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yanderenightmare · 2 days ago

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♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either.

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck.

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right?

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked.

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him.

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor.

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies.

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything.

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you.

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?”

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face.

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember.

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex.

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either.

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault.

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs.

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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hxney-lemcn · 3 days ago

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Mine, Only Mine — Mr. Crawling, Gap, Silvair, Chopped, Hugeface, and Scarletella x gn! reader

summery: how jealous do some of the Homicipher boys get?

tw: unhealthy relationships (Mr. Hugeface & Scarletella)

wc: 1.2k

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Crawling

❥I know people have written about how he gets jealous…but I don’t really think he does? Or at least not terribly. The scene with Mr. Chopped and the cat ears show that Mr. Crawling won’t pout or get sad at you showing affection to others, just that he wants to gain the same attention (the ear scene…). So jealousy with Mr. Crawling isn’t too bad, just be prepared to shower him with more affection than the person you originally did.

❥On the other hand, I do think his jealousy may increase if you ignore him. Say you give more attention to Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Crawling would get a bit sad and pouty, thinking you don’t like him anymore. If this happens, give him lots and lots of attention and reassurance, he’ll be super grateful. I mean he loves your affection anyways, so might as well give him some extra headpats and kisses. Even better if you only show certain signs of affection with him, it makes him feel special.

❥Overall, not the most jealous, but not completely unaffected either. Make sure he gets his daily dose of attention/quality time and he’ll be as right as rain.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Gap

❥Uh, he gets more jealous than you’d think. Like…his whole thing is he wants to be special to you…in his own strange way. Doesn’t like the thought of someone taking his place as a jokester to you. Also why he brings you things he’d think you like from time to time, just to make sure you still have that special place in your heart for him <3

❥Hates hate hates when you call him bad or not good. He’s good! He swears! Remember how he’s helped you before! Gets all frowny when you call him not good and then call someone else good. He’s good too! Guess he has to prove it, AGAIN. It’s honestly kind of endearing how he has no clue how he actually kind of does like you? But not exactly in a romantic way? It’s honestly hard to label his feelings towards you, so why should I?

❥I’d say he’s the second most jealous in this list of characters, watching on angrily as you praise someone that isn’t him. Be prepared for magazines and books galore when he’s in this mood, trying to prove his worth to you. Kind of strange for someone to try so hard when they claim to not like you…

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Silvair

❥Definitely the chillest one here. Doesn’t really get jealous at all :/ If anything, he finds it entertaining when you’re affectionate with others. Gives him more insight to his lab rats. Yes, he sees everyone as a lab rat. Idk, I can’t really see him get jealous.

❥Maybe…MAYBE if someone else tries doing research on you, or if Ms. Nurse treats you instead he’ll feel a bit off. Like…you’re his test subject, he knows you from the inside out…literally and not in the fun sense. Why would you go to someone who doesn’t know as much about you and how this world affects you? It’s very hard to spot his jealousy, doesn’t even notice it/recognize it himself. He just doesn’t want anyone to mess up his data…that’s all…totally.

❥In conclusion, not really jealous. Doesn’t feel like he needs to be. You’re ‘friends’, doctor and patient, mad scientist and lab rat not many others threaten that balance between you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Chopped

❥Honestly…Mr. Chopped I’m kinda mixed on how he’d be. Like on one hand, I could totally see him getting jealous if you call others cute or pay too much attention to them. On the other…he could probably care less. He loves himself, you love him, why does he need to get jealous? It’s clear how much you like him with the way you pamper him. I mean we get so many examples where you’re affectionate to Mr. Crawling in front of Mr. Chopped and he doesn’t really bat an eye.

❥Now, I can see if he gets a bit insecure he might get more jealous. Whether it be because Mr. Crawling pats your head or tucks you into bed, Mr. Chopped feels a bit sad. He’d like to tuck you in, you look so comfy. Might be just a bit pouty, eyeing you like a dissatisfied cat. Easily rectified with head pats or even cuddles. Gets side tracked from his jealousy as soon as you give him a sliver of attention honestly.

❥Mr. Chopped is fifty fifty when it comes to jealousy, but it’s never too bad. He’s pretty comfortable with what you both have and doesn’t really feel threatened by others. After all, you did call him cute.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Hugeface

❥I wouldn’t say he gets jealous? More possessive than anything. Like that scene when Mr. Machete stumbles into his little makeshift dollhouse that he made for you and gets all angry that he’s there. It’s more of a ‘you’re not supposed to be here, this is our playtime’ more than actual jealousy. Throws a little fit whenever someone messes up your playtime. Very accusatory lmao.

❥Does not like when you try to escape. Was he not providing enough for you? Were you unhappy? You’re not allowed to leave! You’re his cute human! He can’t just find another one y’know. Mr. Hugeface may be lenient if he sees you happier, you need enrichment after all. Feels extra happy if you come back on your own violation.

❥The most childish out of all the characters on this list. Isn’t afraid to throw tantrums, will also punish you by putting you in a solid concrete cube if he’s really upset. Yeah…not the most healthy of relationships to have…BUT! I do think you could convince him to be a bit better…? Maybe? Only if you put enough work in communicating with him though. Maybe punish him in your own way like leaving for longer if he threatens to trap you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Scarletella

❥Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Top of the list when it comes to jealousy. Watches your every move with curiosity and spite. Why are you doing that to Mr. Crawling? Do it to him instead. Why do you look so happy braiding Mr. Chopped’s hair? Style his hair instead. Why are you looking so fondly amused at Mr. Gap? Don’t you find him amusing? You do like him, right? He likes you. He likes you a lot, and he thought he was enough…was he not?

❥Will stare through your skull. It is so intimidating. His smile? Strained, it makes your skin crawl. You have to make sure he doesn’t hurt your friends, he’s so close to snapping, but he knows that would upset you and that’s not his goal. So instead he stands ominously in the background, body staticing in and out while his hand clenches the handle of his umbrella.

❥Not that easily mended. Likes to monopolize all your time and affection. Needs constant reassurance as well, he’s quite needy. If you like constant validation and no social life go for it, just don’t get too upset if he threatens your other monster friends…he can’t stand that you could like someone that wasn’t him.

#❥ • my works #homicipher x reader #mr crawling x reader #mr gap x reader #mr silvair x reader #mr chopped x reader #mr hugeface x reader #mr scarletella x reader #homicipher #mr crawling #mr gap #mr silvair #mr chopped #mr hugeface #mr scarletella #x reader

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z4rph1m · 3 days ago

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Platonic Yan!batfam X dazai!reader X yandere dc

Tw: implication of sex (between reader & Chuuya), past mentions of self harm,

Forgotten child

Pro. Ch.1 Ch.2 (you are here) Ch.3

Nakahara Chuuya

Your former lover of the dark.

Why did the two of you broke up? He forgot, or maybe he just doesn’t want to remember.

He knew that the moment the two of you were in a relationship, it was unhealthy and toxic.

Maybe it’s the way you would ignore him the whole day but the moment you’re within his arms you’re a touch starve, hopelessly in love mess.

Or maybe the way he would be angry at you and try to guilt trip you into doing whatever he wants or the way you would purposely annoy him so that he would try and hurt you (he tried ask you to stop doing that)

But why exactly did the two of you stay together?

It’s simple, you two completed eachother perfectly.

Especially how fitting your abilities names are to describe the two of you.

You made him act like a human, he gave you a reason to live on.

“Are you the most beautiful human to me or to me, you’re the most beautiful human”

You stare at the empty space of your bed in longing, feeling as if there was something missing in your life.

The love marks surrounding your body, the lipstick mark on your bandages and the soft touches lingers around you.

Oh how you miss him.

You knew well that being with him was a terrible idea, especially with how aware you are to how much of a terrible person you are.

You know well you’re only using him to have the willingness to live yet the more you are with him, the more you crave for his touch.

That’s the reason why you broke up with him.

You hated how it felt, how it didn’t felt real to you. You wanted to save him the tears and pain, breaking off was maybe your only choice.

You remember well on how soft his kisses are on your scars, lips and all over your body.

Or how beautiful yours and his voice sounded together.

Maybe, just maybe under different circumstances the two of you could be together.

As much as you two stayed friends, the benefits can’t really be pass on.

“I can’t feel love, I will give you the love that you lack your whole life”

The more time Bruce walk through the hallway to your room, the more sense of guilt cover him.

Wilting flowers, spiders in cobwebs, empty vases and dust covering the paintings.

The side of the mansion that’s long been abandoned.

God how long did he let you live like this?

How long did he left you to live within the chilly and ghostly halls of the manor?

On the way to your room, the two passed by Dick and Tim, who seemingly curious on where they’re going.

“Hey Alfred, Bruce, where you’re going?” Dick in all his glory, having his usual smile while Tim with his eye bags and energy drink in his hand.

“We’re on our way to Master [N] room, which is just at the corner of this hallway”

There was a deafening silence, but at the same time it was accompanied by a presence of a lonely child.

The presence of a child that was useless to the family.

The silence kept on going until Tim voice spoke out.

“Are you sure you’re in the right way Alfred? The corner of the hallway looks as if it’s haunted”

“Yes Master Tim, they’ve been assign to that room after all”

Damian stare at the picture that’s laying at your table.

A picture of you and your mother.

Maybe it’s the only picture of you and her but it explains everything about your relationship with her.

You malnourished, eyes hold emptiness yet smiled so awkwardly at the camera, having just an oversized t-shirt and a shorts on, bandages free, happily in your mother arms.

Thats probably the only picture of you smiling.

Out of all the pictures that he sees in the album, the one where you’re under the care of Alfred, not his father.

You’re smiling with your mother, where you live a miserable and pitiful life.

What was it that was different or missing from this family that made you never smiled at least once?

In the past, he use to sneak into your room whenever it’s one of those days where you don’t come home.

Interested on why you look so….. depressing and On deathbed-like.

Yet as time goes by, he was interested in you by you’re nature.

Seeing your photos, art and diary (or at least what’s left of it).

He wanted to know more about you yet his pride and jealousy got in the way.

He wanted your attention yet he rejected the idea of even having a conversation with you.

Everything was fine until one day he sees the room clean and smell of fresheners.

That’s when he realized what he did.

He was too late- no, he can fix it.

He will get his older sibling back, he must.

God whoever this “Q” is will be the top of his list for taking what’s his.

He hold onto your childhood doll before tensing his body when the sound of creaking fills the room.

“Father, Alfred, Tim, Dick, what are you doing here?”

Inspired by @-acid-ixx Again & again series and @-marcyvamp1re-blog silly little bat

#crossover #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #yandere dc

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lilislegacy · 6 hours ago

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aww, i’m getting war flashbacks 🥰

this is both my most successful post on tumblr and my least favorite post of all time. simply because of how much pure hatred i got for it. i received sooo many asks and messages insulting me and telling me to get off the app. someone literally sent me an ask and told me to shoot myself. (that was fun!) it was before i was an experienced poster, and therefore didn’t know how much i need to justify some statements

people were mad about two things:

1) that i implied that percy would drink. which i understand, because of gabe. and i can admit that yes, he probably does have an aversion to the smell of beer and might not drink it. but also i think it’s ignorant to think we can predict percy’s behavior—literally one of his defining traits is being unpredictable. and oftentimes, the assumption relies on him associating drinking with bad people, but sally drinks wine on a daily basis and he’s completely good with it, so that idea doesn’t really hold up. anyway, yeah, maybe percy wouldn’t drink. i can totally see that. but also percy deserves to be a normal college kid and not let his past trauma define his potential experiences. if he was with annabeth and his friends, i can totally see him having a drink or two and letting loose. i just want him to be allowed to be a normal irresponsible teenager/young adult for once. sue me 😭

2) i referred to him as a frat boy. and wow did that get taken out of context. which is definitely my fault, for not clarifying. i didn’t mean he’s actually a frat boy, because obviously new rome isn’t gonna have greek life lol. i also wasn’t implying that he’s stupid or superficial or an asshole. i just said that because in heroes of olympus, when percy is around jason, there’s a lot of sizing each other up, joking around, and heavy bromance going on. like i can’t even count how often percy says “bro” and “dude.” which is very frat boy. and i think if percy was in a college setting, not stressed or in near-death situations all the time, and around more people like jason, there’s a good chance he would be a more fun and easy going person than what we often see. when percy is actually comfortable in his environment (which isn’t often) he seems to be more extroverted. but idk maybe he would be shy? who knows. it was just a little thought

so anyway, definitely not my best-phrased post. i would do it differently, now. but its fun remembering how much pure anxiety this post filled me with as angry people rained down hell on me 😂

imagine being someone at new rome university and not knowing percy is the same guy as “percy jackson, son of poseidon, two-time hero of olympus, former praetor” because the thought doesn’t even cross your mind. like… he’s percy. he’s a total frat boy. on a normal night, he walks into a party, refers to everyone as bro or dude, socializes with every living (and not-living) person in the room, makes at least 50 sarcastic comments, plays 12 rounds of beer pong, drinks way too much, and then skates around campus on his skateboard yelling “I LOVE NEW YORK” (which makes no sense, because they’re in california) until someone calls his girlfriend to come get him.

and then one day there’s an attack, and frat boy percy is all of a sudden a fighting machine. he’s yelling battle cries alongside the praetors frank zhang and hazel levesque as they lead everyone into battle. (why is he with the praetors? and why…. why in the world do the praetors seem to be following his lead?) his sword slashes through armies of monsters faster than you’ve ever seen. he’s controlling the entire river surrounding the camp, creating huge waves as tall as skyscrapers that crash down all around him, wiping out monsters and causing mass destruction to his enemies’ ranks. the sky is suddenly dark above you, ice-cold water droplets are slashing through the air, and the wind is blowing so aggressively that it’s making it hard to stand up steadily. because he’s somehow created a hurricane.

and he looks terrifying. you can feel the power radiating off of him. he’s like a god. or maybe a monster. it’s hard to tell. you’re a little scared of him, to be honest. but also in total awe, because it’s extraordinary. he’s extraordinary.

frat boy percy is not who you thought he was.

#i’m pretty sure someone told me to fall into tartarus too lol #it was awful then and i was INCREDIBLY stressed and upset #but now it’s a bit funny looking back #oh the joys of social media #gotta love it #percy jackson #pjo #pjo headcanons

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unrealisticlea · 16 hours ago

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since everyone is telling Buck to move on from Tommy, when they get back together (they go to couple’s therapy and they put in all the work to make it work) Buck tries to keep it a secret.

but he’s too overjoyed to be normal. he gets into work smiling like an idiot, he spends all his time on his phone, he receives flowers from “a secret admirer” once a week and he takes some time off to go on a romantic getaway.

Everyone obviously clocks this new person very quickly and everybody is super happy for him. Hen says “I’m glad you finally moved on” and Eddie says “I liked Tommy but this new person is clearly good for you” and Bobby wants to meet them but Buck says he wants to keep the relationship for himself a bit more

cue hilarious hijinks. They run into Hen at the grocery store and they only have one cart so Tommy pretends to read something from the nearest shelf and Buck hides in the frozen isle (Tommy’s reading tampons. He only notices when he hears “hey Tommy. Why are choosing tampons?” and he goes “uhhhh. It’s for my cat. It’s a female” because soulmates).

Maddie shows up at his house unannounced and Tommy has to hide in the bathroom. She leaves Jee. Tommy is sure Jee doesn’t remember him so he introduces himself to Jee as “Casey” so she won’t blow their cover but Jee says “but you’re Mr. Tommy the pilot. You can’t be Casey”.

Eddie finds out because they meet Tommy on a call and they try to play it so cool. Tommy says “Good morning Station 118” and Buck says “Firefighter Kinard” in the coldest voice he can manage. and they think they fooled everyone because Chim comments “yikes. That was awkward!”. But when they’re alone Eddie looks at Buck dead in the eyes and says “You’re sleeping with him” and Buck has to explain that no, it’s not just sex, they’re actually in love and he’s pretty sure it’s forever.

anyway, they keep digging themselves deeper. at some point Buck implies he has a girlfriend to throw everyone off. Tommy keeps receiving horny DMs so he has to set his FB status to “In a relationship” and everyone starts treating Buck like he just suffered a loss (Buck is so stupidly happy they’re official on FB even if he stopped using it ten years ago). Eddie casually asks Buck “is Tommy done with the Chevrolet he was working on?” in front of everyone.

everyone figures it out at some point or another (Hen knew since he run into them at the grocery store, Jee started talking about wanting to becoming a pilot like Mr. Tommy the moment she got home, Bobby just knows because he’s Buck’s dad and also he’s Tommy neighbor and he’s pretty sure Buck moved in).

but they wait for Buck to come to them.

Bobby gets tired of waiting and eight months after Buck and Tommy got back together, says “you know, you can bring Tommy on Saturday. Officially introduce him to the family. Again.” and Buck starts laughing hysterically and says “what. I’m not with Tommy. I don’t know Tommy. Who even is this Tommy you’re talking about” and then realizes everyone is smiling and looking at him and Hen takes his hand and says “Buck. It’s okay. We like Tommy. As long you’re happy” and Buck gets all smiley and says “I’m happy. He makes me so happy” and then they all hug.

they arrive at Saturday’s bbq holding hands but Tommy is very tense because he thinks everybody hates him because he did break Buck’s heart. But he’s done therapy and he’d do anything to keep Buck this time so, before anyone can even say anything, he says “Hi. I know you don’t trust me and you don’t have to like me. But you’re Buck’s family and your opinion is very important to us so I just ask you respect his choice to give me a second chance” and then Eddie says “come here, you idiot” and everyone hugs him and Buck looks at his family hugging his boyfriend with tears in his eyes and thinks that this is it. this is what he’s been looking for all these years. the secret to happiness.

#bucktommy #headcanon #Bucktommy fic #That i don’t have the energy to make a fic #This is what I’m gonna do from now fics and headcanon I’m done with complaining #It makes me too sad

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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

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Omg 8k! I’m so happy for you love! May I request hot cocoa for poly wolfstar with the prompt “new years party” or “baking together”? (whichever one you choose!)

Thank you lovely!

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 728 words

“Well, what are we supposed to give them? Crackers?”

“I don’t see what would be so wrong with crackers,” says Remus, sounding already weary and increasingly vexed.

“Only crackers, though?” Sirius is in a restless mood, his excitement for tonight’s party mounting and the volume of his voice along with it. “I just don’t see how it can be possible that there aren’t any grapes left anywhere in town. Was there a grape plague I didn’t know about?”

“They were sold out. I don’t know what to tell you. Crackers will be just as good.”

