#i knew already what moonlight actually was but i never thought about in THIS way integrating it with the atla bending universe

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl x Reader

season 1 Daryl

MDNI: smut

inspo: @heathermason6060's inexperienced Daryl & this ao3 story

notes: I barely proofread this after my first reread sorry

Ever since you’d joined the group—a girl they found out in Atlanta around the same time they brought Rick back—you didn’t fully fit in with anyone. People never really knew how to talk to you, and every conversation anyone overheard was always short and clipped. Maybe you were shy, or maybe still getting over something lost when the world turned upside down. But Daryl watched you—always watching, weirdly drawn to you in a way that he couldn’t figure out.

That feeling, whatever it was, twisted his stomach every time he got close. He didn’t know what it was, only that he wanted to be near you, wanted to catch even the smallest glance or word. Hell, he didn’t even need to be close; the thought of you was enough to send his stomach into knots.

After a while, he even started to wonder what it’d be like to talk to you beyond the short words you’d exchanged about ammo or food or anything survival-related. He thought about what the hell he’d even say, what you might like to talk about, but every time he tried to picture it, he went blank. His older brother wasn’t exactly the type to teach him how to talk to women; Merle had his own ways that usually ended up with people pissed off or storming off, and Daryl wasn’t about to mess this up by being like that. He’d be careful. Real careful.

One night, the fire is burning low, and everyone else has already drifted to their tents. Daryl sits by the embers, debating whether he should finally head back to his tent now that he’s alone—just him and the dying fire. It feels odd not having Merle around to tell him where to be and when. He has to figure out what he actually wants to do instead of just being in the man’s shadow. Just as he’s about to call it a night, you appear from your tent, looking restless and rubbing at your eyes. When you notice him sitting alone, you pause, then make your way over to him and sit down—not across from him but, to his horror and excitement, right beside him on the log. His stomach lurches, something strange twisting as he glances at the way the moonlight catches the curve of your thigh, making him wonder—just for a second—what your skin might feel like beneath his fingers.

You sigh beside him. “Can’t sleep,” you mutter, groaning a little as you rub the heels of your hands into your eyes. When you drop them, you give him a tired, curious look. “What’re you still doin’ out here?”

Daryl swallows, caught off guard. You’ve never really talked to him directly before, and he peels his eyes away from your thigh, feeling his cheeks burn a little when he realizes you’ve caught him staring. He shrugs, muttering something about ‘keeping watch’ under his breath.

You just nod, and he figures the conversation is over. But then, you pull a near-empty pack of cigarettes from your back pocket and slip one between your lips, flashing a faint smile to yourself.

“Look what I found today,” you say casually, shaking the box, sparking his interest as you glance at him. “Still got that lighter?” You nod toward his jeans, and his hand shoots to his pocket, rubbing his clammy fingers against the fabric before pulling out his Zippo. He holds it up, flicking the fire to life, watching your lips purse as you pull the smoke from the cigarette into your mouth, igniting the small stick. He catches the faintest scent of you, something clean—crisp apples, maybe from the soap found on the run today—despite the dirt and sweat of this life. His hand shakes slightly as the flame catches, and the tip of your cigarette glows bright.

You pull back, taking a long drag and exhaling softly through your nose. “Thanks,” you say, the word quiet, almost lazy, savoring the feeling. You hold the pack out to him, and he hesitates for a second before taking one, avoiding the brush of your fingers.

He slips the cigarette between his lips and flicks the lighter again, but this time the spark sputters out before a flame can catch. He flicks it a few more times, his hand trembling harder now under your quiet gaze. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, trying again. Nothing.

“Here,” you say, your voice calm but amused as you gesture for him to lean in. “Hold still.”

Daryl freezes, the cigarette twitching slightly between his lips as he says, “What’re ya—”

“I won’t bite, Daryl,” you tease gently, cutting him off with a faint smirk. The way you say his name, soft and easy, sends a jolt through him, like you’ve said something far more intimate. His knees would probably buckle if he were standing, but he stays rooted to the spot, barely breathing as you scoot closer.

You bring your lit cigarette up to his, the glowing tip inches from his mouth. He leans in stiffly, his lips fidgeting as he tries to hold still, but his hands won’t stop trembling, and the two cigarettes don’t quite line up. You huff a soft laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“Hold on,” you murmur, and before he can say anything, your free hand comes up to steady his chin. His breath catches as your fingers brush against the stubble on his jaw, tilting his face just enough to keep him from moving any more. Your touch is light, careful, but it’s enough to make him go completely still, his heart hammering in his chest.

As he pulls the cigarette to life, your eyes catch his, and suddenly your hand feels like it’s on fire. You wrench it away as quickly as you can, your body leaning back with it. His gaze, still fixed on you, is wide and unguarded, staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. The embers of your cigarettes glow softly between you in the dark night air, catching in his wild blue irises, and for a moment, the world feels far too still.

You clear your throat, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you feel…” You trail off, uncertain of the right word. Uncomfortable? Creeped out?

Daryl doesn’t move. He keeps staring at you, the cigarette held tightly between his lips, as if he’s stunned. Then, he pulls in another breath, his mouth opening slightly, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. You catch the faintest flush rising along his neck, and you feel yourself brighten under his gaze as well.

“It’s fine,” he finally mutters, his voice rough and low, though now he’s avoiding your eyes, not quite meeting your gaze. He fumbles with the cigarette, taking another drag just to give himself something to do.

The tension between you lingers, the fire starting to die softly in the background, but neither of you speaks again. You lean back, pretending to focus on the stars, while he shifts uncomfortably beside you, his eyes darting between the fire and your profile.

Somewhere in the quiet, he exhales slowly, the smoke curling lazily in the moonlight, and though he doesn’t say it out loud, he knows he’s never going to forget the feeling of your fingers on his skin—or the way you’ve looked at him like he isn’t just another face in the group.

Daryl’s knee bounces restlessly as he tries to keep his eyes fixed on the embers of the fire in front of him. It’s too damn hard to focus with you sitting so close, your scent mingling with the smoke and pine in a way that makes his head spin. He doesn’t get why it’s so hard to sit still around you; he’s usually good at disappearing into the background, staying quiet. But with you here, just inches away, he feels like he has a spotlight on him.

“You’re quiet,” you say, your voice jolting him from his thoughts. “What’s on your mind, Dixon?”

His head jerks slightly at the sound of his name, and his lips twitch like he’s trying to come up with an answer. “Nothin’,” he mutters, glancing away quickly. “Just… thinkin’, I guess.”

You arch an eyebrow, leaning back slightly against the log. “Thinkin’ about what?”

He knows he should say something to brush you off, but his mind goes blank. The way you’re looking at him, like you’re waiting for him to crack—it makes him feel trapped and exposed all at once. Heat creeps up his neck even hotter, and he curses himself for it.

“Am I making you nervous, Daryl?” you tease, your voice soft but playful, and he hears the smirk in your tone.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it, looking down at his nails as if they might offer some kind of answer. “I just…” He pauses, breathing in sharply. “Ya make it hard to think straight.”

The words come out rough, almost like a confession he hadn’t meant to say out loud, and he feels his whole body tense, waiting for you to laugh, to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you sit up, and he catches a faint smile on your lips.

“Yeah?” Your arms graze against each other as you lean forward, and he sucks in a sharp breath, trying to keep from shivering at the touch. “And why’s that?”

He clenches his jaw, his fingers twitching against his knee, and he’s got half a mind to just stand up and walk away, leave you here with your questions. But the other half of him is rooted in place, feeling like if he gets up and leaves, he’ll never get this chance again.

He doesn’t say anything, just shrugs and continues staring at you, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he catches himself and looks away. But in that brief glance, something shifts, and you suddenly realize…Daryl’s actually kinda… beautiful, and maybe it just took you being this close up to realize it fully. It wasn’t the obvious kind of beauty that shouts for attention—it was quieter, layered in ways that drew you in the longer you looked. The roughness of his features, the sharp angles of his jaw, and the slightly crooked bridge of his nose that was imperfectly charming. His eyes, a deep, piercing blue even in the low light, carried a depth, like he could unravel you with just one glance if he let himself.

And then there were the softer details—the curve of his lips, perpetually chapped from him always chewing them, but so inviting; the faint freckles scattered across his sun-kissed skin, like a map of every moment he’d spent under the open sky. There was a rugged cuteness in the way his hair fell across his forehead, messy and untamed, framing his face in a way that made you ache to reach out and brush it back. He was all contradictions—rough and tender, guarded and vulnerable—and somehow, that only made him more beautiful. He’s rough around the edges, sure, all grit and wary glances, but there’s something genuine about him that you haven’t seen in anyone else since the world fell apart.

Unlike the others, he’s the only one who doesn’t bristle when you’re a little short with him, the only one who just lets you be, never pushing too hard, never asking for anything. You’d caught him glancing at you more than once, his cheeks turning red as he quickly looked away, and it had left you wondering what it’d be like to close the space between you, to see if he’d keep up that quiet shyness even if you got a little closer. So far, it seems he would.

Before you feel yourself hesitate, you lean in and press your lips to his. 

Whatever had come over you in that instant, Daryl has no idea. His mind reels at how you could possibly want this from him. People didn’t look at him like that. Hell, they barely looked at him at all unless they needed something. He isn’t the kind of man anyone leaned into, let alone kissed like this.

The kiss is soft, tentative, testing, but the moment your mouth meets his, it’s like something inside him snaps. He goes still, his breath catching, and for a second, you think he might run for the hills.

But instead, he kisses you back, a little clumsy, his lips pressing against yours like he’s not sure he’s doing it right. But you don’t pull away, don’t dare laugh, and slowly, he finds himself leaning into you, his hand rising to rest lightly on your leg, the touch electrifying your core. You make a soft noise against his lips, and it sends a shiver down his spine, his fingers tightening a bit where they’re touching you.

When he finally pulls back, his mind’s spinning, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what just happened. Your eyes meet his, and there’s this soft look on your face, like you’re amused and happy all at once.

“I… uh…” He stammers, his voice rough, and he feels his face burning.

“You maybe wanna mess around?” you ask, breathless, the words slipping out before you have time to second-guess yourself. There’s a growing need deep in your belly that you can’t ignore, a heat that’s been building ever since you noticed the way his eyes kept flicking to you, his gaze soft yet uncertain.

Daryl’s cuteness catches you off guard every time you look at him—especially now, with the moonlight casting shadows across his face, highlighting the angles of his jaw, the softness in his eyes, the way he almost looks like he doesn’t know he’s handsome. 

His eyes go wide, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he's not sure he heard you right. He is absolutely sure you can hear his heart pounding against his ribs, the blood pumping harder in his veins as his mind short circuits. His mouth opens, then shuts again, and he looks away, eyes on the ground as his brows furrow. He pulls the cigarette to his lips again, smoke sucking in between his teeth before he exhales sharply. He quickly looks back up to you, your eager, warm face still waiting for his response. 

"Uh..." He clears his throat, the tips of his ears turning red. "You... you serious?"

You can't help but smile, the shyness in his voice only making him more endearing. "Only if you want to," you murmur, letting your fingers trail over his kneecap, feeling the way he tenses under your touch. "Could be fun. Don't have to overthink it."

Your body was practically begging him to jump your bones, but he doesn’t seem to realize that. Didn’t seem to know the signs of clear hunger and want and need. Your fingers brushing his leg itched to feel more, but you kept yourself still–careful with him. 

Daryl swallows and lets out a shaky breath, his hand trembling slightly as it pushes his cigarette into the earth, snuffing it out and unsure of what to do next. His eyes dart up to yours, and there's a vulnerability there as he nods, unable to form the words.

He brings his one shaking hand up to cup your jaw, the rough pads of his hands sparking at the feeling of how soft your skin is. You smile again, leaning into his touch, gently closing the space between you while still letting him decide if he wants to continue on.

He does. God, he does. But as he looks at you, there's a flicker of hesitation as he feels the supple skin of your face under his touch, and he's afraid of what you might think if you knew the truth. That he's never had anyone like this before, never been this close, never had anyone look at him with such open want. The only thing he knows about sex is what he's seen in crude memories from Merle's old tapes, scenes filled with empty noises and rough images that look nothing like this.

Nothing like the way you're watching him, with warmth and softness, not a hint of demand.

He brushes his lips against yours, tentative, as if testing his limits. He's nervous, so unsure, but you lean in a little more, feeling his hand tremble as he holds you close, his fingers curling gently around the curve of your jaw. When you let your tongue push out to graze his top lip, he goes utterly still, a shuddering breath escaping him as his restraint crumbles. He deepens the kiss with a sudden hunger, his grip steadying, his hand anchoring you in place, and you’re not sure if it’s to keep you from pulling away or to keep him from running for the hills.

You feel his heart pounding under your hands as you bring them up to rest against his chest, the beat wild and frantic. You fist your hands into the thin fabric, trying in vain to pull him closer, even if you want to let him set the pace. His movements are unpracticed, but there's an intensity in the way he touches you, like he's pouring everything he doesn't know into this moment. You can't help but smile against his lips, his eager, clumsy attempts endearing in a way that only makes you want him more.

His hands shift, and you feel his fingers press against your waist, steadying himself as he moves closer. He's beautiful like this, his strong arms flexing with the movement, shadows tracing along his muscles under the moonlight, and the warmth of his touch sends a surge of heat pooling low in your belly.

The kiss grows more heated, messy, with tongues and teeth clashing as he grows bolder. It’s a little clumsy, but you don’t care. There’s something intoxicating about the way he’s so eager, so intent on exploring your mouth, every hesitant touch of his tongue making you melt further into him. A soft moan slips from your throat when his tongue slides against yours, the sound spilling out before you can stop it.

The noise seems to snag something in him. His breath hitches sharply, and he pulls back, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His forehead rests against yours, warmth radiating between you, and his breaths are hot against your lips, still so close you can feel the faint tremble in him.

When he finally looks at you, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, the sight of him sends a shiver through you. His pupils are blown wide, dark and searching, his mouth slick with shared wetness, lips parted as if he’s about to say something but can’t find the words.

But it’s you who nearly undoes him. Your flushed cheeks, your lips wet and swollen, the half-lidded haze in your eyes—he almost busts right then and there, his previous semi now throbbing from your lips connecting with his. The realization hits him like a lightning strike: he made you look like this. He made you moan. And the thought that you’re enjoying this, maybe enjoying him just as much as he’s enjoying you, leaves his head spinning even more.

Your lips curve into a lazy, teasing smile as your hand finds the nape of his neck, fingers tugging gently at the short strands of his hair. “Let’s move to your tent, yeah?” you murmur, your voice soft but full of intention.

Daryl nods enthusiastically, and without hesitation, he jumps to his feet, his eagerness on full display. For a brief moment, you’re level with his lap, and your gaze flickers to the growing bulge beneath the zipper of his jeans. The sight makes your breath hitch, heat pooling low between your legs as you glance up at him, catching his gaze. He sees where your eyes went, and for the first time tonight, something unbidden sparks in his expression—an almost bold glint as he reaches down, taking your hand and pulling you up with surprising firmness.

You’re silently grateful for the distance Daryl and Merle always kept from the others, their tents off to the side, a little more secluded. You’d still need to be quiet, but at least there’d be no direct neighbors overhearing the sounds you were sure to make.

Inside his tent, the air feels warmer, heavier with anticipation. Daryl sits down quickly, his legs splayed in front of him, uncertainty flashing across his features. He looks at you like he’s bracing himself, his hands fidgeting at his sides, unsure of what comes next. The hesitation in his gaze makes you think this might…all be new to him. You can see the way his throat works as he swallows hard, the thought of what’s about to happen clearly overwhelming him.

You don’t let him overthink it. Your heart pounds as you climb into his lap, straddling him. The heat of his body, the hard line of him pressing against your core through his jeans—it all sends a jolt of need straight through you. Your hands fly to his shoulders for balance, and he groans softly at the friction, his fingers automatically finding your waist, gripping you tightly as if to keep you from pulling away.

The first slow roll of your hips makes his breath stutter, and when you rock against him again, the friction has you both gasping. He leans forward, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. His tongue is eager, pushing into your mouth like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you, the feel of you, and you let him, your hands threading into his hair. The pull of your fingers against his scalp makes him groan, the sound muffled against your lips as his hands tighten on your waist.

When you pull back, panting, you pause the sway of your hips just long enough to reach for the hem of your shirt. Daryl watches, wide-eyed, as you pull the fabric over your head and drop it to the side. His chest heaves as he stares at you, his gaze flicking between your face and your bare skin. Even though your bra is still on, it’s enough to make his brain stop working.

He doesn’t wait. His lips are on you immediately, pressing against the valley between your breasts, the space his hands haven’t dared to touch yet. His mouth is warm, tentative but eager, as he kisses along the curve of your ribs, moving wherever the fabric of your bra doesn’t block him. When his lips find the sensitive spot at the base of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder, you grind down against him, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

“Daryl,” you whimper, your voice barely above a breath. His lips pause, hovering against your skin as he murmurs against you.

“Yeah?” His voice is a rasp, raw and hoarse, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Please take off your clothes,” you whisper, your words trembling. You pull back slightly, giving him space, and he nods fervently, his hands fumbling to strip himself. His shirt comes off first, revealing the toned, scarred planes of his chest, and then he pushes his jeans down just far enough to free his cock, his hand fisting around himself in relief.

Your eyes drop instinctively, and when you see him, your breath catches. He’s big—almost too much—and you can’t help the way your mouth falls open, the sight making heat bloom through your body. When you finally meet his gaze again, his eyes are locked on you, dark with unspoken hunger. He doesn’t look at your face, though. His attention is fixed lower, on your chest, where your hands are already reaching behind you to unhook your bra.

“C’mere,” you beckon, laying back as you pull the rest of your clothes off. He uses one hand to push your legs apart, to settle himself between your thighs, but as he brings your legs apart, the glistening of your pussy stops him in his tracks. He’s overwhelmed with the primal instinct to bury himself in you one way or another, and he falls in a lying position between your legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs to bring your core to his mouth, his hot breath on your clenching lips. You lean up, propping yourself on your elbows as you watch him. You thought he was beautiful before but this…this view was breathtaking.

His eyes find yours, and he can’t even stop the groan that escapes him when his tongue attaches to your pussy. You throw your head back, a sigh slipping from you as he tries a lot of different menuevers, flattening his tongue and dragging it up and down, flicking it against the hole that he so badly wants to feel inside, but when he simply purses his lips and sucks on the engorged nub at the top of your folds, that’s when you fall from your elbows, and your loudest moan rocking through you. 

You can tell he’s more inexperienced than you expected, but it doesn’t matter to you, because once he got the hint, he went straight to exactly what you needed and craved. His lips were so surprisingly soft against you, his facial hair tickling the insides of your thighs as you clenched your legs around him. You rocked your hips into him, but you needed more. So much more.

You look back down at him then, your chest heaving as you bring your hand up to show him. "Please," you breathe, voice trembling with need. "Finger me–just like this." You curl a finger, then two, demonstrating the movement with a slow, deliberate ‘come-hither’ motion.

His blown-out blue eyes are locked on your hand, his breath catching before he brings his own between your legs. His fingers slip inside so easily, the hot wetness of your walls making him groan low in his throat. His cock twitches against the rough fabric of the tent underneath, but he doesn't touch himself—he's too focused on the way you react to him. When he adds another finger, curling them just as you showed him, your back arches violently, a ragged moan tearing from your throat. Your hand flies to his scalp, fingers digging into his hair, pulling as your hips buck against his mouth.

Daryl's groans grow louder, vibrating against you as his teeth graze your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. He doesn't hold back now-there's something primal in the way he devours you, the sounds he's making raw and desperate. His mouth works you relentlessly, tongue lapping and slurping at your slick heat, each growl reverberating through your core. He's losing himself in you, completely unguarded, no longer caring about keeping quiet or holding back.

The pressure building in your belly snaps all at once, and your vision floods with stars as the orgasm crashes through you. Your body locks into an arch, trembling as your jaw falls slack, a wordless cry spilling out of you. He doesn't stop, doesn't relent, even as you twitch and convulse beneath him. His mouth and fingers work you through your high, dragging every last wave of pleasure out of you until you're trembling from the overstimulation.

"O–okay, okay, okay," you gasp, your voice barely audible as you try to push him away, "you gotta stop, s’too much."

He slows his tongue, dragging his fingers out gently to settle your trembling limbs and presses soft kisses against your sensitive cunt before shifting up, laying himself over you. His arms cage you in on either side of your head, his face hovering close as his lips curve into a lazy smile. His arms tremble slightly, the strain of his own need barely contained, but he doesn't rush you. He just looks at you, drinking in the sight of what he's done to you-your flushed skin, mussed hair, and glassy, blown-out eyes. He searches your face, wondering if this was even real or if it was just a very, very vivid wet dream, and tomorrow he’d wake up to a mess in his pants.

But you lift your head just enough to capture his lips in a slow, heated kiss. He leans on one forearm beside your head, his other hand moving down to his cock, pumping it slowly, dragging the head of it through the slickness he created between your legs. The sensation pulls a soft whimper from you, your sensitive body twitching at the contact. His head falls into the crook of your neck, and you hear his breath stutter, thick and ragged, as he rubs himself against savoring the feeling. Before he follows that animal in him that needs to push into you, he picks his head up, eyes finding yours once again.

“Are—“ his voice breaks, thick with arousal but as he looks down at you, he wants to be sure. Needs to be, “are ya sure ya wanna—?”

“Daryl, if you don’t fuck me right now I might lose my goddamn mind,” you groan, your hands pulling at him in earnest.

A dark chuckle escapes him as he licks his lips and he guides himself into you, taking a moment to find your hole with his inexperienced aim. Your fingers trace over the valleys of his arms, hooking behind his head as you become impatient.

“Dare…” you whimper softly, rolling your hips in frustration as he keeps dragging the head of his cock along your folds.

Daryl’s brow furrows in concentration, his lips pressing into a tight line. You’re just about to reach down to help him when he finally catches the right angle. His breath hitches, his movements clumsy but determined as he pushes forward, the tip of his cock slipping into you.

His jaw goes slack almost instantly, a deep, shaky groan spilling from his throat. Nothing, absolutely fucking nothing he’d ever imagined—not his hand, not spit, not even the filthy images burned into his mind from Merle’s videos—could compare to this. The heat of you, the way your walls grip him, hot and wet and so perfect—it’s almost too much. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and he shudders against you as your back arches to meet him, adjusting to his size. He stays still, whether to let you adjust or to keep from losing himself, you’re not sure, but you’re grateful for the pause as your body stretches to accommodate him.

When you can’t wait any longer, you shift beneath him, rolling your hips slightly. The subtle movement makes him gasp sharply, his fingers tightening on your waist. His forehead presses harder against your shoulder, his breath ragged as he tries to keep control. He pulls back slowly, dragging his cock out of you inch by inch before pushing forward again, his thrusts tentative and uneven.

His groans are low and guttural, spilling out against your neck as he sets a slow, deliberate pace. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, and as you grip his shoulders tighter, he seems to take it as encouragement, his rhythm growing a little more confident with every roll of his hips. The way your body responds to him, the way you clutch at him like you don’t want him to stop—it’s overwhelming, almost too much for him to process. Your breath in his ear is hot and heavy, urging him to give you more, to go harder, faster, your begging almost throwing him off so much he nearly cums at the sound of your voice in his ear.

“Daryl, please–” you begin again, but his hand clamps over your mouth.

“Shut. Up.” he growls, squeezing his brows together, jaw tightening. The tension in his voice is raw, desperate. He’s holding on by a thread, trying to make this last, but your pleas are unraveling him too fast. In any other circumstance, you might’ve hit a man for talking to you like that. But the way Daryl is rutting into you, his movements so desperate and hungry, it only causes you to gush around him more. And it seems like he felt it, too.

