#no one will ever have as strong a hold on my heart

[cameronsbabydoll]

hiiii, for sugar coated chains could u write something about how their oldest son once he’s older, like high school or college age, gets in a fight with rafe because he’s tired of seeing how he treats his mom and says something along the lines of “you don’t deserve her, she deserves so much better than you”

it’s late.

later than it should be for voices to still be raised in this house — his house — and especially not those voices.

your heart sinks the second you step into the hallway and hear them — rafe’s voice low, sharp like a blade being honed, and your son’s, rough with anger in a way he never used to sound. not your sweet boy. not the same little boy who used to trail after rafe on chubby toddler legs, desperate for his attention.

but he’s not a boy anymore.

you think you can talk to me like that, huh? under my roof?” rafe’s growl cuts through the tense quiet like it always does — but for once, it doesn’t land the way it used to.

for once, your son doesn’t back down.

“yeah, i do.”

silence.

and then—he laughs. bitter, disbelieving. his laugh, rafe’s laugh, inherited like every sharp-featured thing about him — only this time, it doesn’t sound a thing like his father.

“you don’t deserve her.” he spits it like venom, like it’s been sitting on his tongue for years. “mom deserves so much better than you.”

it punches the air from your lungs.

not because it’s untrue.

but because it’s the first time someone’s said it out loud in this house.

“she’s—god, she’s been nothing but good to you. sweet to you. stupidly loyal.” his voice cracks, breaks in that way that only happens when anger curls into hurt. “and all you do is treat her like a possession. like something you can control. she deserves—”

“enough.” rafe’s voice is a warning, low and dark.

but your son doesn’t flinch.

“you’re just pissed ‘cause you know i’m right.”

and it’s quiet after that.

so quiet you almost forget how to breathe.

until rafe’s footsteps stalk away — leaving your son standing there, fists clenched, chest heaving — and for the first time in a long time, he looks over and sees you.

soft-eyed. heartbreaking.

“mom…”

he sounds younger all of a sudden. like your little boy again. like he didn’t just stand there, taller than you now, shoulders tense with fury and hurt, defending you like no one’s ever dared to do before.

you don’t even think about it. your arms are around him before either of you can say anything else — pulling him in, holding him so tight it nearly knocks the breath from him.

and maybe that’s what does it.

maybe it’s the way your hands shake against his back, or how your voice wobbles when you whisper, “oh, baby…” — that cracks whatever wall he was holding himself up with.

because suddenly his arms are winding around you too, strong like his father’s but gentler — so gentle — like he’s scared to break you.

“shouldn’t have to be like that,” he mumbles into your shoulder, raw and low. “you shouldn’t have to… put up with him like that.”

and god — if your heart doesn’t just break right there in the hallway.

because he means it. so fiercely. so protectively.

your sweet, angry, stubborn son — standing there like your greatest defender.

you pull back just enough to cup his face in both hands, tearful but smiling anyway — motherly to your core, the only way you know how to love.

“hey,” you whisper, brushing his hair back like you used to when he was small. “you let me worry about me, alright? all you have to do is be good. be kind. be better.”

his jaw tightens, the fight still lingering in his eyes.

“i learned that from you.”

and oh — if that doesn’t just undo you completely.

because for everything rafe ever tried to control, ever tried to mold and own and shape in this house — he couldn’t take that from you.

your heart. your softness.

passed down exactly how it was meant to be.

unbreakable.

[izzih22]

Can you do one of a insecure Azzi, who gets comforted by Paige

Everything You’re Not Saying

Note: short but sweet

It started as a normal night.

They were back in their hotel room after a win — a big one — and the energy in the locker room had been all jokes, music, and adrenaline. Paige had done the postgame interview, Azzi had taken her shower in peace, and now they were finally alone, curled up in bed.

But something was… off.

Paige noticed it the second Azzi crawled under the covers and curled up facing the wall.

No soft teasing. No little kisses. Just quiet.

Too quiet.

“Hey,” Paige whispered after a few minutes. “You good?”

Azzi didn’t move. “Just tired.”

Her voice sounded normal. But not Azzi normal.

Paige watched her for a beat, then reached out and gently ran a hand down her back. “You sure?”

Azzi flinched almost imperceptibly. “Yeah.”

That was the moment Paige sat up.

“Z. Talk to me.”

Azzi let out a breath like it hurt. “I don’t wanna make it a thing. It’s stupid.”

“If it’s in your head, then it’s in my head.”

That made Azzi turn, slowly. Her eyes looked glossy, like she’d been holding something back for too long.

“I just…” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know. I didn’t play that well tonight. And I know we won, and I should be happy, but—”

Paige didn’t interrupt. She just waited. Soft, steady, safe.

“I feel like I’m not doing enough,” Azzi said finally, her voice breaking. “Like everyone else has these standout moments, and I’m just… there.”

Paige’s face softened immediately. “Azzi.”

“I know I shouldn’t think like that,” she said quickly, eyes darting. “It’s selfish and dumb and I sound ungrateful, but sometimes I feel like I don’t live up to who I’m supposed to be. Like I’ll never be enough.”

Paige’s heart broke a little right there.

Not because Azzi was wrong — but because she believed she was.

“Hey,” Paige said gently, cupping her cheek. “Look at me.”

Azzi met her eyes, vulnerable and raw.

“You are enough. You are so much more than enough.”

Azzi shook her head. “You don’t get it. You’re Paige. You always come through. You’re clutch. You’re—”

“I’m me,” Paige said firmly. “But you’re you. And I’d pick you every single time.”

Azzi blinked, breath catching.

“You know what I see when I watch you play?” Paige continued. “I see control. I see grace. I see a teammate who makes everyone better without needing the spotlight. I see heart.”

Azzi’s lip trembled.

“And off the court?” Paige’s voice dropped, tender and slow. “You’re the most loyal, kind, beautifully strong person I’ve ever met. You carry things no one even sees. You give your love so quietly it sneaks up on people — but it stays. You stay. That’s rare.”

Azzi’s eyes filled then. She couldn’t stop it anymore.

Paige leaned in and kissed her — soft, lingering, right on the forehead.

“You don’t have to be loud to matter,” she whispered. “You don’t have to light up every scoreboard to be the brightest person in the room. You just have to be you. And you’re mine. That’s all I need.”

Azzi buried herself in Paige’s chest then, arms wrapping tight around her waist like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” she mumbled into her shirt. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Paige said. “You’re human. And brave. And honest. That’s what makes you strong.”

They stayed like that for a long time — tangled together in a quiet hotel bed, wrapped in warmth and whispered affirmations.

And for the first time that night, Azzi let herself believe it.

[wendichester]

｡𖦹°‧ hell survivor,

summary. dean tells you about his time in hell.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. angst

wordcount. 579

notes / warnings. dean's trauma for the time he spent in hell.

You wake up to the sound of him breathing too hard.

Not snoring. Not shifting.

Just breathing. Fast. Shallow. Wrong.

Your eyes adjust to the dark, but you already know where he is. Dean sits on the edge of the bed, shirtless, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His back rises and falls like the room’s too small for him.

You sit up slow. “Nightmare?”

He flinches like you touched him.

“Dean,” you whisper again, gentler now.

“I’m fine,” he rasps. Which means he’s not.

You crawl over, the sheets twisting around your legs, and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t lean into you. Doesn’t move at all. He’s ice.

“I keep seeing their faces,” he says suddenly. Voice hollow. Dead. “The ones I… the ones I did it to.”

You go still.

He’s never talked about this. Not in detail. Not like this.

“I told myself I’d hold out. That I wouldn’t break. Thought I was strong enough,” he mutters. “Thirty years. I fought them off for thirty goddamn years. And then I gave in.”

Your heart aches in your chest.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

His laugh is low and ugly. “Yeah, it was.”

“Dean—”

“I became them.” His hands curl into fists. “And it was so easy. That’s what scares me the most.”

You pull your knees up behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder, hugging him tighter. “You were tortured, Dean. Over and over. No one would have lasted that long.”

“I enjoyed it,” he says quietly. “At the end. I stopped hearing them scream. I stopped… feeling anything.”

You feel his shoulders shake.

Dean Winchester doesn’t cry.

Except now he is.

“I come back here, and everyone wants to treat me like I’m still him. Like I’m still—human.” His voice breaks. “But I left that version of me down there.”

“No, you didn’t,” you whisper, kissing the back of his neck. “He’s still here.”

Dean exhales slow. Shaky.

“The worst part is… I keep thinking about what I’d do if I had to go back. And I know I’d give in sooner.”

You close your eyes. “You’re not going back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you say, firmer this time. “Because I won’t let you.”

He finally turns to look at you. His face is wrecked—eyes red, jaw clenched like he’s holding the world together with nothing but rage and guilt.

“You should’ve left me dead.”

You slap his chest.

Not hard. But enough.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Don’t you ever say that.”

“I’m not who I used to be.”

“No,” you say. “You’re stronger. You’re here. You fought your way out. You came back.”

“Yeah, but what came back, huh?” he hisses. “What if it wasn’t all of me? What if part of me’s still—”

“I don’t care,” you cut in, fierce. “Whatever’s left, I love him.”

Dean stares at you like you just set the room on fire.

And then, finally, slowly, he leans into you.

His head presses to your shoulder. Your fingers tangle in his hair. He’s trembling now, silent and small and real in a way he rarely lets himself be.

“I’m so tired,” he breathes.

“I know,” you whisper. “I got you.”

You hold him like that until the sun starts to rise.

And when he finally falls asleep—chest rising soft against yours, breath slowing—you stay awake.

Because he’s your hell survivor.

And you’re not letting him fall back in.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

EXFIL -04 | Pairing: Captain Price x Sgt!Reader

They’re back on base by sunrise. The sky is the kind of gray that settles in your bones, bleeds into your thoughts. The med bay smells like antiseptic and burnt coffee. Alex is getting patched up behind a privacy curtain—fractured ribs, dehydration, a mess of untreated wounds. But he’s alive.

She hasn’t left the bench outside the curtain.

Her hands are still dirty.

Blood under her fingernails.

She can feel Price before she hears him—his presence moves like a storm. Heavy boots across tile. The hallway empties.

He stops in front of her. Arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“You didn’t answer your comms.”

She looks up, expression unreadable. “Was a little busy.”

He exhales hard through his nose, like he’s biting down on something sharp. “You disobeyed a direct order.”

“I followed the intel.”

“You ran,” he says. “Blind. Into an unsecured wing.”

“I found him,” she snaps, voice cracking. “He was in a cell, John. A cell. After a year of thinking he was dead.”

Price’s gaze doesn’t waver. “We all thought he was dead. You’re not the only one who lost something.”