“That’s a completely different food group, darling!”

“Sirius,” you call, hoping to spare Remus from further irritation (and thus spare Sirius from the consequences), “can you come tell me if this looks alright?”

You’ve strung lights all across the ceiling of the sitting room, strands of blue and white overlapping and casting the whole space in their glow. Sirius’ eyes seem to glimmer as he comes in, admiring your handiwork. He’s in his outfit for the party already, though you’re both waiting until later to do your makeup together. You’ve got plenty of time; it’s only just getting dark outside, and no one is expected to arrive until at least eight.

“This looks amazing, sweetheart,” he says, audibly relaxing. “It’s perfect; you’ve done beautifully.”

“You don’t think it’s too dim in here?” you joke.

Sirius grins as he walks over. You’re a couple of feet taller than him on your step stool, but he doesn’t seem to mind, touching his lips to your navel while his hands hold the backs of your thighs. You predict him and set your hands on his shoulders, sucking in a breath when he pulls you away from the step, lowering you down.

“How’d you manage it?” he asks, looking back up at the lights while his hand runs absently up and down the dip of your spine. A few of the white strands wink in and out, twinkling above you like stars. “I can’t even see any of the hooks.”

“They’re in there,” you tell him. It had taken you a while to figure out how to hide them well, but the abundance of lights ended up covering for you in the end. You take a piece of Sirius’ hair between your fingers, admiring the blue sheen on it. “Baby?”

“Hm?”

You press a kiss to his lips, gentle and loving. “Keep in mind that you’re the one who forgot we’d need food until the last minute,” you tell him sweetly.

Sirius pouts. “Why do I have to remember everything?”

“Because you’re the only one of us who wanted to have a party.”

“You said,” Remus recounts as he comes in, still sounding vexed but fond around the eyes, “and I quote, I’ll take care of everything.”

“Doesn’t bloody sound like me,” Sirius mutters. His hand is still moving affectionately over your back, though.

“Dove.” Remus graces you with a smile, ignoring your sulky boyfriend. “The lights look lovely.”

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder before pulling yourself from his arms. You take Remus’ hands and look up at him with your sweetest, most imploring eyes. “Can I ask you for a favor, please?”

Remus narrows his eyes at you like he knows what you’re about, but his lips twitch as he holds your fingers. “Hm?”

“You know that trifle you make for Easter?” You wait for him to nod. “If I went to the store and got the stuff, do you think you might be able to make it again tonight?”

You look to Sirius. “That’d be good, right? It might go nicely with the champagne.”

Sirius grins at you. “Brilliant girl. I’m remembering now why we keep you around.”

You turn back towards Remus. You can feel the power of Sirius’ pleading look adding to yours from behind you. After a long moment, your boyfriend capitulates with a sigh and a kiss to your head.

“Alright. I’ll make you a list.”

“Thank you, my love,” Sirius says, saccharine sweet.

“This party is more trouble than it’s worth.” Remus turns, too slowly to conceal his smile. “If anyone tries to make me sing karaoke, I’ll shut the whole thing down before midnight.”

Sirius’ expression looks crushed. “But—”

“Shh.” You pat his shoulder, watching Remus go. “James’ll harass him once he gets here. Pick your battles.”

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retroaria · 3 days ago

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♡ "All the little things..."

⟡ itoshi rin | oliver aiku | michael kaiser ⟡

summary: gn!reader, things that they’d look for/love in a partner! pure fluff! (i do describe something as ‘sexy’ but it really isn't that serious)

˗ˏˋ written for arias 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

he’d never admit it, but rin would want a partner who can take him down a few notches. someone to calm his nerves and balance out his animosity. he can come to you at the end of every match and immediately release all tension and frustration. but also, someone to ground him and his ego a bit off the field. someone who can remind him to take things slowly and relax when he can and should.

he’s secretly very attracted to kindness. it’s a weird thing to be secretive about but rin is a weird guy what can i say. it makes his heart flutter to see you treating others with such grace, it even tugs a small smile at the corners of his lips which he quickly tries to pull back down into his usual blank expression.

rin tends to be a more private person himself, and he likes others that can keep their peace in that same way. he wouldn’t want to tell the whole world about your relationship, not because he wants to keep you a secret, but because he feels like you’re relationship is even more special the more it exists only to serve the two of you. he likes the idea of having you all to himself.

as a runner up for sassiest man of the year (lost to kaiser lol), oliver tends to find that same snappiness attractive in other people as well. he loves someone who can speak their mind and be confident about it, someone who can stand their ground and not let themselves be belittled. he thinks it’s hot, sexy even.

he likes people that are more outgoing then he is. while oliver doesn’t usually shy away from any fun, he can tend to back out of things because he feels it may be “too much” or an over exertion. he wants someone who can push him out of his comfort zone and get him to try new things that he wouldn’t have otherwise done on his own.

out of the whole cast, oliver is probably one of the most comfortable in his own masculinity methinks. he loves doing self-care and other beautification rituals (lol) with you! would let you do his eyebrows, dye his hair, make him smell like a strawberry shortcake; he fucking loves it. “Can’t turn down a bit of TLC and relaxation” he’d say. he totally does call a lot of it “goop” and “slime” or “sticky stuff” and can only remember to categorize it by color. “Babe, come feel my face, that pink goopy stuff made it so soft.~”

similar to mr. aiku, kaiser also loves a bit of sass in his partners, in a more subtle way though. sarcasm and brutally honest humor make him wanna bark like a dog. he loves it. he’s like the girl in a romance manga that falls in love with the cold and stoic upperclassmen. wants to break your hard exterior, but also wants to be the only person who ever could.

he loves being on the receiving end of ‘acts of service’. if that’s your love language, he’s all for it. he already thanks you just for putting up with him on a daily basis - considers that an act of service lol. making him food or planning a date for him would make his heart swell to the point of explosion.

physical and emotional intimacy need to be a huge priority for him. similarly to how rin likes things to just be between him and his partner, kaiser also needs certain things to be private, though he's more than happy to let the whole world know you're the person he loves. as long as he gets to have those quiet tender moments with you, wrapped in each others arms, he's a happy boy.

dividers: @cafekitsune vv cute :3 | header by me !!

@bllk-tv

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junrenjun · 1 day ago

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after hours

mark lee x fem!reader x lee donghyuck, frat au

genre: mainly smut tbh

wc: 3.8k

warnings: afab reader, mark and haechan are frat bros, weed (smoking, edibles), unprotected sex (have safe sex plz), threesome, highkey switch!mark and switch!reader i guess, kind of dom!haechan, pretty heavy member x member in this, teensy bit of orgasm denial

The house is just as hot and sticky as you remember it to be. There’s people everywhere and you have to push around to get to the stairs. A pledge sits on the bottom step, eyes glued to his phone. He finally looks up when you approach. “You have to be with a brother to go upstairs, ma’am,” he drawls, boredom clear in his tone.

“Ma’am? What am I? 30?” you ask him. “And I’m here literally every week.”

He responds without looking back up from his phone. “You still have to be with a brother to get upstairs.”

You’re starting to get impatient now. At this rate, the whole frat is aware of you and Mark’s “weekly weed time” as he calls it. Hell, half of them have participated at one point or another. “I am with a brother. I’m here to see Mark Lee, just like I do every Friday.”

The pledge looks up at you again, exasperation clear on his face. “The brother has to be present. Like here with you right now.” You’re starting to miss Sungchan and Shotaro. They would never do this to you.

“Well the brother I’m here to see is probably as high as balls in his room right now…” you say, trying your best to sneak past him.

He puts an arm out and braces it against the wall to stop you. Your movements halt. “He still has to be here,” he informs you, annoyed.

“Oh my god,” you raise your voice a bit. “Where is Taeyong?” you mumble to yourself, knowing the President himself would be able to get you out of this predicament.

As you fish through your hoodie pocket to find your phone, a voice from the top of the stairs calls your name. There stands Lee Donghyuck, leaning casually over the railing, a solo cup in his hand and a smirk on his face. “What are you doing down there baby?” You shiver at the nickname.

You shoot a pointed look toward the man on the last stair, who is now looking up toward the upperclassman. “I’m waiting for one of you fuckers to come find me, since your own pledge won’t let me upstairs.”

Donghyuck lets out a “tsk” sound, shaking his head at the younger boy. “C’mon man. She’s here every week, you should recognize her by now. And let her up, she’s with me.”

Surprisingly, the pledge doesn’t let you go right away. “She said she was here for Mark,” he informs his brother.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, leisurely strolling down the stairs. Once he reaches the bottom, he pushes the pledge’s arm out of the way with his foot. “Well she’s here for me too. Right baby?” You nod. “Go tell Sungchan to take over stair duty tonight for you, since you can’t seem to do your job right.” The boy nods hurriedly and scurries off.

He smirks down at you, hand reaching to wrap around your waist. Leading you up the stairs, his fingers brush lightly against the bare skin that shows when your hoodie pulls up a bit. It sends electric shocks down your spine. “Tell Johnny that the next pledge task should be to brush up on the frequent flyers list,” you mumble to him.

He simply laughs in response. “I can do that.” Once you reach the top, his hand moves from your waist to the small of your back, leading you through the crowded hallway. Finally you reach a door that you have become all too familiar with lately. A green street sign reading “Lee Lane” stares back at you. You still have yet to hear the story of how they obtained it. They refuse to tell you.

Donghyuck reaches out and opens the door for you, slightly bowing. “My lady,” he says in an awful recreation of a posh accent. You roll your eyes and step through the entryway. You’re immediately greeted by 5 familiar faces and a cloudy haze of smoke.

Jeno and Jaemin are slouched over each other on the couch, a little too handsy for what should be considered just friends. Nothing atypical there. Chenle and Jisung are sitting at Donghyuck’s desk, the taller man attempting to play some sort of game while the other eggs him on. Mark is lounging on his bed, blunt in one hand, phone in the other. “Where’s Renjun?” you pout once you notice the blonde man’s absence.

You feel a familiar hand wrap around your waist once again. “He’s got an essay due at 11:59,” Chenle responds, not looking up from where his eyes are glued to the monitor.

“Damn,” you reply. “Really wanted one of his edibles tonight.” With that, Mark leans down, starting to rummage around in the drawer of his nightstand, passing the blunt to Jeno in the meantime. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he raises his head, a dopey smile on his face. He waves a little plastic bag around excitedly.

All of a sudden, the smile drops from his face. His eyes are zeroed in on the hand circling your waist. “Hey!” he whines, grabbing Hyuck’s attention. “I thought I said no touching. She’s my weed partner not yours!” Mark and Donghyuck usually have no problem sharing you, so you suppose this little comment is meant to keep up appearances in front of their friends.

The hand reluctantly leaves your side and Donghyuck crosses the room to jump up onto his own bed. “She’s half the frat’s weed partner at this point, man!” He dramatically falls to his back, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh.

“True that!” Jaemin raises his head to shout from his spot on the couch. He looks…blasted to say the least. It’s clear his head is spinning from the sudden movement. After a moment, he just says, “woah” and tucks his head back into Jeno’s chest, who hums in delight.

Mark captures your attention once again, patting the spot on the bed next to him. You jump up and join him. He offers the plastic bag to you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Got this just for you.”

You reach for the bag excitedly, only for him to pull away from you cruelly at the last second. “Mark,” you pout at him, a frown on your face.

He simply laughs, leaning down to put his lips on the shell of your ear. “Gimme a kiss first, pretty girl.” You roll your eyes at his antics. A year ago, you would’ve choked on your own saliva hearing those words. Now, they’re like second nature to you. Leaning over the side of the bed, you pluck the blunt out of Jeno’s hand. The man in question hands it over easily, moving to pick Jaemin up and take him back to their own room.

Turning back toward Mark, you take a hit, leaning close with your hands on his shoulders, and then exhale. He inhales the smoke, his own lips inches from yours. When he finishes the shotgun, he presses a small kiss to the side of your mouth. “Thanks baby,” he whispers.

“Hey!” Hyuck calls out. When you turn, his eyes are locked on you and Mark. “Calling her baby is my thing!”

A groan is heard from the opposite end of the room. “Can’t you three get a room?” Chenle asks exasperatedly.

“We’re in our room,” Mark says in the most deadpan way he can muster. It’s not all that serious, the high leaving hints of that dopey smile on his face. It’s enough to work on Chenle though, because seconds later he’s turning the PC off and dragging Jisung out of the room by the collar of his shirt.

As the door is shut once again, Donghyuck hops down from his bed, moving to lock it. “Finally some peace and quiet,” he mutters once he completes his task. You giggle a little at the statement. You’re not quite sure it truly qualifies as peace and quiet if you can still hear the loud music and voices from downstairs.

The man moves once again, but this time approaches Mark’s bed, tossing himself dramatically on the end and taking the blunt out of your hand. While he occupies himself with getting even higher, you turn your attention to the man next to you. “Can I get that edible now, Markie?”

He must have been lost in thought, because your words seem to startle him. Finally, recognition sparks in his eyes once he realizes what you mean. “Oh, yeah,” he mutters, handing the plastic bag to you.

You take it from him and unzip it, popping the gummy into your mouth. It’s strawberry flavored, one of your known favorites. You practically moan at the taste. “God, Renjun deserves some fucking head for this,” you say.

Donghyuck snorts from his place at the end of the bed, eyes dazed but looking right at you. “Nah,” he shakes his head. “Mark deserves the head if anything. He practically got on his knees to beg Renjun to save one for you.”

You look over at Mark to gauge his reaction. He has his head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed with his face tilted slightly toward the ceiling. His hand has drifted down to your thigh, fingertips running lightly over the bare skin where your shorts end. There’s no reaction evident on his face. It’s likely that he’s completely zoned out, unaware of the conversation taking place before him.

“That can be negotiated,” you finally say, swinging one of your legs around so that you end up straddling his lap. The sudden movement pulls him from his daydream, his head dropping to look you in the eyes. You’re hovering slightly above him, not yet giving him the pleasure of your weight on top of him.

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Whatcha doing pretty girl?” His hands move to rest lightly on top of your hips.

You lower yourself a little bit more, your skin brushing against his sweatpants. “Hyuck said you deserve a reward for bringing me an edible,” you concede. “And I need something to entertain me until it kicks in.”

Mark simply hums in response, his eyes hazy but still somewhat focused on you. You hear shuffling at the end of the bed as Donghyuck moves to put out the blunt. You’re not surprised. Ever since you and Mark invited him to join your little Friday night shenanigans, he’s been keen to be in on the action. Eager to ramp the energy up, you lean in and press a long kiss to Mark’s lips.

It’s sloppy, especially with the way he’s clearly feeling the effects of his smoke session. You pull back a bit, admiring the way your spit decorates his lips. His eyes look lazily up into yours and you smirk when they flutter close as you grind your hips down. “Fuck,” is all he manages to say as he throws his head back.

You let yourself get lost in the movement, your own eyes finally closing. However, you’re startled when a pair of hands settle on your waist. Halting your movements, you turn to peek over your shoulder. Donghyuck has settled on his knees in between Mark’s spread legs, his head tipped dangerously close to your neck. The grip on your hips tightens and he whispers, breath tickling the back of your neck. “Don’t stop because of me, pretty.”

When you turn back around, Mark is watching you both, his eyes heavy with desire. His hands grip your thighs relentlessly as the bulge in his pants grows larger by the second. Remembering Hyuck’s words, you grind down on him once again. “Atta girl,” you hear from behind you, and it sends a rush of heat right down to your core.

Donghyuck controls the pace with the hands on your hips, purposefully teasing both you and Mark. Your ass brushes back against Hyuck’s own erection every few strokes. Meanwhile, the man under you starts letting out breathy moans. The longer it goes on, the more you start to feel the effects of your edible. Your senses heighten and everything feels ten times more pleasurable than if you were sober.

The hands on your waist start to move up, making quick work of removing your shirt. Donghyuck’s mouth meets the back of your neck as he removes your bra. Mark instantly groans as your chest is freed from the material. He doesn’t waste a second, sitting up as much as he can and wrapping his lips around one of your nipples.

Between him and Hyuck, who is now leaving marks on the junction of your neck, you are not going to last very long. You don’t have to worry though, because Mark suddenly plants a hand on your stomach, pushing himself away from you. You are thrown backwards, falling into Donghyuck’s chest.

Confused, you look down at the man who is now leaning against the headboard, flushed and panting. “What’s wrong Mark?” you ask, your own voice a little breathless.

“I…” the man stutters. “I was gonna cum,” he finally admits.

“Aww,” Hyuck teases. “Was Markie gonna cum just from a little humping and sucking on some titties?” Mark’s face reddens immensely and he visibly swallows, but doesn’t respond. “I think he was…” Donghyuck teases again. “How about that pretty girl? You were gonna make him cum in his pants.”

You understand Mark’s embarrassment. Your own orgasm was not that far away. To be honest, you don’t even know how Donghyuck is coherent enough to be doing all this dirty talk. It seems that both you and Mark are a little too gone for your own good. In more ways than one.

“So selfish,” Hyuck continues, sliding a hand past the waistband of your shorts. His fingers ghost lightly over the seat of your panties, the wetness spreading uncomfortably. “Leaving our girl all wet and unsatisfied because you can’t restrain yourself.”

You’ve never seen Mark like this. The flush on his cheeks has spread down his neck and out to his ears. Pupils are blown wide, his chest heaving like he’s catching his breath. You can see his cock jump in pants at Donghyuck’s words. He even whines a little bit. Usually he’s more dominant than this, taking the lead but relinquishing control to Hyuck every once in a while. Tonight, it’s clear that’s not going to happen. You’re intrigued.

The man behind you taps your clit a few times, drawing you from your thoughts. You breathe out hard. “You want this?” he questions teasingly. He moves his hand a circle, the friction so delicious you have to let out a moan in response. You hear him chuckle into your ear. “Then get naked. Mark too.”

Mark’s eyes snap forward at the mention of his name. Quickly, he makes work of your shorts, pulling them and your panties down in one swipe. You kick them off onto the floor somewhere. Then, you lean down and yank his shirt over his head. The action tussles his hair, which now falls into his face messily. You don’t take the time to admire it though as you help Mark shimmy his sweatpants and boxers down. It’s awkward and takes a bit of time, but finally, his cock springs free. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Good girl,” you hear from behind you before you can move to touch it. Mark’s hips buck up into the air and he whines. “Oh did I forget someone?” Donghyuck teases. Mark nods relentlessly. “Good boy Markie,” he whispers. Yet again, his cock jumps.

