#but you can still read it on ao3 if you want! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkthrone445 · 1 day ago

Note

Do you have ao3? Also can you continue my wife? 🥺 I almost cried but i dont know in which part. If it's because of the story or because it's unfinished or i got left hanging. But Great work though 👏

Hiii! I don't have ao3, my girlfriend explained to me what it was because I had no idea honestly, I was even researching a little of it, but I prefer more tumblr because I feel it more personal.

Thank you for the comment, I really love this kind of interaction 🥺✨

-My wife- Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader-Agatha Harkness x Rio

Gender:soft, hurt

Warnings: insults and mention of death. Spoilers from the series.

Summary: after loosing your wife, you beg the witch to take you to the road to find her. But with no hope of finding her, you want to come back home.

You sighed looking at the notebook in your hands, since you had been sent to do a report on the hex when it started expanding and you got trapped inside, that was going to be your great opportunity to do your great report and go famous on the news side, but since Wanda retired from the city and released everyone from her control, you no longer had your main source or your main character and it was more difficult to make the story happen.

Frustrated by not knowing how to follow your report, you put your notebook in your bag and continued with your grocery shopping

-"Hello... Did you find everything you needed?" - a kind lady asked you from the cash register while you put your items on the band. You looked up and she smiled, she had a delicate but mischievous smile and her light eyes sparked with the stores lights. You squinted your eyes to read her name tag since you were not using your glasses. "Agnnes" a sweet name

-"Y-yes" - for some reason your voice trembled-"Thank you... Can you add some gum please?" - You didn't knew why but you made your voice sweeter than how you usually talked and she nodded.

When you finished paying, you went to where you were staying to eat the junk food and the chips you bought and try to keep writing your notes, but not matter how many times you checked your purse or the bags, you couldn't find your notebook with all your important notes.

Before the tears of desesperation could fill your eyes, you started to retake your previous steps hoping to find it somewhere, but when you got to the store, the doors were already closed.

Defeated, you came back home, praying to God that your notebook would be there tomorrow.

The next day you went back to the store before they could open the doors to the people, your heart racing with nerves, yesterday's frustration still lingering on your body. Wanda was gone and if you lost that book all your first handed Intel would be gone too.

Your leg bounced on the concrete looking at the doors and your reflection on it. Agnes, the cashier from the day before stood beside you looking at the close doors

-"What are we looking for?" - she asked leaning closer to you and you turned to look at her

-"Agnes..."-her name sounded so sweet on your lips-"I lost something yesterday and I think is here... I hope is here" - Your voice sounded like a plea to the gods

-"What did you loose?" - she asked with worry on her eyes

-"A black notebook with some silly drawings on the cover... It has my notes for work and I had some important Intel on it and I need it"-You really sounded desperate

-"Intel on what?" - she asked curious

-"On some local news... You know, the kidnapping of the whole town and all... You don't remember if yesterday someone brought you a lost notebook?" - You looked into her eyes and she held her bag tighter

-"I shouldn't let people from the outside come in before we open, but follow me, let's check the lost and found" - she took your hand and pulled you to the side of the store. Her fingers where holding you tight and that made you smile a little, her hands were soft and they had the perfect size to hold yours.

She opened the side door and pulled you inside with her, looking for the office without letting you go.

When you finally got there, she pulled a box from the closet and put it on top of a desk, letting you search for the notebook without any luck.

She stared at your face, looking how your eyes got watery when you searched the box for the second time hoping that it would appear

-"Hey..."-she took your hand again stopping your search-"Let's check the store together..."-she whispered and you nodded. Even at the risk of losing her job if someone looked at the cameras and saw that she had let someone from outside the company in before they even opened, she helped you look for the notebook all over the store.

-"I think I got it!!"-she yelled and you ran towards her, when you saw her holding your notebook proudly on her hands, you let out a loud yelling of happiness and hugged her tightly

-"Oh my god! You are a life saver Agnes!" - You couldn't stop holding her and she laughed

-"How do you know my name? I've never told you... And I don't know yours either now that I think about it..."-she whispered and you let her go laughing a little embarrassed when she handle you the notebook

-"I saw it yesterday on your name tag... I'm (Y/N) by the way... Thank you so much for this..."-you looked at the book in your hand and she smiled

-"Lovely name..." - she whispered looking at your smile and you blushed a little under her intense gaze

-"Do you want want to go for a coffee? It's on me..."-you boldly offered and she smiled sadly

-"I have to work..."-she answered and you felt a little disappointed without knowing why

-"Rigth, of course, I'm sorry" - You tried to quickly excuse yourself

-"But my shift finish at 6... Maybe we can go for dinner?" - she asked and your smile grew

-"I would love that" - You wrote your number on a piece of paper from your notebook and gave it to her-"See you soon, thank you again!" - You smiled and let her go on with her day.

That first dinner was surprisingly good, the conversation seemed to have no end and she picked an excellent spot that you haven't seen before in that small town. She was sarcastic and funny, she knew how to flirt and she was charming and gorgeous and you couldn't get enough of her.

So after that nigth, after a couple days, you came back to her store to buy something only to have an excuse to see her again and talk to her. And then you repeatedly did the same until you started dating.

After a year together you got married and moved to Agnes' house, and a year after that, you started the process to have a baby together.

At some point along the way, you didn't know exactly when, you realized that she was a witch. If you connected the dots that she lived almost next door to where the scarlet witch was but still didn't remember her, or that some of her books at home were in Latin and talked about spells, or that she herself did a "joke" spell before you got pregnant and it worked... It seemed very obvious what she was...But she seemed like a nice witch.

You as a reporter got interested in her and started to study all the books that she had and all the story behind her, you found out that she was Agatha Harkness a powerful old witch, but for you she was your sweet and perfect Aggy.

When she started to get lost in her own mind, you used all the things you had learned to break her spell, and when your Aggy was lost behind the powerful Agatha Harkness, you used the song of the road that she used to sing to your belly, to try to bring her back again.

But now you were stuck on the stupid road with no hopes of bringing her back and no idea how to get back home.

You took your notebook with spells out of your pocket and you saw how it was filled with memories, notes, phrases and information all involving Agatha... All the things you investigated for her and now she couldn't even remember you or cared about you being pregnant or about what you have done for her. Rage and sadness filled your body and you throw the book away, seeing how it fell outside of the road and the dirt consumed it. You signed and sat on the dirt, desperate tears filled your eyes and and you hug your legs

-"I want to get out..."-you whispered between sobs

-On the other side of the road-

-"Hughhh, stop it!" - Agatha yelled grabbing her head, she didn't knew how, but every time you thought about something or remembered anything, she could feel it on her head too and that was really anoying to her, her mind was usually so calm and yours was so loud.

-"Agatha... Let's go bact to her, I think we need her, we've been walking for hours and we have no test ahead, clearly the road wants her with us..."-Lilia said worried about you being alone

-"The road is bullshit..."-she murmured between her teeth-"Let's sleep a little, we can keep going in a few hours" - she said firmly and nobody dared to say anything else about it because they were scared of making her more angry.

While everyone slept, Agatha thouth about you, specially about the baby, she didn't knew if you were telling the truth but she was intrigued about it, if she started a family with you, you must be really important to her, important enough to move on after all this time.

A glimpse of something shiny on the middle of the road cough her eyes, she stood up and grabbed a dusty notebook, your notebook. She recognized it immediately because you had it all the time in your hands. When she open it, the first thing she saw was a lyrics of a song, her original song that she used to sing with Nicky. The only other person that knew that song was her and Rio, but apparently she sang that song to you at some point and you save it on your notes.

She also saw full paragraphs about her, a drawing of her pin, notes about enchantments, a list of songs and baby names... Baby names, she remembered picking baby names with you a few days ago when the pregnancy test came out positive, she remembered you on the bathroom of the house, crying and hugging her.

She kept reading the book, it was like a diary about your and her life together, every important thing was inside it, even a few pictures, including ones of the wedding you had. You seemed so happy with her, nobody has never smiled so much because of her, and in all the pictures she was smiling even bigger looking at you. Her heart started clenching more each time she read a new page, she could feel your love in your notes, until she reached one in particular

"Even if you don't recognize me anymore and you don't remember the love you had for me, the love I have will cover for the both of us..."

She remember when you told her that when she tried to kick you out of the house and that made a clic on her head, Agatha remembered, finally she remembered everything.

How you met, that spark, your first time together, when you got married, when you decided to have the baby and how you took care of her when she started to loose it...

She remember how you stayed by her side always. Even when she no longer recognized you, and unless you followed the silly illusion her head was living in, she wasn't able to see or hear you either, you stayed. Even though she no longer knew who you were, you made a vow with her and wanted to take care of her while she was "sick", so you found a way to help her eat or shower. You pretended to be a waitress and tell her she was on a restaurant so she would eat her food and pretend to be a masseur on a spa so she would shower. Agatha remember that, remembered your care and your worry even when she treated you badly, she remembered your love for her...she remembered all that and fell for you again, she finally remembered her love for you.

-"Fuck!" - she closed the book feeling like an asshole

-"They are coming!" - Lilia woke up scared, telling the others that the Salem seven where close. Agatha grabbed her coat

-"Let's go, we need to find her before they can hurt her" - she ordered and the others followed her.

-On your side of the road-

After a few minutes of crying you also fell asleep and when you woke up, you were no longer on the road, you were on your confy bed, hugged by the covers. You sighed in relief and snuggled more into the comfort of the mattress thinking that all that had hapend was just a bad dream

-"Are you planning on staying on that bed all day?" - a deep voice took you out of your peaceful place and you sat on the bed scared to see Rio sitting at the edge of it. If you were still on a dream, she was a completely nightmare following you everywhere

-"How did I got here? What are you doing here? What do you want? If you want Agatha go ahead, I don't care anymore"-saying those words made your heart hurt, but you were tired of trying to get love from the witch with no results at all

-"She hates me, she doesn't want to be with me or see me... Remember that conversation around the fire? she is my scar... I don't know if you know this but we had a son together many many years ago... But he was sick and it was my fault, I tried to give them more time together and she tried to keep him away from me, but eventually I had to do my job and he had to come with me... Agatha never forgave me for it and I didn't forgave myself either..."-she talked with her serious face as always and you couldn't avoid the feeling that you were in danger with her close

-"If you want me to feel sorry for you, telling me that you had to kill your son, it's not helping..."-you whispered

-"I took you out of the road..."-she confessed and surprised you-"You wanted to get out and the Salem seven where very close to you while you slept so I took you out... Because Agatha wouldn't forget me ever if I had to take another one of her children away... Or her wife..."-the word wife was painful to her, you were having the life that they could never had, but she would do anything to see Agatha happy

-"That's... Thank you..."-you didn't knew what to said, you figured that she was death itself when she told you that she was "THE" green witch, but she was bending the rules of life for Agatha

-"Don't... Just take care of her okay?... And close that fucking door to the "road", like now"-she order and you stood from the bed

-"How do you want me to do that? I have no powers..."-you asked confused

-"You created it, you can close it... Or he can, you just have to let his powers control you again" - she told you pointing to your almost invisible belly. The baby was made from Agatha's spell, it made sense that you had power while he was inside you. When you turned to look at her, she was gone already.

Still confused, you ran to the basement and grabbed a piece of chalk and a few candles, remembering the spells that you had studied, you started to repeat the Latin words over and over until you saw the door desapear. Tired and a little confused of what you were capable of, you sat at the floor trying to catch your breath, hoping that Agatha and the others would find a way out.

Meanwhile inside the road, Agatha and the others were running looking for you and screaming your name when she noticed how the sky of the road started to shrink and how the trees beside them began to desapear, little by little everything started to fade around them

-"Fuck! Off the road! Let's go to the mud people, let it swallow you" - Lilia yelled, she saw this happening before and she knew what they had to do even if she didn't knew why. Although they were not quite sure if Lilia was in her right mind on that moment, they decided to listen as it seemed to be the only possible option. They all waded into the mud and fell under the road right next to an exit, using it to escape safely just in time before the place collapsed behind them

-"Well... That happened..."-the protection witch said breathing heavily

-"Its this another test?" - The potion witch asked

-"I think we are truly out..."-Lilia said.

Apparently they had come out in some underground construction and Agatha didn't waste a second in running out looking for a way out to see if she could find you

-"What about the end of the road?!" - they asked running behind her

-"I don't care about that, I need to find my wife!" - The purple witch screamed and when she finally got outside and saw that they weren't so far away from her house, she breathe out in relief. Immediately she went to the house, and when she was about to open the backyard door, the color left her skin when the door opened alone and she saw death itself leaving the house, Agatha couldn't avoid imagining the worse, that she was there to claim your body because you couldn't get out of the road in time

-"Please no..."-The witch begged her ex lover, but the green witch just walked away without saying anything else. Agatha opened the door with shaky hands and the others followed her closely

-"Aggy! Lilia! You are all okay!" - Your voice pierced their ears as your body crushed against them hugging them all taking them by surprise

-"I thought I lost you" - Agatha's voice was broken, vulnerable as she hugged you alone, closer to her-"I thought I had lost you after being an asshole to you, I... I'm sorry... I remember you, all you did for me, I remember how much we love each other, how much I love you" - she whispered pressing her forehead against yours and letting one of her hands rest against your belly. You smiled feeling safe and happy again. But your happiness ended quickly when you saw how the sky turned gray

-"Oh no... They got out too" - Lilia said watching how the Salem seven where walking down the street

-"Look guys, this is my fight, you don't need to be here... " - Agatha said but got interrupted

-"This is not the time to be good Agatha after being a bitch all this time..."-Jennifer said

-"We will protect you... After all that's what convens are for" - Alice said looking at you and then at Agatha- "I will blast you... Just don't take it all..."-she said and the purple witch nodded...

-9 months later-

-"He is gorgeous..."-Lilia said holding your baby on her arms for the first time. The little baby held her fingers in his little hand watching all the women around hin

-"He is, but now it's time for Aunty Aliceee to hold himmm" - The protection witch said excited in a pitchy voice while you watched them from your hospital bed

-"No! I was the second one to hold David, come on!" - Jennifer started fighting with the other witches making you laugh. You named your baby in honor of your neighbor that you lost on the road.

-"Love come here..."-you whispered to Agatha who was looking outside from the window. She gave a last look and closed the blinds smiling at you-"Are you okay?" - You asked and she nodded, happy to see that death was nowhere to be seen meaning that you and the baby where healthy and safe

-"Never better, I got everything that I need rigth here" - she kissed your forehead and hugged you protectively whispering sweet things on your hear.

#agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness x reader #agathaharknessedit #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agathario #agatha spoilers #pinkthrone445 #agatha harkness fanfic

162 notes · View notes

endursent · 3 days ago

Text

- Opened doors

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , cockwarming (sunday giving) , anal sex , comforting , halovian biological headcanons , penis haver!reader , NSFW 】

【 note; this is for the penis havers and wanters out there of any gender. stay strong in the perpetual drought of reader-insert fics dedicated to you, you're stronger than any troops. can of course be enjoyed by anyone, as usual no gender nor appearance described. 】

【 word count; 2.450 | read on ao3 】

You had barely started and Sunday was already digging his fingernails into your sides—whether in protest or pleasure wasn’t clear by the action alone. He was so still and stiff you wondered if he had changed his mind.

“Sunday, if this is too much, we can—“

“No—it’s fine, i-it’s fine,” his words aren’t very convincing, mumbled and stuttering as they are, so you try again.

“I can finish tending to your wings first, then we can do this,” it was slightly your own fault, you had offered him a seat while you go through his thinning wings to remove any feathers that have loosened but cling stubbornly to the ones around it… and Sunday is having a hard time already, giving him options isn’t the brightest idea right now while he’s adjusting.

He frowns slightly, chin on your left shoulder as his fingers stop clenching your poor skin and he instead wraps his arms around your torso, holding firmly. “No…”

It’s impossible to read his thoughts on a normal day, and you expected it to be easier today—this isn’t your first time helping him through moulting, it takes several weeks to complete the process for adult Halovians and you’ve helped him through it once before… though it took some convincing to let you help.

Sunday is stubborn and reclusive, though he’s less avoidant now after so long with the Astral Express… he learned the hard way that trying to ignore or avoid certain members only makes them more persistent and determined, it’s still a great effort to get him to accept help. Not because he doesn’t want it—he does, so badly—but because he neither wants to take your time nor waste it on something he could do by himself and has always done.

Unfortunately for him, you need to know his thoughts to help. “Hm, well, I won’t start until I know you feel well enough for it,” your own hands resting on his hips clap his skin lightly, just enough for a small smacking sound to snap in the air.

Instantly, he straightens as if a sudden burst of energy knocked him on the forehead, his golden eyes squint at you with the greatest offence he has shown. “What must I do—to prove it to you?”

Almost as if defiantly, he clenches even further around you—he’s been holding on tightly already—and nearly forces a groan from your throat. He’s so damn warm, inside and out. It’s a dangerous combo, to have him warming your dick, and giving you that defiant look at the same time… you almost give in. Almost.

But you don’t particularly feel like having him pass out on you from the feeling of having his wings touched as thoroughly as you will as well as the intensity of cockwarming you at the same time. You prefer to have him aware and enjoying it just as much as you are.

“How about naming every world in the Tiberius system backwards?”

His wings twitch in agitation. “That—that’s not even a real star system.”

“Yes it is,” you insist. “I read about it.”

“Then why don’t you name them and—stop stalling?” he says, voice tinged with annoyance and impatience.

A smile spreads on your lips. “I’ll get started then.”

He clicks his tongue in frustration. You didn’t want him to name anything—if Sunday had started blabbering some made-up names to get you to start and stop talking in desperation, you would have known he wasn’t in the position to do this.

Sometimes, you do like to use the perfectly functional brain between your ears.

His wings itch and ache, a dull throb that isn’t particularly bad during daytime when he’s out and about—but as soon as he takes his coat off, it intensifies until he massages for a long enough time or puts a salve between the feathers.

As soon as your hands leave his sides—the assured hold that’s been anchoring him since he sank down onto your stiff length—he almost feels off-balance, but it’s quickly rectified once your fingers touch his wings and he whimpers at the touch. You had barely slid your thumb under the ridge of his left wing and between the first two feathers, and he was already twitching and shifting subtly, causing your touch to falter as his hips moved just little bit and you almost give in to the desire to snap your hips upwards, but rein in every single thought and willpower you can muster.

Maybe this is going to be harder for you than it will be for him.

Swallowing thickly and continuing despite your extremely distracting throbbing inside of his hole, you carefully and firmly—but gently of course—nudge and press against the sensitive feathers of his wings. You comb two out and the base of his wings appear thinner, your fingers brush by feathers that are emerging and they feel impossibly soft and delicate.

Halovian wings are sensitive—but they’re not necessarily stimulating, having them touched tickles at most, yet during a moulting when the flesh and feathers are so fresh and vulnerable, it somehow amplifies the feelings fivefold and can promote certain feelings of pleasure.

Sunday’s eyes flutter closed, eyelashes equally soft as his wings as they brush against his cheeks and he leans into your touch instinctively. “Mmh… wait, go back—there, again… just a little…”

You follow any instructions he gives, despite the way your heart races with every movement he makes the slightest movement, with the way his expression contorts into comfort and a focus on himself—where he can only feel the overwhelming touches and barely has room to consider your presence outside of the way you stretch him with a mild, twitching burn.

Releasing one wing to reach for the oils he had prepared on the bedside table next to you, Sunday peers his eyes open, but closes them again when he sees why you stopped.

Outside of the now two times you’ve done this, you don’t generally touch Sunday’s wings… mostly because touching them—or stroking them specifically is an intimate act that despite your relationship (that has never quite been defined, as he finds an escape at the mention of it) he’s been hesitant about letting you do. And you’re not one to be pushy if he feels uncomfortable, a step forward can quickly become two steps backwards if you push too hard.

But despite the difficulty of navigating this delicate companionship… you find it to be worth the hassle, after all, having his slim—though a bit boney lately, the moulting requires a lot of energy and nutrition to sustain itself, and you imagine he hasn’t taken the best care of himself that he could—body pressed to yours, his soft whimpers and breaths trembling with every press of your fingers as you carefully massage the sore appendages. Your own cock is buried deep within him, throbbing desperately for movement that takes half your focus to suppress, while his twitches stiffly between your stomachs, now leaking slightly against your skin as a feather that was half-loose detaches when you nudge it only slightly.

Sunday’s lips part as your finger touches the area where the feather just fell, and you feel a deep urge to kiss him, to slide your tongue between his open lips and feel the sounds he makes instead of just hearing them. But you fear that might completely overwhelm him to a point it might make him dizzy. You will have plenty of opportunities to kiss him later.

The oils both are both cooling and soothing, helping ease the ache that comes with the development and lowering of new feathers. It’s always a bit funny to see how his wings get shorter and thinner, like a baby bird, before they grow again into the expressive appendages that you love so much.

“Sometimes,” you start talking and Sunday’s eyebrow twitches, brought out of his thoughts and focus. “There’s six wings, where are the other four now?”

“Stop talking,” he mumbles. Half your focus is on tending to his wings and the other half on holding back from thrusting fiercely into his welcoming heat. Thus as soon as you open your mouth, your hands still.

“I’m curious,” you hum. “Tell me later?”

He huffs as your hands start moving again, you’re almost finished anyway. “Fine…”

Feeling a little mischievous, and pouty by his dismissive response, you lightly pinch the ridge of his wing where it bends—and immediately, Sunday jerks in surprise, his wing stretching fully as his eyes fly open and his entire body tenses. He hisses your name as he clenches so tightly around you, your vision nearly dots, warmth and sparks shooting through you like an electrical line and you can’t stop yourself from pushing further up into him.

With both of you surprised and disoriented by each other, as well as you finally granting the delicious friction of movement—if accidental—Sunday grasps your shoulders tightly and inhales sharply. “C-careful…!” he blinks, the combined tingle of his wings and the pressure of your cock is a delicate balance that he’s very quickly losing hold of.

Your breath shakes when it leaves your lips, you feel dizzy with need, the suppressed desire you worked so hard to keep under wraps while you tended to him is very quickly slipping between your fingers. “Sunday… I’m not—sure I can…”

He clenches his jaw, in equal trouble with himself as you are. “You got m-most of it… we can finish later,” it’s a long process of checking and preening through over a few weeks, you already found seven, that’s more than enough for one day.

It’s all you needed to hear, you’ll take good care of him after—now, you desperately need to move. You already prepared plenty of protein-rich snacks to promote a healthy moult, and you’re sure you’ll both be hungry after this.

Sunday lets out a strange sound when your hand lays on his lower back and presses him closer, you other goes around his back—and you turn the two of you around, Sunday’s halo clanks against the headboard as he finds himself on his back, he groans slightly and hits you lightly on top of the shoulder. “Y-you—don’t do that while you’re inside of me!” he chides. The feeling of so much movement and how you twisted slightly made him cringe even as it also felt slightly good—only slightly, he won’t admit to more so you don’t get any ideas of rolling him around.

Any thought of further scolding leaves his mind like the scattering of ash after a fire has been stomped out as soon as you drag your hips back, halfway out—and move back in. Carefully.

Sunday swallows thickly, he feels a throb pulse throughout his entire body, behind his eyes and prick the ends of his fingers and toes. His stomach is wet, his cock freely leaking more than he’s sure he ever has before he’s even reached a high. He breathes your name and his nails dig into your shoulders, you seem so focused—but he wants your eyes to be on his. Before, he might’ve been embarrassed to lock eyes with you, but right now, he feels that he might cry if he doesn’t see you.

You blink, the breathy sound of his voice carrying your name to your ears snaps you out of your focus—to not thrust wildly, to not grab his hips in a bruising grip and lick the mess off his stomach. Your eyes move before your head does, and you see the watery squint of his eyes, the slight scrunch of his eyebrows and you fear you moved too fast—perhaps you should have pulled out before flipping him down, did it hurt him?

“Sunday,” your hand moves from the mattress next to his head, your fingers—still slightly fatty from the oil—brush over his cheek, his lower eyelid twitches as the tip of your thumb slides below it. “Are you okay? Should I stop?”

Surprisingly, he smiles. A small tug of his lips that feels like a rare treat to see, it’s infectious and you smile in return. “Continue?” you ask, having stilled as soon as he uttered your name. Sunday nods, not quite trusting his voice to form words in a way that won’t sound embarrassing.

You lean down and press your lips to the edge of his eyes, they squeeze shut the moment before you touch them, and you feel a tinge of salt from unshed tears.

He trusts you, you take good care of him—always have, despite his tendency for doubts and isolation. You will always be there when he opens the door again.

The drag of your cock pulling back and pushing in again burns slightly, but with repeated movements, the feeling of pleasure overwhelms the pressure. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and tugs you into him, his thinned wings tickle your cheeks and shoulder as he presses his nose into your neck. Sunday can’t hold back his moans as you slide one hand under his thigh and lift it only slightly, managing a deeper angle without lifting his hips too much.

“Nghh—w-wait, that’s—“ Sunday jerks slightly as you rock into a particular spot inside of him, his entire body feels alight and his joints freeze as they are. His breath deepens as his back bows and his head tilts back, and you can’t help but press your lips to his, swallowing his moans and whines as his leg that’s not firmly in your grasp hooks around your waist. His words are muffled and clumsy against your lips as you increase your pace, he clenches around you in a rhythm that almost finishes you off instantly—but you can’t give in until he’s been satisfied. You need to hear and see him as he falls apart.

Sunday moves his head to the side and away from your lips, his expression pinching as the final thrust needed sends him over the edge and he cries out, and you quickly join him.

His head spins, Sunday feels like he’s in a whirl-winding pool—but realises the wetness he feels is just his own, and not pool water. He pants, squinting at you. “D-did you pull o-out?” he’s barely recovered enough to ask, and his body thrums so much still that he can’t feel it.

