#god will love you enough to save you if you reblog so it reaches all the girl sammers <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[daddysboydean]

for my girl!sam freaks bc i'm curious how we're all picturing her...

parte dos parte tres

really curious about this one bc canon sam is a giant and it'll be interesting to see how people think that would change (or not) if he was a girl

[navybrat817]

Pencil You In

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky thinks you've been working too hard and need a break. Word Count: Over 1.3k Warnings: Fluff, crying, reader is tired, slight insecurities, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Partially inspired by an image the beautiful @bucksangel sent me and life stretching me a bit thin, here's a little ficlet. Lovelies, take breaks. You deserve them and you are more than enough! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You slumped in your chair of your home office as you reread the sentence on the screen for what felt like the hundredth time. Weariness had already settled deep in your bones long before you looked over the document, the words blurring together the longer you stared. Blinking a few times didn’t help as you reached for your mug, only to remember that you had finished your extra helping of caffeine an hour ago. Begrudgingly, you set it down and huffed as if it was somehow the fault of the cup that it didn’t automatically fill itself.

“Almost done,” you whispered to yourself, straightening up so you could do one last readthrough.

It was a long week in what felt like a series of long weeks. Almost every minute of your schedule was accounted for lately and all you wanted to do was relax. People were depending on you though and you could relax over the weekend.

Hopefully.

“You should take a break.”

You didn’t turn around immediately at the sound of Bucky’s gentle voice, but you did manage a smile when you glanced over your shoulder a moment later. He didn’t return the smile, concern swirling in his blue irises. You were afraid to stare into the pool of his eyes for too long out of fear of drowning.

And, god, you were drowning. It would be so easy to reach out and take the lifeline that was his hand. To just admit that you need some time to rest because you were tired. Hadn’t you earned it? Didn’t you deserve a break after the hard work you put in?

But maybe you didn’t deserve it. What you did wasn’t as important as someone like Bucky. You firmly shut the door on that thought before the words could make their way out of your mouth. If he could’ve read your mind and known you thought that, it would’ve disappointed him. Not in you, but whoever made you decide that what you did wasn’t enough.

Because you were always expected to do and be more.

“I will in a few minutes,” you said.

He let out a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms, making you tear your gaze away. You didn’t comment on his disheveled hair, like he kept running a hand through it. Likely because he worried about you stretching yourself too thin. “That was what you said a few minutes ago,” he reminded you, his voice light instead of accusatory.

You shut your eyes in the hopes that the tears wouldn’t come and took a breath. “I really will this time,” you promised, giving the document one last readthrough once you got your emotions under control.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said.

If you wouldn’t take a break for your own sake, you had to do it for Bucky.

“Okay. I think that’s at a good stopping point,” you said, making you saved it before you closed it out. If you lost all of that after everything you put into it so far, you would’ve lost it. Before you could move to the next task on your list though, an alert popped up on your screen. Your heart dropped to your stomach because you didn’t remember scheduling anything else today. You didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity for more. “What is this?” You mumbled before you opened it.

Reading the subject line, you did a double take.

CUDDLE WITH BUCKY

You covered your mouth to smother your giggles. “I don’t remember scheduling this meeting.”

“It’s a good thing I remembered, baby,” he said as you spun around in your chair, sauntering over to you with a smirk as you tried not to laugh again. “It’s a mandatory meeting in our bed. No rescheduling. And I expect it to go the full hour. Maybe longer.”

“How did you manage to set up an alert on my computer?” You asked as he grasped your hands and helped you to your feet, having to steady yourself a bit when your head spun.

At least you remembered to eat. Well, that wasn’t technically true. Bucky brought you your meal earlier because he was the best boyfriend you could ask for.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” he winked before he brought a palm to your cheek, his gaze shifting to something more serious. “But it seemed to get your attention.”

Your cheeks burned as you averted your gaze. “I wasn’t…” you trailed off, an apology on the tip of your tongue. Had you neglected him this past week? Or the ones before that?

Did he think you were a bad girlfriend?

Bucky slid his hand to your chin so you’d look at him again. “Hey,” he whispered when your lower lip trembled. “I didn’t mean anything by that and I’m not upset with you. I don’t think I could ever be upset with you. But, baby, you’ve been working your ass off even more than usual. I’m so fucking proud of you, but you need to take a real break.”

Your eyes burned, but no tears surfaced as he searched your gaze. “But-”

“What is it you always tell me about work?”

“That it’ll be there tomorrow, but we may not be” you answered, sighing. He was right. You couldn’t let work and expectations others set for you take control of your life. “I told you that the last time you ran yourself ragged with missions.”

He brought his mouth to your forehead to kiss it, his scruff tickling your skin. “And now I’m returning the favor,” he said against your skin. “So, come to bed. Lay with me. Just…”

“Be present,” you finished.

No phones. No work. No outside forces interfering. Just the pleasure of being with each other.

“Exactly,” he said, tugging you by the hand. “C’mon. We’re both late for our meeting.”

“Yes, Sir,” you teased, smiling when he groaned.

“This is a cuddle meeting, but it’ll turn into gently fucking you to sleep if you keep talking like that,” he warned you, pulling you to bed a bit faster.

“You say that like that’s a bad thing,” you smiled, gasping as he gently pushed you onto the mattress.

He braced a hand on each side of your head as he leaned down, his breath fanning your face when you whimpered. “Sex after we cuddle,” he breathed, sending a shiver down your spine. “Then we can cuddle again.”

You leaned up to brush your lips against his. “Deal,” you agreed.

Once he maneuvered you to the middle of the bed, his large body spooning yours, you couldn’t stop the tears that came. You bit your lip so he wouldn’t hear your soft sobs, but he must’ve sensed them as he grazed his nose along your neck affectionately and pulled you closer in his arms. You didn’t realize just how much you needed to be held until then.

It was as if all the stress faded away.

“I really am proud of you. Hardest working woman I know and always taking care of me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your pulse as more tears hit the pillow.

“Because I love you, Bucky,” you whispered. Who wouldn’t want to take care of someone as amazing as James Buchanan Barnes?

“And I love you, too. So much,” he swore to you, turning you in his arms so he could kiss the tears away. The first kiss lingered on your cheek as he let out a shuddering breath. The sight of you crying likely broke his heart, but he didn’t say anything about it for your sake. “So let me be your personal hero today, okay? Let me take care of you and show that you’re more than enough.”

The words were so heartfelt and touching that you were surprised you didn’t melt on the spot. “You already are,” you promised before his lips met yours.

And he could pencil himself in for cuddles and more whenever he wanted.

I'll say it again, lovelies, you deserve breaks and you are more than enough. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[bwabys-scenarios]

helloooo!! I saw ur requests were open and that you were askin for some dungeon meshi x chubby reader....I gotchu covered.

May I please request some Chilchuck(or..Chilchack?? Ive no clue what the spelling is..) x Chubby!Reader and maybe also some Laois x Chubby!Reader? If you dont do multiples then either guy is fine!!

Sfw and nsfw on how they interact and think of your body? Scenarios like you tending to grab Chilchuck away from danger alot so he gets alot of booba action?? Embarrassed flustered old man?? Having to look up at you(if you were to be taller) but all he sees is ur chest?? Him givin Alot of needy attention to them when you do fool around cuz it Has been a big thing on his mind?? Him stiching and adjusting ur undershirt so it actually helps support ur chest a bit better and ur so grateful? Laois having a staring habit when he spaces out...yknow him and his tendencies to be curious(he wanted to Count Izutsumi nipples for gods sake.), he just doesnt know, he doesnt mean for it to be creepy or anything he jus is SO infactuated w ur body its so so so beautiful to him, him getting super happy and starts exploring ur body when consent is given?? Alot of his attention is on ur chest too, weighing it, squeezing. Stuff w warm body heat too, Just all around big loving

Thank you so much if you decide to do this and incredibly sorry if I messed up in my ask in anyway 💖💖💖

Chilchuck x Chubby!Reader SFW/NSFW HCs

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

a/n: I will do the Laois one in a separate post!! The Chilchuck ideas just… spoke to me!! Also pls send me Dungeon Meshi requests… I’m open to writing for all the adult characters…

warnings: boob sucking, tittyfucking, breeding, cockwarming, thigh fucking, pussy eating

SFW

-you’re probably the only one in the party that he can sleep next to without complaining. you’re soft and warm, and when you ask if you can share his bed with him for the night because it’s cold, he’s… a bit too eager to lift up his blanket for you to join him.

-he complains that you don’t eat enough, and ends up giving you bits of his lunch and dinner. he just think your chubby cheeks are so cute when you’re chewing and likes to watch you eat. he does worry for you though…

-if it’s dark and you’re a bit afraid, he’ll hold your hand. if you ask him why in front of Laois or Marcille he’ll get all flustered and say he didn’t want you to trip him up.

-he only reaches your boobs, which is both a blessing and a curse for him. he can look at your boobs all day with little to no suspicion, but he also gets pulled into your boobs quite often when you hug him or try and save him from an attack. that might sound good to some people, but to him it gets him all flustered and hard embarrassed, then he gets teased by Marcille :(

-oh my gosh snuggles with him are so nice. he’s rather light so once the two of you are close, he’ll lie on top of you and bury his face in your chest or tummy! he’s actually quite the cuddlebug, and will want to snuggle you every single night after the first time.

-your tummy… he loves it so much. Chilchuck is quite the fan of anything soft, so more often than not, when he’s taking a nap he’ll have his head in your lap and face buried in your chubby tummy.

-he’s a bit embarrassed to show you affection in front of the others, so ways he shows he cares are usually subtle unless it’s behind closed doors or away from prying eyes. he peels your apples for you, bandages you up after you get hurt, will tug on your shirt to remind you that he’s here and that he loves you, and give your palm secret kisses when no one’s looking.

-he’s surprisingly possessive? when Laois looks at you, even if he’s just curious and wants to ask you questions, Chilchuck rushes over and finds some excuse to pull you away. he’s the most worried about Laois, but doesn’t like Senshi being all close to you either. he puts up with it more though, but dislikes that Senshi acts like yours and his relationship is like puppy love(Chilchuck is a grown ass man 😭)

-he’s very soft with you, very rarely being sarcastic or short with you specifically. he made you cry once early on in your relationship and it absolutely devastated him, so since then he’s been a lot more careful about what he says

-speaking of crying, he can’t stand your tears, it makes him nervous. if you’re a cry baby be prepared for him to be fretting over you constantly!

-you’re the person everyone in the party wants to snuggle with when it gets cold, so he has to shoo people away, blushing and stuttering about how they’re crowding you. once they’re all pouting and walking away, he huffs and snuggles up to you. you find his jealousy pretty cute, so you lift up your shirt a little so he can duck under it and rest his head on your chubby tummy or breasts.

-your chubby cheeks activate his cuteness aggression. he didn’t even know he liked cute things until he saw your cheeks puffed out and warm after someone made you mad. he nearly stopped breathing, it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t help but cup your cheek in his hands. your face heated up even more when he stared up at your with those adoring eyes, gently pinching your cheeks. “soft… so soft and warm…”

-he can be a bit clingy at times, especially when it gets colder out. when you go to sleep, he has to sleep under your shirt, his head on your chest or tummy. you complain about him stretching your your shirts, but he thinks the slightly oversized look is cute on you. honestly, everything is cute on you, because you’re adorable to him.

NSFW

-boobies… he loves your boobs so much. they’re soft and warm, feeling nice and heavy in his hands when he holds them. loves when he gets to bury his face in your bare chest and just snooze… but he also adores getting to play with your nipples, gently nibbling and suckling on the perky buds. he won’t lie, he can get hard just from looking at your clothed chest…

-he is absolutely a service dom that wants to make you feel good, but he can also enjoy being taken care of sometimes!

-enjoys being between your thighs more than he likes to admit. the first time he tasted your pussy was also the first time you ever saw him look so… in love. he gets pussy drunk within minutes, not able to stop sucking on your sensitive clit until you push his head away. he had a wife so he’s definitely experienced with pleasing a woman, so don’t be surprised when he has you cumming on his tongue for an hour or more! <3

-when he’s feeling a bit horny and doesn’t want to bother you at night, he’ll kiss your temple and hold onto your hips as he fucks your thighs, his cock lightly brushing against your pussy. your thighs are fat and soft, and he just loves nestling his cock between them!

-sometimes he’s just tired and wants some snuggles, so he’ll have his cock buried inside of you while you sit on his lap. the first time he asked for this you were terrified you’d crush him because he’s so small and you’re chubby, but he begged for it, something he had never done before. you relented, and as soon as he was buried inside of you, with his head nuzzled against your chest, he looked just too content. “thank you, love… it’s perfect…”

-he’s embarrassed by how good it feels to hear you moan his name, when you say how his cock feels so nice when it hits that certain spot and how you’re gonna cum way quicker than he expected. you being so attracted to him, feeling so much pleasure by him just thrusting into you gets him feeling giddy!

-he most certainly has a bit of a breeding kink… he has 3 daughters already that he loves, but… the urge to claim you and give you a child as well does make his body heat up and his pants grow tight. Chilchuck would like to get you pregnant, but only when it’s safe to do so. he doesn’t pull out though… he just can’t, it’s too tempting and you’re way too warm and cozy… it’s why he loves cockwarming so much!

-circling back to boobs… he’s definitely the type to enjoy a good tittyfuck, but it’ll take him a while to accept this. he’s utterly embarrassed to have his cock anywhere near your face due to being a bit shy, but once he’s nestled between your breasts and your tongue touches the tip of his cock, he groans, nearly cumming right then and there. he’s already a huge fan of your breasts, so feeling them on his cock is otherworldly, and it becomes one of his favorite ways to relieve stress

-he likes to either cum inside of you or on your tummy… he refuses to cum on your face, and will only cum in your mouth if you ask. when he fucks your thighs, he does tend to make a mess all over you and feels awful since it’s not exactly easy to bathe regularly in the dungeon. but you do look awfully cute, messy and sticky with his cum, puffing out your chubby cheek to give him a pout.

[eloquentlytired]

— when the time comes

pairing: old man!logan howlett x gn! reader

word count: no idea but this one isn't very long.

part two is out!

tags: major character death — angst — reader is logan’s sunshine — mention of blood & wounds — logan low-key proposing 5 seconds before he dies — non established relationship

author's note: this has been on my mind since 2 days ago so I had to do it now.. I hope you guys enjoy reading this heartbreak! and yes I wrote this after watching Logan (2017) again. just a bit of an alternative type of ending so I can write abt logan x reader! as always reblogs & likes & conversations are sooo welcome ^_^

god stood me up

and I don't know why

lights are on

but nobody's home

you find him leaning against a tree trunk, a chunk of wood piercing his sides open as blood soaks through his shirt. that isn't the only wound he's sporting but it's the most evident one; the one that'll possibly lead him to his demise.

logan blinks upon noticing you as if he's just seeing things or dreaming. when you crouch down beside him and place your hand on his arm, he realizes exactly just how real you are. “logan?” there are tears in your eyes and he hates that you're crying because of him again. you had been living with him, charles and caliban way before it all turned to shit. and somehow the only ones left standing were laura and you. and the kids that logan had managed to save; he truly had saved so many lives.

there's a silence aside from his heavy breathing before your shaky hands cup his face. the blood flows out of his wound and mouth like a river. in some way you're bleeding too — inside your heart. “hey sunshine.” logan whispers with a soft smile and you feel something tear your chest apart from the inside. “I made you cry again.” you see the way his hand twitches by his side. he wants to touch you but he's old and tired and wounded. there's no energy left in him to move anymore. “the kids are okay, laura is okay— I have the car and..and there's still time— the hospital—” your voice trails off when logan closed his eyes.

“you know what makes me angry, sunshine?” logan asks and you simply stare at him, shaking your head. when he opens his eyes again, they are full of unshed tears. “gonna miss my daughter’s first birthday with me—” logan mutters brokenly and the vision of laura swims beneath his half-opened eyelids. and after laura there is you; smiling. at the beach. you've always wanted to go to the beach with him but he never took you since he was working day and night to take care of everything. of everyone. “and i’m also gonna miss my sunshine.” his eyes fall on you, on your crying face. the tears sliding down your cheeks are plenty and there is so much emotion pooling in those orbs of yours. logan wants to kiss you, tell you it'll be alright. but he can’t even move.

he coughs, some blood spluttering on his white shirt and you flinch. your fingers shake as you slide them through his messy hair, stroking them in the way he’s always loved. “logan, I'm sorry...I— I'm so sorry logan..” you keep chanting and logan feels the frustration in his bones when he tries to move his arms. he can't, he's too weak now, and he's angry with himself that he's unable to comfort you the way he wants. the way he once could but never did. “not you nor the entire world could ever prevent this, sunshine. it was meant to be like this.” he says before coughing again, more blood trickling down his beard.

you crawl by his side, on the dirty ground, and press against his ‘good’ side while leaning your head on his shoulder. you tilt your head back enough for your eyes to reach his exhausted face. logan maintains a smile you haven't seen in forever. in damn years to be precise. “charles spoke to me of other timelines and some shit about— multiverse was it?” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “I don't fucking know. I just wanted him to take the damn pills.” his sentence makes both of you laugh although logan is holding back with that — it'll only cause more physical pain after all. “point is..if it's true then—”

“—we gotta find each other yeah? and laura.” his eyes aren't on you anymore but they're in the sky. it's bluer than ever and the clouds part to show him the sun. logan doesn't look away even if it makes his eyes ache. you stare. “wanna make it right, sunshine.” he tells you as you sniffle by him. his fingers flinch again between your bodies and you slide a single hand down to hold his own, to intertwine your fingers in a gentle mess. “but for now I want to rest.” logan whispers and your grip tightens around his hand. if he had the strength, he'd squeeze back. you knew this.

“you did excellent.” you finally manage to say, a little steadier this time. logan averts his gaze to you as you continue. “you did a good job. you did such a good job.” you repeat with a smile so soft that logan starts yearning for you already. his faint chuckle turns into a rough cough and he takes some time to recover before speaking again.

“maybe after I rest, I'll open my eyes and..” you watch as logan’s eyes begin closing and how the heaving of his chest slows. he's deathly pale by now, the veins underneath his eyes are prominent, but your grip never slackens. you crawl closer until your foreheads touch. logan draws one last breath and you swallow down your cry. “and I'll see my daughter. and my... spouse.” your eyes shoot open wide but logan’s remain fallen shut. your chest heaves up and down intensely but logan’s remains still.

when the time comes, your feet are forcefully dragging you away towards your old car while logan lies beneath the ground.

[wnbnny]

we can't be friends - l.mh

genre: idol!minho x reader, lovers to exes to lovers

tw: angst, hurt, breaking up, erasing of memories (almost) , mutual pining, did i mention angst, reader is kinda depressed, like two kisses ig

status: delivered !

word count: 4.0k

author's note: aaaa omd it's finally done >< reblogs + likes are appreciated!!

lee minho. your muse, your life, your heart.

he broke your heart one stormy sunday night and you hated him as you watched him leave with tears in both of your eyes.

granted, he did break your heart for your own good, to save you from the dangers of being with him. but you didn't care, not when he was your universe, your world. you would gladly take a bullet for him.

just as he would take a bullet for you.

minho knew leaving would break you, just as much as it would break him, but he needed to do it. life as an idol was already dangerous enough with all the death threats and saesangs, but the moment 'fans' caught even the slightest whiff of you they would hunt you down and hurt you, and minho simply couldn't let that happen. he knew you wouldn't care about all the danger as long as you were with him, but he did. minho would never forgive himself if something happened to you all because he had given in to his innermost wants and kept you by his side.

so he left.

november 8th, 2019, 8.46 pm.

"i want to break up." he said, one sunday night. the rain was pouring outside, flashes of thunder and lightning ringing through the sky occasionally. in the quiet and comfort of your shared apartment, with the dim glow of lamps illuminating your features, in that moment, for a split second, minho wanted to stay. he wanted to pretend everything was alright, to have you stay by his side and be happy together, but he knew he shouldn't. the two of you were eating dinner, sitting at the small round dining table in your kitchen tucking into your homemade kimchi stew. god, he would miss your kimchi stew, he thought miserably. 

"what?" your world felt like it had stopped, your hand frozen in place as you slowly tilted your head to look at your boyfriend sitting across from you.

"i... want to break up." he repeated robotically.

"minho, where is this coming from? did i do something wrong? please... just talk to me," you begged, panic starting to flood your mind as tears threatened to spill over. you couldn't believe what he had just said. the both of you had been perfectly fine before, the both of you were happy, why was he doing this? were you not good enough for him? did he fall in love with someone else? the thought alone made you weak.

"i just... it's for the best. i'm putting you in danger every day, fans will hurt you if they find out i'm with you. i can't let that happen."

"i don't care if they try to hurt me, minho. as long as i'm with you, it’s- " you reached for his hand, and could feel your heart finally sinking to the bottom as you saw his face, screwed into an expression of hurt and resignation as he shook his head.

"just... don't forget me in the future, okay?" before you could say anything, minho was already out of his seat, grabbing his coat and his phone, already reaching for the front door.

"wait! minho-" you jumped out of your seat in alarm and desperation, clinging to his arm as he looked back at you with a pained expression. 

