#return of sleep deprived!martin

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Hero of Kvatch: Do you want to take a nap? I’ll stoke the fire and we can cuddle.

Martin, draped over the Mysterium Xarxes like some kind of zombie: Set me on fire. Death is the final sleep.

Hero of Kvatch: Your kinks are getting out of hand, dude.

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

The Woes of Weddings (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

You can read the first part, The Woes of Betrothals, but it’s not necessary to read it to understand the plot :) 

Synopsis: Your wedding with Prince Aemond draws near. 

Warnings: fluff, so. much. fluff, p in v sex, tiddy succin’, oral (f! receiving), and fingering, slight impreg kink?? (if i missed out anything someone please tell me I’m too sleep deprived for this), jace shaming (on aemond’s part) 

Word Count: 5K words 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: You asked for a sequel to The Woes of Betrothals...and you got it. Featuring my first time writing smut 👀 I’m still improving on my smut writing skills, so please don’t laugh (I spent like five hours pouring about the specifics of smut writing too so) 😳 (see end of chapter for more A/N) 

wonderful dividers credited to @firefly-graphics as always! 

‘By the gods,’ you swore silently to yourself, watching the scene unfold before you, ‘I did not think that I could have anticipated anything quite as worrisome as this.’ 

Your wedding day was in less than a week’s time, and your anxiety was just reaching breaking point. 

You stood uncomfortably on a slightly raised dais, attempting to keep as still as possible while the seamstresses around you fussed with the measurements of your wedding gown and cloak, adjusting it to perfection. You were unsuccessful in your regard, as you occasionally winced from the sharp sting of a needle poking your skin. Helaena sat in one corner of the room, observing the proceedings with a dreamy smile, which you returned. But it was the presence of the Queen Alicent that made you feel a little discomfited. Though the Queen was watching the scene with a smile, you saw glimmer of sorrow in her eyes every now and then, though it was quickly masked by her usual veneer of geniality. You wondered with a small blip of terror if the Queen was having second thoughts of wedding you to her beloved second son, but your worries were soon soothed with the thoughts of your beloved. You had greatly enjoyed the time you had both spent over the past few weeks: he had been nothing but a consummate gentleman and lover, nothing like the rumours of the cold prince you were once deceived by. Even now, thinking of your beloved, you had a rosy tinge to your cheeks and a smile on your face, despite the sting of the needles. You simply could not wait to discover what marital bliss your marriage will bring. 

In another room, Aemond was faring far better than his fair lady was. Despite the rather unneeded presence of his grandsire in the room, scrutinising every move the tailors made, Aemond found himself to be quite far away from current happenings. His mind kept wandering back to his lady, and the sheer elation he felt that he would be wedding her in less than a week. It had been nearly a moon’s turn since he had confessed his true feelings to her, and every day since then has felt like a dream he never wished to wake from. He thought he would never experience more happiness as he had when he had claimed Vhagar, but this…it was a different sort of joy entirely. A contentment far more peaceful, and he found that he preferred this contentment to the hot blooded rush of triumph and adrenaline every time he rode Vhagar or won in his sparring jousts with Ser Criston. 

The both of you had spent the past few weeks spending nearly every waking moment with each other: you watching him train at arms with a wide smile on your lovely face that never ceased to spur him on, which always made Ser Criston raise his eyebrows in both amusement and a sort of pride; both of you discussing histories and philosophies in the library, where Aemond had discovered your passion for dissecting philosophical theology, much to his delight; strolling in the gardens and watching you blush with joy whenever he picked a flower and put it in your hair. He had also made it a custom to bring you a hand-picked bouquet of flowers every day, utterly enchanted by the near ethereal glow of happiness on his lady’s face every time he presented the bouquet to you. If he were a better painter, he would have asked you to sit for a portrait. Alas. Well, he could always commission the best painter in Westeros to do so, although he wasn’t quite sure if they would be able to capture your essence. 

Aemond sometimes thought it foolish that he had fallen in love so hastily, and so deeply at that. But he realised that when he woke up thinking about your smile and went to sleep every night thinking about how to make you smile even wider the next morrow, that no matter how much of a fool’s folly this may be, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He could not wait to be wedded to you. 

The merry toll of bells resounded throughout King’s Landing, as nearly every single noble lord and lady gathered before the Iron Throne to celebrate the wedding of Prince Aemond Targaryen to his much cherished bride. 

Aemond fidgeted nervously with the hem of his sleeves, a habit he hadn’t done since he was a young child. He had never really liked crowds, despite being a Prince. Helaena, who was standing next to him, separating him from a probably drunk Aegon, patted his arm reassuringly. Aemond turned his head to shoot her a small, grateful smile, just as trumpets heralded the entrance of the bride. 

The courtiers turned their head to the doors, and gasps rippled through the crowd as they beheld the bride. Aemond felt as though he had lost all capability to function. 

There you were, gliding towards him in a gown of white, looking like a vision of the Maiden herself. Delicate spirals of gold and flowers adorned the thick brocade and silk of your gown, a thick cloak of your House’s colours draped snugly across your shoulders. You were escorted down the aisle by your lord father, who was beaming with pride while shedding some very non-discrete tears. Aemond felt like weeping himself, and Helaena was tearing up a little herself. 

When you reached the end of the aisle, your father removed the cloak from your shoulders, kissing you on your forehead, before entrusting your hand to Aemond, your beloved, who looked extremely dashing in his intricately tailored white wedding clothes. “Take care of my daughter, Your Grace,” your father said tearfully. Aemond gave the man a nod, “I will love her till the end of my days, my lord. Have no fear.” Then, Aemond turned to face you, a wide smile on his face, as he draped a heavy cloak of black and red across your shoulders. “My princess, my lady wife,” he whispered softly to you, caressing your hand in his. You smiled back at him, “My prince. My lord husband.” The both of you walked to the septon, pure joy emanating from your faces, as he officially pronounced the both of you man and wife, much to the raucous cheers of the crowd behind you. 

The wedding feast was underway, and laughter and merriment was abound. For your first dance, you were whirled around the room by your husband, whose smile had not left his face since the moment he saw you. “I find it difficult to believe this is your first time waltzing, husband,” you said incredulously. “You are as nimble and graceful as any other lord in the room.” Aemond laughed softly, “Believe it or not, my lady, it is the first.” “But why?” you questioned, as Aemond twirled you around. Aemond looked hesitant, before answering softly, “Perhaps it was because I’ve never found the right dancing partner, until now.” You blushed, unsure of how to answer back, when Prince Jacaerys cut in, gallantly asking you for a dance, which you happily granted. What you did not notice however, was Aemond clenching his jaw as he watched you being whisked away by Lord Strong, but he shoved down the overbearing urge to punch the bastard in his face. ‘My love would be unhappy if I ruined our night,’ he kept repeating to himself, although he clenched his fists when he returned to the table and Aegon shot him a smirk, having saw everything. “Weren’t you drowning yourself in your cups, brother?” Aemond narrowed his eyes at him. “And weren’t you dancing with your bride? Oh wait,” Aegon said mockingly, “You’ve been forsaken for Jace once more.” 

Now Aegon was the one Aemond wished to punch. But he took a deep breath, not wanting to cause any conflict on such a joyous night. It wasn’t worth it to get riled up over Aegon’s japes, it never was. However, Aemond felt miserable as he watched you getting twirled around by Jace, laughing with him, instead of him. No matter, in the end, it was him that was your husband, not the Strong bastard, nor anyone else. 

You were a little out of breath, after being asked to dance by three other lords after Prince Jacaerys. Now, you were exhausted, and wished nothing more than to return to your husband’s side and converse with him, particularly about…You felt your cheeks heat up at the thought. Of your wedding night. 

Spotting your husband sitting at the head table, you began to make your way towards him, but you were stopped by a familiar figure swathed in Hightower green. “Your Grace,” your eyes widened, before you dropped to a curtsey. Queen Alicent looked down at you with a smile, “At ease, please, we are family now, after all. You should address me as Mother instead.” You straightened, looking unsure as you glanced at your husband, who had already noticed you being accosted by his mother and was looking a little concerned. “Of course, Your Gr- I mean, Mother,” you said hesitantly. Queen Alicent’s smile turned a little warmer, “You may relax, dear, I merely wanted to have a conversation with you, from mother to daughter-in-law. Would you mind having a drink with me?” 

“I would be honoured, Your Grace.” Queen Alicent swept towards her seat at the head of the table, you following obediently behind her, but not before looking to your husband for guidance, and perhaps some help. As you passed by Aemond, he squeezed your hand in a reassuring gesture, which made your nerves sooth a little. ‘I can do this’, you chanted in your head, ‘tis only the Queen after all. And we are family now, this sort of thing is inescapable.’ Queen Alicent gestured for you to take a seat, as the servants began pouring wine into your goblets. “I trust you understand what would happen after the wedding feast, yes?” You fought the urge to blush, as you answered, “Yes, Your- Mother. Septa Marlow has kindly instructed me on the matter.” The Queen nodded approvingly, “Good, then we can move on to the other matter I wish to speak of then.” You were startled, what other matter could the Queen wish to speak of with you? 

The Queen took a sip of her wine, and for the first time, you noticed a certain sort of apprehension in her expression. The Queen said your name carefully, before asking, “Are you happy with my son?” You were struck by her sudden question, but you answered truthfully, “Yes, I am. He’s chivalrous, kind, and I have no doubt he would be a loving husband. I couldn’t have found a better husband.” The Queen smiled, but there was a certain bitterness in it. “You do not know how it warms my heart to hear you say so. Among my sons, I cherish Aemond the most. Though he may be…impassioned at times, my son is a good man. And it pleases me so that he is lucky enough to have found a wonderful woman such as you as his wife. I am certain that you will both have a happy union.” You blinked, taken aback by the scale of her compliments, “Thank you, my Queen. You flatter me, truly.” Suddenly, Aemond appeared next to you, hand on your shoulder as he greeted his mother. “Mother, if I may, I must steal my wife away for the moment. It is nearly time for the bedding ceremony.” 

“Oh, yes, I nearly forgot about that.” The Queen laughs, standing up. She pecked her son on the cheek, “Well, the both of you best be off to your bedchambers then. I will await for the both of you to break fast with me on the morrow.” Aemond inclined his head and smiled tenderly at his mother, “Of course, Mother. I bid you good night.” When the Queen had walked away, Aemond gave you a sheepish smile, “Did my mother trouble you in any way?” You shook your head, though you were still reeling a little at the oddity of your conversation with the Queen. “No, my love…she only wished to express her congratulations to our union.” 

Aemond breathed a sigh of relief, the tension seeping out of his muscles. “I’m glad to hear that.” He lowered his head to whisper huskily in your ear, “Now…how scandalous do you think it would be if I swept you into my arms right now and carried you to our bedchambers to consummate our marriage?” You looked at him with a mix of amusement and mortification, trying to discern how serious he was being. “I think we would be unable to show our face in court for nigh a moon’s turn.” 

Aemond sighed mournfully, “A shame then….that I do not much care for that.” With that, he scooped you up into his arms, grinning wolfishly at your shriek of surprise and the bemused and intrigued looks the rest of the court was giving the both of you. “Please, continue to enjoy the feast, my lords and ladies. Tonight, I wish to express to my lady wife how elated I am at our union.” You heard Prince Aegon whistle at Aemond’s antics, and you buried your face in Aemond’s chest, unable to face the crowd as he carried you out the throne room. When the both of you reached your bedchambers, Aemond set you down gently, and smiled, “Was that too much?” 

“Very much so,” you admitted, feeling your face burn. Aemond found it rather adorable that you were so embarrassed. “I do not think I can face anybody in court for the next few weeks.” Aemond laughed, sweeping you into an embrace and kissing you on the forehead, “Worry not, my love. If things go as planned…I can assure you you will not be leaving our bedchambers for a moon’s turn.” 

You gaped, a little awestruck at your husband’s newfound boldness. He seemed to have transformed greatly from the shy, yet affectionate prince you had been spending your time with, into a confident, and evidently starved man, who was scanning you with such a greedy gleam in his lone violet eye that made a strange heat flare in your abdomen. His hands on your waist, he leaned in to whisper to you, “I trust you know what that entails?” You nodded slightly, not trusting yourself to speak at the moment, gazing up at his eye, which was clouded over in reverence and lust. “Good,” he whispered, “Now, would you allow your husband to unlace your bodice and help you out of your gown?” You nodded meekly. He smiled tenderly at you, turning you around and getting to work undoing your laces. You gasped when you felt your husband plant a kiss onto your exposed neck. “Are you nervous, my love?” Aemond asked sweetly, finally loosening the last laces of your dress.

“Yes…” you murmured softly, feeling anxiety begin to build in you as Aemond began to tug off your gown. “I’ve…I’ve never…” 

Aemond turned you around to face him again, your bodice hanging around your waist by now, and his breathing was growing more erratic by the second. But his expression was loving as he said, “I know, my love. I know. I don’t want you to worry, all you need to do is lay there and allow me to give you your pleasure. Is that alright?” “But I wish to please you too,” you protested softly. Aemond took your hand in his and planted a kiss to the back of it, his gaze never leaving yours. “To be able to bring you pleasure is the greatest satisfaction I could ever want for, my love. Now…” He finally undresses you, making quick work of your smallclothes. 

The first sight of your bare form has him questioning if he had truly died and went to heaven. You were the most marvellous sight he had ever laid eyes upon: your skin smooth and glowing in the firelight, your gait shy, legs pressed together to hide the growing arousal he had no doubt was pooling between your thighs. “Oh, my love…” 

“Why? Is there something wrong?” you ask worriedly. Aemond shook his head, cupping your cheeks softly. “On the contrary, nothing has felt more right.” He directed you to sit on the bed, and you watched, riveted as he began to undress himself, his eye never leaving your face. He wanted to savour every single expression that graced your features tonight. When he had stripped himself off his doublet and smallclothes, you couldn’t help but admire the sight before you. He was majestic, his frame lithe and muscled. You let out a small gasp when you saw some scars littering his abdomen, tracing your fingers over them. His affectionate gaze followed you as you did. “How did you get these?” you asked quietly, looking up at your husband again. He smiled, threading a hand through your hair, “Just some scars from training at arms, my love. I wasn’t quite as proficient with the sword when I was younger, you know.” You continued tracing over them gently, almost reverently. “Do you…think they’re ugly?” Aemond asked quietly. You shook your head fervently, which made Aemond feel relieved. “Of course not, my love! Like my father likes to say, all scars tell of a story of failure, and how you managed to overcome them.” Aemond looked bemused, “Well, your father was very wise.” Aemond gently pushed your hands away, hands moving to his belt. “But enough of this talk, I think I’m neglecting the main purpose of the night: which is to lavish upon my beautiful wife all the attention she rightfully deserves.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but you soon felt your mouth running dry as Aemond undid his belt and shucked off his pants. You had seen an illustration of a man’s…cock several times, when you had the misfortune of stumbling upon a copy of ‘A Caution for Young Girls’ and several rather raunchy books by Grand Maester Elysar. But that all seemed like child’s play compared to the man before you. “Aemond, I…” you shut your mouth for fear of blurting out something that was very indecent, although from your state of undress, decency was the furthest thing from your mind now. 

Aemond chuckled, bringing a hand to stroke your cheek gently. “Are you impressed by what you see, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Aemond asked teasingly. “Nuha jorrāelagon?” you wrinkled your forehead in a most adorable display. “It means my love in High Valyrian. I think that’s more unique than simply calling you my love in the Common Tongue. You deserve nothing but the most special things, after all. Which is why-” Your eyes widened as Aemond got onto his knees before you, grinning up at you mischievously. “I plan to make this the most memorable wedding night in history.” 

“I-” you were cut off as Aemond began lavishing kisses on your breasts and chest, fingers nimbly flicking at your sensitive nipples. “Oh, Aemond!” you cried out, as his mouth replaced his fingers, gripping tightly onto his shoulders. “Mmm, and here I thought I would never hear a sweeter sound from your lips,” Aemond hummed gently against your skin, the sensation nearly driving you crazy. “Keep them coming, ñuha jorrāelagon.” 