She flinches like he struck her.

But still—she holds his gaze. That same quiet, aching look. The one she always gives him. The one that still hopes there’s a man buried underneath all that steel.

“You lied to me,” she says. It’s soft. Broken. “You told me there was no chance he made it.”

“There wasn’t,” Price says flatly. “Not with the blast radius. Not with the intel we had.”

“But you didn’t leave room for doubt.”

“I did what I had to,” he says. “So you’d move on. So you’d stay focused.”

She rises to her feet slowly, still a few inches shorter, still looking up at him. Her voice barely holds steady.

“You did it to keep me tethered to you.”

His silence is answer enough.

The curtain shifts behind her, and Alex’s voice comes out—hoarse, but strong. “Everything okay out there?”

She turns.

She doesn’t look back at Price.

“I’ll be right there,” she calls.

And then she’s gone—slipping behind the curtain, disappearing into the soft blue light of the med bay. Back into the arms of a ghost.

Price stays standing in the empty hall, the weight of her absence somehow heavier than her presence ever was.

Alex is propped up in the med cot, back braced against thin pillows, one leg gone beneath the blanket where the bandages end in emptiness. His hair is slicked back now—someone must’ve handed him a comb—and the sharp angles of his face are clearer without the grime and blood. He looks older, more worn, but still him. Still Alex.

She steps into the space and closes the curtain behind her.

For a second, all she can do is stare. Like if she blinks, he might vanish.

“You gonna say something,” he murmurs, “or just keep looking at me like I crawled out of your dreams?”

Her lips twitch, but don’t quite smile. She walks over slowly, sits down at the edge of the cot and runs her hand up the blanket until she reaches his chest. Flat palm. Over his heart.

“I keep thinking,” she says softly, “that maybe this is a trick. A punishment.”

Alex huffs a low breath. “For what?”

“For moving on. For trying to be okay.”

His hand finds hers. He’s warm, solid.

“I wanted to be mad at you,” she says. “For not surviving. For not… coming back sooner.”

“That makes two of us,” he says, eyes flicking down to where his leg used to be. “I woke up in a cage. Had to learn how to live all over again with half my body and no idea if anyone even thought I was alive.”

“I thought you were dead,” she whispers. “They told me you were gone.”

“I know. He told you.”

She doesn’t argue. She can’t. Her gaze drops to their joined hands.

“I won’t let them take you from me again,” she says, barely louder than the hum of the fluorescent lights. “Even if I have to burn it all down. I’ll get you back—for good this time.”

Alex blinks like he doesn’t believe he heard her right. But she’s already shifting closer, curling into the space beside him, head on his shoulder, her fingers never letting go of his.

And he lets her.

Lets her stay close.

Lets her mean it.

Outside the curtain, boots pass. Voices low and clipped.

But inside, it's just the two of them. Survivors, barely pieced together. Wanting something neither of them knows how to ask for.

[lehnsherrsboy]

i can't think about erik cause it hurts and it's confusing like he's so hot. just soso sexy, i can stare at his bitch face for hours, AND hes a dick. and one of the main reasons why hes sexy is BECAUSE he's a dick. SO hes the worst thing that has ever happened to me because he broke charles' heart which broke my heart bc charles is my fucking baby so eriks the worst type of jackass for doing that, fuck him really, but like. him being a jackass is hot -like when he pushed sean off of the satellite that was funny- so like i believe charles should have that hot jackass in such a strong choke hold, just utterly GRIPPED to the point where erik freely begs for his forgiveness, doesn't believe he deserves it but he proclaims his never ending love and devotion anyway, and he promises to only ever use his jackass-ery in the name of charles and only charles, to treasure and to hold him in sickness and in health and to never ever fuck charles over or leave him ever again, amen.

and that doesn't fucking happen. do you see my dilemma

[drabblesandsnippets]

A Future Waiting to Bloom

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: (2.2k) TW: Early miscarriage. An unexpected pregnancy leads to you and Bucky dreaming of a future that never comes to be.

A/N: I know miscarriage is a sensitive topic, but I’ve always written to help me process things in my life and I thought I would share, just in case anyone else needs a story like this. As always, please take care of yourself 🩶

Warnings: TW: Early miscarriage/’chemical pregnancy’. Established relationship. Soft and sweet Bucky. (Brief, vague references to Bucky’s foray into politics.) Fluff. Angst (with a hopeful ending). Mention of menstrual cycle, pregnancy symptoms, pregnancy tests, baby clothes, cramps, spotting.

The cold air whips around Bucky the moment he steps outside, remnants of winter still lingering in the air. Just another reason to add to his growing list of why he shouldn’t go. As if you’re incapable of staying warm without him. 

He certainly is.

With a resigned growl of frustration, he shoves his bag into the backseat of the car and closes the door with a slam, hard enough to make the hinges groan in protest. 

Yep, he’s handling this spectacularly.

Within seconds, he’s back inside the warmth of your shared residence for one more hug. One more kiss. One more moment of holding you close in order to ground himself in your comforting scent.

Then he’ll be able to make it out the door for his flight. 

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he buries his face in your hair, mumbling another plea for just a few more seconds. Minutes. Hours, if you’ll let him.

Your gentle reminder that it’s only for a couple days does nothing to deter him, Bucky refusing to loosen his tight embrace, even as you laugh softly against his chest, his strong arms keeping you from leaving him. As if that’s even a possibility. 

You’re struggling just as much as he is - tears guaranteed the second he’s driving away - but you refuse to give him yet another excuse to cling to. 

While separation is never easy, nothing compares to how proud you are of the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with. And you’ll be damned if you let him talk himself out of taking this next step, not with how important this is to him.

“It’s just politics,” you state matter-of-factly, giving Bucky a playful smile as your fingers soothe the tension from his neck. “Piece of cake. Nothing you can’t handle.” 

At his raised eyebrows, you double down, telling him, “Can’t be any worse than Sam’s birthday party.” A twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips and you add, “Four hours of karaoke, remember?”

“Don’t remind me,” he huffs, closing the distance once again to nuzzle your neck. “I still have nightmares.” 

This time his laughter mixes with yours and he smiles against your jaw, soon kissing a path towards your inviting mouth, desperate for one more taste of you. 

And when his soft murmur of appreciation ghosts over your lips, thanking you for loving him the way he needs, he doesn’t miss the way you cling to him. The way your heart syncs with his. 

The way you feel like home. 

It’s more than he ever thought he’d have - more than he deserves - and it’s exactly what finally kicks his ass into gear, giving him the strength to actually leave. 

With one more lingering hug and deep kiss that steals your breath away, he’s professing his love for you, hammering home how lucky he is to have you.

You hold the tears at bay, even as you return the sentiment, shouting one last ‘I love you’ from the porch, your arms wrapped around you to stave off the sudden burst of cold.

Only once his car disappears from view do you finally give in to the emotions, the urge to cry intensified by your impending period. 

You only give yourself a few seconds of cathartic release before you’re pulling yourself together, determined to make the most of the next couple of days instead of calling in sick to work and moping around the house. No matter how tempting that plan seems.

------

By afternoon, you’re rethinking everything, your eyes drooping the longer you stare at your computer screen, trying to juggle several tasks instead of taking a nap.

The only thing keeping you even remotely conscious is Bucky’s constant updates, his texts ranging from ‘Plane landed. Miss you.’ to ‘There’s a mirror in the shower. Can we get one?’

With your mental state already under siege by your hormones, you spend the rest of the day fighting off tears and aching for his touch. And berating yourself for acting like a military wife whose husband just got shipped off to war. 

The surge of pride you feel for him brings more tears to your eyes and you throw yourself into bed, a ridiculous sob erupting when his scent suddenly overwhelms you.

Bucky’s a few hours away, carving out a new path for himself. A new way to help the same world that tried to cast him aside.

Because that’s who he is - who he’s always been - and god, how you wish you could be there. To be a fly on the wall to witness his passion to make things better, to bring light to the things others try to keep in the dark.

Within seconds, you’re clutching his pillow to your chest, trying to remind yourself that it won’t always be this hard, that you won’t always be this emotional.

Hell, by the time Bucky gets home, your period will have started and this whole thing can be a funny anecdote to share over wine and much-needed snuggling.

------

The city is wide awake by the time you roll out of bed the next morning, blaming your lack of energy on the hours spent tossing and turning. And the few sporadic late-night conversations with Bucky when things felt too lonely.

Problem is, while he might not need much sleep, you’re barely functioning, hovering over your laptop for half an hour before deciding to call it and use one of your sick days. It doesn’t feel like a lie, your body desperate for more rest, the occasional twinge of a cramp encouraging you to take it easy.

The brilliant idea of tricking your body into submission comes in the form of superstition - take a pregnancy test and your period will show up just to spite you. It’s worked every time before.

But, with every new text from Bucky, you’re starting to entertain the idea of a quick nap, followed by a short flight to DC in order to surprise him at his hotel.

The only thing stopping you is the dread of getting your period while you're dealing with airport security or, worse, getting stuck in traffic. 

And then your whole world tilts.

Disappointment blooms briefly when it still doesn’t make an appearance during what always feels like the longest three minutes of waiting for the results.

It leaves you frustrated, yet innocently hopeful that it’ll show up within the next couple of hours. 

Doubt overwhelms any other emotion for several minutes, your shaky hands fumbling with another pregnancy test, already assuring yourself that the last was faulty.

This new one will confirm your suspicions, the mantra repeating right up until the faint second line joins the first just like before. 

Your first inhale brings life into the hope building in your gut. On the exhale, you’re laughing, all of your symptoms becoming glaringly obvious. You should have known.

This time when the ground shifts beneath you, your knees nearly give out. Your lungs cease to work. Your heart pounds in your ears. A terrifyingly beautiful future plays out behind your eyes.

This is actually happening.

You need to tell Bucky.

Of all the million thoughts racing through your head, that one remains the loudest and it’s hard to ignore the guilt gnawing at you for doing this without him.

It doesn’t feel fair that you get to live in this reality without him, but it’d be equally unjust to irrevocably change his life with a phone call.

So you wait. You pace. You agonize over every little detail. From how to tell Bucky, to what life will look like a year from now. Five years. Twenty.

Eventually, the tendrils of hope start to take hold, steadying you even as your worry and anxiety whisper of danger.

Neither of you are prepared, your shared moments of vulnerability echoing in your mind, the mirrored palpable fear of bringing a child into this world overriding the dreams neither of you dared voice.

Now you get to. 

Now you get to prove to Bucky that he was made for this. That whatever doubt you harbored wasn’t a reflection of him. If anything, knowing how amazing of a father he’ll be is one of the things keeping you from swirling into a panic attack.