When you only give a sheepish smile, he pinches your ear, earning an; “ow!”. Sunday’s lips purse in a frown-pout. “You better help me clean up, then.”

He doesn’t even need to ask.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday #sunday hsr #honkai star rail #my writing #fics #big time content #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #comfort #fluff #kind of

97 notes · View notes

muiitoloko · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! I LOOOVE ALL YOUR STORIES!!! And I wanna ask for something I just thought: virgin Severus (not student, already being a professor but you know he would not even dare to sleep with someone after Lily's death, full celibate against his own will lol) so virgin adult Snape in a new relationship with another f!professor but she's so careful with him seeing how scared he is for all this new sexual experiences, from being shy to being scared of hurting (idk why I imagine that and think it's cute af ON HIM) also being tender, asking him what he's feeling and taking their time to process the whole act until he gets the hang of it of course ❤️❤️❤️

Title: The Love Potion

Summary: Severus reveals a truth he’s long kept hidden, allowing you to lead him through a world of intimacy. Through careful guidance, you both experience a connection that is as magical as it is transformative.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your order!

Also read on Ao3

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across Snape’s chambers, highlighting the intensity in his dark, piercing eyes as he looked at you, as if searching for any hint of ridicule. When he admitted, almost in a whisper, that he was still a virgin, your surprise must have shown. His gaze flickered away, his mask slipping into a familiar cold indifference, as though he was expecting you to mock him, dismiss him, or even turn away.

"Forget it," he muttered, his voice suddenly low and guarded, hiding behind that armor of indifference. "I’m sure you think I’m a fool now."

You quickly reached out, your hand gently covering his, the warmth of your touch pulling his attention back to you. "Severus," you whispered, your voice soft and reassuring. "There’s nothing shameful about it… I’m just surprised, that’s all." Your fingers traced soothing circles over his knuckles. "Someone as brilliant—and as handsome—as you… I just thought…"

He tensed at the compliment, his cheeks tinged with a faint flush that you’d never seen before. It softened him, made him almost vulnerable. Seeing him like this, a side of Severus Snape that no one else would believe existed, sent a thrill through you. Carefully, you lifted his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

His breath caught as he watched you, his gaze searching, hesitant. "I never… after Lily, I never thought about… anyone else," he admitted, his voice barely a murmur. "And with you… it’s different. I find myself thinking… things I haven’t dared to in years."

A rush of warmth spread through you at his confession. You leaned forward, bringing your face close to his. "Severus," you murmured, your fingers reaching up to brush a stray lock of his dark hair back from his face. "If… if you’re ready, if you want this, I’ll be here with you. We can go as slow as you like."

He swallowed, visibly nervous, but a flicker of desire lit his gaze as he nodded. "I… want to," he whispered, his voice thick and uncertain. "But… you’ll have to… guide me. I—I've never…"

You silenced him with a soft kiss, feeling his initial tension melt away as he began to respond, hesitant at first, but growing bolder. His hands settled on your waist, his fingers trembling slightly as they rested there. You pulled him closer, letting him feel your warmth, your heartbeat.

You took his hand and guided it over your shoulder, letting him feel the bare skin beneath his fingers. He shivered, his breaths coming faster as he touched you, as if in awe of each sensation. “You’re doing perfectly, Severus,” you murmured against his lips, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your touch. "Just relax… let me show you.”

He nodded, his usual sharpness replaced by a quiet vulnerability that tugged at your heart. “Tell me what to do,” he whispered, his voice laced with both apprehension and desire, his eyes locked on yours, seeking your guidance, your assurance.

You brought his hand to the clasp of your robes, guiding his fingers over it. “Unfasten it,” you whispered, watching as he swallowed nervously, his fingers fumbling slightly before he managed to undo it. His eyes widened as the fabric slipped from your shoulders, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you, his gaze intense and hungry.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper as his hand slid over your skin, hesitant yet yearning. His fingers brushed lightly along your collarbone, down your arm, as though memorizing every inch.

“Yes, Severus,” you replied, guiding his hand lower, letting him feel the way your body responded to his touch. “Just keep going… just like that.”

His gaze darkened with desire, though he still held a hint of nervousness as his fingers traced over your skin, exploring tentatively. “You’re so… beautiful,” he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself, his voice filled with awe. His lips followed his hand, trailing soft kisses along your neck, down your shoulder, each one sending a thrill through you.

You could feel his hesitation as he watched you, still caught between the layers of insecurity and wonder. You smiled, letting your fingers trail down the dark, heavy fabric of his robes, resting on the clasp. “Let me help you with this, Severus,” you whispered, your voice gentle, reassuring.

With a flick of your wand, his robes loosened, slipping from his shoulders. He tensed at first, but the sight of your calm, steady gaze softened his resolve. As the fabric pooled around his feet, revealing his long, lean frame, you saw a faint blush color his pale cheeks. He looked away, as if unaccustomed to such vulnerability, such intimacy.

You reached out, tilting his chin gently back toward you, your eyes meeting his. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching for reassurance.

Your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, lifting it slowly, savoring the way his chest was exposed to you inch by inch. Beneath the austere fabric, his body was lean and surprisingly defined, a testament to years of discipline and restraint. He shivered as your fingers traced down his chest, his breaths coming faster, uneven.

“Have you… ever experienced a blowjob?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a hint of playful mischief.

Severus swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “No… is that… is that bad?”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Oh, no,” you murmured, voice filled with reassurance, “that just means I’m going to be the first… the only one to give you that experience.” Your fingers trailed down his torso, resting just above the waistband of his trousers. “And I get the privilege of this view… of seeing you, Severus, like no one else ever has.”

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping your shoulders tightly as you knelt before him. His eyes were locked on you, a mix of fear and anticipation swirling within them. “Are you… are you certain?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with vulnerability. “I’ve never… I don’t know what to do.”

You looked up at him, offering a reassuring smile. “Just relax, Severus,” you murmured, your voice filled with warmth. “Let me take care of you.”

He nodded, his hands trembling as he watched you, utterly captivated by every movement. You gently tugged his trousers down, your fingers grazing his skin, feeling his muscles tense and then relax under your touch. His reaction—so genuine, so raw—sent a thrill through you as you pressed a gentle kiss to his hip, hearing the sharp intake of his breath.

As you took him into your mouth, you felt him shudder, his hands tangling in your hair. He gasped, his voice rough and breathless. “Merlin… I never thought…” His words trailed off, replaced by a low groan as he closed his eyes, letting the sensation overwhelm him. He tried to keep quiet, but soft, ragged sounds escaped him, each one filled with wonder.

You moved slowly, savoring the way he responded to each touch, each flick of your tongue, guiding him through the pleasure. “Is… is it supposed to feel this…” His words were cut off by another shuddering breath, his hand tightening in your hair as he struggled to stay grounded.

You paused, looking up at him, your lips curling into a gentle smile. “Yes, Severus,” you whispered, “this is exactly how it’s meant to feel.”

As you continued, Severus seemed almost overwhelmed, his usual stoic demeanor melting away with each flick of your tongue, each gentle, attentive movement. His breath came in shuddering gasps, his hands clumsy and unsure as they found your shoulder, then tangled in your hair, gripping tighter as if he feared he might drift away in this unfamiliar sea of sensation. The normally composed Potions Master was unraveling under your touch, his fingers flexing, trembling, his control slipping with each passing second.

Soft curses slipped from his lips, unfiltered and raw, breaking through his usual restraint. “Bloody… Merlin, what…,” he mumbled, his deep voice ragged, tinged with disbelief and awe. Every now and then, he’d catch himself, his mouth snapping shut as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. But as your lips slid down his length, taking him deeper, his restraint shattered. His voice, usually so composed and cold, was now thick and desperate. “Gods… yes… just like that.”

You tasted the saltiness of his pre-cum, his body betraying just how close he was to losing all control. It spurred you on, urging you to take him deeper, savoring the way he responded to every flick of your tongue, every gentle suck. He groaned, his grip tightening, his other hand reaching to steady himself on your shoulder, his fingers digging into you as he struggled to remain grounded.

“You—” He tried to form a sentence, but his words were lost in a throaty growl, his voice filled with helpless wonder. “You’re… remarkable… utterly… sinful,” he murmured, his tone rough, almost reverent. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, and the sight of his dark, half-lidded eyes watching you sent a thrill down your spine.

The intensity of his gaze grew as you continued, his breaths coming faster, each one a raw, guttural sound that made your heart pound. His fingers tangled tighter in your hair as he leaned his head back, surrendering to the pleasure. The sight of Severus Snape, usually so composed and guarded, completely undone before you was a sight you would never forget.

His hips jerked involuntarily as he neared his climax, and you felt his entire body tense, his hand clutching you tightly as he came, his release spilling into your mouth. You took him in fully, feeling the warmth and the weight of his climax as he shuddered, his breath catching in his throat.

Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you swallowed, savoring every taste of him, feeling a sense of satisfaction unlike anything you’d experienced before. When you looked up, he was still catching his breath, his chest heaving, his dark eyes fixed on you with a mixture of amazement and disbelief.

“Merlin… you…” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. The vulnerability in his eyes was something rare, something precious, and you felt your heart swell at the sight of him like this, unguarded and exposed.

You rose slowly, moving to stand beside him as he regained his composure, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached out, his hand brushing over your cheek with surprising tenderness, his fingers still trembling slightly. “I’ve… never…” He struggled to find the words, his usual eloquence lost in the aftermath of such intense intimacy. “I never imagined it could feel like that.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face, your own heart pounding as you met his gaze. “You deserved this, Severus,” you murmured, your voice soft, reassuring. “To feel wanted… cherished… you deserve all of it.”

He looked away, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush, but his hand remained on your face, his touch gentle, lingering. “I… thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet gratitude, a vulnerability he rarely showed.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling him relax beneath your touch, his usual sharpness softened in this rare, unguarded moment. And as you held him, you knew that this night was something that neither of you would ever forget—a night where the enigmatic, guarded Severus Snape allowed himself, for once, to be truly seen.

With a gentle smile, you took Severus’s hand and guided him to the bed, watching as he settled himself beside you, still tentative, his gaze flickering from your face to the bed as if uncertain of what lay ahead. You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, leaning in to meet his dark, intense eyes.

“We can stop here, if you want,” you murmured, your voice soft and inviting, allowing him the choice. “There’s no rush, Severus.”

But he shook his head, a determined look settling over his features. “No,” he replied, his voice low and sure, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I want to… I want to please you, to make you feel what I just felt—if you’ll… teach me, that is.” A faint blush crept up his cheeks, and his gaze softened, a vulnerable earnestness showing through his usual guarded demeanor.

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth flooding through you at his words. “Oh, so I’m to teach the great Potions Master something new?” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

He grumbled under his breath, a hint of that familiar, dry wit shining through. “Must you joke about this?” he murmured, his gaze shifting away for a moment before returning to you, filled with determination.

With a reassuring smile, you rose, slipping your bra off and letting it drop to the floor, followed by your panties, allowing yourself to stand before him completely bare. His gaze lingered, captivated, his dark eyes widening, lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you. The faint flush returned to his cheeks, and you noticed the way his body responded, his cock beginning to stir once more, reacting to the vision before him.

Slowly, you straddled his thighs, letting him feel the warmth of your body against his. His breath caught, and his hands rested hesitantly at your waist, trembling slightly. You leaned closer, guiding one of his hands to rest between your thighs, over the softness of your skin. “Follow my lead,” you murmured, your voice soothing, reassuring as you held his gaze.

With your guidance, his fingers began to explore, tentative at first. You gently led his hand, letting his fingers slide over your most sensitive spots, rubbing slow circles over your clit. His hand was large, calloused yet gentle, and under your guidance, he began to gain confidence, his movements growing steadier, more assured.

“That’s perfect, Severus,” you whispered, letting out a soft moan as his fingers pressed just right. “Just like that…”

He swallowed, his eyes never leaving yours, dark with desire and wonder. His fingers moved, tentative but increasingly skilled, following every soft instruction you gave him. As he rubbed your clit, you let out a breathy gasp, and his eyes flickered with satisfaction, a hint of pride flashing across his face.

Then, you gently guided one of his fingers inside you, showing him how to curl it just so, the way that made you shiver with pleasure. “Feel that?” you murmured, guiding his hand as he explored you, his touch growing more confident with each movement.

“It’s… incredible,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, filled with awe. His dark eyes were intent, focused entirely on you, as though he was determined to memorize every reaction, every shiver, every soft sound that escaped your lips.

With each movement, he grew bolder, curling his fingers inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot that made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body responded to his touch. He watched your reaction, his eyes darkening with desire, his lips parting as he took in the sight of you, writhing beneath his skilled fingers.

“You’re… remarkable,” he whispered, his voice a low, reverent murmur as his fingers continued to move within you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “So responsive… so beautiful…”

A shudder ran through you as he leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck, his hand still working you with a practiced precision that sent waves of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, feeling yourself unravel beneath his touch, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps as he brought you closer to your climax.

“Severus… oh, Merlin…” you gasped, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hand continued its steady, skillful movements, each stroke and curl sending you spiraling further. The way he learned, the way he responded to your every reaction, was a testament to his brilliance, his meticulous attention to detail.

As your breathing settled, you whispered, "Severus, stop." He froze immediately, his expression shifting from one of raw desire to immediate concern. His fingers withdrew, his gaze searching your face with worry. "Did I… did I hurt you?" he murmured, his voice soft and apprehensive, as if bracing himself for a truth he feared.

You shook your head quickly, reaching up to caress his cheek with a reassuring smile. "No, Severus," you breathed, feeling the weight of your own arousal pulsing through you. "I just… I want to feel you inside me. I want to cum on your cock." The words hung between you, and his face softened with understanding, a hint of vulnerability mingling with his desire. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he absorbed the intensity of your request.

You brushed a soft kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger as you asked gently, "Would you like to be on top?" He nodded, his gaze darkening with both eagerness and a slight apprehension. The two of you shifted, moving slowly together until he hovered over you, his tall, lean figure casting a shadow over you in the dim candlelight, his piercing eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and determination.

You watched him, feeling your own anticipation mounting as he took himself in his hand, positioning himself as you spread your legs wider for him, inviting him closer. He paused, meeting your gaze with an unspoken question. “Do you… know what to do?” you asked, your voice a quiet murmur, filled with warmth and understanding.

He nodded, glancing away briefly, a faint flush creeping up his pale cheeks. “Yes… I’ve read about it,” he admitted, his voice almost hesitant. “There were… books… illustrations, even. I know that… when two wizards connect like this, sometimes… the magic between them manifests in strange ways. Unstable at times, powerful.” His gaze flickered back to you, his dark eyes searching. “It’s… intense.”

You nodded, pulling him closer, feeling his heat against you as you whispered, “Yes, exactly. It’s a bond—an exchange of magic as well as bodies. Sometimes, it can even… explode.” His breath hitched as he pressed himself against your entrance, feeling the heat of you drawing him in. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face as he hesitated, his voice a whisper.

“Will it… hurt?” he asked, his gaze vulnerable, revealing a hint of that nervousness beneath his composed exterior. You stroked his cheek softly, meeting his eyes with a reassuring smile.

“No, Sev,” you murmured. “For me, maybe… but for you, it won’t hurt. Just… let yourself feel it.” You pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist as you encouraged him to press forward.

His gaze never left yours as he slowly began to slide inside you, his fingers tightening against your waist as he let out a shuddering breath. “Merlin… you’re… so warm,” he murmured, his voice rough with wonder and desire, as he sank deeper, inch by inch, his control unraveling with each passing second. The sensation sent a shiver through both of you, a hum of magic sparking and swirling around you, brushing against your skin like a living thing.

As he moved, finding a rhythm, you could feel his hesitation begin to melt, replaced by something raw and powerful, a hunger he had never allowed himself to feel before. His movements grew bolder, each thrust driving him deeper, filling you completely, his breath heavy as he let himself fall into the rhythm, his dark eyes intent on yours, the vulnerability fading, replaced by unrestrained desire.

"Gods… you feel… incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick, a mixture of awe and disbelief as he pressed deeper, his fingers tracing down your sides. The magic between you seemed to respond to his every movement, pulses of energy surging with each thrust, filling the room with a faint hum, crackling with intensity.

You arched against him, matching his rhythm, savoring the way he filled you, the way his body pressed so perfectly against yours, fitting together as if made to be one. His hand gripped your thigh, pulling you closer as he moved, a soft groan escaping him as he began to lose himself, his control slipping further with each passing moment.

“Severus… you’re perfect,” you whispered, gasping as you felt his thrusts grow harder, more desperate, his breaths coming faster as he buried himself deeper, the magic swirling around you, igniting with each thrust. His gaze locked onto yours, filled with a primal intensity, a fierce possessiveness that sent a thrill through you.

With each thrust, you could feel the magic building, crackling and surging, an overwhelming wave of energy rising between you both. His pace quickened, each movement more intense, more powerful, his voice a low growl as he whispered, “You’re… mine… only mine.”

“Yes, Severus,” you gasped, your fingers clutching his shoulders as you felt yourself nearing the edge, the magic between you sparking wildly, filling the room with a radiant, pulsing glow. His hands tightened on your hips as he drove into you with a desperate, hungry fervor, his face flushed, his breathing ragged.

And then, as you both reached that peak, the magic exploded, a blinding surge of energy flooding the room. Glass shattered, every fragile object in his chambers breaking as the wave of power swept through, leaving nothing untouched. You cried out, clinging to him as the energy surged through both of you, binding you together in an unbreakable, consuming bond.

When the intensity faded, you found yourself lying together, both of you breathless, bodies entwined, your skin still tingling from the lingering effects of the magic. Severus looked down at you, his expression softened, a mixture of wonder and disbelief in his gaze.

“Did… did we just…?” he whispered, his voice filled with awe, as if unable to believe the depth of what you had shared.

You smiled, reaching up to brush a hand along his cheek. “Yes, Sev,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. “That… was us.”

Severus glanced around the dimly lit bedroom, his dark eyes sweeping over the shattered remnants of glass scattered across the floor. The faint glow from the still-flickering candlelight reflected off broken pieces—a mead bottle lay in shards by the nightstand, a few cracked potion vials scattered near the bed, and fragments of other glass objects glistened in the shadows.

His lips curved into a wry smirk, and he let out a quiet, exasperated sigh. "Well," he said, his voice a low, rich murmur, "it appears I’ll have to use the Reparo spell quite liberally this evening. I do hope you’re pleased with yourself."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, snuggling closer into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his lean, solid frame against yours. His sarcasm only endeared him to you further, especially in this vulnerable, unguarded moment. “Oh, I am,” you replied, your voice filled with teasing satisfaction as you looked up at him. “And I think you are too, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

A faint blush crept up his pale cheeks, barely visible in the candlelight, and he quickly looked away, as if the sight of you, so close and so content, was too much to take in. “That’s… hardly the point,” he muttered, trying to keep his usual cold indifference, though it softened with every second he spent with you.

You traced a gentle finger along his jawline, feeling the slight stubble beneath your touch, savoring the rare, unguarded look in his eyes as he met your gaze. “Severus, I think it’s exactly the point,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. “I’ve never seen you so… carefree.”

He scoffed, though his tone held none of its usual harshness. “Carefree is hardly a word one would use to describe me,” he replied dryly, though the faint hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But perhaps, just this once, I can allow it.”

You smiled, pressing yourself closer to him, letting your head rest against his chest as his arm wrapped around you, holding you gently. “I think I quite like this version of you, Severus. The one who lets himself relax… who lets himself be cared for.”

His fingers traced absent patterns along your shoulder, his other hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he looked down at you, his piercing dark eyes softening, filled with a warmth he so rarely showed. “Only for you,” he murmured, his deep voice quiet and steady, a confession wrapped in simplicity. “You’re the only one who’s ever seen me like this… the only one who’s ever truly cared to.”

You reached up, cupping his face, your thumb grazing over his sharp cheekbone as you took in the rare vulnerability in his expression. “I’ll always care, Severus,” you whispered, meeting his gaze with all the sincerity you felt. “And I think, perhaps, you’re worth more than even you realize.”

A faint smile touched his lips, and for a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the comfort of your touch, the warmth of your words. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet wonder as he looked down at you, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real. “Perhaps I am.”

The chalk squeaked under your hand as you wrote on the board, the words of today’s History of Magic lesson taking shape in neat, tidy letters. You’d always preferred doing things by hand rather than relying on magic for every little task, a habit most of your students found a bit old-fashioned but charming. As you worked, the low murmur of conversation floated around the classroom, a hum you usually silenced with a single glance. However, today, you found yourself allowing the chatter to continue, as it seemed to be centered around a rather intriguing subject.

“Did you hear about Snape today?” a Gryffindor whispered to his friend, a mixture of disbelief and excitement in his tone. “He didn’t take a single point from Martin after he melted his cauldron in Potions! Just told him to be more careful next time.”

“What?” another Hufflepuff gasped, turning wide-eyed to her neighbor. “Snape didn’t yell at him? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Snape?”

“Positive,” the Gryffindor replied, nodding eagerly. “He just seemed… relaxed, almost like he didn’t care. The whole class was holding their breath, waiting for him to start docking points, but he didn’t.”

The gossip spread quickly, whispers of Snape’s newfound calm weaving through the classroom like a spell. You felt a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you continued writing on the board, your face carefully turned away from the students to hide your amusement. So, all it took to soften Severus’s edges was a little bit of intimacy, was it?

“Well, maybe he’s in a good mood for once,” one of the Hufflepuffs muttered. “But still… this is Snape we’re talking about. Something must have happened to make him this way.”

“Think he’s sick?” a Gryffindor asked, her voice laced with genuine concern, as though the idea of a kinder Snape had unsettled her deeply.

Biting your lip to keep from laughing, you continued to jot down the day’s topic, hiding your amusement behind a pretense of focus. If only they knew the truth. You had spent the night unraveling those tense lines of Severus’s, peeling back layer after layer of the man he kept hidden from the world. Beneath his cool exterior, you’d found passion, vulnerability, and an intense desire to be seen for who he truly was. And now, it seemed, a few traces of that newfound peace had followed him into the daylight.

Another Gryffindor chimed in, her tone hushed but filled with amazement. “Do you think it could be… love?” she whispered, her eyes wide, as if such a notion were almost too fantastical to believe.

“Love? For Snape?” her friend snickered, rolling his eyes. “Please. Snape doesn’t have time for things like love.”

You turned back to the class, raising a brow as you caught their startled expressions. “If you’re quite done discussing Professor Snape’s private life, we do have a lesson to cover,” you said, your tone light but pointed. The students quickly quieted, a few exchanging sheepish glances, though one or two looked as if they still weren’t quite over the shock of Snape’s unusual behavior.

As you resumed the lesson, your thoughts drifted, replaying fragments of last night: Severus’s tentative touch, his whispered confessions, the way he’d looked at you with such awe and vulnerability. It was hard to reconcile that tender, exposed version of him with the intimidating Potions Master your students were so accustomed to.

In your mind, you could almost hear Severus’s low, velvety voice, laced with that familiar sarcasm. “I suppose this new softness is all thanks to you, then?” he might have murmured, his eyes narrowing as he gave you one of his dry, unimpressed looks. The thought made you smile, knowing that you held a secret version of Severus that no one else would ever see, a version hidden behind his usual cold mask.

You moved to the side of the classroom, letting the students dive into their assigned readings. As you glanced out the window, your mind wandered back to Severus’s chambers, to the way his guard had melted away in the dim candlelight. You wondered if he realized just how much he’d allowed himself to let go, even if just for a night.

Well, Severus Snape, you thought with a quiet chuckle, it seems you’ll just have to get used to the idea that you, too, are deserving of softness.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #severus snape x reader #severus snape

89 notes · View notes

neptuneiris · 1 day ago

Text

could you pretend to be in love? (10/10)

The Realization

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: prom is coming and so is the end of a stage in your life. surprises and unexpected conversations take place, the question is, are you able to forgive in order to move on?

word count: 9.7k

previous part • series masterlist

this is not a drill, it's really happening!

first of all, i want to apologize for having left this story aside without finishing it. it wasn't something i decided, the writer's block precisely in this fic made me not try anymore for a while, mostly to clear my mind and my ideas, because i had no idea what to write after chapter nine 💀

so I hope you really forgive me and enjoy the last chapter 🥺 it has been an honor to have given you this little fic, I really enjoyed writing it despite the little mental breakdowns I had haha

and just like my other stories, I keep it in my heart and it will always be here for whenever you want to reread (I will make sure to post it in AO3, don't worry) i'm also thinking of doing a poll about the epilogue where you guys will decide if you want one or prefer this ending. let me know after you finish reading the chapter 🤗

enjoy and I look forward to your comments!

It still all feels like a bad dream that you can't wake up from. An unwanted dream. A nightmare.

And every time a new day comes, you feel like a human being who does everything in automatic mode, not because you really want to.

In front of your dad you must pretend that everything is fine, but as soon as you leave home and get to school, you feel a huge weight and a sadness that nothing and no one can take away from you.

You feel the stares of some people on you, if not all of them. But the truth is that you feel so emotionally drained that you don't even pay attention to them.

Many would say that not being accepted to a college doesn't mean it's the end of the world. Nor does it mean that your chances are over because there is still too much time to be able to do everything you want.

And you accept that they are right. All is not lost because you didn't get accepted.

When you were rejected the first time when you applied in conjunction with the scholarship, disillusionment sets in. There is disappointment in yourself for not being enough and there is this question that constantly floats in your mind; why others do and I don't? Why am I not worthy of the same fate as them?

Maybe it's age, but it's inevitable to feel that rejection and failure after having so many plans and having in mind the idea of making your dad proud by telling him that you've been accepted to college.

And not just any college, but Citadel.

But so far, you haven't had the courage to tell him instead that you won't go to any college. You just can't. You don't know what exactly you'll tell him and you don't want to face it yet. You don't want to see his disappointed face so you need more time.

