#i have to tag later cause i’m still crying over this

[gemisrec]

THE SWIRL OF EMOTIONS I WENT THROUGH READING THIS!!!!! this was truly a work of art! i can’t even describe how much this meant to me! sukuna finally wins!!!!!!!

singlemom!reader x neighbor!Sukuna. You and Sukuna have been dancing around each other for weeks, and when you tell him you've found another apartment for you and your daughter, he decides he's had enough.

cw: smut, breeding kink(heavy emphasis), Sukuna is a bad dude but you know that already. Your daughter's nickname is Bug but she's given no official birth name.

Sometimes, Sukuna remembered how much he felt like he would die if he didn't touch you back when he first met you. Now, he wanted to go back in time and punch himself in the fucking face because that him, that him did not know what it meant to suffer.

The past few weeks since the birthday party where he felt like you had finally, finally seen him had been the worst, but somehow best, weeks of Sukuna's life. On the surface, not much had changed. You still were crashing at his place, he continued to take on more and more caretaker duties with your daughter and the two of you were continuing this dance where you participated in the outline of what a relationship between the two of you could be but for some reason, you still seemed hesitant to embrace it completely.

Sukuna could be patient, he had been patient, but the fact that you two still weren't together when he was positive now it was what you both wanted, it was driving him insane.

You looked at him more than you did before and sometimes he would catch these quick glimpses of a desire that burned him, that made him want to show you just how much he had been wanting you. How he was never going to want anyone but you. But then, he would look again and you were back to feeding your daughter or cleaning a dish and just continuing with this facade where you were just crashing temporarily at his place.

Sukuna could feel the tension tighten across his back and shoulders as the three of you finished dinner. Your daughter was telling a story about something her and her "Uncle Uuji" had gotten up to when Sukuna's brother had been babysitting that afternoon, and you were smiling and giving the right "oohs" and "aahs" when you had looked over at him.

You looked so content and happy that Sukuna felt his shoulders relax in response. The waiting was killing him, but he reminded himself it was worth it, he was so close he could almost taste it. Soon, he wouldn't need to hold himself back and he could hold your hand and kiss you anytime he wanted, while his daughter monopolized the dinner conversation. You were both so clearly meant to be his and if he needed to give you some more time so you were comfortable, then he would give you more time.

Feeling at peace with his decision, Sukuna took the lead on bedtime duty that night. He read your daughter a story-"Do the voices 'kuna!" "I am doing the voices, kid"- and then tucked her in. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as she was struggled to keep her eyes open.

"Night, Bug."

"Night, 'kuna."

Sukuna finished tucking her in while you watched from the doorway. He was about to leave when the little girl grabbed his wrist.

"Love you."

Sukuna felt something catch in his throat and all the sudden he was a scared kid again holding a little Yuuji to his chest so the roaches that were all over the floor of their apartment didn't touch him. A fierce protectiveness lit up his chest and he promised to himself, for not the first time, that his little girl would never know experience any of that. It had taken him years to get Yuuji out of there, and Bug had already lived a few years without him, but she was home now and it was clear she knew that too.

"Love you too, Bug." He couldn't resist pressing one more kiss to your daughter's forehead but the kid was out like a light already. You moved aside so Sukuna could close the door, which he did very gently.

"Took her long enough tonight, huh? I think I'll still be able to recite 'Goodnight Moon' when her grandkids ask for it."

You don't smile and he knows you're aware he's joking about the time. There's a reason you're co-owning story time now, Sukuna isn't developing his voice actor repertoire for nothing.

He goes to put his hand on your shoulder but you move back a little as if you're trying to avoid his touch. Now he's concerned.

"You okay?"

You shake your head and gesture your head towards the living room. Sukuna follows, not appreciating the uncertainty he's feeling at your strange mood.

When you get to the living room, you hesitate and take a seat on the armchair. Usually, you only use it when you're reading or doing something on your laptop. Whenever you're together, you always share the couch with Sukuna and he notes the decision to distance yourself with distaste. He's sure the wariness shows on his face as he goes to sit on the side of the couch closest to you.

"Alright, what is it?"

You bite your lip and he's about to ask again, with less patience ,when you take a deep breath and begin. Your eyes trained down on your lap.

"I found an apartment for me and Bug. It's close to the daycare and it's a little smaller than we're used to, but it will work for now. A friend helped me find it and there isn't even a creepy landlord! I'm going to sign the lease Monday and we should be able to move in next weekend. So, I just wanted to thank you for everything."

Sukuna thinks he's stopped breathing and he feels a wave of anger so intense he can taste iron against the back of his teeth.

"You're leaving?"

You take another deep breath and nod while Sukuna's world continues to fall apart.

"I think it's time. You know, I appreciate everything you've done for me and bug. The past few months have been amazing and we never would have gotten through them without you."

Sukuna doesn't have it in him to let the pause you leave sit there long. "I keep telling you, you don't have to thank me. It's really fine. I like having you here."

You look down at your fingers where he sees it looks like you've been picking at them. He gets a bad feeling, worse than what he was already feeling.

"I know and that's-it's really nice, really."

"Great."

"But, I think it's starting to get confusing."

"Confusing? What's confusing?"

You go on, ignorant to, or ignoring the rage that's rising in him.

"It's just, when we were at that party a few weeks ago and everyone kept asking about us and if we were together, and about our situation, it's obvious that what we're doing isn't normal."

"Not normal, how?" Sukuna prompts and he's going to snap if you keep refusing to even look at him.

"You don't just crash with your neighbor for months on end because your apartment flooded. They don't help you with chores and spend all your time together. Neighbors don't babysit your daughter-"

"I like spending time with your daughter, that's not a favor I'm doing for either of you," Sukuna finally snaps, annoyed that the special moment he'd shared with Bug earlier was being overshadowed by you denying the relationship he'd been so careful about building with her. "I told you, I care about both of you and I don't give a fuck what other people think about our situation. I chose to let you both come and stay with me and I like the life we've built here."

You finally look up at that last part and your eyes are full of tears. Sukuna is able to hold back some of his anger at the sight of you in such clear distress.

"That's the thing, we're not building a life here, this is temporary and I think we've been forgetting that." A tear slides down your cheek. "A few days ago, Bug brought home a picture she drew in daycare. She drew the three of us as a family, Sukuna. She thinks you're going to be like her new dad and how am I going to explain to her that you're not going to be in her life when this is over? She barely understands what happened with her dad, I can't do that to her again."

Sukuna seethes. "Don't compare me to that piece of shit. He hasn't even tried to contact you or Bug since you moved in."

"Well, he's still her dad-"

"No, he fucking isn't," Sukuna is done and you're crying freely now and he doesn't understand where he went wrong with all of this. "In a few years, she won't even remember that bastard. I'll be the only father she's ever known because I'll be the one that's actually here."

You laugh a little and wipe at your face but it just exacerbates the mess. "What are you even talking about? You're her neighbor, Sukuna and when we move you won't even be that."

"Is that all I am to her? To you?"

"What else are you supposed to be?!"

Sukuna is so pissed, he doesn't know how he's going to recover from this. This is not what he wanted at all and here you were now-

Crying, you were crying.

The pieces started connecting and Sukuna realized that he wasn't being left. You weren't rejecting him or what he was to you or to your daughter. You were panicking. You were doing what you had been taught to do by everyone else in your life, to leave them before they could leave you.

You were right, after all. You were confused.

Sukuna was going to fix that.

You must have noticed the abrupt shift in Sukuna's mood because you seemed puzzled as Sukuna started to smile. You didn't have time to ask any questions before Sukuna stood up and walked over to your chair.

"Sukuna?"

"I see now, I wasn't clear with you. That must have been so frustrating, sweetheart."

You'd stopped crying in your bewilderment. "Sweetheart? Sukuna, what are you doing-"

Sukuna shushed you as he leaned you so you were face to face, his body almost shielding you from the rest of the room. You blinked a few times to adjust to the lack of light as he blocked everything else but himself from view.

"I'm going to help fix your confusion, sweetheart. You seem to think I've just been doing this all out of the kindness of my heart and I want to assure you, that's not the case," he says, leaning his forehead against yours. "See, I'm actually not that kind and if you were anyone else, I wouldn't have given you a place to stay, even with a brat."

"You don't mean that-"

"Yes, I really do. I don't help people, I don't give a fuck even whether they live or die. The only people I give a damn about are Yuuji, you and the kid and that's it. When I say I would have left anyone else to tough it out on the streets, I fucking mean it."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," you argue and Sukuna finds it adorable. "You're making it sound like-"

"Like what, princess?" Your breath hitches at that one and his grin turns predatory. "Oh you like that one, I'll keep that in mind princess." You gulp and he watches the way your throat moves and can't resist pressing a kiss to it.

"S-Sukuna-"

"No, no, go on princess, you were telling me what you thought the reason must be for me doing all these things. Go on, tell me your theory. You're a smart girl, I think you've figured it out."

"You like me," and the way you say it as almost a question is so endearing Sukuna can't hold back the trail of kisses he plants up your throat until he gets to your jaw.

"No, I don't like you princess." You seem to accept this and you're nodding, opening your mouth to probably say something stupid when Sukuna cuts you off. "Like isn't enough to describe the way I feel about you."

"Really?" You're so hesitant and sweet as Sukuna presses kisses up and down your tear stained cheeks. A new one slips down your cheek and he holds your face with both hands as he licks it up before it can fall all the way. You're almost panting now and he loves it.

"Trust me, I haven't gone to all this effort just for some lousy date or to get my dick wet." He leans back so he can see your face and cups your face so he can tilt it up to look at him.

"You're it for me, princess. This isn't temporary and I'm not going to let you go. Either of you."

"Sukuna, it's one thing to be interested in me but it's another to just-to just say you're going to parent my kid. I mean, she's a person you'd be tied to your whole life."

Sukuna hums, finding it cute how much you're still not grasping the situation. "All of your children will be mine, that includes Bug."

You laugh. "Children, plural?"

"Definitely plural." Sukuna looks your body up and down making his meaning clear and you seem determined to try to be the voice of reason as Sukuna goes back to kissing your cheeks, your temple, your forehead.

"We're not even dating, Sukuna."

"What do you call the past few months? We spend every day together, go everywhere together, we live together, we're raising your daughter together, what else do you need to know about me?"

"I'm wondering if there's in fact very important things I need to know about you." That's his smart girl and Sukuna finds the suspicion adorable, especially since it doesn't stop you from tilting your head so he can get to your neck.

"Well, you'll have the rest of our lives to get to know me," he nips at part of your collarbone that's exposed by your shirt and you hiss before gently pushing him away.

"Okay, this is nice."

That word again.

"But, just because you're interested in me and care about my daughter, that doesn't mean we should just jump into something. I still think the best thing would be for us to figure this out after Bug and I have our own place-"

"No."

You look confused, obviously thinking you misheard him.

"I'm sorry, you can't just say no, it doesn't work like that."

"But you can just decide to leave our home, with our daughter and for what? So we can do a worse version of what we've been doing? What purpose could that possibly serve?"

"Because this is too fast for me?"

"We already live together," Sukuna points out and knows this isn't the moment to mention he's the one who destroyed your apartment to make that happen.

"That doesn't mean we'll be good together."

"What exactly are you worried about? Do I not do my share of the chores?"

"No, that's fine."

"Do you not enjoy spending time with me?"

"Of course, I enjoy that," and he smiles smugly at that and pulls your arms gently so they loop around his neck.

"Do I not take of our daughter?"

You seem like you want to fight him on the 'our' but he goes back to kissing your neck and the way you tighten your grip lets him know you're getting distracted by the attention.

"She loves you," and that soothes the last bit of anger that had been present in Sukuna. Now, he was just ready to get started on the next part of your lives.

"Oh I see, so it's that I haven't been taking care of you? I'm so sorry for neglecting you. Don't worry, I can fix that right now."

Even if Sukuna kisses you a million times, he's never going to forget what it feels like to kiss you for the first time.

Your lips are soft and so warm. At first you don't react, your mouth still poised as if you're going to argue one last time, but then you're relaxing, leaning in and you give this sigh of relief and Sukuna knows you're hearing the same voice that he's hearing in his head.

This one.

Sukuna has long assumed that love and romance was nonsense shit for weak people who needed to find purpose. Sukuna wonders what it says about him that he thinks his purpose in life might have just been to find you.

You're kneeling on the chair now, Sukuna still hunched over so he can hold you. He's getting annoyed at the angle and how it's stopping him from feeling more of you and so he slides his hands down to your waist and pulls you up to him. With one hand on your hip, he uses his other to wind your right leg around him, you moving your left to follow suit. The new position has your core pressed up against where he's already half hard and you sigh into his mouth so beautifully, that he can't help but use the opportunity to explore your mouth.

It's hot and sloppy and so good that Sukuna moans and your legs tighten around his waist in response. The living room feels hot with every breath you exchange and he can hear the sounds you're making fill the space. Thinking about the child sleeping not nearly far enough away, Sukuna starts to walk you towards his room.

Even when he wants to be responsible and not have his first time with you interrupted by your daughter, he can't stop himself from pressing you up against the wall at least twice before you finally get to his room.

It's going to be your room now too, and he's so happy it disgusts him a little.

Sukuna has you pressed up against your door, one hand holding your waist and the other grabbing your ass so he can control the way you're rocking up to meet him. He angles you down a bit and you both moan at how the position lines you up to grind directly on his cock. There's too many layers separating you still, and it's that thought that pushes him to finally open the door.

He makes sure to lock the door behind you before he tosses you on his bed. On your bed. That's never going to get old.

He crawls over you and is back to kissing you into the mattress before you even have time to fully catch your breath. You're panting into his mouth and he nips at your top lip as you pull away to breath, catching it in his teeth. You don't need any prompting to spread your legs and he fits between them like he was meant to be there, letting his weight drop enough on you so you can feel him.

While he's excited to finally explore your body and see what he's been thinking about for months, he's having a hard time separating from you long enough to move any further than you are. Sukuna usually doesn't care much for kissing, but kissing you is different. He thinks he could kiss you all night even if his hard cock very much disagrees with that sentiment.

Fuck, if you kept grinding your cunt on him like you were, he may just come before he even gets inside you.

It's that thought that finally makes him get up on his knees to take his shirt off. You follow suit under him and he can't stop from kneeling down to kiss at your newly exposed skin. You're not wearing a bra and your tits are too perfect for him to ignore even for the sake of getting to your cunt.

These are the same tits that fed your child and will one day feed his and something about that gets to Sukuna in a way he hadn't ever really thought about before with other partners. It makes him softer, more gentle with his worship and you thread your fingers through his hair when he takes one of your nipples and sucks it gently in his mouth. He releases it so he can leave a few quick hickies around your chest. You're squirming so hard underneath him, he has to press you down with a thigh slotted between your legs to hold you still.

"Sukuna," you whine and he hushes you before leaving another mark under your collarbone.

"I'll get there, pretty girl. Just use my leg for now," he says continuing to leave marks wherever he can while you groan underneath him.

"I want you inside me," tempting but Sukuna is getting greedier the more desperate you are. Maybe if he fucks you hard enough, you'll stop thinking about stupid shit like needing your own apartment.

"I'll be inside you soon, I just want to taste a bit first. The way you are, I think humping my thigh will be enough to get you off," he teases and you whine, embarrassment clear in your voice. If you can still be embarrassed, more proof you're not ready for his cock in you. He presses against your cunt harder and he can feel the warmth of you on his thigh even through your leggings and his pants. He moves in a way more meant to tease than to provide you any relief and your frustration is clear when you start moving your hips to a faster, harder rhythm.

Sukuna smirks against your marked up throat when your whines start getting faster and closer together. You're still holding onto his shoulders when your grip tightens and you let out a gasp signaling your release.

Sukuna laughs meanly as you take in deep breaths, body still shaking from your orgasm. "Wow, someone was really pent up. No wonder you're having trouble thinking straight," he teases as he moves so he can take off his pants and boxers, giving his cock a quick stroke, drawing your hungry gaze down. "Don't worry, I got you. I'll give that tight cunt what it needs."

You pull him down so you can kiss him again and you're uncoordinated now, but Sukuna likes you better like this. Likes the proof that he's making you feel good. He presses down and your fingers scratch where his neck meets his scalp pulling out a moan that vibrates through his chest. He breaks off your kiss because he really does need to get inside you or he's going to come, and while the vision of you covered in his seed is a compelling one for another time, he plans on coming inside you first.

Sukuna pulls on your leggings until you get the hint and lift your legs so he can pull them off, leaving you in a pair of familiar blue panties. He laughs when he sees them and you come out of your daze a little bit, so he pulls them off too and tosses them aside so he can get to where you both want him.

Sukuna lightly touches your slit and smirks down at you when his fingers come away wet. Keeping eye contact with you he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean and holds down your wrists with his free hand when you try to cover your face.

"All this just from my fucking thigh, just from some kissing. I'm starting to worry my cock might actually kill you."

You glare up at him and he grabs your leg as you try and kick him. "If you're so worried, maybe I should just leave then?"

Sukuna laughs and you gasp when he brings his fingers back down to you, slipping in two fingers to the knuckle. Your pussy is tight but you're so wet, he slides right in and he can't wait to get you on his cock. He brushes his thumb against your clit as he stretches you out, your voice leaving you in pants and gasps that are making him feel like a god.

"You're not going anywhere princess, not tonight, not on Monday, not next weekend," he moves so he's covering your body. His lips catching yours mid-moan. "When I'm done, you're going to be too tired to keep running from me."

He pulls his fingers out and you whine at the sudden emptiness but he keeps kissing you as he moves so his cock is touching your entrance. He moves it up and down, wetting himself in your slick. He cuts off your kiss so he can see your face, wants to look at you when he fucks into you for the first time. Finally getting some oxygen to your brain and the feeling of his cock pressing into you seems to bring your thinking back online.

"Wait, Sukuna, a condom," you say and he grins, not even pretending like he's thinking about it.

"We don't need a condom."

"Yes, we do, I'm not on birth control," you say and Sukuna has to tighten his grip on himself so he doesn't come.

"And?" He asks and he slips just the head in, you let out the cutest noise and your pussy clings to him as he pulls out.

"I-I could get pregnant, Sukuna!" He hums like he's actually thinking about as he presses in again, this time moving another inch into your tight cunt. It's teasing you both and he doesn't know how much longer he's going to be up for conversation as he pulls out only to thrust in, again just barely giving you his cock.

"Good, Bug wants a sibling. She was telling me how excited she'd be to be a big sister."

"Sukuna!"

"What? You don't think we'd make a cute kid? I think they'd be as beautiful and as brilliant as their mamma," Sukuna would take your protests more seriously if your pussy wasn't literally gushing. He could swear his balls were wet with your slick and you weren't even really fucking yet.

"This is a big commitment, Sukuna. It's not a joke."

"Good thing I'm not fucking joking then," Sukuna kisses you again and nothing beats the way you gasp into his mouth when his rubs the head of his cock against your clit. "You really want me to stop? Want me to go away? If you tell me you don't want my baby, that you don't want to be my little wife and grow our family, I'll go find a fucking condom. But I'm going to need you to tell me that. Make sure you're loud, princess. I'm a little distracted, right now."

You hesitate and Sukuna thinks he might actually have to try and figure out where he stashed his condoms, since he hadn't gotten laid in damn near six months when he feels your hands move to cup his face.

"And if I want that?"

Sukuna feels his heart skip a beat despite it all, your hands on his face feel just as intimate as all the rest, another way you continued to humble him.

"Want what, princess? Going to have to be more specific for me."

"All of it, the family, the baby, everything." You seem to be drawing on your courage and Sukuna is proud of you despite himself. "I want you, Sukuna."

Sukuna crashes his mouth into yours and you follow him willingly. He uses his hand to guide his cock into your cunt and you move your hips, greedy for him, as he slowly pushes in. When Sukuna is finally in all the way, he feels a warm contentment fall over him. Imagining this, it had always been defined by a frenzy that he finds absent in the actual event.

Maybe it's because you've finally acknowledged him and what he means in your life, but he doesn't feel desperate as he fucks into you slowly, his thrusts purposeful. He feels victorious. The satisfaction curls around his body and makes your lips sweeter, your hips fit even more right in his palms and your cunt wraps around him like it was molded to fit his cock. He doubts you were made for him, you were too good for that, but he had managed to get you anyway and you're recognition of his possession over you made him smile into your mouth.

He kept his pace slow, thrusting deep enough inside you each time that you couldn't stop the way your breath hitched at the feeling.

"Sukuna!"

"Yes, princess?"

"F-faster, please!"

"So polite, how could I say no," his voice is more breathless than he means it to be but he doesn't give a fuck. Not when your pussy is so sweet, or given the way you moan for him as he begins to pick up the pace. Sukuna loves the way you sound but he thinks of the little girl sleeping down the hall and he covers your mouth with his hand.

"Don't want to wake up our daughter, do we?" Something about that makes you tighten up and your eyes roll backwards and Sukuna thinks he knows what it is.

"Gotta make sure I can put this baby in you, right? You did so wonderful with the first one, I just got to see it happen again." You're moaning so loud Sukuna isn't sure his hand is doing much good, but you're both close enough he doesn't think about trying to stop you aside from a throw away thought about gagging you with your panties.

Oh well, thoughts for next time.

And the idea that there would be next times, that you were going to his to fuck anytime he wanted, had Sukuna reaching down to play with your clit. He could barely stand to pull out of you at all and at this point you two were more grinding than fucking but it was so good, you were so good-

"Come on princess, you're almost there. Be a good girl and come for me and I'll give you a baby, I promise. Just need to feel you come on my cock."

You bite his palm as he feels your cunt spasm and he only gets in another few thrusts before he's coming too and he hopes it takes. He presses his lips against your temple as you catch your breath and he continues to kiss your face as he feels himself soften inside of you.

Later, he'll clean the two of you up and finally get you under the covers. He'll get to hold you in his arms and feel what it's like to fall asleep with you. He'll also wake you up for another round so he can make sure Bug gets that little sibling he was now very excited to meet.

********

When Sukuna wakes up to you in his arms, he's debating waking you up for round three when he hears the sounds of sniffling and little footsteps outside. He gently moves your body off his arm and gives you a pillow to cuddle when your body turns to look for him. Your little pout in your sleep makes him feel bad for the trick but there's someone else who needs him right now.

Throwing on his pajamas, Sukuna makes his way out to the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

"Good morning, bug."

"Morning, 'kuna," your daughter is holding onto a little plush fox that Yuuji had won for her at an arcade a few weeks ago and she's still sniffling looking confused. He thinks he knows why.

"Your mom's asleep in my room, kiddo. She's okay, she's just sleeping."

"Why is she in there?"

This is a loaded question and Sukuna knows he should probably ask you on how you plan on introducing your relationship to your daughter, but he feels that same unsettled feeling when he looks at her sad face now that he had felt looking at your tears the night before.

Sukuna leans down and holds out his arms and Bug goes to him, trusting despite her confusion, and he picks her up and carries her to kitchen. He puts her down on the counter so she's as close to his eye level as she can get given her size and he decides to be honest with her.

"You know how I love your mom?" Bug nods her head and Sukuna feels warm. "Well she loves me too, so we decided we're going to share a room from now on."

"Forever?"

"Yeah kid, it's going to be forever."

"Can I sleep with you too?"

Sukuna smirks and then kisses her forehead. "Sometimes, but you're going to want to stay in your new big girl room I think. It's way cooler than the boring adult room."

"Big girl room?" Her eyes widen and there's a familiar gleam of ambition.

He's got her.

"Well now that it's your own room", and her eyes just get even bigger at that. "You're going to need all your own stuff to make it yours."

"All mine?"

"All yours, Bug. At least until you have a little brother or sister, you may have to share then. Would that be okay?"

"Yes!"

Bug jumps on the counter and then into Sukuna's arms and he holds her close to him as she burrows her face into his neck. He breathes in the smell of her hair and he's so relieved now that he knows she's going to stay here forever, that you both are.

"Does that mean we're going to stay with you?"

"Uh huh, you're stuck with me. I'm never leaving."

Bug pulls back and holds out her pinky finger. "Promise?"

"Yeah, kid, I promise."

Many, many years from now, at your thirtieth wedding anniversary, Bug will stand up and tell the story about the day Sukuna became her dad. Her mom, her siblings, her Uncle Yuuji and many attendees will cry, but Sukuna will maintain his dry eyes and his dignity.

Or that's what anyone should say when asked.

He'll still kill a motherfucker.

That's it, it's the end! I may return to this universe in little drabbles but the main story is done! As a fatherless daughter, ending it with Bug was very necessary to me. I also think a big part of this story is Sukuna finding fulfillment in the family he was denied growing up(projecting is the name of the game here).

Much love.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

one of the worst feelings ever is wanting to write but your hands hurt too much or the words just don’t want to work so you just sit there staring at a half finished doc with tears in your eyes bc you want to write and you need to write but everything is telling you that you can’t

[nereidprinc3ss]

Happy 2k babe! I have a request for fluffy Spencer smut based on the song "touch tank" by Quinnie! (the song gives me like golden retriever vibes so maybe you could put something about reader playing with his hair in there? I don't know I'm having later seasons fluffy hair Spencer brainrot and I never make requests, obviously feel free to ignore or change things if this is too specific! <3)

hi angel babe!!! i love this song!! and i too am always having later seasons fluffy haired spencer brainrot!! i wrote this super quick, please let me know if its any good, ILY!!! xo

warnings/tags: fem!reader, softdom!spence, sub reader, fingering, oral f receiving, sorta kinda overstimulation, implicit consent, praise n stuff, not proofread, written at 9 pm on a tuesday night, so fluffy

18+ (smut)

-------------------------------

Spencer is clearly almost asleep on the couch next to you. That’s one of many things you find endlessly fascinating and charming about him—his ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time within minutes. 

So you probably shouldn’t speak. But the stakes are low; it’s barely 7:30 in the evening. 

“Spence?” You whisper. His eyes don’t open, but his thumb goes back to making little passes where it’s settled over your hip. 

“Hm?”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

He smiles, slight but beautiful—yet his eyes remain stubbornly closed. 

“Why not?” 

“’Cause I want you to be awake.” 

“Then you can’t keep playing with my hair like that.”

You pout as if he can see you.

“But I like playing with your hair.”

Spencer hums, and you can tell you’re losing him again as you continue carding your hand through stupidly soft locks. 

“One or the other. You can’t have both.”

“I love you both, though,” you complain. “I don’t know who to pick.”

The grin has been steadily fading from his relaxed face but it flickers back to life for a moment. 

“I’m getting a haircut tomorrow. That should make it easier for you.”

“What?”

It’s the genuine horror in your voice that finally gets him to open his eyes. A little line appears between his brows as he regards you with bleary eyes. 

“What what?”

“You didn’t consult me!”

The momentarily tensed muscles in his face relax and he rolls his eyes affectionately before craning his neck to kiss your forehead. 

“I’m not in the habit of requesting your approval before I make choices like that.”

“Spencer, please don’t cut your hair,” you beg, genuinely distraught. “You can’t. It’s so so pretty.”

“It’s too long, baby. I don’t want to grow it out again.”

“You don’t have to grow it out! Just don’t get it any shorter! It’s perfect how it is,” you insist. Spencer narrows his eyes as you plead with him. But you stand firm in your position. His hair is sort of shaggy, sure—too long to be considered cropped and too short to be considered long. It’s like a beautiful curly halo and it’s perfect playing-with length. “I’m serious. I’m asking you to not cut it short, please. This is what I want for my birthday.”

“Your birthday’s not even—”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top? I love your hair so much and I love you more but I just really don’t want you to cut it, please—”

He’s laughing when he silences you with a soft kiss, and you melt, sighing against him as his hand slides up and down the back of your thigh. When he knows you’ve been sufficiently soothed, he pulls away, still smiling. 

“Oh my god, baby—are you about to cry?”

“Stop!” you whine, burying your face into a throw pillow and screwing your eyes shut. Your nose crinkles up with embarrassment. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and though he’s no longer outright laughing, traces of humor still color his lowered voice as he kisses all over the side of your face.  “I had no idea you felt that way. I didn’t realize I’d be causing you so much emotional distress if I cut my hair.”

You sniffle away any unfortunate emotional reactions and turn your head back to him. He’s ducked down slightly, still peppering kisses over your jaw and neck, and you lace your fingers through the contentious hair. 

“Obviously I’m not the boss of you. If it makes you uncomfortable I want you to cut it. But I really like it how it is.”

He hums against your throat and the vibrations send a chill down your spine. You arch against him unconsciously. 

“You are definitely the boss of me. I don’t know anyone else who I like receiving orders from so much.”

“Hotch,” you whisper, and you can feel Spencer’s teeth against your neck as he smiles and presses another loving kiss to the sensitive spot above your collarbone. 

“Not the kind of orders I was talking about. And I don’t particularly care what Hotch thinks of my hair, honey.” He kisses tenderly until he earns a tiny whimper from you—which sates him enough to raise his head until you’re eye-level again. His hand, however, has other plans—it creeps south, slipping under the waistband of your pajama pants. “What if we compromise? I just get it trimmed so it doesn’t keep getting in my eyes when I have a loaded gun in my hands, yeah?” You nod dutifully, looping your arms around his neck as his fingers dip beneath your underwear. When you don’t reply verbally, he prompts meaningfully, “okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, voice small as you look into his searching eyes. 

For a few moments, when he finally pushes his fingers against your clit and begins rubbing with slow, gentle strokes, his eyes are everywhere on your face—then they focus back on your eyes, watching with that habitually intense interest permeated with a sense of devotion—like he wants to see exactly what pleasure looks like reflected in your irises. Like he could see through them to your brain and watch your dopamine transmitters working overtime. A soft moan escapes through parted lips, which seems to spur Spencer on. He drags more arousal over your aching bud and openly chuckles at your airy sigh of pleasure, unable to resist from giving you a short kiss. 

“Feels good?”

“Mhm,” you breathe. 

“Mhm,” he agrees, kissing you again just as quickly before pulling back to study your face once more. “Pretty girl.”

“You’re pretty,” you insist, with what little brain power is available to you as you rake one hand through his hair. He smiles, eyes pinging between your own and your mouth like he can’t decide where to look.  

