#even though they were never allowed on there

[lizzyiii]

Hii, are requests open??

Yes, it definitely is!!!

The Dragon's Treasure

pairing | young aemond targaryen x niece!reader

word count | 6.7k words

summary | when you were but four years old, your mother had declared jacaerys as her heir, despite the fact that you were born first. in truth, it was a measure born of love; she knew you, with your striking silver locks and lilac eyes—her sweet daughter—would be safe, whilst her sons would not.

tags | FLUFF, FLUFF, targaryen incest, reader is described to have silver hair and lilac eyes (that's all), very very soft aemond, and after fluff comes ANGST, ANGST and more ANGST, also reader is a sensitive queen.

a/n | wrote this in 2 days 💪, and there will DEFINITELY be a PART 2

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Duty and shame. These were the threads from which you were woven—not love, nor passion, but the heavy fabric of obligation and regret.

The firstborn of Rhaenyra Targaryen came into the world not as a son with dark hair and brown eyes, but as a daughter, blessed with ethereal lilac eyes that mirrored her mother's lineage and the shining silver curls that heralded her Velaryon heritage.

Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen had fulfilled their solemn duty to conceive an heir. For Rhaenyra, each night was steeped in a prayerful longing to erase the memory of her wedding night—a night marked by discomfort and tears. The truth was evident to all: Laenor's heart was not inclined towards her nor any woman; his desires lay with men. Yet, their obligation demanded they play their parts.

After their hurried nuptials in a clandestine ceremony, they found themselves confined within a chamber, the weight of expectation pressing down upon them. When the act was done, the silence that enveloped them was shattered by Laenor's grief; he collapsed into Rhaenyra’s arms, his body wracked with sobs as he mourned the loss of his beloved, wishing loudly that he could be “normal.” It was in that moment, as she held him close, that the young princess, overwhelmed by the weight of her fate, found herself wishing she could shed her identity, to become someone else entirely.

But when Rhaenyra beheld her daughter for the first time, it was as if the world shifted. A spark of profound love ignited in her heart, banishing the shame that had once gnawed at her spirit during her pregnancy and the painful hours of labor. There had been moments when she had cursed the very life growing within her, moments steeped in bitterness toward the infant she carried. Yet now, cradling her sweet babe—her precious dragon treasure—Rhaenyra understood that she would willingly endure a thousand painful pregnancies for this singular joy.

What a delight you were, a soothing balm for Rhaenyra amidst the swirling intrigues of King’s Landing. It was your voice that first captivated her heart, from the moment your tiny lips could form sounds, you babbled with delight, engaging your mother in joyous conversations, even though she could scarcely grasp what you were saying. Your smiles were a sunbeam that brightened her darkest days; the first time you graced her with a radiant smile, it became a memory she would hold dear until the end of her days.

But as the tides of fate turned, life grew more intricate. Once Rhaenyra and Laenor fulfilled the sacred duty of securing an heir, they were free to pursue their pleasures separately, allowing Rhaenyra to take Harwin Strong into her bed. To Rhaenyra, her time with Harwin had never felt like a mistake, nor the first child they conceived together —Jacaerys Velaryon.

Yet, his hair—dark as the raven's wing— and eyes — brown as the earth—set him apart from Rhaenyra’s lineage, with none of her ethereal silver locks or striking violet eyes. Instead, he bore the unmistakable mark of his mother’s sworn protector, a truth whispered in the shadows of the Red Keep, even as Laenor publicly embraced him as his true son and the rightful heir of Driftmark.

Alas, Rhaenyra found herself repeating the same error. Another son came forth from her union with Harwin—a second boy with hair as dark as night and eyes of rich brown. Lucerys Velaryon. Whispers began to flutter through the court, dark murmurs and scornful jibes accusing her children of being bastards. It was the painful truth, yet Rhaenyra, fiercely protective as any mother, longed for her sons to live free from the burdens of her choices.

And so, Rhaenyra was faced with the most harrowing decision of her life, a choice that would weigh upon her heart for years to come. When you were but four years old, she declared Jacaerys as her heir, despite the fact that you were born first, and had Laenor declare Lucerys the heir of Driftmark. In truth, it was a measure born of love; she knew you, with your striking silver locks and lilac eyes—her sweet daughter—would be safe, while Jace and Luke would forever need her protection in a world that could be mercilessly unforgiving.

In the quiet confines of the Red Keep, a yawning silence enveloped the lesson, a silence only broken by the steady, droning voice of Septa Agertha. As a ten-year-old princess, you found your patience with such tedium wearing thin, particularly in the tedious recitation of the Faith of the Seven—each doctrine blurring into the next, sapping your spirit with every word.

Beside you, your beloved aunt Helaena sat in her own world, her delicate hands guiding the needle in and out of the fabric, her gaze distant as though the colors and threads offered more solace than the dull teachings of the Sept. You could see it in her eyes; the spark of interest had flickered away, leaving a solemn stillness where interest once danced.

Embroidery, you thought, was a most tiresome endeavor—how many times had you pricked your own fingers accidentally? It seemed the needle was always too eager, as if it shared your disdain for the task at hand. Your heart longed for the vibrant strokes of paint on canvas, the joyful freedom of creation, but Septa Agertha had sternly deemed such messiness unfit for a princess of House Targaryen.

"Focus, my princess," Septa Agertha’s voice broke through your wandering thoughts, pulling you back from your reverie. In that moment, you wished for nothing more than a dragon's flight, high above the clouds, far from the confines of the castle and the constraints of your title.

You glanced at your Septa, your expression hesitant as you mustered the courage to speak. “Septa Agertha,” you began, your tone dipped in respect, “mayhaps I might be excused to inquire if my mother has finished her labor?”

The Septa regarded you with a mixture of exasperation and fondness; her demeanor softened as you widened your eyes and pouted just enough to tug at her heartstrings. “Very well, my princess,” she relented with a heavy sigh, “our lesson shall conclude for today.”

A joyful smile bloomed on your face, and you offered a swift, sincere thank you, excitement bubbling within you. Leaning over, you pressed a quick kiss on Helaena’s cheek—a fleeting farewell—before darting toward the door. Your sworn sword, Ser Rowan, steadfast and vigilant, attempted to match your youthful enthusiasm, but your spirit was unbridled and wild, leaving him struggling to keep up.

You raced breathlessly down the corridor, your heart racing with exhilaration, until you reached your mother’s solar. As you reached for the door’s latch, you hesitated, hearing the comforting jingle of Ser Rowan's armor behind you. With a bashful grin, you withdrew your hand, glancing back to find him nearing, his breath coming in measured puffs as he opened the door with a respectful bow.

But as you stepped into the warm chamber, your excitement began to wane. A sudden twinge gripped your young heart at the sight of nearly everyone gathered within your mother’s solar, unbidden thoughts swirling as to why you had not been summoned.

Yet those troubling questions were swiftly banished as you cast your gaze upon your mother, weary and glistening with the exertion of childbirth. Ignoring the soft coos of the newborn cradled in your father’s arms, you dashed toward Rhaenyra, laying your small hand against her damp cheek. “Mother, are you well?” you asked, concern threading through your words.

A tender smile softened Rhaenyra’s features at your worry, and she grasped your hand gently, kissing your palm in a soothing gesture. “I am better now that you are here,” she replied, her voice warm like the sun breaking through the clouds.

You turned at the sound of your brother Luke's voice, a warm smile stretched across his face. "We selected an egg for the babe, and for you as well, sister," he announced, his eyes bright with excitement.

"Ahh," your mother’s voice came softly from your side, laced with affection, "Those look perfect indeed."

"I let Luke choose," Jace declared with a hint of pride.

With a nod and a grin, Luke acknowledged his brother's words, "Thank you, Jace."

"Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess," Ser Harwin Strong intoned, his hands clasped thoughtfully before him. "I deemed it fit to escort the lads."

Rhaenyra turned to him, her voice gentle, "Laenor and I thank you, Commander." Her gaze shifted slowly to you, warmth radiating from her eyes. "What do you think, my love?"

Your eyes were drawn to the two shimmering eggs nestled snugly in the hatching pot. You should have felt joy, perhaps excitement, yet a shadow of sadness draped over your young heart. "Why was I not included?"

An uneasy silence fell over the chamber, heavy and palpable. Ser Harwin broke it first, offering a sympathetic smile, “You were busy with your lessons, princess. We did not wish to disturb you.”

"But surely Jace and Luke were occupied with their dragon lessons as well," you replied in a soft voice, the undertone of hurt evident in your words.

Rhaenyra immediately noticed the glimmer of tears pooling in your lilac eyes and the tremble of your lips, as she rushed to uplift your spirits. "Look, my love, it is purple, your favorite color."

No sooner had Rhaenyra spoken than Laenor interjected enthusiastically, “I have a good feeling about this one, my darling. You know what they say—third time’s the charm.”

Third. This was to be your third dragon egg. The first, a vibrant orange, had turned to stone in your cradle, a cruel fate none could have foreseen. The second, a deep crimson egg, had been bestowed upon you with the birth of Luke, yet it too remained unhatched. As you gazed at the violet egg in the pot, hope eluded you, replaced instead by the grim certainty that this egg too would not awaken.

“Now I am certain you would like to meet your new brother,” Rhaenyra murmured, wrapping an affectionate arm around you.

“A boy?” you whispered, your eyes lifting to seek the babe cradled in your father’s arms.

“Yes, my love.”

“Oh.”

Rhaenyra could instantly see the disappointment which weighed heavy on your features at the prospect of yet another brother, and it became ever clearer in your silence. Rather than springing toward your father, you chose instead to nestle deeper into your mother’s embrace, seeking comfort in her warmth.

As you reclined against your mother’s side, you gazed at Ser Harwin, who now cradled your newborn brother, Joffrey. At merely ten summers, you could discern the affection in Ser Harwin's gaze as he looked at Joffrey—a tender look reminiscent of the affection he often bestowed upon your mother. It was a gaze filled with adoration, one he also offered to your other brothers, yet curiously, yet it never seemed to touch you. How curious this felt, a wonder mixed with a hint of sorrow.

When your father ushered your brothers from the chamber, it left a stillness that enveloped you, your mother, Ser Harwin, and the tiny new life nestled in his arms.

“Mayhaps you should return to your lessons now, my love,” Rhaenyra said, her voice soft and melodic, turning her gentle gaze towards you.

A twinge of sorrow flared within you once again, and you glanced up at her, barely able to protest. “But—I just arrived,” you murmured, the longing in your tone betraying your desire to remain by her side.

Ser Harwin, ever the loyal knight, defended your mother, answering with a reassuring tone, “I am certain it is merely that your mother seeks rest, my princess.”

Reluctantly, you eased away from your mother’s embrace, turning slightly so she wouldn’t witness the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “I’ll go find Helaena,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

You heard her sigh, a sound laced with affection and understanding. Then, you felt her hand encircle your wrist, drawing you back to her warm side. She pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, her love wrapping around you like a cloak. “If you wish to keep me company whilst I rest, I shall never protest, my treasure.”

And so, you settled back against her, safe and cherished, while Ser Harwin gently rocked Joffrey to sleep. Your mother cast the same tender look upon him that Ser Harwin had, her eyes shimmering with a light of love—a look you noticed she had never bestowed upon your father. With this curious thought lingering in your mind, you surrendered to the soothing comfort of your mother's embrace, drifting gently into a blissful slumber for an impromptu nap.

“This one has rings...and two pairs of legs on each,” Helaena whispered, her voice a gentle hum as she held a slithering black insect close to her face, its glossy body glinting in the soft light.

“That makes two hundred and forty,” she concluded, her gaze fixed on the peculiar creature, while you regarded it with wide, curious eyes.

“Yes, indeed,” the Queen murmured thoughtfully from her perch beside Helaena.

You had awoken to find your mother still lost in slumber after drifting off beside her. With utmost care, you slipped away from her warm embrace, seeking out Helaena as you waited for the boys to finish their dragon lessons — and by boys, of course, you really meant Aemond.

“It has eyes...though...I don't believe it can see,” Helaena continued, bringing the strange creature nearer to you. Instinctively, you leaned back, wary of its closeness.

“And why is that so, do you think?" Queen Alicent inquired, her brow cocked in gentle curiosity.

Helaena merely shook her head, a mystique in her expression. “Some things lie beyond our understanding.”

“I suppose you are right,” Queen Alicent replied in a soft tone, a touch of wisdom in her words. “Some things simply are.”

"That sounds quite scary," you ventured, finally chiming in.

Both heads turned to your direction, and Helaena regarded you with a gentle curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

You offered a slight shrug, your finger gliding over the peculiar, scaly texture of the insect before you. "I suppose I’d feel so helpless, not being able to see anything. It would be a sad too, not to behold colors or shapes."

Queen Alicent regarded you with a softened gaze, her expression a mixture of contemplation and warmth. While her heart held a shadow of disdain for your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, and your brothers, who bore the stigma of bastardy, she recognized the innocence in you. A precious blend of Targaryen and Velaryon blood, you were a vision of purity akin to a delicate flower springing forth amidst thorns. It certainly didn't hurt that your sweetness was reminiscent of the ripest strawberry tart.

"Well, since it has never encountered colors or shapes, my dear princess, it has no reason to feel sad," she said softly.

Your brow furrowed, the Queen's words weaving through your mind like threads of a tapestry, before a radiant smile broke forth on your cherubic face in understanding.

The calm of the Queen's solar shattered abruptly as the heavy door swung open, revealing Aemond, forcibly ushered inside by a stern Kingsguard. All eyes, filled with concern, turned toward the commotion, “Your Grace.”

Alicent sprang to her feet, her voice laced with accusation. “Aemond. What have you done?”

You trailed closely behind the Queen, keeping a respectful distance as she unleashed her frustration upon Aemond, who stood there, cloaked in ash from head to toe. “After how many times you've been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers?!"

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of your friend’s distressed expression. “They made me do it!" he pleaded, desperation lacing his tone.

"As if you needed encouragement," Queen Alicent rebuked him, her hands firm upon his shoulders. “Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding."

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond’s voice rose, indignation spilling forth, and you flinched at the raw hurt echoing in his words.

Alicent paused, her brow furrowing in confusion. “A what?”

He turned his gaze away from his mother, the shame evident, but when his violet eyes fell upon you, they swiftly darted back, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. “They said it was a dragon… but it was a pig.”

The stern lines of the Queen’s face softened, and she spoke with conviction. “You will have a dragon one day. I know it."

“They all laughed at me,” Aemond murmured, his sorrow palpable in the air.

You yearned to bridge the distance and offer solace, for in that moment, you understood his pain more profoundly than anyone else in the room. Yet, you recognized that he needed his mother’s embrace more than your support. As Alicent enveloped Aemond in a tight hug, his violet gaze met yours once more, and all you could offer him was an understanding look, a silent promise that you would be there when he needed you.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting amber rays that danced across the ornate shelves of the Red Keep’s library, you found yourself seated beside your uncle, who had only just tidied himself after that unpleasant encounter. His eyes remained fixed on the pages of the book detailing Aegon's Conquest, but the tense silence between you weighed heavily in the air.

The heavy silence lingered, thickening the air around you. Restlessly, you glanced up at your uncle and whispered, "I am truly sorry."

He did not lift his gaze from the book, his tone icy as he replied, "Why do you say you’re sorry? You bear no blame in this."

Your heart ached for him, as you said softly, "I am sorry for what happened, for the pain it brought upon you. I will speak to my brothers about their behavior, I promise."

Aemond’s expression hardened, his lips pressing together in frustration. "I don't need you to save me, niece," he retorted, the sharpness of his words echoing in the quiet library.

Your heart sank, and you instinctively dropped your gaze. You could sense his turmoil; and you understood the pain and inferiority he was feeling. You had only wished to help, yet somehow, your kindness seemed to have been misread. You recognized when your presence was unwelcome, so with a small, resigned 'alright,' you began to rise from your seat, intending to leave him in peace.

Yet just as you turned, Aemond’s head snapped up, a wave of guilt crashing over him. He realized harshly that he had been unfair to you—his darling niece who was merely being her sweet, caring self. In a swift motion, he reached out for your hand, "Wait," his voice softer this time, “I did not mean to be cruel. I...I apologize.”

A warm smile crept across your face as you met his earnest eyes. “I accept your apology, uncle." You furrowed your brows playfully, a hint of mischief in your voice. "Come with me."

Before he could protest, your fingers intertwined, and you pulled him along with a gentle urgency. Aemond, caught off guard, found himself captivated by the warmth and softness of your hand in his. In the innocence of your youth, holding hands and being with each other everyday all day had felt natural, but with each passing day, as you both grew older, the simple act took on an air of unspoken indecency. Still, he let himself be led, wrapped in the comfort that his niece eagerly offered.

Aemond hesitated as you guided him into your chambers, pausing at the threshold, uncertainty written on his brow. However, any tension was quickly vanquished as you drew him inside. Your quarters brimmed with the elegance one might associate with a princess; the canopy bed was adorned with delicate pink linens and plump pillows, while vases scattered throughout the room overflowed with a lush assortment of pink and purple roses, their fragrance sweetening the air.

Yet, it was the object resting on the small table before the crackling fireplace that truly seized Aemond's attention. Nestled atop the table was a warming pot, housing a radiant violet dragon egg that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. "A dragon egg," he murmured, his fascination palpable.

You guided Aemond to kneel beside the table, where the two of you were drawn into the stillness of the moment. With a tender whisper, you began to recount the story behind the egg. "My brothers retrieved it when they sought an egg for my newest brother, Joffrey."

