#also what is the POINT it's hardly a secret moment in which they had their guards down what in gods name do you think a picture taken

[statementlou]

Hi,

Is the liam article that you read the new one behind a pay wall? I can't access it but I would be really interested to see what it says about how things went. Would it be possible for you to tell how does it explain what led to his fall? Maybe under a cut so anyone who doesn't want to see can skip it?

Thank you and you don't obviously have to do it if you're not comfortable.

oh that's weird it wasn't blocked for me- here this should work for everyone if not lmk. @ other anon there aren't really very graphic pictures imo that's just the clickbait bs but text is below

basically he suggests that the hotel staff took Liam up to his room and then he changed into incognito type clothes (black jacket and cap) and attempted to sneak out of his room by going from the balcony along the side of the building, as we know he (and others of them) have done many times over the years, and which he apparently is documented as having done pretty recently, and presumably lost full or partial consciousness and fell. The waiter Braian who he spent time with in the weeks in Argentina talked in his first interview about Liam jamming the keycard slot in his door previously, which would explain the part here where employees say they can't get into his room.

It is a picture that will shock music fans around the world: the late British pop star Liam Payne being manhandled through a hotel lobby by three men, just minutes before his fatal fall from a third-floor balcony.

The tragic image, which has been given to the Daily Mail, was taken from CCTV footage recorded inside the CasaSur Palermo Hotel in Buenos Aires where Payne was staying at the time of his death on October 16.

High on drugs, Payne, whose face we have chosen to obscure, appears to have been picked up by the trio of hotel employees – he had, according to one witness, been ‘convulsing’ on the lobby floor. He was taken, via the elevator, back to his third-floor suite. 

The question is, why did they move him at all, if he was so ill? Why did the hotel not call an ambulance straight away?

The timestamp on the still image shows 16:54:48. Bizarrely, however, a second picture taken from CCTV outside Liam's room shows the three employees and Payne at 16:54:37. In other words, apparently eleven seconds before they were in the lobby.

The journey from the lobby to the third floor takes at least 90 seconds, according to one guest. Clearly at least one of the timestamps is incorrect.

In an image that will shock music fans around the world, the late British pop star Liam Payne is manhandled through the CasaSur Palermo Hotel lobby by three men, just minutes before his fatal fall from a third-floor balcony. One witness claimed he had been 'convulsing' on the floor

He was taken, via the elevator, back to his third-floor suite. The tragic footage given to the Daily Mail was taken from CCTV recorded inside the hotel in Buenos Aires - where Payne was staying at the time of his death on October 16

This picture outside Liam's room shows the three employees and Payne at 16:54:37. In other words, apparently eleven seconds before they were in the lobby. The journey from the lobby to the third floor takes at least 90 seconds, according to one guest. Clearly at least one of the timestamps is incorrect

What we know for certain is that shortly after 17:00, Payne fell 13 metres from the balcony of his room into the hotel's inner courtyard. He died instantaneously.

At 17:11, an ambulance arrived and certified the singer's death. A subsequent autopsy found Payne had suffered 'multiple traumas' causing 'internal and external bleeding.' The toxicology report found traces of 'alcohol, cocaine and prescription antidepressant.'

Just days after Payne's funeral, which took place on Wednesday at St Mary's Church in Amersham, Buckinghamshire, the images perhaps offer a somewhat clearer picture of what happened leading up to the tragic accident. They also raise two serious questions.

To repeat, the first is why would hotel staff – who expressed concern in their call to the emergency services that Payne could come to serious harm on his suite's balcony – take the intoxicated singer up to his room and leave him there alone?

And second, for reasons I will explain, did Liam fall from the balcony while attempting to leave the hotel undetected - a trick he had been pulling since his days in One Direction and which he had repeated just a month previously to evade a concerned bodyguard in Florida?

If the CCTV timestamp is accurate, the sequence of events begins at 15:53 on October 16 when Liam enters the hotel with his friend, the Argentine-American businessman Roger Nores.

Liam is at this point wearing a black cap – which he donned to avoid being recognised by his legions of Latin American fans – and carrying a small bag containing his personal belongings.

The star appears in good spirits and chats with fans in the lobby before heading up to his room with Nores shortly after 16:00.

Payne died after he fell from the balcony of his third-floor suite - just minutes after hotel staff escorted the pop star through the lobby

Payne's suite was found in disarray, with drug paraphernalia strewn across one of the tables. Furniture had also been destroyed

A few minutes later, at 16:05 if the timestamp is right, the pair return to the lobby. Liam has brought his laptop down with him and – crucially, where this timeline is concerned – left his cap and bag up in his third-floor suite.

He continues to chat with a small group of American fans, discussing his life in Florida, where the singer was renting a $12,000 a month house with his girlfriend, the American influencer Kate Cassidy.

At 16:06, Nores says goodbye to Liam and leaves the hotel. At this time, Liam remains in good spirits and continues to interact with hotel guests. At 16:26, Liam is pictured lounging in the lobby, scrolling on his laptop.

Two minutes later at 16:28, Liam is photographed making one of what witnesses later described as three or four trips up to his room in a roughly 30-minute period. Each time he returns to the lobby, his behaviour appears increasingly erratic.

At one point, a witness recalled Payne receiving an email to which he exclaims: 'F*** this s*** mate,' before striking his computer on the floor.

In a separate outburst, he tells another hotel guest: 'I used to be in a boyband – that's why I'm so f***** up.'

It now appears that on the occasions Payne is said to have gone up to his room, he is likely to have been ingesting narcotics. The next known picture of him is this desperately sad one of him being hauled away by the hotel staff at 16:54:48.

Two of the men pictured carrying Payne away are dressed in the uniform of CasaSur reception staff. The Mail understands that one of the two is chief receptionist Esteban Grassi. The third man – wearing trainers, shorts and a T-shirt – works as a masseur in the hotel spa.

A vigil is held by fans for Payne in Buenos Aires the day after his death. Mourners were filmed singing his songs in candle-light

Heartbreaking moment Liam Payne fans break down in tears at vigil

A few minutes after taking the singer back to his room, the hotel put in a call to the emergency services.

'I'm calling you from the hotel CasaSur Palermo,' says chief receptionist Esteban Grassi. 'So, we have a guest who is high on drugs and who is trashing the room. Erm, so we need someone to come.'

The line then cuts out, but Grassi calls 911 again and continues: 'We need you to send someone urgently because, well, I don't know whether his life may be in danger, the guest's life. He is in a room with a balcony and well, we're afraid he might do something.'

The transcript from the 911 call shows that the operator asked reception staff whether they could gain access to Payne's room. The staff replied that they could not.

But why on earth, if Esteban Grassi was indeed concerned that Payne's life was in danger because his room had a balcony, did the hotel allow the singer to be taken up to that room and seemingly left there? And why would they call 911 just a couple of minutes after doing so? At the time of writing, the hotel has not responded to a request for comment.

It would surely have been more appropriate to hold the 'convulsing' Payne in the lobby and call an ambulance immediately. Did hotel staff prioritise keeping the lobby clear for other guests over Payne's safety and well-being?

The Mail understands that no members of the CasaSur hotel staff – including the three men who carried Payne away – are being investigated by Argentine authorities.

Three individuals have been labelled as 'people of interest' in Payne's death. They include 24-year-old Brian Nahuel Paiz and 21-year-old Ezequiel David Pereyra, both on suspicion of dealing Payne drugs.

An Instagram post by 24-year-old Brian Nahuel Paiz, who stands beside the late singer before he fell to his death last month. The post reads: 'Fly high, Chief. Thank you for having enlightened me and for crossing you into my reality. I will always remember you'

The third man is Roger Nores, who – despite having left the hotel long before Payne's erratic behaviour began – has been accused of 'abandonment of a person before death'.

Nores strongly denies the allegation and told the Mail two weeks ago: 'I never abandoned Liam, I went to his hotel three times that day and left 40 minutes before this happened. There were over 15 people at the hotel lobby chatting and joking with him when I left.'

The prolific entrepreneur – who in 2017 featured in the Forbes '30 under 30' list of influential young people for his role in the energy industry – continued: 'I could have never imagined something like this would happen. I'm really heart-broken with this tragedy, and I've been missing my friend every day.'

But while the behaviour of hotel staff leaves more questions than answers, this new picture published by the Mail today leads back to that second question – and a new possibility as to what actually happened when the singer died.

Quite clearly, the picture shows that as the pop-star is taken back to his room, he is neither wearing his black cap or clutching his bag.

And yet, when Payne's body was recovered by the emergency services at 17:11, he was found to be wearing the black cap and to have on his person the small bag he used when out and about.

In other words, it appears that between being returned to his hotel room and being found dead, Liam Payne got dressed to go out.

Could it be that Liam Payne slipped while attempting to leave the CasaSur hotel via his balcony, in a bid to avoid detection by hotel staff?

The Mail understands that hotel staff remained outside his room – according to a statement in the prosecutor's file – seemingly to ensure he did not return to the lobby and disturb other guests.

Police found a host of drug paraphernalia in Payne's room, including burnt pieces of tin foil and traces of white powder. It is certainly plausible Payne may have panicked in his paranoid state and made an ill-fated attempt to purposefully climb out of his room from his balcony.

In a further revelation, a source close to Payne has confirmed to the Mail that the pop star frequently climbed out of hotel balconies in order to avoid detection. In fact, it was a trick he and his bandmates learnt in the early days of their fame to evade their management team while on tour with One Direction. And, shockingly, the Mail can reveal it is also a trick Payne used just one month prior to his death in Florida.

My source revealed that on September 15, while staying at his rental property in Palm Beach, Payne wanted to go out and purchase drugs. His bodyguard, aware of the singer's problem with narcotics and attempts to stay clean, had closed the door to his room and urged the singer not to go out looking for a 'hit'.

Undeterred, my source says the singer escaped via his balcony, stringing a set of sheets together to act as a rope.

Further proof of Liam's high-risk stunts emerged shortly after his death when a picture resurfaced from 2014 showing the then 20-year-old singer standing on a narrow exterior ledge of the 34th floor of his London apartment building – some 350 ft in the air.

The photograph was taken following a night of raucous celebrations marking One Direction bandmate Zayn Malik's 21st birthday.

Later that day, the singer issued an apology to his impressionable young fans, saying: 'You may have seen a photo of me today, taken on top of a building. I regret being there and having a photo taken of me.'

'I do not endorse any fans trying to repeat this as it is extremely dangerous,' Payne's apology continued. 'It was a stupid and irresponsible thing to do. I am sorry.'

Fans have since taken to social media to point out the tragic foreshadowing between the 2014 picture and Liam's death five weeks ago.

The truth is that no one will ever know for sure what Liam Payne's intentions were on that fateful afternoon of October 16. However, the release of this latest picture from the CasaSur hotel lobby helps fill a hole in the sequence of events that led to his fatal fall.

One thing is for sure, the image of Payne as he is taken out of the lobby, at a time when he appears to have needed care and immediate medical attention, raises new and profound questions about where responsibility lies in the tragic tale of the deeply troubled star.What the fuck

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

A night full of surprises

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word count: 7.5k

Summary: This is a request I got and started to write on the 6th of June 2023 (yes, I know, this took me a while). I can't even find it in my asks anymore, but I have the author's decription copied, and it should be enough, so here it is:

"I'm thinking manipulative wanda being overly obsessed with reader to the point where she always calls you earlier than she has to leave for work so she can spend more time with you. She'll run her hands on your arms and sometimes rest her palm on your thigh while asking you difficult questions just to see you squirm beneath her presence. R on the other hand will feel very shy and intimidated by her. But there's also this attraction she kept pushing down because she has to be professional and is extremely scared that wanda will know about it and stop letting R babysit anymore, which also leads to her not seeing the middle aged woman again. But of course, being wanda, she knows exactly what R was feeling. By the way R squeezes her thighs, blush, and stutter, it doesn't have to take a mind reader to know. But one thing R didn't know about wanda is she can be impatient. She's wanted you for a long time, watched the way you'd wet yourself in front of her. Time will come where she would want a taste, where she'd take whatever is hers. After all, she's earned it for making R feel that way, right? So take she does and claim she will. And what a sweet, sweet R as reward could be..."

Warning: NSFW, 18+, lesbian relationship, oral, fingering, finger sucking, strap-on sex, R has a bit of an oral fixation, tribbing, overstimulation, Wanda being pervy, top!Wanda, Bottom!Reader

Masterlist with all my works.

Wanda loved watching you through your windows. She did it more often than she should, more often than it was appropriate for a woman like her, but she didn’t care. She hardly cared if neighbours saw her sneaking glances, or peaked through the windows whenever you were visible. As long as you didn’t know of her secret activities, everything else was inconsequential.

She adored to see you read your books, looking effortlessly beautiful on your recliner, waves of your hair falling around your face. She loved to see you retrieving your mail, or do some small things around the yard, dressed casually. She never missed the days when you went out, loving to see you all dolled up. On those occasions she liked to watch you and imagine that you did it all for her. That you’d put on your outfit to impress her, the make-up flawless, because you wanted to look nice for her. Not that she ever thought you needed all that. You were already perfect. But it made pride bloom in her chest to imagine, even for a bit, that you made the effort just for her.

Those were, of course, perfectly normal occasions, when she could see you. Then again, Wanda could never be satisfied with just that. She needed all of you, she craved you, she fantasized about you… She was obsessed. She felt a hunger so profound that she had to resort to more devious ways of seeing you.

Of course, inserting herself into your life wasn’t hard. She found a casual moment to meet you, introducing herself with a charming smile, then she invited you over to her house, just for coffee, finding ways to bond through mutual interests, she made sure to introduce you to her kids, her eyes sparkling at how quickly they grew to like you… It was easy, honestly. Before you knew it, she’d asked you for a favour, watching the boys for a couple of hours. A favour that grew into more of a non-committed babysitting arrangement.

That’s how Wanda learned about your schedule, about your job, how she soon got invited to your house. The two of you acted more like friends, than anything else and Wanda couldn’t be happier about it. Especially because, now that you had your guard down, she could easily get access to more personal information.

She’d ask you to join her at her house earlier than your scheduled babysitting appointment and she’d sit across from you, listening to you talk about your day. It almost became the norm. She’d sometimes ask you personal questions, but friends did that. So you had no problem to share that you’re single, that you liked women, a confession that brought a blush to your cheeks, feeling uncertain to mention something like that to the older woman, but she took it with a smile, which calmed your nerves.

In truth, Wanda almost jumped out of her skin with joy, knowing that little piece of information. That night, when she settled next to her window, eyes fixated on your bedroom, she watched with even more interest than before, since now she could picture what you fantasized about, while you lay in bed, touching yourself.

Yes, this was, perhaps, Wanda’s favorite part of her daily routine. She’d watch you from the shadows as you undressed, your curtains naively left open. Wanda couldn’t fathom, at first, why you left them so, considering anyone could spy on you, but she wasn’t going to complain, when she was the one hungrily watching.

You had such a beautiful body. She had admired that from day one. And when she found out how you liked to take care of yourself, she was hooked. She saw you splayed out on your bed, legs spread open, while your fingers moved inside you. You were such a pretty sight. Your back arched, your hair scattered across the pillow, your free hand teasing your nipples… How was she supposed to resist all that?

No, there was no way she could resist you, so she did what she had to, to make sure she could keep you close. And she quickly moved on from casual meetings and friendly outings to inviting you over for a day around the pool, sneaking countless pictures of you, while you were sunbathing, her fingers twitching every time she lathered sunscreen on you. She invited you for dinners, she left little treats for you, whenever you babysat for her, just so she could show you she cared. She gave you little back massages on the days you felt exhausted, she checked in on you, to make sure you’re ok. All that, and you still had no clue she wanted you!

Not to mention how often she tried to flirt, sitting next to you while you had coffee together, her thigh touching yours, while she talked, or her hands running over your arms, while she complimented you, her soft words of praise… God, she tried so hard, but you were so shy! She could see the blush on your cheeks, when she was close, she could tell she affected you, but not once did you respond. A fact, she found extremely frustrating. It made her resort to not only having to watch you through your windows, but also taking care of the burning need between her legs all by herself.

Now that just wouldn’t do. It was clear to Wanda that you were meant to be hers and after another night of hiding while she watched you touch yourself, her own hand mirroring your movements, she’d had enough. She wanted to know what you felt like, wanted to taste your lips, your skin, she wanted to breathe you in, wanted to have you under her fingertips, writhing. She wanted everything. And perhaps through some kind of miracle, fate seemed to smile upon her just a few days later.

She was asked to attend a conference out of town, and of course, she couldn’t think of a better person to entrust her children to, but you. She made sure that you’ll have everything you need, inviting you into her home with a wide smile and she gave you a copy of her schedule in case you needed anything, before she left, climbing into her car and waving at the three of you as she drove away.

She couldn’t help but smile at the notion, of all three of you, huddled together to see her off. It was the perfect picture of the family she hoped to one day have and she knew that she wouldn’t have it with anyone but you. You were perfect, smiling softly, as your eyes followed her movements, your arms wrapped around her boys. You looked so pretty and domestic, so delicate… God, how she longed this would be her reality.

Wanda couldn’t stop thinking of it all the way to her conference, the long hours of driving passing with her mind picturing countless scenarios, countless precious moments that you could share. It was so hard to shake off the thought that this wasn’t in fact real and that, despite her longing, you weren’t actually hers, that she had to sit in her car for a few minutes, grounding herself in the present, before she could join her colleagues.  

The hours moved slowly, fraying her nerves, making her check her watch desperately the later it got. She could see the light of the day fading, fluorescent lights flickering to life in the building, as her colleagues droned on and on. It was getting clear that she wouldn’t be home on time and she used a quick break to give you a call.

“Hi, Wanda.” You greeted with a smile. “How’s the conference going?” You asked.

“Hi, darling.” She replied on instinct, the sound of your voice bringing a smile to her lips, despite her exhaustion, before she paused, having to remind herself that you’re not hers. “The conference is taking a little longer.” Wanda cleared her throat. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be.” She confessed. “Would you mind staying a bit longer?” She asked, her voice apologetic.

“Of course, I’ll stay.” You replied with a smile. “We’ll order pizza for dinner, we’ll play some games, maybe watch a movie. You don’t have to worry about us.” You said in a calming tone, bringing instant relief to Wanda’s overworked mind.

“Thank you, Y/N! You’re a life-saver.” Wanda said with a sigh. “If it gets too late, just settle in my bedroom.” She continued. “Just make yourself at home. I’ll do my best to be back as soon as I can.” She assured you, fingers picking at her phone’s case nervously.

“Don’t worry about us, Wanda.” She heard you say on the other end, calming, soft, almost making Wanda forget her reality again. “And drive safely. We’ll be just fine here.” You reassured her again, making the older woman sigh, as if a weight was just lifted.

Despite the shortness of the conversation, it was enough for her to feel more at ease. Enough to get her through the conference and as soon as she was able, she was back in her car and on her way to the three of you.

It was late, the roads dark and abandoned. She had to stop at a gas station to buy herself a cup of coffee, just so she could keep herself alert, her hope of making it home on time completely forgotten. She knew it would be way past the boys’ bedtime, but she hoped to at least see you.

When she reached her house, it was a little after midnight and the darkened rooms told her that all three of you were asleep, making her walk silently through the rooms, to make sure she wouldn’t wake you.

She checked on the boys first, cracking open their door, to see their sweet faces buried in their pillows, blissfully sleeping in their beds, each one tucked in with his favorite toy, making her heart swell with love. She was tempted to go in and kiss their little foreheads, but she didn’t want to disturb them, so she closed the door instead, walking further down the hall to her own bedroom.

She opened the door softly, peering in to find you tucked in. You had pulled down one of her pillows, cuddling it close to your chest, a leg swung over it. She knew it’s how you usually slept, she’d seen it enough times through her windows, yet emotions started to swirl within her at the sight. She wanted to replace the damned thing with her own body, to feel you against her, to be surrounded by your warmth, she wanted to feel your soft breaths as you slept, wanted to run her hands over your body. She thought of how much of your scent will be on her pillow tomorrow, thought about burying her face in it, while she touched herself, so she could imagine that she’s with you. Just the thought had her hands twitching.

Wanda hadn’t realized how dangerous it was, having you here, in her house, in her bed, vulnerable and asleep. Not really. Not until you were here and her imagination had started to run wild. Would you feel her if she climbed in with you? Would she be able to stop herself, if she allows herself this one small indulgence? Would you stir, if she wrapped her arms around you? Would you know, if she buried her face in your neck, while she ground herself against the swell of your ass?

Before she could take her fantasies any further, she saw you stir, her eyes widening in shock, as if caught doing something wrong, before she reminded herself that you couldn’t possibly know what she had just fantasized about.

“Go back to sleep, sweet girl.” Wanda whispered softly, clearing her throat when her voice came out raspy. “I’ll just grab some sheets for the couch.” She explained, as if she needed to give you a reason for being so close to your sleeping form. As if she got caught doing something terribly inappropriate.

It took you a moment to process her words, your mind hazy and tired, your voice rough, when you finally spoke.

“You can stay here.” You said, pulling away the covers. You wanted to say that she shouldn’t be forced to sleep on the couch, in her own house, but your mind couldn’t quite formulate the right words, so this sentence just had to do.

Wanda knew she shouldn’t. Knew it was a dangerous thing, letting someone like her be so close to you. She knew the temptation would be too great, that she wouldn’t be able to resist her urges, yet she couldn’t force herself to say no. She wanted this. No, she needed this. She wanted to spend tonight, pretending that you’re hers.

What Wanda didn’t know was that, despite your obliviousness to her secret activities, you were putting on your nightly shows just for her. Or, with her on your mind. Wanda was just so beautiful, so kind, so caring and sweet, that she had you from the very first day you met her. And the way she treated you certainly didn’t help. Her hands always found ways to touch you, compliments and praises spilling from her lips, as her eyes glided over your body. It was driving you crazy. She always left you little treats, wrote sweet notes for you to find, gave the best hugs. Not to mention you’d left her house with soaked panties so often, it was a miracle you hadn’t stained her couch yet. But you never dared tell her such a thing. You never wanted to fall from her good graces and lose her friendship, too scared that should you admit how desperately in love you’d fallen, you’d never see her, or the boys again. Yet tonight, fate her tested both of you and you were both too weak to resist.

Without much protest, Wanda pulled out a tank top and a fresh pair of panties from her drawers and she took the fastest shower of her life, before she changed quickly, so she could settle into bed next to you. You’d given up your cuddly pillow and it seemed you were once again sleeping peacefully and Wanda had to bite back a smirk, when you backed into her, your ass pressing into her.

It was almost too easy, Wanda thought to herself, as she put her arm around you. You were so warm, so soft, so exposed… She could feel that you had nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of panties on. This was the only barrier that stood between her and what she wanted. Some measly scraps of clothes. But Wanda took it slow, she nuzzled her face in your neck, breathing you in. She wasn’t sure if she was secretly taking her time, so you’d be properly asleep, so there’d be no witnesses to her depravity, so you’d never know how deep her perversions went, or how terribly she craved you. Another part of her wanted you wide awake, so tomorrow you wouldn’t be able to deny how good she made you feel. She wanted you to remember all the things she’d do to you.

In the end it was you, who made the first move. Your body betraying you, while you slept. Little moans and whimpers escaping your lips. At first she thought you might be having a bad dream, a nightmare, but soon she heard a word. Her ears strained to make it out, her arm tightening around you protectively, as if it would do any good, until she finally understood. It wasn’t a word. It was a name. Wanda. You were mewling her name like a little kitten, thighs squeezing together, trying to rut against nothing, seeking friction.

It was the last straw, really. The last bit of restraint she had, simply snapped like a twig and Wanda’s arm tightened even more, her hold so firm, you could hardly move, as she started to leave little kisses on your neck, whispering out your name, so she could bring you out of your dream and into reality.

She felt you wake up slowly, almost heard the gears in your head spin as you realized where you are and remembered Wanda coming home, remembered inviting her into your bed… Well… Her bed, really. Then you remembered what you’d just dreamt about, now more of an idea, an echo, of something distant, yet so powerful it made your cheeks heat up.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” You said, voice rough, body rigid, as if afraid that if you move, Wanda would be able to see every dirty fantasy that you’d just dreamt up.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Wanda said. Her voice was like liquid gold, smooth and seductive. “I can take care of you.” She continued, longing filling up her words. “Would you let me do that, sweet girl?” She asked, still holding you, still firmly pressed into you. “Would you let me help you feel good?”

“Wanda...” You gasped, utterly stunned. It was too much to process, and your mind was so hazy. Were you dreaming this up too? Would you wake up tomorrow, alone in Wanda’s bed and curse yourself for believing, or even hoping she would want you the same way you wanted her?   

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me.” The older woman reassured you. “You were dreaming.” She explains, patient. “You were having quite the dream about me.” She continues, speaking as if she’d seen right into your head and knew exactly what you’d dreamt about. “I must have been very good, if I made you chant my name.” She says bluntly, smirking at the way your heart quickened at her words. “Can I confess something, Y/N?” She suddenly ask, making you wait for her next words with bated breath. “Even though you were dreaming of me, even when you were saying my name, I still couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Some imaginary Wanda was having something I want all to myself.” She told you, words whispered into the night air like a secret. “I want you all to myself.”