You gasped as you felt Aemond gently prying your legs apart, exposing your soaked cunny to him. Within a heartbeat, his fingers grazed over your cunt, making you cry out and arch your back. “My love-” You were interrupted by the sensation of Aemond inserting a finger inside of you, while his hot mouth was still sucking at your erect nipples. Your husband was a fan of interrupting you, it seems. “How does that feel, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Aemond asked in a sultry tone. “Good?” 

“Yes, so good. So, so good,” you moaned out, nails digging into Aemond’s shoulder as he added a second finger and began pumping a little faster, encouraged by how wet your cunt was becoming for him. He grinned devilishly, moving his mouth from your nipples to your neck. You let out another cry as you felt Aemond’s teeth sink into the soft flesh just above your collarbone, before immediately soothing it over with his tongue. Aemond let out a groan as he felt you becoming even wetter as he left love bites across your neck, he didn’t even know it was possible for him to get even more turned on by how aroused you were getting from the pain. His cock was growing even more painfully hard by the second, and he gritted his teeth, trying to will himself to calm down. ‘This night is about her pleasure,’ he told himself sternly, ‘You can have your pleasure later, when she is satisfied first.’ 

You let out a whine as you felt Aemond remove his fingers, but a moan soon replaced whatever complaints you had when Aemond latched his tongue onto your cunt, licking and slurping at your juices like a starved man. Digging your fingers into Aemond’s shoulder, you felt an unfamiliar sensation begin building in your stomach as Aemond’s tongue began flicking and sucking at your clit, making you squirm. Aemond kept one firm hand on your thigh, while the other wandered up to play with your breasts. “Aemond…Aemond!” you cried out as you felt your “peak” (Coryanne Wylde had described that in A Caution For Young Girls) hit you, making your orgasm gush out all over Aemond’s tongue. Aemond groaned, feeling his cock become painfully hard as he watched you climax right before him. He continued devouring your cunt, determined to make you orgasm again. The taste of you was just too sweet that he had to have you come undone on his tongue again. You moaned and cried out, writhing as you felt the sensation building up in your stomach again. Your second peak came much sooner this time, in part due to how sensitive your clit was. Aemond dutifully lapped up every last drop of your juices, sucking at your clit before withdrawing and wiping his mouth with a grin. You looked completely blissed out, if not a bit lost as to what had happened. “Are you alright, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Aemond asked softly, hands caressing your thighs. You nodded shyly, and Aemond smirked. “Good.” 

You yelped as Aemond pushed you onto the bed, your back hitting the sheets with a soft thump. The cool silk sheets were a welcome contrast to your burning skin, as Aemond grabbed your legs and hooked them around his waist. He leaned down to capture your lips with his, his kiss nothing like the chaste ones you had shared before. This kiss was messy, filled with lustful need, as he eagerly delved into your mouth with his tongue, fighting the urge to smirk when he heard you moan helplessly into his mouth at the pleasure. And it was about to get better for you, and for him as well. 

You were breathing heavily as Aemond finally broke your intense kiss, looking up at your husband like he was a god. You noticed a hungry gleam in his eye as he leaned in to whisper, “This might hurt a bit, ñuha jorrāelagon. But I swear, the pleasure will overtake the pain soon enough. Do you trust me?” 

You gulped, but you tried to put on a brave face as you replied,  “I trust you, my love..” Aemond bent down to kiss you sweetly. “Thank you, ñuha jorrāelagon. Just hold on to me, alright?” 

Your brows furrowed, but you squeezed your eyes shut in pain at the next moment, when you felt your husband’s cock slip between your folds and inside you. You cried out, the discomfort jarring you as he gradually sunk into you, letting you get used to his huge size. Aemond stroked your cheek softly, kissing away the tears that had formed at your eyes. “It’s alright, ñuha jorrāelagon. It will get better, I promise.” And he was right, you felt the pain ebb away slowly, replaced by a yearning for Aemond to move inside of you. “Aemond,” you whispered, “Husband. Could you move, please?” 

Aemond smiled tenderly at you. “With pleasure, ābrazȳrys.” He slowly rolled his hips, and you felt your eyes flutter shut with pleasure. “Oh…feels so good, my love.” Aemond chuckled softly, moving in and out of you in a leisurely pace, enjoying the sight before him. “I’m glad to hear that, ñuha jorrāelagon. I’m going to pick up the pace now, is that alright?” You nodded, desperate to relieve the ache you felt. Aemond kissed you on the nose, before speeding up, causing your eyes to roll back. “Seven hells,” Aemond swore, panting a little, “You’re so tight for me. So perfect.” You moaned at his words, feeling a hot wave of shame, but also arousal wash over you. His words were so filthy…but you wanted to hear more of it. Aemond moved even faster, his own pleasure overtaking whatever rational thought he had about taking it slow. You whimpered when you felt him hit a spongy spot, tightening your grip on his shoulder at how deep he was going. 

“I love you so much, you know,” Aemond panted out, his silver hair now in disarray and his forehead beaded with sweat as he thrusted inside you. “More than anything in the world. I never thought it was possible for me to love someone to this extent, but you…with you, everything feels possible. I would move mountains for you, ñuha jorrāelagon.” You bit your lip, touched by his words. Moving your hand to the strap of his eyepatch, you murmured, “May I?” Aemond swallowed, feeling reluctant for you to see his actual face, to see the ugly scar that tormented him constantly. But you seemed so genuine, so earnest, that he could only nod stiffly. You pulled it off, setting the eyepatch aside, and ran your finger gently on his scar. You beheld the sight of his sapphire eye without much fear, or disgust, both reactions that Aemond had been fearing, and he let out a sigh of relief, leaning down to kiss you again, before trailing his lips onto your neck and collarbone. 

“You are truly wondrous, ñuha jorrāelagon, do you know that? You make me want to learn every little thing about you…all your likes, your dislikes, what makes you beam and what makes you tick…I just want to never stop learning about you.” Aemond whispered against your skin. “No other books in the world, both known and unknown, could measure up to the enchanting goddess that is you, ñuha jorrāelagon. I love you, so much.” 

You moaned softly, moving to tug at Aemond’s hair as he left more love bites on your neck. “I love you too, Aemond. From now, till the end of our days. You are the sun in my universe. No, more than that. You are my moon, my light, my reason to keep breathing. You are everything to me.” 

Aemond groaned softly, feeling his own release getting closer as he listened to your declaration of love. He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, “Thank you, ñuha jorrāelagon. Thank you for not turning away from me. For loving me. For not seeing me as lesser than.” You tilted your head upwards to give him a tender smooch on the lips. “You never need to thank me for loving you, Aemond. You are deserving of it. And I promise to show you all the love that you deserve throughout our marriage.” And that was the final straw for Aemond. With a throaty moan, he spilled inside of you, feeling your walls clench around him as he did. You followed shortly after, reaching your third climax of the night as you arched your back in pleasure. Aemond continued thrusting inside you, letting you ride out your peak, as he kissed you fervently. You tangled your hands in his hair, moaning into his mouth. After a while, Aemond finally ceased moving in you, pulling out of you. He broke your kiss and pecked you on the forehead, “Wait here, ñuha jorrāelagon.” You watched, confused, as Aemond disappeared, returning with a wet cloth. He sat next to you, cleaning up the mess of fluids on your thighs, where you noticed a small spot of blood on the sheets. ‘My maidenhood,’ you thought, chewing on your bottom lip. ‘It seems I am well and truly a woman now.’ You watched with wide eyes as Aemond kissed up your thighs softly, before pushing his fingers inside your cunny again, causing you to gasp out. “It’s to make sure my seed isn’t wasted, ñuha jorrāelagon,” Aemond explained, stroking your skin softly. “I hope that it’ll get you with child a little sooner.” 

You felt your cheeks flush as he planted a final kiss over your cunt, smirking as he murmured, “I would like nothing more than to see your belly swell with my child, ñuha jorrāelagon. I am sure that you would be a wonderful mother.” 

He then disposed of the cloth, settling next to you on the bed comfortably and taking you into his embrace. “Did I hurt you anywhere, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Aemond asked you with a concerned look on his face. You smiled reassuringly, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’m alright. You didn’t hurt me anywhere.” “I’m glad,” he smiled, before his expression turned coy. “And was everything to your satisfaction, ñuha jorrāelagon?” You laughed, “It was everything the romance novels promised.” That answer pleased him, and he swept you into another kiss, his thumb swiping across your cheekbones. 

‘And so, Prince Aemond of House Targaryen took Lady Y/N of House Y/H/N to bride in 126 AC, and all who witnessed their nuptials agreed that the match was well made, indeed. Prince Aemond and Lady Y/N’s union would prove to be both happy and fruitful, bringing forth five children: three sons and two daughters.’ 

-from the chronicles of Fire and Blood, on the reign of Viserys the Peaceful, written by Archmaester Gyldayn.

translations: ābrazȳrys - wife, ñuha jorrāelagon - my love 

Aemond General Taglist: @aiyaiy @sylas-the-grim​ 

if you wish to be added to the taglist for all my aemond-related works, you can tell me in the comments or through this form :) 

A/N: And that’s part 2! I hope the people who requested for one are happy with this haha 💗 I’m also thinking if I should turn this into a domestic fluff Aemond series lol, what do you guys think? If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading! If you liked this one shot, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated xxx

[icarustypicalfall]

Commander's last love

masterlist • ao3 • fic masterlist • part 4

summary: Training till draining, where tears spill and pride kills. He just wants peace.

Warnings: bad self image, self sabotage, scars, sparring, wounds.

note: i hate u tumblr for deleting the first one >:(. also if y'all want to be added to the tag list tell me :3

tags: @unicorngirly1

**

"Dis moi, est-ce-que tu m'aime? Je suis emprisonné de tes yeux, de ta douce voix. Dis moi la vérité."

Mission [A2626]

Location: [CLASSIFIED]

Time: 15:20:34 - 24/10/2022

What on earth could have prompted Shadow's esteemed company and revered member of the military to rise at such ungodly hours and become the sidekick to two young people?

Well...

After yesterday's meeting (Phillip might start following them from bed) he was certain of two things: the mission was progressing smoothly despite numerous obstacles, and he had a strong urge to push that Sky Diver out of the helicopter at the earliest opportunity. He might even consider pulling off the Gaz move in this unit.

As he sat beside you and Sky on the way back to the base (a logistical oversight), all he wanted was to return home and rest. However, you and Sky seemed to be engaged in playful banter and meaningless arguments out of nowhere. Pardon Phillip's manners, but he couldn't find his blanket and had only managed to sleep for less than five hours. He was on the verge of losing his temper with Martin.

Phillip groaned as the unusual noise grew louder. He snapped, "Is there anything the two of you are better at than opening your mouths?" It wasn't like him to be snarky or mean, as he usually preferred playful taunting. But in that moment, he couldn't deny that he felt... jealous?

Yes, absolutely.

He was also sleep-deprived and in need of a hug. Apart from that, he was perfectly fine.

He had been here for over two weeks, yet he felt as if there was now more distance between you and him than there was between his own shadows and logic.

You stared at him, your brows furrowing over your usual mask.

He wished you would feel safe around him, or at least trust him enough to reveal the hidden beauty that you chose to veil from him. You often let your guard down around your colonel and her husband, as well as some of the other soldiers. Even Sky got to see you. Why couldn't Phil?

It was like a precious pearl locked away in a chest, afraid of thieves. But he wasn't a thief; he would never dare to steal you away from your life, from where you truly belonged. The only thing he wanted to steal was your heart, but apparently, that was as difficult as cupping the surface of the moon and sealing it with a kiss.

Nevertheless, he was determined. He wouldn't give up, even if it meant getting hurt along the way. Even if it meant facing the failure of his broken heart shattering. He didn't want to creep you out; he just wanted to understand the reason for your disdain.

You interrupted, squinting your eyes with what he assumed was a smirk, "Yes, Commander, we train to ensure our joints don't start cracking at 30."

Oh, wrong move.

He glared at you, crossing his arms as he spoke with an air of confidence, as if your remark hadn't affected him at all. "No, doll, I certainly train as well. But what I've seen from the two of you is pathetic. I highly doubt you would have passed boot camp."

Push, prod, bait... anything to leave a lasting mark. A constant reminder of your rejection.

Sky chimed in, his carefree spirit making Phillip want to throw himself off the moving van. "What if you give us proper training, Commander?"

Phillip, providing you and Sky with training? Making you sweat and curse at him? Supporting you as you struggled through your reps? Sparring with you?

His prayers had finally been answered. He tried to hide the grin spreading across his face with his usual proud smirk. "You won't last a single minute."

You laughed, and his heart fluttered. Phillip wasn't exactly old; he was in his thirties, but he still possessed the spirit of a young man. You made him rejoice in those moments of familiarity.

Since childhood, Phillip had always been left out, hated, and bullied. Even his own family favored his sibling, leaving him to live in their shadow. He had thought that joining the army and fulfilling his father's wishes would earn him a modicum of respect. But he was wrong.

That's why he had severed ties with his family, only visiting on rare occasions. He would watch as his brother basked in the limelight. His brother, a renowned lawyer with a beautiful wife and a young son. Phillip grew distant after his mother's death, burying with her the last remnants of affection.

Phillip looked at Sky and felt a pang in his heart. The young man had everything: success, friends, money... and you. The way you shared laughter and giggles made him envious of that connection.

He longed for love, acceptance, friendship, anything. But he had never been good at being vulnerable. All he could do was watch and pray for a miracle to happen. Maybe one day, or perhaps never.

This was the bitter reality that Phillip had to swallow since the day he came into this world.

Later on, the three of you convened in the training facility, finding it empty. It was evident that Phillip had discreetly dismissed the three rookies who were miserably failing at their sparing session. He stood alone, anxiously waiting as the clock's ticking intensified his nerves. To drown out the demons of his loneliness, he turned up his headphones. The reminders of his solitude were silenced.

Having arrived, you entered the room dressed entirely in black. A nod of acknowledgement was exchanged between you and Phillip before you began your warm-up routine. Shortly after, Sky joined the group, offering a brief excuse for his delay. Phillip's gaze lingered on you for a moment, admiring your strength and the flawless execution of your moves, which he doubted he could ever replicate. Caught staring, he coughed nervously before uttering, "Well, sweetheart, care to show me what you're capable of?"

Your laughter filled the room, a soft giggle that felt like the first rays of sunlight in winter. Approaching Phillip, you positioned yourself in the sparing section. He followed shortly while Sky cheered from the sidelines.

Phillip was about to make a snarky remark, but before he could, your fist swiftly found its mark on his chest with a forceful punch that stole his breath away.

Coughing, he grabbed hold of your arm and threw you onto your back. Pinning you down with his knee on your stomach, he lifted your chin, locking eyes with you. "Told ya, sweetheart. No chance," he declared.

Your laughter only caused his heart to ache once again. The grip of your bare fingertips on his bicep burned, torturing his soul.

"No, Commander, she was going easy on you," Sky interjected, causing Phillip to frown.

Easy on him? Was he this old?

Releasing his hold on you, he stood up, attempting to conceal the pain etched on his face as he took a sip of water. Finding a spot to rest, he watched as Sky and other soldiers showcased their impressive moves shirtless. A sigh escaped his lips as he cursed his aging body and the unsightly scars that adorned it. He leaned back, contemplating removing his shirt but ultimately opted to clutch his water bottle tightly till his knuckles turned white.

After the intense training session, you found yourself drenched in sweat, ravenous, and above all, exhausted.

Deciding it was time for a quick bath followed by a well-deserved nap, your eyes roamed the room, landing on Commander Graves who was venting his frustration by pummeling a boxing bag.

To your surprise, your prejudices faded away as you observed him. The man wasn't half bad, and you could even acknowledge some of his positive attributes. However, whenever you caught a glimpse of him, memories of a past life, someone you despised with every fiber of your being, resurfaced.

Driven by curiosity, you approached him, addressing him gently by his rank. "Commander?"

He stared at you in shock, perplexed as to why you were there and not with the rest of the group. Letting out a sigh, he forced a smile and replied.

“Yes, sweetheart? Anything else you want from this old man?”