"Joffrey?" Aemond asked, a hint of skepticism lacing his tone as he met your gaze, "That name sounds far from Targaryen."

Your focus remained on the egg, brushing aside his remark. After a moment of contemplation, you finally shared the weight that had settled in your heart. "I fear it won't hatch."

Aemond's reaction was immediate; his head snapped towards you, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Do not speak such things."

"It is but my opinion, Aemond," you replied gently, undeterred by his sharpness. You understood that his frustration was not truly aimed at you; it never was.

“Why do you believe such a thing?” His voice softened, a hint of curiosity threading through his concern.

You averted your gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “It is foolish,” you murmured, hesitant to reveal the depth of your fears.

“And so?” he pressed, his intensity unyielding.

Drawing a steadying breath, you finally revealed your heart. “In my mind, the egg shall only hatch if I do not care for it deeply.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed, understanding dawning. “So, you do care, then?”

“No, I do not!” you insisted too quickly, casting a furtive glance at the egg as if it had heard Aemond's words.

Frustration etched across Aemond’s features, he clenched his fists tightly. “It is unfair that your brothers possess dragons while we remain without, since they are—”

“What?” you interjected softly, concern lacing your tone. “They are what?”

Your earnest look tugged at the fragile threads of his heart. He couldn’t assume you were unaware of the whispers that painted your brothers in shadows, nor could he believe you were deaf to the harsh truths woven through courtly gossip. Yet, he would never voice those words to you. Instead, he muttered grudgingly, “Not as special as us.”

A small pout formed on your lips, drawing his attention away from the dragon egg that lay neglected between you. “You do understand that it was most likely Aegon who orchestrated that prank, yes?” you pressed, your voice laced with a gentle resolve.

Aemond scoffed and turned away, the weight of your words lingering in the air like an unwelcome specter. “Are you truly defending them?” he challenged, though he felt the shake of his conviction.

“No, Aemond,” you replied, your voice as sweet as summer rain, “What my brothers did was wrong. But more often than not, you never hold Aegon accountable, despite him being the leader of their little group.”

His back remained turned to you, pride keeping him rooted as he mulled over your words. Deep down, he recognized the truth in them, though he loathed to concede, for Aegon was his elder brother. He longed for the bond that appeared so effortless between you and your siblings, and it felt far more convenient to direct his ire toward them instead.

As Aemond continued to brood, you glided closer, resting your chin on his shoulder, your presence as warm as the sun’s rays. “If my egg should hatch, perhaps we could share the dragon?” you suggested brightly, seeking to lift his spirits.

He let out a disdainful scoff, turning to face you so closely that your noses nearly brushed. “Now, that is simply absurd.”

“Aemond,” you admonished softly, undeterred.

“Never has there been a dragon with two riders,” he rebutted gloomily, his voice laced with skepticism.

“So we would be the first,” you retorted, rising to your feet with animated gestures. “There must always be a first, for only then can things be normalized. Just wait and see, Aemond—one day, a Targaryen will claim more than one dragon!”

He regarded you with an unreadable expression and replied matter-of-factly, “That is entirely selfish, niece.”

You huffed in exasperation, settling back down beside him, your patience wearing thin. At moments like this, Aemond’s stubbornness made him seem dreadfully dull. “You fail to see the vision, uncle."

It was curious how swiftly the tides of life could turn. You had often confided in your mother about your aversion to change, and her response was always the same: "Change is inevitable, my love." You were not certain what that meant, but you understood now, as the world around you shifted in the blink of an eye. The sudden sadness that gripped your heart was puzzling, especially since you were so young. Just like that, you had been whisked away from the familiar streets of King’s Landing to the distant shores of Dragonstone, all because of your mother’s choices, which felt like a shadow beyond your grasp.

Dragonstone loomed before you, ominous and strange. You had never set foot on its rugged shores, but a sense of dread weighed heavy in your chest, telling you you would despise it here. The library would be smaller, you thought—if Dragonstone even had one at all—and the gardens could not possibly rival those sprawling ones in the Red Keep. Most troubling of all was the thought of being separated from Helaena and Aemond.

Helaena, your sweet aunt, sometimes it felt as though you could almost imagine her as your sister. Though her peculiar musings often escaped your understanding, it was her delightful oddities that you cherished most, setting her apart from all the other court ladies.

And Aemond—nothing in this vast world could rival the bond you shared with your uncle. You both understood one another in a way that few could fathom. The two dragonless Targaryens united by the same unspoken grief, felt the weight of their inferiority hanging over them like a storm cloud. Yet within that shared pain grew a deep-rooted connection. Aemond was your anchor in a world that often felt lonely and overwhelming. With him, you never felt truly isolated; you were never alone.

As the time arrived for your departure, Aemond attempted to mask his feelings with indifference, but you could see beyond his brave facade. The glimmer of tears in his violet eyes and the strength of his embrace told you everything: he would miss you just as fiercely as you would miss him.

Once again, the sea had darkened, mirroring the heaviness in your heart. The next time the two of you would gather would be under the shadow of sorrow. Your Aunt Laena had passed, and your family was bound for Driftmark to honor her memory. Despite having never met her, a sharp ache coursed through you, all the more intense for the grief etched across your father’s face. Laena had been his twin, after all. Then there was the loss of Ser Harwin Strong as well, which weighed heavily on your mother and brothers. Yet, for reasons you couldn’t quite grasp, your own heart felt strangely untouched by sadness.

The funeral had drawn to a close. Your mother gently encouraged you and Jace to offer words of comfort to your cousins, Baela and Rhaena. But Jace spoke without thinking, a clumsy remark about how you all should have been at Harrenhal instead of Driftmark. You felt a rush of frustration rising in your throat, longing to assert that his pain didn’t lessen the tragedy of the day. After all, he was only voicing his own hurt.

With a quiet huff, you had marched away in silence, finding your perch beside a jagged stone wall, where you could observe your father from a distance. He stood in the shallows of the ocean, the waves lapping at his knees, as if being closer to Laena might ease the sorrow that weighed upon his heart. It pained you to witness him so downcast; the truth was, you had always thought your father impervious to sadness, having never seen his face devoid of a smile before this moment.

“How fares Dragonstone?”

A smile began to bloom on your lips at the familiar sound of Aemond's voice, bringing warmth to your gloomy thoughts.

"It is cold and windy," you replied quietly, shifting your gaze toward him.

Aemond paused, taking in the sight of you. It had been merely weeks since you left the Red Keep, yet in your absence, the loneliness had curled around him like a thick fog. Seeing you now felt like sunlight piercing through gray clouds after a long storm. He regarded you for a moment longer before nodding subtly toward your brothers. "My condolences for Ser Harwin. I assume that is what had your brothers weeping."

“The bond between him and my brothers was indeed strong,” you admitted, a furrow forming in your brow as Aemond stifled a laugh with a cough. “I am sad he has passed, just as I mourn Aunt Laena. But the sorrows I feel mostly arise from witnessing the devastation their losses have cast upon my mother and father.”

Your lilac eyes shifted back toward your father, worry etched across your youthful features. You bit your lip, glancing at the water below. Surely it had turned icy, “I wish I could help him, to see him smile once more. But I’m not sure what to say.”

This was a curious moment for Aemond. Throughout his life, he had cherished you as his dearest friend, his beloved niece. Yet, recently, he began to view you in a new light—the way your silver curls captured the sunlight, glowing as if spun from starlight, or how every gown you wore magnified the beauty of your lilac eyes.

He licked his dry lips and spoke gently, “I reckon there’s little you could say that would ease his pain. Instead, find a way to show him you stand with him. That might be enough.”

You nodded thoughtfully at Aemond's words, your gaze drifting toward Rhaena and Baela. "I feel so awful," you confessed, your voice scarcely above a whisper. "I could never imagine losing my mother."

"Me neither," Aemond replied softly.

After a moment of silence, you added, "I think I would die from the heartbreak." You could sense Aemond’s eyes upon you, a question hanging unspoken in the air between you. A small sigh escaped your lips as you said, "It didn’t hatch, if that’s what you were thinking?"

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Aemond's head lower slightly. "Oh," he murmured, disappointment lacing his tone.

You lifted your chin, trying to display strength despite the disappointment gnawing at your heart. "I suspect I am not meant for a dragon," you asserted, forcing a brave smile.

"Don’t say that," Aemond insisted, his voice firm yet gentle.

Turning to face him, you allowed your hopelessness to seep through your facade. "Three times, Aemond. Three times my egg has failed to hatch."

"There are many unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone," Aemond suggested with a hint of resolve. "Perhaps you could try with them?"

"At the risk of my life?" you replied, arching an eyebrow at him. But then, your lips curled into a playful smile as you reached out to take Aemond's hand in yours. "But really, why would I seek a bond with a dragon when my bond with you is far more precious to me?"

Your words made Aemond’s cheeks flush a deep crimson, his heart thudding like the wings of a dragon. Though you seemed to find comfort in his friendship over the absence of a dragon, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling of urgency. If a dragon was to be claimed, it would be up to him—the time had come, for both of your sakes.

He remembered that at this very moment, there was the legendary Vhagar, unclaimed and free, somewhere on the island, waiting for someone worthy to forge a bond with her. And he would do it in your honour.

You were jolted awake from your slumber, the sound of your name ringing insistently in your ears as someone gently shook your shoulders.

Opening your eyes with heavy lids, you frowned to see Jace’s eager face hovering over you, his hands gripping your shoulders.

“Jace, what is it?” you mumbled, pushing him away with tired reluctance as you struggled to sit up.

“Vhagar has been stolen! We must find out who did it!” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with urgency as he tugged at you to rise from your bed.

“We?” you replied slowly, letting the word hang in the air. Your gaze drifted past him, landing on Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, who stood ready to storm out.

You groaned and collapsed back into your pillows, muffling your voice as you protested, “Can this not wait until the sun graces the sky?”

Once more, Jace insisted, pulling you upright, even as you felt something being slipped onto your feet. You turned your bleary gaze to see Luke kneeling beside you, fastening your boots with surprising urgency.

“No time for that! We needed a person of age to accompany us,” Jace declared, lifting you to your feet with determined hands.

You froze in place, fixing him with a look that was a blend of disbelief and exasperation. “Jace... I’m ten, and you’re nine.”

Yet your protest went unheard as Jace and Luke eagerly dragged you through the castle’s dim corridors, Baela and Rhaena leading the way with purpose. A terrible knot of dread twisted in your stomach, and you murmured under your breath, “Perhaps we could find a guard.”

“That would take far too long,” Rhaena replied sharply, her steps firm as the twins guided you deeper into the shadowy tunnels beneath the castle.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and your mouth gaped open as you caught sight of Aemond standing before you, his hair tousled and a cocky smirk dancing on his lips.

“It’s him,” Baela exclaimed, realization dawning on her.

Aemond's smirk widened, and he drawled, “It’s me.”

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon,” Rhaena said, her voice trembling with indignation.

“Your mother’s dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now,” Aemond shot back, his words sharp as a dagger. You flinched at the cruelty woven into his tone.

“You claimed Vhagar?” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. Aemond’s gaze met yours, filled with an expectation of pride, but instead, he found only shock and hurt reflected in your eyes.

But before you could gather your thoughts, Rhaena’s voice pierced the air, filled with anger, “She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should’ve claimed her!” Aemond roared, his voice echoing through the tunnel. “Perhaps your cousins can find you a pig to ride. That would suit you better!”

Disgust twisted your features at Aemond’s taunts, yet your attention shifted as you saw Rhaena charging toward him. “Rhaena, wait!” you cried out, but it was too late.

In a heartbeat, Rhaena slammed into Aemond, pushing him with all her might. In response, he shoved her to the ground, and the chaos spiraled out of control. Everything happened so swiftly that you barely registered Baela darting past you until the sharp crack of her fist meeting Aemond’s cheek rang in your ears. He retaliated in an instant.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” Aemond roared, fury lighting up his features.

A gasp escaped your lips as you instinctively shouted, “Aemond!”

“She hit me first!” Aemond yelled back, his frustration spilling out around them like wildfire.

Just then, you felt a rush behind you as Jace charged forward, his own fury ignited. He struck Aemond squarely on the nose. In the blink of an eye, the fight erupted around you, with Jace, Luke, Rhaena, and Baela striking Aemond from every side.

It was only when you felt that surge of panic return to your mind and body that you tore yourself away from your stunned silence, sprinting toward the melee. “Stop it! All of you, stop!” you cried, your voice rising above the clamor.

But your pleas fell on deaf ears as the thrashing continued. In the fray, Jace’s elbow inadvertently crashed into your face, sending you spiraling toward the stone wall. Your head thudded sharply against the rough surface, pain blooming as darkness threatened to close in.

Time seemed to slow, and suddenly, the fighting ceased. Jace’s wide eyes met yours, filled with shock. “I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, guilt clouding his features.

Through the ringing in your ears, you attempted to open your eyes, focusing on the concern etched on your brother's face. “I know you didn’t mean to, Jace,” you murmured, your voice a fragile whisper.

Yet the fury of the confrontation did not relent; the struggle surrounding Aemond grew more fierce, spurred on by your injury. As blood trickled down your forehead, thick and unwelcome, Aemond's anger erupted. “You hurt her!” he roared, his voice laced with venom.

A throbbing pain radiated through your skull, swelling with every clash of voices and yells. Gritting your teeth against the discomfort, you finally opened your eyes wide enough to glimpse Jace, knife in hand. A pang of urgency surged within you, prompting a weak plea, “Jace, put that away.”

You longed to retreat into darkness, to let the cacophony fade away, but the din continued to swell. Jace unleashed a handful of sand, blinding Aemond momentarily, while Luke, with fierce determination, rushed forward carrying Jace's knife. “Luke, no!” you cried, though your words were nearly drowned in the chaos.

And then, before you could breathe another word, the world faded away into shadows, consumed by the horrifying scream that sliced through the air — Aemond's anguished cry as Luke struck at his eye.

To Be Continued...

[pomefioredove]

Imagine the overbloat gang as fathers or like proud/panicking that their s/o is having a child and they don't know what to do

Imagine the gang trying to give their kids a goid life and getting baby fever like who wouldn't because the kid is literally a mixed of him and you and they gush about how much they love their s/o and children like ???????

Overbload gang as fathers and i will start violently sob

I do have a weakness for familial headcanons :) future au time??

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ as fathers

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral (no mentions of the child's origins), reader is not specified to be yuu, obviously takes place in the future

I think Riddle is one of the most reluctant to have children

for years he was strictly against them. his excuses were always that children are messy, unruly, his career, his relationship with you... but he was mostly just afraid of turning into his mother

as he gets older and forms his own identity, though, he realizes that it takes a lot of intentional effort to fuck up a child like his mom did, and he changes his mind

I can see him with... maybe two kids

he would never want an only child. after all, the bonds he made with his peers are what kept him going

he is a pretty good parent overall. maybe a little to focused on bedtimes and table manners, but the kids don't seem to mind

Trey and Che'nya babysit often (and it's always disastrous)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

talking Leona into the idea of fatherhood is like diffusing a bomb with a blindfold on. the guy won't even JOKE about it

if you do end up with a kid, it's unplanned, whether that be pregnancy or baby left on the doorstep

but he makes a surprisingly(?) good father. defo a girl dad, he would spoil a daughter rotten. lets her beat the daylights out of Neji because that's his little princess :)

parenting is really not as scary as he thought it was going to be

he has "I'm just resting my eyes" *falls asleep for 8 hours on the reclining chair in the living room* dad energy

the hardest part?

pretending to like vegetables in front of the kid to set a good example

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul would actually be an awesome dad idc. IDC!

he has a good relationship with his mom and stepdad (who definitely babysit all the time; they insist on it), so he has good role models

he's not even worried about how it'll affect his career! Azul has a "do it all" personality: businessman, entrepreneur, father, aspiring millionaire...

and he is so overprotective

he'd cover that kid in bubble wrap if you'd let him

but he's really more concerned about their feelings. sending them to school is much harder than closing a business deal

he's a little sensitive, but he knows he'll have to trust them eventually

P.S. the tweels are NOT allowed to babysit. bad influences

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil. ohhh Jamil :(

kids were never on the table for him, even after he met you and fell in love, he just... couldn't imagine it

regardless of whether or not he and his family are in a better place. (for the sake of this story, let's pretend they are. I want him to be happy) he just has so much generational trauma that he knows the child will end up with some, anyway

when, if, he's ready, it will still be a tough process. but worth it

he's such a supportive dad. bragging about his child at any chance, definitely the kind of dad to show everyone the baby pictures without being asked

it gets embarrassing for them as they grow, but he doesn't care

he thinks they're the greatest thing ever, and people should know that!

he is so proud

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil had always wanted to play a father on screen, but once he hits that age, he starts thinking about real life, too

he's gotten where he wants to be, after all: he's still young, he's in love, and his career, as successful as it is, is starting to wind down. so, why not?

he is the most supportive partner you could ask for. despite his schedule, he's involved in everything (yes, even the messy stuff)

he's got a customized baby bjorn and everything

I can see him with... one. just one is enough for him. he also has girl dad energy. he's already looking forward to playing princesses and letting her do his makeup (terribly, of course)

he knows his child will grow to have their own wants and thoughts and personality, and he's supportive. besides, if he has another Epel on his hands, he'll know how to handle them

just... gentler, this time

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

for you, anon, I will enterain the idea that Idia may someday reproduce. but there's still a 50% chance that kid is a robot

joking (kind of)

I don't think he'd even really want kids. considering his own unhappy childhood and the whole curse of his bloodline thing. but, like the others, he can be convinced!