So instead of dreams and aspirations, as well as preparing to live a college life, you prepare and focus on getting a job. You don't see employment as a bad thing either. You just wish you didn't have to focus on it right now.

You haven't talked to Aemond either. You haven't even seen him.

You're in some classes together. But you barely pay attention. Even though you used to notice his presence before and now, unconsciously, you ignore it. Now your mind is too busy with your worries.

It's like being in a disconnect. You are just there, existing. But you barely talk, barely react and barely do. You just want classes to end soon so you can go home.

Of course, he hasn't stopped trying.

He wants to talk to you, but you won't let him. You just don't want to have anything to do with him anymore. Even though you feel that emptiness he has left, you immediately force yourself not to think about it.

It's like pain and confusion mixed together, but your pride and that same pain makes you prefer to stay away.

You don't even care anymore what people say about him and you. It's obvious that the two of you are no longer in a 'relationship'. No one knows what happened and neither one of you is clarifying anything.

Which you are grateful for, so as not to feed the topic in the whole school.

Meanwhile, Alysanne and Cregan are almost always around you, trying to cheer you up and make you endure school better. You couldn't be more grateful for both of them either.

"So what are your plans for the weekend?"

Alysanne asks as the three of you are sitting on a bench in the outside courtyard. On the bench where you and Aemond made the fake relationship contract, precisely. But you try not to focus on that as the three of you eat lunch.

"We're going to the movies, did you forget already?" asks Cregan, confused.

"Huh? This weekend?"

"You forgot," he assures her.

"I didn't forget!" she lies, nervous.

"We agreed to go on Saturday. To the ten o'clock function for the horror movie."

Oh yes, the two of them are dating. Just as you and Aemond have 'broken up', so you try not to feel more distressed about it.

"Do you want to come, Y/N?"

You raise your gaze to Alysanne, confused, who gives you a smile.

"It's a date, isn't it? Just the two of you."

"We'll have more dates," she makes a nonchalant gesture.

Poor Cregan.

"Besides, it would do you good to clear your head a bit. So, what better than going to the movies? Right, Cregan?"

"Yeah, it'll do you good," he nods.

"No, thank you," you say softly, "I don't want to interfere with your dates. Besides, I'm not in the mood to go out. I'd rather stay home."

"You're not going to interfere with anything. Besides, you've stayed home enough days," she reproaches you, "Come on. Even one night. We'll have a great time."

"If you don't want to go to the movies, we can go somewhere else," Cregan proposes.

You grimace slightly.

"No, thank you. I..." you sigh, "I really appreciate it, guys. But I'd rather stay home."

Staying home to look for a proper job and plan to tell your dad you won't be going to college, like you've been doing for the past few days.

"Are you sure?" Alysanne looks at you not entirely convinced.

"Yeah," you shrug, "Don't worry about me."

"Of course I worry about you."

"You should focus on your date," you say as you give Cregan a meaningful look.

"Totally," Cregan nods, "In fact, she'll plan the next date."

"What?" she looks at him in horror.

"What you heard."

"And why me?"

"Because I always do."

Your talk with them doesn't last long as soon the bell rings and they head off to their respective classes, except for you, who has a free hour.

So you stand on the bench alone, just looking outside and nothing else, enjoying your lunch unhurriedly and in peace and quiet.

You let out a long breath and distract yourself for a few moments in your social networks, watching as some people post their reactions from when they were accepted to colleges. Everyone screams, smiles and cries of happiness with their families.

Except for others who quietly show how they were not accepted. But they open more emails and get accepted to other colleges.

You wish you were part of them.

You close those apps and go to Tiktok to distract yourself for a while by watching funny videos or storytimes.

When suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching behind you, which catches your attention. You turn your head, peeking over your shoulder and then you see him, Aemond.

He stops as soon as your eyes look directly into his, as if you've caught him in the act of robbery. Which reveals how very cautious he was being to approach and not scare you.

You see the uncertainty in his gaze, the insecurity and the wariness all at the same time. Which is rare for him, as he doesn't allow himself to look so vulnerable. But you understand why he's this way with you.

First you think about getting up and leaving him with the word in his mouth, like you've been doing lately. But for some reason, it's like finally your mind resigns and your body will force you to stay where you're sitting. And you don't even know why.

Or maybe it's because he's begging you with his gaze not to leave and listen to what he has to say after so many weeks.

Inevitably your nerves invade you and neither he nor you say anything for a few long seconds. He just stands still, as if testing the waters, waiting to see if you will move away from him again attentively.

Then he swallows hard and watches you with a sad but hopeful expression.

“Can I come closer?”

You press your lips together, think about it for a few seconds and finally give him a barely visible nod.

You turn your gaze to the front and begin to put your tupper with food in your backpack. While at the same time Aemond approaches you, cautious but firm. And surprised that you are allowing him to do this.

You let out a long breath and bring a hand to your hair, nervous, not knowing why.

Then he steps in front of you and only at that moment, you realize he has a folder in his hand. A folder that he sets down on the table in front of you, with smooth, cautious movements.

“I just came to drop this off for you. Nothing else.”

You raise your gaze to look at it confused for a moment, then look back down at the folder in front of you.

“It's the paperwork you need to submit to finalize the scholarship process,” he says softly, “Classes start in two months and by now you should have received an email from the university with all the information as an incoming student.”

Wait, what?

Your mind immediately questions, as you frown more and feel your heart start to beat too fast.

“What are you talking about?” you ask in a low murmur, not understanding.

And Aemond lets out a long breath.

“I'm keeping my promise.”

His words echo steadily in your mind.

And you dare to raise your gaze to him again, confused, serious and incredulous. And what he does is lower his gaze, sorrowful and unsure. However… he is firm with what he is saying.

Then a tingle begins to run through your hands, at the same time as you feel the nervousness sweep through your body like a wave. You part your lips as you look at the folder in front of you and with trembling hands, you pick it up and open it.

The first thing you see is the university logo and an overwhelming sensation sweeps over your body and mind as you see what appears to be a letter addressed to you.

Miss. Y/N Y/L/N, Faculty of Law. Official documentation for the scholarship process.

You feel the air you were holding in your lungs slowly leave your mouth. And a huge weight that you felt in your chest is lifted, allowing you to rest and breathe properly.

At first, you think your mind is playing a joke on you. You think he's doing it. But… this is real. More real than you can imagine.

“I know I didn't do things the right way…

Aemond begins to speak, noticing the mix of shock and confusion in your gaze, breathing hard through your mouth.

“I know I took you for granted and that I hurt you,” he says softly, “But that was never my intention, Y/N. I-I… I thought I would get everything under control. That I would work it out and get everything done on time. But, it's just… I don't even have justification.”

You feel tears begin to form in your eyes. But you control yourself. You bite the inside of your cheek and try not to let his words make you break down in tears.

As if the fact that you have in front of you one of the papers confirming and assuring you that you will finally go to the college of your dreams isn't enough.

“I should have acted sooner and looked for solutions. I should have been honest with you from the beginning. And you don't know how sorry I am,” he says softly and vulnerably, his gaze lowered, ”I also don't expect you to forgive me for keeping a promise and asking for forgiveness. I know I fucked up and things can never go back to the way they were. But I just want you to know…” he takes a moment, "That I really did fall in love with you."

Fuck.

“What I felt for you was real. It was never a game or a pretense. I was just… afraid,” he admits, ”Afraid of fucking up what we had. Afraid it would all fall apart if I told you the truth. But… I ruined everything,” he says with a resigned tone, ”You don't have to talk to me again either if you don't want to. You don't owe me anything. I just wanted to tell you the truth and let you know how sorry I am.”

Each word echoes in your mind, with the weight of his regret and his sincerity. You feel the tremble in your body, not helping the fact that you are still staring at the college sheet addressed to your name.

And you hold back, trying to calm the chaos being unleashed inside you by his words.

When he doesn't say anything else, you certainly won't and you both fall silent for a moment, as the weight of his words and the meaning of them fill the space. Until he speaks again.

“I won't bother you anymore,” he moves forward a bit back to the way he came, “Best of luck at Citadel. You deserve it, you really do,” he tells you with a small smile that is sad but genuine at the same time.

Then his figure disappears from your field of vision and you hear him start to walk away. And at that moment, the world seems to stop for you.

Unable to help yourself, you turn your head and watch him walk away with tears in your eyes. There is something in his walk, in that slight slope of his shoulders, that screams the burden he carries. And you don't know why, but… you want to call him, to tell him something that will ease the knot you both feel.

However, you know that won't fix anything.

You feel the air leave you, his words still echoing in your mind. You stare at the folder again, trying to remember what this achievement meant to you before this moment, before he came and stirred all the emotions in you.

You try to be strong, you try not to let this affect you more than it should, you think of the positive. But you can't.

So still in disbelief, excitement, sadness and with all your emotions mixed up, you take your phone, unlock it and open your emails app. And there, your most recent email, you read: Citadel University.

With your hands shaking, you press the email and read in slightly larger letters: Welcome to Citadel University! Miss Y/N, Y/L/N. Faculty of Law, Registration number: 31982.

Then, finally, you can't hold back the tears any longer and you put a hand to your mouth, letting them out, with confused and intense feelings coming over you.

Your father's loving and proud words, hugs and kisses make you smile.

It took you four days to finally break the news to him. And seeing him so happy, excited and proud, made you finally stop feeling so bad for even a moment. You also broke the news to Alysanne and Cregan, who were very happy for you.

Neither of them mentioned Aemond, which you appreciated. But there is the clear acknowledgement to him for making this possible.

You obviously left the job search behind and instead started contacting the university. You sent the missing and necessary documents, they sent you information about the scholarship, your schedule, classes and also about your dorm.

It's like finally this void in your chest is being filled as you finally see this all happening. And as you look at the pictures of the university, with old, elegant and modern architecture at the same time, that excitement rises in you.

However, what you feel is not happiness in its entirety.

In fact, you feel in the middle of a crossroads; joy is mixed with sadness. And the satisfaction of fulfilling the dream feels incomplete.

The worst part is that you know why.

But you don't think about it too much either. You don't want to. On the contrary, you force yourself to repeat over and over again that this was the plan all along. You force yourself to enjoy it and get excited.

You force yourself to think that what happened outside of getting into the college of your dreams was for a reason, but in the end you got what you really wanted.

But, deep down inside, you think about how you wish things could have been different.

At the same time, prom is just around the corner.

At first, you thought about not attending, but of course, Alysanne wouldn't let you think about it anymore. She dragged you with her to the dress store and sentenced that it will be a date of three, her, Cregan and you.

You tried to persuade her, to make her understand that Cregan only wants her as his date. But, of course, Cregan as the great friend he also is, told you it would be fun.

Certainly neither he nor you nor Alysanne have ever been on a three-way date and he told you; what better than to try it at the prom?

The prom preparations are done. Now the important thing is to turn in final projects and get rid of all the pending with the professors.

And that's what you're doing now.

With your headphones on and a notebook along with a book on your table, you're about to finish a long, boring project. When you notice how a figure suddenly obscures your workspace and you raise your gaze almost instantly, curious.

Helaena.

You remove your headphones, surprised to see her as she smiles softly at you.

“Hi,” you say to her in a soft tone, putting your project aside for a moment.

“Hi,” she says to you in the same soft tone, ”I… am I interrupting you?”

“Oh no,” you say nonchalantly, “I mean, yes, but I'm just about to finish it anyway. Don't worry.”

She looks at you a little unsure.

“Are you sure? It's just… I don't know,“ she shrugs, 'It's been a while since we last talked and I didn't know if I could come up to you.”

Again you ignore the small sharp pain in your chest at the memory of Aemond and try to look like you're not at all affected by having his sister in front of you.

“Yeah, well…” you try to smile a little, ”Things have been… intense lately.”

She nods as she takes a seat across from you.

“So it's official?” she asks you with a sad tone as she watches you with a sad little smile, “Like, I mean… you and my brother aren't coming back together?”

This time, the sharp pain in your chest is stronger and more persistent. As well as her question hits you like a wave.

How can you tell her that, in reality, everything you and Aemond had was false? That it was all part of an agreement?

The guilt begins to consume you as you see her face full of expectations and the worst thing is that it's not something you should tell her. That should be Aemond. But, still, you feel the urge to cry and you feel the need to finally tell her the truth, for the sake of everyone who made you believe the fake relationship.

“Helaena…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, ”I-I… need to be honest with you.”

You take a breath, expecting the worst and imagining a series of difficult emotions to deal with.

“This whole thing between Aemond and I… it was fake,” you speak fearfully and sorrowfully, ”We were just… pretending for our own convenience. It wasn't…” you sigh, closing your eyes for a moment heavily, ”It wasn't real.”

You expected surprise, indignation, incredulity, anger, and more, all at the same time. But to your greatest surprise and bewilderment, she doesn't seem remotely surprised. Instead, she just smiles softly at you, full of understanding, as if she's been waiting for this moment for a long time.

“I already knew that,” she tells you in a serene tone that disarms you.

You feel your lungs hold all your air and you watch her completely stunned, surprised and confused with your parted lips. Then you blink, processing her words.

“What?”

“Aemond told me everything the moment you set up your rules,” she replies calmly, “The truth is, he never hides anything from me. He can't. So I already knew what you both were doing from the beginning.”

You continue to watch her in shock and disbelief, unable to believe it, trying to understand how she could have kept this to herself so naturally.

And in that moment, with disbelief and surprise beating in your chest, you realize that in every single conversation you had with her, right here at school, at parties, even at that family dinner that ended in disaster thanks to Aegon's drunkenness… she had always known.

“Though I don't always approve of his decisions, I understood why he did it… and why you did too.”

But your mind is still short-circuiting, processing and comprehending.

You relive in your mind every moment you went out of your way to pretend, believing you were fooling everyone, especially her. And yet, there's Helaena, looking at you with an expression of calm and empathy that completely disarms you.

“So you knew?” you are able to formulate in asking in a breathy whisper.

She nods, smiling softly.

“Easy, only I knew.“

“And you're not upset?” you ask confused, still waiting for some sign of reproach.

“Not at all. On the contrary, I'm relieved,” she tells you honestly, ”People made fun of Aemond after Alys. And, well, that left a mark on him. You know what rumors are like here.”

“Oh, believe me I do.”

“And they made him miserable. It also didn't help at all that Alys was his first girlfriend and his first formal relationship but the two of them didn't love each other, it was just obsession and whim,” she says absurdly, "And with you, at least, he got some peace back, even if it was temporary."

“But then…” you look at her blankly, “Why did you ask me if we'll get back together?”

Helaena sighs, her gaze soft but intense.

“Because in the end the two of you really fell in love. I saw you at Dragonstone and it was… too obvious.”

You remain silent, remembering those moments.

Both of you walking through those historical corridors, seeing and learning absolutely everything about old Valyria. Both holding hands, fascinated in the aquarium watching everything around or walking together on the shore of the beach, laughing, exchanging glances, hugging and kissing every now and then that everything felt too sincere to be pretending.

You relived every moment and every detail that you wished you could go back to when everything was fine.

Aemond had been different with you those days, a side of him that you had never seen and had thought only existed because of his performance in the fake relationship you had both agreed to.

But even you, being there, without the pressure to pretend, you felt the barriers fall between the two of you, because it was all real.

“He fell in love with you, Y/N,” Helaena tells you sincerely, “You… you did too?”

You feel a lump form in your throat and you let the question float in the air for a moment. The answer is so clear in your mind that it hurts; and yet, saying it out loud feels like breaking a promise you had made to protect yourself.

“Yes, I did too,” you admit, sadness settling in your chest, "But…" you take a deep breath, watching her, ”What happened with Floris even though it was a mistake… and then, the fact that he didn't tell me the truth about Citadel, it really hurt me.”

Helaena nods softly, not judging you, simply listening to you. And when she speaks, her tone is so serene and understanding that it comforts you.

“My brother has this amazing ability to do things in the worst possible way,” she says with a small resigned smile, ”Floris was a mistake. He was drunk and well, he told me that before that both of you have had a disagreement, although that doesn't justify it, I know. I'm just saying, it really was a mistake.”

Your mind momentarily flashes back to that moment, when you tried to end the fake relationship after the family dinner thing.

“And as for the Citadel thing…” she pauses, searching for the right words, “He freaked out, Y/N. He didn't know how to tell you without ruining everything. And I know that doesn't justify it either, but…” she sighs, ”He was going to do whatever it took to hold up his part of the contract. He just didn't count on our grandfather suddenly getting difficult. Our family is already so fucked up as it is, that was the last thing he expected.”

Her words suddenly make you feel interested and curious about a specific topic you hadn't remembered until now. But Helaena continues to speak and you listen to her.

“Even though his method was disastrous, in his mind, he was protecting you,” she says, ”Again, I'm not justifying it. But I know he was desperate to get you that place at Citadel no matter what because he knew you deserved it. And…” she smiles at you with a gesture of resignation, "I think he loves you enough to do stupidly risky things. Even go against grandfather and act behind his back knowing how much trouble he could get into.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and feel a knot of emotions form in your chest. Everything she's telling you opens a door to feelings you'd tried to repress, to thoughts you'd rather bury.

You take a deep breath, remembering again those days at Dragonstone.

You relive every moment, when words were redundant and the silence between the two of you felt so full of meaning. He was always watching you in a way that seemed to say everything and nothing at the same time. He was slowly revealing that vulnerable part of himself that he seemed to have lost after Alys.

But as much as you want to think straight, your thoughts are a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, the pain of it all consumes you but on the other, there's the certainty of how you feel about him.

Even when you're hurting, you know you can't ignore it.

“I know he's still waiting, deep down, for maybe…” Helaena pauses, “Maybe there's a chance for both of you.”

The expression on her face is so sincere and tender that you find it impossible not to believe her, and the thought fills you with a mixture of relief and pain. Because, despite everything, you still love him, and that truth is impossible to deny.

“I don't know,” you confess, biting your lips and feeling your eyes water, ”I-I…I don't know what to do. I mean, we're already graduating. We'll go to the same college but I doubt we'll see each other, you know? And I just… n-no… I don't know….

“Hey, hey,” Helaena tells you instantly, ”It's okay. We don't have to talk about this anymore. I didn't want to overwhelm you or burden you, I just wanted to tell you my opinion and for you to talk to someone in case you needed to,” she tells you softly, comfortingly, ”Still, it's something between the two of you and we can talk about anything else.”

You thank her with a relieved look, her gesture of empathy appearing as she watches you with her soft, understanding expression. And then, she speaks with a more casual tone, changing the subject with a lightness that relieves you a bit.

“You have everything ready for graduation? Are you bringing a date?”

“Hum… yes, I already have everything ready,” you nod, ”And no, I'll go with my two friends. I think you met them, Alysanne and Cregan.”

“Oh yes! I know them,” she says with a smile, ”And I'm going with a friend too. I don't really like the idea of everything being so formal, so going with a friend will make it all more fun.”

Both are silent for a few moments, and although the conversation has taken on a lighter tone, you feel there's still a question trapped in your chest. And at the memory of that day, an impulse prompts you to speak before you can stop yourself.

“Helaena,” you call her softly, "I… can I ask you something?" you ask almost in a whisper, lowering your gaze a little, hesitating.

She watches you curiously and nods without hesitation.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Hum…” you stir in your seat, “That night, at dinner, Aegon said something… about your dad not caring about you. What did he mean by that?”

She immediately looks like she wasn't expecting that question at all, which immediately makes you regret it, but then she softens her whole gaze, not looking at all uncomfortable or upset.

“Oh, well… our dad…” she begins to speak, choosing her words precisely, “Well, he was always very neglectful with us. He always left all the work to mom to take care of us, even when she had to work too so she wasn't totally dependent on him,” she explains, ”It was chaos for a long time. Aegon and I lost years of education because of his lack of commitment.”

“Really?” you look at her attentively and surprised.

“He missed the date to register us for kindergarten in our proper time. He always forgot our birthdays or some important date. But, of course, that never happened to him with our older stepsister, Rhaenyra.”

You remember Aemond mentioning her, though not much.

“And you don't talk to her?”

“Yes, of course,” she says with a small smile, “She was never at blame. In fact, by comparison, she always took us into account and never forgot our existence,” she explains, ”And well, eventually mom divorced him. And the only good thing dad did in the end was to mention us and give us parts of his inheritance in his will.”

Helaena's sincerity and calmness in sharing this about her life surprises you and, at the same time, makes you understand the complicated family history behind them. Now it's no wonder why Aegon was so angry to bring up the subject of parents.

Nor do you ignore the connection you begin to feel towards them, obviously because of your mother and her abandonment.

“It must have been very difficult, for everyone,” you murmur, ”I'm sorry to hear that.”

She nods, though her expression doesn't reflect bitterness, but something akin to mature acceptance.

“Yes, but that made us strong,” she says with a slight smile, "Aegon was the one who resented his absence the most, as you could see," she tells you knowingly, ”You know, being the eldest and all. But we're more… happy now, now that he's gone,” she confesses.

You let out a long breath, watching her with compassion.

“Thank you for telling me. I didn't mean to intrude, really.”

“No, it's fine, it really doesn't affect me,” she assures you softly, ”After that Aegon scene at dinner, it's valid you know. So don't worry.”

You both smile softly at each other, expressions warm and sincere, falling silent. When Helaena stands up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Well…” she says, letting out a slight sigh, adjusting her backpack, ”I should be going now. I also have projects to finish.”

“Sure,” you nod, ”Thanks for coming and talking to me.”

“Oh, there's nothing to thank you for. Anytime. I'll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

You both say goodbye and you watch her walk away in the direction of the main building, her silver hair shining in the sunlight, as you let out a long breath and put your headphones back in.

Prom.

You really don't understand what you're doing here. But it's all Alysanne's doing, like the makeup, hairstyle and dress.

You get out of Cregan's car with a beautiful lilac metallic dress on. Finding it wasn't hard at all, since it was like love at first sight, especially since it has a princess cut. And upon measuring it, Alysanne also decided that it was the one.

The hairstyle was also easy, after all, you didn't want anything too voluminous or too fancy. So a wavy style in your hair with a crown of silver flowers at the crown of your head was the perfect touch.

Alysanne on the other hand chose a beautiful wine colored dress that flatters her at every angle, deciding to gather her hair with two strands falling on either side of her face, making her look absolutely elegant and gorgeous.

And once all three of you are ready, Cregan dressed in an impeccable dark suit, offers you both his arms and you enter the grand ballroom of the luxurious hotel together.

The ballroom is illuminated by the typical disco balls hanging from the high ceiling, casting silver and white sparkles that create an almost magical atmosphere.

The decor is elegant and subtle, with centerpieces of fresh flowers and candles giving each table a touch of romantic charm.

You feel a mixture of nerves and excitement as you enter, as if it's all part of a dream. After all, it is your prom and tonight symbolizes a chapter you are about to close, your high school years.

The dance floor is in the center, surrounded by tables in a circle and already some of the guests have started to dance, getting lost in the rhythm of the soft music that fills the atmosphere thanks to the DJ.

Although not only disco balls light up the place, but also some colored lights to make the atmosphere more colorful.

If someone had told you in your freshman year everything that was going to happen in your final year, you would have laughed out loud and wouldn't have believed it at all, because your life was too boring.

But here you are, with still those events in mind, where at the end of the night, you will put them behind you.

You adjust your lilac dress, whose princess-cut skirt falls in soft layers to the floor. The fabric moves with you, as if it were an extension of your own footsteps, and the color shimmers delicately under the silver lights.

The three of you make your way to one of the tables to take a seat and you take a closer look around you as the decorations and you also see familiar faces of some of your classmates, some laughing in groups and others on the dance floor with their dates.

And Alysanne, excited and obsessed with everything, wants to have memories of the whole night and soon the three of you are taking a long selfie session with her phone.

Cregan complains about too many photos and the laughter of the three fills the air as Alysanne continues to make sure she captures the best shots, changing angles and poses.

Alysanne, with a huge smile, spins around on herself and then grabs your hands to dance with her, laughing every time you both take a step out of rhythm. You can feel her pure happiness, an excitement that doesn't take long to become contagious and where Cregan soon joins in.

The dance floor is filling up and the sparkles of the lights reflecting off everyone's costumes and dresses create an enchanting and magical atmosphere.

The DJ starts mixing more upbeat songs, and you see how everyone is having fun, laughing and dancing.

Immediately this catches Alysanne's attention and she drags the three of you onto the dance floor with infectious laughter. Before you know it, you're in the middle of the dance floor with them, surrounded by movement and music.

The music beats on the floor and vibrates in your chest, and, slowly, you begin to let loose, moving to the beat of the songs as the colored lights swirl above you all.

“I'm going to get a drink!” you let them both know over the music.

You have no idea exactly how much time passes that you find yourself dancing, enjoying the night, the echo of laughter and the warmth of the crowd.

The euphoria makes you forget and enjoy yourself as you feel your throat dry and your feet start to ache, with your body starting to beg for water and a little break.

“Okay!” Cregan nods, throwing you a smile, still dancing with Alysanne.

You smile knowingly, since after all, these two deserve to have their moment, and you walk away towards the table where there are different desserts and the drinks for all the graduates.

You take a bottle of water, and as you drink, the immediate relief makes you close your eyes for a moment, enjoying the coolness.

And only at that moment, standing alone and a little apart, you notice the glances of some people around you, mainly girls passing by you and whispering something between them, looking at you out of the corner of their eyes.

Great.

You thought you were past all this but even at prom it doesn't stop.

You take a deep breath and look out onto the dance floor, where you make out Alysanne and Cregan dancing close together, smiling and animated. You certainly don't want to interrupt them and you look around again, trying to distract yourself with anything you can find to rest your feet on.

You try not to make a big deal of it and look back at them for just a few moments with a serious look on your face and again try to focus on regaining your energy, telling yourself that this shouldn't affect you.

