#and obv some get used way more than others

[zhuoyichenpretty]

ep 24 commentary (brain fried edition)

my head is a little empty after ep 24 tbh!! brain is not braining after all the zyc hurt no comfort (-:

some scattered thoughts here and there, painstakingly corralled like cats out of my vacuous brain and into a list (spoilers):

ZYZ is really emo this episode poor dude like he is having a hard time keeping it together it seems. Every other word out of his mouth is depressing as shit, which is saying a lot considering how depressing he usually is already (': I kind of wanted this episode to pick his brain more, give him room to emote in the aftermath of all that. But it almost feels like the character refuses to be alone, like he might spiral if he has too much time to get in his own head. I'm still so curious to know, though, what he thinks about the state of their promise in light of how far ZYC went trying to save him. “He has us,” ZYZ said to WX. When the time comes, I wonder how he'll reconcile that with what he’s asked of ZYC.

PSJ and Ying Lei bonding! shenanigans! I did laugh thank you guys. Also, not that the team didn't operate separately before, but I really get a sense of how much ZYC held things together with how apparent his absence is. It's obvs heartwarming seeing how hard everyone is working to save him (PSJ especially for me bc I love their mutual tacit trust and respect and all the ways they're alike and different), but ultimately it's still so angsty (':

Kind of love the couple instances where ZYC has been referred to as fragile/weak/of delicate constitution (depending on how you wanna translate it) like that's a very interesting quality to assign to basically the tank of your team. Even if the comments are made facetiously, it just reminds me of how often we witness his mortality, and of course how everything about the styling, aesthetics, and content of the flashbacks to his childhood reinforce a characterization of vulnerability at the very heart of him. I saw someone mention how the Cloud Light Sword responded to ZYC's tears and to that vulnerability rather than brute strength, and I totally agree. I love how this "fragile" characterization plays into the whole fate weapon deal. ZYC's strength is (imo) unconventional, and it is his sensitivity, his compassion, and his deep capacity to feel that the sword acknowledges, resonates with, and empowers. Almost like it protects his tender heart rather than making it something he needs to overcome to get stronger.

One thing I will never get over is how incredibly they styled TJR as baby!Yichen, adult ZYC, and Bingyi. What do you mean this is all from one drama and not three separate productions. Insane. I'm out of my mind with how gorgeous every change in costuming is.

A tangential note is I've seen people mention (paraphrasing very much here) ZYZ's demon form being nicely subtle in its eerie inhumanity and tbh I have a similar feeling even just about human adult ZYC imo. Especially when his hair is down and he's got that thick eyeliner on and we get a close up of his contacts, if you told me from the start that he's half-demon half-human or something I'd believe it. Along the same vein, baby!Yichen reads completely human to me, and Bingyi of course completely demon. Something something the Cloud Light Sword bridges the gap something. This point is unintelligible and not narratively based but I had to make it because I've been thinking "wow ZYC elven" for days now.

Saw a tag about yuanyi getting us through some dark times but man they are PUTTING me through some dark times rn help?/

Been trying to put off talking about the baby Yichen scenes because wow I cried immediately. Well, no, I was like "yay! I love seeing baby Yichen!" and then they crushed me into demon dust lol. And then WX had to tell that absolutely precious story about when she got sick and ZYZ had to go like "actually ZYC was probably lonely as fuck" and yeah that's fine I didn't need my heart anyway.

Ending on this point so I can put a pretty screencap here: There is so much gravity to just the short scene of Bingyi removing his mask and dropping to his knees with that anguished and fatigued expression. TJR's acting is the gift that keeps on giving (me angst).

so sorry if anything here didn't make sense, i currently have the same thousand-mile-stare as Bingyi the more i think about how this all might end and how long I'm gonna have to wait to find out.

[velaraffricate]

im honestly so close to making like a quizlet or something of yakaɬ and properly learning it............ i feel like this conlang would actually be feasible to learn if i could bring myself to memorize all the pronouns and case endings and verb conjugations. and itd take a while but theres not an insanely huge amount of those

[quietwingsinthesky]

Do you agree w/ the fandom interpretation that john was so homophobic he’d have beaten up and abandoned his sons for being gay? Cause sure, he grew up in the 60s as a mechanic and then later became a marine during the vietnam war, but i also don’t think homophobia would’ve necessarily been a priority for him? Like obviously he’s not gonna be the full on supportive and politically correct loving dad, but i think that the fandom’s general opinion on that is pretty warped by people’s relationships w/ their own fathers

I do think this is one place where people tend to project. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that; working out our issues through fiction is healthy and good! I don’t think there’s any canon proof of it beyond, as you said, him being a marine from the sixties who would probably not be super knowledgeable about being queer, maybe a little apprehensive about it from what he’s absorbed through the culture he grew up in. I think we’d be correct to point out that if Sam or Dean were queer, he might be uncomfortable about it, he might try to avoid the topic, which is in of itself hurtful.

The thing about me is: I fully disagree that John was ever physically abusive towards his kids. At most, I will bend this interpretation to say he was probably too harsh on them while teaching them to fight and that maybe he and Sam have traded blows before when arguments got too loud (by blows, I mean, probably shoving with the yelling, you know, assertion of physical space. It seems realistic to me that two people who have been using violence for a long time to protect themselves, and for John, his family, down to the hierarchal power he’s put in place of him -> Dean -> Sam, would resort to it when things got too heated.)

(I also think that sometimes fandom’s insistence that John had to be physically abusive can sometimes get a little insulting because it perpetuates the idea that emotional abuse does less harm and can be overlooked and for flattening out John’s character in a way the show very literally pointed to and said He Did Not Do That. This is the entire point of Max’s episode in s1, for the show to point out that their experiences of abuse were different. How well it was handled is arguable, but I take it as clear evidence that when we talk about John’s relationship with his sons, the focus should be on the emotional abuse, the codependency he developed with Dean from a very young age, his neglect of them both, his attempts to suppress Sam, etc. And I appreciate this about the show, because you can’t talk about any of those things without also talking about why they’re happening, why John thinks this is necessary, how he loves his sons and isolates them to protect them and ends up doing more and more damage that will never leave them through their entire lives.

I’m sure there’s depictions of John being physically abusive that handle it with the same amount of nuance that the show handles him being emotionally abusive in canon. I have not seen them, unfortunately. I’ve seen John being physically abusive 90% of the time just being used as shorthand for him being Bad and Evil and A Terrible Father. Which does not interest me. So I will remain here as a staunch defender of He Would Not Fucking Hit His Kids.)

Sorry, okay, we got off topic there this is about gay shit.

The point of All Of That was for me to be able to say, John’s not going to react to his sons being queer by beating them. He’s definitely not going to abandon them. Hello? John Winchester? Abandon his kids? John Winchester, the guy who has been keeping them in warded up motel rooms their whole lives and moving them across the country out of paranoia the demon who killed his wife could find them if they say anywhere too long? John Winchester who only trusted one or two people to ever look after his sons when he went on a hunting trip too long? We think that John would ditch his kid because they’re queer???

Like I said, I think the most realistic reaction for John, (if not just flat out him going ‘that’s fine, now load this gun while I time you because that’s more important for me to know that you can do’, because. He kind of has bigger priorities to worry about here. Like werewolves.) would be discomfort and pushing it out of his view, ignoring it. Which would still fucking hurt! And would have horrible effects on Sam and Dean both, would encourage Dean to repress it if he thinks his dad is ashamed of him, would push Sam away if he trusts John with this fact about himself and can’t be accepted easily.

I just think this is truer to John’s character.

Anyway. If nothing else here persuades anyone reading that John Would Not Fucking Do That, well. He thought his kid was demonspawn, remember? He thought Sam was corrupted and might not be able to be saved. I don’t think you can get more clear queercoding than that, and you know what John’s very telling response was to that information, to finding out something a thousand times more terrifying than Sam being gay ever could be? To refuse to look at it. To insist to himself that whatever Hell wanted with Sam, he wouldn’t let it happen. To tell Dean to take care of it, because even when John is certain that his son might literally become a demon, he could never bring himself to pull the trigger on him. Because he loves Sam.

So like. He literally would not do anything for the much smaller realization that Sam is gay. His son has demon blood that might turn him super evil, and John still wouldn’t hurt him.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is, I try to keep the fact that John loved his sons at the forefront of my mind when I’m writing stuff about him, because I think if you let that slide out of your head, you can very easily make him much worse, much more flat than he was in canon. The real picture of him is just an extremely flawed man in a terrible situation who fucks up his kids as much as he protects them.

And also he wouldn’t care about them being gay because JohnAzazel real and true and they fucked sloppy in that hospital basement-

[trujellyfish]

thinking too hard abt how this rise of "mental health" discussion still only seems to focus on the Cute and Quirky symptoms and still demonizes other mental health (personality) disorders

like my carefully curated tumblr space is fine, but everytime i get sucked into insta reels i inevitably see tens of different reels of the same 3 symptoms of autism/adhd

like im glad theyre getting this positive moment but it just kind of fucking sucks to listen to people talk about how they ToTaLlY have a "touch of the 'tism" and ur friends are sending u "relatable adhd memes" so u think u have a little more support and understanding but then u mention how ur struggling with self harm and suicidal thoughts and violent/disturbing intrusive thoughts and suddenly everyone's like

😳

whats the matter babe, my mental health problems not palatable enough for you? :/

[concerto-roblox]

i spend a bit of time on twitter for fandom stuff bc there are some really talented artists and writers but oh my god i have to limit my time on that app so much compared to tumblr bc one tiny thing will happen and suddenly there'll be the most despair-inducing discourse ever and i genuinely want to die

[marsbotz]

rewatching nature i dont want to make one billion posts abt it so heres alllllll my nature thoughts as we go lets go wheeeeeee

[peachinspiration]

dunmeshi mithruncore (every day I can’t get up to make myself eat at all or get up to use the bathroom or fall asleep or actually do more to help myself unless im told to or someone physically Makes me do it or I finally manage to do so for the first time very very late in the day cuz I forced myself to out of fear)

[al-luviec]

I ran out of tag space but oomf had some good notes

smthn easy for today (sorry)

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[secretsandwriting]

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that. 

