#because even they must have realized it was too much of a reach

[vickytaa]

Music keeps me alive. M.S. Chapter IV

sumerry: y/n's father passed away, and she moved to Boston to finish school. She always keeps her headphones on, only she knows the reason why. What happens when she meets Matt?

Chapter I - Chapter II - Chapter III

Y/n Pov:

I was never a big fan of parties, especially when I didn't know anyone, but being next to Matt always calmed me down a bit. After the thing with Emily, everything felt weird and uncomfortable, but the guys quickly noticed it on my face and made me feel at ease again.

“Honey, I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back,” I told Matt, who kissed me on the forehead and let go of my hand so I could go. It didn't take long, or well, a little bit. I just did my business and touched up my makeup a bit, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to go back out. The party wasn’t bad, and getting to know the guys' friends better is great, it's just that I was tired and I've never been one to go to these parties, but if Matt liked it and it made him happy, obviously I was going to go with him.

As I walked in, I was met with a crowd of sweaty bodies dancing together, which made me a little uncomfortable. But when I found Nick talking to Chris, everything else faded away. Reaching the circle where everyone was chatting, I saw him. Matt was wrapping his arm around Emily's waist, just like he used to with me. He must have made a mistake. But how could he not realize it wasn't me? Maybe he'd just had too much to drink... But Matt doesn't drink much. I was approaching them when I saw Emily grab his jaw and kiss him. He didn't pull away, he kissed her back. How? Why? Didn't anyone notice that I wasn't the one with Matt?

Without realizing it, my eyes had filled with tears and some rolled down my cheeks. My breath caught in my throat. My heart ached. Those few seconds of their kiss felt like years to me. I felt invisible, until Matt heard a sob coming from me and turned around. That's when he realized that the girl he was kissing wasn't his girlfriend, it was Emily.

I was in shock, my world was falling apart, again. "What? Y/n?" I heard Matt say, looking completely confused. I had trusted him, I had told him things about myself that I never thought I would tell anyone else. I couldn't think of anything else, I wanted to get out of there, away from everything, from everyone, lock myself in my room and never come out. So I did, I turned around and started running through the crowd, while I heard Matt shouting for me to stop as he ran after me.

"Y/n! Wait!" Matt repeated, his voice desperate. I had managed to get out of the house, but hearing him cry made me unable to contain my pain and I turned around, this time stopping. "Y/n, I- I didn't- I didn't realize that... that it wasn't you. I had too much to drink and when she..." Matt started to speak, trying to explain what happened, but I couldn't take anymore pain, so much betrayal, so much everything. "No, Matt!" I tried to interrupt him, but I couldn't. He had come very close and grabbed my arms tightly, afraid I would leave. "I thought you had already come back and..." "Matt! Stop!" I yelled, now desperate because I couldn't escape. Matt stood still, slowly raising his gaze that was fixed on the floor to meet mine. My tears were now falling uncontrollably, despite my enormous effort to stop them. "Matt, let go of me," I said, now in a softer, lower tone. But he didn't let go. "I don't want you to leave Y/n. Please," Matt started begging me not to leave, which hurt me even more, but I had to stay strong and respect myself. "No, Matt. Now let me go," I said again in the same tone. "No, no, no, please don't go, I need you," Matt said as he began to kneel in front of me. He was crying uncontrollably, begging me please not to leave, grabbing my legs. "Matt let go of me!" I shouted and my voice cracked.

Hearing my voice crack, Matt let go of me. I quickly ran away from there, not wanting to hear anything else from anyone. I didn't know where I was going or how long I was going to walk, all I knew was that at that moment I needed my dad. He had always been there for me in the best and worst of times, always trying to make me feel better. Even though sometimes I didn't quite understand what he was saying, he always found a way to see the good in the situation, or a way to make me feel good, no matter how bad the situation was. For example, when my cat Sherlock died, he made sure to be there for me the whole month, giving me gifts, affection, making me laugh, despite the fact that I wanted to cry, among many other things that I had never realized I needed until he was gone.

And that left a huge void in me, a pain in my chest, a sadness and a need for him to come back, not at 2 in the morning at my lowest point of mental breakdown, but when I was laughing with my cousins while playing at the last family dinner all together.

I didn't need the music. When I said it kept me alive, it was a lie, what kept me alive was the memory of my dad. The countless nights I spent sleeping in his arms while listening to his favorite records, the road trips singing at the top of our lungs while mom laughed at how much we were alike, that's what kept me alive.

After an hour of walking in the middle of a neighborhood I didn't know, I decided to order an Uber home. The ride was quick, I got home and opened the door, still in costume. "Hi honey! How-" My mom started talking until she looked into my eyes. "What happened to you? Are you okay?" She started asking me a million questions, but I wasn't really listening. I couldn't feel anything but pain. Why does something bad always have to happen when I'm having a good time? It broke my heart to see myself so vulnerable in front of my mom, not knowing what else to do but wanting to run away from everything, like we had done when Dad died. My mom understood that I wasn't going to talk now so she hugged me. She knew I needed my father there, and maybe that wasn't something he would have done, but now he wasn't there and she had to find a way to make me feel a little better. I was crying uncontrollably, and my mom's hug made me cry more, but it helped me, because I felt more comfortable expressing my feelings, I felt accompanied, I felt at home. After a while hugging, my mom helped me go to bed and lay down next to me. Maybe I'll never say it, but I was very grateful to her.

That night, I could sleep very little, so my mom let me sleep a couple more hours and then try to talk about what happened yesterday. When I woke up, I stretched and grabbed my phone. There were thousands of messages and missed calls from Matt, but I couldn't even start looking at them when my eyes started to fill with tears again. I decided that maybe I wouldn't want to see my phone for a few days, so I just turned it off and got out of bed. My mom was making breakfast, like every day. "Good morning, my love. How are you feeling?" she asked. How do I feel? It was my time to speak, to explain everything that had happened, to talk about everything that has been happening to me lately since Dad died, to talk about my desire to leave, to talk. But who cares? If I have a problem, the problem is mine and I have to solve it myself, if I talk to someone I'm sure I'll bother them, I can't talk. If I talk, I cry. Why can't I explain what I feel like everyone else?

I simply swallowed my urge to cry and nodded. I sat down for breakfast and just sat there, staring at the plate of food in front of me. "Y/n, please," Mom said without explanation. I started eating. When I finished, I went upstairs to go back to sleep. I had nothing else to do. When I got up, I would just stare at the ceiling, not knowing what to do. Read? I couldn't form a complete sentence in my mind. Listen to music? I can't even hear my own thoughts. Talk to someone? I cry.

The moments from last night replayed over and over in my mind. The turn the night took, before we went out we were all doing great, happy, and at the end we didn't even leave the party together. I wonder what Matt is thinking, what he's doing. Is he thinking about me? Why would he think about me now if he didn't think about me before kissing Emily? God. I need to sleep and never wake up again.

The emptiness inside me grew bigger and bigger. I don't know if I'll ever trust anyone again. I feel broken and alone, as if the world around me is falling apart and there's nothing I can do but watch it crumble. I don't understand why he would want to make me believe he was in love with me and that he loved me only to break my heart. A big part of me wanted to talk to him and tell him what a jerk he is, the other part wanted to believe that it was an accident and that there's still hope.

The following days were the same, I only left my room to eat or go to the bathroom, I missed a whole week of school, I left my phone off, in short, I disappeared for everyone except my mom. She understood that I didn't want to go to school now because I didn't want to see Matt's face, but she refused when I asked if we could move because if I did anything here it reminded me of him, and that hurt me a lot. "No, honey, we're not moving again." I was crying again, begging her to leave. "Mom, please!" I said in my broken voice, full of pain. My mom's heart broke seeing me like that, but she couldn't take a step back again. "Honey, listen, when your father... passed away, I couldn't go back home because I was afraid of having to start over without him. He was the engine of my life." Her eyes began to fill with tears, she paused to catch her breath and spoke again, "That's why we moved, because I couldn't go back home and see all his things. But now that some time has passed, I could think about it better and I think maybe it wasn't the best thing on my part, because with that I taught you that if something bothers you you have to run away from it, and no, you have to talk. I barely knew Matt, but he seems like a good guy, and it shows that he really loves you and would never do anything to make you feel bad." She finished and I saw a tear fall and roll down her face. "Mom..." I said in a weak voice. "Honey, talk to him." "I... I can't," and with that I ran to my room and locked myself in again.

When the weekend arrived, I found myself out of my room, in the living room, listening to music again after so many days. As the first song was about to start, I heard the doorbell ring. Who was it? I wondered. Honestly, I didn't want to see anyone, especially at that moment, because I had red and swollen eyes, my hair in a messy bun, a big t-shirt and shorts.

But I didn't think about it much either, so I quickly got up from the couch and walked to the door. The doorbell rang again, it seemed like the person behind the door was desperate. "I'm coming!" I said, a little annoyed by the impatience. I opened the door and there was Nick, who looked very worried, and as if he had been crying, but little compared to what I had cried. "Y/n, I need help," Nick said. I knew this was serious, because he went straight to the point, without greeting or anything. Before I could ask, Nick explained what was happening: "Matt... he's not eating, he's not talking, he won't leave the room, Y/n please, we've tried everything, but-" I interrupted him, "Wait, wait, what happened to him?" I couldn't believe it, Matt was bad, very bad. Could it be because of...? "When you ran out that night, we went after Matt and found him crying on the floor. We took him home, we tried to talk to him, but he doesn't answer, he just locked himself in the room and won't come out. I'm afraid he's going to do something bad. I'm scared, Y/n."

I knew what happened between us had affected him, but hearing it from Nick? This is terrible. Nick is never afraid of anything. I knew I had to do something to help his brother, as much as it hurt me, Nick and his brothers were still my friends and seeing him so devastated broke my heart.

I tried to calm him down a bit, we spent some time together, but my mind was fixed on Matt, I had to help him. So when Nick left, I turned on my phone, after a few days off. And there were millions of messages from Matt, of all kinds, but they all ended with an 'I love you, I'm sorry'. I can't deny that my heart didn't break as I read the messages.

I couldn't wait any longer, there was no more time, I changed into a more comfortable outfit, greeted my mom and left the house, to head towards the triplets' house.

a/n: I cried writing this chapter. What happens when she goes to their house? I can't wait

love yall:))

[keelt9]

Chapter 13

Masterlist

It took Max’s manager and me around 10 minutes to get him into the jet, by the time we arrived at the airfield it was supposed they must be in Milton Keynes.

I lied to him, telling him I was fine, just maybe a little bit dizzy; he tried to insisted he wanted to wait for Mika or Thomas came to pick me but I calm him down saying <I will be fine.>

Mika and Thomas arrived 30 minutes later, found me with Caleb who insisted he didn’t want to leave alone until I was fine. 

Mika was calm until Caleb mentioned the part of leaving me alone, causing a dry laugh from her, asking if his own words didn’t taste like vinegar.

Max called me right away as they landed, I assured him I was fine, just I got dizzy for the long weeks and the moved weekend, but I was totally fine.

Mika and Thomas didn’t mention a word to anyone about when we met Caleb; but try to persuade me at least I should tell Max who is Caleb, not because he must know everything about my past, just because as Mika said, if that dude is someone who hurt you that much I like to know.

Still I can’t, not now.

Singapore was a success, even for Lewis who reached third place. 

Max called me that night to tell me all in the paddock started to tease him about us, and he was fighting for nor saying a word, but Checo’s facial expression didn’t help him at all.

“I also received a couple of messages.” Alexa texted me Thursday night about a couple of photos of me and “someone” who looked like Max in Newport beach. 

Max smiles as he’s finishing his breakfast. “Alexandra.” 

“How do you know?” I almost hit the table in the living room.

“Charles has been very curious too.” He said drinking what I bet is his first redbull of the day. “Are you alone already?”

My parents left early for an old friend's party in Ireland, leaving me with the confidence that I'll be alone one day, because Max will come from me Tuesday afternoon to travel to Japan.

“Yes, it’s been a long Monday.” I laid down on the couch. “I never imagine how many permissions you need.”

All these days I have been in endless reunions and paperwork for the shelter, knowing I’m not going to be around, I have to make a huge progress before going to Japan. 

“And this is starting to frustrate me.” I raise my arm with the cast. 

Max realizes something. “I haven’t signed it, first thing I’ll do tomorrow.”

I didn’t realize I have a sheepy face until Max mentioned it. “Go to sleep, I'll see you tomorrow, ok?”

I nod getting up the stairs. “Have a safe flight.”

“Sleep well.” He smiles while drinking his Red Bull, hanging out.

Mornings are officially cold, but the sun keeps you warm as the few sunlights touch your skin. I finished my first snack of the day, sending the last information for one of the companies who will work with us when I hear wheels on the gravel, Max is here.

I close my laptop running to the main door, excited to see him after one week, still one I opened the door, Max isn’t there.

One more time, my blood runs cold.

“Hanna was right.” Caleb is standing at the door with his hands on the pocket of his jacket smiling. 

I curse low, I hate to admit it but Hanna keeps knowing some things about me. 

“Can we talk?” I close the door behind me. “I guess your parents are inside, I get it.”

Caleb waits a couple of seconds but simply seeing him smiling looking so fresh is making my anger increase.

“I just want to come and make sure you’re alright, you seem quite impressed and…” 

“You never worry about me.” I grip the cast trying to contain me. “It’s stupid you pretend now.”

Caleb got down his head. “Listen Y/N, things kind of mess up, but…”

“Mess up?” I scoff. “You better get out of here.” The tears on my eyes make everything blurry.

“I don’t cause you so much damage. Jeez Y/N, you seem happy in a new relationship, that’s a good sign.”

I couldn’t hold back, the next thing I realized was that my hand was hitting his cheek. “Go.”

“I deserved that, I know, I came here for…” Like he stumbles with his own feets he goes backwards, it was until Max appeared behind him pulling him for the jacket I blink and my blurry vision became clear.

“She told you to go.” Caleb scoffs but I know he won’t take a step back.

“Don’t get involved in this, this is between her and me.” I see Max’s face switch as he caresses my face, the leath eyes on him. 

“Get fuck out of here.” I grip Max's arm seeing he's about to push him, he turns around grabbing my hand.

“She told you who I am?” I feel my stomach flipp and I hiss. Caleb saw my eyes and he knew it. “You don’t tell him.”

“Enough, go.” Max grabs him by the jacket pushing him to his car.

“Max!” I try to grip his arm back, Max is so angry that he didn't even listen to me.

“I WAS HER FIANCE, IDIOT!” Max shutter for a minute but he opens the door of his car, pushing him. 

I can’t move, I've been holding my breath but all I do is sit on the stairs. 

Max grip the door. “Go, before I call the police.” 

Caleb holds his serious face and bluffs from the last time. “You can thank me later.”