You remind yourself that you are here for you and your friends, and that is all that should matter to you.

When your gaze unconsciously focuses on Floris.

With her arm intertwined with a boy, whom you recognize from the lacrosse team, she looks absolutely elegant with a beautiful hairstyle and a gorgeous pink dress.

And as she joins the party, she seems totally focused on enjoying the evening, her expression relaxed and happy.

You look away from her, focused on something else, where your attention slips unintentionally to Alys, surrounded by her friends.

In the distance, suddenly her gaze meets yours and you quickly look away, not knowing why but… you really don't want to deal with or care about those people anymore.

She's wearing dark makeup and a sensual emerald green dress that completely clings to her body and highlights her curves. She looks completely beautiful, but knowing her attitude and behavior, it makes her lose her charm.

You watch Helaena for a few more seconds, her energy lighting up the dance floor, when suddenly, a tall, familiar figure catches your attention on the other side of the room in the crowd.

Instead, you focus on Helaena, who you find among all the people dancing, getting carried away by the atmosphere and in the company of the friend who told you.

Her silver hair is swaying to the music and she shines in the middle of everyone in that beautiful sky blue dress and gold accessories, looking absolutely gorgeous.

Aemond is standing a few feet away, talking to Aegon, both looking absolutely handsome for the evening. Then, the atmosphere around you seems to fade a bit and he's the only one who catches your eye in the middle of the crowd.

And that mixture of emotions about him rises in your chest again.

You take a closer look at who is around him and it is only Aegon. You don't see any girl hanging on his arm or anything, so apparently he has come unaccompanied, just like you.

He is dressed in a dark suit that highlights his slender figure and impeccable posture, just like Aegon. The silver light of the disc balls bring out his silver hair and his face so perfectly detailed, giving it a glow that is almost unreal to you.

Your gaze lingers on him longer than you had anticipated. From a distance, you can notice the lack of expressions on his face and the small twitch of his lips as he speaks to Aegon, looking around him without really showing any emotion.

That eye contact takes the air out of you. The memory of all the things you shared, the conversations, the looks, the touching and kissing… it all comes over you.

And at that very moment, as if sensing the weight of your attention, Aemond looks up and sees you beyond the crowd, apart and alone. The visual connection is instantaneous, almost electric, and suddenly you feel all the people and bustle around you fade away.

You can't deny the attraction and deep affection that, even now, beat intensely in your chest. And, for an instant, you wonder if he too feels the same mix of nostalgia and sadness in the midst of it all.

You notice how he looks you up and down, lingering on every detail of what you're wearing today, his eyes shining, filled with a kind of wary hope and longing, completely stealing your breath.

Then, his body language tells you he's getting ready to move. Coming at you, with her determined gaze.

Oh God.

A sense of panic invades every part of your body. And before he can do anything, you look away and quickly make your way to the dance floor, blending into the crowd, heading towards your friends.

The music booms in your ears and your thoughts are in complete chaos, hitting you one after the other.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you tell yourself that you just want to enjoy the night, to stop thinking about him and what was, even if it's only for a few hours.

So time passes, the energy of the dance becomes more relaxed, and though you manage to avoid crossing paths directly with Aemond, his presence seems to haunt your mind like a lingering ghost, one that doesn't dissipate with the music or the bright lights.

You look around from time to time, and out of the corner of your eye you notice that he also seems to avoid being too close to you, although you can't help thinking that maybe he is also looking for you in the crowd, as you are looking for him.

Until, finally, the atmosphere immediately changes.

The lights dim and the silver and warm tones transform the room into an intimate place. Couples begin to approach the dance floor, holding hands, to dance to the slow songs. And you decide it's the perfect time to take a break.

You smile at Cregan and Alysanne, giving them another moment again, feeling a twinge of tenderness and, at the same time, unexpected loneliness.

You take a seat at one of the nearby tables, watching as the dance floor fills with couples slowly swaying to the music.

Dresses and suits intertwine, and for a moment, you let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of the atmosphere, allowing yourself to feel invisible in the midst of all that harmony.

You watch Floris dancing with that boy, Alysanne with Cregan of course, and Helaena dancing with her friend, both with amused smiles and talking softly without taking the slow dance so seriously. You also see Aegon dancing very close with a girl.

And as your eyes wander around the dance floor, your gaze focuses again on his figure, which seems just as lonely as yours.

A few tables away, Aemond sits alone, surveying the dance floor with an expression you fail to fully decipher. His fingers drum on the rim of his glass, and, for a moment, he seems lost in his own thoughts. He looks calm, almost vulnerable.

You stare at him longer than you think and sigh, averting your gaze, and as the seconds pass, the urge to stand still and do nothing begins to fade.

You bite the inside of your cheek and begin to move your foot up and down rapidly, feeling your heart begin to beat too fast. You watch all the people dancing again, hesitating.

Then you let out a long breath and without knowing exactly why, you take a deep breath and stand up. With slow steps, a momentum and a calmness you try to maintain, you head towards him.

As you get closer, you notice how his gaze, which was lost on the dance floor, suddenly focuses on you, noticing before out of the corner of his eye your approaching figure. Surprise and bewilderment mixed with something else appears in his gaze and you stop in front of him, nervous but determined.

Then neither of you say anything for a few moments. The same nerves make you unable to speak and the two of you just stand there, watching each other.

You feel how some people around you suddenly have their attention focused on both of you, waiting for what you will do, but you don't even pay attention to them. You just focus completely on him.

Until you sigh.

"Do you dance?" you ask softly and nervous.

The words seem to break the spell, and Aemond blinks, clearly surprised and somehow confused.

You watch the expression on his face, as if he's processing every word you've just said, looking for some hint of doubt or change of heart in your expression.

"S-sure," he says still confused, not expecting this at all.

There's a mix of emotions in his eyes, confusion, surprise and nervousness, something you wouldn't have expected to see in him. And you, not wanting to drag this out any longer than necessary, extend your hand to him.

He watches your face attentively and then your hand, still surprised, to finally take it gently. His fingers intertwine with yours, sending an electricity throughout your body through his touch as he stands up.

You swallow hard, feeling your heart beating like crazy and nervousness invading your whole system. And without another word, you both head for the dance floor.

Then, everything around you fades away, the murmurs and laughter, even the music itself becomes a distant whisper, and only he remains, next to you.

He places a hand on your waist, his touch delicate, as if he doesn't want to do anything that could break this fragile instant. You take his other hand, intertwining it with yours and as you both begin to move to the rhythm of the music, you feel how a mixture of emotions floods each of your senses.

Aemond watches you, his eyes fixed on yours and with a nervous little smile on his lips, as if he can't believe this is really happening.

The music moves forward, slow, allowing you to glide in front of each other. As his steps synchronize with yours, the movements become smooth and natural.

And in a moment you realize that you both are completely absorbed in each other, as if nothing and no one could interrupt this bubble that surrounds you.

Finally, Aemond breaks the silence, his voice barely audible over the music and shy, watching you with a gleam in his eye.

"You look beautiful."

He says to you, his words so sincere and emotionally charged that you feel a surge of warmth wash over you.

You wish his words didn't make you melt. But they do. And everything about him, every gesture, his closeness, the firm, protective touch of his hand on your waist, the way he holds you, as if you were something precious and delicate, envelops and intoxicates you.

"Thank you," you reply, feeling a soft smile appear on your lips, "You too... you look very handsome."

He smiles, marking the dimples on either side of his cheeks.

"I wasn't expecting you to come over," he admits, his eyes revealing something between vulnerability and surprise.

The tone of his voice, so soft and honest, makes you feel a warmth you haven't experienced in a long time.

"I didn't know I would," you reply with a barely perceptible smile, "But I thought, maybe... I don't want to spend the night running away," you confess.

He nods, not looking away.

"I didn't want it to be like that either."

His hand on your waist pulls you slightly closer to him with a firm movement and the slight brush makes you aware of the closeness between the two of you.

You feel your thoughts cloud over and you let yourself become more enveloped by him, unable to help it.

His chin brushes your forehead and you feel that at any moment your heart will jump out of your chest. It's an insistent, powerful beat that seems to resonate with every breath you take at his side.

Then, Aemond lowers his voice, his tone becoming softer, almost melancholy, as if his words are a secret shared only between the two of you.

"I was going to ask you if you wanted to be my date that day, you know? When I gave you the folder.

"I was going to ask you if you wanted to be my date that day, you know, when I gave you the folder," he confesses, with a certain melancholy tone, "But I knew it wouldn't be fair to ask you that and I really didn't want to hurt you anymore."

The sincerity in his tone pierces you, and you feel your own barriers begin to crumble. You listen to him with your heart pounding, absorbing every word.

Aemond sighs and his fingers tighten slightly at your waist.

"And a moment ago, when I saw you so perfect and so beautiful in this dress... I realized how much I wished I had walked through those doors with you on my arm," he says with a longing and sadness.

The music continues to envelop you and you feel his confession reverberate through you, intensifying every sensation, every emotion.

The strength of his words, of the connection that has been created between the two of you in the middle of this song, makes the air seem thick and charged with meanings that don't need to be explained.

Then you raise your gaze to him and you both stare at each other in silence, where your words seem to get caught in your throat.

His eyes roam over your face, as if he wants to remember every detail, as if he wants to take this moment with him. There is a sadness and a softness in his gaze that you haven't seen before, and it makes something in your chest tighten.

And again his voice breaks through the soft silence that envelops you.

"I'm sorry... for everything," he says barely a whisper, laden with a sincerity that resonates deeply.

His fingers trace slow circles on your back, small gestures that seem to try to comfort you and to comfort him too. The contact between the two of you is firm and warm, and yet, you feel as if Aemond fears that at any moment this could disappear.

For a moment, the music seems to fade, leaving only your heartbeat and the echo of his voice in the air.

You feel the urge to speak, to say something that would ease the vulnerability on his face, but you find it difficult to organize your thoughts.

Instead, you opt for a simple but meaningful gesture. You propel yourself a little towards him and leave a soft kiss on his cheek, then rest your head on his chest and gently inhale his expensive cologne, being comforting enough for you.

"It's okay," you murmur.

He lets out a sigh of relief, mixed with longing and makes his grip on your waist tighter, not wanting to let go. Then, he leaves a soft kiss on the crown of your head, resting his head on yours as you both continue to sway gently to the music.

"Thank you for giving me this dance," he murmurs.

You place a soft, small smile on your lips, then raise your gaze to his, watching him with nothing but fondness.

He continues to watch you with that softness and one of his hands goes up to your cheek. In a delicate, almost fearful touch, his thumb runs over your skin in a gesture that is both protective and vulnerable.

Then he rests his forehead against yours and you both close your eyes, as you lean into him.

You both fall silent, letting the slow rhythm of the music carry you away, allowing the moment to linger, in a fragile and honest peace.

You feel that you could stay like this, in this bubble of time and silence, without the need for words, because, in this instant, you both understand what has been said and what doesn't need to be said.

The song changes to another slow one and you both lose yourselves in the moment, enjoying it, not wanting it to end.

Time seems to stand still as you dance together, moving slowly and leisurely, as if nothing and no one else exists. The sounds of the party fade around you, leaving only the beating of your hearts and the faint brush of your breaths.

Your eyes close as you let go, feeling his hand on your back and the warmth his body gives off, so close and so full of meaning.

You both breathe in sync, your foreheads resting against each other, your eyes closed as the moment stretches out and becomes more than just a dance.

This instant is a truce, a refuge where everything else, the doubts, the pain, the past, is suspended and what follows is moving forward.

"You've got everything ready to go to college?"

His voice breaks the silence softly, barely a murmur, as if afraid to disturb the peace around you both.

"Yeah," you murmur, nodding.

"What are you traveling there on?"

"Well, I was checking with my dad about bus and plane ticket prices. But I still haven't made up my mind," you admit, remembering discussions about which was the safest and cheapest option.

Aemond nods, thoughtfully. Then, after a brief pause, he speaks with calm assurance.

"I can take you."

You look at him instantly surprised, definitely not expecting that.

"What?"

"I can take you," he repeats, sure of his words, "Well, sure, if you want," he hastens to clarify, "After all, we're going to the same place and I'll make the trip in my car," he explains, "There's plenty of room for your bags along with mine and so you won't have to spend on a ticket. Besides, it would be safer and I think, I don't know, you'd be more comfortable."

You remain silent, trying to assimilate what he has just said. There is something in his words, in the slow and sincere tone, that strikes a deep chord in you.

The idea of making the trip together, of sharing that important moment of departure, of having one last time alone before facing a new life, awakens a mix of emotions that are difficult to describe.

He lowers his gaze for a moment, nervous, clarifying in a low voice.

"It's just a suggestion... something I thought might make things easier for you. You don't have to do it if you don't want to."

Your heart pounds, and somehow, the simplicity of his offer, the naturalness with which he cares for you, causes a warm surge of gratitude and affection to wash over you.

"Can you really do that for me?" you ask quietly, with a little smile you can't help.

"Sure," he says absurdly softly, as if it weren't obvious, "But only if you want me to. I don't want to force you. It's just an option."

You look up at him, holding his gaze for a second that seems like forever, and nod slowly, allowing the feeling of relief and closeness to wash over you.

"I'd love to," you whisper, your voice barely a murmur, "Thank you."

The shadow of a smile tugs at his lips, and you can see the relief in his expression.

"No need to thanks."

Without another word, Aemond pulls you a little closer to him and again the two of you bring your foreheads together, letting the moment lengthen as the music changes to another slow rhythm.

You both remain like that, moving in silence and enjoying the moment, spending the last moment of your high school lives together, to start college together.

"Are you ready?"

Aemond watches you from the driver's seat, his hands resting calmly on the steering wheel with a small smile on his face.

The car is already loaded with suitcases for both of you and you nod, taking a deep breath to calm the emotions fluttering in your chest.

The thought of heading off together towards this new stage causes a mixture of nerves and excitement to wash over you, though a part of you also feels comforted by Aemond's presence at your side.

"Yes," you reply, adjusting your belt.

You watch him and he gives you one last knowing look before putting the car in move.

Saying goodbye to your dad was difficult, but it was something you were both already preparing for and you knew that moment would come.

Besides, he met Aemond, as your friend who will do you the favor of driving you to college and nothing more. And your dad felt safer with that instead of taking the plane or bus alone.

Especially after Aemond promised him countless times that he would take care of you at all times.

The road is serene at first, and Aemond turns on the radio, letting a soft melody fill the comfortable silence between them.

The roads stretch out in front of you, long and exciting, as the landscape changes shape and the kilometers pass, leaving behind the city where you experienced so much.

From time to time, you exchange glances, small comments about the places you see and the expectations each has for the university.

Aemond seems especially careful, attentive to every sign on the road and every change in your expression, as if he wants to make sure you are comfortable and at ease.

And he especially notices a change in your expression.

"Is something bothering you?" he asks you, his voice low but close, filling the space in a comforting way.

You watch him and after some hesitation, you shrug.

"I guess it makes me a little nervous not knowing what to expect," you admit, "This whole new stage... the idea of being alone in a new place."

Aemond nods, understanding what you mean, his eyes fixed on the road.

"I guess it's normal," he tells you softly, "It's almost obligatory to feel this way, but, for what it's worth... you won't be completely alone."

His gaze meets yours for a second before he turns back to the road.

"I'm going to be around if at any time you need anything or anything happens, anything at all."

You feel a warmth settle in your chest, and a part of your nerves seem to fade. The idea of him being there, close by, offering you that closeness, gives you a strange sense of relief.

"Thank you, Aemond," you murmur with a small smile.

He smiles, marking a dimple in his cheek, and turns his eyes to the front.

The ride continues, where the atmosphere in the car becomes more and more comfortable, chatting about small details, expectations, and the occasional joke that makes you both laugh comfortably.

And finally, as the two enter the town of Oldtown and the university looms in the distance, Aemond slows down, looking at the campus that would soon become his home.

"There it is," he says, a slight excitement in his voice.

The same excitement rubs off on you and excitedly, you take his hand, intertwining it with yours, excited and hopeful.

Hopeful that all that is to come for you in this place are good and promising things. As well as hopeful for Aemond and for you.

series taglist:

@melsunshine @at-a-rax-ia @jxdegodfrey @ttkttt @yentroucnagol @kate-to-the-ki @iamavailablesstuff @bluerskiees @urmomsgirlfriend1 @toodlesxcuddles @rosie-posie08 @iloveallmyboys @bellaisasleep @deliaseastar @cupcakesminicakescupcakes @dixie-elocin @lilostif16 @wickedfrsgrl @a-beaverhausen @saturnssrings @ladythornofrivia @vhwyrm @strangersunghoon @queen-of-elves

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #modern aemond #modern hotd #au modern #aemond one eye

145 notes · View notes

drjholtzmann · 21 hours ago

Text

“Can I ask a stupid question?” There was a brief time when Edwin would respond to such queries with various affirmations about no question being stupid, and about the merits of curiosity above all else. Now he just gives a little puff of breath and glances at Charles as though he is trying, good naturedly, to not roll his eyes. There’s no heat in it though, and Charles knows its more of an act than anything else. Edwin is impatient with many things, but rarely ever with Charles. Not really. “And if you hate it just tell me and I’ll drop it.”

“Very well.”

“What would…” Charles glances at the ceiling, steeling himself while trying to remain casual. “What would being in love, what would that… look like? If we…”

“Charles, you don’t have to –”

“No, I know. But I just, um. I just, like…it would – would it… change,” he scoffs in frustration at himself, eyes returning to the ceiling as if it has cue cards that will help him say what he wants. “Things would change, yeah? Isn’t that the point?”

Edwin, though still, seems far calmer than Charles had anticipated. “I… don’t know. Charles, I didn’t tell you to make you feel like you have some kind of obligation –”

“I know.”

“It was just important. That you knew. I don’t want to keep secrets from you. And it also… it seemed important that you know, that you are loved. It doesn’t have to be requited – that was not the point.”

“I know.” Charles whispers, trying with everything he is not to start tearing up. “But let’s just say,” he clears his throat, “hypothetically… what would it be like?”

read on Ao3

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #dead boy detectives fanfic #my fic

54 notes · View notes

my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 day ago

Note

Anyone else thinking about breeding kink Shimmer!Kane by chance?

👀👀👀👀👀

Don't Take Anything Less

Shimmer!Kane x afab!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: Kane's insatiable.

Warnings: p in v sex, cream pie, breeding kink, kisses, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 502

Kane groans deeply as his fingers dig into your hips, he pulls you back to meet his deep, harsh thrusts that rob the breath from your lungs.

You moan desperately, drooling onto the bedsheets as he fucks you face down ass up. He’d made you come three times already, each orgasm he pulled from you only making him more determined to make you reach another.

Sweat pools on your back, your muscles practically jelly as he keeps up his relentless pace.

“Kane,” You manage to gasp out, your pussy fluttering around his cock, pulling him deeper.

He snarls, bucking wonderfully at just the right spot and you cry out, your spine bending. Part of him recognises that he is close to his end, no matter how hard he tries to stave it off. He reaches his left hand around and rubs your clit with his fore and middle finger, smearing your spilled slick over your bundle of nerves and making you whine.

“Kane!” You hardly recognise your own voice, too high pitched and desperate.

“Come with me.” He growls, the blood in his veins singing. He needed to fill you, needed to fuck his own spend deeper inside your tight little pussy. Needed to keep you close and fuck you again the second he was able.

You whimper, the pleasure dancing on the edge of your vision despite the exhaustion crying out from every nerve.

“I can’t,” You sob.

“You can.” He matches the speed of his fingers to the roll of his hips, moaning as you pulse and squeeze. “I know you can.”

You shake your head, denying it even though you can feel your orgasm building to a dizzying high.

“I’ve got to come inside.” He mutters, his voice heavy and thick. “I have to, have to,” he mutters, pulling you closer to him with one hand. “Have to fill you.”

You scream as you come, the sensation spiking along your limbs and leaving you weak. Kane growls as you milk him, spilling deep inside and fucking your through yours, and his, orgasm until he collapses on top of you, exhausted.

He rolls onto his side, taking you with him, his softening cock still deep within you. Kane wraps and around you protectively and snuffles into your neck, kissing and licking the sweat from your skin.

“Are you okay?” He mutters. “You didn’t use your safe word?” There is a hint of worry in his voice that is unusual for him, an uncertainty you’re not used to.

You breathe deeply, sleep already calling you. But you nod. “Just tired.”

He nods, but his body is still tense. “I pushed you too hard.” He mutters.

This time you shake your head, turning so that you can give him a soft kiss. He returns the sweetness eagerly, his muscles relaxing ever so slightly.

“I didn’t tap out, didn’t want to stop.” You whisper against his lips. “I would have, if I needed to.”

He kisses you again, just as gentle, seemingly satisfied.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes ho

@steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

@pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23 @sub-aro @killerdollz

@maplemind @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist @dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious

@homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus

@lounilu @avengersinitiative2012 @pigeonmama @marcsb1tch

@iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan @faretheeoscar@lonelyisamyw-0love

@queerponc @twwcs @Spnwhore2430 @ominoose

@ierofrnkk @have-you-seen-my-sanity @to-be-a-sunshine @blushingrn @missdictatorme

@musicalnacho

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#kane #annihilation #kane x reader #x reader #kane x you #x you #kane x afab reader #afab reader #kane x female reader #x female reader #kane x f!reader #x f!reader #kane x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

61 notes · View notes

paingoes · 3 days ago

Note

What are some of your favorite whump series on here? I devoured your story and am looking for more!

*bites you*

lux’s series by @friendlylocalwhumper was one of the first whump stories i ever read so shout out to that.

i think the second whump or really hurt/comfort fic i remember enjoying a lot was @foundfamilywhump ‘s stuff on ao3. particularly the adventure zone fics they have a special place in my heart

ive reread kane & jim by @whumpsday more times than i can count its my go-to comfort read. vampire whump!

literally anything by @deluxewhump but esp anything w zee and cam <3. emphasis on this one i love bee’s prose sm.

@just-horrible-things for more pet whump/BBU !!! im still reading through a girl called spider now but it’s probably my favorite as far as lady whump goes ❤️‍🩹

@whump-queen for intimate whumpers and hurt/no comfort 😈 akia has such a beautiful mind (weve been scheming)

@forwhump is my favorite for living weapon whump and is actually the only other living weapon whump ive really enjoyed tbqh. i guess im more in it for wren tho haha 🐥 this one is so underrated too i think it deserves way more attention. highly highly recommend.

and @doumidas-whumps if u want whump art >:)

a lot of these are more like blog/vibe recommendations than they are specific stories…sorry if this is too general lol. if anyone else wants to add on w other suggestions feel free

also!!! these vary in levity and age appropriateness!! i just listed them off the dome but yeah be mindful of content warnings and so on cause a lot of these are darker than what i typically write

i just realized i didnt say thank you at the top. thanks for devouring destroyer. if you could eat destroyer i know it would taste really metallic and salty so i hope youre still feeling okay after 🦈

50 notes · View notes

klunkcat · 2 days ago

Text

Life is short, and I've shortened mine

rise of the tmnt gift fic for the T3 server november exchange, for the very lovely @remedyturtles

Sensei is a character that can actually be so life changing and brain consuming. Very grateful to have the opportunity to play in your sandbox, exploring their headspaces is actually incredible and also devastating.

Note: This is an offshoot from Rem’s “little kid with a big death wish” fic and will not make sense on its own I fear.

title from good bones by Maggie Smith

read on ao3

___

He didn’t ask for this, is the crucial thing. He’d been— not relieved to be dead, because he hadn’t managed to make it yet to where his brothers were, because his kid was still out there fighting for tomorrow. Relieved was too gentle a word, but he’d been something.

Maybe less tired.

It was nice to think about, selfishly. He’s been carrying lead weights and anchors at the edges of himself since the moment the world fell, but there’d never been any other volunteers for the job. Somewhere quietly inside himself he’d thought the ending would mean a moment of reprieve. He should have known, though. They’d all been the universe's favorite chew toys for long enough, dying was too nice a bow to wrap around it.

He really hadn’t asked for this, no matter what the subconscious thoughts he’d hit to death with sticks in the back of his mind said about escaping. Stumbling across the kid— another him, a version of him he’d never gotten to be, that he thinks maybe distantly he shouldn’t have needed to be— he’d hoped he could silently wrap himself in that thick blanket of nothing and fade out at least. Not fuck things up for him worse, but, well.

Maybe the throughline to being Hamato Leonardo was fate-led curiosity; he’d never learned how to leave well enough alone in either direction. Of course Leo had scouted him out, of course he’d been compelled to try to help the kid float when he should have stayed put, of course. Of course.

And so, as the classics say, here they were.

“Can you give me a number, Leo?” Raph’s voice creeps in, all-over earnest and thoughtful in the way he intrinsically is—was. It’s a shard of glass to hear it at all, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. The kid fuzzes out a little and slips sideways a step; oops , Leo thinks. There’s a hard line around not transmitting too loud, he’s still trying to figure it out.

Could do without whatever that was ever again , the kid thinks, sharp and rattled under the surface.

Leo winces. Sorry, I’m all thumbs over here. Trying to keep quiet.

Psh, younger Leo rolls his eyes. You’re all one thumb .

The kid turns back to his brother, thrumming still between a one and zero now. He’s scrambling to ground still, to focus. He gives Raph a quick OK sign that there’s no way Raph doesn’t see through. It’s kind of funny to watch his force-fire white-knuckling deflection in technicolor from the outside like this, he’s not sure why he ever thought this worked.

“That’s okay, that’s fine. Can you give me a number, bud?” The pleading edge hurts to hear.

They hold up a shaky one, maybe overconfidently. Mikey and Don are in the room somewhere, he can hear them shuffling even with Leo’s eyes closed. The sudden memory of a thousand days where the only rest his littlest brother got was when he was locked in meditation, the way he walked like his bones and joints hurt right up until the end, nearly knocks them both back to a firm zero.