For a second there, you thought your heart had stopped beating. You could hardly believe it. But Wanda’s grip loosened a bit, allowing you to turn on your back, your eyes meeting, and you knew that this wasn’t another one of your dreams. This was real.

“Would you let me help you feel good, darling?” Wanda asked again, hips straddling your waist. She looked so beautiful, her blonde hair falling around her face, her green eyes, now darkened pools that never looked away, her lips parted, as if waiting to devour you. “Would you let me make you mine?”

“Please.” You almost whined. You were desperate, hands reaching up, caressing her cheek for a moment, before you were pulling her down.

Wanda’s response was instantaneous. As soon as she had your consent, she leaned down, those same, soft, pink lips you had just stared at, now claiming yours in a kiss.

She kissed you over and over again, hungry, like a barely-contained animal that was fighting to break free. She had her hands all over your body, desperate to feel as much of you as she could, caressing and stroking, eager to feel your naked skin, instead of the t-shirt you were wearing.

She broke the kiss just long enough to take the offensive item off, discarding it on the floor, without paying it much thought, before she was kissing you again, tongue invading your mouth and exploring eagerly.

Wanda was practically salivating. It wasn’t just the fact that all her fantasies were coming true. It was also how adorably submissive you were being, how eager you were for everything she gave you… It was that spark in your eyes. You weren’t putting on a show for her. You genuinely wanted her. Craved her. You were just as in love with her as she was with you. She just knew it.

Not wanting to lose anymore time, she sneaked a hand between your bodies, fingers caressing your pussy over the damp material of your panties. She was instantly rewarded with a moan, your hips canting up to meet her, desperate to feel more of the pleasure she was promising.

“Be a good girl and stay still, darling.” Wanda whispered against your lips, voice starting to vibrate with all the emotions that swirled inside her. “Unless you want me to stop?” She suggested, raising a single eyebrow at you.

“No, please don’t stop.” You mewled, shaking your head, hands clinging to her shoulders.

“Legs open.” Wanda commanded, pulling your thighs apart. She didn’t want you squeezing your legs and getting any pleasure that didn’t come from her. She’d seen you do that enough times and now that she was finally taking you for herself, she never wanted to see it again.

She took her time kissing you, fingers drawing patterns against your things for a bit, testing your will to follow her instructions, and when she saw that you’d behaved yourself, she started again. Stroking your clit through your panties, drawing slow, teasing circles over it. It was driving you crazy and you needed so much more, so it wasn’t a surprise when you finally broke down and begged.

“Wanda, please. Please, touch me.” You asked, your big eyes looking up at her pleadingly, your legs spreading even wider in a silent invitation.

“That’s my good girl.” Wanda praised, kissing you deeply, while she pulled your panties to the side. “That’s what I want you to do from now. Every time you want to feel good, I want you to come to me. I’ll take such good care of you.” She promised, voice seductive and low.

You nodded, swallowing thickly at the intensity in her eyes. You could tell she meant every word. But you weren’t given much time to think of what that could mean, her fingers gliding over your entrance, gathering the wetness accumulated there and dragging it up to your clit. She circled it gently, careful not to overwhelm you, building you up steadily.

Unable to resist much longer, her head lowered, taking a nipple into her mouth and circling it with her tongue while she stimulated you, feeling you squirm under her, your back arching into her touch and demanding more. You were a greedy little thing. Wanda liked that.

Between the way she sucked on your nipples and rubbed your clit, it didn’t take you long, before you felt yourself reaching the edge. You’d dreamt of being with her for so long, you’d pictured what it would be like so many times, you’d touched yourself to such thoughts more than you’d like to admit and now that it was finally a reality, you could hardly contain yourself. You held on to Wanda’s shoulders and hair, pulling her closer and moaning out her name, just as you had in the dream, desperate for a release.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” Wanda detached herself from your perfect breasts just long enough to ask.

“Yes, I’m so close!” You gasped, wishing she would move her fingers just a bit faster. “Please!” You murmured on an exhale.

Wanda smirked then, starting a quick descent down your body, her slick fingers pushing inside you and filling you up perfectly. God, she loved the feeling of your walls squeezing her, fluttering around her frantically, like the wings of a butterfly.

“You feel so good.” Wanda almost growled, her fingers moving in and out of you suddenly. She couldn’t contain her excitement and quite frankly, she didn’t want to, either. “This is my pussy now.” She said with determination, refusing to give up this feeling. “No one else is allowed to touch you, you hear me?” She demanded, fingers speeding up, becoming almost rough. “Say it, baby. Say you’re mine and I’ll make you come so hard.” Wanda coaxed, her smile growing wider the more you fisted at the sheets and moaned for her.

“I’m yours, Wanda! Please, please, make me come.” You pleaded softly, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when she hit a particularly good spot.

Wanda’s body moved even lower, her head between your legs. She breathed in your scent shamelessly, making you try to hide your face from her in embracement, but she was intoxicated. You smelled so damn good. She could see her fingers disappear inside you, your wetness coating them, making her feel proud that she could turn you into such a mess.

“Don’t hide from me, baby.” She reprimanded, when she saw the way you covered your face. “Watch me.” She whispered, as if it was an invitation.

When you finally looked down, meeting her gaze, she lowered her head, tongue sticking out so she could taste you. Her lips wrapped around your clit, her soft, wet mouth enveloping you and making you almost scream at how good it felt. You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. You were on the edge and with a few delicious strokes, Wanda pushed you over it.

A tidal wave of pleasure washed over you, and you bit your lip in an attempt not to scream. It felt so good being full of her, being stroked by her tongue. It was better than what your fingers could offer, better than any other lover you’d had. And she kept moving in that same rhythm, milking every last bit of pleasure you could offer, until you were spent.

Wanda could tell you were done, but she wasn’t even close to being done with you. She had barely gotten a taste of you and her tongue continued to lap at your clit in eager strokes.

“Shhh, it’s ok, sweetheart, you’re ok. Let me clean you up.” She spoke softly, soothing you and quieting down your whines of protest.

She removed her fingers, but soon enough her tongue replaced them at your opening. She lapped at you gently, doing everything in her power to contain her hunger for you, but her hands held you down firmly, ready to stop any attempt for you to get away. She would bruise you if she held on any harder than that, you both knew it, but neither of you cared. You would wear her marks proudly. Just as you would take the overstimulation, if it meant she would keep touching you.

“You taste so good.” Wanda groaned, detaching herself just long enough to speak the words, before returning with renewed hunger.

You moaned when her tongue returned back to your clit and you had to force yourself to stay still, to take everything she wanted to give you. That’s what good girls do. Good girls take what’s given to them. And it wasn’t hard. The craving within you returned, growing harder to ignore with each stroke of her tongue. God, she was so damn good with her mouth.

“So good.” You sighed, when she lapped over a particularly good spot.

You could feel her smile as she looked up at you, repeating the motion over and over again, feeling your body relax under her fingers, now eager for her ministrations.

“Such a good girl.” Wanda praised, instantly spotting the way the blood rose up to your cheeks. She had a feeling you’d like it.

Her mouth returned back to your clit, feeling it twitch under her tongue in desperation. She wondered if you were always like this. Always so wet and needy. If you had been this way while she flirted with you, while she talked to you and complimented you, when her hands lingered… She wondered how you held out so long, without begging her to fuck you. But it didn’t matter. She had you now. And she could tell you were getting close again, your fingers had found their way in her hair and you were greedily pulling her closer, back arching with pleasure, your moans growing louder.

“As much as I love to hear you, darling, you have to be quieter. We wouldn’t want you to wake the boys.” Wanda reminded.

Her words made you bite your lower lip, trying to stay quiet while the pressure inside you kept building. Her tongue made circles and figure-eight’s, swirling perfectly and sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Every part of you she touched instantly responded, sending you in a spiral of neediness.

Your hands pulled her impossibly closer, feeling yourself reach the edge. Your back arched and a few strangled pleas’ fell from your lips, before you finally came, your mouth hanging open in a scream that never left your throat.

Wanda helped you ride it out, her tongue never stopping, until the hands that used to pull her closer, started to try and push her away. She did so with a smirk, crawling over your body so she could plant a few soft kisses on your face. She was tempted to keep going, just so she could show you that she decides when you’ve had enough, not you, but knowing what she had in mind for you next, she decided to take pity on you.  

She moved off the bed after a minute, instantly seeing the concern in your eyes, when she left you and she smiled gently, before speaking.

“You just lie down and rest, dear. I’ll be right back.” She reassured you, discarding her top and panties and moving quickly and efficiently through the room, opening her special drawer with toys, so she could pull out a harness and her favorite dildo.

She made a show of putting it on in front of you, pulling out a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer and coating the toy with it. Not that you needed it, but she liked to be safe. When she was ready, she stood beside the bed, tall and proud and ready to pounce on you.

“Legs open, darling. Show me that pretty pussy.” Wanda demanded as she stroked her strap suggestively.

You did as you were told, spreading your legs wider than they already were, so you could give her a good view, but it didn’t seem to satisfy her.

“I said, show me your pussy.” She repeated, voice growing stern.

Timidly, a little unsure, you reached down, fingers parting your pussy lips, until you were all on display for her. It felt a little obscene, a little embarrassing too, showing yourself to Wanda in such an intimate way, but she seemed to like it, a pleased smile appearing on her face.

She crawled over the bed, her eyes following the length of your legs, then your thighs, zeroing in on your pussy in a manner that could only be described as predatory. But instead of tearing you apart, she was going to fuck you, until you couldn’t cum anymore.

“Such a pretty thing.” Wanda admired you, her hand reaching out. She dragged a single finger through your wetness, her eyes fixated on yours. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” She suddenly asked. “How many nights I watched you touch yourself and dreamt it could be me. How hard I made myself cum, while you had your legs spread wide, just like this.” She emphasized, by spreading your legs even wider, watching the muscles strain. “But you’re not going to do such things anymore, are you?” She asked, as she started to drag the tip of her fake cock over your slick folds, getting it wet with your juices. ”Once I’m done with you…” She started off, leaning over you, so she could whisper the last of her words directly in your ear. “Nothing will ever be as good.” She promised, guiding the tip of her cock to your opening and pushing inside.

Your hands flew to her back instantly, your big, doe eyes looking up at her, while you nodded your agreement. You could hardly speak, the feeling of your walls parting for her, accepting her eagerly and squeezing around her was so overwhelmingly good, you could hardly even think, let alone process the fact that apparently, she’s been watching your nightly activities. All you wanted was this. For her steady thrusts to never stop, for her lips to keep exploring up and down your neck, planting kisses on every spot they could reach. You could tell she was leaving marks too, hickeys that marked you as hers. It was heavenly. And as her thrusts grew harder, your moans grew louder, your restraint entirely forgotten as you gave yourself completely to the moment.

“You need to be quiet, honey.” Wanda reminded again. “If you can’t keep quiet, I’ll have to gag you.” She warned. It sounded like a threat, but her eyes sparkling with excitement told you otherwise. You could tell she would love to do that and a part of you wanted to know what that would feel like. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you.” She noticed right away, an eyebrow arching up at the idea. “Stick your tongue out.” She demanded, one of her palms reaching up to hold your jaw, while you complied. “That’s right.” She nodded, her thumb running across your lower lip before it disappeared in your mouth. “Suck, baby.” She gasped, already feeling your eager tongue swirl over her digit, your lips closing around it hungrily.

You looked so beautiful like that, so content, so blissfully lost in pleasure. You were sucking on her thumb happily, your hands starting to claw at her back as she kept on thrusting inside you. Your legs had found their way around her too, your whole body pulling her in.

“Such a talented little mouth.” She mused, not missing the small blush that started to form on your cheeks. “I wonder what else you would like to have in there.” She pretended to think. “My nipples, maybe? They’re so sensitive, you know? I bet they’d feel amazing with your lips around them. Or maybe my pussy?” She suggested, feeling you hum happily in agreement. “I bet you love eating pussy.” She said with a smirk. “Maybe I’ll even get you to clean off my strap, when I’m done with you.” Wanda said with a spark in her eye. “Wouldn’t you like that? To suck me off. I’ll even get one of those squirting straps for you next time, so I can give you a treat after.” She thought out loud. “I bet you’d like that very much.”

All you could do was nod, eager to agree. You would love to get to taste her pussy, you would happily suck her off too. Not to mention sucking on her gorgeous nipples… The thought had you reeling. You wondered if perhaps she’d ever let you fall asleep while you sucked on them, all tucked in, with her warm blankets around you and her hot body pressed against you. That would be simply heavenly. But you didn’t dare say a word, too scared that she’ll take her thumb from your mouth and leave it empty, something you didn’t want happening at all. Especially when you felt so full right now. Both your mouth and your pussy were getting filled up by Wanda and each second was getting you closer to yet another climax.

Wanda could feel you get close and the pressure of the harness against her clit was driving her wild with desire, her pussy dripping with arousal. She wanted to come while she fucked you, picturing that she could cum inside you and fill you up. She pictured her fingers playing with the mess she left behind, pushing it all back inside, when it eventually leaks out, overstimulating your pussy. But that didn’t matter. She would make it all better… She just really wanted to be able to get off, while she fucked you, but the pressure of the base of the dildo against clit just wasn’t enough.

As another orgasm crashed through you, you were thankful for the fingers still in your mouth, otherwise you would have screamed, wave after wave of pleasure overwhelming your senses. Nothing had ever felt as good as Wanda’s touch and you were quickly getting addicted to the way she so easily managed to coax you into cumming, no matter how much you had already taken for her.

When you were done, she pulled out, carefully detaching herself from you and tossing the harness on the floor. When she climbed back over you, you thought she’d like to cuddle, or that perhaps she’ll straddle your face, a prospect that had you licking your lips in anticipation, but she straddled you instead, manoeuvring your body until, she could position her pussy on yours.

When her wet pussy first made contact with yours, you squirmed, feeling overstimulated, but Wanda only straddled you more securely, pinning you under her and using her hands to restrain you.

“Oh, don’t try to run from me now…” She said with a smirk, her pussy making contact with yours again. “I made you cum so many times tonight. Are you going to deny me, hm? Are you going to be ungrateful, sweetheart?” She asked, her words condescending and sweet.

You only shook your head, your fingers intertwining with hers in a silent agreement.

“Wouldn’t you like me to eat you instead?” You offered weakly, still hoping to spare yourself.

“No, darling, I want to feel you. I want to come just like this. I’m already close, baby.” She reassured you, even though she didn’t much care if that brought you any solace. “You can take it for me.”

“I can take it.” You nodded, voice strained and so small. She loved it. Loved the prospect of having you utterly spent and exhausted, so she could take care of you.

“That’s right. You just lay there and let me use you. I know you can take it for me.” Wanda confirmed proudly. “You’re such a good girl.” She praised, one of her hands stroking your hair lovingly. “Such a good, sweet girl, taking everything I give you. I’m so proud of you honey.” She murmured sweetly, lulling your brain into a submissive haze.

You hung on to every word she uttered, getting off on the praise and the warmth of her approval, your clit responding with a throb, when she started to rub hers over it. You loved it. The way she looked at you, the way she held you, the way she caressed you, her ministrations purposefully gentle and slow.

You could do nothing but surrender, happy to be used in this way, to see her close her eyes in pleasure as she continued to grind against you. Her breasts hung above you, full and gorgeous and begging for your attention and you lifted your head up, capturing a nipple between your lips and letting your tongue swirl over it.

Wanda’s response was a surprised gasp that quickly turned into a moan, one of her hands cradling your head as she continued to grind her pussy on yours.

“There you go.” She sighed happily. “Keep sucking, baby. You make me feel so good.”

She let you suck and lick over her nipples, loving the content expression she could see on your face as you did it. You looked so blissed out and she knew she could finally focus on getting an orgasm for herself, her hips picking up speed and grinding more firmly against you.

“You feel divine, darling.” She said, as she held you. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard.” She announced. “Don’t stop sucking.” She encouraged, pulling you even closer to herself, her fingers in your hair.

She moaned softly, excitement shooting through her at the thought of just how dirty this was. She had you all pinned underneath her, using your pussy to get off, her juices mixing with your own, while she had you sucking on her nipples.

“Fuck, I’m close.” Wanda gasped, her movements getting more frantic as she chased her high. “Are you going to come with me, baby? I want you to come with me.” She said with a note of urgency.

You tried to say something, your words muffled, as your face was being shoved into Wanda’s perfect tits. A part of you really wanted to come with her, feeling safe and protected in your current position. You felt enveloped by Wanda, by her taste, her scent, her voice, the heat of her body on top of yours. It was perfect really. Then there was the other part of you, that felt utterly fucked out already and entirely unable to take another orgasm. But as soon as you felt her body go rigid, her stuttering thrusts getting erratic and then almost stopping as she came, your body decided for you. You let go, your orgasm crashing over you and making you moan.

Wanda had to fight back a scream as she finally came, her clit twitching and throbbing as it was being rubbed over your own. She couldn’t picture a better way for herself, loving how close you were, how intimate it felt to get off like this. She loved it even more that you came with her.

Your orgasm was much shorter than hers, your whole body utterly spent already, but you held on, taking the overstimulation that sent almost painful jolts through you, and waiting for her to finish, wanting her to enjoy herself as much as she liked.

When she was done, Wanda was kind enough to pull away from your pussy, finally having mercy on you, after she saw the exhausted look on your face.

She stood up briefly, getting you a glass of water and she watched you drink it, before she returned to bed, trying to snuggle you and finally let you rest, but feeling you resist her.

“I didn’t even get to taste you.” You murmured gently, the cutest pout she’d ever seen appearing on your face and making her let out a laugh.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get to taste my pussy too, baby.” Wanda reassured you. “You’ll get a chance to show me how good you are with your tongue. Now, rest. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.” She whispered in your ear, the arm around you pulling you closer to her.

She watched you fall asleep, eyes sparkling and full of adoration, fingers playing with your hair calmingly, until you fully relaxed in her hold, breathing evening out.

“You’re just perfect, aren’t you.” She spoke softly, memorizing each detail of your face. “All mine now.”

[blackknight-kai]

Got Sick? Have a Monkey Nurse

Request: “since I'm sick with a cold, I wanted to ask for hcs and maybe scenarios if you're inspired, for both DO and Sun Wukong about how they'd react and what'd they do if reader got sick with a cold due to bad weather conditions. And while it's not life-threatening it has reader cough badly, losing appetite, being absent mentally, getting fever, headaches and not eating, body weakness and all around exhaustion, to the point she has to rest more often and longer hampering the group's speed. (She also managed to nearly collapse on the spot while walking because she wanted to carry on and keep it a secret maybe) Reader is also low-key embarrassed about it since she is so weak as a mortal and thinks DO and SWK will surely despise her for this. also maybe she is afraid she'll get them sick too so she will at first try to create distance”

Below will be a snippet, a reaction for DO & WK separately, and then some bonus stuff!

He knew something was amiss with you but he couldnt quite place what at first. Your scent had changed and you seemed sluggish, slower than normal as you helped pick up the small camp that morning so you guys could move on. He checked on you but you waved him off and with a shrug he decided to leave you be. But he kept a close eye on you, noticed how you lagged behind and seemed a little out of it. You didn’t even really react when tried sneaking up on you!

That evening when you guys bunked down for the night you didn’t hardly eat, much to his annoyance and concern. And you went to bed early claiming that you’d just been extra sleepy but that you’d be good to go in the morning. Come morning though, he realized you were NOT ‘good to go’. Instead you were even slower than the day before. And you were avoiding him, keeping a weird little distance between the two of you as if he suddenly started to smell, he sniffed himself self consciously of course because of this….a few times. But no, he doesnt stink. He wondered then if maybe it’s his breath? Or did you just need space?

Several times he had to stop and wait for you to catch up, or you seemed to stall periodically and would say you thought you saw something, which was starting to irritate him because there is never anything there, but he could tell by the way you were breathing that you were fatigued. Speaking of breathing, your breaths sounded strange. Rough. Like you were struggling to breathe.

As the day continued on something shifted, you started to cough. Light at first and you swore it was just due to a dry throat. But even after hydrating your cough continued, got worse even over the next several hours. Your scent also has changed even more since the day before. Around mid day, while he was keeping a suspicious eye on you, you seem to trip over your own feet and he had to rush catch you to stop you from falling. You’re warmer than usual, trust him he knows, and so he leans in and subtly sniffs you. You dont smell ‘bad’ or anything, but you dont smell healthy….almost like…

His eyes widen and he takes a moment to look you over carefully. Your face is flushed with a sheen of sweat on your brow and down your neck, your breathing ragged although you seem to be trying to hide it. You are also slumped in a way he hasn’t seen you stand before as though you are barely remaining on your feet. Plus, now that he’s looking for it there is a slight sway to your body and your eyes are slightly unfocused. The worsening cough, no appetite last night or this morning, and the slight sniffle you have going that wasn’t there before.

Shit, he should have know. You’re sick. As he watches you he wonders what caused this? You guys hadnt come into contact with any one who was sick and there hadnt really been any changes in diet and the pace of your journey hasn’t changed…but then it clicks. A few nights ago there had been a very quick and sudden downpour and the two of you had been taken by surprise. Normally he would have smelled the rain coming but he had been distracted by watching you try to show him that you’d been learning how to use a staff just by watching him. You’d picked up a stick and were waving it around with such fierce determination he hadnt had the heart to tell you that you definitely hadnt learned a single thing, but he did laugh at you though. Quite a bit.

The rain though had drenched you both and you’d taken shelter in a small shallow cave hed been lucky to spot. Scrounging up dry fire wood was a pain but after some searching he had managed. While you both sat in front of the fire to dry, him stripped of most of his clothes save for a loincloth covering his dignity, you had refused to take off most of your clothes, preferring to try to sit in front of the fire to dry. He had snickered at you for it, especially when later he was mostly dry and you were still sitting in damp clothes. Now though he realizes what a mistake that was.

He presses you about it and at first you try to lie, of course you do. But then you finally sag a little and tell him that ‘yes’ you are sick. And when you sheepishly explain that you didn’t want to slow him down??? He throws his head back with a groan and huffs. Of COURSE you would try to power through. He’s annoyed at himself for not stopping and pressing you as soon as he noticed yesterday that something was wrong. He doesnt want you to be suffering like this!

From your point of view how he is reacting is exactly as you feared. You assumed he would be annoyed with you, upset that ‘of course the human is so weak she catches a cold’. And that he’d be frustrated at the delay in your journey. Guilt weighs you down, you’d done your best to push through your exhaustion and aching body to prevent exactly this. Plus, what if you got HIM sick? Can he even get sick? This is when he stomps off without you right? Because you’ve finally shown you weren’t made for this…..cant keep up with him.

A cough tickles your throat and you try to stifle it but aren’t able to and before you know it your hacking, the feeling of his warm hand on your back rubbing soothing circles doesnt go unnoticed. You try to apologize after you’ve stopped coughing and clear your throat but the unimpressed look he sends you makes you look away in embarrassment.

Your supply bag is lifted off your shoulders and a surprised yelp leaves your sore throat as you’re bodily picked up, you’re not quite thrown over his shoulder but it’s a near thing. He stalks off carrying both you and the bag, walking with clear purpose and you try to protest but he wont have it. His grip remains tight and his pace steady all the way up until he finds a safe place for you both to bunker down and for you to rest.

What to do about this unexpected issue?

Both:

- [ ] Massage your aches, be it legs, shoulders, head, neck, back etc.

- [ ] Be super sweet.

- [ ] Manhandle you.

- [ ] Might whine in the back of his throat when you cough too long and knows it hurts you.

- [ ] You will NOT be getting up unless it’s to use the bathroom.

- [ ] A little overbearing….

- [ ] Hand feeding - unless you protest

- [ ] Checks your temp regularly with his forehead and hand.

- [ ] Depending on how bad your sickness is he may pace while you’re asleep and fidget or grumble as he worries over you. When you’re awake he wont show it though.

- [ ] Wants desperately to take your pain away.

- [ ] When you dont have a headache/ aren’t coughing a lot will try to make you laugh a little

- [ ] When you’re sleeping will give you forehead kisses and nuzzles.

- [ ] You will be taken care of and pampered. Comfortable. Made to feel important and not like a chore.

Destined One:

- [ ] Bare with him….he has never been someone’s nurse before. So he’s going to be a bit tentative as he gets you settled on to your bed roll and tucked in with furs/blankets.

- [ ] He’s a bit annoyed at you at first, mainly because you didn’t tell him you were sick and had tried to pretend, probably making it worse.

- [ ] But as he see’s how truly sick you are he’s going lose that irritation and concern will swallow it whole.

- [ ] He’s not going to know what to make of you but hes going to do his best.

- [ ] You‘ll probably have to guide him a little, hes never really been sick before so he’s lost.

- [ ] But once he knows what to do he’s going to take care of you. Getting you water, changing the cool towel on your forehead, getting you a little to eat here and there.

- [ ] When he figures you’re not warm enough he tries to use his body heat to warm you.

- [ ] Rolls his eyes at your protests and does it anyway - he wont be getting sick dont worry.

