#our voice brings him peace

[starmocha]

Insomnia ▪︎ Steal a Moment

[evangelifloss]

Thinking about a certain scene in Dungeon Meshi that completely encapsulates the Autistic experience of making friends as an adult and how hard it is to try and navigate it without ending up getting hurt.

Like IDK about y'all, but this is a common problem ALOT of Autistic Adults face when trying to make friends with other people, because unlike children who aren't good at keeping their opinions to themselves, Adults ARE. In society, we're even encouraged to "keep the peace" "be polite" and etc, which commonly leads to awful scenarios as shown above when Laois finds out his buddy has come to resent who Laois is without actually telling him. All too often the friends that we love to hang out with, people that we're so happy to spend time with, don't feel the same way and in many cases, come to blame us for our social cues or lack thereof.

And when/if we do eventually find out how our friend feels, Dungeon Meshi hits us with another painful panel of how that usually ends up playing out.

It's hard for Adults with Autism to make friends, and even harder to maintain them because alot of the ways Neurotypicals tell other Neurotypicals that they don't like a certain behavior is by quietly disengaging. Whether that involves having one sentence answers, going quiet, or having a certain tone in their voice, all those things signal annoyance or disapproval, but for the Neurodivergents, those subtle cues are completely missed.

And yet when we inevitably discover we DID do something, it is natural to ask "well why didn't you tell me?" because in our minds, it should've been the next step in the equation. However for the Neurotypicals, that's NOT something to bring up. Its important to be SUBTLE about the issue at hand and rely on signals to tell the other person. Blame is placed on us for not noticing the "obvious" signs of disapproval rather than the idea of talking it out as such things are uncomfortable and harder to do. Alot of the time what ends up happening is resentment due to the idea that it was "obvious" and the fact one didn't notice indicates a deliberate ignorance rather than a complete unawareness. It ends up calling into question our quality as a person and our sincerity. We get called "fake" or "malicious" or even "stupid" for failing social cues rather than questioning the decision to be indirect and vague.

For a manga about exploring the dungeon, it seems that the artist would rather explore very real and prevalent dynamics in society with the adventuring premise as a backdrop. I felt VERY seen in these panels, and many others, because it happens so suddenly and dare I say it, plainly. There's no dramatic build-up or spectacle made and in essence, it just Happens.

I think that's what makes the scene hit even harder. It seemingly comes out of nowhere for Laois, like how it always comes out of nowhere for alot of people, and it's never a dramatic twist either. It's always mundane and hurtful. A sudden unforeseen bump in the road that ends up calling into question one's entire friendship with someone and consequent other friendships. It asks "what if other friends feel the same. What if the people that I really like actually hate me and I don't know it?" Or at least that's what I came away with after reading the chapter. I've been where Laois was and the only reason I'm not there now is because I lost the naivete I had and doubt everyone else's sincerity.

[screampied]

just need a oneshot where toji being so extremely soft with his pregnant wife.😔

៹ content tags. ៹ fem! reader, pure fluff, toji's a big softie, calls reader 'mama' + 'baby' & 'darlin'

wc. 2.0k

toji rubs his eyes, pure static forming into his irises for a bit as he’d awaken up from his nap. with a quick glance at the clock, it read two thirty. in the background played the intro from some old western movie that was on repeat. ah, ever since you’ve gotten pregnant he’s always been staying up with you, ruining his sleep schedule in the process. not that he necessarily minded, you were his wife and he’d do anything for you,

his ears twitch a bit as he hears a sudden ruffling noise of feet — verdant eyes of his focus on you and it’s you trodding towards him and he smiles. “heyy,” he murmurs in a drowsy tone, he figured you’d be awake. toji stares at you so lovingly, the cute baby blue nightgown you wore, winnie the pooh slippers that dragged across the fleecy carpet. with a yawn, he pats his lap for you to take your seat. “y’er lil waddle never stops bein’ cute, mama.”

“stop.” you frown with a pouty look, he’d always tease whenever you do your cute little walk. he grows to adore it, the cute rounded bump on your belly only getting larger. pretty soon, you were about to reach your second trimester. time flew by so fast, it was almost like before you could blink, you’d be meeting your beloved new baby. you slowly make your way onto toji’s lap and he slings an arm around you. he smells good, you were a bit tired already from that ten second walk, cute..

“sorry baby,” toji utters in a soft voice, kissing the back of your head as you relax into his embrace, leaning back. “was gonna wake ya up but ya looked so peaceful,” and he brings a kiss near the inner crevice of your neck. “miss me already?”

you still remain with the cute glowering expression. with a sigh, you shrug. “yes, actually. missed you a lot.”

“awww,” toji caresses against your thighs, his touch was delicate and gentle. as he spoke in a gruff voice, he nips a few more kisses toward the corner of your neck as you faced the other direction. “missed you more. ‘n i missed our girl too,” and that catches you by surprise, he’d always refer to the baby’s gender as a girl. as if he could read your mind, he chuckles before leaning his head against your shoulder. “whaaat? got a feelin’ ‘s gonna be a girl.”

“i think it’s gonna be a boy,” you mumble, feeling your heart flutter a bit. oh, it was always like this between the two of you. the constant banter of the gender, toji just knew it was gonna be a girl while you thought otherwise. he’d be happy with either or though. you, likewise. toji watches with half-lidded eyes as you turn your body a bit to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. you plant a kiss on his chin, lips brushing against his stubble and he hums in amusement. “did you get any sleep at all? you have eye bags, ‘toj.”

“ah, ‘m fine,” he grins at your concern, the scar slashed near the right side of his lip twinging in response. you were so cute—the pregnancy glow you had bestowed on you, he could stare at you all day. toji leans in to kiss your nose, yet he notices your deadpan. with a grunt, he surrenders.

“okay okay, the most i got was maybe four-ish hours,” and the look of worry on your face made his heart twist. toji pats your head, smoothening his tone. “don’t worry, baby. it was for a good cause. was up all night readin’ that book you bought like last week.”

with your brows furrowing in confusion, your lips part at your abrupt realization. “oh— the pregnancy fact book?” and then you giggle. “really? i thought you said books were boring, toji.”

“trust, they are,” he sulks, bringing his wrist to rub his eyes. you take a brief glance at his broken watch you bought him for his thirtieth birthday. despite it being unable to tell time anymore, he still flaunts it, all because it was a gift from you. with a low sigh, toji moves a few strands out of your face. “but, ‘m willing to try new things for you—er, for us. and it’s quite informative, it told me about y’er strange cravings ‘n it checks out.”

you frown. “what’s wrong with my cravings? you told me you like them.”

“well, darlin’ i love you a lot okay,” and he paints a wet kiss against your cheek. “but if i have to eat another peanut butter pickle sandwich with you, ‘m gonna lose it.”

“it’s not that bad,” you protest, bringing a palm near your stomach to rub it. the bump was easily growing as the weeks progressed—you couldn’t help but be excited once the week of forty rolled around. “you just have a bland appetite.”

toji rolls his eyes. “peanut butter and pickles, baby. not jelly, pickles. pickles?” and you look at him, he’s gently holding both of your shoulders before you giggle. “and i thought nothin’ could top the toast ‘n ice cream.”

you deadpan again. “okay now you’re just being dramatic.”

“i love you,” he boops your nose. “i love you and y’er weird food cravings,” and toji’s eyes trail down toward your tummy. so cute and round, he gingerly moves the fabric of your gown up to reveal your skin, a palm ghosting against your belly. “any cramps today? pain i should know about?”

“no,” you hum, immediately relaxing from his touch. the warmth of his hand made your breathing slow a bit. he moves it around in a smooth circular rotation before brushing a thumb against your belly button. “kinda scared toji.”

leafy, viridescent eyes meet its way back up to yours before his face softens. “what for, darlin’? good scared or bad scared?”

in a sweet, timid tone, you puff out a single shaky breath. “like … both i guess? i’m excited of course but ‘m kinda scared. we’re having a baby, toji. pretty soon i’ll be on my third trimester,” and he’s so attentive as you’re talking, quite literally getting lost in your eyes. who knew that you could turn this man into such a soft sap, he adored you. as you continue to rant, toji strokes your cheek with a warmhearted simper. “i watched lots of videos about birthing and it looks scary.”

“not gonna lie to you, baby. ‘s gonna be scary, but y’know what? ‘m gonna be right there with you,” and he strokes a thumb against the enlarging stretch marks growing against your belly. he’s gentle, tracing a finger against each one before his eyes avert back up to you. “i’ll be right beside you. holdin’ y’er hand ‘n all,” and he kisses the crown of your head. “y’er gonna be the prettiest mommy. our girl’s lucky to have you. i’m lucky to have you.”

for some reason, those last few words struck right through the veins of your heart. mentally, you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry—

but alas, your eyes start to swell up, bottom lip quivering and toji notices immensely at your change of body language.

“awww, was that too much?” he purrs, bringing you towards his chest. you sniffle, your nose digging into his neck and an arm of his cradles you. toji starts to rock you, he presses another kiss against the top of your head before humming. “didn’t mean ‘ta make ya cry, darlin’ but ‘s true. ya don’t gotta worry that pretty little head, ‘m gonna be right here for anything..”

a solid tear drops against his tank top before your chin rests against his chest. you slowly look up at him with that familiar pouty expression before he swipes a thumb against your eyes. “cutie,” he takes your tears away, your lashes all damp and long. “y’er even more emotional because of the baby too. hormones, aw yeah i know these facts by heart.”

“you’re such a dork,” you wipe your face with a laugh, the mood suddenly light again. toji was gonna be spewing out pregnancy facts at you all day, you knew that now. whilst you sat up, trying to re-collect yourself, you speak in a soft voice. “but really, thank you toji. i love you,” and you grab ahold of his hand. your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing it tight. “you’ll be a great daddy.”

“heyy girl, don’t make me cry now,” he teases, a thumb of his running across the softness of your hand.

toji’s face relaxes, the more he stares into your eyes, the more he falls more and more in love.

toji was just as excited as you, maybe even more.

he couldn’t wait to start this new milestone, this new journey with you. a baby, the two of you would be proud new parents. the thought of it alone brings a soft smile to his face before he leans in to kiss you.

you return the gesture,

closing your eyes while feeling his warm lips mash against your own. toji was so weak for you, happily so.

life was worth living for him again now that he had you and the growing baby in your stomach. once you met him, he thought he’d never move on. he was a broken man who came to the mere conclusion that he had no purpose— all until you came along. toji didn’t believe in second chances, but maybe he’d start. you were his everything, and he couldn’t have been anymore grateful to have you in his arms at this right particular moment.

after a while, the kiss departs and toji smears a thumb against your glossed lips. “you drive me crazy,” he whispers, soft jade like irises peering into yours for about fourteen seconds before he sneaks a kiss near your jaw. “oh, you just reminded me. i ordered somethin’ the other day.”

with your interest piqued, you watch as he grabs out his phone— toji opens some shopping app, swiping a thumb near the check out section before showing it to you. what you were staring at was a cute huge pink sticker for cars that displayed the words of, ‘BABY ON BOARD!’

“you’re so cute,” you lean in to hug him, finding his enthusiasm adorable. a hand of his strums against your back before he leans against the couch. “you’re really set on it being a girl though, huh?”

“yeah,” he presses his nose against yours. “or if it’s a boy, we can name ‘em toji. such a manly name.”

your eye twitches. “one of you is enough,” and he smirks, feeling your thumb play against his scar. “but toji, ‘s like the afternoon. you should go back to sleep.”

“not tired,” he shakes his head, wrapping two arms around your sweet frame. your scent had him always wanting more of you, so sweet. toji pats your back gently before his face buries into your neck. “i’d rather stay up ‘n talk with you.”

“but i was gonna go back to sleep,” you pout.

toji huffs with a smile, kissing the shell of your ear. “oh, you want me back in bed, ‘s that it? darlin’ you could have just asked.”

you blankly stare at him and he guffaws, standing up and pulling you with him. “ah, c’mon. let’s go sleep for another fifteen hours i guess,” he teases, and he helps you walk. toji gawks at your cute waddle. so cute, you felt like you had so much water stored in you. entirely full, your heels slide against the floor before you hold onto your husband’s bicep. “there we go, one step at a time.”

“i’m not a baby, toji.” you mutter, secretly feeling yourself get hot from his doting affection. he’s holding onto you and you’re holding on to him.

“y’er my baby,” he corrects, and once the two of you reach the empty bedroom filled with infant supplies and boxes of baby furniture, you take a seat on the edge of the mattress. toji towers above you as you sit, cupping your face with a sly smile. “wife,” he coos in a gentle voice, two thumbs fondling against both sides of your temples. “i love you. never forget it, yeah?”

“i .. love you too toji.”

he hums. “heh, before we sleep though. how about some pickles?” and your face lights up.

[targaryen-dynasty]

SET ME ALIGHT AGAIN.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader (Part 2 here)

"It was on request of your younger brother's small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And now it's at his hands that the haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s giving back to you. And you let it flood you."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; p in v, oral (fem receiving), angst (?), breeding kink, size kink, size difference, romantic fucking in front of the fireplace, afab reader, post dance of the dragons

WORDS: 4.8 K

NOTES: I dedicate this to @sylasthegrim. You're not only one of the few people I really grew fond of in the short time we truly got to know each other, but since both our minds basically came down to the same idea, this is for you! Thanks for beta reading this. 💕

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

You’ve been in Winterfell for a moon’s turn by now, and have quickly noticed that the ancestral castle possesses a beauty and calmness the Red Keep can be jealous of. But even that isn’t enough to make you feel at home – as if you could ever call a place your home again. Not after you’ve witnessed almost everyone in your family, no matter whether you liked them or not, perish at the hands of each other. 

It was on request of your younger brother, now dubbed King Aegon the third, or rather of his small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And while you’re grateful for the chance to flee the one place that has caused you more hurt than good, riding in a carriage up to the far North like a commoner wasn’t exactly pleasant. 

But how else should you have gotten there when your precious mount died along its kind as the common people stormed the Dragonpit?

For the past month, you’ve very rarely seen the sun – or anyone else than your maids. 

Your days are spent in your chambers, not leaving the safety of the Guest House as you often try to find the sleep you can’t seem to get at night. And during the night, when the Hour of the Owl strikes and no light other than that of the moon reaches Winterfell, one often finds you wandering the quiet halls of the castle. Sometimes one even spots you outside in the Godswood, regardless of the low temperatures that make the three pools fed by an underground hot spring look even more inviting. 

But warmth and comfort are never what you’re after. 

You feel incredibly daring tonight, sitting beneath the ancient weirwood tree on one of its roots. Although there is a thick fur coat draped around your frame, the thin nightgown beneath does not allow you to be kept as warm as one usually desires, your bare feet hidden inside of the coat not a big help either. 

Tiptoeing barefoot through the snow was the hardest part, but it was worth it as it gave you exactly what your body longs for. 

You’re far too absorbed by the reflection of the moon dancing on the pool of black water beneath the tree, and the peaceful allure of the snow-covered night that you don’t notice you’re not alone anymore.  

“Princess?” a husky voice rings out from the shadows, one you’d even recognize in a room full of loud and drunken men. 

Almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, the tall frame of the Lord of Winterfell approaches you without any sudden moves, becoming more visible with the moonlight shining down on him. “What are you doing out here this late?”

Only when he’s stopping not far away from you do you avert your eyes from him to the water again. “I could ask you the same, Lord Stark,” you reply softly. 

A chuckle rumbles in his chest at your remark, and you can’t help the tint of heat hearing it brings to your cheeks. “Indeed you could,” he says. “I have not slept well, and the night has a peaceful allure. But you should not be out in the open without any guards, especially not this late at night.”

You drag your index finger through the snow at your side, drawing a mindless pattern in the dark as you do not pay any mind to his words. “And why is that, Lord Stark?” you ask, a certain snarkiness to your tone. “There is nothing worse that could happen to me than what I have already endured.”

Cregan sighs, and even in the dim light you can make out that he’s scratching his stubble covered chin. “And yet, should something else happen to you, I would not like myself for neglecting you and not protecting you just as I have sworn to the king,” he explains. “Besides, there is a cold chill in the air that I can not believe you are not feeling right now.”

“Perhaps that is the answer you’ve been looking for, my lord,” you mumble. “Perhaps I came here to feel something.”

The Wolf of the North doesn’t immediately answer you. Instead, there lingers a pause between you. But it’s not uncomfortable or feels as though it doesn't pass, no, you find yourself to actually enjoy his company. 

His next words, however, even surprise you as you didn’t think he was capable of it. “Feeling the cold of the snow has its way to make one feel alive, that much is true,” he agrees, and then looks up to the dark sky. “You wish to feel something else than the pain of the absence of the people you’ve lost in this war, I understand… I think.”

His words make the feeling of emptiness, the hollowing ache of loss just worse, while at the same time, he seems to know the feeling of craving pain when you’re just so used to it. 

“This cold bite, the chill that lingers on the skin — no one should want to feel it, Princess. It makes even my bones shake, do you know that? Surely you must be shivering, and we should be getting you inside. I should be getting you inside.”

You know he‘s right. While his words are blunt in nature, they are very much that of truth. You shouldn’t be out here, nor should you want to be out here. There‘s nothing to enjoy about this cold chill and the snow, not when you‘re as sparsely dressed as you are. You‘re not yet used to the chill of Winterfell, of the North. 

Cregan offers you his hand, but you‘re still hesitant to take it. Albeit you reach out, your significantly smaller hand hovers over his, not yet grabbing it. “You‘re not exactly wearing proper attire to be out in this wretched cold for very long,“ he remarks. “Let me help you get up, your feet must be in agony by now.“

“And what if I don‘t want to?“

“Then I will still get you up.“ There is a tinge of amusement in his voice now, seeing this little bit of rebelliousness from you, your strength of mind. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it. “I shall simply pick you up myself, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you inside to your chambers, even though I‘d get you quite angry and don‘t imagine you want me to do just that.“

You don’t believe he actually has the gumption to do something like that at first, although you know he’s able to muster a decent amount of strength that would easily allow him to lift you up. But then, you wonder if he would truly do it if challenged. “Try that, if you dare, my lord.”

He lets out a snort of amusement, enjoying the teasing that slowly shapes between you two. It still is a challenge, and as a man of his station, he could never let words like this go unspoken. “Oh, I dare, Princess.” 

Putting forth his arm, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and easily pulls you forwards onto your feet without applying too much pressure. You’re certainly caught off guard by his actual willingness to lift you up, and a squeal escapes your lips before you’re tossed on his strong shoulder as if you are some silly, helpless girl. 

Cregan carries you through the Godswood and towards the Guest House, though you don’t resist too much as you’re hanging there over his shoulder – a part of you is grateful you don’t have to walk through the snow with your bare feet once more. 

“Lord Stark, put me down at once!” you demand with a little twinge of laughter in your voice. You feel so light, much lighter than you imagine he’s used to lifting up, almost as if it’s taken all of the pressure off your shoulders. 

But when there doesn’t come an answer from him, you grow slightly frustrated. “What if anyone sees, you madman!” you remark, embarrassment warming your cheeks. 

“Madman? That’s rich coming from the woman who was willing to freeze to death in the snow,” he says jokingly, approaching the large doors. “Who do you think could see us at this hour, princess? The rats? And what if they do? What if someone sees me carrying the poor princess, who had the gall to get out of her bed after midnight and wander the Godswood while in her nightgown?” Although there is amusement in his voice, you also notice the faintest hint of flirtation laced within. “Will they judge me for carrying her, or would they judge her for her imprudent midnight excursion?”

You stay silent thrown over his shoulder, not sure how to reply. You thought you had a good comeback, but it seems Cregan is one step ahead of you. The flirtatious teasing you’ve heard catches you off guard, not expecting to hear it from him at all. It makes your cheeks flush with even more embarrassment when you notice that he’s actually right. But you don’t want to admit the truth in what he’s said. 

“You mock me, but you shall see there would be much scandal if someone were to see this,” you retort, trying to keep calm as you’re now a little bit flustered by these sudden developments. “Besides,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and nonchalant, “who says I won’t tell a tale of you being the imprudent one?”

“Ah, you little rascal,” Cregan replies with a chuckle, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “I see you’d find a way to turn the tides and have it end up with me being the bad guy, taking my chances on a vulnerable woman in the guise of protecting her.”

You’re clearly enjoying the teasing a tad too much, enjoying these quick and witty back-to-backs with him, taking your mind off of your grief. Drawing in a deep breath, you hold onto Cregan’s thick coat. “What would you have been protecting me from, Lord Stark?” you ask with feigned innocence. “Were the trees too menacing that you just had to sweep me off my feet to carry me away from their clutches?”

“No, I am afraid it was not the trees that had me worried, Princess,” Cregan replies as he brings you further into the Guest House, easily opening the door to the sleeping quarters with one hand. “The cold was the greater menace, and it had you in its grasp.”

Your words die in your throat when he puts you down on your bed, the soft furs very welcomed beneath your cold feet. You look up at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest as he towers over your significantly smaller frame, and you wait for him to make the next move. 

There’s a moment of silence between you, obviously he’s considering his next words. 

And boy do they disappoint you. “I shall make sure a fire is lit for you to warm yourself, princess,” he says, turning around to approach the hearth on the other side of the room. 

Cregan crouches down to build and start a small fire in the hearth that should last the night, not wanting you to stay too cold. But you wouldn’t be a thoroughbred dragon if it didn’t mean for you to take any risks. And so you get onto your cold feet, the coat still draped around your shoulders sliding down to the ground. 

Feeling a bit too exposed too quickly, you grab one of the thick fur blankets laying on your bed instead and wrap it around your frame, before you tiptoe towards the large wolf kneeling in front of the fireplace. 

“I have something different in mind,” you speak softly. Cregan, startled by your words and your sudden approach, turns around and faces you as he rises to his feet. You reach and bury your hands in the collar of his coat, the blanket falling to the ground in the process, and when you use your grip to pull him close, you find that he does not shy away in the least – if anything, he follows the tug to connect your lips in a heated kiss. 

He brings his large hands to your waist with ease, and presses his body against yours. The wolf feels like he’s drowning in you, in your lips, your warmth, your presence and scent. Wanting to lose himself in the moment, in you, his hands wander lower to your hips. 

“I did not expect you to do this tonight,” he breathes against your lips, breaking the silence. 

“And I did not expect some things from you tonight either,” you reply, breathlessly, voice breaking with every breath you take. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice is low and smooth as he speaks, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” There is a flirtatious smile on his lips, and a playfulness you haven’t seen before in his gray eyes. It’s as if that small spark between you has quickly evolved into an inferno that now burns bright in the both of you. 

It’s a fierce and burning kiss when your lips connect once more, fueled by the fires coursing through your veins. You release a soft whimper with his large paws trailing over your sides, feeling the fabric of your nightgown. 

“If we continue this, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he rasps.

You tilt your head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips. “Perhaps I do not want you to.”

Cregan’s eyebrows raise at your reply, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist once more. He can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal run down his back, which prompts him to release a low chuckle. “Well, if you wish for it that much…” he whispers in response, before pulling you back toward him, kissing you passionately. 

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips as you pull back from him, licking your kiss swollen lips. “But there are a few things we need to get you out of first,” you tease, tugging at the thick, furry coat that’s draped over his broad shoulders. 

“Are you this eager to have your hands over all of me?” he replies with a flirtatious smirk, but still unclips the coat and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t mind you seeming quite intent to get him out of his armor, allowing you to fumble with the clasps and buckles, and eventually helps you remove the heavy bits until he’s left wearing nothing but his breeches. But even those are quickly unlaced by you, left to be a puddle around his feet. 

“My my, do you not feel a little too hot still, Lord Stark?” you tease, letting your fingers wander over his exposed stomach. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping onto your cheeks as you see him in such little clothing, so exposed. He’s a muscular man, tall and large, and the sight of his bare skin with the dark of hair on his chest and a trail of it running below his undergarments is a welcoming one. 

Through the linen you see that he’s already hard and begging, waiting for you to take things further. Truly a shame you seem to relish in the teasing. 

Goosebumps prickle on his skin in the wake of your finger, making you smile. You drag your finger along the waistband of his undergarments, hooking it beneath to tug on it. He knows what you desire, and he’s not ashamed to give you just that. “I do not see you so eager to remove your own clothes, Princess,” he teases, undoing the laces in the front for his undergarments to join his breeches. “It is hardly fair you want to see all of me, yet I am not allowed to do the same.”

You take in a sharp breath at the sight of his hard cock, standing to full attention. It has you licking your lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you’re quick to pull your nightgown over your head, a smirk on your lips. A flimsy piece of linen conceals what lies between your legs, but it’s still enough for him to all but devour your almost bare frame. 

“There,” you whisper, “now we are on equal grounds.”

Cregan takes a moment to look over you, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts fully exposed mto him. He knows you’re no maiden who’s completely untouched, you wouldn’t be as confident if you were, but it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sight in front of him. 

“Equal grounds, truly?” he asks you, taking a step toward you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him, as his other hand fists the linen of your smallclothes. “I think you still have an advantage over me, Princess. Because I have yet to see what lies beneath your undergarments.”

Your palms rest flatly against his chest, and you press a chaste kiss to his skin. “I will not stop you, Lord Stark,” you whisper, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“Then let’s make these ‘equal grounds’ a little bit more equal, hm?” Cregan whispers as well. He sinks to his knees with his mouth trailing a path down your body, licking and kissing over your skin until he reaches your navel. His large hands trail over your sides and thighs on his way down, the movement and sight making your breath hitch in your throat. 

A shudder ripples through your body as he tugs your smallclothes down your legs, and while you watch him with your hands buried in his dark curls, his eyes are all but focused on what’s between your legs. 

He drapes one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his dark blown eyes darting up to meet yours, and before you can make any teasing remark, his mouth is on you. A gasp catches in your throat. “Cregan, please,” you whimper, forgetting all courtesies the moment his tongue drags through your slit. There’s no softness, no gentleness in the way he all but devours your cunt, the previous teasing having made his patience run thin. 

Your head tips back in pleasure as his tongue alternates between sliding into you and swirling around your pearl, noticing both options have you grind your hips against his face. The tip of his nose rubs so perfectly against your pearl when his mouth pays attention to your entrance, and Cregan’s fingers dig into your flesh with your body tensing up already, keeping you steady. 

The Wolf of the North growls against your cunt as if he’s truly turned into one, devouring you with all he’s got, the sheer pleasure brought by his tongue and lips taking over you. 

As you look down at him again, you find him already staring up at you, watching you carefully as you slowly but surely unravel on his tongue. It’s intense, but you’re captivated enough not to break eye contact. 

“Gods, yes, I–” you whimper, and fall apart all over his tongue with a shudder. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s paws on your body, you would have lost balance by now, especially with the way he seemed to work his tongue in and out of you faster just in rhythm to his nose rubbing your pearl. 

He pulls away from you slowly as your peak subsides, and with his beard and lips glistening with the remnants of your arousal, how could you not pounce on him right then and there?

He supports his body with one arm placed on the ground and stretches his legs as you push yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes you moan against his lips before you deepen the kiss. 

Cregan’s hard cock is nestled between your bodies, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around it, stroking him once, twice, before you shift your hips and slowly sink down on him. 

Muscular arms completely wrap around your waist, making you very well aware of the size difference between the two of you. You’re significantly smaller than him, and relish in the feeling of being safe and protected with him around. You two haven’t been too close upon your arrival in the North, but it seems that there has been a hidden attraction lingering for quite some time. 

You know your hips would sooner or later become sore from pumping him with your core, hence you stick to rocking your hips back and forth with his cock stuffed deep inside you. It’s intimate and slow, but with the coarse hairs around the base of his cock dragging over your pearl with each swivel of your hips, you’re still racing for completion. 

While he mouths along your jaw and the curve of your throat, one of his hands comes up to cup your breast. Rolling the perky bud between his index finger and thumb, the slight sting works wonders to amplify the pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“By the Seven,” you whimper, grinding your hips against him with more determination. 

There comes a sharp hiss in return from him, barely audible between the open mouthed kisses he presses to your collar bones. You’re clawing at his shoulders and neck by now, scratching it despite the sensuality of your movements, and it feels as though you’re even drawing blood. But he doesn’t care about that – he rather enjoys having a woman that doesn’t hold back. 

Trailing his lips up to your throat, he nudges your chin with his nose, prompting you to tip your head back. “It’s not them you need to pray to right now, Princess,” Cregan rasps, a clear strain to his voice. “But perhaps I should take that as a compliment, hm?”

His words cause you to chuckle, and you’re grateful that he’s quickly distracted by kissing your throat again, because otherwise he might have noticed the heat his words bring to your cheeks. “If that is…” you trail off panting, burying your hand in his curls to tug his head back, forcing him to look up at you. The sight of his dark blown eyes hungrily gazing at you sends a shiver down your spine. You feel desired. “If that is a compliment, then I shall have to say it much more often.”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact you state wanting to compliment him more often, or if he’s just not used to having an appreciative lover in general, but your words seem to flip a switch inside of him. You quickly find yourself lowered on the fur blankets, warming your back while the flames heat up your skin and Cregan your blood. 

Nestled between your legs, he’s growing more determined now, the sensual rocking of your hips clearly not enough for him, but you don’t mind it. As much as you enjoy being in control, setting the tone, you also revel in following the lead. 

He’s propped up on one elbow, supporting himself as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips that make his cock drag so expertly against the sweet spot inside of you. 

With one hand, you hold onto his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his skin, while the other gropes at his chest, teasing his bud just like he’s done with yours before. The feeling of his coarse hairs beneath your fingers feels somewhat strange at first, for Aemond hasn’t had as much chest hair as Cregan does, but it’s also comforting. 

The familiar coil in the pit of your belly tightens slowly with his hips snapping into yours over and over again, split open by his hard cock.  

“Will you fill me up, my lord?” you moan breathily, arching your back with your breasts pressing against his sturdy frame. 

Cregan releases a choked groan at the question, and for a moment you can feel his hips stutter. You briefly wonder if you’ve pushed your luck too far, especially with him not replying immediately, until his raspy voice cuts through the heavy pants and moans. 

“Only if you let me take you to wife, Princess.” 

You inevitably clench down around him as a small, hiccuped gasp catches in your throat, resulting in Cregan drawing in a sharp breath. The haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s now giving back to you. And you let it flood you. 

Your hand comes from his chest to his biceps, holding onto it as you gather your thoughts. His hips haven’t slowed down one bit, and he’s truly expecting you to answer as if he wasn’t repeatedly impaling you on his cock right now. 

Staring up at him with wide eyes, your voice isn’t any louder than a whisper. “It would be foolish of me to turn this offer down,” you reply.

An impish smirk dances along Cregan’s features. “Is that meant to be a yes?”

“Y-Yes, it is, “ you whimper beneath him, arching your back once more. 

The warmth of his body, his weight and scent cloud your every being, and his thrusts are determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him. 

His hand snakes between your bodies, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the coarse hair around his cock has granted you at least a bit of friction, it’s not enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circles over the little bud, fully coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly is close to snapping. 

“Then I just might,” he grunts in return. 

Your body jerks at the sudden touch, but his muscular frame between your legs is enough to keep you pinned to the ground. “I need you… Cregan,” you whimper, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Your lips hardly part to release whimpers and moans, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure without any shame. “Let me give you a spare.”

It appears that your words give him a new-found vigor that leaves you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. As you start to roll your hips against his thumb, you not only create some friction that feeds your pleasure but his as well. It’s not long after that your peak washes over you with a soft gasp, walls clenching around him like a vice. 

With your small frame trembling between his strong arms, Cregan releases a strained grunt, his own peak being milked out of him by your cunt fluttering around his cock. He keeps on dragging his thumb over your sensitive pearl, prolonging your peak and the pleasure that comes with it.

You stare up at him with wide eyes as you’re milking him for every drop, because there’s something so vulnerable in this wolf of a man, towering over you with his skin glistening with sweat, so desperate to fill you with his seed and breed you. 

The last jolts of his peak force him to languidly rut his hips into yours, desperately chasing the feeling of bliss that courses through your veins. His chest heaves with every heavy breath he takes, and the dark curls are damp and fall into his face. 

Only as Cregan is certain there’s not one drop of his seed left inside of him does he slowly stop his ministrations, and the hand that has toyed with your bud seizes your hips, stilling them.

His erratic breaths fans over your sweaty skin with his lips pressing to your temple. The feeling of being whole with him doesn’t leave you, not when his weight pins you down and keeps you grounded, easing your tumbled mind.  

“I shall welcome the arrival of any child you bear me,” Cregan says, inevitably breaking the silence. 

A smile spreads across your lips as you wrap your legs around his hips, and your arms around his neck. “Be careful what you wish for. My children will certainly be just as stubborn as me.”

His heart is practically pounding against his ribs, and he can feel himself on the verge of being lost by your touch alone again. You make him go wild and feral, your bold and flirtatious nature bringing out another side to him that’s completely unexpected. And yet it feels so right.  

The teasing banter brings a smile to his lips and a light to his gray eyes, your wit and humor shining through. “Let them be stubborn, then,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “They only need to be half as feisty as you, and I shall be the happiest man in Winterfell.”

[codtrashsammy]

This is... love? (Simon Riley x Reader)

- SMUT SMUT SMUT - MDNI MDNI MDNI -

First time writing smut in a loooong time, so bare with me. Had an idea and ran with it. I hope you like it tho!

