#ooc a bit?? i think???

[crimsonspring]

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, once most loathed creature of Tarus City, looks and sounds almost unrecognisable as he stares down at his sniffling beloved, with crimson eyes that twinkle with specks of admiration, yearning and concern. His strong arms, so used to battles and defending himself from acts of violence, now cradling his treasured lover ever so kindly and tenderly. His voice, often rough and speaking out of pain and anger, hardly louder than a decibel and soft enough to lull an infant to sleep when he speaks to her.

His calloused fingers comb through her hair, and he reminds himself to ask her another time if he could braid her hair, just like when they were in the Grasslands. But not right now, not when his other hand is occupied with rubbing the small of her back in soothing circles. His actions has practically turned her body into putty, melting it deeper against the mould of his body as she lays atop him, face buried into cotton of his shirt. She looks so vulnerable at this very moment, a little different from the fearless hunter everyone is accustomed to seeing and knowing. He feels the atoms of anger (on her behalf) and natural protectiveness form in his chest as he tries to think of what possibly could have upset his lover tonight. This damned world is undeserving of her, he thinks, so he tries his best to fill in the cracks the world has left her with.

"Everything has been so tough," her tiny voice answers. In the midst of the ever-changing, Sylus seems to be the only constant she has. It feels like as everything is against her, and he is the only one for her. "I'm so scared," her voice barely audible, yet Sylus doesn't miss the crack at the end of her sentence. Instinctively, his palm stops its ministrations of the gentle circles on her back. His knuckles now bending ever so slightly to clutch onto her back more protectively.

"What can I do to make you feel better, sweetie?" His voice is low, the vibrations grumbling from his chest against her own. Almost desperate to make her feel better, he starts peppering kisses into her hair. It's a win-win, Sylus thinks. While she finds some comfort in his affection, he gets to indulge in the faint smell of her strawberry shampoo and the way she melts further into his body. It causes his hold to tighten around her. "What can I do to make you feel... less afraid? Safer, if you will," he asks, noting her admission of fear.

She pauses, as if to think, then moves to rest her chin on his chest as she stares at him for moment. They simply gaze into each other's eyes, a silent language both of them are fluent in. Sylus doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but could it be that her eyes are mirroring his; the way it screams of pure and true love. Sylus knows that without a doubt that he'd love her even if it was never reciprocated, so when the familiar gaze is reflected in her eyes, a breath gets stuck in his throat. He clears his throat, fingers brushing away a lock of her hair, "What is it, beloved?"

She stays silent for a moment more, and Sylus bears in mind the way he grows a little nervous under her loving yet intense gaze, though he tries to mask it with a raised brow. "Well?" Her hand finds his own that had tucked her hair away, bringing it to her cheek. Like clockwork, Sylus moulds his palm against her soft cheek, his thumb grazing the smooth skin.

"I think I only feel safe with you."

It knocks the wind out of him. Sylus is self-aware of his reputation- once, he was the creature so feared by humans that it ignighted much self loathing. And even now, people fear him as the infamous figure that breathed danger in the N109 Zone. Sure, it is for different reasons now, but Sylus has always felt to be synonymous with Monster.

"With me?" he repeats, a crease forming between his brows as his heart begins to pound against his chest. She simply nods and confirms, "Yes." One word to cause a visceral reaction in his heart.

She doesn't say anything more and doesn't elaborate, and Sylus is far too taken aback to push it further either. Thinks he needs a moment to himself to take in this revelation. A monster like me... that is what makes her feel safe? He sighs, shakes his head as if to deem herself almost foolish for feeling as such. there could be trillions of creatures in the entire universe, and she would be the sole one who'd find safety with him.

And if Sylus hadn't already made it his mission to keep her in safety, he makes a silent oath with himself at the moment; he'll protect her until his dying breath. This woman shall never have to worry for as long as she decides that he lives.

He pulls her in impossibly tighter, "That's the first time someone said those words to me." He echoes words he has said before (albeit she doesn't and won't remember a thing) and he reminisces the memory for a bit. The same way she sees the beauty in him, the similar softness she so graciously graces him with - such a stark contrast from what others are to him. It reaffirms to him though, that she is his one true soulmate, across all universes and through time. He'd burn the world for her take a claymore to his chest, if ever need be. In the previous and present lives, she would always be kind to him and he would always be hers.

She hums, then nuzzles her nose against the crook of his neck where she presses the petals of her lips against his warm skin. "Well, everyone else doesn't know you like I do." she mumbles, and sylus chuckles.

The whole world can cower in fear and misjudge him, for all he cares. He is simply Sylus in her eyes, "I don't want anyone else to know me like you do."

[ghostbredtt]

honestly love her sm. I just suck at drawing makeup...

[leahaart]

Soon after his escape, Edwin starts to learn about the things he’s missed.

[myuminji]

Doodles of loser behaviour (he gets kisses)

Another loser behaviour (he gets kisses, again)

they bring Roberto a headache on a daily basis

[wasyago]

so, would you?

nothing important under the cut, you don't need to look haha

[ash-and-starlight]

modern au and esen’s honkers are haunting the instagram feed

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 5

Summary - Two and a half moons after (Y/N)'s arrival in Kingslanding he must grapple with his new title as a dragonlord, wedding festivites, his grandsire's sudden illness, and his relationship with his father. The prince tries to balance all of this as the royal wedding looms over him.

Warnings - minor injuries, general HOTD warnings, drinking, canon character death, consummation scene (its minor and a fade to black)

I have decided to mold the lore to my own desires because there is almost next to nothing on House Royce during this time period. Also was going to break this into two parts because its so long but wanted all the wedding festvites to take place during one chapter.

(Y/N) winced as the maester prodded at his nose, the maester made humming noises as he examined the prince’s injuries. He applied a few plaster’s to (Y/N)’s nose, before wrapping it in soaked wool. 

“His nose shall heal fine, my prince.” 

Daemon nodded, “Thank you, you may go.” 

The maester bowed to the two princes, gathering his supplies and leaving (Y/N) alone with his father. Daemon watched as the man left the room, and waited until the doors were shut before turning on his son. He crossed his arms leaning back against a chair, and (Y/N) braced himself for a lecture. 

“How are you feeling?” 

(Y/N) blinked, “What?” 

Daemon pushed himself off the chair, making his way over toward (Y/N). He slowly reache

d his hand out, gently tracing the scratches and bruises on (Y/N)’s face, and (Y/N) was too shocked at his father’s actions to react. “Are you in pain?” 

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, looking up at his father. “I’ve had worse.” 

Daemon frowned, and (Y/N) wondered how much his mother had told him of his childhood mishaps. “What were you doing so far off Rosby Road?” 

(Y/N) flushed, “I- uh, snuck out.” 

“You snuck out?” His father’s face lit up, and he took a step back laughing and shaking his head. “How did your uncle react?” 

“Well he doubled my guard for one.” (Y/N) said, remembering his Uncle’s fury when (Y/N) showed up the next morning, face covered in blood and dirt. He had some choice words for the young heir, and (Y/N) was confident Daemon had heard his brother’s opinion on the matter as soon as he stepped foot into the keep. “But he was more interested in the dragon than my misbehavior.” 

“Ah,” Daemon smirked. “Yes, it must have been quite a shock.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes at his father, “I know you did something.” 

“What did I do, (Y/N)?” Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow at his son. “I did not drag Vermithor to you, or you to him for that matter. Vermithor made his choice.” 

“And it’s just a coincidence that as soon as you leave for Dragonstone, Vermithor leaves and seeks me out randomly.” 

“Perhaps it was fate.” Daemon shrugged. 

“You don’t expect me to believe that.” 

Daemon approached (Y/N), placed his hands on his shoulders. “It does not matter what you believe, all that matters are the facts. And the facts are that you have claimed Vermithor, you should be proud.” 

“I did not wish to claim a dragon, I never have.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s face hardened. 

“You are my son.” Daemon said, and (Y/N) hissed as his grip on his shoulder tightened. “You are a dragon, you cannot escape that.” 

His father’s face softened at (Y/N)’s expression. He released the boy, and seemed to hesitate before smoothing his hair back out of his face, “You should rest, you have had quite the number of shocks these past few days.” 

(Y/N) watched as father turned on his heel, and exited the chambers gently shutting the doors behind him.

