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baelarys · 2 months

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𝙎𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

Aemond targaryen x Reader wife Velaryon

Word count: 3184

Warning: fluffy, Pregnancy.

Pt1 pt3 pt4

Autumn had arrived, bringing with it a cold wind that foretold the imminent arrival of winter. You felt the icy breeze cut through your cloak, forcing you to pull it tighter around your body. Unlike your previous two pregnancies, this one seemed to demand more of you; the weight of the life you carried within was beginning to take its toll. Your back constantly ached, your breasts were tense and sensitive, and your swollen feet barely supported the weight you had to bear.

As you walked through the castle halls, lost in thought, a sudden impact made you stagger. You barely had time to place a hand against the wall to avoid falling. As you looked down, you found Aerion on the ground, his small face lit up by a mischievous smile as he giggled. He quickly got to his feet, energetically brushing off his trousers, unconcerned by the slight reprimand he heard in the distance.

The septa approached hurriedly, a frown on her face and a look of evident disapproval. Her voice echoed through the hall as she called out to Aerion, but before she could reach him, the little prince ran toward you, clinging to your skirt for protection.

“Princess,” the septa greeted, bowing as she saw you. “The maester has insisted that you should return to your bed. Rest is the best thing for you in your condition.” Her stern gaze scrutinized the hallway, searching for the little prince who was now hiding behind you.

“That was just what I was thinking of doing,” you replied calmly, hearing Aerion’s faint laughter as he clung to your skirts.

You watched as the septa walked away down the hall, still calling out to the prince with a mix of patience and firmness. When the septa's figure disappeared from your sight, you slowly turned to Aerion. The boy looked up at you, his cheeks flushed red, still trying to contain the laughter that threatened to spill over.

You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s innocent mischief. Despite the worries weighing on you, Aerion’s joy had the power to dispel any cloud hanging over your day.

“You’re a little rascal,” you said softly, as you gently stroked his head. “But you need to be more careful, you almost made me fall.”

Aerion nodded, and his smile lit up his face, revealing that perfect blend of innocence and mischief that you loved so much in him. Still chuckling softly, he took your hand with his small fingers, his laughter fading into a sigh of contentment.

“I want to stay with you, mama,” he said softly, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

His words filled you with a warm tenderness. You knew you needed to rest, but your son’s desire to stay by your side was a request you could hardly refuse. His company, so sincere and selfless, was a comfort amidst the demanding burden you carried.

You bent down slightly to meet his eyes, looking at him with a maternal smile.

"You can stay with me for a while, but only if you promise to be quiet and let Mama rest," you whispered.

Aerion nodded enthusiastically, squeezing your hand more tightly, as if his desire to be with you was enough to protect you from any discomfort or pain. As you walked together toward your chambers, Aerion began to talk with the spontaneity of childhood, telling you about his lessons and how much they bored him. His voice, full of innocent complaints, filled the hallway.

As you closed the doors of your room behind you, you created a small refuge of tranquility, a space where you could allow yourself a respite from the worries that surrounded you. Aerion, freed from the need to stay calm, released your hand and ran excitedly to the corner where the steaming dragon egg rested on its cradle of metal and glowing stones.

However, a sudden, sharp pain shot through your body, pulling you out of the peaceful moment. The pain radiated from your back to your belly, forcing you to instinctively place your hands on your swollen abdomen in a protective gesture. Reality hit hard when you felt a warm, wet burst, and in that moment, the world seemed to stop.

The sound of your water breaking echoed in the room, like a prolonged reverberation in the silence, as the liquid spilled onto the floor, soaking the ground beneath your feet. An indescribable chill ran down your spine, as if in that precise instant, your soul had tried to leave your body, leaving you momentarily paralyzed.

Aerion, unaware of what had just happened, continued admiring the egg while you tried to gather the strength to stay calm. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on what you needed to do. You knew there was no time to waste; the birth was imminent.

"Aerion, come here," you called, keeping your voice firm yet gentle, not wanting to alarm him.

Your son turned his head toward you, sensing something unusual in your tone. The joy on his face faded, replaced by concern.

"Mama, what's wrong?" he asked as he walked toward you with small, cautious steps.

"I need you to find the septa and the maester, quickly," you said, caressing his cheek with a trembling hand. "The baby is ready to be born."

With effort, you began to walk slowly toward your bed, each step accompanied by the increasing pain that was becoming more insistent. When you reached the bed, you took a deep breath and called for your ladies, who, upon hearing the urgency in your voice, quickly came to your side. Without wasting a moment, they moved with the precision and skill that only experience could grant, helping you lie down and preparing you for childbirth.

Their hands worked carefully and swiftly, untying the laces and buttons of your dress, changing you into more comfortable garments that would ease the birth. Despite the storm of pain threatening to strip away your calm, their gestures were comforting.

"Take deep breaths, Princess," one of the ladies whispered as she helped you settle into the bed, her voice an anchor of calm amidst the whirlwind of sensations overwhelming you.

The doors to your room burst open, and the maester entered, followed by several midwives, all moving with the speed and efficiency the situation demanded. Aerion, his face full of concern, ran to you, taking your hand in a gesture of support.

"It seems the baby has decided to come early," the maester remarked as the midwives began preparing everything necessary for the birth.

One of the midwives approached with more pillows to support your back, lifting you carefully to relieve the pressure on your belly. But the movement triggered a new wave of pain, and before you could stop it, a cry escaped your lips.

Aerion reacted immediately, his protective instinct awakened by seeing your suffering. He lunged toward the midwife, trying to push her away with his small hand.

"You're hurting her!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling, his eyes filling with tears as he tried to come between you and the midwife.

The midwife, surprised by the child's reaction, paused and looked at you with a mix of respect and concern.

"Calm down, little prince," the midwife said softly, kneeling down to be at Aerion's eye level. "We don't want to hurt your mama. We're only trying to help her feel better."

"Aerion, sweetheart, everything is okay. They’re here to help us," you assured him, trying to calm his agitation.

The contractions came in waves, each one more intense than the last, leaving a trail of pain that spread through your entire body. You gripped the sheets tightly, your knuckles turning white under the tension as you fought to contain the screams of pain threatening to escape your throat. You didn’t want to scare Aerion, who stayed by your side, his small hand clutching yours.

Suddenly, in the midst of the chaos raging in your mind, a familiar voice broke through the torment.

“Y/N,” you heard Aemond call your name.

The sound of his voice was like a balm, a wave of relief that momentarily dispelled the pain. You turned your head, and seeing him, you felt something inside you calm down. Aemond, with an expression of concern tinged with love, quickly approached your side, taking your other hand with the security and firmness you had always known in him.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his eyes locked on yours as his thumb gently caressed your cheek.

Aemond leaned in a little closer, his voice low and reassuring.

“Everything will be alright, my love. I’m here with you.”

You nodded with gratitude, thankful for Aemond’s comforting presence by your side. With each passing contraction, the pain seemed to stretch out in time, as if the hours were elongating into an endless trial. However, the maester, in his firm yet encouraging tone, finally spoke the words you had been waiting for.

“It’s time to push, Princess.”

Those words were both a relief and a new source of fear. You knew the hardest moment was yet to come, and although Aemond had been your constant support, you understood that Aerion’s presence in the room might complicate the situation even further. You needed everything to go well, both for the baby about to be born and for the child who was already the center of your world.

Taking a breath with difficulty, you turned your head toward Aemond, your eyes reflecting the mix of emotions you felt at that moment.

“Aemond,” you whispered, your voice laden with effort, “please take Aerion outside. He needs to stay calm… and so do you.”

Although it was evident he didn’t want to leave you, Aemond understood your concern. With a look that spoke of his desire to stay with you, he leaned in close, brushing your lips with a gentle kiss.

“I’ll be right outside,” he murmured, his words an anchor for your spirit. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

With one last squeeze of your hand, he stood up and turned his attention to Aerion, who was still watching the scene with wide, worried eyes. Aemond walked over to his son and took his hand.

“Come, Aerion. Let’s wait outside for a moment,” he said gently.

Aerion hesitated, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You forced a smile, despite the pain, and nodded, trying to convey confidence.

“Everything will be alright, sweetheart,” you assured him. “We’ll be together again soon.”

The little one, though still concerned, finally agreed, taking his father’s hand as they both headed toward the door. Aemond gave you one last look before leaving.

Once the door closed behind them, the atmosphere in the room changed. The seriousness and focus intensified as the midwives and the maester prepared for the birth. You felt a mix of emotions—fear, anticipation, and a deep determination—all fighting for control of your mind.

The maester leaned in toward you, with a calm expression that contrasted with the intensity of the moment.

“Princess, it’s time,” he said softly, his tone firm yet reassuring. “I need you to push with all your strength.”

You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for what you knew would be the greatest effort of your life. The pain, which had been constant, became even sharper, cutting through your breath as you struggled to follow the maester’s instructions. Your hands gripped the sheets, your muscles tensing in a supreme effort as you pushed with all your being.

The midwives, with quick and precise movements, offered you words of encouragement, their hands working diligently to assist you. You could feel the sweat beading on your forehead, every fiber of your being concentrated on bringing this new life into the world. The minutes stretched on in a succession of contractions and efforts, each more intense than the last, pushing you to the limits of your endurance.

The room, though filled with activity, became a closed and private space, where time seemed to distort. The maester guided you, his words calm and measured, while the midwives supported you, adjusting the pillows and keeping you as comfortable as possible. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pain and effort, the maester announced that he could see the baby's head.

"One more time, princess, just one more time," he encouraged, his voice filled with contained emotion.

With the little energy you had left, you gathered all your strength and pushed with fierce determination. The pain reached a climax, enveloping you in a whirlwind of sensations until, suddenly, you felt an indescribable relief as the weight you had carried for months finally left your body.

A moment of silence fell over the room, followed by the most beautiful sound you could have imagined: the strong, clear cry of your newborn. Tears filled your eyes as you heard that first sign of life, and the midwives quickly wrapped the baby in warm blankets, bringing him close to you.

"You have been very brave, princess. You have brought a new Targaryen into the world."

With trembling hands and a pounding heart, you took your child into your arms. As you felt his warmth against your chest, all the pain and fatigue faded away, replaced by a love so intense you could hardly contain it. You looked at your baby's face, his soft hair and delicate skin, and in that moment, you knew that every second of effort had been worth it.

Your ladies, discreet and efficient, quickly restored order to the room. They swiftly cleaned the area, replaced the sheets, and helped you into a clean, soft gown. Though exhaustion weighed heavily on you, their careful hands made you feel comfortable, allowing you to focus solely on the little being you held.

One of the ladies took the newborn with great care to clean him, while you rested for a few moments, watching every movement with eyes full of love and wonder. When they returned him to you, wrapped in warm blankets, a wave of overwhelming emotion washed over you.

You looked at the child in your arms, noticing his delicate features, his hair already showing the shine of Targaryen heritage.

"Laenor," you whispered, the name leaving your lips with the softness of a prayer.

It was the name of your father, a man whose memory lived on in your heart, a brave leader and a loving father. Naming your son in his honor felt as natural as breathing.

The door to the room opened gently, and when you turned your head, you saw Aemond and Aerion entering. The little boy, without paying attention to the baby in your arms, ran towards you with the urgency of someone who had been holding back his worry. Aerion threw himself into your arms, and as soon as he did, you felt the warm tears running down his face as he hid his little face in the crook of your neck.

"Why are you crying, my love?" you asked in a whisper, gently stroking his small back while leaning down to leave a soft kiss on his wet cheek. "I'm alright."

Aerion sobbed softly, his little hands clinging to you tightly, as if he needed to make sure you were really there, safe and with him.

"I was scared, Mama," he admitted in a small voice. "I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you."

"I know, my little one," you murmured. "But everything is fine now. I’m here with you, and I'm not going anywhere."

Aemond, who had remained nearby, watched the scene with a mixture of pride and relief. He stepped forward, and with a careful gesture, placed a hand on Aerion’s shoulder, silently giving him support. When Aerion felt his father's presence, he finally looked up, his eyes still shining with the tears he hadn’t been able to hold back.

It was then that Aerion noticed the small figure in your arms. His big, curious eyes filled with wonder as he saw his younger brother for the first time. With the same caution children reserve for what they consider most precious, he approached slowly, almost as if he feared breaking something fragile.

"This is your little brother, Laenor," you said with a smile full of tenderness, gently tilting the newborn so Aerion could get a better look.

The little boy gazed at his brother with a mix of fascination and respect, as if he understood that this moment was sacred. With a timid gesture, he reached out his hand towards the baby, gently brushing his tiny hands.

"Hello, Laenor," Aerion whispered, his voice barely audible.

Aemond, with a look that spoke of pride and relief, leaned towards you, his lips meeting yours in a warm and comforting kiss. The connection between you was immediate, like a reaffirmation of the strength of your bond. You responded to the kiss with equal tenderness, feeling in that gesture a deep gratitude for the family you had built together.

"Mama," a small voice was heard at the entrance, soft but full of excitement.

Vaera appeared in the room, her eyes shining with the news she had just received. She wasn’t alone; Helaena followed closely behind, with her unmistakable aura of sweetness and serenity, smiling warmly at you as she saw you cradling the newborn. Just a step behind, Queen Alicent entered with Vaerys in her arms, her elegant bearing and maternal expression completing the family tableau that now filled the room.

"Look, Vaerys," Alicent said in a gentle tone, approaching so the little one could see the new member of the family. "You have a new little brother."

Vaerys, always curious and observant, looked at the baby with big, wide eyes full of wonder. Alicent leaned down slightly to allow little Vaerys to get a better view of Laenor, while Vaera, not wasting a moment, moved closer to your side, clearly fascinated by her new little brother.

"He’s so tiny," Vaera whispered, extending a small, delicate hand to softly touch Laenor’s cheek, her touch full of affection and care.

"He is," you agreed, your voice softened by the mix of emotions that overwhelmed you. "But he’ll grow strong, just like all of you."

With a smile full of confidence and tenderness, you handed the little Laenor to Aemond, who received him with the same delicacy one would treat a precious jewel. You watched as his hands, normally so skilled with a sword, now held his newborn son with an almost reverent care. In his eye, there was a silent pride, a pride that needed no words to be understood.

Aemond turned towards his mother and sister, bringing the baby closer so they could see him better. Alicent, upon gazing at her grandson, smiled with a warmth that softened her features even more, while Helaena, with her ever-serene gaze, extended a hand to gently caress Laenor’s cheek.

Finally, Aemond returned to your side, and together, you looked at Laenor, surrounded by the love and unity of your family. In that moment, everything seemed to be in its place; the arrival of Laenor had not only brought a new life into the world but had also strengthened the bonds that tied you all together.

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yuwuta · 10 months

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AFTERGLOW. — JJK BOYS + JEALOUSY

❝tell me that you’re still mine, tell me that we’ll be just fine, even when i've lost my mind

featuring. gojo, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu

content. a character study in jealousy, no content warnings, no smut in this version, fem reader

word count. 2.8k

SATORU GOJO You’re attempting to finish getting ready for the evening and Satoru has taken his favorite activity: filing through every crevice of your room like he’d been hired as a private investigator. Even though he knows that you know that he’s nothing more than a nosy idiot, Satoru claims that it’s an important and intimate routine that he should know the ins and outs of your living space just as well as you know his—“You know exactly where I keep my boxers, and I don’t even think I’ve seen the inside of your closet—oh, hey, this is cute,” he grins, sticking out his impossibly long arm to shake a thin, lacy bodysuit on a hanger, “How come you’ve never shown me this, huh? Maybe you should wear this instead, it seems easier to take—ouch.”

He groans at the impact of your hairbrush against his shoulder, then swiftly proceeds to pout and whine about how mean you are to him when you return to ignoring him in favor of applying the final touches to your makeup. Your closet seems to be of little interest to him after that, as Satoru crosses the room to hover around you at your vanity instead. He leans in too closely, as if watching you apply bronzer was a novel sight to him. You flip your brush quickly, barely tapping at his nose and laughing at his scrunched reaction.

“Your reflexes aren’t so sharp today,” you tease. You’re prepared for a witty response, and when you glance, there’s a familiar mischief shimmering in your boyfriend’s eyes; but, then his gaze ventures slightly past you, and all signs of playfulness drain from his face. Instead of getting revenge, or annoying you further, Satoru reaches over your body and into a shallow jewelry dish to pick up the bracelet he’d spotted. It’s a dainty little thing, thin gold with a small heart in the middle glittering with shiny stones, that he threads along his fingers with scrutiny before standing up straight to dangle it in front his face for further inspection, “This is new to me.”

Perhaps you’d spoken too soon, because only Satoru would spot that one piece of jewelry amongst the others swimming the tray. His eyes flutter between the bracelet and you, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head, and the accusation he won’t say outloud—did you buy yourself heart-shaped jewelry, or is there something else going on here?

You sigh and keep your expression and voice neutral, your attention seemingly still focused on the finishing touches of your makeup, “It’s new to you because I haven’t worn it in years,” you tell him, “My ex gave it to me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you occupy yourself with your mascara, before Satoru speaks, “That makes sense, it doesn’t look all that promising. What is it—barely gold plated?” he taunts, sweeping away his air of concern with one of mockery, standing up straight to twirl the bracelet around his index finger, “Figures your ex boy toy had no taste for the finer things in life. You’re worth more than this, my darling.”

You shake your head with light laughter, patting in the remnants of your setting spray before standing. Satoru continues on, rambling about the poor construction of your commercially produced bracelet—holds it between his index finger and thumb like it’ll poison him if he exposes it to too much of his skin, and you can’t help but smile as you reach for the lapel of his blazer to pull him down for a kiss. He has no words of objection to this, pulling you in by the waist for another and another and another, before you finally pull away, “Come, let’s go. I don’t feel like getting lectured by Utahime for your tardiness again.”

You’re too preoccupied for the rest of the evening to notice the item missing from your jewelry dish. What you do notice, two afternoons later, shortly after Satoru has left to pick up Nanami from the airport, is a blue velvet box with your name written in pretty, gold cursive along the top—and inside, a gold tennis bracelet, glittering with diamonds, with a necklace to match. You have no doubt they’re legitimate, if not for the way the sparkle, then by the text that rings through on your phone after you question Satoru:

from: satoruwu 🫧🩵 — only the best for my baby <33

TOGE INUMAKI

Toge knows that the price of coffee has gotten way out of hand, but what bothers him more is the decreasing pace of said coffee getting made and the increase of crazy, caffeine addicted people who feel the need to be loud around him while he’s waiting for his drinks. You, however, seem to take pleasure in his suffering, as you always thank him and coo, saying he looks cute despite his grumbly demeanor, “You always look like you fought a war for two cups of coffee, Toge.”

He rolls his eyes as he steps into your apartment, not minding the sound of your giggling behind him. He sets the drinks on your island, and pulls out a stool to sit on. You round the marble, reaching him just as he’s pulled down his mask for a thank you kiss to his cheek. He wants to make you suffer for longer, but when you lean against him, he can’t help but to return the hug and kiss your forehead—you’re welcome, always.

Still, he pokes at your head, waits until you dig your head out of his shoulder with curious eyes, before he points to the Keurig sitting in the corner of one the wall-mounted counters, and moves his hands to sign, “Why keep that if you spend all my money on coffee?”

“Rude. I offer to pay all the time,” you chide, poking at his collar bone and standing straight. You make your way back to the opposite side of the counter, and reach to a drawer to fetch a straw, before shrugging, “My ex left it here when we broke up. I keep it for the aesthetic—I’m not even sure if it works.”

A myriad of thoughts runs through Toge’s mind—most importantly: had your ex left other things here, and how quickly could he get rid of them?

“Besides,” you break his murderous train of thought, “None of the pods make good espresso. Couldn’t even make my hot girl latte if it worked.”

“Your ‘hot girl latte’ is iced,” Toge signs.

Under normal circumstances, a comment like that would earn him a flick to the forehead, but you can tell that behind the sarcasm, Toge is actually upset. So, in lieu of teasing him, you walk back over to him; settling yourself behind his stool to give him a back hug. You lean your cheek against his shoulder and press a small kiss there, “You’re cute.”

Toge huffs, shaking his shoulders for dramatic effect. You laugh, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek. “You’re cute and you have nothing to worry about. It’s an old coffee machine.”

He hums, taking another sip of his coffee before turning, barely bumping the top of your forehead, so you can see his raised eyebrow. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, “You’re cute, and you have nothing to worry about, and I love you.”

He finally smiles again, content, and grants you another kiss to your forehead. With his mood back to normal, the two of you finish your coffee and carry on with your scheduled study session as normal (normal being Toge leaving you alone for all of twenty-seven minutes, before he starts taking videos of you with various outrages Snapchat filters on).

However, the following day when you return from your classes, there’s four new items on your kitchen counter: a silver espresso machine, a reusable Starbucks cup (already filled with your usual drink), a neatly folded apron decorated with cartoon Shiba Inus, and a small card with Toge’s bubbly handwriting on it: “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay for you $6 pink drinks, but if you wanted to thank me by making coffee in just the apron, then I wouldn’t complain ;)”

KENTO NANAMI Kento is a rational man; he favors using logic to carry out decisive actions, rather than letting his emotions get the best of him. So, the rational part of him knows that it’s not a big deal that the lunch bag and bento-style tupperware you bring to work was a gift from your ex-girlfriend; but there’s a small, ugly, green part of him overrun with jealousy and another bitter-tasting feeling he can’t quite name.

Because it’s not that important. It makes sense that you keep using them—the lunch bag is nice, leather, sleek, and insulated, and the tupperware is sturdy and functional. The whole system is sustainable, practical. It was a good present, one that objectively serves a good purpose whether or not it was given by an ex or not.

Maybe that’s what he hates so much. That this person still has room in your life, even though you haven’t spoken to them since you’ve met him. Kento doesn’t like that reminder—that there are people out there who might be a good fit for you, a better one than him. Those ugly feelings aside, there’s a sour taste in his mouth when he packs your lunch now; knowing that the food he cooked for the two of you—the meal you’re both going to indulge in—sits in a container gifted to you by an ex-lover.

Irrational to the point of being unfocused, he doesn’t realize how close the glass is to the edge of the counter, and when he turns to scoop more rice, he accidentally knocks it over with his elbow. It breaks into tiny pieces on the ground, the small portion of rice and chicken spilling onto the ground. The sound draws you out of your bedroom, mascara wand in hand and robe still on to call for him, “Kento? Everything okay?”

“I… it was an accident,” he explains, setting the spoon down in favor of reaching for a napkin, dropping to his knee with a light sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your laughter surprises him, prompts him to look up at you with broken glass shards pooled in his palm, “You don’t have to worry so much! It happens, we have a million more.”

There’s something about the way you don’t seem to acknowledge it being special to you in any way—Kento’s not even sure if you recognize what broke—that reassures him. Because it really was an accident, but Kento doesn’t mind that he managed to break this particular plate.

When he shoos you back to getting dressed, he finishes picking up the broken glass shards. There’s a certain lightness to his actions now, petty as it may be, he’s happy. Spends extra time writing a note for you to see when you unpack your food before he retires to the bathroom to start getting ready himself.

Maybe he could do something about that lunchbox next. You don’t seem to mind.

YUUTA OKKOTSU Thursdays are Yuuta’s favorite day of the week because on Thursdays, you two meet up at your spot, which is really just a set of twin benches in the west quad, but it’s your place and Yuuta loves it. You will have reserved a study room in your favorite library, and Yuuta will buy snacks for your study session before you both head to the library in an attempt to finish up your work for the week in order to keep your Friday evenings free.

Yuuta usually gets to the bench before you, a combination of the engineering building being a little bit closer, and his legs being a lot longer. He doesn’t mind waiting for you, as it’s usually his first time seeing you in two days (your Tuesdays are too packed for anything other than a shared coffee break between lectures, and Wednesdays are his hell days), and spotting you through the crowd of dissipating students always brings a smile to his face.

You look cute today, an oversized sweater enveloping your frame that Yuuta can imagine you cozying into and nearly dozing off in your dreaded microbiology lecture. He laughs to himself at the mental image, just as you stop in front of him to ponder, “Something funny?”

Yuuta shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead with a proper greeting. “Nothing,” he reassures you, reaching around to pull your backpack off of your shoulders, and slings it over one of his, “You look cute. Did you mean to buy a sweater big enough to double as a blanket?”

“The oversized look is in,” you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes, letting Yuuta take your hand in his despite his teasing, “I don’t even think I bought this, honestly. It might be Todo’s? Or Toge’s—it might even be Maki’s at this point.”

Yuuta freezes. He feels the world stop and a million different emotions surge through him at once, but the most prevalent of them all is something ugly and green. He could deal with Toge, though he doubts he’s the culprit. While you two shared a penchant for oversized clothing, Toge was more often than not the thief, rather than the lender, and he’s pretty good at keeping his collection of stolen goods under lock and key. Maki was out of the question, too, because you shared a class with Nobara earlier today, and there’s no way you’d have made it out of there wearing her girlfriend’s sweater.

