#hopefully this makes sense/is somewhat helpful!

[kaybreezy3000]

that new head Cannon story was so good. Will you do something of a bigger scene of him in the apocalypse suffering or something like with him not okay and hitting like a mental break down and someone needs to help him. Family or whatever makes sense? Your broken season 4 five is amazing./ But anything you want to do would be appreciated

Please Hold me

~A one-shot reader request, rated General, 5780 words, This one for the sake of being different is Season 3 Five and his family, Mega Whump with no warnings other than panic attacks and traumatic flashbacks of the apocalypse

Summary: Set at the beginning of season 3, the pain that had been inflicted on Five mentally and physically up until this point comes to a head. Little did Five know, when the truth comes out and he finally breaks, he is going to get the love and support he was dying for all along.

(~Anon: Thank you for reading my last headcanon s4 story. I am so happy you liked it. I have written so many things with Five dealing with the demons we saw him fighting on the show. I never felt like they gave him his due on screen with that stuff, and then worse, he and his family never came to terms with any of it. It all just got swept under the rug for all of them, so here you go. Here's a little story that hopefully gives you what you were looking for in this request)

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Standing in the lobby of the hotel Obsidian, as Five slowly passed him, looking even more out of it and mad than he did in the park right after they got their asses handed to them by the Sparrows, confused, Luther asked, “Where are you going?”

“I am going to get a lay of the land,” Five mumbled, then without another word, he made his way down the hall behind them, intent on looking for a bathroom. He didn’t feel like he was going to vomit anymore, but at least knowing where he could seemed like a good idea.

Five found his objective not long later. There was a small, very out of date public restroom just off the main foyer. Oddly, it was dark inside as he opened the door. Feeling around for a light switch, he quickly found one, and then just as fast, the brightness was painfully burning his blood shot eyes.

Moving on autopilot, Five used the toilet then found himself standing in front of the mirror, mindlessly washing his hands. When he looked up, he was taken aback.

His young face was a mess of dirty smudges and dried blood. There wasn’t an ounce of color to his skin. His clothes weren’t much better. Looking down, he saw that he was covered in grimy patches of dirt and who knew what else from the floor of Sissy’s barn. Without thinking, he tugged at his shirt, untucking it so he could pull it and his vest up.

His eyes traveled over the maze of purple and black bruises that covered nearly every square inch of his chest and torso. His fingers slowly moved over the darkest areas. There were three, and they happened to be exactly where the bullets had been after The Handler shot at him.

Five winced from the pain as he touched. His labored breathing started to get worse. He was starting to panic. The floor was swaying. His hands frantically grasped for the counter to prevent him from falling.

‘Breathe…just breathe,’ he mentally ordered himself, forcing his eyes to focus on the black and white tiled pattern on the floor.

“You can’t break. Not like this,” he panted as his insides rolled with sickness.

His head spun, but somehow, Five managed to stand up straight again, tucking his dress shirt back in his schoolboy shorts in a somewhat respectable way. 

On the way back from the bathroom, he could hear Diego talking to the rest of his family as he sluggishly moved past the reception desk, heading back to the lounge area in the main lobby.

“Apocalypse avoided or not this time. Do you guys really think we should trust Five’s take on all this timeline stuff?” Diego asked.

Realizing they were talking about him, Five slowed his zombie-like pace even more.

“After all these years alone and then the messed-up shit he did after that for the Commission, I am pretty sure it’s safe to say Five is a little out there when it comes to his way of thinking,” Diego continued. “I’m not sure if you guys noticed, but he is not exactly what you’d call stable. Did you see his little moment back there at the Sparrow’s evil lair? I had a hallucination incident too after I got goobered on, but mine was at least awesome and if it had been real, it would have been great way to solve our differences with those assholes. Five was in la-la land.”

“Ah-huh… Dance offs are very realistic when trying to stake a claim on lives that are no longer yours,” Allison laughed while looking over at Viktor sitting next to her, who smiled tensely, clearly not doing so great either.

“You have a point,” Klaus said, deciding to chime in since no one else was. Rubbing his chin, his lips pulled to the side. “Our little old guy got all sorts of freaky with his imaginary girlfriend back there. Five’s Dolores thing is just…” He frowned. “I don’t think you can just come back from that kind of thing; he's so attached. Five may be on another level when it comes to brains, but that stuff…” He shook his head. “It did something to him. Bad stuff, like very very bad stuff that ruins you,” he finished, just as Five came back into the room.

Allison’s eyes shot Five’s way, but that didn’t stop Klaus.

Thinking their worried expressions meant that they didn’t understand what he was say, he kept going. “I’m just saying, I don't know about what's going on inside Five’s head or not, but I do know he was totally shaking the sheets with his plastic woman," Klaus laughed. "I mean, who can blame him, really, after all he went through. She’s hot and she doesn’t talk back and Five likes that. And we all know that he still considers Dolores a big part of his life whether she's here with him, or not. And even worse, who knows if Five ever got laid like for real real while he was with the Commission. He has no idea what it's like to have intimacy like that, not in a way that's real anyway. Just look at him now and his cute face always bent out of shape with rage. He’s a ticking time bomb of teenage hormonal insanity.”

Klaus pointed to small boutique across the grand lobby from where they were sitting.

“Someone should probably go tell them to hide their mannequins. We have a horny little monster on the loose,” he giggled, but then, realizing nobody else was laughing with him, he followed Allison’s wide-eyed line of sight straight towards Five.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Five,” Klaus tried but Five was already turning. “Why didn’t anyone say he was right there?” he asked, looking at the stunned faces glaring back at him. “Five, wait!” Klaus tried again, but all he got was Five lifting his middle finger as he rushed down the hall he’d just come from.

Once out of sight, Five staggered, tripping over his own feet, frantically trying to get away from them. His head was pounding so hard he couldn’t think.

Falling into the elevator, he slumped against the wall, punching the floor with his room number on it.

Rushing to beat him, Klaus took off, sprinting up the stairway to the second floor. Racing down the maze of halls, he reached Five’s room a minute later, just as he was trying but failing to get his key in the door.

Suddenly, eyes rolling back in his head, Five started to fall. Klaus quickly reached out to balance him. “Whoa there,” he gasped, finally feeling just how small and vulnerable he was and that only made him feel worse about everything he’d just said about him.

Five was not the boy they all saw, but it was hard to remember that when the tormented eyes looking back at them were that of the little angry kid they’d lost so long ago.

Five blankly stared at Klaus, trying to focus, but his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. Klaus took the dangling keys from his finger, opening the door for him so he could help him across the small room. As soon as Five was next to the bunk beds, he slipped sideways onto the lower bunk, crashing into the musty bedding.

“Just stay down man, I’ll be right back,” Klaus ordered.

Five whimpered.

Klaus appeared a few minutes later, skidding around the door frame with a bottle of water and some crackers in hand.

He carefully sat down next to Five on the small mattress, his dark eyebrows furrowing with worry. “Are you bleeding internally or something else awful and not telling us again? Because you don’t look so good, little buddy.”

“No. I’m just sick of all this bullshit," Five snapped, but his normal bite had no bark. "It never stops, and I’m just fucking tired. And don’t call me little buddy ever again unless you want me to strangle you.”

“Okaaay,” Klaus skeptically replied. “Will you eat something?” he asked, offering Five the pile of crackers in his hand. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you eat anything.

Hearing the worry in his voice, Five weakly reached out and took one cracker, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat it. He was too sick to do anything anymore. His body was shuddering and even just the mentioning of food was bringing back memories of burning human flesh and it was leaving a sickening taste of bitterness on his tongue to add to sour taste of failure that was already there.

Five’s revulsion and anger didn’t help the concerned look on Klaus’s face from growing.

“Five, I didn’t mean that stuff I was saying. You know me, I have a big mouth.”

“I know,” Five muttered. He knew Klaus meant it, because it was all true. Klaus just didn’t mean for him to hear it.

“I’m sorry,” Klaus begged.

When Five didn’t say anything, Klaus set the water down on the rickety nightstand.

Wordlessly, he rolled back the bedding and urged Five to roll under it. When he noticed the gun stuffed down the back of Five’s little shorts, Klaus took that too, placing it on the bedside table.

Five didn't have the strength to fight him. Instead, he desperately bundled up under the comforter. Laying there, falling apart as he listened to Klaus get up, a moment later, he felt the bed frame wiggle, then more blankets from the upper bunk fell over him.

“Just try to get some rest, man.” With that, Klaus shut the dingy curtains, blocking out the light and the noise of the city, then the door clicked shut.

Alone and glad not to have his brother looking at him still like he was a puppy that just got smoked by a car, unfortunately the pounding in Five’s head grew worse. When he closed his eyes, the room kept spinning like when he drank too much.

Klaus’s voice in the hall as he talked to who Five assumed was one of his siblings, eventually trailed off.

Five’s mind was as shattered and the phantom pains taking over his body had him to the point that he couldn’t fend off the exhaustion anymore. As the nightmare he was living mixed with the nightmares of his past and his heart sank even more, it hit him that his family didn’t need or want him anymore.

They never did.

With that thought in mind, everything slipped away in the darkness of his dreams.

The inside of his tiny hotel room, everything disappeared as Five lay there, finally at rest but not at all at peace.

Twisting in the blankets, Five’s sore and horribly split feet crunched along on a debris filled road in his boots that were a size too small.

The gloom of an apocalyptic horizon was all he could see for miles and miles.

His insides danced in a flurry of nerves, but there he was, almost certain there wasn’t a trace of fever this time. He hadn't eaten anything that had gone bad.

He didn't know.

He stood, facing yet another burnt building, flinching at the familiar sight of a charred body. His insides clenched from starvation even as the sight of it made him sicker.

That smell…

The smell of burnt flesh, and rot.

His mouth watered. Then he gagged.

He couldn’t…

Never that.

It had been more days than Five could count since he had put anything in his mouth that resembled food. The few canned goods he was able to find in the ruins of a grocery store months ago were long gone. If he was going to find anything salvageable, he was going to have to start digging deeper through the mountainous piles of rubble, but he had almost no strength to do it.

He was so weak. He could feel his own bones rubbing painfully against the tightly notched belt at his waist. He was starving to death, and the fear that he was never going to get out of that place was consuming him as much as his own body was consuming itself.

He felt the ground against his cheek before he even realized he had collapsed.

Then it all went dark.

When he woke, it was gloomier. The usual ominous red in the sky had grown slightly more prominent on the horizon, the only indicator that there was sun still at all. He gingerly pulled himself up to a sitting position, trying to gather his bearings.

It was almost night.

His head hurt more than before. He raised his hand and fingers slowly, inspecting a patch of dried blood at his temple.

“Passed out. Again…” he said, his mouth so dry he could hardly form the words.

He took a deep breath, looking around. His wagon with his meager finds was still only a few feet away.

Dolores looked back at him kindly. ‘It’s not like I can move on my own silly,’ she said, sweetly as she could.

In his head, she sounded like Grace.

Just that alone helped, even if it was in the smallest way possible. Five would never forget the only mother he had and her caring for him when no one else did. Even if she wasn’t a real living thing and she had no choice and didn’t really love him because a robot couldn't love, at least Five could say he had something. Something awful but good?

With Dolores, she was trying to make light of their dire situation. For years, since she’d become something real to him, Dolores had always tried to make Five smile no matter how bad things were.

Wanting to reassure her, Five managed to pull off a weak version of a smile, but only because he knew she was so worried about him.

Pain digging at his insides, Five knew that if he didn't find food and water of some kind, there was little time left and his body would shut down completely. He needed to move, or he was going to die.

Drumming up all the strength he had left, Five staggered to his feet on wobbly, bone thin legs.

“I’ll be back,” he said to Dolores. There was no need to explain that he wasn’t strong enough to pull the wagon or carry her with him. She already knew.

He stumbled along, doing his best not to fall over the broken world in his path. There had to be something left. He was certain when he had come that way two days before, that at one time, this had been a bustling neighborhood, filled with large homes and massive stores. Now it looked pretty much like everything else, and he had yet to find anything.

He walked on. Eventually his eyes grew too tired to survey the landscape, and instead they fell to his feet, but he kept moving.

After walking like that for an undetermined amount of time, Five looked up and realized there was an indication of a partial structure still standing up ahead.

He moved as fast as he could towards it.

It had to have something!

As he moved closer, he could make out signs that it had been a store of some sort.

Oh my God thank you!

Scrambling over the broken walls, avoiding the deathly glass blades still sticking out of the rubble, Five came across what he needed. Canned food, not destroyed, or having exploded or leaked out on the parched earth.

He fell on his knees, immediately tearing through his pack, looking for an opener.

He didn't care what it was, the labels were burned and unreadable if they even had any. He attacked the metal, hardly getting it open before he was desperately sucking the liquid out.

After a minute or two of that, he had forethought to open the can all the way, but his patience wasn’t much better as he dumped the slippery substance down his throat, hardly even taking the time to chew.

It was mistake.

Five lurched forwards, his stomach seizing in pain as his prize splattered to the ground.

“Fuck.” He gasped for air, fighting the sensation of sickness as each wave racked his body.

It had been too long. He wasn’t used to eating that much at once.

“You can’t be so fucking stupid!” he angrily yelled, his voice echoing in the nothing around him.

Five knew he couldn’t afford these kinds of mistakes, yet he kept making them.

He slid back on his butt, moving along the dirt, away from his mess. He fell back against a large piece of cement, thankfully avoiding the sharp rebar sticking out of it. All it would take was one small infection from a cut and he would be gone. He was too weak already.

He looked up at the sky, fighting tears…tears and precious fluid he couldn’t afford to lose.

“Just breathe, breathe…in and out…” he repeated. Gritting his teeth, air moving through his nose much too fast.

He couldn’t stop. He was spiraling.

His mind screamed at him because he could no longer speak. There is no place for this here!

With a deep breath, and then another, the darkness folding in around him eventually withdrew. Five reached over and took the can again. Slowly this time, he pinched a piece of what looked like some type of fruit and brought it to his cracked lips. This time he needed to make sure it stayed in. He let it roll in his mouth as he savored the flavor. It wasn’t ash or flesh and that was all that mattered.

After keeping that in, he kept going, very carefully. He had to stop before he finished a third of the can. Then he closed his eyes. Drained, Five fell asleep, not waking until the world around him was completely dark.

Dolores would be worried. She would be scared, but he couldn’t get back to her like that.

But he would.

He had to get back.

Even though he couldn’t see what he was doing, Five kept trying to finish the can. Eventually he did, even licking every last drop off his filthy, ragged fingers.

“You can’t die here. You can’t do that to them,” he scolded himself.

Finally regaining his senses as he started to wake up, blinking rapidly, Five looked out from under his massive pile of blankets. The room was dim, but the bright light shining in from the crack along the edge of the ugly curtains and the birds chirping outside proved it was morning.

Last, he could recall, it was late afternoon.

Or was it…?

He didn’t know anymore.

Five felt so disoriented while trying to remember what happened. After laying there for probably ten minutes or more, he finally noticed Klaus sitting next to him with a very worried look on his face. Five immediately tried to sit up, but just as fast, he collapsed back into the bed, feeling everything from the sheets to his clothes completely soaked through.

He was still dressed in his academy uniform, minus the ugly bowling shoes. His soiled dress shirt was clinging to his sweaty frame. He had no idea where he was or what timeline it was anymore.

Every bone in his body shook and quivered. Fire felt like it ran through his veins, but his outer core was frozen. The only thing that felt warm was the flood of fresh tears that had rolled down onto his damp pillow.

Seeing his normally put together brother crumbling proved to be enough for Klaus to lean over, hesitantly coming closer.

He raised his arm, resting the back of his hand against Five’s forehead. Five’s jaw set even tighter as Klaus said, “This is not good. You’re burning up.”

His words came out unevenly through chattering teeth as Five asked, “Where am I?” 

Klaus’s brows furrowed. “The hotel.” He paused and shook his head apologetically. “Remember? Dad not being all that thrilled to see his long-lost children again, and then the new and improved Sparrows doing their best to kill us?”

Five let his body fall back on his damp pillow.

“We all came back here afterward,” Klaus explained.

It should have given Five some sense of relief to hear that, but it didn’t.

Five shook his head.

“Five, you don’t need to worry. This place is safe. You can take all the time you need. If you feel well enough, maybe you can get cleaned up, maybe eat a little something?”

“I’m fine.”

Fear struck Klaus him even harder, his eyes widening. “No, you are not.”

“Yes, I am.” Five sat up and flung the blankets off, immediately regretting it. The cold air sliced into him, making him shake even harder. He tried climbing off the mattress, only to have his legs give out. Klaus was quick to react, catching him before he toppled into the nightstand.

“Five, you look like shit,” he murmured, flinching a little as it looked like Five might deck him if he could.

“Thanks, everyone keeps pointing that out. I get it. You don’t need to keep reminding me,” Five said in between labored breaths as he lowered his guard and sat back down.

“I can tell you are hell bent on something, Five, but you will be lucky to make it out of this room right now,” Klaus argued, as he smiled.

Five let out a frustrated growl, wiping his face, his fingers looking like he was trying to dig his eyes out as he looked back up at Klaus in defeat. “Help me then.”

“I will. Just lay back down, I’m going to get you something to eat. Just stay here, ok?”

“Ok,” Five replied, pushing back into the mountain of blankets. Klaus looked so relieved. “I’ll be right back.”

He scurried out of the room. Even swaddled tightly, Five could hardly repress his trembling body from full-on convulsing.

He was having a fever. That partly explained why he felt like shit. He knew that but why didn’t he know the rest until Klaus told him?

All at once, he remembered his dream, or better yet, his nightmare based on a very real memory.

He shut his eyes and tried to forget.

He couldn't. He never would.

“Why was this happening to me?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Five did his best to force them not to, but a stream of more warm tears ran down his face anyway.

His fingers slid under his shirt, over his clammy skin. He searched once again for the torn flesh from my phantom bullet holes but found nothing.

It hurt like a bitch anyway.

Klaus startled him when he came back in, rushing over to set a tray filled with all sorts of things on the nightstand. After that, Five kept his head buried in the blankets as he discreetly swiped away the beads of sweat dampening his forehead, desperate not to show even more evidence of his breakdown.

“There should be something on here that you will like. The buffet here is the best.” Klaus said encouragingly as he tried to bring a cup of juice with a straw to Five’s lips.

“I can do it, I'm not a helpless child,” Five said, blindly taking it from him.

As Five peeked at him through a hole in the blankets, Klaus looked slightly hurt, but he quickly tried to hide it, instead, going about the room, picking up dirty clothes that looked like they belonged to both him and Diego and seeing it all laying there, Five had no idea why.

Had they both stayed with me?

Had everyone come in here?

“I’m going to go out and give you some space. If you need anything, just call.” Klaus smiled, then turned to go but quickly spun back. “Oh, I put some fresh clothes I rummaged up over there. They should work in case you want them,” he offered, pointing to the nearly baren room’s only dresser. “There’s a bathroom down the hall that you can shower up in. It’s a shared sort of situation in there.” He laughed. “Very classy old-school here at the Obsidian.”