You turn your head over your shoulder, looking for your next instruction. Hyuck clearly wants to be dominant tonight, so you’ll indulge him for Mark’s sake. He must have removed his shirt while you were busy stripping, because you’re met with the sight of his bare chest. You follow his happy trail down to where he has his cock hanging loosely out of his pants. He quirks an eye at your ogling. “You getting eager, pretty?” he asks. You nod.

“Okay,” he tells you, head raising to look at Mark. “Ride him,” he says, leaning back on his heels lazily. You follow his instructions wordlessly, straddling the boy in front of you once again. You line yourself up with him, preparing for the stretch. A finger running up your spine halts your motions and you shudder. “Uh uh. Face me,” he demands. You hear Mark choke up a bit at the thought.

Hesitantly, you turn around, resuming your position. Your hands are planted on the bed next to the inside of Mark’s knees, Dongyuck sitting right in front of you. You go to sink down once again, but right before you do, Hyuck grabs your chin harshly and forces you to make eye contact. “Look at me while you fuck him.”

You gulp nervously, but continue to look into his eyes. Finally, you start to sit on Mark’s cock. The second his tip enters you, he’s moaning loudly. “Holy shit,” he breathes out. His hands grip your hips harshly, like he’s trying to ground himself. Meanwhile, you’re trying so hard to maintain eye contact with Donghyuck. The feeling of being stretched out makes you want to let your eyes roll to the back of your head. He looks back at you in amusement, like he’s getting off on both you and Mark’s struggle.

“Keep going baby,” Hyuck tells you, leaving no room for argument. You resume your motions once more and Mark is no longer keeping his sounds at bay. The room fills with a cacophony of groans. As you continue your staring contest, you see Donghyuck’s hand move out of the corner of your eye. From what you can tell, he’s started to jerk himself off at the sight of you riding Mark. It takes everything in you to not look down.

You raise yourself up and down continuously, the pace slow, but not torturous. Mark is clearly loving it, from the way you can hear his breathing pick up. “So good,” he slurs, grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Yeah?” he teases, finally breaking eye contact with you to look back at Mark. “Tell our pretty girl how good she’s making you feel.”

“So good, Y/N. Making me feel so good baby,” he says, voice cracking at the end of the sentence. You’re too preoccupied to really take his words to heart. You’ve taken the opportunity to let your gaze drift down to Donghyuck’s cock and the way he strokes it casually. There’s an obscene amount of pre-cum beading at the head, dripping down onto Mark’s sheets. You moan at the sight.

You don’t realize that Hyuck has turned his attention back to you. Suddenly, his fingers are back on your chin, slowly tilting it up. “What did I say about eye contact?” You look up at him through your eyelashes. “Good girl,” he whispers, and you pussy throbs at the praise. Mark must feel it, because he lets out an especially loud groan.

After a moment, Donghyuck shifts forward a bit, bringing himself closer to you. “Go faster,” he instructs, while his free hand snakes down to rub circles on your clit. You jolt at the feeling, but try your hardest to continue looking him in the eyes. “So sensitive,” he coos while you finally pick up your pace. Between Mark’s cock hitting your sweet spot and Hyuck’s hand brushing roughly against your clit, you feel the pit in your stomach rising.

You’re not sure if your moans pick up or if Donghyuck just has a sixth sense for you approaching orgasm, but either way, he calls you out. “Gonna cum?” he asks, a sick smile spreading across his face. You nod eagerly. “What about you Markie?” A mumbled yes is heard from behind.

“Mmm,” Hyuck hums. “Better tell her to get to work then, because neither of you are cumming until I’ve cum.” Your eyes flick down to his cock, and this time he doesn’t scold you for breaking eye contact. You reach out and wrap your hand around him. He shudders a little and sighs. Slowly, you begin pumping him, trying your best to find all the spots that make him tick. You flick your wrist aggressively, your thumb coming up to brush at his tip every few strokes. It’s got him going for sure, but not enough to send him over the edge.

At this point, you’re getting desperate. Mark clearly is too, because he’s egging you on pleadingly, like he’s dying to cum. “C’mon pretty, please get him off. Please.”

Finally, you run your thumb down the vein on the underside of his cock and his hips jerk. Then suddenly, he’s cumming, white spraying over your stomach, onto Mark's legs, and the sheets. You let him come down a bit, his chest heaving and his head thrown back carelessly. Once his eyes flutter open, you do your best to put a pleading look on your face. “Hyuck, please let us cum.”

He nods wordlessly and you take it as a sign to pick up the pace once more. Mark gasps from behind you and you gasp in response as Donghyuck flicks your clit over and over. Moments later, you’re finally hitting the edge. “I’m cumming,” you announce breathlessly, leaning forward to let your head rest again Hyuck’s chest.

The pulsations from your orgasm carry Mark to completion too, his cock twitching within your walls and painting them white. He lets out a guttural groan and you moan at the feeling of his cum inside you. As you come down, Hyuck has one hand on the back of your head, rubbing soothing circles into your hair. His other hand does the same thing on Mark’s lower thigh.

He lets you both recover for a minute before speaking. “I may be high as fuck still, but we might want to sleep in my bed tonight,” he says, looking down to the spot on the sheets where some of Mark’s cum has dripped down to mix with his own.

“Yeah,” Mark says groggily from behind you. “This is gross.” You tuck your head further into Donghyuck’s chest in embarrassment.

Mark laughs at your actions. “Why so shy all of a sudden, pretty?” he mocks.

“You have no room to talk Markie,” you tease back. Donghyuck’s chest rumbles as he laughs at your banter.

“Okay,” Hyuck finally concedes, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you off Mark. You whine as you become empty, spend dripping out of you. “Let’s get cleaned up. Then we can cuddle,” he declares, carrying you to the attached bathroom. Mark’s footsteps follow behind you. You sigh in contentment, ready to relax with you two favorite boys.

#lu writes #frat au #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagine #haechan x reader #haechan imagine #lee donghyuck x reader #lee donghyuck imagine #markhyuck x reader #mark lee smut #haechan smut #lee donghyuck smut #nct x reader

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eu-nicola · 11 hours ago

Text

enemies

summary: the love-hate relationship between Rafe and you

warnings: small mention of violence

word counter: 4151

author's note: english is not my first language

The first time you met Rafe Cameron, you were barely six years old. You clearly remember how his stepmother, Rose, welcomed you into her home with a perfect smile, while your mother insisted that you play with him and Sarah so that you wouldn’t be alone.

The Cameron house was as intimidating as its miniature owner. Rafe was nine years old and had an attitude that made him seem much older. He looked down at you from the top of the stairs as if you were an intruder, someone who didn’t deserve to be in his space.

“She’s the Davies’ daughter?” he asked in that mocking tone that would become his trademark.

“Yes, and I want you to be nice to her.” Rose ruffled his hair before turning to you, but Rafe’s gaze was already fixed on your shoes, which were muddy from playing outside before coming in.

“I hope she doesn’t touch anything, Rose.” His voice was dry, as if he was already tired of you before he really met you.

From that day on, your relationship with him was marked by constant clashes. Every visit to the Cameron house felt like a cold war disguised as childish games. He always found ways to make you feel out of place, like the time he took your doll from your hands while you were playing with Sarah and threw it across the garden.

“If you don’t know how to play well, don’t play.” That phrase of his stuck in your mind.

In adolescence, the gap between you grew wider. While Rafe became the most popular boy among the Kooks, you began to spend more time with the Pogues. Your visits to the Cameron house became less frequent, and when they coincided, things always ended badly.

“Look at you, you’re a Pogue now.” His tone was always hurtful, accompanied by that arrogant smile that got on your nerves.

“And you’re still the same idiot as always.” Your response was almost automatic, as if after so many years the discussions between you were a rehearsed routine.

But the real problem wasn't just his words. It was the way he always found a moment to annoy you. During a beach party hosted by Kooks, for example, Rafe made sure your drink ended up spilled all over your new dress.

But it wasn't all enmity, when the search for gold began, your world became more complicated. You spent your days with the Pogues, planning, looking for clues, and trying to avoid Rafe, who seemed willing to do anything to get the treasure. The tension between you, which was already high, skyrocketed. It wasn't just childish enmity now; it was real danger.

Rafe had no limits. His eyes were always filled with that spark of arrogance, but behind it was something darker, something that made him unpredictable. Despite that, you never imagined you'd find yourself in the position you found yourself in one afternoon in the dense woods surrounding the Outer Banks.

You were following a trail of marks on the trees along with JJ and Kiara when you heard a noise. You broke away from the group, promising them you’d be back quickly. What you found was Rafe, kneeling beside a steep slope, holding his leg in a wince of pain. The ground beneath him was wet, almost muddy, and it looked like he might slide down any second.

You stopped dead in your tracks. Part of you wanted to turn on your heel and pretend you hadn’t seen him. After all, Rafe wouldn’t have done the same for you, would he? But another part, that part you always tried to stifle, knew you couldn’t just leave him there.

“What are you doing here?” Rafe snapped at you as you cautiously approached. His voice was heavy with distrust, but there was also a hint of relief he tried to hide.

“I should be asking you the same thing. What happened?” You couldn’t keep the tone of your voice from being harsh. After all, he had done a lot of things that warranted your hatred.

“I slipped. My leg… I can’t move it.” His face was pale, and his hands shook slightly as he tried to brush away the mud that covered his pants.

There was a long silence. You could have left him there. You could have turned and gone back to the Pogues. But something inside you wouldn’t let you.

“This doesn’t mean I owe you anything,” you said as you crouched down beside him.

Rafe looked at you in disbelief. “Are you helping me?”

“Shut up and don’t make it harder, Cameron.”

You offered him your arm and helped him up, leaning his weight on you as you slowly moved forward. It was an awkward process; his size made each step harder. But there was something odd about the silence you shared, a momentary truce amidst all the hostility.

When you finally dropped him off somewhere safe, away from danger, Rafe looked at you with a mix of wounded pride and something you couldn’t quite place.

“I’m not going to thank you,” he said at last, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t expect you to,” you replied, wiping the sweat from your brow. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait.” His tone was softer than you’d heard before, almost vulnerable. You turned slowly to look at him.

“What?” you asked, tired.

“Did you see anything?” His question was direct, his gaze piercing.

You understood immediately. Rafe wasn’t just hurt; he was there for something related to gold. Maybe he’d found a lead, something he didn’t want the Pogues to know about. You could have told him the truth, that you’d noticed a map in his pocket when you helped him, but you chose to lie.

“No, I didn’t see anything.” Your voice was firm, although inside you felt a small knot of guilt.

Rafe seemed to relax a little, although he still looked at you with distrust.

Later, when the Pogues found a clue that fit too well with the area where you had seen Rafe, he understood what you had done. Someone, perhaps Sarah, told him that you were near the area when you separated from the group. It didn’t take much for him to put the pieces together.

The next time you saw him, his expression was completely different. There was no vulnerability or truce anymore, only fury.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” he snapped at you, coming dangerously close.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to remain calm, although you knew exactly what he meant.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You lied to me. You took what was mine!” His voice was filled with rage, and though you knew it was unfair, there was something in his eyes that made you feel a pang of remorse.

“I don’t owe you anything, Rafe.” Your response was cold, though inside you felt more affected than you wanted to admit.

Rafe was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on you. Finally, he took a step back, but not before making his feelings clear.

“Don’t ever cross my path again, Pogue.”

That was the beginning of a new phase in your feud, more bitter and personal than ever.

Your relationship with Rafe Cameron had reached a point where hatred seemed to be the only thing that united you. After your “betrayal” during the search for gold, any vestige of truce between you vanished. Although you would never admit it, there was something inexplicable that brought you back to square one: an enmity filled with tension, resentment, and something deeper that neither of you understood.

One of the worst fights you had occurred during a rainy night in the Outer Banks. The Pogues had been following Rafe, convinced that they had found another important lead to the gold. The chase led them to an old abandoned port, where you finally confronted them face to face.

“Always after me, aren’t you?” Rafe looked at you from the shadow of a warehouse, his soaked hair sticking to his forehead. The sound of the rain beat hard against the metal roof, but nothing could drown out the intensity of his voice.

“You have no right to that gold, Cameron.” Your words came out loaded with defiance as you clenched your fists. You knew you were probably playing with fire by facing him, but something in you couldn’t stop.

“And you are?” he replied, taking a step towards you. His eyes, dark under the rain, were filled with rage. “What makes you think you’re better than me, Pogue?.”

“For starters, I don’t try to kill people for him.” Your words made him laugh, a dry, bitter laugh that made you feel a chill.

“You think so?” Rafe leaned a little towards you, his voice lowering to an almost whispering tone. “You know perfectly well that you would do anything to protect your own, too. We’re not that different, even if it pains you to admit it.”

The argument soon turned physical. He tried to take the map from you, and you fought back with all your might. It was as if you were both so consumed by rage that nothing else mattered. You fell to the ground, feeling the cold wetness of the cement against your back, as Rafe tried to hold you down.

“Let me go, you moron!” you screamed, kicking him in the stomach.

“Give me the damn map!” he roared, clinging to your wrist.

For a moment, you thought it would all end there, that one of you wouldn’t walk away from this fight. But something changed. Rafe looked you straight in the eyes, and for a moment, his grip softened. He looked confused, as if he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t keep hurting you.

Finally, he let go of you and stood up, breathing heavily.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was barely a whisper, and it took you a few seconds to process what he had said.

“What…?” you were speechless, still lying on the ground.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, taking a few steps away from you.

“Go away. Take the damn map and go away.”

But not everything always ended in a truce. There was another time when it was you who had to decide between helping him or letting him face the consequences of his own actions. It was during a smuggling operation that Rafe had organized to finance his obsession with gold. You found him cornered in an alley, with a group of men who clearly did not have friendly intentions.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped at you when you appeared at the end of the alley. He was bleeding from a cut on his eyebrow, but he still maintained that defiant attitude.

“I saw your truck nearby.” You approached cautiously, analyzing the situation.

The men paid you no attention at first, but soon realized you could be a problem. One of them advanced towards you with a menacing smile.

“Another friend of yours, Cameron?” he said mockingly.

“Get out of here, Pogue. I don’t need your help.” Rafe’s voice was firm, but there was something in his gaze that made you stay.

Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t just leave him there. You picked up a rock from the ground and threw it hard at one of the men. It was enough to distract them and give Rafe a chance to fight back.

You helped him escape, though as soon as you turned the corner, Rafe turned to you, furious.

“Why do you keep butting into my business?” he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Because I’m not like you, Rafe. I can't let someone die, even if they're an idiot like you.” Your answer made him let out an exasperated sigh, but he didn't say anything else.

In the end, it was always the same. They hurt each other, they hated each other, they betrayed each other... but they also always found a way to forgive each other. You didn't know why you did it. Maybe it was because you saw something in Rafe that others didn't see, or maybe it was because deep down you knew you weren't as different from him as you wanted to believe.

The only thing you knew for sure was that, no matter how hard you tried to hate him, something always made you go back to him. And the worst of all was that Rafe seemed to feel the same way.

Rafe Cameron drove you crazy in every possible way and that made you uncomfortable and annoyed, despite always finding gold on your path, you also found it on your path when you were calm, reminding yourself that you couldn't get rid of it even if you wanted to.

There were nights when the air was so thick that it was hard to breathe. The humidity was sticking your clothes to your skin, but it wasn't just the weather that made you feel this way; it was him.

Rafe Cameron always managed to find you, even when you didn't want to be found. His mere presence seemed to charge the atmosphere with an almost palpable tension, something that only existed between the two of you. Like that time on the dock, under the dim light of a broken streetlight. You were alone, waiting for JJ and Pope, when you heard their footsteps, firm, sure, approaching.

Your body tensed before you turned around. There he was, standing, with that arrogant posture that you detested so much. His messy hair and clenched jaw gave you every reason to hate him more than you already did. But as you looked at him, feeling his gaze sweep over every detail of you, there was something different, something that made you stop.

There was anger in his gaze, yes, but there was also something deeper, something dark that you recognized because you felt it too. Your hands clenched into fists, not because you wanted to hit him—though that was of course a tempting option—but because you wanted to stop the impulse that made you think about getting any closer than necessary.

It was a constant tug-of-war. One moment you wanted to push him into the water, make sure he disappeared from your life forever. But then, a part of you wanted to do the complete opposite, you wanted to get closer, erase the distance between you, and find out if that tension could transform into something more.

Rafe leaned against one of the dock posts, looking at you with a mix of defiance and curiosity. Everything about him seemed designed to provoke you. His gaze fixed, his shoulders relaxed but ready to move at the slightest hint of threat. It was so unbearably irritating, and yet, there was something you couldn’t ignore.

The wind blew hard, and you felt a chill run down your spine, but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was that unmistakable feeling of being on the edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t control.

You wanted to kill him. For all the times he had made you feel less than, for every hurtful word, for every betrayal and fight. But at the same time, you wanted to get close enough to know if that spark you felt between you could catch fire.

But you didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you took a deep breath, ignoring how your heart was pounding. You turned your back on him, your steps firm on the wood of the dock as you walked away. You knew that if you stayed one more second, the line between hate and desire could blur forever. And you weren't ready to face what that meant.

You felt him stand still, watching you as you left. You didn't need to look back to know that that feeling would continue to haunt you, just as much as he did.

And you were right, a few days later that line blurred.

There was a storm that night, one of those that seemed to split the sky in two with each flash of lightning. The rain was pounding on the roof of the old abandoned cabin where you had taken shelter, trying to escape the chaos that the Pogues and Rafe had caused in the last gold hunt. Your hands were shaking with rage, not so much from the cold, but from the frustration of knowing that Rafe had, once again, gotten you into this situation.

You were alone, at least that's what you thought, until you heard the door slam open. You turned quickly, looking for something to defend yourself with, but seeing that unmistakable figure enter soaked to the bone, your heart stopped.

Rafe.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you thought, although you didn't bother to say it out loud.

He slammed the door behind him hard, shaking off the water like a rabid dog. His dark hair, and his chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, as if he had run a marathon. His gaze met yours almost immediately, filled with that mix of fury and something more that always seemed to burn between you.

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t look away either. There was something about him that night, something different. It wasn’t just the usual anger you two shared, or even the constant tension that seemed to surround you like a force field. It was something rawer, more real.

The silence between you was almost deafening, broken only by the roar of the storm outside. You felt the air in the cabin grow thicker, charged with electricity, as if lightning was about to strike right there.

“What? Are you just going to stand there staring at me like an idiot?” You had crossed your arms, trying to hide the trembling that ran through your body.