I think he'd make a pretty good father, tbh. neurotic, sure, but he's not too clingy, nor too distant

whatever kids he has will be smart, and he trusts them. he likes teaching them nerdy stuff, too (finally, someone he can infodump to!!!)

he probably ends up with more than he'd think. 2 or 3

as long as you never bring up how cringe he was in college, he's rather mature and prepared for anything

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

out of the whole lineup, Malleus is the the only one to have thought your future children while at NRC. daydreamed, really

I know, not surprising. look at the guy. he's practically kicking his legs back and forth while coming up with baby names in game

it was just a fantasy at first, then you became closer, graduated, got older, and...

Lilia began teasing him about getting grandkids, and Malleus took him quite seriously

he knows he's still young (though, at his age, Lilia was already general), but he doesn't want to wait forever. you both have many long talks on the matter

and end up with... as many children as you can handle, basically

Malleus is somewhat of an awkward father (having been raised by Lilia will do that to you)

but he cares. and he tries! very hard. plus, there's always Lilia, Silver, and Sebek around to lend a hand

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (A bet with Simon about wearing a vibrator secretly and not to come in public)

A bet with Simon brought you to the predicament now. Squeezing through the crowded station’s concourse with his hand around you waist, looking like a normal couple, but no one knows there’s a remote controlled vibrator—designed to stimulate your g spot and have a little curve hooked snuggly against your clit—buzzing freely inside you.

Don’t come in 10 minutes, then you can do anything to him, his words ignited the competitive fire inside you.

The weather is cold, allow you to excuse your flush with it, hide your face in the scarf slightly when your moans sneak their way out.

“Only 3 minutes passed, sweetheart.” He leans down to murmur as he lead you across the concourse, the sultry tone disguised within, only able to get noticed by you. You shoot daggers back at him, try not to drop to your knees whenever someone accidentally bump into you in this packed station, making your thighs shifted in the force and the vibrator digs further into the sweet spot.

You meet his eyes behind his disposal mask and black cap, and you know the bastard is laughing at you from the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

Your eyes are glossy with the tears from the constant stimulation, trying to threaten him with those bunny eyes but failed adorably. He can tell you’re teetering on the edge, and he’s been enjoying your fluster too much, his trousers straining behind the cover of his long coat. How can he not when you look absolutely cute like this, stopping between of your steps to forbear the orgasm, arms holding with his tighten and press your cheek against his bicep to stifle the whimpers.

You let out a sigh of relief when he dials down the intensity, look up at him with a hint of disbelief. The vibrations keeps sending shivers down your spine, your legs are doing their best to stay straight, but it’s much better than they were seconds before. So you give his hand a squeeze, resume the walk across the massive concourse.

The walk is torturous, every steps is worsening the divine ache between your legs. You didn’t like how the vibrator rutting into your sensitive clit, your panties isn’t soaked with all the juices and you’re not clenching that tight cunny under the onslaught of pleasure. You brainwash yourself repeatedly, the vibrations never cease, and you’re dancing on the edge even after Simon turned it down a few notches earlier. One minute left, just one minute…

Of course it won’t be that easy, he just wants to prolong your pleasure and get the show go on as long as it could, before finally breaking you.

Just as you two almost reach the main entrance of the station, you almost tripped when he abruptly changes the intensity once again. Covering your mouth and fully cling onto him, you’re totally speechless when he leads you to stand aside in the station, pulling you into his arms and coos lowly.

“Come for me, love, let it out.” His fingers card through your silky hair when you bury your face into his chest, muffling all the cries as you get pushed over the edge, gushing in your panties and you know it’s definitely ruined by now.

A few people spare a glance at your way, curious about what just happened before going on their life. Yet you’re totally unaware of it, trying to quiet your whines and you keep tucking yourself in his arms.

Simon adjusted his coat, enough to engulf you in it, and he keeps crooning sweet nothings into your ears “You’re so beautiful, so gorgeous when you came in my arms, love.” His voice soothing you along with his palm rubbing on your back, hiding you in his coat and shield you from the world, even though he’s the one bringing you the luscious torment.

Supported by his strong hands so you won’t fall to the ground with wobbly feet, you lift your head from his chest after your breaths slows down, and you manage not to punch him in the face when pat your head and remind you the truth.

“9 minutes 47 seconds, you didn’t make it to 10 minutes. what a shame.” Simon’s chest rumbles with the quiet laughters. You see the mischief in his rich brown eyes, and hell, he’s definitely thinking about how he will get you to do from losing the bet.

[jaylalolz]

,, YOUR MINE ‘‘ nicholas chavez

warnings : smuttttyyyy

a/n : this is so long i’m sorry

summary : a virgin meets her new priest, charlie, and has unholy thoughts about him.

THIS IS NOT MEANT TO DISRESPECT ANYONE. IF YOU DONT SUPPORT/LIKE THIS THEN DONT READ IT !!!

Maddie sat in the pew, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned white. She felt the cool wood of the church beneath her and inhaled deeply, trying to focus on the familiar scent of incense and the soft flickering of candlelight. The nave was quiet, save for the low murmur of a few others whispering their prayers. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting hues of red, blue, and gold onto the marble floor.

She knew she needed to go to confession. Her stomach churned with guilt, and her heart raced every time she thought about what she was about to confess. It wasn’t her first time in the sacrament of penance, but this felt different. This was something she had never admitted to anyone, not even herself, until now.

She glanced toward the confessional, its dark wooden frame both inviting and intimidating. Her eyes flickered up to the crucifix above the altar, and she whispered a silent prayer for courage. Her new priest, Father Charlie, was in the confessional today. The thought of facing him in that small booth made her throat tighten, but she had no other choice. The weight of her secret was becoming unbearable.

Maddie had only known Father Charlie for a few months, ever since he had arrived at their parish. He was younger than she had expected—soft-spoken but with a presence that commanded attention. There was a warmth about him, something that made people feel at ease. But for Maddie, that ease had quickly turned into something else. Something she didn’t want to admit to herself, let alone to God.

With trembling hands, she stood and walked toward the confessional. Each step felt heavy, as though she were wading through water. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached the door and knelt down inside the small wooden booth, closing the door behind her. The familiar smell of wood polish and candle wax filled her nostrils, calming her for a brief moment.

Through the mesh screen, she could see the outline of Father Charlie sitting on the other side. She heard him clear his throat softly, then speak.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he began, his voice low and calming.

Maddie crossed herself and whispered, “Amen.”

He waited a moment, allowing the silence to settle between them, before he continued. “How long has it been since your last confession?”

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. “A month, Father.”

There was another pause, and Maddie could feel his presence more acutely now, even though she couldn’t see him clearly. The confessional felt smaller than usual.

“Go ahead,” Father Charlie said gently. “What do you wish to confess?”

Maddie’s heart hammered in her chest, her hands trembling in her lap. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She had rehearsed what she was going to say a dozen times in her mind, but now, in the quiet of the confessional, her carefully planned words scattered like dust.

“Father,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I…I’ve been having impure thoughts.”

There was a moment of silence on the other side, and Maddie wondered if he could hear how fast her heart was beating. She clenched her hands tighter, trying to stop them from shaking.

“Go on,” Father Charlie said gently, his tone encouraging, as though he could sense her fear.

“I…” She swallowed again, her mouth dry. “It’s not just impure thoughts, Father. They’re about…someone.”

Maddie’s face burned with shame knowing she is talking about Father Charlie. She wanted to melt into the floor, to disappear and never have to face this moment again. She had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, than she did in that instant.

On the other side of the screen, Father Charlie smirked His breathing remained steady, and Maddie wondered what he must be thinking. How could he not be shocked? How could he not recoil at her words? But there was no reaction. No sharp intake of breath, no awkward shuffling. Just silence. Maddie couldn’t bear it anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, her voice breaking. “I don’t know why this is happening. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but every time I see him, every time I hear his voice, I…I can’t help it. These thoughts, these feelings, they just…they won’t go away.”

Her chest tightened, and she fought back the tears that were threatening to spill over. She had never felt more ashamed, more humiliated.

After what felt like an eternity, Father Charlie finally spoke, his voice steady but softer now.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said, his words careful. “It takes great courage to confess such things.”

Maddie let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, but her heart still raced. She had no idea what he would say next. Would he condemn her? Would he tell her that her feelings were sinful, that she was wrong to have them?

“What you are feeling,” he continued after a brief pause, “is not uncommon. We are all human, and we all experience moments of weakness, moments when our thoughts stray in ways we wish they wouldn’t.”

Maddie nodded silently, tears beginning to blur her vision. She hadn’t expected compassion. She felt a flicker of relief, though the weight of her shame still pressed down on her.

Maddie wiped away a tear that had fallen, her heart feeling lighter now. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this—a gentle reminder of her humanity, of their shared struggle. It wasn’t condemnation, but understanding.

“Your penance,” Father Charlie said quietly, “is to say three Hail Marys and to spend some time reflecting on the love that God has for you. He knows your heart, Maddie, and He forgives you.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over her for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered.

As Maddie stood to leave the confessional, she paused for a moment, her hand on the door.

A week had passed since Maddie’s confession, and though she had tried to focus on her prayers, her thoughts kept returning to that moment in the confessional, her voice trembling as she admitted her feelings to Father Charlie. She avoided eye contact with him at Mass, ashamed of what she had shared, but there was something else too—an undeniable pull toward him, a curiosity about how he had handled her confession so calmly, so compassionately.

After Sunday Mass, Maddie lingered in the church longer than usual, kneeling in prayer but mostly trying to gather her thoughts. The church was quiet now, the soft shuffle of feet and the rustling of coats fading as people slowly filed out. The sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting a golden hue over the altar.

She was about to stand and leave when she heard a voice behind her.

"Maddie?"

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him—Father Charlie. His voice had become unmistakable to her now, carrying a warmth that both soothed and unsettled her.

She turned slowly and found him standing just a few feet away, his black cassock crisp and formal, yet his expression kind and open. He wasn’t wearing the confessional mask of formality. This was just Charlie now—no screen, no distance.

“Father,” she said softly, her heart pounding in her chest again.

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment,” he said, taking a step closer. He gestured toward one of the pews, and she nodded, sitting down as he joined her. There was a moment of silence, and Maddie could feel the weight of it hanging between them. She kept her gaze lowered, studying her hands in her lap, unsure of what he was about to say.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your confession,” Charlie began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “And I believe there’s more to discuss than what we could cover in the confessional.”

Maddie’s heart skipped again, her stomach twisting. She didn’t know where this was going, but the tension in her body made her pulse race. She looked up at him, his eyes calm but serious.

“I want to help you, Maddie,” he continued, his voice gentle. “But I think it would be easier to talk in a more private setting. Not here, where everything feels so… formal.”

Her pulse quickened, and she felt the awkwardness rising inside her. Was he inviting her to…? No, she shook the thought away before it could fully form. He was still her priest, and this was still about her spiritual guidance. There couldn’t be anything more.

Charlie cleared his throat, his eyes shifting slightly as if he could sense her discomfort. “I was thinking,” he said slowly, “if you’re comfortable with it, maybe you could come over for dinner. We could talk more freely there, without the pressure of the confessional.”

Maddie blinked in surprise. Dinner? The idea of sitting across from him in a more intimate setting—without the screen, without the anonymity of the church—made her thighs burn. Her immediate instinct was to refuse, to put up a wall and protect herself from what she knew could happen if she let her guard down.

But then she remembered his kindness, the way he had listened to her confession without judgment, offering compassion where she had expected rejection. Maybe this was an opportunity to finally get clarity, to face the confusion and temptation she had been wrestling with.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” Charlie added quickly, his voice sincere. “This isn’t… this isn’t about anything inappropriate, Maddie. I just think it would help to have a real conversation. I understand if it’s too much, though.”

She met his eyes for the first time since that day in the confessional. There was nothing predatory in his gaze, no ulterior motive—just concern. He genuinely wanted to help her, and despite her fear, she trusted him. That trust, however, made it even more complicated.

“I… I think that might help,” Maddie said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, but Maddie barely touched her food. She could feel Charlie’s eyes on her every now and then, and the knot in her stomach tightened with each glance. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Maddie, I’ve noticed something,” he said, his tone gentle but serious. She looked up from her untouched plate, her heart skipping a beat. “What is it?”

“You’ve been… distracted. During Mass.”

Her heart sank, her breath catching in her throat. She knew what was coming. She could feel it in the air between them. Charlie leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching hers.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been avoiding eye contact with me lately,” he continued. “And even before your confession… I could tell something was on your mind.”

Maddie’s face burned with embarrassment, and she dropped her gaze to the table, unable to meet his eyes. She had hoped he hadn’t noticed, but of course he had. He was her priest, after all—attuned to the nuances of the people in his care “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Charlie didn’t say anything for a moment, waiting for her to continue. The silence hung between them like a heavy weight.

“You’re right,” Maddie admitted, her fingers trembling as she played with the edge of her napkin. “I’ve been distracted. I haven’t been able to focus during Mass, and it’s… it’s because of you.”

Her last words hung in the air, and the room seemed to grow even quieter. Maddie dared to glance up at Charlie. His face remained calm, though his eyes darkened with something she couldn’t quite read.

“Because of me?” he asked softly, his voice steady .

Maddie’s chest tightened, and she took a deep breath, knowing she had no choice but to confess the truth now. She had come here to confront her feelings, to address what had been eating at her, and there was no turning back.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you in a unholy way” she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. “Ever since you came to the parish, it’s been… difficult. I know it’s wrong, I know you’re my priest, but I can’t help it. It’s like you’re always on my mind, and it’s affecting everything—my prayers, my faith, my peace.”

Charlie’s expression didn’t change, but his hands clenched slightly around the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening. He remained silent, giving her the space to continue.

“I thought maybe talking to you tonight would help me figure out what to do,” Maddie continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. “But being here… it’s just making it harder. I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.”

Her confession was out now, laid bare between them. She could hear her own heartbeat in the silence that followed, could feel the tension radiating through her body, as if the air between them had thickened with unsaid words.

Charlie’s eyes flickered with something—sympathy, perhaps, but also an understanding that ran deeper than she expected. He exhaled slowly, as if gathering his thoughts before speaking.

“Maddie,” he said, his voice soft but firm, “I understand how difficult this is for you. And I need you to know that what you’re feeling isn’t unnatural. These thoughts, these feelings… they happen. To both of us.”

Maddie’s breath hitched. Both of us? Did that mean…?

Charlie leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “I mean that maybe it’s better to… release some of the tension. These thoughts, these feelings—you don’t have to hold onto them so tightly.”

Her breath hitched, and she felt a cold wave of shock ripple through her. “Release the tension?”

Charlie nodded slowly, his voice low and calm, but his words held a gravity she hadn’t expected. “I know you’ve been trying to resist it, Maddie, but sometimes resisting only makes the desire stronger. It’s human nature. Maybe… maybe it would help to let yourself feel it. To stop fighting against it.”

Maddie’s face flushed hot, her heart racing as the implications of his words sank in. She felt a lump form in her throat, and her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

“You mean…” she started, but her voice faltered, unable to finish the sentence.

Charlie’s gaze didn’t waver. “What I mean is… it’s okay to acknowledge your desire. There’s no shame in it. It’s natural to have these feelings, especially when there’s such strong tension between us.”

Maddie’s eyes widened, her stomach tightening with a mix of shock and something else—something dangerous that she had been trying to push down since the moment she walked through his door.

“Have you ever…?” Charlie hesitated, but the question hung heavily in the air. “Have you ever touched yourself while thinking about me?”

Maddie’s breath caught in her throat. The question was like a punch to the gut, but it was also the very thing she had been dreading and hoping he wouldn’t ask. The truth was that she had—more than once, in the privacy of her bedroom, late at night when the thoughts she couldn’t suppress became too overwhelming to ignore. The guilt had followed her like a shadow, but the need had been stronger, overpowering.

She dropped her gaze to the table, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of her napkin tightly. She couldn’t meet his eyes, not after that question.

“I…” She started to speak but hesitated, the shame and desire warring within her. “Yes,” she whispered, barely able to say the word aloud. “I have.”

The admission felt like a weight lifting from her chest and, at the same time, a heavy anchor pulling her deeper into the dangerous waters they were treading. She had crossed a line, and now she was standing at the edge of something she couldn’t undo.

Charlie exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair as if he had expected the answer but needed to hear it from her. His gaze was intense, but there was no judgment in his eyes, only a strange understanding that made her feel both relieved and more vulnerable than ever.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Charlie said quietly, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “You’re human, Maddie. We both are. And these feelings, these urges… they’re part of that. Trying to deny them only makes them stronger.”

Maddie’s head spun, the room suddenly feeling too small, too intimate. She had come here seeking clarity, hoping to calm the turmoil inside her, but this—this was only making the storm stronger. She had confessed her desires to him, and now he wasn’t telling her to resist them. He wasn’t telling her to fight back. He was telling her to let go.

“But…” she began, her voice shaking. “You’re a priest. This… this isn’t right.”

Charlie sighed, his gaze softening. “I know. Believe me, I know. But right and wrong aren’t always black and white. There’s no sin in acknowledging desire, Maddie. There’s no sin in being honest with ourselves.”

Her breath caught as he began to run his hands up her thighs. He kisses up her neck and says, "Tell me you want this, tell me you want me." She pauses to consider whether doing this was the best course of action.She then recalls Charlie claiming it wasn't a sin, so why would he lie about that? Eagerly nodding, she says, "Yes, please, I want you."

