#and i may or may not have written something for him too

[arabellasleopardcoat]

You have no idea how your reblog made me cry. I had forgotten I had written this fic (It's the second I posted, and you can tell by the quality of it) and you caught me in an especially sensistive day. When I wrote it, the only thing I intended was to tackle consent issues in Westeros with a kind partner, and it was right after I watched the episode where Aemond went looking for Aegon in the brothels. The way my skin crawled! Of course men can suffer it too, and I was glad to see it on screen, but I knew they probably wouldn't do it justice, which prompted me to write this. The butchered treatment they gave it in S2 (One could argue the opposite point too, considering it may as well be him going back to his groomer, yet they didn't tell or show that, did they?) vindicated me.

I have never read the ASOIAF books, and I stopped watching the show after the first season, because it was that triggering to me. The amount of violence towards Dany, Brienne, the casual cruelty of men like Tywin and Joffrey, it was enough to kill me a little.

The start of HOTD wasn't promising either. While it depicts sexual violence in a subtler manner, it is still there. Aemma and the horrible opening scene, Alicent and even Helaena and Aemond at some points have made me cry. I have also cried reading fics from these fandoms (Fem!Jon Snow has so fiercely disgusted me sometimes by the things they do to her I have not stopped thinking of it for days) and I found I didn't have the heart to write violence that aligned so much with what I myself suffered. For some readers it can be interesting or freeing, the same for the writers, and I am not here to judge. But it is not for me. And it will never be. I am aware that my writing might not be for everyone either, it's why you will see my fics always properly tagged, and exageratedly so. It is also why I have left other fandoms, which are centered around violence even more than this one.

I just wanted to write what I needed to read at the time. It is also why I will always hold some degree of empathy for show Aemond, despite knowing he is a war criminal. I am interested to see how his relationship with Alys will develop.

To hear that my fic has touched your heart for its themes, and that you didn't think me silly or something for not portraying him as some sort of insensitive, evil person who is absolutely unfeeling means more than you know.

Anyway, sorry for traumadumping (More like ranting) on you. Thank you for reading and for feeling so touched by my words you decided to let me know.

Death in four moves (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Queen Alicent is starting to notice your lack of pregnancy. You discuss it with your husband, and come out a stronger marriage because of it.

A/N: No one dies in this one, guys. Just quoting Tyrion. For a more detailed warning, click read more and scroll until after the dots.

Warnings: Fluff. Discussions of SA, sex, erotic novels, infertility, miscarriages, and pregnancies (None actually happen in the fic)

Catapult /ˈkatəpʌlt/

noun

a forked stick with an elastic band fastened to the two prongs, used by children for shooting small stones.

In Cyvasse, a catapult can take out a dragon.

“It’s the third month you bleed.” Queen Alicent said, with a hint of disapproval. She had perfected just the right amount of passive aggressiveness when being nosy. Your eye twitched slightly. You understood now the resentment Princess Rhaenyra held for her, with your sheets being examined by the Queen daily, your moon’s blood carefully tracked and advised on when the best moment was to conceive. “When will you make me a grandmother?”

You sipped at your tea, buying yourself a few seconds to answer. You were having tea in Haelena’s chambers, a family meeting, if you will. More like an intervention, truly. Alicent sat next to Aegon, who was in his cups already and seemed uncaring about the discussion.

“Mother, you are already a grandmother.” Aemond pointed at the hostess herself, who was on her hands and knees showing a bug to her children. The twins blabbered to her, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of the scene. Seated next to Aemond, you gently squeezed his forearm in silent thanks. His lips barely curved up into a smile. Despite his kindness in helping you out, you knew what the Queen’s response would be. It was like you were actors in a well-rehearsed play, one that had been repeating for the past six weeks.

“Yes, but those are your brother’s children. I want you two to make me a grandmother, too.” The Queen explained, smiling at him. The first month, there had been relative peace. Aemond couldn’t have knocked you up that fast, everyone reasoned. Not while still attending to his duties in the way he did. But when the second month came, and the sheets were stained red once more, Alicent had been disappointed.

Being Aemond’s wife was not an easy task. At the rate it was going, you were starting to think it would have been easier, inheritance disputes aside, to be married to Aegon. It was not that Aemond was unkind. On the contrary, he was most amenable. He cared about you, treating you with respect and even making efforts to be friendly. His mother was the problem.

You see, when the time came for Aemond to be married, Queen Alicent had handpicked you, from all the eligible ladies in the realm. The bride for his favorite children had to be perfect. She had had, I kid you not, a list. The girl Aemond married had to be smart, to be able to match him and converse about the topics that interested him, but not too educated, less she had ideas about her role in society. Devout to the Seven, but not superstitious. Brave, but not brazen. Kind, but not overly so, less she was too familiar with those beneath her. Pretty, but not one of those intimidating beauties or too aware of it. A maiden, pure and sweet, but not innocent. And so on, the list went. You weren’t too sure what she had seen in you, but she had decided you were perfect for him.

Aemond, mother’s boy as he was, had been willing to try. And he was pleasantly surprised with you. Yours wasn’t the most passionate of marriages, but you were good friends. He enjoyed your sense of humor, and you two liked the same books. Marriages were built on less. But there was the issue of consummation. Or well. There was no issue, since it hadn’t happened yet.

Neither of you dared tell Alicent that the first night, when you had come to him in your wedding gown, shaking with fear, he had done you the kindness of sitting on the bed with a goblet of wine and pulling out a deck of cards. You remembered clearly the way he had drawled, so effortlessly self-assured “I was uncertain whether you knew how to play Cyvasse, but guessed this was a safe bet.” You had nearly laughed in relief, sitting next to him and explaining you didn’t know how to play it, but cards you could do.

It had gone like that, for three long months. Aemond came to your chambers once a week, and you two played cards or just sat down talking for the whole night. He had even started teaching you Cyvasse. You didn’t mind it. He was an attractive man, your Prince, but you two had been strangers before the wedding. It was sweet, and you were a practical woman. You had all the perks of marrying a prince, and none of the hardships. If this were what your entire life would be like, you could handle it. And you would have, were it not for your mother-in-law.

A knock on the heavy wooden doors jolted you out of your thoughts. The guards announced the Grand Maester.

“Just on time.” Queen Alicent muttered, and became him over with an imperious hand. The old man stepped closer, holding a jar with some dirt? At least to you, it looked like that. The Queen took it from his hands, and opened it, grabbing your tea cup and stirring it into the drink before you could protest.

“Hare liver, pulverized with salmon. I had the maester prepare it for you, dear girl! You will have it at every meal.” Alicent beamed. Your grip on Aemond’s forearm became deathly. Aegon started laughing, before flinching suddenly. You weren’t able to tell if the one who had kicked him under the table had been your husband or your mother-in-law.

“I truly think there is no…” Aemond started to say, before getting interrupted.

“It is said to aid conception.” The Grand Maester bowed. His tone showed he wanted to be anywhere else but here, trapped between Alicent’s hopeful look, Aegon’s amusement and your indignant glare. His urge to leave was evident, not even flinching at the glare Aemond directed him for interrupting.

“Thank you, my Queen.” You answered, graciously. “Thank you as well, Grand Maester.” The man bowed again and exited the room. You eyed your now ruined tea, and Alicent. Her smile didn’t waver. You could tell she was waiting for you to drink it, and so, you smiled back and brought it to your lips.

It had to be the most foul concoction you had ever tasted. It was fishy and oily and oh so salty. You nearly spat it out, but controlled yourself, digging your nails into Aemond’s arm until he squirmed in pain. Aegon laughed again, before nearly choking in his haste to speak.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” While he laughed, you quickly took his cup and intended to drink his wine to get the taste out of your mouth. He made a grab for the wine, but so did Alicent.

“I read wine could harm conception.” She explained, passing it back to Aegon, who gave you a superior smirk.

“Mother, please. She looks like she is about to throw up.” Aemond pleaded and took the cup again. Aegon protested, but he brought the cup to your lips, urging you to drink from it. “Let her have it.”

“Aemond, I’m trying to help you both.” Alicent huffed. You quickly drank, less she tried grabbing the cup again. “We should do all that the books said. I have been reading on the topic, and I assure you…”

“I read…” Aegon interrupted loudly, giving you a wink. You knew he was about to do something disruptive, and that he would hold it over both yours and Aemond’s head for letting you escape. “Female pleasure is of the utmost importance for the woman to fall pregnant. So tell me, brother. Have you been pleasuring our dear…”

“Aegon!” Alicent yelled, slamming a hand over his mouth. “How can you say such things, with your children in the room? By the Seven, what will your brother’s wife think? That we are a family of…”

Aemond grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room.

“You have to tell her.” You said, as soon as you were outside. He was gently pulling you along towards the gardens. “I’m not drinking anymore of that stuff. And careful, or else I will ask her to give you some too.” It had been the last straw. Your sheets being checked, you could take. Her not so subtle nudges towards laying with your husband on certain days, you could too. But being prohibited wine, and forced to take the concoction with every meal, was not something you were willing to do. Not when it was not an issue of fertility, but of the lack of… Intimate relations between you two.

“I don’t want to disappoint her.” It was said quietly, but it broke your heart. You took his hand and squeezed. One of the things you disliked about your new life was the amount of pressure Aemond was under. He had quickly become your best friend, and you liked to think you were his too. It hurt you, to see how much he pushed himself and how the nerves and worries ate him away. You knew perhaps he didn’t return your feelings, which had been steadily growing since the chaste kiss you had shared in the Sept, and all the sleepless nights spent playing games and talking, but you loved him. And it always hurt, when those you loved were in pain.

“I doubt you will. She loves you. Just because you would rather not be a father yet…” You smiled at him, trying to sound sure of yourself. In truth, you knew the Queen would be disappointed. She so wanted Aemond to be a father. He was her favorite. A baby from him would be a dream come true.

“I do want to be a father.” It was said very quietly, almost a confession. You turned towards him, unable to believe your ears. Aemond was pointedly looking towards a bush of roses, not making eye contact. His posture, normally so perfect, was a bit slouched, as if trying to curl into himself. Ashamed. He was no fool, to not be aware of your feelings, so that meant…

“Oh.” You blinked. It felt like something shattered inside you. It was not children he disliked, but you. A few tears sprang to your eyes, but you blinked them back, determined. You wanted him to be happy, even if not with you. Lowering your eyes, so he didn’t see your heartbroken expression, you answered.“Oh. Well. I’m still a maiden. We could ask the High Septon for an annulment.”

Aemond turned to look at you, bewildered. Then, a scowl took over his face, purple eye narrowing in anger.

“Annulment? Why would I want that? Is that what you want, an annulment?” His voice was starting to raise, slightly. You shushed him, frantically. But he kept going, stepping closer, hands grasping roughly at your shoulders. Aemond forced you to look him in the eyes. “You dislike me that much?”

“No. No. But if you are not attracted to me…” A few tears fell down your cheeks. You hated it. You didn’t want him to think you were manipulating him. It was distasteful, your mother had always said. Crying for a man to stay, it was not behavior befitting of you. “A lady should never beg for any man to stay. Not even a Prince.” She had always said, and you tried to live by it. But she had clearly never met Aemond.

Aemond’s lips pursed in the way they did when he was thinking about something deeply. Was he actually considering your offer? The thought made more tears spring to your eyes. He looked torn. So, this was it, you were going back home. Annulment and ruin. No one would believe you a maiden with Alicent’s efforts, with how often Aemond visited your rooms. Who in their right mind would think two young newlyweds were spending their nights playing cards and board games? It stung, to think you had had one job, and you had failed. Bed your husband. Produce children. Any child, not even a boy. It was meant to be easy. You were a failure.

Before your thoughts could spiral even further, towards becoming a Septa and watching the man you loved marry another, Aemond surprised you. With a shaking hand, he brushed your tears away.

“It’s not that, either. I like you. I might even love you.” Aemond’s eye doesn’t meet yours, and it’s only that what halts your heart from roaring in happiness. You frown, rubbing at your temples. A headache is starting. Why must everything be so difficult? He is saying the words you have longed to hear for weeks, yet… Something is off.

“You can say that you don’t like me. It’s alright.” Perhaps it is dishonesty. Perhaps he is only saying it, so you don’t feel bad. Aemond is considerate like that, never wanting to upset your feelings.

Aemond glares, giving you a stern look, as if daring you to try to explain his own feelings to himself. You shrink slightly.

“No. I like you, truly. It’s just that….” He trails off, and you want to scream out in frustration. Your temper is starting to rise, too.

“What? If you are so attracted to me, you should find it easy to bed me.” You spit out, almost daring him to contradict you.

“Nothing is that simple.” Aemond says, rolling his eye. You feel the urge to shake him, but you don’t. You are a Princess now. A Princess would not shake her Prince husband, no matter how foolish he acts. You breathe in, then out. Your response comes out, tersely.

“Love is a simple thing. It’s us who insist on complicating everything.”

“It is not my love for you, what makes me hesitate. First times can be…” And at that, you almost laugh in relief. So, that is what makes him hesitate? Fear of hurting you?

“Painful? I know, but I trust you.” You grab his hands in yours and look up at him, trying to showcase your sincerity. Your eyes are wide and earnest. But Aemond pulls out of your grasp, frustrated.

“'Tis I, who doesn’t trust you.”

You recoil, immediately pulling back. Your mother had always said you were a kind girl if a bit self-centered. And it was showing. You had never thought yourself the source of his worries, or had you ever thought he could think you're capable of hurting him.

“Aemond…” It comes out in a broken little sob. You knew people said things in fits of anger they didn’t mean, but you could tell he meant this. He didn’t trust you with his body.

Aemond tangles his hands in his hair, messing it up.

“Not like that. Just… You come to me pure, but I’m not. I have laid with a woman before.” It only makes you more confused. You are trying not to make assumptions, but it is a strange thing to say. It’s expected, especially for a man of his station. You wouldn’t have dared demand purity from him, in the way men demanded it from their wives. It was natural, even. Your positions in life were different. No one, not even the Queen herself, chided a man for his lack of chastity.

“Alright. I don’t mind it.” You answer, tentatively. You really hope, this time, you get it right. But the silence that follows is defeating.

Aemond’s hands ball into fists by his side. He loosens them, before balling them again. He is trying to hide their trembling from you, you realize. A pit forms in your stomach, knowing that whatever he is about to tell you, it’s bad. Something so terrible it might be better to not even speak it aloud. You have seen this man get into fights with his nephews, spitting out the worst slurs. You have seen him defeated by Ser Criston, beaten up, bruised badly. You have seen him hurt by his father's lack of care, cast aside in favor of others. But never once, never once, shaking in the way he is now. It terrifies you.

You don’t dare touch him, or comfort him in any way, when he is trying to calm down so hard. His breath is shallow, posture hunched, as if trying to fight the instinct to flight.

“It was not a good experience. I… I fear it would be like that, between us, and taint our marriage.” Aemond says, very quietly. His eye looks watery, his mouth set into a grim line. As if about to cry. You can tell, that whatever happened, it was much worse than what he says.

“Oh.” It’s all you can say. It had not crossed your mind, that it wasn’t you what repelled him, but the act itself. You long to hug him, but can tell touch is not what he wants, right now. You remember then, all the times he evaded touches from others, so skillfully. The ducking of an arm when Aegon tries to hug him, turning it into play fighting and roughhousing. How he never initiates affection with the Queen or Haelena. How he has never touched you, apart from a pat on the arm or holding your hand. Or how his palms get so sweaty when he has to do it. How he has not kissed you since your wedding. Perhaps, even the fact that he is always dressed in clothes that cover him completely.

Never having thought about it before, his quirks start to make sense in a way you don’t want them to. It hurts, to think of him being hurt in such a way. It is not something you had thought could happen to a man, but it makes too much sense to ignore. Whatever cloud appears in your eyes, it’s too much for Aemond to handle.

“Oh.” He mocks you, chucking your chin. It’s a gesture meant to put your mind at ease, show you that this is not an unsavable obstacle. You are thankful to him for it, even if it comes at the cost of being the butt of the joke that’s not even funny, much less with the topic you are discussing. But you can pretend for him. You smile, softly.

“Do you wish to speak about it?”

“Perhaps some other day."

Dragon /ˈdraɡ(ə)n/

noun

a mythical monster resembling a giant reptile, sometimes shown as having wings. In European tradition, the dragon is typically fire-breathing and tends to symbolize chaos or evil, whereas in East Asia it is usually a beneficent symbol of fertility, associated with water and the heavens.

In Cyvasse, a dragon can remove elephants from the board.

Aemond pulls down the screen dividing the board. He gives you a smug little look, laying down on the bed only in his sleep shirt. You try hard not to stare, focusing instead on the pieces on the board.

Your catapults are gone, and only your elephants remain. He has captured your King with a Dragon. It’s an odd move. You either are not remembering right or he is cheating.

“That’s cheating! You said the dragon could only move…” You start to complain, frowning at him.

“Diagonally, which is right.” He answers very calmly, looking at you in expectation. You examine the board from all angles, noting that he is right, and he has not cheated. Unless playing with a greatly disadvantaged player is cheating because in that case, Aemond most definitely is.

You take a deep breath and lay down next to him, forgetting the board. Oh, you can feel his pride at having bested you, even without looking at him. And of course, he keeps shifting on the bed, jostling you, lest you forget what you have to do. It’s the customary price, after all. A way to encourage to actually pay attention to his instructions about how the game is played, but also a way for a young couple to start getting to know each other. Your cheeks heat up immediately, when you decide what you will say. You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly and mumble so low, it can barely be heard over the crackling fire that lights up the room.

“Fine. As a young girl, I used to steal my father’s dagger and make other children knights with it. I loved playing Queen.”

Aemond laughs, a deep, sincere laugh. His eye crinkles at the corner, a pair of tiny dimples making themselves known. You like how true laughter lights up his face, you decide. It’s cute, but not something that often happens.

“That must have been adorable, wife.” Aemond smiles at you, boyishly. He is about to tease you, you know it. Your heart melts just a little more. “I apologize for being but a lowly Prince.” You start to laugh, but the laughter dies in your throat with his next words. “Perhaps I can indulge you.”

You rush to correct the treasonous words, scared. Aemond is an ambitious man, you have known that from the start. Just as ambitious as he is dutiful, your husband. But you can’t help but wonder if in this case, ambition outweighs the duty he feels towards his family. You don’t know him enough to make a judgment yet. So very gently, with your pulse ringing loud in your ears, you speak.

“I like Aegon. No matter if he is a drunk fool, sometimes. And your father is pretty boring, but alright. And Princess Rhaenyra." You don't say anything positive about her, not when you had learned through this same technique she had demanded Aemond was punished after losing his eye. If you had a chance, you would strangle her. But only a little. Otherwise, it would be treason, and it would be setting the wrong example. Queen Alicent always told you it was best to lead with your actions, and not only your words.

Aemond smiles, pushing your shoulder lightly.

"Not like that.” He complains, but gives you a long look regardless. You know he has noticed your slip, referring to Rhaenyra as an afterthought and only after Aegon. He knows now, without you having told him, what your thoughts on succession are. He is perceptive like that. “I was thinking more along the lines of crowning you my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“You never compete in tourneys, husband.”

“For you, I would. If you wished to be Queen, for you, I would.” And it feels like Aemond is promising something else, something more than just being the one to get a crown of pretty flowers. It scares you a little, to be the focus of such devotion. Such honeyed words, too, which you know are unusual for him. The urge to kiss him is strong, but his confession, a few days backs, still weighs heavily between you too. He has definitely noticed you are more careful with your touches now. Still playful, but giving ample time to pull away. Yet, you can’t leave him hanging either. Not when Aemond is trying so hard for you two to work.

“I would, too. You would look handsome, with a flower’s crown.” And thinking yourself so sly, you slide your hand underneath his, laughing. Aemond laughs too, and pulls you towards him, trying to get you to put your head on his chest. You do so eagerly, listening to his heartbeat. At first, it is rushed, and he remains stiff, despite being the one to initiate the embrace. But slowly, Aemond relaxes and starts carding a hand through your hair. You think it feels much like what heaven must feel like.

The motion lulls you to that state between sleep and consciousness, where your head feels fuzzy and full of cotton, and your movements are sluggish. It feels like a dream, the way the shadows dance on the wall, and how his heart pounds steadily under you. You wish you could sink into him, fuse the two of you, as the Maesters of old said soulmates were. Nestle close to his heart, curl around it with greedy little hands, protect him from the world. Your eyelids drop, despite your fight to stay awake. Aemond smiles down at you, amused, and runs his hand over the slope of your nose, tracing the contours of your face. You scrunch your face at him, about to scold him for disturbing you, when he speaks. At first, it doesn’t make sense to you. And then, you realize.

“I was thirteen. Aegon took me to a brothel. I…” It feels like being stabbed, over and over again, tiny sparks of pain in your chest. In your mind’s eye, you can see him. A slightly younger version of Daeron, perhaps with longer hair. A big, purple eye, the other side of his face freshly scarred. Tiny. Terrified. And that you know because you know his growth spurt didn’t hit until he was fifteen, courtesy of your cyvasse games. You also know he was painfully shy and quiet, the product of a childhood filled with mockery and neglect. That, too, he had shared, after a game you knew Aemond had lost deliberately, feeling you were losing more embarrassing stories than he was sharing. Still, you hadn’t minded.

It hurts to think of your awfully kind husband being taken against his will. You doubt, had you been him, you could have survived it. Being violated so… It aches so bad, tears start filling your eyes. But you do not speak, less you break the spell and Aemond clams back up.

“I… I didn't want you to think I was weak. You are one of the loveliest things I have had, in a long time.” He says, voice breaking slightly. You shift in his grip, and look him right in the eye.

“You are not weak.” You enunciate, clearly and slowly. And you hope your sincerity shines through your eyes because you do believe it. Unable to speak a word, silenced as he was by shame, you think you would have broken much earlier. That Aemond stands, whole, before you and speaks the words aloud after so much time, says leagues about his character.

“I was meant to come out of it a man. It went…wrong.” He tries explaining, but you shake your head.

“You were not in the wrong.” You make a mental note to try to strangle Aegon later. You had known he was a… Interesting character, to say it kindly. But this… This took the cake on reckless, thoughtless behavior. He was at least three years older than Aemond, yet he had not half the sense his brother posses. Perhaps, your husband is better suited to be king. After living three months with the Targaryens, you were starting to doubt their closeness to gods. You stomp down your personal grievances, knowing Aemond needs love, not rage.

“May I hug you?” You ask, softly. Aemond laughs, a little watery, and pulls you on top of him. He hides his face in your hair, sobbing softly. You fantasize of killing half the whores of Flea Bottom, Aegon, Viserys and perhaps Alicent, too. You fall asleep like that, limbs entangled with each other and forgoing your ritual of messing up the room and your appearances. Despite it, the next morning, the maids who find you are more convinced than ever before of your closeness.

Elephant /ˈɛlɪf(ə)nt/

noun

a very large plant-eating mammal with a prehensile trunk, long curved ivory tusks, and large ears, native to Africa and southern Asia. It is the largest living land animal.

In Cyvasse, each player has multiple elephants.

It takes you a few sleepless nights to try to find a solution to your problem. Despite being praised often for how learned and bright you were, you couldn’t find an answer to your questions. You see, you have always been a planner. You tackled your concerns by doing research about them and then coming up with an action plan. But there was no research to be done here. You had to work with the facts.

You knew Aemond was not willing to confess to his mother. Nor were you about to betray his trust. But she would keep pressuring, for you to fall pregnant. You could buy time, faking an illness or perhaps even a pregnancy followed with a miscarriage. Yet, you had been chosen not only as Aemond’s companion, but to bring the next generation of Targaryens to the world. And both of you wanted children. He was too proud for letting you get pregnant and pass the baby as his own. Not with the situation with his nephews.

So. You were back to square one. You had to find a way for both of you to have children, and not traumatize Aemond about it. And get Alicent off your back. Research. You could do research about how a lady ended up with a child.

You poured long hours over medicine treaties and concluded this: It was not his member that had to go inside you, but his seed. It would also be useful if you broke your maidenhead in some way, less you ended up trying to give birth still a virgin. So, in theory, Aemond didn’t need to enter you. Just collect his seed, and perhaps you could pour it inside you with a jar or something. Still, you put that thought on the back burner, as a plan b. Oftentimes, the best solution was not the most complex one, and so, you had to at least try to perform intimacy with you. But you didn’t want him to suffer, and so, you decided to approach one of your maids about it.

“Dyana.” You said, as the girls were unlacing your gown and unpinning your hair for bed. “Stay.”

It was low, what you were about to do. But you knew of none else who had gone through something similar. Dyana had been appointed as your maid after having the unwelcome attentions of Aegon on her. There was nothing that could be done, not when the King was so ill, Alicent had told you. She wouldn’t subject him to having to pass judgment on his own son, not in his state. And besides, there had been no harm done, with the girl not falling pregnant. At the time, you hadn’t questioned it. Now, it made you sick to think your brother-in-law, who was always supportive of you in front of his mother, could have hurt her in such a way.

Dyana stayed behind, brushing your hair in front of the vanity. The other maids scurried out in a flock of dresses and chatter. You met her eyes through the mirror, in low candlelight. She was the Targaryen kind of pretty, with hair so blonde it almost looked like theirs. Perhaps that had attracted Aegon.