“Thank you, Klaus. I am fine. Despite what you see, I can take care of myself,” Five assured, attempting to sound like his self-assured normal, all so he didn’t look so damn pathetic, but then as he tried to sit up again, his vision spun, and he ended up slouching on the pillows instead.

Klaus wasn’t buying it. He quickly came back over, taking the cup from his brother’s hand before it spilled. “I’m staying,” he said, as he parked himself in the torn dressing chair that he already had pulled up next to the side of Five’s bed.

After that, Five hazily remembered talking with Klaus while he helped him eat. Then he knew that he must have dozed off again, because when he awoke, the room was dark, and he was alone.

His burning fever had let up. He felt considerably better than before. He rolled over towards the faint light coming from a lamp on the dresser. Through the curtains, he could make out the faintest lights sparkling in the cityscape.

He’d slept the entire day. The clock on the old nightstand said nine-thirty.

Five heaved the mountain of blankets back, pulling his legs around to the side of the bed. His empty tray was still where Klaus had left it. He had stayed long after Five finished every last bit of food, and Klaus pretended to be resting after that as he tried to sprawl out in his tiny chair, but Five knew he was just staying to make sure he was ok. He was so scared to take his eyes off of him that he didn’t even get up on the top bunk.

Thankfully he didn’t, Five thought. If he had, the whole thing may have come crashing down on him.

“What a shithole,” Five breathed.

Five wasn’t going to admit it, but Klaus at least found somewhere for them to go when he’d had no helpful suggestions. And knowing Klaus was there with him when he was so out of it was probably half the reason he was able to let go and rest again, otherwise, with the little energy the food had given him, he probably would have laid there not letting his guard down as he ruminated on the endless supply of nightmares, he feared were waiting for him.

Further surveying the room, Five noticed there was not much to it, and he remembered Klaus saying the bathroom was down the hall. Trying out his legs, he was happy to find out they weren’t nearly as weak as before.

He made his way across the room, and sure as he promised, Klaus had laid out what appeared to be some very fitting old guy clothes, weird multipocketed fishing style jacket, and plaid fedora included. Holding them up, the pants and shirts looked like they would fit him, and at the moment, Five didn’t care whose clothes Klaus had stolen for him.

Nothing in him wanted to join them, but knowing at some point he had to, and that he needed to clean up, Five sighed. Breathing in, he realized that he smelled horrendous.

He stole a quick look in the dressing mirror and got confirmation; yup, he still looked like shit smeared with shit.

Once inside the large community bathroom that was thankfully yet oddly empty, behind the dressing curtain of one of the showers, Five worked off his soiled clothes, throwing them in a heap.

He couldn’t remember the last time had time for a proper shower. It hadn’t been in this scrawny pubescent body, that was for sure. He had been wearing most of the same clothes he had on when in the 60’s, he’d gotten tricked into taking out the board of directors.

Sickened all over again as vision of their terrified faces slitting open under the blade of his ax, it dawned on Five that not all the blood and grime on him was from the fight at Sissy’s farm.

He was disgusting and his clothes needed to be burned.

In a daze, Five reached in the shower and after several attempts, he managed to get the water hot enough. After that, he stepped inside the spray and completely zoned out.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in there. Well after the shampoo and suds were gone, he stood there, letting the hot water cascade down his face, as if he could somehow wash away his sins and the events of the last two weeks.

Once again, his ignorance had put all of them one step closer to fucking everything up.

Five felt so empty, so worthless.

His dizzying array of questions and self-loathing were cut short when he closed his eyes. In the darkness that surrounded him, the steam of the shower that had felt so soothing on second, suddenly seemed to be smothering him.

He couldn’t breathe!

All he could see was the smoke and ash, feeling the scorching heat against his back and the crumbling cement under his hands as he tore through the ruins trying to unbury his family.

It was too late…

They were already gone but Five didn't care. He wanted them back so fucking badly.

He wanted to be back with them. But he wasn’t. Not really. They were right.

His eyes flew back open, panic arresting all his senses. The limited space of the tub closed in all around him. His chest heaved as he tried to take in air, and his abdomen throbbed even though the wounds that his mind told him were covering it weren’t even there. The pain sent him crumpling to the ground as he tore the shower curtain open and stumbled out. He barely managed to fasten a towel around himself before he fell to the floor, failing to stifle a loud sob.

Someone called out, their voice echoing through the silence of the large bathing area outside the dressing curtain, but Five couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even move. He curled over and began sinking to the floor when he heard something pop.

Bullets popping off in a barrage of gunfire filled his ears as his eyes darted around the small shower stall.

“Fuck, fuck, Fuck, FUCK!” he panted, hyperventilating.

Five’s breathing was nothing more than insufficient gasps as shoes like bullets clipped quickly in his direction.

Please stop, just make it stop!

His low line blurred vision had him seeing a pair of knees, and feet, but he quickly recognized the unlaced combat boots, and that gave him some hope of escaping his waking nightmare.

Klaus suddenly pushed the curtain out of his way and helped Five up so he could sit on the edge of the dressing stool, then he knelt in front of Five, his eyes running over his almost completely exposed body. “Just breathe, Five. What happened?” he asked, his voice sounding so scared that it only scared Five even more.

Forcing himself to look up at his brother, the air was still too suffocating in there for Five to think. He tried to say as much but found himself instead stumbling out of the shower. The immediate drop in temperature between the small mildew filled coffin trying trap him and the grand vaulted ceiling of the bath area was a blessing, but it still wasn’t enough.

Five staggered over to the doors leading out in a desperate attempt to escape, and on his tail, Klaus caught him just as he blinked.

“Five, what are you doing?” Klaus cried out, clinging to Five’s damp arm as they both fell out of his portal onto the roof, but not answering, like a wild animal, Five wrestled out of his hold and bolted.

Almost fully naked and totally out of his mind, Five didn’t make it farther than the edge of the building, stopping at the sight of the six-floor drop. It hit him like a slap in the face.

Wheezing he pulled in breath after breath of the cool night air. The wind was strong, whipping Five’s dark wet hair in his face. The feel of it chilled his entire body even more. The sounds of the horns honking in the traffic were like voices yelling at him, slowly helping to ground him in the now.

It was letting go, the pain…all of it. All the death, but every time Five so much as blinked his eyes, all he could see was concrete, rot, and ash and blood.

The painful toll of reliving this was becoming more and more evident each day. Five knew his mind was slipping away from him, but he didn’t know what to do to stop it. The visions were happening more and more often. His family wasn’t wrong.

He wasn’t okay.

From behind, Klaus carefully reached out, but Five suddenly cowered. Out of instinct, he raised his small arms, readying for a fight.

Looking from his balled-up fists, then back at his brother, Five was even more disgusted with himself.

He sobbed, dignity be damned, letting his body slowly sink to the black tar slicked roof under his bare feet.

A warm embrace suddenly cradled around him despite his sopping wet frame. “You’re okay. You’re not alone. It’s ok…” Klaus soothed.

He was right. The moment his brother’s arms held him, the pain in Five’s chest let up some, and so did the visions. But no matter how good it felt to have someone caring enough to touch him like that, Five couldn’t stop shaking his head. He couldn’t stop sobbing.

“You’re okay. Just breath, keep breathing, man. Slow and steady…”

Five choked in the air as he tried to pull it in slower, forcing myself to calm down and come back all the way.

He squeezed his eyes shut and flashes of cement and ash and broken bodies flew before his eyes, wooden planks smeared with Diego’s blood as Lila she looked at the Handler, seconds away from her heartbroken eyes becoming as blank as the rest. All of it was making an almost blind panic seize Five all over again.

“Everyone’s gone,” he sobbed. “I fucked up…I got you all killed. I got you all killed again!” His whole body shook, and Klaus wrapped himself around him tighter.

"How-" Klaus started but Five interrupted.

"I turned it back."

"What?"

"Time!" Five shouted as his small body rocked and Klaus rocked with him. "I turned it back to stop it from happening," Five whispered, burying his face against his arms.

"You had to save us again? God, Five... I am so sorry," Klaus breathed, his chin resting in the wet matt of hair on the back of his brother's head.

Five said nothing.

“Look,” Klaus said, “Open your eyes. I’m here, we are all here. It’s ok. Just keep breathing, it will stop. You’re having a panic attack. Just keep breathing slowly. Everything is going to be ok.” His voice came in waves and he kept repeating it, working it into Five’s mind the guiding light of love he needed more than anything and had for so long.

Five opened his eyes, seeing his long white toes lined up next to his brother’s big boots as their legs stretched out in front of them. Slowly Five turned his head to face Klaus just a little. “Thank you,” he quietly breathed, squeezing his hand tight, scared of letting it go when normally he was scared of being touched at all.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you this time. We all do,” Klaus whispered. “Just keep breathing… Stay with us, Five.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, there it is. For those that have read my first series, some of this might have seemed familiar. As I said, I have written so many things with Five breaking down and his family being there for him in ways they never were on the show, so I borrowed a little of the dream and his shower break down from things that happened in part three of that story, but hopefully this season 3 adaptation I changed it into worked for you.

I know I sure could have seen this version happening to Five, especially since right before landing in the Sparrows house when he had the shit beat out of him by Lila, frying pan to the head and all, right before a chimney crushed him and then he was shot by the Handler and had to reverse time. He never even told his family he did that as far as how the show went down. So... yeah. Five deserved more and thank you for asking for it.

Link to my Tumblr story and art posts

Link to my Master List

Link to visit me on A03

[comickergirl]

Hey, fellow supergirl fan here! I was curious, I've seen lots of your posts, really love em, and we seem to share a similar aesthetic for Kara! I noticed you really like woman of tomorrow, and after seeing it get announced for the adaptation, I just kinda got confused. See, I read it, but it felt really cynical to me? I don't mean it is, and I definitely don't mean to diss a book you like! I just wanted to know , well, if you could explain to me why you liked it, maybe I'm missing something! I think a fresh perspective would help me try and get into it again!

Hello!

Oh, hey, no worries! While it is true that I love Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, I also recongize that it's not going to work for everyone.

Personally, I really dig it for several reasons, first and foremost being that I love Bilquis Evely's art (which I first discovered via Sugar & Spike: Metahuman Investigations—definitely recommend checking that comic out!) and Mat Lopes' colors. Evely drew a Silver Age Kara in Sugar & Spike and I was like, 'you know what? She'd absolutely crush it on a Supergirl book.' And she did! From the gorgeous space dragon splash pages in issue two to the lovely expression work throughout, all rendered in her incredibly precise inks and expertly colored by Lopes, it's just. So. So good. (I couldn't find a pic of the space dragon saved on my phone but here's one of Kara and Comet outrunning the Mordru Globe, equally stunning.)

And I dig the writing as well! The way I read it, this is Kara on like. The absolute worst day(s). She's seeing the worst the universe has to offer with Krem and the Brigands and it's dredging up all these reminders of her own trauma, and yet! She endures, and even more than that, all that darkness and sadness doesn't ever snuff out her kindness and compassion.

Apologies but I'm gonna spoil one of the pages from the end of the run because 1.) it conveniently highlights a lot of the panels/points I'd share anyways, so it's very efficient XD and 2.) I think it just...it perfectly sums up Kara's true heroism? Which is not just in the big superhero fights and the cool powers but also in those smaller moments, of just helping people and being there for them, when they need it:

(Like my absolute favorite line? In the whole book? Is Ruthye telling Kara: Or in that town where I saw true evil. And I felt eternally lost, and you let me lean on your shoulder and you put an arm around me, pulling me back until I was found. That's just. Some top-tier Supergirl writing, IMO.)

Tl; dr: Woman of Tomorrow is definitely not for everyone BUT, I think King really does understand the core of who Kara is and as such! Those character moments really shine in this book.

...Also, like. That art! THAT ART!!!! XD

[r0semultiverse]

WHAT WHAT WHAAAATTT?!?!

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Fandom things I'm looking forward to:

Kingdom Hearts IV and Missing Link

Final Fantasy VII Rebirth

Final Fantasy IX Remake

Final Fantasy Tactics Remaster or Remake (whichever it is. I've heard both things)

The fourth Madoka Magica movie, whenever that comes out (seriously. Where is it? First it was announced as the Concept movie. Then it was re-announced years later with a new name, and it's still missing)

The Percy Jackson TV show

The Infernal Devices TV show

Maybe the Twilight TV show. Maybe.

The animated Smallville continuation that Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum are working on, whenever it comes out

I was going to put Baron and Toluca on this list (that's, like, a spiritual successor to the OG "Roswell" TV show. Majandra Delfino who played Maria in the show wrote the script, and she and Brendan Fehr who played Michael star in it. They're also planning for more Roswell cameos in later episodes), but it came out and I didn't even know it? But I have no idea how to watch it, though, as I guess it only came out in theaters in Albuquerque. Here's hoping it comes out on DVD or something...

The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes

The alleged Firefly reboot

The new Daredevil show

The Batman Part II

The next part in Tom Holland's Spider-Man movies

The DCU, starting with Superman Legacy in 2025

The Five Nights at Freddy's movie and Help Wanted 2

The Iron Lung movie

The TV show that it sounds like Markiplier will be working on after he's done with the Iron Lung movie

The next Bendy and the Ink Machine thing being worked on

MAYBE the Hello Neighbor sequel. I know. I KNOW! (It's really only because the second game had to end on a cliffhanger.)

Five Nights at Candy's 4

Frozen III

Disney's "Wish"

The next and final season of the Clear Card arc of Cardcaptor Sakura

The new Avatar series (the one about the third Avatar in the cycle: the Earth bender)

The live-action Avatar: The Last Airbender series, perhaps

The Chosen season 4

[cynicalmusings]

hello! i recently found your blog and right off the bat, i'd like to say how much i adore your writing style. like a whole lot. (as a fellow cyno enthusiast) your works are supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (*˘︶˘*)

i've been meaning to ask, are there any particular elements that influenced your style? could be authors, people, books, or anything else, really...

also, as someone who's barely written anything which isn't an academic piece of writing and would like to try their hands at it (but too scared to do so)... are there any things you'd advise to start off with (for getting a good storyline, structure, characterisation, fluid expression and whatnot)? maybe you could input a bit of your own experience for this...?

so yeah, i hope this isn't a too boring or generic of a question lolol and sorry for the looong ask ;v;

wishing you a wonderful day/night and hope your pillow is cold on both sides (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

reading is without a doubt the biggest thing that influences my writing style. i find myself subconsciously adopting different aspects of other writers’ styles depending on what i’ve read recently; in fact, i just finished a book series yesterday, and i’m working on a fic right now and the style of that series has seeped into my own. this may be generic advice, but i do think reading books is the best way to expose yourself to a large variety of styles and vocabulary, from which you can build your own style.

regarding your second question, i would say start off with a simple storyline which you feel you can still be creative with (e.g. take some cliche scenario and try giving it a twist or pushing some boundaries it’s typically associated with), and aim to write something not too long. maybe experiment with narrative vs descriptive writing? expression and descriptions develop more over time as you find your style, or at least that’s my experience, so maybe read some short stories by different authors and pick some images of scenery and characters to try and get the hang of describing them, and keep trying until you fall into a style you’re happy with. as a general rule, i’d say maybe try to balance description with action/ emotion and use different sentence lengths, and don’t overstuff your work with fancy vocab.

characterisation sort of depends on whether you’re writing for an original character or a pre-existing one. in the first case, try to flesh out their personality and get a grip on how you think they’d act in certain situations or the way their upbringing affects their mannerisms and speech; stuff like that. once you have an idea of what they’re like, try and stay true to that if you can and keep what they say/ do consistent. if it’s a pre-existing character, try to draw their personality largely from canon, but you can obviously also interpret them in your own way, so don’t worry about having your characterisation of them be a 100% match to someone else’s. the rest is basically the same: think about how they’d act in different scenarios, whether they’re very emotional or cool-headed, whether they’re sophisticated or very casual and how that affects how they speak and carry themselves, and so on. just… try to imagine them in a way that you feel you could actually hold a conversation with them if they existed and know generally what to expect from them.

(i’m now a professional writer, so take all this with a grain of salt; it’s just how i’ve experienced these things myself, so it might not be helpful for some people, but i hope it was comprehensible enough for you to be able to take away something you find useful.)

[swordgrace]

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

synopsis: in aemond targaryen’s eyes, you have far exceeded anything that he could’ve imagined. during a moment of solace, you indulge in the prince’s growing affections.

———————————————————————————

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 7.1K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, biting, scratching, switch!aemond, fingering (f!receiving), groping, lots of kissing, hair pulling, vulnerable aemond, melancholy aftercare, slight power imbalance, possessive aemond, talk of insecurities, begging, etc.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: finally ,,, an aemond fic! I am currently looking for requests for this account, and hopefully this is a good showcase in terms of getting people interested! This was so fun to write and helped me get into the Aemond headspace, I so look forward to sharing more of my work with all of you!

𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 the skies over King’s Landing, bringing with it a sense of wariness and discomfort. Rumors and whispers grew of an approaching war between Rhaenyra Targaryen and King Aegon Targaryen — a war between kin that would surely plunge the realm into a great darkness.

Bloodshed and the mere thought of violence caused you to shiver, goosebumps prickling along the length of your spine. The evening was a touch colder, the air bitter and misty with the first inklings of a nighttime deluge. Raindrops smashed into the courtyard, against the castle walls in a steady sheet.

Sworn to serve Lady Alicent Hightower, the dowager Queen, she had dismissed you quite suddenly, citing that she preferred to be left alone this evening. You found it intriguing that Ser Criston Cole so vigilantly guarded the former Queen’s chambers with wandering eyes, but it was none of your business.

The halls of the Red Keep were warm with the glow of torchlight amongst the illumination of the moon, clouds bringing down rain and the low rumble of thunder. You were prepared to make the venture down to the Servant’s Quarters, until you were stopped by a guard somewhere down the corridor.

“My Lady,” One of the Kingsguard, Ser Cargyll, addressed you nobly, even if you were just a handmaiden. “The Prince Aemond is searching for you. He is requesting your presence.”

Prince Aemond — a name not unfamiliar to you.

You felt the subtle hitch within the depths of your throat at the mention of Aemond Targaryen. The Prince was rather acquainted with you, in ways that many would consider uncouth and sinful, but it was a budding relationship. If anything, you found him to be a being of mystique and repression, in your experience.

Under the guise of mere duty, you nodded, curtsying before Ser Cargyll. “Thank you, Ser. I will make my way to his chambers.” You kept your voice hushed, ensuring an air of respect for those who slumbered within the Keep’s walls.

Carrying bundles of fresh linens within your arms, you made your way to the Prince’s quarters, a path that you were somewhat familiar with. Your encounters with Aemond weren’t often, but whenever they did occur, it filled you with a certain thrill and exhilaration. You never imagined yourself to be desirable, the object of a Prince’s infatuations, yet here you were.

