#check this down for the fic idea column

[figthefruitfaeth]

nancy, investigative journalist trying to find the string that will expose a major CEO’s money laundering scheme on her fifth coffee and eating two day old chinese takeout on the couch, and eddie, her craigslist roommate, sitting on the other end, eating gummy chinese takeout and puzzling over a mystery of his own (whether the guy two apartments down is flirting with him or just friendly, and if eddie personally would be okay with getting with a married man even though he’s 90% sure his wife is crushing on nancy hard)

[randomdragonfires]

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Part Two

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him. 

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader

WORD COUNT | 13.2k

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!  

A/N | Not beta read. ;)

She sits at Aemond’s kitchen counter, her eyes wandering over the photographs sprawled out in front of her. Each image captures the haunting beauty of the ruins of Valyria, a place Aemond has been passionate about for ages due to his heritage. The smell of French toast wafts through the air, mixing with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He pours her a mug and slides it over to her.

Just for a second, the domesticity of it all makes her want to blush. 

She has been seeing men, yes. Ever since she got to college, there have been no shortage of men who want to date her; but she has been hesitant about letting any of them close. Perhaps it is the idea of being touched once more, or the comfort she has grown for herself that she refuses to let anyone in - she does not know.

But not Aemond, seems like. He’s been her bedrock ever since she moved to Oldtown, and sometimes, he does little things that make her feel warm.

She has a hard time figuring out what it is, but it’s certainly not feelings. She’s had them before, for Daeron - it’s a lot more intense, usually.

This is easy. Too easy. It is easy to be attracted to Aemond, he’s got that about him. But he’s also Aemond - Daeron’s brother. It is quite messed up. It is easy to be infatuated, she feels. But she’s not quite ready to do anything about something so miniscule - especially given what he means to her.

It’s all a bit of fun, really. A mindless little crush.  All of it goes away in time.

And there’s also the fact that he seems to like someone else, and not her.

Aemond moves gracefully around the kitchen, flipping slices of bread in a sizzling pan. His expression is animated as he recounts the details of his recent trip. "Valyria is everything I imagined and more," he said, his voice filled with awe. "The architecture, even in ruins… phenomenal.”

She picks up a photo showing a grand, crumbling archway, its intricate carvings still visible despite centuries of decay. "This is incredible," she murmurs, tracing a finger over the image. "Like walking through time.”

He smiles, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Exactly. Every piece of rubble, every shattered column… and the dragons… you can feel their presence, even now."

She looks up at him, curiosity piqued. "Did you find anything related to your family?"

"I did. There were symbols and inscriptions that matched the Targaryen coat of arms. There was this…” He turns quickly to rustle his hands through the photos, trying to find one that he probably intends to show her. When he spots it, he slides it to her by the fingertips. “This old stone tablet with the Targaryen dragon carved into it, still intact despite the centuries.”

"That's incredible. It must have been surreal to see it in person."

"It was," Aemond agrees, his voice tinged with reverence as he went back to the stove. "There were also ancient manuscripts, or what was left of them. The text was almost completely eroded, but you could still make out references to my ancestors. And there was a mural, faded and cracked, but you could see the dragons soaring over Valyria in them, with what we believe were the early Targaryens among them."

He placed the plate of French toast in front of her and sat down, his eyes glowing with excitement. "I even found a piece of what might have been a dragon egg, petrified but still recognizable.”

Wylde takes a bite of the French toast, savoring the warm, cinnamon flavor, but her mind was captivated by Aemond's discoveries. “How’d you end up making the trip? Thought it was closed for like… government reasons or something?”

“Right, so… Aegon-”

“That never ends well.”

The edge of his lips twinges upward and she clocks his faint smile. “He's the creative director of The Kingslander now.” She has heard of it. Aegon Targaryen was quite the flighty boy growing up, with little to no focus on anything low-key. He would always have an eye for anything creative and aesthetic though, and had a unique style. Alicent spotted an early opportunity for her eldest son, and had him intern at The Kingslander, one of the many magazines that Targaryen Consolidated owned. Soon enough, he had something to channel himself into, and it showed. From fashion photography to various directed photoshoots, he was in his element.

But at heart, Aegon was never meant for the desk lifestyle. So when Sara Snow - an archeology professor - tumbled into his life and told him she was to leave on an expedition for half a year, he took the opportunity to let loose and chase her across the globe. She had him enrolled into the documenting team so he wouldn’t be twiddling his thumbs, and he seems to have taken to it quite well.

‘So I’m like, into history now.’ She can clearly hear him say it. “I don’t know. He likes this girl, and he got access, so he invited me to go along because there may never be a chance again.”

“Sounds like such an Aegon thing to do,” she says wistfully as the last bits of her food disappear from the plate. 

“What?”

“To put his heart on the line and take risks that involve going halfway across the globe to a restricted area for a girl.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“You wouldn’t do it?”

Aemond pauses, contemplating the question. "It's not that I wouldn't. It's just... different for me."

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Different how?"

“He’s so… out of control. I’d not prefer that.”

“Hm. Or perhaps you haven’t had your crazy grand romantic moment yet.” Red blooms over his cheeks as he faces away, taking her plate to dump it into the sink. “Speaking of. You mentioned you met someone months ago! I’ve been here for three months already and you’re yet to tell me anything!”

“It’s very casual.”

“Liar. You’d not be hiding her like your life depended on it if it was.” 

“Hm.”

She stands up, gathering her books and bag, ready to go home. She begins to assemble all the photos, carefully placing them back into the box. As she reaches for the last few, her fingers brush against a small, delicate emerald locket she hadn't noticed earlier. She holds it up, admiring its intricate design.

"Is this from the expedition too?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.

Aemond turns, scratching the back of his neck as he answers, "No, that's a friend's. She was looking at the photos earlier." A faint blush creeps up his cheeks, but Wylde notices it immediately.

"And is this the same… friend that you're trying to hide from me?" she teases, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Perhaps," Aemond admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

She chuckles, and stores at the back of her mind the observation that whoever he’s seeing comes and goes to the flat, just like her. "Good taste in jewelry, I'll tell you that much. I like her already."

She walks up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug and planting a friendly kiss on his cheek. The tingling feeling is back again, but she ignores it like the plague.

 "Food was good. One of these days you'll give Criston a run for his money," she jokes - to lower his tension or hers, she does not know.

Aemond mutters his thanks, his blush deepening. "Don't get your hopes up too high."

She strolls through the lively streets of Oldtown, her phone pressed to her ear. The scent of fresh pastries from a nearby café mingles with the distant hum of conversation, and the old world charm brightens up her day.

“Hey… been a while!” she says, her voice bright with genuine enthusiasm. “How’s everything at KLU?”

There’s a brief pause before Daeron’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Hi, yourself! Things are going great here. Campus is even more lively than I expected, classes are alright. How’s Oldtown treating you?”

You could have found out for yourself if you’d followed through with me, she thinks. She’s quick to kick her bitter thoughts to the curb though.

She glances around at the charming storefronts and the lively crowds. “It’s been a whirlwind. The courses are intense, but I’m getting used to the pace. I’m really enjoying the city - it’s everything I hoped it would be. So different from home, but in a good way. Aemond and I spend a lot of time together, so that’s nice.”

“Yeah, Oldtown is amazing,” Daeron agrees, his enthusiasm unwavering. “I remember going there to visit grandpa often as a kid.””

“Oh yeah!” Her curiosity gets the better of her, and her question tumbles out before she can stop herself. “How’re things with you and Floris?”

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line. She can almost hear Daeron shifting, his voice a bit more guarded when he replies. “Oh, Floris is… she’s doing well. She’s been really busy with her studies and all. It’s been a bit hectic for her, but she’s handling it. You know how she is - always on top of things.”

No, I don’t know how she is, actually.

Her brow furrows slightly as she walks past the café, where the smell of coffee and baked goods wafts out into the street. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something feels off to her. “That’s good to hear. But you sound a bit... dull. Everything okay?”

Daeron let out a nervous chuckle. “No, it’s nothing like that. We’ve just been caught up in our own worlds lately. It’s a lot to balance with everything going on. But she’s fine, really. We’re fine.”

He’s lying. She knows. She knows him like the back of her hand.

Arianne Martell approaches her in the distance, her bright smile unmistakable. She sighs into her phone, deciding to let the topic drop for now. “Hey, Daeron, I’ve got to go. Catch up later, yeah?”

“Okay, bye. And hey-”

“What?”

“I miss you.”

Much and more has happened between them, but she can’t help but smile all the same. “Me too. We’ll talk soon.”

Heart warmed by the fact that she can have a conversation with him again without wanting to pull his spun silver hair out, she picks up the pace to join Arianne. 

They queue up at the cart, their conversation slipping into the familiar rhythm of college gossip. Arianne’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she leans closer. “You won’t believe what I heard about Margaery Tyrell. Apparently, she’s been sneaking off to meet with Lionel Hightower.”

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Margaery? Really? I thought she was with-”

Arianne nods enthusiastically. “Renly Baratheon, yes. But my brother saw him and Loras Tyrell making out at one of his parties.”

“Well. Fair enough.” 

Arianne grins, clearly enjoying the drama. “Oh, it gets better. Apparently, they’ve been trying to get Cregan Stark to join them but he’s much too prudish for a threesome.”

“Prudish or just uncomfortable with them?”

“Who knows?”

As they walk past the cart, Wylde’s gaze drifts toward the window of a nearby restaurant. For a moment, she spots a familiar silhouette through the glass. She wants to think it’s Aemond, but it would be a reach to assume every tall man in a black hoodie is him.

But she spots Vhagar parked out front, and now she knows for sure.

Aemond is seated with his back to her, and she can tell by his posture that it's him. He’s accompanied by an obscured woman who gestures animatedly as she talks. They seem engrossed in deep conversation, and Aemond’s face is animated, his focus entirely on the woman before him.

Her curiosity is piqued, but she quickly refocuses on Arianne, who is now recounting the latest gossip involving the drama club’s lead actor.

It feels wrong to be peeking into Aemond's life like this.

Arianne’s laughter draws her attention back. “Anyway, I have a date with Arys tonight!”

“STOP! Really?”

“He finally asked me out, thank the Gods. Thought he was going to drag it out forever!” 

She laughs, the earlier sight of Aemond slipping from her mind. 

“Yeah so, you’ll come in and help me get ready?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They are sprawled on his plush leather couch, the glow from the laptop illuminating their surroundings. The soft hum of a wildlife documentary is heard, the narrator's voice a soothing backdrop to the scenes of the Sarnor savannah playing out on the screen. Bowls of snacks—popcorn and chocolate-covered almonds—are scattered around them, within easy reach.

She is nestled comfortably against Aemond’s side, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm is draped casually around her, fingers idly tracing patterns on her arm. They are so close, their bodies glued together that it’d be so easy to assume that they were a couple, rather than friends who’ve known each other their entire lives. Every so often, Aemond’s hand dips into the bowl of popcorn, bringing a few kernels to his mouth, while she picks at the chocolate almonds. She feels the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the warmth of his body seeping into hers.

As his fingers trace gentle patterns on her arm, she feels a shiver run through her. It’s a simple touch, yet it sends her heart racing. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact, every subtle shift in his posture. The way he holds her, casually yet protectively, makes her wonder if he feels the same way. Does he know how much these small gestures mean to her? 

He’s just being friendly to a girl he’s known almost his entire life.

She steals a glance at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop screen. His sharp features are softened in the dim light, and she notices the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates on the documentary. She resists the strange urge to smoothen out the lines on his face and help him calm down.

She sighs contentedly, but soon a dull ache begins to build at her temples. She shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the headache persists. She groans softly, bringing a hand to her forehead.

Aemond glances down at her, a look of concern crossing his features. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a headache,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and leaning further into him. “It’s been a long day.”

Without a word, Aemond begins to gently massage her scalp, his fingers working through her hair with practiced ease. His attention remains fixed on the laptop screen, but his touch is gentle and soothing, each movement easing the tension from her temples.

She feels a flutter in her chest, a familiar sensation she’s tried to ignore. The crush she has on Aemond, usually kept carefully in check, creeps up on her as he continues to massage her scalp. His touch is both comforting and intimate, sending shivers down her spine.

Hormones are a nasty little thing, she surmises as her mild feelings refuse to go away. How could they, when he’s holding her like this?

She feels the need to speak if only to calm herself down.

“Daeron and I spoke today.”

His hands stop immediately, and his face hardens as he looks down at her. She looks up to meet his gaze, and she refuses to think of how close she is to his lips. She won’t.

Perhaps she is a little attracted to him. 

It’s natural, and honestly? An inevitability. He’s Aemond. Anyone with proper vision and a sound mind would be attracted to him. She’s just lucky that she knows him well enough to be part of his space.

It’s stupid and even a bit silly. She’ll be over it just fine.

She moves away from him, sitting facing him with crossed legs. “What did he say?” He asks, and she spots the defensiveness in his tone.

“Nothing to worry about, it was nice actually.” She smiles, still very fond of her long-time best friend. “We just caught up and he was telling me about KLU. He also said he had plans to visit here in the summer, so I’m quite excited!”

“And how can you be sure that he’s not going to let himself be pulled away again?”

“About that…” She sighs. Regardless of how messy their equation had been towards the end of school, she has grown back her affinity for the youngest Targaryen brother. She supposes all they needed was time. “I asked about him and Floris today, he seemed very hesitant with his answers.”

“Hm.” She hears the pop of each of his knuckles as he cracks them with a concentrated look on his face.

“I don’t know. I think he’s lying.”

“You’re sure?”

“I know him. I know him well, like the back of my hand. I know when he’s lying. He didn’t sound like himself. I worry for him.”

“It’s not your place to do anything until he asks for help.”

“But I didn’t even-”

“You know him and I know you. You’d trip over yourself trying to help him.”

Her shoulders slump as she realizes he’s right. It is in Daeron’s nature to come to her when he’s down, and it is in her nature to be there for him. She’s wired that way, truly. How can she not be, when she’s been that way for as long as she’s known him?

“I’d rather you not be hurt again. Daeron is… careless. He and Aegon never consider anything beyond the next ten minutes, and they leave a big mess in their wake.”

She smirks. “Are you using me as an excuse to take shots at your brothers?”

She sees the corner of his lips twitch, and she brings her hands together as she sighs once more. “I just… I’ve had time to get over the fact that we drifted apart. But it made me quite sad that he felt the need to lie to me and smooth things rather than actually tell me what’s going on, you know?”

“Happens.” His replies are curt and his disposition is rougher. She doesn’t know why, and she refuses to let it grow. “Nothing you can do about it,” he adds.

“Hm.”

The sounds of the documentary keep the room from being pin drop silent, and she gets off the sofa to go to the fridge. “We’ve run out of cheesecake.” She says, coming back to where she was sitting before.

“Yeah, I need to get more.”

“You could have gotten some when you went to Moonbloom a few days ago.”

Aemond’s nervousness was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him well. But to her, the subtle shifts were as clear as daylight. She noticed how his jaw tightened just a fraction, the way his eyes seemed to flicker with an almost invisible tension. His usually steady hands would still, fingers curling ever so slightly into his palms. He’d draw in a slow, controlled breath, his chest rising just a bit higher than usual.

“When did you see me?”

The eyebrow of his functional eye lifts just a little, almost as if he’s asking her how she knew. "I saw Vhagar parked outside. Figured nobody else had a bike that looked similar. Thought you may be with someone, so I didn’t want to intrude."

"Professor Rivers," he replies, his tone dangerously neutral. "I was working on my papers about the expedition, using them for my semester submission, and we bumped into each other."

"Oh, okay. Weird, isn’t it? To bump into professors outside of campus. Like people let out of their natural habitat."

"Hm. Perhaps." His cheeks take on a faint pink hue, and she can’t help but smile.

"Why are you blushing?" she asks, laughing heartily, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "You don’t have a crush on her or something, do you?"

"Gods, no," he replies quickly, the words almost too quick. It’s a lighthearted quip to her, nothing more, but the slight tilt in his tone lingers in her mind, a small seed of curiosity planted.

“I mean, she is pretty. I wouldn’t blame you.” She laughs, trying to tease him further and he disappointedly nods side to side.

A few hours go by as they continue to pass the time, but Aemond seems a little tense from thereon out. He’s quieter - if that’s even possible - and his responses, more measured. She notices the way he occasionally bites the inside of his cheek, a habit he has when something's bothering him. His fingers tap lightly against his knee in an uneven rhythm, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

When she asks him a question, he pauses just a moment longer than usual before answering, as if carefully choosing his words. The slight furrow in his brow, the way his gaze occasionally drifts to the floor, and the almost imperceptible sighs he lets out - they all speak of an unease that she spots effortlessly.

These are the times when she hates knowing the Targaryen children as well as she does.

She watches him closely, feeling a pang of guilt. He’s not the kind to take these things to heart usually, but something about her teasing seems to have unsettled him this time. She no longer feels welcome, and she knows he’d rather be left alone now and to find her when he’s ready for her again. She doesn’t like that it has to be this way, but giving him his space is the most she can do.

She stands abruptly, murmuring something about an early class in the morning and how she has to go. He immediately softens then, and stands idly with his hands in his pockets as she packs her bag. 

She doesn’t like leaving him like this, but just as she moves to the door, she turns at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand, holding onto her wrist. With his other hand at the back of his neck, his look is almost sheepish. “Listen, sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable-”

“I’m sorry too. It wasn’t funny to tease about your professors. Didn’t realize you were quite touchy about it.”

“I’m not, just… I don’t know what happened.”

Her gaze is fixed at his strong hand holding hers, and she looks at it for too long before he notices it and drops it like hot coal. She misses the warmth of him immediately with a strange overwhelming feeling she cannot put into words. It’s not her silly little crush on him, it’s just a natural physical reaction, she tells herself.

She softens and melts immediately at his peculiar attempt to smooth things over with her, and it is heartwarming to her that he tries. “Aemond, it’s okay. You’re fine. If anything, I should apologize and I am sorry.”

“Neither of us should be apologizing, this is a non-issue.” He says, and she recognises the finality of his tone. There is no space for debate; and in all honesty, she doesn’t know why a throwaway statement became a big deal anyway.

“Okay.” As is her habit, she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him on his warm cheek before saying bye. Tonight however, neither of them seem to want to leave each other as they continue to be glued to where they stand. She notices the ring on his finger and remembers Daeron, her mind racing to the conversation they had once more. Her mind travels to every word he said on their phone call, and the words rush out of her before she can help herself.

“You wouldn’t ever lie to me, would you?”

He sighs, leaning on the doorway with his hands folded into his chest. She cannot deny how effortlessly good he looks right then.

“I’d never hurt you.”

“Okay.” She absentmindedly nods as she repeats the words to herself and she bites her lip. She clutches onto her sling bag as she finally moves away.

She doesn't quite dwell on the fact that he promised not to hurt her but didn't exactly promise never to lie.

The thrum of music pulses through the packed house, every beat vibrating through her bones. She scans the crowd, trying to spot Arianne, but her friend has disappeared into the sea of bodies. She shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. The alcohol has dulled her senses just enough to make everything feel a little softer around the edges.

As she leans against the wall, Willas Tyrell saunters over, a confident smile playing on his lips. They’ve been eyeing each other all night, and now, with eight rounds of beer warming her veins, she feels bolder than usual.

"Hey, lost your friend?" he asks, his voice smooth and warm.

"Yeah, Arianne's somewhere in this madness," she replies, laughing lightly. "But it's not so bad. I found you."

He chuckles, taking a step closer. "Lucky me. What are you drinking?"

"Beer. Not my first choice, but it does the job."

"Well, if you're up for something better, I’ve got some whiskey upstairs," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Interested?"

She arches an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of excitement. "Whiskey, huh? That does sound tempting. Is that all on offer though?"

"Why don’t you come and find out?" he teases, holding out his hand.

Without hesitation, she takes it, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrap around hers. They weave through the crowded living room, climbing the stairs to a quieter part of the house. The music grows fainter, the air cooler, as they reach an empty room at the end of the hall.

He closes the door behind them, and she turns to face him, her heart pounding with anticipation. They are inches apart, the charged energy between them palpable.

"You know," she says, her voice low. "I've always thought you were kind of cute."

"Kind of cute?" he repeats, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I was hoping for more than 'kind of.'"

"Well, you might have to work for it," she challenges, stepping closer until their bodies are almost touching.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small flask, unscrewing the cap and offering it to her. "How about some of this?"

She takes a sip, the burn of the whiskey warming her insides and adding to the haze in her mind. She hands it back to him, their fingers brushing in the exchange, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Not bad," she says, licking her lips. "Maybe you do have good taste."

He laughs softly, his eyes darkening with desire. "Glad you think so. Now, where were we?"

"Right about here," she whispers, closing the distance between them.

He doesn't need any more encouragement. Willas cups her face with one hand, the other sliding around her waist as he pulls her in for a kiss. It is slow and deliberate at first, but quickly grows more intense, their mouths moving hungrily against each other. She can taste the faint hint of whiskey on his lips, mingling with the lingering taste of alcohol on her own.

Her hands roam over his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles through his shirt. He responds by sliding his fingers under the hem of her top, lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. His touch is electric, sending shivers down her spine as he deftly unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor.

"You’re full of surprises," she murmurs, her breath hitching as he kisses down her neck.

"You have no idea," he replies, his voice husky with need.

He pushes her onto the bed, the world around them narrowing to just the two of them. She lands on her back, looking up at him with a mixture of desire and haziness, the room spinning slightly around her. Willas hovers above her, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of her bare skin. He leans down, capturing her lips in another searing kiss, his hands exploring her body with a desperate urgency. She arches into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer.

Their kisses grow more frantic, each movement a testament to their mutual need. He trails his lips down her collarbone, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin, eliciting a gasp from her. His hands slide lower, brushing against her waist, before moving to undo the button of her jeans.

She’s caged between his strong arms, with nowhere to move. For a fleeting moment, the sensation is thrilling. But then, as Willas's hands slide lower, the room spins faster, and the walls seem to close in. Her breath catches in her throat, and she’s suddenly transported back to that night in school with Jason Lannister, his oppressive presence, the helplessness, the terror.

A cold sweat breaks out on her skin. The memory floods her mind: Jason's hands on her, her desperate attempts to push him away, the fear that froze her limbs. The room spins more violently now, and the warmth of Willas's body becomes suffocating.

"Stop," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

Willas doesn't hear her, his kisses growing more insistent. The panic rises in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Stop," she says again, louder this time, but it still feels like she’s shouting underwater.

Her heart races, and her vision blurs. She tries to push him away, her hands trembling. "Willas, stop," she says more firmly, her voice cracking.

This time, he hears her. He immediately pulls back, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but edged with worry.

