#i am so weak. when did i get so weak and emotional?

[bravevolunteer]

1:30am. plagued by thoughts of michael and everything going on in his tiny 10-13 year old head :(

[euphor1a]

Best 4 hours of my life, with the loml ♡

[chaninfused]

EVER READ SOMETHING SO SDHFGJSKDGFBSDJKFSDF

Worn-Out Soles [1] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 10.1k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 1 >> Part 2

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

When the soft rap of your lady in waiting sounds at the door, you barely look up before calling her in. Out of the corner of your eye, Chaeyoung curtsies in the doorway. “Your Highness.”

You continue scribbling at the papers strewn around your desk. “Yes?”

“The royal cobbler has arrived.”

The pen in your hand stops midair.

Slowly, slowly, so as to keep the smile twitching on your lips from taking up your entire face, you raise your head to see Chaeyoung standing in the doorway. “Have my sisters been informed?”

Her eyes glint with mischief and the knowledge that you haven’t managed to fool her at all. “Of course.”

“Well.” You stand up, placing the pen carefully down. Steadfastly ignoring Chaeyoung’s grin, you step around the desk. “I suppose we will all just have to go and meet him, then.”

. . . . .

Yuna’s sharp squeal hits Chan’s ears even before he steps foot into the pavilion, which is all the warning he needs before five princesses accost him at the entrance, bouncing on their toes. “Chan!”

“Hello, Your Highnesses,” he laughs, maneuvering his heavy box around them. “What makes you so excited today?”

“Did you bring our shoes?” Ryujin asks eagerly. 

Chan frowns, but not before letting them see the glint in his eye. “Was I supposed to bring shoes, now?”

Amidst the chorus of whines from the youngest and giggles from the older girls, one voice joins the fray. “Well, my sisters would be dearly disappointed if you hadn’t.”

Chan’s heart skips a beat in his chest as he turns around to meet your smile. You stand in the pavilion’s entrance from where he just came, the flower-wreathed arch framing your image perfectly under the sun shining bright in the sky. 

A sharp elbow jabs him from behind. “Say something,” Jisung hisses. “You’re staring.”

Chan can feel his ears going red. “Would you be disappointed too, Your Highness?” he asks, making a mental note to flick his apprentice’s forehead later. 

“I believe I would.” You step forward with that warm smile still on your face, and for not the first time in his life, Chan wonders what good he must have done in a past life to deserve standing in your presence like this, a sunflower forever basking under the light of your grin. “You know we all look forward to your shoes, Chan.”

Chaeyoung, your lady in waiting, mutters something under her breath. Chan doesn’t quite hear it, but from the giggles of your sisters and the glare you flash at her, it can’t have been anything good. 

Chan’s ears must be flaming by now. Putting down the box, he musters his most natural smile. “Well, good thing I won’t have to disappoint any of you,” he says, undoing the latch. “Come closer, Your Highnesses—I hope you are pleased with these.”

Oohs and aahs and squeals of excitement slowly begin to fill the pavilion as Chan and his apprentices begin to hand out the shoes. It’s with no small pride that he takes in the cries of delight from each of the princesses—with each pair made of the finest quality material, hand stitched and sewed with sparkling thread in intricate designs, there is a reason Chan trusts very few people to help with his handiwork. He grins as the five young princesses begin to spin around the pavilion, joyous grace evident in every one of their movements…

You step forward shyly, and Chan snaps back to earth. “Anything for me?” you ask. 

“Are you kidding?” Jisung snorts before Chan has the chance to respond. “He spent days on yours!”

“By all the stars—I spend days on all of them,” Chan hisses, praying his hair covers his ears. 

“You don’t usually spend two entire weeks trying to get each design right, though.”

Chan stares at his second freckled apprentice, who only stares back with an innocent expression. Jisung he can understand being a pain in the neck, but Felix?

Your shy laugh sounds like bells. “Am I that demanding a customer?”

“Oh—oh, stars, no.” Chan swallows hard, ducking into the box for the last pair of shoes. “I just—” he holds out the box and tries not to react when your fingers brush his as you take it, eyes focused intently on his face—“I just wanted to make them… right.”

Right? Right? Seriously, that was the only word you could come up with?

You start to untie the box, completely oblivious to Chan’s inner imminent mental breakdown. Slowly, too slowly, you lift the shoes from their cushioned spot inside, Chaeyoung taking the box from your hands. For a moment, you don’t react. 

Chan starts to lose it. 

You don’t like them. You hate them. The design isn’t what you wanted, there are flaws in the fabric, something is terribly wrong with the shoes despite all the time he spent on them—he’s messed it up this time like he always feared, seriouslymessed up—

Your eyes meet his once more, sparkling brighter than the sun and the stars. “I—Chan.” You step forward, holding the shoes to your heart. “Chan, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”

Chan’s knees nearly give out right then and there. Thank all the stars.

“You’re—I—” You look down at the shoes and back at him, as though you’ve lost your own words. Chan’s heart soars with the shine in your expression. “You do this every time,” you say, almost laughing. “Words can’t describe how much talent you possess, how hard you must have worked for this. These are truly…a work of art.”

He swallows down the overwhelming smile itching to reveal itself on his face, forces it into something smaller, more manageable, and infinitely less manic than it would have been. “I’m glad you like them, Your Highness.”

“Chan! Chan!” Ryujin and Chaeryeong come running up, Yeji following behind with a half annoyed, half apologetic glance that she flashes at you. Chan watches as you turn to them, smiling first at Yeji with something in your eyes that immediately wipes the worry and annoyance from your sister’s face, then at the younger girls clamoring for your attention. “Play us music, please! Like you did before!”

You shoot an apologetic look at him. “Girls, don’t demand things from Chan,” you admonish before turning back. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. It would be my honor.” He smiles at the young princesses. “Give me a moment to tune, yes?”

The two of them cheer before skipping away, Yeji corralling them towards the center of the pavilion. You look at him, expression soft. “You really don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” Chan says, pulling out his small flute. “But I enjoy it, and I have some time before my next appointment.” You still don’t look convinced, so he speaks again. “Truly, Your Highness. Your sisters are adorable. I like playing my flute, and I like watching you all dance. It’s a pleasure.”

Finally, you relent. “All right then, Chan. Although—” You stop for a moment, then seem to set your jaw with determination. “May I ask, will you be at the festival?”

Chan blinks. The Moonlight Festival, only the most important festival of the year, the festival that sees the most foreign royalty and dignitaries traveling to your kingdom to partake in the celebrations? “…Yes, I suppose I will.”

“Right.” Your lips curl in light embarrassment. “I…if you happen to be by the palace that night…” 

Behind you, Chaeyoung looks extremely amused. So do Jisung and Felix. 

That does not bode well for either Chan or you. 

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…” You swallow hard, but your eyes don’t stray from his even as your younger sisters run up to try and drag your attention away. “Only if you can, since I’m sure you’ll be quite in demand, please save a dance for me.”

Ryujin and Chaeryeong pull you off, then, eagerly shouting for you to put on your shoes and spin with them in a dance. And as Chan watches you laugh with them, beginning to whirl across the pavilion with graceful steps as light as air, joy spilling from your fingertips into the flowers and grasses and leaves…

All he can think of is his answer, which is of course. 

. . . . .

“…Your Highness?”

You jerk up with a start. Immediately you tear your eyes from the magnificent pair of shoes sitting by your doorway, but it's too late. When you turn your head, Chaeyoung’s face is staring right into yours.

“Stars, Chaeyoung!” You jump again. “What are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that, Your Highness.” She pulls back, one eyebrow raised in an arch. “You’ve been zoned out for the past five minutes.”

It’s the shoes. It’s the damn shoes. You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. Why must Chan’s handiwork distract you so much? Can’t he make them a little less ogle-worthy, less intricate and delicate and graceful and just—a type of beautiful that words can’t describe—

“Are you sure it’s just the shoes you like?” Chaeyoung asks, the other eyebrow rising to join the first. You don’t even need to lift your face to see the smirk on her lips, you can hear it just fine. “Or perhaps the cobbler who made them?”

“Stop it,” you mutter, dragging yourself up once more. You can’t resist the urge to let your gaze wander over the shoes again, though, imagining the care and devotion that must have gone into every stitch, every design. It almost pains you to think about dancing in them, dirtying the silk and ruining Chan’s handiwork as you wear them out. 

Chan. You just manage to catch yourself before you sigh. His face dances before you in your memories, his bashful smile, his dark hair that always seems to be ruffled by the wind, his sweet eyes crinkling as he laughs. He’s lovely—beautiful—and you can’t fight the heat crawling up your cheeks whenever his strong, calloused fingers brush yours every time he hands you his latest masterpiece. 

He’s beautiful, to be sure. Handsome in the most attractive way to you. But far more attractive is the love he brings to everything and everyone he touches, as though every person he meets couldn’t help but fall in love with his soft kindness, his quiet joy, his gentle earnestness that comes with everything he does. You see it in every delicate golden stitch on the white satin slippers he made you for the upcoming festival. You see it in every seam he sews on all of the other slippers he’s made for your sisters. You feel it in every scant touch you share, see it in his eyes whenever you manage to meet his gaze. 

Stars above, all you can think of is the dance you might share with him on the final night of the festival. If you see him, and if he sees you. 

With a sigh, you finally look back at your lady in waiting, apologies already on your lips. “I’m sorry, Chaeyoung. I must seem a mess.”

“You kind of do.” Chaeyoung’s blunt tone lifts the corners of your lips. “But it’s the festival. The preparations always drive everyone mad. And combined with your little star-crossed romance—” she easily dodges the swipe of your hand, giggling all the way—“I’m sure you’re very overwhelmed.”

The word stop finds its way onto your tongue once more, but you don’t let it fall because it would be useless. And besides, Chaeyoung’s right—you are overwhelmed. You love the Moonlight Festival, really you do, but being one of those in charge of organizing the largest event of the kingdom every year makes you want to scream to the heavens sometimes. 

Maybe you should try that. It sounds like it would relieve some stress.

“Well.” You look down at the piece of paper you were scribbling on before Chan’s craft distracted you (as well as thoughts of his dark hair and smiling eyes as he handed you the shoes). “At least the guest list is finalized. I think.”

“Oh?” Chaeyoung cocks her head. “Who’s coming?”

“An assortment of foreign royals—Joshua and his entourage will be here, thank the stars—and some of the ambassadors whom we sent overseas will return for the occasion.” You flip through a few more sheets. “Of course we also had to account for all the nobility who will be staying at or near the palace during the week.”

“Are Jun and Jeongyeon coming back?”

A real smile spreads across your face at the mention of two of your best friends. “Yes, they are,” you say. “With Minghao and Sana.”

Chaeyoung grins. “It will be wonderful to see them.”

“Surely it will.” You heave yourself up from behind the desk, clutching the sheaf of papers in hand. “Come with me to drop these off with my father?”

. . .

The king’s quarters are in the wing completely opposite from yours and your sisters’. You have no actual idea why this is the case, but you like to joke deprecatingly to Chaeyoung (when no one else is around) that it’s because he has no intention of seeing any of you more than he must. Which is a fair assumption, in your opinion. He doesn’t even show up to dinner these days, just takes his meal with his advisors or foreign dignitaries alone. Unless he decides he also needs you. 

The guards part ways upon your entrance into the west wing, bowing respectfully as you pass. You give them a brief nod before stopping in front of your father’s door, knocking twice on the wood. 

“Who is it?”

“Y/N.”

“Come in.”

Any trace of your previous smiles falls away as you step into the cold room. Your father hardly looks up from his desk even as you approach. “What is it?”

“I have the finalized guest list, as well as the other preparation details you asked for today.” You place the papers in front of him. “That is all. Please let me know if there are any issues.”

All you get is a hum in response. 

Only years of having dealt with this behavior keep you from doing much more than press your lips into a thin, thin line. “I will be off, then.”

You’re opening the door when he speaks again. “Y/N.”

There’s enough time to exchange one bemused glance with Chaeyoung before you turn around. “Yes, Father?”

He’s actually looking at you this time. In his eyes swims some sort of emotion—if you didn’t know better you’d say it was something like regret or worry, but why would he feel anything like that?—as he scrutinizes your face. His throat bobs as though he swallowed something. As though he has something he wants to say, but can’t. Or won’t. 

“Father?”

All the emotion falls off his face as soon as the word hits the air. “Don’t forget that you will take dinner with me tonight,” he says, eyes dropping back to the papers on his desk. “The convoy from Ourania will have arrived by then.”

You frown. Since when have you ever forgotten an appointment and needed him to remind you? There was no reason for him to have said that, none at all. In fact, you almost feel offended, but then you look at him again.

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow. 

Maybe he did really have something to say, but decided against it at the last minute. 

Whatever. You shake off the lingering discomfort. If what he wanted to say was truly important, he would have spoken. Your king may be an absent father, but he doesn’t generally shirk his duties. “Yes, Father,” you say, then shut the door behind you. 

. . . . .

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s moping, Lix.” 

“Well, he should stop.”

“I am not moping,” Chan says loudly as he dumps scraps of leather into a pile in the far back of the shop.

A beat of silence follows. Then Jisung snorts. “That’s exactly what someone who’s moping would say.”

“Or, it could be that I’m not moping, and you’re misunderstanding things completely.” Chan turns to his two apprentices, both staring owl-eyed at him and his probably very red ears. “Did neither of you hear me ask if one of you could go out and get something for us to start dinner?”

Jisung’s shit-eating grin turns sheepish. “I forgot.”

Chan tries to hide an exasperated smile with a sigh. “It’s fine, just go now.”

Without missing a beat, Jisung grabs Felix, and with a shouted farewell, the two of them go crashing out the door. 

Chan returns to cleaning the mess in his workshop, putting away tools, tossing leather scraps into the scrap bag as they emerge from corners he didn’t even know existed. He is not moping. If anything, he’s—daydreaming. Of something. Moping implies that he is upset. He is anything but. 

“If we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

He snorts a little. As if the answer would be anything but yes. Which you probably know, because over the years he’s learned that despite his attempts to hide his affections he is still extremely obvious. And if Jisung and Felix are to be believed—which, unfortunately, they often are, because even if they’re loud and obnoxious and love to tease him at any point in time, they’re very observant and usually right—

You hold a similar affection for him, too. 

The knowledge doesn��t do much, though. Because for all Chan loves you and prays that his love is returned, it wouldn’t matter if it was. In fact, it might even be for the worse. You are a princess and he is but a cobbler, a commoner without magic, which means he could never be yours. If this were one-sided, at least you might still have a chance at happiness elsewhere. But if you truly do love him back…

Chan swallows down a wave of guilt. It’s not his fault, he knows logically. He doesn’t control your feelings any more than he controls his. But in moments like this, he wishes more than anything that things could be different. That he might have magic, that he might have been born a noble, that he might have even the tiniest of chances with you. 

Hm. Maybe he is moping. Chan sighs. He should stop. He should focus on something better—namely the fact that he might finally have the chance to dance with you in just a couple of weeks. A smile begins to lift his lips at the thought as he exits the workroom to wait for his apprentices to return.

As if on cue, the door opens with a loud bang. Two pairs of feet tramp indoors, and then there’s the sound of something thumping onto the table. 

It’s suspiciously quiet. Especially for his loudmouth apprentices.

Someone shushes the other. Probably Jisung hushing Felix. Silence ensues. 

“…Is he still moping?”

“Obviously, Lix.”

Chan sighs. 

. . . . .

The week before the festival brings with it flowers, paintings, gifts from envoys from countries near and far, foreign royalty settling into the palace with their entourage or sending ambassadors if, for some terrible reason, they can’t make it this year. Two days before the full moon, you’re pretty sure you haven’t sat down in over twelve hours—you ate your lunch standing in a corner of the kitchen, and only because Yeji dragged you there under threat of knocking you out for several hours so you could take a break. 

Beloved sister, even if not by blood. Also a royal (literally) pain in your behind sometimes. But a needed one.

The palace bustles with controlled chaos, servants in your country’s colors and those of so many foreign lands mingling in the halls as they scurry from room to room carrying linens and luggage and trays of food. They’ve nearly crashed into you more than once, but who can fault them for trying to do their job? It’s all you’re trying to do, too. 

(“Chaeyoung, tell me something that will get me through this,” you ask on the third day of this mess, head in your hands as you squat on the floor.

“Well, Your Highness, on the final night of the festival I believe your beloved cobbler may save you a dance.”

She dodges the swipe of your hand with a cackle, but despite what you would have your lady in waiting believe, her words do lift the burden on your heart and make it a little easier to smile.)