“I’m pretty?” he asks, speaking over another quiet, yet unabashed moan. You nod, hips bucking slightly off the couch cushion as he speed up the motion of his hand. The grin widens and his soft amber eyes soften further. “You’re so sweet.”

You give him a moan he can’t ignore and he takes it as a signal to slip two fingers into you, sighing in what sounds like relief just as your breath catches. The way he seems to feel your pleasure will never get less erotic. Once he’d explained it—something to do with mirror neurons—but whatever the reason, watching the way his arousal rises with yours is exhilarating. 

A squeaking sound is expelled from your lungs and your whole body tenses, propelling you maybe an inch upward involuntarily. 

His lips part the same as yours—but only allowing another dry laugh to pass between them. 

“Relax. I’ll come to you.”

You hum as he leans down and kisses you back into the pillow—a proper kiss, this time, lips parted and the tip of his tongue grazing yours—all the while, still pumping his fingers much deeper than your own could ever manage. Each moan and gasp he allows you to release freely, only barely parting from your lips every few seconds to let you breathe and make your noises. When his fingers begin pumping faster, and you can hear it, you whine, knees clamping shut as the small of your back jumps away from the couch. 

“Fuck,” you pant against his lips. 

“Need you to keep your legs open, baby,” Spencer reminds you gently, giving you a peck and a moment to relax as his hand stills. 

“I don’t think I can,” you admit shyly, still wriggling. “Um, can you—can you use your mouth, please?”

Your boyfriend chuckles again and your cheeks get warmer. Momentarily you allow yourself to be grateful that his face is pressed too close to your own for him to be really be looking at you. 

“You still have to keep your legs apart for that.”

“I know. It’s easier when—when you’re not inside.”

The smile in Spencer’s voice when he replies gives you butterflies as if he’s not knuckle deep in you already. 

“I bet you think that’s true.”

“It is!” you whine. 

“You’ve never had your thighs wrapped around your head so tightly your ears pop, have you?”

“That did not happen.”

“Only once,” Spencer reassures you. “And I happen to like your thighs. So no harm done. Go lie down on the bed.”

You let out a small chirp as he withdraws his fingers from you and your waistband snaps back into place against your skin. 

“Where are you going?” you ask suspiciously, once you’re on semi-steady feet and watching him rise from the couch too. At once he kisses your forehead and grabs your ass—the contrast is dizzying. 

“To wash my hands,” he says, popping the fingers that were just in you into his mouth like a preliminary clean up. “Go,” he urges, jutting his chin in the direction of the bedroom door. You hang from him just a second longer, biting back a smile, before tearing yourself away and only half-skipping to the bedroom. 

Only a moment or two after you flop joyfully down on the mattress, he appears in the doorway again, immediately noticing the way you’re practically vibrating with excitement and unable to hide your grin as he approaches. It seems the smile is contagious—he’s sporting one of his own as he climbs over you. 

“You’re adorable,” he murmurs toothily, kissing you once and then speaking again, “I love you so much.”

It’s exactly the kind of thing that makes you feel all soft and shy and giddy and speechless—even as he gives you one more parting kiss and then is sitting up to slide your pants off. 

Maybe even especially then. 

The sweetness dissipates only a little, still hanging thick in the air as you kick your bottoms off, and he leans back down, pushing your shirt over your chest and pressing kisses to your ribs and down your tummy. He doesn’t waste much time, only taking one brief detour to suck a mark and sink his teeth into your inner thigh until your breath catches loud enough to appease him. Then it’s all easy—his cool fingertips trailing up and down the backs of your thighs as he kisses all over and around your core. Intimacy with Spencer is definitely a spectrum, and while you can always feel the depth of his love for you in every touch, right now it’s so tangible, so potent you can feel it in your teeth. 

You coo when one of the kisses finally sticks, lacing your fingers through the hair you love so much and pushing it out of the way as he laps gently at you. He looks as beautiful as always in the golden hour light as it filters through the window, but you’ve always thought he’s just that extra bit prettier when he’s eating you out. 

Visually you’re entranced—it’s only when he begins easing you into the deep end with the flicking of his tongue that your brow knits and you gasp. 

“Spencer,” you whisper, and it melds into a louder gasp. “Baby.”

He hums into you, reaching around your thigh to grab one of your wrists. You allow him to drag your hand from his hair and intertwine your fingers, his hand on top of yours, pressing them against your stomach where he sweeps his thumb back and forth over your knuckles.

The display of tenderness only makes you ache deeper in your belly, singing in airy, open-mouthed praise for him with a moan you know he would describe as pretty. Spencer says things like that often. He always talks about you like you’re an art form. When it comes to talking about touching you, he’s especially poetic. 

When he begins to suckle, your moans get a little more explicit. 

But he likes those ones just fine, too.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, though it’s a little choked, as you writhe just slightly against him. “That’s so good—oh my god.”

The hand that’s not holding yours rapidly changes position—pressing your thigh to the side with his elbow while he slips his fingers inside you once more. 

At that, you really do choke, your body attempting to sit bolt upright but set off balance by the way your hips buck. You moan, loud, lilting, head still lifted to watch as he begins fucking you with his fingers. Your fingers brush through his hair several times before you’re anchoring your hand in it and falling back. 

“Wh—please, baby, I can’t—”

But you can, and you both know it. You always do this; your body sends you signs that you’re over-indulging and fights to escape the stimuli and Spencer has learned to recognize your false flags for what they are. His hand speeds up along with his tongue and you cry out again, fighting to keep your legs open and your hips on the bed as every nerve in your body seems to light up neon. 

“Oh—Spencer I’m gonna come,” you warn, all high pitched and synthesized into one word. He simply hums a long mhm in acknowledgment, and decides at that moment to brush his fingers over that spot inside of you which proves to be exactly the right button to trigger your detonation. 

You can’t help the way you twist then as your orgasm washes you out—jaw dropped as your final keen starts loud, sputters into silence, and melts into an exhausted whine as your hips wind down. Spencer (wisely) adjusts his position, letting go of your hand only so he can sit up as your thighs clamp shut hard. But he’s still pumping his fingers as you writhe, his own mouth hanging open and groaning as you mewl. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, ready to beg him to stop—but as usual, he knows your body better than you do. An orgasm that you had thought was on its way out gets a second life and you can’t even breathe as you feel it so deep within you, pinpointed to one spot of focus, that you have to curl in on yourself, keeling onto your side because it’s simply too intense. 

Either your vision goes black or your eyes are simply closed—regardless, time ceases for an unquantifiable moment, and you come to with Spencer rubbing your back and murmuring your name. 

“What did I do to you?” he laughs, not unkindly.  

Your back arches as mild aftershocks trickle through your system. 

“I don’t know,” you slur. “Dark magic.”

He allows himself to be pulled on top of you once more, and you tangle your hands in his hair again. 

“But you’re okay?” he murmurs, using his dry hand to play with your hair and brush over your cheek. 

“Mhm,” you nod, eyes fluttering shut once more. Then you laugh, sudden and unexpected to both of you. “I think. That was intense. I felt that one in my soul.”

You smile as he exhales a laugh against your skin. 

“Okay,” Spencer sighs after you catch your breath, bumping his nose against yours before sitting up—this time, not allowing you to pull him back down. “I need to take a shower. You should come with me.”

“Five more minutes,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows. 

“But this is your last chance to wash my hair before it’s a whole inch shorter tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you laugh, but it turns deadly serious very quickly. “Spencer, I am not letting you cut a whole inch off your hair. I need that inch.”

“For what?” He snorts. 

You smile big, glad he didn’t see your joke coming for once. 

“Handles! Duh!”

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Commune

Cult Leader!Aemond x Niece!Reader

Summary: A modern AU where Aemond, power-hungry and high on hubris, is the leader of a commune with a peculiar affection for the Seven.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), AFAB reader, depictions of depression, manipulation, coercion, dubcon/noncon, targcest (no description of appearance), fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), facefucking, humiliation, (noncon) spanking, semi-public sex, P in V, breeding kink

Word Count: 19k

A/N: I've wanted to edit this for a while and finally got around to it! It took all week 🫠 I definitely feel like the fic got a face-lift! Enjoy ✨

Leaving

Your heart is beating fast and hard when you wake up.

The shrill sound of your alarm clock does little to ease your tense state, abruptly ruining the quiet calm that had previously occupied your bedroom. Without fully opening your eyes, you reach for its usual spot on the nightstand and press snooze, hoping for a little more serenity before you have to get up and face yet another insufferable day at work.

How could such a dull job cause you so much stress?

Why did it make you wake up each night with a heavy swirl of dread and anxiety tightening in your chest, rendering you unable to fall back asleep?

You’ve never been this tired before, yet you’ve never found sleep harder to obtain.

With a sigh you push yourself out of the warm comfort of your bed. It is so soft and smells like home; laundry detergent and the scented candle you keep on the nightstand.

The forced separation almost makes you cry as your body shivers in your chill bedroom.

Each day as heavy to bear as the next.

You grab the robe you have hanging on the back of the bedroom door and head for the kitchen with slow, heavy steps; dragging your feet behind you.

When had life turned so monotone?

When was the last time you truly enjoyed yourself without thinking about work?

Why did you find yourself in an existential crisis before you’d even had your morning coffee?

You load the small coffee maker, pull out a carton of yoghurt and dump some into a bowl before reaching for the packet of granola standing on top of your fridge.

You grab a mug, pour some coffee into it, and shake up your oat milk before adding a splash.

Same fucking breakfast each day.

Moving to the living room, you curl into yourself on your sofa, turning on the same morning show you always watch as you sip your coffee and feel a tiny bit of relief at the comfort that the warm liquid offers as it slides down your throat.

The unnaturally cheery hosts on TV are in the middle of some segment about reusing egg cartons when your phone vibrates. You already know who it is, tapping on the screen to see “mum” and her usual morning text, asking you how you're feeling and what you have planned for the day.

It's harder to pretend like everything's fine when it's her asking. She can always tell that you're faking it; that whatever you say is just an empty, repetitive attempt at assuring her that you are fine.

You don't really mean any of it.

And she knows.

You shoot her a quick reply, trying to ease her worries but not really having the energy to fully commit,

“I’m good, going to work and meeting up with Sara after”

A small lie, though you are planning on sending a text to see if Sara's available later. Regrettably, your weekly dinners had been reduced to monthly ones, but still.

Do it for mum.

“Have you finished checking the reports I asked you to look over?”

Gwayne does not even spare you a glance as he comes up to your desk in the office, eyes glued to his phone and thumbs violently tapping the screen. He wasn’t the worst boss to have, but he certainly wasn’t nice or understanding either, promptly ignoring any signs of distress you were showing. You know you have been looking worse and worse as the stress of the job has settled in; skin going duller and bags under your eyes becoming more prominent. Yet, he stubbornly says nothing, relying on you to finish work swiftly without ever talking back or asking for some guidance.

“Yes, I just have to glance them over one last time before I forward them to you”, you answer, noticing how tedious your voice has become.

He hums, eyes still on his phone,

“And then I’ll need you to double-check that you’ve replied to any urgent emails before going home today. Would really fuck up my schedule next week if I’d have to keep track of your inbox as well”

“Yes, sure”, you reply before even taking in what Gwayne had told you,

“Wait, what do you mean? Next week?”, you question, seeing him briefly scrunch his eyebrows together before finally looking up from his phone, locking eyes with you,

“Yes, you have next week off, remember? Last chance to use up those paid days off you’ve accumulated, and the union has made it quite clear that we cannot give you a bonus instead”, he rolls his eyes at the last part.

“Week off? But I have meetings lined up next week, deadlines closing in”

Despite knowing that you probably need the break, you feel the familiar tightening in your chest as you consider all tasks you were planning on doing next week.

Gwayne, seeming to be done with the conversation, turns and walks away from your desk, eyes again locked on his phone as he replies, “Then you’ll just have to get it sorted today”

“Well that’s lovely, sweetheart!”

Rhaenyra’s voice sounds relieved when you tell her the news of your unplanned week off. You had been forced to stay at the office for two additional hours just to make sure that you finished up any urgent business, resulting in you cancelling the dinner plans you'd made with Sara and consequently spending another evening by yourself at home.

“Why don’t you get away for a bit? You might enjoy a change of scenery?”, she asks.

You were too exhausted to even think about planning and booking a trip, replying “Yeah, sure” dispassionately as you stir the pot of pasta cooking on the stove.

All you want to do is lay in bed, listen to music and try as best as you can to turn your brain off; to not think about anything.

Contently brainless.

You don't want to think about how you’d gotten your dream job, just to realise that you despise it.

You don't want to think about how every day felt like a repetition of the one before, nothing exciting ever happening.

You don't want to think about the strong suspicion you have that every fucking choice you’ve ever made has lead you to a life that you detest.

“Why don’t you go visit Helaena? I know she’s misses you”, your mothers voice pulls you away from the negative thoughts spiralling in your head,

“I think the place is about two hours by train from Oldtown, out in the country. Maybe some fresh air would do you good?”

You knew Helaena had moved out to the country about a year ago, exhausted and overstimulated from the suffocating drain of the fast-paced city that King’s Landing is. She’d sent you a letter, not a text or a call, some time ago to let you know that she was okay and she’d love it if you came by to visit her.

“Mm, I do miss her…”, you mumble into your phone, thinking of the last time you’d seen her. It was Aegon’s birthday almost one and a half years ago. She’d seemed lost and sad. Like she often did.

Like you often did, nowadays.

“Yeah, maybe that’d do me some good”, you finally agree, hearing Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief at your words. You know she's worried you’d stay home all week, doing nothing but dwelling in sadness.

“That’s lovely, dear! I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to see you. You know Aemond lives there too, right?"

You’d heard that Aemond had left King’s Landing shortly after finishing his PhD as well. You’d been with your mum when Alicent called her, filled to the brim with worry over her overachieving son turning down a position at Oldtown University in order to move out to the middle of nowhere, claiming that he’d be "conducting private research".

You had actually been excited for him to move to Oldtown. Having some family close by would’ve been a nice escape from the loneliness of the city.

Besides, you and Aemond had drifted apart as you both grew older, despite being thick as thieves in your childhood.

Maybe it’d be nice to see him too.

You lean your head against the train window, watching the city landscape make way for the lush greenery of the Reach in late summer.

Being trapped in the city you’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was here; a stark difference from Dragonstone, where you’d spent most of your upbringing.

It's not that you don't miss the sea. As a child, you'd loved the way the harsh, salty winds whipped at your face, leaving you wet and impossibly refreshed as you stared out towards the horizon, thinking of everything awaiting you there.

The potential of what your life could've become felt a lot more comforting than the reality of it.

You hadn't been able to call Helaena to inform her that you’d like to visit. Apparently, she didn’t have a mobile phone anymore, but after sending a text to Alicent you’d gotten a hold of her new number; a landline.

You didn’t know how she managed without a smartphone, but figured that the stress of constant notifications might have made her decide to ditch it.

Grabbing your bag from between your legs, your hand rummages through it in blind search for your pocket mirror.

You pull it out, open it and check your reflection.

Still the same tired face, with dark bags permanently residing under your eyes. You hadn’t slept well last night either, despite having some much needed rest from work.

Why was your body seemingly incapable of relaxing?

You feel around for some concealer, dotting a bit on your finger and patting it under your eye; a useless attempt at hiding the fatigue prevalent on your face.

Defeated, you lean back in your seat.

The train ride's nice. You spend the entire 2 hours and 12 minutes listening to music, watching the scenery flash by.

Thoroughly zoned out, you nearly miss the conductor announcing your station.

You hastily grab your bag and rush out of the door. The station, if you could even call it that, is small; just two tracks going opposite directions.

It's closer to a bus stop, a place where people get off and quickly make way to their final destination.

You spot Helaena immediately. She's standing on the platform in a lilac summer dress, her silver hair shining in the sunlight.

Although you can only really make out her silhouette, she seems different. As you come closer, the wide smile that she sports comes into view.

Gosh, she looks radiant!

So different from her gloomy, distant self back in King’s Landing.

“I’m so happy you’re here!”, she squeals, wrapping you in her arms.

She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, burying your nose in her hair. It feels good to hug someone you care for.

When was the last time you did that?

“Thank you for having me”, you respond as Helaena pulls away, still holding you in her arms, eyes flickering over your face.

Her smile falters for a second before it returns and she starts talking excitedly about her new home, telling you that it’s only a 20 minute walk from the station and you could catch up on the way.

You follow her down the steps from the platform, answering a few questions about work and your life in Oldtown.

She leads you away from the small station, down a path where a few houses lay scattered sporadically.

You can hardly call this a town; far too minuscule. Still, you notice what seems to be a little supermarket, a pharmacy, a gas station and what looks like an elementary school, facing the tiny town square.

“I’ve been hoping you’d come visit ever since I sent you that letter”, Helaena gushes, taking your hand in hers as she led you down a small path going off the main road,

“I just know you’ll love our commune. Aemond thinks so too!”, she continues while squeezing your hand in hers.

“Commune?”, you ask and turn to face her.

She met your eyes and nods, face breaking out into a wide grin once again,

“Yes, Aemond’s research project! You know he specialised in philosophy when he did his PhD in Political Science, right? Well, he got really into the idea of having people live in smaller communities instead of the impersonal and detached lifestyles people pursue in modern cities”, she explains, eyes once again inspecting your face, only to land on the bags under your eyes.

You hum in response, seeing if she’ll continue.

“So, he used some of the money he had stored away in funds and created our commune; a small community where everyone knows each other and we get away from the stresses of city life. We grow our own crops, spend time outside and work together to keep the place running”, she explains, eyes gleaming with adoration,

“He said he did it for me, since he saw how bad my depression had gotten back in King’s Landing”, she adds, and you squeeze her hand affectionately. Aemond had always cared for Helaena, no one else seemed to truly understand her like he did.

“So, you feeling better now? Out here?”, you inquire, gesturing towards the green field you walk through, hand in hand.

You're not really paying attention to where you're going as Helaena guides you. Looking up, you find yourself surrounded by nature; not a building in sight.

The sun shines brightly, illuminating the beech trees towering over you, creating a roof of light green luminance.

“Yes, much better”, she replies with a smile. She seems so at peace here, encapsulating a kind of beauty that comes from within and hypnotises anyone laying eyes on her.

“And this, ehm, commune. How many people live there now?”, you ask, not knowing you’d be spending your time with a bunch of strangers.

Truth be told, you really didn’t feel up for it.

You barely have energy to hang out with Helaena and Aemond. Entertaining and getting to know new people would be especially draining.

“We’re already about 50 people. Most of them met Aemond when he was still in school”, she replies.

As if she could sense your uneasiness, her eyes search yours as she adds, “You’ll love them, I swear! Everyone’s super nice”

Together, you continue your path, walking up a small hill. As you look down, the commune comes into view.

You see small, cottage-looking houses, with large flowerbeds between them, filled with everything from herbs to vegetables.

There's a large building the middle of the field with walls much taller than the cottages. The building's made out of wood; a dark tone that contrasts against the light trees and green fields you’d passed on the way over.

Above the large entrance of the building is a large carving, resembling the seven-pointed star of the Faith.

Helaena, still excitedly chatting next to you about how lovely life is out in the country, pulls you towards the large building in quick steps,

“Aemond's dying to meet you! It’s been so long. I bet he’s in the Sept”, she explains, leading you through the tall, open door.

Your parents aren't particularly religious, which means you hadn’t spent much time in Septs and the like. Alicent’s family, however, were rather devoted; an integral part of the many faith's many fractions in Oldtown.

When you were younger, both Helaena and Aemond had spent a lot of time studying The Seven-Pointed Star. Still, the fact that they'd chosen to construct a Sept in such a small community shocks you.

Maybe they're more dedicated than you’d thought?

Entering the Sept, you recognise the back of a tall man with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, silvery hair, tied in a low bun.

Helaena calls his name and he turns around, finding your gaze in an instant. His lone, purple eye crinkles slightly as he smiles at you, calling out your name in greeting.

Just like Helaena, he looks radiant; pale skin glowing, dress shirt and dark slacks perfectly ironed, and not a hair out of place.

As a child he was always so moody; volatile and sensitive.

Now, he seems so calm.

Too calm.

Like he was faking it.

“Welcome to our home. I hope the trip here wasn’t too draining?”, he asks, inspecting your fatigued face.

Seven hells, did everyone think you looked like the walking dead?

“It was a lovely ride out here. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the country is” you answer, trying your best to sound cheerier than you look.

He hums at your answer, placing a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. You can't make out if it's supposed to be an attempt at a greeting, or a way to comfort you.

His eye bores into yours,

“We’re so happy to finally have you here. Helaena will help you get sorted in one of our rooms and then I’ll introduce you to everyone”

His hand swiftly leaves your shoulder before he turns around, striding out of the large wooden doors of the Sept.

Reconnecting

After a few hasty greetings, you retreat to the room Helaena and Aemond have assigned to you.

You're exhausted from being bombarded with impressions, and collapse on your bed, finding uninterrupted sleep for the first time in months.

Hours later, you wake up to the sun illuminating your room, a low knocking sound by your door.

As your groggy mind slowly realises where you are, you hear Helaena call you from the outside, informing you that breakfast will be served in a few minutes.

You get up and move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, splashing some water on your face, checking your sleepy reflection.

You instantly notice that the heavy bags that had seemed to be a permanent feature under your eyes have faded slightly, and you look better and brighter than you had in a long time.

Mood elevated, you move to throw on a flowy, knee-length skirt and a linen blouse, reasoning that something loose-fitting would match the sunny, late-summer climate.

Stepping outside, the air is crisp.

The sun provides warmth as it makes contact with your skin, a welcomed relief to the slight chill still lingering.

You notice that the residents of the small community have gathered by a long, wooden table placed in the middle of a field not far away from where you stand. You quickly make your way there, spotting Helaena. Her eyes light up as she sees you approach, greeting you with a wide smile,

“We always have breakfast together”, she explains as people move around you swiftly, placing plates of bread, yoghurt, pastries, fresh fruit and vegetables on the massive table.

You spot Aemond, hands behind his back and posture straigh as he observes the people scurrying around him. He glances at you, giving you a small smile and a nod before he returns to his previously stoic state, observing the residents while they prepare for breakfast.

Helaena reappears next to you, arms wrapped around 5 glass vases filled with wildflowers. You help her place them on the table, admiring how utterly beautiful the set up looks.

The commune, as you'd heard one resident call it, has a simplistic aesthetic. Most rooms are only occupied by whatever furniture’s necessary to maximise functionality; tables, chairs and beds made out of wood, decorated with nature-toned linens.

Yet, there is a beauty to it you’d hardly seen before; an appreciation for a simple charm that's often lost in the hectic mess of cities like Oldtown or King’s Landing.

You take a seat next to Helaena, eager to devour the delicious-looking food in front of you.

Though most residents are seated by now, no one moves to touch the various plates filled to the brim with mouth-watering food.

You look over at the end of the long table and notice Aemond standing, hands still clasped behind his back. He softly clears his throat, and the cheery chatter dissolves in an instance, all eyes shifting to watch the tall, silver-haired man standing before them,

“Good morning. I hope you all slept well and feel ready for a day of prosperity”, Aemond starts, eye moving across the table to acknowledge everyone present.

Most of the residents are older than both you and Aemond. You even heard that a handful of them used to be his professors back in King’s Landing.

You're still not sure how he’d managed to get them all to move out here, but as he speaks, you notice how intensely everyone observes him, taking in every word that leaves his lips,

“Let us pray”, he orders, and each one of your tablemates bring their hands up to clasp over their empty plates before closing their eyes.

Aemond sends you a look you can’t really decipher. You assume he wants you to partake in the prayer, so you lower your head and clasp your hands together as well.

Aemond pays tribute to all seven faces of the new God before thanking all residents for attending, voice calm and steady.

As the prayers end, everyone shifts their focus to the food. You feel unsure of what to try; everything looks so good.

Helaena makes the decision for you, grabbing your plate, loading it with bread and various spreads and toppings for you to try.

“You’ll love this”, she urges as she places the plate in front of you, lilac eyes eagerly awaiting your reaction.

She's right. Everything tastes divine and you eat until you feel like your stomach is about to burst.

Meanwhile, you try to engage in some small-talk with the people sitting closest to you around the massive table.

To your right sits Jayne, a woman you’d guess to be in her early fifties, with sun-kissed skin and kind, brown eyes. She tells you about her tasks at here, mainly growing herbs and flowers.

She shoots a quick glance at a dark-haired woman sitting by Aemond further down the table, explaining that she grows and tends to various plants which are grown at the request of the woman she’s observing; Alys.

After breakfast you offer to help collect and wash up the dishes, feeling a strong need to be useful as you see all residents retreat to their respective tasks for the day.

As you circle the outside table with an already overfilled tray in your hands, you spot a tall figure appear beside you.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

You look to the side and see Aemond standing there. He's wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks today as well, though his hair is left untied, cascading down his shoulders and reflecting the light of the sun.

He offers you a timid smile as he asks, mimicking the way he used to look when he was younger. It's a stark contrast to how he appeared during breakfast; authoritative and intimidating.

You return his smile and nod. Perhaps a walk would do you good.

He instructs one of the residents to take over your work and they do so without protest. You send them an apologetic look and mumble a "thank you" as you follow Aemond, who’s already set sight on the small path leading away from the settlement and towards the compact trees of the surrounding forest.

The two of you walk in silence, basking in the lovely scenery surrounding you. The light green trees seem to shimmer in the sun, and as you make your way into the forest, you spot a small river; surface reflecting the lush greenery of the leaves.

“How is life in Oldtown? Has my uncle been giving you a hard time?”, Aemond asks, eye looking forward as he breaks the silence.

You swallow and mentally prepare yourself before answering, not wanting to let him in on how miserable you’ve been.

“Yeah it’s been interesting. A lot of new challenges but I’m hanging in there”, you answer, and despite your attempt at sounding casual, the sadness residing within you drips through and stains your voice.

Aemond abruptly halts and turns to you, eye boring into yours as he contemplatively licks his lips.

“There's no need for that here”, he states, voice suddenly sterner than before.

“What do you mean?”

Your cheeks grow hot and your palms feel clammy as you grow embarrassed over how easily he sees through your fake cheeriness.

“You don’t need to lie to me. It’s only us here, I won’t judge you”, he replies, maintaining the intense eye contact between the two of you.

It feels like a dam bursts within you; a force so strong you're helpless to it, and your sight turns blurry.

Any attempts you’ve made to appear strong have failed and all that is left is the truth; that you'r stuck in a permanent state of misery.

Broken.

You feel your throat close up and you desperately try to swallow before answering,

“I ha-, have been feeling a bit, ehm, lost”, you admit, and as you finally utter the words, admitting to yourself and confiding in him that you feel disoriented, tears spill out of the corners of your eyes.

You try to take deep breaths to soothe yourself and regain some control over your emotions, but it's too hard.

Why can’t you pull yourself together?

Aemond regards you for a moment, allowing you time to process the sudden crash of emotions overcoming you, before he places a hand on your upper arm, gently dragging his fingers over the fabric of your blouse.

“You’re allowed to feel lost”, he looks into your eyes and there is something there; a tenderness you haven’t seen since you were both much younger.

You can’t stop the tears from flowing anymore as you weakly nod at his words, the lump in your throat leaving you unable to properly answer him. His seeing eye is so gentle as it gazes into yours,

“Many of us here felt lost, hopeless even. But the community we’ve built allowed us to reconnect with our inner selves; helped us feel happier”

He moves the hand that had been on your arm to your face, experimentally stroking your cheek. You lean into his touch by reflex, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand on your wet cheek.

“You don’t have to pretend here, not with me”

As he speaks you move closer to him, pressing your body against his and wrapping your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly, just like you did so many times in your childhood.

He understands what you need and hugs you back, holding you against his chest, softly stroking your hair. And despite the agony in your chest and the lump in your throat, you feel okay; escaping into his warm embrace to momentarily forget all your sorrows.

You stay like that for a while, bodies interlocked with each other as Aemond lets you cry. He doesn't say anything, continuously stroking your hair. It feels emancipating; crying your heart out in the arms of your uncle.

As your tears dry, you gently push yourself away from Aemond’s embrace and run the back of your hand over your cheeks in an attempt to remove some of the wetness. Aemond’s eye still looks gentle as he regards you,

“I know that life's not always what you thought it’d be, and leaving home is scary. But you’re with family now. Me and Hel are so pleased that you’re here with us”

You smile at him, saying a quiet "thank you" as he motions for you to carry on with your walk.

You continue to talk and catch up on what’s been going on in your lives since you last met.

Aemond tells you about his research project; how he believes that modern capitalism renders people mere objects utilised for profit by companies, consequently leaving them lacking agency and without a belief in higher powers, generating a generation of depressed, lost souls.

You take in everything he says. He speaks with such confidence that you feel yourself agreeing instantaneously.

In truth, you also felt like an object at work; a machine there to execute tasks, without any possibility to change your condition.

You listen to him talk so intensively you don't even realise you’re back at the residence.

What sounds like a fight in hushed voices pulls you away from your conversation with Aemond as you look up to search for where the voices are coming from.

You see one of the residents you had breakfast with, Jayne, kneel down in front of Alys, grasping at her apron and pleading to her in a quiet, desperate voice,

“I didn't mean to, please believe me!”

Shocked, you look over at Aemond who suddenly looks stern, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. His eye's set on the scene in front of you, yet he does not intervene.

As you open your mouth to ask him what's going on, he grabs your arm and promptly leads you into the Sept, closing the door behind you.

“Helaena will meet you here, she wanted to show you her insect farm. Do not leave until she collects you”, he commands, voice stoic but intimidating, leaving no room for argument.

Before you have a chance to reply he quickly opens the door, and leaves.

You spend the afternoon with Helaena, exploring her insect farm and listening to her tell you of all the benefits the farm provides.

Afterwards, you still feel the unease from earlier vibrate within you, causing you to feel restless. In an attempt to be useful, you offer to help some of the residents as they prepare the large outdoor dining space for supper.

You chat with one of the younger people there, a man who appears to be in his early 20’s called Jon.

He tells you about how he met Aemond. As part of his PhD programme, Aemond held some lectures for first-year students, and Jon had attended his class on international conflict and crisis.