She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't... I can't do this. I'm sorry."

He moves away quickly, giving her space. "Hey, it’s okay. It's okay," he reassures her, his tone soft and understanding. He sits beside her, not touching, giving her the room she needs.

She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The room still feels like it's spinning, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess. Willas watches her with genuine concern, not pushing, just waiting.

After a few moments, he reaches for her discarded top and hands it to her along with her bra. "Here, put this on. Take your time."

"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don’t apologize," he says softly. “You’re good, just breathe. You’re fine.”

She nods, focusing on her breathing, trying to regain control. The panic begins to ebb, replaced by a shaky calm. Willas stays beside her, offering quiet support.

"Thank you," she finally manages to say, looking at him with gratitude and a lingering hint of embarrassment.

"Anytime," he replies with a gentle smile. "Do you want me to call someone?”

“No, I… I think I’m gonna just… go.”

“Let me help you.”

“It’s okay. Can you just… I need a moment, if that’s okay. I’m so sorry if I ruined tonight for you.”

“You’re alright. I don’t feel good letting you go off alone like this though.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.”

She steps out of the house, the cool night air hitting her like a splash of cold water. The noise of the party fades behind her, replaced by the quieter sounds of the street. Scattered red cups and empty beer bottles litter the front yard, remnants of a night that feels distant and surreal now. A figure lies passed out on the lawn, oblivious to the world as others continue to mill about inside.

She walks to the corner of the pavement, her steps slow and unsteady. The streetlight above her makes the world feel too bright and too stark. She sits down, her knees drawn up to her chest, and tries to steady her breathing. The cool concrete is a small comfort, grounding her as she struggles to calm her racing heart.

With trembling hands, she pulls out her phone and dials Aemond’s number. The ringing seems to echo in her ears, each tone stretching into what feels like an eternity. Finally, the call connects, and she hears the distant, muffled sound of conversation.

“Aemond,” she says, her voice cracking and barely more than a whisper. “I—I need you. I’m… I’m outside Margaery Tyrell’s party.”

There’s a brief pause on the line. She hears the faint hum of a cheerful woman’s voice, laughter floating in the background. A pang of guilt hits her hard. She feels like an intruder, her mind racing as she realizes she might be interrupting something important.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her voice breaking. “I—I’m really sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t mean to interrupt… whoever you're with. I just— I’m so scared. Can you… can you come get me? Please?”

Her breathing comes in ragged bursts, her words tumbling out in a breathless, almost incoherent rush. The panic clawing at her chest makes it hard to focus, and the alcohol hasn’t worn off one bit.

“Wylde?” Aemond’s voice is suddenly urgent, cutting through her frantic apologies. There’s a concern in his tone that makes her stomach clench.  Don’t move. I’ll be there soon. Just breathe, okay?”

She struggles to calm her racing heart, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, her voice trembling with desperation. “I’m really sorry… I just… I can’t… One minute we were kissing and the next I’m crying, I can't breathe...I-”

“Wylde, listen to me,” Aemond says firmly, but gently. “It’s okay. I’m on my way. Just stay where you are. I need you to breathe and stay calm. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

The call ends abruptly, and she is left in the cold night air, clutching her phone with shaking hands. Her breaths come out in shaky, uneven puffs as she tries to focus on Aemond’s calming words. The street feels both stark and surreal, the shadows around her stretching long and foreboding. She pulls her jacket tighter around her, trying to find comfort in its warmth while waiting for him to arrive.

As they arrive at his apartment, the familiar rumble of the motorbike fades as he turns the keys. Aemond helps her off the bike with a gentle but firm hand, guiding her carefully up the stairs and into his apartment. The door swings open to reveal a cozy space, bathed in the dim, warm glow of a few scattered lamps.

He holds onto her with one hand, using his free hand for everything else. Her head rests under his chin, and she can’t help but nuzzle herself into his neck and make herself at home as his warmth pervades her dulled senses. 

He leads her inside and guides her to the bathroom. With a tender touch, he helps her sit on the edge of the tub. The gentle hum of the apartment and the soft rustling of his movements are a soothing backdrop to her foggy consciousness. He rummages through a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of water and painkillers.

“Here,” he says softly, handing her the water and pills. “You should take these. They’ll help with the headache.”

She nods weakly, managing to swallow the medication with a few sips of water. Her head feels heavy, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess, but the care in his voice and his steady presence offer a small measure of relief.

Aemond helps her to her feet and guides her to the bedroom. The room is dim, the only light coming from a small bedside lamp. He pulls out a clean pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts from a drawer. Gently, he helps her out of her clothes, the fabric of her dress feeling foreign against her skin as it’s removed. He helps her into the comfortable shorts and oversized t-shirt, the soft material a welcome contrast to the night’s chaos.

As he tucks her into bed, pulling the sheets up around her, he is both careful and attentive. She shifts under the covers, trying to get comfortable, but her eyes are heavy and her body feels weighed down by the evening’s events. She feels his warm lips on her forehead once more, and she reaches out to hold onto his wrist before he goes away.

“Stay. Please.” she murmurs, her voice barely audible as she begs.

Aemond’s gaze softens. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures her, settling down on the edge of the bed. He sits there for a moment, his hand gently stroking her hair, the motion soothing and familiar.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice wavering slightly. “I’m sorry for all this.”

She hears the faint ticking of a clock as her heartbeat calms down. The rustling of sheets as Aemond adjusts himself to join her. The warm golden glow of the bedside lamp. The warmth of her hand in his under the sheets. The feel of his thumb gently moving over her knuckles. The softness of his hands as he brushes off stray hairs off her face. The strength of it as he cradles her head like it’d break if he pressed further.

Aemond wakes in the middle of the night, his hand instinctively reaching out to the empty space beside him. The cool, undisturbed sheets where her warmth should be jolt him fully awake, a sudden surge of concern piercing through the remnants of his sleep. He sits up quickly, the room around him still cloaked in the deep shadows of night, and listens intently. The faint glow emanating from the kitchen draws his attention, a small beacon in the darkness.

He slips out of bed, his bare feet silent against the floor as he pads softly toward the light. Each step feels measured and deliberate, his senses heightened in the quiet stillness of the early morning. The corridor seems longer than usual, the dim light at the end creating an almost surreal atmosphere, as if he’s moving through a dream.

As he approaches the kitchen, the scene gradually comes into focus. She’s sitting at the counter, bathed in the soft, warm glow of the single dim yellow light over the countertop. The rest of the kitchen is enveloped in darkness, the contrast making her appear almost ethereal. Her presence is both comforting and concerning.

She’s wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of his shorts, her bare feet resting on the lower rung of the counter-height stool. The loose fabric drapes over her frame in a way that makes her look even smaller and more vulnerable. Her posture is slightly hunched, and she’s absently stirring the contents of a mug, the soft clinking of the spoon against the ceramic creating a gentle, rhythmic sound that fills the otherwise silent space.

He takes a moment to observe her, his heart aching at the sight. Her hair falls messily around her face, and her nose looks flared. She seems lost in thought, her eyes focused on the swirling liquid in the mug, as if trying to find answers in its depths. The tension in her shoulders is palpable, and he can see the strain of the night’s events weighing heavily on her.

He doesn’t yet know what’s happened. All he knows is that she’d been in a bad time once more, and it’s one too many times for someone as sensitive as she is. Her eyes are downcast, lost in thought, and she seems miles away, even though she’s right there in front of him. 

Aemond watches her for a moment, noticing the way she grips the mug tightly, as if drawing strength from its warmth. Stepping into the light, he moves towards her with a quiet grace, not wanting to startle her. She looks up as he approaches, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and relief. He pulls out a stool beside her and sits down, their knees almost touching, creating an intimate, comforting space amidst the darkness.

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly, concern evident in his voice.

She lets out a small, tired sigh, her fingers tightening around the mug. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just… it feels too much.”

They sit in silence for a while, the atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions. She slowly sips from the mug—warm milk, he notices. His eyes wander to the honey bottle at the far end of the counter, suggesting she had been stirring it in when he came in. The soft clinking of the spoon against the mug fades into the background, replaced by the quiet, steady rhythm of their breathing.

His hand rests gently on her thigh, his fingers making slow, soothing movements that help to calm her. She feels the warmth and comfort of his touch, and instinctively, she settles her hand over his, drawing strength from the simple contact. Time seems to slow down, and they remain like this for a while, enveloped in the stillness of the moment.

He looks at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, and he remembers the first time he realized he had some sort of feelings for her - fleeting, if not definitive. Back in King's Landing, in her bedroom, he had been so close to her that he’d had half a mind to kiss her. But she had been so troubled, and he knew from seeing Aegon and Helaena, that no good comes from entering into anything when you're not quite yourself.

He thought he would ask her out when she came to Oldtown, imagining a fresh start in a new place. But by then, the distance had played its part. 

His feelings, once intense in the way that only teenage introverts could experience, had started to dissolve, replaced by the new experiences and people that college inevitably brings into one's life. And then there was Alys. With Alys, there was no power play or domination that one would expect from a relationship with the age gap that they have - just two people who understood each other's interests and passions deeply, like no one else in their lives did. They were kindred spirits, and being with her felt easy and right. Alys was good to him, and their relationship felt solid and mature - regardless of how shaky the existence of it would seem to everyone around him.

Yet, as he sits here with her, he takes in her soft face, framed by her hair and lit up by the golden dim light. It is then that he realizes that his feelings - no matter how mild, how fleeting - never completely went away.

Finally, Aemond breaks the silence, his voice gentle and full of concern. “What happened?” he asks, his eyes searching hers for answers.

“I was at the party, and Will Tyrell and I were flirting.” His hand tightens over the smooth expanse of the skin of her thigh. “I’d had like… ten rounds of beer or something. One thing led to another and next thing I know, we’re making out in an empty room and…” She exhales with more effort than is required for her to live, and he encourages her to go on. “It just took me back to Jason Lannister for a moment and I started panicking. Couldn’t breathe for a moment there, really.”

“Hm.”

She leans her head down to be eye level with him, and she takes his hand in hers before she lets out a playful smile. “You’re like… my knight in a black motorcycle now, you know? Twice now I’ve had weird things happen to me at a party, and you've come to the rescue both times.”

“It’s not funny,” he says. He’d genuinely felt his heart stop when he heard her panicked voice over the phone at Alys’ house.

“It’s not. Sorry, I’m just grateful for you.”

Her hand leaves his to cradle his cheek. She’s the one who was found reeking of alcohol and vomit, and somehow he’s the one that needs comforting. “You’re always so serious, hm? So serious…” He grunts in response.

“Thank you. For being with me.”

He’s never been good with compliments, and this is a heavy one that he cannot wrap his mind around. He lets it wash over him like a calm evening breeze.

When her mug is empty and they come back to his bed, neither of them are in the right mindspace to wonder about how easily intimacy comes to them. 

Instead, she chooses to watch him, his silhouette. She’s still tired and hazy from the alcohol, and given the moment they’ve just had and the complete darkness of his bedroom, she can’t help but say it.

“You’re pretty.”

He doesn’t react, so she feels emboldened enough to continue. “You have such pretty eyes too. I always thought about it, but you always hated talking about your eyes so I never quite bothered with telling you.”

“Hm.”

Her quiet knight on a black motorcycle. 

How the fuck is she supposed to get over him now?

She wakes slowly, the world coming into focus as the soft light of morning filters through the blinds. She feels the warmth of Aemond’s chest against her back, his arm draped loosely around her waist. There’s a quiet comfort in the way they’re entangled, as if this is exactly where she’s meant to be. She’s still wearing his clothes - his t-shirt and shorts - and somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Her gaze drifts over to the bedside table, and she spots his reading glasses resting on top of a copy of Ten Thousand Ships. She thinks about how she never wants to see a table without his glasses again. 

The thought lingers, surprising her with its intensity. She tries not to move, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, and instead lets her eyes take in the little details around the room.

The leather jacket hanging neatly on a hook behind the door catches her attention, standing out in what she could only describe as clinical cleanliness. The pale walls, the simplicity of the space - it’s all so Aemond. Everything is meticulously arranged, no clutter in sight, just like him. Every little thing in this room reflects who he is, and she finds herself memorizing it all, as if trying to hold onto this feeling for as long as she can.

Before her thoughts can go further, she hears him stir behind her, his voice low and groggy. “Morning,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

She turns her head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him. “Morning,” she replies softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Aemond tightens his arm around her waist, pulling her just a little closer, and she feels her heart swell with a warmth that she isn’t ready to let go of. This, right here, feels like everything she didn’t know she needed.

She shifts slightly in his arms, just enough to face him. There’s a comfortable silence between them, one that feels both familiar and new. She traces lazy circles on the back of his hand with her finger, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“This is nice.” she says with a playful grin, trying to keep things light despite the weight in her chest. “Girlfriend behavior. Waking up in your bed, wearing your clothes… I’m basically halfway there.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Is that so? You’re already planning our future together, then?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “We’d probably spend our weekends at bookstores and museums. You’d drag me to some obscure historical sites, and I’d make you try every new coffee shop in town while I move around taking photos.”

“Sounds terrible,” he deadpans, though the warmth in his eyes betrays him.

“Absolutely dreadful, the most boring couple ever.” She agrees, her tone just as teasing. “But, hey, I’d get to borrow your shirts all the time, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Aemond smirks, but his expression softens as he looks at her. “Are you alright?” His voice is gentle, laced with concern.

She nods, trying to brush it off with a smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He doesn’t let it go, though, his thumb brushing lightly against her side. “Really?” 

Everywhere he touches, her heart seems to follow. It skips a beat at the sincerity in his eyes, and she feels the familiar tug of emotions she’s not quite ready to name. “I promise, Aemond. I’m fine.”

He studies her for a moment longer before finally nodding, though the worry doesn’t entirely leave his face. “Hm.”

She can’t help but laugh at his persistence, leaning in to kiss his cheek lightly. “I’m alright, I swear.”

She presses a hand to her forehead, feeling the dull ache settle behind her eyes. “I’ve got a slight headache,” she admits, her voice a little groggy. “And I could really use some food.”

Aemond nods, concern flickering across his face. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

They both slide out of bed, and she follows him to the bathroom where they keep spare toothbrushes for each other. It’s a simple, unspoken thing - having brushes at each other’s places because they often sleep over - but this is the first time she’s woken up with his arms around her. As she brushes her teeth beside him, the domesticity of it all makes her blush. It feels so natural, so easy, and yet there’s something about it that sends her heart racing.

After rinsing her mouth, she drinks a glass of water to ease the remnants of her headache before heading to the kitchen. She takes her usual place on one of the bar stools behind the counter, turning on the coffee machine. The sound of it humming to life is oddly soothing, and she watches as Aemond walks in, already rolling up the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to get started.

He pulls out the ingredients, his movements efficient and practiced. Wylde offers to help, and he nods her over without hesitation. As she steps closer, he lifts a small slice of cut avocado to her lips, eyes not moving away from the chopping board - habitual, it all seems habitual. She grunts, leaning in to eat it straight from his hand before taking over with slicing the bread.

They work together in comfortable silence, moving around each other with the ease of familiarity. Aemond cooks the eggs while she toasts the sourdough, and before long, they’re sitting at the counter with plates of food in front of them. The avocado is perfectly creamy, the eggs just the right amount of runny, the toast crisp and warm and her coffee is just right. 

Then she remembers he found her a right mess last night, and he’s simply being nice to a friend who had a bad night.

She wonders if the girl he’s hiding from her is perfect for him. She wonders if she ever embarasses herself in front of him like she clearly did last night. She wonders if he’s made her toast. She wonders if she’s woken up to the warmth of his lean arms wrapped around her waist. She wonders-

“What’s on your mind?”

She nods from side to side, a reassuring smile that is convincing enough that he doesn’t push further.

They eat in peaceful silence, exchanging small smiles as they enjoy the meal. It’s a quiet moment, but there’s a warmth in it that neither of them can ignore. When they’re done, they clear the dishes together, and for a brief moment, she lets herself imagine that this is what it could be like - easy and comfortable.

She wanted to catch him by the shoulders. She wanted to hug him till it hurt and her feet left the ground. She wanted to tuck her head into his neck and breathe in the smell of him, bask in the warmth of him. 

Choose me, choose me, choose me, choose-

She wants him. 

Gods.

She says thank you and leaves instead.

The next few weeks pass in a series of moments - each one small and seemingly insignificant, yet all of them add up to something much larger in her heart. It’s as if the universe has conspired to put Aemond in her path at every turn, and with each encounter, she finds herself falling deeper into feelings she’s not quite ready to name.

In the university hallways, she always spots him first. He’s usually leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a book he seems completely absorbed in. The early morning light filters through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over him. She notices the way his hair catches the light, the soft strands glinting silver against the dark fabric of his jacket. He looks so focused, so utterly engrossed in whatever he’s reading, that she almost doesn’t want to interrupt. But then he glances up, meeting her eyes, and a small, rare smile pulls at his lips.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low and smooth.

“Morning,” she replies, feeling her own smile spreading as she walks over.

The rest of their walk is silent until their hands reach out to graze at each other for just a few moments before they go their separate ways.

A few days later, she finds herself in the library, hunting down a book for one of her Foundation of Art in Essos assignments. The place is quiet, the scent of old paper and ink filling the air, and she’s completely lost in the stacks when she hears a familiar voice.

“Looking for something?”

She turns to find Aemond standing just a few feet away, a small stack of books in his arms. His eyes flicker to the title in her hand, and she swears she sees a hint of amusement in them.

“Yeah, just…this one,” she says, holding up the book she’s just found.

He nods, stepping closer. “That’s a good one. You might also want to check out the one by Mallister - it gives a different perspective.”

She takes his word and joins him at his table. She lets herself blush and be bothered by their feet touching under the table occasionally.

In their one shared class, she finds herself sneaking glances at him more often than she’d like to admit. Aemond always sits a few rows ahead, his attention fixed on the professor. She watches the way he takes notes, his handwriting neat and precise, and the way he occasionally pushes his hair back when it falls into his eyes. It’s such a small thing, but it makes her smile every time.

One day, he catches her looking. Instead of brushing it off or ignoring her, he turns slightly in his seat and raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. She feels her cheeks heat up, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she raises her own eyebrow in response, a silent dare.

After class, they walk together, discussing the lecture and the points that stood out to them. Aemond’s insights are sharp and thoughtful, and she finds herself hanging on to every word he says. There’s something about the way he sees the world - so different from anyone else - that fascinates her.

Then again, he could tell her that the dragons have come back to life - and she’d find a way to believe that too.

Cafe Moonbloom - her favorite cafe at Oldtown - becomes another place where their paths cross. It’s a cozy spot, filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and soft, ambient music. She often comes here to study or relax, and more often than not, Aemond shows up too, as if drawn by the same comforting atmosphere.

One afternoon, she’s sitting at a corner table, sipping her usual lavender latte, when he walks in. He spots her immediately, and after ordering his drink, he joins her at the table without hesitation.

She smiles. Seems it’s all she’s capable of doing in his presence these days.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, each of them absorbed in their own work. But every now and then, she finds herself looking up, catching glimpses of him as he reads or types on his laptop. 

At one point, he reaches across the table to take a sip of her drink, curiosity in his eyes. She lets him, laughing softly when he makes a face at the taste.

“Not a fan?” she teases.

“Too floral,” he replies, but there’s a warmth in his voice that makes her heart skip a beat.

“You say that each time.”

“That’s it,” she declares, looking over at Aemond, who’s deep into his notes. “We need a break. A real break.”

Aemond glances up, raising an eyebrow. They’re sitting in her flat, surrounded by textbooks and empty coffee cups. She closes her laptop with a decisive snap. “A break,” she repeats, leaning back against the couch and stretching her arms above her head. “We’ve been drowning in work for weeks. Let’s take a day off tomorrow and just… see the city. No papers, no studying. I can’t anymore.”

He considers her words for a moment, then slowly nods, a small smile forming on his lips. “Alright.”

When tomorrow comes, they’re on his motorbike - and she has no idea what he has planned.

The decision is made in a heartbeat. Aemond’s nod is all the confirmation she needs, and by morning, they’re zipping through the streets on his motorbike. The city blurs around them as the wind whips through her hair, the sound of the engine filling her ears. She clings to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, trusting him completely as they speed through the early morning light.

They weave through the streets, bypassing the usual morning traffic as the city slowly begins to wake up. The cool morning air carries the scent of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby river. Her excitement only grows as they approach the Honeywine, the river shimmering under the pale sunlight.

Finally, Aemond guides the bike down a quiet lane and comes to a stop near the edge of the river. She can see the Quill and Tankard ahead—a tall, timbered building leaning slightly southward, the dark wood exterior glowing in the morning light. The pub is nestled on an island in the middle of the Honeywine, connected to the rest of the city by an old plank bridge.

Aemond parks Vhagar, and they both dismount. She removes her helmet, her hair tousled and windswept, and follows Aemond as he leads the way to the bridge. The wooden planks creak slightly underfoot, adding to the charm of the place. She glances over the side, watching the water ripple below, the sound of the river soothing after their wild ride.

“You brought me to the Quill and Tankard?” she asks, her voice filled with pleasant surprise as they reach the other side of the bridge, her fingers brushing against his arm.

Aemond glances at her with a small, knowing smile. “Good spot to start,” he replies.

As they step inside, the warmth of the pub wraps around them like a cozy embrace. The common room is inviting, with wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and sunlight filtering through the tall, narrow windows. The smell of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making her stomach growl in anticipation.

They find a table near the window, the perfect spot to enjoy the view of the river and the old apple trees outside. Aemond shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of his chair, his movements casual but undeniably graceful. She follows suit, but can’t help but notice how effortlessly he commands the space around him.

When their breakfast arrives - thick slices of sourdough toast topped with peanut butter, peaches, and pomegranate, alongside a pot of rich, dark coffee—she sighs in contentment, her eyes sparkling as she glances at Aemond. “This is perfect,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

He nods, the corners of his lips lifting into a faint smile as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m glad,” he replies, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary. She thinks her heart actually skips a beat.

They eat slowly, savoring the food and the easy conversation that flows between them. Every now and then, their knees brush under the table, sending a little thrill through her that she tries to ignore, though the faint flush on her cheeks might give her away. Aemond seems to notice, a small, teasing smile playing at his lips whenever their eyes meet.

After they finish, they linger for a while longer, sipping the last of their coffee and enjoying the calm, the comfortable silence between them punctuated by the occasional shared glance and knowing smile. When it’s finally time to leave, she feels a reluctant tug in her chest. She doesn’t want the morning to end, but she knows they have the whole day ahead of them.

As they cross the old plank bridge again, she reaches out and takes Aemond’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. His skin is warm against hers, and she can’t help but notice how naturally their fingers intertwine. He glances at her, his expression softening as he squeezes back.