The kid glares at him, Leo holds his hand up apologetically and imagines zipping his non-existent lips shut.

They’d been doing better for the last few days. He’d started talking out loud, had been at a solid two a handful of times. He knows the kid’s frustrated and exhausted, he can feel it, especially seeing them slip all the way back. Leo feels a hot well of shame creep up his ethereal throat.

He knows it’s a push and pull game they’re playing. Wounded leading the wounded, and all.

It’s still a lot, to think of seeing his family that isn’t his family. Of them knowing he existed and talking to him. Points towards the ‘he should fuck off forever’ category, as soon as they figured out how to get rid of him.

(The kid talked about it like they’d miss him if he left, like there’d be some great love lost— they didn’t know him, though. He’d lived through twenty years of a war they’d never have to see. Leo was not the teen they were missing, the one they were trying to call home, because he’d given that up a long time ago.

Of course he had to leave, this kid had a life of his own to live now. Leo didn’t have anything.)

“ — he was for a moment, just give him time,” Raph’s saying. He forces the kid to take a purposeful long breath in, squeeze his fingers, twitch his toes. Keep him from tipping all the way over into the dark where he’d accidently shoved them.

“See, he’s back with us,” Raph continues, brightly. The kid groggily radiated all sorts of furious signals like a firecracker popping in several unplanned directions, all different fonts screaming exhaustion and hurt the only way he knew how. Leo’s heart aches for him. Beating himself down for daring to survive at all.

“Is he?” Don’s voice cuts in haughtily. Leo makes them blink their eyes open, caught out despite the kid’s anger.

They’re looking for you, bud. Rise and shine.

I don’t care, the kid hisses. Fuck off.

Okay. Well. Less than ideal.

“Which one are we dealing with,” Don’s voice hovers closer, half lodged in icy suspicion. He wouldn’t be this closed off for his Leo, obviously. Leo— Sensei smothers a sigh.

“He’s trying not to answer the phone right now. So, just me. Sorry.”

“Is he okay?” Raph asks, concern evident in the dark shadow of his brow. Sensei can’t look at it directly, it’s not for him to feel all the reminiscent grief of a brother that isn’t even his. How he feels about any of this never helps anything.

“He’s….” He prods the kid and gets an indistinguishable slew of curses and general hypothetical middle fingers back. “He’s taking a break, he’s okay.”

Don arches a brow back. “I don’t care that we’re forced to take your word for this, just to be clear.”

“Fair enough. He says, and I quote, bite me, so I think that’s where we’re at.”

“Ah,” Raph hums. “Well, if you can tell him I’ll be back in ten minutes with tea, I’d love to check in on him then.”

Sensei nods, relays the message with a garbled hiss as a response. Expected.

Don stares at him, impassive. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Feral cat radiating protective instincts three counties wide, like always.

It’s… an ache under the skin, to be left alone with Don. He hasn’t forgotten the way Dee’s face would shift in a scowl, he never could, but seeing it played out on a younger face scratches something in him regardless.

“I want to speak with my brother, if it’s all the same,” Don says, blunt.

“I’ve been trying to ring him, I promise. Bad morning.”

Don arches a brow with a twitch to his jaw Sensei knows means he’s attempting to fight off a full on annoyed pout and failing. It hits him sideways to see, funny in the chest. A thousand sense memories, a different Donnie and a different place, coalescing all into one. His Don had gotten really good at not emoting at all near the end, he’d almost forgotten.

Hey, the kid grouses. Who’s flying this plane?

Right, thumbs again, Not-his-Don hovers closer when he blinks back to the front. A frown touches the middle of his maskless forehead.

He makes himself walk through a few quick grounding steps and breathe in as deep as he can before speaking. “Back, sorry. Uh, Sensei, that is. Leo’s listening though.”

Don’s still frowning, but he leans back a touch. “He’s making it harder for you to stay here too, isn’t he?”

He doesn’t think the phrasing of that is fair, but. “Was all me that time, if I’m honest. We’re at a one now though, I’m good.”

“Is he ?” Don tilts his head.

Sensei considers. The kid’s not sinking back there just… Curled up, pill-bugging. Radiating furious hurt energy like a solar system all on his own. He’s present enough to tell Sensei to fuck off and focus on Don at least.

“Think so, yeah. He’s just…” He mimes a snapping maw with his good hand.

Don sighs and rolls his eyes, there’s an edge of anxiety there Sensei can still read as bright as anything. Isn’t that a thought. Twenty years without and this younger Donnie is still under his skin like a part of himself.

He needs you bud, Sensei tries again, nudging his younger self.

I’m tired of this , the kid growls back, not-voice cracking all the way through in a way that makes Sensei ache for him.

Sensei sighs, patting his shell. I know.

Don shifts his weight in front of them, frown deepening as he moves to tap on his wrist guard. Probably texting the family about the general Bad Leo Day, he imagines. He knows how this would go with his Don— the way it would itch at him being unable to instantly resolve whatever problems his brother had. He never dealt well with any mystic issues affecting Mike for the same reasons either.

There’d always been a thrumming line between them, some unspoken thing; Sensei carried it with him even now, even with the end gone dark. He knows Don’s having a hard time reconciling all the ways ‘Sensei’ is his Leo and is someone entirely different. Managing the fear that his Leo will go somewhere far away inside himself and he’ll only be left with someone he doesn’t know. That he’ll be left alone.

The worst part about being a twin is when you aren’t one anymore, after all.

Bad thought. Shit. The pull in the back of his mind grows louder. He holds up a shakier zero. Don’s sharp eyes narrow, tapping something harder on his guard before shifting closer. “Leo?”

Can you stop being horribly sad for five minutes while looking at my brother? It’s so not helping.

He shakes his head. “Still me,” the words come out soupy. The kid jabs him angrily somewhere in the back of his brain, uncurled with annoyed concern, which is maybe an unintentional win.

“Is it— can you ground him?”

He’s trying; his brain fires unhelpful flashes of the days after. Of the months of searching desperately, of the moment he woke up in the middle of the night with sudden certainty that wherever the other half of himself went, he couldn’t get back on his own. Shit.

Shit , the kid echoes, less angry with the barely concealed concern. Sensei can feel the dark pit creeping at his arms even as he blinks furiously to stay present.

“Not him, it’s— sorry, all me again. Don’t think I can stick around.” He squeezes his fist, forces himself to breathe deeper, but it catches somewhere around the middle. The kid slides forward with a flurry of aggrieved panic that sparks through him and sends him back down several flights. There goes that plan.

Sensei cracks an eye back open and catches a familiar flash in Donnie’s eyes, and yeah— sorry, kid. Lights out.

The last conversation he remembers having with Don had been about Casey. He was getting to the age where he was asking to follow them out on missions more and more, curious about everything Uncle Tello was up to. He wanted to help, desperately. Itching with the need to be useful in a way they all understood.

It was different with Casey, though. He knew why it was different.

“We let Mike do this stuff when he was his age,” Leo had said with a sigh. “It’s hard to find good reasons to say no that aren’t just three rounds of my own loud clamoring panic. He should go, he’s trained plenty.”

Don clicked his goggles, focusing on a project in front of him with a hum. “Mike wasn’t dealing with an apocalypse. He was, at worst, trying to find a new place to tag at Casey Jr’s age, so.”

“Exactly,” Leo smooths his hand across his head. “But also…”

Don looks at him, eyes gone big with the layers of lenses so he gets hyper close up patented ‘Tello Eye Roll in high definition. “But also, you’re a mother hen, and he’s talented, and he’ll just sneak out anyways if we keep making him hang back.”

“Points for you,” Leo sighs again. “Want to make that a daily double?”

“You remember how Micheal was about being babied,” Don sighs. “So, I don’t know. Let him go on a supply run, something small. A practice version,” Don shrugs, turns back to his work. “There’s that lower activity quadrant we got a ping on last week. I can take him and go get that part we need to fix up the generator.”

Leo lets out a long breath. “Yeah, that— huh. That could work. He’s always saying he wants to learn more about how to keep things running around here, he’ll be over the moon. Kid asked me last week if I could show him how to do stitches.”

Don snorts. “Great, soon there’ll be two of you.”

Leo steps forward, leaning his elbow on Don’s chair to peer over at his desk. There’s a mess of wires in front of him, a plate he’s meticulously soldering ends together on. “Eh, there’s already two of me.”

“Excuse you,” Don nudges him back with a shoulder. “As the funnier twin, I resent that remark.”

He laughs, lets out a breath. The thrum of Don’s room sometimes settles him, like it’s echoing the place in him where his ninpo sat before. Constant hums of his family flitting through open rooms.

“You don’t think I’m being paranoid, do you?” Leo has to ask. The variables tripped around each other in hyperspeed in his mind at all times, racing down to the ends of his fingers. Casey’s only thirteen, they’re down too many runners, there’s never any right choices and only Leo to make them.

Don pauses for a second. He flips up his goggles before Leo can wrench the question back into himself, not that it had ever worked before.

“I’ll keep him safe,” Don says, slowly. “It’s a good call, he’s earned it.”

“You’re just saying that because it was half your idea.” Leo glances away, embarrassed on some fundamental level that Don had even needed to give him the reassurance. He sighs, squeezes Don’s shoulder quickly as a thank you. Don hums with a smirk.

“Well? Are you going to teach him? Don’t think we have any oranges to practice on.” The implication rings loudly enough, Casey stitching up real wounds is a foray they haven’t dared make.

Leo waves his hand. “Might be a good idea for the kid to have some medical information in between all the supercomputer nerd things.”

“Avoiding the question is a bold move.”

Leo deflates, winces. “Yeah. Thought it might make him worry less.” If he could help without leaving the base at all, maybe they’d both relax. A quieter thought, under that: maybe Leo would, if he knew Casey could take care of himself without him.

Don squints. “It might. Here’s a better thought, his Sensei letting someone else take on the riskier missions for once, hm?”

Ah, well.

Leo feigns a wide grin anyways, shrugging. “What can I say, the Krang love me.”

The arched eyebrow he receives is scathing. He is scathed. He waves his good hand Don’s direction with a huff. “Don’t look at me like that, this is about the kid. Table the psychoanalysis for Mike to take over.”

“You want Michael to get in on this?”

Good point. He sighs again, shuffling over to a side table and crossing his arms. This is an old argument, the circles of it are worn through and practically scripted. If dear Tello insists, he purses his lips. Round and round they go.

“I’m faster.”

“Other people are fast enough.”

“Enough isn’t safe.”

“Letting the Krang learn all your moves is?”

“Come on, I’ve been fine.”

The scathing meter ramps up as Don’s eyes pointedly flick to Leo’s robotic arm. “They blast you with enough of their power? How long is that going to be true.”

“I know how they work.”

“For fucks sake Leo, the rest of us grew up in the apocalypse too.”

The rest of you aren’t responsible for it, though , he thinks with all forty old years of packed self directed venom. There’s no point to this conversation, he finds the way out Don wants.

“Fine. I’ll stay back for the next few, okay? You and Case can do the supply run. April’s been saying she wants to get back out, I can send her with Angel.”

Don’s steely gaze doesn’t shift, his jaw tense. Usually, this is where the conversation stalls and dies out. World like theirs is lacking in many things, including fuel to burn with.

“I’m sick of watching you do this,” he spits out, sharp and barbed. It stops Leo up short.

He nearly says ‘do what’, but he knows his twin. They haven’t gone into any of this since— well, since Raph. Since the mantle of the Resistance became something heavier and lodged in him with anchor weights. Since everyone started looking at him like his plans were god. Since his fuck up ruined everything.

No time for heart to hearts, really.

“Come on, Dee,” he swallows roughly, carefully. “I’m careful. This isn’t about that.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t everything you do about that?”

Leo works his jaw. “It isn’t.”

“When will you stop acting like you have to make up for it, then?”

Ouch. Leo redirects. “We’re going to win this. It’ll work out, you know it will. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Winning the war hasn’t been a tangible thought in his mind in years either; he’s not sure he knows how to do anything but follow the script anymore, though. He hopes he’s putting up a strong enough act.

Don’s hand clenches around his soldering gun, relaxes. “There’s only one you,” he practically growls out, and Leo’s chest squeezes. “If he goes somewhere he takes me with him. Do you get that?”

He swallows again. “Course I do. I’m not— this isn’t about me, Don. Strategically, until they start catching up to me we have to make them believe I’m their only concern. Promise, that’s all this is.”

You swear? He almost hears a younger Donnie ask, crouched up in their hideout over Donnie’s gameboy.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, with as much sincerity as he carries with him. He wouldn’t, there’s nowhere else in the world for him to go when everything that matters is right here.

“You aren’t allowed to pull anything. I’d know if you were,” Don glares. “We need you.” He says it funny, emphasis on both the need and the you all at once, like one of those endless staircase paintings that look different the longer you try to make sense of it. Leo holds up his hands helplessly.

His twin’s stare pins Leo through for a long moment. He takes the whole half a second of pause to step closer. “Hey, that whole thing— back at you. Obviously.”

Don lets out a long breath, expression flat and assessing. For a moment, Leo thinks he might say more, but he turns his chair around to continue soldering.

“Obviously.”

They’d let the conversation fall lighter, moving to charitable waters. And Leo had let Don take Case out for an easy supply run.

The last thing his twin ever said to him was lost somewhere behind the distress beacon and the noise of the Krang leveling an entire building on him. He thinks there was a sorry in there, or a be right back to the scared kid he was giving up the world for.

The part that’s always stung, a burr against his core, is that they never find any sign of where Donnie went. There’s his ninpo, and his bo staff with his fucking mask tied around a bleeding wound on Casey’s arm, the hum of electricity somewhere down the corridors of his mind, and Casey safely bundled and shaking in a propped up section of rubble. His kid is so terrified, asks for Uncle Tello in a quiet whine like he knows.

He doesn’t remember the mad scramble to get there, the fact that he’d reached so far down into his struggling well of ninpo he’d felt something entirely shatter apart in his hands. The way Mikey had put his own hands over Leo’s, and brought the two of them together all at once. He only remembers the wake of whatever devastation cracks through him once it’s clear they were too late.

The recording he’d left that Leo couldn’t bring himself to listen to for weeks.

Leo would know if he died. He would. The light never goes out, but Don never comes home. It’s a loss he can’t name all the same.

It’s impossible to regather whatever off the cuff words he’d said last, before Don left. Had he said be safe? Had he said he’d loved him? They’d never needed to say it before, but the lack still haunts him. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

‘Be right back’ is a shitty thing to lie about, he thinks wryly.

It’s the first promise he’s ever broken.

The ache never leaves but there’s no time for grief. He steps outside of himself and into whatever he needs to be, and he chases the corridors in his mind to that safe space Donnie’s ninpo has always rested. The door is closed, but it’s still humming. He doesn’t know what that means.

“God, stop ,” the kid groans at him. Leo– Sensei blinks back into himself, or— to the place between what constitutes as himself these days. The spot by the tree with just the two of them. “It sucks when it’s you somehow even more than when it’s me.”

The sludge is still there, distantly. Tugging at him in ebbs and flows. Sensei makes himself breathe out, take a look at the kid. Take stock, soldier. Focus on the problem at hand, deal with your shit somewhere else.

“Or, here’s a thought: you could deal with your shit at all. Call me crazy, but this ‘shoving all my old man pain in a box and burying it deep down’ thing seems like it’s fucking us both over.” The kid whines, leaning his head back. The irony does not escape either of them, he knows. The Uno reverse is unspoken.

Magnanimously, Sensei lets it slide.

The kid’s problem is more complicated and knotted somewhere inside himself than he likes to acknowledge, at least Sensei’s is all obvious lines of too-long-losing-wars and grief. It’s all outside. The problem has always been that it’s outside.

Sensei settles beside him, hand on his knees and head tilted up to the still sky. They don’t speak for a long moment, instinctively mimicking the long drawn out grounding breaths in sync. He wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling so strange. Seeing himself from the outside like this, entirely encased in different baggage. It’s hard to think about anything other than ‘he’s so small’, loudly. On repeat. It’s not a helpful thought.

“Sorry,” Sensei breathes as the sludge lessens minutely along his back. “Should be used to that by now.”

The kid shrugs. “Is there a way to be used to it?”

He knows he’s asking for them both. The truest answer feels the most bleak, so he opts for something gentler.

“I think there has to be a way to think around it at least? Make the brain box bigger. Less likely for the shit in it to hit things.”

There’s a long sigh beside him. “Sounds exhausting.”

A long pause. “Would it… help? To talk about it?”

Man, this little blue. Sensei can’t help the smile that tilts across his heart; he’s so tentative and determined all in one. Still stretching a hand out even though he knows whatever Sensei’s going to say might bowl him right over again.

He shakes his head. “Nah. I tried once, with my Mike. It’s an old scar anyways.”

The conversation hadn’t gone anywhere helpful, even with Mikey’s ability to see right inside his brain. They’d both been too tired to argue.

“I don’t think I could do it,” the kid says, sullenly. Tiredly. He rolls his head to the side to make eye contact with Sensei. “Live without any of them.”

Yeah , he thinks. He doesn’t say that there hadn’t been much living at all. “You know it's the same for them about you, right?”

The kid scowls, turns away. “Saying things you don’t mean about yourself seems kinda useless, old man.”

I mean it about you, though , he thinks. Something twitches in the kid's face. “I had twenty years as the last resort,” Sensei offers. “Changes your perspectives on things.” Or your priorities, really. Whether or not they needed him didn’t change that he was responsible for keeping them alive.

Or that he’d failed.

It’s obvious math with the kid anyways. He can see the way the kids brother’s hover, checking in and creeping forward and patiently holding his hand, working constantly to make him feel safe. Twenty years and mires of grief isn’t enough to drown out all the big and small ways he can see how his family loves.

“What was he like,” the kid turns with a sharper look in his eyes. “Your Don.”

He sighs, lets it roll through him. “Tired.”

He closes his eyes.

“He was really tired.”

He’d barely slept, all the way up until the end. Too many defense algorithms to scrub through footage of, supposedly— he wonders now if he should have checked in more. If he should have asked.

“Yeah,” the kid says, quietly like he doesn’t expect Sensei to hear. “You feel tired a lot, too.”

Oh . He supposes that’s fair.

Sensei swallows and imagines the fractured pieces of his heart settling back into their ruins. “It’s funny, he made all the systems in our base use his voice. Had to hear him anytime someone tried to use the microwave. Technically his last words to me were ‘front door compromised’.”

“Yeah. Funny. You ever thought about therapy?”

He doesn’t want to talk about this, it never helps. The rioting part of his core that is four parts missing and agony and one part instinctive need to move forward writhes anytime he lets himself remember any of it at all. As if he does anything other than remember it.

“Kid—” He exhales.

The kid turns to face him, frowning with that divot above his brow and his dead set determined set to his beak that screams stubbornness in neon colors. “Listen. I know how— I do the same thing, with my Ang, right? You know, where he doesn’t need all of my… me-ness on top of everything. So tell me the real version, get it out of that slow cooker of a brain so you can stop freaking out every time Don breathes our direction.”

He’s having a weird brain schism, he realizes. The divides between where this kid went and where he himself had walked are so different, sometimes past him feels like a different turtle entirely. A younger one, boiling entirely over with how little he sees himself at all.

I see you , he thinks, tragically. Pointlessly.

Sensei breathes out. “There’s not much—” his voice breaks, he clenches his hand around the inexorable pull of that dark space at his edges. The kid sees all of it anyways, doesn’t he? Dancing around it only makes it more his problem, less Sensei’s alone. His throat burns with some memory of tears, it feels silly but the words crawl out of him anyways. “I just. I never got to say goodbye. We never found out if he—”

But he had to have. It’s so much worse to imagine he had been alive and trapped, that Leo had left him there in that awful world. He had to have been dead because his twin would have broken apart the planet itself to get back to them if he could have.

His shoulders round forward and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I just, I should have gotten to say goodbye.”

The kid is silent. A long moment passes.

Sensei feels a small hand carefully land on his knee. “Sorry.”

He puts his larger one over the kids, squeezes it. “Nothing for you to be sorry for, kid.” Nothing in this whole wide world. “Whatever my Don was doing, I have to believe he’s with everyone else now.” It makes it manageable, at least. Widens the box in his brain so he can think around it.

The kid hums thoughtfully. “Can we… I mean, dad talks to our ancestors and things, in the mystic plane, right? He could maybe—”

Panic wrings through him, ice cold and visceral. Sensei feels the shudder crack through both of them and their tree side hang out waver into darkness. “--right, okay.” The kid gasps. “Bad plan, got it. Noted.”

“Sorry,” Sensei manages. “I just…” He doesn’t want to know what they think of him. What any of them would say about the world he broke. He knows them, he knows, but he’d been tired for so long before that, and he doesn’t want to know that Don went slowly or painfully. That he’d been waiting for Leo to find him.

Maybe he deserves to know how much he let him down.

The kid's hand twists, squeezing his back as hard as he can. “Forget it, shit. Grounding, let’s um. Let’s do that and not whatever this is. I hate this, fuck. ”

They walk through a few start and stop steps, the kids hand tight in his the whole time as they both dig their heels in to stay. It hurts, and Sensei wants to give in. The hand in his keeps him pushing through, cracks through him enough to speak.

“He, uh,” he clears his non-corporeal throat. “He kept a section of his database specifically for chess games for me. To run on my wrist guard when I couldn’t sleep.” Which was most of the time. Sensei shakes his head. “Kept a file for Mario Party cheat codes, too.”

The kid stares at the side of his face. Breathing steadier. He can feel it like a brand. “I knew he cheated. Asshole! I knew it.”

Sensei shrugs, a laugh surprising him as choked off and wobbly as it is. “He rigged up a giant screen once. Told me he was going to come for my crown once and for all, right in front of the entire base. Raph ended up winning.”

The stare gets more intense. “No.”

“Swear on my life,” he says. Pauses. “Or, well. My ghost possession afterlife? Don was furious.”

“Raph never wins at Mario,” he can hear the cogs in the kids' heads freezing in place. Hell has rained ice, pigs have started flying. Raphael, chronically confused at Mario Party mini game rules to a truly fascinating degree, won a video game.

“It’s true,” Sensei laughs.

“Was it the pity stars?”

“It was the pity stars.”

“Ah.”

He remembers how hard Mike had laughed at that, just absolute shrieking peels of delight as the rest of his family stared in complete silence. April had needed to drag a completely feral Donnie back to his quarters because Leo ended up crying laughing with him.

There weren't a lot of those good days after they lost dad. It’s important he holds onto them. It’s important he doesn’t let himself forget even when it’s hard to think about.

“That’s a relief,” the kid says, leaning back again. “Was starting to think everything about the future was completely and morbidly depressing. Least you had Mario Party.”

At least they had Mario Party.

The kid wakes up on his own, Sensei tucked carefully somewhere in the background. There’s a flurry of commotion somewhere out in the hall that sounds a lot like Mikey and Raph, but it’s still and quiet in the med bay.

Shit, the kid thinks, looking at the clock. It’s definitely been more than a few hours since they fell under. Sensei can see the medical clip on the kid's finger is back in place before he wiggles it off.

“Number?” Don’s voice cuts in, stern. Flat. Standing with his arms crossed in the corner of the room by his desk.

They hold up a two after a long moment. “I’m fine,” the kid says. Don’s expression doesn’t change.

“Who am I talking to?”

The kid groans. “Don’t be like that, Tello. He didn’t mean to. Half of it was me, anyways.”

Don looks squarely unimpressed, but something eases in the line of his shoulders. Relieved not to be talking with the body snatcher, probably, he gets it.

“He said he dragged you under, it’s been twelve hours. Am I not supposed to think your parasite is making it worse?”

He’s not wrong either.

The kid radiates frustration at both of them. “He’s not— Dee. He’s been through a lot. Leave off him, alright? I was pissed off, he got his flip switched. I wasn’t making it easier. I’m doing good, I don’t want to be mad, okay?”

Don’s expression flickers, faltering as it always does around their particular brand of pleading honesty. “Fine, I’m not done talking about this but. Tabled, for now. What do you need.”

The kid thinks for a minute. Water would be good, Sensei nudges him.

“Would you talk to him?” The kid says instead, startling both Don and Leo.

Don recovers first, eyes narrowing. “Why.”

The kid’s brain is a mess of picture show slides, a strange warped retelling of Sensei’s own memories. It makes him wince, guilt rising thick in his chest. He’s gotta get better at locking that down.

“Look he— he misses his own Don. It’s not the same thing, but he had a rough night. Just shut up and talk to him.”

“Oxymoron,” Don and Sensei say in sync. The kid glares.

Kid, Sensei tries.

No. Not up for debate. You won’t let me tell Casey? Fine, this is my compromise. I’m tired of playing referee.

Sensei hates the pang of panic that still lights up in his mind at the thought. The kid lets out a frustrated growl.

Stop trying to leave! I’m sick of it. What if I— what if I don’t want them to pry you out of here. What then? You gonna sit here in this pissing contest stand off with my Don until we die?

There’s. A lot to unpack there, and not enough of the kid standing firm enough to do it— the conversations knocked them both back swiftly to a one that’s tenuous at best. Sensei didn’t make it so long as a general without knowing how to pick his battles, anyways.

If this is what you need from me, okay, he relents.

The kid’s glare is still hot, assessing. He turns back to himself, to the med room.

Don’s fussing with his tablet, brows twitching and his hand firmly in Leo’s good one. “‘M here, sorry.” The kid squeezes his twin's hand for them. “Just having a conversation, hard to be both places at once.”

Don’s jaw shifts. “I will refrain from the comments I desperately want to make.”

“Noted, file that under an IOU.”

Don rolls his eyes. “Scoff. As if I don’t have a mountain of those already.”

The affection in the kid is warm and strong as anything. He clears his throat. “What if I… what if I asked him to stay. Sensei. Would you be mad?”