They’d started talking outside of Aemond’s lectures and found that they had much in common, especially in regards to their view of the world, and what was wrong with it. Aemond had mentioned his wish to move out of the city with his sister, and Jon was intrigued in an instance.

You continue your conversation with Jon, finding him easy to chat with. He's surprisingly funny too, joking and making you laugh, easing your anxiety. Feeling yourself relax and grow more comfortable, you decide to pry a bit, confiding in Jon,

“I wasn’t brought up with the faith, so I have to ask. Why did you decide to build a large Sept in a small settlement like this?”, you ask as you help Jon place cutlery by the plates on the table.

His relaxed and cheerful demeanour stiffens at your question. His eyes leave the silverware on the table to meet yours,

“You don’t know?”

His face appears genuinely surprised, and his eyes are wide in question. Before you get a chance to answer, a raspy voice interrupts your conversation,

“Jon! How lovely of you to entertain our guest”

The woman who you’ve learned goes by Alys appears, emerald eyes locking with yours as you turn to meet her.

“I’m Alys, it is so nice to meet you”

She stretches out a hand and gives you a practised smile. Her features looks pleasant; far from how harsh they'd appeared when Jayne had been kneeling before her.

You try to smile back at her and tell her your name, though you suspect she already knows exactly who you are. You look over at Jon who appears nervous, hands fidgeting with a fork.

“I believe Aemond wants to see you, in his office”, Alys sight does not leave Jon, eyes boring into him, but you both know she is addressing you.

You can’t come up with anything to say or do; anxious to find out what it is that Aemond wants from you and desperate to get away from the intense, silent fight between Jon and Alys taking place before your eyes.

You shoot Jon a quick apologetic glance before moving toward the Sept, leaving him with Alys.

Aemonds office is located behind the large altar in the Sept. As you approach, you feel yourself grow tenser; stiffer.

You quickly try to run your sweaty palms over your skirt before raising one hand and softly tapping your knuckles against the heavy wood.

Aemond calls for you to come in and you enter, standing awkwardly by the door.

What does he want with you?

Had you overstepped when you spoke with Jon?

Or will he let you in on what had happened between Alys and Jayne when you came back from your walk?

Something about this place and Aemond makes you unexplainably uneasy, but you're unable to pin-point what it is that reduces you to a mess of nerves.

Your eyes keep flicking up at Aemond and down at the floor. You can't maintain eye contact with him, his stare too intense.

Fiery.

“I heard you offered to help Jon prepare supper?”, he inquires. His voice is completely devoid of any emotions, making your uneasiness grow.

He had an eerie calmness to him that did little to soothe you; rather, it made you grow even more restless.

“Y-, yes, well, I only helped him with bringing out plates and such”, you rushedly explain, words pouring out of your mouth, “I'm so sorry if I overstepped or made a mistake, that wasn’t my intention”

Aemond beckons you over, pushing his chair from where it’s placed by the desk, holding out his hand. You grab it without a second thought and he begins stroking his thumb over the back of your palm, looking up at you, a sliver of sympathy evident in his dark gaze,

“Why did you assist him?”, he asks softly and you answer that you just wanted to be helpful; that it feels strange seeing everyone else work hard and not contribute.

Aemond hums and leans back in his chair, hand still holding yours.

“You shouldn’t do other peoples chores for them. Everyone here has responsibilities that they should conduct in solitude”, he explains and you nod, though you can’t understand the harm in helping someone with a menial task like setting the table for supper.

“Don’t worry, no one is upset with you”, he adds to reassure you that you haven’t wronged anyone. You feel yourself relax somewhat, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

Aemond looks you over and his gaze stops at your shoulders, noticing the strain there,

“You are still so tense”, he notes and you hum.

Stress, working at a desk for over 40 hours per week and lack of sleep had left your body in a constant, rigid state.

“Come here”, he commands and tugs at your arm unexpectedly, making you stumble forward. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, placing you on his thigh.

He looks into your eyes and the close proximity makes you slightly uncomfortable.

“You’ve always been so nervous; anxious since we were young”, he says as the hand that had been holding yours travels down to rest on your clothed thigh. The arm he has around you midriff tightens as if he’s expecting you to move away,

“Let me help you relax”, he offers, voice soft.

With gentle fingers, he slowly traces patterns on your leg. You do not know what he means by helping you, but you trust him.

He managed to makes you feel better before.

You stay put on his lap and he takes that as permission to continue, letting his hand travel down to where your skirt ends, fingers caressing your knee.

A breath gets caught in your throat as his hand moves upwards, slinking in under the fabric of your skirt; warm palm softly touching the smooth skin of your thigh. Aemond lets out a sigh at the contact and you suddenly feel uneasy, squirming in his grip.

“Aemond, what are you doing?”, you ask, voice slightly panicked.

His arm tightens around your waist as you try to move, hand continuing its path up your skirt.

“Didn’t it feel liberating to ease the pressure within when you cried in my arms earlier?”, he inquires and you look at him puzzled.

He still appears stoic but the pupil of his eye is blown wide; enveloping his iris.

“Let me take care of you. Just relax”, he commands as his hand reaches the apex of your thighs, index finger coming up to touch your bundle of nerves over your underwear experimentally.

You gasp and try to squirm out of his hold again, but he is much stronger; body rigid as he holds you.

He moves his head down to rest in the crock of your neck, shushing your protests. His fingers continue their slow massage over your underwear, and you feel yourself grow wetter from his attention.

Both your mind and your body have frozen.

Although you know it’s wrong, you let yourself lean into the pleasure Aemond is providing you, feeling yourself drift away; mind letting go of your senses as Aemond's touch consumes you.

When his fingers travel to the edge of your underwear, sliding inside, it’s like a bucket of cold water is poured over you.

You regain consciousness, bringing your hand up to try and push his away,

“Aemond we can’t do this, don’t-”, you plea, embarrassed by the fact that you can feel the evidential stickiness of your arousal between your legs.

Aemond tuts at you and pushes his fingers to make contact with the skin of your cunt, delighted at the wetness that greets him,

“You want this", he speaks quietly into your neck, "You need this. Be a good girl for me and let it happen”

You sit in his lap stiffly and as you're about to protest once more, his fingers circle your clit, causing a startled moan to slip out of your disobliging mouth.

Aemond chuckles against your skin and presses a light kiss to your neck,

“I knew you’d like it”

His words feel taunting, and your cheeks sear with shame.

The conflicting feelings storming inside you do little to hinder the arousal you're experiencing.

As his fingers travel down to your entrance, you again feel your common sense slip away and pleasure overtaking you.

He gathers some of the wetness from your entrance and brings it back up to your clit, making you sigh in involuntary pleasure again.

He positions his hand so that the heel of his palm is right by your bundle of nerves, leaving his fingers free to tease your entrance. He stays like that for a while, teasing you while pressing his palm against your clit.

The pleasure builds inside of you at a rapid pace.

He slowly sinks two fingers inside and you cannot contain the loud moan that escapes you, grabbing his arm with both hands. You grip him tightly, but cannot bring yourself to pry his hand away like you’d tried before, the pleasure too overpowering.

He sets a steady pace, palm pushing against your clit and fingers continuously finding that spot within you that causes your thighs to shake.

Your breath grows heavy, pleasure tightening inside you rapidly, and suddenly you don't want him to stop.

You hear Aemond’s breath growing laboured against your neck as well, giving it his all as he holds you in place and pleasures you.

You bite your lip to not let more moans slip out as pleasure begins to consume you.

Why did it feel so good?

Your walls began to contract against Aemond’s fingers as your peak approaches, and distantly, you hear him encourage you to let go.

As you do, you let out a pleasured cry, soaking his fingers. Your body stiffens while pleasure shoots through you; traveling from your lower stomach to your chest and down your limbs.

Your body slumps against Aemond, who moves his face out from the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers,

“Good girl”

Assimilating

You can’t take in anything Helaena is saying.

You watch her lips move, try your hardest to take in her words, but nothing sticks. You hum and nod in reply, but haven’t got a clue to what you just agreed.

Should you tell her about what happened in Aemond’s office?

What if she tells him?

What if she tells mum?

Bile rises in the back of your throat at the thought.

What if your mum found out what her brother had done with her daughter?

What if she found out how good he’d made you feel?

That you liked it.

The only consolation to your misery is the fact that Aemond is sitting where he’d sat before, at the end of the long, beautifully decorated wooden table, looking out at everyone as if nothing was wrong. Like this was any other supper.

Maybe nothing was wrong?

Maybe you'd just imagined the entire thing?

Still, you can't bear to meet his gaze. You continue to channel all of your energy into the conversation you were having with Helaena. Or rather, that she was having with you.

“So when the queen bee dies, her workers will select a new queen from the larva and feed her this special thing called ‘royal jelly’ to make her fertile”, she cheerily says, smiling from ear to ear,

“Everyone here in our community gets to focus their attention on their chosen topic of interest, mine being insects and biology. I’ve learned so much, nature is truly fascinating”

Again, you notice how elated Helaena seems to be here. Her eyes shine as she continues to tell you about her life in the country, tending to insect farms.

It's hard to imagine that this is the same girl who’d been a shell of a person before.

As children, she had developed a tendency to pull away from others, choosing to fold into herself and push the world around her away.

Seeing her this animated and filled with life should make you happy for her.

But it feels off.

The following days go by quickly.

Sensing your need to feel useful, the members of Aemond's commune assign you daily tasks, like helping out with harvesting plants, preparing meals and cleaning up the Sept.

The building doesn’t seem to be used for ceremonies or communal prayer. Instead, the residents utilise it privately throughout the day; though you're not let in on their purpose.

Although not being too familiar with the Seven, you swear you could remember Aemond and Helaena attending services at the Sept when you were younger, not merely going there in solitude. Maybe they prayed together as well sometimes?

Another benefit of focusing on productivity was the distraction it gave you from thinking about what had occurred between you and your uncle three days prior.

Despite the initial disgust you'd felt, you had now decided that if you acted like it never happened, maybe it never did.

You’d sworn to never bring it up with Aemond, or ever tell anyone else for that matter.

He was still the Aemond you’d grown up with; the sensitive boy with a strong will, always on a mission to prove himself.

He’d always been a bit too ‘by the book’. Maybe he sincerely thought that you would enjoy it?

He might've read something about Freud’s theory on female hysteria and the power of orgasmic release, seeing the act as more of a medical procedure than a sexual encounter?

A weak theory, but still.

---

Despite helping out at every corner of the residence, you hadn’t seen Alys since leaving her with Jon.

But this morning, after Aemond had asked you to help the residents clean up the leftovers from breakfast, you spot her standing next to your uncle, talking about something in hushed voices while watching the residents tidy up.

Although you'd only spent a few days here, Aemond and Alys' position at the top of the hierarchy of the small community was evident.

They both had an air of authority about them that was hard to overlook, making the pair appear intimidating in a way that only a strict superior could.

Yet, they both choose to be soft spoken whenever they address the residents, often complimenting them on their diligent work.

Observing the duo, you notice Aemond nod towards you, which prompts Alys to approach, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder,

“I’d like for you to help me today”, she states, and although her voice is soft, as if asking a question, there seems to be no room for disagreement.

She ushers you to follow her as she makes way towards one of the almost overflowing flower beds; copious plants fighting for space.

Like every day since your arrival, the weather is practically perfect; sunny but with a comforting breeze passing through the fields. Alys reaches for two weaved baskets resting against the small cottage wall close by and hands you one before kneeling down by the flower bed. You follow her, admiring the abundance of herbs in front of you.

You’d never witnessed such a variety of plants grow so vigorously together. You’d hardly thought it to be possible. Maybe the weather and temperature conditions here were optimal? Or maybe they’d genetically modified the crops?

Alys' gentle, low voice breaks the silence,

“How has the stay here been for you so far?”

Even though you’d told yourself; decided that you’d never think about what had happened between you and Aemond in his office again, her questions forces your mind back there.

Sitting on his lap. His fingers inside you; stretching you out.

You shake your head slightly in an attempt to erase the thought.

You’re never going to think about that again.

You can’t.

“It’s been great. Everyone’s so welcoming and I’ve been able to spend a lot of time with Helaena”, you reply, focusing on the positive aspects of your visit.

It was all true; during your time here you’d felt welcomed and comforted. Cared for, even.

“That’s lovely”, Alys replies with a smile as she begins to pick basil leaves off the thin stem of the plant. “We’ve worked hard to create an environment where our residents can thrive, just like you seem to be doing”, she explains and your forehead wrinkles in contemplative confusion.

Are you thriving here?

You certainly look a lot better.

Your skin has almost started to glow. You wake up in the mornings feeling refreshed and rested.

But that could just be down to the fact that you’d found uninterrupted sleep. Plus, the appetising food served here seems healthy, consisting of ingredients the residents grew and prepared themselves.

“Well, the fresh air and delicious meals certainly help one thrive”, you reply with an unconvinced chuckle.

Alys’ eyes light up as they sweep over your face,

“You enjoy the food? I’m happy to hear that. I’ve put all of the past year's energy into curating the plants, grains and menu here”, she tells you, pride causing her to straighten up, sitting a bit taller.

“You truly have a gift, Alys. Any tips for an amateur like me?”, you inquire, relaxing a bit now that the conversation has taken a lighter turn.

She smiles at you and pulls out a small, green tin from the large pocket in the middle of the apron she’s wearing. She opens the lid and pulls out brass spoon. It’s filled with what looks like dirt, or clay, and smells similar to a compost.

Your nose wrinkles as she scoops some of the brown mush inside the tin onto her spoon, placing it by the plant's roots before firmly patting it down with the back of the utensil.

“I was doing my PhD at King’s Landing University before moving here. I was researching phytotherapy”, she explains as she scoops out another spoonful of brown mush from the tin and moves to add it to the next plant's roots.

“I was in my final year, fully consumed by my dissertation. Despite loving the topic, I was so stressed by my academic career that I seriously considered dropping everything and moving back to Harrentown. Then, I heard my professor tell me about this brilliant young man in the Political Science department”

Speaking about Aemond, her eyes almost look dreamy,

“His ideas were so radical, yet so natural, you know? He wanted to create a community where people were allowed to pursue their passions without the stressors of modern society. Where the Seven provide enough guidance”

You feel uneasiness creep up your spine. Her facial expression is almost trance-like as she talks about Aemond; as if he's a deity, ready to be worshipped.

“Well, modern society provides us with plenty of comforts as well, don’t you think?”, you counter with a strained laugh, trying to ease the mood a bit,

“What would you do if, like, one of the members got sick?”

Alys huffs a laugh as well and smiles to herself as she eyes the tin in her hand,

“We always get by”

After a quick lunch break, you continue to help Alys with various tasks around the residence; picking flowers, vegetables and herbs for her, plucking out weeds and organising seeds for future harvests.

You’d never seen seeds like the ones she showed you before; pitch-black in colour and almost supernaturally round.

When she saw your expression, she snorted a laugh and explained that they were from Yi Ti, used by herbalists for centuries.

She did not, however, answer you when you asked what they were going to be used for.

Although her presence had felt intimidating at first, you'd now grown calm around Alys. Something about her was almost bewitching.

Like the way her emerald eyes would lock with yours whenever you spoke, or how graciously she moved about the commune, greeting each resident in a gentle voice.

You also noticed that they never met her gaze, eyes cast down as she approached, only uttering a few polite phrases before rushing away.

Feeling more at ease spurred your confidence, and so you ask her what you’ve been aching to know for the past days,

“The other day…-", you begin with a wavering voice,

"-What happened between you and Jayne?”

You try to sound as casual as possible, but it only makes you sound strange.

Alys, who’s been picking some wildflowers from one of the fields close to the residence, doesn’t slow her pace for even the briefest of moments as she answers you, eyes still on the stem of the flower in front of her,

“Nothing for you to worry about”

She plucks the flower and gently places it in her weaved basket before moving to the next one.

“Okay”, you reply with uncertainty, “She seemed very upset though”

Alys finally looks up from the flowers she’s plucking and meets your gaze,

“Actions have consequences. I’m sure you know that. But with the justice of the father and the grace of the mother, mistakes can be forgiven”

Her face is much sterner than before. The comfort of familiarity that had blossomed between the two of you disappears in an instance, and you feel uneasy as her eyes narrow.

“Jayne has been forgiven and we will move forward. Just like how Aemond forgave you”

Alys turns around and quickly makes way towards the Sept, disappearing inside and closing the door behind her.

Forgave you for what?

For what happened in Aemond's office?

Did she know about that?

As the members of the commune prepare for supper, you go back to your room to have some time to yourself, mindlessly scrolling your phone while lying in bed.

The reception out here's not great, and now that you think about it, you hadn't seen any mobile phones during your stay, only a land-line hanging on the wall in Aemond's office.

After what happened with him, your mind had been too preoccupied to put any focus on replying to messages. You see a few from your mum and send her a quick reply to let her know that you’re doing well.

Seeing her name appear, you feel uneasy; like she knows of the secret you harbour. You feel guilty. And disgusted.

A sudden commotion outside throws you back into reality; back into the commune.

You hear raised voices, some sounding familiar, and you swiftly place your phone in your pocket before heading out.

You see Jon, eyes wide and face pale, on his knees in front of Aemond, mimicking how Jayne and Alys had looked a few days ago.

Aemond’s face is hard to read.

He looks stoic, yet his eye is furious; dark gaze glaring down at Jon.

Unlike Jayne, Jon doesn’t say anything. He raises his hands in surrender and locks eyes with Aemond; wordlessly pleading.

But for what?

By now, many of the residents have gathered around the two young men. Some look scared, others intrigued.

“Do you believe the Father to be just?”, Aemond’s soft voice asks, contrasting his utterly frightening appearance. Jon nods eagerly, eyes wide in panic.

“Then you’ll accept a punishment befitting the sin you’ve committed?”

Jon stiffens slightly, but eventually lowers his head in a slow nod. His eyes cast down to the ground; head hanging in surrender.

Aemond hums and pulls out a knife from the inside of the jacket he’s wearing over his usual white shirt and dark slacks.

It’s one you recognise. It had been gifted to Aemond on his 12th birthday by your grandfather, who’d declared that he was now a young man; a young Targaryen man, and therefore needed his own reminder of his Valyrian heritage.

Aemond flips the dagger in his hand as he regards the man before him, holding his hand out in an invitation to Jon. He wordlessly places his hand in Aemond’s, and you can now clearly see that he is shaking.

Aemond turns his hand so that he’s holding the back of it, Jon’s palm turned upwards,

“Mistakes can be forgiven, but justice must prevail”, Aemond speaks. His voice is louder than before to address the crowd gathering around him and Jon. It reminds you of a lecture.

Perhaps this is how he'd conduct classes at university?

The residents around you murmur in agreement. Aemond raises the dagger in his hand, eye cast down to make contact with Jon’s. He’s trembling out of fright and Aemond almost looks pleased at the display in front of him,

“We all need reminders of our wrongdoings, to prevent us from repeating them. Whenever you lose sight of the light, Jon, this will remind you to seek out the guidance of the Seven”, Aemond’s calm voice rings out as he suddenly presses the dagger into Jon’s palm.

He grunts in pain as the blade breaks his skin and blood flows freely from his hand. Aemond’s knuckles are white from the force in which he’s holding onto Jon’s hand, refusing to let the younger man go, staring into his eyes with a look so intimidating it demands submission.

You can’t take in the scene in front of you; can’t comprehend what’s happening.

As reality slowly comes back to you, you try to speak up, try to tell Aemond to stop, but your body doesn’t obey you; frozen in shock.

The other residents watch quietly, not making a sound as Aemond and Jon stay still, blade still penetrating Jon’s palm as his mouth winces in pain.

Your uncle finally pulls away from Jon, gesturing for Alys to move forward. She quickly pulls out some gauze from one of the pockets of her apron and kneels down next to Jon, gently wrapping it around his palm; blood pulsing out furiously.

Aemond’s stoic facade seems to falter slightly as his breathing turn laboured; jaw shut tight. He appears agitated, giving Jon and Alys one final look before stalking away towards the nearby path leading to the forest where he’d taken you for a walk a few days prior.

Your body finally obeys you as you call out his name in an urgent voice,

"Aemond!"

What the fuck had you just witness?

Aemond doesn’t turn around. He walk away in quick, angry steps, silhouette growing smaller and smaller. You throw a quick glance at Jon, whose face is even whiter than before, gauze around his palm already dark red with blood seeping through it.

You cannot bear to take in the gory sight, a thousand questions going through your head. You need answers, so you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared.

The path into the forest grows blurrier as a thick fog settles over the commune. Still, you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared, determined to confront him about what you’d just witnessed.

You spot a form in the white mist, sitting on a stump with his head in his hands. You approach quickly, thoughts still spinning in your head.

What was that all about?

Why did you cut Jon?

Why did he agree?

If he did agree, that is.

The fear that was etched on Jon’s face as he knelt before Aemond made you shiver. He’d seemed so scared of him; scared of what he might do to him.

Still, no one had interfered as your uncle cut the hand of one of the members of their community.

Is this the norm?

Aemond looks up as he hears your footsteps approach, face as unreadable as always.

“What the fuck was that, Aemond?!”

Your voice is shrill and accusing. Your eyes seek out his as you stop before him; expression furious and chest heaving.

“You need to call a medic or something, Jon’s bleeding heavily!”

Your cheeks feel hot as fury rolls through your body, setting it alight.

It’s amplified by the seemingly unrepentant state of the man before you.

“Don’t question how we do things here”, he warns, eye just as furious as it had been before,

“Jon knew the consequences of stepping out of line. We all do”.

“What could he have done to make you mutilate his hand?!”, you counter. You still can’t fully comprehend what had happened mere moments ago.

Had you just witnessed bodily mutilation in the name of religion?

Aemond clicks his tongue, displeased with your accusations. He tries to school his face into a calmer demeanour as he looks you over,

“Sit down and I’ll explain”, he offers, gesturing for you to take a seat on the damp grass in front of him.

Despite your initial desire to defy him, purely out of spite, your curiosity wins as you take a seat in front of the stump where he sits.

“Everyone living here has consented to our communal agreement”, he begins. You can’t help the scoff that slips out. He continues,

“One of the reasons why people feel so depressed and out of place is due to the secularisation of the modern world. They’ve lost their connection to the Seven; lost sight of the light. A belief in the divine brings us closer together. Closer to the seven faces of the God”

“You all need help if you believe that physical violence will bring you closer to the gods”

It's hard to hide the disgust in your voice. Aemond’s jaw shuts tightly and the calmness on his face looks forced,

“Help me then”, he bites back, irritation penetrating his serene facade. “Pray with me”.

He grabs both your hands suddenly and traps them in his, lowering his head as he recites a prayer you haven’t heard before.

You try to pull your hands away but his grip is iron-like as he continues to mumble the prayer under his breath.

After a while, he grows quiet, yet keeps the grip around your hands. You look up at him. He's already awaiting your gaze.

Aemond looks like he’s contemplating something; different from his usual, determined state.

“Maybe you should help me like I help you; easing the pressure from within”

His hands pull yours towards the zipper of his slacks. Your body freezes in shock for a brief moment, then quickly pull away from him in reflex.

His grip on your hands is tight. He'd anticipated you'd fight back.

He brings your hands towards his crotch, now in such a tight grasp that your fingers ache. There's a hardness there, and your mouth goes dry, a rush of anxiety go through your body,

"Aemond, no, not aga-", you begin but he cuts you off.

“Would you prefer it if I told Helaena what you let me do to you in my office?"

His voice is foreign; cold and uncaring.

This is not the Aemond you know. The one who let you cry out in his embrace.

This is the Aemond they know.

"Or should I tell my other sister?”

You feel cold all over, shivering at his words.

A threat.

He lets one of his hands leave yours and undoes his zipper. He pulls out his length; already hard and furiously red.

You’re once again consumed by feelings of unreality.

This can’t actually be happening, right?

Aemond grips one of your hands, grasping it painfully hard as he pulls it towards his cock.

He presses into the sides and bends your fingers so they circle around him; much larger hand enveloping yours as he forces you to cool his desire.

He sets a fast pace; letting you know exactly how he likes it. His other hand moves towards your mouth, stunning you yet again as he pushes two fingers into your mouth.

Before you have a chance to pull your head away, he brings his spit-covered fingers down to your hand - the one he's using to pleasure himself with - and smears your saliva over the palm before guiding it back to his length again.

As your slick hand makes contact with his burning flesh once more, he grunts and closes his eyes; brows knit together in bliss. He lets you continue the motion by yourself, hands falling to the sides of his lap.

In the middle of this surreal experience, you can’t help but look up at him, admiring his beauty.

Such an intimidating man, instilling fear in so many around him, currently at your mercy.

You almost feel a headrush at the thought; having Aemond in the palm of your hand. Literally.

The continuous friction of your hand against his flesh removes some of the stickiness, and you hear him let out something similar to a whine as your hand grows drier.

His previously intimidating features suddenly look pleading as he gazes down at you, asking you to just comply.

Just give him this.

Without much thought of the consequences, instead of licking your palm, you move your head toward his length, darting your tongue out and licking a stripe over his tip. He lets out a surprise moan, and the unexpected feeling of pride rushing through your body makes your stomach turn.

You are not enjoying this!

Still, the praise travels down and settles in your core, causing a dull throb to pound between your thighs.

Then why does it feel so good to be praised by him?

You continue to pleasure him with your hand, though Aemond’s eye has traveled down to observe your mouth. His gaze occasionally flickers down to your clothed chest, peeking at the sliver of cleavage visible from above. One of his hands grasp your chin,

“Do that again”, he commands, and the disgust you'd felt towards yourself swirls in your belly again.

You shake your head, “No”

He lets out a grunt, hand still on your jaw as he slowly and firmly brings your head closer to his manhood.

Like before, you try to push away from him, to gain some sense of control, but he is far stronger than you,

“You do as I say”, he counters, and in one swift motion, he pulls your head towards his cock with such force that you nearly knock your forehead against his stomach.

As you part your lips to protest, he pushes himself inside of your hot, wet mouth, sighing in relief.

You feel panic come over you as you try to pull away, but he quickly places both hands on your head; keeping you in place.

“Breath through your nose. Be the good girl I know you are”

He grunts and begins to buck into your mouth.

You place your hands on his thighs in another feeble attempt at escaping his assault on your mouth, but to no avail. He drags your face over his length, palms moving to grab each side of your head as his movements grow quicker. You gag slightly.

“You feel so fucking good”, he breaths out, voice drunk on lust,

“You look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth, you know that?”

It feels like he's mocking you. It sounds like he adores you.

His thumb gently brushes away some of the strands that has fallen over your face.

The want in between your legs throb. The disgust in your stomach rumbles. You know that his words of praise shouldn’t make your underwear sticky.

But they do.

Your eyes water as he continues to fuck your mouth, not giving you any rest. You try to whine against him to make him stop; to at least let you come up for air, but he takes your sounds as moans and groans, moving in your mouth faster and harsher.

Finally sensing your need for a break, he manoeuvres your head off of his cock. You pant heavily as you gulp for air; lungs hurting from the sudden, sharp inhale.

A string of saliva connects your lips to his length, and his eye seems to be even more lust-filled as he moves his hand to caress your flushed cheek.

Even in this selfish, pleasure-driven madness, he regard you with fondness.

“Aemond, please, we can’t do this”, you plea.

His gaze flickers from your spit-soaked, swollen lips to your cleavage, and then back.

He doesn’t grant you a reply as he stands up abruptly, taking advantage of your startled state and shoves his length back into your mouth.

Your hands instinctively come up to his legs to have something to hold onto as he fucks your face with even more vigour than before, swearing under his breath.

You feel disgusted at the vicious arousal pooling in your stomach, seeping out of your core.

How could something so degrading feel so sensual?

How could you feel aroused by your uncle using you like this?

Aemond moves his hands to the back of your head, pushing you so that your nose makes contact with the hairs at the bottom of his stomach. He pushes his hips against you harshly and lets out a prolonged grunt.

You gag and stifle a cough, feeling his hot liquid fill your throat, then your mouth.

He slowly pulls away, hands still gripping your head as his eyes return to their wholly intimidating appearance,

“Swallow”, he demands, placing a large palm over your mouth, blocking your nose as well.

You know that you have no choice but to oblige him and force the sticky, salty fluid down your throat with a wince.

Aemond gives your kneeling form one last once-over before letting out a hum, swiftly putting his cock back into his trousers.

Without another word, he leaves, and you're left on your knees by the stump, fog now so thick that you can hardly see the path leading back to the residence.

You wipe away the spit trailing from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand before standing on shaky legs.

Could you pretend like this never happen either?

As if in a trance, you make your way back to the commune; head filled with thoughts, yet too exhausted to comprehend anything.

You move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, reaching for your toothbrush without looking up at your reflection in the mirror.

You brush your teeth three times, reapplying tooth paste as the lather in your mouth disappears.

You want to get the taste of him out of your mouth.

It doesn’t go away.

Realising that you’ve been carrying your phone in your pocket this whole time, you tap the screen. A few new message from your mother and brother.

You hadn't even noticed.

Without checking, you turn your phone off, tossing it in your bag as you make your way to the bed.

You feel exhausted. Disgusted. Aroused.

This can’t be real.

Forgiving

The sheets of the bed are soft against your skin.

The rays of the morning sun shine through your window, and in the glow of the day’s early hours, you feel rested; comforted by the cosiness of your bed.

As you turn to the side, snuggling into the duvet, you wonder why this comforting place ever caused you to feel unease.

And then you're reminded of last night.

The memory makes a shiver go down your spine and your body trembles; trying to shake the chill away. Still, the feeling crawling under your skin doesn’t quite disappear.

Usually, you wouldn’t be able to sleep in the anxious state you’d been in last night.

Yet, for some reason, as soon as your head touched the cool pillow, you’d fallen into uninterrupted slumber.

Though your mind was spinning from all the conflicting thoughts you were having, your body was surprisingly relaxed; well-rested and freed from tension.

You’re hungry too, you notice. The rumble in your stomach vibrates, prompted by the clatter of the residents preparing for breakfast outside.

Without much thought, you get up, get ready and head outside. The warm rays of the sun greet you and you have to squint in order to see who’s already seated at the long table.

To your surprise, you’re met by the same scene as the last couple of days.