A sharp clap of thunder caused you to gasp, nearly losing your footing as you traversed through the darkened corridors, passing by the occasional fellow servant or patrolling knight. Something about this night felt unusual — as if there was an ominous presence lingering around the corner.

Thunderstorms had a horrible habit of making you incredibly paranoid — tonight was no different, it seemed. With a deliberate pace, you ascended the grand flight of steps toward Aemond’s chambers, noticing the lack of protection outside. The Prince wasn’t fond of being hovered over, a notion that you could understand.

The set of ornate, mahogany doors were equipped with iron knobs fashioned into the heads of dragons — quite fitting, considering his heritage. You knocked thrice, stepping back as you waited for the Prince himself, or his summons.

With bated breath, you wrung your digits into the silk and linens clutched within your arms, awaiting the Prince to allow you inside. The suspense was nearly unbearable — sometimes he called you inside, and other times, he greeted you himself with a sly curl of his mouth and that glittering, violet eye of his.

To your delight, the door creaked open, groaning in protest as Aemond stood within the gap, regal and svelte in his leather tunic and fine regalia. His hand perched along the edge of the door, lips tilting into that familiar countenance of his — cunning yet tinged with faint hints of amusement.

“My Lady,” Aemond’s voice was a lull, like the purr of a great cat as he beckoned you inside. He cared little for prying eyes, allowing you to step into the warmth of his open chambers before he latched the door behind him. “You came rather swiftly.” He stated — a mere observation, but it was most accurate.

“Is this not an urgent matter?” To keep appearances, you sometimes asked redundant questions — but Aemond enjoyed them nonetheless. He let out a brief hum, violet hue raking over you as it had several times before. There was something reverent there, a silent appreciation that happened to scream if someone looked close enough.

With a brief hum of amusement, Aemond ogled you, head canting slightly to one side. Blackfyre sat soundly atop his hip, bound in the finest sheath and belt that hung atop his narrow waist. “I suppose not,” He reached out, gently swiping his fingers across your jaw. “I merely wanted to see you.”

Warmth fluttered within your breast, spreading like ivy across the rest of your body. The bulk of the heat settled within your features as you struggled to maintain your composure. “And I you, my Prince.” It was enough to make Aemond’s stare sparkle. “Any word on what will come of the growing conflict?”

Aemond stepped toward the large table, scattered in maps and scrolls, the largest of it being a cartographic description of Westeros. Coins were scattered atop it, meant to resemble garrisons of their forces. “Not yet.” He replied, circling the table before he looked at you. “It is hard to plan for a war that you’ve no counsel in.”

From what Aemond had told you during previous trysts, he was not on the small council — and his brother, the King, seemed more content on drinking and letting others run his kingdom for him. A piece of Aemond spited Aegon for this, for his lack of propriety and sense of duty.

The Prince’s woes weren’t unfamiliar to you. In fact, he had placed his head within your lap and recounted the multitude of misfortunes that had befallen him on many occasions before he had any desire to touch you. Perhaps it was this gesture that had given your budding relationship such a firm foundation.

War was on the horizon, and Aegon hadn’t the slightest clue of what to do — which left Aemond to stew and plot away, to strategize where there wasn’t any inkling of it. It would always fall upon him, the more responsible sibling.

You trailed after him, curious to see such a large map of the continent. If anything, you were more perplexed by the different kingdoms and sigils on coins than the war. “You mean to strategize without the King?” You inquired, noticing the scoff that emerged from Aemond.

“It is nothing new. I only wish to serve the King and my house.” He replied, expression becoming pensive before he sank down into the cushioned armchair, the one placed before his sea of maps and books. Candles danced atop the table, listless and bright.

Aemond was a learned individual, with a thirst for books and tomes, alongside the blade. You admired his desire for more, his desire for knowledge. There was a stark duality to Aemond that you had caught glimpses of during the course of your endeavors — from sharp and cold, like steel, to a hint of warmth.

The Prince’s chambers were spacious, surrounded by an ocean of quiet, with a high terrace and an open wall. You watched as the rain fell, providing a gentle ambiance to your surroundings. A flash of lightning split the sky, and the thunderous gloom of the night raged on.

With a soft exhale, you approached the terrace, lined in a thick bannister and a row of columns. If you extended your hand out far enough, you could catch the rain, feeling the chill of the droplets glide across your palm. It was soothing, enough to ease the heat that had made permanent residence within your skin.

In silent rapture, Aemond watched you carefully, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The glow of moonlight framed your features in silver, accompanied by the twinge of orange — it made you look like a goddess, a beauty incarnate standing before him. His fingers tensed into the arm of his chair, desire beginning to fester inside of him.

Initially, he thought little of you — the lowborn girl that dutifully served his mother, yet the night you’d found him strewn about in his quarters, wounded and wistful, he’d changed his mind. Aemond fell swiftly, and he fell hard — many nights were spent with you in his bed, his head within your lap. It inevitably transformed into desire and the first blossoming of affection.

“Thunderstorms used to terrify me as a child,” You broke the silence, recoiling until your palm was pressed close to your chest. “Now, they seem to make everything ominous, as if there is a lingering dread.” You let out a chuckle, seemingly embarrassed. “It isn’t much different than being afraid.”

Aemond tucked a hand beneath his chin, leaning some of his weight against it as he listened to you. “What do you fear, my Lady?” He questioned, as if attempting to pick you apart, crawl beneath your flesh. You enticed him, evoked a sense of intrigue that he seldom felt in the presence of noble women.

A rather heavy question, but you decided to answer honestly, depositing the stack of linens onto the lounge in front of you. “Being locked away in a cage, perhaps the darkness.” You trailed off. “War.” You grimaced, gaze flickering toward the map on his table yet again.

You always feared war more than anything — it always brought worse things with it. Bloodshed, famine, death, the feeling of no sanctuary or peace.

With a soft huff, Aemond’s violet eye flickered away from you and to his map, surveying his growing plan for any imperfections. He remained quiet for a moment, and decided that he had little desire to talk to you on the topic of war — not when there were plenty of other things he could do.

“War is inevitable, like so many other things in life,” Aemond’s voice carried an indiscernible edge to it. After a brief pause, he continued. “I would keep you safe.” Sometimes, you had difficulty detecting sincerity with the Prince, but you could see it now, even if it was subtle.

If it was meant to be a flattering or sentimental statement, it happened to work, prompting you to dip your head. Sheepishness settled into your features, causing you to tether your hands together. “You honor me, my Prince. I did not know that the life of a handmaiden meant something to you.”

At last, his head angled toward you, lilac hue dancing with light as he leaned back within his chair, the wood groaning in protest. “Come here.” He waved you forward with a flick of his fingers, desiring to feel your warmth, be close to you. Aemond’s lust for you was subtle, but when it sparked to life, it burned like a dragon’s fire.

Your heartbeat fluttered like the wings of a bird, stirring beneath your breast as you obeyed the Prince’s command. Stepping closer, you felt Aemond’s hand trace the swell of your hip, coaxing you into his lap. Without a word, he rested his cheek against your sternum, feeling your fingers rake through his silken tresses.

“Your life is worth a great deal.” Aemond stated, breath fanning out across your collarbone. The Prince savored the sensation of your soft flesh beneath him, heart loud enough to ring within his ears as he pressed close to your chest. Wordlessly, he planted a kiss against the column of your throat.

A shiver rolled down your spine, a sensation that left you aching for more. You never imagined yourself becoming the object of the Prince’s affections, enough for him to state that your life had meaning beyond the station of a servant. “Then it is a mutual feeling.” You uttered, nails lightly scraping against the nape of his neck.

Aemond had often been deprived of affection — even in his dealings with whores, it was originally Aegon’s design, his will enforced. There was no shared connection with a woman seeking coin and a boy, barely thirteen. He preferred you above all else, warm and tender within his grasp, with no desire to use him to further your station.

He used to believe that the only solace he could find was in himself — until he began seeking you out.

What originally began as an arrangement of convenience, purely lust and instinct, had now spiraled into something more. He shared his past with you, treated you to the inner machinations of his splintered family, and in rare instances, became quite vulnerable. Sentiments be damned, Aemond was beginning to feel affectionate towards you.

The growing connection he shared with you, albeit unorthodox and unexpected, outweighed any previous experience he had. You were his — a precious creature that he intended on savoring forever, if he could. Not many would approve of his hunger for a lowborn girl, but Aemond cared little for it.

Above all, known or unknown, he wanted your love.

Aemond’s lilac eye drifted to your visage, drinking you in as he had many times before. The way you cradled his skull within your hand, your other palm planted firmly against his chest — it was intoxicating. He sank closer, finding comfort in your warmth.

He listened to your heart — the way it excitedly galloped for him, pounded within his ear like the deep lull of a drum. The Prince kissed your collarbone, shifting some of your robes away to reveal the soft expanse of your skin. Perhaps, he hadn’t made it known, but you belonged to him — it would stay that way.

A slight chill caused you to press closer, seeking the warmth of the Dragon Prince. Rain continued to pour outside, with thunder rattling the black, cloudy skies, as powerful as a dragon’s cry. Your hand found his shoulder, digits gently massaging into the broad, sinewy muscle of his clothed shoulder.

The sharp ridge of his nose brushed along your neck, lips following suit as he planted several deliberate kisses against your jugular; underneath your jaw. “Cold?” Aemond inquired, able to feel the icy bite of your flesh as it brushed against his. He felt you shudder — but he wondered if that was from something else.

“Slightly, my Prince.” You confessed, though your body’s physical responses were from his lips, in-tandem with the misty chill from the thunderstorm. The flicker of candlelight danced across his features — narrow and defined, beautiful beyond comparison.

“Hm,” Aemond hummed, dragging his lips around the curve of your jawline, pressing another kiss beneath your ear. His scent filled your nose — spiced herbs, smoke and leather, intermingled with that of a dragon. “Shall I remedy this misfortune?” He uttered, his voice crackling with desire.

He nearly smirked at the sound of your breath hitching within your throat — a delicious response to his shameless flirtation. Aemond’s hand crawled along the length of your leg, grabbing at the end of your robes before slipping underneath. His narrow digits danced along your calf, before finding the pliant meat of your thigh.

“Aemond,” You whispered, shifting within his lap as the Prince continued to kiss your neck. The garment you wore was shoddy and somewhat ill-fitting, and you longed to have it removed. You pressed a kiss against his brow, the one that had the beginnings of a scar. “Please.”

The sensation of your lips against his scar nearly drove him into a frenzy — it did the last time you coupled. Aemond let out a brief huff, detaching his mouth from your throat as he hungrily sought your lips. The kiss was overflowing with desire, his hand slithering against your inner thigh.

His slender digits found the apex between your thighs, swiping over the slick heat of your cunt. It was feather-light and tantalizing, meant to make you squirm, a promise of more to come throughout your night together. You whimpered, feeling his thumb ghost around your clit, splitting past your folds.

You reciprocated the kiss with a flurry of passion, tilting your hips forward toward Aemond’s hand. The playful curve of his mouth was tangible as you kissed him again, reaching to cup his face. The pad of your thumb traced along his cheekbone, feeling his teeth graze along your lower lip.

Aemond shivered beneath your palm, finding the sensation of it to be foreign, yet comforting all the same. He hadn’t removed his eyepatch before, during your previous trysts — the thought of you seeing it somewhat unnerved him. It was often used for intimidation, to terrify others into subservience, but it wasn’t like that with you.

As you pulled your head back just slightly, you pressed a tender kiss against Aemond’s jaw, and then against his cheek — another secured itself atop his eyepatch. You felt the Prince’s breath hitch, a subtle noise that left you wanting more.

His hand stilled between your legs, the other holding just underneath your breast. “It would be unwise to remove it.” Aemond uttered, voice as smooth as silk, and just as tantalizing. There was something forlorn about him, as if he were afraid of you glimpsing upon his face.

“I would never insist upon it, Aemond. Just know that I would never pass judgment,” You replied, tucking several strands of pale, silky hair aside. “You are still just as handsome, just as perfect.” Your soft-spoken reassurance made him flustered, yet he was unwilling to reveal that side of himself.

Admittedly, he considered taking it off then, but he decided against it, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Your hand drifted to the front of his tunic, lined in an impressive array of metallic buttons, bearing the Targaryen sigil. Aemond found your sentiments to be sweet — just like the rest of you.

Wordlessly, the one-eyed Prince coaxed you to your feet, bringing you toward the roaring hearth, beside the light of a crackling fire. The ground beneath you was covered in the layered pelts of various game, from stags to the thick hide of a bear, cushioned enough to provide a safe landing for the both of you.

Aemond towered over you, svelte and broad-shouldered, hand coming to cup your chin as he kissed you. It was slow and unusually sweet, but much to your disappointment, it was short-lived. His hands moved to the front of your robes, tugging at the rugged laces to loosen the bodice.

He watched you hawkishly, enraptured as the both of you maneuvered the shoddy fabric aside. You pulled it over your head, tossing the garment somewhere behind you. It landed on the stone floor with an unceremonious thud, leaving you bare before the Prince.

It was an exchange, one that Aemond silently complied with as he peeled aside his own tunic, lips twitching into a smirk as you pushed away the leather and fine linen of his undershirt. He was all sinewy muscle and narrow limbs, with a pale musculature that seemed to glow whenever the light touched it.

The both of you gazed at one another, your breathing significantly more labored than his own. Your excitement was palpable, the anticipation stirring within your stomach as arousal pooled between your legs. Aemond hungrily consumed your mouth in a blistering kiss, hands grabbing at your hips and chest.

You reached for his shoulders, arms tossing themselves around the back of his neck, digits raking through his hair. Aemond’s tongue greedily slipped past your parted lips, allowing you to taste him. A low hum of approval rumbled within his throat as you submitted to him, chest blossoming with warmth.

It was all tongue and teeth and want — a dance that finally gave way to carnal desire and primitive instincts. You felt Aemond’s hand grope at your haunch, feeling your pliant flesh as he nipped at your lower lip. The flame of desire glistened within his lilac hue.

“Lie down,” Aemond uttered, his voice becoming a touch gravelly, saturated with lust. He watched as you obeyed, sinking down onto the furs with a flustered expression. He stood over you, reveling in the sight of your body, kissed by fire, legs pulled up at the knee. “You are perfect.”

Perfect — you shuddered, stomach churning with liquid heat as you propped yourself back upon your elbows, palms idly running across the soft furs. Aemond sank down, pressing a hot, needy kiss to your lips before he knelt between your thighs, mouth hungrily returning to your throat.

“Aemond,” You moaned, the noise soft and simpering as he assaulted your neck in passionate kisses. Teeth and tongue worked together, leaving behind a handful of marks, some glaringly obvious. He continued his descent, kissing your collarbone, and then your breast. “Please keep going.” A breathy whine left you, then.

His lips twitched into a smirk as he planted a series of hot kisses around your breast, the other palm preoccupied with groping and kneading into the soft flesh there. Aemond felt your body arch into him, knees squeezing at his narrow hips.

With a stroke of his tongue, the Prince began to suck at the peak of your breast, nose brushing along your sternum. The heat from the flame crawled across your body, leaving you feverishly hot. Aemond’s actions did little to soothe it, igniting the fire within your belly.

Your hands flew toward his crown of pale tresses, digits digging in toward the nape of his neck. The furs brushed against your back as you reclined, stealing glimpses at Aemond, who methodically and reverently worked his way along your body.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke,” Aemond purred, sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh below your breast, as if to ensure his point was made. That singular lilac hue caught your heady gaze, prompting him to continue his descent. He abandoned your breast with a lasting kiss, mouth traveling along your stomach and hips. “Ñuhon.”

Listening to Aemond’s enchanting High Valyrian made you shudder, allowing it to encompass you. His voice was nothing more than a lascivious purr, meant to entice and tempt you — you were beyond elated to oblige. You watched with doe-like eyes as Aemond kissed your waist, and then your thighs.

His incendiary stare never faltered, and as he pushed his shoulders between your legs, he held it throughout. Aemond listened to the delicious hitch within your throat, the way you preemptively curled your nails into his shoulders — it was intoxicating.

In an unexpected maneuver, Aemond gingerly abandoned the fine leather of his eyepatch, revealing the glistening, sapphire eye, marred-over with an age-old scar. You were dazzled, perplexed by his beauty and the vibrant gleam of the jewel that was permanently socketed into his eye.

As a display of reassurance, your fingers crept from his shoulder to his face, gingerly tracing around his countenance, from eyebrow to cheekbone. Aemond’s subtle exhale of delight signaled his approval, and without warning, he raked his tongue across your cunt.

Your lips fell apart, unable to smother the pleasured whine that escaped you. His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

Those dextrous, spindly hands of his found the pliant flesh of your thighs, hooking underneath to provide a place of rest for your legs. He squeezed slightly, signaling his presence there as he pressed forward. His mouth greedily lapped at your cunt, gliding from the hood of your clit to your entrance.

“Aemond!” A wanton moan tore past your lips, back beginning to arch into his ministrations. The Prince slowed, sharp nose brushing against your mouth as he dipped forward, tongue briefly pushing inside of you. The subtle sensation made you whine, nails dragging themselves across his shoulder.

You were perfect — flesh velveteen beneath his palms, physique begging for more, your pleasure coming to fruition. You were at his mercy, but fortunately, Aemond was feeling most gracious this evening. The echo of the thunderstorm shook the walls a time or two, but it all became atmospheric, simply background noise.

With one hand fisted within his platinum tresses, the other scratched haplessly at his shoulder, nails leaving behind reddish crescents as he flicked his tongue across your clit. The sensation was fleeting, but he sought to drag it out, lips greedily pursing around the pearl of your cunt.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

His throat echoed with a low growl, hands grabbing at your thighs. He traced his tongue around your clit, teasing you with feather-light jolts of bliss. You let out a whine, occasionally writhing atop the furs, head lolled back in a display of pure ecstasy.

Aemond’s subtle groan of delight reverberated throughout him whenever you tugged on his tresses, forcing him further into the warm embrace between your thighs. He pressed a string of kisses along your clit, as if he were worshiping you. He enjoyed your greed — if anything, he wanted to indulge you.

The warm lick of the hearth danced across your flesh, seeping into your very bones. Perspiration dotted your brow, jaw tight as Aemond ogled you from between your legs, like a svelte predator, poised for the kill. “You’re perfect, Aemond.” You exhaled, noticing the subtle twinkle in his lilac eye.

That familiar cheshire smirk of his returned; your sweetly-spoken compliments and shower of praise clearly satiated Aemond. He kissed your thigh, breath hot as it fanned across your aching core. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” His voice was cajoling, playful as he nipped at your hip.

You squirmed, becoming desperate for a release, one that your Prince seemed to dangle before your eyes like a carrot on a stick. “Please,” You moaned, digits tightening within his tresses, a subtle signal to continue. “Please, Aemond!” With such an urgent plea from a sweet mouth, Aemond couldn’t resist you.