He didn’t answer, but he took a step towards you, slow, deliberate. You could feel the intensity of his gaze fixed on you, as if he could see past the facade you always tried to maintain. Your heart began to beat faster, and you hated that he had that effect on you.

“Rafe, don’t start,” you warned yourself mentally, even though you weren’t sure what it was you wanted to avoid.

But he kept coming closer. You could see every detail of his face now: the raindrops sliding down his jaw, the way his lips were pressed together as if he were holding something back. His presence filled the small space between you, and suddenly, the hatred you’d always felt for him didn’t seem enough to explain what was happening.

You didn’t know who made the first move. Maybe it was you, maybe it was him, but in an instant, the distance disappeared. His hand slid behind your neck, pulling you closer to him with a force that made you gasp. His mouth crashed into yours with an intensity that left you breathless, as if all that pent-up rage had finally found an outlet.

Your hands clutched at his wet shirt, trying to push him away and pull him in at the same time. The kiss wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t tender. It was an explosion of everything you had bottled up for years: the hatred, the frustration, the attraction that neither of you wanted to admit.

You felt his body press against yours, trapping you between him and the wall of the cabin. His breath was hot against your skin, mixing with the cold of the storm that continued to rage outside. His every move seemed to call out something you didn’t know you’d been holding back, and for a moment, you let yourself go.

But it was only a moment.

Suddenly, you pulled away, your hands on his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

“This… can’t happen.” Your voice was barely a whisper, shaky but firm.

He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at you said it all. There was something in his eyes you hadn’t seen before, something vulnerable that completely disarmed you.

The storm outside continued to rage, but inside the cabin, all was calm. Rafe didn’t try to come closer again, and you didn’t dare look him in the eye as you turned away, your heart pounding so hard you felt like it might explode.

After that night in the cabin, something changed, though you both tried to act like it hadn’t. That first time was an accident, you kept telling yourself, something driven by rage and storm. But what happened next made it clear that there was something more, something that went far beyond hatred or tension.

It wasn’t long before you met again. It was in one of the alleys behind The Wreck, where you had hidden yourself after a fight with Sarah and the others. Rafe appeared as if the universe was conspiring against you. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you with that mix of arrogance and determination that seemed to be part of his essence.

“You’re not here to worry about me, Cameron. What do you want?” you had snapped harshly, crossing your arms as if that physical barrier could protect you.

He didn’t answer right away, but the glint in his eyes made it clear that he knew exactly what he wanted. What followed was just as impulsive as the first time: his lips finding yours with a burning urgency, your hands clinging to his shirt as if the world could fall apart at that moment and you wouldn’t care.

Logic disappeared when you were with him. All you had left were pure emotions: desire, rage, need. In those moments, you didn't think about the past or what was coming next. You didn't think about the fights, the betrayals, or the reasons why you were supposed to hate him. There was only his hands on your skin, the sound of his breathing, and the way he managed to make you forget everything else.

But the next day, there was always something that reminded you why you hated him. Like that time you saw him bullying Pope at the dock, his overbearing attitude making it clear that the Rafe of last night and the Rafe of today were two sides of the same coin.

"You're an asshole," you had yelled at him later, when you faced him away from the others.

He shrugged, as if he didn't care, but his gaze searched yours, almost defiant.

"Don't expect me to change for you," he seemed to say without words.

You walked away furiously, promising yourself that this would be the last time. You couldn’t keep falling for that game, not when he was still the same cruel boy you’d known all your life.

But then, something always drew you back. Like when he found you after you were almost caught in one of John B’s crazy antics. He helped you escape, even covering for you when the Kooks passed by. It was an unexpected gesture, one that left you bewildered as you shared a moment of calm on an old boat hidden in the swamp.

“Thanks, I guess,” you’d told him, though your words were filled with skepticism.

He smirked, the kind of smile that always got on your nerves.

“Don’t think about it too much.”

But you thought about it. Every gesture of his, every glance, every clandestine kiss was etched into your memory, fueling a cycle you couldn’t break.

Of course, you had your part in that dynamic, too. There were times when your own actions infuriated him, like the time you stole information from him about the gold hunt and shared it with the Pogues. His reaction was explosive: he found you on the dock, his gaze filled with betrayal and fury.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he said, his voice deeper than usual.

For a moment you thought he would leave you there, that this would be the end. But no. Even though you had betrayed him, even though you had defied him in every way possible, he always came back. Just like you came back to him.

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incorrectmarvelquotesss · 17 hours ago

Text

— it’s the little things —

Warnings: fluff, some angst

Summary: There’s some harder questions to answer about Jason.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

A/N: An idea that popped up when I couldn’t answer a niece’s question about her father’s job (he’s a firefighter). Enjoy!

"Momma, why doesn't daddy smile a lot?" He looked up at you, his young face serious, as if pondering some profound thought.

Six year old Owen was sitting at the dining table, a picture book sprawled open in front of him. While he often asked about Jason’s “work”, this time his questioning took a different turn.

You looked at him, your movements slowing down as you mulled over your answer. “He does, baby. He smiles when you play with him, remember?” You turned the tap on, washing off the soap on the plate.

Owen shrugged, his young mind processing the answer, his fingers idly tracing the pictures in the open book.

“But it's not like yours,” he pointed out. The pure innocence and simplicity of his remark struck at your heart. He looked back up at you, his eyes curious and childlike. “Why aren't his smiles like yours? You smile a lot.”

You tilted your head a bit. “Wanna explain a bit?” You asked gently, trying to both pry into his question and buy yourself time to find a good answer for him.

Owen thought for a moment, his young mind struggling to put his thoughts into words. He was quiet as he looked at the picture book, then back at you.

He finally spoke, his voice filled with innocence and curiosity. “Daddy's smiles are different. They're small and quick, like he's not really happy.”

He paused, his little brow furrowing as he continued. “Your smiles are big and warm. It's like you're really, really happy,” he added with lilt in his tone as if he thought it was his fault somehow.

You hummed in a contemplative manner. “I guess he does do those quick smiles, doesn’t he?” You were still stalling. You knew Owen had questions about his father, but you didn’t think you’d get this question while Jason was out for evening patrol.

You turned off the tap. Owen nodded, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Yeah... and he doesn't laugh often either, like you do when you watch funny movies.” His small lips pursing as if in thought. “Why is that, momma? Why does daddy laugh and smile less than you do?”

You started drying the dishes, thinking over your answer before you said something that wouldn’t make sense to a six year old. “He’s… not unhappy, Owen. He’s just…” you trailed off, searching for the right words.

You found it hard to find the right words to explain the complexity of Jason’s emotional state to an innocent and curious child.

“Just…?” Owen prompted, his young eyes fixed on you, silently urging you to continue.

You looked down at the dishes for a moment, prolonging your next words. “You know how he tells you about those adventures he goes on during work?” You breathed in deeply as Owen’s eyes lit up.

Owen nodded, his interest piqued. “Yeah, the ones where he's a super cool hero who beats up the bad guys.”

You hummed in agreement. “Sometimes, there’s bad people who hurt good people,” you started slowly, watching his reaction to your carefully crafted words. “And sometimes, your daddy can’t help all of them get better.”

Owen's expression turned pensive, his young mind trying to grasp the concept. His little fingers traced the same picture in the open book, as if trying to make sense of the world.

He looked back up at you, his voice soft. “Why can't daddy help them all get better, momma?”

“Because he can’t be everywhere all at once, right?” You put away the last plate and wiped your hands on a towel before sitting down on the kitchen island stool beside Owen.

Owen nodded, his young mind slowly processing your words. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze again fixed on the picture book in front of him.

Then, looking up at you, he spoke, his voice soft and a hint of concern in his eyes. "Does that make daddy sad? That he can't help everybody?"

You nodded. “It does, baby,” you confirmed with a gentle yet sad smile. “It makes him sad, but then he comes home to us and we make him feel better.” You raked a hand through his dark hair gently.

Owen's face softened at your touch, leaning slightly into your hand. He looked up at you, his eyes now filled with a mixture of understanding and love.

He nodded silently, his tiny hand reaching out to hold yours for a moment. The weight of your words seemed to sink in, his young mind grappling with the reality of his father's job and the complicated emotions it brought about.

“Your momma’s right,” Jason’s voice came from behind. Both you and Owen looked over to the doorway to see Jason standing there, leaning against the doorframe, his tired eyes observing the two of you.

Owen brightened visibly at the sight of his father, his usual energetic self returning momentarily. “Daddy! You're home early!”

Jason pushed off the doorframe and approached you both, his weariness momentarily replaced by a hint of warmth as he looked at Owen. He spoke, his rough voice slightly hoarse. “Yeah, buddy. Patrol wrapped up a bit earlier than expected.”

His eyes darted to you for a brief moment, eyes conveying his appreciation for your way of explaining his feelings in a way he couldn’t himself comprehend.

“You kicked some bad guys' butts, right, daddy?”Owen smiled widely, his innocent excitement at seeing his father evident. He looked up at Jason with a sense of admiration that only a child could feel.

Jason grinned, albeit a bit strained. He ruffled Owen’s hair. “Heck yeah, I did.”

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 days ago

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👁️⃤ evil!Ford x reader

author note: okay im sorry for post spamming but this idea been sitting in my mind for too long and I had to write smth about it, would be glad to read your opinion on that Ford x reader dynamic!^^

so this is a bit of an au situation where evil!Ford is working with Bill now. in this version, reader is Ford’s former ex partner, someone who used to be close enough to him to know his work better than anyone else, including the equation Bill wanted from Ford in canon. Although here Ford doesn’t know the equation anymore, but you do

You’re trapped.

The chair beneath you creaks when you try to move, your wrists aching from the coldness of the handcuffs that keep your hands pinned behind your back. Your breathing is shallow from fighting, your throat feels dry from screaming, but you keep your head high. Defiance in your eyes, even as Stanford’s gaze burns holes through you.

He sits across from you with his legs spread wide and his elbows resting on his thighs, watching you. You squint, noticing a little glow of that infernal symbol on his wrist. Bill’s mark, his new goddamn religion.

“You’re only making this harder for yourself, darling.”

You don’t answer, you won’t give him the satisfaction.

Ford leans back in his chair, tilting his head as his eyes drag slowly over you. “Still playing the martyr, i see,” he drawls, unable to hold sarcastic laugh. “you always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Fuck you,” you spit.

“Oh, but, sweetheart,” he says, standing now. “you don’t get it, do you? you can’t win this.”

“You think you’re protecting them,” Stanford continues. “Stanley, the twins. You think they’ll thank you for this? For your stubbornness?”

“You won’t touch them.” you answer through clenched teeth.

Ford crosses the room in a few strides, towering over you now and it feels like his shadow is swallowing you whole. His hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing your face upward to look at him and you don’t recognise him, instead of your Ford, it’s a shadow of a man who’s sold his soul, body and mind, to something far worse than the nightmares you’re used to. Ford digs his fingers into your skin.

“Just tell me the equation, that’s all i want. you give me what i need, and this—” his eyes flick down to the cuffs, to the bruises blooming on your wrists, “—this ends.”

“Go to hell.”

His grip only tightens, and his jaw clenches. For a moment, you think he might snap, might lose that careful control he prides himself on. But to your surprise, he lets out a low, bitter laugh, releasing your chin and pacing a step away.

“Always so stubborn, it’s admirable, in a way. Stupid as fuck, but admirable. But we both know i can make you talk.”

Before you can react, his hand is in your hair, yanking your head back sharply. You gasp, your neck arching painfully as his face appears damn close you feel his breath against your lips. God, this is not how you imagined kissing Ford. Not after he joined Bill Cipher.

“What’s with that fear in your pretty eyes? I won’t bite, not unless you ask.”

“Fuck. . . you,” you say again, but the words sound weaker this time and you hate the fact that even after Ford Pines isn’t the man you remember, you still feel attached to him.

Noticing your hesitation, Stanford’s lips curl into a smirk, and then he’s kissing you, if you can even call it that. Ford is forceful, rough, demanding, his kiss is nothing gentle, his other hand grips your jaw to keep you in place he takes what he wants, biting your lips, his tongue sweeping into your mouth and he groans when you make a pathetic muffled sound.

When he pulls back, your lips are swollen and you swear you can taste the metal, your skin burns from how hard he squeezed it.

“I can do this all night,” Ford trails his long fingers down the side of your neck, brushing the pulse that races beneath your skin. “You’ll give in eventually. . . they always do.”

“I hate you.” but you don’t believe your own words.

That truly makes Ford laugh, the way you say it so dead serious, with that cute glare when you both know it’s not like that.

“Hate me?” he repeats in mockery, as if the very idea is absurd. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling your head back to force your eyes to meet his. “Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, sweetheart?”

You glare up at him, biting down on the words that threaten to spill from your mouth.

“Funny. That’s not what my muse showed me. Not in your little head, darling.” he talks, savouring every word, enjoying your reaction as you already have panic written all over your face. “let me tell you, in there, you’re begging for it, desperate for me to fuck you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs and the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

“All those filthy little thoughts you try so hard to hide. I had no idea my ex-lab partner was such a slut?”

You feel mad and humiliated at same time, your face burns, but you clench your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, sweetheart, we both know exactly where it’s gonna get you.”

#gravity falls #x reader #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #gravity falls smut #ford pines smut #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls ford #grunkle ford #ford x reader #gravity falls fanfiction

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ghostgirl-22 · 2 days ago

Note

artrick phone sex

I gotchu, my love <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! First time dynamics, angst, Art has avoidance issues like me.

Apologies this may be too long and full of my own personal angst I fear.

—-

“Art?” It’s Patrick.

Art feels his stomach sinking and now he wishes he’d avoided his call, again. He rolls over on his bed and looks at the sparsely decorated wall of his dorm room. It’s his first time talking to Patrick since… since…

He shivers and tries to put it out of his mind.

“Hey,” Art says and clears his throat. “What’s up?”

Patrick chuckles.

Art shivers again. Did his voice always sound that way? Or is Art just crazy still? He’s been really crazy lately. It’s been two weeks and he’s still…

“Really? What’s up?” Patrick mimics. “That’s all you have to say?”

Art shrugs for the benefit of no one but himself. “What—um— what’s wrong with that?”

“Oh I don’t know…” Patrick hums and then he sighs. “Okay fuck it. I’ll go with it. Are you okay?”

Art is still anxious, his stomach still uneasy. It’s just Patrick. His oldest and closest and best friend and yet he can’t relax. He can’t settle down and they're just talking on the phone. He can’t imagine seeing him in person when he inevitably shows up to Stanford again to watch Tashi play. Everything is different now.

“I’m fine, Patrick.” He lies.

“But you don’t want to talk to me?” Patrick sounds weird. Worried? A little. Disappointed? Probably. Sad? Definitely.

Art sighs, he doesn’t want Patrick to be sad. “No I— I’ve just been busy. We had finals last week. And um…. practice has been crazy. I’m um… I started seeing this girl and—” he hears Patrick huff a laugh but barrels through, ignoring it. “Sorry I missed your calls.”

“And texts,” Patrick adds.

“I’m sorry,” Art says again.

They’re quiet for a while. Art turns back to look at the tv. He was watching Sports Center, they were talking about gymnastics. Apparently there had just been some kind of qualifier competition.

“Who’s this new girl your seeing?” Patrick asks. This time Art can’t tell what his tone is.

“Uh well she’s nice, pretty. She’s actually not on the team. She’s an English major.”

“Sounds hot,” Patrick says, flatly.

“Yeah, she’s um— she’s nice,” Art says. “Are you��are you high?”

“A little. I won’t lie. Me and the buddy I was telling you about we smoked a couple and then went and got tacos and Margaritas. So fucking good. Who knew Dallas was a food town?”

Art laughs. He begins to relax, this feels more like best friend stuff. Maybe he was overreacting. Avoiding him for two weeks. But of course that wasn’t the only reason Art was avoiding him. “What happened to your match?”

“Uh well— I lost again. This shit is so fucking rigged.” Patrick complains.

“Dude that fucking sucks,” Art says. He sits up on his bed and looks around for his own weed stash.

“Yeah, it’s fine though. I’m going against this guy tomorrow, stats are all over the place but I think I can take him.”

“Whats his name?”

“Moussa or Mousso… I can’t remember but he’s French. Kinda hot, actually.”

Art feels his stomach flip flop again. “Uh… so what about Tashi?”

“She’s good, she actually answers my calls. I mean not tonight but she told me her cousin would be in town so…”

”Do you want me to beg for forgiveness or something?” Art says, smirking.

Patrick takes a breath and doesn’t say anything while Art is rummaging through the bottom drawer of his night stand. He finds the baggy he was looking for and sits up on the bed, legs crossed as he opens it.

“I’m sorry but I was honestly busy.” Art adds when Patrick still hasn’t said anything.

“Are we ever gonna talk about it?” Patrick asks.

Art stops moving. His stomach begins doing all kinds of things again.

“Look I don’t want to… I don’t want it to be weird,” Patrick continues. “I can do whatever you need. If you want me to pretend I didn’t fuck you… okay fine. But you have to talk to me because I’m going fucking crazy.”

Art stares at the television but he’s not seeing anything. He gives up on the weed and tosses it on the nightstand. “Yeah um… okay.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Art mutters. “I’m— we can talk.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Art says. “I—“ he lays back down on his side and looks at the wall, pulling his knees up. He wishes with everything in him that they hadn’t done it in here. In his fucking bed.

He’s got it on a loop playing in his head all the time. Patrick crawling between his legs. The way he looked, hair still damp from the shower, freckles all over, pupils too big, blue eyes all sparkly. How he smelled, like vanilla soap and cigarettes. What he sounded like, voice so much deeper and softer than normal, saying stupid things like “You’re so fucking pretty”, “Gonna make you scream my name,” and then moaning when he got it in.

And how it felt.

God.

How it felt.

That’s the part that stays with him. How much it hurt. And then how much it didn’t hurt at all. By the end Patrick was touching something inside him and he was seeing stars. In between consciousness and some other plane of existence is how good it felt. That was the silly part. Feeling like he wanted it again and again and again.

He let Patrick do it again in the morning. Patrick’s arms wrapped around his waist fucking him on his side while he stared at this wall his whole body blooming with pleasure. And then just sitting with it for the rest of the day. The ache. The stretch. The feeling like everyone could tell. Patrick left that afternoon for the airport, sent Art a text. Well that was fun. Which he ignored. Called him that evening. Also ignored.

Art had been trying to avoid thinking about it ever since (it was impossible). He’s thrown himself into school, tennis, he’s even tried to talk to a new girl. It didn’t go anywhere. In his worst moments he’s even tried to flirt with Tashi. But then he remembers she’s fucking Patrick and his mind swings right back around to the way Patrick fucked him. And that makes him more crazy because now he doesn’t know what the fuck he actually wants.