In that moment, something within you shifted, causing you to abandon your animosity towards him. Without hesitation, you found yourself standing before him, gently holding his bruised hand and carefully bandaging it. He looked at you, feeling defeated yet momentarily at peace. Your cold hands cradled his, softly tending to his wounds as you reassured him, "No need to be upset, Commander. Everyone admires your abilities." Vulnerable to the core, he gazed at you, his guard lowered.

Before turning away and heading towards your room, you whispered, "Oh, and Phill, comparison is the thief of joy."

Phil?

If anything, this encounter healed every doubt he had. He couldn't believe that his name had left your lips. As he watched you walk away, he pondered what had just transpired.

Later that night, as Phillip prepared for bed, a smile adorned his face. However, his happiness quickly dissipated when he received a call from General Shepard. The weight of despair settled upon him as he listened in silence, absorbing the General's words.

No.

Not again.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Sodor in the age of scoial media

Sodor in the age of social Media

2. Henry

Henry was perhaps the slowest of the famous eight to adapt to the internet. Henry prefers to spend his free time in quiet nature, and the internet had little appeal to him. He would occasionally post inline about some mishap that befell his shedmates, but was largely inactive till the early 2000s.

In 2005 Cyclone Gudrun flooded the North Western coast, which was home to a large part of the Island's population of the endangered Welsh Pine Martin. He worried endlessly for several days. It came to a head one night when Gordon finally snapped. The express engine was sympathetic, but days of evacuation and emergency supply trains had left the mighty pacific sleep deprived and irritable. He had been looking forward to his well deserved sleep, and Henry's rambling was keeping him awake.

"Henry my dear engine, the poor Pine Martians.."

"Pine Martins"

"...Indeed. The poor Pine Martins have my deepest sympathies, but I am desperately in need of sleep, and since it has escaped your notice, all of us here are engines, with little ability to help the creatures even if we had the time."

Henry's face fell, leaving Gordon feeling as if he had kicked an 80 ton puppy.

The No.4 sighed, and turned his attention to the problem, "what is it they need?"

"Pardon?"

Gordon eyed the 4-6-0 grumpily, "What is needed to save the creatures, as I am quite certain you will not be able to rest until something is done. The last thing needed right now is for you to have an accident because you went without sleep."

"One would think you hadn't been listening to him at all these last few days." James snarked from Gordon's opposite side.

"Listening and understanding are not the same thing Little James. I understand the Martins homes are flooded, and they are already quite rare, but I do not know what can or should be done to remedy their plight."

Henry considered his pseudo cousin. "We need volunteers mainly, to search for Martins displaced by the storm, and the funds to care for them until they can be returned to the forest once the flood waters. recede." He paused thoughtfully , "The main problem is people don't know. All the focus is in the displaced people. Which that is just as important but..."

"Post it." Gordon interupted.

"What?" James asked.

Gordon sighed, "Post the situation online. When a engine in the mainland needs funds for overhaul, they often ask for Thomas to make a post online to raise awareness. I do not see why you could not do the same for the Pine Martins. We will all share the post as well so more people will see it."

Several engines stared at the Pacific, but Henry slowly started to smile, "Really? You would do that."

Gordon hrmped, "I can spare a few moments to help the critters so we can all finally sleep. When I see little Thomas tomorrow I will ask him to share it as well."

It should come as no surprise that having Thomas the Tank Engine ask for help saving cute little creatures with wide pleading ideas was just as effective as a full broadside from HMS Hood. Volunteers and funds poured in, and a foundation was quickly established to help look after the Islands population of Pine Martins, but this gave Henry an Idea.

Henry began to chronicle his encounters with Sodor wildlife, his crew helpfully taking videos, which he would post as he read descriptions of the animals. This quickly gained traction (and followers.) Children loved listening to one of the Famous Eight talking about new animals.

In 2007, the newly prosperous Sodor Conservation Society officially partnered with Henry, and began an online docuseries about the endangered animals of Sodor. The Series, aptly named Preservation and Conservation, would become a run away success. Series Three saw the series leave Sodor (although their steam powered narrator remained on the island), with Series four and beyond playing on the BBC in Britain, and Series Five and beyond playing on PBS in the United States. Preservation and Conservation is now on its sixteenth series, with series 18 greenlit.

Henry is now the Mascot and board director of the SCS, and a well respected figure in ecological conservation. From 2008 onwards he has carried the society's emblem on the side of his cab.

If you find his pages online these days, Henry can be found documenting the animals and plants he sees on his daily runs, and. Occasionally documeting the hijinx of his fleetmates as well (most notably the time James got sprayed by a skunk during the filming of series 7) While more Niche than many of the other online engines in the North Western fleets, Henry would argue his online presence is one of the most important.

[rreskk]

hai girly :3 trevor and reader pregnancy kink during fun times but don’t get the reader knocked up thx

All done booby. ENJOY (sorry if it's all over the place, I'm hyper on caffeine and sleep deprived)

Summary: Trevor returned after hiding with Michael. There was only one way to greet each other.

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

Word count: 1438

Trevor’s eyes dilated once you were in close proximity to him. It’s been too long, too long. He had to hide out with Michael after the Martin Madrazo incident, and boy did he HATE long distant phone calls. Every time you both tried to sext, Michael would be in the background demanding Trevor to get “a room”, or the distorted line of his crappy phone disclosed your attempts of mutual masturbation. But… Now you were here. In front of him.

Finally.

Words couldn’t describe how fast he reached for your shirt, draping you into his forbidden scent of alcohol and gasoline. It would make any person wretch, but you? It felt like a warm embrace. Although he was so unironically filthy, he was your piece of filth. Trevor’s nose dug in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily in response to his overwhelming sensation of neediness and desperation. After weeks of being separated and detached, Trevor had made many promises from over the phone. Trevor promised to make his absence all worthwhile the second he’d rejoin you back in Los Santos. You could tell he was struggling to decide which promise to act upon. His body was shaking with anticipation and energy. There was no need of vocal communication as when he finally stepped foot in your apartment, his lips were directly greeted with yours.

You both stumbled through the hallway, afraid to part and lose contact of each other. Trevor’s hands were tightly bruising your jaw and neck, kissing you with all his unresolved tension. The roughness made it hard for you to find your way to the bedroom. Every time his nails dug an inch deeper in your skin, you’d squirm in delight; savouring his discourse and urging to feel him more.

The bedroom door slammed open after Trevor attempted many times to turn the handle. Within an instant, he lifted you by the thighs and marched towards the bed, still smothering your face with his selfish lips. You were relieved to feel the bed underneath you while the man threw off his shirt before pressing his hips against yours again, forcing you to stay down onto the mattress. His hungry groans would soon turn into desperate whimpers and short whines. Trevor was so engrossed in your touch that he was losing all sense of reality.

“I missed you,” He’d repeat throughout the intense kisses, his long fingers outlining your figure and occasionally groping your inner thighs and ass into lessening the space between you both. Trevor felt your hands adventure his back; teasing his skin, caressing his muscles, scratching with meaning. He felt your tips trickle across his spine as he carried on abusing your lips and neck. The promise, the promise. You wonder which one he’s thinking of.

Eternity ended short-notedly. Trevor groaned in disbelief when you pulled away from the passionate kisses. He intended to dive into your neck again. His eyes, gleaming at your contempt that disregarded anymore of his affections, fixated on you stripping. Trevor was so focussed on your lips that he hadn’t of noticed your shirt that was now loosely wrapped around your neck. He grinned, helping you lift it around your head, throwing it across the room as he admired your divine body. He fucking missed this. He missed painfully pleasuring every inch of your skin. Like Hell, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He sat on your lap, smirking from ear to ear at the heavenly sculpture of your curves and breasts. He knew exactly what promise he wanted to prove now.

Risky? Sure… But Trevor was all about the risk. He loves playing with fire. There was no second-thoughts. The man leaned against your ear, his breath hitching; “I want to see you so bloated baby, so bloated with my fuckin’ cum.”

You shivered directly after he spoke. You wanted him to continuous speak such unlawful, dirty fantasies as he fucks you hard. Trevor watched you intensively imagine what the next hour would look like, and it made him joyful beyond belief. He licked and nibbled your earlobe, slowly pulling down his trousers and underwear in one go. Countless times you’ve seen his size but never before have you seen him so disturbed and thirsty. His dick practically twitched and throbbed in his hand, extended in an ungodly length. Trevor, while not being the average size, suddenly looked down with a huge grin. He was proud, all prepared, extremely excited.

“Trevor…” You whispered, feeling him lift your legs and basing them around his bruised, and tattooed neck. The legs over shoulders missionary wasn’t your usual position, but for a special occasion like this, it was both your first times. “Oh Fuck,” You felt Trevor already grinding his raw erection against your clothed sex. Counting down to three, he ripped your panties off without caution. The impact left friction burns on your warm skin.

“Fuck, fuck… Fuckin’ beautiful!” Protested Trevor as he began lining himself up. One of his hands kept your legs steady, and the other one helplessly grabbed onto your neck and collarbone. He rocked in his hips and…

“OH!-“ He slammed himself inside you relentlessly. That gasp from your pretty little mouth made Trevor squeal in pleasure. He started off slow, his hand falling from your neck to your tits, gripping and toying while his pace remained safe… For now.

Trevor bit into his bottom lip, eyes ruthlessly scanning your body as he began increasing the pace. He wanted to fill you up, so badly, he was eager; words couldn’t describe, every motion began tipping forward, he was growing desperate, your soft moans… The way your breasts shook at his thrusts… Fuck, he needed all of you. Trevor grunted, “Fuck-“ And kept your legs around his shoulders while he desperately abused your sex, “I’m gonna treat you well, sugar. Fuck… FUCK!” He was unable to speak but he still tried; “P-Please… Fuck me, ohhh… I’m gonna FILL you up, baby, FUCK!”

“Trevor!” You begged, “Oh my god!”

His aggressive nature couldn’t be compared. In all your experience, Trevor (despite his informality and… Unusual approach to romance) had the talents of making you so wet and horny. The sight of him thrusting in and out, his teeth nailing into his bottom lip; his thin hair slowly dampening with sweat, his chest inflating and deflating as his breaths were rapid and complex. You maintained eye contact, your mouth open ajar to let your moans escape effortlessly.  

“[y/n]-“

It grew severely captivating now.

“Fuck… Taking my cock so well, GOD!-“ Trevor whimpered, “I MISSED YOU! BABY-“ His hips slammed into yours again; “I’m gonna fill you UP!”

The neighbours could possibly hear this.

“THE FUCK UP! OH… Yeahhhh…” And he wasn’t going to stop his obnoxious dirty talk. You grinned, you didn’t want him to stop anyway.

Feeling his hand rush back to your neck, one more thrust (you predicted), one more thrust and you were gonna lose it. Your eyes teared up at the sensation. Your stomach had butterflies that was pressuring you to reach your climax sooner…

“Mghn.” Trevor grunted, fucking your pussy once again with a good push.

“OH, TREVOR! FUCK!” He snapped his head up and watched you exhale as cum began coating his flaming cock. He grumbled with a smirk, “Ohhh… You fuckin’ Angel. You wait until I cum in you, sugar. You’re all mine.”

Returning to his honourable duties, Trevor only pulled your legs right up and around his shoulders. You clenched your thighs together, cutting off his circulation; making the man grow red in the face as veins appeared upon his forehead. Trevor grinded his teeth in concentration, rapidly fucking you throughout your orgasm until he could throw his head back and unload his fluids within the warmth of your body. He made sure he was DEEP inside, gasping for air- gasping through the suffocation of your thighs.

“[Y/N], OHH… FUCK, FUCK!”

Trevor’s body shook in ecstasy and his dick slowly descended from your sex. His cum drooled from your body as he rubbed off the remainder of his boner, whining.

You felt so warm now. You were melting in the sheets, thankful that you had both fought against the tension of being apart for so long. Trevor caressed your knees and slowly leaned forward, planting soft kisses on your chest and neck. His body fell lifelessly onto yours, turning you into a human pillow as he carried on mumbling his loyalty and devotion into your ear.

“Mmm… Love you.” His weak voice rumbled from beside your head.

You smiled. It was nice to have him back home.

[drjohannn]

Name: Marusya Weapon name: Doll EGO: Grey Stone Details: Unknown Disease, Weakness Age: 14 Height: 132 cm Marital Status: Single Biography: Marusya was born in the Backstreets. From an early age, she and her family had to hide from the Sweepers and others who might need their organs. So their family ended up in a back room of some ruins, where other people who were not well off and wanted to survive gathered. For a long time she lived locked up among sick and starving people, and her only entertainment was trips to the nearby cemetery with a boy named Valek. After a while the girl realises that her parents are disappearing somewhere, but she does not dare to leave. She also begins to be tormented by weakness, coughing and drowsiness. To help her at least a little, she and Valek are taken under the care of the "head" of this "settlement" - Tyburtsy. He replaces the children's father and tries to give them everything he can. Once in their "dungeon" comes a boy Vasya, who becomes a friend to Valek and Marusya and often brings them something from home. However, far from the ruins Tyburtsy does not let them go. The girl is getting worse, her cough becomes frequent and is often accompanied by blood. To somehow brighten her days, Vasya brings the last of his gifts - a doll for Marusya. In the "dungeon" there are more and more sick people, so the boy does not return. The next days the girl does not get out of bed at all and is deprived of her last strength, but, apparently, thanks to Vasya the ruins were discovered by an unknown organisation, so the girl together with her foster family and the remaining survivors were taken to the hospital. Character: Marusya is a strange girl compared to other children. She doesn't like children's games at all, is sad most of the time and very rarely laughs. Even in everyday situations, she is quiet and inconspicuous, causing the rest of the team to often make attempts to cheer her up. It has also been noted by many that her psychological age is much less than the age of her body. Nevertheless, she becomes a sort of mascot and little helper for them. Because of her weakness, there is another person under the same number with her, Martin Eden, who she begins to trust the very first person she meets, which did provide the impetus for her "revitalisation". Facts: -Marusya was not wanted on the team, but Sir Voland insisted on the decision for her own good. -Marusia rarely participates in fights, but is still part of the support due to her equally powerful EGO compared to the others. -All of her Identities are paired with someone on the team. -She eventually gives a different family "status" for everyone and names them, putting "Dad", "Mom", "Uncle", "Aunt", "Brother", "Sis" in front. -Because of her illness and nightmarish dreams, she sleeps poorly, often escaping to the rooms of other sinners, as she sleeps less uneasily with them. -Source: Vladimir Galaktionovich Korolenko - "Children of the Underground"

[karmas-chameleon]

Chapter 12!

I fell asleep in bliss, slowly succumbing to drowsiness next to the man I loved.

I woke up, still drowsy, laying next to a snoring man in the middle of the night. It wasn't uncommon for me to wake twice when I slept, once in the morning and once hours before. But I was usually in my own bed, in a room that was completely silent - or, weeks before, in a room that only let in the muffled sounds of the city. I wasn't used to hearing snoring right next to me, and somehow that was infinitely worse for my continued rest than the occasional car alarm.

I tossed, I turned, I held my pillow over my ears. I considered waking Manfred, or going back to my room to search for earplugs. I did neither of those, instead remaining on my side of the bed, rolling around endlessly and feeling the minutes turn into hours. Eventually, at some point, I must've fallen unconscious.

When I woke a second time, it was to Manfred opening the door. He was coming in, not leaving. Coming back in. At some point, he'd left the bed, and the room, and not woken me. That was all I managed to process with my exhausted, sleep deprived mind.

I groaned as a greeting.

“Good morning, Miss Martin. I…assume your sleep wasn't quite as restful as mine?”

I let out another groan.

“Perhaps a bit of tea with your breakfast will help. And you should get up soon regardless. Staying in bed until noon certainly won't help your next night’s sleep.”

“Mmrph…m'kay,” I grumbled, and slowly rolled my way out of bed.

I followed a fully dressed and well put together Manfred down the hall in my pajamas, knowing my hair likely looked like a bird tried nesting in it. It hardly mattered to me, as I'd eaten breakfast in the manor in that state before. And perhaps, I supposed, it would let Franziska see that Manfred was in no way dating me just for my looks.

Thinking of her, and the inevitably awkward meal I knew we'd have if she was downstairs, made me begin to worry. But Manfred was prepared, as though he'd read my mind.