I hide my face between my legs and my arms, trembling, feeling my world is collapsing one more time. 

“Hey, hey, can you look at me?” When Max sees I don’t move he kneels in front of me and hugs me, that was all I needed to break in tears.

No matter if all the walls are crumbling down, there are some wounds behind them, and sometimes those wounds are so easy to bleed like the first time. 

I push him away, I stand pushing him, one more time. “Leave me alone.” I clean my face but tears are impossible to stop.

“Y/N.” He grips my hand on his chest. 

“You don’t hear me?” I take my hand off his chest. “Leave me alone.” I said between grip teeths. 

I ran back to the door opened by closing it with a big thud, unable to move. I slip until the ground, my chest hurts, my breath is fast and my body is trembling. 

“Can you please…” Max said. “Please don't shut me down.” 

I cover my mouth for he won’t hear me. “Y/N.”

I don’t know how much time has passed until I hear another voice behind the door, but my fear fades away when I recognize Thomas' voice.

“Y/N, it’s me, can you please open it?” Thomas knocked softly.

“Tell him… Tell him to go.” My voice broke in every word.

“Y/N..” Thomas said in a begging tone.

I clean my face. “He goes or both of you.” 

I don’t want to distinguish what they said, just a loud <Fuck> from Max before the loud sound of wheels on the gravel, let me know is ok come out.

Just in that moment I opened, throwing myself in Thomas' arms crying like I did years ago.

It took me  a lot of time to calm down, but when I got it, I called Lewis to explain it; want it or not, Max will ask him when they meet in Japan. He cursed low and I could hear the anger as he asked me if I would be fine being alone this weekend.

“I’ll go Mika’s house.” It’s late at night and Mika and Thomas are there helping me, in all. 

“Call Nicola in case…” I heard someone calling for him, he’s already in Japan and for them it’s early morning.

“Let’s talk when you come here, ok?” Lewis breathes out. “Ple…”

“I won’t say anything, don’t worry. Try to rest, I’ll see you as soon as I can.” I heard he asked for another minute. “Love you.”

“Bye Lew.” 

I hang out but my eyes are lost in the big trees. “Y/N, ready?” 

Mika is under the frame door with my purse as Thomas walks with my bags in his hand. 

They waited for days for me to speak about it. Mom and dad called me when they didn't see any show for me being in the paddock so I told them what happened, even when they tried to remain calm I know they were angry too.

The farm is gone now, a big land is in front of my eyes with machinery all over the place; anyone there, after all it is Saturday morning..

“I’m terrified.” Thomas lifts his eyes from the blueprints. 

All these days I isolate myself in Newport, my house is in the last touches and the shelter in the first phases. 

Thomas forgot the papers we’ll need this Monday, after leaving Mika in the hospital we drove here.

“Y/N.” Thomas whispered. “It’s not easy, it’s ok to…”

“No it is not, I hurt him, I know.” I clear my throat. “But, I’m trying to protect him from all the shit.”

“Y/N!” Thomas spat leaving the pen on the table. “Don’t say that.”

“Do you even imagine what would happen if someone saw Max Verstappen pulling a guy into his car as a girl is crying on the floor?” Thomas bluffs but he knows as me that would be a pretty big scandale. “I’m scared that he probably thinks I’m a playmaker.”

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times trying to put his word in order. “A guy like Max didn’t care that much, besides he never thought that of you. I talked with him and believed Y/N the only thing it was in his mind at that moment was to protect you.” 

Thomas grabs the papers and walks to the exit of the small tent where he works on the week. “He just want to make sure you’re safe.”

I see the leaves on the ground in brown, orange and yellow colors. “I know you’re not ready to tell him and like Mika said it’s not because he must know your past, it's just because if someone hurt you, I bet he would like to know.”

“I’ll drag too many people to this mess.” I feel a knot on my throat as I see my shoes playing with the ground.

“I’m going to correct you.” Thomas jostled me softly. “YOU have so many people you trust and know we care about you, and the same people you know you can lean on.” 

Imagines of my family, friends and new friends that appear in my life, giving me a hug when I need it, hearing me all the time, even just calling to ask if I already eat, flow my mind, as a smile appears on my face. 

“Is it bad that you lean on someone new?” I see Thomas and raise his shoulders. “After all, in these… whoa almost a year, that’s what you both been doing right?” 

I chuckle letting Max’s memories clear my mind. I see my phone, it’s not late.

“Give me a couple of minutes.” Thomas smiles and nods.

“I’ll wait in the car.” I waited until I heard the sound of the door to dial his number. 

I don’t wait too long until the third beep Max picks up, of course he won’t let me speak first.

“Are you ok?” I scrunch my nose trying to contain my tears. “Y/N…”

“Forgive me. I didn’t push you away, it's just, it was so much in that moment. I’ll tell you what you have to know, I swear but not now.” I moved side to side of the tent.

“Don’t bite your cheeks.” I giggle releasing I biting the inside of my cheeks. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

“Max…” 

“All I care is that you are ok.” I heard the sound of him moving on the bed. 

“I am now, hearing you, I’m better now.” I closed my eyes like he could see me.

“Don’t do this to me schat, no when you’re far away.” Max complains. “And all I want to do is kiss you and hug you right now.”

I cover my face feeling a tear slip. “Let's find each other when the triple heads of Asia end, ok?” Max growls. “Is it so much your race thinking that is making me so happy?”

“I’ll do more than that, count with that.” I heard someone knock on his door. 

“I’ll leave you.” Max said goodbye but I added one last thing. “Max, I’m holding tight, really tight.”

“That’s all you have to do.”

The race was exceptional, Max won with a comfy difference of 2-3 seconds with Charles, but I never expected what would happen in the press conference.

Max posted photos of the race on the top of the podium, in the last slide was a photo we took when we were in Liverpool watching the sunrise. 

Not a simple photo of the sunrise; his face illuminated for the sun in orange colors as I’m hugging him but my face isn’t appearing in the frame, just my hair and my arm around his neck.

>Keeping her busy with winns.

In one of the many comments Max had about if there is a chance of tha girl in the picture could be me, I replay. 

> 👀

That unleashed an endless week of rumors and even a timeline of my relationship with Max started to spread. In the time line are photos that I didn't even know when or were taken.

Even Lewis helps to increase the rumors by posting a story of me laying on the couch of his house with the small description of…

>Keeping an eye on her. 

Which Mercedes complement with.

>Keeping a lot of eyes on her.

Red Bull can't stay behind, answering Mercedes.

>When you are busy we can keep an eye on her too. 😉

By the time the GP of China ends, Max was questioned about his position on the rumors.

“Max, what can you say about the things that are happening around you and Lewis' little sister?” Max keeps his face neutral.

“Y/N is an amazing person, but I'm afraid Lewis lost from his view a couple of times.” A big smile with pressed lips appeared on his face.

Lewis regrets he didn't have the chance to reply to something, but his tour with the reporters ended.

“We didn't want a soft lunch, right?” Max said as he arrived to apartment in Monaco.

“Not after a race!” I laugh rolling my eyes.

“Where are you? It's pretty dark. I can barely see you.” He said searching for his keys in his bag.

I opened his door jumping on him, causing him to act fast grabbing his phone and me at the same time. “In your house.”

Max curses but holds me tight against him.

“Oh my God.” He splits so he can see my face. “Hi.”

I scrunch my nose, jumping was a bad idea because my casted arm hurts.

“Reckless girl.” He observed my arm. “Are you ok? You shouldn't be jumping around, you know there is  a percentage of people who can aggravate a fracture even being with a cast.”

I roll my eyes. “So much blah blah blah.”

I pull him by his shirt for kissing him so slowly but passionately, with just one intention, leaving him breathless.

I get it because the lack of hair was the only thing that made us separate.

“I miss you.” I whisper stick to his lips. “I'm sorry, I know…”

We're so lost in the moment that he just pressed his lips against mine one more time.

“Welcome to your home.” I whisper following for a hug, both of his arms across my back.

“This couldn’t feel more like home.” He hid his face on my neck.

I smile but I remember what I have inside of his home. “Oh, let’s get inside.” 

I split as I pull him inside of his apartment but I stop him in his hallway. “No, no, no.” I put my right hand on his face. “Don’t see.”

Max has to walk with his knees a little bit folded and in an uncomfortable position, but still he smiles walking in a dark apartment.

We reached his living room, where on the small table a cheesecake with a little candle waits for him.

“Ta da!” I take my hand of his eyes, my eyes stuck on his face all the time. His face lights up too.

“Oh my god!” He blinks and sees me, all my words were cut for a kiss. “This is amazing, thank you so much.” 

“Blow it! Or you will have melted a candle on that.” Max giggles and blows the candle as I light on. 

After a detailed look he realized the shape of the candles. “This is Jimmy and Sassy. Amazing, totally amazing.” 

“Even though I like to take the credit for this, I can’t.” We sat down on his carpet. “I asked Alexa about a place for the cheesecake and the candles, Emma knows a place in London.”

“Can I?” Max points to the cheesecake for taking a piece. 

I giggle. “All yours.” I don’t have to tell him twice for he takes a small portion of melting at the first bite. “That good, huh?”

Max nods offering me a bite which I gladly take, yes, so good. 

Watching him enjoying the dessert makes my heart squeeze, just thinking how worried and mad he could be.

“I’m sorry.” I said playing with the carpet. “I promise I won’t do it again but I was scared.” 

Max grabs my hands and turns around facing me. “Don’t say that again. I’ll wait, if you think it is something you should tell me, I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

“You know, it is hard imagining a life without you.” It’s the only thing that I have clear on my mind, the only thing I have for certain right now lost in his eyes. 

Max blinks, I grab his face between my hands, smiling at him. “It's impossible for me too.” Max chuckles pulling me as I sit on his lap, both of my things at the side of his legs.  

I surrounded his neck with my arms. “You're one of a kind Verstappen.” Max laughs, kissing me. 

“Emilian for you, too many people call me that.” I laughed too nodding. “Thanks for be home.”

I hugged him tighter, he’s right, this couldn’t feel more like home.

[frozenjokes]

it’s not even language barrier induced miscommunication at this point we are just lying

better reading experience on ao3

It was a rare thing to see the humans freeze up like this, so much like a prey response, and it took Mumbo a few seconds of inquisitive clicks to realize what they were looking at. Oh.

“Is.. That a mermaid?” Scar asked, quiet, but thankfully not scared, goodness, Atlas could have told Mumbo they were popping up to say hello! They knew Grian had been so jumpy about Mumbo that he’d run away for a whole week! So stupid. Mumbo had just gotten through to him! Mumbo swiveled back toward the water, fins twitching irritably, but he didn’t get the chance to tell Atlas off before they spoke first.

‘Why are they looking at me like that.’ Atlas shifted where they were perched, distrust and discomfort clear in their stiff posture. ‘Make them stop.’

‘You were staring at them first! Get out of here.’ Mumbo shot back, though Atlas huffed, unimpressed.

‘Just wanted a look. This is deeply unnatural, Mumbo, I’ve decided.’

‘Good for you. Have fun thinking about it at the bottom of the lake.’

‘When is the human speaking mermaid going to visit?’

Mumbo didn’t get the chance to tell Atlas for the millionth time that he didn’t know and had no way to contact Etho when Scar began to trot towards the water, Mumbo stuck staring dumb as he went. Given that Grian had a similar look of bafflement on his face and Atlas was.. tense.. Mumbo guessed all three of them were on a similar wavelength.

“Hello!” Scar waved as he reached the waterline, radiant and innocent and so, so stupid. “Are you one of Mumbo’s friends?”

‘What is it doing.’ Atlas raised themself a little higher on their rocky perch. ‘Make it stop.’

“Scar!” Grian’s voice was shrill, “Let’s try not approach the stranger mermaid! We do not know if it’s friendly!”

Scar scoffed, “Uh, of course it’s friendly! Mumbo clearly knows the guy, they must be friends! I think if this was a stranger, we would know. For god’s sakes, Grian, you saw what he tried to do to Etho!” Scar continued to wave, stepping slowly into the water. Mumbo moved to intervene, frightened once again by the human’s blunted survival instincts, and at the same time Atlas hissed, long and low. At the very least Scar had the sense to stop where he stood, but he looked no less bright. “Hello, hello, I’m Scar!”

Scar startled when Mumbo ducked over his head from behind, blinking in rapid succession with those large, empty of thought, green eyes.

‘Stop it. They don’t like you. They don’t like humans.’

Scar stared blankly, as if enchanted. He smiled, disgusting in his innocence. “Well hello there!”

‘Stop being stupid.’

“I love you too!”

“Human, bad, annoying.” Mumbo was pretty sure he remembered those words correctly; if he’d pronounced them wrong he would never know, because Scar’s expression did not change. To solidify the meaning, he extended to Scar his most stern thumbs down. Scar did not react to this either, and Mumbo was starting to wonder if his brain had been melted in a heat vent.

Whatever trance had befallen them, the two of them looked up at the sound of a large splash, Atlas retreating back into the water. Mumbo’s fins relaxed, while Scar made a long noise of distress, hopping a little further into the water as if he’d ever have a chance of catching up. Mumbo left him to it, unconcerned. His fins prickled as he turned around, hoping to approach Grian, but unsure if the human would be receptive. As it stood, Grian was still staring starkly into the water, concern etched over his face as Scar hopped around in the shallows. Mumbo whistled, something light but sharp in an attempt to catch Grian’s attention, and was relieved that when Grian turned to face him, the stress in his brow eased.

Mumbo moved forward, and when he sensed no extreme fear, he continued, settling a comfortable distance away, but close enough for Grian to hear him. Scar seemed to notice this change at a delay, scrambling onto the beach to Grian’s heroic rescue, goofy as that was.

“Etho is here?” Mumbo had been meaning to ask for a while, but he wasn’t exactly sure which human words would get his point across clearly. Scar nearly tripped over Mumbo in his clumsy run up the beach, but Grian didn’t react to him, more focused on the question Mumbo hoped he’d asked correctly. Grian was so intent, it took him a moment to call Scar off as his companion sternly reprimanded Mumbo, who showed Scar just how much he cared with a brief flash of teeth.

“You want to see Etho?” Grian asked, and Mumbo didn’t know what he said, but he assumed that Grian would come to a more accurate conclusion than Scar would if whatever Mumbo had said ended up being more nonsensical than anything. He found himself frustrated at how hard this was; he’d felt alright going through the motions with Etho, but he’d always gotten feedback, and if Mumbo was stuck, they could work together to smooth things out. Maybe he was frustrated by just how much he’d forgotten. Mumbo had quite a good memory, a facet of himself he took quite a bit of pride in, but with no one to practice with him, it felt like nearly everything he’d learned about the human language had slipped away.

Truly, Atlas was the central reason that Mumbo was asking, but he also just.. wanted to see them again.