"please- we can work this out, just don't leave me," you pleaded, tears already cascading down your face. you must've looked a pathetic mess in that moment, sniffling and sobbing, yet minho still thought you were the most beautiful person to ever exist as he memorised your face for one last time.

finally, minho turned around, cupping your face in his hands. your hands reached up to hold his, as he memorised your every detail for the last time. minho's lips found their way to your forehead, then the corner of your eyes, then your lips as he kissed you tenderly for the last time as you sobbed in his arms.  

"i'm sorry." he whispered, before pushing you back as you cried out and stumbled backwards, opening the door, walking out of the apartment and out of your life.

december 25th, 2019, 11.28 pm. 

your diary.

i still think of you, you know. i still see your face in the windows of that cafe shop we used to go to whenever i pass by. i know you're not in there, and i'm hallucinating. i can't go in there anymore, not without thinking of you. i can't even watch the television anymore without having to see your face. listened to your new comeback. that song was about me, wasn't it? 

it's christmas now. i adopted some presents for you. you would love them, the three cats. i named them soongie, doongie, and dori. quite fitting, they're playful like you. they'll never meet their father. i still wore your hoodie, the green one i always wore every christmas. you used to wear my red hoodie, but i guess you won't be here to wear it anymore. it still smells like you. 

i still wonder why you left. was such a pathetic excuse as me potentially being hurt the only reason why you would leave me? you knew i didn't care if i was hurt, so long as i was with you. you still left. i hate you for that, but deep down i could never hate you. i still love you.

january 7th, 2020, 2.35 pm.

you strolled down the busy streets of seoul, a long oversized fluffy coat resting on your shoulders and your nose pink from the cold. a sigh of relief escaped your lips when you finally stepped foot into the cozy ambience of a random cafe alongside the road, the warm air blowing gently at you helping to relieve the coldness settling into your bones. ordering a latte and a small cake which were promptly delivered to your table, you settled down to scroll through the news.

new technology developed, scientists say new machinery can effectively target and erase memories of specific people and objects. is now being offered at multiple mental health clinics nationwide at a low cost, guaranteed 90% success rate. for sign-ups and further information, please contact...

you raised your eyebrows at the news, marvelling slightly at how advanced technology seemed to be developing at this rate. thinking nothing of it, you simply continued scrolling.

january 7th, 2020, 12.02 pm.

you sighed as you flopped onto your bed, tired from a day of work and countless emails sent. feeling a warm, soft head poke it's way under your arm, you smiled softly, hand reaching out to scratch doongie's head as he meowed in content. smiling softly, you felt two large lumps jump onto your bed and settle on you, soongie choosing to settle on your feet and dori choosing to burrow his way under you arm as you giggled. 

"soongie, you're so heavy," you laughing light-heartedly as your oldest cat let out a 'meow' of indignation at your words. 

minho would love the cats so much...

your smile drooped, feeling that warm familiar sensation pricking at your eyes again. 

god, how stupid. it had been two months already and you were still hung up on him. everywhere you went, you saw his face, on advertisments at the bus stop, billboards in the shopping districts, to even advertisments on youtube, and every single time your old memories with minho would surface and you would miss him again.

memories...

oh. the news of the memory erasure experiment.

would it hurt to try? you tried imagining forgetting minho. for him to just be another face on the billboard, a random k-pop idol to you. to forget you had ever even loved him and forget that he ever loved you. the pain would be gone. your heart would no longer ache each day, you would no longer think of him and he would no longer cloud your mind.

picking up your phone, your finger hovered above the 'call' button.

"hello? this is the seoul medical psychiatry clinic speaking. how may i help you?"

"i..." you paused, gnawing at your bottom lip.

"i would like to make an appointment."

january 19th, 2020, 1.28 pm.

"welcome! do you have a booked appointment?" the receptionist greeted cheerfully as you stepped into the reception and seating area of the clinic, a large box full of items in your hands. the hallways were filled with posters and quotes, the beanbags and seats painted in warm and soothing colours. 

"yes, doctor kim at 1.35pm." you answered, watching as the receptionist typed a few words into her computer.

"ah yes, under the name yoon y/n, right?" she clicked her tongue, "for... memory erasure?" she glanced at you with a look full of sympathy, as if you were some lost wounded puppy. 

"yes." you confirmed, lips pursing together slightly as you stared down at the box.

"good, and you've got your box of items already. do double check to make sure they are linked to that specific person only, we wouldn't want any erasure of other memories woth different people."

you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"yeah, i have." 

"great, we'll be calling for you later, the doctor will run you through the procedure and then the operation will commence. take a seat first," she gestured to the seating area. not long after, you heard your name.

"yoon y/n?" 

you hurriedly stood up, making your way towards the nurse and following her into the operation room. the operation room was white and cold, lacking any warmth and colour, filled with odd looking machinery and lab coats and tools. you were sat down on a chair, and your box of items given to the nurse who began taking them out one by one while another nurse attached a few wires to your skin to a machine on the right which measured your heart rate, a steady thump-thump-thump. the first nurse began to place your items in a row, scanning each one under a machine.

beep.

minho's green hoodie.

beep.

the snow globe the both of you had bought together at a winter festival.

beep.

polariods of you and him.

beep.

a cat plushie you had gifted him in celebration of his lastest comeback before he had left.

beep.

matching mugs the two of you had bought.

minho. everything, everywhere, everyone reminded you of minho. it felt like you were drowning, consumed by him.

"alright, i'll be placing the device on your head. the device will take you through individual memories of the person, but you will have to re-experience certain bigger core memories again as those take a longer time to process. if at any point should you feel distressed or want to stop, please press the red button beside you, and should you want to restore your memories we will reload them back into your brain. however, if you choose not to restore the memories, we will automatically delete them after 30 days." the doctor explained, showing you a strange contraption with two pulse points connecting to either side of your temple.

beside you, the heart rate measured by the machine started beeping faster.

you nodded. 

the cold, tingly terminals of the device connected with either side of your temples, the unfamiliar feeling odd and alienating. 

then all turned black.

"min! look, they have matching mugs! we should get them," you pointed excitedly to two mugs at a stall in a summer fair you and minho had just happened to pass by. you watched as your old self pointed to the mugs happily, "the world's best boyfriend" and "the world's best girlfriend" written on each mug respectively. "that's so cheesy," minho said, a grin on his face as he pulled you close to him by your waist. well, the old minho in your memories. it felt like a punch in the gut yet the cure to your pain as you stared at his face again in your re-lived memory, his oh-so-familar grin plastered on his stupidly handsome face. "yeah, but it's cute!" you exclaimed, turning to face minho. "pleaseeee," you begged, lips downturned in a pout and your eyes shining hopefully as you tugged on his arm. "fine," minho groans, eventually giving in into your request, feigning annoyace by rolling his eyes yet still smiling at your delighted expression. 

god, you missed him so much.

the memory shifted, warping into another blurry picture.

this time, it was another memory that faded in, a memory of you and him sitting in the living room unwrapping your christmas presents. minho tore open his box eagerly, laughing as he held up a green hoodie from his favorite brand gifted to him by you, coupled with some other things like perfume and a brand new wallet. "oops... might've gifted you an accidental matching hoodie by accident," he smiled sheepishly, as you opened your present, some jewelry with . "a red hoodie! now we can match," you snickered, pulling the soft hoodie over your head and slipping it on. "hey, we look like the christmas colours!" you laughed, pouncing on him and tackling him down to make him wear his one as he whined in protest. eventually you did managed to get him to put it on and pose for some pictures, albeit him being disgruntled but still giving in to you anyways.

a tear trickled down your face, landing on your lap as your hands on the chair tightened, gripping the armrests so hard your knuckles started turning white.

the memory started to fade away.

"min! the new comeback was so good, i watched the music video just now," you exclaimed, bounding up to him the moment he opened the front door to your shared apartment. "thanks baby," he smiled, leaning in for a quick peck but suddenly finding a soft plushie being thrust into his hands. it was a plush of a brown and white striped cat, soft to the touch and extremely squishable. "what's this for?" he raised eyebrow, cocking his head in confusion as he stared at you. "it's to celebrate your comeback, I figured i'd give you something to cuddle when i'm not around you," you smiled, "i named the cat mr sprinkles." "who names a plush toy mr sprinkles?" minho laughs, watching as you huff at him about how the name was cute and he was being mean. "thank you though, i appreciate it," he kissed you softly, smiling at the small act of love.

no, stop-

you started to whimper and thrash around.

fade to black again.

"min, look," minho turned to you as you were admiring the ornaments at a booth, the both of you coming across a christmas market and deciding to explore it. "it's a snow globe of us," you pointed out to a small snow globe, with a man and women as figurines in the center of the snow globe and fake snow swirling in the water around them. "it does look like us, doesn't it?" he hummed, pressing a soft kiss into your hair as you subconsciously leaned into him. "we should get it," he suggested, smiling at how your eyes lit up and how you pressed a kiss to his cheek. the two of you purchased the item, and then bought some hot chocolate to sip on to relieve the cold setting into your bones. "jagi-ah," minho called, prompting you to look up at him before gasping in surprise. the first snow of the season. "you know, they say the person you witness the first snow with will be with you for a long, long time." minho grinned, leaning down to kiss you tenderly before intertwining your hands. 

you didn't want to forget him, you realized, as you gasped for air, heartbeat skyrocketing as you tried to open your mouth to scream. no, you would never want to forget minho. you would rather cling onto those memories and deal with the pain forever than never having remembered him.

the memory faded.

you gasped in surprise as you ripped open the box, holding up a brand-new, shiny polariod camera wrapped in a gift box, its paper shreds used to cushion the camera hapazardly strewn about the floor.  minho watched you with a small smile on his face, eyes sparkling as he happily obliged to any pose you wanted to do with him, groaning half-heartedly but still laughing at the silly faces you made.

the memory started to fade again.

"STOP!" your finger found the red button, desperately pressing it in an attempt to get the machine to start working. all of a sudden, you were jolted back into your consciousness in the middle of the white sterile room again, heaving and gasping for air as you tried to adjust back to the surroundings. 

"are you okay? do you need to stop the operation?" the nurse asked, a concerned look on her face. beside you, the machine was beeping, a erratic rhythm.

beep. beep. beep. beep.

your hand reached up to fiddle with your necklace, looking left and right. you swallowed, a lump in your throat.

"yes."

----------

you stumbled out the clinic, hands clutching onto the box of items tightly as your eyes adjusted to the bright light of the sun. 

hands shaking, you pulled out your phone.

'my love,' the contact at the top of the screen read. you hadn't called him in months, ever since he had broken up with you. you has tried for a few weeks, but day after day of missed calls was heartbreaking.

you pressed the button.

one ring.

two rings.

three rings.

four rings...

"hello?"

a voice you hadn't heard for months. a voice you had only been hearing in your dreams.

"minho-" a strangled sob left your lips.

"please." you could only force out a choked plea, tears falling rapidly, stumbling onto a nearby bench. people started at you as they walked by, a woman breaking down in a random street in seoul oddly disconcerting.

"where are you? i'll come get you." the moment you heard the concern laced in his voice, your eyes brimmed with more unshed tears, stifling a sob that threatened to escape. in the background, you could hear the sound of things being knocked over, presumably minho rushing to get to you.

you told him your location in between shaky breaths, occasional hiccups interrupting your sentence. 

"just wait for me, ok? don't move anywhere," minho firmly instructed, voice soft and calming.

a few minutes passed, and he was nowhere to be found.

he would hate you for this, you realized. you didn't deserve him. he tried so hard to keep you safe, and how did you repay him? by almost erasing all memories of him. the thought of it just broke your heart even more, for if he knew what you had tried to do he would never want to have anything to do with you again.

"y/n!" you heard a voice yell, whipping around only to see minho running to you at full speed.  you had never been more glad to see him, your knees instantly buckling as you collapsed into his arms, crying into the crook of his neck as you clutched onto him like a lifeline. 

you didn't think you would ever get used to this feeling, you thought. his touch, warmth, his gentle strokes of your hair and whispered sweet nothings were like music to your ears, his hand coming up to rest on your back and his other coming up to gently stroke your hair as he swayed you back and forth. he had clearly just ran from dance practice, you realized, slightly sweaty and panting ever so slightly. 

"what's wrong, jagi?" he murmured, soft brown eyes searching your own red and teary ones.

"i- i didn't want to remember you because it was too painful, and then i tried to erase my memories of you, but i realized i didn't want to and i really, really, really fucking miss you and it hurts-" your rambling was cut off by a hiccup, lips quivering as you stared back into his eyes.

here comes the part where he realizes your a disgusting bitch and hates you forever, you thought miserably.

"shh, it's ok," minho pulled you closer, engulfing you in his warmth as his hand rose up to cup your cheek.

what?

he was supposed to hate you, not do... this. you literally tried to erase all memories of him, he should be angry and offended, so why...?

nonetheless, you would take what you could get in what you assumed to be your last moments with him, so instead you leaned into his touch, memorising his every detail again. his soft brown eyes framed with delicate lashes, sharp nose and jawline, the pink rosy tint to his cheeks as the winter wind whipped around you.

"i'm sorry," you begged, "just don't hate me."

"i never did, silly." minho laughed softly, a wistful smile gracing his lips.

"but you left me." you said, confused.

"i left you because i loved you. it was just for your own safety, i didn't care about anything else," minho explained, brows furrowing slightly.

oh.

minho stumbled backwards as you crashed into him with a force, nearly knocking him over as you crashed your lips onto his, hands threading through his soft silky hair and teeth knocking against his. it was a heated, messy kiss, teeth clashing and tears streaming down your face, yet minho didn't seem to mind as he deepened the kiss with a fervour, all seeming to pour out of him, pain and regret, relief and want. it is only when you seperate with a gasping breath of air that you finally see his swollen, reddened lips.

“i’ll figure something out, i’ll talk to the company, make a statement or something- i won’t let anyone get to you, i promise,” he rambled, a giddy smile on his face. right now, minho could care less about the repercussions, even if he had to move mountains just to be by your side and keep you safe at the same time. 

you giggled, an infectious laugh bubbling out of you. the both of you, crying in the middle of a street, hands intertwined and both a mess, yet you had never been happier with the person you truly loved. 

“we'll be alright now.” you whispered. it wasn’t just a statement but a promise, one to keep forever.

december 25th, 2020, 1.43 pm.

“min! come look!” you squealed in delight, eyes lighting up when you were finally done. minho glanced over, and sure enough, you were up to mischief again, the three cats dressed in ugly christmas sweaters with cartoonish designs on them and matching hats on their heads. doongie let out a ‘meow’ of indignation, protesting as minho roared with laughter to scoop him and his fellow cats up. laughter bubbling out of your lips, you quickly grabbed your phone to take a picture of minho and the three cats, his face lighting up in amusement as he watched them try to squirm out of his grasp. 

“i love you, you know that?” minho says that night, the two of you cuddled up on the couch with the cats, watching your favourite seasonal christmas movies together and snacking on popcorn.

“i don’t say it enough, partly because i’m not good at expressing myself, but i love you. your smile and personality and everything. just thought you should know.” the tips of his ears are red as he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

you smile, a red tint blossoming across your cheeks as you lean in to kiss him softly.

“i love you too min.” 

how did you ever get so lucky? you think, leaning in to rest your head on minho’s shoulder as you resumed watching the movie, one hand absentmindedly scratching dori’s head as he purrs in contentment. here, in the dim light of the cozy apartment with minho, love heavy in the air around you two and christmas lights twinkling merrily, you think you have everything you have ever wanted in life.

after all, it didn't really matter where you were, as long as minho was by your side.

taglist: @starseungs @missmajdastark @jazziwritesthings @layviyu @lailac13 @ana-marais98 @foxinthewild @dandelions-143 @rylea08 @linocz @minseongsworld @realrintaro @kkamismon12 @felinows @baribaaari

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken II (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity.

Author's Note: So, this did end up getting split in two. It just reached a natural stopping point and it made more sense to add a part IV instead of have an unnaturally long part II.

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

The next morning, she watched with red-rimmed eyes as the sun emerged over the horizon. As the brightness forced her to look away, she took a moment to thank whichever god had given her the foresight to send Aemond to sleep elsewhere. It had been another horrid night, and to explain it after all that had been said between them would have been far beyond miserable.

He would return soon, she was sure. With new honeyed words and gentle touches. With his beautiful pleading eye and perfect pouting mouth. With the softness of the elusive loving smile he reserved only for her.

Or did he? He had given Alys so many things she thought only they shared. Why wouldn’t he give the whore that smile as well?

The very thought had her stomach lurching again, but she raised herself to sit against the head of the bed and steeled herself against being sick. She took deep, controlled breaths, turned towards the eastern window to feel the fresh air coming off the bay, and set her mind free to wander.

Not entirely free, however. She did not let her thoughts go anywhere near her husband.

Instead, she thought of only nice things. The flowers that would soon bloom in the gardens with the coming of spring. The fresh fruits that would once more grace her table. Weather fine enough that she could ride through the Kingswood on her beloved steed, Litse, once more.

Eventually, the roiling faded, and she looked down to her stomach. “Kōdrȳsi rhinkpa jemo gaomua hae jālosa yno gaoman?” Is that as unpleasant for you as it is for me?

A soft thump near the top of her stomach felt very much like a noncommittal answer.

She laughed a little. “Iā jeme ñuha boteri raqāt daor?” Or do you enjoy making me suffer?

That question received no answer.

Just when she was about to say something more, she heard the door to her chambers creaking open and soft footsteps approaching. Of course, he would come to her so early; he had always slept so little. She clenched the sheets in her fists, preparing to face Aemond once more.

But it was not Aemond who walked through the door.

Instead of a single violet eye, she was met with a warm, brown, tear-filled pair that matched her own, and a helpless cry escaped her lips before desperate sobs overtook her. “Mama!”

Alicent ran to her side, taking her only remaining daughter in her arms and fighting back her tears. One hand rubbed soothing circles on her back while the other gently cupped her chin and lifted it so she could look into her daughter’s eyes. “Oh, my dearest girl…”

She buried her face in her mother’s rich auburn hair, savoring the comforting smell she’d known since infancy. There was no question that Alicent had been told about Aemond’s misdeeds – though whether he told her himself or she heard another way, she could not decide.

“I hate him,” she whispered weakly.

“No, you don’t,” Alicent countered immediately. She pulled away, took her hands, and softened her voice. “You are not capable of hating Aemond, my dear. Nor is he capable of hating you.”

“Then why did he do this to me?”

Alicent sighed, brow furrowing as she pondered her son’s actions. She did not have a good answer, for Aemond had always been the perfect son, save for the death of Lucerys Velaryon, and now, she supposed, this. It was behavior she had anticipated from Aegon, or had in the past. With her eldest son, she knew he acted out of his anger that he could not be the son his father wanted.

But with Aemond…

Aemond loved his wife. He was discontented with many things in his life – his position as the second son, his injury, and his father’s negligence – but never with her. His gaze had never strayed to any other woman, even before their engagement. Once they were betrothed, it was rare to find his gaze anywhere else but on her. He was so happy with her, always. What could have altered his devotion?

“I do not know,” Alicent finally answered. The words did little to soothe her weeping daughter. “Men… they can be wonderful when they truly love you. But even then, they have their weaknesses. Aemond was gone a very long time. Perhaps he was simply lonely?”

She shook her head and ripped her hands from her mother’s. “If he was lonely, he could have come back to me. He was supposed to return to me several times but never did.”

While Aemond was at Harrenhal, she, Aegon, and their grandsire had sent countless ravens asking for his return. Otto and Aegon asked so they could hear the news from the battlefield and try to adjust their plans accordingly. She asked because she missed and needed him. Badly.

He always sent some excuse. The battle was not yet over. Vhagar was too tired to fly. He did not want to leave his stronghold undefended when enemies lurked nearby. She had trusted each excuse like a fool.

“Did you know she’s carrying his child?” she asked, drawing the blankets further up her chest as if she could protect the life inside her from the horrible fact.

Alicent nodded. “I did. He told me.”

She frowned. At least Aemond had the decency to tell their mother himself. “What else did he tell you?”

“He was very upset, my dear.” She tried to suppress the kernel of joy that sparked at her mother’s words. “Not at you, of course, but at himself.”

“As he should be.”

“Yes, he should. But he loves you so much,” Alicent grimaced, setting a hand on her daughter’s belly. “And he loves your family so much. He is inconsolable at the thought that you may never forgive him.”

That kernel of joy went up in flames, and she looked at her mother with unfettered rage. “Why should I forgive him? He has betrayed me and has done nothing to regain my trust beyond his weak, selfish apologies.”

“Yes, but –”

“He lied to me again last night!” she cried. “He said it was only once. He looked me in the eye and lied! And he thought I would be stupid enough to believe him.”

Alicent sighed heavily as she looked away from her daughter. This wasn’t like Aemond – none of it was. Even after hearing his tearful explanation the night before, she was no closer to understanding it. Nor to finding a way to fix it.

“That was wrong of him,” she said at last. “All of it was – is. My dear, I do not know what to say or how to make it better. Your father, for all his faults, never strayed. I cannot begin to imagine the pain you are in. But – ”

“But what?” Her daughter glared at her with narrowed eyes, and her hand clenched into a fist by her side. “I cannot begin to imagine forgiving him, nor how I will ever look at him again without feeling this… this rage. Mother, I cannot be a wife to someone who hurt me so deeply, no matter his supposed remorse.”

She looked down at her stomach, then back to her mother. Though her eyes were red and wet, and her lip trembled, she wore a look of absolute determination. “I want to go. I don’t know where, but I don’t want to be here. I can’t bear to be with him.”