Simon Riley can fuck. But what about the first time you make love? Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader/You

Warnings: crying during sex (not the bad kind tho, promise), explicit sex, p in v, praise (heavy heavy like on god), gentle love making <3 bc our boy can fuck, but what about other stuff too?!

Of course, you’ve fucked. Simon has been your boyfriend for 3 years now, you’re definitely comfortable to explore that part of your relationship now.

Simon has had you bent over every piece of furniture in your flat, has had you in every bed in your house, in the shower, on the floor, a couple of times on the balcony even. He’s had you pinned to walls in sketchy bar bathrooms, he’s had you in the back of his nice looking truck, the bed of that same truck- fuckin’ everywhere. That’s all it’s been, it’s been fucking. Rough, fast- always fucking godly, of course, but it’s primal. Animalistic, and you love it- you truly do love it. But this time you want to do things different. You want to slow it down, you want to fucking relish in the man you’re lucky to call your own. You don’t want to fuck, you want to make love to him. Simon has always been… not exactly averse to your softer affections, as he’s always a very willing participant, but you sometimes notice he seems… overwhelmed. Like he can’t quite handle the raw, genuine emotion behind a soft, tender, lingering touch. His cheeks heat up, he gets this certain look in his eyes, and while he’s never been mean about it- he backs away from it. He shies away from it. 

You’ve tried talking to him about it- you’ve tried many, many times to bring it up to him. And yet the bastard always has a way to switch up the conversation, to change things around, to slip past the topic so easily- he can spin straw into gold with that mouth of his.

So, you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands.

You’re laying in bed, cuddled right up to him, your leg thrown over his hips and an arm thrown over his chest while you lay on your side, your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his arm. Simon’s hand idly plays with the ends of your hair, his arm wrapped around you, simply holding you to him as if to make sure you don’t slip away. 

Simon is seemingly lost in thought, eyes closed and body more or less relaxed- as relaxed as Simon can be when the man is always seemingly on alert to every little sound. 

“Hey, Si,” You murmur out, your fingers idly tracing random shapes against the fabric of his shirt. He hums to let you know he’s heard you, but otherwise doesn’t really react. Fuck, you love this man. You love every inch of him, everything about him. You even love that he always leaves the toilet seat up (you swear he does it out of spite) because you know you’d miss it if he wasn’t around to keep doing it.

“Can I try something?” You ask, tone soft and relaxed, casual. Not at all portraying the thoughts in your head, your secret little ‘mastermind’ plan. 

“Tha’s quite vague, ain’t it, love?” Simon grumbles out, voice low as if to match the atmosphere of simple peace and quiet. “Hmm…” You trail off, a playful smile growing on your face- not that he’s looking to see it, “I think it’s pretty simple. Either yes or no.” You quip with a nod, moving to lean up, resting your weight on your elbows so you can look down at him with a soft, gentle smile. And of course at feeling you move, his arm moves from around your shoulders to around your waist- always touching you, never wanting you far when he’s finally home. (You don’t realize home is you- but of course he’s never quite told you that). Simon’s eyes open at your movement, too. Pretty brown eyes, half lidded in his more-or-less relaxed state as he looks up to meet your gaze, his gaze soft in the way it only ever is for you- his mask resting along the nightstand by the bed. There if he needs it- but it’s rarely needed with you around. A warm light, easily able to lighten up even the darkest depths of his mind to keep his demons at bay.

“....yes?” Simon offers after a few moments of contemplation, a curious look in his own eyes as they scan over your face- looking for a hint of what possible fuckery you could be up to at this point. Your soft smile stretches out into a soft grin as you lean down, pressing your lips to Simon's and letting your eyes flutter shut. One of your hands come up, tracing softly up his chest, up his throat, along his jaw before settling to cup his cheek.

You can feel his breath hitch the slightest bit at the soft touch, the lingering touch. This is the kind of kiss that usually overwhelms him, but maybe he’s in a good mood tonight. Your thumb softly caresses his cheek while your tongues intertwine, and you can feel the moment Simon tries to speed it up.

You pull away, eyes still closed, your lips brushing against his as you speak, “No, no,”

And you promptly place your lips back against his own, not giving him time to start spitting his bullshit about how he’s going to make you see stars if you don’t stop teasing him- because that’s not the goal here. 

You shift your body, moving to straddle Simon's hips (a feat in its own right), keeping one hand cupping his cheek while the other moves to the hem of his shirt, slowly running over the skin above the waistband of his pajama pants, before delving under the fabric and feeling the softness of his tummy, touch so soft and gentle, so loving against his body.

Simon doesn’t know what to think, his own hands seeming to hesitate before they come to rest along your thighs, squeezing the fat there a bit roughly- but that’s okay, you can teach him. 

“Love your hands, Si,” You murmur as you finally pull away from the kiss, only to trail kisses down his jawline, slow and soft, occasionally nipping at the skin.

Simon let's out a grunt, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs before moving to cup your ass, pushing your body to force your clothed cunt to grind against his already hard cock, and a breathy moan leaves your lips from the stimulation- but damn it, you’re doing this your way this time.

“I’ll stop,” You warn, voice still soft, but there's… an edge to it for once, one stating that you really will.

A soft groan leaves Simon's lips, along with a scoff at the absolute audacity of you, “Love,” Simon says, in warning more than anything. 

“I don’t wanna hear it,” You’re quick to say, before leaning back to meet his pretty, brown-eyed gaze, your hands moving to lift his shirt which he eagerly enough helps with, throwing the fabric away and down to the floor like it was the very thing that killed his family.

…a bit much, but you can understand his eagerness.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” You murmur out, eyes filled with nothing but adoration as you trail your hands across the familiar expanse of his chest, fingers running through his chest hair, thumbs brushing over his nipples before trailing down his sides. Your palms run over the subtle softness of his belly, where you know there is muscle hidden underneath.

A hiss leaves Simon's lips, and you can feel his cock twitch from where you’re perched in his lap. “Bloody ‘ell, love, the fuck ya doin?” Simon mutters, hands moving to grab your hips.

“Jus’ be good for me, yeah?” You murmur out, a soft, adoring smile on your face as you finally look up to meet his gaze.

The sight alone is enough to make you pause slightly. He’s not like this when you’re fucking- and you don’t even have his dick in you yet! His cheeks are flushed, not from exertion, he’s just flustered, his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched together with pretty glossy eyes. Almost like he could cry- but not quite. 

“You’re always so good for me, Si,” You murmur, grinding your hips against his own and letting out another breathy moan at the feeling, his hands tightening their grip of your hips in response. Just one look and you can tell he’s overwhelmed already- or at the very least getting there. But he hasn’t once told you to stop- he’s simply tried speeding you up, which you have no interest in. Not this time.

You grab his hands, kissing each of his knuckles before slowly dragging them underneath your own shirt, placing his palms against your breasts, his thumbs already swiping at your nipples, at the already peaked buds there. “Always takin’ such good care of me, my love,” You praise, and you reward him with another slow grind, beginning to set such a slow, but lovely pace, just enough friction to make you want more- but that’s the goal. A slow build, no rush, no desperation, just… slow. Loving. Gentle. Tender. Simon visibly gulps, his hands squeezing the flesh of your tits with a groan before he’s tugging your shirt off and adding it to the growing pile on the floor. He tries to buck his hips, tries to get your movements to speed up- but you simply lift up, ending the contact altogether, and send him a pointed look.

“Do ya not want me to fuck ya, love? What’s all this then?” Simon says with a huff, eyes narrowing slightly as they meet your own. Anyone else would say he’s frustrated- and yeah, partly he is. But you know your Simon, you can see that glossiness to his eyes, can see the slightest twitch of his brow- he’s overwhelmed- he’s not sure how to handle this, the softness, the gentleness. Simon likes to say he can’t be soft, can’t be gentle, can’t be loving. But it’s been 3 years with this man- you know he can. He just needs to be taught- it’s simply something he’s never had before, it’s not like he was born with the knowledge. “No,” You answer with a pleased, breathy sigh, resting your hips back against his own and beginning that slow grind once more, feeling his cock twitch at the action. “Don’t wanna fuck, Si. Jus’ be good for me, baby. Jus’ sit here, look pretty for me. Always so good for me. Jus’ let me love you, sweet boy,” You murmur out, eyes meeting his own and holding their gaze.

You trail your hands down his arms along his shoulders and collar bones, quite literally loving every inch of his skin.

Simon’s cheeks get hotter, the look he gives you is entirely overwhelmed, spooked even. Like the thought of being loved is absolutely horrifying alone.

“Be good? Kinda kinky, innit?” Simon mumbles out in response, looking at you with a quirked brow.

But you don’t stop. And he doesn’t stop you.

Clothes continue to fly off, positions change, but somehow you manage to remain in full control for once. And he lets you. Sure, you have to correct him at times, have to remind him to slow down, all with soft smiles and gentle praise- and he eats it up like a starving hound.

Even now, as moans and breathy praise leaves your lips, Simon being vocal, a rarity on it’s own, at least to this extent.

“Feel s’ good around me, love, fuck, so good,” He fucking babbles, his cock dragging along the walls of your drooling cunt at a slow, but steady pace. You’re underneath him now- stereotypical missionary- but it’s divine.

You pull Simon’s head down, pressing his forehead against your own, your legs wrapped loosely around his hips as his cock drags deliciously over all those sweet spots inside, the soft mound above his cock pressing against your clit with every. Single. Thrust.

It’s a slow build up, so slow, and while he focuses on clenching his fists into the sheets above your head, resting on his elbows on either side of it, you focus on touching him, praising him.

“Always so good to me, baby,” You practically purr the words.

“I love you so much, Si, so much,” You say, breathless as your back arches, forehead pressed to his and eyes closed in bliss of the slow building pleasure.

“Like you were made jus’ for me, sweet boy,” Your hands move to wrap around his shoulders, one of them tangling in his hair.

“Love how you make me feel, Simon,” You moan out, legs tightening their grip around his hips.

If your eyes weren’t closed, you’d see how Simon is looking at you right now. Simon is looking at you like you’re a fucking goddess… but the vision is blurry, from the pure overwhelming, unshed tears in his eyes. God, he’s pathetic, isn’t he? Crying? During sex? But he can’t even entertain the thought- thoughtful praise continuing to spill from your lips as he continues his slow, languid, deep thrusts. 

He focuses on the feeling, on the way your words are soothing parts of him he didn’t care to recognize were broken, he focuses on the way your hands trail across his skin so fucking lovingly- as if he’s actually worth something. As if he’s someone and not a monster. As if he doesn’t have hundreds of lives taken by the very hands you praise for touching you.

No- no, none of that matters right now, as for the first time in his fucking life Simon Riley doesn’t fuck- he makes love. 

“God- g-gonna make me cum, Simon- fuck- love the way you make me cum-” You whimper out, back arching into him and fuck, Simon can’t take it anymore.

Simon doesn’t know what to think. Sure, the pleasure is mind-numbing, your pussy always feels so fucking good when it’s wrapped around his cock like this, but it’s damn near tripled by the pure feelings you’re forcing him to feel. The way his chest burns, but it’s so good- he can fucking feel the love you have for him, the way you hold him in your heart, the way you think of him as though he put the very stars in the sky for you and you alone. And he would- fuck he absolutely would. He’d give you the world should you ask for it- fuck he loves you, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

He doesn’t speed up- he wants the slower build up, too, doesn’t want to rush it, but he’s going to shatter if more praise leaves your lips so he presses down, slotting his mouth against your own, a minor distraction really.

You can feel the wetness to his cheeks.

You know it’s not sweat.

Your hands move to cup his cheeks so softly, so lovingly, so gently. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure builds until that band finally fucking snaps, and you’re on cloud nine.

Simon buries his head in the crook of your neck, his hot, thick cum shooting ropes into you as your cunt squeezes his cock like a vice, truly milking him for all he’s worth.

You’re both panting, but Simon's head stays hidden- you know why, you can feel the tears against your neck, but you don’t say anything.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you come down from your high, nuzzling your cheek against the top of his head.

“Love you so much,” You whisper out, running a hand through his hair, still slightly breathless.

You can feel Simon place the softest kiss to your neck, arms squeezing you almost too tightly, but you don’t say anything. 

You know your Simon. He’s not a monster. He’s not a killing machine. He’s a man- your man. Simon’s not unlovable, he’s not broken. He’s not stupid for simply not knowing. He’s not stupid for simply needing to be taught.

And you love him. Gods, do you love him. You’ll teach him. You’ll teach him it’s okay, he’s safe here, in your arms. He’s safe to love, to cry, to breakdown, he’s safe to get the very things he’s never had- and you’ll give them willingly.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. His now soft cock still buried in your cunt, his tears have subsided awhile ago, but he’s still unwilling to move from his spot- not that you’re complaining. 

It’s so quiet you barely even hear it, but fuck, you’re so glad you did.

“Love ya,” Simon mumbles against your skin, his voice so quiet, hoarse and rough. But so very soft, so very gentle. Yeah. Simon Riley can fuck like a god. But Simon Riley is learning how to love you fully, how to make love to you fully- and he wouldn’t change a thing. Neither would you.

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3| PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 4

Your frustration over his broken promise melts away as soon as he calls, and you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to his voice, more than you anticipated.

Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Phone sex, mutual (and guided) masturbation, dirty talk ~4.7k words

A/n: this is just me wishing he was on quinn😔 anyway enjoy part 4, this mini series is not dead (i don’t even know how long it will be but let’s just celebrate that I’m finally updating)

All men do is lie, you thought as you flopped onto your bed.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault—but you weren’t in the mood to be reasonable. You remembered that car ride vividly. He had promised you more time together, a moment to finally be alone. Instead, what did you get? A new case, then another, and amidst all the chaos and dodging bullets (literally and metaphorically), you two somehow managed to drift apart.

The past few weeks had been the busiest since you started working at the BAU, and that was saying a lot, considering there was never really a moment of peace when you worked for the government. But this time was different, it seemed even more chaotic than usual. Every time you thought of bringing up the conversation with him—or maybe sneak in a little make-out session—something urgent would come up. 

There was never the right time, or the right moment. It felt as if the universe had other plans for you, and none of them involved the two of you getting a moment alone. And before you knew it, you were caught in this maddening cycle of missed opportunities, and the worst thing was, you were sexually frustrated.

This time, you had no one else to blame but him. Ever since he came into the picture, your carefully maintained self-control had started to slip, and now, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t ignore the growing need between your legs. It was aching, throbbing, and even the thought of him was making you hot and restless.

How did he manage to do that? He wasn’t even trying. There was nothing overtly seductive in the way he moved or spoke, and yet every glance, every accidental touch, seemed to affect you. Spencer. Just his name made your breath hitch, your body betraying you. You weren’t proud to admit this, but the mere thought of his fingers brushing your skin had you feeling that first rush of arousal slipping into your panties.

You huffed, considering digging out your pink silicone toy hidden somewhere in your drawer. And while you were contemplating this, knowing it had been a while since you last used it because nothing could compare to the feeling of his touch now, your phone on the bedside table rang.

Maybe the universe was really testing you, because his name flashed across the screen and it took a lot of self-control for you not to pick up on the first ring and demand him to fuck you right there and then, which sounded too crass when you weren’t in the middle of straddling his lap like the last time. So instead, you decided to wait until the sixth ring before you answered with a curt, “Hey.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “You’re mad at me.”

Could he tell? Of course, he could. He always had an uncanny ability to read you, even over the phone. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I can almost see you rolling your eyes.”

“I never roll my eyes,” you shot back.

“You rolled your eyes last week when Luke tried to tell us that his dog could sniff out bodies better than our trained ones.”

You suppressed a smile, surprised that he even noticed you giving Luke a once-over at that particular moment. “That was because his dog chases its tail more than it chases leads.”

"And I'm not worthy of an eye roll?"

“Honestly, you deserve more than an eye roll,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"So you are mad,” he stated, growing quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.”

And now you felt bad. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to clear your thoughts. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any less better.”

You felt a pang of guilt as you stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly fair to blame him. Serial killers, unfortunately, didn’t come with a schedule, and now Spencer was already on his leave. You recalled the excitement in his voice when he told you about the seminars Emily had arranged for him to teach. He had spoken with an enthusiasm you hadn’t heard in a long time, his eyes practically lighting up every time he mentioned it.

How could you be upset about that?

"I'm not... mad.”

There was a slight teasing note in his voice as he replied, "Just annoyed then?"

You held back a smile. "Maybe a little."

“Anything I can do to help with that?” His voice softened through the phone. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Your thoughts immediately went to the sticky situation between your legs, and you felt a flush of embarrassment. Technically, he could help with that. But could you say that? Should you? 

"I don’t know, depends on what you have in mind,” you replied, trying to steer your mind away from the direction it was heading. There was a pause, a silence that hung in the air as he carefully considered his next words.

"I could… start by telling you how much I miss you?”

Now that, you didn’t expect. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Spencer had never really acknowledged his feelings with words when his actions spoke volumes, but hearing him say it out loud made the emotions between you feel undeniably real. It was as if his words shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you had built over the past years.

Although you knew your friendship had fundamentally changed the moment he had you pinned on the desk that fine afternoon, it didn’t stop you from questioning about where you truly stood.

"You miss the idea of me," you corrected him, unable to resist yourself.

“You know that’s not true,” he replied gently.

“Do I?”

“Yes, you know me better than that,” he insisted. “You’re a great profiler, you can tell if I’m not being honest.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, despite trying to stay mad at him. "You hate being profiled.”

"That was before I realized how useful your skills are in deciphering my feelings.”

“You know I’d rather you tell me how you feel.”

“I did, I miss you, and you chose not to believe me.”

Your cheeks actually ached from smiling too much. You couldn’t help but feel a warm, tingling sensation spread through you. “Fine,” you sighed, finally giving in. “I believe you.”

“And?”

You rolled onto your side. “And what?”

“Do you not miss my absence at work?”

“Well…”

“Well?” He prompted.

Now how could you tell him you missed more than just his presence? How could you admit that you missed the way he made you feel, the way his breath felt hot against your skin, without sounding obvious or too needy? Because you missed everything about him. His hands, his lips, his tongue—oh dear god, his tongue.

Spencer suddenly called out your name, and you forced yourself to focus, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you cleared your throat.

“Yes, I—I miss you,” you finally admitted.

There was a pause, then his voice came through, lighter, teasing. “Why do you sound like that?”

“…like what?”

“Like you’re out of breath.”

You gripped the sheets tightly, the fabric bunching under your fingers. How could you even begin to explain this to him now that he was onto you? You felt like you were on the verge of a full-blown emotional meltdown. God, if he knew how many times you’d replayed every kiss, every touch, in your mind, he’d never let you live it down.

It was almost laughable, really. Here you were, trying to keep it together, and failing miserably. “It’s just… I really, really miss you.”

“You really miss me? Are you trying to say something?”

You hesitated, your mind scrambling for the right words without revealing too much. “No…?”

“Mhm,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not telling me everything.”

You gripped the phone tighter. “I’m just saying... It's hard without you here. You know, in every way.”

“In every way?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling both embarrassed and mortified. “I just... I miss how you make me feel. Physically.”

“Physically?” he pressed. “Can you elaborate?”

“I’m... you know, I’ve been... missing certain things. Certain... activities.”

“Certain activities,” he repeated your words once again. It was then that you realized he was teasing you, clearly enjoying your discomfort a little too much. “You mean like... talking?”

“No. More like... the other stuff we do when we’re alone.”

"I don't understand."

At that point, your embarrassment was gnawing at you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. “God, Spencer, don’t make me say it,” you groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

“Come on, I need a little more than that.” He sounded both amused and curious. “I’m just making sure I understand you right.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled but still clear enough for him to hear.

“Actually, I don’t think I do. You could be missing so many things, you have to help me out here.”

You turned your head to the side, exasperation coloring your tone. “Spencer…”

"Yes?" he responded innocently.

"You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

"I find precise communication to be very important.”

You let out a groan, feeling the last of your restraint crumble. “Alright! Fine!” you snapped. “I’m horny, okay? And it’s all your fault!”

His laughter rang through the phone, and you could almost see the grin spreading across his face. “My fault?"

"Yes! I feel like a deprived, horny teenager here, and I just…”

You trailed off, hardly believing you had actually said that out loud. The realization hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you wished you could take it back. There was a pause that seemed to stretch on forever and you wondered if you had gone too far.

He finally broke the silence, breathing out your name in a way that made your skin tingle. "You could've told me from the start."

You could, but you’d rather not.

"I didn't want to sound desperate."

"You can be desperate with me,” he said softly. “Just say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

If there was one thing Spencer was good at, it was getting under your skin. He really shouldn’t be saying those words, not now, not when it was making you crave him even more. You swallowed, feeling a tightness in your chest, a knot in your stomach. The part of you that always played it safe wanted to retract, to laugh it off as a joke. But then there was that other part, the part that craved his attention, the part that was tired of holding back.

“Tell me, what do you want now?”

You took a deep breath and laid on your back, the words catching in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken.

“I want… you.”

“Tell me how you want me.”

Your fingers trailed over the sheets, your touch light as you imagined it was him beneath your fingertips. “Spencer…”

“Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me.”

You paused, your heart pounding in your chest. You could almost imagine him right in front of you, staring at you with those beautiful brown eyes that always managed to make you melt, coaxing words from you that you barely dared to think, let alone speak.

Just say it. He's waiting. He wants to hear it.

Your hand began to move.

“I… I want your hands on me.”

“Where do you want my hands?”

“Everywhere,” you whispered, your fingers grazing your body as if they were his. You closed your eyes.

“Everywhere?”

You found yourself nodding even though he couldn’t see you.

“On my hips…”

Your hand danced across your hips.

“My stomach…”

Your palm slipped under your shirt, moving slowly up your abdomen, feeling the warmth of your own touch and wishing it was his.

“Between my thighs…”

You paused at the hem of your panties, the only barrier beneath your shirt, hesitating as a flush of warmth spread through you. The line was silent for a moment, save for the sound of his breathing—a soft, heavy rhythm that matched the pounding of your own heart.

“Where else do you want me?”

Your fingers dipped inside the fabric. “I want you lower…”

“Tell me exactly where.”

“Where I’m most sensitive,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them.  Your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. “Spencer… please…”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I…”

“Are you?”

“No…”

“Do you want to touch yourself?”

You licked your lips, your breath coming faster. “Maybe.”

“Then do it, no one’s stopping you.”

You hesitated, the reality of the situation sinking in. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were having this conversation with him. "This feels so naughty.”

"Naughty can be nice, though, right?" he assured you. "Don't think about it too much. It’s just you and me.”

There really was something about his voice, the way it effortlessly wrapped around you—smooth, coaxing, almost hypnotic. Despite the hesitation that tugged at your mind, your hand began to move lower, and your legs parting involuntarily. A soft gasp escaped your lips when your hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds. You were already wet, and you began to spread your arousal towards your clit.

“Spencer…” you whined, feeling the sudden rush of sensations.

“Keep going,” he urged. “Tell me what you feel.”

You closed your eyes. “It feels… good…”

“Describe it to me.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “It’s warm and wet… and…”

And you wished he was the one touching you.

You let your mind drift to your fantasy. You imagined it was his fingers circling your clit. You imagined his lips against yours, the way they would move together. You imagined him whispering these words right in front of you, his eyes locked on yours as you writhed beneath him. The fantasy felt so vivid that for a moment, you could almost feel his weight pressing down on you, his presence enveloping you completely.

Your imagination urged you to move faster, but you felt limited by the fabric in the way. You called out his name. “Can I… can I take my, um, underwear off?”

You could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “Of course you can.”

You put your phone down, and with trembling fingers, you slid the fabric down your legs. You discarded them quickly and turned the call to speaker before you settled back on the bed. Your hand returned to your body, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin. You parted your legs even wider, and as your fingers found their rhythm, a moan escaped you.

“Better?”

You sighed in relief as you continued to rub your clit. “So much better.”

“Keep it slow, okay? We don’t want to rush.”

His voice was low and soothing, and you couldn’t believe how just by his voice he had gotten you so worked up.

“Now press a little harder.” You complied, applying a bit more pressure on your clit. "Right there. Do you feel that?"

"Yes," you gasped, your back slightly arching off the bed.

“I wish I could see you right now," he murmured. “I'd kiss you where you're touching.”

You let your imagination take over. You pictured him with his head right between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours with those intense, pretty eyes. You imagined his mouth moving over your clit, sucking gently while his fingers explored between your folds. The thought was so vivid, so real, that you could almost feel his warm breath against your skin.

The mental image of him looking up at you was almost too much to bear. “Spencer…”

"Keep going. Are your fingers wet?" You could simply moan back a reply, not trusting your own voice. “Now slowly slide in one. Can you do that for me?”

You did as he said, sliding a finger into your wetness. You could feel how tight you were, the slick warmth of your arousal enveloping your skin. You looked down between your legs and watched as you pleased yourself. It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight. You had done this countless times before, but never with the voice of a man guiding you, especially Spencer—the last person you’d imagine doing this with.

Yet look at how much effect he had on you.

"You're quiet," his voice suddenly came through. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes," you managed to whisper. "It's just... a lot."

"In a good way, I hope?"

“Very good,” you assured him.

You could practically picture the corner of his lips twitching into a proud smile. “Good,” he recited. “Now try adding another finger.”

You couldn't help a moan escaping your lips as you pushed in your middle finger, the sound louder than you intended.

"How does that feel?"

"Full," you breathed out, adjusting to the sensation.

“Yeah? I bet you’re so tight.”

You were, awfully so. Your walls clenched around your fingers, almost swallowing them as you started to move them in a steady rhythm. The pleasure built in your lower stomach, a warm, coiling tension that made you desperate for more. You needed his voice, you craved his guidance, even from afar.

“Spence…” you whined. “Keep talking, please.”

“You want me to describe how I’d touch you if I were there?”

You moaned in response, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, urging him to continue.

“If I were there,” he began, his voice low, “I’d start by kissing you slowly.”

You could almost feel it, his lips on yours, his tongue probing inside your mouth.

“I’d move lower,” he continued. “Kiss your neck, your collarbone… while my fingers would move along your hips, your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need me most.”

You whimpered, your fingers moving faster as you followed his vivid description, imagining his touch guiding you.

“I’d tease you, brush my fingers right at your entrance,” he whispered. “Then, I’d slip them inside you, just like you’re doing now.”

Your breaths came in short gasps.

“I’d spread your legs wide,” he continued again, and you heard a faint rustling noise in the background. “I’d move my fingers in… and… out...”

Your legs fell further apart.

“I’d curl my fingers the same way I did that day,” he went on. “Do you remember?”

How could you not? It never truly left your mind. You could picture that day clearly, the feeling of his fingers and mouth working on your sensitive spot seemed to linger in your memory.

“I’d do the same thing that you like,” he proceeded, and you focused on his voice. “I’d lean in close… licking you… sucking you.”

You moaned loudly as the image of his mouth on your clit flashed through your mind. You could almost feel the way he would sloppily lap at you, drinking in every drop of your arousal with each eager flick of his tongue.

“Go faster for me,” he urged. “I-I want to hear how wet you are.”

You followed his words, and the slick sounds of your arousal filled the quiet around you as you imagined him there, his fingers replacing yours. You could hear more noise through the line, the subtle rustle of clothes moving, the faint sound of his breathing growing heavier before he let out a low grunt.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he breathed out. “Now add another finger.”

Your eyes narrowed into a frown, trying to slip a third finger in but the stretch was too intense for you to continue. “I-I can’t.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Just take it slow. Try to relax.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions. You slowly eased in another finger, feeling the awkward stretch but the initial discomfort quickly faded into a deeper pleasure, and you moaned softly.

“Oh, fuck.”

“There you go,” he encouraged. “Feel that? Feel how full you are?”

You hummed a reply.

“That’s how I want you to feel when I’m finally inside you.”

A whine left your lips. In your head, you saw him, his body poised above yours, his cock sliding smoothly into you. You imagined the slick, rhythmic motion, the way each thrust would fill you, stretching you, overwhelming you. You cried out a filthy moan at the thought, unabashed and desperate, as you began to pump your fingers inside your cunt.

“Push deeper for me… I know you can take it.”

You gasped, pushing your fingers as deep as they could go. “I can’t… I need… oh…”

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You need more. You need me inside you, don’t you?”

“Spencer, please…” you begged, your voice breaking into desperate, choked sobs.

“You want that? You want to feel me stretch you?”

“Yes, yes…” you managed to moan out, your movements became more desperate.

“God, you’d be so tight around me… I’d have your legs spread wide so I… I-I could see how perfect you’d take me.”

You could almost feel his hands on your hips, his body pressing against yours, filling you completely. Your fingers moved frantically, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you felt the tension building to an unbearable peak.

“You’d pull me closer, wouldn’t you? You’d ask for more, like you always do, and I’d give it to you,” he promised. “I’d give it to you so hard… s-so deep…”

And that was when you heard it—the unmistakable sound of wetness, like skin sliding over slick, damp skin. The sound was filthy, making your pulse race as you wondered what he might be doing on the other end of the line. Your voice trembled as you slowly asked him, “Spence, are you…?”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end before he let out a soft, almost sheepish laugh, as if you had caught him red-handed. “I… yeah,” he admitted, his voice breathless and strained. "Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?"

Your fingers subconsciously quickened at his confession, their movements becoming more urgent as you imagined him laying on his own bed, hand wrapped around his cock. You bit your lip to stifle your moans as you whispered, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

His breathing grew ragged, his words coming in clipped bursts. “I’m… I’m touching myself…”

You tried to focus on his voice, but the sound of his sloppy strokes began to echo louder. “Tell me more.”

“I’m… I’m rubbing… my fingers over the head,” he gasped, and you curled your fingers deeper, using your palm to grind against your clit. The way he sounded so lost in his pleasure, unable to hold back, had you imagining him stroking himself. You pictured yourself doing it for him, remembering how it felt that day when you had his cock in your hand—the weight, the warmth, the way he looked at you through intense eyes.

Your breathing grew heavier, louder, and his voice cracked with a strained moan as he whispered, “Can you lower your phone?”

You fumbled with the device, bringing it closer to where your fingers worked tirelessly between your legs. “Like this?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, the sound of his strokes growing faster and more urgent. “You sound so perfect.”

You let out a soft cry, your fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt frantically as you imagined him watching you, listening to every sound you made. The wet, slick noises filled the room, so intense and filthy. You looked down to see your juices spilling over your fingers, soaking the sheets beneath you. The sheer sound of it was enough to drive him crazy.

“I—f-faster, please,” he panted into the phone. “I need you to go faster.”

Your eyes widened for a moment as the desperate plea slipped from his lips. But you didn’t have the mental space to think about it. Your focus was solely on reaching your release as you ultimately sped up your pace. Your body began to tighten up, feeling so much pressure and pleasure building up every time your fingertips hit that deep spot inside you.

"Oh—fuck!” You exhaled sharply as the familiar sensation took over you. “I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming—”

With a cry that was both a sob and a shout, your pussy fluttered around your fingers. Your orgasm ripped through you without warning, sending shockwaves of intense pleasure through your body as you gasped and shuddered. Your voice escaped in broken moans and whines, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Spencer… oh, God, Spencer…”

The sound of your climax drove him to his own release. His breath hitched, his movements faltering as he let out a harsh sound from his throat. It was raw and unrestrained, downright filthy, and you listened intently, your fingers slipping out only to circle and rub your clit, drawing out the final waves of your orgasm.

Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand fell away, and you lay there, breathing heavily, your body relaxing into the bed. Your room was quiet afterward, the only sound coming from was the sound of your own breathing. Then you heard him calling out your name, checking in. But through the post-orgasmic bliss, all you could manage in response was a giggle.

“You’re… laughing?” He mused. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no,” you replied, still catching your breath, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “It’s just… I can’t believe we did that.”

A gentle laugh escaped his lips, a warm, soothing sound that calmed your racing heart. "Did you like it?"

You liked it a lot. "Can’t say that I didn’t.”

"So I take it you're not mad at me anymore?"

You let out a soft, contented sigh. “I wasn’t even that mad to begin with. Just… frustrated,” you confessed. “But I think we handled that pretty well.”

“Maybe a little too well,” he agreed softly. “I can't believe I need to take a shower this late.”

You looked down between your legs at his words, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you noticed the patch of wetness on your bed. It wasn't small—it spread across the fabric in a noticeable, damp stain. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “I also need to change my sheets.”

Then you heard a low, almost pained groan from his end of the line.

“What?”

“It’s just…” He paused, and you could almost hear him struggling to find the right words. "I'm now picturing you on your bed."

"Isn't that what you've been doing?"

"Well, yes, but now it's… different."

You couldn't help the amused grin that spread across your face. "Different how?"

"Let's just say the image in my mind is a lot more detailed now and it's not helping me calm down."

A burst of laughter erupted from your chest as you gripped your phone closer to you. “Is this your way of blaming me because you still have a hard-on?” you taunted. “I mean, I’m simply stating the facts.”

“But you’re painting a picture in my head.”

“Of me drenching the sheets just by hearing your voice?”

He made a low, strained sound. “Stop.”

“I can send you a picture if you like,” you offered slyly. “Help you visualize it better.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on his end before he finally muttered, “You shouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“But if you insist…”

You laughed softly. “Good night, Spencer.”

“Wait—You’re hanging up?”