“Yes,” Mumbo tried, and he hoped the confirmation he was giving was for the correct assumption.

“I’ll call him!” Scar announced proudly, Mumbo cringing back from the noise, then cringing further when Scar scrambled over to their bags to get his Dreaded Noise Machine. It was a phone, Etho had told him as much and used one as a means to contact Joel, but Mumbo did not like or trust it, and he hated when it made noise. Humans were hard enough to understand in person, why in the world would they talk to each other through a horrible distorted noise box where nothing made sense. Both humans seemed to find Mumbo’s distaste for their phones amusing, which was all the more irksome.

After a little bit of fiddling, the phone began to dial. Then it stopped. With another press of a button it started again, then stopped, then started and stopped and started and stopped until Etho’s distorted voice sounded through the speaker.

“Hello, Etho! You’re on speaker, and I’m at the beach with Grian and Mumbo. What’re you up to?”

Whatever Etho said in response was a garbled mess, not even understandable as words. Mumbo shrunk away, giving up at trying to parse any of the words from either party until a soft whistle sounded through the other side, heavily distorted, yes, but intelligible.

‘Glad you’re well. I do not want to come to the beach.’ Well. Typical of Etho, if Mumbo was being honest.

‘Will you travel as a mermaid here? Sometime soon?’

‘I hope not.’ What a lovely ray of sunshine Etho was, Mumbo had forgotten in their time away from each other. Etho had inherited a focal trait from their time as a human, being that they went out of their way to be as utterly insufferable as possible.

Etho switched back to the human language after being pestered by Scar and Grian, only for the two of them to react in similar expressions of outrage, which was vindicating if nothing else.

“Etho-!” Scar really started to lay into them then, and while Mumbo shrank at his tone, that did not stop Scar, “Your friend wants to see you after he’s been gone for two whole months, he’s asking about you and you- you do not just get to say no!”

Etho started to say something, meek sounding, but Scar cut them off, “Sure you’ll be around when you do your little switcharoo, but that is NOT what you told him- he probably thinks you don’t want to see him! Huphuphup, just because you and Joel are engaged in some kind of pissing match right now doesn’t mean you can act all aloof when someone tangentially mentions your issue-“ there was a brief pause of garbling over the call before Scar bristled, “I’m not saying it’s your fault! He’s an asshole! That doesn’t mean you get to make it everyone else’s problem! Apologize!”

There was a short pause.

‘Sorry.’ the whistle came through softly, ‘I’ll be back next time I change.’

Mumbo brightened, but before he could tell Etho this was exactly what he wanted and that he was very excited to see them, Scar cut in, probably demanding to know what Etho had said, probably. Mumbo was really starting to get annoyed with Scar, all this yelling and pestering- but before Mumbo could whack him, Etho was whistling again.

‘I will be there tomorrow.’

Mumbo blinked, fins flicking.

‘As a mermaid?’

‘No.’ Before Scar could interrupt again, Etho hung up, the line going dark. Scar didn’t seem entirely pleased with this, but Mumbo wanted no more of his noise machine, making an attempt to snatch it out of his hands, an attack which Scar clumsily avoided, eyes wide.

“Mumbo- Mumbo no! Not my phone!” You would think the humans understood by now that kicking and flailing around on the beach activated some amount of Mumbo’s prey instinct, but they did not, so Mumbo took great joy in chasing a panicked Scar around the beach for a little while until his scales felt a little too dry and itchy from the sand, and he retreated into the water. Mumbo was relatively sure phones were one of the human items that could not get wet, so he hoped he gave Scar a little spook in revenge for the great crime of being annoying.

If Mumbo had indeed scared Scar, the human certainly didn’t hold a grudge, gallivanting right back into the lake after depositing his phone. Ultimately, Mumbo was quite pleased; he didn’t like to hold a grudge either, and at a moderate volume, Scar’s constant babbling was a noise he’d grown to miss in the quiet of the deep.

Still, he was a little concerned about Etho’s visit tomorrow.. he really hadn’t planned for Atlas to meet the human version, but.. it was probably fine. All in all, Mumbo was a little too excited at the idea of showing off the human language to reject an Etho visit, even if it might take longer for Atlas to really warm up to the guy.

Maybe he’d work on Grian’s prosthetic tomorrow as well! He’d do it now, but wasn’t sure how much tolerance Grian had left for him today, and in hindsight, maybe chasing his suicidally reckless friend around the beach for ten minutes was a stressful experience for Grian as an onlooker.. oh well.

Tomorrow was going to be a great day.

…

Mumbo usually spent his days with Atlas, tinkering or otherwise, but ultimately just being in their company, hoping to ease their discomfort with being so close to the surface. It was stressful for Atlas to be up here for such a long time, so close in proximity to an apex species that was waging a war on their people and their home, a war the mermaids would lose, and a place Atlas would never get to see again.

Atlas was curious and motivated, but they were also deeply worn, clear as the old scars that littered their body. Despite chasing change, collecting knowledge in hopes to preserve it, ensuring that no mermaid people were ever truly lost, Atlas did not always handle that change well, especially when things did not go their way. Convincing them to come here was probably a stressor within itself; this was a departure from Atlas’s self declared life mission, preserving language, connecting the travel-wary mers across the world through new song, new spells, and bolstering a species loyalty across nations so that when one pod chose to fight and die for their right to live as they’d done for thousands of years, others might join them.

This was a vacation. A pursuit of a passing interest in intelligent, complex language, for once not directly motivated by the slaughter of the Northern mers. It was not easy for Atlas, Mumbo knew it, but after so many years of endless work, Mumbo was also relieved they were taking a break to do something for themself.

Today, though, Mumbo was not at the bottom of the lake. He was up by the shore, in part working with Grian’s prosthetic and making minor adjustments (both humans had seemed VERY confused when Mumbo tried to take the glove back; couldn’t they see it didn’t fit properly yet?), as well as trying to figure out how in the hell to tell Atlas that the human-speaking mermaid Mumbo befriended was actually also a human. Mumbo was also concerned about Etho in general; he had forgotten how difficult to get along with Etho could be sometimes, and Atlas was, by all accounts, the same way. Either they would mesh or they wouldn’t, and Mumbo had a feeling that Atlas’s realization that Mumbo had kinda sorta fudged the truth might not go down so well.

But Mumbo was going to tell them. Just as soon as he finished this one final adjustment on Grian’s glove…

And then he heard crashing through the brush, looked up at the sky, flinched because ow the sun, realized it was midday, and promptly dove into the water. Atlas must have sensed Mumbo’s panic by the way he was swimming, alert and tense by the time Mumbo made it down to them, which was not the atmosphere Mumbo had wanted to have this conversation in.

‘What’s wrong? Humans?’ Well, that was a concerning if not predictable place for Atlas’s mind to go, again, not suitable for the information Mumbo needed to break to them very quickly.

‘Yes- Well, no, it’s just my humans but they- Listen, you remember the human-speaking mermaid I told you about, Ghost, right?’

‘I remember.’ But to Mumbo’s alarm, Atlas had started to move towards the surface, as if they didn’t believe that everything was fine and dandy like Mumbo had said- he would have been offended if Atlas was not swimming directly toward the thing Mumbo was not ready for them to see yet-

He tried cutting into Atlas’s path, but the other mermaid bullied their way past. ‘Is Ghost dead.’ They whistled the words like they were already resigned to the outcome, Mumbo left frantically trying to save this before it got out of hand.

‘Ghost isn’t dead! They’re here! They’ve just- they’ve got this condition-‘

‘Here?’ This seemed enough to stop Atlas in their tracks, clicking with some alarm as they scanned their surroundings, ‘No one is here, I would have seen them come in.’ Atlas continued forward, faster, like they were concerned Mumbo might have hit his head and become an unreliable messenger of the danger at the surface.

‘They’re sick!’ Mumbo stressed, uselessly, ‘You have to understand, Ghost is sick!’

Atlas’s concern only seemed to grow, stopped only briefly just feet from the surface to give Mumbo a quick once over, sniffing for blood or perhaps illness, to which Mumbo flinched away and Atlas moved on. Both mermaids surfaced at the same time, face to face with the three humans on the beach.

Scar looked like he was seconds from his usual routine of sticking his head under the water and screaming, and Grian hadn’t noticed yet, fiddling with their bags, but Etho was looking directly at them. They clicked their tongue once, perhaps an old habit, then shaded their eyes from the sun with a hand despite the cloudy day. Etho couldn’t see well, but regardless, Mumbo had a feeling they would be able to parse out the shape of a second body in the water.

“Mumbo,” Etho said, catching both Grian and Scar’s attention, ‘Who is that?’

Atlas’s reaction to this could only be described as violent, so starkly terrified they nearly leapt out of the water then back under again, like a fish woken from a sound sleep by the jaws of a barracuda on its scales. Mumbo only felt tentacles at the end of his tail for a moment before he was yanked under the water.

‘Did that human just speak!? Who taught it how to do that? Was it you?’

‘That’s Ghost,’ Mumbo said, shriveling into himself at every word, every second of stunned silence that followed the revelation, ‘They really are a mermaid.. just.. sick.’

‘WHAT!?’ The rise in tone was not conveyed through volume, but the utter intensity of Atlas’s stricken body language, limbs strained near quivering. Mumbo thought they might just explode. Again, Atlas exploded above the water, but they didn’t stop there, barreling towards the shore. Compared to Mumbo though, Atlas was not nearly as fast, and he was able to intersect and slow them down at several points, the both of them wrestling and fighting the entire way, Mumbo ending this battle by holding on for dear life and praying that Atlas didn’t intend on investigating with their teeth. But by the time the two of them reached the waterline, all three humans were behind the thick foliage and Grian was high in a tree. Mercifully, Atlas did not leave the water, staring and clicking rapidly like gathering this information at a faster rate would make any of this make sense. Etho looked quite a bit jealous of Grian’s position right now, bristling and terrified. Scar.. Well, when Scar took a step outside of the treeline, Grian screamed at him and Etho yanked him back. Maybe this proof of fear helped to relax Atlas, their posture loosening, but the stalemate remained, and Mumbo’s stomach churned when he realized he’d have to be the one to break it.

Slowly, awkwardly, he shuffled out of the water, facing Atlas with fins as relaxed and confident as he could make them.

‘Atlas.. This is Ghost.’ Awkwardly, Mumbo gestured, but it was pretty clear who he was talking about regardless, ‘My friend. Mermaid born, but- cursed. Sorry, I did not mean for you to meet this way.’

‘Mumbo!’ Etho’s whistled cracked like a human voice would from stress, ‘Did you drag me here to meet a hostile mermaid without any warning!? I wouldn’t have come! I didn’t want to come!’

Mumbo bristled, turning on them, ‘It’s not like I could get a word in edgewise! Scars wouldn’t shut their mouth, and you cut the line before I could ask you to wait until the change!’

“Scar!” No longer hiding behind him, Etho whirled on Scar, who jumped back in alarm, “He didn’t even want me here today!”

“What!? But he-“

Mumbo hissed, successfully stopping Scar from whatever nonsense he meant to defend himself with, ‘I’d say you’re both the problem, stop with the noise. I’m sorry for my own part in this, but you’re here now. If no one has a problem,’ Mumbo glanced at Atlas, whose body he couldn’t quite read, but seemed mild enough, ‘Then we can chat a little, right?’

‘I have a problem!” Etho balled their fists, throwing a little tantrum with their arms that Mumbo cared very little for.

“Is it.. safe..?” Grian asked, hesitant, to which Scar gave a noncommittal shrug.

‘Keep the other two on the beach, and I will be civil.’ Atlas looked wary, but not aggressive. When Mumbo looked to them, they briefly flashed their teeth, which.. Mumbo supposed was fair. He kept his fins low, an unspoken apology.

He kept this stance as he turned back to Etho, more of a pleading than anything, but when Mumbo gestured to a shaded corner of the beach, Etho seemed to give in, shoulders hunched. ‘Not like my ride will let me go home anyway.’ They retrieved something from their bag, one of the long blankets the humans commonly brought with them, and traipsed to the suggested spot. Scar started to follow, but was stopped in his tracks by a hearty hiss from Atlas and Mumbo, recoiling like a kicked pup.

“Is he mad at me?” Whatever Scar had asked, Etho shook their head without looking back.

“Just annoyed. I’ve got a hunch this new guy doesn’t like humans so much, so maybe don’t test your luck today.” Those seemed to be the magic words, Scar retracing his steps back to Grian. While he kept glancing back at Atlas, Mumbo was relieved he got the message. Once Mumbo was sure Atlas and Etho got along, he would tend to the humans on the other side of the beach.

Etho set their blanket near the waterline, but not close enough to get nicked by the tide, which was fine by Mumbo. He had a feeling Atlas would be more comfortable with the space, and decided to splay himself on the beach, half in and half out of the water. Despite this introduction being a minor disaster, he was pleased to see Etho, and excited for his two worlds to meet.

‘Are you from the north?’ Etho broke the initial silence, perhaps intimidated by Atlas’s admittedly unfriendly demeanor, glaring at Etho as if sizing them up. Though, honestly, that’s just kind of how Atlas looked on a good day..

They took their time responding, appraising, ‘You know Northern mermaids?’

Etho met this question with equal caution, ‘I know of them. Not so many of your stature here, at least there weren’t back home. I’m sorry. I’ve known human violence.’ Mumbo was quite shocked; maybe he should give Etho a little more credit, but in the time Mumbo spent with them, he hadn’t known Etho to speak with this much.. consideration.

‘What happened to you?’ The same could not be said for Atlas, who lacked any tact, but Mumbo sensed discomfort from them more than distrust, maybe exacerbated by Mumbo’s knee jerk reaction of shrinking back.

Etho only looked tired. ‘There’s a.. being not far from here. They take a human form, but hold a greater power. Curse, as Mumbo said, is an apt word. They took my body, and gave me theirs. Sometimes they will switch us back, and if you remain, you may see me around again.’ Briefly, Etho pulled down their mask, tracing the scar across their cheek, all the way down to where it disappeared under the rest of their clothes, ‘One of many violences afflicted upon me, all the way down my tail. The others did not scar, a facet of their magic. In a separate instance, I have also had my scales stripped, which I know you’ve likely seen in some capacity. I’ve heard they chain their still-living victims in the ice under the water. As bait, and renewable resources. Not a legal practice among humans, though I doubt this brings you any comfort.’

‘They- You- What?’ Mumbo did not know either of those last two tidbits, fins flared in alarm, but Etho shook their head.

‘I was healed magically. I will not say more.’

Mumbo accepted this wordlessly, though concern still gnawed at his chest in the wake of this new information. For Etho, yes of course for Etho, but for Atlas as well- Mumbo knew humans could be cruel, he knew many were monstrous, but he did not know to what extent.