“Oh, my darling,” the queen pulled her daughter to her chest once more, not speaking again until she had calmed. “In any other circumstance, I would arrange for you to leave for Oldtown within the day. But it is not so simple.”

The princess stiffened in her mother’s arms.

“There are so few of us left, and we have already spent so much time apart. We cannot let ourselves become estranged.” Alicent bowed her forehead to rest against her daughter’s. “We cannot appear weak, especially not you and Aemond.”

She was frozen, but at that, she gathered enough strength to lift her eyes to look at her mother. “What do you mean, ‘especially’ not us?”

“There are no more heirs, darling, not of our line. But you,” her hand rested gently on her daughter’s cheek. “You are changing that. In mere weeks, your children – yours and Aemond’s – will become the new heirs to the throne.”

“They might not,” she argued weakly, her voice soft and breathless. “They may be daughters.”

Alicent smiled sadly, placing a hand gently at the top of the girl’s stomach. “This one has given you enough trouble that I would wager the Red Keep itself that he’s a boy.”

She put her hand over her mother’s as she tried and failed to smile. The Maester came to the same conclusion many weeks ago. Then, she had been thrilled at the possibility of giving Aemond an heir. Now, she wished desperately for daughters.

“Why do our heirs matter?” She asked. “Aegon will remarry and have his own soon enough.”

The question was met by a heavy, cloying silence.

“Mother?”

Alicent schooled her face into the careful neutrality that had served her so well as queen, though the tears shining in her dark eyes betrayed her heartbreak and grief. “I am afraid Aegon will not marry nor sire any more heirs. The Maesters… they predict he will leave us by the year’s end.”

Her heart stopped, then sank. “But that means Aemond…”

“Will be king soon,” Alicent confirmed. She again brushed her daughter’s hair behind her ears. “And you will be his queen.”

The implication hung over her like a black cloud: a queen could never leave her king.

-

Aemond knelt in the Royal Sept at the feet of the Father. He had not slept the night before, not after he told his mother what had happened and watched her cry harder than he had ever seen. He’d gone all the way back to his rooms – those he shared with his wife – before remembering the promise he had made.

He could not go back to her. To her arms. To his home.

So, he ended up in the Sept. He didn’t remember walking there, leaving the Holdfast and crossing the upper bailey. He just knew he’d been kneeling there long before the sun crested the horizon. He’d prayed and wept and begged the gods to either reveal to him a path to redemption or strike him down and spare him further torment.

The gods ignored him. He could not blame them for it.

His lamenting was halted by the sound of the carved stone doors opening, followed by a strangle rattling sound Aemond could not identify. He turned and saw his brother and king for the first time in months.

A servant stood behind Aegon to push the wheeled chair in which the kind sat with a blanket over his lap to conceal his crooked, atrophied legs, but was dismissed with a wave of a red, scarred hand. Aegon’s injuries after Rook’s Rest had been so horrific even Aemond struggled to look at him. The scars he now bore were hardly better. The king looked twisted, broken, and weak. It was a miracle little Jaehaera could look at her father without collapsing in terror.

As Aegon wheeled himself down the Sept aisle, Aemond steeled himself against the horrible expression on his brother’s face: empathy, disappointment, and rage.

In their youth, even Aegon had been protective of their youngest sister, to the point that he restrained himself from making too many lewd comments in her presence. And after years of Aemond calling him depraved, perverted, and whorish, he would, of course, delight in the irony that his little brother was just as weak as him.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Aegon drawled. His voice was as damaged as his body, weak and rasping. “But then I saw our mother. I always thought I was the only one that could make her look like that. So sad and weepy and disappointed.”

Aemond reminded himself that Aegon was finally the uncontested king and that throttling the life from him was now more than ever considered treason. “I hardly think you are qualified to pass judgment on me,” he growled.

“No,” Aegon smirked as he brought his chair to a stop at Aemond’s side. “But I think I am well qualified to gloat, don’t you?”

Suppressing his sneer, Aemond turned to face his brother. “Are you? How many unsuitable women have you bedded? How many bastards have you sired?” He scoffed, but his threadbare feeling of righteousness immediately gave under the lead weight of his desperation. “Why does my wife abhor me when I make this one mistake when Helaena never cared when you did the same over and over again?”

“Because Helaena never loved me, Aemond.” For the first time in their lives, Aegon was the calmer and more rational of the brothers. “She cared for me as a sister, but she never loved me as her husband. Not like our haedus loves you.”

“I love her, too.” Aemond’s face fell into utter regret and despair. “So much.”

“Yet you still broke her heart.”

Aemond turned back to the statue of the Father, bowing his head. “I did not mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt her – I would never intend to hurt her.”

“I know,” Aegon angled his chair and slumped slightly. “But you did. Over and over. I saw it. Not just with your adultery, but every time you did not come home when she asked. Whenever you took Vhagar into battle without warning her – and us. And each day you weren’t here when those babes put her through the seven hells with – ”

Aemond’s heart stopped, and his entire world with it.

“‘Babes?’”

Aegon’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t say that.”

The same blatant liar he’d been for years.

“You did,” Aemond insisted, his rage at himself now turning on his king, his mother, and everyone else who had kept this secret from him – other than his ābrazȳrītsos. He could still never be angry with her. “Why did you say that?”

After a moment of frustrated silence, Aegon finally answered. “Because the Maesters have determined that your wife is carrying twins. Something you would know if you had come home when we asked.”

“I was fighting your war,” Aemond growled, rising to his feet so his brother could no longer look down at him, “to defend your throne. It was not always possible for me to return.”

“You mean it was ‘never’ possible, right?” In that moment, Aegon truly seemed a king – mature and wise for the first time Aemond had ever seen. He almost resembled their father, as he had been on the few occasions they saw him sit the throne. “You never returned. Not for your duties, and not for your wife.”

“I…”

“If you’d come home immediately after you first fucked whoever-she-is, or any other time we summoned you, perhaps things would be better. But you didn’t, and now you must deal with the consequences of your own stupid mistakes. Again.”

Aemond flinched at the harsh words but could not deny their veracity. The death of Lucerys Velaryon had sparked a war that nearly tore House Targaryen and the realm apart. Now this… this could tear his marriage apart.

His family could be broken beyond repair before their child – their children – were ever born.

A scar-mottled hand grabbed his arm, pulling him away from his despair. “I apologize. I did not come here to make you feel worse than I am sure you already do.”

“Why did you come, then?” Aemond stared at the mangled hand that held him still. He could not bear to look in his brother’s eyes.

Aegon sighed. “I am sending you back to Harrenhal.”

“No.” Aemond ripped his arm away.

“Brother, the peace talks…”

“I said no.” He clenched his fists.

Aegon slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the sound echoing through the Sept. “I am your king, and I am giving you an order! You do not get to say ‘no.’”

Aemond froze, his rage roiling, desperate to spill over. But Aegon was his king, and other than his ābrazȳrītsos, his duty to the throne and his family was the thing most dear to him. So, he remained still and silent as he listened without protest.

“Cregan Stark and his army are due to arrive at Harrenhal in mere days,” Aegon explained. “I am in no condition to travel so far, and it would insult Stark and the others who were loyal to Rhaenyra to ask them to travel even further. So, as you are still Prince Regent, you will return to the Riverlands and act as my proxy in the negotiations.”

Absorbed by all that had happened since he’d arrived in King’s Landing, Aemond had entirely forgotten that particular duty. He’d known he had to attend before he left, but how could he go now? What would his wife think if he went back to Harrenhal – where Alys remained – so soon?

“You will take our sister with you.”

“I cannot,” the weak, whispered words escaped him without thought, “I cannot do that to her. You cannot do that to her.”

Somehow, the idea of bringing her with him to Harrenhal was worse than returning there himself. What would happen if she saw Alys? Spoke to her? She was already so hurt, and he did not want her to break entirely. He could not stand it. He would not allow it.

“Aegon, please,” he begged, dignity cast aside in favor of protecting his ābrazȳrītsos. “Do not make her go.”

The king straightened in his chair. “I wish I did not have to. She has already endured so much, and I have no desire to cause her more pain. But I have no other option.”

“Why? What could be more important than keeping her safe?”

Aegon’s face was drawn and filled with regret and grief. “Ensuring the realm sees you as a strong king when I am gone.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the Red Keep itself, and Aemond’s heart grew heavier still when he realized what his brother meant.

“You do not have much time left, do you?”

“Likely only a few months, according to the Maesters. But I’ll be gone by year’s end,” Aegon answered, trying and failing to summon a wry smile. “It’s almost not worth it to un-name you Prince Regent, when the crown will soon be yours once more.”

Silence fell once more.

Aemond wanted to argue. Against going to Harrenhal. Against bringing her with him. Against being king. For if he was king…

“She will be bound to me forever,” he said, not realizing he was saying it aloud, “in a way far stronger than just our shared blood or marriage. She will never be able to leave me.”

Aegon gripped the arm of his chair tighter. “Is that what you want?”

“I…” Yes. No. Aemond fumbled for his words, running a hand down his face as his thoughts raced through his mind like a thousand whirling dragons. “I want her to stay with me, but not at the cost of her happiness.”

Aegon considered the answer, the picture of a king passing judgment. At last, he nodded once. “Even if she decides she hates you, she will not leave. Her sense of duty is nearly as strong as yours, and she would never wish to raise the babes without their father.” He gestured to himself, then Aemond. “She knows well what becomes of children with no true father.”

There came a knock on the Sept door before Aemond could say anything more

Aegon sighed. “It is time for you to leave, I’m afraid. The wheelhouse is waiting.”

“What about – ”

Aegon waved a hand. “Mother went to your rooms this morning to explain the situation to her and help her prepare for the journey.”

“Can we not simply fly?” Aemond did not want for her to have to be stuck with him for the entire journey. The gods forbid that they should be made to share a tent or room at a roadside inn. Though doing so would delight him. He’d missed her so much that he would gladly take any moment he could with her, even when she was so angry with him.

Because she would be angry with him, and spending time with him would do nothing but make her miserable. Her happiness was more important than his. Always.

His brother scoffed as he began wheeling down the aisle toward the door. “Not in her condition.”

Of course. Aemond felt a fool for not realizing it himself. He’d flown Vhagar with Alys, but… she was not as far along as his wife, nor as delicate. A carriage it must be.

He should never have flown with Alys. Not for her sake or that of her child, but because flying atop Vhagar was something he did with his ābrazȳrītsos. It was something sacred they shared, and he had willfully desecrated it.

Gods, he had to get Alys out of his head. He could never become the husband his wife deserved when the witch still haunted his every thought.

Aegon stopped at the threshold of the Sept, again reaching out to grab Aemond’s arm. His eyes glinted with violent promise as he locked eyes with his brother. “If you do anything to hurt her again, intentional or not, I will exile you to Essos, and you will never see her again. I will declare you dead and marry her myself to ensure her children inherit the throne.”

“She deserves a better husband than you,” Aemond spat. It would break him never to see her or their children. But he knew he would deserve it.

The king smiled wickedly, still only a shadow of his former self. “She deserves better than the both of us, brother.”

Aemond bit back his retort and inclined his head to his king as he had at the coronation. “I swear on my life, I will never hurt her again.”

-

Aemond was waiting for her in the courtyard when she finally left the castle, well bundled in a thick, fur-lined cloak. The weather had turned, a final storm of the departing winter. Now, the sky reflected her mood – gray and somber.

At least the explosiveness of her anger had calmed, and she was relatively sure she wouldn’t strangle Aemond along the journey. But to go to Harrenhal with him, to be in the very place where he had betrayed her, to face the woman who carried her husband’s bastard …

She could be brave. She had to be brave. This was her duty, and her duty was sacred.

Aemond had taught her that.

She did not acknowledge him as she kissed her mother and brother farewell, nor as she walked to the steps set at the wheelhouse door.

But then he held out his hand to help her in.

Reluctantly, she took it. The brief touch was marginally more tolerable than the possibility of her stumbling and him having to catch her by the arm or, gods forbid, her waist. That would be far too much of a touch, and she was not sure she was ready for it – if she would ever be ready for it.

He stepped in just behind her, the two of them standing there for a moment, wondering where to sit. In the past, they’d always sat next to each other at the rear of the wheelhouse, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. But now, the thought of doing so again made her nauseous. So, she turned to the seat in the front.

“Wait,” Aemond grabbed her shoulder, then immediately released it when he saw her wince. He cleared his throat, then motioned to the opposite seat with his hand. “Please, sit here. I don’t want you getting sick riding backward.”

She looked from the seat to his wary smile. Surely he didn’t expect her to still sit with him, did he?

“I’ll sit on the other side,” he added after a prolonged moment of silence.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a nod of her head. But when she began walking to the rear seat, Aemond again stopped her.

“Before you sit, let me…” he trailed off, stepping to the front seat and gathering most of the pillows and cushions that lay atop it into his arms. Then, he deposited them on the other side. He spent several minutes arranging them until they were finally to his liking. “There.”

He reached out his hand again to help her sit. This time, she did not take it. She was more than capable of sitting down on her own, and she was well aware that Aemond knew that, too. He was merely trying to touch her again, and that, she would not allow.

Once she sat, Aemond began fussing again. “Please stop,” she sighed when he started crossing the wheelhouse to fetch even more pillows. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I do need to do this,” he insisted. She could have sworn his eye shone before he turned back to the pillows and blankets. “I want you to be comfortable. You deserve it.”

“A few pillows will not make me forgive you.” For a moment, as Aemond’s shoulders tightened, she almost regretted the words. She had spoken in haste and with cruelty. It was not something she was accustomed to. Somehow, his misdeeds were turning her into a mean and petty woman.

She was just about to apologize when Aemond spoke again, his voice more timid than it had been. “I know that, but I want to do it anyway. I want to show you how much I love you. Please.”

He looked at her pleadingly, desperately. It had been many years since he looked at her like that. When she was a girl, and she fell gravely ill, he stayed by her bedside against the instructions of the Maesters, holding her hand and begging her not to die. She had to look away from him to avoid falling into that memory.

“I am perfectly comfortable,” she said. “So you needn’t do anything more.”

With a sigh, Aemond threw the pillows in his arms carelessly on his seat, except for one – a small round cushion with the Targaryen three-headed dragon embroidered upon it. “Just this one more, please.”

She looked at it suspiciously, some instinct in the back of her mind telling her not to allow it. But his voice was so weak, so desperate. And if it could help her be more comfortable on the long journey, what harm would it do? She nodded. “Very well.”

Aemond beamed and crossed the wheelhouse. With the pillow in hand, he knelt in front of her and brought a hand to hover over her belly. Before he made contact, he looked up to her, a hopeful smile still on his lips.

But that smile was no longer reassuring to her. Instead, it brought on a wave of mistrust and fear. “What are you doing?”

Finally, he laid his hand on her. “I…” His cheeks flushed, and he suddenly could not meet her eye. “This is to cradle your belly while we ride so you are not rattled around so much.”

Her hand flew out and latched onto his wrist, her hold so hard the skin around her hand quickly grew red. She did not want to see him, so she narrowed her eyes until her coming tears blurred her vision. It took several tries for her to speak through her rapid breathing. “Did Alys teach you that, too?”

Aemond looked as if she had just driven a dagger through his heart. “She did, but –”

“I told you never to do that!” She ripped the pillow from his hands and threw it across the wheelhouse with all her strength.

He stayed kneeling, one hand braced on her seat. He had not flinched, only closed his eyes. “Wifey, if it makes you comfortable, if it helps you, then what does it matter how I learned it?”

“Because…” She furiously wiped her tears away, steadfastly looking away from him. “I don’t want you to think about her when you’re touching me.”

“I promise I am not thinking of her,” he insisted. “I could never think of her when I have with me.”

“No, only when I’m hundreds of miles away.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, his hand never leaving her belly. “How long have you known?” Aemond rasped out. “That we are to have two babes?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the words. How had he known? Who had told him? She did not look at him, did not want him to see the blush of shame that came over her. If either of them should be ashamed, it was him. What he did was far worse than keeping a secret, even one as important as this.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” she whispered. “But you did not come back when you were meant to – you were supposed to return and give Aegon a report on the war. You didn’t.”

Aemond bowed his head, hiding his cheeks – likely just as flushed as hers. He sniffed, as he often did when upset, and shook his head. “If I had known – ”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she snapped back. “Your… she was already pregnant by then, wasn’t she?”

For a moment, Aemond looked up at her in pleading before dropping his head again. “Yes,” his voice was thin and utterly defeated, “she was.” He reached to adjust the pillow by her side but decided against it. Then, he returned to the seat across from her, looking at her once before bowing his head and pounding on the roof twice.

Reins snapped, and the wheelhouse lurched forward.

-

The first hours in the wheelhouse passed in silence. Aemond hardly moved, staring at his clasped hands. She thought she felt his eyes on her several times, but whenever she looked at him, he did not look back.

She watched the world pass her by through the windows. She’d never gone north of King’s Landing before, other than a few short flights on Vhagar with Aemond. Then, she was too high to see the little differences, mile by mile. The trees changed and became sparser, as did the shrubs and flowers. The air felt different, as did the ground beneath the wheelhouse, which became softer and less turbulent the farther they went. Even the smell of the air changed. The slight brine she was so used to faded, turning into something green and damp. It was not an unpleasant change.

What was unpleasant was trying to fall asleep within the mountain of pillows and cushions Aemond had made for her. Once, she would have loved the plushness and softness of it. But with the babes in her belly, she had come to prefer more firmness.

She would have moved the pillows herself had she been able to. But between the sheer mass of cushions and her current size, maneuvering enough to do so was impossible. Grand Maester Orwyle had said even two months away from the birth, she was already larger than most mothers just before it. Of course, most mothers only had one babe to carry, not two. So, she was left with only wiggling around as much as she could to try and find a better position.

She didn’t.

With a huff, she looked at Aemond, hoping to silently glare at him and curse him for the stuffed throne he’d made for her. But this time, when she looked at him, he was looking back.

He wore an expression of concern, like he’d been watching her struggle for some time. His eye was wide, and his lips pinched together. She knew that look, and found herself now hating it. It meant he wanted to help, to understand what was wrong.

“I cannot get comfortable,” she explained, not that he deserved an explanation.

A spark of hope entered Aemond’s eye. “Do you…” he licked his lips. “I can hold you, if you’d like.”

“No!” She felt a slight pang of guilt at the hurt painted on his face at her rejection. He did not deserve her guilt, she reminded herself. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Aemond grimaced as if he could sense the lie. He probably could, for how well he knew her. “Are you sure? I can… I can just hold you. It won’t mean anything, I promise.”

Yes, yes, yes, her body seemed to scream. She had always found comfort in his arms, always slept best with him pressed against her. And him holding her would mean he would have to discard many of the ridiculous pillows. If she accepted, she could likely be asleep in moments.

But her heart… her heart would break to be held by him. She wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about if he had held Alys in this same way. If the whore had slept with her head resting on Aemond’s shoulders. If she had kissed his neck as she fell asleep, just as she had loved to do.

She would never be able to stop thinking about Alys. Every time Aemond looked at her, touched her, spoke to her. Alys would be a ghost that would haunt her forever.

A memory of the first time Aemond had taken her to the Dragonpit came to her.

He’d told her she couldn’t come with him, but relented the moment she started crying and dragged her into the carriage with him, Aegon, and Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. Jacaerys was the only one who argued against her accompanying them. He stopped complaining after Aemond shot him a threatening glare and declared that she was braver and more capable than he would ever be. But when they arrived at the Dragonpit, and Sunfyre was led up from the dens, she’d cowered behind Aemond. The sweet little creature - perhaps the size of one of the king’s hounds - she had once watched flit around Aegon wherever he went had somehow quickly turned into a beast larger than anything she’d ever seen, baring sharp teeth the size of her dinner knives. Aegon kneeled in front of her and nudged her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t worry, haedus. He won’t hurt you, I promise.” She still screamed when Aegon stepped within reach of those fangs. And again, when Aemond pulled her from behind his back so she could not hide from the dragon. “Do not be afraid, haedus. Sunfyre is only a dragon, as are you. The blood of the dragon runs true in your veins,” he said as she buried her face in her chest. Something about the words seemed to make Jace angry, but she didn’t know why. “I can’t help it, lēkia,” she whined. “He’s scaring me.” Aemond huffed slightly, petting her head tenderly. “You are afraid because you know very little about dragons. What we do not know can be terrifying.” He turned her to face Sunfyre, who was now perfectly docile while being saddled by Aegon. She squirmed to escape his grasp. “If you watch and listen to the Dragonkeepers, you will learn. The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.”

“Why did you do it?” she asked suddenly.

“My love?” Aemond looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. But when she held his stare, he whispered gently, “You don’t want to know. Not really.”

“I do,” she declared.Though his answer may shatter her heart completely, she had to know. His childhood voice echoed in her head. ‘The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.’

She swore she could see him remember the same memory she had. His eye darted around the wheelhouse anxiously. “It is not a good reason.”

“Unless she held you at sword point each time, there is not a reason I would call ‘good.’” She hoped it was something like that, that he hadn’t been given the choice to refuse her. It would make everything better, almost fine. But if it had been something like that, he would have already told her.

Aemond was silent for a long while. Long enough for the sun to reach its peak and begin its descent.

