not think to mention this before?” Nooroo would have known that from the beginning. It was highly unlikely he’d known she possessed blood magic without recognizing its kind, especially after Dracona had unlocked her own power. Gabriel did not appreciate being taken for a fool, yet they all seemed intent to try it—though it did make Dracona’s protection of her family make so much more sense. Her son, especially; as she’d said he’d fought and won his own battles despite still learning, Gabriel had no doubt that her son also considered himself a protector of the magical world.

“You forbade me from speaking, Master.”

A convenient excuse but not likely the real reason. Nooroo’s reluctance to speak of this at all would have been obvious even if he had met Gabriel’s eyes. “Then speak now. What can you tell me about the others? The ghost, the ninja?”

“I do not know specifics,” Nooroo admitted in a whisper. “I believe the Ninja is using magical artefacts to achieve his powers—”

“Then we shall have to see if we can take those away from him.”

Nooroo flinched. “That would not be an easy thing to do, Master. I do not know what the artefacts might be or if they are connected and must be used together. I cannot even guess if they are bound by magic my own cannot unravel. I would have to see them to discern that, as was your plan for any other artefacts we find here.”

“Then we shall see if you can properly evaluate those artefacts once we crush the Ninja. What of this Phantom?”

“Spirits are not uncommon but rarely pose a serious threat to the living realm. They…. The strongest are capable of possession, but—”

“Possession?” That was not a threat that should have gone undisclosed. “Can you counter it?” When Nooroo didn’t answer, Gabriel repeated himself slowly, letting his anger at Nooroo’s delayed response simmer in every word. “Can you counter it?”

“It’s not the same as when my magic is used to overtake another Miraculous Holder. The spirit magic—”

“I don’t want an explanation. I want an answer. Can you counter it or not?”

“I-I don’t know, Master. I can try.”

He couldn’t afford to expose himself if Nooroo wasn’t certain. “You can shield me from other threats,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately mild. “You said it’s not the same as when other Miraculous Holders are overcome by your magic, but unlike Ladybug and Chat Noir, there are no constraints on how much of your power I can safely access. If you used all your power to fight a threat such as this, could you not protect me?”

“I don’t—”

“Could you not protect me?”

“I could,” Nooroo breathed, not meeting his eyes.

“Then I command you to do so. Protect me regardless of the cost to yourself.”

The kwami nodded and had the sense to hide in Gabriel’s breast pocket instead of arguing.

Gabriel reached up to touch his earpiece. “Nathalie, I’ll be delayed further. Relay to the security team that everyone is to stay off the rooftops for their own protection.” Enough people had seen Dracona that such an order wouldn’t be questioned, and with any luck, Dracona’s presence would be enough incentive for the other buildings where he had no influence to follow suit.

“Of course, sir. Would you like me to see if I can have a lockdown instituted?”

Gabriel considered the idea and then dismissed it; if worst came to worst, he’d need to blend into the crowd quickly—and that would require there to be a crowd in the first place. “Not within the building. I want people to be free to move about inside, but talk to security about getting the streets cleared. There’s no benefit in stalling that any longer.”

“I’ll see to it right away, sir.”

He didn’t need to ask how her negotiations were going. She would be doing an exemplary job; he didn’t pay her for anything less. She knew what he wanted and she’d find a way to get it—most likely while making others think they were doing precisely what they wanted.

As Adrien knew better than to leave his room, Gabriel had no need to check the adjoining suite to know that everything was in order.

Much as he hated letting Dracona choose their meeting ground, he wasn’t going to argue with results. With Chat Noir out of the picture, Ladybug would be easy enough to defeat in the future, even without any other magical artefacts.

-|-

7:47 PM

This was not going according to plan. Clearly, there was a reason that Ladybug was the one to come up with their plans. Adrien didn’t even have the room to squirm in Dracona’s talons. The suit protected him from being sliced to bits, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the amount of pressure she was using to keep him in her grip.

The suit also protected him from the cold wind, and he hoped that wind wasn’t going to rip away his words. He needed Dracona to hear this. Even if he could only get her to hesitate, it would give the others time to catch up. “You’re worried about your family, aren’t you?” he asked, thinking that was a fair assumption when they were clearly involved in the magical world and Hawk Moth wanted something from that world enough to put in an appearance. “I’ve met your son. And your daughter. They love you very much.”

Dracona said nothing.

Maybe she couldn’t hear him; he wasn’t whispering, but he couldn’t draw enough breath to shout over the wind.

Or maybe she was just ignoring him.

“I’m someone’s son, too. And if you give my Miraculous to Hawk Moth, you’ll be endangering so many more kids just like your own. You’ll be endangering everyone. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants, and he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process. It won’t just be your family or mine; it’ll be anyone who’s even remotely in his way.”

Everyone was insisting that Dracona was different because she was part of a family of dragons, but she was still akumatized. Most akumatized people couldn’t be reasoned with, but some of them— Some of them fought back. And from what he’d heard of the dragon earlier—of how no one had been hurt—he was pretty sure that she was one of those people who was fighting back.

She might be like Nathaniel had been as the Evillustrator. From what he’d seen and what he’d heard from Marinette, Nathaniel had tried to resist Hawk Moth more than once. If Susan could keep doing that….

“I heard what happened earlier at the fashion show,” he continued. If he hadn’t begged off shadowing Nathalie, chances were very good he’d have been caught in the middle of it. As it was, everyone seemed to have assumed that he’d never left his room. Perhaps they’d left a message for him and told him to remain there; he hadn’t looked in the brief time he’d been back there, too focused on other things, monitoring Plagg’s cheese consumption included. He could always claim to have been in the washroom when the message came, maybe say he’d needed a shower to wake up.

As it was, too much had happened for Adrien to feel tired. More likely than not, he’d crash once this was over. They had to get this sorted out tonight. Soon. Now. He couldn’t afford to give Hawk Moth more time to find what he was looking for, especially when he had a connection to someone who would know exactly where to procure what he wanted, providing he could convince her to do that.

“I know this night didn’t go like you’d hoped, and I can’t fix that—” Not like Ladybug could have, anyway. “—but that doesn’t mean we can’t begin to make it better now. And better includes keeping your family safe, doesn’t it? You might think that will happen if you give me over to Hawk Moth, but it won’t. Your son and I….” Adrien hesitated, not sure if he could call this a proper partnership, let alone a friendship, when he hadn’t told them his real name. “We’re working together. Sacrificing me—and sacrificing my Miraculous is sacrificing me—won’t make him give up; it’ll make him fight harder.”

“I know.”

Adrien blinked, not expecting to get a response. At least, he hadn’t been expecting that response. An argument, maybe, if not continued silence, but an acknowledgement? It was going to be a lot harder to sway her to his side if she already knew what he was going to say.

“Then why are you doing this?”

“It’s the only choice I have.”

His heart sank at her words, and as she banked towards the site of the gala, he thought it might have skipped a beat entirely. There was a figure on one of the rooftops—and unless he was completely disoriented, it was the rooftop of his hotel. Hawk Moth was staying at this hotel? Surely he wouldn’t have had time to go to a different one. But if it was this one, then if Plagg could get a look at the registry so Adrien could check names once he got back to Paris—

He could discover Hawk Moth’s identity. At the very least, he could narrow it down.

He just needed to get out of this first.

-|-

7:49 PM

“Why are you slowing down?” Randy asked. “They’re there! We can see them! We need to go!”

“Danny’s gotta get Chat Noir out of there before we completely lose the element of surprise,” Jake reminded him. “If he can do that without Hawk Moth realizing, all the better.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“I like to be optimistic sometimes.”

“Really didn’t seem like that earlier.”