“Where to next?” she asks, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she tilts her head, her eyes searching for a clue.

Aemond smirks, his eye glinting with the hint of another surprise. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

When they finally arrive at the Starry Sept, she hops off the bike, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the towering structure before them. The sept stands like a sentinel over the city, its seven-pointed star gleaming in the sunlight.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, her excitement palpable as she hurries ahead, eager to explore. She glances back at Aemond, who trails behind with a small smile on his lips, his phone in hand as he quietly captures the moment—the soaring architecture, the play of light and shadow, and her own vibrant enthusiasm as she moves from one point of interest to the next.

She leads the way, her steps light as she marvels at the intricately carved statues and the colorful stained-glass windows that adorn the sept. Every now and then, she turns to share her excitement with him, her voice animated as she points out something new—a particularly beautiful mosaic, a hidden alcove, the way the sunlight pours through the windows, casting rainbows on the stone floor.

Aemond, as usual, is quieter, but she can see the way his gaze softens whenever he looks at her, how he pauses to take photos not just of the sept but of her too, capturing the way her eyes light up with each discovery. There’s something in his expression, a quiet contentment that makes her heart flutter whenever their eyes meet.

They wander deeper into the sept, through narrow corridors that twist and turn like a labyrinth, the ancient stones cool under their fingertips. She is in awe of the place, her footsteps echoing in the silence as they venture further inside.

When they reach a section that is clearly marked as restricted, she hesitates, looking at him with a raised brow. “Are we allowed in there?” she asks, a mix of curiosity and caution in her voice.

Aemond’s response is a single word, spoken with quiet confidence. “Otto.”

She laughs softly, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. “Of course. Should’ve guessed.”

With a smirk, he pushes open the heavy wooden door, leading them into a part of the sept that few ever see. The air here is different, almost sacred, and she feels a shiver of reverence as her fingers brush against the rough stone walls.

At one point, her foot catches on an uneven flagstone, and she stumbles, a startled gasp escaping her lips as she feels herself begin to fall. The world around her seems to tilt, the ancient stones rushing up to meet her, but before she can even process what’s happening, Aemond is there. He moves with a speed and grace that never ceases to amaze her, his strong arms enveloping her in a firm, protective embrace.

His hands settle on her waist, fingers splayed wide as if to shield her from the world itself. The sudden, intimate contact sends a jolt of electricity through her, making her pulse quicken and her breath hitch in her throat. For a moment, they are frozen like that, their bodies pressed close together, and all she can hear is the rapid pounding of her own heart.

Aemond’s chest is solid against her back, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, calming and steadying yet igniting something deep within her. His breath is warm and steady, ghosting across her ear in a way that sends shivers down her spine. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his fingertips press gently but possessively into her sides, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the subtle scent of leather and pine that clings to him.

She turns in his arms and for a moment, she thinks he might kiss her. The thought is dizzying, and she’s caught between hope and fear, between wanting to close her eyes and lean in, and wanting to pull back before everything changes. But then, almost as quickly as it began, the moment shifts. He blinks, the intensity in his gaze softening just a fraction, and she sees the flicker of restraint, the conscious decision as he takes a step back, putting a small but significant distance between them.

The loss of his warmth is immediate, almost jarring, and she feels the absence of his touch keenly, like a missing piece she hadn’t realized she was holding on to. He’s still close, still within reach, but the spell between them has broken, the moment passed, leaving behind a lingering sense of what might have been.

She gives him a small, grateful smile, though it feels a bit shaky, her heart still pounding in her chest. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice quieter than she intends, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile understanding they’ve just shared.

He nods, his lips curving into a faint smile, though there’s something in his expression that she can’t quite read, something that leaves her wondering if he’s as affected by the moment as she is. His hand drops from her waist, but not before his fingers trail lightly down her arm, a touch so fleeting it’s almost like an afterthought, yet it leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

Eventually, they reach a small, secluded courtyard, open to the sky and bathed in golden light. She lets out a soft sigh as she looks around, her eyes wide with wonder.

Something has shifted. This much they both know.

The ride back to her flat is quiet.

They’ve spent the entire day together, yet there’s a weight in the air between them, something  that hangs in the silence. The Starry Sept, the Quill and Tankard, the moments that lingered just a little too long - all of it circles in her mind, and she wonders if he’s thinking about it too.

She holds onto him just a little tighter.

As they near her apartment, she breaks the silence with a light-hearted comment. “You know, if someone told me a month ago that I’d be exploring the Starry Sept with you, sneaking into restricted areas like we’re in some spy movie, I’d have laughed them off.”

Aemond chuckles softly, the sound almost drowned out by the bike’s engine. “Guess you’re more adventurous than you thought.”

She grins, resting her chin on his shoulder as she speaks into his ear. “Or maybe you’re just a bad influence. You and your… Otto connections.”

He smirks, though she can’t see it through his helmet. “I prefer ‘resourceful.’”

She laughs, a light, musical sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t quite explain. “Resourceful, huh? I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to get into a restricted section of the library.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re too serious,” she teases, nudging him gently with her knee. “You need to loosen up, Aemond. Enjoy life a little.”

“I enjoy life just fine,” he counters, though there’s a trace of defensiveness in his tone.

“Oh, really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you could use a bit more fun.” She tilts her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well. I bring the fun, you bring the… brooding?”

“I do not brood,” he says, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

She raises an eyebrow. “You totally brood. It’s your thing. That, and being all mysterious and - ”

“And what?” he interrupts, genuinely curious now.

She pauses, the words hanging in the air between them as they finally pull up to her building. He turns off the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. Slowly, she slips off her helmet, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders as she considers her next words carefully.

“And… thoughtful,” she finally says, her voice softer, more serious now. “You notice things about people. You’re observant, and you care. Even if you don’t always show it.”

Aemond is quiet for a moment, processing her words. He steps off the bike, standing close to her as she sits on the seat, their proximity making her heart race. His voice is low, almost vulnerable. 

“More than you might think.”

There’s a moment of silence as they look at each other, the air between them thick. She bites her lip, her usual playfulness replaced by something deeper, more intense. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Aemond takes a step closer, his hands resting on either side of the bike, his body inches from hers. “You do?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

She nods, her eyes searching his, looking for the truth in his words. “Yeah. I do.”

Aemond’s eyes hold hers for a long moment, the violet of his iris darkening as his gaze drops to her lips, then back to her eyes. She can see the conflict there, the way he’s holding himself back, the tension in the air between them charged with tension every passing second.

She inhales deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat spreading through her body. Her fingers flex slightly, still gripping the edge of the seat, a lifeline to steady herself as she teeters on the edge of something she’s been avoiding for far too long.

He shifts closer, the space between them shrinking to almost nothing. His hands hover just above her thighs, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. She can feel the roughness of his breath against her skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he fights the same battle she is.

Pull him in, or let him pull away.

And then he’s moving, slow, deliberate, one hand lifting to trace the line of her jaw. His thumb brushes over her bottom lip, the contact so light it sends a shiver down her spine. She parts her lips slightly, instinctively, her breath catching in her throat.

Aemond watches her, his gaze intent, burning, like he’s committing every detail to memory. Her flushed cheeks, the way her lashes flutter as she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, the way her breath hitches as his thumb drags down, grazing her chin.

She’s the one who leans in first, just enough for their noses to brush, for his breath to mingle with hers. “Aemond…” she murmurs, barely a whisper, a plea and a question all at once.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hand slides to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he closes the distance between them. His lips meet hers in a kiss that starts slow, tentative, like he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far she’ll let him go.

But she’s not holding back, not now. Her hands move to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she pulls him closer, her lips parting to deepen the kiss. He responds in kind, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat as he presses against her, the kiss turning heated, urgent.

It’s not a gentle kiss, not after all the tension, the words, the stolen glances. It’s everything they’ve been holding back, all the frustration, the longing, the need crashing together in a tangle of lips and tongues and breathless gasps.

She shifts on the bike, her knees brushing against his thighs as she pulls him closer, needing more of him, needing to feel him everywhere. His hands slide to her waist, fingers digging in as he lifts her slightly, positioning her so she’s sitting on the very edge of the seat, her legs parting to make room for him.

Aemond steps between her thighs, his body pressing into hers, the kiss deepening as he takes control, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that leaves her dizzy. Her hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping tight, as if she’s afraid he might pull away, that this might be a dream she’ll wake up from.

But he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer, his hands roaming over her back, her sides, mapping out every curve, every inch of her that he’s been dreaming of touching. His mouth moves against hers with a desperation that matches her own, a need to make up for all the lost time, all the moments they could have had but didn’t.

She tilts her head back slightly, giving him better access as his lips move to her jaw, then down to her neck. He kisses a line down to the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his clothed shoulders.

“Aemond,” she breathes out, her voice shaky, needy.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, intense, filled with something she’s never seen before. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely controlled. “Tell me, and I will.”

“I thought you were seeing someone.”

“Tell me to stop.” The sentence holds no space for argument, almost as though he knows for certain that she wouldn’t stop him.

She couldn’t even if she wanted to. 

Instead, she shakes her head, her fingers curling around the nape of his neck as she pulls him back to her, her lips finding his in a kiss that says everything she can’t put into words. She does not want to think, she simply wants to be.

The world falls away. There’s no more fear, no more doubt, no more holding back. It’s just them, tangled together in a mess of heated skin, breathless kisses, and a desperate need for more.

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at once, the kiss stretching on for what feels like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough. She feels like she’s drowning in him, in the way he tastes, the way he feels pressed against her, the way his hands hold her like she’s something precious, something he’s afraid to lose.

And when they finally pull apart, gasping for air, their foreheads resting together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, she realizes that this - whatever this is - was inevitable. They were always going to end up here, at this moment, with everything they’ve been holding back finally spilling over.

The streetlamp glows, the light flickering over them. The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of rain, though the clouds have long since parted to reveal a sky dotted with stars. They hear the occasional whoosh of a car passing on a nearby street, tires hissing against the damp pavement, the sound growing louder before fading into the distance. Somewhere nearby, a dog barks once, twice, before falling silent, leaving the night to its quiet.

The scent of the city surrounds them - a mix of wet asphalt, a hint of exhaust, and the faint, lingering aroma of coffee from the cafe on the corner. But there’s something else too, something she only just notices now - the subtle, clean scent of Aemond’s cologne, mingling with the smell of leather and the faintest hint of smoke, clinging to his clothes and skin. It’s comforting, grounding her in this moment, making it feel all the more real.

The soft thud of her heart is almost louder than the ambient noises around them, each beat echoing in her ears as she takes in the scene - the way Aemond’s hair catches the light, the way his eyes seem to reflect the stars above them, the way his breath mingles with hers in the small space between them.

You’re seeing someone else, she had said. He hadn’t disagreed.

She wants to reach out, to shake his shoulders, to demand that he tell her what this all means. She wants him to choose her, to see her in the way she sees him - more than just a fleeting moment, more than just this night. The urge is so strong it almost frightens her, this need to make him say it, to make him admit what they both know is simmering between them. But she holds back. She swallows the words before they can form, feeling them burn in her throat, a quiet ache that spreads through her chest.

She could ask him, right now, what this means for them, whether this is something real or just another moment that will fade with the dawn. But the fear of his answer, or worse, his silence, keeps her rooted in place. The thought of hearing him say that this is nothing, that they are nothing, is more than she can bear. So she says nothing.

Instead, she stays silent, feeling the weight of a barrier that she both wants to break and keep intact. Because asking him, forcing him to confront whatever this is, might ruin it. Might turn this into something complicated, something messy. 

She’s not sure she’s ready for that. Not yet.

She decides, in that moment, that she would rather have him like this - halfway, uncertain, but here - than risk losing him entirely. So she bites her tongue, swallows her fear, and chooses to stay in the safety of their unspoken connection. It’s easier this way, she tells herself. Easier to take what he’s willing to give and leave the rest unspoken, untouched.

“This is real.” He nods. 

She leans into the warmth of him, feeling the press of his hand on her thigh, the steady beat of his heart against her own, and lets herself have this. 

For now, it’s enough.

MASTERLIST No tag lists. Please follow and turn on notifications for @randomdragonfics to get fic updates! :)

[littledovesnow]

a snow wedding | young!corioulanus x fem!reader

a/n: you'll never guess who officiates their wedding lmao

word count: 1.8k (i could have gone on for like 10k honestly weddings are so fun to writ)

content warnings: ooc!coriolanus, coryo is nicer in my fics than the book/movie (more of the coriolanus at the start of the movie tbh), some hinting at bedroom festivites

You know,” you looked in the mirror at your maid of honor. “I always thought you and Coryo would be the two at the end of the aisle reciting vows.”

Clemensia choked on her mimosa, laughter bubbling over the glass. “The way he’s always looked at you? Absolutely no doubt in my mind you two would end up together.” She replied, setting the flute over and walking over to you.

You peered over at the pristine white gown hanging up, still just as beautiful as when you picked it out two months ago.

Coriolanus had proposed almost a year ago, wanting nothing more than to finally call you Mrs. Snow. “It would make me the happiest man in the Capitol, the country.”

You nodded furiously, watching as he slid the exquisite gold band adorned with a halo of small diamonds around a larger stone. It was a lavish ring, one you assumed he had ruminated over after securing a permanent position in the Citadel alongside Dr. Gaul.

A knock on the door broke up the conversation between the two women, Tigris popping her head into the makeshift bridal suite. “Just checking to see if you need anything before I go down to meet Grandma’am.”

“Tigris, this gown is to die for!” Clemensia praised the tailor, whose cheeks flushed like she had spent weeks in the sun.

“It’s just something I threw together.”

“Oh, don’t be modest, Tigris. It’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve seen some out of your studio.” You smiled, pulling Tigris into the room more. “But I do have one thing you might have to help me with.”

“What might that be?”

You gestured to the gown, spinning to look at the two most important women in your life. “Can you ladies help me get into this dress? The corset looks like a game Coryo would make up in the Games.”

Clemensia laughed, and Tigris clapped enthusiastically, setting her purse on the pristine couch in the corner.

-----

Coriolanus messed with the cuff links he had purchased for the day exclusively, looking at the small photograph of his mother he kept in his wallet. It was new for him, carrying a wallet around.

He had only a few things in there, his Citadel ID card, a few hundred dollars­—pocket change for him nowadays—and the crumbled notebook paper he had written his vows on one day in the lab while Dr. Gaul met with President Ravenstill and Dean Highbottom.

They were messy, lines crossed out and words in the margins, and Coriolanus was fairly certain his sweaty palm had rubbed a few lines into illegible scribbles. He wouldn’t need them, though, he’s stared at this paper for weeks, the words engrained into his mind for the rest of his days.

He looked up when he heard a knock on his door, his best man stepping into the room.

“You just about ready?” Festus asked, looking around at the mostly bare room. “I think your grandmother is about ready to charge into the bridal suite and wed the two of you.”

If asked who he would think would be his best man at his wedding, Coriolanus Snow would never have said Festus Creed, but after the 10th Hunger Games and his short Peacekeeping stint, the two grew close, something akin to friendship.

“It was Grandma’am’s idea to have an evening ceremony.” Coriolanus muttered mostly to himself, but he tucked his wallet and vows back into his pocket, nodding at the curly-haired man.

“I am ready.”

-----

Delicately rubbing your sweaty palm on your dress, you peered through the small opening between two columns, trying to get a peek at your soon-to-be husband.

“Oh, you’ll see him soon enough!” Lysistrata Vickers smiled at you, bringing you into a hug.

You, Clemensia, and Lysistrata had all grown closer after your mentorship in the Games, going so far as to become friends and spend weekend trips in Districts One and Two on occasion.

“I haven’t seen him all weekend, Lyssie! He wouldn’t even tell me what color his suit is. All I know is that it complements his eyes, and I got that from Tigris!”

Clemensia and Lysistrata shared a knowing look, having seen Coriolanus’ tuxedo as they wished him a good morning in passing.

“He looks exquisite, I hope that makeup is waterproof because I know you’ll be a puddle as soon as you see him!”

Your grin nearly split your face in two, preparing to seal your fate as a Snow.

Clemensia took your hand and gave it a squeeze, stepping up to walk down the aisle with you since neither of your parents were able to.

Lysistrata marched down the split of chairs first, grinning ear-to-ear as she met up with her own husband, Festus downright devouring her with his eyes.

You took a deep breath as you turned around the corner, eyes dancing from one side of the room to the other.

You and Coriolanus wanted to have a smaller audience in person, with a majority of the Capitol and Districts tuning into the wedding live on TV.

Dr. Gaul, who you and Coriolanus had asked to officiate the wedding, had a positively radiant smile on her face, a rarity for the woman. But how could she not, her two star pupils were getting married today.

You finally locked eyes with your fiancé, you Coriolanus, your Coryo. Most would take the look on his face for a smirk, but you knew the man you were about to marry, you knew he was holding back a million-watt smile.

Before you knew it, you were at the end of the aisle, Clemensia squeezing your hand and taking the bouquet of red and white roses, giving you the chance to smooth the skirt of your gown.

“Hi.” You whispered, cheeks beginning to ache from your smile.

Coriolanus chuckled softly, taking both of your hands in his own, giving them a squeeze. “Hi, gorgeous.”

Dr. Gaul, who was perhaps the only one close enough to hear the small greetings, looked at you both to make sure it was okay for her to begin.

“Today, we are here to celebrate the union of two of Panem’s most important people, two people who I have gotten to know throughout their time at the Academy, University, and mentorship.”

The ceremony was shorter than some other weddings you had been to, with you and Coriolanus wanting to share vows in private, not wanting the nation to listen in, wanting to keep some things between the two of you.

Before you knew it, Dr. Gaul was announcing you two as the Snows, the crowd erupting into cheers as you and Coriolanus shared your first kiss as a married couple.

-----

With the ceremony over, you and Coriolanus had a short period of time before the reception, taking place in one of the grandest ballrooms in the Capitol. There would be more people at the reception than there were at the ceremony, with Coriolanus getting ready to run for election in the coming months, so you knew you had to be on your best behavior and help pull the votes in for your husband.

“What’re you thinking about, wife?” Coriolanus asked, lovesick smile on his face as he referred to you as his wife for the first time.

“Hmm?” You asked, shaking your head like an Etch-a-Sketch. “Nothing, just how lucky I am that you’re my husband.”

“Oh? I thought I was the lucky one.” Coriolanus replied, leaning in to kiss you in the back of the luxury car, which was taking you to the reception hall.

You couldn’t help the blush that tinted your cheeks. “Coryo,” you murmured, slipping off the bright red heels you had picked out to wear to the reception, Coriolanus grinning up at you from between your legs as you had brought the idea up one night a few weeks ago.

“How does it feel, to be a Snow?” Coriolanus asked, knowing glint in his eyes.

“Feels like I’m worth a million bucks.”

Coriolanus laughed, fixing his bowtie as the car pulled up to the entrance, groaning when he saw Lucky Flickerman and his parade of cameras.

You knew better than to say anything to the weatherman-turned-host, leaving it all up to Coriolanus, who greeted the cameras with a stiff smile and a “it feels wonderful, something I’ve always dreamt of” when asked how it felt being married.

Entering the reception, you and Coriolanus were greeted with cheers, clapping, and a few wolf whistles.

You two did first rounds greeting the more important people in the room, people you two had known since you were both children.

Tigris squealed so loud you and Coriolanus both winced at the pitch, but laughed as she clapped and hugged you two. “Officially part of the family! I’ve always wanted a sister!”

“Tigris, we aren’t even siblings.” Coriolanus chuckled, hand around your waist and thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly.

You lightly slapped the man’s chest. “Oh, hush. She’s been a sister to me since we first started dating.”

Tigris took your hand, admiring the new addition to your left ring finger. Next to the engagement ring now sat a white gold wedding band, matching the one that now adorned Coriolanus’ left hand.

You promised to have a girl’s night with Tigris as Coriolanus dragged you away, knowing you two would be talking all night if he didn’t break up the conversation while there was a lull.

The two of you ended up in front of Casca Highbottom, who was unusually well-groomed, beard tame and hair gelled. “Well, I guess you can thank me for this.”

“Pardon?” You asked, feeling Coriolanus tense at the elder’s words.

“If it wasn’t for my thinking of the Hunger Games, you two would never have spoken a word to each other.”

Coriolanus did nothing more than give a short smile to the man, thanking him for his wedding gift before you two left him to his morphling and posca.

“Why did you invite him, Coryo?” You asked, finally being able to sit for a moment.

“It would have looked bad to not have my father’s best friend here. The man technically did is the reason we’re where we are now.”

You shrugged, agreeing with Coriolanus. “Come on, I want some cake.”

Coriolanus laughed, following you towards the four-tiered red-velvet cake.

------

Collapsing onto the bed, you sighed contently as you toed off the red heels you had been dancing in all night.

“What do you think, shall we spend our first night married as we did the last night as an unmarried couple?” Coriolanus asked, already shedding his clothing.

“Oh, I like the way you think.” You smiled, sitting up. “But you have to help me undo this corset before anything.”

a/n: maybe some good angst next? what do you think my little snakes my little rainbow fiends

[crybaby-bkg]

His Muse

Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader Warnings: Yandere Bakugou, Obsessive Tendencies, psychoanalyst therapist reader, smut, extremely dubious consent, stalking, kindapping (tagging to be safe), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampies, kitchen sex, strength kink, threats of violence (not to reader). please let me know if I missed anything! Word Count: 6.5k Notes: this isn't a more violent yandere fic, and has lots of bargaining and dub con, just as a warning!! but I can't believe I came up with this idea in November omg I move so slow when it comes to full fics. also I tried gradient style for the title and I love it lol it was so fun to try. anyway, please enjoy!! Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI! Also available on ao3!

When Bakugou comes to you to be his therapist, you don’t think twice about it. He filled out his application correctly, he answered when you called, his insurance went through, his problems sounded legit. You had become wary taking on new patients in your field—dealing with criminals, those with hardened and extensive records, people with all kinds of issues that an everyday therapist wouldn’t be able to handle accordingly. But you did it all (someone had to), so your vetting process was a little heavier than usual, if the therapy wasn’t state mandated. 

But Bakugou Katsuki passed with flying colors. If anything, he sounded a little too normal for your line of work, but he kept promising that his issues would be better discussed during sessions. With a little hesitance, you agree and take him on. 

He’s…okay, for the most part. A little gruff, rough around the edges and snappy when you try to touch on certain topics of his life. But in general, he’s a great patient; he pays on time, shows up five minutes early, doesn’t linger when your next patient comes buzzing, doesn’t try to touch you or seek out personal information from you. 