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama. 

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you. 

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were. 

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death. 

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow. 

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone. 

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders. 

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back. 

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger. 

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections. 

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there. 

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him. 

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating. 

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.” 

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would. 

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself. 

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once. 

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited. 

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting. 

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!” 

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores. 

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving. 

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird. 

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was. 

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind. 

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning. 

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it. 

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped. 

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe. 

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you. 

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to. 

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough. 

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence. 

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear. 

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that. 

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky. 

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you. 

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.” 

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were. 

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it. 

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable. 

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left. 

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had. 

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother. 

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too. 

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her. 

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size. 

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much. 

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

[celandeline]

The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst

9.5k words (buckle up)

You were born at the end of a long summer’s day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightower’s children. 

The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. You’ve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable. 

Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. “I don’t understand why Helaena.” He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. “If I must marry at all, why not you?”

You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Our mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.” You say. 

Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. “As if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.” He jokes, quoting Alicent. “If it’s not to do with grasshoppers, it’s not to do with her.”

You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. She’s always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesn’t seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you. 

“Some could say the same about you, with wine and whores.” You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. “We all have our compulsions - some worse than others.”

“I only jest.” Aegon says, defensive. You can tell he’s getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder. 

“Hm.” You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. “Is it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?”

“Perhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.” Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. “You do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.”

You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegon’s game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, “No, you’ve always liked the ones who won’t fight back, haven’t you?”

The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.

“What’s funny?”

Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“We were just discussing Aegon’s betrothal.” You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. You’ve never understood Aegon’s disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. “Or rather,” You cast a joking look to Aegon. “Aegon was complaining about it.”

“‘Tis your duty.” Aemond says, ever so serious. 

Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. “Look at her.”

“Aegon-” You start.

“I would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.” Aemond retorts. 

Aegon flaps a hand. “The both of you.” He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. “I’m going to get more wine.” And with that, he’s gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries. 

You place a hand atop Aemond’s head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. “He can be such an ass, our brother.”

Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. “Mm.”

The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when you’d clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands. 

Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerys’ face is bloodied. 

You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laena’s daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less. 

You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost. 

You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. “It’ll be alright.” You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It won’t be. He’ll be scarred forever, he’ll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. It’ll take him years to recover fully. 

“I know.” He says, voice soft. Level. Even. 

And it’s his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another. 

Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. It’s true - the scar across Aemond’s face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already. 

He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but he’s getting better. “You’ll be able to come and go as you please again soon.” You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone. 

He scoffs. “I can’t stay a cripple forever.”

Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, “You’d do well to save your bitterness for someone who’s not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Apologies, sister.” He mumbles.

You sigh. “I only joke, Aemond.” Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming. 

His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance. 

“Not all of us are Aegon.” You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone. 

Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. “Jaenara. Come help me.”

“Your lack of manners is appalling.” You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. “What would mother say?”

Aegon just grins. “Meet me tonight.” He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesn’t have to say where - you’ve snuck out with him before. You know the route. “A traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.”

“Sunset?” You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist. 

“Mm.” He watches you work, still grinning. 

“Alright.” You say, stepping back. 

His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. “What fun we’ll have.”

The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they don’t trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesn’t know, and hasn’t ordered them to, so why do the extra work? 

You sway into Aegon’s shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune you’d been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone. 

You know he’s going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesn’t kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. It’s a chaste thing, only a moment before you’re both pulling back to look at each other. 

“As sweet as wine.” He whispers.

“Mm.” You bite your lip in a grin. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

“Good morning.” He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed. 

You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasn’t there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep. 

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes it’s you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.

“You were with Aegon.” It’s mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.

“Mm.” You don’t deny it, stroking a hand through Aemond’s hair. “And you were here. In my bed.” You press your nose to the top of his head. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

“My eye.” He says. “The pain. It’s more than just the skin, it… it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

“We will see the maesters in the morning.” You say, still gently stroking. “Perhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.”

He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. It’s quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think he’s drifted off, but then,

“Will you take me with you, once?”

“To Flea Bottom?”

“Mm.”

You pause for a moment. “If you wish. Perhaps when you’re a bit older.”

“How old?”

“At least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.”

“And how old was that?”

You smile into his hair. “Give it a year.”

“Mm. Alright.”

The quality of Aemond’s eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of King’s Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, it’s barely noticeable. 

He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You don’t blame him, it’s quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city. 

You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who can’t pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isn’t lost before following him inside. 

The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but it’s familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you. 

“This is a brothel.” He says.

“Aye.” You grin, glancing at Aegon. 

Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. “Tonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.”

Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyse’s eyes through the throngs of men. “I must take my leave.” You say, petting Aemond’s head. “But you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.”

“Alright.” Aemond says. He’s still unsure, clearly, but there’s no time for hesitation once Aegon’s swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. She’s barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder. 

“Princess.” She greets you with a sultry purr. 

“My lady.” You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. “I’ve missed you so.” 

She’s quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. It’s a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until you’re dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until you’re pushing her away. Then it’s your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. You’ve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, she’s confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own. 

“Well, I am no man.” You’d responded. 

It’s an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign she’s been with royalty. You’ve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock she’s ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears. 

Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that you’re completely bare. “What’s wrong?”

Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. He’s always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young. 

Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brother’s back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemond’s breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.

Gently, you break the silence. “Aemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.”

Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemond’s hair. “A pleasure to meet you, my prince.”

“You must tell him what you were telling me.” You say. “Oh, it’s hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.”

He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesn’t leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach. 

The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemond’s nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom. 

“Aemond.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. “Here.”

Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. “A sapphire.” He says. 

“For your eye.” You explain. “I had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.” Jokingly, you add, “And perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.”

He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. “Thank you Jaenara.”

You smile, reveling in the first laugh you’ve won from him in a very long time.

Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegon’s usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king. 

The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge. 

It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. “And what can I do for you, my lady?”

“I am looking for my brother.” You say. 

“He seems to be behind you-”

“My other brother. Aegon.” You clarify. “Was he here last night?”

“I’m afraid not.” She says. 

You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemond’s eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze. 

“Where else, then?” Cole asks. 

“I don’t know.” You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that you’ve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. “This was the last place I could think of.”

Cole swears under his breath. 

Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. “He must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.”

You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most. 

Meleys’ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragon’s maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaena’s arm and try to ignore how your hands shake. 

Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon. 

You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your mother’s womb tremble underneath your grasp. 

You wait, watching Aemond’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.

You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice. 

A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. You’re alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaena’s arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemond’s over her shoulder. 

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Something is happening. They’ve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. It’s been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than you’ve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or what’s being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man. 

Still, there is nothing to do but wait. 

So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemond’s bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems you’d found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerys’s saddlebag when you’d claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things he’d copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasn’t half bad, in your opinion. 

You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside. 

“I had them draw a bath.” You say. “I figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.”

He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. 

“Very thoughtful of you, sister.” He says, eye fluttering shut. 

“Mm.” You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that you’d draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isn’t submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. “What business kept you in council so long?”

A tension settles in his jaw. “Lucerys Velaryon was also at Storm’s End.”

“You failed to win their allegiance?” You ask, surprised. 

“No. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.” You brother opens his eye. “But Lucerys is dead, at my hand.”

You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things weren’t already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. “How?”

Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Vhagar.” He says, his voice cracking slightly. “I only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger… I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she would…” He swallows, collecting himself. “Our mother is less than pleased with me.”

“Our mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.” You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. “You cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.” You pause. “It is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.”

He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair. 

You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window. 

You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each other’s injuries. 

You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. It’s eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, you’re sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within. 

Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the children’s beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall. 

Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail. 

Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop. 

You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward. 

The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerys’ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide. 

“The fuck-” The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin. 

He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows he’s raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth. 

But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest. 

“Kill him!” You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. “Kill him!”

“Jaenara.” Aemond’s voice is low in your ear. “The maesters…”

You try to shake him off, but your brother doesn’t relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerys’ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision. 

“Helaena,” You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.

“With Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.” Aemond assures you. 

“They,” You say, working around the lump in your throat. “Put a knife. To her throat.” You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. “Here.”

“I’m sure she’s being tended to.” He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. “We must tend to you too.”

Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along. 

You watch little Jaehaerys’ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. She’s empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as you’re sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring. 

It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you. 

The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing. 

But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephew’s body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing. 

Helaena’s eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.

You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own. 

“Cole and I will cut them off entirely.” Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rook’s Rest. “And with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.”

You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. “A clever plan.” You agree. “And Aegon also approves?”

Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. “What does it matter?”

“He is the king.” You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. “It is his war that we fight.”

“He is a figurehead.” Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. “At the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.”

“He is our brother, and liege lord.” You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. “You speak treason, Aemond.”

“Mm.” Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. “I forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.”

“He is my brother.” You repeat. “And my Helaena is his wife.”

Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemond’s soft voice breaks through again. “Did you ever let him fuck you?”

The question takes you aback, and you laugh. “What?”

“In all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?” He asks again, unwavering. 

“No.” You say. “I have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.” Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasn’t - isn’t - the nature of your friendship. 

“Hm.” Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. “Vermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.” He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach. 

“Of course.” You agree, confused. 

It’s been too long since you last did this. 

Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight. 

Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when you’d brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears. 

“Princess.”

You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “My sweet lady, my own heart.” You croon. “It has been far too long.”

She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “I did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.” She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. “Just like when you were younger.”

“Mm.” You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. “Wait, three? Is Aemond-?”

But it’s too late, you know it is as soon as Aegon’s raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face. 

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who he’d been laying with. Winding Falyse’s hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. “Another time, my lady.”

“Of course.” She says, understanding flashing across her gaze. 

You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry. 

“Aemond.” You say, unsure how to broach the subject. 

“Jaenara.” He returns, icy.

A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Come back home with me.” You say. 

You think he’ll spurn you, hiss some insult that’s more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, “Fine.”

He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegon’s behalf in some way, but you don’t get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, “Come.”

You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and you’re pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you won’t reject him, cradling you into his arms. 

When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. “I’m going to kill him.”

It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemond’s eye leaves no room for doubt. “I’m sure you will.”

Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. “I’ll kill him,” He says, rushed between kisses. “And without an heir, I’ll take his place.” His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. “Make you my queen, as he had Helaena.” He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair. 

He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. “You’re betrothed to another.” You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress. 

“As are you.” He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. “Both empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.”

You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, you’re both naked, and he’s hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him. 

His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, “Will you let me?”

As if you really even have a choice in the matter. “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. It’s not the most pleasure you’ve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isn’t unpleasant. 

You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that he’d asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadn’t thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.

He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. “My Jaenara…” He moans. “Always so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.” He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. “Seeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth… my dragon.” He croons. 

You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. It’s gotten better under the maester’s care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemond’s hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple. 

He whimpers again, almost like he’s in pain. “I will put us on the Iron Throne.” He swears, voice breathy. “Our dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.” He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. “I swear it to you.”

“Aemond.” You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides. 

“Tell me that you are mine.” He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you. 

“I’m yours.” You swear. “I’m yours, Aemond.”

He whimpers, and it’s the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemond’s thrusts reach breakneck speed. 

“You’re mine.” He whispers in your ear. “Mine, mine-” He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin. 

You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. “Did you mean it? All that you said?” You ask softly, stroking his hair again. 

“Mm.” He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice. 

You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place. 

You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side. 

But does Aegon really deserve to die?

Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you won’t spurn his advances. You can’t say that you mind too much. 

Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rook’s Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemond’s breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room. 

“You will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rook’s Rest.” You say. 

“Hm.” Aemond’s hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. “The conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.” He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck. 

“Mm.” You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. There’s something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek. 

He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will. 

“You must tell Aegon of your plans.” You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you. 

“He will no doubt find out on his own.” Aemond says. “Either way, they don’t involve him. Rook’s Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.”

“And if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?” You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace. 

“When.” He corrects, almost growling. “When I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.”

“Yet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.” You say. You know he’s getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent. 

You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. “Our brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,” He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. “We will be much greater.”

It’s treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemond’s queen, you would have more power than any woman before you. 

“You sound so sure already.” You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs. 

“That is because I am.”

Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While he’s not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, it’s almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. He’s been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerys’ death. You can’t blame him, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t concerning. 

“They plot behind my back.” He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Aemond. My own hand - and our mother, she…” He trails off. “They mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannot…” He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. “My wine.”

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” You say, doing your best to be firm. 

He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning. 

It’s hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesn’t deserve to die, not after all he’s been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. You’ve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesn’t deserve to die because of a crown he never desired. 

But one cannot simply resign from the throne. 

You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. “Ah.”

“Aegon.” You groan. 

He flaps his hand. “Someone will clean it up. Someone always does.”

“Perhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.” You say, utterly annoyed at your brother’s actions. 

Aegon scoffs. “As if you weren’t also kept in the dark.” His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you don’t look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. “They told you? And not me, their king?”

“I cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.” You say. 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. “You are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!” He cuts himself off. “But no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you you’re just like the rest of them.”

“Aegon,” You try, placating. “I meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-”

“No, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.” He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. There’s an anger in his eyes that you’ve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words. 

“Aegon-”

A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company. 

Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge. 

“Jaenara.”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. There’s an energy about him that you haven’t seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful. 

“What have you done?” You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice. 

“What I planned to do.” He says, taking you by the arm. “Are you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.”

“I…” You aren’t sure how you feel. Aegon isn’t dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he won’t be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemond’s ambition - isn’t elated at the downfall of the king. 

“Come.” Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegon’s behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake. 

You don’t realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. “My queen.” He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. “Have I pleased you?”

“Mm.” You hum, unable to say the words ‘yes, of course’. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. It’s more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle he’s just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face. 

“It will not be long now,” He says, breathy and rough. “Soon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?” He asks. “Will you give me more than one?”

“As many as you’d like.” You choke out. There isn’t another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As you’re sure he will. 

“We will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.” He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition. 

He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin. 

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, though you’ve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you. 

“As I, you.” You return. 

What you can’t decide, is if you feel the same.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

First, let me apologise for making people worry. I appreciate all those who reached out and I'm sorry that I couldn't get back to you all.

I have been through a very rough spiral. It was building for months, and I am still not fully okay.

For those who want context, it's under the cut.

I bought a house in May. It's expensive. I wasn't ready financially or in many ways for that step, but my partner convinced me. I told him as much but I was not heard. Alas, I have a mortgage, full time work, astudent loan, and an ongoing school program to contend with. It hasn't been easy and it caught up to me.

At the same time, a person who traumatised me and I have no way of fully extricating from my life, has moved closer. To keep the peace, I have to associate with him to a degree and he pretends that nothing ever happened. To him, it was nothing.

In June, I moved. It was hard and fast paced. I did most of the paperwork etc for the whole process and obv helped with the physical transition as well. I was responsible for deadlines and checklists for not just myself but my partner.

I was plugging holes in a sinking boat.

At the same time, I had obligations to my family. Every weekend if I wasn't dealing with the house and all that goes into it, I was running around to babysit or see family or whathave you.

In July, I pinched a nerve behind my tailbone. I missed a week of work bc my injury but it took longer for my to recover. I am still feeling it today. It was more than physical, but emotional.

I also got three periods that month. Hormonal can't begin to explain how fucked up I've been.

On top of all that, there are underlying issues associated with other trauma and discontent. I'm realising that I have been loyal and tolerant to the point of my own detriment.

I don't want to hurt people how I've been hurt, so I don't speak up. When people tell me something about myself, I let all the doubts planted in my mind from years of abuse convince me that they're right. I can admit my faults but often times I will think that proof of one flaw means everything about me is rotten.

People forget about me or just don't care. Both or either. They don't put the same effort in that I do. I find it hard to connect because years of disregard and neglect have told me that the other side just won't care.

But I'm not just hurt, I'm angry. I'm seeking therapy and trying to figure this out.

It all boiled over after my last post. Nothing I do is enough. For anyone. Not even when it's a hobby. I was frustrated bc the place I use for escape just made me feel like less than.

Obviously, I don't mean everyone or even the majority. I appreciate the discourse and fun and everything here! There are so many awesome people to interact with and I have missed you all, however, my headspace was bad. Very bad. I had thoughts I haven't dealt with in years.

I put my nose down and just went to work. I didn't wanna talk to anyone. I didn't wanna be in the world.

I did some reading, eventually some non-fandom writing, and sometimes, I just stayed alive.

I don't know if I'm really okay but I'm trying.

To those who have been so patient and supportive, you deserve everything. To those who are silent supporters, you do too. And even to those people who send me the most vile hate, you deserve to lift yourself out of the dark space you're stuck in. Hopefully, I can, too.