“I said sometimes. Besides, it’s better if I drop you here and we hit them from different angles.” He wheeled towards the same rooftop where he’d talked to Randy earlier that day. “I wanna check on Trixie and Spud, too. Make sure they caught up to Haley. If I tell you the number, can you call them for me?”

Randy snorted. “With what, my broken phone that you left in pieces somewhere? Or did you give them one of those earphone things?”

Oh. Right. Jake had used his cell phone as a dragon before, difficult as that was when it came to precise handling and not, well, accidentally gouging out buttons or scratching the screen or completely smashing it, but if he didn’t specifically try to keep the phone with him when he transformed, it stayed safely with his human clothes.

“Sorry,” Jake mumbled as he landed and crouched so Randy could slide off.

Randy flipped onto the rooftop instead, missing Jake’s transformation but turning back in time to watch him dig his cell phone out of his pocket. “You didn’t talk angles with Danny,” he said as Jake started dialling. “Shouldn’t you have done that if you wanted to hit them from all fronts? And, I mean, not to say I don’t have some pretty bruce moves, but is it wise to pretty much divide and conquer ourselves against someone we know is strong, especially when she’s with the shoob who’s manipulating her?”

“Now you’re questioning me? Really?”

“You decided to stop before fighting. That means I get to criticize, doesn’t it? Since I’m not doing anything else. I mean, I don’t usually get the luxury of a breather in a fight. You seriously do?”

Jake rolled his eyes and was about to retort when Spud picked up his phone. “Hello?”

That wasn’t Spud.

“Trixie? What’s going on? What happened to Spud?”

“He’s fine. We’re both fine. Don’t worry about us.”

Jake frowned and turned away from Randy, who had pulled off his mask in order to make increasingly silly faces at Jake in what was undoubtedly an attempt to get a reaction out of him. “Then you guys found Haley already? Have you dealt with Rotwood? And, um, McFist?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’? Where are you guys?”

“Cool it, Jakey. Spud had an idea. I’m helping.”

“Wh—? I need you here! Haley needs you here!”

“We’re trying to save your butt. And Haley’s. Let us do this.”

“Yo, do you have any idea how crazy you sound right now? Spud doesn’t have time to build another thermos if he can’t find the first one!”

Trixie let out a low whistle. “You would be surprised what ya boy can do under pressure.”

“But—”

“Just trust us. We got this. I think. And Haley can hold her own. Chill.”

Jake just groaned as Trixie hung up on him. He turned back to Randy, about to explain Trixie’s side of the conversation, and then realized that Randy wasn’t there. Jake spun and finally spotted a flash of Randy’s red scarf the next building over. He was steadily making his way towards the building—hotel, Jake realized—where Hawk Moth stood with Susan, who was still in her dragon form and using it to very effectively pin Nino to the rooftop.

Evidently, Randy’s suit had repaired itself just fine.

Jake hoped that wasn’t the only bit of luck they’d have tonight.

-|-

7:48 PM

“Magic exists,” Haley said. The words were a bitter betrayal. It didn’t matter that Rotwood already knew about the magical world or that McFist had to be aware of it if he fought the Ninja; the point was that she was never supposed to confirm that knowledge, and now she was.

“Of course magic exists,” sniffed Rotwood. “You are a dragon. I know you are a dragon. Therefore, magic exists.”

Haley glanced at McFist, who shrugged. “I work with a sorcerer. It’s not news to me.”

“Still,” she whispered, “that’s not the same. This magic isn’t like that.”

“We do not have time for games,” Rotwood said. “If you think we do, perhaps I should just phone one of the news channels?”

Ordinarily, Haley would think Rotwood had cried wolf too many times for that threat to hold any water, but after tonight?

She wasn’t willing to make that bet after tonight.

“You have to swear that you won’t tell anyone if I explain this,” she said. Jake and Rotwood had called truces in the past, so he might keep his word, but she had no idea about McFist. Frankly, she didn’t trust either of them as far as Fu could throw them. But, hopefully, if she made this sound important—and told them a little bit of what was important—they might not realize what she left out.

Or how much.

McFist frowned at her. “Any of this going to blow up in our faces?”

“Not if I tell you,” she said carefully, “so you’re warned.”

“Good enough for me.” McFist hesitated. “Except I don’t want to lie to my wife. I don’t lie to her. I’ll have to be able to tell her enough so she knows she can’t push me on this. You good with that?”

Haley blinked.

“And Viceroy sometimes just knows things. Man’s not a mind reader, but he’s good at tricking you into saying things. Not sure I can make any promises with him, either, and expect to keep them. But if you’re worried about this whole magic thing, he knows it’s real, too. Helps me help the Sorcerer. And I can’t keep anything from the Sorcerer. I think he really is a mind reader. Maybe. Hard to say. He hasn’t caught the Ninja yet, either. But he knows things. The existence of magic included, obviously. So you okay with me promising not to tell anyone but with the caveat that those people might find out?”

“You have our word,” Rotwood said. “He won’t intentionally tell anyone, and I won’t tell anyone who doesn’t already know—unless you try to trick us.”

She wasn’t going to get a better deal than that, and it was as much as she’d expected anyway. Rotwood has given himself the out he wanted—he could claim trickery and tell the media—and given McFist the out he’d wanted, and she was left with little more than she’d started with.

“Okay.” What was the best way for her to put this? “The dragon you saw earlier was created with magic.”

“How?” McFist demanded. “Can it be replicated?”

“Not by any of us. It’s not a magic I understand. The person doing this…. They’re not from here. And that dragon? She’s not much more than a distraction.” That wasn’t exactly true, but they wouldn’t know that. Besides, it wasn’t entirely a lie, either. Things would be simpler if it were. “If you—if anyone—kicks up a fuss over the dragon, you’ll be playing right into their hands.”

Rotwood frowned. “This other person, what game are they playing?”

Haley shrugged. “We figured it was better if we could cut them off before they could set any more rules.”

“So you, what, saw me talking to him and figured you had to get us out of there before we messed with your big plan?” McFist crossed his arms. “Gotta be more to it than that.”

“It’s my job to protect people from the magical world, including those who go poking their noses into trouble,” Haley shot back. Rotwood sniffed, maybe because he knew that was supposed to be more on Jake and Gramps and Sun than her at the moment, but she ignored him. “The Ninja’s heard of you,” she said, looking at McFist, “and what’s happening in Norrisville. He gave me some weaponry to help me, um, convince you to leave. If I can figure out how to use it to distract more than just you, all the better.”

“Wait, are you asking us to help you?”

She wasn’t, but Haley nodded anyway. If McFist was going to offer, she wasn’t going to turn him down. She didn’t have a plan—not anymore, anyway—and she doubted Jake had come up with anything yet.

“And what are we supposed to get in return? Are you willing to take me back to the Magus Bazaar?”

“The what?”

“Magical market,” Rotwood said to McFist. “Filled with magical creatures and magical things.”

“Could I get something to take down the Ninja there?”

“I can promise to ask if someone will take you,” Haley said, “and I can promise that you’ll remember this when it’s over.”

“Why wouldn’t we remember this once it’s over?” McFist asked.

Haley cocked her head. “Why do you think so many people don’t believe in magic anymore?”

“If you could do that, Jake would have already done this to me. To Brock. You are stretching the truth, little girl.”

“Ordinary humans aren’t supposed to know about the magical world,” Haley said. “You might know it exists and keep looking for solid proof to share with others, but that doesn’t mean you remember every encounter you’ve had with it. Even Jake knows how suspicious it would be if you suddenly stopped poking around until you saw something that made you suspect the truth again.”

“But…but your brother’s friends—!”

“I don’t know,” admitted Haley. “I think Jake defied direct orders and Gramps smoothed it over. You’ve met my family, Rotwood. If it were perfectly fine for humans to know about the magical world, don’t you think our lives would be easier?”