And every fucking night, late at night he’s lying in bed staring at the wall touching himself over and over… thinking about it.

He doesn’t know how to say any of this to Patrick.

“Did you die?” Patrick asks, dryly. Even now since they’ve been on the phone, just hearing Patricks stupid voice is making Art’s stomach hurt, and his cock fill up.

“No… I’m just confused okay,” Art says.

“About what?”

“I don’t know.”

”Did you hate it?” Patrick asks.

“Not really,” Art murmurs.

“You’re so fucking full of shit,” Patrick groans.

Art sighs and realizes he just mindlessly put his palm on his cock because of how gravelly Patrick’s voice sounds. And fine. Patrick can make him crazy all the way in whatever fucking city hes in however many fucking miles he is away from Palo Alto.

“I’m sorry if I don’t know how to feel. I’ve never… I’d never done any of that before.” Art says quietly.

“And yet you practically begged for it in the morning.” Patrick says softly.

Art swallows thickly.

“I can’t get it out of my head.” Patrick continues. “The way you were rubbing against my dick before you even woke up properly. Fuck. I can’t get you out of my head.”

Art’s rubbing himself now. “I can’t either,” he sighs, he’s starting to lose it again. He feels silly. Too silly to care if Patrick can tell.

“Yeah?” Patrick sounds eager, breathy.

“It was… I still… I still feel it. Is that crazy?” Art says quietly.

Patrick takes a deep breath. “Fuck. You drive me so fucking insane. Are you fucking touching yourself?”

“’m sorry. I just…” Art says, closing his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Art knows he’s never gonna recover from this but right now it doesn’t matter. He would stop if he could but he can’t.

”You still feel me?”

“Mmhm.”

“Feel me stretching you? you’re so fucking tight I don’t even know if it’s all gonna fit,” Patrick says, his voice sounds like it did. When Arts eyes are closed it’s almost like he can feel Patrick’s breath on his skin.

“Ah—“ Art gasps, grabbing himself properly. “I like the stretch.”

“You love it.” Patrick says. “You don’t even want to wait. Don’t want me to take my time, you’re just so eager you’re pushing that pretty ass back on me.”

“Yeah,” Art gasps, he rolls onto his back and puts the phone on speaker, letting one leg fall open as he jerks himself. “It feels so good—when you fuck me. Its too much. Im too full please… please I don’t think I can take anymore.”

“Oh you fucking liar,” Patrick moans. “You can take it baby. I know you can. You’re a little cock slut already and its only your first time. Fuck. You’re so tight.”

”So tight,” Art says mindlessly as he tries to ease two fingers along his ass, the way Patrick had done before he entered. “I wanna… I want you to… I—I miss you.”

”I miss you too,” Patrick says. “If I was there I’d have you on all fours taking my dick all night.”

“Ah—mmh— Patrick I’m gonna— you’re gonna make me—“ Art cries. The fingers are enough… even dry.

“Come on, yeah… fucking come on my big fat dick sweetheart… come on.. nngh…” Patrick moans.

It’s enough. Hot strings of pearly white are suddenly spurting out of him and spilling everywhere, on his fingers and clothes. On the bedspread. He’s breathless, as his whole body goes lax.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… I need to be in you again, gahhh..” Art can hear Patrick’s bed squeaking wherever he is and then he’s groaning loudly, and gasping through his own orgasm. “Oh god, oh shit… that was…”

“Yeah,” Art says breathlessly, looking up at the ceiling.

”Mm don’t fucking ignore me again,” Patrick says.

As relaxed as Art feels right now. Distantly, the pit in his stomach is returning. “Patrick… are we… I mean… are we still gonna be… friends?”

“Yeah of course,” Patrick says, easy. He yawns. “Always.”

Art feels tied up in knots but he can tell Patrick’s relaxed, sated, relieved even. If anything he’s going to be asleep in five minutes. No point getting any deeper now.

“You wanna fall asleep on the phone or—?” Patrick asks, yawning again.

“No it’s… it’s fine.” Art says. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Mmkay. Sweet dreams.”

Art bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something fucking stupid that he can’t take back. The line goes dead. Art stares at the ceiling for a minute, the three words he can’t say platonically to his best friend who he’s now fucking, are flitting about in his head. And Patrick wonders why he’s confused. He grabs his second pillow and pulls it over his face. He’s so fucked.

#challengers #challengers 2024 #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan #challengers fic #challengers smut #art x patrick #artrick

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youcouldmakealife · 17 hours ago

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SOTM: Luke/Andreas; wined and dined

For the prompt: Andreas and Luke meeting/hooking up the second time

I literally finished this before I realised you guys probably meant like, the second time they hooked up, not the whole second time 'round. Mea culpa, everybody. And for those who interpreted it the same way I did...you're welcome?

Andreas can’t remember the last time he was wined and dined.

Though maybe that isn’t the best way to describe it — Andreas has dinner meetings all the time, has sat beside clients at the best restaurants in almost every NHL city, sampled from the menus of half of New York's most exclusive restaurants. Always on the agency’s dime, of course, or his multi-millionaire client’s, or the teams they play for, or the teams who want to sign them.

There’s plenty of wine involved — though Andreas always restricts himself to a glass when it's business — plenty of dining. But a meeting’s a meeting, whether it’s in a conference room, patiently waiting for a GM who’s been around since there were still six teams in the league to figure out how to unmute his mic, or eating something exceptional at a Michelin Star restaurant.

So obviously that’s not what he means. It’s not that he hasn’t been dating either, though admittedly, he had less and less time to spare for it as he got older. And not that he hasn’t gone on dinner dates specifically, where he allows himself a second glass of wine, orders what he’d like, rather than ‘what he’s having sounds good’, unless, Andreas supposes, it truly does sound good. So there has been wining and dining, in fact. Possibly even a surplus of it.

And yet.

At a certain point Andreas thinks he just stopped expecting romance. It wasn’t any sort of resigned, jaded disappointment at the dating scene. Not that it isn't a shitshow, but it's probably better here than just about anywhere else. More an acknowledgment that most guys didn’t seem to be looking for romance, at least the ones Andreas was dating.

And that was fine, because Andreas wasn’t really looking for it either. Romance was undeniably nice, but he worked long hours, put almost all of himself into his job, and what he had left didn’t require much more than good conversation and some companionship, a spark of attraction, mediocre or better sex. Romance might have come along down the line, but things didn’t tend to last long even when he did find someone who met his simple — yet almost impossible to find — criteria.

That one, he thinks has more to do with him than it does with them. Andreas’ career is one of those things that’s attractive in theory, but significantly less endearing when he’s slipping in and out of bed at all hours, constantly checking his email or ducking out to make a call, flying off to who knows where, sometimes with plenty of notice, sometimes with none at all.

Maybe his life just isn’t conducive to romance. He doesn’t like to think that, but there would be worse things, wouldn’t there? He has a job that he finds fascinating, a job that offers something different every day, a job that, incidentally, pays him more money than he has the time to spend. He could retire tomorrow if he wanted to, live the rest of his life in comfort, dedicate all his time to searching for true love, but why would he want to? It sounds excruciatingly boring.

So he works — he works a lot, works more than he should, at least according to everyone he knows, including Dave, the giant hypocrite — and he — well, he works. But it’s fine. Most people have to search for meaning in his life, but he has his. If anyone asks about it — and they all ask, except Dave, that gem of a fucking man — he says he doesn’t feel like he’s lacking anything. He’s not lying, either.

That doesn’t mean something doesn’t squeeze tight when Luke conveniently ‘happens to be in town’ — though if there’s any town that actually applies to, it’s New York — when he figures they should ‘catch up’. Even as he tells himself that he’s just catching up with an old flame, one who doesn’t even live in the same country as him anymore. Even as he tells himself once for old time’s sake, and then twice doesn’t hurt considering they’ve still got chemistry, then when it’s been three, four, half a dozen, and if Luke’s got a return ticket Andreas doesn’t know when it’s for, but it doesn’t feel like it’s any time soon.

Luke has always been a romantic. He’d deny it up and down if Andreas said it, and it wouldn’t even be a kneejerk macho shit — Andreas doesn’t think Luke even knows he does anything out of the ordinary. Andreas doubts he was thinking ‘I’m going to woo Andreas’ as he asked him out to dinner, not the first time, or the second, not when he came with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine from a vineyard Andreas mentioned in passing, said he’d cook for him, laughing as he fought with Andreas’ temperamental bottle opener, scoffing when Andreas impatiently intervened before he could ruin a good bottle of wine.

Technically, he doesn’t even know if 'wooing' is Luke’s aim at all. He could just need the change of pace, miss the city, the speed of it, the convenience, and while he was here, Andreas was just as convenient as the rest of it — good conversation, good companionship, Luke more attractive than ever, the sex still fantastic. And they didn’t even have to get to know one another. What could be easier?

But Andreas doesn’t think so, at least not judging by the way Luke’s started looking at him.

Andreas doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him like Luke does, the complete focus of it. Looking isn’t a strong enough word — it’s more like he’s taking him in, trying make sure that he gets every single detail correct, the way Andreas imagines a painter would gaze at their subject, a poet at their lover. Luke’s no poet, but, well — maybe he is, a little, minus the words. There’s something about the way Luke looks at the world. Something about the way Luke looks at him.

It used to unnerve Andreas, a little, especially because Luke wasn’t only looking at him like that over romantic candlelit dinners and endorphin fueled pillow talk, but also during the most mundane moments. Andreas would be scowling at his phone, pecking out an answer to a client who decided he urgently needed to discuss his contract on a Sunday morning, a full season before it expired, and he’d look up and there Luke was, visibly taking him in. Sometimes there’d be a little smile on his face — the moments Andreas let himself be a little cranky there often was — but often there wasn’t, just Luke’s eyes on him, taking him in like he was never going to see him again.

It was — a lot. Luke was a lot, almost from the very beginning. Andreas thought he was going to get a regrettable hook up out of things, and then he thought it was going to be a few of them, and it was like a switch was flipped, and Luke went from the hot, fun, surprisingly good in bed client Andreas had completely unprofessionally fucked — and not just once, but a few times, and then a handful — to even more surprisingly good company outside of bed, to something Andreas didn’t quite have a name for. Someone who was gone even more than Andreas was, someone Andreas started to miss when he was gone. Andreas was the one staying put, most of the time, but Luke was the one always watching him like he’d disappear the moment he closed his eyes.

The look hasn’t changed, and Andreas imagines it means the same thing now as it did then, Luke who doesn’t blink, Luke who jumps both feet first, Luke the romantic.

It doesn’t feel as overwhelming now, though Andreas suspects he’ll be spending some time thinking about just how quickly Luke was on board. How quick they both were — Andreas can’t pretend he doesn’t know what’s coming, what’s already here, can’t pretend that isn’t something he wants, when he could end things with a word.

But he doesn’t. This time Andreas lets himself look back, and when Luke catches him at it, he doesn’t let himself look away.

#fic snippet #andreas krause #luke morris #SOTM

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goodlucktai · 3 days ago

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raised on little light (2/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 4k pairing: mikey & oc big thank you to @soldrawss for the art included in this chapter and to @mykimouser for making me insane about neutral!michelangelo at all hours of the day title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

2031

Mikey is looking for his little brother. It seems like he spends half his life doing that these days.

The TV is on in Splinter’s room, door ajar but equally as unapproachable as the door to Donnie’s lab, which is shut tight, as usual. Raph’s door is standing open, but his room is empty, because he leaves early for work on the weekdays.

Mikey maneuvers past the closed doors and empty rooms like a professional. He doesn’t even have to think too hard about it anymore.

Rounding the corner to the dining room, Mikey’s stride slows and relief punches an exhale out of him. He doesn’t realize how tense he is until he deflates like a balloon.

Gio is asleep at the table, face half-buried in his folded arms, crossbow and maintenance supplies spread out in front of him. It’s disappointing, but not surprising. He rarely stays in his own room, as if he’s afraid of taking up space that isn’t really his. As if they’re going to change their mind and tell him they do still need it for storage, actually, and he wants to be ready when they do. Mikey’s pretty sure he never fully unpacked his bag.

Sometimes he leaves the lair entirely, and since he’s the most unreliable texter Mikey knows, and has never met a phone call he would answer without a gun held to his head, he might as well fall completely off the grid each time he’s gone. Mikey stays up on those nights, keeping busy in the kitchen, worrying worrying worrying.

He feels too much like Raph when he doesn’t know where the kid is. He understands intimately how overbearing big brothers could be, remembers how a tiny rift had formed between him and Raph when they were young because of it—childish and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things to come, but devastating at the time.

So he tries to channel Leo instead, who had always trusted Mikey to know when to ask for help if he needed it. Tries to make sure Gio never feels like he can’t come home again, with a smile ready for him as soon as he slips silently back through the door.

But last night Gio must have stayed in. There’s a blanket draped over him that Mikey didn’t put there, and Splinter almost certainly hadn’t left his room to put there, which leaves two possible culprits. Raph and Donnie don’t know how to make gestures that Gio can see for what they are, hardly know how to be in the same room as the kid without seeing a ghost superimposed where he’s standing. It leaves a lot of the emotional heavy-lifting on Mikey’s shoulders, but it’s fine. A brother could never be a burden to him.

Mikey can’t give Gio everything he deserves to have, everything that should have been his from the very beginning, but he can give him some things.

And we’ll start, Mikey thinks with the kind of absurd resilience that wouldn’t have been out of place at the actual end of the world, with breakfast.

Gio wasn’t trained in ninja like the rest of them were but his senses are as sharp as any other turtle genetically modified for war. Mikey woke him up with a touch once and the fear response only lasted a handful of seconds but it was enough that Mikey made the executive decision that no one would ever do that again, or else.

Mikey pulls a chair out beside the smaller turtle and sinks into it soundlessly. He traces the newly-familiar white spots on that smoky gray-green face with his eyes, counting and recounting them, even though he knows how many there are. Everything about Gio is at once brand-new and well-loved to him.

After a moment, the only other sound the ancient Snoopy clock counting seconds in the kitchen, Mikey starts to hum. Three little birds sat on my window…

He can’t help remembering another morning just like this one, what feels like a lifetime ago. Mikey, all of thirteen, had insisted on being woken up to make breakfast so he could try a new crumble muffin recipe, but he’d stayed up too late the night before and sleep clung stubbornly to him despite the row of alarms he’d set. Their resident insomniac had been the only one awake, by virtue of not having gone to bed in the first place, and he’d parked himself in the beanbag under Mikey’s hammock and hummed the same song over and over until Mikey woke up. He had it stuck in his head for the rest of the day. They sang “GIRL PUT YOUR RECORDS ON” in the kitchen at the top of their lungs until Donnie sent the group chat a PDF of a noise complaint form, completely filled out.

Mikey hadn’t realized he was taking any of it for granted back then. He would do anything— anything—to wake up that way again. Just one more time.

Beside him, Gio stirs. Once he’s awake he’s alert fast, those big dark eyes sliding open and staying that way, head coming up off the pillow of his arms. He has that look on his face that Mikey would be tempted to call earnest on anyone else.

“Rise and shine, Clementine,” Mikey says brightly, reaching over to rub the back of his fingers against a spotted cheek affectionately. “I was craving breakfast empanadas today and was hoping my best sous chef would be willing to help me out.” Then, deliberately light-hearted, he adds, “Little turtles who skip dinner have to eat extra breakfast, you know. That’s house rule number one.”

Gio blinks at him, his face giving nothing away to the casual observer.

“I thought house rule number one was ‘always get it in writing’.”

Mikey’s smile widens, surprised and pleased every time he plays along.

“That’s number three, actually. Right behind ‘don’t do anything you wouldn’t want recorded and replayed at family functions.’ If you want, I can tell you exactly why that one’s a rule, and why it’s entirely Donnie’s fault.”

Gio does that thing where he assesses Mikey’s expression and tone as though he’s looking for the trap. Mikey weathers it, makes sure his smile doesn’t slip an inch.

Donatello is more of an urban legend to Gio than his actual living brother. After a few hesitant attempts to approach the older turtle that had been shut down completely each time, Gio made the informed decision that that road was closed permanently.

Sometimes Mikey will tell a story, or April, on one of her increasingly sporadic visits to the lair, will lean over and show him a video on her phone, and Gio will listen or watch like he has no idea who the guy they’re talking about could possibly be.

They do their best, but there’s no way to really introduce the Donnie that they know to Gio, because that Donnie only still exists in their stories and videos. The Donatello who was silly, who loved music and theater, who burst into the living room with some new invention or gadget to boast about, had been replaced by one who rarely spoke, who didn’t even have Spotify on his phone anymore since it took up too much space, who kept the lair running only because it was where his family lived but not because he had any lasting attachment to the place, and he certainly didn’t make any unnecessary tech just for fun.

I know you’re still in there, Mikey thinks sometimes.

He’ll bring Donnie lunch and leave it on the table in the lab, and then hold out his arms. Sometimes, Donnie won’t look at him. Sometimes, Donnie will put his tools down and let his little brother crowd in for a hug. He’ll tuck Mikey under his chin and hold him tight, like they were children again and nothing was wrong that couldn’t be made right.

Thank you for staying, Mikey will think, clinging for every second he’s allowed to. I know it’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

The grief is always encroaching, like floodwaters. Rising slow and steady, swallowing up cars and street signs and single level houses, changing the landscape of his hometown until it’s an unfamiliar place. No end in sight. No sign of land.

Someone send us a boat, Mikey wants to cry hysterically. But he knows how stupid that is.

He is the boat.

—

When he met Giorgio for the first time, Mikey was twenty-five and Leo had been dead for ten years.

“Sorry,” Mikey said. His fingers felt numb around the phone. “Could you say that again?”

“A turtle,” Hueso had replied shortly. “I would not have called, but he has familiar eyes. He is not aware of any family in the area. Would you like me to ask him to wait for you?”

Mikey hadn’t tried his portals again since the last disastrous time—since Raph had made him promise to stop—so he knew it couldn’t be Leo. He knew it. Hueso would be able to pick his sobrino out of a million turtles and would have led the call with that. And Leo wouldn’t have stopped for pizza before running back to them, he wouldn’t have stopped for anything. Leo would have been the one to let them know Leo was home.

Still, there was a tiny warbling hope in the bottom of his heart that wailed “maybe, maybe, maybe.” Still, it hurt to feel that hope shrivel up and die when Mikey slammed into the private dining room and found Hueso talking to an unfamiliar mutant with white spots and a black shell and—it was undeniable—Hamato Yoshi’s eyes.