So it probably was Todo’s. And Yuuta had said you looked cute. Though he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, his moment of self-pity is waning, and overcast by something steely, something too-hot bubbling in his chest. The question of why you have it goes over his head—he’s not concerned with that, nor will he fault you for it—the matter at hand is that you’re wearing it. And, sure, Yuuta thought you looked good in it before, but he could name sixteen other things you’d look better in at this very moment.

You’ve gone on to ramble about something that happened earlier, but Yuuta’s not listening. He drops your hand first, then both of your backpacks on the bench behind him, before tapping at your wrists. You don’t seem to understand him, cocking your head to the side with a pensive expression, but Yuuta only taps at your wrists again with a simple command, “Up.”

It doesn’t seem like you understand, but you follow anyway, and Yuuta is pulling the sweater up and off of your body before you can question him. He tosses it onto the bench with little care, then removes his white jacket and places it atop your backpacks. “What are—” you don’t have time to finish before he’s pulled his own hoodie off his body, and slid it over your head.

Yuuta smooths out the fabric under his palms with a satisfied grin on his face. Much better.

“Aw, Yuuta!” you bring a hand to tug at the strings of the hood, a wicked smile replacing your dazed blinking, “I didn’t know you were so possessive.”

You tease him until he’s red up to his ears, embarrassed and borderline bashful, a complete 180 from the looming jealousy that took over him moments before as he shimmies on his jacket again and picks up your back backs. He huffs, as you tease him, circling an arm around his as you begin to walk to the student center. He doesn’t know if he agrees with your declarations of him being a possessive boyfriend, but he does know that he’s your boyfriend, and your boyfriend only.

“So, you think I look cute, still?” you question, picking up a pack of gummy worms. Yuuta lets out a breath of laughter, pressing another kiss to your forehead, “Even cuter than before.”

(Two days later, Todo can be found screaming wildly to Itadori when he comes across a familiar hoodie strewn across a random bench on campus—who considers visiting the Student Health Clinic to make sure an eardrum wasn’t ruptured—because, “Bro, what the hell? I swear I fucking lost this thing!”)

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acey-wacey · 6 months

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Jealous of Their Tsum

Feat. Deuce, Azul, Jade

A/n: In honor of tsumderland 2!!! (though it took me the entire event to write it). Kalim, Rook and Lilia in the future if there is demand

♠️ Deuce Space ♠️

He gets along with his tsum though it's quite the troublemaker sometimes.

It doesn't have the same honor student drive that he does.

Though sometimes it gets into mischief, it's lack of proper inhibitions also make it bolder when it comes to you.

Deuce has had a crush on you for the longest time and never said a word because he was too scared.

His tsum however is not at all scared and has no problem launching into your arms.

You were initially startled by the little plushie that threw itself at you but once you realized it was Deuce's tsum, you giggled and let it bounce up to your shoulders.

It nuzzled the side of your face and you patted it's head affectionately.

Deuce --who had been running after the tsum to keep it from causing too much mayhem -- stopped short when he saw you cuddling with the little creature that looked so much like him.

"You're just a little sweetheart, aren't you?" You cooed at the tsum, squeezing it in your arms and holding it close to your chest.

Deuce couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the affection you showed the tsum.

Why didn't you ever hug him like that? What did Deuce-tsum do to deserve your cuddles?

"You are just so cute," you said as you pinched the tsum's little cheeks. The plushy bounced with happiness. "Almost as cute as the real Deuce!"

Deuce's eyes widened when he heard you.

You thought he was... cute? Cuter than the tsum even?

His jealousy was replaced with swelling pride.

He smiled to himself, knowing you weren't aware of his presence.

Maybe his dreams of confessing weren't so hopeless after all.

...

🐙 Azul Ashengrotto 🐙

His tsum had mostly been helping out at the Mostro Lounge, being cute and attracting customers.

Azul knew how good the adorable little plush was for business but he never expected to see you drawn to the crowds.

"What brings you to the Lounge on this fine day, dearest prefect?" Azul asked you with his signature charming smile.

"Everyone's been talking about the tsum that's working. He's just so cute!" you responded enthusiastically, looking to where Azul-tsum was filling up a customer's water glass.

Azul's perfect smile faltered for just a second, not long enough for you to notice.

"So even you can be tempted by our most adorable new staff member?"

"Seems so," you shrugged with a smile.

"I'll ensure it is sent to your table then," Azul smiled before turning away.

He secretly scowled at the tsum before walking back to his post.

He didn't hear you mutter "I can think of a more adorable staff member" before he left.

A few minutes later, there was a bit of a commotion in the dining area.

"What's going on?" Azul asked Jade when he saw the franticness buzzing around your table.

"It appears the tsum has attacked a patron," Jade said, though his smile was much too sly for that kind of news.

Azul was much too startled to notice the eel's ulterior motives.

He pushed his way through the crowd to find your table.

"I am terribly sorry about any violent behavior by our resident tsum. If anyone has been attacked in any way, I assure you, you will be reimbursed..."

You interrupted Azul before he could finish.

"Nonsense! I wasn't attacked so much as glomped by this little cutie!"

Azul couldn't tell if he was more startled by the attack accusations or the fact that his tsum was nuzzling itself into your chest. And you were cuddling it back?

Azul found himself becoming increasingly worried that his tsum shared the same feelings he had for you.

What if you discovered that he liked you because of his tsum? You would probably hate him and then he'd never see you again and all because of that stupid ball of stuffing!

First it was going to steal his job, then his crush. Sooner or later, Jade and Floyd would completely replace him with the thing!

Azul collected himself enough to take a deep breath and offer you a hand.

"My deepest apologies for this unprofessionalism. May I offer you a VIP seat while I get everything sorted with our clingy little waiter?"

You smiled and took Azul's hand holding the tsum against your shoulder with the other.

"I'm really not bothered but I'll never say no to a better seat."

While Azul walked you to your new booth, he put on a customer service smile just for you.

"Say, Y/N, you seem to enjoy cuddling with the little tsum quite a bit."

"Can't deny that," you chuckled and squeezed the puffball tighter. It wiggles its stubby arms with joy. "I've grown fond of the little fellow."

Azul's eyes narrowed slyly.

"I have a proposition for you, Y/N. You may cuddle my tsum as much as you like, with a few conditions of course."

"Of course," you repeated with a roll of your eyes.

"I don't even ask much of you," Azul continued as he summoned a contract with his magic. "Just sign on the dotted line and the tsum is practically yours."

You narrowed your eyes at the fine print before chuckling.

"For every cuddle Azul-tsum receives, twice as many must be returned to the original Azul," you read aloud with a smirk on your face.

"A tempting offer, is it not, prefect?"

You smiled and set the tsum down on a nearby table much to its dismay.

Before Azul could react, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Very tempting indeed."

🍄 Jade Leech 🍄

You were walking peacefully back to Ramshackle from your afternoon classes when you tripped over something soft in the road.

You spit the dirt out of your mouth and looked up to see a mini Jade hopping around on the road.

You sighed and stood up, dusting off your uniform.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you, you little schemer?"

The tsum stopped its gleeful hopping to wink at you.

You laughed and squatted down to be roughly eye level with the plush.

"Well don't think you can indebt me to you. I'm a lot bigger than you after all," you said before realizing the irony. "Huh, that's funny, it's usually the other way around with Jade."

You continued on your way home but noticed the tsum still bouncing after you.

"What? Did Jade send you to collect a payment?"

The tsum shook its head, or at least it would have if it had a head. More like it just shook its whole body.

"Do you need something?"

Another shake.

"Are you gonna follow me all the way home?"

An enthusiastic nod.

"Just like the normal Jade. Can never take no for an answer."

You sighed and held out your hands to the tsum.

"Come on, let's get going. I can't have you tracking dirty stub prints all over my shiny nice desecrated wood floors."

The Jade-tsum hopped eagerly into your hands.

Before too long, it started to rain.

You groaned and looked at the little tsum in your hands.

"Guess we gotta make a run for it, eh, Jade-tsum?"

The tsum bounced in excitement.

You held it close to your chest and made a break down the dirt road to your dorm.

By the time you made it back, the tsum was stuck to you like glue.

"Come on, little Jade, I'm all wet and muddy, I need to take a shower!"

The tsum stayed stuck to your shirt no matter how much you tugged at it.

"Guess this is my life now."

After your fourth lap around the dorm, trying to dry off with a plushie attached to you, you got a phone call from the Jade's cell.

"Y/N," you answered tiredly.

"How fortuitous I was able to reach you, prefect," you heard Jade's easily distinguishable voice from the other line. "Would you have happened to see my little lookalike anywhere? I'm afraid it's gotten away from me and it's much too difficult to search in the rain."

"Yeah, actually. It's kind of attached to me."

"Attached, you say?" Jade's voice perked up with interest. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean literally attached. It latched onto me like Velcro and I can't get it off for the life of me which is quite inconvenient."

You heard Jade chuckle.

"That does sound quite characteristic for a version of me," he mused, making you wonder what the implications of that statement were. "I shall be right over to remove it."

About 20 seconds after he hung up, you heard a knock on your door.

"That was quick," you said as you got up to open the door.

Jade was standing in your doorway, soaking wet with a sneaky smile on his lips.

"How did you get here so fast?"

"Oh, I was already on the way."

You laughed as you stepped aside to let Jade in the door. As per his usual polite self, he took off his muddy shoes before following you to the dying room (it's in such poor shape you don't bother calling it a living room).

"Why'd you call ahead if you were already coming?"

"It is polite to give warning of one's arrival, is it not?" Jade cocked his head in fake innocence. "I would never wish to be unexpected."

"Jade Leech, you are always unexpected."

He smiled at you rebuff.

"I shall take that as a compliment," he cleared his throat and turned to you. "Now for the matter of our other unexpected guest."

Jade looked at his tsum double who was still firmly snuggled into your chest.

He bent down to look the tsum in the eye and you didn't quite hear what he said to it but from the way it released it's hold on you and scampered off to the couch, you assumed it was a threat.

"Thanks, Jade," you said exasperatedly though you knew there was going to be a catch later.

"I accept your thanks, prefect, but your payment would be much more appreciated."

You sighed and grabbed your wallet from your pocket.

"If you're going to make me work shifts at the Mostro, I would much rather pay you in cold hard madol."

Jade pushed your hands down and looked at you with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes.

"I'm afraid your little leech has not been removed, prefect, only replaced with a larger one."

You backed up as Jade approached you with a sharp toothy grin. Eventually, he backed you up against the couch and you fell over backwards.

"Poor helpless prefect," Jade tutted, looming over you, his dark silhouette outline by the flickering light of your ancient chandelier. "Who would be able to help you if a slimy eel decided to... latch on?"

Your breath caught in your throat as the wind was knocked out of you by a crushing weight on your body.

You waited for Jade to keep squeezing the life out of you but for some reason it never came.

Instead you felt the nuzzle of a much larger head into your neck.

Once you recovered from the shock, you smiled and began stroking Jade's hair.

He growled under your touch.

"Mine."

...

☕Buy Me A Ko-Fi! ☕

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #disneytw #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader

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highdefhoetry · 7 months

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in the library.

cw: nsfw!! female reader, public sex in library (discreet), penetration (vaginal fingering), handjob, blowjob

summary: you’re desperate to stay quiet. he’s determined to make you scream.

There are only a handful of people in the library when you run into Zayne. You cross paths in the last aisle, where the “adult” novels could be found. You were trying to take a Nora Roberts book from the shelf when your hand brushed against something cold yet familiar. When you looked up, your eyes met those of your classmate. Well, former, back when you two were in the same gen ed course. He stood calmly on the other side of the shelf with a piercing gaze that sent chills down your back.

“(Y/N),” he greets you with a slight nod of his head.

“Dr. Zayne,” you awkwardly return his greeting, but when you look back to the empty space on the shelf, you find he’s already gone. He appears at your side in a heartbeat, his hazel eyes focused on the book you’re holding.

“I’m not a doctor yet,” he corrects you.

“Haven’t you skipped a bunch of courses, though? You’re pretty much set to be one by the end of the year.”

“Unlikely. I still have a ways to go.”

Suddenly you become hyper aware of how close he’s standing. His shoulder brushes against yours as he takes the book from your hand in one smooth motion. You watch as his elegant fingers sift through the worn down pages, gently tugging each one at the corners.

“For Now, Forever,” he reads the title. “An excellent choice.”

“You’ve read Nora Roberts?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Well, yeah. I thought you only read boring medical texts.”

“That’s mostly true. But even I need breaks from my studies.”

“Breaks to read smutty novels?”

Silence. It seems you’ve caught him off guard. He clears his throat, and you notice his ears reddening a little.

“I was only curious about this one because it involved characters in the medical field,” he gives you a weak excuse. “I’m not a connoisseur of erotica, unlike some people.”

“Hey! Don’t say it like that. You make me sound like some kind of pervert.”

He chuckles softly at your expense.

“If I’m not mistaken, this novel in particular has a number of… graphic scenes,” he comments, his eyes drifting to your face in the process.

“I mean, yeah… all of her books are like that,” you say, trying to sound casual despite your heated cheeks. It was embarrassing having him comment on things like this so candidly. And by the way he was smirking, you could tell he was doing it on purpose.

“You must have enjoyed these lewd scenes, too. Or else you wouldn’t have read it.”

A sudden streak of mischief takes over. You take a small step forward, closing the gap between you. His lips part as if he’s about to say something, but he remains silent.

“Speaking of that…” you tease. “Do you remember the part where they’re in the library? I think it went a little something like this…”

You place your hands on his chest, running them over his iron-pressed shirt to feel the muscles underneath. The hem is tucked into the waistband of his pants; you tug on it ever so slightly until it comes undone, allowing you access to his bare skin. He doesn’t stop you when you sneak your hands under his shirt, nor does he protest when you run your palms on his stomach. You hear his breath hitch slightly when you wander a little too low; as soon your eyes drift down and fall on the tent poking through his fitted pants, he suddenly grabs your hand and holds it firmly.

You look up again, locking eyes with the doctor in training, whose stony expression still hasn’t cracked. Although, he is looking a bit more strained…

“Zayne…?”

He pauses for a moment. Then, you see the corners of his lips curl up in a tiny smirk.

“...I remember it going a little differently.”

His steely eyes meet yours once again. You sense something deep inside them, struggling to break free, yet his demeanor remains as cool and controlled as ever. How many times have you wanted to break through that cold facade of his and curl up with the warmth of his heart? He hid it so well, but even the strongest armor had cracks.

While you’re lost in thought, something flutters against your thigh, snaking up the hem of your skirt. The feeling makes your skin quiver, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle a small cry. Meanwhile, his fingers reach the lace edges of your panties and tug them down until they’re right above your knees. The sudden rush of cool air makes you shiver.

“Zayne…” you whisper, trying to keep quiet so you don’t garner the attention of the other visitors, or worse, the librarians themselves. You look around anxiously to make sure no one is nearby while his hands grope your thighs and hips. He takes his time feeling you up before finally caressing his cold hand on your outer lips. It makes you jump, but soon you feel a warmth spread through your body, fueled by his gentle circling of your clit.

“Shhh,” he leans forward to whisper in your ear, right before sliding a finger inside you.

You let out a tiny gasp, forcing back a moan as he curls his finger upwards, seeking out the elusive spot he knows will make you cum hard. He finds it and begins to stroke the spongy walls, slowly at first, then with a bit more force. All while pumping those beautiful fingers of his in and out, in and out, in a steady rhythmic fashion. It’s taking everything in you not to scream and moan. He chuckles as he watches your face twist in pleasure and your strained efforts to silence yourself.

“Mmm… mmph!!”

“Calm down,” he croons. “You need to stay quiet in the library.”

It’s the same thing the male lead had said to the heroine of the story. You remember it vividly, for you had pictured yourself in this exact scenario, with this exact same man. Zayne’s hands are quick and skilled; his thumb continues massaging your clit, putting just enough pressure on it to warm you up without bringing you over the edge. It’s driving you mad, how gentle yet forceful he is. He stares down at you from his massive height, lips slightly curved upwards in an amused smile while you fight to remain silent as his hands and fingers roam your body. Your heart has begun to pound so intensely you wonder if he can actually hear it.

You’re close. He can sense it, too. He chuckles again when you grab onto his arms, as if bracing yourself for impact. You squeeze your eyes shut as wave after wave of electrifying pleasures surge through your body. It’s taking everything in you not to scream. You force back every moan, only letting little gasps and groans escape when he hits you in just the right place. And from the grin on his face, you can tell it amuses him to no end.

A few moments later, you finally cum. You bite your lip, feel your eyes roll in the back of your head, let out fluttered sighs as you squirt all over his hand. He caresses your waist and hips, relishes the way you twitch and shudder under his hands. The orgasm made you extra sensitive, so every touch feels like cold fire. You open your eyes to meet his, letting your lips part as you take in large gulps of air while trying to regain your composure. His soft gaze makes your heart dance. He doesn’t say anything, opting instead to admire the sight of your flushed skin and relieved expression.

But his own expression soon turns to one of restraint. His gaze falters when he feels your hand grope the tent in his pants. You rub the tip with an increasing amount of pressure and smile when you hear stifled grunts emerge from his throat. His brows furrow slightly in determination, as if he is focusing all his attention on retaining his composure. But you see the mask slip when you unzip his pants and let loose his stiff member.

Still covered by black boxers, you sneak your hands into the slit in the middle and take hold of his shaft. He grunts softly, almost losing it when you begin caressing the tip and teasing the length of his cock. You start off slow and take your time fondling him, noting what makes him sigh and gasp and when his breath becomes more erratic, more desperate.

You pause briefly to look around, once again making sure that no one is looking, before falling to your knees.

Before he can protest, you take his cock in your mouth and run your tongue along his shaft, stopping only to kiss and lick his tip before going on. The muffled sounds he’s making are delightful. His grunts start off quiet, but the longer you suck him off, the louder they grow. He grabs fistfuls of your hair, firmly but gently so as not to hurt you, and pulls you close until his cock is hitting the back of your throat. You suppress the urge to gag; it won’t be much longer until he cums.

After a few deep thrusts and more teasing from your mouth and tongue, he erupts his load into you, gasping quietly while still holding onto your locks. You taste his cum and swallow it all, savoring the warmth he’s given you. You slowly guide his cock out of your mouth and stand back up, smiling at him while his heavy breathing subsides. He zips up his pants with a relieved sigh, as if he just released a lifetime’s worth of stress.

“Well?” you whisper. “How did it end, again…?”

Zayne looks down at you with eyes full of affection, taking your chin in hand and gently pulling your face up.

“I believe it went like this.”

He kisses you softly, and his icy exterior melts in your hands.

#love and deepspace smut #lnd zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #zayne x you #minors dni #love and deepspace

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usedtobecooler · 10 months

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it’s simple and it goes like this | steve harrington x reader

a/n: thank you in advance to anybody who reads this little labour of love, i’ve had such a great time writing this one and i’m so proud of the finished outcome. title from i’m in love with you by the 1975. 6.1k words.

tw: EXPLICIT CONTENT 18+ MINORS DNI, reader uses she/her pronouns and has female anatomy, piv sex, oral f receiving, creampie, soft sex, dirty talk. intoxicated characters, admission of feelings, angst and fluff. characters ages are around mid-late twenties.

summary: turning down a ride from your roommate and brotherly figure, eddie munson, in favor of staying behind at a christmas party ends in you finding an unexpected escape in steve harrington. a drive home and copious amounts of flirting later, the night unfolds in passion and letting out unspoken feelings, leaving you to grapple with the consequences of the choices made.

Staying behind at Jon and Nancy’s Christmas party had been a mistake, and only now, inhaling nicotine into your lungs without a clue on how to get back home, did you realize the weight of this mistake and how badly you wished you could rewind to an hour prior when you had a guaranteed ride.

Eddie offered you a ride home when he was heading out, which you declined immediately. His girl, Heather, really wasn’t overly keen on you, and would do anything to make the journey home as painfully awkward as possible.

You and Eddie had lived together for a few years now, the bond between you both knitting together so tightly, transcending more than just shared rent and somebody to talk to at night. He became your confidant, and you his, finding comfort in each other in a way that could only be described as a sibling bond. As much as you loved him, would do anything for him, he wasn’t for you, and you weren’t for him.

Eddie was just trying to look out for you tonight, be protective in that typical brotherly way, and make sure you got home in one piece.

You mentally kick yourself for being a moron and placing your discomfort at sharing a closed space with his girlfriend above your safety.

Standing outside as the rain starts to pelt down and seep into your skin, you’re regretting your decision. Heather was an ass, but dealing with her for a twenty minute car journey would’ve been favorable over standing outside in freezing temperatures, getting soaked to the bone.

You stub out what’s left of your barely lit cigarette, crushing it under the heavy weight of your Docs. You scan the deserted street for any sign of life, only for whatever forces that are in charge to offer you some form of rectitude — Steve Harrington’s car hums in the distance, lights illuminating the otherwise empty road.

The Beemer rolls up, Steve’s arm flexing as he rolls down the window, “Need a ride?”

Steve’s eyes are hazy, a flash of mischief shining in the dark honey hues — he’d spent the majority of the party with Eddie, the pair of them suddenly the best of friends after years of teenage hatred. He’s so high, you can smell it on his expensive jacket.

Eddie’s disappointed face flashes through your mind, but the heavy material of your own jacket clings to your body, soaked through from the pelting rain. Fuck what Eddie would think, getting in Steve Harrington’s car beats whatever was going on out here.

“Yeah, thanks,” you mumble, a sharp little smile on your face as you round the car, sliding into the passenger seat. The door slams shut and you’re suddenly cocooned in familiar scents of leather and Steve’s cedarwood cologne. It’s painfully comforting.

The engine roars to life once more, and Steve makes off down the street without another thought. You pretend not to notice how his eyes hardly leave your soaked frame as you drive on.

The car purrs as you drive down the quiet streets, the unspoken tension between you both sizzling as Iron Maiden plays softly from the speakers. Eddie really made sure Steve saw all parts of him when they began hanging out, and Steve took to Eddie’s music tastes painfully quickly.

“What’s the story then, princess?” Steve grins, finally breaking the silence, “Turning down a ride with Eddie for a nicotine break was a little silly. It’s freezing out there, you’d have caught your death if I hadn’t shown up.”

“My knight in shining armor,” you deadpan, sighing quietly and cringing when you catch yourself being a little rude, “sorry, uh. I didn’t wanna be a third wheel, Heather and I, we don’t get along at all.”

Steve chuckles quietly, “She’s a bitch.”

“She’s such a bitch,” you agree with enthusiasm, finally turning slightly in your seat to face Steve properly, “I dunno what the hell Eddie sees in her.”

“Big boobs,” Steve shrugs, making a face when you hum in disappointment under your breath, “fair point, though. Can’t blame you for wanting to avoid that situation. Still, I can’t believe he left you there like that.”

There’s a beat of silence, your cheeks flushing hot. Was Steve being protective?

“I saw you dodging advances from a certain somebody tonight,” Steve wiggles his brows, cutting the tension quickly, “what’s the deal? He not doing it for you anymore?”

You groan, rolling your eyes as you slump back into your seat, “I’m not in the mood for Brad’s games, y’know? He’s so hot and cold.”

“Games, huh?” Steve grins, eyes landing on you for a moment, flirty and devastatingly attractive, “Maybe you’ve just not found somebody yet who plays the right ones.”

You flush hot, heart practically beating out of your chest, because this is clearly the weed talking. Steve hadn’t flirted with you since that one time in sophomore year, when you’d come back from Summer break and had blossomed enough for the one and only The Hair to find you worthy of his time.

“Smooth, Harrington,” you choke out eventually, spluttering on your own saliva as you struggle to get the words out, “your list of admirers is endless, do you use that line on all the girls?”

“Well, maybe I’m looking for somebody who can keep up.” Steve passes a lingering glance over your body, only to look away and avert his eyes back to the road before you can say anything further.

Over the years you had known him, you and Steve had shared stolen glances and cryptic smiles. Gravitating towards each other in Eddie’s absence, but never taking that next step. Steve had a list of conquests, and it pained you to admit every last one hurt to watch – somehow it pained you more to admit how pleased you’d become when each of them left just as fast.

You both knew that these were dangerous waters to tread, how protective Eddie could be over you was enough to have Steve keeping you at arms length, his respect for Eddie was too great to push it further. Yet here you were once again, sharing a confined space and feeling an aura of comfortability that couldn’t just be ignored until it went away.

The rest of the journey passes in silence, and all too soon Steve is pulling onto the dirt track towards the trailer you and Eddie share. The place is still in darkness, and you have to suppress an eye roll – Eddie was hardly ever home overnight now, too used to shacking up with Heather in her apartment in town.

Steve cuts the engine, slapping a hand down on his jean clad thigh, “I’ll walk you to your door, it’s creepy as hell out here in the dark.”

He shudders for emphasis, and before you can protest and tell him you can manage on your own, he’s out of the car and rounding the trunk to open your door for you.

“Thanks, Steve, you really don’t have to.” You insist, stepping out of the car and internally cringing as your boots squelch in the thick mud where the tyres of Eddie’s van typically embed themselves.