Her eyes roll back to her head as he moves to her private area and begins gently massaging her covered clit. He whispers in her ear, making her thighs burn, "I remember those times when you wore those short skirts. It's like you wanted me to bend you over in front of everyone and punish you."

Once more, he begins to kiss up her neck, but this time he sucks part of it. Leaving a dark spot, she groans loudly at the strange sensation. He smirks.

His hand begins to go toward her breasts, giving her skin shivers. He unbuttoned her blouse and said, "Every time I saw you in church, your blouse always unbuttoned around me, it's like you wanted it to happen." She says nervously, "I did it on purpose to get your attention."

His eyes darkened and he looked up at her. She yelps as she felt him clutch her throat. He exclaims, "You're such a slut for me," and presses his lips to hers. Even though she has a million things on her mind, her heartbeat is happening ten times quicker than she is. His thumb resting on the side of her jaw, as he pulled her hair back behind her ear with his other hand.

A fast kiss was exchanged between the two. As their tongues swirled together, he inserted his tongue into her mouth. Maddie felt as though her fantasies were becoming true. His movements sped up till he came to stop and pulled away. Maddie lets out a gasp. "Lay on the bed," he insists.

She approaches his bed nervously and crawls to the middle of it. She spins around to face him. He looks her over. Her stomach churns as she looks at her from top to bottom.

He moves toward the bed and crawls on all fours to her. He looks at her between his eyebrows as he begins to kiss at her legs and continues all the way up to her thighs.

"Hey. I won't do anything that you don't want me to.” He whispers, "Tell me if you're not comfortable” She considers it for a brief moment. concluding that she wants for him to continue. She tells him, "Don't stop," he licks his lips and smirks.

Eagerly he tugs at her skirt. As he tries to slides it down, he realizes there's a zipper on the side. While unzipping her skirt and pushing it until it reaches the bottom of her legs, he maintains eye contact with her.

He presses his nose down into her thighs, planting little kisses on her closeted clit. He groans as she pulls on his hair with a deep moan. He gives her an intense look as he gradually begins removing her underwear. She glances away from him as butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach.

He comments, "You're so gorgeous.. in every way," as he surveys her figure. To prevent her from leaving, he grabs her legs and pins them to the bed. What he provides her, she has to accept. He makes her back arch as he licks her slit.

As if she were the last thing he would ever eat, he puts his head down and begins to devour her. She groans aloud as he gives her a passionate kiss on the clit. He groans louder as she tugs at his hair more forcefully than before.

He approaches her hole and begins carefully putting his finger inside of her. She puts her head down on the cushion, shuts her eyes, and her jaw lowers. He begins to eat her out while fingering her. Sucking on her sensitive clit, he pushes in and out with his finger.

Her tummy begins to feel strange, and her back arches. He smirks as her pussy tightens around his finger. "It's alright, sweetheart.” He comforts her, let yourself go," as she comes undone with a loud groan.

She catches her breath as he emerges from her privates, covered in her juices. He pulls her to him by grabbing a strand of her hair and gives her a kiss. Allowing her to taste herself.

“Your mines now”

[proseandpretrichor]

Longing For You~ Spencer Reid

Summary: After noticing you share the same bus route, Spencer can't help but want to know more about you Warnings: None

Spencer had memorized your entire routine. Not in a creepy stalker way, he honestly couldn’t help it, your existence shone so bright it rendered him in captivation without you really even trying. 

The first Monday he saw you, he smelled your perfume first. Vanilla with some hints of coffee and cinnamon, warm and comforting, like a hug from fall itself. You came to stand in front of where he sat, there being no room in the crowded bus, leaving you with the only option of invading his presence with yours. Facing him so that you could look out the window, the only words you had since spoken to him were a quick, “Sorry!” before turning your attention to the contents outside. 

He didn’t anticipate what your voice would have sounded like but it matched you perfectly, soft, warm, melodic and lilting. Reminding him of the wind-chimes, Garcia cluttered her front porch with. 

He wouldn’t have given anything and everything the universe desired of him to hear it again, to hear it every moment he was given on this earth. 

He took the advantage of your distraction to commit your appearance to memory. You were much shorter than him. While he was tall and lanky, you were soft and curvy, every part of your body well loved. Shiny  hair tumbling to kiss your shoulders creating a halo-like frame around your face. The hue of your hair saturating the  in color your eyes, which sparkled from the wide-framed glasses perched on your nose dotted with freckles that splayed out reaching out till your cheekbones. Your full cheeks tinted pink from your exertion to reach the bus. Your lips were a modest plump, your fuller bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you surveyed the scenes they passed. 

That day you wore a simple black dress. Thin straps meeting the v-line that plummeted to your cleavage. The fabric clinging to your soft curves until your hips then fell loosely till your mid-thighs. Artistically woven jewelry making home in the open space of your chest as though pointed to the art below the garments. An oversized sage green sweater covered your exposed shoulders and trailed down your arms covering your ring clad fingers which clasped your leather satchel matching his. 

Your black boot clad feet tip tapped on the bus floor as you mouthed the lyrics to the music flowing from the earbuds in your ears adorned with more jewelry he thought could possibly fit on someone’s ears. 

It was then that he noticed an array of tattoos underneath your black stockings. 

An open faced pomegranate, a fairy, a hummingbird, a lit lantern with some plants hanging from the frame, a cracked antique looking mirror and a mosaic looking window were only some of the art that he could see covering your lower thighs and upper calves. Spencer was never particularly drawn to tattoos before, but there was something so mesmerizing and intriguing about the ink plastered on your skin. Why these drawings, what did they mean to you, what were their stories, did you have any others he couldn’t see. 

The chirping sound of someone signaling the driver to stop the bus interrupted his thoughts and before he could snap out of his trance you were  gone. 

The next day, Spencer vibrated with anticipation as the bus hurled towards the stop he hoped you would be at. Sure enough, the open doors wafted your perfume towards him as he glanced up from his shoes and saw you walking towards him as you boarded the bus. 

This Tuesday was rainy, foggy, humid, and ominous. While Spencer loved the possibility these kinds of days brought, most of society didn’t. And much to his delight, this meant the bus wasn’t as crowded as the previous day, allowing you to perch yourself  in the seat across from him. 

The open space allowed you to open your satchel and bring out your book which seemed to delight you. You wiggled in your seat as you opened the very worn copy, cramming the bookmark, annotation tabs and pencil in your hand as you placed the book on your thighs. 

Spencer couldn’t help but stare at you in awe as you lost yourself in the pages in the way he’s only seen in himself. Every now and then you would pause, look up and out at the window above him, adjust your glasses, underline a particular sentence or two and tab the page before losing yourself in the plot once more. 

He couldn’t help but feel pieces of his soul chip off of his being and float over to you every time you  hummed a note in the song you was listening to or pulled a berry glossed lip into your teeth. 

Spencer knew in his very genius logical mind that love at first sight couldn't possibly be plausible. While love at first sight could very well be an intense initial attraction, one couldn’t simply be in love or hold the intense passion of love with nothing but a singular glance of a person.

 But in that moment, Spencer was willing to risk it all, he was willing to step onto every stage he ever stood on and declare he wished to worship this one goddess for the rest of his life, however long he was blessed with. And if he was granted too little time on this earth, he would beg on his knees to a god he didn’t believe in to have just one more minute looking at you. 

Over the coming weeks, Spencer committed any little detail of you to memory. An unsleeved coffee cup told him the secret of your coffee order- a hot/iced dirty chai extra chai and a shot of caramel. The temperature of your beverage depends on the weather that day.

He figured out your favorite color as your glasses, phone case, and many of your articles of clothing were various shades of the same color.

A flash of your work badge allowed him to notice your place of work- a local university in the city of Quanitico which a quick shameful google search he made as soon as he got to work told him you were the lead analyst and book curator for the library at the school.

He joined Instagram just to scroll through your posts and stories which included snapshots of the books you read - a blend of the classics, fantasy, and romance being the most frequent genres you enjoyed, song lyrics that spoke to you, and what you called photo dumps of random candids of you and things you enjoyed throughout your weeks.

He learned you had a rescue pitbull named Galadriel which you affectionately called Gala from your posts and phone lockscreen.

He learned you graduated from Harvard from the only swag sweatshirt you seemed to own since unlike all of the clothes he had seen you wear this one was faded and worn and a quick inquiry from an acquaintance who raved on and on about the sweet, dedicated, and smart nature of their old student. 

After three months of shared bus routes, he was totally enamored with you. You were  his last thought before he went to bed wondering how you would do your hair or what you would wear the next morning and the first thought he mustered when he woke up a ghostly waft of your perfume fueling him to start the day just to see her.

 He longed to hold you in his arms, to bury his head in your neck, card his fingers through your soft tresses and listen to your every word with a baited breath. But no matter how much he longed and struggled to gain the confidence to just try and approach you, he couldn’t enter your bubble for fear of you finding him uninteresting. 

It was 3:37 on a Wednesday afternoon as Spencer sat down in his usual seat. He and the team had just wrapped up a case when he decided he would take the after case paperwork home and do it after a little power nap and shower. As he leaned against the window clutching his go-bag in his lap, he didn’t notice the bus filling up with people leaving work, nor did he register the presence coming up towards him. 

“Excuse me,” he turned to face the voice, “Do you mind if I sit here, there’s no more space otherwise I’d give you the row” You smiled softly at him gesturing at the seat beside him. 

“No, of course! I don’t mind at all.” He said a little to hurriedly wincing at his own excitement. 

With a soft thanks, You plopped in the seat, thigh brushing his due to the close proximity. 

“Are you alright? I don’t mean to pry but you seem more exhausted today then you typically do. Not that you look tired normally, I didn’t mean that…” You stuttered, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I just haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to make sure everything was okay in your world.” Finishing with tinged cheeks you glanced at him before focusing on one of your rings. 

“I am quite alright, thank you. Exhausted yes, but if anything relieved to be here. I was on a case.” Spencer told you, teeming with excitement that they were finally having a conversation, something he only ever thought would happen in his daydreams. 

“A case?” What kind of case, if you don’t mind me asking.” You tilted your  head fully invested in his next words. 

Spencer couldn’t believe that not only did you notice he was gone, wanted to check on his well-being, but actually was invested in his life with a sliver of interest he had with you.

“You don’t have to share. I know I’m being nosy. Just tell me to butt-out if you want some peace and quiet.” 

“No! He quickly shut you down. 

“I don’t mind, I work for the FBI, I was on a case to stop a series of serial killings.” 

You  fully turned in her seat, mouth dropping in shock. “I thought they only had those jobs in movies! Do you have those boards with the pictures and the red strings, and have the family members make phone calls to the criminals?” your hands started waving and your eyes widening as the thoughts raced around in your  head. 

“Well I am a terrible liar so I don’t think I’m cut out to be an actor. He tried to joke that he was delighted to be rewarded with a little giggle from the girl beside him.

“We have boards, yes, no strings, though. We mainly put photos of preceding victims, evidence and geographical tools such as maps. Sometimes we entice the unsub with direct contact if they have the need to inselves into the investigation. Most of the time we don’t have any contact” He rambled but quickly trailed off taking a peek at you to see if you had any signs of boredom. 

Instead you found you leaning towards him, chin resting your closed fist which you propped on your thigh. You nodded along pausing before asking, “Unsub? I’m unfamiliar with that term.” 

“Unidentified subject,” Spencer supplied, “Since they are not convicted or charged with a crime, yet they are not technically criminals.” 

“Ohhhhh, yeah that makes total sense. Duh” You said lightly smacking your forehead. Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Spencer expected you to be content with the conversation and turn your attention elsewhere. Instead you continued asking him questions about the case, interjecting to ask his opinions on the unsubs behaviors or make little comments of your own. Just as Spencer anticipated, talking to you was easy even if they were discussing a rather heavy topic and you voiced very interesting points. 

Before he knew it, the bus had arrived at your stop and Spencer's heart ached when you moved to get up. 

“See you tomorrow… I’m sorry I don’t know your name!” you exclaimed, hands coming up to cup your cheeks in embarrassment. 

“Spencer Reid.” He offered. 

“Y/N Y/LN” you returned beaming up at him. “I would love to continue this conversation tomorrow if you're interested.” you  asked, looking down nervously. 

“I would like that.” Spencer returned. 

You nodded and with a little bounce you turned and headed to the bus exit. As you stood behind the line of passengers exiting,  you turned back and waved at Spencer before you disappeared off the bus. 

Spencer held his hand up to wave back hoping you  saw him return your gesture.

For the rest of his ride, he could not stop grinning. He willed the bus to drive to his apartment faster so he could climb into bed so the next time he opened his eyes he would only have to wait a little longer to hear your voice and smell that vanilla perfume.

[patrywoso]

18. Ingrid x Mapi x reader

+18 smut

Warnings: Strap-Ons. Spanking. Mommy Kink. Punishment. 

A/N: Thank you @ljs-woso-vibez for proofreading this fic and making all this much easier

Ingrid strutted back and forth before the two kneeling women, her footsteps echoing throughout the room. “You two sure have an awful lot of nerve,” she remarked. Her voice was level, her tone almost conversational, unlike the words coming out of her pretty mouth. “I do my best to make the rules very clear. So, the question is, were you deliberately ignoring the rules, or just being a couple of stupid, bratty girls?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the elbow from Mapi kept you quiet.

Ingrid raised a brow. “Have you got something to say, little girl? Go ahead, say it.”

“It was Mapi’s fault…she wanted to fuck, and she said you’d never know and...” you rambled on.

“Dammit, you didn’t have to say that…!” Mapi snapped. 

Ingrid patted your head. “Good girl,” she cooed. “Thank you for your honesty.” She knelt to press a kiss to your lips.

It was abundantly clear that Mapi was jealous of the affection you were receiving, though she certainly wasn’t going to speak up without permission as you both were in enough trouble already. Ingrid was very affectionate with you and Mapi. However, she was extremely strict during the punishments you received when you broke the rules.

The first and foremost rule was that you and Mapi must always ask permission if you wanted to have sex. Ingrid usually granted permission, so long as she was there to watch. That week, though, Mapi had been horny and impatient, and Ingrid wasn’t there to grant permission, away on a Norway national camp. So, she’d begged and convinced you to go along with breaking the rule, even knowing Ingrid would be angry.

When Ingrid pulled away from your lips, she glanced at Mapi and saw the jealousy in her eyes. “Darling, you only have yourself to blame,” she reminded. “Perhaps if you take your punishment well, I’ll feel like rewarding you...”

Mapi nodded and said nothing.

With that, Ingrid turned on the remote vibrator pressed against Mapi’s clit. “You’re to remain still and silent,” she instructed, “And under no circumstances are you allowed to cum. Do you understand me, kitten?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Mapi mumbled.

Turning to you, Ingrid said, “You are going to help me show Mapi what she’s missing.” Ingrid settled in the armchair facing Mapi, and patted her lap in a silent command for you to come and straddle her thighs.

“Thank you, Mommy,” you murmured, taking the position, an eager smile on your lips.

Ingrid threaded her fingers in your hair, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” she cooed. “Do you like being punished?” You shrugged, but your smile gave away your mischief.

“Slutty little thing,” Ingrid teased. “Want to ride my thigh until you cum?”

You nodded eagerly, grinding down on Ingrid’s leg in search of friction.

“Does it feel good?” Ingrid asked. “Tell Mapi what she’s missing.”

On a shaky sigh, you said, “I’m sorry... I’m going to cum. I need... I need it.”

Mapi whimpered, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip to quell the urge to beg, knowing Ingrid wouldn’t be swayed by her pleas. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing the image of your climax would be too much to bear without making a sound.

“Open your eyes, kitten” Ingrid demanded. “You’ll want to see this.”

With a shuddering breath, Mapi obeyed. Opening her eyes just in time to see your entire body go tense as you thrust your hips against Ingrid’s thigh, once, twice more before cumming with a cry of, “Fuck, Mommy!”

“Good girl,” Ingrid purred. “You look so beautiful when you cum. Doesn’t she, kitten?”

“She does,” Mapi agreed, voice strangled as she struggled to keep control over herself while the vibrator buzzed against her clit.

Ingrid patted your cheek. “I’m done with you now. Back in line.” 

Once you were kneeling on the floor, Ingrid said to Mapi, “She made quite a mess. Do you want to clean it up?”

Mapi nodded and Ingrid stood, crossed to stand before her, wrapping her fingers around Mapi’s hair and pulling her in until Mapi could pass her tongue along her soaked thigh. Obediently, Mapi cleaned up every last drop of your juices. Then, she changed to pressing kisses along Ingrid’s thigh, higher and higher until she was nearly at Ingrid’s clit.

Ingrid turned up the vibrations buzzing against Mapi’s clit. She clicked her tongue scoldingly as Mapi yelped. “Did I say you could do that?” she snapped.

“No, Mommy, but I just...”

“You were just being a brat is what you were doing, kitten,” Ingrid said pointedly. “You know that’s a treat reserved only for good girls.” Ingrid studied Mapi’s trembling form for a few moments, then declared, “I think I’ve finally decided on your punishment. You’ll get a spanking, ten strikes to be exact and I want our little girl to administer them.”

“What?” you said.

“What!?” Mapi yelped at the same moment.

Ingrid nodded firmly. “Would you prefer not to cum at all? Those are your choices.” When Mapi nodded her agreement, Ingrid said, “Proceed.”

You brought your hand down on Mapi’s ass with a smacking sound.

“One,” Mapi counted, gasping slightly at the sudden sharp contact.