------

Your plan starts small.

A gift bag with the pregnancy tests.

Then, a tiny motorcycle jacket resembling his that you just couldn't resist. You’re already imagining Bucky holding his helmet up to complete the outfit, a goofy smile plastered across his face as you snap a picture.

A couple hours before he walks in the door, you’re adding the last minute addition, butterflies swarming in your belly as you imagine his reaction to the onesie hiding inside, the words “My daddy is my hero!” etched across the front.

It builds slowly. Surprised recognition at the tests. A glance at you for assurance that this is really happening before he’s diving back in. A ghost of a smile that communicates more than he’s capable of verbalizing right now.

At the first touch of the faux leather against his skin, Bucky’s willing his heart to slow enough to allow himself to stay right here with you, to let himself believe in a future he thought was closed off to him. To imagine himself in a role he no longer gave credence to. 

The onesie completely breaks him open. 

Hero. Daddy. Two titles that you swear he can proudly hold. A monster who used to-.

Your soft utterance of his name catches him before he can fall into the familiar well of guilt, bringing him back to the fragile edge he teeters during moments like this.

“This isn’t something you have to earn, baby,” you whisper, reaching out to trace your fingers over the words, purposefully drawing Bucky’s attention back to the statement that’s trying to unravel him. “You just get to be.”

Just like that, you piece him back together. Like you always do. His jagged edges never once managing to scar you in the process. 

“You’re allowed to be excited,” you promise, your own glassy eyes meeting his, full of unshed tears. “Even if you’re scared… ‘cause, honestly, I’m terrified, but I-.”

“I want this too,” he finishes with you, a tentative smile finally taking hold, one hand gripping the onesie, the other pulling you closer. “I’m already thinking of baby names. Is that crazy?”

You laugh, meeting him in a teary kiss before confessing, “I’ve been picturing having to send them off on their first day of school, so…”

“You think I’m letting them outta my sight?” Bucky grins with a shake of his head. “Homeschool all the way, sweetheart. At least ‘til they’re 18.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You have plenty of time to figure it out.

------

For 52 glorious hours, you get to exist in a world full of possibilities. A world where Bucky begins to believe that his luck didn’t just end with you. That, despite everything, he’s allowed to have more. To want more.

His already attentive nature somehow multiplies, eager to wait on you hand and foot, insisting on a nap whenever a yawn overtakes you.

Several times you find yourself curled up on the couch with your head in his lap, his vibranium hand stroking lazy circles along your back, while scrolling with his other, researching everything from pregnancy symptoms to baby gear. And trying to figure out what the big deal is with gender reveals.

Bucky’s halfway through memorizing swaddling techniques when the first cramp hits, a flicker of worry etching itself along your brow. 

For a while, you manage to convince each other it’s totally normal. Common, even. Everyone says so. Even the doctor as you schedule an appointment anyway. 

When the spotting starts, Bucky still clings to hope, refusing to believe the universe would dangle this just to rip it away before it could ever really begin. Fuck the statistics.

But, deep down, you already know.

There was always a part of you that knew you tempted fate by taking that test. If you had waited, let nature take its course, you probably would have never known. You would have spared you both this heartache.

When the guilt starts to drown you, Bucky quiets your needless apologies, holding you together as sobs wrack your body.

As easy as it would be to blame himself - his past, his karma, hell, maybe his genes - he chooses a different path instead. One he’s not used to taking, but you’ve done a damn good job of lighting the way for him.

“I’m glad we knew,” he assures you, his gentle hands cradling your wet cheeks, encouraging you to stay right here with him. “Even if it wasn’t meant to be, I wouldn’t change anything about this, do you hear me?”

And that’s more than enough.

At your teary nod, one of his own slips past his lashes, but his smile never wavers. “You’ve given me the greatest gift, sweetheart,” he whispers, closing the distance to rest his forehead against yours, grounding you with him.

“You showed me that I’m allowed to hope. Freely. Without guilt. Like maybe I get to want things again.” 

The healing will take time. The world won’t look as bright for a while. The baby clothes will start to gather dust on the dresser. But it’s all perfectly okay. 

Because you're together, and you already have everything you need to begin writing the next chapter.

Main Masterlist

Banners by @cafekitsune

[a99jazzybean]

Why do we Keep Playing These Games?

Chapter 10: Twelve Times

Ch.1/ Ch2./ Ch.3/ Ch.4/ Ch.5/ Ch.6/ Ch.7/ Ch.8/ Ch.9

synop: College TA au

Jayce Talis... He's your unrequited sworn enemy. You are the object of his obsessive affections. After discovering your disdain toward him, He decides to win your heart... Through playing games. Winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want. You'll take him up on the bet, but what will happen if he wins?

words: 4.9K

includes: jaycexfem!reader, fluff, yearning, slight angst, explicit content

a/n: This one is spicy, you know the drill. 18+ readers only!

Sunlight streamed through the cracks of your curtains, but a different kind of warmth engulfed you. Strong arms were wrapped around your torso, pulling you against a firm chest. Soft snoring came from above your head. Carefully, you looked up, afraid your movements would wake the man holding you. 

Jayce looked almost angelic with the rising sun creating a halo around his head. Even in a disheveled state, the man looked extremely handsome. Hair sticking up in an adorable cowlick, jaw shaded in with longer stubble. His face looked at peace as he slept. 

You tried to shuffle out of his grasp without disturbing him, but your careful actions were futile. The arms around you tightened and pulled you back into his chest.

“Mmm, no. Stay.” His command was spoken in a sleepy voice. 

“Good morning.” You said with a giggle.

Jayce blinked himself awake, letting your face get into focus. A classic smile plastered on his face as he realized you were still with him, and you were in his arms. Something he only ever dreamed of. Yet, here you were in the flesh and willing to accept his affections. 

The man leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, but was met with a hand stopping him. Pulling back, he pouted.

“Jayce, I get atrocious morning breath. You do not want to kiss me right now.” 

“I can take it. I’ve gone a whole night without kissing you again.” Oh no, those puppy dog eyes were pleading with you.

Rolling your eyes you leaned into him.

“It’s your funeral, Talis.” 

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips pulling you as close to him as he could. Sighing softly, you melded in with him. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes sparkling in wonder as he looked at you. It was as if he was looking at something spectacular, which to him, he was. 

This tenderness, it was an unfamiliar feeling to you. However, you weren’t scared of it. A thought that honestly surprised you. For how closely you had guarded yourself, you never believed you would allow yourself to sink into this feeling so freely. It was something you were finding you were enjoying. Just letting yourself be, and it seemed that’s all Jayce wanted from you.

A hand caressing your cheek, brought you back to the present. Jayce was studying you, watching your eyes as you were stuck in your head. He found you did that quite frequently. Using the brief periods of silence to think to yourself. Your analytical mind, always processing even the simplest of actions. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He mumbled softly, sleep still laced in his voice. 

“Hmm?” You questioned.

“You’re always thinking. I can see it in your eyes. So, what are you thinking about?”

An opportunity, this was an opportunity you could take to be honest with the man. As you were in such an intimate setting, you decided it was the best action to take. 

“You, I suppose.” Red bloomed on the man’s face.

“You suppose?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “you. How you have helped me open up more.”

“I have?” A small piece of pride swelled in his chest at your confession.

“You have. No one has been as persistent to crack my shell.” You paused, thinking about your friends. “Well, I guess Mel gets pretty close. But it’s more so that she just reads me really well, and I can’t lie to her. So she always gets the truth from me.” 

“What about Viktor?” He couldn’t help it, the lingering jealousy he had for the man that had gotten you first.

“Hmm, he’s seen… parts, I suppose. Though he’s pretty similar to Mel. Studying me enough to learn what makes me tick.”

“What’s different with me?” Jayce was very curious on how your mind worked.

“You don’t tell me what you see.” You bit your lip in concentration, trying to find the right words to describe how Jayce made you feel. “You make me feel seen. I know you try to read me, but you never tell me what I am.” You smirked at him. “Mostly. Though, you do have a habit of telling me how much of a ‘shit liar’ I am.” 

“I guess I don’t like it when you try to hide yourself from me.” 

That had you wincing, there was still plenty Jayce had not pulled from you. 

“I don’t know if I’d call it hiding.” 

“What is it then?” He leaned back, studying your face once more. 

“Protecting myself, I guess. You said it yourself, I do have quite the stony exterior.” 

“What do you feel like you have to protect yourself from?” This was the most honesty Jayce had gotten from you. He hoped you would let him in further.

Suddenly, you felt your eyes water. Your eyes widened as hot tears fell down your cheeks. It was an unfamiliar feeling. You couldn’t place it, but it was making you cry. Sadness? No, not that. Despair? Still no. Fear. Bingo. It was as if your body was warning you that you were going too far. You were afraid of what would come out of this conversation if you truly unpacked your thoughts. 

Jayce’s hands cupped your face, wiping off your tears with his thumbs. He could tell you weren’t sad, but something had deeply disturbed your psyche to make you start crying. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” He pulled you into a tight embrace. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

When, not if. The man had more faith in you than you ever could. Clutching his shirt, you buried your face into his chest. Forcing your mind to ground itself at the feel of his warmth. 

“Sorry.” You mumbled into his chest.

“Don’t be.” A small smile was on his face when you looked back up at him. “I’m just glad you told me what you could.” 

The adoration on his face had your heart swelling. It seemed undeserved, but Jayce continued to grant you grace with a consistency you had never witnessed before. 

“Thank you.” You pulled off of his chest. “I appreciate you listening to me.”

“Anytime.” He said, and you knew he meant it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the new Monday, you were feeling more refreshed than ever. Jayce had decided to spend most of the day with you on Saturday. Even cooking you a breakfast of pancakes and eggs. Sneaking Sedona, a bit of scrambled egg when he thought you weren’t looking. An action you would typically admonish, but with the way that your kitty adored the man, you let it slide. 

The two of you spent the rest of your time together chatting about nothing and everything. Learning where you were both at on your theses. Discussing your future plans after graduating. Chatting about the students with promise in the physics courses. 

Occasionally you found yourself making out with the man. Your conversations slipping into more suggestive tones that ended up with you straddling him, your back against the wall, or letting him climb on top of you. Hands blindly trailing over each other. It felt desperate, yet soft. His kisses pressed against your lips like promises to continue. Reminding you of his affection and adoration. Your own kisses a response to his. Almost begging for him to continue, letting him know how badly you needed this outlet for your feelings. Unspoken claims on each other that your bodies wished to fully release. For now, you would keep it through touch. 