If anything, he still seems a bit too strait-laced for you. That is, until he starts to delve into why he really wants to come to therapy—to deal with his tendencies of rage, lashing out, and obsession. You had told him that you didn’t deal much with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but he had assured you that, no, his obsessions and compulsions weren’t about checking the locks a certain amount of times on a Wednesday, but instead about people. 

He obsessed over people, and when things wouldn’t go his way, his rage would rear its ugly head. He still hasn’t told you what his rage specifically looks like, especially with how he momentarily glances over at your little message pinned on your wall that warns people about admitting criminal acts that you’d have to report, damn the confidentiality. 

“When did these obsessions start?” You ask him, body tilted toward him even though your eyes and hands move to your open computer. You document what he says, take note of it all, skimming over previous notes from other appointments. 

“Maybe about eighteen months ago?” Bakugou’s voice is gravelly, deep and grating against the column of his throat. As he answers, he shoves his hands in his sweats pockets, scoots down a little further on your adjacent couch, looks around the room as if he hadn’t been in here a few times before. 

“So this is a more recent development?” You ask, humming under your breath and nodding when he grunts an affirmation. You type, obsessive tendencies over people started less than two years ago, could be trauma based, and you wonder if he can read the words through the reflection of your glasses when you look over to see his eyebrows screwed down. 

“Was it sudden for you?” You cock your head to the side, before shaking your head. “Let me rephrase; did these tendencies ever show their faces in other aspects of your life? Different time periods, situations? Or was it just a sudden thing that happened, something you realized once the obsession had already begun?” He starts nodding his head before you can even finish, his ash blond bangs shadowing his eyes for a second in such a way that sends a prickle of chills up your arms. You don’t know why, so you try to swallow the feeling down until it burns at the back of your throat, shifting a little in your cushioned seat. Bakugou watches you for a second before he opens his mouth to speak. 

“It was sudden.” He answers, plainly, doesn’t offer up much else until you cock an eyebrow at him, signaling for him to go on. He rolls his eyes and huffs under his breath, shifting again before he shrugs dramatically with his hands still in his pockets. 

“I dunno, I was fuckin’ normal until I wasn’t.” You chuckle a little at his tone, crossing your legs under the desk, watching how Bakugou’s vermillion eyes dart down to catch the sight of them, before they slide back up to your face. 

“You’ve been in a relationship before?” You state more than ask, eyebrows slid high on your face in question, watching Bakugou roll his eyes a little before he nods. 

“Yeah.” He offers, his mouth set in a thin line, obviously not wanting to offer up too much information on the topic. 

“How many?” You push. How the hell does he expect you to help him when he keeps giving you short answers, nothing to work with? Why even seek out your help if he acts like being here is such a nuisance to deal with?

“Two.” Bakugou says through gritted teeth, eyes cutting at the decorations you have hung on the walls. “What does this have to do with anything, anyway?” He spits, cuts his eyes at you once more as you narrow your own at him. 

“I’m trying to find a connection between your sudden obsessive tendencies with your relationships with people in the world.” You clarify for him, sitting up a little in your seat as his own irritation bubbling off of him starts to sink into your pores, too. 

“People rarely have sudden personality flips and switches with no leading causes beforehand. Did these tendencies start because of preexisting mommy issues that were suddenly uncovered after being repressed for years? Were you in a long and committed relationship, which ended in such a way that it wasn’t necessarily on your terms, even if it was ultimately your own call? Was it an accident you were in? Have you always been like this and never realized it? Do you understand what I’m saying, Katsuki?” 

…

Bakugou isn’t taking in a single word that you’re telling him. He wishes he could; he’s sure you’re saying some real shit that he should most likely take into consideration. But its so hard to focus when you look at him like that, when your neck rolls a little with every word, when your foot bounces under the desk, the way your lips curve just so. 

You’re the reason he’s even here right now. The bane of his fuckin’ existence, but also the  only thing that matters to him in the world. 

You are his obsession. His muse, his fantasy, his daydream turned reality. And it’s all your fucking fault. With how you prance around your home with your curtains open, wearing nothing but slutty little shirts and no bra, no pants, just panties that sink into the curves of your ass and thighs. How you just go about your life without a care in the fucking world, always so oblivious to everything around you. 

You hadn’t even noticed him, the months he spent watching over you. Didn’t catch his lingering stares, or how his ash blond head of hair always seemed to be at least ten feet behind you with every step you took. How your long time neighbor from across the hall suddenly disappeared, how a new tenant moved in when he knew you’d be out. How you forget entirely too often to lock your door, to put your used panties in the hamper. How you tease him with everything, how you’ve been fucking leading him on for over a year and a half now. 

So, he had to get desperate. Had to search you up and find what qualifications he needed in order to be seen by you, a psychoanalytical therapist for those who want to be reformed. 

But Bakugou had no plans on reformation. There was nothing for him to be reformed on. He just wanted you, and goddamnit, if he wasn’t going to have you. 

“I understand you, doc. Loud and clear.”

***

It was your day off, and you had plans on spending it in your bed, catching up on some reading and maybe finishing that one show you started a while ago. But, lunch time came around, and you were craving something specific and didn’t have all the ingredients that you needed. You figured you could go out to the grocery store to grab them, get some fresh air on the way there, and maybe stop at that book shop you had been eyeing for a while. 

You get ready quickly, closing your front door behind you, pausing for a second to stare at the door across the hall. You still can’t believe Ms. Hayashi had so suddenly moved out, especially after living in this complex since it was first built. She hadn’t even said goodbye, and you never got the chance to return the Tupperware she lended you. 

It wouldn’t have been as weird if someone hadn’t supposedly moved in the next day. You were a gossip with your landlord, a nice older lady, and she gave you all up the updates on the people who lived in the complex. She had said that he was a nice guy, kind of scary and intimating in stature, but respectful the whole time. Said that he didn’t even look at the apartment before giving her the first six months rent and despot in cash. She told you to ever call her if you smelled meth cooking from that apartment, as no one who works a regular job just has that kind of money laying around. 

You shrug to yourself, coming to the conclusion that maybe the new owner just needed to get out of town, away from somewhere or someone else. Everyone has their reasonings, and you can’t analyze every single move someone you haven’t even met before has ever made. 

You continue down the steps until you’re out of the building, unaware of the crimson eyes that follow your every movement. The walk to the store is a little longer than you’d like for it to be, but you figure that the exercise can do you some justice, and it’s always nice being out in nature. You stop and pick a flower that grows from a crack in the sidewalk, twirling it in your finger the whole way to the store, finally tucking it behind your ear when you have to grab a grocery cart. 

And still—and still—you don’t see the eyes that watch you. The figure that follows your every move, that disappears behind walls and aisles every time you turn your back. You feel it though, he can tell, because you move a little quicker and look over your shoulder more than usual. 

You go to the self checkout, trying to hurry now, as an uneasy feeling starts to wash over you. You get these often, especially working in the field that you do with the patients that you choose to take on—hardened criminals, fresh out of jail and still ready to harm society, people that just like to see the world burn for the fun of it. 

The therapist is typically one of the first few people to be taken out, after parents. You’re always too high on the list for your liking, despite loving your job. 

You keep trying to scan an item, but it’s not working, and that only makes your panic settle in deeper into your bones. You try to remember the techniques that you give people when they start to feel overwhelmed by their emotions and what goes on in their heads, but its hard when that sinking feeling only grows deeper and heavier by the moment until—

“Need some help with that?” You jump away quickly, eyes wide as you hold up the can of soup you were gripping tightly like a weapon. You let out a breath though, only in slight relief, to see that its one of your patients standing beside you—Bakugou Katsuki. He looks different than he usually does in your sessions together; he’s wearing a tight compression shirt that hugs his wide shoulders, navy blue in color, sweatpants that wrap around the thick muscles in his thighs, and plain running shoes. 

For some reason though, the panic in your stomach doesn’t fully quell at the sight of him. 

“No, I got it. Thanks though, Bakugou.” You tell him politely, smiling shakily. Why does the sight of him unnerve you so bad? You’ve run into patients before on the street, and they never make you feel like this, this uneasy, even when it was dark and you were dressed more scantily than you are now, with your baggy pants and too big shirt. 

“You sure?” He grunts, cocking his head at you as he gently pries the can from your still tight grip. “I watched you struggle with it for like, two minutes. Let me.” He tells you, never taking his eyes off of you as he scans your item easily enough. He only looks away when he bags it for you, and starts to scan the rest of your things as if you weren’t standing there. 

“Oh no, it’s okay, I can finish that myself.” You wave him off him with a shaky smile, finally breaking out of your stupor when he’s damn near finished. You reach out to stop him, but Bakugou only waves you away with a grunt. 

“’S alright. It’s the least I can do for you helping me figure my crazy out.” Bakugou shrugs at you, a joke you’re presuming, as he glances over at you with a tiny lilt at the corner of his mouth. It calms you, only for a second, before something ever so slightly changes in his eyes, in the way he looks at you and takes you in, makes you feel like something sinister is sinking deep into your bones. Your stomach tightens again, and you have to force a smile when he finishes, before it drops when you see him reaching for his wallet. 

“Oh, I really can’t let you pay for my groceries.” You tell him, stepping up to him before pausing when he looks at you out of the corner of his eye with an expression so terrifying, that it makes stone drop into the pit of your belly. 

“Let me.” Bakugou tells you more than asks you, and you nod slowly, swallowing the thickness that has settled into the back of your throat. You can only watch as he pulls out a wad of cash, counting through it before inserting it into the machine, mouth set in a thin line all the while. You try to take him in, figure out where his own groceries are to be in this section, where all this money is coming from, if his address that he put on the file is even anywhere near this area. 

It’s not. 

“Cmon.” Bakugou snaps you out of your trance, big veiny hands holding all of your groceries as he nods his head to the exit. You’re stuck there, wondering if this is really happening, if these are just boundaries being crossed or a crime about to be committed. You feel tears stinging at your eyes as you try to blink them away, hiccuping slightly as you slowly shake your head. 

“Please give me my groceries, Bakugou.” You don’t even recognize your own voice, soft and shaky and purely terrified. Bakugou fixes you with another deadly expression but this time—this time he smiles at you, and its everything but friendly. All big white teeth and too sharp incisors, all falsely charming and all weaponry, all threat with no escape from his drooling maw. 

“I think we should go home, now. Don’t you?” He asks you with a cock of his head, body still turned to the exit, his stature eery with how the veins in his neck throb with every second you stay rooted in your spot. “Before something happens to these nice people in here, right? Before they have to bear witness to a massacre, all because you don’t want to walk home with me.”

You have to bite back your sob that bubbles up in your throat. You’re terrified of what will happen to you, but you’re a caretaker first. You have to put yourself before these people, put yourself before the monster that wants you as a sacrifice before he burns an entire village down for you. 

So you nod, and take the hand offered to you as he switches the groceries to one hand, just to squeeze yours in the other. 

You leave out of the grocery store with tears muddled in your eyes, a quivering chin that you try to conceal, hope no one wants to be a hero and find themselves hurt, or worse, because you can’t school your expressions. 

This was taught in a psychology course you took in college, you remember. One of your classes after you started working on your highest degree—what to do in real life situations as a psychologist. How to avoid more conflict when a patient is erratic. How to deescalate. How to survive. 

Everything you’ve ever learned has gone out the window now. 

You and Bakugou walk down the street hand in hand, looking like a normal couple for the most part, besides your trembling jaw and shaky steps. You glance up to him, watching him squint in the sunlight before he glances down at you, squeezing your hand gently, as if to comfort you, as if he weren’t the cause of your panic. You notice that he’s walking right in the direction of your apartment, as if the route were memorized. 

“How do you know where I live?” You ask shakily, mouth full of cotton as Bakugou keeps his head forward, grinning. He glances at you again, eyes bouncing between the delicate flower tucked behind your ear, and the terrified expression your eyes carry. 

“I should be asking you the same thing.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t offer up anymore information until you stand outside of your building. “You know, for you to be a therapist to fuckin’ weirdos, you don’t watch your back good enough for my liking.” 

You didn’t think your stomach could sink any lower, but it does. It does when the realization settles, when his words kick in—that he’s been watching you, but for how long? How could you not have noticed? Did he even contact you because he needed help, or was this only a way to grow closer to you, to his obsession?

Before you know it, Bakugou has walked you up the stairs until you reached your floor. Your body turns to instinctively to your door, but you’re pulled in the other direction. 

“Wha—” you go to ask Bakugou, before you notice he’s set your groceries down to fiddle with the key to…to the apartment across the hall from you. You feel the tears flood again, letting them flow this time since no one is around to try and save you and put themselves in harms way anymore. 

“It’s been you? This whole time?” You ask slowly, starting to pull away when Bakugou opens the door to Ms. Hayashi’s apartment, still decorated the same before she mysteriously disappeared—you don’t think its so mysterious anymore.

“Of course it’s been me.” Bakugou scoffs as he grips your hand tighter, pulling you closer until you near the doorway. “I had to watch  over you—do you know how careless you are with everything? With your life?” He snarls, whirling around on you when you plant your feet and try to keep him from pulling you into his lions den. Bakugou is all snarls and teeth, invokes such a deep fear within you that you can’t help but shrink under his gaze. 

“Now come on. I’ve been waiting for this for entirely too long.” His voice is downright salacious, eyes turning sharp and hungry, and in a way that makes you feel like nothing more than hunted prey. 

Bakugou damn near drags you within the apartment, despite your whimpering and pulling at him—he’s just too strong. He walks you a few feet inside before he dumps the groceries on a coffee table, finally letting go of your hand so that he can lock the door, emerging a key from his sweatpants pocket to one of the many, many locks, an insurance policy of you never leaving him unless he allows it. 

You try to put on your therapist boots for a minute, swallowing your fear as you try to reason with him, swallowing thickly when he turns around and takes your trembling form in. 

“Bakugou,” you start shakily, “this doesn’t have to end bad for us. You can just let me go, and we can pretend this never happened. I won’t report you, or anything. Please, please, PLEASE!” 

He comes rushing at you before you know it, on you in seconds, despite trying to turn and outrun him before he pounces. But it’s too late and he’s too big and too overwhelming, and he grabs you up in his arms, shushing your screaming with his mouth pressed against yours. 

So this is what he wants, you think to yourself, terrified to say you’re slightly relieved. You’ve worked with men who liked to torture women for fun, and you were scared that he was secretly one of them, but it looks like he just wants—

“You.” Bakugou whispers with a swallow against your mouth, hot and breathy. “I want you so fuckin’ bad, wanted this for so long, fuck.” He’s wrapping you up within him in seconds, arms crushing your ribs, tongue sneaking into your mouth, hands grabbing handfuls of whatever he can reach. 

You’re stunned, mostly. Finally putting the pieces together of everything that is Bakugou, his coming to you about his obsessions, his secrecy despite needing your help, the way he always looked at you, how he devours you now like a mere schoolboy. It all makes sense now. You pull away from him, eyes round and wide as you take in his lowered ones, how he dives back in to nip at your jaw and chin and cheek. 

“I’m your obsession.” You whisper shakily, hands on his shoulders, despite them making no moves to move the large man back. Bakugou groans at that, damn near sinks to his knees at your realization, wraps you up even tighter as he buries his face into the skin of your neck. 

“Fuckin’ finally. Thought you would’ve caught on sooner by now, dumbass.” He scolds you, licking up the expanse of your skin as you shiver and try to back away. But Bakugou only holds you tighter, and you whimper at the bulge that nudges your hip. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve—could’ve worked on exposure therapy, had someone there to monitor you for our safety, could’ve—”

“Too much work. I just want you.” Bakugou moans, nipping at your skin, grabbing handfuls of your ass when you squeak. He walks you backwards until your back meets a wall, the breath being knocked out of you as you gasp, eyes wide when he finally pulls away from your skin. 

You’ve never seen him like this, all fucked out and relaxed and even a little excited. Always saw him with a bored or irritated expression, one of indifference. But now, Bakugou looks high on euphoria, with kiss swollen lips and low eyelids as he takes in your still shocked expression. 

“Let me taste you,” Bakugou rushes out in a quick breath, diving in once more to lick at your mouth before he pulls away, big hands squeezing at your waist and ass excitedly. He’s like a dog with a bone, like a pup with no master, waiting for you to give the command, the permission to go. 

You wonder if you have more control of this situation than you originally thought. So you try your hand, see how far you can push before you can wiggle your way out of this entire thing and get the chance to call the police. 

“Bakugou,” you start, quickly being cut off by him with a sharp nip to your chin. 

“Katsuki,” he corrects. You nod. 

“Katsuki, if I—if I let you do this, this one thing of…of tasting me, will you promise to let me go?” You try to reason with him, cupping his cheek when his eyes wander over your form instead of your face, leaning into your touch instinctively. 

“We can,” you pause with a swallow. “I can do this. I can create a therapy plan for you, for your obsession over me, and it can be fully consenting and healthy, but you have to let me help you and let me take control.” You try to reason with Bakugou, hope he understands what you’re saying, that he won’t catch on to this just being a trick. But he only groans and turns his head, sucking your thumb into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at your gasp before he releases you with a pop. He turns half lidded vermillion eyes to you, frowning as he rests his heavy head in your palm. 

“Whatever you fuckin’ say, just let me taste you, goddamnit.” He mutters petulantly. You can only hold your breath, wonder if what you’re agreeing will hurt you in the long run before you nod. 

“You can—you can taste me, Katsuki.” 

You think you might’ve sealed the deal with a devil, with the way you can practically see horns protruding from his forehead and a tail flickering behind him when he drops to his knees. Bakugou is too quick for your liking, yanks your pants around your ankles too fast, hurries you out of them, rips your underwear away from your skin until it tears and falls limply in a pile on the floor. 

You squeak when his face is suddenly pressed right against your cunt, his nose buried into your pubic hair, the sound of a big sniff echoing throughout the room. You can’t help but cringe, but don’t dare push him away—people need to be exposed to all aspects of things in order to overcome them, even if those things are sniffing what lies between your legs. 

“Fuck, smells so good.” Bakugou grunts under his breath, huffing a few times before he forces your legs further apart until you can accommodate the wide expanse of his shoulders. You grunt from the stretch, trying to make yourself comfortable, but Bakugou picks up on it quickly, and grabs your knee to hike your leg over his shoulder to rest on. 

It creates a better angle for him anyway, with your lips glistening with your arousal—you were aroused. Turned on by him just as much as he was with you. You were wet, even if it’s not as much as he would prefer, as he would get you to that amount in only a matter of time. 

You throbbed when his tongue traced the hood of your clit, of your lips, your folds. You twitch hard against his mouth when he keeps licking and licking at you, until your slickness and his spit mingle and he doesn’t know where you end and where he begins. Until it makes a mess of his mouth and chin and the floor below him, and you, with your pretty moans and grabbing hands. 

Bakugou has waited for this moment longer than he can really care to remember, at this point in time. Waited to worship you on his knees, be able to look up from between your soft thighs and see the scrunch of your brows when he sucks your clit between his lips and runs over it with the flatness of his tongue. 

It’s an addictive feeling, really. Makes him feel higher than any drug could ever take him, makes his eyes roll back and his cock throb so hard that he has to grab it from beneath his sweats to keep from busting his load already. 

You can only stand there and take it—take the incessant licking around your hole, and the dipping of his tongue inside of you, and the sweet little kisses he plants on your clit. You try to reason with yourself, convince yourself that this is an improvised session with a client that needed your help so badly that you decided to take him on your day off. Try to tell yourself that this is all apart of the therapy that he needs in order to get over you. 

You only hope that the taste of you doesn’t become so addictive, that your plans for him will go flying out the window the moment you try to reason with him. 

But its hard to reason even with yourself when Bakugou is sliding a thick, middled finger inside of your dripping hole as he noisily sucks your clit between his lips. You cry out at that, knees wobbling, but he’s there to catch you with his free hand, his shoulder. Holds you up steady like a pillar as he lashes his tongue against you, twists his finger, curves it slowly, before he’s adding another one before you can even register what’s happening to you. 

“Shit, Katsuki,” you moan out, cursing yourself for letting him make you feel so good, for getting so wrapped up in this ‘therapy’. You can only hope that the board doesn’t take your license if they were to ever find out about it. 

“Thats it, baby, ride my fingers just like that.” Bakugou breaks you out of your trance with his groan. You hadn’t even realize how your hips were moving against him, grinding down on his digits that curl up inside of you, that slide against that swelling spot that makes your knees weak and your eyes cross.

“Gods, you’re so fuckin’ sexy.” Bakugou whispers against your mound, trailing spit from his mouth down to your clit once more, eyes never leaving the pleasured look on your face. 

Did you know he imagined this, in damn near every session he’s ever had with you? While it wasn’t plenty of sessions (he had only started seeing you about six months ago), it was all he could think of. Every Tuesday at 2:45pm, in office number 218, first door on the right, the mint green office—all he could think of was you. Even when you asked him questions with a professional and friendly smile, even when you were covered head to toe, even when you ripped him a new one for his shitty answers and responses. 

This was all he wanted, all he craved to see. The way your mouth dropped open when he starts damn near directing you in how he wants you to ride his fingers. How your hips move and swivel and tremble when he keeps bringing his fingers close to his face, inside of you. How you grip so tightly at his hair and pull when he won’t stop sucking and licking and messily kissing your clit. How he damn near makes out with your hole, tongue drooling and smacking against your soaked skin until he feels himself about to burst in his pants. 

This was all he wanted, and Bakugou always gets what he wants. Even if its you—especially if it’s you. 

“I’m—oh, I think I’m—shit!” Your brain is damn near fried when you start to orgasm, an earth shattering moan slipping from your throat as you throw your head back, hips bucking against Bakugou’s face and hands. He has to hold your entire body up steadily, fears that you may fall from how hard you’re coming, how you shake in his arms. 

His fingers are steady inside of you, and only slows when you start to finally come down from your high. Bakugou kisses the inside of your thigh sweetly, nibbles at it when you groan and complain about feeling too weak from the intensity. But that’s not a problem for him at all. 

“Hey—what are you—” Bakugou cuts you off with a wet kiss pressed to your mouth when he stands to his full height. His tongue slides against yours and you can’t help but moan when you taste yourself on him. He doesn’t give you a chance to step away and try to slink back to your own apartment, instead hoisting you up quickly in his arms as he starts to walk to a room behind you. 

Before you can protest, you’ve been dumped on the kitchen table, Bakugou pressing you down with a hand to your sternum when you try to sit up, shooting you another one of those eery looks from earlier. You still instantly, before slowly lowering yourself back down on the table, eyes wide again when he levels you with a stare for a beat longer before he steps back to yank his shirt over his head. 