“It’s okay, wouldn’t wanna risk something happening to you,” Steve says, a hand coming out to just barely touch the small of your back as you struggle like bambi on ice in the slippery mud, “here just – just take my hand.”

Steve extends his hand out and you take it with a slight hesitation, your need to make it to the front door without being soaked in rain and mud outweighing the heavy feelings sitting in your chest.

It’s almost frightening how normal it feels, to have your hand clasped with Steve’s as you walk the short path to the trailer. You don’t want to know what that means, but it feels so nice, the way Steve’s large, warm hand encapsulates your own has your head spinning.

You have to, albeit sadly, let go of Steve to fish in your jacket pocket for a front door key. After a fight with the lock, the door swings open, the warm heat so inviting that you basically barge through the doorway, tugging Steve in with you without thinking.

Steve gawps a little, flounders from where he stands as you lean over his large frame to shut the door behind him, toeing off your shoes like you would any other night. When you finally take a moment to realize what you’ve just done, so casually, you’re suddenly aware of the slight crackle of tension, the magnetic pull of your bodies as you shuffle close together.

You guide him further into the house, flicking on a lamp that’s perched on a nearby table, illuminating the room with a soft, warm glow. Losing your jacket and throwing it haphazardly on a random surface.

Everything seems to narrow with each step, pulling you both as close together as possible with each passing moment. Neither of you pull away, either, walking as tightly together as you can manage in the small space.

“You want a drink or something?” You ask, trying to keep yourself as nonchalant as possible, schooling your voice as you cast a sidelong glance at him.

Steve grins, a glint of mischief in his eyes, as he gently declines the offer with a shake of his head, "As tempting as that sounds, princess, I spotted a little note from Eddie saying he'd be back soon. Wouldn't want to overstay my welcome and have him play a game of twenty questions.”

Your confused gaze follows his where he nods over your shoulder, and sure enough there’s a scribbled out note on the pin board hung up the wall;

BE BACK SOON SWEETHEART, DONT LOCK ME OUT!!

You really do roll your eyes this time around, mentally sticking the middle finger up at the fucking note. You walk back and lean on the dining table, crossing your arms over your chest. You can’t pretend that you don’t notice Steve’s gaze never leaving your body, watching your every move as you shuffle around.

He looks disappointed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. You dare to fix your own stare on him from where you’re perched, can’t ignore how he so naturally hovers towards you despite the rejection. Like he wants to do one thing but is saying another, trying to be the good guy.

Steve was a good guy.

In the closeness, the push and pull between you and Steve becomes devastating. The air is thick with unspoken admissions, and whatever sort of invisible barrier you had between you both begins to fade as you float into each other's space once more.

With a nod of his head towards the door, Steve finally breaks the silence. "Guess I should get going, huh?"

The words hang in the air, a question and an invitation, leaving you to decide which it’s going to be. The doorway goes out of focus, blurs as Steve inches closer to you and further from it, the silent tension lingering in the air – an unanswered question.

A soft smile plays on your lips as you respond, "You could stay, you know? We could… hang out."

You offer with some sort of nonchalance, despite how your heart hammers in your chest, and it hangs with anticipation as you hold his gaze, leaving the choice in the hazy space between lingering and leaving.

Steve sucks in a slow breath, his eyes flickering between yours and the curve of your lips. You shiver visibly, and in that fleeting moment, Steve inches a fraction closer. It's a subtle movement, almost imperceptible, but it speaks volumes.

Up this close, you could really marvel at just how gorgeous Steve is, his tan skin flecked with beauty marks and moles, dotted like constellations. You wanted to connect them all with your tongue, kiss and bite him until he was branded.

“You want to, right?” You breathe, chest heaving slightly, and you forget all about how damp and uncomfortable your clothes are, how when he picked you up you wanted nothing more than to have a hot shower and go to sleep. Now, you want everything but that. You want to see how far Steve will go, you want to know if he wants you as much as you want him.

“Eddie’ll probably be back any minute,” Steve murmurs, those deep set eyes scanning over your entire face, lingering on your lips, and the tip of his tongue peaks out to swipe along his own bottom one, wetting it, “we… we shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t,” you agree eventually, voice breathy and lacking conviction, entire body vibrating, leaning into Steve just as much as he was leaning into you. Your hands grasp for the edge of the table, grounding you when you need it most, anticipation enough to have your heart hammering in your chest.

“Yeah, we… definitely shouldn’t.” Steve mimics, leans in closer, his hot breath fanning your face. He’s beautiful like this, so close that you’re going cock eyed trying to keep your vision of him clear, but his guard was rarely ever let down around you, and you didn’t want to miss a moment.

His lips brush against yours, a pained, strangled sound coming from the back of his throat, before he’s diving in for that first mind melting kiss.

Time stops for a moment, this fiery spark igniting between you both as fierce mouths move against one another, painfully desperate like it’s going to be over too soon, like if you stop it’ll never happen again.

All inhibition is lost, Steve’s fingertips squeezing into the doughy flesh of your waist, somehow pushing you together even tighter, gripping you with a fierceness as your lips move together. Like he’s staking a claim — mine, mine, mine.

His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, begging for entry silently, which you allow him willingly with a high pitched, contented moan. He’s experimental, swiping the tip of his tongue against your own lightly, lapping until he’s pulling these little noises from you, and it has your core aching.

The light smacking sounds of moistened lips in an otherwise void room is an almost painful reminder that this was real.

Your shaking fingertips move from the table to grip at the front of Steve’s jacket, desperate hands trying to rip at the material, because a simple kiss was never going to be enough. Now that you had him and knew he wanted you back.

“We can’t,” Steve whines, pitiful against your lips as you struggle to stop, chasing his mouth with your own in a feverish passion as he barely tries to pull back from you, “you keep making these noises, m’not gonna be able to stop.”

You bring your hands up to cup Steve’s jaw on instinct, without even thinking about it, holding him in place so he can’t fight with himself to get away, “Want it, Steve. I want you,” you breathe, sincere and pleading, guiding him back to kiss you again and he melts into you, “wanted it since the first time you stepped foot in here. Wanted you to want me too.”

“Always fuckin’ wanted you,” Steve mumbles, those soft, fucking perfect lips brushing yours as he speaks, so desperate it’s like he can’t bare to move back any further, “you’re so beautiful, shit. Need you, can I have you?”

You nod without hesitation as Steve's hands tighten on your waist, intensifying the urgency between your bodies. The kiss deepens, a mix of desperation and desire, creating a raw, feral, and unmistakably intimate connection.

Steve's lips become a drug, setting off sparks within you, and the forbidden tension hangs heavy in the air. Breaking away, his admission of always wanting you fuels the flames, and his calloused fingertips trace over your flushed skin as he murmurs, "Wanna do that forever," he murmurs, taking a moment to lock eyes with you, before reconnecting your lips once more.

A desperate groan escapes Steve's chest, a tenor of pent-up emotion. His fingers dig into your waist and jaw, revealing the battle within him – wanting you intensely but also grappling with the fear of irreversible damage.

Your desperation and passion counteracts his conflicted motions, hands tightly clinging to his jacket, expressing the longing and fire coursing through you.

Steve's plea transforms into a primal growl as he pulls you closer, creating an animalistic admission of want and yearning, leaving not an inch of space between you, pressing you up so tightly against the table that your ass mounts it properly — you willingly spread your legs for him, allowing him entry so that he can slot between your thighs.

Whatever boundaries you were trying to keep are long gone.

“You’re soaking, baby,” Steve notes, the tip of his tongue swiping along your bottom lip, “you need to get out of these clothes.”

“You think you’re so smooth,” you giggle, the delicate sound pitching into a moan when Steve dips down to mouth at your jaw, “think I’m soaked in more ways than one.”

Steve grunts against your skin, his teeth grazing against the side of your throat. He rocks his hips into your own, and you have to suppress an embarrassing sound when you feel the half hard outline of his cock press against you.

“You gonna be a gentleman and take me to my room?” You tease, fingers traveling from Steve’s jacket and up into his hair, nails tangling in the tresses and tugging him closer. You relish in how he finally bites down on your skin properly, determined to mark you as his own.

“What if I wanna do it right here, huh?” Steve mutters, kissing over the raised, abused skin on your neck, “You want that, princess?

You nod, just once, a deep heat pooling in your gut, and that’s enough to have Steve pulling desperately at your dress. Calloused fingertips slide the spaghetti straps down your shoulders, and you help him take you out of the offending material, shimmying until it pools at your feet.

Steve groans, low in the back of his throat as he takes in your body, now barely covered by a skimpy black thong and a lacy bra. You burn hot under his intense gaze, squealing when his large hands snake under the backs of your thighs, kneading the fat between his fingers as he hoists you back onto the table.

“Can I use my mouth on you?” Steve mumbles, massaging your thighs that you willingly spread open for him once again, a silent invitation.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, moaning when he drops to his knees in one fluid motion, wrapping your legs around his shoulders as he goes.

One thing that is apparent, is Steve’s love of eye contact. Touching you everywhere his body can reach, and it drives you up the damn wall. His eyes are darkened with lust as he trails hot, wet kisses up the insides of your thighs, pushing your legs apart further so he can slot his broad shoulders in the space.

The anticipation bubbles deep in your gut, cunt fluttering as he dips two fingers into the material of your panties, pulling them to the side to expose you to the warm air. You feel him squeeze you tighter, gaze moving to take in the sight of your slick pussy, ready and waiting for him.

“Mmph, she’s so pretty,” Steve moans, leaning forward in an instant to bury his face into the wetness of your cunt, running his nose over the bump of your clit as his tongue snakes out to taste you, lapping messily.

“Steve!” You gasp his name, fingers immediately finding home in his honey highlighted tresses, sinking in and tugging lightly, pushing him closer to you.

It spurs him on, those fucking hands squeezing and pulling at the flesh of your inner thighs hard enough to bruise, burying his face into you deeper and grunting like you’re the best thing he ever tasted. He’s messy, lapping up and down the expanse of your core, suckling on your clit with a perfect pressure.

“Shit, shit,” you’re basically wailing, hips rolling into Steve’s face and he just takes it, lets you guide him with your hands, moving him where you want him to go.

He never breaks eye contact, watches you with these hazy, pussy drunk eyes as he gives you everything you want and more. Moaning into the heat of your cunt like he’s getting off just as much as you are.

“Keep doing that, m’gonna cum, haa,” you’re babbling, incoherent as your tummy rolls with sheer pleasure, Steve never once letting up on his assault with his tongue.

If anything, your words have him doubling down, pressing in so far you’re not sure he’s even able to breathe. Your orgasm hits you suddenly, violently, has you pulling on Steve’s hair so hard you know his scalp has to be aching, and you finally squeeze your eyes shut tight as you ride it out.

You know you’re gushing for Steve, making a mess of his face with the slickness that spills from your cunt, thighs shaking and locking him in tight in the aftershocks. He doesn’t let up until you’re physically jerking away, fingers running through his hair softly as your hips shudder.

You’re barely on the same planet, unable to comprehend it when Steve rises from between your legs and kisses you deeply, feeding the taste of yourself to you. You moan, hands coming up to squeeze Steve’s face as you deepen the kiss, swapping spit and rocking against each other.

It’d be disgusting if it wasn’t so erotic.

“You’re so hot,” Steve moans, pushing into you until the curve of his clothed cock presses tight into the cavern of your soaked cunt, eliciting breathy whines from you both, “need you now, yeah?”

You nod, and he’s pulling you from the table in an instant.

Clothes scatter along the floor as Steve takes you to the bedroom, practically carrying you like you’re nothing. Neither of you leave an inch of space between each other as you rip his shirt over his head, tugging at the offending leather belt that keeps his jeans in place.

“Off, need them off,” you gasp, finally popping the button and burying your hand into his underwear. Tackiness on your fingertips from where the head of his painfully hard cock has been pressed tightly in the confines of his clothes.

Steve chuckles, pushes his hips into your hand and you finally get to feel him. Hot, hard, heavy in your hand — big enough that your eyes widen, and he’s burying his face in your neck to hide his embarrassment, biting at your shoulder.

“Didn’t get called King Steve for nothing,” he mutters, a red flush on his cheeks that he buries in your skin.

“The girls weren’t kidding.” you gasp, wrapping your hand around what you can reach and tugging slightly until he’s bucking into your grasp.

You’re pushed through your bedroom door, backs of your knees hitting the end of the bed unexpectedly. You bounce back onto it, pulling Steve with you, a tangle of limbs on an unmade bed that smells vaguely of the vanilla perfume you’d sprayed earlier.

“Couldn’t let a guy get his pants off first?” Steve grins, pulling back and looking physically wounded as he does it, to shimmy out of the remainder of his clothing.

In the soft lighting, he looks ethereal. The moles and beauty marks are everywhere, branding perfectly tanned skin, a soft tummy that just barely conceals a set of abs. He’s perfect, like a wet dream, and here he is in your room, in your bed, crawling back between your spread thighs.

“You’re so perfect,” Steve sighs, leaning down once again to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his torso rolling into yours as he steals your breath from your lungs.

It’s everything. The way you move together like you know each other's bodies perfectly, touching each other with a familiarity despite this being the first time.

A hand crawls up your inner thigh, and two deft fingers sink into your cunt, crooking up and finding that spot, running against it until you’re arching under his touch.

Your own hand crawls between your dancing bodies, wrapping properly around the length of Steve’s cock, tugging half heartedly until he’s growling into your mouth, his hips punching forward into your touch.

Time passes like molasses, it could be two minutes or twenty, until you’re both gasping and desperate. Not even kissing anymore, just lightly panting with brushing lips.

“Want it, want you to fuck me now.” You beg, clenching around Steve’s fingers for emphasis, cunt soaked and fluttering, needing more.

Steve nods, sliding his fingers from inside of you, understanding every word and desperate plea. He clasps your hand in his own, bringing them up to rest beside your head in the nest of pillows, “You ready, baby? I’ll take it slow, know I’m a stretch.”

You nod, any witty remark dying in the back of your throat. The want and hunger for Steve overrides any other feeling, your brain fogged with nothing but him and his body tight against yours.

Steve grasps hold of his cock by the base, head bowing so he can watch as he presses the head snug against your cunt.

You both inhale a shuddery breath at the same time, and suddenly he’s pushing in — inch by inch filling you out. You whimper, fingers digging into Steve’s, a mewl escaping you as you push up into his torso.

Steve looks up at you, sincere and checking in, “You okay?”

“Keep going,” you gasp, hips swiveling.

Steve’s mouth hangs open in a silent moan, watches as his cock slides into your wet pussy like it was made to be there, taking every last inch of him until he’s nestled up against you.

You jolt when the thick thatch of hair nestled at his pubic bone catches on your swollen, throbbing clit. A breathy, panting whine clawing up from your throat.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet, princess. Not gonna last long,” Steve admits pulling out a few inches only to slide right back in, making home, “god, like you were made to take me.”

You flush at Steve’s words, “You can– you can move properly. Fuck me like you want.”

“Don’t say that, princess.” Steve whines, fingers gripping your hips, “You let me have what I want and I’ll never let you leave.”

Your heart beats faster, harder, whole body alight with all these different feelings, tugging at every part of you.

Full on Steve’s cock and holding his fucking hand. It’s heavenly.

Steve pulls out properly this time, pushing back in and creating a punishing rhythm that has you mewling and spewing out these horribly loud moans and cries for him. The head of his cock nudges at your spot dead-on with each thrust, has you over-stimulated ridiculously fast, it teeters on the right side of painful.

Your fingers dig into Steve’s skin, other hand wrapping around his bicep. A moan escaping you as he dips down to kiss and nibble at your neck, “You’re so big, holy shit. Feels so good, so good.”

“Yeah?” Steve grins at you, cocky and sure of himself and you almost catch a glimpse of the old Steve in it, which somehow makes the entire thing even sexier. One thing Steve Harrington was so sure he was good at was fucking, and you feed into his ego with the way your body reacts to him.

Sweaty skin slapping against skin, the creaking of your bed frame under the vigorous movements. The pants and cries that flow from your mouth with every hard thrust, the grunts that rattle from deep in Steve’s chest. It’s pure filth, everything you wanted and needed.

“Y-yeah, I— I—” You stutter as your orgasm crescendos, legs wrapping tightly around his waist, heels of your feet digging into the small of his back. Nails breaking skin on Steve’s arm as you shake and shudder through it, body practically vibrating with the sheer force of it.

“You needed that huh, princess? Needed me to pull that from you?” Steve whispers, a moan leaving him as he fucks you even harder, chasing his own orgasm, “Fuckin’ gripping me, holy fuck.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, unable to stop how your cunt flutters sporadically for him, taking everything he gives you and then some.

“Holy shit, baby,” Steve breathes, fucked out and chest heaving, “m’gonna cum, gonna cum in your perfect little pussy.”

“Please,” you beg, back arching and somehow pushing Steve in even deeper, eliciting matching moans of pleasure from you both, “please, please.”

“Shit – fuckin’ begging me to cum in you, you’re so perfect, shit.” He grunts, hips slamming into you as he nears the end, thrusts becoming short and snappy, rhythm faltering.

Your nails dig into Steve’s bicep, pushing your nose against his softly, ghosting a kiss over his lips, “Wanna feel you spilling in me, please? Mark me, I’m yours.”

He moans loudly at your words, the noise so beautiful it’s like music in your ears. You’d almost be smug about being the person to pull it from him, if it weren’t for how fucked out he’d left you.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, pushing his face into your neck as his body wracks with his orgasm. He grunts into your damp skin, cock pulsing rhythmically inside the fluttering walls of your pussy.

You can feel it so fucking strongly it’s almost hard to breathe.

It’s sticky and messy as Steve untangles his sweaty limbs from your own, landing a gentle kiss on your nose. You flush hot, burning up at how ridiculously domesticated the simple motion is.

He pulls out sloppily, flopping down next to you on the bed and hauling you into his warm embrace. It’s — it’s unexpected, so soft and sweet that you tense for a second only to loosen up and settle your head on his chest.

The air is heavy and warm in the afterglow. Steve's gaze lingers on yours, a moment shared in silence, acknowledging your mutual feelings without a single word.

You’re leaning up to kiss him again, unable to contain it, when suddenly the bubble is shattered, the bedroom door swinging open abruptly.

Eddie stands in the doorway, his features screwed up with a mixture of shock and anger.

"Steve, what the hell?" Eddie's scratchy voice cuts through the stillness, his eyes narrowing as they dart between you and Steve. Steve bolts upright, panicked and caught off guard, shifting uncomfortably under Eddie's intense gaze.

"Eddie, I can explain," you begin, panic rising in your chest as you sit up and pull the sheets closer around you. The atmosphere suddenly becomes charged with tension, and Eddie's expression tightens further.

"Explain? Explain what, exactly?! That my best friend is in bed with my-my – dammit dude, she’s like a sister to me! What the hell?!" Eddie's tone is sharp, a mix of disbelief and fury. Steve runs a hand through his disheveled hair, clearly searching for words that could help calm the escalating situation.

"Eddie, it just happened. We didn't plan—" Steve starts, but Eddie interrupts with a held up ringed hand.

Neither of you push it any further, words dying in both of your throats at such a simple movement. You’re so far apart by now that Steve is basically hanging off the edge of the bed, and you can’t help the way your heart feels fucking heavy with it.

"I don't care. This is not okay. I told you not to touch her, Steve. She’s not a girl to play with." Eddie's disappointment is palpable, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

The room is filled with a devastating silence, broken only by echoes of Eddie's anger and the heavy weight of his boots shuffling along the hard floor as he walks away. The trailer door slams shut so hard that the entire shell ricochets with the force.

It all becomes so painful once Steve hauls himself off of the bed, frantically throwing on every strewn article of clothing that he’d shed just hours earlier, his head bowed like he can’t even bear to look at you. Like he’s scared and doesn’t want to face up to everything that happened.

You can’t even blame him.

“Steve, wait,” you start, vision blurring at the edges as panic starts to set in, grappling to come to terms with the fact this was all going to be over, “don’t listen to him. He’s wrong, I know you – you don’t. You don’t do that anymore, you wouldn’t do that to me.”

“No he – he’s right,” Steve’s eyes reflect with sadness, the weight of his words lying deep in the pit of your stomach, “I have a reputation. We all know that. He’s trying to protect you, his heart is in the right place.”

“But Steve-”

“Eddie’s right, princess. There’s something there, I know it. But,” Steve sighs, shaking his head, “if this doesn’t work out I lose you and him. I can’t risk not having you both.”

“Steve, will you listen to me, please?” You plead, clambering in a moment of panic to get off of the bed, sheet still wrapped firmly around your naked frame. You shuffle over ungracefully, until you’re standing toe to toe with him, “I like you. You felt it like I felt it. I– I want this.”

You can almost see Steve’s internal struggle, the way his face crumples once he catches your teary eyes with his own devastated hues. His hands itch at his sides, and then suddenly those strong arms are wrapping around you, pulling you into his orbit and lifting you onto your tiptoes.

You wrap your arms around his middle, fingers grasping at the stretched material of his shirt, clinging on for dear life, "Steve, I really fucking like you, and I can't stand by and watch you walk away from this because of some misplaced sense of loyalty.”

Steve’s chin rests atop your head, and you feel every bit of the deep sigh he lets out, “You trust me too much, like you know I’m not going to fuck up. I wish I could trust myself even half as much.”

Your reaction is immediate, frustration bubbling up inside of you as you listen to Steve talk down on himself, “You’ll never hurt me. You’re not some ticking time bomb just waiting to ruin everything. Allow yourself the courtesy of taking what you want and letting yourself fuck up. I’m strong enough to handle it.”

“I’ve messed up so many times in the past that I’m scared I’ll hurt you without meaning to,” Steve winces, clinging to you even tighter, cocooning you in his embrace, “I couldn’t live with myself if I did that shit.”

You pull away slightly, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw, forcing him to face you and really soak in every word you say, “You’re fucking human, Steve. I’m not asking you to be perfect.”

Steve’s face etches with vulnerability, those damned eyes filled with hurt, but his body relaxes slightly, acknowledging what you’re trying to say, “You’re perfect.”

Your stomach lurches, heart hammering where it sits beneath your ribcage, this pathetic grin taking over, “I promise you, I’m not. Wait until you realize just how many flaws I have — like being so terrible at cooking that I burn toast.”

Steve lets out a snort, eyes crinkling in the corners, fondness washing over him, “I’ll teach you,” he mumbles, leaning in a little, “if you’ll teach me something in return.”

“Anything.” You breathe, pushing up to bridge the gap. Your noses brush, Steve’s hands gripping onto the soft flesh of your waist a little firmer.

Steve grins, mischievous, “Teach me how to have patience. I’ve been told it’s a virtue I’m seriously lacking, Dustin rags on me all the time about it.”

You let out a soft laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating in an instant, "Patience it is, though I’m not sure how much of it I even have. And you better be ready for some burnt toast along the way."

Steve chuckles, a low, melodic sound that sends shivers down your spine, "I think I can handle that."

He bridges the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours and sealing the agreement.

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #my fanfic #mine #x reader

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scarlet-star-witch · 3 months

Text

The moon and his sun (Part VI)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 6.7 K

Warnings: More angst, Aegon being the villain of all villains, lots of grief and sadness, but also fluff because they love each other so much

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 ... Part 7

Things were different after that night. She was different. With each passing day Aemond saw less and less of the woman he knew and loved with every inch of his being. She was no longer that bright-eyed and sparkling girl he had known since his childhood.

Her lips no longer curled with mischief, her laughter no longer rang out in their chambers. Her hand no longer sought him out, she had no kisses to give him just for the sake of it.

The space between them in their bed felt like a chasm that was too great for him to cross to get to her.

She spent her days curled up in bed, hugging the blankets tightly to her, refusing anyone who attempted to pry them away from her. The maids tip-toed around her, the gazes of pity stirring Aemond’s anger.

She barely spoke a word, only giving weak-sounding excuses to refuse her meals, to refuse to get up and face the day.

He didn’t blame her. If he could, he would be in that bed beside her all hours of the day, but his duties as a Prince didn’t stop because his heart had shattered. The thought of his lost child didn’t leave his mind as he sat in on meetings of war, it was all he thought of as he numbly walked the halls like a ghost.

The empty chair next to him at every dinner spoke volumes and he didn’t know how many more nights he could endure the pitying looks from his mother.

The guilt was drowning him.

He knew the attack was revenge for what he had done to Lucerys Velaryon. He knew that man he had driven his sword into was following the orders of Rhaenyra and Daemon. He knew his wife had almost been murdered for his mistake.

He knew his child was dead because of him.

He couldn’t stomach the thought. He felt untethered to himself, as if he were walking around without a soul. He couldn’t handle the grief, he couldn’t fathom the reality that played out around him.

So he settled for anger. It was what he knew, it was familiar.

The moment he would leave his wife’s side, the moment he stepped out of their chambers, the melancholy and the heartbreak would recede within him, his face hardening, his entire demeanor changing in an instant, portraying that of a cold, unflinching soldier rather than the mourning husband and lost father.