Aemond is standing by the edge of the wooden table, speaking with Alys. Jon is carrying bread in a large basket, carefully placing a few buns in each empty bowl placed on the table. Helaena is fussing over the wildflowers adorning the table, laughing as Jayne tells her something you can’t make out.

The scenery is still perfect, despite what had occurred the day before between Aemond and Jon.

Between Aemond and you.

You walk towards the table and take your usual spot next to Helaena, offering her a strained smile as she greets you. You’d thought keeping up appearance would prove to be a true challenge, but right now you feel oddly at peace; calm even. And hungry.

As soon as Aemond finishes thanking the Seven in his morning prayer, you begin to pile food on your plate.

Everything looks mouthwatering, the freshly baked bread still warm in your hand as you tear it apart and smother it in butter. You usually weren’t the type to have an appetite when you feel anxious or stressed, but today your uneasy state only works to amplify your hunger.

As you eat, the stress that had been causing nervous waves to ebb through your body stills, and you feel more at ease. Your mind is calmer, less crowded with thoughts.

Numb.

As you finish your meal, you look up from your plate to watch the scenery surrounding you, appreciating the lush greenery of the commune that had been lost on you before.

The rays of the sun shine through the gaps between the leaves of the bright green beech trees encircling you, casting a gorgeous glow over the residence.

Gods, it's beautiful here.

You look over at Helaena, whose hair seems to shimmer in the sun. Her smile only highlights her beauty; lilac eyes kind with a glint of something playful.

“Do you want to help me with my insect farm today? I’m going to go check on the crickets now after breakfast”, she asks, tone as pleasant and upbeat as it always is here.

“Sure”, you reply, standing up to follow her.

She walks behind one of the small cottages, and an array of insect farms come into view.

They resemble little houses made of wood, and even standing a good few metres away, you can see insects crawling all over the wood.

Helaena moves between them swiftly, peeking inside to see how her favourite creatures are faring. You’d never understand her obsession with such creepy beings, but watching her now, you feel warmth in your chest. She looks so happy; so at peace.

This really is the perfect place for her.

She beckons you over to one of the miniature houses and you approach her wearily, unable to hide the aversion you felt for the bugs.

Helaena giggles as she sits down on the ground to gain better access to the farm, nodding her head in a silent instruction for you to do the same. You join her, though you sit down slightly behind where she is, hoping she can provide you some distance from the insects littering each piece of wood of the farm.

“Are you sure you have to leave by the end of the week? I’d love for you to stay here longer”, she sighs, eyes fixed on the insects in front of her. She’s brought a small pouch with her which she opens, fingers digging inside for some seeds to feed her six-legged friends.

“I have to get back to work”, you answer, already dreading the inevitable.

The constant stress, the sleepless nights, Gwayne's endless nagging.

Would you be able to sleep as well as you did out here back home?

Would sleep feel as serene?

Despite all the uneasy situations you’d found yourself in, an unfamiliar sense of calm settles on your chest, pushing down your anxiety.

Maybe things would be easier if you stayed out here? Just for a while longer?

You're pulled out of your thoughts as Helaena speaks up again, eyes still on the farm, hand now buried deep within its walls, placing seeds inside for the insects to fight over.

“I think you’d be better off here. I saw you in a dream, you know. You were smiling, wearing a beautiful crown of flowers, holding hands with Aemond”

You feel yourself stiffen.

“He told me you’d come when he invited me to live with him here”, she continues, eyes finally straying away from the crickets; meeting yours.

You want to tell her about what happened, but the words seem stuck in your throat.

Would she believe you?

Would she be disgusted with you?

“Hel, I-”, you begin, choking as tears well up in your eyes. You try to clear your throat so that the lump of sadness suffocating you goes away,

“I-, I don’t think Aemond likes me”, is all you are able to get out as unexpected tears spill out from the corners of your eyes.

You wish you could tell her more, but your body doesn’t obey you; mind feeling foggy and throat closing up.

You can't sort your thoughts, or feelings, out.

“Oh, don’t cry, love”, she says as she wipes away a fat tear sliding down your cheek,

“There's no reason to feel bad. Aemond likes you. He would never do anything to harm you. He cares for you so much”

Though her voice sounds genuine, her gaze seems to drift away as she talks about her brother.

“He’s cared for you ever since we were small, you know. Do you remember that summer when we were all together on Driftmark? Before Aemond lost his eye?”

You swallow thickly at the memory.

“You remember when you two asked me to wed you out on the beach because you wanted to stay together forever?”, she asks, voice gentle and a knowing smile playing on her lips.

The memory causes you to spill more tears. Everything was so much easier back then.

“Don’t you miss how close you two used to be?”, she asks, compassionate and caring.

Yes, you do.

“Yeah”, you let out, voice thick from sadness. “But everything changed after Aemond lost his eye. He-, he didn’t want to spend time with me anymore”

You sound so small; your own words make you feel like a child again, abandoned by your best friend.

“Well, we’re here now, together. So that we can all reconnect. We’ve missed you”

Helaena moves closer to you, throwing her arms around you and hugs you tightly.

You slump against her, burying your face in the crook of her neck. Despite all the weird interactions with Aemond during your visit, Helaena had been a constant; brightening your days and making you feel seen.

She was always so happy to see you.

She was always so genuine.

You pull away once your sobbing ceases, giving Helaena one last squeeze before mumbling a quiet “thank you”.

She smiles, wipes her thumbs over your wet cheeks and locks eyes with you,

“You’ll feel better once you’ve settled in properly”, she says with a smile.

You don’t really understand what she means but nod anyway.

Agreeing feels good.

Agreeing feels comforting.

As you make your way back to your cottage, you spot Jon by one of the flower beds, watering the abundant plants fighting for space in their wooden confinement.

He doesn’t look much different from a few days ago, but when he spots you approaching, his slouching shoulders go rigid.

“Hi”, you say, trying to keep your voice light as you draw near him.

“Hey”, he replies, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Your eyes instantly move to inspect his hand.

The gauze has been changed recently, clinically white and neatly wrapped around his palm,

“How’s your hand?”, you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“Fine”, is all he replies as he walks towards the next flower bed, away from you.

He tilts the watering can, letting the water rains down on the flourishing plants.

“What Aemond did to you-, I-, it’s completely unacceptable”, you say as you trail after him,

“You could press charges you know”

Not that you actually think Jon would, for some unexplainable reason he had seemingly agreed to getting his hand slashed. But you wanted him to understand that this kind of behaviour was inexcusable, even if he'd consented.

Jon’s eyes darken as he turns his head from watching the droplets fall on the flowers to observe you.

“Aemond knows what’s best. No point in me going against him”, he says in resignation, eyes shifting again, looking out at the endless fields surrounding the commune.

“Aemond acted like a fucking psycho yesterday, you don’t have to excuse his behaviour”, you try to assure Jon, shifting your body to move a little closer to where he’s standing.

His eyes go wide in panic, quickly looking around to make sure no one is nearby.

“Do not say things like that”, he warns, voice barely above a whisper.

“Aemond and Alys hear everything. They have eyes and ears everywhere, especially Alys. She sees much and more”

His eyes have grown impossibly large, resembling those of an animal pestered by a predator,

“They say the Father is all-seeing; knowledgeable on all topics. Almighty. There are people here who-”, he pauses as his eyes again dart around in a stressed frenzy, making sure no one is listening in on your conversation,

“- who believe Aemond is the human embodiment of the Father”

Jon’s confession catches you off guard and you let out a snort at his utterance. His panicked eyes narrow in anger at you.

“You haven’t been here long enough to have seen what I have”, he tells you with a sneer,

“You do not understand the power that he holds”.

Though you'd initially thought Jon was someone you could become friendly with, you now find yourself backing away from him and his evident madness.

Aemond might be smart, but he is no deity.

You’re slouching in the rocking chair in the corner of your room, trying to read the book Helaena had lent you.

This is the third time you feel like giving up; mind too fuzzy to fully take in anything you're reading.

Why is it so hard to concentrate?

To distract yourself?

You’d planned on giving your mum a call when you retreated to your cottage, but couldn’t even bear to pick up your phone.

She had a way of knowing what you were thinking, without you even telling her. She knows you so well.

Too well.

She would sense that something's off.

That there's something you're not telling her.

What if she figures out what you and Aemond had done?

You’re startled by a sudden knock on your door.

Quickly standing, you rush to the door, nerves on high alert.

Aemond’s ducks his tall frame as you pull the door open, face level with yours. You feel that familiar shiver run down your spine, making your body shudder slightly.

He looks as impeccable as always; hair half up so that the silver strands stay out of his face, button-down shirt and slacks perfectly form-fitted and ironed to eliminate any trace of a wrinkle; any indication of a flaw. His eyepatch is securely placed over his damaged eye, long scar poking through the sides.

“Can we talk?”, he asks, voice low and gentle.

You’re not sure what to say, and move to the side to allow him inside. For some reason denying him feels out of the question.

You go back to the wooden rocking chair, sitting down and pulling one leg up to wrap your arms around yourself, a meek attempt at shield yourself from whatever Aemond has in mind.

He sits down on the bed, back stiff and gaze darting around the room before settling on you.

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday”, he starts, face stoic.

“Thank me?”, you reply by reflex, not entirely sure of what he’s referring to.

He can’t be referring to what happened in the forest?

“Yes. I really appreciate you helping me out”, he continues matter-of-factly. You’re stunned, mouth half-open in disbelief.

“And I wanted to apologise for leaving you after. That won’t happen again”

His eye never leave yours. He sounds so sincere it is hard not to take his gratitude and apology to heart.

Still, the memory of what you’d done causes bile to rise in the back of your throat.

Forgiving him and moving on would be so simple.

“It’s okay, Aemond, we don’t have to talk about it anymore”, you mumble, eyes looking down to pick at the sleeve of the linen blouse you’re wearing.

You’d rather just forget.

Move on.

Never speak or think about it again.

It never happened.

“Alright”

He’s silent for a moment before he speaks up again,

“I also wanted to thank you for coming out here to visit us. It’s been so nice to reconnect over these past few days”

There he is again.

The boy who’d been your best friend all those years ago.

Fierce and attentive at once; contradicting in every way. His timid smile is still the same, just as inviting to mischief as it had been when you were little.

You still can’t quite find the words to engage in conversation with him. Half of you wants to run away from his unpredictability, yet the other half wants to stay and bask in it.

“I’ve missed you”, he continues. You know he is genuine when you look up to meet his gaze.

You’ve missed him too.

“I’ve missed you too”, you confess quietly. You can’t seem to look away from his eye. It's almost hypnotising.

“Wouldn’t you like to stay here for a while longer? I can talk to Gwayne”, he offers.

“Oh that’s not necessary, I have to go back. I already know I have a full mailbox waiting for me”, you quip, trying to sound witty. Aemond’s face remains impassive.

“I always wondered why you decided to work with my uncle. Such a waste of potential”, he muses as he regards you,

“I think you could achieve much more if you chose another path in life”

His expression is serious, still his voice is gentle.

Like he’s telling you, not advising you.

Before you have a chance to reply he speaks up again,

“I’d like you to join a sermon we’re having tonight. You could benefit from some guidance”

You can’t come up with a reason to decline his invitation fast enough, and Aemond lets out a pleased hum at your silence.

“Six o’clock in the Sept”

He stands and reaches his hand towards you, squeezing it in goodbye.

He leaves your cottage and you watch him retreat to the Sept through your window.

The tall building truly holds an imposing aura; the seven pointed star sinister in its daunting simplicity.

Unsettling.

You enter the Sept right before six.

To your surprise, all residents of the commune are already seated, sitting in rows leading up to the unadorned wooden altar; carvings of the Seven decorating all sides of it.

The only one standing is Aemond, right next to the altar.

Next to him is a chair, and as you walk towards where the residents are seated, Aemond clears his throat and gestures for you to take a seat on the chair next to him, facing everyone.

“Please, join me”, he says and beckons you over.

Everyone present is watching you expectantly, leaving you no choice but to join Aemond and take a seat next to where he’s standing.

“Our guest of honour, everyone”

His voice is soft, yet you notice a hint of amusement hiding behind his stoic façade.

He says a short prayer, welcoming everyone to the sermon and expressing gratitude to all faces of the Seven.

“Today, I’d like to talk about forgiveness”, Aemond explains, and you watch as all residents observe him diligently, eyes rarely blinking.

He seems to hold such power within these seven walls.

Such authority.

“Granting someone forgiveness takes strength, given to us by the Warrior”

The residents are silent, but you see a few of them nodding along to Aemond’s words.

Helaena and Alys sit closest to where you and Aemond are, watching you attentively.

“All actions have consequences, and we must be reminded of this to prevent us from repeatedly committing wrongdoings. When I was 10, I was taught the consequences of my actions as my nephew brought a knife to my face, taking my eye”

His tone grows colder as he speaks, and you feel that all too familiar shiver run down your spine.

Only this time, you cannot shudder to make it go away. It stays at the base of your back; taking hold of you and keeping you in a state of acute uneasiness.

“Though I was consumed by hatred after being robbed of my sight, the Seven provided me with guidance, showing me the light in the darkest of times”

Aemond moves to stand in front of you, one hand coming up to pull the eyepatch that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face away.

You hadn’t seen him without it since the accident, and you have to stifle a gasp as you take in the entirety of his face.

The scar that your brother had branded him with is still red, still angry as you follow it with your eyes; starting at his forehead and ending on his cheek.

The socket where his eye had previously been is surrounded by scarred tissue; healed but still furious.

In the empty socket lays a sparkling sapphire, almost appearing alive as the light from the candles in the Sept reflects upon its surface.

The contrast of the beautiful gem nuzzled in the red, vexed scar reminds you of Aemond himself; full of rage and beauty.

“I’ll tell you the story behind this scar”

He moves to stand behind you as his hands rest on the backrest of the wooden chair,

“I was enjoying a day at the beach with my dearest childhood companion-”

His voice is borderline mocking. In your peripheral vision you see his knuckles go white from to the tight grip he has on the backrest of your chair,

“- though she adored me as well, she never defended me against the nasty remarks her brothers would throw my way”

His icy voice heats with anger,

“Having had enough of their torment, I defended myself, much like the Warrior would have. Like the Father, I demanded justice for their unbecoming behaviour. Yet, when I gained the strength to defend myself against my tormentors, the one who was supposed to be by my side abandoned me”

Although you can’t see him standing behind you, you can feel the infuriated energy radiating from his body. You desperately seek the resident's eyes for some sympathy, yet find none.

“That-, That’s not what happened Aemond”, you try to protest, but your voice comes out too weak to truly make an impact.

“Is it not? Then enlighten me. Did you not leave me to defend myself?”

One of the hands he has placed on the back of the chair moves to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it harshly.

“I didn’t-, you were fighting and I didn’t-, I was going to get an adult!”

You sound as desperate as you feel. The gazes of the residents feels burning as they regard you with disapproval.

You still remember how an innocent fight between children had escalated as soon as Aemond picked up a rock, refusing to take in your pleas to just let it go. Not knowing what to do, you’d sprinted towards the family’s summer house to get your mum or Alicent; anyone who could help you de-escalate the madness on the beach.

When you came back, Aemond was on the ground, screaming as he clutched his blood-covered face.

The memory makes you grow cold all over. That had been the worst day of your childhood; amplified by the fact that Aemond had refused to speak to you afterwards. Though your families had managed to mend the broken bond somewhat, Aemond had never looked at you the same.

“The Seven tell us that sins can be forgiven, and though I have forgiven you for this”, he gestures towards his eye, “you were never made to apologise for your transgression. I’d like to offer you forgiveness”

“Apologise to me”

He pushes at your shoulder, gesturing for you to stand in front of the onlooking residents. You heed his instruction, turning so that you're facing him.

"Kneel"

You get down on your knees, looking up at Aemond’s imposing stature. He is frightening, the clearly satisfied state of his face haunting you.

“I’m sorry”, you say meekly; low and defeated.

“Come on, you can do better than that”, he encourages.

His voice is loud and with a hint of poorly concealed amusement.

“I’m sorry”, you repeat, this time louder.

“You’re not going to address me when you’re on your knees, asking for my forgiveness?”, he asks, tilting his head.

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your face grow hot from the feelings rumbling in your chest; rage, sadness, betrayal.

Why is he so intent on humiliating you?

“I’m sorry, Aemond”, you bite out.

He approaches you, hand stretched out to touch your head, gently stroking your hair. He brings his hand down to cup your chin, tilting your head so that you look up at him; meeting his purple and blue gaze.

“I forgive you”, he says, and despite sincerity being evident in his voice, you cannot help but feel like this is all just a farce.

The onlooking residents stay silent, but you feel their eyes observe you like flames against your skin.

The only sound coming from the audience is from Helaena, who lets out a quiet “lovely” as her smiles at you and Aemond. You eye her in disbelief.

Does she not see how fucked up this is?

As soon as the sermon finishes you dart out the door, speedily walking the short distance to the cottage you’re staying at.

You cannot bear to stay in this madness for even a second longer.

You slam the door open, grab your belongings and stuff them down your bag with force.

The sun is setting and you know that there are no streetlights out here, only open fields and forest. You'll need to find your way back to the station alone, Helaena’s clearly as mad as the rest of them.

You peek out through the door. No one seems to be nearby and you know this is your chance to sneak away without being forced to face Aemond, Alys or Helaena.

The sun is hanging low on the horizon as you quickly move towards where you and Helaena had emerged a few days prior.

You walk briskly, the commune growing smaller as you move further away.

The forest that had mesmerised you with its beauty slowly turns terrifyingly imposing as darkness chases the comforts of daylight away.

Though you're sure you’ve been following the way you and Helena came, you soon find yourself at a crossroads in the middle of two paths, not knowing which will lead you back to the small village where the train station was.

As you briefly stop to contemplate your options, a dark figure appear on your side.

Jayne’s eyes are kind as she offers you a curt smile, reaching out to take your hand.

“Come with me”, is all she says before moving in quick steps, pulling you along the path to the right. You follow without protests; you wouldn’t know the way without guidance anyway.

You spot what looks like a street light ahead and you feel your body relax at the thought of being close to the train station, soon on the way back home.

Finally you’ll be able to leave this week behind.

As you come closer however, you start to recognise the small, wooden houses. In the middle stands a large, looming building with lights illuminating the seven pointed star in the middle.

You try to jerk your hand away from Jayne, but her hold on you is iron-like as she pulls you towards the Sept.

“Don’t worry”, she tries to reassure you.

“Soon you’ll realise that this is where you’re meant to be”

Prospering

Jayne forcefully drags you into Aemond's office, quickly exiting to lock the door from the outside. You’re still in shock, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself enough to assess the situation.

Everyone here’s deranged.

You’re outnumbered.

You could fight as hard as you like, and you’d still lose.

You start to nervously pace back and forth in front of Aemond’s large wooden desk, attempting to expel some of the nervous energy within you.

They wouldn't hurt you, right?

That’d be mad.

You think back to the true crime documentaries you used to be obsessed with. The best thing to do was play along with the madness and strike when they least expect it.

Make them believe you’re not a threat so they’ll trust you.

You just needed to keep your head cool and play along a little while longer. Then they’d take you back to the train station and you could go back home.

A sharp rap on the door pulls you away from your thoughts.

You hear someone fiddle with the lock before the door opens slightly and Alys slips through the small crack. You can hear voices outside, but they quickly fade away as Alys shuts the door promptly.

She gives you a nod, expression as calculated as it always is. She’s carrying two wine glasses in one hand and holding an opened bottle of wine in the other.

“Oh relax”, she tells you with a smile,

“Have some wine, it’ll calm your nerves”

She places the glasses on the desk, pouring you both a serving each before putting down the bottle and handing you one of the glasses.

“Here’s to a prosperous future”, she says, raising her glass and giving you a nod. You match her gesture, bringing the glass to your lips as you watch her take a sip.

The wine tastes like the ones your mum usually orders when you go out to eat; rich and with some lingering spiciness.

“Dornish red. Aemond’s favourite”, Alys states. Her delicate fingers are wrapped around the stem as she holds the glass elegantly.

She seems to do everything with grace, never faltering. Never appearing clumsy or out of place.

It's hard not to admire her.

“You know he’s only trying to help you, right?”, she asks.

"I-", you’re quiet for a while as you rack your brain for something to say that won’t upset her, “I appreciate that, but I need to get back home and-“

“Just let him help you, okay?”

Though her voice rises slightly at the end, it doesn’t feel like a question.

You know that there is no room for argument. Alys has maintained her calm appearance, yet her eyes are so expressive; the only part of her face that she can’t force into submission.

Their intensity make the hairs at the back of your neck rise, demanding you obey her.

She downs her glass before placing it on the desk, leaving you alone yet again in Aemond’s office.

It’s gotten dark now, the sole window in the room not providing much light anymore.

You continue to sip the wine in your glass as you lean against the desk next to you. The alcohol might provide you with some comfort; sooth your anxiety.

A soft knock on the door announces the presence of your next visitor.

Helaenas’ silver hair brightens up the dark room as she enters. She’s holding a flower crown in one hand, beautifully crafted with wildflowers you recognise from the bouquets always adorning the table outside.

“Hi”, she greets with a smile.

You nod back at her, still not quite sure how to appraise her.

She’s been one of the people you’ve felt closest to your entire life, yet she seems to approve of the mad things happening here.

How can she not see how humiliating Aemond’s actions during the sermon had been?

“I made this for you”, she says and hands you the flower crown.

As your hands touch, her fingers linger on yours, tips dragging over your knuckles with a feather-light touch.

“Thanks”, you reply curtly, not sure of what to say.

You want to ask Helaena for the way back to the train station.

Ask her to come back with you to Oldtown.

But she’s so different here. She overlooks so much, agrees to so much.

Always with a smile.

“Put it on”, she urges, hands moving to the flower crown to help you place it on your head. You want to protest but you’re so tired of it.

Tired of asking questions.

Tired of going against everyone.

“There”, she says with a smile as she regards you, face even brighter than before,

“You look so beautiful”

“Hel..”, you try, tongue coming out to lick your lips as you choose your words carefully.

She’s still your dear aunt; still Helaena.

“I want to go back home, Hel. We could go together, if you like?”

Despite trying to keep your voice even, you sound a little frantic.

“No you can’t leave now”, is all she replies, dismissing you. She doesn’t appear to be upset by your words though, lips still forming a warm smile.

“Hel, listen. What you’re doing here is not okay. Aemond maimed a man! And he humiliated me in front of everyone. Something’s wrong with him”

Your eyes dart all over her face and stature to assess her reaction to your words. You’re astonished by her indifference, almost like she’s not taking your words in.

She places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly as her eyes lock with yours,

“All actions have consequences. We’re all made aware of that here. Aemond only wants what’s best for us. He’s worked so hard to provide us with this. You should be thankful”

She leaves you alone in the room once more, and as she exits, you hear her secure the lock on the door from the outside.

By the time you hear someone unlock the door next, you’ve finished the glass of wine Alys gave you.

The room is now illuminated by nothing but the light of the moon shining through the window, casting a silver glow over the office.

Matching the man entering.

Aemond’s tall silhouette appears, instantly making you straighten up, dread washing over you.

He has been so volatile during your stay here, making you feel unease by the mere sight of him.

You can still hear chatter and what sounds like furniture being shuffled around outside as the door is left ajar by Aemond, who moves towards you.

He stands so close to you that his feet are touching yours.

His face is stern, looking at you down his nose. Fighting the fright within you, you meet his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of backing down too easily.

Still, you know that you’ll need to play your cards right, go along with the madness here momentarily, so that they’ll eventually let you go home.

“Why did you leave?”, he asks, eyes never leaving yours.

His voice is that unique mixture of being gentle and stern, demanding you obey him and tell him the truth.

“I tried to leave because of what you did to me during the sermon. What you did to Jon!”

You’re unable to hide the fear-laced irritation you feel at his audacity.

How could he expect you to stay? Wasn’t it obvious why you left?

“I might have been selfish for needing that apology, but it was necessary. Now we can move forward together”

He moves one of the hands he’s had clasped behind his back towards you, gently placing his it in yours.

Your gaze flickers down to where he’s holding you. Your hand looks so small and delicate in his large one. His touch is warm.

You scoff at his attempt to reconcile,

“Who said I’ve forgiven you for what you did?”

“You know you owed me an apology after leaving me alone with your vicious brothers that night”, Aemond says and he shuffles even closer to you,

“Do you think that what happened during the sermon can match the pain I felt when your brother took my eye?”

“N- no, but Aemond-"

“No. You’ll never understand the pain I’ve been through. But I’ve chosen to forgive you, and now we can move forward together”

His voice is slightly strained as he lectures you. His purple eye is piercing, and though you’d wanted to match his strength, you can’t help it when your eyes look down in shame.

“However”, he speaks in a lower tone, thumb moving to stroke the back of your hand,

“I am disappointed in your attempt to leave me and Helaena here without even granting us a proper goodbye”

“You’ll prosper here with us, but you’ll have to follow our rules. Dishonesty is not allowed, and your actions show that you attempted to act deceitfully".

His hand drops yours as he grabs your arms on both sides, swiftly turning you around and pushing on you back with a firm hand so that you're bent over his desk.

You’re too startled to fight back, letting out a yelp as you feel him tower over you from behind. He leans down over your body, hand still firmly on your back, pushing down,

“You have probably heard stories of whipping those who refuse to see the light. But I am no monster, so I will spare you from the whip”, he murmurs next to your ear, hand on your back trailing downwards,

“My hand will serve”

Before you’re able to reply, or even fully take in what he’s telling you, you feel his large palm make swift contact with your backside, the gesture causing a loud smack to echo through the quiet room.

You let out a startled cry in pain as you turn your head to face Aemond, confused betrayal reflected in how your mouth fall open and eyebrows rise.

His hand smooths over the material of your skirt where he’s just slapped you, somewhat soothing the painful sting on your skin.

“For being deceitful, I’ll give you five smacks. That’ll teach you to behave”,

The stoic gentleness of his voice borders on sounding amused as he takes in your shocked face.

Can you still play along?

What will happen if you resist?

While you’re trying to calculate your next move, Aemond’s hand land another harsh hit on your ass.

You sqeel from the pain, but quickly try to stifle the sounds coming out of your mouth.

Your painfully aware of the fact that he left the door ajar.

The residents outside might hear what’s happening. You feel tears well up in your eyes from the humiliation; from the stinging pain on your backside.

Aemond shushes you as he once again smooths his hand over your abused flesh in a comforting manner,

“You’re doing so well, my love” he tells you, eyes meeting yours once again.

You don’t understand why his words stifle the anxiety you feel, but they do.

“Only three more”, he states as he lands another stinging hit on your ass, even harsher then before.

You can’t hinder the tears that escape down your cheeks anymore.

“Good girl”, Aemond coos as he soothes your pain with his palm. Though the fabric of your skirt separates your skin from his, you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

Hearing him praise you shouldn’t sooth your pain, or make you feel better in the slightest, but it does.

You notice the soft look of satisfaction in his eye and you feel proud.

His hand lands on you quickly and you bite your lip desperately to not cry out. More tears slide down your cheek as you give Aemond a pleading look.

“Just one more, and then you’ve served your punishment”, he reassures you as he caresses your stinging flesh.

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the last smack to land and when it does, you flinch before letting out a sigh of relief because you’d done it, you’d taken the punishment and now Aemond would be pleased with you.

The thought makes a warm sensation spread in your chest and when you open your tear-filled eyes, Aemond is already watching you with an expression that feels nothing less than loving.

While one hand stays on your backside to gently caress you, the other travels to you face, cupping your cheek. His thumb runs over your cheek, wiping away some of the wetness.

“You took your punishment so well. You make me proud”, he tells you, and his soft voice sounds so sincere. You lean into his touch on instinct, his palm providing comforting warmth to your cheek.

Being praised by him makes you feel happier than you’ve been in a long time.

It feels so good to be appreciated; to know you did something well. You can’t help but smile as your eyes lock with his. He smiles back at you.

“Now, I’ve got a surprise for you”, he tells you as he straightens up, grabbing your arm to link it with his. You know that there is more you need to talk about; more that’s unsaid. Yet, your mind feels fuzzy and you’re finding it hard to properly sort your thoughts out.

Aemond snakes his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him and you lean into his warmth; it’s so comforting.

“Aemond, I-, I still need to know…”, your voice dies as you mentally search for a question.

What was it that made you leave?

Oh! Jon!

“Why did you cut Jons hand?”, you ask, hoping that the softness of your voice will prevent his impending irritation. You don’t think you could handle another punishment.

Aemond is quiet for some time, possibly pondering his response, before he speaks,

“Jon spoke out of turn, questioning my roles as the leader of this community. He now understands that everything I do is for the good of the commune and its residents”, he explains, arm still holding you by the side as his palm rests out on your stomach.

“Here in the commune, we know that scars tell a story; they remind us of our wrongdoings and guide us when we stray from the light of the Seven”

He stops in front of the door, turning slightly to look at you,

“You should be grateful I didn’t scar you, like I’ve done to others. Soon you’ll appreciate all that I've done for you”

He pushes the door to his office open, revealing the large hall where you’d been humiliated during Aemond’s sermon.

The residents of the commune are all facing you, watching you expectantly as you emerge from the office.

They’re all sitting on the exact same seats as before. The Sept is dark, illuminated only by the scarce moonlight shining through the seven-pointed star carved in the upper part of the buildings large walls, and by the candles lit across the room.

You see one of the residents standing by the altar where Aemond had stood during the sermon.

You recognise him as one of Aemond’s former professors in King’s Landing. The man is probably in his early to mid-sixties with grey specks clear in his brown locks. He offers you a smile as you approach with Aemond, his brown eyes warm and inviting,

“Welcome”

Aemond leads you to stand in front of the altar, arm still anchoring you to him.

“Is everything ready?”, your uncle inquires as his grip around you tightens.

“Yes. Let’s begin with the seven vows”, the elderly man says before reciting what sounds like a long prayer.

Having Aemond hold you makes you feel secure, and it takes you a while to really comprehend what is going on.

Why are the two of you standing here, instead of sitting with the other residents?

“Do you accept the seven vows, the seven blessings and the seven promises?”, he asks, warm eyes meeting yours.

“I do”, Aemond replies next to you, squeezing your waist in a silent command for you to do the same.