“Lykirī.” (Y/N) smiled, as Vermithor pushed his snout into his chest. He pet the dragon with a gloved hand, laughing as the dragon continued to push him. “You must relax if you wish to fly.” 

(Y/N) had spent almost a week avoiding Vermithor after the dragon chased him down in the woods. Hoping that if he ignored him long enough the dragon would take the hint and leave, but eventually the Dragonkeepers sought him out, telling him that Vermithor had been untamable since he’d arrived in the Dragonpit. So (Y/N) resigned himself to the life of a dragonrider. He’d spent every day since then with the dragon, slowly but surely adjusting to his presence, and Vermithor had calmed drastically with (Y/N)’s visits. 

(Y/N) had taken to flying easily, much to his father’s delight and, as much as he hid it, his own. Although he had felt sick at the idea of claiming a dragon at first, he had come to find pride in the quick developments in his relationship with Vermithor. 

Rhaenyra too found delight in her betrothed’s new life. 

Anytime (Y/N) was free Rhaenyra was dragging him to the dragonpit, insisting Vermithor and Syrax go flying together. Viserys, at first happy to have another dragon in the family, soon grew inpatient with the two teens. Irritated at their constant absence from court, but (Y/N) paid him little mind. (Y/N) had no real place in his court, and he had not yet raised Rhaenyra, his heir, from the role of cupbearer. 

(Y/N) saddled Vermithor, leaning down to whisper to the dragon, “Sōvēs” 

The wind was cool against his face, blowing the strands of hair that had escaped his bun around in his face. (Y/N) had been wishing for clean and open air since he’d arrived in Kingslanding, this just isn’t how he expected to find it. Vermithor rumbled under him, and he laughed, leaning down so that he could rub the dragon’s neck. 

“I know,” (Y/N) spoke, almost shouting to be heard against the wind. “I am sorry I was late.” 

He’d been stuck in court all day, listening to his father and uncle bicker over details of the upcoming royal wedding. His uncle, ever the peacekeeper, had wanted Rhaenyra and (Y/N) to be married in the faith of the seven, as he was to Aemma and later Alicent, his father had other ideas however. 

“I do not worship the New Gods, uncle.” (Y/N) pointed out. 

“It is the tradition of the royal family.” The Grand Maester spoke up, as the other lords of the chamber had gone silent as soon as the tensions started to rise, seemingly fearful of angering any member of the royal family. Not that (Y/N) could blame them, he’d heard stories of his father’s infamous fits of anger. 

“(Y/N) follows the Old Gods like his mother,” His father looked pained to speak the words, but (Y/N) gave him an appreciative nod all the same. “And I have not known Rhaenyra to spend her days in the sept. We are Targaryens, they should marry in the tradition of Old Valyria.” 

“The faith-” 

“Fuck the faith.” Daemon spat. “I will not ask my son to forsake his gods so that some fat septon is comfortable, and we cannot bring a weirwood here so this is the only equitable compromise I see.” 

His uncle and the members of his council had grumbled at the idea, but eventually they conceded knowing this was an argument they could not win without insulting someone. His uncle dismissed them all, brows pinched in frustration. (Y/N) had caught his father’s arm on the way out, stopping him from walking away. 

“Thank you.” He did not meet his father’s eyes. “I know faith is not important to you, but it is to me so- just- thank you.” 

His father gently cupped his cheek, bringing (Y/N)’s eyes up to meet his. His father smiled at him, “You do not have to thank me. It is no secret that I hold no love for your mother’s house, but you do, and you are my blood. I will always defend you.” 

His father’s words still hung over his head by the time (Y/N) and Vermithor had returned to the Dragonpit. 

Rhaenyra was waiting for him as he dismounted, accompanied by a slew of Kingsguard and a royal carriage. The Kingsguard watched Vermithor warily as he grumbled, huffing as though he could sense (Y/N)’s apprehension at the sight laid out before him. 

 “Lykirī.” (Y/N) whispered, urging the bronze beast to return to the Dragonpit. Vermithor huffed one last time at the men, causing (Y/N) to chuckle, before returning. (Y/N) walked over to Rhaenyra, untying his hair and letting it tumble down to his shoulders. “That is quite the party, Nyra.” 

She sighed, “Our presence is required at the keep. We must be readied to greet the lords arriving at the court.” 

A Kingsguard opened the door of the carriage, and (Y/N) offered his hand for Rhaenyra to take. She took his hand, using it as leverage to step into the carriage and (Y/N) followed suit, taking the seat across from her. 

“What troubles you?” 

Rhaenyra blinked at (Y/N), “I am not troubled.” 

“Rhaenyra,” (Y/N) said, smiling slightly, “I can tell something is troubling you. Is it tonight?” 

“No,” She shook her head, leaning forward and placing her hand on (Y/N)’s knee. “No, it’s not tonight, it is this morning. My father is still blind to the schemes of some of those present in his court, they seek to undermine our family in favor of the Hightower children.” 

“Your father will not claim Aegon over you. You are his heir, you will be Queen and no scheming lord can change that.” 

Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing his knee slightly before releasing him and sitting back. (Y/N) turned to look out of the carriage, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. He heard Rhaenyra chuckle softly, before the exhaustion of the day overtook him and he slipped away to sleep.

“You seem nervous.” (Y/N) turned, coming face to face with his cousin. He gave his best attempt at a smile, he fiddled with the collar of his shirt, and Gerold stepped forward. He adjusted the leather jerkin, allowing (Y/N) to breathe easier. “It is odd to see you in such formal attire.” 

(Y/N) laughed, “At least they don’t have dragons on them.” 

“No? I have heard a rumor that you’ve become quite the dragonlord in your absence.” 

(Y/N) reddened, ducking his head slightly, “It was an accident.” 

His cousin laughed, patting him on the shoulder, “There is no need to be nervous, cousin.” 

His cousin smiled at him one last time before joining his other cousin in the precession line. (Y/N) frowned at the sight of Gunthor, he’d been informed when his family and their court had arrived that his grandsire had fallen ill not long after (Y/N) departed, and in his heirs absence his cousin Gunthor, second in line, had taken his place as regent. His grandsire had been too ill to make the journey to Kingslanding, sending (Y/N) his well wishes and Gunthor in his place. 

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to catch his father smiling, he squeezed his shoulder. “The tailors did well, you look like a prince.” 

“I am a prince.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s smile widened. 

“Yes, you are. Remember that, as there are those that would hope you forget.” His father nodded in the direction of Gunthor, and (Y/N)’s expression soured. 

“I do not trust him, I cannot say why but-” (Y/N) frowned, staring at his cousin’s interactions with the Valemen around him. “He did not write to me to tell me of my grandsire’s illness. I am the heir, I should be regent, not him, and yet in my absence he swooped in.” 

His father nodded, “Good. You must recognize the snakes before they strike.” 

His father stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Valemen. “I am aware that we do not have the best relationship-” 

(Y/N) snorted, and Daemon laughed rolling his eyes. “Yes I know, but you are my son, my blood. And I would like to be not just your sire, but your father as well. I was not there in your youth, let me be there now.” 

(Y/N) frowned, hesitating. He swallowed before finally speaking, “May we speak of this after the feast?” 

“Of course,” His father lightly touched his cheek, “Come we should join the others.” 

He and his father took their places at the front of the party, Gunthor to (Y/N)’s left and Daemon to his right. (Y/N) took a deep breath as the doors opened, keeping his gaze on the two banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Royce hung in the back of the Great Hall as his family entered. 

“Ser Gunthor of House Royce. Acting Lord of Runestone, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. And Prince Daemon Targaryen. And his son and heir to Runestone Prince (Y/N) Targaryen the future King Consort.” 

The guests of the hall stood, clapping as they walked down to the high table. The amount of eyes on him made (Y/N) uneasy, but he kept his head high, posture exuding the confidence expected of one of his station. (Y/N) made eye contact with Rhaenyra at the end of the hall who offered him a comforting smile, he nodded to her. 

They paused at the beginning of the steps, bowing to the King, before Rhaenyra stepped around the table making her way toward the crowd. (Y/N) stepped forward, meeting her halfway, he took her hand as his father had instructed him when going over the etiquette required of him at the feast. 