The thought of his half sister and uncle made him see red, the dragon blood within him sizzling under his skin, igniting a fury so volatile it shadowed any ire he had felt for his bastard nephews.

He sat in his mother’s chambers, staring blankly out the window, ignoring the politicking his mother and grandsire attempted to bring forth to Aegon who sat looking bored. Time passed unknowingly, his mind a million miles away - or just mere hallways away where his wife lay, a picture of a broken mother.

“Aemond?”

He turned his attention to his mother who was eyeing him questioningly. He hummed absentmindedly and she sighed.

“How is she?”

He clenched his jaw, his eyes falling to his feet, unable to speak a word of his wife’s condition. He would surely break down if he did and he refused to let his prick of a brother witness such a moment of weakness.

Alicent sighed, failing yet again to engage her son in any semblance of conversation.

“Her maid told me she has refused to eat… again.”

Aemond felt himself twitch, his anger sparking at the mention of his wife and the monumental grief she was lost in, that he had no way to help her through.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest, the same pain he had been feeling for the past few days. He wondered each time if it were another piece of his heart cracking, shriveling away to nothing. He wondered when it would stop, when there would finally be nothing left of it.

He pictured the scene he had walked into that night, the sight of that man over his wife, her below him, bloody and crying, so close to being taken from the world, taken from him.

It was a sight that had haunted his every waking thought since.

It was a sight that had broken him beyond repair.

It was a sight that left him bloodthirsty.

Unable to stand the grief any longer, he succumbed to his burning anger, the thought of his uncle and half-sister leaving him to feel as though there was only one single thing he could do to release him from the fury that was all-consuming, sure enough to devour him at any moment.

He abruptly stood, causing his family to flinch and send curious stares his way.

“Aemond?”

“I cannot sit here and let the attempt on my wife’s life and the loss of my child go unpunished any longer.”

He stomped towards the door, prompting his mother and grandsire to stand and quickly follow behind him, worry painting their features. Helaena shifted uncomfortably where she sat, the grief that surrounded her brother and dear friend shrouding her kind heart, clouding her usually sunny disposition. Even Aegon looked worried, his eyes flitting between his brother and his Hand with apprehension.

“It will not go unpunished, but we need a plan. We cannot blindly go forward with violence.” Otto scolded him impatiently.

Aemond smirked, the sight of a man who was beginning to lose it all.

“My uncle underestimates me. He will soon know better than to threaten what’s mine.”

“Aemond, please.” Alicent pleaded desperately. “I know you’re hurting, but you cannot let your grief rule you, we need-”

“I need to end this. I started this and I paid for it with the life of my child.” Aemond seethed, his lone eye wide and becoming glassy, the lump in his throat growing as he thought of his babe he would never hold.

Helaena felt her own eyes begin to well with tears as she watched her broken brother attempt to salvage what little control he felt he had.

“Daemon will die for this and I won’t wait any longer for you to discuss allies and soldiers, to wait long enough to let him plan another attack that will take my wife from me. I will end it today. He doesn’t deserve to see another sunrise.”

He moved to the door once more, but his mother frantically latched onto his arm, pulling him back, her own tears falling down her cheeks.

“Please, think this through.”

“I have!” Aemond screamed, his heart racing, his hands trembling, his grief and anger overtaking every rational thought in his mind.

His vision blurred and he abruptly turned away from his family, refusing to let them see him crumble.

The room was silent, heavy with tension.

“Vhagar is mighty, but she cannot take on Caraxes, Syrax, Meleys, even Vermax, alone and you will get yourself killed for nothing.” Otto added, causing Aemond to flinch as if he’d been struck.

It wasn’t for nothing. It was for his wife, for the child they lost, the son they would never get to hold.

“Aemond.” Helaena’s tearful voice spoke up. “She needs you.”

The words, so simple yet gut wrenching, were enough to snuff out his fury. The thought of his wife, the woman who was grieving just as he was and what would happen to her if he charged into battle. The thought of her losing someone else, knowing he would break her already fragile heart into a state of disrepair had his head spinning, the desire to rip his uncle limb from limb receding into the depths of his mind.

The only thing that mattered was her.

He refused to cause her any more harm.

He left the room without another word, keeping his head down as he quickly made his way to their chambers.

His frayed nerves needed only one antidote, her.

Stepping into their chambers, his heart jumped within his chest as he noticed the bed was empty. He panicked momentarily before he heard the soft voices of her maids. He stepped forward slowly, peeking his head into the next room where her maids surrounded her, their touches gentle as they helped her bathe.

Aemond felt the ache return, as if a fist were clenched tightly around his heart, squeezing until it ceased to beat.

Her eyes were dull, her face passive. His throat grew tight as he watched the maids lift her arm, the limp limb like a ragdoll, as if she were merely a corpse, a body functioning without its beautiful mind.

It shattered him beyond repair to see her in this state.

You did this, the tormenting voice in his head reminded him yet again.

The guilt could’ve knocked him off his feet.

Gritting his teeth, he turned away from the torturous sight before him and stormed out of the room, his quick, angered pace taking him out of the Red Keep.

His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving with every step he took.

Vhagar raised her head lazily as her rider approached. Her demeanor changed in an instant, shaking herself from her tiredness, her bonded’s fury and despair so loud, it was radiating off him in waves. She growled lowly, snarling as he approached.

Aemond had no words of comfort, nothing to say to calm his dragon. She felt what he felt, she was as thirsty for destruction as he was.

He commanded Vhagar to fly, where he didn’t know.

The frigid wind was like knives against his skin, the rope in his hands course and rough. He hadn’t bothered to wear his gloves or any of his proper attire for riding. He had been desperate to get out of that room, unable to face his wife for a second longer or his heart would’ve given out there and then.

He just needed to get away from it all. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of what had happened that night, what he caused.

To see his wife in such a state and to know it was because of him left him wondering how much longer he could live with it. He was certain it wouldn’t be too much longer, he almost welcomed it for he couldn’t live like this any more.

Aemond rode far and fast, his legs aching, his back becoming sore, but it didn’t matter to him, it barely even registered.

Noticing a small island on the horizon, Aemond pulled the reins, commanding Vhagar to descend.

His heart raced, the lump in his throat close to choking him.

“Vhagar…” He called out, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Dracarys!”

His mighty dragon roared streams of fire, over and over as her rider commanded, his yelled commands becoming inaudible over the currents of fire she spewed. Aemond watched the trees burn, their flames growing into raging infernos. He commanded Vhagar to land and he numbly stumbled off her saddle, his grace gone in his state of despair.

He stepped forward, his eye glowing orange with the flames before him. He felt the heat radiating from the blaze and took another step towards it. Behind him, Vhagar roared, as if in warning, as if she could sense the danger, sense the recklessness in her rider.

A choked breath escaped his lips, his mind flashing with images of that dreaded night, his wife screaming in agony, her thighs dripping red with the loss of their child. He thought of the little boy he pictured all those times he would place his hand over the small bump that grew, imagining the child with eyes like his mother’s, his smile wide and deliriously happy like his mother’s. The memories were suffocating.

You did this.

The words circled in his head until he broke.

His eyes burned with tears and he gasped helplessly as they fell in a torrent down his cheeks. His legs felt weak under him and he stumbled, falling to his knees in the coarse grass below him.

He cried and screamed until his throat hurt. He unleashed his fury and heartbreak in a flood of sobs he couldn’t control.

The flames before him crawled towards him, the heat before him that burned uncomfortably hot an unlikely comfort. He remained still as the fire raged closer and closer.

Behind him, Vhagar roared, a sound so heartbreaking it mirrored her rider’s own all consuming anguish.

Minutes, that felt like hours, passed until he had no tears left, his throat dry and aching, leaving him to stare blankly forward, the flames before him like a hypnotizing mirage, beckoning him forward, enticing him to end the pain once and for all.

It wasn’t until the trees before him began to creak and wither, soon collapsing under the assault, wicked waves of embers and ash spraying towards him, the island he unleashed his fury on succumbing to his destruction, that he shook himself from his grief induced daze.

With a heavy breath, his eye heavy and hurting, he finally got to his feet slowly, making no haste to climb back atop Vhagar who seemed to rumble in discontent below him, as if to chastise him for his recklessness.

As he flew back to King’s Landing, he felt no lighter, no great catharsis that lifted the weight on his chest. His heart still felt as though it would break with each breath.

He just hoped he could survive another agonizing day.

The days dragged on and he was left to face his wife’s absence once again, his head down as he ate, desperate to get the meal over with as quickly as he could and get back to their chambers to be with her.

At the head of the table, Otto cleared his throat and Aemond wondered how such a miniscule sound could still hold authority. He looked up with barely contained disdain and he met the surly eyes of his grandsire.

“I think it is time we discuss our next steps.”

“Father.” Alicent admonished wearily. “Now is not the time.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, it was all too obvious they had been conspiring without him.

“Clearly you have something to say, so say it.” Aemond barked out, his tone making Helaena flinch from where she sat across the table.

The look of apprehension his mother sent to his grandsire didn’t go unnoticed, heightening his already tempestuous nerves.

“It is apparent your wife’s grief is not permitting her to uphold her duties-”

Aemond didn’t need to hear anymore. He stood from his chair, letting it clatter to the floor from the force of his movements and didn’t spare a look back at his family as he made his way to the door, his body rigid with fury.

Ignoring the cries of his mother to come back and his grandsire’s warning to not turn his back on them, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

He knew his granside was not overly fond of his union, that he would rather he ally himself with that dastardly Baratheon girl or a plain girl from the Riverlands. He knew it was all to help Aegon’s cause and he couldn’t care less.

No one dared to make eye contact with the feared Prince as he stomped down the halls with an air of fury. He pictured his wife, the playful shove and sarcastic admonishment she would give him for his temper as the maids scurried out of his path in terror.

The thought of her, of the person she no longer was, of what was ripped away from them so viciously only made his blood boil hotter.

His entire body was locked with tension as he stormed into their chambers. He leaned against the closed door, his eye falling closed as he breathed deeply in an effort to regain any ounce of calmness he could reach.

“Hi.”

Her soft voice startled him, his eyes springing open, searching frantically among the room until he landed on her curled up form on the couch by the hearth.

His lips parted in surprise, hope swelling within him at the sight of her out of that bed, washing away every bit of his anger in an instant.

“Hi.” He breathed out, approaching slowly, gauging her reaction as he took a seat next to her, making sure to leave a respectable amount of space between them, as if they were a pair of innocent children, having to put on airs for the court.

“I assume dinner did not go well.”

Aemond let out a low sound, too exhausted and mentally drained to laugh as he slumped, no longer the picture of the perfectly put together Targaryen Prince. He ran a hand over his tired face.

“You are familiar with my family. I’m surprised you had any positive expectations.”

Her lips quirked upwards slightly, more of a barely perceptible twitch of her lips, in a pathetic attempt to convey some semblance of amusement. She couldn’t muster much more in her state.

Aemond watched her intently, noticing the signs of exhaustion, the way she curled up into herself, her eyes dull and marked with dark circles. It hurt him deeply to see her in this state, but he couldn’t deny the relief he felt at the mere fact that she was no longer hiding beneath her sheets.

“You.. you’re out of bed.” He remarked quietly.

She looked over at him, slightly surprised by his words. She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned back deeper into the couch she lay on, as if she could make herself smaller.

“It felt like…” She started slowly, trying to find the words to describe the grief that was overtaking her. “Like a fog had finally lifted, like I could finally control my own body again.”

Aemond nodded slowly, the ache within him only growing more prominent at her words. He reached out, taking her hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the bandage she still wore. He winced slightly at the sight of it, the reminder of that night, of how he had almost lost her and the pain she had been in stirring his devastation yet again.

“Did you eat?”

She clammed up at his question, her eyes quickly casting down to the floor, refusing to look his way.

“I’m not hungry.” She responded monotonously, the response becoming all too familiar to him.

Aemond sighed, pushing past his disappointment, choosing to focus on the relief he felt that she had even gotten out of bed. He’d take whatever progress came, no matter how slow.

The pair of them were left in silence, a tense air around them that had never existed between them before.

She shifted in her spot, hating what they had come to, hating her mind for forcing her to relive her loss over and over, keeping her in this black hole of misery she couldn’t claw her way out of.

As the minutes passed in a dreadful silence, she finally reached her breaking point, her disdain for the state of their marriage for once overtaking her grief.

“Can you read to me… like you used to?” She asked, her voice sounding slightly raspy from disuse.

Aemond looked shocked by her question, but the light that reached his eye was unmistakable, twisting her stomach for the first time in weeks in ways that didn’t signal trauma. The fluttering of nervous butterflies at the sight of him made her feel like she was a child again.

He nodded eagerly and reached for the book that lay on the table beside him, the book he’d been leafing through at night when he couldn’t find sleep, when the guilt became overwhelming that he couldn’t bring himself to lay next to her.

He began to read, stealing occasional looks to her, a hint of a smile playing at his lips as their eyes met each time.

With each passing second, the tension between them slowly abated, leaving the tranquil ease they were used to.

Both of them couldn’t help but think back to how their friendship started, of their days together in the library, the hours she spent listening to Aemond read, the beginning of everything.

She smiled lightly, focusing on the beautiful sound of her husband’s voice. She let her body relax, unclenching each limb that was wrought with stiffness. She shifted, stretching her legs out on the couch, Aemond reflexively moving his book to bring her feet to rest in his lap, laying his other hand over her legs as he had done a thousand times before, reminiscent of late nights reading by the fire after hours of lovemaking.

She smiled and let her head fall back on the pillow behind her, closing her eyes in contentment, letting Aemond’s voice relax her into a state of calm she didn’t think she’d ever feel again.

Slowly, the weight on their shoulders lifted, piece by piece, replacing their soul-crushing hurt with a relative ease, the despair and grief dissipating. It was still there, they both knew they wouldn’t soon forget the thought of their child, but it didn’t feel as strangling as before.

It took time, but she was able to spend more days out of bed, beginning to eat little bites of the food Aemond had brought her, her heart feeling lighter at the sight of his relieved smile with every bite she took.

She would have her moments, when the grief became all consuming once again and she would hate the world for what it took from her, but he would be there every time to embrace her tightly and wipe her tears, to tuck her into their bed and hold her in his arms until she calmed.

“I think of him every second of the day.” She whispered into the darkness, the tightening of Aemond’s arms around her the only indication that he had heard her words.

They didn’t speak much about their child, but it was clear to both of them the loss was never far from their minds. Aemond held her differently, more gently, as if he feared she would crack like porcelain if his touch was anything more than feather-light.

“I do too.” He admitted quietly, his voice strained from the emotions that threatened to break him at the thought of their child. His hand smoothed down the front of her nightgown, resting on her stomach that no longer grew with the life of their babe.

A shuddering breath escaped her, the noise prompting Aemond to pull her in closer to him, his lips pressing to her cheek in a gentle show of affection, one she needed desperately.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered tearfully.

Aemond turned her over so she was facing him, his hand resting on her cheek, his thumb discreetly wiping the tears that had snuck out of the corner of her eye.

“You do not ever need to apologize to me.” He assured her softly, his nose brushing against hers as he regarded her carefully, the sight of her sadness stirring his determination to remind her of what she meant to him, how deeply his love for her ran.

“This is my fault.”

Aemond’s whispered words crashed over her like a wave. Her eyes met his, the sadness reflected in his own mirroring hers, revealing how much they were both struggling, adrift in the sea of grief without a paddle.

“You didn’t do this.” She told him, her voice weak with emotion. “You love our son. I would never doubt that.”

His face twisted, taking a monumental effort not to crumble into tears. She could tell him a million times, but he wouldn’t believe it. He knew what he was, he knew what he did, and nothing would change it.

All he could do was try to live with it.

He tightened his grip on her, moving in closer so there was no inch of his body that wasn’t pressed against hers. He needed her comfort, her closeness, to remind himself there was something worth living for.

He leaned in, kissing her more softly than he could ever recall, their first proper kiss in weeks.

“You mean more to me than anything in this world.” He kissed her again, just as gentle as before. “I would be nothing without you.”

His whispered words made her eyes sting again, though this time for a much different reason. She felt as thought the deep cracks in her heart were beginning to heal, slowly coming back together to be whole again, to love again.

Despite the grief they still felt so strongly, they came back to each other, finding solace in their shared tears and memories of what they had envisioned for their future.

But it couldn’t last forever.

They were curled up on the couch together one afternoon when a knock sounded at their door. She tensed immediately, causing Aemond to tighten his hold on her as he called for the person to enter.

A guard entered their room and bowed respectfully.

“My Prince, Princess. King Aegon has sent for both of you to meet him in the council chambers.”

Aemond tensed, his gaze narrowing as he sat up straighter.

“Both of us?”

“That is what the King has ordered.”

They shared looks of uncertainty, her fear growing greater than his at the prospect of facing his family for the first time since the incident. She’d seen Helaena of course, her sweet friend had been by her side, brightening her day for the past week once she’d been accepting of visitors again.

But she had yet to see Alicent and the thought of coming face to face with Otto and Aegon had her ready to jump back into her bed, pull the sheets over her head and pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

But she had a duty to perform. She couldn’t very well refuse the King, especially not when he was a drunken beast with the temperament of a spoiled toddler.

She smoothed her hair out in an attempt to look more presentable and took Aemond’s arm, the two of them walking slowly, their bodies tense, pits of dread in their stomachs, as if they were headed to the executioner’s block.

They arrived at the council chambers much too quickly. She kept her head down as they entered, but the sound of the Dowager Queen’s voice quickly had her raising her gaze to attention.

“Why is she here?”

She first met her good mother’s look of contempt before shifting to land on Aegon’s lecherous smile and her stomach twisted.

“I invited her here, mother. This concerns her too.”

Aemond looked between his mother and brother incredulously, a sinking feeling growing within him, suddenly dreading having ever left their chambers.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Take a seat, we have much to discuss.” Aegon said, all too cheerfully. Across the table, the Hand sighed heavily, sending a snide look to his grandson for his lack of decorum.

“There are still arrangements to be made for House Tully.” Otto began vaguely, his eyes shifting from Aemond to his wife at his side, mentally preparing himself for the fight that was soon to break out.

“These arrangements concern me?” Aemond asked, his tone already one of hostility.

Alicent cleared her throat and sat up straighter in her seat, her gaze focused solely on her hands, refusing to meet the gaze of her son.

“With Daeron’s marriage agreement securing Storm’s End as our ally, that leaves House Tully to be discussed.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed, his heart picking up its pace, his mother’s refusal to look him in the eye setting his nerves alight.

Aegon rolled his eyes at the delicate nature of the meeting that was taking far too long for his liking.

“You will be betrothed to a Tully daughter, securing their alliance to our side.” Aegon blurted out quickly, ignoring the looks of indignation from his mother and gransire.

Aemond’s face darkened, a sarcastic sounding laugh escaping him, the sound making the hairs on the back of Alicent’s neck stand at attention, for it was a sound far colder than she had ever heard from her son.

“I know you’ve been lost in your cups for years, brother, but surely you remember that I married many moons ago.”

The bitter tone to his voice put everyone on edge.

“Yes, but your wife has been unable to give you a son, a valid enough reason for an annulment, I’d say.”

He didn’t know what pissed him off more, Aegon’s words or the ease with which he had said them, as if it was a decision easily made. Aemond grit his teeth, his deadly glare locked steadily on his brother, a thousand and one threats to his life on the tip of his tongue.

To have their loss thrown into their faces so callously had him seeing red.

But it was the soft hand that brushed over his, desperately seeking comfort, that held him back. He turned to his wife, the brimming tears of defeat in her eyes and the despair in her expression made him want to scream.

She couldn’t possibly think he was going to let this happen.

He turned to Otto, his gaze flaring with anger.

“This is ridiculous, he cannot do this.”

“It is a valid reason.”

Aemond stormed to his feet, the abrupt action causing the guards at the door to put their hands on their swords, threatening him before he could make a move to end the lives of anyone who dared to threaten his marriage.

He seethed, sending a deadly glare to the guards before turning his attention to his mother who sat silently, picking at her nails anxiously.

“Mother?” He asked, fury coursing through him again when she refused to meet his eye.

“You would not be forced from her. Many men take mistresses.”

A choked breath escaped him, his gaze laced with betrayal, his mother’s words like a slap across the face.

“Exactly!” Aegon agreed, all too happy with the turn of events. “Your marriage was already a sham. He was bedding her long before they were betrothed.”

Aemond’s lone eye glared daggers at his brother. He could feel the burning gazes of shame from his mother and grandsire and he couldn’t find it in himself to look their way.

“Not to worry, brother, I could easily keep your whore here with us. Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, maybe I’ll follow in his footsteps and take your sweet wife as my own.”

The smile he sent her made her stomach turn. She would die before she let Aegon touch her.

“I don’t mind sharing her.” Aegon smirked, the sight nausea inducing.

His wife’s hand on his arm was the only thing to stop Aemond from lunging forward to throttle his brother. He was trembling with rage, he had never felt this before, like every inch of him was unraveling, like the bare bones of him were alight with fire.

He turned back to his mother, a sense of satisfaction coursing through him when he saw her flinch at the intensity of the fury in his gaze.

“You cannot be serious.” He said, his voice dangerously quiet. “You cannot let him do this.”

“He is our King, I do not ‘let’ him do anything.” Alicent responded harshly. “You rushed into this marriage without considering our political position. We are at war and we need to do what we can to secure our allies. You have a duty to perform, Aemond.”

He couldn’t bear to hear another word and grabbed his wife's hand, hauling her up from her chair and storming out of the room, practically dragging her behind him as she struggled to keep up with his quick pace.

Alicent sighed heavily as the door slammed behind them, burying her face in her hands.

“Why would you summon her?”

“She deserved to hear what I have planned for her future.”

“You cannot truly be taking her to wife.”

Aegon shrugged. “She’s pretty enough, I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”

Alicent’s disgust was clear in the sneer she sent her son.

“Aemond will never agree to this.”

Otto leaned back in his chair, his mind returning to his first plan.

“Perhaps it’s time we consider more… drastic options.”

“What are you suggesting?” Alicent asked warily.

“Aemond will not budge so we must remove the obstacle in our way.”

The Dowager Queen felt a heavy weight settle on her chest that made it hard to breathe. Her son would never forgive her.

“Surely there is another way.”

“We would not be in this predicament if you had done as I told you and stood your ground against this senseless marriage.” Otto sneered at his daughter. “Her death could have been avoided but it is too late now. We have no options left.”

Alicent kept her head bowed, silently praying to the Gods for forgiveness and begging every higher power that Aemond would never find out her part to play in what would destroy him.

Across the Keep, Aemond slammed the door to the chambers shut, breathing heavily as he leaned against the grand door for a few moments.

“Aemond?”

The sound of her voice, her sweet voice that always brought him comfort, was now only a reminder of the turmoil his family had put him in.

He growled and slammed his fist against the door, over and over again until his knuckles bled.

“Stop!” She screamed, gripping onto his arm, wrenching him away from the door. “Have you gone mad?!”

He was breathing heavily, fury thrumming through his veins, his entire body shaking as his mind went over his brother’s words over again until he saw nothing but red.

“Fucking prick.” He seethed. “He wouldn’t even be on that throne if it weren’t for me. He’d be across the narrow sea, probably dead in some whore’s bed.”

She stayed quiet, letting him rant, expelling his anger so he wouldn’t storm back into the council chambers and separate his brother’s head from his shoulders.

“I have done everything for them. I’ve been the dutiful Prince they wanted me to be and what do I get in return? They want to dismantle my entire life, they want to rip me away from the only good thing I have and for what? For a damned throne he didn’t even want!”

His chest heaved, the image of him reminding her of Vhagar, a wild dragon ready to spit fire.

“I’ll kill him.”

“Aemond, stop.” She finally stepped in, pulling at his arm, stopping him from moving towards the door. “You’re not going to kill your own brother.”

“I won’t let him touch you. He’ll be dead before he can even look at you.” He spoke frantically, his wild eye now staring at her deeply, as if he needed her to hear his promise, as if she didn’t already believe it.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, the weight on her chest so heavy it was a wonder she could even breathe.

“I’ll talk to my mother. I won’t let this happen.”

Her brows furrowed. He had heard his mother, just as she had, she was in agreement with this heinous idea.

“Aemond…” She trailed off, her mind a mess of thoughts, though there was one thing she desperately longed for. “I need to go home.”

He paused, his anxious pacing coming to a sudden stop as he looked at her, ready for her to smile, or to assure him he had heard her wrong. Surely she wasn’t thinking about splitting up, not while the war raged, not when his family was trying to sink their claws into them.

“What?”

“I need to go back to Ixtal.”

“You want to leave? You… you’re leaving me?” Aemond choked out slowly, the tightening of his chest leaving him breathless.

“I don’t want to leave you, that’s the last thing I want, but I cannot stay here.” She spoke tearfully. “It’s been too long since I’ve heard from my parents. I know our letters are being intercepted, they would never let this much time go by without checking in on me. I don’t think they even know I lost the baby, I-I have to see them.”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. All Aemond could comprehend was that she wanted to leave. The only thing he could grasp in his already tumultuous state was that he was losing her. He felt like his entire world was shattering in front of him.