You turn to face him, brows furrowed in confusion.

What is it you’re agreeing to?

Aemond’s patience seems to run thin as you remain silent.

You notice his jaw twitch as he gives the resident in front of you a pointed look, prompting the man to respond in a quick nod before moving to join the onlookers.

Aemond turns to fully face you, yet he doesn’t move his arm, tugging you towards him so that your soft chest knocks against his.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my wife”, he says before he surges forward, crashing his lips against yours.

You stiffen in his grip, trying to back away from him but unable to move in his hold. You hear applause echo through the hall as Aemond retreats, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

You open your mouth to protest, but your voice is drowned out by the loud chanting of the onlooking residents,

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

They abruptly stand, chanting over and over as they move towards the large wooden doors of the entrance, going outside to leave you and Aemond alone in the Sept.

Even after the last person has left and closed the door, you can hear them chanting outside.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

The slight tranquillity you’d previously found comfort in vanishes as you search Aemond’s face for an explanation; an answer as to what is going on.

His hand cups your cheek again, the loving look he’d offered you before you left his office still present,

“Your decision to leave tells me that you are lost. I’ll help you. I’ll help you see the light again”

You’re lost for words.

“I’m doing this for you. I know how much you crave to be loved. I’ll give you that. Just trust me”

His reassurance does little to calm your nerves as you feel dread pool in your gut.

“But Aemond, not like this, we can’t-”, you protest weakly. Despite the uneasiness taking root inside of you, your body betrays you as it still leans into the touch of his hand.

“I know how to fix you, just like I fixed Helaena”, he comforts you. His seeing eye seeks yours, silently inciting you to trust him,

“You were made for me, and I for you. I know you’ve been feeling lost for a long time. My uncle told me how depressed you were in Oldtown”

“The mother blessed women with wombs to heal their inner sadness. Becoming a mother will heal you”,

He pushes your body against the altar,

“We need to consummate our marriage, or it won’t be recognised by the Seven”

You feel dread settle in your bones as you take in his word.

“No, Aemond, please-, this is wrong! What would our mothers say?”, you desperately try to reason, panic making your breath quicker as he places his hands on either side of you on the altar; caging you in.

He lowers his head so closely that your noses touch, eye never straying away from yours,

“They’ll understand”

His lips find yours again. You know kissing him is wrong, yet your body melts into his touch as his soft lips press against yours.

Maybe they would understand?

Aemond’s tongue gently swipes over your lower lip, pushing to gain access. As he deepens the kiss, his hands travel down to your skirt, gathering the fabric in his grip before breaking away from you.

You’re both breathing heavily as you stay frozen, taking in each other's expressions. A thin line of translucent spit connects your lips and you notice Aemond’s eye flicker down to watch your kiss-swollen lips.

The conflicting emotions within you rage like the worst of storms, making your head spin. Aemond’s gentle prodding had successfully made you into putty in his hands, yet the uneasy feeling from before remains, steering you away from his control.

“No, no. We can’t, this has already gone too fa-”, you’re abruptly startled to silence as Aemond swiftly sinks down to his knees, pushing up the fabric of your skirt to expose your underwear.

You try to push your legs together but one of his hands quickly dart out to pull down the small piece of fabric separating your skin from his.

You place your hands on both sides of his head in an attempt to push him away, but his face moves towards your exposed centre with determination.

He grabs ahold of the outside of your thighs as he pushes your body towards his face, tongue immediately finding your bundle of nerves, swiping over it in rhythmic circles. Your grip on his head tightens as you push with all your strength for him to back away, but to no avail. He buries his face further into the apex of your thighs as he grips your tights painfully, fingertips leaving colourful marks of ownership.

You whine from the pain; from the pleasure building inside of you as Aemond forces your body into submission. He manhandles your right leg so that it rests on his shoulder, giving him further access to assault you with his mouth.

He sucks on your clit as he brings two fingers up to slide through your folds; the ease of which they glide lets him know the effect his touch has on you.

His fingers find your entrance, pushing inside to instantaneously curl forward, finding that spot inside you that always brings you waves of pleasure. You let out a startled moan as your hands go limp around Aemond’s head, simply resting there.

You close your eyes, violent pleasure making it hard for you to think clearly, just like how you’d felt in his office a few days ago.

Why does he have this effect on you? Why is he so good at this?

Why does it feel so good?

Another pathetic moan leaves your lips as he picks up the speed of his actions, purple and sapphire gaze watching you intently. You close your eyes once again, internally surrendering to his touch.

You want it. You need it.

You feel something ignite within you just as your peak crashes over you. The intensity makes your walls clench around Aemond’s fingers as you gasp in pleasure. Your legs shake from the force and you grab onto his hair for some stability.

He withdraws from you, slightly out of breath, and stands, large frame looming over you.

“No one else makes you feel as good as I do, no one else sees you like I do. We have found each other through the guidance of the seven, can’t you see that? We were meant to be”, he says and grabs your waist to hoists your slack body up on the altar.

He pushes your thighs apart, reaching down to undo his slacks and pulls them down just enough to free his length. It is just as intimidating as it had been yesterday; thick, veiny and ragingly red.

“You want this, I know you do”, he says before pushing inside you, causing you to whine at the stretch. You feel so full, and the impact of your orgasm makes your head feel fuzzy; like you’re floating away. Your walls contract around Aemond and he moans as he lowers his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

“You feel just as perfect as I knew you would”, he whispers in your ear. He draws his hips back, pushing them into yours with such force that your body jolts on the altar. You try to hold on to him with every harsh thrust, but your limbs feel too weak. It all feels so overwhelming, so good, that you can’t bite your lip hard enough to hinder the moans that bounce around the seven walls of the Sept.

One of Aemonds hands come down to draw circles on your clit once more. He pulls back slightly to watch you; to take in your pleasure-drunk expression.

“Let them hear you”, He presses down on your bundle of nerves harsher, still dragging his cock in strong, calculated movements along your walls.

The precision of his touch pushes you towards another peak, but when you feel it nearing, he withdraws completely, eyes flickering down to briefly admire the coat of your slickness adorning his manhood.

He grabs your hips, pulls you down from the altar and turns you around so that you’re facing away from him. Like in his office mere moments ago, he pushes on your back so that your chest makes contact with the wooden surface. He lets his cock glide through your folds before he leans down to mumble in your ear,

“Tell me what you want”

Robbing you of release has left you confused. Resigned and desperate, you let the throbbing between your thighs guide you,

“You, Aemond. I want you”

He pushes inside you again with a pleased grunt, picking up the pace quickly as he fucks you against the holy pedestal. Your hands grab both sides as it rocks in tandem with Aemond’s thrusts. His hand finds you clit again and this time you peak within seconds, pleasure washing over you as your legs turn into jelly.

You feel your legs give in, causing you to slide down on the floor. Aemond doesn’t let you go as he keeps fucking you, following you down to the floor. Your upper body jolts from the force of his movements, slowly slipping down to make contact with the cold stone floor.

He leans over you, pounding into you with force. One of his hands comes to rest above you on the altar, allowing him to fuck you harder, and you whine on the floor beneath him,

“Fucking take it”, he grunts as he goes harder, the contact of his hip bone against your abused backside sending stings of pain through your body.

His fingers find your clit again and you moan in pain-filled pleasure at the overstimulation, one hand reaching for his to push it away.

Aemond tuts behind you, “One more. Be good and give me one more”

You try to turn your head so that you can face him, but you’re unable to move, trapped under his body as he takes his pleasure from you. All you can do is take it; give in.

You cry out as you cum for the third time. Your walls clench down on Aemond’s length vigorously as they coax his release from him. You hear him sigh in pleasure as he fills you.

After a few moments, he pulls away from you, fingers moving to stuff whatever spend has trickled down your thigh back inside. You hiss at the pain. He whispers a gentle apology in your ear, helping you pull your underwear back up.

He stands and reaches down under the altar, picking up the flower crown that had fallen from your head sometime during the consummation. His fingers grasp it gently, placing it back on your head.

He looks so beautiful standing in front of you, the soft light from the candles and the silvery glimmer from the moonlight illuminating his features. He gives you another quick kiss before leading you out of the Sept to greet the residents still gathered outside.

As the two of you emerge from the building, beaming smiles, loud congratulations and well wishes for a prosperous future greet you and your husband.

Aemond never lets go of you, keeping you close to him as he chats with the residents; explaining his vision for the commune moving forward and the new role you’ll play as a permanent resident.

Somewhere inside, you know that you should feel ashamed over what just occurred; over the fact that the residents probably heard the entire ordeal as they patiently waited for you outside.

But all you can feel is bliss; a pleasant calm spreading from your chest. Heating up your insides.

Your life before now had been a long struggle, where you were forced to suffer. Forced to part from your closest childhood friend, forced to pursue a career to feel adequate, forced to live a mundane life in isolation.

Aemond pulls you away from the crowd, leaning down to whisper in your ear,

“Look up”

You see bright, green streaks of light decorate the dark night sky, accompanied by thousands of stars. It is the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Aemond tugs you even closer to his side, resting his chin on your head as you silently admire the northern lights together. All you can feel is his warmth, the safety of being in someone’s embrace. Of being in Aemond’s embrace.

It’s warm.

Comforting.

Freeing.

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[mayhemories]

Pregnancy baby trope baby daddy Neteyam x reader please

TELLING NETEYAM YOURE PREGNANT 😩😩😩😩😩😩

Tsahik Always Knows

Oh my god!! Daddy Neyetam would be so sweet! Also, I'm sorry for the lack of posts, I've been studying overseas and this course is an intensive fieldwork unit so I have had like no time to think. Additionally, some of my tags are working and some are not - I'm so sorry if I miss out on tagging you!

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: none. Vomit? Fluff? 

Words: 1.8k

Author’s Notes: 

Neteyam is 24, reader is 23, established relationship. AU where they never left the forest and Jake is still Olo’eyktan, Neteyam will take that mantle eventually,, happy-happy can’t read or write any more angst for real. 

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Tag List: @lilprettypetite @nyotamalfoy @weasleytwinwheezes @aonungs-tsahik @rainbowsocks @glitterandgoldfinds @bluealiensimp @melsunshine @ussoppl @wondxrgurll @luvlykrispy @myheartfollower @gloryavila

Read Below Cut:

You stared at the remnants of last night’s dinner on the floor. You had vomited, again. This had been happening in the mornings, on and off for the last few weeks. You did not feel sick, so why were you sick? 

Normally the vomit happened at home. Normally Neteyam had already left to tend to his duties. Normally you could clean it up and pretend like it never happened. 

The heat of your embarrassment swarmed over your neck and shoulders, sweeping up into your cheeks and ears. You knelt, frozen in place over the bile you had just produced. 

On Mo’at’s tent floor. 

She was practically, and legally, your grandmother, and had been since you were nineteen-years-old. But you never thought of her like that. She was your Tsahik, your teacher, your elder, your spiritual guide, healer of the Omaticaya. 

And you had vomited on her floor. 

Mo’at cleared her throat, sitting across from you, your shameful vomit between you. Tears welled in your eyes. This was the worst day of your life. 

“Well, luckily it was just you and me here, hm,” Mo’at said with an unusual lightness, a sweetness that was enough to spin you out of your own thoughts. 

“My Tsahik, I am so sorry I do not know-” 

“Don’t be stupid, how can you not know?” The typical biting Mo’at that you were familiar with came back, quickly. The woman leaned forward with a cloth, mopping up your watery bile like a dealdly secret to be kept between the Tsahik and her assistant.

Now, you really did not know what she meant. You sat up taller, finding a cloth to wipe your mouth clean, something tangible to hold onto. 

“My Tsahik, I promise you, I do not know what you think I know.” You whispered into the cloth at your mouth. Mo’at discarded her cloth that blotted your vomit into a wooden bowl. Some poor trainee will deal with it later. She squinted at you, taking you in. Harshly, she grabbed at your wrists, inspecting your palms, and your shaking, delicate fingers. 

She huffed as she held your wrist tightly in her left, her right hand poking at your cheek, breasts and thighs. “Hey!” you had enough of her prodding, as you pulled your wrist from her vice-like grip. 

“Lay down. Now.” The Tsahik made moves to push you back onto the woven mats on the floor. You were scared and confused and honestly, getting rather emotional. You were still reeling over the embarrassment the vomit caused you. More and more these days you found yourself crying over nothing, or getting easily embarsassed. 

You laid still, scared of Mo’at, and, scared of vomiting again. Flat on your back, you stared at the keen weavings of Mo’at’s medical tent. You hissed, looking down, Mo’at has placed a cold hollowed stone on your lower stomach, her ear pressed against it, she furrowed her brow bone. 

The elder woman jerked up once she was satisfied, discarding her stone instrument, she settled back into her seated position on the floor, you mirroring her. 

“Tsahik-” 

“You are with child, quite obviously.” Mo’at had cut you off, while simultaneously giving you news that ripped all the air from your lungs. 

Your mind was spinning. You were happy, you were sad, you were excited, you were embarrassed. How could you not see the signs within yourself? Obviously you and Neteyam mated often- 

Oh, Eywa. 

Neteyam. 

You were going to have to tell him. 

It was not like you both hadn’t spoken on the topic before, you knew you both wanted kids, a family. Additionally, children were expected, a future Olo'eyktan must be secured. 

But the two of you had not planned for it to happen so soon. You had been so careful, tonics and teas. God, Neteyam pulled out most of the time. 

Subconsciously one hand laid across your abdomen, the other covering your mouth. You felt your eyes struggling to focus on Mo’at, on anything really. You felt like a shell. A shell with a small shell inside. 

“How far along?” You whispered, normally you would scold yourself for your informality towards Mo’at, but you would give yourself a break just this once. 

“A month, maybe two. Nothing more, nothing less. You are not physically showing yet but you cannot be far away.” The rare gentleness from Mo’at rose its head once again. You were grateful for it. “Now, my lovely girl, go. Go collect yourself and tell my grandbaby that you’re having my great-grandbaby.” Mo’at said softly, helping you to your feet. 

You couldn’t remember the short walk from Mo’at’s tent to the home you shared with Neteyam. You felt as if you were on auto-pilot, blacking out and teleporting from place to place. You quickly sat on the side of your shared bed. Furs and gossamer blankets providing comfort to your shaking legs. Laying back, you stared at the gossamer canopy Neteyam had only recently erected above your bed, dangling your legs off the side. 

You rested your hands on your stomach, trying to etch into your memory what it felt like now, knowing that it will eventually swell with the growth of your baby. 

Neteyam’s baby. 

Realistically, you knew that Neteyam won’t be angry. Shocked? Maybe. But angry? Neteyam had never, ever been angry with you before. Emotionally? It was a different story, you imagined Neteyam being frustrated and screaming at you. You imagined him being disappointed. You imagined him packing his things and leaving. The passing thoughts alone were enough to put you on edge. 

Sighing aloud, you had a look at the water clock resting on the other side of the room, you still had a few hours before Neteyam was to return. You still had a few hours to pull yourself together and work out how you were going to spit it out. 

Neteyam ran his hands over his face, pulling up his ionar onto his forehead. His whole body burned from that flight. He had missed you today, not usually staying out on patrol this late, but the young recruits needed training, and Neteyam was always eager to please. But, he was a domestic man at heart, he loved being at home with you, loved pulling you to his chest, loved making whatever new thing you asked for. 

He loved nesting, he realised. Loved doing it with you. 

Striding from the Ikran keeper, Neteyam wanted nothing more than to see you. 

The warm lights of your home welcomed him, though when he peered through the gap in the curtain flap, all he saw was your anxious figure, pacing back and forth, muttering to yourself. The air was wrong, Neteyam had never really seen you like this. He watched quietly, confused as to how you had not scent him already, something was wrong with you and he would be damned if he did not find out what. 

“Oh Eywa, what am I supposed to say?” You prayed silently, wringing your wrists. You thought the pacing would bring you clarity, as it often provided your father-in-law. Yet you felt empty. And so unbearably full at the same time. In the few hours you had to wait for your mate you had come to love the little life growing in your womb.

You were so excited. You could hardly contain yourself. Neteyam would be the most perfect father. But as the night grew closer your brain started to pick itself apart. 

It was all too much. You fell to your knees in the middle of your home, letting the tears flow freely now. 

Neteyam did not let that stand for long. He quickly rushed in, picking you up and placing you in his lap. His strong arms snaking around your sobbing form. Your head quickly found is chest. He felt your hot tears streaming down your beautiful face and onto his skin. Neteyam hushed you, like he watched his mother do with his siblings, gently rocking you back and forth. It was so silent, save from your sobbing hiccups. Neteyam did not dare speak until you had stopped. 

“My love, what has happened?” He asked gently, pulling away to cup your delicate face in his large, calloused hands. His eyes found yours, and he could see something was creating great turmoil in the labyrinth of your complicated, intelligent mind. 

You sighed in response, shaking your head. Trying to find any courage at all. Knowing you have news that will change the course of someone’s life was not something you dealt with well. Maybe you were not cut out to be the clan’s spiritual leader as Tsahik. But that was a different problem for a different day. 

Neteyam placed a chaste kiss to your lips, then your cheeks, under your eyes, the tip of your nose, your forehead. You were loved, he said through the gesture. You are safe here. 

“Neteyam,” You started, softly. You were always softspoken. Something of which drove Neteyam crazy in love with you. So gentile, so docile, so calm. “I have something to tell you.” Neteyam’s stomach started to flip at your words, anxiety settling in, but like any good soldier, he willed his face into a blank expression. Giving nothing away. 

And, in turn, giving you nothing. 

“Continue my little love.” He said, putting your baby hairs behind your ears, smoothing your loose hair down as you spoke. 

“Neteyam,” You cleared your throat, forcing that invisible, metaphysical bubble away. “I am with child.” The words hung in the air between you, and all you could do was wait for your mate to respond.

Neteyam felt like he was dreaming. Of all the things he prepared for you to say, you being pregnant was not one of them. 

His tail betrayed him before his mouth did. Rapidly going side to side, the smile that erupted on Neteyam’s face threatened to split his jaw apart. 

You were carrying a baby. His baby. Your baby, together, with him. 

You melted into Neteyam’s searing kiss as he held you flush to his body. Pulling apart, Neteyam’s hands rested on your stomach, bright eyed and smily. He kissed your stomach over and over and over again. Peppering the whole area with his hot lips. You giggled at him. He was perfect. 

“Oh (y/n), I am so happy.” Neteyam kissed you again, your giggles erupting between kisses as he could not decide on what he wanted to look at, your face or your stomach. “How long have you known, sweetheart?” He rested his forehead on yours, his hands resting on your still flat stomach. 

“I found out earlier today.” You couldn’t help but smile. “Your grandmother knew.” 

Neteyam laughed, his shoulders shaking, beads of his braids clinking together. 

“She knows everything.” 

That night as the two of you laid in bed, Neteyam spooning you, you rose out of your slumber briefly. Neteyam’s tail had wrapped itself around your thigh, your own tail sat under your abdomen of its own accord. Neteyam’s fingers splayed over your stomach. He was so protective already. So in love with you and your unborn baby. 

You smiled. Shutting your eyes you thanked Eywa for gifting you with something so precious. 

[mythicmanuscripts]

Had another Aegon thought that definitely falls under himbo!Aegon/sub!Aegon in which his wife runs everything and being sexy while doing it. Basically they'd been promised to betrothed when they were younger but reader being from a different house thought it best to try and learn High Valyrian to be better suited. But upon finding out Aegon doesn't speak it she keeps it hidden but uses it to defend Aegon whenever Aemond tries to offend him. Just imagine she's sat besides Aegon when Aemond has his whole speech in High Valyrian knowing Aegon can't understand or respond, to suddenly have the biting words of his queen come to his defense having never heard her speak it before.

Man would be looking at her believing she was secretly some goddess or smth!

God I love himbo!aegon so much!! I’m gonna make it a tag just so we can group it all together.

I started out fully intended to keep this SFW and well, I had to put a cut in by the end so we all know how that turned out….

So firstly, I’ve never thought of this before but now that I have I can’t stop: I think Aegon would absolutely have a competency kink? Any time he sees you just completely in your element and doing anything that he doesn’t know how to… he just goes full empty no thoughts only pretty wife.

It’s an interesting development because he’d hate it if it were anyone else. Normally people being so good at things he can’t even grasp leaves him feeling insecure, stupid and inadequate to be king. But with you it’s completely different? With you he just stares in awe and then promptly gets very very turned on cause pretty wife!!! Pretty wife is so smart and talented and he is merely her little gremlin that follows her around asking for attention. He loves it so so much.

(Picturing a scene where Allicent is telling him off and trying to say he lets his wife run everything and he’s no real king but instead of him getting insecure and ashamed and doing whatever Allicent says, he instead just goes “yeah! Yeah she does! It’s great!”)

He loses his little mind every time he sees just how smart and good at politics you are? He hears you saying the perfect things and controlling the situation perfectly and then the next time you’re alone you even tell him what to do next time and just… no more thoughts. None whatsoever his wife is too smart and pretty for him to have thoughts. She is a beautiful powerful queen and he is merely a horny little jester.

You don’t tell him about trying to learn Valyrian mostly because you know it’s a bit of a sore spot for him? He genuinely has tried to hard to learn it, but it’s like his brain just wasn’t made for it. So you keep your lessons to yourself, and decide to worry about how to tell him at a later date when you’re fluent.

The problem, however is that even after you become fluent you still don’t know how to tell aegon without upsetting him. Sure he’s happy to have you make pretty much all decisions, but language skills or lack there of will always be a sore spot for him.

So for the next few weeks you spend most of your time trying to come up the best way to tell him.

When you walk into that small council meeting later that week,’you had absolutely no intention to reveal it there but then Aemond decided to be Aemond. You can understand every insult he hurls at his brother and you know aegon doesn’t understand.

What really makes your resolve break was when you looked over at Aegon and he was just sitting at the head of the table staring down. You can tell just from his body language that he’s trying not to cry and you know it’s not because of the insults themselves but because he actually can’t understand them and he feels so stupid.

You can’t take seeing that and so you fire back at Aemond, speaking to him in Valyrian. The look on his face when he realised that you understood every word he just said was incredible.

Aegon, meanwhile, is utterly astonished and just staring at you with shock and happiness plastered on his face.

He obviously doesn’t understand what either of you are saying, but Aegon knows you so well and he can tell by the tone of your that you’re defending him.

The moment the council meeting is over Aegon runs to put out a pillow down on the floor and kneel there, asking you about how long you’ve been studying been studying it and why. When you tell him you learnt it because knew he struggles with it and you wanted him to have someone he can ask to translate and speak for him without worrying of being misrepresented or misled.

Needless to say, Aegon burst into tears after that because it is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him. You end up having to pull him up and into your lap because he was literally just sobbing while kneeling on the floor and you won’t allow that for your good boy.

You end up giving handjob while he’s on your laps and you make sure to tell him he’s doing so well and you love him very much.

All of this is to say when you fired back at Aemond in Valyria Aegon has never been more turned on in his life and he is once again reminded how utterly incredible his wife is.

Also, now you can help him with it!! Aegon stopped his Valyrian lessons a long time ago because he just couldn’t get it quite right and all the teachers were just so patronising and made him feel horrible, but now you can teach him!! He doesn’t feel stupid at all when you tell him he’s gotten something wrong and correct him and he also feels so so good when he gets something right.

And honestly, even if he does get much better at Valyrian he’d still rather have you translate for him because then he gets to hear you speak Valyrian.

[locketsvault]

「 CUDDLING WITH TOKYO GHOUL MEN 」

pairings: jūzō suzuya x reader ፥ ayato kirishima x reader ፥ renji yomo x reader

tags: gender neutral reader, no agab mentioned, first person, fluff, cuddling/phyiscal affection

warnings: angst in ayatos, mention of parents dying in ayatos, cursing in yomos

request: Heyy, can i please ask for cuddling headcannons with tokyo ghoul guys? (Juuzou, Ayato and Yomo) (request found here.)

a/n: I’m so happy to write for jūzō I love him sm. this request was very fun to do! I do warn later on, but I’m not too familiar with yomo though I did do my best! if you have any comments or ideas about cuddling these silly men, feel free to comment or send something through my inbox. I take anons too!

// jūzō suzuya⌇˚.༄

⮑ You’ve managed to get him to sit still long enough to cuddle? I’m impressed.

⮑ No really, he’s hard to cuddle because of how much energy he has, not to mention the fact he always wants to be out and about. Funnily enough, not to lean into the stereotype but I 100% see him being docile if you give him sweets and snacks lmao. As long as you feed him he will remain in your arms like a good boy.

⮑ That brings me to my next point actually, he’s mostly always a little spoon. On rare occasions he’ll be big spoon, but the problem is that he doesn’t… know how. He doesn’t know how to be big spoon, he doesn’t know how to be the one comforting physically. But he tries!!! And tbh he’s pretty good with it, even if he can be slightly awkward at first. He learns, especially if you willingly help him.

⮑ I think because of his personality and upbringing, most people assume he doesn’t understand affection. While I can agree, to a certain extent, he isn’t clueless, and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand all forms of affection. He does, and he learns well. Even if his ways of showing affection are not traditional lol.

⮑ He does not mind pda, he doesn’t get why people are uncomfortable. He loves you, and if he wants cuddles from you while working or going around the city, then he should get what he wants no? Plus, it’s not like he’s worried about his reputation.

⮑ A solid 8/10 in the cuddle department. if he sits still long enough and is willing, his cuddles are warmth. they’re home.

// ayato kirishima⌇˚.༄

⮑ He must really trust you if he’s cuddling with you willingly.

⮑ Hear me out okay. I know he’s not only the whole “bad boy” persona we all see. But it is a big part of him and how he thinks. Affection is weakness, and showing weakness is asking for death. Especially in the earlier days. The idea of being vulnerable even in the safety of his own home freaks him out.

⮑ I think for the longest time he wouldn’t entertain the idea. That is until he’s had a rough day, and suddenly he finds himself burying his face in your torso, holding you between his legs. You can’t move, you’re not allowed to. Not that you’d want to; because finally subjecting himself to affection has caused him to break down. Yep, your first time cuddling involves a very vulnerable and probably crying boy in your arms. He’s back to the age of his parents still being alive in that moment.

⮑ But! Once he’s finally given himself the taste of affection, especially from you, he can’t let it go. It’s still only in private though, he can’t bring himself to feel comfortable cuddling you in front of others. Honestly it’s probably not until after :re that he feels comfortable with pda.

⮑ His cuddles are rigid at first, he can’t get himself to relax. But over time he softens up. He loves cuddling you face to face, he loves admiring you. You may even find his eyes soft and adoring. His body runs extra hot so he’s perfect to sleep with in the winter. Oh, couch cuddles that consist of you being a personal weighted blanket are also always welcome.

⮑ I’ll give him a 6.5, he’s still figuring himself out but somehow his cuddles are still nice.

// renji yomo⌇˚.༄

⮑ Honestly he looks like someone who gives wonderful hugs.

⮑ Now you’ll have to forgive me, I don’t really know too much on yomo, though I did try to read up a little to refresh my mind.

⮑ If we’re talking about early days yomo, when he was a little shit (sorry yomo), I don’t really see him as a cuddly person. He’s too hot headed and violent, especially after losing his sister. But if we’re talking about Anteiku and beyond yomo, I could see him appreciating cuddles very much.

⮑ And I mean it too. I think physical affection is one of his main forms of affection right next to act of service. So he’s always down to cuddle you if you ask. You’ll usually have to initiate it though, unless you’re at home. He’ll open his arms for you and pull you close.

⮑ I can vividly picture this man allowing you to lay on his chest and probably fall asleep while reading a book peacefully. And he’s willing to stay that way for hours. It’s probably very soothing to him. Especially if the room is quiet and he can hear your heartbeat.

⮑ When it comes to pda, I don’t really think he’d do it. And if he did he never initiated it. he’s a man of few words, and is reserved. His actions can speak for himself yes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to. He doesn’t care if anyone comments on it though, and is probably both amused and annoyed at the gawking of someone curled into his side at the coffee shop lol.

⮑ 9/10 as well, as long as it isn’t early yomo, you’ve got yourself a wonderful protective cuddler.

main hub ✦ masterlist ✦ to do list

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader but no gendered terms in this chapter, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, parental angst, sick parent (cancer), some reader backstory for storytelling purposes, talks of pregnancy and readers womb, fatphobia from a parent, food mentions. (lmk if I need to tag something else for filtering!!)

Chapter Three: Don't tell mum

It is an ungodly hour of the morning and you have a sugar hangover and a canopy bed full of empty wrappers.

You’d spent the night crying and cursing stupid posh, blond men with trust funds and selective sperm practices. Which then led you to curse even stupider, infuriating wankers with pretty brown eyes and smooth burnished skin.

(Also the perky twits the two species have tea and procreate with, but you’re trying to do a better job of showing unwavering solidarity with other women. Despite the present fuckery at hand that is.)

A brief glance in the mirror of your vanity reflects the deep dark circles under your eyes and the evidence of your emergency chocolate eclairs on the bodice of your moo-moo. The silk lined linen had been no match for the wild disarray of your hair during the night. You looked quite frightening really. You don’t even need to glance at the framed Olivia Pope photo on your nightstand to know your fictional icon would be utterly disgusted at the state of you.

This would not do.

Sitting up from your pillow you point an accusing finger to the wobbling lipped wretch in the mirror and take a deep steadying breath for fortitude.

"Tits up, buttercup! There's no crying in show business!" you bellow at the watery reflection firmly.

The wretch in the mirror looks no more enthusiastic than before.

Mentally you shrug. Sure the motto is not as an effective motivator as it is with the raspy American accent of your chain smoking paternal aunt, but still. It's the thought that counts! With shoulders back and head high you're determined to expel angst from your body like water off a duck's arse. You force your mouth into a semblance of a smile that doesn't reach your eyes and tumble-scooch out of the nest of blankets in the middle of your bed. 

It was Saturday and you had an overbearing mother to visit (and subsequently lie to). If you didn’t get it together she’d smell the bitter notes of ‘Eau de Failure’ wafting over you like a shark scenting blood in the water. So with that in mind, you prepare for war with a nice candle and the motivating sounds of a beloved global hero. 