“I’d seen only one battle before I arrived at Harrenhal – Rook’s Rest,” he began. “In that battle, one dragon and rider were killed, and Aegon and Sunfyre were permanently wounded.”

“I know,” she whispered. She’d been there when Aemond had brought Aegon, broken, bloody, and burnt, back to the castle. She’d seen what happened to him. Aemond held her hair back as she was sick in the corridor outside the Grand Maester’s rooms.

Aemond nodded. “I was so afraid, ābrazȳrītsos, of what I would see when I truly went to war. And it was just as terrible as I’d feared. Even worse than what happened to Aegon, sometimes.” He waited to continue until she had unscrunched her eyes as she fought away another wave of nausea. “Every time I was scared, raqiarzītsos... And alone. She offered an escape. A chance to not think about the war, for at least a little while.”

“And to not think about me.”

He blanched, moving to stand, but thought better of it and sat back in his seat. “My love, I never wanted to stop thinking about you. I promise. I thought about you every moment of every day. You are what gave me the strength to ride to battle again and again – knowing that once it was all over, I’d be able to return to you.”

She glared at him. “So, you thought about me while you were fucking her?”

“Gods, no!” This time, he did rise, crossing the wheelhouse to fall at her feet. “I… I didn’t think about anything when I was with her. Not about you, or the war, or even her. It was the only way I could empty my mind of all the things that tormented me.”

“… I tormented you?” The idea that she could have done anything to make him want to forget her brought tears to her eyes.

“No. Never.” He tried to reach for her to cup her cheek, but she shrank away from him. “Don’t ever think that you could. What tormented me was that I was so far from you – that I could not be there for you. And the babes.”

He could have been, she knew. He should have been. “You had many opportunities to return. Why didn’t you?” Her voice caught in the back of her throat as a sob tried to escape. “Were you too ashamed of what you’d done?”

“I was and am ashamed,” he declared, and she believed him, “but that is not why I remained at Harrenhal. I knew that if I saw you again, I would never return to the battlefield. It was hard enough to leave you the first time. I could not endure it again.”

There was silence.

She leaned back towards him and allowed him to finally lay his hand across her cheek – an unconscious attempt to soften the blow of her next question. “Is it true that you spared her only because you lusted for her? That you took her to your bed in your first week at that awful place?”

Aemond sobbed, one horrible, wretched sob. His hand dropped, and he lowered his head into her lap, clutching at her dress like a child. The urge to comfort him tingled in her veins, to pet his hair and murmur soft words to him, to gently remove his eyepatch and assure him that all was well.

She did not move an inch.

At last, Aemond lifted his head. The bottom of his eyepatch was just askew enough to allow the tears from his ruined eye to escape. “I spared her because she claimed to be a witch – a seer. The claim was backed by several residents of the keep who had no reason to lie. She offered to lend me her aid in the war, to share her visions with me so I could be prepared when I led my men to battle. I agreed. I wanted to avoid the kind of slaughter I saw at Rook’s Rest. To prevent anyone from going through what happened to our brother. Then…

“I did lie with her in the first week,” he turned away as though he couldn’t say the words while facing her. “On the sixth day. We were to advance on Darry the next morning, to… it doesn’t matter why, just that it was the first time I would lead men to victory of their deaths. I asked Alys to share her vision of what would occur, and she did. She saw how fearful I was and told me that to win the battle, I must go into it without fear. I tried to calm myself, but I couldn’t.”

He swallowed thickly, still avoiding her gaze, and dropped his hand. “Then she offered her… further aid. I will not wound you by detailing what we did. But I will assure you that I did resist.” He licked his lips. “At least at first.”

A small comfort, she supposed.

“When I was with her, all my worries faded to nothing. I thought it was perhaps a spell she put on me, but it was not. My body just needed to find that satisfaction and release. I was hoping it was a spell. For that would mean I did not truly betray you.”

He faced her again. She did not know whether it comforted or saddened her to look into his wet, despairing eye. “But I did. And I continued to do so every time my fear threatened to overwhelm me. Which was, regrettably, often.

“I was weak,” he said with a mirthless laugh, “I was so weak. I should have been braver – better. I should have been the husband you deserve. I will spend every day of my life regretting it and trying to right what I have done wrong. I swear it.” He nodded as if to affirm the oath, yet it brought her no assurance. “I am so sorry, my love.”

He said nothing else.

She still had so many questions, wanted to know so much more. Her fears had barely been quelled. But it was something. And at the very least, the emotions Aemond’s story subjected her to had exhausted her. Enough that she knew she could close her eyes and be asleep within a heartbeat.

“Thank you. For telling me,” she whispered as she moved back in her seat, away from him. “I would like to rest now.”

Aemond bowed his head and retreated to his seat without asking again if he could hold her.

Her traitorous heart almost wished he had.

-

It was raining when she woke. The weather had apparently followed them north. She leaned closer to the window, wanting the wet air to cool her, but stopped when she noticed the wheelhouse wasn’t moving.

“Ser Marston and one of the porters are arranging rooms,” Aemond said softly. She did not reply, nor look at him. A glance out the window informed her that they were in some village she didn’t know, outside a relatively large building whose worn sign, cut in the shape of a stone wall, read simply ‘Inn.’

That question answered, she still didn’t look at Aemond. She knew he’d likely been watching her since they’d arrived… wherever they were. Perhaps longer. Judging by the dusk settling over the horizon, she’d been sleeping quite a while. And yet she hadn’t woken. She wondered if she should start sleeping during the day instead of at night.

“Mother said…” Aemond halted, likely waiting for her to look at him. She didn’t. “We will be sharing a room.”

She whipped her head around to face him, ignoring the slight dizziness that came with the motion. “No.”

Aemond sighed. “Raqiarzītsos, if the innkeeper notices we are apart, he may talk about it. Rumors will start.”

“Can’t we just pay him to remain silent? That’s what Mother did to prevent rumors from spreading about Aegon.”

“And yet rumors spread nevertheless,” his voice was soft and firm, like a parent explaining something to their child. The thought sickened her.

She wanted to say that those rumors spread because their mother could not pay off every woman Aegon had his way with – there had been too many to even know who they all were. But it had been their mother herself who told her that this would happen, that she would have to somehow stomach being in the same room as Aemond at night. That the consequences of not doing so would be worse than those that would come from him being there.

“You will not sleep in the bed,” she ordered, finally facing her husband, “you will sleep on whatever chair or couch is in the room or the floor if there is none.”

Aemond sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Very well.”

Curious, she’d expected more of a fight. For him to insist that a servant could see the half-empty bed and raise questions. For him to try and ply her into letting him into the bed with promises of holding her and keeping her warm. For him to try something. But he didn’t.

“Good.”

-

It was not a very nice room.

The paint was chipping off the walls, and the floorboards creaked. The bed linens were faded, the fur blankets patchy. The small table on one side leaned to one side, and an unshaped piece of wood held the couch by the fire level.

At least there was a couch, Aemond supposed. And as it was near the fire, he would not have to sleep in the cold to avoid depriving his wife of blankets.

She crossed the room to the bed, sitting on its edge and looking out the window again. After he’d agreed that he would not try and convince her to let him join her in the bed, she’d spent the rest of their time waiting in the carriage looking out one window, then crossing to the other side of the wheelhouse just before they were called to their room.

Even now, he could see her eyes flitting from one building to another, following the villagers as they milled about and fixating on the livestock that wandered the streets – cows, donkeys, sheep, even a small group of piglets.

He thought it was a distraction at first. But when she continued to watch the inconsequential town for far longer than he ever would, even in a new town, he realized it was something more. When she quirked her head slightly to the right and the ghost of a smile flitted over her lips, he knew what it was.

This was the first village she’d ever been in.

She was born in King’s Landing, and other than their trip to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral… she’d never left the city.

Something in Aemond’s heart cracked. He should have done something, taken her on adventures. He should have brought her on Vhagar and flown her wherever her heart desired.

But he hadn’t. He’d left her in King’s Landing, in the Red Keep. In a cage.

But now… her first trip away from the capital was one she didn’t want to be on. It wasn’t a happy occasion. And their destination was likely the place of her worst nightmares.

He should never have let Aegon order him to bring her to Harrenhal.

Aemond opened his mouth to apologize to her again but said nothing. She had already been forced to be stuck in a wheelhouse with him for most of the day. The kindest thing he could do would be to let her alone for as long as he could.

So, he went towards the door, turning back over his shoulder to look at her for a moment. She was still watching the village. It made him smile a bit. “I’m going to get supper. I’ll be back in a short while.”

She did not say anything back. She only lifted a hand to rest on the window.

-

She’d hardly noticed that Aemond had left. When he told her where he was going, she had just seen a small group of children playing in the muddy road. One of the little girls had spotted her watching from the window and shouted something to her friends. Soon, all the children were staring at her. She lifted a hand to the window to wave at them.

Then, she heard the door closing, and when she turned to look, Aemond was gone.

When she looked back to the children, they had already run off. Her hand drifted to her abdomen. “Nyke urnēbagon jemī tymāt umban daor.” I cannot wait to watch you play.

Before Aemond left for Harrenhal, he had taken her back to the nursery where they’d been raised. The furniture had been covered, as neither Jaehaera nor Rhaenyra’s son Aegon were inclined toward play. Not after what they went through. So, both had moved to their own rooms when they returned to the keep.

But the nursery would not be empty for long.

Aemond had pulled away the sheet covering the toy chest and knelt before it, examining each toy as though it were a priceless jewel. He told stories about them, recalling how they had played with them, and made guesses about which ones their child would prefer and what their choices would foretell about them.

He rediscovered the two wooden dragons they had once painted and named for themselves – Kēlītsos and Balerion. There were too many tales of those little dragons to retell them all, so he told only the one where they imagined the dragons had come alive and had flown them to the ruins of Old Valyria. Aemond would slay whatever beasts had wounded Balerion and killed their great-aunt, Aerea. Then, they would reclaim their ancestral homeland.

He’d kissed her belly then, calling the babe inside the “heir of Old Valyria.”

Now, they were the heir – heirs – to something else entirely.

To a broken family.

To a throne soaked in the blood of their kin.

To the sins of their father.

For a moment, she wished they could simply be like those children, playing without a care.

But they never would be.

They would still be children. They would still play and laugh. They would be mischievous and sneak sweets from the kitchens or stay awake long past the time they were sent to bed. They would still cry for their parents when they scraped a knee or had a nightmare.

But they would also be heirs. They would be taught by the finest scholars in the world how to bear the weight of their responsibilities. They would be trained by mighty warriors on how to defend themselves from the enemies they would have since birth. They would always know that their life was never wholly theirs.

Now, they would also always know that their father had betrayed their mother. She knew that no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, somehow, they would learn of Aemond’s mistress – the mother of their bastard half-sibling.

Part of her hated that child, the small thing that was not even fully formed and yet was the manifestation of all her pain.

Part of her, perhaps a larger part, pitied it.

After all, it was a bastard. The world had never been kind to bastards. After the role bastards had played in the war, she could not imagine it would grow any kinder.

What would the life of the bastard be like? Would it play the same games as her children? Would it have the same favorite toys, or foods, or colors?

While its trueborn siblings were learning to rule the realm and ride dragons, what would it do? Perhaps it would be a servant, like its mother, or become a laborer of some kind.

Would it know who its father was? Would it know the blood of the dragon ran through its veins? Would it ache for a bond with a dragon, as Aemond had? Would it spend its life feeling incomplete, yet never know why?

As she caught sight of the tears shining on her cheeks in her reflection off the window, she decided she did not hate the child. It was not at fault for the sins of its mother, or its father.

She said a brief prayer for it – for its health and happiness. Then one for her own children.

When Aemond came back through the door, carrying a tray laden with steaming food, she wiped her tears away and looked only once more out the window.

The children had gone home.

“Are you hungry, ābrazȳrītsos?” Aemond asked.

No, she wasn’t. But she knew she must eat regardless, for the sake of the babes. So, she crossed the room and sat at the small table.

She did not speak as Aemond served her the meal – fresh, steaming bread, warm stew, and a pot of tea. He did not try and get her to speak. He simply ate his food, watching her carefully.

He faded into the background as her thoughts continued to wander to that poor little child growing in Alys’ womb.

Would it have silver hair? Purple eyes? Or would it inherit its mother’s coloring, whatever it was?

She did not know what Alys looked like. She knew so little about the woman who had shared in Aemond’s sin.

Was she beautiful? Was she intelligent? Was she kind?

It was hard to imagine that she would be kind. That any woman who would lie with a married man would be kind. After all, she was called a witch. Was there such a thing as a kind witch?

Was there even such a thing as a witch?

Aemond said that he spared Alys because she could foretell the future. That the reason he’d first brought her into his bed was because she told him he needed to be calm for the battle ahead if he wished to prevail.

Prevail he did.

Were the visions real, then? Had Aemond only returned from that first battle, the second, the last, because of what Alys had told him?

If Alys were to thank for Aemond surviving the war, should she not be grateful for it? But how could she be grateful for something that had so thoroughly broken her heart?

How was she supposed to feel? How was she supposed to know what to feel? What to do?

“I want to meet her,” she said suddenly. Even her whisper sounded like an echoing shout after so long a silence.

Aemond stared at her. Fear and regret and anger in his gaze. His mouth hung open, and his skin had gone deathly pale.

“Alys,” she clarified. “I want to meet her.”

“My love, please. You don’t.” His voice quavered like a rose in a thunderstorm. “I don’t want you to, it won’t – ”

“I have questions for her. I will ask them.” Tears fell down Aemond’s cheeks, but he did not argue. It almost made her smile. “You may be there if you wish. But I will meet her.”

Aemond nodded. “If that is what you truly want.”

She felt no fear or hesitation. “It is.”

-

After she finished her meal, her exhaustion finally settled upon her. It had only been a day since Aemond returned to the Red Keep. Only a day since both the war and her world ended.

She just wanted to sleep. In that moment, it was all she wanted.

She had Aemond turn away as she undressed and donned her nightgown. He obeyed, staring into the fire and never once looking back until she was beneath the rough-spun blankets on the bed and gave him permission.

He only removed his leather doublet and his boots before settling onto the couch by the fire, its high back blocking them from each other’s view.

The fire crackled.

“Good night, ābrazȳrītsos,” Aemond said. “Sleep well. I love you.”

She did not reply.

She so badly wanted to sleep. But it seemed both her body and the babes in her belly wanted otherwise. No matter how she lay, she could not find comfort. No matter what she thought of, her mind would not calm.

At least she took comfort in that her restlessness was likely preventing Aemond from finding sleep as well.

When she heard his voice again, she stiffened, preparing herself to argue with him again. But Aemond did not speak.

He sang.

“Bantis ropatas Night has fallen

Yn zūgagon daor But do not fear

Sȳndror ilos daor There is no darkness

Kesrio syt drakarys vamiot ilzai. For dragonfire is near.”

It was a lullaby. One he had discovered in an Old Valyrian children’s book he found in the back of the Red Keep’s library. He had sung it to her when she was still in her crib so he could practice their ancestral language.

He stopped singing for some time when his voice settled, adjusting to the new, lower pitch. But when he began again, it was even more beautiful than before. Quiet and soft, but still beautiful.

“Yn ozelēnagon daor And shiver not

Vasīr vēzos hembistas Though the sun has gone

Drakarys kesīr ilzai Dragonfire is here

Aōhi dijaves rāelagon. To keep you warm.”

When was the last time he sang to her? Obviously not in the past six months, but when?

“Aōhi bartos mazilībās Lay down your head

Se aōhī laehossa lēdes And close your eyes

Drakarys avy mīsilza Dragonfire will protect you

Yn sepār kesan. And so too will I.”

Ah, her eyes welled with tears when she finally remembered. It had been the first night after they learned they were to have a babe, and Aemond had bedded her more passionately than he had since their wedding night and more gently than he had ever been.

He sang when they were spent, and she curled into him to sleep. Aemond brushed his fingers in light patterns over her belly and sang. But was that for her or the babe?

The last time he had sung for her and only her… she could not recall. It had been some ordinary day when she did not know she should hold onto that memory and keep it close. She did not know it was a memory she would need when Aemond went to war.

“Dōnī ēdrurī emilās, ñuha raqno Dream sweetly, my love

Bantio rȳ ēdrūs Sleep all through the night

Nyke aōma unna I will be with you

Vapār ōños arlī amāzīlza. Until again there is light.”

She wanted to be angry at him, accuse him of only singing now so he could worm his way back into her heart. But she knew that accusation would be false. After the way he fussed over her today, she knew he was truly worried for her health – and the health of the babes.

Besides, his voice and the familiarity of the song were now truly lulling her to sleep.

She was grateful for it.

“Skorī ñāqes kesīr ilos When morning is here

Se īlvon geron vamiot ilza And our journey is nigh

Īlon henkirī īlvī zaldrīzī kipili We will both mount our dragons

Sepār, sōvīlā.” Then, we will fly.”

Her last thought before her eyes slid closed was that she hoped he had not sung the lullaby – their lullaby – to Alys or her child.

-

Aemond woke to the sound of something crashing. He was immediately awake, throwing off his blanket and bolting to his feet. But he saw no one.

What he did see was an empty bed.

In an instant, his panic had risen to a peak it had reached only once before – the day he’d found out that his half-sister and her husband had taken King’s Landing, and in the aftermath, Aegon was missing and his ābrazȳrītsos was now in the hands of his enemies.

A horrible retching soon alerted him to his wife’s presence on the floor of the room, halfway between the bed and the washbasin against the far wall. But it did not quell his panic.

She was panting between harsh bouts of sickness, her arms trembling as they struggled to hold her up. Aemond moved immediately, kneeling beside her and sweeping her hair away from her face. His words of comfort and concern died instantly when he felt her lean against him.

She was so thin.

Her nightgown was soaked through with sweat, allowing him a clear and horrible view of every knob on her spine and curve of her ribs. The further she pressed into him, the more he could feel the sharp planes of her shoulder blades and the sickening lightness of her form. She was like some of the near-corpses he’d seen in the war – hardly more than skin stretched taut over mere bones.

He had not seen it before. She’d been bundled in robes and gowns and furs. And when she changed into her nightgown earlier this evening, she had not allowed him to look at her until she was buried beneath the blankets.

She knew.

She knew how frail she was. He knew and had not wanted him to know…

Had not wanted him to worry. Not while he was at war.

“Ābrazȳrītsos…”

She sobbed once before she was sick again. He said nothing else until he was relatively certain whatever illness had possessed her passed, and tried not to be too grateful that she didn’t push him away.

“Little darling, please,” he pulled her closer so he could rest against his chest. She did not resist. “What happened?”

She shook her head, reaching to wipe her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown. Aemond stopped her, set her hand back on her lap, and used his own sleeve instead. She sighed as if the gesture somehow upset her, then slumped slightly. “Nothing happened. Nothing new, at least. This happens nearly every night.”

Every night. No wonder she was so thin.

“Still?” Aemond finally managed to ask in a rasping voice. She had been so sick in those early days – it was what had prompted them to take her to the Maesters, where they discovered she was with child. But it had gotten better in the days before he left for Harrenhal. She had said it was getting better.

She nodded, her eyes shut tight as she turned away from him. Was it from exhaustion or shame? “It…” she swallowed, and Aemond realized how dry her throat must be. He would fetch her something to drink as soon as she could stand. “It never stopped.”

“Oh ābrazȳrītsos…” his voice broke as the realization of how badly she had been suffering sank in. And all the while, he’d been sharing his bed with another woman.

If the Father truly cared for justice, he would have struck Aemond dead the moment he touched that witch.

Aemond held her close, panting with the effort it took to hold back his tears of shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She was silent for a long while. Then, “I’m tired, Aemond.”

“I know.”

A long pause. It took him longer than it should have to realize she was looking at him and longer still to recognize the plea in her eyes. She wanted his help. Or perhaps more accurately, needed his help.

So help her he did, eagerly. He sat her at one of the chairs by the table while he removed her soiled nightgown and dressed her in another. He brought the washbasin to her so he could help her wash her face, then brought her a pitcher of fresh water so she could rinse her mouth. He braided her hair once more and carried her back to bed,

Once he’d pulled the blankets back over her, he reached out to her. When she didn’t flinch away, he softly stroked her cheek. “Is there anything else I can get you, my love?”

She opened her eyes just slightly. “I’m cold.”

He turned on his heel to fetch his blanket from the couch. There was still warmth radiating from the hearth. He could move to the rug.

But when he’d settled that blanket on her as well, she opened her eyes wider and gazed up at him. “Aemond…”

If there was ever proof that the gods could be merciful, that was it.

Still, he had to be certain he wasn’t mistaken. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. Thank all the gods in the world, she nodded.

His veins buzzing with ecstatic joy, he walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside her. As he wrapped his arms around her, it almost didn’t matter that he could feel her frailness, that he knew she had only asked this because she truly was cold, or that his touch was tainted by his sins.

Aemond was sharing a bed with his wife. He was holding her. Her, and their children.

When her breathing finally settled, and she drifted off to sleep, Aemond closed his eyes, tucked his face into her hair, and prayed he dreamt of a world where he had slain Alys the moment he first saw her.

[kazumist]

HOW TO CURE A FRAGILE HEART .ᐟ

✩ — how does one cure a fragile heart? well, soshiro thinks comfort and reassurance is the best cure for that. (takes place after the tachikawa raid)

✩ — includes: hoshina soshiro x gn!nurse!reader (they are so back !!!). hurt/comfort. cw: mentions of blood, bruises, hospitals, etc. but it's nothing too graphic, pet names (sweetheart & love). wc: 1085. reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !!