“I thought,” you mumble, trying not to stare at how well built Bakugou is, how his biceps might literally be bigger than your entire head. “I thought that we agreed for you to only, um, taste me, and then you’d stop.” Its hard finding your voice when Bakugou stares at you like that again, not scarily, but hungry like before. Hard to fight back and push him away when he grabs your shirt in two hands and rips and pulls until your torso is exposed, like the fabric meant nothing to him. 

You clench your thighs at the display of strength and hope that he doesn’t notice. (He does). 

Bakugou shrugs at you, pulls your bra down until your tits are on display, grabbing a handful of each and massaging them in warm, sweaty palms. He ducks his head down and gives a sweet kiss to both of your nipples, licking one crudely before he stands back up to his full height, your breasts still in his hands. You think he must’ve forgotten what you said, or simply didn’t care to answer, but he surprises you when he squeezes your tits tightly and speaks, 

“Think I need a little more exposure before I have to be reduced to doses only, doc.” Is all Bakugou gives you, squeezing your chest one last time before he pulls away. You try not to show the panic on your face when he reaches to pull his sweats down until they bunch around his corded thighs, cock damn near bursting from its confinements. 

Bakugou reaches inside of his boxers, biting at his bottom lip when he touches it directly for the first time since he’s gotten you, groans a little at your gasp when he fully exposes himself. He’s thick, curved a little to the side, his head a dark flushed color, a fat vein forking up the side of his shaft. He rests his cock over you, makes a soft little noise in the back of his throat when the precum slides from his tip and pools in the dip of your bellybutton. 

“Shit, I love you so fuckin’ much,” Bakugou mutters under his breath as he positions himself at your entrance. Your eyes bulge at his confession, but before you can even touch on what he’s said, he’s already sliding his way inside of you. 

Your head falls against the kitchen table, the dull pain quiet compared to the overwhelming pleasure that settles low in your pelvis. You groan, thighs hooked around Bakugou’s waist as he fucks his way inside of you, a moan on his tongue as he watches the way your lips split and suck him inside so, so sweetly. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t wait anymore,” Bakugou mutters against your mouth. As he soon as he settles inside of you, he’s pulling out until his tip kisses your entrance, before he fucks his way back in. You shudder, his cock warm and heavy inside of you, his tip brushing against your sweet spot with every stroke until you start to cling to him and ask for more, more, more. 

And Bakugou gives it to you, with feral growls, hiking your legs up higher until they rest on his shoulders, hunching over you with every wet slap of his balls against your ass. The position forces him even deeper, makes your feet dangle entirely too close to your face, Bakugou leaning over to kiss you sweetly on the ankle. 

“So, fuck, what’s the diagnosis, doc?” Bakugou taunts you, grinning down at you when you blink bleary eyes up at him. He’s sweaty and golden and has a halo of light behind his ash blond hair from the overhead light. He’s prettier than you want to admit, but its hard trying to keep a face of professionalism when his cock keeps kissing your sweet spot and his chest pressed against yours makes your nipples harder than rocks. 

“Huh? What happened to that fucking smart ass that would lecture me in our sessions?” He teases, smile wide and feral as he holds your cheeks tightly between his thick fingers. He forces your mouth into a pout, kissing it, when you blabber nonsense up at him. 

“Fucked you dumb already? All those years of college right out the door, huh, baby?” Bakugou’s so mean, makes you whine and claw at his shoulders and nape. You could answer him, give him your professional opinion—not like you even had one in the first place—but he makes it so hard to think. When his cock is balls deep inside of you, when he looks at you with his teasing and yet adoring little grin, when he keeps shaking your face at him with a taunting coo, when he sneaks a hand between your bodies to circle your clit. 

“It’s okay; I can think for you. You don’t have to use that pretty little head even once when you’re with me.” Bakugou’s coos sweetly, reaches down and pecks your forehead and mouth when you whimper pathetically up at him with teary eyes. 

“Gonna cum? Yeah?” He asks you, hips never faltering as he fucks you into the table, his mouth pressed against yours as you grab him tightly, feeling the oncoming orgasm starting to flood your system. 

“Yeah,” you whine softly against his mouth through your puckered lips, making Bakugou groan as he fucks you through your orgasm. You tighten up around him so deliciously, sound so pretty with your fucked out moans and hoarse voice, look so gorgeous all high out of your mind and pliant on his kitchen counter. 

How could he ever remember to pull out?

You try to protest when Bakugou holds you tight and starts to cum inside of you, but your complaints fall on deaf ears. He only holds you tighter against him, groaning loud in the skin of your neck as his cock spurts his hot seed deep inside of you. When he finishes, he collapses on top of you, breathy and sweaty, and you’re in no better position. Its quiet for a while, despite your legs and back aching, and the cooling feeling of his cum starting to spill from around his softening cock still buried inside of you. 

“So,” Bakugou starts, and you’re almost fearful of what he might say next. “Can you start scheduling my appointments to your apartment instead of your office now?” 

You’re at least a little thankful that he has plans to let you go back to your life, even if he’s forcing himself to be apart of every little aspect of it. You nod tiredly, wondering how and if you’re going to tell your boss. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

[blue-macaron]

kiss kiss kiss!

characters: rei sakuma, cameos / mentions of other characters x gn!reader, fluff, slightly suggestive(?), total 1.5k words a/n: This is such a rushed happy birthday fic for Rei but I really wanted to get something out for him!!! Also hello from like 6+ months worth of hiatus, I've been busy and too tired to write anything >_< (then of course rei's birthday shoots ideas through me) Happy Birthday Rei!!

"My dear, how could you? Woe is me, no love from my other half, my soulmate, my lover, my-"

You threw a pillow at Rei, effectively shutting him up from saying anything more corny at your face. Rubbing the back of your neck, you sighed as Rei seemed to sigh even more.

"Rei, I love you, but I need to get this done before I can spend a little time with you.." You trailed off, not sure what else to say.

In reality, the "assignment" that you were working on was actually a spreadsheet that was shared with a good chunk of Rei's friends to celebrate his birthday that was coming up. Plans and ideas littered the columns, and check marks for what had already been done.

The plan was to trick Rei into thinking the UNDEAD practice was a regular one, until the lights were to be turned off and everyone would litter in with the cake and party poppers.

Looking at the clock, you realized that his birthday was pretty close, as it was 11:34pm. You didn't realize that time had passed by so quickly, which must have been why your lover was lamenting his sorrows from the lack of attention from you.

Feeling pressure on your legs, you looked up to see that Rei had moved from his spot on the other side of the couch to your side, resting his head on your legs while he laid on his stomach. Luckily with the way you were sitting, the computer screen wasn't in his sights.

You chuckled a bit before closing your computer, offering a brief sorry in your head to Koga who also happened to be on the document with you.

"So now my lover returns to my side?" Rei teased, tracing shapes into your thigh.

"I was technically always by your side, my love." You raised an eyebrow, putting your hands into Rei's thick locks of hair. Brushing them out with your fingers, you did the small knots that had accumulated throughout the day.

Rei sighed out of bliss, feeling the way you scratched his scalp and smoothed down his hair.

"Oioioioi, don't tease me like that. You will hurt this poor vampire's heart." He shook his head, fake wiping a tear from his eye.

You laughed, and Rei could feel the way your body shook while his head rested upon your legs.

Smiling brightly, you pressed a kiss into his forehead. "You know I will always be there for you, Rei." You softly uttered against his forehead.

Rei grinned, before tilting his head up to steal a kiss from your lips.

"And this old man is very thankful for that."

"How thankful?" Your lips moved against his while you whispered.

Rei rose from his spot on your legs, pinning his hands on the sides of your head on the couch's armrest.

"Fuhuhu, let this old man show you how thankful I am, from all of my heart..."

Leaning in, Rei swooped down to press his lips against yours, your lips moving in tangent with his. He freed one of his hands to move it to gently hold your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he moved to deepen the kiss.

You broke off from the kiss for a breath of air, but that was short lived as Rei once again went in to steal another kiss, another, another, and you tore your head from Rei's onslaught of kisses before he could fully steal your whole breath.

Moving your hand to cover Rei's lips, your chest heaved as you scowled at him.

"We both need to breathe... Rei..." You felt slightly lightheaded from the amount of kisses he had given you.

Rei pouted, burying his face into your neck. You could feel the tips of his fangs slightly poking your skin as he spoke.

"I'm afraid your lips are just too delectable, my dear."

You wrapped your arms around Rei's neck before lightly sighing. Feeling Rei smirk, you moved too late before he moved to once again take over your lips.

Melting into his lips, you tightened your hold on Rei as your stomach fluttered with the way Rei kissed you. He moved his kisses from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck. You felt a shiver throughout your body, brokenly sighing with how warm the air had become.

Rei's body runs cold, but in times like these, you can't help but feel he's like a heater, a light source that you couldn't help but be drawn to.

He always shook his head when you likened him to a star, changing the subject, but you knew that a star will always shine bright even when covered by darkness.

A sharp ring had cried throughout the air, and you realized that it was your alarm you had set for 11:59 to remind you to wish Rei a happy birthday.

You tried to reach for the alarm, breaking off the kiss that Rei captured you in, but you soon realized that Rei's strong arms had you trapped under him.

"My-"

Smooch

"Love, yo-"

Another smooch

"Oh for goodness sak-"

You kept trying to break it off from Rei to shut off the god awful noises that rang from your alarm (you thought you had changed the tune to Bloody Moon Vampire, although it seems it had slipped your mind), but Rei kept stopping you.

Brute forcing your body to turn a complete 180 degrees from Rei, you leaned forward to finally turn off the alarm on your phone. You sighed after turning it off, slightly turning back before your felt a hand on your chin facing you towards Rei, up close.

"My dear, I hope you know I do try to be a patient man, but when I'm with you, I can't help but feel like I become the most inpatient man. Know that your lover may become a beast if you tempt him for too long, hmm?" Rei muttered with narrowed eyes, holding your chin with a firm but gentle hand.

You felt your stomach turn over with butterflies, your mouth gaping widely as you felt a shiver rack through your entire body.

Rei smirked, tilting his head at you. "Well?"

"Well," you glanced at the clock, before shifting your eyes back towards Rei. "Happy birthday, my love."

You grinned from ear to ear, eyes twinkling with mirth as Rei's eyes widened.

Rei let out a chuckle, before softly smiling. "I suppose my years are coming up on me."

You snorted, before finally turning your body to face Rei. Putting your hands on his cheeks, you leaned in with pulling Rei closer.

"Well, I suppose before your years actually start creeping up on you, we better make the most of it, no?"

Pressing your lips against Rei's lips, you felt Rei frozen, but then you could feel the way his lips smiled into yours, before responding by moving his lips with yours.

You buried your hands into the raven's hair, somehow pulling you two closer as the two of your bodies were pressed up against each other.

Rei surprisingly broke off the kiss, gazing into your eyes with a fondness that you couldn't describe.

"I really do love you my dear, more then you will ever know." Rei pressed a kiss into your temple, softly sighing.

You kissed his neck, "I don't know if you will ever know how much I love you, Rei."

Rei smiled, "I suppose that means we need to be with each other for a while to understand our feelings, no?"

You smiled back at him. "I would love that."

"Fuhuhu, I do wonder what you lot have in store for my birthday."

"...Eh!? How do you-!?"

"A vampire always has good ears, my dear, ohohoh.."

"Hah? He already found out?" Koga scowled, before fiddling with one of the balloons.

"I don't know how either.." You trailed off, fiddling with your own balloon.

The rest of UNDEAD and the five eccentrics prepared the room, slighting changing the plan to just surprise Rei as soon as he walks in. You all realized that he could guess some of the plan, so that's why you decided to alter it.

"Well, I suppose he will be slightly surprised at our plan change..?" You questioned.

You felt a buzz against your leg, before realizing that someone was texting you. Pulling out your phone you realized that Kaoru was frantically texting you that Rei was ahead of schedule.

"Ah, wait everyone, Rei is coming!?" Everyone startled a bit, and you were about to open your mouth again before the door suddenly opened.

"Ah, Adonis, Koga, there yo-" The balloon Koga held had slipped out of his hands from being startled, and had been launched, ploppin against Rei's face.

Everyone gaped at the situation, before you quickly shuffled to the front. You raised your hand to countdown from 3.

"Happy birthday, Rei!" All of you said, ignoring what just happened.

Rei chuckled, before bursting out with laughter.

"I suppose you did catch me there with this surprise, fuhuhu."

happy birthday rei!

[blueraineshadows]

Hey I have a Garreth fic idea if youre down for it?

So I was thinking about Garreth being absolutely infatuated with MC, and it drives him mad when she keeps being whisked away to defeat poachers and dark wizards.

Then she gets severely hurt and taken to hospital, where Garreth had a sudden outburst of frustration when she's in the hospital bed and he storms off.

After MC gets better she decides to confront Garreth where he spills out his feelings about loving her and being afraid of seeing her badly hurt (or dead if one of the raids goes wrong).

MC also has strong feelings for him and she admits it too, then they make out hard and then things escalate from there if you know what I mean 😏

I hope the idea is good enough as I've never made a fic request before 😅

I love a Garreth request! ❤️

Have some Weasley Wednesday content!

Garreth Weasley x F!MC - fluff, injury, angst, smut NSFW 🔞

He just couldn't help it. He just had to shuffle a little closer and peer over MC's shoulder as she stirred her cauldron. Her potion was looking fairly decent he noticed, the colour almost perfect. He dared to lean a little closer, the scent of her perfume teasing his nose. "Not bad, MC," he said.

She gave him a little sideways look, her lips curving up into that cute little smirk she did. His heart did a little flip. Why was she so damn cute? It was killing him.

"I guess all the pointers you've been giving me are paying off," she said.

He beamed at her praise, shifting to lean casually against the work table in an effort to look cool. Unfortunately, his elbow caught against a pot of dittany leaves and it tumbled over, the leaves scattering everywhere. "Oh, shit," he muttered. He quickly scrambled to gather up said pot and leaves, a blush colouring his cheeks.

MC bit back a giggle. "What are you doing?" She hissed under her breath, turning to keep an eye out for Sharp. Garreth didn't need any more detentions.

Garreth was scooping the leaves frantically into the pot. "It's fine, no problem," he muttered. He put the pot back where it had been, dusting off his hands and throwing her a sheepish grin. "See? As if it never happened."

Her smile did things to him, fluttering, chaotic things, but he was finding it to be quite addictive. If she was nearby, he had to have an excuse to be next to her. If he got to accidently brush up against her, or, even better, if she put her hand on him, (which she had done, three times now!), then it was enough to make his day.

After following her with his eyes for two years, he might finally pluck up the courage to do something about it. Maybe.

When class was over, Natty leant close to speak into his ear as they packed up their things. "Why don't you just ask her out?"

"Who?" He asked.

Natty gave him a look. "You couldn't be more obvious. She isn't seeing anyone, you know. Just ask!"

Garreth chewed his bottom lip as he watched MC walk out of class. If only it was that easy.

....*....

"Psst!"

Garreth looked up from his book, glancing around the courtyard. He had found a quiet spot to study, catching up on some reading ready for mock exams that were fast approaching. He frowned. Who had made that noise?

"Psst, Garreth!"

He looked up again, a smile brightening his face as he saw MC beckoning him over. She was peering around a column, clearly not wanting to be seen. Curious, he closed his book and headed over.

As soon as he was close, her hand whipped out and clutched his sleeve, she yanked him behind the column and led him towards a shadowed corner. "Ooop, what's this then?" He asked, a little surprised.

She double checked nobody was looking before pulling out a wooden box from her enchanted pocket. "I have a gift for you, but it's er...how shall I put this...hot property? Black Market stuff?"

He looked at the box, his eyes shooting back to hers at her choice of words. "You mean...stolen?"

She cringed. "Shhh!" She pulled him further into the corner. "Not so loud. But, yes...I acquired them, so to speak. I raided an Ashwinder camp, and when I was having a rummage through their supplies I saw this, and I immediately thought of you."

He frowned. "Another Ashwinder camp? Merlin, MC, I thought you were done with all that these days."

Her smile was rueful. "I stumbled across it," she said. She gave a little shrug. "What can I say? I'm addicted to the adrenaline I guess."

"You could get seriously hurt," he grumbled. The very thought made his stomach twist up into knots.

"I'm fine," she insisted. She gestured to herself as proof and smiled. "Perfectly well."

She was most certainly perfect. And too good at winning him over. His gaze dropped to the box. "So, what is it?"

"Open it," she said, excitedly.

It was a fully stocked potion kit, and some of the ingredients were very rare. He gasped as he inspected some of the vials. "These are amazing!"

She was practically bouncing with joy. "I knew you would love it."

He smiled at her, all forgiven. She smiled back. Gods, he could just fucking kiss her right now!

But he didn't. He just gave her a hug instead. And when her arms squeezed him right back, he knew he would be replaying this moment over and over before he went to sleep tonight.

....*....

Garreth had been lounging back on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room, reading up about some of the ways his new ingredients could be used, when he heard some 6th year students come in, gossiping.

"Did you see all the blood?" One of them said.

"Yeah, she didn't look good," the other replied. "I've seen her in Crossed Wands, she is bloody good at duelling, whatever this was it must have been bad."

"It was Sallow's face that got me," the first one said. "I always thought he was scared of nothing, but he looked scared as he carried her in."

Garreth sat up, an unsettling feeling washing over him. "What's that you said? Why was Sallow looking scared?"

They both paused and gave each other a look. The boy gave Garreth a grave face. "We just saw him carrying MC to the hospital wing. She was cut up pretty bad."

"Not moving either," the other one said.

Garreth shot up from the sofa, panic gripping him. "When was this?"

"Just now."

Garreth ran.

....*....

Sebastian was sitting just inside the entrance of the hospital wing, a cut on his forehead and lashes on his arms. Garreth gaped at him. "What happened?"

"Ashwinders," Sebastian sighed. His face was tight with worry and he looked towards where curtains had been drawn around a bed. "I only just managed to get MC out of there. It was bad."

Garreth sighed in fear and annoyance. "Why do you two do this shit?"

Sebastian scowled. "Don't start, Weasley. I've just had Ominis chewing my ear off, I don't need you at it as well."

Garreth was struggling to get a full breath in his lungs. "How bad is she?"

Sebastian paled. He stared at Garreth. "I know you like her..." He trailed off. He swallowed and looked back towards MC. "Just...prepare yourself. She got hit with a pretty powerful Diffindo."

It was a while before Garreth was even allowed to see MC. Sebastian sat with him for a while, but Nurse Blainey sent him away with strict orders to get some sleep. Sebastian promised to be back first thing.

Finally, Garreth was allowed to see her. As he peered around the curtains, Garreth winced, his eyes burning with tears at the sight of her asleep in that bed. Her skin was awfully pale, and the wounds...gods! How was she still alive?

He sat on the chair beside her bed and took her hand into his. He had always imagined what it would be like to hold her hand, he never expected the first time to be like this. It hurt. It made him angry. He could have lost her.

Who was he kidding? He didn't even have the nuts to ask her to be his. And look at her, running around fighting dark wizards and facing death on the regular. He didnt even deserve her.

But he would still sit at her bedside. There was nowhere else he would rather be.

....*....

It took a week for the worst of the wounds to close, and she was weak. But she still had a smile for him when Garreth visited, bringing treats from Honeydukes, and telling her about the exciting new ideas he had for the box of ingredients she had given him.

"You will have them all used up in no time," she said. She smiled. "I'm glad you like them."

"Even if I do use them all up, you won't go out looking for more trouble to find more, will you?" Garreth felt his stomach clench at the thought of her out there again, risking her life.

"I don't look for trouble, Garreth," she frowned. "But, I also won't stand by and watch others cause pain and trouble either. Innocent people get hurt!"

"Like you, you mean?" Garreth bit out. "And why is that your problem? You should be here, studying, preparing for your exams, not running around catching dark wizards."

She stared at him. "If I want to be an Auror then it's all experience," she said. "I have a unique gift, Garreth. Of course I am going to use it for the greater good."

He knew he was being a git, but his fear was clawing up his throat. He couldn't get the image of those wounds out of his mind. They were almost faded now, but he would always remember the red, angry slices on her beautiful skin.

"You almost died! If Sebastian hadn't been there, you would have!"

"But he was there," she said. She reached for his hand. "I'm alright. I will be out of here in no time."

"And then you will be running off to get yourself killed properly, I suppose."

She pulled her hand back. "I'm not going to let this stop me from doing what is right," she said, firmly.

"Then I guess you'd better hope that Sebastian will always be there to catch you when you fall," he said, bitterly. He shunted the chair back and stood, his hands clenched into fists. He had to get out of here.

"Garreth..." She sounded hurt, sad.

He paused at the curtains edge and turned to look back at her. She was utterly beautiful, pale and tired, but so perfect. He thought he might cry. "I just...I just can't lose you. I'm sorry."

He rushed from the hospital wing, regretting those last words out of his lips and the rawness with which he had spoken. The truth of them rung in his ears and he blinked back tears.

....*....

He couldn't face going back to the hospital wing to see her. He felt like an idiot, and he was pretty sure he had annoyed her. None of it seemed fair, and he had been in a foul mood for the last two days. The only time he bit back his frustration was when he asked Sebastian how she was doing.

Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder. "She will be out tomorrow, mate," he said. "You two need to talk. Not only am I sick of seeing your miserable mug, but I am getting rather tired of listening to her worrying over you."

Garreth frowned. "Worrying over me?"

Sebastian sighed. "You haven't been to see her, and she's noticed."

....*....

"So, this is where you've been hiding."

Garreth looked up from his notes, the parchments spread out on the bench in front of him covered in scribbled notes, some crossed out, some underlined. Beside him, his potion box was open and there were vials scattered around the cauldron that was simmering away nicely.

Working on his passion was always a good distraction, and he had begged to use the classroom after hours. Lately, he had been rather well behaved in class, and his assignments had been receiving good grades. Somehow, he was in Sharp's good books.

The reason for the need of distraction had just walked into the room. He had set himself up around the corner, hidden from the door for maximum peace and quiet. But, MC had found him. He put down his quill and slid his hands into his pockets. "Hi," he said.

She moved closer, her wounds healed, her face looking much healthier than the last time he had seen her. His mouth couldn't help but curve up a little. He had missed her.

"What are you working on?" She leant onto the table, picking up a parchment to see his notes. She grinned. "How can you even read these? Your scribbles are barely legible."

"I know what it says, and this way nobody can steal my ideas," he said. He tapped his temple and gave her a wink.

Her cheeks turned a little pink and she slid the parchment back towards him. She cleared her throat and peered into the cauldron. "So, tell me, what genuis are you brewing up this time?"

He pinched his lower lip between thumb and forefinger, eyeing her carefully. Was she going to be cross with him? He'd had to do something. The fear and worry was driving him crazy.