The reminder of your weekend peeked just above your shirt collar. A red mark Jayce had left on your throat. He claimed it was unintentional, but the spark of pride in his eyes told you otherwise. You didn’t mind it though. In fact, you had found yourself occasionally staring at the mark in the mirror. A small smile playing on your lips as you recalled the way his own lips pressed against your skin. Hot and needy, begging for more. 

Pulling up your collar, you continued toward the physics building. Surprisingly, you hadn’t run into either Jayce or Viktor. The two always seemed to appear during your trek to the morning class. Shrugging, you continued onward. It was going to be a long day.

Professor Heimerdinger would have you, Jayce, and Viktor grade exams, forgoing your office hours for the day. Since the man seemed to ignore the concept of a Scantron, you were stuck grading all 600 plus exams by hand. Thankfully, you had your comrades joining you in the efforts to get the stacks graded. 

As you opened the door to the building, you heard jogging from behind. A soft smile was on your face as you turned to the man. Jayce’s hair was slightly disheveled, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. You chuckled at the state he was in.

“Did you run over here?”

“Yes.” He gasped out. “Woke up real late this morning. Just glad I could make it here on time.”

“Take a breather, Talis.” You patted his shoulder as you made your way inside. 

Unbeknownst to you, the reason for Jayce’s sleeping in was due to him playing board games throughout the night. It was his pick, and he was going to make sure he won. This time, you would be facing a man with quite the skill. 

Jayce had forced Viktor to stay up with him. Just long enough to have Jayce beat the man as many times as he could. He knew that he would owe Viktor, but it would all be worth it. Especially with what Jayce was wagering for. 

He was sure he had this win in the bag, and boy would it be a treat for him. Though it would be for you too, you just didn’t know it yet.

“Hey,” Jayce cleared his throat to catch your attention.

“Hmm?” You continued on your way to the auditorium.

“Pick a number between one and twenty.” He said.

You paused at the door to the class, craning your neck to look at the man quizzically. That was random… What was he playing at?

“Why?” You fully turned to him, arms crossed. 

“Don’t worry about it, just pick.”

“I would like to know what I’m responding for.” You didn’t budge.

“C’mon sweetheart, just trust me.” He gave you one of his classic gapped toothed grins. 

Huffing, you tapped your foot. Contemplating whether you should give into this request. 

“Fine. 12. Are you happy?”

His eyes widened at your response, but he quickly hid away his expression. 

“What was that face for?” You questioned.

“Nothing.” Jayce turned around to see some students waiting to enter the room. “We should go in, class starts soon.” He did his best to steer the conversation elsewhere. 

“Urgh, this conversation isn’t over, Talis.” You pointed into his chest before entering the room. 

He chuckled as he followed in. The sound making you shiver as you wondered what he had planned. 

The rest of the day passed by as it normally would, but you continually found yourself lost in thought. Your mind wondering why he would have asked you that question. The man never budged though. Not even an inkling of what he was possibly thinking. It was extremely frustrating, but you pushed through the day regardless. You were sure to find out soon enough. 

Once the evening arrived you made your way to your shared office. Nerves were brewing in your stomach as you looked ahead to your game night. Jayce hadn’t told you what game he planned to play. It could be anything, and it could be something that would guarantee a win for him. Shaking your head you fought against your thoughts. No, you wouldn’t allow yourself to lose again. So far Jayce had won the majority of your games, something had to give. Right?

It didn’t matter, you had arrived at the office. With a deep exhale, you entered the room. A smile on your face as you attempted to hide your anxiety. Both Jayce and Viktor were already in the office. The two perked up as you entered. Large stacks of exams were on the table. It looked like Viktor and Jayce had managed to get through a few before you came in. 

“Nice of you to join us.” Viktor teased. 

“I’m five minutes late, give me a break.” 

“Tardiness is unbecoming of you,” He leaned against his hand, a boyish smile on his face, “Come here.” He patted an empty chair between him and Jayce. 

You raised a brow at the offer. The space at the table was cramped enough. Sitting between them was asking for you to bump elbows. Plus, you had a feeling the two were plotting something. Instead, you sat on the other end of the table. After plopping down, you pulled one of the many stacks toward you. 

“Well, that was rude. And after we saved a seat for you.” Viktor sighed dramatically, amber eyes glinting with mischief. 

“It would be too cramped between you two.” You stated bluntly.

“You don’t want to be close to us?” Jayce had chimed in now. 

“You two are plotting something, and I would prefer to avoid whatever it is.” You gave them an annoyed look. “Besides, we have a shit ton of exams to grade.” 

“Hmm, you make a good point. Fair enough.” Viktor raised his hands in surrender, then turned to Jayce. “But before we start, Jayce?” 

“Yeah?” Jayce asked. It seemed like he was buzzing with excitement. 

“Don’t you have something to return to our dear, y/n?” Viktor cooed.

“Oh! Yeah I do!” He chuckled as leaned down to grab something from his bag. 

Thrown onto the table was a mesh bag. It was full of the panties Jayce took from you. A blush bloomed on your face. With a tentative hand you reached for the bag and opened it. 

“Unscented detergent, right?” Jayce asked.

“Right.” You said softly.

As you looked through the bag, a pair of panties caught your eye. A lacy maroon thong was intermixed with the other pairs. This one wasn’t yours. Grimacing you pulled the pair out hanging the waistband on your finger. 

“This isn’t mine, Jayce.” You said coolly.

The teasing glint in the pair’s eyes grew brighter. A smug grin was on Jayce’s face. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands.

“I’m aware. I decided to add a pair to your collection. Maroon’s my favorite color.”

The blush on your face darkened as you threw the pair back into the bag. 

“Bastards, both of you.” You huffed. 

In an attempt to distract yourself from your flustered state, you turned to grading exams. The men gave each other a knowing look with a shrug, then returned to grading. 

As you worked, a comforting quiet filled the room. Pens scratched on paper, an occasional exasperated laugh would be heard as someone came upon an absurd answer, and of course groans at having to fail a test. While Heimerdinger was considered one of the best professors on campus, the one thing that student’s disliked was his exams. You remember some of your own near misses with the tests during your undergrad. Thankfully, you had managed to maintain high enough grades to keep your GPA in tip-top shape, but not without trying. 

Before you knew it, your office hours had come to an end. The sound of Viktor shuffling to pack his bag bringing you out of the grading trance. Looking over the table, it appeared that at least half of the exams had been graded. Good, you would only have one more day of dealing with the exams. For now, at least. 

“Well, it was lovely grading Heimedinger’s exams with you, but I will be taking my leave now.” Viktor grabbed his cane and stood up. Before he made his way out of the room, he gave you a cheeky grin. “Besides, I know you two have an important game night. I would hate to intrude.” He winked before leaving the room. 

The sound of the door latching closed made your stomach drop. As per usual, Jayce locked the door after him. The click sending a shiver up your spine. The man watched you as he returned to his seat. It felt as though he was a shark circling you. Hazel eyes filled with hunger. 

“So…” You cleared your throat. When did it get so hot in the room? 

“So?” He raised a brow.

“What game are we playing?”

Jayce smirked, then leaned down to rummage through his bag. He procured a beat up box, Battleship. The two children on the packaging mocked you with their smiles. You knew you were fucked. That was a well-loved game if you had ever seen one, Jayce was likely a champ at it. 

You weren’t wrong. Jayce was good, and he knew it. While his poker face was terrible, he was very good at reading other people’s eyes. Naturally, people will look to where their ships were located on the board. As a kid, Jayce mastered reading the locations. A Battleship champ, that he was. 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve played.” You said nervously. 

“Do you need a recap of the rules?” He asked, pulling out the boards.

He slid one toward you. You stopped it, and cracked it open. It felt like the grid was taunting you. Letting you know of your inevitable defeat.

“No, I still remember them.”

 Looking up, you could see a smug look on Jayce’s face. No, you couldn’t allow it. You knew how to play the game, there was a chance. 

Crossing your fingers, you began to set your board. You could hear the clicking of pieces as Jayce set up his own ships. You did your best to space out your ships, trying to recall how you used to play with your brother. That was so long ago now, there was no advice coming from your past wisdom. 

Placing the last ship down, you let out a shaky breath. You could do this. You had to do this. For your dignity and pride. If Jayce got another win… a chill ran through you. The man could ask anything of you, and you had a feeling this was going to be a big ask. 

“You ready, sweetheart?” He asked.

“Yes.” You croaked out. 

“You can start.” He waved toward you. 

Flexing your hands you reached for a red and white peg, hoping the former would be the one you placed on the target board. You looked over the grid, chewing on your tongue in thought. Nodding you chose your coordinates. 

“C9” You stated.

“Miss.” A grin was growing on the man’s face. 

With a sigh, you placed a white peg into the coordinates. It was just the first move, there was plenty of time to advance. 

Jayce watched your eyes after you placed your peg. They flitted around your board, Jayce cataloguing each move. Licking his lips in anticipation, he gave you his first set of coordinates. 

“A6”. 

Frowning, you placed a red peg into a hole of a carrier ship. 

“Hit.” You said dejectedly. 

No, you couldn’t give up hope so soon. It was just one hit. Your ship was vertical, he could waste two turns thinking it was horizontal. But, Jayce knew better than that. Watching your eyes as they trailed down your board. 

“B6.” He said, smile widening as you reached for another red peg.

“Hit.” You grumbled. 

The man made his way down all five holes, taking your carrier. 

“You sunk my battleship.” You groaned. 

As the game went on, Jayce occasionally gave you some reprieve. Pretending to miss your ships to give you a moment of relief. However, soon after you found him sinking another one of your ships. It took many rounds, but you finally managed to get one of his ships.

“Look at that! You sunk my battleship!” He said with a chuckle, placing the final red peg into his submarine. 

It was nothing though. You only had two ships left on your board. Jayce knew he could easily take them. The flitting of your eyes allowed him to easily pinpoint their coordinates. Licking his lips, he decided to make your defeat swift. He was ready to claim his prize. 

With each hit, you could feel a punch to your gut. He was going to win. There was no way out. Perhaps he could grant you some mercy? Let you off without needing to claim his prize? No, he would never. That man knew what he wanted and would do his damndest to get it. 

The final blow came to your own submarine. The last red peg taunting you as you placed it in the awaiting hole. The symbol of your defeat. A board of boats with red pegs poking out of them. 

“You sunk my battleship.” You said through gritted teeth. 

Desperation shown in your eyes. Pleading for the man before you to give you some grace. Allow you to run free this time. It was to no avail. He shook his head at you, chuckling darkly. The sound shooting straight to your core. 

“Good game.” He offered his hand. Shakily, you grasped it and shook. A gasp escaped you when he pulled you toward him. His hands moved to cup your face before he pressed a deep kiss against your lips. Your lips buzzed as he pulled away.