“You must act every bit the king you will one day be, no matter how unused to these events you may be.” His father had told him. (Y/N) scoffed at the advice, he was raised to be the Lord of Runestone, he knew how to act at a feast. 

As (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Rhaenyra’s hand, and claps echoed around the hall, he cursed himself for not taking his father’s advice seriously. He had never known a feast quite like this, hosting the most important lords of the whole of Westeros. Lords he’d never met before like the Lannisters, Hightowers, and Velaryons. He took his place by Rhaenyra’s side at the table, his father and cousin taking the seats by his left. 

He let out a breath as he sat down, scanning the crowd as his uncle started to speak. Rhaenyra grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing it in reassurance, it was only then that he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. 

"Be welcome,” His uncle smiled out at the crowd, “As we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor one of Westeros' oldest houses, and a fierce ally to the crown, House Royce. Just as House Targaryen reaches back to the blood of Old Valyria, House Royce reaches back to the blood of the first men. With House Targaryen and H-"

Viserys paused, and everyone averted their gaze to where his lingered. (Y/N) tensed once more as Queen Alicent Hightower made her entrance into the hall. The color of her dress a clear statement to anyone who knew any of the histories. Reluctantly (Y/N) made his way to his feet with the rest of the guests, he shot an amused glance to his side where his father still sat, eyes narrowed at the young queen. 

Alicent addressed Rhaenyra, “Congratulations, step-daughter. What a blessing this is for you.” 

Rhaenyra gave no indication of thanks, and Alicent kissed Viserys on the cheek before taking her seat beside him. 

He’d not yet had any real interactions with the young queen, only knowing things told to him by Rhaenyra and Daemon. He had taken them with a grain of salt, wanting to make his own judgment of the girl, but with the blatant display she’d just shown to the lord’s of Westeros, (Y/N) decided that maybe Rhaenyra and Daemon had been right in their worries. Perhaps the Hightowers did have their own intentions with the crown. 

“Please be seated.” 

(Y/N) traced the rim of his empty goblet as his uncle stood silently, only picking his eyes up from the table when he started to speak. 

"With House Targaryen and House Royce united, once again, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dawn and Dragons in Westeros.” Viserys spoke, and the hall erupted into applause.

“And after tonight’s small affair,” Laughter sounded through the halls, and (Y/N) had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Seven days of tournament and feasting! And at the end of it all, a royal wedding. Between my daughter, my heir, your future queen. And Prince (Y/N) Targaryen, heir to Runestone.” 

As Viserys sat, and everyone else followed suit, Rhaenyra and (Y/N) rose from theirs. They approached the middle of the aisle, and began their dance. (Y/N) had never been much of a dancer, and suffered through the lessons given to both he and Rhaenyra. 

“I feel like a fool.” (Y/N) whispered as Rhaenyra and he side stepped each other. 

“You are doing wonderfully.” Rhaenyra whispered back, taking her place back to back with him. “Ignore everyone, pretend it is just you and me.” 

When they finished, bowing to one another the halls once again erupted in applause. (Y/N) took Rhaenyra’s hands in his, kissing them softly as she gave him a knowing smile. As the rest of the courtiers took their places on the dance floor, (Y/N) tried to escape back to the high table, longing for a cup of wine. He was stopped before he could reach the table much to his dismay. 

“My Prince.” The lady, who (Y/N) did not recognize, blushed, bowing to him. “May I have this dance?” 

(Y/N) gaped at her, before remembering who and where he was. “Yes, yes of course Lady-” 

“Reyne.” 

“Lady Reyne. (Y/N) smiled, mourning his cup of wine. He gestured toward the lords and lady’s dancing, “Lead the way.” 

He had to dance with five young ladies before he finally found his escape. He flopped, very unprince-like into his seat, immediately grabbing the cup of wine laid out in front of him. His father laughed, waving over a servant to refill the cup once (Y/N) had finished. 

“Not a fan of dancing?” Daemon smirked, “Or is it the ladies asking you to dance you are not fond of?” 

“Both.” (Y/N) spoke over the rim of his cup, “They only wish to dance with me because I am to marry Rhaenyra, if I were just the heir to Runestone they’d pay me little mind.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Daemon said, “You are a comely young man.” 

(Y/N) smirked, “Ladies don’t wish to dance with comely young men.” 

“Neither do lords.” His father raised his eyebrows, humor sparkling in his eyes. 

(Y/N) shrugged, smiling at his father’s tone, “You have been talking to Rhaenyra.” 

Daemon leaned close, patting his son on the leg, “I am just glad you two have made this match work for the both of you.” 

“We are not married yet, father.” (Y/N) reminded, “Things may yet just fall apart.” 

Before his father could speak, another lady made her way to the table. She bowed to both (Y/N) and Daemon. “Prince (Y/N), may I have this dance?” 

Daemon snickered, taking (Y/N)’s cup out of his hand. “Well go on, dance.” 

His father had disappeared from the table when (Y/N) had finished, and his cousins were wrapped up in conversation with a lord (Y/N) did not recognize. He made his way to the sidelines, stealing a full cup of wine, and pressing his back against the wall to avoid being spotted. 

He spied his father in the middle of the dancing, twirling Laena Velayron around, and (Y/N) frowned. His father’s wife, (Y/N)’s own mother, had died only three moons ago, and as far as (Y/N) knew Laena Velayron was engaged to some Brasvosi. 

“You would never know this feast was in your honor the way you frown.” 

(Y/N) turned to face the owner of the voice, smiling as Ser Harwin took a place next to him. “Ser Harwin.” 

“Are you not enjoying the feast, my prince?” Harwin smiled, leaning closer to the prince. 

“I am enjoying the wine, some of the company less so.” (Y/N) said, and Harwin laughed. 

“I understand the sentiment.” 

(Y/N) brought the cup up to his lips, smiling around its rim. Harwin grabbed an empty cup, flagging down a servant who filled both of their cups. (Y/N) watched as his father continued to dance with Laena, and Rhaenyra moved through the crowd, followed closely by Ser Laenor. 

Harwin raised his cup up, and (Y/N) followed suit, “To your marriage.” 

“My marriage.” (Y/N) and Harwin laughed as their cups met. 

(Y/N) spent the rest of the feast by Harwin’s side. Harwin had stopped drinking by his fourth cup, watching in amusement as the prince got drunker and drunker with each cup of wine. As the feast died down, and the lords and ladies took their leave, Harwin had found (Y/N) a seat, and was watching him ramble fondly. 

“I do not care for this court, Harwin.” (Y/N) sighed, leaning his head back. “It was simpler on Runestone, but here, here there are too many lords I do not know. I do not trust them.” 

Harwin laughed, patting the prince’s leg, “Perhaps a hall filled with those lords is not the place to have this conversation, my prince.” 

“(Y/N).” (Y/N) said, straightening. He looked Harwin in the eye, placing his hand on top of the knights. “Please call me (Y/N).” 

Harwin’s eyes softened, “Of course, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) smiled at the knight, keeping his hand where it was before two twin coughs behind him startled him. (Y/N) jumped, spilling his cup of wine onto himself. Harwin laughed as (Y/N) turned to look at the people behind him. Daemon and Rhaenyra stood above him, both with twin amused smiles on their faces. They had never looked more related, (Y/N) mused. 

“Having fun?” Rhaenyra asked. 

“I was informed that this feast was for me, and that I should try to have some fun.” 

Daemon laughed at his son's words, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him up out of the seat. “I think it’s time you take your leave.” 

Harwin stood, grabbing (Y/N) to help Daemon keep the prince upright. Rhaenyra sighed, a smile still gracing her face. 

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said. “But perhaps next time you can entertain yourself with less wine.” 

(Y/N) stepped forward, stumbling slightly and both Harwin and Daemon’s eyes widened as he moved. Freeing himself from the men’s grasps, (Y/N) approached Rhaenyra pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“I am sorry that I left you on your lonesome.” (Y/N) said, letting his hand rest on her arm. Rhaenyra smiled, at his words or his drunkenness (Y/N) could not tell. 

She pressed her palm to his cheek, “You are fine. I enjoyed myself plenty.” 

(Y/N) nodded. “Good, because this is for both of us. So we should both enjoy ourselves.” 

“(Y/N),” Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Let us get you to your chambers.” 