✩ — note: well. like i said in my note for handle with care, i actually wrote a part 2 for these two. but this and handle with care can be read as standalones! they're just set in the same uhm. timeline i guess? if that's what you call it.

your heart dropped at the sight before you. 

it was soshiro getting rushed inside the (temporary) medical area for the medical team. the actual medical building is currently in shambles with the whole tachikawa raid happening, and you didn't get a single update on the vice captain as you were too busy tending to the other patients that keep coming in.

he was all bloody and bruised. blood trailed down everywhere—from his head, his mouth, and his nose. you immediately rushed over, lending a hand in his treatment. this is exactly what you feared. a nightmare that came to haunt you in real life. the sight of soshiro being this injured was enough to make your whole world shake.

but for the sake of saving him, you needed to stay strong.

hoshina opened his eyes and was immediately greeted by the bright light of the room. he automatically noticed you sleeping on the side of his bed, arms crossed, as you laid your head against them. he then took in his surroundings and realized that he was in the hospital. and the bandages around his abdomen don't go unnoticed by him either. his body was still sore from how he overexerted himself during the tachikawa raid.

the sudden shuffle on the bed you were resting your arms and head on was enough for you to wake up, as your eyes widened. “hi.” was all he said before he yelled in pain at your hand, chopping his side.

“are you insane? you idiot! i—god,” you couldn't continue anymore as you could feel your voice cracking already. your hands meet your palms as they proceed to move up to the crown of your head. you refused to look up at the man lying on the bed at the moment.

he hears you let out a sigh—a shaky one at that. soshiro’s expression softens as he reaches out to gently caress your head. you still refused to look at him, keeping your gaze focused on the white bedsheet of the hospital bed. “ya could've at least congratulated me, ya know,” he says. it was a poor attempt at lightening the mood, honestly.

he knows that you already know everything that happened to him when he faced kaiju no. 10. in fact, he has a good guess that you lent a hand in providing first aid to him as soon as he got transported to the medics. 

and he already had a good guess at how worried you must've been to see him in such a state back then. soshiro knows you like the back of his hand; he could read you like an open book. so needless to say, he didn't have to be a genius to know that tears were already pooling in your eyes at the moment.

many thoughts ran through your head. every possibility that could've happened if he wasn't sent to the medics as soon as possible. and every single one of those possibilities terrified you. especially the possibility that he really could've—

you couldn't even bring yourself to finish that dreadful sentence.

he noticed you gripped your hair a little tighter, taking in deep breaths, although your exhale was still shaky like before. soshiro reached out to grab one of your hands, not wanting to hurt yourself with your harsh grip on them. “hey,” his voice was soft.

“love, what's wrong?” he asks.

you could only shake your head, although you let out a sniffle right after. despite his injuries and probably only a quarter way towards full recovery, hoshina was still able to move you closer to him. you could feel it—the steady beat of his heart, his breath at your ears as he reassured you that he was alive. and that he was fine.

(however, what if he wasn't? what if he actually spent his last breath on that training ground? the thought of that almost happening terrified you even more.)

hoshina gently grabs hold of your chin, moving your face to look at him. you hadn't realized that your tears started to roll down your face as you looked at him. he had a bandage on his cheek, and even more bandages around the lower part of his neck and it continued onto his abdomen. a hand slowly reaches up to his cheek, where he had a bandage on, as your thumb caresses his cheek bone.

guilt washes over you when you reflect on your earlier thoughts. why—how could you think like that? soshiro was right here, in front of you. why are you worrying about something that never even happened?

(a voice inside your head whispers that it could happen the next time he steps foot into the battlefield.)

“don't cry, sweetheart. ya know i hate seein’ ya in tears like this,” he says, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears. you lean against one of his palms, relishing the warmth in them. “i just…” you started, choosing the right words to say. “seeing you in that state was... horrifying. i—i couldn't bring myself to move at first before i snapped myself back in reality and helped with treating you.”

“i was so scared, soshiro.” you mumbled, leaning towards his chest. hoshina’s breath hitched at your words, suddenly imagining the possibility of you being in his shoes—he was terror-stricken from that thought alone. he let out an apology like he always does when he comes home to you injured, which you immediately rejected. “don't apologize. i know it's part of your job, soshiro.” you said, wiping your tears away.

he rubs soothing circles on your back and pets your head in return. “look at me for a minute, please?” he wasn’t the one who would say please so easily. but for you, it just comes naturally. you look up and meet his gaze. something was there in those maroon eyes of his—love. and a small hint of guilt as well.

“i’m sorry.” you said.

“why so?”

“because i… i couldn’t help but imagine the worst happening.” soshiro doesn’t need you to say anything more to understand what you meant by “worst.” he puts his forehead against yours and never breaks his eye contact with you. “that’s okay,” he then says. you were about to speak in protest of his words before he cut you off. “that’s okay because i know how much ya care about me, but always remember that i’m here, ‘kay?”

he was right. he was here. and he was fine.

and that’s all that matters.

[withleeknow]

fold.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; cursing, unedited lol word count: 0.9k note: idek what this is lol i just wrote this to get the brain wiggles out 🤣

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

“You’re banishing me to the couch because of a little prank?”

“Because it wasn’t funny! God, you’re such an asshole.”

“It was!” Fucking hell, Minho is still laughing. “Babe, you should’ve seen your face.”

You hold up your big fluffy pillow to hit your boyfriend over the head, though he dodges it easily. "Piss off to the couch!"

“For real?” he asks, scanning your face with his big eyes, his brows raising annoyingly. “Sure you wanna sleep alone tonight? You're serious?”

“As a fucking heart attack,” you huff angrily, wildly kicking your feet at his legs under the sheets. “Out!”

“You’re so cute. You know you always fold, right?” he coos, eyes crinkling with mirth as he raises his hands, seemingly trying to hold your cheeks in his palms. “At least give me a kiss before I go.”

It only sharpens your dagger glare, and before Minho knows what’s even happening, he’s yeeted from the bed to the floor, rubbing the sore spot on his butt that you just kicked and sent him flying off the mattress.

“Ow! Fine, I’m leaving. See you in a couple hours."

Thirty minutes later, your phone lights up with a message, Minho’s screen flashing on your screen like an omen. You frown when you reach for the device on your nightstand, the furrow between your brows only deepening as you read the words Attachment: 2 Images.

Your finger hovers over the notification, clearly curious, but you know your boyfriend too well to be that naive.

There’s a 76% chance that he just sent you something scary that he got from the internet, which you think would be a stupid thing to do, considering that you’re “mad” at him.

But then again, he’s already on the couch. Maybe he’s got nothing left to lose.

Damn that man.

You shake your fist in the direction of the door, even though he can’t see you, before you decide to just get it over with and pop open his messages.

Hmm.

It’s nothing. No jumpscares, no scary photos of ghosts or ghouls or anything of the likes.

It’s only a couple selfies of him lying on the couch this very second, just a few footsteps away from your bedroom door, hugging his pillow with a content look on his face.

The first thing you do is save the photos to your designated Minho album, because even though you’re “mad” at him, he still looks cute with his stupid Snow filters and bunny smile, his gleaming eyes and-

Oh.

You see what this is.

Ass.

He’s banished, but he’s still pushing it, trying to show you just how much he seems to be loving it out there.

You huff out yet another annoyed breath. What on earth are you going to do with him? That’s a question you ask yourself every day.

In the end, you only reply to him with the middle finger emoji before you put your phone on the nightstand again.

You turn away from the device and snuggle further into your bed, willing sleep to come find you but you have to admit that it’s hard. It’s not because you’re scared or anything, you’re just used to sleeping next to someone.

No, not just anyone.

Only Minho.

You’re so used to sleeping next to Minho that now the bed feels infinitely empty without his warmth next to you, all over you.

Rationally, you know he’s right there in the living room - you can still hear him every time he paddles to the kitchen to get some water - and you’re clearly not strong enough to leave him on the couch for more than one night.

Actually, he has never been banished for a full night. Hell, his timeout on the couch has always ended much earlier than you’d like. Your boyfriend was right. You always fold. Pathetically quickly too.

You toss and turn for another while before you hear his unabashed giggles from the living room, light and relaxed, over the echoes of dramatic music. He must have put on a scary movie.

With your eyes closed, you listen to the sounds of make-believe doors slamming, floorboards creaking, a blood-curdling scream here and there. You’re still as wide awake as you were earlier, when Minho popped up from underneath the sheets, wearing a fucking Chucky mask just as you were getting into bed.

The idea of having his arms around you gets more appealing by the minute. You know you would be out like a light within seconds if he was holding you.

With both palms gripping the pillow beneath your head, you let out one last irritated exhale. Fuck it. This was a losing game from the start and you were all too aware of it.

You paddle out of your bedroom on light footsteps and into the enemy’s territory. When you’re in front of the couch, Minho calmly pauses the movie on the TV before he peers up at you with innocent eyes.

You hold out a hand wordlessly. This isn’t your first rodeo, and it sure as hell won’t be your last, as much as it pains you to admit it.

“Told you,” he titters, checking his phone for the time before he takes your hand in his. “You lasted 58 minutes. So close. Almost made it a full hour.”

You roll your eyes, though your body instantly relaxes now that you’re touching him in some way. He turns off the TV, grabs his phone and pillow, then waddles the both of you back into your cozy bedroom.

Your friends were right when they said they'd never seen anyone fold so quickly.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 02.11.2023]

[jaylver]

GOLDEN HOUR — S.JY

synopsis: a lovesick jake wasn’t going to stop himself from being impulsive and say those three words that he has been saving for another time. seeing you during the golden hour, sun beaming on your skin, looking ever so perfect, he couldn’t hold himself back. how could you blame the poor guy anyway?

pairings: non-idol!jake x afab!reader

genre: undertone of friends to lovers, fluff, cheesy confessions, romance

warning(s): profanities

wc: 889

a/n: a little self indulgent fic hehe. hope you'll enjoy this! please leave some feedbacks and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah <3

masterlist | © jaylver all rights reserved.

Jake was in love. 

It wasn’t those typical teen romances where people dated just for the sake of experience, no, it was something more than that. A connection deep enough to etch into the skins of one another, pulling you to him and him to you, there was an undying spark that continuously lingered without extinguishing.

Jake was the embodiment of love. He was love itself. 

It was one of those days where it was only you and him, alone in his car right after he had picked you up and drove you home. But instead of leaving right away, the car was parked a few blocks down from yours, Frank Ocean’s ‘Blonde’ playing on shuffle in the background. The sky was a hue of pink and orange, telling you that it was time to head home, yet you weren’t willing to.

“Thanks for driving me home … again,” you laughed, feeling slightly embarrassed for having inconvenienced Jake, but he was thinking the complete opposite of being inconvenienced.

“It’s no problem,” Jake smiled, and no matter how hard he tried, he was still nervous around you. Maybe because he was dying to profess his love for you, confess and get you to be his, but he was holding himself back. “It’s along the way back to my house anyway,” it wasn’t.

Jake could already imagine the missed calls from his mother, text messages asking about his whereabouts, making it a routine for him to be home a little later than usual. 

“Still, I feel bad sometimes,” you shrugged out of earnest. “But I’m really grateful, though,”

“I want to do this, Y/N, don’t feel bad,” his hold on the steering wheel tightened, watching the sun hitting your skin, making it almost glitter-like. You were the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

You nodded, biting on your lips thoughtfully. “I don’t really want to leave,”

Jake swore he felt his heart stop and revive, then proceeding to beat at ten times speed. The effect of your words surely made him light headed. “Then don’t,” he joked lightly, highkey dying internally. “‘Blonde’s’ still playing! Plus, ivy is next, isn’t it your favourite song?”

“You remembered!”

Of course he did. He remembered everything about you like second nature.

“It's nothing,” he laughed, waving you off, but internally feeling giddy when he saw your beaming face. You were so, so pretty.

“It is something to me,” you said softly and truthfully, staring into those puppy eyes of his.

“I like you,” Jake blurted out, as if the words were poured out before it even went through his mind. He did not expect himself to do this at all. Fuck. 

Your wide eyes and gaped mouth only made him anxious, short silence filling the space between you two. Say something! Say something!

“I like you too, Jake,”

There it was.

“W–what?”

“Hm?” you tilted your head, looking back at Jake’s shock expression. “Did you expect a rejection instead?”

“Well—kinda—no—uh—” he was stuttering. The famous charmer Jake Sim was actually stuttering and losing his composure. 

“I like you, very very much,” you said it again, each time making Jake’s heart flutter insanely. 

“God, Y/N, you’re—” he exhaled, in disbelief that he had bagged his crush, “—everything, absolutely everything to me,”

Jake reached over for you and pulled you into his arms, squeezing you tight. The moment he let go, his eyes wouldn’t leave your face. He was taking every part of you in, gaze wandering every inch of your features as if he was memorising them.

“I—uhm—should leave, shouldn’t I?” you broke the momentary silence, noticing the time gradually slipping by. “As much as I want to stay, I don’t think my mum would approve,”

“O–oh, yeah! Sorry, I forgot,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, managing a lopsided smile for you. 

“It’s okay. Text me when you reach home safely, will you?”

“I will,” he squeezed your hand in reassurance. “You should get going now,”

“I probably should,” you nodded, holding onto your things tightly. “Bye, Jakey,”

“Bye,” he breathed out, staring at you with so much love that no one else could amount to. But then, he remembered something.

“Hey—” he went to stop you before you could exit his car, “so, summer’s coming up and I was wondering if you’d like to go somewhere with me,”

“Something like a date?”

“Very much so,”

“I’d love to,”

“Cool,”

“Cool,” you repeated, snickering a little at Jake’s reddening ears. “Make sure to tell me about your plans. Bye!” you snuck a quick peck on his cheek before exiting the car and slamming the door shut, turning around to wave him goodbye before disappearing behind your front door, all while the only thing Jake could do was stay in shock.

His fingers lingered on the spot your lips had made contact with, giddiness welled up in Jake’s stomach, butterflies swarming and heart going crazy. You just had that effect on him, always, undoubtedly.

It was just two lovers, sitting in the car, listening to ‘Blonde’ and falling for each other. Tension finally broken and true feelings revealed, Jake could die a happy man right there and then. You were his golden hour, his radiant beam in the night, the love of his life, and he wouldn’t trade anything for it.

( © jaylver all rights reserved. do NOT copy, plagiarise or edit my work and repost whatsoever. once discovered will be exposed and blacklisted. )

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[awarmcupofmilk]

Gojo x reader "Broken Mirror"

afab!reader

summary: you knew gojo was the one. gojo wasn't so sure.

content warnings: breakup/sad, angst, deviations from gojo’s past arc

word count: 1,226

note: hi lovelies, I'm back! I'm thinking of turning this into a series, thoughts?

© 2022 awarmcupofmilk

please don’t repost, edit, translate, use, or copy my works on any platforms (if you’d really like to please reach out – reblogs are welcome)

You’d known for a while Satoru was the one.

When he’d thoroughly humiliated the elders through cheeky comebacks and downright threats because Gakuganji made a remark about your way of dress off-duty.

When he called off classes for the day to host a hot dog eating contest, just because you were having a hard time with your sister getting engaged---fresh out of high school.

When he literally saved your life on that mission.

But what sealed the deal was this adorably clueless look on his face, set so vividly apart from his usual smirks and sneers, when he got daifuku on his cheek.

You were in love. And in it bad.

At first, you knew you were alone in your convictions. Satoru hadn’t ever prioritized love and you didn’t think you’d convince him otherwise. You told yourself it was fine, that you’d date for a few months, maybe a year and then move on for the better.

But you don’t move on from the strongest.

You couldn’t taste anything else once you’d had him. Nothing else held appeal.

You kept telling yourself it was fine. You were still young, you still had time to date without a future. But the smell of his aftershave, the way his hair curled behind his ear, his distaste for alcohol. It all drew you in, too deeply, and you wanted it too badly.

Satoru would stiffen when you brought up the future.

He was happy to make plans for Friday date night, but anything about revisiting the clan or moving in or god forbid, marriage had him giving non-answers and changing the subject at the first opportunity.

It was a stabbing pain, seeing the look on his face, and a few times after a particularly sobering conversation you’d almost considered ending it. But he was so sweet. By all other accounts he was a wonderful boyfriend. Chivalrous---opening the door for you, insisting on paying the bill, unfolding the napkin at restaurants to cover your lap. He genuinely listened. And yes, he had a slight habit of being a little too friendly with no doubt interested women, but he’d always own up and do better when you called him out. And you just clicked. So effortlessly, so seamlessly. So, you told yourself it was fine.

You had your whole life ahead of you at twenty-three. And you knew, any third party would tell you that you were being unreasonable. But you loved him. You were sure about him. Surer than you were about most things. Maybe anything. You used to be so cynical about marriage. You didn’t buy anything about soulmates or true love or the one. But Satoru was it for you. You just knew.

But the more you wanted him, the more anxious you were to hold on, to not lose him. You found yourself asking, “Are you going to break up with me?” As a joke from the outside but in truth a deep fear, seeking opposition or confirmation, you didn’t know.

And Satoru would always respond easily, with that trademark suaveness, “Not planning on it.”

You asked more and more often, and whether or not Satoru noticed, more and more anxiously.

And each “I don’t see that happening,” each “No” followed by a soft kiss sold it to you more. You stopped telling yourself it was fine. You’d be together forever. You were sure of it.

Things weren’t perfect. You two had your rough patches and fair share of fights. But you wanted each other enough to make it through anything. If the you from a few years ago could hear yourself, this madness probably would have been put to an end. But you loved him. You loved him in that cliché, film way that looks manufactured in hindsight. But it felt so raw, so pure, so real. You’d be together forever.

Soon, despite yourself, you began hinting. Rings. Nice houses. And even, though you were now appalled at the memory, babies. Not to be had then, of course, just for the far-off future. You could be patient if commitment was promised.

And for whatever reason, Satoru played along. He started engaging in talks about the future, even though he used to say he didn’t want to make these promises, didn’t want to plan so far. You had reminded yourself of what he used to say, that look on his face when you brought up plans. But for some reason hidden to him and you, he bought into it too. He started fantasizing with you. Of course, to you it didn’t feel like fantasizing. But he seemed to want it, almost as badly. You thought his face lit up picturing your lives together in the next few years. You thought he smiled a little wider, laughed a little louder.

He wants this too. You told yourself. We’ll be together forever. You said.

You told this to yourself like a mantra, and soon it became indisputable truth.

✧

“Hey,” you started, leaning on Satoru’s shoulder. You snuggled closer to him on the couch and pulled the blanket over your shoulder. “Does it ever bother you that I ask about the future?” You said.

Satoru stiffened, and your heart dropped.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“You know, like do you not like talking about plans long-term?”

You were fishing for an easy answer, some artificial reassurance, a “No, I like it fine.”

But he paused. You couldn’t breathe.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to make promises.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. It sounded like you had let out a breath. A small cough.

“I mean, it’s kind of fun to fantasize,” he said.

You hadn’t realized how much the word “fantasize” bothered you. How seriously you took your “plans”.

“But I mean, I can’t promise what will happen in a few years,” Gojo continued.

You felt dizzy. “You don’t see us together in a few years?” You asked. It sounded like a whimper and you hated yourself for it.

“I just mean I don’t know what my life looks like in a few years.”

“Oh,” you said again.

There was silence. You’d stopped resting on his shoulder and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You pulled the blanket off and fidgeted, eyes glued to your lap.

“…where do you see this going?” You finally asked. Quietly.

He let out a breath. “Look, I’m going to be honest, I’m twenty-four, I can’t make any commitments right now.”

“Oh.”

You felt oddly calm. “Um, thanks for being honest with me,” (finally, you thought).

“Sure,” Gojo said.

“So we have an expiration date, huh?” You asked.

Gojo frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this is going to end at some point.”

“I mean, I’m not making a decision right now about the future,” Gojo said, you thought he shrugged. “I still want to be with you now,”

But he didn’t understand. That was the point. You’d decided on forever without a second thought, and he just let you. But sooner or later, when he decided it was time to experience life without you, he’d leave you behind. You didn’t want now if you couldn’t have the future.

You didn’t meet his eye. “Gojo, I think we should end things.”

It’s funny how the things you love the most can shatter in an instant.

✧ Masterlist ✧

[bokutosbabe]

my top artist was lana del rey and my top song of the year was fade into you by mazzy star !!

if your top artist was lana del rey / top song was fade into you by mazzy star, i’d pair you with…

hiori yo

જ⁀♡⊹｡° to see the truth

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event! - masterlist -

♡ content — hiori yo x gn! reader, gn! reader, set before blue lock, kinda manga spoilers? (hiori's past), hiori being in a bad headspace, established relationship

♡ synopsis — hiori yo doesn't know who he'll be if he doesn't make it in Blue Lock, but him just being hiori is enough for you.

The room was quiet, save for the hum of the fan spinning lazily overhead. Hiori sat on the edge of the bed, his head tilted down as if the weight of his thoughts was too heavy to bear. The letter from Blue Lock was crumpled in his hands, a stark contrast to the pristine opportunity it represented.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. It wasn’t unusual for Hiori to get lost in his thoughts—he’d always been the reflective type, the one to think things through to exhaustion before making a decision. But this felt different.