As your hand came down for the tenth and final time, Mapi was trembling with the effort of maintaining her composure and Ingrid’s grin was positively smug as she watched, almost daring her to cum without permission. Mapi barely hanging on to her modicum of control.

“I’m impressed,” Ingrid remarked with a raised brow, apparently surprised. “You managed remarkably well. I was not expecting such a little brat to take her punishment so well.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” Mapi replied, panting softly. The adrenaline coursing through her system was slowly abating, giving her better reign over her senses once again.

“You’ve both been relatively well-behaved tonight,” Ingrid remarked. “And I’m thinking that one of you two deserves a reward. Unfortunately, you were both very bad. So, only one of you will be getting rewarded tonight. The other will watch and get nothing, learning a very valuable lesson in the process.”

Mapi and you shared a look of silent debate, amusing Ingrid. “Don’t worry, I’m a fair woman,” she purred. “I’m going to flip a coin, and our little girl will call it for me.”

“Heads, Mommy.”

Ingrid flipped the coin, letting it fall to the floor between the two waiting women. “What does it say?”

You swallowed thickly, gaze darting from the coin, to Mapi, to Ingrid. “Heads, Mommy,” you repeated.

Ingrid grinned and mussed your hair. Then, she turned to Mapi and said, “Do me a favour first, kitten.” Mapi nodded, teeth scraping over her bottom lip. “Suck my cock.” It was a command, not a request.

“Yes, Mommy,” Mapi husked. She watched as Ingrid fastened herself into the harness, practically salivating in anticipation.

“Good girl,” Ingrid praised. She could see your jealous little pout from the corner of her eye. “Don’t worry,” she assured you, “It’s only to get my strap ready for you.” She tilted your face up so she could kiss you. Then, she turned to Mapi. “Get to work.”

Mapi obliged by opening her mouth, crawling over on her knees, her gaze never leaving Ingrid’s. She wrapped her hand around the base of the strap, her tongue flicking out over her bottom lip, a small groan leaving her as once again Ingrid wrapped her fingers around her hair. With a steadying breath, Mapi took the strap into her mouth, cheeks hollowing out as she sucked on the tip. She kept her eyes fixed on Ingrid’s as she lowered her head until she’d taken the entire length into her mouth, holding it in her throat for a moment. Her eyes watered slightly, not quite able to fully breathe, but she trusted Ingrid completely and was more than content to let her have full control. 

Mapi pulled back until the strap slipped from her mouth and she could once again breathe, as she gulped down air, she stroked the strap with her hand, the other still gripping tight to Ingrid’s thigh.

“You look so good with my strap in your mouth,” Ingrid purred, her hips twitching in time with Mapi’s stroking, “So pretty with your lips wrapped around me like a good little kitten.”

Mapi lifted the strap, dragging her tongue along the underside, then kissing the tip. She didn’t speak, knew that wasn’t what Ingrid wanted her to be doing with her mouth. She once again took the strap in her mouth, sucking hard as she bobbed her head, letting the strap fill her mouth and throat with each stroke. Ingrid hummed a pleased note as she watched. 

“You’re doing so good,” she moaned, gripping Mapi’s hair tighter, struggling not to force her head down any further than was comfortable for Mapi.

Ingrid could feel her juices dripping down her thighs, the sight and sounds of Mapi working her strap sinfully delicious, almost enough to bring her to the brink of cumming. Her hips bucked forward, the strap hitting the back of Mapi’s throat and making her gag. Ingrid paused, waiting for Mapi to tap out, but she didn’t, instead keeping eye contact in a way that let Ingrid know she was ready and able to take everything Ingrid had to give. 

With a growl from low in her throat, Ingrid thrust forward, slamming her hips into pink swollen lips. Mapi moaned around the strap, the sound spurring Ingrid on further as she set a rhythm with her thrusts, plunging the strap into Mapi’s throat.

“Such a good girl,” Ingrid murmured. “You’re doing so well.” Then, a stern command, “Make me cum. I want to cum in your mouth.”

With a little whimper, Mapi moved her hand between Ingrid’s legs, finger slipping easily into her cunt, making her cry out. Mapi’s thumb drew sloppy circles on her clit and Ingrid’s hips twitched in response, her pussy tightening around her fingers. Mapi wanted so badly to touch her own clit, but wasn’t so bold, knowing Ingrid would take away her strap and leave her desperate and needy for days on end.

Ingrid came suddenly, hips stuttering to a stop as her whole body trembled with the force of her climax. She cried out, hissing a sharp, “Fuck!” which only made Mapi want to smirk, filled with pride over so effectively having made her cum. Ingrid released the hand holding Mapi’s hair, letting her pull back from the strap and catch her breath. The saliva coated strap glistened in the overhead light, bobbing slightly as Ingrid caught her breath too.

With a wicked grin, Ingrid dragged two fingers through her dripping cunt, coating them in her juices, then offered them to Mapi for her to suck them into her mouth. Mapi more than willing obliged, eagerly cleaning off Ingrid sweet juices. You were obviously getting impatient, though, squirming in place as you tried to get friction between your legs without ever touching yourself, as you hadn’t been given permission.

“That’s enough,” Ingrid instructed Mapi who released her fingers reluctantly. Without another glance at her, Ingrid moved across the room to settle in the armchair once again. 

“Time for your reward, little girl,” she said to you, “On my lap.”

Eager and excited, you moved to swing your leg over Ingrid’s lap, letting Ingrid wrap her hands around your hips, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. You grabbed the strap, lining it up with your entrance and sinking down on it with a throaty moan. You sat still, panting slightly, for a few moments as you adjusted to the size. You began moving up and down slowly, grinding your hips in slow circles. Ingrid’s hands travelled down to grip your ass, nails digging into your flesh, and you responded by gripping at Ingrid’s shoulders, giving her better leverage for her thrusts.

“What a good girl,” Ingrid cooed. “Tell me how good it feels.” She leaned forward, taking a hard nipple in her mouth and biting down on it.

“Mommy...” you whimpered at the feeling of teeth scraping across the sensitive bud. You were trembling already, and you knew you wouldn’t last very long at all. “Your strap feels so good...”

“Keep going,” Ingrid encouraged. She moved to lavish the same attention on your other breast. “Show me how much you want it.”

You nodded eagerly, working your hips at a frantic pace, knowing that if you slowed down too much, Ingrid might revoke your reward. “So good, Mommy... It’s so good.”

Ingrid’s fingers sought out your clit and began rubbing it in counterpoint to each of your thrusts. “I want you to cum for me,” she instructed. “Cum all over my lap like a good girl.”

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck, yes… so good, Mommy!” you began thrusting more erratically, your thighs twitching with the effort of supporting yourself.

“That’s right, keep going,” Ingrid instructed. “I want to hear you.” She bucked her hips upward, slamming into you and knocking the air from your lungs. Ingrid watched, nearly salivating as your breasts bounced with each of her thrusts upwards.

You tightened your grip on Ingrid’s shoulders, almost to the point of pain, as you struggled to breathe, on the verge of falling apart. It didn’t take long for you to reach your climax, tossing your head back and crying out Ingrid’s name as you rode out the aftershocks, Ingrid’s finger still working your clit. On a shaky exhale, you said, “Thank you, Mommy.”

Ingrid pulled you in for a bruising kiss. “Good girl. I’m so proud of you.” She glanced over at Mapi who looked so sad. “Why don’t you go give Mapi a kiss, to make her feel better.”

You obliged, bringing your lips down on Mapi’s, indulging in the kiss until Ingrid said, “Stop.” Reluctantly, you broke apart, turning back to face Ingrid.

“Hopefully, the two of you have learned something, and next time you’ll be better behaved,” Ingrid said gently.

“Yes, Mommy,” the two of you said in unison.

[vampireyuuta]

includes: f! reader, big brother choso, incest, implied size/age diff

choso is just the best brother ever — everyone knows that — especially to his littlest sister!!

he's just adored you your whole life. he's always thought you were the cutest girl in the whole world. you looked up to him like no other.

you'd always ask to have your hair like his when you were little, so he started doing it for you. he's so delicate with your tender scalp and he can read your body language so well. you're trying to be a big, strong girl and not to wince everytime his fingers twist your locks, but he can see the way your brows twitch. he doesn't point it, but he tries to be even more gentle after he notices. he even adds little frilly bows into your pigtails. now you're twinsies!

he doesn't mind when you sneak into his room in the middle of the night with a puffy face after a nightmare — a nightmare about the worst thing: choso not being around. he holds you up to his warm chest and whispers how it'll all be okay, how he's not going anywhere until you're snoring in his arms.

even as you get older, he just lets you sleep with him. no, no, it's not weird for a girl at your big age to cuddle up to her big brother every night — he's just protecting you from bad dreams, like a personal dreamcatcher.

he'll protect you from everything forever! the world is a big scary place, but he'll keep you safe forever.

especially from men.

choso doesn't necessarily mean to be so protective, but he can't how his blood boils when he overhears you whispering to yuuji about this guy you're "talking to". thats not acceptable. you're not old enough to be in a relationship, you're still choso's baby sister.

he holds you even tighter that night, his head on your shoulder. he says he needs to talk to you. you end up having to listen to a far too long lecture about how you're "not mature enough" or how "unsafe men are". you finally shut him up by loudly interrupting him as he starts blabbing about sex. he quiets with a huff and just lets you sleep.

he's just looking out for you, really. he knows that it's not right for anyone to have you yet or ever.

choso keeps a watchful eye on you after that, keeping you basically connected to his hip until you confess that you're not talking to that guy anymore. he praises you with a kiss on your forehead. even though he trusts you, he's needs to make sure you understand.

he's got you in his lap before bed, your cutesy pajama set barely covering your cute frame.

"choso-nii," you whine, "what'd you need to talk about? i know 'no boys', i already told you..."

he rubs up and down your back, dark eyes not meeting yours. "you haven't been with any guys, right?"

you puff out your flushing cheeks and mumble a small, "no..."

his lips perk up into just the faintest smile. "i'm glad." there's a small beat of silence before he speaks again. "you understand no guys are allowed to touch you?" he finally glances up at your pretty, pouty face

"yes, cho-nii," you fight back the urge to roll your eyes at how worried he is. it's just sex — why's he so pressed?

he traces his hand down your back to glide over your thigh, his big, big hands wrappimg around your leg. "you understand no guys are allowed to touch you here?" his fingers get dangerously close to your cunny, your breath getting stuck in your throat.

"y-yes," you mumble as your breathing grows laborious.

he ghosts one finger over your slit through your clothes. "never ever, okay?" he murmurs, eyes locked between your legs.

"choso — w-what're you doing?" you whisper.

he doesn't even look up at you when his hand slips under the hem of your pants. "'m gonna show you what other guys can't do to you."

[lazycats-stuff]

Hiiii! I was wondering if u could so a batfam x deaf male reader? Where everyone in the family knows sign language and all that. But during one of Bruce's galas the reader gets kidnapped and no one's knows until Damian notices that his younger brothers not there anymore? U can decide how u wanna finish it and its completely if Ur not comfortable writing it. Also I love Ur writing 😙

Oh hell yeah. Thank you for loving my questionable writing though.

Summary: (Y/N) is deaf. That doesn't help him when he gets kidnapped.

Warnings: kidnapping, protective family, fluff I guess...

Bruce was protective of all of his children. But he was more protective of (Y/N), his youngest child. Why? The reason is very simple. (Y/N) has been deaf since birth and that made Bruce beyond protective. (Y/N)'s brothers were no better than Bruce. Of course, they knew that deaf people could function normally in society. They knew that very well.

However, problem lies in two points.

First one being that they live in Gotham City. Crime is rampant, criminals are absolutely everywhere and the fact is that you get mugged at any point during the day or night. Although most of criminal life in Gotham operates during the night, no one wants to take any chances.

And even though (Y/N) doesn't go on patrol, Bruce still worried about his youngest son. Always has and always been.

The four birds shared the same sentiment. Everyone made sure to learn sign language and how to live with a deaf person. Rules were determined, such as, if entering (Y/N)'s room, just push your hand in and then flicker the lights on and off to signalize that you are entering. Don't approach (Y/N) from behind because he would often get spooked.

(Y/N)'s own words.

The second problem lies in the last name Wayne. Bruce Wayne is a well known businessman in the world. And the world of business is like a sea full of sharks. Bruce knew that very well. One drop of blood and they would be out for you and your weaknesses. And one of those is your public image.

Bruce was a proud father, attending anything that his children might have. Anything there is. He wants to be there for his kids, sue him. He would never allow work to take him away from his children. And the way he presents himself in the public is the way he is. More often than not, he hates how many people can be ignorant about deafness.

Sure, some may be genuinely curious about it and the questions come from a genuine place of interest. Unfortunately, such people are far few in between. Bruce can sniff them out rather quickly. More often then not, they often look condescending. Which is a rather judgmental way of looking at people, yes, but it's obvious.

Whenever they had a gall, one of the boys would be with (Y/N) to translate. And despite the fact that (Y/N) can read lips, he's not a fan of that. If someone turns their head and he can't see their lips, it gets more complicated.

Even now, as they are at the gala full of people, (Y/N) stuck close to his brothers, needing a translator. Bruce and others often rotated, to make sure that (Y/N) knows what's going on and that he's in the loop. (Y/N) was happy with that he wasn't out of the loop. It's not a good feeling to be out of the loop. Hearing or not.

He signed to Jason that he was going to go to the bathroom, who nodded, sipping his drink.

Jason signed back. " Sure, go ahead. I'll be moving around so don't expect to find me here. "

(Y/N) nodded and started walking to the bathroom. Jason glanced at him for the last time before moving to the table with food, ready for a snack. He was hungry and the catering at galas is just great since rich people pay for it. AKA Bruce Wayne pays for it and he also loves good food.

As Jason went to the food table, (Y/N) was on his way to the bathroom. He was about to enter when someone grabbed him from behind, putting a cloth over his mouth. (Y/N) panicked and tried to remember the self defense that he was taught. He tried to break free from the person, but the smell of the cloth made him go out cold.

Something was off. Damian glanced around the room, trying to spot what that something could have been bothering him so much. His eyes moved around the room, trained to find anything out of the normal. Then it hit him.

Where is (Y/N)?

Damian moved around the room discreetly, trying to figure out where he went. He talked to Jason about it and Jason told him about (Y/N) going to the bathroom. But that was far too long ago... Damian now became more suspicious and worried. He was on edge. He could feel himself getting more and more restless, his mind screaming at him that something is wrong.

He quickly walked over to his family as they all took a chance to breathe on the balcony. Damian made sure that they had some sort of privacy.

" Are you alright Damian? " Bruce asked, glancing over Damian. He could feel that something is wrong with Damian.

" I'm not alright father. I can't seem to find (Y/N) anywhere. " He crossed his arms as he leaned on the railing of the balcony. Everyone tensed up at that.

" Hold on, he went to the bathroom the last time I talked to him, " Jason declared and Damian nodded.

" But it's been far too long though, " Damian countered the point.

" Did he come to anyone, at all? " Bruce asked and everyone shook their heads.

" Okay, maybe he went to his room, " Tim said, trying to provide a logical explanation. " But he would have told one of us where he would go. He would find one of us and he would tell us... " Tim muttered, now worried himself.

" Should we check the security cameras? " Dick asked, worried, but trying not to show it.

" I'll check the cameras near the bathroom. " Bruce took his phone out of his pocket and going into his security feed.

Jason remained silent, feeling guilty that he didn't notice sooner. Bruce noticed and put his hand on his shoulder. " Do not blame yourself Jason. Please. You couldn't have known. This is our home and none of us should be on guard in our own home, " Bruce murmured and Jason sighed.

Bruce brought Jason into a hug. " (Y/N)'s going to be fine. We are going to find him quickly. "

Dick and Tim furrowed their brows. " What do you mean? " Dick asked.

" You 4 have to swear to me that you won't tell (Y/N), " Bruce stepped away from Jason and everyone muttered that they won't tell.

" I put a tracker on his suit. It's a small one, " Bruce admitted and everyone was shocked by it. They knew that their suits that they wear for their vigilante activities have trackers on them, but a normal suit, for galas and other events...

" It's only when we are at galas and such. There's no tracker on him 24/7, " Bruce elaborated before his sons could accuse him of something.

" Well, we can't tell (Y/N). But lets go get (Y/N) please, " Tim said and everyone nodded.

" I'll have Alfred make something up and we'll make a story so it doesn't seem suspicious about why we didn't know (Y/N) was taken. "

And that's what happened. They concocted a story about it and once Batman dropped him off at GCPD, Bruce came in as a worried father. Media had a field day with the story, a father and son reuniting after a such traumatic event. Bruce couldn't care less about them, his sons are his priority. Screw the media.

Understandably, (Y/N) was shaken up by the entire ordeal. Anyone would be shaken up after being kidnapped in their own home, but with (Y/N) being deaf, he couldn't hear anyone walking up to him. Not to mention, they put a bag over his head. Being in the dark, not being able to hear...

It tugged at Bruce's heartstrings. The other 4 weren't immune either. Damian, the normally stoic one, was affected by that aspect. Even he saw how scary it was. Not being able to see due to the bag over your head and not being able to hear because you are deaf sounds like hell. Damian saw it as a form of torture. And in a way it is. Sensory depravation. Only being able to feel with your touch or feel vibrations, but still...

Damian still shuddered as he tried to envision it.

The other 3 shared the very same sentiment.

And even now, as (Y/N) was with them, on the couch, bundled up in blankets, sipping some herbal tea that Alfred made to calm him down. Both Bruce and Alfred were trying to calm him down too. Bruce was going to find a therapist for (Y/N), that much is sure. It would have to be someone who can sign though...