Daemon and Harwin grabbed one of his arms, ignoring (Y/N)’s protests that he could walk by himself. Rhaenyra followed the three men, laughing at (Y/N)’s attempts to break free from the two men, and his drunken rambles to all three of the people accompanying him. When they finally reached the room, with some incident much to Harwin and Daemon’s dismay and Rhaenyra’s delight, Daemon turned to Harwin. 

“I have him from here, Ser Harwin will you please make sure the princess makes it back to her room.” 

Harwin nodded, and Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek. “I will see you tomorrow at the tourney.” 

“Goodnight, (Y/N), Prince Daemon.” 

(Y/N) and Daemon bid the both of them goodnight, before the guards at (Y/N)’s door open the doors to his chamber and Daemon practically dragged his son into the room. Daemon instructe (Y/N) to lift his arms, and when he did he undid the jerkin and brought the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side. 

“Undo your boots.” 

(Y/N) complied, and when he was done Daemon led him toward the bed. When (Y/N) was seated on the bed, Daemon turned to leave, but (Y/N) grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “We have not had our conversation.” 

Daemon smiled, “Rest, we will have it tomorrow I promise.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “Alright.” 

Daemon pressed him down into the bed slowly, pushing the blankets back so that (Y/N) could get underneath them. He brushed (Y/N)’s sweaty hair out of his face, smoothing it down not unlike his mother used to do when he was ill. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, and Daemon smiled. 

“Sleep.” 

(Y/N) closed his eyes, slipping quickly into rest. But not before he felt the ghost of lips pressed against his forehead.

(Y/N) hated himself the next morning. 

He closed his eyes as he bathed, letting the warm water alleviate some of his migraine. He dressed slowly, groaning as a loud knock sounded throughout the room. 

“Come in.” 

Daemon strolled into the room, taking a look at his son’s appearance before chuckling. “How are you feeling?” (Y/N) just glared at him, causing Daemon to laugh again. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” 

Daemon placed a small vile in front of him, and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s watered down dreamwine,” Daemon said, “For your head.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) took the vial, opened it and sniffed it a bit before downing it. “Thank you.” 

Daemon nodded, turning to leave. 

“Are you not here to continue our conversation?” (Y/N) called out, and Daemon turned back to face him. 

“I just wanted to see if you were well.” 

“I am.” (Y/N) smiled, “I just have a headache, I will live.” 

Daemon nodded, taking a seat across from (Y/N). He looked nervous at the thought of continuing their conversation from before the feast, it endeared (Y/N) to see his father’s usual tough exterior come crumbling down at the idea of a conversation. 

Giving his father some respite, (Y/N) changed the topic of conversation, “I saw you dancing with Laena Velayron last night. Is she not already betrothed?” 

“A man cannot dance with a lady?” Daemon asked, although his expression gave him away. 

“Not when that man is you, father.” (Y/N) said. “Do you wish to get remarried? You have no real need for any more heirs.” 

Daemon shrugged, “Perhaps I wish for company.” 

“You are lonely?” (Y/N) almost laughed at the thought. He could not imagine the so-called Lord of Flea Bottom wanting for the comforts of a lady. 

“Well my only son prefers to spend his time at Runestone pretending I don’t exist.” 

(Y/N)’s mood soured, and he frowned. He turned away from his father, crossing his arms like he wasn’t a man of seven and ten and instead a boy of nine. “You did not give me a choice. I was just saving myself from the pain I would feel when you inevitably wouldn’t arrive.” 

“I know.” Daemon ran his hand down his face. “I did not mean that I apologize.” 

“You know you have missed my last ten name days.” (Y/N) whispered. 

“I know.” Daemon said. “I sent you presents but I know that does not make up for my absence.” 

“I never received any gifts.” 

Daemon looked up in confusion, his expression contorted before he let out a bitter laugh. “No, of course you didn’t. Your mother probably never gave them to you. She never held any love for me.” 

“I remember you did not hold much for her either.” (Y/N) spat. “She told me that you fled Runestone the night after I was born, and did not return until my first name day only to flee that night as well.” 

“I was a boy, no older than you are now.” 

“That is no excuse!” 

“No it’s not and I have regretted my decisions every day! I was scared, (Y/N)!” Daemon stood. “When I found out your mother was pregnant I was terrified. We held no love toward each other, and I feared that our hatred toward each other would impact you. I was an idiot boy so I fled. Then you were born, and I was still just this boy, and you were so pure and I could not corrupt that with my hatred so I feld again. I fled again and again, because I was scared I could not be a good father to you, as I could not be a good husband to your mother and she could not be a good wife to me. When I finally realized what an imbecile I had been it was too late, you had no idea who I was.” 

(Y/N) remembered the day of his fourth name day vaguely. 

“(Y/N),” His mother gestured to a skinny man with pale hair and eyes like (Y/N). “Your father is here to see you.” 

The man approached him, and (Y/N) stepped back, placing his mother between him and this stranger. The man’s face fell, and he stumbled back. 

“Perhaps it would be best if I left.” 

“Daemon-” 

“It’s fine.” The man handed a wrapped package to his mother. “Give this to him.”

"You're running? Again?"

"Look at him Rhea-"

"No, run. Like you always do."

The man opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and left, and (Y/N)'s mother scoffed.

He had seen his father only a few times after that day, and their meetings had always been brief and curt. His mother had certainly not helped (Y/N)’s view of his father, only ever nodding and staying silent when (Y/N) would complain. He had once asked her why Daemon did not stay for more than a night, and his mother had replied that his father hated the Vale and many of those who resided there. It had crushed (Y/N) to hear, but after learning of the gifts his father had sent that he had not received he could only wonder how much of his own hatred for his father was just what he learned to feel from his mother. 

“I am sorry for my absence.” Daemon said. “I can never make up those lost years, and I know my youth and stubbornness is no excuse but-” 

His father took a deep breath, “(Y/N), I wish- if you would allow, for us to start again. I know I cannot ask you to forget the years I was not there for you, but allow me to start again.” 

“I understand.” (Y/N) said, “I cannot forgive-” 

“-I wouldn’t ask you to-” 

“-but I understand. I understand more than I did at the very least.” (Y/N) said, and the tension in his father’s shoulders eased. (Y/N) smiled, it was probably a bit pained, (Y/N)’s head throbbing even more with the revelations of the morning. “We can try to start again. I make no promises, but we can try.” 

His father smiled, a genuine smile that (Y/N) had never seen across his father’s face before. “Thank you.”

“You are not participating, (Y/N)?” 

(Y/N) looked at the queen from where he was seated next to Rhaenyra, shaking his head politely. “I am not a knight, Queen Alicent.” 

Alicent looked him up and down, the motion making him squirm a bit. She did not respond but she nodded, turning her gaze back to the tourney fields. 

His father was not participating in the tourney either, instead taking a seat in the stands. Ser Harwin was participating though, much to Rhaenyra’s delight. (Y/N) did not find much delight in tourney’s, bloodshed was not a game to be played. 

In all honesty, (Y/N) was bored watching the tourney. Ser Criston had won, wearing Alicent’s favor which (Y/N) could tell irritated Rhaenyra. By the time the melee rolled around the next day (Y/N) was dreading spending the hot day in the stands of the tourney grounds. 

“May I have your favor, princess.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, giving Harwin a small piece of cloth. He tucked it into his armor, turning to (Y/N) who smiled. 

“I don’t have a favor,” (Y/N) said, and Harwin smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. “But I wish you luck.” 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” 

Their luck and favors did Harwin no favors in the melee. Rhaenyra had shrieked when Cristion’s morningstar made contact with Harwin’s collarbone, shattering it and his elbow. But the worst injury of the day had been to Ser Joffrey, and (Y/N) could not get Laenor’s cries out of his mind even as he fell asleep that night. 

There were no more tourney’s after that as a solemn mood had fallen over the royal court. Ser Harwin would live (Y/N) and Rhaenyra discovered, but Ser Joffrey was not likely to. And as it happened six days later, Joffrey passed, and Ser Laenor was inconsolable. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) both tried, even if (Y/N) was not as close with his cousin as Rhaenyra was, but in the end the knight took his leave back to Driftmark before the wedding even happened. 

(Y/N) spent the night before the wedding with his father. His father told him the story of his wedding with (Y/N)’s mother, describing how (Y/N)’s grandfather, Baelon, had to drag Daemon to Runestone. 