“I understand you were forcefully subjected to Prince Aegon’s… Advances.” You said, once you were alone. Dyana was very tense, obviously reminding the last time she had been alone with a member of the royal family. You decided to spare her the anxiety over what you wanted, if any, to make this shameful act you were committing a bit less traumatizing. “I have questions about it, from woman to woman.”

The brush clattered to the floor. Dyana’s eyes turned from anxious to terrified. She was frozen, unable to bend down and pick it up. You turned in your stool, to reassure her.

“I'm not going to punish you. I don’t want to know about the act, or reprimand you or blame you.”

Dyana bent down to pick up the brush. Her shoulders remained tense.

“I only want to ask a question. And you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to… But if you do, I will reward you handsomely.” You tried putting her at ease, using a soft voice. Much like with Aemond, you stuck to not sudden moves and no touching. To show her that you were serious, you pulled a handful of gold dragons, letting them clatter on your vanity’s table, next to the bottles of expensive lotions and perfumes Aemond had bought you. “But my husband can never know. No one can ever know.”

Dyana raised her head at the sound. She looked at the gold, and stood, anxiously wringing her hands together.

“Milady… That’s a lot of gold for a question.” Dayna’s eyes were fixed on the ground.

“It’s an important question. It requires utmost secrecy.” You answered, handing her half. “For keeping this conversation private, even if you would rather not answer me.”

Dyana took the gold, quickly hiding it inside her pocket. She seemed to fear you were playing a joke on her and would take the gold away at any time. You didn’t blame her, with how badly she had been treated so far. Keeping her waiting would be even more cruel than what you had already done, and so, you asked.

“How do you trust again, after it?” It was a clumsily worded questions, asked in a rush and in a single breath. It came out more like “Howdoyoutrustagain, after… It.” Not the most dignified wording, either. You were supposed to be eloquent, smart. Yet, you were floundering as an overzealous child.

“I…” She had clearly understood, by the look on her face, but didn’t know what to say. How to approach it. Dayna stepped closer, scrutinizing your face. Searching. But for what?

“How can you lay with a man again?” You repeated, trying to sound a bit more self-assured and narrowing down your line of questioning. You knew she was currently in a relationship with a stable boy. He always picked her up on the nights you and Aemond were supposed to bed each other.

Dayna looked at you, expression doing a full one eighty. Her eyes stopped being frightened and turned sad. One of her hands went again to brush your hair, almost in comfort.

“It is not the same man. And. Um. Never in the same way, my lady. He asks. All the time. And not like…” She trailed off, concerned. You didn’t notice, too busy committing her advice to memory. “My lady, you should really speak to the Queen….”

At those words, your head jerked up. Why did she bring up Alicent? Did she really think you could ask her about intimate relationships? Unless… She thought Aemond was… Oh, by the Seven, that was even worse.

“Aemond is not mistreating me. But my cousin’s husband is. I just don’t know what to tell her, having been so lucky.” You lied, trying to sound as convincing as you could. But you knew she wasn’t believing a word out of your mouth.

“Can they mend things?” Dyana asked, and it was obvious she didn’t buy that you were asking for a friend.

“From what I gather.” You answered, tersely. Of that, you were certain. Aemond liked you enough to at least try. You would consult him first, making sure he was not uncomfortable with the idea, but you knew he felt the grains of sand on both your clocks draining, as you did. Time was something you didn’t have. But Dyana didn’t know any of that. She was asking you, even if covertly, if you thought your husband could not be a brute. It showed, in the way her eyes filled with pity.

“Tell her to ask him to be soft. And… Not that, right away.” Dyana blushed, lowering her eyes in embarrassment. You gave her a puzzled glance, confused. If not intimacy, right away, what did she mean? Kissing? “Go slow, do something else….”

“Like?” You tilted your head to the side, hoping for a clarification.

“Mouth. Fingers.” The girl looked like she was about to hide under the table from embarrassment. And truly, it was a bit strange. An unmarried maid teaching a lady about intimacy.

“Oh.” You frowned. Dayna squeezed your shoulder, with very soft hands. “Thank you.”

King /kɪŋ/

noun

the male ruler of an independent state, especially one who inherits the position by right of birth.

In Cyvasse, the goal is to kill the King.

Your research had led you to A Caution For Young Girls. A popular novel between the common folk and that had costed you great effort to acquire. The plan had included a horse, a chicken, Aegon, and a copy of the Seven Pointed Star you had had to defile. You prayed that the Seven forgave you, both for reading such dirty tales and for destroying a copy of their sacred book to hide the book you were really reading. That day, even Queen Alicent had mistaken your newfound devotion for the Seven for a lady praying for a child and had pointed to you as an example for Aegon. In truth, you had been on your knees before the effigy of the Mother begging for forgiveness, and not a child.

It had been for a better cause, you told yourself. If truly were the gods who gave the Targaryens their right to rule, it meant they were favored among the rest of the men. Surely, finding a way to procure a child to one of the most pious, gentle Princes the realm had to offer justified your actions. Surely, Aemond’s devotion made up for your sins, or at least, the seven prayers you had recited under each of their effigies did. Surely, right?

Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing something bad. Literature is meant to open the mind. That’s why yours and Aemond’s studies had been encouraged from a young age. And the novel had certainly opened your mind to new ways of being intimate. You had no clue there were so many ways one could use their mouth, fingers, and openings. And if you had felt aroused by reading it… Literature was meant to be enjoyed, too.

So, the next time you and Aemond were alone, you said there was something you needed to talk to him about. You brought out your notes, and took the Cyvasse board away from the table, placing your research there instead. Aemond’s eyebrows raised at seeing you pull out such an amount of parchment, yet he said nothing.

“You want to be a father. I want to be a mother. We are married. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I have researched for two possible ways of achieving it. Watch…” You pulled out a diagram, crudely drawn. You grabbed a stick, much like the one your Septa used to teach you when you were a child, and were about to start explaining, when Aemond interrupted.

“Is that supposed to be…” Aemond had the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “A… Um… Is that…?”

“Yes, now shut up. I’m trying to explain my plan.” You answered, not even the slightest bit ashamed. Couldn’t he see you were explaining your research? “You see, we don’t actually need to have any kind of sexual contact for me to fall pregnant. We just need to insert your seed…” It was said in a very clinical manner, but Aemond interrupted, again.

“Wife, I know how conception works.” Now he was fully blushing, and you frowned. It was not your intention to make him uncomfortable, so you decided to go straight to the point.

“Alright, so we will skip that part. Fine. We have two options. You either pleasure yourself and spill in a jar, or we build up to intimacy. I researched the way to make that the least traumatizing for you as possible, too.”

Aemond looked at you, for one long second. The silence stretched, and you worried this was going to end up with losing him in the most painful way you could imagine. Your blooming relationship, dead by your tactless hand. Aemond stared some more, his eye narrowed. Then, he burst out laughing. You felt so embarrassed you hoped the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

The both of you stayed like that. Aemond laughing so hard tears sprang from his eyes, and you, diagram still in hand, with what Aemond would later swear was the cutest pout he had ever seen.

“This has to be both the sweetest and strangest thing someone has ever done for me.” He finally said, drying his tears.

“You are not mad? Or hurt?” You asked, eyeing him a bit suspiciously, but with a smile of your own.

“Come here.” Aemond widened his stance, and you stepped closer, giving in to his unspoken request for you to stand between his parted legs. With a touch so light, it might not even be there, Aemond tilted your head down and kissed you. You felt as if the world stopped, for a minute. The kiss was clumsy, with him sitting and you standing but you could swear it was the kind of kiss the poets wrote about. You let him lead you, reminding Dyana’s advice, and you could feel the way he smiled against your mouth for it.

“I made my decision.” Aemond said, as you pulled away to take some well-needed breaths of air. Your mind felt like mush, with how dizzying the kiss had been. You had not a single clue what he was talking about.

“Huh?”

“We will try to have the children the normal way. I can learn to trust you enough for it.” And it felt like your heart was singing, with how happy you were. You smiled brightly at him. It was an honor that he was willing to trust you that much, that he was willing to try. You knew, were you him, you would have hesitated more. Aemond was a brave man, you had to give it to him.

You wanted to kiss him silly. But you had promised yourself to keep things at his pace, were he to choose this path. And so, you asked.

“Hug?”

Aemond laughed, and pulled you closer, burying his face on your chest. You hugged back, holding him.

“So, what did your research say? About building up intimacy?” Aemond shifted, looking up at you, purple eye shining with mirth. You spluttered, slapping his shoulder. He laughed again. “You know, in all seriousness… The Seven have given me a strange woman. But I wouldn’t change you for anything.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

Detailed warning: Aemond confesses to the reader that the reason they haven’t had sex yet is not a lack of desire but a bit of fear, and describes what happened to him when he was thirteen. The reader does her research and presents it to him, crudely, but he is touched by her gesture.

As a fellow SA survivor, I hope I have managed to portray the struggle to trust a partner again in a manner that is both tasteful and fluffy, with an adequate dose of humor and awkwardness. Writing Honesty raised a few thoughts on the matter of consent in Westeros. I never got to finish GOT because of the same issue. My heart ached for Aemond during the brothel scene, and I wondered about it a lot. I have yet to see it portrayed in any fanfiction. I apologize in advance if it made anyone uncomfortable.

[tulpanya]

How would everyone react when they have a crush? Are the obvious or good at keeping secret that they have a huge love for the reader?

a crush? on you? haha... yeah.

includes : (mouthwashing) anya, curly, daisuke, swansea.

summary : how they are when they have a crush on you!

warnings : gn! reader.

ANYA

It takes Anya a while to realize she has a crush on you, either because she's pushing her blooming feelings very far down or because she's just a bit oblivious.

When she does finally come to terms with the fact she has a crush on you?

She suddenly gets very clumsy whenever you enter a room, and her thoughts are all askew whenever you send her a smile or ask her a question. It becomes a little obvious that something is up with her.

"Anya?" You call after catching her from almost tripping and landing on her face. "You okay?" She blinks up at you a few times, her brain slowly processing what's happening.

"I- uhm, huh?" Concern is written all over your face. You help her stand upright, though you don't let her scramble away like she was planning.

"Let's get you to the medbay, I'll give you a check up." Her face is flushed, especially when you insist on helping her walk back to medbay, which only makes you more concern for her wellbeing.

In terms of affection, Anya does grow a little detached because she worries that perhaps her previously casual and friend-like affection will make you uncomfortable.

She definitely isn't one to make any moves on you despite her growing feelings. She'll wait until you ask her out- and if that never happens then she'll just try her hardest to put the feelings to rest.

Anya is very patient though, so take your time- but maybe not too long, yeah?

CURLY

TAKES SO, SO LONG for him to realize he has a crush on you. He has a lot of responsibilities so romance isn't necessarily at the top of him mind

He finally realizes he may or may not have giant crush on you when despite himself he finds himself missing your presence. He just wants to sit with you, talk to you, be near you, forever and ever and oh... he has a crush!

As soon as he realizes? He is trying to romance you.

"Flowers? For me?" You're honestly surprised when Curly hands you a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He's got his charming smile that could make anyone swoon, his eyes twinkling with something you can't quite place (love), and he holds up two tickets to a movie you've been dying to go see.

"I- Curly, what is this all about?" He lets out a low hum, leaning against your doorway, his arms crossed and an easy smile on his lips.

"Well I was thinking, if you wanted to, let's go on a date." It seems like it came out of nowhere, but he's been slowly trying to charm you since the moment he realized his feelings. Whether or not you decline is up to you, and Curly will respect your choice, but he oh-so-hopes that you'll join him for a dinner and movie.

He 100% makes his affections known when he has a crush on you. The favoritism is insane, and anyone who points it out will be met with Curly confirming his crush on you.

Of course if it makes you uncomfortable, Curly will take it down a notch, but if you seem to enjoy his affections and cute courting tactics then he'll definitely ramp it up.

Either way, Curly takes action when it comes to having a crush!

DAISUKE

Daisuke realizes he has a crush on you the second he develops one but he won't really saying anything about it.

He's very good at keeping it cool- his feelings only make him want to be an even better friend to you! Honestly, you can't really tell if he has a crush on you or not bc anything he does could be written off as being a good friend!

But there are a few indicators if you look hard enough: Daisuke puts a little extra effort into his appearance, he'll get a little frazzled if you compliment him, his touch will linger a little longer than normal, his playful flirting seeming a little more serious, etc.

Daisuke had messed around with his hair for almost an hour- it just wasn't falling the way he wanted it to, the way he knew you'd compliment him for, so he was stuck messing with it until it was perfect. When he finally glanced over at the time, dread filled his stomach. Good appearance or not, he was definitely late to your meet up!

The whole way to meeting you, he was fussing with his outfit, however in his eyes the stress was definitely worth it as he stepped his way over to where you were waiting. "Hey, sorry, I was-"

"Woah! Daisuke, why do you look so good? Now I feel like I should've dressed up more!" His eyes widened a little at your response, but then a soft smile graces his features and a warmth blossomed on his cheeks.

"No, you look perfect."

Daisuke's affections are so casual yet so romantic that he's definitely the type to make your other friends ask if you two are dating or not already.

Although he has no plans on actually acting on his crush yet, wanting to wait to ask you out until he's certain it's something you want to, he definitely does daydream about it and giggle to himself often.

Daisuke really likes having a crush, the way his heart races and he gets all giddy around you is super addictive to him.

SWANSEA

Dread. The moment Swansea realizes he's developing a crush on you he is filled with dread. He thinks crushes are childish and he can't believe he managed to get one.

Whenever he catches himself being too lenient or sweet with you, he'll immediately do a double take and accidentally be a little rude to you. It's very confusing for you.

Swansea is definitely an acts of service type of guy, so bet that if he has a crush on you that he'll be helping you with anything and everything.

"You did good." Swansea nodded, praising you for your work. You sent him a grin, which had his heart skipping a beat or two. He grunted, suddenly becoming too aware of everything- how his body is heating up, how sweet he was being, how close he was to you- everything.

"Uh, but you also fucked up this part- just lemme do it..." He grumbled as if he was annoyed... and he was, just not at you. He didn't miss the small frown that you gave him, which only made him feel worse. Damn it, why did you have to be so confusing to be around?!

"Don't... Ugh, don't be upset. You did good for your first time, okay?" He mumbled, and he didn't check to see if you heard him or not because either way- a smile or a frown- would have him spiraling.

His crush definitely isn't obvious to the untrained eye- in fact most people actually begin to think he hates you. Those who really pay attention though will catch on to his actions and suspect he likes you though.

Swansea definitely isn't blabbering about his crush either, he's keeping that shit under tight wraps until he's ready.

He'll eventually come to terms with his feelings, and when he does, it won't take him too much longer until he's ready to confess how he feels, but until then... stay strong.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[nhlclover]

DOROTHEA LUKE HUGHES

pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: luke's sophomore season is far from what he had imagined. the weight of expectations, buried by the grueling pain of a long season begins to weigh on him. so, when the mid-season break rolls around, instead of going to four nations to watch his brothers, luke heads back to michigan in hopes of finding his love for hockey again.

warnings: vague mentions of anxiety, luke being extremely self critical, poor self-conscience, a bit of swearing, fictionalized events (e.g, how the devils season is going, games that haven't happened yet)

wc: 8.40k

notes: based on ‘dorothea’ by taylor swift. this one will may or may not tug at your heart strings. also quite a bit of this is made up. i know luke isn't having a bad season whatsoever + the devils aren't doing that bad. it's for the sake of the story!

“That’s not fucking good enough Hughes!”

Luke barely registered the assaulting tone of his coach’s voice above his labouring breaths. His chest heaved as he bent at the waist, gloved hands braced on his knees, lungs screaming for oxygen that never seemed to come fast enough. Every inhale burned, every exhale was shaky and ragged. Sweat dripped in a relentless stream down his temples, pooling in the collar of his jersey and turning his pads into a suffocating prison.

Just twenty-six more minutes of hockey, Luke reminded himself. Just twenty-six more minutes until thirteen, blissful hockey-free days.

The Four Nations break, a reprieve that couldn’t come soon enough, felt tantalizingly out of reach. It felt like time had slowed during this game, making it even more painful for Luke.

It wasn’t just his joints that ached or his lungs that burned; it was deeper than that. It was bone-deep. Soul-deep. It was the kind of ache that didn’t go away after a night of icing and a couple of ibuprofen. This was exhaustion — not just of the body, but of the mind.

This wasn’t the way Luke’s sophomore season was supposed to feel.

Luke entered the season with expectations stacked high enough to scrape against the rafters. Media outlets had anointed him the next big thing — another Hughes boy destined for stardom. His debut season had been solid; a Calder finalist-worthy season, in fact. Flashes of brilliance here, mistakes there, but he was still a kid learning the ropes. They’d forgiven him then. But now? Now they wanted dominance. Consistency. Leadership. They wanted him to be everything.

And he was coming up short.

The cold, hard fact of it was written across the scoreboard: 3-1 Canadiens, late in the second. The Devils couldn’t sustain any pressure in the offensive zone, the power play was sluggish, and the defensive breakdowns were enough to make Keefe nearly burst a blood vessel on the bench. Luke knew he wasn’t solely to blame, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was still somehow on him. That he wasn’t doing enough. That maybe he wasn’t enough.

“Get your head out of your ass and look like you’re trying to do something, Luke!” Keefe said from the other end of the bench.

Luke didn’t look up. He couldn’t. He simply absorbed his coach's words, shoulders sagging as he grabbed a towel to wipe his face. The damp fabric felt cool for a fleeting second before the heat radiating off his body rendered it useless.

“Hey, shake it off man,” Nico said from a few people down. The captain leaned forward, hands wrapped tightly around the edge of his stick. “Plenty of time left.”

Luke nodded mutely, not trusting his voice. Plenty of time. Sure. That’s what they always said until the buzzer sounded and it was too late. He stared down at the ice in front of him, tracing invisible patterns with his eyes, trying to block out the noise of the crowd, the critical eyes of the coaching staff boring into him, and the sharp stab of self-doubt that never quite went away.

He felt like he was moving underwater. Every shift was a struggle to keep up, every decision a split-second too late. Passes he’d made effortlessly when he was playing college hockey were suddenly bouncing off the heel of his stick. He hesitated when he should attack. He pinched when he should hold back. And he knew — God, he knew — the more he overthought it, the worse it got.

The crowd erupted as the Canadiens scored again. Luke didn’t need to look up to see the damage. The groan of the goal horn, the flashing red light, and the collective exhale from the bench told him everything he needed to know.

Luke gripped his stick tightly, knuckles white beneath his gloves. Twenty-six more minutes.

Blissful, hockey-free days loomed in the distance like a mirage. But would they really feel that way? Would he be able to shut it all off — the doubt, the pressure, the lingering echoes of every misstep? Would time away help him get his head back on straight, or was this just the start of something darker?

A few weeks ago, Luke had turned down multiple invitations from his teammates for getaways to white sandy beaches and crystal-clear waters. Nico was going to Cancun, Timo was going to the Bahamas. All of them were going on getaways for some much-needed rest and relaxation. But Luke couldn’t. He needed something more than just the sun. He needed a mental reset. A return to something grounding.

When the final buzzer blared, signalling yet another disappointing loss, Luke didn't even glance up at the scoreboard. The sting of defeat was something he’d grown uncomfortably familiar with, but it didn’t hurt any less. As he skated off the ice and into the tunnel, his legs felt like lead, his mind clouded with frustration and exhaustion.

He went through the monotonous routine of a loss; pulling off his sweat-soaked equipment one piece at a time while hearing a berating speech from Keefe outlining every single mistake they made, then spewing the same PR rehearsed answers to the media as he was forced to do availability yet again.

As soon as he was out of the arena, Luke pulled out his phone, scanning his notifications. While Jack took to pestering his brother in person, Quinn had messaged him earlier in the day, asking if he’d changed his mind about coming to watch them at Four Nations. It was the first time Quinn and Jack would be on the same team again since their younger days, and they’d been excited about the chance to represent Team USA together.

Quinn: It’s been a minute since we’ve all been in one place. Would be good to see you.

Luke sighed. A younger version of himself would’ve jumped at the chance to be there. To be around his brothers, the guys who’d been his idols growing up. But now, the thought of sitting in the stands, watching them thrive, only highlighted the weight of his own struggles. They deserved his support, but Luke wasn’t sure he could handle being there, feeling like the odd one out in his own family. The longer Luke thought about what he needed to do and where he needed to go, the clearer it became.

Michigan. That was where he needed to be. Not Cancun. Not the Bahamas. Not at Four Nations, no matter how much he wanted to see Jack and Quinn dominate together. Luke had made his decision. Back home was where he needed to be.

As he settled into his seat on the plane, the distant hum of the plane engines and the chatter of fellow passengers faded into the background. His thoughts settled on Michigan. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew it was there. The pull was inexplicable and undeniable, like gravity tethering him to a place he used to call home.

The wheels touched down with a jolt, and Luke pulled his coat tighter against the January chill as he stepped out of the terminal. The air smelled of snow and wet pavement, a scent so distinctly winter in Michigan that it stirred a pang of nostalgia in his chest.

He drove the winding roads back to his childhood neighborhood, the landscape coated in a blanket of fresh snow that shimmered under the streetlights. When he pulled into the driveway of the Hughes family home, the familiarity hit him like a slap. The dented hockey net at the end of the driveway and the porch light his mom insisted on always staying on, even when no one was home — it was all the same. And yet, it wasn’t.

Inside, the house was silent. Ellen and Jim were already in Montreal for Four Nations, cheering on Jack and Quinn as he’d known they would be. The usual warmth of his mom’s laughter, the clatter of pots in the kitchen, and his dad’s voice offering quiet encouragement were all absent. Instead, Luke was greeted by an almost eerie stillness.

He dropped his bag in the hallway and stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The framed photos lining the walls, the scuffed wooden floors from years of indoor hockey games with his brothers — it was like stepping into a time capsule of a simpler life. A life before contracts and endorsements, before fans and expectations, before the weight of the NHL threatened to crush him.

Luke’s footsteps echoed as he made his way to the den. The fireplace was unlit, the room cold. He collapsed onto the couch, running a hand through his hair and staring at the ceiling. His chest still felt tight from the game, his body aching in a way that told him he wasn’t just physically tired but emotionally spent.

Luke had expected something — comfort, nostalgia, maybe even peace. Instead, he was met with an odd hollowness, a space in his chest that Michigan didn’t instantly fill. Maybe that was the point. He wasn’t the same kid who had once called this place home. Still, despite the emptiness inside him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his path back to himself began here. He didn’t know when or how he’d feel whole again, but he was certain it wouldn’t happen overnight. It wouldn’t happen in Cancun, the Bahamas, or even on the ice in a Devils uniform. If it could happen anywhere, it would be here — in Michigan.

The next morning, hunger and boredom pushed him out of the house. He didn’t have a plan beyond grabbing coffee and then hitting the grocery store. He drove aimlessly through the familiar streets, his heart pulling in two directions — nostalgia and unease. Every corner, every turn, held memories of the life he’d left behind.

He parked outside a coffee shop he vaguely remembered from his college days. It was a cozy spot nestled between a record store and a florist. The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside, the scent of fresh coffee and pastries wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

Luke stood in line, scanning the menu even though he already knew he’d get a black coffee and maybe a bagel. Habit, plain and simple. Once he ordered, he scanned the room for a table to sit at.

That’s when he saw you. At first, he wasn’t sure. The years had softened and matured parts of you, but there was no mistaking the way your hair fell or the way you were chewing on your lip as you stared at your laptop, the way you always did when you were deep in thought. The sight of you hit him like a puck to the chest — unexpected and jarring.

He hadn’t thought about what he would say if he ever saw you again. and yet, there you were, just a few feet away. For a moment, he considered slipping out unnoticed, but the thought disappeared as quickly as it came. Some invisible force propelled him forward, just like it always had when it came to you.

The two of you had been inseparable growing up. You knew each other better than anyone. Your bond had always been easy, natural. But it had never been simple.

Luke remembered the stolen glances, the way his chest tightened whenever you laughed at one of his dumb jokes, and the electric charge that sparked whenever your hands accidentally brushed. It was a relationship constantly teetering on the edge of friendship and something more — a delicate balance neither of you dared to upset.

He remembered the time when you were both sixteen, sitting on his front porch while the post-game party buzzed inside the house. Luke’s team had won in overtime, securing a state championship and the celebration had carried over to the Hughes’ home. Despite the noise behind him, all he could focus on was the way your cheeks flushed from the cold, the way your breath formed soft clouds in the crisp night air. He had been on the verge of telling you how he felt when the front door burst open and his brothers and their friends came bursting out, effectively breaking the moment.

Following that, Luke shoved his feelings down deep. You stayed close, intimate friends, remaining his one constant. Until you weren’t. He was at the University of Michigan, and you were at Boston University. At first, you two had tried. Long phone calls after late practices. Texts full of inside jokes and encouragement before exams. Plans to visit that always fell through because his schedule was relentless, and yours wasn’t much better.

Eventually, the calls got shorter. Then they stopped altogether. Luke remembered how, one night, he’d stared at his phone with your name highlighted on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. Michigan had just lost in the Frozen Four semifinals, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone else except for you. It was always you Luke spoke to after the bad games. But the weight of his exhaustion, the pressure of his family’s expectations, and the overwhelming chaos of his life had pressed down on him until he just put the phone down and rolled over in bed. He never called.