“So, twelve?” He asked, his eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“That depends, what’s it for?” Your voice was laced with nerves. 

“You already made your choice.”

“M-my choice?” You questioned.

“Mhmm. I decided to give you a little bit of a say in my win this time. Considering how I crushed you at the game, it was the least I could do.” His hands trailed down your body. His eyes grew dark as he looked down on you. Reminding you once more of a predator gazing at its prey. 

“Twelve does seem like a lot though.” He chuckled.

“A lot of what?” You pressed him, desperation cracking in your voice. 

“A lot of times I get to make you cum.” 

In shock, you attempted to pull back from him. A low growl left him as he held you in place. Strong hands locking you down. 

“Oh no, you don’t get to leave.” He moved to sweep you off your feet, making you yelp. 

He plopped himself onto a chair, then maneuvered your body to straddle him. 

“Twelve times?” You squeaked. The thought of him doing that sent chills through you, but boy did that number seem high.

“Don’t worry, I won’t use them all tonight. However, throughout the week, I certainly will.” You shivered at his words. “Unless you wish to pay up or quit?” 

A little too quickly, you shook your head. 

“Heh, I had a feeling you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Are you wanting to, tonight?” You asked, pressing up against his chest. 

Your lips brushed against his. He groaned as you kissed him softly. Pulling away, he nodded.

“Yes, I would like to. If you will let me.” 

You returned a nod, body shivering with excitement. 

“Good. Now, turn around.” 

You obeyed, shifting your body around. Back pressed up against his warm chest. His breaths were becoming more labored. Large hands trailed down your body, landing at the button of your pants. He unbuttoned them and pulled the zipper down before shuffling them down your legs. Lifting your hips you aided him in pushing them past your knees. Catching a glimpse of your panties, he groaned. Yet another lacy pair. His fingers snapped the waistband against you, making you squeak out.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He breathed against your neck. 

You responded with a moan as you felt his fingers trail over your panties. Through the fabric he could feel your leaking core. Another groan left him as he pressed against your wetness through your panties. You moaned at the friction, hips jutting up. 

“Look at you, so sensitive.” He murmured. 

“Jayce…” You whined. “Please touch me.” You needed more. 

“I suppose I can. Since you asked so nicely.” You could feel his smile pressed into your skin. 

His hands pushed down your panties, exposing your wet pussy to the cooler air. Gasping, you writhed in Jayce’s arms. Desperate for some kind of friction. 

He granted you that necessary friction. Large fingers dipping between your folds, making both of you groan. His thumb expertly circled your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. 

“F-fuck, Jayce…” You stuttered out. 

One of your hands curled around his shoulder behind you as you attempted to keep yourself grounded amidst the pleasure he was giving you. Another loud moan echoed in the room as you felt a thick finger plunge into you. It pulled in and out of you, making you extremely aware of how wet you were.

“So pretty…” Jayce drawled out before kissing a sensitive spot behind your ear. 

The tender action made you cry out in bliss. He responded with a groan as he watched his finger move inside you. Another digit joined in, providing a delicious stretch. Earning Jayce another loud moan. 

His fingers curled to hit that sweet spot inside you just right. Every sound and movement you made, Jayce catalogued in his mind. Memorizing all the ways he could make you fall apart in his arms. 

You knew that Jayce wasn’t a stranger to sex, but you didn’t realize that he had much more awareness for his partners. It was clear that he was using this time to learn more about you. With every drag of his fingers, he noted how you reacted. The thought of him studying you made this experience seem even hotter than before. 

It was risky, letting him finger you in the office. But it was late enough that hopefully, no one would be walking by the door. With how good Jayce was making you feel, you didn’t even think to quiet down. Though, Jayce wouldn’t want you to anyways. Every sound that escaped you made the man desperate for more. He needed to hear you come undone on his fingers. 

Wet squelching grew louder, the sound making your cheeks burn. Your eyes were tightly closed, afraid to look at Jayce. It was hot, but god, also somewhat embarrassing. Jayce didn’t mind at all though, and he didn’t appreciate your lack of eye contact with him. 

With his free hand, he gripped your jaw and tilted your head to look at him. Your eyes were still closed shut as your mouth hung open with a stream of moans. 

“Look at me.” He said lowly.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. Gasping at the intense stare that bore into you. His pupils were blown wide as his eyes read your face. 

“I wanna watch you lose control.” He breathed out, his words making you shiver. 

Sticky and wet, your thighs were beginning to shake. Jayce’s pace slightly sped up. The calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your walls, making you cry out. His thumb found your clit and began circling it. It had begun, your undoing. A taut knot beginning to grow inside your core. A desperate heat curling up, begging to become an inferno. 

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Jayce asked, continuing his unrelenting movements. “I can feel you tightening against me.”

With the strength you could muster, you nodded. Mouth agape as you continually moaned with each thrust he pushed into you. So close…

Your lower half began to meet his thrusts, making Jayce chuckle with amusement. The sound making you shake. 

“Needy, aren’t you?” He teased, hot breath against your ear.

His teeth grazed against your neck before he sucked at your sweet spot. Sure to leave a mark on you. Another reminder of him. 

“J-jayce…” Your head was thrown back against his shoulder, looking up at him. 

“Cum for me.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice. Pleasure forcing your body to convulse around his fingers as you finally reached your peak. The release made you cry out once more. Your pussy continued to grind against the man’s hand.  Leaving a sopping mess along his fingers as sparks of pleasure shot through you. He slowly pumped into you, following you down from your high. His smirk pressed against your neck as he took in your boneless state. 

When your hips stopped moving, Jayce pulled out his fingers. Groaning as he watched the trail of your wetness snap off with his fingers. He brought them to his lips and sucked on them. Closing his eyes in bliss, he moaned around the digits. The sight making you moan as well.

“Fuck, you taste good. Can’t wait to really get a taste.” He grabbed your chin and pulled you up to meet his lips. 

With the swipe of his tongue you could taste yourself on his mouth. Your body shivered. 

He pulled away with a satisfied hum. A soft smile was on his face as he looked over you. It was clear that he had wrecked you with just his fingers. Your hair stuck to your forehead, cheeks a ruddy color, and you were still breathing hard. A sight that Jayce would continue to think about over and over. He needed to make you feel the same again. 

Being the gentleman he was, Jayce helped you pull your jeans back on. Afterwards, he lifted you up. Your legs felt like jello, making you stumble into the man. 

“That good, huh?” He teased, but it was true. It was so good, too good.

“Mhmm.” You mumbled into his chest. 

“Glad I could be of service.”  He helped you stand up, then kissed you softly. “There is still plenty more to come though.” He winked.

Right, this was just orgasm number one. There were still eleven more to go. 

[manlikeazi]

I just love your writing.Period.

So……hear me out……Imagine if Niko was doing another one of his videos of bothering people and you happen to be there but you actually think that he’s very funny and you’re not bothered at all, actually you even do jokes about him to.

LOVE YOUR WORK💗💗💗

Mic Checks and Heart Skips - Niko Omilana

Summary: You, Niko, and a flirty/awkward banter. AKA the beginning of the most unserious love story ever told.

Pairing: Niko x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Masterlist

You didn't expect anything out of the ordinary today. Just a casual walk through central London, iced coffee in hand, headphones in, minding your business until you notice the sudden shift in the air.

Laughter, chaos and a camera pointed in your general direction.

You squinted.

No way 

Tall, lanky, and loud. Wearing sunglasses like he's dodging the feds and holding a mic like it's the most powerful weapon on Earth.

Yep, it's him.

Niko Omilana

He's currently mid-rant, standing in the middle of the street with his cameraman filming as he interrogates some poor tourist about their loyalty to the NDL. The tourist looks confused. You look amused. You don't stop walking, but as you pass, you catch Niko's eye.

He freezes.

Then points directly at you, dramatic as ever.

"YOU! Stranger! Suspiciously calm individual. Stop right there, I need answers. Immediate answers" Niko yelled embarrassingly, almost across the street.

"To what?" You said as you paused walking, remove your headphones slowly like you're in a western stand-off. 

"To why you're walking around like you haven't committed war crimes against the Niko Defence League" Niko said with all seriousness in his face.

"I'm sorry, the what?" You said as you blinked at him confused. 

"So you're admitting you're not a member, incredible. Do you know this is treason?" Niko said as he scoffed. 

"Treason's a strong word" You said as you took a sip in your drink. 

"But not as strong as that cologne you've got on. What? You trying to gaslight the pigeons?" You asked with a small smirk.

The cameraman wheezes. Niko blinks, caught off guard by the clapback. 

"Okay wow, you think you're funny yeah?" Niko asked.

"Funnier than you? Debatable but I didn't need to make a political campaign to get attention" You said as you flash a grin. 

"Okay, that's crazy. Cause that campaign changed lives" Niko said as he puts a hand to his chest. 

"For real? Whose? Yours?" You teased. 

"Touché, touché. She's good. Get her face, this is my new rival" Niko said as he looked away dramatically though a small smile forming in his lips. 

"Thanks, I accept the position" You said as you did a little mock bow. 

"Alright then, street interview. Serious question, how many chickens do you think it would take to kill an elephant?" Niko asked while he stands besides you, mic back up. 

"Are the chickens trained?" You asked with a squint. 

"You're asking the real questions" Niko said after he made a long awkward paused, surprised. 

"I need context. Are they just chickens or like... elite, Kung Fu Panda chickens?" You asked.

"I'm scared of you" Niko said as he actually laughed. Turning to the camera real quick.

"As you should be" You said with a smirk. 

"Now I have a question for you" You added.

"Oh?" Niko responded as he lifted a brow.

"If you're so tall, why are your jokes so short?" You asked, with a dramatic thinking face for threatics.

"WOAH" Niko said as he turned to the camera as if asking for back up. 

"The DISRESPECT, she's insane. I'm under attack" Niko said dramatically.

You snort and take another sip of your drink, pleased with yourself.

"I think I've found my match" Niko says to no one in particular, shaking his head. 

"Guys, pack it up. Video's over, I've been out-trolled" Niko said.

Then he looks at you again, a bit more curious this time. 

"You're not bothered by any of this, are you?" Niko asked.

"Not even slightly" You said with a smug look.

"I've been yelling at people all day and you're the only one who hasn't either run away or told me to shut up" Niko said while letting out a smile.

"What can I say? I enjoy a bit of chaos" You said with a grin. 

"You're actually cool, what's your name?" Niko said as he smiles but less performative this time, more genuine. 

"Y/N" You said.

He repeats it into the mic like it's some prophetic revelation. 

"You hear that, everyone? That's the name of my future nemesis-slash-best-friend-slash–possibly wife?" Niko said to the camera with a teasing grin.