Atlas straightened, meeting Etho with more respect, ‘I am Northern. They called me Cub, born of a mer of the same name, one hundred and thirty fifth to hold it, and another of a long line, Iskall. Both were killed by human hands, as was my twin. I defected, my great burden. With it, I’ve rescinded the name, though I do hope one day to pass it on in honor of their memories.’ Atlas paused, shifting, ‘I left to preserve a culture I am certain will be destroyed. I hope to connect our many peoples through language, so if battles like the ones up north are being waged, the other pods will not sit idly, but.. That is not why I am here.’ Atlas looked embarrassed momentarily, or maybe guilty, shrinking into themself, ‘Maybe I should not be here.’

Mumbo straighted, fins flicking as if he could physically dismiss the thought, ‘You can not carry the world on your shoulders. You have apprentices to continue your work, a little time away will not doom you.’

‘Call me Atlas,’ Atlas ignored Mumbo, not even acknowledging him with a twitch or flick of their tentacles, but this wasn’t unordinary behavior, just.. unfortunate. If Mumbo could not convince them otherwise, he would have to settle with this, bringing Atlas here, getting them to see the sun again.

Etho nodded, which Atlas seemed to understand as acknowledgment.

On an absent click, Mumbo sensed something behind him, turning with some exasperation to see Scar. The human blinked rapidly from his place in the sand where he’d been sliding on his stomach, looking guilty enough to know he’d been caught. Perhaps trying to hide, he let his face fall into the sand. Mumbo snorted, miffed, but not without amusement. He decided to leave Etho and Atlas to it, snaking around to take care of their nosey pest. The look on Scar’s face when he realized Mumbo was charging him was absolutely priceless, the human yelping as he scrambled to his feet, then yelling and laughing equally as he ran, sounds Mumbo had come to learn stemmed from great joy.

Needy human, can’t go a couple of minutes without constant attention.. Well, Mumbo would teach him to be careful what you wish for!

[seyaryminamoto]

Little Lu Ten really admired his uncle, itseems 😅 Is there a possibility that Ozai would have orchestrated Lu Ten's death? 😳

... I know that's a relatively popular theory in the fandom, but that's absolutely not the case in Gladiator and, I'd dare say, absolutely unlikely in canon too.

Not only do I enjoy writing a far more complex Ozai than canon's, not only do I very much want him to feel like Zuko's dark counterpart, the kind of person Zuko 100% could have become without the support of the people who guided him down a better path, but...

... did you ever watch LOK? Book 2, in particular?

There are a lot of things in Book 2 of LOK that made me realize I was on a ride I didn't really want to be on anymore, and I stuck it out basically because I was in the fandom, too active and in-too-deep to just stop watching. But I would say the first moment that made me go "... oh shit, this writing is really bad" would be when Unalaq's grand, contrived plan to frame Tonraq for having "unleashed spirits on the Northern Water Tribe with his irresponsible behavior," was revealed. Not only was Korra's behavior disturbing for me in that scene, the explanations were so ridiculous and embarrassing that I wanted to scream. Basically: Unalaq hired a bunch of criminals to cause trouble so that they'd get their asses kicked by Tonraq in a VERY specific spiritual location, all because he 100% knew that would result in a bunch of dark spirits attacking the Northern Water Tribe! And when that happened, he swept in as the hero to save the day through a bending technique that goes 100% against everything we knew about bending in ATLA, while Tonraq looked like the worst person ever, got banished, and Unalaq became heir to the throne!

... Wouldn't it have made perfect sense for Tonraq to ACTUALLY be a flawed hero? Wouldn't it have been a more INTERESTING story if Tonraq learned from his arrogance, while Unalaq, instead, grew INCREASINGLY arrogant? So, you know, parallel character development, in inverse directions? It would've been a far more interesting writing choice :'D even if the whole situation is as weird and wonky as it is, at least this actually means character growth could be had, right?

But no. We had the weirdest con in the history of the Water Tribe instead. How wasn't Unalaq suspicious from the start due to the CONVENIENCE of him revealing this power to purify spirits that nobody's ever heard of before? Why would the criminals take money from one prince to get killed/attacked by another?? Were they criminals, really, or were they the Northern Water Tribe's BDSM club who had the hots for Tonraq and wanted him to beat them up? So much about the "logic" of this scenario was so absolutely ridiculous... add to this that the seemingly random judge happens to know ALL about it, and he's ready to give Korra all the explanations that straightforwardly say "YES. YOUR UNCLE IS A BAD MAN. GO PUNCH HIM." Put it all together, and it's so contrived, so exaggerated, it steals all agency from characters, the plans don't even make sense: why wouldn't Unalaq just... have Tonraq killed? if he wanted the throne?? oldest tale in the book?? there's literally no character-driven reason that justifies him doing all the BS he did just to have Tonraq conveniently banished instead of killed. So, yeah, this whole thing is just one hell of A Writing Choice. :')

... And with all this being said, I suppose you may see where I'm going with this.

Ozai doesn't need to orchestrate the murder of his nephew from halfway across the world for Lu Ten to die. In fact, considering Ozai's track record, be it in Gladiator or in canon? I'd dare say that any attempts of his to get Lu Ten killed would backfire so badly that Azulon would've somehow ended up abdicating, and Iroh too, so that Lu Ten could be Fire Lord, if Ozai had been targeting his nephew deliberately. Yes, I'm making fun of him again, but... think about canon Ozai for a minute, if you may indulge me: he planned to ruin Zuko's life by sending him to hunt down the Avatar, and Zuko ended up not only finding the Avatar but taking Ozai's throne. You know. The throne Ozai connived and plotted to get all his life. And he held it for a grand total of 5 years before losing it to his 16yo son. Damn. A top-tier strategist, isn't he?

My point, boiled down to simplicity is... simplicity, in itself.

Lu Ten is in a war front. An active, violent one. He's in a fierce battle against the best earthbending forces of the Earth Kingdom, who are tasked with defending Ba Sing Se, a city that's supposed to be impenetrable.

These earthbenders do not need dirty money from a Fire Lord's son to decide to kill an enemy soldier. Unless we think that Lu Ten is lazy and cowardly, and that he would not get his hands dirty and would not be involved in the fighting, he would've been in constant danger while serving on the battlefield. The situation, once Ba Sing Se's Outer Wall broke, absolutely REQUIRES for the battle to grow fiercer, as the stakes have never been higher for the Earth Kingdom's defenses. So, with this scenario in mind? Even the most grotesque version of Ozai has no need to hire any murderers to kill Lu Ten. He's in enough danger as it is, and along with Lu Ten, hundreds of other Fire Nation soldiers are bound to have died. He just happened to be one of them.

Ah, and if the working theory is that Lu Ten died because of a firebender? There's no way the show wouldn't have brought this up. If he had been stabbed in the back with a Fire Nation sword/dagger/spear? Same thing. At no point is there any indication that Lu Ten died because he got attacked from behind by his fellow soldiers, it would have been too important an element in his death for the story to not bring it up.

Along with this, I'd wager that any version of Ozai who HAD hired someone to kill Lu Ten would not have been quite so chill, taking over the throne while Iroh just drinks tea and plays the fool. If Lu Ten died by foul play? Provable foul play? (Ozai would leave a pretty damn obvious trail if he was behind this, let's not give Loser Lord more credit than he's due, please) Iroh would not have been so stupid as to not realize it. And, upon going home? The first, most obvious potential culprit for Lu Ten's death is the guy who benefits from it all: Ozai. And I know, yes, Iroh got redeemed and realized violence was not the answer... but Iroh, too, talked about Ozai with a carelessness and a casual demeanor in canon that is completely incompatible with that of a father who at LEAST suspects his son may have been murdered by his piece of shit of a brother :'D

SO!

... in conclusion, no. Ozai didn't have Lu Ten killed. Categorically untrue in Gladiator, and in my opinion, laughable and unlikely in canon as well due to how contrived and unncessary it is, not to mention how badly this reflects on Iroh's inaction and passivity if his son was actually killed by his own brother (imagine being harsher towards your 14yo niece than towards your brother-who-killed-your-son, ffs...). Ozai's bad enough as he is: blaming him for every awful thing that happens in his family feels like an unnecessary way to make him the source of all evil when we all know, already, that he's very, very bad. People die on battlefields. It doesn't have to be because of mercenaries specifically hired to find one specific person amid hundreds or thousands of soldiers and making sure THAT ONE (1) DUDE dies.

I suspect you'll be quite surprised, once we get to the flashbacks that deal with the subject, to discover that Ozai was in fact interpreting Lu Ten as an ally to himself. He thought Lu Ten would wind up actively supporting Ozai's bid as Fire Lord :') he believed he could be helpful for his schemes. And when he dies? It's a blow to Ozai's plans, at first. He tries to work with it later... doesn't go super well, of course. You'll see when we get there :'D

[shycoconutt]

“S–hic–so full, Ken,” you whimper as the last ropes of his cum spill out into your insides. You have never felt a sensation like this before, being absolutely filled to the brim with all of what Nanami Kento has to offer.

You feel the deep hum Nanami lets out in response everywhere–his overwhelming being currently consuming your own. Currently mounted over you, he holds you up by the plush of your ass so your hips are lifted to meet his thrusts. Your body is so contorted that your knees fall and press against your shoulders with every piston of his cock. How the hell did you even end up in this position?

“Oh darling, fuck, I missed you so much,” he moans as he languidly pushes his cock in and out of your sopping wet pussy. You watch as his abdomen flexes with every thrust, and you can’t help but marvel at how the low light of your bedroom reflects on his glistening, sweat-slicked skin. Eyes trailing upward, you soak in the constellation of freckles on his shoulders, the swell of his deltoid muscles, the way his damp hair falls forward, messy and unkempt after rounds of orgasms.

Another one of his moans snaps you out of your trance, and you focus your eyes to meet his blown-out, lust-filled gaze. Instinctually, your walls clench at the sight, and your eyes widen in horror when you realize it’s too late.

“Tsk,” he smirks as he breaks his gaze from your own to down where you’re both connected, “she’s so greedy, begging for more after all I’ve given her.”

One of his hands leaves your ass to swipe a thumb against your sensitive clit, causing you to gasp and clench again. “Should I give her what she wants, sweetheart?”

“I-I don’t think there’s any more room, Ken, you’ve filled me up so much,” you mewl.

His eyes flick up again as your words trail off, and you can’t help but notice how the intention behind them has changed, looking as if he has been given a new life–a new meaning. Reaching somewhere behind him, he fiddles around until he finds what he’s looking for–his phone.

Slowly, he shifts backwards to release himself from your gushing heat, being careful to not let any of his seed spill from your folds. He groans as his tip finally slips out and quickly grabs your hand to press against your opening.

“Yeah, just like that, hold it all in for me,” he praises. 

You feel your heartbeat quicken, curious and interested. Climbing off the bed, he stands off to the side and holds out his hand, beckoning you to join him, which you do without question.

“There we go, pretty girl, stand right here for me.”

Following his request, you stand before him with your hand still pressed up against yourself. You feel yourself tremble, not in worry, but in anticipation of what’s to come. Nanami must have taken note, because he is now grazing his fingers up and down the skin of your shoulder.

Leaning in close, lips ghosting over your own, he whispers, “Do you trust me?”

“Always, Ken.”

Your heart flutters as he smiles and kisses you, tongue slipping from his parted mouth to swipe your lower lip. With one final peck, he keeps eye contact with you as he kneels, light pooling into the room from the flashlight of his phone.

You hear a little ding, signaling that he is recording.

“Do you remember what you said to me, baby?” he murmurs, voice filled with love and adoration as he points the camera up to you while his other hand rests against your lower tummy. 

“W-what I said?” you stutter, mind trying to think back to moments ago.

“Yes.”

You try to think, mind still in a daze. What you said?

Oh.

Ah.

So this is what he wants.

Looking at the camera, eyes blinded by the light, you pout, “I don’t think there’s any more room, Ken, you’ve filled me up sooo much.”

You hear a soft groan, and the light moves down your body to your lower half. 

“Show me.”

Slowly, you remove your hand from your core, a mix of your cum and his already pooling at your fingertips, to place your hand above his own on your abdomen. You don’t have to look down to confirm–hot liquid is already dripping down your thighs at an intense rate.

You jolt and gasp when you feel his firm hand pressing into your body, a fresh new wave of semen spilling from your insides. There’s so much–maybe too much–as it trickles past your knees. There’s another groan that escapes from Nanami’s lips.

“Good girl.”

Your body is trembling, your pussy fluttering around nothing, just wanting so badly to be filled again and again. Would it be so bad to ask for more?

a/n: well, well, well, here we are again. what can I say? nanami kento is always on my mind. hope you enjoy! ੈ♡˳

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Overprotective- Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: My thoughts lie only on HOTD, and most of those thoughts are on this PRINCE. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 3.0k Synopsis: Jace's overprotective nature begins to grate on the reader's nerves as the birth of their first child looms closer.

Legend told that when in the womb, Targaryen babies started out as dragons before transforming into human children. It was nothing more than a silly folktale, your Targaryen family had assured you. But waking up in the dark of night, flinging the covers off of your scorching body, you aren't so sure.

Your nights had been spent like this for nearly two months now. If it wasn't the heat that coated your body, clinging sweat to your brow, it was waking up nearly ever hour to relieve yourself.

The child growing in your stomach was truly a Targaryen - passionate and unyielding.

The first four months of your pregnancy had been wonderful. You had none of the sickness that so many face in the early stages of their maternity. Back then you were often tired, but the child slept whenever you did. And to top it all off, Jace was a perfect husband. He brought you water when you needed it, rubbed your feet when they were aching, and then, you had wanted him constantly, and he had been more than happy to oblige.

But things change quickly during pregnancy, you are coming to understand. Jace wakes up next to you now, sitting up immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing," you say, turning to face him. Your bedroom is dark, but even so, you can see the worry in his eyes. "Just too hot."

"Can I do anything for you? Should I call the Maester?"

"No, I'm fine," you say, straining to get out of bed. He supports your back, giving you the extra push to get up. You hate that he has to do this, that he has to push on your sweat drenched back, in order for you to stand.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"To relieve myself."

"You just got up--"

"I know, Jacaerys," you snap, holding your stomach as you leave the room.

Jace had been wonderful those first few months, when you had been in high spirits. But now, you were in pain constantly, which made you irritable, which made any attempt he made to help you irksome.

When you came back into the room, Jace is still up, his head resting on his pillow. He lifts it a little when you come back in, smiling at you gently. The sheets have been changed - another new routine - but one that doesn't bother you so much. It made a world of difference to lay down in a cool, clean bed after waking in a pool of your own sweat.

"All right?" he asks as you lay down beside him.