She met his gaze, curious. "Garreth, what is it?"

"It's..." He sighed, cringing a little. "It's an advanced healing potion. I figured that if you really were that determined to go off fighting every bad wizard that dares step foot in your vicinity, then I would rather you went prepared."

He rubbed his hand through his hair, feeling like a first class prick. It sounded like he didn't believe in her capabilities, but he did.

She stared at him, lips parted in surprise. "Why would you do all of this for me? I thought you were mad at me."

"I wasn't exactly mad at you," he said.

"Then what was it?" She asked.

He couldn't meet her eyes. She would see the truth. He was a rubbish poker player.

He startled as she grabbed his hand. His eyes flew to hers. "Tell me the truth," she begged. "I know you sat by my bedside, and you told me you couldn't lose me. Now you're trying to make a potion for me, to stop me getting hurt. What I want to know is why you can't even look at me? Why are you avoiding me? Please, Garreth...I can't lose you either!"

He sucked in a breath. For the life of him, he couldn't tear his gaze from hers now. She was close enough that he could see the little flecks of colour in her eyes, each eyelash curling up to frame those beautiful eyes that he could drown in. He was up to his neck in it with her, it was quite possible he would drown.

"I think I love you," he admitted. "You're beautiful, and you drive me fucking nuts. You're brave, you're brilliant, you make me smile...fuck, I think about you all the time."

The words just kept spilling from his lips, and her eyes were getting wider and wider, but now that he had started he just couldn't stop.

"When you run off to fight Merlin know's what, I'm scared shitless that you won't come back. I couldn't bear it if I never saw you again. Seeing you lying in that hospital bed damn near floored me, MC. I wasn't angry...I was scared."

He put a hand to his mouth. He had to stop this spouting off, she was going to run right back out of this room at any moment, shouting to whomever cared to listen that Weasley had lost his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. Exposed was too mild a word for how he felt right then. He felt his cheeks growing hot and he wanted to disappear through the floor.

"Garreth," she whispered. He felt the gentle tug of her fingers on his shirt sleeve. "Garreth, please, look at me..."

His breath shook. What an idiot! But he dropped his hand and braced himself to turn back to her. He gaped. She was crying!

"Er...shit...what?" He was confused, his hands flapped uselessly as he thought about touching her, offering her some kind of comfort, but then thought maybe it was best not to. "You're upset...oh, shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say all that. Ignore me, I'm an idiot. Fuck, me and my big mouth..."

He grunted as she pressed her hand against his mouth, then she huffed a laugh through her tears and now he was really fucking confused. What was happening?!

"If you would just shut that big mouth of yours for a minute, then I just might be able to get a word in!"

He didn't dare move. His lips were tingling under the touch of her fingers. "Sorry," he mumbled. The word muffled against her restraint.

She smiled, her eyes all shiny with tears. He hated that he had made her cry. But, that thought soon vanished as she shifted the fingers that were pressed to his mouth. She slid them slowly along to trace the line of his jaw. He swallowed so hard it was almost a gulp.

Then, bloody hell, she was leaning in, her face getting ever closer. His heart quickened to a gallop. He might have even made a strange, whining noise, he wasn't entirely sure. Her lips touched his and every fibre of his being was screaming. She's kissing me!

He stared as her eyes fluttered closed, honestly her cuteness just went up another notch, and her lips were so soft. Not one, or two, but three soft kisses before she stopped to look up at him.

"Wow," he croaked. Nice one, Weasley, that will charm her.

She giggled. And then she booped him on the nose. "You're so cute," she said.

Cute? He didn't want her to think he was cute! He wanted her to be breathless, flushed and swooning in his arms.

He kissed her, his lips sealing firmly over hers, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head. He tilted her slightly, leaning forward to dip her backwards a little. Her hands gripped at the front of his shirt, and a small sound came from the back of her throat. Yes, this was much better.

Gods, she felt so good in his arms. His other hand moved to her waist, the delicious curve of it a delight under his gentle caress. She arched against him, her softness a tantalising tease, and he felt the blood rush immediately to his pants.

He kissed at her bottom lip, his tongue swirling for a taste, and when she parted her lips, he didn't hesitate, months of yearning driving him to kiss her deeper. He moaned into her mouth, his hand moving to pull her hips in closer. His blood thrummed through his veins, a haze of desire, thick and heady, was wrapping around him, driven by her little sounds and gasping breaths.

He felt her hands tugging at his shirt, pulling it out of his waistband, and then she was sliding warm palms over his stomach and back. His cock twitched eagerly, the feel of her touch making him sigh, making him want her all the more fiercely.

He needed to taste more, hungry and desperate to bury himself against her softness, drown in her scent, his lips grazed against her throat, the skin there delicate and sweet. Animalistic need made him bite, his teeth gentle but possessive, his mouth drawing her flesh upwards into a heady suck. Her moan almost made him come undone.

As natural as breathing, their hands explored, he was tugging at her tie, loosening the buttons on her shirt, his mouth devouring the skin over her collar bones. Her fingers were in his hair, tugging sharply, raising goosebumps along his flesh.

It wasn't enough. He would always want more. But, he should stop, before this got too far, before he began to play out the naughty fantasy of taking her over the potions table. His face warmed at the thought.

Reluctantly, he pulled back a little, staring down at her flushed face. It was deeply satisfying to see the damp plumpness of her lips, the darkened look in her dazed eyes. Red blemishes marred her pretty neck, and the rumpled state of her clothing was incredibly sexy. He almost groaned with the effort of restraint.

"Why did you stop?" She panted.

He smiled. "Not exactly the most private of spots to ravish you."

Her smirk was utter sin. "Exciting though, right?"

His eyes flared at her naughtiness. "MC!"

Her giggle was very naughty, her hand smoothing over his stomach before tugging at his waistband. She looked up at him through her lashes. "I want you," she whispered.

Garreth sucked in a breath, the ache for her sharpening into a pain. He pressed his forehead to hers, his hands moulding her hips and around to cup her arse. Fuck, she was so soft and round and he wanted to bury himself in it.

"Do you want me?" The breathless moan in her words had him panting.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned.

She arched, grinding against him, slow, teasing rocks of her hips. Garreth could hardly breathe, staring at the movement she made, transfixed. His cock was straining in his pants, dripping and desperate.

Fuck the fact they were in a classroom, he couldn't quite care when she was writhing up against him like this. His hand had a life of its own, sliding up her skirt to reveal the tops of those high socks she wore, the silky skin of her bare thigh was utter bliss, and then he had a handful of peachy soft arse, his fingers hunting greedily under the fabric of her knickers. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, through gritted teeth.

He moulded the shape of her, his fingers tracing the sexy curve of her cheeks, the tips grazing dangerously close to her heat. She moaned, writhing against him. "Touch me," she begged.

He slid a hand a little lower, squeezing her cheek, before dipping his fingers below. She was hot and wet and he groaned as his fingers slid against the slick. She panted desperately, her finger nails beginning to bite into his skin.

He sucked at her neck, nibbled her ear. "More?" He asked. She nodded, whimpering.

He slid a hand around to tug open her knickers at the front, sliding a tentative finger in that way. He felt her thighs part eagerly, his breaths hot against her ear as he slowly circled the pad of his finger over her slippery folds. Fuck, she felt good.

He went for it, finding the hot throb of her opening and slid his finger inwards, her walls immediately clenching around him. "Fucking hell," he groaned.

"Yes," she panted. Her hips rocked. "Garreth..."

Now, he would happily admit that he was inexperienced, a few cheeky snogs did not prepare you for the full blown raging horniness of this moment. He was fucking loving it, in his element, but he was 100% winging it. He had no idea how experienced she was, but she was bold, he would give her that.

Despite the burning need to explode in his pants, Garreth was gentle as he touched her, his finger probing, sliding in and out in a slow rhythm as she moaned and clutched at him. "Good?" He asked.

"Yes," she whined. Her hand gripped his wrist, her fingers fumbling to hold his. She moved his finger a little, pressing against her and rubbing, an incredibly sexy sound spilled from her mouth. It was fucking filthy, and her hips rolled. "Oh, gods, yes...there, Garreth. Right there."

His eyebrows raised so high in arousal and wonder, he rubbed where she had put him, and watched as she became an absolute mess. He forgot about himself for now, he was transfixed, getting the hang of a rhythm as he swirled and rubbed against her clit. Her face and neck flushed crimson, and the sounds she made, fuck!

She pulled him in for a kiss, and he obliged, their tongues fighting for dominance as she panted and moaned into his mouth. He felt the bite of his own arousal hovering at the edge of his awareness, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold it off. He just worked his finger faster, concentrating on that.

And then, she was gasping, her hand slapping down onto the table top, and he felt her clench madly, juices throbbing out over his hand. She sagged and her held her about the waist. "Are you alright?" He asked.

She sighed, nodding, brushing her hair back from her flushed, sweaty face. "Never better," she gasped.

....*....

The bite of early winter chill stung his cheeks, turning them pink. He adjusted his scarf and held MC closer against him, savouring her warmth. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She rested her head against his chest, her arms wrapped about his waist.

He thought he might be the happiest bloke in the world.

The rush and snap of Quidditch players rushed past and they both looked up. The match was in full swing, Gryffindor winning against Hufflepuff currently. Usually, he would be jumping up and down, hollering his head off, but today he was utterly content to stand and hold the girl he loved.

Leander had mocked him for going soft in the head, but he didn't care. One day, he was going to turn the teasing on him. He would take his mate's mocking quite happily, because this was quite possibly the best feeling in the world.

Well, almost. No, the best, was when they were both naked and holding each other close like this. Since that evening in the potions classroom, he had been unable to keep his hands to himself, addicted to making her fall apart like she had.

And when she returned the favour, or they timed it to jointly release their desire for each other, well...that was just fucking perfect in his eyes.

[educationalporpoises]

Before the Fall of Rome

Merry Christmas @blood-mocha-latte from your Secret Santa! (me) Hope you enjoy this fic, and your moodboards totally gave me the bug so I made one to go with this fic too :)) Rie, I had a blast writing this fic for you <33 Also here on AO3 Before the Fall of Rome, Luztoye, 2.2k, M June, 1949. There's a reunion on the fifth anniversary of D-Day. George and Joe meet again for the first time since Bastogne.

June, 1949

George was outside smoking, leaning up against a plaster column in the shade. He was on his second cigarette when a busted cream-colored Willys pulled up in front of the hotel and Babe Heffron got out of the front seat, opening the door for a lady in the passenger seat. The lady in turn pulled open the back door and held out an inconspicuous arm for Bill Guarnere to pull himself up to standing. On the other side, Babe did the same with Joe Toye. George recognized him, but the set of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, had changed from the man George had jumped with. 

Joe had a suitcase in one hand, a cane in the other, and walked purposefully towards the entrance to the hotel. George flicked the butt of his cigarette into the gravel drive and stepped into line with him, passing by the doorman holding the big door to the hotel.

“Hey Joe.” 

Joe grunted.

“Ballroom’s down to the right. We’re all staying on the second floor mostly, and there’s an elevator back here,” George said, trotting alongside Joe. At the elevator Joe set down his suitcase and waited for Babe and the Guarneres to catch up after checking into the hotel, shifting his weight to one side and smoothing out a crease in his pant leg where it caught above the knee. 

George remembered suddenly that this was the first time he’d seen Joe since Belgium, since the snow and the blood and as his throat tightened he smiled, wide, and said “I’d probably get you lost trying to find the room.” 

He left Joe standing in the hallway with his shoulders slumped and his mouth a thin line and went to help set up the ballroom. It was still mostly empty, only the guys that organized the reunion had arrived. George was only there because he’d caught a ride with Winters, who was chronically early and terminally helpful.

Winters was different in civilian clothing, his hair just beyond regulation length, his shoulders and his smile looser. George had stopped by his house in Nixon, New Jersey, a hulking, empty brownstone with a shiny Cadillac parked in the garage. Nixon (the man) had driven in from the city and cooked them dinner both nights, pouring George and himself liberal glasses of vintage wines and retelling the same stories of his childhood they’d all heard through Toccoa and the war. He’d fallen asleep in the back of the Cadillac as Winters drove them to Pennsylvania and told George about the different farms they passed by. 

“We’ve heard enough about cows, Dick,” Nix said blearily from the backseat, “Luz, what are you doing next?” 

“I liked hearing about the cows, sir,” George deflected. He’d told them about the last four years, taking care of his little siblings and the seasonal jobs around town he’d been picking up. But Nix had his number and knew George had no idea for his future. “I was thinking once Molly is in school I’d look into one of those job programs they have for soldiers. Learn a trade.” 

“Trade work is good, Luz. You know, I put myself through college wiring telephone poles. I must have wired half of Lancaster County by the end of it,” Winters said. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Nixon, and George watched his face twist briefly before he looked back at the road. 

In the ballroom Winters was directing Popeye and Tab in putting up a banner that read “506th PIR E Company” in a big red script, with “Currahee” underneath. Nixon was standing by a big table of food, some of it catered by the hotel, some of it brought by the wives and fiances of the men that had arrived. Nixon had made lemon icebox cookies the day before they left. 

“Luz!” Someone behind him called out as George tried to filch a cookie from under Nixon’s nose. He turned around, wiping powdered sugar on his pants, and saw Lipton, smiling around his scar.

“And, well, we’re not telling people yet but Angie is expecting,” Lip said in an undertone, after he’d filled George in on the weeks since their last letter. 

“Well tell her Uncle George is always available for babysitting. Lord knows your rugrats will be easier than the little Luzes.” 

“Everyone’s easier to manage than Luz kids. That’s why they keep you around at home,” Lip joked, “You keep them out of trouble and they keep you busy enough you can’t get into trouble either.” 

Lip made him promise to visit the boarding house before Angie gave birth, “Or we won’t have time to see you until the baby is in school,” and they made tenuous plans for the fall, before Lip went to talk to the other officers. 

George chatted with Popeye and Moore when he arrived, and pulled Johnny Martin into a hug when he arrived. The light grew into sunset, and eventually Nixon officially opened the bar, everyone yelling over each other which drinks they wanted. 

George had an Old Fashioned, in honor of the man himself, and another for confidence. By the time he was teetering between tipsy and drunk the sun had turned mellow and the room was hazy and dim. Men were dancing with their wives while others sat around talking. Winters made a brief statement standing on a chair, a glass of punch (miraculously no one spiked it) in his hand. 

“I was proud to lead you into battle five years ago and I am proud of all that you have accomplished in civilian life, and the futures you have earned. Currahee!” he said, and they all cheered, and afterwards all the men had toasted each other until George was pushed up on the chair and wished them all luck in their lives after the war in Sobel’s marching cadence bellow. He’d done Sink and Dike and a big German caricature, and then mimicked a couple of movie stars, yelling orders or repeating old jokes from the war, before he was let down from the chair and handed another drink. 

He watched Babe Heffron talking to Martin and his wife, a shadow hulking behind him. George went up to the shadow and tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Luz, can’t you see I’m in the middle of a conversation,” Joe grumbled, following George to an empty table.

“You hadn’t said anything in five minutes.” “You were paying attention?” Joe asked, his eyebrow quirked. 

“I just couldn’t see Martin with you in the way, wanted to get another look at his behind,” he said, and Joe smiled, a little. He tilted his head down when he did, as though it was a secret. 

He wasn’t sure how to approach the years of silence between them, but Joe cut through the awkwardness and asked, “So how many little siblings did you come home to?” and George got to tell him about Molly, who was three now, and his nieces and nephew, and being there to see baby Robbie walk for the first time. 

“You could’ve seen me walk for the first time too,” Joe said, the first time either of them made reference to the war, “Babe was there. He was trying not to laugh the whole time. Don’t know how he and Bill are friends, they never stop fighting.” 

“Philly’s still the same, then?” 

“Guess so. When I left the hospital I tried to go back to the mines, but I couldn’t stand long enough. They tried to give me a paperwork job but I don’t have a head for numbers,” Joe said, his shoulders up by his ears again. It was unspoken in the company that not all the boys could read as well as each other– Bull Randleman was the smartest man in the company, but he would dictate letters home to Martin. Joe had left school at twelve. George’s ma had made all of them finish high school, and he was glad for that now. 

“I’m um, I’m back in the city now. Taking some classes at the college. Bill’s wife helped me set it up, it’s free for GIs.” 

“That’s good, Joe, real good,” George tried to hide his surprise, “What are you learning about?” 

Joe spoke further into his beer, “History. When I got back I realized… We were part of something big. They’ll teach about us in school one day. I want it to be right.” 

George imagined Joe sitting in a lecture hall, arguing with the professor. 

“History is long. What’s the best part of it so far?” 

“We read a book about Roman generals. They led these campaigns across the continent– they wouldn’t’ve needed paratroopers. The soldiers just marched,” Joe looked up, “This one fella, well, I guess he was an opposing general, he marched his elephants over the Alps.” 

Joe’s laughter was low but bright, and George indulged another sip of his Old Fashioned, lest he think something untoward about his old friend. 

“Sergeant Toye, you will brush that elephant until he shines. Do you expect to go to war with dusty tusks?” George affected in Sobel’s voice, attracting the other men towards their table. 

Before Bill Guarnere and his wife (Frances, George reminded himself) went to bed he came over to shake hands with Joe and say goodnight. Joe took a minute for quiet words between them, while Frances politely invited George to visit them in Philly next time he was in the area. He got a sense that if she learned he’d been in Pennsylvania without gracing the Guarnere household he’d have a riot on his hands, and promised to call on them when he could. 

“G’night Toye, Luz,” Bill said, and took his wife’s arm as they went back towards the rooms. George looked away, and caught Nixon and Winters in the corner of his eye, standing close together. Nixon had his arm wrapped around Winters’ shoulders, and for a moment his hand cupped the back of his neck, thumb brushing the divot between his skull and spine. So it was like that, George thought, and wondered why an invite into their house had been so readily given. Nixon was not a cautious man, but he guarded the things he regarded as his– dogs, peaches, wine cellars. 

Joe caught him watching the officers, and he turned back to their conversation. 

“I hadn’t planned to come,” Joe said, “I haven’t talked to any of them since Bill and I were in the hospital together. But Babe showed up with Bill and Fran and they would’ve left me alone, but… My brothers weren’t in the war.” George nodded, Joe had told them about the various illness or necessary labor jobs that had protected the other Toyes. 

“I was lonely, I think. So when Babe showed up I went with him,” He said, and sat back, done with his piece. 

George said, before his brain could catch up with him, “Would you come with me now, if I asked?” 

Joe nodded, and pushed himself up from the chair. 

The prosthetic was easier to get off than he expected. Two buckles across his thigh, a snap connecting the harness to the wood, and Joe Toye was naked as the day he was born spread out across the floral pattern of George’s hotel bed. 

George liked to tease, liked to talk and bite and argue, and he hoped they would have time for that, in the bright, impenetrable future they now had, in this time after the war. But Joe was a simple man to please, and the noises he made when George put his mouth on his cock were almost as good as his growl when George teased him to a point of rage. And George liked it pretty fucking well when he let himself draw the blowjob out a little long, until Joe pushed down on the back of his head and said, “Suck.” 

Without speaking Joe curled himself behind George to sleep, his arm resting across George’s stomach. 

“Goodnight, Joe,” George said. Joe grunted. 

The next morning, after breakfast, George got back in Winter’s Cadillac, and went back East for the summer, waiting until Molly went to school and cleaning fish guts off his denim coveralls. He would receive letters in Joe’s stout, blocky handwriting, words scribbled out until everything was spelled correctly. In the fall he left again, and Joe Toye would pick him up at the train station. He would apologize for not having a car, and with his balance on the prosthetic he couldn’t take a bag from George either, but they walked together to the narrow apartment they would share until Joe got his teacher’s license. 

George would work for one of Joe’s cousins (he would come to learn there were always more cousins) in the back of an autobody shop, mopping floors and sweeping up the screws and bolts scattered around. Joe taught history, and at night he would read to George from the books he consumed rapidly, and George would tell him they were Achilles and Patroclus, even with Joe’s Achilles Heel and all. 

After the war, they continued.

[mortuary-reads]

“I, Miquella, beseech thee; become our muse. Make Motherly in my Age of Compassion.”

Embraced in Purpose

18+ MDNI

Slight Female OC x Leda, Female OC x Miquella x Radahn

Summary~ Seraphin is just as loving and loyal as she was the day she met Kindly Miquella. Now the God of the Age of Compassion is eager to ask an enormous favor of her.

Warning~ Cult-like behavior, sex implied, pregnancy mentioned, F/M/M, sibling incest

Word Count~ 2,979

Author's Note~ Just a heads up, this is a dialogue heavy fic with a lot of sitting, lol. If you haven’t already, please check out Embraced in Light here or on Ao3 before reading this one so you can get an idea of what’s going on... Or don’t, I can’t stop you, haha.

A quick shout out to @unusualindigo , whose fic had me contemplating about what life would be like after Miquella's ascension. And to @empyreau , whose posts opened me up more into thinking about Miquella more intimately. Unknown to both of you, you've played a small part in this whole piece. For that, I thank you.✨️

Header found here

Dividers made by~ @sweetmelodygraphics

Miquella's success in becoming a God came as no surprise to Seraphin. After months of trudging alongside Leda in the Land of Shadow, and being of aid to other followers like herself, they were all granted sanctuary where the Erdtree used to stand. As the ashes of the old tree faded into nutrients for the soil, The Lands Between, and even Caelid regained some of its formal color and life. A beautiful castle of white stone and gold had been erected in its place, even more grand than anything she'd ever seen.

Inside this new castle was a paradise of gleaming luxury and flora. Vines snaked their way lovingly around the entirety of the inside columns and walls. Statues of Miquella’s family were constructed around the castle to look after their new home. Rooms were adorned in silk and gold and marble; but nothing was more beautiful than the central garden.

Four arches from north, east, south, and west opened up to golden paths that led to a three layer stone fountain that stood in the middle of the circular room. At the very top was a sculpture of Miquella and his sister, Malenia. The sculpted Miquella stood tall, his cupped hands overflowing with crystal clear water. The water fell directly onto the carved helmet on Malenias’ head who was under him facing the entrance of the garden on one knee, her katana out to the side, always there to protect her brother.

The tall decorated glass dome above provided the most beautiful light as rainbows were cast down on the curated forest below. Butterflies of all different colors, and sweet prancing fawn were the garden’s citizens. Any who entered were happily greeted by both.

Seraphin’s giggle echoed throughout the garden as she shooed a very insistent butterfly away from Leda's face. They both sat at the base of the fountain, Leda with one knee drawn up and back against the rounded stone, and Seraphin sitting sideways, close to her rested thigh.

"Your hair, the way it frames your face is divine.."