“Yeah?” he breathes, “You like when I talk to you like that, you dirty whore?” he moans, guttural and breathy. You whimper against him, and he’s surprised the dirty talk even worked, only hearing it in some video he saw once. His mouth finds your neck, his teeth nipping and his lips pressing bruising kisses down your shoulder. One hand clamps tighter on your waist, his grip sure to leave marks, while his other remains firm over your mouth, stifling the moans spilling from you.

His thrusts turn harder, deeper, his hips driving into you with a roughness that has you gasping against his hand. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s biting and sucking on your skin, marking you in a way that will surely leave hickeys. You lift your hips with every push into you, his cock now overwhelmingly bottoming out into you every thrust, skin slapping and animalistic groans coming from both of you. 

When your hand drifts down between your bodies, he sits back on his heels, gripping your hips and pulling you with him to watch. His thrusts slow for a moment as his wide, awestruck eyes follow the trail of your fingers pinching your nipples, then slipping lower to rub your clit.

His jaw drops, his breath coming in sharp pants as he watches you. “Fuck,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and shaky, his pace faltering. The sight of you touching yourself while he’s inside you—while your body stretches to take him—is almost too much for him to handle. He’s never seen anything so fucking perfect, the way his cock slides in and out of you, your juices coating him as you continue to pleasure yourself. To pleasure yourself to the act of him fucking you. Him.

You pick up the pace of your fingers, circling your clit faster as his thrusts grow erratic, his control slipping. He shakes his head slightly, pulling your hand away and replacing it with his own. His rough fingers rub your clit in messy circles, and the look on his face—sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes dark and glassy with need—is enough to send you over the edge, writhing and arching and mewling in ecstasy. The way your walls tighten and flutter around him pulls a strangled sound from his throat. He stutters out one final thrust before following you, a high-pitched moan spilling from his lips as he collapses onto you. He buries his face in your neck again, his body shaking as he empties himself inside you, riding out the waves of his climax with unsteady thrusts. 

Your bodies stick together, sweat mingling as you both fight to catch your breath. He doesn’t move, his weight a comforting pressure as his lips brush lazily against your shoulder. You tilt your head, planting soft kisses along his jaw until you find his lips, kissing him gently, lazily.

“That was…” you breathe, your voice still uneven, “amazing.”

His half-hooded eyes meet yours, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your fingers brushing through his damp hair. “Hopefully not the first and last?”

“Definitely not,” he murmurs, his voice low but sure, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

[sansaorgana]

— CHRYSALIS (I)

PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!half-Vala/half-Elf!Reader (Morgoth's Daughter)

SUMMARY — She is no Vala, no Maia and no Elf. Whatever she is remains the most exceptional and undeniably powerful. Morgoth's daughter can either heal Middle-earth or destroy it. Mairon makes a promise to her mother – the one he had once kidnapped for his master – that he would take care of this extraordinary creature but it is no easy task.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It is a bit of a crazy idea, gotta admit, and I probably fucked with canon waaaay too much but bear with me, please! 🤣 I came up with this idea after reading on the Wiki that Morgoth was bound to his physical form, so I assumed he could actually have a child? 🤔 Anyway, in the beginning of this story you get the backstory of Reader's mother and Morgoth. Reader's mother was given a name (Tasarë, which is supposed to mean willow) but her physical appearance is not described (nor is Reader's). That backstory of Tasarë and Morgoth was my idea for another Sauron x Reader fanfic but I couldn't figure out how they could possibly end up together after she develops Stockholm's Syndrome for Morgoth, so I just used the idea in this fic as a backstory of Reader's mother. I also chose this title for the fic because butterflies appear quite a lot in this fanfic and I think the Reader is a bit like a chrysalis as well – nobody knows what will become of her.

WARNINGS — kidnapping, forced marriage, Stockholm's Syndrome (Reader's mother), abusive relationships (Reader's mother with Morgoth AND Reader with Sauron), manipulation, First Age Sauron being his loser self but still trying to get his way as usual, the Reader being half light/half darkness, which results in her acting unhinged at times (she mostly speaks in a dramatic manner lmao)

WORD COUNT — 6,400

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

CHRYSALIS (I)

Tasarë was her name – young Elven girl Mairon saw through the trees in his wolf form. His yellow eyes of the beast were following the way she danced around the fire with her friends, her long hair waving in the wind and her laughter travelling through the cold air of the night.

Perhaps none of this story would happen if she hadn’t looked back, sensing his presence. He could sense from afar the shiver that went down her spine after spotting him and their eyes met – hers filling with fear after realising she had been observed by a werewolf.

Startled by her sensing his presence, Mairon ran away from there to meet with his master who impatiently awaited his report. As usual, Melkor wanted to make sure Mairon was not lying about anything, therefore he allowed himself to sneak into his servant’s mind. And amongst his memories of the battles and schemes, he found the one about the young Elven maiden Tasarë and Mairon’s fascination with her.

“You will bring her to me,” Melkor ordered. “And she will be untouched and unspoiled when she arrives here.”

Mairon nodded. He could not refuse, could he? And he could never defile what belonged to his master, so he obeyed the order completely.

He kidnapped Tasarë away from her village and her pure heart treated him with nothing but kindness throughout their whole journey. She begged him often to let her go and if it depended on him only – he would. He would, in a heartbeat.

Or perhaps he would not. Perhaps he would keep her for himself.

But he knew that he was taking her to her demise. What would Melkor do to her? Each time she smiled at Mairon while bathing in the moonlight, radiating pure beauty and light, he wondered about the pain that awaited her and his heart ached for her.

“When we arrive there, what will happen to me?” She asked once as if she had already accepted the fact she was kidnapped but the details had been kept from her until now.

“You will become a bride,” Mairon informed her and a hint of smile showed on her face, which surprised him.

“Yours?” She inquired. Perhaps such a thought was not as dreadful to her as he would expect – after all the weeks they had spent together, he became the devil she knew, after all.

“My master’s,” Mairon answered and her smile disappeared as her body froze.

“Your master?” Tasarë raised an eyebrow.

“I cannot tell you his name,” Mairon shook his head and she looked up at the night sky with tears filling her eyes.

“Do not then. I believe I know already,” she whispered.

When Mairon brought her to Melkor’s fortress, it was the last time he saw her. The Dark Lord sent him away right after as if he was afraid of the bond forged between Tasarë and his servant.

And when Mairon was back from his mission, Tasarë was not in the fortress anymore. From Melkor’s other servants, Mairon found out that his master sent her away to one of the most secluded castles up in the coldest and loneliest realms of the North. Where she was hidden from everyone and everything and where Melkor could visit her whenever he wanted to. His little bride no one else could even lay their eyes on.

“How can she endure that?” Mairon whispered but the answer he received was even sadder than whatever he had been expecting instead.

“She grew to love him. She had no other choice.”

Many long years had passed since that time and Mairon never expected to see Tasarë again but Melkor sent him – his most loyal servant – to his most secluded and hidden fortress to carry a very important message to his lover. Mairon was supposed to be a messenger and he tried his best not to show his enthusiasm too much because it could worry and alarm his master.

It was not pure joy or excitement, however, no. It was also a curiosity with a bit of anxiety at the thought of what could be left of Tasarë after all the centuries of being Melkor’s bride.

The journey was long and boring – there was nothing around but vast land of white snow and dried out trees. The place where she was being kept was the most secluded and the loneliest he could imagine. He wondered if it was still in the same dimension because the longer he travelled, the more he felt as if he was crossing a bridge from one world to another.

He spotted the castle first – enormous and black with tall towers shaped as if they were spikes. It contrasted with the white land of endless snow although the weather was dark and gloomy. Days were short here if they existed at all.

As he travelled through the snow, nearly effortlessly due to the fact he was a Maia, therefore the cold was not his enemy, he spotted something that made him furrow his brows – footsteps on the snow.

They belonged to a person – a female, he assumed, judging by the size. Was it possible that Tasarë was not as obedient to Melkor as her lover had been suspecting? After all, she was not supposed to ever leave the castle’s walls.

Mairon followed the traces with his heart pounding in his chest, awaiting to see her again but then he froze at the sight of a young woman sitting on the snow nearby one of the castle’s back doors, under a leafless tree with ice-decorated branches.

The young woman was certainly not Tasarë although she resembled her a little. Her ears were pointed but Mairon could feel even from afar that she was no ordinary Elf. She was a creature much more powerful and when he squinted his eyes, he noticed that flowers were growing under her hands and butterflies were flying around her as she laughed. She could not only bend the world to her liking but she could also create new life. She was no goddess, though, of that he was sure.

She was no Elf, no Maia, no Vala. What was she, he wondered…?

When she turned around for a moment while looking at the butterflies, his heart froze in his chest. Her face was… terrifying.

It was undeniably beautiful but gruesome at the same time. Whoever would stare at her for too long, could risk being turned into a stone. There was only one as godly beautiful as scary to the point of no one being able to look at his face for too long and Melkor was his name.

“Who are you? Why are you hiding there?” The young woman asked as a butterfly sat on her hand and she batted her snow-covered eyelashes while looking in the direction of Mairon who was hiding behind a huge rock covered with ice.

“I… Forgive me,” he cleared his throat and stepped out, bowing his head slightly and she chuckled.

“Your hair resembles fire,” she pointed out. “Are you here to burn me?”

“I don't even know who you are,” Mairon confessed. “I am here for Lady Tasarë,” he explained and the girl pouted.

“Sad,” she shrugged her arms. “I hoped that finally some adventure would happen to me. Do you know I have been living in this castle ever since I was born? A whole century!” She whined. She was an adult already but still very young and considering the fact she did not know the real world, it was understandable that she was still like a child in many ways. “Is there anything else except for the snow?”

“There is,” Mairon assured her and crouched down next to her as he pointed at the butterfly on her hand. “You create such things. Flowers, butterflies…”

“Oh, but they…” She looked down sadly and then she looked up again to meet his gaze but with so much mischief in her eyes that a shiver travelled down Mairon’s spine at how terrifying she truly was. “I bring them to life only to die. Look, they’re drying out already in the cold. I give them life and they suffer because of my whim,” she informed him without any emotion whatsoever.

“Why then?” Mairon inquired.

“Because I am selfish,” she answered. “I destroy.”

“You can heal, too,” Mairon assured her and reached out to help the dying butterfly. “Look,” he focused on giving away some of his energy to make the butterfly regain its strength and the young woman’s eyes sparkled as she laughed.

“You fed him with your own spirit,” she noticed. “Why do you think I would let any parasite feed off of me? Who would be ever worthy of sharing my power?” She asked and Mairon’s mouth opened slightly as he was thinking of an answer but they were interrupted by another woman walking out of the castle through the back door.

“(Y/N),” familiar but horribly changed voice caused his facial muscles to twitch out of nervousness. “You are forbidden from going outside. How many more times do I have to say that?”

“You’ve no control over me. I am my own storm; my own thunder,” the girl named (Y/N) stood up angrily.

Mairon stood up as well and straightened his back as he clasped his hands and kept staring down, not daring to look up before being addressed.

“Stop being dramatic and go back inside,” Tasarë sighed and (Y/N) groaned out of frustration before going inside the castle. “Mairon,” the Elf finally called his name and he raised his head.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. Her kin was known for staying forever young, yet she aged in the most peculiar way. The corruption and rot had spread throughout her and there was nothing but a shell of her old self now. In a way, she reminded Mairon of the fallen Elves that Melkor had taken to turn into the Uruks but she remained more beautiful than them and she was not covered with any scars.

Because it was not his torture that had damaged her but his love. Everything about him was destructive and deadly.

The young Elven maiden dancing innocently around the fire in the moonlight was long gone. The woman standing in front of him was a mockery of her old self. 

“Stop pitying me, Mairon,” she snarled at him with contempt. “Did he send you here or were you a fool to give in to your urges to find me and check on the state of me?” She asked.

“He sent me,” Mairon answered. “I have a message.”

“Come in then,” Tasarë pointed at the doors and he went inside the castle. It was as dark and cold on the inside as on the outside.

Tasarë led him to the big room where (Y/N) was sitting as well. She was reading a manuscript by the fire and looked up with a wicked smile at the sight of them.

“Leave us,” Tasarë ordered and the young girl clenched her jaw out of anger before walking out.

“Who is she?” Mairon asked in a whisper.

“You know who she is. You suspect. The answer is yes,” Tasarë sat by the table and reached her hand out for him to hand her the message.

Mairon did so but his brow remained furrowed. Well, it was possible for his master to become a father – as wicked as it sounded – but he was now bound to the form of his flesh. That was the very reason why he was avoiding taking part in his battles despite some accusing him of cowardice. And for a Vala, being bound to the form of your flesh also meant that you could reproduce.

“Forgive me. I have asked the wrong question,” Mairon interrupted Tasarë as she was reading and she looked up to meet his gaze, irritated. “I should have not asked who she was,” he nodded. “What is she?”

“It is hard to tell,” Tasarë answered. “She is like a god but weaker than one. Perhaps a bit like you. She can change her forms and no ordinary blow will slay her. She can create life as you have already seen. She… terrifies me,” Tasarë confessed. “But I love her.”

“Like you love her father?”

Tasarë gave him a scolding look.

“You are asking too many questions, Mairon. He will look through your mind, don’t you know? He will punish you for the fact you have seen (Y/N). That you know about her. That you dared to ask about her and now this… My sweet devil, you must enjoy the pain he is giving you,” she shook her head.

“So do you, apparently,” Mairon did not give up. The punishment would come anyway already, she was right about that.

“It is impossible not to… He is a god,” Tasarë explained as if she was surprised that she had to explain that at all. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be chosen by a god?”

“Not like you do,” Mairon admitted.

Long silence occurred and Tasarë looked around as if she was scared Melkor was right there, spying on them. Because, perhaps he could be. She beckoned Mairon over and he leaned in to hear her words better and her lips nearly brushed his slightly pointed ear as his ginger hair tickled her cheek.

“I have dismissed her to protect you and her from his wrath. You cannot know too much about her but one thing I shall tell you – she is half me, too. Half of the real me. The woman you saw dancing by the fire as a beast; the woman you kidnapped to lay her on his lethal altar and sacrifice her. And now her daughter terrifies me but the amount of her power is so vast… She can heal as much as destroy, my sweet master of deception. And I can see how much healing is what you truly crave,” Tasarë confessed. “Promise me that you will take care of her if anything happens. That you will watch over her. You owe me that. You owe that to the young maiden you took away from her family for him to destroy.”

“I can’t assure you I will be able to tame her,” Mairon breathed out, taken aback by her plea.

“I am not asking you to tame her,” Tasarë shot him a glance. “Don’t you even dare! I am asking you to… accompany her. She is awfully lonely here. She craves to see the world and I am sure the world craves to see her as well for she is a wonder.”

“I will,” Mairon nodded, with all seriousness.

He had seen (Y/N) only for a while but he was drawn to her already. In a way, he understood why Melkor was hiding her from the world. Everyone would be drawn to her. She was the most extraordinary creature. Her enormous power, the light balancing with the darkness within her – the innocence mixed with wickedness. 

He was honoured to be chosen by her mother to be burdened with such a task. And he owed her that favor. 

When Melkor fell and the Valar locked him away, Tasarë followed him even though she was offered mercy. But there was no life for her anymore except for the life next to her lover and she refused to abandon him in the abyss. She volunteered to spend the eternity there with him and the Valar were in awe of her devotion to the point they granted her Elven flesh the possibility of spending her forever alongside Melkor in the dimension of his prison.

The Valar also found out about the existence of (Y/N) and they debated for a long time about what to do with a creature so extraordinary. However, she remained completely innocent so far and the only danger about her was her father’s heritage.

Nienna, She Who Weeps, was (Y/N)’s greatest advocate. And when Mairon was given his second chance to come back to Valinor and face his judgement, they asked him to bring (Y/N) with him because they wanted to meet her – yet the castle she was in remained out of their grasp, which only made Mairon realise that it was truly another dimension that his master had created to hide his lover and offspring in from the world.

And so Mairon went back to that secluded realm in the North, trying to find his master’s daughter. And he found her inside the castle, curled on the floor, in the middle of the biggest room. She seemed to be frozen but she was obviously still alive. He crouched down next to her and touched her shoulder gently, which caused her to stir.

“They abandoned me. Both of them. I shall stay here forever,” she mumbled out.

“Did you not want to see the world?” Mairon asked her gently and (Y/N) looked up at him as she snorted.

“That was a long time ago. My father is defeated now. There is no world for me anymore,” she answered, as dramatically as when he had met her for the first time a few centuries earlier.

“Truth to be told, your father was destroying the world. There would be nothing for you to see if he succeeded. But it is still there, although hurt and bruised. Together, we can heal it,” Mairon offered her his hand.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him, visibly intrigued. She sat up and fixed her hair.

“I promised your mother to watch over you if anything happens. She did not want you to be left alone,” he added to encourage her.

“Why would she ask you out of all?” (Y/N) remained suspicious, doubting his status.

“My name is Mairon. I was your father’s most powerful Lieutenant,” Mairon pointed out, nearly offended that he had to introduce himself to anyone. “Most people know me by a different name, though. It is… Sauron,” he winced a little while saying this.

“The Abhorred,” (Y/N) hummed to herself. “Ah, yes, my mother only spoke of you this way when you were not around,” she added and Mairon pursed his lips, trying not to show his irritation too much. “Well, do you promise me that I will see the world?” She asked as she held his hand, which he still kept extended.

“Yes, I do,” Mairon nodded.

It was never his intention to inform her about the chance the Valar wanted to give them. No, it was not his plan to take her to Valinor and to face their judgement. He had much better plans for the two of them.

Ever since he had seen her for the first time and the promise he had made to her mother, he could not help imagining and plotting them two ruling over Middle-earth. And when Melkor’s defeat had become a question of when instead of if, he had already known that (Y/N) was his future.

Despite the seed of evil deep inside of her – alongside the seed of goodness, of course – she was an innocent being who knew nothing of the real world. He could shape her the way he wished and whatever would come out of her was all in his hands now. In a way, he was a god of this situation – considering she would not be too uncontrollable due to her undeniable power. But which seed would grow within her was up to him entirely. It was his choice which part of her he would water and feed, pamper and spoil.

“We will go everywhere. We will heal and we will conquer. I will take your father’s place amongst the dark creatures of the shadows. I will lead them and I will rule over Middle-earth but you will not be hidden away any longer. No, you will be right by my side,” Mairon promised. He was always good with words and he could see how her terrifying eyes were starting to sparkle at his promises.

“As?” She inquired.

“What do you mean as?” He furrowed his brows.

“As whom? I will be by your side as whom?” (Y/N) explained her question.

“As whoever you wish to be. I am not here to tame you,” he remembered her mother’s words.

No, he was there to use her. To take advantage of her power and to bask in it. To introduce her as Morgoth’s daughter and his right hand, which would convince the dark creatures to follow him more eagerly.

And to have her as his own, to own her, to be the only man able to touch her and look at her. His master’s daughter – she was a prize indeed. Half-goddess he was unworthy of and yet she would eat from his hand.

Those were only bold daydreams that he knew his master and her mother would kill him for but they were far away and he remained out of their reach. 

Because perhaps there was some goodness in him still and that urge to heal the world but at heart he was a predator and a warlord. And even though she still felt like nothing but Melkor’s humbled servant sometimes, he knew that with time he would eventually bloom into his worthy successor. Offering him her daughter while calling out the remains of his softness, Tasarë had not known that she had been giving (Y/N) away to Melkor’s shadow.

“I can sense your greed, Sauron,” (Y/N) squeezed his fingers tighter as if she was trapping him. “But greed is no stranger to me for I have been locked here since birth. I am greedy for life. Selfish for it. And I need your guidance,” she confessed, looking deep into his eyes.

He saw fire in her gaze – her father’s uncontrollable destruction. Perhaps he should slay her and leave her to rot. Perhaps it would be for the better for the whole of Middle-earth and for him, too. He got scared suddenly that he would never be able to keep her temper and her powers under control.

That not only she would finish her father’s work but she would overthrow him – Mairon himself.

But he could also see the flowers blooming and the sun rising above the green hills – she and she only could turn Middle-earth into a realm as beautiful as Valinor; the place he was no longer welcome.

Mairon helped (Y/N) to stand up and he adjusted her dresses as if he was a maid, getting rid of all the dust.

“Do you think the world will fall on its knees at the sight of me?” She asked without the smallest hint of irony. Nearly innocently she believed that she was the most exceptional and the most special creature. And the worst thing was that she had every right to because she was. 

“I will make sure of it,” Mairon promised her and she smiled.

And when she was smiling, she was resembling her mother the most – the very same kind smile Tasarë had been giving him during their journey to Melkor after he had kidnapped her.

Mairon’s heart clenched at the memory.

From one fortress to another Mairon took her – from one prison to another, (Y/N) would say. They had moved South significantly but they hadn’t even left the North yet and (Y/N) was bitter about it since snow and ice was still all she could see. She was unprepared to roam freely around Middle-earth, though, and she was given much more space now instead while the new fortress was much fuller with creatures of all kinds, therefore she could no longer call herself lonely.

It made Mairon happy to see how the Orcs were bowing their heads at the sight of her, nearly touching the ground with their foreheads; too scared to look into her terrifying, cold eyes. He was so excited about it that he did not realise how suspicious Adar was getting.

(Y/N) was given the most beautiful gowns by Mairon and even though it was making him feel frustrated to feel this way – he truly enjoyed giving her gifts and watching her eyes sparkle, although sometimes she would openly admit she found something ugly. He waited for her harsh judgement with anticipation and her approval meant the world to him, meanwhile her rejection felt like a blow. And he hated that for one reason only – it was a brutal reminder that he was a Maia and his nature was of a servant.

His eyes always followed her – he told himself it was to protect her but truth to be told, it was the world that should be protected from her and not the other way around. Yet, he witnessed her whims and dramatic outbursts, her laughter – both pure and wicked – her dancing and her acts of creation. Within the walls of this fortress her butterflies lived much longer and she adorably found it endearing. 

But she was also fascinated by the weapons of all sorts and forbidden magic spells left by her father. Her blood was as black and thick as his, Mairon noticed one day when she drew it with a dagger to perform one innocent spell.

He felt like a nanny sometimes – running towards her to take away the books with too dangerous spells from her. She was yet unprepared to use them. He did not even want to think about what would happen if she was left unsupervised.

Therefore, even in her dreams he followed her and she often dreamt of her mother and of imaginary lands since she had no idea what the real ones looked like. And he had to admit the realms (Y/N) was creating with her mind were… beautiful. They were full of sun and green fields of grass, butterflies and flowers. They were ideal and full of harmony – the very first time Mairon had joined them in her dreams, he nearly cried because it was exactly how he wanted the world to look like. But it also meant that at the end of the day (Y/N)’s heart remained pure and uncorrupted.

And just like that, he fell in love with her. As her protector, as her servant, as her subject, as her friend. As her lover.

One evening Mairon asked (Y/N) to join him in the forge where she had not yet been. She walked inside and looked around with widened eyes and a smile – soft but a little contemptuous as well.

“Do you like it?” Mairon asked her with his hands clasped nervously behind his back.

“Perhaps. But is it not a commoner’s work to commit himself to physical labour?” She leaned her back onto the pillar and Mairon chuckled nervously as he approached her.

“Would a commoner craft you such wonders?” He asked as he reached his hand out and showed her a necklace and a ring that he was holding inside his hand and that he had forged for her a few days earlier. He had been lacking the courage to give it to her until now, though.

“Are they for me?” (Y/N) asked as her eyes sparkled when she took the jewellery from him. Mairon nodded at her question, proud of himself because she visibly liked the gift. “Why?” She asked.

“You do not own any,” he answered.

“But who sees me here? I surely have no need to look grand for the Orcs,” she laughed.

“I see you,” Mairon pointed out and she froze.

He panicked at first, scared that those three words had been three too many. But she was not looking at him at all. She pointed her finger at the item behind his back.

“That is…” (Y/N) whispered.

“Your father’s crown,” Mairon nodded and walked up to it. “I am about to reforge it to fit me. Do you want to watch?” He asked and (Y/N) nodded, hesitantly.