It seemed that begging would get you places — Aemond thoroughly savored every second of it. Your lust mirrored his own, perhaps subdued, but it was a raging desire nonetheless. He placed another string of kisses against your inner thighs, gazing at you with an incendiary fondness.

Sluggishly, he descended to your cunt once more, dragging the flat of his tongue along your slit in one broad stroke. With a shiver, your hips rolled forward, eased into submission by Aemond’s hands, which happened to lock you into place as he swarmed forward.

He drank you in, tongue greedily flicking between your weeping core and clit, until he began to apply that same pressure as before. His thin lips pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on the clutch of sensitive nerves until it drove you mad, back arching from the furs.

By the Seven, the things Aemond did to you.

There was a fervor in his ministrations, a ravenous hunger that threatened to tear you asunder. His tongue lapped at your core, interchanging with those brief moments of his lips latched around your clit. You whimpered, thighs pressing on either side of his head.

“Aemond,” You sighed with passion, fisting his silky tresses until you tugged him closer, burying his face within the warmth of your cunt. Aemond didn’t seem to mind, treating you with another barrage of suckling and kisses until you were spent. “Fuck.”

Your unholy mouth made Aemond shudder, groping at your thighs as he brought you to climax. Your release was bittersweet upon his tongue, the most sinful taste imaginable — yet he never claimed to be a pious man. He worked tirelessly to clean you up, cock aching within the confines of his leather trousers.

As you rode the pleasurable high of your release, your body unfurled, the tension within your stomach coming to a halt. A molten bliss wept between your legs, soothed by the cool lick of Aemond’s tongue. Your tryst was far from finished — you had more left to give.

In a coiled, poised fashion, Aemond moved from between your legs, prepared to untie the strings of his trousers and sink himself into you, but you stopped him, placing your palms against the plane of his chest. His musculature was lean and narrow, almost spider-like.

Aemond did not make a sound, watching as you rocked up onto your knees, thighs quivering as you eased him down onto his back — the same position you had been trapped in moments prior. He was enraptured, lilac eye glued to you as if you were heaven sent, a goddess coming to claim him for yourself.

You tossed one leg over him, thighs straddling those spindly hips of his, palms dragging across his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen — wherever you could reach. Aemond shivered beneath the intensity of your embrace, lips quirked into the ghost of a smirk, a look of perplexity to mask his desire to submit to you.

“Tell me you want this,” You whispered, nails lightly raking themselves toward his breeches, not daring to go any further until Aemond offered you his consent on the matter. He was often on top of you, domineering and incredibly energetic, but this was different — for him, and for you. “Say the word and you can have me elsewhere.”

The subtle bob of his throat wasn’t easy to spot, masked by shadow, one half of his countenance basked in the glow of the firelight. His sparkling sapphire gazed at you for an eternity, the other drifting across your supple physique, seated atop him as if you’d mounted a stallion.

His hands came to rest atop your thighs, splayed out, possessively groping your pliant flesh. “I want you,” Aemond uttered, his voice a delicious purr, an octave full of an unrestrained lust. “In whatever way that is.” He quite enjoyed this position — he liked seeing you in all of your beauty, bared before him.

With a gentle smile, your digits began to unravel the ties of his trousers, gracing across his hip bones. It was enough to make him shudder, even if the action was barely noticeable. Together, you and Aemond removed the rest of his clothing — and there he was.

He was a beautiful creature, all lanky musculature and pale flesh, stringy and angular. Everything about him was sharp, like the edge of a blade. Aemond was charming, enchanting to you whether he realized it or not. It was enough to prompt you to lean forward, pressing a string of kisses along his collarbone.

“My Prince,” You murmured into his skin, your nose nuzzling underneath the sharp slope of his jaw. You kissed him there, listening to the hitch in his throat. Aemond hummed, lips curling into something of a perplexed line as his hands wandered about your frame, ensuring to touch and caress every curve, every part of you. “My Prince.”

Aemond turned his head, the movement precise and not at all coincidental. His lips captured yours in a feverish kiss, his cock eagerly pressing against your slick cunt. You gasped, feeling the length of it tempt you as he had several times before, but this time, he grabbed your chin, ogling you with his lilac hue.

He wanted to watch your face as you sank yourself onto him, briefly grabbing his cock in order to guide it to your aching slit. The pleasure that blossomed across your countenance was a sight to behold, and you were met with the familiar tilt of his mouth, a fire smoldering within his gaze as he bucked upwards.

His cock speared you with a suddenness, causing you to moan as you adjusted yourself, rocking up onto your knees. Aemond’s palms held your thighs, and he was more than willing to do some of the work, unwilling to let you tire yourself.

It was mesmerizing to see you on top of him like this, breasts full and lovely, softly jostling with each movement. Your flesh was velveteen, pure perfection cast in the sienna glow of the hearth. The fire was dying, but the lust between you and Aemond was far from extinguished.

Your palms fell flat atop his abdomen, finding your purchase there as you began to ride him. It was sluggish and erratic, at first — you let out a soft moan whenever Aemond moved too, using his strength to meet you halfway. His hips lurched forward, cock thrusting into your cunt several times over.

A string of wanton whines and moans escaped you in droves, feeling his grasp on your thighs tighten. He was quite enamored with you, especially like this — there was no sweeter feeling. He continued to buck up into you whenever he could, sheathing himself inside of you, possessing you from below.

Aemond’s visage contorted into one of shared satisfaction, shifting from indiscernible to pleasurable. He sat up just enough to be within reach of you, hips pushing up to meet the downward fall of your body, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“Aemond,” You exhaled, tossing your arms around his shoulders, feeling one of his hands wander from your thigh to your waist, colliding into you with a passionate fervor. The pace you set was sporadic and needy, wanton with desire as you rode him, your movements attempting to temper themselves. “Kiss me.”

That breathy plea of yours was enough to make Aemond submit, lips claiming yours again in an achingly slow, heated kiss. The feeling of your tight cunt around him, slick and warm, made him groan. He was desperate to keep a rhythmic pace, if that were even possible.

Flesh collided against flesh, and you felt Aemond’s mouth pry itself away from yours, creeping toward the column of your throat. He kissed your jugular, face buried within the hollow between your neck and shoulder. You continued your conquest, rocking up and down along his length, nails digging into his shoulder.

Aemond coaxed you backward, wanting you on your back for the final moments of your coupling. You were swift, slumped back down within the furs as the Prince seized your haunch, spreading your legs by bullying himself between them as he had before.

His thrusts became a touch rougher, chasing after a release as he began to rut into you, cock reaching the threshold as he filled your cunt. Strands of pale hair fell around his face, brow glistening with a thin layer of perspiration.

You gasped, back arching as you hitched one leg around his hips, grabbing at his biceps. Aemond’s pace intensified, turning into something carnal and primal, need outweighing sensibility. Lewd noises filled his chamber — the clash of flesh, the sound of your entangled panting and groans of ecstasy.

Wordlessly, he sought your mouth, kissing you with a blistering force that made your head spin with delirium. You reciprocated with passion, feeling his tongue split past your lips, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Your teeth snagged across his lower lip, enough to make Aemond’s throat echo with a faint growl.

Between the tangle of teeth and tongue, bodies becoming one, you rolled your hips in-tandem with Aemond’s sharp, brutal thrusts. “Don’t stop.” You whispered, wanting him to chase after his release, feeling the pleasurable pulsations between your thighs.

Aemond let out a soft grunt, cock burying itself within you over and over again, precum slathering your insides. The sensation of your cunt around him was perfection — he wanted more of you, all of you. You felt his hand snake around your throat, cupping beneath your jaw as he squeezed just enough to make you whine.

He was relentless, pounding into you with an obvious desperation that only furthered your desire for him. You gripped his shoulders, bringing yourself as close as you could, any sliver of distance beginning to dissipate, eclipsed by conjoined bodies and shared bliss.

At last, his countenance contorted into one of complete and utter pleasure, pale brows furrowed in concentration, violet-colored eye closing for just a moment. His cock throbbed inside of you, brazenly spilling himself wherever he saw fit. He pulled out halfway through, painting your thighs in a sticky sheen of glistening seed.

With a huff of finality, Aemond kissed your jaw, removing himself from you long enough to retrieve one of the many blankets draped across the foot of his bed. You watched him in rapturous silence, the way his physique moved, sinewy muscle highlighted by the flicker of a fading fire.

You cleaned yourself up, feeling Aemond return as he draped the blanket within your lap. As the hearth began to die, the chill of his chambers became evident, thunder rattling overhead, accompanied by the onslaught of a cold deluge. He rekindled the flame, wordlessly slinking down to curl next to you.

Strewn beside the fire, Aemond’s head came to rest atop your sternum, arm draped across your midsection. You held him, kept him close — it provided a sense of vulnerability that made you truly believe that he was yours. You stroked his hair, surprised that he hadn’t asked for you to leave.

“Whenever you wish for me to depart, say the word, my Prince.” You uttered, feeling him tighten his hold upon you. Aemond gazed listlessly into the flames, lilac hue half-lidded as you continued to caress the crown of his head. He didn’t want to go anywhere.

“No,” Aemond’s command was sharp and punctuated, despite the softness of his tone, something that demanded you yield to him. “I want you here.” He uttered, shivering when your other hand traced along what expanse of his spine you could reach.

Prepared to make your vigil beside Aemond, you settled, leaning into him just as he careened into you. The silence was eerily comforting, lulled by the atmospheric backdrop of the thunderstorm. You always enjoyed the aftermath — you enjoyed holding Aemond, most of all. It made you feel cherished in a different way, one that others might not have understood.

You shifted forward, burying your lips atop the pale crown of Aemond’s skull, letting it linger beyond the boundaries of chastity. He exhaled, body fully curled against yours, half of him reclining against you, the other half left to soak in the crackling warmth of the fire.

As your digits tenderly traced the muscle of his forearm, Aemond finally broke the silence once more, happy to let you stroke his hair. “I have always been different, teased and ridiculed,” He lamented, a twinge of melancholy within his voice. “Underestimated, most of all.”

It was a rare glimpse into the window of Aemond’s being — the man that craved love and affection, longed to be thought of as important. After Storm’s End, his mother had cast her frustrations and scorn down upon him, condescending and detached.

A gentle exhale escaped him as you stroked along the angular slope of his jaw, turning his head away from the fire and toward you. You looked down upon him, this man capable of ruthlessness and cunning, and saw the threads of a shattered youth — of someone who longed to feel a tender touch.

“Those who’ve attempted to slight me have always fallen so short of the mark,” Aemond uttered, a vague reference to the Velaryon boy that he had wrongfully slaughtered. He had some regrets about that one, but he hoped that it would cement his strength — he was the rider of Vhagar, and even then, it never felt like enough. “Hm.”

He seemed incredibly comfortable like this, pressed into your warmth, his cheek nestling against your collarbone. You continued to trace along the smooth plane of his musculature, allowing your digits to finally brush underneath his scarred, sapphire eye.

“You feel cold,” You hummed, noticing the way in which he absentmindedly leaned into your palm, allowing you to fully cup his face. “You are strong, Aemond — resilient and cunning. It is not my place to speak of your family, but I’ve come to know you, and I know that you are stronger than all of them.”

Bristling underneath the sweetly-spoken purr of your praises, Aemond kept his arm draped around you, the other coming to rest underneath your breast. The pad of his thumb graced your silky flesh, and he wanted to stay like this forever, if he could.

Aemond regarded you with a forlorn intensity, one that still danced with a subtle frustration, intermingled with his growing sense of possessiveness towards you. He kissed your palm, and then placed a kiss against your chest, ear pressed to the beating swell of your heart.

“I do not feel different with you,” Aemond uttered, able to listen to the little flutter within your chest, the steady gallop of your heart. “I do not want that to change.” His tone became solemn, and you simply coaxed him closer, allowing him to use the crook of your elbow as a place to rest, fingers raking through his hair.

“It won’t change, my Prince.” Your reassurance was gentle, as saccharine as the finest honey. Aemond’s hum was one of contentment as he crawled forward, head resting against your shoulder instead, allowing him to better hold onto you just as you held him.

Silence passed between you, accompanied by the brief crackle of dried tinder atop the logs, the light of burning embers dancing before you both. He kissed your jaw again, the slope of his nose brushing around your neck as he peered towards the flames.

Again, you felt your breath hitch when Aemond held tightly to you, lifting his head just enough to gaze down upon you. Your countenance was captivating — beautiful beyond compare, awestruck of his appearance. His lilac hue flickered across your face, drinking in the doe-like look you had before he hummed.

The ghost of an indiscernible expression fluttered across his features — incredibly subtle, yet present nonetheless. “I certainly hope not.” He murmured, lips molding themselves to yours, and then to the corner of your mouth before he resumed his former position.

You kissed the top of his head once more, cradling him as you would something fragile. You knew that Aemond’s insecurities resurfaced often, but now, they seemed far more prevalent. Regardless, your affection for him wouldn’t waver — you worried that he wouldn’t feel the same for you, however.

Unbeknownst to you, Aemond already possessed you, body and soul — and that was more dangerous than any blade or any dragon.

copyright @ swordgrace / please do not post or translate my works onto other platforms.

[beautysamour]

waking miguel in the middle the night pleading him to fuck you to sleep (insomnia sucks) with the most innocent look on your face 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

miguel o’hara fucks you to sleep ˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

— a/n: so cute!

warnings ﾟ𐦍༘⋆: vulgar language

“Mierda,” Miguel tsks out as your pussy sucks him in easier with each of his thrusts.

You instinctively lean up into him as he leans down, he lightly bites down—his fangs resting on your pulse point.

“Fuck,” you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your chest.

“Fuck, Miguel—fuck. You’re so good, so good,”you babble. Your entire back lifts from the bed as your back arches, “Mmm—right there baby—yes, right there!”

Miguel heavily thrusts in and out, in and out, in and out—as his tongue trails down the valley of your breasts, turning his head every few seconds to lick the sides of it.

Miguel sucks on your right breast as your moans got louder, more intense. His thrusts slow down a little, making it a thorough grind as he sucks harder.

He closes his eyes as you wrap your legs tighter around his waist and tighten the grasp around his neck.

You jerk your head down, watching his hand as it hugs your body trailing down to—

“Miguel,” you breathe out, “Fuck, that’s not fair…”

He takes his mouth off the side of your breast, pressing a kiss on your nipple as he brings his face to your pleasure contorted one as his fingers worked their way in your pussy.

“Not fair, huh?” He cups your jaw in his somewhat cleaner hand, making sure you couldn’t look away, “But it’ll help you sleep.”

“Please, Miguel? Just this once,” he recalls you begging with those sweet, wide eyes, and your mouth hanging open.

Of course he couldn’t say no to you, not with the way your pussy smelled oh so sweet. Now, your eyes watered as he put all his attention on you—all so you could fall asleep.

You whimper and nod the best you can with his hand cupping your jaw—your hips buck up as the bed starts to creak, “Ye—yeah. Thank you—!”

You’re cut off by a moan as his pinches your clit.

“Not yet,” he winces as he looks away from your eyes, your wet cunt weakening him, “After this, you can thank me.”

He rubs your pussy the best he can with his cock in the way, moving his hand from your jaw to your nose, “You always sound so pretty, cariño. Can you be a little louder? You sound a little muffled.”

He doesn’t care what your answer will be, with all the moaning and whining you’re doing you probably couldn’t even give him one.

Your eyes nearly fluttered shut and your mouth widened at the lost of one of your senses, you couldn’t breathe. Not through your nose—a moan rips out your throat as your mouth hangs open.

“That’s it,” Miguel hums, his mouth going back to your breasts. He looks up, watching your expressions as he twirls his tongue around your nipple, his fingers leaving your loose pussy.

You choke on your moans as his finger prods your ass, his wet fingers making you buck your hips into his thrusts.

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to form words but all that comes out are loud moans as Miguel mutters praises against your breast. Your eyes shut as you focus in on the feeling of his dick veins rubbing against the insides of your pussy—each vein suddenly very apparent to your senses.

An embarrassingly loud moan once again leaves your throat as he slows down his fingers in your ass—your pussy getting overwhelmed with how frequent his dick veins rubbed against your sensitive walls.

Miguel narrows his eyes, you were close—but was this enough?

Your moans get louder with each thrust, the feeling of his warm breath and his fingers making you thrash your head around, “Mi—guel,” you whimper out in short breaths.

He slowly separates from your breast, not forgetting to kiss the top of each as a thin layer of drool coats his chin, “I know, cariño.” He watches your body twitch under him, your pretty mouth opened so prettily. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek—hopefully this would be enough, “Come for me.”

Air enters through your nose as your other senses leave you—a euphoric feeling taking over. Your eyes feel heavy as you quietly whimper at the sudden emptiness in your pussy.

It pained Miguel to pull out, but he would’ve lost his mind if he didn’t. The night wouldn’t have ended.

He watches as your chest moves up and down with each breath you take, your eyes never opening. The lust in his body slowly turns into simple love as your once pleasure contorted expression turned into a peaceful, beautiful, resting one.

Only you, and your pussy, could manage to make the rough, cold, Spider-Man a lovesick fool.

Miguel moves closer to your body, leaning down to press a long, still soft, kiss on your forehead, “Sleep well, cariño.”

[brokenmenswhore]

Thanks luv! So, you are married to Aemond, yet despite his kindness to you, your sexual activities are treated as a duty (like your marriage). Aegon notices the situation and decides to give you a proper orgasm with his tongue. The issue is that he leaves you without fucking you (saving it for another time), and you can't help but crave him, you are desperate for him to fuck you (and when he does, he does it deliciously, making you feel like the luckiest woman in Westeros).

it’s 1am in nyc and this ask is driving me crazy i need him so bad

satiate | aegon ii targaryen

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+)

────── ☾ ──────

Aemond came with one final thrust of his hips, spilling his seed inside of you as you continued to lay stagnant beneath him.

Aemond pulled out of you and rolled over, laying next to you. “Hopefully that will take,” he spoke, catching his breath.

Tonight was not unusual. Since you wed Aemond, sex has been about duty. He was a perfect husband, and was very kind to you, even in bed, but it was always about duty over all else.

“Yes, hopefully,” you responded.

Aemond turned his head toward you. “Are you alright?”

You smiled, appreciative that he was attentive to you. “Yes, thank you,” you responded.

There was nothing wrong with Aemond, and your marriage worked in public. However, you wished there was more passion, more connection, more something in private. This could not be all that sex has to offer. Still, Aemond made sure you consented and were alright.

You knew his brother, Aegon, was familiar with sex, perhaps more than anyone else. You were always attracted to him, and you always wondered what it would be like if it were him trying to impregnate you.

You and Aemond had been married for exactly a fortnight, which meant he had worked to put an heir inside of you exactly fourteen times.

Each morning you rose with a dull aching between your legs that you could not seem to satisfy. You were not sure exactly what it was or how to resolve it, so you spent most mornings in a state of uncomfortableness until the aching went away.