Well, he'll make sure to find one. For now, he'll focus on making sure that (Y/N) is calm enough to try and sleep. Buce knew that adrenaline was still pumping, but that it will stop soon and (Y/N) would essentially crash.

Everyone sat around (Y/N), trying to calm him and make him feel safe again. Bruce and Tim were going to see how in God's name they managed to get into the manor. This place is more safer than Pentagon, designed to keep any intruder out. And he was going to find out why they wanted to kidnap him.

The best bet was probably money, but then again, you never know. And Bruce was going to make sure that he knew why. You have to nip the problem in the bud.

[gojoidyll]

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 8 | An Aeon

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

want to be a part of the taglist? then pls go to taglist ^-^

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When you wake up, your mind feels kind of fuzzy. Almost as if you were missing something.

“Something the matter?”

You felt your soul leave your body at the sudden voice causing him to laugh. Snapping your head to the side, you noticed it was the man from before. The one who erased your death- wait, your death? And that was when it hit you. You couldn’t remember how you died or the pain that you felt. It was like-

“It never even happened?”

You gave him a weary look, causing him to chuckle softly at both your expression and how you were acting.

“There is no need to fret, you know? I am not going to hurt you.”

“What- what are you doing here?”

You ended up ignoring his lighthearted words and gestured to the library. You were still on the couch, and the book you were holding had fallen to the floor.

The man mused to himself, his smile light and warm.

“I suppose it was quite rude of me to task you finding my name.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because my name hasn’t existed in the sense that you know of.”

“…I don’t understand.”

Sunday turned a little and patted his lap. Despite not remembering your death, you did remember how you met him. So you crawled to him, moving some of the cushions in your way and laid sideways, your head nuzzled comfortably in his lap which allowed him to run his fingers through your hair once again.

“My name is Sunday, and I existed not too long ago. However, my reign was short lived thanks to that Emperor. And to worsen my pride, he went and erased my very existence by taking out everything that had any relevance to me.”

“Sunday…?”

You let his name roll off your tongue. The name wasn’t familiar.

“So you fought and lost against the Emperor?”

“I did. I suppose I wanted to see if I still existed somewhere. Anywhere. Though, if I don’t even exist in the Emperor’s library, well, then my name wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“Why did you fight against him?”

“For my own beliefs. Much like everyone else.”

“What exactly are you anyway?”

“I’m just Sunday. An older brother. A friend. A leader of sorts. And someone who failed in the end.”

“How are you here now then?”

Your voice was soft as you spoke and when Sunday looked down at you, you wondered how someone so angelic could look so sad but still have that soft smile on his face.

“I guess you could say I got lucky with how supposedly died… if shorter terms, I became an aeon.”

“An aeon…huh? And what was that kiss you placed on my forehead? Ever since you did it, I have been having trouble remembering some things.”

“A kiss on the forehead erases pain and misery, so I kiss your forehead, however, a kiss on the forehead can also erase memory. I suppose…, I just didn’t want you to remember the pain you felt when you died.”

“Why?”

Sunday smiled at your question, “because I wanted to, do I need any other reason?”

You hummed at his answer, your eyes glancing back to the library door. You don’t remember closing, maybe Blade did?

“So now that I know your name, what am I supposed to do now?”

“Well,” Sunday started, “you still want to go home, don’t you? Find a way to do that.”

“But how? I kind of died the last time I tried.”

Sunday shook his head as he tried to keep himself from laughing, “don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find a way. And don’t worry about the rest. If you do die again, I’ll simply erase everything all over again.”

You nodded to his words, but yawned once more, despite sleeping for so long, you were still so impossibly tired which was when Sunday gently bent down to kiss both of your eyelids.

“A kiss to your eyelids, to erase your tiredness.”

And it was true, the sleep that was beckoning gradually left and just as you were about to say something to him, he was already gone. Your head was no longer on his lap and instead rested on a bunch of cushions, and just as you were about to sit up, the library door opened.

“You’re still lying down,” Blade said, an obvious hint of annoyance rested within his tone causing you to frown at him as you sat up.

“I was getting up,” you argued which caused Blade to roll his eyes.

“Whatever…, are you planning to stay here all day princess?”

Huffing at his attitude, you stood up while completely forgetting about the book you had been reading, “I get it, ok? I’m leaving right now.”

Stomping your way out of the library, Blade followed not so quietly after you.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the couch, did we?”

“Oh shut it you…,” your voice trailed off when your stomping slowly slowed to a stop as you looked out to the field where there were a few people riding horses.

A new idea soon forming in your mind.

“Blade.”

“What?”

“I want to go horseback riding.”

taglist pt 1

@danae-misfortune @frogsasfrogs @openthenyoor01 @zuhaine @ughlostmyotherac @joyfulnightprincess @thechibifoxcub @ceaether @satanisasofties @thetwinkims @yanrandom @honeybunbun @superdonkeypatroleggs @ohmyfinggod @baboon-milk333 @zareri @kclremin @rains-mae @yccoffeesimp @bloomiesty @moon-taffy @superdark-soul @pinkismyfavcolor @isa-l0v3r @its-astrotea-love @reapersan @junephantom21 @erisfayred @greyrain23 @justadekusimp @uzxotic @alisstaa @avalordream @unlivingdisaster @pix-stuff @sleepyxion14 @pillows-blankets @anicega @junni-berry @niaainthere @sorachitsuki @dyingsweetmackerel @rosariymchapter @immahuman @fluffy-koalala @momoniq @orphiclueur @insightedly

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for derpsheep behind the cut; weird amnesia Timberkon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You can recognize their heartbeats?” Bernard asks incredulously–that is a very creepy and invasive thing to recognize about someone, much less be passively listening to, what the fuck–and then frowns. “Wait, got back from where?” 

“Long story,” Superboy mutters. “Alternate realities were involved. It sucked. But I got back here, and it’s supposed to be right, and there’s people I recognize, but there’s . . . different people, too. And no one here recognizes me. And I thought . . .” 

“That you were either totally insane or just stranded in the wrong reality for no discernable reason with no idea how to find the right one?” Bernard assumes. 

“That, yeah,” Superboy says tightly. “Definitely that.” 

“Good news, I guess, if you are insane, it’s a shared delusion, and if you’re in the wrong reality, so am I,” Bernard says. “Because again, I definitely remember you. And Hawaii. And Superman being dead. And like, all that shit in general. Also you kinda died that one time too? There was a statue, I’m pretty sure. Actually I think there were two.” 

Superboy’s smile is tight and humorless, and he digs his fingers into the inside of his wrist. Bernard has no clue how a dude in such severe and obvious distress can look so fucking good about, like . . . literally everything he’s got going on over there. It’s a lot of “everything”, is all. Superboy is a lot no matter what, obviously, but still. Like, extra a lot. Secret bonus levels of a lot. 

A lot. 

“I mean, there used to be,” Superboy says, and the pained smile he’s wearing turns–bitter, kind of. 

Fuck, Bernard feels so bad for this dude. Like so many levels of so bad. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I need to google some shit,” he says as he digs his phone out. Tim is clearly taking his sweet-ass time in the bathroom, and since he isn’t actually in there waiting for Superboy, it’s gotta be a Bat thing, which usually gives him a good fifteen or twenty minutes of fuck-around time before Tim makes it back with the weak excuse du jour. Or, like, three and a half weeks, one very memorable and kinda fucking awful time that Bernard had spent wondering if jumping into the timestream was how vigilantes ghosted you. “And maybe check some forums or something.” 

“I don’t think ‘is this weird dude at the boba shop crazy’ is gonna pop up on Bing, man,” Superboy says, still wearing the same bitter smile. Bernard wonders why he didn’t just go to the Justice League and explain himself to them. Like, they’d probably believe him, right? Or at least they wouldn’t instantly not believe him; they’d check things out or whatever. 

Alternately, though: half-Kryptonian full-telekinetic with Lex Luthor’s DNA and Superman’s face who doesn’t even know if he’s crazy or not.  

So like . . . that seems like an awkward conversation to have with Superman, maybe, Bernard allows. Or just fucking agonizing and terrifying and wildly, wildly likely to end in one of those stupid misunderstanding-based super-fights and, like, maybe also getting drop-kicked into the Phantom Zone because said stupid fight would be against Superman and that is, apparently, what Superman usually does with supervillain Kryptonians. And probably Superboy is having some very understandable issues about getting drop-kicked out of reality right now, if that’s a concern he’s had. Which–the Phantom Zone isn’t the same thing as an alternate reality, as far as Bernard’s aware, but also what the fuck does he know about the Phantom Zone? 

Bernard googles, in quick succession: Superman’s death, the Phantom Zone, and Superboy. He gets a ton of articles and photographs and blog posts with absolutely zero trace of Superboy in a single one of them, a lot of contradicting intel about what the hell the Phantom Zone actually is, and also some blurry candid photos of a ten year-old in ripped jeans and an S-shield hoodie that he’s never seen before in his life. 

. . . so that’s weird, yeah, Bernard observes, blinking down at his phone. 

“Huh,” he says, brow furrowing. “Hey, should I know this kid?” 

“Did you literally just google ‘Superboy’?” Superboy asks, which is notably not an answer to Bernard’s question. 

“Obviously, yeah, the entire internet is in my pocket, why would I not do that,” Bernard replies reasonably, still scrolling through random photos of this completely unrecognizable kid. Said kid continues to look like a total fucking stranger and Bernard continues to have zero clue who he is or why he’s wearing the “S”. Another clone, maybe? Like, an even mini-er mini-Super? Bernard can’t see his face all that clearly in any of the pics, still, but he’s at least got Superman’s coloring, it looks like. 

“Because Tim would give you shit about it, probably, I don’t know,” Superboy lies, because he very obviously does know. Probably better than Bernard does himself, come to think of it, which is kind of a weird thought but also, like, an obviously objectively true one. Superboy’s spent a lot more time with Tim than he has, even having been, like . . . unrealitied and all. 

God, that is still so disturbing a concept, too. 

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (I)

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You don't believe in Sauron's defeat and you are convinced he is going to come back for you and keep his promise to make you his Queen. When the army of Orcs comes to your land, your father makes their leader an offer – your hand for sparing your family's lives. Even though you used to think that the mysterious Adar was Sauron, you quickly realise he is a dangerous stranger and most likely a person who defeated your lover. However – just like your father – you will do everything to survive and the art of deception you were taught by Sauron can be helpful.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — In this fic Ostirith is not just a watchtower but a huge fortress built in the Southlands for the chosen Elven family to watch over humans and the Reader is a daughter of the Lord Guardian of the Southlands. This story will not be extremely long but it is going to have a few parts (I do not plan more than ten).

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship

WORD COUNT — 3,500

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (I)

The truth was you had never made it to Eregion. Your parents didn’t know that, of course.

You couldn’t tell what it was about you that had made Sauron himself find interest in you. You were nothing special – in fact, you were less than ordinary. A daughter of the Lord Guardian of the Southlands; born and raised in Ostirith – a huge and quite coarse fortress that had been built in the country of men for the chosen Elven family to watch over them as if they were children. Despite being a daughter of the Lord Guardian and having all sorts of privileges you still felt like a worse kind of Elf. Whenever you visited Eregion or Mithlond you felt nothing but jealousy.

Jealousy was not a pure or noble feeling and yet you allowed it to overwhelm you. You allowed other lusts to take over you as well – greed, arrogance, pride. You knew them all very well. Perhaps that was the answer to your question – Sauron had seen you through and he had known immediately how easy you would be to corrupt.

You had been intrigued by him for his power and seductive manner of speaking to you, luring you with his promises. The form he had when you two had met was attracting you as well – a handsome Elven man with long ginger hair and intense eyes that felt as if he had known all of you with just one look. By his side you had learnt a lot about the art of deception and lying to your naive parents had been nearly too easy. In their eyes you were an innocent young Elven woman and they had believed all your words and assurances about how well your studies in Eregion had been going when in fact you had been writing those letters from the bed you shared with Sauron himself. You had even sent a few letters as Lord Celebrimbor to make your lies more believable.

“It won’t last for long, my sweetling,” Sauron had been whispering to you, caressing your cheeks and neck with his fingertips. “This life we share now, it is only temporary. Soon, I shall make you my Queen and we shall rule over the whole Middle-earth together,” he had been luring you between kisses. “We shall build a city greater than Eregion and Mithlond together for us to live in and rule from.”

He had known exactly what to say to make you want him more even though his words and promises had been empty since he had nothing. Nothing except for his power… But no real army.

The last time you had seen him was while saying goodbye. You had been supposed to come back to your parents for now and he had been on the mission to make the Orcs follow him.

“Why would you want such creatures to fight for you?” You had asked with disgust when he had first suggested it.

“They will make excellent slaves,” Sauron had answered.

You had not seen him since then. And not long time had passed before the news had spread that Sauron had been defeated. You had grieved for him in secret but you also had known that it couldn’t be over yet. He had made you too many promises and he had been too powerful to disappear like that. No, you were sure he would still come back and make you his Queen.

So, back in Ostirith, you were awaiting his return while trying to find out how it had happened that he had been defeated. The rumour had it that he had failed to make the Orcs follow him and that they had turned against him, which only made you hate them even more.

And now your father was mentioning the army of Orcs nearly every day. He was growing worried because of their presence in the Southlands and the damage they were causing – death and terror amongst the humans. Men were sending their messengers to Ostirith begging for your father’s help and aid. After all, he was the Lord Guardian but the truth was it was the very first time he actually was being asked to do something. So far, during his reign, the Southlands had been pretty peaceful.

The strength of character could only be tested and truly perceived in times like this and with lots of contempt you started to see the cracks in your father’s image. He was not handling the burdens of responsibility well. Not that you loved the humans your family was supposed to protect but you simply could not approve of your father’s cowardice. He was dismissing or ignoring the men coming to him and begging for help as the fortress’ walls were being made stronger and stronger at your father’s command. He was putting all his effort to protect himself and not the humans of the Southlands. In the meantime, in the letters that he was sending to the High King Gil-galad, he was assuring the monarch that everything was under control and there were no reasons to worry.

But there were many reasons to worry. For example – nearly every single Elven soldier that had been sent to patrol the lands and control the situation… had never returned. Some had been sent back dead on their horses with a mysterious mark burnt on their body.

“These creatures… They are not intelligent beings,” your father pointed out after a third time of receiving a message in the form of this mark. It was becoming a pattern. “However, this sigil is proof that they must have a leader.”

When he said those words, your heart skipped a beat. Was it possible that Sauron had survived after all and all this time he had been hiding under a new name to deceive everyone? It was possible – it was his way. When the new rumours from the human villages spread about the Orcs having a leader they were calling their Lord Father, you started to believe that it was truly Sauron who had succeeded his attempt all those years ago after all.

Your hope began to bloom once more.

The army of Orcs had been progressively moving forward and it was no surprise since the Lord Guardian of the Southlands had been doing absolutely nothing to help the human villagers. You spent many evenings standing on the watchtower and observing the fire on the horizon from all the burning villages. The fire was coming closer with each week – they were on their way to Ostirith and you were both terrified but also intrigued because you were quite sure that the man leading the army to your fortress was your lover who had promised you to make you his Queen.

For some odd reason, though, your father seemed to be pretty composed, too. You expected him to panic but he seemed to patiently wait for the arrival of the Orcs and he was smiling at you nearly all the time. You asked your mother about his odd behaviour but she only revealed to you that he no longer had been sharing his thoughts and plans with her. Your mother was genuinely terrified and you could see her from the window of your chambers – praying by the trees and begging the Valars to save you all.

But the Valars would not save you. You had to save yourselves.

“The fire is close,” you pointed out when your father joined you on the watchtower. “They will come tomorrow,” you announced.

Truth to be told, you could already smell the awful stench of the Orcs in the wind.

“I know,” your father nodded and stood beside you.

“How are you so calm? Are you that sure our fortress will endure the attack? We both know that is not true,” you furrowed your brows. “Why are we not fleeing?”

“Fleeing? Where? To Gil-galad? To admit my defeat as the Lord Guardian? To lose all my privileges as the Lord of Ostirith?” Your father snorted at that and you suddenly realised where your own pride and greed were coming from. “We shall stay here.”

“To die, father,” you looked at him, trying to look concerned because you were not as much as you should have been. After all, you knew that Sauron would spare your life. You were worried about your mother but nothing else, really. Even if this fortress would burn, you would shed no tears. It had always felt more like a prison than home.

You could not let it be known yet, though. You had to continue playing the role of a dutiful daughter who had no idea about any evil.

“We shall reason with them,” your father told you and you tilted your head out of confusion. “Yes, my darling. Their leader must be an intelligent creature and I am sure I shall find a way to convince him to spare us and perhaps even let us stay here and rule.”

“Impossible,” you laughed at that. “You are out of your mind, father. How can you be so naive and foolish? Do you think none of these humans tried the same thing?” You pointed at the fire on the horizon.

“They are only humans. We are Elves, we have different qualities,” your father only shrugged his arms.

“Gil-galad would never forgive you. That would be treason,” you pointed out.

“I shall serve the new Lord then,” he answered and you were truly shocked by how easy your father would turn sides only to keep his position and power.

Even though you had known a man much worse and rotten than him, he was your father and you had not expected that of him so a shiver of disgust and fear ran through your body. Also, Sauron’s behaviour was rooted in his ambitions for power, meanwhile your father simply had no backbone.

In fact, you were ashamed to be his daughter.