[soobnny]

classmate au | yang jungwon

❝ i’ve retired from the student council lmao ❞

heeseung | jay | jake | sunghoon | sunoo | JUNGWON | ni-ki

yang jungwon

where do i even begin

in the first year of highschool, he used to be THE class president

resident teacher’s pet, sits in the front, yada yada… typical good student stereotype

BUT NOW??? 😭😭😭😭

he just goes to school to be silly

don’t get me wrong like he is smart n still receives good grades

but he isn’t the 100% school jungwon from 7th grade

MOVING ON

how do you befriend yang jungwon

he’s actually a friend of a friend!

apparently, rei had met him when she was in the student council for like a year

so naturally, you eat lunch together at the canteen

he always has those cool lunchboxes and just rly GOOD food for lunch that he doesn’t share

you didn’t know what to expect from the boy when you first started eating lunch together

maybe timid??? shy??? bossy?? you don’t know bc he’s in a different section

you certainly don’t expect him to know about every single possible GOSSIP in the school

he says it in such a funny way too like

yang jungwon storytelling skills 10/10

and he laughs so hard like he will draw attention to your table bc he’s laughing so hard

but it’s valid bc the things he says sometimes are so unhinged that even YOU can’t help the loud cackles

tho you don’t rly become close friends until sports fest season

you hang around each other ++ additional friends BUT they’re always in some contest so you’re left with jungwon most of the time

“do you want to leave and go to the mall??,” you’d ask more as a joke

but he agrees

YANG JUNGWON agrees to skip sports fest to go to the mall with you im in tears

that’s how you find yourselves in a small karaoke room at the mall

he drags you to the arcade too

the original bet was loser pays for the winner’s lunch

but then u lost every game and u looked so cute pouting that jungwon suddenly changes the rules

“FINE… winner pays for the loser’s lunch”

he pretends to be so upset about it too so that you can grab his arm and shake it around to try and get his attention

he gives in obv

then he takes u to lunch at one of like ur fav places and ure like omg ??? u think it’s telepathy that he knows

BUT NO he listens to your stories during lunch time and you’ve mentioned eating here and loving it before

he even has your order down but he tries not to be too obvious about it ☹️☹️

yang jungwon listens to you even tho you’re seated a few people away from him

womp womp it rains when u decide to go back to school

you two end up running in the rain together

WELL technically at first you tried to share his umbrella but then the both of you got too flustered

so when u started to stray away from his umbrella .. he CLOSES it

he takes your hand and goes running for the school so you can take shelter from the rain

the teachers and students look at u like 🤨🤨

anyways jungwon and (name) ABSENT from sports fest

the only thing you remember the event by is bc u joined picture taking before leaving the school grounds

it’s so natural hanging out with him

nothing ever feels forced bc he’s just so goofy and silly that you never feel crazy when talking to him

ever since then !!!!! he’d sit closer to you during lunch time

then he’d start waiting for you outside your classroom just to tell you something ??

will find every excuse to talk to you

and if the teacher needs something from your room? bye he’s VOLUNTEERING just to see you for a few seconds

ofc the teachers just think typical Jungwon behavior

but no … this is typical Jungwon with a Crush behavior

ALSO picture this

his classes end earlier than yours

he will literally pass by your classroom a million times and peek through the open door to make like brief eye contact with you

sometimes .. u don’t notice him and he just admires the way you look on forward to the teacher

also pretends his class ended late so when ur class dismisses he’ll be like “oh let’s talk to the cafeteria together!”

he’s not slick abt it

WHAT DID THAT MALL TRIP DO TO HIM

why is he suddenly so down bad and willing to do everything to hear you laugh

(he starts sharing his food with you btw i know… very shocking for him who ltrly Never shares)

he finally confesses after a school event that ran longer than it should’ve

so he sprints at you and tells you he needs to tell you something bc he is going crazy

CONFESSES !!!!!!!!!

ofc who are you to reject him.

be careful when you start dating bc i firmly believe he LOVES kissing 😹

like he is obsessed and will just be kissing you all the time i’m sorry i’m pushing this agenda

tho ofc in hidden areas!!!!!!!

he doesn’t want his beloved teachers catching him who still has an image of being a teacher’s pet

soooooo like……

“come here, let me kiss you”

you even receive TEXTS as if you’re some sort of sneaky link (you’re not)

“please meet me under the stairs beside the student council office and prepare your lips 😘😘😘😘”

under the stairs, the side of the basketball court, an empty classroom … everywhere

BEHAVE yang jungwon

he’s so clingy and so smug too

has you as his lockscreen

it’s so funny bc someone would borrow his phone and your zoomed in face would just flash in his phone

talks about u to his friends all the time

“isn’t my girlfriend so pretty?,” with this smile 😊😊😊😁

lets you wear his school blazer

sometimes he even switches ur pe shirts

HE DOESNT TELL U

He just likes seeing the big fat “yang” printed on your back

STUDY DATES

he makes his kisses a reward sometimes like if you get this question right he’ll SMOOCH u

he’s honestly so good at being academic support like he knows exactly what to say bc 7th grade him was a different breed n be was so eager to please and always felt so pressured

jungwon a Veteran u guys

helps you in the subjects you’re not so good in

tbh teaches better than your teachers sometimes

like he’d stay behind in class and it’s only the two of you in the classroom and he’ll start WRITING on the whiteboard

just starts lecturing to help you for an upcoming exam

ANYWAYS

honestly just good luck to you and your poor lips

oh also your poor stomach bc he will always make you laugh

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

[yandereunsolved]

[devours every one of your self aware aus] Fantastic, I need about 30 more, especially the dc ones like omgggg 😫👏👏 I never knew I needed that au in my life until now, so thank you for my new strange addiction 🙏🙏

On self aware Jason I just want to spoil that broken lil mutt [affectionate]

I just want to reach in and pull him out, do some skincare, I can practically see him melting in my lap as I massage the product in watch some period dramas I’ve been putting off, listen to whatever he wants to vent about all the while curling that cute white streak in his hairrr 😭👌

Oh btw while I’ve been looking into your dc stuff [it’s fantastic btw, may your back never ache from carrying the weight of this creativity] i noticed that you write more for adult/older Damian, nothing wrong with that obv, but I’m so use to kid Damian 😅 I wanted to ask you which Damian do you like more? I can’t see Damian as anyone other than a kid tbh, plus I think he’s way funnier as a kid, like that friends sassy lil sibling that you can’t help but be fond of, yknow? Like, in my head he isn’t Damian Wayne, he’s Damian “that lil sht” Wayne 😅😅

Legit crying because of how sweet you are. 👏

Ah, life—if it wasn't so mean to me I'd literally have like 100's of fics on just the self-aware dc (and other fandoms) characters.

On the question of Damian Wayne—I enjoy the dynamics of younger Damian in comics, but I prefer writing older Damian.

Watching young Damian in media is just so fucking awesome and he's such a little shit and I love him. 😭💗

But naturally if I'm writing him in a romantic context he is going to be older. And I just prefer writing for his older version in general. It's make him a more nuanced and complex for when I write him. He has more to go on.

Like adult Damian still needing a comforting parental figure and finding reader??? Him becoming a yandere as he takes up the mantle of Batman? Mhm... mhm... MHM!

Adult Damian is so possessive over his darling and naturally it draws the attention of his family. Even being older the others still bully him and try to steal his darling.

Like it just opens up so many possibilities in my mind.

Maybe adult yan Damian thinks yan Bruce is dead so he takes up the mantle and also makes advances on Bruce's younger darling (who is basically near Damian's age). So Damian gets Bruce's darling who he has been pining over.

And then yan Bruce comes back so it's the daddy age gap yan verses the younger more arrogant yan.

Yummy.

[sunvmars]

honeybee | s.r.

pairing: steve rogers x fem/afab!reader

masterlist

word count: 6.9k

warnings: swearing- obv. smut & smut implications (nothing hardcore). slightly obsessive steve. occasionally innocent and shy steve rogers deserves its own warning bc…adorable. this also hasn’t been proof read

summary: after two years of knowing you, steve has learned everything about you. you became his best friend, and you, his. steve follows you around simply wanting to please you and do everything for you. finally you make the first move and steve wants to learn how to please you in other ways.

Steven Grant Rogers craves nothing more in this world than to please you in every possible way. Can’t reach something on a high shelf? No worries, he’s there within seconds to help you. And, no, he definitely wasn’t kind of following you. Hungry but don’t feel like making something? Steve would get or make you whatever you wanted and then some- and he’d have it back to you in 30 minutes maximum. You’re sore after a long mission? He’s on it immediately. He gathers every possible muscle cooling crème or oil he can find to give you a back massage. Needless to say, Steve would do anything for you. If you wanted him to hang the moon for you he’d find a way to do it.

Steve’s had romantic feelings for you for forever. However, over the last few months he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to more venereal places. Whenever you curled up against him in your sleep during one of your recent movie nights, all he could focus on was how your backside felt pressed against his groin. While he’s massaging your aching back and legs after training, the only thing he can think of is how he wants to touch every inch of you. Just last week he took you out to get your favorite ice cream, but found himself only capable of paying attention to the way your lips curled around the spoon. He couldn’t help but notice the way your tongue flicked out to quickly lick the leftover sugary treat from your lips.

The feelings were new for Steve. He was well used to how you made his breath catch every time you’re near, but the thoughts he was having of you recently were distasteful in his opinion. No matter what he did in attempt to banish the daydreams, they wouldn’t budge.

Currently Steve was alone in his room and trying to concentrate on his drawing- originally planning to draw a lavender field for you. He knew you loved that he’d gotten back into his previously retired hobby and loved to see your smile when he hands you new artwork. He also knew you’d probably hang it up on your wall with the other pieces he made for you. Not that he’d ever vocalize it but your approval and praise keeps his world spinning. Somewhere in the middle of sketching out the background his mind had shifted.

No longer was he thinking about the beautiful flowers; he was thinking about purely you. All he can manage to think of is how many different ways there are for him to make you feel good. He’s seen things over the years and heard things from Buck that give him a rough idea of how to pleasure you, but he truly still had no clue where to start. Steve yearns for you to teach him everything about your body; he wants to learn where and how to touch you to make you feel the same need for him as he does for you.