He told himself it was mutual, that life had just gotten in the way. But seeing you now, he wondered if he had been the one who let go first.

Then, as if you felt a pair of eyes on you, you looked up to find the familiar set of green eyes looking back at your own. Your eyes widened in recognition, and for a second, neither of you moved. It was like the air around you both had shifted, growing heavier with the weight of unspoken words and time lost.

“Luke?” you said, your voice a mix of surprise and something softer, something harder to place.

He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey. It’s been a while.”

That was an understatement. It had been more than a while. It had been years. Years since late-night study hang-outs turned into whispered confessions, since your laughter echoed in his ears as you teased him about missing his fifth straight penalty shot during pond hockey. Years since he’d kissed you in the downstairs bathroom at Isaac Howards' house during a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Years since he left, and the texts and calls dwindled into nothing.

“Yeah, it has,” you said, shifting your coffee cup between your hands. Your voice was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place — bitterness? Sadness? Maybe both.

“Yeah. Too many.” He looked down at the table, suddenly unable to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry about that. I should’ve—”

“Called?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

He winced but nodded. “Yeah. I was an idiot. No excuses. I just… I don’t know. Things got crazy.”

You let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I noticed. A tiny screen’s the only place I see you know.”

Luke looked up, and the warmth in your smile soothed some of the guilt still gnawing at him.

“I guess I deserve that,” Luke admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do with himself. “I’ve missed you, though. More than you probably believe.”

The tension lingered for a moment before your expression softened. Something about the way Luke's shoulders slumped, the weight he seemed to carry in his eyes, made you ease up. He wasn’t the confident kid you remembered, always ready with a joke or a smirk. He looked… tired. Like he’d been through the wringer and hadn’t quite come out the other side.

You gestured to the empty seat across from you. “What brings you back to Michigan? Shouldn’t you be playing right now?”

Luke hesitated momentarily but that same pull sent that thought out quickly and Luke sunk down into the chair. “Yeah, I should. But we’ve got a mid-season break and uh… I needed to get away for a bit.”

You nodded knowingly. “Rough season?” you asked, even though you knew all too well how the season was going. Despite the no contact and the years between you, you still found yourself watching his games, keeping an eye on the number forty-three that zipped around the ice.

“You could say that.” His eyes flickered down to his cup, fingers idly picking at the paper sleeve. “Just trying to figure some things out.”

You nodded slowly, studying him. It wasn’t like Luke to open up so easily, but the strain in his voice, the way he seemed smaller somehow, told you he needed this — needed someone to just listen. “How long are you in town for?”

“A week, maybe a little longer. Depends.” he shrugged, attempting a casual tone, but you caught the uncertainty beneath it.

“Well,” you said, your voice lightening, “since you’re here and since it’s been… well, too many years, do you want to grab dinner tonight? Catch up properly?”

His eyes widened slightly like the suggestion had caught him off guard. For a second, he looked like he might say no, but then his lips curved into a small, genuine smile — one that reminded you of the old Luke. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Dinner plans were settled, and a quick double-check that you still had each other's current numbers followed before parting ways temporarily. Luke had a small smile on his face as he walked out of the coffee shop, his coffee forgotten in his hand. You had been the last person he expected to see, but somehow, it felt like exactly what he needed.

The restaurant you’d picked was a cozy spot you’d discovered a little bit ago that had become one of your favourite places to eat out — nothing fancy, just good food and a relaxed atmosphere. When Luke arrived, the nervous energy radiating off him was palpable. It made him seem much more approachable than the polished player you thought he’d become.

“You clean up nice,” you teased as he slid into the booth across from you, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Thanks,” he said, laughing softly. “You too. Not that you didn’t already look nice earlier.”

“Smooth,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you glanced at the menu. “You always this good at compliments?”

“Only with you,” he quipped, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The banter came easily, flowing like it used to in the days when late-night conversations over pizza were a regular occurrence. You found yourself slipping into old habits — teasing him about his inability to order anything outside of his comfort zone and laughing at his stories about Jack and Quinn.

Luke, for his part, couldn’t stop watching you. It wasn’t just how much you looked the same, though you did in so many ways. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you smiled and laughed like no time had passed at all. And yet, there was something different, too — a confidence that hadn’t been there before, a quiet strength he found himself drawn to even more than he had been back then.

But the laughter and lighthearted conversation couldn’t completely drown out the nagging thoughts in his mind. As you talked, Luke found himself thinking about how much he’d screwed up. He’d let the distance between you two widen, let life pull him in one direction while he let go of the thread that connected you both. He’d told himself it was just how life went — people grew apart. But now, sitting across from you, he couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been.

“You okay?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

Luke blinked, realizing he’d been staring at you a little too long. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. How did he even begin to explain? That he regretted letting you slip away, that he’d been an idiot for not fighting harder to keep you in his life?

“Just… how crazy it is to run into you like this,” he said finally, skirting around the truth. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to catch up with you.”

You smiled, but there was something wistful in your eyes. “Yeah. Life has a funny way of throwing surprises at you.”

The conversation shifted back to lighter topics after that, but Luke’s mind lingered on his regret. Every laugh, every shared memory, every glance reminded him of what he’d lost — and what he didn’t want to lose again.

As the night wore on and the restaurant emptied out around you, neither of you seemed eager to leave. The conversation deepened, and the teasing gave way to more heartfelt exchanges. You talked about what you’d been up to in the years apart, the struggles and triumphs, the paths you’d taken that had led you back to Michigan.

When the server finally dropped off the check, Luke reached for it before you could. “I got this.”

You frowned. “Hey, it was supposed to be my treat. It was my idea to get dinner anyways.”

“And I’m saying I owe you one,” he countered, his expression soft but firm. “Please. Let me.”

You relented, watching as he handed his card to the server. “Fine. But next time, it’s on me.”

Luke froze for a moment, the words “next time” ringing in his ears. He looked up at you, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. “Next time, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, your tone light but your meaning clear. “Next time. You’re here for a few more days, right?”

Luke couldn’t bite back the smile that tugged on his lips. “Y-yeah. Next time.”

The next few days passed in a blur of shared moments. You carved out time from your busy schedule, meeting Luke for coffee, going on impromptu drives through your old favorite spots, and even hitting the gym together. He insisted he couldn’t slack on his training, and you, eager to spend more time with him, agreed to join.

At the gym, Luke was in his element, focused and disciplined, but there was an ease to his demeanor when you were around. He showed you proper form on certain exercises, his hands brushing yours occasionally as he adjusted your grip or stance. Each time, your heart skipped a beat, though you tried to hide it behind playful jabs about his “personal trainer” persona.

But amidst the laughter and lighthearted moments, you also fell back into the habit of sharing quieter, heavier conversations, confiding in one another once again. One evening, after a long day, the two of you sat on your couch, an old movie playing in the background as you nursed glasses of wine. Luke had been quieter than usual, and you could tell something was weighing on him.

Luke, despite his mood significantly lifted as he spent time around you again, couldn’t shake the weight that followed him from New Jersey. The doubts gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, even in moments of laughter and ease. Being with you was a welcome reprieve, a chance to remember a version of himself that wasn’t defined by statistics or expectations. But deep down, he couldn’t ignore the voice that questioned if he’d ever truly get his groove back — if the player he once was was still in there, waiting to be found, or if he’d lost that spark for good.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked, breaking Luke from his incessant thoughts.

Even after being apart for a few years, you could still read Luke like a book. He got no better at hiding what was running through his mind as he got older. That, or you got better at reading people as you aged. Though you were always good at it.

“No, no… It’s a lot, don’t worry about it.” Luke answered, focusing back on the movie playing, though he had missed so much of the plot he wasn’t sure what was happening anymore.

“C’mon,” you said, sticking your foot out and nudging his thigh with your toe. “It’s me.”

It was you. You had always kept his secrets, even his deepest darkest ones, like when he confided in you about how he didn’t know if he wanted to pursue hockey, despite it being practically expected of him. You also always knew what to say, giving the best advice, like when you told him he was being irrational because hockey was all he thought of and what he had dreamed of since kindergarten.

He hesitated, his eyes fixed on the deep red liquid in his glass. “It’s just… hard, you know? This season. Everything feels off. I keep messing up, and it’s like no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it. The comparisons to Jack and Quinn — they’re constant. And the worst part is, I feel like they’re right. Like I’m not good enough to be in the NHL.”

Luke’s voice cracked slightly as he continued, his grip tightening on the glass. “It’s like I’m not even me anymore. I’m just… Jack and Quinn’s younger brother. The one who hasn’t lived up to the hype. The one who’s just an extension of them.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m so tired of it. Of being seen as this kid who only got here because of who he’s related to.”

You placed your glass on the coffee table, shifting to face him fully. “You’re tired of being known for who you know,” you said gently, watching as his eyes flickered toward yours, the weight of your words visibly landing.

Luke nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. Exactly. I just want to be Luke. Not someone’s little brother. Not some placeholder. Just… me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Then start there,” you said. “Stop letting other people’s opinions decide how you see yourself. You’re not Jack. You’re not Quinn. You’re Luke — the guy who’s passionate, hardworking, and ridiculously competitive.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I’ve seen that side of you, even when you were a kid. You always wanted to carve your own path. And you’re doing that now, whether you feel it or not.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “It’s hard to believe that sometimes.”

“I get that,” you said, your tone soft but firm. “But Luke, your brothers didn’t get you to the NHL. You got you there. They’re part of your story, yeah, but they’re not the whole story. You’ve earned this. You belong here. And I know it feels like you’ve lost your way, but maybe this slump is just part of figuring out how to be the player you want to be.”

Luke looked at you for a long moment, his green eyes filled with a mixture of doubt and something softer — hope, maybe. “You really think I can turn it around?”

“Luke. You really think your entire NHL career is over after one bad season?” you said, snorting at your own words. Luke couldn’t help but chuckle at his own over-dramatics. “I know you can turn it around… I have no doubt. But you need to start believing it yourself.”

A faint smile replaced his troubled expression, and he set his glass aside, leaning back against the couch. “You always know what to say.”

You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “That’s because I’ve always believed in you, Luke. Even when you don’t believe in yourself.”

For the first time that evening, Luke let out a quiet laugh, the sound lightening the mood. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice soft. “For being here. For… everything.”

“Always,” you said, meaning it more than you realized.

The rest of the night passed quietly, the two of you lost in conversation and shared memories. And as Luke left your place that evening, he felt lighter, the weight on his shoulders not entirely gone but more manageable.

The next day, the realization that it was Luke’s last night in Michigan crept into every shared moment. It added a bittersweet edge to the laughter and easy camaraderie that had blossomed between you over the past few days. You both avoided bringing it up during dinner, the unspoken knowledge settling between you like a silent companion.

After the meal, Luke suggested going for a walk. The winter air was crisp, and the stars shone brightly in the clear Michigan sky as you strolled down familiar streets, your breath visible in the cold. You pulled your coat tighter around you, glancing at Luke as he walked beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Thanks for spending so much time with me this week,” he said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. “I know you’ve got a lot going on.”

You smiled softly. “I wanted to. Besides, it’s been nice… like old times.”

Luke chuckled, though there was a wistfulness in it. “Yeah, it has. Better, even.”

The two of you fell silent again, the sound of your footsteps crunching on the snow-covered pavement filling the void. You turned onto a quieter street, where the houses were dark, their occupants already tucked away for the night. You glanced at Luke, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his mood having shifted from a moment ago.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you teased lightly, hoping to coax him out of his silence.

He stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression was serious, his brows knit as though wrestling with something he hadn’t planned to say. “I think I’ve been running from a lot of things,” he began, his voice low and steady, “but especially you.”

The words hung in the air between you, raw and unexpected. Luke took a step closer, his green eyes searching yours. “When we drifted apart, I told myself it was just the way things had to be. That the distance, my career — it was all just part of life. But I see now… I could’ve fought harder. I should’ve fought harder. For us.”

His admission made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions flooding through you. You had spent years wondering if he regretted letting you go, if he missed you as much as you missed him. And now, hearing the regret in his voice, it felt both validating and bittersweet.

“Luke…” You took a breath, steadying yourself. “It hurt, you know? Losing you. But I understood why you made the choices you did. Your career — it’s everything you’ve worked for, and I didn’t want to be the one holding you back.”

“I never thought of it that way,” he interjected quickly, his tone earnest. “You were never holding me back. If anything, you grounded me. You believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. And I’m sorry. For not saying that. For not fighting harder to keep you in my life.”

You nodded, emotions welling in your chest. “I won’t lie — it was hard. But I’ve always rooted for you, Luke. Even from afar, even quietly. Even if it meant letting you go.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. Luke’s gaze softened, and he nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.

“Enough with what you do and don’t deserve,” you said shaking your hand. “Cause you’re stuck with me anyways.”

The walk back to your car was quieter, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was filled with a sense of understanding, of unspoken words that no longer needed to be said.

The next morning, as you drove Luke to the airport, the mood was bittersweet. He promised to keep in touch this time, and for once, you believed he might actually follow through. When you hugged him goodbye, he lingered for a moment longer than usual, as if reluctant to let go.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you said, pulling back to meet his eyes.

“You too,” he replied, his voice softer than usual. “And thank you. For… everything.”

After Luke returned to New Jersey, something shifted within him. The heaviness of expectation and self-doubt hadn’t completely vanished, but your words lingered in his mind like an anthem: You’ve earned this. You belong here.

For the first time in months, he started seeing his struggles not as failures but as opportunities to grow. Instead of obsessing over his brothers’ accomplishments or the weight of media scrutiny, he set smaller, personal goals. Maybe he wouldn’t assist on every goal scored in every game or win the Norris, but he could focus on winning his battles in the corners, improving his breakout passes, and becoming a reliable presence on the ice.

That renewed mindset brought subtle changes to his game. At first, it was just flashes — an extra step to break up a play, a crisp pass that led to a goal. His confidence grew with each small victory, and while the slump didn’t disappear overnight, it didn’t feel insurmountable anymore.

Through it all, you and Luke became each other’s anchors. Despite the distance, your late-night conversations became a constant. You’d talk about everything — your classes, his games, old memories, and future dreams. Sometimes, the chats were lighthearted, filled with laughter as you teased him about his weird superstitions, like tying his left skate before his right. Other times, they were raw and vulnerable, as you vented about the pressures of school and fear of what came beyond graduation.

It wasn’t always easy. There were nights when his games ended late, or you were swamped with assignments, but both of you made the effort. The bond you shared was undeniable, and as the weeks passed, Luke found himself thinking about you more and more. The idea of a life without you felt incomplete — like something vital was missing.

One night, after a grueling loss to the Washington Capitals, Luke couldn’t shake the disappointment. He had played well, but the team had faltered, and the sting of another defeat hung heavy in the air. Sitting in his car outside the arena, he found himself dialing your number.

You answered on the second ring, your voice warm and familiar despite the late hour. “Hey, everything okay?”

Luke hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Not really. I’m getting better at handling the pressure, but…something still feels off.”

“Want to talk about it?” you asked softly.

He leaned back in his seat, staring at the dashboard. “I hate that I’m here and you’re there,” he admitted. His voice was raw, tinged with frustration. “I hate that I keep letting distance get in the way of us. It’s like, no matter how well I play or how much I try to focus on hockey, it doesn’t feel right. Not without you.”

His confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You had felt the distance too, in quiet moments when you wished he were there to share a laugh or hold your hand. But hearing him say it made the ache more real.

“I miss you too,” you finally said, your voice quieter now, but steady. “More than I can put into words. But Luke…this, us — it’s worth fighting for. Even if it’s hard sometimes.”

Luke closed his eyes, letting the weight of your words sink in. He’d known it deep down, but hearing you say it gave him a renewed sense of clarity. “I know it is. I just… I don’t want this to feel like something I’m waiting for. I want it to feel like something we’re building.”

“And we are,” you reassured him. “Every late-night call, every text, every moment we make time for each other — it’s not just waiting, Luke. It’s us figuring it out together. And as much as I’d love for things to be easier, maybe this is how we know it’s real. Because even when it’s tough, we still choose each other.”

His chest tightened, not with sadness, but with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. You always had this way of grounding him, of reminding him what mattered most. “How are you so good at this?” he asked with a soft laugh, the edges of his frustration beginning to melt away.

“Good at what?”

“Making me feel like I’m not completely screwing everything up,” he admitted.

“Because you’re not,” you replied firmly. “You’re trying, Luke. That’s more than enough. You’re enough.”

A few weeks later, as the regular season wound down and playoffs loomed, you found yourself on another late-night call with Luke. This time, he seemed lighter, more at ease, even as the intensity of the season ramped up. It was a stark contrast to the stressed, self-critical tone he’d had earlier in the year.

“You ready for the playoffs?” you asked, genuinely curious. The way he’d been playing lately, it seemed like he’d turned a corner, but you couldn’t help wondering how he was handling the weight of it all.

“Yeah,” he said simply, without hesitation.

His answer caught you off guard. “You’re not nervous?”

“Nope.” He chuckled, and you could practically hear the shrug in his voice. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited. But nervous? Not really.”

You smiled to yourself, a wave of pride and relief washing over you. “That’s new.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he admitted. “I don’t know… I think I finally realized that worrying doesn’t help. I’ve spent so much time obsessing over being perfect, over trying to measure up to everyone else, that I forgot to just enjoy playing the game. And honestly, I’m tired of carrying all that pressure around. Hockey’s supposed to be fun.”

Hearing him say it so confidently, so matter-of-factly, made your heart swell. For months, you’d watched him wrestle with self-doubt, pushing himself to the brink in search of validation. Now, he sounded like someone who had finally made peace with himself — or at least started to.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” you said softly. “It’s not easy to let go of that stuff.”

“It’s easier with you,” he replied, his voice tinged with warmth. “You’ve always been in my corner, even when I wasn’t in my own. That means everything.”

The playoffs arrived sooner than Luke anticipated, and with them, a surge of pressure that made it harder to focus on anything outside the rink. But Luke stepped onto the ice for Game 1 with a steadiness that surprised even him. The crowd roared, the energy was electric, and though the stakes were higher than ever, he didn’t let it overwhelm him. Instead, he focused on the little things — staying composed under pressure, trusting his instincts, and playing the way he knew he could. Game by game, he chipped away at his self-doubt, leaning into the mental resilience he’d been building all season.

The Devils clawed their way through the first two rounds, overcoming grueling battles and earning every victory. Luke’s performance was a reflection of his growth. While he wasn’t the flashiest player on the ice, he was reliable, steady, and clutch when it mattered most. He had a knack for breaking up key plays, making smart decisions under pressure, and even contributing a few timely assists and goals that had the crowd on their feet.

Through it all, you were there, albeit through a screen. You found a way to catch every game, even the ones that happened in between your exams, forgoing studying to watch Luke zip around the ice. Your support grounded him, a reminder that no matter how chaotic things got on the ice, he had someone who believed in him unconditionally.

By the time the conference finals arrived, the Devils were a team to be reckoned with. Facing off against the Carolina Hurricanes, the series was a war of attrition — fast-paced, physical, and emotionally draining. Luke felt the pressure mounting, but he refused to let it control him. Instead, he leaned into the same mantra that had carried him through his struggles earlier in the season: You’ve earned this. You belong here.

The series stretched to six games, with each one more intense than the last. Luke played some of his best hockey, blocking shots, setting up plays, and doing whatever it took to keep his team in the fight. But in the end, the Hurricanes proved too strong. In Game 6, with the Devils down by a goal late in the third period, Luke was on the ice for a final push. They came heartbreakingly close, but the buzzer sounded, and just like that, the run was over.

The locker room was heavy with silence afterward, the weight of the loss pressing down on everyone. Luke sat at his stall, still in his gear, staring at the floor. It hurt — of course it did. But this time, the pain wasn’t accompanied by the same crushing self-criticism he’d once felt after losses. Instead, he felt a deep sense of pride. They had made it this far, farther than many had expected, and he knew he’d left it all on the ice.

Later that night, he called you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Hey,” you replied, bracing yourself. You’d seen the loss and expected him to be devastated. “How are you holding up?”

He surprised you with a small chuckle. “Honestly? I’m okay. Don’t get me wrong, it sucks, but… I feel like I gave it everything I had. That’s all I can do, right?”

Pride swelled in your chest. This wasn’t the Luke you remembered from a year ago, who would’ve let the loss consume him. “I’m so proud of you,” you said sincerely. “For how you’ve handled all of this. You’ve grown so much, Luke.”

Your words stayed with him long after the call ended, echoing in his mind like a steady drumbeat. You’ve grown so much, Luke.

Your graduation day dawned bright and warm, the campus alive with energy as classmates, friends, and families gathered to celebrate. You felt a swirl of emotions — pride, excitement, and a faint wistfulness. While you were thrilled to be closing this chapter, part of you couldn’t ignore the ache of someone missing. You had tried to manage your expectations, knowing Luke's NHL schedule and how taxing the playoffs had been. But as you slipped on your cap and adjusted your gown, you couldn’t shake the quiet hope that maybe, somehow, he’d be there.

The ceremony itself was a blur of speeches, applause, and cheers. Crossing the stage, you accepted your diploma with a wide smile, the weight of your hard work finally lifted. Afterward, you joined the throng of graduates filtering toward the quad, where your family had promised to wait. Spotting them amidst the crowd, you waved, your heart swelling with love as you saw your mom, dad, and younger brother standing together. But then, your eyes caught on something — or someone — else.

Luke was standing behind them with a bouquet of fresh daisies, baby's breath, and soft pink roses tied with a satin ribbon. His boyish grin was unmistakable, and it softened the moment your eyes met. The disbelief must have been written all over your face because his grin widened as he gave you a small wave.

Your legs carried you forward without hesitation. First, you hugged your parents and brother, exchanging congratulations and laughter, but your gaze kept darting back to Luke. Finally, you stepped toward him, your voice catching as you said, “What…? You’re here?”

He held the bouquet out to you, a little sheepishly. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” he said, his voice low and warm. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. I had to be here.”

Your chest tightened with emotion as you accepted the flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the warmth of his presence. “Luke, I didn’t think—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently, his eyes steady on yours. “And I’m sorry for making you think I wouldn’t come. But I wanted it to be a surprise. Your mom helped me with it, actually.”

You glanced over at your mother, who wore an undeniably large grin that stretched across her lips, her eyes practically sparkling with the kind of knowing satisfaction only a mother could have. She had always harbored a soft spot for Luke, often claiming he was the one boy you’d never quite forget. She firmly believed, with the quiet certainty that only years of maternal instinct could provide, that no matter how far life took you, he was the one you’d eventually find your way back to in the end.

Luke pulled your eyes back to his as he spoke again. “You’ve been there for me every step of the way, even when I didn’t deserve it. This is your moment, and I wanted to be part of it.”

Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them away, laughing softly as you shook your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he teased, his smile making your heart ache in the best way. “But seriously, I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

You didn’t think, you just stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He pulled you close without hesitation, his embrace grounding you in a way that only he could.

As you pulled back from the hug, you caught your mother’s subtle signal—a raised brow and a little nod toward Luke. She knew, of course. She always knew. With a quick glance at your dad and brother, you gave them a look that clearly said, I need a minute alone with him.

“Why don’t we grab some photos?” your mom suggested, steering your dad and brother toward a picturesque spot by the fountain. You mouthed a quick thank you before turning back to Luke.

“Want to take a walk?” you asked, motioning toward the quiet pathways that wove through the campus.

“Lead the way,” Luke replied, his hands slipping into the pockets of his suit pants.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of distant laughter and celebration filling the air. You made your way toward a shaded grove near the library, a place where you had spent countless hours studying. Today, it felt almost sacred, a fitting backdrop for this moment.

“I’m glad you came,” you said finally, breaking the silence.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Luke replied, his voice earnest. “I’ve been thinking about this day for a while.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping at the way his jaw tensed like he was working up to something.

“Listen,” he began, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. His green eyes, usually bright and playful, were serious now, searching yours. “I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out how to say this without screwing it up, but here goes.” He took a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “You mean the world to me. You always have. And I know I didn’t always handle things right between us — I’ve made mistakes, I’ve let hockey, distance, and my own insecurities get in the way — but you’re the one person I can’t imagine my life without.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. “I don’t want to keep pretending that what we have is just history or that I’m okay with being just friends. Because I’m not. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for years, and I don’t want to waste another second not saying it.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and electric. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The honesty in his eyes, the way his voice trembled just slightly—it was everything you had once hoped to hear from him and more.

“Luke,” you said softly, taking a step closer. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll give me a chance,” he replied, his voice steady despite the vulnerability etched into his features. “Say you’ll let me show you that I can be the person you deserve. Say you’ll be with me.”

A smile broke across your face, and before you could overthink it, you nodded. “Okay,” you said, your voice catching on the emotion swelling in your chest. “Yes. I’ll be with you.”

Luke’s smile was a mixture of relief and joy, as though he had been holding his breath and could finally exhale. He took a step toward you, his hands reaching out, and for a moment, it felt like everything in the world had paused — just the two of you, finally on the same page.

He gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, and you felt the weight of the moment settle between you. Then, his gaze shifted upwards, and he chuckled softly. “Can’t kiss you with this thing on,” he teased softly.

Luke carefully slid the cap off your head, setting it aside on a nearby bench. The small gesture felt oddly intimate, like he was making room for something even more meaningful.