Finally, the week before the full moon arrives. You stand with your father in the throne room, looking out into a sea of seated royalty all gazing back, solemn excitement dancing in their eyes.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you’ve been planning this festival for—the celebration of the full moon, yes, but also the hum of excitement in this room, what your very country is so known for. Pride swells in your chest and you stand taller on the dais, smoothing the folds of your ceremonial robes—glowing white, accented with curves of darkness for the still not quite full moon. As each day passes, the darkness will fade from your clothes until you and most of the other festivalgoers are clothed only in white, to honor the moon and the night.

Your father finishes his little speech to a smattering of applause through the room. He turns to you and nods curtly. 

Dipping your head in reply, you step to the center of the stage, bowing to the audience. “As my father, king of our land and holder of our magic, just said, I first welcome you to our kingdom once more.” Another polite round of applause. Smiling, you begin to relax, letting your mouth move in the words of welcome you’ve practiced so many times that you could say them in your sleep. 

That is, until the throne room door opens with an ominous creak, cutting you off mid-sentence. 

Confusion rustles through the crowd as people turn their heads to see who dared interrupt such a time-honored tradition. You yourself let your words fade from your lips, eyes narrowing towards the door in time to catch a glimpse of bright, fiery red.

The emblem takes you a moment to place at first. It looks familiar but not in the same way of so many other royal insignias, in the way that you’ve seen it emblazoned on the clothing and jewelry of real, breathing, living people. You have only ever seen this emblem, fire curling around a spiked rose dripping blood, in textbooks. Because this emblem belongs to a kingdom only ever described to you as having risen from the depths of hell itself. Born of death and flames and blood, nothing the pure magic of your land would ever dare to touch—

“His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.” 

Your butler bows low, but even from here you can see that he’s trembling. Your eyebrows furrow further—you have questions, many of which will no doubt be directed at him later when this is over and you have a chance to try and figure out just what in the world is happening—but then—

The king himself steps through the doors, flanked by an armored entourage.

Red and black drape his body, gold hung in chains around his shoulders and chest. A crown of blackest metal rests on his forehead, studded with glowing rubies and amethysts, and a matching necklace hangs around his neck. He’s handsome—ridiculously handsome, as though he were carved from stone by the finest sculptors the land of Apollon had to offer—but the haughty curve of his lips sends walls thrusting up around your heart, hardening your mind to his beauty. 

He stalks up through the center aisle, coming to a stop level with the first row of seats. His boots click together on the hard floor, a sound that echoes through the now-silent hall. 

One dangerously curved eyebrow raises, and a vision comes to you of a curved blade sparkling under the moon, arcing down in a silver flash before it buries itself in someone’s flesh. 

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” That haughty smile plays cruelly on his lips, sending a shudder up your spine. “I trust you know why I am here.”

Your eyes turn to your father. Outwardly, he doesn’t look as though anything has gone amiss. His fingers, however, clench the arms of his throne with such force they’ve turned almost as pale as the marble itself. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“No? Then perhaps I must jog your memory.” The smile disappears, revealing eyes cold as ice despite the fire burning within them. Those sitting the nearest to the king flinch. You gulp, despite yourself. “I believe I was promised an invitation to your famed festival.”

Your father’s jaw twitches. 

“Imagine my surprise as these past months came and went, with not a word from Your Majesty’s hand.” The prince’s theatrical sigh echoes throughout the room. “I thought it only fair, then, that I come to receive an explanation of this misunderstanding.” He tilts his head, revealing a jawline as sharp as the imaginary blade still curving in your mind. “One does know, of course, that a promise made to a Kereseian will never be broken.”

You look straight at your father, the king, who sits wordless on his throne. Why isn’t he saying anything? 

Are these claims true? you demand through your eyes. Why did you make the promise? Why didn’t you honor it?

What in the world is going on?

Silence stretches in the throne room, echoing off the stone walls and floors. With every second that passes, your fingers clench more tightly in your skirts, itching to say something, anything to rectify this mess even as your heart pounds in fear, but words won’t come to your lips because your mind is still spinning as it tries to understand the prince’s words and the implications they have on your family—

Your father’s voice cuts through the silence. “I am well aware of this.”

Your own eyes widen in shock as gasps fill the room, but he continues. “There must have been a mistake when the invitations were sent.”

The second dangerous eyebrow rises, fire burning sinister in dark eyes. “A mistake.”

For a moment, you really think that fire might come to life and burn this entire room to the ground. 

Your father’s eyes don’t waver. “Yes.”

Everyone’s eyes are riveted on the two men, one high on the throne, one standing tall below. Neither of them looks like they will give in anytime soon. 

Which means you might all be dead in a matter of minutes, if what you’ve read of Kereseia is true.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Your heart nearly pounds out of your chest as the eyes of the hall come to rest on you, including those of your father and the bloodred king. Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t shake. “Allow me to clarify one thing. It is true, then, that the king had been promised a place in our celebration, and that therefore he should be allowed to participate in our festivities tomorrow.”

The entire hall seems to hold its breath as they await your father’s reply. You’re not sure whether you want him to say yes or no.

“Yes.”

Gods and stars above. 

You swallow hard amidst the gasps and whispers, turning back to the king. “Then I must apologize, Your Majesty,” you say as steadily as your thudding heart will allow—anger or fear, which is it? Perhaps some of both. “I was in charge of the festival’s guest list and many of its preparations, and yet I was never made aware of this…promise. I can only suppose that as your family has not…graced ours with your presence in many years, the knowledge of this promise was perhaps misplaced or miscommunicated. For that, I do apologize, and take full responsibility.”

The Kereseian king holds your gaze for one, two, three long seconds. You swallow hard, refusing to look away, but you can feel yourself trembling all over. 

Then that deadly, knife-blade smile begins to curve his lips once more, and you have the sudden feeling that you have just made a very, very grave mistake. 

“…No,” he finally says slowly, eyes traveling over every inch of your face. “No, you would not have been made aware.” 

Even though there is still a healthy distance between you two, the oil in his voice, the deadly beauty of his face, the lascivious sweep of his gaze makes you want to take a step back. As though instead of just looking at you with his own eyes, he’d…licked you, or something, instead. 

And beyond that—what does he mean? That you wouldn’t have been made aware? Of course you didn’t realize he was coming—your kingdom has never invited his, as far as you know—and your father never said anything, but his words imply that someone knew and should have told you but that he knew they never would—

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow. 

You picture your father behind his desk, that moment of strange emotion you saw in the thin press of his lips to each other. Something he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue, perhaps. But something he never did. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at your father. His king’s crown stands high and haughty on his head, his hands placed on the golden armrests of his throne, but the skin of his face has drawn tight around his skull, fingers gripping his seat with undue force. You recall the readiness with which he gave his assent to the prince’s demands, the slightest shake in his voice that only a few of you could have heard. As though he knew the prince’s words had been spoken true. 

What deal did he make with the kingdom of hell that could have resulted in this?

“Accommodations for you and your entourage will be prepared as soon as possible, Your Majesty.” You try for a smile. “Until then, please feel free to partake in the evening’s activities. I’m sure you will find something to make your journey worthwhile.”

The prince’s handsome smile curls white, sharp. Like a curved dagger’s blade held up to the light, right before it plunges into your eye. 

“Yes.” He seems to lean in closer, that knife-blade grin never once faltering from his lips. “I’m sure that I will.”

. . . . .

Year after year, the Moonlight Festival has never failed to bring joy to Chan’s life. When he was young and his parents were alive, they always took him to the night markets, bought him all the sweets their money could spare, and danced with him in the crowded streets, their three giggles echoing off the laughs of everyone else around them. The royal family has never spared expense on these annual celebrations, meant to honor the entity from which Terpsichore, the kingdom’s patron deity, draws her power. All of the most famous dancers in the kingdom swear up and down that they dance better under the full moon, and as Chan laughs and spins from one person to another, joining hands with a woman and her husband before whirling off to yet another joyous stranger, he agrees. The nearly-full moon above glows pale and bright in the dark night sky, lending energy to all those who celebrate on the earth below. 

Yet this year, the celebrations are dampened. By no fault of the royal family, of course—even if Chan didn’t know you were the one behind almost all of the planning for this festival, he could say beyond a doubt that this year’s festivities were fantastic, maybe even more dramatic than last year’s. But whispers permeate the dancing, rumors of a kingdom long cut off that has come to Terpsichani for the first time in decades, maybe even centuries. 

Kereseia. 

Chan doesn’t like to speak ill of anyone, but his parents told him tales of the Kereseians as a child to scare him into behaving. All children are told the same stories, of fire curling around thorny roses and a kingdom eager to kill.

And now they aren’t just stories. The kingdom is actually here, in Chan’s homeland of Terpsichani, allegedly by invitation of the current king. 

They haven’t made an appearance in his area, not yet at least. Chan doesn’t expect that they will. He more or less expects them to be like some of the haughtier royalty from other kingdoms, rarely straying from the immediate vicinity of the palace—and for that he is thankful. He’s not sure he wants to come face to face with any member of that entourage.  

Though anxiety twists his stomach every time he thinks of you near them, being forced to entertain them throughout this weeklong stay. 

It’s not as though he could do much about it, though. He’s just a cobbler in love with a princess, and no matter how he may fancy himself an acquaintance of your family, a friend if he’s being generous, his shoemaking privileges extend about as far as conversation with you. Which is privilege enough. He won’t be greedy. But thinking about you in that palace, being forced to speak with the Kereseian king himself…

Maybe the Kereseians are nicer than he gives them credit for. Chan doesn’t know. But though he hopes that’s true, something tells him that it's probably not. 

Whispers still seem to permeate the excitement of the crowds as Chan fights his way to the palace on the final night of the celebrations, though nothing can fully mute his eagerness when he finally muscles his way as close as he can get to the stage. An enclosed area meant for nobility and visiting royalty blocks his full view of the stage, but no matter. The moon will be full tonight, shining from above to illuminate the loveliest spectacle of the entire festival—the Terpsichorean dance. 

Named for the goddess of dance, Terpsichore herself, it is the ultimate homage to the moon. Chan knows the dance itself varies by region, but all serve the same purpose and bring the same honor. And of course, in the capital city itself, who would perform the dance but the daughters of the royal family themselves?

Chan just manages to keep himself from blushing. He watched you dance last year and the two years before wearing white and gold slippers he’d crafted himself, and it had only made him fall even more in love with you. Perhaps it’s shallow, but Chan finds it hard to believe anyone in the crowd could feel anything else if they’d seen you spinning about so gracefully in your white robes edged with gold, a dancing ray of the moon herself. 

More and more people crowd in as the sun sets further, until the front of the palace is packed with spectators and the sun only just peeks over the horizon. For all the teasing he had to endure from his apprentices when he left early, Chan feels endlessly grateful that he was able to secure a spot near the stage. 

Familiar melodies begin to filter in from the musicians around the stage. The crowd begins to settle, eager whispers turning into cheers as the introduction begins for your piece. By the time the musicians have finished, the crowd is cheering and the sun has finally set, the full, pale moon beginning to hover in the sky. 

The music pauses. Changes. Everyone falls silent and Chan finds himself holding his breath as he waits for what he knows will come next—

Your lovely figure draped head to toe in white silk edged in gold that just catches the moonlight, a ray of the moon sent specially to bless the kingdom now. 

Chan’s breath lodges in his throat. His chest aches. You’re always lovely, always so lovely, but as you begin to dance, he wonders if the word lovely even begins to capture the mystery, the beauty of your existence. No, not a single word could. But that is what his kingdom’s art is for—dance. A way to express what words cannot. 

Just as your performance does now. 

It’s no ordinary dance, the way you flit through the air. No. Throughout the kingdom there are those blessed by the goddess herself with magical abilities that come with dancing talent—painting memories through the air through a well-placed movement, calling on rain or sun to bathe the earth. Chan himself has no magic though he loves to dance, but his mother was blessed with the ability to recreate memories through her movement. 

But those of the noble and royal lines may be blessed with a different ability, one that marks their special honor by the goddess Terpischore herself. They can weave emotion as they dance.

Just as you do now. 

The crowd gasps, sighs, cries as one as you whirl across the stage, painting sorrow, joy, hope—all emotions Terpsichore felt through her journey to godhood, to patronage of this kingdom, to her ultimate tie to the moon. For all Chan watches, almost refusing to blink for fear of missing a single moment, he knows he could never hope to describe the sight before him, for words could never capture the beauty of your movement. 

The song ends. You flutter your way to the front of the stage amidst cheers and shouts for an encore, and you bow once, twice, five more times before the crowd quiets enough for you to disappear behind the stage, leaving everyone to disperse under the rising moon.

Chan allows himself to be swept away with the crowd, filtering into the streets as musicians take up their instruments and begin filling the roads with cheer. He tries to stay by the palace, though, remembering your request.

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

Ordinarily, he would never presume to take a dance from your hand. But you requested. 

And never would he even think of saying no. 

The minutes tick past, though, the moon rising steadily in the sky, bathing the streets in cool, lovely light. Chan laughs, dances, even catches a glimpse of his apprentices as they spin through the crowds shouting things he can’t hear, but though he keeps a hopeful eye out, not once does he see you until—

Someone taps his shoulder, and he spins around to see a very familiar face. 

“Your—” Just in time, he sees the finger you have on your lips and cuts himself off before revealing your location to everyone in his vicinity. 

“Sorry,” you say, smiling sheepishly. “I snuck away, I don’t want to be found out so quickly.”

You’ve changed out of the filmy white robes you danced in. You still wear white, just like the rest of the crowd, but your clothes are certainly sturdier and more serviceable than your dance garments were. Even then, though, your beauty still shines beneath the moon, and Chan has to remind himself to breathe. 

“You were beautiful,” he says, all in a rush. Then he blushes. “I mean—you’re always beautiful.” His blush deepens as you giggle behind a hand. “But your performance…it was beyond words.”

“Thank you, Chan,” you reply sincerely, eyes shining. “I’m glad you were there to see it.”

“How did you feel about it?” he asks. “Were you happy?”

You nod immediately. “I think it was probably the best I’ve ever danced in my life,” you laugh, pulling him clear of someone whirling past. “I was nervous, for certain. But I love this piece, and I’ve practiced it so much. I’m very happy with how I did.”

Chan’s heart seems to burst under the brightness of your smile. “I’m incredibly happy you feel that way, Your Highness.”

“Well, I must thank you for it, too.” You hike up your skirts slightly, waggling a very familiar pair of slippers at him—white satin embroidered with gold accents, every stitch done by his own fingers. “Your shoes are incredibly comfortable, Chan. And so beautiful. I say this all the time, but I almost feel bad dancing in them, they’re such works of art.”

“Well, that is what they are made for.” Your smile gives Chan the courage to continue. “And I will always be happy to make you more, whenever you’ve worn a pair out.”

You look truly moved, your smile growing softer, shyer under the pale light of the moon. Chan himself can feel the redness of his cheeks creeping up his ears. You reach out and take his hands. “Thank you, Chan. I hope this does not come across as…too much, but you are very precious to me.” Your voice takes on a serious note that wasn’t there before, but your eyes shine brighter. “Not just your shoes. You are a wonderful person, and I am happy to have known you, even for the brief duration of our lives.”

Chan’s heart thuds in his chest, his ears echoing with your words. “You—you are very precious to me too, Your Highness,” he gets out, voice trembling. “I will forever be endlessly grateful that we have met.”

For a moment, you only stand, staring into each other’s eyes. Chan forces himself to breathe, to take in the moment—he will never be as close to you again as he is now. 

“I do recall asking that you save me a dance,” you finally say, eyes sparkling. Chan’s heart leaps as you continue. “Do you have the time to indulge me, just this once?”

“Of course,” he breathes, squeezing your hand lightly. “Your Highness.”

He doesn’t say the words that ached to come after, though.

For you—I have all the time in the world. 

. . . . .

In the end, you’re not sure how long you dance with Chan. It started as one dance, but even when the crowd separated the two of you, sending you off to other partners as the crowd laughed and cheered and spun, you always came back together, over and over again, like…

Like it was meant to be. 

A sudden ache races through your heart, and in response, you hold Chan tighter. Not enough to hurt, hopefully not enough for him to even notice. Because as right as this feels, as right as you know this is, so many others would tell you in a heartbeat that this is not your place—would even go so far as to physically pull the two of you apart, if they could. 

You love Chan. Have known it for a long time, actually, ever since the day you watched him place Yuna’s first pair of slippers on her feet with the softest smile on his face and every confusing feeling you’d been trying to figure out hit you with the force of a thousand suns. It’s been years since then and the love you have for him has never lessened, only grown. 