“Yep,” you said cheerfully. “I thought you needed a shower.”

He made another frustrated sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, before reluctantly agreeing. “Fine, fine. Good night.”

And that was it. You ended the call with a satisfied smile. But as you stared at your phone, a rush of thoughts began to swirl through your mind. You were well aware of the potential risks of what you were about to do—how it could be traced back to you. You could almost hear Penelope lecturing you about online security and the dangers of leaving a digital footprint.

But when your mind kept circling back to Spencer—Spencer’s breathless voice, Spencer’s prominent veins on his hands, Spencer with a freaking hard-on in his bed—it was hard to think rationally. Before you could stop yourself, you propped your phone on your pillow and posed for the camera. Legs spread wide, your nipples pressing against your shirt, a flirtatious smile playing on your lips. The shot looked like it came out of a porno movie. You quickly sent it to him.

It took exactly 7 seconds before your phone rang again.

“Yes, Spencer?” you answered, trying to sound innocent.

You heard shuffling and a muffled grunt, and then, faintly, the rustling of fabric. It sounded like he was fumbling with his phone, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the frustration in his voice.

“How do I turn this into video call again?”

[blindmagdalena]

Night Terrors

1.6k homelander x reader. established relationship. pure comfort fic. remaster of this old prompt. very mild spoilers for s4 if you squint. mostly just wanted to self-soothe with some comfort/cuddle fic. gif credit.

It's been decades since Homelander last stepped foot in The Bad Room, but when he wakes from a nightmare of it in your shared bed, it's as if he never left.

Most of the nights you spend with Homelander are peaceful. 

Tonight is not most nights.

The scream that wakes you from a dead sleep is guttural, barely human. Homelander is sitting upright, frenzied and wild-eyed, the ocean blue of them obscured by crimson glow. You're not even sure that he sees you through it when he looks at you. He's panting like he just ran a marathon, and the comforter is ripped cleanly in half, the two sides strewn on either side of him. "John," you call softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerks away from your hand like you've burned him. "Don't fucking touch me," he hisses, wrapping his arms around himself. Sometimes he is small during these fits, curled in on himself, begging you to make it stop. Not tonight. Tonight he is another self, spitting rage and violence through remembered agony. A cornered animal. "I'll fucking kill you!" "John," you say again, pleading. You know he isn't talking to you. He's speaking to the ghosts of his past. "You're in our bed. You're with me. I would never hurt you. I love you, John." His name is a double-edged sword. It cuts clean through to something at the core of him in a way that “Homelander” doesn’t. Each use of it acts like a shock to his irregulated system.

You keep your hands outstretched, but you don't touch him. You show him that you aren't holding anything. Not a pen, not a notepad, not a needle. You show that you don't mean him any harm. 

God knows he's suffered enough. With the sound of your voice, the red glow of his eyes gradually dims, flickers, and then finally it goes out entirely. He's still panting, hands moving slowly down his arms, his torso, checking himself for injury. Though his body bears no scars of the pain he’s endured, his mind knows exactly where each one of them would be. Bit by bit, you watch him come back to himself. He looks around the room, taking in the evidence of your truth. Framed photos, décor, the life you’ve built together. It isn't a concrete dungeon. It isn’t a lab. It isn’t an incinerator. It's home. "Fuck," he says quietly, hiccupping the word into his palm. He says it again, louder, screwing his glassy eyes shut. The third time he says it, it's nearly a sob. It’s agony to wait, but you don’t touch him before he’s ready. You fist the bedsheets, you don’t stop talking. I’m here. I’m right here. I love you. You’re safe. You’re not sure if it’s minutes or seconds before he reaches for you. All you know is you act immediately. You move swiftly up on your knees, climbing over the ruined blankets to take him into your arms, pulling his head to rest against your chest, bringing his ear close to the beat of your heart. You hush him while you work to unstick the words from your throat, unable to help the tears that well in your eyes.

The fear and misery in him is so palpable, you nearly feel as if it’s your own. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you to sit sideways in his lap as he weeps against you. It's taken a long time to reach this point. He used to swallow it back like bile, adamant for the longest time that you not see this side of him, this aspect of himself that he thinks ugly, imperfect, broken. You fought for this. As you hold him through these bone-deep sobs, it shatters you that it's taken him this long for him to find someone who would. "You're safe," you whisper, battling to keep the tears from your voice. "You're home. You're with me. You're safe. I love you so, so much." He rocks back and forth, choking on his sobs. “I could feel it,” he tells you, the words barely escaping the clench of his teeth. “It hurt. Every second of it, and they just–they all just watched.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the softness of his hair. You kiss the crown of his head again and again, combing your fingers through his hair where it’s damp with sweat and your own tears. “You’re safe now,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. It isn’t enough, but these words and touches are all you have to offer him against the torment of his childhood.

His grip on you tightens. It wouldn’t take much for him to snap you in half.

That scare you? He’d asked you once. How easily I could break you?”

No, you admitted. It makes me appreciate how hard you try not to. It takes time for his breathing to even out. His hold softens, but he doesn't relinquish you. For as terrible as the nightmares are, it's the shame he experiences in the aftermath that often requires the most care. 

You rub firm circles on his back with one hand while cradling the back of his head with the other, trailing butterfly kisses along his temple, his forehead, down to his cheek. Any part of him you can reach, you kiss, murmuring quiet assurances in between, as if to imbue him with each word. Eventually, the rocking stops. He's breathing more steadily now, arms encircled firmly around your waist. He gives a shaking sigh. "Sorry," he whispers, voice strained. That's a word in his vocabulary that rarely comes up, but when it does, it is always drenched in shame. He hates himself for this. "Don't," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair. You sniff back your tears, letting out a breath. "I asked for this. I begged you for this," you emphasize, earnest. You cup his face, angling him to look up at you. "Let me do this for you. Please. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He stares at you with large, watery blue eyes. The whites are red, strained by the force of his grief, his durability tested only by his own power. In his gaze you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over invisible scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this depth of love. You know his violence, his viciousness, but so too do you know the fragile man it protects.

Most of all, the scared boy beneath it all.

His grip on you flexes, his jaw clenched. The nature of your insight into him is both a blessing and a curse to him. He cannot hide from you. You know his shame, and despite how deeply he needs your compassion, your understanding, it’s something he has to bleed for every time. He’s perpetually torn between his desperation to be your perfect hero, and his soul-deep yearning to be safely vulnerable. 

If you have to, you'll spend the rest of your life convincing him that he can have both.

Finally, his shoulders sag. "I love you," he says, quietly defeated by your warmth. "I'll never hurt you. Ever." You recognize the plea in his words. He's terrified that someday it will be too much. You’ll see what everyone else sees, and your love will be tainted–destroyed–by your inevitable fear of him. You hope one day that he’ll understand why that will never happen. Someday the depths of your love will soak in as deep as the misery of his past, and he’ll be able to forgive himself for the human way his god’s heart bleeds. "I know. I know that.” You kiss the top of his head, still rubbing his back, taking your hand away only to swipe the tears from your face. “I love you, too. Every part of you."

Even the parts you hate. Gingerly, he lifts you just enough to lay you back down on the bed. He wastes no time cuddling back in against you, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. The bedding is ruined, but he runs warm enough that you hardly notice the absence of cover while he’s holding you. Your legs tangle with his, bodies slotting together easily. He nuzzles as if he can worm his way closer than skin to skin. If you could, you’d open your ribcage to welcome him inside. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

"Will you... talk me to sleep?" He asks, threads of shame lingering in the request. The tension has drained away, leaving him vulnerable and exhausted. His blinks are slow, the curve of his lips mournful. "Of course," you whisper, smoothing your hand up and down his back. This isn’t the first time you’ve talked him back to sleep, and you doubt it’ll be the last. Sometimes you tell him the plot of a book as best you can recall, other times it's random anecdotes from your life. Sometimes it's complete nonsense. To him, it doesn't matter what you say. All that matters is that when he does finally drift back into sleep, it's your voice that safeguards him there. 

Gladly, he rests his head back down on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh while your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the warmth of him as it seeps into the marrow of your bones, the weight of him grounding you.

You tell him stories until sleep finds him. Even then, you continue to speak until your voice frays and you can no longer keep your eyes open. You speak and speak and speak hoping that somehow, in some small way, you can help make up for the years he spent with only his own voice for comfort.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : AFTER THE NIGHTMARE : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Worst!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff because our man deserves it

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: Logan wakes from a nightmare about losing the X-Men and goes to the balcony to clear his head. You find him, comfort him, and bring him back to bed, holding him close and reassuring him that he's safe with you.

LOGAN WOKE WITH A JUMP, his chest heaving, sweat clinging to his skin like a second layer. The familiar shadows of your apartment stretched across the room, but he was far from calm. His breath was shallow, his heart pounding harder than it should have been. His mind was still trapped in the nightmare, reliving the loss of the X-Men, Xavier’s death, and the ruins of the life he once knew.

Next to him, you slept peacefully, completely unaware of the storm inside him. He stared at you for a moment, your face illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside, the sight of you offering him a brief tether to the present. But the images in his head—the blood, the destruction—tightened his chest. He didn’t want to disturb you. You deserved peace, not his haunted past creeping into the night.

Carefully, Logan slipped out of bed, making sure not to wake you. He pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and padded silently into the living room, his feet sinking into the worn rug you insisted on keeping. His hands instinctively went to the small box on the coffee table, fishing out a cigar. As he moved through the apartment, everything felt too quiet. The echo of his past still followed him, no matter how much time had passed.

The balcony door slid open without a sound, and Logan stepped into the cool night air. The city stretched below, bustling and alive, so different from the stillness inside him. He lit the cigar, the end glowing faintly in the dark, and took a long drag. The burn in his lungs felt grounding, a temporary distraction from the ache in his chest.

It had been months since the ordeal with Wade, the chaos of Deadpool’s wild world colliding with his own. You had met Logan through Wade, your best friend and constant source of trouble. Logan had tried to resist getting close to anyone after everything he’d lost, but you… you had snuck up on him. Your warmth, your patience—it was something he hadn’t expected. And now here he was, standing on your balcony, trying not to let his past bleed into the present.

Inside, the bed felt suddenly too empty, and you stirred, reaching for the space where Logan had been. Your hand met cool sheets, and your brow furrowed as you blinked awake, the soft glow of the city filtering into the room. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, and glanced around. The apartment was still, but you could feel that Logan was no longer beside you. A small frown tugged at your lips as you slid out of bed, tugging one of his oversized flannels over your frame.

Padding barefoot into the living room, you didn’t have to search long. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, and the glass door to the balcony was slightly ajar. You stepped out quietly, your heart tightening a little at the sight of him standing there, his broad shoulders tense, his gaze lost in the distant skyline.

Without saying a word, you moved behind him and wrapped your arms gently around his waist. Logan stiffened at the contact for just a second before he relaxed, his hand moving to rest over yours on his stomach.

"Hey," he murmured softly, his voice rough around the edges, but tender.

"Hey," you whispered back, resting your cheek against his warm back. "Couldn't sleep?"

He let out a quiet sigh, his free hand lifting to rub at his face. "Yeah, something like that."

You could tell from the tension in his body and the way he was avoiding your gaze that it was more than just trouble sleeping. Slowly, you moved around to face him, resting your hands gently on his chest. His eyes, haunted and far away, finally met yours. "What’s going on, Logan? Talk to me."

He took a deep breath, looking past you for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "Had a nightmare. About… everything. The X-Men, Xavier… what I lost in my world." His voice was quiet, strained. "I try to move past it, but sometimes it just… it all comes back."

Your heart ached for him. You knew Logan carried the weight of his past like an invisible burden, even on the best of days. His walls were thick, built to withstand pain and loss, but there were moments like these, where the cracks showed, where the vulnerability seeped through.

You slid your hands up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing gently over the scruff on his jaw. "I’m so sorry, Logan," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with understanding. "I can’t imagine what it was like to lose them. But you’re here now. You’re not alone anymore."

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch. He hadn’t wanted to admit how much it had all been weighing on him, but with you, he didn’t feel the need to hide. "I don’t deserve this," he murmured, his voice low, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you. "You. This… peace."

You shook your head gently. "You deserve every bit of it, Logan. We all have things we’re running from. You’ve carried enough alone. You don’t have to anymore."

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just took in the comfort of your presence, the way you held him without asking for anything in return. He let out a deep breath, one that seemed to ease a little of the weight off his shoulders.

"You’re too good to me, you know that?" he muttered, though there was a soft hint of gratitude in his tone.

You smiled, rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Someone has to keep you in line."

Logan chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you fully. The cigar, now forgotten, sat smoldering in the ashtray. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of you—a small, comforting anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

After a few moments, you gently tugged his hand. “Come back to bed, Logan. You need rest.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I… I don’t know if I can. Not after—”

You cut him off with a soft smile, placing your hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to face it alone.” Your fingers threaded through his as you led him back inside.

Once you were in the bedroom, you slipped under the covers and held them open for him. Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes flicking between you and the bed as if he was afraid of what would happen once he closed his eyes again. But with a reluctant sigh, he crawled in beside you, resting on his side, his back to you.

Sensing his unease, you moved closer, sliding your arms around his waist and pulling him into you. Logan stiffened for a moment, but then melted into your embrace, his large body relaxing as he let you spoon him. Your lips pressed gently to his shoulder, leaving soft kisses against his skin.

“It’s okay,” you murmured softly, your voice like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “I’m here. You’re safe. It’s okay to fall asleep.”

Logan let out a shaky breath, his hands covering yours where they rested against his chest. “I don’t know how you do it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Make it all feel… bearable.”

You smiled softly against his shoulder, continuing to place gentle kisses along his skin. “I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, Logan. I’ve got you.”

It took a while, but eventually, Logan’s breathing began to slow, the tension in his muscles easing bit by bit. With you wrapped around him, your steady breaths a comforting rhythm in the quiet room, he finally allowed his eyes to close.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan fell into a peaceful sleep, no longer haunted by the ghosts of his past.

———

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @wolviesgirl @veru-boom @lanabobana @shybluebirdninja @corvusmorte @seamlessepiphany @allmyn1ghts @chronicallybubbly @lex-the-flex @evasmlp

I FINALLY POSTED NEW LOGAN CONTENT!!

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[hisfavegirl]

Our Fate - Aegon Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : Your marriage with Aegon has a good influence on you both, Aegon changes his character to be better and you also feel the changes in him day by day.

Alicent’s screams echoed through the castle, filling the air with pain and tension. Inside her private chambers, the maester and midwives worked desperately to calm her, holding her trembling hands gently, trying to ease her pain so she could remain calm and bring her second child into the world safely.

“Calm down, Your Grace,” the maester said in a low, steady voice, though his eyes were filled with concern. “Take deep breaths. Your child will be born soon.”

Despite the comforting words, Alicent’s face betrayed the agony she was enduring. She bit her lip, stifling every scream, unwilling to show weakness in front of those around her. Yet, her body was betraying her, the pain growing more intense with every passing moment.

The midwives hurried to prepare everything needed, working as swiftly as possible to ensure the birth would go smoothly. They knew all too well, from past experience, how dangerous childbirth could be. No one could predict what might happen, especially with so much pressure surrounding the birth.

Alicent shivered, her eyes filled with anxiety—not just for herself, but for the child she carried. “I… I can’t,” her voice broke, barely a whisper. “What if something goes wrong? What if I lose this child?”

One of the midwives gently took her hand, offering reassurance. “Your Grace, you’ve been strong up until now. We will make sure everything goes well. Trust us.”

Yet, despite their reassuring words, fear still gripped Alicent’s heart. What if this was the end of it all?

The midwife checked on Alicent once more, her face focused and serious. “The baby is ready,” she said, her voice steady. "Your Grace, you need to push now. With all your strength.”

Alicent, her body trembling from the exertion and pain, nodded, gripping the sheets tightly as she gathered every ounce of strength left in her. She cried out as she pushed, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. The pain was unbearable, yet she forced herself to endure, driven by the knowledge that her child was so close to being born.

Moments later, the midwife’s voice rang out with relief, “A healthy girl, Your Grace. Your daughter is born safe and sound.”

Alicent let out a shaky breath, a sense of overwhelming relief flooding through her. The pain was still there, but the weight of it felt lighter now. She could hear the soft cries of her newborn, and for a moment, she felt like the world had lifted off her shoulders.

But then, to her shock, the midwife’s voice grew more urgent. “Wait… there’s more. Another one is coming.”

Alicent’s eyes widened with disbelief, her heart racing as the pain returned, even more intense than before. She hadn’t expected this. A second child? Another girl?

The midwives worked quickly, helping her to push once more, and soon, another baby girl was born. The room was filled with the cries of two healthy daughters, and Alicent was left in stunned silence, her body exhausted but filled with awe.

Two daughters. Twins.

She couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. The pain that had nearly broken her moments ago was now replaced with a mix of emotions—relief, joy, and a profound sense of love for these two little girls who had come into the world against all odds. But even as her heart swelled with love, the reality set in: she was the mother of two newborn daughters now, and life as she knew it had just changed forever.

You walk through the garden with your ladies-in-waiting by your side. The gentle rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of birds fill the air, creating a peaceful melody that makes the moment feel serene. The sun filters through the canopy of trees, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the path ahead.

Your hand rests on your growing belly, your fingers moving in slow, thoughtful circles. Every now and then, you glance down, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. There’s a quiet contentment in moments like this — when the world feels slower, calmer.

Your ladies-in-waiting walk close by, their light chatter filling the air. Occasionally, you join the conversation, sharing a laugh or offering a kind remark. You enjoy their company, especially on days like this when Aegon is away, training with Aemond on the practice field. The clang of steel on steel is distant, muffled by the trees and the gentle hum of the garden, but you know they’re there, locked in their familiar dance of blades and pride.

The scent of blooming flowers drifts past on the breeze, sweet and fresh. You pause for a moment to take it in, letting the soft fragrance fill your senses. The warmth of the sun on your skin, the steady movement of life within you, and the simple joy of being surrounded by beauty — it’s in moments like these that you feel at peace.

One of your ladies comments on the beauty of a nearby rose bush, its crimson petals so vivid they almost seem unreal. You nod in agreement, reaching out to gently touch a velvety petal. “It’s strong,” you muse softly, your eyes lingering on the bloom. “Even with thorns, it still flourishes.”

Your gaze shifts to your belly, your hand still resting protectively over it. You walk on, the sound of footsteps crunching softly on the path behind you. No matter the burdens that come with war, court politics, or the pressures of family, moments like these remind you of your own strength. For like the roses, you endure, you grow — and you will bloom in your own time.

You turn your head and see your mother, Queen Alicent, walking toward you with your twin sister, Helaena, by her side. The sight of them fills you with warmth, and a bright smile lights up your face. Without hesitation, you step forward to greet them.

“Mother,” you say fondly as you embrace her. Her arms wrap around you with the firm but gentle hold only a mother can give. For a moment, you feel like a child again, safe and secure in her embrace.

She pulls back slightly to look at you, her gaze immediately dropping to your growing belly. Concern flickers in her eyes as she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Are you feeling tired, my sweet girl?” she asks, her voice laced with both worry and affection.

You smile softly, shaking your head. “No, Mother, I’m well. The walk does me good,” you reply, resting a hand on your belly. “The babe is calm today, too.”

Alicent’s eyes soften with relief, and a small smile tugs at her lips. “Good,” she says, glancing down at your belly with quiet reverence. “Still, you mustn’t overexert yourself. Rest is just as important as strength.”

Helaena steps closer, her gaze distant but kind as she looks at you and then at your belly. “Dreams of wings and warmth,” she says softly, tilting her head as if listening to something only she can hear. Her words are strange, but they do not unsettle you. You’ve grown used to her cryptic musings, and sometimes, they carry truths no one else sees.

“Perhaps the little one dreams, too,” you say gently, and Helaena smiles, as if you’ve understood something important.

The three of you continue to walk together, side by side, surrounded by the soft hum of the garden. With each step, you feel lighter, knowing that, no matter the trials to come, you have the love of your family to steady you.

You sip your tea, savoring its warmth as you listen to your mother, Alicent, speak. Her voice is steady, carrying the calm authority of someone who has spent a lifetime navigating courts and crowns. Her knitting needles continue their soft, rhythmic clacking, each stitch carefully crafted with love for your unborn child.

Beside you, Helaena sits on the grass, her gaze distant yet filled with quiet wonder. Her hands are outstretched, her fingers delicate as a butterfly perches lightly on them. She tilts her head, watching it closely, her lips curling into a soft smile. The creature’s wings flutter slowly, catching the golden light of the sun, and for a moment, it seems as though the world around her has stilled to match her calm.

You watch her quietly, your eyes filled with affection and a touch of curiosity. Your twin sister has always seemed connected to things others could not see or understand. It’s no surprise to see her at peace with something as fleeting as a butterfly.

Your gaze lingers on her a little longer, thoughtful. It hasn’t been long since she was wed to Aemond, and the idea fills you with a quiet hope. Perhaps soon she, too, will have a child of her own. The thought of your children growing up together — cousins but also as close as siblings — warms your heart.

“She’s always been gentle with them,” Alicent says softly, following your gaze to Helaena. “Butterflies. Insects. Small, fragile things. She understands them in a way that most people don’t.” Her tone is wistful, almost proud.

“She’ll be a good mother,” you say with certainty, your eyes never leaving Helaena. She turns her head slightly as if hearing you, her gaze meeting yours for a moment. She smiles, soft but knowing, as if she’s already seen the future and agrees with you.

“And so will you,” Alicent adds, her voice warm but firm. She gives you a look filled with quiet pride and reassurance. Her hands never stop knitting, her fingers working with steady precision. “Both of you will be wonderful mothers. I have no doubt.”

You glance down at your belly, feeling the gentle, familiar shift of life inside you. The future is uncertain, filled with so many unknowns, but here in the warmth of the sun, with your mother’s love and your sister’s quiet magic, you feel a rare sense of peace.

For a little while longer, you stay there together, letting the world outside the garden fade away. It is enough to simply be here, surrounded by love, hope, and the promise of new life.

You hear a familiar voice calling your name, firm yet tinged with warmth. Your heart lifts instinctively, and you turn toward the sound. There, walking toward you, is Aegon. Beside him is Aemond, his steps measured and precise as always, his face a mask of quiet intensity.

Aegon’s silver hair catches the sunlight, still damp from washing away the sweat of training. It clings in loose strands around his face and neck, giving him a more relaxed, almost boyish appearance. His tunic is slightly wrinkled from exertion, and there’s a hint of lingering energy in his movements, the kind that comes after the thrill of combat.

He grins as he sees you, his violet eyes locked on yours with unmistakable fondness. “There you are,” he says, his voice lighter than usual, as if just seeing you has eased something in him. His gaze flickers briefly to your belly, and his grin softens into something more tender.

Aemond walks at his side, his expression calm but watchful as his single eye takes in the scene. His hair is still perfectly in place, not a strand out of line, though there’s a sheen of effort on his skin. His gaze shifts briefly to Helaena, who is still watching her butterfly with quiet fascination. His face remains impassive, but there’s a certain softness in the way he watches her.

Aegon closes the distance between you with easy strides, his eyes never leaving yours. When he finally reaches you, he crouches slightly, his hand moving instinctively to rest on your belly. His palm is warm through the fabric of your gown, and you feel the familiar comfort of his presence. “Did they give you any trouble today?” he asks playfully, as if the baby inside could somehow be mischievous already.

You chuckle softly, your hand covering his. “Not at all,” you reply, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Unlike you, I’m sure, causing trouble with your brother.”

Aegon raises a brow, pretending to look offended. “Training isn’t trouble,” he says with mock seriousness. “It’s noble work.”

“Is that what you call it?” you tease, your smile widening.

Aemond lets out a quiet huff that might be a laugh, though he quickly schools his features into calm indifference. His gaze shifts to Alicent, offering her a small nod of respect before his eye drifts back to Helaena.

Aegon’s attention returns fully to you, his grin fading into something softer, more genuine. His thumb traces a gentle circle over your belly before his eyes flick back to yours. “You look beautiful,” he says quietly, so only you can hear. His words are simple, but they linger in the air between you, warming you more than the sun ever could.

You press your hand over his, holding it there for a moment longer. “And you look like you just wrestled a dragon,” you reply, raising a brow.

He laughs, the sound rich and familiar, like the sound of home. “If I did, I’d still win,” he quips, puffing out his chest slightly in jest.

“Of course you would,” you say, humoring him. “You’re Aegon the Conqueror reborn, are you not?”

“Don’t you forget it,” he replies with a wink, leaning in to press a quick, playful kiss to your temple before straightening up again.

The afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting golden light on all of you — Alicent with her knitting, Helaena with her butterfly, Aemond with his quiet watchfulness, and Aegon standing at your side, his hand still resting protectively over your growing belly. For a moment, it feels like the whole world is right here, bound together by love, family, and the quiet certainty that, no matter what lies ahead, you will face it together.

You sit comfortably on the edge of the bed, the soft glow of the afternoon sun streaming through the window, casting a warm light across the room. Aegon kneels before you, his face level with your growing belly. His silver hair falls loosely around his face, still slightly damp from his earlier training.

His hands rest gently on either side of your belly, his thumbs moving in small, absentminded circles. But it’s his voice that draws your attention. He’s speaking softly to the baby, his tone playful yet filled with a quiet tenderness that you rarely see in him.

“Are you being good for your mother?” he murmurs, his violet eyes focused entirely on the curve of your stomach. “No kicks today? Hm? You’re being kind, aren’t you? That’s good. Keep it that way.” He tilts his head, as if waiting for a response, his expression one of mock seriousness. “But if you’re anything like me, you’ll be causing trouble soon enough.”

You can’t help but smile at the sight of him like this — brought to his knees by something so small and unseen. His love is unmistakable in the way he gazes at your belly, in the way his voice softens just for the child he has yet to meet.

Your fingers move through his silver hair, slow and gentle. His hair is soft beneath your touch, and you brush it back from his face, letting your fingertips linger for a moment. He leans into the gesture, his eyes fluttering closed like a cat basking in warmth.

“You’ll spoil them before they’re even born,” you say softly, your voice full of quiet affection.

Aegon opens one eye, glancing up at you with a lopsided grin. “That’s my right as a father,” he replies, turning his face slightly so his cheek rests against your belly. He closes his eyes fully now, letting out a breath as if finally at peace. “Besides, they deserve it.”

You feel the warmth of his cheek through the fabric of your gown, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The weight of the crown, the whispers of court, the distant echoes of war — none of it matters here. It’s just the three of you. You, Aegon, and the life growing between you.

Your hand continues its slow, soothing motion through his hair, your heart full of love so strong it nearly aches. “Yes,” you whisper, your eyes soft with quiet joy. “They do.”

You glance down at Aegon, his head still resting against your belly, and you smile softly. “Come sit with me,” you say gently, your voice quiet but certain.

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of curiosity before he nods. Rising to his feet, he moves onto the bed, sinking into the mattress beside you with a contented sigh. His presence is warm and steady, and the shift in the bed as he settles feels as familiar as the rise and fall of your own breath.

You lean into him, resting your head on his chest. His arm moves naturally around you, holding you close. His other hand settles instinctively on your belly from behind, his palm resting firmly but gently over the curve of it. His fingers move in slow, soothing strokes, tracing soft circles over the fabric of your gown. The motion is so tender, so careful, that it feels like a lullaby made of touch.

Your eyes flutter closed, your body relaxing fully against him. The rhythm of his breathing is steady beneath you, the strong, reliable thud of his heartbeat in your ear. His warmth surrounds you, and with every slow caress of his hand on your belly, you feel the weight of the day begin to melt away.

“You’re tired,” he murmurs quietly, his lips close to your temple. His voice is lower now, quieter, as though speaking too loudly might disturb the peace you’ve found together.

“Not anymore,” you reply softly, your eyes still closed, letting yourself sink further into the comfort of him. “Not like this.”

His chest rises beneath your cheek with a slow, deep breath. “Good,” he says, his hand never ceasing its gentle movement. “You should rest while you can. Soon, we’ll have another little troublemaker to chase after.”

You hum in response, too relaxed to argue, too content to think of anything but the warmth of him, the safety of this moment, and the quiet love that surrounds you. His hand remains on your belly, his touch steady, protective, and full of love.

For now, there is peace. And that is enough.

You lie on the bed with Aegon, your body nestled comfortably against his. His warmth surrounds you, a protective cocoon that makes you feel safer than any fortress ever could. His arm is draped over you, his hand resting on your belly with familiar ease. His fingers move slowly, tracing soft, rhythmic circles, as if he’s already trying to soothe the child within.

From behind you, you hear the quiet hum of a melody. It’s not a song you fully recognize — perhaps something from childhood or a tune he’s made up on the spot. It’s low and unpolished, but there’s a gentleness to it that makes your heart ache with love. His breath is warm against the back of your neck, his voice a quiet vibration that seems to lull not just you, but the baby as well.

You place your hand over his, your fingers threading through his, stilling his movements for a moment. Your thumb brushes over his knuckles slowly, feeling every ridge and line as if to remind yourself that he is real, that this is real.

“I’m happy,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm, as if speaking a truth that must be heard. Your eyes remain closed, your face relaxed in a rare moment of peace. “I’m happy that fate wasn’t so cruel to us.”

There’s a pause, a stillness in the air that follows your words. For a moment, you think he might not respond. But then, he squeezes your hand, his fingers curling tightly around yours.

“Fate is always cruel,” Aegon says softly, his voice close to your ear, rough but honest. “But even fate can be kind sometimes.” His hand moves again, resuming its slow, soothing strokes over your belly. “Maybe this is our kindness,” he adds, his voice quieter now, as though he’s speaking only to you and the little life growing between you.

You press his hand a little closer to your belly, letting him feel the quiet stillness there. “If it is, then I’ll cherish it,” you murmur, your voice filled with quiet conviction. “I’ll hold on to it, no matter what comes.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but the weight of his silence is as full as any vow. His hand never leaves your belly, and his melody continues, hummed low and soft like a promise only the three of you can hear.

The next day, the sun is gentle in the sky, its warmth softened by a cool breeze that rustles the leaves. You walk side by side with your sister, Helaena, along the stone path that winds through the garden. The scent of blooming flowers fills the air, and the distant hum of bees creates a soft, steady rhythm around you.

Helaena walks with her usual quiet grace, her eyes flitting from one flower to the next, as if each one holds a secret only she can hear. Her fingers brush lightly against the petals as she passes, her touch as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. You glance at her with a fond smile, your hands resting lightly on the curve of your belly.

She’s talking, her voice light and dreamy as she recounts a story about her “little friends” — her name for the insects and creatures she seems to understand better than anyone else.

“The spiders were weaving again last night,” she says softly, her gaze far away but her tone certain. “They made a pattern this time — not like the others. It looked like a wheel, turning slowly.” Her eyes flick toward you, clear and bright, as if to see if you understand. “Maybe it’s a sign of something coming.”

You raise a brow, tilting your head slightly. “A wheel, you say? Perhaps it’s a sign that time is always turning,” you suggest playfully, though you know Helaena’s words often have more weight than they first appear to.

She hums thoughtfully, gazing up at the sky as if seeking an answer among the clouds. “Wheels turn, but they also crush,” she murmurs quietly, her gaze distant again. Then, as if pulled back to the present, she looks at you with a small smile. “But not all of them. Some are just for spinning thread.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head at her musings. Her words often carry a weight you don’t fully understand, but you love them all the same. “Well, I prefer the ones that spin thread,” you say with a grin. “Less danger, more warmth.”

She giggles at that, her smile growing brighter. You both walk a little further, your steps slow and unhurried. You feel calm, at ease, like the world is smaller here in this garden, and only the two of you exist within it.

“I like spending time with you,” you admit after a while, turning to her with a gentle smile. “It feels… peaceful.”

Helaena looks at you with that same soft, knowing smile she always wears when she’s gazing at her butterflies. “Peace is rare,” she says quietly, almost to herself. “So we should hold it tight when it finds us."

Her words linger in the air like the scent of flowers, and you nod, letting her wisdom settle in your heart. The two of you continue your walk, side by side, two sisters sharing the quiet beauty of the garden and the rare, fleeting peace it brings.

Your shared laughter with Helaena is suddenly interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. You turn your head and see them — Aegon and Aemond — standing just at the edge of the garden path. Aegon’s expression is playful, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his lips, while Aemond remains his usual composed self, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his face calm but watchful.

They begin to walk toward you, each with his own distinct stride. Aegon moves with an easy, relaxed confidence, like a man who owns every space he walks into. His eyes are on you, filled with warmth and mischief, his grin growing wider with every step. Aemond’s pace is slower, more deliberate, his gaze flickering briefly to Helaena before returning to you and Aegon. Where Aegon moves with ease, Aemond moves with purpose.

You can’t help but smile at the sight of them. They are as different as night and day, but somehow, in this moment, they both seem so familiar, so perfectly them.

Aegon reaches you first. Without hesitation, he kneels before you, his violet eyes gazing up at you with unspoken affection. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t need to. His hands gently press against your sides, his touch firm but tender, and then he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your belly.

You feel the warmth of his lips through the fabric of your gown, and your heart swells with love so deep it feels like it could burst. Your fingers move to his hair, gently combing through the soft silver strands, and he tilts his head slightly, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing grounding him.

“Good morning to you too,” you say softly, your eyes shining with affection.