When his hands returned to your face, the warmth between you both felt undeniable. He leaned in, this time without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was tender at first, like he was savoring the moment. The way his lips moved against yours was more sure, more confident, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, realizing just how much better he was at it now than when he was 16.

When he finally pulled away, you both breathed deeply, as though trying to catch your bearings after such a powerful kiss. A small laugh escaped your lips, and you smirked, your heart racing. “You’ve definitely gotten better at that,” you said, your voice light with amusement.

Luke chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad you noticed,” he said, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “But I’m just getting started.”

You walked back toward your family, hand in hand with the boy who had always been a part of you. It was a moment to savor, but also one to look forward to—a future that felt just a little bit clearer, and a little bit brighter, because of him.

[secret-moonstruck]

STUCK ON ME | Y.JW | PART 2

— Pairing: Jungwon x fem!reader | Part 01 | (Masterlist)

— Synopsis: When Y/N was with her friend, Jungwon became jealous and possessive. He decided to show who Y/N belonged to. .

— Genre: smut, Horror, bloody

— Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, praising, cum inside, making out, clit play, begging, hickeys, cum eating, overstimulation, gore, death, blood, torture, kidnapping, more. .

Warning: The content may be dangerous. Read at your own discretion.

— Notes: I'm new to this writing thing, and English is not my first language. Sorry for not writing so well, I wish to improve and bring better and well-written stories.

A few weeks have passed since Y/N met Jungwon, at first it was a bit difficult, but now she was getting used to the situation.

She had gone out for drinks with some people from the publishing house to celebrate the sales of her book, among them was Hyun, he was the cute guy who worked there and he always showed interest in Y/N, whenever she went to the publishing house he tried to please her.

When they left the bar, they decided to walk a bit. He was a little drunk and started confessing to Y/N again.

- Why don't you go out with me? - He said, stopping suddenly and turning her towards him.

Before Y/N could say anything, he disappeared. She saw him a short distance away in the alley next door, pinned against the wall with a furious Jungwon choking him.

- What the hell is this? What the hell are you doing? - She ran towards them. - Let him go now, Jungwon.

She ordered, she knew he couldn't disobey an order from her, she had already witnessed how it caused some kind of horrible pain.

However, he didn't let him go; he suffocated him until his body fell to the ground unconscious.

Y/N thought he had killed him, and out of fear, she ended up fainting.

Upon waking up, she still felt a bit dazed, looked around, and saw that she was in some kind of abandoned warehouse. She saw Jungwon sitting on a table reading a book calmly, but when he lowered the book and smiled at her, his face and clothes were covered in blood.

She looked around desperately and saw Hyun unconscious, bloodied, and tied up in a corner of the room.

- Did you kill him? - She asked in despair.

Jungwon rolled his eyes before putting down the book and getting off the table.

- Not yet, my dear. Maybe, if you are very nice, I'll let him live.

He approached Hyun and kicked him to wake him up.

- Where is Y/N? Please, let us go. - Hyun said as soon as he woke up, further irritating Jungwon.

- Who or what do you think you are to try to steal something that is mine? - He lifted him up before throwing him back to the ground.

- Please stop. He is innocent, he didn't do anything. I am yours, okay, you know, you always remind me of that. He has nothing to do with us, let him go. - Y/N pleaded.

A horrible pain coursed through Jungwon's entire body for disobeying her, but it only enraged him even more; she was causing him pain to protect that worm.

Jungwon approached her, lowering himself to her level with a smile that frightened her.

- I know you are mine, but it seems he doesn't know yet, and you seem to have forgotten. - He squeezed her neck, making her stand up. - Maybe I should remind you who you belong to, and show this nothing that you only have one owner.

Still with his hands on her neck, he pulled her face for a kiss full of anger.

- Now, how about you being a good girl? - He pushed her away, and as if it were nothing, dragged the table to where she was.

- Don't touch her, or I'll kill you. - Hyun shouted.

Jungwon went up to him and gagged him, he wanted to kill him, but not before displaying her, not before showing who she belongs to.

Leaning against the table, he ordered her to come closer, she obeyed out of fear.

- Suck me, like the good slut you are, show him what he'll never have.

Trembling, Y/N did as he commanded, kneeling in front of him. She tried to open his pants, but she was trembling too much. He got irritated and took off his clothes by himself, his cock already hard, waiting to be sucked.

Y/N looked at Hyun, who was struggling to break free, before turning their attention back to Jungwon.

With tears in her eyes, she touched him, pumping it before running her tongue over the tip covered with pre-cum, eliciting a moan from him. She licked his length a few times before putting it in her mouth, starting to suck it, but he needed more, he pushed everything in, making her gag.

Jungwon held her by the hair while pushing deep into her throat. The sight of her crying, choking on his cock, excited him even more; he pulled out of her lips and came all over her face.

- Come here dear. - He said, helping her to stand up and bringing her closer to Hyun. He pushed her in front of him, holding her face firmly to confront Hyun.

- Isn't she beautiful covered in my cum? - He smiled frighteningly as he said that.

- Do you know how she becomes more beautiful? When she's moaning desperately for me to fuck her. - Upon saying this, he bit Y/N's neck.

Y/N shuddered at the initial pain of the bite, but soon it was exactly as he wanted, moans escaping her lips mixed with her heavy breathing. Her legs tightening as she began to feel aroused.

Hyun looked horrified as Jungwon drank Y/N's blood. Jungwon easily tore her dress, and did the same with her underwear, before running his fingers over Y/N's pussy.

- You really are a slut, how can you already be so wet? You really get turned on by having your blood sucked, don't you?

Desperate moans escaped Y/N's lips as Jungwon's fingers worked on her pussy. She no longer cared about anything else, she just wanted more.

- Yes, yes, please, Jungwon, I love this, more, please.

Despite being scared, Hyun was starting to get excited seeing Y/N in that state. It was wrong, everything there was wrong, but he couldn't help it.

- Look Y/N, he likes what he sees. - Jungwon continued his movements while rubbing her clitoris with his other hand. - Come on, darling, cum for me already, let's go.

She shuddered, Jungwon's voice both sweet and venomous pushing her to orgasm, she came on his fingers, just as he wanted.

He raised his hand, displaying it with a smile before licking his fingers, while moaning in pleasure.

Y/N knew it wasn't over yet, Jungwon picked her up, she was still trembling when he set her down on the table.

He saw her tired face, her eyes red from crying. He wiped her face, which was still covered in his cum.

- You don't know how beautiful you look like this, all messed up. - He said, caressing her face. His fingers running over her face and neck. - It just makes me want you even more.

He said before biting her again, while pushing his painful cock into her wet pussy.

Y/N gasped in surprise when she felt him enter her so suddenly. If it weren't for him holding her, she would have already collapsed on the table while he mercilessly pounded inside her, the sound echoing through the room.

- J... Jungwon, please! I want, I need. - Y/N was begging for their liberation.

Hearing Y/N's pleas, Jungwon couldn't hold back and came, painting the inside of Y/N, who not long after also reached their orgasm.

Jungwon pulled away from Y/N, watched for a few seconds as her pussy leaked before starting to lick it, holding her thighs firmly. While sucking every drop, his claws tore into Y/N's thighs, who screamed with a mix of pain and pleasure, still very sensitive from the previous orgasm. She buckled, trembling, when she came again, this time more intensely than the others, covering Jungwon's face, who savored every drop before releasing her with an arrogant smile, while Y/N collapsed on the table, her breath still uneven.

She had already forgotten about Hyun, but when she remembered and looked in his direction, her eyes widened in panic.

Jungwon, already dressed, was holding Hyun by the neck with his hand inside his chest.

- No! - Y/N shouted, a desperate scream, a scream that caused an unbearable pain in Jungwon, he had already endured too much pain disobeying her that night.

With a quick movement, Jungwon pulled his hand back, covered in blood, with Hyun's heart in it. Blood splattering across his face, while the most terrifying smile Y/N could imagine was on his face.

He threw Hyun's body to the ground and went to Y/N. The pain of disobedience was torturous, but the anger was greater.

- This is so you never forget that you belong solely to me. - He held her by the shoulders. - And remember that I will never allow you to get close to any man again. I am the only one for whom you should exist. You are mine, and you must never forget that.

The panic that was etched on Y/N's face was replaced by a dark smile, which left Jungwon confused.

- What? Why are you smiling? - He said, releasing her.

Y/N pulled Jungwon close, tilting their head while still smiling.

- You look so sexy like this. - She pushed him away while assessing how he was covered in blood, eyes shining, his expression full of rage. She loved it.

- Y/N said while getting dressed. - Just thinking about having to put up with him every time I entered that building. Aaaah, so annoying.

Jungwon was confused, why was she acting like this when just a moment ago she was crying for him to spare Hyun?

- You know, Jungwon, I was kind of missing the feeling from when we first met, how you seemed so cruel that night. I wanted to see that side of you again, so I decided to combine two useful things. I could have fun and also get rid of something annoying.

- You are a psychopath. - Jungwon didn't know if he found her scary or amazing.

- Oh, no, of course not. I'm just a defenseless woman trapped by a sadistic vampire. - She said with a false fear on her face before approaching him with a smile and kissing him.

— Note2: Sorry if it's not good, I'll try to improve it.

[bouquetface]

Astro Observations 7

Accuracy is dependent on the ENTIRE chart

Lilith conjunct Venus - Something about your relationship/love causes controversy. IRL ex: Age gap, relationship starts while one is married.

Uranus conjunct Venus - This can show unconventional relationships that may cause controversy as well. IRL ex: straight person dating bisexual trans man. This surprised the person's family and they were bullied/joked around about by friends.

Aquarius Moon - They can feel like outsiders. They can find it difficult to relate to other and others can find it difficult to relate to them. Some people hate what they can't understand.

Sun & Your Father:

Sun conjunct Saturn - Father or other authority figures may have high expectations. Father may be loving but reserved when it comes to showing it. Father may be demanding. Father may be a workaholic - or distant due to a diff reason. Desire to be a child again to go back to having the father's love.

Sun conjunct Mars - Father is assertive. Father may have anger issues. Father is action-orientated. Father is a powerful person. Father is a leader. Father is a fighter.

Sun conjunct Ketu - You’re detached from the father. Father is away during important times in your life - ex: Father is away during your birth. Father fails you in some way. Father is religious. If in the 3rd H, your father’s first marriage may have failed.

Sun conjunct Jupiter:

Generally, this shows your father could be religious. He may enjoy broader topics - politics, religion, etc. He may be optimistic & joyful person. He may lecture or preach for a living or simply it’s his style of communication. He may take risks. The entire chart will influence accuracy.

A positive outcome would be he is very supportive, very generous, a mentor to you. A negative outcome would be he is narcissistic, he is egotistical, he refuses to see things from other perspectives.

Jupiter’s influence on Sun expands the Sun’s traits. Possibly indicating your father may be “too much” of something. Depending your entire chart this will vary - ex: too demanding, too overbearing, too self obsessed, too indulgent, etc. It could be positive as well tho - very kind, very loving, very wealthy, etc.

EXAMPLE: Franz Kafka had Sun conjunct Jupiter. He had a complicated relationship with his father. The following is a quote written by him to his father:

“I would have been happy to have had you as a friend, as a boss, as an uncle, as a grandfather, even (although more hesitantly) as a father-in-law. But as a father you were too strong for me.”

“too strong” suggesting Franz may have felt his father to be an overwhelming presence in his life. This is a common manifestation of Sun conjunct Jupiter. If you have this placement lmk your experience & chart.

[kurishiri]

9 lil things abt the way some ikevil chars speak in japanese you probably didnt know

in the jp version, even after getting into a relationship, kate actually still consistently calls elbert with his title, “lord elbert” [エルバート様] (erubāto-sama). in jp, the only ones who do not use the honorific would be victor, william, and on occasion, alfons, who seems to switch between [エル] (eru), [エルバート] (erubāto), [エル様] (eru-sama), and [エルバート様] (erubāto-sama) on a whim.

in case en doesnt localize this well or fully when it does come…there is a time when victor switches his personal pronoun from [僕] (boku) to [俺] (ore). these words mean the exact same thing (i, me, my, etc), but the latter is meant to have a more “masculine” feel. [僕] (boku) is used quite a bit by boys as well (in fact, ellis’ personal pronoun is [僕]), but it can also treated as a sorta “gender-neutral” character in songs, for example, and girls can use [僕] as well. on the other hand, you wouldnt ever see a girl using [俺].

nica has an interesting…speaking quirk, where certain words that should be written in hiragana r written in katakana. for example, he might say [イイ] (ī) as opposed to [いい] (ī), or [ホント] (honto) rather than [ほんとう] (hontō), [ワケ] (wake) over [わけ], [てアゲル] (—te ageru) over [てあげる], etc. this is likely a “personal style” thing to make him seem more flippant, cuteish, or youthful. this kind of thing is also more common in fictional characters who were raised abroad.

darius uses [ほっぺ] (hoppe) to say “cheeks”. the traditional way to say cheeks is [頬] (hoho). they mean the exact same thing, but saying [ほっぺ] (hoppe) to refer to cheeks has a childish or “innocent” air to it, partially due to the way its written entirely in hiragana. he does tend to have a childish air abt him, and this is probably one of the most direct examples of his childishness when it comes to the way he speaks.

alfons changed his way of speaking at some point after entering the greetia manor. before then, he often used more casual speech, known as [くだけた表現] (kudaketa hyōgen), but eventually he changed his way of speaking to whats known as [です・ます] (desu•masu) form, even using [敬語] (keigo), which is like very polite or humble japanese with their own set of vocabulary and conjugations. this is likely due to becoming elbert’s “attendant.” so he likely had to speak that way and it may have just become a habit or a sort of integral part of his identity, as he uses this language even after getting into a relationship with kate.

another tidbit of victor: he often — for example — ends questions with [かい] (kai). the other way to end questions in japanese would be to just use [か] (ka). but by adding [い] (i) to it, it can add emphasis or “soften” the tone. its mostly used by men, and using such a form is often associated with older men and women (40+), but younger men can use this too.

it might be more noticeable with jude bc he originally speaks in a whole different dialect [関西弁] (kansai-ben), and will switch to queens english, i.e. standard tokyo japanese, for business related reasons or if he feels its necessary to for a reason. but roger also can switch his way of speaking as well. he would mainly do this with ppl hes not well acquainted to or with well respected personages. he normally speaks pretty casually in japanese, shortening words or phrases, though not speaking in a different dialect. for example, he might say [そりゃ] (sorya) instead of [それは] (sore ha). but in certain situations, he might opt to use [それは].

william and elbert speak in the same form [だ・である] (da•dearu) due to the fact they r nobles — such a form comes off as more direct, imposing, or just strong in general — but they also do have their own “speaking quirks” as well. for example, when saying the word “but” or “however”, will often uses the word [が] (ga), while elbie opts for [けれど] (keredo). will also tends to end his sentences or remarks with [だな] (da na), something that elbie does not really do. that said, the way they both say “yes” is the same: [ああ] (ā).

kate uses honorifics with ring, specifically [くん] (—kun), when requested by ring to not be so formal with him (btw kate also uses [くん] with ellis), but when ring refers to kate by her name rather than “robin”, he doesnt use any honorific on her. on the other hand, nica continues to call her “robin” / spatzi / rotkehlchen what have you, but asks her to not use [さん] (—san) with him at all. so kate just calls him [ニカ] (nika). not using any honorifics is what’s known as [呼び捨て] (yobi-sute), and its smth that should really be done with ppl you feel v close to or with family (or otherwise its incredibly rude), but kate probably only did so with nica at that pt so she could respect his request, rather than an actual feeling of closeness.

[lvrrgirlll]

Knight in Shining Armor

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Pairing: medieval princess ! reader x knight ! Patrick Zweig

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut, p in v, fem reader, knives mentioned (briefly in a nightmare?), some Christian biblical imagery and mentions of sin/religious related guilt (I was playing into the whole medieval royalty thing idk)

Notes: Thank you guys for all the love on the moodboard/little blurb on this!!! Without all the support I wouldn’t have been inspired to go crazy and write this (I fear this will seem like the most pretentious fic ever written bc I really lent into the medieval thing so the language feels kinda crazy at some points…idk, if y’all were rocking with the last one, you’ll probably rock with this lol) Enjoy!!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

You did your best to avoid Patrick in court the following days. You were unsure if you could even face him after your dream. But, of course, nothing can last forever. An attempted attack on your wing of the castle (which was, thankfully, stopped by the valiance of Sir Patrick) led to a change that would greatly affect your fate.

As you entered the grand hall of the castle to take your seat in court, you noticed Sir Patrick in his armor —something rather unusual to see in the castle, though you didn't mind— speaking to your father, metal helmet in hand. Your father had always favored Patrick, you presumed for his determination and natural swagger, and acted as such. He was the head knight of the royal guard and spoke with the King frequently. Taking notice of your presence, your father addressed you whilst you curtsied. “Good daughter, what fortune you arrive now of all times. In light of the attack on your wing, I have decided to appoint Sir Patrick himself to be your personal guard. Your safety is of the utmost importance to me and this entire kingdom. It is only right I appoint our best knight.” Your father smiled warmly at Patrick then.

“I thank you, your majesty,” Patrick bows before the King. “I shall be prepared to risk my life for the life of our princess.” At that, he turns to you, offering a look so secretly smug you have trouble maintaining your composure. You simply smile and nod, silently acknowledging the workings of your father and the knight that now create a great dilemma for you.

“Father, I am suddenly feeling quite faint. Might I take my leave and rest for the afternoon?” You just want to get away from him. He’s dangerous. You can hardly control yourself around him. And what’s worse is he knows it.

Your father, concerned, approves of your leave, though you feel dismayed when Sir Patrick follows you. “I am perfectly capable of making my way back, myself. Thank you, sir,” you offer, trying to be as strict as you can, for your own sake more than his.

“M’lady, perhaps you did not understand. As your personal guard, I am tasked with protecting you at all times. This would require that I be with you at all times. The King wills it so.” He speaks formally though his tone is far too pleased to be merely dutiful. You had not considered that. Sighing, you merely nod in understanding before turning again to return to your room.

In your room, Patrick takes his station directly outside the door. “I am only a moment away. Do not hesitate should you need me.” He may not know exactly how you may need him…

You nod, though, smiling softly before closing the door, creating a divide between the two of you. You are overcome by desire. You feel dirty, guilty, and wrong…but you know he feels the same. And he is noble; he is a gentleman…would it be so bad if you acted on your feelings? God, you feel foolish. You have hardly spoken to him in the years he has served at the castle. What feelings could you really be harboring?

Sick of your racing thoughts, you resolve that a nap would be the best right now. In your sleep, though, you dream of enemies breaking through your windows and climbing up the tower of your wing. It is utterly terrifying. You can feel yourself stirring, heart racing and sweating profusely, as your subconscious plays tricks on you. In your nightmare, a cloaked figure, face hidden in the shadows of his hood, plunges a dagger through your heart, causing you to lurch awake with a loud cry. You are breathing heavily, trying to adjust to your new, real surroundings and shake the terror of the dream when you hear Sir Patrick through the door.

“Your Majesty? Are you alright…?” You do not answer, still shaken and attempting to compose yourself. “I am entering, m'lady.” And before you can tell him not to, that you’re alright, Patrick burst through the door, already reaching for his sword. Seeing you are merely sat in bed, his urgency leaves him, concern taking over. “Is there not a threat?” He observes, then, the state you are in. Dressed only in your thin, white nightgown (which has grown somewhat see-through on account of your nightmare induced sweat soaking through the fabric), Patrick is reduced to nothing but a mere man in love, forgetting himself entirely. Unbeknownst to you, he adjusts himself in his trousers, clearing his throat.

The room is illuminated only by the cold, pale light of the moon shining through your large paned windows. Shadows dance across his features as a breeze blows the trees outside steadily. He has never looked more beautiful. Both concern and lust play on his face, leaving you to squirm just a bit more than you normally would have under his gaze. Looking down then, you reply, embarrassed. “Forgive me for my foolishness. There is no present threat. I am sorry to have wasted your time and effort, good sir.” You bow your head in remorse. This on its own is a sign of you respect for the knight before you. Technically, he should be bowing to you, but under his gaze you feel so small, yet so regarded at the same time. It is unlike with any other man, though it is rare you interact with many often anyways. You lift your head, meeting his eyes again and feeling your stomach flip.

A pang of guilt runs through you as you realize you are noticeably smiling at him. Despite his nobility, you believe the two of you would never be. The only way your union: emotional, physical, spiritual, or (more officially) marital would ever occur would be if your father willed it. And though Sir Patrick was your father’s right hand man, it was the relationship of that of an employer and his best employee, not that of father and son nor of old companions.

Your smile dropped and so did his. He knew what he was doing, his silent, unspoken, but clear pursuit of you ever since that fateful night was wrong. But he did not care. He had no regard for his own life or death, he was a knight, after all. He risked himself for this kingdom, he would be willing to risk himself for you. He brought a hand up, cupping your face in his large palm, and offering you a sorry smile. “To defend you, threat or no threat, is my life’s honor, m’lady. You have wasted nothing of mine.” His hand brushed your ear as he tucked your hair behind it. Seeing you with your hair down for the first time was something entirely new to him, similar to when you first saw him shirtless that night. In typical court fashion, you would never leave your chambers with your hair fully down. Seeing you so bare, so honest, and unadorned felt novelty. He was grateful for his wit, being able to convince the King that he should serve you personally.

You, however, were so deeply conflicted. You knew better. Your station in society as well as in life did not allow for these endeavors. But your mind, you body, your heart…they longed for your knight in shining armor. His touch, though somewhat chaste, only holding your head in his hands, felt deeply intimate. You considered your options. “Sir, might I ask your discretion in asking a favor?” Your felt fearful of your own desires, but conjured up as much confidence as possible.

“Always, m’lady.”

You tugged your bottom lip into your mouth for a moment, before continuing. “M- might you…kiss me?” It was hard to maintain your composure, overcome with shame as you looked up pleadingly into his eyes. It was only the two of you in your bedchamber, the door closed —yet another forbidden thing.

Softening, a smirk gracing his features, he sighed. “I would be a fool not to.” This was exactly what he had been wanting since he first saw a portrait of you. The strength required of his position kept his feelings concealed, but in this one, small moment alone with you, he could reveal them. He leaned in slowly, closing the gap between you as his lips move against yours feverishly. You can feel his tongue dart out and wet your bottom lip, but you pull away quickly before he is able to deepen the kiss.

“I am sorry. This is…” you search for the words, not wanting to be so harsh but wanting to be clear. “This is sinful.” Your eyes meet his, pleading for him to offer you a reprieve from your consuming feelings by distancing himself. Though, that twinkle behind your eyes and in the corner of your lips betrayed you. He could see you had fallen for him the same as he for you.

He takes a seat next to you on your bed, looking into your eyes earnestly. “If I it is a sin to touch you, I would become a sinner every day till I am dragged to hell, should you allow me?” He was begging you to let him touch you, feel you, love you. And who would you be to deny him?

You were quiet for a moment, considering your fate and whether or not you would be able to find absolution after giving in. Throwing caution to the wind, you allow yourself, for once, to make your own decisions. "Please, good sir. Touch me. Take me, for I am all yours."

He wasted no time, leaning in to kiss you, his armor clanging against itself as he did so. The kiss was passionate, the years of admiring you from afar being poured out in this one moment. Breaking the kiss, suddenly, he stood, leaving you confused until he began swiftly removing his armor. He made sure to set each piece down gently, so as not to alert and servants lingering nearby of his presence in your chambers. You tried to stifle your smile as his form was revealed more and more with each layer of metal gone. It was new and exciting, and his gentleness despite his clear eagerness was unbelievably admirable.

Once he had removed it all, clad only in a white linen undershirt and trousers, he returned to your bed, leaning over you and pulling you into another deep kiss. This time, he slipped his tongue into your mouth, licking softly into it, his nose brushing against your cheek as he pressed closer into you, as if he longed for your two bodies to be one. It was impossible to be any closer, but you did not mind one bit. Though timid at first, your kisses matched his fervor. You could feel his calloused hand combing through your hair as his other snuck lower, carressing you through your nightgown. You let out a shivered breath at his touch.

"Is this alright, my lady?" He pulled back, looking into your eyes longingly. God, forgive you, but you needed this so badly. You both did.

You nodded, lifting your hips to gather your nightgown up and off of you, casting it aside carelessly. Now, you really felt exposed. But something about Patrick made you want to feel honest; made you want to seek pleasure shamelessly. His eyes widened in tandem with his smirk. He was so pleased and so in love.

"I've never...I-...I'm a virgin," you admitted, looking up at him through your thick lashes. His smile only widened, but not in some sort of sick, smarmy way. It was genuine and kind.

"Oh, I know, your highness. Or...I imagined as much. Not to worry, I am well aware of how to please a woman," he spoke softly, trying not to intimidate you. You would have taken offense at his mention of his previous experience, but you had imagined he was experienced in the first place, as many men and knights of his age are by now. It is different for you, a princess, always expected to remain pure. With him, you did not fear impurity after this. You felt strongly that you would steadfast remain pure in his eyes till the end of time.