You were subsequently more irritable during the first half of the day, shifting uncontrollably in your seat or nonstop switching the leg holding most of your weight when you stood.

Aegon took pity on you.

He noticed the change in your attitude since your marriage, and after five days, he picked up on you rubbing your thighs together as you tired to get comfortable for breakfast each morning. After nine, he could see the exhaustion in your eyes, and he knew it was from his brother occupying you deep into the hours of the night.

You had been with Aemond long enough for the pain and uncomfortableness of sex to fade away, but it hadn’t seemed to. That meant you that weren’t connecting the way you should, and Aegon suspected that exact truth.

“My brother is incapable of satiating your needs, hm?” Aegon spoke, crossing his arms as he leaned on the wall beside where you were standing and flipping through the pages of a book. You let him into your chambers because he asked to speak to you, but this was not what you expected.

You paused your actions and lifted your head, turning it toward Aegon. “Excuse me?”

“I can sense it,” he responded.

You scoffed, “I do not know to what you refer.”

“Put the book down.”

You looked up at him, and you don’t know why, but you did what he asked. You closed the book and placed it down on the table beside you.

“Lay down on the bed.”

“Do I look like someone-“

“Y/N,” Aegon cut you off, holding up a hand, “do you want my help or not?”

“Help?”

Aegon somewhat pitied your innocence, but he was aroused by it more. “Do you want me to make that aching between your legs go away?”

You took a deep breath. You were embarrassed, but you had nothing to be ashamed of. “I am simply sore. Impregnation can be rather intense.”

Aegon tutted, “no, no, that’s not it. You may not know what it is, but you know it’s not that.”

“Enlighten me then, if you are so well versed in such things,” you teased, trying to ease the tension.

“Are you going to lay down or not?” he asked, not taking the bait and maintaining his serious tone.

You walked over to the bed, sitting and shifting your back against the pillows as you straightened your legs and made yourself comfortable. “Like this?” you asked.

Aegon smiled at you. He thought that you were so cute for checking.

“If you’re comfortable,” he replied, crawling on top of the bed and kneeling in front of you. He pushed your legs apart, hearing your breath hitch as your dress was pushed up to your waist, exposing your small clothes to Aegon.

“May I?” he asked, tugging at the waistband of your small clothes.

You nodded your head yes and swallowed back your nervousness, watching him pull the fabric down your legs, completely exposing you to him.

“You feel the aching right now?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you answered.

Aegon dipped his head until he connected with your folds, placing a soft kiss there.

“What are you doing?” you questioned.

“I’m gonna taste you, darling.”

You shifted in your seated position. “What do you mean?”

Aegon only smiled in response, dipping his head again and running his tongue between your folds.

You gasped at the wet feeling, your head instinctively falling backwards. Aegon began to flick and swirl his tongue, and you moaned at the sensation.

This was completely new to you, and you questioned whether or not you could trust Aegon. You had heard the whispers about him, and how rough he liked things.

You also questioned if this was ethical. It was objectively unfair to bed another man while married, especially your husband’s brother, but despite how wonderful Aemond could be, it was evident that your marriage was political and dutiful only. If Aemond could run to whorehouses when he was not sleeping next to you, you could indulge yourself just this once.

Still, you were nervous about how Aegon would treat you.

“Aegon?”

You caught his attention, but he didn’t stop. He began to suck on your clit, gazing up at you as he did so, showing that he was listening to you.

“Are you going to be nice?”

Aegon moaned into your cunt before briefly pulling away, just long enough to say, “you can trust me.”

Something about the way he said it had you believing him, and your muscles relaxed beneath him as he kissed and sucked at your clit. The stimulation was new, and therefore it was becoming too much too fast.

“Aegon, I-“

Aegon only sped up, pressing his face further into you and carefully watching your face contort as you whined. He held a firm grip on your hips to ensure you stayed where he wanted you, and you felt the familiar aching rise in the pit of your stomach again.

“Aegon-“ you called again, but he still didn’t let up.

Within seconds you felt the aching coil snap, your legs shaking and your hips briefly lifting off the bed as you felt like the feeling you had between your legs for weeks was finally broken.

You caught your breath, and Aegon pulled away from you to level his face with your own.

“Good, huh?” he teased.

You couldn’t help yourself. Instead of responding, you pulled his face to yours, kissing him hard to show your thanks. Aegon’s body reacted instantly, reciprocating the kiss. You felt somewhat bad that it was so quick, but the feeling was so sweet and so new, and you couldn’t help yourself.

You tasted something salty-sweet on his lips. You pulled away and wiped a finger over your lips, sucking the digit and tasting the wetness, looking at Aegon in confusion.

“That’s you,” Aegon said, nearly growling at the sight.

Your cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, which Aegon found amusing, as he kissed you again, before leaving the bed completely.

You shifted forward onto your knees and crawled to the opposite edge of the bed, trying to catch him but too weak to stand. “Where are you going?”

“Aemond will be back soon,” he said, adjusting his clothing.

You don’t know why you said it, but you were feeling bold, and what he made you feel was so good, you wanted more.

“Aegon, I want you.”

Aegon smiled and dropped his head momentarily. He turned back to you, as if he intended to say something, but he promptly righted himself and exited the room, leaving you alone to do nothing but crave him.

The following morning, the Targaryen-Hightowers were all gathered for breakfast with some guests, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Aegon. You desperately wanted more from him, and you wanted that much to be obvious to him, but it was hard to do much with Aemond present.

It was even difficult to speak to him; you and Aegon usually did not have private conversations. When he tried to speak to you without a group setting, you often blushed and found a reason to leave, unsure of how to speak to someone you were so attracted to, especially if they were not your husband.

However, right now, all you wanted was to be near him.

“Rather beautiful day it appears,” you spoke, approaching his chair, where he was already seated and drinking, despite the early hour.

“Wouldn’t know,” he said, taking a sip from his cup, “considering we’re inside.”

You sighed, your hormones taking over you as you leaned closer to him, speaking at a volume only he could hear. “Evidently, I just needed a reason to speak to you.”

Aegon shifted in his chair so he could see behind him. “And what would you need to speak to me for?”

“Speaking it not exactly what I need you for, Aegon, and you know it.”

Aegon took another sip. “I know not to what you refer.”

He tried to remain stoic, but you could see him holding back a smirk.

You began to turn away, “Very well, if you insist on forgetting, then I am sure that Aemond will be happy to satis-“

Aegon grabbed your wrist, and his features no longer had any hint of amusement. “I am rather sure he wouldn’t.” You knew any mention that his brother was better than him would immediately cause him to drop the wall he always had up.

“No, no, I can simply just ask-“

“You needn’t worry about doing such a thing. He wouldn’t be able to help you.”

You smiled. This is what you wanted. He left you hot and bothered, finally getting a taste of pleasure, and now you had him wrapped around your finger. You felt so empowered, so sensual, so powerful.

“And you believe yourself capable of satiating me?” you teased, completely ignoring the fact that you had in fact approached him to say that you needed him.

“Only I can,” he responded.

You pulled out of his grip and took residence by your husband’s side again, including yourself in the conversation he was having with two guests, as well as Heleana, who often stayed next to Aemond so that she didn’t have to do any of the talking.

When the meal was finished, you left arm-in-arm with your husband, who waited until you were out of view to shift in front of you. “How do you feel?”

Fuck. Does he know? How would he know?

“What?”

“How do you feel? It has been a fortnight, surely an early pregnancy would be somewhat present by now,” Aemond elaborated.

“Oh,” you took a sigh of relief, “I do not know, I do not feel much different.”

Aemond leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead. “That is alright, we still have time.”

You smiled at him as he turned around and left, off to attend to his daily duties as you retreated to your chambers.

You were not in your room for even an entire minute before there was nonstop banging at your door.

You swung the door open. “Gods, could you have possibly hit the door any harder?”

Aegon didn’t respond, he just stepped into your apartment and slammed the door behind him, gripping your arms and spinning you until you were flipped, and backing you up until your back was pressed against the door.

“Aeg-“

He didn’t let you speak. He pressed his lips against yours, and your hands instinctively held either side of his face as his hands found your hips, pressing himself into you. You whined at the sudden contact, which only encouraged Aegon to continue as he peppered kisses down your jawline to your neck.

He pulled away, locking his eyes with your own. “Is this what you wanted? You wanted me?” His hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head upward. “You want me to make you feel things Aemond can’t?”

You could feel his muscles tense as he spoke your husband’s name, but Aemond wasn’t the one here with you right now.

“Yes,” you replied, “but I do not wish to think of Aemond right now.”

“No? Not your husband?”

Aegon was trying to maintain his intensity, but deep down, he was still just a boy who needed to be told he was wanted.

“I only want you, Aegon.”

Aegon let out a breath he was subconsciously holding in. He kissed you again, this time softer, grateful for your words.

“Jump,” he whispered.

“Jump?” you clarified.

“Would you trust me?”

You jumped upward and Aegon moved his arms to hold up your legs, forcing them to wrap around his waist. You squealed at the feeling, scared he would drop you, but you were secure.

He backed away from the door and walked you over to the bed, your head resting on his shoulder as he did so.

He was being nice enough to you that you assumed he would guide you down or slowly lower you, but instead, he slammed you against the bed, your legs untangling from his waist as you hit the mattress.

You opened your mouth in playful offense. “Aegon!”

He shrugged his shoulders, crawling on top of you. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean, yeah? What if that broke the bed?”

“Darling, if the bed doesn’t break, then I didn’t do my job.”

That was the second time he called you darling, and you loved hearing such an affectionate name directed at you, especially from him. You wondered if he had ever called his whores any affectionate names. Was this even as big of a deal to him as it was to you?

Aegon could see you lost in your thoughts as he loomed over you. “Something on your mind?”

“Just nervous, is all,” you responded.

“We can stop if you wish to,” he said.

You looked into his eyes, and you were surprised to see how genuine he was. You could tell he didn’t want to stop, but it was a relief knowing you could stop this any time, even though you had no desire to do so.

“I do not wish to stop.”

That was all the consent Aegon needed to kiss you again, refusing to break away from you as his hands moved to pull up your dress, exposing your small clothes to him once again.

He pulled them down your legs without even looking, and immediately ran a finger between your folds. You whined into the kiss, your hips instinctively lifting to chase the feeling.

Aegon continued to kiss you as he moved his finger lower and lower, slowly pushing it into you. You gasped, and Aegon considered breaking the kiss, but he was addicted. He wasn’t going to pull away until you made him.

The feeling was strange and unfamiliar, but that didn’t mean it was bad. You relaxed your body and trusted Aegon, allowing him to continue touching you as he moved his finger in and out. You were squirming beneath him, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to have the privilege of seeing how your body reacted to him.

After a few moments he removed his hand from you, still kissing you, and pushed his breeches down until his cock hit his stomach.

He used your wetness, that was now on his fingers, to lubricate his cock as he lined his tip up with your entrance. Only then did he pull away from the kiss.

“Are you ready?” he asked, gentle and genuine.

“Yes,” you said, knowing that verbal confirmation was better than a nod.

Aegon kept his eyes on yours as he slowly began to push into you. This feeling was not new, but it was different than what you were used to. Your body was becoming to used to Aemond, molded to Aemond, and the change confused your body for a brief few moments before settling in.

“Can I move?” Aegon checked.

“Aegon, I trust you, there is no need to ask,” you spoke, nearly a whisper, your voice weak.

You meant every word. You were appreciative that Aegon was so attentive to your comfort, but you weren’t exactly sure what was to come, and you wanted him to just get on with it already.

He dipped his head into the crook of your neck as he began to move, fighting to maintain his composure and move slowly. He set a steady pace, but after a brief few minutes, you tangled your fingers in his hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands, and it drove him crazy.

His self control slipped, and he began to move faster inside of you, snapping his hips harder and harder. You instinctively tugged on his hair, and he lifted his head up to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said, truly not meaning to pull on his hair or hurt him.

“Fuck, don’t be,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours, “I swear I’m trying to go easy on you, you’re just so, so-“

Aegon lost his sentence, gazing down at where your bodies met.

“I do not need you to go easy on me,” you whined.

Aegon did not confirm that you meant it, but instead dropped his head again, resting his head next to yours as he thrust harder, hitting your hips slightly upward with each stroke.

Your back arched and your head tilted further and further backward. This was not entirely unfamiliar to you, but it felt different simply because you were excited, and you knew Aegon wouldn’t let it end until your needs were satiated.

“Aegon,” you moaned, and the sound was natural, and so pretty falling from your lips.

Aegon lifted his head up again. “Do that again.”

You whimpered another, “Aegon,” as he fucked you hard, nearly pulling out entirely with each thrust before slamming himself back into you again.

The pace was excruciating, and you were sure your hips would bruise form the force of his own hitting them each time he bottomed out.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered in your ear, only adding to your arousal as you held onto his shoulders.

Your cunt squeezed his cock, and he let out a small chuckle. “You like it when I talk to you?” he groaned.

You nodded your head up and down, incapable of speaking as you lost yourself in the pleasure. One of his hands snaked between your bodies and began to slowly run circles around your clit, forcing you to release a rather filthy moan.

“Good girl,” he cooed as your cunt squeezed him again.

The feeling of his cock in you mixed with the feeling of him touching you was too much, and the uncomfortable feeling began to rise in your stomach again.

You anxiously chased the feeling of the breakage, completely letting Aegon take control of your pleasure as the pressure dropped, your juices coating his cock as he removed his hand.

“Fuck, just like that,” he moaned, using the feeling of your orgasm to chase his own high.

He kissed you again as he came, his seed spilling inside of you. You didn’t care enough to stop him or have him climax elsewhere. Everything felt too good for you to care.

Aegon watched your bodies disconnect as he pulled himself out of you, falling onto the bed next to you.

“Thank you,” you spoke through shaky and tired breaths.

Aegon laughed. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m thankful.”

“Your husband will be as well when you end up with child.”

You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I did not want to stop you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Aegon said, rolling on his side to be closer to you, “idiot wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between my child and his child anyway.”

“Enough about him,” you said, turning so that you were face-to-face with Aegon, “I’m here with you.”

Aegon leaned forward and kissed you softly, smiling as he pulled away and rested his head on the pillow.

[writingwithcolor]

Non-offensive Historical terms for Black people in historical fiction

@pleasespellchimerical asked:

So writing historical fiction, with a white POV character. I'm not sure how to address race in the narration. I do have a Black main character, and I feel like it'd feel out of place to have the narrator refer to her as 'Black', that being a more modern term. Not sure how to do this without dipping into common historical terms that are considered racist today. Thoughts on how to handle this delicately, not pull readers out of the narrative? (fwiw, the POV character has a lot of respect for the Black character. The narration should show this)

There are non-offensive terms you can use, even in historical fiction. We can absolutely refer to Black people without slurs, and if slurs is all one can come up with, it’s time to go back to the drawing board. I cannot say which terms are best for your piece without knowing the time period, but hopefully the list below helps.

Historical terms to use for Black people (non-offensive)

African American documented as early as 1782 (documented in an ad in the Pennsylvania Journal). Note the identity isn’t accurate for non-American Black people.

African could refer to African people or “from 1722 as ‘of or pertaining to black Americans.’”

The place of origin could also be used. For example, “a Nigerian woman”

Africo-American documented as early as 1788.

People of Color documented as early as 1796 (with specific contexts, usually mixed people)

Afro American documented as early as 1817, 1831 (depending on source)

Black American documented as early as 1831 

Black was used in Old English to refer to dark-skinned people. Black was not capitalized until recent years, so “She was a young black woman.” would make sense to say, though “She was a young Black woman.” is the better standard today, although not universally adopted. I personally prefer it capitalized. 

Moor was used as early as the late 1400s for North African people, but had a somewhat flexible use where anyone visibly Black / Of African descent or the Afro Diaspora might be referred to or assumed as a Moor. Note, it has other meanings too, such as referring to Muslim people, but that doesn’t mean the person using it is going by the dictionary definition. Not really the way to go today, but okay in a historical setting (in my opinion).

Biracial (1860s), mixed race (1872), multiracial (1903) and multicultural (1940s) are also terms to refer to people of two or more races.

Occupation + description. Throughout history, many people have been referred to as their occupation. For example, the Carpenter, The Baker, the Blacksmith. Here’s an example of how you might go about using occupation and traits to identify a Black character in history. Here’s an example I came up with on the fly.

“You should go by Jerry’s. He’s the best blacksmith this town’s ever seen. Ya know, the real tall, dark-skinned, curly haired fellow. Family’s come here from Liberia.”

Offensive and less-sensitive terms for Black people 

Blacks was used in plural more, but this is generally offensive today (Even writing it gives me **Thee ick*)

Colored was mostly used post-civil war until the mid 20th century, when it became unacceptable. This is not to be conflated with the South African Coloured ethnic group.

Negro/Negroes were also used as early as the 1550s. Capitalization became common in the early 20th century. I'm sure you know it is offensive today, though, admittedly, was not generally seen as such until around the 1960s, when Black replaced it. It does have its contexts, such as the trope “The Magical Negro” but going around using the term or calling someone that today is a lot different. 

Mulatto referred to mixed people, generally Black and white, and is offensive today. 

The N-word, in all its forms, is explicitly a slur, and there is absolutely no need to use it, especially in a casual manner, in your story. We’ve written about handling the N-word and alluding to it “if need be” but there are other ways to show racism and tension without dropping the word willy-nilly.

Deciding what to use, a modern perspective

I’m in favor of authors relying on the less offensive, more acceptable terms. Particularly, authors outside of the race. Seldom use the offensive terms except from actual direct quotes.

You do not have to use those offensive terms or could at least avoid using them in excess. I know quite famous stories do, but that doesn’t mean we have to so eagerly go that route today. Honestly, from teachers to school, and fellow non-Black students, it’s the modern day glee that people seem to get when they “get a chance to say it” that makes it worse and also makes me not want to give people the chance. 

It goes back to historical accuracy only counting the most for an “authentic experience” when it means being able to use offensive terms or exclude BIPOC from stories. We’ve got to ask ourselves why we want to plaster certain words everywhere for the sake of accuracy when there are other just as accurate, acceptable words to use that hurt less people. 

Disclaimer: Opinions may vary on these matters. But just because someone from the group cosigns something by stating they’re not offended by it, doesn’t mean a whole lot of others are okay with it and their perspectives are now invalid! Also, of course, how one handles the use of these words as a Black person has a different connotation and freedom on how they use them.

~Mod Colette

The colonial context

Since no country was mentioned, I’m going to add a bit about the vocabulary surrounding Black people during slavery, especially in the Caribbean. Although, Colette adds, if your Black characters are slaves, this begs the question why we always gotta be slaves.

At the time, there were words used to describe people based on the percentage of Black blood they had. Those are words you may find during your searches but I advise you not to use them. As you will realize if you dive a bit into this system, it looks like a classifying table. At the time, people were trying to lighten their descent and those words were used for some as a sort of rank. Louisiana being French for a time, those expressions were also seen there until the end of the 19th century.