"Already planning the wedding?" You said as you raised a brow. 

"Of course, it's gonna be in a Tesco aisle. Very intimate, the bring your own meal deal" Niko said.

You laugh, hard this time, and he looks proud of himself for pulling that reaction from you.

Then, as if remembering something, he holds out his phone. 

"Listen, normally I'd just walk away after annoying someone and call it a day but you might be the highlight of my day. You wanna drop your Insta or something?" Niko said, shooting his shot.

You eye the phone, then him.

"Hm" You said, pretending to consider. 

"What do I get in return?" You asked, amused and definitely interested.

"A lifetime of bad jokes and public embarrassment?" Niko said but more of an unsure answer.

"Tempting..." You said.

"And I'll let you interview me next time" Niko added.

"Deal" You said with a smile. 

You put your @ into his phone, and he watches carefully like he's just unlocked a cheat code.

"DON'T FALL IN LOVE WITH ME!" Niko yelled as you turned to leave.

"Bit late for that, innit?" You said as you made a glance back over your shoulder. 

The camera jerks to Niko's face as his jaw drops in slow motion. He points at the camera, speechless, grinning ear to ear.

"CUT THE CAMERAS GEORGE, I'M IN LOVE" Niko said, covering the camera with his hands while Georges laughed at him.

BONUS - Because I love you lots

You're scrolling through Instagram, minding your business, when a notification pops up.

@niko: Sent you a message.

Curious, you decided to open it.

And immediately burst out laughing.

He's sent a meme, it's not even a good one. It's one of those cursed low-resolution screenshots with a blurry minion and Comic Sans font that says,

"Are you French? Because Eiffel for you" Don't block me, I swear that's just the opener. I've got worse

Already regretting giving you my @ ngl

Nah come on, admit it, you smiled and that was at LEAST a 4.7/10

Then, before you can type another reply, he's already calling you. FaceTime, a bold move.

You pick up, and Niko's face pops up, lit with pure smugness.

"Look who it is!" Niko said, looking all pleased with himself. 

"Fell for the minion charm, didn't you?" Niko asked with a smug grin.

"Not even slightly but I'm impressed with your confidence" You said as you rolled your eyes. 

"That's all I've got going for me, honestly" Niko said as he grins. 

Suddenly, another voice cuts in from the background. George, lounging behind Niko on the sofa, clearly eavesdropping and chewing a biscuit.

"Bro, you slid in with a minion meme?" George said, trying not to judge with his tone but his face definitely did.

"Yeah, and guess what George? It worked, so watch your tone" Niko said as he spins the camera around. 

George stares at the screen, squints at you, then back at Niko. 

"Nah, I refuse to believe this is real. You actually used Eiffel for you? That's grounds for jail time" George said.

"It was strategic!" Niko said as he tries and fails to defend himself. 

"Strategically embarrassing, I'm telling the group chat" George said with a snort. 

You laughed and Niko swings the camera back to himself, looking betrayed.

"Okay, no. You're supposed to be on my side" Niko said looking at George.

"I would be, if your game wasn't from 2012" George said as he shrugs. 

"You know what" Niko says to you, straight-faced. 

"He's just mad he didn't think of it first" Niko said.

"Yeah, real gutted I didn't send a Minion" George mutters. 

"Absolute heartbreak" George added, mockingly.

"Honestly, I'm just impressed you committed. That's the real win" You said with a smile, shaking your head. 

"So you admit it. I won" Niko said as he perks up. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself, tesco boy" You said as you raised a brow. 

"TESCO BOY?! Yeah, you're finished. You've already lost" George said as he nearly chokes laughing in the background. 

"Alright, both of you are haters" Niko said after he huffs. 

"I'm muting this chat" Niko muttered.

You heard George cackling in the background as Niko dramatically ends the call but not before he sends another message.

Next time I see you, I'm bringing backup, I refuse to be bullied alone again Also, what's your stance on Tesco aisle weddings? Asking for a friend (me)

- end -

Hello lovelies!!! This is consistency for me at it's finest and I HOPE you understand the flow of the messages because I can't modify it the way I can in wattpad lmao.

How is everyone doing? I hope you lots are alright!! I'm really making the most of my school break vacation by doing all this so yeah

I hope y'all have an amazing day, absolute love and guidance.

As I said everytime, send in some request and ideas!!

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do one where Chris’s 14 year old daughter isn’t rlly ever hurt or emotional, she’s always been a tough kid but when they were doing a bind dead mute challenge with her, she grabs the knife from the wrong side a cuts her palm really bad, like she needs stitches and she tries not show pain but she just couldn’t it was too bad

“Not Supposed to Hurt”

—

Y/N wasn’t the crying type.

She’d been the “tough one” since she was six. No whining when she fell, no tears when she got hit in the face with a soccer ball, no complaints when life got a little too heavy. Chris would always say she had armor built into her skin.

So when they invited her to be in the Blind, Deaf, Mute Challenge—she didn’t hesitate.

“Don’t go easy on me,” she said as she slipped the blindfold on, a cocky smirk on her face.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Matt teased.

Nick laughed. “She’s gonna beat all of us, let’s be real.”

Chris just grinned, proud as hell. “That’s my girl.”

—

Things were chaotic in the best way—Nick trying to mime instructions, Matt screaming in the background, Chris watching Y/N try to make a sandwich with zero sensory input. She was doing good. Calm, focused. Even with the headphones and blindfold, she moved confidently.

Until she reached for the wrong drawer.

Chris noticed a second too late.

“Y/N—!”

But she had already grabbed it.

From the blade.

There was a wet sound, like paper tearing, and then silence—until she yanked the blindfold off and looked down.

Her palm was gushing blood.

Like, immediate puddle-on-the-counter level.

Chris’s heart stopped.

“BABY—HEY! Don’t look, don’t—Nick, TOWEL—Matt, CALL—”

Y/N’s chest heaved as she looked at her own hand, soaked in red. For a second, she was frozen. Then came a tiny, choked sound from her throat. Like a hiccup, but sadder. Raw.

“I-it’s fine,” she whispered, holding her breath like it would stop the pain. “It’s not that bad.”

Chris pressed the towel into her palm, wrapping it tightly, but her whole arm shook. “Y/N, baby, don’t say that—it’s bad, okay? It’s okay that it’s bad.”

She stared at him with wide eyes, lip trembling. “I don’t cry. I never—”

Then it hit.

The pain. The shock. The fear.

Her mouth opened and she let out a sob. A real, aching, painful cry that shook her whole body.

And she couldn’t stop.

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know it was the sharp one—I thought it was—I-I’m sorry—”

“Hey, no—none of that,” Chris said quickly, pulling her into his chest, still holding the towel tight. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

She sobbed harder. “It hurts so bad—Dad, I can’t—”

He kissed the top of her head, heart breaking. “I know, baby. I know. You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be right now. You don’t have to be strong, okay? Let it out.”

She curled into him, letting years of “tough girl” crumble all at once. It wasn’t just the cut. It was everything. The pressure. The expectation. The fear of showing weakness.

And Chris just held her tighter.

—

At the hospital

She was calmer now, hand stitched and bandaged, sitting beside Chris in the ER room.

“I cried like a baby,” she whispered.

Chris smiled softly. “No. You cried like a human. A hurt one. Which you are. And honestly? I’m kinda proud you let it out.”

She looked up at him, eyes still red. “I hate crying.”

“I know,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “But I’d rather have you crying in my arms than bleeding alone pretending you’re fine.”

She leaned against him and mumbled, “This better get me out of doing dishes for at least a week.”

Chris smirked. “Two weeks. Minimum.”

—

[lunajay33]

Are You Happy?

•🩵🪽•

Summary: You find out you’re pregnant but Happy never said anything about wanting kids so how will you tell him you’re carrying his child

Pairing: Happy Lowman x f!reader

•Masterlist•

The life of the MC was crazy, never a dull moment but that also brought a lot of danger to anyone associated with them, and me being the craziest members old lady made Happy even more protective of me and after what I have to tell him it’s gonna become 100x more

They crew had some troubles with the Mexicans and we had to go into lockdown which only made my nerves worse

I pull up to the clubhouse getting out with my over night bag, the sun was still high as I see other woman and kids walking into the club when I feel myself being picked up bridal style making me squeal in laughter

“Chibs what’re you doing?!” I smile as I wrap my arm around his shoulder

“My girl gets princess priority in this club” he smirks as he walks me through the doors, tigs and chins whistling as he sets me down on one of the bar stools, wrapping his arm around my waist

Being the only one to get this treatment from the “Tacoma killer” made me feel special, maybe I shouldn’t but I do, he’s the only man that’s ever made me feel loved and worshipped the ground I walk on in his own twisted ways

When I first met him I was helping his mother with her groceries as she was my neighbour and I hated to see her struggle so when I finished packing the bags away I turned seeing him, tall, strong and handsome but his eyes were observant making me feel like a predator was watching its prey until his mother came back into the kitchen smacking his arm and scolding him did I see him falter and apologize

From then on he’d show up more and more, making excuses to visit me I knew most of the time he was lying but I didn’t care, I liked to see him and everytime I heard that rumble of his motorcycle pull into the driveway I got excited and now three years later I’m his old lady and pregnant with his child

“So lassy, we haven’t seen ye in a while anything new?” A blush explodes on my face and I can’t help but look at him frozen, I was never good at lying and now they could all see it, happy leans forward to look at me better

“Oooooo she’s got a secret” tig says like a child making me scoff

“First I’m hearing of it” happy says his voice extra raspy

“Come with me” I take his hand and lead him back to our shared room no one else was allowed to use especially with a croweater

I close the door behind us and he sits on the bed, looking up at me with worried eyes something he’d never show to anyone else, I stand between his legs and his hands instinctively go to my hips

“You know I love you right?”

“You’re freaking me out girl, you better not be dying”

“No im fine but I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, I guess I should just rip off the bandaid……im pregnant” he was silent as his eyes blew wide and looked at my belly, his hand tracing over it

“You’re serious?”