He leaned in again, placing hot kisses along your neck. He moved to remove his trousers as he did so, working at the string that held them up quickly. As he did so, your fingers found their way to the tie that held his shirt together, pulling at the string with a new confidence, you brought your hands to the hem and he pulled away from your neck to remove his shirt. Both his bandages and bruises were gone, a good sign, but there was a scar where he had been scratched, a reminder of your previous encounter.

His trousers finally hanging low around his legs, he teased himself around your entrance, causing you to jolt and whimper beneath him. The feeling was entirely foreign but oh so enchanting. He reached a hand down, running his fingers through your folds, smirking at the wetness that gathered on his fingers. "You are like the Lady of The Lake...beautiful, otherworldly, and so, so wet..." Patrick murmured lustfully. It was such a dirty compliment, but you were so deeply moved.

Like your dream, you were both under your layers upon layers of white sheets, so warm, close, and intimate. His fingers danced around your clit, circling it at an agonizingly slow pace. You gasped, sucking in a breath quickly and biting your lip so as not to make any more sound. He did not miss this, leaning in to peck you on the lips before reminding you "The walls are stone, the door thick oak and iron. We should be cautious, yes, but you mustn't be embarrassed to make a sound. It is better, in fact, if you do."

His reassurance brought a smile to your face as you dropped your lip from your teeth, a sign that you were allowing yourself the honesty you so craved with Patrick. He resumed his hand movements around your most sensitive spot, causing you to let out a symphony of high pitched gasps. His fingers moved away then, moving down and slipping inside of you, first one, then another. The stretch was unfamiliar and hurt a bit, something your scrunched eyebrows didn't hide, but he did not move them for a moment, allowing you to adjust. "All will be well," he cooed into your ear, lips brushing against your skin. "I just need to warm you up."

His fingers began to move, first only in and out at a steady pace, but soon replaced by him scissoring his fingers deep inside of you, your walls squuezing him tightly. "Good sir..." you sighed in pleasure.

"Patrick," he corrected. "You may call me by my God given name: Patrick."

"Patrick..." you sighed again as he quickened the pace of his fingers. To your surprise, though, he pulled his fingers out abruptly. You almost protested, but he swiftly replaced his fingers with his cock, pushing lightly at your entrance.

"May I," he asked, looking into you eyes unwaveringly.

"Please," you nearly moaned in response. He followed your request, sheathing himself inside of you slowly, allowing you time to adjust to the thickness and length that so differed from that of his fingers. He watched your reaction carefully, taking in the way your breath hitches and your eyes flutter shut, eyebrows knitting together in both pleasure and pain. You inhaled sharply as he bottoms out, feeling as if he was practically prodding at your stomach.

"Are you ready for me to move," he inquired, eyes lidded and breathing already heavy in awe of you beneath him.

Looking up at him then, as if he were an angel or possibly some type of temptation sent by the devil that you had so easily fallen for, like Eve and the apple, you yearned to take a bite. "Patrick," it felt unfamiliar to address him so informally, but there was an undeniable intimacy in doing so as well. "If I should wait any longer it may kill me."

With that, he began moving, his pace quick but not agonizing, instead quite tender. You cried out, moans, sighs, and gasps leaving your lips repeatedly as his hips met yours time and time again. His gaze didn't leave yours, except when he would close his eyes, losing himself in a particularly deep thrust. His skin on yours was warm, a stark difference from your naturally cold body. "God, Princess, you are better than I've ever imagined."

The thought that he had imagined this with you made you feel elated, but you couldn't even bring yourself to offer a witty reply, overtaken by pleasure. "P- Patrick," you moaned, your whole body feeling hot suddenly. He quickened his pace just a bit, leaning in to suck at your neck as his other hand came up to toy with your hardened nipples. It felt so sinful but so perfect and right. How could something this good ever be wrong?

At his added touch, hips still pistoning in and out of you, it all felt like too much. Your stomach began to tighten, walls clenched tightly around him, bringing him to an almost sorry state as his jaw went slack, eyes closing suddenly and his thrusts becoming sloppier. It was impossible to restrain yourself as your hips began bucking up to meet his. "Please, please, please," you didn't even know what you were asking for but you knew you needed it.

"I'm there too, Princess. Come on, let's finish together..." he moved his hand from your chest to you clit, rubbing swift circles as he slammed his hips into yours. Pleasure finally overtook you entirely as you fluttered around him, body stiffening and falling weak as you reach your high. He pulled out of you quickly, his hand moving to finish himself off lazily on your stomach through stifled grunts. When you were both completely spent, he momentarily laid next to you in bed, both of you looking up at the grand vaulted ceilings of your bedchambers.

"Thank you, Patrick, for showing me a kindness I should never know how to repay," you whisper softly. He sits up slightly, turning to you and offering a chaste kiss to your cheek.

"You should never have to 'repay' me. After all, I live to serve you, my dear Princess."

[olivialivvy17]

Racing to the beat - Daniel Ricciardo³

summary: Daniel gets a new teammate in VCRB, a F2 female championship winner for the 2025 season. What he didn't expect was her to be extremely genz and a kpop fan.

pairing: fem rookie driver!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

AU: Social media!AU and Written!AU

warnings: mentions of anxiety, swearing, use of yn, hate comments, reader is 25.

face claim: Amna Al Qubaisi for professional f1 photos, the rest are from pinterest.

wc: 837

a/n: hi guyssss. okay most of the details in the first part may not be accurate. I tried describing the way I saw it on the singapore gp '24 (dannys last race </3). so yeah pls forgive me for that. okay enjoy and I love youuuu <33

part three <prev. next>

Hands trembling as you sit up from the car seat, knees buckling trying to carefully step out the sizzling car. Taking the polite mechanic's hand to stabilize yourself as your other foot lands on the hard concrete of Parc Ferme. With quivering fingers, you snatch off the gloves from your clammy hands, stuffing them into the race suit pockets.

In the background fireworks cracked and boomed, their echoes rolling across the sky like thunderous applause, but to your ears the sound was just a muffle as you took off the helmet that's been squeezing your face for the past two hours. Yanking off the white balaclava and finally taking in a deep breath of unfortunately stuffy air. Taking the back of your hand and wiping off the sweat that's formed on your hairline and eyebrows, fixing blindly any flyaways that might have formed. 

After taking a moment to fix yourself up and come down from the high a bit, you finally look around to take in your surroundings. Seeing many mechanics bustling around the cars that arrived before you, the colorfully lit up podium with the race winners and the screaming and thrilled fans on the side. Pulling you out the adrenaline clouded mind was the sound of Kimis voice.

“You did so well!” Kimi exclaimed in excitement as he wrapped his arms around you while holding his helmet

Encircling your own arms around him and giving his back a couple of pats, “You did amazing too! I'm honestly so proud of us” you told him in a triumphant tone. 

Kimi has been by your side throughout all of your F3 and F2 days. Even though he’s younger than you, he always treated your friendship like you were his peer. Sure you did treat him a little bit like he was your little brother, but never to the point of babying him so much. Kimi is a spectacular driver and you always make sure to show him that.

Walking side by side, you two made your way away from the cars. Waving and saying ‘Congrats’ or ‘Good race’ to other drivers, all with a polite smile. While unzipping your track suit, desperate to have it peeled off your overheating body, your eyes land on the back of a familiar curly headed man. Excusing yourself to Kimi and telling him you’ll find him later, you saunter to the Honey Badger.

Gently placing your hand on his back as you approached him, “Great race Danny” you follow with a proud smile as you stand by him, body turned fully to him.

Your praise was met with one of those Daniel smiles. Ear to ear, pearly whites on display as his eyes crinkled like the delicate folds of a butterfly’s wings, soft and tender. His raw, bright energy wraps around your heart and mind like a breath of fresh air. Making all the worries and doubts dissipate effortlessly. 

“You were remarkable Yn”, he lauded as his hand comfortably made its way to your shoulder “I told you everything is gonna go well”

You nodded softly in agreement, “Yeah you were right.” as a quiet chuckle leaves your lips “Although I was shaking a little as I exited the car, I guess that's just adrenaline.”

Just as Daniel was about to say something, he was interrupted by a supervisor that informed you both had to go and give the post race interviews. Scurrying you off the paddock and to the little interview area.

“Hold me back if they start asking some ridiculous or sexist questions, because I swear I’ll swing” you said half jokingly, but it was obvious you were more serious.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly “I got you, don’t worry. I might swing before you do”

You snorted in response as you approached the interviewer– Lawrence Barreto. That's when the nerves crept back up. Okay, yeah its valid to be anxious about being interviewed for the first time in formula one– you tell yourself. All you have to do is not embarrass yourself by saying something stupid. 

“Yn! Welcome and congrats on a fantastic first F1 race!” Lawrence exclaimed in that journalist voice, while you fidget with your awfully damp hands “How does it feel?” he asks, putting the microphone to your lips

“Uuhh well it’s definitely a lot” you chuckle sheepishly “but it’s such an ecstatic feeling. Being able to race side by side with so many talented and experienced drivers. Driving the same track as the championship winners, I’m truly so grateful and thankful to be here today and to have the opportunity to show the world that hard work, skill and dreams don’t know gender. That with enough passion and strength you can achieve anything you put your mind to”, finishing your honest and heartfelt answer with a beaming smile. Feeling the way your heart hammered against your ribs, like it wants to rip through your chest.

What you didn’t notice was the way Daniel beamed with pride as he watched you give the statement.

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ynusername thank you Australia! first race and omg it was thrilling! (thank you Danny for the encouraging words🫶🏻🥹)

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bestfriend THATS MY GIRLLLLLLL🫶🏻🫶🏻❤️❤️

user19 mhm, yeah mother ate 🙂‍↕️☝🏻

user20 I was literally screaming every time her car came up on the screen

kimi.antonelli my big sis🥹

ynusername stop I'm gonna cry😭

user2 they are so siblings, I love them

user21 oh I know Yn babies him

kimi.antonelli she does...

ynusername correct because you're still just a baby

alex_albon yeah kimi, you're still a baby

ynusername thank you Alex🙏🏻

jackdoohan Congrats Yn! ❤️

ynusername we did so well 🙏🏻🫶🏻

visacashapprb Very proud of our rookie!

ynusername thank you team for putting up with my singing while practicing (ik yall enjoyed it)

user22 I dare you to fuck up her car. I will unleash my wrath upon you

user23 I just know Yns team has so much fun with her

danielricciardo 🤍🤍🤍

ynusername 🤍🤍🤍

ynusername posted a story

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liked by lando, alex_albon and others

ynusername you guys these parties are not for the faint of heart (I don't remember going back to the hotel) :p

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alex_albon mate you were gone gone

ynusername im so gonna get bullied by the whole grid, aren't I? 😭

georgerussell63 oh yes rookie, I have so much blackmail material

ynusername this is not fair

lando I made the cut, let's goooooooo

ynusername thanks for putting on good music :3

lando always at service 🫡

user24 THE TOTO PIC, LITERALLY DIED

user25 forever grateful for drunk yn posting that

user26 okay body and hair tea😩

danielricciardo Kimi and I safely delivered you to your hotel room

kimi.antonelli I can confirm, you almost lost your heels out the club

ynusername thank you my pookies 🫶🏻 drunk me is very thankful

user27 oh to have such caring friends 😔

[jcollinswrites]

What does Narmer whisper in Nefru's ear? I think i may have an inkling on what it is but i wanted to hear from you, if it's not too spoilery ofc.

Unfortunately, it is 🤐 But if you read what's out on patreon from Chapter 4, you might get an idea.

That entire scene from Narmer's point of view is already written in my extra file, and it also includes the beginning of the argument that the MC didn't see. I will not let you read that until AFTER you are already locked into Narmer's romance route though, maybe in Chapter 5 or something. And only people on Narmer's route will learn about it.

So, if you plan to romance him, then you'll just have to wait and see 🙂‍↕️ If you don't, then it will forever remain a mystery ✨

[merbear25]

can you write a small drabble for aokiji with a f! reader? maybe something relating to his love for women with big bazoongas and reader is rather... well endowed... (SORRY IF THIS IS A LITTLE ODD)

It's not odd at all! I hope you like what I've written for you! 💜💜

You were oblivious to your secret admirer. His longing gaze took its time breaking through that haze you were in. With an instant connection forming, you went against your better judgement to see how brightly these embers could burn. You were left wondering why it’d taken you so long to notice him.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, perversion, breast fondling and sucking, a bit of body worship, teasing, reader is a part of Blackbeard’s crew

Much needed attention (Aokiji)

Couldn’t there have been a different alignment of the stars you’d found yourselves under? Meeting under these circumstances was far from favorable, and yet here you were on board the same deck as him, both contributing to Blackbeard’s greed.

You were a captivating creature; there was no denying that. His eyes found you long before you even noticed him. Not giving him the time of day at the beginning, he chalked it up to you drowning in your workload. That wouldn’t do, though. An alluring woman such as yourself should be given only the greatest pleasures in life. 

His eyes lingered on your chest. Even from afar, the gentle rises and falls were evident from the subtle shake of your breasts. Despite your attention being directed elsewhere, a shiver ran down your spine, averting it away from your task. Your eyes scanned the area for only a moment before they laid on Aokiji. They fixated on him, combing over his laid back demeanor. He propped his head up on his hand and gave you a half smile.

Having only noticed him for the first time and he already got you blushing. Your flustered mind was flooded with thoughts of him; questions of who he was, how long he’d been there, and where he came from raced laps on your now one track mind. You were so caught up in these newfound emotions that you were unaware of his approaching footsteps.

He leaned down, keeping enough distance to better judge your reaction to him. “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

The compliment took you off guard. The heat on your cheeks spread to the entirety of your face. “You can’t just be forward like that!” Your attempt to speak in a hushed voice was in vain.

He paused for a moment as if deeply considering your frantic words. “Why not? It’s just a fact. You’re beautiful and—”

“Shhh! Stop blurting that out!” Heart beating fast, the heat on your face burning, stumbling over your words: you couldn’t remember the last time anyone made you feel like this—out of control.

Snickering crept up from behind you, making the situation you were naive to ignore become reality. The sinking in your chest made those delicate movements more prominent. Without meaning to, you were making yourself out to be that much more ravishing. The temptation to be the one to comfort and soothe you was nearly too much to bear.

“You don’t need to listen to them.” Offering his hand, his whisper wrapped those warm words tightly around you. Taking his hand, you followed him to a more private area where you could explore these sparks flaring between you.

In closer proximity, you got a better look at the details on his body. Even under his layers, there was no mistaking the muscle underneath.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

Despite his nonchalant tone being something to get used to, you nodded in response. Resting your hands upon the fabric, your fingers memorized the feel of it. He reached up to undo his shirt, while his eyes never left your expression. There was a clear arousal in it, no matter how much you may have tried to deny.

Hesitantly at first, your touch soon roamed his chest with a deep hunger that hadn’t been satisfied for a long time. The need in your expression was obvious, practically begging him to reach out and touch you. When he cupped your breasts, a shaky breath came out of both of you in unison. Even while in his sizable hands, your breasts managed to dwarf them. Their softness, the sweet sounds you made when he played with them, the feeling of your nipples hardening from increasing arousal: you truly were a sight to behold.

Soft kisses found your neck. Gasps and moans passed your lips as he traveled further down your body. Kneading your breasts more roughly, he managed to squeeze out a few needy pleas. He buried his face between your breasts, carefully rubbing your erect nipples between his fingers as he bounced them against his face. Your hips began moving back and forth slowly, tempting him to go further with you. A low groan vibrated against your chest before letting you see the burning desire in his eyes.

Leaving a trail of heat in their wake, his lips finally found their way to one of your nipples. A firm suck on it was promptly followed by a lathering tongue—flicking at it to coax out each delightful moan you could muster. The hunger within you was growing ravenous, but his was just as famished. 

Pulling you closer, he firmly held you in place as if expecting a specific reaction out of you. His other hand slid up your skirt and was greeted by the arousal pooling in your panties. Breathless moans bathed your bear chest as his fingers ran over your clothed slickness.

The soaked fabric twisting around his fingers left the friction against your clit that much more unbearable. There was no stopping the cascade of blissful moans and whimpers. You rutted against him, desperate for him to be the one to commit to breaking your dry spell. Each deliberate motion from him played your body more skillfully than he could have ever imagined. Plucking the strings to the fine instrument of your ecstasy threw you into an ascending melody of euphoria.

A cooling sensation tickled your breasts the more you moved in his arms. Pinning you against him, that hot wet tongue of his was now leaving a slight chill against your sensitive skin. Your pants grew needier and your gasps turned into grunts as your senses were under attack in the more erotic way you could have dreamed of.

With just a few more tactful brushes between your sensitive folds, you cried out for him while he pushed you through your climax. The pool between your thighs was coating his hand, tethering him to you with a thin elastic string. He caressed your hips tenderly, and while his lips trailed back up to your neck, they showered your breasts with the affection they were just left absent of.

Calls from up deck indicated the arrival to shore. Being pulled away from this intimate moment was done forcefully, although you knew that it wouldn’t be long before you’d be able to sneak away to finish what you had started.

[thefandomsfervent]

JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 24) - Raw Umber

Gala chapter coming soooon <3

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

not that I'm losing steam with this fic, but it has inpsired so many other things that i want to write too. Would y'all want other fics? I have other fics. Not written but they're up there. floating in my mind. This fic may enter a hiatus after a few more chapters so I can start other projects. Stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3 These aren't beta read, didn't really edit this one. May fix it up later this upcoming week <3

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You had shocked yourself saying you’d go, the heat of the moment and your own thoughts getting to you. Even more shocked when it seemed like Viktor had changed his mind on going a couple days after. A few days have passed since then.

Piltover lived for its socialite opportunities. Parties, dinners, galas, events, parades, and even luncheons were ever present in the calendar year. You were well aware of the expectations set for each occasion, and of how lacking your wardrobe was for it. Now you have around two weeks to find suitable attire. That itself wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t just placed a supply order. Whatever funds you may have had for a new dress or jewelry would be shipped in the form of oil paints and new brushes. You had dresses from gallery showings at the Institute, some old faithfuls hung in the back of your closet. “One of them would have to do.” With that you try to push all the wandering thoughts away.  

You take in the empty lab. Jayce was gone today, helping out with the forge. And it was still early enough in the day that Viktor was still recovering from whatever late night musings kept him up. No time to waste then. Despite it feeling like Spring had just started, Summer was looming above. And that meant that Autumn and Winter would follow suit. Your paints were drying fairly quickly in the heat but on humid rainy days it would set you back days, and the winter cold would mean that it may take a week for layers to dry. Today was a perfect day, the air was still and warm. Your washes of color didn’t take long at all to settle on the canvas. Purple, yellow, green, pink. Thin layers to color skin, thicker strokes of pale and tan flesh, blocking out arms and hands. Their faces were still unpainted, focusing on their hands and their clothes.

When it came time to finally realize their faces on the canvas, you wanted to make sure you’d be uninterrupted. You were considering even taking the whole painting back to your studio to work on it then. That would be then, and this was now. 

Right now you were in your element, breaking it all down into colors and shapes. Hands were easiest to deal with when you weren’t stuck on making them be hands, but connected shapes. Shapes can be shaded for depth, definition given with the context of what was around them. Long fingers were broken down into rectangles and rounded corners, diagonal angles and warm tones. Shifting between tinges of blue and green, purple and yellow. Red and Pink on knuckles, knuckles were just cut circles. The meat of a hand was an oval, a trapezoid, barely there veins were carefully lined to curve into wrists. Shapes and colors could be attributed to many things. To create form. An image. To build something from the ground up whether that was two or three-dimensional. And it could show temperature. States of matter. Emotion. 

Warmth was soft, it could be an orange glow from a candle flame, it could be the plush lining of a jacket. It could be the way hands held their tools, held each other. It could be shown in the richness of all hues of the Academy outfits that needed detailing next. Trading a flat wash brush for a thin liner, switching gears to focus on the details of shirt cuffs. 

“Wow.” You jump, the paintbrush dropping to the ground with a clatter. It rolls away from your station and you turn to follow its trail. When it stops at a pair of black boots your eyes shift to the source of your startling. A familiar face and that gap toothed grin greeting you with a small wave.  

“Oh gods, Jayce” You turn back to the painting. You’d gotten one hand done for each of them, where they were in a neutral light between the night and day sides of the work. 

“You’re easy to scare. Have you ever noticed that?” He says it with a laugh, he sounds tired. His steps are slow and heavy behind you. 

“Maybe I’m too busy getting scared to see the pattern.” The words come out in a huff, but you smile in thanks when he hands you the paintbrush over your shoulder. Now that you’ve settled you’re able to focus. Oh, well now your heart was beating too fast for an entirely different reason. You’d seen him come back before, sweaty brow and his clothes covered in soot. But this was… different. “I thought you were working at the Forge today?” The paintbrush in your hand gestures to his attire, and lack thereof. 

Same black boots being the only familiar attire to you. Brown pants that were similar to the Academy uniform. A brace-like toolbelt hugging his waist tightly. And then, nothing. No shirt. Just soot-splotches on skin and those elbow high gloves. His hair is tousled in a way you haven’t seen before, sticky to his forehead. You weren’t sure how far the forge was, but you were wondering how far he had to walk to get here. Run even, if he was as tired as you thought. 

“I was! But then I had an idea for Hextech and-” His eyes look around the lab. “Viktor isn’t in yet?” You don’t miss the slump in his shoulders, despite how small it was. A shake of the head is all you can give him, trying to catch your words, and make your eyes stay on his face. Having drawn him for as long as you had, you knew his proportions were insane. But this was just rude. The difference between his shoulders and his waist, especially with that belt on, was insane. You could probably pass off any lingering stares with that excuse. If it weren’t for the blush that you felt warming your cheeks. 

“You wouldn’t want to lose track of it. He’ll be here eventually.” You try to keep your voice even while gesturing to the chalkboard behind them, Viktor had cleared it sometime last night after copying down notes. A whole space for Jayce to work on. He smiles before clapping a gloved hand on your shoulder. It was heavier than usual, the insulated leather a thick press. The smell of oil and charcoal was not foreign to you, but they looked different here. Smelt different on him. He’s already going to the board, taking the gloves off to reveal a stark line of dirt and skin. 

“This cannot be fair.” A reward and a punishment dangling in front of you. Self indulgent stares at his broad back or returning to the bliss of full force work. Jayce seemed to be doing the latter, books propped open on the ledge for reference. The soft scraping of chalk on the board and excited mutterings, circles and lines, runes and words, arrows and numbers. In the span of maybe 10 minutes he had filled half the board with words you couldn’t quite decipher. As he reached across to scribble his theories the skin of his back was pulled taut, the muscles there were defined. Visible. A part of you wonders how they would feel under your fingertips, the movement and the power. Another part of you wishes you were bold enough to ask to draw him. Not that you couldn’t now, but for a real figure study. His physique was an anatomical study dream. 

Enough ogling. Jayce was working, deeply and with vigor. You should be doing the same. The cuffs needed some detailing, even if it was not nearly as entertaining. 

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Admittedly, Jayce did want to go to the gala. There were many days that he wanted to be at the lab or the forge or his bed more than anything else, but when you first came here Heimerdinger mentioned something that Jayce couldn’t let go. “You boys will be doing more dinners and speeches and galas and the like. It comes with the territory.” Anxiety was a feeling he wasn’t unfamiliar with. The thought of having to watch every interaction he makes? Every decision? It filled him with dread. This may be one of the last times he and Viktor could go out, and now as a couple, without too many prying eyes. The idea only became more enticing when you said that you’d like to go. Imagining you in some delicious draping gown, or would you prefer a tighter dress that revealed your thighs and arms? The sight of you and Viktor both in finery that daily wear didn’t require might make his heart beat out of his chest. An energy he would gladly redirect to more physical work. 

There was something about the Forge that relaxed him. A completely different process from the equations of the lab. Helping out in the Forge was easy because the team there knew he was skilled enough to handle almost anything that they could throw at him. It was especially helpful during Holiday seasons. Things were slow at the Academy and he would grow restless with nothing to do. Making gifts and construction orders was an easy way to stay busy. Today Jayce started out on a bulk order, early enough in the day that there weren’t many people there. It quickly devolved into new prototypes for the lab, and that turned into thinking about the lab. About Hextech. In his own station there was no paper to write down on. He was able to stave off some of the racing thoughts by stealing the back of old order papers, but eventually there was no more room in the margins. And before he knew it he was running across Piltover desperate to cling onto the ideas in his head before he lost them. 

Practically bursting into the lab, eyes wide, holding on to several quickly loosening mental threads. The chalkboard was empty. Good! Great! An empty base, more movement, no need to turn pages that filled too quickly and then having to flip back for references. In the lab there was also you, working on your painting. The morning light filtering through the window, you were hunched in a position that could not be comfortable. He walks closer. Eyes laser-focused onto the canvas in front of you, hand slowly moving across the hands you were bringing to life. You looked intense and gentle, a soft smile on your lips. Humming some tune he didn’t recognize. He didn’t mean to speak, but the moment was so unique. Often there was not an opportunity to admire you without your noticing, without flustering you. 

Suddenly you whorl around, your paintbrush on the ground. All the stillness is catching up to Jayce, he’s tired. Having pushed himself at the Forge, pushed himself to run, and now? Now he needed to work. Viktor may not be there to bounce ideas off of but he could work without his partner for now. Still, he catches your eyes and blush. He is no stranger to being stared at. It fluffs up his ego for a minute, and if he wasn’t so ready to get to work he would have gladly pushed the moment. Seen if he could get you to admit what you were looking at. If you were looking for anything. Now is not the time for distractions, as delicious as they may be. 