- [ ] He’s gonna be a bit of a mother hen….dont wanna eat? Too bad hes going to make you eat a few bites at least and wont stop prodding you until you do.

- [ ] He’s very soft during this time with you, gentle. Soft monkey noises to soothe and comfort - something hes not used to but cant help himself.

- [ ] Only leaves when necessary.

- [ ] He hates it the most when you say you’re dizzy and your head is throbbing from a terrible headache, seeing you be in such pain hurts his chest and he will gently massage your head for you while he rests it in his lap/on his leg.

- [ ] Towel bath. He will be respectful but he will wipe you down to get the sweat off of you.

- [ ] His voice, or well the grunts and sounds he makes are softer so that he doesnt hurt your head.

- [ ] Will rub your back and shoulders as you cough and hack.

- [ ] If you like ‘white noise’ he will rumble/purr in his chest to help you relax / sleep.

- [ ] When you finally let it slip that you were scared of upsetting him and that you’re sorry you were weak…please dont leave you behind, he is going to pout up a damn storm and very gently pinch your cheeks.

- [ ] If you HC him as speaking every so often he will finally use words to tell you that NO he isnt going to leave you and that hes not mad at you. That he just wants you to get better so he can see you smile again. He will sign this out or use his body language to tell you if you dont think he speaks. Either way, he just wants you to not be in pain.

- [ ] He’s gonna make sure you know he’s there for you. Sickness and in health.

Wukong:

- [ ] He’s gonna immediately jump on the mother hen shit.

- [ ] At first he’s going to be huffy as he talks and does things, but it’s because hes mad that he didn’t notice your plight.

- [ ] His movements at first will be rough but gentle as he lays you down and makes you rest on your bed roll.

- [ ] He’s going to tuck you in and if he has to, he will tie you down LOL dont play with him.

- [ ] He has helped with sick restless monkey cubs in the past so he at least has the basics down. Will definitely compare you to one teasingly by the way.

- [ ] He’s going to not take no for an answer, ever. He’s gentle about it though dont worry. But if he has to, he will put water in his mouth and kiss you - pry your lips open with his/his tongue and make you take the water. (So…I mean maybe refuse water for a kiss…?👀)

- [ ] He is going to ask you to do things ‘for him’ as in “Eat one more bite for me?” Kind of stuff. And hes gonna be sooooo sooo soft about it that honestly you’ll have to just do it because how tender he’s being.

- [ ] Will always be touching you, tail around you somewhere or hes massaging your neck and shoulders.

- [ ] He hates everything about this because you’re clearly in pain and feel horrible, but loves taking care of you. Loves that you let him.

- [ ] For once he’s pretty quiet, unless you ask him to tell you stories or talk. Might hum, very off key, for you too.

- [ ] Wont leave your side unless he has to for something.

- [ ] He’s going to tease you and coo at you - sweetly though.

- [ ] Will stroke your face and comb his fingers through your hair. Massage your shoulders/neck/head.

- [ ] Takes wiping you down seriously and wont make any teasing comments or do anything funny.

- [ ] Will ‘let’ you use him as a heated mattress (he makes you LOL) - if you get sweaty too bad he will just remove the blanket but you’re not going anywhere.

- [ ] When you finally come out and tell him you feared him leaving you behind, getting him sick, and slowing him down he full on scoffs and blows a gentle raspberry on your cheek.

- [ ] Tells you that you’re silly as hell for thinking that because, HIM? Getting sick? Fat fucking chance. And leaving you? Pffffffft good luck getting away from him (said as a joke).

- [ ] As for slowing him down? Well duh, you’re sick its gonna slow things down but he’d rather that then you making yourself worse - which he calls you an idiot for doing btw (but very fondly). But keep in mind he can literally just carry you and make up time. And he will.

- [ ] Go ahead, ask him for something, anything because it’s yours and he will GLADLY provide. He’s WAITING for you to make a request.

- [ ] He only asks for a smile as thanks.

Bonus 1 Both: He gets sick

- [ ] Huffing, whining, glowering at you when you aren’t near him so he can use your lap as a pillow/body as a pillow.

- [ ] Acts weaker than he is. Just so you will pamper him more. (Still able to manhandle you funnily enough…) He’s needy and clingy.

- [ ] Loves your attention - may not admit it. But his weak tail swishing tells you otherwise. Purrs while you take care of him. (Yes some monkeys purr)

Bonus 2 DO: He gets sick

- [ ] Tries to take care of himself at first but when you insist he allows you to - he’s not that hard to convince in his weakened state.

- [ ] Very cuddly and honestly? Kinda needy but silent about it.

- [ ] Very soft and has big imploring soft brown eyes that you cant resist. Never had to be taken care of so he’s living his best life right now even if he feels like shit.

Bonus 3 Wukong: He gets sick

- [ ] If he gets sick he is a HUGE fucking baby about it. I hope you’re ready for his pouting, whining, and dramatics (when hes awake, because when he sleeping hes adorable and an angel)

- [ ] Will pretend like hes fine, put a good show of refusing help, extra pouty. But when he gives in? Well….good luck.

- [ ] Will take everything you give him though like a good boy - wont feed himself, you have to hand feed him. He’s greedy for your attention.

Bonus 4: How I think he would sneeze in general (sick or not), this just was a passing thought….

- [ ] DO: Sneezes 1 of two ways, hides it or….sneezes like an adorable kitten with a little monkey sound in there. - first time you hear it you’d probably melt.

- [ ] WK: Sneezes loudly, suddenly, and obnoxiously like an old man whose soul is ejecting itself forcefully from his body. Does this on purpose just to be annoying and piss people off or scare them.

[starshipsofstarlord]

nsfw alphabet

warnings. just a lot of sex discussion, like a hell of a lot

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

it would be the one moment that he held you close, taking a break from all the shit that went on around you, unless you had a quickie on a run, to which he would wipe you off hurriedly with that red rag. he’d like you to play with his hair and have your head on his chest, knowing that any time could be the last time

b = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he would definitely like his hands, since he’d be insecure and shy about the scars that covered the rest of his body. daryl would like how big they are in comparison to your own, and all the things that he could do with them (sexually and in general, i.e. like killing walkers, and hunting)

his favourite body part of yours would probably be your lips, for various reasons. it would feel like everything would be okay when you smile, especially if it’s a real and warm smile. and of course, you sent him to a whole other dimension when it was wrapped around his cock, he’d never have experience pleasure like it

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

it would always be a dirty secret of his that he wanted to cum inside you, so fucking badly. but he always referred from doing so due to the risks, and it was hard enough to survive without impregnating you, since anything could go wrong like it did with lori

and so instead he would opt for cumming on your thigh or lower stomach as he would pull out at the last second, and it would usually be your hand finishing him off

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’d love to see you looking all badass, covered in walker guts, points if you’re angry. it just did something to him that drove him wild, but he kept it to himself, knowing that he would be judged for his admittance. it made him swell with pride (and other things) that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s a fast learner, so he definitely picks up on things quickly, however i would say very little experience (since norman said he played him as though he was a virgin)

he would get so easily embarrassed when it came to anyone talking about sex. there may have been like one or two at the very most drunken hookups that he hardly remembers, but that would be all i think, at the very very most. but he would love to learn to explore your body for the first time, it would be something new and considering how long he held out, he would find every second of your intimacy worth it

f = favourite position (this goes without saying)

for daryl it would most definitely be good ol’ fashioned missionary. he would love to be close to you (and when you first started having sex, have his back facing away from you). but for quickies he would probably have you held in his arms and up against a wall, fucking you as fast as he could so the two of you could reel in the aftershocks of your orgasms

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

at the beginning it would be a little goofy since he was learning, it would feel like you’re two school kids sneaking around and trying to be quiet. daryl would get easily embarrassed if he did anything wrong and that he could improve on, but you’d just gently laugh and tell him to keep going

but after that, he’d grow more serious, and confident. he’d have the goal of making you cum over and over if you had the time for it, other than sneaking around for quickies which would be exciting and make you laugh each time your man would tense up if you heard someone

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i’d say it matches the ‘drapes’, since there’s not much time for self care in an apocalypse, and the same goes for you, unless you manage to find some disposable razors. he doesn’t care much for trying to trim, as he’s never done so before, and since you’re not fussed he uses all the energy in regards to his cock on you

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

daryl can be quite intimate, considering that sex is something special between the both of you. sure occasionally he fucks you like a madman when he’s stressed, however he always and i mean ALWAYS makes sure that you are enjoying yourself. he watches your every move, to decide how much you can take and what you’re needing. most of the time it’s not just the pleasure from screwing that he craves, but to feel close to you

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

hardly ever, unless you’re watching him or he’s preparing his cock to be sheathed inside of you. there’s not always time for sex and so there’d hardly be time for him to get himself off; however he did find himself doing it more frequently than he ever had in his life before the outbreak the moment that he met you

he needs you, and just to feel close to you, and that’s more than enough.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

one of daryl’s kinks is a size kink! not only does that man love man handling you and have his hands grasping large portions of your body at once, but he loves to use it to his advantage to tease you. if you’re lifting something particularly heavy, he will be the first to help, watching as his arms contract from the weight, and he finds amusement in the way that lust fill your eyes and how your mouth gapes open

it may not be perceived as a kink, or maybe it will, but he is addicted to you moaning his name. it shows that he is the one making you feel good,and he loves when you vocalise it

other kinks he would have would be spanking you when he’s feeling dominant (he’d only do it lightly, unless he is extra pissed off at you for whatever reason), and he occasionally if he’s feeling frisky will spit in your mouth

l = location (favourite places to do the do)

his favourite place to have sex with you would be your bedroom, away from prying eyes and walkers that could stumble across the two of you fornicating. however every once in a while he’ll take you in a truck if you’re on a supply run with just the two of you, or in your garage if he has a lot to do and is craving a distraction

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

it doesn’t take a lot, although there’s not always time for him to act on his carnal impulses. but if you’re wearing a particularly tight pair of jeans that hug your ass just right, or just a towel after showing, he will seize any opportunity that he has.

another thing that will wind his gears is if another person flirts with you, he has to make it clear that you are his, and nobody could love you like he does. it’s not him being possessive, he’d just rather everyone know that you are a taken woman, and he is the one that you’re committed to

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

the one thing daryl would never ever do is hurt you, any injury as minimal as it could be would be the difference between life and death when you’re outside the walls. a few light spanks here and there are fine, however even if you asked him to smack you around the face in a sex-induced haze, he’d look at you like you were a crazy woman

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

as much as he adores your lips around his cock, he leans towards being a giver rather than a receiver. he could get lost in eating out your pussy, and often times does; he’s like a starved man, and he loves nothing more than giving you pleasure. some people say he’s pussy whipped and he most definitely is but tasting you is one of the best things about sex and foreplay in his opinion

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

it will always depend on his mood, however even when he is being slow and sensual, his pace does increase. it’s a rush when he goes faster to chase your highs, and he loves how you have trouble containing your moans and pleasure filled bellows. and it depends also on which position you are in, though it’s often missionary, if you’re on top he’ll grab at your hips, fucking up into you and controlling your movements

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

quickies happen exceedingly often, especially depending on the amount of work that you have to do. and he enjoys them, and even though he usually prefers to take his time with you, having you fold and crumble as he fucks you on a run. it makes him a little cocky that he has the ability to make you lose your mind in such a short amount of time, and he’ll always tease you after, even if you’re around other people, just to see you get all riled up for the possibility of another round

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

it will 100% depend on what the risk is, but overall he likes to keep things in a routine, sometimes switching the position. he likes exactly what you do together, so he thinks there’s no need to try much else. the one risk that repeats in his mind is cumming inside of you, it’s almost like a primal instinct, but he refrains from doing so as the outcome is enormously risky

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

so so many. at the start he was unable to last long with the feeling of being inside your pussy, but the more the two of you have sex, he is able to last a lot longer. maybe 30-40 minutes if he’s not too riled up. and he’d need to take a quick break between round but he could go like 3/4, and whilst he’s waiting to get hard again, he would either get you both some water or snack on your pussy

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

it’s not the easiest thing to get ahold of in an apocalypse, even if they’d be free considering that stores are no longer open. and it’s definitely not a priority, he is a very hands on man, and would rather make you cum himself. he thinks it’d be hot to maybe have you have a vibrator to stimulate your clit whilst his cocks inside of you, but that’s all really

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he will tease you until you beg him to fuck you. daryl loves hearing you say that you need him, and often he doesn’t have to do much, sometimes give your hip a squeeze as he passes by you and dragging his hand across your lower back, however he teases more when you’re already undressed. he will tease you until you’re pulling his hair as he blows air over your wet cunt, trying to push his head closer so that his lips make contact with where you need him most. he also likes to run his tip through your folds multiple times before he finally pushes inside of you

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he does try to stifle his moans in case anyone hears, since he knows that they’ll tease him. and he’ll moan the dirtiest things in your ear as he’s fucking you, allowing his breath to hit your neck whilst he buries his face next to your own. his groans are constant though, especially as he gets closer to cumming

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

it may not be that wild, but he loses his mind if you sit on his face. if he could choose how he died, it would definitely be with you sat on his face, so that his lips are buried against your cunt. again, he’s a giver so it’s like his own personal heaven; he just can’t get enough of you and your pussy

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he has a thick and uncut cock, and his soft bulge is visible through his trousers (iykyk) and when he’s soft he’s about 7 inches, but when he gets going and is hard, his cock grows to be around 7.5-8 inches. he was almost afraid during his first time with you that he’d hurt you, but soon he learns that it brings you such bliss (side note. he always stretches you out just right first), and his eyes roll back when you’re blowing him and choke when his tip hits past the back of your throat

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

it’s a little above average, as much as he loves sex with you, there is nothing better than being married/in a relationship with you, even without the sexual pros. and he can appreciate your body in an innocent way. his drive definitely increases though when he’s stressed or has had a hard day

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

even if he’s tired after a round or few, he can’t fall asleep right away, and so he uses the time whilst he’s awake to clean you up and make sure that you’re comfortable. he also will have some pillow talk with you, where his voice is all gruff, and you’ll play with his hair. he finds it difficult to sleep in general, because all he can think about a good amount of the tune is those that didn’t make it, and he wants the quiet around you to continue until he knows that nothing is going to happen while you sleep - you are his #1 priority, and he just likes to make sure you’re safe

and sometimes the two of you will get mostly dressed and sit outside for a good 20 minutes and have a couple of cigarettes before going back to bed to finally get some rest

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

[theminecraftbee]

Afterwards, they do a race. They don’t talk about it, but it’s there, between them still. Something settled between them. Cleo doesn’t know how to say it; they never know how to say things like this. Still, they need to, so they wait until Ren’s race is over and then hike through the jungle to go sit on top of Etho’s base and wait for him to show up as well.

He doesn’t. He’d gone to their base. Instead of just showing up for each other, they have to somewhat awkwardly coordinate over text which base to meet at. It forces everything to feel more real.

When they finally meet up, it’s in the shopping district, leaning against the button. A dangerous game in theory, but Cleo’s not fully convinced it can explode at this point, so.

Cleo breathes. They’re both quiet for a moment.

"Okay, so like, are we doing this?" Cleo says.

"I don’t really know, uh, what this is," Etho says, "but I… care about you. I think. So I think we’re doing that."

Cleo nods once. "You know I don’t fall in love, right? I’m not going to fall in love with you, I don’t do that. Might say something about loving you, but it’s not the same thing. Different sense of the word. It’s different, loving people and falling in love, got it? And I won’t do that second thing. I’m never going to do that second thing. I don’t--"

"Okay. I know," Etho says.

"Do you?" Cleo asks.

"I mean, not entirely, but I’m frankly surprised we’re having this conversation in the first place. I never expected you to be in love with me."

"But I’m not," Cleo says. "I’m attracted to you, and I love you as like, a companion and friend or whatever, but I’m not in love with you. I’m. Ugh. I wish I knew the right words. I just--I also don’t let go of things so if we’re doing this you’re going to have to get used to that real fast. Me not being in love with you but me not letting you go, both of those things."

"You're attracted to me? Aw, Cleo," Etho says.

"Don't be an ass," Cleo says.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just, geez, this is--a heavy conversation, huh?"

Cleo sighs. "We'll work on the deflection."

Etho rubs the back of his head and looks away. "Uh, in that case. If I'm maybe a little in love with you--"

"I can't--I can't reciprocate that, Etho," Cleo says, and their voice cracks as they do.

"I know," Etho says. "I just want to make sure it's okay, then."

"You can't help that, can you? Just like I can't help that I still sort of want to kill anyone who hurts you."

Etho seems to think about it for a while. Cleo resists the urge to fidget. She's a zombie. She shouldn't have the urge to fidget; she should be too dead for that. Besides, it's hardly like it's a secret she doesn't fall in love, exactly. It's just... it's only relevant sometimes. Feeling like, as she watches Etho and Bdubs dance around each other, she's on the outside looking in. She'd kill to hold their hands, to protect them, hell, even to kiss them--but that's different. She just can't summon the same emotion of... she doesn't know.

Martyn had almost gotten it, for all he didn't get anything else, in the end. Scott was never going to fall in love with her in the first place, for obvious reasons. Whatever attraction she and Pearl have going on, it's definitely not love.

But this...

"Okay," Etho says.

"That's it?" Cleo says.

"I mean, does it need to be anything else?" Etho says. "It's not like we can just... not do this. I think it's too late for that. Whatever 'this' is. I'm in love, and you aren't, but we'd both be pretty upset to lose this, right? So I'll... figure it out."

Cleo swallows. They feel small. "Will you? Do you understand?"

Etho shrugs. "I understand that it's you, and it's you that this happened with, not anyone else."

"Okay," Cleo says. "Okay."

"Is it okay if I kiss you? Just to try it, I mean. Not like, as a--this is a bad time, actually, I don't want to try to make any kissing we do romantic, I mean, you just told me this won't be romantic, I--"

"Yeah, sure, you can kiss me," Cleo says, and he leans in to kiss them. It's nice. A little soft for what they'd want, really, but nice. He leans back. He looks them in the eyes.

"I get it a little more now."

Cleo is baffled. "How? Kissing is just like, a thing we did? How does that have anything to do with any of the rest of this."

Etho laughs. "I definitely get it a little more now. What do you want to tell the others? I know they're definitely gossiping."

"Ugh. Can we just, like, not?" Cleo says. "I don't want to have to explain it."

"I'll just be confusing then, got it," Etho says, and Cleo can't help but laugh themselves.

"This is why you're my favorite," Cleo says, and they think maybe this will work out okay, after all.

[eroselless]

PATO - ONE

series masterlist | part 2 | part 3

[charles leclerc x reader, carlos sainz x reader]

warnings: angst, fighting, mentions of pregnancy

note: I don’t listen to Billie Eilish all that much but my best friend got me hooked on her latest album and for some reason, Wildflower inspired me to write this. Might not have any correlation but ya know, when life give you lemons. Also here Charles and Carlos aren’t as close as they seem to be in real life. Hope you enjoy it!

MONACO, DECEMBER 2022��

You stand in the dim light of your living room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows across the floor. It’s a wasteland of memories—two years of them, scattered like broken glass across the carpet. You feel the ache of them pressing in, and for a moment it’s almost too much to bear. 

“I feel like I’m drowning here, all on my own,” you breathe, your voice splintered and fragile. You can barely hold his gaze, not when he looks so unfazed, so unmoved. His face is a mask you can’t seem to decipher. “You’re always gone, Charles. What are we even doing?”

Charles rubs his temple, a motion that is almost rehearsed, this conversation feeling like it's been had far too many times. “This isn’t just some passing thing,” he snaps, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Racing is my life. I thought you understood that.”

“I do understand that!” The words tumble out, tangle with all the things you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. The sting in your eyes returns and you blink hard, but the tears come anyways, seemingly falling at a never ending pace. “But passion shouldn’t come at the expense of our relationship. You could come home, but you don’t!”

He shifts uncomfortably from across the room, his eyes darting away from yours to the carpeted floor below. His nostrils are flared in anger as you continue. When he finally speaks, it's veiled in frustration, as if he’s trying to be gentle but not quite succeeding. 

“When you do come home, which is hardly ever, it’s like you're not even here. You’re closed off, cold. We barely spend any time together, and when we do, it’s like you're trying to hide me away.”

Charles’s eyebrows furrow, his jaw clenching as he shoves a finger in your direction. “I keep our relationship private to protect you from the media circus, you know that!” he interjects.

You let out a heavy breath, your shoulders sagging with exhaustion. It's an excuse you’ve heard time and time again, and there's only so much of it you can handle. Your resolve wavers, your voice quiet but firm as you speak.

“I don’t care about them,” you say, voice barely a whisper. “I can handle whatever comes. But I can’t handle being invisible to you.” 

You turn and make your way down the hall, to your shared room, Charles following close behind you. All he can do is stand and watch as you start to shove things in a backpack. The silence between you is heavy, suffocating. 

As you pull on a jacket and prepare to leave, he reaches out to stop you, his voice small with confusion. “What’s happening?” he asks, his voice is softer now, vulnerable in a way that almost hurts to hear. His hand reaches for yours.

You swat it away, your own hand trembling as you do. “We are nothing but strangers bound by memories. But if you can't even be here for that, then what's the point?” you say softly. 

“You don’t need to worry about keeping us a secret anymore, Charles.”

There’s a tense silence as he struggles to process your words, tears beginning to prick at his cerulean eyes. You meet his gaze, searching for something, anything–a plea, a reason to stay. But you see none, whatever you had been hoping to find isn’t there. So you turn and slip out the door, leaving him behind in the empty silence of your once-happy home.

The train rattles forward, each clack of the wheels like a heartbeat, steady and relentless. Raindrops pater slowly against the glass, a mess of gray against the darkening world outside. Outside, the trees and grass blur together, mirroring the jumble of emotions swirling inside your chest. Your hand falls gently to your stomach, feeling the faint swell there, and you can't help but glide your fingers over it tenderly. 

With trembling fingers, you reach into your bag and pull out the pregnancy test, its plastic casing cool against your skin. It sits in your hands like a ghost, a reminder of a truth you hadn’t planned for, a future you never imagined facing alone. The two bold lines glare back at you, a stark reminder of the life beginning to grow inside you. Fear and uncertainty fill the cavities of your chest, threatening to overwhelm you. You close your eyes, tears tracing silent paths down your cheeks once again. 

Leaving Charles before telling him about the baby feels like abandoning a ship in the middle of a storm. Guilt gnaws at your chest as the train hurtles further and further away from Monaco, the distance between you and Charles widening with each passing moment. Yet the truth burns as you find yourself repeating it over and over to yourself—Charles may have been physically there, in body, but his mind has been somewhere else, somewhere distant, somewhere that was never you.

As you watch the landscape continue to blur past, your reflection in the glass is a haunting echo of the life you thought you had built.  At 21, you never expected to face the daunting prospect of motherhood on your own. It's not the path you imagined yourself on at all. You thought you would marry Charles and share the joys and challenges of this baby with him. You thought there’d be laughter, shared glances, maybe even late nights in nurseries painted with dreams But those dreams were a faint memory now, belonging to a different girl, someone you weren’t anymore. 

Charles had a way of making you feel like the world around you faded when he was around, his passion for racing a fire that burned so bright, you wanted to stay close to it and feel its warmth. You couldn’t help but love how passionate he was about racing, and admire the fire in his eyes as he chased victory on the track. But in his relentless pursuit of glory, he seemed to have left you behind with nothing but his silhouette, a mere afterthought in his quest for greatness. His fire left you feeling cold, with nothing left to hold on to but memories, shadows of a live you weren’t even sure were real. 

In that moment, you realize that in many ways, you would’ve had to raise the child on your own regardless of Charles's presence. His absence has left you feeling isolated and alone, grasping at the fragments of your fractured relationship. If you'd stayed, who knows if he would have changed? The uncertainty weighs heavily on your heart, threatening to drag you under.

With a sigh, you feel yourself sag further into the train seat, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. The ticket inspector’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you hastily produce your ticket, handing it over to him with a shaky hand. Your fingers feel numb as you watch him scan it, barely managing a polite nod.  

Across the aisle, you catch the gaze of a woman's eyes full of unspoken sympathy as she watches your fingers tighten around the pregnancy test. You give her a tight-lipped smile as the ticket inspector hands back your ticket before turning back to the window, your gaze fixed on the blurring landscape outside as you hurtle toward an uncertain future.

a/n: a little short for the first chapter but they’ll be a little longer in the future, hope you guys enjoy this first one :) also if you made it this far, I just wanted to share that the word pato means duck. It's not too important for now but it will be later! As always, thank you for reading!