“I spoke to Franziska earlier this morning. I managed to argue for custody of your bedroom to be returned to you, in case you'd like to sleep there again. And she should be more willing to speak with you today. I've not persuaded her into friendship, exactly, it's more like a second chance for a first impression. Make the most of it.”

As we headed to the dining room, I wondered exactly what kind of impression I'd make looking and feeling as tired as I was. If I managed to speak one complete sentence, I would've been lucky.

I dragged my feet toward the table, where three plates of pancakes sat along with Franziska. My usual seat - or her usual seat, perhaps - was taken, so I headed to the opposite end of the table once more.

“G’morning,” I said, my words slightly slurred despite my best efforts.

“Guten Morgen.” She smiled at me, though I was too drowsy to tell if it was meant to be welcoming or a sneer at my expense. “I didn't realize taking your bed would have such an adverse effect on your sleep.”

“Nah, ‘s not the bed.” I picked up my fork and used it to point at the one sitting between us. “He snores.”

I'd hardly comprehended my own words before I heard a giggle from Franziska and an indignant protest from Manfred.

His face was already slightly red. “I- I don't- you could've woken me up, Miss Martin. I wouldn't have been upset at you for trying to get a good night's sleep.”

“Papa, how could you?” Franziska said with affected horror. “Disturbing a lady's sleep like that, how rude.”

I watched as she wagged a finger at her own father, and began to giggle myself. Manfred looked back and forth between us, beset on both sides by laughter. But he smiled back.

“At least you two can agree on something. I didn't exactly intend for that ‘something’ to be making a mockery of me, but…it's a start.”

I began eating my breakfast with a smile, enjoying the pancakes with some milk and my usual morning tea. It was an unusual meal, for the manor. Some kind of meat, eggs, fruit, and rolls were what I'd come to expect for the start of the day. Pancakes alone didn't fit that mold - a special request from Franziska, perhaps. As I tasted just how delicious they were, I made a note to ask for more another day.

“I’ve looked over your room, by the way,” Franziska said. “Everything seems to be in order. You're free to use it.”

I glanced up at her, and nodded. Knowing the von Karmas, that was as close to an apology as I'd ever get. But it did raise a question for me.

“You looked through my stuff?”

“I wasn't rifling through your possessions, if that's what you're implying.” Her expression hardened back to its former self for just a moment, and I feared I'd just ruined my good impression. “I was merely looking around, at your posters, and those plushies on your bed.”

She looked away from me, and from Manfred, even as she continued to speak. “I saw you own some nice pony plushies. They're cute.”

“O-oh. Yeah, thanks, I got those a few years ago.”

Her gaze turned back to me in an instant, fixing me with an intense stare. “Have you ever ridden a real horse before?”

“Huh? Um…maybe once, when I was a little kid.”

“Would you like to? Today?”

I certainly hadn't been awake and alert when I entered the dining room for breakfast, but I was after she suggested that. I blinked at her, then glanced at Manfred, who was looking proudly at his daughter. I realized then that this was her apology - an offer to make up by sharing her knowledge and experience, not in law but in her hobbies.

I smiled, and nodded. “Sure, I can try.”

“Good. You can meet me outside when you've gotten dressed. I'll have everything ready.”

With that, she got up from the table, leaving an empty plate behind her as she walked out of the room. I looked back down at my own plate, finishing up the rest of my pancakes and tea before standing. I hesitated then, glancing at Manfred for some kind of reassurance.

“Take your time getting ready. And try not to worry, Miss Martin. Franziska seems to like you more already.” He gave me a warm smile, which I tried to return.

As I walked back to my old bedroom for a change of clothes and my usual morning routine, I was optimistic. I'd managed to make a good impression, at least according to Manfred. I could certainly see a difference between the Franziska of this morning and the evening prior, but it didn't seem that I was anywhere near the level of ‘friend’. Perhaps I could get closer by learning more about her hobbies.

I left my room with a light T-shirt, long pants, and my hair tied up in a ponytail. I hoped my old running shoes would be good enough for horse riding; if they weren't, I'd have to borrow something.

I returned to the first floor to find Manfred waiting for me, and together we exited the manor to circle around back where I'd never explored before. There was a wide open space lined with trees, and another building that had been hidden from my sight - a stable, presumably. Standing just in front of the stable was a horse with a familiar rider.

I hadn't gotten to see many horses in my life, not really. There was the occasional group of them by the roadside in Texas, certainly; one could hardly drive an hour in the state without spotting some variety of livestock. But those were far away, and gone in a blink. This one wasn't flashing past my eyes at seventy-five miles per hour. It stood before me, still, majestic, with a dappled gray coat and black mane. And its rider was just as elegant, her hair covered by a riding helmet and her heels exchanged for rugged yet stylish boots. Her whip had made its return, attached to her hip, and it somehow managed to look even more intimidating.

The horse walked toward me as soon as Franziska spotted me, and I had to fight the urge to back away as the frightening figure sitting atop a large, unfamiliar creature began to loom over me. I wondered briefly if horses could smell fear like dogs. The last thing I needed was another animal that terrified me and knew it.

“Meet Frauke,” Franziska said with a smile. 

“Uh…h-hi?” I smiled nervously and raised up my hand in a weak attempt at a wave.

Manfred took my awkwardly waving arm, and guided it slowly toward the horse. “Reach out your hand, like this. Let her smell you.”

I held my hand up for the horse, managing to keep it from trembling too much more than usual. Frauke turned her large head toward it and sniffed. After a couple puffs of warm air, she bumped my hand with her nose and raised her head, regarding me calmly.

“Um, does that mean she likes me?” I asked, wiping my hand on my pants more out of habit than anything on it.

“Enough to let you ride her, for a short while.” Franziska swung a leg around and dismounted in one swift motion. “You should be thankful. Frauke is much more willing to suffer fools than her rider.”

“Th-thanks, erm…Frauke.”

“But you'll need to be properly equipped first.” She turned on her heel and walked toward the stable. “Come along.”

I was unsure if she was talking to me or the horse, but both of us followed, with Manfred in tow. Just outside the stable, I saw everything laid out for me on a small set of steps. It was fortunate, as the smell of the nearby building was detectable even from there. I had to assume it wasn't bad by horse stable standards, given the level of cleanliness the rest of the estate was held to, but it was still a bit too much for me.

Franziska stopped by the equipment and handed me a helmet similar to her own, if a bit more worn. “Try this on. We're nearly the same height, it should fit well enough.”

I did as she told me, and found it only slightly tight. It seemed the rest of her old things fit similarly, with her boots barely allowing my feet in, and her gloves so tight I couldn't even try to wear them. But riding gloves were more of a suggestion than a necessity, it seemed, as we proceeded without them.

“You're prepared now,” Franziska said. “Physically, at least. But the best equipment in the world won't make a foolish rider less of a fool. Just follow my instructions, and try to stay calm.”

“R-right.” I nodded to her, somewhat embarrassed that my anxiety was so obvious. It didn't matter if the horse could smell fear or not, if I was shaking like a leaf the whole time. 

I double-checked my helmet, and my boots, and everything in between. Nothing felt off, aside from a somewhat uncomfortable tightness to the borrowed equipment. But when I looked back to Franziska, I realized something was missing.

“So…do I need a whip too?”

I felt immediate regret as her icy expression returned. “A whip? Why would you require a whip, fool?”

“For, um- for the horse? Isn't that why you've got one?”

She looked appalled, and reached down to grab it. “This is for punishing those whose foolish actions have earned it. And that is a realm occupied exclusively by humans.”

I mumbled an apology and thankfully Manfred came to my side as I stared at the ground.

“Miss Martin isn't used to being around horses, but I don't believe for a second that she'd hurt one. Especially not dear Frauke. Give her a chance for a short ride, and I'm sure she'll show you there's nothing to fear.”

“I'm not afraid, Papa. Certainly not of her.” When I looked back up, Franziska was looking at me with an expression that looked halfway between a glare and a pout. “If you're fond of her, I'm certain she's not some sort of criminal who enjoys random violence. But I'm starting to believe she's simply too…incapable to ride Frauke.”

I frowned, but didn't protest the point. I had no particular desire to get on the back of a beast large enough to crush my skull with a well placed kick. The only reason I'd agreed was to bond with Franziska, and it was becoming clear by then that such a thing was out of the question.

But Manfred wasn't as willing to let the subject drop.

“If you could ride her at five years old, I don't think it's out of the question to give someone else a try.”

“That’s not a fitting comparison, is it?” Franziska crossed her arms. “My age didn't make me any less capable. There are plenty of things I could have done better than this woman at five years old. At that age, I already knew the legal system of two countries better than most adults.”

“Franziska.”

I knew that tone. Not from Manfred, but from my own father - that sort of ‘I’m not mad, I'm just disappointed’ voice that never failed to make me feel ashamed of my current behavior. I could tell it had the same effect on Franziska, as I practically felt the secondhand embarrassment emanating from her.

She whirled around, and stood by the little set of steps, leading Frauke to take her place in front of them. “Come. I'll tell you what to do.”

I nodded, filled even further with anxiety, and slowly ascended the steps. It wasn't as far to the horse’s saddle then, but it still seemed like a giant leap to me.

“Put one foot in the stirrup, then swing your leg around. And be careful. If you kick Frauke trying to mount her…” Franziska didn't elaborate, I assumed only for the benefit of her father, but I received the message loud and clear.

I raised my leg, shaking slightly as I put the borrowed boot in the stirrup. With my hands on the saddle, I awkwardly lifted my other leg around and slowly sank into a seated position. I tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but sitting high off the ground on an unfamiliar creature wasn't exactly calming.

“There,” Manfred said, standing far below me. “Not exactly the elegance of an experienced equestrian, but no harm was done.”

Franziska moved ahead of the horse, looking up at me. “Not yet, perhaps. I'll give you a short time to experience riding, and then you're done.”

I nodded wordlessly as she made a little clicking sound to urge Frauke on. The moment the horse started moving, I felt yet another rush of anxiety as I tried to remain balanced. My back was stiff, as were all the rest of my muscles, and it was a fight both physically and mentally to remain upright and calm.

I was led by the treeline, just a short distance from the stable, before we turned around and Franziska picked up the pace. No longer was the group walking, as Franziska started to jog and the horse began to trot or canter or whatever a horse person called that speed. For me, it was anxiety inducing.

Manfred was left in the dust and I was essentially alone with an animal and a woman wielding a whip. At a higher speed, every bump and shake was made even worse. The only thing I could do was cling to the saddle for dear life as even words failed me.

Eventually, mercifully, we slowed, first to a walk and then to a stop beside the steps. My knuckles were still white.

“So, how did you like that?” Franziska smiled up at me, and though it didn't appear to be a malicious expression, it seemed to me as though it should've been.

“...Can I get off now?” I asked quietly.

Manfred was nearby when we reached a stop, and hurried toward me as soon as he heard my wavering voice. He was at my side, helping my boot out of a stirrup and coaxing me off the saddle. And when I was back on land, his arms were open for me to fall onto his chest.

“It's alright, dear,” he whispered. “It's alright.”

“She…doesn't like horses? What sort of person doesn't like horses?” Franziska asked, sounding slightly less icy and much more puzzled.

“She's very fond of animals, really. Some of them. Perhaps not the sort that most like.” Manfred rubbed my back as he spoke softly. “Do you want to tell Franziska about your favorite animal, Miss Martin?”

I pulled away from him reluctantly. “My favorite animal? I…I dunno.”

When I looked back to her, Franziska was smiling slightly. “Now you've made me curious. What do you like, if not horses?”

“Um…spiders,” I mumbled, looking down at the grass as I spoke.

I feared I hadn't been heard, but glancing up confirmed that I had. Franziska was looking at me like I'd gone mad.

“Spiders? You can't handle riding a horse, but you like spiders?”

“Hey, th-there’s nothing wrong with them.” My voice was raised slightly, not because of any reduced anxiety or sudden self-confidence, but because I felt I had to defend those who couldn't stand up for themselves. “Spiders only bite people when they feel threatened. And even if they do, they're not gonna kill you. Nobody's died from a spider bite in this country in decades.”

“Not being dangerous is no reason to like an animal by itself. Surely you have more than that to back up your claim?”

I nodded emphatically. “I do. They eat bugs, like the ones that are actually annoying or harmful to us. And people still hate them, because- because what? They're ugly, or scary? Well, I don't think so. I…I think spiders are cute.”

I saw a smile spread across her face, and her gaze shifted from me to Manfred. “I think I'm starting to understand why she likes you. And I can believe it, now.”

“Pardon? What does our relationship have to do with spiders?”

“Nothing, of course. So, how exactly did you learn about this love for spiders, Papa?”

I turned to see Manfred smiling fondly. “Ah, she found one in my office and told me about it. I assumed she wanted me to come over and crush it, but no, she only wanted to give me information about the thing. She told me the species of it and took a picture before she finally picked it up with her bare hands and took it on an elevator ride downstairs.”

I crossed my arms and frowned. “Well, I never told you the species, just that it was in the family Salticidae. Anybody could've told you that.” I looked back and forth at two clearly skeptical faces. “...Anybody who knows some spider stuff, I mean.”

“Regardless, she spent the next hour or so telling me various spider facts. And showing me pictures which she assured me were adorable.”

“Because they were.” I nudged his arm gently. “I’m not the only one who thinks that, either. Plenty of people think jumping spiders look cute. And tarantulas are kept as pets, doesn't everyone think their pets are cute?”

“I’ll have to take your word on that.”

I pouted at him for just a second before looking toward Franziska. She was grinning at us, and I found myself smiling back.

“Sorry about the riding lesson and all, Franziska. I guess I'm better with animated ponies than real ones.”

She simply shrugged. “It's not a problem for me. At least I can say you have good taste in children's cartoons. I loved watching those little ponies - for a short while, until my career began.”

“Right,” I nodded knowingly. Then, I hesitated, trying to do the math, and my eyes widened. “Wait, does that mean you only got to season two of the show?”

“That was over a decade ago. I can't recall exactly-”

“Oh, you'd know if you finished season three, trust me. Hang on-” I glanced back and forth between Manfred and Franziska. “You’re here for the whole weekend, right? That's enough time to watch some of the best episodes and maybe a movie or two. I can set it all up on the TV, and uh, get access to everything we need.”

I was grinning so widely I hadn't realized how far ahead of myself I was getting. As the silence became a bit too awkward, my smile faded.

“Unless you…had other plans. Sorry. You probably don't want to spend your vacation binging a kids show.”

Manfred shook his head. “I'd hoped Franziska could spend the weekend getting to know you better. Whether that's through riding horses or watching animated ponies isn't important to me.”

“I’ll take care of Frauke for just a little while longer,” Franziska said, smiling again as she came to the horse’s side. “And when I return, I expect to have entertainment waiting. Papa, you'll be joining us.”

“How did I get dragged into this?” Manfred muttered.

“C’mon, it'll be fun!” I grinned as I began to remove my borrowed equipment. “There’s loads of lessons about friendship, and teamwork, and-”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and I laughed. Somehow, the morning had worked out better than I'd expected, though it took a bit of time. All it took was finally showing a bit of my true self - through a love for spiders and ponies.

(Bonus pic of my actual pony plushies lol)

[19orionis]

Guilt future and midnight with Lazare for the not so nice oc ask meme?

Guilt

Lazare feels guilty about pretty much anything he did between the ages of 21 and 27, and a few things after that, too. The really big ones include getting involved with crime in the first place (and the worst of the specific things he did, especially the murder but also the blackmail and other actions that ruined livelihoods. He feels less bad about the theft, regular people weren't his targets, but still not great), not being a more attentive partner to Ella Martin, his then-girlfriend, and not coming out to his parents before his father died. That one really haunts him. And with Ella, though a part of him will forever be angry at their shared friend Charles for sleeping with her, he still ultimately blames himself for "causing" her to cheat on him when everything was already spiraling with his life. He does not handle this guilt well, but he doesn't avoid it, either. He kind of has the opposite problem, actually, for a long time he's had habits of punishing himself when it's not really necessary. The methods of self-punishment have gotten a lot less bad over time, though, and he is proud of himself for that! Where he used to physically deprive his body of various things that it needed, he now just kind of beats himself up about shit that happened both yesterday and over a decade ago. If he's feeling really bad, he'll also not socialize with people for awhile because he'll get it in his head that he's "undeserving" of it. Which still isn't great, but it is leagues less dangerous, and he's working to break his current habits, too.