Jayce moves his attention to the board.

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--.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 23.-Next Part will be linked here.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .--

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[wizardlover124]

dirk the character

dirk's core motivations come from being inadequate. on one hand it's because he's not enough his friends-- he's too neurotic, he's too emotional, but he loves them to death (as he literally says about roxy) and would give anything for them to enjoy talking to him. on the other hand—and this is what this meta will mostly focus on—he's inadequate compared to his older bro (alpha dave). to dirk, alpha dave cannot be a real person-- he's more akin to a fictional character, a completed NARRATIVE. alpha dave made a space for himself in the world-- he was massively successful, had fans, and orchestrated massive plots to fight the condesce all while carving his own creative niche in the world. most importantly, he was the only source of guidance as to "what to be" dirk had.

by definition dirk cannot access any flaws a!dave might have had, because he didn't-- in a well-written story, any flaw is only part of the "character," and it's not like dirk ever really knew a!dave anyway. i think he adopted this mindset for himself and too began viewing his entire life as a story, in which he's a character and not a person. partially because it literally is— alpha dave prepared this apartment for dirk because dirk was destined for something greater, e.g. sburb, and dirk spent sixteen years waiting for his own story to begin. but there's one critical problem here. dirk cannot be enough compared to alpha dave. alpha dave is an IDEAL dirk constantly measures himself up to and at every turn fails-- suddenly, when he's trying to place himself in the hero role he thinks a!dave had, nothing he does is adequate. even normal human flaws become akin to sin. his interactions with his friends just remind him of that-- he can't live up to roxy's desire, he can't seem to get jake to love him, and this complicates things with jane too. he doesn't think he'll be enough—not for his friends, and not for the story that lays ahead of him.

his solution is to turn to the machine. he creates the autoresponder, thinking that is the most "ideal" version of himself—the character that he's been waiting for—and has it talk to his friends instead. but this doesn't work either. if hal is the perfect version of himself, then what use does dirk have in the world? plus, he's completely fucking insufferable-- does that mean dirk is, even at his best, awful? if hal ISN'T the perfect version of himself, that means that dirk's best solution-- the one he's been trying at since he realized this flaw--the machine fails.

dirk spends the rest of sburb, at least i like to think, unlearning some of these ideas. he meets dave in person. he has long conversations with his friends (also in person!) who he . he spends time deconstructing himself as a character and as a person instead.

which brings the real point of this essay: ultimate dirk.

postcanon dirk, who did ALL THAT, learns that actually he was CORRECT— there's been an audience watching him and all his failures this entire time—he IS a character, and so far he's been almost utterly meaningless. he doesn't fight the condesce. he gets decapitated thrice. he fails to save the game over timeline. the one thing he tangibly does, unite synchronization, is barely done by him (arguably hal). this realization undoes every piece of character growth that may or may not have happened. and now his timeline is thrust into irrelevance, precisely because this audience no longer cares about postcanon. so he takes up the role he thinks he was always meant to—he becomes a character. and because he's failed his entire life in becoming the hero, he opts to become a villain—the way he knows that beta dirk, his "previous" version, was to dave—and puts dave in the hero position alpha dave was in before.

dirk is the worst version of himself when he, instead of actually TALKING to the people he's around, holes up into himself and interprets everything through his own narrative. this habit which he had to unlearn is both literally and meta-textually the fucking epilogues. which is also a creative work that he's trying to carve his own space in the world through. the epilogues are dirk's sbahj. dave's story is about leaving beta dirk's shadow, and dirk's story is about imitating alpha dave—still his only point of reference—still dirk's most coveted narrative. this is where his obsession with narrative and relevancy comes from and this is what fundamentally makes ult dirk compelling as a character to me!! anyway how are we doing

[downbadumu]

it's not like your head is an erogenous zone but more like it's cuz caleb's touching your head :)

cw: set in a vague au during a vague time because i can’t decide if this is canon compliant or an au, unhinged behaviour, caleb is his own warning (so be warned), something weird about having your hair washed (i swear im not weird), sexual tension (i hope), nothing happens though hehe, psuedocest, caleb’s definition of a gege/meimei dynamic, author hasn’t written in a while so bear with me but like I had to get this out my nogging, not beta read + lowercase because im too lazy

word count: 1446

a/n: i'm now, once again, asking the lurkers of tumblr to hit up my askbox for requests so that i may be creative for the sake of my sanity

caleb’s never been a believer of the whole love language spiel; sure, he loves receiving gifts from you, hell, he has kept receipts you’ve unconsciously passed to him countless of times. yeah, hearing a simple praise from your mouth could send him into a spiral and have him cumming in his pants. but he’s so smitten with you anyways, there’s nothing you do or don’t do that he can’t love. and there’s nothing he won’t do for you.

so that’s why he’s standing right next to you as the lady from the salon is washing your hair despite being told that the wash area is restricted to customers getting the service only. it’s stupid because what do they think was going to happen? let you be by your lonesome at the back of a very public salon? absolutely not. it wasn’t anything a very charming smile couldn’t fix, however.

he knows you know that he’s watching you like a hawk despite his nonchalant stance and casual conversation. you’re talking about that new donut place that opened up last week a street away from the salon and how you’d like to visit it sometime soon so he offers to take you there once you’re done here. he chews on the inside of his cheek as he feels his blood wanting to rush down to his cock when you smile at his suggestion. god, you are just everything to him.

you’re probably trying to think of something else to say to fill the silence, but you’re starting to really relax into the scalp massage the hairdresser is giving you. his eyes expertly take in every miniscule movement of yours, from how you readjust yourself for the sake of your hairdresser’s ease (you really are a saint) to the tiny twitches, shudders and deep breaths you probably aren’t even aware of as she scratches your hairline that’s probably making your spine tingle. jealousy shoots through caleb like lighting and suddenly his laid-back smile wasn’t as easy to keep anymore. still, he scrutinises every movement of yours and the hairdresser’s, committing this too to his memory so that he can be the one that washes your hair next time.

he doesn’t make you wait long for it, though, he has your favourite haircare products ready to do the next time when your hair was due for a wash. your little squeal was worth the huge ulcer he bit into his cheek.

“i think the donuts weren’t that great,” you said.

“you like the ones from that shop by the train station don’t you?” he answered with a hum, eyes trailing your figure wrapped in nothing but a stupid towel. “they’re fresher.”

“yeah! they’re not actual donuts though,” you were sat in front of him on a small stool, hands fiddling with the conditioner bottle caleb put next to you when he sat down on his own stool. “bombolone.”

he hummed in acknowledgment while putting shampoo in your hair. “i could swing by and get them before coming back home tomorrow.”

you giggled coyly. “you’re the best, gege.”

“only for the you,” he countered.

caleb’s smiles grew as he watched you form a jab in your head but was quickly replaced by a pleasurable tingle that crawled up to your upper spine when he gently traced his fingers on your hairline. experimentally, he tapped his fingers lightly along it before scratching lightly at your scalp before transitioning back into a massage. he could practically feel the wheels in your head turning under his fingertips.

“i’ll get the mini ones, i heard they were doing a sale on a half a dozen,” he said cooly.

“mm,” you replied weakly, almost sounding like a moan, and caleb thought about biting another ulcer into his cheek.

he mimicked that hairdresser’s movements perfectly; it wasn’t hard to see what made your skin crawl with goosebumps and how your breathing hitches at this distance. of course, he was better than her, he knew your better than yourself, everything he does is tailored specifically to you.

“caleb,” you started as he ran his fingers from the top of your head to the back of your neck. he hummed, waiting for all the cogs to turn so you could form a coherent sentence.

he waited too long though, there was a chit in your voice when you said, “since when were you an expert at washing hair, huh? have you been washing someone else’s hair?”

he chuckled, fingers moving in quicker and harder succession to sparsely scratch at your scalp. something you seem to enjoy as another shudder runs through your body. “you doing good, meimei? you’re shivering a lot, is it getting cold?” he asked in fake sympathy.

“i’m fine,” you answered curtly, lips jutting out in a pout that he desperately has been wanting to bite away.

he doesn’t say anything else, because he’s too busy fighting his own shiver crawling up his spine. he’s happy when you’re happy, hurting when you’re sad, and livid when you’re upset. it’s natural that he takes pleasure in your pleasure. caleb’s fingers work expertly, alternating between light tapping, medium pressure circular motions, hard and too fast scratches that has you chewing your lips and balling your hands into fists. he relishes in the fact that your body relaxes at the familiar movements but you trying so hard to fight back your sighs.

really, he can’t help but get into it. besides, he has read something about scalp massages being good for your hair growth and stress relief and all sorts of good things he can’t conjure up now; every fibre of his being hyper fixated on you. it’s absolutely not his fault when he so gently tugs at the strands at the back of your neck to get your shivering body closer to his almost too warm one.

“fuck,” he almost doesn’t hear your curse. you’re getting a little too good at hiding things from him, he’ll have to fix that soon. not now though, he’s busy keeping a mental record of everything you’re trying to suppress as he glides his hands slippery from the suds down your thin beautiful neck for a massage. too busy to even think about the tightness in his pants.

lightly, slowly, delicately, his hands went back up from your shoulders, to the base of your neck, up the back of your head. one hand taps his way to the front of your head along your jaw while the other traced its way back up to the top of your head with light massages. too gentle, too fleeting, something he knew you’d hate, now that you would curse at him in your head for. he tilted your head back firmly, the sudden change in pressure made your suck in a breath. he was eager to drink in the look in your eyes but you had them screw shut. the thought of patting your cheek hard enough for you to glare up at him crossed his mind but it’s ok, next time.

caleb then picks up the showerhead that was filling up the tub. subtly, he tested the temperature before rinsing out the shampoo with deliberately slow movements. he needed you to feel every trickle of warm water. this time you couldn’t hold back your sigh.

“warm?” he asked, voice as parched as he was.

“yeah.”

“good,” he cooed, gently repositioning you so you’re leaning against one his thigh like a makeshift shampoo bowl. “you’re doing your hair mask today, no? i left the barley on the stove, so after this you’re on your own.”

your eyes snapped open, the spell breaking along with it. “what?! you can’t do things halfway, gege!”

with practise ease, he smiled down at your pleading eyes and flushed face. “you’ll be fine,” he crooned. “besides, you’ll be out in no time, you can have barley while you wait for the mask to do its thing.”

you pout again and he takes the opportunity to look while he reaches over you to grab your hair mask. “close your eyes,” he said, and you do. caleb doesn’t bother biting back his grin as he applied the mask on your hair.

he watched you try not to get used to his touches again, knowing he’s about to leave to your own devices. your eyebrows furrowed; hands balled into fists again but for a different reason. when he was done, he let you lay on his leg sulking as he washed off his hands, then he gently guided you back up into a sitting position, warm lips brushing against the tip of your cold ear.

“i’ll go heat up the barley for you.”

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 9

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist

din x f!reader (no physical descriptions, no use of y/n)

Chapter Summary: Exploring the Mines of Mandalore is a lot more dangerous than you expected.

WARNINGS: very graphic depictions of physical violence. Canon material to season three of the Mandalorian, SPOILERS, reader gets an injury, smutless, sorry everyone.

w/c- ~11k

a/n- if you read this on ao3, no the fuck you didn't. Reworked, slightly edited-- still unbetaed so all mistakes are on me.

Grogu sits in your lap while you look out of the front window of the cockpit. The child warbles softly and tucks himself into your robes. Din looks over at Grogu, and you now complete with black mechnosutures covering the three slashes on your face. You’re headed towards Mandalore, you can see it now. It’s covered in storm clouds and you can barely see the planet hiding beneath them.

“It looks scary, I know.” Din reaches and gives Grogu a squeeze. “It used to be green and beautiful once, when the songs were written. That’s Mandalore. The home-world of our people.” He tilts his helmet up to you know. “Every Mandalorian can trace their roots back to this planet…and the beskar mines deep within.” 

You keep looking out of the window at the dark planet in front of you. It’s heartbreaking knowing what the Empire did to it. 

“That’s where I grew up--n that moon.” Din points out the window to the right of Mandalore, “Concordia.”

Your head snaps to Din. “Wait. So if you grew up on Concordia… have you never been to Mandalore before? Is that why Bo-Katan told you where the mines were?” Din nods. “So…you don’t really know… where you’re going?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“No, I know where to go. You just said, ‘Bo-Katan told me.’” He says evenly.

Oh. Okay.

Not that it changes anything, you'll still walk through those flames down in the mines for Din if he needed you to. “That’s Kalevala. Where we went to see Bo-Katan herself.” Din points to the hyperspace map on the dash of the ship.

It’s further away from Mandalore than Concordia but still within the same system. 

“I like Bo-Katan.” You said suddenly as Din continued around Mandalore. “She seems nice.” Din chuckles when you say that. Why was that funny? What was so not nice about the woman that it made Din laugh? You eye him suspiciously. “What? Is she just being nice to me to make me look dumb or something?” Din snaps his head at you quickly.

“No. No, not at all. She doesn’t think you’re dumb. Quite impressed with you, actually.” He rasps from the Captain's seat.

What the fuck does that mean?

“Impressed with what!? I guess it's... nice that she thinks that, but I’ve barely met Bo-Katan. We’ve said maybe ten words to each other. How could she know?” You’ve now turned as well as you can in the co-captain seat, being strapped in and all. 

A loud groan escapes from the helmet. “I... might have talked about you,” Din says it like he doesn’t want to. Like it might have been something he took to his grave if you had never asked him about it. “While you were away. I may have mentioned that you were training with the Jedi and that I maybe…missed you. Wished to see you.”

Your jaw drops. “You said that to Bo-Katan?” Your word filter must be broken because the words come out before you can sift through them and pick them apart and make them sound less… dismayed that those words could come out of Din to another person. About you…

“We spent a lot of time together. We talked. It’s how the lightsaber was brought up. She searched for a saber made of beskar.” Din explains and your heart beats quickly in your chest.

Are you in love with Bo-Katan? She’s the one who suggested the beskar lightsaber? You’re a fool to think that she’d do anything with Din when she’s clearly in love with you too.

You stare at Din for a long time. “I’d like to be her friend. A real friend; I’ve only got you and now the two of them.” You look to Grogu in your lap and R5 who has seated himself on the right of you, as far away from Din as he can possibly get. Din doesn’t say anything, he just keeps looking forward towards Mandalore. “What? Do you not want me to have friends?” You huff softly and look straight ahead as well. 

“Bo-Katan can be…intense.” Din said after a couple moments. “Intimidating. Even to me sometimes.” You look over to Din and shrug your shoulders. 

“I’m not scared of h-”

“ I never said I was scared of Bo-Katan.” Din interrupts you. “I said she was sometimes intimidating. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head at Din and roll your eyes. “Well, you’re intimidating. Maybe she’s just matching your energy. What would she even try to intimidate me for?” You turn your nose up to Din for not wanting you to have friends besides a robot and a green child. And himself but you’re mad at him now so you’re down to the two friends. Just the two. 

“You’d be surprised.” Din shakes his head at you as you begin your landing on Mandalore. 

“Surprised? She’s just a woman, Din. She might have beskar and a helmet but so do you and you don’t scare me.” You look over to him again and it's clear that he’s chuckling quietly under his helmet. 

“I surprise you though, don’t I?” Din turns his helmet to face you, still chuckling.

You don’t even have a response for him because he does. Every interaction with this man has left you surprised after. Every single one. 

“I’d like to have a slumber party with her, once we’ve explored Mandalore and you’ve taken your bath. I’d like to go.”

Din shakes his head at you.  “Not happening.”

Din presses some buttons on the dash and you watch, making sure to remember what he’s doing even if he doesn’t tell you.

Why doesn’t Din want you to have a best-friend that isn’t him? He is intimidated by Bo-Katan. Intimidated that you’ll want to hang out with her and spend time in her beautiful castle and sit in her fancy stone throne? He keeps you trapped on this hunk of metal soaring in the stars.

Okay... not really. You’re here completely of your own free will. Din would drop you off at Canto Bight tomorrow if you told him you wanted off. But you don’t. You love this ship and your three friends.

“We’ll see.” You snap as turbulence starts to make the ship shake. “I hate this part.” You close your eyes and hold onto Grogu tightly.

“Open your eyes. Watch what I’m doing.” Din starts flipping switches and pressing buttons. “This one stabilizes the ship’s thrusters so you stop shaking so much.” Din has his finger on a black button next to seven thousand other identical black buttons, he presses it and the ship starts to just vibrate instead of shake violently. 

“Okay.” You hold Grogu up so he can see what buttons Din’s touching on. “Can you see?” You look up to Grogu and he nods down at you. 

“This one drops the landing gear.” Din presses another button on the other side of the dash. The ship jolts twice as the landing gears drop down on both sides. “This one sets off the landing thrusters so that we don’t drop down at full speed.” Din presses that button and the whole ship jolts again and starts to rumble. “You remembering all of this?” Din asks, looking over at you.

“We might need to label them, but yeah. I got it.” You nod up at Din. He shakes his head. 

“No labels. You just know.” He looks back down at all the identical buttons on the dashboard he’s looking at. There are ten thousand screens and about twenty million buttons and the only thing that differentiates them is their colors. The three Din just pressed were all black. 

“How am I supposed to just know right from the jump? They all look exactly the same. How do you just know?” You almost sneer at Din because what does he expect from you? The closest you got to a cockpit before you knew him were the games at the arcade! You tell him this and he just shakes his head.

“You have to learn. That’s why I’m showing you.” Din motions his hands over all the buttons. “You’ll figure all this out. Don’t worry.” You sure will figure it out because you’re gonna label them. You’ll label them so good. You nod at him and flick your eyebrows up one time. 

“Oh, I’m gonna learn them. I sure will.”

Din tilts his helmet to the side. “I don’t know if I like the way you said that.” The ship touches down as Din finishes speaking and you un-clip yourself from the seat and hold Grogu close to you. Din places his hand on your lower back as he leads you into one of the weapon rooms of the ship. 

Din grabs his blaster pistol– an IB-94 you learned recently, off the wall and holsters it to his belt. Then he reaches for something you had never really paid attention to before, you thought it looked like the clip to one of his weapons or maybe even a small held hand taser gun version of the Amban–which was gone now, sadly– but Din grabs it off the wall and holds it in his hand. 

“Do you know what this is?” He asks, holding it out to you.

You take it in your hand and almost fall to the floor with it. Din takes Grogu from your arms and you hold the cool metal grip in your hand. You shake your head as you tinker with it, struggling to keep it in your hand because of its intense weight. Then you see a button.

Din has already taken several steps, still holding Grogu, and is covering the childs eyes. 

Pressing the button unleashes a white plasma blade shaped like a sword. It almost knocks you back into your ass, but the metal table behind you feels you upright as it skids across the floor noisily. You're forced to walk backwards with your lower back pressed against the cool edge of the table until it crashes into the wall.

You had never seen or held a lightsaber like this before. Why was it so much heavier than all of the others? It felt like it was buzzing in your hand, not vibrating softly like your own on your belt already. No. This one felt like you were holding a container of angry kouhun bugs in your hand; they were jumping and flipping around in there waiting to escape to come sting you and with their assassin venom. Kill you. This thing felt dangerous. 

“A darksaber." You sigh in dismay, holding it out in your hands away from you. It was like the thing was alive and had a mind of its own. So much power in your hands. “This is the darksaber that sliced your leg, isn’t it?” You glance over to Din, who is now standing in the hallway watching you from a distance with the child, his hand is still over his eyes. 

“What?” He calls out to you from the hall.

You roll your eyes and try to tame the power you're holding onto tightly but it is hard. It feels like what the lightsaber felt like when you held it for the first time back in the Jedi temple. Like there was something actually living inside; fighting back against your touch in your palm. Something that didn’t want to be there and was desperately trying to escape you.

“This is the darksaber that sliced your leg?” You hold it up and show him the blade while you shout at him.

He nods and lets his hand fall from the child’s face like he knows you’ve got control of it and aren’t going to slice your own legs off and traumatize Grogu.

“Who did it to you? Whose was this?” You can’t take your eyes off the blade. It’s white but you can see through it like it’s not a solid plasma blade like all the others. Like it’s hollow in the middle. It’s still buzzing and fighting against you in your hands. You use all the skills and mind calming techniques that Ahsoka taught you back in the temple… it doesn’t work. This thing is fucking crazy. 

“I did.” Din calls back from the hallway. You sheath the blade and stare at him as you hold just the grip in your hand now. “I don’t know how to use it very well. It’s like its…”

“Fighting you...” You finish his sentence.

He flicks his head to you and nods. “Yes. Fighting me.” 

“I’m honestly shocked you even still have your leg.” You set the darksaber down on the table behind you. “That thing is unlike anything I’ve ever held in my life.” You’re in awe of it.

No wonder they call it a darksaber, the thing felt evil… you felt a little evil after holding it. Like you could do something bad. “I don’t like it.” You wrinkle your nose at it after a moment of staring at it. 

“I’m shocked you could even hold it upright while it was on.” Din says as he walks back into the room now that it’s safe. “I try sometimes to work on it but it’s difficult. Less difficult than before, but not something I’d be able to use in a fight if I wanted to win.” Din looks down at you. “Maybe you could teach me.” 

Your jaw hits and dents the metal table you're in front of and you look up at him. 

“Me?” You hold your hand to your chest and look back at the darksaber on the table. “Teach you something?” You’re in complete shock. You’re not a dumb woman. You’re very smart and intellectual. A little conversation starved, yes, in desperate need of an interaction  with someone besides Din and the child and the droid. Still smart, still intellectual but there was not one thing you thought you knew that Din would be interested in learning from you. Now he’s asking you to help him conquer the darksaber. “I don’t even know how to use it.” You whisper up to him. 

“I’d let you work with it first. Figure it out yourself and then teach me. You’re more skilled with the sabers. I’m better with the blasting and flame throwing.” Din touches the pistol on his hip.

You’re still in shock. The fact that Din trusts you with this thing is an honor more than anything. When he met you a little over two years ago this thing in front of you would have sliced your legs right off. Now he wants you to show him how to use it. 

“Okay.” You trace your finger along the darksaber again. You think you feel it buzzing softly still and you take your hand away. “Okay. I’ll figure it out. I can do that.” You look up at Din who was waiting for your response. Din nods and places the darksaber back up on the wall.

Grogu looks at it and warbles. 

“No. I mean it. It’s too big for you now. One day maybe.” Din looks down at the child in his arms. “I mean it. No.” Din points his finger down at him and Grogu wraps the three clawed fingers around his gloves digit. “Ouch. I can see how he got you.” Din says, leaning in to look at the razorblades on the ends of Grogu's fingers. 

“It’s not too bad. He also didn’t mean it. He was just playing.” You give Grogu a couple of scratches along his ears and he sighs and closes his eyes. It makes you smirk. 

“He maimed you.” Din says flatly. 

“You said it wasn’t that bad!” You pull away and bring your hand to your cheek. “You said that when we left the medical center! You lied to me!? I didn’t think you could lie!” You back away from him two more paces and stop. Din cocks his head to the side like a charhound would if you shook some snacks in its face. He stares for a long time that way. 

“Why would I be unable to lie?” He’s so confused. You are too. You didn’t think he was capable of doing that, you don’t know why! Everything he says always just seems so innocent and honest!

“What else have you lied to me about!?” You point a finger at him. “Full of lies. Say I look fine and then say that I’m maimed. Which is it? Fine or maimed? Make up your mind.” You throw your hands up in exasperation and try to find a mirror but there isn’t one on this Maker forsaken ship. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, following you around as you try to find a flat metal surface to look into. You turn on your heel and storm over to Din. You stand in front of him and grab his helmet with both hands and pull his head down to yours so he’s level with you. Inspecting your mechnosutures in the face visor reflection. 

“I am maimed.” You let his helmet go and you sound downcast, like it’s really true and you don’t want to believe it. 

“You’ll be okay. I didn’t mean maimed.” Din puts his hand on your shoulder. “You’re still ner ad’ika ratiin .” Din says comfortingly. “Even with your evaar’la hokaanir aliik .” You hear Din stifle a laugh from under his helmet.

You frown and pull your shoulder away. “What does that mean?” You grumble. Furrowing your eyebrows at him. 

“I don’t want to tell you.” He clears his throat of the giggles and chuckles he’s hiding in there. “You won’t think it is funny.” Din reaches for your shoulder again. You glare at him. “New cut sigil. You can wear it proudly! They’re your battle scars!” Din tries to make up for laughing at his joke, but he’s trying not to laugh again.

You don’t even wait for him to get the last word out before your strong straight hand sneaks in between the beskar plate on his chest and the one on his shoulders and you jab into his pressure point. 

“New cut sigil .” You grumble as you turn to walk away. Din’s left laughing, holding his shoulder with his other hand. “Are you a comedian? Do you perform at the Canto Casino in the comedy lounge in the night after I’ve fallen asleep!?” It’s said while you throw your hands in the air. “I thought we had mines to go spelunk? You, wasting time making bad jokes.” 

“I thought it was a good one. Because you are fine. Still perfect and beau-” You hold your hand up to him as he follows you out of the weapons room. You don’t stop walking. 