Rotwood opened his mouth but paused as her words sunk in. McFist raised his eyebrows at him, and Rotwood’s expression sunk into a glower. “It’s Professor Rotwood. But very well. I see your point. However, if you are not able to get me entrance to the Magus Bazaar again, you must do something else for me in the future. I am not going to give up on an opportunity like this without good reason. There is footage of a dragon out there now. Proof. Which means redemption for me as all those who have mocked me realize they were the ones who were wrong. You must think me a fool if you believe I would give this up for nothing.”

She did think him a fool, but she shook her head anyway. “I can’t make an open promise like that.”

“Then I will add the caveat that, whatever I decide, it will not directly endanger the magical world or your family. Or directly expose them. Is that satisfactory, Miss Long?”

Haley bit her lip. She knew this wasn’t what anyone had intended when they’d asked her to distract Rotwood and McFist. It might very well be the opposite of what had been intended. Still, they needed help. And Jake had struck deals with Rotwood before. She wasn’t sure about Randy and McFist, but….

“Okay. Yes. I agree. Help me protect the magical world now and don’t ever tell anyone the truth about what’s going on, and I’ll do something for you later if I can’t get you into the Magus Bazaar.” She looked at McFist, waiting to see what he’d ask for; he didn’t strike her as someone who would let Rotwood take a better deal than him.

“You don’t have anything that’ll grant me the superpower of my choice, do you?”

She shook her head. “There are some potions that grant temporary effects for something specific, but—”

“Like what?”

Haley swallowed. “Invisibility. Flight. Shapeshifting. There are a lot of—”

“Could you get me a bottle of something?”

She wanted to say no. Giving magic to a human, especially one with questionable intentions, was just asking for another situation like they one they were already facing. And if McFist intended to misuse magic and she gave him the opportunity to do so, chances were good Randy would pay the price for her decision later. Still, if she warned Randy and gave him something to allow him to counter whatever she gave McFist, then maybe—?

“No, wait— Have you got anything that will stop magic from affecting me?”

“You’re worried about that sorcerer you mentioned?” she guessed. “I might—”

“No, he’s going to give me a superpower when I destroy the Ninja for him,” McFist said, “and if you can’t give me one, too, then I want something that’ll stop swamp magic in case Booray gets any ideas.”

“Swamp magic?”

“It’s, y’know, swamp magic,” McFist said, waving his hands in vague motions as if that made his point any clearer. “Little pouches of mind-controlly stuff. Freaky. Don’t want it anywhere near me.”

A protection spell, then, or something that would cancel out this other magic. Gramps and Fu would have an idea of what would be best, but she was sure there was something. “All right.”

“And you have to tell me about the NYC Ninja.”

Haley agreed to that condition immediately. If McFist had just said the Ninja, she would’ve had more trouble justifying that grey area, but as he’d specified, she felt no qualms about agreeing at all. It was hardly her fault that he wanted to know about a Ninja that didn’t exist—at least, not to her knowledge.

She wasn’t going to tell him that until he asked, though.

McFist grinned and stuck out his hand. She shook it, then shook Rotwood’s. “You want us to find a way to convince everyone that things are not as they seem, yes?” he asked. “That this new dragon is a hoax? As everyone has always believed of my proof?”

McFist grunted. “People were already muttering about it being some kind of publicity stunt. Better to lean into that. I can even sponsor something if I need to.” He glanced at the bulging pocket of her hoodie again and said, “Let’s have a look at what the Ninja gave you first and see what we can come up with.”

(next | see more fics)

[leialannister]

ahhh i can't decide

like at first i thought he might look up to him cuz yk ned's the new albeit young head of a great house and he's going to war and stuff so as a young boy i think he would've found it all very interesting?? but also as a knight he has the blackfish as a role model and for leader there's his father so ned isn't an essential role model here. tho still the northerners are basically another kind so maybe that would have impressed him

on the other hand, ned is not exactly a likeable person on first meeting so maybe he didn't care much about him but just a little bit of anger for taking cat away from him and that just kinda got worse when the whole jon snow thing happened??

or maybe i'm giving him too much credit and his patriarchy brain just wouldn't give a flying fuck about jon snow cuz it happens yeah? so just indifference? he probably didn't even speak to him when ned came for the wedding lol

I’m torn between Edmure not liking Ned from the start because he’s protective of his sister, and Edmure being all over Ned because he thinks he could become the brother he never had and then after the whole bastard affair starting to dislike him because how fucking dares he do that to Cat

[secret-engima]

So in your Naruto FF cover where Noct/Yoru is believed to be a god, what are the reactions of the families of the Chocobros? Cause their Clan member just got poached but they've also been really strange ever since their near death experience that woke up their memories (or did they always remember)? Especially the Hyuuga because they basically had Hikaru/Ignis enslaved and branded. Or even some povs from the Chocobros. (Poor Prompto, being an Aburame lol)

Ooooo tricky. Kinda depends on the family?

Lemme see- Ignis’s family are Most Displeased. They are super possessive of their eyeballs and treat their branch members as slaves anyway so they see it more like theft than a powerful man claiming a friend. Of course, there’s not much they can DO about it considering it’s Yoru and he burns Ignis’s seal off in .05 seconds and also threatens to burn the rest of the main branch to the ground if they touch Ignis again (not in so many words, but his magic does flatten a few of the members with its intensity when they got too close to Ignis.

Tbh that’s probably a blood grudge the Hyuga hold until Naruto’s time even though they stay in Konoha and Ignis is known among the hyuga not only as the blind member but the Stolen Hyuga. A warning to all hyuga of what will happen if they are not careful with their eyes and other such nonsense that only works because younger Hyuga don’t interact with Yoru enough to know that he’s a really chill dude and Ignis is happy where he is.

The Inuzuka are not too thrilled at first, but more laidback about it? Gladio still visits and they can tell that he’s Super Happy about being reunited with Yoru, and Yoru is polite and respectful to them and their dogs like him and you can never go wrong with the opinion of dogs in an Inuzuka’s eyes.

The Aburame ... are honestly the most chill about this? They aren’t too thrilled at first, but Yoru already has a Hyuga and an Inuzuka by then, so there is a precedent, and after a bit of watching it’s clear that these four are basically a Hive unto themselves and Prompto is happy to be there, is healthy and well cared for so they just kinda- shrug and move on. Maybe use the fact that one of their own is “Favored by Yoru” to their advantage during tricky Council meetings generations later.

The oddness and memories thing were long commented on, but ... mostly unnoticed in Hikaru’s case? Among the Branch Clan it was noted, but no one said anything or really thought about it because honestly I doubt the Hyuga have never had an Incident where Branch Members get a bit ... weird post Sealing and post a traumatic experience. That’s a chakra doohickey tattooed to your SKULL, side-effects are not impossible. The Inuzuka noticed it too, but Gladio was still ... himself, just a big more jaded and mature so they let it slide.

The Aburame maybe spent a good few years trying to figure out what the freak happened with Prompto though. Because they’ve never had a bug-a-phobic member before and it’s weird. They love him tho. He’s their disaster child.

Tbh in the Warring States Era nobody was really focused on mental health. If you were loyal to the Clan and could fight that was all that really mattered, weirdo personality changes aside.

Uhhh POVs but only short snips, and pls forgive any inconsistencies with previously establish AU lore my brain is tired and I may not keep all the details 100% straight. Just roll with it.:

Ignis:

After a lifetime of being blind, being able to SEE everything, all around, at any given time is unnerving. This entire era is unnerving and Hikaru has bitten his tongue more than once to keep from railing against it. Against sending CHILDREN, some not much older than toddlers out into the field, against the brand on his head and the heads of so many others that burns on the whim of a Main Branch member.