Future

Lazare literally cannot imagine a future worse than his past, which means that the ultimate bad outcome for his life would be to once again get involved in violence, to lose his sensitivity. In the canon verse I'm working on for him and all my other characters, it's pretty unlikely for him to have a chance to get involved with that shit again, like, he's a business student in California living a regular life and gearing up to get a café going once he graduates, and this time, he doesn't need to resort to awful things to keep himself afloat. I've got a friend in business school who worked a pretty comfortable accounting internship over the summer and I think Lazare has been working jobs like that when he can to get himself through. In other verses, a return to violence could be a little more likely, and the thought would scare him. He'd kind of have to watch how much he'd say to certain friends and set boundaries with what favors he'd be able to provide. The knowledge he gained during his twenties has never left him, and sometimes he wishes it would leave him.

Midnight

In line with what I wrote for Guilt, what keeps Lazare up at night is all of his failures, regrets, and embarrassments, though he doesn't chronically have as much trouble sleeping as he used to. School, work, and socializing are pretty good at wearing him out enough to go to bed at a reasonable hour, but he does still occasionally get stuck on a thought, at which point he'll try to make himself get up and journal. If that still doesn't put him to sleep, he'll either read a book, or, if his attention span isn't cooperating enough, pull out his laptop and go down Wikipedia rabbit holes until he can't keep his eyes open. He does have nightmares, and I'm honestly unsure about the frequency of them. A recurring one involves his dad showing up at his house, looking really sick but somehow walking and talking, and Lazare being unable to speak when he sees him. No sound coming out of his mouth, no matter how hard he tries. Other themes that tend to show up include falling, sometimes over railings, or situations of extreme embarrassment. Like anyone, he's definitely had the naked-in-public dreams and he really hates those. He'll have regular stress dreams as well, usually about deadlines or car trouble.

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 74 - Baking something with apples in the kitchen (I think it was just a pie?)

Original statement given 8th June, 2015. So this cooould potentially be another statement that was given when our Archive crew was already in charge. If Gertrude's death was in May and not March, if could be a close one though. HR works slowly I heard…

"Even as a child, my mother would always check my room to find me reading well into the night. If I heard her coming up the stairs, I would turn off my light and dive beneath the covers to try and convince her I was sound asleep." - I did that with my old Game Boy. The big grey one. I had this magnifying glass with a small lamp to attach to the Game Boy so I could play in the dark (The first Game Boys didn't have a backlit screen. You needed proper light to see anything).

"I work as a freelance writer. It’s not a good job." - Lol, ok considering that Jonny wrote this statement sleep-deprived and based a lot of it of what he was feeling in that state, is there something he wants to tell us with this statement? xD

"There is a man in my living room. He is tall, with sandy blond hair that twists into unruly curls." - Michael's not even subtle with this one.

"Your vision goes strange when you don’t sleep for a long time. I think it’s something to do with changing pressure on your eyeballs. You start to detect faint movements on the edges, on the periphery," - this is what I meant in my ask to MAG 65 when I said I see things in the corner of my eye when I'm sleep-deprived (or filled to the brim with anxiety). I also thought this to be a great plot device for a potential story.

"Your body will go through phases where it seems to be trying to completely shut itself down, and keeping your eyes open is quite literally a physical struggle. Then all at once you’ll enter a period of manic energy, a second, third or fourth wind that leaves you giddy and nauseous, struggling to find an outlet for your sudden rush." - Yep, can relate very much.

The ambient track in this episode is btw one that will get used a lot in the following seasons, I think? It's more subtle then the one I love so much and I'm sad that it got ditched somewhen in S2 and we only once hear it again in MAG 121.

"Michael, did you drive her to this? Another victim of your warped games? Or were you simply drawn like a vulture? Or maybe a shark sensing blood." - Yeah actually, do we know how it works? Sometimes you can see there was a tendency to things that could attract certain Fears, other times it seems completely random. Or maybe it's just that. Some are just unlucky, others attract it.

"I’m rather glad I don’t really drink coffee." - This answers the question if Jon meant it in MAG 163, when he said to Martin "I hate your tea and wish you made coffee instead". It was just to tease Martin in case he could still hear him.

"I decided to get somewhat more proactive and purchased a small motion-sensor camera, which I hid in view of the trapdoor. After a week, I reviewed the footage." - That was actually very clever, good job Jon!

"They appear to be a man, or at least male-presenting. Middle-aged or older judging from the frame, but hard to be sure. They emerge around three in the morning, holding what appears to be an attaché case. Then, they spend about half an hour rifling through archives, and retreat back down after stuffing a handful of files into the case." - Leitner living in the tunnels and sneaking around will never not be funny to me xD

"but what worries me is the manner they leave the trapdoor. Rather than picking the lock or forcing their way through, they seem to move the floor itself out of their way somehow, and replace it when they return." - That book is handy!

Reading this statement got me thinking that maybe Michael was also initially created as a result of sleep deprivation

Jonny started seeing blond curls and long fingers in his peripheral vision and decided to give them a personality

[sherlocks-freebitch]

Obligatory fluffy New Year’s Eve fic (a bit late, I know)

read on Ao3

“Well,” Jon drawls. “ This is a pleasant way to spend New Year's Eve.”

Martin can’t disagree. He’s got a gorgeous man in his lap, a bellyful of whisky, and their pain levels have been manageable for the past few weeks, despite the cold. All in all, he’s spent far worse holiday seasons.

“Anything happening down there?” Jon grins down at him, happy and giddy and slightly blurred around the edges.

“No, I don’t think so,” Martin sighs. His libido had nipped down to the shops for a pack of cigarettes around the time that Jon had pressed a knife into his hand, and had made only the briefest of appearances since, before once more fleeing into the night. 

Come to think of it, the whisky probably hasn’t helped either.

“Not to worry.” Jon settles more comfortably across Martin’s lap. “As long as I can keep kissing you.”

“I don’t remember saying you could stop,” Martin grins. He's not remotely concerned; not so long as he has this man in his arms. They’ve been given a new life and that is more than Martin ever thought he’d have. The rest will return in time. He bloody hopes.

“Awful man. You’re very bossy, you know,” Jon says, and leans in, his breath skimming Martin’s neck and sending goosebumps everywhere.  “Even when we first met. Never doing what you were told, always arguing, never following directions.”

“You love it,” Martin says with a shiver. He tangles a hand in Jon’s hair and pulls him in again, their quiet reverie only intensified by the sound of distant revellers.

“I did. I do. And I love you. As stubborn and bossy as you are…”

“Don’t forget petty, vindictive, highly strung…”

“Kind, and brave, and brilliant and gorgeous too, of course, can’t forget that one,” Jon murmurs, his eyes liquor-bright. “Whoops!” He somehow loses his balance and Martin tightens a hand on his hip to steady him

“God, you’re such a lightweight,” Martin laughs. They had been at the pub earlier, in lieu of actually going out for new year’s, and the high spirits of the other patrons had infected them, made them switch from beer to whisky to keep basking in the goodwill of the world around them.

“Look who’s talking,” Jon says sternly, and frowns. He runs his hands slowly up Martin’s sides, his face a study in serious concentration.

“Doing alright there?” Martin says, amused and—as always—slightly thrilled by Jon’s singular focus.

“Oh yes,” Jon says and kisses Martin so thoroughly that he feels even more intoxicated by osmosis. The kisses get softer and slower, until Martin pulls back to see Jon’s eyelids drooping.

“We should get you to bed,” Martin says, breathless, more than a little drunk himself. 

Jon pouts.

“I want to keep kissing you though. And it’s not even midnight yet.”

“You can kiss me in bed, I promise. I’ll even let you fall asleep on top of me.”

Jon still looks dubious but allows himself to be steered to the kitchen where Martin makes him drink a glass of water, for all the good that will do.

“Tea?” Jon wheedles, and how God had created a man who drinks even more tea than him Martin will never know, but he obligingly lifts Jon onto the counter and sets to putting the kettle on.

Jon playing with his hair is terribly distracting, but Martin perseveres, grabbing the mugs and trying not to lean into Jon’s touch like a cat. He feels dreamy, like sleep is catching up with him too. They’ve slept so much these past months, wandering through endless dreamscapes, as though to make up for years of deprivation.

Things occasionally still feel fragile between them, like dough that’s been stretched too thin, but Martin has always believed that love is a choice as well as a feeling, and he and Jon are both too bloody-minded to let an apocalypse come between them.

The choice. That’s the point, isn’t it? Martin made his choice years ago. He couldn’t have chosen differently with a gun to his head and he’ll be making the same choice every day for the rest of his life.

Jon’s touch wanders up to the sensitive shell of Martin’s ear, making him giggle and slap Jon’s hand away.

“Stop that,” Martin says more sternly than he feels, “unless you want me to spill tea everywhere.”

“That would be terrible,” Jon says solemnly. “I’d have to watch you make it again.” He smiles enigmatically, eyes slightly narrowed and fixed on Martin.

“I knew it,” Martin sighs, defeated. “You have no intention of drinking this, do you? Just like— ” He stops himself before he can say before. Reminiscing doesn’t always end well and generally requires some warning.

“Probably not all of it,” Jon admits. “But I like that you make it for me. I like what it means.”

“Like you taking me out for Vietnamese food even though it doesn’t agree with you?” Martin laughs.

Jon looks pained. “Don’t remind me. I get cramps just walking past that place.” He hops off the counter and wraps his arms around Martin’s neck. “It was very tasty, though.”

“It was,” Martin says. “Drink your tea, lush.”

“In bed,” Jon agrees, yawning, and heads off for the bedroom. Martin follows, diverting briefly to the bathroom to retrieve the panadol they will both be needing the next day. When he returns, Jon is sipping his tea, frowning thoughtfully. Martin slides into bed and grabs his own mug.

“Do you remember, something you said, you know, during.” Jon waves a hand dismissively, dispatching months of apocalyptic trauma like he’s swatting a fly.

Martin remembers many things he said during. Some of them still make his skin crawl with shame, but Jon’s eyes have a soft glow in them, so whatever he said can’t have been too bad.

Still, they talk about during even less than about before, and usually with similar levels of caution.

“What did I say?” Martin asks, slinging an arm around Jon’s shoulders.

Jon scoots into Martin’s side, sighing happily and nearly spilling his tea in the process. “You said that you used to row?”

Martin bursts out laughing. “Oh yeah, a bit. Not competitively or anything though.”

“I think I’d like to see that,” Jon says.

“Your wish is my command.” Martin drops a kiss on Jon’s hair. “We might want to wait until it gets a bit warmer though.”

“Okay,” Jon says, burrowing further under the blankets. Martin hastily relieves him of his mug before disaster can strike. He deposits them carefully on the bedside table before sliding down to join Jon under the covers.

“In spring, if it’s warm enough,” Martin says contemplatively, winding a lock of Jon’s hair around his finger. “We’ll go out on the river. Can you swim?”

Jon snorts. “I’m from Bournemouth, of course I can swim. Although I’d rather you didn’t tip me in the river.”

“No promises,” Martin grins. “But I’ll do my best.”

Jon makes indistinct grumbling noises and crawls on top of Martin, clearly intending to pick up where they left off earlier. He tastes like an intoxicating mixture of tea and smoky peat, plus a few sneaky cigarettes that Martin had pretended not to notice.

The town suddenly lights up with distant cheers and fireworks. Jon lifts his head in surprise. “Did we miss it? I thought we still had a few minutes.”

“We didn’t miss it,” Martin says. “ We just started celebrating early.”

“Oh, very smooth,” Jon laughs. “That’s why you’re the poet.” Before Martin can respond, Jon kisses him again, soft and sweet. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year to you too,” Martin says, feeling a little flustered.”I love you, gorgeous man.”

“I love you too,” Jon says, before producing a jaw-cracking yawn. “Ugh.”

“Tired?”

“A bit,” Jon says, blinking owlishly. “I just want to enjoy this for a moment though. Seeing the new year in with you.”

“I know what you mean,” Martin says softly, wrapping his arms around Jon as tight as he can. He can’t believe how lucky they’ve been, despite everything that tried to rip them apart. Despite everyone they’ve lost.

 A new year, in a new world. The two of them, together. Martin squeezes Jon’s hand and gets a soft snuffling sound in return.

Jon, predictably, is fast asleep on top of Martin, his neck at what looks like a very uncomfortable angle. Martin considers moving him, but after a moment reaches out and steadies his head into a kinder position. It’s not sustainable, particularly if Martin doesn’t want to asphyxiate during the night, but for now he is just happy to hold on.

“Happy New Year!” Someone yells drunkenly on the street, and Jon stirs, mumbling. 

Happy New Year, mate, Martin thinks fondly. Thank you so much for having us.

Martin curls a hand around Jon’s head and rolls him carefully onto the mattress, smiling as Jon automatically snuggles into him.

He can’t wait to see what the new year will bring.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Martin: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine.

Hero of Kvatch But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again.

Martin: O-oh. Well. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns?

Hero of Kvatch: Is it working?

[reminiscingtonight]

Still the Same

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 2275

A/N: Well, here’s the final part to Better By Now! Sorry for the long wait. Thanks so much to everyone who’s been patiently waiting for it. Hope it doesn’t disappoint. 

This is loosely inspired by the song “Still the Same” by Shy Martin & Boy in Space.

Taglist: @mionemymind​, @username23345​, @daenerys713​, @madamevirgo​, @imapotatao, @trikruismybitch​, @natxhiddles​

Better By Now (Part One) // Run Into You (Part Two)

Wanda waited for you to come back. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, until she suddenly realized you had been gone for over a year now.

Around the second month after your disappearance Steve returned to the compound with news that you had left the team. Apparently it had gone into effect right at the end of the mission you went on the morning after the bar incident, but Fury had ‘forgot’ to inform the group. 

A part of her was angry at you for leaving. There were so many things left unsaid. But the other part knew there was no one to blame but herself.

The young witch often found herself thinking about you. After the night you confessed how you were feeling she was left in a daze. All of her actions occurred on autopilot while her thoughts were running on overdrive. Why was she feeling this way? The two of you broke it off a year ago and she was happy with Vision, so why did your absence hurt? It wasn’t until Vision showed up to her door the next day that she knew. All he had to do was see the conflicting look in her eyes. “You still love her.”

When her mouth drops open to defend herself he simply pulls her into a hug. “It’s okay. Her words only hurt so much because you still feel for her. Go talk to her.”

But your room was empty when she got there.

If she closed her eyes she could still imagine the feel of your fingers dancing away on her shoulder while the two of you laid tangled up in bed. The wistful look in your eyes when you excitedly talked about buying a place in the middle of nowhere like Clint some day and growing old together. The Red Room had made sure to crush any thoughts of life outside of the Soviet training program, so it was rare to ever see you so optimistic about the future.

All she had left of you were memories like these. Memories of the better times, when you were still hers and when she didn’t know what she had to lose. The longer you were gone, the more Wanda wished she had a chance to tell you how she felt. She could only hold on to the hope that someday you’d come back and somehow still feel the same.

Near the two year mark of your departure Pepper announced her pregnancy. Everyone was ecstatic. Tony wanted to throw a party, so that’s exactly what he did. He insisted that everyone needed to dress up fancily (“I’m about to be sleep deprived for the next 18 years of my life, you guys can suck it up and wear something nice for one night.”). So here she was, in her nicest dress, surrounded by family and friends.

When a feeling of being watched washes over her, she looks up and freezes. It felt like a kick to the gut. She couldn’t breathe. You were standing by the door, a soft look in your eyes as you took everyone in. When your eyes meet, she fully expects you to walk away, to slip out the back and not return. Instead, you give her a small smile and start to make your way over.

---

The guilt had eaten you up from the inside. You admitted the way you were feeling, but in the process of doing so you probably ruined the last chances of being friends with the young witch, not to mention it probably put a lot of tension on her relationship with the synthezoid. You had seen the way Vision shot daggers at you when you all but fled the bar.

You felt the urge to run, so that’s exactly what you did. It wasn’t hard to get Fury to agree to a transfer. He had a soft spot for you, so when you simply told him you wanted out from the Avengers he quickly pulled some strings to let you relocate.