And, you’re almost sure, it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that Chan loves you too. 

Which makes it all the worse. Because if this was one-sided, at least you could comfort yourself with the cold knowledge that you’d be the only one suffering in this love that no one would accept. But if Chan loves you too, then what is this, this something-but-nothing that the two of you have now? Something that won’t just hurt you, but will also hurt him. The best thing you could do would be to end things cleanly on your end, and pray Chan will move on. 

Only you can’t. Selfishness, you suppose. The knowledge of how it feels to have Chan’s arms wrapped around you like this only makes it harder—safe, warm, peaceful, even in this chaos of dancers under the full moon. Even this simple frame for partner dancing, closer than you’ve ever dreamed but still leaving some distance that closes every so often as he pulls you out of reach of another laughing couple, is enough to make you feel lightheaded. You’re in too deep. You couldn’t try to drag yourself out of this if you tried. 

This is the closest you’ve ever been to Chan, wrapped in each other’s arms as you spin about the roads in front of the palace, cheeks warm with sweat and laughter. Perhaps only your oldest sisters and Chaeyoung know how much courage it took for you to ask him for a dance, how nervous you were for this one little tryst to work out—but it was worth it. Because this is likely the closest you’ll ever be. The closest you’ll ever allow yourself to be. 

You’ll never tell him how you feel, after all. Even if you know, and he knows, and everyone knows. Because even though it’s meant to be, it isn’t. And that hurts. 

Chan seems to be oblivious to your thoughts as the music begins winding to a close, which you’re forever grateful for as you smile at him. His dark curls stick to his forehead with sweat. His eyes shine almost brighter than the moon itself. 

Dancing stars, you love him. You love this gentle man who holds you with so much care, who looks at you like you hung the full moon in the sky. You love him so much. 

“Your Highness?” 

You blink at Chan, whose expression has turned worried. Damn. You let yourself slip. “Are you tired?” he asks, already guiding you to the edge of the fray, away from the brunt of the music and noise. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. You must need to return soon.”

“No, I—it’s all right.” You try to cheer up, but reviving your fallen smile proves harder than you thought it would. Fumbling for an excuse that isn’t I was thinking about our hopeless love story and made myself upset, you say, “It’s…a lot of things. With the festival.”

Chan’s eyes narrow slightly. “Was it…”

Your heart drops in your chest, and suddenly all the previous lightheartedness of the night has gone, replaced by a curtain of dread. “Kereseia,” you finish quietly. 

A short silence punctuates the air between you two. In the whirl of your performance, the final day of celebration, and the ecstasy of dancing in Chan’s arms for the first time in your life, you’d forgotten about the problems that sprouted in your life, fully formed, just a week ago. 

The hand holding yours tightens its grip. You welcome the added pressure, squeezing harder as you try to ground yourself against the anxiety beginning to seep back into your chest. “So it’s true,” Chan says lowly, his eyes turning dark. “They’re here.”

You nod slightly. It’s not surprising that he’s heard something already. Rumors spread quickly, and it would only take one whisper about a kingdom as notorious as Kereseia to spark a wildfire. Really, you wish that was it. That it was just a strange delegation from a kingdom never before seen, come to demand that you include them in your celebrations once more. 

But the king. He…

“Your Highness!” 

Your eyes snap open. You hadn’t realized you even closed them. Chan is gripping your arms now, almost like he’s holding you upright, and you realize you must have been falling, and he caught you. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying to breathe. After the first gasp, breath comes more easily. “I just—this week has been—I love the festival, and I love planning it, but—”

Against your will, unwanted memories of the past week come flashing into your mind. The first time you spoke with the Kereseian king, when he interrupted the opening ceremony for nobility with his grand entrance. Those many times—too many to be coincidence—when you ran into him in the hallways and he begged so graciously for a moment of your time, only for you to feel dirty all over after he spoke to you, his eyes wandering over your figure all the while. When you were trying to speak with your sister and he suddenly appeared, somehow snatched you away, and by the time you realized he was holding your wrist it already felt like snakes had been wiggling up your arm. 

“He’s terrible,” you whisper. 

Chan sucks in a breath and immediately you regret speaking. “Who?” he asks, voice quiet. Dangerous, maybe. “The Kereseian king?”

Well, there’s no denying it now. Even if you tried, he would know, anyway. “Yes,” you reply miserably.

Chan’s eyes, worried and concerned, despite their hardness. Nothing like the sickly sweet, oily looks the Kereseian king had for you every time you spoke. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Yet. You pray Chan didn’t hear the word you left out, though something tells you he did. “It’s just—the circumstances surrounding their visit. My father won’t tell me anything.” Not for lack of trying, too. You stormed into his office the minute you had time, seething with embarrassment at having to take responsibility for the whole mess of “missing” the invites for the Kereseian delegation, and beyond his trite apology for not telling you earlier, you couldn’t get a word out of him beyond it will be cleared up soon and don’t anger them.

You’ve seen him four times since then. Each time, though you tried, he wouldn’t tell you a thing. 

“It’s nothing, Chan,” you say again, as though repeating it will make it true. You attempt a smile. “Really. The festival will soon be over, and this Kereseian business will…go away.” Hopefully. Chan doesn’t look convinced, so you curve your lips wider even though you know this smile is far from reaching your eyes. You try for a joke. “At least, it won’t be my problem to deal with. It’ll be my father’s.”

Chan looks at you closely, and in that moment, you want nothing more than to sink into his arms and cry and tell him everything. Instead, though, you bolster that smile, and though by the end you’re sure Chan hasn’t been convinced of anything, he doesn’t continue to pry. “All right,” he says, worry still on his face, but the concern melting into a small smile instead. “But in any case, it’s late. Maybe—”

“Maybe, Your Highness, it’s time for you to return.”

. . .

For a moment, you think that this is just a bad dream. That you’ll pinch yourself and wake up, and when you do you’ll be back in bed. Safe. Away from the voice. 

But you slowly turn around, coming face to face with the Kereseian king himself. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

“Your Highness.” He tilts his head in what looks like an attempt at respect, the little smirk that makes your skin crawl never leaving his handsome face. “Your family is looking for you.”

“Your Majesty.” You take a small step in front of Chan, who seems to be frozen to the spot, and give  a slight curtsy. “My sisters knew where I was. Did they send you?”

There’s no way they did.

“Not exactly.” His smile widens. “I heard your father ask where you were, and volunteered my services to find you.”

Behind you, Chan shifts. You raise a foot beneath your skirts and step slightly on his toes. He’s smart. He’ll understand that that means please don’t get involved. 

“Who’s this?” The king peers past you and you actually feel your throat close up. Not Chan, not Chan, not Chan! “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I don’t believe we have either,” Chan replies, voice polite but cold. You’ve heard that tone before. It usually comes out when one of the more aloof nobles doesn’t plan to give him the time of day or the proper respect due to a human being. “Your Majesty…?”

For all the situation, Chan’s blatantly fake confusion almost makes you want to laugh. “Chan, allow me to introduce His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.” You realize then that you don’t know the king’s name and that almost makes you laugh for real, especially as Chan dips into a stiff bow that looks anything but natural. “Your Majesty, my good friend, Chan.”

“Your good friend,” the king repeats, slowly, like he’s testing out those words on his tongue. You can almost feel Chan stiffen next to you, and you pray you won’t have to step on his foot again to keep him from trying to interject. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Chan. I do have a duty to escort Her Highness back to her family, however, so I fear we must part.”

“Do not worry,” you reply quickly, as smoothly as you can before Chan can retort. “I was going to return soon, anyway. Please, Chan, have fun at the festival.” Your smile turns real, if only for a moment, as you meet his gaze. “It’s the final night. You should enjoy it.”

Chan’s eyes flicker to the side, where you know the Kereseian king stands. “So should you.”

“And I did, thanks to you.” You take his hand, squeeze it for a minute—far longer than you should, with the king’s gaze boring into your shoulder, but you ignore it until you have to let Chan go. “I will be all right,” you add in a whisper that hopefully only he can hear. “Really.”

He doesn’t look happy. His lips press together almost into a line, his eyes dark and serious like you’ve never seen before. But he must sense it when you want this to end, so he only nods, curves his lips slightly, and bows. “In that case, have a good night, Your Highness.” When he rises, his smile is wider. “I had a wonderful time.” With that, Chan disappears into the crowd, leaving you with a man you don’t trust at all. 

Without another word, you turn back towards the palace and begin walking. If it’s a little quicker than your usual pace, you try not to let that on.

Unfortunately, the king keeps up. “I didn’t know that princesses of Terpsichani were allowed dalliances outside of nobility.”

You laugh a little, trying not to let the edge in your voice sound. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you’ve only been here a week. There is a lot of you don’t know about us.” Annoyance creeps into your tone, despite your efforts to keep it out. “And Chan isn’t a dalliance.”

“Well, he seems quite taken with you.”

Anger fizzles in your chest, threatening to spill into your words. “We’re friends,” is all you say.

“Good, then.”

Frowning, you turn toward him. “Good?”

“I wanted to ask you something.” The king’s eyes seem to glow under the moonlight, pulsing pools of shadow. You almost fear drowning in them. “Do you know why I have come here, to your kingdom?”

Nothing about this feels right. “I was under the impression it was for the Moonlight Festival, Your Majesty.” You turn to continue on to the palace, but his cold hand catches your wrist. Pulls you back. 

“So your father really told you nothing,” he murmurs, almost as though to himself. Before you can digest that, though, he continues. “It was for the festival, Your Highness. Partially. But that was not the promise your father gave me, you know.” His lips curve and you can only think of the cruel blade of a knife, silver under the moonlight before it sinks into your flesh. “He promised me you.”

He promised me you. 

“…What?”

“He promised your mother, first.” The king laughs as though you aren’t reeling, about to fall if not for his wrist still grasping yours. “And to my father, not to me. But the poor woman was so sickly after your birth, and ill. My father wouldn’t want a weak woman to bear his own child.” He peers into your eyes and you can do nothing to pull away. “This my father said, and so yours bargained a second time. One of his daughters for my father’s son.” White teeth glint as he grins. “Me.”

Disgust roils in your stomach and gives you the courage to speak. “But why?” you cry out. “Why would my father make such a bargain in the first place?”

“Don’t you know how much trouble your father and mother had, conceiving you?” He smirks. “I suppose, at some point, your father had to take matters into his own hands. And my own father wasn’t going to say no to a princess with magic as strong as yours.”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up. In a horrible way, it makes sense—you know your mother had trouble with your birth and had always wanted more children even after you were born, which is why she adopted your sisters before she died—but this can’t be true. It can’t be. “I don’t believe you,” you snap, ripping your arm out of his. “I don’t believe you!”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me.” Suddenly he has both of your wrists clamped between his fingers, his skin seeping cold into yours. “I will have you, a darling queen to dance with me and entertain my court day and night, and you will have my child. And with your blood, that child will be able to walk in the sun, as so many of us Kereseians cannot.” 

Vaguely, you realize you’ve never seen one of the Kereseian delegation under daylight—always in a room with no windows during the day, or milling about at night. You didn’t know they couldn’t walk in the sunlight. 

You’re learning so much tonight, and none of it is good. 

“So we can do this one of two ways.” His face is so close to yours, so handsome but so cold and so repulsive when his breath hits your skin. “You can come willingly, and we will announce our engagement tonight to your father. It will be wonderful news to crown the final night of the Moonlight Festival, will it not? Our marriage two weeks from now on the new moon, as befits Kereseian royalty.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips. Engagement. As if—as if you would ever—

“Over my dead body,” you snap. 

The king isn’t even fazed. “I thought you might say that,” he says with flippant ease, though if you didn’t know better you’d think you heard a ripple of a snarl in his tone. “But think wisely, Your Highness. Your father signed a contract with our kingdom of hell. We did not coerce him. He came to us. We delivered on our end, and now he must deliver on his.” He laughs. “Will you try to resist fate?”

Despair claws its way into your heart, ripping open your throat as you try to think. Try to speak. Your head is spinning and everything is wrong—your father, who you trusted, your mother, who is dead—

Against your will you wish you had never told Chan to leave. That he was still here with you. That you could draw from his strength in this moment where you feel so powerless. But he shouldn’t be caught in this, though. You’d never want him injured. Never want him hurt. 

Not in the way you’re sure the Kereseian king could manage.

His memory lends you courage, though. Fate. This is no fate—it will not be your fate. You will not go willingly into the kingdom of hell, and you will not sign your life quietly away to this monster who dares claim you so.

“Over. My. Dead. Body.”

The king’s eyes darken. “Very well, then,” he says, and just for a second his grip loosens. You try to snatch the moment to break free but then it tightens and you gasp against the pain as he brings you even closer. “I should make this clear now, though, Your Highness.”

Flames whirl up from the ground. Heat flares at your skin. And then you’re falling, falling, falling into the earth and the blistering wind is tearing your body apart piece by piece and there’s a horrible noise in your ears that you have a terrible suspicion is your own scream—

Your feet slam into a hard floor. You nearly buckle where you stand, knees shaking, only held up by the painful grip the king still has on your hands. Everything around you is dark, lit up by strange, curling flames, and it is cold. So cold.

He smiles down at you now. Knife blades. Weapons to kill you as his mouth comes closer to whisper in your ear. 

“You don’t have a choice."

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 4

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch Y/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like they. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say: 

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better. 

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “Y/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. Were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“It was not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“Y/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, as she wrapped your smaller body than hers in a tight hug.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

@godknows-shetried @randomrosie01 @whatsupstark @paastaboi @m3ntally-unstable

@masterradd-28 @justanormalpersin @6000-fandoms @fennecspage

@homan-oid @fluffy-strawberries @animegirlfromvietnam @tamsyien @ari-sama21

@kataraluvr @boatempollstriper @lokisgoodboy @enjisthings @thereeallink

@lumalesa-kadichizho @fyodorssimp1 @shintax-error @lara20aral @sulatsadark

@notahappystan @nebuluma @thetiredtoad0-0 @tmt-alexis @anuttellaa

@strawberrymangoes @lorastone-000 @starryhiraeth @worldussysblog

@urminebutidontwantyou @herondale-lightworm @nyra-42 @ohnoivefallen

@an-introverted-nishinoyasimp @ellie-x0xo @blkmystery

[r3ynah]

I just like the idea of Red hood having a medic, that always finds him whenever and wherever.

Like my boy danny, can and will go to different measures, so he can just find the boss of the crime alley alive and well.

Getting hurt? No you aren't, patched him up and forcefully tucked him into bed with a kiss, Getting depressed? No you aren't, Wrapped him in a blanket and just let him read his novels all day and feeding him, Getting kidnap? No you aren't, Cue the corrupted video of Danny breaking in the kidnapper's lair and just freeing Red hood, No blood was shed that night, well not from Red hood that is.

Danny was something else Red hood will tell you if you ever bring up his Medic into a conversation, he would stare at the man with heart eyes as he accompanied him to do random check ups on people under Red hood's care in his civilian persona. Danny may seem weak and brittle but he can give a punch if he really wanted to, He was mysterious but at the same time so open.

Danny was prideful as he wore the medal of being the only one that knows Red hood's real apartment, and the only one that could break in and enter without getting his presence known, just to make sure the crime lord was sleeping and eating properly.

Red hood practically made a joke out of this and would always tell everyone that his medic will be mad, if he isn't in bed by curfew, and he needed to be back at his house by 10:00 sharp or he'll get dragged and thrown, who knew the all so scary crime lord had a bedtime, criminals and civilians often leave him be when the clock strikes 9:50 pm afraid of enraging the meta medic.

__

"I am telling you B, I can't do that right now, its almost my curfew." Red hood sighed in frustration, he was currently standing in the middle of the bat cave, ready to run if batman tried to talk again.

"This is an important, case Hood, and it requires your participation" Batman stood still, face devoid of any emotions " Afterall it has something to do, with crime alley, there has been a meta spotted, and its creating havoc all around the place."

Jason, blinked, blinked twice, then thrice

"Is that it?"

"Jason, can't you see that this person's dangerous, they had already committed several crimes of arson, assault, and destruction of property, this person is abusing it's powers."

"No im not." An offended voice, called out from the side. all head turned towards the source of the voice, only to be greeted by 6'1 tall boy, who had black hair and blue eyes, and looked just round in his younger adult years. "In my defense they deserved it, won't give me a discount when i literally had a coupon." he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Who are you?" Batman asked, his guard up "And how did you get in here?"