He keeps his head down, but inside ... he hates. More than a little bit. He is a fractured piece of glass and he knows too much pressure with make him snap, so he does his utmost to avoid those situations (because if he snaps children will get hurt even more than now and nothing will change in the Clan).

Then one day they go to meet Hashirama and Madara, to speak of peace, and of course Hikaru has heard of Yoru, the mysterious forest spirit that supposedly watches over the new village and ensures no fighting happens, but he does not actually think this Yoru will be all that impressive.

He never expects it to be NOCTIS. Noctis, who looks at him with hope and wonder in his eyes, who looks so very unchanged despite lifetimes, who rises and calls him brother and Ignis and friend and CLAIMS him in a way the Clan Head cannot dispute. No one can dispute against Noctis, because he is still a Lucis Caelum and a king and to him, their chakra is pebbles in an ocean.

And for the first time in a long time, Ignis is happy. Ignis has hope.

...

Gladio

Gladiolus loves his new family, and he knows they love him back. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss his old life like a wound in his side. Iris’s presence makes it a bit better but also not, because war is cruel and no one cares that she is still so young (older than the other Clans children sent to the field, because Inuzuka treasure their puppies, but still far too YOUNG to the mind of a Shield and Crownsguard). He loves his canine partner and the Pack, he loves that they don’t really question his memories, how his personality has matured and changed since the incident that woke him up.

Even so...

Even so, the absence of his brothers is a bleeding wound in his heart, and when the Clan Head looks at him, Gladio knows the man can see that in his heart of hearts, Gladio is not part of their Pack. He is family, but he has another Pack, another Alpha he swore to a lifetime ago, and that loyalty still howls in his soul far stronger than even the ties of blood and Pack and love that binds him to the Inuzuka.

So perhaps that is why the Clan Head does not look as outraged or surprised as he could have been when Yoru finds him, when NOCTIS looks back at Gladio from an eerily familiar yet not face. That is why, while the Hyuga sputter in shock when Gladio hugs Ignis tight and spins him in a circle for joy, the Inuzuka just watch with comprehension dawning in their eyes. Gladio looks to his Clan Head and says he’s going with Yoru and there is not request for permission. Just a courtesy of announcement. Because THIS- this is his Pack, his Alpha, his Beta, his brothers and littermates. He will follow them above all.

And the Clan Head lets him go.

...

Prompto:

Prompto wants to know who he ticked off in his past life that had a say in the next, because he HAD to have ticked off someone. Why else would he have been reborn into a clan of LIVING HIVE PEOPLE???????

He thinks he distresses them- no, he knows he does, when he flinches from the clan techniques and hives, from the little insects and their pheromones that the Clan uses as essentially an insectoid, chakra-based texting system amongst themselves. He knows he stresses out his hive for a long time, flinching from the feel of them inside him, from the skitter of their legs and wings and the whisper of their tiny, simple little thoughts in his own when they talk to him.

It .... it’s bad for a while. A WHILE. Bad enough the Clan won’t let him fight (which is fine with him) but also bad enough he loses weight and can’t sleep from the hive buzzing buzzing buzzing under his skin from his distress toward them.

It’s his great great grandma that saves him, quite literally, because an Aburame that rejects the hive is an Aburame who dies, not by any malicious intent on the Clans’ part but just- biologically. Just like starving to death will kill him, rejecting his Hive will kill him too and he KNOWS that but he can’t just- turn off his fear.

Then one day Elder Maya, the oldest living Aburame, sends for him. He comes to her private house with shivering skin and jumping senses and the hyper-awareness of the things inside him buzzing buzzing buzzing trying to remove the source of his distress and making it worse because they WERE his distress-.

Elder Maya takes his shaking hands and leads him to her garden.

It’s- it’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful he could cry for his long lost camera of another life. There are colors everywhere, blues and greens, reds, pinks, whites, and mixed splashes of yellow and purple- flowers that stand tall, flowers that droop, flowers dangling from the vines growing up tree trunks.

And everywhere there were flowers, there were butterflies. Butterflies and ladybugs, the two insects he wasn’t completely creeped out by because they were so pretty and photogenic, and for a moment Prompto is so awed his shaking stops, the Hive inside him goes quiet. A butterfly flaps lazily over to him, a glorious thing with vivid blue wings the color of magic and black dots and swirls that remind him of fire. It settles on his hand and he doesn’t flinch from it like he does the kikachu of the clan, just stays quiet and watches it with a bit of awe.

“You are not scared of these ones,” Elder Maya hums.

“U-um ... no,” he whispers as he watches it, “they’re ... pretty. Cute. They don’t ... they don’t look like they’ll hurt me.” And that’s not really his issue with the Kikaichu, but he can’t explain a phobia to ninja, not well anyway.

“Good,” says his great great grandmother, but not with her lips, with the soft splash of impression-scent-sensation from the butterfly on his hand and he gapes as he realizes THIS is her hive. These ladybugs and butterflies are Elder Maya’s hive. He stares at her and she adjusts the dark glasses she wears, “I will give you some of mine. Why? So you can cultivate a new Hive that you will not be afraid of.”

And she does. And it’s CREEPY, but also ... kinda not? It’s ... it still freaks him out to have bugs under his skin, but these ones ... he knows these ones. He chose them, he hatched them, he raised them. They are beautiful and deadly and soft looking and can strip flesh from a target in seconds and he wishes he had a camera because it would be so cool to have butterflies that can pose on command.

It’s a rocky road, but his shaking stops, and his weight goes back to normal, and his sleep schedule returns, and all the Clan breathes a sigh of relief when they see Prompto ambling around, not flinching from the glittery blue butterflies flitting on his shoulders.

And it’s not like his old life, his brothers he misses so badly, but its kinda nice to never be alone. Wherever he goes, his Hive goes, and his new Queens are kinda ... bossy almost and its endearing in a creepy kinda way. The only thing that would make life better, make it perfect (other than to not need a Hive in the first place) would be to have his brothers again.

And then they go to the new village of Konoha, and he meets the famed and terrifying Yoru, who isn’t terrifying at all, but is instead old and tired and blue eyed, and a fish lover and when he smiles, crooked and shy at Prompto all his Hive SINGS under his skin because he KNOWS.

And suddenly the world is perfect again.

[cagestark]

*New Year’s Kiss*

Peter getting drunk on champagne and begging Tony to be his New Year’s Eve kiss. 

About this: tiny lil 2k fluff. Sfw. Ff. Adult (20yo) Peter. Posting a little early so we can enjoy it on this thirty-first. 

-

In the third hour of the party, Pepper at last manages to corner him beside the band. Tony has been avoiding her all night, strategically placing waiters and waitresses laden with trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne between them, because while Tony wouldn’t put it past her to tackle him to the floor, he doesn’t believe she would accost an innocent. Her face is flushed, whether from anger or alcohol, Tony can’t say. 

“Tony,” she says, urging him to the side of the room away from the blaring swing band and writhing mass of bodies. “You need to cut off Peter.” 

Ah. Until then, Tony couldn’t have been sure why Pepper was hunting him during the party like a shark smelling blood (there were a whole host of potential reasons to be fair), but this reason—it’s not a bad one. Against his will, he glances towards the dance floor where Peter is currently being taunt how to Charleston by Natasha, whom Tony doesn’t believe he has ever seen smile nor laugh so much in one evening. His mouth goes dry at the way Peter looks, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat, the sleeves of his dress-shirt rolled up, cheeks flushed. 

“What?” Tony shouts. “I can’t hear you, this band is so goddamn loud, I love it though, don’t you? What a way to bring in the 20’s, am I right?” 

“Cut! Him! Off!” she says through her teeth. “If the press get wind of us letting a minor—” 

“Peter is twenty!” 