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes, why?" you ask, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Because you called me Jacaerys," he says, brushing a stray hair off your brow. "You only do that when you're mad at me." You let out a breath of laughter, but immediately feel like the emotion could change into a sob. Jace must see it, too, because he scoots closer, pulling you into his bare arms.

"Hey," he says, kissing your forehead, "You can call me Jacaerys whenever you like."

"I'm not mad at you," you say, turning into him, so your growing stomach presses into his. "There's just this monster inside of me making me go mad." Jace smiles to himself, nodding his head.

"I know."

"I love you," you say, a hand to his cheek. He leans in to kiss you, his lips cool. When you break apart, you realize the windows are wide open, and while you've been sweating all night, he has to be freezing. You start to say something about it, but he cuts you off.

"I'm fine," he says. "I love you. Please just try to get some sleep."

"Get off me, then," you say, pushing him playfully. He smirks, falling back over to his side, taking your share of the blankets, as well. You lay on your back, and can't help the groan of pain at the pressure the position puts on you. Jace immediately reaches for your hand.

"Jacaerys," you say, squeezing his palm once. He laughs.

"Good night, Y/N."

"Goodnight."

At seven months pregnant, the burning has finally stopped, but you feel weaker still. Every movement puts pain on your back, your shoulders, your feet. You and Jace speak a language that is mostly moans and groans, and not the kind that used to be typical for the two of you.

One morning, when Jace is away at Driftmark, Rhaenyra joins you for breakfast. At the sight of your sovereign, you try to stand, which makes Rhaenyra laugh.

"Don't trouble yourself, Y/N," she says, walking towards you. "I remember when I was your size. Took me all morning just to get out of bed." You give her a tight lipped smile, settling back into the comfy position you had arranged for yourself.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"How are you feeling?" she asks, pouring herself a cup of tea. She motions to you, but you decline with a shake of your head.

"I'm alright."

"Is she kicking?" she asks, nodding to the hand on your belly.

"Only when I'm trying to sleep," you say with a laugh. "You agree with Jace, then? You think it'll be a girl?"

"The way you're carrying, yes, but one never really can tell. What are you hoping for?" she asks.

"For these next months to pass quickly," you say, straining when a nerve pinches in your side. You adjust your position, and find that Rhaenyra is looking at you with a small, understanding smile. "And of course, for a healthy baby."

"Of course."

"I don't know how you've done this so many times," you say. "Does it get any easier?"

"No," she says simply. You sigh, which makes her smile grow. "How has Jace been?" she asks.

"Very protective," you say, smiling. "Maybe too much so. I feel like if I just breathe wrong he's on alert, worried something has happened." A strange expression passes over Rhaenyra's face - equal parts pride and sorrow.

"I'm afraid Jacaerys has seen more than his fair share of pregnancies gone wrong," she says gently.

"I'm sorry, I know," you say, embarrassment passing through you.

"That's not to say that he isn't overbearing," she adds with a smile. "He's much like his father that way."

"Really?"

"He couldn't always be there," she says, "But when he was, he made up for the time apart with his watch over me." You smile at her as the door opens across the room, and Jace enters.

"You're back early," Rhaenyra says, lifting an eyebrow at him. He smells salty when he leans down to kiss you. He smiles at you, then looks to his mother.

"Thought I might join you for breakfast," he says, sitting next to you. "Besides, I was needed here more than at Driftmark." You exchange a look with Rhaenyra.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asks you.

"Just fine, Jacaerys," you say, patting his cheek. "You didn't need to cut your visit short."

"Well, there is something I need to do here nonetheless."

"What's that?" you ask.

"It seems Syrax has laid another clutch of eggs. Joff and I are going to retrieve them, and the younger boys are going to help us pick one for the babe," he says, a hand on your stomach. You smile at him, at the gentle caress of his hand. You know he comes from a place of love with his attention.

"Do you want to join us?" he asks.

"I doubt I could make it downstairs, much less down to the Dragonpit."

"We could bring them to you," he says.

"No," you say, "Decide with your brothers. Just pick out a good one." He nods to you, leaning in to kiss your temple.

At the end of breakfast, Jace goes off to the Dragonpit, but only at your insistence. He wanted to walk you back to your chambers, but Rhaenyra assured him she was more than up to the task. Once he was out of sight, she laughed to herself.

"I see what you mean," she says.

Jace returns to your room that night with a shiny, white dragon egg.

Jace's lips are soft on yours. At eight months pregnant, finding moments with him is getting harder every day. He lies next to you, a hand on your stomach, the other cradling the back of your head.

"Y/N," he hums, each word spoken onto your lips, "I want you." You make a sound in your throat, both in agreement and in discomfort. It has been too long since the two of you have been intimate.

"I'm huge," you say.

"You're not and I don't care," he says, his mouth moving across your jaw.

"The last time we did this," you breathe, arching into him when he nips at your earlobe, "We had to stop because you worried you'd hurt the baby."

"I promise I'll relax this time," he says.

"How could you even get to me?" you ask with a laugh. Jace smiles at you as his hand moves from your stomach to your hip, turning you onto your side easily. He presses up behind you, kissing along your neck.

You sigh, relaxing into him. His hand pulls up the skirt of your nightgown, exposing your legs to the cool night air. It has been so long that you know you're ready for him immediately.

"Just tell me if I'm hurting you," he says. You groan, putting a hand to his face to stop him from kissing you more. "Y/N."

"Jace." You scoot away from him, turning slowly to face him.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he says with a sigh.

"How many times have you fucked me in that same position?" you ask. Jace frowns, frustration evident on his face. "Have you ever hurt me?"

"No, but things are different," he says. "What's the harm in asking if you feel okay?"

"It doesn't make me feel desirable," you say, looking up at the ceiling, stupid, frustrating tears forming in your eyes again. Jace sighs and moves to your side, propping himself up on an elbow so you have to look at him.

"Y/N," he says gently. "Of course you are desirable. You are still the most beautiful, incredible woman I know. And it's because you are so incredible that I want to make sure that I don't do anything that puts you in more pain than I know you are already in."

"I promise I will tell you if I am hurting, okay? You don't have to coddle me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you say, hand on his cheek to bring his lips to yours. "I'm the bitch for complaining about her kind husband." He laughs and kisses your palm.

"You're not a bitch," he says. You kiss him again. "Now please roll onto your side and let me fuck you." You laugh, doing as he says.

"Of course, My Prince."

Jace is at Dragonstone Castle when you go into labor. He has been anxious for the last month, knowing that any day the baby could arrive. He intended to postpone this meeting with the great houses, but you assured him that the babe would not come today. The only thing that kept him to his promise was the fact that Vermax could bring him back to the Red Keep quickly.

When Joffrey bursts into the room, Jace is immediately on his feet, already fearing the worst.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Y/N has gone into labor."

Jace barely spares a glance at the lords around the table. He urges Joffrey along. His brother had the foresight to request that Vermax be readied for when they arrived upon the shore.

The ride is quick, as he knew it would be, but he still urges Vermax along, wanting and needing to be close to you as soon as he can.

When he gets to the Red Keep, he runs up to your chambers, intending to throw them open and run to your side. Instead, he finds that they are locked. He can hear soft discussion, encouragements, but the loudest sound coming through the door is your screaming.

Joffrey followed him to the door and carefully peels him away. "She's alright," he insists. Jace won't be able to agree until he can see you himself.

Together, they sit outside your door for the next three hours. Joffrey doesn't say much, but when your screaming gets louder, or there seems to be a rise in urgency to the voices inside, he puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

It seems like ages have passed when the doors finally open.

He doesn't wait to hear what the Maester has to say. He rushes into the room, his eyes going immediately to your bed. Midwives quickly take away bloodied sheets, and when they clear, he sees you. You are drenched in sweat, your hair matted all around you, and he's not sure he's ever seen you look more beautiful.

"Y/N," he says, as if he's looking upon the gods themselves. You look up at him, your face breaking into a smile. He rushes to your side.

"Are you okay?" he asks, taking your face in his hands.

"I'm okay," you say, laying a hand over his. He laughs. It's a result of the built up tension from the hallway, and he can't stop himself. He laughs as he kisses you, over and over. You laugh, too, and he tastes the salt of your tears on your lips.

"What is it?" he asks, quickly studying your face.

"Don't you want to meet him?" you ask.

"Him?" Jace's face falls in awe.

"Him," you say. You look towards one of the midwives and they bring over the smallest bundle Jace has ever seen. He sinks onto the bed beside you as the babe is placed in his arms.

"Hello," he says quietly. You lean onto his shoulder, looking down at your son with a smile on your face.

"Isn't he beautiful?" you ask, your voice a whisper.

"Yes," he says, his heart still thundering from the surprise. "What have you called him?" he asks.

"I assumed we'd discuss that together," you say, "But I was thinking Lucerys, if that'd be alright." Jace has tears of his own in his eyes. He bites back his smile, unable to put into words what the name means to him, what you mean to him. He nods his head.

"Does that sound good to you, Lucerys?" you ask, your finger touching the blanket over the baby's stomach. He starts to move around, crying out just a little. Like you've done it a million times before, you take Lucerys into your arms and shush him gently.

Jace kisses your temple repeatedly, until you laugh. You turn towards him and kiss him fully, passionately.

"I love you so much," he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"I love you, too."

You stay in that position for an hour or so, Jace holding you, and you holding Lucerys. Joffrey is the first to meet the future heir to the throne, and he kisses you on the cheek when he learns his nephew's name.

When his mother enters the room, Jace doesn't stand, wanting to keep you in his arms forever. She is all smiles as she leans over your opposite shoulder. You sit up slowly, and Jace's arm around you helps guide you upright.

"Hello, little one," Rhaenyra says, taking the child into her arms. You sigh happily, watching her interact with him. Jace can't keep from kissing your face a few more times. He doesn't think he has ever been this in love with you.

"And what is the name of our little prince?" Rhaenyra asks, looking between the two of you. Jace looks down at you, but you nod your head to him.

"We've decided to name him Lucerys," he says simply. Rhaenyra's expression changes immediately, her eyes welling up with tears of her own. Holding Lucerys in one arm, she leans down to kiss you both.

"A fine name," she says through tears. "You did well," she says, looking at you. You smile back, tears forming again in your own.

After a few moments in her arms, she hands your son back to you, and departs, letting the two of you get acquainted to your new family. Neither of you say much. You just watch Lucerys with rapt attention, counting his fingers, and touching his soft patch of hair.

"He's so beautiful," you say quietly.

"He is."

"I don't think I'm ever going to let him out of my sight," you say, looking up at Jace with a smile. He smiles back, but notices the exhaustion on your face.

"Maybe you can for a little while," he says, "Just to get some rest."

"Still so overprotective," you say with a smirk.

"I've got two to protect now," he says, "So if you could just once let me take care of you without arguing--" You cut him off with a kiss.

"I'll try," you say. "But don't either of you leave this room."

"I don't think you could kick us out if you wanted to."

Jace stands with his son in his arms, watching as you lay down. The midwives come back in to check on you and Lucerys, before leaving the three of you alone for the time.

"It's okay, Y/N," he says lowly, when you still haven't shut your eyes, your gaze locked on the two of them. "We'll be here."

"Promise?"

"I swear it," he says, giving you an easy smile. He watches you close your eyes, and in a few moments, your breath falls into an easy rhythm, just like Lucerys's.

Jace looks down at his son. He doesn't want to disturb his sleep, but he wants to tell him, here and now, that he'll always be overprotective. So he makes the vow to himself, just like the one he made when he married you. He is always going to protect the people he loves, even if it sometimes drives them mad.

[tender-rosiey]

kneel — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: more utterly devoted gojo? sign me up

you and satoru stroll side by side, the usual banter flowing easily between the two of you. it’s been a relatively calm day—an unusual but welcome change from the usual whirlwind of sorcerer duties and school life.

both of you savor this rare moment of tranquility together.

as you pass the rows of neatly trimmed hedges, satoru suddenly chuckles to himself, a broad grin spreading across his face.

the sound of his laughter is light and carefree. you raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, "what’s so funny?" you ask, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he turns his head to glance at you, his eyes glinting mischievously behind his signature blindfold, "y’know, I realized something recently," he says, his tone casual, almost teasing.

you hum in response, waiting for the punchline of whatever random thought has captured his attention. "oh yeah? what’s that?"

satoru slows his pace and then stops, his head tilted slightly as if he's carefully weighing his words.

the light plays over his features, highlighting the contours of his face in a way that makes him look both relaxed and contemplative.

with a lighthearted chuckle, he hums, "all you have to do is breathe, and I’d kneel for you,” he grins at you, “must be nice having the strongest sorcerer wrapped around your finger, huh?"

the words hang in the air, the warm light of the setting sun seeming to pause around you. you blink, stunned. the casual nature of his declaration is in stark contrast to the intensity of the sentiment.

who says something like that so nonchalantly? you stare at him, trying to decipher if he’s being serious or if he’s just messing with you, as he so often does.

satoru resumes his leisurely stroll, his steps light and carefree. his posture is relaxed, a picture of ease in comparison to your flustered self.

you catch up with him, your mind still reeling from his unexpected statement. a soft laugh escapes you, partly out of amusement and partly out of disbelief.

“who drops something like that and then acts like it’s nothing?” you mutter, though your heart is still racing, a mixture of affection and astonishment swirling inside you.

he glances back at you over his shoulder, that playful grin widening further.

"what? it’s true." his voice retains its casual tone, but there’s a glimmer of something more beneath the teasing—a rare flicker of sincerity that catches your attention.

you come to a halt, reaching out to grab his sleeve, gently pulling him to a stop. the gentle pressure of your hand on his arm is enough to make him pause, and he turns to face you. his grin remains, but it softens, the playful edge giving way to something more.

“satoru,” you say, your voice a little quieter now, “but I don’t need you to kneel or do anything for me.”

his expression shifts, curiosity flickering across his face, "oh?"

you step closer, wrapping your arms around him, a gesture he doesn’t hesitate on reciprocating. you take a deep breath and speak softly, “I don’t need you to be the strongest sorcerer or prove anything to me. I just want you.”

for a moment, the air between you changes.

satoru’s smile falters, just for a second. his usual playfulness is replaced with something quieter, more genuine. he looks at you with an intensity that even makes its way through the blindfold.

in fact, for a moment, his hand reaches out for the blindfold and he pulls it down under his chin.

your husband’s eyes never fail to catch you off-guard. they’re bright, so bright. though, you don’t get to appreciate them for long as he closes his eyes and presses a gentle kiss on your forehead.

your lips part in surprise, but satoru doesn’t give you the chance to react further.

because, true to form, he can’t stay serious for long, too much seriousness, and he might just cry.

so he pulls the blindfold right back up, pulling away as that familiar smirk creeps back onto his face, "so you’re saying you married me for my stunning personality and good looks?"

you laugh and roll your eyes affectionately, "exactly. you’ve got me all figured out."

he slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, so you continue walking. his grin softens, and he quips, "good! because you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, and I’m not planning on going anywhere."