“Morning to both of you,” Aegon replies, his voice half-teasing, half-sincere as he presses another kiss to your belly. “And you,” he adds, speaking directly to the child inside, his tone playful. “I hope you weren’t giving your mother too much trouble today.”

Helaena giggles beside you, covering her mouth with her hand, while you simply shake your head in quiet amusement. “They’ve been kind,” you reply, resting your other hand on top of his. “Unlike their father.”

Aegon gasps in mock offense, looking up at you with wide eyes. “I am nothing if not kind,” he insists, his grin betraying his words.

“Kind, perhaps,” you say, raising an eyebrow, “but certainly not quiet.”

Aemond approaches at last, his gaze flickering between you, Aegon, and Helaena. His single eye lingers on Helaena for a moment longer, and though his face remains stoic, there is a subtle shift in his expression — something softer, gentler. He stands beside her, his hands still neatly behind his back, his posture as rigid as ever.

“Are we interrupting something?” Aemond asks, his voice smooth and even, though there’s a hint of dry humor in it. His gaze shifts to Aegon, who is still on his knees, shamelessly clinging to you like a lovesick fool.

“Only my moment of peace,” you reply, casting a playful glance at Aemond. “But I suppose I can forgive you both this time.”

Aegon rises slowly, still grinning, his hand slipping into yours. “Peace is overrated,” he says with a wink, tugging you gently closer to him. “But I’ll give you something better.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you squeeze his hand, your smile soft and full of love.

“Better be good, then,” you reply, leaning your head briefly against his shoulder.

Helaena’s gaze shifts between all of you, her eyes distant but bright, as though she’s seeing something far beyond the present moment. “The wheel spins,” she says softly, her voice almost sing-song. “But for now, it’s at rest.”

Aemond glances at her, his brow furrowing just slightly, but he says nothing. Instead, he moves to stand beside her, his hands finally leaving their place behind his back to brush lightly against her arm. She doesn’t flinch, only glances at him with a small, knowing smile.

You close your eyes for a brief moment, breathing in the fresh air of the garden, the warmth of Aegon at your side, and the steady, grounding presence of family all around you. For now, the wheel is at rest, and you allow yourself to believe, just for a moment, that peace like this might last forever.

The four of you walk together along the garden path, the late morning sun filtering through the trees, casting dappled light across the ground. The air smells of fresh blooms and the faint, sweet scent of wildflowers carried by the breeze. Helaena walks ahead, her attention on a butterfly that flits just out of reach. Her gaze is full of quiet wonder, and Aemond stays close by her side, his single eye watchful as always. His steps are slow and measured, as if he’s guarding her every move without her even noticing.

You walk beside Aegon, his hand loosely clasping yours. Every so often, his thumb rubs circles over your knuckles, a silent gesture of affection. His other hand occasionally hovers near your waist, ready to catch you if you stumble, though you haven’t. You’re steady, even as the weight of your growing belly pulls at your balance.

It’s Aemond who breaks the quiet, his voice cutting through the soft hum of the garden. “Are you not tired?” he asks, glancing your way with that sharp, calculating gaze of his. “Walking this much while carrying all that weight can’t be easy.”

His words are blunt, but there’s no malice in them — only quiet concern, the kind of care he rarely shows to anyone but Helaena. His eyes shift briefly to your belly before returning to your face, his expression cool but attentive.

You raise a brow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Are you calling me heavy, brother?” you tease lightly, glancing at him with playful eyes. “Careful, or I might think you’ve grown bold.”

Aegon lets out a short laugh, his grin wide and mischievous. “Careful, brother,” he says with mock seriousness, his voice full of amusement. “A pregnant woman’s wrath is no small thing.”

Helaena giggles softly ahead of you, her fingers brushing against the petals of a nearby flower. She doesn’t look back, but you can tell she’s listening. “He only says it because he cares,” she says in her usual dreamy tone, glancing toward Aemond with a small, knowing smile. “He’s gentler than he seems.”

Aemond’s gaze flickers to Helaena, his face softening just slightly, though his lips remain in a firm, straight line. He doesn’t deny it, nor does he look away from her. It’s rare to see him so unguarded, but with Helaena, he always seems to allow himself a little more room to be human.

You glance between them, warmth blooming in your chest. “I’m fine, Aemond,” you say softly, your voice more sincere this time. “A little weight is nothing I can’t bear.” Your hand comes to rest on your belly, your fingers gently stroking it. “Besides, I’m not alone in carrying it, am I?”

Aegon squeezes your hand, tilting his head toward you with a grin that’s a little softer than usual. “No, you’re not,” he says simply, his eyes filled with quiet affection.

Aemond watches the exchange in silence, his gaze sharp but thoughtful. He says nothing more, but his attention lingers on you for a moment longer than usual before he looks ahead once more. Perhaps it’s his way of showing he cares — not with words, but with watchful eyes and quiet presence.

The four of you continue walking together, the steady rhythm of your steps blending with the rustle of the leaves and the distant hum of insects. You feel safe here, surrounded by family. Even Aemond, with all his sharp edges, feels like a shield at your side.

“Tell me if you need to rest,” Aemond says quietly, his voice softer now, just loud enough for you to hear. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. But you understand him well enough to know that this, too, is his version of kindness.

“I will,” you reply just as softly, your heart warm with quiet gratitude.

You walk a little slower after that, but no one says a word about it. Aemond walks close enough now that his shadow overlaps yours, a silent promise that he will remain by your side, steady as ever.

From a distance, you spot your mother, Alicent, standing at the end of the corridor leading into the garden. Her figure is framed by the soft glow of the sun behind her, her green gown catching the light in a way that makes her seem almost ethereal. Her gaze is fixed on all of you, her eyes warm with quiet affection. There is a softness in her expression — not the queen, but simply a mother watching her children.

As she walks toward you, her steps are slow and measured, her presence calm but commanding as always. Her gaze moves over each of you in turn, taking in Helaena’s soft smile, Aemond’s ever-watchful stare, Aegon’s relaxed posture, and you — her child carrying another life within them. Her eyes linger on you just a moment longer, a gentle, almost wistful look crossing her face.

When she reaches you, she says nothing at first. Instead, she steps closer and places a hand on your belly, her palm warm and firm. Her fingers move in a slow, tender caress, her eyes following the motion as if she can feel the life stirring within you. Her lips curve into a soft smile, her love clear in the gesture.

“You’re doing well,” she says quietly, lifting her gaze to meet yours. Her voice is gentle, the kind of voice only a mother can have when speaking to her child. “You’re strong.”

Her words wrap around you like a cloak of warmth, and you nod, unable to do much else but smile back at her. “I learned from you,” you reply softly, and the look she gives you in return is one of pride, tinged with a hint of sadness.

Alicent turns next to Helaena, cupping her face in both hands with such care, as if afraid she might break. She presses a light kiss to her cheek, lingering just a moment longer than usual. Helaena leans into the touch with a soft hum, her eyes fluttering closed like a butterfly resting on a petal.

“My sweet girl,” Alicent whispers, brushing a strand of silver hair away from Helaena’s face. “I hope you are well today.”

“The butterflies are quiet today,” Helaena replies dreamily, her gaze distant but serene. “They’re just watching.”

Alicent smiles, her brow softening. “Then perhaps they’re giving you a moment of peace,” she says, her hands still resting lightly on Helaena’s cheeks before she finally lets her go.

Her eyes shift to her sons next. She steps forward, her gaze flicking between Aegon and Aemond with that familiar blend of love, exasperation, and expectation that only a mother can manage.

Her eyes settle on Aegon first. She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You’ve cleaned yourself up, at least,” she says, her tone bordering on teasing but still firm enough to make her point.

Aegon rolls his eyes but grins at her, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t have you worrying about me every moment of the day, Mother,” he replies, his voice light and easy.

Her gaze softens, but she raises a brow at him, clearly unconvinced. “I will worry about you for as long as I live, Aegon,” she says simply, her voice unwavering. “That is a mother’s burden.”

He doesn’t reply, but you notice the slight shift in his stance, his smile faltering just a little as he lowers his gaze for a moment. His fingers tighten briefly around yours, a silent acknowledgment of her words.

Then Alicent turns to Aemond, her gaze settling on him with the same care but perhaps a touch more scrutiny. She looks him over carefully, her eyes tracing the sharp lines of his face, the patch over his missing eye, and the stiff posture of his shoulders. She steps closer, tilting her head as if to study him more closely.

“You’re too tense,” she says softly, her eyes filled with quiet concern. “You carry too much on your shoulders, my son.” Her hand reaches up to rest on his arm, and though his posture doesn’t change, you see the subtle shift in his gaze. His eye flickers to her, his lips pressing into a firm line.

“I carry what I must,” he replies, his tone firm but not cold.

Alicent gazes at him for a long moment, her fingers still on his arm. “Even the strongest swords can break,” she says softly. Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.

Aemond doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t pull away either. His gaze lowers slightly, his jaw tightening, but he allows her to keep her hand where it is. It’s a small thing, but for Aemond, it means everything.

The moment lingers before Alicent finally steps back, her gaze sweeping over all four of you once more. Her face is calm, but there is a depth of love in her eyes that she does not speak aloud. She clasps her hands in front of her, looking at all of you as if trying to commit the image to memory.

“Stay together,” she says softly, her gaze steady and filled with quiet strength. “If nothing else, promise me you will stay together.”

Her words settle over all of you like a veil of quiet understanding. No one speaks right away, but you feel Aegon’s hand tighten around yours, a silent promise made without words. Helaena gazes at the sky, her lips moving in quiet repetition of something only she can hear. Aemond remains still, his eyes sharp but distant, as if her words have struck a place deep within him.

“We will, Mother,” you say, your voice steady and certain. You glance at each of them in turn — Helaena, Aemond, and Aegon. “We will.”

Alicent nods, her face softening with quiet relief. “Good,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “That is all I ask.”

Your mother, glances at you and Helaena with a soft smile, her eyes filled with quiet affection. “Come,” she says gently, reaching out a hand to each of you. “Join me for tea in my chambers. You’ve been walking long enough, and it will do you both good to rest for a while.”

Helaena tilts her head as if considering the offer, then nods with a small, content smile. “Tea sounds lovely,” she says softly, her gaze following a butterfly as it flutters past. “The butterflies are quiet today. Perhaps they’ll join us too.”

You smile at her, your heart warmed by the innocence of her words. Then you glance at Aegon and Aemond, who are exchanging glances with each other, clearly with different plans in mind.

Aegon tilts his head toward Aemond, his grin sly and full of mischief. “Shall we?” he asks, already turning on his heel.

Aemond raises a brow but doesn’t argue. His gaze shifts to you, observing you carefully before speaking. “We’ll visit the dragons,” he says, his tone even and calm, but there’s a certain edge of excitement there, the same glint in his eye that always appears when he’s thinking of Vhagar. “We won’t be long.”

You narrow your eyes at them both, already sensing the trouble they might stir. Placing a hand on your hip, you glance from Aegon to Aemond with mock seriousness. “Don’t do anything reckless,” you say firmly, your voice carrying the weight of a warning only a wife and sister can give. “I mean it. No wild tricks, no flying too high, and no testing each other’s patience in the air.”

Aegon turns to you with an exaggerated look of shock, his hand pressed to his chest as if you’d wounded him. “Reckless? Me? I’m the picture of caution, love,” he says with a grin so wide it’s clear he’s lying. “I’ll be as gentle as a breeze.”

You raise an unimpressed brow. “A storm breeze, perhaps.”

Aemond says nothing, but you catch the subtle flicker of amusement in his eye. He glances at Helaena for a moment, his face softening just slightly before his gaze shifts back to you. “We’ll be careful,” he says simply, his tone steady but sincere. “I give you my word.”

His promise reassures you far more than Aegon’s theatrics ever could. You nod, letting out a small breath of relief. “Good,” you reply, glancing at both of them. “See that you keep it.”

Aegon chuckles, already backing away toward the path that leads to the dragonpit. “We’ll return in one piece,” he says with a wink, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll bring you back something pretty.”

You give him a pointed look but say nothing more. Your gaze follows them as they walk away, Aegon’s strides loose and confident while Aemond’s are precise and deliberate. It’s always been like that with them — wildness and control, fire and steel. You shake your head, fondness and exasperation blending in your heart.

“Men and their dragons,” Helaena says softly beside you, her gaze faraway but her words sharp with understanding. “They think they control them, but it is always the other way around.”

You glance at her, surprised by the clarity in her words, but before you can say anything, your mother places a gentle hand on your arm. “Come, my loves,” Alicent says, her voice as soft as silk. “Let them chase their dragons. We have warmth, tea, and quiet waiting for us.”

With a nod, you take your mother’s hand, and together with Helaena, you follow her toward her chambers. The sun filters through the hall’s stained-glass windows, casting hues of green and gold on the stone floors. It feels peaceful here, far from the weight of thrones, dragons, and the burdens of duty.

As you walk, you glance over your shoulder one last time, watching the distant figures of Aegon and Aemond disappear toward the dragonpit. You sigh softly, hoping they’ll remember your words — but knowing them both, you suspect you’ll be hearing wild tales of their “careful” flight soon enough.

With your mother’s steady hand guiding you, you lower yourself carefully into the cushioned chair. Your belly makes the task more cumbersome than it once was, and you exhale deeply as you finally settle into the seat. The soft fabric cradles your back, and you lean into it with a sigh of relief, letting the weight ease from your body.

Your eyes close for a moment, savoring the comfort. The strain in your back lessens, and for the first time in what feels like hours, you allow yourself a moment of stillness. The quiet hum of the room, the distant chirping of birds outside the window, and the familiar scent of lavender all combine to create a perfect, peaceful atmosphere.

A soft laugh breaks that peace, but it’s not unwelcome. You open one eye to see your mother, Alicent, covering her mouth with delicate fingers, her gaze warm and amused. Helaena sits nearby, her own soft giggles bubbling up like a gentle stream. Her eyes are bright with mirth as she tilts her head, watching you with that quiet, knowing gaze she always seems to have.

“You look as though you’ve just conquered a battle,” Alicent says with a fond smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

You tilt your head toward her, too tired to do more than give a wry smile. “It feels like I have,” you reply, letting out another long breath. “The weight of victory sits heavily on me.” Your hand rests on your belly, giving it a small, affectionate rub.

Helaena’s giggles grow louder, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of her chair. “Victory grows with each day,” she says dreamily, her gaze shifting toward your belly as if she’s watching something only she can see. “Soon, it will shout its arrival to the world, and all will hear it.

Alicent raises her brows at her daughter’s words, though she doesn’t question them. Instead, she steps closer, her gaze softening as she reaches out to brush a lock of hair from your face. Her touch is gentle, her fingers cool against your warm skin.

“You’ve done well to carry them this far,” she says quietly, her voice full of pride and affection. “But you mustn’t bear everything alone. Let others ease the burden when you can.”

You nod, leaning your head back against the chair with a small, content smile. “I know, Mother,” you murmur, your eyes closing once more. “But it’s hard to let go when it feels like it’s mine alone to carry.”

Alicent sighs softly, her hand resting on your shoulder. “It is yours, but that doesn’t mean you must carry it without help,” she says, her voice steady, firm in the way only a mother’s voice can be. “Even queens have hands to hold them up.”

Her words settle into your heart, heavy but warm. You feel the weight of them, just as you feel the weight of your child growing within you. It is a burden, yes, but it is also a blessing. Perhaps, you think, those two things are often one and the same.

Silence falls over the room once more, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as Helaena shifts in her seat, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air. You peek at her from beneath your lashes, watching her lost in her own world. The sunlight catches on her silver hair, making her look almost otherworldly.

“Rest,” Alicent says softly, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. “For as long as you can.”

You hum in agreement, letting your eyes fall shut again. Surrounded by your mother’s warmth and your sister’s quiet presence, you feel safe. You feel loved. And for a while, you let yourself simply exist in that moment of peace.

You open your eyes slowly, gazing at your mother. Her face is serene but lined with quiet worry, a look you have come to recognize as her mask of strength. Her fingers are busy smoothing the fabric of her gown, a habit she’s never been able to break when her thoughts are heavy.

“Mother,” you say softly, your voice low but clear. Her eyes shift to meet yours, and you hesitate for a moment before asking, “How is Father?"

For a brief second, something flickers in her eyes — sorrow, perhaps, or something close to it. She exhales slowly, her gaze dropping to her hands. Her fingers still, clasping together tightly as she sits straighter in her chair.

“His health worsens by the day,” she admits quietly, her voice measured but undeniably tinged with sadness. “He remains in his bedchamber, too weak to rise. The maesters do what they can, but…” She trails off, shaking her head slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

You feel a tightness form in your chest, an ache that isn’t unfamiliar but still unwelcome. Your fingers curl gently over your belly, grounding yourself in the feeling of life growing within you.

“He was never… present,” you say, your voice softer now, thoughtful. Your eyes drift toward the window, where the sun filters in, golden and warm. “Not like you were, not like Grandfather.” You pause, letting the quiet between you fill with the unspoken truth. “But he is still my father.”

Alicent lifts her gaze to you then, her eyes glimmering with something you can’t quite name. There is no denial in her face, no attempt to correct your words. She knows them to be true, as you do.

“Yes,” she says softly, her voice carrying a weight of acceptance. “He is still your father.” Her gaze turns distant, her eyes focused on something far away. “He is a good man, though burdened by things beyond his control. He loves in his own way — not always as he should, but he does.”

You look down, running your thumb across the curve of your belly. The thought of Viserys lying in his bed, frail and silent, tugs at you in a way you did not expect. Memories flash in your mind — moments where he was there but distant, moments when his attention was elsewhere, moments when you wondered if he truly saw you at all. And yet, you still care. Because he is still your father.

“Will he… will he meet them?” you ask, your eyes shifting back to Alicent. Your hand presses more firmly against your belly, a silent hope stirring within you. “When they’re born?”

Alicent’s face softens with a tenderness that breaks past the mask of a queen. Her eyes meet yours with quiet understanding, her gaze lingering on your belly with the look of a mother who has carried this same hope before. She leans forward, placing her hand over yours, the warmth of her touch steady and grounding.

“I hope so,” she says, her voice as soft as silk but as strong as steel. “He would want to. If he is able, I will see to it.”

Her promise is gentle but firm, a vow made with the strength of a mother who has borne too much but still finds a way to bear more. You nod slowly, feeling a mixture of comfort and unease. Time is not a kindness, and you both know it.

The silence returns, but it is no longer so heavy. It is a shared understanding, a quiet acceptance of what is and what may be. Alicent’s hand remains over yours, her presence steady and constant, just as it always has been.

You glance at her, offering a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Mother.”

Her eyes soften as she smiles back, her gaze filled with love. “Always, my dear,” she says, her voice a quiet promise. “Always.”

The warm atmosphere of the room is filled with the soft clinking of teacups and the gentle murmur of conversation. You sit comfortably, leaning back just enough to ease the strain on your back, a hand resting protectively over your growing belly. Helaena sits across from you, quietly humming a tune under her breath, her eyes tracking the slow, drifting flight of a butterfly just outside the window. Alicent sits beside you, her eyes focused on the delicate stitches of her embroidery.

You lift your teacup, the warmth of it seeping into your fingers as you continue to speak, telling your mother and Helaena a story from the gardens earlier in the week. You smile, eyes bright with fondness, your voice carrying the light cheerfulness that often fills moments like this.

But suddenly, it happens.

A sharp, tight pain grips your belly, sudden and fierce, like a cord being pulled too tightly around you. Your breath catches in your throat, the air suddenly too thick to draw in. The pain doesn’t release immediately, instead it lingers, pressing down on you with an unyielding weight.

Your words cut off mid-sentence, your voice faltering into silence. For a moment, no one notices. Helaena is still gazing at the butterfly, her fingers tapping lightly against her teacup. Alicent is focused on the delicate pattern she is stitching, her brow furrowed in concentration.

But then, the porcelain slips from your fingers.

The cup falls from your hand, hitting the edge of the table before shattering against the stone floor below. The sharp crack of the porcelain shattering echoes through the room, cutting through the gentle quiet like a sword through silk.

“Darling?” Alicent’s voice is sharp, urgent. Her embroidery is forgotten as her eyes snap to you, wide with concern. Her chair scrapes against the floor as she moves to your side.

You barely hear her. Your breath comes in shallow pants as your hands fly to your belly, fingers pressing against the fabric of your gown as if trying to soothe the sharp ache beneath. Your heart pounds in your chest, faster than it should, and for a moment, fear coils tightly in your mind.

“Something’s wrong,” you breathe, your voice strained and quiet. Your eyes dart to Alicent, wide and uncertain. “Mother, something’s—”

Alicent is already at your side, her hands firm but gentle as she grips your shoulders, grounding you with her presence. “Breathe, sweet girl,” she says firmly, though her eyes are wide with worry. “Look at me. Breathe. Slowly now.”

Helaena rises from her chair, her movements slower but no less filled with purpose. Her eyes aren’t filled with panic like your mother’s — no, hers are distant but aware. She steps forward, tilting her head slightly, her gaze falling on your belly. Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she murmurs, so softly it’s almost to herself, “The storm presses before the dawn… but it will pass.”

Her words do little to calm the growing thrum of worry in your chest. Your breathing is shallow as you press a hand harder against your belly, hoping, praying, that the pain will fade. Your heart races as the ache slowly begins to ease, but it leaves you shaken. Your breaths come quicker than before, and Alicent kneels before you, her hands cupping your face to make you look at her.

“Is it still there?” she asks, her eyes searching yours with the precision of a mother who has lived through this before. “The pain — is it still there?”

You shake your head slowly, swallowing hard before you answer. “No,” you whisper, voice still tight with lingering fear. “It’s… it’s easing now.” Your breath shudders as you exhale, tears threatening to rise in your eyes. “But it was strong, Mother. It was so strong.”

Alicent’s lips press into a firm line, her eyes scanning your face as her hand moves down to your belly. Her fingers press gently against it, her movements careful but thorough. Her gaze sharpens with quiet focus, and for a moment, she is not simply your mother but the queen, the one who must remain calm when others falter.

“Likely a cramp,” she says softly but firmly, glancing up at you. “It can happen as you grow heavier, especially with how far along you are.” She squeezes your hand, her eyes steady as she adds, “But we won’t take risks. I’ll send for the maester.”

Helaena kneels beside you, her eyes still faraway but her hands gentle as she takes yours into her own. Her fingers are cool to the touch, her presence a soothing balm to the fear still lingering in your heart. She tilts her head, her gaze distant but kind.

“Safe,” she says softly, her gaze flickering to your belly before rising to meet your eyes. “You are safe, and so are they.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mix of relief and exhaustion washing over you. You nod slowly, leaning back into the chair once more, letting the tension leave your body with every slow breath you take.

“Yes,” you whisper, more to yourself than to them. “Safe.”

But as Alicent calls for the maester and Helaena stays close by your side, you can’t help but feel the weight of uncertainty pressing on you. The ache may have passed, but the memory of it still lingers, a shadow at the edge of your mind. You press a hand to your belly again, feeling the warmth of life beneath your palm.

“Stay with me,” you whisper quietly to the child growing within you. “Please… stay with me.”

The pain returns with a vengeance, sharper and more relentless than before. It claws its way through your belly, pulling a scream from your lips that echoes through the room. Your body tenses as if every muscle is fighting against the force bearing down on you. Your breaths come in short, frantic gasps, and panic surges in your chest like a rising tide.

“Mother!” you cry out, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear and pain. Your hands clutch your belly, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your gown. Sweat beads on your brow, rolling down your temples as heat floods your body. “Mother, please!”

Alicent is already at your side. Her hands are steady as she cups your face, her eyes sharp with focus but filled with unwavering love. “I’m here, I’m here,” she says firmly, her voice cutting through the fog of pain like a guiding light. Her hand moves to your back, supporting you as she leans in close. “Breathe, sweet girl. Look at me. Breathe.”

Her words anchor you, but it’s so hard to focus on anything but the searing ache that grips you. You try to follow her command, gasping in short, uneven breaths before forcing a deeper one. The air feels thick and heavy in your lungs, but you manage to draw it in, then out. In. Out. Just as she says.

Footsteps echo down the corridor, fast and urgent. The door swings open, and the maester enters with two midwives at his side. Their expressions are grim but purposeful. They’ve seen this before. They know what to do.

“Lay her down,” the maester commands, his voice calm but firm. The midwives move quickly, clearing space on the large bed. Alicent and Helaena help you rise from the chair, their hands steady and sure. Your legs feel like they might give out, but they don’t let you fall.

The moment you lie back on the bed, the pain crashes down again. Another scream tears from your throat as you grip the sheets beneath you, your body arching as the pressure builds. Your heart races, panic mixing with the overwhelming pain, but Alicent is there. Her hands grip yours tightly, her gaze locked onto yours.

“Look at me,” she says, her voice unwavering even as her eyes shine with worry. “You’re strong. You can do this. Breathe, darling. Just breathe.”

Tears prick your eyes as you try to listen to her, nodding weakly through the haze of agony. The maester presses a hand gently to your belly, his eyes narrowing with practiced precision.

“It is time,” he says, his gaze flicking to Alicent before returning to you. “The child is coming now. We must act quickly.”

“No,” you whisper, your voice hoarse with strain. “No, it’s too soon—”

“It’s happening now, my lady,” the maester says firmly but not unkindly. “There is no stopping it. You must be brave.”

Terror wells up in your chest, but Alicent grips your face gently, her eyes filled with fierce determination. “You are brave,” she tells you, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. “You were born to do this. I’m right here. I will not leave you.”

Helaena kneels by your other side, her distant, dreamlike gaze now clearer than before. Her eyes settle on you with surprising clarity. “A new song,” she murmurs, brushing a cool hand over your sweat-dampened brow. “It will be loud, but it will be beautiful.”

Her words bring you a small, flickering spark of calm, but it’s brief. The next contraction pulls a broken sob from your chest as you twist in pain. Your world narrows to nothing but the ache, the weight, and the unyielding pressure that refuses to ease.

“Push when you feel it,” the maester instructs. His voice is steady but insistent. “When the pain crests, you push. Do you understand?”

You nod weakly, your breath coming fast and shallow. Alicent’s fingers intertwine with yours, grounding you in the present. Her grip is strong, firm, and unwavering.

“You can do this,” she whispers, her voice close to your ear. “Push, my love. Push with everything you have."

The next wave of pain crashes over you, fiercer than anything you’ve ever known. You grit your teeth, crying out as you bear down with every ounce of strength left in you. Your whole body trembles from the effort, your breaths ragged and wild, but you push. You push because there is no other choice. You push because life demands it.

The room fills with the sounds of your labor — the grunts, the cries, the gasps for air. Alicent’s voice never wavers, her steady encouragement a thread that guides you through the storm. Helaena hums softly beside you, her quiet, lilting melody oddly soothing in the chaos.

Time becomes meaningless. Minutes, hours — you can’t tell the difference. All you know is the pain, the push, the desperate need to bring life into the world. Sweat drips from your brow, your body shaking with exhaustion. You feel like you have nothing left to give. But then—

“I see the head,” the maester says suddenly, his tone sharp with urgency. “Just one more push, my lady. One more, and they will be here.”

Your heart leaps, tears streaming down your face. You feel Alicent squeeze your hand tighter, her face inches from yours, her eyes fierce with pride.

“One more,” she says, her voice trembling with emotion. “Just one more. You can do this. You will do this.”

You nod, teeth clenched, every muscle in your body coiling like a spring. And with a guttural cry that shakes the very air around you, you give one final, desperate push. It feels like you are being torn apart, but then—

A sound.

A cry.

A sharp, piercing wail fills the room, cutting through the air like the first song of dawn. It’s high and loud, strong and alive. For a moment, all the pain fades into nothing. Your whole world stops, your breath catching in your chest. Tears fall freely down your face as you hear it.

The baby is crying.

“Well done, my lady,” the maester says softly, his hands cradling the tiny, wriggling child. “It’s a boy.”

Your chest shudders with a sob of relief, of joy, of exhaustion. You slump back against the pillows, your whole body weak and trembling. Your heart is so full it feels like it might burst.

The baby’s cry continues, strong and insistent, and moments later, he is placed in your arms. He is so small, so warm, his silver hair damp from the effort of entering the world. His eyes are squeezed shut as he wails, his tiny fists curling and uncurling in the air.

You gaze down at him, tears spilling from your eyes as you press a kiss to his forehead. “Hello, my love,” you whisper, your voice cracking with emotion. “You’re here. You’re finally here.”

Alicent presses a kiss to the top of your head, her eyes shining with tears. “You did it,” she says, pride and love pouring from every word. “You did it, my darling girl.”

Helaena smiles softly, her gaze faraway once more. “His song is bright,” she murmurs, her voice quiet but certain. “A light in the storm.”

The maester remains close, his hands still working, his voice calling for the midwives to be ready for the afterbirth. But none of it matters. Not right now.

All you can see is your son. His tiny face scrunched in a cry, his little fingers curling toward you like he already knows you. Your heart swells with love so fierce it nearly undoes you. You press another kiss to his head, breathing him in, memorizing every inch of him.

“You’re safe,” you whisper, your voice thick with love. “You’re safe, little one. I’m here. I’m here.”

And for a moment, everything is still. The pain is gone. The world outside doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him.

Your son.

The moment of peace is shattered as the pain returns, sharper and more intense than before. It steals the breath from your lungs, and your body tenses involuntarily. Your arms tighten around your newborn son, but the pain is too much — too sudden, too strong. You let out a choked gasp, your eyes wide with panic.

“Mother,” you rasp, your voice laced with both fear and disbelief. “Mother, it’s happening again—”

Alicent’s eyes snap to you, her face shifting from joy to alarm in an instant. She moves swiftly, her hands reaching for you. “Give him to me,” she says urgently but gently, her eyes locked on yours. “Give him to me, sweet girl. You need your strength.”

With shaking hands, you lift your son toward her, tears spilling down your cheeks. You press a kiss to his soft head before letting him go. The moment her arms take him, you feel the weight shift, but the pain does not ease.

“Maester!” Alicent calls sharply, her voice commanding and fierce. She cradles the baby close to her chest, swaying ever so slightly to soothe his cries. Her eyes are wild with concern as she looks from you to the maester.

The maester is already at your side, his face grim as he presses a hand against your belly. His eyes narrow in concentration, his mouth set in a firm line. His hands move with experienced precision, and for a heartbeat, the room falls silent save for the soft, fretful cries of your newborn son.

“You are carrying twins, my lady,” the maester says, his voice low but clear. His gaze meets yours, calm but firm. “There is another child yet to be born.”

The world spins. Your heart lurches in your chest as you stare at him, wide-eyed with shock. “What?” you breathe, the word barely more than a whisper. “No… no, I would have known.”

“It is rare, but it happens,” the maester says steadily. “But the child is coming now, and there is no time to waste.”

Tears blur your vision as a sob rises in your throat. Another child. Another child is coming. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, and you shake your head as if denying it will make it untrue. “No, no, no,” you cry, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you. “Aegon. I need Aegon. Please — I need him here!”

Your gaze snaps to your mother, desperate and pleading. “Bring him back, Mother. Please.” Your voice cracks with the weight of it, raw with pain and fear. “I need him here. Please bring him back.”

Alicent’s face crumples with anguish. She hands the baby to one of the midwives with quick, careful hands, then rushes to your side. She kneels by you, cupping your face with both hands, her eyes swimming with emotion.

“I know, my sweet girl. I know,” she says, her voice trembling with barely contained sorrow. Her fingers stroke your damp hair away from your face, her forehead nearly pressed to yours. “But he’s still in the skies, riding Sunfyre. I sent a messenger, but he may not hear the call in time.”

Your heart twists in your chest, grief and fear mingling with the agony that wracks your body. You can barely think through the haze of pain. You feel as though you are being pulled apart from the inside, your body no longer your own.

“I need him,” you sob, your voice broken, raw, and filled with longing. “I need him here, Mother.”

Alicent presses her forehead to yours, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Her grip on you tightens, her hands steady despite the trembling of her breath.

“You have me,” she whispers fiercely, her voice filled with the same strength she used when you were a child frightened by the storm. “You have me, and I will not leave you. You hear me? You are not alone. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Her voice cuts through the fog of fear, grounding you in the present. The next wave of pain strikes, and you cry out, your hands gripping Alicent’s arms with all the strength you can muster. She doesn’t flinch, holding you as steady as stone. Her presence is unyielding, a wall against the storm.

“Push, sweet girl,” she urges you, her voice low but firm. “You’ve done this once already. You can do it again. Push, and you will hold them both in your arms.”

Her words are a lifeline. You nod weakly, tears still streaming down your face. Your heart still aches for Aegon — for the warmth of his voice, his hand on yours, his whispered promises. But he is not here. Not now. And so you grip your mother’s arms like a lifeline and face the storm alone.

“Push,” the maester commands from below, his hands ready once more. “With the next pain, my lady, push as you did before.

You nod again, your breaths sharp and shallow. Alicent’s voice comes close to your ear, soft but unyielding.

“You are my daughter,” she says, her voice filled with fire and love. “You are stronger than you know. You will bring them into this world, and I will be here every step of the way.”

With a cry of pain and raw determination, you push.

Your body feels like it has been wrung dry of every last ounce of strength. Your breaths come in shallow, uneven gasps, each one a battle to draw in air. Every muscle aches, and your limbs feel heavier than stone. Your vision blurs with exhaustion and tears, but through it all, you hear it — the sound that makes it all worth it.