The fractions I use were the number of Black ancestors someone had to have to be called accordingly.

Short-list here :

½ : mûlatre or mulatto

¼ or ⅛ : quarteron or métis (depending on the island, I’m thinking about Saint-Domingue, Martinique and Guadeloupe)

1/16 : mamelouk

¾ : griffe or capre

⅞ : sacatra

In Saint-Domingue, it could go down to 1/64, where people were considered sang-mêlé (mixed blood for literal translation, but “HP and the Half-Blood Prince” is translated “HP et le Prince de Sang-Mêlé” in French, so I guess this is another translation possibility).

-Lydie

Use the 3rd person narrative to your advantage

If you are intent on illustrating historical changes in terminology consider something as simple as showing the contrast between using “black” for first person character narration, but “Black” for 3rd person narrator omniscient.

-Marika

Add a disclaimer

I liked how this was addressed in the new American Girl books it’s set in Harlem in the 1920’s and there’s a paragraph at the beginning that says “this book uses the common language of the time period and it’s not appropriate to use now”

-SK

More reading:

NYT: Use of ‘African-American’ Dates to Nation’s Early Days

The Etymology dictionary - great resource for historical fiction

Wikipedia: Person of Color

[dcxdpdabbles]

I loved Summon AU, is it possible that you make more Summon AU?

The aftermath of the summoning leaves the Wayne Manor in a strange sense of foreboding. No one really knows what the Ghost King has done with their list or what it means for them that he has accepted.

Everyone tried to go about their daily lives, attempting to act like they weren't looking over their shoulders. Bruce had nearly broken a blood vessel when he heard about them doing a stupid online trend when they knew magic and gods were real.

They couldn't think of a better excuse for why they did besides "it seemed funny at the time."

Bruce had been so unimpressed with them all that he broke out the big guns.

That night, Alfred grounded them. He really sat everyone- minutes Cass because she had escaped through the window after Danny called- and told them they would not be allowed to use any form of technology unless it was related to their nighttime job.

They would also be given a chore list to complete every day until their punishment was over.

Even though neither Dick or Jason lived at home anymore, they too were grounded and didn't bother to even try to argue with the aging butler. Cass was informed of her own punishment through a text, and she returned about thirty minutes later, ready to face her punishment.

She reorganized everything in storage- and in Wayne Manor, there was a lot in storage- without a single complaint, but she did seem somewhat nervous. And excited?

Like a child waiting to open a present.

That was out of character for Cass, but no one was brave enough to ask her about it. Life before the manor was a taboo topic when it came to Cass.

A week later, her restless behavior finally came to light.

When the doorbell rang, Alfred was just looking over the wood polishing job Tim and Damian had been assigned. Confused- as there were no expected guests and the kids were all still grounded- he approached the door cautiously. Tim was on standby in case things went south.

A young adult, likely barely eighteen, with pretty blue eyes, a vast, charming smile, and a gorgeous winter-themed dress, was on the other side of the door. Their hair is short but styled to have one side longer than the other, framing their face perfectly.

A spinnable circle pin on her dress read Gender Fluid in the unmovable part and "She/Her day" in the spinal part.

"Hi there," She chirps, a dimple on full display. "I'm Danny."

"Good afternoon, Danny. My name is Alfred. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if Cass was home?" Dany starts surprising Alfred and Tim -who were eavesdropping around the corner- as the girl carefully plays with her hair. "I was hoping to talk to her."

"Miss Casandra is currently not allowed guests." The butler starts slowly. He watches her face fall dramatically before humming. "I can, however, pass along a message to her."

"Oh yeah, that be great. Please let her know Danny was wondering if she would like to go with me to see a ballet tonight. Um if she's allowed to go out."

Tim's eyes widen. A date? Danny had come here in person to ask Cass if she wanted to go on a date? Then had the courage to ask Alfred, to his face, if she could take his grandaughter out?

Who is she? Tim thinks amazed. He wants to text the rest of the group chat, which would invade Cass' privacy. He waits a few minutes until Alfred responds.

"Miss Casandra is currently grounded. Unfortunately, she and her siblings cannot leave until their punishment ends."

Tim winces. Hopefully, Cass being nineteen and still being grounded at her age didn't scare off Danny. Some people didn't understand how much power Alfred's word had over the manor and frankly, those people didn't deserve Cass anyway.

But it would make her sad.

"Oh, that's okay. Thank you for letting me-"

A scream makes everyone jump. Tim whirls around to find Damian pressed against the main stairway. His face has gone three sheets of white, staring at Danny with horror.

"Y-you!"

Danny tilts her head. "Me?"

"Y-you!" Damian gasps and Tim is highly alarmed that his voice is tinted with fear. "Why are you here?!"

"I came to ask Cass if-"

"You will not take Cain from me, Ghost King! I will destroy your core before you try to get near her!" Damian screams, hand suddenly holding a glowing green sword, but his threat doesn't hold much because he is literally shaking in his boots. "You have your summon payment already! You shall leave Cain alone!"

What.

"Oh! You think no, no. I'm not here for her soul or anything. Cass and I go way back when she lived on the streets. " Danny- the ghost king they summoned using a list of their gay awaking apparently- laughs, waving her hands as if to calm the young child. "I liked her for a while but thought she didn't feel the same. Until the summoning, where I saw my name on the list. We talked it out, and I was hoping to take her on a first date, you know?"

"You lie!" Damian races down to point his sword at Danny, looking just as wild as a cornered animal about to fight for its life. "Why would the strongest being in the multiverse live on the streets?!"

"Well....it's not like they pay to rule the dead....I had a rough patch, but Cass helped me get back on my feet." Danny muttered, slightly embarrassed. Then she squits at Damian. "Wait, are you a al Ghul?"

Damian breaks into a sweat as Danny gasps, "You are! You're family owes me so much money in backed up taxes for the healing pool! We cut off contamination maintenance because Ra's refused to pay years ago! Kid, do you know I can get into contact with your family member about the Lazarus pit?"

Damian screamed again, turned around, and ran, leaving a stunned Alfred, Tim and Danny. "Guess not. Anyway, sorry to be a bother Mr. Alfred, I'll come back when Cass can go out. Bye!"

A familiar portal rips under Danny as she falls through with a cheerful wave. Alfred and Tim watch it close in a moment before Tim turns to the butler. "Did I inhale too many polishing chemicals? Am I hallucinating?"

"No, my dear boy, I saw everything as well."

"Oh, good. " Tim pauses. " One of us needs to speak to Damian and Cass."

Alfred closes the door slowly. "I'll find Master Damian. You go for Miss Cassandra and Master Tim?"

"Hmm?"

"The next time, Mister Conner sends you a fun trend to try. Don't."

"Yeah, that's fair."

[ozzgin]

Hai, beloved....❤️✨

I've liked your blog for a long time and I came here to make a request With the six Handsome Yokai, muehehe ~

With fem reader who is the wife of the Yokai (separately) and is a woman who turns out to be a beautiful and elegant Oni please...❤️💋

Of course! My apologies for the delay, it always takes some time to get back into the mood for a certain story. This will be a yokai harem week hopefully. :D I'm very glad you're still around, Strawberry. 💕

Yandere! Yokai Harem AU: Oni! Reader

Featuring the six demon boyfriends - now husbands! - and a female oni reader.

Content: female reader, monster romance

[Main Story] [Character Guide] [Boyfriend Headcanons]

Murasaki

Murasaki needs time to accustom himself to any change in the relationship. You've gotten so close that you now wear his wedding ring, but strangely enough, he will be somewhat distant and shy in the first month after marriage. Mind you, he married you specifically because he cannot envision his life without your presence in it. Yet every time he glances at you, his cheeks burn in embarrassment, and he quickly looks away with a huff. It feels different. You're as beautiful as always, except now you bear the title of his wife. It's an intimacy he's never experienced before, making him nervous. Murasaki does not like uncertainty. How do people get used to it? Additionally, he will be extra protective and particularly caustic towards potential threats. You've had to hold him back from slashing a mere passerby once. "What're you looking at a married woman for? The road is straight ahead, asshole!"

Kiritsubo

Kiritsubo has always been a clingy and affectionate partner and you didn't think it could get any worse. Then you got married. On one hand, it has certainly helped his struggle of feeling insecure and inadequate. Can you blame him? You're stunning, often catching the eye of demons and humans alike. It was difficult to imagine someone like you would be pleased to have him as a partner. Yet here you are by his side, wearing the ring he's given you to tie the knot. He couldn't be any happier. A newfound sense of pride has flooded his entire being. Perhaps he is meant to be yours, after all. On the other hand, he's glued to your side even more so than before. You're married, which means you're basically one, right? It means you can be even more intimate. "Oh, you're preparing a bath for us? I can't wait!"

Suma

"Beauty and the Beast" is a fitting comparison for your relationship with Suma, and not just appearance-wise. You're elegant and well-mannered, while the yokai man is, well...nonchalant is one way to describe it. He is loud, carefree, and unapologetically violent. He loves fighting almost as much as he loves you. In the eyes of most people, you're an unusual pair. Despite everything, Suma can be very gentle, especially when it comes to you. And if he does get too enthusiastic, you're thankfully not as frail as one would believe. You are a powerful oni, after all. He's the kind of guy that will shout "This is my wife" so the whole perimeter knows not to mess with you.

Yuugiri

Yuugiri might just be the perfect match for someone of your status. He is equally good-looking, with androgynous features and distinguished manners. A perfect, charming husband according to many. He knows exactly how to sweep you off your feet and loves to spoil you with compliments. The snake yokai is very proud to have you as his wife. The downside to this is that he can be extremely jealous. If he suspects someone is trying to flirt with you, know that he is already planning their demise. He'll flash you a confident smile while pondering ways to torment the bastard. Don't worry, he will be equally ruthless if someone tries to get close to him instead.

Sakaki

Ah, Sakaki. Your very own gloomy husband, plagued by doubt and fear. Once again, an intriguing pair to outsiders. The depressed, melancholic yokai and his gorgeous, bright oni wife. Yet this is the very reason the demon has fallen in love with you: you're the light in his darkness, the hope in his despair. He proposed to you in the way most expected of him: a ring in one hand, and a noose in the other. "It's you for eternity, or death. You may seal my fate." Life with him won't change much after tying the knot. Although he might get a little more confident now that you have made things official. "Excuse me, you're flirting with my tomb partner. We'll be sharing a coffin one day; you don't stand a chance."

Sekiya

Sekiya will take forever to propose to you, mostly out of fear. Despite your best attempts to reassure him of your love, he is still very much crippled by the fear of rejection. What if you say no? What if you change your mind at the very last moment? You're an alluring, charismatic oni that could easily find someone better than him. His chances are slim. Thankfully it will tone down once you're officially married. He might even come out of his shell and dare to be a little more assertive. "That's MY ring on her finger, j-just so you know", he'll warn, proudly. (It was a jewelry maker asking you what style you prefer)

[mysticheathenn]

Hard Messages From Love

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is all about messages from love itself. If you were looking for a sign from any kind of delusions...this is it. Hopefully this isn't too harsh.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

Patreon Link

Pile l:

Messages from love? Tarot: 2 of Swords, 9 of Pentacles (reversed), 9 of Swords, The World, The Chariot (reversed), 10 of Pentacles.

Things that may surround your mind about love? Give me a sign if things should end or if I am being paranoid. I can't eat or sleep about a decision. I feel suffocated by this person and I don't want to feel this way or leave them. I need to follow my heart but what if my heart is wrong? I deserve someone who shows and gives me the world. This person deserves the world and more than what I can give them.

Pop Culture Reference: Pride and Prejudice Move (2005)

Message: Someone here has been on your mind for quite some time. For some of you, this is a decision that you need to make regarding breaking up and for others of you this is regarding following your heart. Following your heart can go two ways: 1) breaking up or 2) giving someone you have "friend-zoned" a chance at dating you. Either way, your overall message is to follow your heart. Make the tough decision that needs to be made and stop second-guessing everything. If you haven't been happy in a long time in your relationship then it's time to leave. If you know dating someone would bring you great joy it's either you date them or be upfront and honest by telling them you are either scared or just don't want to be with them. Either way, you need to let that person be free to date someone who actually wants to be with them or has the guts to go after what they want. There is no long-term benefit of stringing someone along. This pile is also about the required action that needs to be taken place. There are so many things in this pile that are impossible to mention, but you deep down know what this required action is. It's the action that will give you freedom from the torment of your mind. This group reminds me of the scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mr. Darcy says "Miss Elizabeth. I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few months have been a torment. I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you. I had to see you. I have fought against my better judgment, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth, my rank, and circumstances. All these things I am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony." (Yes, I had to put the entire iconic quote in this reading). Do the thing that needs to be done. Have the courage to either go after what you want or end what needs to be ended. No one can make or do these decisions for you. Just do it.

Pile ll:

Messages from love? Tarot: The Sun, Strength, The Tower (reversed), The Wheel, 2 of Swords (reversed), Death

Things that may surround your mind about love? Is this ever going to end? But I can't give them up. They will be back. They always come back. I want to be happy with only them. I need them. Ride or Die. Bad Marriage/relationship for life.

Pop Culture Reference: Round and Round by Selena Gomez, Will and Jada Smith's marriage

Message:

"We're going 'round and 'round, We're never gonna stop going 'Round and 'round, We'll never get where we're going, Round and 'round, Well, you're gonna miss me, 'cause I'm getting dizzy, Going 'round and 'round and 'round" - Selena Gomez. This pile somewhat was attracted to some degree to pile l. This pile is all about prolonging the inevitable when regarding a person. The tower card is in reverse and the death card is also here. There is a change that needs to happen between you and whoever this pile is about. The rain may fall today and tomorrow but eventually, you're going to have to give way and make room for the sun that desperately wants to clear some of the toxic patterns and unfulfilled desires that have plagued you for some time now. Just because someone keeps coming back into your life doesn't mean they are for you. Just because you have been with someone for a while does not mean you have to keep dealing with them because of history. History is great but also lessons are never learned there and you are not learning your lesson from the past history of this person or anyone else you have dealt with that is similar to them that you seem to not being able to escape. It's time to end the cycles you keep repeating. There is nothing romantic about struggling and settling. There is nothing cute about being a "ride or die" especially when that ride or die would watch you die. It's time to pull yourself by the bootstraps and end the cycles. You can't keep wondering why life gives you the same people with different bodies when all you do is continue to go after them or allow them to entertain you. Love wants you to know a change is coming and you're not going to like it. You may be left heartbroken to the point you may be turned off from love or people in general but you forced love's hand to do something you were not willing to.

Pile lll:

Messages from love? Tarot: The Emperor (reversed), 8 of Swords, Knight of Swords, 3 of Cups, Strength.

Things that may surround your mind about love? Speak no evil. See no evil. Hear no evil. Ignorance is bliss. I can fix him/her/them. Misunderstood. Little Red RIding Hood.

Pop Culture Reference: DW from Arthur "This sign can't stop me because I can't read." Link "This is your man. That's mine and I'm going to stick beside him." Link In My Head by Ariana Grande / Papa Don't Preach by Madonna

Message:

This pile might be attracted to pile ll but not all that much. This pile is for those who know someone isn't good for them but keep hanging around them. Your friends and family have told you this person isn't who you think they are or aren't how you keep trying to paint them. It's as if you keep trying to gaslight yourself into staying with this person because of the potential or the made-up version you have of them in your head. "My imagination's too creative, They see demon, I see angel, angel, angel, Without a halo, wingless angel" - Ariana Grande. You have the blindfolds on in this connection or about this person and you refused to take the blindfolds off all because what might either be of three reasons: 1) FOMO, the fear you might miss out on if this person does change or does something spectacular like get a record deal or win the lottery. 2) You have some sort of spiritual tie to this person through sex. For those who don't know yes, you can have an energetic pull or tie to someone through sex. If you find yourself in a dead-end relationship where you can't truly give substantial reasons as to why you aren't leaving even though you know the relationship has resulted in nothing but sex and history....soul tie. Or for most people it can be a codependency. 3) They suckered you into their web of victim mentality where they told you everybody has left them and basically uses the same techniques as an abuser to hook people into them to not leave. You remind me of the story of Little Red Riding Hood where it's quite obvious the wolf is a wolf and not her grandma but Little Red kept ignoring the signs of being in danger of the wolf. It's okay to lose out on someone. It's okay to want to be someone's cheerleader and see the potential in someone. What is not okay is when the person doesn't change or show these potentials that you know are somewhere in them. There is a saying that people change who they want to change for and unfortunately that person might not be you and that's okay because there is better out there who will or can match the person you want in your head and you have to stop to forcing those who don't want to be that person into that box.

Pile lV:

Messages from love? Tarot: 9 of Swords, Hange MAn, 5 of Wands, 5 of Swords, Queen of Wands, 9 of Pentacles (reversed).

Things that may surround your mind about love? They've changed. This time is different. Nobody is perfect. The heart wants what it wants.

Pop Culture Reference: Hanging on by Kim Wilde. Heart Wants What it Wants by Selena Gomez. 27 Dresses Movie.

Message:

It seems every pile might have two piles they may have been attracted to and pile lV you are no exception. You may have also been attracted to pile lll. Instead of having a blindfold on like pile lll when it comes to others or connections, you don't see your worth when it comes to matters of the heart. You constantly allow others to play you and you keep allowing them to because of the kind heart you have thinking that people change and maybe this time is different. It's wild how you would go to bat for people who treat you horribly but they won't do the same for you and for some of you you're okay with that because you feel you don't deserve healthy love or connections. Others of you, you secretly crave wanting someone to show you the same kind of love that you show others but low self-esteem as well as possibly history from dating people who don't speak positively to you have made you to believe you don't deserve that kind of love. You remind me of those who feel that they will always be the bridesmaid but never the bride, similar to 27 dresses. The main character was after a man who didn't even know she existed outside of her job (she loves her boss) and was always there for other people even when they were selfish and weren't there for her. You have such a big heart to give to others, but it's time to give your heart to those who deserve it. Stop allowing those who don't see your worth to treat you any kind of way. See a spade as a spade and not an Ace (again similar to pile lll). I don't know you pile lV but I wish I did so I can give you a big hug because you deserve all the greatness and beauty of this world. You shouldn't have to fight for a spot in anyone's life nor fight to have the love you deserve from others. It's time to pour that love you give to others back into yourself and attract healthy and loving relationships and people into your life.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[callumsturn]

At Last

Summary: John watches you at the bar, having fun without him, and trying his best to not get jealous. Your troubled past comes to the surface once he senses he might lose you to someone else.

Pairing: Major John "Bucky" Egan x female reader Content/Warnings: He gets jealous, you can guess where this is going. 18+ smut (minors don't interact), unprotected sex. Notes: If you have any requests you'd like me to write please let me know! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you! Also, I'm working on a part II for "Sweet John", if anyone's interested in reading that just let me know!

You didn't notice John's gaze on you the entire night through the crowded pub, as another airman talked to you. You were trying to have fun for a variation of events. You felt you deserved it.