[vhygoxo]

Wolf Pack Headcanons

My personal head canons on the shifters and what they get up to 🫶 I’ve been missing seeing wolf pack content. Plus there isn’t much info or anything on the Wolfpack outside of Jacob. Most of these come from the fact I know what it’s like to live on a rez. Debating if I should do nsfw head canons next 🤭

There’s hardly any down time for the shifters. Since the Cullens came into town there had been almost constant activity in the area. After the birth of Renesmee everyone thought it’d calm down. But instead activity got more frequent. Patrols and executions were part of their routine after a few years

When Vampire activity is low they still protect the rez in their own way. Most of the guys took first aid and security classes. Since chief and council know about the secret of the shifters they pay all of them (except the younger ones aka minors) through their security program. So when there are hardly any vampires they work in the security program

Everyone helps Emily with the household such as cleaning and cooking when they can. But most just help pay for the groceries since she feeds all of them

The rez has a mixed view of the shifters. To everyone they’re all secretive and intimidating. But because of how many people they’ve helped over the years they’ve also earned a lot of respect. Some believe they are arrogant and entitled to the rez. Others believe them to be protectors of the rez in a way. Sometimes people have issues with them to the point of harassing them. Sam, Paul, and Jared are usually the main targets. Like Bella thinking they are a gang ☠️

These guys all have trucks and drive everywhere+anywhere. Kim is the only one to own a car. They have many different chill spots around the rez (not just them but everyone in La push goes to these places) usually to drink and have bonfires

When they aren’t driving on the Rez they’re heading into town for some fun. Shopping sprees, eating out, and gambling is usually what’s on the agenda for these guys. Although they drive a lot locally it’s because they can’t travel too far

Everyone especially Paul dreams of the day they no longer have to shift. Once they stop they have all the freedom to travel and explore

The guys love to go mudding in their trucks and have contests

Emily has a projector and hosts movie nights in the backyard when it’s nice out

Emily and Kim craft and bead together. Emily does more sewing than beading, she’s made all the guys ribbon shirts, from youngest to eldest. Also enjoys making ribbon skirts occasionally especially Appliqué ribbon skirts. Kim loves to make beaded earrings and necklaces. These two give away more than they sell

Kim is always wearing big ndn girl™️ earrings. Beaded, quilled, dentillium, shells, you name it. (Once she wanted to make some out of Jared’s wolf fur but he refused. She found a way)

All of them are hella competitive with each other. And since they’re basically non human their strength and abilities are crazy. They all enjoyed testing their strength, think Bella and Emmett arm wrestling, same energy with these guys. Both in human and wolf form they strived to show off. The imprintees of them all had to take some time to get used to seeing such things. Like two mega beasts fighting on the front lawn, switching back to human, and playing it off like nothing

Paul, Leah, and Embry are the ones who struggle the most with being a shifter. In the beginning their rage and frustration was almost uncontrollable. Even as the years passed they still had moments where they burst out of control. (Once they imprinted the out bursts stopped completely) So these three became close since they were similar especially in their struggles

High energy for all of them. They have to find ways to burn off energy or else they legit couldn’t sleep. Which the solution is always intense exercise. Most times you’ll find Paul and Jared are competing to see who can do more push ups. Or the younger wolves doing relay races on their usual trails. Embry, Quil, and Jacob liked to box and spar with each other only. Leah and Paul get way too aggressive when sparring with everyone. It’s usually just Leah vs Paul if they really need to get rid of their aggression. Sam and Jared spar together since they actually follow the rules lol

Emily and Leah are still close and Leah never dated Sam lol

It wasn’t Sam that scarred Emily it was a rogue vampire. Sam punishes his self since he wasn’t fast enough to protect her. But he was quick enough along with Paul to stop the vampire before he could change her. It’s why Leah distrusts Sam. She believes he can’t protect her sister/cousin well enough and punishes him daily in their hive mind. Also constantly questions him as a leader

Quil and Kim are cousins lol I imagine them being close like brother and sister growing up. So it works well for them to be in the wolf pack together

For the shifters it’s hard for them to drink any alcohol. Not that they don’t it’s just that their body burns the alcohol quicker than normal humans. Smoking 🍃 actually has an effect on them like normal

Majority of them rarely drink, it started from Sam believing he needed to be in a clear mind, in order to be a leader. Not only that but being a shifter meant being very spiritually connected. And in most native cultures it’s believed that alcohol dulls the spirit. (Doesn’t stop some of them lol)

Quil, Embry, and Jacob were the first to start smoking 🍃 and out of the whole pack Quil is the biggest stoner. Claims it’s what “keeps him chill” since he doesn’t have a hard time shifting

They hunt game while they’re in wolf form. Natives love wild meat, deer, elk, moose, you name it. So them being able to shift makes it way easier to catch game. The guys gut and skin whatever they catch. Emily and Kim are usually the two who process the game. (Tbh it’s mostly Paul, Leah, and Sam bringing back game home because they raged out)

Everybody is in someway jealous of Jared and Kim. Since Jared had an easy time with shifting even in the beginning. And when he imprinted on Kim their relationship had always been easy and full of love even now

Jacob and Quil are the mechanics of the group. All the guys know some basic skills but these two are the best at it. Anytime anyone has issues it’s them who take care of it

It was actually Seth who took on his mom’s role and was training to become an emergency service provider. Eventually he wants a job in medicine. Leah knows basic cpr and first aid like the rest of the guys

All their minds are linked, when they shift they get a download, of what everyone was doing while not in wolf form. Nothing is secret or sacred lol they all know everything about each other. In their human form they’re still connected of course. But they have to get consent to connect telepathically in human form. In wolf form they have no control and everything is shared in the mind in an instant

Tbh around others especially in crowded places they gained their rep of being stoic and silent bc of this. Even in human form they talk more with each other in their heads than with their voice. Usually if they’re in a group but silent they’re talking in their heads to each other. They all have their own ways of blocking out certain things the others go through

The pack tolerates renesmee but pretty much just Emily and Kim visit her, out of pity and empathy, Jacob understood this well. Instead of making his brothers uncomfortable he’s usually with the Cullens. Occasionally he’ll come by his self but not for long. Sometimes he brings her but it’s usually short visits

Quil Atera III (quil’s grandfather) Billy Black, Harry Clearwater, and Sue Clearwater are one of very few people who know history of the shifters. Majority of what everyone knows about shifters is because of the knowledge they possess. The pack rely on these 3 the most

I felt this was enough head canons for now even tho I have way more lol. Hoping to upload one of my fics rewritten soon here. But I’m having fun with these wolf pack head canons for now. If you enjoy this and my writing feel free to send me an ask! I’m open for requests ✨

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 27. missed me?

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. therapist! toji. a very broken marriage (cont.). heavy angst but i am still not gege. infidelity/adultery. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.0k

notes: i hope everyone has been swell! sending hugs to every corner of the world, and i hope my writing can be your little break from reality. i have also added more chapters to the fic since i cannot wrap up the story in the next few chapters, ha. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

12:33 PM Toji called 12:33 PM He told me that my daughter collapsed in front of the twins? 12:34 PM And you got into a fight with her? 12:34 PM How did that happen? 12:34 PM Are you with her right now? 12:37 PM Answer me please, I need to make sure she’s fine (Missed Call) 12:38 PM Can you phone me back asap? Thx 12:38 PM I’m still in the office right now, wrapped up the weekly meeting with the operating committee 01:01 PM Hello? 01:01 PM Hey, are you there? (Missed Call) 01:12 PM Toji called again, he gave me a rundown, and I have to say… 01:12 PM I’m very, very disappointed in you

Perhaps the better word would be terrified, but Naoya was truly and genuinely astounded.

How the fuck did this happen?

Naoya could feel his breathing grow shallow and his body turn cold as he read through each message from his Chief Operating Officer once, twice, three times. For a while, he stared at his chat history, his shaking thumb hovering over the screen while his mind went blank.

What started as an argument between just you and him now had your father involved. Not only your father, though—but also Mai, Maki, and now Toji?! How bothersome. Of course, you had to drag everyone into this! The world always had to revolve around you.

Naoya could not think straight as his chauffeur sped him back to the office from Mari’s apartment later that day. Even when he returned to his CEO suite, he could hardly focus on his conversations with department heads or strategy discussions with the Board when Daisuke L/N’s messages haunted him like an omnipresent and malevolent spirit.

‘I’m very, very disappointed in you.’

Goddamnit!

Naoya did not miss how your father was absent from the afternoon’s meetings either (although he was not stupid enough to point that out aloud at work when Naoya himself was involved in why), nor did he miss his own father’s narrowed gaze which seemingly lingered on him longer than usual.

Oh goodness, did he know, too?

No, he couldn’t have. Otherwise, Naobito Zenin would have pulled him to the side by now and given him a long and stern lecture.

Yet, when the early evening arrived, Naoya ultimately decided he must talk to you directly.

Not because he actually cared about your well-being. (Ha, as if.) But because he needed to quash the possibility that the rest of his family, particularly his Board Chairman father, could get a whiff of his quarrel with you before all hell broke loose.

Moments like these warranted him to push aside his dignity before things could worsen. 

His greatest fear would be for this recent argument to become a domino effect, as the downfall in this marriage would certainly place him in hot water.

With that, the current Zenin CEO then tapped his phone for your contact.

He needed to check up on you but ended up in voicemail. 

So, he dialed once more. 

Voicemail.

Again. 

Why were you not picking up his calls? 

You always found a way to irk him with how ungrateful you could be. Sure, there was no secret that you hated him. He would admit he was rude, belittling, and patronizing, treating you like a trophy to tote around, a doll to splay at his will, and a woman who needed to learn her place. He knew this and you knew this, because he exclusively tolerated this marriage as a means to accelerate his life. 

Despite everything, he made sure his wife was well-fed and looked after, only for you to throw a tantrum and now get his extended family involved? Ludicrous. Why not focus on the good things about him? Could you not see how he had attempted to reach you at least thirty times throughout the day? (His ultimate reason admittedly was selfish, but that’s not the point.)

Anywho, since when did you think that ignoring him was acceptable?

In a frustrated fit, Naoya tossed his phone into his desk’s paper heap and huffed.

To set things straight, he had made many sacrifices in his life to get to his seat today, like how—back in the day—he had to watch TV anchors praise his older cousin while sipping champagne in the Maldives with…whatever girlfriend he had been with at the time. Life had been hard, but he at last had everything he should’ve been entitled to since birth. This position, this family, and this company belonged to him, regardless of what stupid fucking traditions dictated.

Unsurprisingly, when Naoya took the helm, everyone scrutinized him. Sure, he might have lacked in a few (or, more accurately, a lot of…) regards since he hadn’t been built into the position the way Toji Zenin had been, but having you as his wife made him look good in family conversations and public discourse. 

He just needed a little more time to get people to trust him. Then, once all the pieces clicked into place, he resolved to toss this marriage to the side.

That ‘time,’ he hoped, would be soon.

For now, he just needed to keep you for as long as he sought fit. 

Buzz.

Well, speak of the devil.

You must finally be returning his call.

The sky had gone dark in the windows behind him now, but Naoya practically leaped from his seat, scrambling and shoving papers aside to find his phone buried beneath several printed reports. He hated how his hands quivered as he held the device, not that he could control himself at this point, and he snapped the moment he swiped at his screen.

“Where the hell are you?” Naoya hissed, clipped and impatient.

He did not get an immediate response, which infuriated him even more since he taught you to acknowledge him on the phone. 

But then, he learned why.

Because instead, Naoya heard a low and harrowing chuckle.

“I guess you missed me, kid.”

The end to a marriage, for obvious reasons, would never be as glamorous as the start to one.

Many would dream for years about a wedding, but far fewer would think the same about a separation.

‘I'm going to file for a divorce.’

Admittedly, you were nervous when you announced the decision aloud in a crowded room for many eyes to see and ears to hear.

After all, even if you recognized the need for a change in your matrimony, you feared the consequences. You didn't want to cause your families to grow apart or your fathers to resent you. In addition, Naoya had been such a dominating fixture in your life these past few months, and he had led you to believe your days without him would be meaningless.

However, no longer could you set aside your emotions for his sake, nor would you expend extensive effort to salvage your marriage for other’s desires. Your sole purpose henceforth was to live a satisfied life without sacrificing more than what you already have for a husband who hardly look your way.

As a result, when you acknowledged divorce as the best possible solution to your demise, you were grateful for the emotional support and relieved faces from your worried father, the younger teenagers, and your trusted therapists.

Especially Toji. 

“Come with me,” the very man ordered once you stepped into his apartment’s corridor with him. 

Everyone else had been brought down to the apartment’s lower level after the earlier discussion in the master bedroom, with Megumi forced to take on the role as host in his father’s absence. The younger Fushiguro might be aloof and sometimes awkward, but word had gotten around that he was a good chef with his aunts nagging at him to prepare dinner.

“C’mon, don’t you want to show us what recipes you have learned on TikTok?” 

“...No, not really. Can we just order KFC?”

The other conversation that drifted upward was between your father and the other three therapists, which made sense given that they all used to be colleagues back when Toji had been the CEO. 

There was laughter, chatter, and the entire brouhaha brought ease to your nervous heart. 

“Ladies first,” Toji said at some point after you had trailed behind him. He had taken you several meters ahead, opening the door to invite you inside. “This is my home office.”

You did not yet see the point in him doing a House Tour 2.0, but you walked in upon his gesture anyway. The hardwood floor beneath you felt warm, your body heating up slightly despite the coolness in the air. 

Toji kept his office space as tidy as the rest of his abode. He had a white leather couch situated by the doorway and a workspace configuration to the side with desk lamps, an expensive chair, and a dual monitor setup. 

Above his screens, Toji probably had fifteen accolades in cherry wood frames, each to showcase his achievements as countless magazines named him the best leader, the top executive, and the most promising innovator. 

What caught your attention, however, was the wall beside his workstation. 

There was a corkboard. 

At first glance, the tacked-on magazine cutouts and photograph snippings seemed like a messy litter on the brown surface, but thin red strings—which made this look like a detective movie prop—connected one piece to another and suggested an order to the chaos. 

“What is this?” you asked, a question not directed to anyone in particular as you neared the corkboard without waiting for Toji’s permission.

Upon closer distance, the vague letterings and images became clear.

The newspaper cover story fastened at the very center read in big bold print: “Zenin Corporation Announces New CEO.” 

As the realization dawned that this was what Toji meant to show you, the man’s measured footsteps came up from behind you. He stopped at your side, watching how you inspected each element on the corkboard as though his room was your laboratory and he was your professor.

“The World Economic Forum estimates that more than 5% of global GDP is lost to corruption around the world each year,” he began, crossing his thick arms firmly over his chest. “Many articles you see here had been published online only to be taken down not even a few hours later. I suspect that Naoya this year alone has spent hundreds of thousands, if not millions, bribing the Japanese media to curate the public image he needs.” He then pointed around. “Look for yourself.”

You would have called Toji out for being a total creep if the objective of this collection had not been obvious. With scarlet threads weaving together to reveal an elaborate web of deceit, Toji had been curating an exposé.

There was one photo from your wedding day. Standing at the altar with Naoya, you looked so happy and blissful back then, the vibrant bouquet in your hands a colorful contrast against the pristine white of your Vera Wang wedding gown, your face radiant with a smile oblivious to the heartache that would come.

This publication, you have seen before.

What you did not recognize, however, were the articles dated from nearly a year ago, well before your wedding day, with even more printed five months ago, two months ago, one week ago…

…and reading the titles made you feel sick.

Japanese Hotshot Shares Intimate Kisses with Rumored Girlfriend Photos Reveal Recently Married Executive’s Secret Affair? Exclusive: Zenin Corporation CEO Spotted in Mexico with Alleged Lover

The accompanying pictures had the same two subjects in plain clothes and baseball caps, showing off little skin to reveal their identities to prying busybodies. Yet, upon an immediate glance, you recognized Naoya Zenin as the taller figure and assumed his very precious ladyfriend must be the other.

Photographers had snapped the two embracing each other in a cab’s backseat, sharing a secret kiss after a luxury mall date, and holding hands while stepping into a private plane. 

All to say, you were revolted. 

The more you mulled on these printouts, the more you could feel visceral disgust build in your chest. 

To think you once contemplated saving a marriage with a man like that. Whatever his plan was for him and this woman, did he intend to make you a side character to their romance until the day you would die?

Your gaze darted around, and the photo with the most unobstructed view of their faces placed you on pause.

All of a sudden, a hard lump formed in your throat because, Holy shit, she’s…stunning. 

Seeing the woman who your husband had had his sights on immediately unlocked a whole new level of insecurities within you. 

No wonder Naoya could not bring himself to be married to you when he had her. 

The woman was exquisite, to say the least. Despite the picture’s poor quality, you noticed her bright elegant face, plump pink lips, and long full lashes—precisely the characteristics that would turn heads in a crowded room. In fact, you secretly wished that you possessed her overflowing pulchritude as well.

If she was an angel from your point of view, she must also be in Naoya’s eyes all the more. 

You gingerly drew a circle around her with a finger.

“Is she his mistress?” 

Why did you even ask that? You already knew the answer. But, you wanted to confirm the facts rather than satisfy your curiosity. 

Meanwhile, Toji ran his index finger very slowly over his lower lip. 

He answered a while later. 

“Yes.” As you had expected. Then, he added, “But she’s also my ex-wife.”

What—

Your jaw dropped to the trenches. 

If you thought tonight had been filled with enough revelations, this one really sealed the deal. 

His…ex-wife?!

Unlike the man before you, hiding your deepest emotions had never been your forte. Instead, you had gone stiff as your mind reeled in shock.

“She’s…Tsumiki’s mom,” you said quietly at the realization. 

Yes, you have heard a lot about her. However, to make the connection between the lady in the picture and the woman who owned currently Naoya’s (and previously Toji’s) devotion stirred awake a thousand emotions. 

Anger. Bitterness. Resentment. 

Megumi had told you plenty about her before.

‘Treated me like a bag of shit, spent all my dad’s money on her shopping sprees every weekend, and even neglected her own daughter—my stepsister.’

Her pretty face could only go so far in disguising her dark heart. 

With this understanding, you finally grasped Toji’s bitterness when he first met you. How fickle fate had been to him. Comical, even! For his younger cousin to take his succession rights to the clan, his executive position in the company, and—to top everything off—his wife from his family. Only for you (of all eight billion people in the world) to show up at Toji Fushiguro’s office asking for sex therapy?

Now, you comprehended why Toji and Naoya despised each other. 

In addition, you understood why Toji and his colleagues had been suspicious of you. Trust takes time to build yet a moment to shatter, and all of them have had this trust broken before. By Naoya, yes. 

But also, by her.

“What’s her name?” you had to ask, ignoring the searing ache in your heart.

Your therapist, on the other hand, tried to play off his vexation by shoving his hands into his front pockets.

“Mari,” and also, “She still uses my last name.”

Wow. 

The audacity that some people in the world have.

“Here let me help.”

“Hm?”

At first, you did not quite get what Toji was referring to until he started tearing the magazine photos and newspaper stories.

Wordlessly, you gawked at him, both in confusion and astonishment.

“Why—”

Before you could complete the thought, Toji had placed everything into a neat stack and thrust the pile into your hands. “There,” he said with finality. “If you are to file for a divorce, take these to Naoya. See what the bastard has to say. Staying with him any longer would be a fatal flaw.”

Toji had never seen a single interaction between you and his cousin in person, yet he could confidently say your husband was the hamartia in your life. Perhaps the signs had always been obvious. Or perhaps, his recent experience in a toxic marriage allowed Toji to notice the red flags in yours from miles away.

“If you give him too much time, he’ll come up with his offenses,” he went on. “We don’t need to outfight him, though. We simply need to outthink him.”

Something about Toji’s emerald eyes gleamed in a way you had not seen before. 

It was a different side to him, one where he planned and strategized, a flickering core of the businessman he used to be.

“Hi.” 

You and Toji froze at the sound.

Megumi’s voice had startled you two as the boy peered in from the hallway, waving a phone in his hand—your phone. “Sorry to interrupt but, uh, he called again.”

Interestingly enough, Megumi did not need to explicitly mention a name for you all to know who he referred to. As your screen flickered on, you noticed the numerous missed calls and text messages that had flooded your notifications, all from one particular culprit, no doubt. 

Instead of embarrassment, your body surged with aggravation at how your husband suddenly seemed desperate to know your whereabouts. 

So now he cared, huh?

Before you could retrace your steps towards the door, however, Toji had already done so. He retrieved the device from his son’s hands and started dialing a number from your phone. 

You tried to stop him. “Hey, what are you—”

But Toji dismissed you, pressing your phone to his ear as the call began to ring, and his lips curled into a wicked grin when the other line must have picked up.

“I guess you missed me, kid.”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: I am excited to show the interaction between Toji and Naoya—I have been thinking about their conversation for a long time! This chapter is less of a whirlwind and more of a setup for the rest to come. Thank you for your support!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[peachyloveswriting]

hello!! I absolutely love your writing especially of COD, I’ve been reading so many of them now

I was wondering if I could request some headcanons? Of König, Ghost and Soap and they react to an s/o who likes to take care of them. Like the s/o likes to cook for them, wash their hair or do face masks. Basically acts of service as a love language

Feel free to ignore this if it’s not to your liking and have a wonderful day/night!

CARING --- (König, Ghost, and Soap)

SUMMARY: just some funny ideas for the boys.

CONTENT: cuteness

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

KÖNIG

-> Being in the military, König does the bare minimum required to take care of himself. He thinks it's enough to get by but he's noticed that anytime he's home with you, you have other plans. You're always pestering him about being more careful and having some self preservation. He never seems to listen though but he's trying his best to cater to that.

-> Being off base, König likes to sleep in. These plans also seem to be ruined because you're always dragging him to take a shower with you, you'll sit him down and wash his hair, he's not complaining about that though m he lives the feeling of your hands working across his head and body. If you're not taking a shower you're forcing him to put on a face mask with you. He doesn't like it because was little facial hair he has is ripped off. Poor man can never seem to catch a break.

-> He has horrible dry skin, especially on his hands. You'll sit him down on the couch and make him put on lotion. You'll even apply it himself which he doesn't mind in the slightest. As a matter of fact he loves when you treat him like a princess. Especially when he wakes up in the morning to a fresh plate waiting for him. Though he feels like he's not giving you enough in return and he tries his best to do just that. He'll try to buy you things without you knowing but he's not very good with keeping it a secret. He'll ask you what you prefer and you immediately know what's up.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

GHOST

-> Ghost is not a man for personal hygiene, let's be honest. He hardly showers, he doesn't take care of himself like he should be. That very quickly changed when you came around. Suddenly 15 minute showers once a week became 30 minute showers every other day. He loves the feeling of your hands scrubbing away at his hair while he leans into your touch. You're so gentle with him that sometimes he asks you so press harder.

-> This man knows close to nothing about face masks, however he go curious one morning while you were applying yours and asked what they even did. Instead of actually explaining them you just slapped one on him and sent him on his way. He literally was so confused, he had no idea what he was supposed to do but after you took it off he felt so clean. He honestly asked to do it again.

-> Simon absolutely loves looking, he's got amazing cooking skills. Its like he has a niche for it. However he finds you often shoving him out of the way to cook for him. He doesn't mind it but he finds it rather surprising that you would rather cook than him. He likes it though, you're enthusiasm to baby him. He seems to pay your back in strange ways, returning the favor by leaving you small endearing notes everywhere.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

SOAP

-> Let's be honest, Soap loves being pampered however he feels like there's an imbalance unless he pays you back. It's like food wars when you cook for him. If you make him breakfast he makes you this bomb ass desert after dinner that leaves you begging for more. You can't ever have a moment of relaxation if it's cooking because it's a one up game at this point.

-> If you take a shower with him and wash his hair for him he's immediately returning the favor. In an instant he's washing your hair and body, he even applies face masks to you first so that way you feel special. If he feels that's not enough he'll take you out to dinner somewhere nice.

-> He thoroughly enjoys facemasks because they leave him feeling fresh everytime, so you can always find him right beside you doing the same thing. It's like your own bonding activity that you've begun. Anytime he does this on base and Ghost catches him he makes fun of him, which usually ends with Soap giving this man a lot of Scottish curses he's never heard before, other people swear he's placing a curse in him.

[bronzefuryfic]

Bronze Fury

When the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce is brought to King's Landing to meet with the rest of her family, she finds herself caught in a crisis of succession. The Greens battle for her support... and her affections.

Chapter Fourteen: Aemond 'One-Eye' / Previous Chapter / Directory

The Greens have returned to King's Landing, up a dragon, up a Hand, but down an eye. The family adapts to a new status quo.

Rhae's bedside promises, it turned out, were empty ones. Aemond had not been permitted, by his mother or by a Maester, to fly home from Driftmark—much to Aemond's ire, when he was lucid enough to hear their verdict.

"I look weak!" Aemond fumed on the boatride home, stomping about his cabin and flipping his dagger. Rhae sighed—she'd promised Alicent she would keep him to his bed, though the moment the door closed, she remained silent as Aemond kicked himself free of the covers. She'd been just as restless after her own injury... whatever the Maesters said, Rhae thought it best that he stomp around a bit, lest his head burst. "That is all that those nobles will remember—a one-eyed boy, bested by a bastard. None would dare forget that it was I that reigned victorious if they'd seen me atop Vhagar."

"None would see the difference whether you were saddled up there or not," Rhae pointed out. Aemond spun on her, still spinning his dagger with menace.

Now that he was properly awake, his featured hardened in anger, the visible half of his face looked... aged. But if he meant to be intimidating, he would need a new target. Rhae found him too familiar to be cowed.