“Breakup, shmake-up! Alexa, be a dear and play Chaka Khan, we need this show back on the road. Pronto!”

An incoming text comes in briefly interrupting your improvised rendition of ‘I’m Every Woman’ while you perform (lounge) in the tub. With suds scarily close to your face you squint at the message from your father with one eye.

> Nurses called, mums in a mood.

You scowl. To be frank there’s not a time as of late where your mum wasn’t in a mood. Waving an arm in the air to dispel the bubbles covering your hand, you type out a text back.

< Gobsmacked, truly. Send rating for level of risk in engaging the matriarch, Skipper.

The reply comes in seconds. You can imagine your tech averse father having already expected the request and having a reply at the ready. 

> Threat level five, Captain.

You scrunch your nose and make a whine of irritation. 

Bugger. The scale only went up to six. 

With a sigh you send a simple ‘Roger that’ and sink lower into the bathtub. It was probably best to add more bubbles and break out the epsom salts. You were going to need all the relaxation you could get.

An hour later you’re dressed and slathered in body butter, glistening like a plump glazed ham. 

Outside your flat you’re shifting your bag around to find the knock off sunglasses somewhere traversing at the bottom when the sound of the door across the wall causes you to tense. Kyle stands in his doorway shuffling with a small plastic bag in hand and a sheepish smile. He’s blinking sleep from his eyes and scrunching his face as if the light filtering in the drab hallway disturbs him greatly. 

Your gut clenches seeing the serene yellow glow cascading across his brown skin. (It wasn’t fair that even the sun was a biased ninny and painted the bane of your existence out to be an ethereal creature.)

You give him a look up and down that you hope is less awestruck and all venom. It’s hard not to get distracted by the low hang of his gray sweatpants and the compression shirt that encompasses his broad chest. 

Sweet blueberries, the man dressed like a common whore. 

Sniffing you turn your nose up at him, shoving your sunglasses on your face when you finally reach them.

“Garrick.”

He smiles wider despite your dry tone. “Good morning, love.” 

“Were you just standing there at the door waiting for me?”

Kyle gives you a flat look in return with slightly less chipper-ness. He shifts his arms to rest in a cross, the bag swinging from the crook of his elbow like a metronome. His biceps bulge in a way that makes you want to clutch your pearls. 

(Or bite him. Hard.)

“I wasn’t waiting at the door.” He’s not quite mocking the cadence of your voice but you still wonder if you could get away with braining him with your overstuffed bag.

“I just happened to be nearby and I know you always leave around this time on Saturdays.”

You roll your eyes. 

“So you were waiting at the door then. You know Garrick stalking is illegal in the UK. I would hope you’d know that being military and such.”

Kyle narrows his eyes into slits. His nostrils flare as his once bright smile turns sardonic, gravely affronted.  

“Don’t know if you’re always such a charm in the mornings, love, but like I said, wasn't waiting around.” He clips. You are incensed at the degree of excitement that shoots through you at his rare snark. 

(You make a mental note to have one of the cute nurses at mum’s care center check you over for possible head trauma.)

“Besides,” He gives you a pointed look. “You would know something about illegal acts considering you’re the one who got banned from the resident’s meetings for nicking the snacks.”

The gasp of offense you let out is involuntary. Morning Kyle was not only scandalously dressed but also very rude!

“I did not steal anything, Garrick, they were complimentary for the residents!” You snark haughtily, pushing your sunglasses up your nose with a manicured finger. “I happen to be a resident you know and I gave my compliments when I took them.”

Kyle lets out a bark of laughter. The sleep layered tenor makes your toes curl in your sensible slippers. 

Bugger he was pretty. 

“Is there something you need from me?” you ask when his laugh trickles off into chuckles.

Kyle sobers and shoots you a sheepish glance. “Ah yeah actually. I wanted to give you these.” 

Kyle maneuvers the bag off his arm and extends it to you. With an abundance of caution you accept the offering like one would handle a ticking bomb and peek inside. 

An assortment of moon cakes greets you at the bottom of the plastic. 

You can smell the crisp outer shell and the sweet red bean filling of the pastry signifying their freshness. You do the mental math in your head and realize he’d had to have been up at the crack of dawn to get in line for them at the shops around the way. 

The treats sold out in minutes and you very rarely got the opportunity to get them on your own during the season as you were prone to sleeping in.  

“What’s this for?” 

“It’s an apology.” He gives your bewildered look a self deprecating grimace. “I don’t know what the other night was about but I wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings.”

Okay, no. Can’t have any of that now. 

You straighten up and put your hands on your hips. Kyle’s eyes follow your movements, staring for longer than polite. You clear your throat and he looks away when you give him an eyebrow raise in return. 

“Firstly, Garrick, you didn’t hurt my feelings, don't insult me. I was just taken aback.” pausing in consideration you peer over the rim of your glasses at the man. “What exactly did Madelyn tell you?”

Kyle shifts, one side of his mouth twitching upwards bringing your attention to the facial scar on his cheek.

“Nothing, actually. Just a lot of crying and mumbling about some Hugo. I honestly thought she was talking about a dog before I realized it was some chap she's seeing.”

You hum. Interesting, really.

You’d been sure he’d known more than he’d let on or at the very least that Madelyn would prove to be the unsavory sort to spill the beans on the sister wife shuffle you’d been unwittingly involved in. 

A glance at your watch shows you that you’ve spent too much time dawdling. No need to ruffle mum’s feathers further.

“Well, this has been lovely, Garrick, but I have to cut out. Places to go, people to see and such.” You shake the bag in your hand in emphasis, “Thanks for the goodies. it ‘s very... Sweet of you.” 

“You’re welcome, love.”

You’re glad you thought to wear your shades, the smile he gives you is infused with satisfaction and warmth. (He really should be much more careful where he aims those things he’s liable to blind someone.)

With a twirl of your wrist you give Kyle a halfhearted wave goodbye. He watches you until the lift closes.

What a strange duck.

You find your father at his usual haunt within the oncology unit of the extended care center. 

“Step away from the vending machine, Skipper. I come bearing tastier morsels.”

You smile at his wide eyed panic as he turns to you with shoulders to his ears. He curses low and pulls you into a bear hug, tight enough that a passing nurse shushes you for the squawk you let out. Your father’s miserably dramatic groan vibrates throughout your own chest and he lets out a puff of air.

“You’ve gotta announce yourself kid, I nearly shit myself.”

With a laugh you poke a finger into his rib causing him to jerk away from you. “It’s shat, do try to act like a proper Brit won’t you? Besides what's the fun in announcing myself when I can catch you red handed doing something you shouldn’t. Mum will be pissed you’re wasting money on vending machine biscuits ya’ know.”

Your father gives you a droll look when you snatch his change and shove it in your own pocket. 

(Someone has to pay the child tax after all.)

“Shit or shat, same difference and you would be the one responsible for cleaning me up, brat. And, I’ve been divorced from your mother for nearly a decade so I don’t care what she won’t like. I'm a grown ass man, I’m not afraid of her.”

Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head you swear you can see your medulla. He was so full of it.

“Yeah? So, if I told you not to tell mum something you’re not going to do that thing where you blurt it out the second she looks at you?”

He puts a hand over his heart in reply. “Of course I wouldn’t say anything. I’m a little offended right now, when have I ever run off at the mouth.”

You stomp your feet in irritation. He didn’t get to play clueless!

“Literally all the time. You’re the reason she sent me to that awful boarding school for nicking one of your cigarettes! I’m still scared of nuns you know- stop laughing!”

Your father continues to chuckle and pats your face. When you swat his hand away the look he gives you is unimpressed and flippant.

“In my defense, you were thirteen and had no business smoking in the first place, much less skipping class to do it. I had to put fear into you so you didn’t come out a delinquent.” 

“By telling mum?” You quirk a brow.

“Course, what’s scarier?” He gives you a smug look, linking his arms in yours. You both set a pace down the hall in the direction of your mothers room. 

“Besides, I wouldn’t be a father if I hadn't done whatever it took, you were very rebellious and snotty at the time. But still, it worked out didn’t it? Got a cool nickname out of it. Siggy, the chain smoking lawyer.”

You start to glare at him but the word father makes you wince and he catches it. “What’s the look?”

“So about being a father,” you slow to a stop just outside your mothers door. You give the nurse at reception a tight smile and try to come up with a way to say the thing. 

“Hugo got someone pregnant.” 

It takes the old man some time for it to click. You watch his mind whir putting together the things you didn’t say. Finally he levels you with a smirk much like a cat who drank the cream would wear.

“No shit? Didn’t think he had the cojones for that, you’d kept them in your purse long enough.”

The look you give him is unimpressed, he snickers. How dreadful, you were being parented by a child. 

“Yes well,” you look away “according to him I wasn’t mother material and he dumped me for the other woman.”

Your father hums “Tragic that. Didn’t like him very much so I can’t say I’ll miss him. He send you off with something?”

He motions his head at the plastic bag you fiddled with subconsciously. With a snort you hand it over, watching his eyes light ups when he digs through its contents.

“No, gift from my neighbor.” you wait until he’s taken a moon cake out of its individual wrapping before leveling him a glare. “Under no circumstances are you allowed to tell mum that Hugo and I broke up.”

Your father shrugs off your concern with a wave. “Yup got it. Won’t hear a peep out of me about it.” He takes a big bite that sends pastry flecks over his shirt and you roll your eyes.

Facing the door to the hospital room you roll your shoulders back and prepare yourself mentally.

The sound of a wrapper crinkly disturbs whatever inner peace you search for in the universe.

“Please Siggy, I served with guys in the Navy with less seriousness going into battle.” 

Good grief.

“Eat your sweets please.” You cluck, “I need to meditate before I walk in there.”

Your father ha-rumps in reply but thankfully keeps quiet. When you feel some semblance of self control you shoot a look behind you.

“Remember not a single word!”

Your mother is propped against mounds of pillows. She looks every bit like a queen holding court despite the tubing and wires running along her body. Her sallow skin is grayish in tint, far from the myriad of browns you remember from your youth. 

Yet her scowl remains sharp and dagger-like in nature.

“Oh, how nice of you to show up. I thought this was your way of telling me you want me to die alone.”

Your father shoots you a look as he finishes off the cake. Threat level five indeed.

You smile at her sheepishly which only makes her glare more.

“I got tied up with my neighbor, sorry mum. I’m here now though. What’s been going on?” 

Your mother says nothing instead choosing to follow you with her eyes as you make your way to the armchair beside her bed. When you’re seated she sucks her teeth and looks you up and down before gesturing at your still standing father with her head. 

“Why did you bring this traitorous shadow on my doorstep, eh? I already have a sickness, why must you make me suffer more?”

Your father rolls his eyes before gesturing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Alright… glad we had this talk. I’ll just run to the cafeteria.” Your father turns tail and leaves without waiting for a reply. Your mother gives you a look.

“Wisdom chases your father but unfortunately he is faster.”

“Please, that’s mean, mum.” You ignore her brush off, “He comes to visit with me every weekend even when he doesn’t have to, maybe you should give him a break.” 

Your mother is silent, choosing to disregard your scolding by facing away and watching the drama playing out on the telly. You allow the dismissal, watching along with her and sharing occasional comments on the plot. 

During an advertisement break she folds her hands into her lap and shifts to get a good look at you.

“Are you pregnant yet?”

You jerk back into the cushions of the chair, “No!”

She frowns. “Why not, you are getting old? 

And here we go.

“Mum,” you start carefully, “You say this every time you see me and I have to remind you once more that I’m not old. It’s actually pretty rude, you know, to suggest I need a baby because I’m aging.”

She huffs adjusting the nasal cannula. You look at the IV in her thin hand and the feeling of wrongness makes your body vibrate with anxiety. 

She shouldn’t be here.

You don’t get a chance to think about it anymore when she leans over the railing of her bed to stare deep into your eyes.

“What’s happened to that Humphrey fellow, what is he saying about your empty womb?”

For fucks sake!

“It’s Hugo and he’s got nothing to say about my womb because it’s not his bloody-” you refuse to amend the curse when she swats at you with the hand closest to you, “it’s not his bloody business mother, I’m not a breeding mare!” 

She narrows her eyes, jaw working as she contemplates your tense shoulders. “Where is he?” 

You recoil. For. Fucks. Sake!

You try to look casual while sitting back in the armchair, your unseeing glaze pretending to be interested in the period piece that now plays on the in-unit television.

“He’s around or whatever. Doing fiancé things and all that jazz. Super happy. Great guy, truly the best.”

Your mother lets out a sharp ‘Ha!’ She calls your full name in the tone. The ‘I have birthed you and I will end you’ like filicide is her right as a mother, tone. You sink low into the chair.

“What, mother?”

“You are lying, I can tell. Where is Harold and what happened to your engagement? If you’ve run off another man I will cut you from my will.”

You snort humorlessly.

“Like I said Hugo is fine where he is. Besides you don’t have a will, I know because I oversee your legal paperwork and you refuse to sit down and draft one with me.”

She mumbles something unintelligible about everyone speaking death onto her when your father walks into the room with a cup of coffee.

You see the second your mother sets up a plan of attack and your father does too in the way he freezes in fear like a doe in the path of a wolf. 

“Where is the child’s husband-”

“He broke up with her!" He blurts with wide, dodgy eyes, "Got some girl pregnant and ran off.” 

He returns your disgusted look with a shrug. “Sorry, Siggy got nervous.”

Seriously, the man needed some backbone! He’s not even married to her any more! You’re opening your mouth to lay into him when your mother launches her own attack on you both.

“Do not call my child that awful name, you discombobulated fool!” you mouth the word ‘discombobulated’, the woman was creative with her insults, you’ll give her that.

“And you!” she wags her finger in your direction with a stiff lip, “You should be ashamed of yourself for lying to your own ailing mother. Quickly, how did you manage to run this one off? I am dying to hear it.”

Primly you sit up, adjusting the hem of your shirt around your tummy. Your time in court was much less daunting, to be honest, but you’re a believer in faking it until you make it.

“Mumsy, I didn’t run anyone off, thank you very much. In my defense he was a cheating oaf and he is free to do what he wants, it's no skin off my back.”

She laughs haughtily and it makes you feel awful. 

“He wouldn’t have left if you gave him children!”

The dark desire to mention that giving a man a child hadn’t worked out in her favor when you catch your father’s look. He shakes his head, knowing you well enough to pluck the vicious thought from your mind.

You swallow back the biting retort in defeat.

“Mum please. Hugo said he didn’t want kids right away” you mentally add the ‘children with you’ with a frown, “I believed him when he said it and that’s not something I should be punished for.”  

Your mother sits back in bed, raising her hands in the air in defeat. 

“Everyone else in the family has a grandchild or three!” She cuts her eyes at you, “Why was I the one cursed with a child who buys ugly bags instead of raising babies.”

The pit in your stomach grows as tears prickle your eyes. “My bags aren’t ugly and its very mean of you to suggest that.” you whimper dejectedly.

Your father takes a step and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“I think that’s enough, we should be comforting our child not being insulting. You didn’t like the man anyways so what's the issue?” 

Your mother just tuts and closes her eyes like she couldn’t be arsed to have you both in sight a moment longer.

“He was also a fool.” She opens one eye to peek at you, “Your cousin is expecting again by the way.”

So that's what this was about, you snort.

“Yes well, terrible for you to compare me to my underage cousin when she’s barely a teenager with her second child on the way. You know as well as I do the family was in a kerfuffle about it the first time!”

Your father hums in agreement, voicing his support (a little late after having caused this mess, but still.)

“You should be proud to have a kid who has degrees, a great career -an admittedly shit flat,” He ignores your sound of objection “but otherwise really fabulous things going on. Say something nice, please.”

Your mother sniffs “I’m getting older and who knows if this sickness takes me to glory. The child obviously wants me to die without a grandbaby.”

Your sigh is deep and loud in the room. You know for a fact she's bringing up her cancer to twist the knife in deeper. Yet you heard from her yourself that the doctors crowed about the progress of her health.

“Mum please don’t keep saying stuff like that. It really hurts my feelings because you know I love you and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” 

You watch your mother fight to not soften with your admission. She doesn't look directly at you, glancing more in your general direction. You place a hand over hers on top of the covers, squeezing her fingers tight. The dull shine of her wedding band catches the light of the side table lamp. 

She squeezes your hand back and lifts it out from under yours to pat your fingers. You know it's the only form of apology you’ll get from her. She does ruin it though, moments after.

“Your wrists are like sausage casings, have you gotten bigger?”

Yes well, that was your sign that it was time to go.

“Well lovely as always to see you mum,” you shift to a stand reaching for your bag at your feet and patting your father on the arm. “Think I’m going to pop out and consider my life choices and all.”

She tells you not to be cheeky when you kiss her cheek. She ignores your father’s goodbye  and continues on with watching her shows.

On the walk out front your father stops you from leaving. He lights up a cigarette, the cloying menthol aroma turning your stomach. 

(You never could pick one up again after that traumatizing moment in secondary school.)

Your father is quiet for some time, flicking the ash of his cigarette occasionally in deep thought. You don’t make an effort to break the silence, thinking of your own recollection of another successfully humiliating interaction with your mother. They’d been happening a lot more as of late and it was starting to wear a hole in your heart.

When you shuffle in place your father finally looks at you with a softened glint in his eye. He stumps out his ciggie and places a hand on your shoulder.

“You and your mother are just alike.”

Snorting, you look off to the darkening parking lot, settling your gaze on a flickering street lamp in the distance. You try to ignore the warbling view from behind the tears in your eyes.

“Wouldn’t let her hear that. I’m sure she’d pop her lid at the very suggestion.” You don’t mean to, but bitterness coats your tongue before you can stop yourself, “Poor, fat, pathetic Siggy mucking her perfect plans up as always.”

Your father shoots you a warning glance, not liking your tone or the self deprecation dripping from your mouth. Being under his steel gaze makes you feel childish but you refuse to show it, meeting his look head on.

Because like it or not it was the truth. Whether she said it outright she wasn’t satisfied with your person.

You’d grown up always being on the wrong end of your mothers ire. No matter how hard you tried otherwise. But there wasn’t an excellent mark you could get, a partner you could bring home, or even a diet you could go on. You were always just… lacking.

Your father sighs in the night.

“You’re just as hard headed as her, you know that? Just as quick to cut down an idea that doesn’t fit your vision.”

Catching the defeated slump of your shoulders he calls your name. When you don’t look at him he tucks a finger beneath your chin forcing you to meet his gaze. Love and sadness sit on his weathered skin like a cloak. 

“It’s not a bad thing, Captain. I know being all brass and bull dick helps you at that fancy ass firm of yours but it keeps you from smelling the roses from time to time.”

You wrinkle your nose at the crassness, not sure how to take being compared to bulls testicles. He continues on.

“You also got her flare for dramatics and her ambitious nature. It’s why you two have been butting heads since you could set up and talk.”

Whoa, not the case!

“She butts heads with me!” You cry out, “I don’t know what I could possibly be doing to trigger her but I’m exhausted figuring it out. I just want-“

The lump in your throat stops you and you take a shaky breath. 

“I just want her to be on my side for once? Instead of being worried about me embarrassing her in front of the family.”

He gives you a sad smile.

“She’s just scared. Been on the wrong end of the hyenas before, I think she tries to nag you into submission in hopes she can spare you half the pain.”

That you can’t help but give an unbelieving look to.

“Please she acts like the head hyena most days. It’s hard to believe she’s ever been judged the way she judges me.”

Your father hums humorlessly, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to smush you into his side.

“You’d be surprised. She’d gut me, then stuff me over the mantle for saying it, but I have it on good authority that she’s on thin ice with her side of the family as well.”

You sniffle past the tears on your lashes, blinking to peer at him. “Well don’t leave me in suspense, old man. What’s the story behind that?”

Your father chuffs and flicks the tip of your nose, you whine rubbing the sore spot left behind. 

“I got your old man alright, you little shit.” He laughs boisterously, “They’re pissed she dared marry me, an American. Then by doing me the honor of birthing you, the most loving, headstrong tornado of a child a man can ask for, despite their objections.”

The forehead kiss he plants on you brings more watery fluid to your eyes. You hide the emotion by frowning and pretending to wipe off imaginary residue from your forehead.

“I’m not following.” You snark flatly. It earns you a pinch.

“They’re pissed she went against them then had the nerve to agree to divorce me when it was all said and done. That’s on top of inconveniencing them by getting sick. Your mum’s been on the chopping block far longer than you’ve been and the pressure is getting to her.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you imagine he’s reliving the hard years that came about after the divorce. The constant yelling and coldness within your childhood home still sends ice down your spine. Your father notices the resulting shiver and rubs your arm to provide warmth into your limbs.

“Despite our differences, I know your mum is just worried you’ll face the same treatment she did when she went and ran off with me, the ‘no good American’ while on vacation.”

You sigh, still not really understanding. It was definitely unfortunate their treatment of your parents' marriage. You’d witnessed it in the slick remarks of your aunties and the other elders over the years. 

Your father had done what he could to shield you from figuring out his ostracism up until he’d asked your mother for a divorce. 

It wasn’t fair to either of them that the family was so caught up in outdated traditions to see your parents had loved each other once. But you couldn’t live like this and you say so.

“You said it yourself, you've been divorced for ages. It’s not fair that she puts so much pressure on me when I don’t give a damn about what they say. I’ve never amounted to anything they want and I refuse to exhaust myself trying to meet her expectations.”

Your father nods in agreement.

“That’s valid, Siggy. Ultimately I just want you to make your own path. I’ll talk to her about laying off, promise.” He cocks his head and squints at you. 

“What?” You give him a worried perusal.

“Are you still mad that I spilled the beans about the fiancé situation?”

You laugh, pinching him around the middle. “I’m still very upset actually. You sold me out so quickly, it’s like you didn’t even try!”

He shrugs shamelessly. “It was me or you. I had to put myself first in the end.”

You roll your eyes and enjoy the swaying hug he keeps you in. After some time he speaks, peering at you.

“Your little friend Blue is right, by the way, that Hugo man does look like a chihuahua.”

“Dad, please.” 

“I’m just saying, Captain, might have gotten lucky after all. wouldn’t want you to go off and birth a litter of pups with a french accent.”

Your resulting cackle echoes loudly into the night.

A/N lol sorry for taking forever for an update and all the parental angst lmao. If you can’t tell I suffer from mommy issues and I was avoiding writing this chapter. Excited, next part the good shit begins :’D

<< Prev | Masterlist | Next >>

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter fourteen

Summary: “Do we know this person?”

Warning: Not a Cry Baby episode. Mentions of John Walker.

Word Count: 850

Spotify Playlist | Tips

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: Cry Baby is taking the day off, have Bucky. Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder

It had been days since the awkward encounter at his apartment, it deepened the strain between yourself and Bucky. He knew avoiding you wouldn’t work, but he couldn’t help it. Last night’s incident hadn’t helped, he couldn’t shake the image of you and Thor laughing together out of his head. Even though Thor was a great friend to both you and him, he hated the way seeing you together made him feel. 

He found himself back at the bar that next morning. Only a few of the regulars were around there, nursing their morning coffee. He was lost in his thoughts as he sipped his own. 

The door swung open, and Natasha walked in. Her eyes immediately narrowed on him while he sat at the bar. She strode over, her demeanor indicating that she wasn’t in the best of moods. 

“Bucky,” she called sharply, taking a seat next to him at the bar, without waiting for an invitation. 

“Nat,” he mumbled, already sensing where this conversation was headed.

“We need to talk about last night,” she said, her tone icy as she leaned closer to him. Her eyes were hard as they bore into the side of his head. He refused to look at her. 

He sighed, setting his mug down on the bar. “What about it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Barnes,” Natasha snapped. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You let Leah sit in her seat.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal, Romanoff,” he muttered, still avoiding her gaze. “She can sit wherever she wants.” 

Her eyes flashed with anger. “It’s not about the seat, dipshit. It’s about what it represents. She felt replaced, sidelined.” 

“That’s her problem, not mine,” he retorted, his tone dismissive. “It doesn’t matter where anyone sits.” 

Natasha leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “This isn’t something you’re going to brush off, Bucky. And, if I ever see someone else sitting in her seat again, you’ll regret it. Understood?” 

For the first time that morning, Bucky looked at her, her eyes were serious. She didn’t make idle threats, and he knew it. “Whatever,” he said curtly, taking another sip of his coffee. 

She stood abruptly. Without a word, she reached out and delivered a harsh slap to the back of Bucky’s head, causing him to choke slightly on his coffee.

Bucky recoiled slightly, surprised by her action. He watched as she turned on her heel and walked out. His hand instinctively rose to rub the spot where she had slapped. He knew she was right, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. 

He pushed away his coffee mug, leaning against the bar, running a hand over his face. The bar owner, who had been observing the exchange approached Bucky. “Everything alright, Barnes?” he asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.

Bucky nodded, offering a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, just another day in paradise with the family,” he replied sarcastically. “You know how we are, Howlett.” The bar owner gave him a sympathetic nod before returning to his duties. 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky glance over to your regular booth, his gaze landing on the empty seat where you sat. 

~

Later that day Natasha and Wanda’s apartment became lively: they were joined by the boys– Steve, Sam, and Thor. Hanging out, sharing stories, and overall catching up with Thor. They sat around the living room, beers in hand with the conversation stayed light. 

Thor regaled them with tales of his latest adventure. Steve and Sam listened intently, occasionally throwing in questions or comments. 

Suddenly, Natasha and Wanda’s phone simultaneously buzzed with a notification. They glanced down to see a message in their group chat with you, their curiosity piqued. Natasha reached for her phone to open it first, reading it out to Wanda.

“Do we know this person?” she read, then turned the screen to show Wanda the name attached in a second message. “She said, she met him a few hours ago and wants to make sure he’s not another Walker.” 

Wanda furrowed her brows, taking a moment to think, repeating the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before,” she replied, picking her phone up to reread. 

Natasha nodded in agreement, she also hadn’t heard the name. Her fingers flew over the screen as she reassured you. “We haven’t heard of him before, do you want us to ask the guys?” 

Cry Baby: NO

Wanda nodded at your quick response, “Find out more about him, and we’ll help you figure it out.” she replied. 

As they waited for your response, the atmosphere in the apartment grew quiet. Steve, Sam, and Thor exchanged puzzled glances. Natasha and Wanda gave each other knowing looks as they grew more anxious, Natasah’s leg beginning to bounce in anticipation. 

Their phones buzzed, and finally, a reply from you. They eagerly opened the message, their eyes scanning the screens. 

Cry Baby: He said he works at the newspaper, and he seems nice.

With another shared glance, your friends nodded in silent agreement. After the Walker incident, they were grateful for your trust in them to help.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Danger Zone (Part 22) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 3.0k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY.

Warnings: Post-Partum Depression and Anxiety; Insomnia; Breast Feeding; Life with a Newborn; Post-Labor Struggles; Mental Health Issues; Medical Inaccuracies; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: You are not yourself. Jake is worried.

A.N. Please read the tags. I am not a medical professional. This chapter deals with PPD. If that is triggering, please skip it.

Series Master List

Master List

You had truly learned the meaning of the word ‘exhausted.’ Everything just felt heavy, and your brain was completely clouded. You were just running on autopilot. And you still just couldn’t sleep. 

Waking up while Jake continued to snooze beside you, you slipped out of bed and stood beside your daughter’s crib, watching over her nervously. She was sleeping peacefully but you still placed your finger in front of her face until you could feel her breath. But even then, you stood there, watching her to make sure that she was safe and alright. 

Jake rolled over in his sleep, reaching his arm out for you. But his arm rested against the bed instead of your hip and he started to grow cold from the blankets being moved. Jake blinked awake a few moments later and sat up to see you hovering anxiously above Maisie’s crib. 

Letting out a soft sigh, Jake got out of bed and slowly walked over to stand beside you. You didn’t acknowledge him, still glued to the image of your daughter. Jake gently reached out, wrapping his arm around your waist, and pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head. You still didn’t turn to acknowledge him. 

“She’s fine, Honey. She’s just sleeping.”

“I thought I heard her crying,” you told him softly.

"She's safe. She's just sleeping."

"But what if she's hungry?"

“She ate,” Jake reminded you gently. 

“But I don’t think that she ate enough. What if she’s not getting enough, Jake?”

“We’re going to see the pediatrician in a few days,” Jake stated calmly, rubbing his thumb in circles over your hip. “But she wouldn’t be sleeping soundly if she was hungry.” Gently giving your hip a squeeze, he added, “Come back to bed. She’s sleeping. She’s fine.” 

It took about fifteen more minutes of coaxing, but Jake finally got you to climb back into bed. But you still laid awake, staring at where your daughter lay, a million different worst case-scenarios running through your mind. And when Maisie finally did cry, you were beside her crib again before Jake could pick his head up.

He watched you, a bit defeated, as you picked Maisie up and carried her back to bed, urging her to latch and feed. Jake sat up to help you, but you seemed to be in your own world.

“Come on, Maisie,” you urged, an edge of panic in your tone as your daughter didn’t immediately latch on. “Come on.”

After a bit more fuss, Maisie finally started to feed, which let you finally take a breath. You turned to Jake when he reached out and gently grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“Are you okay?” Jake asked quietly, causing you to nod and look down at your daughter.

“She’s feeding.” 

“But are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insisted, watching your daughter. “She’s feeding.” 

“I’ll get her next time.” Leaning down so that he could look up and assess your expression, Jake reached out and gently brushed your cheek with his fingers. “You need to get some sleep. You’re still recovering yourself.” 

You nodded absentmindedly, not agreeing or disagreeing with him, which only made Jake more concerned. He was worried about you. And the guilt that he felt while he was stationed away from you seemed to have returned with a vengeance. 

Maisie unlatched and even though you tried to get her to latch again and feed, she scrunched up her nose and turned away from you. Jake stepped in and gently took Maisie from your arms. You watched him with a defeated expression as he started to burp her.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked you softly as Maisie whined and wiggled a bit against him. 

“Do you think she got enough?” 

“She didn’t want to eat anymore. She’s full. I can feel it in her belly,” Jake joked, but you didn’t laugh. Sobering and staring at you with concern, Jake added, “Go to bed. I’ll get her changed. Just get some sleep, Honey. You’ll feel better.” 