She put on her new necklace and a new ring before Mairon offered her one of the leather aprons. It made her giggle when he was putting it over her gown.

“I would not want your robes to get damaged,” he informed her and she nodded as she sat on the chair nearby and watched with fascination how he worked.

When the black iron of her father’s crown melted, she sighed loudly and Mairon turned his head around to raise his eyebrow at her.

“What is it?”

“I was thinking if you could forge an item for me made out of this iron, too,” she looked up at him. “He was my father. I wish to keep a part of him with me always.”

“You are part of him,” Mairon laughed and she pouted. “But, surely, why not,” he promised and she grinned.

He poured a small amount of the liquid black iron aside to one of the cauldrons over the fire to avoid solidification. And while he worked on his new crown, he wondered what he could forge for (Y/N).

A bold idea came to his mind – an idea so forbidden that he felt a shiver travel down his spine at the thought of what her parents would do to him for having it.

Yet, he was out of their reach, so he went with it and at the end of the night, he handed (Y/N) a wedding band.

“Another ring?” She huffed. “Thought you would be more creative,” she sighed. “It doesn’t even have any gemstone attached to it!”

“Do you know what that is?” Mairon asked, a little impatiently, but mostly nervously. If she rejected him now, it would certainly be one of his grandest humiliations.

(Y/N) furrowed her brows and tilted her head as she stared at the item in her hand, looking at it from every angle. And when the light from the forge’s fire reflected upon the surface of the band, the letters glistened and she read them out loud in a whisper.

“It is a love declaration in Black Speech,” she looked up to meet his gaze as Mairon swallowed the lump in his throat. “That language was not made with love declarations in mind, that is for sure,” she remarked.

“Nevermind then,” Mairon tore the item out of her hands and walked away nervously to avoid her gaze. Taking deep breaths to calm himself down after such a humiliation, he did not hear her footsteps following him.

“Sauron…” She whispered, addressing him by the only name she was ever calling him with because her mother had taught her so, and touched his shoulder but he flinched. “You do not like that name, do you?”

“Yet you keep using it,” he drawled through gritted teeth.

“The Abhorred sounds so pretty to me,” she confessed and he softened a little but still refused to turn around and meet her gaze. “From the moment I saw you those centuries ago… I knew that you were the one for me,” she added and Mairon’s heart quickened. “You showed up out of nowhere like a knight out of my dreams who would save me. Your red hair contrasting with the snow… I shall never forget that day.”

Mairon finally turned around and he watched as she cupped his face gently and pulled his head down to be able to place a kiss upon his forehead while his heart began to pounder.

“However, I cannot marry a man who needs me more than I need him,” she added when she let go of him, her words shattering his heart into millions of pieces.

And alongside the pain, anger came as well. Mairon did not enjoy being rejected.

“If you think you do not need me, you are mistaken,” he spoke as the sudden fury overtook him, causing his veins to swell with thick, black blood. (Y/N) took a step back at the sight. “If it was not for me, you would still be rotting in that fortress, hidden away from the world. I took you here, I prepare your father’s armies to continue their march because you have never been taught anything. I am the one promising you the whole Middle-earth, ensuring its people will worship you. If you do not wish to be sent back there to rot, then you have to accept the fact that I am your only future!” He snapped and calmed down right after, softening immediately as his hands began to tremble slightly. He fixed his hair and clasped his shaky hands quickly to hide his nervousness from her.

“You… You dropped the band,” was all (Y/N) said to that as she pointed at the floor before crouching down to pick it up.

Before she stood up, she looked up at his face and it only made him feel even more guilty and scared for lashing out on her.

“Forgive me,” he grabbed her face and leaned in to be as close as he could. “Forgive me, please, I did not mean to… Gods, it has never been my intention to hurt you,” he was lying to herself as much as to his own self. “You must forgive me, it was only caused by fear. Fear of losing you,” he continued and felt her muscles relaxing eventually.

She even dared to wrap her arms around him as she clinged to him like a child seeking warmth.

“I would never leave you,” she breathed out and brushed his ginger hair to put the loose hair strands behind his ears. “There is nothing I am scared of more than to be left all alone again. You were right and I was mistaken – I do need you. I was teasing you only but I did not expect such wrath in return. You are all I have. What is the point of being so powerful when there is no one to witness?” She finished with a playful question and Mairon sighed out of relief, leaning in to brush her nose a little with his own.

She winced slightly and giggled before moving her head to brush him with the tip of her nose as well. Like two kittens they played like that for a while until he finally joined their lips together and she opened her mouth to let him devour her.

He felt Melkor’s wrath even from all the dimensions away but he could not care less about any of that. To hold a creature like her so close and to feel the heart of her flesh beating so fast for him was a victory of its own. For a moment, he nearly wanted to abandon all his schemes and start a new life with her somewhere – to create a life like the one from her dreams but for the both of them only where they could hide from the world and spend eternity in each other’s embrace.

“Please, don’t send me away back there,” she whispered softly after breaking the kiss, her lower lip trembling slightly.

How silly she could be. He would not be able to do so even if he tried because she was too powerful for that. Yet, her loneliness caused her dependance on him and it was all for him for the taking. He felt bad taking advantage of that but it was too tempting to reject.

“My beautiful (Y/N),” he whispered and caressed her cheeks. “You will never be alone. Wherever you go, I shall follow. And wherever you go, I shall make sure everyone there worships your light and your darkness as equals for you are too powerful to be reduced to one. You will help me to heal, to create new life and I will lead your father’s armies to ensure our victories,” he promised and she smiled before pecking his lips once more.

(Y/N) took a small step back and he watched in awe as she put the wedding band onto her finger. His heart and soul sang at the sight.

“I refuse to be in the shadows like my mother once was. I want to lead the armies with you,” she met Mairon’s gaze. “I want to earn my own squalid name, Sauron. The Abhorred. I want to carry my own title with pride,” she revealed, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

How cute and innocent she could be one moment and how terrifying the next. Mairon wondered if the war of her two natures within her was exhausting her. Was she being haunted constantly by the duel of her light and her darkness?

But perhaps there was no war within her. It was only natural for her, after all. Perhaps they coexisted and balanced perfectly and it all made sense somehow. And perhaps it was not his duty to understand any of this but to accept her the way she was.

“You will be given a sword and armour,” he promised. “You will be their Queen of The Day and of The Night. You will be their rescue and their demise. Their Sun and their Moon. Their Life and their Death. And whatever path you choose, I shall follow you down the road.”

“Worry not,” (Y/N) chuckled and approached him to put her hands on his shoulders. “I know it is your wish to heal. And my wish is to rule over a world so beautiful like the ones from my dreams. I will only destroy those who stand on our way to create such greatness,” she swore.

Her words soothed him but could he truly trust her? She was Melkor’s daughter and his influence might have been stronger than they both suspected. What other choice did Mairon have, though? To slay her? He would never do that. Therefore, all he could do was to keep her close and take care of her.

Who was he fooling, though? His own self?

He was there to follow and serve and it was only the matter of time when she would realise how powerful she truly was and what a great influence she had over him as well.

Even if she would destroy the whole Middle-earth like her father wanted to and create a land of ashes, he would gladly rule over it by her side. 

Gods, he would gladly serve there as his Queen’s subject and that would be enough.

“You have no idea what you are doing to me,” he breathed out and she giggled.

“I do. I can see inside your mind.”

MASTERLIST

[wordpress-blaze-15182341]

The Sky-High Mind Games: The Psychology of Being Cabin Crew

Flying is hard. Now imagine flying while handing out sandwiches, soothing crying babies, enforcing seatbelt laws like a law enforcer, and still smiling as if you mean it. Welcome to the mental Olympics of the cabin crew life.

Let’s get one thing straight: being a cabin crew isn’t just only about looking glamorous in a tailored and well pressed uniform while rolling a suitcase through the Airport Terminal as if you’re on a runway. Oh no my dear. It’s a delicate dance of diplomacy, disaster preparedness, and emotional endurance, all performed in a metal tube traveling at super speed, 42,000 feet in the air, filled with strangers who’ve lost the will to follow basic instructions.

Mood Management: Smiling While on Fire Emotionally

Passengers expect you to be cheerful, helpful, and composed, even if:

-You’ve just worked a red-eye flight with a toddler who kept playing Baby Shark dudududududududu—on repeat.

-Someone in 28D spilled red wine on your only clean shirt.

-Infligh WiFi is out of service, and now a businessman in 1A is experiencing the five stages of grief in real time.

Cabin crew are trained to regulate their emotions so well they could win Oscar awards. “Emotional labor,” psychologists call it. “Sky heroes,” I call it.

Situational Awareness: The Sixth Sense of Sky Service

A good cabin crew member can sense:

A passenger about to faint before they even know they’re about to faint.

Someone sneaking a forbidden bathroom visit during a turbulence weather.

A child plotting to kick the seat in front of them with vengeful precision.

They have the observational powers of a mother on guard , the reflexes of a cat, and the diplomacy of a U.N. ambassador. All while pretending not to notice that the guy seated at 36K is definitely watching something NSFW on his phone.

Conflict Resolution: Airborne Referees

Cabin crew routinely diffuse inflight tension that would make couples therapy look like a spa day therapy session.

Some real-life scenarios that are very common:

-Two passengers fighting over the middle armrest like it’s a championship belt. Really? Yes really! It happens quite a lot.

-Someone loudly explaining why masks as a station requirement are a government conspiracy, while sitting six inches from a stranger.

-A person refusing to switch their phone to flight mode mode because “it’s never that serious.”

Cabin crew handle it all with calm voices, neutral expressions, and internal monologues that probably sound like, “Not today, Ken-Karen. Not today.”

Memory Mastery: The Brain of an Elephant on Caffeine

They remember:

Which passenger asked for ginger ale with no ice and one with decaffeinated coffee with crushed ice and room temperature water.

Where the vegan meal went, whom it’s for and the time they’d like to have it.

Who pressed the call button because their overhead bin light wasn’t working… five rows back.

Meanwhile, half the plane can’t remember how to use a seatbelt despite a literal demonstration just barely minutes ago.

Time Travel: Jet Lagged but Still Mentally Present

Time zones? Forget about it. Cabin crew live in a parallel universe where breakfast is dinner, lunch is a midnight snack, and Wednesdays happen twice or thrice.

You wake up in Nairobi, eat lunch in Auckland , and go to bed in Bangkok, but your body still thinks it’s Monday in Doha. Yet somehow, you’re still supposed to smile and say, “Chicken with vegetable curry, Beef with potato gratin or Pasta rigatoni with parmesan cheese?” Then someone will say, “Give me fish.”

Fear Detection and Passenger Psychology

Cabin crew are part-time psychics. They know who’s afraid of flying before that person has even buckled their seatbelt. Their toolkit includes reassuring smiles, calm body language, and the phrase, “Turbulence is a completely normal thing” said in seventeen different soothing tones.

They’ve also mastered reading passenger types:

The Parrot: Will narrate their entire life story unless you escape with the drinks cart.

The Sloth: Head back, mouth open, drooling on your emergency exit demo.

The Worry Worrior: Asks if the wing is supposed to do that every ten minutes.

The Ken-Karen: Threatens to report crew to management, and demands to speak to Captain since they were informed chicken was no more, then demands a free upgrade to business or first class.

Final Boarding Call: Not Just Coffee and Cart Wheels

So, the next time a flight attendant greets you with a smile, remember that they’re not just there to hand you grissini and a bruschetta. They’re trained crisis managers, security officers, psychologists, health responders, and admirable patience champions. The friendly face you see in the aisle? It’s powered by caffeine, resilience, endurance and enough psychological training to write a dissertation on human behavior at cruising altitude.

Being cabin crew is like being in a reality show where the prize is survival, and the challenges include serving drinks in turbulence, locating someone’s lost passport, and convincing adults to use a seatbelt.

Respect the uniform. Treat them with kindness. And please, for the love of the sky gods, don’t clap when the plane lands. If you know you know.

Source: The Sky-High Mind Games: The Psychology of Being Cabin Crew

[xothatnerdykid]

Aizawa x Reader Established Relationship Headcanons

(Cannot, for the life of me, get over my writer's block but I've still got Aizawa brainrot thanks to s7 so here.)

I might be in the minority here but I don't think Aizawa would smoke. He eats healthy and works out to keep his body in shape. Why would he compromise his health by smoking?

His only vices are chronic snacking (he loves those jelly pouch things) and caffeine.

He's usually up 'til dawn most days because duh, he works two jobs (hence the 5-7 shots of espresso in his coffee). 

Despite his sleep deprivation most days, he is soooo sexy when he wakes up in the morning. Messy hair. Baggy shirt and boxers. Or sometimes a body hugging tank top and sweatpants. And his voice — his raspy, sleep-addled voice. The feeling of his stubble against the smooth planes of your face waking you up. 

He doesn’t usually cook breakfast but he does always brew a fresh pot of coffee for you. And he never leaves without a kiss goodbye, even when you’re still snuggled up in bed, asleep.

When you first start dating, Shouta talks to you pretty much the same way he talks to everyone else. So curt and succinct, you sometimes used to wonder if he was upset with you. He’d usually get confused as to what made you ask that, and then explained that he’s just a man of a few words, that’s all. 

As your relationship becomes more established, you notice subtle shifts in the way he communicates. It's not a sudden change, but your conversations start to feel more like a secret code over time, filled with inside jokes that never fail to make him smirk.

Shouta’s love language is definitely acts of service. He’s a pragmatic, action-oriented person who values efficiency. So of course he’d think that actions speak louder than words when it comes to letting someone know your true feelings. 

That’s why he loves it when he comes home to your cooking, especially when you surprise him with his favorite dish. Because after 16-hours or so of working two jobs, he usually just passes out on the couch the moment he gets home and you’re not around.

He feels so bad when he comes home too late sometimes and finds you already asleep and his dinner sitting cold on the stovetop or in the fridge. He always makes sure to make it up to you by preparing breakfast the next day or…other…pleasing ways…

Seeing you take care of Sushi, the cat his very-well-and-alive friend Nemuri sometimes asks him to babysit, makes him feel all warm inside, too (although he doesn’t actually admit it, you just catch him smiling softly at you sometimes and quickly looking away when you notice).

As for how he expresses his love for you, it mostly comes in the form of acts of service, too, as well as gifts and physical touch.

Shouta’s romantic gestures are like rare collectibles. They often come as a surprise, but when they happen, you cherish them dearly. He'll surprise you with a thoughtful gift and leave it on your desk with a simple, "Saw this and thought of you."

He won't serenade you under the moonlight or anything, but he'll make you a warm cup of tea when you're tired, or wrap a scarf around you when it's cold.

You don't really have time to go out on dates most weeks, but when you do, you're either at a quiet restaurant or taking a walk through nature in the parks. 

His favorite thing to do is sit with you by the window sill on rainy days and just have you snuggle up to him, bundled in his arms, while you read or do your own thing in comfortable silence.

Fighting with Shouta was like having a verbal sparring match. He’s always strategic, although his patience wears thin sometimes, even with you. Still, he knew when to bring something up and when to back down. 

He won't shy away from a disagreement, but he's not one to let it linger. He’ll tackle the issue head-on, find a compromise, and move on.

One of your favorite things about him was that he never held a grudge or took conflicts personally.  

Shouta’s life is a constant juggle between being a pro hero, a UA teacher, a single dad, and being your boyfriend. But oh, does he master it.

At first you thought maybe he was just a really efficient and organized planner, but one look at him, his apartment, his phone, and his non-existent planner told you otherwise.

“How do you plan on getting all of this done?” You often ask him about his mountain of papers to grade and reports to submit, to which he just shrugs.

“I don’t know, the usual? Coffee. Eye drops.” He sucks on his second jelly pouch of the day and goes back to his cluttered desk, papers strewn about like fallen leaves. "Duct taping my eyelids," he grumbles the last part under his breath.

You laugh, watching him from the couch with a fond look in your eyes. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

He looks up, one eyebrow raised. “For what? Managing to stay awake?”

“For…everything,” you shrug, walking over to perch yourself atop the edge of his desk. “For being you.”

He hums appreciatively as he pulls you closer by the waist.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful.”

He glances up at you, smiling a little. You scratch at the stubble on his chin. 

“Ready to call it a night?”

“Not quite,” he smirks before leaning up to kiss you fervently, tangling his hands in your hair.

Both of you slept better than you have all week. Afterwards.

You occasionally surprise him by finding him when he’s out on patrol and checking up on him. You love seeing him like this, in his element. He’s so kind to all the people he helps…

(A lot of the time, you end up making out against an alleyway or with him hanging upside down from a fire escape, but that’s neither here nor there.) 

[moonlight-records]

Christmas via letters| OP81 (HAC #10)

pairing: op81 x reader

summary: after you break your phone and waiting to buy a new one, you decide the only logical way to contact your boyfriend is via letter for the holiday season.

warning: fluff!

fc: none!

wc: ??

a/n: I FINALLY CAUGHT UP!!! day 10 of moonlight records holiday advent calendar!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | current day | day 11

My dearest Oscar,

Oh my dear, Oscar, I do hope this letter finds you well. How these are very troubling times we have entered. I write this letter to you in the darkest of nights as slumber is near impossible. With you thousands of kilometers away my bed is so terribly big and empty and I am so terribly cold when I’m not in your embrace. Oh how I long for your embrace and to see your handsome face again.

Seriously though, hi babe! Did you like that opening? I hope so because that opening put a LOT of brain cells to work and we both know that I typically never have the brain cells. Now, you’re probably wondering why the hell am I sending you a letter when we can text or video call even though you barely answer your mom or me though since you’re always napping or flirting with Lando or Logan but I’m letting that go right now.

I am so glad you asked because my phone is…broken!! Isn’t that SO fun?! Before you ask, I am already one step ahead of you. Imagine it: a cold, bitter, and rainy Tuesday morning. I’m heading to class. Am I running late to class? Yes. Was it because I got myself a sweet treat? I am just a girl babe, just a girl. Anyway, I am making up for a great time and I will be early to my 8:30 class. Well, about that. I’m looking at my phone and I trip over my feet. Phone goes into a pothole puddle and is completely ruined so I have to wait till my next paycheck to buy a new one while trading in my old phone to get like a piss poor discount off my new phone.

I think I sent you a message on Instagram and TikTok from my laptop about it. I forgot that you aren’t on social media often like me which is very valid so I decided to send you a letter! Besides, I’ve always wanted to write Christmas letters but nobody I know wants to write letters anymore so you, my most loyal subject, are going to write Christmas letters with me! If you want, that is but I hope you do! Unless you want to be on social media to talk to your totally amazing, beautiful, funny girlfriend because I would not complain about that. Maybe you’d finally look at all those super funny cat memes I keep sending you! Well, hope to hear from you soon love

With much love,  Y/N

My sweetest Y/N, 

I will not be talking in the 19th century. I don’t think I can do justice compared to you but I can confirm that this letter has found me well and I will cherish it deeply.

Listen babe, you knew that when you decided to accept the first date you gained a very sleepy and polite cat from what the fans are deeming me. This should not be a surprise to you or my mom. Though I am not ignoring your text messages to flirt with Lando! Babe, how could you ever think that I would do such a thing? Lando is just a dork that needs constant supervision. Now Logan, on the other hand…babe that is my emotional support American. Are you telling me I CAN’T flirt with my emotional support American? Come on Y/N, you should’ve known that when you said yes to being my girlfriend that it was me AND Logan. We are obviously a package deal.

You dropped your phone in a pothole puddle? That’s…disgusting oh my god. I actually almost gagged at the thought of you reaching into the puddle to grab your phone. No wonder why my phone hasn’t been blowing up as much, babe I am so sorry. Both about your phone being ruined but also for my lack of checking in. Honestly I’ve just been recharging socially to answer emails and stuff. It’s taking much longer since you’re not here to cuddle me…still not an excuse. I wanna emphasize that I’m not excusing my lack of check in for the past few days. Promise to get better on that.

You know what, when you get your new phone, I will not only have opened all your wonderful videos but I’ll even send some back. Just you watch. Though in the meantime since you do want to send letters this holiday season, I guess we can so, do you have anything fun planned for the holiday season?

Sincerely, Oscar Piastri

Dear Oscar,

You answered!! Oh my god, baby you don’t know how excited I am for this. Also god, please do not remind me about the puddle. The thought still makes me shudder and gag. Though babe, you know me. I am not upset at all with you not answering all the time because it doesn’t really upset me. You know that because I know that you answer when I really need you to, which is like once in a blue moon. Like when I got the flat that one time and you so graciously got me an uber home. That was like what? Three months ago? Besides that, babe, show me a sign of life and I’m content for the day. Though are you admitting that Logan gets more attention than me? I might have to find our dating contract and revise that I get equal amount sir sleepy Piastri. But you’ll send me silly Tiktoks?! Oh Oscar, if you want to marry me, you should just ask me but this is so much better.

Oh! I don’t know. I’m helping mom this weekend decorate since it’s going to be the warmest weekend to handle the outside decorations. I’m going to attempt to help with the inside decorations since mom got grandpa’s Christmas village since we finally cleaned his house out. After that I’m kind of going with the flow, you know? Though mom has trusted me to do all the online shopping this year AKA she sends me screenshots and then tells me to order it with her credit card and hoard everything in my room, so. Eventually I will sit down one day and attempt to wrap though mom will probably redo it.

I know one day my friends want to go ice skating and see Wicked again. Now I am all for seeing Wicked again but ice skating? Babe, I fear if we go ice skating that you’ll get a call from me with all of us in the hospital. We can barely stand on our own two feet on a regular day and I know you’ve seen us. You know how clumsy my friends and I are but ‘tis the season, I guess!

Oh! We’re hosting Christmas this year, which will be very interesting. I mean, we got the space for sure but now that means fighting my cousin’s off so they don’t steal my plushies. Gotta defend ‘Mr. Artbag’ and ‘Sir Giggles’ you know? Do you have any plans for this upcoming holiday season?

Waiting for these cat memes, Y/N

To my darling Y/N,

Oh my dearest Y/N, the thing about our dating contract is that it has sadly ended up with me back in Australia so you cannot have it. Though I am willing to revise the contract to make sure you get an equal amount of attention as Logan, though I need something in exchange. Luckily, I have found the contract and as I review our agreement, I think if I give you an equal amount of attention, you have to let me buy you one thing you want every month. Would you be willing to agree to those terms? I’ll throw in 5 cat memes a week free of charge.

Oh that’ll be fun. My sisters wanted to go shopping and since I haven’t seen them I decided to go with them. I really became the bag holder though I wasn’t that upset because I did manage to find some of your Christmas gifts and actually get them with the assistant of my sisters. AKA they asked me what I was looking for and they found it by some miracle. I wish I had that special touch to find things I need–like mothers do you know? Anyway, besides that I don’t know. Mom’s almost done decorating and dad got the tree since ours sadly broke (we’ve had it for almost 10 years, we needed a new one) and they already decorated the tree. Though I might take Rosie and Basil out to grab some gifts.

Wait, you guys are going ice skating? Well, surprise, I’m actually coming out to visit for a bit. Logan and Lando want to hang out before Logan heads back to the states for the holidays so if you guys could try to schedule that about two weeks later when I’m around, I would love to go with you guys, though I would ask if Lando and Logan could possibly join? I have no issue in becoming a personal ambulance, especially if Lando is going to go ice skating. Save us all.

What are you doing for New Years? If you’re not doing anything, mom and my sisters would love to have you over. They miss you and they’re going insane without you having a phone to text them life updates. To be honest, I also miss waking up to all your messages and memes and getting real time updates about your life. Can I buy you a phone? Please?

Hope you get your new phone soon, Oscar Piastri

To the polite sleepy cat,

I talked to my lawyer about this new agreement in our contract and we have agreed to the terms you are requesting. Though I am not exactly happy with the terms about buying me one gift a month but you promise to send 5 cat memes so it’s fine. Though I will say, I am okay with it just being 5 memes a week free of charge if you cannot find any good cat memes. As long as it is a meme of any sorts I will overlook the buying me something for once a month.