“Which is underage, Tony, don’t undermine me.” 

“Come on, Pep,” Tony pleads. “Look at him, he’s having such a good time. If he’s going to drink, I’d rather he do it surrounded by the Avengers and SHIELD employees than anyone else in the world. That way we’ll have tons of documentation to blackmail him wi—ow, God, woman! Mercy!” 

“Take him outside,” she insists. “Get him some air to help him sober up, and tell the bar not to serve him another drop. I mean it. If you’re quick enough, you can make it back inside in time for the countdown.”

Sighing, Tony relents. While his guest rooms were open to any Avenger who became too intoxicated to walk, drive, or portal themselves back home to the proper dimension, he isn’t sure if May expects Peter home at a decent hour or not. Sending the kid back to her drunk would be a poor idea in the best of terms. 

Wading through the dance floor (nearly getting elbowed by an over-enthusiastic SHIELD agent who is flapping a little too enthusiastically), Tony approaches Peter and Natasha with his eyebrows up. She’s dressed the way many other party-goers are, in typical Roaring Twenties style. The beads on her dress glitter in the light and with every energetic step. Peter is no less a specimen, though he has shed his pinstripe overcoat. The vest beneath fits him like a glove, emphasizing his trim waist. 

There’s no harm in looking, he thinks. And he certainly can’t help the images his brain conjures at a moment’s notice. Tony has had enough with trying to keep a leash on the things that are beyond his control. 

He places a hand on Peter’s back as the music changes to a ballad. The kid’s skin burns his palm, shirt thin and nearly see-through with sweat. Peter glances over his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded. They widen at the sight of Tony, a smile blooming brighter and more beautiful than any flower Tony’s ever seen. 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter says. At once, he abandons Natasha (who slips off into the crowd with a shimmer of beads, ever adept at knowing when to drift back into the shadows), and throws his arms around Tony’s neck, plastering himself to the billionaire and beginning a drunken sway, like Tony has simply tapped Nat’s shoulder and asked, can I cut in?

He lets them sway together for a few long moments, keeping his hands primly above his partner’s waist. When he feels Peter turn his head so that his breath fans hot against Tony’s neck, he works to clear his throat of the knot that’s tied itself there. Even though it hurts to pull away from the kid’s drunken embrace, he does it. He’s good at doing the things that hurt. 

“Come on. Outside, Valentino,” Tony rumbles into his ear. 

Peter follows happily enough, stopping to hug Clint who is equally as drunk. They spend a long, semi-homo-erotic moment pressed together, like lovers who are seeing each other for the first time and not teammates who were wearing feathered headbands and taking photos together in the picture booth thirty minutes before. 

“Alright there, come on,” Tony says, coaxing Peter away. “I hate to break up such an arousing display of affection, but I need to get this little spider outside, stat. Pepper’s orders! Pepper’s orders!”

The last thirty feet to the balcony are traversed with Tony carrying most of Peter’s weight, the kid’s breath still hot on Tony’s neck while he babbles about how swell the party is, how much fun everyone seems to be having. It’s charming enough to listen to. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the suave singer of the band murmurs into the microphone as Tony opens the door to the balcony, letting in blustery air that sobers even him. The room behind them falls as quiet as it can when filled with eighty of Tony’s closest friends and loved-ones who have been indulging on authentic French champagne for the last three hours, glossy eyes turning towards the platform where the band sits above them all. “It is five minutes until midnight. We encourage you to find your favorite guy, gal, or pal to ring in the New Year with. If anyone has any declarations of love to impart, now is the time.”

“Where’s Bruce?” Thor shouts at the top of his lungs. 

Howls go up around the room until Tony closes the door and cuts them all off. 

“Do you think we’re going to miss Thor make a move on Dr. Banner?” Peter asks. He’s not slurring but there’s nothing sober about him, eyes glossy, swaying where he stands with Tony between him and the balcony. The cold air enhances the pink flush in his cheeks, and the kid shivers, sweat cooling in the breeze. For a moment, Tony gets an idea in his head of taking off his jacket and slinging it over the kid’s shoulders. He bats it away. 

“Even if we do, there will be footage I’m sure,” Tony says. “How are you feeling kid? Tell me the alphabet backwards.”

Peter laughs, head tilting back. Tony’s eyes drop to the pale, unmarked throat before he urges them away. “Come on, Mr. Stark. Give me something hard—I mean! That’s not what I meant. You know what I meant. Not hard like your—not that you are—fuck.” 

“God, I hope FRIDAY is filming this right now. Who am I kidding, FRI sees all,” says Tony, glancing out over the city. Manhattan is lit up like a Christmas tree, full of people eager to leave the year behind, hopeful that the future is as bright as the city lights. Tony cranes his neck to take in the party beyond the frosted glass, everyone moving like a movie with the sound off. “Take some deep breaths, Pete, try and clear your head, okay? We’ll both be back in there before midnight.” 

A firm presence leans against him. He nearly jerks away (like he doesn’t know who it is, like there’s anyone else out on this empty balcony save for them). Peter presses his nose to the crook of Tony’s neck and breathes in, one hand resting firm against Tony’s hip. “Is Miss Potts going to be your New Year’s Kiss, Mr. Stark?”

Heart in his throat, Tony struggles to respond. This close, he can smell the kid’s body spray and beneath it the sharp but not unpleasing scent of his sweat. Peter’s eyes glitter black, like lights off of the Bay. Instinct urges him to set Peter straight, to remind him that he and Pepper broke it off months ago, and the relationship had been more platonic than romantic even long before then. Instead, all he says is, “No.” 

Peter hums. “Do you know who I want to be my Kiss?” 

Tony swallows. “I can make an educated guess. Kid—” 

Peter’s hands fist the fabric of Tony’s suit. His strength is unmatched, pulling the billionaire close until they are flush against each other. He’s hard in his JC Penney dress slacks, hips leaning forward to nudge against Tony’s hipbone until the kid groans, a sound that makes Tony’s mouth go dry and his heart pound like a bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage. “Please, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was a little boy, ‘m a man now, aren’t I? That’s what you said to Captain Rogers when he didn’t want me on the team.” 

“Peter,” Tony groans, glancing back towards the party. No one has taken any notice of their absence. “Come on, kid. You know I can’t.” 

“Why not?” Peter breathes, pauses to press his lips chastely to Tony’s shoulder. “Because you’re straight?” 

Tony sighs. “Don’t insult me like that; you know I’m not—” 

“Because I’m underage?” 

“I know you aren’t—” 

“Because you aren’t interested in me?” 

“I am—” He snaps his teeth shut on the words just a moment too late. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could reach out and snatch the words right back out of the air, hide them somewhere down deep. He mutters under his breath, “Fuck.” 

“Don’t worry,” Peter says, smiling with glassy eyes. He looks more tired than drunk, exhausted, too young and with the weight of the world on his shoulders. And Tony can’t add himself to that burden; he just can’t. “I already knew. But if you want to kiss me, and if I want to kiss you, then why can’t we?”

“You make it sound easy,” Tony says roughly. Something in him, some fault line that has existed in relative inactivity until now while the pressure builds and builds—it finally snaps. He grips Peter’s wrist which was creeping around towards his tense abs, towards the bottom of his vest like he’s going to dip it right down the front of Tony’s pants. Pulling him into the shadows away from the glass doors, Tony presses Peter against the wall of the Tower and looms over him. “You make it sound innocent. You think that a kiss will be good enough for me? I’m the most famous glutton alive, kid. If I pour myself a drink, I have to have another. If I kiss you—it won’t be enough for me. It will never be enough for me.”

“You act like I could ever want you to let me go,” Peter laughs. 

Inside, the countdown begins, the roar of the entire room just audible through the glass doors of the balcony. 