She frowned, taking a stern tone: "Nor would it have mattered—Vhagar flies west following you. None would have missed that sight, and they'd be fools to forget it."

Aemond stalked back toward her, bumping into the table at which she sat and stabbing it in frustration. Still, she did not flinch. He fell into the chair beside her with a huff.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled after a moment, and allowed Rhae to scooch closer so that she may rub his back and dry his tears.

As the weeks passed, Rhae stayed by Aemond's bedside each and every day. She found she had plenty of time for it, since she no longer spent her afternoons wandering the castle with Aegon—he'd hardly spoken a word to her since their return to the Red Keep. So be it , Rhae had come to think. I don't want to talk to him either.

Though more time with Aemond was, admittedly, not much better. He was still not permitted to ride, or to train, and his temper continued to suffer for it.

"Mirre azantys iksan." He grumbled on one such night. " Belmor sentaks, separ qringaoman onduragon doroniapos."

Rhae mulled this over a moment—more time with Aemond also meant more time for studying. As such, her ability to speak the language of her Targaryen ancestors was growing stronger by the day. The first bit was easy: an adjective, an accusative noun, and a 'to be' verb— some warrior I am.

Aemond worried about his abilities as an 'azantys' often. Lack of practice and his limited view were the least of his worries: Aemond's ability to perceive depth had been severely hindered by the loss of his eye. How would he strike an enemy without knowing how close they were? And, worse yet—how would he dodge their attacks?

Rhae rolled a pebble between her fingers, pondering the rest. 'Belmor', the prince consort... 'sentaks'... from 'senagon', to murder ... Rhae tried to recall her verb conjugations... 'taks'... 'taks'... the perfect passive— The prince consort has been murdered.

Ser Otto had told them as much that morning at breakfast—Ser Laenor had been killed by his companion, Ser Qarl, in Driftmark, where he, Princess Rhaenyra, and Daemon still stayed with their respective children.

Otto had merely stated the facts of the matter, and left them all to speculate—how could such a thing happen in Laenor's own family home? What could have caused this? The prince consort's preferences were an open secret—but had it truly been a lover's quarrel? Why had he been turned on? Could it really have been...?

Rhae shook the thought from her head, working her way through the rest of Aemond's words: 'separ qringaoman onduragon' , or, 'and I fail to catch'.

Catch what? The last word, 'doroniapos'... it was a noun, 'doron' , modified by the suffix 'iapos' . Little rock—a pebble. That was it:

Some warrior I am. The prince consort has been murdered, and I fail to catch a pebble.

Even though Aemond was not yet permitted to use a sword, Rhae had come up with an exercise even Alicent could approve of. Rhae would toss him small objects, such as pebbles, and Aemond would try his best to catch them before they hit his mattress. But even this was proving to be difficult— Aemond spent more time than not swatting at empty air.

"Pales bartos." Rhae reminded him. Turn your head.

When they first arrived back in the Red Keep, Maester Orwyle had sat the family down to outline the road to recovery. Aemond's right eye, he explained, could learn to compensate for the loss of his left—so long as he was able to give it the context a second eye would naturally provide.

"Here," Orwyle had said, placing a goblet on the table when he saw their confused faces. "Cover one eye, and then the other. See how the cup shifts? Your eyes see the world differently, but your mind works to make the two visions into one true image."

"Thank you for the demonstration," Alicent had said, picking at her fingers as Rhae, Helaena and Aegon winked at the goblet. "But how will this help Aemond?"

"The mind has many ways of adapting, Your Grace." Orwyle had said. "Your son will learn to use tricks we do not need, and signs that our minds take for granted."

'Pales bartos' was one such trick—Rhae tossed Aemond another pebble, and he turned his head as it soared toward him, scanning the empty space around it. Hypothetically, by expanding his field of vision, Aemond could better determine the true placement of the pebble. And sure enough...

"Nice one!" Rhae cheered.

"Yes," Aemond said dully. "What an accomplishment."

"Yes," Rhae frowned. "It is."

"I'm sure the knights and the city watchmen will agree with you," Aemond snarked. "I'll be the laughing stock of the training yard."

"Who cares?" Rhae said. "They laugh at me too."

"That's different. You're a—" Rhae's eyes narrowed, daring him to continue.

"Go on."

"A woman."

"And so I deserve the ridicule." Rhae pursed her lips. "Is that it?"

"That's not what I said."

"It's what they do." Rhae lobbed another pebble at him.

" Daoriot jemas gurotir otapsi, " he said, bobbing his head to the side before catching it. It doesn't matter what they think.

" Drivys ," Rhae replied. Exactly. "Daor arlinas." Not different.

"No." Aemond considered the small stones in his hand before to tossing them back, one after another. Rhae caught them deftly in her scarred palm. "Not from you."

"Wounds come quickly," Rhae said, her voice softening. "Healing takes time."

"Everyone keeps saying that," Aemond gave her a pointed look. "Tell me. Do you feel healed?"

Of course not, Rhae thought. Her arm was, likely, as strong as it could ever get again. She worked daily to keep the muscles loose, stretching and massaging the scar tissue... but there were still swaths of her flesh that had contorted and stiffened beyond recovery. And even still they ached and burned, a lingering pain that would last all her life.

Rhae stared at Aemond for a long moment, contemplating whether or not to concede this point.

She had far since overcome the feeling of queasiness that came with looking upon the great gash across his face. He no longer wore bandages, but he still bore twenty-three stitches—she'd counted them, once, when he was asleep. Eventually, his skin would mend and push out the thread, leaving behind a long thin scar and a forever empty eye socket.

There was no point in lying—Aemond knew the truth. He lived it now, just as she did.

"No," she admitted.

Somehow, this answer seemed to put Aemond at ease. He nodded slightly as he reclined back into his pillow, his remaining eye never leaving her face.

Rhae threw him another pebble.

The moon waned and waxed, and on the eve of its next cycle came more troubling news from Dragonstone:

Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon had wed.

The revelation that followed angered Rhae so deeply she'd chucked her goblet across the room—her father would be sticking around Westeros a little longer, it seemed.

"You know what this means, haven't you dear?" Alicent had asked Rhae that night. They dined in the Queen's quarters, as was still their custom.

"If there was doubt once, it has surely been snuffed. Ser Laenor was murdered." Rhae pushed away her plate—she had not had an appetite all day. She rest her fists on the table. "Only the Crone knows what comes next... and only the Stranger knows who."

"Then we must pray," Alicent said grimly. "Pray and plan, for all the good it may do us."

Rhae had never been one for prayer.

"And what plans might that be, Your Grace?"

"None that are new to you, dear girl," Alicent swirled the contents of her cup. "We've begun preparations for Helaena and Aegon's wedding, as you know."

Rhae sucked on her teeth a moment before replying:

"Yes, Your Grace."

"As for you and Aemond," the Queen continued. "I believe it is high time we make the proposal official. The King agreed to the match this morning at the Hand's council. Our goal, ostensibly, is to distract from the impudent nature of Daemon and Rhaenyra's marriage with new ones. Tell me, have you told anyone of my offer?"

Shame bubbled in Rhae's belly.

"No, Your Grace." She felt no pride in keeping this promise. She'd thought of breaking it, often, but there never seemed to be a good time. "As you requested."

"Mmm," Alicent took a long drink of wine. "Not even with your family?"

"It would not be between us then, would it?"

Alicent seemed to fight a frown before smiling thinly.

"Good. I will inform Aemond and the rest on the morrow," she said. "And you'd best write to Runestone and formally seek their council on the match."

Tomorrow makes it real , Rhae thought. She worried what Aegon would think, then remembered that they were not speaking. I should be grateful. I should be excited.

"They will be most honored," Rhae managed, moving her hands beneath the table, picking at the skin on her right thumb. "As I am."

Another week passed, and Rhae found herself splayed in rolling fields outside the walls of King's Landing, a short ways from the Dragon Gate. A breeze rustled the grass beneath her scarred fingers and the sun was warm on her face. Above her, far beyond reach, Dreamfyre and Sunfyre danced across a cloudless sky.

Flattened against her chest, Rhae held her latest communication from Runestone. Written upon the parchment was her cousin Ser Jon's summation of the Royce's response to the Queen's proposal. She had felt so certain they would approve, but their reaction proved to be... less than encouraging.

It is a match that more than befits your station ... but the same had been true for your mother... there are whispers about the castle... some say you have been gone too long... they worry you no longer remember.

Rhae had spent all morning thinking on her response. Some say. They worry. She did not appreciate the anonymity granted to gossips. Do they worry, dear cousin, or do you? Perhaps she had misjudged Jon. Perhaps he had want to replace her too.

Rhae lifted the top of the parchment to read its contents once more, when a large shadow passed overhead, darkening the page. When she looked back up, the whole sky had disappeared, and all she could see was the scaly underside of the world's largest dragon. A single flap of Vhagar's vast leathery wings turned the gentle summer's breeze into a cool gust. The loss of sunlight combined with irrevocable awe left Rhae with a shiver.

Aemond's stitches had eroded from his skin at long last, which meant that he was finally, finally permitted to go flying. He'd gone ten times in half as many days and had shown no signs of slowing down. Reuniting with his dragon had rejuvinated his spirit. Each morning and each afternoon saddled atop Vhagar brought him to new heights. It was the happiest, most confident Rhae had seen him in the months, maybe even ever .

Rhae crumbled the parchment in her hands, bitterness biting at the back of her mind. Here she remained, beneath him, dragonless, forgotten and alone. Never had her failure with Sheepstealer weighed so heavily on her mind. She longed to soar amongst the clouds with the others, to feel her the reigns in both hands, and to be safe in the knowledge that Ser Gerold handled Runestone's affairs with a bronze fist.

Rhae pushed herself to her feet, through with being a spectator. She had more important matters to attend to—her bow was back at the Red Keep, as were parchment and quills with which she could write her response to Jon. Better to train and govern than continue to wallow in misery.

But she'd only made it halfway down the slope when a shuddering roar overhead gave her pause. She looked over her shoulder to see that Sunfyre was snapping irritably at Vhagar hind legs, the larger dragon having flown too close for comfort.

The past few days had proved that all the sky wasn't enough for the Queen of Dragons—or Aemond, for that matter. They went where they pleased. Too big to be challenged, the newly bound pair vexed Aegon and Sunfyre often. Aemond's retribution, Rhae suspected, for years of Aegon's torment. Vhagar batted the golden dragon with a lazy flick of her massive tail, unperturbed by the tantrum. With a trill, Sunfyre took a deep dive towards the ground, only pulling up just in time to glide across the plains, coming to rest at the bottom of Rhae's hill.

Apprehensively, Rhae continued on her path toward them. She had still not had any meaningful conversation with Aegon since Driftmark, though the silence between them had shifted. What was once despondent disconcern had since festered with the news of Rhae's betrothal to Aemond. All week, Rhae could feel Aegon's furious gaze upon her. She wished to meet it, to challenge him— So what? You were done with me anyways. But guilt kept her eyes downcast.

"Prick." Rhae could hear him say as he dismounted. If Aegon knew he had landed near her, he made a point not to show it. He kept his back turned and busied himself unnecessarily with the straps on Sunfyre's saddle.

Sunfyre snorted in agreement before turning his glimmering, scaly face toward Rhae—if a dragon could smile, Sunfyre surely would be. He bobbed his golden head in her direction, cooing his greeting as she approached.

"Hey there, handsome."

Aegon's jaw tightened.

"Don't let your betrothed hear you saying that."

"I wasn't talking to you," Rhae said coolly, though her heart thudded at his acknowledgement. She came to a pause at the base of the hill, craning her neck to watch Dreamfyre and Vhagar race across the sky. "Beside, he surely won't hear us way up there."

When she looked back to Aegon she found him staring, his brow slighly raised. Us?

She hated the distrust in his eyes, but met them all the same. I hadn't told you ahead of time. So what? It changes nothing. I never lied to you. I never turned my back. She fought the urge to shake him by the shoulders, to shout at him until he saw sense. She would readily accept the same and more if it would bring him closer. She ached to understand.

What would you have me do?! I cannot resist marriage anymore than you. We tried. We failed! Why must that make us strangers? What more do you want from me?

But she stayed still and silent as he weighed her in his mind. After a moment, he nodded to the letter still balled in her scarred fingers.

"What's that?"

"A letter from Jon," she said, throwing it at him. He caught it deftly, his head never moving. As he read the page, Sunfyre attempted to lure Rhae closer with a warble... but she resisted his call, watching restlessly as Aegon's face twisted into a scowl.

"You've left an idiot in your stead."

Rhae exhaled—how long had she been holding her breath? He wasn't angry with her. At least, not presently.

She knew she should defend her regent. "Caution is not incompotence," she said, even though it pleased her to hear him say so.

"Shitty judgement is." He crumbled the parchment. "As is disobedience. What right has he to question you?"

"They don't know Aemond like I do. They don't trust him."

"Reads to me like they don't trust you."

Rhae frowned. "Why should they?"

Aegon rolled his eyes, dissatisfied. This conversation was tired—they'd had it nearly a hundred times. Maybe, in another world, he'd be willing to discuss it a hundred times more: the same shame, same problems, same insecurities. He'd hold her hand and stroke her hair as all her secrets came spilling out of her. When she was finished, he would soothe her with his words, his mouth, his tongue...

But Rhae had held hers too long. That life had passed. She continued quietly, almost to herself:

"Why should anyone?"

It wasn't an apology, but an admission. Not anyone. You. Their eyes met for a painful moment. When Aegon spoke, his voice had grown thick.

"How long have you known?"

"Long enough," Rhae swallowed, trying to clear the dull ache in her throat. But she could see that her answer was not enough for him and continued: "The night before the Queen announced your betrothal to Helaena."

Aegon grimaced—It was longer than he thought.

"Mother spoke to you first then?"

What is the point of this? Rhae wondered. Why must you make me twist the blade deeper?

Already she was growing wary of his interrogation. She did not appreciate the insinuation that there was some... collusion, on her part. As if she had a choice.

"Naturally." Rhae's raised her chin defiantly, as though she were proud of it. "I'm head of my house."

"And you accepted?"

Not at first. I wanted you. I asked for you. I did.

But Rhae held her tongue, thinking back to the last time they truly spoke, at Driftmark, when Aegon insisted that she wouldn't be there for him. Even after she agreed to his foolish plan to end his engagement— their engagements, though he hadn't known it at the time. She'd given him everything and risked even more. Why couldn't he see that? After all they had and all they'd shared, he still doubted her.

Fine. Rhae thought angrily. Let us leave no room for doubt now.

"Why wouldn't I?" Her tongue tasted of poison. "Aemond will make an excellent husband."

Disillusion drew Aegon's mouth into a deep frown, his eyes growing wet. He threw the letter back at her.

"You'd best tell them that."

"I will."

"Good!"

"Good!"

Their shouts diminished as somewhere high above them, Vhagar bellowed.

Without another word, Aegon climbed back onto his saddle as Rhae watched, incensed. Run away, she thought furiously. Gods know it's all you're good for.

But as Aegon tugged the reigns, Sunfyre turned against his rider. The glimmering dragon was still singing softly to Rhae, trying to capture her attention, determined to draw her within reach.

"Soves!" Aegon barked.

With a final trill, Sunfyre finally began to beat his wings. As they took to the sky, Rhae continued on her march to the Red Keep, wiping her eyes and telling herself they'd only grown wet from the wind.

In the quiet of the Sept, Rhae knit her brow in concentration as she carefully manuevered a candle, one of a thousand, across her fingers. Warm melted wax slid down the stick and dripped onto her skin, joining the already cooled droplets that had begun to form a foggy white shell around her palm.

Heavy footfall sounded to her left, echoing off the high-domed ceiling, as a bearded man approached the dais on which the Smith stood with his hammer. A Septa nodded in welcome as he passed, before casting a distainful look at the center table where Rhae kneeled.

Rhae would've given her the fig if she could do so without breaking the wax casing. But this was probably for the best—she wouldn't want to draw the attention of Alicent, who was praying to the Maiden nearby.

"I don't think she likes you," Helaena whispered beside her. The Princess had dripped her candle onto the tip of her forefinger, growing it steadily until she appeared to have an additional, elongated knuckle. She wagged it at Rhae chidingly. "That's not what the candles are for."

The girls dissolved into a fit of giggles, the sound amplified by the silence of the sept, earning them another surly look from the Septa.

"Shh! Shh!" Helaena hushed, only she held her extra long wax finger to her lips, and Rhae could not contain a snort. "She's coming over!"

Both girls quickly closed their eyes, trembling with the effort of containing their laughter as they dropped their candles and hid their hands beneath the table, pretending to pray.

But before the Septa could reach them, heavy heaving heralded a newcomer, their steps secondary as they shuffled across the masonry. Rhae opened an eye to see a woman dressed in rags, leathery hands wringing as dropped to her knees.

"My son!" She hiccuped. "My Mychel... I've just received word... my only son..."

The Septa made her way to the woman, trying to bring her back to her feet to no avail. She positioned her hand beneath her elbow, and Rhae realized the Septa was trying to hurry her out—this Sept was one of the finer kept, attended only by nobles and wealthy merchants. But the woman had buried her face in her hands, unmovable and inconsolable.

"Oh no," Helaena mumbled, her eyes welling at the sight of her. Rhae clenched her fists, the wax on her palm cracking as she squeezed, before shooting to her feet and snapping:

"Leave her alone!"

The Septa spun on Rhae, glowering, but before they could argue another set of steps sounded—Alicent had risen from her bench.

"That is enough, Lady Rhae," The Queen said. Behind her back, the Septa smiled cruelly, until Her Grace gave a curt nod of her head, dismissing her too. She then knelt to the ground in front of the grieving mother. The Queen spoke to her softly, and after a moment, helped her rise back to her feet and led her by the hand to the statue of the Father.

"Rhae..." Helaena was staring at her waxy finger, frowning. She snapped it off, placing it delicately on the table. "Maybe we can say a prayer for her son too."

"Yeah," Rhae agreed heavily. "Yeah, okay. Should we join them by the Father?"

Helaena drew a deep breath, looking about the room for an answer. The woman had her head bowed, her hands clasped, still sniffling wetly as Alicent rubbed her back in large, circular motions. There was an easy familiarity to it, as though she had done this a hundred times before. The contrast was striking—their attire, their cleanliness, their demeanor. Yet Rhae doubted the woman even realized that it was the Queen herself sat beside her. In this moment, it was the least important thing about her. She was another mother, another voice added to her prayers...

A savior .

"No," Helaena whispered. "They'll have asked for fair judgement already. Let's ask for safe passage from the Stranger."

Rhae shuddered, but tore her eyes from Alicent and followed her friend to the Sept's most forgotten altar without protest. The Stranger's bare feet were scantly lit by half a dozen candles, and as the girls knelt before him, Rhae found herself struggling to look up at his hooded visage.

They took a moment to peel the the wax from Rhae's palm, forming a small pile of chipped white fragments imprinted with the grooves of her skin. My offering, Rhae thought.

"Here," Helaena whispered, handing her a lighting stick. She folded her hands as Rhae lit her candle, then they bowed their heads in prayer... for real, this time.

Do as you do, Stranger. Rhae thought. Take. I pray you do so gently, if you can. If you're capable.

Rhae peeked up at him. Even though his eyes were covered, she could not help but feel his otherworldly gaze upon her. Enthralled, she lit another candle, and then another, and another. The sphere of light emanating from the flames crept upwards, the brightest of its reach illuminating the cusp of his jaw. Rhae peered closer, to where the candlelight could only muster a soft glow, offering the faintest clarity to his half-human face. Shadows danced across his stony lips, making it seem that the Stranger was frowning one moment, smiling the next.

"They say that's bad luck," Helaena whispered. She had finished her prayer, and was watching Rhae curiously.

"The Stranger had his chance to take me," Rhae reasoned. "He has no want for me yet."

"For that, I'm grateful." Helaena lit another candle, then blew out the lighting stick. "I've always favored him, you know. Is that odd?"

"You are odd."

Helaena smiled.

"I even thought it might be nice to join the Silent Sisters," She continued.

"Most would consider that a punishment."

"Preparing bodies can't be too different from my butterflies, can it?" Helaena joked, but then, more somberly: "They're not expected to wed."

Rhae took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. The preparations for Helaena and Aegon's wedding were nearly finished—the invitations were sent, the kitchens had begun to source supplies for their feast, and just the day prior, the Red Keep's most talented seamstresses had taken final measurements for Helaena's gown. All that remained was her bridal cloak, which Alicent had deemed to stitch herself. In a few months time the bells would toll and their union would be consummated.

"It won't be so bad," Rhae assurred her. "You'll still be home. You won't be sworn to silence."

"Words have never helped me much anyways," she mumbled. "Mother is making a mistake. Our marriage is already doomed. Aegon knows it. I know it. You know it."

"That's not—"

"It is true!" Helaena snapped. Rhae flinched, but Helaena did not relent, even as she dropped her voice back down to a furious whisper: "I'm not stupid. I know about the two of you. You might move on, but Aegon won't. He can't. He's tasted freedom and now he's been shackled to me. I see it, Rhae! We'll gnaw on a chain that will never break and our tongues will know nothing but iron!"

The princess drew a shuddered breathe, her face a mixture of surprise and relief at the outburst.

"I'm sorry." Rhae muttered. "You're not stupid. I've never thought so, and I never should've treated you as such. I just... wish I could make it better."

Helaena nodded listlessly. The girls sat in silence for a long moment, the Stranger watching over them.

"Hel?"

"Yeah?"

"How'd you know about me and Aegon?"

A smile crept across her lips. She'd been eager to share this secret a long time, it seemed.

"He told me so."

Rhae gaped.

"Since when?"

"Months ago," Helaena shrugged coyly. "Don't look so surprised. He is my brother, you know. We do talk." Rhae's concern must've shown on her face, for Helaena giggled before clarifying: "Not where anyone could hear us, mind you. For as long as we've had our dragons, we'd race outside the walls of King's Landing. But before we'd come back, we'd land awhile to play games and gossip. We've always gotten along best when we're away from court." She frowned. "We haven't since Aemond has started joining us on Vhagar, though. I thought it might be nice to have the three of us all together, but I think Aegon is angry that it isn't just us anymore. Especially when Aemond's already got you. He's angry all the time now, and he's been drinking more. You can tell."

"You know how he gets. He doesn't like sharing."

"No," Helaena mused. "No he doesn't. He's not talking to you either, then?"

"We've shouted at each other. Once."

"He still loves you."

"He's got a funny way of showing it," Rhae grumbled. "Beside, he needs to get over it, for all of our sakes."

"It's like I said," Helaena shook her head. "Doomed. He feels like he's lost you. He can't get over it... and I can't blame him, really. I know how he feels." Rhae looked at her curiously, only to find Helaena staring pointedly down at her hands, her eyes welling with tears again. "I couldn't, if it were me."

"C'mere," Rhae pulled Helaena into her arms, squeezing her tightly, trying to keep her from trembling. "Betrothals be damned. No matter what changes, we never will. Okay? I'm not going anywhere, Hel. Not ever."

Helaena sniffled as she wrapped herself around Rhae's torso. "I know."

As they rocked at the feet of the Stranger, Rhae's chin rested atop Helaena's head, she looked to where the Queen was still knelt by the haggard woman. Their heads were no longer bowed in prayer, but upright, speaking. Over the tops of a hundred candles, through the flicker of their flames, Rhae could see that Alicent was gazing back at them. Even from afar Rhae could see the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders.

In the quiet of the Sept, Rhae could not help but wonder if this is what Alicent had spent all her life praying for. Was this the Father's justice? The guidance of the Crone? Did the Maiden approve this union?

Maybe they don't care, Rhae thought. They never seem to. Though, she reasoned, if the Gods listened to any, surely they would favor pious Queen Alicent.

At the feet of the Stranger, Helaena held in her arms, Rhae was left to dwell on possibility that was even more frightening.

Maybe this is the best that they can do.

"Again!"

Rhae jabbed instantly at her opponent's midsection, the tip of her wooden sword aimed between his ribs. Months of practice kept her arm steady and her aim true, even now, after a long morning of practicing drills.

Aemond waved his weapon tightly, defending his torso, a flicker of irritation on his face. Rhae knew why—This was the simplest move for him to deflect. So long as he made contact with her sword before it reached his leathers, his superior strength allowed him to bat it aside with ease. Even an imprecise swing would suffice.

But Rhae stayed her course, stabbing rather than cutting, one... two... three more times, each time with increasing speed. She never reached her target, but she needled her opponent nonetheless. Aemond's aggitation grew with each successful block.

Sensing an outburst, Rhae feigned a fifth and final stab at his chest. Aemond moved to parry, only for his blade to whiff at open air. By the time he recognized the trick, Rhae had manuevered to his blinded left side, but rather than strike, she took a half step backwards.

Aemond pivoted hard, swinging his sword with furious determination, aiming straight for her head. But Rhae needn't move—he'd misjudged the distance, the tip of his weapon passing near six inches from her face.

"Pales bartos," Rhae chided.

"Hit... me!" Aemond grunted between swings, but Rhae merely continued to dance from reach.

"You first."