The turtle was small, dressed in dark grays and greens, a strap across his chest that made it clear he was armed by something resting out of sight on his back. He stood with his arms crossed, in a manner that was probably supposed to read as stubborn or defiant, but Mikey clocked instantly as nervous.

This kid didn’t know what he was doing here or who the hell Mikey was and he looked about as comfortable with all the attention as Donnie would have been at that age.

Mikey felt himself soften, some distant part of his heart sitting in disuse and disrepair lurching to life again. Ancestral magic that he had largely turned his back on suddenly stirred, ninpo reaching out fragile feelers toward the person in the room that it recognized as immediately as if it was looking at its own self in a mirror.

“This is one of my creations,” Draxum announced, confirming what Mikey’s heart had already decided. “It must have survived after all.”

“Elaborate,” Mikey said, in a tone that didn’t match the gentle smile he had for the spotted turtle.

“How old are you?” the alchemist had asked instead, which seemed an odd first question to have and didn’t explain literally anything.

“Eighteen,” the spotted turtle replied. Mikey’s brow made a bid for his hairline. He would have been less surprised if the kid had said fifteen. Was he that scrawny as an eighteen year old?

“You hatched at about the same time as the red one,” Draxum said dispassionately, “so you should have been about his age, and he is twenty-seven. And how did you come to be here?”

Gio’s eyes slid away from him, over to Mikey. Mikey didn’t know what his face was doing. He hoped it was encouraging.

“I went through a yellow door,” Gio said. “And I ended up here.”

“By yellow door, I’m assuming you mean a rift in space-time,” Draxum said. “What possessed you to walk into it?”

“Felt safe,” Gio said, and that was the last thing he said about it, expression closing up in a way Mikey was intimately familiar with as I’m done talking and liable to bite if provoked. But Draxum was a lot of things, genius among them, and seemed to already have an idea of what had happened.

Portals could be capricious. The night of Splinter’s mutation and escape from the Hidden City, a machine in Draxum’s original lab had gone haywire as the structure collapsed. Draxum watched as it snatched up various tools and equipment and finally one of the experiment enclosures that Splinter had not been able to reach in time to save its occupant with the four he already carried.

With the machine destroyed, it was impossible to even begin tracking the experiment down to wherever it had ended up. And there were unfortunately small odds that the creature would have survived long on its own wherever the portal deposited it. Draxum had written it off as dead.

But there he was. Ten years displaced, but living and healthy and whole. Apparently he’d been in another dimension all this time, and only came back again because a portal he encountered had looked inviting.

—

And now he’s in Mikey’s kitchen, listening studiously to his brother’s chatter and following instructions with exacting precision, still wearing the ridiculously oversized red sweater Mikey bundled him into the day before. It made Raph’s face do something funny when he saw Gio in it at lunch, but he hadn’t said anything when he saw Mikey hauling it out of the dryer earlier that morning, and he didn’t say anything at the table either.

Over the years and countless wash cycles it’s been worn to unbelievable softness. It used to be that Raph couldn’t keep it in his closet if he tried, caught as it was in a constant rotation between little siblings who loved to wear it, floppy sleeves and sagging hem and all. It’s almost strange to see it again, here under the kitchen lights in this new country they all live in.

Stealing clothes was a baby brother right of passage. And it was just collecting dust in storage anyway.

Gio sees Mikey looking and glances down self-consciously. Then he jolts, and drops the ball of dough in his hands, lifting and twisting his left arm to put it more in the light. Near the elbow of the sleeve is a smudge of flour.

He thumbs at the spot, preoccupied by it. His body language is shrinking because he always makes himself a smaller target when he starts to get anxious.

One day, Mikey is going to find whoever taught him to do that and have words. For now, he rounds the island to Gio’s side and leans against it so he can duck down and peer into that little spotted face. He makes sure to plant his own elbow in the flour dusted across the butcher block counter, sending up a little poof of it as he does.

“Hey, sweet kid, don’t worry about this old thing. It’s already been through everything you can possibly think of,” Mikey reassures, tweaking the hood playfully. “It survived the Paintball War of 2017, it’ll hold up to a little baking accident.”

Gio’s dark eyes lift to meet his, attentive and absorbing everything he sees and so, so careful.

“Raphael won’t get mad?”

Mikey keeps smiling, even though he’d like to start crying.

Of course he won’t, he wants to say. He’s your big brother and he loves you. He’d move heaven and earth for you. He doesn’t know how to say it these days—he doesn’t trust himself to hold people the way he used to, doesn’t know who he is anymore since the shield he used to be was broken—but he’s still Raph. Our Raphie. I promise, it’s still him.

Gio had never been lifted up into strong arms and tossed in the air until he laughed, caught safely and held tight like those arms would never get tired of holding him. He had never crawled under the blankets in a room humming and blinking with electronics after a nightmare, resting his head on a broad shoulder and falling asleep to a low voice rattling off his favorite explanation of gravity—a force that held everything down, pulled everything together, that could always be counted upon to keep you. He had never snuck out for brunch, just him and someone who saw him more clearly than he could ever see himself, who knew when a stack of French toast and a string of Snapchat selfies and a little mischief was exactly what he needed.

Gio had never had any of that. He had been alone since he was freshly mutated and abandoned by pure chance, and now he was barely nineteen and he didn’t know how else to be. He didn’t have the first clue, but he was so willing to learn. He soaked up attention like a plant starved for sunlight, petals reaching endlessly for an end to the dark.

I wish you had been there, Mikey thinks sometimes when he looks at him, heart breaking with the truth of it. We would have held you. You wouldn’t even know how to be alone. You wouldn’t be worried about a stain on a sweater.

“He won’t get mad,” Mikey says instead. He channels his most charming brother, the one who could sell water to a fish, who could talk his way out of anything, who convinced his family to keep hoping even when all hope seemed lost. “And hey, if he brings it up, we’ll just blame the cat.”

The corner of Gio’s mouth twitches, and then he smiles despite himself, as buoyed along as Mikey always was when Leo was silly with him, and says, “We don’t have a cat.”

“Maybe I’ve just been waiting for an excuse to get one!”

At that point, a burst of white noise from the living room cuts over whatever Gio might have been about to say. It sounds like the roar of wind from an open window of a car going seventy down the highway. It cuts off, and then something clatters noisily, and Gio’s reluctantly amused expression vanishes into alarm.

They don’t exactly get a lot of surprise visitors down here. He wouldn’t recognize the familiar sound of transportation-by-time-scepter, followed by the even more familiar sound of its clumsy wielder tripping and knocking something over immediately upon arrival.

“Oops—helloooo?”

“In here, Renet,” Mikey calls back, nudging his shoulder into Gio’s so he knows not to worry.

The timestress bumbles in, scepter tucked into the crook of her arm so she has both hands free to fix her braids. She’s smiling all big and crooked and sweet, mouth open to greet Mikey the same enthusiastic way she always greets him, but she stops dead in the doorway when she catches sight of the second turtle in the room.

Renet takes one look at Gio and says, “Oh! Well, you don’t belong here at all, do you?”

It’s been a long time since Mikey has felt like screaming at her, but the way his little brother absorbs that blow without flinching is enough to get him on his feet.

“Hey, Nettie, can we talk in the hall?” he says with a brightness he doesn’t feel. “Georgie, I’ll be right back, okay?”

Gio dips his head in a nod, slowly rolling dough in his hands again, and Renet follows Mikey out of the room like someone who knows they’re about to face the firing squad.

“I did not mean it like that,” is the first thing she says when it’s just the two of them. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Mikey does know that somewhere in the back of his mind. Renet is his friend and she’s never been anything but kind to him. If they had met when they were children, they probably would have gotten along like a house on fire.

There was a time when he only saw the best in people, but the idealism had been carved out of Mikey when his portal to the prison dimension failed to open.

Some days, Mikey looks at Renet and can only see the person with time itself at her disposal, the past and future spread out like a choose-your-own-adventure book—the person with the power to help, to change things, who took Mikey’s countless, desperate pleas to be allowed to save his brother and held them tenderly like they were important to her and still told him no.

Some days, that “no” is the most significant thing she ever said to him.

“He’s my brother,” Mikey says. “He belongs wherever we are.”

“Of course he does,” Renet says, brown eyes soft. “Mike, of course he does. That’s not what I meant.”

When they move back into the kitchen, introductions are made properly, and Renet makes it a point to clarify that she’s glad to finally meet him.

Giorgio is watching them with those eyes that take in everything. Deep and trusting when he looks at Mikey, sharpening into something calculative when he shifts his gaze toward Renet.

Looking back, Mikey will recognize it as the moment he lost him.

“Smells pretty good in here, boys!” Renet says, swanning over to the stovetop. “Oh, is that chorizo? Mike, tell me you’re not making empanadas! I already ate on my way over!”

“Then you won’t need to stay for breakfast,” Mikey sing-songs, feathers still ruffled. Then, because he feels bad for the way she deflates at the blatant dismissal, adds, “If you want to stick around, you can take some back with you to Null Time. Just don’t let that jerk Savanti have any, I don’t like his vibe.” “I swear,” Renet says, hand to her heart.

“You talk about time travel like it’s something you can do,” Gio says suddenly. “Is it?”

The air in the room suddenly feels much thinner than before. Renet looks at Mikey quickly before answering.

“Sure, Gio. I’m a timestress—or, you know, I’m a student now. Basically an unpaid intern. But one of these days I’ll be the real deal.” She winks at him, and Gio gazes back at her placidly.

“So you could send someone back in time? To stop something bad from happening?”

Oh, no, Mikey thinks.

“I could,” Renet says. To her credit, she doesn’t sound as bone-tired of this conversation as she must be. “But I can’t. There are so many rules, and for good reason! One little slip-up could be an absolute disaster. It won’t do you any good trying to change the past if you end up destroying the present and the future while you’re at it, right? I’m barely allowed to look at this thing, much less use it,” Renet goes on, wagging the priceless time scepter around like it’s a rubber spatula.

“But you could,” Gio says. “If we followed all the rules. If we figured out a way—”

“Georgie,” Mikey interjects.

“I’ll tell you what I told Mike, baby,” Renet says gently. “It can’t be done. He belongs here.”

Gio says, “But I don’t. You said that.”

“Stop,” Mikey says, not recognizing his own voice.

But it’s too late. It was too late when he tried to open a door inside the prison dimension, because Leo was already dead inside.

He was already dead inside, Draxum had said, clinical in a way that helped to distance himself from the hurt, but also distanced himself from the ones hurting, clinical in a way that made Mikey bare his teeth and say things he couldn’t take back. That’s why you couldn’t reach him. It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t a point for you to anchor off of, there was no other end for your line to reach. He was already dead inside. He was already gone.

Mikey stares at Gio, the tuck of his chin as he looks back down at the dough on the counter. He’s unwilling to argue with Mikey, but that stubbornness is an innate family trait. There’s no way he’ll give it up now that he’s got his teeth sunk into the idea. Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone.

When he was younger, he was so angry. He was bursting with potential, with possibilities, his magic a wounded, snarling creature in his heart. It’s not fair that he failed. It’s not fair that he didn’t save his brother, that his love wasn’t enough to punch through the prison dimension and wrap Leo in warmth and light and bring him home. It’s not fair that no one was willing to help him.

Fine, he had thought, fine! I’ll do it myself!

Renet had explained to him over and over that his power had more to do with space than time. Casey Jr. said that he’d been sent back in time by his Uncle Michelangelo, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Casey’s arrival in the past had created another universe, parallel to the former. That was Mikey’s power—he could affect and even create other timelines, which was powerful and amazing, but not true time travel. Nothing he did could change his own reality, the one he was living in, because he had already lived it. He couldn’t get back what he had lost.

Mikey plunged ahead anyway, desperate. He could make it work. He could make a change. Even if it didn’t change anything here, he could find another world and save its Leo and—and maybe that could be a start. Maybe he would finally get his head up above water, and stop drowning for just one second of the day, maybe he’d be able to take a full breath for the first time since his brother disappeared on the other side of a closed door.

He didn’t wait for permission or approval. He slunk off into a tunnel a mile away from home and drew the circles himself. Lifted his hands and filled them with power, until it felt like he was holding the sun. And it hurt, of course it did. It burned all the way through. But he was hurting anyway.

A portal opened, a pale yellow window. Mikey looked through it, and saw himself on Staten Island, ripping open a hole in the universe and saving his brother.

What?

He looked again, over and over, at least half a dozen times—and every time, he looked into a universe where Leo didn’t die. Where Mikey saved him, or Raph scooped him up before he went diving off the Technodrome to catch Mikey and Donnie, or Donnie flew back up to Leo with a rocket and yanked him back through the door before Casey managed to close it. Over and over and over, Leo didn’t die.

So it’s just me, Mikey realized. I’m the one who got it wrong.

Raph followed the detonation of ninpo and hysterical screaming through the maze-like tunnels and found him suspended in midair. Rock and rebar were flying around Mikey, everything not nailed to the earth turned dangerous projectiles, his arms burning and flaking away into pieces that disintegrated when they met open air.

His big brother’s expression had been terrified as he pulled Mikey down into his arms and held him through the shrieking storm he’d made. One hand on the back of his head to keep his face tucked safely into Raph’s scarred shoulder, the other arm cradling him like he was half his age, like he was still someone’s baby.

“Angie, it’s okay,” Raph had said, low and aching. His voice was a rumble beneath Mikey’s ear, barely audible but just loud enough. “It’s okay. You can scream, you can bring the whole damn city down if you want. But you gotta let go, sunshine. Let go, Mikey.”

I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to! Mikey wailed, clutching at Raph’s jacket with hands that felt like two white-hot points of pure agony, clinging, holding on. If he let go, Leo stayed gone. If he let go, he really didn’t love Leo enough to save him.

But Raph pressed his cheek to the top of Mikey’s head, and his next breath shuddered in his chest, and he whispered, “I know you don’t want to, I know. But this isn’t gonna save him. You’re just hurting yourself and L—Leo would hate that. He’d tell you to stop.” One hand crept over to cover both of Mikey’s, squeezing them tight. “Come on, big man. It’s okay. Let go.”

He let go. The magic faded, dropping everything it had picked up back to the tunnel floor with dull thuds. His hands spasmed wildly, grip nonexistent, and Raph just kept holding them as he carried Mikey home.

Mikey sobbed for the rest of the night, what felt like hours and hours. Raph reverted to turtle sounds when nothing he said seemed to get through, and Donnie crept under the blanket and plastered himself to Mikey’s carapace so that they had “A little citrus sandwich!” Leo would cheer, the silliest and sweetest turtle in the world until Mikey finally cracked a smile.

His family made him promise not to try again. It’s not worth it, they said, a unified front—and as much as the words hurt Mikey to hear, it must have hurt his siblings and father just as much to say them. We can’t lose anyone else, they were ready to beg, because they didn’t know it was his fault Leo was gone. They didn’t understand how badly he’d failed them all. If they did, they wouldn’t have been so grimly determined to protect Mikey’s life from his own hands.

It felt like a betrayal at the time, but he understands now.

It’s not worth it, he thinks, staring at Gio. I can’t lose anyone else, he’s ready to beg.

But Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone.

What he doesn’t know is how to love someone well enough to keep them.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #hamato michelangelo #rottmnt oc #my writing #tmnt fic #the archer au #hamato giorgio

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damn-stark · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 30 No woman no cry

Chapter 30 of Moonlight

A/N- Sweaty eyes that’s all it is :)

Warning- talks of pregnancy and labor, ANGST!!, swearing, violence, fire, blood, and DEATH. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 520-534

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There exists a serene silence where only your soft breaths, and the sound of waves rolling over the sand fill whatever room you are in.

A much crueler chill seems to be your companion, but a light feathered touch of warmth does seem to exist dancing over your face and it makes you squint as your eyes flutter open.

Yet as gentle as that touch is on your face, when you open your eyes a stinging pain hits you as the sun burns your eyes before you give them relief as you shield them from the beaming sunlight.

“Cregan?” You call out softly and then groan as a sharp wave of pain hits your head and your chest, reminding you at that moment of the injuries you sustained and put you in a state of limbo, and now on this bed and in this…stone chamber?

Did they take the keep at Tumbleton? Is this where you are?

“Ser Cane?” You call out next since Cregan is probably attending to other matters.

However, your sworn protector doesn’t respond by walking in or speaking. There’s a continued silence where only the sound of distant waves lingers in your chambers. Which is why you sit up and only get welcomed with a pounding headache.

“Damn,” you hiss and lift your hand to hover your palm over where it hurts, feeling at that moment bandages wrapped around your head before you finally feel the bandages around your chest.

“Ser Cane?” You call out and glance at the end table to search for water, but alas there’s not even a candle. “Ser Cane?”

You drag yourself to the edge of the bed and notice your gown before you notice that someone took the time to clean all the blood off your hands.

It must’ve been Cregan. He must be so worried.

“Ser Cane?” You call out one more time and drop your hand on your belly which seems to be lower than usual, which means the twins should be coming soon.

“Add—” you cut yourself off as you remember that Addam won’t be able to respond to your calls anymore because he’s…dead…

You sigh and rub your eyes before you lift your head and avoid crying, but also finally come to recognize where you are. You try to deny it. You must be dreaming—You can’t be in your chambers at Dragonstone.

How could you be at them?

This must be a dream! You still must be in limbo, you can’t be here—unless your mother is here? How many days have passed since the second battle at Tumbleton?

Were you really unconscious for so long that you arrived at Dragonstone without knowing?

“Ser Cane?” You call out with panic and desperation replacing your patience and grogginess, and proceed to slip on some slippers before you push yourself off the bed and rush to the door.

Albeit when you try to open the door, you can’t, it seems to be locked.

“Ser Cane?” You call out. “Hello? Who is out there? Please open the door.”

You press your ear against the door and drift your eyes to the floor, catching shadows move, and hearing feet shuffle before you start to hear them recede.

“Hello?” You call out louder and with desperation rising. “Can you open the door and tell Cregan or The Queen to come? Please.”

You try to open the door, but again you’re met by the fact that it’s locked, so you have the urge to turn to the balcony to find a way out through there, but then the thought of why sets in.

Why should you find a way out? This is your home and your mother must be here. You don’t have to worry. You’ll be fine, the door is just locked for precaution. After all, your mother is being paranoid about not knowing who to trust, so the door is locked for your own safety.