You looked over at him for a brief second, your eyes happened to rest in his direction. You heard him talk to his best mate Major Gale Cleven, which said something rushed before you saw Egan drain the rest of his beer, setting the glass on the bar and walk in your direction.

He approached you and the other man, hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face. He stopped between the two of you, making sure to knock shoulders with the other guy in the process. "Hey." he spoke, his eyes never leaving you.

"Hi." You simply said, confused for a second.

Major Egan looked around the pub before leaning down. "Is he bothering you?" he asked lowly next to you.

"No Bucky, I'm alright." you told him.

"Good." He grumbled in response, before shooting the other man a look and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, tugging you slightly closer to him.

"Bucky, stop that." your voice trailed off, tired. The other airmen looked at you puzzled.

Bucky looked down at you, his smirk widening. "What? I can't spend time with my favourite girl?" He joked, pulling you against his side.

You heard the other airman speak suddenly. "Oh sorry, are you guys-."

"We're not." you assured him.

Egan wasn't your boyfriend, he had no right to act like he owned you, but he wanted the other airman to think you were off limits.

"Not yet." he said between his signature smirk. "But I'm working on it."

The other airmen stepped forward. "It seems like you're the one bothering the lady, Mr....?" he waited for Bucky to introduce himself, and hopefully leave you all to himself.

Bucky scoffed slightly. "Major John Egan.", removing his arm from your shoulders and offering out his hand for the other man to shake.

The other man did the same, introducing himself as a lower rank.

Bucky's grip on his hand was firm - maybe a little too firm for a typical greeting. "What unit you with?" he asked him, eyes sizing up the man's uniform. After getting his answer Bucky spoke plainly. "I see." He then turned his attention back to you, eyes somewhat unreadable.

His smirk returned as he looked at the man, his voice calm. "What're you doing talking to my girl?" His tone light and teasing, but with an undercurrent of possessiveness to it.

"Bucky, stop that." Your voice a bit higher now.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "What? I'm just making conversation."

You felt the other airman's hand at the low of your back, before he spoke. "We're just getting to know each other."

You noticed Bucky's eyes tracing his movements, before complaining. "Can I help you mate?" Bucky's voice showing real bother for the first time. "You can keep your hands to yourself, yeah?" He responded in a half-threatening tone.

You stepped away from the man, as well as from Bucky. "You're being an asshole John." you told him.

He knew he was being an ass, but he couldn't help it; something inside him snapped everytime he saw you with someone else. "Yeah, well..." he trailed off, looking around before his gaze landed on you again. "Better than letting him paw all over you."

"I wasn't pawing all over her." the other airman raises his voice.

Bucky took a step forward, eyes narrowing as the man raised his tone. "Hey, pal" he said, irritation in his tone. "Back off."

Bucky pushed the man's chest with a firm push, and you saw Gale come to the rescue, reaching the air, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder, attempting to pull him away. "Cut it out, Bucky. That's enough." he said firmly.

He shrughed his shoulders, hands in the air in defense, like he hadn't done a thing. You looked at him for a second, before backing away from the everyone, exiting the bar.

Watching you leave, part of him wanted to follow after you and apologize for his behavior, but the other part of him stubbornly insisting he took the right action - he'd be dammed before he let some other airmen make a move on you.

Gale shook his head as his eyes followed you, before looking back at Bucky. "You're a damn idiot." He shrugged Gale's hold on him, following you outside.

The cool night air hit the Major in the face as he pushed open the door, eyes darting around the street to find you. A flicker of guilt flared in his chest as he spotted you walking down the street, head down and arms crossed. He hesitated for a second, before making his way towards you.

You heard his steps behind you, just before his voice became clear. "Hey I'm sorry."

You stopped walking abruptly, turning around to face him. His hands were shoved in his pockets, the expression on his face a mixture of guilt and something else. "I'm sorry." he repeated, taking a few steps forward. "I shouldn't have acted like that in there."

"Yeah, but somehow, you always do." The look of disappointment on your face hitting him like a brick.

Bucky's heart constricted in his chest as he looked down at you, the look in your eyes almost physically painful for him to see. It always was, but he could never help himself.

"It's just... " he trailed off, looking around the street. "You and another guy... it pisses me off, alright?"

"I don't see why!" You kept your guard up. Your irritated tone contrasting with his.

Frustration and annoyance started to show on his face. "And I don't see how you can stand there and act like you don't know damn well why it pisses me off!" he replied, taking another step closer to you, his gaze boring directly into to yours.

"Because you don't like seeing men put their hands on women? I get that, but it was kind of my choice to accept that or not, not you."

"Damn it, that's not the point!" he exclaimed, resisting the urge to just grab you by the arms and shake some sense into you. "You shouldn't be letting other guy touch you like that, especially those british pricks."

"So now it's because he's British. You mess around with British girls all the time and that doesn't bother you."

Bucky tensed at your words. "That's... different."

"How is that fucking different John?" Your voice filled with disbelief.

"Because it just is, okay?" His voice growing louder as he struggled to control his emotions. "You can't just... you can't just let every aiman that comes along touch you, it's not-" he cut himself off abruptly, exhaling a sharp breath.

"Every airmen..." you exhaled an answer, chuckling. "So now I'm some kind of whore."

Bucky's eyes widened as his expression changed from anger to genuine hurt. "What?"" he exclaimed. "No, of course you're not, I don't-" he cut himself off, running a hand over his face with a frustrated low groan. "That's not what I meant." he mumbled. "Why are you twisting my words like that?"

"What do you mean then John?"

"You can't just let guys be all handsy with you when it's obvious-" he paused for a moment "when it's obvious they're trying to get with you."

"And why do you care?" your voice toning down, tired of aurguing.

Bucky froze for a second, stunned by your question. "Why do I care?" he echoed incredulously. "Why do I care?" he repeated. "Because... because I care about you, goddamnit."

You chuckled softly after a couple seconds of silence. "Sure... just not enough."

He looked at you like you'd just slapped him in the face. "Don't..." he began, taking another step closer to you. "Don't say that. You know that's not true."

You shrughed your shoulders. "Do I?" You looked at him, tears of age forming in your eyes. Bucky's expression changed completely. The sight of your tears immediately sending a pang through his chest.

"Hey..." he said softly, reaching out to gently brush the tears from your cheeks. "Hey, come on, don't do that." He cupped your face gently, looking at you with concern and regret.

"I'm not yours, but I can't be anyone else's." you simply told him.

His eyes flickered across your expression as he processed your words. "What's that supposed to mean?" His voice barely above a whisper, as though he was afraid of the answer.

"It means I don't wanna be stuck in this strange limbo."

Bucky was silent for a moment, heart clenching in his chest as he took in your words. He knew what you were talking about, he knew what this conversation was leading to, but he still wasn't quite ready to hear it. "What do you want me to say?", his words somewhat strangled. "Damn it, you know why I can't-" he trailed off, his hands dropping back down to his side.

Your eyes were pleading for an answer.

"You know why I can't." he repeated, swallowing hard. "You know I want you, I-" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, knowing that if he did, there was no going back. You saw Bucky trying to gather his best words, until they finally came out of his mouth. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

Bucky stared down at you, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and fear. He has thought those words but had never had the courage to actually say them out loud. He tried to say something, anything, to fill the silence, but he found he wasn't able to. So he just stood there, looking at you with an almost pleading look in his eyes.

"You'll hurt me either way." you whispered.

Bucky visibly winced at your words. He wanted to protest, to tell you that wasn't true, but he knew you were right. He would hurt you, no matter what decision he made. He exhaled a shaky breath, his eyes locked on yours as he tried to find something to say.

"I-" he cut himself off before he could finish his sentence - before he blurted out three very dangerous little words.

Instead, he took another step forward, reaching out to lightly brush some hair away from your face. His hand lingered against your skin for a moment, almost like he was trying to memorize the feeling of your touch beneath his fingertips.

"Damn it." he mumbled, almost solely to himself. "You make me so damn weak, y'know that?" He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was a losing battle as he stared down into your eyes. He could feel himself crumbling. "You wreck me." he admitted quietly, the words falling from his lips in a whispered confession.

He couldn't help himself from closing the remaining space between you both. He pulled you closer, his eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. You looked up at him with hopefull and tired eyes as he grabbed your face. You couldn't take it anymore, you had to try. Your eyes focused on his lips, then on his eyes and then his lips again. You noticed John's reaction to your gaze.

Bucky knew exactly what you were doing. He could see it in your eyes, and it took every ounce of self-control not to simply crash his lips against yours. He wanted to, desperately. He wanted to throw caution to the wind and give in to the overwhelming urge to kiss you.

You finally closed the gap between you both, half expecting John to back away. But he didn't.

He couldn't.

The moment your lips connected, all rationality left him. He didn't hesitate. His arms wrapped around you in a tight grip, as he returned the kiss with a bruising passion. You wrapped your hands around his neck hesintatly.

Bucky's hands moved to your lower back, fingers tangling in the fabric of your shirt, as he deepened the kiss. He was desperate, hungry, like a starving man given his first taste of food in weeks. The kiss was deeply passionate, filled with months of unspoken words and buried feelings.

He couldn't get enough of you. He wanted more, as much as possible, as much as you would give him. He nipped at your bottom lip, demanding more, his grip on you tightening as he pressed you closer, the length of his body molded against yours.

"John..." you mumbled his name near his mouth, in a faint whisper.

He let out a low groan at the sound of his name falling from your lips. The way you said it, breathless and desperate, sent a shiver down his spine. "Don't say my name like that." he mumbled back against your mouth, before capturing your lips in another bruising kiss.

"Why?" you lightly smiled against his lips.

"You know damn well why." he replied. "You say my name like that and I'm a goner."

You just smiled up at him, a look of innocence on your face. "Let's go home John."

His breath caught in his troat as you spoke. Home, with you. His grip on you tightened reflexively. He swallowed hard, staring down at you. His eyes a mixture of desire and hope. "Yeah, let's go home."

You grabbed his hand and practically ran to his car.

The drive back to his place was tense and filled with electric energy, stealing glances as he drove, fighting to keep his hands off you. After what felt like an eternity, you finally pulled up to this place. You looked at him for a few seconds, analyzing his expression.

"What?" you laughed slightly.

Bucky shook his head, running a hand through his hair, as he chuckled nervously. "Nothing." he said. "Just... trying to get my bearings, I guess." He paused for a moment, looking at you with a mixture of tenderdes and desire. "Come on." he said quietly. "Let's go inside."

You were amazed at his soft and kind manner. You always saw Bucky either partying, drunk or just overly enthusiastic about a successful mission. He was being sweet and assuring, and you were not used to it.

Bucky held your hand gently as he led you out of the car and towards his door. He let you inside, following closely behind, his eyes never leaving you as he closed the door behind him. He knew he was acting differently, but he couldn't help it. This was different. And it scared the hell out of him.

You took off your jacket and placed it on a nearby sofa at the entrance. You looked around at his apartment. Majors usually received good places to live.

Bucky watched you get comfortable, his eyes lingering on your body before averting them quickly. He hadn't been lying when he said you wrecked him, and it was taking all his self-control not to just grab and press you up against the wall right then and there.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked.

You shook your head no as you approached him.

One of his hands moved to your hip, gently resting there. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." You smiled up at him, resting your hands briefly in his chest.

He inhaled sharply, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. Slowly, he let out a shaky exhale. "God, you're beautiful." he murmured.

"What took you so long to say that?" you asked with your arms around his neck.

He chuckled softly at your question, his hand slowly moving over your back to pull you closer. He leaned down, his mouth hovering just above your car. "I thought I made that pretty clear." he murmured. "I'm not a subtle guy."

"Sure... you've always said it, some way or another."

"I think I've been pretty damn obvious" Bucky agreed. "But you just wouldn't listen."

You looked at him for a few seconds. "You mean it?"

“I’ve always meant it.” His words sincere and his hands grabbing the small of your waist.

He sent shivers down your body with each word, with each touch. He drove you wild.

You abruptly connected both your lips for the second time of the night. Your small figure clinging to his larger one. He immediately grabbed your face between his hands, returning the kiss, before moving his hands to your body. Your arms around his neck and back, holding him with eagerness.

You heard his chuckle between kisses. “Are you alright?”

“I’m done waiting John.” You whispered as you looked him in the eyes for a brief second.

You saw him nod his head, his expression serious. He guided you to his bedroom, never letting go of you. He closed the door behind him, just as you pushed him to his bed. You crawled your way up, your stomach up, looking up at him. Waiting for him.

He unbuttoned his uniform, taking his underneath T-shirt in a swift move over his head. He then started undoing his belt, and dropped his pants on the floor before climbing on the bed. He started undressing you. Ever so carefully, not rushing the moment. First your shirt, then your skirt, and lastly your shoes and stockings. He kept your foot on his hand, bringing it up and kissing it slowly, looking at you and then your core. His hand running over your leg. You positioned your ankle on top of his shoulder and pushed him towards you, on top of you. His body fell on top of yours carefully, supporting part of his weight on his arms, as he kissed you once again. He then moved to your neck, from your jaw to the base of your neck, hearing your soft moans every now and then.

You could tell it had an immense effect on him. Of course it did. He had waited all this time for you. You looked up at him, your faces only a mere inch from each other. You pleaded him with your eyes. You didn’t have to say anything, he knew.

You felt him move, positioning himself. He looked down at you once again, checking on you. You nodded your head once again. And suddenly felt him enter your core, slowly. Your mouth opened slightly almost instinctively, and John invaded it with his own. Your moans muffled by his lips, only escaping once he pulled away briefly to breathe.

“You alright?” His breathy tone escaping his mouth.

You nodded your head rapidly, and he continued his pace. You lifted your hips in desperation. You wanted to fill him whole. You bent your legs, wrapping them around his torso.

John exhaled as he noticed your new position, fastening his pace.

You moaned louder, pulling him into you with more force. You were driving him wild, and he made sure to let you know.

“Fuck…” his voice trailed off next to your ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

He was sending you over the edge. You tried to warn him but you couldn’t even form a single word, only senseless exhales.

“Cmon.” You hear his soft voice. “You can let go.”

His words set the tone for your explosion of nerves. You came underneath him, eyes fixed on his as he did the same like he was waiting for you.

As you both exhaled repeatedly, your breathing became one. You both moaned as he removed himself from you, both still very overstimulated. John looked into your eyes, brushing the hair that stubbornly kept clinging to your wet forehead.

He shot you that dumb, dashing smirk you knew so well, as he tamed your hair. You did the same to him. "What the matter?" you asked.

He laughed again. "You're something else." he finally said.

You flashed him an embarrassed smile. "Alright now." You got up, dragging a sheet with you, wrapped around your body. "Shower."

John flashed you a cheesy smile, getting up in an instant, pulling the sheet from your body, and following you down to the bathroom.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My World; Chapter 4

You finally find your way into the labyrinth, coming across some new and old faces; both friendly and malicious.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, reader is getting tired of being stuck here and smelling like a bog

Content Warnings; Swearing, some talk of death, reader passes out

Word Count; 2.2 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

As per usual, don't put my work into AI.

You were finally making some decent progress, what, with not being stuck in some bog and knowing somewhat of where you were going. A vast improvement really! Well, it would be, but unfortunately, you still reeked of rotten eggs and skunk — apparently the bog stench only got worse the longer it stayed on.

“Why did it have to dump me into the swamp,” you huffed, rounding yet another corner. “Like, it could have dumped me beside the water, but, no, no, let’s dump the magicless human right into the putrid bog water! A good guffaw, don’t you think? Ha ha ha HA!”

At least your au de Bog of Eternal Stench kept any would-be assailants away since you hadn’t run into anything (besides a rose bush, ouch) since you started making your way through the labyrinth. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad… damn, maybe your sense of smell was just used to it… hey, if stink helps you not die, then you would gladly stay stinky! Well, bitterly stay stinky is more like it.

“Assholes,” you muttered, rounding another corner. 

But it wasn’t a corner; it was a crossroad. Three paths merged off of the one you were on.

… aren’t labyrinths just one long line? THIS IS A FUCKING MAZE?! You groaned, looking at your possible options which all looked exactly the same.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. Of course nothing is easy here, no no no! Gotta make things difficult now.

The hedge behind you rustled, and you whipped around, getting into a stance where you could either land a pretty good sucker punch to the hedge-stalker or make a mad dash away. But out of the hedge crawled out a small, fuzzy, caterpillar. And back at home you would have thought it was cute, but you learned your lesson from the doors; don’t trust it, or anyone for that matter.

You looked down at the caterpillar, and the caterpillar looked up at you, blinking slowly. 

What are the chances… 

“Do you know a way out,” you asked the caterpillar, crouching down so that you didn’t tower over it.

The caterpillar blinked at you again (apparently caterpillars in the Underground have eyelids, which isn’t the weirdest thing considering everything). “No,” it chirped and continued crawling on its merry way, wherever that may be. “But you’ll find the way.” And it disappeared into the growth of the maze, humming a little tune to itself.

You sighed, and pushed yourself back up, straightening out your shoulders and looking up to the sky. “I’ll find a way,” you breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky which was starting to turn a brilliant amber with the setting sun. “I might want to find a way is more like it.”

You looked back down to the ground, looking at the three paths in front of you. They all look the same, save for the ground making up paths themselves, with the middle and right paths looking well worn with travel. And while they may be well worn, there was a voice at the back of your head that was whispering caution. The left-most path was not as well travelled, with dead vines covering parts of it.

“Hopefully you’re right, little buddy since I could use all the luck I can get.” And you made your way down the path, hoping that it was the correct one and didn’t lead you to your death or some other unpleasant thing.

…

…

Lilia was at the entrance of the labyrinth, in front of the two doors.

“Have you seen a human, about this tall, a bit of a temper, and smelling foul,” he asked the doors.

The doors looked at each other before looking at Lilia. “And what’s it to you,” they said in unison.

Lilia smiled, but it was one of mild annoyance, not joy or amusement. “Royal orders I fear. You wouldn’t want the mistress finding out about you both tampering with a royal matter, would you?” The smile turned cat-like since Lilia had backed them into a corner.

The doors paled, with the blue door speaking up. “No no, sir! We would never dream of such a thing!!! Yes, there was a human, a wretched one at that, horribly rude!”

Lilia hummed, cocking a brow at the door. “I do think wretched is a bit of an overstatement now,” he whispered to himself. “Well, tell me where about they are then. The sooner I can collect them, the better for you lot.”

The red door sighed, “Near the heart of it, they took the left path.”

Left path? Why the left path leads to… Shit. Lilia mentally groaned, knowing that regardless of the path you took, you would end up having to deal with them eventually. “Your cooperation has been noted,” is what he said though, giving the doors both a nod before turning into a bat and flying over the labyrinth, trying to find you before you ran into whoever them was.

“Please be clever enough not to die,” he whispered to no one, hoping that he didn’t have to deliver your body to the Queen.