Sensei shoves his own festering pile of guilt and doubt aside as hard as he can. Don’s expression flattens. “Why would you want to do that.”

It’s your life, Sensei whispers.

The kid shakes his head. “Casey needs him.”

There’s another need underneath it, neither him or the kid acknowledge it directly.

Don sighs, eyes squinting in the vague pained way of his. “I’m supposed to be okay with someone that is not you, taking you away from us when—” He cuts himself off, breathes out sharply.

The kid stays silent.

“Fine. Tabled. Get him out here.”

Sensei slides forwards, patting the kid on the arm distantly and ignoring his grumble about it. He’s bracing himself— he knows how Dee is, in any version of them. Getting his head chewed off would be the easiest way out.

“For the record,” Sensei starts, with a faint curve to his mouth. “I agree with you.”

The kid glares.

Don arches a brow, crossing his arms. “I don’t…. Like you, being here. I’m not convinced you aren’t impacting him in ways that are halting his progress.”

Sensei manages a shrug. “You’re probably right. I try really hard to stay out of his way where I can, but. You saw yesterday.”

Don’s jaw works, terse in every line of his body. Sensei remembers how his Don was before Raph. The way he’d gone along with all of Leo’s plans just inherently trusting that his goal was always to get everyone back out above anything else. The way he’d shifted. Their last conversation had been a lot of sharp lines like this; something adjacent to doubt. It still burns, funnily enough, even from a sixteen year old version of his twin who doesn’t know subtlety at all.

“If I told you I had figured out how to rip you out of him without injuring Leo at all, would you fight me?”

Sensei nearly laughs, I’d thank you, he tries not to think. “No,” he says with a stronger lilting smile. “I’d just ask that you do it before Case realizes I’m here. He doesn’t need that.”

Something in Don’s face shifts. “When Leo says you’ve been through a lot, what does that mean.”

“Ah,” Sensei huffs. “Maybe not a conversation for right now—” He can feel the daggers of the kid’s ire, nonetheless. Sighs. “Krang won where I’m from, Case probably mentioned.”

“And that means?”

He winces. “A lot of things that are hard to remember, mostly.”

Don’s gaze is assessing. He types something onto his wrist guard. “Any triggers I should know about?”

You. Raph. Dad. He breathes out. Shakes his head.

“Fine. Bring him back, please.”

The kid’s eye roll is something fierce internally, externally it’s too much effort to muster. “Dee. That was barely anything.”

Don shrugs. “I talked to him, didn’t I?”

It’s fine , Sensei reassures him. He means that it wouldn’t help, not with the hole that’s been carved in him for years.

There’s nothing at all in the world for what he’s missing. He should just be better at it. The missing.

Something stubborn lights up in the kid, a spark he doesn’t think he’s seen in the younger turtle since they crash landed together. Fuck this.

“Can I ask you something and have you promise you won’t get mad?”

Don’s brow twitches. “I’m not promising shit.”

A pause. “Say it anyways.”

“If you went somewhere,” the kid starts, and his voice shakes like a nervous glance over his shoulder. Sensei tenses immediately. “If you went somewhere, and you didn’t know how to come back. What would you do?”

Don’t , Sensei thinks, helplessly.

“Wouldn’t happen,” Don says. Not a moment of hesitation. “I wouldn’t let it happen.”

“What if you didn’t have a choice?” The kid asks.

He has to imagine his Don didn’t have a choice either, clings to it with everything in him. He didn’t know the kid had seen that, the wilful refusal to believe in any world where the other half of himself would walk away on purpose.

He doesn’t know the expression on Don’s face. He’s seen it before, at the planning table. After missions. He’s never known what it meant. “I’d come back,” Don says, like it’s obvious.

This younger version of his brother, some spun off worried and sideways Donnie, leans forward and pokes the kid as carefully as he can in the center of his chest.

“If I still exist, in any universe, I’d be coming back.”

Sensei swallows. He remembers this; that simple constant of trust, of knowing half himself sat between his ribs and the other behind a desk with a computer screen. He remembers believing it, too.

There’s a hallway in his mind that he goes to, where his ninpo once lived and breathed. A living room where he kept all the lights on. There’d been a time where all the rooms and all the doors had been flung wide open. They’ve been shut for years now.

“If you didn’t?” The kid asks, voice small.

Sensei walks through the empty room, hand trailing against the wall of his mind. He hasn’t visited this door, hasn’t been able to think about it around the hurt in him. He presses his forehead to the wood of it, now.

“If I’m gone, it would never be forever. You’d just have to wait longer.”

In his dreams, or at least where he goes when the kid is sleeping, the door is warm.

He sits himself against it, and pretends it's the same as the door being open. To feel his brother existing here at all.

Sometimes he thinks he can almost hear someone knocking back.

#my fic #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise leo #rottmnt leo #i still dont know how to tag death wish content help #rem makes me want to like absorb their words and spontaneously combust while also thinking more about descriptions and pauses so #thats what this is basically a love letter to peepaw

33 notes · View notes

totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus · 1 day ago

Text

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 22/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on Ao3 (current chapter)

Read on AO3 (from beginning)

“Would witch blood heal you faster?”

Tommy didn’t think he had heard correctly, at first…or perhaps had just imagined that Evan had spoken at all. That was far, far more logical, far more possible than the idea that Evan would willingly offer to let Tommy drink from him. He went still, even the burning, pulsing pain that radiated through his torso as his body struggled to heal the grievous wound, fading to a dull, background throb on the edge of his consciousness.

Evan stared at him unblinkingly, his eyes as blue as a sunlit sky, nothing but calm curiosity in them. He hadn’t misheard. He wasn’t imagining it.

“Evan,” he breathed out. His teeth ached at the thought of tasting his witch’s blood again, his whole body throbbing with want at the memory of the power, the warmth, the sheer life that had poured into him with every mouthful. To have that again; to have it willingly. To take Evan in his arms again, to have his witch offering himself—the bolt of sheer longing that shot through him nearly sent him to his knees right there in the motel room. But…

“No. I’m not going to ask you to do that.” Evan didn’t want it. He couldn’t possibly want to let Tommy drink from him. He was being pragmatic, strategic. He wasn’t wrong that allowing Tommy to drink from him would heal Tommy faster. Another infusion of witch blood would make them both safer. It was a smart move.

But God he didn’t think he could bear it if his witch offered himself to him and didn’t want it.

Didn’t want him.

Not the way he wanted Evan.

And oh, he did. He wanted Evan so, so badly. It had been building practically from the moment he laid eyes on his witch, and the full truth of it washed over him now, with Evan’s offer hanging in the air between them. He wanted this brave, incredible man. He wanted his witch’s loyalty and his selflessness, and his quick wit and intelligence. He wanted to take his witch to his bed, to map out every inch of his body until he knew it as well as he knew his own; knew what made Evan moan, and writhe, and sigh. He wanted his witch’s body.

He wanted his witch’s heart.

He wanted to know that this strange connection that had been surging between them was reciprocated, wanted to know that Evan felt the same desperate urge to protect and possess and just be near him. He wanted it all.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Evan said quietly. He swallowed, and Tommy’s eyes were drawn helplessly to the motion of his throat. He could detect no trace of hesitance in Evan’s voice, no fear in his heartbeat or his scent. God, his scent.

It would hurt. It would hurt so much to have this, have him and know it wouldn’t last. Wouldn’t be offered again. It might just kill him to have Evan like this and know that to his witch, it was just an alliance…when to him, Evan was becoming everything. But he wanted him so, so badly.

Evan stood, and whatever strength Tommy had to resist crumbled like a sandcastle under an ocean wave. Despite the terrible injury his body was still struggling to heal, a shudder of desire wracked through him, and he scented the air, inhaling the delicious, maddening smell of his witch. He reached for Evan, only to curl his hand into a fist and force it back down. He had to know Evan was consenting to this—had to know his witch was certain.

“Are you sure?” he gasped out, his voice low and snarling, a growl reverberating in his chest that he couldn’t conceal. For a moment, he thought he saw Evan shiver at the noise, his eyes darkening slightly…but that couldn’t be right. It had to be a trick of the light.

“You can do it without hurting me, right?” Evan asked, as if the idea of harming him wasn’t impossible to Tommy now. As if Tommy could ever do anything to hurt his beautiful, beautiful witch. He reached for Evan again, desperate to touch him, to hold him…but at the last moment he remembered the gore that encrusted his hands and arms.

“I’d never hurt you,” he swore, and knew it for the absolute truth.

“Then let me help you,” Evan said.

Tommy felt his eyes shift, the scarlet glow of the hunter he was shining through in anticipation. His fangs dropped in his mouth and he called upon every bit of control he had to rein it back in. Evan’s heart did not so much as skip a beat in fear, and somehow that was his undoing. He looked down at his hands and then held them out to his witch, silently begging. He needed to touch. “I—can you?” he asked, nearly groaning aloud when Evan needed no further explanation.

His witch murmurs the same spell he’d done in the car, and the same rush of warm wind kicks up between them, swirling around him and whisking his skin clean of dried blood and debris. The scent of Evan grows richer, closer, more prominent, carried by the manifestation of his magic, and Tommy thinks he could quite happily spend the rest of eternity wrapped in that delicious scent. Before it had even died down, he was reaching for his witch, finally wrapping his hand around the warm skin of Evan’s wrist, pulling his witch closer.

Evan went came willingly, closing the distance between them until Tommy could feel the heat radiating off of his witch’s body. He was close enough that Tommy could let go of his wrist, could wrap his arms around his trim waist and pull him close, bury his face in the soft skin of Evan’s belly and just breathe him in. He wondered if Evan would let him.

“How do you want to do this?” Evan asked. “Um, are you gonna—” He raised his hand and gestured vaguely towards his own neck.

Instantly, Tommy shook his head. “No. No, not there,” he said. No, that would be…too much. He had to have some kind of self-preservation. He could not imagine drawing Evan into his arms again, sinking his fangs into his witch’s vulnerable throat, and ever being okay with not having that again. It would ruin him. He knew it would ruin him. He squeezed Evan’s wrist gently, brushing his thumb over the throbbing beat of his pulse and looking up at his witch questioningly.

Evan nodded, and Tommy felt his fangs fully descend; knew his irises were gleaming a solid ruby-red. “Lie down,” he said, barely able to keep his voice steady. If his heart could still beat it would be pounding out of his ribs by now. “I won’t take much, I promise. But just in case.”

He was only going to drink enough to accelerate his healing. No more than Evan would lose if he went to donate blood. Not enough to hurt him, never enough to hurt him—but he wanted his witch to be comfortable. He levered himself to his feet and watched as Evan pulled the comforter that he’d been unable to avoid dripping blood on off the bed. His witch kicked off his shoes and crawled up onto the bed, stretching out and looking up at him with calm, steady eyes.

“God Evan,” he whispered under his breath. “Thank you.” Inadequate words for the gift his witch was giving him—not just the power of his blood, but the trust of letting him do this. Gingerly, he sat down on the mattress next to Evan’s hip, wishing with all his heart that he had the right to stretch out beside his witch, to draw him into his arms and hold him close. “I—it won’t feel like it did at Gerrard’s party without the thrall,” he warned, not wanting to frighten Evan, but also unwilling to leave him unprepared. He would be as gentle as he possibly could…but it wouldn’t be painless. He hesitated briefly, and then offered, “I could put you back under.”

He didn’t want to. Selfishly, he didn’t want to experience this knowing that Evan was lost in the false haze of his thrall. If this was the only time Evan gave himself over to Tommy willingly, he wanted it to be real. Still, he also hated the thought of causing his witch any pain. He was relieved, though, when Evan quickly shook his head.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Just take what you need.” He held up his hand for Tommy to take.

Everything, Tommy thought desperately, taking Evan’s hand in his with a sense of wondering disbelief. Will you let me have everything?

“I can stop myself,” he promise. “If it starts to hurt too much, or you start to feel dizzy or sick, just tell me.”

Evan was silent, still staring up at him with eyes that Tommy thought he might happily drown in if only his witch would let him. “I trust you, Tommy,” he said, and Tommy thought it might be the first time Evan had said his name deliberately. It sounded even sweeter than the other times, sweeter than he thought it could.

He closed his eyes, drawing Evan’s hand closer to his mouth. He could not resist dragging his nose against the soft, vulnerable skin of his witch’s wrist, inhaling deeply, filling his long-still lungs with the heady, tempting scent of his witch. “Evan,” he whispered, every bit as fervently as he had ever recited and prayer or litany of saints.

He bit down.

He was sitting next to his witch in a cheap motel room, the glorious, rich taste of Evan’s blood exploding on his tongue, sliding down his throat, filling him with heat and warmth and life like he hadn’t known since the days when he could walk under the sun.

He was standing in the middle of a moonlit, snowy field, surrounded by an arcane symbol sketched out in river rocks, watching with quiet despair as a woman knelt in the snow, a squirming, crying bundle of blankets on the ground in front of her.

He was thrashing in his father’s arms as his mother chanted, the discordant, harsh sound of the words scraping over his ears, their wrongness filling the surrounding air like smoke.

“Dad! Daddy stop! Stop! Evan’s scared!” he cried, but his father’s arms just tightened around him, holding him close, holding him still.

“It’s all right, Danny,” Dad muttered. “It’s all going to be all right.”

Mom’s spell reached its crest, and she raised the knife again—not the small, silver blade she used in rituals sometimes, this was longer. Sharper. She’d cut his baby brother, he realized, that was Evan’s blood on the ground, black under the moonlight.

His witch’s blood was sweeter than nectar on his tongue, the best thing he’d ever tasted, liquid fire pouring through him and he could feel his tissue start to knit together faster, muscle and bone and skin repairing itself.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t cry out, couldn’t rush forward and knock the knife from the woman’s hand. He never could. He watched with tired eyes as the woman—his mother? No…no, not his mother. His witch’s. Evan’s mother. Daniel’s mother.

Who was Daniel?

“Daddy,” he whimpered, his brother’s cries growing louder and louder. “Daddy, she’s hurting him.”

“It’s all right, Danny. Soon everything will be okay,” Dad whispered. All around them, the river rocks started to glow—but not the comforting white light of witch magic that he was used to. There was something sickly about it…like gray, half-melted slush instead of crisp white snow. Dirty. The magic felt dirty and tears rose in his eyes, spilled down his cheeks.

“Bring him here,” his mother ordered, and her voice sounded so strange. Colder than he’d ever heard it. Tighter. There was something hard and harsh and awful in his mother’s voice, something that scared him. He wanted Maddie. Something was wrong with their parents; they were hurting Evan! Where was Maddie? He needed his sister.

Dad carried him forward, quickly kneeling down in the same section of the river rocks that Mom and Evan were in. He tried to scramble back into his father’s lap when Dad set him down on the snow, but his father pushed him away.

“Be a good boy and hold your brother, Danny,” Mom said, gathering Evan up and holding him out, the way she did when he asked to sit on the couch and feed Evan his bottle.

He was crying now, big gulping sobs that made it hard to breathe, made his head hurt. Evan was screaming and some part of him wanted to believe he was dreaming. He wanted to open his eyes and find out he was dreaming—his mother hadn’t hurt his baby brother and made him scream like that; the air wasn’t filled with magic that burned and hurt when it brushed his senses; this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Mom was still holding Evan out to him, though, and he let her put his baby brother in his arms, let her settle Evan in his lap like they did when they sat on the couch together. He couldn’t shove Evan away. Never. Mom and Dad scrambled up as soon as he was holding Evan, stumbling out of the lines of river rock.

“Mama?” he whimpered. “Daddy, I’m scared!” Evan was still screaming, and he tried to bounce his brother like Maddie did, tried to rock him and make him feel better, but his shoulders were still shaking with his own sobs. Eventually, he just curled over his baby brother, holding him as close as he could while the magic swirled around them.

He watched the little boy clutch the baby close, watched as their parents collapsed into each other’s arms, the woman staring at her children with a wild, almost crazed light in her eyes as the dingy, grayish magic danced around them in a cloud. His heart clenched in his chest, knowing what was coming and knowing just as well that he couldn’t stop it. This had already happened.

He drank, the power of his witch’s blood surging through him, tangling around him, drawing them closer and closer and closer. He could feel Evan, could feel the essence of his witch, could feel him down to what was left of his soul after so long. There was no part of Evan that was not laid bare to him, no part of him that was not laid bare to Evan. He had no idea where he ended and his witch began and he could feel the magic between them, drawing them together, holding them together.

He held his brother tighter as the strange, wrong magic swept over and through him…over and through Evan. Something pulled at them, circled around them, and he could feel it dragging at his magic, dragging at Evan’s magic, tying the two together in a way that didn’t feel good. It was like they were sitting in the middle of a whirlpool, a current racing between them. He could feel it, could feel Evan’s magic like he’d never been able to before.

It was pulling Evan’s magic toward him.

The thought skipped through his head as his baby brother screamed. Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t have a familiar, yet. He hadn’t had anything but the most basic training on how to control his magic. But he was a Buckley witch. One of the strongest coven lines in the country—he was not trained in magic, yet, but he understood it.

They were trying to take his brother’s magic and give it to him.

The understanding slammed into him, and he held his brother tighter.

The memory played out in front of him, and he wished to God he could turn away from the pain of it.

The connection surged between him and his witch, and he never wanted it to fade, never wanted to lose it.

His parents were trying to give him his brother’s magic, and he wanted to scream. It wasn’t right…this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Evan’s crying started to get quieter, weaker, and he knew in his heart that the spell was hurting Evan. Was hurting his baby brother. The sucking, dragging pull on his brother’s magic would leave him empty and hurting and weak. It would make him stronger, would give his coven’s healing spells and rituals more to hold onto, more to work with. It might save his life.

But it would kill his brother.

He knew it, even if he didn’t know how he knew. Whatever his parents were doing, it was going to kill his baby brother. He sat up from his hunched-over position, tried to get his knees under him so he could crawl out of the lines of stone, tried to drag himself and his brother free…but the spell held him fast. He couldn’t move.

“Don’t be scared, baby. It’s almost over!” Mom called out, and she sounded like she was crying too. She sounded scared, sounded like she wanted to scream. He didn’t understand. Why were they doing this? How could they do this? Evan was just a baby! He was his baby brother and he and Maddie loved him. They loved him so, so much. They’d been so excited when Mom and Dad told them they were having another baby…how could his parents do this?

The spell swept around them. Around and around and around, yanking at Evan’s magic, pulling at Evan’s magic, draining it into him. Evan wasn’t squirming anymore, wasn’t screaming or crying. Dying. His brother was dying.

No. No, he was the one who was dying. Mom and Dad tried to pretend it wasn’t true. Maddie tried to pretend. But he knew. He was dying, and nothing could change that. Nothing was supposed to change that. He looked down at his brother’s sweet face. It was supposed to be him, not Evan. It wasn’t fair of their parents to make it be Evan. It wasn’t fair.

He was too young for formal training in magic; too young for a familiar or a spellbook or lessons. But he understood magic. He understood how it worked. Every spell was built on intention. To make magic do what you wanted it to, you had to want it.

He was Evan’s big brother. It was his job to love him, and protect him, and look out for him. The same way Maddie loved, and protected, and looked out for him. He was Evan’s brother.

And he wanted his brother to live.

He took a deep breath and held his brother closer to his chest. “I love you, Ev,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I’m not going to let you get hurt.” He held that thought, concentrating as hard as he could on how much he loved his baby brother, how much he did not want this to be happening. He bit his lip, and wished that he had been able to tell Maddie how much he loved her, too.

Then, he faced the dragging, sucking pull of the spell that was stealing his brother’s magic to give to him…and refused the intention.

The whirlpool slowed, as though the spell didn’t quite understand what he was doing. The flow of his brother’s magic into him stuttered, and he pushed harder. I don’t want it, he thought, and tried to put all of his power, all of his magic behind it. I don’t want it. I refuse it. Give it back to him. Give it back…give it back…give it back!

The spell seemed to creak and crack around them, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents suddenly straighten up. It didn’t matter. He could feel the spell trembling, shaking, the power that his parents had poured into it, the power his brother’s blood had given it needing somewhere to go. The spell had to complete. That was okay—he’d made his choice. And he wasn’t going to let his little brother get hurt for him. He was going to protect Evan, no matter what.

He felt it when the spell latched onto him and started reversing itself, knew that it was going to hurt. Knew that this was probably the last thing he’d ever do. That was okay, too. He was tired of being in pain all the time…maybe whatever was coming after wouldn’t hurt. He felt the spell building again, felt it tear into him with sharp, sharp claws and start dragging his magic out of his body, funneling it into his brother’s.

He bent over Evan again and pressed a soft kiss to his baby brother’s cheek. “It’s okay, Ev,” he whispered, his voice already fading and weak. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Tommy gasped, his eyes flying open to find Evan staring at him in shock, his mouth hanging slightly open. Slowly, as gently as possible, he withdrew his fangs from his witch’s wrist, barely resisting the urge to press his lips against the wounds, as if he could soothe them like a child’s injury.

He held onto Evan’s hand, meeting his witch’s eyes in confusion as the images of the snowy field played over and over in his mind. But how? Sure, it wasn’t unusual to experience flashes of thoughts or memories when drinking from a thralled victim—and he’d assumed the intensity of the vision he’d first experienced at Gerrard’s party had been somehow tied to Evan’s magic. But Evan had not been under his thrall just now!

The power of Evan’s blood rushed through him, the pain of his wound diminishing to nothing as the flesh of his torso finished knitting itself together. But Tommy’s attention wasn’t on the relief of the pain disappearing, or the incredible strength that filled his limbs and tingled in his blood.

He could only stare at his witch. He felt as though he had just been handed the answers to a hundred questions that had been plaguing him from the moment he rescued Evan from the party….and he didn’t understand a damn one of them.

“Evan,” he said, and his hand tightened on his witch’s involuntarily at the quiet devastation filling those gentle blue eyes. “What was that?”

#911 abc #evan buckley #911 tv show #evan buck buckley #mywriting #bucktommy #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #shameless self promotion #kinley #tevan #tevan fic

39 notes · View notes

lightwithinthedarknessu · 2 days ago

Text

Destined ※ Star Speckled Sunset

A SoKai Fic written for @twosidesfanzine

I had a deliciously sweet time writing for @twosidesfanzine and was paired with the wonderful @wiavi who created the most beautiful spot art for the story! Leftover sales are still open so head on over here to pick up your very own sokai and rokunami cookbook!

Thank you so much for having me!

Summary: As the first step on their next journey, Sora and Kairi return to the Islands to fulfill a long-held tradition. Along the way they meet a few friends and reaffirm just how sweet it is to cook together side by side. Set post-KH3, featuring familar friends from the Islands, seafaring folklore, reaffirmed oaths, new outfits, and descriptions of delicious sweets.

Full fic under read more and on AO3

Kairi took a deep breath, savoring the soft breeze as she stepped onto the island shore. Their round-trip visit to Master Yen Sid’s was longer than expected, earning a stretch and a yawn from Sora as he exited the Gummi Ship. His dark red hoodie peeked out from underneath his dark grey and black cotton jacket. Paired with his lax and loose cargo pants, Sora looked like he had finally grown into his clothes. Kairi jogged up behind him, dressed from head to toe in a long light pink overcoat. Her pink plaid flare dress swayed as she linked arms with Sora, beaming at the realization they’d made it back, safe and sound.

Sora and Kairi were done for now with fighting Heartless, Nobodies, and denizens of darkness. Their long-held promise of traveling the worlds was a reality. When deciding where they would begin their journey, the islands were an obvious choice. A world filled with greetings and partings. It only seemed fitting that they meet with their friends before going off on a long journey.

Kairi was practically giddy at first. But now, seeing their little island off in the distance, her eyes began to sting. The image of Sora fading away shimmered in her mind’s eye. Her racing heart faltered at the memory as she clung to him a bit tighter.

“It feels just like yesterday, that we were here,” she said, taking another breath to steady herself.

Sora tilted his head, not sure what brought on her sudden change. But a grin soon spread across his face as he put an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “Hmm, just tells you that nothing really changes! I’m glad, it’s nice to be back. I can’t wait to see everyone!”

Kairi reddened at their sudden closeness before easing into his rhythm. Sora was right, the Islands never changed, not really. Even if they had, it was a comfort to return to a place so closely tied to their hearts. “Yeah, and this time we aren’t saying goodbye, not really. It’s more like we’re setting off again and it’s an exciting journey. I can’t wait to see what other worlds we’ll find!” Kairi giggled as she broke free from his embrace and ran ahead of him. The tall hill before them extended off past the horizon.

Sora put his hands on his hips and drank in the scene of his hometown. There were a few new rooftops and terraces sprinkled about, but all in all, it was the same sleepy little beachside town he loved. “Yeah! I wanna see all that’s out there. But I’m glad to be back home for a bit, one last time before we set off on our own adventure. No Heartless, no Nobodies, just the two of us.” Sora beamed at her. It was a smile as bright as the sun on a clear summer’s day. Kairi felt all her past worries fade into the shadows cast by his light.

“Hmm, there may be some Heartless around. But I know you and I can take 'em!” Kairi pumped a fist as Sora fell into light laughter beside her.

“I know,” he said, gripping her hand a bit tighter. “So, where should we stop by first?”

Kairi traced the outline of a small square of double-folded paper in her jacket pocket. There was a place she wanted to go, and something she wanted to do—fulfill a dream she’d had for a long time. “Do you remember—when your mother first invited me over for your father’s Voyager Dinner?”

“Yeah, of course!” Sora grinned.

“Your mom…she told me the legend behind it, back then you know,” Kairi began.

***

It was both long ago, and yet just yesterday that a treasured memory took root in Kairi’s heart one sunset-kissed evening. It all began after a full day at the beach looking for sea glass with Sora. The two had taken their little haul and rushed to O’aka’s Odds and Ends, fully expecting to stuff their cheeks with candy before dinner. O’aka would usually buy the little bobbles from the kids in exchange for a bottle of Ramune or sweets. But not this evening. Instead, the two ran into Sora’s mother, who was out shopping for a “Voyager’s Dinner.”