"Red hood's medic and the meta you've labeling as dangerous, nice to meet you, and it wasn't that hard to spot this lair if you have x-ray vision" Danny greeted happily offering a handshake, which the dark knight didn't take, Danny retreated his hand in awkward silence.

"That was so sad" Jason cackled, as he pointed at Danny who gave him the middle finger.

"Shut, Its 10:30 pm, your bedtime was like 15 minutes ago, you don't get to talk until you're taller than me." Danny pointed at him.

"Fucking funny, im laughing" Sarcasm was laced in Jason's tone as he glared at Danny, before giving a sigh. "10:30 already shit, time does fly fast, when you're fighting a man in a furry costume" Red hood stated, as he walked towards Danny who only rolled his eyes.

"Bye B, i hope to not see you anytime this week or the next week." He nonchalantly waved bye to the older male, while walking towards his medic.

he turned his head to meet Danny's gaze, then smacked his arm making the man stumble. "Come on, now boss man do your thing"

Danny gave him, a glare before shoving him playfully, he then turned to look at empty air and practically ripped out a dimensional portal out of it, and pushed Jason in it who tripped.

"Bye Mr.Batman, it was nice meeting you" Danny bid farewell as he closed the portal on the Man who looked like he can use a break.

[bookdragonideas]

Here's the thing. I'm a girl, and as a girl, I really like it when girls are portrayed in fiction. Especially fantasy.

But so much fiction/fantasy mixes up 'girls' with 'unstoppable forces of female badass' and there's not necessarily anything wrong with having a character who is an 'unstoppable forces of female badass'. But it gets old real quick. And it is not the same as portraying normal girls, or having good female characters.

And that's one of the many reasons I love Avatar the Last Airbender.

Because all the girl characters have flaws and weaknesses and sometimes act like idiots or jerks. They get emotional and make mistakes. They lose fights or arguments or are just wrong sometimes. Some of them are amazing warriors, and some aren't. Some are powerful or special and some are normal, with nothing special about them.

And I Love that.

I was around the same age as Katara when I first watched Atla. And I instantly connected with her as a character. I loved her optimistic attitude and her fighting spirit. And I could relate with her anger, and with her maternal instinct. I admired her fighting skills of course, but I loved how the show portrayed her compassion and kindness, the way she could both beat up a bunch of bullies AND enjoy a relaxing day at the spa. She was a baddass warrior that should never be crossed. But she was also a normal teenage girl who had a lot of the same internal struggles and problems that I did.

(I never connected to Toph on the same level, but I did relate to her on a few things. She's an adorable trash gremlin who would commit any crime for fun and I love that. But she struggles with being both independent and letting people help her, and I still struggle with that sometimes. I've learned that sometimes, you can help others by letting them help you.)

Yue is, in my opinion, a perfect example of a type of hero that seems to be disappearing. She is not a warrior. She is not a fighter. She's not even a bender.

Yue is a perfect princess, a perfect daughter. She is extremely feminine in a rather older sense.

And she was the only one who could save the world. She gave up everything for her people. She saved everything, everyone, the entire world. Without ever becoming a fighter.

Yue is a perfect example of a girl who was never more than a girl, and how that's okay. Not every girl has to be rough and tumble and fight for her rights in order to change everything. Sometimes it's okay to just be a quiet obedient girly girl. Sometimes that's all it takes to be a hero.

And I love that. Yue is strong in her own way. She is unique and interesting. She appears in only a few episodes and yet manages to be one of my favorite characters.

Song is another great example of this. Song is a healer in a small town. We don't see much of her but we see her compassion and empathy. She is gentle and generous. A healer not a fighter.

She watches Zuko steal her ostrich horse and does nothing.

Is that because she's kind and generous and knows he needs it more? Or is it because she's a healer girl who knows she can't actually stop those two from taking the horse? Maybe neither, maybe both. I have always thought that the scene where Zuko steals the horse and only the audience knows she saw it is one of the most thought-provoking in the series.

Suki is a badass warrior woman who is an awesome fighter and good leader. She is one of the best non bender fighter we see in the entire show. She was one of the smartest, most efficient, and powerful characters we ever saw.

She kissed a boy she had just met because she thought he was cute.

Now don't get me wrong I love SokkaxSuki. Its one of the best couples in the show.

But Suki totally did the old 'love at first sight' thing. And that is awesome. Because when she kisses him she delivers one of the best lines, not only from her, but, I think, in the entire show.

"I AM a warrior, but I'm a girl too."

Being a warrior doesn't mean that she isn't also a teenage girl. She might be a fighter, but she still gets crushes and likes to flirt with cute boys. And hey, she picked a good one. Not every boy is going to come break you out of prison.

Anyways, let's have more realistic girls in fiction. And please enjoy the next 24 hours.

[anonymous-existences]

DCxDP prompt 9 :

Spirit Halloween Ship where Danny is Dan and Dani's Dad, Danny starts a small tech business in where he invents stuff which catches the attention of WE and Danny is so in for it. Danny meets Bruce Wayne, He falls Inlove.

He is still a Halfa and with that His Ghost Half and Human Half have mixed Courting Processes. Danny tries to flirt with Bruce, Which failed miserably(Unsurprising.). Danny tries to court Bruce Ghost Way with taking him to deathaversarry(Danny why.), Taking Bruce out on a cemetery picnic(DANNY NO—) and many more! But, Bruce didn't seem to get the hint and think they're just really close friends(yowch). Danny now tries all the human ways of courting and eventually finds out that Serenading the Man and Getting him gifts such as flowers/bouquets was a goddamn effective idea!

Dan and Dani forms a Bond with Dami over their fathers being simping idiots. Danny is a simp, a hardcore simp that's obsessed(Danny.....) with Bruce! That's a bit concerning? Danny is forever shameless and he's smitten with Bruce and Bruce is very confused of his emotions towards Danny.

"Should I kill him and then revive him...?" Dan asked himself staring at Danny serenading a flustered Bruce Wayne who's looking over Danny from the second floor of his office window. "No, but we CAN beat him up." Dani sighs, pinching her temples exasperated. "Control your Father will you? It is currently 8 in the evening, why is he singing like a banshee." Damian scoffed walking over to the twins. "First, he had a good voice. Second, We can't drag him because he's strong despite his... Uhh.... Scrawny old Body. Third, It's very amusing to see Bruce Wayne get flustered over Danny serenading him like a damsel in distress." Dan just clarified with a mischievous smirk. Damian rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, "It's still annoying and it's attracted the family's attention, Todd has now started to visit nightly in the hopes of meeting your father because apparently they share a bond." Damian just sat beside them on the grass. "I LOVE YOU!" Danny yelled and Bruce got even more redder and his palm on his face. "Father is Weak to this. I am quite ashamed." Damian just deadpans with a raised eyebrow, "And our Dad has surprisingly no shame about this." Dani sighs again. "When did he ever have shame??" Dan asked bemused but also laughing lightly, Dani shrugged dismissively as the three just watched their fathers simp for each other.

[qirongshusband]

Soft Gojo n overstimulated male reader 😋

Notes ~ so sorry for the late reply I was busy with a lot of things, hope you enjoy !! (・∀・)

MENTION — whimpering, gentle fucking, overstimulated Male!Reader, Male!Reader, Gojo Satoru.

At the moment Satoru didn’t notice but you were vulnerable, extremely vulnerable. Every little touch or action he did made you feel like you were going to lose it any second now..each time he’d thrust into you hitting your g-spot you’d let out a loud whine or moan, you’d try to get him to ease up and be more gentle but the words that came out of your mouth were straight up mumbles or incoherent.

You were on the verge of tears, well there were tears forming in those big pretty eyes of yours, Satoru quickly picked up you were overstimulated as you noticed he was going more gentler with you. As he’d caress the sides of your face tracing your features with those firm fingers of his, how his thrusts were more slow and calmer, the way he’d whisper in your ear on how good you were being for him, such a good boy.

One of his hands were tracing down to your abdomen, “you see that? How deep I am inside ya’..feel so fuckin’ good. Doing so good f’me..” You could hear slight whimpers in his voice as he fucked you, all you could do was moan and be desperate for any little touch he gives you, your body would move against the bed sheets and your legs were completely spread giving Satoru full access to your body.

Satoru was the type who could fuck really aggressively and make you feel good but when he notices a slight emotion or reaction you have he can completely change that becoming a complete sweetheart, you enjoyed the small little praises and how gentle he was on your body..you felt yourself close to a release, he was close too. “I’m so..close. Fuck, you feel so good baby..can I please keep goin’? Please please..” you could hear the desperation in his voice, it was only a little while longer so why not? You nodded and let out a little hum as you were able to speak as much, Satoru continued to keep going as he felt him get closer and closer so did you, at this point Satoru was holding you in his arms gently kissing your shoulder and your neck.

You’d wrap your legs weakly around Satoru’s waist keeping him as close as you could to you, your body’s were rubbing together and the warmth of his body felt good, you feel so weak but so safe in his arms. You’d also place your hands on the back of his head tangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled him closer for a sloppy kiss. The kiss caused both of you to reach your climaxes causing you both to leave a mess, Satoru came inside you as you came onto his stomach.

Satoru had pulled out and kissed you gently on your forehead informing you he’d be right back and he was gonna get you something to drink and some stuff to clean you up.

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part four

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Mattheo is in an awful mood after the party while Theo takes reader to the peony field.

Word Count: 4772

Warnings: Unrequited love & Mattheo and Theo get into it. Reader overthinks for a little bit. Mentions of drugging? One mention of Y/n. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 I can't tell you how nervous I am to post this, I feel like it's not my best work. But regardless, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading, helping me with ideas, and just providing support and comfort. I love you endlessly!

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“Did something happen last night between you and Mattheo?” Pansy asks, throwing the door open with an expectant look. Despite your low mood, you can’t help but crack a tiny smile at the sight of her—hair a tousled mess, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She’s the perfect picture of someone who had way too much fun last night.

“Is there any particular reason you’re asking?” You reply cautiously, eyes following her as she saunters over and slips into bed beside you. She gives the blanket a hard tug, leaving you to huff in irritation when she claims more than her fair share.

“Because I heard him and Veronica fighting. I didn’t catch much, but I did hear your name.” Pansy looks you over, taking in your rumpled clothes and tired eyes. You’re not in much better shape than she is, and she can't tell if it’s the lingering effects of last night’s drinks or the aftermath of whatever happened with Mattheo.

“Merlin,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and sinking deeper into the warmth of your bed. You haven’t moved since Theo left about twenty minutes ago, and you’re not sure if you’ll find the energy to do so anytime soon. Honestly, the idea of staying curled up here is more tempting than you'd like to admit. “We got into it again last night.”

“Again?” Pansy raises an eyebrow, shifting to face you.

“Apparently, he does care.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm and frustration.

“He told you that?” Pansy shifts so quickly it’s as if you’ve shocked her. Both of you know very well that Mattheo isn’t the type to open up about what he’s feeling. Years of watching him around his parents taught you why—with how many times you had seen them scold him for even a flicker of emotion, it was no wonder he kept everything locked up.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling, “He said he wanted me to admit I have feelings for him too.” Pansy's eyes widen, her mouth falling open as she stares at you in disbelief.

“Feeling for him too?” She echoes, and you finally turn to meet her eyes with a weak nod. Your best friend sits there for a moment, studying your face carefully before choosing her next words. She knows she has a nasty habit of saying the first thing on her mind without considering that it might not be what you need to hear.

Pansy sits up, grabbing the pillow she was using and hugging it to her chest as she stares at you impatiently. She’s waiting to hear if you’ve finally told the boy you’ve been head over heels for, for years, that you like him too. “Well? Did you?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Please, tell me it’s for the reason I’m thinking.” She all but begs, her eyes wide with hope.

You let out a weary sigh. “I don’t know when I stopped having feelings for him, Pans. I didn’t even realize I’d lost them until he asked me to tell him I felt the same, and there was just...”

“Just..?” Pansy prompts gently.

A pause hangs between you as you search for the right words.

You hardly slept last night; your mind raced with thoughts of the past few months, trying to pinpoint when and how your feelings faded so quietly. You had liked Mattheo for so long, even convinced yourself that maybe you even loved him. But how could you truly love someone who was so closed off? Sure, he turned to you when he was struggling, but that didn’t mean he ever shared what he was feeling. He liked your presence and relied on you to be there whenever he needed support, but he never trusted you enough to truly let you in.

Not in the way you wanted, at least.

If he wasn’t comfortable with his own emotions, there was no way he would be able to handle yours. Maybe that was the heart of it—the realization that he would never fully open up to you, and that had kept you from falling in love with him. And maybe that was the best thing that could have happened, no matter how painful or uncomfortable it was to come to terms with at the beginning.

Then there was Theo. Who had promised to help you get over Mattheo, and from that moment on, he was there for you without hesitation. He held your hand whenever you needed it, and honestly, you had begun to lean on him a bit too much—being close to him had become your favorite feeling. He never made it feel like supporting you was a chore; instead, he made it seem like something he had always longed to do.

In truth, everything had changed for you. Spending time with Theo was no longer just a way to distract yourself from Mattheo; it became where you wanted to be. Being around him made you feel safe and accepted in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

And that was absolutely terrifying.

You sit up abruptly, fully facing Pansy, “When you said that you thought Theo would give me everything if I let him, did you mean that?”

“Babes,” she begins, sending you a soft smile. “I’ve always thought you would be good for Mattheo. You bring something out in him; he’s happiest when he’s around you. Veronica seemed to make him happy at first—” she adds with a snort—“but nowhere near the level you do.”

“But with Theo…” Pansy trails off. “I’ve never seen you so happy—and not the kind of happy you were with Mattheo. It’s not the relief of him not having a one-night stand or flirting with you a bit bolder at a party. It’s genuine happiness; you’re truly yourself. Theo brings out a different side of you, and you do that for him, too.”

Glancing over at the vase of red peonies, battling the tightness in your throat and the sting in your eyes. You decide you’d rather not spend the day in bed.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Since last night, Theo has been struggling to push away the thought that maybe the idea of you having feelings for him isn’t so far-fetched. Especially after you’d implied that the two of you were together to the girl who’d tried to flirt with him. The way you’d intertwined your fingers with his, staking a silent claim that he was off-limits, had left him reeling. There was no way you’d be so possessive if you didn’t feel the same. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself all morning.

And then there was the way you hadn’t been able to answer Mattheo about your feelings. Theo’s whole heart had been in his throat as he waited for you to tell Mattheo that you did have feelings for him, that you’d had them for years. But you hadn’t answered.

In a way, though, you had, hadn’t you? You’d pushed past Mattheo without a word and gone straight to him.

“Are you coming with us to Hogsmeade or not?” Enzo nudges Theo, pulling him out of his thoughts. The boys had all planned to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend, a plan set firmly in stone since last weekend. But when Theo saw you this morning, he couldn’t hold back. On impulse, he asked if you wanted to spend some time together, suggesting—almost shyly—that he could finally show you where he’d been getting the peonies.

“No, I’ve got plans.” Theo shrugs, and Draco sends him an irritated look from the opposite couch.

“We made plans.” Draco huffs, clearly agitated with the change. He always hated it when the boys ditched at the last second.

“Something came up.” Theo sighs, hoping that he’ll let it go quickly. He’s well aware that Mattheo should be coming down the stairs at any second. Enzo had told them that he was taking forever to get ready, probably hungover from last night. 

“You mean your girl.” Blaise corrects, and Draco looks disgusted. His head swings back to look at Theo.

“You’re ditching us for her? Mate, that’s pathetic.” Draco scoffs. “She isn’t even your girlfriend.”

“She’s pretty damn close.” Blaise points out, and Theo tries his best to ignore the feeling that jolts through him when he thinks of you as his girlfriend.

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything—not that he would have—before Mattheo walks over to join the group. He claps a hand on Draco’s shoulder, only for Draco to shrug him off irritably. “C’mon,” Mattheo says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the others rise, stretching and adjusting their robes, Theo remains seated, gaze fixed on the fireplace in front of him. Mattheo pauses, giving him a puzzled look, one brow lifting in question. “You’re not coming?”

“No.” Theo answers curtly, clearly uninterested in extending the conversation. The truth is, he hasn't spoken to Mattheo in quite a while, and when they do, it’s nothing but tension—a quiet frustration simmering beneath each exchange.

Mattheo’s curiosity sharpens. “Why not?”

“He’s got plans with his girl,” Draco interjects with a roll of his eyes, impatience seeping into his voice. “Now, can we go? We’ve waited long enough for you as it is.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Mattheo turns to face him fully, and Draco huffs when he realizes they’re not going to be leaving any time soon. “Your girl?”