…

…

The left path brought you to what looked like a forest; with old-growth trees, ferns and moss covering the ground, and a list mist hanging in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful, with the setting sun illuminating the mist without burning it away.

But that would not last, night was fast approaching and you had nothing to protect you this time; no rowan tree to haul your ass up, and no sort of weapon to protect yourself besides the oh-so-lovely smell of the bog to deter something from eating you. You were pretty sure it would also keep away anything that wanted to otherwise snatch you up.

“AH!” Something jumped out from a tree, and you couldn’t fully register what it was since you were also screeching, much like the creature was at you; you with fright, the creature with amusement and joy.

Two other creatures jumped out from behind the trees and startled cackling, jumping, and clapping. Together, they surrounded you, with no way to really escape them without fighting through.

… you really should have read about fae species, since you didn’t know what they exactly were, or how dangerous they were either. 

One pulled you near a pit and lit a fire, cackling in glee and dancing, trying to get you to join them. “Ah come on, human, have some fun! DANCE BABEY!!!!”

But you stayed still as more creatures came out of the shadows, dancing around the fire, giggling, cackling, and pulling a bit at your clothes to prompt you to join them. You didn’t know, cementing your feet down, your eyes watching their movements with caution.

‘Should you dance with the fae, you shall not stop dancing until you exhaust yourself. And once you wake up, you will continue dancing. This cycle will repeat itself until you dance to death.’ 

At least that was what the book said, and so you stayed still, regardless of how much the creatures pulled at you. While it looked like a grand old time, you remained where you were.

“I don’t have time for dancing,” you answered coldly, flinching from pinching fingers. You were also a bit shocked that Eau de Bog of Eternal Stench wasn’t keeping them away. Either, they couldn’t smell, or, they didn’t care that you smelled downright awful. “So this ‘baby’ won’t dance.”

And should I be offended by you calling me ‘baby’ or am I reading too much into it?

The main creature just shrugged and spun its dancing partner around. “Your loss human! More fun for us then! YIPPEE!!!” And it threw something in the fire to where you could feel the heat on your face.

What now? You were just standing there awkwardly as the creatures danced about, singing something that you couldn’t really make out. All you knew was that the heat, noise, and the dizzying dance of them was making your head pound, and throat scream in thirst. You hadn’t drank anything for over a day(?) — no, bog water did not count — and the heat from the fire made the thirst only worse. Shit.

“Ah, you don’t look too… hot there human,” one of the creatures snickered at its own joke at your expense. “Maybe if you dance with us, loosen up and have a bit of fun, then you can have a drink? Hmm? Dancing won’t kill you!” But its failed attempts at covering up its own malicious giggles were more than enough to stand your ground… which was coming at you quite fast since you practically collapsed.

Was it the thirst? The pounding migraine that wanted nothing more than to crawl into some dark hole and hide? Or your exhaustion from making that tiring trek, crawling yourself out of the bog and making the trek again, or the hours you had spent wandering around the maze with no real idea of where you were going? All you really knew was that you were now on the ground with the creatures poking at you to see if you were still alive.

“Aw, man! Are they already dead? That’s no fun!” One of the creatures pouted, raising up your arm, and you let it plop back to the ground. “Come on human! Get up! You’re not a party pooper are you?”

Scre you buddy! Can’t you read the situation?!

You were trying your best to stay quiet, which wasn’t all that hard, since all of your energy was gone. 

“They best not be,” a familiar voice called out.

From your position, you couldn’t see who it was, but you could make out the creatures jumping away from you like you were the hot fire instead of the fire pit. But someone else was approaching until you could make out a pair of shoes in front of your face.

They crouched down beside you, placing their fingers gently at the base of your throat; taking your pulse. “Hmph, playing dead, are we, Beastie?”

That irritating chuckle. The annoying nickname. Those mischievous magenta eyes that now looked at you with curiosity and amusement.

It was him — Mr. Sparkles.

And he had just blown your act of playing possum (well, not really, since you had actually collapsed).

But you didn’t say anything, instead favouring to give him a dirty look. Yet he just shook his head in jest, and proceeded to pick you up and wrap you around his shoulders and neck like some sort of bizarre ermine pelt; better than being carried like a sack of potatoes or the bridal carry you supposed.

“Her majesty sends her regards for not turning or killing her guest,” Lilia offered the creatures. It would be such a waste and pity to see such an entertaining Beastie leave us too soon now. “But do know she won’t take to their condition lightly.”

My condition? I’m not some Victorian child with some unknown illness wreaking havoc on their body you know?! But all that you did was groan and cough. You couldn’t even cough in Mr. Sparkles’ (Lilia’s) face, since you had a lovely view of the moss-covered ground and the fae’s shoes.

He patted the back of your calves, and you would have kicked him if you had more energy, but you didn’t. “Now, we really should be off, since Beastie has… an hour to get out of this maze before they turn into some sort of worm, or a hedge; never know what this old labyrinth will decide on really.” Lilia chuckled at the thought (was it merriment, or was he happy that you weren’t joining the caterpillar you met earlier?).

“No,” you wheezed. “WoRm!”

“See! They said it themself! No worm! How lovely that we are on a similar wavelength, Beastie! Marvellous even!” Lilia exclaimed, and the both of you started levitating off of the ground. “Now, do enjoy your party, Fireys!”

The creatures (Fireys apparently) groaned but got back to their party, dancing around the fire like they didn’t just try to lure you to your death mere minutes before.

“Tsk tsk, Beastie,” Lilia’s tutting brought your attention back to him and you grumbled. “You owe me two favours now, you know. Lucky that I found you… although that part wasn’t hard. I thought you learned your lesson the first time you decided to take a dip into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

You lightly kicked him, letting your irritation be known, but Lilia just hummed. “Now now, no need to be like that! Do you want to smell like a bog when you meet the mistress? She wouldn’t take kindly to your… unique aroma.”

You hissed out a breath since he decided to pinch at your ear rather harshly — prompting for you to answer. “No,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Also, do read up on that book, since you will want to know about the government and fae species etiquette!”

From a smelly bog and fumbling around a maze for hours on end, to finding yourself being taken to fae high society… was it too late to become some worm in the maze? I think being a worm actually has a better chance of me living.

But sadly, you were saved from an eternity of being a worm. Hopefully, Mr. Sparkles (Lilia) would cover for your blunders a little for when you found yourself in front of ‘the mistress’.

...

...

...

...

To be continued!

~~~~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

Link to Masterlist

[updownlately]

but i bet you if they only knew (they’d just be jealous of us)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff | 2k | a/n: another req! in all honesty this took me ages to even get a basic idea of what i wanted to write and countless drafts and i still don't how to feel about it. hopefully y'all atleast find this somewhat wholesome bc that's what i was going for but if not then welp... to whoever requested, my bad for the time this took but i hope you don't mind that i changed the req a bit! anyway, as usual, happy reading!

~~~

In the midst of the locker room chaos, everyone seemingly more energetic after the afternoon training, sat Leah-  nearly ready to go, regular trainers on, bag packed, focus strayed drastically from her original intent of going home as quickly as possible.

Attention instead directed towards Beth and Katie’s, their off key singing easily entertaining the whole Arsenal women’s team, the blonde missed the way her phone vibrated, the noise of the notification lost in the sea of laughter, yelling, and the (not) grammy winning performance.

Arms crossed as she leant back in her seat, an amused smile on her face as she took in the interaction in front of her, the near silent buzzes went ignored, the second and third messages, each pinging one after the other, unnoticed by the English skipper.

It was only when the noise died down ever so slightly, ironic timing with your final planned text coming in, did she realize what was occurring. 

Small smile already crossing her face, a pretty good idea of who it might be already on her mind, Leah reached for the device beside her, quickly lifting it and smiling wider as the multiple notifications of text messages from you showed on the lock screen. 

Heading to your message thread, her grin grew as she saw the onslaught of texts.

‘Someone was excited to wake up today’

‘The smile’s been there since morning’

‘I think he misses you’

The words were split with a video coming between the first two messages, and a short clip followed the final message.

As Leah hit play on the first clip, unaware of the three sets of eyes on her, a soft look crossed her face- one that very much didn’t go unnoticed by Viv, Steph, and most importantly, McCabe. 

Letting Leah finish watching whatever it was, devious smile ever-present, the Irishwoman made her way over to the blonde, teasing words already slipping past her lips.

“Well, did the missus text ya something? The way your smile’s nearly turned you into the Cheshire Cat, I think you oughta share with us, no?”

And before Leah could even shoot off the barest of replies to you, her phone was promptly taken from her grasp, the blonde left with a shock on her face, mind not yet caught up to what was happening, hand still outstretched from where it had been holding her phone.

Barely able to formulate any sense of a protest Leah watched helplessly as the whole locker room went silent when Katie’s surprised cry rang out, a look of disbelief clear on her face as her head turned dramatically to face the midfielder then the phone in her hands and then the midfielder again, jaw nearly on the floor.

“IS THAT YOURS?”

The bewildered question was unusually loud, capturing the attention of everyone else.

The blonde couldn’t help but nod meekly in response, shrinking in on herself as the unwanted attention directed towards her, an innumerable set of eyes peering at the interaction. 

A red hue spread on her face as Katie continued to stand in front of her, jaw agape, phone now locked automatically as her head turned back to face the black screen. 

As the silence stretched on, neither the blonde nor brunette uttering a single word, the silent Mexican standoff piqued the curiosity of their fellow teammates, Beth and Steph quietly making their way over to peer over Katie’s shoulder only to be met with a black screen. 

“What are you on about?”

And at Beth’s questioning words, Leah sprang into action, quickly rising from where she was resting and reaching to try and grab her phone off the other woman.

Her attempt was futile though, as Katie pulled the locked device behind her back, the other arms snapping out to block Leah from advancing any closer.

“Nope. No. No way. You’re not getting this back until you explain yourself.” 

“Katie- no-“

The protest was cleanly cut off, the Irishwoman reverently shaking her head at the futile attempt.

“That doesn’t sound like an explanation…”

“McCabe…How about I tell you later? Just between us?”

Apparently though, that wasn’t good enough for the rest of the team, a large outcry of protests rising at the words.

It was only Lia who sat back amusedly, watching as she watched the other girls try and get Leah to unlock her phone or get Katie to spill the secret, the Swiss captain already having an idea of what this could be about, a secret she had known since its origin. 

“At least show them the video under the condition that they can’t ask questions today?”

If the sharp glare that her work wife received was any indication, Leah was not at all a fan of the idea, herself concerned if she could even share the videos. 

Turning her gaze back to the rest of the squad huddled around the left winger who still had her phone, she sighed in defeat, clearly realizing she wasn’t going to get out of this one, especially not after that last proposition. 

Sighing, the blonde pinched the bridge of her nose in disbelief, disappointed in herself for giving in.

“Alright. I’ll show you guys what Katie saw, on the condition that I’m not answering any questions today after I show you and I get my phone back first.”

“What if you just sprint out of here with it?”

Rolling her eyes at the remark made by none other than the devil herself, Leah groaned audibly, head thrown back as she rubbed her temples. 

“I’ve got the yellow-card queen in front of me and Jen’s standing by the door…thank you but no thank you- I value my ability to walk…”

The smart-ass reply had Katie hesitantly handing Leah her phone, the blonde promptly texting you for permission to show the team before she actually did.

It wasn’t like you controlled who saw the pictures, but very early on in the whole procedure- the whole relationship really- you both had agreed upon keeping this area of your life private, especially as the game grew to the extent that it did.  

As much as the team knew you existed, you having met them countless times by now, even to the point where Lia would tease that you would’ve been her work wife had you played for Arsenal instead, the existence of the tiny human you and Leah had was very much not common knowledge to the team.

If anything, only the Swiss captain was really the only one who knew in the football world. 

People had their hunches of course, your own teammates at Bayern having an inkling themselves, but it had never been confirmed, and you and the blonde had never been more grateful.

It’s why Leah patiently waited for your go-ahead text to come, shaking her head at the grumbling of her fellow teammates as she waited for a response.

Quieting the team’s grumbling with threats of just waiting them out, Leah smiled in victory as none of them called her bluff, sighing in relief as your text chimed in, nervousness fluttering at the words she read. 

‘I think it’s about time, yeah?’

Nodding to herself and taking a deep breath in, the blonde let out a quick exhale before texting back a quick saluting emoji and a heart in response, waiting for your reply before showing the team the root of the intervention. 

“Okay, so like I said, no questions once I show you, and I get to leave ASAP and you’ll understand why…”

When no one protested at the words, Leah nodded, taking confirmation in the silence and scrolling up in the conversation to find the videos you had sent. 

Proud grin on her face as she turned her phone to face the team, she couldn’t help the way her chest slightly puffed up, chin subconsciously rising in joy.

And as the rest of the team huddled around to get the barest of looks, one by one their jaws dropped, the video on the screen garnering the same reaction as earlier, except this time across the whole room and not just the walking loudspeaker.

Said video that featured your and Leah’s six-month old, eyes half closed as the little guy did a gummy little yawn, arms stretching adorably across the bed before he pulled them back in and shot a cheeky little grin straight towards the camera- the same grin you swear he somehow stole from Leah. 

Hearing the audio cut out and the frozen stares across the room, the team no doubt in a state of shock and confusion, Leah quickly pulled back the phone and swiped to the next video, a mix of pride and nervousness thrumming through her as the second video played. 

It consisted of you holding your son in your arms as you danced around your shared kitchen, music softly being played in the background. And whilst it was cute with the way the toddler was gripping tightly onto your forearms, a toothy grin ever-present on his face, it wasn’t the key part of the video. 

It was what followed the end of the video, the way the drunk-seeming little tiny human babbled the little words with you, repeating the little vowels as you said them. How you looked at the camera before reciting the words, being repeated by the baby and coming out barely legible yet clear as day to the blonde- ‘luv ma ma’.

The utterance of the broken phrase was highlighted by your shocked face as you did a little cheer of your own, looking at your phone before sending the lens a tender smile just before the video cut.

It wasn’t the first time your son had said it, but each day it seemed to get a little clearer, and with each utterance it had Leah’s heart doing a flutter she never knew anyone but you could cause. 

Trying not to get too teared up at the thought of how quickly the days were passing, the skipper snapped herself out of the thoughts, shyly bringing her arm back as she registered the silence in the room. 

Swallowing audibly at the number of shocked faces expectantly looking at her, she turned towards Lia, a pleading look of help on her face as the other woman merely shrugged with a smirk on her face.

Damn the Swiss and their need to be neutral…

Turning back to the sea of Arsenal warm gear, Leah prepared herself mentally, reaching for her bag and quickly shouldering it before tucking her cleats under her arms.

Wincing as the team barely moved, she planned her escape whilst shrugging as if to say ‘well…’

“Surprise? I guess?”

Within milliseconds of the words leaving her, the blonde heard a flurry of questions immediately being sent her way, her previous request tossed out the window without a second glance. 

And as the onslaught of ‘how old is he?’, ‘he or she?’, coupled with the ‘why didn’t you tell us?’, ‘wait since when?’ and of course, the ‘what the fuck Leah???’ (courtesy of Beth of course) barrelled through, the Englishwoman quickly sprinted her way out of the change rooms, those that were just barely dressed and ready to leave immediately following her like a row of ducklings, as the blonde sprinted to her car.

Mentally berating herself on why she didn’t just leave halfway through Beth and Katie’s rendition of ‘I want it that way’, Leah quickly got into her car, reversing before the team had any shot of catching up, phone being (gently) tossed into the backseat as texts started ringing through.

With nearly a half hour passing since the blonde was supposed to be home, and the thought of the little munchkin waiting at home for her (and of course, you), Leah relaxed as she made the drive back home, grimacing at the thought of the chaotic uproar she most definitely left behind, and glad for the chaotic peace that awaited her a handful of minutes away.

Smiling at the contrast, a small grin overtook her face, gratefully for the overgrown kids she had with football, and the small tot she had at home.

Yeah, maybe life didn’t get any better than this, the perfect mix of chaos and love never-ending…she’d happily take this. 

~~~

inspo for this post was literally this insta reel - can't tell me that isn't absolutely adorableeeeee

[into-the-feniverse]

Finished reading Trigun/TriMax a couple days ago and have been feverishly trying to piece together a timeline, so here’s the result of that ✨

EDIT: as of 3/13/24 this has been UPDATED

For a more detailed timeline (with vol/ch marks): google sheet

Full res of the graphic (& other resources): bit.l/trigunresources

Notes & rest of the timeline under the cut!

Edits as of 3/13/24

The detailed spreadsheet is organized and color coded! If you'd like a more concise breakdown of events/see some of my reasoning behind certain time stamps feel free to skim through that

Changed where in the timeline the Maylene and Wolfwood events happened (originally where I had placed them would have made Maylene like 6 when she and Wolfwood reunited which is NOT correct)

moved where in the timeline Knives started collecting the GungHo Guns (at latest he started in 0090 (20 years before 0110) since it's noted that Monev has been training in a cellar for the past 20 years

Moved where Knives initially tracked down Conrad (felt like it needed to happen at least a decade before July)

Changed up some of the months (personally, I don't think the Ark launched in December, since that'd put Milly and Meryl's arrival to the colony in July, which wouldn't make sense. So I placed the ark launch in October which of course offset some of the other month stand ins)

Added an earth year for when Knives and Vash are born. The explanation is I think at minimum there was at least a 2 year period between them and Tesla (since Rem was around for that whole process). I do think it was more than that, but that’s the earliest possible year I think it could have happened. Personally I’m more in the camp of 5-10 years, but def not 50 like in tristamp

Old Notes:

If you see any typos or phrase inconsistencies: no you don’t 💕 (😭)

Blue text can be completely ignored, that’s just kinda my personal preference/wild guesstimating of when “exactly” those events happened

Blue lines can also be ignored, they’re also just rough guesstimates on where exactly in the timeline these could have happened

The distance of the lines from one another doesn’t really mean anything, I started trying to follow a system to notate when things happened really close together but it was//// not consistently done ngl

Fun fact: by the time Wolfwood leaves the orphanage Meryl is 18! And she was 14 at the time of July’s destruction

Additional fun fact: Brad is 17 when he and sensei meet up with Vash in the Factioned city (which I think is absolutely RIDICULOUS), and we know this because he was 4 the one/last time he had met Vash and it’s been 13 years since

It was noted by Karen, one of Meryl’s coworkers, that she and Milly had been on assignment with Vash for about 4 months. (Might be that they were out searching for him during that time as well, but I’m choosing to interpret it as they were actually with him for that amount of time)

I’m also working on a 98 timeline for comparison (but more like just sequence of events cause I don’t think I have the patience to sift through the lore quite as much… mainly making it just to clarify how the anime delineates from the manga)

I am//::: feeling v unhinged after this and feel like it could be improved/i need to do a more thorough read, but I’m calling it quits for now before I actually go insane (but hopefully some people will find it somewhat helpful!)

Also: if anybody has any notes to add or clarifications/corrections I would be more than happy to hear them 👂