Natasha knew better than to talk you out of it (something you were glad for). When she heard the news of your departure she simply called you once, telling you to take care of yourself and to come back home when you were ready.

You spent the next couple months finding yourself again. It was easy, reverting back to the way you were before. Before Wanda. Before the Avengers. 

Sure, you missed Sam’s ridiculous jokes or Steve’s outdated and ultimately unhelpful advice, but there was definitely some freedom in being by yourself for the first time in years, no one to look out for but yourself.

You had been gone for almost two years when Tony called with the news of Pepper’s pregnancy. It was a no brainer. They were your family. You were on the next plane back.

You thought you were over her. The second you caught a glimpse of Wanda from across the room, you knew you were wrong. 

While it no longer hurt to think of her, that didn’t mean that the thought of her didn’t still take your breath away. And your thoughts held no candle to the real thing.

The witch, none the wiser about the extra set of eyes watching her, was deep in discussion with Tony, Pepper, and Natasha. She still looked the same. Multiple rings adorned her fingers, her trademark red necklace still hanging around her neck. Her hair was slightly longer, but its chestnut waves were still the same ones you used to run your hands through late at night when she had trouble falling asleep. And her eyes, damn those eyes. It’s been a while, but make no mistake, you still saw those soft green eyes in your dreams at night.

Your breath hitches when she looks up and your gazes lock.

The old you would’ve run in the opposite direction. Would’ve avoided Wanda like the plague. But you found your feet taking you towards her.

---

“Look at you! Did you somehow get taller?”

You laugh along, letting Pepper fuss over you for a bit. The redhead was the first to notice you walking over, and she eagerly pulled you into an embrace before leading you back to the small group.

“A lot of things have changed, but trust me when I say I don’t feel that different.”

Natasha simply nudges your shoulder. “Welcome home.”

“It’s good to be back,” you answer truthfully.

“Hey, stranger.” You’re caught off guard by Wanda’s tone of voice. What used to be said in a teasing manner was now spoken with a twinge of sadness. 

In a sense, her greeting was right. You two were strangers now. But that didn’t mean you didn’t still remember everything you felt all those years ago. There was a mix of anger and resentment from the way she hurt you, but you’re shocked to realize how much you still care about her.

“Hey, Wanda.” 

The five of you make small talk for a while, catching each other up on life was going inside and out of New York. Before long, Natasha bids her goodbyes, making you promise not to leave anytime soon before going to the bar for a drink. Noticing Wanda’s furtive glances at you, Pepper also drags Tony away to give you two some privacy. 

The air seemed to be thick as the two of you awkwardly stand there, not quite sure what to do or say.

“How are things with, uh, Vision?” You cringe at how you sound, but you were genuinely curious about where the synthezoid was. The two of them could usually be found together whenever Tony threw a party.

“Oh, we uh, we broke up.” She looks uncomfortable and you flush red in embarrassment. You open your mouth to apologize for bringing him up, but before you have a chance to respond she shoots on. 

“Do you…” Wanda trails off, thinking through her words before continuing. “Do you think we could talk somewhere more private?”

You nod slowly, noting the way she was pulling on her fingers. It was a nervous tick you had noticed back when the two of you started dating. It usually meant she wanted you to hold her hand. You’re not sure what’s driving your actions, but taking a leap of faith, you take her hand in yours. You ignore the way your hands still fit perfectly together. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest and you definitely notice the way her eyes widen in shock at your action. 

“C’mon, let’s go.”

The two of you step out onto the balcony, all noises fading with the closure of the door behind you. The moon was bright tonight, nearly outshining the stars scattered across the sky. You couldn’t help but think that the woman standing next to you shined brighter than all of them combined. Neither of you speak, in fear of ruining the tranquility of the night.

You’re the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry.”

Wanda gives you a wild look. “What? Why?”

You shrug. “For having no filter when I drink. For saying...things. And then leaving.”

You realize then that your fingers are still interlaced, but when you move to release her hand, Wanda’s grip tightens. 

“God, (Y/N). I should be the one apologizing. I never realized how my actions were hurting you. I called it quits and just assumed that you’d be okay with it.”

You clench your jaw. That was exactly what she did. And damn, did it hurt. When you remain silent Wanda continues.

“But to be fair, you never said anything to me, either.” She points out.

You roll your eyes in annoyance, giving her the side eye. “What was I supposed to do? You were happy with Vision. I wasn’t going to say anything to ruin your happiness.”

“Yet you had no problem constantly thinking about it?”

That gets you to pause. “I’m sorry?” The hand still in your grasp suddenly feels too hot.

Your words seem to catch her attention, and Wanda swears under her breath when she realizes what she just said. “I… I heard your thoughts the night of Tony’s party, when you started avoiding me.”

This time when you rip your hands out from under hers she doesn’t stop you. Taking a step back away from Wanda, you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to make sense of what you were hearing. “Wait. So let me get this straight. You knew how I was feeling for weeks, but you didn’t say anything to me either?” 

The look she gives you is the only answer you need.

“Hypocritical much?”

The snort of laughter that earns is enough to make your anger start to fade. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). Like I said, I messed up. I noticed too late that you weren’t okay. And for that, I’ll never forgive myself.

“I feel like a part of you was printed into my DNA. It’s been years and every time I think I’ve flushed you out you just keep lingering in my system. I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

You sigh. “There is no us, Wanda.”

A frown tugs at the corner of her lips. “I want another chance at this. Another chance with you.”

Your eyes close. Where was all of this coming from? “Wanda.” There’s a slight warning in your voice, but she ignores it.

“You can’t say that you don’t feel the same way. I can see it in your eyes. In your head.” 

At that, your eyes flash open. “Don’t do that. Don’t read my mind, Wanda.” And just like that, you’re frustrated again. “You’re just reminiscing about the good times we had. But thing’s weren’t always smooth sailing between us. I’ve seen you are your worst. You’ve seen me at mine.”

“I’m not perfect. And you aren’t either. But the issues we’ve had is no reason why we can’t try this again.”

You want to scream. But at the same time you feel all the fight drain out of you. “You hurt me.”

She grabs your hands and pulls you in close. “I know. And I’ll show you how sorry I am for the rest of my life.”

There was a look in her eyes, one you often found yourself at the end of whenever she wanted to take you to bed. You instantly flush. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing has. I still love you, (Y/N).”

“Wanda.” Like your previous warning, she ignores it.

Grabbing a hold of your shirt, Wanda pulls you towards her. All your thoughts fly out the window. All you can focus on is the soft press of her lips against yours. The sharp sensation from where her hand is buried in your hair. It’s been nearly three years since the last time the two of you were together, but it seems like neither of you have forgotten what it was like to be with the other. You still fit together like a puzzle piece.

Wanda’s hands move to rest on your neck and yours fall to her waist. Her head tilts, chasing your lips. But eventually you muster all of your strength to pull away, resting your forehead against hers. 

The two of you are breathing heavily now, trying to catch your breaths again.

“I was hoping it would be different when I saw you,” you softly admit. “But everything feels the same.”

“Nothing’s changed?” she questions, hope flaring up as she waits for your answer.

You press a light kiss against her lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

[elven-child]

how I sleep at night knowing tma is a tragedy and Jon will most probably die at the age of like 31 after he lost his parents, felt unwanted by his grandmother, lived with childhood trauma for most of his life, struggled with letting people in and then got rejected by those he did let in, dealt with a close friendship falling apart and ending before he could fix anything, got further traumatised by his work in the archives, fought to trust others and care and stay himself while he struggled with becoming a monster, lost six months of his life to a coma, dealt with feelings he took so long to realise and which he felt were no longer requited and then dealt with all the regret that came with it, and then after he finally let himself be seen and accepted and loved in return and after he found peace and happiness and companionship and a chance to heal and got the tiniest preview of how happy he could be with the one he loves he was forced to end the world and was burdened with knowledge that his instinctive curiosity and selflessness had only made it easier

how I sleep at night knowing that tma is a tragedy and Martin will either die at like 31 or stay alone AGAIN after he lived all his life dealing with loneliness in one way or another, got abandoned by his father, experienced a death of a close relative at a young age, was deprived of his youth due to his mother's illness, had to grow up too soon and deal with guilt that came with lying to get employed, was underappreciated and patronised when he only wanted to be kind, dealt with unrequited feelings for his boss by telling himself it was for the best, mourned for said boss when things between them got good and hopeful, learned that his mother had always hated him only to lose her two months later, spent six months in self-destructive isolation which got him deeper and deeper into the Lonely's grasp while he had to reject the person he loves, and when he was finally free to love, when he learned he was loved back, when he got a glimpse of a life he could have TOGETHER with the one he loves and a chance to heal, it all Changed and will never be coming back to the way it was in a way that will crush him

[asteria-titaness]

We Fell in Love (Reader X Lydia Martin)

Hy everyone. This imagine with the wonderful Lydia Martin from Teen Wolf. Ist’s my first imagine and english is not my first language, so i apologise in advance for any mistakes. This imagine was inspired by the song We Fell in Love in October by Girl in Red. You are invited to listen to the music to get in the mood.   Good reading!

The faint autumn wind carried with its breeze the smoke and smell of cigarettes as it wafted over the girl sitting in the spacious window aperture.

  She wore nothing but a t-shirt that fell down to her thighs, something she found at the bottom of the closet just to feel something on her bare skin. The cool breeze was not bothersome, there were still traces of summer in the air and the night was as clean and bright as if they were in that season. It wasn't too hot either, as it had been during the months that had passed, and that was great.

  (Y/N) took another drag and expelled the smoke out of her system, through her mouth and a little through her nose. She watched the stars. Sirius seemed much brighter that night, in fact, they all seemed to twinkle more than usual, but a special highlight to the brightest star in the Canis Major. The moon wasn't full, that wouldn't be until the next day, which was partly unconcerned.

  She extinguished the cigarette and threw it into the little metal dish that lay on the floor, amidst the tossed clothes. She lit another one. She didn't know how many she had used in the hour she had spent sitting there and watching the stars, just as the stars were watching her back.

  It was one of the nice parts of being a Reaper.

  She could lose herself in the soothing and disgusting addiction without the worry of dying; it wasn't something like this that could kill her. So she took advantage of the false relaxing power that piece of nicotine provided. With so many troubling thoughts it was necessary.

  Beacon Hills was calm. A well-deserved rest after so many troubles that deprived her and her friends of nights sleep.

  Friends...

  (Y/N) let out a nasalized laugh, and let out the smoke.

  Never in her life (Y/N) would have thought that she would be part of such a diverse and troubled group. She hadn't even intended to be dragged into the center of the supernatural world of Bacon Hills, which was not small, but she was surprised when she joined them to stop a demented Druid who used people who were not meant to die, as sacrifices. That stirred up the peace she had managed to keep in the anarchic mess that was Bacon Hills and that she had struggled to achieve, irritated her. So when she saw the opportunity, she threw herself headlong into it, thinking it would only be for that moment. Even worse was realizing that those people she never imagined herself with, went from being strange schoolmates, to important friends. Very important friends.

  She especially did not expect to find anything else.

  This something was now lying on her sheets in a deep, carefree sleep.

  Lydia...

  For those who had their differences, were now much closer than they once imagined. So close, in fact, that (Y/N) felt a lump in her throat whenever she imagined Lydia would walk out the door the next morning and never return.

  It was crazy.

  She should never have let herself be given away so much in that way, but the next thing she knew, Lydia was more than a friend, she felt more for her than a friend could feel. But it was Lydia Martin, and (Y/N) didn't know if she could expect anything more. Certainly not.

  Maybe it was fear that kept her from sleeping.

  The fear of closing her eyes for seconds and when she opened them, Lydia was gone, leaving nothing but wonderful, thorny memories behind. Maybe even that moment was a dream. A beautiful and enchanting dream that tried to satiate the desire of her subconscious.

  The knot seemed to tighten even more in her throat, and the fear of looking and seeing that it was really a dream took over. (Y/N) took a long drag on the cigarette, and watched the stars again.

  Maybe when the sun came up she would discover the truth.

  Until then, the stars were splendid. And cigarettes are an acceptable vice.

     — What are you doing? – She felt two arms surround her neck and a rough, lyrical voice question her close to her ear. The breath caused a warm, chilling sensation in her ear.

  It was not a dream after all.

  (Y/N) felt like laughing and giggling, and kissing Lydia. But she restrained himself and continued to watch the stars while Lydia rested her head on (Y/N) shoulder and followed her gaze.

  The stars seemed to watch over them.

     — I already said you shouldn't smoke. It's a terrible, disgusting habit. – She heard Martin's voice again and closed her eyes to receive her voice with even more impact. It was real. Lydia took the cigarette from (Y/N)'s hands with a grimace and placed it in the metal dish on the floor.

    — I know. – (Y/N) answered, expelling the traces of the drag she had just taken before no longer had a cigarette in her hands. – But it calms my nerves.

    — Are you worried about the full moon? That the boys might kill someone? – Lydia questioned, watching the almost perfectly round satellite as she sat on (Y/N)'s lap, who stretched out her legs, which had previously been tucked up, to make it easier for Martin to reach her.

    — No. – (Y/N) denied it. Her eyes watched Lydia who arched an eyebrow.

  Her red hair was loose and unruly, messed up by the fingers of (Y/N) hours earlier, the locks falling over her bare shoulders, as was the rest of her body. Lydia wore nothing except for a pair of panties she had taken from the nightstand drawer.

  (Y/N)'s eyes sparkled at the sight of a naked Lydia bathed in starlight. She was beautiful, magnificent, stunning, perfect. Not all synonyms could describe Lydia. The Reaper had to remember to breathe in order to continue watching her.

  Then she remembered that she still expected a more complete answer.

    — No. – She denied again, tucking a strand of Martin’s red hair behind her ear. Lydia's arms were still around her neck. – It was actually about you.

    — About me? – Martin looked confused and curious.

    — I was wondering if this is all real. – She confessed. – If it isn't a trick of my subconscious trying to soften the desire I feel for you. – She put down the hand she had used to pull away Lydia's lock of hair from her face, and used her thumb to stroke her lovely cheeks lightly. – Because I like you. And I guess I'm afraid that I'm just one night of many in your life. I'm afraid that you are just one night of many in my life. – (Y/N) sighed. Opening up to Lydia was easier than it should have been, just as it was harder than it should have been. – You've had your problems with Jackson and I'm afraid you're not over him yet, that you're not ready to move on. In fact, I fear that you will look back and realize that this was a mistake. That the girl you had your first time with is not up to it in many ways. That you will realize that I am not the ideal person. Because I know you deserve better, Lydia. And I know I can try, but I'll never be that person.

  Lydia watched her for a moment. Her expression neutral, her lips in line and her eyes analyzing her every feature, her brain probably processing the information.

  No matter how open the window was, (Y/N) felt suffocated. The lump in her throat intensified even more and air could not enter her lungs. In fact, it was a lot of pressure to wait for someone else's response after deliberately and without warning expressing yourself in such a way. And (Y/N) was not consumed with expressing her feelings so eloquently.

  Her eyes moved from Lydia to the moon and she closed them, feeling the color change to a deathly, luminous purple. Her livid face didn't show it, but concern was beginning to creep into her skin. Perhaps if she had remained silent, "no" would have been answer enough.

  But Lydia's arms continued to encircle her neck. Maybe this was a good sign?

  Pathetic!

  If Grandma were home she could smell her fear and would walk into the room with a slipper in her hand ready to make (Y/N) see that she didn't need anyone to feel good and valued. "Who did you happen to be taught by, goofy girl?" She could almost hear her shrill voice.

  Lydia's hands took place on each cheek of (Y/N), tenderly and gently, and carefully turned her face to look her in the eye.

    — (Y/N), look at me. Open your eyes. – The Martin asked.

  Heavenly purple.

  That was the color of the (Y/N) Reaper's eyes. A beautiful color that reflected the truth hidden in an often impassive and debauched face. The color of death, and the color of truth that were hidden. The color of unanswered questions and commendable fears. The mirror of the soul.