He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head before rolling out of bed with your daughter. You watched them go, staring listlessly at the door. Slowly fixing your shirt, you laid down and rolled over. Closing your eyes, you buried your head in your pillow as tears dripped down your cheeks. 

Jake, meanwhile, finished up changing Maisie’s diaper and picked her up off the changing table, pressing a series of kisses to her cheek. Maisie let out a little coo, sticking her tongue out as she kicked her feet. Jake moved to sit on the couch with her and rested her against his chest as he leaned back. 

“We’re just going to stay out here for a little bit. So that your mommy can go back to sleep.”

Jake gently rubbed your daughter’s back, pressing a lingering kiss to her head. Maisie, with a full belly and fresh diaper, didn’t spend too much more time awake before she dozed off again. Jake checked his watch before slowly standing up. 

Walking back into your bedroom, Jake was relieved to find you asleep. He gently set Maisie back down in her crib. Getting back into bed, Jake was careful not to disturb you. You had barely slept since you came home from the hospital and he knew that it was taking a toll on you. Taking one last glance at his whole world, Jake moved to go to bed too. 

~~~~~

You and Jake sat in the waiting area of the pediatrician's office. Maisie sat in her baby carrier at Jake’s feet, content. Jake could tell that you were anxious with all of the other people in the room and gently rested his hand over your bouncing knee. You turned to him as you fiddled with your wedding band and Jake offered you a supportive smile. 

“It’s okay. We’ll be in and out. Alright?” 

“I know,” you replied, before going right back to your nervous fiddling. 

The medical assistant eventually walked out from behind the door and called Maisie’s name. Jake picked up Maisie’s carrier and the three of you made your way back. Maisie was weighed and measured, during which you nervously fisted the back of Jake’s shirt, before you were taken to an exam room. 

The pediatrician walked in a few minutes later and greeted you kindly before moving to check up on Maisie. Jake took your daughter out of the carrier and laid her down on the exam table. Your heart leapt into your throat when Maisie whined. Holding your fist to your lips, you stared at your daughter as Jake looked back at you with concern. 

The pediatrician conducted her standard checkup. Jake stood behind the exam table, smiling as Maisie stuck her tongue out and waved her fists. The pediatrician listed off a few questions that you and Jake answered, before moving to chart. 

“She’s still taking her time to grow,” the pediatrician stated, causing your heart to jolt.

“She’s not growing?” you asked, your blood pressure steadily rising. Jake reached for your hand, but you ignored him, stepping towards your daughter. Looking Maisie over yourself, you turned back to the pediatrician urgently. “Is she sick?”

“No, I don’t believe so. She’s still growing, just at a slower rate.” 

“Should we be concerned?”

“Not yet, no. Every baby is different and grows at their own rate. And they usually catch up in their own time,” the pediatrician explained, though it did little to soothe you. 

“Usually?” you repeated, feeling your stomach contract and twist. 

“Yes. We’ll just monitor her, that’s all. You said that she seems to be feeding regularly?” 

“Yes, but I don’t think she’s feeding enough.” 

“What makes you think that she’s not getting enough?” 

“Well, she’s not growing enough,” you insisted, causing the pediatrician to pause. 

“She’s perfectly healthy. Just a little small, that’s all. I see plenty of small babies that grow up to be tall adults. It just takes some time for some babies.” 

“Is there anything that we can do? Or anything that we should stop doing?”

���Just keep doing what you’re doing. If it would help your peace of mind, you can keep a log of your daughter’s feedings and—” 

“—I already have one.” 

You pulled out your phone and searched for your log as Jake watched you closely. Showing the pediatrician your feeding log, you waited anxiously as she read through it. 

“She seems to be feeding normally. I think that she’s just a little small, that’s all. Nothing to be worried about. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Your daughter is healthy and happy.” 

“Thank you,” Jake spoke up, moving to put Maisie back into her carrier.

“You’re sure that we can wait until the next appointment before changing anything?” you asked as Jake stood up with Maisie.

“I am,” the pediatrician assured you before opening the door. 

After making Maisie’s next appointment, you and Jake headed out to the car. Getting into the back with Maisie, you missed Jake’s worried glance. He turned around to face you, watching you hover over your daughter again.

“She’s okay, Honey. You heard the doctor. It’s probably nothing. She’s just small.” 

“But what if it isn't nothing, Jake?” you snapped, causing him to pause. “What if something's wrong with her?” 

“Then we’ll handle it like we handled everything else that life threw at us." Jake turned around to face you, though you didn't meet his gaze. "She’s going to be fine, Honey.” 

You didn’t respond to him, continuing to hover over your daughter, like you were expecting some threat to jump out of nowhere and hurt her. Jake focused on the road, but his mind was in the backseat with you and your daughter. 

~~~~~

When the three of you returned home, Jake moved to give you some space. He offered to watch Maisie, but you insisted on watching her yourself. And so, Jake left you downstairs to go and paint the nursery. The two of you were slowly putting your house together and the mindless work just helped him refocus. 

It took a lot to shake Jake Seresin. But you were really starting to shake him. You weren't you. And it terrified him.

Painting the final wall with the first coat of paint, Jake paused when he heard Maisie cry. He waited for you to get her, since he assumed that you were hovering over her again. But when too much time passed and Maisie only cried louder, he dropped the paint brush and hurried downstairs. Turning the corner, Jake spotted you and Maisie in the living room.

Maisie was lying safely in her bassinet, letting out shrill cries with a bright red face. And you were curled up on the floor a few feet from her, sobbing as you held your hands over your ears. Jake looked frantically between the two of you before going to Maisie first as she let out another piercing wail. 

“Hey there, Maisie Baisie, it’s alright,” Jake cooed, scooping his daughter up and holding her to his chest. Patting her back and bouncing her as he watched you worriedly, Jake tried to get Maisie to stop crying. “What’s bothering you?” 

After getting Maisie to stop crying after changing her diaper, Jake placed her back in her bassinet before hurrying over to you. You were still sobbing uncontrollably, curling up on yourself. Jake kneeled down in front of you and gently grabbed your wrists and tried to pull them away from your ears. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” 

You sobbed out a response that Jake couldn’t piece together, so he simply pulled you into his arms and tried to get you to stop crying and shaking. Repeating over and over again that Maisie was alright, Jake rested his head on top of your own and forced himself to remain calm and focused. 

“It’s my fault,” you whimpered out, causing Jake to frown.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Maisie. It’s all my fault,” you sobbed, which only made Jake hug you tighter. 

“Nothing’s wrong with Maisie. She’s healthy. She’s fine.” 

“She’s small.” 

“For now. She just needs some time to grow, that’s all,” Jake reiterated, rubbing your back as you continued to shake. 

“I’m a failure,” you sobbed out. “My mom raised two kids on her own and I can’t even feed my daughter enough!” 

“Honey, you’re being too hard on yourself. Maisie is safe. She’s healthy. You’ve done everything that you’re supposed to do. You’re an amazing mom to her.”

You didn’t respond, except with more tears, and Jake just held you as you cried. Resting his head against your own and forcing himself to keep his voice level and without too much emotion, he moved to speak gently but firmly.

“I’m worried about you, Honey. You’re not you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, causing Jake to squeeze you tighter.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” Jake insisted softly. “None of this is your fault.” Gently cupping your cheeks and staring into your eyes, Jake stared at you with all of the love and support in the world. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. And I’m going to be here for you and Maisie through all of it. Alright?”

“Okay,” you croaked out shakily. 

“I love you and Maisie with everything that I have. And I’ll be here every single step of the way, alright? I’m not leaving you two.” 

You nodded in return, unable to put your emotions into words. Jake pressed another kiss to your forehead and pulled you in for another hug, unable to prevent a few tears from sliding down his own cheeks.

~~~~~

You stared at the woman across from you, nervously fiddling with your hands. After a few calls, Jake got you an appointment with a psychologist who specialized in PPD. He was waiting with Maisie out in the car now, which gave you some peace of mind, but you were anything but comfortable. 

“Any history of anxiety or depression?” she asked kindly.

“Both, yeah.”

“Can you tell me about those experiences?” 

“It was when I was a teenager. My mom died. Cancer. And my brother left me with our godfather about a year later and I was just . . . I felt like my whole life just crumbled in an instant. They eventually diagnosed me and put me on some medication.” 

“And did it work?”

“Yeah, I went off of it about two years later.” 

“And have you had any other experiences with anxiety or depression since then? During your pregnancy especially?” 

“I wasn’t diagnosed with anything.” 

“Did you ever experience any symptoms though?"

“I had a rough first and third trimester,” you stated quietly.

“Can you elaborate?” 

“My pregnancy was unexpected and there was a lot of tension at that time with telling everyone and dealing with that. I made some mistakes, and I could have handled it better." You bit down on your lip, glancing down at your shoes. "And for my third trimester, my husband was deployed unexpectedly.” Fiddling with your wedding band again, you added, “It was very difficult. Emotionally.” 

"Can you describe your thought process at the time? What were your concerns at the time?"

"Jake, my husband, he had become my support system through my pregnancy. He was there for everything, helped me through anything and with anything. And then he was just gone. And I had other help, but I just wanted him."

"Was the timing the concern or the fact that he was deployed?"

"Both, I think," you admitted quietly. "I needed him. And he made it, but he almost wasn't there. And I just spent so much time angry because he wasn't there."

"At him?"

"No, no," you replied quickly, shaking your head. "At . . ." You paused, trying to put your emotions into words. "I'm just tired of people I care about being ripped away from me."

~~~~~

Outside in the car, Jake was entertaining Maisie, who was smiling and cooing as she reached out for the toy. Jake tickled her tummy when he got a phone call. 

“Hey, Penny,” he answered quietly, still entertaining Maisie.

“How’s it going?” 

“She’s only twenty minutes into her appointment,” Jake stated, glancing over at the clock. “She was nervous.” 

“It’s not easy to admit that you need help,” Penny replied, causing Jake to nod. After a moment, she asked, “How are you holding up?” 

“I’m fine. I’m just trying to do everything that I can before I go back to work next week.” 

“Maverick, Sarah, and I are all ready to be there for her and Maisie. But don't think about that right now. You still have time with them,” Penny reassured him, though she knew that he was still going to be concerned. “How is Maisie?”

“She’s perfect,” Jake replied, looking down at his daughter. Tickling her again, Jake smiled as she cooed at him. “She’s still small, which her mom is worried about, but the doctors say she's healthy.” 

“She just needs some time and support, that’s all. They both do."

"I know."

"You know that we're here for you too, Jake, right? Anything any of you three needs, we're here for you."