“If it is any comfort,” (Y/N) mused. “You had to drag me to Kingslanding.” 

Daemon laughed, “I did. But you will have a much happier marriage than your mother and I.” 

(Y/N) lifted his cup, “One can hope.” 

The wedding itself snuck up on (Y/N), the events of the week leading up to it not allowing him to worry about the ceremony. It was only now that he was dressed in red and gold Valyrian robes, standing atop Rhaenys’ hill, surrounded by the lords and ladies of Westeros, that the nerves started to reach him. 

He could hear the distant roars of the dragon’s in the dragon pit as the priest spoke. (Y/N) lifted the dragonglass blade, handed to him by the priest. He made quick eye contact with his father, who only nodded, before slicing Rhaenyra’s bottom lip. He gathered the blood from the cut, dragging his thumb down her forehead. Rhaenyra took her own blade, repeating the action on (Y/N) before slicing her palm.(Y/N) dragged the blade against his palm, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in his. They joined their blood as the priest spoke. 

(Y/N) took the cup handed to him, drinking from it, before handing it to Rhaenyra who did the same. The priest finished his rites, and (Y/N) cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, he could taste the blood as he brought her lips to meet his. (Y/N) rested his forehead against Rhaenyra’s as cheers were sounded around them. When they pulled away and faced the crowd, he could see his father and uncle smiling. 

Their hands were wrapped by the priest, covering the open wounds, and they descended down the hill. Rhaenyra did not let go of his hand as they went, smiling at him as he helped her into the carriage waiting for them. “Thank you, valzȳrys.”

Both he and Rhaenyra were dressed in their small clothes separately. He’d been offered food and wine before he was brought over to Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he turned them down. He did not wish to spend his wedding night addled by wine. 

Viserys had insisted on a bedding ceremony, and Daemon had no qualms with the idea. But both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra protested. The meeting had ended unsuccessfully, but (Y/N) suspected Rhaenyra had private words with her father, as by the next meeting the topic had been dropped completely and it was agreed there would be no such ceremony. 

The doors to Rhaenyra’s chambers were opened by the guards, and (Y/N) stepped into the room. Rhaenyra was sitting by the vanity, brushing her hair in a velvet dress that hung loosely from her body. (Y/N) felt like a hedge knight in his plain cloth clothing. 

She smiled at him, placing the brush down on the vanity. She glided across the room, coming to stand in front of him. “Valzȳrys.” 

“Ābrazȳrys” 

Rhaenyra gently grasped the laces of his tunic, undoing them slowly. She kept eye contact with (Y/N) as she did so, letting his tongue wet her lower lip as the laces were fully loosened. (Y/N) grabbed the bottom of his tunic, bringing it up over his head, and placing it on a chair next to him. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath as she watched (Y/N), she brought her hand up and gingerly traced the contours of his abdomen. (Y/N) took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“Turn around.” (Y/N) said, and Rhaenyra complied. 

He stepped forward, brushing her hair to her front so that he could see the back of her dress. She shivered as his breath touched the back of her neck. He undid the laces of her dress with careful precision, causing her to laugh and joke. 

“Done this before?” 

Instead of responding, (Y/N) let the dress fall down her shoulders, leaving her bare. She stiffened as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before relaxing as he moved his mouth up her neck. She turned around and (Y/N)’s mouth went dry at the sight of her bare in front of him. She grabbed his neck, leaning up and connecting their lips. She grasped the laces of his trousers, undoing them in haste and shoving them down his legs. (Y/N) stepped out of them, groaning into Rhaenyra’s lip as she grasped him. He could feel her smile against his lips, and he pulled away bringing his mouth to her chest, eliciting a gasp from the princess. 

“(Y/N),” She gasped, and he kissed up her chest to her collarbone and back up to her lips, swallowing her next words. 

He pulled her close to him, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and carried her to the bed. He gently set her down, and she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, before reconnecting their lips. Rhaenyra gasped as (Y/N) pulled away to mouth at her neck, she tangled her fingers in his hair pulling him up from where there would inevitably be a mark on her skin the next morning. 

“Stop teasing.” 

“Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

---

Translations -

Lykirī - be calm

Sōvēs - fly

Valzȳrys - husband

Ābrazȳrys - wife

Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys - of course, my wife

[teddybeartoji]

thinking about burying your face into shoko's chest when the scary movie is getting a litte too scary during the usual sashisu get-together. suguru is acting all calm, (you know his heartbeat is racing, though. he's not as cool as he thinks) surpressing a little smirk while satoru is clutching onto his sweater for his dear life.

shoko isn't focused on the boys, nor is she focused on the tv screen that's filled with blood and guts – your scrunched up face being way more intriguing. she's trying to be smooth, trying to just catch a proper glimpse of you but it's hard without making a fuss. she needs to turn her head and she knows that's gonna get your attention; she doesn't want that. she wants to look at you without you looking back. she wants to study you and your face, you and you expressions, you and your birthmarks and you and your scars. she can't do that if you're staring up at her. she can't study you like that - she'll get distracted.

but c'mon, you're right there – one hand on her stomach, holding yourself up a little while the other is lost somewhere between your bodies. she has to look at you.

and she does. from what she can see, your face is in fact all scrunched up and it is in fact as adorable as she'd thought it'd be. your eyebrows are furrowed, eyes screwed shut as the screaming and yelling continues booming from the tv. your bottom lip is a little jutted out; shoko's lips twitch. so do her fingers.

her one hand is securely holding wine glass while the other... has somehow found its way to your back. for comfort, she thinks to herself. she didn't even realize it was there. instinct, she thinks to herself.

she leans back a mere inch, eager to see more of your pained face but that's when your eyes open; staring right back at her, you feel small. you feel flustered. she has that effect on you. the fingers on your back have now found a lock of hair, twirling the ends between her fingers; surely tainting you with the faint tobacco smell. you don't care.

"scared?" she whispers. her lips move so smoothly, the dark hue of them inviting you in. maroon; the mixture of her own lipstick and the wine - you wonder how she'd taste.

"maybe..." you whisper back. she hums quietly, trying not to attract attention from the boys a few feet away.

"aw..."

it's hard not to burn at her words, her small coo.

"what about you, hm?" you hum back and she can feel it; feel it start from the back of your throat and make its way through your body and then through hers. you're so close. "your heart is beating pretty fast. you sure you're not scared?"

...

it's not often you, or anybody else for that matter, is able to catch her off-guard. this is... new.

she just blinks down at you a few times, her pretty eyelashes fluttering against her soft pale skin. her lips part, yet nothing comes out. for about twenty seconds, it's just you and her. no blood, no gore, no tv, no boys, no noise, no nothing - only her eyes and your eyes. when your own lips quirk up, ready to bark out a tease at her - satoru screams, pulling your attention from her.

while suguru is muffling trying to muffle satoru's awful noises by slapping a palm in front of his mouth and you're trying to keep your laughter from bubbling up - shoko is still staring at you.

[hoshiina]

pairing: narumi gen x gn!reader (no prns)

summary: he's always thought that anyone would do if he just wanted to find love but he realizes you're the one he wishes for, inspired by pop song by yonezu kenshi

warnings: some profanities from narumi

wc: 1300

Narumi Gen hated a lot of things, but one of his least favourites of all time was "true love". He despised when people would describe their love for another as "true love". It couldn't possibly be that serious. Just say you loved your partner. That was probably the extent feelings got to anyways— you just so happened to like each other at the same time. To him that was plenty of a feat alone, why would you have to make it sound like more than it is? For the sake of love? Ridiculous.

To him, that was truly all love was. If there was someone who liked him when he happened to like them too, that was enough. No need for years of pining, no need to get attached to some unrequited love. All that noise about love and destiny surely wasn't all that necessary.

Now, this wasn't to say that he didn't wish to find love— because he did. Like any other person, he truly wished to be loved. It was just that what he had in mind wasn't some deep pure love that'd last forever, nor was it a promise for eternity. He just wished for a light-hearted "I love you" here and there with someone he found special.

And for that, anyone would do. He'd find someone who fancied him along the way, and hopefully he'd like them back. That was all there was to it.