“You know what he means.” Blaise interjects calmly, his eyes shifting to Mattheo as he watches tension coil through his stance.

Mattheo gives a casual shrug, though his jaw tightens. “No, Blaise, I really don’t.”

Theo huffs, rolling his eyes as he stands, making to push past. “Why the hell do you even care?”

Mattheo’s hand snaps out, stopping him mid-step. “You know why I care.”

Theo’s gaze darkens, voice low. “Oh, you mean because of your feelings for her?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Does your girlfriend know that you told Y/n you’ve always liked her?”

Theo’s eyes flicker over Mattheo’s shoulder, catching the shared looks between Blaise, Enzo, and Draco. There’s no shock in their expressions—only a knowing look as if they’d been bracing for this moment all along. It’s unsettling, the way they seem almost resigned, like they’ve seen the tension building between him and Mattheo from a mile away.

Mattheo scoffs, an edge of irritation slipping into his voice. “Did she go and tell you everything I said?”

Theo raises a brow, “No, I overheard you. But even if she did, what does it matter to you?”

Matteo narrows his eyes, “Because I care about her.”

“Bullshit. If you cared about her, you wouldn’t have put her in that position last night.”

“I care about her more than you think.” Mattheo bites out, and the boys watch carefully as Mattheo takes another step forward.

“Right,” Theo scoffs, “You care so much you went and found yourself another girl.”

Theo sees it before Mattheo even speaks—the subtle shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the flicker of defensiveness flashing in his eyes. “I wasn’t ready to—”

“So you weren’t ready for her? But you were for Veronica? I don’t get it. You can’t just expect her to always be there when you finally figure out what you want.”

Mattheo laughs in disbelief, “I wasn’t waiting, I—”

“Then what the hell were you doing?” Theo’s voice sharpens. “You had years to tell her how you felt, and you didn’t say anything. Then you get a girlfriend, she starts spending time with me, and all of a sudden, you care? Leave her alone and quit messing with her.”

“I’m not fucking messing with her—”

“You are. You’ve been doing it for years.” Theo’s eyes flash with frustration, and suddenly he feels the urge to make it clear that he wants you—that he always has, and Mattheo isn’t the only one. “She deserves better than someone who can’t make up their mind. She deserves to be someone’s first choice.”

Mattheo’s expression hardens and his tone drops. “And that’s you?”

Theo doesn’t have the chance to answer, because Veronica’s shriek causes both their heads to snap in her direction, “Matty!”

Theo watches as Mattheo steps back, anger giving way to frustration, a quiet curse slipping from his lips at the sight of his girlfriend. Veronica strides forward, pushing right past Blaise and Enzo without a second glance. Blaise shoots her an agitated look, irritation flashing in his eyes as she barrels through.

“I thought you said you guys were going to Hogsmeade.” Veronica smiles, reaching out to take Mattheo’s hand, but he subtly pulls away, dodging her touch with a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

“We are.” He grumbles under his breath, but Veronica keeps smiling sweetly, unfazed, as if her boyfriend hadn’t just blatantly brushed off her attempt to hold his hand. Mattheo turns to leave, muttering something to the boys, likely a brief comment about their plans.

Theo watches as an agitated Mattheo strides out of the common room, with the boys trailing behind him. But the boys glance back at Theo, their expressions a mix of caution and confusion. Theo turns to leave as well, but Veronica’s voice stops him, soft and pointed, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You should tell your girlfriend that last night was a mistake,” she murmurs, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. “Mattheo thought she was me; you know how he gets after a few too many drinks.”

Theo thinks about correcting her, letting her know that he doesn’t really know what she means at all. From what he saw last night, Mattheo was tipsy—not that drunk—and Theo has had enough years of experience to tell the difference. But instead, he shrugs it off, deciding he’d rather find you than spend any more time in the common room.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Hogsmeade is that way.” You say, a bit confused, gesturing in the opposite direction as you walk beside Theo.

“I know.” He replies simply, his gaze flickering back to the trail that you’ve never gone down before. Honestly, you had no idea it even existed. It’s evident that this path isn’t used often, as moss and grass have claimed most of the walkway. Vibrant wildflowers dot the sides, their colors brightening the greenery around them. 

He’s been quiet for most of the walk, which feels strange; you’re not used to this side of him. The more time you’ve spent with Theo, the more he’s opened up—sharing memories of his late mum, the weight of his father’s expectations, and his hopes for the future. These walks, where you slowly unravel each other’s stories, have become your thing, something that only the two of you share.

You frown slightly, glancing at him as you try to piece it together. “But I thought you said you got the flowers from a shop.”

“I never said that.” Theo’s lips curve into that soft, gentle smile that never fails to send your stomach into a flutter. “I said I’d take you with me the next time I went to get some. I never said it was in Hogsmeade.”

It takes you a second, too enamored with the view in front of you for it all to click. The walk isn’t long, but as you continue down the path, you spot a patch of red ahead. It stands out against the greenery, a cluster of flowers blooming a pretty, vibrant hue. You can’t quite tell what kind they are, but when you glance at Theo, you notice the way his eyes flicker nervously, and it suddenly feels like you’re walking toward something important.

But then it hits you all at once: “They’re peonies.”

On instinct, you grab Theo’s hand, giving it a playful tug to urge him along toward the blooms. He lets out a soft laugh at your enthusiasm, and a warmth fills you as his earlier mood seems to lift, the tension in his shoulders fading.

When you reach the edge of the flower field, you pause, still holding Theo’s hand as your gaze lingers over the vibrant blooms stretching out before you. Theo glances at you, heart beating a little faster as he wonders what you’re thinking, but he brushes aside his nerves and releases your hand, shrugging off his jacket to lay it carefully on the ground. You murmur to him, urging him not to squish any of the flowers, and Theo smiles, his expression softening as he gently reassures you that he won’t.

There isn’t much room on his jacket, so you find yourself pressed against Theo’s side—though you don’t mind in the slightest. He’s leaned back on his hands, while you sit cross-legged beside him.

The quiet is soothing, broken only by the soft chatter of birds and the occasional hum of an insect drifting from flower to flower. The warmth of the sun on your skin feels heavenly, its heat a welcome contrast to the long, cold months that have passed.

“Is this why you left? The first night you stayed with me?” You ask, glancing to the right to watch his reaction. 

From where you’re seated, you can see how the sunlight catches every small detail of his face, highlighting any imperfections. There’s the faint mole on his cheekbone, his dark lashes that you’re secretly jealous of, and the thin scar along his chin from when he fell off his broom as a kid. Another mark splits through his brow—a scar whose origin he could never quite remember, but has always just been there. It tugs at you, knowing you can recall the origins of his faded scars. It might seem trivial, but it means he’s let you in, sharing parts of himself that not everyone gets to see.

Theo nods, “I had to go early in the morning to give them to Pansy. With practice later, it was the only chance I could.”

A smile creeps onto your face as you imagine Theo, slightly awkward but determined, handing over the bundle of flowers and the little card to Pansy, who no doubt teased him relentlessly. You’d had wondered how she noticed that Theo was different with you, especially when most of your time together was just the two of you. But now, hearing this, you understand perfectly how she recognized a side of him that only seems to surface around you.

“I didn’t want to leave, y’know.” Theo continues, finally glancing over at you, and the effect is instant—those watercolor eyes meet yours, sending a flutter through your stomach as you instinctively lean closer, feeling yourself melt into his side.

“The flowers made up for it,” you tease, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Aside from you, they were the only thing that made me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Theo glances down at you, tucked into his side, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Hearing you say the flowers meant something to you eases any nerves he had—because they were never just a way to cheer you up. They were his quiet, unspoken way of telling you that he was there, that he cared. And that, despite your feelings for Mattheo, he was an option too.

“Yeah.” You confirm.

For the rest of the afternoon, you and Theo sat together, talking about whatever came to mind as you picked flowers. You gathered a few, but mostly you watched as Theo picked the ones he liked the most, adding to the small bundle that sat between you both. Watching him carefully select the prettiest flowers, knowing he was going to give them to you, made something shift inside you. If you hadn’t fully realized your feelings before, you were certain of them now.

You lost track of time with Theo, but eventually, he had to leave for practice. He handed you the freshly picked flowers and walked you back to the castle, stalling as if reluctant to say goodbye. In the end, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and murmured a quiet ‘thank you.’ You didn’t want to say goodbye either, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the reason Theo might get into trouble.

It wasn’t until you got back to your dorm, leaning against the door with a giddy squeal, the flowers pressed to your chest, their scent lingering in the air, that the realization hit you. You should’ve kissed him. The thought made your stomach dip with excitement, and for a fleeting moment, you entertained the idea of running after him, catching him just before practice, and kissing him. Absentmindedly, your hand rises to trace your lips, lost in your racing thoughts. 

You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice Pansy at her desk, watching you with an amused look.

“You look like you had a good time.” Pansy smirks as you startle and send her a look before pushing away from the door.

“Pansy, I’m fucked.” You whine and she lets out a loud laugh.

“You were from the second he stayed the night with you.” You pause for a moment, letting the realization settle in, and as it does, you know she’s right. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so safe with someone—not in the way you did that night. Sure, you felt safe with Mattheo, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t compare to the way you felt when you were with Theo.

“Did you know he’s been picking me flowers?” You ask instead, setting the new bundle onto your desk before turning to face Pansy. 

“Oh, I knew.” Pansy hums, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. 

“How did I not notice?” You wonder aloud. 

“You were a little distracted.” Pansy shrugs, and you nod in agreement.

After Pansy tells you she’s meeting Blaise after practice, you briefly wonder if you should go with her. You sit on your bed, lost in thought, weighing the decision, but before you can make up your mind, Pansy is already gone.

As much as you want to see Theo, you hesitate, not wanting to assume that today meant as much to him as it did for you. It’s clear from the fact he’s been picking you flowers that he has feelings for you, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself or risk ruining something before it has a chance to begin. So, you stay in your dorm, trying to focus on an assignment you’ve been putting off for far too long, though your mind keeps drifting back to him.

So when you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat, and before you can think, you're off your bed and rushing to the door. You know exactly who is on the other side and your stomach flutters in anticipation. You pause just before opening it, taking a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach, willing yourself to appear composed. 

You pull the door open, forcing a casual smile as you try to sound unaffected. “Hi,” you say, though your voice betrays the excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

Theo stands in front of you, one hand holding onto the doorframe. His hair is a tousled mess, and his cheeks are flushed—whether from practice or the rush of seemingly running here, you can’t quite tell.

And when he looks up at you, he’s out of breath and looks downright impatient, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You pause, thrown off and completely caught off guard. That was not what you expected him to say, and your mind spirals into the worst possible conclusions. Was he regretting what happened earlier? Apologizing for showing you the flowers, or for picking some for you? Giving you flowers at all? Maybe his feelings for you weren’t strong enough, or perhaps he only thought he had them? The thought that it could be too soon after your feelings for Mattheo crossed your mind, even though you’d started moving on from him months ago, gnaws at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, releasing the doorframe and stepping forward, one step, then another. He pauses, giving you a moment to pull away if you need to, but you stay rooted to the spot, unable to move. Theo stands so close now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze. He reaches up, and your breath catches when his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, his hand settling just below your ear. His voice is quiet, but the weight of his words makes your heart stutter. “I should’ve kissed you, dolcezza.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin as he steps even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. His words tumble out in a rush, desperate and raw. “All through practice, all I could think about was you. The moment I walked away, I just wanted to turn around and kiss you.” His voice drops to a whisper, low and thick with a longing that sends shivers down your spine.

You murmur his name softly, but he’s barely listening, his gaze intense as he leans in slightly, his lips just inches from yours. “Fuck, you've been on my mind for months—years, if I'm being honest. I feel like I’m losing my mind, wondering if you feel even a fraction of what I do.” His hand still lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through you as if he’s waiting for something—waiting for you to say what he’s too afraid to ask.

It’s you who closes the distance, your lips meeting his in a sudden, fervent kiss that catches him off guard, pulling a surprised moan from deep in his throat. His body reacts instantly, his free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against him. The sound he makes causes a rush of warmth to flood your veins. He’s hardly touched, and you’re already too warm, and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. You let him guide you backward, the pressure of his hand firm against your back until your steps falter just inside your dorm. Every inch of him feels like fire against your skin, and your previous worries fade into nothing.

Once you’re inside, he kicks the door closed with a thud but the sound barely registers. Without any hesitation, he presses you back against the door, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. But you want him closer. So much closer. One hand rests flat against the door beside your head, while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. Then, it’s him who leans in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepens with an aching intensity. There’s no rush now—just an overwhelming wave of longing, a perfect culmination of the emotions you’ve both held back. Your head spins, your heart races, and you’re certain that if you could take your temperature in this moment, it would be burning hot.

But then, slowly, he pulls back just enough to break the kiss, his breath heavy and uneven. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, both of you struggling to catch your breath. You feel the urge to close the distance between you again, to press your lips to his, because there’s something about the way Theo kisses that leaves you breathless, already craving more. But then again, maybe it’s just him—the way his touch makes a thrill course through you.

“I wanted you to kiss me before you left—”

The door jolts against your back, halting you mid-sentence as Pansy’s voice cuts through the moment. “What the hell? Open the door.” You hold your breath, hoping that if you stay silent, she might forget the whole thing and simply go away.

But that’s wishful thinking: “Babes. Please open the door."

“I thought you were hanging out with Blaise.” You call back, stealing a glance at Theo, whose expression mirrors your own surprise. Before leaving practice, he’d told Blaise to keep Pansy distracted—he wanted time with you because he had planned on telling you exactly how he felt about you.

“It’s about Mattheo.” Your brows raise is surprise at the intensity in Pansy’s voice and you fling open the door without another thought.

“What’s wrong?” Theo stands behind you, watching the way your face turns nervous.

“Veronica’s been giving him a love potion,” she says softly, her eyes studying your face as it twists in disbelief. “He’s in the infirmary... and he’s asking for you.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work 🤍

[starkwlkr]

cherry flavoured | sebastian vettel

sebastian vettel x reporter!reader

based on the video of iker casillas and his gf during the 2010 world cup

she’s a long one <3 this was finished at 2:30 AM so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes (please do not request for part 2)

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2010

It was the last race of the season and you were nervous, especially for Sebastian. It was down to Fernando, Mark, Sebastian and Lewis, one of them was going to be them champion. It was your job to cover the race and conduct interviews before and after so this gave you a chance to speak with Sebastian and wish him luck. The media didn’t know about your relationship that had just become official a month ago.

Sebastian had asked you out before the Japanese Grand Prix. That day, you decided to make a deal with him. If he won, you would go to dinner with him. After 53 laps, Sebastian secured a win and a date with you.

While you finished up your interview with Lewis, Sebastian stood patiently to the side. He kept his eye on you, staring at how you talked with such confidence and passion. He loved how expressive you were, sometimes talking with your hands. After letting Lewis go so he could prepare for the race, it was Sebastian’s turn. He happily joined you.

“Hello Sebastian, how are you?” You asked, knowing already how he felt, but you had to do your job. The night before, you stayed in Sebastian’s room, that’s when he told you how nervous he was feeling.

“Good, excited, happy.” He replied, smiling at you.

“Well I won’t keep you here for very long—”

“Why not? I enjoy talking to you.” Sebastian interrupted. His smirk was making you weak and all you wanted was to drag him into a room and let him have his way with you, but you couldn’t at least not now.

Several questions later, Sebastian was still giving you that look making it hard for you to concentrate. It was the same look he gave you the night before when you and him were in his hotel room ripping each other’s clothes off.

“Alright, good luck Seb . . astian, sebastian sorry.” You apologized.

All Sebastian did was laugh at your mistake. Since nobody apart from Mark knew about your relationship, you couldn’t call him Seb. He nodded then mumbled an ‘I love you’ and left. You really hoped nobody could read his lips since you were still live.

You understood that Sebastian needed to concentrate before the race so you didn’t bother him. Soon, the race had started, almost instantly on lap 1, a crash happened. After the race restarted, you watched Sebastian keep his p1 position. When it came to the final lap, everyone was silent in the Red Bull garage where you were watching the race from. Sebastian crossed the finish line, but you still had to wait for the other four cars.

Lewis came in second then came Jenson. After confirming, it was clear that Sebastian had become world champion.

You and the team members of Red Bull made it to the podium ceremony. The German nation anthem played as Sebastian soaked in the moment. He had made history by becoming the youngest world champion. After the national anthem finished, he tried to look for you in the crowd. When he finally did, he winked at you. Again, he was making you feel all sorts of emotions.