Though on a serious note, YOU’RE COMING TO VISIT?! Oh my god, babe this is the best news I have ever heard. Yeah of course! I already asked the group and they would love to have Logan and Lando join us with ice skating! We were planning on getting dinner after if that’s okay with you guys? We’re not sure where we want to go yet but I’m sure we all can figure something out when we all meet up! Also, yes I made sure I was all bundled up, I’m not that crazy! Besides, I want to be able to smooth my dear boyfriend before the season starts without getting him in trouble for starting the new season a bit under the weather. 

Ha! Jokes on you, I already ordered my phone. I’m just waiting for it to ship because of course it wasn’t in stock when I went to get it in person. You know me, I just need a simple phone so I was going to get the same one as before. Sadly, it seems that my phone has become popular because they sold out in person! Oscar, do you know how devastated I was to venture out on my weekend to find out it’s out of stock? Truly, a dark day for me but my phone should be here before this letter is sent out. Promise that I’ll send you all my funny memes to make up for these lost times.

 As of right now, I don’t think I’m doing anything for New Years. I don’t know what the group wants to do yet but I think they’re all spending the holiday with their significant others so I would love to stay with you and the Piastri family! Are you kidding me? How else am I supposed to see Rosie and Basil? 

Well, this is probably coming around the holiday so, merry Christmas my love.

You’re probably napping, Y/N

To the golden retriever,

Hopefully, this reaches you before I arrive. I’m glad to know that your lawyer agrees with these new terms. Do you accept memes via powerpoint presentations? I have taken some time out of my very very very busy schedule to compile a list of the top ten, not five but ten memes that I have seen this week that I believe you will enjoy. Most of them are from the same meme trending on TikTok but I think these stories are right up your alleyway along with some cat memes. 

I’m glad you were all bundled up. Not that I would personally care if I got sick if it meant getting my mandatory kisses and cuddles that I’ve been longing for. Any trouble is worth it if it’s so I can see you. I’ve spoken to Lando and Logan and they have agreed that planning for dinner would be the best. Lando has done his usual request of no fish please and thank you. Damn. I was hoping that you didn’t order it so that could’ve been the free gift of the month on top of your Christmas presents. Whatever. Buying you a book will be a great second option and you can’t yell at me!

Oh haha, very funny. I knew this was going to be an issue when I brought you home but I’ll let it go, only because that means you’ll give me extra cuddles later for feeling bad. Kidding, kidding, but seriously. I’m glad that you can come over for New Years. It’ll be fun and everyone will be glad to see you.

Also, I appreciate what you did with the lipstick on this letter. Y/N, you truly flatter me. You think so highly of me that you’ll give me a kiss through the letter? Oh, be still my beating heart. I hope you like my washi tape decorations. I know it’s not on the level of kissing a letter but I think for the first time, it’s great. I also hope you like the polaroid attached as well, if it stays attached. Mom is pretty proud at capturing my failure of trying to build a gingerbread house.

See you soon & at New Years Eve, Oscar Piastri

[concretejunglefm]

coming to bother you with this

i keep thinking about noah being so soft with reader, like holding them after a long day, loving all over them, telling how much he loves them, etc.

or the other way around, with them telling him how much they love him, soft soft stuff like that

I love nothing but soft thoughts and I've been have so many recently just not able to put them into actual words, but this thought made me 🥺 I hope you don't mind 💕

CW: mostly fluff, but mentions of negative thoughts, struggles with depression, loss and recurring nightmares.

There was once a time when Noah would wake up in the night to find you lying there, waging with the war behind your eyes. Now, it seems like you’ve switched places. You sleep peacefully beside him, your body tucked against his, because despite wearing more layers than him in comparison to his own stark sleepwear, you still feel cold and always attempt to steal his warmth.

Noah has woken from another nightmare, the same one that has plagued his waking thoughts for days. The circumstances may differ, but the outcome is always the same: this life you share is not his to keep. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s taken away from him and when he wakes, he expects to find himself back in his old room, the one he left almost a year ago when you entered his life.

When he does wake, he finds himself in a moonlit room—the same one he’s been sleeping in for the past year, building and sharing memories of his own with the person he loves lying beside him.

Normally, sleep would come easily, but he refuses to succumb, too afraid of reliving the nightmare he dragged himself out of and for the rest of the night, he lays awake, battling sleeps attempts to pull him back under. As he does, he listens to the faint sound of your breathing, a comforting reassurance that you’re still here with him, and this is real.

Noah doesn’t wake you, not wanting to disturb you with the trivial and absurd thoughts his mind has chosen to torment him with. However, it’s as if you’re deeply connected to him on a level that draws you out of your sleep, and he hears the faint whisper of your tired voice.

“Noah, what’s wrong?”

He can’t hide from you, no matter how hard he tries. He’s never been able to keep his face from spilling his worries. Instead of fighting it and telling you to go back to sleep, he rolls over onto his side, his long arm falling over you. He feels your fingers find his as your gesture of comfort before you nestle yourself closer.

In the darkness, he tries to make out your features, using the faint moonlight to trace them. He notices the way your brows knit together in worry as you look up at him and contemplates his questions relating to the storm of worries currently raging in his mind, and decides to start with a lighthearted opener: “Do you remember when you asked me if I’d still love you if you were a worm?”

You laugh. You didn’t expect the question and you laugh. Your laughter fills his heart with warmth. It comes not from a place of ridicule, but a soft, sweetness. “Of course I do,” you say. “You had promised to build me my own terrarium to carry me around.” Your voice, filled with sleep, makes him smile. He remembers the moment you mention, how you knew that to be the moment you had fallen for him completely.

Noah had already fallen long before that, but had been too shy to admit it.

Sometimes, like now, he wants to delve into his concerns and ask you, “Do you love me?” with the same playful yet serious tone that you used when asking that question and before he can control himself, those exact words come stumbling out.

Silence follows and he glazes at you in the darkness.

Without missing a beat, you move closer, your hand searching for his face in the darkness as you come to cradle his cheek. “Noah, of course I love you,” you say, trying to calm the raging waves. However, their intensity remains, threatening to overflow, especially as he feels the gentle warmth of your breath and the soft press of your forehead against his.

“What if I don’t deserve this? What if I don’t deserve you?” He despises the fact that he’s allowing himself to indulge in these darker thoughts that currently haunt his mind, and that he’s even giving them a voice. However, the relentless gnawing at him makes it incredibly challenging to suppress them.

The constant worry revolves around wanting to give you the best and fearing that he isn’t capable of it because he’s not used to keeping the people he loves to this extent. Throughout his life, he’s experienced varying degrees of loss, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, especially now that he’s become so vulnerable with you, letting you into his heart completely. The two of you are already on the path to starting a life together, yet some days, he’s plagued by the idea and worry that he’ll lose you, that you’ll decide you want better, and deserve better than him.

It’s your voice that pulls him back as he spirals within his own mind. Your fingers gently stroke through his hair, a soothing caress on the crown of his head as you whisper softly into the darkness.

“Noah, I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known, not just to your friends but even to those you don’t know.” You move hand to press against his chest, over his heart, your touch soothing the rapid beating of it. “You deserve happiness, and if you believe I’m a source of that, then I promise you that you deserve me. I want you, and I love you, and I’m so grateful to have you in my life. I’ve never felt more fortunate.”

Each word you speak further calms the dark thoughts in his mind, driving away the storm and pulling him further into your embrace. He has no words to respond with, instead meeting you with a soft, loving, and wet kiss. He hadn’t noticed the tears that roll down his cheeks, unsure if they had started before or after your assurance. Regardless, they currently feel less sad than when he had woken earlier. He feels less sad because now, a majority of that feeling has been replaced with your love and assurance, matching what he always provides to you in these moments.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @I-love-the-smell-of-you-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @concretenoah

[vrisrezis]

Love triangle?? With atsv characters

Basically a love triangle between them, their spider alter ego and you … ?

Gwen has been longtime best friends with you and Peter for what feels like forever. Even after peters passing, you and Gwen remained close. Throughout the years, it was only natural for gwen to fall for you, her best friend. Peter had often encouraged her to try and go for it, but she never gave in to the temptation. Not when she has been lying to you for so long about who she really was. While her dad did often speak his mind on the mysterious spiderwoman and his doubts, you always seemed excited talking about her. It didn’t take long for her to find out you were not only a huge fan, but definitely had a bit of a crush.

This was amusing to her, obviously. But it also made her wonder if you felt nothing for the real her, and you just liked some alter ego of hers because she was cool and saved the day or whatever.

How you and spiderwoman met, was not under the best of circumstances. As you can imagine.

Growing up, you were always pretty tough. Fighting for and defending Peter against bullies, it was what drawn gwen to you right away. You always stood up for others, and perhaps in the real world it’d get you in more trouble, trying to help a defenses old man against some mugger, you nearly got real hurt in the process. Thankfully, your celebrity crush was there to web him up.

She remembers the look you gave her, you were so.. awestruck.

You never looked at her like that. Not the real her, anyway.

“Thank you spiderwoman!” you say with glee, a word she would almost never use to describe you.

She clears her throat, seeming off guard by the way you greeted her. Or perhaps she was caught off guard by how beautiful you looked in the moonlight. Is it hot outside or is it just her suit?

“Uh… uh…” she hesitates for a moment, before displaying faux confidence. She nods in understanding, “anytime, hopefully next time I’ll see you under better circumstances, cutie.” she says with a wink, before swinging away.

There’s practically hearts in your eyes, did spider woman… just flirt with you?!

Meanwhile, gwen is freaking the hell out over the fact she just said that. It’s certainly easier to flirt under the mask, she supposes.

You didn’t shut up about spiderwoman for the next week.

Miles was one of your best friends, had been for over a year now. Although this friendship, to many seemed newly found, to you both it felt like you knew eachother forever. You often ignored how Ganke never failed to mention that’s something people in love say about eachother.

Ganke was a close friend to the both of you. He was also very much aware of how miles was keeping this huge secret from you, and he often relayed to miles how he should just tell you already. Miles said no, everytime. So ganke had to resort to desperate measures, on one of your many hangouts with the two males.

“Hey, I’m curious.” Ganke starts, “what do you think of Spiderman?”

Miles nearly chokes, he looks wide eyed at ganke, as if ganke just killed a cat. Honestly, ganke is surprised miles hadn’t brought up Spiderman to you himself before, but honestly miles was terrified of what you actually thought, to the point he didn’t want it mentioned at all in front of you.

But your immediate grin makes miles almost audibly sigh.

“I think he’s awesome! Way cooler than the other one to be honest like wow have you seen that suit? Nice color.” Miles couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes lit up in excitement. How come he hasn’t heard you talk about spiderman before if you liked him so much?

“Hey, miles?”

“Huh?!” he yells, his voice becoming so high pitched it sounded like he was just hitting puberty, making you laugh.

“I- I mean.. yeah… what’s up?”

“Do you think he’s … cute?” you ask, rather curious what miles thinks of spiderman.

Ganke almost laughs at how wide miles eyes are, somehow even wider than before.

You would eventually have the chance to meet spiderman, which was not something miles would be happy about. A fight with a particularly … tough villain had caused much damage to the city. Miles swears, today he had to pull up at least 3 buses by his webs.

However, the bus you were in, as plain as day. He couldn’t see anyone but you, the other people in the bus being a blur to him.

He was scared, so so so scared. The moment you’re out and safe, he wants to hug you. He almost does, but he’s able to restrain himself once he feels gwen tug his arm, warning him of how weird that’d be.

He sighs, but he sees you smile at him, grateful. He’s blissfully unaware of how hot your cheeks are, seeing him in the flesh, in person.

You wonder if he’d be okay with signing an autograph.

Hobie was never the type for being subtle. He was blunt, but because of his casualness about it people do not take what he says seriously. He didn’t plan on making a strong effort to hide being spiderman from you. Because he trusts you, with his life in fact.

You two have fought together on many different occasions, way before he became spiderman. People didn’t like either of you, when you were young at least. Strong and unafraid, and like him, you often spoke your mind about things. Granted, you were a lot nicer about it but still. It’s something he definitely likes about you. To him, falling for you just felt natural. Like it was meant to happen. Like falling for you was second nature.

But over his time of becoming spiderman, he had … well… found out you had a major crush on his alter ego. You did not shut up about how “babygirl” he was. And while this was amusing at first, it annoyed him a little. Did that mean you weren’t interested in him, as hobie, romantically? And if you did find out who he really was, would you still like spiderman? Or would it ruin the imagination for you? And if you did, would it only be because he’s spiderman?

A lot of questions circle his mind, a lot of worry and it isn’t like him. He really hates it. Only you can manage to do that to him.

Eventually, the two of you do end up meeting.

You were known for being a fighter, laws or not, you didn’t care, maybe a bit headstrong in your beliefs. Maybe you got too caught up in things, as you often did. Difference was, hobie was not there to back you up. As he often was.

Not this time though, as apparently Hobie had some unfinished business to deal with. You had no idea what that meant, but you trusted hobie enough that he wouldn’t go off doing something stupid without you.

You were not hobie however, and did something stupid without him.

While yes, the guy had harassed you first and you had every right to be angry with him, you probably shouldn’t have provoked such a big and muscular looking guy. There’s no way you could take him in a fight, but you could always try.

Before you even had the gall to fight this guy, before he can even pull the first punch, webs are shot his way. You gasp in surprise, turning behind you to see the one and only.

His movements are quick, and honestly, spiderman struggles for a little.

If even he struggled during that fight, you didn’t stand a chance. But you’re too busy absolutely fangirl/boy/theythem’ing to even care.

Once everything was said and done, Spiderman turned around to take a look at you. He was relieved you weren’t banged up or anything, though you couldn’t tell. “You aight?” he asked, and typically he was so cool and collected, but around you he had no idea how he should be acting. Thoughts from before still clouding his mind:

He lets them go for a moment upon your excited squeal and has to hold himself back from laughing.

Pavitr mentioned spiderman quite a bit, and very early on when he first became the masked vigilante. He was quick to gauge your opinions, because in his mind you’re thoughts and feelings matter the most to him.

He would quickly learn you loved the guy, so he proudly continued doing the whole superhero thing. However, as time went by he had seen your admiration for Spiderman develop into a crush. Only upon your first meeting with him, though. He couldn’t blame you, he supposed that in your eyes this guy saved your life from imminent peril. In his eyes, he was just doing something that was common sense. Saving you while you were trapped in that bus was not something he needed to think twice about.

And he certainly didn’t think twice about hugging you, either. Despite you two not really being acquainted with one another. He was quick to come to his senses, about to pull away, but you held on. And he realized you needed this hug as much as he did. He combs his fingers through your hair, as if second nature. Just like he normally did, and he was the only one that ever did that. You didn’t seem to catch on in that state, but little did he know how grateful you were towards him. He could only imagine, but it was a fraction to how you truly felt.

“Thank you, spiderman.” You say with such softness in your voice, he’s never heard it from you before.

And from that point on, he did not stop hearing you gush about the arachnid. While he often laughed this off, he wondered if that meant things would be weird between you two if he told you the truth.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 11 A dot Targ. A dot Vel.

Chapter 11 of Moonlight

A/N- Are you my daddy?

Warning- swearing, talks of death! ANGST, FLUFF, flashback, Daemon, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

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

Episode- 2x02

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*A FEW YEARS BACK. KING’S LANDING*

“Tell me, what is it you fear the most?” Aemond quietly asks against the night breeze that passes over the roofs.

The question is easy to answer, it’s a fear you’ve known since you knew what fears were.

“Well,” you respond unsurely only because even speaking of it frightens you. “I’m afraid to lose my family,” you pause and hear Aemond shift, you feel his puzzled gaze upon your answer, so you clarify yourself before he can be a smart ass. “I know that people die, it’s natural. And well it seems death is good friends with our family…I just mean that I don’t want to watch them die, you know? I do not want to end up alone.”

You let out a deep and shaky breath and turn your head to meet his gaze. He doesn’t carry judgment anymore, he instead looks like he understands your fear, which is a relief.

“What about you?” You press softly. “And do not mess with me and say you’re fearless.” You scoff and roll your eyes to look back at the stars glimmering overhead. “Father says everyone fears something,” you add to assure him that he can confide in you. “Up to the mightiest warrior, and down to the tiniest man, it makes us who we are. Even gods fear.”

Aemond draws out a breath and remains quiet for a moment while he brings his legs up to his chest, making you drift your eyes back to him, and noticing him looking at the sky. You don’t rush him, you wait, and watch his thoughts form behind his blue eyes.

“Well,” he breaks his silence hesitantly and quietly as if afraid to be heard. “Mhm…perhaps losing you…You’re my best friend.”

Your eyes widen out of disbelief and your heart…skips a beat in the same way it happens to women in love in the books. Albeit you actually end up laughing. “That’s a stupid fear,” you retort.

Aemond snaps his head to the side and glares at you. “I was being serious.” He snaps.

“Look, it’s sweet, truly, but,” you sigh. “I am a woman. If the gods are good I will have children, my mother says that many women die that way. That’s how my grandmother died,” you pause and swallow thickly. “It’s easy for women to die. That’s probably how you’ll lose me.”

It’s a cruel reality you don’t truly understand, but it’s one that’s been ingrained in you since you were old enough to know about babes and birth. Aemond though, doesn’t seem to understand as you do, he holds your gaze with a pointed look before he scoffs and counters. “Perhaps I won’t. And that does not mean I still can’t fear losing you.”

You offer him a flustered smile while a heat unfurls on your face and your heart once again skips a beat. “There must be something you fear. Something real,” you press him for more.

Aemond exhales deeply and hums as he looks back at the sky. This time it’s easier for him to find his answer in the stars. “I fear not bonding with a dragon. What will be of me then? You all have one, except me. Aegon already laughs at me because of it, and so do your brothers. They will laugh at me forever.”

You sit up and look at him seriously. “I told you already, you will get a dragon. Not everyone’s dragon hatches in their cradle, I mean…Prince Daemon bonded with his dragon when he was older. Yours is probably out there waiting, or perhaps it’s with someone else for now, but you will get one, I know it.” You assure him once again without getting exhausted of telling him the same reminder because you believe what you’re telling him, and you defend that by offering him a sweet grin.

Aemond watches your smile for a second and then looks into your eyes as if expecting you to jest just as Aegon does, but you never once let him believe anything else but what you’re offering him, and that assures him. You assure him in many ways no one else can, and he can’t help but offer you a gentle smile that’s just as gentle as him over that fact.

“Now I have something to tell you,” you shift to a more lighthearted subject. “I just came up with it just now. Since you are my family, I fear losing you too, right? Well,” you exhale softly. “Since you are my best friend, and my most trusted confidant, if you were to die first…I will die with you.”

Aemond sits up and shoots you a glare before gently pushing you. “Do not jest about that!”

You laugh softly and shake your head. “I am being serious! Because I mean if you were to die first and I died after you, we could fly in the heavens for all eternity. We would be together.”

Aemond lets out a breathless laugh and then smiles softly at the ceiling you sit on before meeting your gaze with a serious look. “If that were to happen,” he begins to say. “If I die first…I want you to live on. I do not want you to die for me.”

You lose your smile and sigh deeply.

“You have to live a happy life,” he continues. “Swear to me. Swear that you will not be that stupid.”

You hesitate, but you don’t want to make him upset, and you know he’s taking his words out of the depths of his heart, so you offer him a soft smile and reassure him. “Fine, I swear, but I am selfish, so if you want to die for me, you can.” You shoot him a grin. “You do not have to make me such promises.”

Aemond rolls his eyes and mutters. “Yeah, yeah.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer before you grow restless and push yourself to your feet. “Okay, one more thing.” You shoot him a mischievous smirk, and he has no trouble knowing you’re up to no good. “You might wonder why I’m wearing a cloak on such a warm night…”

“I wasn’t,” Aemond interjects as he stands to his feet now too.

You begin to walk back with your hands clasped together, and your smirk deepens. “You might also be wondering why we are sitting on these roofs when we usually sit on the ones on the other side. Well…” you trail off and pull your hands away from each other to unhook the pouches you have hidden under your cloak. “Wine bags!”

Aemond has been following your steps but stops when he sees the bags in your hands. “What are you doing?” He queries.

You rush over to him and give him one sack before you turn on your heels and run to the edge of the roof, causing a panic to set in him. “Hey, get back from there. You’ll fall!”

You ignore him and sit on your knees to lean over the edge with the bag dangling out. “Come quick,” you whisper excitedly.

You look down and catch your target just as you planned. Aemond hesitates at first but he can’t help his curiosity and ends up right by your side.

“At this time of night,” you explain quietly. “Some servants take their leave to rotate with the others. Aegon likes to creep on them from his window...” you trail off with a snicker, and without warning you untie the bag in your hands and then let it fall.

The moment the bag crashes on Aegon’s big fat head, the wine explodes out of the bag and soaks him completely, catching him off guard, and making you chuckle quietly.

“What the hell?!” Aegon exclaims.

“Haha,” you celebrate.

Just before he can look up you snatch the other wine bag from Aemond and let it fall on Aegon another time.

“Hey! Who was that?! Get the fuck down here and face me!” Aegon yells out as he wipes the wine off his eyes.

Your snicker turns to a malicious laugh, but just before he can see it was you, you quickly get up and grab Aemond’s arm to yank him back with you.

“Come on, come on!” You urge him between giggles and pull him inside with you. Never once do you think of letting him go to run at your own peril, you don’t stop to catch your breath, you run and laugh together until you finally reach a hall Aegon won’t enter, and burst out laughing even harder.

“What was that for?” Aemond asks between laughs. “We could get in serious trouble.”

You stop laughing, but grin. “If we get caught. Which we will not, and you said that he was being mean to you today so I got him back.” You reveal and nudge his arm. “Do not say you feel bad. It was just wine.”

Aemond scoffs and begins to smile. “I do not, it was funny.” He says with a crooked smile before he starts laughing quietly at first and then laughs harder. You join him again and you both continue to laugh together not caring if you could get caught.

——

*NOW. DRAGONSTONE*

The short moment you spent with the Hull boys was quite amusing, especially more so when Addam heard Astraea’s chitter from the skies before she descended and dove in the water to catch a large fish from the sea. He looked so flabbergasted and awestruck that it made it hard for you not to get mixed in his excitement.

He was a stranger, but he had this way about him. Maybe it was his charming grin because he flashed his pearly white teeth or his sense of humor? Maybe it was the fact that he so easily seemed to get comfortable, making the atmosphere flow with ease instead of getting uncomfortable. That is until your grandfather took you away with him.

Addam was like a fresh breath of air in the same way your brothers are, so maybe that's the ultimate factor, that's why he so easily found a way into your battered heart; because he kind of reminds you of your brothers.

Alas, a dark cloud soon cast in your mind and took your heart by storm. Those happy ba-dams sounded frail once again as you were struck with thoughts of Aemond and memories of your past, and then like a flash of lightning you also got hit with images of him killing Lucerys. You tried to stop it, you wanted to think of something else, but a person can’t stop a storm.

How could a man who loves you bring you so much pain? You always defended him against Aegon when you were young, you were his friend when he said your brothers and his brother hated him. You're the person he loves, and you're the person who loved him, so why did he have to kill your brother? Why did he push you to hate him too?

Does he even truly love you? Or was it all a lie?

Maybe you should take pride in having sex with Cregan, you ached for comfort and he gave it to you, he showed you he loved you even after you married another man, even after you left, so maybe you shouldn’t feel an ounce of shame for it now. He would never kill your beloved brothers the way Aemond did.

But…

Does Aerion deserve such a selfish mother? Does he deserve feuding parents? A life without one or the other?

A life of parents who hate each other?

Does he deserve a mother who has a gaping hole within her that bleeds at the mere thought of his father?