This meant his plan for finding his partner was sitting around and waiting. As horribly lame as that sounded, because he was Narumi Gen, this wasn't that hopeless of a plan. So, that's what he did. He'd go around saving people and doing his duties (to the absolute bare minimum) while making sure he was constantly trending, hoping that one day, someone would like him.

Today he was standing around for a solid five extra minutes after he defeated the honju with ease, hoping the media would snap some nice pictures of him, or he'd finally charm someone this time.

"Captain, you ought to stop that," you said. "It's rather embarrassing, you look desperate now."

"Oh, would you shut up," he said. "You're ruining my good name!"

You snorted. "What good name," you scoffed.

"I'm starting to think its your fault I'm not charming anyone. Perhaps if you didn't stop me every time, someone would have found me by now," he said.

"Yeah, right. Captain Ashiro seems to be having no issues charming people and I've never seen her try to," you said.

"You little shit," he said.

"Besides they're going to be utterly disappointed if they think this is what you're like and then they find out what you're… actually like," you said, and he was starting to think you wanted him to fire you. "It's okay. Someone will see how you're actually lovely at times soon."

"What?" he asked, shocked by what you said.

"What?" you replied, confused.

"You— you said lovely," he said quietly. Suddenly he felt flustered.

"Oh," you said, looking away and avoiding eye contact. It wasn't like you didn't mean to say that, but you didn't think it was that big of a deal. Rather, how flustered he sounded took you by surprise. “Well, you’re a little lame but you’re a good guy. Like you pretend you only do it for the media, but I know you’re always checking the alleyways that don’t have as much surveillance just in case, and checking alleyways isn’t something a captain has to do. And we both know the media isn’t writing about anything you do there. Things like that.”

“You never know!” he said, and you snorted.

“Alright then,” you said. “You do you, Captain.”

“I will!” he said back, trying to sound proud.

A week had passed and here he was, doing what he always did after arriving fashionably late to the scene and taking all the kaiju out in a matter of minutes: standing around trying to look good. Because he wanted love, and anyone would do. Anyone who liked him was supposed to do.

...

And yet he wished for you.

He wished that when he woke up, the first thing he would see was you. He wished that you'd smile at him everyday with love and genuine joy the way you did to others, and he wished that you’d smile that way to him alone. He wished that after a long day, he was the one you came home to. He wished from the bottom of his heart that you would always be safe and no harm would ever come your way. He wished that your days were filled with laughter and smiles and he knew he would risk his life to protect that.

It was so unlike him in a way he absolutely hated. True love was supposed to be nonsense and someone being ‘the one’ was supposed to be some dramatic line in a movie. It upset him, that he was so utterly fond of you. Yet, no matter how much it upset him, it didn't change the fact that he was, and he couldn't deny it anymore after trying to ignore it for the full week.

So here he was, acting stupid again, hoping that you’d scold him again or tell him he’s embarrassing himself, because that’s what it’s come down to. He just wanted another reason to talk to you.

But you wouldn’t come to stop him after 10 whole minutes.

“Why aren’t you stopping me?” he asked, irritated.

“Pardon?” you asked, utterly confused.

“Why aren’t you telling me to stop?” he asked again. He was aware how silly he sounded, but he was pissed off that you meant so much to him so he had to take it out on you.

“Because you told me to stop last time??” you replied. “I thought you were going to keep this up until you found yourself a partner.”

“You’re the one who told me to find someone that saw how I was…. lovely…. at times,” he said, but said the lovely very quietly. Remembering that you had described him as lovely made his cheeks burn and he’d rather die than let you see that.

“I mean, yeah. I do think you should,” you said.

“Don’t you notice, though?” he asked quietly, avoiding eye contact. There was a moment of silence.

“I do,” you said, and immediately he looked up to face you. You had a grin on your face and you looked so proud— you looked like you had won a game. Oh, how he hated you.

“You’re so annoying,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Rich coming from you,” you said.

“So, do you—,” he started to yell before cutting himself off. Carefully, he tried again. “Would you please… uh… be mine…?”

Oh, this is so embarrassing, he thought. Perhaps you’d laugh at him, but he wanted to do this properly, or at the very least try to. He’d be far more than just stupid to mess this up now. He was finally in love.

But your laughter never came. When he looked up your eyes were wide and you looked so flustered, but soon you had the most beautiful smile on your face.

“I would absolutely love to,” you said.

So he kissed you right then and there, because there was nothing he wanted to do more at the moment.

He laughed a little.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“No, nothing,” he said.

There was no way just anyone would do— it had to be you.

[happi-dreams]

he.lo i watched that one essay video and the old nostalgia of this movie has crashed right back in ( + a new appreciation of turbo he’s very neat :] )

but i have a strict pocoyo contract so he’s also there too

[idontcaboose]

Haunted Car Au part 13

Previous. Masterpost

“You done figuring out the sound files yet?” Duke asked while tapping on the hood of the Batmobile.

He was excited to hear a campy “Yes, Sir!” Come out of the open windows of the car.

“Neat, first off, any files that have your name in it?” He was a little disappointed, but still snorted to hear the tragic ‘Noooooo’ from Darth Vader.

“I think Red Robin has some pronoun type files in there, what are yours?” A mix of sir’s, dude's, and bro's were played until Duke had to stop the guy.

“Ok, what about age?” He wasn't expecting to get a straight answer, but when the car played a Scooby-Doo cut of ‘those meddling kids’, he was confused.

“So a kid?” Duke questioned. He got a weird mix of 'Ehhh', 'Kinda', and 'close enough' type files.

“We can worry about that later, any ideas how you got stuck?” A short ‘Nope’ with a pop on the P played.

Talking to the car guy was strange. Getting answers could be easy or turn into 20 questions trying to clarify an answer. So far, Duke knew the person:

is male or male presenting

a meta

has no clue how he possessed the car

has a good understanding of current memes

was possibly in their teens (probably a bit younger than Duke, but older than Daimian)

was a street kid? (When asked where he lived the car played “Why should I worry” from an older Disney movie about homeless animals in New York or something. He had to look it up.)

has a good sense of humor

and is taking their situation in stride.

Duke really had to wonder what their life has been where this is not a vast problem to fix…. And whether or not he should argue his ‘notification tone’ being a choir singing.

He really does not get paid enough for this, but it is better than the other stuff Gotham throws at the Bats.

“Mind if I get you up on the lift and check the engine? Might give us some clues.” After an affirmative from the car guy, Duke got to work.

Next

@kizzer55555 @sebas-nights @candeartist422 @trappednyourheart @fandom-life-corrupted-me @tkiesai @2lbballpeenhammer @admiralwidow @rewrittenwrongs @whotfevenknowsanymore @symmetricalastigmatism @thespacedragons @atinygracie @okami-love @lesbian-spider-drone @1n0sss @forgetmenot-bluepurple

[ihatebrainstorm]

Glad you’re still alive :P

How about some science trio shenanigans? >:)

Just something I've been thinking about ever since I noticed Percy had treads on the back of his legs ksdkf

Nautica needs a bit of time to adjust to the "in lab shenanigans"

[ghostbredtt]

sketches doodles useless thingies

sorry guys I'm dead summer finally killed me so baii 😁

[vlasdygoth]

stay safe out there

[ficsbyrike]

Your Possessiveness Will be the Death of Me

pairing: caleb x reader

TW: graphic descriptions of blood and injuries, toxic relationships

Summery: caleb won’t let you go to the hospital

Word count: 3,833

Notes: I promised someone that my next Caleb fanfic would be fluff but apparently I am incapable of writing anything happy 😭😭 might be a little ooc

A wanderer. Claws. The stinging feeling on your abdomen. The rest was a blur.

The city had recently become more dangerous with an increase of wanderer sightings. You thought—foolishly—that because of your hunter training, this wouldn’t affect you in any significant way. More on site work, perhaps, but nothing more than a minor inconvenience. It never occurred to you that you could become a victim of a wanderer yourself.

You had been walking down the street when out of nowhere, in a cruel sneak attack, a wanderer had jumped out and ambushed you. Rendered defenseless for a few moments, it was able to leave a pretty nasty gash on your abdomen before it was promptly dealt with.

It stung badly.

It felt as if the sky was very low. It was cold as shit out. You could see your hot breath rise up in puffs of white through the inky black sky, and as if the universe conspired to spite you even more, it had begun snowing.