After the podium celebrations and posing for photos, the three drivers had to do threat post race interviews. You were in charge of being the first to interview the new world champion.

In the media pen, Sebastian spotted you getting ready for your interview. When you were done, he walked up to you with the biggest smile on his face.

“Congratulations Sebastian. How was it up there on the podium?” You asked.

“It was a dream, but now it’s reality.” Sebastian replied. “I just wanna thank all the people that supported me and you of course, you’ve been there for me.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Was Sebastian about to reveal your relationship?

“Well congratulations again, go celebrate this historic win—” Before you could finish your sentence, Sebastian placed both of his hands on your cheeks and brought you closer to him, placing a kiss on your lips. You could taste the champagne that had been poured of him by Jenson and Lewis. From the distance, Jenson cheered, making everyone turn their attention towards you and Sebastian.

Sebastian didn’t care that you were still live. All he wanted was to celebrate with his girlfriend. “I love you.” He mumbled against your lips. When he finally pulled away, he licked his lips. “Cherry, my favorite.” He smirked.

“You’re the worst.” You laughed. “I love you too, champ. Go, I’ll see you soon.” You practically had to push him away from you so you could continue with more interviews.

“I’ll wait for you!” He yelled as he walked away.

Then Jenson made his way to you since you were going to interview him next. “Do I get one as well?” He teased.

Of course you and Sebastian celebrated, how could you not? He had made history. After the famous kiss, you were sure that you were going to get fired, but nothing ever happened. You did get a warning to not do it again, which Sebastian reminded the FIA that it was his idea not yours resulting in him getting a warning too.

Over the years, you were there when Sebastian won, when he lost, when he moved to Ferrari. You comforted him when he realized he would never win a championship with Ferrari.

During the summer break of the 2019 season, you and Sebastian decided to get married. It was an intimate wedding with only close friends and family attending. The night of your wedding, Sebastian promised you that he would take you anywhere for a while so you could spend your honeymoon. Of course being an F1 driver and a reporter, it didn’t go as planned as a global pandemic hit. You assured Sebastian that you weren’t mad, you had traveled almost everywhere with him anyway.

After the 2020 season ended, Sebastian was now with Aston Martin. He had only secured one podium finish with the team, but you were still more than happy for him.

One day after media day had finished for the 2021 French Grand Prix, you and Sebastian were in the Aston Martin motorhome having lunch. You were talking about a new piece of furniture you wanted when your phone vibrated. You checked it and saw a picture of your friend’s baby that she had sent you.

“Look, remember my friend Jane? That’s her baby girl, aw she’s so adorable.” You showed Sebastian a picture of the baby. “I need to tell her to stop sending pictures or I might get baby fever.”

“It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, right?” Sebastian asked. “We’ve been together for eleven years, married for two.“

“I did always dream of being a mother. It would be fun to play dress up with our daughter or play with you cars with our son. Can you imagine that? They would call me mom . . holy shit.”

Sebastian thought about it. He was in his mid thirties, he already won four titles, that was enough for him.

“I guess this plays into what I’m about to talk to you next. . . I didn’t renew a contract for 2023 with sky sports.” You said.

“Are you going somewhere else?” He questioned.

“No, I didn’t sign anything with anyone. I just thought that it’s time for me to step back. Give someone younger their moment.” You replied. You made the decision a while ago even before the 2021 season started.

“But you love your job.”

“I can’t stay here forever, Seb.”

All day Sebastian had thought about your words. He couldn’t stay in formula 1 forever either. The younger generation had to have a go too.

At the end of the 2021 season, Sebastian had told you the news that he would be retiring at the end of the next season like you. You were sure him retiring was the result of your conversation, but he assured you that even before that he had considered retirement.

“So when are you going to announce it?” You asked.

“Soon. I want to enjoy winter break with you first.”

You and Sebastian spent the holidays in your home in Switzerland surrounded by family and friends. You weren’t even sure how it happened since you and Sebastian spent most of your time at home, but both of you ended up testing positive for covid. You assumed you contracted the virus when you went out for groceries.

The 2022 season had started and you and your husband were stuck at home quarantining. It wasn’t bad, it was just a normal day except you had medicine and empty tissue boxes scattered around the floor.

“Do you need another blanket, liebe?” Sebastian asked you. He touched your forehead feeling it not as hot as before.

You two were in your bedroom watching the Bahrain Grand Prix. You didn’t expect this to be the start of your last season, but at least you were with Sebastian.

“I’m okay, I’m thirsty though.” You sat up as Sebastian walked to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. Once he returned, he saw how sad you looked as you watch the race.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to miss it, but I’m happy that I get to be home with you.” You smiled weakly at him.

“We can visit whenever we want, liebe, and then one day we can visit with the kids.” Sebastian replied. “Here, drink.” He handed you the glass of water.

Soon enough, you and Sebastian were good to return back to the paddock. You felt refreshed and ready to officially start the season. You did your interviews, greeted your colleagues and then made your way to the Aston Martin garage where you were going to watch the race.

By lap 24, Sebastian was out. It broke your heart to see it, it was his first race back and he didn’t get a chance to finish it. He arrived back to the garage in a Marshall’s scooter making it a funny moment despite his dnf. He looked for you first.

“Are you okay?” You asked, running your hand through his messy hair.

“Good.” Was all that he said.

After doing some post race interviews, Sebastian waited for you in the Aston Martin motorhome. When you arrived, you noticed a plate of fruit and berries on the table. “I figured you didn’t get a break all day so eat. I made sure to get plenty of pineapple and strawberries.” He moved the plate closer to you.

“Thanks, it wasn’t that stressful today. Hopefully the next race is better for us.” You said once you sat down and started to eat the fruit. “No cherries today?”

“You and your cherries. Not today, liebe.” Sebastian grabbed a strawberry from the plate.

Eventually it was time to announce to the world of motorsports and media that Sebastian and you were retiring. You announced it first with a lengthy post on instagram with pictures of when you first started to now, you even posted the famous kiss that Sebastian gave you in 2010.

You received lots of comments and messages from family, friends and colleagues. It was nice to feel loved by them. The next day, it was Sebastian’s turn to announce his retirement. It started with him making an Instagram account then posting a video.

“I hereby announce my retirement from formula one by the end of the 2022 season.”

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2022

You felt a giant wave of deja vu. Here you were back in Abu Dhabi only this time it would be the official last Grand Prix for you and Sebastian. You would still visit like Sebastian mentioned, but it wouldn’t feel the same.

You walked into the paddock with Sebastian holding your hand. You were greeted by photographers, fans that wanted to get pictures with Sebastian and several members of other teams that wanted to congratulate you and your husband on retirement.

First you went to the Aston Martin motorhome again since you were a bit tired. You sat at a table in the corner. For a couple of weeks now, you were keeping a secret from Sebastian. Your friend, Jane, was the only one who knew since she had gone through a similar experience.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sebastian asked as he noticed the tired look on you. “Want something to eat?”

“No I’m okay, I promise. It’s still too early for me to function I guess.” You dismissed it. “I’ll catch up with you later, I’m sure you have lots of people waiting for you.”

“They can wait. If you need me here then I’m staying, end of discussion.” He was about to sit down next to you, but you stopped him.

“Seb, no. I mean it, I am fine. Go.” You demanded.

Before he left, Sebastian placed a kiss on your lips. When he pulled away, he frowned. “Is that coconut? I thought you were going to wear the cherry one.”

“Change of plans.” You smiled. “Go, the team needs you.”

“Be careful, I’ll see you later.” He placed one more kiss on your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You reply as you watch Sebastian walk out. “I can just imagine how protective he’s going to be about you, baby.” You spoke to yourself as you looked down to your stomach.

You found out you were pregnant when Jane was visiting you in Switzerland. You had gone out to eat for brunch at a nice little restaurant. Immediately after arriving, the smell of eggs made you run to the nearest bathroom and vomit in the toilet. Jane had ran after you making sure you were okay.

“Fuck . . It’s the smell.” You confirmed.

“Babe, when was the last time you had your period?”

Jane’s question made you think back to your vacation with Sebastian a couple months ago. You and Sebastian couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

After taking a pregnancy test, it was confirmed that you were pregnant. You called your doctor to schedule an appointment. Sebastian wasn’t home so you didn’t have to worry about him walking in on you holding a pregnancy test. You weren’t sure how you were going to tell him, but you knew that he would be the happiest man on earth.

You were assigned to interview Sebastian immediately after the race while on the track. You were told that it would be a special moment for you two seeing as you were both leaving. Apparently Sebastian didn’t know this so that was another secret kept from him.

Sebastian stood beside you as he got ready. You held his helmet, your name printed on the side in a small font. “Remember when I won back in 2010?”

“No, remind me again?” You joked. “Of course I do. It was the night you kissed me in front of thousands of people on live tv.”

“It would be a shame if we didn’t recreate that.” He teased. “You know . . . for historical reasons.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble on my last day.”

“You’re no fun.” Seb rolled his eyes playfully. “Kiss for good luck?”

You then kissed the top of his helmet and shoved it in his hands. “Good luck.” You were about to leave, but Sebastian grabbed your hand and brought you back to him. “Fine.” You kissed him as if your life depended on it.

“I was hoping you changed your lipgloss to cherry.” Mumbled Sebastian after pulling away from you.

“You’ll live.” You gave him a chaste kiss then waited for him to put his balaclava. “I love you and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Soon, the race was starting. Sebastian had started from P9. It was an exciting and emotional race for you and Sebastian. You didn’t want it to end, but you knew that Sebastian’s time in f1 was over.

By the end of the 58 laps, Sebastian had scored his last point in formula 1. You were content with the result even if he only scored one point. You were then directed to the track with a camera man and microphone in hand. As Sebastian did donuts on the track, you took your phone out to record his last moments. When he finished, you put away your phone. You didn’t even notice you were crying until a marshal gave you a tissue.

You thanked him and cleaned up as Sebastian made his way out the car to wave at the fans. Eventually Sebastian made his way towards you without his helmet and his racing suit hanging from his waist. You couldn’t start the interview without hugging him first so that’s what you did. Like in 2010, the camera filmed you and Sebastian as you embraced. You could hear the crowd cheering.

“You did so well. You made me cry.” You mumbled as Sebastian kissed your temple.

“You look pretty when you cry.” He let go of you since you needed to start the interview. He fixed your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear.

“Sebastian, wow, first off congratulations on your incredible career.” You began.

“I don’t know what to say. I feel a bit empty to be honest, it’s been a big weekend.” He looked at the crowd who were sad to see him go. He gave a speech that made you cry even more, which you blamed on the hormones. “I can say that you were always with me in the bad times and good times. Thank you for sticking with me.”

“Always.” You said, completely forgetting you were holding the microphone so the whole audience heard you.

Sebastian then thanked the fans for the messages and support he’s been receiving. It only made you want to cry even more so thankfully your interview was coming to an end.

“Congratulations, Seb. You deserve it.” You said and with that you and your husband hugged once more. “You’re coming home.” You sighed.

“You don’t sound too happy.” He teased.

“I am, trust me. That means you can help move some stuff around and redecorate the guest room.” You let go of Sebastian, but you still held his hand.

“Why would we need to redecorate the guest room?” He questioned.

“Because that’s our baby’s room.”

“Our baby? Really? You mean it?” His lips turned into a smile that he couldn’t wipe off. “When did you find out?”

“Weeks ago. I’m letting you know right now that if you ever make eggs around me, I will vomit so let’s not do that.” You laughed as Seb brought you in for a kiss.

Again, Jenson was cheering in the background like he did in 2010.

When Sebastian pulled away, he smirked. You had changed your lipgloss after all. “Cherry, my favorite.”

[star-suh]

Product Testing

Park Jisung x Male Reader

cw: top jisung, bottom reader, cheating, yn has a girlfriend, straight to bi ig, rimjob, fingering, blowjob, handjob, face sitting, breeding, shower sex, they almost get caught, ripped clothes.

—

“i'm so happy you can finally meet my family” yn's new girlfriend give little cute happy hops. the newly made couple was walking towards the girl’s house. yn was nervous, rumors said that she has a very serious brother, someone that would make even the devil himself would run away from him. even though he knows that's just bullshit he still was scared of meeting him.

the door opened, a lovely lady and a man were there behind the door. they smiled and greeted yn and he did the same. seeing only the two of them yn felt relieved maybe he wasn't home ‘what a lucky day’ he said in his head.

he was exploring the house when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, they were heavy and loud, each one of them echoing in the empty walls of the house as if they were in some kind of movie. “so you're yn, right?” he said with not a single emotion in his face nor his voice. “y-yes i am”.

“why are you stuttering” jisung smirks, “are you that nervous of meeting me?” he trailed his index finger on yn’s arm “hmm?”. “n-no no” yn tried to brush it off and disguise the embarrassment “i’m just so happy that i can finally meet you all”. “you're very happy then. you did it again” he rubs the other's back and leaves towards the kitchen.

“what the fuck” yn whispers, there's something in jisung’s aura that makes him feel weak.

the hours passed and yn felt as if he was being teased by jisung, he always sits manspreading in front of yn, grabs his bulge whenever he is looking at him. yn can swear that he is not wearing any type of underwear under his shorts. the night came, “oh shoot it's already night, i have to go” yn was getting prepared to leave when his mother-in-law stops him, “sweetie it's too late why don't you sleep here with us?”; “but not in my daughter's room” the father adds.

“no, it's ok. i can take a taxi” he said; “i insist” the woman said, showing a smile. she was so cute that he couldn't decline the offer. “ok, i'll stay. the sofa looks comfy”; “if you want you can sleep on jisung's room” jisung's dad tells yn who turn his head to look at the other male, he was smirking at him and saying “i don't mind sharing my room”...

seeing that there wasn't a futon for yn to sleep on the floor he has to share the bed with jisung. “good night” yn blurted out, throwing the sheets on top of his body. “good night” jisung replied. yn side eyed at him seeing he was shirtless and the bulge on his pajama shorts was more visible, he indeed wasn't wearing underwear. “like what you see?” jisung laughs and jumps onto the bed “don't act as if you weren't checking me out a few seconds ago” he said that with his mouth inches away from the other's ear, “it looks like you came here for me and not my sister”.

11 pm and yn can't sleep, jisung was breathing against his neck, it sent shivers down his spine. and not to talk that his bulge was being pressed against his ass. ‘he must be having a wet dream’ he thought ‘there's no other explanation for this’. but then he hears something, “guess you're liking it, seeing how you're not doing anything about it” jisung starts kissing his neck. “w-why are you doing this ji-jisung” his words coming out like whispered whimpers. “take it like a product testing, you know?, like when you have to try something to see if it’s good for other people” his tongue leaving a wet stripe on yn’s ear, “i have to see if you're good enough for my sister. you get it?”. yn nodded, he just gave in into the pleasure jisung was offering.

he pulled down yn's shorts and ripped his underwear so he could have easy access to his hole. yn grabbed jisung's bulge and massaged it later pulling it out from a side through a sleeve of the shorts “you're indeed not wearing underwear.. perv” he stated.

jisung smeared the pre-cum coming out of his tip on his brother-in-law's hole. “you're writhing” jisung uttered, “you want my cock that much?” his warm breath caressing the back of his neck and ears. yn was a completely mess, he was in a fucked up state, he didn't know what to say or how to act just letting jisung guide him into the forbidden pleasures. “wanna suck me, pretty boy?”, yn nodded trying to hide his flushed face. he went under the sheets and went straight to the action, leaving a trail of kisses from the tip, down the shaft and finally his balls. jisung moaned quietly, remembering how they're not alone in the house, “for a beginner you're doing pretty good” he heaved. yn licked and sucked on the other's dick trying to put it all the way down his throat, savoring the salty clear liquid that comes out of it. “how is it?” yn asked still under the sheets, tears pooling on his eyes and hair sticking out on his forehead because of the sweat. jisung licked two of his fingers to introduce them in yn's tight ring of muscles, slowly they were going in and out “look at your filthy hole, so inviting” he pulls out his digits and looks how the hole clenches into air “look at it, it's winking at me” he jokes. they were so focused on pleasuring each other that they didn't hear anyone knocking at the door.