"Less talking!" Ser Criston barked.

Aemond stalked closer, shifting his gaze to either side of her as he approached. Like a shadowcat, Rhae thought. She'd used to watch them roam the mountains from Runestone's walls as a girl. Quiet, calculated, hungry. He'd grown considerably in the months passed, surpassing Rhae in height, and already well on his way to surpassing Aegon. A long thin scar carved him from cheek to brow, his empty eye socked now covered by a patch of leather. His remaining eye flickered with fire.

Faster than Rhae would've thought possible, he lunged, stabbing at her stomach. She used both hands to drive away the attack, but it still wasn't enough to overpower Aemond, who had followed through the stab with the rest of his body, ramming her to the ground with his shoulder.

"Oof!"

Aemond gazed down at her as she tried to catch her breathe, the wind having been knocked out of her.

"You're not trying."

"You're... not hitting... me either..."

"Then what in the Seven Hells are you doing in the dirt?" Aemond offered her his hand. "If you won't sieze the advantages available to you, you'd best stay there."

"He's right." Ser Criston said. "You're smaller than any opponent you're like to come up against, Rhae. The enemey will always use your weaknesses against you. I'd implore you to do the same."

Rhae rose to her feet, brushing Aemond's hand away. His remaining eye stared down at her still.

"Yes, Ser," she said.

Fine , my prince. Your way.

"Again!"

Rhae darted to Aemond's blind side instantly, already lashing with her sword, her weapon raking along the ridges of his ribcage. As they settled back into their starting stances, Aemond smiled.

"Again!"

Rhae parried once... twice... three times as Aemond pressed an attack. Every time Rhae tried to put distance between them, Aemond's long legs would carry him closer. Rhae managed to hold him off until... Too close. He thrust at her stomach, but Rhae ducked then spun, passing by his left side. She struck him between the shoulders. This time, Aemond returned to his mark scowling.

"Again!"

He rushed her again, swinging harder than ever before. By the second parry Rhae's arms ached from the effort of battering him off, her hands stinging with the force of each blow. She feigned a stab at his left side, hoping he'd overcompensate for his blindness. Sure enough, he took a large step back, giving Rhae the chance to stray further from his reach. But Aemond's eye was blazing now, and chased her right back down. He swung once... twice... Rhae switched her grip to two hands, only barely raising her sword in time to catch the next blow.

"FUCK!"

Rhae's weapon fell from her fingers with a loud crack, Aemond's leaded sword striking her wrist. She inhaled sharply, holding her hand between her legs, the sting welling her unwilling eyes with tears.

Ser Criston was there in a second, his calloused hands gentle for once, as he coaxed her fingers from the injury. She couldn't help but whimper as he felt along the bone.

"Broken," He huffed. "You!" He barked to a fletcher, watching quietly at his station some distance away. "Fetch a Maester." The knight turned his attention back to her, breathing deeply, urging her to do the same. "It feels clean, just hold it steady, there you go."

She did as he instructed. Over the knight's shoulder, she could see Aemond staring down at his sword, his one eye simmering.

Later that night, Rhae sat in front her room's firepit, her now-bandaged wrist aching as she finished signing her latest letter to Jon back at Runestone. In a matter of days, he and a host of Royces would be set sail for King's Landing, to join the festivities held in Aegon and Helaena's honor. In two weeks time they would be wed.

She rolled the parchment shut, spooning a glob of hot wax onto it's edges. As she pressed it closed with the studded seal of her house, a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," she called.

Aemond passed through the door, changed from his leathers into linen. His long silvered hair was damp and hanging loosely around his shoulders. Freshly washed from the days activities, Rhae assumed. She pat the cushioned space beside her, but when he reached the foot of the ottomon he stayed standing.

"I wanted to apologize."

Rhae raised a brow. "For?"

"Breaking your wrist."

"Training yard mishap," she waved her good hand. "Don't be."

"I misjudged in the yard this morning," Aemond continued. "I meant to knock your sword from your hand, but..." He pulled his eye patch from his head and dropped it on the cushion. "I missed. Again. It won't happen anymore. I'll do better. I'll be better."

Rhae looked up to meet his eye. As always, she was met with the absence of his other.

"I know you will."

At last he sat down beside her, delicately taking her hand and examining the bandages.

"How does it feel?

"As good as it looks," Rhae said. At least the broken bone was on the same side as her ruined skin. Her betrothed ran his thumb across her forearm, studying her scars fondly. She could not feel his finger brush against her skin, but watching him do so made her shiver all the same.

"Do you ever grow used to the staring?"

"Sometimes," Rhae said. Not like this. "I can't stop anyone from staring anymore than I can make my nerves grow back. Growing used to it is all there is."

Aemond nodded.

"The lords and the ladies... the maesters and the septons and the servants..." He mumbled. "They all look at me like I'm a freak. A monster."

"Have they met Vhagar?"

She thought this might earn her a smile, but Aemond only clenched his hand restlessly.

"It's not the same. Vhagar inspires reverence as much as she inspires fear. Everywhere she goes, people pay attention. But when they look upon her rider... they look away just as quickly." Aemond sighed deeply, his eye tracing up her arm and to her face. "But not you. I was... pleased to hear of our betrothal. You've always seen me for what I am."

"It's not enough," Rhae said. She knew him better than that.

"I wish it were," Aemond agreed. "I'd always envisioned myself a knight as well as a dragonrider, but it seems the cost for one has been the other. How am I to be worthy of Vhagar when I struggle to best..."

"Me?"

Aemond looked relieved to hear her say it.

"I wish to be storied. They don't sing songs for one-eyed knights, Rhae. There aren't any. I fear I'm victim as to why."

"They will." Rhae asserted. "Symeon Star-Eyes has one, and he hasn't got either."

"Symeon Star-Eyes?"

Rhae grinned. It wasn't often she got to teach Aemond a bit of history.

"You wouldn't know of him, would you? Hightowers descend from the Andals." Rhae could see that Aemond had begun to trace along her arm again. He was leaned forward now, listening intently.

"Tell me."

Rhae felt her cheeks flush.

"Well, you wouldn't, because Symeon comes from before them. The Andals, I mean." Rhae took a moment to find her breath. "Back in the times of the First Men, when us Royces ruled as Bronze Kings. He fought with a staff, only it had blades on each end, so he could spin it about and cut down two men at once. Two blades he had, but no eyes. He put sapphires in their place. That's how he got his name—Star-Eyes."

"And he was a knight?"

"According to the songs." Rhae grinned. "One of my favorites, really. As a girl I used to play in the Godswood while my Uncle prayed. I'd search for fallen branches to make my staff, and once I had it, I'd wonder the wood with my eyes closed, striking trees and rocks and bushes. A squirrel, once. And Ser Gerold, when he eventually came and found me."

Aemond hummed.

"That's a good story."

They sat in silence a moment, listening to the crackle of the fireplace. Rhae noticed Aemond's hand had come to rest on her own.

"You'll have to come see it soon." She said. "The Godswood. Runestone."

"We'll fly together." Aemond agreed. "After the wedding."

They sat in silence a while longer, until the logs in the fire had turned to charcoal, dimming as its fuel turned to ash. Aemond put his eyepatch back on, but when Rhae walked him to the door, his hand was back in her's again.

"Goodnight, Aemond."

He tugged her a bit closer, his spare hand reaching for her face. No sooner had his fingers brushed her cheek did his mouth hungered forward. Rhae pushed her toes to meet him, their collision hard and hot. Rhae fell into him, and it was only after a few moments did Aemond help her steady herself. He was pink to the ears.

"Goodnight, Rhae."

Next Chapter: Coming Soon!

AO3 | Chapter Discussion

Thanks for reading!

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Back in Time P.1 ⏳| Agent K/MIB Imagine

An AU of MiB—takes place during MIB3

Part 2 | my masterlists

Characters & Pairings: Agent K x MiB agent!reader (romantic)

Content warnings: fluff, profanity, angst, mentions of death, violence, age gape (read the note below), cannon divergence, suggestive themes, shitty realities women & queer had to go through in the 60s, friends/strangers-to-lovers | female!reader (she/her) | wc 9.3k

Premise: The universe was full of secrets. Y/I learned that in 1997 when she signed her name on the dotted line, swearing her life to MiB with the promise to protect all life: humans and visitors alike. But her world flips upside down in 2012, when the secrets her longtime partner K come knocking at their door. Leading Agent Y/I to go on a wild goose chase to 1969 and employ a young K to stop a madman from killing him...but he doesn't know that just yet.

Note: disclaimer I do not own MiB or the characters mentioned, This is fanfic for fun and while most of the scenes are from the MiB movies I did change most of the dialogue for Y/I. ALSO here is the whole age-gap thing: K was born in 1940, reader born in 1964--24 yr age gap (I know I said I’d never do large age gaps more than 10+ years but this is one exception.) In 1997 K is 57, reader is 33. In 2002 K is 62, reader is 38. In 2012 K is 72, reader is 48. In 1969 K is 29, reader is 48, young reader is 5. Your Initial = Y/I, Y/h/c = your hair color, y/e/c = your eye color. In the movie Boris killed on July 15th, 1969, changed this to July 11th 1969.

Y/I = Your First Initial. Y/h/c = Your Hair Color

————————

2012

The last thing Y/I expected when she woke up that morning and headed into HQ was she’d be the only one to remember her grumpy, always serious, and sometimes melodramatic partner, Agent K. The man who showed her there was more than what meets the eyes in the stars of the night sky. A shooting star? More like the source of a new arrival. As humans were not the only ones to call Earth their home.

Aliens walked among them.

Y/I remembered it like it was yesterday. One minute she’s chasing a culprit in New York as Detective Y/n L/n of the NYPD, the next she’s being fitted in a black suit, identity wiped across all government systems, donning only her initial, Y/I. From there her life turned a complete 180.

Over the course of their 15-year partnership there was never a dull moment. Well 10 years actually when you count the fact the first five years of Y/I career was without K. They’d safely captured the galaxy and disposed of the bug in 1997, her first job after K recruited her. Then he goes saying he wants to retire and orders Y/I to nueralize him. The next five years Y/I went through partners like clockwork. Unable to connect to one like K and neuralzing them left and right.

It just wasn’t the right fit. Which confused the woman greatly because they had literally been partners for a week. Surely anyone else could fit the role. But for some reason Y/I butted heads with everyone Zed set her up with.

Then in 2002 all leads at finding the Light of Zartha points back to K, causing Y/I to recruit him back to MIB and remind him of the life he once had. Of course the task was better said than done. K was as stubborn and cynical even without his MIB persona, believing to have been in a coma for 35 years.

Y/I wanted to strangle him the second he got his memory back. Furious to discover the bastard had neuralized himself so he’d forget where he put the Light of Zartha. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Of course K had a plan. He always did. Which was annoying for the young agent since he hardly ran his ideas past her before going through with them. Honestly Y/I believed K was betting on luck half the time.

But who was she to complain when it always worked in their favor.

The most downright awkward moment between the two happened during their high speed chase trying to get Serleena off their trail. K, forgetting he’d been away from MIB for five years and that the cars were newly modeled, pressed the red button causing them to go into hypersonic mode. And Laura, who Y/I had been casually seeing over the course of the investigation and had grown rather affectionate of the beautiful woman, got to witness it all from the backseat.

“Okay here we go automatic pilot,” K fiddled with the controller resembling one that belonged to a playstation before pressing a button, prompting a decoy to pop out in front of K. Unfortunately, a decoy was all it was. Not taking control of the ship at all causing K to lean over with annoyance plastered on his face. “It is not automatic pilot.”

“He doesn’t operate at hyperspeed,” Y/n’s gave an ‘I told you so,’ face.

“I could really use a steering wheel!”

“Tough luck we don’t have a steering wheel! This is what we got,” her hand gestured to control, reaching over to press the button removing the decoy. K threw his hands up in defeat. Y/I huffed, “didn’t your mother ever get you a GameBoy?”

“What is a GameBoy?!”

Sweet Jesus she couldn’t believe it. What’s a GameBoy? Did this man live under a rock? She was going to have to change that. Bringing her finger up in a stern point, Y/I ordered the man, “You know what, move.” K’s jaw dropped in a ‘O’. “Move!”

And before either had the time to process, Y/I lifted herself off the seat, swung her leg over and straddled K. His eyes practically bulged out of his head, hands going to her hips. The action made her jolt forward, yelping as her thighs pressed against his and feeling something brush against her groin. They both froze, eyes locking as Y/I heard K gulp.

Oh. Fire ignited in the agent. Migrating all the way to her face she prayed didn’t show. K was packing.

Instantly she leaned against the door, pushing the man to get the hint and he quickly ushered himself over the middle console. Face red like a tomato. When they both got situated the car was completely silent. K adjusting his tie while Y/I took hold of the joystick and cleared her throat.

“Alright then.”

Luckily, for her sanity, everything worked out. Serleena indisposed, New York saved once again from a homicidal maniac, and Y/I got her partner back. Only downside was having to say goodbye to Laura, who’d been revealed to be the long lost princess and, quite literally, the Light of Zartha. K was kind enough to give Y/I and Laura a moment to say goodbye. And when a lone tear fell from Y/I’s eyes watching the spaceship ascend to the skies, K was there with a tissue and comforting hand.

They never talked about that moment in the car. And frankly Y/I wanted to erase the memory of her mounting K while at Hyperspeed from her mind. Even half tempted to neuralize herself. But as much as it mortified her, Y/I felt a bit giddy. A bit of her ego boosted at making K speechless….and a bit more.

Her mind quickly shot that down. Remembering this man was her partner--who she went to extreme lengths for to get back--her superior once K got settled back at MIB, and the tiny fact he was a whole generation older than her. Literally. When she did the math it was almost 25 years between them.

Now Y/I had nothing against older men. She loved a silver fox as much as any other, and honestly preferred them to guys younger than her. At the bars she drew them in like wildfire. Never having to pay for her drinks. Then when she was 25 still a detective Y/I had a two year relationship with a man 12 years her senior.

But this was K. They’d really only known each other for maybe a week during that whole bug debacle before the shit with Serleena. It would be highly unprofessional.

Though she can’t lie. The man looked good in his 60s.

Ten years later the two were MIB’s best duo when it came to handling extraterrestrial business and keeping the world safe from unwanted visitors. Y/I with her charm and K with his quick wit, they were unstoppable.

“Don’t worry, K, you can sit this one out,” she’d tease, adjusting the cuffs of her suit with a confident smile. “I got this.”

He’d match her grin, “sure you do, slick.” Then he’d start walking and get right to work leaving her behind.

“Are you ever going to let me drive?”

“Maybe next year.”

“You said that last year, K.”

“I did?” his feigned confusion with a shrug, “Hmm don’t recall.” Like always, he was met with her groan, hearing her head fall back against the seat in defeat.

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent driver, K.”

He chuckled under his breath, casting a brief glance, “Don’t doubt it, sweetheart, now call Zed and let him know we’re on the way back.”

What could go wrong? Apparently everything.

They’d been on a job the previous night. Investigating Wu’s following suspicious activity and K wasn’t acting like his usual self. On edge, behaving in ways Y/I kept wondering what had crawled up his ass.Then all hell broke loose causing them to lose each other at one point. When Y/I finally made it to the roof, out of breath and in desperate need of a drink, she discovered K wasn’t alone. Greeted with an alien named Boris the Animal.

And he was not the happy camper. In fact, he broke out of prison just to hunt K down.

Later on K vaguely explained the history between him and Boris. “I should’ve killed him,” were his exact words, surprising the agent. She’d always known K to be the man to see all life as precious. He’d take the risk in apprehending a suspect rather than putting them down. Boris, however, did not fall under that.

The night ended with K pulling a play out of left field by suspending Y/I for four weeks when she refused to let go of not pursuing Boris. Who’s arrival shook K to his core. Quite literally. And when he called her that night to say, “you know what the most destructive force in the universe is?”

“Sugar,” Y/I sarcastically replied, not really in the mood.

“Regret.”

She went silent for a moment, “You don’t have to wait. Just talk.”

“I promised you the secrets of the universe nothing more,” K reminded her, making the woman roll her eyes in frustration.

“So what, K? There’s secrets out there the universe doesn’t know about? How can we be partners if you can’t even trust me?” When he didn’t answer, Y/I had enough and hung up. Unaware the man on the other end was holding himself together. So desperately wishing he could tell her the truth. The whole truth.

Falling asleep not long later, Y/n woke the next morning like any other day. Completed her morning routine, whipped up some breakfast and nursed a cup of chocolate milk. Something she hadn’t had since grade school but got the sudden crave for. Slicked back her mix match hair into a tidy bun, gave one last look in the mirror to make sure her suit was nice and tidy before heading out the door.

The entire journey to headquarters felt weird. Unexplainable really. A dreaded feeling in Y/I’s chest on the verge of making her physically sick. But what was it?

When she arrived at HQ Y/I was greeted in the elevator by a man she didn’t recognize, but somehow knew her. Saying he was Agent AA and they’d been partners for a while sending Y/I into a frenzy, “I have no idea who you are, and we are certainly not partners. Where’s K?”

“Who’s K?”

“Who’s K?” she repeated, making him flinch by her sudden shout. “You know who I’m talking about. K! Agent K--the best MIB has ever seen. He’s my partner--My K!” Y/I pushed based AA to frantically search for K. Anxiety rose each time she asked a passing agent where he was and they said they had no clue who she was talking about. “K!” she kept calling for him, saying how it wasn’t funny to be playing a prank on her after their argument last night. But with each second Y/I was becoming scared. Circling in the middle of HQ until she finally broke with a pained scream that echoed through the building, “Kaaayy!!!”

It was then O dragged Y/I to her office, stating she was in charge of MIB….and that Agent K had been dead since 1969.

“Okay, you’ve got it all wrong,” Y/I chuckled to avoid having a mental breakdown right there. She was beginning to hyperventilate, struggling to process the buffoonery. There’s no way in hell K was dead. And that he had been for 40+ years. “K is not---what-whatever joke this is needs to stop--.”

“This isn’t a joke, Agent Y/I--.”

“K can’t be dead! That is impossible--I-I just did a job with him last night. We were on the phone before I went to bed. This is insane!! I am not crazy!!” Y/I leaned back in her chair, apologizing for the outburst when she saw how O was staring at her. “I’m sorry, O. That was out of line. But, O please,” she stood up, pleading with her eyes. “You have to understand that this--.” she gestured to the vicinity, “was not my reality yesterday. Something happened to K in the last twelve hours and we need to get to the bottom of it.”

There were a lot of things Y/I accepted in life. Her father left when she was five. Her family kicked her out at 18 when they caught her with a girl. Ex boyfriend cheating on her because her detective job had her working long night shifts. Blockbuster closing down. The Mets losing the World Series year after year. Pepsi replacing Coca-Cola in the MIB vending machines.

But a world without K? Y/I refused to accept it.

So that’s how she found herself at the top of a skyscraper about to make a time jump into 1969. Jeffrey, the store clerk she tracked down who gave Boris the means to travel back in time, followed behind her.

“Okay, you know the rules of time jumps, right?”

Y/I wobbled on her heels, doing her best to not look down. The wind blew in her face, “give me the short version.”

“Okay. You want to save your partner, word of advice: stay away from him.”

“Yeah got it,” Y/I nodded, making a motion with her hand. “Stay away from K just kill Boris.”

“Now,” Jeffrey handed her a pair of goggles. “Take these because it gets pretty windy on the way down.” Y/I spluttered a sound.

“The way down?!”

Jeffrey either doesn’t register the dumbfounded expression plastered on her or chooses to ignore it. “With your eyes tearing up it’s hard to read the time dial plus,” he offers a smile, “it helps you look like a real time traveler. Which is cool.” Her face never changed.

“There’s no way in hell I am jumping off of this building!”

“Time. Jump,” his face reads, ‘what did you think it meant?’ Y/I just gulps, peering out into the distance. Contemplating her life choices. Meanwhile Jeffrey pulls out the time dial, “Okay now I gotta set this thing to the 11th. Uhhh,” his fingers work over the device. Setting it to July 11th, 1969. “That seems right….ish.”

Y/I lifted her head to stare at him, “I’m gonna need that to be on the money, Jeffrey. Time is at stake here. Literally.”

“Now, all you gotta do…is jump,” passing the dial, he gives her a light push on the back, making her stumble and go, “hey-hey, stop. I don’t need to fall to my death before you finish telling me what I’m supposed to be doing.” Slowly itching herself to the edge, Jeffrey explained the final steps.

“Now as soon as you’re moving fast enough that circle is going to fill up with some sort of green time travel liquid or some such and it’s going to glow really bright--” Y/I cursed when she nearly slipped, catching her hand on the smooth surface. ‘God, I shouldn't have chosen today to wear my heels.’

“As soon as that happens you need to break that blue laser line with your thumb to complete the circuit,” Jeffrey scans their view. “At this height that should be uhhh…let’s see massive Earth and 30 something feet per minute uh--.”

The fear of jumping off a building combined with the stress of failing to save K, Y/I felt the pressure break. “It’s 32 feet per second per second.”

“That sounds right--ish,” Y/I mentally groaned at his lack of confidence. “So that would be, I guess uh, about two feet off the ground.”

“Then I break the laser line?”

“No, don't break it!”

“I mean when I’m fast enough,” Y/I reiterates and receives a thumbs up.

“Sounds good.” Well that didn't help her at all.

“So do I break the laser line or do I not break the laser line?”

“Do not lose that time device,” Jeffrey warns, making the woman sigh and accept she’s going to have to wing it and pray she lives to tell. “Or you will be stuck in 1969.” He didn’t have to say anything else for Y/I to understand. She was going to be a fish out of water.

Was it too late to change her clothes and dye her hair?

“How will I know if it works?” She asked, stomach dropping at the sight of spaceships entering the atmosphere. The Boglodite invasion had begun.

“You’ll either know…or you won’t.”

“Fucking A,” Y/I pulled the goggles over her head. They were tight against her skin, but she was able to at least breathe.

Before he left, Jeffrey had one last thing to say. And it really put into perspective how important K was to Y/I. “You must really love this guy to do this.”

“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath, tightness in her chest while heat flooded her veins. “I guess I do.” She brushed the intense feeling as platonic love for K. Their partnership had lasted 10 years. He was more than just a colleague, he was her best friend. Turning back to Jeffrey before he could leave, she yelled, “Wait! How come I remember K but nobody else does?”

“Woah!” Jeffrey exclaimed, looking as if she just unlocked the key to immortality. “Woah! That means you were there.”

“I was where?” She didn’t understand. Yeah she was alive in 1969, five years old in fact. But what the hell does he mean by she was there?

“If you survive you gotta come back and tell me everything, okay!”

“What are you talking about? Where was I?!” she was interrupted by a ship attacking a nearby building. Jeffrey ushering her off.

“You gotta go! Go! Go! Go!,” he fled to safety, leaving Y/I alone on the rooftop. More ships attacked, sending an alarm across the city for residents to seek shelter. Below Y/I made out their screams.

Time dial in hand, Y/I said a mental prayer, “I’m coming for ya, K,” and leaped to her destiny.

1969

Once Y/I settled her heart rate and mentally cheered in victory she didn’t die, her feet carried her off the rooftop and down the elevator. Had her mind not been preoccupied, she would’ve found humor in the man who looked rather scared out of his wits when she entered the elevator. Clutching the paper close to his chest while giving her an odd once over.

“What’s today?” Y/I picked up on his adversary, not meeting her eye at all.

“Tuesday,” he said shortly.

“The date,” she corrected with a sigh.

“The 11th.”

“Of?”

“July?”

“My man, what’s the year?”

“Nine-nineteen sixty-nine.”

“Thank you,” she threw a hand up, startling him more. “God, and I thought people sucked at answering simple questions where I’m from.” She left the elevator in a haste once it hit the lobby floor, rushing out the doors to a 60s New York.

After stealing a rich man’s car, neuralizing two cops and knicking a bottle of coca-cola from a vendor to quench her time travel thirst, Y/I finally made it to Coney Island. Approaching any and everyone to see if they’d seen Boris.

“He’s about six foot, gnarly beard and looks like he could use some screen,” the young couple hippy kept eyeing her up and down, expressions mixed with weariness and awe. It’s not everyday a woman in a dressy suit approaches to ask you questions. Y/I huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I take that as a no?”

It was like this all morning and Y/I was starting to lose hope. But she had to stay. It said in the records Boris murders an alien on July 11th at Coney Island. Maybe if she could find him she’d save another life.

A scream filled her ears, Y/I running in the direction of the ferris wheel. Breaking through a curtain with her gun raised where she found a body laying on the ground. “Shit,” she muttered, head raising a second later to thumping.

There, leaping across the panels of the ferris wheel, was Boris. Y/I trained her blaster up, eyes following Boris’ until she could get a clear shot. She predicted he’d jump to the large billboard, so she focused her aim to await him.

But fate had other plans.

As soon as she lined up the shot Y/I felt cold pressure against her temple. Blood rushed as she mentally cursed herself. Then a familiar southern drawl filled her ears.

“We’ll take it from here.”