“You don’t get to call me those things anymore.” You turn your nose up and walk faster. 

“Says who?” Din walks quickly, sounding shocked at what you’ve said. He tries to step in front of you but you side step him and he does the same thing. “Says who? Not my little one. No.” Din puts both hands on your shoulder. “You are perfect and beautiful and now… intimidating.” Din says it like he’s trying to convince you that it’s true.

It’s not. You think you look dumb.

“You look like a warrior.” Din whispers through the modulator. 

“I got scratched by a green baby.” You say flatly. You’re unimpressed with his attempts to make you less mad at him for his bad joke.

Din shakes his head. “No. You got these--" He rubs one gloved thumb gently across one of your mechnosutures, "...in the mines of Mandalore. Fighting alongside me.” Din says simply like it’s the truth. “We can lie.” 

You gasp loudly, glaring up at him. “You lie all the time, don’t you!? Just a big beskar wearing liar.” You huff.

Din chuckles softly like you’re the funniest thing on Mandalore right now.

He better watch out, you’re getting your hand ready for that special pressure point of his. 

“We need to send R5 out there before we can go.” Din says, ignoring you. “Will you talk to him? I don’t think he likes me much.”

“So, I know it looks scary out there. But you’re gonna be alright. You just need to go explore a little bit and then come right back and I’ll be right here waiting for you.” You point out of the window. The droid bloops slowly and sounds like he’s powering down. “No. Don’t go to sleep. We need your help. If you go out there and help us, when we all get back to the ship I’ll give you a good scrub and an oil bath? Does that sound nice?” You try and tempt the little droid to go out there like Din wants.

You’d rather go out there yourself then send your second son out there alone. 

R5 scans his little head to look out the window. He bloops once and the beeps, and then his little lights flash on the front of him. 

“Thank you.” You sigh. “Now go on and be careful. Hurry back to me, okay?”

Din’s watching from the doorway of the hull shaking his head. You walk back to him and Din shuts that door and then drops the ramp for the little guy. “You don’t have to talk to him like he’s a child.” Din says as the two of you watch him roll down the ramp.

You glare up at Din once again for the second time since you landed on Mandalore. “He’s like a child. He’s small and innocent and just wants to be scrubbed and bathed. Probably would like a snack if he could eat one. He is a child and I care for him.”

“You’ve known him for two days.” Din’s unimpressed with you. “I thought the Jedi didn’t get attached.” He tilts his helmet down to you when the droid rolls out of sight. You think it’s funny now when Din turns his head to look at you because you know that he doesn’t need to. His screen allows him to see you even though he’s looking straight ahead. He could see you like he was looking right into your eyes. 

“I knew the baby for two days and I cared for him.” You say matter of fact and look out the window and see that the droid is gone. “How long do we have to wait?” You ask Din impatiently. 

“C’mon. We can watch him on the scope in the cockpit. Din grabs your hand and leads you quickly to the dash and points at the radar screen. “Look, that little red dot is him–” He stops talking and keeps his head still and then speaks. 

“Don’t be a baby. Just take the samples and get back here.” Din says into the comms in his helmet. Then he goes back to pointing at the radar.

“Be nice to him! He’s doing you a favor.” You grumble and look at the screen Din is pointing too. 

“He’s doing what I bought him to do. Paid good credits.” Din shakes his head from behind you. He’s hovering over you and brings one hand to your ass to squeeze it gently and massage your flesh through your pants. Grogu babbles from the captain's chair and Din rips his hand away. 

“Yeah. Got distracted and forgot the kid was here.” You mock him teasingly. You do push your ass back into his hips though, the hard beskar presses back against you tightly as he grinds his hips into yours subtly. You watch R5 through the monitor. His little red dot is rolling right along and then it disappears. “Where did he go?” You ask, looking back at Din over your shoulder but the screens on the dash all start to dim and flash softly. 

“R5? Come in R5.” Din speaks into the comms of his helmet but he must get no response. You and Grogu watch Din with fear in both of your eyes. “He’ll be fine, it’s probably just interference.” He doesn’t say it convincingly enough for you or the child and you give Din a look. 

“A child Din. He’s like a child.” You’re not messing around. Din needs to go find your other son. 

“Ugh. Okay fine. I’ll pressurize my helmet and suit. You two sit tight.” Din leaves the cockpit and Grogu watches out of the windows as Din walks around to the front of the ship. 

“Are you okay?” You ask through the ships comms. He nods and you both hear the thunder rumbling in the distance. 

“The fusion– disrupted the– field around the planet. Down– on the surface–, you won’t be able to– with anyone– of the atmosphere. It sounds like it might be disrupting the– out here as well. Don’t—- if you can’t get in—with me. I’ll— back.” Din explains but he cuts out multiple times. You kind of get the grasp of what he’s trying to say and before you can say anything back to him he’s already walking away, out of sight behind a split in the rocks shooting up from the ground. 

Din is only gone for ten minutes maybe before you hear grunts and growls coming from the coms of the ship. They’re cut out but it doesn’t sound like Din was trying to talk to you, it just sounds like fighting and shouting and– blasting!? Din is using his blaster pistol already?

You feel so helpless because you don’t even have a suit– that lying sack of shit!

He never planned on bringing you into the mines! You don't had a suit to go with him! Din is a beskar wearing liar, and you’re mad at him-- But his sounds of distress coming through the com-link are stressing you out enough to make you forget your anger. 

“Din!?” You call out into the coms. He doesn’t respond, it's just more garbled noise and growls and grunts coming through the ship's speakers. “Din!? What is going on out there!?” He still never responds and eventually the comm cuts out completely and you’re left in complete silence.

You stand up and look out the window, waiting for him to come back. “Come on.” You whisper to yourself. Your hands grip the edge of the dash so hard you break two of your fingernails. “Come on .” It’s a plea for him to appear from behind the rocks. The coms never come back on.

Grogu babbles softly and is looking up at you with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

“Okay.” You sigh it out like you’re trying to make yourself believe that everything is going to be okay. You’re shaking because you don’t know what you’re going to do. You haven’t stopped looking out of the windows for Din but he never comes. “Please.” You whimper, the helpless feeling starts to grow inside of you. You swallow hard when the thought comes into your mind. “Okay.” 

You wait another ten minutes for Din to reappear from behind those rocks. You never take your eyes off them but nothing comes. Not even R5. 

“Okay.” You remove your shaking hands from the edge of the dash and pick up Grogu. You set him into the co-pilot's chair and strap him in. He gives you a questioning look. “We have to save your dad somehow, don’t we?” You ask him as your trembling fingers fumble with the clips and clamps. You have to slow down and breathe and kneel before Grogu. “I’m scared.” You whisper to him. “I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I just need you to trust me and help me if you can. Okay? Use the force if you have to but I need to get this ship off the surface and I need to call Bo-Katan.” Grogu warbles as if he’s trying to encourage you. 

The captain's chair feels different now as you strap into it. You look at all the buttons and try to replay what Din showed you when he explained how to take off. Your fingers glide over all the buttons carefully and you press the one in the top left corner and the ship starts to rumble as it always does when it starts up. You laugh, pleased with yourself and your still shaking hands move to the green button on the side of the dash. As you go to press it the child babbles happily from the seat beside you and you see Din and R5 walking from behind the rocks. You sigh and shut the ship back down. 

“Why was the ship on?” Din asks through the coms. 

“Because I thought you were dead!” You shout at him. “I heard all this commotion, and you didn’t answer me. I thought you were gone! I was going to get Bo-Katan’s help!” You snapped at him through the window. 

“I told you not to worry.” Din says as he gets closer. He looks up at you through the windows.

“And the atmosphere ?” You snark at him, remembering your lack of a suit and helmet. Din nods. 

“Breathable. R5 gave me a reading back in the cave. Are you ready?” Din asks, like he could sense that you had been doubting him, not trusting that he would do what he said.

You nod at him silently through the window.

"Okay then, I’ll drop the ramp.” Din starts towards the back of the ship and you grab Grogu, having to unstrap him, and set him in his floating orb as Din walks back onto the ship. 

“I’m glad you’re okay. You scared me.” You look up at him as he takes his place by your side. 

“I don’t want to bring you down there. But I told you I would. You need to listen to everything I tell you. Pay attention. Don’t stray from me. This is dangerous. More dangerous than pirates and Gorian Shard’s destroyer.” Din’s voice is serious.

You nod your head in understanding and not make any smart comments in fear he might leave you on the ship if you do.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The three of you– you made Din leave R5 back on the ship now that his job was done and he could take a nap while you guys explored. The cave's entrance was dark and it smelled awful.

“Do you not smell that?” You ask, covering your nose with your elbow. 

“Have your lightsaber ready.” Din ignores you, so you just follow his directions–like you’re not super fucking excited to possibly use your new lightsaber on someone.

Din takes one step in front of you and leads you into the mouth of the cave. Whatever Din had been fighting comes into view.

They're big, ogre looking type creatures-- and they fucking stink.

“Alamites.” Din explains when he sees you looking at one. 

“Did you bring the darksaber?” You ask, inspecting one of the trolls wounds. A cut that looks like it had been cauterized in places.

Din nods. “I was barely able to wield it.” He shakes his head in frustration. “Got the job done, though.” Din motions you forward. “You’re going to have to hold onto me tightly.” He says as he wraps his arm around your waist. 

“Why?” You ask, your head turned upwards looking at the huge dome top of the structure above you. It has holes and big open gaps from where the bombs fell so many years ago. Din holds onto you tightly and takes one step forward and you’re falling down. So far down. You cling to him, your arms around his neck and look down. 

“Oh my Maker.” You close your eyes and press your face into the crook of Din’s neck. You stop free falling and now, you’re slowly dropping through the air. The roar of Din’s jet-pack is deafening. 

“I really need my own helmet, and possibly my own jet-pack!” You yell into Din’s helmet.

He nods and keeps his grip around your waist as you two touch down onto the ground. Your feet search for the ground and they land on something metal. You step back from Din and your foot almost goes over the ledge you’re on, but Din reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into him. 

“The mines are further down there.” Din points to where you almost just fell to. “Please. Be. Careful.” Din grabs your waist again and you wrap your arms around his neck as he takes two steps off the ledge. 

“Hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it.” You grumble to yourself with your eyes still closed. The only good feeling about any of this is Din’s arm wrapped around you. It reminds you of sitting in his lap in the hotel room on Tatooine. That brings you good feelings and the next thing you know…your feet are wet and you’re standing in a muddy brown puddle. 

Din takes your hand and leads you forward. Everything down here is so big. You’ve never been in any mines before. You had no idea if this is how they all looked or just the ones on Mandalore. You trip twice because you’re not watching where you’re going.

“Wow.” You whisper in awe at the sheer size of everything around you. “I wonder what this place was like before the Empire got their fucking hands on it.” You can’t even control yourself in front of the child. What the Empire did to the people of Mandalore and the planet they lived on was disgusting. An atrocity. 

“Song worthy.” Din says simply like he’s thought about it before or maybe having the thought right now like you are. It is getting darker and harder to see now. Din turns the light in his helmet on and somehow the child also turns a light on from his floating orb. You’re stunned. 

“I didn’t know you could do that.” You look down at Grogu in amazement. “What other cool stuff does your bed do? I thought it just floated.” You cannot believe it and you can also not believe that you’re the only one without a light. You glance and Din and in a flat tone tell him once again, "I need my own helmet."

“We’ll work on it.” Din responds as he looks for a way to go. The three of you enter a dark room and Din holds his arm out to stop you. “Wait here.” Din takes a couple steps into the room and looks around. His helmet and light fall on something stuck under the dirt and dust. You watch as Din leans over and picks whatever he found up and once he unearths it, you see it’s a helmet just like his. It’s dusty and broken. You are hoping he doesn’t turn around and offer it to you like it’s another one of his bad jokes.  

Something rumbles beneath your feet and you take three steps back and Grogu stays beside you, following you. You’re suddenly lost in a cloud of dust as something shoots up from under the sand where you had just been standing. You press the button on your lightsaber and unsheathe the plasma blade. It purrs like a loth-cat in your hands. You can hear Din groaning and exclaiming in pain. 

“Din!” You call out into the dust but he doesn’t respond. A red circle of light appears in the dust at least ten for fifteen feet in the air. It looks like there is an…eye…moving behind the red illuminated lens. You squint your eyes but something dark and big is coming at you in the dust cloud. You hold up your lightsaber and block your body with it. A large metal claw comes barreling at you. You hold the saber up as hard as you can and the claw comes into contact with the scorching heat of the blade you’re holding. It retracts for just a moment. You use that second step towards it and bring the saber down hard onto the metal claw. The handle vibrates wildly in your hand when you slice through it. 

The cyborg-crab-spider-robot in front of you is visible now that the dust has settled. You see Din’s helmet peeking out of the chest cavity of the creature and take another step towards him, the lightsaber held over your head. You bring it down like an ax on to the cyborgs claw again, this time leaving a large melted gash in the metal. 

“Drop him!” You bring the saber now sideways, slicing across the gash you just made. You leave a large melted X in the metal of the claw. One of the six legs of the cyborg comes up high above your head and you look up at it for a moment. “Shit.”

It starts to come down on top of you but you dive to the right, away from the child. You roll over on to your back immediately and see him pulling the one leg from the ground and another leg, a new one comes up above your head and comes down fast. You scramble backwards quickly, the leg comes down hard and pierces the sand and whatever was below that between your knees. “You son of a bitch.” You look up at the cyborg's red eye who is pinned right on you. 

It’s claw is stuck now. He can’t pull it out. You point at the cyborg and stand while it struggles to free its stuck leg.

“” You swing the lightsaber at your side a couple of times in one hand, bring it to your chest, grip it tightly now in both hands, and with as much power as you can muster inside of you, bring it down sideways into the leg of the creature. You slice right through  metal and the remaining part of its leg comes free from the piece stuck into the ground. The creature lets out a screeching, mechanical scream and takes a stumbling step back. He never releases Din as he turns and scurries down the metal pipe you were all just walking down 

Grogu starts to babble and you look back at him. He’s pointing in the direction the cyborg just went. 

“What? You want me to follow it? I don’t think I can take that thing by myself.” You’re panting, watching the cyborg scurry further away.

You’re in shock. You cannot believe you just did that. Who are you? An actual warrior? The cyborg is out of sight now. You keep your plasma blade extended while you rest your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. 

Grogu starts to float after Din in his orb, babbling sadly. 

“Okay. We’ll go see what we’re up against at least before I go running for help, I guess,” you sigh and keep your lightsaber extended as you follow behind Grogu.

You’re careful where you step and laugh softly at your earlier thoughts about not having a light. You had one this whole time. This saber was brighter than the lights either of the boys had.

Grogu leads you down the dark metal pipe underneath the Civic Center of the city. Metallic scraping and electric ticking fills the air. You sheath your saber and Grogu stops, holding his arms up to you. 

Grogu and yourself carefully make your way into a large room like the one before but this one is filled with cages and chains and all sorts of other mechanical things you don’t know the name for. You and Grogu kneel behind a rock that’s shooting out of the ground. You’re higher up, on a ledge with maybe a two foot drop to the sand below in the room. You spot Din– he’s in one of the cages but this one is in the center of the room. The cyborg limps along before it rests behind a table. The eye in the center of the red illuminated circle disappears. A hatch opens on the top and a giant bug-like creature pokes its head out. It has multiple galls down the side and back of its body; sharp ones that look like they’d poke you real good if they got into you. 

The bug has long legs and lanky arms. It might be the scariest thing you’ve ever seen. You watch as it walks to Din and starts to disarm him, tossing his weapons on the ground carelessly. The darksaber gets thrown into the sand like it’s nothing. 

Grogu looks at you and you look back at him. 

“It’s too big for you.” You mouth to the child. He looks at the lightsaber that’s in your hand. You sigh quietly. Grogu is good with a saber, not as good as you but he can defend himself if needed. Not really great on the offense if you can remember correctly from one of your few sparring sessions with him at the temple. “I don’t know if I can even get it.” You mouth to him, pointing at the darksaber. 

Grogu closes his eyes and holds his little partially closed fist out and starts to concentrate. 

“Oh my Maker.” You can't believe it as you turn your head and watch as the darksaber starts to wiggle on the ground sightly. “No fucking way.” It’s all silently mouthed, so the bug doesn’t hear you.

The saber starts to wriggle a little more and then it’s being dragged across the ground. It stops at the bottom of the rock you two are sitting behind. “Up. Lift it up!” You mouth to the baby, motioning with your hands ‘up’, watching the darksaber flop on the ground. 

Grogu babbles at you in a whisper. You turn to him and plead quietly.

“I know it’s heavy but you need to lift it. Lift it up and I’ll grab it. We need to do it for Din.” You put a gentle hand on Grogu’s shoulder. “You can do it. You’re strong. Strong Grogu.” You encourage him and go back to peeking over the edge of the rock at the saber in the sand. “C’mon.” You whisper to Grogu. “So close.” It’s a strained whisper as you carefully and slowly start to reach for the weapon on the ground below you, it’s just out of your reach, flopping around in the sand. You’re fully exposed like this. If the bug were to turn around like it’s doing right now it would- shit. 

The bug sees you reaching for the saber on the ground and lets out a shriek of surprise. 

“Hi.” You wiggle your fingers at him as you let the rest of your body slide down the rock. The saber's in your hand already as you take a face and mouthful of sand. You somersault, unsheathing the blade as you land on your ass.

The bug is already coming at you. The darksaber pushes back against your hand like it’s being propelled in the opposite direction in which you're holding it.

“Knock it off!” You growl at it. Your own saber, the beskar lightsaber, the beautiful thing that Din gave you, gets tossed up behind your head. “Grogu, catch!” You yell over your shoulder as you grasp the darksaber in both hands now and drive it into the small lanky inside part of the thigh of the bug. It lets out another shriek, this time of pain and scrambles back towards its metal robotic spider. 

You spit out the rest of the sand that’s in your mouth and scramble on your hands as knees as you try to stand, following the bug quickly. 

“Oh no you don’t.” You bring the darksaber down hard where the bug just placed its hand. All of its fingers slide off of the limb they were attached to. “Yes!” You exclaim, looking at the blade of the darksaber. “C’mere,” you grunt, reaching with your free hand, grabbing the bug by its wounded, finger-less nub. You squeeze it as tightly as you can. The bug looks down at you, starting to chomp its angry and sharp teeth towards you.

You yank him down off the mechanical crab-spider-hybrid-robot-thing the bug was trying to crawl into. You bring the saber down on its arm as you’re still holding on to its wrist. The arm detaches in your hand and you throw it back at him angrily. The gross insect is attempting to crawl away on its back, looking up at you. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it either,” You hold the darksaber grip close to your side and reach out with your free hand now, holding onto the bug's shoulder. You lunge forward and drive the plasma blade into its chest. It shrieks again and lets out a small wheeze before going limp below you. 

Grogu is standing behind you, your pale pink plasma blade extends from the handle as you turn around to look at him. 

“Now you want to help? I’m already done.” You wipe the remaining sand off your face and out of your mouth, spitting as you walk towards Din. “Are you alright?” Kneeling beside Din in the cage.

“Yeah. Get me out please.” Din groans. 

You stand up again and unsheathe the darksaber and bring it down hard on the lock of the cage. It melts apart and Din falls to the sand with another groan. You attempt to help him up but he ends up just yanking you down on top of him when he tries to pull himself up. 

Your chest feels like it explodes when it hits his beskar chest plate. All the air you’ve ever known or planned on knowing is nowhere to be found.

Now, Din has to get up on his own and now help you up as you wheeze and writhe on the sand in pain. 

“Why?” You wheeze up at him as he brings you to your feet. “I just…saved your life…and you knocked the…wind out of me… hit me in the… forehead.” You rub the new red spot on your forehead from the chin of his helmet and continue to wheeze and try to find new air somewhere.

Din places one hand on your back as you lean forward and rest your hands on your knees, a similar position to the other room but this time your head hurts. “Not helping you…ever again.” You groan as the wind finds you now. 

“Fucking impressive.” Din says finally once you’re standing vertical again. “You figured out the saber then already.” Din half jokes, half can’t believe it himself. 

“Gotta be mean to it.”

It's blurry suddenly, and you feel weightless. You’re being flung through the air–fast. The air is stolen from you, not just lost this time…no.

Someone you cannot see took the air from you when you hit the rock you were flung against. “Oh fuck," It doesn't come out as audible sounds, just wheezes and gasps for air.

Din is no longer standing where he was, he has the darksaber that you dropped when you got flung into the air in his hand, and is running for his blaster pistol. 

How did you get all the way over here?

Grogo throws your lightsaber in your direction as you try to stand but everything inside of you is on fire, so you don't catch it. You think your back might be broken because you feel like jelly. The weapon lands at your feet as you struggle to kneel, unable to keep your balance even so low to the ground.

Din shouts something in distress, and you search harder for strength to stand somewhere inside of you, taking the lightsaber in your fist. 

“I’m fucking over this thing” You wheeze, arching your back. Every single vertebrae you have snaps and pops back into place. It actually feels amazing. Something in your right shoulder pops when you roll them and that doesn’t feel too good but you press on. It hurts to lift the saber over your head, Din is still shouting though. You meet Din in the middle of the room as he gets knocked over onto his side by one of the quick moving feet. “Din!” You shout, holding your hand for the darksaber. 

The bug, who somehow got back into the fucking robot’s back is to you but when you shout it turns and it’s red eye finds you and it screams at you, turning now with it’s pincers clanking at you loudly as it snaps them together repeatedly. 

“I don’t know how I’m not dead either.” You sigh and take two quick steps towards and underneath the robot. It steps back with you but not quickly enough, missing the foot part of it’s one legs and it stumbles on the missing digit. “Okay.” You grunt as you shove your lightsaber up into the chest cavity of the bug. “Din!” You scream it at him as he aims his blaster pistol. You hold your other hand out but he doesn’t hear you. “Fuck!” You scream again, pulling the blade from within the cavity of the bug, oil spills out onto your face and chest as you push your blade upwards again. “Give me the fucking…darksaber!” You scream to no one as you try and drive the blade further into the chest cavity. You have both of your hands holding onto the grip. 

The bug is stuck on your blade, you must be shorting something inside of the chest cavity but it’s still clicking its pincers at you and Din now. Din’s dodging giant metal legs that are trying to spear him. 

“I need the fucking darksaber!” You scream it louder than you thought was possible. The bug is pulling away from your blade now and you don’t know if you’ll be able to get another good plunge upwards if he pulls away from you now. 

Grogu is standing where he had been when you guys entered the fucking cave in the start, hasn’t moved and inch but now his little fist is being held out in front of him and you’re watching in disbelief as he uses the force to take the darksaber from Din’s hand. It falls to the ground immediately but he pushes it towards you, still with the force. Once it’s at your feet you try to reach for it but your arm won't reach while you still have your lightsaber inside of it. 

You look between the bug above you and Din and Grogu and everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. You yank your blade free from the bugs chest cavity, reach for the darksaber. The pain in your shoulder now is blinding as you drive your pale pink blade into the chest cavity once more as the bug moves over you, going after Din. You unsheath the darksaber with your other hand and drive that one up into the belly of the robot. The darksaber blade slices through it like it’s fabric and you’re able to tear along the belly of the bug-robot-crab-spider. You pull your own blade from the robot and bring it back to the darksaber blade and plunge yours alongside it. The bug tries to run but the blade tear further into the metal, melting it. 

The sand on your knees is the last thing you remember.

“Gotta wake up.” Din’s rasp is ringing in your ears. You shoot up and gasp. “There she is. Told you she was alright.” Din speaks to someone. It’s Grogu. “You alright little one? You scared the child.” Din sounds scared himself. 

“I don’t know.” You look at him with wide eyes. “What happened? Am I dreaming?” You look around, half expecting to be back on the Crest. You’re still in the robot-bugs room. “Am I alright?” Looking back at Din with fear in your eyes. “What happened? Did I fall asleep?” 

“Slow down.” Din rasps gently. “You passed out. Your shoulder was partially dislocated. I set back for you though.” You look down at your shoulder which is still on fire now that you think about it. “Fought through the pain like a real warrior.” Din grabs your left hand and brings you to your feet. 

“That thing’s really dead now?” You try to point but your shoulder sends fire to your brain. 

“Dead. All thanks to you. I was able to put a blaster into its head once it went down.” Din pats your back gently. You’re shaking. Every muscle and bone and tendon inside of you feels like it’s going to slip out of your skin.

Din walks with his hand on your back like that for what feels like seventeen more hours until you come to a pool of water. 

“Are these the waters?” You ask, leaning against a rock beside you. Din nods and takes a couple steps towards the edge.

Something in your heart aches when he does. You were hoping you’d never find them and he’d be able to keep his helmet off for you forever. Selfish thoughts. It’s hard to watch so you look away and pretend to inspect your shoulder but you sense Din standing in front of you. 

“One more before I go in.” Din’s unmodulated voice whispers to you.

It makes your head snap up and his dark eyes and perfect everything are looking down at you. You touch his face, hold it in your hands even though your shoulder is falling apart. You try and memorize every single line and wrinkle and facial hair he has. The shape of his eyebrows and the cupid's bow hidden partially behind his perfect mustache. It makes your eyes water, thinking you won’t get to see it again.

“No tears.” Din leans in and kisses you softly. There isn’t force behind it. This isn’t a kiss of lust. This kiss told you how much Din cared for you. How gentle this man could be with you, and you alone.