“Okay,” you sigh and turn away with your hands clasped before you go to your wardrobe and change out of the gown, finding comfort in a purple and gold gown that has the skirts layers shaped like fins on a seahorse, and a golden corset decorated with beautiful designs made of sheets of gold.

It’s truly an impressive gown, and one you know Cregan will drool over, so you feel even more giddy wearing it—which reminds you of the wolf brooch Cregan gave you.

However, when you search for it you can’t find it amongst your things or on any surface. Maybe it fell off during battle or some moment thereafter?

You’ll have to ask, and if you did lose it then you’ll ask Cregan to give you a ring with the sigil on it, or a nice pendant. It’ll be easier to wear it then.

Nonetheless, you sit on the edge of the bed and look out of the window to bask in the sun's warmth, finding comfort in the sound of waves.

Besides, all the bad that’s happened as of late, you still find comfort in the sound of the sea, and it brings you joy to know you’re close. Being in those Wetlands for as long as you were was starting to make you feel as gloomy as a rainy day.

If only it was summer, you would be out lying on the sand or in the water. Alas, it’s winter and the water would surely make you freeze to death.

Shame.

Nevertheless, while you’re soaking in the sunbeams, keys finally jingle outside of your door before you hear the lock click and a knock proceed to a rap on your door.

“Come in,” you greet the visitor and stand from the bed to walk toward the door.

However, as the door opens and you get close, you come to an immediate stop when your eyes fall on a man you thought was long gone—Lord Larys Strong.

“Wh-“ you gasp and step back as you quickly scan the room in search of your sword. When you don’t find it you take a step back and tilt your head down to glower at him.

“Princess,” Lord Larys greets and bows his head, making your pinched eyebrows twitch as they crease deeper in your silence.

“I am so very glad you have awoken and seem to take well to your current injuries. The servants weren’t sure if you would wake.”

Servants?

“Where’s my mother?” You deadpan and start to also think about your dragon and whether she brought you here out of instinct, or they found you—Then again Cregan was so close when you last saw him on that battlefield, how did you end up here?

“Oh,” Lord Larys mouths before he gently shakes his head. “I am not sure. I heard she escaped Kings Landing after a riot. What a shame, she lost the most special gem just as she had it in her possession.”

If he doesn’t know then—

No, it can’t be!

“Where’s my dragon? How did you find me?”

Is Cregan here?

“Your dragon,” Larys says and glances outside and watches a bird fly past the balcony window. “She dropped you off in the sand. One of the guards saw you and went to your rescue. They tried to capture your dragon, but she eluded capture and flew back where she had come from.”

You blink with surprise yet find yourself letting out a relieved sigh because she’s not in the clutches of the enemy.

“Dragons truly are marvelous beasts,” he rambles and meets your gaze. “She must have thought you would be safe here, but, alas,” he sighs and flashes you a smirk. A smirk! Out of all things he smirks at you because he knows you don’t have the upper hand now.

What a little cunt.

“…it was too late when she tried to take you back,” he whispers before he digs in his pocket and pulls something out—“His Grace is ready for his audience with you,” he reveals what you had been trying to deny. Aegon is here. Aegon is still alive. He didn’t die in some ditch like you had hoped. The little bastard is still alive! And your mother…she must not know or else she would have not left Kings Landing. Damn it! Damn it!

“You had this with you when we found you,” Larys says and opens his hand to show you the wolf brooch Cregan had given you.

“I thought you would want it back.”

You continue to pierce your glare into him for a moment longer before you look at the brooch and slowly walk toward him to snatch it from his grasp.

“Are you ready?” He makes sure to ask, making you scoff.

“Do I even have an option?” You quip and he doesn’t answer you, instead, he turns and leads the way out. With no other choice you drag your feet after him and follow him all the way to the main hall where whether you like it or not, your breath catches when you see Aegon.

He sits at the other end of the hall on a wooden chair with wheels, a blanket over his legs, and a dull yet narrowed look that does reflect a glimmer when he sees you walk past the doors and stop just under the beam of sun that shines in the hall.

“You stand in the presence of King Aegon of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name, Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. And Rightful Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” A guard announces loudly near your ear, making your glower even more fierce.

“You’ve awoken!” Aegon interjects loudly so his voice travels down the hall. “I’m glad.”

You draw out a deep breath and continue to trudge forward, but never with your head down. You keep your head high and your nose pointed to the air. When you get close that’s all you do, get close, you never close the gap to the point you can hear each other's whispers. You stay under the sunbeam that reflects through the windows on the high ceilings and scowl.

“You,” you mutter and look at him up and down (which doesn’t take long as he’s seated on that wooden chair), and notice that he seems to sport more burn scars than before, and his legs that he keeps under a blanket are bent in a pretty uncomfortable manner. “…look more awful than before,” you say bluntly and catch his lips twitching to a frown.

However, a sinister look then makes his dull eyes glimmer.

“I recently got into a dragon battle with your cousin…Rhaena—no,” he chuckles and his malice then shows on his lips that slowly curl to a smirk as he sees your eyes lose the sun’s twinkling glow as your head slowly falls with your demeanor. “Baela,” he huffs. “Her dragon is dead and she is in a dungeon knowing what it feels like to burn.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and feel your breath catch as your heart skips a beat in your worry. Only making Aegon that more cocky.

“And you,” you mutter and slowly drag your eyes up with a fire slowly burning within them. “Did you burn again? It looks like it. You look even more horrifying to look at. At least Baela will have a menacing charm to her, but you,” you click your tongue and force a snicker before you suck in your cheeks to gather a ball of spit and hurl it at his feet.

Aegon’s eyes quickly fall on your ball of spit and his lips curl while his nose scrunches in disgust as well as frustration.

A guard standing nearby lunges forward and from the corner of your eyes you see him lift his hand in reaction to your “disrespect”.

Albeit Aegon then lifts his hand to motion the guard to stop, and he immediately does so before he can swing his hand over your face.

“As traitorous and disrespectful as she may be, she is still your Princess, and carrying my brother's children,” Aegon says and catches you by surprise, but still not enough to warrant a thanks or any kind of reaction.

“What do you want, Aegon?” You press impatiently.

Said man scoffs as he looks away from the guard and then sighs deeply before he gives you a response. “I wanted to see you and make sure you were okay. It seems you sustained quite a few concerning injuries, so I was just making sure you were okay.”

You huff and he slowly lolls his head to the side.

“I also do have a proposal,” he adds and piques your interest. “After the twins are born you are of no use to me, so I will kill you alongside your mother and your brother, and keep my brother's children so my mother can raise them, and Aerion can be my heir. But you,” he pauses and clicks his tongue to mock you.

“However, you may keep your life if and only if you marry me,” he throws out a rather daring offer. One that shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did, but it did because it’s quite ballsy.

“You will be Queen, and we will show the realm that we are a united front. There will be peace—or so Larys says,” he mutters and glances at the man before looking back at you with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“No,” you deadpan before you flash him a mischievous smirk. “I am betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark,” you announce, making Lord Larys shift where he stands, and causing Aegon to lose that stupid mischievous look and instead make his face harden.

“Very well,” he grumbles and sits up straight. “So you chose death. I did not want to marry you anyway.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Larys interjects. “With the Princess betrothed to Lord Stark it will not be wise killing her, nor marrying her now. Whichever choice you go with would lead Lord Stark and his army to retaliate and possibly add more fuel to a war you want to end.”

Your smirk deepens as your invincibility is now revealed, leaving him with you as a hostage, but still unable to kill you or touch you in any way.

“So I hold you, hostage, have him bend the knee, swear his loyalty, and give his army to me,” Aegon is quick to come up with an alternative you had already started to think about before he could even form the first thought. “Thank you. You have now turned your mother's greatest ally against her.”

You don’t falter or show weakness because you know Cregan. He won’t fall under pressure, he will keep fighting because no matter what, you will be protected because of him.

Aegon doesn’t realize all of that, but he sees your smirk and his face only twists with more frustration.

“Take her and bring her back when her mother arrives to shore. She can watch her die instead.”

This time your face falls. He hits you right in your weak spot and he knows it because he counters the fear that paints your face with cockiness that he displays on his face the moment you’re walked out of the room as if showing you he had the last laugh.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

How? How?

Without Astraea how can you leave this damned place to save your mother?

There’s no candle lit to burn the door down. There’s not even a fire in your fireplace and that’s probably due to the fact that Aegon doesn’t want you to use fire against him. And without any weapons how can you get out?

You pace in your chambers watching the moon rise and slowly spin around the earth as time passes bit by bit without any kind of nudge on what to do.

Escaping out the window is impossible, there's nothing to grab onto and it’s too high off the ground to jump…

Then again even if you find a way out how do you find her? You know she’s heading to Dragonstone, but from which way?

Then again why should that truly matter in the grand scheme of things? You need to save her one way or another and you’ll scour the earth to find her to keep her away from here. Even if it means…having to give your own life.

Yet what do you do?

You let out a frustrated breath and throw yourself on your bed, feeling at that moment the twins starting to move inside you.

“Yes I should sleep, but I need to…” you trail off and sit up whilst you press your hand on your belly. “Thank you,” you whisper down toward your belly before you run over to grab your goblet of water, and return to the side of the bed to spill the water on the ground. After that, you hide the goblet under the bed and sit back down to press your hands on your legs, and lean down to start crying out in pain.

“Help…” you feign pain to grab the attention of the guards outside. “I need help!” You yell out and moan as if you were in labor. “Please!” You bellow and let out another sharp cry.

When you go quiet for a second you strain your ear and hear the guards shuffling behind your door, so you yell again. “Please! I need help!”

The lock clicks before the door flies open and two guards rush in with panicked wide-eyed looks on their faces.

“Princess?” They call out cautiously as if you were something they were frightened of.

“The twins,” you say between pants as you clutch onto your belly. “I think they’re coming,” you lie and glance up, catching them looking at each other helplessly, which only excites you more.

“Get the maester or anyone who can help me!” You sneer before you cry out again to stress them out further.

“Okay—okay,” one guard breathes out as if he’s the one going to give birth. “We’ll be right back!”

Your eyes widen out of panic and before they can leave you throw your head up and blurt. “Can one of you stay? I don’t want to be alone.”

You bat your eyelashes and take quick and heavy breaths to feign being in distress and get them to pity you, because if they both leave then they’ll lock the door again, and you can’t let them bring the help you say you need or else you won’t be able to get out. Thus you feign innocence.

And luckily they believe you. One guard stays while the other one leaves, but you don’t stop pretending. You keep letting out fake sounds of pain to let the guard that left your chambers put some good distance between here and there, whilst also mentally laughing at the guard who stayed as he seems extremely uncomfortable by staying with you while you’re “in labor”.

“Could,” you pause and pant. “Could you please bring me some water?”

The guard avoids eye contact and nods stiffly before he turns and starts to walk away toward your pitcher of water. And it’s when he’s giving you his back that you swipe one of your shoes with a pointed heel off the ground, and push yourself to your feet without any struggle whatsoever.

You then stretch your neck from side to side after having it hanging for so long before you proceed to quietly stalk after him with an almost predatory glare burning through the back of his neck, and a wicked smirk curling on your lip. And luckily the guard is so caught up in his own discomfort and disgust that he keeps his attention locked on the pitcher across the room—he doesn’t even notice that you stopped complaining.

He doesn’t hear you walking toward him, nor does he feel any kind of burning on the back of his neck. He keeps his back facing you so when you finally catch up to him you raise the heel in your hand and swing down hard to dig the tip of the heel in his neck.

The man tries to yell out, but with the heel impaled on the side of his neck, all he does is gurgle and slowly turn around to face you.

“<Idiot.>” You remark in Valyrian before you mock his choking noises and snicker before you take his sword and give him the mercy of death by impaling his throat.

When he hits the ground you take your shoe out of his neck and then walk back to the side of the bed to grab the other shoe and quickly slide them on before you walk to the door.

Once you see that the ghost is clear you turn down the opposite hall the other guard took and instead try to escape through the side of the castle that leads to the hills that sit beside your home.

You don’t try to be too fast so as to be careful and stay discreet, but you also try not to be too slow and risk getting caught by someone. This was once your home, this castle was run by your mother, and the servants and guards were all loyal to your mother and your family, but since Aegon is here and spreading fear you don’t know if they can be trusted, so you stay in the shadows while also listening out for any potential danger.

You’re so focused on not being caught in fact that when you hear the echoes of the heels of someone’s shoes hitting the ground you fail to locate exactly where it’s coming from. You just quickly try to slip around a corner to hide, but that’s when you bump into a servant.

“Princess,” the servant woman gasps at the same time you let out a startled breath of air. She then looks down at your bloody hands for a second before bouncing her gaze to the bloody sword in your hand, and then lastly to your face, catching your surprise slowly starting to slip away and be replaced by something cold and threatening.

“You—”

“Not that way,” the servant cuts you off just as you were going to threaten her so you didn’t have to kill her. “Follow me you can take the servant corridors,” she reveals and then snatches your hand from your side to pull you with her down the corridor.

“You will take the stairs all the way down until you reach the caves. After that follow the lights all the way out to the loading docks. You will find a small ship there. You use it and leave.” She presses as she digs her fingers on the back of your hand.

“Okay, okay,” you say breathlessly as you follow her at her pace to not slip from her grasp and fall behind. “But…why risk your life? Aegon will have you killed when he finds out you helped me.”

The servant woman peers back and with a twinkle in her eyes, she shakes her head. “I would die for my Queen. I serve only her. Therefore I serve you.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and when you see that she’s not being deceitful you offer her a small but proud smile. “Thank you then,” you offer and wish you could do more but that’s all you can give her. Your gratitude. “My friend.”

The lady offers you a small nod before she looks ahead and quickens her pace to drag you with her down corridor after corridor until you reach a secret door that she opens for you.

“Through there, my Princess,” the servant lets you know as she points to the corridor that leads to a spiral staircase. “That will take you down.”

You glance at your escape and then look back at her with a worried look peeking through. “Okay,” you breathe out. “Thank you once again and be safe,” you offer her one more time whilst she hands you a torch from the wall.

“I would do it again,” she says softly, making your breath hitch and a soft smile flash on your lips that you offer her before you turn around swiftly and walk in the passageway.

Once the servant closes the door behind you, you then turn to look down and try to locate your exit, but as you look down the long spiral staircase you gulp as all you see is a dark abyss that only grows deeper the longer you stare at it.

“Okay,” you say as you draw out a deep breath. “Here we go.”

You glance back at the door one more time and draw in another deep breath. This time though you gain confidence and a drive that makes your heart skip a beat. All because of the servant woman who risked her life to give you a chance to escape.

There was no question or bargaining. She risked her life for you, and you won’t waste it. You will reach that boat and find your mother to prevent her from reaching Dragonstone to save her and the rest of your family that she’s clinging onto.

You won’t fail her. Not today.

Thus with those thoughts running through your head, a spike of energy travels through your blood and hits your heart, making it jolt before it starts to race as you grow eager and determined beyond measure.

Now you know you shouldn’t go past any pace beyond a walk down the wooden staircase, but you don’t care. You could break through a wooden step, skip one in particular, or almost trip and you wouldn't care. All that occupies your mind is saving your mother, so you run and run as fast as you can down the stairs.

It’s true you run out of breath fast, so you’re heaving and panting before you can even get halfway, but you don’t care. You keep pressing as all you see is her. Her eyes. Her soft golden-silver hair. Her pain, grief, and tears. Her joy and her smile. And every single memory you have stored inside your head.

You see her. The one you cherish above all else, even life itself, and all you can do is run.

When you reach the cave, there’s no light; not even on the walls. There’s darkness and the sound of rain—which by the way, when did it start raining? Has it been raining all night? You’ve been so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t notice.

Regardless, you hear the sound of the rain as it falls outside and brings darkness, but not discouragement because with your torch you can make out the path that leads outside and that’s enough to know that you’re closer to your destination now. You won’t reach the end until you reach your mother, but you’re close and that thought makes you take a deep breath and start moving your legs again.

At the very first second, you don’t start off fast. You take some time to pick up speed considering what’s weighing you down and the exhaustion that brings you, but you push through it. Even if the flames on the torch die out you keep going. Even if your lungs hurt. Even if your legs and every muscle in your body scream to stop, you continue pushing forward. You speed walk before you jog, and jog before you run and run and run down that cave until the weight of heavy rain falls over you and a dim natural light bombards your eyes.

“Okay, okay,” you say between pants and squint your eyes to strain your vision so you can look through the cover of night and the shadows that the rain clouds bring.

At first, as you panic through your exhaustion, you can’t make out any boat. It terrifies you because that would bring a setback, but alas, you see the boat the servant told you about and you don’t linger back any longer. You quickly make your way to the boat and carefully climb onboard.

The waves are calmer thanks to the rain, but that does mean you have to fucking row the boat to move. And you’re already under so much strain! But you…push through and manage to get away from the dock and direct yourself to the mainland.

You can figure out where to go from there. As for now maybe you can catch your breath…

Breathe…as you row.

Breathe.

You close your eyes and relax your body.

Breathe.

Alas, when you’ve put some distance between you and the dock, you come across the harbor just below the Dragonmont and notice a strange Braavosi ship called the “Violande”.

Is it Aegon’s ship, you wonder at first before it hits you that it's your mother's ship when you see a Queensguard disembarking the ship—That’s where your mother came on.

That’s her!

“No, no,” you whisper and hastily stand at your feet.

If you row to the harbor you’ll take forever to get there. Without the help of the wind, you have no support.

You have to swim. No thought about it!

With that, in the front of your mind, you drop the sword on the boat and then dive into the cold water, and gasp loudly when you resurface like a bobbing apple as the cold water feels like falling in cold and wet piles of snow.

The cold embrace makes you want to find a way back on the boat, but you have to swim and keep pushing forward.

So you do. With that same adrenaline picking up in your veins you push forward. You don’t think about the possibility of your mother already reaching the gates. You can’t or else you’ll panic and be discouraged, so once again you think about reaching her, and that’s like a triple shot of adrenaline that helps you swim as fast as your body can muster.

Once you finally get out of the cold icy water you draw in a deep shaky breath and feel the bitterness nip at your skin, threatening to drive you someplace warm, but you turn toward Dragonstone, the place you had managed to escape, and run.

The breeze that runs past you drives some water drops off your body, but then sheets of rain just pile on, making you feel like you’re getting slapped in the face again and again. And it hurts. It hurts so much, and the clothes on your back are so heavy now that it makes everything worse. You even start to cry, but you keep running.

You keep pressing forward. For your mother! For your brother, Aegon! For your son, Aerion! And everyone you lost so your mother could win this war! You run and run!