“What’s a Voyager’s Dinner?”

“A seafarer’s wish of good luck,” Sora’s mother explained.

Sora soon stepped in with his own excitement and described how delicious the dessert was—asserting that Kairi had to have dinner with them and try it.

Wide-eyed and filled with curiosity, Kairi stood next to Sora’s mother in the kitchen that night, her tiny hands gripping the counter as she diverted all her attention to the woman’s careful movements. A gentle folding of dough and a scattering of cubes of butter left the little girl salivating. As Sora’s mother began to smooth the dough, Kairi dared to ask what it was she was making. What made it so special? Slowly, the woman’s voice filled with the crackle of the warmth of a fire and weaved a tale.

“Long ago, the seas were rougher and the night sky darker than it is now. Only a few stars twinkled in the sky and could guide seafarers to their destination. The mainland itself was larger, much larger than it is now, and connected to so many other villages. And the sea, well, it was so large that you could travel hours by boat and only barely see the shore of another island. Our people, spurred on by the tales of passing travelers, took up their masts and set out to sea to find new lands, aware of the dangers and all they could lose.

Still, despite the pleas of their families , many decided they must set off for broader horizons. And so, the mothers, fathers, lovers, and friends banded together to wish their passionate travelers well. One proposed that they use the mystical properties of the paopu to ensure their loved ones would return. Another felt they should make a dish that could give them the warmth of home for one last time. And so, they put their heads together and created something that could give both. A crust so thin and crumbly, filled with the richest butter to sate their appetites. A smooth crème to cut the fat, and lastly topped with the tart soul-connecting fruit.

They say that even after the world changed and the stars in the sky grew in number, eating this tart brought their loved ones home even years later. And so we continue to make it as a send-off, a way to wish them a safe voyage home and remind them of the connection we share. We don’t use the paopu much anymore…but I like to sneak it in. Don’t tell anyone else, ok?”

***

Back then Kairi had giggled and found herself dreaming of what it would be like to create her own tart for someone she loved. And now was the perfect time to make that dream a reality. She licked her lips as she fumbled with the small slip of paper in her hand.

“I had forgotten about it—the recipe I mean. Until I remembered your name again. Somehow, I knew I’d see you again soon so—I asked your mom for it.” Kairi gingerly handed Sora the recipe and placed her hand over his. “I couldn’t find the right time to make it till now but…this time...”

Sora’s eyes were focused on her the whole time, searching her expression for the truth behind her eyes. He knew what she wanted to say and it made his heart flutter. “Let’s make it together since we’re leaving again. We can go say hi to everyone while we shop for ingredients!”

Kairi beamed. He always seemed to notice what she wanted to do even before she said the words. Hand in hand the two headed off to find all they needed.

***

Word got out fast around Destiny Islands. For a seafaring village, gossip and new arrivals were always the talk of the town, so Sora and Kairi’s return didn’t go unnoticed. Reunions abounded with familiar faces, some tearful and others filled with laughter as the two visited store after store hunting for ingredients. The pair even stopped by O’aka’s and ran into a bubbly Selphie who got in a few teasing comments.

“Here for some special ‘announcement’ to your parents before going off again?”

Kairi and Sora bashfully took a glance at one another—they had never told anyone how committed they were, yet Selphie already knew at a glance. Now wasn’t the time, but maybe someday they’d share everything with their families and friends.

As Kairi and Sora gathered their ingredients, a familiar pair of friends entered the shack with the loudest and cheeriest of greetings. Tidus and Wakka, although a bit taller, had hardly changed at all. Kairi admired how easily the two conversed with Sora as if no time had passed since he’d last been home. It was heartening to see how much of an impact he still had on their hearts. With a brisk goodbye and promise of a reunion, the two bid farewell to their friends.

Before leaving, Selphie slipped a grateful Kairi a bag of fruits. Inside shined a ripened paopu fruit. With a wink and a smile, a girl starving for the future juicy details wished her traveling friend good luck.

****

Kairi was reminded of Sora’s cooking skills immediately upon entering his mother’s kitchen. Although it had been years, the boy knew where everything was kept and didn’t miss a beat gathering the pots and pans they needed.

Joy filled his features as the two poured over his mother’s detailed recipe. Kairi could tell he was excited to use what he had learned from Remy on a dish all his own. Teasingly, she suggested that he should teach her a few skills along the way.

Sora got into the idea more than she expected and took on his own little chef role to guide her through the process. With every chop, sift, and stir, the klutzy boy from her memories was replaced by the image of a true chef.

The crack of a perfect egg by two and a whisk of sugar. The gentle click of a gaslit stove and a warm simmer of coconut milk slowly helped the pair gain a rhythm as they baked.

While the pastry crème chilled, the two made the puff pastry. Along the way, Kairi tossed a pinch of flour at Sora in a sudden fit of mischief, earning a teasing grin and a dash of flour to her own face. His laughter filled the air. It reminded Kairi of the wholeness she had felt back then cooking alongside Sora’s family in a home filled with laughter and love.

After the chopping of fruit and a couple of hours of reminiscing, the tart was complete. Or so Sora thought. Kairi insisted on adding one more special fruit. With an impish grin, she pulled out her secret ingredient, much to Sora’s heartfelt surprise.

Together, the two dotted the top of the tart with thin slices of paopu fruit.

***

Kairi and Sora arrived at the Play Island with a wicker picnic basket dangling between them. Gingerly, Sora hoisted Kairi up onto the paopu tree before taking his place beside her. The setting sun before them was a welcome sight—a perfect end to their last day on the islands. Tucked inside the basket was the tart, glistening like the evening sunset. Sora cut a slice for the two of them. He held up a slice to Kairi with a boyish grin, taunting her to take a bite.

An ache that had long persisted inside her heart faded away at the gesture. For over a year she couldn’t bring herself to visit the island—not until she brought Sora home. It was a fleeting dream come true to be here, with him, full and whole. Beaming, she held up her own slice—the two completing the ritual once more.

The taste of their shared tart was sweet and refreshing, the tang of the fruit juice filling their taste buds with the nostalgia of home and the sunset’s burst of light. Gone was the bittersweet memory of their last parting at the base of the paopu tree, replaced with the promise of a new beginning.

“You know, back at that Voyager’s Dinner—I was so happy you were there, Kairi. It felt like a piece I was missing had finally fallen into place,” Sora said, red kissing the tips of his ears.

Kairi leaned in and gave Sora a playful kiss. “Me too. I felt at home. You were all so welcoming, and it was like a part of me that was missing became whole. My home is with you Sora, now and forever.”

Sora interlaced their hands and smiled. “No matter where we go, or how far, our connection will bring us back—

“Safe and sound.” Kairi finished. A promise and a childhood wish were fulfilled against the fading horizon, a tried and true guarantee for a safe voyage.

Notes:

Written for Two Sides Zine Volume 2: A SoKai and RokuNami Cookbook! I'm so thankful to have had the chance to write for sokai, a dream come true project and I had the most amazing time working on it!

Thank you to Wiavi for bringing the story to life with her gorgeous spot art. It was amazing to work together and I just adore how you protrayed the scenes! Kairi's conflicting emotions come through so brilliantly and their little chibi forms cooking make my heart warm every time I see them!

And thank you to Phoenix and Liv for editing the story. Your feedback and lovely comments during the whole process really made this zine piece a love letter to SoKai and I grew so much as a writer because of it! It was so wonderful and a blast to work alongside everyone! I had so much fun and truly loved every minute.

Thank you to @true-intha-blu for the absolutely delicious tart recipe that inspired the same tart in the story! Your feedback and direction for the recipe made every mouth-watering detail come to life in words, I'm so happy we got to work together! If you haven't, definitely pick up a copy of the zine to enjoy the delicious recipes <3 Thank you all so much!

27 notes · View notes

inkedaway · 1 day ago

Text

What's in a name (Dandadan)

Title: What's in a name?

Notes: People wanted more, so here you go, have more! I'm glad people liked the previous chapter. This one takes Okarun's POV and runs with it. I hope the distinction of thought process makes it through in a coherent manner when he's transformed and you know, not. I'm happy to add more to it, as mentioned - I just need scene ideas to put into chapters. There's no end here, it's just a collection of one shots at this point. If an idea sparks and I wish to explore it, I will gladly add to it. Thanks again guys, feel free to leave ideas if you wish!

Pairing: Momo/Okarun romantic undertones, this is pure fluff

Rating: G (there is one instance of the word Fuck, but... )

Summary: This wasn't to say he didn't appreciate the nickname she had given him, because he did. It was without a doubt, the first thing genuinely given to him by another person, and he treasured it dearly; it had meaning, power behind it, and whenever anyone called him by it now, it reminded him instantly of her.

Ao3 link: Here

Can also be read under the read more here.

Ken hadn't really given his name much thought before. It was just... a thing, a word imposed on him, and it had never held that much importance. That was, until he'd stumbled across someone that, for whatever reason, hadn't wanted to say it. It had bothered him at the time, and even now, something about her not calling him by it rankled in the back of his mind, somewhere deep, deep down, where he threw all thoughts and emotions he didn't want to inspect too closely.

This wasn't to say he didn't appreciate the nickname she had given him, because he did. It was without a doubt, the first thing genuinely given to him by another person, and he treasured it dearly; it had meaning, power behind it, and whenever anyone called him by it now, it reminded him instantly of her. Not that he needed it to be reminded of her though. Momo Ayase was never far from the forefront of his mind now a days, and he often found himself thinking stray thoughts that had never occurred to him before came along and catapulted herself into his life.

Thoughts like, oh, she'd like this, or oh, she'd absolutely despise this other thing. More than once, he'd found himself squirreling away a shiny rock he'd found that reminded him of her earrings, a small piece of candy with an alien themed wrapper, or even entire magazines on the single notion that she'd like them, and he should thus, of course, present them to her. Never once had he actually gone through it; not once had he actually scrunched up the courage to actually give her the thing he'd secreted away for her, much too self conscious to do so when the notion actually caught up with him. He liked to think it was the intention that matter, and that he just needed a push, and maybe some day soon he'd manage.

Despite what some people thought, Ken was not an idiot; far from it, in his personal opinion. It'd taken him his first journey into her room, back when they were still trying to figure out what to do about Turbo Granny that first day, to realize exactly why she hadn't been able to say his name out loud, and he hadn't taken it out on her. Despite being slightly naive about many things, he wasn't exactly slow, and what he lacked in wisdom, he made up for in other ways. He was, perhaps, not as sharp as Ayase herself in the heat of the moment, but he was no slouch.

Still he'd decided to make no comment on the elephant in the room at the time. He'd not brought it up, and had kept his mouth shut. In a way, he'd come to adopt the nickname like it was his first name, and he'd just felt grateful for it. Even so... it still poked at a small, insecure part of him, deep, deep down in his soul, that she wouldn't say it, even when he didn't want to admit to it out loud.

It was perhaps, some small part of those feelings that slipped through when he was transformed. He couldn't really say.

She'd asked him several times what if felt like when he transformed, and he couldn't quite put it into words correctly. Did he go anywhere? Was it still him in there, fully? Did something else take over? And... no, nothing took over. It was just him, but, maybe... more. It was like his feelings were enhanced, not just his senses, but his actual emotions (and God, what did that say about him, that depression was the one in the wheel house? He didn't really want to poke that thought too much, given what it said about him). He'd noticed he was prone to be much more honest with his feelings and surroundings in that form, like there was no filter between brain and his mouth, and what he felt, he just blurted out.

Emotion fueled that form, at the end of the day.

The first few times he'd slipped into that form unbidden, it had been rage fueling it. Rage unlike anything he'd felt before that had sparked change into existence. He'd never been a particularly angry or argumentative kid; he'd never really fought back against bullies. Has never really tried to, never thought it was worth it to do so. Ken figured it had to be something about Ayase that brought it out of him, because he distinctly recalled clapping back at her several times that day, in a way he'd never thought of doing to his bullies. She'd just been worth it, from the very start.

She'd asked him why he called her by her first name in that form, and truth was, he'd wanted to do so since the first day, honestly, but he'd not been able to. He hadn't hadn't found the courage to do so. Afraid of being inadequate, of just not being enough, and in his defense, this was all just new to him. There wasn't a book to drive him through the very real messy process of actually having a friend.

And again, Ken wasn't stupid. He wasn't an idiot. He may have been awkward, and he may have been new at the whole friendship thing, but he smart enough to have realized after a while that some of the thoughts he held for her were not exactly in the friendship department. He hadn't even begun to untangle that mess, and he wasn't ready to poke and prod at it, but he wasn't stupid. He knew himself at least.

Something about that form however, just seemed to destroy most inhibition, and thus, the name just slipped out, time and time again. It wasn't that he didn't want to say it; he very much did. Ken didn't think he could help it, as much as he couldn't help the strangely spindly arms and anatomy he gained, or his hair from changing color.

It was just a thing, and he'd had to get used to it. It was what it was.

Specially because anger wasn't exactly the only emotion that could trigger a transformation. Fear was just as capable of it as well.

He'd found out the hard way, when a particularly loud sound had crashed through her temple one day when she'd gone outside to fetch something. She'd left him in her room, promising she'd be back as soon as possible, and to make himself comfortable. Ken had sat himself on the floor and had been admiring the organized chaos of the room, and the certain lack of posters he could remember from the first day there, when the sound had caught his attention. Metal like, loud and in his fear hazed mind, entirely out of place.

He'd been up on his feet, transformed and zooming outside her room faster than he'd been able to react or even process thought in a coherent manner. The burst of speed enough that he was outside and in front of her before the sound had even stopped reverberating across the premises. The fear that something had happened while he'd been upstairs and she outside had been visceral, and when he found her looking owlishly at him, with pipes around her (clearly the source of the sound), the relief had been just as visceral, "Momo..."

Demonstrating once more that innate sharpness, the girl took one look at him, and somehow managed to read him in the space of time it too him to process that she was fine, and that they were, in fact, not under attack, "Ah," it was a soft sound of understanding as she took her eyes off of him and turned to look at the pipes scattered on the stone floor at her feet, "Sorry. I noticed them over there, and figured I'd get them moved for grandma behind the main shrine before she had to do so later. They're not heavy for me now, given circumstances," as if to emphasize this, she made a small grabby motion with her hands, and the pipes lifted into the air as if by themselves, "But... I got distracted by something and dropped them, my bad," she left the obvious unsaid; she hadn't meant to scare and startle him, and he was grateful to her for not pointing it out.

"Momoooo..." The gratefulness for her continued safety seeped through him like a cold bath, and he found himself taking a step forward and flopping his head in an almost boneless fashion against her shoulder. His forehead was resting against her body, his posture hunched slightly over her, and by the time he'd done so, he couldn't be arsed to move away; she'd push him away anyways, it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered anyways.

To her credit, rather than do that, after a just a moment, Momo's hand went up and patted the top of his head, "There, there, you big idiot, it's fine, see? Everything's fine," he hadn't told her, back when she'd let him use her lap to nap, but that was likely the first time someone not blood related had offered him any sort of physical comfort. He wasn't used to touching. He wasn't used to any of this, which, granted, didn't mean he didn't want it, just... that he was unsure when it was okay to ask for it, or if it was out of the question to do it back. The strange thought processes of his transformation made it very muddy and he seemed to rely on her body language to read what was and wasn't okay to do, "Feeling better?"

Ken took the moment to catalogue his feelings and well, "Still bummed," he said, head remaining pressed against her, and Momo let out a sigh, her hand lowering from his hair to rub his back in a comforting, circular motion.

"Yeah, that about tracks," she said, "I meant more along the lines of if you've calmed down now."

He offered a small nod against her shoulder, his vision entirely blocked by body, what with his forehead pressed against it, allowing at least one sense to be muted.

"Cool, 'kay," after a few more seconds, she lifted her hand and tapped his side slightly in poke poke poke fashion, a movement that seemed to indicate without words or a push that she wanted him to move, and thus he did. Ken lifted his head off her shoulder and watched her through near unblinking eyes, "Help me move these pipes to where I was gonna take them, and then we'll figure out... this" she gestured to him, head to toe, and again, because she asked, he did exactly what she wanted without protest. He scooped up the few pipes she wasn't carrying with her powers and followed her to the back of the main shrine, where he'd spent that first night.

He was quite sure she could have, at this point in time, asked him to fetch her the moon and stars, and despite the impossibility of it, Ken was sure he would have given it his best try regardless.

"Right, okay, lesee," the moment they had gotten rid of the pipes, Momo had turned to gaze at him, looking him up, then down, and then back up again, "You stayin' like that then?" he had no idea what to tell her, and just watched her, which was apparently enough for her to roll her eyes, "Right, always forget you get super weird like this. So... tell me. What do you think would help?"

Well, Ken wasn't exactly sure what would help in this state. Maybe nothing would. Everything felt so... useless when he was like this, like nothing quite mattered either way, and thinking about it was stressing him out further.

Something about his expression, which he hadn't figured had shifted whatsoever, seemed to indicate enough to her that she rolled her eyes, "Stop overthinking everything, dummy. What do you think would help at this precise moment. What do you need?"

Well, need was a strong word. He didn't need anything, but he figured there was something he wanted. The moment the notion flashed through his mind, his mouth opened, and out it came, absolutely no filter, "Can I hold you?" It was immediately clear from the way she looked at him, absolutely flabbergast, that out of all the things she had expected him to say, this one was nowhere on the list. Her mouth opened and closed two times without sound before Ken decided that honestly, nothing mattered anyways. In for a penny, in for a pound, "Just need a moment to calm down, and last time, when we were running, having you close helped."

She blinked owlishly for another two to three seconds, looked away from him in thought and seemed to come to a conclusion. Like with everything Momo did, when she turned back to look at him, she'd planted her feet and looked determined, clearly not about to back down anymore, "Sure, 'kay, let's do that," and she spread her arms in an awkward initiation of a hug.

Having gotten permission, he angled his body not to hug her, but to pick her up off the ground like one would have a small pet animal, eliciting a startled yelp out of the girl. He then allowed himself to flop on the ground, setting her on the ground in front of him and processed to wrap himself in a near boneless fashion around her, his upper hand leaned over her shoulder, legs spread out in front of him, and instantly... things were marginally better.

"Okarun!" Momo had found her voice again, and though she did not squirm out of her position, did reach out to give his head a light smack, eliciting a huff out of him, "A little warning next time!"

"You said I could though."

"I was expecting to be held, not to be picked up swaddled by your limbs!" despite her words, there was no real anger in her voice, and she slowly relaxed her back to lean against his chest, "You're lucky it's hot as fuck out and you're cold," this was said in a murmur, which was dumb, in his opinion. After all, if she didn't want him to hear her, murmuring near his ear was not exactly the best course of action.

Silence fell and for a good amount of time, during which he closed his eyes and took in the signs she was alive (her scent, her heartbeat, the way her chest expanded each time she took in breath), he moved not an inch.

"Better?" it was reminiscent of the question she'd asked him a bit earlier, and he offered, well... not a nod, but a simile of it, his whole cranium flopping over like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. Momo's response was a sigh as she once again patted his head, once twice before her arm fell back upon her lap, "Good."

Ken expected her to poke him, tell him enough was enough, push away even, but the girl did no such thing. He opened an eye to watch her slide hers shut, and thus, following her example, he did so too.

For now, it seemed like she was as content to sit and bask as he was.

#dandadan #momokarun #ken takakura #momo ayase #fanfic #fic

27 notes · View notes

writingtraumaforever · 1 day ago

Text

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 14

Notes: Heads up! I won’t be updating a few days. Still feeling crummy and a bit loopy on meds, so I wanna wait for my head to be on straight before I continue. Thank you all for your patience and support! ^^

Summary: Rouge gets this ball rolling while Sonic finds himself curious and intrigued by this new and nicer Shadow.

Chapter Select!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

“Wait. Soo.. Shadow isn’t our Shadow??”

“Nope,” Rouge mumbles, phone held to her ear as she leans back against the clay wall behind her. She’s standing outside Tails’ home, Sonic and Shadow inside trying not to be awkward around one another.

“That.. can’t be good.”

“I don’t really know what it means, right now,” she sighs, rubbing a hand back through her hair before fiddling with the ends behind her neck. Twirling a piece around her finger, she frowns a bit, “I just worry for what it means for our Shadow..” she pauses. Swallows and closes her eyes, “Do you think he’s—“

“I’m sure he’s fine, Rouge..,” Knuckles’ voice is reassuring but firm on the other end, a softness to the way he mumbles, “Shadow can take care of himself. You know that.”

“I should’ve been there with him..,” she hugs her arms around herself, keeping the phone pinned between her shoulder and cheek, “I should’ve put my foot down with Commander Tower and just—“

She sighs, hearing Knuckles’ soft voice coming through her anxiety.

“Hey.. hey, don’t do that. Don’t beat yourself up. You and I both know that even if you had convinced your boss to let you go with him, Shadow wouldn’t have wanted a babysitter.”

Rouge can’t help the tiny smirk on her lips as she speaks, “You’re right..” she sighs again, frowning as her head tilts up against the wall behind her. Her turquoise eyes staring at the blue sky..

“I’m always right. The sooner you realize that, the better,” Knuckles teases through the phone, earning a scoff from the bat. Her eyes roll in an annoyed sort of way, but she smiles. She knows he’s just trying to get her head out of the clouds..

“You keep tellin’ yourself that, himbo.”

“What’s a ‘himbo’???”

“It’s—Nevermind. Doesn’t matter. You’re just proving my point,” she waves her hand dismissively, “Anyway.. we have this running theory the reason this Shadow even ended up here is because he played with artificial chaos energy..”

“Ah,” Knuckles hums, seeming to now understand why she was calling, “You called because you need my knowledge of chaos energy.”

Not because you need me. That goes unspoken, but Rouge still hears it plain as day.

“I called because I know if I can depend on anyone, it’s you,” she adds with a knit in her brows, “…I don’t want to call your treasure hunt short, but—“

“It’s an emergency. I get it,” Knuckles assures calmly, “I’ll come back. May take a few days, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Knuckles,” Rouge breathes, a sigh of relief flooding her as she looks down at her shoes with a frown, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one, bat,” Knuckles replies with a smirk in his tone, “Lucky for you, I suck at counting.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she chuckles, smiling to herself at him trying to cheer her up.

He’s sweet when he wants to be.

It’s one of his more endearing traits.

“I probably won’t be able to do much, though, if I wasn’t there when he initially used Chaos Control..”

Rouge purses her lips at that, “What if I could get you the readings on his Chaos Energy right after he was found??”

“That would certainly help.. I’d need the emerald he used, too. And a real one.”

“We’ll get on that,” she nods, making mental note of what she’ll need. Looks like yet another hunt for the chaos emeralds was on. As always.

Seemed to be an endless cycle for them.

“Good. I’ll get in contact with my ride and head back as soon as I can.”

“Great,” a pause, she swallows before adding, “Be safe..”

“You too. Don’t be too trusting of this new guy just because he looks like your friend, Rouge.. Can’t be too careful.”

“What do you think I am, a softy??”

“You’re certainly softer than you allow others to believe.”

She just stays quiet at that. He’s not wrong, per say, but she won’t admit it.

He just chuckles at her silence, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Whatever,” she huffs before adding a bit softer, “.. Bye Knuckles..”

She hangs up.

Inside, Sonic is leaving Tails another voicemail, “Hey buddy! Sorry to bug ya, but I really need you to call me back. Can’t tell ya through a message, but it’s important. Alright, hope you’re doin’ good! Take care!”

He hangs up with a frown, tossing the communicator Tails had built him specifically for the two of them onto the nearby chair before plopping onto his back on the couch with a groan.

“Why won’t he answer??”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Shadow assures from his spot in the kitchen, helping himself to a snack since he’s starving, “He’s a smart kid. He can take care of himself.”

“I know that,” Sonic sighs, sitting up to look at Shadow through the doorway, “He’s just never been off on his own for this long.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Shadow questions with a raise of his brow.

“Well- yes,” Sonic admits, crossing his arms with a little pout, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it..”

Shadow can’t help but smile a bit at Sonic’s little pout.

His instincts tell him to go over there and kiss it away, rub the little furrow between his brows smooth with his thumb and comfort cuddle him.

But that’s a no-no. So he just chuckles to himself and looks down at his sandwich to take another bite.

Sonic looks back to him a bit curiously before hopping up off the couch to walk over, sitting on the edge of the table Shadow is eating at.

“So you like— eat normal food, huh??”

Shadow snorts a bit at that, looking up at Sonic with a questioning look, “What else would I eat??”

“I dunno,” the hero shrugs, “The sun??”

Shadow blinks at that, deadpanning at Sonic, “..You think I photosynthesize??”

“No?? What does pictures have to do with eating??”

“I—… nevermind,” Shadow rolls his eyes, looking back to his sandwich to take another bite.

“Seriously, though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Shadow eat. I thought he just didn’t have to because he’s the ‘Ultimate Lifeform’,” Sonic puffs out his chest and drops his voice comically as if that’s how Shadow actually sounds.

“Surely your Shadow doesn’t sound like that.”

“He totally does.”

“I don’t have to eat.. well.. not as much as most,” Shadow explains, swallowing his bite, “I still need sustenance to keep my energy levels high enough. But not near as much as you do.. though, sometimes I just eat because I like to. Food is good.”

“Ay-yo, that’s a good point,” Sonic nods in agreement, a little grin on his muzzle as his legs kicks aimlessly from where they’re dangling from the edge of the table.

“Especially chilidogs.”

“Especially chilidogs,” Sonic agrees, eyes wide and deathly intense like it’s the most deadass statement ever.

Shadow smirks a bit at that, taking another bite a before reaching for his water to sip.