The pit of neediness growing in his stomach is quickly replaced with frustration. Steven had felt sexual attraction before of course, but he’d never thought of a woman sexually for this long. He knew he wanted to wait until he was truly in love with someone before he had sex. Although it gives him some peace to know that intimate thoughts come with being in love, not being able to knock the constant want to touch you was aggravating. He knew you were made for him though and it made it worth every irritating thought or confusing feeling. You were his missing piece and he would save himself for you no matter how long he had to wait.

“Steven?” you called from outside the door, knocking gently.

The sudden noise startled him from his thoughts, forcing the growing neediness he felt to the back of his mind. He stood up quietly, walking towards the door after closing his sketchbook. His brain short circuited immediately after opening the door to reveal you. You were all dressed up for Stark’s party tonight and fucking hell you were a vision. The corset dress you’d chosen to wear fit your figure perfectly and the baby blue colored fabric complimented your complexion. Your hair and makeup was done perfectly in Steve’s eyes too. The smile that tugged on your lips when you saw him made his heart flip. When your eyes scanned over him, worry dully visible in your gaze at his silence, he’d tried to spit the words out.

“Y/n,” Steve whispered as he tried to find the right words. “You…you look amazing in that dress. I meant your dress is gorgeous. I’m…shit. I’m sorry,” he manages to say, stumbling over a few words causing him to stutter a bit.

The sound of your giggle eases his nerves and he musters up a smile. He quickly takes another glance over your body before gaining an unexplainable boost of confidence, “you really do look divine in that dress, Honeybee.”

“Thank you, Stevie,” you respond softly as you brush a fallen strand of hair from your face.

Your eyes rake over his body now. His white t-shirt clung to his muscular figure, showing off his biceps and toned abs. The black sweatpants he wore often now showcased an obviously growing bulge. For a second he feels his breath quicken under your gaze.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go to the party? It might be fun, Stevie.”

A sigh escapes his parted lips and he shakes his head, “no, no. I’ll be okay here. I’m not feeling great today.”

“Anything I can do to help? What’s bothering you?”

Your head tilted as your fingers grazed his jaw gently. He tensed up momentarily at the sudden touch but relaxed almost immediately. Steve practically melted at your soft touch; a touch so caring and gentle.

“I’m alright, but thank you. It’s just a headache.”He takes your hand away from his jaw to bring it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I hope you have fun tonight, doll.”

“I’ll try. You should get some rest. You know where to find me if you need me, hm?”

Steve releases your hand with a smile, allowing your arm to rest back by your side. You’d left once you reassured him that you’d call if you needed him.

Steve went back to his drawing after awhile, deciding to watch a movie after finishing the piece. Unbeknownst to him, you were tiring of the party- social battery draining by the minute. That’s how, only an hour and a half after you left, you had shown up at his door again. Even in pajamas that consisted of just shorts and a tank top you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Your hair was a little ruffled from changing out of your dress and your breathing was slower than normal.

“Are you sleepy?” Steve asks before stepping aside to let you in.

“More than sleepy- I am exhausted,” you sighed. You stepped into his bedroom and shuffled your way towards his bed. After shutting the door, he watched as you crawled into his bed to get comfortable. He smiled softly to himself before sauntering over to you.

“Can I do anything for you, Honeybee?”

“Can we watch a movie?”

“Of course. Anything for you,” he reassures you as he sits down next to you, “I’m only a few minutes into the movie I started. Do you wanna finish it with me or find something else?”

“We’ll just watch it from here.” You sighed again, now too comfortable in Steve’s presence to even worry about the movie and only wanting to curl up next to his warm body.

He lays down on the bed, allowing you to lay however you want. You’d chosen to lay your head on his chest and let his fingers play in your hair. “I appreciate you. I don’t say that enough. You’re my best friend. And you take such good care of me,” you mumbled to the blonde, his chest threatening to muffle what you said. Luckily for him, though, he had heard it.

“I… I’ll always take care of you, pretty girl,” he cooed, “do you need anything else?”

“No. You’re always doing stuff for me. I just want to relax with you.”

He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat at your consideration for him. Steve knew you cared for him, but it only made his heart grow fonder when you expressed it out loud. It was times like these when he felt like more than a friend- like maybe you feel the same fondness for him. But he was never great at picking up on cues with women unless they expressed their intentions directly. In fact, most of his knowledge on women came from Bucky. Buck tries to convince him that you do actually like him the same way, which was true, but Steve would not make the first move and take the chance on mistaking your friendliness for something else.

The first half of the movie seemed to drag on forever. Not because he thought it was boring, rather because the only thing he was paying attention to was your fingernails tracing his abs through his shirt. He’s about to readjust himself under his blanket to hide his growing bulge but then it happens; there’s a nude woman on the screen writhing and moaning under her male counterpart. He feels your body still, your breath comes to a stop for a few seconds, and you squirm a little under the weight of his arm due to the awkwardness of the situation.

The two of you lay there for the entirety of the scene, hoping it’ll be over soon. Realistically it only lasted about a minute, but to Steve it felt like five. It wasn’t the scene unfolding on the tv in front of him that was working him up, no, it was the unpreventable thoughts of reciprocating the actions on you. Not that he had realized like you did, but every few seconds his grip on your hair would tighten. He’d twirl a strand of hair around his fingers and mindlessly tug gently on it. Your thighs pressed together at his touch. A need for him that you tried to get rid of pooled deep down in your stomach. Soon enough the movie was over, both of you remained mostly quiet throughout the rest of the film.

“So…did you like the movie, Honeybee?”

“It was okay,” you lifted your head and smiled up at him.

Steve wishes he didn’t see the sight below him that you’d created. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips parted as you took slow breaths. You’d given him the best view of your cleavage and tempting neck with the way your head was leaned back.

“Are you okay, Stevie?”

“Yes, yeah I’m fine. Just tired, y’know,” he responded with urgency in a desperate attempt to change the subject, “hey, get up for just a second? I have something for you.”

Your head lifts from his chest and your body straightened out as you stretched your limbs. He walked over to his desk, bringing back a piece of paper that looked blank in the darkened room. After taking the paper and looking at it under the tv light, you could see that it was drawing of a beautiful lavender field with a sunset in the distance.

“Oh, Stevie, it’s beautiful,” you smile as you look up at him through your lashes, “you already know this is going on the wall.”

“T-thank you. I’m glad you like it,” he mutters as his confidence is replaced with nerves from your eyes on him.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem more scattered than usual. You know you can talk to me, right?”

“It’s nothing, really, I just have a lot going on in my mind. Don’t worry about me.”

“Steven. Talk to me, you’ve been off for the last few weeks. Come, sit,” you smile softly at him to help put him at ease and pat the spot next to you.

Steve plops down on the bed a few inches away from you with a huff. He was being oddly distant and seemed anxious. While he wasn’t the most confident man in the world, he was typically a polite conversationalist or at least was one to fill awkward conversation silence. But with you, even though he was comfortable around you, he couldn’t find that same confidence.

“I’ve just been having a lot of…feelings, I guess, recently.”

You cocked your head to the side, urging him to continue. He obliged.

“I’ve been having sexual thoughts and I can’t get rid of them.”

“Oh.”

The confession shocks you for a moment. He’d never really been one to talk about anything intimate or sexual with you, always blushing whenever you’d make a sexually implied joke. He wasn’t a prude, but he wasn’t outwardly sexual with you either.

“I’m sorry, is it weird to talk about that with you? I don’t want to overstep a boundary.”

“No. It’s okay, really. Whatever thoughts or feelings you’ve been having, I’m sure they’re normal. You can keep talking if you want.” The genuine smile on your face gives Steve all the comfort he needs.

“I want to understand how it works- how it feels, even. Do you think that’s normal?”

Steve looked over at you again, expression laced with hints of curiosity and confusion.

“It is. Most people feel like that; I felt it at some point too,” you confess with a shy smile.

As soon as your approval was vocalized, a wave of relief washed over his features, “can I be honest? There’s this girl, and I want to do…certain things with her. Or to her.”

Curiosity and hints of jealousy plagued your mind. “Stevie! I didn’t know you liked someone. Do I know her?”

“I, uhm,” Steve stops his sentence short as if he’s trying to find the right words. He finally gets the confidence to speak, but all he says is “it’s you.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and his gaze met yours after a few seconds. He wanted to respond, to blurt out everything he feels for you. But he couldn’t; he had never been this forward with you. He stood up, starting to feel overwhelmed.

“Oh, Steven.”

“I’ve been in love with you. You’re all I think about. You’re so beautiful and sweet. You’re just so…you,” Steve confesses before pausing to glance up at you again, “Y/n, I want to do everything with you- everything for you. But all I’ve ever wanted just as much as I want you is your happiness; so, if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay, and I-“

“Steve,” you smile as you place a hand in his, “I love you too.”

It takes everything in him to stop his jaw from going slack. You loved him?

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“Once or twice,” he replies with furrowed brows.

“Do you wanna make it three times?”

He nodded slowly, his heart hammering out of his chest, “O-okay.”

“Don’t be nervous. Do what feels right,” you coaxed him, placing a hand on his cheek.

He took your advice and allowed his body to take over. His hands flew to your waist, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he attached his lips to yours with haste. You threw your arms around his neck and allowed a free hand to get tangled in his hair. His lips worked on yours desperately and slowly. He pulled away to catch his breath but crashed his lips against yours again only a few seconds later. You nibbled gently on his bottom lip and he pulled you closer to him, almost allowing a groan to escape his chest. His kisses grew hungrier as the realization of how badly he needed you set in.