Seraphin blushed as Leda took a long cyprus lock into her calloused hands and rubbed it gently with her thumb. “Divine?”

“Yes, quite. And I smell a hint of… pomegranate emanating from you, no?”

“‘Tis. I’m happy you noticed.” She'd worn it specifically for this meeting.

“It’s always a blessing to witness thy beauty enhanced.” 

Leda gently dropped Seraphin's hair on her shoulder and grabbed her hand, "I remember how sweet your face looked when I first came upon you at the Gravesite Plain; dirty, yet calm and strong. As jealous and untrusting as I was, your enthusiasm and dedication eased my mind. You proved yourself more worthy than any of the other livestock I'd collected." She raised Seraphins’ hand to her mouth and delicately kissed her wrist, her lips ever so slightly sticking to her skin. Seraphin shuddered, a strong chill branching throughout her body from the growing knot in her lower abdomen. She hadn't felt this way in such a long time; not since she first met Sorcerer Rogier at the Round Table Hold many, many moons ago.

"You shouldn't speak so harshly of others. We all helped in Lord Miquella's ascension, shouldn't that matter?"

Leda breathed deeply of her skin and exhaled slowly. "You are right. I take too much comfort in our time together. Forgive me."

Seraphin traced her finger along Leda's cheek, softer now that she wasn't always fighting. They're growing movement closer to each other was mutual, their lips pouted, ready to plant them together....

"Seraphin?" A light, raspy voice as gentle as the rustle of leaves came in the distance.

The girls smiled at each other, disappointed, but slightly amused at their situation. They knew exactly who the voice belonged to. Miquella's godly glow appeared before his body did, the soft golden light penetrating through the trees. "There you are." 

Miquella seemed to float over to where they sat and smiled warmly at them. Both girls shifted to their knees and bowed their heads.

“Your presence graces us immensely, Lord Miquella.” Leda said.

The Gods’ smile grew. “I am warmed by your words. You may rise.”

Leda jumped up by herself, and reached her hand out to Seraphin, who took it gently and rose to her feet, nodding her head slightly as thanks.

 Miquella looked at the blue haired girl, "Seraphin, I must speak with thee." 

“Of course.” She flattened the torso of her sage green and gold gown.

He turned around without another word and walked down the path he came. She immediately followed, turning her head back once to see a lone Leda smiling sadly after them.

“Walk beside me.” He gestured to his right. Seraphin followed his hand and stayed at his pace. She could never stop herself from looking up at the extravagance of the halls any time she made her way through the castle.

“The garden is radiant.” He said, still looking ahead.

“Oh, yes! I am most grateful for your appointing me with the others to tend to it.”

“A wonderful job I knew you’d be trusted with.”

Seraphin beamed with pride from his compliment.

As they walked together, the large, red-haired Radahn rounded a corner. Seraphin made brief eye contact with him before sheepishly putting her head down. She stayed back a couple of steps as the two husbands stopped in front of each other. 

“My Love.” Miquella called joyfully. 

Radahn took the pale Gods’ hand and kissed it, with no emotion on his face. “The final wall at the end of the city has been finished. We’ve decided to place three cannons on the back entrance.”

“Wonderful news. You must take this to Leda.”

“I was on my way to find her.”

“She was just in the garden. I took my sweet Seraphin from her.” The blonde giggled.

At the mention of her name, Seraphin looked up and blushed.

Radahn eyed her intensely before speaking again. “Then I shall make this quick and get back to you as soon as I can.”

“I thank thee.”

He kissed Miquellas’ hand again and swiftly made his way past the two and through an archway they had just come from.

“Come.” Miquella said, walking again. 

Seraphin came to his side, now with slight unease. Lord Radahn was never talked about, but widely avoided in silent agreement among the followers in the palace. He brought about an air of negativity that Kindly Miquella said would pass with time, and that it was important to give him the grace to improve as his consort. That didn’t stop her from shuddering every time she saw the red haired brute. She didn’t like one so harsh near her beloved God, but wouldn’t dare think much further on the matter.

Seraphin grew worried at Miquella’s silence as they moved through the castle. “My Lord, where are we going?” She found the courage to ask. 

“My favorite place. Not to worry, we’re almost there.” He tittered. They turned a sharp corner, and down the short hallway stood grand dark wooden doors with a tree etched into the middle of them “Ah, here!”

She stared in awe as they walked up to them. Miquella raised his hand and with no sound at all, the doors opened on their own. Seraphin’s mouth fell open as they entered. It was a large open room with creme walls and white pillars. The space opposite them where there should've been a wall was completely open; a balcony overlooking the newly built city. To the right, a giant sheer canopy hung above a vast white, circular bed adorned with many pillows and cushions.. 

Seraphins’ face grew bright red as the realization of where she was hit her. 

Miquella looked at her and chuckled, “Isn’t it marvelous?” Miquella chuckled, taking her hand and walking her over to the bed.

“Oh, yes. I can see why you adore it so.” She said in awe, dazedly following her Lord.

Seraphin knelt on the floor at Miquellas’ feet, memories of their first meeting swirling in her mind. He ran his fingers through her hair, sending tingles throughout her body. Gazing up at his glowing form made her drunk with love almost instantaneously, leaving her body and eyelids feeling heavy.

“I…feel like I haven’t thanked you enough for everything.”

Before Miquella could respond, the doors to the bed-chamber opened. Both figures looked to see Radahn walking in slowly. He looked unnatural, not used to moving in such short strides. After eyeing the blue haired girl over he looked at Miquella.

“Not yet.” was all Miquella said. Radahn grunted and led himself to one of the giant pillars to lean on

“What’s going on?” Seraphin asked in a low voice, unease starting to ripple in her gut again.

“I am tremendously happy,” Miquella began, “with how you have grown. Your unwavering loyalty to me has not only strengthened the love of my followers, but us as well.” He gave a quick smile to Radahn then back to the girl. 

She was confused, but remained silent.

Sensing her skepticism, the God continued, “Yes, it’s true. You are precious among these walls. As my husband roams from time to time, he hears voices of happiness that whisper your name. You have become a paragon of my divinity, and I cannot thank you enough for that.”

“P-paragon…” Seraphin felt dizzy. Not me…

“You may not draw swords, or claim blood on the battlefield for my cause, but your heart and eagerness have just as much power”

She felt an intense tugging at her core, that deep yearning she felt anytime Miquella was around her. She craved his praise, her soul lapping up every bit of affection like a dog.

“Your eyes,” he hummed, gently cupping his hand under her chin and lifting her head higher, “have always left me mesmerized.”

Seraphin was surprised at this as a shadow of sadness overtook her longing. “Is that… why you’ve never offered to fix them?” The words left Seraphins’ mouth before she could even think. She immediately regretted asking after seeing his frown.

“I will not lie to you. Indeed, what you have suffered has gifted you with traits I find pleasing. The darkness your left eye holds is a precious reminder of what brought you to me. To me.” His last words sounded almost… possessive? Miquella lowered his hand.

Her stomach turned. “Lady Leda told me your mark upon her eyes has left her with the brightest hope and mind. Her eyes are beautiful! Will I never earn such a gift?” 

“No.” Miquella said. “Leda’s hardened heart needed to be mended. For you, there is nothing to mend. ”

“I am flattered by your convictions.” Her face was rosy red and hot at the God’s flow of praise.

He smiled wide. “With that settled, I would like to talk to you about why I’ve brought you here.”

Radahn shifted in his position causing the blue haired girl’s body to flinch. Seraphin noticed a look of worry in Miquella’s face. “For many days and nights Radahn and I have been thinking about our future. We have made this new age bloom, but there is still something we cannot achieve on our own.”

“And… I can be of service?”

Miquella placed his soft hands on hers like he did so many moons ago, “Seraphin, I have something exceptionally important to ask of thee.”

She swallowed hard, anticipation building in her chest.

“I ask that you be the surrogate of our intended children.”

Her eyes widened. She felt her heart jolt, body cold from the shock. The room was filled with a thick silence as she let the heavy question fall on her brain. Neither three made a sound as Seraphin pondered. 

A surrogate…? A mother? To carry the life of a demi-god, I- I have never thought of Motherhood before…

 “H-how could I fulfill this role-?” Her lips trembled.

Miquella’s grip on Seraphins’ hands gently tightened. “Lay with us.” He said softly, passion spilling into his words.

“Us?” Oh, dear.

As if on cue, Radahn made his way to the opposite side of the bed and stared down at the girl. She glanced at the red-haired brute and placed her gaze back on Miquella. A moment of fear flashed across her mind as she thought about what that could actually mean.

“My Lord,” Seraphin took a deep breath, anxiety flowing in her veins, “I desire nothing more than to serve you… to please you with all of me.” Her body shook noticeably more than she wanted. “ You have made me whole with love and purpose, aiding in something greater than I. Not once have I thought to see thee in such a mortal way. It seems almost impious.” She lowered her head, flustered.

Miquella swept his hand across her cheek. “And that is why I have chosen thee. I need a kind and nurturing bearer to my offspring. No Outer Gods will curse our children. No demi-god will have to suffer as I and my siblings have suffered.

Never did Seraphin think she would see such need in a God’s face. It intrigued her just as much as it frightened her. 

He raised her hands and held them, gently squeezing her fingers.

“I, Miquella, beseech thee; become our muse. Make Motherly in my Age of Compassion.”

Seraphin felt as if she would burst with emotion. The deity she worshipped for so long was now asking to Know her. 

Would I truly even make a good mother? Good enough for my Lord? As a God, he would surely know his worshipper just as his own skin.

It felt wrong, but she knew just as the day she’d met Miquella, that by casting away her doubts and embracing her role, she could serve him in an even finer way, and be rewarded well. 

She stared deep into his golden eyes and said slowly, 

“I could never deny you. My body is in your service to use. My affection for you will bear only the most loving of children, Kindly Miquella.”

Miquella lifted his legs and slid his way to the top of the bed. He leaned back on the numerous silken pillows, arms outstretched to her. “Come, Seraphin, let us create together!”

His laughter echoed like bells throughout the vast room.

N-now? The same knot she felt with Leda grew once more in Seraphins’ stomach. I feel I may lose myself if this feeling gets any stronger…

The blue haired girl climbed onto the bed and crawled to Miquella. She hesitated as she observed his form.

“Do not be afraid.” He said, “In these chambers we are equals.”

She nodded, moving to his side, placing her hands on the bed on either side of him. Her face was now mere inches away from the glowing man before her. His breath felt like warm rays of sun, and smelled of lilies.

“Then my Lord, if I may be so bold…as to…” Her head seemed to move on its own as she placed a tender kiss on his lips. She felt his hands hold her cheeks as he deepened the kiss. There was a rustling sound behind her, but she didn’t care, the only thing on her mind was the beautiful God before her pushing his tongue into her mouth. Miquellas’ hands moved from her cheeks to her shoulders, his fingers playing with the teardrop pearls that hung from the fabric of her dress.

“Undress thyself.” He whispered.

Without a second thought, Seraphin pulled her garments over her head and tossed them on the ground. She turned back to see Miquella himself stripping the white gown from his body. He was slender, but muscular. With the slight curve in his waist, he had both a masculine and feminine figure that she found to be irresistible.

By all the Gods, how did I end up here…?

He leaned back again, this time taking Seraphins’ hand and leading her to him faster. His skin was just as soft as the silk beneath them, smooth and flawless. Her cyprus hair fell around them as they embraced in another kiss.

Something hard and warm pressed itself into her back, and she gasped. The rugged outline of a naked chest became clear to Seraphin as she heard heavy breathing behind her. She pulled away from Miquella and watched as he gazed endearingly above her head.

“I was hoping you would join us soon.” He chuckled, lifting his body up to greet his husband. “We’ll show her how loved she can be. Let us have our children, my Red Lion, and we will set our mark eternally upon these lands.”

Seraphin was wedged in between them, their skin warming her up like a fire. As Miquella embraced Radahn, she was brought closer to his neck. She laid gentle kisses on his throat, his mane of curls tickling her nose. He came back down, playfully pulling Seraphin with him. They giggled through a passionate kiss, hands caressing each others’ bodies. She moaned into his mouth as the man behind her placed his hands on her hips, bending down so that his mouth was level with her ear. The smell of spiced honey and musk penetrated her nostrils as long red hair tickled her back.

“Miquella commands me, for I owe my life to him.” Radahn's deep voice rang. “And I shall worship you as Mother, for your gift to us is greater than ours to thee.”

His words in addition to his roaming hands caused another moan to escape her lips. They were a tangle of limbs; moans of lust and excitement filled the bedchamber as the sky turned from pink to black, the brilliant stars picking up what the sun had started; there to illuminate their fruitful consummation with the devotion and love of a follower to her God.

Thank you so much for reading! <3

I don't know if I will yet, but if this gets enough love, I'm thinking of drawing out their love-making scene in detail into a whole other fic. What do y'all think?

[bredforloyalty]

could you possibly elaborate more on how you found that ao3 fic that was previously deleted? i’ve lost soo many memorable ones over the years & if there is a way to find them via backup it would be such a game changer

of course!!! i don't know how you are with computers, i feel like tumblr users in general are pretty good at tech stuff or whatever and people in my circles are within the age range that uses computers or learned how in school so,, forgive me if there are too many details and you feel like i'm talking to you like to a toddler hdsgxy ((my sister, who's only a little younger than me, for example is very very online but not on her laptop and the lessons at her high school weren't very helpful, so she's just not very good at computer. so i tried to be thorough and make this friendly to someone who doesn't torrent, doesn't use excel, etc) <3

first, if you still have the link to the deleted fic (like, say, from a fic rec post or a forum), you can try searching on the wayback machine, but you probably tried that already! or you don't have a link! i just didn't want to leave it out ^^

so what actually helped me is there's this post, that uh i got this from, take a look at it, it might seem long or intimidating but i promise it's not complicated! BUT in case this helps, i'll also write down roughly what you need to know here (and then you can maybe read or skim that post looking for this info if you want): there is an archive of text files from ao3; the zip files of many many fics come with two sqlite files of metadata, basically databases that you can download and view/search with the appropriate program (db browser for sqlite is what op recommends and that worked just fine for me). and what you will be able to see, if you download the metadata, is whether the particular fic you're looking for is in the archive at all + where exactly you can find it in the zip files (so,, which batch of files has the file you want)

then op says that once you know which zip you need, you can download that and extract only the fic(s) you want. but this isn't always necessary actually, more on that in a second, it's just the general idea. i mean the idea is: get sqlite browser → download one of the sqlite files (takes time) → open it in the browser (file → open read only) → filter for whichever column you want to find what you're looking for (you can do the author or the exact title or a relationship and just browse too, ofc) → look at the first column that shows the path, this is where you can find the fic → download that zip (takes more time) → use winrar or another compression program/extractor to get that file and voilà

ok so, when you click on "show all files" on the internet archive, you'll be able to see that 'ao3_old_files' is 6.5 gigabytes, while 'ao3_current' is 18.3. if you're looking for a newer fic, it should be somewhere within the latter batch of zip files, which is hmm not ideal because it took me a while to download just 6.5 gb lmao so i don't know how much time 18 would take.. however !! if you look in the replies, you'll see op (and others?) helping whoever doesn't have the storage space or the stable internet or the time or patience to download bigger files. it's definitely worth a shot to ask them personally to look for what you want (unless it's vague, bc then it might be too much digging to ask a stranger to do but yeah otherwise op seems to have ao3_current.sqlite3)!

and if you want to look in 'ao3_old_files', i have that so obviously i'll check for you! and let's say i check and i find the fic you want. then i can do this

so the zip file (a bunch of excess data) doesn't even have to be downloaded. it just opened the fic in plain text for me 👍 unfortunately i don't know if there's a way to skip steps with the zip files that are queues, as in the ones that contain current fics and mainly epubs.... sorry </3

i hope you can find what you're looking for!! let me know if i can help with anything

[tossawary]

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have. Tagged by @otakuchan449.

I did all of my fics, which are unsurprisingly all SVSSS, because I was curious as to the patterns. I usually like to name the POV character and illustrate their style of narration in the first paragraph, which is generally humorous, so people know quickly whether or not they're going to vibe with my style. I also like starting in the middle of a situation / inciting incident if possible, so we can hit the ground walking briskly if not running, and get to the good stuff.

23. Shang Houhua - someday unfortunately to be known as Shang Qinghua, once unfortunately known in another life as Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky - came back to himself abruptly. (if words could make wishes - WIP MBJ Time Travel AU from SQH POV)

22. If the System was to be trusted, which it generally was when it came to making Shang Qinghua’s life worse for no good reason, then today was the day! (Stepping Up - 90k Canon Divergence AU, An Ding Disciple LBH)

21. Shen Yuan was conscious when he was reborn, though he didn’t know what was happening at the time, because all he knew at first was pain and golden dust. (Sit With Your Soul - 61k SQQ & SY Daemon Fusion AU)

20. Shang Houhua was thirteen going on, uh, fourteen plus a whole other life that sometimes felt more like a dream than something that had actually happened. (hey, share the weight a little - 70k Canon Divergence AU, YQY/SQH)

19. “Shifu? Forgive the interruption, but there’s a woman here to see you?” (love to the ones I've never met - 83k Fic Companion, Dimension Travel)

18. Jiahui just needs to check that her restaurant hasn’t burned down. (forgiveness for whose sake? - 48k Fic Companion and Epilogue)

17. Luo Binghe knows he isn’t supposed to be doing what he’s doing, but given that he has no other way of getting answers, he does it anyway. (you had me at hello - 5k Non-Canon Fic Extra)

16. “My king, don’t touch that-!” (A Child Once - 101k Canon Divergence AU, Deaged SQH)

15. The world was dark, woven from a black so infinite that it looked flat, and it was full of light. (Catch a Falling Star - 122k Bingliushen Stardust AU)

14. Shang Qinghua woke up having a bad day - forget going through puberty twice, because in this transmigrator’s opinion, having to experience a new round of “first day of school” bullshit year after year was worse - and speed-walking through the Cloud Recesses wasn’t helping him get through it any faster. (Nothing to Me, Nothing to You - 60k Moshang MDZS AU)

13. Mobei-Jun’s search for Shang Qinghua had taken him to many strange places. (dreams that had never come true - 14k MBJ Time Travel AU)

12. It would be a lie to say that Shang Qinghua wasn’t too sure what had happened. (every haircut I've ever had has been a bad haircut - 5k Moshang Hurt/Comfort)

11. The situation was bad. (Babe in the Woods - 19k Canon Divergence AU, MBJ has a baby brother)

10. Shen Qingqiu was perfectly capable of piloting his own ship, but that day, like many others, found Liu Qingge leaning against a column by the hangar entrance, waiting for Shen Qingqiu as he prepared to leave Qing Jing Peak Temple. (this point of pale light - 18k Liushen Star Wars AU)

9. Liu Mingyan was the model of a refined and accomplished cultivator. (but that's fine because I like a hot mess - 3k Mingling Getting Together)

8. Shen Qingqiu had made use of many excuses over the years to avoid the presence of the man who was now his own sect leader, some of which had even been good. (the ability to remain sober and gracious - 4k Canon Divergence AU, Qijiu Xuan Su sword reveal)

7. Shang Qinghua’s head hurt and his eyes were watering and he was beginning, just maybe, to think that creating an experimental stimulant because he missed the non-organic goodness of energy drinks with an unreasonable passion had been a bad idea. (anxiety and caffeine are having a cockfight in my brain - 2k Moshang Hurt/Comfort)

6. The library’s front door flew open so violently that it could be heard even at Shen Yuan’s desk nearer to the back of the main hall, which sat in front of the way to the computer rooms. (Absolutely Ineffable - 10k Good Omens Fusion AU)

5. Once there was a summer in which upon arriving home from university, Shen Yuan was immediately told that he was being sent away to the heart of the country to stay with his distant uncle, whether he liked it or not. (The Red Cabinet - 7k Narnia Fusion AU)

4. It took… Shang Qinghua… a while to figure out that demons actually had horns in this realized version of his sellout stallion web-novel. (Horns - 11k MBJ has sexy horns AU)

3. So, apparently, a portal burning with demonic energy had opened up over Qing Jing Peak and another Shang Qinghua had fallen out of it, and the wound in the sky had unfortunately closed again pretty much immediately. (ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real - 7k Non-Canon Fic Extra, SQH meets AU SQH)

2. So, Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky, the dearly despised and fervently favorited author of Proud Immortal Demon Way, died in a vaguely humiliating fashion… and then he transmigrated. (it must follow, as the night the day - 26k Moshang Role Reversal AU, Demon SQH and Cultivator MBJ)

1. Shang Qinghua has not been having a stellar transmigration experience. (pride is not the word I'm looking for - 400k Canon Divergence AU, LBH's Mother Lives)

This serves as a pretty good round-up of all my currently posted fics! There are far too many in my WIP folders to begin including everything in there.

I've been a little out of touch with reading fanfiction lately, so please, if you wish, take this post as an opportunity to participate in this game and tag me in it! I highly recommend taking a moment to revisit and admire your own fan works! Look at all that cool stuff you did! If you only have WIPs, then I don't mind if you use WIPs. Sometimes our pieces of writing are full, intensely detailed paintings that take years to complete and sometimes they're just rough sketches we do to warmup or have creative fun when we have the time, and sharing both is nice.

And if you don't have your own fan works to pull from, then I'd still love to see a list of opening lines from some of your favorite fics by other people. Any fandom you like! Give me those fic recs! Give me the opening lines of your favorite published novels if there's one you've been itching to gush about.