A cry. Sharp, loud, and strong.

The moment you hear it, a sob bursts from your chest, your body shaking as relief washes over you like a crashing wave. Tears stream down your face, mingling with the sweat on your brow. It’s over. It’s finally over.

“She’s here,” the maester says, his voice filled with quiet triumph. “A girl, my lady. A strong, healthy girl.”

Alicent releases a shaky breath beside you, her face crumpling with overwhelming relief. Her hands, still holding yours, squeeze tightly, her fingers trembling against your skin. She lets out a soft, broken laugh, her eyes filled with pride and love.

“You did it,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “You did it, my brave girl.”

Your head lolls to the side, your body so heavy you can hardly move. You blink slowly, trying to clear your vision, trying to see her — your daughter. The maester wraps the small, squirming bundle in soft cloth before placing her in Alicent’s waiting arms.

Alicent gazes down at the child with wonder, her face soft and radiant in the glow of the moment. She sways gently, rocking the baby as she steps closer to you. Her eyes, still brimming with tears, turn to you with a look of such deep pride that it nearly undoes you.

“Look at her,” she says softly, her voice trembling with awe. She kneels beside the bed and holds the baby out to you. “Look at your daughter, my love.

With the last remnants of your strength, you lift your arms, hands shaking with exhaustion. Alicent carefully places the baby in your arms, adjusting the blankets to keep her warm. The moment you feel her weight against your chest, your heart swells so fiercely it feels like it might break.

She’s so small. Her tiny face is flushed pink, her eyes shut tight as she lets out a wailing cry. Her silver hair, damp and soft, clings to her head, a perfect mirror of your own Targaryen heritage. Her little fists wave in the air, so full of life, so full of fight.

Tears blur your vision once more as you stare down at her, overwhelmed by a love so powerful it feels like it could break you. Your fingers brush over her cheek, and her skin is so soft, so warm. She hiccups mid-cry, her tiny lips quivering before settling into quiet whimpers. Her whole body fits against you like she was always meant to be there.

“Hello, sweet girl,” you whisper, your voice raw but filled with so much love it aches. You press your lips to her soft head, inhaling the delicate, sweet scent of new life. “You’re here. You’re finally here.”

Your tears drip onto her blanket, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. They’re tears of relief. Of joy. Of love. Your heart, already so full from your son’s birth, somehow makes room for her as well. It feels as though it might burst from how much you love them both.

Alicent’s hand rests on your head, her fingers threading gently through your damp hair. She leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips warm and soft. Her breath is warm against your skin as she whispers, “You’ve done something extraordinary, my sweet girl. You are a mother twice over now.”

Her words wash over you like sunlight after a storm. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of them fill you from head to toe. Her fingers trail down to brush against your cheek, gentle as a breeze.

“You are so strong,” Alicent says, her voice thick with emotion. “Stronger than I ever was.”

You let out a soft, broken laugh, too exhausted to do more. Your head rests against the pillow, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. The warmth of your daughter against your chest, the gentle weight of her, is the only thing keeping you anchored to the present.

“She’s perfect,” you whisper, your voice no more than a breath. “They’re both perfect.”

“Yes, they are,” Alicent replies, her voice full of love and pride. She smooths a hand over your hair again, her fingers cool against your burning skin. “Rest now, sweet girl. You’ve done enough. Rest.”

You nod weakly, still gazing down at your daughter. Her tiny eyes peek open for the briefest moment, and you see them — a soft shade of violet, clear and bright like amethysts. You press another kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger there.

“Welcome to the world, little one,” you whisper, your voice heavy with love. “I will love you for all my days.”

The weight of exhaustion pulls at you, your body too spent to fight it. Your eyes grow heavy, and slowly, slowly, they close. You can still hear the gentle coos of your daughter and the soft hum of your mother’s voice as she soothes you both.

The world fades into warmth, love, and the knowledge that you have brought two lives into it. And as you slip into the quiet, you know that, somehow, everything will be alright.

The heavy thud of hurried footsteps echoes through the chamber. The door swings open with a force that makes it shudder against the wall. Aegon stands there, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his silver hair disheveled from flight, still damp with sweat from the heat of Sunfyre’s back. His violet eyes are wild, darting around the room in search of you.

“Aegon,” Alicent says softly, turning her head toward him. She stands by your bedside, her arms cradling your newborn son against her chest. Her expression is one of quiet relief as she sees him. “You’re here.”

His gaze locks onto you, and his eyes soften with something raw and unspoken. Without a word, he strides forward, his steps quick but careful. His eyes scan every inch of you, taking in the sight of you lying on the bed, your face pale, your hair damp with sweat, your chest rising and falling slowly as you sleep. The exhaustion is clear on your face, but there is peace too.

He stops at the side of the bed, his breath still uneven from the rush to get here. His hand reaches out, fingers trembling slightly as he brushes your cheek. The warmth of his touch pulls you from the edge of sleep. Slowly, your eyes flutter open. For a moment, it takes you a second to realize who it is, but when you do, a soft smile pulls at your lips.

“Aegon,” you murmur, your voice weak but filled with so much love it makes his throat tighten.

“I’m here,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. His thumb strokes your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’m here now.”

Tears shimmer in his eyes, but he blinks them away, his jaw tightening as he tries to steady himself. His gaze shifts for a moment to the small bundle in Alicent’s arms. Slowly, he looks back at you, confusion and wonder mingling on his face.

“Twins?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loud will break the fragile magic of the moment.

You nod slowly, still gazing at him, your eyes filled with exhaustion but also pride. “A boy and a girl,” you whisper, tilting your head just enough to glance toward the small crib beside the bed where your daughter lies peacefully, swaddled in soft blankets.

Aegon follows your gaze. His eyes land on the tiny, sleeping form of his daughter. His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he doesn’t move. He stares as if the world has stopped, as if nothing else exists but that little girl lying there. His face shifts — shock, awe, disbelief, and then something far deeper.

He steps away from you, moving toward the crib with slow, cautious steps. His eyes are wide, unblinking, as if he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he looks away. When he reaches the crib, he leans down, his breath shallow as he stares at her face. Her tiny mouth opens in a soft yawn, her little hands curling against the blankets.

“She’s so small,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. His fingers hover over her head, hesitant to touch, as if he fears he might hurt her. But slowly, carefully, he brushes a single finger against her cheek. She’s warm, so warm, and soft like nothing he’s ever felt before.

His breath shudders, and he presses his lips into a thin line to keep his emotions in check. But his shoulders shake once, and he releases a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob. He presses a hand over his mouth, his eyes red-rimmed as he stares at her, overcome with something too big to name.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice filled with reverence. “She’s… she’s perfect.”

He stays there for a moment longer, just gazing at her as though he could memorize every inch of her face in that instant. Then, he pulls himself away, turning back to you. His eyes are glassy, his cheeks damp, but he doesn’t care. His gaze shifts to the small bundle in Alicent’s arms. His son. His heir.

Alicent’s face softens as she looks at him. Her eyes are filled with understanding and love as she steps forward, tilting the child in her arms so Aegon can see him fully. His face is red with the aftershock of crying, his small fists waving in the air as if trying to fight off the world itself. His silver hair is messy atop his head, so much like Aegon’s own when he was born.

“Your son,” Alicent says gently, her voice thick with pride. She steps closer, lifting him toward Aegon. “Hold him, Aegon.”

He freezes for a moment, his eyes darting from his mother’s face to his son’s, panic flickering behind his gaze. “I— I don’t know if I can,” he says, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. His hands flex nervously at his sides. “He’s so small. I—”

“You can,” Alicent cuts in softly but firmly, her eyes meeting his with all the quiet strength of a mother who has done this before. “You must.”

Aegon’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. Slowly, he reaches out his arms. Alicent carefully places the baby into his hands, guiding him until the small bundle is secure in his arms. The moment Aegon feels that little weight against his chest, everything else falls away. The panic, the doubt, the fear — it all vanishes.

His son shifts, letting out a small, sleepy sigh as he nuzzles into Aegon’s chest. Aegon lets out a shaky breath, his arms tightening just a little as he cradles him closer. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, so full it feels like it might burst.

“Hey, little one,” Aegon whispers, his voice barely more than a breath. His lips curl into a trembling smile, his eyes locked on the baby’s face. “It’s me. I’m your father.”

The words feel strange and sacred on his tongue. Father. He’s a father. He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, his forehead pressing against the baby’s head, breathing him in. “I’m here now,” he whispers, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m here, and I’ll never leave.”

He turns his head slowly, looking at you. His gaze is soft, his face raw with every emotion he’s ever tried to hide. There’s no mask now. No armor. Just him — just Aegon, looking at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice barely holding steady. He looks at you like you’ve given him the whole world. “Thank you for them. For… for everything.”

Tears well up in your eyes again, but you laugh softly, too tired to speak much. “Don’t thank me,” you say, your voice weak but full of love. “They’re yours too, Aegon.”

He stares at you for a moment longer, then sits on the edge of the bed, his son still cradled in his arms. He shifts closer, close enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long, quiet moment.

“Rest,” he whispers against your skin, his voice so gentle it almost breaks you. “I’ll stay with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, eyes closing once more, the warmth of his presence grounding you. You hear him humming softly, a quiet, soothing melody that lulls you into rest.

The last thing you feel is the warmth of his body pressed close to yours, the soft weight of your daughter at your side, and the steady rhythm of Aegon’s quiet song filling the air.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel safe. Truly safe.

The soft creak of the door opening pulls you from the haze of sleep. Your eyes flutter open slowly, your body still heavy with exhaustion but your mind already attuned to the sounds of the room. The quiet murmur of voices reaches your ears, familiar voices filled with warmth and curiosity.

You blink a few times, adjusting to the dim glow of the chamber. The sight that greets you makes your heart swell. Aegon is seated beside you on the bed, his back resting against the headboard, his gaze fixed intently on the two small bundles resting in his arms. His face is softer than you’ve ever seen it — calm, content, and utterly unguarded. The flickering firelight dances across his silver hair, and his violet eyes are filled with a tenderness that he so rarely shows.

He notices you stirring and glances down at you, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Look who’s finally awake,” he says softly, his voice full of affection.

Before you can reply, more movement draws your attention to the door. Helaena and Aemond step into the room, followed closely by your mother, Alicent. Helaena’s face lights up with a smile the moment she sees you, her eyes wide with excitement. She clasps her hands together, eyes flicking to the bundles in Aegon’s arms.

“You’re awake!” Helaena says brightly as she approaches. Her gaze is filled with wonder as she peeks over Aegon’s shoulder to get a better look at the twins. “Oh, they’re so tiny,” she whispers, her eyes filled with awe. She crouches slightly, tilting her head as if to get a better view. “They’re perfect.”

Aemond walks in with his usual measured grace, his eye cool but attentive as he surveys the scene. His gaze lands on you for a moment, his expression unreadable, but his lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile. His eye shifts to the children in Aegon’s arms, and he tilts his head, his gaze thoughtful.

“They’re strong,” he says simply, his voice low but firm. “They’ll grow to be fierce.”

Your mother steps forward, her eyes soft with maternal pride and love. She kneels at your bedside, her hand immediately reaching out to smooth the damp hair from your face. Her eyes, so filled with love, meet yours.

“How are you feeling, my love?” Alicent asks quietly, her voice full of concern. “You were so strong through it all.”

“I’m tired,” you admit, giving her a small smile, “but happy.” Your gaze shifts to Aegon, who is still staring at your children like they are the only things that matter in this world.

Alicent glances over her shoulder at them, her face filled with the same quiet joy. Her eyes flick back to you, a knowing look in her gaze. “Have you chosen names for them yet?” she asks, tilting her head in curiosity.

Helaena perks up at the question, leaning forward with an eager smile. “Yes, yes! Have you? I’ve been wondering what names you would give them.”

Aegon glances at you, and you can see the unspoken question in his eyes. This was a decision the two of you had discussed before but never finalized. But now, in this moment, it feels clear. The names feel right, as if they had been waiting all along for this moment.

You glance at him, nodding slowly, and he mirrors your smile.

“Our son will be named Jaehaerys,” you say softly, your eyes flicking to the boy cradled in Aegon’s right arm. His little face is scrunched in sleep, his silver hair sticking up in messy tufts. “For strength and wisdom.

Aegon nods, his lips twitching with approval. His gaze shifts to his daughter, his eyes warm with a quiet reverence. “And our daughter will be Jaehaera,” he says, his voice thick with affection. He glances at you, his gaze unwavering. “For her grace and fire.”

Helaena gasps softly, her eyes bright with joy. “Jaehaerys and Jaehaera,” she repeats, her smile wide. “They sound like they belong in a song. Such strong names for such precious children.” She leans closer to the crib where Jaehaera sleeps peacefully. “She will be a dreamer, I think,” Helana says softly, her eyes distant but full of certainty. “Yes, a dreamer.”

Aemond raises a brow at that but says nothing. His gaze remains on the twins, his eyes sharp as if trying to read something in their faces.

Alicent breathes out a soft sigh, her smile growing wider. “They are beautiful names,” she says, brushing her hand over your hair once more. “Names worthy of them.” She looks up at Aegon, pride shining in her gaze. “You have a fine family, my son.”

Aegon shifts his gaze to his mother, his lips pressing into a firm line as he nods once. “Yes,” he says quietly, his eyes returning to the two small faces in his arms. His voice grows even softer. “I do.”

His eyes flick back to you, and he leans forward, his brow resting gently against yours. For a moment, it is just the two of you, breathing the same air, sharing the same quiet, overwhelming love for the family you’ve built together.

“Jaehaerys and Jaehaera,” he whispers, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “Our little dragons.”

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @yazzzmints @hangmanscoming @giirlinblack

[goldfades]

SCREAM QUEENS──NICHOLAS CHAVEZ

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─ summary | after filming Scream with cooper and nicholas, you and nicholas develop a slow-burn romance filled with subtle tension.

─ pairing | nicholas chavez x fem!actress!reader, platonic!cooper koch x fem!actress!reader

─ warnings | sooo sweet and soft!! literally nothing except fluff and a few kisses at the end.

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The red carpet glistens under the flashing lights of countless cameras, and the hum of excited voices fills the air like an electric current. The Scream premiere is your first big debut in a film of this scale, and it feels like you're stepping into another world. Your breath catches slightly as you look up at the towering poster of your character, Sydney, splashed across the theater behind you. It’s surreal.

You smooth your dress—a deep, rich burgundy that makes you feel powerful, but in a quiet way, like you're not here to scream but to be heard when it matters. A few feet away, Nicholas stands in his sleek suit, posture rigid yet calm, looking every bit like he belongs. Stoic, as always. But there’s something in the way his eyes shift toward you when he thinks no one’s watching—a softness, a quiet admiration hidden behind his mask of indifference.

Next to him, Cooper is an absolute ball of energy, talking animatedly with an interviewer, his hands gesturing wildly as he laughs, completely unrecognizable from the unnerving, cold-blooded Stu he portrayed in the movie. His warmth is contagious, and you can’t help but smile, even though you’re more used to blending into the background at events like these. Still, this is your night too.

The interviewer finally reaches you, and your stomach flutters—not from nerves, but from the anticipation of sharing this moment. "How does it feel to be a part of such an iconic horror franchise?" they ask, their microphone hovering in front of you.

You glance at Nicholas briefly, his lips curling into the tiniest of smiles as if he’s silently encouraging you to take the lead. The smallest gesture, but you catch it. You always do. You gather your thoughts, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in.

"It’s… unreal," you start softly, your voice measured. "Scream changed the game, and being a part of that—it's hard to describe. It’s like stepping into a legacy, but also bringing something new."

You pause for a second, letting the weight of your words settle, and then continue. “It’s not just about stepping into Sydney’s shoes—it’s about understanding her fear, her resilience. Horror is… more than just jumpscares. It’s psychological, it’s emotional. It’s about survival, and I think that’s what makes Scream different.”

As you speak, you feel the lights and the noise around you blur into the background. Your focus is on the moment, on articulating what’s been buzzing in your mind ever since you landed the role. Sydney was never just a scream queen—she was a fighter, an anchor in the madness, and playing her was like learning how to channel that same strength in yourself.

The interviewer nods, visibly impressed, and moves on to Nicholas. You shift slightly, glancing at him as he takes a steady breath. His expression is the perfect picture of composure, but you can tell from the slight twitch of his fingers that he’s thoughtful about what to say.

“Well, Billy’s not exactly the hero,” Nicholas begins, a small chuckle escaping his lips, eyes narrowing with that subtle sharpness that made him perfect for the role. “But I think what’s interesting about him—and about the film as a whole—is the way it plays with the audience’s expectations. Horror has always been about tension, about twisting what you think you know. Scream does that, but on a deeper level. Billy’s... manipulative, sure, but there’s a layer of humanity there, buried under all that chaos. And that’s what makes him so terrifying. You don’t just hate him—you understand him.”

He doesn’t say much, but his words settle like a weight in the air, his voice low and reflective. You’ve always admired that about him, the way he can strip away all the noise and say something that matters, something you’ll still be thinking about long after the conversation ends.

And then, of course, there’s Cooper.

The moment Nicholas finishes, Cooper bounds into the spotlight, his energy bright and overwhelming, making everyone laugh before he’s even answered the question. “Oh man, playing Stu was wild,” he says, shaking his head with a grin that’s far too friendly for someone who spent the entire movie butchering people. “I had to turn off my brain to even think like him. I’m pretty much the opposite in real life, so going to that dark place took some effort.”

He laughs again, carefree, but you’ve seen it—the way he can flip a switch when the cameras roll. One moment, he’s this ball of sunshine, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light, and the next, his eyes go cold, his smile sinister. It’s what made his portrayal of Stu so chilling, so disturbingly real.

“But honestly, I think the best part was working with these two,” Cooper continues, throwing an arm around both you and Nicholas in one smooth motion. “We were like family on set. Every scene, every rehearsal, we got closer. There’s this... chemistry we developed that I think really translates on screen.”

You feel a flush of warmth at his words. Cooper’s enthusiasm has always been infectious, and you can’t help but nod in agreement, even if you’re not as loud about it as he is. The connection between the three of you—Nicholas, Cooper, and you—had been undeniable, a sort of unspoken understanding that had only grown stronger as filming went on.

The interviewer seizes on that. “It sounds like you all bonded a lot on set. Can you talk more about your dynamic? What was it like working together?”

You’re about to respond, but Cooper jumps in first, unable to help himself. “Oh, totally! It was a blast. I mean, there were some intense scenes, obviously—especially for Nick and her,” he says, nodding at you. “But between takes? We’d be laughing, hanging out, keeping it light. It’s the only way to survive a horror film without going crazy yourself, right?”

Nicholas smirks, leaning into the moment with his usual understated charm. “Yeah, Cooper’s energy definitely kept things interesting.” There’s that subtle warmth again in his tone, a softness in the way he talks about you both. “I think we balanced each other out in a lot of ways. You”—he nods toward you again—"you brought this quiet focus, and I think it rubbed off on me. It’s easy to get lost in a role like Billy, but watching you... I learned how to ground myself.”

The compliment, though wrapped in his usual casual delivery, sends a faint flush up your neck. Nicholas had never been one for big declarations, but when he did speak, it was always with meaning, as if he had chosen each word carefully, deliberately.

You find your voice again, wanting to contribute before the moment passes. “I think we each brought something different to the table,” you add softly, your gaze flicking between them. “Cooper has this incredible energy that keeps everything light, but he can flip a switch when it’s time to get serious. And Nicholas...” You pause, considering. “He’s... steady. There’s this calmness about him that keeps you anchored, even when the scenes get intense. It’s hard to explain, but it made working with him feel... safe.”

Your words hang in the air for a moment, and there’s a flicker of something in Nicholas’s eyes—a glimmer of appreciation, though it’s fleeting, quickly hidden behind his usual cool demeanor. But you catch it. You always do.

The interviewer, sensing the dynamic between the three of you, smiles warmly. “It sounds like you all formed a pretty tight-knit group. That’s rare in an industry like this.”

Cooper nods enthusiastically. “Oh, for sure. We’re stuck with each other now,” he jokes, but the sincerity behind his words is unmistakable. “I mean, how could we not? We’ve been through the trenches together.”

You smile, unable to suppress the warmth that floods through you. He’s right. Despite the long nights, the emotionally draining scenes, and the weight of stepping into such iconic roles, the bond you’ve formed with these two has been something special—something real.

As the interview wraps up, you take a step back, letting Cooper and Nicholas finish with their final thoughts. The night isn’t over yet—the premiere still looms ahead, and there are more cameras, more questions waiting. But for a moment, in the midst of the chaos, you feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the film, for this experience, but mostly for them.

For the way Nicholas’s steady presence has become a quiet comfort, his admiration for you evident in the smallest of gestures. For the way Cooper’s energy has pulled you out of your shell, making you laugh, making the hard days bearable.

And as you glance at them both, standing under the glow of the premiere lights, you can’t help but feel like something has shifted. Something subtle, yet undeniable.

───

“—that is not what happened, and you know it.” Cooper sighed dramatically as he glanced your direction, a mock upset settled on his face as you bite your lip, stifling a laugh. Nicholas watches the two of you, amusement clear in his expression.

You settle into the couch as you shrug, letting a small laugh escape your lips. "Okay, fine," you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Maybe I don't remember it exactly the way you do, but come on, Cooper, you were the one who started it."

Cooper gasps, clutching his chest dramatically like he’s been mortally wounded. "I started it? Oh no, no. Let’s be real here. You and Nicholas were the ones conspiring against me from day one!"

Nicholas raises an eyebrow, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Conspiring? That’s a bit dramatic, Coop.”

The host of the podcast, a friendly guy with a genuine smile, watches all of this unfold with a look of amusement, clearly enjoying the easy chemistry between the three of you. “So wait, wait. What exactly did happen on set? I need to know who’s telling the truth here.”

You lean back into the couch, crossing your arms playfully as you glance between Cooper and Nicholas. "Oh, this is good," you say, your eyes lighting up with the memory. "You tell him, Nick. I think you’ve got the best perspective here."

Nicholas, always the picture of calm, shakes his head slightly, clearly entertained by the chaos unfolding between you and Cooper. "Alright," he says, his voice steady but with a hint of amusement. "Here’s the real story. Cooper, as usual, was trying to lighten the mood between takes. It was one of those intense scenes—you know, where Billy and Stu are supposed to be... doing their thing."

Cooper jumps in, unable to help himself. "You mean brutally stabbing people?"

Nicholas just gives him a look, unfazed. “Yes. That. Anyway, Cooper decided to improvise a little—”

“A little?” you interject with a laugh. “He completely threw the script out the window!”

Cooper grins, not remotely ashamed. "Hey, I was trying to make everyone laugh! It was a tense day, okay? I thought Billy needed to lighten up. Maybe do a TikTok dance between stabs. You know, just to mix things up."

Nicholas rolls his eyes good-naturedly, the smallest chuckle escaping him. “Needless to say, it didn’t go over well with the director.”

“Or anyone else on set,” you add, giggling at the memory of Cooper’s ridiculous, over-the-top dance moves while still in full Stu costume.

Cooper holds his hands up defensively. “Alright, fine. It was a bold choice. But you two were laughing! Don’t try to deny it. I saw you both.”

Nicholas’s expression softens, and he nods. “I’ll give you that. You definitely broke the tension.”

The host laughs, clearly enjoying the banter. “It sounds like you guys had a lot of fun on set, despite the heavy material. How do you balance that, being in such a dark, intense movie but still having this kind of dynamic off-screen?”

You exchange a look with Nicholas and Cooper, your smile softening a bit as you think back on the experience. "I think it’s because we had to," you say thoughtfully. “When you’re dealing with a film like Scream—where you’re surrounded by horror and violence every day—it’s easy to let that weight stick with you. So we found ways to break it up, to remind ourselves that we’re just playing characters, that we don’t have to carry that darkness with us.”

Cooper nods along, his usual high energy subdued for a moment as he listens to you speak. “Yeah, exactly. And it helps when you’re working with people you trust, you know? Like, we got along so well from the beginning, so it made everything easier. Even on the tough days, I knew I could look at you guys and just... snap out of it.”

Nicholas glances at you, his expression a little more serious now. “There’s a lot of trust involved, especially with a film like this. You have to trust that the people around you are going to be there, not just as actors, but as friends. And we built that over time.”

You smile at him, grateful for the sincerity in his words. He may be quiet, but when he speaks, it always feels intentional, like there’s weight behind everything he says. And in moments like this, you’re reminded of just how much you appreciate that about him.

The host shifts in his seat, leaning forward. “That’s great to hear. It really shows on screen—the chemistry, the dynamic between you three. So, what’s next? I mean, after Scream, where do you go from here?”

Cooper jumps in again, back to his usual lively self. “Well, I think we should all do a rom-com next, right? Something light, something fluffy. Get away from all the blood and guts.”

You laugh, the idea of the three of you in a rom-com so absurd it’s actually kind of appealing. “Oh yeah, I can totally see Nicholas as the romantic lead.”

Nicholas raises an eyebrow, looking completely unfazed by the suggestion. “I don’t know about that. I think I’ll stick to horror.”

“Stoic, mysterious guy,” Cooper teases, leaning forward dramatically, pretending to narrate. “He’s hiding a dark secret, but deep down, he’s just a big softie.”

You and the host burst out laughing, and even Nicholas can’t help but crack a smile. “Alright, alright,” he concedes. “Maybe one rom-com.”

The host grins, looking between the three of you. “I would definitely pay to see that.”

The interview wraps up soon after, the room filled with easy laughter and lingering energy as you stand from the couch. You, Nicholas, and Cooper thank the host, chatting amongst yourselves as the podcast crew wraps up.

As you head toward the door, Cooper slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. "Next time, we do the rom-com," he says with a wink. “We can be the love interests and... Nick can just be there. I’ll start writing the script tonight.”

Nicholas falls into step beside you, his hands in his pockets, watching the two of you with that familiar glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll leave that to you, Cooper.”

You smile, shaking your head. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

After the interview wraps up and the bright lights of the studio fade behind you, the three of you pile into Cooper’s car. He’s talking a mile a minute, still buzzing from the podcast, hands waving animatedly as he drives.

“Man, that was fun. Did you hear how the host lost it when we started talking about the rom-com? I think we should seriously pitch that,” he jokes, throwing you a wink in the rearview mirror.

You laugh, leaning against the window in the back seat, the city passing by in a blur of neon and headlights. “You’re never going to let this rom-com thing go, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Cooper replies, grinning. “We’d crush it. But first…” He slows the car as you approach Nicholas’s place. “How about we just hang out for a bit? Relax, watch a movie or something.”

You glance at Nicholas, who’s sitting quietly in the passenger seat, his eyes focused on the road ahead. He nods slightly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, that sounds good. It’s been a long day.”

Cooper pulls up to the curb, parking in front of Nick’s apartment. “Alright, I’ll grab the snacks, you two go ahead. I’ll catch up in a sec.”

You and Nicholas exchange a look as you step out of the car, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you walk up to his place, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you.

Inside, the atmosphere feels different—quieter, more intimate than the usual chaos of set or interviews. Nicholas’s apartment is minimalistic but warm, with soft lighting and a collection of books and records scattered about, telling more about his quiet, thoughtful nature than he’d ever openly admit.

You slip off your shoes at the door, glancing around as Nicholas sets down his keys and heads to the kitchen. “Want something to drink?” he asks, his voice casual but soft, like it always is when it’s just the two of you.

“Water’s fine,” you reply, following him to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he pours a glass. There's something unspoken hanging between you, an undercurrent of energy that’s been building for a while now—something neither of you has acknowledged out loud, but it lingers, making your every interaction feel just a little more charged than it used to be.

Nicholas hands you the glass, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. You feel the jolt of electricity, the way your skin warms under his touch, and you quickly look away, pretending not to notice the way your heart beats a little faster.

He leans against the counter beside you, his shoulder just inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “Today was fun,” he says quietly, his voice low in the soft glow of the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you agree, looking up at him, your gaze catching his for a second too long. “It was. It always is when we’re all together.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just holds your gaze with those steady eyes of his, and you can feel the tension growing, thickening the air between you. It’s not uncomfortable—it’s the kind of tension that makes your skin buzz, that fills the quiet with unspoken words, words you’ve both been too careful to say.

The front door swings open, breaking the moment as Cooper strolls in with a bag of snacks. “I’m back! Got the goods!” he calls, completely unaware of the quiet, charged moment he’s just interrupted.

You and Nicholas both turn away, the spell broken, but that energy doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, hanging in the air as Cooper throws himself onto the couch, oblivious as ever. “Alright, what are we watching?” he asks, rummaging through the bag. “Something funny, I hope. Or... maybe Scream?” He shoots you both a mischievous grin.

Nicholas chuckles softly and shakes his head. “I think we’ve had enough Scream for one day.”

“Agreed,” you say, settling onto the couch next to Cooper, grateful for the distraction but still hyper-aware of Nicholas as he joins you, sitting a little closer than usual on your other side.

You all end up picking a lighthearted comedy, something easy to watch without much thought, but your mind isn’t fully on the movie. The whole time, you can feel Nicholas beside you, his presence magnetic, pulling at you without even trying. Every now and then, your knee brushes his, and even the smallest touch sends a ripple of awareness through you, as if your body is attuned to his in a way you can’t quite explain.

Cooper, true to form, falls asleep halfway through the movie, his head dropping back against the cushions as soft snores escape him. You and Nicholas exchange a glance, both trying to stifle a laugh.

“I don’t know how he does it,” Nicholas murmurs, his voice low in the darkened room. “He was the one who wanted to hang out, and he’s the first one out.”

You smile, your heart skipping a beat at how close his voice sounds, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the quiet. “He always does this.”

Nicholas leans back, his arm stretching casually along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. The touch is light, barely there, but it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. You feel the tension building again, heavier this time, as if the universe is pushing the two of you closer, daring you to acknowledge what’s been simmering between you for months.

You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and he’s already looking at you, his expression softer, more open than usual. There’s something in his gaze, something unguarded, like he’s letting you see just how much he cares. The realization makes your breath catch.

“Hey,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You okay?”

You nod, but your heart is racing, and you’re not sure if it’s the quiet or the closeness, or the fact that, for once, it feels like the unspoken tension between you might finally break.

“I’m good,” you say softly, your voice catching a little, and you feel his eyes on you, searching.

For a moment, the world outside the apartment doesn’t exist. There’s just you and Nicholas, the space between you shrinking with every second, and it feels like you’re both standing at the edge of something, something that could change everything.

Nicholas doesn’t break eye contact, and neither do you. The air in the room feels thick, almost electric, as if the space between you is charged with something both of you have been too careful to admit. His arm rests casually on the back of the couch, but his fingers twitch slightly, brushing the barest edge of your shoulder. The touch is subtle, but it’s enough to send a ripple through you—a pulse of heat that spreads from where his skin meets yours.

You swallow, trying to keep your breathing steady, but you can’t ignore the way your heart races, thudding in your chest like it’s trying to communicate something your mind hasn’t fully processed yet.

Neither of you says a word, and yet, everything is being said in the silence between you. There’s a pull, an invisible string tugging you closer, and for the first time, it feels like maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be so impossible to cross that line.

Nicholas shifts slightly, turning his body more toward you, and you realize just how close you are now. His leg brushes yours again, this time lingering. His eyes are darker in the low light of the room, his usual calm and controlled demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable, something he’s usually so good at hiding.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carries weight, like he’s asking more than just about how you’re feeling in this moment. He’s asking if you’re ready, if you’re willing to let whatever this is between you two finally come to the surface.

You nod, your mouth dry, unable to trust your voice to respond. Your heart is pounding, and you’re acutely aware of every inch of space between your bodies—or lack thereof.

His hand moves from the back of the couch, sliding down slowly, deliberately, until his fingers are resting on your shoulder, gentle but firm, as if testing the waters. You don’t pull away. In fact, you lean in just a fraction, closing the distance, and you see the shift in his expression—his guarded facade softening as his breath hitches slightly.

It’s so quiet in the room now, save for the soft, steady sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. You can feel the tension building, thick and palpable, wrapping around the two of you like a thread that’s been pulled tight, ready to snap at any second.

He tilts his head, just the slightest bit, his gaze flicking down to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again. It’s a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it feels like the ground beneath you is shifting.

You lean in, your breath catching in your throat, and for a second, everything else falls away—the interview, the movie, even Cooper snoring softly on the other side of the couch. It’s just you and Nicholas, and the space between you feels like it’s vanishing.

His hand moves to the back of your neck, his touch impossibly gentle, and you feel your breath falter as your heart skips a beat. He’s so close now that you can see the way his pupils have dilated, the soft rise and fall of his chest matching your own.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with something unspoken, something fragile but undeniable.

You shake your head, barely able to manage the words, “Don’t stop.”

And with that, the tension that’s been simmering between you for months finally breaks. He closes the distance, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, tentative, as if he’s still giving you the chance to pull away. But you don’t. You lean into the kiss, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it. His lips are warm and soft, and you can feel the unspoken words behind the way he holds you, the way his hand slips to the nape of your neck, pulling you in closer. There’s a gentleness to the kiss, but also a hunger—a need that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss grows more urgent, more intense. The world around you falls away entirely, and all that matters is the way his lips move against yours, the way his hands grip your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you breathing heavily, the room around you still thick with the weight of what just happened. You don’t say anything at first—there’s no need to. The look in his eyes says everything.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Nicholas finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your heart still racing. “Me too.”