10

“Please—” 

9

“No, Peter, I can’t.” 

8

“I’m begging you—7—Please—6—Even if this is all I ever get—5—then at least let me have this—4—this one moment—3—Tony, please—2—”

—And one must come next. It must. But Tony doesn’t hear it, not for the rush of blood in his ears (his heart, that’s his heartbeat pounding away), not for the wind whistling around them when he closes the distance between them, presses them chest-to-chest so that he can capture Peter’s mouth with his own. It’s not a first kiss, no tentative questioning movements. It’s a well-seasoned lovers’ kiss, fierce and wet, a tsunami that drags him under until Peter’s all that’s in his mind, his mouth, his lungs, his scarred chest and broken-open heart.

When they part (Peter breathing the softest thank you), their mouths are raw. The cheers from inside might as well be for them for the way Tony’s heart has swelled. He rakes his eyes over Peter’s face, seeing him with new eyes even as the kid gives him a sad, trembling smile. 

“That’s it, then,” Peter says, tears glittering in his lashes. “Party’s over, huh?”

“No,” Tony promises, taking the kid’s hand and pressing his lips to the arch of his knuckles. “I meant what I said; I haven’t had enough of you, Peter. The party is just starting, kid. Come on, let’s get out of the cold.” 

[ajoy3fanfics]

Missing Pt. II

A HUGE thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! You guys blew me away! Based on everyones reaction, I’ve decided to make a part 2! If anyones interested, I might make it into a full fic! Hope you enjoy!

Also can be found in my oneshots on FF  

~.~

The moment he came to he could feel the change in the room. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know Kagome was there; her very presence seemed to set the room alive with electricity. Turning his head towards her direction he called out to her, his voice gruff. “K’gome.” The word felt strange on his tongue, as if it was taboo or foreign. “Hey.” She said, voice soft, worried. She leaned towards him and reached out for his hand. So small and soft; it seemed out of place here. Lazily, he blinked against the florescent hospital lights to make out her figure.  

Her hair was shorter, cut to her shoulders in a sweet bob. She had never worn it that short before, always preferring to keep it long. When had she cut it?

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She let out a shaky breath, full of relief. She smiled, but it faltered, but she was quick to catch herself. It seemed sad and hollow and he wanted none of it. It was an image he’d rather forget. She gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I thought I hurt you.” He rasped. “When- When I didn’t see you here, I thought you-“

Kagome shook her head quickly, her lips pressed tightly together, stopping his unnecessary worry. “No.” She said. “You were alone.”  Inuyasha nodded, looking up towards the ceiling. “Did I-“ He bit his bottom lip, afraid of his question, afraid of her answer. “Did I hurt anyone?” It was something he could only trust to hear from her, something he would only be able to handle if it came from Kagome, the guilt and pressure of it a weight on his chest.

“No.” He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding, relief flooding over him. She tried to smile at him, to seem reassuring but it just made him feel more guilty from some reason. “The only person you hurt was yourself, dummy.” Her voice sounded more robust, and finally, finally, it seemed normal. “How many times have I told you not to ride when it rained? I heard you weren’t even wearing your helmet! Inu-“

Inuyasha hissed as he brought his free hand to his head, cradling it. It was completely fake, but it was effective; it cut her nagging off in its tracks. Maybe this brain injury had its perks. Kagome apologized, straightening her back a bit, leaning away. Damn, he hadn’t meant to make her do that.

“You cut your hair.” He said. “It looks nice.” Kagome smiled, a real smile, finally. She thanked him, tucking a nervous lock behind her ear.

“You got a cut yourself.” She teased, gesturing to the left side of his head. It had been shaved for the surgery, when a series of staples had been placed to help him heal. He doubted they had to be there long, his healing far superior than a humans. His hair however, was a different matter. It grew out slowly, which normally was great- he kept his hair short and didn’t need to visit the barber as often. But when the side of your head was shaved it gave a different feeling. Kagome smiled at him, examining the look, making him fidget under her stare. “How is it that you can make this look cool? Seriously, only youwould be able to make staples look sexy.” He wasn’t sure why a small compliment from his fiancé made him blush, but damn it, it did.

Kagome bit her bottom lip, as if thinking of what to say next. Finally, she spoke, happy to have found the right thing to say. “So, when do you get to go home?”

“I can be discharged as soon as tomorrow. They said I only need 24 hours observation without my stats changing. They said as long as I have someone at home to watch out for me I should be fine. Bed rest and all that shit.” She seemed to brighten at the news.

“That’s really good.” She smiled. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Feh, I hope you’re ready for this. I’m going to be milking this for all its worth. Maid Kagome has been a fantasy of mine for a longtime.” He wiggled his dark brows as he smirked. Inuyasha could tell that it threw her off, the slight change in her face, the way she seemed to be at a loss for words. Normally she would be all over an admission like that, taking any opportunity to flirt when she could. But now, she just looked lost and confused, like she couldn’t string together the sentence she needed to say.

“M-Miroku told me that you… that you’re missing a big chunk of time.” She said uncertainly.

“Feh.” He waived off the idea. It was true, he lostsometime. But a month. Onlya month.

When he was in a damn coma. “Not a big gap. Just the time when I was out. That idiot doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.”

Kagome shook her head. “He- He said you’ve lost more than six months. Maybe more.”

“The only thing I’ve lost is the patience for this bullshit joke.” He grumped. “I just want to go home and get into our bed.” He gripped her hand tighter, causing her to look down that their joined fingers, as if she had forgotten they were there. “It feels like so long since I’ve been with you.” He admitted, sounding more vulnerable than Kagome could remember hearing.

“Inuyash- Inuyasha…. We’re not… We’re not-“ She worried her bottom lip. “We’re not together anymore.” Her blue eyes were wide and teary.

Inuyasha clenched his jaw, taking deep, ragged breaths in through his nose. “No.” He managed out, the word tight, leaving no room for argument. “That’s not possible.” Kagome shrugged her right shoulder, like she couldn’t even muster the energy for both. She looked deflated; defeated.

“How?” He asked, tone angry.

Kagome let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask about your love story with Kikyo.” She removed her hand, as if remembering he wasn’t hers to hold. Not anymore, at least. He gave her a sharp look, clearly unhappy with how this conversation was going. Kagome shrugged again, Gods, she was doing that a lot today, looking uncomfortable and unsure. She took a deep breath before she began.

“We met her at your 10 year reunion, she said that she was looking to remodel her kitchen. It was awkward and seemed like small talk, because honestly, who hires their engaged ex-boyfriend to fix their house? But she called you and became a really big client. She was calling you all the time, texting you.” She gave him a half smile. “You became friends again. Suddenly it wasn’t about drywall; you were interested in her. She was having a lot of personal problems and you felt like you needed to be there for her.”

Inuyasha studied her, amber eyes taking in every inch of Kagome. She was tense and sad; it felt like she was telling a story about someone else, not her recollection of their split. “By the time I confronted you… you already had feelings for her.” She looked down, fidgeting, like she was somehow the one at fault.

“I wouldn’t do that.” He said after a long stretch of silence. “I wouldn’t- I couldn’t- damn.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t- I never felt like that about Kikyo- I never fucking loved her. We dated years ago in high school. It was puppy love at best.”

“Well, this time around it was more, I guess.”

“Bullshit.” He spat out, he turned to look at her, his eyes molten, serious. He reached out to her and gave a silent shout of triumph when she didn’t pull away.

“I’m in love with you, Kagome. Onlyyou.” She gave him a sad smile. Not the thing he wanted to see.

“For now.”

He refused to drop her gaze, fearing that once he did, it would be over. If he looked away, it would mean everything she and Miroku was saying was true. That he wasn’t engaged to Kagome.