Sonic watches with a bit of curiosity in his eyes. Like something about Shadow eating is just so intriguing. So mundane.

Shadow puts his water back down and looks at Sonic with a quirked brow, “…Did you need something??”

“Huh?? Oh- no. Sorry. It’s just..,” he pauses, pursing his lips a bit to try and find a way to put this, “you’re.. way easier to talk to than the Shadow from this world.”

“How so?” Shadow questions, tilting his head at Sonic as he continues eating.

“Well Shadow Number 1–“

“Shadow Number 1??”

“Yeah. You’re Shadow Number 2, obvi.”

“What if I wanna be Shadow Number 1??”

“You can’t be Shadow Number 1.”

“Why can’t I be Shadow Number 1?”

“Because you’re from the second world.”

“But your world is the second world to me.”

“Yeah, but mine is obviously the canon world.”

“What does that even mean??”

“I don’t know, just— okay. I’ll call you something different. Our Shadow will be Shadow. You can be…”

Sonic hums in thought, tapping his chin as he furrows his brow and then looks back to Shadow, “Got a nickname??”

“Um.. well, my friends call me ’Shads’ sometimes—“

“You hate when I call you that.”

“I seriously doubt the other version of myself hates it as much as he says he does.”

Sonic smirks a bit at that, chuckling before shrugging and, “Well alright. Shadow is Shadow. You’re Shads. Easy enough.”

Shadow nods with a small smile, “Anyway, continue.”

“Right. Shadow is kind of an ass is what I was gonna say.”

Shadow quirks a brow at that, his smile turning to a frown as he speaks, “Yeah, so I’ve gathered.. you all have called him grumpy more than anything else since I’ve been here.”

“Yeah, that’s because he is,” Sonic assures, huffing with an eye roll as he thinks on all the times Shadow has been a serious jerk, “He’s such a downer. And thinks he’s so much better than me like— all the time.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“No, it is. He’s always telling me how weak I am or how I’m stupid or annoying—“

“That doesn’t sound like he’s better, that sounds like jealousy,” Shadow observes with a shrug, “I dunno, though.. I do know he’s definitely not thinking he’s better than you.”

“And how do you know that??” Sonic asks with a huff, “You’ve never even met the guy.”

“Because he probably hates himself,” Shadow answers, and Sonic’s casual demeanor fumbles at that.

Sonic frowns instantly, looking at Shadow a long moment before looking down at the ground with a thoughtful look, “…Why would you think that??”

“Because I hated myself for a long, long time..,” Shadow answers simply, finishing his sandwich before turning fully to Sonic to give him his full attention, “After everything that happened.. my past.. it was hard not to.. I blamed myself for a lot that I couldn’t control.. that’s also why I would be so bossy and harsh with everyone for awhile. I was stressed beyond belief, feeling this unbridled need to control everything since so much was out of my control. I didn’t want anything to happen under my watch again..”

Sonic snorts a bit at this, glancing to Shadow with a small smile, “You sound like you’ve been to therapy.”

“I have,” Shadow confirms with a nod, no shame in it.

“Oh,” Sonic blinks, a bit surprised by this, “I didn’t mean to—“

“You didn’t offend me,” Shadow assures with a shake of his head, “..I know it’s stigmatized. But I don’t mind admitting I needed the help.”

“So it helped you, then?”

“Well.. that and you,” Shadow admits a bit softer, a tiny smile on his lips as he looks at Sonic. His head tilts at the way Sonic’s lips part to form a tiny ‘o’ shape, the blue hedgehog’s cheeks growing pink.

Shadow chuckles and corrects, “Well.. Sonic Number 2.”

Sonic snorts at that, giggling with an eye roll as he quickly looks away and rubs under his nose casually, “So I’m Sonic Number 1, then??”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Hey!” Sonic laughs, punching Shadow in the shoulder playfully to which Shadow snickers and shakes his head.

Their moment is interrupted by the door opening, both looking to see Rouge entering with a stressed look on her face.

“Alright, boys, I’m gonna have to leave you two be for a bit. Momma’s got some errands to run.”

“Can you bring me back a chili dog, mommy~?” Sonic coos, batting his eyes dramatically at her. Rouge just smirks at this, “Only if you’re a good boy.”

“Ooo. Spicy,” Sonic teases playfully before hopping off the table to turn more towards her properly, “So what’s up?”

“I have to head back to GUN and try and sneak out whatever files they have on Shadow’s last op and his medical scans,” she explains with her hand on her hip, “It’ll be cake. The real challenge comes after.”

“What comes after??” Shadow questions, standing with his empty plate in hand to put it in the dishwasher.

Rouge seems to brighten up a bit at this, “A good old-fashion treasure hunt. And lucky for you two, you’ve got the best hunter around.”

#shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonadow #fanfiction #my writing #sonadow fanfiction #my fanfiction #uncontrolled chaos #UC Series #knuxouge #knuckles #knuckles the echidna #rouge #rouge the bat

21 notes · View notes

hawthorne-bias · 18 hours ago

Text

echoes in the hall

Bound by duty, Y/N moves through the quiet complexities of a marriage that was never meant to be anything more than a formality. Yet, in the moments of stillness between her and Loki, amid the weight of unsaid words and lingering glances, something subtle begins to stir—something she can’t quite name, but feels deep within her.

When Odin dismisses Loki with his usual coldness, Y/N can feel the quiet tension in her husband, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface of his composed exterior. Then, unexpectedly, Loki asks if she ever wished she had married Thor—a rare crack in his usual armor, a flicker of vulnerability she wasn’t used to seeing.

What started as a union of convenience now unfolds into something deeper—fragile, yet full of promise. In the quiet spaces between them, in the words left unspoken, something new begins to bloom. And perhaps, just perhaps, it holds the hope of something more—if only she, and Loki, have the courage to let it grow.

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader Tags: Takes place before the movie 'Thor (2011)'; Arranged Marriage; Slow Burn Romance; Emotional Tension; Unspoken Feelings; Fluff; Developing Relationship; Insecure Loki; Odin's "A+" Parenting (Bad Parent Odin); No Trigger Warnings! Oneshot belonging to the series 'you were never a saint, and I’ve loved you all the same' // Read on AO3 // wc: 1674 [How the heck does this oneshot have the same word count as the previous one? I swear I thought this was gonna be way longer... >:((] A/N: I don't own MCU or its characters! The header is from Pinterest whilst the dividers are from @/adornedwithlight. :) Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

The grand halls of Asgard grow quieter by the minute as the evening wears on, the echoes of footsteps fading into the distance as courtiers and servants make their way home. Only a few remain in the royal palace, finishing up the last of the day's tasks. Y/N and her husband, Loki, are among them, walking in silence as they make their way down the long corridor toward their chambers.

They had been summoned to Odin’s private audience, where the Allfather’s demeanor had been as gruff and dismissive as ever. His focus had been entirely consumed by the coronation preparations for Thor, and most specifically, by the grand reception he had been orchestrating for Thor’s guests from a distant realm—guests whose importance to Asgard’s reputation, Y/N could not quite fathom. What she did understand, however, was the complete disregard Odin had shown for Loki’s presence. His every word had been directed at the older prince, as if Loki were little more than a shadow in the room, his suggestions and concerns barely acknowledged, let alone considered. Even when Loki had spoken, his words seemed to be brushed aside without a second thought.

Y/N can see the frustration in her husband’s posture. His eyes are fixed to the floor, his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pulled into a frown that speaks volumes of his thoughts.

She walks beside him, maintaining a respectful distance, but the silence between them feels somewhat strained. She wants to reach out, to say something that might ease the tension that lingers in the air. Watching him closely, she notices the weight that seems to cling to him tonight, and she genuinely wants to help, to offer him some small comfort.

Though it’s true that their marriage is one of formality and duty, Y/N’s feelings for Loki have evolved beyond mere obligation. His sharp intelligence, his wit, his dry humor—it all pulls at her in ways she’s not sure how to explain. They may not have the closeness of a typical marriage, but she has come to realize how deeply she cares about him. Even if she never said it aloud, she hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could feel that too.

She steals another glance at him, her gaze lingering just a moment longer than usual. His profile, sharp and angular, is a study in contrasts—exquisite and unreadable. He might not know it, but there’s a gentleness in him that Y/N finds herself drawn to. His frown, the way his brow furrows with thought, makes her want to understand him better, to know what’s truly on his mind.

The silence stretches on, and Y/N begins to feel the weight of the day’s events pressing down on both of them. Then, as if something inside him has finally broken, Loki suddenly turns to her, his voice low, almost questioning.

“Do you ever wish, Princess,” he asks, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something she can’t quite place, “that you had married Thor, instead of me?”

The question hangs in the air between them, and Y/N is so taken aback that her first response is little more than a confused, internal What?

The next thing that comes out of her mouth is no better: “Huh?”

Loki stops walking, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at her, clearly expecting some kind of reaction. “Forget it,” he says with a small shake of his head, turning away as though dismissing the whole thing.

But Y/N isn’t ready to let him off so easily. She steps forward, her voice steady but insistent. “No, wait! Please don’t dismiss it. I would like to understand what you mean by that.”

Loki’s steps falter for a moment, and he glances at her with an edge of frustration in his eyes. “I have urgent matters to attend to,” he says, his voice cold and dismissive, but Y/N won’t relent.

She catches up with him again, her tone soft but persistent. “Please, Your Highness. Make yourself clear. What are you trying to say?”

Loki lets out a sharp breath, his shoulders tightening in a way that betrays the fleeting anger he is struggling to suppress. “What I mean is… you must sometimes wish you’d married Thor, don’t you?” he snaps, his voice low but taut. His gaze is fixed on her now, a flicker of emotion breaking through his usual composure. “He’s the crown prince, the one set to be king. Not me. You could have been queen, Princess. You could have had everything.” He looks at her then, and for a brief moment, a flash of bitterness crosses his face. “Instead, you are the wife of the lesser prince.”

Y/N freezes at his words, her heart sinking at the sharpness of his tone. She has always seen Loki as someone complex, someone who hides behind layers of self-possession, but she hadn’t realized just how much this frustration affected him. Her breath catches, and she feels a pang of sympathy for him, wishing she could say the right thing to ease his burden.

She steps closer to him, her voice soft but steady. “Who ever told you that you were the lesser prince?” she asks, her tone gentle, but firm with conviction. “Your brother may be crowned king, but that doesn’t make him more capable than you. His birthright alone is what gives him the throne.”

Loki scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Nothing has been done, yet they all reach that conclusion all the same, Princess.”

Y/N shakes her head slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Then they are fools. Their judgment clouded by years of battle and far too much mead.”

Loki huffs, a quiet laugh escaping him, though it’s brief, as if it’s caught in the back of his throat. Y/N is surprised by how it warms the atmosphere for a moment—something about that laugh feels like a crack in the fortress he’s built around himself.

She offers him a soft smile, and he meets her gaze for a moment, his eyes not as guarded as they usually are. “I mean it, though,” she continues, her voice a little more playful now. “Your brother may be the golden prince, but he can be too loud, too boisterous for my taste. And besides...” She pauses for a moment, her tone turning a little more thoughtful. “If I were to become Queen after the Allmother…” She trails off for a beat, considering her words carefully. “I would have no time to myself, no personal space. I would be swarmed with court functions, always surrounded by people, expected to make small talk, to smile and speak graciously. The burden of it all would be… stifling.”

She glances at him, her eyes warm. “I prefer the shadows.” She pauses, then adds with a faint smile, “It’s quiet there. Cool. Peaceful.”

Loki’s gaze softens for just a moment, though he quickly schools his features. The flicker of something—appreciation, perhaps—passes through his eyes. “You’re not just trying to appease me, are you, Princess?” His voice is light, but there’s an underlying curiosity in it, as if he wants to believe her.

Y/N gives him a small smile, her tone teasing but sincere. “You’re the God of Lies, Your Highness,” she replies with a small shrug. “I’m certain you’d be able to detect any dishonesty in my words. But I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth.”

Loki’s expression remains unreadable, but Y/N senses a subtle shift between them—something she can’t quite place. For once, she doesn’t mind the silence that follows her words. It feels easier now, more at ease than it had before.

Finally, Loki exhales quietly, his voice softer, but still carrying his usual cool detachment. “Thank you, Princess,” he says, his tone measured, but there’s something else—perhaps a hint of gratitude. “I have matters to attend to with the head of the guards. Forgive me for not being able to escort you to your chambers tonight.”

Y/N feels an odd sense of disappointment, but she pushes it aside, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. It’s Loki. His moods shift like the wind, and there’s no reason to take it personally.

But before he turns away, she can’t help herself. “You don’t mind being married to me, do you, Your Highness?” The question slips out before she can stop it, though she instantly wonders if it was the right thing to ask.

Loki pauses, his eyes narrowing as he looks at her. There’s a moment of heavy silence before he answers, his voice quiet and somewhat distant. “I must be going, Princess,” he says with a curt nod, then turns and walks away.

Y/N stands there for a moment, watching him leave, the sting of his sudden departure lingering in her chest. But she shakes her head, trying to push away the feeling. It’s Loki. His thoughts are always a mystery, and she can’t change that.

That night, as Y/N prepares for bed, she discovers a delicate pair of emerald earrings resting on her vanity. They are unfamiliar to her, yet undeniably beautiful. She picks them up, her fingers brushing the cool surface, her mind spinning with questions. Where have they come from?

As if on cue, one of the older maids passes by and, with a knowing glance, offers a quiet explanation. “It’s customary for royals to give gifts in their favored color, Princess… to those they hold in high regard.”

Emerald. The color of Loki’s eyes.

Her heart skips a beat. She smiles softly to herself.

Without a word, she carefully returns the earrings to her vanity and goes about her evening. Over the next two weeks, she wears them daily, and Loki never mentions them once. Yet, each time his gaze lingers on them a fraction longer than necessary, something unspoken passes between them—something subtle, but deeply understood.

And perhaps, just perhaps, that is enough.

#loki x you #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #mcu x you #mcu x reader #loki fanfic #mcu fanfic #𝒍𝒐𝒌𝒊 #ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴋɪ ᴘᴏsᴛs

24 notes · View notes

wildwren · 1 day ago

Text

Naked Like Water - Galadriel/Halbrand, 4/9 Chapters (15.1k)

Chapter Four - Let Me In (3.8k)

Galadriel hunts sleep, hungry to finish her business with the lost soul of Sauron. She must push herself to a new extreme in order to broach the distance between them.

Read on Ao3

Galadriel kicks out at him, the tip of her boot making contact with his kneecap. He withdraws, hissing steam, and she clambers onto her knees, claiming the advantage of height while she can. Halbrand is still sprawled out before her on the deck, messy-haired, ruddy with a golden flush.

“Do you wish to be parted again?” Galadriel demands.

Halbrand glares at her. “No.”

“Then heed me.” She is speaking coherently for the first time since she arrived. “I’m not as strong as you think.”

This should be harder to say than it is. It should feel like surrender. But Galadriel has lost the ability to lie to him, at least temporarily.

Can you still lie to me? she wants to ask, but this is more difficult to speak.

Halbrand’s eyes graze up and down her body before returning to her face. “You’re stronger than you know,” he says.

Galadriel sinks back onto her heels and says nothing.

Halbrand is no longer inside of her. The unbearable heat has retreated from her body, but the memory remains, an ache left in the hollows of herself. Bruises that, when pressed, bring pleasure. It’s an undeniable reminder – a warning: the merging between them happened. It cannot be undone.

It cannot be over.

#the rings of power #rings of power #the rings of power fanfic #rop fanfic #trop fanfic #haladriel #saurondriel #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #haladriel fanfic #saurondriel fanfic #trop fanart #rop fanart #my fic #my art

21 notes · View notes

ssaemilyhotchner · 2 days ago

Note

Hey congratulations on the milestone 🥳

Can I request letter A 🫶🏻

hope you enjoy & ty for participating! 🌹

OTHER 1K DRABBLES | Read on AO3 Join the celebration by requesting a letter!

letter: A | prompt: adrenaline | wc: 2.1k | cw: alcohol, mostly just them making out bc Emily doesn't get her way lol | a/n: Post-ep for 7x15, "A Thin Line."

Please do not repost (reblogs welcome) or otherwise claim as your own.

“Prentiss.”

Without looking up from her desk, Emily simply made an unintelligible noise in response.

“Come on, Emily.” Hotch’s voice was gentle yet insistent. He’d been watching her stare blankly at her after-action report for nearly an hour, her leg bouncing rapidly all the while. Idly, he wondered if she’d even be able to bear weight on the leg and found himself moving in a little closer in case he needed to steady her. “I’m taking you home.”

Emily finally raised her gaze to meet his. “I don’t want to go home.”

He nodded knowingly. He had expected as much, knew what the weight of silence in an empty apartment felt like, especially after a case like this one. “Then let’s get a drink. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Emily studied him for a long while: the strength in the set of his jaw, the sharp angle of his body, his hand heavy on the back of her chair. What she really wanted was to be reckless, anything to stave off the dread that had weaseled its way under her skin. Running herself ragged at the gym, maybe, or getting into a fight, or fucking a stranger.

But, she conceded, in lieu of those, there were worse ways to cap the evening than at O’Keefe’s with Hotch.

From the moment they set foot in the bar, their eyes were everywhere but on each other. Even with the bass of the unrecognizable song pounding through them like a heartbeat, silence pressed pointedly between them as Hotch’s mind raced. As he thought about how everything had narrowed to the sight of her emerging from Hilary Ross’s home, blood snaking bright red down her fingers. As he thought about the way fear had dried his mouth, tasting bitter on his tongue.

She had been quick to reassure everyone that she was okay, of course, a demonstration of overcompensation that had only made him more apprehensive. He knew she could feel his eyes on her during their flight home, especially as Morgan had moved to sit by her, clutching her good hand in apology. He had watched Emily’s lips twist teasingly as she once again assured the other man that San Bernardino was not an echo of that warehouse in Boston just a year before.

He had watched as Morgan rose and returned to his previous seat, and Emily’s careful mask crumpled ever so slightly around the edges.

He had watched as her gaze found his and held it, a challenge.

“I’m okay.”

Hotch blinked in surprise; he hadn’t expected she would be the one to broach the topic. He took a long pull of his beer. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

That earned him a trademark Prentiss glare. His lips twitched at the sight, glad her fight wasn’t gone entirely. “I know,” she replied testily.

“Do you? Because your thumb is bleeding from where you’re picking and I don’t think you’ve noticed.” He watched as she snapped back into her body and reached across their small booth for a napkin to staunch the small crescent of blood. “Your first injury in the field since Doyle, and with Morgan as your partner nonetheless,” he said carefully. “What you’re feeling is understandable, Emily.”

“Hotch,” she warned, before downing the rest of her negroni. “Your projecting isn’t exactly making me feel better.”

He raised his hands slightly. “I’m not projecting. I’m just looking out for a friend.”

She knew he was right, of course; no amount of overcompensating could make her do Morgan’s healing for him, but when she closed her eyes, she could still see the all too familiar look on his face as he registered her injury. She didn’t want to be thinking about any of that right now, though, and she certainly didn’t want the play-by-play of her boss profiling her in real time.

Emily grumbled something that sounded a lot like who died and made you my therapist then pushed herself up onto her feet. “I need another drink.”

“I want to dance,” Emily said, several shots later. “And I want you to come with me.”

Hotch frowned pointedly at her sling. “Emily, you need to go home and rest.”

“You’re so serious,” she whined. “Come on, Hotch. Loosen up for a night,” she said with a devious smile. She traced a slender finger around the rim of his glass of whiskey, toying with the idea of getting him another drink—anything to get the tension out of his body. “Please? For me?”

Hotch eyed her pretty pout warily—he had always been a sucker for her doe eyes, and he was beginning to think she knew—then stood and extended his hand. “One dance.”

“Excellent.”

They both knew it wouldn’t just be one.

Emily hummed contently as they moved in tandem to the beat of the music. His touch was light and respectful but warm, and she found herself leaning into it more and more. Inhibitions blissfully lowered, she dropped her fingers to the curve of his arm to trace a vein there, causing his hip to stutter accidentally against hers. Her gaze snapped up to his then, and her heart pounded at the look of obvious want in his eyes. Her resulting smile was beatific.

“What’s making you smile like that?” Hotch murmured, the low thrum of his voice only stoking her need.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly, biting her bottom lip and watching as his eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up.

He chuckled. “You’re not a very good liar when you’re tipsy.”

“But you have to admit, I’m a pretty good dancer for someone who got shot less than 24 hours ago,” she said brightly, before looping her good arm around his neck and closing the space between them—the space he’d been trying diligently, if not half-heartedly, to keep.

“That you are.”

Fuck, she felt good as she moved against him. He vaguely registered the alarm bells sounding at the back of his mind at the heat building between them, but Hotch couldn’t think beyond the fact that this was Emily and she was in his arms, just like he had wanted for years. Every glance through his blinds at her in the bullpen, every cup of coffee delivered to him with a smile, every swish of her ponytail when they were paired together in the field, all of it building and cooling and culminating here.

“You were right, by the way,” he said eventually. She made a curious noise in response, the sound turning into a giggle at the shiver she pulled from him as her thumb traced mindless little patterns at the very top of his spine. “I was projecting. I didn’t want you to be alone this evening…but I didn’t want to be, either. I needed to see that you were okay.”

Emily looked up at him, besotted, then took his hand in hers and placed it over her chest. He clenched his jaw at the action; he could feel her heart, strong and racing at his touch, and was instantly consumed by the need to find every way he could elevate her heartbeat. To feel her heartbeat at every join of her, every join of them.

“Feel that?” she whispered, cutting through his reverie. “I’m okay.”

He hadn’t meant to kiss her back. Really, he hadn’t.

One minute, they were dancing, their bodies moving in sync as they toed the line of propriety with stolen touches, a nose against a cheek; the next, she was silencing his laugh by pressing her lips to his, rejoicing at the groan that rattled in the back of his throat as he felt her tongue coaxing his mouth open.

Hotch’s grip on her hips tightened, but the taste of gin and campari in her sweet mouth made him channel all of his restraint and pull away. “Emily—”

She moved her lips to the corner of his mouth. “If you even try to stop this,” she whispered, “I will break your jaw.”

Hotch barked out a surprised laugh. “Sweet talker,” he said dryly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Emily grinned widely. “I like the sound of that.”

As he piled her into the car, Hotch felt a pang of guilt at the victorious expression that had flickered across Emily’s face. He knew what she was craving; she needed a release, she needed him, but no matter how much he wanted the same, he knew he couldn’t follow through. Not tonight.

Finally reaching Emily’s place after much giggling and wandering fingers at stop lights, Hotch watched amusedly as she threw herself onto her couch. “Can I get you anything?” He eyed the Bialetti on her stovetop before sitting down beside her. “Some espresso to sober you up?”

“I’m not drunk,” she countered unconvincingly.

He snorted. “How about a different method? Dave shared a hangover trick with me when I was still fresh out of the Seattle field office. You’d just need amaro, which feels like something Emily Prentiss would keep around.”

She gave a throaty laugh at that and the sound sent a coil of pleasure through him. “I do have amaro. You are not the only one Dave has ever plied with expensive alcohol and gotten drunk. But,” she said, holding his gaze, “I don’t want to talk about Dave anymore.”

And at that, she straddled him.

Hotch’s eyes fell shut at the press of Emily’s body against his. There was something about her that triggered the most visceral reactions from him, his throat constricting and chest tightening as her teeth found the shell of his ear, the sensitive spot right below it. Perhaps it was that he had imagined this so many times before: imagined unraveling her carefully constructed exterior and coming undone to her, with her, imagined finding her pulse point with his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, only now he was actually doing it and she was whining and it was the most exquisite sound he had ever heard.

Emboldened by the sear of his mouth on her neck, Emily reached for him with renewed determination and urgency, fisting a hand in his shirt and making to tug it upwards over his head. It was the jolt to the present that Hotch needed, and he forced himself away, panting heavily. He wanted her to keep going, wanted to feel her, wanted to press his mouth to more of her, cut through her anxiety and adrenaline right to the core of her and make her fly apart; but instead he dropped his face in the curve of her collarbone and left a kiss there. “Emily, you have no idea how hard it is for me to stop you right now,” he ground out, “but we shouldn’t do this tonight.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea how hard you are,” she purred, rocking her hips against his and rejoicing in his resulting whispered fuck. “I want you, Hotch.”

“And I want you, too. I have for years.” Hotch smiled a little at the pretty blush that colored her already ruddy cheeks at his words. “But regardless of how eloquently you protest, I’m going to feel like I’m taking advantage of you right now,” he said as she opened her mouth to interject, “and I don’t want this to be something you regret tomorrow morning.”

Ghosting her lips against his in a barely-there kiss, Emily slowly shook her head. “I could never regret this,” she whispered.

“Please, Emily,” Hotch said a final time, stilling her hand as she tried taking her own shirt off this time. He rose to his feet, Emily still wrapped snugly around him. “Not like this. We need to get you to bed.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time,” she said cheekily; but she followed him obediently, flashing him an inviting smile once she had stretched out across her bed. She watched him hungrily as he raked his gaze over her and swallowed thickly.

Needing the distraction, Hotch slipped away to find ibuprofen and fill her a glass of water. When he returned, she had dressed down and removed her sling, and was staring at him as if he were stupid, but he just shook his head and sat in bed beside her. “You’ve had a really hard day,” he said gently, running a hand through her silky hair. “When the alcohol and adrenaline wear off tomorrow, I’ll be right here, okay?”

“Sometimes I hate that you’re such a good guy,” she said with a concessional sigh; but when she looked at him, all he saw reflected in her gaze was admiration.

Hotch couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “I’m sorry.”

Emily laughed then, lolling her head to the side to peer at him with tired eyes. “Thanks, Hotch,” she said softly.

“Of course, Emily.”

She was out in a matter of minutes.

22 notes · View notes