"You’ve been staring at that letter for hours," you said softly, stepping closer. "What’s stopping you?"

Hiori didn’t look up. His voice, when he spoke, was barely above a whisper. "It’s not that simple."

You sat down beside him, gently prying the letter from his hands. The crease of his brow, the way he fidgeted with his fingers—it was like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"You’ve been invited to something incredible," you said, your voice steady but kind. "This is your chance, Hiori."

He laughed, bitter and quiet. "My chance for what? To prove that I’m good at something I don’t even love? That I’m just pretending to care about soccer because everyone else thinks I should?"

You blinked, caught off guard. Hiori had always been reserved, but you didn’t think he felt this way—not about soccer. "I didn’t know you felt like this."

"Neither did I, until Karasu called me out on it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "He’s right, though. I don’t love the game. I never have."

You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he had every right to this opportunity. But you knew Hiori. He didn’t need empty reassurances—he needed someone to see him, to understand him.

"Do you feel like you deserve to go?" you asked gently.

Hiori’s silence was answer enough.

"Do you know what I think?" you continued, reaching for his hand. "I think it’s okay to not have all the answers. To not know if this is what you want. But you’ve been handed a chance to find out. And Hiori... not everyone gets that. Maybe this is what you need to figure out what makes you happy."

He looked at you then, his blue eyes searching yours, full of uncertainty and fear. "And if I fail? If I go and I’m still just... nothing?"

You squeezed his hand. "Then you’ll still be Hiori. And that’s enough for me."

The room was quiet again, but it was a softer silence now, like the air was lighter. Hiori nodded slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," you said with a smile. "But you’re allowed to make it complicated if you want. Just don’t let that stop you from trying."

For the first time that night, he let out a deep breath, like he’d been holding it in for years. "Thank you," he whispered.

The fan hummed softly above, and as Hiori rested his head against your shoulder, you hoped that wherever this journey took him, he’d find whatever it was he was searching for.

god this screamed hiori

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[softblesses]

What Safe Feels Like.

This fic has been a long time in the making! I have partnered with the talented bean, @rosieknows to create a lovely W/hite Co/llar, N/eal C/affrey centric fic for the winter season <3. The events that take place consist of our favourite conman getting lots of tender care at the B/urke's residence.

Part 1.

Word Count: Just under 5k.

CW: illness, snz (duh), contagion, a little later on in the fic. A tiny bit of mess, medical talk/topics.

Don't reblog to non-kink blogs. 18+ only, thank you! <33

Earlier in the week, Peter Burke had told Neal Caffrey to start wearing a coat outdoors — “weather’s changing,” he’d said, “you’ll catch a cold!” And, obviously, Neal had informed him that fact was merely a myth. Besides, the autumn sun was still shining two days ago and he was only walking a short way to the coffee shop and back. How bad could it really be…?

Perhaps the universe picked favourites that day, and, for once, Neal’s charm couldn’t save him. It could have been much worse, certainly, but as much as Neal tried to focus his mind on that belief, he couldn’t quite get himself to fully deny that it was very, very bad. 

It was as if the second he’d gotten far enough away from the bureau, the heavens had opened above him and soaked him from head to toe before he’d even arrived at the coffee shop door. Which, by the way, was closed for the first time ever. And, so, Neal had to hurry across the street to another. The icing on top of the cake, though, was the taxi that drove through a puddle and splashed him when he finally reached the other side. 

To say Peter got amusement out of all of this later on would’ve been an understatement. 

Neal had been forced to wear some ancient-looking FBI training clothes for the rest of the day, and the scowl on his face didn’t falter for quite some time. He had eventually dried off and warmed up — Peter even started to feel a little bad, and gave him his suit jacket as a blanket at one point. When the day ended, the sun was shining and Neal felt right as rain again. Although, the same couldn’t be said for the morning two days later.

The first sensation that struck him was how utterly cold he felt, even wrapped up in his own bed and blankets, which he sleepily pulled tighter around himself. Perhaps the fickle autumn weather had turned for the worse during the night as it was so prone to do. The next feeling he was able to process was pure weariness like gravity had decided to be particularly insistent that his limbs stay firmly on the bed and lashed out in punishment when they did attempt to move. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well or had worked himself harder the previous day than he realized.

The third — or, well, the third, fourth, fifth, and so on for quite a few — sensations Neal felt were the nail in the proverbial coffin. An urgent, almost burning tickle budded in his upper sinuses, causing him to blink in irritation. Soon enough, the itch found its way to spread through the entire reaches of his nose. His eyebrows knitted together in slants, his breath caught in his throat, and his soft lips fell open before —

“Hihh! Hehhdtschh’uh! Hahh… hiht-ktschhh—tschhh!… Ugh, god,” he sneezed, ducking forward sleepily into his blanket since he had neither the time nor alertness to cover with anything else. Sighing in a mixture of relief and dread, he came to the conclusion that he was likely getting sick. Maybe if he was tired enough, felt cold enough, and pouted long enough, the cold would just take pity on him and leave. Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, he still felt sick, which meant it was time for Plan B: work through it because it was a busy week and hope it didn’t get any worse. And, most importantly, hide it from Peter. 

The warm shower seemed to help a little, but it didn’t take long for the aches to start creeping back in and for his sinuses to grow irritated again. Once he was dressed, with his hair styled and shoes tied. . . Neal was ready. Ready as he’d ever be, at least. Besides, he felt fine, for the most part. Downing some water should help his throat, and a couple of Tylenol should stave off the headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Peter should be here any minute to pick him up, and Neal placed his hat — one of his favourites, both for comfort and in the hopes that looking well-dressed or put together enough would dissuade any suspicion — upon his head with a sigh. He can do this. 

“Morning, Neal,” Peter greeted in his usual tone, toying with the heating in the car. “‘S cold out. I told you the seasons were changing!”

“Morning,” Neal muttered, climbing into the car and buckling up. “Y’know, you really missed your true calling as a weather boy.”

“That’s funny,” Peter remarked back, beginning to drive now. “But, I think my assets are best settled within the FBI. Criminals are more predictable than the weather if you know what you’re doing.” He chuckled to himself. 

Neal stared out of the window at the passing cars and orange and yellow leaves on the trees that rolled by. He was still tired and quieter than usual, Peter noted mentally, watching him unbeknownst to the criminal consultant himself, who was still focused on their outdoor surroundings. He gave a slow blink, directing his attention to the heating that was uncomfortably too warm all of a sudden. Pushing the vent closed, he glanced sideways. 

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just quiet, that’s all. Quiet usually means up to something.”

“I can be quiet. It’s early. I thought you liked quiet, anyway,” Neal retorted, shifting slightly in his seat. He couldn’t get comfortable despite moving, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

The rest of the journey was left without questions, and they made it to the parking garage without any more issues. Neal got out of the car, rubbing at his nose whilst Peter couldn’t see him. He paused. This really wasn’t the time, but he’d have to play it off somehow because this discomfort wasn’t going to let up. Reaching down for the leg of his trousers, Neal stifled a well-silenced sneeze.

“Are you coming?” Peter called out, and as Neal raised his head again, he sniffled. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peter! My anklet was stuck in my trouser leg. Appearance matters, you know.” 

“Everyone here knows you’ve got the ankle jewellery, Caffrey. I’m sure you wouldn’t cause mass hysteria with a flash of your leg.”

“You’d be surprised,” Neal grinned mischievously, keeping up with Peter as they made their way toward the elevator. 

The agent only rolled his eyes in response and pressed the button for the elevator, still none the wiser. For now. Neal had let Peter step in first, scrunching up his nose behind him, and then —  somehow and with great difficulty — he managed to resist the urge to sniffle the entire way up to their floor. When the elevator dinged to a stop and Neal exited it, he was immediately hit by everything all at once: the brightness of the lighting, the overlap of voices, and the general sounds of the morning bustle. Usually, it was like white noise to him, but today it hurt his head, and the lighting did nothing to relieve the itch in his sinuses.

He pressed his wrist against his nose, haphazardly managing to prevent another sneeze before he followed quickly behind Peter. “I’ll be right there! Just grabbing something from my desk,” Neal called across the bullpen, ducking down behind his desk as if he were looking for something. 

But, instead. . . “Hh—ushcht!” He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, frozen for a moment longer. “Hheh—htchht!”  Followed by a series of long sniffles.

“Lost something, Caffrey?” Diana’s voice interrupted his small recovery period, and Neal flinched so hard in surprise that he bumped his head underneath his desk with a small thud. Damn it. He paused for just a second before swiping a pen from his pocket. Then, he stood up straight again, flashing the pen in her general direction, with a scowl crossing his features. 

“Dropped my pen. Not a crime, last time I checked,” he muttered, placing it safely back into his pocket. After straightening his hat, Neal moved past her to get to the conference room. 

Peter looked up at the sound of footsteps and silently wondered what Diana had said to the CI to make him look so disgruntled. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he dared to jest, waiting for Neal and Diana to sit before starting his talk for the day; they had to find a new case, as well as complete the paperwork from their last one. Of course, Neal wasn’t exactly amused by the briefing topic. Yet, he didn’t seem to audibly complain for nearly as long as he usually did. Huh. 

Neal simply took the selection of case files that Peter slid towards him across the tabletop and found the one that he had to finish up. He opened the file slowly, tapping his pen against his forehead. He stared at the page for so long that he barely noticed Peter watching him from across the room. 

“Neal. . . You good?” His voice snapped the CI from his daze, who was quick to shake himself out of it and flash a signature smile the agent’s way. 

“Always. You know how much I love paperwork!” Neal responded, sarcasm evident in his tone. 

“Wonderful, you’ll have plenty to enjoy,” Peter retorted with a dry smirk, placing another file in front of his partner. “Focus up; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How do you sound so happy when you say that?” the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Still, focusing was easier said than done in this situation. Despite his best attempt at listening attentively, his mind felt fuzzy. Additionally, his nose still itched, causing him to scrunch it up slightly. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Unfortunately, the touch seemed to be ineffective at best and intensifying at worst. Either way, he quickly tipped past the point of no return and crumbled forward into his fist with a sneeze, stifled into near silence as usual.

“Hihh—kKTtsh!” After a few blinks, he dared to peek at his coworkers’ reactions, hoping that the others had been as distracted as he was himself. For a moment, he thought he was lucky enough.

“Bless you, Caffrey,” rang a deep, feminine voice. Damn it. Diana was perceptive even in the most hectic of times, so it was only natural that she would notice a disturbance — slight as it was — during a particularly slow and dull meeting.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly, if a bit shyly. He saw Peter’s gaze flick to Diana and back at him. Clearing his throat, he examined the documents in front of him intently to prompt the continuation of the meeting.

Peter continued to talk about the writing they had to do, but Neal stopped listening some time ago and was mostly focused on trying not to sneeze again. He glanced at his handler every now and then to keep up the facade that he was listening, and turned a few pages of the file in front of him. As soon as Peter had finished talking and a small hubbub started up, Neal saw his chance, standing up and using the file as a shield to hide his face. 

‘HnnKxt. . Heh’ngxt.’  Well, at least he’d gotten away with that one. 

He even almost made it to the door without anyone saying anything about it until Peter spoke up from behind him. “You going somewhere?” He questioned, and Neal stopped. So close. 

“To my desk…?” Neal replied, thankful for the fact that his voice barely sounded congested for the moment. “You can’t deny that I’ll get distracted in here.”

Peter frowned slightly before nodding. “Alright, but don’t try and get out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal murmured, hurrying to his desk; his nose was beginning to run, and he didn’t exactly want anyone to witness that. He pressed his silk handkerchief to his nose after sitting down, keeping his head held low and sniffling quietly. He went to the men’s room a minute later, waiting until it was empty so that he could blow his nose and splash some cold water on his face. This was going to be a damn long day. 

He kept a low profile for as long as possible, dismissing Peter’s questions when he’d come over to see how he was doing and sneaking off to the men’s room whenever he could; by lunchtime, the congestion was worsening, and he had to keep sniffling to stop his nose from running too much. He barely even noticed Diana wandering over. 

“Caffrey?” Her voice made him flinch slightly in surprise, but he managed to pull it off as a stretching motion. 

Neal glanced up, blinking a few times. “Hm?”

“You’ve usually begged Peter five times to go on a coffee run by now… it’s already lunchtime.” Her eyebrows raised. “What gives?”

The CI shrugged, turning back to his papers and picking up his pen. He’d barely done anything yet, but he needed to keep up appearances. 

“So, are you gonna go get some?”

“Huh?” Neal just really wanted her to go away because he wasn’t really listening, and his head was starting to ache. 

“The coffee — Neal, are you okay?”

He plastered on a signature smile, hopping up to his feet. “I’m just messing with you, Diana. The usual drinks?” Neal asked, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. 

He made his way to the doors, turning when Diana called his name again. “Caffrey, do you want a sandwich? From that place down the block? Jones is buying!” 

“No, thanks! I’ll get something at the coffee place.” Neal called back, only somewhat lying. He was getting something, and that something was coffee. Or maybe tea, actually. 

•••

He was gone for slightly longer than usual, but nobody was going to question it. Neal ensured it didn’t take too long, however, or Peter would start to get antsy and probably call or text him a few times. He got everyone’s drinks and opted for green tea for himself — he could feel the buzzing in his sinuses worsening, not to mention the congestion was starting to properly settle in and clog up his nose now. Going outside hadn't exactly made it any better, either, and he was sniffling in the elevator the entire way up. 

He carried the drinks into the conference room, setting them down on the table and exhaling slowly through his mouth as he stepped away.  Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him — they were all busy eating their food, and Neal had to stop himself from audibly gagging. Did he really feel that bad all of a sudden? His hand reached forward to grab his cup whilst everyone else began helping themselves to their drinks. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he realised he hadn’t taken his own cup at all, and from Peter’s confused expression, he’d gotten the tea. 

“Neal…” his voice started, and the CI wasn’t quite sure what would come next, so he butted in with a quick, haphazard excuse. 

“Hey! You said it yourself, the weather’s changing. Tea will do you good.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the little white lie seemed to satisfy him for now, and everyone got back to what they were doing. To keep up appearances, he sipped the coffee for a while, trying to ignore the way it made his stomach turn. After around five minutes, he snuck out of the door and headed back to sit at his desk; if anyone were to question it, he’d make up the same excuse about needing to concentrate. The coffee was thrown into the trash the second he sat down, and a heavy sigh came afterwards. 

•••

“God damn it,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he looked around the office. “Diana, Jones, have you seen Caffrey anywhere? It doesn’t look like he’s even so much as glanced at any of his work today.”

“Not in a while, no,” Jones answered, looking behind him to verify the absence, though if the CI had simply been standing in the middle of that open hallway, he probably would have been noticed by now. “He seemed kind of tired, though. Maybe he went home early?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Something feels off. I don’t think he’s just slacking off again,” Peter dismissed, forehead wrinkled in those signature frown lines and lips pressed firmly together in a mixture of concern and disapproval.

“Peter, your blood pressure’s high enough as it is,” Diana deadpanned, earning an offended head tilt from the man in question. “Go back to what you were doing; I’ll find your missing dog,” she reassured, already standing up without waiting for a response.

“I… all right. Thanks, let me know if you find him,” Peter relented.

“You gonna put up fliers?” Jones joked with an entertained smirk as he watched Diana beginning to leave.

“Nah, not yet. If I don’t see him, I think I’ll start with treats to draw him out. Maybe a nice Bordeaux,” she quipped in turn with a thoughtful expression. The clicks of her heels against the firm carpet seemed to echo more than usual as if the room felt emptier and quieter somehow. Though she tried to play it off, she had to admit to herself that she was worried; she’d felt that sour twist in her gut far too many times in her work and personal life to ignore it. She hoped he was all right, particularly since he wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and that she’d be able to find him soon if not.

It took less than 15 minutes, not due to any detective skills as an FBI agent either. While the office was large, it didn’t really take long to traverse, especially if you were familiar with it enough to avoid getting lost. Besides, the floor plan was quite open, and the majority of rooms had large glass panel windows, so they were easy to check. It was an older conference room, though, one without any indoor-facing windows or glass doors, where she found him.

“You good, Caffrey?” Diana asked, the light from the open door illuminating the scene before her just enough to see the CI in question asleep, lying on his back in the centre of the long, rectangular table. Seemingly, to cushion the otherwise flat, hard surface, he had rolled his suit jacket into a makeshift pillow to rest his head on. “Caffrey,” she called again.

“Hmmn?” Neal hummed groggily, stirring at the sudden noise. “‘M sorry… ‘s still on…” he mumbled almost entirely incoherently, fumbling around to pull his left pant leg up enough to reveal his anklet.

“Neal, you’re dreaming,” she offered in a gentler tone, heart twisting in concern. Fortunately, that seemed to bring him past the threshold into the waking world.

“Oh, hey, Diana,” he muttered, rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking them open.

“We were looking for you,” she began, finally flicking on the ceiling lights of the room. “Are you—”

The sudden influx of light directly above him sparked a buzzing sensation deep in his sinuses that caused him to immediately crumple forward into his elbow. “Ehdt-ktschhh! H-huhh… ihdtsch! Heh’tischhh—dtschhh! Ugh…” Sniffling pitifully, he sat up properly and got off the table.

“Jesus. Bless you?” Diana said, scanning him over with her eyes.

“Thangks. Sorry, it’s, uh, the lights,” he replied sheepishly with another wet sniffle.

After a moment, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them over to her coworker with a soft “here.” He flashed her a grateful smile and blew his nose quietly. “You, uh… get too tired to head home?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could say that, I guess,” he muttered in embarrassment before the next words caught in his throat, sending him coughing into the tissues in his hand.

“You know you could just go home sick, right?” Diana prompted with folded arms.

“Yeah, sure, if I was sick, but I’m not, and we have work to do. Just needed to rest my head for a minute,” he insisted with his usual winning smile, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes as much as it typically did.

“World’s greatest conman’s off his game, huh?” Diana prompted, folding her arms. “Do you really think that sounds believable?”

His lips opened with a lie about his health on his tongue, but he sighed in defeat instead. “It wasn’t that bad earlier, but it kinda just hit me all at once… sorry for disappearing out of nowhere.”

Diana hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “You have a fever?”

“Uh… probably a mild one? I’m not 100% sure,” he replied, touching his hand to his forehead and neck despite knowing it would be a fruitless examination.

“All right, c’mere,” she beckoned, though she closed most of the gap herself and began to feel his forehead for fever with the front and back of her palm. 

“Heh-hh…” Neal’s breath caught softly, blinking before pressing his knuckles up against his nose.

“If you sneeze on me, I swear to god,” she warned.

“Hh-huhhh… hh!!” The pressure was quite clearly not enough to suppress the reflex any longer, so he turned as far away from her as he could—her taking a step back was likely still a wonderful decision—and ducked into the crook of his arm. “Hihhtschh! Huhhhhkdtsch! Ugh…”

“Bless you.”

“Thangks,” he replied, swiping a tissue under his running nose again and discarding it in a nearby trash can. “So, what’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“You feel warm.”

“If your career in the FBI doesn’t work out, you should really think about going into the medical field.” Neal sniffled, scrunching his nose in a poor attempt to stop it from running. 

“Watch it, Caffrey. One doctor in the house is enough already—not that it would take years of medical training to know you need to go home and rest.” Diana pointed a finger at him, spending a moment assessing the situation. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” With that, she simply turned around and left.

“Okay? I-I thought we both wanted me to go home right now? Diana?” The confused, half-hearted reply was not granted the slightest form of acknowledgement, except for the door closing behind his coworker.

Neal blinked slowly, unsure of what to do for a moment, before hopping down from the table and, noting how horrible standing up felt, taking refuge in one of the spinny chairs. She said to wait, so… something in him took the instruction to heart. Still, he was impatient to the very end and soon curled up in the chair for comfort, eyes blinking slowly and heavily, and maybe just having them shut for a moment would be nice—

“Did you fall back asleep again?” 

The rhetorical question was from Diana, he was pretty sure, but he only really registered the presence of the words, not processing much else. Regardless, it quickly roused him from his short-lived respite of slumber, prompting him to sit up straight and rub at his drowsy eyes.

“Hmmn?” Neal mumbled with a small yawn, “Um, I might have dozed off a little?” He took another second to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”

“No shit,” Diana monotoned.

“Sleeping on the job, eh, Caffrey?” Peter teased.

“I doubt he’s been getting much work done with whatever plague he picked up from cold and flu season,” Diana shot back.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know?” Neal pouted. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.”

“If this is just something little, then I’d hate to see you with a full-blown flu,” Diana muttered, looking from Neal and then to Peter. “Peter’s taking you home.” She added, watching as her Boss’ expression turned to one of confusion. 

“I am?” A pause. A ‘look’ from Diana. “I. . . Am.” He looked at Neal, properly looked this time. He did look pretty awful, and it was doubtful even the best of con men could manage to hide whatever it was he’d managed to hide up until now; his nose was red, he looked exhausted, and his cheeks were starting to flush. Not to mention how uncharacteristically unkempt he was looking. 

“C’mon, Neal.” Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand.

It took them both a lot longer than usual to get downstairs and into the parking garage because a feverish Neal had decided to press multiple elevator buttons at once… and then tried to get into the wrong car once they finally did arrive, but they were eventually buckled in and ready to go. 

“Never a dull day with Neal Caffrey around, huh?” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he started up the car engine. 