You can’t help it, you’ve been trying to close your wound, fill it with pure interchangeable hate, but there’s emptiness you feel now amongst the hate.

However, are you such a needy woman that you’re not capable of being alone, or the star in someone’s eye? Why do you crave it so? Why is your mind so tormented?

You want to scream it all out, shout it all into the wind until your voice is hoarse and your tears dry, but you have Aerion strapped to your chest and you’re home now. Furthermore, you can see Jacaerys waiting by the entrance.

Is he going to be your new shadow now?

“Jacaerys,” you greet your brother once you’re strutting down the runway.

Said man eases his hand off his pommel and stands up straight with his lips pursed and a certain darkness in his eyes that’s not related to grief.

“I have been waiting for you, you arrived just in time, a meeting has just been convened in the great hall,” he shares, making your curiosity slowly overpower your torment.

“What is it?” You ask as you slow down and start to unstrap Aerion from your chest.

Jacaerys glances at Aerion’s wet nurse approaching you and then glances down, telling you without a need for words that he's going to wait and just press a dull ache in your chest as you start to worry.

“Aerion slept the entire time we were at Driftmark,” you let the wet nurse know as she takes Aerion and the straps you used to keep him attached to you. “He’ll be hungry soon.”

The wet nurse nods in comprehension and quickly turns around to head to the child’s apartments, letting you fall by your brother's side to follow him to the great hall in silence for a few minutes until there isn't anyone nearby.

“It’s news from King’s Landing,” Jacaerys finally fills your curiosity, but only makes your heart hurt as it starts to pound against your chest.

Is it Aemond?

“Someone…sent an assassin to kill Aemond…” he trails off and glances over at you to see your reaction; and even if you want to hold it in, even if you want to only express nonchalance over the desire of Aemond’s death, your eyes batting furiously and your breath hitching gives away your shock.

You knew that your mother was going to want Aemond’s death, and if not her, Daemon now had a reason to personally hit the first blow. Yet hearing this desire still finds a way to wound you. Even if you hold hate for him, you still find yourself distressed and…scared.

“Did…” your voice shakes, so you clear your throat and draw in a deep breath to stop your tears before they can fill your eyes. “…It happen?”

Jacaerys keeps his gaze on you for a lingering moment, but you avoid looking at his face out of fear you’ll see disappointment.

“No,” Jacaerys shares, letting you feel a sense of relief that you can’t fight off. “He’s escaped his fate, but they got another…”

Aegon!

“Aegon's son, Jaehaerys.”

You immediately come to a halt, and Jacaerys takes a few more steps forward before he stops too, and turns to face you with a hardened face that can’t actually hide his disbelief.

“Helaena’s boy?” You can barely whisper out because of the shock, the disgust, and the pure horror that you’re hit with.

“But,” you mumble and feel tears cloud your eyes while horror and disgust churn in your stomach. “He’s just a boy,” your voice quivers. “He’s just four.”

Jacaerys nods and can’t muster anything to say in return. What is there to say about the murder of an innocent child?

You can’t even form thoughts, you’re so stricken with disbelief and horror that you can’t even feel any part of yourself, you’re numb. And it’s all so quiet too, so horrifyingly quiet.

You don’t remember where you are or that your heart is beating until Helaena comes to mind first; her heartbreak, and her own horror. She’s already such a fragile soul. You can’t imagine what she must be going through. And that poor boy?

Gods…who would be capable of doing something so sinister, who could give the order?

Your mother would never, and no one from her council would ever do it either, so who could order the death of someone so innocent? He has no fault in this war or in the death of Lucerys.

Why could someone…gods…

You can’t—you have to gag. Yet you don’t puke, you hold it down and all you do is worry your brother.

“Are you okay?” He asks with concern.

You take in a few deep breaths and nod stiffly. “Yes,” you mutter and nod again. “The news is just disturbing.”

You turn to face him and Jacaerys seems more concerned. “Are you sure?” He double-checks and studies you.

“Yes,” you reassure him as you grab your stomach. “Just processing the news…I just can’t believe someone would do that.”

“I know,” he whispers. “Maybe…you should ask Mother for a dragon egg in hopes one can hatch in Aerion’s cradle?” He suggests, causing you you start thinking about something that hadn’t even crossed your mind—“A hatchling is small but fierce, they can protect a child in ways a guard can’t.”

“You don’t think…” you can’t even finish your sentence out of fear that someone will try to get revenge on Lucerys by killing Aerion because they can’t reach Aemond.

“No, but just to make sure,” Jacadrys says and grabs your arm to caress it with his thumb. “They killed Helaena’s son, I just want to make sure. I’ll have more guards posted outside the children’s apartments just in case.”

A smile flickers on your lips because of how deeply he’s worried, yet your paranoia doesn’t let you feel anything but fear.

“Okay,” you express softly like a little girl shaken with fear. “Do you think they’ll let me send a letter to Helaena? We might be on opposite sides, but she’s innocent, her kids are too, and I do really care about her.”

Jacaerys lets your arm go and sighs deeply before he shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be a good idea. Just keep her in your thoughts,” he throws out with little care. “Now come on before we miss more.”

He goes on to lead the way and you follow him in silence as you just think about Helaena, and now this new fear Jacaerys set in you.

Maybe…it would be smart to send Aerion to Winterfell…just him. No one would harm there, Cregan would make sure of it.

“Could I ask…” Jacaerys slowly rolls out, breaking the silence. “About how it started between you and—”

“Shut up,” you hiss at your brother without needing to hear him finish.

It’s like he climbed in your thoughts!

“I’m curious,” he snaps back.

You glare at him and leave it unanswered considering you’re in a castle corridor that servants and knights use. Instead, you swiftly change the subject to what you have planned.

“I want to help our grandmother patrol the Gullet, and eventually when Aegon's fleet comes I want to help grandfather fight too.”

Jacaerys hums. “Really? That sounds good. Smart too, Rhaenys patrols a lot of open water alone…I actually thought of surveilling King’s Landing with Vermax as well,” he shares his own plan.

“That’s smart!” You praise him right back. “You and Baela could do it.”

Jacaerys shoots you a side eye and you just smirk faintly before you add on to your comment. “I am being serious. It sounds like a good plan. We just have to share it with our mother.”

Jacaerys lets out a deep sigh and then interjects with another plan. “Some days we could patrol the Gullet together too. Give Rhaenys time to rest and deal with matters here.”

You meet his gaze with a smile and don't even think it over, you accept right away because he’s so protective that you would think he’d want to do things like patrol alone to keep you out of danger—Then again after losing Lucerys, keeping each other close guarantees your safety, that way no one can rip either of you away from each other in the same way they took Lucerys.

Neither of you want to even think of losing each other now that it’s just you and him. It’ll be like living in the dark if you lose each other.

“That sounds fun—or like a good plan. I would like that,” you praise Jacaerys’ plan and then gently his back, making him scoff but not protest or move out of the way.

“Actually I got these chainmail face masks customized so when I’m dragonback I get to wear them as protection for my face,” you bring up with some excitement because you can finally talk about the armor you got made; like the chainmail coif, the chainmail masks, and the body armor for battle as well.

“We wouldn’t want more face scars,” Jacaerys points at the scar on your face and sucks air in between his teeth, making you scoff and swat his hand away.

“Funny,” you grumble, making him chuckle.

However, your moment then comes to a cold stop when you near the great hall and hear the murmurs of the meeting. You don’t even need to be close to feel the tension, but when you do get close it immediately takes you hostage, making you walk in slowly and stiffly, with horror making a reappearance on your face.

“…there will be swift retribution in one form or another—”

“I have seen to it, Your Grace,” you hear a lord cut your mother off quite disrespectfully whilst you silently make your way to a seat across from her.

“Let me fly out on Vermax,” Jacaerys quickly interjects his plan since a convenient silence permits him. “While my sister helps Rhaenys in the Gullet,” he shares your part of the plan too as he walks up behind your chair to help you push it in. “I can watch for movements from King’s Landing.”

You sit up straight to show your confidence in your plan, however, the moment your mother looks between you and your brother she immediately shoots the plan down with a hint of an emotion you can’t read. “No.”

You sink back into your seat and share a frustrated sigh with Jacaerys.

“It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable, at a time when we most need loyalty to our cause,” the previous lord continues to share a big concern.

“B-but it’s a lie,” your mother defends the accusations you don’t need to hear personally, you know they were thrown at her to weaken her claim. The Greens are smart to use the people, you do have to give them that.

“Having lost my own son,” your mother continues. “That I would inflict such a thing on Helaena of all people,” she presses in disbelief. “An innocent.”

You draw out a deep shaky breath and glance down at your hands on your lap as her grief comes across your mind louder than before.

“The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult,” Lord Broome interjects after a second of more tense silence. “A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution,” he dares to speak out loud, making you quickly sit up and lean forward to glare daggers at the man, whilst your own mother pushes herself out of her chair to confront him.

“Are you suggesting, Ser Alfred, that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?!”

He has some nerve throwing accusations like that to his Queen, and Daemon is surprisingly unbothered by such vile accusations thrown at his wife after he decapitated Ser Vaemond not long ago for insulting your mother.

“I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste,” Lord Broome continues to speak out loud making your lips curl to a sneer, while your glare only turns sharper.

“Mind yourself,” the hand warns the bold lord in such a calm yet threatening manner that he actually goes silent, letting your mother return to her seat.

However, as chilling as your grandmother's threat was, you’re still surprised Daemon hasn’t spoken in her defense…

He’s been too quiet since Jacaerys and you joined the meeting actually. Too uncharastically quiet…did he…

You blink and look over at him for the first time since you got here and right away you catch this smug-looking smirk playing on his face. One a bit small, but still visible and telling.

How could you have not come to that conclusion before? He’s a cruel man, vile in many ways, why didn’t it occur to you that he was capable of ordering the murder of a child if Aemond couldn’t be found?!

The act is clearly oozing Daemon’s name. Only he could kill a child and be smug about it. He’s so disgusting, and cruel, and does nothing to ease your hate for him.

You have wanted to stop carrying so much hate for him, he loves your mother after all. Your brothers never have anything bad things to say about him, and in the few times he’s been in the same room with Aerion, he’s been…kind to him; and you don’t think that lightly! It really costs you to think of him in such a kind light, but it’s true.

Now though, he only adds fuel to your hate and adds disgust where there wasn’t any. Furthermore, in the midst of your brewing disgust and heightening hate, the man you were thinking about and glaring at meets your gaze across the table, and that smugness doesn’t fade, you only seem to feed into his cockiness as he realizes that you know it was him.

He doesn’t linger in your speechless interaction, but you continue to glare at him as if you were trying to kill him with your looks alone before you slowly rise from your seat and pull everyone’s attention as you address the table of men, the Queen, and her Hand.

“Your Grace, I would like to request double the guards protecting Aerion, I would not want the same killer aiming to kill my son next since he is Aemond’s only son,” you sneer and snap your gaze at Daemon to continue piercing your glare at him so he knows you’re referring to him.

Your mother nods gently. “Of course,” she doesn’t hesitate to give you what you want this time. “But rest assured no one will touch him,” she offers you comfort while her own gaze points at Daemon.

You rip your eyes away from the despicable man and offer her a much gentler look accompanied by a thankful smile. “Thank you, My Queen.”

She offers you a nod and then draws out a deep breath before she clasps her hands on the table and interjects. “You are all dismissed, we will reconvene later.”

You find her dismissal a blessing even if you just arrived, and hastily stride away from the hall thinking of nothing but what Daemon did to poor Helaena. Much to your surprise though your brother trails after you and follows you into the kitchens since it is alone at the moment.

“Tea?” you offer him what you’re about to make for yourself.

Jacaerys shifts his feet before he snickers and rudely offends you. “You know how to make your own tea?”

You grab the kettle and turn around slowly. “Of course,” you deadpan. “I know how to cook some of my own food too.”

Jacaerys looks away to hide his teasing grin before he walks over to you and watches you prepare what you need. “What did Lord Stark teach you?” He asks.

You stay quiet, and with little regard for your fingers, you light the match and end up watching the fire eat away at the match as if the flames have your answer.

When the fire touches your fingers Jacaerys calls your name, making you snap from your stupor and throw the match under the kettle to give life to a small fire.

“He would make fun of me because I could not do the simplest things for myself,” you muse. “He said I was spoiled, which was big of him considering things were brought to him too, but…” you trail off with a smile and finally nod in agreement to his answer. “Yes, he taught me the basics. I would watch him too on the hunting trips he would invite me to, Lady Karstark was nice to me so she let me go.”

Jacaerys hums and crosses his arms over his chest, you glance over at him and see him paying attention to your fingers that were touched by the fire while also holding obvious frustration over the situation he chose to talk about.

“He…did not trick me,” you finally answer the question he had asked earlier whilst you fiddle with your fingers to hide the fact that you were unharmed since you still don’t know why the fire doesn’t hurt you the way it should. The Red priestess gave you a reason, but you still have a hard time comprehending it so it’s better not to give it any attention at the moment.

“We were friends. Best friends. We talked about the fathers we both lost, he taught me to plant my feet in the ground and not have my head in the clouds,” you speak fondly of Cregan. “I live in the moment because of him…we were friends…that’s how it started.”

Jacaerys clenches his jaw and watches the fire under the kettle before he mutters. “Is it over?”

You swallow thickly, and to avoid making him more upset you don’t talk about the fact that you continue to write to each other. “Of course,” you answer quietly.

“I would have preferred him to be my good-brother,” he surprises you by saying.

“Jacaerys,” you scold him and gently hit his arm, making that serious line on his face pull to a cheeky smile.

“I can say it now…you don’t love Aemond anymore do you?”

Your smile quickly falls at his daring question, and your once-softened eyes grow dark with conflict. Something that should be easy to answer isn’t actually so easy to say out loud, no matter how much you tell yourself that you hate Aemond.

“I…have a son with Aemond, Jacaerys,” you avoid giving him an answer. Albeit nothing will save you from his disappointment, so you also avoid looking at him out of fear that you’ll see hate in your brother's eyes.

“It’s…complicated…I hate him for taking Lucerys, but—”

“I really can’t blame you for your unresolved feelings,” Jacaerys cuts you off with hints of sorrow showing through his frustration. “It would be easier to hate me…I…encouraged mother to let us deliver the messages. I sent Lucerys to his death…I,” his voice breaks so he cuts himself off.

You forget what you’re waiting to boil, and drop all your inner conflict to turn and face him with determination and sincerity. “No,” you say sharply and grab his arm to turn him to face you. “No, don't say that, it is not true! What happened is not your fault, Jacaerys.”

Your brother's eyes water before he meets your gaze with the look of a sad and guilty little boy.

“It’s not your fault, Jace,” you insist softly but also sharply. “We were sent as messengers. We made that promise, all of us. Aemond…was dishonorable and basically stabbed Lucerys in the back. Aemond killed Lucerys,” your voice quivers. “Not you. And Luke would never want you to blame yourself for that. Do you understand? It’s not your fault.”

Jacaerys nods softly and lets a few tears escape his eyes now that no one is around to see him cry. You, however, gently cup his cheeks and wipe them away before you wrap him in an embrace. “It’s not your fault,” you add one more time for reassurance.

Jacaerys isn’t as good at expressing himself with words like you are, but you know he is grateful with the way he holds onto you and rests his head on your shoulder.

When you pull apart he offers you one of his one-of-a-kind smiles that have a way to ease your mind. You then mirror his gesture and speak thousands of I love you’s to each other without uttering a single word.

It’s not until you hear your tea boiling that the moment is broken.

“So? Tea?” You ask again as you grab your cup to pour yourself some.

Jacaerys scoffs and grabs his own cup before he finally responds. “All right, I will try it, but if I die let everyone know it was your poor tea skills.”

“Oh haha,” you feign a laugh and then pour him some tea.

“Oh did you hear about the prisoner that they found in one of the ships?” Jacaerys trails on as he waits for the tea to cool. “Supposedly it was that one person you told us about, the White Worm.”

You bring your cup to your lips but then slowly pull the cup down to show your confusion. “She’s…here?” You probe.

Jacaerys nods. “I’m sure she’s the one who told you know who, what to do, considering what you said she does,” he says and finally brings his cup to his lips to take a sip. All while you stare at your dark tea and get lost in the thought as to how this great influence ended up here. As a prisoner.

“I am surprised,” Jacaerys says lightheartedly and with a hint of snarkiness in his tone. “This is not bad. I’m sorry, but you won’t be heir today, sister.”

You blink and roll your eyes to him before you kick his shin with an unamused glare. He hisses at the sting but laughs regardless. From then on you try to forget about the White Worm being in the same castle as you. Jacaerys ends up leaving you, and you try to think of practicing with a sword or with your bow and arrow, but your question as to why she’s here overpowers you and drives you toward her instead.

It wouldn’t be a mistake, you worked together when you were in King's Landing. You weren’t friends you knew not to trust her, but this dynamic has you on top, you are a Princess and she is…well…the White Worm, a whisperer, schemer, and a survivor.

Maybe you could even propose to work together again now that she’s here. You are the Queen's daughter after all, and she’ll listen to you if the White Worm plays her cards right.

Nevertheless, before you can even get close to the corridor where the White Worm is being kept, you grow tense at the sight of Daemon storming by without that smugness from before. Now, in the short glance, you stole as you passed by like strangers, you notice a hardened face and a grimace where his smirk once played.

You could relish in his unhappiness, but before you can even find amusement or pride, just as you thought the vile stranger was paces away, a hand harshly grips your arm before you’re whipped around harshly and with ease.

“You,” he sneers. “I need to talk to you.”

You look at him with a fear you can’t hide fast enough and shock.

He hardly talks to just you alone, and when he tries he’s violent about it?

“Let me go,” you mutter shakily and push him away from you.

Daemon glances to the right and then to the left before he takes a step forward and narrows his gaze on you. “You will return to King’s Landing at once and infiltrate the Greens.” He instantly spats.

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and without thinking you shake your head softly, but Daemon doesn’t care because he keeps running his mouth.

“Play the dutiful wife, or whatever it is you need to do to get on your cunt of a husband’s good graces. I have had one of the men who fought with me at the Step Stones infiltrate the Castle Guards to protect you, his name is Ser Jason Waters, pick him to be your sworn protector, do not trust any other knights.”

He already had this planned? Does your mother know? Is she okay with this?

“No,” you mutter in disbelief and with a hint of heartbreak at the thought that he—they want you gone. “I am not going. My mother would not agree.”

Daemon shakes his head and quickly rebuttals you with his patience hanging by a thread. He’s trying to be patient for your sake, but he doesn’t want to be argued with at the moment.

“This is for the sake of the Queen. Your mother. Your family—our family!” He makes sure to say louder so it can reach your heart. “Do you not want this war to be over sooner?” He leans towards your inner desires. “You are married to one of them, making you the perfect mole. You will get on your knees, plead for mercy, and press the fact that you were wrong in choosing your mother…he wouldn’t let them kill you.”

Did he just try to be reassuring over something he doesn’t know?

He doesn’t know Aemond like you do. If Aemond believes you betrayed him he will not forgive you no matter if you love him, or have a son together. He’s petty and angry when someone crosses him. If he doesn’t believe your pleading cry he will not be kind. Daemon doesn’t know that, Daemon doesn’t know the Greens like you do.

You will not do it, he will not make you return to the side of a Kinslayer and a Usurper. You don’t want to leave again, you’re happy here with your family. This is all you’ve ever wanted and he will not rip you away from your family in the same way Alicent ripped you away from them the first time for an act you did not commit! Not again!

“No,” you argue with anger you wish you would’ve shown Alicent six years ago; and with new anger directed at Daemon for trying to put you in harm's way. “I will not go! You cannot make me go to them! They killed Lucerys and Visenya! They took my mother's throne! They will lock me away or kill me! They will take Aerion away! You cannot make me go!” You spat out. “I will not go! You cannot take me away from my family again! You are not my King! And you are not my father! I. Will not. Go!”

Daemon lets out a deep sigh, and turns his head away to stand in silence for a moment before in the blink of an eye turns back around and slaps his hands around your arms to yank you to him with a harsh strength that startles you deeply and makes all your anger fall as you fill with fear and disbelief.

No one has ever grabbed you in such a way or looked at you with so much anger.

“You are not my daughter. You are right. I am not your father. I will never be your father,” his words have a way of wounding you even deeper, but you don’t know why exactly, you know he’s not your father, and he could never replace your father…but maybe…just maybe you held a flicker of hope that you would feel an ounce of that sort of connection again after it was so suddenly ripped away from you. And he was the only one who could have given it to you, but now that flicker is gone and you’re in the cold with no hopeful light at the end of the tunnel.

“But I am the Prince Consort,” he sneers and tightens his hold to the point your flesh and deep buried muscle begins to hurt, letting you know you’ll bruise. “I am your Prince Consort, you will do as I say and leave with your son after telling the Queen, so the wrong people don’t know and give you away. Do you understand or do you want me to drop you over there myself?”

Tears crawl down your cheeks as your bottom lip trembles. And it’s impossible to notice especially because Daemon stands so close, but he still does nothing to console your fear, he just lets you go and drops his head for a second before he looks at you again and points.

“You will go. Spy on their plans and send reports back to the Queen or me, do you understand? You might just be our path towards the Throne, so do it and never let your guard down.”

“I hate you,” you don’t hold back from saying before you finally find the will to break away and shove past him to continue down your path.

“Do it!” He bellows over his shoulder while you keep storming away with tears in your eyes, and your breath labored as you fight your sob.

You almost have half the mind to go run and cry to your mother, but what’s the point if deep down Daemon does sound reasonable. As petty as Aemond could be, he doesn’t know what you did on your last day in the North, that is the probably only reason he would completely turn his back on you and view you as an enemy. Leaving and supporting your mother is probably something you can talk over, you’ll sing a song and he will probably be enchanted by your words. And once he falls prey he’ll take to your defense in front of his brother and the council.

But do you really want to return to the side of a man who killed your brother? You’ll look at him and that’s all you’ll see, a murder. A Kinslayer.

Then again…

But no! He killed Lucerys. Your little brother. How can you play a dutiful wife to such a man? Maybe you should accept Cregan’s proposal and find refuge in Winterfell with Aerion. You’ll avoid fighting this war and having your heart broken even more because you suspect more heartbreak still has to follow.

It would be a dream.

But nevertheless, as to what you will do, you’ll talk to your mother about Daemon's plan, and she’ll be your deciding factor…later, once you’ve calmed down, and maybe after you have taken a small nap; it feels like you’ve been on your feet for days on end. Most importantly though, after talking to the White Worm, you’re already close to Mysaria’s cell, so what would be the point of turning back now? You'd just add to your fatigue.

When you reach her cozy cell, however, you hesitate to make your presence known. Conversing with someone after the way Daemon treated you is beginning to sound exhausting.

Albeit you are also curious so you rap your knuckles on the door even if the guard said he’d just let you in since she is considered a prisoner, but where’s the decency in that?! Thus you wait and when you hear her welcome you in you make yourself known, much to her surprise.

“Princess,” she greets you in surprise.

You offer her a small and strained smile and redirect her greeting. “Mysaria. I can’t say I’m not surprised. I never would have thought we would cross paths here.”

Mysaria watches you from the other side of her small chambers, and you finally study her; noticing how different she looks from the elegant woman you would see in King’s Landing. Her falling braid, her dirty white dress, and dirt covered face really makes her less intimidating. She’s completely ordinary now.

“Well, the Hightowers chased me out of my home after they burnt it to ash. I can’t even say that the foundations stand in place,” she reveals, making your gaze flicker away as your mind fills with different thoughts of concern.

“And…all those people that lived with you?” You ask softly.

“Ran I would hope, I taught them better…does it matter in truth?”

You snap your eyes up and look at her as if she had physically wounded you. “Of course,” you defend yourself. “I am not heartless.”

Mysaria lets her gaze linger on you for a moment before she nods. “No. You are not. Could I ask though, now that I am down here and you remain up there”

You squint in confusion at her words, but then quickly quirk a brow to encourage her to keep going.