“You can’t do this to me.” He choked out.

Her eyes softened, her heart aching to hear him sound so weak.

“Aemond, I-”

“You aren’t leaving.” He spoke lowly, his voice betraying how scared he truly felt.

She stepped towards him, reaching out to him but he quickly flinched back, his hard gaze landing on her, making her frown deeply, her stomach dropping. He had never once looked at her like that, as if she were the one betraying him.

“Aemond, I’m not safe here.” She told him, her voice weak, portraying just how exhausted she was. “Your family seeks to tear us apart-”

“And you’re making it much easier for them!” Aemond yelled. “You are not leaving and that’s final.”

She scoffed, he had never once spoken to her like this, he had never even raised his voice to her and it had her frustration rising, taking over any ounce of fear that had been plaguing her just seconds ago.

“So you’re going to keep me prisoner? Lock me in our chambers until I comply? Or until I’m forced to watch you marry and bed another woman?”

Aemond’s eye blazed with fury at the mention of his family’s heinous plan. A plan he had no intention of ever complying with.

He grit his teeth, his mind a mess of thoughts that only seemed to infuriate him and spiral him into a pit of fire and gnashing teeth.

He turned on his heel and pulled the door open with such a force, it was a miracle it stayed on its hinges.

“Where are you going?” She called out, but received no answer. The slamming of the door echoing in the room that felt more empty than ever before.

Her lip quivered, her emotions coming to a head, their bleak looking future leaving the desire to scream out until she ran out of breath. She didn’t know the lengths his family would go to supplant her.

She only knew it brought her fear to imagine what their ire would mean for her.

She was left to stew in her devastating thoughts for hours, Aemond’s absence from her side a glaring reminder of how truly alone she felt. Since her father had left, since this war had started, she scarcely recognized the place she had grown, the place she had fallen in love, the place that had been filled with so much laughter and delight.

It seemed like it had all been a dream, a fantasy she had created for herself.

She barely recognized her own husband anymore.

As night crept on the Keep, as she refused her dinner once again, she crawled into her bed, pulling the sheets high around her, the racing of her heart not having calmed since the meeting, since she began to fear her marriage being forced from her.

The thought was too much to fathom. She couldn’t stay there and watch as Aemond married someone else. She couldn’t watch as the woman’s stomach swelled with his child.

The thought made her sick.

No matter how much Aemond would sink his heels in and stand against it, it was still the King’s order. He couldn’t deny it forever. The second he would be parted from her side, forced to fight in this war, she was sure his family would take action, rip her out of their shared chambers, probably throw her in the dungeons so she wouldn’t cause any trouble and ruin their plans.

She longed for her home, to be with her family again, wrapped in their warm, safe embrace.

As their chamber door opened, Aemond finally returned, she closed her eyes and settled her breathing, pretending to sleep to avoid the inevitable tension still locked between them.

She’d had enough conflict for the day, perhaps her entire life.

She remained still as she listened to him shed himself of his clothes and she tried with all her might not to cry as there was no dip of the bed beside her, as she heard him settle on the couch for the night.

Well... I can only apologize

I promise this story has a happy ending xx

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sarahscribbles · 11 months

Text

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 �� 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟔𝐤

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @inklore

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The God of Mischief is laughing beside you.

It’s quiet against the happy chatter of the TV but still sends a rush of warmth straight to your heart - like taking a straight shot of Tennessee whiskey on a winter’s evening. It’s nothing like the bitter, sardonic sound he reserves for most of the team - this laughter is light and joyous and unquestionably happy.

It’s…nice, and it’s quickly becoming your favourite sound in the world.

Much like how Loki is becoming your favourite person in the world. It’s been gradual, like the first blooming flowers of spring, and, if you’re being honest, entirely unexpected. Only a few months ago Loki was nothing more than a thorn in your side. Now, you can’t imagine your life without him.

In a short space of time, he’s become your best friend and your confidante; he’s the first person you want to run to when you have a bad day, the first person you want to run to when you have a good day, and, steadily, he’s starting to feel like home.

He isn’t a monster intent on destruction or a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

He’s just Loki, the man whose happiness is slowly becoming yours.

His chest bounces beneath your ear again. You have no idea what the narrator has just said, but it was evidently something that Loki found amusing, and his laughter pulls an easy smile across your face. “I love hearing you laugh,” you murmur quietly, nuzzling even further into his side.

Maybe it’s because the man who so many people are still quick to call a villain is reclined back on your sofa with his legs stretched out on the massive ottoman, maybe it’s because he’s cradling you to his cashmere clad chest like he never wants to let you go, or maybe it’s because of the random kisses he’s been pressing to the top of your head all evening.

Whatever it is, you’re overcome with softness for him. Behind the aloof, icy facade is a golden heart, and you’re seeing more and more of the goodness that lies within it every single day.

“Is that so? Then we should watch your little mortal box more often, darling. It’s rather endearing to hear Midgardians attempt to understand Asgard,” he reponds, mirth lighting up his voice while his fingertips trail softly along your upper arm.

He misses the fond roll of your eyes only because something else has caught his attention that he must pass comment on, and you listen enthralled while he explains the actual differences between Valhalla and Fólkvangr. You’ve both been watching this documentary on Norse mythology for over an hour, and Loki has spent a large chunk of it pointing out every wrong detail no matter how small.

Each deep, exasperated sigh and pronounced click of his tongue has you giggling like a child beneath his arm, to which he squeezes you that little bit tighter. He’s proud of himself, and it makes you wonder if he’s actually annoyed by the portrayal of his home or if it’s all an act to make you laugh.

With Loki, either is highly likely.

“Do you know what amuses me, darling?” he says lightly, still trailing those elegant fingers along your arm. You expect to hear something more about what the documentary has gotten wrong, but that’s not what comes. “A few months ago, you actively despised me. Now, I believe you would climb into me if you could.” His voice is soft, leaving no room for you to doubt that he’s only teasing.

You burrow deeper into his embrace. “I didn’t despise you,” you reply with a small smile.

His arm tightens around your shoulders again and something warm and golden blooms in the pit of your stomach. It’s too soon to call it what you know it is, but you feel the flame burn brighter with every second you spend with him.

The man you’re currently twisted around is brilliant and loving and your heart fits right in the palm of his hand. It’s safe there, you know. You trust him, even though everyone you know has warned you not to.

It’s one of the easiest things you’ve ever done.

Loki’s chest rumbles with laughter again. “Darling, you despised me,” he repeats, but you know he’s smiling along with you.

You pretend to huff, but reach out to poke his side, delighting in the way he squirms beneath your tickling touch. “I didn’t! I didn’t like you, but I didn’t despise you, either,”

“That knife you threw at me in the training room after Yule begs to differ,” he shoots back seamlessly, while you force back laughter at the memory of his face frozen in shock at your expert aim.

You shrug lightly into his chest. “Natasha told me I needed to practice more.

“Darling, I can assure you she meant to practice on inanimate objects.

You tilt your head back to peer up at him with a teasing smile. “You were inanimate; you were standing in the doorway.”

Loki releases an exasperated sigh but wraps both arms tightly around you to pull you fully into his lap. “Little menace,” he replies while you pretend to squirm in his grip. It only makes him grip you tighter until you’re clamped inescapably against his chest.

Through the rich material of his sweater, you can feel his firm chest and the taut muscles of his stomach. The man is a work of art, yet it’s you who's straddling his lap - an unremarkable mortal.

He smiles at you as you continue to admire him, and it’s a smile that’s almost shy. “What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours, hmm?” he asks quietly, resting his hands on your hips.

“You. Thinking about you,” you answer, watching the faint tinge of pink that colours his cheeks.

His hands slide up from your hips only a fraction until he can dip his thumbs underneath the hem of your shirt to trace absentminded circles on your bare skin. It’s an innocent touch, but it sends something electric shooting along your spine.

“Oh? Do elaborate, darling,” he purrs.

Loki’s eyes are sparkling with amusement, but you can read the need for praise that’s swirling deep beneath the surface. It’s one thing you can’t deny him.

“I was thinking about how beautiful you are,” you tell him, sliding your hands from around his neck to stroke his biceps. “And how lucky I am,” you continue.

The muscles in his neck flex and you feel your resolve crumble to dust. It’s been calling out to you from the moment he pulled you into his lap, and you can no longer deny yourself the luxury of pressing your lips to his skin.

Loki’s broken inhale is instant and his fingers curl tighter around your waist. Your teeth are quickly grazing along his throat while you suck a bruise into his skin. You want to mark him, to stake your claim on him.

You want to leave no doubt that this god - this beautiful, wonderful man - is yours.

“Darling, you need -,” he begins, but it melts to a moan when you run your tongue along his neck. “Darling,” he tries again.

You silence him with a kiss. It’s slow and deep, and when you tangle your fingers in his hair to tug it, he rolls his hips experimentally against you. The hard length of him presses wondrously against you, coaxing your hips to grind down on top of him. Loki’s breath catches in his throat while he kisses you, and you know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth.

“Darling, anymore of that and -,”

“I’m ready,” you interrupt him, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m ready.”

His eyes soften as they take you in, scanning your face for even a breath of hesitation. “Are you sure?” he asks, while his thumbs return to stroking your sides.

“Yes,” you answer firmly, resting your forehead against his. “No more waiting. Please.”

In one smooth movement, his arms are wrapping around your middle to press you tightly against him. One strong hand weaves its way into your hair while his lips find yours again. There’s a new hunger to his kiss - it’s raw and possessive and filled with a need that has been simmering beneath the surface for months.

You expect him to flip you onto your back and finally make you his right here on the sofa, but his hands eagerly begin to run down your back and grip beneath your thighs. Suddenly, he’s on his feet and your legs are locking around his waist. You can’t help but giggle against his lips, because he’s not letting you break this kiss even for a second.

“Beautiful thing,” he whispers into your mouth, effortlessly carrying you from your living area and down the hallway toward your bedroom.

The Norse mythology documentary is long forgotten.

His lips stay locked to yours until your back hits the bedroom door, and only then does he break away to curse as he fumbles with the handle. You laugh quietly - because for some reason it’s oddly endearing - and press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Loki wastes no time in kicking the door closed when you’re finally through. Vaguely, you notice a faint green shimmer cascade over the wood as it settles in the doorframe, but it’s pushed from your mind by the frenzy of kisses that Loki is pressing to every inch of your face.

“Do you know,” he murmurs, trailing a haphazard line of kisses along your cheeks, “how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”

His admission fans the flames of desire burning fiercely in your stomach. How have you lasted so long without inviting him into your bed? How have you not had this man again and again until his name is seared into your soul? How have you not realised how fiercely he burns for you too?

“Then take me. Please,” you murmur against his lips.

His answering smile is soft and gives you another swift kiss. “Begging won’t be necessary, darling.”

With surprising gentleness, he lays you on the bed amongst your pile of pillows. Your legs fall open instantly for him, to which he quickly climbs between. There’s a hesitance to his movements, almost as if he’s scared to lay a finger on you.

“I’m not going to break,” you say with a smirk. “You can touch me. I need you to touch me, Loki.”

Your hands find the hem of his sweater, coaxing it along his back until he’s helping you pull it off. You’ve seen him shirtless before - many times - but your fingers still reach hungrily for his chest. Loki shivers beneath your touch and pride blooms happily in your stomach.

An unremarkable mortal you may be, but you have a god shivering beneath your fingers.

Slowly, his hands slip underneath your shirt, and cool fingers glide along your stomach to push it over your head. His eyes travel appreciatively over you before settling on your breasts.

“Enchanting, beautiful thing,” he says, leaning to press his lips to your neck.

The reverence in his voice has a rush of heat pulse between your thighs while you grasp his strong shoulders. Too many times, previous lovers have made you feel like you were nothing more than an object, something that was conveniently there for them to fuck.

Not with Loki, though. The man has barely undressed you and he’s treating you like the most precious thing his hands have ever held.

Boldly, you reach for his belt, shooting him a suggestive smirk while you unfasten it. He lets you work, diving in for another blistering kiss as you undo the button and open the zipper. The taste of him on your tongue and the feel of him beneath your fingers is electrifying, and there’s a newfound urgency in your movements as you try to push his jeans off.

After a few strategic tugs they slide over his hips, granting you the freedom to run your hands greedily over the firm swell of his ass. You can’t help but moan shamelessly into his mouth while simultaneously squeezing him with both hands. He’s a work of art beneath your appreciative fingertips.

Something close to a growl rises from Loki’s chest and he gently nips at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he purrs lightly.

Grinning, you squeeze his ass again. “It’s been my evil plan all along.”

“Ah! I’ve been bested by a beautiful little devil!” he teases and lowers his lips back to your neck.

His kisses are slow and deliberate and punctuated by the occasional nip of his teeth. You know what he’s doing; you know that every mark he’ll place on you tonight is a claim, a message to anyone who looks that he’s finally made you his.

The molten beast of arousal burns fiercer between your thighs. You hope and pray that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. You want everyone to know that you belong to him.

Loki interlocks the fingers of one hand with yours, all while slowly trailing a path of kisses along your chest and down your stomach. It’s silent adoration - a god worshipping his mortal - and he only stops when his lips meet the waistband of your leggings. You feel him hesitate, feel him run the pad of his thumb across the material while he lifts his eyes to yours.

It only takes you a second to realise he’s asking for permission.

You nod quickly and breathe out a quiet “yes.”

Loki presses a final kiss to your stomach and gently squeezes your hand. He lets go to hook both sets of fingers into your leggings, taking great care not to jostle you around while he tugs them - along with your underwear - easily down your legs. You’re suddenly bare before him and, stupidly, you feel a rush of nervousness pulse through you. This man has slept with gods and goddesses and beings more beautiful than you can even imagine.

How can you compare?

Glittering green eyes travel hungrily over you. The earlier softness is still shining there clear as day, but now it’s swirling and mixing openly with undisguised lust. It causes a gentle heat to burn beneath your skin and, almost subconsciously, you attempt to cover yourself.

But Loki is having none of it.

His hands reach to clasp yours and he folds your fingers easily between his, pinning your arms to the mattress. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on,” he says slowly, making sure you hear every word.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you repeat his question back to him, though even you can hear the shakiness of your own voice.

Loki’s answering smile is infectiously boyish. “Is it working?”

He can likely hear your heart thundering in your chest, but you still reply with, “maybe. I’m not sure yet.”

“Hmm, perhaps I need to try a little harder?” he says, still grinning impishly.

His hands slide to gently grip your wrists so he can guide your arms around his neck. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes your heart swell in your chest because he trusts you enough to touch him. You hum contentedly and tangle your hands loosely in his hair, twisting silky strands around your fingertips as he drops his lips back to your chest.

His kisses are slower now and the warmth of his lips lingers like a dream against your skin. It’s as though he finds his pleasure from simply kissing you, like that alone is enough to send him freefalling into bliss. It’s a heady thought that has your back arching, greedily searching for more of him or maybe offering up more of yourself.

You aren’t entirely sure.

Loki’s lips travel lower in tandem with his hands that are curled around your middle. His touch is so intoxicating, so wonderfully addictive that you can’t stop the quiet whimper that slips from between your lips. You feel him smile against the skin of your lower stomach, feel his thumbs trace tiny circles against your hipbones, and when he hovers just millimeters from your cunt, you automatically hold your breath.

When nothing happens you flick your eyes questioningly down to his.

Loki is gazing at you with desire storming in his eyes, so much so that they’re almost completely black. He looks like a man starved and doesn’t break his gaze from yours as he bends his head to lick a firm, slow stripe along the length of your cunt. Electricity crackles almost joyously through your blood, setting every inch of you aflame and pulling a shameless moan from the depths of your throat.

Through the haze of your desire, you feel Loki gently squeeze your hips. “Ok?” he asks quietly.

The laugh you release is short and strangled. “Y-yes! God, yes!”

A wolfish smile curls across his face. You watch transfixed as he dips back between your thighs, never tearing his eyes from yours as he buries his tongue in your cunt. A volcano of pleasure erupts in your core, twisting through every inch of you with each skillful flick of his tongue. You groan, you whimper, you grip Loki’s curls so tightly that you’re surprised he isn’t howling from the pain.

“Ugh…fuck!” you groan when he slips his hands beneath your ass to pull you closer.

His mouth is warm and wet and talented - god, it’s talented - and when his tongue begins to lap over your clit you can’t help but buck and grind against his face. You feel him hum appreciatively against your cunt, and he swirls his tongue firmly over your swollen clit once, twice more.

“Loki!” you whimper. “Fuck, Loki, keep doing that! Please!”

He’s only too happy to grant your request. His tongue traces swirls and patterns endlessly against your clit. It’s just enough pressure and just the right rhythm that the coil in your stomach quickly begins to wind tight. Every expert flick and swirl of Loki’s tongue is like diesel to a flame, setting your core alight until you’re completely engulfed by him.

If you died right now, you would greet death happily.

Loki continues to lap at your cunt like a man starved, and when your back arches off the bed, he slips his hands further beneath your back to clamp you firmly against his warm mouth. It’s pleasure like you’ve never experienced - white hot and all consuming - and before long you’re balancing beautifully on the edge.

“Loki…Loki, please…I’m…m’ gonna come!” you say, unsure if it’s a warning or a plea.

The first tendrils of your release are licking through your core and each tiny cry that passes from your lips only encourages the god between your legs. The warm wetness of his tongue laps perfectly at your clit, making stars begin to dance at the edge of your vision, but when he moans against you - a deep, satisfied rumble of sound - you know you’re gone.

Your orgasm engulfs you suddenly and without warning. The force of it sends your eyes rolling in your head and your hands tangling in Loki’s hair like a vice. His name leaves your lips in a scream to the heavens, and his head doesn’t stop bobbing between your legs until you’re panting and boneless on top of the mattress.

Amidst the lavender haze that has settled around you like a favourite blanket, you feel Loki press a soft kiss to your still sensitive clit. It makes you jolt and pulls a strangled sound from deep in your throat, but then his thumbs are drawing lazy circles over your hip bones.

I’m here.

His lips begin a slow path from between your thighs, pressing gently and haphazardly along your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. He kisses across your collarbone and dips below your chin, making sure not to miss even an inch of your throat.

Never in your life have you felt more desired.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs before his lips find yours. "Worthy of the gods.” He kisses you deeply and the taste of you is still heavy on his tongue. It’s electrifying and only serves to reignite the flames of arousal that he’s only just quenched.

You can’t help but giggle against his lips and reluctantly break his kiss. “The only god I want is you,” you say quietly, cupping his face in your hands.

He gazes down at you silently, looking as though you’ve just placed the secrets of the universe in his hands. It’s both endearing and heartbreaking - that he’s struggling to believe he’s the one you want - and it fills you with a renewed purpose to ensure this man never goes to sleep feeling unwanted.

You tug him back down until his lips are back on yours. His kiss is slower this time, languid, as though he wishes to use every last second to commit the taste of you to heart.

A god drunk on the taste of his mortal.

“Touch me. Please,” he rasps, breaking from your lips for only a second.

It’s a plea you’re only too happy to answer. Slowly - because you want to enjoy every last inch of this man - you slide your hands from where they’ve been resting on his biceps. You marvel at the broadness of his shoulders and drink in the smooth expanse of his muscled back. Lightly, you trace your fingertips along the hollow of his spine, delighting in how he shivers beneath your touch.

But it’s nothing compared to the deep, appreciative moan that tumbles from his lips when your hands once again squeeze the smooth swell of his ass.

You laugh into his mouth and rest your arms back across his shoulders. “You are so beautiful,” you whisper, raising a hand to brush some stray curls behind his ear.

He catches your wrist before it can rest your hand back on his shoulder and presses a kiss to the centre of your palm. “You, my dove, are a treasure amongst mortals,” he says softly, all while positioning himself between your welcoming thighs. His forehead finds yours at the same time his cock nudges teasingly against you. “Let me pleasure you, darling, please. Let me give you every part of me.”

Easily, you wrap your legs around his waist where they fit like a missing puzzle piece. “If you don’t, I’ll be very upset,” you tease him.

He grins widely so widely at you that the corners of his eyes crinkle endearingly. “Well, we certainly can’t have that,” he replies, and slowly, you feel him begin to ease into you.

You inhale deeply as the blunt head of his cock slips inside you. It’s barely anything at all but already your head is rolling back on the pillow and your eyes are slipping shut. You knew Loki would feel good, but nothing could have prepared you for just how good.

You want to lose yourself in the feel of his body in yours, but before you can even draw breath two cool fingers are on your chin, encouraging you to tilt your head forward.

“Keep your eyes on me, my darling,” he commands softly and you instantly snap them open. “Good girl.”

His eyes don’t leave yours as he eases himself fully inside you, giving you all the time you need to adjust. He’s big, and every added inch has you clenching joyously around him if only to hear the groans that spill from him each time you do.

“Fuck,” he groans, dipping his head between his shoulders when you clench particularly hard. “Little vixen. Beautiful little menace,” he continues, dropping haphazard kisses to your cheeks and chin.

When you can take no more of him he coaxes your hand from where it’s been clamped to his shoulder, clutching it tightly in his own as though he fears you’ll melt beneath the cotton sheets.

You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” you assure him, giving his hand a squeeze.

A quiet puff of laughter escapes him and he dips his head. You see the sheepish look that settles across his handsome face and your heart swells for him, for this man who has known more loss than many would deem fair.

You’ve barely left his side these past few months, but still he fears that he’ll lose you.

“I know,” he answers softly, sounding unmistakably embarrassed. “Forgive me. Sometimes…sometimes I still struggle to believe that someone like you chose someone like me.”

Your free hand is instantly cupping his cheek and your thumb is caressing his flushed skin. Does he know that you feel the exact same way? “I will always choose you,” you tell him firmly.

He hasn’t even been yours for a year, but you know with unwavering certainty that you would follow this man to the ends of the earth and beyond.

Loki presses his cheek into your palm and leans in to steal another chaste kiss from your lips. “My darling mortal,” he murmurs with a roll of his hips that has you groan. “My beautiful girl.”

You can’t look away as he expertly begins to build you up. You’re lost to the pretty gleam of his green eyes as they hold yours and how stray strands of ink black hair fall to frame his face; lost to the way his jaw falls slack when you roll your hips to meet his and clench around his cock; lost to how your name falls like spring rain from his lips, like it’s the only word he’ll ever need to know.

The edge crests like a wave in your core within minutes, each ripple making you dig your heels into his ass in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, deeper. Your climax is bubbling white hot in the pit of your stomach, promising to drown you in pleasure like you’ve never known if you can just tip over the edge.

“Loki…,” you cry, twisting a hand into his hair for leverage. “Loki…I’m ready…please!”

His hands grips yours like a vice. “Look at me,” he pleads, and your eyes quickly settle back on his. “Cum for me, my darling.”

With five words, you go soaring off the edge.

Your orgasm rips through you like a storm, each blinding wave of pleasure submerging you deeper until tiny white stars begin to dance at the edges of your vision. It’s all consuming and so powerful that it robs you of almost all your senses, though you’re vaguely aware of Loki burying his face in your neck as his own climax pulls him under.

He’s ruined you for anyone else.

As the final ripples of your release fade in the aftermath, you can hear Loki panting in your ear. You untangle your hand from his hair to stroke it and turn your head to press a light kiss to his temple.

“Fuck,” you breathe out. It’s all you're capable of saying as you lie boneless on the bed, still basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm.

“Fuck.” Loki echoes, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him.

You burrow happily into his side and feel him drape an arm around your shoulders. His heartbeat is still thundering beneath your ear - something that makes pride blossom in your stomach.

“Darling?” Loki speaks up after only a minute of silence.

“Hmm?” you hum back, excitement already beginning to fizz between your legs.

“I’d like to do that again…if you don’t mind.”

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfiction

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pearlywritings · 1 year

Text

In father's embrace

synopsis: Genshin men as dads and what your family dynamic is like.

pairings: Ayato, Thoma, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Tighnari x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, mentions of pregnancy

word count: 7.2k words

a/n: I really wanted to write Diluc and Kaeya, but realized that I can't create something new since I already have a family AU with them. Here's the materlist's link if you are interested! Also you can find the HSR version of this here!

Ayato

This man is a dad of twins - a boy and a girl. Both babies took more in their mom’s appearance, but have his soft violet eyes and honestly? This man adores you, his wife, so when he sees your kids develop more and more of your features as they grow - his heart can’t be fuller.

He is a fun and patient dad - he will teach them anything they ask him to, and offer guidance, yet still leaving space for them to learn some on their own. He also enjoys when they sneak into his study during his working hours (because mom decided to take a nap, and Thoma went out grocery shopping, and they are so-so boooooored), letting them wander around the room for the nth time, touching all the trophies and scrolls he has there (all the things that could be of danger were long removed), and when they eventually feel sleepy, crawl closer to him to nap, resting their heads on his thighs while he stays in his kneeling position, writing.