Your blood glistened brightly in the neon lights of the city.

It was around 2:30 in the morning. You have to be up early tomorrow. God…

You raked your brain for a moment. The warm blood seeping between your fingers made it hard to focus.

Linkon Hospital was too far away for you to walk to without collapsing half way through. And, in some cruel joke, your phone had been smashed on the pavement while you were fighting the wanderer so there was no way you could call anyone for help.

You only had one option. But it was your last resort.

Caleb lived close by, but he didn’t want to see you. It wasn’t just a hunch or a feeling, you knew. Although he didn’t outright say it, you ended on pretty bad terms last time you saw each other. Regrettable words were thrown, tears were shed. Even though Caleb tried to explain himself—why he left, why he lied about being dead—you called the conversation there, saying you weren’t in the mood to fight anymore. Since then, Caleb has sent you countless text messages in hopes of staying in touch. At first, he would apologize continuously. Then, when he perhaps realized that his attempts were futile, he resorted to simply sending short messages about how his day went, what interesting things he saw today, and good morning good night texts. You pridefully ignored all of the messages. They angered you, even. You felt as if he was trying to guilt you into forgiving him by using his status as a long-time best friend and pretending like nothing was wrong.

He knows what he did. And you couldn’t forgive him that easily.

With those thoughts in mind, you promptly blocked his number until further notice. Although sometimes you wondered whether he was still sending you messages despite knowing they weren’t getting through to you.

If you showed up at his door now, would he turn you away? Even if he was angry at you, he wouldn’t turn away a shivering, injured woman. Right? But even if he didn’t, it would be so awkward to confront the issue with him again. Perhaps you just won’t say anything unless he brings it up himself. Still, he could simply shut the door in your face and leave you on the street. And he had every right to do so, with the way you’ve been treating him. You probably would have done the same in his situation. Probably.

Swallowing your last bit of pride, you began shuffling over to Caleb’s residence, your hand pressed tightly against the fresh wound. He had sent you his new address during one of his routinely text messages, and you had unconsciously memorized it because it was a part of town you always passed by to get to the train station.

With every step you took, you felt pressure in your wound. It would open up again and again and fresh blood would seep in between your fingers. This only made you more antsy and you felt your heart speed up.

After what felt like an excruciatingly long walk, you finally stood at the front door of Caleb’s house. It was cute. A townhouse surrounded by similar looking buildings in the middle of the city. Even though the others had distinctions about them—flower beds hanging out windows, chairs and fairy lights dotting the balconies—Caleb’s house was the one with the least character. It stood there, gray with no lights in any of the windows, as if he had only just moved in a few days ago.

You brought your hand up to knock on the door, but then you hesitated. You were angry at him, but that was fine because you knew that sooner or later you would forgive him. But you couldn’t have the same assurance that he would forgive you.

You shook your head, eracing the image of Caleb’s darkened eyes from your mind, and knocked.

Whatever happens happens.

For a few moments, there was silence. It would only be natural if he had gone to sleep, considering the deep hours of the night. But then, to your surprise, you heard the noise of shuffling coming from the inside, followed by another short silence. Just as you thought that he was ignoring you, the door swung open, revealing Caleb’s tall frame in the doorway.

He was a bit paler since the last time you saw him. And a bit thinner too. You guessed it was just in your nature to worry about him, as you had done so many times in the past.

It was still cold as shit out. Your thin hunter uniform is doing little to protect you from the chilly air. But somehow, your skin still felt hot. Snowflakes still slowly glided down into your hair.

You cleared your throat, “Caleb.”

Just as the words had left your mouth, you wished for the earth below you to open up and swallow you whole. You come to his front door in the middle of the night looking like hell—exhausted, dirty, blood pouring out of your side and your nose—and the only word you can manage is his name? Were you stupid?

You scanned Caleb’s eyes for any emotions. Was he angry? Or at least disappointed in you?

He didn’t speak for a moment, his gaze falling onto your wound. You shifted self consciously.

“What happened to you?”

His question caught you off guard, prompting you to look up at him again.

“I got into a fight.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You look like shit,” he said, and you sighed.

Surely this was the same Caleb you knew. He wouldn’t just leave you out here.

“Does it hurt?” He asks.

You swiftly shake your head.

“It's minor. I’m not crippled. I’ll live,” you lie through your teeth, “can I crash at your place? I’ll be out of your hair by morning. It’s really cold out here.”

You dragged your one of your hands against the bottom of your nose, smudging the blood pooling there.

Caleb stepped aside, a familiar smirk decorating his face, “be my guest.”

***

Caleb’s residence was just as barren inside as it was outside. Only the bare necessities scattered his living room. But it was warm.

You tried taking off your shoes, but with your wound, it was a little hard to do. Once Caleb saw you struggling, he quickly leaned down and helped you.

“Thanks. Do you by chance have any disinfectant? And some gauze?”

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt.”

“No. It seriously doesn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me missy. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Go sit on the couch.”

You did as he commanded, stumbling over to the couch before sitting down. Momentarily, there was the sound of running water and soon enough, Caleb came back with a clean, wet towel. He tried to gently lift up your shirt, but your hand stopped him.

“I’m fine. Really. Can I sleep on your couch? I’m really tired.”

Caleb’s worried eyes met yours, “you are not fine. You’re bleeding all over my floor. Stop being so stubborn and work with me here, yeah?”

He spoke in that same friendly voice, but it was obvious that there was concern in his expression.

You gently let go of his wrist with some hesitation, biting your bottom lip as he pulled your shirt over your head, discarding it somewhere on the couch next to him. Your wound was now completely exposed, along with your bare stomach. You knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but just having the wound out in the open was enough to put you on edge.

He inspected your injury. His brow furrowed before he brought the damp towel to your skin. You hissed and recoiled slightly. Caleb flinched, but held the towel gently in place.

“Sorry pipsqueak. It’s gonna hurt no matter what. Just… squeeze my arm if it gets too much.”

You didn’t say anything.

Caleb’s touch was warm. You felt his soft fingers on the tender skin of your side. It almost made you shiver.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? Any later, and you would’ve bled out on the goddamn street,” he murmurs, and for a moment, you didn't know how to reply.

“My phone broke,” You say dumbly.

Then there was silence for a few moments. It was quiet. The only sound was his steady breathing and the clock ticking as the seconds slipped by.

“Are you angry?” You ask when he didn’t say anything.

Caleb shook his head, “no. You have every right to want to avoid me,” he sighed, “I just wish I wasn’t your last option.”

Silence again. Tik-tok… tik-tok…

“I thought you might turn me away,” you finally admitted.

“You know I wouldn’t let you bleed out on my doorstep. No matter how angry I get at you.”

“No, I don’t know that,” you whisper, “I feel like I don’t really know you anymore…”

Caleb finally looks up at you, a hint of hurt betrayed in his eyes, “Do you think… you think I changed that much?”

“I don’t know. But the Caleb I knew would never pretend to be dead for a whole year, leaving me by myself. So, yeah… I guess I don’t really know you anymore.”

“You had other people to turn to for help.”

“Sure. But in the end, who’s taking care of me?”

Caleb sighs again and turns back to your wound. Although he is trying to seem preoccupied, you can tell that he has a lot on his mind.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he finally says, “for now, let’s take care of your wound, yeah? The bleeding hasn’t stopped yet. I’ll need some water to wipe you down and see how deep your injury really is. Let me take you to the bathroom. It’ll be easier to do this there.”

Caleb helps you up. Then, he helps you walk over to the bathroom, his arm wrapped around your upper torso firmly but gently. Then, when he’s sure that you are able to stand upright on your own, he meticulously picks out the temperature of the water, making sure it’s not too hot or too cold.

He soaks the towel under the thin stream of water. Your old blood dyes the sink red, leaving a gruesome sight.

You feel dizzy from the blood loss. And slightly sleepy too. You grab onto the edge of the skin in an attempt to pull yourself together. The dim, buzzing light and the splashing of water continuously lull you to sleep.

Finally, when Caleb decided that he got most of the blood out from the towel, he wrings it, and brings it up to your wound again.

You take a sharp breath, colorful curses spilling out of your mouth unchecked, “haah… Caleb…”

He gently wipes away at the edges of the wound, trying hard to be as tender as possible. Despite this, he cleans up your wound with practiced efficiency leaving you to wonder how many times he has patched himself up during dark nights like these.