[the-house-of-auditore-frye]

More Scrooge x reader fic concepts because I have an unhealthy obsession with that man but can't write to save my life 😫

All of these bar "gossip column" take place after the events of the film

@multi-fandom-imagine knock yourself out😘

SFW (NSFW BELOW CUT)

(Post) Cratchit babysitter - Bob and Ethel who are out to celebrate their anniversary ask Scrooge to check on their neighbour who is babysitting their kids all day. Scrooge gets there and meets Bob's attractive neighbour whom he immediately gets a crush on and their neighbour - the reader - similarly is immediately crushing on Scrooge. The kids pick up on this mutual crush instantly and spend the whole day trying to get the two of them together. At the end, Scrooge asks the reader to dinner! (Crack/fluff/pining)

Scrooge and reader legally adopting Beryl's gang - self explanatory (fluff/found family fic)

NSFW

Gossip column - (takes place before the film) Scrooge and the reader can't stand each other at all despite finding each other very attractive. When Scrooge starts insulting her idea for a commoners newspaper written more simply and with open submission for less wealthy people to read, she adds a column where a mystery woman writes about the risque thoughts she has about Scrooge. Obviously people start gossiping and this increases Scrooge's rage towards the reader. Eventually he finds out, possibly during his trip with present that the mystery woman is the reader who does it to deal with her unrequited feelings for Scrooge. After this Scrooge asks to court her and... eventually fulfils the desires from the gossip column. (angst/smut/comfort)

Mermaids aren't real - this one is a bit too long to write up so if anyone's interested by the name, message me and I'll try and explain the idea I had in mind (semi-smut series or extremely long oneshot)

Scrooge brat taming the reader with his cane - self explanatory (smut)

Why Harry started knocking - One day when Harry swings by the office, Bob says that he noticed that recently Harry has started knocking before entering, something he never used to do. When he asks why, Harry goes on to tell Bob about the number of times he failed to knock and subsequently ended up walking in on his uncle and the reader (crack/smut)

Bite Marks - Shortly after Scrooge and reader get married, people start avoiding Prudence. When the Huffmans and Cratchits sit Scrooge down to talk about Prudence, he asks why they suddenly think Prudence is out of control. They go on to say that they have noticed lots of bite marks on Scrooge and reader and are worried that prudence is struggling to adapt to another person in the house. Scrooge still doesn't understand what they mean until the reader who is laughing explains the origin of the bite marks... (semi smut/crack)

4 times people thought they caught Scrooge and reader in a compromising position and the 1 time someone actually did - self explanatory (smut/crack)

I'll be fine - Scrooge distancing himself after reader reveals she's pregnant because he's afraid he'll loose her so during intimate pregnancy sex, she assures him all will be well. And at the end has a successful pregnancy. (Angst/smut/comfort)

[birgittesilverbae]

thinking of fic: dads and ava the emotional top persuading lilith to let ava give her a massage. laying her out on the bed with soft clean sheets and working lilith’s muscles out of their wirelike tension, occasionally leaning up to kiss the back of lilith’s neck or slipping her hands down teasingly to brush the edge of one breast, or both.

lilith trying hard to cling to the idea that she could switch their positions with incredible ease and lay ava out underneath her, but ava’s hands are unknotting at her shoulders, smoothing down the column of her spine, and every kiss takes her by surprise after a while because she’s slowly falling to pieces, like ava’s secreted soft warm languid relief underneath her skin. ava straddling her, ava’s deft hands and her thighs touching lilith’s hips.

when ava rolls off her, looking tired but triumphant, it’s all lilith can do to turn her head and look at her.

ava’s eyes sparkling as she says, ‘did you like that lily?’

lilith summoning up her strength to lift onto her forearms, watching ava’s dark eyes roam as she moves to loom over her. lowering herself down, muscles moving silken and breathlessly unfamiliar. pressing a kiss to the edge of ava’s mouth, her jaw, moving down her throat like she’s checking off a list.

feeling ava catch her by the jaw as she tries to move lower. ‘hey, lil, remember what i said? this isn’t an exchange. i wanna make you feel good, no quid pro quo.’

lilith turning her head, taking one of ava’s fingers in her mouth, tasting whatever she was working into lilith’s back. feeling ava’s finger hook, touching the inside of her cheek.

eyes closed, speaking with her mouth full of ava’s clever fingers, ‘this makes me feel good too.’

she’s not pleading. she doesn’t do that.

ava’s fingers popping wet out of her mouth, lilith pressing a kiss into her hipbone, down into the divot, a little lower. ‘i want to taste you.’

that word. want. i want.

ava’s soft response. ‘okay,’ and lilith’s, which in her way is wordless, abject, wanting

ava eternally lilith's undoing, seeing just how self-sacrificial she is, how much she throws herself into fighting for cause after cause (to the point that it contributed to the dissolution of her marriage) and putting her foot down, saying it stops here. coaxing lilith into acknowledging her own needs, her own wants, taking the time to ensure that lilith looks after herself in the same way she looks after everyone else

a hand in lilith's hair, not pulling, not guiding, just resting there, a reminder that ava is there for her, ava is letting her take what she wants without a tradeoff or a compromise or any of the four layers of bullshit lilith has to scythe through to get things done in her day-to-day. just ava, bare and waiting for lilith to understand that there's no if/then/because here between them, that it's not a problem for lilith to unravel so she can figure out exactly where to apply pressure to get the outcome she needs. it's ava, no asterisks or hidden strings, and lilith is allowed to want and to not know what she wants and to figure it out together. ('we're a team' the constant reminder, 'trust me, trust in us')

[catchyhuh]

What would their reaction be after seeing some particular fan art / fics about themselves, if you know what I mean ;)

see i told you we were inevitably gonna reach stuff like this!!! you can never fully divorce lupin the third as a franchise from Sex !! 

not really nsfw but… pretty suggestive talk below the cut

lupin:

oh he loves it. he pulls out a bingo sheet to check off if certain things come up multiple times, keeps a tally of when people give him abs and when they don’t, all that shit. probably bought like four body pillows of himself just for the hell of it, and has given each of them dumbass names like “lupin the 3rd and a half” and “lupin the 3rd the 2nd.” just make your portrayal at least semi-flattering, and he’s all onboard for it

honestly the way people treat him IN franchise, especially in more recent parts, i wouldn’t be shocked if it existed even within the story, and i feel like his reaction would be the same as it is ANY time the public speculates and gives him attention: a strange, almost giddy delight, followed by joining in himself. he’s a weird little man. for god’s sake he’d probably pose if asked and everything. i cannot stress enough that he is the opposite of uncomfortable with this

i gotta say, if we’re being completely transparent with ourselves, if anybody outta these guys would ACTUALLY use stuff like this t-- no, no, maybe that’s a little excessive to say. funny, but excessive. you get the idea there

jigen:

confuses him more than anything. why would anyone wanna see. he kinda gestures vaguely at himself. all this? like, he gets WHY porn exists he’s not in any kind of denial about the appeal of all that. i mean he is not immune either lmao but. but honestly. him? people want to see him? it must be some sort of bit. not that jigen has any self esteem issues like that, he very much is fine with the person he is and how he presents himself, but… THE IDEA OF TOTAL STRANGERS BEING SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO HIM IS STILL INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO HIM

very critical. like writing columns of analysis critical. this is supposed to be him, and he imagines he knows himself better than anybody. so out comes the red sharpie, ready to make corrections. sit down, he’s gonna be here with you a while: he’s got more hair than that. he’s got less hair than that. he only leaves his hat on if it’s funny, not all the time, c’mon man. he’s not that loud. he’s not-- okay, well, he WOULD bottom in certain occasions, but not every damn time! you think just because he has a track record with huge guys means he can’t top? reassess your preconceived biases about sex and relationships, i mean honestly jesus christ people!

overall has more of this weird. not distaste but contempt? i guess? for art as opposed to writing. if it’s writing, the sins are less obviously apparent. usually. don't prove him wrong

fujiko:

relatively passive about the concept, but interested in the finer details. she’s had many different looks, y’know, and it’s interesting to see which specific hairstyles and colors really stuck with people enough for them to go out of their way to include them while drawing something like that. she kind of subconsciously doesn’t even see whatever is being depicted as herself, so she kinda sees it the same as… any other kind of sexual content? it’s just a novelty that the woman presented before her is SUPPOSED to be her, and it’s weirdly fascinating.

fujiko is very blase about sexual matters in general, so really, i don’t think the idea phases her much. she knows she’s hot shit. she’s planned multi-million dollar heists that hinge SOLELY on the fact she is hot shit. of course people would desperately crave the closest thing they could get to getting a piece of her i mean damn! who wouldn’t! however she would disagree on a factual basis in some instances, as after all, some fic writers don’t seem to understand that reproductive organs don’t work like that at all, but that’s her main beef with it. you want to impress fujiko mine, you have to a. do a little googling or b. get some bitches and take notes. not offended by inaccuracy to her, but inaccuracy to the process and (ironically enough given who we’re looking at here) anatomy

goemon:

buh? huh?? wait. what?? huh? him?? guh? his?? his p

the initial reaction (as for everything even slightly romantic or sexual with him) is baffled, stunned silence. again, he’s not alarmed by the idea of people creating/reading/viewing art like that, but. really? he has to assume people… enjoy seeing him that way, and that adds another layer of embarrassment, but also a weird sense of un-acted-upon duty: this person could be moderately attracted to him, and he’s never even properly spoken to them. he believes the word is “parasocial” (fujiko told him about it recently) and he doesn’t want people putting him on an unrealistic pedestal! or putting. specific parts of him on an unrealistic pedestal either for that matter!!

again, (you may be noticing a trend here) he will only Allow it if it feels realistic enough in his mind. he’s not all “NO! NOT PREMARITAL HANDHOLDING!! ANYTHING BUT THAT” but he DOES feel there should be a level of actual companionship present for it to “work.” if it’s him and some random who tried to kill him for a week two decades ago, he’s will make his lack of appreciation known. silently. because god he is not ever, EVER going to be discussing this with ANYONE, no matter HOW MANY TIMES THE OTHER THREE KEEP BRINGING IT UP

zenigata:

cuts you off before you can even fully explain it. nope. hm-mm. aht aht aht. not becoming aware of this. because if he starts becoming aware of it, toooo many things are gonna start popping up in his head, so NO, HE’S NOT AWARE OF THIS (except for the fact he very much is)

the only one to not have this weird mental notetaking relationship with it, because inaccurate or not, just the fact it’s here in front of him is enough to shut his brain down. the often ignored sensible part of him looks down at the computer and goes “what?? no, that’s not-- using actual police handcuffs would just be a bad idea all around. that’s why they make different ones specifically for this purpose so nobody gets hurt. and besides that, i just wouldn’t do that” but. the zenigata part of zenigata is red in the face all the way down to his neck, only focusing on the fact that that’s… not a bad idea, which he immediately backtracks on in horror at himself, and thus, the self imposed principle: I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THIS.

[polizwrites]

WIP Update - 1 Feb 2024

Been on vacation for the last 2+ weeks (since Jan 13th) so got very little writing done. Over the past 3 weeks I touched 6 fics ( 2 WIPs & 4 new works) for a total of  890 words.

On Ao3, I posted: Variations on a Theme   - Sam/Clint Secret Santa love confessions After One Or Two False Starts  - Chapter 3 -  Sam/Bucky love confessions Never Have I Ever (But I’d Like to With You) - Chapter 2 -- Tony/Steve love confessions Not Too Far Down the Tracks -  Steve/Tony College AU fluff Fill Me Up With Your Love  - Steve/Bucky/Tony threesome PWP The Things You Said I Wish You Hadn’t - Clint & Steve post-mission with a bit of angst.

I also contributed to the  Stucky Bingo January 2023 Round Robin  - Steve/Bucky pet adoption fluff! 

On Tumblr I posted:  A Rising Star  - Sam passing the wings to Joaquin Thimbles and Acorns -  a last minute Steve Rogers Bingo fill for my Pirate square - pre-war  Steve/Bucky love confessions  

(Do I have a brand? Why yes, yes I do! 😁)

I have  10 active WIPs  with my current  deadline being the  Stuckony  Valentine Cards  event (due 10 Feb)  and the  Tony Stark Bingo (ends 28 Feb)

See below cut for what I’m working on/planning to work on - arranged more or less by bingos/challenges/etc.  As always, feel free to send me prompts or plot bunnies as well as asks regarding any of these projects  or any other WIPs I’ve got out there.   Interaction really helps feed the Muse and keep me motivated!

Bucky Barnes Bingo - Round 4 [BBB_R4] (Runs thru 7 15 Jan 2023)

23 squares completed with  6 bingos total!  Hoping to carry a few squares forward to the next round.    Masterpost

Sam Wilson Bingo - Mini Holiday Round (SWB_MH) - Ends 20 Jan

Five fills posted with 2 bingos for this  3x3 holiday event card  - my final fill was for the FREE square - A Rising Star [Sam & Joaquin, General, 293 words].     (Belated)  Masterpost

Steve Rogers Bingo - Round 2  (SRB_R2) - Ends 31 Jan

Twenty-one fills posted with 6 bingos (Rows 1, 3 & 5 and Columns A & B and 1 diagonal) - masterpost coming probably by the end of the week.

* A4 - Touch Attention/Denial  - posted  Fill Me Up With Your Love   last Friday. It also fills (heh) my  Stucky Bingo  KINK - Double Penetration square.   It’s PWP with Tony and Bucky double-teaming Steve and came in at 1613 smutty words.   

* A5 - Pirate - Thimbles and Acorns was a last minute fill -  I was inspired by a ride on Peter Pan’s Flight at WDW  to dash off a quick pre-war Stucky fic  where a childhood memory leads to a love confession

* B2 - Mile High Club -  Posted chapter 2 of  Never Have I Ever (But I Want To With You), picking up with Tony’s POV after the events of Chapter One. It crosses over with TSB  Tony’s Poor Life Choices  and came in at 820 words (1820 total for the fic)

* C5 - “You get hurt, hurt ‘em back. You get killed … walk it off.” - I combined this with a Tumblr writing prompt “things you said I wish you hadn’t” (requested by @gayspacesprinkles​)  for The Things You Said I Wish You Hadn’t   - post-mission fic with  Clint angst  and vaguely hinted at Clint/Steve. It came in at 245 words.

* D5 - Long Distance Relationship - posted  Not Too Far Down the Tracks as a crossover Flash Fiction Friday Prompt  Late Night Train.  It’s a Stony College AU ficlet that  I added onto to squeeze my TSB Doing Groceries square into.  It came in 411 words.

Stuckony Valentine Cards Event  [Ends 10 Feb]

This Ao3 Event solicited prompts for Stony, Stucky, WinterIron, and/or Stuckony works - it’s now in the creation phase, so if you’re looking to write something short and sweet (or smutty!) and are 18+ plus, feel free to check out the list of prompts!  I skimmed thru them before vacation, but now need to take another look & hopefully find something that I vibe with!

Tony Stark Bingo - Round 6  (TSB_R6)  [Ends 28 Feb]

Twenty fills and two WIPs at the moment -    with  Vague Ideas for almost every other square.  

* T2 - Doing Groceries - see SRB Long Distance Relationship above

* T3 - Pepper Potts/Rescue -  some sort of remix of/inspired by sabrecmc’s  Indecent Proposal  from Pepper’s POV.  At this point, I think I need to re-read the fic & take notes …  

* T4 - KINK: Concubine - was going to combine this with  SRB  E4 - Mental Bondage but still may write up the idea I had - potential titled  My Voice the Chain that Binds You.

*A5 - Scott Lang  - 27dragons shared an interesting plot bunny during the Sept TSB Discord party that I may end up using; that or a follow up to A Piece of the Action

* R1 - Tony’s Poor Life Choices - see SRB Mile High Club above.  

* K2 - Secret Admirer -  carried this over from last round so I could try my hand a remix of Seeds of Love  (WinterIron hanahaki fic by the super-talented @hddnone).  Potential title:  Wraps Around My Heart, Refusing to Unwind.  Poking at some ideas in my head, but haven’t gotten anything on paper yet.

* K5 - Protectiveness -- using this for the third (and probable final) chapter of my  Stony Western AU WIP  Come Down From Your Fences  (And Open the Gate)

Stucky Bingo Round Four [SB_R4] (Ends 31 May 2023

Nine fills and one WIPs with a couple of other vague ideas.

* B1 - Mutual Pining -  no specific idea, but it’s so On Brand for me I’m sure I’ll come up with something!  (maybe  the Centerfold fic idea I’ve been toying with)

* B5 - KINK: Double Penetration - see SRB   Touch Attention/Denial  above.

* O4 - AU: Supernatural - got inspired by a dream to start a Stucky fantasy AU (magician!Steve/ensorcelled!Bucky) that @bill-longbow  is collaborating on with me. We’re currently sitting at 1640 words  (984-ish of which are mine).   Will probably continue on this sometime in February.   Current Last Line:  "My men will accompany you back to Brookline in the morning.”

I also adopted the Writing Format: Remix one of your fics  square  – am thinking of taking one of my Stony or WinterIron  No Powers fics and adapting it to a Stucky pairing – if you have any requests - hit me up!  

WinterIron - No Powers AU  –  Stony No Powers AU

————

On other creative fronts:  I have a Ms Marvel Stuffed With Character figure in progress -  still working on the figures/props for my three Marvel Trumps Hate  auction winners as well (7 of 8 done so far) – thanks so much for your generous support!!  Finally, I am prepping for a superhero con in March  and another con in June  so am pretty well booked up through spring/early summer.

That said, if you’re looking for one of a kind gifts for birthdays or other celebrations later in the year, check  out Stuffed With Character   over on Facebook for a full list of my designs (now over 100!).   They’re  mostly Marvel and monsters, but I have some Star Wars, Star Trek, DC   and Disney figures as well. Plus I love to take custom design  requests  for any fandom!

[sweetestofchaos]

🍕🔥🌈

🍕Will you be making any changes to your posting schedule (if you have one)? (Or do you want to establish a posting schedule?)

A: I tried to keep up with a posting schedule but it hard for me. I bounce around with so many different stories and ideas. I struggle to remember when things are due. However, I did invest (it was a gift 🤭) in a planner, so I’ve been trying to keep up with dates.

I don’t think I would end up make a set schedule, only because I feel like I would let my readers down when things were late.

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

A: I wrote this a while back when I was first playing around with the idea of Blackthorn. I wasn’t sure at the time how I wanted the story to play out (still not 100% sure) but this scene just wouldn’t leave me alone...It didn’t fit with the story after a while, but it works wonderfully with The Captain’s Vow 😂 

It was the humming, soft and light that caught his attention. Who would dare hum in such a dark place such as this? He followed the sound, seemingly pulled along by an invisible rope. The door to the bathing room was cracked and the humming grew louder the closer he got. Maybe it was one of the old maids busying their mind as they cleaned the dark stone around the heated pool of water?

He reached out and paused, the melody was familiar. Tugging at a long forgotten memory of his past. Shaking his head, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, keeping his steps quite as he snuck father into the room. The red and gold sheer curtains fluttered as a cool breeze blew. Through the parted fabric he saw her. Dark hair spread out around bare shoulders; grazing the water below like spilled ink.

He felt his throat dry as she pulled her hair all to one side, exposing her left shoulder to his eyes. A waterlily was panted onto her skin, calling to him. He found himself suddenly need a bath and he made his presence know while clearing his throat. She jumped from the sound and quickly crossed her arms over her chest. Her bright red nails a stark contrast to her brown skin, as they gently dug into her flesh.

She looked over her shoulder and felt her face warm. Either from the heat of the water or embarrassment, she couldn’t tell. As he started to disrobe, she quickly turned her head and he smirked.

“I hope you don’t mind the company. Your song enchanted me...can I hear more?” He stepped into the streaming water and sighed as his muscles started to relax. She refused to look as he got closer and bite her lip.

“I should go-” Before she could think to move, he has her back pressed against his chest as he held her gently. His large hands covered her smaller ones and he could feel her heart pounding in her chest. “Wha-”

“I’d lay the world at your feet, please. Sing for me?” His voice was but a whisper as he slid his hands to her neck, sweeping her hair to the left shoulder; exposing her damp skin to his lingering eyes. “I have not heard a sound so sweet since childhood. Please, sing me?” His breath caused goosebumps to rise and force the hair on the back of her neck to stand. He leaned in and trailed his nose up the column of her neck and froze when her sweet voice began to sing softly.

**Who do you think this is about?? 🤔

🌈 What research do you plan on doing for your writing?

A: Gonna be looking into a lot of lore and animal facts. I’m working on a hybrid fic right now that I always have to double check facts when it comes to their animal counterparts. Lore because I’m a sucker for dragons, mermaids and werewolves...so there will be a lot of different influences in many of my fantasy works. Thankfully, the one group I am apart of has a lot of resources that I can use to help me when it comes to the fantasy works 😆

Truthfully, I don’t ever do much research when I write unless I’m using real places and want to get a good idea of distance or time. So, this year I will try to do better with research! 

Pick a question and send it in!

[booksandabeer]

okay you mentioned your exessive reading lists and the notes you take on them about the fics you chose and that has me intrigued, like what is the process behind this, how do you categorize, what do you note down, do you grade them? I'm kind of a bit obsessed with the whole idea

Hello there, anonymous person!

Thanks for the ask--sorry it took me so long to answer but I was travelling and didn't have access to my computer. As previously established, there is in fact a method to the madness. Not so sure if there's a method to the method though. Let's see!

I'll put this under a keep reading thingy because: long and text-heavy (surprise!)

I think the most important document--and the one that I always keep up to date--is the Masterlist (that's actually the name of the document). This is basically a giant spreadsheet with multiple tabs that helps me keep track of all the fics I have completed (I have separate lists for DNFs, WIPs, and currently--to my great shame--four (!) TBR folders with lists organized by priority) sorted by year and month. I posted screenshots the other day and I made sure to make them small enough so that no one can decipher any actual names of authors or fics. See, what I write into all these lovely little columns there is really meant for my eyes only. Because I do grade fics and sometimes I get a little snarky and write little mini-reviews. But. I would never, not in a million years, show up in an author's comment section and go "this aspect of your fic was good, this other one, eh, not so much. Bit of a shame, really. 5/10." It's really a tool for me to help me jog my memory when I'm looking for something to rec, reread, or simply check if I have read a fic before or not.

But just to give a short overview, what I track/categorize in the Masterlist: type (fic or series), title, author, pairing, word count (and I aggregate the total for each month and year), post date & read date, kudos & comments (i. e. have i left any? good way to track "outstanding" comments), rating (1-10), verse/genre (e. g. canon compliant/divergent, modern AU, no powers, pre-war, Shrinkyclinks, etc.) and finally, the most important one: description. That last one is where everything else goes, from short summaries, to favorite lines, to little memorable details to positive and/or negative comments about the fics. And sometimes that can turn into a rather long text and sometimes it's just "mangos in a bowl". I just scrolled through the spreadsheet for this year and here are some fun facts...well they're fun to me...

month with the highest/lowest word count: June (1.360.738 words total, haha, wtf?) and December (178.357 words total, but tbf, I had hardly any time to read and what I did read was/is mostly WIPs and those are on a separate list)

highest/lowest word count per individual fic: 111K and 791 words (I only track 500+ words fics); longest series comes in at just a little over 330K.

highest/lowest rating: 10 (there is only one 10 this year, but a few 9s and 8s, which is still really good because I'm stingy with high ratings) and a 3 (which is really rare because I hardly ever finish a fic that's below a 5, but I had read and liked other fics from the author so I kept going, hoping it'd get better. It did not). I also have one fic with a '?' rating, which is for a fic that started out spectacularly good and then went completely off the rails in equally spectacular fashion, so no clue what to rate it.

Ok, that's it for now. I hope this answers your question a little bit and wasn't completely boring? And yes, I do realize that this is all very silly, but it amuses me and I enjoy doing it. Other people do embroidery. I make lists.