“I want to take care of you. Will you show me how to make you feel good,” he mumbled, gasping for air against your lips. He backed you up onto the bed and held your hips down, caging you in between the soft mattress and his body.

Between his kisses and the butterflies you felt in your stomach, you couldn’t muster up a response. Instead, you chose to return the same neediness in his kisses as your way of saying yes. To have him begging you to let him learn how to please you was more than arousing. The idea was driving you crazy- he was eager to know how to make you feel good. Both of you were panting by the time he pulled away from your lips. His cheeks were tinted pink and his lips were a little swollen.

“Does it feel good if I kiss you here?” Steve inquired before placing firm, open mouth kisses on your neck. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair and you tugged gently on his soft strands. He took the hint to continue kissing down your neck, taking note of the quiet whimpers you were attempting to hide. He’d found a spot on your neck that elicited a moan from you whenever he kissed it. “Please let me hear you again, you sound so pretty,” he purred before dipping down to lick, suck, and kiss that spot again.

You tugged a little too hard on his hair at the sudden pleasure. His hips ground down onto yours instinctively, clothed cock rubbing against your core through your shorts. Steve noticed you shutter at the contact, deciding that it felt good for you when he did that- even if it was an accident. He repeated the action harder this time, now dry humping you with the perfect amount of friction. His thrusting was motivated by your moans and whimpers, only wanting to make you feel the best he could, and you were giving him exactly what he wanted with every gasp that escaped your lips.

“Is this okay?”

“It’s perfect, Steve.”

Steve tightened his grip on your hips and leaned down to place kisses on your lips. “There’s more you can do,” you’d managed to say in between a string of whimpers and his rough kisses, causing him to stop everything he was doing.

“Like what?” The question was rushed, it seemed as if he didn’t want to go a single second without giving you pleasure.

“You can touch me down there, do you know how?”

He shook his head, telling you to continue, “here. Let me get my shorts off and I’ll show-“

“No!”

His change in tone shocked you. The look he had on his face was telling you that it shocked him too. “I’m sorry. I meant I want to undress you- if that’s okay,” he apologizes.

“That’s okay. Go ahead.”

With that he backed off the bed, standing up to pull you towards the edge of the bed. He pulled you as close to the edge as possible that still allowed your legs to rest raised up on the bed. His hands made their way up your thighs tenderly. When he reached the waistband, he paused to look up at you for permission to keep going. You nod at him with a smile and then he’s pulling your shorts off slowly.

“You’re beautiful, doll,” he cooed, helping you sit up to take your shirt off. You shrunk under his gaze, throwing your arms up to cover your chest. He frowned at this in worry that he’d made you uncomfortable. He also just wanted to see your bare form again.

“Did I do something wrong, y/n?”

“No, it’s not you. You were just…staring at me.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s not a problem. I’m just not used to it.”

“Well, can I look at you again then..please?”

He once again waits for you to give him permission before moving. You suppress a giggle and give him another reassuring nod. His hands carefully move your arms to place them back at your side as he lays your body back down.

“So pretty,” Steve mumbles against your skin, pressing kisses along your chest. His hands are all over your body. Electricity courses through your body when his lips ghost over your nipple causing you to shudder- you hope he doesn’t notice, but he does. He pauses momentarily to hover his head over your chest and look up at you through his thick lashes, “what do I do?”

Your hand guides his to rest on you breast, “whatever you want. Use your mouth or your hands or-“

He cuts you off by squeezing softly at first to see your reaction; after seeing you squirm and hearing an almost whimper leave your mouth he decides to squeeze again. He squeezes harder, kneading your breast repeatedly as he pulls your other nipple into his mouth. His assault on your chest leaves you an unbearably wet and moaning mess under him. He’s quickly become addicted to your pleasure- he wants to hear you make these noises for him as often as you’ll allow him.

“God, Steve, you’re doing so good at that.”

He tries to hide the nerves he feels at your appraisal. Against his wishes he accidentally allows a whimper to fall from his lips as he pulls away from your nipple.

“You said I could touch you,” he says as he’s rubbing you through your panties. You can feel your wetness sticking to your underwear, now painfully aware of the effect he has on you. His fingers glide over your clit, “said I could touch you here. Right?”

“S-Steve,” you whimper his name softly at his touch.

“What…uhm..how do I touch you?”

“You can use your fingers, or your mouth. Or just do whatever comes natural to you,” you say in attempts to reassure him. However it only earns you a confused look from him. “Do you need me to show you?”

Contentment washes over his face and he nods hurriedly. It’s not that he wants to frustrate you or delay your pleasure but he does want to make sure he’s doing everything right.

“You can start by rubbing softly on my clit. Do you remember the spot you brushed just a second ago?”

“Mhm, the one that made you whimper?”

“Y-yeah, that spot,” you reply softly, taken aback by his newly found confidence, “you could start at my, uhm, entrance too. You can just tease me or put your fingers inside me if I’m wet enough.”

“Wet enough?” Steve questions with furrowed brows.

“When a woman gets, you know, turned on…she gets wet down there to make it less painful during sex. Do you understand now?”

“Oh,” he smiles at you innocently, the pieces seeming to click together, “I understand.”

He moves quickly to pull your panties down your legs. You squeak at the sudden motion and lift your hips up to make it easier for him to pull the fabric off. When he’s gotten your panties off, he lays you back down. He’s got you completely naked in front of him with your legs propped up and thighs spread apart by his strong hands.

“Woah,” he mumbles under his breath- the sight and smell of you intoxicating him. His eyes land on your dripping cunt right in front of him, and, if he didn’t before, he definitely understands what you meant now.

“You are wet. So, so wet. Did I do this?” Steve’s eyes contain nothing but adoration and curiosity as he ghosts his fingertips over your swollen clit. His gaze is glued to you, watching you shiver at his gentle touches.

“Steve, please,” you plead with a voice hardly above a whisper.

“S’not gonna hurt you. You’re..wet enough?”

“Yes, yes I’m wet enough. Please, do something.”

“How do I-“

You cut him off, feeling yourself grow needier, “Steven. Like I showed you earlier. Do anything. Just, please, touch me.”

“Hm, no more questions, got it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be firm with you.“

“I said I’ve got it,” he purred, pressing two fingers to your aching bud.

Your mewled under him as his touch sent heat to your core. Soft fingers circled your most sensitive spot. His name began to roll off your tongue repeatedly. Then his fingers slid from your entrance all the up to your clit to gather your wetness on his fingers and he eased in two fingers. He slowly stretched you out, pumping the digits in and out.

“Oh, honey, you’re so pretty,” he said in awe; the sight of you was making his heart beat out of his chest.

Steve moved his fingers in different ways while sliding them in and out of you. He’d paid special attention to the way your back arched a little and you made the most delicious sound when his fingers curled upwards inside of you. So he kept doing that, softly hitting your g-spot while gliding his fingers out of you. You pout at him when he pulled them out completely.

“Just give me a minute. Okay?”

He brought his fingers to his lips and paused before placing them in his mouth to suck them clean. A smile spread across his face, bringing his fingers down to get them wet again. He brings his coated middle and pointer finger to your lips this time and urges you to open your mouth.

“Steve,” you whine.

“You taste good, want you to know how good you taste,” he says with that same innocent smile.

Your lips part, allowing him to place his fingers on your tongue. You swirl your tongue around them and Steve bites back another whimper. He pulls his fingers from your mouth once they’re clean then leans down to place a needy kiss to your lips, tongues swirling together in your mouth. It takes all of him to pull away from you, murmuring “I have to taste more of you,” when he finally does.

He places himself so his face is only inches away from your cunt. He’s not sure why but he can smell your arousal. While your scent is intoxicating, your taste is even more so. His lips place gentle kisses up and down your slit. He drags his tongue between your folds painfully slowly, lapping your juices up with his tongue. You try to buck your hips up into his mouth but he shuts you down and holds your hips in place. A cry comes out when he starts to suck relentlessly on your clit; your back arches as much as his tight hold will allow. He’s eating your soaked pussy like he hasn’t eaten in days- like you’re his last meal. Your moans are music to his ears, he relishes in them.

“S-Steve, you’re so good at that. Fuck,” you whimper and tug at his soft hair.

He hums against your clit to let you know he heard you but all you can focus on is the vibration it sent to your sensitive bud. His tongue goes down to your opening to slide inside of effortlessly. He’s swirling his tongue inside of you, occasionally sliding it in and out. You coat his tongue with your wetness. Your moans have him desperate to hear more, so he goes harder and faster, his tongue roughly exploring your cunt.

“Shit. Fuck, Stevie, ‘m close. You’re doin’ so good,” you praise him as he continues licking and sucking.

Steve represses the urge to ask what you mean by close by choosing to slide a finger into you and suck on your clit. The tension in your stomach builds overwhelmingly fast. He increases his speed when a string of ‘Steve’ and ‘fuck’ falls mindlessly from your lips. That tension overflows as his tongue flicks your clit while he’s sucking on it. Your orgasm shakes your body but Steve doesn’t stop. After a few seconds it becomes overstimulating and you attempt to push his head away from you.

“Hold on,” he mutters, sliding his finger out. His tongue laps at your folds again causing you to squeal, the overstimulation making you giggle. “I’m sorry, you just taste so sweet. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright. You did really good.”

“Thank you..”

His eyes dart around the room nervously before landing on you. The corners of his lips turn up into a smile after he wipes his mouth dry with his hand. You return the smile as a means to comfort him and ease his nerves.