“Never a dull… day with P’ter Burke… and his car..” Neal mumbled, sniffling and leaning to toy with the radio. 

“Hey, no touching. Sit back and don’t meddle.” He began to drive towards the exit, ensuring to press the child lock button. Just in case. 

No sooner than they were out of the building and driving into the sunshine, Neal shielded his eyes with his wrist and groaned. 

‘Nnn’gxChht… xXchhht—oo.’ He sneezed into the wrist previously used to try and hide his eyes and sniffled thickly. 

“Gesundheit,” Peter muttered, already stopping in a slight queue of traffic. 

Neal didn’t answer, leaning his head against the window with a heavy sigh. Now that he was caught, he couldn’t pretend he was fine, and he hated the sense of looking… weak. Especially to Peter, which was a whole thing to analyse in itself. He just wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t now, and Elizabeth certainly wasn’t going to let him. Of course, he was grateful to have people in his life who cared about him like that, but it was new and it was different, and Neal Caffrey liked it when things went his way. 

“You know you’re allowed to call in sick, right?” Peter spoke up again as the traffic started to move. 

“You’re allowed to call in sick.” Neal sniffled, still leaning his head against the window. 

There was a pause whilst Peter thought about Neal’s behaviour throughout the day. He was pretty good at hiding things. But… 

“Did you even eat anything today?”

“Mhm.”

“And, I’m guessing the tea you brought me was not for me…?”

“Wow, real FBI agent over here,” Neal grumbled, lifting his head slightly to glance at Peter, only to be once again blindsided by the sun. 

His handler sighed as they stopped at another red light. “There’s sunglasses in the dash,” Peter said after a moment, “they’re El’s. Blue eyes are more sensitive, right?” He questioned, watching Neal shrug out of the corner of his eye. The CI placed them on, seemingly relaxing a little more. 

“Thanks,” Neal mumbled, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. 

As Peter started driving again, he knew he wasn’t going to take Neal back to June’s. He’d only hide himself away and pretend everything was fine — while making himself worse in the process. Nope. Neal Caffrey was about to experience Elizabeth Burke’s expert bedside manner and Peter’s on-point tea-making skills. 

•••

“Honey, is that you?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “You’re home early; it’s only three o’clock! Is everything—” The footsteps came to an abrupt halt as she joined the pair in the living room. “— oh.” The moment she laid eyes on Neal, she immediately understood why her husband had come home so soon. 

Peter gave a sort of glance towards her that clearly said, “Help me,” and El chuckled softly. She pointed at Peter before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You, kitchen. And you,” she paused to tap Neal’s chest with her index finger. “Upstairs. Let’s get you something comfortable to wear.”

He just sort of looked at her, crystal blue eyes a little glazed over. “Hi, Elizabeth. Peter’s supposed to take me home, but he took a wrong turn,” Neal mumbled, watching his handler walk away. 

“I think he took a very well-planned turn. Come on, honey, upstairs.” She ushered him towards the staircase, following behind. “You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and I’ll get you some clothes. Neal, don’t give me that look. You sound terrible, and you can’t pretend you don’t.” Elizabeth sighed, reaching to help him with his suit jacket. “All that sniffling will give you a headache,” she chided gently. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She fetched some of Peter’s pyjamas, a blue plaid set he only tended to wear during particularly cold weather, and placed them outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to get you some blankets for the couch, okay? I’ll be downstairs; the clothes are right here. Neal?” Elizabeth frowned, reaching to tap against the bathroom door, awaiting an answer. 

“Mhm,” came the stuffy, sleepy reply. 

It wasn’t long before the CI was curled up on the Burkes’ couch, wrapped in blankets and resting his head against a pillow. He looked exhausted and much more dishevelled than Neal Caffrey would ever dream of looking in front of someone else. Both El and Peter stood by, watching as their house guest snored and exhaled congested breaths; he’d fallen asleep just minutes after resting his head down. Turns out that masking your symptoms all day was pretty tiring work. 

“You can’t deny that he looks adorable like that,” El whispered, resting her head against her husband’s arm. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Peter muttered back quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighed.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 48

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You calm the baby as your own tears dry up. She doesn’t deserve misery even if you’re cursed with it. Maybe that’s what you should try, to save her from the same. If you can.

You get her to sleep at last and fall back onto the bed, weak with cheeks like crepe paper from crying. You stare at the ceiling as the window darkens as the night approaches. You knew deep down Lloyd wouldn’t be gone forever but that eventuality could never prepare you for his return.

Your eyes drift closed as you lay sideways on the mattress, too lazy to drag yourself up to the pillows. How pathetic are you. Feeling sorry for yourself because the obvious happened. Because that scum ran off like the cowardly dog he is. You knew from the moment you met him who he was so you can't pretend to be surprised.

There’s a tap on the door. You tense but your sense keeps you from panicking. It’s too gentle to be that jackass. You know he doesn’t have much in that thick skull of his but you hope he knows better than to try anything tonight.

“Sweetheart,” Harlan’s voice seeps through the door like molasses, “if you’re asleep, don’t worry, I just wanted to check in.”

You swallow and sit up. You prefer him to his wife or son. There’s a twinge in your chest as you realise you missed him. Of anyone, he’s been your only true companion. Not some erstwhile comfort or momentary escape.

You get up and open the door. The tall man stoops just below the lintel, his thick white facial hair catching your attention. Everything happened so fast, you hadn’t noticed it. His usually clean shaven face is slightly haggard with his exhaustion.

“Hey,” you greet him in a half-whisper, the quiet of the house makes even that seem loud, “wanna come in?”

“Sure,” he accepts and ducks inside as you hold the door. You shut it behind him as he smooths his grown out locks and peers around with a bashful posture. 

You come around him and stop by the bassinet, looking in at the dozing infant. You put your hand on the canopy and lift your chin, “you wanna see her?”

He hesitates, reaching to rub his neck, “I came to see to you first,” he intones, “I can’t imagine it’s been easy.”

“Me?” You scoff, “you don’t have to lie. You can hold her, she’ll just fall back asleep,” you move to reach into the bassinet and he nears, putting his hand out but not touching you.

“No, I mean it, I’m not gonna ask how you are ‘cause I know. But you’re my daughter and I wasn’t out there for just that bastard. I didn’t run halfway across the god– across the world for that moron,” he sniffs, “come on, let her sleep.” He pauses and glances down, lips curling slightly at the sight of his granddaughter, “she’s even more beautiful than I recall.”

He waves you away from her and you sit on the edge of the bed. You sit in silence as you watch his lingering gaze on the baby. Maybe, if he can look at her with that much love…

“You got questions, I’ll answer them,” he moves away from the bassinet as he sits beside you, “and if you don’t wanna talk about him, fair enough.”

You nod and look at the floor. You don’t know what you want. It doesn't really matter where he was. It matters that he left and that he stayed away. He confirmed every doubt you carried for nine months.

“Not about him,” you shake your head, feeling the sting return to the brim of your eyes, “but… did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what?”

“You called me your daughter,” you look at him meekly, “is that really what you believe?”

“'Course,” he snorts, “Dottie may’ve never given me a girl but the world did and they did a good job.”

Your cheek pinch and you fight back tears, “I don’t think you’d want me to be your daughter if you knew.”

“If I knew what?” He watches you, no judgment, no expectation. If you don’t tell him, you know he won’t ask again.

You hang your head and cross your arms. You close your eyes as you pick out the words, “I… found someone else. Just… just to waste the time. I wasn’t going to wait any longer for him.”

He hums and takes a long breath, “well, I know now and I don’t feel any different.”

You clamp your lips together and you glance at the bassinet. You hear the baby babble. You shudder and let your hands fall into your lap.

“There’s something else.”

“There is.”

You sniff and cover your face. You don’t know if you can say it out loud. It keeps you awake at night, it eats you alive, and it wakes you every day with a wail.

“The baby…” you slide your hands away from your face, “I’m trying… so hard.”

“She’s healthy, you’re doing good, sweetheart,” he says.

“No, no, you don’t–” you nearly choke as a lump rises to your throat, “I can’t love her. I try and I try and I can’t. I can’t even say her name.”

He nods and chews on your confession. You won’t look at him. You can’t face his disappointment. You can’t bear to see in him the same hatred you feel for yourself.

He startles you as he reaches over and puts his large hand over yours. He pulls it away from your lap and sidles closer on the bed. He holds your hand tight and leans his arm against yours.

“The only thing that upsets me about that is you lying,” he says, “because if you didn’t love that little girl, you wouldn’t be so worried about not.”

Your lip temples as you stare at the wall. No, he doesn’t understand. He can’t.

“I don’t… I can’t feel it–”

“You’ve been surviving and you done that for her as much as yourself,” he lets go of your hand and lifts his arm up onto your shoulders, “you ain’t got the chance to feel. Now you do, sweetheart.” He draws you into an embrace, “you don’t gotta take care of no one but you. I’ll deal with that brat I raised.”

You sniffle as your tears well over. You can’t stymie the flow once it starts. Harlan rests his chin lightly on your head as you curl into his shoulder and sob quietly, clinging to the front of his shirt. As your knuckles press against his ribs, he winces and lets out a wheeze.

You flinch but he doesn’t let you go, keeping you close.

“Harlan,” you croak, “you’re hurt?”

“I’m just fine,” he assures you as he rubs your back, “let me tell you, I dealt Marion a worse blow.”

You laugh through your tears at the thought of it, “did you really?”

“A nice one square in the chops just for you,” he avows, “another across his big dumb nose for baby Luna, too.” 

Your lips tug at the image playing in your head and the snipe about Lloyd’s nose, the most defining feature he shares with his father. You don’t know if Harlan meant to be funny but you it eases the weight in your chest. You gently pull away and look up at your father.

“Will you hold Luna?” You ask as you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “she’s missed you so much.”

[mgnifique-tion]

— worlds apart.

summary || ``sometimes, genuine love isn’t enough for two to let things stay the same.``

pairing: 2012-2013!loki x gn!scientist!reader song recommendations: love you with all my heart – crush lowercase is intended… » part 1 | part 2

— themes and warning/s: angst yet slightly happy ending (?) somewhere in the middle, forbidden love, thorki happy ending (brotherly,, i can't believe i have to put brotherly in this one)

— a/n: finally, the last part is finished! this took me a while to post bc haha, i graduated and got a job (GOAT fr) 🎓 and idk, i'm not really awesome w the time management (un-GOATified) and i also wasn't happy with my first draft of this so i had to write a whole new second half 😭 but ig if you guys want the other - much happier ending, you can boost this up to 20 reblogs (that would be very great!! thx!! 🤘) and i'll post it right away bc it's already written anyway!!

— edit: check out the song rec,,, it’s magnificent. idk what koreans ate to make good OST 😭 + there's a noticeable timeskip from when loki returned to asgard and his imprisonment there + it was also before frigga's passing :(

[ total words: 2.5k ]

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───── ❝ ❞ ─────

loki left...

but at what cost?

now, you were standing in front of him while he was locked away in the cell provided by s.h.i.e.l.d. and he glared at you coldly, just like how he looked at you the first time. but right now, loki’s mind couldn’t unwrap around the fact that you had turned him in… or at least, that’s what he thought happened since he’s known betrayal far worse than everyone else, not even thor.

“loki.” you placed your palm against the glass as he looked away, a frown plastered over his face as a scowl escaped his lips. he really thought you were set apart from all the humans who were terrified of him, the humans who had surrounded him, and the humans who fired weapons stronger than bullets at him.

but in the end, you were still human… and he hated it badly. “you betrayed me,” loki spoke out, “... you don’t know the extent of your power, do you?”

and those first three words he uttered broke you. how could he think you betrayed him? for god’s sake, you’ve kissed him without thinking twice! you’ve followed his rules without complaining! you’ve eaten a midnight meal with him on the top of a mountain and talked to him about the little girl you failed to save… your little sister.

why on earth would he think that you, out of all people, have turned into a traitor?

“loki,” you said his name once more but in a softer manner, “look, you’re not seeing this right. i would never turn you in–”

“i am seeing it clearly.” he grunted, still not looking at you. he couldn’t dare to look at you after that godforsaken kiss; so heavenly to feel but so hellish to remember. “y/n, i–,” he had to cut himself off, knowing that he’s just called you by your name. the name that every friend would address you by. the name that would remind him that there was this closeness between both of you at one point.

for a short amount of time, he’d want to spend more with you but the universe had told him it was too big of a risk. “... i shouldn’t have set you free… i never expected you to be in front of me right now,” he solemnly whispered, now knowing the consequences of falling for a human. after all, how unethical would it be for a god to fall for some earthly creature? 

he found you beautiful in so many ways that he just couldn’t let himself not feel your lips, his mind overly consumed by the imagination of just taking you, claiming his place in you, and turning you as the right hand to his throne.

having you by his side; that was his fantasy. an everlasting one. 

and this fueled his rage even more against his older brother, who could love a human while he had to be kept in this cage, desperately reaching his hands out to you while the windows shielded you from him as if he was some beast; only allowed to watch but never touch. “you’re mine!” he growled loudly, now staring into your eyes while his fist banged against the glass, making you flinch. “... you were supposed to be mine.” 

as selfish and ridiculous as he may have sounded, saying those words broke him. it shattered him. the truth will always shatter the wall of lies he’s made for himself.

when you thought this situation couldn’t get any worse, you heard thundering footsteps from behind, almost as if it was approaching you. on the other side of the glass, loki’s eyes darkened, a familiar smirk creeping up his face like he’s worn a mask. “... so, you’ve taken l/n away from me as well? how generous.” the god of mischief’s voice was mixed with bitterness and disguised wrath as you turned around and saw the storm’s mighty warrior. 

“listen, brother,” thor called his name with a hint of hope, “that doctor did not turn you in, they just wanted to pay you a visit.”

of course loki didn’t believe him. in fact, loki couldn't; the god of mischief had been lied to many times before he turned his back against those same liars. “if they hadn’t turn me in, then why am i here? why are they not with me? why are they standing next to you outside of this room!?” jealousy seeped into the cracks of his mask, the reality of his emotions destroying himself.

he couldn’t bear seeing his brother standing next to you. “because you’re a criminal,” you spoke up, breaking the silence after loki just shouted at thor’s face. taking another step closer to the glass, you stated, “loki, you’ve taken me hostage and you kissed me–”

“no, you kissed me,” loki claimed.

“because you told me to!” you clarified.

“and you desired it.” he insisted.

while both of you fought, thor stood right beside you with a rather awkward stance, forced to listen to his younger, fucked in the head brother express how much he wanted you to be his. needless to say, it was an unpleasant discussion to witness all in real-time. “enough!” roared the mighty god of thunder, catching both of your attention at the speed of lightning.

but the argument didn’t stop there. “you tell me that i left an effect on you but you’re so full of yourself that you wouldn’t let this go.” and anger found you at that moment, showing loki all the consequences of his actions; what world domination led him to. 

“... my god, loki,” you uttered hopelessly, “you know you don’t have to do this. it never had to be like this.”

in those hours you’ve been around him, you knew that you weren’t the only one controlled by such power. his every move had to be right – had to make the plan progress or else, all things fail and by now, you’ve already noticed that loki so despised it.

loki so desperately didn’t want to bring the whole order down.

“please, your brother is willing to give us a chance–”

“if this is an attempt to persuade me to stop, you’re not doing so well at all.”

of course loki wasn’t quite fond on hearing about what his brother thought about the two of you. he couldn’t care less about him anymore; whether he truly wanted it or not, the plan will push through. 

this world will be molded in his hands and his horns will be everyone’s crucifix. 

so, you tried one more time. “... you already have power over me,” you admitted, your voice trembling in shame and pride. thor, who now stood behind you, couldn’t bear listening to this but he couldn’t help but think that his brother was turning you down over his ruling despite needing clarity that all he needed was love. “is that not enough?”

and there was coldness after the fire, filling in the entire room as you waited. there wasn’t enough patience for loki anymore but you kept on holding on because you had to. if this was the only way you could persuade him to stop all of this, then you had to do it.

if you couldn’t save her before, maybe you could save the people she’s left behind.

but there was no response as the alarms had gone off. agents from around the area had already told the rest of the avengers that dr. banner had turned into the emerald beast and you just had to be kept away from loki’s cell to prevent further damage yet what they didn’t know was that loki had given you a promise: that not even a finger from him would leave a bruise on your skin.

a promise that he continued to stand by even if it’s too late.

“forgive me, doctor.” he closed his eyes for a moment, letting his sorrow sink deeper into his hardened heart. soon, his irises stared into his open palm, determination floating above his guilt. 

“but this can’t be stopped.”

not even an hour later, his cell opened and chaos ensued in the rest of manhattan. creatures from other worlds led, buildings – new and old – fell, and the six were united and formed to defend the planet while the people genuinely thought that the end of the world had come for them; all because of the god with that damn scepter.

unfortunately, he ended up receiving a sentence from his father.

“you have a visitor.” the gentle voice of the woman who stood next to you called onto him. the god was facing away from the window, which exposed him to the other prisoners. those who have been imprisoned just like him no longer treated him with respect; after all, how could the son of odin do such a thing?

yet that was the entire problem: he was not odin’s son. not anymore. “a visitor?” he laughed at the idea of it, believing that no one would dare to visit him at this point. even for him, it was a surprise that his mother was doing that exact thing now after everything that happened.

he never meant to make it this far.

all he wanted was to end his pain but in return, he brought it to everyone.

“and who would that be, mother?”

“... a friend of yours. from midgard.”

the moment that damned planet was mentioned, he lifted his head from the floor, slowly turning around. his pupils dilated at the sight of you standing next to his mother as hundreds of questions broke into his mind. but one question remained unanswered: how on earth did you reach asgard?

“... you.” his gaze, voice, and demeanor softened. the idea of you visiting him in an outer space prison was weakening his cold heart on the spot. 

his mother stared at her son before shifting her gaze at you, giving you a small nod. “i’ll leave you both alone. thank you for visiting him…” she thanked you, taking the steps further away from you, the glass, and her imprisoned son after you returned her with a smile. it was the first time in months that loki had actually looked at someone with vulnerability showing in every crevice of his whole being.

carefully, you went up the short steps of the stairs in front of the glass, walking closer to him as you watched him do the same. “... your brother allowed me to pay you a visit,” you spoke, earning yet another one of those sarcastic laughs he always had. 

“oh, i don’t believe you,” he stated blatantly, “thor would never allow such a thing–”

“it was because he found me crying… about you.” you interrupted him, which silenced him right away. after his sentence had been announced around the headquarters, it felt as if a piece of your heart went missing, a void just forming right there. you never planned to visit him; what he did to manhattan was horrible, the entire world could’ve been put at stake if the black order continued.

but thor insisted after hearing you cry alone in your respective office.

“... well.” he shrugged, chuckling at the thought of it. “it’s unsurprising that he wanted you to see me like this,” he expressed as he looked at how much of a mess he was already, his palms resting against each other before placing them both behind his back. “... was it to embarrass me? in front of you?”

you shook your head and told him sternly, “no.”

he was yet taken aback once more, tilting his head to the side in confusion. he’s always believed his brother would only allow things to interact with him if it’ll shame him to the fullest. shame him for all the things he’s done. all the harm he’s caused.

“are you…” he paused, his throat drying up in anxiety. “... are you ashamed of me?”

it was rare for the god to ever ask someone that question. loki’s already made up his mind: he’s unloved, uncared for. a cunning, manipulative being who played with his subjects, leaving no room for regret in his heart.

but for the first time, he felt afraid of what you felt about him.

because all he wanted to be was to be next to you. to feel you. 

to hold the soft palms of your hands in his and never let them go ever again.

and again, you shook your head and placed your palm over the glass. “i could never be ashamed of you even if i wanted to,” you responded softly as loki’s breath hitched. “... but the things you did– they are… just… wrong...” you didn’t dare to say more as you watched how despair filled his gaze, his approaching hand further away from the glass as if he couldn’t see himself being with you. loki, in this very moment, was forced to swallow and embrace the truth – that the idea of you and him will always remain an idea because of what he did.

so, you’ve lowered your palm, too.

loki turned his back and walked away, his mind taken over by regret. if only he had met you differently, things wouldn’t have been like this. if only he hadn’t been so angry at his known family for keeping such a secret from him, you would’ve been his. if only things had been different, you could’ve been in his embrace right at this very moment.

but he knew that none of those would matter. “you should go.” the god denied himself of this privilege, which was something you didn’t want as you shook your head. you swore to never leave him; not in this state at least.

“and please,” he begged breathlessly as he kept his head down. “... live happily for me.” 

and the entire hall fell silent again. even the others seemed tense, listening to the words exchanged by both you and the god. 

“but i want to stay… i still love you.” those were the only words that could come out of your mouth at the moment, protesting hopelessly. 

“... it’s too late.” his voice trembled at the mention of it and before you could say anything back, his brother entered, catching your attention. with a single nod from him, you knew that it was best to follow the avenger instead of staying longer. after all, you were not part of their world… and neither should loki be a part of yours.

the god’s gaze lingered on you as the moment you were gone, he closed his eyes shut for a while until he realized that thor watched him. “what? are you glad that this happened? glad that i pushed them away for them to be finally free from this? for them to be happy?” loki snapped, scoffing at his brother’s observant glare. in response, thor just sighed deeply, slightly leaning against the glass.