“K?” she gasped, eyes wide as saucers. Smiling as she turned to see him, young and alive, “K!”. ‘Damn K was a stud.’ However the happy reunion was cut short when the agent remembered this was a young K. His face visibly surprised at the mention of his name. Y/I once again cursed at herself.

He didn’t know who the fuck she was.

His defensive demeanor showed that. “I’m afraid I’m going to need you to lower your weapon and come with me, ma’am.” Had this been her K she would’ve teased the fact that even so young authority seeped off him. Carrying himself in a way Y/I was sure he had gals falling to his feet left and right.

But she couldn’t tease him. This wasn’t her K. And this K looked like he was about five seconds from losing his patience.

“Sorry, pretty boy,” she found her voice, his face shifting at the nickname. “Can’t let that happen.” Before K could blink, Y/I shot her arm up to push his blaster away, kneeing his stomach causing K to grunt and bend over, before kicking his legs. She made a mental note to apologize to future K once she returns home.

If she manages to pull this off.

Once K was down, Y/I took her chance to run. Unfortunately she didn’t get far. Heading in the direction Boris fled, Y/I got caught in a maze of tents, unable to find her way out. She stomped her foot, “Dammit.” It was there K found her, tackling the agent from behind, “Ooof--!” They rolled on the harsh ground, scuffling their suits and shoes before coming to a stop. K kicked Y/I’s blaster away, annoying her greatly, “Rude.”

They engaged in a small brawl. Which was pretty much Y/n doing all she could to escape and K attempting to get the upper hand but falling short. It was a new thing for K. Having an opponent on his level. He’d never had his work cut out for him until now. This woman was something else. She intrigued him.

After two whole minutes of fighting, they were becoming tired and frustrated. K took a blow to his rib, Y/I’s hair now loose from the hair tie snapping. It came to a climatic end when they fell back onto a curtain and tumbled onto a table full of orange crates. Moaning as they made impact with the ground. Y/I pushed herself up only to yelp in pain and fall back as electricity filled her veins.

The bastard tased her.

Breathing heavily, K wiped the sweat from his forehead. Leaning back on his knees as he observed the unconscious woman in front of him. Now that he got a better look, K assessed her to be in her mid to late 30s. Striking features with signs of aging, some wrinkles by her eyes and smile lines, but breathtakingly beautiful. Hair styled in an unusual fashion. Two toned in a way K couldn’t tell if it was natural on the sides framing her face or if they were purposely dyed a stunning white/gray. The top of her head was layered in y/h/c. Her makeup relatively simple with the exception of bold red painting her lips.

The most interesting detail of the gorgeous woman was she adored a black suit just like him. She stuck out like a sore thumb when all the women wore dresses and skirts. Yes, some wore pants, but a woman in a sleek black suit and tie? Unheard of. Not to mention her suit was made in a different fashion than his own. More tight on her figure, thinner tie, not as boxy on the shoulders.

K’s suspicion rose when he found fancy gadgets in the pockets of her blazer. He’d made sure to disarm her in the event she woke before they arrived at HQ. Besides her gun, he discovered a pen-like tool, and a circular device reading the current date. ‘What the hell?’ he thought to himself, examining the tools closely before pocketing them. Brows raised to his hairline when he found her badge, the MIB logo in bold printed above her identity.

Agent Y/I.

“Huh,” K hummed in wonder, “Well I’ll be damned.” He glanced down at the fallen agent, lingering on her features, “Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.” Badge in hand, K gently lifting the woman in his arms to take to his car. But not before neuralizing the crowd that had gathered around them.

Whoever she was, K was going to find out.

Y/I awoke with a groan. Feeling tension in her neck and back and throat dry as a desert. Bright lights filled her vision, causing her to blink rapidly until the blurriness became clear. Making her brows furrow at the sight of a very different MIB headquarters she was used to. For starters this one had color. Burnt orange furniture and bulky furniture to fit the times. It was buzzing with MIB agents and travelers from other worlds. Y/I heard one alien on the phone with his dad begging to bail him out.

Good luck with that buddy.

Still feeling the numbness from the voltage, Y/I massaged her jaw with her hand, groaning lightly as she turned her head to scan the rest of HQ. A sudden gasp leaving her as she found K staring at her, making her jolt in her seat.

“Christ, K,” a groan left her throat, eyes narrowed at the man--who again observed her with skepticism. “Would it kill a girl to ask you to turn the electricity down on that thing? I can barely feel my tongue.” He cut right to the chase.

“How do you know my name?”

‘Fuck,’ Y/I gritted her teeth. Pissed at herself for making a simple mistake. Now she had to improvise. Something K always clowned her for. “What? Cause I called you ‘K’?” She could tell he wanted to smirk at her nervous chuckle. “No, I call everybody K. It’s my thing really--What up, K?” the person passing the two gave a look, and the agent continued the ruse much to K’s displeasure. “Kaaaaayyyyy, pasa. Yeah, you know how it is.”

God this was embarrassing. But she was too deep now.

K turned in his chair around to grab something off the desk, “Now that I know what you look like when you’re lying.” Placing the items in front of Y/I, she mentally cursed. It was her neuralizer, gun, badge and time travel device. “Won’t you show me what you look like when you’re telling the truth?”

Oh boy. She hadn’t thought of him confiscating the stuff she had. Super important stuff. How was she going to get out of this? K was the smartest man alive. He’ll know she’s lying no matter how much she tries to deceive him. Time was running out and she needed to get away fast.

Putting on a convincing smile, Y/I leans her elbow on the corner of K’s desk. “I won those at Coney Island on the ring toss,” the lie was met with a gesture of her hand, like she actually was tossing a ring.

“I won a stuffed bear once, but never one of these,” he shakes his head, giving that damn smile where he knows she’s lying. Of course he fucking knew. “Must be good, slick.” God there was the nickname. The one that in the beginning Y/I hated but learned to love as it was only reserved for her. Hearing the younger K say it brought comfort to the agent, reminding her why she was in 1969 in the first place.

“All right, sir,” she pulled herself together, becoming serious which surprised him a bit. “I was minding my own business. I was out there waiting for my girl, who, by the way, is probably worried sick looking for me right now. So I-I just need my things and I need to get back to her.”

“What’s ya gal’s name?”

“Huh?”

“Your gal,” K repeated with a smirk, “what’s her name?” The question threw her off, but then Y/I she did, in fact, say she was waiting for a girl and not a guy. Forgetting she was in 1969 where lgbtq+ unfortunately dealt with prominent homophobia and persecution. ‘Fuck’ she thought again, hoping young K was just as accepting as his older self. Who, when Y/I told him she was bisexual his reply was, “I know, slick.”

By some God awful reason, Y/I’s brain melted at having to come up with a fake girlfriend name, “Schtaron” saying it aloud even made her cringe.

K even looked surprised, eyebrows raising as though he misheard her. “Schtaron?” Well she couldn’t take it back now. So Y/I did the only thing she could do: nod, accepting her fate. K’s mouth opened slightly, processing the information. “I bet Schtaron likes that suit of yours. Hm?”

Y/I peered down at her outfit where K was looking. Crisp black suit matching his only a tad different in style. She raised a brow in defiance, “What, it’s a crime to wear a black suit?”

K shrugged, finger brushing his bottom lip, “Not a crime, but it makes you stick out compared to the other pretty ladies wearing pencil dresses and skirts.”

“Yeah well,” Y/I scoffed with a roll of the eyes. “You men haven’t realized yet that women can rock a three-piece suit and tie better than y’all.” As though confirming her words, Y/I heats up when K gives another glance over her suit. From the tie around her neck to the red bottom heels on her feet.

Obviously he didn’t recognize the shoes since Louboutins didn’t release until the 90s, but K was still impressed nonetheless she’d be brave to wear such footwear in that line of work.

He leaned back in his chair, turning away when he was caught staring, red creeping up his neck and hand raising to adjust his tie. Y/I smirked, pleased with his reaction, while battling the warmth feeling in her chest. Part of her wanted to poke fun at him like she usually did, but there was a job to do.

“All right, listen, pretty boy,” she gets his attention back, visibly reacting to the nickname, “I haven’t done anything wrong except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I need to get out of here,” she slaps a hand down on the stack of files in front of her, “I cannot be here with you.” They’re suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a beautiful blonde.

“Terribly sorry,” she apologizes to Y/I before turning to K. “X is frightfully upset about the whole Coney Island incident.” K moves to grab his cup of coffee, meanwhile Y/I could not contain herself and was openly checking the blonde out. Which K caught and had to do a double take.

“Alright thanks for the heads up,” he takes a sip, wincing at the bitter taste, “Oh, man, this coffee tastes like dirt.” Y/I snapped her head to him in shock before turning back to the woman, ‘no fucking way,’ her suspicions were confirmed seconds later.

“What do you expect? It was--.”

“Just ground this morning,” Y/I finishes the saying, eyes wide and grin threatening to expand. “O?” ‘Damn O has always been fine.’

Both faced her, expressions of bewilderment. Especially O who had yet to know who Y/I was. It was further proof to younger K Y/I was hiding something big.

Realizing her mistake Y/I attempted to do damage control. “No, I call ladies ‘O’,” her hand waves. Feeling small under K’s hard stare. “To me, O is feminine, K is masculine.” What the actual hell was coming out of her mouth? She didn’t know and couldn’t stop, “You know, I see a couple, I’m like, “O-K.” Before anyone had the chance to react to the utter bullshit she spewed, X was rounding the corner. K dropping a large booklet on top of Y/I’s stuff.

“What a mess,” X exclaimed, standing beside O. “Any casualties?”

“Yes, Roman the Fabulist.”

O appeared devastated by this news. Almost like she could cry whereas X just rephrased the question to specify, “Any human casualties.” Y/I narrowed her brows slightly, offended by the audacity of X which didn’t go unnoticed by K. He matched her expression. To him, all life was precious. Humans and aliens alike.

“No, sir,” Y/I picked up on his strained tone. It was then X turned his attention to the woman seated in front of him with a piercing glare, “Who the hell is this?” He was put off not just by her scowl, but the fact she wore a suit and had mixed-match hair.

“Look, I was…” K interrupted before she could make a fool of herself.

“Stray human caught in the net.”

“Code 43 her and throw her back,” X ordered. O, sensing there was more to the story, diverted X away from the desk, “Sir, you’re gonna be late for a meeting with the Viagrans. They have a revolutionary new pill.” Y/I tilted her head at O’s words, ‘What the hell? Viagrans? New Pill? Oh my….’ She wanted to laugh at the irony, but K was back in front of her, serious as ever.

“Okay, slick,” he leaned on his elbows, waiting for the woman to come clean. Y/I kept her guard up, shaking her head furiously and sticking with the stupid story, “I was waiting for my girl.”

“Schtaron.”

“Yes,” Y/I wanted to crawl under the desk and hide, “she’s….Greek. It’s a family name--very unique.”

A moment of silence passes and K finally gives up. Accepting he was going to have to use unorthodox methods to get answers. “Okay. Just one last thing…..an eye exam.”

Oh no.

Any attempt Y/I made to escape was to no avail. They caught and strapped her to a stretcher like contraption, after she put down three men and managed to disarm K again, making his jaw drop. They wheeled her to a room, her eyes landing on a large machine resembling a device she was all too familiar with. “That’s not an eye exam, K,” she shouted appalled, “That’s a big ass neuralizer!”

“You sure have a lot of information for a gal who doesn’t know anything,” he approached the control machine.

“I see what you’re saying. Woah--!” They spun upside down. “You know what, K, we need to hold up a second. K!” Her y/h/c and white hair fell over her face, Y/I blowing air to get it out of the way. Necklaces smacking her cheek.

A man in a lab coat and white suit approached her. Leaning down with an object in his hand. “Let’s just get this bite guard in here.” Y/I clacked her teeth in an attempt to bite him.

“Hey. Back up,” she did it again, causing him to draw back. “Back the fuck up. I’m not afraid to bite you.” The stretcher jolted up, making it to where she was level with the machine. “K, listen,” she pleaded with a chuckle, “I think we got off on the wrong foot, all right? So let’s stop this show and talk for a second. Don’t put me in this thing, K!”

K thought about it for a moment before replying, “Too late, lass,” and pressed a button. Y/I groaned, stretcher moving to enter the vessel.

“K, no, you have to listen to me. I can help you with this case!” her pleas went ignored, K focusing on the dial. “K!” She makes a face, “I’m doing the truth face--you’re missing it!”

“Ah, I’ll just use my imagination.”

Buzzing filled the room. The neuralizer was closed and locked, beginning to spin in a circle as it lit up. Y/I started feeling nauseous, struggling against the holds. “K, I’m after the same killer you’re looking for. He’s a Boglodite named Boris.”

“Ship has sailed, amiga.”

The dizziness was becoming intense, Y/I blinked her eyes, “K, if we don’t get him now we’ll have to deal with two of them. Two!” K adjusts his headset.

“You had my undivided attention.”

“One will have one arm, and one will have two,” she informs, neuralizer speeding up. Now her heart was about to burst from her chest, desperation consuming her. “K! Listen to me, please!” the stretcher set in place as it locked in. “If you erase me you’ll be erasing the whole world!”

“Fifteen seconds to neuralyzation. Fourteen.”

“Fuck-fuck-fuck,” Y/I mumbled, the fear now setting in. The last time she felt terrified--besides that morning--was after getting poisoned by an alien stinger while on a job in 2003. Never had she seen K so scared. Cursing at everyone and breaking every traffic law to get back to HQ. So frighteningly angry he nearly threw hands with Zed while O had to step in to calm him down.

“Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven.” her thoughts became fuzzy. Neurons pulling apart and pushing together. The area of the brain dedicated to memory being targeted causing her mind to spin. “Ten. Nine. Eight.” The least she could do before her brain was scrambled was warn K one last time. “When you see Boris tomorrow, K, kill him. Do not arrest him, you have to kill him!”

“Six. Five. Four.”

Y/I’s eyes closed, steadying her breathing to calm herself and not allow the fear to take over. Memories started to play like a film. From her childhood, to adolescence. High school and police academy. Her time as a detective to the moment she met K. Discovering the world beyond Earth. Every mission, every job. Every precious moment she took for granted.

Outside, K kept replaying her words. Warnings. Whoever she was, she knew too much. Between the technology, the suit, knowing his name as well as O’s, this woman had a past. A past with the same man he needed to find.

For God’s sake she had an MIB badge. She was one of them.

‘Fucking hell.’ “Three. Two. On--.” K stood abruptly and smacked his hand down on the button to shut it down before it could reach one.

Y/I let out a breath of relief, feeling the contraption slow down until it came to a stop. Lights shutting off. “Is this thing off, K? Hey, I don’t think it’s off all the way--can you check real quick?” Cranking her neck as best she could, Y/I desperately needed an Advil. “It’s still whirring and buzzing. I don’t know if I don’t know nothing.” Now she was being dramatic. But who could really blame her after nearly getting her memory erased.

The stretcher exited the machine, pulling Y/I upright causing her hair to become a wild mess. K approached, headset off, and watched her carefully. “I knew Roman. His wife cooked me dinner once and while it was not pleasant, he was my friend.” The men unlatched the metal straps holding Y/I in place, K stepping forward to extend a hand so she’d safely step off while saying, “Last chance, who are you and what do you know?” She took his hand, both flinching at the tiny shock that occurred and Y/I stumbled back once on her feet so they had a bit of distance, but still close. Inhaling, Y/I spilled all K needed to know in one breath.

“I’m an agent at Men in Black, but I’m from the future--we’re partners, ok? Twenty-five years from now you’re going to recruit me in New York, and fourteen years after that, the guy you didn’t let me kill today at Coney Island, he escapes from prison, and jumps back into the past and unleashes a full scale invasion of Earth,” Y/I checks her watch briefly, “we’ve got approximately four days and ten hours to catch him and kill him. So really, we need to go right now because he can be anywhere!” She let out a small groan, letting the air catch up. Nerves arose at K’s blank stare. Y/I unable to tell what he was thinking and that brought great annoyance.

They stayed like that for a moment. Staring at each other in silence. Y/I allowed her shoulders to drop, sighing in the process.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, K turned on his heel toward the door, “Alright.” Puzzled, Y/I blinked rapidly in question, but followed after the man.

“So that’s the story you believe.”

“That one was the truth,” K pointed out. “Wasn’t the whole truth, but I guess it’ll do for now.” Y/I looked at him offended.

“What the hell do you mean? Of course it’s the whole truth!” Liar. “I told you everything.” ‘No I didn’t, but what you don’t know won’t hurt ya.’ They entered the elevator, “The problem with a lie, K, is once you start lying you put yourself….” she trails off when he turns to her with a look of, ‘Don’t even try,’ Sighing again, Y/I licked her lips while placing her hands in her pockets, staring ahead rather than at K.

“Agent K,” a voice called from below as the elevator rose. They turned to find X and O. “What’s she still doing here?”

“Oh I might have cooked her for too long. Thought I’d better walk her out.” Catching on, Y/I said the first thing that came to her mind.

“I put my pants on.” K rolled his eyes, lifting his hand as if to say, ‘See what I mean?’ Once X looked satisfied and took his leave, K gently placed a hand on her shoulder to turn her back around. His touch sent another wave of heat. She straightened her posture, looking ahead.

Y/I jaw hurt from how hard she was holding her laugh. Squeezing her eyes shut, but she still felt K’s gaze, damn well knowing she’d break if she made eye contact. “Please stop looking at me before I lose it.”

“How’d you know--.”

The elevator jolted a stop, Y/I exiting first before K took the lead. She quickened her pace so they were next to each other. Outside K led her to his car, Y/I’s unable to contain her reaction at the sight of his car. A 1964 Ford Galaxy 500. She whistled as got into the car, missing how K was biting back a smirk.

The driver’s door slammed shut behind him, “Okay future-gal, where to?” Y/I’s brow raised, hands making a motion. She didn't have a damn clue at what to do next. Now that her original plan blew to shit.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” K parroted, just as confused and she made a face.

“I don’t know. Uh…go wherever you went last time.”

Did she forget she traveled back in time? “I haven’t been here last time. I didn’t tell you where I went?” She had to choose her next words carefully to not let anything slip. Nonetheless she let out a light chuckle.

“No, we don’t really talk.”

K huffed, adjusting himself in the seat, “What kind of partners sit in a car all day every day for 14 years and don’t talk?”

“Exactly,” her smile is tight, proving her point. She points a finger between the both of them, “and this is the type of problem it causes. It’s dysfunctional and annoying if I’m being quite honest. And technically we’ve been partners for ten years but that’s a long story and one for another day.” She didn’t miss the curious look that came over him, but it was quickly replaced with frustration.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he put one hand on the wheel while his arm laid across the headrest of the seats, face serious. “You better get useful real quick, or you’re going back to room 43.”

Y/I muttered something he couldn’t hear, turning away to gaze out the windshield. Brows furrowed deep in thought as she picked through her brain for any information.

“Okay, uh,” she bit her lip, “the file--the file I read about Boris before coming here said something about a factory,” she looked back at K, “something happened at a factory on the 13th.” She heard him sigh, and Y/I held back her own. “Look, pretty boy, I’m giving you all I got. You can stare at me with your jedi knight--,” she forgot Star Wars had yet to be released for another seven years. “Looking eyes, but that’s all--we’ve got two days to find out where he’s going.”

To her surprise, K started the car. She tilted her head, “oh, did that spark something for you, cowboy?”

“Roman had this on his person when he was murdered,” In his hand was a matchbook, Y/I reached to take it. On both sides read ‘Cosmo Lanes,’ the letters encased in bowling pins.

“It’s a matchbox.”

“No, it’s a clue,” K corrected, making her look at him puzzled. Then he answered her unspoken question, “He didn’t smoke.” They were off with the roar of the engine trailing behind. Off to Cosmo Lanes with their lead.

The entire drive Y/I kept stealing glances at K. Not hiding her intrigue at all or how she admired his features. Jet black hair, shiny and sleek. Smile lines--which she always found adorable. Brown eyes that twinkled whenever he smirked or gave a genuine smile.

She must’ve been staring because K snapped her out of it as he said, “You lose something over here, darlin’?”

Instead of becoming embarrassed and flinging herself out of the car, Y/I held her chin high, feeding off the confidence she usually carried herself with. Lip curling, as she tipped a brow up, “Say, K, I’m curious. How old are you?”

It took a moment for him to answer, “twenty-nine.”

“Wow,” Y/I hummed, making K give her a, ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Her grin widened, tone taking a teasing nature, “Just that you got some city miles on ya.”

Now it was K’s turn to smirk, “You know I’m starting to understand why we don’t talk.” Y/I chuckled, facing forward in the seat. K turned down the music lightly, “Exactly what year in the future are you from?”

“Twenty-Twelve,” she heard him make a sound, like he was calculating his age in 2012. “Don’t worry, you're still a stud even in your old age. Silver hair suits you.”

“Glad to hear,” Y/I heard his smile, matching her own. “What you said earlier, about us being partners for ten years, what’d you mean by that?” She hadn’t expected that question, tightening her lips as she debated on opening that can of worms.

“Like I said, it's a long and complicated story.”

K’s eyes flickered to her, “we got time.”

She snorted, “Should I really be telling you? I’m not an expert in time travel, but what if telling you about what happens in the future inevitably dooms it?” All she received was a shrug, making her head fall back against the seat.

“Well,” she breathed through her nose, clicking her teeth. “As I mentioned--after you nearly fried my brain--you recruited me in ‘97, but after the first job you decided to retire and had me neuarlize you,” She briefly glanced to find K raising his brows, visibly surprised. “Then five years later in ‘02, you held the key to stopping a homicidal maniac so I had to drag you back to MiB. Once that was over, you just stayed,” leaning her head to look at K, Y/I smirked, “And we’ve been going now ten years strong. My longest relationship really--you should be honored.” She couldn’t help but tease, watching the man flush red.

Even as a young stallion K was easy to fluster.

“I love that,” she giggled lightly, looking away when he turned his head.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” she jutted, but then came clean, unable to contain her laugh. “Just that you’re still easy to tickle.” Y/I didn’t see it, but K’s gaze lingered on her. Fondness peaking through as a million questions racked his brain but he refused to ask--the leading being just who was she to him? Yeah they were work partners, but call it intuition, K felt there was something more to Y/I and what she meant to him.

Whatever it was now was not the time to drown himself in theories. Gathering his priorities, K kept only two things in mind: 1) they had a job to do and 2) this woman was from his future. They needed to find Boris, stop him from changing the future, and get her back home.

They pulled up to the bowling alley, K shutting off the engine after putting the car in park. Y/I leaned forward to get a better look. “How well do you know this place?”

“I know its reputation.”

“I don’t like it,” she shook her head, finding it sketchy. “I hate going in blind. I’m gonna need my gun back.”

“Sure thing, slick,” a handcuff clasped on Y/I wrist, a gasp leaving her as he cuffed her to the steering wheel while she gaped at him like he lost his damn mind.

“K! What the hell?!” she fought against his grip, “I need to go in there with you!”

“You just sit tight. I’ll be fine.” K was out the door and entering the establishment. Leaving Y/I shouting after him, “Stop--K! You can’t go in by yourself. When I get back to the future I’m going to have serious words for you!” She puffed out a breath as his suit clad figure disappeared. Her hands searched around the car, ‘I wonder…’ reaching for the ashtray, Y/I made a ‘ah-ha!’ sound as she found the spare key underneath.

“Same old K,” the smirk stayed on her lips, freeing herself from the cuffs and racing out the car. Going quiet as she accessed the center to take in the scene. K had his gun on a man, who in turn had four guns pointed at him. Grabbing the first thing, a bowling pin, Y/I inched her way until she was bringing down the pin on the alien’s head. Promptly knocking him out.

“See you still keep the key under the ashtray,” she saw the flicker of what looked like astonishment.

“Lucky guess,” he played it off, facing the man who was not passed out on the floor. “Now, where were we?”

After landing a spare on the lanes, finding the owner’s dead body, and a call to O for information, the two tracked down where Boris was heading next. From what K said, it was the factory.

Now they had two days to spare until then. And frankly, Y/I was beat like a tennis ball after Wimbledon. She needed a hot shower, food, and at least ten hours of sleep. It was pushing close to 6pm and Y/I was about two seconds away from making a bed out of K's backseat.

“Where are we?” a yawn escaped her when the car came to a halt. Squinting at the unknown building they were in front of.

“My place,” K casually replied, exiting the car as if it were nothing while Y/I choked on her saliva.

“Your what?” The wind hit her as she climbed out, gawking at the man. People passing by gave them looks which they ignored. “Why are we at your place, K?”

His brow tipped up, “You’re exhausted. So we’ll pick things back up tomorrow.”

“Okay….” she agreed, but her tone was still confused. “That still doesn’t explain why we’re at your place.” Then it hit Y/I, heat filling her veins and she began to splutter. “K, If you’re insinuating what I think you are, I can go get a hotel.”

“Oh really and how are you gonna do that?” K countered, hands going in his pockets. “You don’t have any money on ya, sweetheart.” Y/I tilted her head in surprise.

“And just how do you know that?” She could’ve sworn she had her credit cards on her. Learning not to carry cash on her at times now that most places were switching to cards only or never had change in the registers.