Even if they look a lot like you, it’s so easy to tell that they are his kids - the mischief babbling in their little bodies is untamable for the longest time, and Ayato loves it. Sure, sometimes it is a headache, and mostly for you, but at least they didn’t develop strange tastes in food like their father. More than once they used their similar looks to play pranks on the staff members or their parents, dressing in each other’s clothes and going about their day like that. What does their father think of it? Two words - “promising” and “entertaining”.

They are also their aunt’s absolute delight. Ayaka adores them, showering the two with gifts and attention. And even though she and Ayato are not twins like her niece and nephew - she still feels warmly nostalgic whenever she witnesses their interactions.

Best aunt - thanks to her Vision the twins experienced the joy of ice skating, lessons of etiquette became more fun (though still effective), more days off were granted to her brother to spend time with his family (she practically started stealing his paperwork at some point to fulfill it on her own). She and Thoma are making your life so much easier and for the first time Ayato truly feels at peace and like he is living his life at its fullest. The quiet rooms of the Kamisato Estate are finally filled with joyous laughter and summer warm happiness - his kids are bringing back the light to the gloomily strict atmosphere of the family house.

But sometimes the two only add the workload to his plate in the most wild ways possible.

Ayato closely observes one of his kids - presumably the son - as both the parent and the child are sitting in the room dedicated to the twins’ studying. They have the best tutors Inazuma could provide and both showed exceptional results in all their classes. Even if one of them failed an examination on the first try - the second one was always a success. That was until you walked in on your daughter rewriting her history test, only to discover your son in her place, with his sister’s clothes and blue locks tied in her manner. And that’s when the truth came to light.

Honestly it was no surprise their teachers never suspected anything - only four people could tell the twins apart easily - you, Ayato, Ayaka and Thoma, though the latter had trouble with that occasionally, and your children made sure to speak as similar as possible once the idea of replacing each other appeared. Of which you also learned that day Ayato and you sat them down and urged to tell you everything. The scolding about cheating from you and a lecture from Ayato on the topic of how important it is to do as good as you can on your own were provided, but in the end you just hugged them and said that you do not expect them to be perfect in everything, which left the kids relieved.

But from then on Ayato has been in charge of supervising the twins during their exam retakes. Just like today.

“Public diplomacy, national security, diplomatic etiquette, hm…” the head of the Kamisato clan skips across the paper with questions the tutor gave him beforehand on the latest topic of international relationships. He notices how his child doesn’t fidget and doesn’t even let the eyes run across the room - the straight posture and neutral expression etched on a thirteen-year old’s face is admirable. But he does note the uncharacteristic stiffness. Along with another major thing.

“Princess, where is your brother?”

Eyes widen slightly, but that’s enough to prove that he is correct. He watches his daughter hesitate for a moment, though there is no doubt in his mind that neither of his children would ever lie to him or their mother. And the defeated sigh shows as much.

“Sorry, father,” the girl lowers her gaze in apology. Fishing a hairpin from behind her brother’s kimono lapel, she makes quick work of collecting her hair. Then she looks into his eyes again.

“He is in my room, pretending to be me and probably stressing. Before you ask why we decided to switch - he begged me to.” “Oh?” Ayato puts the papers to the side and rests his chin on an open palm. “Could you please elaborate?” “Remember how we went to the Kujo residence for a playdate?” Her father hums, already getting a vague understanding of what’s going on. “And when we accidentally overheard how the oldest son was being scolded by his father for not doing enough in his studies. And brother got it into his head that if he keeps failing not once but more times, you are going to be disappointed in him. I know he studied for this retake, I helped him with that, but at the last moment he got anxious, and, well, here I am. Like all those years ago.”

“I see,” the man in front of her nods, and she doesn’t see any negative emotion painted on his face. Quite the contrary, he smiles.

“Be a dear, go get your brother and come back together. Change the clothes though. Oh, and tell him I am not mad, okay?” “Okay, father,” she mirrors his smile and relief flashes in her eyes - the girl truly cares for her twin, and that warms Ayato’s heart.

When half an hour later both arrive there is already a table served with tea and sweets, and the head of the Kamisato family immediately invites them to take their seats. His daughter looks calm, which can’t be said about his son - the boy has the most miserable look on his face, holding onto his sister’s hand and staring at the surface of the tea in his cup. Ayato decides to speak first.

“Kujo family is the last people one should take as an example,” his firm, yet reassuring tone makes his son glance at him. “Sure, they are respected, but their methods are too old-fashioned, and the way they treat their children is no good. Do you understand, little blossoms?”

They nod and even if Ayato doesn’t see it, he knows they squeeze each other’s hand.

“You better do, because neither me nor your mother will ever push you to the point of devastation. In studies as well,” the boy bites his lip. “I am serious. I will not be disappointed in either of you if you have to retake one test again and again. Striking for perfection is a good goal, but not when you torture yourself physically and emotionally to achieve it.”

“But father…” his son lifts his eyes and stares right into Ayato’s and it shoots right through his chest how vulnerable the kid looks. “You are perfect. And I don’t want to let you down…” “Me? Perfect? Oh, dear,” the man can’t hold a light laugh back. “Ask your mother and she’ll prove you so wrong, trust me. And none of you is letting me down - you should be proud of yourselves. At such young age you both show bright talents and knowledge - and it’s okay if it’s not the case for every possible field of studies. This is general education, later you’ll get more practice to catch up, or concentrate on your strongest abilities. Listen,” he addresses his son specifically, and the boy cocks his head to the side a little, “be more confident and trust your sister if she insists you are doing well. Don’t be afraid to ask questions and come to me if you feel unsure, alright?”

The boy glances down, letting the words sink in, and Ayato patiently waits. In his mind he admits that it's his oversight - he should've noticed earlier that one of his kids has been struggling. Now he will make sure to change that.

Eventually his son deeply sighs and looks at the adult in front of him with trust reflecting in those pretty eyes.

“Alright,” he nods with a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. Slowly standing up and letting go of his twin’s hand, he rounds the table and steps right into Ayato’s outstretched arms, wrapping his own around the man’s neck.

“Thank you, father,” he whispers right before burying his face into haori-clad shoulder. “I love you so much.”

And the man smiles, whispering those words back and soothingly patting his back, as the daughter shows him thumbs up with the tenderest look in her eyes.

Thoma

This man is such a sweet dad - nearly cried, when your first child, a girl, was delivered. Same was when a couple years later the son was born too.

Juggling his work and caring for his kids was never an issue for him. A big part of it was played by the Kamisato couple, who allowed him to bring first his daughter and then his son to work, when each of them was old enough. Which, most likely, was what prompted the Kamisatos to have their own kids - one day years ago you and Thoma wanted to have a date night - one you haven't had in a while - and Ayato's wife offered to watch your little baby girl. Does it need to be mentioned she wanted her own kids after that?

Thoma's kids are taught to be polite and respectful, but not overly reserved and quiet, no - in your own house the man would literally let them destroy the kitchen in attempts to bake something as an experiment and then turn cleaning it up into a fun game of three, or four, if you decide to join.

He is that kind of dad, who constantly falls asleep with both kids nestled on his chest and his arms wrapped around them, with a book of tales either lying on his stomach or abandoned on the floor. You literally mastered your technique of waking him up without stirring the kids, so you could bring the two to their rooms.

Your kids love walks, whether it’s in the city or admiring the scenery near the Kamisato Estate. When it’s in the city though, the four of you attract attention without a fail. Especially elders, who coo at the image of Thoma holding his daughter’s hand and you cradling your little boy to your chest. You are literally showered in little gifts and are offered many discounts, because everyone adores and respects your family. At some point for a short period of time a rumor was running around Inazuma City, that if you get to see all four members of the Kamisato retainer’s family, luck is going to follow you through the day. Thoma had to ensure it came to an end, wanting to keep you three safe and not being followed around in your leisure time.

To summarize it’s needless to say that this man is a natural when it comes to being a father. He already aced being a great husband, you never had any doubt that the same would be true about becoming a dad. And it brings you so much joy that your kids are aware of it.

Making your husband's lunch is an essential part of your morning routine. Sure, the Kamisato Estate provides its workers with meals and breaks, but knowing how much Thoma loves your home-cooked meals, you'll never refuse him this pleasure.

On days like today you pack two more lunches, for your kids - yesterday they expressed their desire to go and help their dad. But you are more than aware of the plan they've had in their mind for the longest time. That's why you turn a blind eye and chop fruits particularly loudly, when you ten- and four-year olds sneak into the kitchen and hide something in the wrapper of an already packed lunch.

And when they were leaving and every member of your family gave you kisses, you couldn’t help but notice the decreased stack of small papers you have in the hall to make notes.

Maybe next time, you’ll ask your kids to join.

Thoma bringing his kids to work is always a pleasant surprise to the Estate’s staff. Even the guards by the gates can’t keep their composure, when the girl cheerfully greets them, wishing a good day, and the boy softly chirps a little “hi” and shyly waves his hand at them. Next person they always meet is Furuta - and the old lady adores their greeting ritual and is the one who looks after the fellow housekeeper’s kids when they help or play outside. But if usually the woman just makes small compliments to the children and chides Thoma for not bringing them over more, today his daughter breaks the routine - she suddenly lets go of his hand and quickly runs to her father’s colleague and asks her to speak in the corner. A bit stunned, the blonde watches the two move farther and start quietly talking. The boy in his arms curiously watches them and then, as if realizing something claps his hands.

“What is it, cookie?” But the only answer he receives is merry giggling.

The next strange thing happens, when the three of them arrive in his room - kids, looking as suspicious as possible, start making excuses to go and play first, though they usually insist on following him around unless they get bored, and as they disappear behind the door with his daughter’s bag - Master Ayato requests his visit.

Getting out of his office only an hour later, Thoma has to rush to his duties, realizing that he’ll have to speed up if he wants to finish everything the blue-haired man has just told him to do. He even handed him a list with tasks, which never happened. What’s going on?

Not finding the children in his room, he decides to start without them, assuming they'll join him later. Okay, what’s the first thing on the list… Check all the chairs. Alright…

Luckily this piece of furniture isn’t numerous in the residence, giving the culture of Inazuma, and Thoma knows perfectly every single room where he can find them. What he wasn’t expecting to find is the folded papers on the seats of some of those. Upon unfolding each revealed a single letter. Strange… Well, at least the chairs themselves are in the required condition.

Tucking the papers in his pocket and fishing the list out of the other one, the man checks his next destination. Check all the bushes around the main building. Blinking, he looks again. No, the handwriting is definitely his master’s, but the contents? In his style, but why so sudden?

Following every single point, Thoma manages to find in total 13 papers with letters on it, before the list stops being weird and advises the housekeeper to dedicate the time before lunch to his common responsibilities. Which he, with an exhale of relief, proceeds to fulfill.

When the time for lunch rolls around, kids, as if magically, reappear at his side and innocently smile at him, asking how he spent his time. He promises to tell them over lunch.

Lunch, that brings him four more pieces of paper. And suddenly, both kids are not that interested in food.

“Make a phrase, make a phrase!” His daughter chants, holding her brother in her lap, and the little boy claps his hands, chanting ‘make! make!’. Already realizing that all of this was their meticulously crafted plan (to participate in which they managed to convince quite a few people), Thoma doesn’t oppose, putting all the papers on the table in front of him.

S V E E T S I R H E Y B T

And A P A P which he got from his lunch.

“The” is guessed immediately. “Is” as well. When he reaches for the “A P A P” to add it to the pile, the girl suddenly lunges forward, putting her hand on top of it and shaking her head. Alright, not yet.

S V E E T R Y B is left. Okay, maybe “very” and… “best”!

Moving the pieces around in utter concentration, the man puts the words in the right order. And only then the ten-year old lifts her hand. With a baited breath he moves the four remaining pieces a little more and his heart skips a beat, and the summer-green eyes widen.

PAPA IS THE VERY BEST

“Surprise!” The girl beams with the widest smile, hugging her brother. “We wrote it together! See how some of the letters are clumsy? He did it!” She proudly looks at the boy, gently ruffling his hair. “Recently he was trying to learn how to write! You are the first one who sees it, even mom didn’t! And we chose this phrase, because- dad, are you crying?”

Warm silent tears are indeed running down his cheeks and the man nods, not trusting his voice. A whirlwind of emotions overtakes him, making it a little hard to formulate his thoughts, but he reacts immediately when his kids rush to him, opening his arms and catching them in a tight embrace. He'll tell them how touched he is, he'll praise them, he'll declare his love for them again and again. A tiny bit later. Now he just needs to hold them and hear that he, for real, "is the very best papa".

Alhaitham and Kaveh

Listen, just LISTEN - imagine these men’s pure shock when their wives surprise them over a double date at Kaveh’s house with their pregnancies. Like, AT THE SAME TIME. Kaveh is gaping at his woman, but Alhaitham is no better - a glass with wine frozen in air in the middle of his attempt to put it back on the table as his eyes are not blinking, glued to his spouse. The blonde would be the first one to break from his stupor and tightly hug his wife, kissing all over her face all laughter and little jumping in place, while his junior would finally put the glass down and beckon his woman onto his lap and bury his face in her neck with arms around her body, quietly thanking her for amazing news.

The kids are not even formed in the women’s stomachs, but they already have a story to share.

Alhaitham

Despite not giving the impression the man likes the idea of being a father to a child together with you, his beloved. Of course the pregnancy was planned, but even he couldn’t predict the possibility of you and his friend’s wife being pregnant at the same time. Though he does find it a little amusing and can’t lie to himself that watching you and your female friend discuss the nursery designs, the clothes, the gender, the two babies becoming akin to siblings warms his heart.

He always loved quiet evenings with you, but later, as your bump got more and more prominent, he finds himself craving your back pressed to his chest and his palms cradling your rounding stomach. He talks to his kid in there, reads them books and soothes, when they are restless and don’t let you sleep that well. And that’s how early on you understood who’s going to be the one putting your newborn to sleep, because your persuasions didn’t work that well.

And your husband doesn’t mind. He actually loves cradling his daughter - yes, it’s a little girl! - to his chest and lull her to sleep - it gives him an unimaginable sense of fulfillment.

As your little wonder grows older, Kaveh can’t help but comment how similar her scowl is to her father’s - combined with the annoyed sharp glare of the eyes she also got from him. But that’s only when she is being capricious. Most of the time she is calm and sporting your sweet smile, voice soft and eyes lacking the mentioned above sharpness.

By the way, she is older than Kaveh’s kid, which makes the Scribe just a little bit smug.

Alhaitham is all too happy to be the one educating her. He makes sure to balance her time spending with him and her time spending with you, encouraging her to engage in your hobbies and have a mother-daughter time. But the most he loves the time the three of you spend together - be it as simple as grocery shopping, having a meal together or cuddling in the evening, or going on whole little expeditions, because his girl wants to explore something on the topic she is currently interested in.

Oh, and he is so biased when it comes to her. There is only one non-scholar kid in all of Sumeru who has her own personal access to the House of Daena, research laboratories, research data and the Scribe’s office at any working hour - and that’s your daughter.

“Look, that’s the Scribe’s wife!”

Taken aback, you stop in your way when at least a dozen students surround you. Raising an eyebrow you survey their faces thoughtfully, noting that they seem to be quite desperate. But even before you can open your mouth they interrupt.

“Tell him to let us in! We have applications to submit!”

“And I have questions why mine was declined!”

“I need his signature on my thesis papers!”

“He locked himself inside with your daughter and said not to disturb their nap! Unbelievable-”

“And how exactly can I help?” You cut through the cacophony of their voices. Students look at you as if you’ve just grown a second head.

“...you are his wife? You can influence him.” “First of all, demanding something from a person you barely know is simply rude,” you narrow your eyes and a chill runs down some of the spines - for a moment you looked just like your husband. “Secondly, I am not involved in his work and I don’t plan to. Now, please, step aside.”

“You can’t be so cruel!”

“Oh, and you can? Let me guess, at least half of you missed deadlines, a small portion made mistakes again and the rest are not in an urgent need to see my husband, but decided to stick with others in hopes that getting to him right now will work?”

Leaving them stunned by your easy guess, you finally push your way through, holding a box with food you brought for lunch close to your chest. Once in front of the door you don’t even have the time to raise a fist for knocking, because the door unlocks and opens, revealing the tall man behind it.

Silently and quickly you step inside and the door shuts again, the key turns in the lock and then is thrown on the nearest table. The office meets you with welcomed tranquility, and dimmed lights are a nice contrast to the blindingly white walls of the Akademiya.

“So, you heard everything? They said you were napping,” you question his guess of when to open the door to let you in. Alhaitham rolls his eyes, glaring at the hindrance you left behind the door, and then takes the box from you.

“I was, but since I lent my earpieces I could hear the commotion in the corridor,” with his free hand he takes yours and leads you further into the room. There, on the sofa, you spot your daughter - wearing her dad’s device and napping, curled under his cape.

“Oh Dendro Archon, she is so adorable,” you coo in awe. “Look how big your things are on her!”

“She demanded I take a break and sit with her,” the Scribe hums, putting the food on the table and then locking both of his arms around you in an embrace. “But the more she was reading to me while sitting at my side, the sleepier she was getting, so we decided to nap.”

You listen to him, while observing your precious girl. She seems serene and content, holding onto the gold-embroidered piece of fabric, surely containing her father’s soothing scent. The earpieces are adjusted to hold onto her head and in silence you can even catch the faintest sounds of a melody. Ah, if only you had a Kamera with you…

“Let’s get her her own earpieces and cape.”

“The cape is unnecessary, but I did consider the device. I could make her her own, especially since she’s been complaining about having hard times to concentrate while she is at the Akademiya.” “But with the cape she’d be just like you!”

“Am I alone not enough for you already?” Light turquoise eyes are hard to read, but you manage to catch a shadow of amusement.

“But matching outfits are charming! Like, remember the last time we’ve been to Kaveh’s? The whole family had matching robes!”

“Then you’ll have to dress like me too.”

“If I am to get an intricate cape and a device to block the sounds of you huffing - I don’t mind.”

Alhaitham huffs. Then stops, realizing he’s just done what you were accusing him of, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Kidding, kidding. Let’s discuss it over lunch. Can you wake her while I am setting the table?”

Your husband nods and, receiving a quick peck to his cheek, releases you from his hold, stepping closer to the sofa.

As you busy yourself with the food, you occasionally glance at the two from the corner of your eye, absolutely swooning over how gently Alhaitham takes the earpieces off, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, softly murmurs her name and coaxes her from sleep with the news that mommy came and brought delicious food with her. And when two sets of identical eyes look at you tenderly, a loving smile lights up your face.

Kaveh

Can you see this man sticking his finger in Alhaitham's direction and declaring that his kid is going to be senior to his friend's? Because I can. (Too bad he was wrong).

As well as I can see this man accidentally becoming supportive not only of you but the other man's family as well - and drawing the blueprints for both nurseries is probably only the beginning (but you were the only one whose every suggestion he took without arguing).

From day one his mind is set on being the best dad for your baby, just like he is the best husband to you. He reads books, seeks advice in Bimarstan, even writes letters to his mother in hopes she'll share her experience, that could help you. Though when it comes to shopping for your yet unborn baby, you have to physically restrain him from buying every single cute plushie or onesie he sees.

When your daughter is born though, it's getting harder, because your own desire to spoil this golden-haired angel is unmeasurable. Maybe it's because she looks so much like your husband and you are projecting your need to shower him in love and affection and give everything you possibly can, but by the end of the day you just simply love her very much.

Kaveh adores doing anything creative with his daughter. She wants a mosaic in a frame on her wall? They'll put it from the little tiles together and Kaveh would hold her in his arms so she could hang it. She wants a dollhouse? They'll spend the time drawing the draft and picking colors and materials for EVERYTHING. And then he'll be building it, while she crafts little furniture. And it doesn't matter if she did it too small or too big - papa will help her adjust it.

But even so, Kaveh doesn't expect his daughter to be some genius or follow in his steps. No, he knows he'll love her even if she stops sharing the creative approach with him. He knows better than anyone how crushing it is to have everyone's expectations to loom over you and predatory gazes watch tirelessly, anticipating the moment you fail. He gives a vow to himself, to you, to your girl, that he will be there no matter what.

Matching. Outfits. You own so many it's almost worrisome. But your daughter loves them. There were a couple occasions when she drew her own designs for the three of you and you had it tailored, which left her absolutely ecstatic.

On that note, you believe Kaveh's (tiny) fear that she'll lose interest in creativity is going to be short-lived - especially after your visit to Fontaine to let your daughter meet her granny, which the girl spent with wide open eyes and mouth, absorbing everything around her to use it later.

Also having your daughter earned you a heavy supporter in moments when Kaveh starts to overwork. He can't resist the charm of both of his girls and is easily swayed to the nearest sofa/bed to cuddle and share lots of kisses. All his life he has been the anchor for others - now he has two people to be that for him.

Kaveh is easily spooked by sudden noises, and your eleven-year old daughter knows that. That's why she makes sure to tap her feet loud enough to hear their approach through the door of his study. Balancing a small tray with a cup of tea and your special dessert in one hand, she lifts the other to gently knock on the door.

"Come in, baby!" Reaching higher she pulls the handle.

The floor littered with crumpled papers isn't a new sight to her, just as her father's hunched back over the properly lit table. But when the door closes, the architect immediately puts the pencil down and turns around, giving her a big smile.

"Hi, sweety," he is beaming, seeing her adorable face and a growing smile, complementing those precious twinkles in her eyes.

"Hi, papa!" She chirps like a little birdie - her actual nickname - and Kaveh nearly drops his head in his palms and cries. How can he be a father to someone so tender?

"Mama said you are working and made you something! I helped," she lifts the tray, showing him what she has. "We hope you will like it."

Oh, he definitely will, he doesn't doubt it. Carefully wrapping his fingers around the edges, the man takes his late afternoon snack and brings it closer to his face, inhaling the sweet smell of the desert and a soothing aroma of the tea.

"Thank you, little birdie," he puts the tray aside and bends lower to wrap his arms around her and smooch her cheek. "You and mama are the best."

"Hehe, we know," she giggles. "You are the best too."

"Awww," Kaveh can't help but nuzzle against her cheek, gaining another giggle and a cute scrunch of her nose.

"Daaaaaaaad!"

"Sorry, sorry, baby, you are just so adorable. Just like your mama."

"But mama says I am pretty like you."

"Both can work together," he assures her, but a soft blush covers his cheeks. No matter how many years have passed, he still gets shy whenever his wife uses "pretty" to describe him.

"Okay!" She simply agrees, giving him a big hug. "Sorry, but I should be going now. Mama wants to go grocery shopping and I want to help her."

Now that she says this, Kaveh pays closer attention to her outfit - the white sundress with pink roses is definitely not something she'll wear at home.

"Alright then, let me escort you downstairs."

Standing up, he easily hoists her in his arms and lets her perch on his left one, as her arms wrap around his neck.

When they reach the hall, the girl has managed to make two braids in his hair, now twisting them around each other. Kaveh finds both her and your obsession with touching his hair amusing, but sometimes it feels nice and relaxing. And you did put him to sleep by scratching his head on multiple occasions.

You, who are standing in front of the mirror, and even witnessing just your profile, the architect is in love all over again.

He should take you on a date later this week.

"Well, I definitely wouldn't mind that," you chuckle, turning to face him and offering your most teasing smile. Ah, he said the date part out loud, didn't he? "But right now I need to go and take care of our dinner's ingredients."

Your husband nods in understanding and puts your daughter down, dusting the skirt of her dress and making sure everything is intact. Getting a quick peck on the nose, he gives her one on the forehead and straightens up to immediately welcome you into his embrace and share a soft kiss.

“Be sure to take a break and enjoy the snack we made for you. And I mean it when I say taking a break. We all remember how you spilled your morning coffee over the blueprint and had to redraw everything again. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

A wild shiver runs down Kaveh’s spine and he feverishly shakes his head. No, if there is one thing he is certain in it’s hating the repetition of this.

“You don’t have to remind me,” his heavy sigh ghosts over your skin. “And it won’t happen again.”

“I believe in you!” You cheer joyfully and it warms his heart.

“I believe in papa too!” Your daughter throws her fists in the air. “Papa can do anything!”

“Of course he can,” you gently nudge her back, ushering her to the front door. “See you soon, Kaveh. We love you.”

“I love you too.”

Waving at your leaving figures he waits until you shut the door and stick the key in the lock, before smiling to himself and returning to his study.

The tea got a little cold and the dessert’s top melted just a tiny bit, but both are still incredibly delicious. Leaning back in an armchair with a plate resting on his knee and a cup wrapped in his hands, the man feels happily at ease and two precious girls are the reason why.

Tighnari

Frankly, I don't think Tighnari has ever given much thought to becoming a dad, let alone settling down with someone. But taking care of Collei, becoming her mentor, stepping so close to becoming a parental figure, probably played its role as well.

Biggest part, of course, was you - another pretty fennec hybrid, who, due to the same biological background, could share a lot of things with him that the man couldn't and honestly didn't want to bother explaining to others, he sure has other things to fulfill.