    — Jackson... I don't love him anymore. – Lydia's voice was low, but (Y/N) was unmoved by the revelation. – I still think about him, but not as something that can still be worthwhile. Not anymore. And even less when I found out that I could find something better elsewhere. Someone who likes me for who I am, not who I pretend to be. Someone who helped and defended me, even when we were not close and had a disagreement that no longer matters why.

  (Y/N) locked her gaze on Lydia's, slowly feeling her eyes return to their normal color. The lump in her throat eased, and she realized she could breathe again.

    — And I can tell you with all the certainty of someone who hears things and discovers bodies when goes out to buy something, that this is real. More real than anything else. More real than I thought it was. Now that I feel it again... I can say with all certainty. – In fact, it is real. It was real. The cool breeze could confirm it, as could the feeling of control over the death whispers (Y/N) used to hear, and Lydia's soft, loving hands on her face. Mostly, she could be sure because of the grand feeling that was inflaming her chest so strongly that it was impossible for her to move, almost to breathe.

  (Y/N) felt her ears warm.

    — If you really think you're not enough for me, or that I'm going to leave you after I get as addicted to you as you do to those damn cigarettes, (Y/N), you're completely crazy and out of your mind. – (Y/N) let out a laugh, and bravely brought her arms around Lydia's waist, trying to pull her gently against her, just a little more. – Tonight was better than any other night I've ever had with a boy. You treated me a thousand times better; made me feel loved, and listened to my every word without me having to open my mouth to ask. You were calm, patient, understanding... as you have been since you let yourself approach all of us, as who you truly are and not a girl who doesn't care about anything. – (Y/N) didn't know what to say. Didn't know if she should say anything and risk ruining the moment. But it was impossible, she couldn't speak. The words were gone. And Lydia read her perfectly for someone who wouldn't open the cover. – You let me try it, you asked me how I felt, if I was fine, if I was okay, if I wanted to stop, you told me that if I felt uncomfortable with something it wasn't a problem, quite the opposite... You didn't judge me. You never judged me!

  (Y/N) realized that the last sentence was not only about the night they had spent together.

    — This night would never be a mistake. You would never be a mistake. – Lydia smiled. – I'm not going to erase this night like I've done other nights with other people. On the contrary, if you allow me, I will ask for many more. Because you are enough. Because you are more than enough. And I want to prove more of what you are capable of.

  (Y/N) didn't hold back.

  She brought her lips together with Lydia's almost desperately, but carefully. And as if she needed it, Lydia opened just enough of a gap for (Y/N) to go deeper. That kiss was not just a kiss, not just a brushing of lips and a battle until the air ran out. It was an affirmation. On both sides.

   "You are enough."

    "You are all I could ask for."

     "You are more than myself."

     "You are the most important person to me"

     "You are my stars."

     "You are my moon."

     "You are my sun."

     "You are my eclipse."

     "You are my anchor."

     "You are everything and more."

     "You are my life."

  And, with the autumnal breeze coming in through the open window, caressing their bodies with the moonlight illuminating the dark room, with the stars watching and Sirius shining; affirmations were expressed again without any words coming out through lips busy with kisses and caresses, as they loved each other madly and passionately until the first rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon, and watched the sunrise. Tired, sweaty, happy and loved.

    "You are enough."

    "You are all I could ask for."

     "You are more than myself."

     "You are the most important person to me"

     "You are my stars."

     "You are my moon."

     "You are my sun."

     "You are my eclipse."

     "You are my anchor."

     "You are everything and more."

     "You are my life."

[kenanda]

For the smut prompt a lonelyeyes mix of 106, 111 and 127? If you want only.

This took a while, but it was just too good a prompt not to give it my best shot. I hope you enjoy it.

Happy belated birthday!! Consider this your gift from moi <3 🎁🎉

prompt 106. “Were you just masturbating?” “U-uh..no, i was just..” “Want some help?” prompt 111. “You have no idea how much I want you.” prompt 127. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

CRAVING Rating: EXPLICIT Words: 5,7k Pairing: LonelyEyes Characters: Elias Bouchard; Peter Lukas; Tim Stoker; Martin Blackwood; Gertrude Robinson (mention); Jurgen Leitner (mention). Tags: Established Relationship; Parenthood; Smut; PWP; Mutual Pining; Fluff; Sweet; Masturbating; Cock sucking; Handjobs; Scent Kink; Fingering; Anal Fingering; Anal Sex; Dirty Talk; Banter; Wearing the other's clothes; Doting Parents!LonelyEyes; unbeta'd; Tim and Martin are their kids AGAIN

Disclaimer: These characters AREN’T mine. They belong to Rusty Quill’s The Magnus Archives. Warning: This work ISN’T SUITABLE for minors. It’s a NSFW piece of slash fiction. Therefore, if you’re a minor or in any way squicked by what’s in the tags, DO NOT READ!

Filthy, FILTHY LonelyEyes below the cut, my beloved. It's official, this is now a Verse.

Ever since they became parents, Peter and Elias haven’t known what alone time is anymore. Life is a jolly mess most of the time, with all things required for the rearing of two children. Even if the boys are now a bit older and can shoulder small responsibilities, it still seems like too much is going on at once.

Some days are more hectic than others, which often sends the two men to bed at 10PM feeling like they could sleep for days. Work hasn’t been any better in allowing for a break — Peter’s schedule has him away for months every now and again, and Elias can hardly ever catch a break from the Institute (he’s the Head, after all).

Needless to say, it all takes a toll on their love life. They can count in one hand the number of times they’ve had a weekend for themselves in the past few years. When they want sex, it’s always rushed and quiet, afraid that one of the kids will wake up because of a nightmare and ask to sleep with them.

Elias misses the days when he and Peter would go on long dates and weekend trips; catches himself thinking about those every once in a while, of how they would spare a day to stay in their room talking and getting each other off. They aren’t that young and horny anymore, but there’s still enough of that old spark that Elias will sometimes get turned on merely watching Peter doing mundane stuff, like doing the dishes.

To think that they didn’t get along at first. Elias chuckles whenever he remembers the first time they were together. Peter had been a cocky bastard, but Elias had been cockier and given Peter one hell of a show. Elias still has the eye tattoo on his stomach, but he had removed the nipple piercings once he’d started working. Peter had been so impressed by them, he had played and pulled on them with his teeth once they actually went on a proper date.

Elias lets out a nostalgic sigh.

“Everything alright?” Peter asks over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Elias breathes. “Fine. Just reminiscing about stuff.”

“Such as…?” Peter rinses a bowl of oatmeal.

“That time you used to be more of an insufferable arse.”

Peter snorts. “You’re one to talk, love.”

Elias can’t help a smile. “We turned out alright. Sometimes though, I miss those days.”

Peter’s disbelief is visible even from his back. “Really!? We used to be swamped all the time, and there was that professor, Jonah- Wouldn’t leave you alone. I think he wanted to — what was it he used to say — see you.”

Elias shudders with a disgusted noise and gets up. He circles Peter’s waist and hooks a chin over his shoulder, pressing their bodies flush enough that there’s no mistaking that he’s half-hard. Peter drops a spoon in the sink with a clatter.

“Oh, wow, hello there.”

Elias giggles. “I miss you,” he whispers. He gives Peter’s nape a slow, open mouthed kiss, causing the larger man to shiver.

“Elias…”

“I know, I know.” Elias pauses, buries his nose into Peter's neck, where his silver hair has grown past his ear. He smells so good. “I could take a day off tomorrow. We could ask Gertie to keep an eye on the boys over the weekend. She’s always delighted to see them.”

After the beach incident in which they had met, Gertrude Robinson had become a dear friend of the family. She and her husband (an old scholar with a booming voice and a gentle face called Jurgen) had a massive library and a collection of items from all over the world. The boys always returned home with strange facts about books and places of which neither Peter or Elias had ever heard. Gertrude also had a grandchild a year older than Martin, Jon, whom Martin had (at the tender age of seven) sworn to marry.

Peter thinks about it for a moment, but doesn’t sound too hopeful in his reply. “They’ll need me at work tomorrow. I already said I’d be there, and it could take a while.”

“Can’t always have it all...”

Peter turns around and holds Elias’s face to give him a kiss. Elias struggles at first because Peter’s hands are covered in suds, but eventually gives in. The kiss is slow and warm; if he isn't careful, Elias can easily get carried away with it. Peter’s growing beard is ticklish, but when it slides down his jaw and neck, Elias has to stifle a whimper.

“I’m sorry, love.”

Elias shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ll survive.”

That’s not to say Elias’s body will just quit the yearning — it becomes quite self-evident when Peter pulls away and Elias is half-tempted to chase his lips.

But then one of the kids calls him and he needs to go. It's like that the whole day.

Elias only gets some blessed alone time with his husband before bed. Peter pulls him into a hug and they kiss until they have to stop before it gets too hot to ignore. Elias grabs Peter’s hand when it slides between them, because one thing will certainly lead to another.

“Pretty please?” Peter pouts. It looks outrageous on him and Elias barks out a laugh.

Peter smiles, but it fades into something else — something charged. They are kissing again before they know it, and it’s insane how well Peter fits between his legs. The weight of his larger body on top of him, pressing down where it feels so good, has Elias wrapping both legs around his waist and using them for leverage. Peter hums in approval.

At least, Elias is not alone in his lust. Peter is usually quieter about his wants and needs, but once he’s into it, he’s ready to go all the way. Perhaps Elias should’ve been more careful, because now he has to live with the knowledge that Peter is right there and that he wants it just as bad as Elias.

They are humping through their clothes and Elias is ready to make a mess of his pants just like that when there’s a yell from down the hall. Elias’s head snaps up and he all but tosses Peter off of him to leap up and grab his robes.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Is it Martin again,” Peter rubs his eyes tiredly, pulling a pillow over his clothed erection.

“Coming! Daddy is coming!” Elias yells back.

Afterwards, they cuddle in shared frustration until they fall asleep. When Elias wakes up the next morning, Peter’s boner is poking his arse, so he gives it a wistful little press. Peter groans and holds Elias there with an arm around his waist. Peter grinds up and Elias huffs into the pillow.

“Wanna finish what we started?”

“Be late for work,” Elias points out. Peter swears, but lets him go.

They’re out an hour later; Elias drops the kids off and heads to work. Heavy clouds of sleep deprivation and sexual frustration hang ominously above his head.

Thankfully, work is something he can lose himself in. He’s good at what he does and there’s something soothing about all those Excel sheets. Coupled with the steady hum of the AC, they almost make Elias forget his troubles.

But then he sees the flyer for this new jazz café that had opened a few months ago, where he had intended to take Peter on a date but never managed to make time, and his face falls. Damn, he misses his husband’s presence, his silly jokes and ridiculous sailor stories.

Lunch hour comes in a blink; Elias is poking a fork into his salad with an utter lack of enthusiasm when his phone chirps with an incoming message. He wipes his mouth and sees that it’s from Peter.

It’s a picture of Peter standing in front of a tall restroom mirror. He’s wearing the big old ratty coat he’d left with this morning, but it’s pulled halfway to the side to reveal Peter’s hand clutching the sizable girth of him through his grey slacks.

Elias chokes on lettuce.

What’s the meaning of this???

Been thinking of you. A lot. — is Peter’s swift reply.

Well, Elias has too, but not to this extent. Can I call you?

Peter calls him instead. “Hey.”

“Are you mad!? I’m in the middle of work!”

Peter laughs. “You talk as if you don’t have a cushy office all to yourself to play as you wish.”

“Yes, at least I can say that. You on the other hand, you’ve got a bloody crew swarming you every day.”

“I’m not on the ship right now. And there are stalls here.”

“You’re hiding in the loo?!”

“Had to. Wouldn’t stop thinking of you. Now, do you want to play?”

“You can’t be doing what I think you’re doing. What if someone comes in?”

There’s something hot and heavy about Peter's chuckle that makes Elias shudder. “A while ago, you’d be the first to say fuck it.”

“Well, apparently one of us has grown past that.”

“I bet you wouldn’t refuse if you could see how hard I am right now.”

It’s a bait. Elias knows it’s a cheap bait and that he’s gonna fall straight for it if he isn't careful. When he reaches down, he notices that he’s hard too. Shit.

“I’m not gonna do this. Bloody hell, not in the middle of work. Fucking Rosie could walk in. Did you know I have a reputation to maintain?” Elias pinches the bridge of his nose. “This can wait until we’re home.”

“We won’t have time then,” Peter replies. “And I miss you too, you know.”

Elias makes a pained little noise. “You have no idea how much I want you right now. But this will wait. We’ll figure it out.”

“How much? Show me.”

"Peter," Elias warns.

Peter gives it up with a breathy laugh. "Okay," he whispers. “See you at home. Love you.”

“You too.”

Apparently, Elias’ ability to stick to reason is intact even with his horny-addled brain. He lets out a deep exhale after the call is over.

The next ten minutes are spent willing his boner to go down by and focusing on work. It’s uncomfortable, but he manages. It gives him a headache for the rest of the day and much to think about — and even more to look forward to.

Unfortunately for both, Peter shoots him a message later on telling Elias that he will be home late and not to wait for him. The boys are disappointed, because it was film night and Peter had promised to watch Return of the King with them. Elias is sad, too; Peter had come back from three months at sea not a week ago, but again they have to be apart.

Elias helps the kids with homework and gets on a work call that drags on for an hour, which only serves to worsen his headache.

During dinner, Elias is taken aback by how observant his youngest is. Martin’s Daddy must be wearing his sourest look, for it prompts the boy to pat Elias’ hand (exactly how Peter does when someone’s upset) and tell him:

“Don’t be sad, Daddy. Dad will be home soon and then you can complain to him about work.”

Elias nearly chokes on food the second time that day. Tim chimes in.

“Yeah, dad. Don’t worry about it. The old man knows what he’s doing.” And without missing a beat, with those big brown eyes of his. “Can I play before bed?”

“Definitely not. You’ll wake up cranky tomorrow.” Tim pouts, tries again, but Elias’s word is final (even if he feels soft after their comforting words). “Thank you, boys. I know how much you look forward to movie night. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

Tim shrugs, digging into his pasta. Martin is quick to come up with a solution.

“Can you read for us, daddy?”

That catches Tim’s attention. Elias crosses both hands over the table.

“Oh? What would you like me to read?”

Martin leaps out of the chair and thrusts a tomato-sauce covered spoon up in the air. “The adventures of the incredible Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End!” he roars.

Tim rolls his eyes.

It doesn’t take them long to sleep with Elias reading The Hobbit. Well, it doesn’t take Tim long to sleep (he’s heard this story countless times before and it's a favourite, even if now he says it's for babies) — Martin is paying close attention and interrupting Elias every now and again to ask questions. When the youngest finally drifts off, Elias tucks him in and puts the book back on the shelf.

Tim is almost as tall as Elias now, but Elias can still pick him up from Martin’s bed and carry him to his own bedroom. For someone who wanted to play video games and rolled his eyes at their book choice, his oldest fell asleep very swiftly.

Elias clears the dinner table, does the dishes and puts the rest of the food away. It’s a little past 10PM now and Peter is still not home. Elias only hopes nothing bad has happened (especially after today’s surprise).

Elias finally has a chance to shower and spends five minutes just letting the hot water spray massage his back. He considers touching himself — the awareness that he could use an orgasm and that now is the perfect time to achieve it is very present within him — but before he comes to a decision, he’s already stepped out of the bathroom.

Peter’s sleep t-shirt seems to eye him from the bed as Elias pats himself dry. Should he? After all, why not? He misses the old fool.

Elias pulls the t-shirt on and has to suppress a laugh at how silly he looks, greying brown curls plastered to his forehead and lean body looking too small in that tee — Peter is many sizes larger than him, so the item reaches halfway down his thighs. Elias pulls on some underwear and crawls into bed with a book. The t-shirt is so large that he has to keep adjusting it lest it falls below his shoulder.

For the first hour, Elias tries to read. He really, really does. But perhaps wearing Peter’s clothes hadn’t been his brightest idea. The item is soaked in Peter’s scent, which is positively distracting. Elias catches himself reading the same line three times and lets out a frustrated groan.

“Okay, fine! Fine, I’ll do it!”

Elias shoves the book onto the bedside table and ducks beneath the duvets, lying on his side. He’ll make this as quick as he can and then he’ll go the fuck to sleep.