“i'm coming in” yn's girlfriend opened the door, both guys got scared but thanks to jisung quick reaction he managed to hide yn under the sheets and the latter did the same hiding jisung's dick with the short sleeve. “oh hey dear sister, what brings you here?” jisung asks with surprise laced in his tone, “nothing, i went to the kitchen for a glass of water and came here.. to see how you two were” she stated. jisung's heart was beating fast he felt like at some moment it would come out of his chest “we're good, but your boyfriend here is quite the bad bed companion” he signals towards yn and lifts just a bit of the sheet to show her he was sleeping “he moves too much in bed” he jokes and his sister just laughs "so cute. goodnight see you tomorrow”, she waves goodbye and closes the door.

“holy fuck that was close” jisung wipes the sweat on his forehead with his hand. “we're almost got caught” yn says, concerned. “no shit sherlock. i felt like i would just faint at some point of the conversation” jisung lets out the sighest sigh he ever sighed.

resuming with his “product testing” jisung made yn sit on his face and ride his tongue. the wet muscle going inside of him, “so tasty” jisung murmurs. yn masturbated and spits on his brother-in-law's dick while the latter keeps on eating him out. “let's go to the bathroom” jisung proposes “it’s safer there, we don't want someone else sneaking on the room”. “you know we can just lock the door?” yn commented with a serious face and a sarcastic tone, “shut up and let's fuck” jisung guide him towards the bathroom while kissing him.

in the shower jisung railed yn against the glass, his sweaty body shape being imprinted on it, his breaths fogging the clear surface. “fuck jisung slow down. you're gonna rip me” he whimpers, his legs trembling due to the pleasure. “i can't, you're so tight. it feels too good” he responded. jisung lifted yn's left leg with his left hand to have a better access to his puckered hole. his dick going in and out in a fast pace, his balls slapping against it. with his right hand jisung pushes yn's head against the glass and proceeded to lick his cheek and then making eye contact with their hooded eyes “you're taking me so well yn. what if i want to keep tasting this product?” he said while gripping his ass cheeks, “i wouldn't mind” the other whispered. the top laughs “that's my yn” he mutters.

“i'm gonna fucking cum, where do you want it” jisung asked with a hurry, his dick already throbbing. “in me ji-jisung fill me up. i want my brother-in-law's semen”. jisung cupped his face with his right hand so yn can face him and kiss him. as he does so, his dick was filling him up with loads and loads of semen. after that jisung knelt and sucked yn not stopping until he milked the last drop out of his dick.

after their steamy sex session jisung helped yn clean himself in the shower, introducing his fingers on his hole toh help him push out all the cum, “this is the hottest thing i've seen in my life” he says with emotion, licking his lips.

next day they woke up, had breakfast and spend the morning as if nothing happened last night. he was saying goodbye to his girlfriend, her parents and lastly her brother, the both hugged and jisung whispered something on his ear “hope i can taste that ass more like a deeper inspection”, yn laughed and wave goodbye but not before winking at him and mouthing a yes.

[r0ugesun]

I just found your blog but I was wondering if you could write something about Aemond being friends with Aegon’s wife, them forming a bond until eventually the wife gets fed up with Aegon’s mistreatment and goes to Aemond for “comfort” and eventually falls pregnant? Whether Aegon finds out can be left up to you. ☺️

Thank you so much for sending this request I hope I was able to write what you had in mind :>

(Also heavily inspired by Ivy by Taylor swift)

warning nsfw under the cut

Aegon wife! Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Prince Aemond had always been a man of few words, preferring to sharpen his mind with books and hone his battle prowess in the training yard, a stark contrast to his brother’s revelry and indulgences. Yet, he found himself drawn to you, Aegon's wife, you were beautiful as you were wise.

Initially, your bond was forged out of mutual respect and admiration. You were intellectual equals; you admired Aemond's discipline and resilience, while Aemond found solace in your gentle wisdom and kindness. You spent hours in the library, discussing histories and poetry, your conversations flowing easily despite the tension that often surrounded you in the Red Keep.

One afternoon in the library, you looked up from the book you shared and smiled at Aemond. "This is fascinating, truly. I can hardly put the book down," you said. "How did you come across this one?"

Aemond, sitting next to you, glanced up. "I spent a great deal of time here in my childhood. When my brother and nephews were in the dragon pit, I chose to study as much as I could," he replied. "It's been my refuge from everything else."

Your smile faltered slightly. "I understand… It's become mine as well."

Aemond furrowed his brows slightly. "What do you mean?"

You sighed and glanced down at the book. "It's Aegon... He spends more time in Flea Bottom than he does with me. He barely stays in my bed before he's off again..."

Aemond gently interrupted, "I understand. My brother overindulges, it's true. But he loves you, and I am grateful for your devotion as his wife."

You managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Aemond. That's very kind of you."

Aegon, meanwhile, remained oblivious to the blossoming feelings of more than just friendship between you and his brother. His nights were spent in ale houses and brothels, leaving you to endure his neglect and occasional drunken sex. It was during these lonely nights that you sought out Aemond, finding comfort in his unwavering support.

Your relationship, once innocent, slowly began to change. You found yourself confiding in Aemond about the pain and frustration you felt because of Aegon. One evening, after one of Aegon's drunken rages, you found yourself standing outside Aemond's chambers. You knocked hesitantly, and Aemond opened the door, his expression softening when he saw your tear-streaked face.

"Y/n," he said gently, stepping aside to let you in. "What’s happened?"

You took a shaky breath. "It's Aegon. He's been unbearable tonight. I couldn't stand it any longer, Aemond. I can’t do this anymore."

Aemond's jaw tightened. Idiot, he thought to himself. He led you to a chair. "Sit. I'll fetch you some wine."

As he handed you the goblet, your fingers brushed, and you felt a warmth spread through you, one you’d never felt with Aegon. "Thank you, Aemond. Your company has been… a great comfort for me."

Aemond sat beside you, his gaze intense. "And yours as well. You should not have to endure this. I'm sorry my brother hasn’t been behaving as gallantly as is expected of him……You deserve better." He said in a low voice, he held your chin gently and looked at you deeply, leaning in slightly.

You turned away, your fingers tracing the embroidery on your dress. "Aemond….he’s your brother. I am married to him…. I made vows."

Aemond sighed and dropped his hand. "I know... I know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "But I cannot pretend I do not see you suffering. I see the way you put on a brave face and I die a little inside." He scooted closer to you. "Had it been me you married, I would’ve spent every day in your bed."

Your breath hitched, but you shook your head. "This cannot happen, Aemond. It would only bring more pain and scandal that wouldn’t be fair to you."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand. "I would endure any scandal, bear any pain, if it meant I could have you the way I want."

You hesitated, the weight of duty and desire fighting within you. "Aemond, please... we cannot."

He sighed dejectedly, he released your hand, withdrawing slightly. His gaze never left yours, he looked at you with a mixture of resignation and deep yearning.

For a moment, silence hung between you, heavy and charged. Then, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, then deepened as the floodgates of your suppressed emotions burst open.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, Aemond's eye searched yours. He pulled you on his lap, straddling him, and he kissed you hungrily once again.

He lifted your dress, letting it pool around his lap then seized your hips, guiding you to grind against his clothed cock.

“Aemond” you gasped softly

“Can you feel just how much I want you?” He moaned, his hot breath against your ear.

You bit your lip, looking into his eye “I want you just as much” you whispered back, the friction between you intensifying deliciously.

You felt him reach under your dress, he freed his cock from his breaches and moved your small clothes to the side so that your pussy was exposed “let me show you what you deserve”

You gasped as you felt him grip your hips and impaled you with his cock, every thrust igniting a fire within you.

He moaned deeply into your ear at the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock tightly. You leaned in, capturing his lips with yours, moaning desperately in each others mouths, you could feel yourself losing yourself in the fire he’s lit within you.

Your bond, once purely platonic, deepened into something more intimate. Comfort turned to desire, and that night you crossed a line that neither could return from. You tried to tell yourself it wouldn’t happen again but stolen stares across the dinner table turned to clandestine meetings, and those turned into nights spent in his bed.

The affair was passionate and consuming, driven by a need to find solace in each other.

One night, as you lay entangled in each other's arms, you whispered, "Aemond, what will we do If Aegon finds out? I fear head burn the entirety of the castle..."

Aemond tightened his hold on you. "No” he furrowed his brows “I would never let that happen” he promised. "I will protect you, no matter the cost."

As the days turned into months, You met in hidden corners of the castle, stolen moments filled with declarations of love and fervent kisses, Just like all lovers do in the dark. Each tryst only deepened your bond, binding you closer together.

It wasn't long before you discovered you were with child. The knowledge of the babe growing within you brought a mixture of fear and anxiety. You knew the consequences if Aegon were to discover the truth, yet you also felt a strange sense of peace, knowing that the child was conceived out of love and not duty.

One morning, as you stood by the balcony, Aemond approached you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. "You look troubled," he observed.

You turned to him, your eyes filled with worry. "Aemond, I'm with child”

Aemonds face fell and he looked down “I’ll have to congratulate my brother” he said, lips pressed tightly.

“Aemond” you whispered desperately, he looked at you, he knew. You both knew.

Aemond swallowed thickly "I promised you that I would keep you safe…. And I will" he assured you.

As the months passed, and you welcomed the babe into the world, Aegon oblivious to the true nature of the affair, grew increasingly proud and affectionate towards his "son." He would often take the boy in his arms, cooing at his small features and the bond he believed they shared.

“My boy….You sleep so well because you know you are loved” he said just above a whisper, Aegon's newfound love for his child brought a bitter ache to your heart, knowing the truth that could shatter this fragile peace.

One evening, as Aegon was playing with his son in the nursery, he noticed something strange. The baby's eyes, a piercing shade of violet, were unmistakably Targaryen—but there was something more. Something that reminded him of someone else.

Aegon glanced at you, who was watching them. "He's got the dragon in him," Aegon said proudly. And then he narrowed his eyes. "But there's something more”

Your heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Aegon frowned, deep in thought. “The way he looks at me, it's almost like.….. like Aemond's gaze."

You tried to laugh it off. "Aemond? What are you talking about?"

Aegon kept his eyes on the babe, his expression growing more serious. "Yes. It's…. It’s his eyes, It's like Aemond watching us."

Your stomach dropped as you tried to keep your composure. "Aegon, it’s just the features that run in the family.

Aegon shook his head slowly, the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. "No, it's more than that. Everytime there is a gathering…. You and Aemond are always missing…. The two of you…. Always at the same time.”

You felt a cold sweat break out on your skin. "Aegon….."

Aegon turned to look at you, filled with a dawning realization. "This isn't just any targaryen features…..my boy is…. is Aemond's son, isn't he?" The intensity in his eyes made your heart freeze, like he could see into your soul.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you couldn't find the words to deny it. The truth hung heavy in the air, impossible to escape.

"Aemond," Aegon repeated, his voice rising in anger. "He's the father."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, the weight of the secret finally breaking you. "Yes” you gasped out.

Aegon's face twisted in fury. He stood up so abruptly that the chair he was sitting on crashed to the floor. “MY BROTHER, YOU SLEPT WITH MY BROTHER??” He screamed furiously.

You flinched, cowering in your chair "I'm sorry," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "I never meant for this to happen."

"SORRY?" Aegon roared, sweeping a vase off a nearby table. It shattered against the wall, fragments scattering across the floor. "SORRY DOESNT FIX ANYTHING!"

His rage was palpable, the air thick with the betrayal. He grabbed a goblet and hurled it across the room, where it smashed against the wall. “YOU MADE A FOOL OF ME! YOU LIED TO ME!"

The noise drew Aemond, who burst into the room, his eye wide with concern, seeing Aegon's fury was something he hadn't anticipated. "Aegon?? What’s happening?? calm down," Aemond said, his voice steady but urgent.

Aegon rounded on his brother, his eyes blazing. "YOU!” Aegon grabbed at his clothes shaking him with anger.

Aemond trying to keep his composure. "Aegon, listen—"

"DONT TELL ME TO LISTEN, I WILL NOT HEAR YOUR FILTH" Aegon screamed, grabbing another object and smashing it against the wall. "YOU BETRAYED ME! MY BROTHER!"

"Aegon" Aemond said, his voice pained, realizing the meaning behind his brothers rampage. "I never wanted this to hurt you."

Aegon laughed bitterly. "Too late for that. You've both made me a fool."

You stepped forward, reaching out to Aegon. "Please, Aegon, we can find a way through this."

Aegon slapped your hand away, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. "My son…my boy…."

Aegon held his chest as though he’s been stabbed through the heart. “Get out both of you…”

You and Aemond looked at him for a moment

“GET OUT! AND GET OUT OF MY LIFE!”

You gathered the baby in your arms, tears streaming down your face. Aemond hesitated, but then followed you, his face ashen. The echo of Aegon's rage lingered, a reminder of the fragile bonds that had been shattered and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

[cheriladycl01]

Walls are for the Weak - Oscar Piastri x Reader SMUT

Plot: After a particularly challenging race, Oscar meets you in his driver room

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, blowjob, fingering, dirty talk, semi-public sex (in drivers room) 18+ Minors DNI

You watched as Oscars race just kept getting worse and worse. He started P3, but after a failed start, a slow bit stop and a bump with Sainz he was down in P16 towards the end of the race trying to scramble his way back up into the points before the end of the race.

But he ended up in P13, not getting close enough to the points and feeling really shitty as Lando had a P2. Of course he was happy for Lando, but he couldn’t help but feel a little hard done by. Everything that happened felt like it could have been avoided but it just seemed the day was out to get him.

It may as well have been Friday the 13th.

You knew he would go straight to the team briefing after the race and you weren’t allowed there due to all the statistics and data being thrown around so you decided to start to clean up his drivers room.

Oscar was an incredibly messy boyfriend, even around you shared apartment, it wasn’t that you actually minded either because you enjoyed cleaning up with a audio books, a podcast or music playing as you did so.

You started to pick up his clothes that were on the floor and coming out of his duffle bag where he’d been rummaging through it earlier looking for a fresh team top. Then you started to remove the cans of coke and water that were around the room from when he and Lando were preparing together for media duties.

After half an hour it was fully cleaned and ready for McLaren to take apart at the end of the weekend.

You remained on the sofa, laying down on your stomach, legs swinging in the air as you watched TikTok’s on your phone. You waited for what seemed like forever for Oscar to make an appearance, it had been so long that edits from the race had already started to make their way onto your fyp. A lot of Olivia Rodrigo.

The drivers worked hard, but the editors seemed to have unlimited time and resources to get edits out only 45 minutes after the chequered flag was waved, ending the race.

“Come on, we’re leaving” Oscar says bluntly making you turn to look at him.

“Oh, hi hello” you say sarcastically looking up at him.

“Not now Y/N I’m not in the mood” he huffs out grabbing his bag before looking around the room in shock.

“Did you clean?” He asks, still void of any emotions that were letting you in on what he was feeling. It was obvious he was frustrated but there was something else.

“I always clean up the drivers room Oscar” you sigh, knowing most of the time you met him with his bag outside.

“That’s what we hire cleaners for” he says looking down at you as you start to push yourself up so you could see him without straining your neck.

“Mmmmmm the money and fame finally got to that head of yours baby?” You ask knowing he’s only now saying this because he’s moody.

“Y/N will you just shut up!” He says, face like thunder which makes you fully sit up looking over him.

“Oh I just know you aren’t talking to ME that way Oscar Jack Piastri” you say with a frown wondering why he has to be such a massive dickhead.

He comes up to you, his pointer finger and thumb grabbing your chin in between and pulling your face towards him as he crouches down in front of you.

“Now listen here. I’ve had a shit race and you know I have because you watched it and for some reason you’re doing everything possible to get on my last nerve right now. So you my beautiful girlfriend are going to help me out” he says with a gritted sort of expression and a small smiles appears between your slowly squishing cheeks from his rough grip.

“And how am I able to help?” You ask.

“You are going to be quiet and suck my dick, right here right now before we leave” he says taking a seat on the sofa next to you. You’re quick to get on your knees in front of him. This is the first time that you notice the straining in his pants.

“You think its funny you laying there face down ass up in that skirt when I come into the room already frustrated and annoyed. You’ve just made me a whole different kind of frustrated” he says as he grabs your hand pulling it closer to the bulge in his trousers.

A soft groan comes from him as you start to palm him, feeling around and starting to get him a little more worked up before you soon pull down his trousers and pants with the help of him raising his hips closer to your face to help you get them off.

His dick slaps up, already fully hard, hitting his team top that now had a small trail of pre-cum dampening it.

“Awwww baby, why didn’t you tell me sooner” you tease, giving him a quick rub up and down, a soft moan coming from the back of his throat as his head is thrown back.

“Fuck baby, get that mouth around me” he says resting his arm up behind his head that’s still leaning backwards. You raise up on your knees, licking a strip along the underside all the way up before going over the tip that had his hips thrusting up.