It took years of courting from both sides, but eventually, you two settled down together, content with each other as a partner. When the talk of kids happened, the forest ranger was hesitant - he knows he can handle a kid, he can handle ten if required thanks to his immense patience and love for teaching, but since you were different from humans, the man was aware that you could be carrying more than three babies at one time. Even if your body is built to handle it by evolution, he still didn't want to make you go through with so much. Initially. However when you looked so hopeful to have a family with your beloved, swore it's going to be just one time and then you'll keep using protection like before, he was convinced and actually quite excited.

So much nuzzling during your pregnancy. So much nuzzling when the babies are born - three beautiful boys and one girl, with the prettiest fluffy tails and ears of yours or his fur. He immediately jumped to being a father, without any complaint taking care of your kids, while you were recovering. He adores them so much, but at times hardly manages to keep an eye on all four - good thing you moved into a bigger house that is closer to the ground, because little explorers did try to escape outside on multiple occasions.

What gets Tighnari's heart burst like fireworks though? Spotting you napping with all of your babies huddled in your embrace, body practically curled around them and a tail resting on top. The first time it happened - maybe a couple of weeks after you gave birth to them - Tighnari left you alone with the kids to do an examination on the work of forest rangers in his absence, and when he returned back - he nearly collapsed from how adorable the five of you looked. Definitely joined.

From their early age he taught his kids everything about the forest so they would be prepared, and, even he won't ever admit it, it stirred something in his chest when they looked up at him with wonder and fascination in their gleaming eyes. They were also taught to be independent, but at the same time to work as a team, and they are so good at that.

The circle of four is absolutely perfect. Little hands are swift and precise, and the absolute concentration is written on the seven-year olds adorable faces. You and Tighnari even stopped your own grooming of each other’s tails to observe your kids’ routine of doing the same thing, but among themselves.

With four pillows on the floor they once again made themselves comfortable, just like every evening, equipped with different kinds of brushes and safe oils.

You put your chin onto Tighnari's shoulder, still holding his tail in your lap, with yours resting under his palm, and make a soft sound, loud enough for him to recognize and not alert the kids. Your husband nods, purring in response and rubbing his cheek against your temple.

"They are so adorable, 'nari," you sigh, watching the four being so absorbed with their task that they don't even talk. The male couldn't agree more, lifting the corners of his mouth in a smile and then picking another brush to get busy with the tip of your tail.

"They absolutely got it from you, my dear. And did you notice how much progress they've made in the fur-caring routine?"

Tighnari doesn't see that, but you, still staring forward at your kids, clearly see how four pairs of ears prick up. How cute, someone wants the praise.

"That they did. And I don't know about you, but at the age of 7 I didn't even know that the fur has to be clean and taken care of anyhow. I guess, I never gave it much thought when my mom did it for me. Our little ones are so independent."

Four tails move a little, kids clearly delighted.

"You are right, they are," Tighnari hums, running his fingers through your now well-groomed fur, and your children hold their chins up proudly. "If only this independence didn't extend to trying to escape to the forest on their own against all of my warnings."

Inhumane eyes glare at the frozen bodies of the "explorers" in question, making them lower their gaze and pick up from where they stopped their routine. Oh, they know what they've done.

You can only sigh, fully understanding your husband's concerns, and finish tending to his tail.

Next is the balm you generously scoop onto your palm to rub into the rough texture of your fox-like pads. When you do the same for Tighnari, receiving a tender kiss to your nose, and then to each of your babies, as they walk to you one by one, still with guilty, pouty, but adorable faces, while your husband is putting away all the tools and products.

Soon your bed is occupied with all of your kids, snuggling to your sitting body and drowsily asking to sleep with you two tonight. Even the thought of making a dozen more steps to their own rooms is killing the last energy in them - the routine has an incredible side effect: they immediately become sleepy when they are done and you don't have much trouble with putting them to bed.

Especially when the bed is right here. The bed that became a large one not even a couple of months along their lives, because this has been a common occurrence.

"Mommy, daddy, can we sleep with you tonight, please?" Your daughter lifts her pleading eyes at you, being the one who managed to directly slide into your lap and into your embrace. Three boys, attached to your sides silently lift their eyes too, pouting in attempts to break your resolve. Which wasn't here in the first place.

"What'd you say, 'nari?" Chuckling, you look at your husband climbing onto the bed to join the five of you.

"Weren't we just discussing their independence? They can surely walk to their rooms. Come on, babies, back to your beds."

"Noooooooooo," their hold on you immediately becomes a death grip. "We want to stay with you!"

"Kids, I can't breathe-" you gasp from the crushing hug of at least two pairs of arms squeezing your middle.

"We want to stay, we want to stay, we want to stay!"

"That's what you should've told yourselves earlier this morning when you decided to get to the river with spinocrocodiles. That you want to stay. Home. Until I or your mother could go on a walk with you outside the village."

At his strict tone and at the reminder of them nearly losing their tails this morning to the sharp jaws of wild animals, four little foxes lower their eyes, ashamed. But they do relax their hold around you.

Tighnari sighs, rubbing his temples and contemplating when he's going to get his first gray hairs.

"Okay, I'll let you sleep with us tonight, BUT," he slightly raises his voice to emphasize, especially since the four immediately got in high spirits, "if something like this happens again - you are losing this privilege for a week. Are we clear?"

"Yes, daddy…"

"Yeah.."

"Mhm…"

"Sure, dad…"

And that's the only confirmation Tighnari needs before lifting the covers, because no matter how restless and disastrous your children can be - he has almost as hard a time as you do telling them "no".

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #ayato x fem!reader #thoma x reader #thoma x fem!reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x fem!reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x fem!reader #tighnari x reader #tighnari x fem!reader #kamisato ayato #thoma #alhaitham #kaveh #tighnari #genshin impact fluff

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talkbycolor · 4 months

Text

MC's kindergarden . . . ↷

Yanderes as toddlers AU

GN!Reader as a teacher who doesnt get paid enough for this.

CW: just a bunch of weird kids wanting to marry their teacher, keep scrolling

Sunny Day Jack.

the golden child, the angel of the classroom, he is a little devil in disguise, getting his classmates into trouble so that his teacher thinks he is the best

he looks like a mini teacher, he teaches colors to his classmates and shares everything (except the teacher)

uses guilt to convince his teacher, but with that little face and red cheeks, who wouldn't fall for it?

a very intelligent child but he is selfish, he learned to steal cookies from the kitchen and has not told anyone

he gives part of his lunch to his teacher, he likes to eat and sit next to him, he is the child who gives bouquets of flowers picked from the playground (MC already scolded him so he should look for other places to get flowers)

MC doesn't usually scold him often since he manipulates and makes kicked puppy eyes to get his way, a mini bastard

John Doe.

probably autistic and socially anxious child, very attached to MC, they must always accompany him to go to the bathroom, he eats in the classroom during recess time while MC teacher accompanies him

this is the child you have to make sure doesn't go through the trash or eat the crayons

he is actually a very sweet boy, MC usually combs his hair before school so it doesn't bother him, for some reason Doe always has it tangled and dirty

he can't count to 10 with his hands, poor thing

cat-like affection, gives insects or interesting things he found on the playground to his teacher

when the children play house, he is the mascot

Alan Orion.

boy obsessed with outer space, his lunch box and clothes are full of planets and stars

wants to impress MC with his knowledge about space, he usually tells them facts about galaxies and constellations during classes

MC of course would notice certain marks on Alan's little body, he would feel protective of the child (llamen al dif)

he steals things from his classmates, he was already scolded several times by MC

animal lover, once brought a moth he found on the playground into the classroom and Doe ate it, he cried for thirty minutes while MC comforted him

when he plays with puppets he pretends that one puppet is him and the other is MC, usually his games are of them getting married and living in the forest

Peter Dunbar.

a very sociable child simply because he is indifferent to all other people other than MC, he enjoys causing mischief to his classmates who play with MC

MC has to make sure Peter doesn't bite his fingers or scratch his face, a habit he has while concentrating

Peter looks like a bald rat when it's very hot weather, which MC finds funny, but they still puts sunscreen on him so the boy doesn't get sun-burned

even though there are many things that Peter doesn't like, like swimming, fruits or singing, he would do it for MC, adding the biggest embarrassment of his life by doing group dance with his classmates but happy to see his favorite teacher smiling

he would bring sweet lunches to share with his teacher, lying by saying that it is too much and he can't eat it all by himself (Peter loves sweet lunches but he loves his teacher more)

probably draws him and MC on the board with lots of hearts around them, causing the other kids in the classroom to start crying because they want to be the only ones for MC

Ren.

a cutie with his teacher, a bastard with everyone else, he knows how to maintain that image very well to fool MC

he sneaks into the staff room to see you, very attentive, isn't he? sometimes he leaves small gifts on your table

fights with Peter every time he tries to get him in trouble with the teacher, he must maintain his good boy reputation for you to love him!

the last time a girl confessed to him, Ren pushed her into the mud of the playground and made her cry, unfortunately the girl told MC and Ren also cried, not because of the scolding but because he didn't want MC to think that he was bad

once he saw you outside of class time, you were at the supermarket and he panicked because he had fake tattoos that he put on (they came in the packaging of the gum he ate)

MC would come to think that Ren lives in a super religious way since he always draws angels. Ren doesn't draw angels, he draws an angel (you)

Mycheal.

another little manipulator but this one cries every time he tricks MC and gets hugs illicitly (little baby)

he is a very hardworking child in class when it is time to do manual work, he likes to make small paper flowers for his teacher

the baby gets very sad every time he is left out of school projects, he doesn't know why no one seems to like him. surprisingly, he managed to get along fairly well with John Doe until he noticed his interest in MC

usually wraps his tail around MC's leg whenever he feels nervous or sick, that has been an indicator for MC to lull the child

kid who is a cotton candy fan, Peter pushed him while they were playing on the playground and his candy fell to the ground (he cried for 40 minutes)

kitten boy starts purring when MC praises his work

Keith and Tenebris.

as for them, I decided that they were twins in this AU (tenebris still has his blue skin and strange smile), they don't seem to get along very well and have a marked rivalry because they both want MC for themselves

Keith usually hates being in the classroom because his classmates are very noisy, MC has tried to help him with the overstimulation so that it is not an uncomfortable experience, since then Keith loves going to kindergarten

Tenebris does not get along with most of his classmates (if not all), he came close to befriending John Doe and Mycheal because they know what it's like to be treated differently because of how they look, but Doe scared him off by showing him a pair of beetles he found on the playground and Mycheal…well, just by being a liar

Keith is a very dedicated child, he likes to take care of the flowers in the playground with the help of MC, his teacher usually reads books about facts about flowers and apparently Keith is one of the few who pays attention (he cries every time that Jack plucks flowers from the garden to give them to MC)

Tenebris uses a toy guitar from the classroom to serenade his favorite teacher, that always kills MC with cuteness (Tenebris gets angry because it's not a real guitar)

when there are school trips, Keith always takes his teacher's hand and tries to pull them to see everything he finds interesting with them, whether it's a flower or a heart-shaped cloud

Tenebris always takes advantage when playing with swords with his classmates to satisfy his violent need to hurt everyone who likes MC, the game ends up turning into a real battle and Tenebris is scolded

Solivan Brugmansia.

at first glance, MC thought that the boy was always upset and didn't like him being around, but Sol just doesn't know what to do like when he's around his favorite teacher

the quiet child in the classroom, prefers to do his work alone, always takes the opportunity to draw MC with chalk on the playground

the boy is obviously obsessed (and not in a fun way) with his teacher, his parents came to the classroom angry because Sol had his sketchbooks full of sketches of you

you are the only person he allows to hold his stuffed animal, he leaves it with you whenever he goes to the bathroom and asks you to play with it, you don't think it's strange that Sol has a stuffed horse, children have strange toys all the time

Sol is clearly a target for bullying, you know it, you see it, so you have to constantly check that he is not hurt (Peter put gum in his hair once and he cried a lot)

SURPRISINGLY, he is one of the few children who has REAL friends, he has Hyugo, a classmate from another class, Hyugo knows about his crush on MC and is not very secretive, Sol has to cover his mouth or push him to the sandbox to make him shut up

Damon.

puppy love, usually chases other children on all fours and licks snot from his own nose

barks every time someone gets too close to MC but in the end the scolding is always worth it since MC teacher strokes his head when he doesn't promise it won't happen again (it will happen again)

he will believe anything you tell him, he is quite gullible with the things that MC says, if his teacher tells him that he can't dig holes in the playground because giant insects will come out of there that will eat everyone, Damon believes it

sweet tooth, loves chocolate, MC has to be careful with what his students eat, Damon often hides chocolate bars in his pockets and that always ends in MC confiscating the chocolates

Damon has a friend in another class who he calls DG, he is his best friend and again Damon is one of the few kids with real friends in your class, DG knows that Damon likes you but unlike Hyugo he is more secretive

when there are school dances, Damon gives his all, always trying hard, not only because he loves to dance but he also loves when his favorite teacher applauds and praises him

♡

1K notes · View notes

ellecdc · 6 months

Note

I don’t know their ship name! Do they have a ship name? Anywayyy, I was thinking long and hard about this, I want it to be 🤌🏻

So I was thinking, Remus x James x reader, possibly hyper Jamie and reader, and Remus is chasing after them

or maybe the most beautiful hurt/comfort (because who wants straight angst?) where James is upset because he feels like he’s too much sometimes (even though he’s my perfect baby Angel) and it’s just reader and Remus comforting him

(Fem!reader if that’s ok) (also reader should have a cat named Birdie, is it because I want Birdie content? Yes. Do I live laugh love Birdie? Also yes.)

kisses 😘

okay, I love you, thank you for this request. New rule: NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO HURT OUR SWEET SWEET JAMIES FEELINGS EVER AGAIN 😭😭😭😭😭😭 also I couldn't figure out how to incorporate Birdie but I have another request about a reader with a cat so you'll be able to see her there ;)

poly!moonchaser x fem!reader who is in Slytherin

CW: James cries and it's horrible and Marlene should be sent to Azkaban for this.

James was feeling pretty good about Gryffindor’s odds this year for the House Cup. He’d been working his team a little harder than usual, but he was certain the extra effort would pay off this weekend in their game against Ravenclaw. He wasn’t on the quidditch pitch to make friends; he was there to win.

Off the pitch, however?

Off the pitch he loved his friends.

Which was why he’d told everyone to hit the showers whilst he cleaned up the pitch for Madame Hooch.

After James had stored the last of the brooms and quidditch balls in the equipment locker, he began to head past the Beasts classroom for the castle.

He saw Marlene leaning against one of the posts of the building, and James began making his way over to catch up with her but thought better of it once he saw Dorcas Meadows sitting on a table in front of her. He smiled to himself at the thought of his friend’s happiness and took the path on the opposite side of the building in order to give them some privacy.

“Potter’s not working you lot too hard, is he? You’re actually making Slytherin sweat this year.” Dorcas taunted, earning her a chuckle from her girlfriend.

“Ha ha.” Marlene deadpanned before she let out a sigh. “He’s working us like dogs. I know he loves quidditch, but Godric.”

James knew he was pretty competitive, but he had a job to do as the coach, and like Dorcas said – it was paying off.

“He can be a lot.” Dorcas assuaged.

Marlene scoffed dramatically. “Sirius is a lot; James is too much. Honestly, I don’t know how Remus and Y/N keep up with him; he’s exhausting.”

James’ ears filled with cotton as his steps faltered and his heart sunk.

Is this really how his friends thought of him; was he exhausting? Too much?

James knew he could be a lot sometimes; a lot of energy, a lot of fun, a lot of love, a lot of mischief, a lot of noise...

But was he too much?

He loved you and Remus more than anything; he never knew it was possible to love two people so much.

Remus: the moon to his sun, his safe space, his level head, the cool side of his pillow.

And you: his sweet girl, his biggest supporter, his confidante, the quiet in the chaos.

And what was he, then? What was James?

He was loud, he was chaos, he was constant.

Maybe he was too much...

He’d spent five years with his sights set in the wrong direction before he realized he had everything he could ever want in the two of you, and by some fucking miracle, he’d managed to snag the two most wonderful people in all of Hogwarts, perhaps all of the UK; nay, the world.

Was he losing the two of you? Was he slowly pushing you guys away? Exhausting you? Were you two going to grow tired of James?

He couldn’t lose you guys; he couldn’t let that happen.

He wouldn’t let that happen.

You and Remus had been sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall when Sirius came back from practice.

“Where’s Prongs?” Remus asked quickly, earning him a scowl from his long-haired friend.

“Gee, hello to you too, Moony.”

Remus’ sigh was accompanied by an eyeroll as he corrected himself. “Hello, Sirius. How was practice? Where’s our boyfriend?”

Sirius adorned a cheeky smile as he began loading up his plate. “Hi Remus, Y/N. Lovely evening we’re having. Practice went well; James is working us hard, but I think the extra work is paying off. We’re shoo-ins for the House Cup this year and-”

“Sirius!”

“Circe’s tits, Moons, is it almost your time of your month?”

He was answered with a dinner roll being thrown at his head.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He grumbled. “Prongs is tidying up the field, told us all to hit the showers and head to dinner.”

“Black, you’re a dog.” You grumbled, earning you a boisterous laugh from the dog-like-man himself.

“You have no idea dollface.”

You groaned. “I can’t believe you left our poor, sweet boy cleaning up after you tossers out there all by himself. It’s getting dark.” You whined, looking to the windows.

“He’s far too nice to you lot.” Remus agreed, starting a plate for James pre-emptively.

You liked that about Remus. You loved that about Remus; predicting his loved ones needs, always one step ahead the rest of you.

You perked up when you saw the familiar head of hair make his way into the Great Hall, but had an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach when you noticed his demeanour.

“Hey bubs.” Remus greeted, seemingly unawares of James’ dour mood. James smiled kindly at Remus, but you noticed the smile never reached his eyes.

You hated it.

“How was practice?” You asked quickly, earning you a scoff from Sirius.

“What? Don’t trust my word for it?”

“Sod off, Black.”

James itched the back of his neck and avoided eye contact. “It, erm, it went well, I think. It went well, right Pads?”

Sirius looked inquisitively at his friend but nodded nonetheless. “Yeah mate, I think we’re definitely going to see a difference with the extra drills. Fenwick and I were just talking about it.”

“Fenwick? What’d he say? He thought the practice went well?” James asked eagerly.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a bemused glance as you watched James; he seemed to notice the silent conversation going on between his friend and his boyfriend and curled in on himself.

“Sorry.” He muttered quietly, poking at his plate with his fork.

“No worries Prongs. Fenwick said he was tired, but the good kind. He’s looking forward to the match this weekend.” Sirius said carefully. James hummed but that was the extent of the conversation.

“Everything okay, James?” Remus asked cautiously as Marlene and Dorcas sat a few seats down. James lifted his head and nodded quickly, offering a quiet “yeah.”

“What’s the matter?” You asked quietly, causing James’ eyebrows to furrow.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m not that hungry actually, I think I’m going to head upstairs.”

He didn’t give you any time to argue as he stood from his full plate and left the Great Hall.

You went to stand to go after him, but Remus grabbed your sleeve.

“You should eat, dove. No sense in both of you going without.”

“But-”

“We’ll bring him his plate in a little; let him take a minute to himself.” He offered, and though Remus sounded awfully reasonable, you didn’t like the idea one bit.

In the perhaps 45 minutes you and Remus spent in the Great Hall, James had already done his bedtime routine and had the curtains to his fourposter bed drawn shut with what sounded like a silencing charm cast around it.

You let out a sigh and moved towards Remus’ bed.

“It’s probably just an off day, dovey. He rarely has them; we can grant him this one, can’t we?” Remus lamented.

It didn’t feel like an off day, though. Not to you.

He’d been just fine when you bid him farewell before practice; he’d been talking your ear off about all the new drills he prepared and the extra practices he booked. He’d been your enthusiastic, sunny boy just a mere few hours ago, and now he was...well...this.

Had you done something? Had you not been enthusiastic enough about his stories? Had you said something to offend him? Maybe he didn’t want you here; maybe he wanted to spend tonight with Remus – he’s known him longer, maybe he’d be talking to Remus if you weren’t here right now.

“I can hear your brain in overdrive, dove. What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

“Maybe I should go to my own dorm tonight?” You asked shyly, earning you an unimpressed look from Remus as he pulled his sleep shirt over his head.

“Fat chance I’m sending you down to the dungeons. I’ve already lost one cuddle partner.” His lip jut out comically at the end of the sentence and you felt some of the tension leave your body.

“Okay, big baby.” You acquiesced with faux resentment, laying back on Remus’ bed and welcoming him into your embrace.

“We’ll fix it tomorrow, yeah?” Remus said into your neck. “He’ll feel better in the morning.”

Except James did not feel better in the morning and now you were spiralling.

He’d woken up early to go for his run but didn’t ask if you wanted to join him (he usually woke you up as he extricated himself from the bed and would always ask if you felt like joining him. You’ve never said yes, but he always asked you anyway).

He changed quietly and sat at the desk to do some schoolwork. You woke up and pressed a kiss to his cheek on your way to the washroom, which earned you little more than half a smile and a quiet “morning”.

You couldn’t take it anymore; the nerves were eating you alive, and they were only made worse when Remus woke up and James was just as cold with him.

“Jamie, have I done something?” You blurted, causing both boys to look at you in horror.

“What?” He asked quietly.

“I’m sorry if I’ve done or said something to offend you. I know I can be harsh sometimes and I know that I’m not often as kind as the two of you; certainly not as nice as you, Jamie. But I often think you guys have worn off on me a bit and I’m a little less Slytherin-y and-”

But Remus cut you off as you started to ramble. “Whoa, dove. Take a breath, yeah? You’re alright.” He said gently, placing his hand on your shoulder and gently rubbing his thumb along your collar bone.

“I’m really sorry, Jamie.” You said again, feeling your eyes well with tears.

James' eyes mirrored yours as he looked at you in horror. “No, angel. No! You’re perfect, I swear!” He said, tears finally betraying his inner turmoil.

“What has you so upset then, Jamie?” Remus asked gently, which caused whatever dam James had set up behind his eyes to fully burst.

“It’s not you guys, honest!” He cried miserably.

You felt all the blood drain from your face at the sight; you’d never seen James this upset before.

“Oh, Jamie.” Remus cooed in an exhale moving towards him, obviously just as distressed at James’ upset as you were.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been exhausting you lately. I don’t mean to be too much.” James whimpered between sobs. Your hands twitched as you stood uselessly, staring at Remus cradling James’ broad frame and gently rocking him back-and-forth, rubbing broad strokes up and down his back.

“Why...why would you say that, Jamie? I’ve never found you exhausting. ‘Too much’?” You asked incredulously, feeling sort of nauseous at the insinuation that you could ever grow tired of the effervescence that was James Potter.

“I overheard people talking about me.” He admitted shyly from the crook of Remus’ neck. Remus’ movements stuttered before he quickly resumed his ministrations.

“Who?” You said simply, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t.” You argued.

“Easy, dove.” Remus placated, pressing a gentle kiss into James’ hair. “I don’t need to know who it was, because they are so far off from the truth.”

“Can’t be too far off, I’ve known her my whole life.” James muttered.

“McKinnon?” You asked with a scoff. You were answered by James’ silence.

“Jamie.” You said sternly, stepping towards your boyfriends and causing James to look up at you. “You have been nothing but pure joy since the moment I met you, and any moment I get to spend by your side is an absolute honour; do you understand me?”

James sighed and tried to turn back into Remus’ shoulder, but you gently grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you.

“I love you so unbelievably much, I worry about my sanity sometimes. One of the best things about me is getting to love you, and having convinced you to love me back. Okay?”

“Okay.” He whispered back, offering you a soft smile.

“Yeah?”

James chuckled sadly and took your hand in his. “I love you, Y/N.”

“That makes me the luckiest girl in the world.” You promised him.

Remus continued rubbing James’ back and whispering sweet nothings into his ear as you got into uniform.

“You okay, Rem? I’ll catch up with you guys later?” You asked him quietly. Remus nodded at you and accepted a chaste kiss to his lips.

You pressed a kiss to the top of James' head, reminding him again that you love him and you’d see him later before heading out in search of the person on your radar.

Sirius had gotten up today to find James already gone on his morning run and you and Moony still asleep in bed, so he decided to take the initiative and organise the supplies for the Marauder’s next prank.

“Oi, Black.” Sirius heard, causing him to pause in his steps down the corridor.

“Y/N, we’ve known each other since we were in nappies; I’m pretty sure we were engaged to be wed at one point. I think you can go ahead and call me Sirius.”

Your eyebrows furrowed almost comically as you looked him up and down once, seemingly almost disgusted at the thought of calling him by his given name.

“Right, I will not be doing that. Listen, you’re friends with McKinnon, yeah?” You redirected, falling into step with him as he carried on towards the potions supply closet.

“Marlene? Yeah.”

“‘Kay, deal with her then, because it won’t be pretty if I have to.” You said darkly, causing Sirius to pause again and grab you by your elbow.

“Whoa there; what are you on about?”

You turned towards him with darkened eyes, quite possibly the most like your parents he’d ever seen you. “She upset James.” You said simply.