It physically hurts you when he pulls away and puts his helmet back on. Din was right, this wasn’t time for tears. Din was doing what he came here for–what he wished for–so you’ll support him. Wish the best for him and hope he’s doing the right thing. 

Din starts to recite the creed as he takes his first steps into the water. You watch as he slowly starts to sink lower and lower. Suddenly, he’s gone with a splash. You sit up and look at the now rippling water. 

“Where’d he go?!” You look at Grogu who is still looking into the dark water. “Grogu! Where did he go!?” You shout at the child. Grogu just points where Din had just been. You run to the water's edge and look in. You can see nothing. You start to panic but you dive in anyway, you’re going to save Din. You break the surface and take a deep breath and look down into the water but it’s too dark to see anything and it’s deep. You’ll never be able to swim down to where the bottom could be. You look to Grogu. “Is that thing waterproof?” 

The top half of the floating orb drops down and you can hear it seal from over by the entryway into this room. It speeds towards you and drops into the water in front of you. There are two handles right along the top. You place your hand in one and tap the top of his orb twice with the other before slipping your hand into the hold. You take the biggest breath of air you can into your lungs before Grogu submerges you. It's still dark down here but Grogu’s light is still on and you can kind of see. It’s mostly just rocks and then more darkness. 

Your shoulder feels like it might actually be dislocating right now with the speed this thing is pulling you through the water. It’s hard to hold on. You’re still relatively close to the surface when you need to tap on the top of the orb. Grogu brings you to the surface where you gasp softly as your head breaches the water. You breathe for several seconds and put just your face in the water looking down below you. A light. Din’s light. It’s so far down. So, so far and still so far to the left of you guys. You tap the top of the orb after taking another big breath and steer the orb so you guys are right over Din. 

Air. You need air. You knock on the dome and Grogu takes you to the surface again.

“Open.” You spit water out of your mouth as Grogu partially opens his orb. “He’s right down there. So far down–” Your head goes under the water for a second but you reappear and spit water out of your mouth again. “You need to go down fast, Grogu faster than you can make this thing go. I’m gonna grab him and hold onto him and you at the same time and you need to bring me back up to the top faster than you brought me down there, okay? I don’t want to die, Grogu. Please.” You feel tears coming to your eyes. 

Gorgu closes his orb and revs its little engine. It makes you laugh as tears fall down your cheeks. You tread water for another minute before you inhale as deeply as you can and grab the hand holds. You knock twice. 

Darkness. Plunged into a wet noiseless void. It’s worse than the room at night. At least Din was there to keep you safe and now you have to save him!? This was so much worse. So much fucking worse than you could have ever imagined anything Din did out here in the galaxy when you were back on the Crest. You’re so close and already your body is telling you to expel this bad air. You let out a couple bubbles and the pressure in your chest releases a little. 

You’re at the bottom. You have your hands around Din’s waist but you can’t lift him. You try so hard, you calm your mind like a Jedi and try again but you’re not strong enough. You shout at him under the water but he doesn’t respond. More bubbles escape from your mouth as you plant your feet firmly on the wet sand below you and pull up from under Din’s arms as much as you can. He slides across the ground and you shriek. You get one arm under his chest and knock on the top of Grogu’s orb. He takes off as your hand finds the hold and you’re being rocketed upwards.

You can feel Din slipping and your hand is slipping out of the hold on Grogu's orb now too. Then it's gone. Grogu’s orb is gone.

You’re plummeting back down to the bottom and you connect with a muted thud. It’s not as soft and sandy as you remember.

You look down and instead of white gray sand it’s–scales? You look around as you empty the last of the bad air out of your lungs. You look directly into one giant yellow eye. It’s so close you can see your reflection in it. The eye itself is bigger than you are. You have no idea what you’re seeing. Horns?

It’s a hallucination. Something your brain came up with to try and comfort you while you die, surely this isn’t real. The eye blinks at you twice.

Din lays beside you, still unmoving as your body instinctively takes a breath in. Water fills your lungs and everything is suddenly warm and quiet.

Okay-- SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. Not really.

This was my little take on what happened in the mines. I had so much fun writing out reader being a fucking BADASS and saving Din's life with that weird robot bug. I also don't know how drowning works- so... lmk if you do.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux @harriedandharassed @realmamabear79 @blahkateisdone @picketniffler @cheekychaos28 @lilac-boo @pedrostories @wandamaximoff4578 @probablyreadinsmut @katw474 @cowboy-like-m3

[luxcuriousao3]

Selfish (Ghoap)

Summary: Ghost stares up at Johnny, heart racing in his chest like he’s just run twenty klicks through enemy territory. His ears are ringing, Johnny’s words echoing in his mind. His sergeant is so close to the truth. Ghost is nothing but a beast, a dog on a tight leash. Price points, and Ghost attacks. It’s been that way since he was reborn in the ashes of his old life. He snaps and snarls at anyone who gets too close, wears his mask like a muzzle to keep everyone at bay. But Johnny has never feared him. Not like he should. Word Count: 3067 Warnings: non-graphic smut, kinda toxic relationship tbh but it's not intentional or out of cruelty, possessive behavior, jealousy, angst/hurt no comfort, mentions of drinking/smoking Notes: Finally compiled all those angsty Ghoap blurbs into a proper fic. I polished them up and added a little bit more to the end, but they are mostly the same. This fic definitely works as an (angsty) standalone, but I may or may not continue this. If I do, it will have a happy ending eventually, but it will also be a "it gets worse before it gets better" type of fic, lol. I do have part of a second chapter written already, but I am only going to post it if I actually decide to finish this fic in long form. All SPAG and consistency errors are my own, feel free to point them out. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! - *** means POV switch, and -*- means timeskip but no POV switch - AO3, Masterlist

“What are we doing, Simon?”

Soap regrets the words the minute they’re out of his mouth, already guessing how Ghost will react—but he’s apparently not only a masochist in bed, so he doesn’t take them back. Ghost is quiet for a brief moment, shoulders tensing up as he stands with his back to Soap, clad in nothing but a pair of briefs, muscular form outlined by the light from his private toilet. Soap is still in Ghost’s bunk, naked as the day he was born, sweaty and covered in both his and his Lieutenant’s come. Ghost never cleans him up, just tosses him the towel after he’s done using it, before dismissing him from his room like they’d just had a briefing and not sex. Soap tries not to let that bother him. He really does. He fails, but at least he keeps it from showing. Usually.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Johnny.”

Ghost’s voice is flat when he speaks, but there’s a hint of a warning in it. He’s giving Soap a chance to walk back his words. He’s giving him an out.

Soap, as he so often does, barrels on ahead anyway.

“This. Us. What are we, to you?”

The words hang heavily in the air, and slowly, Ghost turns around to face him. His face, for once uncovered by his mask—a sight Soap only gets to see in these private moments between them, a sight he cherishes—is blank, eyes dark and cold like onyx.

“We are teammates,” Ghost replies, low and intense. “Colleagues that fuck each other to relieve stress, every once in awhile. Don’t make this into something that it’s not, MacTavish.”

Soap swallows, mouth dry, throat still sore from the beating Ghost’s cock had given it. Normally, Soap enjoys that, savoring the roughness, the degradation—but most of all, savoring the reminder of his time with the other man. Now, it just makes him feel hollow.

“Right then, Sir,” Soap says, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. He doesn’t bother to wait for Simon to throw him the towel clenched in his white-knuckled fist, wiping himself off on his Lieutenant’s sheets. It’s petty, but Soap is desperate to leave—and the spark of irritation in Ghost’s stony eyes is satisfying. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You need it again, and this is done, Sergeant,” Ghost warns, grabbing Soap’s clothes and tossing them at him hard, in retaliation for the sheets and just as eager for Soap to get the fuck out of his room, probably. Or maybe he just can’t stand the thought of not throwing something at Soap after fucking him. Bastard. “Understood?”

“Copy,” Soap responds as he stands up, clipped. He pulls on his jeans and t-shirt in silence, Ghost’s glare feeling like a physical thing as it burns holes into the side of his head. Soap ignores it as best he can, but his cheeks are flush with humiliation and anger simmers just beneath his skin. He knows he shouldn’t have asked. He knew what Ghost would say when he did. But Soap is a bloody fool that’s gone and fallen for the most emotionally constipated fuck in the entire SAS—and he’s never been able to leave well enough alone.

The worst part is that as hurt as Soap feels right now, as pissed off as he is at Ghost—he knows he’ll go crawling back to him. He won’t put an end to this like he should, won’t protect his stupidly fragile heart. He couldn’t if he wanted to—it already belongs to Ghost. And Soap doesn’t think he can ever get it back.

So he’ll put up with the coldness and the callousness. He’ll put up with being held at arm's length, never being allowed inside Ghost’s walls even when he’s literally inside Soap. He’ll put up with the hollowness in his chest and the curl of shame in his belly when he’s kicked out of Ghost’s bed time and time again, never allowed so much as a five minute cuddle.

It’s fucking pathetic, but Soap’ll take whatever he can get.

He’s a big boy. He can handle some hurt feelings.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he leaves Ghost’s room, the door slamming shut behind him the second he crosses the threshold.

***

Things are tense for a few days between him and Johnny.

Ghost has his guard up, walls freshly reinforced. His Sergeant had thoroughly unsettled Ghost with his questions, and for days, his skin feels like it's crawling everytime the other man is near. Ghost doesn’t let people get close, and Johnny is no exception.

Except that’s not quite true, and that’s what scares him.

Somehow, Johnny’s wormed his way into Ghost’s life with that obnoxiously charming grin and his stupid fucking mohawk. He’s gotten closer to Ghost than any other living person, and instead of pushing him away, Ghost pushed him into his bloody bed instead.

He thinks about ending it, in the days following their last conversation. Seeks out Johnny once at their smoke spot to do just that—but he can’t bring himself to do it. And he knows that’s a problem, that he’s in too deep, that he needs to make a tactical retreat and regroup.

Instead, he offers Johnny a cigarette, and ignores the way his heart squeezes in his chest as he’s graced with the first smile he’s gotten in days from the other man.

Ghost should end things, he knows that. But he doesn’t.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

And so they fall back into rhythm with each other, at least on missions. They’re as deadly and efficient as always, bantering on comms like usual. But a certain sense of wrongness lingers when they’re on base, no longer avoiding each other or even refraining from tumbling into bed together—but Ghost notices it nonetheless. Johnny isn’t constantly at Ghost’s side anymore, bothering him with his endless chatter and poorly hidden desire for attention. The look in his eyes when he does talk to Ghost is less intense, too, less painfully open and bright. More befitting of a soldier speaking with his superior. When they fuck, he no longer tries to linger in Ghost’s room, doesn’t even wait for Ghost to get a towel for him, just stands up and limps over to the toilet to grab it himself. At first, Ghost is glad—his sergeant got the message loud and clear, and didn’t even throw too much of a fit about it. They can remain in this limbo of close-but-not-too-close. Ghost doesn’t have to give this up, give Johnny up, in order to keep them both safe. And Johnny doesn’t even seem upset anymore—yeah, he’s a little more distant, but that’s a good thing. He was reaching the edges of what Ghost could tolerate anyway, and now things are back to a blessed normal.

Except that the longer it goes on, the more Ghost misses how things were before.

The silence that used to be filled with Johnny’s rambling starts to feel oppressive, the space at his side where his sergeant should always be is now glaringly empty. The grins Johnny gives him are still large but don’t look quite the same. The shine in his blue eyes has dulled just a tad, no longer so blinding that it makes Ghost feel like the centre of their own tiny universe.

Ghost has no right to miss them, all those little things he’d taken for granted before. He knows that. But just like he knows he shouldn’t continue whatever it is between him and Johnny, he does so anyway.

He never voices any of these thoughts, of course, but the next time they fuck, Ghost doesn’t roll off of Johnny right away once he comes. He lays on top of him for a long moment, pinning him to the bed so he can’t get up and run like he’s taken to doing. Both of them are sweaty and breathing hard, and Ghost watches Johnny’s dark brows furrow in confusion as the seconds stretch on. He starts to shift underneath him, like he’s about to push Ghost off of him, out of him, and Ghost, he—

He snaps, a little bit.

That’s the only explanation for what he does next, sinking his teeth into his sergeant’s shoulder and holding on, like a dog with a bone. He wants to break Johnny’s skin, to taste blood and scar him, to tie them together in a way that no amount of distance can ever erase.

Instead, he gets an elbow to the face and a furious Scot cursing him out in something just to the left of English.

“Ye fuckin’ bampot!” Johnny shouts at Ghost, who’s nursing his bloody nose on the floor, arse-naked. The other man is standing now, one hand pressed to his shoulder, the other gesturing angrily in his direction. “The fuck is wrong wi’ ye? Cannae just bloody bite me like some mad beast!”

Ghost stares up at Johnny, heart racing in his chest like he’s just run twenty klicks through enemy territory. His ears are ringing, Johnny’s words echoing in his mind. His sergeant is so close to the truth. Ghost is nothing but a beast, a dog on a tight leash. Price points, and Ghost attacks. It’s been that way since he was reborn in the ashes of his old life. He snaps and snarls at anyone who gets too close, wears his mask like a muzzle to keep everyone at bay. But Johnny has never feared him. Not like he should.

And now Ghost is faced with the consequences of his royally fucked up head and cold heart once again. He gives Johnny a careless shrug, getting to his feet.

“Got carried away,” he offers as a lame sort of explanation, voice thick from the blood dripping into the back of his throat. He carefully feels his nose. Not broken, but it’ll bruise like rotten fruit. “You got me good. We’re even.”

Johnny stares at him for a long moment, too many emotions flickering across his face for Ghost to name them all. But he does recognize anger—anger and hurt, and his chest tightens at that. He doesn’t want to hurt Johnny, keeps his distance so he doesn’t hurt him. Regret settles heavily in Ghost’s stomach. This is what happens when he gives in, when he allows himself to get too close. This is what he’s tried so hard to avoid.

Because Ghost doesn’t know how to love, how to be gentle or treasure someone like Johnny deserves, like Ghost knows he wants. This is the most he can give him. Not love, never love, but a violent sort of possession that could look like love, in the right lighting.

And Ghost knows his sergeant. Knows how stubbornly loyal he is, how self-sacrificing. He will never walk away, never retreat entirely. He’ll growl and snarl right back at Ghost, he’ll put up a few flimsy walls of his own—but he’ll still let Ghost hurt him.

Ghost doesn’t want to hurt him.

“You’re a real bastard, LT,” Johnny snaps, snatching his clothes and hurriedly pulling them on, not even bothering to wipe away the cum trailing down his thighs and staining his hairy stomach. Ghost watches him, wonders if this is it, if this is the end. Hopes it is as much as he prays it's not. Can’t find the words to make it official, so he supposes he’ll have to wait and see.

But Johnny doesn’t say anything else, just leaves as quickly as he usually does, slamming the door behind him. And Ghost—

Ghost doesn’t know what that means. Can’t for the life of him figure out what he wants it to mean. Regrets leaving the choice in another’s hands, giving up control. And at the same time, relishes in the idea that he can pretend they’re still in limbo for just a little bit longer.

That he’s not ruined the one good thing he has going for him.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

-*-

They don’t talk about it.

It's normal that they don’t, really. Routine. They fight, they don’t speak for a few days, but they’re always drawn back towards each other, like moths to a flame. The pull is a siren call, irresistible. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before.

The next time they fuck, Johnny insists on riding him, clearly not trusting Ghost not to pin him down and bite him again.

That hurts, but he knows he deserves it, so he allows Johnny that sliver of control.

His teeth didn't end up breaking skin, and Ghost is glad for that, in retrospect. He doesn't want to hurt Johnny—and as good as Ghost’s mark on him would look, it doesn't belong there. Johnny isn’t his, can’t be his, doesn’t deserve to be his. Johnny deserves something soft. Something kind. If Ghost were a better man, he’d cut him loose to go find it.

Every time Johnny comes to his room at night—not as often as before, even less so since Ghost went rabid and bit him—he tells himself that he’ll do it. He’ll be better, just long enough to free Johnny of the burden that he is. But he never does.

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

They’re at a pub tonight, all four members of the 141. Johnny’s traded his usual spot next to Ghost for one next to Gaz, and Ghost pretends he doesn’t notice, that it doesn’t bother him. He shouldn’t notice. It shouldn’t bother him. They’re teammates, colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less. Just like he told Johnny all those weeks ago.

So Ghost doesn’t burn with jealousy when some bloke starts flirting with his sergeant. He doesn’t grind his teeth when Johnny doesn’t turn him down right away. Doesn’t ache when he thinks about how Johnny wouldn’t have entertained so much as a glance at someone other than Ghost, before. He doesn’t clench his fingers around his pint so hard the glass creaks ominously, doesn’t glare daggers at the stranger’s ugly mug, doesn’t feel the urge to grab Johnny and bend him over the table right then and there, show everyone in the damn bar exactly who he belongs to.

Mine, mine, mine.

But he’s not, he’s not, so Ghost just gets up and slips outside for a smoke as Johnny charms the fucker effortlessly and gets free drinks in return. He’s on his way to getting properly sloshed, but he’s not there yet, and Ghost can feel those blue eyes on his back as he leaves. It’s as gratifying as it is infuriating, that Johnny notices him leaving. That he doesn’t hop up to join him like he used to. Like he should.

No, not like he should. Rather, how Ghost wants him to. Wants him at his side, always.

Selfish bastard.

He stares out into the dark street, trying to pull himself the fuck together. He can’t be acting like this. Like a schoolboy with a crush. Like a possessive boyfriend. He’s not Johnny’s, he never will be. He can’t be. Everything Ghost touches, he destroys. He’s breaking Johnny already—he can see how the other man still craves something more from Ghost, despite pulling away. That he always will, that no matter how many pieces of him Ghost steals and grinds to dust beneath his boots, Johnny will never leave, not entirely.

Ghost knows. Sometimes, Johnny looks at him with so much heartbreak and want in his eyes, it takes his breath away.

Ghost is ruining him. Soon, there will be nothing left of Johnny but an empty shell.

A cold sort of acceptance falls over his shoulders, and Ghost stubs his smoke out on the bricks behind him before flicking it away. As he heads back inside, he knows there’s no more running from this. No more being selfish. He will end things. He’ll let Johnny go, even if it kills him.

And Christ, but it feels like it just might.

Especially when he gets back to the team's booth, only to see that Johnny and the bloke that's been chatting him up are both gone. He stops, goes still, stares at Johnny's half-finished pint on the sticky tabletop, wonders if maybe he was wrong, maybe Johnny scrounged up enough survival instincts to leave Ghost after all. Like prey spooking in the presence of a predator.

“He's takin’ a piss,” Price speaks up, reading his mind and cutting through Ghost’s spiraling thoughts. He’s got a hand on Garrick’s nape, the younger man groaning pathetically as he leans against his Captain, green around the gills. “Think Kyle's had too much to drink, gonna bring ‘im back to base. You mind tellin’ Soap where we went?”

Ghost gives him a jerky nod, and Price drags Garrick out of the booth, slinging his arm around his shoulders.

“Ta. See you in the mornin’,” he says, and Ghost watches him lead Garrick outside before sliding into the booth. He stares hard at the door to the men’s room for nearly five minutes, but Johnny doesn’t reappear. He can already feel his determination to do the right thing slipping, and so he gets up and strides over, the crowd parting for him as it always does. Johnny’ll hate him for ending things in dirty pub toilet of all places, but perhaps that’s for the best.

Ghost would rather hurt Johnny a little bit right now than shatter him later.

And he will, if Johnny stays. Ghost will sink his teeth into him and rip him apart slowly, piece by piece.

Ghost wasn’t made for love. He was only made to destroy.

Abandonment is the only mercy he can offer.

The door creaks as it opens, and he’s assaulted by the stench of piss, sweat, and sex. A familiar wet sucking sound reaches his ears, accompanied by a chorus of gags and moans.

“That’s it, baby,” a voice, stuttered and hoarse, grunts. “Take it. Fucking take it, know how bad you want it, been begging for it all night.”

The gagging gets louder, enthusiastic and eager, and Ghost’s eyes drop to the gap between the stall door and the floor. Johnny’s boots stick out, damning.

Ghost turns around and leaves.

He won’t be selfish, this time. He’ll let Johnny go. Just like he promised.

[chaoticcatbehaviour]

Nero's Imperial Household HCS

⚠️ Anything about the Gods that are written about here refers specifically to the RRverse. I am in no way talking about the actual deities themselves.

• Son of Hermes

- I'm calling him Dolios for now because it's an epithet of Hermes and it makes it easier to remember him.

- Son of Hermes, either one of the athletic epithets or the Psychopomp epithets.

- About 18 years old? Honestly what even was the age limit of Nero's stepchildren?

- Ok so I'm still confused as to what his powers would be but I'm leaning into the psychopomp side of Hermes. Although I'm also leaning on him being stronger than the average person because there's no way Nero didn't teach his step children to defend themselves without using their powers (Also Hermes is the god of Athletes sooo)

- I headcanon the Hermes kid as the oldest, partially because I don't know who else to make the oldest stepchild of Nero, and partly because I have a feeling that Nero would make the "calmer" cabins (AKA Cabin 11 and Cabin 7) really really feral just so he can showcase his strength in a "Hey I made the kids from the calmer cabins really feral HAHA IMAGINE WHAT I CAN DO" kind of way and also because he's an asshole and can't let kids be kids. Also because Nero's a furry.

• Nero definitely gave all of his stepchildren jewellery that represented their godly parent btw. I headcanon Dolios to have something like this.

Because why not? (And no this is not an excuse to show literally every piece of jewellery I have saved in my pinterest board) Meg has half-moon shaped rings that turn to scimitars but I have no idea what weapon these earrings would turn to so if y'all have any ideas tell me!!

• Lucius

- Nero really wanted the entire world to know who his step childrens' godly parent was huh 😭 Anyways onto his character!

- Son of Apollo, specifically Apollo Nomios.

- 16 to 17 years old (probably).

- LISTEN. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT THERE AREN'T CHILDREN OF APOLLO WHO HAVE SHEPHERDS AS THEIR MORTAL PARENT. HOW DARE RICK FORGET ABOUT BRANCHUS MY BABY. Anyways in my head Lucius's mortal father was a shepherd which is how he attracted Apollo. Again, I'm not sure what powers he would have but he definitely knows how to fight (because like I said, there's no way Nero didn't teach his stepchildren to defend themselves without using their powers). Also he can talk to ravens. And crows. And sheep. Because how come Percy is the only one that can talk to his father's sacred animals? That's unfair!

- I'm pretty sure he is one of the oldest demigods in Nero's Imperial Household? In my mind he's the second oldest out of them all.

• His jewellery is probably something like this bracelet.

It turns into a Gladiator btw. Not sure how that works but then again we have no idea how Meg's rings work either so yeah.

Also a bow and arrow seemed way too basic to me. Like may the Gods forbid that their children use anything other than the ones their godly parents use.

• Aemilia

- At first I got really confused over what godly parent she could have but then I searched up the meaning of her name and.... yeah.

- Daughter of Athena, not sure which epithet tho.

- Same age as Lucius, about 17 years old.

- Oh gods I know damn well that Nero made this girl suffer. Like you already have people having high expectations about Athena kids and then your step parent is NERO. Like this girl was probably given some big ass sum to solve at the age of 7 or something ( WISDOM IS NOT THE SAME AS KNOWLEDGE NERO). Oh my poor little girl. We know next to nothing about her but I'm gonna make her and Lucius my pookies.

- Either the third oldest stepchild in Nero's Imperial Household or the same age as Lucius.

- Not sure what jewellery Nero would give her tho. An owl necklace? Something that looks like this?

What weapon could this even turn into? A shield maybe? Y'know the thing with Medusa? (RR messed up her myth so bad in PJO that now I'm confused as to whether it's following the Greek or Roman myth).

• Hunter of Artemis

- I have absolutely no hcs about her whatsoever because I'm still confused as to who her godly parent could be. Like we know that Meg is supposed to replace Demeter which means that his other stepchildren are also mostly the children of the god they're supposed to replace.

- Still, I'm gonna have to make her a daughter of Diomedes and an ex hunter of Artemis otherwise I don't know how it'll work. I'm not sure about her name either.

- Younger than Aemilia and Lucius by a year or two, so that makes her 15 to 16 years old.

- She and Lucius are probably always paired together since Artemis & Apollo are twins. I'm not sure what power I want to give her so I'd love to know what you guys want her powers to be!

- Third oldest stepchild of Nero.

- Her jewellery turns into a bow and arrow because that's usually the weapon that the Hunters of Artemis use. I HC it to look something like these two.

How would this turn into a bow and arrow you ask? I have no idea!

These are only for the four oldest demigods, if you guys want I'll make one for the others too! (I've basically divided it into 3 parts, there are 4 children in each group and the groups are -Oldest, Middle and Youngest, the same way Apollo divided them)

Tagging- @actual-gremlin @arihuntress @humburgercheeseburger @sahebro-apollosangel @lesbianbanana @whats-a-lester @please-be-nice-im-sensitive me if any of you want me to remove you next time!

, ╱|、

(˚ˎ 。7

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じしˍ,)ノ

I'd really appreciate it if y'all actually read it tho....

Please don't let this flop I beg you pls