“like a parasite?”

your husband lets out an incredulous gasp, pulling away from you yet again and clutching his chest. he fake sobs, “do you have hurt me everyday?!”

“aww, I am sorry,” you coo.

“really?!” he beams.

“no.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize

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[op-sys-chaos]

DPxDC prompt (demon twins au)

A video from your son, the email was titled. Bruce was confused. Which of his kids would send a video to his public work email??

Bruce clicked play.

On the screen was a boy who look a lot like Damian, but most certainly wasn’t him.

“This video is for the eyes of Bruce Wayne only.

Hi Dad. I’m Danny. You likely don’t know I exist, and if you’re receiving this, I’m already dead. Well, more dead than I already was. Maybe it’s cruel of me to send you a message post-mortem, but you deserve the truth, and telling you earlier would’ve put you in danger.

This email is set to automatically send if I haven’t opened my computer for 3 days. I sometimes set it longer if I’m on vacation or expecting trouble, but I’ve mostly likely been away from home for a bit over three days if you’re receiving this.

I don’t know who killed me. Obviously. I’m recording this in advance. But it was probably either the GIW or my adoptive parents, the Fentons. I half-died at 14 and became a local ghost superhero, but they never realized I was trying to help and kept talking about tearing ghost-me apart molecule by molecule, so I bet that’s what happened. There will be nothing left of me to bury. Sorry about that!

The rest of the story is this. I was raised in an assassin cult, eventually escaping at the age of 6 when they sent me on mission and I successfully faked my death.

My biggest regret is that I escaped alone. And that’s the reason I’m reaching out to you.

You’re a civilian. If you know too much about the League of Assassins you’ll be in danger. But I need you to save my twin Damian. He’s likely still there after all these years. He never wanted to escape; he took pride in being the heir to the league. He’s probably going to be stabby; he’s an assassin after all. But it’s not his fault. Ra’s - our grandfather - brainwashed him a lot more than he brainwashed me because Damian was more susceptible to it. It’s not his fault. Please. Save him. I’m begging you. My biggest regret is leaving Damian in the league. You have a chance to save him. Please, please do it.

I wish it would’ve been safe for me to get to know you. You seem like a cool dad, from what I’ve seen of you on the news with your oldest kids. I bet you’re like that with the youngest you hide from the public too. I wish you all the best. Thank you for listening.

Your long lost almost certainly dead by now son, Danny Fenton.”

Bruce took a second to process this, then picked up his phone and dialed his youngest’s number.

“Father.”

“Damian, did you have a twin named Danny?”

“…Who told you?”

Bruce hung up and sent Damian the video. He needed a minute to process this anyway.

Damian called back a few minutes later, after watching the video.

“Father. I do not care what state he is in. We must discover exactly what happened to Danny. Even if there is only a single molecule left. We must discover the truth.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Damian.”

Dealer’s choice on whether Danny is alive. The few ideas I have for this are:

- they find him mid-vivisection and rescue him

- they find what’s left of him post-vivisection and post his core being crushed

- he’s perfectly fine and just forgot to open his computer (maybe clockwork made sure he forgot?) and now he’s panicking about the fact that his family knows about him and could be in danger. He wanted them to know he existed, not make themselves a walking target for the league by finding him and trying to bring him home!

- Jazz found the automatic email and, deciding to meddle in her brother’s life and him back to his family and maybe get a good parent for herself as a bonus, sent it early

- Technus decided to start shit and sent it while haunting Danny’s computer

- Clockwork screwed with time to make sure it got sent

Lmk what yall do with this!

[sixosix]

wanderer can fly; you cannot. he makes it his problem.

“What? Giving up already?”

“Shut—” heaving, you barely have the energy to flip him off, “shut the fuck up. Fuck off.”

Wanderer chuckles, all low and mean, as if his entire purpose in life is to ridicule you. He continues ascending overhead, moving and looking like an angel, but the words that come out of his mouth are far from angelic. “Careful, now. I know you overestimate yourself, but I won’t save you if you continue to scale a mountain with one hand.”

“Stop agitating me on purpose then!” You nearly slip from the intensity of your yell, but thankfully, it isn’t your time yet.

“How can I? You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Grumbling, you focus back on the mountain. Cute when mad. He must think he’s goddamn adorable, then.

You’re starting to lose sight of dents or protruding surfaces to get a hold of, and the mountain is getting steeper. You curse under your breath. If only you had Geo or Dendro—that’d help a lot much more. Maybe even Anemo, but that would be admitting defeat to the man who’s currently watching you intently.

Wanderer scoffs when your breath hitches, the surface you’re holding onto crumbling. He descends until you’re eye level. “Idiot, I told you that it’d be safer if we didn’t climb this all the way.”

“I know my limit.” Maybe. You may or may not have gotten a little over-competitive and jumped a few times, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Not more than I do,” he says.

“Don’t say it like that, weirdo.” You appraise the mountain overhead and, with a sunken stomach, realize that he’s right. There’s still a long way to go, and it’s a long fall back.

“Damn,” you say. You turn to Wanderer and blink up at him with wide eyes, hoping he would take the hint without having to say it outright.

Wanderer sighs, holding out his arms. “Jump.”

“Are you serious?”

“I won’t let you fall—of course I’m fucking serious.”

You grit your teeth, wondering if it’s easier to humiliate yourself and jump into his arms or to let gravity do its work.

“Hey,” Wanderer says, gliding closer and hovering an arm behind your waist. “No stupid ideas. Just jump and hold onto me.”

It’s always unsettling when Wanderer is not acting all bratty, like you’re not quite sure if you should goad him back to being mean or watch him bristle when you point it out. It’s been happening too often recently. That must be saying something about him if his soft moments are scarier than his jabs.

Wordlessly, you reach out for his shoulder with one hand and hold back a yelp when the lack of balance causes you to slip. You hold on tight around his neck, eyes wide and heart jittery. Wanderer secures his arms, moving in one swift motion. Before you even know it, he has one arm on your back and the other under your knees.

“How convenient it must be to have a ride as your companion,” Wanderer mutters in amusement at your relieved face.

“Yeah. That’s why I keep you around,” you say as he glides upward, barely straining from your weight. He looks as unaffected as ever.

He looks as infuriatingly and devastatingly beautiful as ever.

“Ha,” his smile is all sharp, “and not because you have a little crush on me?”

“You follow me around because you do. Don’t get it twisted.”

He snorts, tipping on something a little more genuine. You wisely decide to stop ogling at his face and enjoy the view of the sky instead. The blue of his clothes and the shade of his eyes are much prettier, but you’d rather lose that than start squirming in his arms. Not when he’s carrying you bridal style and all.

Finally, he descends, hardly disturbing the grass with his grace. He sets you down, arms crossed, as you pat yourself off from dirt and stuff.

“Well?”

You eye him warily. “What do you want?”

“Some semblance of manners will do,” he says, then leans close as if he’s baring his face for you. He’s been less and less subtle recently, too.

Nonetheless, you find yourself smiling. The things he’d do just to get a kiss—it nearly makes you laugh out loud. But then he’d start getting all irritated like a cat, and you much prefer when he’s sweet like this. Sweet in his very Wanderer way, you mean.

You kiss him on the cheek. He puffs up like some proud peacock. He calls you adorable all the time, but he’s the one who’s acting like this. It’s no wonder you keep him around.

[inkedells]

logan eating pussy and enjoying it a little too much (he fucks the mattress pathetically)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

wc: 1.3k

warnings: oral (f!receiving), NO USE OF Y/N, grinding, desperate!logan, but he's still dommy, comeplay, snowballing, scent kink sorta, logan has a weird obsession with come idk

Logan holds your gaze from the valley between your thighs, and quickly, the cliches feel understandable. Because calling his eyes hazel would be an injustice to cool fields of wheat illuminated by the massive, descending sun. To be compared to anything of Logan’s, you think, would be the height of such an overused image’s life.

But this isn’t Poetry Workshop Wednesdays at a hippie coffee shop sandwiched between a pilates studio and a Chipotle. This is what happens when Logan wakes up from a wet dream, so you keep your strange (albeit accurate) observation to yourself and close your eyes as you try to focus on the hot tongue currently spreading generous amounts of saliva along your cunt.

His voice travels to your ears like a ripple on a whipped rope: Smooth and quiet until it reaches the end of its journey with a deafening snap. Words ring in your head unintelligibly until suddenly they’re coherent.

“Let your thighs squeeze my head.”

You open your eyes, but are immediately forced to fight the heaviness of your lids when Logan starts to eat you again. It feels as if you haven’t slept in days. “What?” You say, despite knowing exactly what he said. Logan pauses sucking on your clit to clarify.

“You were squeezing my head in the dream,” Logan replies, voice hoarse. “So squeeze my head.”

You comply, but it’s weak because your bones feel about as firm and steady as a sheet of paper.

“That the best you can do?” He rasps against your cunt, hands digging into the outsides of your thighs and forcibly pushing them against his head. He returns to devouring you like an animal, wet and sloppy sucking sounds that go straight to your pussy.

The bed is creaking, and you realize it’s because he’s getting off on the mattress.

“Were you doing that in the dream, too?” You ask quietly, closing your eyes for a second.

“Doing what?” Logan says between open-mouthed kisses to your clit.

“Fucking my sheets.”

He huffs, and it’s a sound of amusement. He must have figured you were too enamored by your own bliss to notice.

“No. That didn’t happen in the dream.”

“Couldn’t help yourself, then?” You whisper.

He teases your entrance with his tongue. “It was the smell of your cum that did me in.”

“Hm?” You hum, accidentally grinding yourself on his face when you adjust your position.

He mutters a voiceless fuck, and sucks your clit again. He lifts your hips off the bed with his palms under your ass and his elbows digging into the bed, veins in his biceps rising to the surface. You love when he shows off his strength, and the insistent fluttering of your entrance tells him as much.

The periodic groans of the bed frame only grow closer together, until they might as well be in sync with your heartbeat.

He whines something short and subtle, stopping his assault on your pussy as he rests his forehead and cheek against your inner thigh and focuses on his own pleasure. His hips are writhing, legs flat against the mattress as they bend and climb and tangle in the sheets.

“Logan,” You sing-song.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t even look up at you. Quite the opposite: He screws his eyes shut and furrows his brows.

“You stopped eating me out.” Your own voice is breathy, arousal still clouding your mind as you mourn his mouth on your pussy.

“Mm.” He licks you shakily, briefly, as if to prove you wrong or shut you up, but it’s barely as confident or as intentional as before.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Needy, is the word. He’s needy. His muscles are rippling under his tan skin, sweat beading and glistening under the soft, warm light filtering through the curtains. Face twisted in pleasure, hair falling over his forehead, nostrils flaring.

Logan is overwhelmingly beautiful.

He continues to prop up your hips until suddenly he’s not, your lower half falling the short distance as you yelp in surprise. He mumbles a sorry, still refusing to look at you as he bucks into the bed.

You almost start to complain, but then he’s hooking two fingers into your wet cunt and curling them languidly. He’s panting, nose nudging your clit deliciously as his warm breath fans over you.

You reward him with a moan. A sharper thrust of his hips. A sloppy lick around his fingers still inside you.

“The bed can’t be that good,” You tease, although you’re in no position to because you’re just as fucked out as he is.

“It’s not the bed doing this to me. It’s your pussy.”

You shove down the whine that rises in your throat. “If that were true you’d be fucking my pussy, not the bed.”

“But then I wouldn’t be able to smell it, or—or taste it, or stare at it.”

You tilt your head back. “You’re disgusting.” The words mean absolutely nothing.

“I don’t care.” He fingers you faster. His breaths melt into quiet whines as your legs spasm around his hand.

“Are you gonna cum?”

He nods against you, small and quick.

“Do it on my pussy,” You breathe, trying to grip his shoulders but falling short and scratching him instead. The brief sting makes him moan. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

He wordlessly climbs up your body, until his mouth is mashing with yours and his cock is sliding against your cunt. He thrusts his tip against your clit as his tongue delves into your mouth, one hand holding your neck while the other rests on your hip.

“You’re not gonna put it in?” You ask, chest heaving as you tolerate—no, enjoy—the heavy weight of Logan.

“No,” He says simply, letting your folds envelop his cock as he grinds himself on your cunt. The friction on your clit is addicting, and you wonder if he’s resisting being inside of you specifically so you can have this.

You lift your head to catch his lips again, and seconds later, he comes with a cry, cum spurting on your mound and mixing with your own arousal. He doesn’t stop rubbing your clit with his cock until your fingers rake down his back and you convulse with your own orgasm.

He pulls back and sits on his knees so he can observe the mess he made. Thick fingers massage his spend into your skin, then into your hole, slow and methodical. And when he taps your inner thigh, you know what to do. You push his cum back out, relishing the dirty grin on his face when it leaks onto the rim of your asshole.

Logan bends down and licks you clean, but neglects to swallow as he sits upright again. He takes your hand and helps you up until your face is level with his. You know what’s coming. A kiss. Messy and hungry. He shares his cum with you eagerly, then pulls back an inch to watch the string of spend that connects you stretch, then snap. He practically throws himself against your mouth after that, lips moving against yours so obscenely that the sounds of the kiss are almost as loud as the sounds of him eating your pussy.

Eventually, you break the kiss with a giggle and wipe the mess on your chin.

“You’ve got a little something there,” You say, gesturing toward his glistening beard.

He quickly brushes his fingers over a small area on his jaw. “Did that take care of it?” He whispers with a twitch of a smile, playing into your joke.

“Looks like it to me.”

A/N: thank you for the request it entirely cured my writer's block!! pls reblog bc it helps and gimme more logan requests!!

[whisperofwonder]

Comfortable

Uncomfortable domestic moments when you realize just how comfortable you are together, and how much he really cares about you

I just really love domesticity, okay? Even when it isn't pretty.

Featuring: Kuroo Tetsurou, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Miya Atsumu x reader

(a few potential triggers here, sorry!) TW: vomit / vomiting in Kuroo's ; blood/period in Ushijima's, then you'll have Atsumu's which is really just light and kind of goofy oops

KUROO TETSUROU

"Ugh," You moan as you reach to flush the toilet. You get to your feet and turn to find Tetsurou still hovering behind you. You grimace thinking about how he'd held your hair back just moments ago, as you released the entire contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl.

He hands you a cup of water. "How are you feeling?" He asks as you rinse out your mouth - it's a silly question, all things considered, but you don't exactly have a snarky answer at hand.

"I'm sorry," You blurt instead, not quite sure how he can be looking at you with that almost tender expression on his face after witnessing that.

"Why are you apologizing?" He asks softly, reaching to unstick a sweaty strand of hair from your face.