“you do truly love them… if you want, i'll watch them for you. i’ve never expected you to love a human since you weren’t fond of the idea.” it took loki a long pause before he knew that his older brother really was willing to protect you from danger as long as he’s in prison because somehow, they both knew that he’ll escape someday. 

and for the first time, his lips curled into a tiny smile. “thank you… brother.”

[angela-moore1996]

I Love You, Donna Karan

show: boy meets world <3

pairing: shawn hunter x angela!reader

synopsis: pretty much exactly like s5 e8 of bmw (just the shawngela parts <3)

word count: 3.5k

comments, likes, reblogs, and suggestions highly appreciated <3

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

"So, I guess that's it. It's over," you sighed, gently pulling your hands back from Shawn's. You sat in a booth at Chubby's across from him, and he was letting you down easy. Not that you were phased. You knew what you were signed up for dating him.

"Two weeks," Shawn smiled apologetically, clasping his hands together. "You knew that going in."

"I did," you nodded, grabbing your things and standing up to leave.

"Wait...w-where are you going?" Shawn looked up at you with his puppy dog eyes.

You scoffed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were done letting me down easy. Go ahead," you raised your eyebrows as you sat back down.

Shawn looked a bit taken aback, "Never mind."

"Are you okay?" you frowned.

"You're just taking this so well," he scrunched up his face like he couldn't understand how someone could still be standing after he rejected them.

"It was a great two weeks. We had fun," you stated plainly.

"Yeah, we did," he agreed.

"So?"

"So...see ya?"

You quirked your lips, nodding slightly before grabbing your things and leaving the booth. You glanced back at him before climbing up the stairs to the exit, unable to figure out his true intentions.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

Shawn Hunter might be a heartbreaker, but you were no saint either. You dated around, landing on Ted, a guy from your history class who seemed semi-interesting. You were regretting your earlier judgements as he seemed to love talking about himself and stealing your fries more than anything. You sat across from him in Chubby's, consequently the same booth you had shared with Shawn that day you broke up last week.

"So, Angela, the coach says, 'Scooter!' That's what he calls me, Scooter," the boy smiled, so full of himself it made you physically cringe. "'Go in there and save the day.'"

"Gee what happened, Scooter?" you rested your chin in your palm, trying for a grin. How could someone be so interested in himself and so boring to talk to at the same time? You have to make an effort not to roll your eyes. That would be rude. At this point, you would give anything not to hear another one of his heroic tales from the lacrosse team. He was on the bench for God's sake.

"Well, I saved the day," he continued, pointing at himself with both hands like it wasn't clear enough that he couldn't talk about anything else. Then, he leaned forward and had the audacity to ask, "You wanna make out?"

Thankfully, your knight in shining armor appeared...in the form of Shawn. This was going to be interesting. At this point, anything was better than having to press your lips against Ted's crusty, chapped ones.

"Hey, Shawn," you reached out to pat his arm.

"Hey," Shawn replied. He reached down and picked up your book. "Is this...a book of sonnets?" he sounded surprised for whatever reason.

"Yes," you said incredulously, raising one eyebrow.

Shawn started giggling maniacally, and for some reason, it was contagious. You laughed lightly, asking, "Why are you giggling?"

"Am I?" His voice broke a little because of how high-pitched it was. This only made him giggle even more.

"What's the matter with you?" you frowned, genuinely confused by his behavior.

He turned around, still laughing like a little kid. You saw that he was locking eyes with Cory, who said something to him that you didn't quite catch.

Shawn turned around, locking eyes with you now. He stared straight into your eyes, and you were more than a little weirded out.

"Shawn, why are you looking at me like that?" You were serious now. You didn't like how strange he was being at all.

"Because I never have before...," he trailed off, dropping your book before walking away to talk to Cory.

What a weirdo, you thought before shaking your head and turning back to Ted.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

On Monday morning, you walked into school early to ask Mr. Feeny a question about the history test. You found Shawn talking to Cory (who's surprised?) and walked up to them, hoping to talk to Shawn about the weirdness at Chubby's. Cory caught your eye, and it seemed like he was announcing your arrival to Shawn which caused him to turn around, look terrified, and bolt in the other direction.

Okay, now he was being even weirder than that night at Chubby's. You were suddenly nervous which made no sense. You were Angela Moore, you didn't get butterflies over boys.

Shawn ran into the janitor's closet and slammed the door behind him. Cory tried to open the door, but Shawn had evidently locked it.

"Hi, Angela," Cory smiled apologetically.

"Hi, Cory," you smiled back, raising your eyebrows.

"Uh, Shawn's in the closet," Cory explained as if you didn't just see him bolt in two seconds ago.

You walked up to the closet, pressing your ear lightly against the door. "Hey, Shawn," you greeted.

"Angela! You smell nice," Shawn replied.

You frowned. "What?" you mouthed to Cory. You rolled your eyes, walking away.

"Hey, Topanga," you greeted as you passed her.

"Hey, Angela," she replied back, walking to Cory.

You went to get some water from the drinking fountain before realizing how chapped your lips were. You knew Topanga would have some lip gloss you could borrow, so you walked back over to the corner she and Cory were in. Shawn was with them, so you guessed he got over his stay in the janitor's closet. When he saw you, he tried to bolt back into the closet before Topanga stopped him and pushed him toward you. What was going on?

"Hey, Shawn," you laughed a little at the frazzled state he was in.

"Hi," he smiled shyly.

"Do you wanna go out and get something to eat later?" you asked. This way you could talk to him, just as friends, without it being weird.

"I'd like that," he replied.

You nodded. "Oh, I saw this, and I thought of you," you smiled, pulling out a seashell you found on the lake trip you took with your dad the day before. You handed it to him before leaving, "See ya."

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

The next day, you found yourself at Chubby's again after school. You picked a table near the stairs this time, with high swivel chairs. Shawn walked over to where you were sitting after picking a song on the jukebox.

"Vivaldi's Four Seasons, I love that," you smiled up at him.

"So do I!" Shawn sounded genuinely enthusiastic.

"It's so beautiful. If you close your eyes, you can actually see the seasons change," you closed your eyes briefly, seeing it even now.

"I said that!" Shawn was smiling a mile wide. "I said the exact same thing." He took a sip of his cola.

"You know, I really like hanging out with you. Maybe we could see a movie later on this week," you suggested.

"I hear there's a new Van Damme movie opening," Shawn grinned, almost as if he knew...

"I love Van Damme," you beamed at him.

"I know," he let out a laugh. "So, how about Friday night?"

"Oh, I have plans with Ted that night," you rolled your eyes.

"You're still going out with Ted?" Shawn sounded taken aback.

"Yeah," you said slowly, scoffing a little.

"Oh." Why did he sound...disappointed? "I'd better go check on our food." He turned to leave.

What the heck was that? you thought, sighing. We're just friends, why is he acting so weird?

"Well, here we go," Shawn returned with your fries.

"Great," you picked one up to munch on.

"Can I ask you something?" Shawn was staring at you again...just like the other day you were at Chubby's.

"You can ask me anything." You meant it.

"What do you think of Cory and Topanga?" he licked his lips, seemingly nervous like he needed you to tell the truth.

"I think they're a great couple," you nodded, satisfied with your response.

"Maybe we can have what they have." Well, that came out of nowhere.

"Shawn, we're not even dating," you frowned up at him.

"What do you call what we're doing right now?" Oh God, he didn't seriously think that...

"You asked me out on a date, right?" he smiled nervously.

"I asked you to go get something to eat," you stated plainly. So, this is why he was being weird. He...liked you. So why did your heart feel a pang as you let him down easy like he let you down two weeks ago? Why did you feel like saying yes to him despite everything?

"You gave me a seashell," his eyes were pleading now.

You looked down before staring back up into his eyes, "Sometimes a seashell is just a seashell." A beat.

"Look, Angela, I want to be with you more than anybody in this entire world," his eyes carried so much emotion that it was beginning to overwhelm you. "Why can't we be Cory and Topanga?"

You frowned, looking down at the food before turning your eyes back to his. "I'm sorry. I gotta go," you frowned at him, grabbing your bag and making a quick exit up the stairs.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

On Friday, you were once again at Chubby's. That place seriously got a run for its money from the entire John Adams High student body. Even now, you saw about twenty of your classmates warming the other booths.

You were in the same booth as you were during your last date with Ted. This time, he sat next to you. He was chatting it up about his favorite subject per usual: himself. You sighed, munching on a fry and listening to his pathetic lacrosse bench boy tales when in came Shawn.

Why did he always crash your dates with Ted?

This time, he cut straight to the point, heading for your booth and sliding in across from the two of you. He held his hands up, "Angela, hear me out. It will just take a minute. You don't mind, do you?" This was directed to Ted.

"You want a fry?" Ted mumbled, his mouth full. Gross.

Shawn shook his head before continuing, "Look, I read the same books as you, I listen to the same music, and I go to the same movies. So when I tell you how I feel, it is not just words."

"Hunter, I'm on a date here. Come on," Ted grumbled. You glanced at him, frowning, before turning your attention back to Shawn.

"Why are you doing this?" you needed to know. Why was he pursuing you relentlessly? So he could break your heart for real next time? "We went out. You told me it was only going to be for two weeks, and then it was going to be over."

"I know that you're scared, okay? I'm scared, too." Shawn gestured with his hands, "We both love Vivaldi, and we're both scared."

"I'm scared, too," Ted cut in. You rolled your eyes in exasperation, before turning back to Shawn.

"Shawn, you've never been in a relationship for longer than two weeks, and neither have I. We wouldn't know what to do," you stared into his eyes, searching for some sign of his sincerity.

"You know what?" Ted cut in. "This is getting too heavy for me, so I'm taking my fries and I'm leaving."

"Ted!" You cried, only halfheartedly.

"Oh, I paid for these fries," he stated before walking out.

You didn't mind him leaving that much. It almost felt like he was crashing your conversation with Shawn rather than the other way around.

"Give me a chance," you had never seen Shawn more serious in the short time you'd known him. "I-I just want to see you."

You lowered your head, glancing up at him, trying to discern whether this was a terrible idea that would crash and burn in the next week.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

You were at Barelli's the next night, next to Shawn. This was definitely a step up from Chubby's, but you weren't sure if all this was necessary. You had worn the nicest thing you owned, a hunter green sleeveless dress. The table was covered with a white tablecloth that was the cleanest thing you had ever seen, and you didn't recognize half the dishes on the menu, including the strange appetizer currently on your table.

"Shawn, this is really fancy," you gestured down at everything covering the table.

"You think this is fancy? I don't think it's that fancy," he took a sip of water as you did. As soon as the glasses left your lips, two waiters were there ready to replace them. Shawn glanced at you, trying not to show how nervous he was.

"Shawn and Angela!" you turned around, finding Cory and Topanga, dressed to the stars. "What a surprise, huh?" Cory chuckled.

"Hi, guys," Topanga looked perplexed at finding you and Shawn here.

"Talk about coincidences," Cory looked too happy for this to be accidental. Of course, he would plan something like this. "Of all the restaurants in the town."

"Yeah, and all the suits," Shawn added, which you didn't understand, but you shrugged it off.

"Enjoy," Cory and Topanga left you to find their own table.

The maitre d' appeared, "I have come to take your order. You no touch the pate. It's not good?"

"I really don't know what it is," Shawn frowned up at the maitre d'.

"It's...como si dice? Goose liver," he answered.

You swallowed, trying not to gag in front of the fancy maitre d' while Shawn made his grossed-out face at you.

"You requested it when you telephoned this afternoon," he continued.

"When I called, did I sound like I had curly hair and was ninety?" Shawn asked.

"Si," the maitre d' responded jovially.

After he left, you turned to your companion. "Shawn, you said you knew me. If you really knew me, why would you bring me here?"

Shawn hesitated, then pursed his lips before starting, "Because I have...no idea what I'm doing." Another pause. He started gesturing with his hands, "I-I don't know how to be myself around you. I really want you to like me, Angela."

"I do like you. If I didn't I wouldn't be here," you responded genuinely.

"So, then why is this so hard?" Shawn sounded slightly exasperated.

"I've never had a serious relationship either," you admitted. "Every time I got close to someone, I just figured it was best to get away before we hurt each other. Is someone gonna get hurt here, Shawn?"

Shawn looked long and hard at you before saying simply, "No. No, not if we're ourselves."

You looked down, swallowing, trying to convince yourself to believe he was being sincere.

"Hey, Eduardo," Shawn signaled over the maitre d'.

"Si?"

"Could you get rid of this and just bring us a couple of burgers?"

"You no like?" the maitre d' sounded miffed.

"No," Shawn stated simply, giving you a small smile.

"We like burgers," you added, returning the smile.

The maitre d' clapped, thankfully asking no further questions. "Barelli's is a place where all your dreams come true." He snapped his fingers at the waiter. "Two burgers!"

"Fries," you called. Very important.

"Oh, yeah, and get some ketchup, too," Shawn added. Essential.

"Hmm!" the maitre d' looked appalled, but he turned away, complying with your wishes.

Shawn turned back to you, "Do you mind if I take this tie off?"

"Oh, please, never wear a tie again, okay?" you leaned forward to loosen it for him. Shawn chuckled. "Why do you have that thing anyway? It can't be yours."

Shawn worked at loosening his tie further, tilting his head as he looked up at you, "Well, you know, I'm not one to give up any names, but...Cory. All of this was Cory." He smiled apologetically, "He's a good guy. He just wants us to have what he and Topanga have.

The two of you glanced over to the other side of the restaurant.

"That's it! I have had it!" Topanga stood up, throwing down her napkin, raising her hands up in frustration at Cory. "I don't want to put the Sweet'N Low in my purse!"

Cory shushed her vigorously, glancing around surreptitiously as if checking to make sure no one had heard her outburst. "You're going to get us in trouble in our place!"

"I don't want this to be our place!" Topanga screeched.

"You're ruining our anniversary!" Cory whined.

"What anniversary is this anyway? Is this the first time we kissed? The first time we went out? The first time we met? What? What is it?" Topanga was running her mouth a mile a minute, drilling Cory faster than you could keep up.

"It's the anniversary of the first time we ate at Barelli's! How could you forget?" poor Cory sounded genuinely upset.

"Because I hate Barelli's!" Topanga sounded even more upset. "I am 50 years away from going to Barelli's! Can't we just go downtown and grab a pretzel from a cart?!"

"Fine! I'm not making you happy? Go!" Cory shouted. "You think you're going to find somebody else at your age?"

Topanga was clearly holding back her next words, bringing her hands up, her perfect french manicure glinting in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

The maitre d' came back out with a consternated expression, "Signora Topanga, I must request that you keep your voice down!" He sounded pained.

Topanga actually growled at the maitre d' who recoiled immediately. "Thank you so much," he left quickly at that.

As comical as your friends' fight was, you couldn't help but feel nervous. "This is what scares me. You get close to someone, and you end up hating each other."

"Angela, there's nothing to be scared of," Shawn gave you that boyish grin he had perfected over his many years of flirting. "When two people are truly, truly in love, there's no way they can end up hating each other."

"Cory, look at us!" you turned your attention back to Topanga who was once again taking it out on Cory. "I am yelling at you, and you're not even getting mad at me."

"Grrr," Cory gave the saddest attempt at a growl you had ever witnessed. Even the baby lion cubs at the zoo could do better. You had to laugh at that, grinning at Shawn to know it was okay.

Topanga laughed in his face, "You call that a growl? That was pathetic."

Cory's face split into the inkling of a smile, "Well, I could never really get mad at you."

Topanga was calmer now, "Cory, I just don't want to celebrate any more occasions."

"I-I was just doing it 'cause I thought that's what you wanted," Cory looked more amused than anything else.

"No! I just want to be seventeen."

"Me too." At that, Cory cleared the table, pushing all the expensive dishes off the table where they crashed loudly into the ground. Eduardo came out of the kitchen, screaming as Cory pushed Topanga against the table, kissing her so passionately that it would make Romeo jealous.

You and Shawn grinned at them. "Shawn?"

"Angela?" he turned back to face you.

"I want what they have," you said before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss to his soft pink lips. Pulling apart, you looked up at him, noticing for the first time that there was a little green in those ocean eyes of his. You smiled at each other, realizing that everything would be okay. You would give this a try because you knew you could trust him to like you as much as you found yourself liking him.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

A week later, Shawn picked you up to come over for Thanksgiving at the apartment with Eric and Jack. The Matthews were with you, arms loaded up with various dishes for the big dinner.

Morgan opened the door to the apartment.

"Hey! Look, Jack, they found our turkey," clearly Eric had failed to procure and cook one himself. He eyed the one Mr. Feeney was holding with palpable relief written all over his face.

"Did you two actually believe that we thought you could pull this off, huh?" Mr. Matthews asked them as he walked in.

"You guys can't make toast," Morgan smirked at them.

"Eric, do you at least have some clean dishes?" Mrs. Matthews asked, disappointment already on her face.

"No," he grinned at his mom, totally unashamed at the barren state of his kitchen.

"I'll carve the bird," Mr. Feeney pronounced. "Now, everybody wants dark meat, right?"

"No!" everyone shouted in unison.

"I'm so glad I'm here, Shawn," you smiled up at him. He held out his hand for your taking before he walked the two of you into the apartment.

"Um, before we sit down, I'd like to say thanks for all the good things that have happened to us," Shawn announced to the family. "And to me," he added quietly, locking eyes with you once more.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

[ask-spooky-manor]

Toby Character Headcanons

So I was tagged with a list of questions for me to answer that I reblogged, and while none of them were sent in my inbox, I still wanted to answer some cause they were really interesting.

Trigger Warning: I do talk about how abuse has affected Toby and how it has left some long lasting scars mentally and emotionally speaking. Not all of the headcanons are like that though, just be cautious. Nothing too in detail but can be uncomfortable

Clothing style

Toby’s style is like mixing grunge with cottagecore (goblincore is what it’s usually called). He likes his knitted sweaters and earthy tones, but at the same time he enjoyes ripped jeans and chunky black boots that can basically double as a weapon.

Eating Habits

Toby has a massive appetite. You will always catch him with a snack in his hands or complaining that he’s hungry despite having eaten a full meal not ten minutes ago. He just really likes food, and people in the house know to give him an extra serving for dinner

Hobbies

Music is more of a passion so tinkering around and making little gadgets is probably his number one hobby. He mainly likes to make things that blow up. Other general hobbies he has are cooking, hiking, uhhhh arson, and drawing

Fighting Style

He’s fully aware that he’s not the strongest or fastest or even has the most endurance, but Toby is extremely clever and crafty. He thinks way outside of the box and relies heavily on all of his odd little gadgets and inventions to surprise an enemy like smoke bombs, traps, loud fire crackers, you name it. He is an unpredictable fighter because you’ll never know what he has up his sleeves, and the surprise is something he will very much use against you. Not to mention that when he’s stuck in a sticky situation, he’s really good at coming up with on the spot plans that will get him out of trouble.

Ways he says I love you

Well, he will just say it. Toby won’t shy away from using the L word on anyone he even mildly likes. Though another way he shows it is through encouraging his loved ones to take care of themselves. He will make sure you eat properly, sleep well, take your meds, etc. Also hugs, Toby is a hugger.

Introvert or Extrovert

Extrovert, which surprised him when he realized it. Toby thought he was introverted for the longest time when in reality he was just dealing with a lot of nasty people who made him feel unsafe. Being alone felt safer, but at the same time it made him miserable because he naturally gains more energy with good people around. Ending up in the manor was the best thing to happen to him because now he has buddies he can spend time with like all the time.

Religious or Non-religious?

Complicated as fuck. He was raised Christian only to kind of despise organized religions as a whole. He would say he’s an atheist if he didn’t live with a literal moon god (Ben), so now he just has a beef with gods in general (Except Ben, they’re chill). Basically he thinks about how if these beings really are all powerful, all kind, all forgiving and omniscient and good then why the fuck did none of them help him? Why did it reach a point where he killed his own father? Why was he never saved? Basically, the idea of there being a higher power gets him in a bitter mood. Best to avoid the subject altogether.

Something he could never forgive.

Toby is generally a forgiving person but the one thing he could never forgive is when someone takes advantage of the kindness he is willing to give. Classmates did it in school as a way to bully him, and his dad would sometimes guilt trip favors out of him (usually to sneak him more beer, which will end up biting Toby in the ass when facing his drunk dad later on). Just the general act of trying to manipulate Toby, knowing they can toy with the heart he wears on his sleeve, is enough for him to want that person dead.

Something that scares him.

For the small, irrational fear; Toby is afraid of the dark. It’s just a childhood fear that he never really got over. It’s fine if he’s with someone but being alone in the dark will put him in fight or flight mode. For the bigger existential shit: dreads the idea of everyone secretly hating him. His own father and peers have created this idea in Toby’s mind that there is nothing good about him. That his own existence is nothing but a burden on others, so there’s always this fear that his friends and even his own boyfriend don’t actually like him and that it’s all a front. He knows that realistically that’s not true, but it’s hard fighting against a toxic mindset that was pushed into his brain at such a young age.

Did he grow up too fast?

No, thankfully. It was Lyra who had to grow up too fast. Connie did her best, she really did, but there have been a lot of times where it was Lyra who had to care for Toby. Especially after really bad nights where their dad thought having one more bottle wouldn’t be a problem. Toby was unlucky enough to have been surrounded by people that were cruel to him, but thanks to Lyra and his mom he at least was able to be a kid from time to time.