And that was fucking unacceptable. So he held her there, locked in a battle of blue and amber.

Not even when Kikyo walked in the room did he look away.

[seriouslyhooked]

The Bones

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: This is a future CS oneshot based off of Maren Morris’ song ‘The Bones,’ where Emma is feeling worn down and worn out with all of her responsibilities as both the sheriff and as a Mom. The Black Fairy’s curse has been lifted for a long time, but between the kids and the town there’s a ton to do. This drabble is a little snapshot into Emma and Killian’s continuing love, and because I have taken a step back from my mixtape so long, I’ve made it extra cutesy. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Happily ever after...

It was the most incredible dream that anyone could want or strive for. To some more cynical people it may be an overly cliché phrase, one tied up in cheesy romance movies or boring formulaic stories, but the end result of a happily ever after wasn’t the same for everybody. Each one was unique and entirely its own, but at the end of the day, reaching that level of contentment was the universal goal. Who didn’t want to be happy? Who didn’t want to have a life that was worth living and that was filled with joy? No one, that’s who.

But even if Emma had achieved that fairytale state, and even though she’d defeated every villain that stood in her way and had built a truly wonderful life for herself and her family, the reality was that happily ever after wasn’t just this easy, constant thing. It was still something that she worked hard for each and every day. Throughout the years life never really seemed to slow down, and though the Black Fairy’s curse had been overcome what felt like forever ago, Emma always had new tasks to conquer and mountains to climb. With three young kids at home, an adventurous eldest son, two still overly involved parents, and an over-the-top town of nosey neighbors, Emma’s life was constantly moving a hundred miles an hour. Rest and reprieve were few and far between, and some days it felt like she might just cave under the pressure, but she never did and the reason for that was simple. Despite the fact that Emma had so much on her plate, she also had the best partner in all of this, Killian, and there was never a day that went by when Emma didn’t feel just how lucky she was and where she didn’t fall just a little bit more in love with her husband.

Killian’s presence was a constant safe harbor in Emma’s world, and where she was prone to worry and unease, he always seemed to weather every storm without flinching. His faith had never been shaken in all their years together, and though at first he was unsure when new challenges came their way, Killian was always ready to learn and lend a helping hand. In town he was her right hand man, aiding her whenever she needed it and becoming a central anchor for all of Storybrooke, and in their home he was her other half. The kids adored him, but it wasn’t because he was more lax or unassuming as a parent. No, Killian always made sure to compliment Emma. They were a team together, both good cops and bad cops, and no matter what the situation, they were always guided by love. Emma knew her younger children, Hope, Leia, and Liam, could sense that, and she knew Henry, though he may be farther from home, had grown to love Killian too and to see him as a friend and more fatherly figure. For that, and for everything else, Emma was truly grateful. Still some days – days like today – when things were already stressful at the precinct, and when she was dreading the impending scramble to get the kids to everything this afternoon, Emma still felt like it might be nice to have a bit more peace in this perfect little life they led.

“I really wish I had more of this report done,” Emma mused aloud, filling the space between her and her father with a tone of frustration. “I’ve been working on it for days. I feel like it’ll never be finished.”

“Emma, I know you want to get past it, but it’s not due for another month. And even then I think the town will be fine if it’s delayed. It’s time consuming yes, but for an annual report it’s pretty standard. We broke up some dwarf fights, found some wayward animals, and pulled a few of our more reckless neighbors over for speeding. It was hardly a year of crime and punishment.”

Emma chuckled at her Dad’s assessment of their jobs in Storybrooke, and she knew he wasn’t wrong. The things they were tackling these days were almost always small fry, but while there might not be any career criminals lurking around town, this was still a place where everyone seemed capable of getting into at least a little bit of mischief. There was always enough to keep her and her father busy, and when it came time to list out everything and reflect on a full year’s worth of work Emma couldn’t help but feel daunted by the task.

“Do you ever wish you could press the pause button?” Emma asked, sitting back in her chair and avoiding the paperwork that was numbing her brain and draining all of her precious energy.

“Never,” her Dad said, surprising Emma, and then she thought about it and she realized why her Dad might be averse to such thinking. He and the rest of this town had been stuck on pause for more than twenty years once upon a time, so no, he probably wasn’t very eager to subject himself to any more lost time ever again.

“I don’t mean long term. I understand the value of taking in every moment – truly I do. But still, sometimes I think of what a day away would mean. No work, no responsibilities. Just… peace and quiet.”

“And this peace and quiet, is it the solitary kind, or do you get to bring guests?”

Emma laughed, knowing that her Dad wasn’t a big fan of being alone. He loved being surrounded by people, and she was hard pressed to think of a time when either of her parents ever had time apart aside from during the workday. But now that he said it, Emma realized her own fantasy of relaxation wouldn’t involve being totally alone. No, if anything what she really craved was time alone with her husband, and though she’d miss the kids, she secretly wished for a chance to have that when her and Killian’s stolen moments had become all too rare.

“On second thought, don’t tell me. You’ve got that look that tells me you’re thinking of a certain ex-pirate and I don’t need to know.”

Emma laughed again at her Dad’s antics, but just as she was about to respond her radio sounded.

“Sherriff station this is dispatch. We’ve got a call of a disabled vehicle at the town line. Requesting response – over.”

“You got this?” Emma asked, her eyes casting down towards her paper work again, a sigh slipping free as she thought of how much she didn’t want to do this.

“Actually would you mind? I…” her Dad trailed off as he looked at his phone. After a few seconds of trying and failing to come up with an excuse he looked back up to Emma and immediately she could tell he was trying to hide something. That was interesting, and also very unlike him. She felt her brow lift slightly in question, but stayed quiet so as to force him to finish his thought. “I just think it’d be better if you went.”

“Okay,” Emma replied, slowing down the word to show that she was on to him. “I guess I’ve got it.”

Immediately her Dad looked relieved, and Emma’s curiosity only grew. She replied to dispatch saying she was on her way, and with a final goodbye to her Dad, she set off, knowing that when she got back she was absolutely going to investigate what the hell was going on with him. She moved automatically to where the emergency services operator had said the broken down car was, but when she got there she was shocked at who was waiting for her.

“Killian? Mom? Is everything all right? What’s wrong? Are you guys hurt?”

Emma asked the series of questions as she hopped out of the squad car she’d been driving, and for a moment she was truly concerned. Why would dispatch have been alerted if this wasn’t an emergency? Emma looked at two of the people who meant the most to her in the world, and she was seriously perplexed. They seemed, at first glance, to be totally fine, thank God, but after a moment she was even more confused by the look of pure happiness on her Mom’s face and the slight bashfulness coming from her husband.

“Oh Emma, you’re here. We’re fine, honey. Totally okay.”

“The kids?” Emma asked, looking to Killian who assured her as much with the sincere depth of his blue gaze as with his words.

“Safe and sound. Hope and Leia are at school and Liam is at day care. Last I saw he was teetering towards the clay dough.”

“Play dough,” Emma and her mother said at the same time and Emma couldn’t help but smile, both at the fact that her son was getting to play with his favorite toy of the moment and that her husband was completely incapable of remembering it’s name.

“Right. Either way, the little ones are all set.”

“And you guys are evidently okay,” Emma said, sneaking a glance at the mini-van (yes, mini-van) that Killian had adamantly demanded that they buy once he really figured out how to drive a car. “Same with the car. Which begs the question: why the call?”

“Because-,” Killian was evidently planning to say something, but her Mom beat him to the punch as she threw out the words in a hyper-fast jumble.

“Because your husband has planned a romantic weekend just for you two! Isn’t that the sweetest?”