Fuck K didn’t think about how that would sound. Face redding as he adjusted his jacked, “Um,” his throat cleared, “I confiscated everything on ya at HQ and there was no wallet. Just assumed you weren’t carrying any.”

Instantly Y/I fished for her MiB badge, where she hid her Capital One credit card. Flashing it to him, “I have this.”

“What is it?” He snatched it to get a better look. Reading the print of a name he assumed was her alias, several numbers in a line and expiration date. Not recognizing the company labeled at the top.

“My credit card,” she said as if it were obvious, forgetting where she was. K’s face was questioning, making Y/I go, “What?”

“This won’t work at a hotel, slick,” he passed the card back, but not before reading it one more time. Before she could ask why K gave the answer. “For starters Capital One doesn’t exist yet. And the expiration date will have everyone turning heads,” his face turned serious, “but the main thing, if you attempt to pay with that, the authorities are going to have a field day wondering how you managed to forge a credit account.”

Y/I’s jaw dropped, absolutely floored. Forge an account? Yeah the name on the card wasn’t her real name but it was the MiB issued credit card and worked perfectly fine. And she was certain she hadn’t maxed it out yet. It’d just been used on her daily bodega order that morning.

“This isn’t fake! I get it’s not my real name, but thanks to MiB it hasn’t let me down yet. How will it--,” she cut herself on as it crossed her mind. What he was trying to tell her without really saying it. Y/I brought a hand to her nose, scrunching it. Feeling stupid she hadn’t realized it sooner as a sigh left her, “I’m not supposed to have a credit card.”

In fact, no woman was supposed to have one. They wouldn’t get the right to open their own credit accounts until 1974. Where they’d be free without having a husband, father, or brother cosign on one.

Gotta love the 60s…..

“What’s it gonna be, slick?” K voice brought her back to reality. Lifting her eyes from the pavement to meet his. Air caught in her throat suddenly, ‘Wow K has beautiful eyes.’

“I’m taking the bed,” Y/I gave in, lighting a cigarette she stole from a pack in K’s car before heading into the building with one thing on her mind: sleep. “I deserve it after jumping off a damn building and almost having my brain cooked.”

[ineedtorantaboutjiangcheng]

Fuck, I'm here again. Goddammit. I've been doing well. I've been keeping Jiang Cheng off my mind (and my computer screen). Things have been peaceful.

And then today happened.

Again, a fic. Again, not naming names, both because that's rude and also because this issue is hardly specific to one fic alone. I've seen it many times.

But I've been pacing for half an hour, too agitated to keep reading, so I'm just gonna get this off my chest, and then skim through the fic 'til it stops talking about it.

I need to talk about the golden core reveal.

Specifically, I need to talk about an attitude I've seen cropping up recently in a lot of fics. (By recently, I don't mean it's only recent fics that do it, just that I've only noticed it recently.)

So it'll be a fic, usually canon divergent, but prior to the golden core reveal. Wen Ning or Wen Qing will often be involved (though I can think of a few times it was Lan Wangji). And the character, who knows the truth about the golden core transfer, will urge Wei Wuxian to tell Jiang Cheng.

They'll say "you have to tell him". They'll say "he'll find out eventually". They'll say "he deserves to know".

And... the fic will support this.

Will frame Wei Wuxian as irrational, paranoid even, to keep it secret.

Will sometimes even punish him, narratively, for his "failure" to disclose such a thing.

And I am... completely baffled.

Where the fuck is this coming from?

I suppose, if I'm being generous, I can kind of see why an individual sympathising with Jiang Cheng might have a knee-jerk reaction to this. If you see them as being essentially family, the idea that a family member that you love deeply, keeping what amounts to both a huge sacrifice and a massive disability from you would be extremely painful. You might feel hurt, that they didn't tell you. Angry, at the implied lack of trust.

I get it, as an emotional response you might have in the moment. I don't find it particularly relatable, but I can follow the thought process.

But like... that's an emotional response. Surely, at some point, logic has to kick in, right?

Because the thing is. Okay, there's two aspects to the secret, right? One, is that a medical procedure was done to Jiang Cheng, sort of like an organ transplant, I suppose, but he wasn't told that the organ was donated by Wei Wuxian. And the other is that Wei Wuxian made this huge sacrifice for Jiang Cheng, and didn't tell him.

But thinking about this for even five minutes should tell you that... neither of those things are actually Wei Wuxian's responsibility to deal with?

The first one is the by far the more common argument I've seen. I've read fics where Wen Ning and Wen Qing are tortured with guilt over having performed the procedure without telling Jiang Cheng all the details. I've even seen people have them blame Wei Wuxian, for demanding they keep it secret, had them secretly resent him for it. He's portrayed as deeply selfish, for keeping the truth of Jiang Cheng's operation from him.

But the thing is... if you're going to apply modern medical ethics to the situation... Wei Wuxian was in the right? They all were?

Under modern medical ethics, you have no right to know the identity of your organ donor. That can feel a little weird (it's probably why people often have a knee-jerk reaction that demands the opposite); after all, it's my body, shouldn't I have a right to know where the organ that goes in it comes from? What if it has cooties?

But according to medical ethics, the donor's right to medical privacy is more protected that the recipient's right to that information. Right to medical privacy is pretty highly valued; it kind of ties into body autonomy, which is kind of the keystone of... most modern ethics. You have a right to control what happens to your body, and that includes controlling whether or not people know about any medical conditions/procedures. So you might have an emotional response, thinking Jiang Cheng is valid for being upset that his golden core came from Wei Wuxian without him knowing, but... ethically, Wei Wuxian has the right to withhold that information.

But! some scarecrow says, If a person has the right to control what procedures happen to their body, surely that means Jiang Cheng has a right to control what happens to his own body! Therefore, the procedure was still unethical, because he didn't know everything!

And I say, well... not really. The reality is, we don't actually know how much Jiang Cheng was told. He was told to walk up a mountain, lie to the person he encountered about his identity, and ask for a golden core. And he left that mountain with said golden core... but we don't know how much Wen Qing told him when he reached the top. We know he believed Wen Qing was the Baoshan Sanren. We know he received a fully developed core, not just the ability to form a new one. Was he told that the core was from someone else? Were there signs of the transfer? Did he know the chance of success/failure? Did he not find any of the situation dubious?

(Did he really spend two and a half years fighting a war alongside, and then running a sect for a year with, someone and not realise they didn't use orthodox cultivation even once?)

The truth is, a doctor is required to inform a patient of risks, and answer any questions they ask. Wen Qing may well have disclosed the risk (if there was any to Jiang Cheng, other than potentially the transfer failing) prior to the surgery, we just don't know. We don't have any evidence that Jiang Cheng asked any questions, and from what we see in the novel, it seems likely that he simply didn't want to know. He got a core, his life was somewhat back on track; we never see any evidence of curiosity or confusion in him as to the specifics of how that happened.

The only lie we are sure that he was told was the identity of the person who he met on the mountain, who "gave" him the core. I could be petty and point out that as he was also lying about his identity, it kind of cancels out, but that would be a bit ridiculous, and unnecessary besides. The truth is, ethically, Wen Qing could have knocked him out and performed the surgery from the comfort of her own office. Because one of, if not the main reason you can ethically violate someone's body autonomy... is to save a life. And Jiang Cheng, after losing first his family and sect, and then his golden core, displayed clear suicidal ideation. He indicated, repeatedly, that he wanted to die. He refused food. Wei Wuxian even doubled checked, before giving him hope of getting a new core, that he was serious! (Rereading that scene is horrible; Wei Wuxian's dread, and eventual resignation/resolve becomes very apparent once you know what's happening).

The characters around him, including a trained doctor, believed that if he didn't get a new core, he would give up and die. Under those circumstances, a doctor has authority to make medical decisions, without a patients consent, if they believe it is a medical emergency. Wen Qing was an unquestionably brilliant doctor; if she believed doing the surgery was the right/necessary decision, who the hell are we to dispute her?

So, to be clear, under modern medical ethics (which seems to be what is being applied in these claims), Wen Qing has the right to do whatever surgery she feels necessary to save the life of her patient, no consent needed, and Wei Wuxian has the right to keep his identity as the donor a secret, since that's his own private medical history. Modern medical ethics (a bit ridiculous, when talking about magic powers, but I've seen the argument) supports our protagonist.

Now, onto the other thing. This is a lot less... ethics discussion and a lot more feels-bad-so-wrong type thing. Wei Wuxian kept the loss of his golden core a secret.

Jiang Cheng being upset by this is understandable. Like I said, I can follow the emotion/logic. Someone keeping a big secret from you can be hurtful.

But just because it's hurtful to you, doesn't mean they're in the wrong to do it!

If someone I cared about kept a massive secret from me, and I found out, I'd be upset! But my first thought would be 'Why did they feel they couldn't tell me?' And the answer here is obvious; Wei Wuxian didn't think he could tell Jiang Cheng because he knew he'd be horrible about it! Wei Wuxian admits, after the reveal, that the process of losing his core was distressing, and that he wasn't as okay with it as he pretended to be. If something like that happens to you (not... that it can, but, you know, equivalent), and you're struggling to hold it together, the last thing you want is someone you care about yelling at you about it, insulting you, making you feel bad for what happened!

Wei Wuxian didn't tell Jiang Cheng because he knew Jiang Cheng would be awful to him because of it. Jiang Cheng's jealousy when they were young was something Wei Wuxian felt he had to manage*, and he knew Jiang Cheng would feel inadequate if he realised his accomplishments were made with Wei Wuxian's core. And he would then lash out at Wei Wuxian for it, at a time when Wei Wuxian was already feeling emotionally fragile. Hell, nearly twenty years later, Jiang Cheng getting up in his face was enough to cause a Qi deviation; I can't imagine it would have been better any sooner!

No one wants to think of the people they love keeping secrets from them. And sometimes, people who keep secrets are doing it for their own sake, because they're scared, or unsure, or guilty, or whatever. But sometimes, when a person keeps a secret, the reason is not internal. If someone acts horribly to you when you tell them things, you're going to stop telling them things. And the person responsible for that gap in communication is them; all you're doing is protecting yourself.

And before anyone thinks that I'm assigning reasoning to Wei Wuxian that he doesn't have; he essentially admits it. After the reveal, Wei Wuxian states that he knew Jiang Cheng would react badly (though he didn't expect it to be quite so bad). Wei Wuxian is shown to have been managing Jiang Cheng's moods since they were young**, it's probably not the first secret he's kept. But that's kind of just... how that works; if a king kills every person who brings him bad news, eventually, all his advisors will only ever bring him good news. And he has no one to blame when his kingdom falls but himself.

SO. tl;dr. Modern medical ethics supports Wen Qing performing the golden core transfer, and Wei Wuxian keeping his identity as the donor a secret. Jiang Cheng can be upset at Wei Wuxian for not telling him that he no longer has a core, but it's not unethical, or selfish, and the nature of their relationship, with Jiang Cheng lashing out with impunity and Wei Wuxian trying to manage his moods, meant that secrets like that were pretty much inevitable. Unhealthy relationships are unhealthy. Truly, newsworthy take.

And one final note, on Wei Wuxian keeping secrets from Jiang Cheng and being portrayed as selfish for doing so; I have yet to see a. single. fic. that says Wei Wuxian keeping his sacrifice secret is wrong, but then goes on hold Jiang Cheng equally accountable for keeping his sacrifice secret. Not. One. Jiang Cheng often tells Wei Wuxian afterwards, that he deliberately got the Wens attention, but he's never framed as selfish for keeping that secret. Not. Once.

* see post-Xuanwu argument, when Wei Wuxian drags himself out of his sick bed, having just woken up from a coma, to reassure Jiang Cheng that he's no threat to his birthright. Because Jiang Cheng was jealous that his father acknowledged Wei Wuxian's skill in surviving, under horrendous circumstances. -_-

** childhood flashback; after arriving in a new place, having a massive change in lifestyle and meeting many new people (and, it seems, trying to make a good impression), Wei Wuxian took the blame for his broken leg, despite it being because Jiang Cheng locked him out of his room and threatened to sic dogs on him. Entirely because he knew one of them would get blamed, and he wanted to keep Jiang Cheng happy. People who grow up with aggressive/abusive family/people around often end up learning to juggle mood changes.

[matan4il]

911 ep 710 first watch reactions

Ha, so Chris is upset, Eddie is distraught and his go to person is Buck, who drops everything else and comes over right away. And not for the first, or second, or third time. Yes, this is exactly how every platonic friendship I've ever had has played out.

The way Buck reads Eddie, knows him so well, that Buck can vocalize the part that Eddie can't say out loud right away... Soul mates.

"What you always do." Married soul mates.

LOL The way Hen and Chim don't even blink when Buck and Eddie show up at the hospital together, like the married couple they are. XD

This group of fire fighters being the best amateur detectives on TV since the Scooby Doo gang will never not be funny. Also, highly implausible, but that just makes it funnier.

"You go to hell!" "You first!" So 911 was having a western kink kinda month, and decided to set up this very likely storyline, just to be able to quote Tombstone? Hmmm.

"This one, we both walk out of." See, 911 is the show where I can roll my eyes 30 times during a storyline, but the climax moment still gets to me with its humaneness. That's the show's power. And the follow up reunion with Bobby! I had no doubt he'd live, but it was still very emotional to walk with Athena down the hospital hallway into his room and get to not only see, but also feel it.

"Bobby is the father I've never had." We know, but it was still nice to hear. "Your father's alive." Oh, Tommy. How little you understand Buck. "So maybe we both have daddy issues." "I don't." "But you think I do." "God, I hope so." lol Is this supposed to be flirting? If so, it's so off the mark for me, the dart ended up in outer space. I mean, Buck obviously has daddy issues, and I guess whoever needed that confirmed can celebrate (I'm sure there will be even more fics digging into this now), but pointing that out in the middle of a date is hardly the sexy move this ep's writer seems to think it is? IDK, I'm obviously a Buddie shipper, I like BuckTommy better than any other r/s Buck's had with a non-Eddie person, I do enjoy it as a part of Buck's journey (and I also generally believe in ship and let ship, even when something isn't my endgame), but even if I was a BuckTommy shipper, IDK that I would have liked that line. Especially when it treads a bit close to the issues I had with the BuckAbby r/s, which the show has never properly addressed. Oh, well. I'm still mostly amused that someone thought this was a great flirty line.

"He's 13, he should have a say!" To be heard? Yes. To have the final say? No. He's 13, not 18. There's a reason why at that age, we don't let kids make decisions for themselves yet. Also, the Diaz parents trying to pretend like the fact that Chris suggested him living with them for a while isn't their secret fantasy come true (or that they have no past where they hurt their son with this idea) is just crude. Also, hinting to Eddie that if he doesn't let Chris run away from his problems, then he'll be just like Ramon, is fucked up.

Also, kinda hilarious that Buck and Eddie's daddy issues are both brought up in the same ep. Sometimes being soul mates means exactly that, getting your partner perfectly because you have the same emotional baggage.

So, Chris is leaving, and the first one to talk to him on screen since the Kim debacle, and since he got the green light to go, is Buck? And Buck's also still there for the actual parting moment? Speaking of actual dads rather than bio ones...

I really liked Eddie just hugging Chris, using no words. There might not be anything he can say to fix this right now, but he still loves his son more than anything, and he can still let Christopher know that. And then when the message didn't get through, even though he's not a words person, Eddie managed to verbalize it. Don't mind me, I'll just be bawling quietly in the corner.

Buck's comforting hand on Eddie's shoulder is the real MVP. <3

I'm glad Mara's back in touch with Hen, Karen and Denny, but this feels a bit like a "deus ex machina" moment, even if it's just to wrap up the season finale, and not the final resolution of this storyline.

Bobby and Amir are actually so similar. They both lost everything, they both were at their lowest, they both chose to help others when they had nothing else left to live for. That handshake was a nice ending to their story, and it did feel more "earned" for not coming quickly or easily.

Ha, that ending. It's a good twist of events as a build up for season 8, it's just interesting because 911 doesn't usually do end of season cliff hangers. I also feel like, knowing the show, I can already predict more or less how it will turn out, so I'm not even feeling that much suspense. But it's not a bad turn of events, so long as it works for most viewers, I suppose. Overall, I enjoyed most of season 7, it feels revitalized, better paced and structured (despite being shorter) than seasons 5 and 6, and I have no doubt everyone will flock back to see how things unfold in season 8. Especially when this season was a nice reminder of everything this show can do right, and why we love these characters and fire family so much.

Thank you for reading! If you’re looking for more, you can find my s7 reactions tag here, and more of my Buddie meta and content in my pinned post. xoxox

[spotsandsocks]

🐺The Lost and The Found Update!!🐺 10k

Chapter 5 is done or start from Chapter 1

Cover art by @ronordmann

Eddie steps out of the cab, closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. The sun is warm on his skin, the sounds and smells wrap around him and say home, safe, love.

He only opens his eyes when a beloved and familiar voice calls his name then within moments he’s wrapped in arms that are soft warm and surprisingly strong for a woman her size.

“Mi amor you’ve grown so much!” His abuela sucks in a breath of air another familiar sound and he grins to himself, knowing what will come next. “You’ll be taller than me soon!”

He knows that too and has mixed feelings about it, before very long he will be taller than her which will be cool obviously but mark a certain change in their relationship he’s not really ready for in ways he can’t quite articulate.

As suddenly as he was embraced the person he loves best in all the world holds him out at arms length and studies him closely, brown eyes wrinkling at the corners.

“So handsome” she taps her cheeks and he bestows a kiss in the required spot. Noting that he really is almost as tall as her now.

“Come, it’s time for lunch and then you can meet the new guests, we have three right now.”

Something sad flashes across her face and she looks at him with a thoughtful expression and says, almost to herself , “Maybe having someone younger around will help.”

She doesn’t elaborate and Eddie doesn’t ask, just follows his beloved abuelita towards the ranch he spends his summer holidays at each year. It’s without doubt the best part of his year. And this year, now he’s thirteen he’ll be allowed to run on his own for the first time. Not that he doesn’t enjoy running with the pack but it’ll be fun to have a little more freedom.

Chapt 5 snippet under cut

A few weeks after the camping trip that left Buck upset and angry and constantly checking his phone things start to improve again. Buck hasn’t told him much more about his sister except she’s doing well wherever she is and then Chimney was back hand staying quiet too. Although, Eddie notices with some interest, he’s also spending quite a lot of time on his phone as well, smiling at the screen and taking more calls than he ever used to. Regardless of lingering secrets the tension that’s been in the air is dissipating. 

However something is still going on.  Bobby’s been out of town quite a lot, taking more leave and he’s been extremely vague about where he’s been going. Buck’s being a bit more distant too. He’s been making excuses about why he’ll be round later than usual after work or not be round at all on some days off, he’s hardly seen Chris at all which is unusual. Maybe this is Eddie’s fault, maybe cuddling on the couch had been a bad idea. Is this Buck pulling away, setting some boundaries for them because he doesn’t want what Eddie’s trying so hard not to want.

If it is he can live with boundaries (probably) but Eddie doesn't like  to contemplate the idea that maybe Buck might have started dating someone. Surely he’d have mentioned it. The thought unsettles him. So he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t think about Buck and someone else out at dinner, in a bar, laughing, fingers touching, kissing because if he does it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

Considering how he’s refusing to contemplate it he spends a lot of time thinking about it. He wishes he knew if but dreads the moment he finds out that Buck is actually seeing someone. Even if he’s not right now it’s bound to happen at some point. After all he’s good looking, stunning really, kind, funny, smart and loyal. Who wouldn’t want Buck?

To distract himself from those kinds of thoughts and prepare himself Eddie decides that maybe he needs to build himself a life outside of the team, well outside of Buck specifically. Eddie doesn’t see dating in his own future so he might as well find something to fill the potential Buck shaped void in his world. 

Maybe he should take up golf. The thought fails to excite him. Maybe tennis? He could take up wood work or… he could start running or hiking in the hills. LA’s not Texas but it’s ok and being out in nature again would be nice. Maybe that would help with the increasingly restless feelings he’s having. Running would be a good start at so he decides to ask Buck for some advice on the best running trails around. 

It takes a day for him to remember to ask his friend for his favourite trails and Buck’s response is unexpectedly obstructive.

“Why?” 

There’s a frown on Buck’s face and you might even think he was annoyed by the request. There’s an almost accusatory tone in his voice. 

Having no idea what’s got Buck in a mood today Eddie ignores the tone but rolls his eyes anyway.

“Take a guess. Why do you think I want to know about running trails?”

[kurithedweeb]

I am dying for your rewrite, I won't lie. I desperately need interactions between Laurence and Garroth, and also Garroth and Zenix. Zenix being Garroth's son is so overlooked

I know you, I've seen you on a bunch of my posts!! Hi :D

At the point I'm at in the full fic Garroth and Laurance haven't actually met yet, but I do have their first meeting all planned out. They're fairly cordial and all business at first, but they quickly become friends and get very close as pen pals, so we'll see pieces of letters between them up until Laurance gets stuck in the Nether, all of which Garroth keeps and will sometimes look back on later.

Garroth is the one who cares for Laurance when he appears post-Nether in Phoenix Drop's outskirts. Laurance is blind and scared and in a moment of weakness he admits he's afraid to be alone in this state, so Garroth takes off his helmet and gives it to Laurance to hold as assurance that he's not going anywhere, because he knows that Garroth won't be seen in public without his helm.

I'm a little sad I don't have much fully written out for them, but!! The drabble that started this entire rewrite project is all about Garroth and Laurance and it's actually up on my Ao3 already!! You can find it in the rewrite's series here: My Love (My Love) - KuriTheDweeb - Minecraft Diaries - Aphmau (Web Series) [Archive of Our Own]

Onto Zenix and Garroth: I love them so much.

Okay, so, I swear this is important - I mentioned in the tags of one of my Shadow Knights posts that since there's no explicit canon on how Zenix died I made the executive decision that he accidentally started a house fire and was so mesmerized by the flame that he got pinned by a burning bookshelf or a falling beam and he died of his injuries, which also led to some head-trauma induced memory loss. He's covered in burns and his voice is rough from breathing in too much smoke and he had a number of broken bones from being crushed. Garroth says in Rebirth that he suspects Zenix doesn't like Aphmau because she reminds him too much of himself, that he was badly beaten and burned and could hardly remember anything when Garroth found him.

Garroth nursed him back to health, and this idea of Garroth having saved him and sheltered him and taken him on as an apprentice, taken him in like a son, of having given Zenix an entire life to live when he wasn't sure if he had one, is integral to Zenix's view of Garroth. He's utterly devoted to his pursuit of power and his own goals, yes, but he's also utterly devoted to Garroth. He's pledged himself to follow Garroth, not whoever's Lord or head guard but Garroth himself. He only ever hurts Garroth in the very rare moments where his personal goals absolutely have to come first, like when Garroth almost discovers where he's been keeping Lord Burt and he's forced to shoot Garroth to keep his secret.

Zenix is Garroth's most trusted guard. He'd do anything for Garroth, he'd never betray him, and Garroth has total faith in the strange boy he's taken in. He has such a fondness and pride for Zenix, look at his boy go! When everything is falling down around him, when he's struggling to hold the village together until a new Lord comes, Zenix is the only one of the guard he confides in because he has complete confidence that Zenix can handle the stress and trusts him to know what Garroth needs his help with.

They always patrol together, talking about anything and everything, and Garroth always tries to nudge Zenix into acting his age more. Or at least the age he believes Zenix to be. Garroth thinks he's a little too serious for his age, and he would know because so was he when he was younger.

Zenix has this whole idea about "It's the least I can do." Garroth trusts him with gathering reports and checking in on any injured guards at the start of Drop of Sunlight, things that aren't part of his usual list of tasks, and when he thanks him and tells him that he appreciates it Zenix says, "It's the least I can do."

Ever since Garroth first coaxed him into speaking after his throat healed, that's what he's always said. It's the least he could do, since Garroth saved him, since Garroth took him in, but Garroth doesn't understand what he's done to deserve such gratitude from Zenix. He always tries to set the record straight, whatever task it was was something out of Zenix's way and he really does appreciate it. Zenix gets all flustered about it, which makes Garroth happy to know that the young boy he first found in the woods is still there under all that serious attitude somewhere.

Let me tell you, I got so close to Garroth calling Zenix 'son' during this interaction, but I need to save the moment for later.

Rounding back to Zenix shooting Garroth. I've mentioned before that Garroth prays when he's treating someone's wounds or when he himself is dying. When he's been shot and Garroth is saying his prayers, he's asking for Zenix to be safe and that if this is the day he dies, which he completely believes he will, to let him hang on for just a few more hours until he knows Zenix is safe. Until he can see for himself that his boy is safe. Just a few more hours, just until then, and then death could take him. The first thing he asks about when he wakes up completely is if Zenix is okay, if he'd managed to make it home by himself

The inherent cycling tragedy of their dynamic, always circling around each other. Zenix's genuine remorse for doing the things he does to Phoenix Drop and Garroth, balanced by Garroth's sense of betrayal and the way he clings to the boy he once knew with the belief that he'd never do these things of his own volition.

Augh, I love to write them, I hope I can do them justice the way they deserve it.