There’s a moment of quiet between you again, but this time, it feels different—less tense, more comfortable, like something has finally clicked into place. Nicholas watches you with that same look of admiration, the one you’ve caught glimpses of before but never fully allowed yourself to acknowledge. Now, it’s out in the open, undeniable.

Slowly, he leans in again. The kiss is slow, unhurried and easy. He hums at the taste of your lips, your hands reached up for his shoulders as you deepen the kiss. You both part after a moment, opening your eyes to meet his darkened eyes.

“Knew it.” Cooper rings out, his voice groggy and tired.

You both snap your heads toward Cooper, your bodies still close, as if you’re caught in the middle of a secret you thought no one else knew. He’s sitting up, rubbing his eyes lazily, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face as he watches you.

“Fucking knew it,” he repeats, his voice groggy but teasing, clearly amused by the moment he’s woken up to. His eyes narrow slightly, a knowing glint in them as he looks between you and Nicholas. “You two think you’re so slick, huh?”

You feel a flush creep up your neck, the heat of embarrassment mixing with the adrenaline still pulsing through you from the kiss. Nicholas tenses beside you, his jaw tightening for a split second before he exhales, leaning back slightly but keeping an arm casually draped around you.

“Cooper…” Nicholas begins, his voice steady but with a hint of exasperation.

“What? I’m just saying,” Cooper continues, throwing up his hands defensively, but the grin never leaves his face. “It’s about time. Thought I was gonna have to give you two a nudge.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Cooper, being Cooper, doesn’t seem fazed by anything, and it’s almost a relief that he’s not taking this too seriously. You can feel the tension easing out of Nicholas, too, his posture relaxing as he shakes his head.

“Were you even asleep?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at Cooper, trying to divert the attention away from the blush still lingering on your cheeks.

Cooper snickers, leaning back into the couch like he’s settling in for a good story. “Oh, I was out. But I guess I woke up just in time for the good part.”

Nicholas groans lightly, rubbing a hand over his face, but there’s a small, amused smile playing on his lips. He glances at you, a soft look in his eyes, and even with Cooper’s teasing, you can still feel that unspoken connection between the two of you—stronger now, undeniable.

“Well, now that you're awake,” Nicholas says, standing up and stretching, his hand lingering on your back for a moment before he lets go, “you wanna order food?”

Cooper grins, sitting up straighter. “Oh, I see. Change the subject. Nice try, man. But yeah, I could eat.”

You laugh, standing up as well, the warmth of Nicholas’s earlier touch still lingering on your skin. Despite Cooper’s teasing, there’s a lightness in the room now, like something that had been building for so long has finally settled. The moment between you and Nicholas wasn’t lost—it’s just the beginning.

As you walk to the kitchen with Nicholas, Cooper still muttering something under his breath about “finally,” you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Nicholas, and the spark that lit up between you earlier remains. There’s no rush. Whatever this is, it’s yours, and it’s just getting started.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[ckret2]

It's fic time. The Axolotl tries to persuade Bill to face what happened to his dimension while Bill tries to avoid that literally any way possible.

This is part 8 of a 9 part plot about the Axolotl meeting this friendly harmless innocent little triangle in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre and gradually learning he's literally the worst person ever. If you want to read and/or look at the pretty art on the other parts, here's one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.

(WARNING in this one for nonspecific but pretty obvious suicidal ideation)

####

The triangle whirled around as a milky white void closed in around him. "Whoa whoa hey! What is this? How'd I get here?"

"Welcome to my office. You're in a time and space outside time and space," the Axolotl said. "Take a seat. I have a very comfortable bean bag chair."

The triangle did not take a seat. He pointed at the Axolotl like an angry arrow. "What did you do! If you don't put me back now—"

"Don't worry. When we leave this space, you will be where and when you were. Think of this like a dream."

Furiously, the triangle burst into a ball of bright blue flame. It reeked of burning hydrogen—the stench of the fabric of reality itself burning away to nothing. But he, himself, didn't burn. What was fueling his flames? "Yeah?! Well, dreams are my business!" A wave of blue flames surged toward the Axolotl.

And dissipated without touching him. The Axolotl's eyes glowed white. "THIS IS MY DREAM, TRIANGLE—NOT YOURS!"

The triangle shrank down. He squeaked, "Got it." He quietly perched one edge on the Axolotl's bean bag chair. He didn't look at the Axolotl. He was staring up around them at the Axolotl's tank.

The Axolotl's eyes dimmed again to black voids. He settled back, trying to look unthreatening now that the triangle wasn't fighting him. "Do you see something?"

The triangle laughed uneasily. "Not aside from a whole lot of white."

"You keep looking up," the Axolotl said.

"Up?" the triangle said, confused; then apparently figured out what the Axolotl meant and snapped his gaze down to meet his again. "I never—haven't been able to see the stars before," he said, trying not to sound self-conscious even as he slowly tinted red again. "I've never seen anything that could block them. Except you."

Except him. The guy who passed the wall every day on his way to work; the eclipse that blocked out the sun once a year. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize." The walls of the tank seemingly dissolved, letting the triangle see the scene beyond: the glittery cotton candy celestial clouds of his home.

"Hey, I wasn't complaining! You're the one who asked." But the triangle had already visibly relaxed. He still wasn't looking at the Axolotl; but now, he was staring around at the unfamiliar new constellations with wonder.

It was the most unguarded the Axolotl had ever seen him. They didn't have much spare time; but the Axolotl couldn't bring himself to interrupt this brief peace.

After a moment, the triangle gestured toward the sky and said, "So, you—call that direction 'up.'"

"Yes?" the Axolotl said. "Is that strange?"

"No! Nooo no no. Just seems like it might be confusing, trying to tell apart north-up from star-up."

How odd. "We don't usually call north 'up'."

"Oh," the triangle said, voice small and sheepish.

"Some planetbound mortals do. But usually only when they're—" Oh. "... looking at maps." The world printed on a paper 2D plane. Like the plane the triangle had come from.

For all his power, his charisma, his bravado—the triangle was still just a lost little refugee from a flat little world. He held a whole universe in his hand, and he didn't even know up from down. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to him.

"Listen to me," the Axolotl said. "You're in a lot of trouble. I'm sure you know that."

The triangle scoffed. "Tell me something new."

"How much of our discussion did you hear?"

"Just something about rebuilding the higher dimensions' foundations. Which is exactly what I told you to do! You mind your business, I'll mind mine!"

He suspected the triangle had heard more than that. "It's not that simple. They can't rebuild the foundation until the fires are out. So, as long as your actions keep setting new ones..."

"A-ha. So that's why you're here," the triangle said. "They sent you to intimidate me into letting 'em condemn my dimension."

"No." It was true enough that they had sent the Axolotl to try to talk the triangle down. And yes, he would if he could—he certainly didn't want to see all of reality destroyed—but he wasn't primarily here to help the other gods. "I'm here to help you."

The Axolotl had watched how this triangle puppeted corpses and terrified the barely-living into dancing along to his tune. He had seen the dying and dead melted together into oversized composite corpses at the triangle's party; and he'd seen how the triangle's unhappy victims tumbled down into his hell. He'd seen how blue flames flared around the triangle in his anger, and how his lines of fire warped, melted, and consumed whole universes, and how he burned mortals down to the soul with his mere gaze. He'd felt how all of Dimension Zero moved when the triangle moved.

This triangle, this poor child, was a monster.

The Axolotl wore many faces. He'd been a psychopomp, a god of death. He'd changed roles so he could help the dead he escorted reach better futures—now he was a god of rebirth, a god of second chances, a god of justice.

And in his capacity as a god of justice, he'd proudly defended the villains that no one else would defend. He did not believe in punishment. It was too late to save the villains' victims, and no amount of punishment would ever change that; but it was not too late to save the villains.

He was god of death, god of rebirth, god of second chances, god of justice—and also a god of monsters. And he'd decided this monster was under his protection.

Dubiously, the triangle said, "So they sent you as my legal counsel."

Oh, for— "No. I'm just trying to give you advice."

"Even better—pro bono legal counsel!" 

"You're not my client," the Axolotl said. "But I'll advise you as a friend. I can tell you your options as I see them. We can discuss them if you'd like. You may ask me one question, and no more."

"What? Why—" The triangle caught himself and struggled to rephrase. "That's a—stupid rule—that I want an explanation for!"

"Because I'm the Axolotl."

"What does that have t— I don't know what that has to do with anything!"

"I'm the only one who gets to ax a lotl questions."

The triangle stared at him. He burst out laughing. "I think I hate you!"

The Axolotl gave him a wide, gummy grin.

"St—stop that! It makes you even more ugly, ugh. I thought you were here to give me advice, not bad jokes." The triangle made a show of leaning back as though getting comfortable, although it was clear he was uneasy touching the bean bag chair. "So advise me, pink stuff."

"I preferred 'frills.'" Gently, the Axolotl said, "I think it's in your best interests to give yourself up to the divine authorities."

The triangle laughed in disbelief. "You're kidding. Hey, I heard your pals talking about how they can't fight me without knocking the multiverse down—"

"And once they've put up a fireproof foundation you can't burn your way through, there will no longer be any risk to the multiverse if they come after you."

"Sounds to me like a good reason to make sure they don't get that foundation in place!"

"For you to do enough damage to ensure they can't construct a foundation, you'd probably knock the multiverse down yourself," the Axolotl said. "And if that's the case, they'll have nothing to lose by trying to stop you anyway, and everything to lose by not trying."

The belligerence leeched out of the triangle's face by the word. "Oh. Yeah. I guess that's... yeah," he said.  "Okay." His expression was faraway for a moment, as he tried to wrap his mind around the magnitude of the situation. "Okay. That's okay, it's fine, it's fine." Could he feel the walls closing in on him? Did he see the stars being blocked out? "I've... got a way out of this."

"What?"

He didn't meet the Axolotl's gaze. He pulled off his hat to worry at it in his hands. "I have a way."

Bluffing. Or wishful thinking. "No. This is trouble you can't get out of. There's no greater crime against reality than the destruction of an entire dimension," the Axolotl said. "Right now, the gods think you're an active, divine threat to all of existence. That's what this is about. They're not after you because you broke a couple of rules—they're afraid of you." (The triangle lit up at that. Not quite the reaction the Axolotl had been going for, but at least he had his attention.) "And that means they won't stop until they're sure you're no longer a threat. As long as they're pursuing you, your best case scenario is getting buried alive beneath the multiverse's foundation where they can forget about you until your dream realm unravels."

"So what g—I don't see what good giving myself up would do! My best move is putting off the inevitable as long as possible! Just let 'em try to bury me!"

"But it's not inevitable," the Axolotl said. "They fear you as a divine threat. If you prove you're neither divine nor a threat—"

"No."

"Mortals can't be charged the same way as gods can. If we convince the court that you didn't have your current powers at the time of the inferno—"

"I don't know why you're so convinced I didn't have powers at the time!"

"I'm not. That doesn't mean I can't convince a judge," the Axolotl said, which surprised the triangle enough that he actually shut up for a moment. "If you're charged as a god, you face eternal imprisonment or oblivion. If you're charged as a mortal, you'll be sentenced to a regular afterlife. If you give up your power—I'm not sure where yours come from, but there are ways it can be done—" (the triangle was already raising a finger to protest) "—and it can be temporary! But if you don't have divine power when you're taken in, it will be that much easier to convince the judge that you didn't have any when your wall burned. On top of that, if you surrender yourself willingly and admit that destroying Dimension 2 Delta was an accident, that alone can knock off half your charges."

"Next you'll ask me to give up my eye! No!" He was clenching his fist around his hat so tightly that it shook; but that was the only sign of anxiety he betrayed. His gaze was as intense as the stare of a sun. "I told you: me, my power, and my people are a package deal. We stay together. We're staying right here. I don't care how much it inconveniences you."

"It's not about how much it inconveniences us," the Axolotl said. "I'm here for you—you and your people."

"They don't need you or any of your stupid 'gods.' I can take care of them!"

"Then take care of them," the Axolotl said. "You understand that, no matter how this ends, your dream realm will be destroyed and you'll have to leave or perish—don't you?"

"No." That stubborn little glitter fleck. "I can patch up this dump and repair the wall by myself. Once the wall's back, you don't have to worry about your stupid multiverse destabilizing, right?! I'll stabilize my realm before you get your stupid impenetrable foundation in place! Maybe I'll put a roof on top of it that you can't get through!"

"You haven't done it yet! What do you think you can do that you haven't already done?"

"You don't need to know," the triangle snarled.

He had to be mad, bluffing, or in denial. But he didn't look it—eye narrowed in determination, flames smoldering around his edges, fist clenched around his hat—

And then it clicked.

He hadn't said he would replace his wall. He said he'd repair it. 

The Time Giant had said there was no way the little speck of matter that the triangle kept in his hat could be all the matter from his universe; no mortal could handle it without its gravity crushing them, nor would they have the energy to move it.

But she'd also said that gravity was turned off in Dimension Zero. And the triangle had proven he did have the power to move an entire universe—so why should a universe the size of a grain of sand be any more difficult?

And anyway—what did restrictions like that mean in a place where dreams and reality overlap?

"The Time Giant was wrong, wasn't she," the Axolotl said. "You don't have a dark matter problem. You're carrying around the rubble of your universe. All of it. All the matter she sensed but couldn't find."

The triangle gave him a resentful look; but then sighed in defeat. He loosened his fist, reached into his hat, and plucked up the speck of what remained of his universe. The black pinprick of white light. "You're not as dumb as you look," he said wryly. "Yep. The whole thing's right here—all but a city or two. I figured out how to catch it pretty fast."

Catch it? "What... happened to your dimension?"

A faint uneasiness itched at the back of his mind; a sound, right at the edge of his hearing, that he couldn't quite identify but knew shouldn't be here.

"It doesn't matter," the triangle said. "It's about to un-happen."

"You're thinking about setting off a big bang, aren't you?"

The triangle said nothing. He just rolled his universe between his thumb and forefinger contemplatively. 

"You are," the Axolotl said. "You want to replace your universe."

Coolly, the triangle said, "You're sounding kinda scared, frills."

"I am," the Axolotl admitted. "Of all your options, that's the most dangerous thing you could possibly do."

"Hey, the dangerous choices have turned out pretty well for me so far!"

The Axolotl really didn't think they had. "You know you can't get your old universe back, don't you? It will only make a new universe."

The triangle didn't say anything—but he went still, holding the tiny glowing pearl between his fingers rather than rolling it back and forth.

"It will have similar physical properties—it will be 2D, gravity and light will probably work the same way, all the laws of physics will be what you expect... but it will be a new universe. New stars and worlds will form. New species will evolve. Your people will never return."

The triangle squeezed the pearl in his hand. "You don't know that," he said harshly. "Everything that ever existed is right in here." He shook his fist at the Axolotl. He could see the light shining out between the triangle's fingers. "It has to have some sort of memory! There's gotta be traces of it left in there!"

"It can't remember. It doesn't have a soul to remember with."

"I'm a soul!" The triangle pointed at himself with a hundred arms. "Me! I remember! The whole dimension remembers!"

There was the hiss. The ever-present hiss that the Axolotl heard any time he was inside Dimension Zero, the static in the speakers, the last gasp of a dying big bang, the whisper murmur scream battering against the walls. Fear shivered up his spine. How was it audible from within his tank?

He tried to push down his fear. "You're not the whole dimension."

The triangle laughed. It was a chilling sound.

"Just—consider how much more you'd lose if it doesn't work the way you want it to. What will you do if you can't fix your dimension?"

"I can," he said. "If I can't fix it, no one can."

Why did he think he was more capable than gods who'd maintained the multiverse for trillions of years? "What if you're wrong?"

"I will fix it," the triangle said stubbornly.

"TELL ME WHAT YOU'LL DO IF YOU CAN'T FIX IT!"

The triangle literally shrank back, growing smaller as he sank into the Axolotl's beanbag. "Keep doing what I'm doing now! Partying!" He let out a half hysterical giggle. "I'll party til I die!"

"Set off a big bang in an unstable pseudo-dimension, and you will die! The kind of death no one comes back from!"

"Great!"

They both froze. Neither one of them had expected him to say that.

"Kidding," the triangle croaked. "I just—I just—I'm trying to get under your skin, pinky, that's all. Is it working? Don't answer that, that wasn't my question, that was—rhetorical. I'm assuming that stuff you've got is skin, anyway." The prattle was hollow and meaningless. "The point is, I'm the dream realm's eternal party host, and I'm not stopping this party for anything, no matter what you say, and—and that's it. That's all there is to it!"

He must have witnessed so many horrors, in so little time—his universe incinerating, his people dying, Dimension Zero constantly collapsing even as he attempted to prop it up, the dimensions above him twisting and warping as their people fell into his nightmarish realm...

The Axolotl slowly flew closer to the triangle.

"Oh, come on— don't," the triangle whined. "Whatever little speech you're about to make, don't, I don't wanna hear it—"

Gently, the Axolotl said, "I know you've lost your home."

The word "home" struck a note with the triangle. He didn't flinch, his expression didn't change; but he went still. He looked down at the compacted ruin of what used to be his whole universe.

"But it's not too late for you to find a new home," the Axolotl said. "You can still move on and rebuild. There's a future for you. If you come out, I'll help you navigate the afterlife system. If you're stuck in this dimension, we'll find a way to free you."

The triangle's face darkened.

"You can be reincarnated, or resurrected, or—just set free to be an energy being if you want. You can settle down in a neighboring dimension, join a new people—"

"No. I'm not about to be a couch surfer in someone else's universe." He glowered up at the Axolotl. "Those people will join me. Everyone can either join me, or—or get out of my way! I finally made my kingdom, I'm not giving up my crown now!"

"If you keep your crown, you'll kill your kingdom! You know that if you stay here you'll destroy everything, I know you know it!"

"It's the best option I have! Better than your plan, anyway! Surrender to the cops and let my world fall apart?" He laughed harshly. "No way, Buster! I told my people I'd liberate them from our flat, oppressive little world and take them to a party paradise, and that's exactly what I'm gonna make for them!" He held out his little pearl of a universe again, the paradise-to-be.

Before, he'd said that the dream realm was his paradise. He'd also said that he'd remake his destroyed universe exactly as it had been. How could the "oppressive" world they'd left be their paradise? Nevermind the fact that none of "his people" were from his world. Which of the stories he'd invented was the truth? Which did the triangle think was the truth? Did he even know?

"If all of this is for your people—would you risk them? If trying to build a paradise kills the very people you made it for—"

"They'd never know."

The Axolotl's blood ran cold. It took a moment for him to find his voice. "What?"

"I can keep the party going until the end. They'd never find out what's coming. If the dream realm collapses, it'll be too fast for them to tell what's happening," the triangle said. "In their final moments, they'll still remember me as a hero."

The Axolotl hadn't realized until that moment just how cold the triangle's expression was.

His mind flashed to seeing VENDOR earlier that day, hustling the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force to clean up this mess faster because THEY didn't want the journalists to claim THEY had mishandled the situation during an election season.

Was that all the triangle was?

Another politician more concerned with how his constituents saw him than with what he could do for them?

"But," the Axolotl said weakly, "I've watched how you rescue the mortals from the fires. I've seen how you're struggling to keep this dimension from collapsing on them. I've seen how much you're suffering. You're running yourself ragged to protect them. You want so badly for them to be safe."

The triangle seemed to brighten at the Axolotl's words, as though he was soaking in the high praise. "Well, sure! And they love me for it! Would any god do less for his worshipers? Would you?" His voice took on a bitter tone. "But I don't know of any god who'd stick his corner out for a nonbeliever—and that's what they'll be if I don't deliver on the paradise I promised. I take my party hosting seriously. I'll give them their paradise if it kills me. Or them. Or everyone, if that's what it takes."

He was no hero. He never had been. He didn't care about the countless souls he'd collected, only their worship.

He didn't want his people to be safe; he just wanted to be his people's savior.

If I can't fix it, no one can. The triangle hadn't meant no one else was able to. He'd meant no one else was allowed to. He'd rather die than let someone else fix his mistakes.

And he would. This was a mass suicide.

No. Worse than that—it was a mass murder-suicide.

"You already lost your world once," the Axolotl said desperately, "don't you remember what that was like?"

The triangle flinched back like the Axolotl had slapped him. The tank rumbled around them; the hissing whispers grew louder. "That's... none of your business! Stop talking about my world, you don't know the first thing about it—"

"I know how much you must miss it. I know how deeply losing your people must hurt." It must have hurt, why would he have clung to what was left of his world if it didn't, why would he be so determined to rebuild it exactly as it had been?

"My—my people are fine." His voice was choked. He squeezed his eye shut. "They're... all out at the party. Waiting for me. Don't talk about—"

"The people at the party are shapes you kidnapped from other dimensions." He was so stubbornly loyal to his chosen delusions. "Your people are dead. You know they are!"

"No!"

His scream was answered by howls outside the Axolotl's tank. Through the static, the Axolotl could pick up a sound repeated over and over. A word. Murderer, murderer, murderer.

"No! They aren't dead! I saved them!" He curled in on himself, hands pressed to his sides like it could block out the sounds. "I liberated them from their shallow lives! I gave them their freedom—"

"Then give them their freedom now!"

The triangle's breath hitched.

"If you want to die, you can die. There are ways to break a soul. I can help. But do it alone," the Axolotl pled. "I know you care about these people!" He had to believe it, he had to believe it, he had to. In spite of the evidence to the contrary, he had to. "If you won't let us help you, at least let us help them go home. Please. You need to let them go."

He clenched his tiny hands into fists; he looked so pained the Axolotl thought he might shatter.

In another timeline, a better timeline, he whispered, "How?" The word he should have said echoed around them, blending into the static whispers. It would be so easy to say.

But in this timeline, he asked, "You're some kind of lawyer or something, right?"

The Axolotl paused uneasily. "By... way of metaphor," he said. "We have trials and courts, but not the way mortals understand—"

"There are no laws in my kingdom," the king growled. "Get out of here. Now."

"But—"

"I said OUT!"

A force crashed into the time and space between time and space, shattering the Axolotl's tank, the glittery cotton candy nebulas' pinks and blues disrupted by a twisted geyser of colors—raw frothing stuff somewhere between matter and energy—and it flung the Axolotl away from the triangle like a wave flinging a fish from the ocean. The anxious background static whispers grew to a buzzing roar, 1000 decibel white noise. He spun dizzily through the cosmic miasma.

The first time he'd come in here—the first time the triangle had chased him out—he'd felt instinctively that he'd been in danger. He'd felt flames licking at his heels.

He knew now that that had been a mere warning.

"I might be in your dream, but your dream is in MY dream realm!" The triangle seemed to get larger without his size changing. Maybe it was the universe around him that was contracting. "And you've overstayed your welcome, Axolotl!"

The Axolotl had tumbled into the nightmarish eternal dance party. Shrieking overlapping music drowned out the buzzing whispers. Thousands of eyes stared at him in horror and thousands of voices gasped in disgust; and he realized that as many times as he'd seen them, he had never been in their two-dimensional field of view.

For all the thousands that stared at him, millions of corpses never stopped dancing.

One last time, the Axolotl turned to the triangle and pled, "Just give the hostages the option to leave if they want!"

"My people aren't hostages!"

"Then give them a choice!" He could feel dead hands grabbing at his skin and fins. He wasn't sure if they were trying to restrain him for their Magister Mentium, or cling to him for escape. He wasn't even sure whether they were the dead who still had their own souls, or the triangle's corpse puppets. "Anyone who wants to stay with you can!"

"Shut up!" The triangle boomed louder and louder and he grew larger and larger, until his voice and his eye seemed to fill the universe. He was shuddering with rage (with regret?)—it threatened to shake him apart, and the universe with him. "All of this is your fault! I'm—sick because of you!" In another reality he said insane; but the realities where he didn't closed up around the word and crushed it into silence. "You made me like this! You infected me!"

"With what?" He'd only spoken to the triangle once before today. He hadn't even entered his dimension.

"This—idea!" He didn't say what idea, not in this reality; but the words echoed in from another reality where he did. He screamed to drown the echoes out. "I was fine until I met you and you ruined everything!" Regret spilled out of his eye so thick it was almost palpable, energy like a river. It threatened to fill the interdimensional in-between space and drown them all. The Axolotl could taste the idea that had poisoned the triangle: the idea that everyone mattered. That everyone was worthy of a god's attention. And now, everyone was gone.

Bewildered, the Axolotl said, "You're not 'sick' to think that. It's the sanest idea you could have—"

"Get out!" The shriek echoed through infinity. "Get out! The dream realm is my domain and I am its king! I told you last time, I won't let you threaten my people!"

"I would never—"

"GET OUT!" Blue flames exploded out of the triangle; some of his nearest prisoners were incinerated as easily as tissue paper.

The Axolotl tried to shield himself; the flames consumed one of his forelegs and ate away at his dorsal fin.

He tore himself free of the desperate grasping shapes and swam from the triangle as fast as he could.

The triangle chased him; and, to the Axolotl's despair, as the center of Dimension Zero followed the triangle, the edge of reality pulled ever further away.

His flames licked at the Axolotl's tail, consuming the fin; he swam slower and slower.

As the triangle pursued the Axolotl, his attacks further destabilized the volatile dimension; wormholes formed where the fabric of reality folded and bunched in on itself and was pierced through. Light shot through the holes like a million disembodied sunbeams. 

He saw one that led straight to the edge of Dimension Zero. He wriggled through.

"Where did you—?! HEY!" The dimension whirled dizzyingly as the triangle refocused on his evasive prey. "You think you can get away from me in my own realm?" 

"Do you want me to get out or not?!"

"I want you DEAD!"

The Axolotl shouldn't have asked.

With a roar, the triangle clawed at him. A thick, sucking wave of gravity as dense as a black hole tore through the unstable miasma toward him. The triangle laughed sadistically.

With one last surge of energy, he paddled his tail hard enough to outpace the triangle and burst free of the dimension.

The ragged edges of Dimension Zero ripped further under the triangle's attack, but it dissipated in the third dimension.

The Axolotl sighed in relief—then flinched when the triangle crashed into the invisible barrier holding the cosmic foam in the space-between-space where Dimension Zero should have been. Like a piece of glitter sticking to a bubble, if glitter sticking to a bubble were the most violent force in the universe. "Get back here! I'll skin your freakish hide and make a tent outta it—!" He strained toward the Axolotl, threatening to drag the bubble along with him, like a particularly determined sled dog trying to pull a trailer home.

The Axolotl hastily backed out of range as nauseating plumes of color stretched outside their bounds again. Blue fire danced over the thin membrane between dimensions like a burning oil spill on an ocean. The plumes twisted into shapes almost like arms, hundreds of them, reaching toward him—

And froze. The triangle was staring past the Axolotl.

The Axolotl turned to look.

It was the most sublimely awful sight he'd ever seen. An impenetrable wall made up of gods, angels, sentient forces of nature—there were things here so transcendentally powerful that the Axolotl couldn't even see them; he only knew they were present by the perimeters of the space he couldn't bring his eyes to gaze upon and the terrifying awe he felt when he tried.

They were all armed.

All their weapons were pointed at the triangle.

Apparently, the ATTF had called in reinforcements.

A god that looked like a hologram projection, the light of its projector shining down on it from a higher dimension like a halo, thundered, "ADVANCE ANY FURTHER INTO REALITY, AND WE WILL BE FORCED TO SUBDUE YOU."

"You can't afford to!" the triangle crowed. "You'll knock your own universes down!"

"NOT ANYMORE."

The triangle's eye widened. The thousand arms of raw reality seized the jagged edges of the dimensions bordering the hole left when Dimension 2 Delta burned down, trying to crush them—and nothing happened. He slammed Dimension Zero against the bordering dimension, trying to crack open a larger opening, and then trying to simply shove the bordering dimensions aside—and nothing happened. Dimension Zero burned; but the surrounding first and second dimensions remained still. There was no creak and crack of snapping lines and shattering planes as the triangle tried to squeeze his bloated universe free. There was no glowing line of fire on the distant horizon.

The neighboring dimensions burned and blackened under the thousand hands; but they didn't dissolve to ash. The cinders got caught between the layers together as the dimensions splintered into layers, then multiplied—splintered and multiplied—splintered and multiplied—thicker and denser and harder—

Parallel universes. Every time the triangle touched them, they split into more timelines, reinforcing themselves. The Time Giant already reformatted the universes most closely adjacent to Dimension Zero. Not every universe—but just enough to form a cage.

The triangle gave up with a grunt of pain. He laughed in disbelief—and then anger. "You were the distraction?"

"No! I was supposed to talk you into cooperating with building the fireproof foundation! We agreed to only call in reinforcements if I couldn't persuade you!" He looked around for the Time Giant, but couldn't find her—nor any of the other gods he'd spoken to while dealing with this mess. Everyone, apparently, had been cleared out of the vicinity to make way for the god militia.

The only civilian left on the 3D side of the missing wall was the Axolotl—once again, stuck in the middle of a situation he had no business being involved in.

The triangle's eye widened further, further, white hot with fury. "Nothing's ever your fault, is it, frills?! Every time you ruin my life, it's all a big misunderstanding! You just keep talking your way out of trouble!" His eye opened wider and wider still. His eyelid unhinged. His mandibles split open and at the back of his eye socket was an infinitely dark esophagus. Sprouting in a ring around the triangle's eye like the petals of a grisly flower, piercing the membrane between the zeroth dimension and the third, were millions and millions of—

—teeth. Teeth longer than the spaces between stars and sharp enough to split an atom.

The Axolotl only barely managed to paddle back out of their range before they snapped at where he had been. A couple of the higher gods caught him, holding his sides protectively. His skin sizzled with holy electricity.

The god militia drew back from the gnashing fangs, then readied their own weapons: spears, guns, swords, a wider array of divine and holy weaponry than the Axolotl had ever seen. The projection leading the militia called, "DON'T LET HIM MAKE IT PAST THE FIREPROOF BARRIER."

"Afraid I'll start breaking things again?" The fangs snapped tauntingly. "Hey—how fast do you think I can find the load-bearing dimensions?"

The Axolotl shook off the gods and swam back toward Dimension Zero. "Stop!"

"HOLD FIRE!" The projected god commanded, "OUT OF THE WAY, AXOLOTL. THE MULTIVERSE'S SAFETY IS WORTH MORE THAN YOUR LIFE."

He knew it was. The leader of the militia was so powerful that resisting a direct order made the Axolotl dizzy—but he did resist. He shouted at the triangle, "You can't fight off every god in the multiverse! This is suicide!" He realized too late that that probably wasn't as discouraging as he'd intended it to be.

"So what?! There's no way for me to win! Get executed for god crimes or get erased when the dimension collapses—"

"Those aren't your only choices!" The Axolotl could see the fangs slowly, slowly curling up in his peripheral vision, and pretended he didn't. "It's not too late for you to stand down—!"

"I can't!" A wave of fire blazed up the teeth of the Dream Realm. He held up a fist, and it was far too small for any of the gods, so mighty and large, to see what he held; but the Axolotl knew. "If I don't get a happy ending, why shouldn't I burn the rest of you down with me?! At least I'll accomplish one thing before I go!" His hand began glowing as energy began gathering around the tiny seed of a big bang.

"Do you want your worshipers to remember you as a monster in their last moments?!"

"Better a monster than a LOSER!" His laugh was a strained subsonic roar. "Are fame and infamy really that different?! At least they'll be thinking about me at the end!"

"It would make you a terrible party host!"

The Axolotl didn't know what had possessed him to say that. Apparently the triangle didn't know what to make of it either, because he froze, giving the Axolotl a wide-eyed blank stare.

But it worked. He snapped out of his rage. The light gathering around the remains of Dimension 2 Delta went dark. For a moment, he was frozen, giving the Axolotl a wide-eyed blank stare; and then he laughed again, just as strained, much weaker. The borders of Dimension Zero shuddered with his laughter. "Fair enough!" The appendages stretching out into the third dimension lost definition. "Fair enough." He glowered tiredly at the god militia—but raised his hands in surrender. Both his palms were empty.

The trembling fangs dissolved as they retracted. The whole paradoxical mass sagged sluggishly back into the crawlspace underneath reality.

One by one, the god militia slowly lowered their weapons.

The Axolotl's heart was still hammering in his chest; and only then did it register that he'd nearly been eaten by an entire dimension.

Where had his power come from? How had the triangle done all this—made his whole dimension vanish without a trace, shoved an entire plane inside a point, gained complete control over it all...

He really did have complete control over the entire universe that had formed inside Dimension Zero—didn't he?

And to control an entire universe, he needed to have an entire universe's worth of energy.

Dimension 2 Delta had been an entire universe. And now—all of its energy was in Dimension Zero.

With the triangle.

As he watched the triangle wincing in pain as the Dream Realm sank back into place, as though the triangle could feel the way the edges of the neighboring dimensions dug into the frothing chaos, the Axolotl whispered, "Oh, no. What have you done?"

His power had come from his own universe. He had devoured it. He'd made it part of him.

All that energy wasn't stored inside the triangle's body—but the Axolotl had been wrong to think that the triangle was the body in the first place. The triangle was only the face: the eye, the mouth, the mind. The part of the Dream Realm that could speak.

The Dream Realm was the anglerfish—and the triangle was its pretty golden glowing lure. They were all one monster.