Emma blinked, trying to understand what her mother had said for a moment. She honestly couldn’t believe it. Could this be true? Could they really be taking a trip just the two of them, and so precisely when she’d been craving exactly that. All it took was one more look at Killian to know her mother was telling the truth, and though she could tell that he was a bit miffed at not getting the chance to tell her himself, Emma could also see that he was glad for her Mother’s easy acceptance and affection for the two of them.

“A trip? But I’m working. I’m on until five, and then on call this weekend,” Emma said, her voice giving away her disappointment at the realization that this beautiful gesture might not come true.

“Nonsense,” her mother said, pulling Emma’s bag from the sheriff’s car and then tossing it into the minivan. “Storybrooke is more than capable of surviving one weekend without the savior. Heck, we haven’t needed one in ages. Your father and I will run point here. We’re on grandkid duty and town duty, so all you two have to think about is… well, whatever you want!”

The cheery tone of Snow’s words hardly matched the sneaky move she made to swipe the cruiser keys from Emma, and Emma cried out a bit at the show of petty theft. But it was hard to stay angry when it finally began to sink in that she was getting exactly what she wanted, and that it was all the work of her perfectly thoughtful husband.

“You’re sure it isn’t too much, Mom?” Emma asked, though her heart would be practically crushed if her Mom changed her mind now.

“Of course not. We’ve had this planned for weeks, and Killian’s taken care of everything,” Snow said as she gave Emma a quick hug before heading to the cruiser. “You two have fun, and don’t even think about coming home early. We got this.”

Emma watched as her Mom drove off then, making a 180 before driving into town. She found herself shaking her head as she watched the taillights of the cruiser drive away, but all thoughts of the car were gone when Killian approached, wrapping his arms around her. She immediately relaxed, leaning into him and savoring his warmth and the faint smell of leather and rum that still hung around him all these years even though he had largely changed his old sea captain ways.

“Tell me, love, are you very angry at my temporary deception?”

“No,” Emma said, truly meaning it. “But why the big show?” Before he could even respond, Emma filled in the likely reason. “Let me guess, my mother.”

“Aye, Swan. Though to be fair I did try to keep you home this morning,” he replied, his words a low rumble that washed across her skin, making her shiver and immediately sparking that all too familiar need and want low in her belly.

“You try to keep me home every morning,” Emma replied, her smile unstoppable when Killian’s eyes lit up with heat.

“And yet you resist me, even though I do everything in my power to persuade you.”

Emma swallowed harshly, her mind ablaze with exactly the kind of dirty and delicious things her husband tried each morning before the kids were awake or their day ever began. Her thoughts raced, covering everything from the feel of his hands on her body to the sinful mastery of his mouth. All these years later and Emma was still just as wrapped up in Killian, and honestly she deserved a damn medal for being anything even close to productive when he was around distracting her.

“What did you have to do to get my parents so firmly on board?” she asked, trying to tamp down the gravel in her voice that came every time she let her lust get the best of her.

“Oh that was easy,” Killian said as he ran his hook lightly across her hip, finding a piece of bared skin where her shirt had unknowingly risen up. The cool metal on her skin sent bursts of sensation coursing through her, and Emma was like a moth to a flame, almost missing the giant statement he made next. “I just promised them another grandchild.”

“You what?!” Emma yelled, and the reaction prompted a genuine laugh from Killian that shook not only through him, but her as well.

“Only teasing, Swan,” Killian said, and though Emma shoved at his chest, it was playful and more an attempt to hide that little bit of want in her that thought another baby might be perfect despite all the craziness that already filled their lives. “It wasn’t difficult to get them to help me out. They could see as well as I that you’ve taken on too much. You deserve a break, Emma, and that’s exactly what we’ll have this weekend.”

His determination that she needed to relax made Emma’s heart melt. It was so sweet and impossibly sexy that he always prioritized her like this. There was never any room for doubt about Killian’s drives or motivations. She and the kids meant everything to him, and it was for that reason that Emma knew they’d always have a love for each other that was strong and pure and right. The bones of their lives together – their foundations of love – were strong and resilient. There was no breaking down what they had built, and no matter what storms came or what new trouble would emerge, they always had each other and the love that they shared. Just the thought of how miraculous that was brought happy tears to Emma’s eyes, but she fought them off as she asked him a critical question.

“How did you know?” Emma whispered, her eyes taking in his knowing look and the growing grin that appeared at her admitting that she needed this time away.

“Because I love you with everything I am,” Killian professed easily. “Because my heart beats in time with yours, and because what you want, I want too. I love our life and our family, but it’s been too long since I had my Swan to myself, and I damn well intend to make the most of it.”

“Oh yeah?” Emma asked, angling up so her lips were a breath away from his. “So what are you waiting for, Captain? Take me.”

His lips crashed down to hers as his arms locked tighter around her, pulling her close. Emma arched into him, her thoughts all dancing away as she was consumed by the kiss. It was real and raw and demanding, so much so that Emma forgot herself and where they were. She was moments away from pushing for more, but as per usual, Killian remained the one with a more level head. He pulled back, his eyes filled with passion, but he restrained himself far more than she could, his thumb running across her lips as his hand held her cheek.

“My days of stealing and pillaging are long gone, my love. You know that as well as I do.”

“I do,” Emma replied. “So it’s a good thing I’m yours, totally and completely.”

That was all she needed to say to get her husband moving. One moment her feet were firmly on the ground, the next he’d swept her up and was buckling her into the car as if she were incapable of doing it herself. Emma giggled at the very notion of her being unfit to fasten a seatbelt, but as her laughter quieted, she couldn’t help but reach out to Killian’s jacket, pulling him closer again for another kiss.

“I love you, Killian. Forever and always,” she whispered when they broke apart again. “Now let’s go get to that peace and quiet, okay?”

With one last kiss, and a promise that while they’d find peace they might not find much quiet, Killian got in the driver’s seat and they set forth towards a weekend filled with exactly what they wanted. And the best part of it all was that when they were back, things remained just as wonderful and magical as they had always been. For that’s the way things were when you found a happily ever after, and Emma for one couldn’t be happier about it.

………………

We're in the homestretch of the hard times We took a hard left, but we're alright Yeah, life sure can try to put love through it, but We built this right, so nothing's ever gonna move it When the bones are good, the rest don't matter Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter Let it rain 'cause you and I remain the same When there ain't a crack in the foundation Baby, I know any storm we're facing Will blow right over while we stay put The house don't fall when the bones are good Call it dumb luck, but baby, you and I Can't even mess it up, although we both try No, it don't always go the way we planned it But the wolves came and went and we're still standing When the bones are good, the rest don't matter Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter Let it rain 'cause you and I remain the same When there ain't a crack in the foundation Baby, I know any storm we're facing Will blow right over while we stay put The house don't fall when my bones are good When the bones are good Bones are good, the rest, the rest don't matter (Baby, it don't really matter) Paint could peel, the glass could shatter (Oh, the glass, oh, the glass could shatter) Bones are good, the rest, the rest don't matter (Ooh) Paint could peel, the glass, the glass could shatter (Yeah) When the bones are good, the rest don't matter Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter Let it rain (Let it rain, let it rain) 'Cause you and I remain the same (Woo) When there ain't a crack in the foundation (Woo) Baby, I know any storm we're facing Will blow right over while we stay put The house don't fall when the bones are good Yeah, ooh

Post-Note: Hi all! So it has been such an incredibly long time since I posted a mixtape and I knew it would take a really special song to get my muse to cooperate again. This is that song, and if you haven’t checked it out you absolutely should. It’s lovely and it reminds me so much of CS. I’ve also been missing the show a lot lately, and I find myself wishing we had more moments like this all the time. But in the absence of cannon, I’ll step in and write fluff. Stay tuned for more mixtape coming later this summer, and thanks so much to all of you for reading! Hope you have a great rest of your week!