Until finally like a glorious light you see her in between the group she came with and the large host that greeted her. A host loyal to Aegon…

“Mother!” You bellow through the rain, making the party stop in their tracks, and making the woman you called out to turn and find your eyes.

Even though it’s pouring and that obscures your vision you find each other, and you reflect the panic on your face before you yell again. “Mother! Flee!”

You don’t stop there, you can’t. Words are not enough, so you start running again. You break through barriers of space to reach her and try to get her out of there. You’re so close. With every step you take on that wet ground, you get closer to her, whilst she steps away from her spot and starts to part the crowd as she attempts to meet up with you halfway out of concern.

Alas before you can reach her, before you get close to getting her out, a body slams into you, and arms hurl around you to bring you to a sudden stop.

As you look over you notice that it was one of the many guards that were probably sent to welcome your mother.

The man is a traitor and loyal to Aegon, but you don’t need to share that with your mother because the moment you were caught and your eyes fell on the guard, chaos was unleashed.

Some men from the host that were meant to greet your mother, turn around and swing their swords at the Queensguard.

You don’t watch the battle though, you know that three Queensguards cannot compete against a host of forty men strong; no matter how skilled they are. That’s why you slap your hand on the man who has you captive and dig your nails into his face to drag them down, causing him to yelp out and let go of you to hold his face and stumble away.

“Mother!” You call out and move your legs toward her with one goal in mind; getting her away.

Luckily she sees that goal clearly painted in your eyes because she shares that same dire goal, so she yells out your name and while her men are fighting and falling, she motions her handmaidens and Vanessa to follow her to try and reach you. After all, Ser Jason is with her. He could help her strike down anyone trying to stop her. He could be the very person who could help you escape Dragonstone and live another day.

However, while your mother and you are focused on reaching one another, you fail to see his conflict brewing within him.

It’s true there should be no doubt running in his mind. Ser Cane Clegane would have not thought twice about trying to help the Queen, your son, Aegon, and you escape. He would given his life for you, but no matter how hard Ser Jason is trying to be that way. No matter how hard he’s tried to change his cowardly ways; seeing two men take out two Queensguard, and seeing the only Queensgaurd knight left kill two men before dying suit gives Ser Jason no motive.

The Bastard Knight sees that there’s no possible way to find an escape. He sees men coming after him too after having killed the Queensguard, and he can’t be everything his father was. He was not even half the man Prince Daemon Targaryen was, so Ser Jason raises his sword and steps forward to get in between you and your mother, leading you to believe that he is finally stepping up to aid in your escape. Yet The Bastard Knight then turns on his heels and points the sword to your belly, causing you to come to a skidding stop, and forcing your mother to stop out of fear he’d hurt you and her unborn grandchildren.

“What?” You ask breathlessly as you’re hit with disbelief and look at him with your lips parted, and your eyes slowly widening in shock and filling to the brim with tears of betrayal.

“Take another step and I will impale her,” Ser Jason threatens as he averts your gaze and looks over at your mother slowly contorting her face to show her anger and nothing else.

“Traitorous cunt,” she sneers and glares at him with a pointed glare whilst the host of guards start to surround you, closing the last gap to escape and returning you to Aegon’s grasp once again.

“Mother,” you call out in a broken voice, and immediately gain her attention and look that breaks away from her anger to display a softness—“Forgive me. I—”

Before you can finish, men grab your mother's arms and forcefully turn her away, forcing your next words to go unspoken and unheard.

“Walk, Your Grace,” the men spat at her mockingly.

“You picked the right choice, son,” Ser Alfred Broome praises Ser Jason. “Nevertheless, you understand why we have to take your sword? Just for now of course.”

Ser Jason glances at you with a hint of panic in his eyes, but you refuse to look at him anymore. You rip your eyes away and instead let your eyes fall on your greatest friend and handmaiden, Vanessa.

She also finds you amid the chaos and pushes your son, Aerion, in the air so you can see him and see that he’s bigger, but okay and unaware of what’s transcending—perhaps that’s the best gift an infant has, being able to be unaware of the chaos that brings adults and older children so much painful distress.

When he’s older and you ask him what he remembers he will most likely say nothing. He probably won’t remember his father or how much he loved him, he’ll only know him by the words that come out of your mouth, and that’s all. He probably won’t remember a thing of his life past a certain age and you’re thankful for that. Can you say the same for your brother Aegon?

It’s hard to say. He’s young but is he old enough to cling onto some of the worst memories of his life?

It’s hard to tell. If he lives, only time will tell.

Until then what other option do you have now but to let yourself be dragged back to the castle and past the rotting bodies of Maester Gerardys, and Ser Robert Quince hanging from the battlements of the gatehouse?

Seeing their dead bodies only worked to clarify that this was not some nightmare your mother could wake from. This is real, she got betrayed at her own ancestral home and now you, her son Aegon, her grandchild Aerion, and her are getting dragged toward the castle by traitors all loyal to none other than the slippery cockroach that is her half-brother Aegon. There’s no doubt about it because all the family that was against her is already dead except for him.

And that assumption only gets proven true when you reach the castle ward and come face to face with Aegon on a balcony unable to stand up or move. He’s bound to the same wooden chair as before and he carries the same dull look in his eyes that do welcome a sinister gleam once he sets his eyes on none other than his greatest foe and eldest sister, your mother, Rhaenyra, for the first time in a long time.

“Sister,” Aegon calls coldly, but with a hint of cockiness as he now has all the control and all the power over her that he didn’t have before.

Nevertheless, when your mother looks away from Sunfyre lying on the ground of the courtyard, she never shows defeat. She raises her head and points her nose in the air just like you tend to do before responding coldly and spitefully.

“Dear Brother, I had hoped that you were dead.”

Aegon scoffs. “After you,” he says with a twitch on the corner of his lips. “You are the elder.”

Your mother huffs, feigning some humor before she rebuttals. “I am pleased to know that you remember that.”

Aegon answers with silence and then turns his attention to you and his eyes glimmer, but not with a hint of malice, but smugness. “Back again? Here I thought you were smart. That’s all people say,” he mutters and rolls his eyes. “What an incredible hero The Blood Dragon is.” He scoffs. “If they could see their Blood Dragon now.”

He shoots you a smirk and you just raise your chin and glance over at his dragon Sunfyre to note that he is not even half the dragon he used to be. He now sports new raw scars that accompany the old ones, and one of his wings sticks out at a weird angle. He only has his beauty intact, but what is that worth?

Nothing, you know that and Aegon knows that too, so you look at his dragon with a teasing smirk and then look back at Aegon so he knows that you think less of him and his broken dragon.

And when he sees your reaction his smirk falls, letting your mother slip in to interject loudly and with a ferocity that cannot be diminished. “It would seem we are your prisoners…but do not think that you will hold us long. My leal lords will find us.”

“If they search the seven hells, mayhaps,” Aegon mutters before he drags his eyes away and offers a small nod that sends men after you to keep you where you are, but makes men pull your mother, her handmaidens, and your brother to the side, while Vanessa and Aerion are dragged toward him.

“Aegon,” you now call with a shift in your tone. Rather than trying to sound unaffected, you sound desperate. “Aegon, please,” you beg even though you know his plans for your children.

“Shut up,” he throws out. “You know what will happen to him. He’s now my heir so I will keep him by my side until I return to King’s Landing, while you…” he trails off and leans forward in his seat as best as his broken body can let him.

“I thought about it,” he continues and slowly drifts his eyes to your mother. “I do not care that you are betrothed to Cregan Stark. How will he know that you did not die due to your wounds from battle, hm?”

You blink in disbelief while a horrified breath escapes you. All while your mother's face loses all its color. The defiance she proudly held falls without a fight, and she shows an agonizing fear only a mother about to lose their child knows.

“Ser Alfred,” Aegon calls out, and the man that was called stomps toward you, causing the man holding you in place to force you to your knees.

“Move boy,” Ser Alfred tells Ser Jason, but you don’t see his hesitation as he starts to realize what’s about to happen because you realize the cold truth; you’re about to die, and you don’t want to die. Not like this, not yet. You want to meet your twins, you want to raise your children. You want to live…

You don’t want to die…

“Mama,” your voice quivers as you call out to her helplessly.

And even though she was hurt and angry that you had left her again to chase after Aemond, that grudge is long forgotten. It was long forgotten the moment she saw you try and come to her rescue like a warrior only heard about in stories of past heroes. Besides, how can she be angry while you look at her like a helpless little girl searching for her mother's consolation and help?

“Aegon,” she cries out desperately before Ser Alfred can get his sword out of his sheath, and tries to press forward, but she’s yanked back by the guards. “Please…please, don’t hurt her. Please,” she begs on behalf of not just her child, but her firstborn. The child she let sleep on her bed even against the wetnurses and handmaidens’ wishes because you were such a sick child, and the only way Rhaenyra could sleep at night was to have you next to her to hear you breathe and help the moment you needed it.

“She’s my daughter. My only daughter,” she tries to argue in her defense while also trying to touch any inkling of his heart. “She’s my firstborn, she’s mine,” her voice cracks as what’s left of her withered heart aches for you, for the life of the only companion she had while her father was getting sick, Laenor was mourning his lost love, and Alicent relentlessly bullied her and alienated her in her own home.

“Please,” Rhaenyra begs with tears slipping past her eyes. “Let her go. Let her live, and if you do, we will leave. I swear. We will run and never come back. We won’t raise any swords against you and we will never turn Astraea on you. You will rule for the rest of your life without any resistance from me. Just please let my girl live, please,” she cries for the only daughter she ever had. Her pride and joy, and the child that turned her into a mother only a year after her wedding to Laenor.

She begs with all her heart. She begs desperately and like never before because she needs you to live.

“Ser Alfred,” Aegon presses as he holds his sister's pleading gaze, causing her to snap her eyes to you whilst you start to weep, but also keep your head held high.

“<I love you,>,” you tell her in Valyrian and offer her a wobbly smile that makes her cry out.

“Aegon!”

The sword that was getting brought to your throat stops, but you still wait for the sharp blade.

Alas, it doesn’t come, so you look over at Aegon and he has his hand in the air to motion Ser Alfred to stop and let the guards let you go and fall on your hands.

Ser Jason immediately comes to your aide, but you refuse his help by pushing him away.

“Take her,” Aegon orders, and once again the guards grab your arms to pull you to your feet and drag you to where your mother is.

“Mother,” you whisper out weakly and she examines you but only for a brief moment because guards then drag her away.

“Mother!” You call out as if that would stop them.

“I just wanted to see the great Rhaenyra look defeated first,” Aegon muses. “You will die now because there's no way I would let you go. Do you think I believe you and your promises? No. Fuck that,” he spats. “We can’t both live, sister. It has to be you.”

Your tears dry from your eyes as they almost bulge out with your utter disbelief.

“No,” you whisper a broken whisper and watch in horror as they drag your mother toward the broken Sunfyre. The dragon you had only moments ago looked down upon.

“No,” you whisper again and examine the scene, realizing that Aegon is going to use Sunfyre to kill your mother. Not a sword, a dragon. Fire you can save her from…

Thus with a spike of adrenaline, you yank yourself away from the clutches of the guards holding you captive and run with the purpose of saving your mother. The one you cherish the most. The only reminder you have left of your old life, your brothers, your father, and everything good; all the light in this world, all the warmth, and all the love and mercy.

“Mother!” You call for attention so she knows you’re coming to her rescue and throw your hand out even though there’s still some distance between her and you.

Nevertheless, reaching her and saving her could only be left as a beautiful dream because before you can reach her and as you reach the middle of that courtyard, Ser Jason tackles you to stop you, letting the guards catch up and pull you from his grasp to forcefully shove you to ground so you wouldn’t try to run again and make them look bad in front of the King.

In doing so though they slam your belly and hit your head on the ground—Not hard, but they did hit the spot where that arrow scraped you, so the wound opens and warm blood begins to ooze out.

“Let me go!” You bellow without caring about the fact that you were just hurt. “LET ME GO!” You growl and squirm. “Aegon! Mother! Mother!”

Said woman is left there before the broken dragon, and Aegon utters the word. “Dracarys.”

You squirm harder, but the guards keep you pressed against the ground.

“NO! PLEASE! MAMA!” You cry out desperately and sharply, feeling tears run down your face as they leave your eyes. “AEGON!”

Albeit even if Sunfyre gets closer to your mother, he doesn’t seem to find interest in burning her to eat her. He sniffs her but doesn’t open his jaws, giving you a false sense of hope.

But you should have known better because as you held your breath and thought your mother would be spared because of the dragon's defiance, Ser Alfred stomps to your mother and nicks her breast with the tip of his sword.

This time Sunfyre begins to sniff your mother as his eyes go dark, making you realize what’s going to happen.

“AEGON PLEASE!” You plead with all your will and all your strength for some sliver of hope that you could gain his mercy. “Please don’t do this! Please!” You cry and beg at the same time as you thrash around like helpless prey caught under a trap. “Please!” You bellow out your plea for the first person you ever loved. For the person keeping your hope and will alive.

“The time for pleading is over,” Aegon mutters and then continues to repeat the same command. “Dracarys.”

This time Sunfyre starts to open his mouth as he builds up fire in the back of his mouth.

“Mother! Mama!”

Said woman turns her head and looks you in the eyes with tears welled in her eyes and a small smile only meant for you and you alone. “<I love you,>” she redirects those last words you had given her when you thought you would die.

“Mama!” You mewl out and throw your head back to try and hit the guard pinning you down. “Please!”

Alas, Sunfyre spits out a ball of fire as your mother points her head to the sky and shrieks one last curse before she’s bathed in fire, and then torn apart by Sunfyre’s jaw, robbing her of her life in an instant, and leaving you stunned on the ground in your numbing disbelief that leaves you speechless and robbed of breath.

Your brother Aegon begins to cry, but he sounds so distant that it almost sounds like some illusion coming from your mind.

The flames still dancing on the ground slowly lose their bright color way before it completely dies out, and the coldness nipping at your skin is forgotten; not because the first sunbeams of the new day break out of the horizon and reflect through the window behind you, embracing your back with its gentle touch and almost making it look like a glorious crown around your head. No, it wasn’t that. It isn't even the warm trickles of blood that leak from your head wound and roll down your cheek, no. The coldness didn’t hurt because you were numb to it.

As your eyes stay on the blood that spills from your mother's corpse you are numb. As you watch Sunfyre open his jaw to go for another bite you are numb, but you don’t stay paralyzed, you finally snap from your stupor.

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” You bellow and push yourself off the ground, slipping from the guard's gentle grasp to try and run over and pull your mother's corpse from Sunfyre’s jaw, but Ser Jason sees clearly that there’s nothing of your mother left to save. All you’ll do is piss Sunfyre off by interrupting his breakfast, so he captures your arm and yanks you back against him.

“Stop, stop,” he whispers sharply. “She’s gone. She’s gone.”

Even though a part of you knew what he was telling you, another part of you throws your hand out to try and push him off you whilst you thrash your body in an attempt to slip away, but his grip is harsh and he manages to keep you against him.

“Mama! Mama!” You cry out as if her burnt corpse getting torn apart could hear you. “Please! Someone help her! Mama!”

Sunfyre takes his third bite, and then forth, and with each bite that part of you that was in denial starts to accept the truth, making you slowly lose the last fragment of who you were and the person you became to a fire burning inside. All while your heart; that withered thing Cregan had brought back to life loses its rhythm as you lose yourself.

“Cregan,” you mutter helplessly. “Someone get me, Cregan!”

Sunfyre takes his fifth bite and your legs start to shake as your weight starts to become too much for them to hold.

“STOP IT! PLEASE!” You cry out and slowly start falling to your knees. Ser Jason can’t hold you up as you continue to squirm so he falls to the ground with you.

“Mama…” you trail off as you lose your breath the moment Sunfyre takes his sixth and last bite before leaving just her leg and nothing else.

There’s nothing left of her but that single piece of limb. She’s gone…every fragment of your old life is gone with her. Your happiness, your heart, and who you were and who you grew to be dies out with her, leaving nothing but a frail soul that finally found her breath, but only to wail out all the agony and grief that slams into you like waves angered by a terrible storm.

You hadn’t cried when Addam died, and when Aemond died you wept, but right now you scream as you know the one you loved the most is gone forever. Along with everyone else you loved.

There’s nothing left…

Even your voice is lost due to the strain not so much later, leaving you weeping silently on the ground. Ser Jason tries to console you, but you shove him away and stay put without even trying to fight back.

You stay there with your body bent over and your head hanging even if your body is still pampered with rain and ocean water, and you’re shivering.

That is until a sharp pain shoots through your lower body and you can’t help but grunt out and shoot straight up to cry out to the sky.

“Princess?” Vanessa whispers out as she notices your hand fly to your belly before you cry out again.

“Princess!” Vanessa yells out and turns to try and run to you, but the guards keeping her in place stop her—“She’s going into labor!” Vanessa says as she recognizes the signs without having to wait for more signs to show.

“She needs help!” She throws out and snaps her head to Aegon. “She can’t do it on her own. Not in the state she’s in.”

“Princess, you’re going to labor, try and keep calm,” one of your mother's handmaidens offers her help behind her captors keeping them from reaching you.

“No, no,” you mutter as you shake your head. “Not now. Not now!” You bellow before you let out another strained cry.

“Your Grace!” Vanessa yells out as she looks at you.

“Very well,” Aegon waves her off. “Let those women help the princess deliver my brother's twins,” he says and looks over his shoulder to let the guards know he’s had enough of being on that balcony.

After that the guards holding Vanessa and the other handmaidens' back, let them go, and they all scurry to you, forcing Ser Jason to carry Aerion and your brother Aegon.

“Get them out!” You shriek as another wave of pain hits you and lasts longer than the others.

Then again as paralyzing and agonizing as the pain of labor is, none of it truly compares to the pain of grief that riddles you.

Your mother's death plays over and over again as if someone was trying to torture you. It heightens the intensity of your distress, while also making the entire process of labor a blur.

One moment you’re in that courtyard, the next you’re in your quarters again, pushing and crying while also trying to fight against giving birth—not like it stops the twins from coming. The pain only worsens and your distress keeps growing until…it’s all gone the moment your twins, Daenys and Daenerys, come out crying and kicking into their new world.

Albeit you couldn’t find joy in your newborns. When you look at them it's with a distant look and no exhausted smile.

Your lips didn’t even twitch. Your eyes are cold, but in your icy demeanor, deep inside, a fire burns and turns your sadness to ash, letting a fierce rage rise from its remains.

A/N- FINALLY NOT PREGNANT!!!

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