The triangle was slumped in defeat, but still he shot the Axolotl a tired glare. The hissing static whispers rose up around him again, spilling out of the Dream Realm. (The whispers, too, were a part of the triangle.) "Who are you to judge," he muttered. "You weren't there."

No, he wasn't. He'd gotten here too late.

Behind the Axolotl, the god projection said curtly, "APPREHEND THE TRIANGLE WHILE HE'S COMPLIANT."

The Axolotl whirled around, eyes glowing with rage. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!" The gods who had started moving toward Dimension Zero froze again.

"HE'S A THREAT TO THE MULTIVERSE!"

"He stood down!" 

"HE'S PROVEN WILLING TO DESTROY REALITY. HE COULD EASILY CHOOSE TO AGAIN." The higher dimensional projector turned to project straight at the Axolotl, dazzling him even through his shut eyes, shining straight into his brain. "STAND. ASIDE."

"No." The Axolotl tensed his muscles against the compulsion to obey. "He was a threat to the multiverse. Once the last walls are closed over the crawlspace, he won't be anymore. If he doesn't make a move between now and then, you have no grounds to pursue him." It was a little easier the second time to resist the higher god's command. "So if you do follow him out of the third dimension to capture him, you're trespassing in a new god's sovereign territory to make an illegal arrest outside your jurisdiction!"

"HE'S MASSACRED TEN DIMENSIONS AND TRIED TO DESTROY MORE. THERE ISN'T A COURT IN REALITY THAT WOULD CONSIDER PURSUING HIM UNJUSTIFIED."

"I know a few."

"YOU'RE DEFENDING A DIVINE MENACE. WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

He quietly kissed his career prospects goodbye as he watched himself do the stupidest thing he'd ever done. "I'm the Axolotl," said the Axolotl, "and I'm his lawyer!"

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 8 of a 9 part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting the last chapter next week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl deal with having gotten his heart broken by this sweet little triangle who actually isn't sweet.

It's ALSO chapter 68 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: this was The Big One, gang. And now I expect for the next several months I'm gonna get comments from y'all rereading earlier chapters going HOLD ON WAS THIS LINE FORESHADOWING THAT LITERALLY THE ENTIRE NIGHTMARE REALM IS PART OF BILL? And the answer is: yes. yes it was. Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!! 💕

also this was THE absolute hardest chapter to write, goddamn.)

[eternalguk]

Our Quiet Christmas | jjk. (M)

You are my home, my home for all seasons.

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : After a whirlwind year of schedules, chaos, and never-ending to-do lists, Jungkook whisks you and your daughter away to a secluded cabin for a much-needed Christmas getaway. With snowflakes falling outside and the crackling fire keeping the cold at bay, it’s the perfect chance to slow down and soak in the love that makes your little family so special… But Jungkook has more than just cosy movie nights and snowman-building in mind—he’s set on expanding your family, and he’s not exactly subtle about it. Between his playful charm, heartfelt confessions, and stolen kisses by the fire, it’s hard to resist the idea of giving Areum the sibling Jungkook can’t stop dreaming about.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, dad!jungkook x mom!reader, marriage au, comfort au, pwp

↠ Word count : 9.3K

↠ Warnings : making out, explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), riding, missionary, impregnation!kink, dirty talking, begging, dom!jungkook, sub!reader (think that’s all)

↠ A/n : hi there ; merry Christmas Eve 🎄! I hope you’re all having a restful break and enjoying the holiday period 🫶🏻 I present you soft dad!Jungkook being absolutely smitten with his family. Snowy vibes, fireplace cuddles, Jungkook being charmingly relentless about baby number two, and you trying (and failing) to resist his puppy eyes. Feedback is always appreciated & happy reading 🦢!

↠ Song : Snowman by Sia

Winter had arrived. An icy serenade surrounds you yet the warmth of love is all you feel. An old Christmas movie plays in the background and the smell of home-baking permeates the air.

Comfort, peace and solace is all you feel right now.

“This years going to be different, I can feel it in my bones.”

“Guk, baby you say that every year.”

“No no, I’m sure about this one, you see I can feel it-

“In my bones.” You both say in sync, causing Jungkook to chuckle as he brings his hand to your jaw, moving your face towards him so he can kiss you.

His lips join yours in a soft, gentle manner.

Years have passed, but every time you and Jungkook kiss, you swear you feel the same butterflies that you felt when he kissed you for the first time after your third date outside the art gallery.

Magical. That’s how you’d describe kissing Jungkook.

His lips were warm, soft, and when they touched yours, there was no rush. Jungkook deepens the kiss ever so slightly, letting the pressure build with gentle insistence, the rhythm of the kiss calm but full of intention.

The two of you are lying on the couch, legs entangled under your daughter's blanket as you watch the fireplace emit sparks of warmth, bathing the wooden interior with golden hues.

“Eomma, appa!” A voice calls out, full of pride.

Areum.

4 years old and a bundle of joy. Your bundle of joy.

“Look, I fixed it!” Areum’s tiny and soft voice breaks the quiet. She jolts into the room, clutching the wooden reindeer ornament Jungkook had given her to paint earlier this morning. It had been her project all afternoon.

The reindeer was, to put it kindly, a riot of colour - blobs of red, green, and yellow mixing like a child’s dream of Christmas. One of its legs appeared a bit wobbly, but it stood proud, just like Areum did right now, her rosy cheeks flushed with pride.

Jungkook lets out a low whistle, sitting up slightly as the blanket slips down his chest. “Wow, princess, you really did that all by yourself, mhm?”

“Mm-hm!” Areum nodded vigorously, imitating her father. Her dark hair bounces as she hurries to place it on the small mantle above the fireplace.

You smile softly at your princess, watching Jungkook’s eyes glisten with adoration like a knight in shining armour. His role as a father suits him more than you could have ever imagined. The playful glint in his gaze softens into something so reverent every time Areum enters the room.

You know confidently that she is his whole world, as much as she is yours.

“Appa, is it good?” Areum’s wide eyes sought his approval.

“Good? Baby, it’s perfect, just like you,” Jungkook says warmly, reaching for her hand and pulling her into his lap. She lets out a giggle as he peppers her face with kisses, her tiny hands swatting at his cheeks playfully.

“Go easy on her, Guk,” you tease, leaning your head against the armrest of the couch as you tuck your legs under the blanket again.

Jungkook grins at you, Areum still squirming in his arms. “I’ll stop when she says ‘my appa is the best.’”

“My appa is the best!” she squeals, breaking into a fit of laughter and reaching to kiss her fathers cheek.

A Mini Jungkook indeed.

Satisfied, Jungkook sets her down gently, watching as she scurries off to grab another decoration. He leans back on the couch with a contented sigh, the blanket once again draped over the two of you.

“You know,” he begins, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “this is exactly what I needed. Just us. No schedules, no phone calls, no distractions.” His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone as his chocolate brown eyes hold yours, the firelight dancing in its depth.

“I know,” you softly murmur, running your fingers over the back of his hand. “This year has been so… relentless? It’s nice to just breathe and soak in the silence.”

You both sigh, snuggling into one another despite being as close as humanly possible.

“Except when Areum remembers she has parents,” you chuckle, shaking your head in laughter as you see her ornament.

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Speaking of Areum interrupting our silence…” He shifts even closer, his voice dropping to that low tone he uses when he wants to get under your skin. “I’ve been thinking about adding another little someone to, you know, interrupt our quiet moments. What do you think?”

Your eyes flicker to him, your breath hitching at his boldness. You contemplate playing aloof, but your husband’s abruptness stops you. “Are you serious?”

Jungkook nods, the grin on his face unmistakably cheeky now. “I mean, we’ve been talking about it for a while. And look at Areum - she’s so ready to be a big sister. Aren’t you, princess?” he called out to her.

Areum looked up from where she was arranging ornaments on the small tree by the window, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Hmm, Appa?”

“Are you ready to be a big sister, my angel?” Jungkook questions her tenderly.

“What’s that?” Areum queries, curiosity etched into every feature of her face. “How do we get one?”

You stifle a laugh, your cheeks warming. “Don’t confuse her, Guk.”

But Jungkook was undeterred, his hand sliding under your sweater to rest on your hip beneath the blanket. “Just think about it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “Another little one resting here with us next year. Maybe a boy this time… although I wouldn’t mind another girl if she’s as perfect as Areum.”

Your heart clenches at the thought. You could picture it so clearly—a tiny baby, smaller than a bag of sugar from the grocers, cradled in Jungkook’s strong arms, Areum’s careful hands reaching out to stroke a soft cheek and your hand clutching your heart at the scene. The cabin, filled with even more love than it already is.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you say, turning to press a peck to his jaw.

“I’m just optimistic,” Jungkook counters, his dimples showing as he smiles down at you. “And we’d be so good at it, don’t you think?”

Before you could answer, Areum runs back over, throwing herself between the two of you with an exuberant laugh. “I found the star!”

The star.

Jungkook had promised Areum that when she finds his hidden star, he will help her put it on top of the already full tree. The things this man did to get a quiet moment with you…

“Eomma, can we put it on top of the tree now?”

“Of-”

“Of course, princess,” Jungkook interrupts, sweeping her up effortlessly and carrying her to the tree.

You laugh at the father daughter interaction. Maybe you did need another baby to keep you company.

You watch the two from the couch, your chest swelling with gratitude. The year had been chaotic to say the least, but this - this simple, intimate moment right here - was everything you’d ever yearned for.

Jungkook catches your eye as he lifts Areum high enough to place the star on the tree. He gives you a knowing wink, his silent promise clear: there was more love to come.

And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to embrace it.

After the tree was decorated to Areum’s satisfaction - every inch of its branches covered in her creative flair - Jungkook carried her upstairs to put her to bed.

You decided to stay downstairs, tidying up the remnants of her crafting supplies and rearranging a few of the more precariously placed ornaments. The cabin is even quieter now, save for the occasional creak of the wooden beams and the faint sound of Jungkook’s voice drifting from the upper floor.

He’s singing to her.

It’s something Jungkook has done since Areum was a baby, and the sound of his melodic voice humming a lullaby never fails to warm your heart.

You lean against the doorway, pausing to listen. His voice, smooth and honeyed, wraps around the melody like a cosy blanket.

You carry on clearing Areum’s toys away, wanting the place to be nice and tidy before Christmas Eve tomorrow.

When Jungkook finally comes downstairs, steps light and careful, his eyes meet yours. “Out like a light,” he whispers softly as though he’s scared to wake her, running a hand through his messy hair. “I barely made it through the second verse.”

“She always loves when you sing to her,” you pout, crossing the room to take his hand. “Just like me.”

Jungkook pulls you into his arms, your cheek pressing against his welcoming chest. “I think I’ve got some magic left tonight,” he whispers in a low voice, his lips brushing your hairline.

“Oh, do you now?” you taunt, tilting your head to look up at him. “What tricks you gonna show me?”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to capture your lips. But, before he could do so, something catches both of your attention. A faint tapping sound comes from the large bay window at the front of the cabin.

Curious, you turn towards it, only to see that snow has begun falling in earnest. The flakes were large and fluffy, blanketing the world outside in pristine white.

Jungkook steps out of your embrace, walking to the window to get a better view.

“Jagi, it’s a Christmas miracle.”

“I can’t believe it,” you run to the window, happiness like that of a child.

Jungkook stands there for a moment, his broad shoulders outlined by the golden glow of the fireplace, before turning to you with a mischievous grin. “It’s perfect. Let’s go.”

“What? Now?” you exclaim, your brows lifting in surprise. “You’re fucking crazy!”

“Why not?” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s just us, remember? No one’s here to tell us we can’t.” Jungkook pulls a funny face which you can’t help but laugh at.

You hesitate for a second, but the gleam in his eye is irresistible. Laughing, you grab your woolly coat and leather knee-high boots, following him outside into the magical winter night.

The air is crisp and sharp, biting at your cheeks and nose, but the snow truly made everything feel softer, quieter, as if the world had been wrapped in cotton wool and there was no way out. The two of you stand on the small porch, the snow crunching underfoot, watching as the forest rapidly around you transforms into a winter wonderland.

Jungkook turns to you, his eyes sparkling. “Dance with me, jagi.”

You laugh again, shivering as he grabs your hands. “There’s no music, you idiot!”

“Sure there is,” he replies swiftly, stepping closer. “Listen. The wind, the snow, the quiet. That’s all the music we need.”

Jungkook begins to sway with you, his hands warm as they enveloped yours. The two of you move slowly, his body sheltering you from the cold. Snowflakes are caught in his dark hair, his nose reddening from the chill, but he looks as handsome as ever, his smile lighting up the night.

“This is what I meant,” he hushly says, voice low and intimate. “Just us. No rush, no noise. Just you, me, our princess, and moments like this.”

You move forward to rest your head on his chest, letting the quiet envelop you both in a warm hug. Jungkook’s arms tighten around you, his chin coming to rest on your head.

“I think you might be right,” you whisper, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

“Right? About what, love?”

“This year being different. It already feels like it is.”

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes softening. “It’s different because we make it that way,” he reassures you, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “And we will keep making it better. Every year, every moment. Together.”

The snow continues to fall, and for a while, you simply stand there, swaying in the quietude, wrapped in each other’s arms. The world around you disappears, leaving only the two of you and the love that made every moment worth remembering.

Once the cold began to creep through your coats and boots, Jungkook insisted on pulling you back inside, laughing at the way your teeth chattered as you kicked off your snow-covered boots.

You now stand in the living area, shivering like a child in a cold cradle.

“I told you it was too cold,” you huff, trying to warm your hands with your breath.

“And I told you it was worth it,” he nonchalantly replies, tugging off his gloves and taking your icy hands in his. His larger palms envelop yours, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine. “Better, baby?”

You nod, letting him guide you back to the couch.

Jungkook grabs the blanket you were sharing earlier, draping it over the two of you as you snuggle close, your body seeking the warmth radiating from him.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. Jungkook reaches for the mug of hot chocolate he’d abandoned earlier, holding it to your lips for you to sip. The sweetness and warmth spread through your chest, and you sighed in contentment, leaning back into his embrace, inhaling his woody scent.

For a while, neither of you speak, simply basking in the serene silence and your comforting presence. Jungkook rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms circling your waist as you both gazed at the fire.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Of course, babe.”

Jungkook hesitates for a moment, his thumb absently tracing circles on your hip. “I meant what I said earlier, you know? About wanting another baby.”

You turn slightly to look at him, your brow lifting in curiosity. “Really?”

“Yes,” he says confidently, his eyes soft but steady. “Areum’s growing up so fast, and every time I see her smile or hear her laugh, I think… we made that. You and me. She’s this perfect little person, and I can’t help but think how amazing it would be to do it all over again.”

Your heart swells at his words, the sincerity in his voice making it impossible to brush off the idea. You’d talked about it in passing before, but the way he spoke now felt different.

Earnest. Hopeful. Loving.

“You make it sound so easy,” you chuckle, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Jungkook snickers, his breath warm against your neck. “I know it’s not. The sleepless nights, the mess, the chaos… but it’s worth it, isn’t it? Every bit of it. I mean, just look at what we’ve already got.”

Your gaze flicks to the staircase, where you could just imagine Areum fast asleep in her bed, her little chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

“You’re right,” you admit, turning back to him. “She’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”

Jungkook leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “And we can do it again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin. “If you’re ready, of course.”

Your eyes meet his, searching them for any trace of doubt, but there is none. Only love and unwavering belief in the life you’d built together.

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “Maybe,” you say, your tone playful but your heart already leaning towards yes. “We’ll see.”

Jungkook’s grin widens, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. “That’s not a no.”

Jungkook’s persistence was truly admirable.

“It’s not a yes either,” you counter, however, you can’t stop yourself from laughing as Jungkook leans in to kiss you, his hands sliding up your back.

“You’ll come around,” he mutters against your lips, voice low and teasing. “You always do.”

“Don’t get ahead yourself, mister,” you chuckle as you move to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

The fire crackles before you, its warmth matching the heat building between you.

Jungkook’s kisses deepen, his hands tighten their hold on you, and for a moment, the world fades again, leaving only the two of you in your little cocoon of love.

But then a soft cry breaks the moment, drifting down from upstairs.

“Eomma? Appa?”

You both freeze before pulling back with identical smiles, your foreheads pressed together.

“Think she had a dream,” Jungkook utters, his voice laced with affection.

“Your turn,” you whisper, nudging him gently.

Your husband groans in mock protest but stands fairly quickly, tossing the blanket aside. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“I think we’re even,” you tease, watching as he heads towards the stairs.

Jungkook pauses halfway up, turning to look back at you with a smile so warm it rivals the firelight. “We’ll pick up this conversation later.”

You laugh softly, pulling the blanket tighter around you as he disappears upstairs. The fire continues its steady crackle, and you lean back into the couch, your heart full as you listen to Jungkook’s soft voice comforting Areum.

It was in moments like this - simple, unassuming, and utterly filled with love - that you realised you’d already found everything you’d ever wanted. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to grow it a little more.

The cabin is quiet again.

You hear Jungkook’s footsteps, soft, as he makes his way back down the stairs. Areum must have settled quite quickly.

You are still curled up on the couch, the firelight painting your skin with a warm glow as you scroll through TikTok.

Jungkook pauses at the end of the staircase, leaning on the banister for a moment, his eyes fixated on you.

“You’re staring,” you sing, your lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Can’t help it,” he replies, pushing off the banister and crossing the room to sit beside you. “I have the most beautiful wife in the world.”

“You always know what to say,” you taunt, resting your head against his shoulder as he pulls the blanket back over both of you.

His arm comes around you, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm. “What can I say? I’m a man in love.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, scrolling through your FYP as the fire crackles softly, a contrast to the snow that continues to fall outside.

Jungkook’s hand never stops moving, his touch soothing and intimate, as if he needed to keep that connection to you at all times.

“You know,” he interrupts the silence eventually, voice deep, “when I first thought about taking you and Areum out here, I wasn’t sure if I’d done the right thing. It’s so… quiet.”

“Mhm?” You urge him to continue.

“Another part of me felt bad for leaving our family, but…” Jungkook pauses, trying to find the right words.

“It was exactly what we needed,” you finish his sentence for him, softly, nuzzling into his side.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t realise how much I needed it too. Being here with you, with her… it’s like everything else has immediately faded. All that stress, the busyness, it just doesn’t matter anymore.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his expression. “Guk, you have worked so so hard for us. For everything. You deserve this time just as much as we do.”

Jungkook knew in that moment that you were his comforting love. The fort that comes in advance of danger. His protection before the need for that even arises. For you, he was the softest thing in the universe. There was a solace in feeling the goodness of your soul. You always carried a gentle certainty that Jungkook was born to absorb and accept love.

People had always told you, you were lucky to have Jungkook. But Jungkook knew, he was luckier to have you.

He meets your gaze, his dark eyes filled with gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken but understood. “You make it all worth it,” he says in simple words.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. His lips linger on yours, slow and tender, as if he were trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into that single moment.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “I know I keep bringing it up, but… I really can’t stop thinking about another baby,” he whispers, his voice tinged with both hope and hesitation.

You laughed tenderly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Only because I know how good we’d be at it,” he argues, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “And if I’m being honest, I’m kind of selfish. I want more moments like this. More little hands to hold, more giggles filling the house. And more time with you, building this life together.”

Your heart clench’s at his words, the integrity in his tone making it impossible to tease him this time.

“What if I said yes?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible over the fire’s crackle. A newfound shyness came over you.

Jungkook’s breath hitches, his eyes widening slightly as he pulls back to look at you fully. “You mean it?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’ve been thinking about it too. And you’re right… Areum deserves to have a little partner in crime. And I…” You trail off, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. “I think I’d love to see you holding another baby of ours. To see our family grow.”

The smile that spread across Jungkook’s face was brighter than anything you’d seen all night. He let out a breathless laugh, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispers against your hair.

You cackle, your arms wrapping around his neck. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Jungkook pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You’re incredible, you know that? I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply, swatting lightly at his chest. “If anything, I don’t deserve you.”

“We’ll just have to agree that we’re both pretty lucky,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you again.

This time, the kiss is deeper, filled with promises and excitement for the future you’d just agreed to build together. The fire burns low in the hearth, and outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the cabin in a hush that seemed to echo the love you shared.

When you finally pull apart, you settle back into his arms, the blanket cocooning you both.

“So… when should we start?” Jungkook asks, his voice light but laced with mischief.

You laugh, swatting at his chest again. “How about we enjoy the rest of this quiet night first?”

“Fair enough,” he says with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

As the fire’s glow dims and the snow piled high outside, you close your eyes, the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful slumber. And though the night was quiet, your dreams were filled with the sound of tiny feet and laughter, and the warmth of a love that felt boundless.

It was now 1AM.

The two of you were awake again.

The cabin was silent save for the soft crackle of the flames. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket that had been your haven all evening, Jungkook’s arm draped lazily across your shoulders.

His fingers trailed absent patterns along your arm, the touch light but deliberate, sending tiny shivers over your skin. You lean further into him, sighing in contentment as your head rests against his chest.

“I love this,” you say softly, the words barely audible over the quiet.

“This?” he questions, his voice low and warm.

“Us,” you clarify, tilting your head to look up at him. “This moment. It feels… perfect.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk into a small, almost boyish smile as he leans down to kiss your forehead. “It’s because we are perfect,” he teases, his voice teasing but laced with sincerity.

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Confident?”

“Always,” he replies, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger against your cheek, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

The mood shifts subtly but unmistakably.

Jungkook’s hand slides down, his fingers grazing your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck. He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens, his other hand slipping around your waist to pull you inevitably closer.

The blanket falls slightly as you shift to become more comfortable in your husband’s embrace. Your hands find their way to Jungkook’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. He groans softly against your plush lips, his fingers tightening their hold as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss further.

Kissing Jungkook always felt so poetic. In the emotions of his kisses, you could understand a language so passionate, it transcended the works of the greatest poets combined.

When your husband finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing slightly uneven. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he admits, his voice husky and low.

“Thinking about what?” you ask, though the heat in his gaze is leaving very little room for doubt.

Jungkook grins, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “About how much I want you.” He kisses your forehead.

“About how much I love you.” He kisses the tip of your nose.

“And…” He pauses, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “About how nice it would be to give Areum a little sibling.” Jungkook leans forward to capture your lips again, but you swiftly pull him back by his luscious brown tresses.

Your eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by his boldness. “Jungkook!” you laugh, swatting lightly at his chest, your cheeks warming at the suggestion.

“What?” he asks innocently, though his grin only widens. “I’m just reminding you that you said yes.”

“I-“

He cut you off with another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate. More urgent.

And when he pulls back, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “Maybe I can convince you tonight.”

Your heart races at the low, teasing tone of his voice. His hand slips beneath the hem of your sweater, his touch warm against your skin as he traces light patterns along your back.

“You’re crazy,” you whine, though your voice lacked any real protest.

Jungkook chuckles, his breath hot against your neck. “Only because I know how amazing we are together. And because I love the idea of us growing our little family.”

The sincerity in his words melts any resistance you might have had, and you find yourself leaning into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“You wanna start trying already?” you ask softly, your lips brushing against his.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with excitement and love. “Well, we shouldn’t waste any time.”

You laugh, your heart full as you let him guide you closer, his lips capturing yours once again. The fire burns low, its warmth nothing compared to the heat between the two of you.

“Let’s head upstairs,” Jungkook says as he pulls away. “I want to do this properly.”

You eyes soften as you nod. Preparing yourself for the night to stretch on, knowing it will be filled with whispered promises of love and … filth.

The bedroom is dimly lit, the only light coming from the crackling fire in the hearth and the glow of the Christmas lights strung around the bed. The air is warm, thanks to the fireplace, and is scented with the faint aroma of pine and cinnamon.

Jungkook sets you down on the ground gently, his hands lingering on your hips as he steps back to admire you. Your red sweater and matching skirt make you look like a holiday gift, and he couldn’t wait to unwrap you.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice calm yet husky. “Slowly.”

Your cheeks warm, but you obey, your hands moving to the hem of your sweater. You peel it off inch by inch, revealing the lacy black bra underneath.

The universe was on your side.

Jungkook’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he watches you. When you finally toss the sweater aside, his hands are on you again, thumbs brushing over the lace before slipping beneath it to cup your breasts.

“You look beautiful,” he declares, voice low yet you are still able to sense that it is thick with emotion.

A smile tugs at your lips as you glance up at him. Jungkook moves closer, lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a velvety caress that makes your skin prickle with heat.

You laugh softly, leaning into him. “It feels like our first time all over again,” you say, heart racing.

“Does it?” he asks, although you know he isn’t looking for an answer.

The air between you and your husband is thick.

Thick with anticipation.

The low flicker of the fire casts a light shadow across his features as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world. One hand rests on your hip, his grip firm yet gentle, as he thumbs at the band of your lacy underwear. The other is wrapped around your waist, holding you close as though he’s scared you’re about to get away.

You gaze at one another with eyes full of love.

Jungkook is a drug. Your drug. One touch from him and the intoxication is instant. It always has been.

This man could tell you to do anything, absolutely anything, and that is exactly what you would do. His gaze, his scent, his everything sends you into a heady trance.

You guide his digits to your centre, your sticky core waiting for him. Jungkook rubs your soaked lacy underwear, groaning deeply as he takes in your wetness.

“And I thought it was just me who was excited,” he whispers in an indulging tone, voice rich with lust as he draws you closer with his free hand, lips finding yours. “Look at you, angel, you’re fucking drenched.”

You respond by pulling him closer by dark tendrils, capturing his lips against yours. The kiss starts slow, tender, but it doesn’t take long for the heat to intensify.

Jungkook’s hand slides up to cradle your jaw, angling your face as his lips move against yours, each kiss growing deeper, hungrier. Your fingers tangle in his soft strands as you tug gently, earning another low groan from your husband, vibrating against your mouth.

“Jungkook…” you whine between kisses, your body starting to need more.

Before you can say anything else, his hands are on your waist, lifting you effortlessly like you weigh absolutely nothing. Jungkook carries you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours, and when your back hits the mattress, the world tilts slightly.

You lock eyes for just a moment, just enough for you to feel safe with one another. And then? Then Jungkook is all business.

Pulling your underwear off, he begins by kissing from your toes upward, slowly, his hands on your legs, always inching just a little higher than the kisses he plants.

Your back arches in anticipation, knowing where his fingers will soon reach. And as he does, your head rocks against the fluffy pillow, the first moan escaping your lips.

Jungkook hovers above you, one knee pressing into the bed. His dark hair falls forward, brushing against your skin as he leans in, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jawline and then lower, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your neck before pulling back slightly.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he shifts, his free hand bracing beside your head. You feel the tension in his body - the strength in his arms as he hovers above you, the control in every deliberate movement - and it’s intoxicating.

Your hands roam down his back, tracing the lean muscles. The firelight casts golden shadows across his bare chest, highlighting every dip and curve, and for a moment, all you can do is stare.

He smirks, leaning down to kiss you again, his lips brushing yours as he teases, “See something you like?”

You roll your eyes, but your laughter catches in your throat as his mouth claims yours again. The kiss is hotter, slower, more deliberate, pulling you further under his spell. His hands explore every inch of you, mapping your body as though he’s determined to remember every detail, his touch setting your nerves alight.

“You’re irresistible,” Jungkook groans, the sound itself sending you into a deep spiral.

He bends down, his mouth capturing one nipple through the fabric, sucking gently until you arch into him, another moan escaping your lips, louder this time. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavishes attention on your other breast, his tongue darting out to tease the sensitive peak.

Arching into him, you massage his scalp and moan pleasurably as he prods at your nipple with his scandalous tongue. He fondles your other breast, kneading it which has you sighing out in bliss.

“Oh fuck, I love your tongue,” you whine gratifyingly whilst he continues his soft assault on your breast, sucking and tugging at your nipples lewdly. Your fingers inch further into his hair when you feel him jut his tongue out, licking around the soft area.

Jungkook moves to place kisses between the valley of your breasts, making his way further down your sexy body, still fondling your breasts delightly. You arch further into him, half-lidded gaze peering down at him, massaging his scalp whilst he perfectly nips at your smooth skin, ascending you to cloud nine.

Sighing out in sheer ecstasy, you tug Jungkook closer to you. His hand canvases down your body, cupping your soaked sex in his palm.

You let out a scandalised gasp, gut filling with heat.

“Always so fucking wet, princess,” Jungkook groans as he glides his two fingers through your tight cunt. You brace yourself on his broad shoulders, breathing heavily and Jungkook revels in each sultry sound that leaves your pretty mouth.

“J-just for you,” you manage to whimper out as his fingers skim around your battered mound. Jungkook begins to push your legs apart and releases a satisfied hum when he sees how soaked your cunt is for him.

Jungkook pulls back, winking at you before moving forward to kiss down your body. To where you need him most. His lips adorn every inch of your body and your core ignites when you feel him reach closer to your already naked sex.

Jungkook’s eyes locking onto yours as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. The garment falls, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. His hands roam over your body, tracing every curve, every dip, while his lips replaced his fingers, kissing and nibbling along your collarbone, your shoulders, your throat.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. “All mine.”

You shudder from the cold, now completely naked, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he hovers above you. His fingers trail down your stomach, stopping just above where you need him most. He glances up at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief before his fingers dipped lower, sliding through your folds.

“So wet for me,” he groans, voice dripping with possessiveness. He circles your clit once, twice, before delving inside you, his fingers thrusting deep as he continues to stroke your most sensitive spot.

Jungkook’s thumb was gentle yet insistent as he traced lazy circles around your clit, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You lay back against the plush pillows, your breath hitching as he leans over you, his dark eyes smoldering with desire. His lips brushes against your ear, his voice low and husky as he whispers, “Everyone will see you swollen and know I’ve fucked you.”

You moan, unable to form words as his fingers dip inside you, teasingly slow at first.

Jungkook watches your face intently, his thumb pressing against your clit in a rhythm that has you arching off the bed. “You’re so hot,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. “So ready to be bred.”

His fingers move faster now, scissoring inside you while his mouth trailed kisses along your jawline. “Tell me,” he demands, his tone commanding yet laced with tenderness. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hips instinctively meeting his hand. “I want… I want you so bad.”

Jungkook chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Not just me,” he corrected, his voice growing deeper. “You want our baby. Tell me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as the weight of his words settles over you. “I do,” you admit, voice trembling. “I want - oh, God ; I want everything with you.”

Jungkook’s eyes are coloured with a shade of satisfaction, as he adds in another one of his delicious fingers, satiating your ache for more.

You cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure seeps through you. Jungkook’s free hand moves to your plump ass, squeezing roughly as his fingers pick up speed, plunging in and out of you with increasing urgency.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice gruff. "Tell me who’s got you soaked."

“You,” you croon, your voice breaking. “I’m wet for you.”

At your words, he stands, lifting you once again and placing you on the edge of the mattress. His fingers leave your aching core, and you only hope it is replaced by his mouth, the image of his tongue lapping at you with fervor making you shudder.

You cry out his name, your back arching as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Jungkook moves his head in front of your cunt, breathing against it deeply, knowing the sensation of his hot breath would spur you on further.

And it certainly does.

You jerk rapidly as Jungkook places a kiss to your clit and your insides constrict, anticipating his next ministration.

“Can I eat you out?,” Jungkook huskily asks. He knows how tired you must be, so he ensures he’s safe to go ahead. Your chest swells with butterflies, in awe of how caring your husband is.

You move forward and cup his cheek, urging him to look towards you. You smile at him brightly, nodding your head and place a quick peck against his swollen lips.

Jungkook is quick to get back in position, paying attention to your leaking cunt again. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, letting them rest there daintily. You lean back, palms planted on the mattress beneath you as you savour the view before you.

Your sexy husband stands before you with his exposed, tanned and Apollo-sculpted body ready to devour you whole. Jungkook breathes against your folds and you quiver with arousal. His hands massage the inside of your thighs, calming your anticipation.

“My wife’s so pretty,” he whispers before moving to press a gentle kiss on your clit. You shudder at the sensitivity, bucking your hips into his face, yearning for more.

You run your fingers through his dark tresses, tightening your grip on his scalp. “Jungkook, pleasee,” you whine, arching into him more in the hopes that he’ll provide you with some form of relief.

“Patience baby,” Jungkook murmurs before jutting out the tip of his tongue and lightly tracing your nether lips. You squirm, moaning his name shamelessly and uttering soft pleas as you mentally pine for more contact from his skillful tongue. Jungkook feels more turned on as he hears you become more needy despite him not having done very much.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he growls before licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He latches onto your quivering cunt, making out with it and sucking on your labia. Jungkook buries himself further as he gathers your slickness on his tongue. You mewl at the euphoric sensation his tongue supplies and he provides you with no mercy as he eats you up with his masterful tongue.

Bucking your hips closer to his face, you wordlessly beg for more and Jungkook abides almost immediately, lapping at your folds like a starved man. He flattens his tongue against your cunt, generously sucking on the pulsing bud. Jungkook groans at the sweet flavour of your juices that has you reeling for more.

He repeatedly licks up your slit shamelessly, tongue delving into you deeper and deeper as he cranes his own neck with no care in the world. He basks in the mess between your legs, chest swelling with pride as he realises it’s all for him. Only him.

“Fuck,” he moans into your cunt, “your pussy always tastes so good. Fucking missed this,” he says as if he hadn’t woken you up by eating you out this morning.