Sirius scoffed. “Please. James doesn’t get upset. She probably just cheered for his rival team at the World Cup or something.”

“Black. My sweet, lovely, wonderful boyfriend is upstairs crying right now because he was told he was too much and exhausting.” You said severely, causing Sirius’ heart to stutter.

His heart picked back up in double time when he noticed your eyes fill with tears.

“And if McKinnon is left to me, it won’t be pretty.” You concluded, sniffing quickly and stuffing your emotions back down deep into your stomach like Sirius knew you’d been raised to do.

“Crying?” Sirius asked breathlessly.

“Sobbing.” You corrected.

Well.

Well, this just wouldn’t do.

Turns out, Sirius was going to get detention for hitting a girl today.

“Oi! McKinnon!” Sirius called out when he spotted Marlene sat under a tree on the Hogwarts grounds. “Take your earrings out, you and I are fighting.” He called as he got closer, pulling his earrings own out pre-emptively.

Marlene scoffed. “Have you taken one too many bludgers to the head there, Black?”

“What’d you say to James?” He carried on.

“Potter?”

“Sod off, McKinnon. What’d you say?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since we all left practice yesterday!” She argued.

“Well you said something, seeing as he’s now apologising to his boyfriend and girlfriend for being ‘exhausting’.”

Sirius watched understanding pass over Marlene’s face as she sighed.

“Oh for- …he wasn’t meant to hear.”

“Make it a habit of talking poorly about your friends behind their back?” Sirius accused.

“Take it easy, Sirius… she didn’t mean it.” Dorcas interjected, causing Sirius’ stormy glare to look her way.

“Then why’d she say it, huh Meadows? Are you calling her a liar then?”

“I was just tired and sore after practice yesterday, Sirius…” Marlene mumbled.

But Sirius didn’t care; he didn’t want excuses. He wanted everyone to see the James that he saw:

James, who had so much love to give.

James, who gave everything he did 110%.

James, who took care of everyone around him like his life depended on it.

James, who pushed his team to victory because he knew they were capable.

James, who knew he was pushing his team hard so let them all leave early whilst he cleaned up after them.

James, who brought out the best in everyone around him.

James, who offered him a home when he had nowhere to go.

James, who was everyone's safety, smile, sanctuary.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend so much of your life finding flaws in everyone else, Marlene, you’d have a little more time to work on your own. I suggest starting with your poor fucking attitude.” He shot at her, feeling the generations of vile, vicious Black’s creep into his psyche. “Perhaps then you’d manage to be even a quarter as loved as James is.”

“Was that really necessary, Black?” Meadows barked angrily. Sirius scoffed in return.

“No more necessary than what she said about James. No one upsets Prongs like that, you hear me? So tell your girl to watch her fuckin’ mouth.”

And he stormed back up to the castle.

Remus was understandably distressed.

If having his usual bright, sunny boy so down and turned in on himself wasn’t bad enough, you seemed to be equally if not more distressed on his behalf.

He’d been sort of nervous when you took off this morning, but when Remus saw Marlene in one piece in Charms later in the day, he knew you hadn’t done any (permanent) damage.

James was glued to your and Remus’ sides for the remainder of the day, and you were both more than happy to fawn over him as much as he needed. His mood didn’t seem to improve for your efforts, however.

The three of you were eating dinner with Sirius who was carrying most of the conversation on your behalves, which you and Remus (and likely James) appreciated, when Barty approached the Gryffindor table.

“Hey Y/N, I just had the most brilliant i- whoa, wait, whoa, what the fuck?” He cut himself off, looking to the group in horror.

“What’s up, junior?” You asked calmly, feeling particularly defensive of your boyfriend and keeping an eye on James in your periphery.

“What happened to Potter? What’s going on?” He asked, sounding particularly disturbed causing Remus’ brows to furrow bemusedly.

No one seemed to have a good answer; Sirius and Remus exchanging confused glances, James lowering his head in shame, and you rolling your eyes at your friend's dramatics.

“Who did this?” He asked then, voice taking on a shrill quality. “Y/N? Did you do this?” He demanded, gesturing to James.

“I did not do this!” You shouted back.

“Okay well this is bad!”

“I know it’s bad!”

“No, this is bad, bad. This is like… this is. I have no words. Y/N, fix it, fix it right now.” Barty insisted, roughly jostling your shoulder as if you were simply standing here negligently as your boyfriend suffered.

Remus, James, and Sirius all watched in abject fascination and horror.

“Who did this, Potter?” Barty asked quietly, turning his attention to James when he felt he wasn’t getting answers from you. “Give me names; who disturbed the delicate balance of the universe?”

James’ eyebrows were in his hair as he looked between you and Barty.

“Oh gods,” Barty breathed. “It’s worse than I though.”

Barty shoved his hand into his robe pocket and pulled out a lolly. “You like candy, Potter? Here.” He said as he threw the lolly at him without waiting for a response. “I have more, one sec.”

With that, Barty turned his pocket inside out and piled what had to be almost thirty lollipops in front of James.

“Why do you have so many lollies, Junior?” Sirius asked, reaching over to grab one from the pile which earned him a squeal and a harsh smack on the wrist from Barty.

“None of your sodding business, Black.”

Remus delighted in hearing a slight chuckle under James' breath.

“Why do you have so many lollies?” Remus asked instead, knowing Barty was slightly less volatile with him than with Sirius.

“I was trying to quit smoking. Now I’m just addicted to sugar and cigarettes. Also, Y/N likes them.” He said, producing one from your pocket with a flourish to hand it to you.

“M’lady.” He said with a bow before resuming his piling of more lollies in front of James.

“I think that’s enough lollies, Junior.” Sirius suggested, earning him a scowl.

“The world is fucking topsy-turvey right now, Black! I don’t see you doing anything to correct it! Absolute tosser, thinking I can just go about my day when everything is wrong.” Barty was mostly muttering to himself at this point as he pulled his bookbag over his shoulder and started discarding various things onto the table.

“Why are you all just sitting there? Do something, for the love of Salazar!” He shrieked. “Fix this Y/N! Fix it now; I’m running out of candy!”

And with this, James dissolved into a fit of laughter, causing Barty to pause and whip his head to face him.

Remus wasn’t always Barty’s biggest fan, but he knew that you cared for him and more importantly, he cared for you, and right now Remus could kiss the sod right on the mouth for managing to bring a smile to James' face.

“Is this a fucking joke to you, Potter?” Barty asked incredulously, causing James to laugh harder and even encouraging a laugh from you. Barty’s face softened immediately at the sound and turned to beam at you.

“There!�� He proclaimed then. “All better!”

And with that, Barty headed towards the entrance of the Great Hall.

“You’re welcome everyone! I just corrected a major blip in the universe; but this is the last time I do it for free!”

James began to catch his breath and wipe away tears from under his eyes.

“See?” You said, reaching across to gently shake James’ wrist. James caught your hand before you could pull it away from him. “Even Barty likes you just the way you are. And he hates Gryffindors.”

James barked another laugh at that and let out a steadying breath.

“Not as much as we do, though.” Remus pressed, resting his forehead against James’ temple as he pulled him closer into his side.

“Thank you guys.” James admitted quietly, squeezing your hand that he still held captive over the table.

“There’s nothing to thank us for, bubs.” You insisted, causing Sirius to snort.

“Yeah. These two did fuck all; you should be thanking Junior.”

You all started laughing again, distributing lollies to the younger students sitting around you.

651 notes · View notes

literaila · 11 months

Note

hey v ! what about peter and reader getting ready to go somewhere and after reader puts on some red lipstick peter can't stop kissing her ?

lipstick

warnings: ugh, peter

“how many times have you done that?”

peter is standing behind you, leaning against the wall, probably ruining your focus, or your makeup, or your sanity. he’s probably staring just to mess with you.

you refrain from smiling in the mirror. wipe a smudge with your nail. “i don’t know, peter,” you meet his eyes, and his nefarious smirk. “how many times have you watched me do it?”

“i got lost somewhere around the first time.”

you laugh at him, crumbling the napkin you’ve been using, now filled with kiss marks, and turning it around so you can throw it at peter. “are you sick?” you ask him.

instead of answering, he licks his lip and unfolds the napkin, staring at the red marks, creases and tireless efforts arranged in a messy pattern. “this is like art.”

“why are you acting like you’ve never seen anyone wear lipstick before?”

“what?” he asks, hand to his chest. “i cant watch you get ready? i’m banned from being in the bathroom when you are?”

“yes, and yes.”

it does not escape your notice when peter tucks the napkin into his pocket for safekeeping.

he shrugs. “i don’t mind breaking the rules.”

you scoff at him and pat his shoulder as you walk past him through the doorway. “i would’ve locked you out if i knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“weird? how am i being weird?”

“you were lurking. you’re still lurking.”

“i’m talking to my girlfriend. that’s part of our contract.”

“you’re following me.”

peter smiles. “well, i like you.”

you roll your eyes, almost—almost—smiling when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. “please don’t make me argue about your stalker like tendencies.”

“we don’t have to argue,” peter says, kissing the space beneath your ear. his breath is hot.

“i need to put my shoes on, peter.”

he smiles, his teeth clashing against your skin like a dreadful reminder. some type of jumpscare—minus the fact that you merely lean into him, sans jumping. “we can spare fifteen minutes.”

“how can you be thinking about anything besides the fact that we’re already late to meet may?”

he nibbles on the skin by your collarbone, then licks it, as reprieve. “it must be the lipstick.”

“you’ve literally seen me with lipstick before. i wore some on our first date.”

“‘s probably why i like it so much.”

his lips are needy as they crawl around your skin. his hands are stationary, but they pose their own threat as they lurk.

“peter, we have to go.”

“i’m not known for my punctuality,” he spins you around, his lips curled in mischief, “you know.”

“i’m aware.”

you refuse to indulge him. your brows furrow, your hands held in the air—just so you can avoid accidentally touching him. purposefully.

“then why are you so worried?” peter asks, kissing your cheek.

“i’m not kissing you,” you say, instead of answering.

“you’re not?” peter pouts like a child. he is far too grown.

“no.”

“how come?”

you try to pull away from him, but, shockingly, peter is stronger than you are. your will is weak. “you’re going to smudge my lipstick. i just finished.”

“you have more, don’t you?”

“not the point.”

“what?” he asks, his voice so serious and teasing. “you don’t want to kiss me?”

“no, i do not.”

you look away from him, admiring a wall that has always been there.

“are you sure?” peter asks, ducking so he can catch your eyes again, because he is nothing if not cruel.

you break, pouting. “peter,” you whine, “we’re not going to be late again.”

“i think we are.”

“you can kiss me when we get home later,” you promise, trying again to wiggle out of his grasp.

“that is a terrible compromise.”

“you won’t compromise,” you snap back. “what else am i supposed to do?”

peter grins, tilting his head. “okay. i have an idea. how about i kiss you, and then we leave? you don’t even have to kiss back, even though we’d both prefer it that way.”

“i’ll kiss you,” you mock him. “you’re the worst negotiator i’ve ever met.”

“then how come we haven’t left yet?”

you scowl at him, and he scowls back, but his eyes are alight.

your skin is ravenous with an ache to touch him, he’s so close that kissing him would be nothing—merely breathing, really—but you don’t want to lose this game to peter. and you dont want him to stop looking at you.

he pretends to check a watch. “hmm, it’s getting awfully late.”

“are you british all of the sudden?”

peter grins, biting his lip before he tries to bite you. you lean away. “if you like my accent, all you have to do is say so.”

“i like it when you get out of my way, and stop trying to sabotage me. i like that a lot.”

“no clue what you mean, dear.”

you roll your eyes and manage to cross your arms in his hold.

“i wonder how we could solve this,” peter muses, tapping his finger on your waist. “it’s a big problem.”

“i could leave you behind and have lunch with may myself.”

“that’s one option.”

you roll your eyes again.

“i was thinking something else, though,” peter says, and he’s closer now, but you’re sure that you never saw him move. “something more… proactive.”

“shove it, peter.”

“you don’t even want to hear it?”

you sigh, leaning your chest into him, out of pure delusion. “fine. what?”

peter smiles at you, eyes catching eyes.

the look on his face is soft, delirious. he’s got that look in his eyes, and that smile on his face, and he’s still staring at you like he’s mesmerized by whatever you’re doing.

“what?” you repeat, but softly, like you can’t find your voice in the chest cavity peters taken hold of.

“kiss me,” he says, softly, and it’s really not your fault that his lips are already brushing yours.

and it’s not your fault when you lean in, sighing in relief at the mere feel of him.

you’re almost breathless, from the tiniest of kisses.

but then you kiss peter again, and again, and your hands finally wrap around him—keeping hold of something real in this fake reality—and your voice isn’t your own when you groan at peter for making you do this.

you have evacuated your body. you have lost common sense.

but it doesn’t matter, because kissing peter has always made you forget all of that.

and it still does, when he pulls back, grinning like he’s won. “see?” he says, voice ragged. “it was simple.”

“we’re going to be late and it’s your fault.”

peter laughs, kissing you again, staring at your red lips. “gladly. i’ll take all the blame.”

“and you’re making it up to me later.”

“whatever you say,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

he releases you and watches as you finally put on your shoes.

you don’t think it necessary to mention the red marks on his lips. it’s not like it’s your fault they’re there.

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strawberrystepmom · 5 months

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gojo x f!reader are married. he refers to readers breasts and makes a lewd joke. divider by cafekitsune my most beloved | wc 822

“That one looks like you.”

Squeezing Satoru’s bicep where your hand rests against it, arm looped through his, you giggle and shake your head. The statue in front of you is flesh made marble, a woman with thighs that maybe on a really good day resemble yours so painstakingly crafted that crowds gather to see her. She’s beautiful, a depiction of a goddess from fables you are both vaguely familiar with.

Is this really how he sees you? It makes those same butterflies he always manages to create stir in your belly and you wrinkle your nose, taking a peek up at him but looking away to admire the beauty depicted in front of you.

“You’ve already charmed me, Satoru. You don’t have to tell tall tales.” His gaze shifts from the sculpture to you, something you can feel rather than witness. He scoffs and tilts his head, shifting from standing beside you to in front of you, arms still linked together.

“You always say that when I compliment you. Why?”

Laughing, you reach to pinch his side with your freehand and he dodges just in the nick of time. It’s preventative, he always giggles and causes a scene when you touch the tender ticklish spot right at his hip bone, and a museum in another country on a trip the two of you had to bend your schedules to go on is not the place to have a tickle fight. He traps your hand in his and deposits it at your side with a smug half smile.

“Let’s not get into it right now. I’ll just say thank you for the compliment and we can move on.”

Never one to take being put off gracefully, he crowds against you until there is zero space between your bodies. You worry about the PDA being seen as offensive or too much and glance around the mostly empty on a weekday museum where everyone else is fairly ignorant of your existence. It’s just the two of you, as always and not just in your head this time. Smiling, you let him embrace you and rest his balled hands against the small of your back, your entire body leaning into his side.

“You know, I’d have a house full of sculptures and paintings of you just like that if you’d let me,” he mumbles under his breath to bait you. You laugh aloud, pressing your cheek to his arm. “What, nude?” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and raises his eyebrows over the tops of his sunglasses. “Obviously. Or clothed or in a gown or in water or tangled in our bed sheets.”

Pausing to take a breath, he’s surprised to see you already looking up at him when he gazes down at you. He wishes he could capture this with more than just his eyes, his phone and heart. He has painted you before and would create a thousand more odes to his beauty if he had more time on his hands and you’d let him. You’re so eager to disbelieve your own beauty, you haven’t sat to be painted by him in years.

Satoru makes a mental note to rectify that as soon as the two of you get home but continues to speak now that he has your undivided attention, smirking, all dimples and mischief and the things you love the most about him, the tenderness in your glance a reflection of how you feel.

“I’m just saying. I’m sure I could find some sculptor to carve my pretty wife and would do those,” he glances down at your chest and you roll your eyes half-heartedly, still wearing the smile he put on your face with his casual comparison of your likeness to that of a goddess. “The artistic justice they deserve.”

Despite the tongue in cheek joking, he can be such a romantic when he wants to be. You kind of feel he’s laying it on a little thick because you’re on vacation but what’s the harm in having fun when it is luxuriously just the two of you, the rarity that it is?

Smiling up at him, you offer a better solution.

“Maybe they can sculpt both of us. We can see if they’ll do that,” you subtly reach down and pat just below his belt buckle before he can swat at your hand or turn on his Infinity to keep you away, pulling your hand away as quickly as you can. “Some justice too.”

Now that’s an idea he appears to like, his smirk sliding into a full smile. You pat his arm and separate yourself from him, only to be met with a whine. You reach behind you and grab his hand, fingers intertwining as naturally as they always do, pulling him along with you.

“Now let me show you which one reminds me of you,” you tease him, smiling over your shoulder.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #kendall writes #satoken

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strawberry-hachi · 7 months

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Nekoma falling head over heels for their manager? Yes.

It was just a coincidence that you were transferring to a different school in the Tokyo area. It was just a coincidence that you happened to like volleyball. It was just a coincidence that the school in question was Nekoma, which was closest to your guardian's work.

What wasn't a coincidence however, was getting kicked off the girl's volleyball team for retaliating against some girls who were picking on you for coming into the school year late.

So now your only way to really do anything volleyball related was to do it outside of school or become a manager for the other team.

Nekoma hasn't had a manager in who knows how long so of course they jump at the chance when you are somehow brought along as one of Kuroo's many friends.

He was able to convince you with the allure of skipping class for games as well as more help with homework and who would pass up good grades and the chance to play volleyball? Not you.

Kuroo has always had an eye for you, believe it or not. He is a logical person, even underneath all that mischief and wild flair. He had a way with words and an even better way with figuring people out. So it's no wonder he would attempt to talk to the new person who suddenly appeared at Nekoma one day. Even less surprising was him falling face first when talking to you.

All you did was help him when his school supplies got trashed from a particular nasty fall he took early in your time at Nekoma, and that was it for him. He was stuck to you like a parasite despite the different classes and year. He was hooked.

He was a logical person until he wasn't. Such as when Kenma oversleeps on purpose to avoid playing games, or when Yaku gets on his nerves for the nth time that day. He was logical with certain people, and perhaps a bit of a menace with others. He isn't really sure where you fit in his us vs them mentality and he isn't sure if he wants to find out. Not when you glance at him while walking through the hallway that sends a chill up his spine, or when your arms or legs brush together when you are studying together that has him shoving his head into his pillows at night, or even that one time when you had shoved him and you into a locker that was much too small for both of you so you could avoid the girls on the volleyball team. Yeah. Perhaps it's better if he doesn't figure you out just yet.

And it wasn't long till he began bringing up the idea of manager, even more so since you got kicked off the girl's volleyball team.

So now you are being introduced to the team as Kuroo practically vibrates with joy because his favorite people are coming together for something he loves.

And it's not long till Yamamoto tries to approach you. Despite his rather intimidating demeanor, he is a sweetheart and a bunch of nerves at heart. He could only keep his eyes off the ground when talking to you once and so you simply gave him the space he needed. He was obviously overwhelmed and somehow, this was all he needed to have confirmation with himself that he liked you.

Just like the Humpty Dumpty duo at Karasuno, he can be a bit overbearing at times. You can't seem to exactly shake him off even when he is practically dying on the floor.

You need to refill the water bottles? He can help if you let him! You need to help plan the team schedule? He has the entire night! You need to pick up some groceries? He's already got it!

You know who is just like Yamamoto but x10? Lev. He is such a sweetheart but goodness gracious sometimes he needs to take a step back otherwise he will take all your personal space.

He first approached you about a week after you joining the team and it was because he almost fell onto you while trying to get his water bottle. He had apologized, of course, but not without taking note of how nice it felt to hug you.

Lev, as you learn later, has always been the affectionate sort and it grew from his older sister, Alisa, who would constantly dote on him. You met her much later during nationals, which you had attempted Lev to try and set her up with you but it resulted in absolutely dreaded failure because Lev immediately passed out upon the request and Kuroo, upon hearing said request, attempted to take Alisa's place.

Lev, as he later learns, is that he developed much more than a stupid puppy crush. He isn't sure exactly when it started. Maybe when he first met you and how he almost crushed you under himself, or maybe a bit later on when you two accidentally got locked inside the gym because you were practicing late together, so you two talked until dawn. It could've even been the instance when you taught him how to do a floater serve and he clearly remembers how your hands held his and your body up against his back as you focused on the ball instead of his red face.

It was from then on you didn't escape practice without Lev trying to glomp you at least once, and you aren't entirely sure if you hate it or not.

Someone who does hate it would be Yaku, who can't seem to stop yelling at Lev each time he goes rushing to you for help with his spikes and receives.

The first time Yaku interacted with you was a little after Lev did, with Yaku scolding the boy for trying to "run you over" (you could probably tackle and eat Lev alive if you really wanted to but you didn't mention it).

Yaku has told you that you are too soft on the boy and he needs more discipline if he wants to be good, but you honestly don't have the heart to be as mean to him as you would be with actual teammates.

Yaku, quite frankly, finds it infuriating how soft you are with Lev, and the team in general, but he won't say anything about it if it means that he gets to call you in the middle of the night after a particularly rough practice to hangout. If it means he gets to see you look at him with such a soft smile on your face that he seldom sees during school, he is more than willing to let it slide.

And if you two accidentally get trapped in the storage room one day, it isn't exactly his fault if you two decide to use each other as warmth until they unlock the door. His face was red anyway, he's sure that you won't think twice about it.

Fukunaga on the other hand, is someone who probably over thinks every single little thing you do in relation to him.

It was around the time you met Inouka that you met him. You were helping Inouka with rounding up the stray balls when you had responded to one of Inouka's questions about your volleyball skills with a joke (as you often do because why go into detail about how often you had beef with your own teammates?!). It was then that Fukunaga had fired a quip back and turned the question once more onto you had you two finally learned of each other's existence.

Perhaps it's why you two are so aware of every little thing either of you say.

You said hi to him, does that mean anything? Oh you helped him with his serves, that must mean something right?

However, just because he is prone to overthinking (just as you are with him) doesn't mean it's his whole character. More often than not he is trying to come up with jokes for you and is probably the one you talk with the most if Kuroo wouldn't constantly stalk (he doesn't actually and he swears by this but Yaku and Kenma find it funny as it is something to hold over his head) you.

It's odd to say the least. He is usually the most detached of all the people in Nekoma's team and yet despite this, you find yourself absorbed in conversation after conversation with him. It was a matter of time till he started looking for you in every single room, unconsciously or not.

Liking someone is a foreign concept, especially in the way Fukunaga sees you and so you can't blame him when his jokes slowly turn to pick up lines every so often or he replies to your quips with compliments to throw you off. It's not like you can blame him either when he decides to try and plan your conversations ahead of time so he can catch you at every single front. Perhaps even get you flustered in the same way you do to him he so often finds.

Someone who doesn't show his emotions, however, is Kenma, who you've never really gotten a good read on.

He was perhaps one of the last ones that you had truly met before things kicked off with the team.

You'll admit, the way you met him wasn't the best. It was after practice and it was particularly stormy that night. You had an umbrella but a certain somebody didn't.

Kuroo, bless his heart, had left earlier before the storm came full blast to get something back home, and so Kenma was planning to walk through the rain until you offered him your umbrella.

You had more than once ran through the rain because of practice running late and so you thought nothing of it, but instead of him going with it, he simply took it and glued next to your side until you got home yourself.

It was an awkward walk as you stood shoulder to shoulder, and even more awkward when you got home as he bid you goodnight like some boyfriend and walked home; umbrella still in hand.

It was a Friday and so you did not see him or your umbrella until Monday, and so when he gave it back during class it was quite the sight. Yet, he did not seem fazed from all the stares and whispers. Not a bit.

You don't think you'll ever be able to read his expressions.

Him on the other hand, finds you quite the enigma. You were known as some wild dog since you had attacked three of the members on the volleyball team at Nekoma your very first day, and yet had acted so kindly, if not reserved, as a manager.

Even more so when he saw the way some other members looked or spoke of you.

He caught on quickly with the other's feelings for you, and he wasn't sure you'd ever come to realize, but that's okay. It's perfectly fine if it means he can take you to the rooftop to hangout without any pressure of another. The moment he perhaps truly fell head over heels, however, was during their summer camp that Karasuno was invited to. You had met Shoyo and hit it off, and he, somehow, was able to convince you to teach him how to serve. Something perhaps all of Karasuno + Kenma knew how bad Shoyo was at it.

It was then he fell, he thinks. To see someone so straight laced and aggressive during school hours willingly help someone with a smile on their face? Yeah. He fell hard.

And he struggles to show this to you and not others, especially considering how Kuroo has attached himself at your hip and Lev at your arm. Especially considering how Yaku always tries to find time to hang out with you and Fukunaga talks to you all the time. It infuriates him to no end but yet you still have patience for him even after all that socializing. You still have time to watch as he beats a level you were stuck on. You still have time to get him that game he has been looking at and for once, he doesn't mind the company.

He really doesn't mind, even if the side effect comes with wanting to kiss you breathless and have you look at him the way he looks at you.

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