Without a word, you retreated to your chambers and began your preparations for the next day, which would change your life forever.

Your mother wanted you all to run away when the Orcs were spotted from the watchtower. They were truly coming and their army was huge. She was begging your father but he only sent a messenger to stand on the bridge and inform the Orcs that he wished to speak to their leader.

So you waited in the room your father would welcome his guests in. It was some sort of a throne room but it was not as grand and cosy as the rooms in the beautiful palaces of Eregion or Mithlond. It was quite empty and cold just like this whole fortress. Only the ornaments decorating the walls were revealing that the place truly belonged to the Elves.

Your father was sitting on the big chair and nervously patting his fingers on the armrest, impatiently waiting for the leader of the Orcs to accept his invitation. Your mother and you were standing behind him in grey gowns, trying to blend in with the environment.

To be honest, you wanted to wear the grandest gown to greet Sauron again after all those years but you did not want to reveal yourself just yet. You had to blend in and act scared like your mother.

“He is coming,” one of the guards entered the room and informed your father with a head nod. “The Lord Father of the Orcs… Adar,” he explained.

“Very well,” your father nodded back at the guard and straightened his back.

You held your breath at the sound of the steps but the closer they were, the more anxious your heart was growing. They did not sound familiar to you at all and they were bringing you no comfort. Could it be that the man you had been taking for Sauron was not your lover but the one who had defeated him?

Your heart was pounding fast in your chest when the doors opened and the mysterious man walked inside. His steps were heavy and confident as he looked around with a contemptuous smirk.

That man was no Sauron. The realisation caused the blood in your veins to turn cold.

You knew that Sauron could change the way he looked – his dark hair and different face did not mean a thing to you. But it was something about his eyes and his aura that was deeply disturbing and unfamiliar. That man was a real Elf – you could feel that you shared an ancient secret of your kin with him but his light of Valinor was long gone. He was a dark, empty, barren land and the scars on his extremely pale face revealed how much he had been through and how far he was willing to go. His presence was eerie to the Elves who were not corrupted because he seemed to be a dark possibility; a warning to what might happen if you don't follow the path of the light.

He was something none of you had expected and now you started to worry and be scared as well. You took your mother’s hand to seek comfort.

“Lord Guardian,” the man named Adar stood in front of your father and bowed his head but the gesture was a visible form of mockery. “You wish to reason with me so I’ve heard. But is there anything to reason about when you are defeated already? You have no army, only a few soldiers,” Adar looked around.

He had to be quite surprised that your father truly had not asked any other Elven Lords for their support just because of his pride and fear of losing position – he'd rather lose his life.

“Soldiers and armies are not the only way to resolve a conflict, Lord Father,” your father pointed out. “I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?” Adar snorted but his eyes were truly intrigued. “What possibly could you give me, Lord Guardian?”

“You must be lonely, Lord Father. You walk amongst so many of your children but you have no companion who would match you,” your father began and you widened your eyes at his words. Was he realising that he could possibly insult that dangerous man?

“Are you offering me a fellowship?” Adar asked and the irony in his voice was so clear that it nearly made you feel secondhand embarrassment for your father. “Forgive me, Lord Guardian. I do not need you to–”

“I am offering you a wife,” your father interrupted him with a smirk and a nod.

You and your mother exchanged a look with your eyes widened. She yelped after realising what he had meant.

“You cannot! Husband, please!” She began to tremble.

“How dare you?!” You accused him, standing in front of your mother to shield her from the men inside the room.

“Now you have me intrigued, I have to admit. I have not been expecting such an eventful meeting,” Adar tilted his head and laughed. “But do forgive me, I have no interest in your wife, Lord Guardian,” he added and bowed his head towards you and your mother. You sighed out of relief.

“There has been a misunderstanding,” your father shook his head with irritation. “I am not offering you my wife. She is mine,” he pointed out and extended his hand to grab your mother’s shaky hand. She allowed him to take it but she flinched at the touch. “I am offering you my daughter in return to spare our lives and allow me to stay here as your ally,” your father explained. “I shall watch over the Southlands for you while your army progresses to go North.”

The world stopped for you at that moment. You held your breath and could hear your own heartbeat inside your ears as your hands dropped to your sides. Your mother screamed at your father but you could not understand a word. You saw in slow-motion how Adar turned his head around to look you up and down and you swallowed thickly.

The way he was staring at you… It nearly made you feel as if he had known your secret. Could he smell Sauron on you? You knew he would not be as easily deceived as your parents. He kept observing you and you kept observing him, finding it hard to hide your disgust. Not only he was a fallen Elf who stinked like an Orc but he was also a man cruel in a way different from your beloved. He was less sophisticated. Being his wife would mean spending ages in the mud, surrounded by those filthy and stupid Orcs, being at the mercy of a ruthless creature like him and his awful children.

You hated your father with so much fire that you felt your cheeks burning and your fists clenching. You were filled with contempt towards him and Adar and that turned your face into a cold and spiteful statue. You surely did not look pretty or alluring at that moment.

“I have no interest in your daughter either,” Adar spoke and stopped looking at you to lay his eyes on your father again.

And even though it brought you relief, you also felt your ego being a little bruised. Who did he think he was? Sauron himself wanted you as his lover… His Queen. And some Adar,… Lord Father of the Orcs, did not?!

“Perhaps you would like to rethink that statement? My daughter is of many talents and a great intuition,” your father was trying to sell you out. “She studied in all the grandest cities of the Elven lands.”

“We shall stay here for a week, my children need to rest,” Adar announced, ignoring your father's desperate attempts. “If you give up Ostirith without a fight, then it is only for the better. We shall be your guests and in a week I shall decide what to do with you,” he smiled contemptuously and looked you up and down once again before turning around to walk out of the room as if your father was no longer the Lord and held no power.

Well, it was true. Adar was the Lord of this fortress for now.

And you finally began to realise that it could be the last week of your life. Of course he would not allow you to run away and obviously he was not your lover Sauron who would save you from your misery. You had no idea where Sauron was… What if he was dead as they claimed? You were trapped.

“What were you thinking?!” Your mother kept screaming at your father.

“Shush!” He raised his hand to silence her. “You…” He pointed his finger at you. “You have a week.”

“A week for what?” You asked angrily with your jaw clenched but you already knew the answer. You had a week to save your life and you had more in common with your father than you would like to admit… You would do anything to survive.

“A week to convince Adar that he needs a wife like you,” your father explained and your mother kept staring at him with pure hatred in her eyes.

“I would rather us all to die than for my daughter to marry this man and fall just like him. Have you seen him? The light of Valinor is gone from his soul!” She protested.

“If I do that… I shall do that for myself and for my mother. You and your ambition mean nothing to me,” you drawled through gritted teeth before walking away.

In the hall, you already spotted the Orcs entering this sacred Elven fortress. A shiver went down your spine. If it was true that Sauron had been defeated by them, you did not even want to think of how it had to be when he died. What had they done to him? You kept staring at them with nothing but pure hatred and disgust as they were looking around your home and already ruining it with their stench and dirty hands.

Adar stood amongst them, watching you, too. He was angry at you and you could not understand why until you saw him interacting with one of the Orcs standing nearby. He truly was like a father to them and he had to find it insulting that you were staring at his children with disgust. Perhaps, you would have to play your game a little differently but it would be no problem for you to change your tactic.

Sauron had taught you well.

And if this man was the one who had defeated him, you could get close to him only to destroy him in the end to avenge your lover. Perhaps you could lead the army of the Orcs to Sauron when he returns because of that you were more than sure or at least you wanted to be – that he would come back to you to keep his promise and make you his Queen.

MASTERLIST

[mirisss]

Atz reaction to their s/o being financially broken

Ateez x gn!college/university student! reader 

Thank you for the request! I’m sorry it took so long for me to write this but I hope you enjoy this! I wasn’t sure if you wanted this to a poly relationship or not so I wrote it as if the relationships are separate, so each ATZ member has their own s/o. 

Wordcount ≈ 1.2k

Warnings: Anxiety, overworking, exhaustion, financial problems, (Not that angsty though,)

Reactions under the cut

Seonghwa, Yeosang, Mingi, Yunho, Jongho

He had noticed that you didn’t seem to have a lot of time to hang out with him recently as you constantly had to study or work. At first, he didn’t think much of it, thinking it was just because of exam season that you were so stressed. But once this kept happening for over a month, he could barely reach you, you never answered his calls, or barely any of his texts, only answering “Sorry, busy studying, talk to you later”. He understood that something must be going on, his first thought would be if he had done anything wrong so one night, he went over to your apartment, knocked on the door but no one opened it, he assumed that you were at the restaurant/bar where you work so he went over there. Once at the door to the restaurant, he saw you running around inside, immediately noticing that you looked sick and feverish, you didn’t even notice him as he stood in front of you. One of your colleagues noticed him, quickly ushering him over. 

“You should really convince them to go home, they’ve been working double shifts for two weeks, and even trying to pick up more shifts every now and then,” He was shocked to find out just how much you had been working. He walked over to you, gently putting a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, love, can we talk?” You were surprised to see him but said yes and went to the back of the building, where he technically wasn’t allowed to be as a non-employee but you were with him so it was fine. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked as you finally sat down for the first time in probably 12 or 15 hours. “That´s what I want to ask you, your colleague just told me you’ve been working double shifts for 2 weeks straight, you look sick, you definitely have a fever, you’ve been distant for over a month, I just want to understand what’s going on,” He saw tears beginning to form in your eyes. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” “It’s obviously something, please, (Y/n), tell me what’s going on, I’m your boyfriend, you should be able to rely on me,” You sighed and then proceeded to tell him everything. 

“My landlord raised my rent a lot about a month ago and with my old schedule, I couldn’t afford the rent or the cost of uni and everything so I had to start working more to earn enough not to be evicted, but having to work for 20 hours each day doesn’t leave a lot of time to study or sleep so I’m falling behind on classes and I don’t know what to do because no matter what I think of, there’s no solution that actually works,” He just looked at you in shock. “Why haven’t you told me about this? I could help you, I have asked before to move in together, that would help a lot with the cost of living for you,” “I can’t just rely on you for this, it’s my problem,” “Hey, we’re in this together, besides, I earn enough to support us both for a while so that you can focus on studying. I love you, (Y/n), it pains me to see you so overworked, I want to help, so please rely on me,” You couldn’t say no anymore, fatigue, fever, and finally feeling like you could have some rest catching up with you so you just nodded, whispering, ‘yes please’, before falling asleep with your head on his shoulder. 

Hongjoong, Wooyoung, San

They would never let it come to the point of you being financially broken or exhausted mentally, nope, these two are just very attentive or their partner and would notice the second something seemed to be off with you. The first clue was when you canceled last minute on a date he had planned for over a week, to celebrate the anniversary of your first kiss together, he would take you to a fancy restaurant, something you usually enjoyed but this day you canceled on him the morning of the date just saying “I’m not feeling like doing something fancy”. He was shocked but nonetheless, he canceled the booking at the restaurant and asked if you should just order takeout and a movie night at his place, but you shot that down too with the excuse of exams coming up. 

The second, and final clue to something being wrong, was when he walked by the office where you work part-time, in the middle of the day, when you definitely had classes, but he found you at the office, looking more stressed than ever before. 

“Hey, love, what are you doing here? Don’t you have classes today?” “Oh Joong/Woo/Sannie, um, no, I, um, don’t” It was obvious that you were lying to him, and he wondered why, as it never happened before. “I know you’re lying, (Y/n), what’s actually going on?” You just sighed, looking down at the ground. “I’m too embarrassed to tell you,” “I won’t judge you, honey,” “I’m going to be evicted from my apartment, I took a pay cut about a week ago and with it, I can’t afford to pay rent, and my landlord isn’t one to be understanding of me being a student so they’ll kick you out the second even a penny is missing from the rent. So I’ve been taking on more shifts here, even trying to find another part-time job at a café or something, but with that, I can’t go to classes, so I’m falling behind, and I just want to die, because I’m failing everything, even our relationship,” You were crying and almost hyperventilating at this point. He pulled you into a tight hug, to try and comfort you. His heart was hurting, how hadn’t he noticed earlier that it was this bad? “Jagi, no, you’re not failing our relationship, come live with me? You wouldn’t have to pay rent that way,” “I can’t just let you pay for everything,” 

“Then how about this, you move in with me, you keep your part-time job here but you back to your regular schedule, you can pay a fourth of the rent for my apartment, that’s about equal looking at what we each earn, and that way you still have plenty of time for classes, and for me, your boyfriend,” “How can I say no to that?” “You can’t, I’m just that irresistible,” 

[meerkatp]

Now, let's talk about Drakepad. Can we talk about Drakepad, please? I've been dying to talk about Drakepad all year, OK! Sometimes I can't help but wonder if Drake and Launchpad were suppost to become a couple in the Ducktales reboot.

Like, you got that leaked concept art from the Darkwing spinoff (I guess it's okey to post this? It's long been dead if Disney even considered picking it up at all.) where Launchpad clearly has his hand on Drake's shoulder, but it looks like Drake's got his hand on LP's back. And I say Launchpad and not Gosalyn because if it was on/ around Gos we'd likely see his hand on her head or her shoulder which it very clearly is not.

This pitch likely predates TDKR and if I were to guess when it was pitched it'd of likely been sometime in 2018? Possibly even earlier judging by Drake's design as it's still pretty early. (Plus LP's bio in the pitch bible having big (and literal) "let's pick out curtains" energy.)

And then you got this excerpt from the bonus book of the deluxe edition of the Ducktales artbook where it talks about those romantic secret side adventures Launchpad has that we never got to see, and then mentions him meeting Drake as one of these aforementioned side adventures.

And then you got this Gay-ass moment from TDKR.

And the scene of them holding hands with Drake making goo-goo eyes that was intended by the storyboarder to be romantic.

And LP returning the favor in the finale.

The symbolism of the "go to them" scene, as well as how he puts his hand over his heart because of Drake.

Side note: He did this in the original show too.

Not to mention Launchpad's canonically Bi (though they never got to explore this in the show itself).

But even if they were, there's like no way Disney would of allowed it considering how pissed they were about Penumbra being a Lesbian (forcing them to censor it in a way that makes it seem like she's just racist (Speciesist? Planetist?)). And considering how Disney's been trying to reboot Darkwing Duck there problobly would of been the thought "Well if we make them Queer in this then we'd have no choice but to make them Queer in every adaption after that" and Disney has been notoriously anti-Queer when it comes to media (That we even got The Owl House feels like a miracle in and of itself.) and now with actual fucking anti-Queer terrorism on the rise in America especially, and Project 2025 on the horizon, the higher ups are cowards at best, that is if they don't agree with the terrorists themselves (okey I'm getting on a bit of a tangent here, sorry!)

IDK did I miss something? It's like almost 4AM and I can't sleep (if that wasn't obvious).

Anyways when I said that this is what it feels like to ship Drakepad I was not exaggerating or joking.

chika chika

[fandomxo00]

imagine if…reader is Logans daughter in a different universe but he dies when she’s very young and becomes the next wolverine at like 14 or something. And Wade being Wade brings her the “worst” wolverine and they have like a emotional reunion together 🥹🥹 (maybe dogpool can have a little cameo lol)

note: Writing about Laura cause I love her sm all she wanted was to be with logan just wanna protect her and not really writing in the pov of Laura but the reader but hope you enjoy 💕

Laura had been devastated at Logan's passing. She hadn't even know the man long but there this sense of understanding that she had with him. They were made as monsters. You were a much younger version of her mother, when they met in the void when she was only 14, she looked up to you and you protected her the best you could. You tried to give her the life she deserved but it was rough when you were both exiled from your timelines.

But when Laura looked at you she saw her eyes reflected back in your own and she felt safe. You raised her the best you could, you knew that missed her father and everything that their relationship could have been. Little did you know that a random guy in a red suit and an annoying voice would Logan back into her life.

Though Laura explained that this version of Logan was grumpier than hers. He drank a lot more and complained a lot for someone who was living for free on your couch. Laura was now 19, she worked at the diner with you. If Logan didn't find a job in the next week, he could find somewhere else to stay. Though you don't think Laura will allow that. You have a rather weird relationship with Logan.

You had gotten pregnant and had Laura in your world, endured the torture of being there and having your daughter taken away with you. You never met Logan but you had his child. Sadly, you also had to feel the loss of your Laura when Piece killed her right in front of you with adamantium bullet before shooting you. Luckily, they hadnt shot you with an adamantium bullet, because Laura's blood had been in your DNA since you first got pregnant with hers. You were able to heal but she wasn't.

You had wished every day for years that it was you instead but you were fortunate enough. But then you found her again and you swore with your life that you would do anything for her. Even let her deadbeat dad lay on the couch, no matter how many times he walked around shirtless or smiled over at you didn't mean anything. You watched Logan's walls crumble as his daughter slowly tore the through the rumble and started bonding with the man. Even getting him to bake with her, you had smiled getting a picture of the two.

Then one night she had a date, he was surprised when he saw a young mutant who was nonbinary. Laura glowed as she looked at them, Logan tried to do the whole scary dad thing, but wound up just nodding and letting them go. The two of you sat at the couch, a joint passed between you as you spoke lightly into the night. Opening up about your past as your inhibitions lowered and the two moved closer to each other.

At some point his lips wound up yours his hands on your waist while he cradled your head in his hand. Your lips slotted with his, as your hands gripped his shirt. The two of you pulled away breathless before taking it back to your room.