"Thanks, Penny."

~~~~~

“How do you feel about going on medication again?” the psychologist asked, causing you to look down. 

“I need to go on medication?” 

“I think that given your symptoms and your past success with medication, it would be a good idea for both you and your baby. I’m particularly concerned about your insomnia and how it’s affecting your recovery.” 

“Would I have to stop breastfeeding?” 

“Not necessarily, no. But is your ability to breastfeed a source of anxiety for you?” 

“I guess it can be,” you admitted quietly, shifting in your seat. 

“Well, I’ll start you on a low dose, which is safe for your daughter. But if you feel that continuing to breastfeed is a source of anxiety, then we can discuss it at your next appointment. And you can also reach out to your obstetrician or your daughter’s pediatrician to figure out a solution that works best for you and your daughter.” 

Your psychologist went through a few more things with you before you booked another appointment. Walking out to the car, you slowly slid into the passenger’s seat. 

“How did it go?” Jake asked you softly as you set the pamphlets and paperwork down.

“She wanted to put me on medication.” 

“Are you okay with going on medication?” Jake questioned kindly. 

You shrugged your shoulders, more tears forming in your eyes. Jake leaned over to wipe your tears away lovingly, which made you shudder, remembering how you yelled at him before.

“I just want to go back to normal,” you breathed out shakily. “I just want to be me again.” 

“You will be. It’ll get better. And I’ll be here through it all.” You nodded slowly, letting the tears fall freely as Jake pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I love you so much, Honey.” 

“Thank you,” you croaked out., “for not leaving me.” 

"I'm never leaving you. You're stuck with me, Honey." He pressed another kiss to your head. "In sickness and in health,” Jake reminded you, causing you to nod slowly. 

Getting Maisie settled again into her car seat, Jake took your hand in his own and started to drive the three of you home. 

A.N. I am not a medical professional nor am I an expert in postpartum depression/anxiety. This chapter was written based on stories of mothers who have gone through this and some medical research. This is not meant to be inclusive of all of the ways that PPD can present, and it is also not meant to make it seem like PPD is easy to spot, diagnose, or treat. 

In this case, Honey’s demeanor in her last trimester and her past struggles already clued in Jake and others. PPD is more common in women who have previously experienced depression or who were depressed during pregnancy, both of which are true of Honey. This isn’t the last that PPD will be mentioned in this story (as that would be inaccurate) but it will be less prominently featured in future chapters if you find it triggering. 

Tags (PRETTY PLEASE have your AGE on your blog or message me about it to be tagged--thank you!):

[If I missed you, don’t feel bad about asking to be tagged again! But please make sure that your age is in your bio/comment/etc. If you see your tag spelled correctly but did not receive a notification, please double check your privacy settings! Thanks!]

@mrsjobarnes @wishiwasacasualfan @bethabear12 @everythingmarveltopgun @hardballoonlove @mavrellover91 @senjoritanana @sophiaslastbraincell @xoxabs88xox @emma8895eb @dempy @harperdoodle @itsmytimetoodream @sarahjoestewy-blog @the-annoying-fan @athenabarnes @midnightmagpiemama @praline357 @sucker4seresin @sunsetsimpsblog @sgt-barnesveins @abaker74 @kellyls04 @shanimallina87 @trickphotography2 @kmc1989 @boiolay @offical-potato @topgun-imagines @caitsymichelle13 @daddymack01 @hangmandruigandmav @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @lilylilyyyyyy @lillunna @bcon24 @ashcosmo @blackwidownat2814 @specialagentjackbauer @percysaidnever @silenthappyplace @buckysteveloki-me @havlindzk @hookslove1592 @mamachasesmayhem @aviatorobsessed @marvelogic @ems-alexandra @harrysgothicbitch @shawnsblue @shiara04 @erindiggory @eloquentdreamer @tomanyfandomstrash

[clu-ven]

I don‘t know if your Requests are open, but if they are could you write one where the Reader is a Jedi and traveling with the Bad Batch and when they meet Rex in the Bar she finally reunites with him and the Bad Batch just being so confused that a Jedi and Clone were in a relationship while the Republic was still there.🤗

That Familiar Feeling

word count: 3.4k

tags: vague mentions of dealing with grief and order 66, self-doubt, crying, many happy kisses

~and before anyone points it out, lemme just say this doesn't exactly match the scene of Rex reuniting with the Batch (for obvious reasons and because I forgot little details which is annoying me lol)~

Something’s… off.

Entering Cid’s Parlour, the feeling of the force overwhelms you. It’s as if someone has thrown cold water over you, the force welcoming you with an eerie friendliness. It makes you falter, stopping abruptly as the sensation ambushes you.  

“Oof-” Echo walks straight into you, bumping against your shoulder. He takes a step to the side, his surprised expression quickly becoming one of concern “You ok? What is it?”. 

“I… I’m not sure,” you answer honestly, before trying to ease his worry “It’s probably nothing, I’ll be fine in a few minutes”. 

Echo isn’t convinced but he gives you a nod, not wanting to pry. “If you’re sure…” giving you a swift once over to make sure you didn’t get injured on the mission, he carries on.

It’s been a while since you last connected with the force, becoming hesitant to reach out ever since it happened. You tried in the initial days after the order was given but the overwhelming pain and grief that greeted you each time made you pull away. 

It’s not something you could deal with then and it’s not something you can deal with now, the wounds still fresh in your mind.

But this is a different feeling. It’s the force you used to know, something that worked with you and not against. It’s familiar… and that puts you on edge. 

With this familiarity brings a fear of the unknown. When you worked hand in hand with the force, you could have located what’s causing this in a matter of seconds… but nowadays, where you go from week to week without reaching out to the force, it’s much harder, with the subtle shift in atmosphere being your only warning that something is different.

Your eyes scan the parlour, though there’s nothing out of the ordinary. The usual crowd is here, drinking their problems away and playing Dejarik.

Unfortunately, the Batch has gotten back later than expected, so the limited sunlight that graces Cid’s parlour during the day has vanished. Now, you can only rely on the frustratingly dim lights to help your investigation.

“C’mon, this way,” Cid cuts off your search, walking past you as she gestures to her office. Everyone begins to follow her, though you’re more reluctant. 

Hunter catches your eye and you know he can sense it too but through a different method. Exchanging uneasy looks, you both make a silent agreement to stay on high alert before trailing after Cid and into her office. 

Thankfully Cid isn’t in the mood for nonsense (when is she?) and so she gets straight into business. You stay quiet during the debrief of the mission and the accompanied discussion of payment, your mind elsewhere.

Although the feeling isn’t as strong in here, it’s still undoubtedly nearby, invading your every thought. Even when Cid’s focus turns to you, the feeling’s hold on you doesn’t fade.

“What’s her problem?” her voice is faint, as if she’s far off in the distance. 

You don’t react. While this feeling is certainly daunting, a part of you is scared that if you push it away, this sliver of familiarity will slip through your fingers and disappear forever.

More talking ensues, though it’s more like mumbling to you, and you presume Cid has brushed past your reserved demeanour.

The harder you focus on the force, the quieter their voices become. Closing your eyes to further centre yourself, the feeling slowly becomes intelligible. You’re so close to uncovering what is causing this when it happens.

The sound of blaster fire is so sudden, you accidentally let go of the feeling, your body tensing at the noise. Your eyes dart open and for a split second, everyone freezes, the realisation of conflict sinking in before military training quickly takes over. 

You reach down, instinctively going to grab your lightsaber but instead find a blaster in its place. Turns out, carrying a lightsaber in a galaxy where Jedi are seen as traitors isn’t the best idea.

Hunter takes the lead, charging out of the office and into the main area. Cid keeps up his pace, ready to defend her business with everything she’s got. You’re next in line, alongside Echo. Tech and Wrecker are the last out, both keeping Omega close.

As the other patrons scurry out, a hooded figure stands by one of the tables. Placing their blaster down on the metal surface, their armour immediately catches your attention. You almost didn’t notice the colour painted on to the plastoid, the dim lights distorting the shade of blue. 

It can’t be. Surely not. 

As much as your brain wants to rationalise it as being someone else, the instantly recognisable blue of the 501st is hard to deny. Before the figure pulls down their hood, the feeling finally reveals itself to you. 

This familiar feeling is not one to fear. It is not the grief of losing one’s you admittedly became attached to or the terror of how the war ended but instead, it’s the exact opposite. 

It’s a reminder of why you fought so hard. It’s the warmth people can bring, the safety you give others and is fondly reciprocated. But it’s more than that. It’s love. It’s Rex.

“Who are you?” yells Cid, gesturing to him. The others are still on high alert, with not even the likes of Echo noticing the comforting blue paint.

His gloved hands cautiously pull down his hood, revealing the face you’ve longed to see again. He looks uncertain, his eyes glancing over everyone until finally landing on you. 

Although his face is sullen with a mist of hesitancy shrouding his expression, you can still see his gaze soften for you. And that’s all you need to know it’s actually him standing in front of you, not some brainwashed soldier or distraction sent by the Empire. It’s truly him, the Rex you know and love.

Despite always wanting to hold out hope that you would meet him someday, you couldn’t deny the facts stated on the Empire’s records. You remember the ache in your chest when Tech read it out, solemnly stating that Rex was reported dead.

Tears sprout from your eyes, a mixture of pure happiness and relief washing over you. Echo opens his mouth to speak but you get there first, taking the words out of his mouth.

“Rex!” his name comes out as a choked cry, your knees starting to buckle as you close the distance between you both, Hunter and Cid automatically stepping out of your way. 

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so much emotion at once. Even when you first heard the news that Rex supposedly perished with the others, you suppressed your emotions. Though that was more out of fear, unsure if you could control the power of the force while facing so much grief. 

Perhaps that’s another reason why you distanced yourself from the force, scared that the constantly lurking presence of the dark side might have used such powerful yet negative emotions against you.

You know Rex isn’t a big fan of PDA, especially around his brothers but as you throw your arms around him, you feel him hold you back. His strong arms wrap around your waist, one hand running up your back to keep you as close as possible.

It’s a surreal moment to feel him against you, his hard armour hidden underneath his cloak digging into you as you try to press yourself even closer to him. Not that you particularly care about that right now. The only thing that matters at this moment is Rex. 

Burying your face into his neck, the warmth of his skin soothes you and for the first time in months, you relax. 

“I… I thought you…” you want to say a million things at once, your brain unable to pick one coherent thought to say “I heard what happened… the mission report said you were… Oh, Rex”.

Giving up on trying to speak, you move to see that handsome face of his again, your hands instinctively coming up to his jawline.

The look in his eyes isn’t what you’re expecting. A mixture of worry and fear shines in his gaze, his eyebrows pinching together as he wordlessly looks at you. It doesn’t take a jedi to figure out why this is his initial reaction. Considering the recent event between all clones and jedi’s, it’s understandable for him to be nervous. 

He’s scared that you won’t trust him, that what you once had together has died alongside the Republic. There’s only one way you can think of that can give Rex the reassurance he so desperately yearns for. Using your hands to keep his head in place, you kiss him. 

At first, you feel him tense. The shock that not only are you kissing him in general but in front of his brothers making him freeze. But just as you wonder if you made the right move, Rex melts into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as his lips begin moving against yours.

Unbeknownst to you, as your lips touch your beloved Captain’s, the Batches' mouths all happen to fall open. Well, most of them anyways. Tech is too busy doing something on his datapad to witness the kiss. 

Wrecker, who stands next to Tech, gives his brother a nudge. Tech looks up at his shocked face before looking over at you and Rex… and then casually back down to his datapad. 

“Wha- Tech,” Wrecker tries to whisper “are you seeing what I’m seeing? Or was I hit on the head too hard?”.

Tech glances up again just in time to see the end of the kiss and you affectionately bury your head back into the crook of Rex’s neck, the both of you whispering sweet nothings to one another.

“Considering her reaction when I informed her of the Captain's supposed demise, this isn’t a surprise” he shrugs, refocusing on his datapad.

Despite Tech’s statement that this isn’t a surprise, it most definitely is for Hunter, who stands there in complete shock. Even with his heightened senses, Hunter didn’t expect this. He isn’t sure what to do or where to look but thankfully, Omega grabs his attention. 

She lets out a small gasp as she makes her way to the front of the group, looking up at the others before a large grin spreads across his face.

“They look like good friends” she gives Hunter a wink and he rolls his eyes, subtly placing his hand on Omega's shoulder so he can swiftly cover her eyes if you two kiss again. 

Just like his brothers, Echo’s mouth falls open too but his lips quickly form a smirk. Memories come rushing back to him as he remembers the rumours that you two liked each other as well as the countless number of times Fives would try to get the Captain to admit his feelings.

It’s a strangely satisfying moment to see you both wrapped in each other’s embrace, finally getting some closure to what was once seen as a far fetched piece of gossip.

Speaking loudly so you’ll both hear, Echo pats Hunter on the back “C’mon, let’s give them some space”. As you pull your attention away from Rex, you watch the others silently agree, most of them giving you a reassuring nod before retreating to the bar area. 

Within a matter of moments, you lead Rex to one of the quieter parts of the parlour, your hand in his as you sit on one of the lumpy couches. Rex sits beside you, hand still enclosed around yours. 

You watch the Captain with adoration in your eyes, giving him a moment of silence as he gathers his thoughts. Your gaze lowers to his neck, noticing how his Adam's apple bobs anxiously. But then, he speaks.

“I… I thought about you every rotation, no matter how painful it was” Rex keeps his gaze down, watching how his thumb begins to rub the back of your hand “I wasn’t sure if you… well, if you made it. I tried searching for you through mission reports but when the Republic fell, my code was denied access to all official reports”. He huffs out a laugh “I was surprised the Empire was smart enough to do that”.

Giving his hand a small squeeze, you smile, though Rex doesn't notice, his eyes still cast downwards “Tech was able to hack into it. I’m marked as missing in action and uh, well, you’re actually marked as deceased”. You’re unsure how to deliver such news, unable to tell whether being labelled as dead is a good or bad thing, both choices having some pro’s and con’s.

Rex nods, quietly taking in this new information, though right now, he’s not that bothered by what the Empire has him marked as. Rex has more important things to address, the Empire surprisingly being at the back of his mind.

Staying silent, he lets the moment pass. Rex knows why you’re telling him this and he finds some solace in how you want to give him any intel you have. But there’s more important matters… or, well, relationships to discuss. 

Yet despite its importance, Rex is hesitant to bring this up. On one hand, he doesn’t want to mention Order 66 or the horrors it caused but he can’t just ignore it either.

As much as he wants to bask in his ignorance, oblivious to what you’ve been through since then or how you feel about the clones, it’s not something he can do. He has to know how you feel.

Speaking rather abruptly, the words spill from his mouth “I’m sorry for showing up without any warning”. 

You’re taken aback by his words, not seeing a reason why Rex should be apologising. Taking a deep breath, he elaborates “I’m not sure where you were when it happened, or what you’ve been through… I don’t even know if you want to see me and if you don’t, I’ll go”. 

Finally Rex looks up at you, his eyes glossy as he tries to keep his composure. But his voice betrays him, his tone cracking as he continues  “I want you to know that, you won’t hear from me again if that’s what you think is best. You have that choice. I don’t want to put you through more pain, especially after everything this face has done to you”.

You know he’s referring to the clones in general, doing a small gesture to his very recognizable face. Although Rex wasn’t with you when Order 66 was put in place, he has some understanding of what you’ve been through. 

Rex has had a lot of time to think about this, to picture how his brothers suddenly turned on you and tried with all their might to kill you.

It was this very thought that made him hesitate when you first entered the parlour. He was going to call out to you but then the doubts crept in. Maybe you wouldn’t see him but instead simply see the face of a clone, a face that tried to kill you, albeit not him specifically.

You’re sure you can feel your heart ache, watching as Rex tries his best to keep his emotions at bay. Bringing your hand up, you gently cup his face.

Before you can even speak, Rex leaves out a shaky breath, your touch comforting him in ways he didn’t know was possible.

Your voice is stern, determined to get your point across so Rex will undoubtedly understand how you feel. “The only thing this face has done is love me, cherish me, care for me when I’m injured…” you list out as Rex closes his eyes, hanging on your every word “carry me to bed when I’m too stubborn to rest, cheer me up when I’m sad and it’s this face that’ll go to the most dodgiest looking parlour in all of Ord Mantell in the hopes of finding me there”.

He smiles at that last part, a stray tear running down his cheek as he opens his eyes.

You’re quick to wipe it away, mirroring his smile with one of your own. Needing to keep you close, Rex rests his forehead on yours, savouring the sensation of your breath hitting against his face. “You’re sure?” He asks in a low whisper.

“Positive” you confirm, unable to resist the urge to capture his lips in another kiss.

Over at the bar, Wrecker tries his best to inconspicuously look over. Keeping his gaze fixed on the two of you, he nudges Hunter, causing the Sergeant to groan. “They're kissing again” he announces.

Echo rolls his eyes, poking Wrecker with his scomp link “Stop gawking at them, will ya?”. Wrecker flinches away from him, almost stumbling on to Hunter “Hey! Watch it with that!”.

“You’re the one who needs to watch it,” Echo retorts, his gaze drifting over to you two as he repeats his sentence in his head. “Actually, no, don’t watch it or well, them” he tries to clarify, huffing at himself before hastily stating “you need to watch where you’re staring!”.

“I’m just keeping an eye on her!” Wrecker snaps back “I didn’t think Regs and Jedi’s were on good terms anymore”.

Hanging his head low, Hunter tightens his grip on his drink. “Will the two of you shut it?” he huffs, feeling the inklings of a headache coming on. 

Echo opens his mouth to say more but stops himself, not wanting you and Rex to join them mid-argument. Instead, he decides to take another swig of his drink.

“Wrecker does have a point,” Tech chimes in “Rex could still have his inhibitor chip in place”.

Echo wastes no time in jumping in again, determined to defend his Captain. “Oh yeah, he definitely looks like he’s still chipped,” he replies sarcastically.

“Perhaps another defective chip? Or maybe the control the inhibitor chips possess are only for a limited time” Tech thinks out loud, purposely ignoring Echo’s response. 

“This is one long kiss,” Wrecker comments, causing Echo to once again roll his eyes as he realises Wrecker is still looking over “you don’t think they're going to uh… y’know… take it further? They know we can see them, right?”.

Echo doesn't even warrant that question deserving of a reply. 

Almost causing Hunter’s heart to jump out of his chest, Omega chirps up “How would they take it further”. She looks up at the Batch with an excited smile, the adrenaline of another clone being here yet to settle.

Hunter shoots Wrecker a glare, hurriedly fishing a few credits out of his pocket. “Here, kid” he drops the credits into Omega’s hand “do me a favour and beat Wrecker in a few games of Dejarik”. 

Omega’s eyes grow wide at the credits as she leaves out an “Oooooh” noise. Barking out a loud laugh, Wrecker beams “C’mon best of three, loser has to buy the winner Mantell Mix”. As the two of them wander off to another part of the parlour, Hunter leaves out a silent sigh of relief. 

The abrupt sound of Wrecker’s laugh catches both you and Rex off guard, causing Rex to reluctantly break off the kiss. His eyes dart from your face to where the others relax at the bar. “Was that directed at us?” he quietly mumbles, heat racing to his cheeks.

Giving him a reassuring smile, you peck his lips one more time “I doubt it, Rex”.

Rex gives you his signature lopsided smile in response, something you’ve ached to see for months. It makes you want to kiss him again but you can sense the others glancing over. 

“You ready to go over to them?” he asks, though judging from how his gaze lingers on your lips, you’re not the only one with the urge to kiss. 

“Yeah,” you nod, giving him a playful nudge as you add “the sooner you say hi to your brothers, the sooner I get you all to myself”. 

Rex chuckles in reply, standing as he tries to compose himself. “Oh you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to get you alone” he offers you his hand, shooting you a mischievous wink as he does.

“Well, Captain, you just have to wait another twenty minutes and I’m all yours” taking his hand, you stand, ready to reunite Rex with the Batch.

[larz-barz]

Taking risks, saving lives

——————————————————————————

Warning(s)/info: Almost character death, gore, angst, angst to reverse comfort, pre-TanjMilo (cause like- they met when Nezuko and Tanjiro were on trial-)

Tagging: @risingscorchingsuns @knyinfinity @kimetsu-chan(don’t kill me pls;-;) @shycroissanti

——————————————————————————

The battle is done right?

Enmu is dead now so it must be!

Wrong…

A malicious chuckle can be heard as a demon comes out of the forest.

Upper moon 3…

Kyojuro gets in a protective stance in front of the 3 teens and Nezuko and he blocks Milo from joining him.

“No, Milo… Stay back. Heal their wounds for me, okay?” He asks the younger hashira and she nods despite knowing she should help him.

Milo flinches as she, Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Nezuko listen to the raging battle.

Milo finishes healing Tanjiro and her eyes widen in fear as she scrambles up to jump to protect Kyojuro.

Akaza has his arm back, about to punch through Kyojuro and he instead punches through Milo.

“SUZUKI-SAMA!!!” Tanjiro cries out and before he can run to her, she weakly holds her hand out to stop him.

Kyojuro’s eyes fill with tears as he gently holds the young girl in his arms after she’d stumbled back into him.

The sun starts to rise slowly so Akaza runs off into the shelter of the woods.

Tanjiro lets out a loud, raging growl as he throws his sword at Akaza in attempt to kill him.

Kyojuro gently props Milo up against a tree and she smiles weakly.

“I-I’m glad you’re okay K-Kyojuro-sama….” She murmurs weakly.

Tanjiro runs over, along with Zenitsu, and Inosuke.

Nezuko had already been carefully placed into her box.

Tanjiro slides across the muddy ground on his knees, tears are pouring down his cheeks.

“A-are you going to be okay S-Suzuki-sama…??” He croaks out through his tears.

She sighs sadly. “I…. I don’t know if I can heal myself from something like this…. I-I’m terribly sorry… I would’ve loved to have gotten to know the 4 of you better…. A-and you can just call me Milo….”

“N-no don’t say that!! You’re gonna survive and we can spar and fight together all day every day!!!” Inosuke yells through his own tears.

“I’ll see you guys soon…. If I don’t make it…. promise me you’ll defeat Muzan for me….?” She asks weakly and they all nod shakily.

“Milo, please don’t talk like this! You’re going to survive! I just know it!” Kyojuro exclaims through his tears.

Milo’s eyes flutter shut as she smiles weakly.

Kyojuro breathes a sigh of relief when he hears her still breathing.

He picks her up very gently.

There’s no time to wait for any kakushis.

They, very quickly, race Milo to the butterfly mansion.

Nearly 4 months later, Milo wakes up and feels a pair of arms around herself.

She looks to see who’s cuddling her and she blushes when she sees Tanjiro’s sleeping form hugging her close.

Tanjiro’s eyes flutter open and he starts crying again as he hugs Milo tightly.

Milo hugs him back, suppressing her own tears.

“M-Milo thank goodness you’re ok!!” He cries out as he cries into her shoulder.

Milo gently rubs his back, smiling softly since he remembered her request to be called by her first name. “Y-yes… How are you..? A-and everyone else..?”

“We’re all okay too!” He eventually calms down but he doesn’t let go of Milo, she doesn’t mind though.

“….M-Milo….?” He calls out, breaking the calm silence.

“Hm…?” The yokai responds and slightly tilts her head after pulling away just enough to look at him.

He has something very important he wants, no, he needs to tell her.

Something he needs to confess…

“N-nevermind. It’s not that important!”

~the end~

Hehe- I’m mean Ik- 😂

[sourrpatched]

APT- L.HC

Profiles: Haechan & friends | prev | next |

Haechan- According to his friends he’s a “loner” he’d use the term introvert though. He only knows school, work, and two hour sleeps. He’s pretty different compared to his friends which kind of makes it confusing from an outsiders perspective on how they became friends in the first place. Nonetheless, he loves his friends, even if he wouldn’t straight out admit it. He values the people in his life, cherishing the times they have until they inevitably will end. Cause like a lot of things that Donghyuck believes in, he knows the greatest things in life don’t last forever.

Mark- He’s more of a go with the flow type of guy. He’s probably most chill from the friend group, having lots and lots of patience. He and Donghyuck have been friends the longest, they met through a rare donghyuck outside of home sighting, where Mark accidentally spilled his iced americano on him and ended up exchanging numbers to pay for the cleaning. Only for a drunk Mark later that weekend to accidentally buttdial hyuck crying over his ex and trauma dumping. But hey it meant Hyuck finally had a friend, so it worked out well.

Jaemin- Resident Playboy. He’s just here to have fun and mess around. He’s not exactly a fuck boy he just has a certain irresistible charm to him that attracts most people, according to him not even donghyuck could resist the charm. Donghyuck would argue it was the fact that he wouldn’t stop pestering him and spam texting him but, potato tomato, or however the saying goes. He and Mark met after Jaemin tried flirting with him and it didn’t work out cause well Mark was still getting over his ex, they made a very powerful friend group now though.

Chenle-Anyone else getting deja vu? Once again, Chenle knows everyone and he prides himself in that. He and Donghyuck are associated because donghyuck had to tutor him in physics before. He met Donghyuck’s friend group when, well actually they don’t really know. Just one day he kind of integrated himself into their group and it just stuck.

A/N: Im so excited to start posting but of course I have a very busy week ahead so updates probably won’t begin until maybe next monday? I’m debating on a post schedule but for the meantime, I’d say feel free to comment or send an ask if you’re interested in becoming part of the tag list! :)

[koko-blueturtle]

Alright, here’s my really long post because I had a cruel idea

So you know how Nico always is pictured as suicidal and like hating himself? Well now it’s Will’s turn, so enjoy 😈

Warning this involves self harm of sorts

Nico knew he shouldn’t be up right now, but he was too bored for sleep. He couldn’t get comfortable, and it was 2:00 at night. Will wouldn’t get that mad if he stopped but for a snuggle, especially if he said he was cold…

He rolled out of bed and sneaked out of the cabin, hiding behind a tree to avoid being seen. When he got to the door he pulled, jiggling the handle at just the right angle that it slid open. Nico smiled to himself, because before he had figured out this trick he had almost been caught about a dozen times, trying to see his boyfriend.

Sure, he thought him self as he stepped past the creaky floor boards that were right in front of the doorway, it would be easier to shadow travel in, but he secretly liked the idea of breaking the rules like this. Will had called it romantic.

A Quick check behind him to make sure nobody saw, and he closed the door. He crept over to Will’s bed and thought something was off. When he got closer he saw that will wasn’t in his bed, but he put his hand and the pillow and it felt warm. He turned around to see if he was anywhere else in the cabin, but he wasn’t.

He spotted something, and squinted in the darkness to see light coming from behind a door which he knew to be the bathroom. So he had just gotten up to go to the bathroom, he thought. He climbed into Will’s bed and inhaled the scent of his boyfriend, covering himself in the still-warm covers. And he waited for will.

And waited.

And shifted around some.

And waited some more. He checked an analog clock that was sitting on a desk at the end of the cabin. He had gotten here at around 2:13, and it was now 2:21. He waited some more, and dozed off. He woke up to an odd sound and checked the time; 2:57.

Will still hadn’t come back.

Nico became worried. He got up and walked up to the door. With his ear on the wood, he heard.. something, but he wasn’t sure what.

He quietly tried the door knob. Locked of course, but still worth a shot.

He only had one choice.

Focusing, he put his hand on the door and closed his eyes. He opened them and found himself standing next to a marble sink, staring at Will. He was bent over the toilet, and the smell meant he had been throwing up. “Will!” He gasped, dropping to his knees. He put one hand on his back, the other on his hand. “N-Nico? You- what are you doing h-here.” He shut his eyes tight and breathed in sharply. “I was coming to lay with you, but I saw you were in the bathroom. I sat in your bed and waited but you didn’t come out. I got worried and- what happened? Are you sick?” He reached up and put his forehead. “You don’t feel sick. Are you okay? Did that make you feel better? Will..” he looked into his eyes, wishing he would answer, so he could help. “Aw, Nico, I’m-” he clenched his jaw “Fine. Look I… I guess I…” as Will searched for something to say, Nico got closer and continued to look for any cause of sickness in his boyfriend. He saw that the shirt he was wearing was too big for him, but the tag said it was his size. Nico raised his hands up and cupped Will’s face. “You can tell me. What ever it is, you never have to tell anyone else, I promise. Just please,” he brushed back a lock of Will’s hair and looked into his eyes, “Please, please tell me.” He was never good at showing affection, and before, he almost never did. This was the most sincere, most loving show of love he had ever given anyone since his sister was lost.

One tear fell from Will’s blue eyes. And then all of a sudden he was crying in Nico’s lap, as Nico rubbed his back and held his hand and tried not to cry with him. He didn’t understand what Will was saying, but he knew that later, they would have a chance to talk calm down and talk.

At some point, Will fell asleep and Nico was stuck on the bathroom floor, unable to move. But he didn’t mind. Then he realized that soon the other Apollo kids would want to use the bathroom. He focused again and shadow traveled to his bed in the Hades cabin. It’s always dark unless you pull back the heavy light canceling curtains, so Will could sleep as long as he wants. Nico’s thoughts became slow and he realized he hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. He grabbed a pillow and made himself comfortable next to his adorable boyfriend who he loved so much. If anything ever messes with him he’ll do everything he can to fix it. He fell asleep thinking about all the ways he loves Will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Will woke up first, because he was always an early riser. He saw Nico laying protectively next to him, and remembered everything he had said. He had said that he should tell him what’s bothering him, but should he confess what he’s been doing? He looked at Nico, lying there. He’s never seen him show that much love. Nico would tell him if he asked, so he will too.

Nico woke up at 10:00 in the morning, and immediately turned to Will, who was already up. “Whatcha doing?” Asked Nico. Will turned, looking like he’d been up for a while. “Mornin’ babe” Will said, as he climbed across the bed. He kissed Nico behind the ear, making him turn red. “I’ve been up wondering how I happened to get in your bed when I distinctly remember going to sleep in my cabin.” Nico looked at him in sympathy. “Baby, you went to sleep on the bathroom floor. I still want to know why.” Will became quiet and curled up next to him. “I need you to not get mad, ok?” Nico nodded and put his head on Will’s shoulder. Will took a long breath. “I- Nico I’m- I need a second.” He put his face in his hands and leaned against Nico. “It’s ok, it’s ok, you can take your time. Start at the beginning, are you sick or …” Will took another breath and thought back to why he was doing what did. “It started umm… when I got here. I’d been here for a few months, and it was so. Before you came, there was a really big accident, and someone died of blood loss.” Will became quite and it sounded although he was close to tears. “People were rushing everywhere, and the head of the cabin was in the accident. He was slow, and the person died. He could have not been in that accident, but he was slow and got hurt. He didn’t do a lot of training, and he was all about eating healthy. I’m scared that if I’m slow, if I don’t make it in time, I could lose someone. I have to be lean and skinny and fast. Someone could die Nico,” His voice is barely a whisper, his breath shaky. “You could die, Nico, and I’d be too slow to save you. What if, what if-” He began to cry again. But it still wasn’t clear; why was he throwing up? Nico had a hunch, but he hoped it was wrong. “Sunshine, please, tell me what you were doing in there.” Nico said, holding him close and trying to be as comforting as possible.

“Nico, I… don’t eat. I don’t eat and when I do I make myself sick so that I don’t put on weight.” Nico felt so bad he hadn’t noticed. “Oh, Will, no if you aren’t healthy then there’s no one to heal people.” He said, trying to convince him without seeming mad, which he wasn’t. Just sad and protective and scared for Will. “When did you start this?” “I’ve been doing it since a little before you came back from camp Jupiter. I was just so stressed about the battle!” His breathing evened out and he felt good getting it out. “Will, no one could ever do a better job than you at healing people. You always know exactly what people need, and how to comfort them.” Nico relaxed, letting Will lean on him.

Will later promised not to do it again, and with Nico‘s help, he slowly got himself back to eating regularly. Neither of them ever told anyone, because no one ever needed to know. Will and Nico will, always, always have each other.

[greymoonfeelings]

Burning Desire

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Fem! Reader

Summary: Being separated from bradley while he’s on detachment is hard but the reunions are always eventful.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Daddy kink, d/s dynamics, fingering and unprotected PinV sex

Repost because tags weren’t working

•••

“I missed you so much.” You mumble for the hundredth time as you press kisses to the back of Bradley’s free hand. His other hand grips the steering wheel as he drives the two of you back to your shared home. Bradley had been back on land for all of ten seconds before you were attaching yourself to his arm and refusing to let go.

“I missed you more, princess.”

“Not possible.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but the grin is knocked off his face when you lead his hand underneath your sundress.

It’s evident from the first graze of his fingers against the fabric of your panties that you’re soaked. The feeling of that alone has his blood rushing south. After so many weeks with only his hand and a picture of you to get off to, having the real thing right beside him drives him crazy.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “take ‘em off for me, baby.”

When you’ve settled with your thighs spread and bare cunt on display, his fingers travel toward your clit. He plays with the sensitive bundle of nerves as you coast down the San Diego roads, but it’s not enough to satisfy you.

“I need more!”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please, Daddy?” Bradley sneaks a glance at you, watching as you bat your lashes to convince him. He could never deny his favorite girl.

The car rolls up to a red light just as Bradley finally sinks a finger into you. Your pussy clenches at the intrusion causing him to tut. “You’re squeezing around just one finger, baby. Your pussy already forgot me that quickly?”

All you can do is moan as his thick finger pumps in and out of you. Your head lolls to the side, falling against the car window. Your panting breaths fog up the glass.

“Bet you spent so many nights trying to remember how I felt, huh? But your fingers couldn’t compare to the way I stretch you open.”

“Never,” You confirm. Bradley rewards you with another digit. Your shameless moans fill the car, overpowering the music playing on the radio.

“That’s what I thought. Only I could ever make you feel so fucking good, right?”

“Yes, Daddy!” You cry as he picks up the pace and begins to scissors his fingers, stretching you open to accommodate his cock later on. The prod of his thick fingers has your back arching off the leather seat. Bradley struggles to keep his eyes on the road, wishing he could watch you fall apart.

As Bradley continues to finger you, his thumb finds your clit. His calloused pad rubs tight circles and the extra stimulation is just what you need. You come undone with a loud cry, gripping the handle on the ceiling of the car as if your life depends on it. Bradley continues to work your clit as your orgasm washes over you but pulls away as soon as you stop thrashing, not wanting to over-stimulate you.

“Does that feel better, baby?”

You shake your head. “I still need you.” The ache of missing him has long since been replaced by a carnal need to be connected with him, consumed by him

“I’m all yours the second we get home.”

—————

Bradley makes good on his promise, barely taking the keys out of the ignition before he pulls you out of the passenger’s seat. Once the front door is open, he hoists you up. His arms hook under your bum and your legs wrap around his waist. Your lips move against his in a frenzy of passion all the way to the bedroom. He only pulls away so he can toss you onto the bed. He completely undresses you before gently pushing you back to lie against the mattress.

His hands are rough against your bare skin but his touch is gentle. They leave tingles in their wake as they skim down your sides. He always takes time to admire your bare body after being away for a long time, committing your curves to memory as if one day you’ll vanish from his sight forever.

You grow timid under Bradley’s heated gaze and attempt to cover your body with your arms. He shakes his head and gently takes your hands into his. “Let me get a good look at you, pretty baby.”

His hand trails up your abdomen before cupping one of your breasts. He massages the soft flesh then leans down to attach his lips to your nipple. You cry out at the sensation of his hot tongue running over the raised bud. He sucks intently, marking up your breast as your hands through his sun-bleached curls. The coarse hair of his mustache rubs against the delicate skin.

Bradley’s grip on your waist tightens as he shoves his face deeper into your chest, giving your breasts all the attention. You love how he goes after them in an animalistic way, but right now you desperately need him to focus on the throbbing between your legs.

Getting impatient, you begin to grind against his chest, but it’s hard to move with his large body caging you against the bed. “Need you. Please.” You whine pathetically.

He pulls away from your tit and looks up at you. “Need me to what? C’mon, use your words.”

“Need you to fuck me, Daddy. I want to feel you inside me, deep and hard and hitting all the right spots. I need you to fill me up with your cum till it’s spilling out of me.”

Bradley moans, “Who knew my pretty girl had such a dirty mind?”

You pull back from him, a bit embarrassed, but he moves your face to look at him again. You peer up at him, your kind eyes filled with desire. Your loving gaze always makes Bradley feel warm and fuzzy like a fresh chocolate chip cookie. If there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that he would do anything to make you happy.

He quickly gets out of his clothes, freeing himself for you. His cock’s aching, but he doesn’t pay attention to it, only to you who lays there waiting for him.

“Being so patient, baby. So good.” He praises as his hand trails down your naked body and he comes to hover over you.

“Good, Daddy?”

“Yes, my good girl,” Bradley reassures before kissing you on the lips. “Ready?”

“Yes, please.”

Bradley slowly pushes the tip of his cock into you. Neither of you can help the loud moans you let out as the sexual frustration you’ve been dealing with while apart just melts away. “Taking me so well.” He groans as he feels your walls clenching around him.

When he’s fully seated in you, he stills, chin lying on your shoulder, giving you time to adjust to his size. You hook your legs above his bum and wrap your arms around his neck, forcing your bodies as close together as possible. Nothing quite matches the feeling of Bradley’s warm body pressed against yours. It brings a type of comfort that’s rarely found elsewhere.

“Are you okay?” Bradley’s face emerges from your neck to meet your gaze. It's becoming increasingly harder for him to stay still when you feel like heaven wrapped around his cock, but his number one priority is making sure you are comfortable, always.

“Yes.” You squirm under his body, trying to get him to move.

Bradley takes the hint. He begins to pull out before steadily pushing back in. He fucks you nice and slow making sure you can feel every inch of him. He maintains eye contact as he makes love to you. Words of praise fall from his lips like honey. His gaze is so soft you feel as if you might melt on the spot. It's a look of sheer love that you never knew before Bradley. Love blooms in your chest like spring flowers and tears well up in your eyes.

He knows your body like a second language. Each poignant thrust of his hips punches all the air out of your lungs. You struggle to ground yourself as your brain becomes increasingly fuzzy with pleasure. Unintelligible sounds fall from your lips.

it feels like your body has been set alight, you’re crawling in your skin begging to climb inside him instead. It’s overwhelming and difficult to communicate but Bradley knows exactly what you’re feeling. He knows how vulnerable you can get and it warms his heart that you trust him enough to let yourself unravel around him.

“I know you’re needy, princess. It’s been a long time since you were filled. It’s okay, Daddy’s home now. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You moan into his ear as he pushes you closer to the edge and your fiancé swears it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

“I’m gonna fill my pretty girl up. Make sure you’re nice and full of my cum just like you wanted because my baby gets everything she wants.”

The head of Bradley’s cock continues to abuse that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Your whole body tenses up and you cry out as you’re pushed over the edge.

The satisfied cries falling from your open mouth combined with the feeling of your pussy fluttering around his cock have a dizzying effect on Bradley. His thrusts become frenzied until he’s filling you with his hot cum just as he promised.

“Fuck, I love you so much, honey.” He croaks as he struggles to return his breathing to normal.

After a few moments, Bradley gently pulls out of you and leaves. The feeling of emptiness slowly creeps back in while he’s gone. The extra warmth that his body provides is sorely missed as the air conditioner blows on your naked body.

You're not left on your own for too long though. Bradley is back, scooping you up bridal style and bringing you to the main bathroom where he’s prepared a bath. He helps you into the water first and climbs in behind you.

“I’m so glad you’re back home.”

“Me too.”

[f1bordeaux]

If You Cared (part 2) | mv1

It's been years since you've indulged in a vacation. What better time is there than summer? Your family, the beach house in Italy-it seems perfect. But, for things to be just like good old times, your family needs to invite his. So of course you are having mixed feelings as the boy who broke your heart re-enters your life like nothing happened. Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader Word count: 2.2+k Poetry style | Story style A/n: Here is part 2! The angst literally hasn't began yet there is so much more to come you might hate me by the end of this lol srry ;) Also! If you want to be tagged in future parts, let me know! Part One|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Part Five

“How are you feeling?”

You don’t turn around, already aware of who is speaking to you. Instead, you remain sat on the edge of the pool, feet lightly swinging through the water. There is a lot of noise coming from the house, people talking, laughing, sharing a drink or two. Outside, however, it is quiet. The comotion becomes a background noise that is masked by the chirping of crickets and the ocean waves only a few kilometers away. It is calm, it is dark, it is peaceful.

Mia sat down next to you, keeping her knees tucked into her chest. “I’m fine.” You say.

“Dinner was-”

“Tense.” You answer for her. And it was. Dinner was a never ending slew of compliments to Max, your family praising him and his family bragging about him. Did he deserve the comments made towards him? Absolutely. He was a phenomenal driver, something you couldn’t even deny. Max knew what he was doing on the track like it was second nature. Maybe it was second nature to him. But, all you could think about was the boy who left you. The boy who turned his back so quickly that he couldn’t even hear you cry. The boy who took everything from you just to disappear a few years later.

“Yeah.” Mia said. “Tense.”

Silence came quickly after that, the two of you just taking in the atmosphere around you. The sun had long set, the heat had long gone. The pool lights casted a turquoise glow over the backyard. It was beautiful. You remembered running across the tiles as a kid, jumping into the pool at late hours of the night. Max and you would be playing together and Mia and Victoria would be on their own. Life was good then. Life was simple.

The patio door slid open, unbeknown to you. Mia turned to look, however, eyes going wide when she saw who it was. With her lips flattened to a line, she rested a hand on your shoulder before standing up. “Try not to ruin your own summer, y/n.”

With that she was gone, her body being replaced by another. “Care if I sit with you?”

Again, you knew the voice before you saw the face. Max lowered himself to the ground, sticking his feet in the water right next to you. He was so close that if you moved over, just an inch, your thigh would be flush against his. You wonder if he’s just as warm as he used to be. You wonder if his skin feels just as soft as it once had. You think of a lot of things as Max kicks his feet through the water.

“We haven't had a chance to talk-”

“Since you left?”

He sniffles, leaning back on his palms. “I was going to say since I got here.”

“That works too.” You say. There are two ways to proceed. You can either cause a huge comotion, letting him know that-hey, maybe you were not over him. Maybe you still envied him for making you fall in love with him and then disappearing off the face of the earth. Maybe you guys could have made it work but he didn’t even bother trying. Or, you could do as you told yourself a week ago and move on. Let yourself have a good summer. Let the hurt come in waves but dont show it. Maybe you can outgrow it this year. “How was your flight?”

He looks at you, almost confused-like. It wasn’t what he was expecting you to say. “Uh, good. The Florence airport was packed but once we got over here everything was fine.”

You nod, looking down at the water. “Good, good.”

“How’s work been? I hear you work at a museum in New York.”

“Yeah, the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

“Wow,” He shakes his head in approval. You don't need his approval, but you wonder what he really thinks of your job. Does he think you wasted your life? Does he think that your job is cool? At least you didn’t work at a McDonalds, right? “That sounds fancy. I can’t say I’ve been.”

“Have you ever been to New York in general?”

“No.”

You chuckle. It feels wrong to do so, but you can't help the small laugh that brushes past your lips. His dry humor is still intact you notice. What else is still the same about him? You haven’t heard him laugh yet, so you wonder if it sounds the same as before-boyish and cute. Does he still play FIFA like no tomorrow? Is his favorite color still blue?

“Do you remember jumping into the pool at like midnight as kids?” His hoarse voice cuts your train of thought in two. “Your mom would yell at us because she wanted to go to bed but now she had to make sure we showered.”

“I was just thinking about that earlier.” You want to slap yourself across the face as you say that sentence. You were thinking about him? There goes your ‘I dont give a fuck about him anymore’ deminer. 

But he smiles, exhaling through his nose as he turns to look at you. “Where’d the time go?”

“I wish I knew, Max.” You say, pulling your legs from the pool. Slowly, you walk to the back door, the orange glow from the inside light painting your skin shades of golds and browns. You look almost like an angel, like a God. Max notices it. Max notices a lot of things. “Goodnight.”

He sighs from behind you. “Goodnight, y/n.”

That night after a long, cold shower, you sit at the desk in your room, looking over the backyard and pool you had just conversed at. Your palm rests on a handle to one of the top drawers, and you fight yourself on whether or not to open it. You know what's in there. You know what you’re getting yourself into. But you don’t know if you want that pain or not. It was like Pandora’s box. If you got sucked in-which you knew was about to happen-there would be no escape. You would be heartbroken all over again.

Fuck it.

You pulled the drawer open, the contents shifting forward. There were photos-hundreds of photos-and two letters. There were two pens, a pink one and a blue one, there was a small fabric square, and there were a pair of glasses. Everything, save the photos, belonged to Max. The letters, you knew, would tear you apart to read. So, you pushed those aside, opting to pick up a small stack of photos. On the back in Sharpie ink they said, 2008. You and him were 10. Your birthday wasn’t until winter-his in fall only two months apart from yours.

Pulling the rubberband away, you studied the photos. You, Mia, Luca and Victoria in the pool. You, Max, Luca and Mia eating dinner at some restaurant. Max and Luca on bicycles. Victoria and you hugging on the beach. The sunset over the backyard. Max and you, lying together on the couch tucked underneath six or so blankets, fast asleep. His arm was around you, your cheeks pressed against one another. You smiled to yourself as you felt your throat closing up. “This sucks.” You whispered.

It did suck. You just simply couldn’t understand why Max didn’t want to try. It’s not like you guys were neighbors at the time. You only saw one another during the summer, but you were still friends during the rest of the year. Why would any of that change just because he was getting popular in driving? The only obvious reason was because he didn’t want you around. He didn’t want you. It could have worked if he would have tried. But he didn’t, so why should you spend your summer trying to mend the bridge he burned?

You threw all the photos back into the drawer, slamming it shut. You turned off the lamp desk and walked to your bed in the pitch black. Whatever was meant to happen, would happen. With or without Max.

-

“You’re sure you don't want to come?” Mia asks through your cracked open door. “Max-”

“She said no.” Luca pushes her aside, sticking his head in your room. Your attention was buried in your phone, mindlessly scrolling through some form of social media. You couldn’t see Luca’s childish grin or Mia’s worrying features. “I’ll bring you back some waffles or something, y/n.”

“Whatever, Luca.” You responded. He stuck his tongue out, making a spitting noise before slamming your door shut so hard you were afraid it would fall off the hinges. “Luca!”

It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with your little brother. Actually, it was never a good time to be dealing with your little brother. He’d woken you up, close to four am, to ask if you wanted to go grab breakfast and watch the sunset. You declined his offer, opting to stay in bed just a little longer. Plus, if everyone was going, Max was going. The last thing you wanted was to watch the sunrise with Max. So, you hid under the covers for a little longer, feeling the ceiling fan drag cold air on your exposed skin.

You heard the front door close from downstairs, a signal that you were finally alone. Slowly, you rose from your bed, taking long strides across the room. Just because you didn’t want to watch the sunset with everyone didn’t mean you wanted to miss out on it. There would be a perfect view from the backyard or from the beach only a quick walk away. You sombered through the house, a soft, chilling blue being cast through the windows. You loved this time of day, before the sun was up, before the heat settled into the ground, before the world was really active. It was so serene.

“Good morning.”

You paused at your spot on the base of the steps. Max stood in the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. “You didn’t-why didn’t you-”

He shrugged as you struggled to speak. “I thought you were going. I didn’t want to bother.”

Guilt trip me, perfect. “Max, you shouldn’t base your itinerary on what I’m doing.” You said.

“So then why didn’t you go?”

“Fair point.”

He laughed, bringing his water to his lips. Yeah, you thought. He still has the same boyish laugh. “Come,” He said, holding his hand across the kitchen island. You stepped closer, although hesitantly. “Let's watch the sunrise and hash out whatever this is.”

Face your fears? Speak to Max about the problem at hand? Explain to him that you aren't over the loss of his presence in your life? Your stomach churned at the idea. Your stomach churned even more when you realized that you were only wearing a large tshirt and some underwear that was barely covered by the hem of the shirt. Instantly, your cheeks heated up, the back of your hand going to cool one side down. God you should have gone to breakfast.

Max raised his eyebrows, closing his hand before reopening it. “Well?”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” You said, grabbing a blanket before grabbing his hand. He knew you looked good-effortlessly good. You had just gotten out of bed and still you looked perfect. Your lips were plump, your eyelashes were so long and dark, your skin was glowing. He thought you looked better now than any dolled-up girl he’d met in Monaco. You looked so good just existing, but he didn’t think he’d be able to say that to your face.

The two of you walked outside, sitting in the patio chairs facing the ocean. He cleared his throat, turning to look at you as you draped the blanket over your legs. “I’m sorry.”

“Max-”

“You deserved better. I had no right to make you fall in love with me and then just go. I knew I’d leave so I should have never ruined what special bond you and I had. I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Your jaw was practically on the floor as he spoke. Where was this coming from? What prompted him to say this? “I-I’m speechless.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but can we have a few weeks that are similar to our childhood? Just me and you doing dumb stuff that we shouldn’t be doing? Making memories that we’ll tell people for decades?” He looks right into your eyes as he speaks, something he never really does. There is this soft sparkle in his eyes, this soft dazzling glow. He looks amazed, he looks taken aback. He looks so-pretty? God, the way his voice was dancing through your ears, the way his hair looked-still messy from getting out of bed-the way his hands fidgeted with one another, the way a faint blush dusted his cheeks-Max looked so desirable right now. You wanted to reach over and kiss him, to feel his warm, plush lips on your own.

You forced yourself to look away, afraid of what would pursue if you didn't. The sun had partly peaked over the oceanline. Give him a chance, you told yourself. What's the worst that could happen? He knows he fucked up and wont make that mistake again. Neither will you. “Yeah,” You finally say. He provides a relieved smile. “Yeah, let’s have a good summer, Max.”

Continuation tags:@hanversace