“You’re doing well,” Caleb says, running the towel under clean water again.

The cycle repeats a few times. By the time Caleb deems that he had cleaned the wound thoroughly enough, you are standing there, subtly trembling in pain. The sink, the floor, and both yours and Caleb’s hands are covered in your blood. You hope that it looks worse than it actually is.

“How is it?” You ask finally.

Caleb rustles through one of the storage compartments, and takes out fresh white gauze. However, your blood on his hands stains it as soon as he touches the bandages.

“It’s pretty deep. You’ll need to take it easy for a while,” he says.

Gritting your teeth as he wraps the gauze around your abdomen, you hold your breath.

“Relax,” Caleb utters, “the worst part is over.”

He wraps the gauze around you a few more times before securing it with a little bow at the end.

“There. Good as new.”

He lets out a sharp sigh, dusting his hands off like a mechanic, and straightens out to look at you again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. But I’m worried. Should I go to the hospital?”

“No need. I’m here to take care of you, right?”

You nod.

You didn’t know what came over you then, but your body acted faster than you could think. You placed your hands on either side of his face and planted a small kiss on the edge of his lips.

He seemed stunned for a minute.

“You know I missed you, right?” You whisper, your fingers gently running through his raven hair.

“I thought you hated me,” he breaths.

“I do. But I can do both at the same time. These two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“I missed you too.”

“I hope you never leave again. Because I won’t forgive you a second time.”

Caleb’s eyes flicker before he leans in closer and presses a firm kiss to your lips.

God, it was as if you were made for each other.

All of these years of yearning to the most recent worries that plagued your mind came bubbling up to the surface until they finally exploded like a volcano.

He wraps his arms around you. The need for him to be closer to you became stronger, to the point where it was almost animalistic. Your exhales became his inhales as he pushed you up against the skin, deepening the kiss. Your fingers tangled within his hair, and his hands slowly mapped out the bare skin of your back. You couldn’t help but shiver.

You hated him so much. But God… it was impossible to stay away. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, knowing that nothing good was going to come out of this. Maybe he would hurt you again. Maybe you were stupid to come running back to him at the first sign of affection. But that didn’t matter at this moment. Right now, you only knew him. He was your world. And you were his.

“Wait, wait. Caleb,” you gasp suddenly, “fuck.”

Caleb immediately steps back as if he was burned.

“What’s wrong?”

You look down at your wound. It was still bleeding. A faint dark red color peaked out from behind the bandages, a signal to it probably opening up again.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay. It’s very late. We’re both not in our right mind,” you say, heart still hammering in your chest.

Caleb hesitantly nodded. His face and t-shirt was smudged with the blood that undoubtedly came from your hands.

“Maybe I should go to the hospital,” you say again.

A dull throb pulsed over where your wound was, and although you trust that Caleb did a good job of cleaning it, you knew that he wasn’t a medical professional. Maybe you needed stitches. It would be a shame if you bled out in Caleb’s apartment for no reason other than your own carelessness.

“Damn it,” He curses, “I should’ve been more careful, you’ll bleed through these bandages too.” Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re probably right, but I’ll be honest, I’m not really comfortable with letting you out of my sight just yet. I just… just let me try to add a few more layers of gauze, yeah? And if that doesn’t work, we’ll figure things out from there.”

Caleb takes out more gauze and wraps it around your lower torso again, a bit more tighter this time. He steps back to inspect how much of the gauze has already been bled through, his brow furrowing.

“Damn it…” he mutters.

You put your hand on his arm to stop his continuous fidgeting, “Caleb. Calm down.”

“You’re right. No… I just… You’re bleeding. How are you still bleeding? I’ve never seen you be this chill about an injury before. You remember when you were learning how to ride a bike when we were kids? You would cry so hard when you so much as scraped your knee against the pavement and would run to grandma so she could comfort you.”

“I remember. You were not the best teacher. It’s a miracle I haven’t gotten my front teeth knocked out.”

“You were sensitive as a kid.”

“I grew out of it.”

“Apparently.”

There was another pause. It seemed that every time you and Caleb found a common ground, there was something that would always bring you back and remind you that everything had changed. He was not the reckless little boy from your childhood that you remember. And, in turn, you were not the sensitive little girl that he remembers.

When did everything become so different?

Caleb’s apartment suddenly became cold again.

Caleb shook his head before speaking, “never mind. Have you had dinner? Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know if I can stomach anything right now.”

There was a beat of silence again, as if Caleb was choosing his words carefully, “not even rice? Or maybe some broth?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. I’ll order you something. Whatever you want.”

***

Caleb lended you one of his shirts since yours was stained with blood.

As promised, he ordered you takeout from a place that worked late and forced you to eat dinner. Even though you felt a little sick, you still made yourself eat.

He didn’t have a dinner table, so you sat on the couch while Caleb fed you.

“Why don’t you have a dinner table?” You inquire, “haven’t you moved in months ago?”

“I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

It was nice to catch up with him, even though it was a little awkward at times. You would talk for a few minutes before falling into silence again. Then someone would say something and the conversation would strike up again.

No one mentioned the kiss from earlier.

The familiar and slightly domestic atmosphere was almost enough to make you forget your previous worries. Almost.

There was a slight buzzing in your head, and then a wave of dizziness overcame you, harder than before.

You calmly, although wobbly, got up from the couch, and looked down at Caleb.

“Caleb, take me to the hospital.”

Caleb followed you up, “Hold on. Wait.”

You started walking towards the door, feeling like you could collapse at any moment. Caleb beat you to the front door, blocking it with his body.

“You’re not in the condition to go anywhere. Look at you. You can barely stand!”

“Then you take me!”

“Listen. I’ll take care of everything. You can’t go anywhere, even with my help.”

“But—“

“Don’t argue with me on this, pipsqueak,” He grabbed your arm a little more forcefully then he intended, “You’re not leaving in this state. No one will take better care of you than me.”

You bite at your bottom lip. What has gotten into him? Was he really just willing to let you bleed out just because he didn’t want you to leave?

Mustering up your last bit of courage and strength, you forcefully tug back on your arm that Caleb was holding, causing him to stumble forward a few steps. The plan was to get around him when he was caught off guard, however, when you retreated your arm in such a sudden motion, the muscles on your abdomen contracted, causing you to shudder in pain.

You collapse onto the floor, unable to put up a fight any further.

“Damn it, pipsqueak. I told you not to argue with me on this.”

Caleb gently helped you up, not minding your little stunt. He helped carry you to his room, tucking you into bed, bringing the covers all the way up to your chin even though you were hot. His scent enveloped you.

He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, “you know I only want what’s best for you.”

You nod.

You realized that perhaps you should’ve seen this coming from the very beginning. The way he clung on to you when you first came, the way he never let you out of your sight. He wouldn’t let you go now. No matter how much you struggled against him. And you couldn’t say that you hated the idea. This was the person you loved the most. The person who knew you best. The person who would take care of you better than anyone.

He was the person you turned to at the end of the day.

Caleb respectfully sat down on the floor across from you, resting his head on the edge of his bed. Lost in thought, his fingers met yours. Then he brought them up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss.

“I’m mad about you,” he whispers, “I think I’ll die if you ever continue to ignore me like you did.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Sleep tight, pipsqueak.”

It was four in the morning and the door was closed and Caleb's breathing gradually evened out. The light sound of cars passing on the street below was the only sound. In the haziness of the deep hours of the night, you were back in grandma’s house for a moment. You had snuck into Caleb's room again because you were scared of the sound of cars outside and the shadows on the wall of your room.

The pain in your side is unbearably excruciating. You carefully peel the blanket up to see Caleb’s sheets covered in blood. Your shirt had completely soaked through, and there was no doubt that your gauze had done little to prevent the blood flow. You felt unbearably hot, and your heart was thumping out of your chest.

Without thinking much further, you covered yourself with Caleb’s blanket and turned to the side, scumming to deep sleep shortly after.

At least you were with the person who knows you best.

At least you were with the person who loves you the most.

Masterlist

[straightlightyagami]

i feel like a lot of fanon characterization of light yagami is just like "this is what the Bad And Annoying Type of Guy I Hate does so Light does that too because he's bad and annoying" no matter how little sense it makes