“I know….i know this isn’t ideal with your life style and we never talked about it before, but I want this baby, I want it with you Happy” he wraps his arms around my hips and pulls me forward resting his head on my stomach so I run my hands down his shoulders knowing he wasn’t one for words when he rarely got emotional

“I know it’s a lot Hap, would it be easier for me to leave, give you some time” his head shoots up looking at me

“No you’re staying girl, never really thought of kids till the day I met you and knew I’d want everything only with you” my heart grew every word he spoke

“Really?” He nods before standing and pulling me into his chest

“Wanna tell the others? Might boost the moral” I say as I hold his cheeks secretly knowing he loves it

“That’s why you’re my old lady” he squeezed my ass and we head back out to the room crowded with people

“Everyone we have some news!” I yell as the room falls silent and they all look at us

“SHES PREGNANT!” Happy screams like a lunatic and the room roars with cheer, the guys surrounding us congratulating me and happy, Chibs giving me an extra long hug blessing me for having the strength to handle happy making me laugh

We settle at the bar I don’t drink of course but the guy use it as an excuse to party

“It’s gonna be a girl” happy days shocking up all

“I’d thought you want a boy”

“Nah don’t want him in this life plus she’d be as beautiful as her mom” the guys rarely saw this side of happy

“Look at you big softly for your lady” Bobby jokes and happy shoots him a look that could kill making everyone laugh

•

It’s been nine months and my baby girl is here and he was right it’s a girl, she had dark brown eyes like happy and brown hair, she was small in my arms and the cutest baby I’ve ever seen

“We made the cutest baby ever” I whimper as she wraps her tiny fingers around mine

“Agreed, let’s make another” he says as he sits on the bed beside me

“Hold your horses ol man, we’ve got time, for now let’s enjoy our little girl”

•

If you wanna be tagged in all my SOA stories lmk!!

[idkyetxoxo]

Harwin Strong - The Heart Wants What It Wants

Summary - She is caught in a tangled web of desire and secrecy, as her passion burns uncontrollably, the birth of a child brings a truth dangerously close to the surface. Between love, guilt, and the consequences of her actions, she wonders how long this fragile reality can last.

Pairing - Harwin Strong x Baratheon reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2651

Masterlist for Harwin • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

The bed's getting cold and you're not here, the future that we hold is so unclear but I'm not alive until you call and I'll bet the odds against it all. Save your advice, 'cause I won't hear you might be right, but I don't care. There's a million reasons why I should give you up.

Being given explicit permission to cheat on my husband by my husband was a concept that seemed almost laughable—something out of a tawdry fantasy. 

Yet, here I was, living out this impossible reality, caught in the grip of something far more intoxicating than I could have ever anticipated.

The air between us was electric, charged with a forbidden tension that had been simmering all evening. 

The moment our lips met—his warm and commanding, mine desperate and hungry—it felt as though every second of restraint shattered in that instant. 

I kissed him feverishly, losing myself in the heat of it, the outside world slipping away entirely.

"You look absolutely ravishing tonight," Harwin murmured against my lips, his voice a low, sensual rasp that sent a shiver of desire straight through me. 

His hands were already at work, undoing the delicate laces of my gown with a practised ease, each movement making my pulse quicken. In return, I tugged at his tunic, my fingers eager to strip him of the barrier between us. 

Desire surged through me, wild and unrelenting.

"I've been waiting all night for this," I breathed, the words coming out as a hushed confession, barely audible over the pounding of my heart. 

With a swift, almost predatory motion, he laid me back onto the bed, his body hovering over mine, his smirk maddening in its confidence.

"As have I," he replied, his lips curving into a teasing grin as his hands roamed downward, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. 

His knee nudged between my legs, parting them slowly, deliberately, and a deep ache began to bloom inside me, impatient, insistent.

"Don't make me wait any longer for what I know you're dying to give me," I whispered, my voice barely a breath, my fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

"As you wish," he murmured in return, his words dripping with a promise of sweet surrender, before he pressed his body into mine, filling the space between us in ways that made every nerve in my body come alive.

I gasped as the weight of his body settled over mine, every inch of him pushing me further into the depths of desire.

 The heat between us became almost unbearable, a thick, heavy tension that made it impossible to breathe, to think. 

My hands, still tangled in the dark curls of his hair, gripped him tighter, pulling him closer as if my very soul yearned to become one with him.

His lips were everywhere—trailing hot, breathless kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, and then up to my ear, whispering promises that sent shivers of delight through me. 

His touch was both firm and tender, a delicate balance that drove me wild with wanting.

 Every brush of his fingers, every gentle caress of his skin against mine, sent electric jolts through my body, igniting a fire that spread outward in waves.

I arched beneath him, my body responding to his every move, every whisper, every soft press of his lips. 

The world beyond us was a distant memory—there was only him, only this moment of raw, unrestrained passion.

His eyes met mine, dark and intense, and for a brief second, I saw the flicker of something more—something beyond the lust and the heat, something that made my heart race even faster.

 But before I could fully grasp it, he was lost in the rhythm of us, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

My body was on fire, the pleasure building inside me with an intensity I couldn't control. Every movement, every shift of his hips, seemed to drive me closer to the edge. 

I moaned softly, my hands tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the power of him as he moved with an unrelenting pace, as if he, too, were lost in the moment.

His name slipped from my lips, a breathless cry that seemed to echo in the quiet of the room. 

He groaned in response, his body tightening, his grip on me shifting, more possessive now, as though he could no longer contain the desire that had been building between us.

And then, with a final surge, the world around me shattered. 

My senses exploded in a wave of sensation that left me trembling, my body pulsing with release as everything inside me coiled tight and then unravelled in a dizzying, euphoric crescendo. 

But he wasn't done. His grip tightened around my waist, pulling me closer as his body began to shake with the intensity of his own release.

 "I want all of you," he groaned, his voice thick with passion. "Every part of you."

His thrusts became more erratic, more desperate, and then with one final, intense push, he was inside me completely, filling me, marking me with the culmination of his need. 

The feeling was overwhelming, the heat of him searing deep within me, and as he released, I felt a part of him stay with me, filling me completely in a way I'd never imagined.

His body collapsed against mine, and for a moment, there was nothing but the echo of our breaths, the shared intimacy of the moment. 

I held him close, my fingers still tangled in his hair, unwilling to let go. 

The warmth of his release still lingered deep inside me, and I knew, even before the reality fully sank in, that there would be consequences—consequences that neither of us could escape.

For a long time, we stayed like that, tangled together, breathless and sated. His forehead rested against mine, and for a fleeting moment, there was silence—no words, no demands, just the gentle rhythm of our hearts, still beating in sync.

But even in the aftermath of that blissful surrender, the world outside our bubble loomed, and I couldn't help but wonder how long this fragile reality would last. 

Would it all come crashing down, or had we truly created something irreversibly powerful? 

Only time would tell. But in that moment, as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close once more, I knew only one thing: I was lost to him, completely, utterly, and irrevocably.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A baby boy. A beautiful baby boy, with dark, curly hair, a soft crown that glistened in the candlelight. 

Curly hair that, even in my sleep-deprived haze, I could tell did not belong to my husband.

"He is gorgeous," Laenor said, his voice warm and gentle, the perfect picture of the devoted father. 

He cradled our son in his arms, his gaze soft as he admired the little boy who was now ours. 

His words should have been comforting, but they only reminded me of the truth I could no longer deny. A truth that had been growing inside me for months, nestled beneath my heart.

"Is he..." My voice faltered as I struggled to catch my breath, my body still aching from the trials of labour. I looked up at Laenor, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes for too long.

 I shifted my gaze downward, to my lap, where the weight of the truth seemed unbearable.

"Is he... alright?" I asked again, a quiet desperation creeping into my voice, hoping for reassurance, hoping against all odds that things would be fine. 

That nothing was wrong, that my secret would remain just that — a secret.

Laenor, ever the gentleman, smiled and nodded, his hand gently brushing my hair back. 

"This is our son, our beautiful, perfect son," he promised, his words soothing, though the heaviness of the situation pressed down on me like a weight I couldn't shake.

I nodded weakly, allowing him to help me sit up, the exhaustion still clinging to my limbs.

 The handmaidens rushed in, their eager hands working to make me presentable, to erase the signs of my labour so that I could face the world. A world that I was terrified to face. 

The world outside this room, the world where my secret could unravel at any moment.

"We should present him to my parents," Laenor suggested gently, though I could hear the hesitation in his voice. 

He knew the timing was less than ideal, knew how drained I felt, yet he also knew I wouldn't wait. I couldn't.

 The weight of what had transpired over the past few months—hidden, concealed, and now so painfully visible—was more than I could bear.

"I am terrified," I whispered, my voice breaking as Laenor reached for my arm, steadying me.

 His touch was kind, reassuring, but the fear in my chest remained. I felt his hand on my back, warm and strong, as we made our way down the corridor toward the chambers of his parents.

"I am by your side," Laenor insisted softly, his words a promise. His presence beside me was a comfort, but it did little to calm the storm brewing within me.

We arrived at the door, and he pushed it open, his hand never leaving mine. 

Inside, Corlys and Rhaenys stood, their eyes lighting up with joy as they saw their grandson. 

Their smiles were bright, radiant even, as Corlys reached forward to take the little bundle from Laenor's arms.

"A boy," I announced weakly, my lips curling into the faintest of smiles. The words felt hollow in my mouth. 

A boy. Our boy. But whose blood ran through his veins?

"A fine boy at that," Rhaenys remarked, her sharp eyes never leaving mine. There was a knowing look there, one that made my stomach tighten, though I couldn't pinpoint why. 

"The Baratheon bloodline favours him," she added, her gaze lingering just a little too long.

"It— it does?" I stammered, unsure of what to say, my heart pounding. I couldn't tell if she suspected, if she knew the truth. 

Could she see it in his eyes, in the way his hair curled so distinctly, as though it carried a different heritage? Or perhaps she was just being polite, as noble as always.

She gave me a small, almost knowing smile, but I couldn't read it. I didn't want to. I didn't want to know if she knew. If they both knew. 

The fear of discovery gnawed at me, every passing second feeling like an eternity.

The older couple fawned over the baby, their hands delicate as they cooed at him, their voices filled with pride. But all I could do was sit there, numb, my body still aching and my mind spinning. 

The pain in my stomach was still fresh, still raw. I shifted uneasily on the settee, trying to find comfort, though there was none to be had.

Corlys, ever the perceptive one, looked down at the scene before him, his eyes flicking between Laenor and me. His voice was low, as though he, too, felt the weight of the moment. 

"Perhaps we ought to let the new family get to know each other," he murmured, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Laenor moved with quiet care, lifting our son from the cradle of his arms with a tenderness that only a father could possess.

 He looped his arm through mine, a silent gesture of support, and guided me back toward my chambers. 

The corridors seemed to stretch on endlessly, as though the walls themselves could feel the weight of the secret we both carried.

When we arrived at my door, I could already see Harwin standing just inside, his broad frame slightly hunched, a small frown etched on his brow as his gaze swept over me.

 His eyes lingered on my weakened posture, noting the weariness in my steps and the way I clung to Laenor for balance. He didn't say a word, but the concern in his eyes was enough.

I allowed Laenor to gently pass me off to Harwin, who immediately took hold of me with his usual quiet strength. 