“Why did you care so much about the smallfolk?” she queries and sits on a wobbly wooden chair. “It’s disappointing to say that not many of your current kin have shown any care. If it’s not for their personal gain of course.”

You hold her gaze for a moment before you walk over and sit on the edge of her hard bed. You then glance down at the gems on your many rings and sigh deeply as you shrug. “A part of me envied the smallfolk when I was younger,” you share and right away feel her shocked stare upon your words.

“They could live their life as they wanted, if they had money they could go get lost at the ends of the world, where the sea meets the edge of the world and touches hundreds of tomorrows. They could never return and no one would care…I envied their freedom. Now…I have grown,” you speak sweetly and look over at her. “Now I want them to like me…it’s vain, I know, but in Winterfell, the Lord and Lady Stark would treat their people with kindness, as if they were their own kin, and they got kindness and respect in return…I want that.”

“You are no heir,” she speaks harsh words with her heavy accent, revealing that she’s not from Westeros. “You will not be Queen. It is not your duty.”

“I know,” you barely form in a whisper. “I was a sick babe. The maesters did not know if I would live so they encouraged my mother to seek an heir in another. She had Jacaerys and those around her saw the advantage of having a male heir and did not let her change it once I lived past my death date…but,” you breathe out and turn to face her completely. “I am still a princess. No matter what, eyes will always be on me, I want those watching me to like me, in the same way those in the North look at their Lord.”

Mysaria hums and nods gently, letting you get up and slowly make your way to her. “I could grant you your freedom,” you speak. “I only need to speak to my mother. She will listen to me only if…you help me in the same way you helped me back then.”

Mysaria’s gaze lingers on your eyes and doesn’t jump at the proposal like you thought she would. She watches you instead, as if she’s just trying to aid you with something, but not willing to spit out the answer to let you figure it out alone.

You can’t however, so she lets out a deep breath and shares what she had been hinting at. “With us both here there is no way in which you can help me. There's nothing I want here, not from you.”

You help her…

As guarded as she is, she’s open when she needs to be. Like now. Without a need for deeper explanation you realize that after all this time of believing she was under your thumb, you were actually another string for her to pull on.

You were so blinded by the thought of power that you did not read her like Cregan told you to read people.

How could you be so foolish?

“Okay,” you say with a sense of hurt. “Well…then I can still help you leave. I can talk to my mother.”

“What of Daemon?” She asks and surprises you.

“What of him?” You quickly follow up.

“He said he would give me my freedom.”

You mindlessly rub the throbbing offended area on one arm and shrug. “I do not talk to Daemon. I can talk to my mother, take it, or leave it and stay here.”

After all, she did let you know secrets from within the Red Keep you otherwise would’ve gone unaware of.

“I will take it,” she doesn’t hesitate giving in, making you feign a smile and find a reason to cut this reunion shorter than you had expected after being left with much to think about.

——

*LATER*

Dear, Cregan,

This letter is not going to start the way I would have wanted, but alas there is something urgent I must press. By the time you get this letter, I am sure you would have heard what happened at King’s Landing with Queen Helaena’s son, news like that travels fast, especially when they want the whole of the realm to know. But I digress, no matter how many people whisper in your ear, or what letters you get from the Green Council, it was not Queen Rhaenyra who sent that assassin.

My mother did not kill the boy. She would never do something so cruel. I believe that, and I hope you do not sway. Your support, whether small, is still important, and your loyalty even more so.

I know who it was but without real proof, I would just be crying wolf, so I will keep my mouth shut and hope you come to the conclusion yourself considering how many times I have ranted about him. Instead, I will express my regret for not having the time to ask how you are, or what you have been doing. I have so much to say and so little paper, so I will save my formalities for next time.

As of now, I do have to tell you that I left my ring at Castle Black, the one with the sapphire. If you somehow have it or get it in your possession, toss it, or sell it, I do not care.

Now I was hoping you could aid me with something. Do you still dream of your father, Cregan? I have found myself dreaming of mine as of late, and more or so in always the same setting; I find him as I am now, not as a child, but me, I find him washed up ashore. When I reach him he's concerningly thinner and looks ill. I try to save him, but I never can. We only speak a few words before the angry waves take him back to the sea. And no matter how much I try, I can never reach him and all I’m left with is an ache.

Anyway, Jacaerys—

A knock rapping on the door interrupts you from the thoughts you’re writing on paper, and before you can welcome the visitor in you hide the half-written letter first and then proclaim. “Come in.”

The door gets opened by a Ser Erryk, letting your mother walk in without that usual tense and serious decorum she wears when she’s with her council. She actually offers you a tender smile that mirrors the gleam in her eyes as she watches you.

“You wanted to speak with me?” She asks as she makes her way to you.

You walk her to the cushioned seats across the balcony doors where you like to read and watch the dragons fly in the distance.

“Yes, I went looking for you earlier but I was told you were busy,” you let her know, making her nod softly. “Is everything all right?”

She lets out a deep sigh and offers you a very stiff shrug before she shares what’s on her mind. “I went to speak with the prisoner, Mysaria. The one who snuck here on a ship.”

Oh well, what a coincidence you were meaning to talk to her about that exact person.

“She aided…in the tragedy committed against Helaena’s son after her freedom was promised, now the one who promised it to her is gone, and I am left not knowing what to do with her. Let her leave to aid in my destruction, or keep her here to aid us.”

You nod along in comprehension and find the right time to do as you said. “The White Worm is not to be trusted, but after what she said the Hightowers did, I know she will not return to their side willingly.”

Your mother's eyes narrow and she leans forward to probe. “You spoke with her?”

You avert your gaze and nod softly. “Yes, but I was merely curious as to how she got here. The last time I had heard of her she was the ever so great White Worm of King’s Landing.”

Your mother doesn’t detect that you’re hiding anything that should make her worry so she sits back and presses. “That is right I remember you spoke of her when we got to King’s Landing. She helps you.”

You express a dry laugh and shake your head softly. “No,” you mutter with defeat. “I helped her. Unknowingly, but that doesn’t make her less undeserving of what she was promised,” you finally speak for her case. “You will probably gain more from her if you grant her her freedom rather than keeping her here.” You say and look at your mother sweetly and with the faintest smile to nudge her towards what you’re hinting at.

Her gaze lingers and without giving an answer she nods softly and speaks thoughtfully. “I see.”

“But if you want to save yourself the trouble then you could just…kill her,” you suggest seriously but also a bit lighthearted. Albeit she doesn’t seem to get the latter with the concerned gaze she shoots you, so hiding the fact that you were serious you backtrack. “Let her go. I think that would be the right thing to do.”

She responds with silence this time that lingers for a moment before her gaze then wanders behind her where you had been when she walked in.

“I hope you were not busy, my Sweet.” She interjects after a while.

You shake your head and immediately use one of your usual covers for when you’re writing to Cregan. “No, I was just reading some of our Valyrian histories. There’s a lot more books from Old Valyria here than in the Red Keep.”

“Are you still searching for answers on this fire immunity?” She asks with slight amusement, making you scoff but nod.

“I’m just curious.”

“Why?” She immediately presses and rises from her seat to quickly maneuver over to sit next to you instead. “Is there something you know?” She asks.

This would be the perfect chance to trust someone with this gift you are bestowed with and relieve yourself of this secret you bear. You could—you should show her that you are unscathed by the usual dangerous flames that provide warmth, and threaten someone with death or wounds, but you know so little. You are confused by it, and by the words that Red Priestess told you in regards to it, which in turn makes you want to understand more of what you might be for yourself first before you tell someone else.

Besides, what if she looks at you differently if she saw what you were gifted with? You can’t have her look at you like you’re some demon from the deep depths of all seven hells. You don’t want to be unloved by the mother you deeply adore.

“Just curious is all,” you say and omit most of the truth. And as to not have her linger in what you have yet to understand you drift the subject to what happened earlier with Daemon. Not because he told you to speak to her, but because there was really no chance you wouldn’t come spilling out what he did.

“Mother,” your voice shifts to sound quieter and express that fear that still rattles you. “Daemon talked to me earlier.”

Your mother's gaze snaps away from the serene scene outside your windows, and her lips fall as her eyes flicker between curiosity and concern.

“He proposed—no, he more so demanded me to go to King’s Landing to infiltrate the Greens,” you share and see her head shake faintly without the need to hear more, or without time to think of how useful that can actually be.

“I may have argued against Daemon’s demand when he initially proposed it but,” you continue and sigh shakily. “It may not be a terrible idea. Aemond still demands mine and Aerion’s return, I can most likely get in his good graces and have my freedom to move about the castle and hear what may help you. I want to help you.”

Your mother nods gently in comprehension and watches your hand resting next to hers for a moment before she meets your gaze with a soft endearing look that makes you feel right at ease and deeply loved.

“I know, I understand. I really do,” she speaks with fondness hanging off every word, and so kindly that her soft smile and her twinkling gaze let you believe what she says and helps you understand what you would have otherwise argued.

“…More than you and your brother know, but as much as I want you both to really show me the warriors aching to be free, I must think as a mother first. You are my legacy. You and your brothers, you are what will carry out our blood, I can not put that in danger, I cannot put you in danger if I can still help it. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you say, but still find it in yourself to argue for the woman before you, your Queen, and your mother. You want to do right by her more than anything and prove that you are strong, that you can be what she needs in a dragon warrior with salt-littered blood.

“But if there's a chance to gain an advantage in this war shouldn’t we take it?” You argue desperately as you shift your body to face her completely. “I can be your advantage Mother. I could help you get closer to your throne.”

Your mother holds your gaze and watches your desperation play out in your eyes for a moment before she lifts her warm hand to cradle your cheek ever so gently. “You will help me here in time,” she argues back without a shift in that tender affection in her voice. “You cannot go, I will not be there to protect you. I need you here. You are my strength, my Sweet. My firstborn, my first love.”

Your breath hitches and your smile trembles.

“I need you with me,” she presses and you can’t find it in yourself to counter. You ease into agreement perhaps just exactly how she wanted, but you do. That need to do what Daemon asked of you begins to fade away like ash scattering in the wind.

“Besides, Daemon is not your King,” she clarifies, making you grin. “He cannot tell you what to do without telling me about it first, okay?”

You nod and can’t help yourself, you lean over and wrap her in an embrace she doesn’t hesitate to return.

“I will make you proud,” you proclaim just loud enough so she can hear. “I swear. I will be everything you need and so much more,” you hint at your gift that the Red Priestess called fire-made flesh without directly revealing yourself just yet. You will in time when you understand what you’re really made of. As for now, you’ll be what she wants you to be. You’ll stalk your prey from a distance and prepare for the attack. You’ll be the dragon hiding in the eerie shadows until fire kills the girl.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

You can’t really say you’re disappointed whatsoever by your mother's reluctance because the truth is, this is all you have ever wanted, to be amongst your family whether it be here in Dragonstone, in King's Landing, or wherever you may find yourselves to be.

It may sound childish like you need to grow up because you are a grown woman with a child and a husband of your own, but your family is your joy. And for a while, you were content with your little family, your heart did not yearn to be amongst your mother and brothers, you missed them dearly but you were content. However, Aemond made sure to break that peace apart when he killed Lucerys.

But now you’re here, in Dragonstone, where the majestic songs from the dragons harmonize with the sound of strong crashing waves, and accompany the gentle whips of air that unfurl through your windows, bringing forth a soothing sound that ails Aerion to his nightly slumber, and brings the pleasing smell of sea salt that tangles with the smell of the calm fires that illuminate the dark castle halls and keep every room warm.

You're here in your ancestral home, where every piece of your grand history is etched on the stone walls, or stitched in tapestries proudly hung from room to room. You’re here surrounded by a sea that calls out your name and holds fond memories of you and your father. How could you want to leave it all behind and trade it for a city that smells like shit, and is polluted by usurpers, traitors, and killers?

This is where you belong, here, where you can smile, and admire your beloved brother Jacaerys and brave Baela sitting under the mystical moonlight together, admiring how the dragon scales glimmer like bright stars as the dragons dance about the clear and starry sky; each person itching to share an intimacy that goes beyond longing stares and feathered touches, but not daring to cross that line just yet.

This is where you belong where you can bid your sweet mother a goodnight without having to look at the sky and say it to the wind in hopes she would somehow catch your voice. You can request and seek her comfort here without having to rely on old letters or haunting embraces.

Here, where Driftmark and your grandparents are all a short flight away is where you belong. You belong here where you share intimate dinners and laugh together over stupid jokes, or dramatic and far-fetched stories that never fail to pique your attention. This is home, where you can watch your little brothers grow in the same way you watch your son grow. You are home, and deep past all your adventurous desires you could not ask for more.

“After we put Aerion to bed I will have you fed,” you tell your grey cat following you at your side ever so gracefully, and he actually meows back before trotting forward and leading the way to the children’s quarters.

Before you can catch up you fall behind first as you spot Ser Erryk, from the corner of your eyes, hiding in the shadows.

“Good Night, Erryk,” you tell the man with his helmet on, which is an odd thing to have inside, but maybe he came from outside or something. Whatever.

“Uh,” he breathes out before you hear him respond as he walks out of the shadows. “Goodnight, princess.”

You offer him a gentle smile and catch his gaze fall on your sleeping son in your arms and linger on him for a moment before his gaze flickers back to you and seems to have many running thoughts behind his eyes. You can’t help but grow a tad bit uneasy in this shared silence, so you just offer him one last smile before you turn away and push forward, catching your cat come out of the children’s room.

He meows impatiently and you roll your eyes and sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”

When you enter the room, however, you come to a sudden halt when you see Rhaena reading by the fire.

You could try and escape but she notices you right away therefore forbidding you from making a quick escape.

“Rhaena,” you greet faintly and hide how shaky your breath gets by walking to Aerion’s crib.

“Cousin,” she greets and rises from her seat.

You avoid the exchange of awkward smiles by keeping your back to her even after you put Aerion down.

However, that gesture makes her blurt. “You have been avoiding me.”

Your breath hitches and you mentally curse in defeat.

“Ever since you returned from Winterfell,” she continues to add to your guilt. “Why? I have always thought that you and I have been closer than that. We were far closer than you and Baela are, yet I see you speak with her all the time.”

You swallow thickly and let your gaze stay focused on a random spot in Aerion’s cradle before you slowly turn with your gaze downcasted, speaking your shame without the need of saying it with words.

“This is the only place I knew I could stop you before you ran so please did I do something wrong?” She throws out and just punctures your already wounded heart.

“No,” you whisper and finally step away from your son's cradle to approach Rhaena cautiously. “Of course not,” you make sure to get that point across.

“Then?” She queries with a hint of sadness in her confusion.

“It’s just,” you mutter and walk past her to get near the fireplace and watch the enchanting flames dance. “You were…betrothed to Lucerys, and I know I may not know the feelings you shared, but he was still your betrothed. You still loved him in a way, and…Aemond,” your breath hitches, and you hear her heels click against the stone louder and louder as she gets closer—“My husband took Lucerys. He took him from you, and I can’t face you knowing that because I see your heartbreak, and when I see your heartbreak my own heart hurts with guilt. I’m sorry, Rhaena. I’m sorry for what happened.”

Rhaena falls by your side and steals your gaze brimmed with tears.

“But it was not your fault,” she says what everyone else has said. “You are not Aemond. You were not even there when it happened. You could have not stopped it either.”

You drop your head and quickly wipe away the tears that roll down your face.

“I do not blame you,” she assures you sweetly as she reaches over to take your hand in hers. “No one blames you, so please do not torment yourself. You are not your husband, and you are not responsible for his doings.”

You slowly lift your gaze and lock eyes with her kind yet saddened ones.

“You mean that?” You make sure to ask first, but without hesitation, Rhaena nods and gives you a lovely smile.

“Truly,” she sounds more confident now.

You let out a sigh of relief and mumble, “Good. I'm glad.”

“Can we go back to the way we were now?” She asks and you can’t help but flash her a faint grin before you nod eagerly.

“Good,” she says breathily as if unsure whilst she steps back, letting your hand fall back to your side—“I wanted to ask you something.”

You give your back to the fire, and snake your hands behind you to seek the fire's warm embrace on your flesh.

“All right…ask, just know you’re making me quite nervous though.” You giggle nervously at the anticipation.

A small amused but nervous smile flashes on her features before she shares what she’s holding in. “I was hoping you could help me train with a sword or archery.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and look at her completely shocked considering you should be the last person she should ask. She has her father, and even if you don’t like him you have to admit he is a great swordsman.

“You all have your dragons, and I do not but I still want to help in some way. Be more useful,” she adds to her case. “And I saw you training with Jacaerys, so I was hoping you would show me.”

You bring your hands forward and fiddle with your ruby ring as you make your way to a seat across from her. “What about your father?” You hesitate bringing up.

Rhaena just meets your gaze and shakes her head with a slightly hardened look.

“I want it to be you,” she finds the right thing to say to sway you to the decision she wants to hear.

Yet before you can offer her your help, someone rushes in the room, interrupting your conversation, and stealing your attention toward the door where you see one of your mother's ladies-in-waiting, Elinda, heaving and with panic painted on her features.

“Princess,” she calls out with distress, forcing you to your feet. “Theres been an incident in your mother's apartments”

Your heart falls and without needing to hear the rest, and without any caution to your safety you rush to your mother's quarters. And actually, you don’t even know how exactly you got there with your pounding heart drumming in your ears, and a deep heart-aching fear clouding your gaze.

It’s not until you make it past the door of your mother's room, and see her standing across the room that you’re pulled out of your trance.

“Mother,” you announce your presence and see her attention stuck on a man on the floor by her feet. You follow her line of gaze and finally find out what happened, or you start to imagine the gist of it when you see the Kingsguard twins, Ser Erryk, and Ser Arryk both lifeless and bleeding out on the floor. Which begs the question, who was it you saw earlier? Ser Erryk? Or Ser Arryk?

Did you see Ser Arryk on his way to assassinate your mother?

It had to be him, he had his helmet on and seemed puzzled when you bid him a goodnight.

How could you—he almost killed your mother. The Greens almost killed your mother…

“Mother,” you say shakily but not because you want to cry, you’re caught in disbelief as to what happened. And finally your mother's eyes part from the body, and she finds you, letting you see the red cuts on her cheeks and the horror and shock in her teary eyes as you stride over to her in a hurry.

Nonetheless, when you get close to the dead men, without knowing who’s who you look between them both and still can’t believe they sent someone to come kill your mother. Not because you find it unbelievable, you actually don’t put it past the Greens to do something like this, after all, Daemon did kill their heir. You just feel the tragic but simple disbelief that someone almost killed your mother.

Someone almost took your mother away after killing your brother too. All while you were doing…nothing…

“Are you all right?” You ask your mother while you make sure all you see are small cuts and not serious wounds.

“Yes,” her voice quivers.

You grab a hold of her arms, and she holds your elbows while you study her one last time before you wrap her in a tight embrace to comfort her shaking body, feeling yourself slowly grow sad and terrified over a certain thought that latches in your mind with no intent to budge or die.

Jacaerys comes rushing in shortly after and after his shock he grows angry that Ser Arryk somehow got in, making your mother go and calm him down even if she’s distressed. All while you quietly look at the bodies on the ground and know what you need to do.

You don’t want to, you hate what you decided, and you hate obeying Daemon even more, but you can’t stay here when there’s a chance of doing so much more out there with the enemy.

Everything may not go the way you want it to go. You may get locked up and separated from your son, but if you can save someone you love from death then shouldn’t you try to be their faithful servant?

You have to try. You will try.

You’re going back to King’s Landing and infiltrating the enemy. You’ll return to Aemond’s side and be his wife.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- RIP MC you would have loved yacht parties and movies/series with love triangles

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @callsignwidow @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader

[itsdeny]

♯┆A Midnight Surprise .ᐟ

───☁️─────────────☁️ ───

— – pairing : kakashi hatake x gn!reader

— – word count : 1611

— – tags : fluff, marriage, hokage!kakashi

— – summary : your overworked husband is expecting a scolding but comes home to an unpredicted surprise instead

— – notes : happy (late) birthday to kakashi! I thought it’d be nice to write a little happy one-shot for him since he hasn’t gotten lots of chances to experience happiness in canon. Thanks for dropping by; enjoy!

───☁️─────────────☁️ ───

His face contorted into an expression of tiredness as he finally let out a sigh, the light from the screen slowly dying out with the computer being turned off, leaving the room devoid of any light.

Kakashi slowly got up from his seat. The introduction of computers in Konoha instead of papers didn’t mean there was any less paperwork for him to do; if anything, it assured the back pain caused by a long day of sitting down working would be accompanied by a persisting headache and blurry vision.

He looked up at the clock. Midnight already. At times like these, when he’d spent the entire day — hell, today he was lucky it was just the day — in his office, his first thought would be of Y/N.

The sole thought of their partner going to sleep yet again with nobody by their side was enough to fill him with guilt. And it’s not like Y/N ever made it an issue. They were a shinobi, a great shinobi at that, just like him; they were perfectly aware that Kakashi becoming hokage would come with as many privileges as burdens. And not once did they complain about that.

On his part, Kakashi always did his best to be a present partner, even when absent: leaving food ready for Y/N to eat, buying them books to read in their spare time, doing anything in his power to be home as soon as possible. But there was only so much one man — even one as incredible as the Kakashi Hatake — could do with the destiny of an entire village graving on his shoulders.

But that night was different.

Y/N had specifically asked for Kakashi not to be late that night, and yet there he was. Postponing appointments and rushing through meetings came down to nothing when Shizune last showed up with an emergency call from God-knows-who to solve God-knows-what.

And before he knew it, it was midnight.

He tried to pick up his things as rapidly as possible — something very uncommon for someone people would often mistake as half asleep — and made his way towards the door. With every step he took, he mentally measured the time left to his (or, actually, finally, their) house.

The silent empty streets, barely lit by the moonlight, were as if making fun of him; a quiet reminder of the dormant state of the village in which he and he only was still nowhere near the comfort of his bed, of his house, and of his partner.

His pace got quicker; and not even when the much familiar house finally presented itself behind the corner, not even then did he finally allow himself a break, the light coming from inside making him mentally curse himself. Did they wait for him awake? The mere thought filled him with guilt, even more than he already was. He had no clue what was going to be the deal about that night, why Y/N requested for that specifically: but he did know he owed them that much and a lot more, and so he never questioned it and instead, made it so that he would keep to his promise. And yet again, there he was.

He tried his best to keep his composure as he grabbed the door handle, (not so) ready to finally go inside. It even surprised him how much the unpleasant creak of the opening entrance startled him. After all, he wasn’t sure Y/N hadn’t fallen asleep with the lights on while waiting for him; the last thing he wanted was to be late and accidentally wake them up.

If his heart stopped, his thoughts did the complete opposite, thousands of them running through his mind the second he heard a sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen. And just as he halted, so did the faint noise.

Twenty years (or was it? He didn’t care enough to count them before he met Y/N) of being a shinobi don’t teach you how to apologise for such a screw up; in fact, it wasn’t uncommon for the young hokage to (internally) panic at any given occasion, his lack of experience in relationships making room for lots of — although never ill intentioned — mistakes. He was a fast learner, though, and it showed by the way his head was hanging slightly lower than usual: he was getting ready for an apology, and a heartfelt one at that.

His train of thoughts (or, well, mostly worries) suddenly came to an halt.

“Kakashi…?”

The sound of the familiar voice made his heart sink, and it wasn’t long until panic took a hold of him again. He frantically took a few steps towards the kitchen, but he was quickly stopped.

“Don’t come in!” The voice spoke from the other room; although to his surprise, it sounded more like a plead than a reprimand.

“Honey, look, I-“ He began, taking half a step forward; but even his apology got cut short, making him feel — if possible — even worse.

“Don’t!” the voice demanded, and there was a hint of panic in it, “Just one second, please!”