His large, tattooed hands fail to stay still. They move from holding your thighs apart to having a tight grip on your ass, pulling you further into him.

“L-love seeing your face between my thighs,” you manage to voice weakly.

“I know you do,” Jungkook replies whilst bringing his thumb to rub against your aching clit. You rut your hips in his face, head falling back as the pleasure washes over you.

“Jungkoook, fuckk.”

He buries himself closer into your pulsing folds, nose burrowed deep within. Your hips develop a mind of their own and you begin to grind against his face, practically riding it. Jungkook hums satisfyingly as he moves his hands to rest on your ass again. He probes you forward and rocks your hips back and forth against his face making you grab a fistful of his hair, earning a slight hiss from him.

His hooded eyes meet your own and you send a lazy smirk his way as you rut your hips against his face. Your wetness from riding his nose, chin and tongue glistens on his skin which somehow turns you on more.

“Ahh shit,” you cry out, internally thanking the Heavens above that your cabin is located in a secluded area. You only hope Areum doesn’t wake up.

Whilst you continue to ride his face, Jungkook licks up and around your folds ravenously and his fingers bore into the meat of your ass.

He angles himself better and secures his lips down around your mound, dragging his tongue around until he latches onto your sensitive clit again. You moan lewdly and lurch when you feel Jungkook press his devious tongue against your throbbing bud.

“I’m gonna come!” You cry out, riding his face at a faster pace and your grip on his hair becoming tighter. Jungkook suckles your clit, tongue running through your folds, providing you with eons of paradisiacal pleasure. He shoves his face deeper into your cunt, violently capturing it with his plush, swollen lips and his grasp on you becomes harder.

You feel him smirk against you before he brings those bunny teeth of his and bites down on your clit. Your body jolts at the impact, but still manages to send hot, orgasmic spikes of arousal through your veins.

“Oh fuck,” you sharply moan, the need to come undone too prominent now.

“Come for me, angel,” he coos at you, hands moving to soothe your lower back. His dulcet voice does it for you and you feel your orgasm wash over you vigorously. Your hips grind against your husband's stupidly handsome face and he laps at your palpitating pussy.

Your mind spins and stomach bubbles as you come down from your high. Jungkook continues his assault, lapping at thecum that stains your cunt before he pulls away. You meet his desperate eyes, shimmering lips and a scandalous grin as he pants harshly.

You beckon him to you eagerly, hands growing taxed as you reach for his sweaty neck and pull him in for an all too chaste kiss. Smothering your mouth with his, you groan as you taste your essence on his enticing lips.

You devour his mouth, nibbling at his plump lower lip.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.”

You chuckle at him simping over you once again, tugging him closer. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and continue to mouth at him languidly, tongues tangling together.

Jungkook smiles against you, gushing at your sudden boldness. He runs his hand up and down the expanse of your back, gleefully continuing to make out with you.

But he isn’t done yet. When you were teetering on the brink, Jungkook pulls away, standing and stripping off his own clothes in seconds. His cock is hard and throbbing, and you can’t help but reach for him, your fingers curling around his length.

“Not yet,” he growls, stepping back. Jungkook positions himself between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance.

“Look at me,” he commands, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m fucking you full of my cum tonight.”

With that, he thrust inside you, filling you completely. You cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he claims you, his hips snapping forward with brutal precision. Every thrust is deliberate, every movement calculated to bring you both to the edge.

Jungkook’s hands grips your thighs, holding you steady as he pounds into you. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans, voice ragged. “Always so tight and ready for her husband.”

You cling to him, legs wrapping around his slim waist as you meet every thrust, your bodies moving as one. The tension between you is electric, crackling in the air as you both race toward release.

Then, without warning, Jungkook pulls out, flipping you onto your back and positioning himself between your legs once more. He grabs hold of your hips, lifting you slightly before slamming back into you.

“Ride me,” he demands with his sultry voice.

“Jungkook!” you cry, your hips rising to meet his, your body instinctively obeying his command. You shift your position, your core contracting around him as you take control, riding him with everything you had.

“Jungkook, you fuck me so good.”

“I know baby, I know,” he says, almost condescendingly.

Jungkook’s hands grips your hips firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he guides you with precision. You feel the intensity of his desire in every movement, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Ride your husband’s dick like you mean it.” His voice is low, almost a growl, sending shivers down your spine.

You obey without hesitation, rising slowly at first, the sensation of him inside you igniting a fire that spreads through your core. Your breasts bounce gently with each upward motion, the weight of them reminding you of how close you both are to this shared dream.

Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours, his dark irises locked onto your gaze as if he can see straight into your soul. There is no doubt that he probably could.

“Faster,” he urges, his hand moving from your hip to your thigh, encouraging you to pick up the pace. You comply, drawing in a sharp breath as your body adjusted to the rhythm.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your bodies colliding, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing softly. Jungkook’s other hand finds your breast, kneading it roughly as his thumb brushed across your nipple, sending electric shocks through your system.

“Do you feel how ready you are for me?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with possessive heat. “Your body is perfect, so wet, so tight for me.” His words sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you can’t help but moan loudly, your head falling back as you surrender to the sensations.

Jungkook takes advantage of your distracted state, shifting his hold on you and flipping you onto your back once more. His chest pressed against yours, his weight grounding you as he begins to thrust deeply, each movement deliberate and unrelenting.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “Tell me you want my baby.”

The intensity of his question catches you off guard, but the truth is already bubbling up from deep within you. “Yes,” you whine, clutching at his shoulders as his thrusts grow more urgent. “I want you, I want this… want us.”

His response is rough, hips snapping forward as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “Good girl,” he praises, his voice thick with arousal.

“So good for me.” He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in circles that synced perfectly with his movements.

You cry out, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure builds higher and higher. Jungkook’s hand moves again, this time slipping lower, two fingers pressing into you alongside his cock. “God, you’re so wet for me,” he notes, voice strained. “So ready to become a mother again.”

The combination of his fingers and his cock was overwhelming, every nerve ending in your body lighting up like a firework. You can feel the orgasm building, closer and closer until there is no holding it back.

“Jungkook!” you scream his name, your body convulsing around him as you come, stars bursting behind your closed eyelids.

He doesn’t stop, not even for a second. If anything, his movements become more intense, his breathing ragged as he chases his own release. “Stay with me, baby,” he commanded, his voice gravelly. “Don’t let go yet.”

You cling to him, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he continues to pound into you, his fingers still working their magic. “Almost there,” he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic as he nears his climax. “Almost…”

And then he freezes, his body tensing as he comes inside you with a deep groan, his seed spilling into you with an urgency that betrays his desperation to make this moment real. “Mine,” he says roughly, voice breaking as he collapses onto you, his breathing heavy.

For a long moment, neither of you speak, the only sound heard is the rapid beating of your combined hearts.

Jungkook’s lips find yours, kissing you deeply as if sealing the promise they had just made.

“This is just the beginning,” he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with conviction.

“Our family starts here,” Jungkook affirms, caressing your hips softly.

The morning sun crept over the horizon, its golden rays slipping through the cabin’s frosted windows and telling you a story that today will be a perfect day.

You stir first, the soft glow coaxing you from the cocoon of blankets. Jungkook is still fast asleep beside you, his face relaxed in a way that makes your heart swell. His hair was tousled, his lips slightly parted, one arm flung protectively over your waist as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Careful not to wake him, you shift slightly, your gaze falling on the fireplace across the room. The embers had long since died, leaving a bed of ash that glowed faintly in the morning light. Outside, the snow glittered like diamonds, untouched and pristine.

Last night replays in your mind, every whispered word and shared touch lingering like a secret promise. A soft blush warms your cheeks as you rest a hand on your stomach, wondering, hoping.

Before your thoughts spiral further, Jungkook groans beside you, his arm tightening around you as his eyes flutter open. He blinks a few times, his face slowly breaking into a sleepy smile as he finds you watching him.

“Morning,” he sighs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning, baby,” you respond, brushing a strand of hair from his face and leaning in to kiss his forehead.

Jungkook leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed again for a brief moment. “You’re glowing,” he says softly, cracking one eye open to peek at you.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” Jungkook pronounces confidently, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch. “Last night…” His voice trails off, a grin spreading across his face. “Let’s just say I think we’ve got good odds.”

Your stomach turns at the memory of Jungkook fucking you so intensely. You’d been at it most of the night, Jungkook wanting to try as many positions as possible. Your husband's stamina was as high as the chances of you being pregnant already.

“Confident, are we?” you tease, though your heart is still skipping at the thought.

“With you? Always.”

The two of you lay there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other and the promise of what was to come. Eventually, the sound of tiny feet padding down the stairs broke the peaceful quiet.

“Eomma!” Areum’s voice calls out, bright and cheerful.

Jungkook groans dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “She’s too good at waking up early,” he mumbles, making you laugh. “I thought I might be lucky enough to have you ride me into being fully awake.”

“Come on,” you chuckle, nudging him playfully. “I’ll ride you later.”

With a sigh and a mumble of ‘you better’, Jungkook rolls out of bed, grabbing a pair of fresh boxers from the open suitcase and tossing his hoodie to you.

“Get it on, we don’t need to show her our anatomy just yet.”

You chuckle, quickly slip the hoodie over your head, before padding out to meet Areum, who stands at the bottom of the stairs clutching her favourite stuffed bunny.

“There’s snow everywhere!” she exclaims, her eyes wide with excitement.

“I know, princess,” Jungkook brightly says, scooping her up into his arms. “Maybe after breakfast, we can go outside and build the biggest snowman you’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Areum’s face lit up, her joy infectious. “Bigger than the one at yoonie samchon’s house?”

“Of course,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Ours will be much better.”

That competitive streak will never die.

You watch them with a soft smile, the sight of Jungkook cradling her so naturally makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Eomma, you’ll help too, right?” Areum asks, turning her bright eyes on you as she finally notices your presence.

“Of course,” you warmly respond, reaching out to take her into your arms. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

As the three of you settle into the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes filling the air. A quiet sense of peace lingers and you feel whole.

Jungkook catches your eye over the rim of his coffee mug, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. He didn't say anything, but he didn’t need to. You knew. You always did.

Whatever the future held, whatever new adventures or challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

And maybe, just maybe, there was already a tiny spark of new life waiting to join your little family.

A Quiet Christmas was exactly what you needed.

You reach for your phone, capturing a photo of your husband and Areum scrunching their noses as they laugh at one another.

The photo is quick to make it to your instagram, with a sweet caption that summarises it all.

Our Quiet Christmas.

And there we have it! I hope dad!jk made you feel as cosy as I felt writing this 🦢! Merry Christmas, my loves ; I hope you have a wonderful Christmas 🎄.

Here is my masterlist if you would like to check out my other works <3

↠ Taglist : @iamstilljk @lovingkoalaface @kooeuphoria @jeonsgf-97 @taeskrve @freshmoondragon (names in italics - I was unable to tag)

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Protected by Shadows

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

AU: Mafia 141 x innocent Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence (not graphic), protective behavior, sweet moments, and fluff

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, I love this AU so much I’ve been so into these kinds of AUs for like ever now- also this is like my first time really doing head cannons (let me know if I did it wrong please-)

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Price is the most protective of the group, constantly checking in on you without being too overbearing. He’s the type to stop by your flower shop under the guise of "just checking in" while casually scanning for any potential threats. He keeps his voice calm and soothing, always calling you "love" or "darlin’," which makes your heart flutter. Price doesn’t just protect you physically; he makes sure you feel safe emotionally, often offering quiet reassurances like, “We’ve got you, love. Always.”

Soap is the most openly affectionate—he’s all about making you smile. He constantly flirts, dropping over-the-top compliments that leave you blushing. "Y’know, lass, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a bloody angel sent to brighten my day." He’s also the type to sneak into your shop when it’s slow just to "help out," which usually means playing with the ribbon spools and getting tangled in them. Soap loves how flustered you get when he calls you "his bonnie girl," and he doesn’t mind making a fool of himself if it means you’ll laugh.

Gaz is the most thoughtful—he notices the small things and acts on them. When your heater broke during the winter, he showed up at your shop the same evening to fix it without even asking. He’s always bringing you little things: your favorite snacks, flowers he claims “don’t compare to the ones you grow,” or even a book you casually mentioned once. Gaz loves watching you light up when he remembers those small details, and he gets this soft smile that makes you melt every time.

Ghost is the quietest but the most intense when it comes to his care for you. He’s the one who lingers outside your shop after hours, ensuring you get home safely without you even realizing it. When he does come inside, he doesn’t say much, but his presence alone is reassuring. He’s incredibly observant—he knows when you’re upset or tired, even when you try to hide it. If someone ever upsets you, Ghost is the first to take care of it, and when you ask him about it, he’ll just shrug and say, “Handled.” He also secretly loves the nickname you gave him, though he’ll never admit it out loud.

Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost all have their own ways of spoiling you. Price takes you on peaceful drives to quiet places, sharing stories from his past and letting you vent about anything bothering you. Soap loves taking you out for fun nights—whether it’s dinner, an amusement park, or just driving around blasting music and singing along. Gaz is all about those quiet, cozy moments, like movie nights at home where he lets you pick every single movie, even if they’re terrible. Ghost prefers quiet walks in secluded areas or just sitting in silence with you, his hand always resting protectively on your shoulder or back.

They’re ridiculously protective of you, especially when they discover a rival gang has been sniffing around your shop. Soap was the first to get riled up, pacing and muttering about teaching them a lesson. Gaz kept it together but couldn’t stop checking in on you every five minutes, while Price made sure you had a personal escort everywhere. Ghost didn’t say a word—he just disappeared for a while, and when he returned, the threat was gone.

You’re their light in an otherwise dark world. They’re captivated by your kindness and the way you care about everyone, even when they don’t deserve it. Soap jokingly calls you "our sunshine," and while the others roll their eyes, they secretly agree. They’ll do anything to protect that light, even if it means shielding you from the darker parts of their world.

The first time they collectively admitted how much you meant to them, it was after a close call with the rival gang. Price sat you down and told you in his calm, steady voice that you were more than just someone they were protecting—you were family. Soap, of course, couldn’t resist adding, “Our girl,” with a wide grin, earning a glare from Price but a soft laugh from you. Gaz promised you that they’d always have your back, no matter what, and Ghost, in his usual fashion, simply said, “You’re ours.”

Life with them was never dull. Soap and Gaz constantly bicker over who gets to spend more time with you, while Price keeps them in line, reminding them not to overwhelm you. Ghost just watches from the sidelines, silently amused, though he occasionally throws in a dry comment that leaves everyone laughing.

You’ve become the center of their world, and while their lives may be dangerous and chaotic, they’d do anything to make sure you’re safe, happy, and loved.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[pholla-jm]

Heir (2)

IMAGINE: HEIR~ SUKUNA X WIFE!READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: sukuna is a bit ooc. f!reader. true form sukuna. not proof read

If you haven't read the first part, here it is: Heir. ***************

As months went by, your stomach got bigger and rounder. Your back was certainly hurting, feet aching, and a constant need to go pee. 

You almost hated every second of it. 

If it wasn’t for the fact you were bringing life into the world, you would’ve hated every second of it. 

Someone that was almost more excited than you was your lover, Sukuna. He was dead set on the baby being a boy. He was so excited to raise a boy to create a future heir. 

He even already picked out a name for him. Akumu, not a common name but it was one that Sukuna liked and it was set. 

However, you had a feeling that you were having a daughter. But, Sukuna was not hearing any of that. But just in case, you picked out a name just in case it was a girl. You wanted to have a similar vibe that Sukuna wanted so you chose Yumekui. 

You were very close to your due date and you were extremely nervous. You felt like you weren’t ready. You felt the nursery wasn’t ready or that things weren’t baby proofed enough. 

That’s why you paced around the castle, trying to get things ready. You didn’t care that your feet ached and your back was crying for help. All you cared about was making sure that everything was ready and perfect for the baby.

You know who did care? Sukuna. He didn’t like how you are constantly on your feet, pacing around and just being worried in general. 

“Woman.” Sukuna calls out once he finds you wandering the halls. You turn to him, already knowing you’re about to get scolded. “You should be resting.” You pout a little, “but do you see that over there?” You say while pointing to an area where a sharp corner was protruding. 

Sukuna follows your finger, “yeah. What about it?” “What if the baby hurts themselves from that?” Sukuna rolls his eyes, “you’re being paranoid. Our son will be strong. A corner is not going to harm him.” 

There’s that word again. Son. You often thought about what his reaction would be if it was a daughter instead. Would he be mad? Would he kick the both of you out? Would he kill the child? All these negative thoughts clouded your mind daily. 

That’s why when the time came, you really didn’t want Sukuna in the room- just the midwives. However, Sukuna wanted to be in the room with you and no one was really going to defy his orders. 

Sukuna was being super supportive though during the whole process. He held your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you wanted, even though it felt like a little pinch to him. He also kept a clean towel to wipe the sweat off of you. Even the sly cursing didn’t affect him. 

The process felt like hours and you were sure you looked like a hot mess. Sukuna didn’t care though. In his eyes you were still the most beautiful woman. 

You could feel the baby coming through and it was only confirmed by the midwife when she said the head was crowning and you only needed to do a couple more pushes. 

You were happy to hear that as you started to feel more tired and weak with every second that passed by. 

Finally, you heard the sound of an infant crying. Relief washed through your body. Until you heard the words you didn’t want to hear.

“Congratulations. It’s a girl.” 

You felt Sukana’s grip on your hand loosen until he completely lets go of your hand.

You could feel your heart drop and your skin paled. You wanted to grab the baby before Sukuna did. But you were too weak to sit up correctly. 

“W-wait..” Your voice only came out as a whisper as your back hit the bed. “I want..” You couldn’t speak anymore as your head lolled to the side. You could feel a midwife trending to your side. 

The last thing you saw was the midwife holding the child and Sukuna walking up to the child. You could see the subtle frown on his face as he looked down at the small baby. After that, your vision went black as you went into a peaceful slumber. 

*************

Everything felt sore. Extremely sore. It took you a minute to come to your senses. But when you remember your situation, you sit up. Hoping to find your daughter safe and sound. 

However, what you saw was the last thing you expected.

Your daughter was swaddled, in the crib sound asleep. 

What shocked you even more was Sukuna. The man who said who wanted a son, stood at the crib admiring his child. 

His large body was bent over so his arms were crossed and leaning against the edge. His head was tilted to the side and resting on his arms. You would have never guessed you would see a sight like this. He looked almost… soft. All though, you would never say that to him. 

Sukuna heard the rustling of the sheets causing him to sit up a little. 

“I’m glad you’re awake.” He says and you nod your head. 

“Are you mad?” You softly ask him. “Why would I be mad?” “You know… for having a daughter. Not a son, like you wanted.” 

Sukuna laughs, but not too loudly to wake the baby. 

Sure, he was a bit upset when he heard that it was a girl. But as soon as her eyes opened, the same red color as his, he swore he could feel his heart stop. The cries were weak and pathetic in his opinion. However, when the midwife handed her over to him, her cries stopped. The baby looked up at him with wonder and she showed him a gummy smile. 

Sukuna would never tell you that as soon as her cries stopped he started to love the child. 

“No. She’s so small. I decided that having a daughter isn’t too bad.” You chuckle at his answer and peer over the crib, getting a good look at your daughter. 

Even though she was a few hours old, you could tell that she was Sukuna’s daughter. You could only imagine what she would look like when she gets older.

“She looks just like you.” You mutter, a little upset that you carried her for so long and she came out looking like her father. 

“Of course she does. My genetics are strong.” “Hmm, we’ll see with the next baby.” 

Sukuna grins at your words, “the next baby? Already planning for another?” “Wait, wait,” you giggle while holding your hand up, “I don’t mean that just yet. I still have to heal.”  Sukuna hums, silently agreeing. “Next time, it’ll be a boy. I’ll make sure of it.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging: @lotuskassagi

[izzy02soph]

Heart of the arena

Just a little something I put together after seeing a TikTok

GIFs made by me 😌👀

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In ancient Rome, the emperor's daughter, secretly in in love with the barbarian gladiator, Hanno (but she knows him as Lucius). Despite their forbidden love, they meet in secret, not just to be together, but to plot against her tyrannical father. Their hidden romance fuels their rebellion, as they dream of a future free from his oppressive rule.

______

Y/N slipped quietly into Lucius cell, her heart heavy with the weight of their secret. The dim light cast shadows over his weary face, where he sits on his cot. His eyes, though tired, softened when they met hers.

"Lucius, we can't keep meeting like this. It's tearing me apart to see you in cell. We must overthrow my father. If we succeed, we can finally be together, and you’ll be a free man"

"Your father is a tyrant, Y/N. Overthrowing him is a near-impossible task. I would face any danger, even if it means losing myself in the process. But I don’t think I can bear losing you too" He rubbed his hand up and down his face, the weariness evident in his movements

Y/n sighed before walking over and getting down on her knees in front of Lucius, grabbing his hands in the process

"It's not just about us, Lucius. Rome is crumbling under his tyranny. We need to save our people, just like your father Maximus did all those years ago. We owe it to him, and to ourselves."

"Maximus fought for justice and for Rome. I want to fight for us. It would and will be dangerous Y/N." Lucius said slightly raising his voice

“I would rather face danger with you than live a life of safety without you. Together, we can bring hope back to Rome. We have to try, even if it means risking everything.”

Lucius took her hand, his grip strong but trembling with the weight of their shared burden.

"Then we fight. For Rome, for us, and for our future, where we can be together. We will succeed where Maximus could not. We will bring down your father and restore peace to our land."

“For you, I would defy the emperor”

Y/n looked at Lucius, tears pooling in her eyes, not out of sadness but out of the pure sheer devotion she had for Lucius.

Their hearts aching with the knowledge of the path ahead, but also burning with the fierce determination of their love and the hope for a brighter future for both their love and their beloved Rome.

______

Okkkkkkk How was it?? I know it was kind of repetitive but I’m trying to learn how to write this kind of stuff, but I hope y’all liked it? Luv y’all baddies 🩷

[yesimwriting]

Normalcy

A/n deadpool and wolverine drabble bc the movie was a little too good

Summary: Still reeling from the loss of your powers, you struggle to hold it together inside the TVA's void. Thankfully, you find an uncharacteristically peaceful distraction in your old friend Deadpool and in the wolverine variant who wants nothing to do with you.

Warnings/info: reader is a (former) avenger (bc i love the avengers <3), reader is described as having similar powers to wanda and having trained with her (bc i love wanda), implied beginning of an accidental love triangle if you squint ig, maybe too much lore for a drabble (?), me writing for characters for the first time so be nice 😭

----

The lines etched into your palms do not bend and twist to spell out secrets, there are no messages worth decoding pressed into your skin. Knowing this is not enough to stop you from staring at your hands like if you could just think about it hard enough...

"There you are, Peanut." The words are so warm you're briefly pulled out of your internal angst. You straighten, head lifting slightly and arms crossing in front of your chest. "Thought I lost you."

Wade continues forward until he's directly in front of you. He pauses, watching you with an unabashed openness that you'd only ever allow him to get away with. "Kidding," he tries, "I'd never lose you."

The familiarity of the casual affection eases you further, the corner of your mouth tugging itself upwards. "I was like 15 feet away from you."

"Sorry for caring." It's his go to comeback when it comes to defending the displays of affection you have the audacity to find overdramatic.

You blink, lips parting despite your lack of response. The world has felt a little slower these last few days, moving at a pace that leaves you with no choice but to reflect. Maybe it's the void.

"Hey," his voice feels a little flatter without his usual humor, "Are you okay?"

You let out a breath, shocked by this new low. Sure, you've known Wade for awhile and you've both seen each other through plenty of stages, but he's never felt the need to attempt a genuine pep talk for you. He's never struck you as the pep talk sort...for anyone. Do you really seem that off?

It's bad enough that your identity crisis has stolen the abilities that would have helped your trio pop out of the void with no real fanfare, you can't also make your insecurities everyone else's problem. "Yeah." The response doesn't feel convincing, but with Wade wearing the Deadpool mask, it's hard to be sure. "Just y'know...we're in a void and our reality might be ripped apart, so I've been better."

He's still watching you with a level of focus that's unnerving. You've gotten used to his familiarity, his lack of care for personal space or the social rules around watching people. "You're doing it again."

"Seducing you with my ability to have a heart to heart while looking this good in my suit?"

You sigh in an attempt to dismiss your slight smile. Happy or sad, superhero that once fought Thanos or regular person that can't regulate their emotions, Wade always treats you the same. "The staring thing. You said you'd stop."

"No, you said I'd stop." The correction is a return to what you're used to. He takes a step towards you, his proximity now forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to look him in the eye. "I'd never promise to look at you less."

"Comforting."

He angles his chin downwards, making the limited distance feel more significant. "I thought so." For a moment, he's quiet in a way that doesn't feel very him. "Are you sure you're...good?" His hesitance is another reminder that this is far out of his element. "I know this is your first..." Wade's rarely careful, only ever treading lightly on the one subject you never want to bring. "Outing, since..."

"I lost my powers."

Wade goes quiet again. If this conversation is as inevitable as it seems, a part of you wishes it could have come up elsewhere. Maybe in your shared apartment, definitely without the mask so you could better interpret his reactions. It's not often you keep secrets from him, but the hollowness you feel knowing the part of yourself you've lost isn't something you can just share.

It's more than just about missing your party tricks, it's about losing a part of yourself. They were all that was left of your time with the Avengers, of what Wanda taught you before Westview.

He lets out a breath. "They're not lost." You raise your eyebrows slightly, giving him a look meant to caution him against sympathetic optimism. "We don't know that."

He seems so happy to be able to tell you that there's no proof that any and all magical abilities have been flushed out of your system, you don't have it in you to remind him that that's mainly because you have no one to ask. What's left of the Avengers and your government connections either barely understand what you were or are untrustworthy.

"Educated wish?"

His mask muffles a slight gasp. You press your lips together in an attempt to resist smiling. "The last one worked out great."

Your eyebrows pull together skeptically, a reminder that the two of you are still technically in the middle of the last educated wish he attempted to speak into existence. "Didn't Wolverine stab you multiple times--"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh. "If I took getting stabbed personally, do you know where we'd be?"

In a reality where Wade holds grudges over those kinds of things, you wouldn't be anything to each other, except maybe enemies. You've never pulled a knife or sword or anything sharp on him, but when you first met he did startle you before you had a total grip on your abilities, which resulted in him getting thrown through a wall.

"I never stabbed you."

His hand finds your shoulder. You let him drag his thumb against against the fabric of your suit. "And that's how I know you really love me, Peanut."

You roll your eyes in an attempt to dislodge the warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach. The last thing Wade needs is encouragement. "I mean, I do go around stabbing everyone I like less than you."

He lets out a sound that feels like a scoff attempting to mask itself as a dry laugh. "There's the sense of humor that'd hurt me if I knew you less."

"Well--"

He squeezes your shoulder, "I know you." Okay. You'll let him have this one because maybe there's some truth to what he's saying. "I'm going to go check on the car, because a fucking Honda Odyssey would break down on us for no reason before we got to the fight."

"For no reason or because of the bitch fight you and Wolverine had in it?"

There's a beat of silence in which all you can do is try to imagine Wade's expression behind the mask. You'd like to think that he's smiling. "Oh, Pumpkin." He sighs as if you've stumbled onto saying something terribly naive. "It wasn't a bitch fight, it was awesome, and probably turned you on."

You deadpan a flat, "You caught me." He hasn't let go of your shoulder, and a part of you is oddly glad for it. "I'd offer you help with the car, but..."

You're self aware enough to acknowledge your strengths and weaknesses, car maintenance being the latter. Wade doesn't even let you get your oil changed by yourself anymore.

"I've met you." He squeezes your shoulder again, the gesture weirdly stabilizing. "Give me 15 minutes to actually look at the car and then I'm all yours."

Wade lets go of you, his arm falling to his side. "Aren't you always?"

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. "You're making me feel cheaper than my usual rate, Peanut."

You smile as he turns away. Things are always a little easier with Wade. It's more than just distraction, it's his way of making things feel a little lighter. You're not sure what to do with your 15 minutes of solitude to avoid falling back into self pity.

You originally broke away from the group of void trapped heroes under the premise of needing fresh air, but even here, with the expansive, sparsely wooded area at your disposal, the oxygen in your lungs still feels flat. If Wanda were around, you'd be able to ask if she felt the strangeness of this other plane of existence as well. At least then you'd know if your dislike of the void is only mental or an actual sign of life from your abilities.

You begin to walk forward, hoping to shed all thoughts of both your former self and the eeriness of this other world. There are other people you could talk to you. The others have been polite enough, or at the very least, passionate enough to be talked into facing Cassandra.

The trees you've been wandering through grow in their sparsity, the edge of the woods revealing a patch of grassland highlighted by a fire's warm glow. You squint past the tree line, attempting to make out the figure sitting in front of the flames. Wolverine.

Secluded from the group and staring at a campfire. Surprising. Though, you guess it's not fair to judge him too harshly, you left the group to brood as well.

He doesn't like you, doesn't know you well enough to dislike you, but it took him no time to find a way to get around that. Maybe it's your proximity to Wade. You've done your best to take his hostility as un-personally as possible. You've seen enough people you really care about go through the guilt ridden, fallen hero thing to know how deep that kind of hurt runs.

You've never known a Wolverine or Logan Howlett variant, so you have no way of knowing what he was like before. Sure, you've heard stories, but you're also overly aware of how the media can twist and turn those stories to fit their narrative. One day, a superhero is the world's greatest protector, and the next their the greatest menace. Maybe he was always a little dark, or maybe he wasn't.

"Don't just stand there." The gruffness of his voice startles you more than it should.

Heat crawls up your neck, a part of you more embarrassed than you should be. You weren't lurking, or at the very least, you weren't trying to.

You sigh as you abandon the safety of the tree line. "Sorry." He turns his head away from the fire. "I wasn't--I was just walking."

He's quiet for such a long moment you almost expect him to not respond at all. "Without your shadow?"

Wow, only a halfhearted dig at Wade. You must have caught him in a good mood. "Friend, and he's looking at the car. I'd be looking at the car with him, but I figured the odds for tomorrow are bad enough as is."

Another uneasy stretch of silence. "Yeah." There's not much, if anything, to take from the comment. "If you're here to convince me to go with you guys tomorrow--"

"I'm not." It's an honest answer. You had been walking around aimlessly and happened to stumble onto him. "I'm not into the pep talk thing." He scoffs, the sound lacking in genuine aggression. "What?"

He lifts his gaze from the fire, his eyes settling on some point past the horizon. "I thought you were an Avenger."

You're not sure what bugs you more, the fact that he's so sure he has you all figured out or the implication that the Avengers spend their days encouraging each other instead of actually doing things. What the Avengers are--or maybe were--is so much more than that.

You step forward, further separating you from the cluster of trees. "The Avengers are about a lot more than that."

His attention briefly shifts onto you before returning to the flames. If the silence is meant to be dismissive, it doesn't feel that way. There's a patience there that doesn't suit his usual brooding.

"Do you care if I sit?" The question is forced out before you can overthink it. "I promise no inspirational speeches or small talk."

After a beat, he dips his chin downwards in a nod so subtle you would have missed it if you had been watching him any less carefully. You're more relieved by his acceptance than you should be, your feet carrying you towards the campfire.

You sit at a polite distance, knees bent in front of you. His silence seems to push against the void's sluggishness. Maybe the issue has been you fighting this world's momentum.

"Why are you with him?" You're not sure if you're more shocked by the question or the break in silence. When all you can do is blink, he continues, "You seem--" He subtly clears his throat, as if struggling to admit this next part, "Nice, normal."

Oh. If you had been focused, you likely would have got what he meant without the clarification. "I know Wade's a lot--especially to you." You place a hand against your knee, thinking about that very specific safety you only feel with Wade. You don't have to try at being anything, or worry about earning your keep in any capacity. "But once you get to know him, he's a good friend."

You look away from the fire pit in time to see the skeptical look Logan throws in your direction. "I'm serious." His expression doesn't change. "He um--after I stopped being important to everyone else, he still liked me ." This isn't the conversation you wanted to stumble onto, especially not with someone who you barely know and actively dislikes you. "That sounds kind of dumb, but the point is, he's loyal."

He turns his head back towards the fire. "You always call him by his name." The observation is so stiff you'd consider it hesitant if it came from anyone else.

You've never thought much about Wade's name. Part of it is familiarity, and the rest of it is a force of habit. Even when you were with the Avengers, you preferred using actual names when off duty. It's easier to separate the mask from the person beneath it when you make an active effort to.

You shrug. "I'm not into off duty superhero names, Wolverine."

He falls silent again. You concentrate on the flames, the way they illuminate the world around you. "You can--" He cuts himself off, attention never wavering from the fire. "You can call me Logan, if you want."

An unsteady warmth roots itself in your chest. You didn't expect any sort of kinship between you and the wolverine Wade stole from some other timeline beyond him occasionally accepting your attempts at creating peace between him and Wade.

"Okay," you focus on keeping your tone measured, avoiding any emotions that might startle him, "Logan."

There's no tension in the quiet that follows. You let the minutes pass until you're certain that Wade's waiting for an interruption disguised as an attempt to help. "I should go, Wade's probably waiting for me."

You push yourself to stand. You let yourself glance at him one last time before turning towards the trees you emerged from.