His hand rested at the small of my back, steadying me as he helped me to sit down on the edge of the bed. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, but I didn't meet it.

 Instead, I looked down, the emptiness inside me settling like a heavy stone.

"Perhaps Ser Harwin would like to meet the babe," I suggested, my voice soft and careful, as though I were walking on fragile ground.

 I dared to glance up at Laenor, who nodded in understanding, his eyes briefly flickering toward Harwin.

Without a word, Laenor handed our son to Harwin, and I couldn't help but notice the brief hesitation in his movements, the awe that seemed to overtake him the moment the child was placed in his arms. 

There was something in the way he held the little bundle — with such reverence, such tenderness — that made the room feel smaller, more intimate as if it were just the three of us and no one else in the world.

"A beautiful babe," Harwin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes soft as he looked down at our son. 

His smile was slow and genuine, the kind of smile that could melt even the hardest of hearts. 

But then, his gaze shifted to me, and I saw something else in his eyes — a mixture of pride, longing, and perhaps something even deeper, something unspoken that lingered between us.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking away. The silence between us stretched out, heavy with the weight of what was unacknowledged. 

Laenor, ever the one to ease tension, stepped forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head, his lips warm and reassuring against my hair.

"Rest," he said softly, his voice filled with affection. "I will return later." He didn't linger long, not wanting to draw attention to himself any more than necessary. 

With a final nod to Harwin, he took his leave, the sound of his footsteps fading into the hallway.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the air seemed to thicken.

 Harwin didn't move from the edge of the bed, still cradling our son as though he were holding the most delicate thing in the world. 

He gazed down at the child, his expression a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

For a long while, there was only the soft sound of our son's gentle breathing and the quiet rustling of the blankets as I tried to gather the fragments of my thoughts. 

Harwin's presence beside me was a comfort, yet it also made my heart ache in ways I couldn't quite understand.

Finally, Harwin's gaze flicked back to me, his eyes meeting mine. The silence between us was thick with everything we couldn't say — the things we both knew, the things we both feared.

 But instead of speaking, he only smiled down at our son again, his fingers brushing lightly against the baby's tiny, perfect face.

"You've made something beautiful," he whispered, and I could hear the raw emotion in his voice. 

There was no accusation in his words, only wonder. He looked at the child as though he were a miracle, as though he could see both of us in him, and yet neither of us at all. 

The truth of the situation hung heavy between us, but in this moment, it felt as though the world outside this room had ceased to exist.

I exhaled slowly, my body still tired, my heart still heavy with the weight of the secrets I carried. 

But for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that, maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. That this fragile, delicate life between us — our son — could somehow make everything bearable.

But the heart wants what it wants, the heart wants what it wants.

A/n - part 2 for 'In the Name of Love' but can be read as a standalone!

[ghoulsbeard]

She does not carry herself as she did at thirty, or eighteen; she is Warden-Commander of the Ferelden Grey, and other things besides— Shining Lady, ally of the Bright Hand. Dream-walker. Spirit-friend. But her uncanny hearing is the same as it ever was. She hardly turns from the window. “Hello, dearest,” she says, and smiles at Morrigan over her shoulder.

Clad in steel and wool, her black hair braided away from her face; the face, too, is the same as it has always been— though the years have altered her, she is still Liathari. Morrigan goes and takes her hand, as she would not have done even ten years ago. “I am due in the north.”

“You would not stay to fight?” She’s smiling. “Think of what Alistair would say. Just—“

“Like old times.”

She laughs. “But I know you. Will you fly?”

“I must, if I hope to make Arlathan in time.” Morrigan is losing her friends, one by one. She does not like to lose the last of them, here at the end of everything. “I am needed there, as you will be needed. The South must hold.”

Liathari’s knowing smile. “We will hold.”

In the Fifth Blight they had not known, twenty years later, there would rise a Blight of Blights, a Sixth that birthed itself without a dragon. But Liathari had not faltered when she slashed out the heart of Urthemiel. She will not falter now.

“I trust Kieran will be safe,” Liathari says.

“As safe as he can be anywhere.”

“I may join him soon.”

Now Morrigan cannot hide her smile; Liathari laughs softly under her breath. The dark, quiet maproom is bright as summer for a moment. “You have begun to issue me riddles?”

“An old wound must be sealed. I think our Kieran is the one to seal it. But if he should call on me…” she shrugs. Her eyes gleam.

Morrigan bends down and kisses her forehead, and Liathari goes on tiptoe to catch her there and kiss each of her cheeks, solemn as a rite.

“Be careful.”

Liathari is amused. “I am a warden, dearest, and a Blight is coming. I tell you my Vigil has been lying in wait for a year. The First Warden could not rid himself of me for all his trying. Now the South will be glad of it. These are my lands, not his; not the Blight’s. We will hold.”

“Good, that is good.” She tries to bear up under the fathoms of love in Liathari’s gaze. Perhaps two decades are long enough to understand what has held her since the first, to name it, to kiss its scowling, lonely face, to touch its fires. “Walk with me, of a night; if you can.”

“I will tell you every piece of news, every rumor,” Liathari agrees. Morrigan rubs a thumb along her warm brown cheek: studies the lacy web of new wrinkles at Liathari’s eyes, her brow, her mouth; a new mask of exhaustion. Along that very cheek, old pockmark scars from her youth, all faded now with time.

“Just so that I might see you,” Morrigan says, hating the tremor in her voice. “Just to hear you speak.”

Liathari’s face trembles beneath her hand. She pulls Morrigan into her arms and Morrigan goes gratefully, imagining a spell that would cleave two into one, a spell to wrap them up in a great thick pair of wings sleek and strong and safe, a spell to hide them from the eyes of Thedas.

That fate could be bribed for mercy. That death could be persuaded.

[warren-keplers-funk-band]

when i tell you i'm arospec what i really mean is that i'm never going to love any real person as much as i do dean winchester

[quartzitess]

Repost.

Lots of text and ramble in tags.

(Sadly tags are not enough to express how I feel on this. So I'll try and maybe add more in a reblog tomorrow.)

[cosmogyros]

.

[odorefal]

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ how to fake date with fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna .ᐣ very much limited experience.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who agreed with his teammates – get a girlfriend before the season’s over. he just didn’t expect to want more than just the win.

he just needs to dodge some girl who’s been aggressively flirting with him, and you need an excuse to avoid a creepy dude who won’t stop texting you.

“we’ll fake date," sukuna proposes with that cocky smirk. “it’s not like we’ll catch feelings or anything.”

“are you sure? i don’t want that creep to bother me for the 56th time this week.”

“trust me, sunshine.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would take the acting slow but convincingly. he would start with holding your hands publicly while telling his dry jokes to you so all the people would believe him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would brushing his thumb over your hand. he’d play it cool — but the way his hand tightened in yours would give him away.

“it’s all for the show,” he would say.

but the way your fingers intertwine with his says otherwise.

“does it really have to be like this?”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would would wrap one of your hair ties or bracelets around his wrist during every game, claiming it’s his ‘lucky charm.’ if you ever ask about it, he’ll say, “worked last time, didn’t it?”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who constantly reminds himself that you’re just friends — even when his heart races every time you smile at him.

err . . . you’re just a good friend to him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would slowly realize how pretty and captivating you are. from the way your eyes stare at his when you ramble about your day to him to the way your lips seem to soft while you speak, he just wants to feel how soft it is.

when you mentioned liking someone else, he would sit beside you, fists curling at his sides. his face would stay blank, but his voice would darken. “he better not disappoint you.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who think you deserve better than that trashy guy you mentioned. and he’s the best.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would sneak you into his team’s closed practice.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who always reserves the spot next to him — bus rides, team meals, wherever. if anyone tries to sit down, they’ll be greeted with a warning glare and clipped, “taken.”

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would raise an eyebrow when you suggest to have a matching phone charms with him – just for fun. but he’II just shrug it off and let you pick which one you like.

when you actually really get him a matching phone charm, and even though it’s small and kind of cutesy, he’d attach it to his phone without hesitation.

front and center in the team’s photo, fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna’s fake girlfriend’s bracelet is right there on his wrist, and his matching phone charm would peeks out of his pocket proudly. if you say anything, he’ll just chuckle.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would take you out on a date to keep up on the act. but the way his thumb brushes your knuckles? that doesn’t feel fake. the way he’II hold your hand with him and place it in his pocket? doesn’t sound too fake either.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would using you as an excuse.

“can’t go out tonight — my girlfriend doesn’t allow me.”

oh, you both know that’s a massive lie.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would carry your bag since it seems to heavy for you. (even when it’s not, for certain times.)

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would feel if he will loses a game or feels like he underperformed, he’ll drag you to the gym late at evening or night, you call it.

sweat drips down his forehead as he sinks another shot. “49,” you call out. sukuna’s breathing is ragged, but he looks at you sitting there, waiting — and that’s all he needs to finish strong.

after the 50th shot, sukuna collapses on the floor, chest heaving. you walk over and drop down next to him, brushing damp hair from his forehead. he doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds yours.

gasps and shouts would fill the gym when the members saw you wearing sukuna’s jersey. “since when?” someone demands. fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna kisses your temple. “since they’re mine.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who never shows it, but he does get nervous before big games.

he won’t say it outright, but you’ll catch him squeezing your hand a little tighter or resting his forehead against yours.

you later then would give your hair tie to him, telling that it’II be a silly “good luck” charm for him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who would open his wallet before his game begin, revealing a polaroid of you wearing his jersey number under the sunlight. he suddenly needs to be remember who he’s playing for.

he would spot you the second he steps onto the court. his eyes would narrow slightly, that nervous, yet cocky smirk tugging at his lips when you catch his gaze.

if he makes a shot, he’d turn toward you, wiping sweat from his brow and flashing you a knowing grin — like you’re the only one he’s playing for.

when his team scores, he would glance at you in the stands, lifting his chin as if to say, did you see that, sunshine?

if you cheer for him, his smirk would deepen, and you’d catch the subtle way he straightens up — fueled by the fact that you’re watching. if you smile or wave at him, he’d bite back a grin before turning back toward the game.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would exclaimed energizedly as his team scores.

sukuna would walk straight toward you, ignoring his teammates’ cheers, would grab your wrist and pull you close, sweat-slick and breathless. “i told you, you’re my good luck charm," he’d murmur before brushing his thumb across your jaw.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who doesn’t care how sweaty he is — he will hug you immediately after his games.

“miss me?” he’ll question, pressing a kiss to your temple while you complain about how gross he is. “you’re smelling like rotten eggs with outdated pickles.”

you give him a playful judgemental look.

he just laughs warming-ly – except his teammates eyeing him up and down for noticing how soft he has been with you.