“Patience baby” you complain looking up at him.

“Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough Y/N! Come on” he says holding onto your hair to help guid you down. You kitten lick the tip before opening your mouth up your lips encasing around him. You bob your head up and down with the help of Oscars hand in your hair.

“That’s so good Y/N, please” he begs with a whine, his earlier moody and broody persona completely gone.

Your hands reach forward to steady you on the edge of the sofa as Oscar’s hips begin to have a mind of their own and start to thrust up trying to get as deep as possible in your mouth.

“Im close baby, so close” he says and his moans get louder. You pull of his with a popping sound, a string of your saliva mixed with his pre-cum still attaching you together.

“Why’d you stop baby, I was so close” he complains looking at you with those puppy dog eyes.

“Because your being too loud Osc and people are still here packing away” you smile getting up. You straddle him putting pressure on his dick against your lacy panties giving him some relief.

His hand comes down to your waist going under your skirt and playing with the edge of your underwear.

“Can you pull them to the side?” You whisper in his ear. And he immediately groans. He pulls them to the side making sure it wasn’t digging into you. You place a gentle hand over his mouth, before your other hand comes down to help guide him in.

You sink down immediately bottoming out and it’s a good thing you had your hand over his mouth muffling the sounds that were currently coming from the back of his throat.

You started to lightly bounce up and down until you needed the support of both your hands on the back of the sofa to help you move quicker.

“Think you can keep quieter for me baby?” You ask and he nods quicker than you’d ever seen him agree to something in his life.

His hands come down to your waist as you start bouncing quicker with more passion. You’re starting to find it hard to keep your own moans to yourself as his name starts to fall from between your lips as his hands come to your hips to help guide you up and down. He buries his head in your neck kissing along the side.

“Walls are for the weak anyway baby, let them hear just how frustrated I was and how good your making me feel” he moans loudly as his hips start to meet your bounces going at a faster pace and his hands had a bruising grip on the day or your thighs.

“Baby, shut up” you gasp cheeks flushing read at the thought of Lando hearing when he’s next door or Mark coming round to talk him down after today! You’d be mortified. But his dick pushing against your tight walls was the only thing on your mind.

You hug against him as you clench around and he stops thrusting inside of you. All tensions from both your bodies leaves and sighs come from the pair of you. You go weightless against him letting him keep kissing your neck as you both come down from your high.

“Feeling better now?” You ask and all he does it nod, before pulling you back by your hair and kissing your lips.

“You always make me feel better. I love you” he smiles genuinely.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[skeltnwrites]

A/N: I think this is the first time I've ever been so emotional about something I've written 😭 this hit a little too close to home for me

Summary: You help Eddie wash his hair when he can't. | 0.9k words

TW: depression, best friend!reader

“Nooo,” Eddie whines, voice muffled by blankets. “Stop– Seriously!” 

Your grip around his ankle only tightens from where you’ve fished it out of his cocoon. You tug, ripping his sock off in the process, until he’s halfway off the couch, clinging onto a cushion like his life depends on it. 

“You’re so annoying,” he slumps into a sitting position on the floor, eyes peaking out of the fold in his comforter. 

You crouch in front of your best friend. “Yes, but you love me.” 

He leans away when you peel the corner of the blanket away. He’s pale, which is typical, but it’s summer and he looks borderline vampirish with how visible his veins are. A palm brushes his bangs back to meet the knot secured to his crown. He bends away from your touch a second time. 

“Hair’s greasy,” he mumbles; a weak excuse, like you’d ever care about that. 

“I can wash it for you,” you offer seriously. 

His lips tilt into a sort of smile and his brows knit together, “What? Like in the sink?” 

“If you want?” 

He hums, “Prolly uncomfortable.” 

“Okay, in the shower then.”

A real smile this time. “If you want to see me naked just say that.” 

You punch his shoulder lightly. Normally you’d shove him hard without a second thought, and he’d probably push back equally, but it feels wrong to do so when you know he won’t put up a fight. “You can put swim trunks on.”

“I don’t feel like changing.”

“Okay, then in this.” You pinch the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. 

“That’s a little weird.”

“Since when do you care about weird?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, “I guess. If you want.” 

In the bathroom, you turn the shower knob, “Hot or cold?” 

“Warm.” He’s slumped on the toilet lid in his pajamas, having ditched the duvet in the hall. 

“Okay, here.” You whisk the curtain open fully. 

He shoots you a look that says, ‘Am I really doing this?’ before stepping into the tub. His eyes widen when you climb in right after him.

“You’re crazy,” he grins and it makes your heart leap. You’ve missed the way his eyes crinkle at the edges and his lashes kiss the tips of his cheeks when he smiles. 

“Not as crazy as you.” You hook a finger under his scrunchie, gently working it until his curls spill over his shoulders. 

He sighs, eyes drawing shut when you tilt his head back. His clothes are already soaked through, clinging to his slender frame like a second skin. He blocks most of the stream but stray droplets catch your arms where they connect with his head.  

“Have you eaten yet?” You ask, massaging shampoo through his hairline. “I could go for some takeout right about now.” 

He blinks at you. “I know what you’re doing.”

You crane his head to the side to scrub his nape, “I’m not doing anything. I’m hungry.”

You’re not looking, but you practically feel him roll his eyes. 

“So, pizza?” 

He knows you only suggest it because it’s his comfort food, but he’s too tired to argue about getting something you both want. Eddie nods into your hand. You thumb his cheek, studying him self-indulgently while his eyes are sealed again. 

You work conditioner through his dead ends, tenderly detangling, and sticking spirals of black hair on the shower wall as they are combed out. 

Silent tears mingle with the water dripping off his chin. The tremble in his breath gives him away and you acknowledge it with a wordless hug. He reciprocates, squeezing you under the warmth of the showerhead. His nose digs into your collarbone and you trace the knobs on his spine. 

This is not the first time you’ve seen him cry, or held him while he did, for that matter. You are well-versed in handling his depressive episodes. Knowing when to push and when not to pry. Knowing when to hold him and when to give him space. And most importantly knowing that most of the time he just needs someone there. Not to talk about it necessarily but to just be with him for a night so he can pretend not to feel like shit for a few hours. 

You wrap him in a towel and scour his room for fresh pajamas. There was a time when he’d have been embarrassed to let you see his room in such a state, but you’ve drilled it into his head that you love all of him, even the messier parts. 

You change out of damp clothes in his room while he does in the bathroom. A handful of his things are put away while you’re in there, but not enough for him to scold you for doing so. 

He meets you back in the living room where he sinks back into his spot in front of the TV. You dial his favorite pizza place before joining him on the couch to brush and braid his hair. He thanks you, though you don’t need it. 

With his legs thrown across your lap and half a greasy pie split between your bellies, the hum of a movie soothes you both to sleep. Outside, the world spins on, but for now, here with him, everything feels still.

[kentopedia]

I loooveee the way u write nanami 🥺🥺 was wondering if u could do a mini fic on nanami x reader but when they were in high school :O I feel reader would constantly flirt with him but he stays unbothered until she stops 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank uuuu

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS — nanami kento

omg thank u so so much, you're very sweet <3 i think i was taking requests when you asked this, so im so so so sorry i took forever to answer :( this isn't exactly what you said but i hope it's close to what you had in mind <3

contents: sfw, high school nanami & reader, mutual pining, silly teenage emotions, fluff, it's not even really romantic but they're best friends that won't admit they have a crush on each other, reader is shorter than him, gn!reader — 1.2k

“you can’t stay mad at me forever, kento.”

your best friend — or so you thought — stayed silent as you walked through the abandoned warehouse, searching for the curses that needed exorcising. so far, they’d evaded you, just as kento had all of your questions.

he glanced over at you, mouth drawn into its usual line. “i can if i want.”

“oh really?” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued forward, following him through the building. “are you fifteen or five? you’re supposed to be the mature one!”

kento rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify that with a verbal response, letting his blade dangle loosely at his side. an odd sound echoed through the hallways, but it wasn’t quite menacing enough to be a curse.

you groaned. “don’t you know everyone will just keep pairing us up on missions until we work this out?” if kento was going to continue to be a pain, you wouldn’t allow him the silence he wanted so desperately. he’d been ignoring you for over a week. “haibara’s lucky. he gets to go with the second years.”

nanami glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow, before looking ahead once more. “you mean he’s lucky he gets to go with gojo.”

though you weren’t sure if it was supposed to be an insult to you or not, you laughed. “maybe.”

“yeah,” kento scoffed. “i thought so.”

the tone was flatter than usual, even for someone like kento, and you raised your eyebrows, letting the words settle between you.

“you’re being so sour. you know, you never even told me what i did wrong. you’re so mad at me, kento, and i don’t even really know why.”

kento watched his feet take one step, then another, the opposite ones moving ahead. he’d grown a lot over the summer — a fact you’d somehow only realized. since when had he been that much taller than you?

“i’m not mad,” he finally settled on. a weak argument as to why he’d been ignoring you for the duration of your mission, and the week before.

you frowned, chewing the inside of your mouth. although kento had a kind heart, you knew how nasty he could be to people he didn’t like. you didn’t want to be one of those on the list. “kento… i really am sorry. if i’ve done something wrong.”

the tension drained from his shoulders. he sighed. “you haven’t.”

despite wanting to push the issue further, you let it die, deciding to listen to the silence in case of any curses. though, it had been nearly half an hour, and you hadn’t found any yet. you were beginning to think that maybe your teacher had led you astray.

“can i ask you something?” kento, after ten minutes, finally interrupted the quiet again. and though that sort of phrase was never a good sign, you would’ve taken anything to get him talking to you again.

“of course, kento.”

he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, seeming shy, almost. had it not been so dark, you would have seen the slight tint of pink on his cheeks, that you only assumed was there to begin with.

“what is it about gojo that you like so much?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“you’re… interested in him, aren’t you? like that?” kento shifted awkwardly, holding his body as if it wasn’t quite his own. “i mean, i just assumed…”

all over, you great hot, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, a wave of dread heaping onto your stomach. “you think i have a crush on gojo?”

“don’t you?”

you thought about it for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“maybe?” kento pinched his eyebrows together. “what the hell kind of answer is that? you either do or you don’t.”

“i think he’s...” you stumbled over the words, not really sure when you’d started talking to nanami kento about these sorts of things. the words tasted sour in your mouth. “well, i suppose he’s attractive, isn’t he? he’s certainly charming. he makes me laugh.”

“you’re always flirting with him," kento said skeptically.

you shrugged. "i'm just teasing. if you consider that flirting, then i guess i am."

“hm. you sound like you think you’re supposed to be interested in him, just because he’s gojo.”

that raised a small laugh out of you. “maybe you’re right. i think i might just be interested in people i know won’t ever like me back.” kento’s eyes flashed, and before he could say anything, lips parted, you continued. “but what do i know about anything, anyway? teenagers are supposed to be dumb like that, aren’t they?”

kento frowned, brown eyes softer than you’d seen in awhile. “i don’t think you’re dumb.”

“thanks.” for some reason, that made you bashful, darting your eyes away as you smiled at the ground. “have you ever had a crush on anyone, kento?”

he gave you a tiny little smile, poking you in the temple, before repeating your words from earlier. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“you’re so stupid.”

kento laughed, then, a light noise that was more familiar to you than it was to a lot of others. “you know, if it makes you feel better, i think gojo likes you. really, i do. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes when you laugh at his jokes. geto told us. he talks about you to him all the time.”

and though you’d expected the words to send a wave of glee over you, the sort of silly emotion that came with a teenage crush, you didn’t feel excited as you should've. perhaps because satoru had never been the one you wanted.

“gojo just likes to be admired. besides, everyone likes when people laugh at their jokes. that's not special.” you kicked at the floor. “anyway, geto’s probably just telling you all that so you’ll tell me and i’ll make a fool of myself in front of them. that would really make them laugh.”

kento frowned, contemplative. “i don’t think he would do that.”

he wouldn’t. it just seemed the only good way to diverge the conversation.

you threw your hands up, expelling a loud sigh. “well… whatever. honestly, it doesn't matter. i don’t think i even want a boyfriend.”

kento gawked at you for a moment, lips slightly parted, before he shook his head, another snort of a laugh leaving him. “you’re so confusing.”

“you should be relieved. wouldn’t you be miserable if i started dating gojo?” you were only teasing him, bumping his shoulder with your own, a playful grin on your face.

but kento’s voice was gentle when he returned his answer, and the relief was evident on his face. “i would.”

whether you knew it then, or not, that little confession had changed the course of your life. you brushed it off easily, gripping your cursed tool tightly as you turned the corner again.

“hey kento?”

“what? the curses are going to sneak up on us if—”

“you’re my best friend, by the way. even if i was dating gojo, you’d still be my best friend. you’ll always be my best friend.” you stopped him, serious now. “no matter what happens.”

kento smiled softly, barely there at all. he squeezed your hand in return. “i hope so.”

[shinraelectricpowercom]

So someone in the notes pointed out that it's a little? weird? for Idril to be a participant in the "asking Turgon not to execute Eöl" thing, and I agree that JRRT's rationale for it was probably just more of his "women as tempering influences and Kind, Merciful People" thing which, blah, boring.

That said! I do think there are some potential reasons for both Idril & Aredhel to be against the execution that actually reflect on or contribute to their characterization beyond "womanly and kind".

Aredhel: it's possible she still loves Eöl in some way and wants him not to die, period; it's possible she hates his guts & wants him punished, but not dead, because she doesn't think killing people is a good solution to problems (anymore); it's possible she wants him dead but doesn't want Maeglin to see his father die; it's possible she wants him dead but doesn't want Turgon to do it, because she wants to do it her damn self, or something else; it's also possible she's thinking about the politics.

Idril: as @foiazoli noted, it's possible she just wants Turgon to not kill someone, whether that's for Turgon's sake or anyone else's. She also is presumably aware of Aredhel's past disagreements with Turgon re: Aredhel leaving Gondolin, where Turgon basically went "I'm the King, you have to listen to me" and Aredhel had to set down an ultimatum to be allowed her own desires, and has decided that she's going to support Aredhel because if Turgon won't listen to his sister, maybe he'll listen to his sister and daughter. And then the politics.

[The Politics hidden under cut bc I love talking about politics & it got. long.]

THE POLITICS: In the relatively precarious situation of Beleriandic International Relations, Turgon executing Eöl is possibly VERY RISKY. Depending on your read of the text, it's possible that the only actual crime Eöl has committed at the point where Turgon says "I'm gonna kill him" and Aredhel says "do not kill him" is "attempted murder". I know Gondolin's entire thing was "planning to stay isolated forever", but to anyone who didn't think that would work out for the actual rest of time (eg, Idril), "the King of the Noldor's second son executed a visiting Sinda for injuring his sister" is potentially disastrous for the Noldor (& especially Fingolfin's followers) in terms of their credibility with other groups if it becomes widely known.

Even in the reading where Eöl did abduct & rape Aredhel, there's questions of process & authority: Eöl, who the Quenta makes very clear is a subject of Thingol, has committed a crime against Aredhel, a Princess of the Noldor; whose law do they follow? They're in Gondolin, where Turgon is King and makes/enforces the laws, but he's legally subordinate to Fingolfin; what do Fingolfin's laws say about this sort of situation? The crime was committed in Nan Elmoth, and Eöl explicitly rejects Turgon's (and Fingolfin's) legal authority over him, so should he be punished by Doriath's laws? Is Thingol in any way culpable for his subject's misbehavior? Should he be consulted about the punishment?

All of these questions are rendered moot in practice by Gondolin's isolationism of course, but that doesn't mean they wouldn't rapidly become VERY VERY RELEVANT if that isolationism ever ended and word of Eöl's summary execution got out, and Thingol was still a major player on the political field; which you would expect him to continue to be, as it's only the intervention of Literal Fate (in the form of Beren-meeting-Luthien) that leads to Thingol's death. So I personally would rather play it safe & cautious wrt Not Pissing Thingol Off if I were a politically-minded Fingolfinian in Beleriand.

I don’t even think it’s textually supported that Aredhel would have been happy with Turgon executing Eöl. If anything, the textual evidence we do have is that “Aredhel and Idril moved [Turgon] to mercy”, which is presumably to say they convinced Turgon not to decide to execute Eöl BEFORE Aredhel died, which means that at that point, even after he tried to kill their son, Aredhel still doesn’t want Eöl dead. (Or at least doesn’t want him executed.)

And then she dies, and Turgon immediately executes Eöl.