Kakashi knew no better than to stand in the living room, nervously looking around; he did not like the tone he sensed in his partner — it made him all the more nervous, to be honest, — but the least he could do now was respect their wish to be left alone.

A few minutes went by, and the noise coming from the kitchen was of very little comfort: if, on one hand, it kept Kakashi company and reassured him that Y/N wasn’t asleep by themselves, or crying, or had moved out and left him forever (Kakashi was one very endearingly dramatic individual), on the other it kept him wondering just what the hell was going on. And after a while, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” The man asked stepping into the kitchen, breaking a promise for the second time that day. Y/N immediately turned on their back at the sound of his voice, a look on panic now on their face.

“I told you to stay out!” They yelled, and “I’m sorry, I swear I tried my best, ok? Please let me explain.” he apologised, failing to spot the soft blush of embarrassment on his partner’s cheeks.

And when he did, it all came into place.

Y/N’s hand brushed him off, a frustrated sigh leaving their mouth along with a whispered series of cursing; one to their partner, and one to themselves.

“…I messed up and had to start from the top. I needed more time.” they continued, but their words were met with silence. Kakashi’s eyes were still on the half-baked cake and decorations behind them.

“What…” he began, but barely managed to get the first syllables out. What was this? Why?

“I asked Shizune to buy me some time…” the explanation went on and on, but Kakashi was more confused with every thing that Y/N added.

“The one time you had to be late!” was the last thing they said, and their face was now lit up by a playful — if only a bit downbeat, though, from the disappointment of failing with the surprise — smirk that left no more room for confusion in Kakashi’s heart.

“Happy birthday.” they spoke.

But Kakashi couldn’t speak. Suddenly, everything made sense: Y/N asking him to come home early; everybody else conveniently playing with the hokage’s time, rearranging appointments and adding new ones to his already busy schedule as if purposefully trying to delay his departure.

He hadn’t even realised it was his birthday until now.

“It was all you…?” and as he finally realised, emotions he hadn’t felt in years — hell, he could say decades given he was now well past his thirties — threatening to resurface with every word he spoke.

A satisfied smile crept on Y/N’s face upon hearing Kakashi’s miserable attempt at containing his sentiment.

“I know you don’t care that much about your birthdays, but you’ve been working a lot lately and…”

“So you made me work more in order to surprise me, mh?” He raised an eyebrow, and now the both of them were chuckling lightly.

“At least I wasn’t actually late.��� he added, his words accompanied not by a sigh of relief as one would expect; his eyes were fixated on Y/N’s, conveying every ounce of gratitude his words failed to. He was almost in a state of shock, still struggling to comprehend how someone could put that much effort into making his day special; let alone, someone he thought he had been letting down for a while now.

Not too far from feeling guilty for the amount of attention and care given to him, he finally got closer to the cake, to where Y/N was standing.

“You would’ve been late anyway,” Y/N joked in response, but this time it was them who got cut off by a sudden, gentle kiss placed on their forehead as they got pulled into an unexpected — yet surely craved — embrace.

“Thank you.” was all that was said after that, and it was enough.

And so the two stood like that, lovingly, in each other’s arms, for a very long time: Kakashi, mentally promising to Y/N that from that day on, he was always going to make it home in time to a partner he would love and appreciate as they deserved; and Y/N, whose racing mind was filled with battling thoughts, trying to decide whether or not to interrupt this rare, sweet moment to point out that the cake’s frosting was starting to melt.

───☁️─────────────☁️ ───

[nosyp]

Okay so, I have a thought that just won't leave my head. What about kaeya and maybe other genshin man that work at a brothel, kaeya is highly requested but on a certain night, he only has eyes for the reader, he wants them to choose him, may even go out of his way just to flirt with them

Dunno, this thought won't leave my head, I'm thirsty for this man 😭

Title = Playing Favorites

Warnings = smut, brothel, fingering

Pairings = Kaeya x GN! reader

Word count = 1.8k words

A/N = I tried to make it gender neutral. I promise. MDNI

Kaeya: the talk of the brothel. Everytime you enter the brothel, you see his face on the “employee of the year” poster. Why? Because he was an attractive man. The man whose face structure was shaped with such precision that it spared no chances for mistake, the man who had everyone turning heads.

You honestly never cared for messing around with men who probably would give no shit about you outside of his work. After all, his work revolved around sleeping with other people.

But somehow you end up here, in the brothel— maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was loneliness, or maybe it was the soft, lingering scent of wine that drew you in. But you never expected to see the man himself.

Kaeya.

He didn’t look real when you first saw him. Loose silk shirt, chest exposed just enough to tease. Hair tied back with a ribbon that matched his smirk. He was leaning against the bar, swaying slightly to the music, his beautiful sapphire eye glittering in the ray of the moonlight. He knew people were watching— and he loved it. It was his line of work: seducing people.

But something happened when he spotted you. He didn’t know what it was about you that drew him to you… but it was strong. A strong attraction he’d never had with any other, you were special. 

He blinked once, twice; You didn’t disappear. Then he smiled, maybe you were the girl that the archons above sent for him. Maybe you were the last puzzle piece of his so-called “fantasy life”.

So he went up to you, with his usual tone. “I haven’t seen you around before,” he said, trying to act uninterested. “Are you here for someone… in particular or just browsing? If it’s the latter, I could help.”

You opened your mouth, but he cut you off.

“Actually, no need to answer. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already decided.” he whispers softly in your ear, breath fanning your neck. “You’ll be my client for the night.”

He doesn’t take clients easily— but oh not anymore. He’s got regulars, rich ones, powerful ones. But tonight? He tells them all he’s booked. No explanation.

He takes you to his room which is not some basic setup. Oh no. It’s Kaeya’s room. All velvet and candles and expensive silky smooth sheets. You can feel the heat from his body before he even touches you. And when he does?

He doesn’t rush.

Kaeya explores every part of you with a slow, gloved hand. He observes your reactions with a sly smirk to see what makes you whimper, what makes you moan, what makes you go crazy.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your jaw softly.  “Am I that good… or are you just that desperate for me?”

He kisses like he’s starving and cocky about it. Everything he does is teasing at first—pulls back right when you start to moan, makes you beg a little, just to hear it.

And when you finally lose it and pull him down? It drives him crazy, but he can’t show it, so he only laughs. 

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You’ll make me fall for you on our first night.”

“Maybe that’s what I want to happen,” you tease back. 

His smirk falters for just a moment.

It’s subtle… almost barely there but you catch it. That small twitch of his lip, the sharp exhale through his nose. Kaeya was never caught off guard… yet you? You say one line and it rattles the hell out of him.

But only for a second, remember that.

“You’re dangerous, addictive too.” he hums, his voice sweet and slow as he brushes a strand of your hair out of your face. “You might be the first to actually ever try to seduce me.”

He leans down until your noses almost touch, eyes flickering down to your lips, then back to your gaze like he’s debating whether to devour or worship you.

“And what if I said I wanted to fall?” you reply.

He kisses you, deeper this time. No teasing. No games. It’s slow and possessive, like he’s trying to engrain the shape of your mouth into memory. His hand trails down your side, pulling you closer, until your body is flush against his.

You swear you feel his heartbeat.

“Lie down for me,” he murmurs into your lips. “I want to see you laid out in my sheets. Want to remember this forever.”

The dim flickering of the candlelight paints your skin with a seductive glow, and Kaeya just admires the scene of you laying down for a moment, letting himself fully take you in like you’re a never seen beauty before.

“You’re not like the others,” he mentions quietly before slipping his gloves off with slow, deliberate grace and tossing them off as if they never mattered.

You stare deep into his eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“They pay to feel wanted… but you…” He trails off, crawling over you, leaving you underneath him. “You make me feel.”

His lips find the skin of your neck, pressing soft kisses… lower… lower, until you’re gasping softly under him. His hands roam freely around your body. It’s warm, confident, but gentle. He takes his time, mapping your body and putting it in his itinerary like he plans to revisit every inch again later.

And when he finally brings his fingers between your thighs, teasing you through your clothes.

“I want to hear you,” he murmurs. “Every sound, every plea. I want to know exactly how to ruin you— to break you.”

He watches your reaction like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Because to him, tonight? You’re not a client. You’re not a paycheck. No honey— you’re something worth remembering, someone he might never be able to let go.

His hand ghosts between your legs, teasing, not quite touching. It’s just enough to make your breath hitch a bit. And then with a soft click, his knee moves forward, settling it perfectly between your thighs. He presses in just enough to part your legs wide open and he intends to keep them there, firm and tight.

“Now, now,” Kaeya coos, his tone half-mocking and half-affectionate. “No hiding from me, sweetheart.”

You squirm instinctively, the friction of his knee only intensifying the ache that’s already building in your core. He’s not even touching you properly and yet your body is begging.

Kaeya notices. Of course he does.

He leans closer, one hand placed right beside your head on the bed, the other still trailing lazy circles against your inner thigh, brushing so close to where you want him, but not yet there.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, “already so wet for me. So eager… it’s almost sinful how sweet you are.” 

He dips his head lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, down your collarbone, even tugging at the fabric with his teeth like he’s starving for more skin. 

His knee grinds just a little, barely any pressure, but it still makes you gasp… and that’s what he wants. That sound. That need. He wants you to need him like he’s air. 

“You like this?” he asks, teasing but laced with something deeper now. “You like being under me? Letting me decide when you get touched? When you get to come?”

His hand finally dips between your legs, fingertips brushing against your clothed heat and the moment he feels the wetness seeping through, he lets out a sharp, low groan.

“Fuck. I haven’t even started and you’re this wet?” he groans to himself, like he’s the one coming undone. “You’re gonna drive me insane y’know.”

And then?

He pulls back, just enough to make you whine. He’s still on top of you, staring down at you with lustful, hungry eyes.

“Say it,” he says, his lips only inches from yours. “Tell me what you want me to do. Beg for it.”

That cocky, infuriating smirk is back. Like he’s not sure whether to ruin you slowly… or fall to his knees and worship.

Nevertheless, you beg. You beg like an animal in heat. “M-mhhh— Kaeya… please. I want you so bad, just fuck me already~!”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear, nice to know you can listen to orders.” he softly mutters.

Then, his hands are tugging at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up at you, asking for permission to which you nod lightly. 

He peppers soft, soft kisses from your inner thigh… closer… and closer to the heat, but then he pulls away. His fingers are back into play. His lips slick with your arousal, and god, the way he licks it off like it’s honey off his tongue. He knows what he’s doing to you.

“I could stay down here all night,” he purrs. “But I think you’re ready for more… aren’t you?”

His hand slides back up your thigh, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing the path his mouth just worshipped. Then you feel the cool contrast of his gloved fingers teasing your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me already,” he says with a breathless laugh. “Such a good girl… so obedient, so ready.”

And then he presses one finger in very slowly, gently, watching every reaction ripple across your face. He curls it just right, dragging it against that spot like he’s done this a thousand times, but it’s you that has him focused like this.

“Tight,” he groans softly, leaning in to kiss your neck. “So tight around just one finger. How will you take me, hmm?”

But he doesn’t give you time to answer. He adds another—two fingers now, pumping them slow and deep, his thumb starting to circle your clit in lazy, delicious strokes.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says, voice low. “Let me hear how much you want me.”

Your moans only make him move faster, deeper. His fingers curl just right, hitting that perfect rhythm. He’s filling you, stretching you, praising you with every flex of his finger.

“You’re clenching so sweetly,” he whispers. “So desperate. Are you going to come on my fingers like a good girl?”

His thumb presses down just right… and your whole body trembles.

“There it is,” he grins, kissing the corner of your mouth. “That’s what I wanted. Don’t hold back now. I want to feel it.”

And as you fall apart on his fingers, legs shaking and voice broken from moaning his name. He looks absolutely entranced. Like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he promises, voice dark and full of lust. “Not even close.”

[hot-girls-love-jiho]

i need to rant about how insanely pretty ampies would look when being absolutely covered in hickeys, specially jiho brian and mackiah bc i cant get them out of my head. like, their soft, pale skin being all bruised because their girl just couldnt keep still for one second while they busied themselves with something else.

i swear to god if i was given ONE CHANCE with them it would be soooo over for their make up artists.

-bluey <3

I'm gonna kiss your brain rn, you're SO RIGHT, they would look so pretty covered in hickeys uGH

I'll include Brian, Jiho and Mackiah in here and if it does well I'll do a second part with the rest of the boys!

Covering them in hickeys (Brian, Jiho, Mackiah)

Warnings: SMUT!!! (actual sex only on Mackiah's, the other two are implied sex), fem! reader, marking (duh), riding, slight dry humping for Jiho, making out, pet names (sweet girl, baby, jagiya)

ᯓ★ Brian

How did Brian end up getting scolded by their makeup artist? It was all because of you, of course! You decided to leave some art on your boyfriend's skin and now, he had to face the consequences of your actions. But honestly, it was completely worth it.

He had been sitting on his computer for a really long time, and not giving you any attention, how dare he!! You decided to take matters into your own hands.

You made your way to his desk, hearing him complain when your silhouette blocked his view of the monitor for a few seconds, the very few seconds it took you to plop down on his lap.

"Baby I'll be with you in just a second, I just have to finish this" He had already told you that once or twice, and you knew it was a lie. You shook your head. "I'm not falling for it, you said that almost an hour ago Brian"

"I'm sorry, my sweet girl... Let me make it up to you" He held your chin between his thumb and index finger, turning your face to look at him, and pressed your lips in a sweet kiss. When you two parted for air, a sudden thought popped into your mind.

Before Brian could even register your sudden mischievous expression, you latched your lips onto the sensitive skin of his neck, kissing, nibbling, sucking... Earning a surprised gasp from him. "B-baby, wait--" You sucked harder, cutting him off.

Any thought about telling you to be careful to not leave marks flew out the window right as soon as you pressed your lips on his Adam's apple, followed by your tongue dragging across the skin. His beautiful sighs reached your ears, motivating you to go further.

You were leaving a trail of red marks on your boyfriend's neck, marks that after some time would bloom into a more purple color. It's what he gets for ignoring you. Plus, hickeys wouldn't be the only thing making him sigh that night.

The image of Brian's pale skin littered with your marks, claiming him as yours, and also reminding him to never ignore you again... It made your mind foggy, and you couldn't be satisfied with just that. Let's just say, he really compensated you after ignoring you for hours.

ᯓ★ Jiho

It's almost 3 AM, but neither you or Jiho are sleeping at this time. Why? Because 3 AM is the best time for a needy, sleepy make out session.

You were trying to sleep next to him, but were unable to, Jiho had an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until your bodies were pressed together, and that's how you ended up like this.

Your lips desperately chase his, and his lips chase yours. The only source of light being the moon casting in through the window, the only sound in the room being your heavy breathing whenever you pull away to breathe.

"Hold on, let me breathe for a second..." He mutters, also giving you a moment to catch your breath. You planned to, until you saw the absolutely ethereal image before you. Your boyfriend, panting after kissing you breathless, his pale skin being perfectly complimented by the moonlight, his lips parted and his throat bobbing. Your mind goes fuzzy instantly.

Your hands hold onto Jiho's shoulders, pulling him closer, if that's even possible, and before he can ask what you're doing, you kiss his jawline. Then again, and again, and suddenly you're sitting on top of him, practically making out with his neck.

"Jagiya, be careful not to leave any marks--" He inhales sharply at the end of the sentence, noticing that you weren't really listening to him, the sign being that you're sucking on his skin pretty hard. "Wanna mark you up... Please" You mindlessly say, babbling against his skin, and now Jiho doesn't give a flying fuck about being covered in hickeys.

While you go to town on his neck and collarbones, bruising the skin, leaving marks that will turn into his favorite color, his hands are gripping your hips and guiding you to rut against his growing boner, earning sighs from him and whimpers from you. It's safe to assume that neither of you get much sleep that night.

ᯓ★ Mackiah

Whenever you and Mackiah had sex or made out, it was always you who ended up covered in hickeys, being the victim of the Aussie's insatiable lips.

It's not that you don't like that. You love it. You love to show off the marks that your boyfriend litters across your skin, but... You wanted to mark him up as well. Mackiah has beautiful skin, but surely it'll be even more beautiful after you leave your signature on it.

One day, after a pretty heavy make out session and getting bit and sucked on, you decide that it's your turn to attack, your turn to fight back.

The kissing and heavy petting led to you on top of Mackiah's lap, completely bare, him too. You're riding him like your life depends on it, panting, moaning softly, bouncing on him. At one point, he throws his head back to groan, and you pounce.

You press your lips onto the skin on display just for you, sucking harshly to leave your first hickey. The sensation is incredible, and Mackiah's hips buck up, sending a current of pleasure straight up your spine. "Fuck, do that again" He says, tangling a hand into your hair to keep your head tucked into the crook of his neck.

Who are you to say no to this beautiful man asking you to devour him? Obviously, you comply, letting him take over the rhythm of your hips to focus on making a masterpiece on his skin.

You suck, bite, lick and kiss, earning more groans and moans from him, and it's the hottest thing you've ever heard. "All mine..." You mutter against him, squealing when the tip of his cock hits your g-spot repeatedly. You lose control, biting his skin harder, sucking more, he's going to need tons of makeup to hide the trace of your mouth on him.

I'm such a hickey/mark girl you guys have absolutely no idea

I would give my soul to suck on Jiho's neck like it's my only purpose in life

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Unexpected Appearances of Softness

Just a silly little drabble about Summoned!König bringing you some things back from home. He's nice, I swear. He's just also a bit out of touch.

Tws: Mentions of your mother having a heart condition

Story below the cut.

Unexpected Appearances of Softness

The dark hallways were pockmarked by shafts of light from the potlights in the ceiling, casting godrays that showered down onto the empty floors. Walking through, doors lined the halls, standing bravely at attention like the summoners that slept behind them. At the farthest end of the hallway, your door sat waiting for you. Open.

As soon as you saw the open door you felt your stomach drop. You wanted to run, but at this hour you risked waking up some irate summoners. Instead, you trained your eyes on the grey linoleum floors as you skirted down towards your open hell. With each footstep, you could feel your bpm rising steadily, your heart drumming in your ears like a marching band as you walked.

When you got to your doorway, you took a moment to settle yourself. Just from the doorway, nothing looked off. Taking a breath, you stepped through the door.

Your room was perfectly intact. Nothing seemed off in the slightest. You checked your washroom, and all your belongings were in place and untouched. Your room was similarly pristine, almost to clinical state. It was bizarre. Did you forget to close your door? No, you locked it when you left. So why was it so clean? In fact, now that you got a better look under the moonlight, it looked cleaner than before. Clothing you’d thrown into drawers had been neatly folded and set inside the cabinet with care. Your shoes were neatly lined up by the front door with military precision you’d never been able to drill into your head. It was eerily perfect in a way that seemed almost unnatural.

You looked around the room again and nearly spat out your drink when you saw your bed. It was perfect. What was disturbing though was the fact that the stuffies you left at home were now sitting at the top of the bed.

You picked up one such stuffy and examined it carefully. Who the hell would bring up these old relics? Who even had the ability to go all the way back home and come back to base, simply for the sole purpose of getting your childhood mementos back to you?

The lights flickered.

Ah.

“König,” you called out to the room behind you, “why did you get my stuffies from back home?”

A heavy scaled hand planted itself firmly on your shoulder as the thin cloth of the being’s dark hood drifted over you.

“Are these not to your standards, Summoner?” König’s pitchy yet guttural voice thrummed through his chest into your back.

You held up the stuffy by its arms.

“Did you see my parents?” you asked, ever so slightly hopeful.

“Your mother is well,” König patted your head, “your father screamed when he saw me.”

You snorted as you put the stuffy down, “You actually let them see you?”

“Their summons demanded that I make myself known,” König explained with a hint of bitterness to his tone, “and, seeing as I am a benevolent being, I simply followed their orders. Apparently, they thought I’d wait until your father had finished his shower.”

You knew you’d be getting a phone call soon for that. You could already hear your father ranting about how you needed to keep your summon under control, already knowing full well that controlling an avatar of chaos was a laughable thought. You wondered what he thought of your summon, considering how renowned your father's name was among the old brass he used to run with.

“Your mother passed out when she saw me,” König continued, “but she came to fairly quickly. Then fainted again. The second time she came back I ensured that she was in a comfortable chair and well cared for, I assure you.”

“You know my mother has a heart condition, right?” you sighed as you put your beloved plush bear back onto the bed.

“Of course I know,” König scoffed, “anyways, we were able to settle our difference once she was able to stay conscious,” König prattled on as he examined his iridescent claws, “she seemed uncomfortable knowing that you’re mated to me for eternity, but she did say that it was better than having your bones torn from your body and keeping your flesh alive.”

You turned to look up at your summon with a blank look. At this point, you were about to develop a heart condition too.

“Please don’t tell me you said that to my mother,” you glared up at your summon with as much ferocity as a wet kitten could muster.

König stared into the distance before he slowly met your eyes.

“I apologize, Summoner.”

You looked at him, then back at the stuffies.

“Why?” you sighed.

“Not all is wrong, Summoner. After she finished her insufferable wailing, she thanked me for not harming you. I’m surprised a human understood her place so well,” König took a half step back, “I will add for your peace of mind, she suggested I bring your stuffed animals to you.”

You paused, then nodded slowly.

“So what were you doing at my place if you weren’t getting my stuffies?” you asked.

“You left your entertainment device underneath your bedding when you last visited.”

You scrunched your face for a moment before understanding opened your features.

“You got my gameboy back?” you asked hopefully.

König simply took the ‘entertainment device’ from a pocket in his robe and passed it to you. You tried to turn it on, but it was out of charge. You supposed beggars can’t be choosers.

“So, my mom told you to bring me my stuffies?” you asked as you set the gameboy on your night table.

“She also asked me to bring you some ‘cookies’,” König held out a bag of smooshed crumbs and molten chocolate, “I forgot how delicate human treats are.”

You took the bag into your own hands and took a close look. If nothing else, you could probably mix this up with some icecream or something. They at the very least seemed to still be edible (a far cry better than the pizza you’d asked König to pick up for you last week, only to be presented a cardboard box full of ashes and embers. König had tried to bring another back, but that had gone even worse). If nothing else, König was learning how to transport baked goods a bit better.

“So, was that everything? You brought my gameboy, some of my stuffies and some cookies from my mom?” you looked up at König.

König sniffed indignantly, “Your superiors did not seem to believe a controlled black hole in your dormitory was an appropriate idol to chaos.”

For once in your life, you thanked the heavens above for the dorm standards.

König furrowed his brows, evidently displeased by the look on your face. You looked back at your gameboy and sat on your bed. You noticed the mattress was a fair bit more comfortable, another sign of König’s intervention. You picked up your stuffed bear again with a smile.

“Thanks König.”

The avatar faltered momentarily before regaining his stoic composure.

“Your comfort is paramount, Summoner,” he replied tersely.

You noticed that he seemed to be unable to meet your eyes, instead focussed on the posters plastered on your walls. You would’ve laughed, but you figured his ego wouldn’t be able to handle a weak summoner such as yourself laughing at him. At least, not out loud.

Your figured he knew, anyways.

AU Masterlist

[anonymityisfunwriter]

bad idea right?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: It's a bad idea. He's a bad idea. A walking red flag - if your friends are right about him. It's really too bad red was always your favorite color.

bad idea right? | get him back! | love is embarrassing

"This is an intervention."

You sputter, almost choking on your wine, "What?"

Nat crosses her arms, her eyes boring into you as she speaks, "A Bucky Barnes intervention."

"What are you talking about?" you hedge.

"You've been seeing him again." It's not a question, but a statement of fact. You don't know how exactly she found out, but you don't doubt that somehow she knows everything. You've been caught red handed. 

You had two choices here. Come clean to your two best friends. Or lie through your teeth. You choose the second. "No, I-"

"You left your location on," Wanda explains, stopping you before you try to lie your way out of this conversation. "You were at his apartment two nights ago. You didn't leave until the next morning."

You hold your head in your hand, still curled up on the couch, "Can't two people reconnect?"