"Because, it's so gross. You didn't have to come in here," You insist. "I'm an adult, and - you really shouldn't have to see that." You purposefully avoid glancing in the mirror. You don't even want to know what you must look like right now.

"But I don't want you to feel gross alone," He says as if it's simple. You open your mouth, searching for some kind of retort, but nothing comes. "I know you can take care of yourself, but you shouldn't have to," He continues. "Not when I'm right here."

It's so surprisingly sweet that you feel your face start to crumple. "Tetsu," You squeak out.

"Shh," He shushes you, "Just tell me what I can do. Do you need anything?"

"I just want to go back to bed," You admit, reaching out to grab the edge of the sink as you feel yourself begin to waver.

"Okay then," He says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he scoops you up in his arms, slowly carrying you back to the bedroom and setting you gently on top of your pillows. "Try to get some rest," He murmurs, pulling the blankets up over you. "I love you," He adds, brushing the hair away from your face.

"I love you too," You murmur back, leaning into his touch and the comfort of the knowledge that he'll always be right here.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Your alarm feels even earlier than usual, and after confirming that it is indeed time to get up, you turn it off with a groan. You're feeling particularly at odds with the world already today, and part of you just wants to pull the covers over your head and go back to sleep. Instead, you slither out of bed, standing next to it as you check the e-mail notification that had popped up overnight.

"Oh," At the sound of his voice, you turn to look at Wakatoshi. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and he's looking at you with a slight frown on his face. "My love..." He gestures down at your side of the bed, and to your horror, you see a streak of red on the otherwise pristine sheets.

Suddenly, the way you're feeling is making a lot more sense. "Oh no," You drop your face in your hands, muffling your words. "That's absolutely disgusting. I'm so sorry." You don't even want to look at him, but at the sound of rustling sheets, you finally drop your hands. Your boyfriend is methodically stripping the bed.

"Why don't you get in the shower? I'll start washing these." He says matter-of-factly. There must be something in your expression, because you see his face soften. "It's alright. It's natural," He assures you.

"But-" You can't put into words how mortified you are. Natural or not, he shouldn't have to see it, much less clean it up. "At least let me do that," You insist finally, reaching for the pile of bedding.

"No," He twists away so that it's out of your reach, "I've got it. Just get in the shower, okay?"

"You shouldn't have to, though," You say more softly.

"I don't have to," He agrees. "I want to help you. Can I do that?"

You bite your lower lip, trying not to let your hormonally-charged emotions win this battle. "Okay," You say finally.

"Okay," He echoes you, dropping the sheets into the laundry basket before crossing the room back to you, gently taking your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your lips. "I'll make you some tea to have with breakfast," He adds after he pulls away. "Will that help?"

"Yes," You whisper, the I-love-you hidden in his words practically echoing in your head. You can't resist pulling him back in for one more kiss, hoping he feels the I-love-you-too that you press into it.

MIYA ATSUMU

"Atsumu!" You knock on the bathroom door, "Are you soon done?" It's moments like these when you really regret that this apartment has only one bathroom.

"Just got in!" He shouts back above the sound of the running shower. You bite back a sigh. He's famous for his long, hot showers.

"I really have to go!" You call back. "Can't you make it quick?" You're on the verge of pacing back down the hallway, just to help you hold it in.

"The door isn't locked! Can't ya just come in and go?" You freeze. It might be silly, but it's an unspoken milestone that you haven't crossed yet - peeing in front of each other.

"But!" You groan.

"But what? Ya've seen me naked before," You can practically hear his smirk.

"Tsumu," You whine, but in a matter of moments, you open the door anyway. It's gotten to the point where you don't have much choice. With only a moment's hesitation, you put up the toilet lid.

"How was yer day?" Atsumu begins conversationally.

"We're not doing this," You say quickly. "I'm going, and then I'm leaving the bathroom."

You hear him sigh. "Want me to get out and pee too, so we're even?" He asks, completely serious.

"No!" You say quickly. "I'm leaving now." Before he can say anything else, you're closing the door behind you.

About 10 minutes later, Atsumu finds you in the kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist as drips of water slip from his hair. "Guess we're a real couple now," He grins, leaning in and pressing a damp kiss to your lips.

"We weren't before?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow.

"'Parently not. Didn't know it was such a big deal," He says with a smug grin. "How will I ever look at you the same again?"

"Hey!" You swat his bare shoulder indignantly. "It was your idea." You remind him.

"Guess so," He hums. "Know what? I think I still love ya just as much." His smile is softer somehow, despite the teasing glint in his eyes.

"Oh?" You ask, struggling to maintain your haughty expression.

"Yeah," He nods. "Looks like you're stuck with me." He leans in for a longer kiss, almost making you forget about the small puddle that's begun to form on the floor.

[secretidentie]

Due to Bruce and Clark's close relationship and their obvious attraction to each other, when they call each other "partners" everyone (from the league to their families) assume they're dating.

The two of them are unaware of this for months until a JL member asks them for relationship advice because they've "been together for so long" and are shocked when the other doesn't deny anything so they l just go along with it. Clark just assumes Bruce must have asked him to be his boyfriend either as Brucie so he didn't take it seriously or in such a batman way that Clark hadn't picked up on it. Bruce just assumes he was concussed that week.

At first they're both extatic that they're in a relationship with each other but then they get hit with the feeling of "Shit I've been a horrible boyfriend" and set out to fix it. Both try to figure out everything they can about the rules of their relationship from the other, learn everything they can about their boyfriend and reach milestones that people who've been dating that long usually reach much sooner like their first kiss, without being too obvious or acting too guilty for not doing it sooner.

They both get so caught up in trying to right their wrongs and not get caught that they don't even realize the other is equally clueless.

[lowkeyren]

TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME!

in which — sunday, realizing he fell head over heels for you, tries to push you away, only to have his efforts backfire, which leads to a heated confession.

pairing — sunday x gn!reader

wc: 2.3k, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, woooo tension!!!, takes place before penacony quests, sunday fumbles everyone cook him rn, apology scene ib maxton hall, reblogs r much appreciated! from event req: here + art by @/hanahanayart on x

the first thing sunday noticed about you was how you consistently avoided meeting his gaze, how your eyes seemed to wander, frequently darting to the ground. 

even now, as you’re sitting across the table from him, you’re fidgeting with your hands, fingers nervously twisting the small charm on your bracelet. your eyes flit from the patterned tablecloth to the rim of your teacup, never settling on him for more than a moment. 

you’re tense, he notes.

as you both go through the marriage contract, he finds himself distracted by the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, and how your fingers fidget with the edges of the document; a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he observes your gestures. 

the moment you notice him staring however, you stiffen and abruptly shift in your seat. he watches as the flush on your cheeks grows more pronounced, and your words come out in awkward stammers as you try to continue the subject.

though he catches on, quickly averting his gaze to spare you any further embarrassment. the corner of his mouth twitches as he shakes his head slightly. 

right, you must be the type to be easily swayed by looks and status. 

of course he’s aware of his own charm, and even more so, the effect he has on others —evident by the multitude of pursuers vying for his hand in marriage. 

but something is different about you, different enough to intrigue him, different enough to distinguish you from the rest of the crowd, different and compelling enough for him to entertain the idea of marrying you.

sunday is a busy man. 

his schedule is packed with a myriad of tasks ranging from managing various negotiations to organizing the upcoming charmony festival. his desk is cluttered with intricate sketches of the festival’s layouts, post-it notes with scribbled annotations, stacks of detailed itineraries, and reminders of… you.

you have a knack for surprising sunday with unique gifts that inevitably end up on his desk. 

for instance, the delicate keychain that’s shaped like a tiny halo dangling just of reach, or the hand-knitted coaster he sets his mug on, or a handwritten note reminding him to take a break with a small doodle of him in the corner, or the sleek pen he’s using right now, personalised just for him (he complained about pens having grips that were too slippery or uncomfortable once.)

somehow, you never fail to invade his thoughts at every given chance. the worst part? he actually started looking forward to your presence —much to his dismay.

he doesn't know when exactly it started, but he’s certain “it’s all your fault” because he finds himself checking his phone much more frequently, eagerly awaiting your messages. he’s also become attuned to your daily visits, recognizing the distinct sound of your footsteps as they approach his office. heck he even finds himself rearranging his schedule to make sure he’s free during your usual visit time.

you plague his mind to the extent that it distracts him, where he finds himself unable to focus on his work without your voice suddenly echoing in his thoughts; the sound of your infectious laughter, the warmth of your smile like a siren’s call, and the endearing stutter in your words when you say his name —which all seems to linger and sway with every thought. 

sunday fears that he may have loved you more than he will ever allow himself to.

sunday gazes at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. his brows are furrowed, and a deep sigh escapes him as he tries to calm his turbulent thoughts, gripping the edge of the sink for support.

his current dishevelled appearance bears a striking resemblance to that of a fallen angel; stunningly attractive, yet marred by a decadent edge that whispers of turpitude.

as the head of the oak family, he shoulders countless responsibilities and maintains a careful distance from those around him. so is it wrong when he feels a twinge of insult, almost as if it's shameful to be powerless to resist you, when you entered his life with a mere marriage contract but seamlessly wove yourself into the deepest, darkest corners of his heart?

“sunday, are you okay? you’ve been in there for a while!” your voice echoes from the other side of the door, tinged with worry and care.

he’s confounded by your unwavering concern, unable to fathom as to why you continue to pour your heart into him, even as he remains cold and indifferent. he appears detached to you, often aloof and devoid of any intimacy —yet you never seem to mind. 

you make him want to tear down the carefully constructed barriers he’s built around his heart and hold you close. even now as you soothe his back and gently preen his wings, he finds himself lost in thought, contemplating the possibility of abandoning his old ways and allowing himself to be vulnerable with you.

but he thinks you don't have to be so insistent on winning him over, really. because he has already belonged to you in a way that’s intrinsic, a devotion deadlier than hell. 

perhaps he just hasn't come to accept it yet.

walking along the streets of golden hour, sunday is painfully aware of the stare you fixate on his figure, even though you try to be discreet about it. when his hand lightly grazes against yours, you freeze momentarily, your body tensing before you quickly adjust your pace to match his long strides, positioning yourself at his side.

you notice that his face is etched with a grim expression, lips drawn tight; he appears visibly stressed, a noticeable contrast to his usual calm demeanor. 

“ahem…” you clear your throat, “y’know,” you begin, your voice soft with an attempt at comfort, “whenever i feel upset, i've found that treating myself to something nice to eat always helps lift my spirits.”

your words hang in the air as he remains silent, his gaze fixed ahead; undeterred, you continue speaking.

“there’s a new restaurant robin told me about yesterday, would you—”

“—stop talking.”

his words seem to have escaped louder than intended, drawing the attention of bystanders who now stop to observe the scene. murmurs ripple through the crowd as they exchange curious glances. 

“oh… well i just wanted t—”

“just, leave me alone for once,” he interrupts sharply, each syllable from his lips like a drop of acid, eroding the walls of your heart until nothing is left but a hollow ache.

a flash of regret crosses his face the moment he sees your face drop. he watches in silence as you nod curtly before pushing your way through the gathering crowd, the haunting image of your hurt expression only further exacerbates the stress he’s already grappling with. 

you gaze at the chat screen with sunday’s name, your fingers hesitantly hovering over the send button; his words from a few days ago echo relentlessly in your head, replaying over and over again.

you sigh before putting your phone down. he probably doesn’t want you bothering him, right?

in that case, even if he was 'annoyed' by you, why did he have to say it in front of everyone? sure he was cold to you at times, but you thought he cared for you at least a little. and if he intended to push you away, why accept your gifts in the first place? 

regardless, you’re not about to forgive him so easily. your dignity demands that you maintain your distance for now, not merely out of pride but also to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

sunday hasn’t received your usual “good morning” text today… the day before, and the week before. actually, he hasn’t seen you at all either. (but robin has, she mentioned that she noticed you seemed a bit down. when she asked about it, though, you didn’t give her a clear answer.)

his office feels eerily quiet without your timely “interruptions”; his desk, once cluttered with your little gifts and notes, now sits noticeably emptier. most importantly, your absence only serves to distract him more than your presence ever did.

he has lost count of the times he’s run his hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of frustration that has become all too common lately. what he said that day, was purely “in the heat of the moment”, a lapse into uncharacteristic harshness he now deeply regrets. 

he envisions the hurt in your eyes, the way your expression crumpled as his words pierced the air, the weight of his own words gnaws at him, and he feels a pang of guilt so sharp it almost physically hurts.

he may have been reserved with his affection, but he never intended for his words to wound you so deeply. ultimately, he was only trying to guard the vulnerability he rarely reveals; but now, his facade has crumbled. and even he can no longer convince himself of the cold indifference he once tried to project.

it’s a bitter irony that he thinks you shouldn’t try so hard to win him over, when he tries just as hard to resist you. 

his efforts would have paid off,

—if only his heart is as cold as he pretends it is. 

he hears your footsteps for the first time in two weeks.

as you enter, he tries to mask the relief on his face, but his eyes betray him, softening as they lock onto you; his pulse quickens, and he rises from his desk almost instinctively. as usual, you keep your eyes averted, but today, the familiar shyness has been replaced by a palpable tension that he can’t ignore.

you set the stack of documents on his desk before turning to leave in silence, but his hand reaches out and gently grasps your wrist, halting you in your tracks. 

“—wait, please,” his voice trembles.

you turn around, finally meeting his gaze. the steady rhythm of his heart quickens into an erratic flutter, almost like a caged dove desperate to escape.

“i apologise… for what happened that day.” 

“a simple ‘sorry’ would suffice for the embarrassment you put me through, but it doesn’t erase the sting of your words or the way you belittle my feelings,” your voice quivers slightly.

you shake your head and let out a frustrated sigh. “listen, i’m not a pawn for you to play with. just tell me how you really feel, not what you think i want to hear.”

you pause, searching his face for any sign of genuine emotion, but all you find is the same frustrating distance. “i mean it, i’m truly sorry, please let m—”

“you can’t just say you're sorry and expect everything to be fine." you scoff and wrench your hand away from his grasp with a sharp jerk, “cut the crap, you’re seriously driving me insane!”

there's a pause before he responds. “im driving you insane?” his eyes narrow, his expression growing intense as he steps closer. with each step he takes towards you, you retreat until your back hits the edge of a bookshelf, the cool wood pressing against you. 

“but do you know what you do to me?” his hair tumbles messily and hangs over his forehead. “do you think it’s easy for me to keep my composure when everything you do makes it harder for me to hold it together?” 

his hands, which were previously clenched at his sides, now grip the edges of the bookshelf on either side of you, closing the space between you even further. 

“maybe i’ve been distant,” his voice, though strained, holds a desperate edge. “but it’s not because i don’t care, it’s because i'm terrified of what i might feel if i let myself get too close.”