“Will you let me do something for you?”

“Oh… You don’t have to do that. I just wanted to please you,” he mumbles.

“Take your clothes off,“ you say with a smile still on your face.

He freezes for a second but then he stands to undress. You sit up as he slides his shirt and pants off, leaving his boxers for last. His thick, long cock springs up against his toned stomach when his boxers slide down his legs. It takes everything in you not to pounce on him right then.

“You wanna sit? Might be less overwhelming if you do.”

He hums his approval and sits next to you. After peppering kisses on his face and planting a few pecks to his lips, you slide off the bed and onto your knees between his legs.

“If you don’t like anything I do, tell me. I want you to be comfortable,” you say while taking his length in your hand.

The whimper that comes from him from just the smallest touch turns you on an unbelievable amount.

“Don’t think I’d dislike anything you could do to me,” Steve replies, voice almost faltering when you stroke him for the first time.

Your hand is soft and tight around his cock. He’d done this with his own hand a few times when he’d been too pent up, but it was nothing compared to when you did it. With perfect speed you pumped him in your hand. Occasionally your stroking would stop so you could glide a finger around his tip. His body shivers when you lick his shaft from the base to the tip. Then you slide as much of him as possible into your mouth; your head bobs up and down, cheeks hollowed out as you suck on him. His hand tangles in your hair and tugs gently. Steve almost comes undone when your hand strokes the bottom of his cock that wouldn’t fit in your mouth.

“O-oh my god,” he groans, the sensation almost too much for him. His hips bucked upwards in attempt to shove his cock deeper into your mouth, “y/n, baby, wait,” he stuttered.

You pull off of him quickly in worry that you’d overstimulated him. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m..uhm…close. But I don’t want to be done yet,” he says with a frown, “feels too good and I want to make you finish again.”

“Don’t worry about me, sweet boy. It’s your first time.”

“But it makes me feel good to take care of you,” he cooed before taking your hand and leading you on top of him, your bare core resting on his throbbing cock.

He pulls your head down so your lips meet his in a passionate kiss. Instinctively your hips roll against his. His lips on yours, tongue fighting for dominance in your mouth, and feeling of his length rubbing against your clit was delicious. He slides between your folds, his tip occasionally teasing your entrance when you move a certain way.

“Want you, Stevie,” your whimper against his lips when he pulls away.

“You have me, sweetheart.”

That same innocent smile he’s flashed many times tonight tells you that he doesn’t understand what you meant. Steven wasn’t dumb by any means, he just wasn’t experienced; you made him nervous too.

“I know. But right now I want you inside of me, if that makes sense.”

Realization shows on his features, brows furrowing only for a moment. “It does,” he declares after a few seconds.

You smile before crawling towards the center of the bed and laying on your back. He waits for you to get comfortable before positioning himself between your legs.

“I’m not gonna hurt you?”

“It’s like earlier, remember? It won’t hurt if I’m wet enough.”

He then dips his fingers down to gently run them through your folds. Steve frowns when he feels that you’re not dripping as you were earlier, “did I do something wrong, Honey? You’re not as wet.”

“It’s nothing you did, I promise. Sometimes you don’t stay wet if you’re not being pleasured or touched.”

As dramatic as it seems, his heart drops. He wasn’t making you feel good the whole time? Did you not enjoy pleasuring him?

“I wasn’t making you feel good?”

“No! You were. It’s just that while I was going down on you, you weren’t touching me, so I just didn’t stay wet. You cleaned me up with your mouth beforehand pretty well too.”

He ponders and almost gets lost in the thought of how his tongue felt buried deep in your warm cunt. “Right. Well I’m going to take care of you every second from now on. I have to make my baby feel good.” He grins as he plants a kiss on your nose.

His tone makes you giggle, the surge of confidence not matching his delivery. “Where’d that come from?”

“It was a poor attempt to be more assertive, you seem to like that.”

You look around the room, trying to avoid his gaze. His observation wasn’t something you expected him to notice. How silly of you to think he wouldn’t notice something about you.

“You do, don’t you? Is that why you didn’t stay wet for me? You like to be handled rough and I’m too innocent for you?” Steve’s questions bore into you and you struggle to conjure up an answer. “Look at me,” he demands, fingers carefully pulling your chin to the side to make you face him, “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t say anything but my name.”

Before you can respond he rubs his tip up your warmth. He has to bite his lip when he slides into you to prevent himself from making any noise. His body stills when his cock bottoms out inside of you.

“O-oh,” he sighs softly, “y/n, fuck.”

Once he sees that you’re not hurting he begins to slowly thrust in and out of you. You feel so warm and soft on him and he has to prevent the urge to pound into you relentlessly. He thrusts into you slowly, trying to keep some sort of rhythm but faltering due to the new sensation.

“You’re so… So fuckin’ tight, shit. You feel so good around me, angel.”

After a few seconds he’s able to hold a decent pace. The tip of his cock brushes your g-spot and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moan.

“No,” he pulls your face away from him, “want to hear you.”

A whine falls from your parted lips. You feel him throb inside of you and Steve, once again, has to hold himself back when he feels your walls clench around him again. Now it’s become obvious that he’s holding back. His body is tense and his movements are becoming less in sync.

“Steve.”

He ignores you, continuing to fuck into you while placing kisses on your neck and shoulder.

“Steven, stop.”

His motions stop immediately and his eyes frantically scanning you for any sign of distress or pain. When he doesn’t see any, he tilts his head in confusion, “doll? Is everything okay?”

“You tell me,” you press a kiss to his lips before grinding down on him to keep him hard, eliciting a whimper from him, “you’re holding back, Steve. You don’t have to do that with me. You’re not gonna break me”

He ponders for a moment before looking at you again, “are you sure..? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m going based off instinct but all I want to do is fuck you into this mattress and-“

Your lips attached to his, roughly moving against them, and he melts into the kiss. Slowly he begins to thrust into you again. This time his movements are rougher and harder. His hips start to buck up into you faster, pressure building in your stomach. It only takes about a minute before he’s pounding into you. His pace is unforgiving and you’re a moaning mess underneath him. Your fingernails rake his back, probably leaving bright red scratches, and his disgruntled groans and grunts are only muffled by his lips occasionally attaching to yours.

“You take me so well,” he gasps upon feeling you tighten around him yet again. Reaching a hand down to rub your clit he locks eyes with you, “s’like your tight cunt was made for me, honey.”

His tip hits that same spot again, repeatedly rubbing it. Your body jerks, your back arching off the bed.

"Want me to keep fucking you like this? Am I making you feel good now?" he taunts.

You don’t even manage to get a word out because as soon as he takes note of how to make his cock pound into your g-spot, he does it. You can feel him smirk against your neck before sucking on your collarbone. As if it was possible, his speed increases. A tight knot forms and he presses down to run his thumb over your clit. He leans down to place a rough kiss to your lips, tongue running over your bottom lip begging for entry. You allow it and your tongues tangle together in a sloppy kiss. He pulls out of you abruptly.

“Stevie,” you whine at the loss of contact.

“Get on top of me,” he demands as he lays beside you.

You look at him in confusion at his change demeanor, “but don’t you want to-“

“I wanna see all of you when you come undone on my cock, baby.”

You hesitate for a minute before obeying his wishes. Your legs straddle him, his length prodding your entrance. His hands grip your waist and guide you down onto him. The feeling of his thickness reentering you has you reeling. Steve’s mouth hangs agape momentarily when you’re sat all the way down, a deep grunt forcing it’s way out of him. He uses his grip on your waist to move you around on his shaft- you’re not sure you could’ve moved otherwise anyways.

“I love you, I love you,” he whispers repeatedly like it’s a prayer in between kisses he presses all over your chest.

“I-I love you too. You’re doing so well, making me feel s’good, Stevie,” you coo as you place a kiss to his forehead.

“I feel like..like I’m gonna…,” Steve struggles to piece the words together as you meet his hips, thrusting with him in sync.

“You can cum inside of me. It’s okay. You can let go.”

With your permission, he does just that. Spurts of his hot seed fill your swollen cunt. He throbs inside of you as he empties himself out. He feels you slow down to eventually stop riding him.

“Don’t stop, you’re gonna finish too,” he says through gritted teeth.

His first time and he’s worried about your pleasure too. He’s overworking himself through his first shared orgasm but only focuses on how he can keep making you feel good.

“Steven, stop. You don’t have to keep going.”

Before you could say anything else, he pulls your upper half towards him, careful not to mess up the rhythm at which he was fucking you. His mouth sucks one of your nipples in. His tongue swirls around it, sucking and licking the hardened peace. Then his free hand dips down to rub circles onto your sensitive clit. You whimper and tangle your fingers into his hair to pull on it. You curse under your breath at the overstimulation, feeling your orgasm approach quickly.

“Come on, baby. I know you have another in you,” he urges.

He comes back up to place a rough kiss against your lips while he pounds into you, keeping the same speed and pressure on your clit. The mix of pleasure he was giving you sends you over the edge. You ride out your high while still bouncing slowly on him as he continued to thrust. He watches your face closely so he doesn’t miss a single expression. Steve pulls out slowly but immediately when he hears your almost pained whimpers.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs.

His hand is brushing your hair back and his lips are peppering soft pecks all over your face. He pulls you off of him to lay you down next to him. Your head rests on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. He covers both of you with a spare fluffy blanket he keeps at the end of the bed. You feel warm and comfortable, the contentment of being satisfied was setting in.