A week later, Logan got a job, he also started sleeping in your bed. The three of you grew close as a family and you've never felt more full in your life. But eventually Laura wanted to spread her wings and wound up moving into the X-Mansion. She came to visit the two of you frequently and always came to hang out with her younger siblings.

tags:@ohtobemare @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland @bubblegumholland @mega-kittyglitter-1

[hoesluvjude]

In Your Arms

Word count:1k

Genre:fluff

Summary:Y/n comforting jude because his injured

Author's note:I know he is not injured anymore but I wrote a long time ago 😭I just didn't post it

Masterlist

Jude sat on the edge of the couch, his lower right leg propped up on a stack of pillows, a heavy bandage wrapped tightly around his calf. The pain was dull now, more of a persistent ache than the sharp stab he had felt during training earlier that day, but it still throbbed with every small movement. He stared at his leg in frustration, a deep sigh escaping him as the reality of his injury began to sink in.

He hated this. He hated the feeling of being sidelined, of watching his teammates carry on without him. Football was everything to him—it was his passion, his career, his life. And now, because of one wrong step, he was stuck here on the couch, unable to move without a limp, unable to train, and worst of all, unsure of how long it would take to heal.

his jaw clenched in frustration. He had been pushing himself hard in training, maybe too hard. He knew that. But he always gave everything, always pushed himself to the limit. It was just his nature. And now, he was paying the price for it.

The sound of soft footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Y/n entering the living room, her face full of concern as she approached him. She had been in the kitchen, making tea, but he could tell by the way she was looking at him that she had been worried ever since he came home from training.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, setting the cup of tea on the table beside him before sitting down next to him on the couch. Her hand reached for his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Jude exhaled slowly, trying to shake off his frustration. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tension in his voice made it clear he was anything but. “It’s just... annoying.”

Y/n’s eyes softened as she shifted closer to him, her fingers tracing gentle circles on the back of his hand. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re going to heal. It’s just going to take some time.”

Jude knew she was right, but the words didn’t do much to ease the irritation gnawing at him. He wasn’t used to being helpless, to sitting around doing nothing while everyone else kept moving forward. Football had always been his escape, his outlet. And now, without it, he felt like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He glanced over at Y/n, her comforting presence helping to ground him. She was always there for him, always knew what to say, even when he was in the worst of moods. And right now, more than anything, he just wanted her close.

Without thinking, Jude reached out and pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin, letting it calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

Y/n seemed a little surprised at first by how clingy he was being—he wasn’t usually this physically needy—but she didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him in return, holding him just as tightly. She shifted on the couch so that she was sitting right beside him, letting him rest his head on her shoulder as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Jude mumbled against her neck, his voice muffled by the way he was pressed against her. “I’m being grumpy.”

Y/n chuckled softly, her fingers never stopping their gentle movement through his hair. “You’re not grumpy. You’re hurt, and you’re allowed to feel frustrated. But you don’t have to apologize for it.”

He sighed again, his body sinking deeper into her embrace. Her words were kind, as they always were, but it didn’t take away the gnawing irritation that came with being injured. Still, having her close helped. It always did.

For a long while, neither of them said anything. Jude just held her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his head resting on her chest as he listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing. Her presence was like a balm to his restless mind, soothing the frustration that had been building inside him since the injury.

Y/n ran her fingers along his back in slow, comforting strokes, her voice soft when she finally spoke. “You know,” she murmured, “you don’t always have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to be upset.”

Jude closed his eyes, her words sinking in. She knew him better than anyone. She knew that he had a tendency to bottle things up, to try and push through without acknowledging how he was really feeling. And she was right. He didn’t always have to be the strong one. Not with her.

“I just hate this,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I hate not being able to do anything. I hate sitting here, feeling useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Y/n said firmly, pulling back slightly so she could look at him. Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against his skin. “You’re hurt, Jude. That doesn’t make you useless. It just means you need time to heal.”

Jude met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes making it hard to argue. He knew she was right, but it was hard to let go of the frustration that had been building inside him since the injury. Football was more than just a job to him—it was his identity, his purpose. And being forced to step back from it, even temporarily, made him feel like he was losing a part of himself.

But as he looked at Y/n, her eyes filled with nothing but love and understanding, he realized that maybe it was okay to lean on her, to let her be strong for him this time. He didn’t always have to carry everything on his own.

“I just want to hold you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Can we just... stay like this for a while?”

Y/n’s expression softened, and she nodded, her fingers gently brushing through his hair once more. “Of course,” she murmured. “We can stay like this as long as you want.”

Jude tightened his arms around her, pulling her even closer. He buried his face in her shoulder, the warmth of her body against his soothing the ache in his leg and the tension in his chest. For the first time since the injury, he felt like he could breathe a little easier.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the evening outside and the steady beat of Y/n’s heart beneath his ear. Jude closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the comfort of her embrace. The world outside, with all its noise and pressure, faded away, and all that mattered in this moment was the feeling of her arms around him.

It wasn’t often that Jude let himself be vulnerable like this, but with Y/n, it felt safe. She had seen him at his highest and his lowest, and she loved him all the same. And right now, when he felt frustrated and out of control, her presence was the only thing that brought him any sense of peace.

“I love you,” he mumbled against her skin, the words coming out softer than he had intended, but full of sincerity. He didn’t say it as often as he probably should, but in moments like this, he needed her to know.

Y/n’s arms tightened around him, her lips brushing lightly against his forehead. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth. “And I’m here. Always.”

Jude let out a slow breath, the weight on his chest lifting just a little bit more. He didn’t know how long it would take for his leg to heal, or when he’d be able to get back to the pitch, but he knew one thing for sure—no matter what, Y/N would be by his side.

And in this moment, that was enough.

As the minutes stretched into hours, they stayed like that—Jude wrapped around Y/n,her comforting presence easing the frustration that had been gnawing at him. For now, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let her take care of him, to hold onto her as if she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And in a way, she was.

[akataiii]

Go ahead and try (A Hawks x reader)

“It'd be so easy, you know?”

Tearing my eyes from the ballroom floor and casting my gaze to the right, I'm met by the sight of a smug-looking Kiki; a short woman with curly, purple hair and a pair of white dove wings residing on her back. She is also known as one of Hawks' most trusted sidekicks.

I turn my body so I'm facing her fully, readjusting my grip on the glass of champagne in my hand. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, tilting my head at her and quirking a puzzled brow.

“I'm sorry?” I ask, voice portraying the confusion I was feeling.

Kiki huffs, bringing her own glass of champagne to her lips and taking a languid sip while shifting her attention to the opposite side of the room. I follow her gaze, finding what, or rather, who she is staring at.

Hawks' pretty, red wings are unmistakable; standing out in the crowd and demanding immediate attention, almost as if screaming, ‘Look at me!’ And I did look. I always looked at my boyfriend.

I looked at how he gave his best every day, striving to be an amazing hero and somehow managing to muster up enough positive energy to make up for my lack of daily optimism.

Me and Keigo were pretty much two opposite ends of a coin, and yet we somehow worked together perfectly, making up that coin in perfect harmony each and every day.

“What I meant was,” Kiki starts, drawing my focus back to her, where she's taking another sip of her champagne. “It would be easy for me to steal Hawks from you,” she finishes, turning to look at me with a smug smirk.

I blink at her, momentarily stunned. Well, that came out of nowhere, I think to myself, (e/c) eyes widened in surprise. It doesn't take long for me to get over the initial shock though, instead letting out an amused huff before folding my arms across my chest, careful not to spill my champagne. 

“Well then,” I say, letting my features fall into a relaxed and unbothered expression. “By all means, have at it. Try your best,” I prompt, trying my best to suppress my laughter at the astonished look Kiki sends my way. 

“Seriously? Just like that?” She questions, looking slightly disappointed at not receiving any kind of negative reaction from me. “You're just going to give him up?”

I shrug, bringing my glass of champagne to my lips and looking over at Keigo’s bright, red wings again. “I don't see how it's necessary for me to put up a fight,” I reply, a faint smile grazing my lips as I catch Keigo laughing at something Mirko said.

“You have no respect for your relationship,” is the last thing I hear Kiki say before her heels are clacking loudly against the tiled floor, and she's marching away from me.

Nope, I think to myself, feeling smug and self-assured at my own thoughts. I just have that much faith in my boyfriend.

—

I stretch my arms above my head, hastily bringing one hand back down to stifle the yawn that slips past my lips. The cement of the sidewalk feels hard under my feet as I walk back towards me and Keigo's apartment, returning from the day at my boring, mundane, civilian job. 

I don't regret my choice of not becoming a hero. The whole flashy, saving people lifestyle just never suited me, and I was perfectly alright with that. Even if my job was mundane and void of any flashiness, it never failed to fill me with a sense of joy. 

How could I ever hate the flower shop I worked at when it's where I met my lovely boyfriend? I still remember the day Keigo came in, fresh on the job, and picking up the flower order for the grand opening of his hero agency.

Even if our relationship was rocky at first, filled with countless bickering and endless antagonizing (all from my end, oopsie), we ended up together and in love anyway, and I could never be happier than when I was by his side.

Of course, life is never that simple, and neither are relationships, especially that of a pro-hero. Keigo was never allowed to let the public know about himself, always forced by the Hero Public Safety Commission to hide behind the Hawks exterior they curated for him.

A select few people did know about our relationship, though. Mostly the heroes Keigo worked alongside and the sidekicks at his agency.

Which is where Kiki comes in.

It's been a week since her random confession to me at the Hero Gala me and Keigo attended. It didn't bother me; instead, I was only curious to see if Kiki would actually carry through her plan of 'stealing Hawks from me.’

Thoughts of how I could possibly ask my boyfriend about it swirl around in my mind as I continue my trip home. My feet hit the pavement in a rhythmic pattern, lulling me into a state where I was only half paying attention to the world around me. Suddenly, the red feather around my neck gives a violent jerk to the right, almost knocking me off my balance.

I stumble on the cement below me, regaining my footing before glaring down at the feather in confusion and irritation. It had settled back down and was resting innocently against the skin of my collarbone, like it didn't just almost choke me half to death.

Knowing it had a mind of its own and was likely trying to show me something, I shift my gaze to the right, the direction in which the feather jerked in. Immediately, my eyes latch onto the two red wings on the opposite side of the road.

Keigo stands talking to Kiki, hands raised in surrender and seemingly waving away something she's saying.

What a pleasant surprise, I think to myself, moving to lean against the nearest lamp pole. My arms are folded comfortably across my chest as I watch whatever situation is currently playing out in front of me.

I watch as Kiki says something else to Keigo, her lips curled into a wide, mischievous grin as her finger lightly pokes his chest.

Kiki is Hawks' most trusted ally, always going with him on patrol and assisting him on missions. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that they were close, and the media even went into its usual conspiracy theories that the two might be dating.

Keigo, polite as always, denies the accusations every time, waving them away with his usual smile and saying nothing other than, ‘She’s a great sidekick. Nothing more.’

I was never the jealous type and never would be. Hawks may be some flirty, charming hero persona created by the HPSC to be shown to the public, but in private, Keigo was happy to just be. While he was still a flirty and charismatic person in general, when he got off the clock and came home, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

I smile to myself, thinking of all the nights the blonde came home and immediately attacked me with a flurry of chirps and kisses, letting his suppressed bird instincts free. I would always dissolve into a fit of giggles when he twittered and chirped in my ear, telling me how much he loves me and how much he missed me that day.

Point being, I had complete faith in my boyfriend and trusted our devotion to one another.

Back to the current time, the feather around my neck gives another jerk, this one much less violent, catching my attention and causing me to frown down at it in concern.

In theory, or well, confirmed by Keigo, the red feather around my neck was just an extension of his body and Quirk, meaning the feather reacted the same way the feathers on his back did. Which could only mean…

I lift my gaze to inspect the pair of heroes across the street. Kiki had made her way further into Keigo's personal space, now standing only inches away from him and running a hand along his chest while looking up at him from under half-lidded eyes. Even from where I stood, I could read the seduction in her actions, and it caused me to physically cringe. Is she aware of just how desperate she looks?

I feel the feather twitch again, and with my gaze focused on Keigo, I catch the way the feathers on his back twitch as well, a clear indication of his discomfort. 

As previously mentioned, I had complete faith in my boyfriend, and I'm also aware of how the HPSC controlled his actions and personality in public. I also know that Keigo is a considerate person and cares deeply for the people he works with. It's for those reasons that I don't blame Keigo for not immediately shoving Kiki away or yelling at her to keep her distance from him. Lashing out at her would only get him in trouble and nag at his subconscious.

I think for a few moments, mind filing through ways I could possibly save my boyfriend from the predicament he was in. My gaze falls on the twitching feather again, and my eyes widen at the newfound idea in my mind. 

I kick myself off of the lamp pole, unfolding my arms and reaching a hand up to gently pinch the feather between my fingers, knowing exactly how sensitive the item is. With measured actions, I tentatively bring the feather to my lips and softly graze it against them, smiling when I catch Keigo stiffening across the street. 

“Hey Kei,” I whisper, knowing the blonde could hear my every word.

Keigo's head whips around: beady, golden eyes immediately finding me and lighting up with a happiness I recognize all too well. He hastily pulls Kiki’s hand from his chest and makes his way over to me, all in a matter of mere seconds. A man too fast for his own good, I chuckle to myself, finding amusement in my own thought.

“Hello my love,” Keigo greets, arms instinctively wrapping around my waist and pulling me close.

I smile, soft and almost unnoticeable, but Keigo knows it's there nonetheless, and I bring my hands up to cradle his face in my palms.

“Hello,” I mumble, gaze fixed on the way Keigo's lips are spread into a wide smile, and his eyes are filled with that fondness always aimed at me. If there was ever any doubt as to whether or not Keigo loved me, all that you needed to do was analyze the way he looked at me. In those golden, sunset irises, you’d always find the undeniable answer written between his affection.

Keigo lets out a soft chuckle before pulling his face from my hands and closing the distance between us, nuzzling his face against my cheek with quiet chirps escaping his lips.

“Missed you so much,” Keigo coos, planting soft pecks against my cheek.

“You're going to get into trouble with the commission,” I warn, making no effort to put a stop to his actions of showering me with affection.

“Don't care,” he says, voice muffled where his face is buried in the crook of my neck.

“I know, but I do,” I say with a giggle, softly running a hand through his hair and pulling out a small twig that likely got stuck there when he was flying.

“I wanna kiss you,” he admits quietly, the sadness shining through in his tone. My brows draw together in a sympathetic frown, only able to imagine how trapped he feels, bound by the HPSC’s rules and regulations.

As much as I would have loved for him to kiss me right then, I knew it only spelled trouble for the both of us. The way his arms were wrapped around me now was already bordering on the limits set for us by the commission. Anything else would definitely end in ruin.

“Kei,” I gently warn, and he gets the message hidden behind the word, pulling his face from my neck and standing upright, releasing my form and taking a small step back. His lips are jutted out in a pout, and his brows are settled in a light frown, pulling yet another soft giggle from me at how adorable he looks.

Picking up the feather around my neck again, I place it against my lips to give it a kiss, and Keigo's cheeks flare up in a blush. 

“I'll give you a proper kiss when you get home after patrol, Pretty Bird,” I promise, never missing the way my boyfriend’s eyes light up in excitement. Like a kiss from me is some holy gift bestowed on him from above.

“I'm holding you to that,” Keigo says, wings flapping behind him and sending a gust of wind my way as he rises up in the air. He gives me a final wave and blows me a kiss before he flies away, leaving me alone on the ground. 

My eyes fall from the sky and land on Kiki, who is staring forward with a stunned expression, mouth hanging open in pure bewilderment and shock, as if I'm the one that just tried to steal her boyfriend. The ridiculous notion causes me to laugh, catching her attention and bringing her focus back to reality.

With a smug, self-satisfied smirk, I pull the feather between my fingers again to hold it out on display for the woman, my other hand raising to flip her the bird. (Pun fully intended.)

˗ˋ Bonus ˊ˗

“Hello my love.”

Keigo tackles me into the couch’s cushions, and I giggle freely at the chirps filling the air and the lips tickling my ear. I scrunch my nose at the sensation, hands burying themselves in Keigo's hair to try and reel him in a little.

“Hi Pretty Bird,” I greet back, earning me a happy chirp at the nickname. “I missed you too.”

“Hmm,” Keigo hums, placing another peck on my cheek and pulling back to place his forehead against mine. “Where's my promised kiss?”

My lips tug into a smile, and I can't resist the urge to tease him at least a little.

“Where's my—”

I'm interrupted by Keigo’s phone ringing, his ringtone blaring from the coffee table and disrupting the peace of our shared apartment.

We stare at the lit-up screen for a moment, both of us able to recognize the caller ID as that belonging to the HPSC. My stomach twists nervously, and I shoot Keigo a concerned glance.

“Did you get into trouble?” I question, fearing the answer would be yes. 

Keigo looks to me as well, ignoring the phone still ringing in the background. His lips are pulled into a guilty smile, brows furrowed nervously. “I wouldn't exactly call it trouble,” he says, tilting his head to the side. 

In his attempt to avoid any events that may have transpired earlier that afternoon, I find my concern melting away, replaced by fondness and endearment.

“Shouldn't you answer that?” I question, pointing to the phone still ringing on the coffee table.

Keigo sends a feather out to retrieve his phone, inspecting it in his hand before pressing the ‘decline’ button and tossing the device over his shoulder.

“Nah,” he says, lips curling into a lazy smirk. “I'd rather take that kiss now.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes, cupping his face all the same and pulling him closer to slot our lips together; the action so fluid and natural. Like it was always meant to be Keigo's lips and no one else's.