"He's your ex for a reason."

You knew that. You knew that there was a reason you and Bucky broke up all those months ago.

And you certainly didn't plan on getting involved with him again. It just sort of happened.

If you thought about it, really, you were blameless.

You hadn't heard from him since you broke up three months ago.

Three weeks ago, you found yourself out and drunk.

Calling him was just a drunken accident.

Bucky coming to pick you up and take you back home was not at all your plan.

Leaving your bag in his car was just a funny coincidence.

How else were you supposed to get your things unless you saw him the very next day?

And was it your fault that he invited you inside to catch up? No, of course not, you were just being polite! 

Really, who could blame you? It just happened.

"I only see him as a friend." It's definitely the biggest lie you've ever told your friends.

"So you just tripped and fell into his bed?"

Your jaw drops as your cheeks flame, "It's not like that!"

"Well, clearly you think you're doing something wrong when you're lying to us about seeing him," Nat accuses.

"I haven't lied to you guys about anything!"

"So two weeks ago you didn't lie to us when you were actually with him?"

"I never lied. I told you I was asleep." You just never said where. Or in whose sheets. "Alright, fine, I might have omitted, but that's just because I know how you guys feel about him."

"Because you could do so much better!"

You shrug, knowing Wanda is probably right. You could find someone so much better for you. Someone who you probably wouldn't have to sneak around with. Someone you hadn't already broken up with, but something about Bucky Barnes makes your brain a little fuzzy. You can't think straight when you think about him. And you most certainly can't be trusted around him. 

Even now, just thinking about him, you're spiraling back to a place where a bad idea turns into the best one you've ever had. 

You know've probably seen much hotter men, but then you think back to two nights ago, and you suddenly can't remember when.

Not when Bucky stood at his door with his sweatpants slung so sinfully low on his waist. Not when he wore that henley that left so little to the imagination - and he wore it so well. His arms crossed over his chest. Leaning against the doorway, one hand clutching the top of the door frame, as he waited for you. That teasing, challenging smirk. Those mischievous blue eyes. That vibranium arm glinting in the moonlight. 

Could you really be blamed for appreciating what was right there? Of course not. Or at least, that's what you told yourself. 

Natasha waves her hand in front of your face, "Are you even listening?"

Your eyes shift back to her, your mouth inexplicably dry, "Huh?"

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but it's a bad idea," Nat emphasizes. "A terrible, stupid idea."

"What I think Natasha is trying to say," Wanda gently interjects, "Is that we love and respect you too much to watch you get hurt all over again."

Natasha was right. You knew that.

Your impromptu girl's night came to a close with her reminding you one last time. It was a bad idea.

Seeing him tonight is a bad idea. It's most definitely a bad idea. You knew it the moment your phone lit up with a text from Bucky.

"I want to see you."

You could almost picture the disappointment in their faces. You should turn around and go back to your room and forget about Bucky Barnes. Never speak to him again. Block his number. Forget he exists. 

It's a bad idea to grab your keys and hop in your car to go see him.

It's a bad idea to drive to his apartment right now in the dead of the night.

And it was definitely a bad idea to wake up twisted in his sheets again.

It's a bad idea, right?

But you're standing in your room all alone - with no one telling you that it was indeed a bad idea. And it sounds like a fantastic idea to you. Yes, he's your ex, but can't two people reconnect? And if you trip and fall into his bed, really, what's the harm?

You shrug your shoulders, snatching up your car keys.

Fuck it, it's fine.

Part 2 - get him back!

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93@buckysbarne@deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic@whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy

[angstywaifu]

Love Doesn't Suit You - Brennan Sorrengail

Just a little idea that came into my head the other day, and just had to get written down for you all. That and I missed writing for this man. If any one has any Brennan ideas please send them my way. Pre Fourth Wing and Iron Flame (no spoilers), mentions of blood/violence, maybe bring tissues...... Requests Open.

Masterlist

Never in his life had Brennan thought he’d be in this situation. Especially not with you. But here he was, stuck in this situationship with his childhood friend. Too scared to man up and tell you how he really felt. In stead you slept together, kissed and flirted. But the second it came to a label on it, you bailed. Every single time he had to watch you enjoy the company of another person. Gods, he did it too sometimes. But none of them were you.

”You’re going to get caught one day if you keep this up.”

I jump back, hand clutching my chest as Brennan steps out of the shadows. The moonlight reflecting off his reddish brown hair. He knew I liked to do these late night flights. Knew I used them to clear my head of whatever chaos was going on in it at the time.

”Only if I do something stupid.” I reply before walking past him.

I hear him sigh behind me before walking after me. “Well considering some of your choices you make, it might not be long.”

”What’s that suppose to mean?” I ask as I turn on the steps to look up at him.

I knew exactly what he meant. It was the same argument we had every few weeks or months depending how it was going. Brennan wanted more but…. I couldn’t. The thought of being with someone more than just a casual thing terrified me.

”You’re in a situatioship with what, two or three people now?” He says without even looking at me. “What happens when one of them meets and figures it out? Or you get bored and come back to me?” His voice laced with anger.

”I was pretty open about it not being exclusive. I’ve always made it clear with you and them I wanted nothing more than sex.” I say through gritted teeth before turning my back to him and walking back down the stairs.

Brennan’s footsteps are quick to follow me, and I can tell by the sound he’s angry. I’ve hit a nerve. Good. It’s better that he hates me. I’ll only break his heart if I haven’t already.

”You and I know very well that they’ve fallen in love with you. Don’t act all innocent with me.” He tells me as he practically breathes down my neck.

I turn and push Brennan back, causing him to stumble into the step behind him.

”You mean falling in love like you did?” I snap, watching as he winces at my words. “I’ve always made it clear I wanted nothing more than something casual. Love doesn’t go well with our line of work. You know that.”

Brennan just shakes his head, scoffing at the comment. “Love just doesn’t go well with you.” He mutters quietly before pushing past me and walking away. “Maybe I was stupid for even thinking you would ever commit to something.”

I barely catch the last part. Knowing he didn’t intend for me to hear it. But I do. I stand frozen to the spot as Brennan’s footsteps disappear. His words echoing in my head. My heart feeling like it was just ripped to shreds and thrown on the ground. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears start to roll down my face. If only he knew. If only he knew how much I actually cared. How much I wanted to put a label on us. But I can’t. I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts from my mind before slowly following Brennan down the rest of the stairs to the quadrant to try and get some sleep before tomorrow.

I’ve fucked up. My mind not focused on the my challenge. My mind still focused on what happened last night. Brennan’s words still echoing in my head from the night before. And because of that I hadn’t been fully focused. And now I would pay for it.

I can feel the blood dripping from the wound as my challenger pulls their knife out of my stomach. My hands rushing to apply pressure to the wound. Blood instantly seeping through my fingers as I drop to my hands and knees in the pool of blood forming on the floor. This is it. This is how I die. Black dots start to fill my vision as I feel myself slipping away. Over the ringing in my ears I hear someone calling, no screaming my name. Their voice is pained, as if they’re losing someone they love.

I cough, blood splattering the ground beneath me. Shit.

The last thing I see before I black out is a familiar pair of amber eyes looking at me in panic as they scream my name, trying to apply pressure to the wound as they pull me into their arms.

[educatedsimps]

hello!!! I love your fics! Can I request a kenma x reader? where he does things he hates but still does it for the reader because the reader loves it? eg: getting wet in the rain etc? thank you if do!!

≪ back to fics masterlist

kozume kenma x reader

a/n: HI ANONNN i'm so glad you like our stuff! and ofc bae :) yes kenma would 100% do stuff he doesn’t like just for his partner because they love it.

cw: not exactly the usual type of fic with a storyline, it's kind of like headcanons? mostly? but written headcanons? i think ????? idk man. anyway it's all fluff and kenma being ridiculously in love with you :)

wc: 1.7k

fic below!

the following is based on true events: lyssa: *sends yves a screenshot of the request* look there's another kenma req! yves: he's a literal cat lyssa: yeah! wait but that's not the point of the- yves: hold on i have a tweet for this lyssa: LMAO ofc u do

okay, on to the real stuff!

"Kenmaaaaa, let's go (insert activity of choice)!"

"...do we have to?"

"Yes! It'll be fun, I promise!"

"...are you sure?"

"Yes, come on!"

"...you really wanna?"

"Yes! And I promise to spend a whole day gaming with you. We can play literally any game you want. Now, can we go? Pleaseeee?"

Sigh. "Alright."

This was the usual conversation between the two of you whenever you wanted to do something Kenma didn't necessarily enjoy. In other words, you’d bribe him with a full day of gaming together.

You knew he'd much rather stay in any day of the week instead of go out and engage in such uncomfortable, sweaty and outdoor (derogatory) activities. Anyone who even remotely knew him would know that. However, you genuinely thought that doing more physical activities together would be good for the both of you.

Hence your increasingly frequent pleas for him to join you in doing said activities.

The first time you asked him out on such a date, it was to go swimming together. He looked at you with a blank expression, but you could read his thoughts exactly. "Do you even like me? Do you even know me?" was what he seemed to be saying. With his eyes, at least.

To be honest, most of his reasons for not wanting to go swimming were pretty valid. Why would he wanna get soaked just to take another shower after that? Why would he go swimming when there are gonna be people around to witness him flap around in the water? And his hair is already bleached, so why would he want to ruin it further by going into a pool practically loaded with chlorine? Out of everything, chlorine had to be the bacteria killer? Why couldn't it have been something nicer, like chocolate or something?!

Fair enough, you thought. But by the time the two of you were out of the pool that day (you don't even remember if you just played in the water or if you actually swam laps together), the sun was literally shining down on him, yet his smile seemed brighter than the sun itself. You weren't sure exactly what about swimming had made him smile like that the first time, but since then, every time you suggested going swimming together, you'd remind him how much fun he had the last time and he'd be less opposed to the idea.

Even though he'd probably never admit it to you, he actually enjoyed going swimming with you that first time because of you. The way you laughed and the way you seemed so comfortable in the water honestly captivated him. Then he started to notice how the sun reflected off the water and onto your skin, casting a golden glow around you.

So damn pretty, he remembered thinking to himself.

Soon, you started going swimming at night - to not "die of UV rays", in his words - and the way the moonlight reflected off your skin was simply ethereal. He couldn't have used any other word to describe you in that state. You reminded him of a siren, and if real sirens were even half as beautiful as you, he’d understand why those pirates and sailors were so easily lured out to sea.

Even if you couldn't swim swim, you still looked so content in the water that slowly, he couldn't say no to going swimming with you anymore.

The next kind of activity you asked him to do together was to go to the beach. And of course, you were met with the usual resistance at first. The way his face lightened when you said "swimming" then pinched together when you said "at the beach" told you exactly what he was thinking.

Ew. Sand. Everywhere.

Honestly? Valid. Sand gets everywhere - and I mean everywhere. The sand gets scorching hot in the daytime so why would anyone wanna go there? To get sand up your ass? To burn your feet off?? Like, can't you just do that over the kitchen stove or something?

That was until you were spending the day together at the beach, building sandcastles and sunbathing and just hanging out by the water. You could never forget how relaxed he looked by the end of it.

Sure, there were tons of other people at the beach that day, but he completely forgot about that when he was with you. You just did that somehow - make him feel like it was just the two of you even in a crowded room.

"It's not that bad, right, Kenma?"

"Eh..."

It's "not that bad" only because of you but I'm not admitting that, is what he was thinking.

This process continued with several more activities - cycling, hiking, even going to the gym.

When you asked him to go cycling together, his face told you, "What makes you think I'd enjoy cycling when there isn't even water to help me cool off this time? And what if I lose balance and fall?"

When you asked him to go hiking together, his expression screamed, "There aren't even gonna be wheels this time, are you kidding me? My legs are gonna give out. You're gonna have to haul me back home by yourself and it's not gonna be my problem."

And when you asked to go to the gym together, he muttered, "Kuroo and Yamamoto are rubbing off on you."

Despite these complaints, Kenma always came home looking more refreshed than ever. Even though he still didn’t love those sports, he didn’t hate them either, thanks to you. But that wasn't the point.

To him, the point was just seeing you do what made you happy. And as much as he hated getting all sweaty and sore and tired, he absolutely loved watching you go about the activities you had planned. Sure, you were just as sweaty and sore and tired as he was, but he didn't care. He honestly just cared that you were happy, and he knew then that he would do anything just to make you smile like that for the rest of your lives.

As for non-physical activities, if you love doing things like going to the museum, painting, gardening, yoga or meditation, board games, photography, he'd definitely be less resistant even though he doesn't particularly love those activities, and of course he'd just enjoy spending that time with you. Honestly, he's just glad you didn't pick something physically draining this time.

One time, you dragged him away from his video game and out of his bedroom to go play in the rain together. When you told him you wanted to go out into the rain, he had half a mind to drag you back into the house and lock you in the bedroom with him. But he was also kinda curious as to what you could possibly find so exciting in the middle of a rainstorm, so he followed you outside with just his hoodie, sweatpants and house slippers.

As raindrops pelted against his skin and clothes, he looked up to see you standing in front of him with your arms held out to the side and your head tilted slightly upward.

It was cool and rainy night, and Kenma would typically be in the comfort of his bed or gaming chair, safely sheltered from the rain. Why the hell would you wanna go out in the rain when you have a perfectly good house to stay in? He thought earlier.

Now, he finally had an answer to that. Two, in fact.

One, it was beautiful. He's obviously seen rain before, but only from his window. He had never been in the rain like this before. He's been caught in the rain on the way home from school or practice, sure, but never deliberately in the rain.

Looking up, the night sky was splattered with stars, barely visible behind metallic grey storm clouds. Silvery droplets raced towards the ground and glistening specks of water started to collect on his lashes. Blinking them away, he could see you in front of him.

The second answer to his earlier question was simple. You.

Dressed in one of his old volleyball jerseys, home shorts and slippers, you still looked so goddamn beautiful to him. You were laughing wholeheartedly even as raindrops assaulted your skin from above. You were somehow glowing even with just the dim streetlights nearby. Turning towards him, you grabbed his hands and pulled him towards you, further out onto the empty street.

"Come on, babe, have some fun!" You yelled, making sure he could hear you through the downpour. He could feel the rainwater slowly soaking through the material of his hoodie and onto his skin. He watched as you started kicking your feet and jumping into puddles of water on the road, and soon, the two of you were in the middle of an all-out puddle war.

Sooner or later you'd both be out of breath, and you'd end up with your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. As the two of you swayed slowly back and forth, everything seemed to be in slow motion. The falling of rain around you, the steady beating of your heart, your slow breaths and the quiet rumble of thunder nearby added to the overall ambience.

Thinking back, he wasn't sure if this experience was beautiful because of the rain or because of you. Probably the latter, he thought. Furthermore, if he had to describe this experience in one word, he'd say it was magical. Simply and absolutely magical, and all thanks to you.

That day, he also decided that going out into the rain with you was worth an extra shower, and eventually this became a habit for the two of you whenever it rained heavily at night. If you moved to an apartment, you'd stand on the balcony together and stay there while it rained. Sometimes you'd dance, sometimes you'd play around with the puddles of rainwater on the ground, and sometimes you'd just be in each other's arms talking about anything and everything.

Main point is, he’s in love with you and he would do anything for you - even if it means getting sweaty and tired. Though I don’t think he’d complain that much if you asked to play volleyball HAHAHA

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[rebelliousstories]

Fruitcake

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: David x Reader

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst, Mentions of Fighting

Word Count: 1,177

Main Masterlist: Here

Lost Boys Masterlist: Here

Summary: A simple childhood favorite that reduces lesser minds to fit of giggles.

Consider Donating: Here

“Wait, you actually like that stuff? Dude, that is so lame!”

Another eventful night in the cave during the most wonderful time of year. The terror twins were especially riled up this evening, and for one specific reason; David mentioned his favorite childhood Christmas treat. And it has caused an absolute giggle fit to erupt between the terror twins.

“Yes, I do. Is there an issue with that?” He glowered at the other two blondes, who just continued laughing with the occasional moment.

“But, dude, come on. There are so many other things that are better, and more tasty.” Paul continued, bouncing in his seat like a kid on a sugar high.

“And it’s my favorite thing at Christmas. I’m this close to coming over there and-“ Dwayne threw a rock at David, causing him to shut his mouth very fast.

“Let’s just go down to the pier, yeah? We need food. Argue about this later.” The finality in his voice even made the bleach blonde vampire take heed.

Marching out of the cave, David allowed his mind to wander as Star climbed aboard his bike. He was just a few minutes away from his girlfriend, his little human. Only a few more minutes till he was away from the chaos that was currently racing with him down the beach.

It was not that he did not want to be with his brothers, and Laddie, and Star. Rather that he did not want to be stuck listening to the teasing and the comments. And if Paul or Marko decided to bring forward their conversation from the cave, he might have to find a way to hurt his brothers. Wind whipped in his face, and sand tickled his nose, but he still found himself smiling the closer and closer they got to the lights of the pier ahead.

When they pulled in, David shooed Star from his bike as fast as he could. His piercing baby blues had already located his target. With such an honestly shocking amount of stealth, David was able to sneak up behind the young lady that was bundled up in a knitted beanie and matching gloves.

“What’s a sweet thing like you doing here all alone,” came his ask, nuzzling his nose into the back of her neck with a husky whisper.

Turning with a jump, her eyes held a split second of fear that turned into joy the second she realized who was behind her. Screaming his name, she launched herself into his arms, to which he happily hugged her to him. With her legs wrapped around his waist, and her arms tightening around his neck, David breathed her scent in deep. Anyone looking at the couple would have thought that they had not seen each other in weeks. But anyone who knew them knew, they had only been apart one day.

“How have you been, kitten? Get into any trouble without me?” Gently lowering her to the ground, David took the time to scan over her face and body. His left hand, snug in his leather glove that kept away the chill, rested on her jaw while his other one went to her waist.

“Of course not. Never without you.” She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his soft lips, making David hold her close to deepen it. That unique taste of David was intoxicating; wine, moonlight, and a brief tinge of cigarettes.

“Oh, she’s here! Pretty lady,” and she was tackled out of David’s arms. Paul had decided that her time of visiting her boyfriend of the pack was over. Thankfully, she giggled as he burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, trying to push him away playfully. Marko and Dwayne hung back, waiting for their own turn to say hello to the lady.

“Pretty lady, guess what? You’ll never guess what David likes to eat at Christmas. It’s so stupid.”

“Paul,” growled David in warning.

“He likes fruitcake! How stupid is that? I mean, come on. Even those dry Christmas cookies are better than that garbage.” Paul could not continue yapping at twenty miles an hour because David had tackled him out of the grip of his girlfriend. While the two vampires growled and hit at each other, the calmer of the two came over for their own hugs of greeting.

“Hello, princess.” Dwayne greeted, hugging her close.

“Hey, cutie.” Marko stole her away as he pressed her into his patchwork jacket.

“Hey, you two. Will one of you help them out please?” All three of their attentions were turned to the two blonde vampires that were still tangled in each other. Sighing deeply, Dwayne went over to the men, and held both by the back of their jackets to keep them separated. While Paul continued struggling against his hold, David calmed down significantly, leaned down and collected his gloves, before shaking off his brother’s grip to go back over to his girlfriend.

“Sorry about that, kitten. Let’s get going.” With his hand on his lover’s back, he began leading them both away from the chaos junkies that were called his brothers.

Once they were away, the night quickly turned enjoyable. They happily strolled down the pier, snacking on some overpriced cotton candy. She tugged his old coat tighter around her body as a gust of wind threatened to sneak into it. While they had made small chit chat during the evening, a single question burned in her mind, but she felt a bit afraid to bring it up. However, her boyfriend could see something simmering underneath.

“Spill it, kitten.” David had decided to lean against the railing, and pulling her closer by her waist.

“Well, I just- you might be upset.” Her eyes rested on the pale expanse of throat that was in front of her. But a quick tilt of her chin up made her eyes meet his again.

“I promise I won’t. Just tell me whatever is on your mind,” came his reassurance.

“Do you really like fruitcake?”

David groaned, and breathed sharply through his nose. His neck rolled, letting out a few loud pops as it did. After a bit of silence, David locked his eyes on his lover once more.

“Yes. Are you going to make fun about me, too?” He was already bracing for it before she had even spoke.

“No, I haven’t met anyone else that likes it besides me. I was starting to think I was the only one.” Her hands gripped the front of his shirt a bit.

“Well then,” he purred, letting a smirk overtake his gorgeous features. “What do you say we blow off the boys, and head to that Christmas store in town? I know they’ve got a great selection.”

Nodding in agreement, she eagerly let David lead her away from the bright lights and loud voices of the pier. It was not something that was super common to like, but it was theirs. Theirs to enjoy and indulge in. And occasionally, rub it in Paul’s face that David has such a wonderful girlfriend.

[707heart]

shotgunning with sebastian

sebastian x reader (farmer)

tags: pothead seb, shotgunning, desire want and yearning

wc: 654

You knew he stood on the shore of the mountain lake every night, clutching a joint between his thumb and pointer finger.

Your crush on Sebastian was no secret to most of the town. Hell, Robin was trying to get you over for dinner to work things out with him. Sebastian was just so oblivious. At least you thought he was, anyway.

“What brings you here tonight?” Sebastian asked between a mouthful of smoke. He was a fan of smoking tricks, and it didn’t help in your burning desire to stare at his mouth until the sun rose the next morning.

You hummed, shrugging and looking off into the water to avoid looking at him. “I wanted to see you. We never see each other in town,” you replied. It was the truth. Everyone in Pelican Town was great and welcoming (for the most part), but Sebastian was such a recluse that he only set foot into the town during the handful of events each year.

“Oh,” Sebastian was at a loss for words, and the weed probably wasn’t helping. “Do you want to smoke?” He tilted the joint toward you.

You flush. It’s not like you’ve never taken a hit of anything ever, but weed was something new. You didn’t even know how to hold the joint, let alone smoke it. “I’ve never…” you trailed off.

“You’ve never smoked weed?” Sebastian finished. “It’s easy. Actually… I can help you.”

The offer hung heavy between the two of you. “Okay, yeah,” you mumbled, hoping the fall moonlight would distract from your blush.

Sebastian gave you one last look before lighting it. He took a long drag, ghosting it before blowing it away. He took another one and without warning, closed the space between the two of you. You made a sound in the back of your throat as he stood so close.

“Open your mouth,” he said, quietly because of the limited space. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as you did what he asked. Your lips fell open, eyes still trained on Sebastian’s.

He cupped your cheek, angling your face how he wanted before blowing the smoke into it. You inhaled, the sensation burning but not enough for it to be bad. You still coughed a few times, but you gave him a thumbs up.

Sebastian laughed good-naturedly. “You took it like a champ. Wanna try again?”

His eyes were lidded, and for the first time you noticed how stoned he was. You were starting to feel the effects yourself, but it was nothing compared to smoking it from the source.

In an act of confidence, you reach for the joint between his fingers. “Let me try,” you said, giving him a smirk. You took a hit longer than intended, the urge to cough suddenly much stronger. You gave the joint back before doubling over.

You hear him chuckle again, rubbing up-and-down your back in a way that should be illegal. So comforting and caring. “Are you okay? You did great,” he soothed. He had to be doing this on purpose.

The effects of the weed made everything feel number. Your mind was quiet. Suddenly there was no anxiety about this meeting, only happiness. You let out a laugh, tilting your head back.

“I’m just so happy,” you mumble, laying your hands against his chest. You could feel his ribcage slightly protruding, t-shirt doing little to cover it. His eyes widened at the affection, and this time you didn’t miss the flush on his cheeks.

Sebastian reached down to hold your waist naturally. There was no one awake now, no chance of being interrupted. “Me too, I’m happy too,” he said, bloodshot eyes running up and down your figure.

“God, just kiss me already, you nerd,” you whined with a big smile, but you close the distance anyway. Your lips press against his, and you can taste the smoke there.