“Are you comfortable?”

You frown upon hearing his question, “I’m okay. It was your first time and I didn’t help a lot, are you okay?”

“Oh, honey,” he smiles softly, “I’m more than okay. Thank you for showing me how to make you feel good. I love you, y/n, and I really mean that.”

“I love you too, Stevie.”

“You should get some rest. I’m gonna want more of you tomorrow,” you giggle, burying your face in his neck.

He holds you close with a protective arm thrown over you. He sighs to himself in exhaustion.

“My best girl,” he mumbles into your hair, “all mine.”

The pair of you fall asleep a few minutes later. He’s got you held close to him, right where you belong. You’ve had him and now he finally got you all to himself.

[starrynights-sunnyskies]

as the flowers bloom, my heart does too ⋆*·ﾟmisa x putellas!femreader, social media au, (11/-)

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when your relationship ends and all you want to do is hide and cry, flowers suddenly start to appear on your doorstep.

or; misa hating to see a pretty girl cry and suffer and going out of her way to cheer her up while staying anonymous

fic: see my masterlist 🤍

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yourusername: guess who's back home!!! Liked by albaps9, begovargas, janafernandez3 and 1,309 others

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username1 what happened to home is wherever you are? 👀 ↳ username2 Exactly what I was thinking lol

bff1 she's baaaaaaack 👯‍♀️

albaps9 🤗🤩😭

salmaparalluelo ❤️

ingridengen Stay a little longer this time! We've missed you 💘 ↳ yourusername i'm planning on it!! 🥺

claudiaapina 👏

fridolinarolfo Missing us already? 😌

marialeonn16 You two should come over for dinner! ↳ yourusername it's just me, but i hope the offer still stands 🤭

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↳ 6h ago: marisabel_rguez added to their story

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albaps9: don't mind me hogging up all her time now that she's here 😛 Liked by alexiaputellas, marialeonn16, marisabel_rguez and 891 others

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yourusername yea uuf it's been unbearable ↳ albaps9 don't pretend you didn't miss sleepovers in my bed ↳ yourusername 🤏 ↳ albaps9 that's what i thought ↳ bff1 excuse me, i do mind?? ↳ bff2 Yeah, what's up with that? 😝 ↳ bff1 wait, i see what this is. she's trying to weasel her way into our group ↳ albaps9 gasp i would never ↳ bff1 🖕

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↳ 15min ago: yourusername added to their story

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marisabel_rguez: 🧡🤙 Liked by ona.battle, bff3, carolinemoller_ and 16,529 others

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username1 wait this is so sad, is she alone there? ↳ username2 obv not alone-alone bc someone took the photos 🤣 ↳ username3 Who's she doing all this with if YN is still in Spain? ↳ username2 ever heard of friends and family?!?!?

jennihermoso 😍 ↳ jennihermoso (to the sunset) ↳ marisabel_rguez Get out of here 😂

carolineweir95 enjoy!!

bff1 *jaws theme starts playing* ↳ yourusername that's not funny 😫

sofie.svava Have a good time back home 😘

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yourusername: 🌼 Liked by alexiaputellas, claudiaapina, judebellingham and 1,938 others

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alexiaputellas Chiquita 🤩

begovargas next time i'm taking you to the ones in el raval 😌 ↳ yourusername more clothes? yes please (i say while trying to get my suitcase to zip shut)

friend1 Missy!! 😍

username1 why's jude still lurking 🤣

albaps9 yea, you're right, nala did rock those sunnies better 🤭 ↳ yourusername but i still rock them better than you ever will 🙋‍♀️

bff1 i want to be that icecream ↳ yourusername ew get out, weirdo

username2 why are you not with misa liked by 12 others

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↳ 12h ago: yourusername added to their story

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Text Messages

17:39 mami 🌷(ICE) Mija, text me when you are home. We just went through customs. I love you.

17:40 mami 🌷(ICE) Make sure you lock all the doors and windows when you go back to Madrid. Your tio knows you'll bring the keys to him. Tell him we said hello.

17:43 mami 🌷(ICE) And don't forget to clear out the refrigerator. You can take anything else that will expire soon with you.

17:45 mami 🌷(ICE) Be careful when you drive back to Madrid. Take some breaks and text me whenever you can. I know we will have a big time difference but you can always call and text me, laelia.

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18:01 albaquerque 🌼you've got this! and you've got your girls, so you won't be alone! i really loved having you around again. we'll see each other again soon. don't miss me too much 😉

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20:05 ale 🐻About to get onto the plane. Thinking of you. You've been through worse than a month alone, remember? And you'll have Nala to keep you company. I love you. 😘

20:05 ale 🐻 Give Nala a kiss, btw.

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yourusername: i could cry. Liked by bff3, bff1, alexiaputellas and 872 others

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bff1 uh yeah and you did. multiple times this week. ↳ yourusername stop exposing me 😭 ↳ bff1 as long as they were happy tears ↳ yourusername they were 🥺

bff3 My favourite girls! ☺️

username1 WHY AREN'T YOU WITH MISA AT THE WC?? liked by 42 others

alexiaputellas Looking beautiful you two 😍👶

bff2 I love you all so much!! 🥺🥺🥺 ↳ yourusername we've come a long way 🥺 ↳ bff3 We have ❤️ ↳ bff1 i can't believe we're getting old ↳ yourusername get used to it ↳ bff2 At least we're getting older each year! ↳ yourusername can't wait until we're grey and pruning and wreaking havoc in the nursing home ↳ bff2 And then our kids come to visit us and get second hand embarrassment 🤣 ↳ bff3 I can't wait ☺️ ↳ bff1 jesus guys, let me find a hubby first ↳ yourusername are you implying you need a hubby to have kids bc i will fight you on that one ↳ bff1 NO. be gay do crime ✌️ ↳ yourusername 😚

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↳ 45min ago: yourusername added to their story

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↳ 16h ago: marisabel_rguez added to their story

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↳ 12min ago: yourusername added to their story

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↳ 2h ago: yourusername added to their story

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yourusername: friends and food. Liked by bff3, bff1, alexiaputellas and 872 others

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bff2 😍😋

marialeonn16 Pasta again? ↳ yourusername yea... i'm constantly carrying a carb infused food baby around 😭

bff3 Always the best cook ❤️ ↳ bff1 you're only saying that because she kept indulging your cravings ↳ yourusername i was just being a great friend xxx

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↳ 1h ago: yourusername added to their story

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yourusername: madrid madrid madrid 🌼 Liked by bff2, friend1, janafernandez3 and 1,290 others

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username1 girl what are you doing, the semifinal is in two days 😭 ↳ username2 At least she's back in Madrid? 🤞

friend1 Better luck next time! 🎾🖤

bff3 Loved our double date... + YN 😂 ↳ bff2 It was such a lovely day with our men... oh and YN 🙊 ↳ yourusername rub it in, won't you <3 ↳ bff1 next time you'll have me there again to save you from the thirdwheeling!!!!!

username3 get your ass down under asap for wag duties 😡 ↳ username4 fr why isn't she supporting misa at the wc? ↳ username5 Some people have jobs and responsibilities, ever heard of those? ↳ username3 and you don't think supporting your significant other at one of the biggest moments in their life is important?

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Text Messages

10:31 Misa Hey, what's up, are you free?

10:41 Alexia Sure!

10:41 Misa Can you come to the cafe on the corner of the street? I'm at a table outside.

10:41 Alexia Right now?

10:43 Misa If you can? 😅

10:43 Alexia Is everything okay?

10:44 Misa More than! Don't worry.

10:44 Alexia Are you sure?

10:44 Misa Positive. I just need to talk to you about something.

10:44 Alexia Okay. I'm coming down!

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marisabel_rguez: Hello Sydney, hello final! 🇪🇸😎 Liked by bff3, albaps9, haleyraso and 18,389 others

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sofie.svava If you don't bring me one of those hats, we're going to have a problem. ↳ carolineweir95 I can't tell if this is sarcastic or not 😂

haleyraso Welcome, welcome 😌

username1 ok misa i see those flowers 👀

username2 I miss YN in the comments 😕 ↳ username3 but she hasn't really posted anything, so what is there to comment on?

albaps9 HELLO 👋

alexiaputellas 😎

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↳ 23h ago: yourusername added to their story

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username1: YN IS IN SYDNEY, I REPEAT, SHE IS DOWN UNDER! (pic cred to username19 from twitter) Liked by 323 others

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username2 what hotel is this?

username3 Now we just have to cross our fingers she's not only there for Alexia because this sudden radio silence is creeping me out

username4 was she with misa?? ↳ username5 she's not staying at the players hotel and i doubt the players can go see family right now. they're always pretty isolated during big tournaments, especially now that the final is tomorrow. and i heavily doubt that vilda will let family come over to keep morale high

username6 it kind of worries me that they're no longer so loveydovey online, but i'm holding out hope for a YSN pic soon ↳ username7 they're probably fine. they don't have to salivate on each other's post week in week out to be going strong. ↳ username8 It lowkey looks like the initial hype died down a little after their hard launch, but hey, that's fine. It's their life, as long as they're happy 💘 ↳ username9 but they better go back to being loveydovey again soon tho 😭

username10 🕯praying everything is fine between them 🕯

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a/n: hope you've all had a sweet week 🌻