“it’s because you drive me insane —and i can’t get enough of it.” 

you pause, taking in his raw confession before burying your face into his shoulder; a damp patch forming on his clothes. “but it’s not fair, sunday.” your fingers dig into his shoulder, but he couldn’t care less.

“you can’t push me away and then pull me back in with your words.” your words are muffled; he tenderly runs his hand along your back, his soothing touch calming you down.

he sighs before saying, “i know i’m sorry, please give me some time, i’ll make things right.”

“promise?” you ask, lifting your gaze to meet his. he gently cups your cheek with his hand, his thumb softly caressing your skin.

he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “i promise.” 

and this time, he lets himself sink in your embrace, holding you tighter than before. it’s then he realises just how much he had missed out on. 

extra:

“darling...” 

“hm?” you gently stroke his wings, smoothing out the feathers with delicate care. 

his wings flutter slightly under your gentle hands, softly rustling as you brush through the layers of plumage.

“why were you delivering documents to me that day?” he asks, voice laden with curiosity.

you let out a soft chuckle as you recall the nervous expressions of the staff on that day when sunday walked into his office. his wings had fluttered with every tentative step someone took toward him, a clear sign of his agitation. 

“i don’t know,” you reply with a hint of amusement. “maybe none of your staff dared to come near you, so they asked for my help.”

he subconsciously leans into your touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. “well i’m grateful you came by,” he murmurs, though he can’t quite hide the way his wings quiver in response to your tender caresses.

“it turns out, i got more than just a set of documents that day."

you raise an eyebrow playfully. "oh? and what might that be?"

he leans in closer, his forehead gently touching yours, “a reminder of how much i need you."

MASTERLIST ; EVENT M.LIST

[supernovasilence]

Ok we all talk about the Pevensies' trauma at returning to Earth at the end of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and their trouble readjusting to life there again but think of all the funny/good parts too

They return from the country, and their mom is surprised when all her children hug her at the station. Even Peter, who thinks he's all grown up. Even Edmund, who went away surly and withdrawn. She doesn't know her children haven't seen her in over a decade.

They miss their dear Cair Paravel, but they absolutely do not miss its chamber pots. Indoor plumbing is amazing.

It takes a while to remember how modern technology works, though. How many heart attacks did the siblings give their parents or the professor because they walked into a dark room only to turn on the light and find the children sitting there in the dark. (They were by the window! There was still plenty of light from the sunset! They would have gotten a candle in a minute!) The kids sheepishly remember oh yeah electricity is a thing.

(Edmund has a new electric torch in Prince Caspian. He was so excited to get that torch. Almost more excited than you'd think a kid his age would be, and his parents expect Peter at least to tease him, but the siblings all agree light in your hand at the touch of a switch is terrific.)

Suddenly getting really high grades in some subjects and terrible in others. Their grammar, reading comprehension, spelling, vocab, even penmanship? Amazing. History and geography? They don't remember anything. One time in class Susan forgets Earth is round and wants to die.

Also they can never remember what the date is supposed to be because Narnia uses different months and years. They can estimate time really well by looking at the sun though, and Edmund at least can always tell which way is north etc without thinking about it (again, using the sun)

Okay but how many times did they go to pick something up or reach something and realize they are so much shorter and less muscled than they expect? It's a common sight to see Peter climbing on counters to reach a top cabinet, grumbling about how he's High King this is demeaning. (No he never takes the extra five seconds to grab a stool. He will climb that shelf.)

Peter and Susan being delighted because they are no longer almost thirty. (In a few years Edmund and Lucy will tease them about being old and their parents will not understand.)

Lucy doesn't have to deal with periods anymore for a few years yet. Susan might not either. Heck yeah

Lucy loves to climb into her siblings' laps and be cuddled. In Narnia she eventually she grew too big, but now she is small and snuggleable again. Peter is her favorite, and if she's upset, he'll tickle her and tell bad jokes until she's smiling again, but really she loves cuddling with all her family. She grew up without her parents; how many times did she just want to crawl into her mom's lap and her mom was a world away? Imagine the first time she realizes she can now. Or, imagine one day, a cold and grey sort of day, when the rain is pattering against the windows, and it sounds like the rain on the windows of the Professor's house, that first day they went exploring. It sounds like the day they played hide and seek. It sounds so like the rain on the windows of Cair Paravel, that if Lucy closes her eyes she can imagine she's back there, having tea and chatting with Mr. Tumnus before the fireplace of her room, and soon the rain will stop, and they will go out on the balcony and wave to the naiads and the dryads and the mermaids, who have come out to enjoy the rain and visit one other on the banks of the Great River winding past Cair Paravel down to the sea.

But if Lucy looks out the window, all she'll see is the rain over London, so it's not only a cold and grey sort of day, it's a lonely sort of day too.

Susan and Edmund are playing chess in the living room (and they must have studied with Professor Kirke, thinks their mother, because they certainly weren't that good when they left). Lucy goes over to Edmund, and oh dear, thinks their mother, now he's going to call her a baby and be horrible to her, but instead he picks her up and puts her on his lap without even taking his eyes off the chessboard; it's simply a matter of course.

"Doesn't the rain sound familiar?" says Lucy in a solemn, wistful way.

Their mother doesn't know what that means, but her siblings must, because Susan says, "Yes, Lu, it does,” and Edmund gives her a little hug with his free arm as she tucks herself under his chin to watch the chess match.

(Five minutes later there is a crash from the next room as Peter falls off a counter. Their mother does not understand the words he must have picked up from the Professor, but he's grounded for them anyway. His siblings have no respect for their High King, because they refuse to stop laughing.)

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

35 / 2.1k / shark merman Price and remora mermaid reader for mermay :)

...

Price isn’t stupid. He knows you’ve been following him since the early morning as he makes the rounds through his favorite reef. You’re stealthing poorly—just poorly enough that he knows you’re there, but you’re still small enough to dart into the reef every time he tries to get a good look at you.

He's been ignoring you and hoping you’ll take the hint to buzz off before he makes you buzz off.

You think you’re getting the hang of sneaking up on him when you turn a corner and lose him. And then he’s sneaking up on you.

You peek around the bright lumps of coral, wondering where he’s gone, when something blots out the sunlight above. You look up to see him—the long expanse of muscle and bulk on top and the smooth shark’s tail below—as he peers down at you.

You stiffen, pressing yourself to the sandy sea floor.

He scans you with his dark eyes to determine just what kind of creature has been following him. Not a threat, decides. Even as a mer. You’re too small. Too soft. You have no teeth to speak of. How laughable. And a tiny little thing, at that.

You straighten up, watching him circle you. You’d been looking for an opportunity just like this. That’s why you were tailing him. But now that his shrewd gaze is finally on you, you feel exposed.

He takes his time inspecting you. Then he swims a wide arc around you once more and lowers his clawed as if to touch you. You force yourself to stay still, your tail curled under you on the sand.

“You’ve been following me,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

Price hooks one of his claws under your chin and pulls your head lightly upwards. You slowly rise as he tilts your chin up until you're suspended in the water in front of him.

"You should be scared of me,” he says.

You settle your own hands on his wrist in contentment. You look less like a meal being evaluated and more like a kitten being scratched under the chin. "Would you like me to be scared?"

He chuckles at your enthusiasm. He knows exactly what this is. You're a remora mer, which means you instinctively seek out and bond with bigger creatures. Even if that creature is an unfriendly shark mer. Surely you must know how dangerous it is to be within his reach?

"You're very big. You must be king of this reef,” you say.

He pauses as the praise washes over him. He knows how intimidating he is, and you should realize you're nothing but small, soft and fragile. But obviously your instincts for fawning and flattery are finely honed.

He can see the way your little self seems to be drawn to him. A remora mer, indeed. He's seen others like you, but they've always avoided him. He could just as easily kill you as he could accept your company.

There is something pitifully adorable about you. The way you tilt your head and expose your throat unwittingly is endearing. He knows it’s because your instincts are leading you to bond with him for the safety he provides. You're too willing.

"Do you lack the common sense to fear an apex predator?" he asks, voice low and amused.

"Yes," you respond obediently.

He can see the way your little body is pressing up to his hand, desperate to get closer. He moves his arm, gently guiding you closer to him. "Good," he rumbles softly before using two claws to stroke down the curve of your neck. "Very good. You're too small to survive my teeth, you know."

"Of course. Much too small. Your teeth are so big and sharp."

"And you're soft and weak. Soft as a piece of kelp, I bet." He gives the tip of your tail a flick, and his eyes glitter as you bob and shake out your tail fin at the touch. Fussy little creature. "You're not very good at what you're supposed to do, little mer."

You open up your eyes. "I'm not?"

"Following me for hours without even trying to ingratiate yourself to me," he growls. "You're supposed to busy yourself with my needs. Not..." He trails off as you tilt up into his touch, almost nuzzling his hand. He gives your forehead a light flick with his claw to make you pay attention. "Acting like some kind of pet."

You quickly smooth yourself down. "Of course. I know that." You dart closer, putting your small hands on his inner arm, his shoulder, his chest, inspecting him. Your fingers glide over him, brushing and scratching and plucking away bits of sea debris and dry skin. Grooming him. "I just thought you might want me to be scared of you first."

Oh. He’s enjoying this far more than he thought he would. For something so soft, you’re quite bold.

He presses on your hip to turn you slightly as you work, idly inspecting you in return. "Maybe later. Let’s see if you’re worth the effort first." He rests his chin on his other hand to watch you fuss over him. It's been a long time since he had any kind of attention on him. You dart around behind him and busy yourself with his hair next.

He leans into your touch when you start to untangle his hair. "You seem to enjoy this.”

“I do.”

“Good for you,” he drawls. "Are you good for anything else?"

"I'm good for lots of things." You move from his hair down to his tail, trying not to stare.

"Oh?" He reaches up and idly drags the back of his knuckles down your spine and over the fin there. He smirks as your fin flattens with the touch. "Like what?"

"Anything you can think of."

"Anything?" He gives a low rumble in his throat at your words. "Don't go promising favors you can't fulfill, little remora."

"Okay," you chime.

He grabs ahold of your tail fins. "And don't agree with every single thing I say, either. That makes you far too easy to manipulate."

"Yes, sir!"

He rolls his eyes. You really are a pushover. It's like you want him to be cruel to you. He lets go of your tail but twirls his fingers in the tip of your tailfins. "Is it your instincts that are making you so deferential? Or are you just a coward?"

You pretend to think about this for a moment. Then you respond, pleasantly, "Which do you prefer?"

"Mm, so you do have a brain."

"Me? No, surely that can't be. Not a thought in my head, sir. Promise."

He eyes you like a disobedient puppy. You're putting on this fairly convincing act, being a mindless, servile little thing, and it's confusing his instincts to know you're doing a fair bit of manipulation yourself to win his protection.

"Might prefer you a bit more brainless, actually," he says. He nudges the underside of your chin with his knuckle this time instead of his claw, noting how you drop what you were doing to follow the gesture as he guides you out in front of him again. "You're willing to do anything I ask, then? No questions?"

"Yes, sir.” You rest your much smaller body against his forearm again. “Anything.”

He looks down at how you submit willingly to his hand, taking in the sight of your small body pressed up against it. He feels something primal coil in his gut at the display. You let yourself fall under his control so easily. "What if I told you to open your mouth like a goldfish?" He brings his thumb up to your lip. "Would you?"

You open your mouth.

Interesting. He taps your lower lip with the tip of his thumb. "Wide," he murmurs. "Open up wide for me."

You open wider.

"Now bite."

You bite down around the tip of his thumb.

His lips twitch up into a smile at the feeling of you nibbling at him, the little scrape of your teeth. "Good. Harder."

You reposition your grip and chomp down in earnest this time. He grunts. Your teeth are smaller than his, but they're still sharp.

"There you go. Not bad for such a small mouth." He pulls it away, half-expecting you to start hollowing your cheeks on his thumb if he dawdles too long. "Have you ever had to deal with bigger fish?"

"Of course," you chirp. Like it's no big deal.

Price snorts. It's hard to imagine something like you doing anything but darting behind the nearest rock at the first sign of danger. “How many have you killed?"

"None."

"Right, I'm sure you ask them nicely to leave you alone," he says. "And do they listen?”

"Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't."

"And when they don't, what do you do? Do you fight back? Do you give up?"

"Well..." You wring your hands briefly. "You're going to handle it now, right? So what does it matter?"

"It matters to me." For some reason, the thought of you trying to fight back against a larger fish makes him restless. "You still need to know how to defend yourself."

You frown. "You're not going to do it for me?"

He scoffs, but you're starting to make him feel something close to concern for you. He doesn't know why the thought of you being defenseless irks him so. "Are you really that helpless? Are you really so soft that you just want me to fight all your battles for you?"

"I mean, you're a shark."

He huffs irritably at that, his annoyance with you outweighed by his annoyance with himself for feeling concerned over you. "Do you think I'm going to do everything for you just because I'm bigger and stronger?"

You smile at him, pleased.

Ah. He's the fool suddenly. He grabs you around the waist with just one of his big hands and brings you close, his voice lowering in warning. "Stop smiling, little fish."

"Okay," you chime.

"I told you to stop sounding so bloody agreeable. You make me want to bite you." He lifts you up in front of him to get a clearer look at your face. Your eyes are too wide, your smile is too sweet, your body is too flimsy. It's all infuriating to him. He’s been roaming the ocean a long time and he's grown comfortably hard and cold. You’re not changing that. "You have no self-preservation instincts at all, do you? You're just going to get yourself killed one day."

You settle into his hand comfortably. "Maybe so. Can I get you anything else, boss?"

You're hopeless, he decides. With how sweet and docile you are, he feels something clawing at the inside of his chest the longer he holds you.

Instead of answering you, he fits you against his chest, into the crook of his arm. There. Better. He can keep you closer this way without having to look at your silly doe eyes.

“Not now,” he says finally. “Maybe later.”

You lean into the position, tucking into the side of his chest like you're making yourself at home. "Okay, boss."

He can’t decide if he likes you calling him that or not. He can feel the way you nestle against him, settling in comfortably and making no effort to resist. You really are too easy to control. Just a little pull and you're molded against his side. He feels you start to smooth down some of his chest scales without even thinking. Grooming him. Nice and clean. Little busybody.

He's not used to being pampered, but feeling the tension start to bleed from his muscles under your touch… maybe it’s not so bad. He glances down at you, wondering how you're able to look so contented tucked up against him. His chest rumbles as you scratch near his throat. He lets his muscles relax under your hand.

You're an annoying little thing--too innocent, too naive, too sweet, and he conveniently forgets how capable you are of convincing him of that to win him over--but it's been too damn long since he's allowed himself to be comforted.

Maybe it would be alright to let you stay with him for a little while.

...

more Price / more mer au / masterlist tag