He runs a hand down his chest, but it feels more perfunctory than pleasant. When it's Peter doing it, it has Elias shivering in no time. Elias closes his eyes and tries to relax, tries to think of how it feels when Peter rubs a rough palm over his nipples and kisses his belly until he squirms.

Elias has left the door open and his ears peeled to any sounds of little steps in the hallway, so it takes a while to concentrate on the ways his body is reacting.

Eventually though, it becomes easier — there have been no steps, no sounds but the soft little puffs of air that he’s letting out. One of his hands is rubbing a nipple through the t-shirt and the other is cupping his cock. Pleasure finally takes over when he presses that hand down his pelvis and a shiver runs up his body, arching his back.

Elias slips a hand under the waistband of his underwear and wraps it around his cock to pull back the skin. It’s getting hot and damp under the duvets, but Elias doesn’t plan to make this long. Just a bit more and he’ll come.

A twist of his wrist has him shuddering and letting out a breathy curse. Elias pulls the too-large shirt up to his nose and takes a big inhale. His mind is filled with Peter and he darts a tongue out for a taste, but gets none.

Still, he has had Peter in his mouth times enough to remember his taste. It makes Elias wet at the tip. He’s so close, so fucking close — but he’s also tempted to keep edging himself; keep thinking of all the things he wishes Peter would do to him. It’s been too fucking long, and he knows that if he doesn’t give his body what it wants every once in a while, it will just keep coming back to bother him.

But then again, the mess… And he’s so close, so, so close. Just a bit more, just drown out everything else.

Elias is so lost in his chase that doesn’t hear it when the front door clicks open; nor when a heavy coat is hung on the hallway pegs; doesn’t notice some of the lights being turned on and off, and is completely oblivious to the figure standing on the threshold and the socked steps that carry the man inside.

Elias only notices that Peter has arrived home when the duvet is gently pulled back and Peter’s smiling face pokes into his line of view — but by the time Peter has let out a soft “hey darling, what are you doing” Elias has already let out a blood-curdling scream and punched him in the face.

Peter falls flat on his bum with an expletive. “Jesus! What the fuck, Elias!”

Elias clutches his chest, breathing hard. “Oh- Oh Lord Jesus. My heart, my poor heart.” He turns to Peter with murder in his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking sneaking in like that?!”

Peter gets up, rubbing his sore bum. “I didn’t exactly try to sneak in, maybe you just didn’t hear me. I wasn’t particularly trying to be quiet. What the hell are you doing still up anyway?”

Elias ignores him. He snaps his head to the hallway. “Do you think the kids heard it?”

Peter shrugs, still sore.

“Get on!”

Peter grudgingly goes to check on the kids, but comes back shaking his head. Elias falls back into bed with a relieved sigh. Peter takes up a spot near the edge.

“What are you doing up? It’s way past midnight.”

Elias then remembers that his (now very much limp) dick is still out under the duvets. “Nothing much, I was just reading.”

“You were reading under the covers in the dark.”

Elias nods.

Peter isn’t convinced, but that gives way to a confused frown. “Hold on, is that my t-shirt?”

Elias looks down as if he hadn’t realised he had been wearing it. “Huh. I guess.”

Peter’s frown deepens. He touches the duvet. Elias clutches it and holds it down on reflex. Peter’s mouth opens in an accusing “oh!”

Peter can be very stubborn when he sets his mind upon something. This time, said something happens to be getting the covers out of the way.

Elias curls in on himself and burrows deeper into the duvet, but Peter (the cheap bastard that he is) resorts to tickling. Elias muffles an ugly laugh into the pillow. Peter is laughing too.

“Stop! Fuck, I’ll show you, stop!” Elias wheezes. Peter’s laughter dies off. He combs Elias’s damp hair backwards and kisses his cheek.

Elias sits up and pulls the duvet aside, feeling completely undignified. His cock is poking out above the underwear, but at least the t-shirt is covering it.

It’s enough for Peter to put two and two together.

“Were you masturbating?”

“No. Like I said, I was reading.”

Peter reaches for the hem of the shirt. Elias grabs his hand. “I said I was reading.”

Peter drops it, lets his hand fall to Elias’s thigh. A moment later, he gives it a squeeze. “Want some help?”

Elias narrows his eyes at him, then glances at the clock. Way, way past midnight.

The squeeze is back, travelling upwards. In spite of his better judgement, Elias’s legs fall open to give it more access and he sighs in defeat. So much for a steely resolve.

Peter slides a palm under the shirt but doesn’t get the item out of the way. Rather, he caresses Elias’s stomach and lower pelvis. Elias shivers deliciously; he’d been dreaming of this all day.

“You’ve been holding back a lot today,” Peter points out after Elias gets hard with just some light teasing. Peter hasn’t even touched his cock.

Elias wiggles to get Peter to touch him, slides down the bed. The invitation is clear enough, but Peter seems to be waiting for a verbal one. “I was being a sensible adult.”

Peter smiles. “Thought you’d like a bit of sexting. You used to love it back in uni.”

Elias had always been weak to Peter’s eyes, especially when they’re looking at him as if he’s something to be slowly savoured and then swallowed. Elias rolls his hips, staring at Peter’s hand on his inner thigh. The movement almost makes it touch his cock, but misses it for a few inches. Elias huffs in frustration.

“Thought you said you were going to help.”

“I can only help if you tell me what you want.”

Elias rolls his eyes at him. Peter waits happily.

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

“My cock.” Elias wants to punch him when Peter merely raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Touch my cock, please?”

If that doesn’t do it, Elias is getting a divorce. To his delight, it awakens something in Peter that makes his eyes go dark with lust.

“Fuck, yes. But it’s too dry- Where’s the-” Elias passes him the lube before Peter finishes the sentence. “Love you.”

Peter squirts some lube onto his palms and rubs them together. They’re cool when they touch Elias’s inner thighs and drag down, massaging the region and getting it all wet.

Elias sighs, eyes fluttering momentarily. He can’t help but roll his hips to ease some of the tension. He’s so hard and Peter is taking so long — but when he finally does it, Elias hisses through clenched teeth.

“Feels good, love?”

Elias bites his lower lip, chin tucked to his chest as he watches that big fist pumping wetly around his cock. Only the glistening head is visible, hot red and ready to shoot. Peter rubs a thumb under his frenulum and Elias sees stars.

“Ah, shit,” he sobs, grabbing fistfuls of the too large t-shirt and fucking into Peter’s fist, because the squeeze is so damn good.

Will Peter mind if Elias sniffs his shirt? Fuck it. Elias balls up some fabric and pulls it to his nose. The action doesn’t escape Peter; in fact, he seems entertained by it.

Elias notices his husband’s amusement only through half-lidded eyes, because every single part of his body feels like molasses right now.

“Look at you, ’s like you’re drunk in it.” Peter licks a finger and presses it up Elias’s perineum.

The pressure sends a thick dollop of pre-cum leaking down Elias’s cock. Elias’s eyes roll back into their sockets. Peter taunts him further.

“Want me to put my mouth on you or do you want something better to sniff on?”

“Fuck you and your dirty mouth.”

Peter laughs. “You can, baby. Always loved the way you shiver when you come down my throat.”

Elias points a weak finger towards the door. “Close that first.”

Peter goes and Elias hears the unmistakable sound of a lock falling into place. Peter sheds his shirt and trousers on the way back. Elias can see the outline of his cock against his underwear and makes grabby hands at it.

Peter chuckles and stands next to the headboard. “Can’t decide?”

Elias forgoes the shirt in favour of leaning over the edge and burying a face into Peter’s groin. He takes a deep inhale and mouths at it, dragging his tongue all the way up.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’ve missed this.”

Peter moans above him and cradles his nape, pulling at the fine hairs there to make Elias shiver. Elias gives his own cock a few lazy pumps while his mouth is busy getting Peter’s underwear all damp.

Elias steals a glance at the digital clock again and whines. Peter asks him what’s wrong.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now, but look at the time.”

“I am looking. It’s working fine.”

Elias swats at him. “I’m serious!”

Peter lets go of Elias’s nape to cradle his face, guiding him upwards. Elias follows it, standing on his knees.

“I’ve bought Red Bull,” Peter confides, and that’s the most beautiful thing to ever come out of his mouth. Elias melts a little just then.

Peter grabs his arse and pulls him to himself. The feel of his underwear is rough against Elias’s cock, but Elias ruts into it. The hand on Elias’s face has now slid to wrap loosely around his neck. Elias pulls Peter’s underwear down and Peter wiggles out of them.

Peter’s cock hangs heavy where it’s nestled amid the thick silver hair on his groin. Elias’s mouth waters at the sight of it, but he eagerly presses them together. The hairs on Peter’s chest and lower abdomen feel coarse against his skin, but Elias loves every second of it. It will leave him tender and pink tomorrow, but he doesn’t care.

Peter pulls him into a kiss that is everything Elias has been craving all day — it doesn’t stop at his mouth, but drags down his jaw and neck, making him pliant. Peter moves his face from one side to the other to nip under his ear and suck bruises onto his collarbones.

“Got rubber?” Elias asks. Peter growls affirmatively.

It’s been a while, but they know how the other likes it. Elias is dripping wet with lube while Peter preps him. Elias would usually prefer his own fingers (much slimmer than Peter’s) at first, but right now he’s turned on enough that the slight burn of the stretch feels perfect. Elias lies on the pillows and lets Peter work his magic.

Peter kneels between his legs and fingers him as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, curling up his fingers to milk Elias’s cock. Elias arches his back and watches dollop after dollop of pre-cum leak from his tip.

“Peter, I swear- to God… If you make me come like this-”

Whatever Elias had thought of saying is completely wiped from his mind when Peter leans down and gives his cockhead a gentle suck, as easy as someone scooping some ice-cream with their tongue.

Elias swears at Peter, but he can’t do much else besides clench his hands and teeth and try to keep from coming. He was so close just now; only a brief touch of Peter’s tongue and his cock is now throbbing, legs shaking so hard he has to suck in his stomach to not orgasm right then and there.

“It would be a sight to behold. You are a sight to behold.”

“Cut the crap, please cut the crap and just fuck me. Fuck, I’m so hard it hurts, you bastard.”

“Then come, love.”

“I don’t wanna come without you inside me.”

Elias should be embarrassed to find that his eyes are glistening with moisture. These can’t be tears. He refuses to believe that he’s crying during sex.

Peter wipes the corner of his eye, boops Elias’s nose with his own and gives him a gentle peck.

“Okay,” Peter whispers.

Peter rolls condoms on himself and Elias, then arranges a pillow under Elias to prop him up and slides home. The size of him fills Elias up so good, so perfect — all the way down to those wiry silver curls. Sure, topping Peter also felt brilliant — but if he’s true to himself, Elias rather likes it up the arse.

They fall into a nice rhythm — whispering disconnected praises and curses. Elias keeps a hand on the headboard for leverage, rolling his hips to meet Peter’s own, re-learning where it feels good. He reminds himself that this is supposed to be quick, just a bit of rough friction before they can’t hold it anymore.

But feeling Peter’s hand clutching his waist, relishing in the delicious push and pull, seeing Peter’s fuzzy pecs flex with the easy effort of taking him — it all has Elias clenching around Peter’s cock and reaching out to trace the lines of his chest.

“Fuck, I should be telling you to go faster.”

“Do you want to go faster?”

“No… I want to keep taking your cock until sunrise.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to stop at some point for rest, but if you’re up to it, I’m all yours.”

Elias smiles, but his eyebrows twitch when Peter finds that spot and fucks into him, pressing right up against it.

“You see I want that, but when you do this… I want you to leave me all sore.”

“You’re a man of many wishes.”

Elias grins. “Think you can answer them?”

Peter pats his leg. “On your hands and knees, then.”

Arse up in the air, Elias stifles a laugh when Peter squirts more lube onto his hole and drags his cock over it.

Peter pushes back in with a smile. “What is it?”

“Just remembered something. When we first-” Elias hisses when Peter spreads his legs further and angles his thrusts just right. “Yeah, right there. Fuck… When we first had sex. I couldn’t believe you were just bringing people to your room and never doing this to them.”

Peter holds his hips like his hands belong there, finally giving it to him hard and fast. Elias has to clutch the sheets, but damn, that’s more like it. The t-shirt has balled up near his face and he keeps breathing in Peter’s scent.

“Uh- yeah. Hah, that was a long time ago. Is this OK, love?”

Elias nods. “Yeah. Bit rougher would be even nicer though.”

Peter grunts and his hands slide upwards. “Don’t want to hurt you, but if you say you can take it...”

Elias’s waist used to be so lean that Peter’s fingertips almost touched circling around it. Now that Elias is a bit better padded, they grab his flesh with a bit of loving violence while Peter ruts into him. Elias prays that this million pound house has thick enough walls that the noise of skin on skin won’t bleed out.

Elias wraps a loose hand around his cock, but that mere touch is enough to bring him closer to the edge. The fact that he feels so wonderfully used for Peter’s pleasure also does things to his head, because every grunt of Peter’s feels like a small victory.

Peter continues, fondly. “You used to be so fucking shameless. I’m still sad you had to remove the nip piercings.”

“It was easier- Oh, oh! Yes, just like that!” Elias presses his face into the bed, panting open-mouthed against the mattress. “It was easier- Easier,” he tries to continue, but Peter is fucking him so good that he can’t complete his line of thought.

“...that way?” Peter supplies.

Elias nods. He feels half out of it already. “I think- Gonna come. S-so good...”

Peter’s approving hum is followed by him dropping part of his weight onto Elias’s back, which forces Elias flat into the mattress. Elias gasps, loud and breathless and more in love with Peter than ever before. His husband knows that he’s a sucker for a bit of choking and is giving him exactly what he needs.

Peter thrusts harder, deeper, and it only takes a moment of Elias to come — the pressure and the friction too good to resist. Peter has to wrap a hand over his mouth to quieten his moaning. Elias shudders with the aftershocks, Peter’s still moving inside him almost too much to bear.

“God, you squeeze me so good every time,” Peter breathes into his nape. “I’ve missed this.”

Elias can’t breathe; tears gather freely on the corners of his eyes, but Peter doesn’t get off until he comes, too — it feels like orgasm drags on forever in an agonised bliss.

Elias shivers when Peter pulls out. It always gets a bit dry towards the end, but the burn and the stretch leave Elias tingly and sated — and now, completely boneless.

Peter eases him onto his side and removes the now damp t-shirt, chucking it aside; he then ties off both their condoms. The one that Elias has been wearing has almost slipped off; his flaccid cock now covered in spunk. Peter kneels between his legs and takes him into his mouth, causing Elias to seize with oversensitivity and nearly pull off chunks of Peter’s hair.

Peter pulls off of him with a wet pop, looking like the cat that got the cream. Elias sags and drapes an arm over his head, damp chest going up and down.

“Feeling better?” Peter asks. He caresses Elias’s thighs gently, barely even there. It makes pleasant goosebumps rise on Elias’s skin.

“God, you’ve ruined me…” Elias croaks. “You’ve fucked my brains out, Mr. Lukas.”

Peter chuckles. “Good.” He kisses Elias’s knee, his belly, his chest. Elias buries his fingers into his hair. “Gonna get something to clean you up.”

“Wait, just. Just stay like this for a bit.”

“Feeling like some post-coital cuddling, Mr. Bouchard?”

“Ugh,” Elias untangles his fingers from his perfect silver hair. “Now you’ve ruined it. Just go.”

Peter gives a rumbling chuckle that resounds through Elias’s chest. “No, thinking about it, I rather like it here. I get to see all your freckles.”

“Hm. Have you finally managed to count how many of them there are?”

“Nope,” Peter kisses his stomach, over the Eye tattoo. “But I’m still on it!”

Elias yawns. “Good- Good luck.”

“Gee, I really ought to get something to clean you up. At this rate you’ll end up sleeping.”

Elias snorts with his eyes closed. “Already am.”

Peter kisses his nose and leaves him be. When Elias wakes up the next day, he notices three things: one, Peter actually did give him a wipe down; two, he is very much aware of all the sleep he didn’t get last night; and three, he’s got an easy smile on for the rest of the day that he can’t deny.

[erin-bo-berin]

By Your Side

MASTERLST

This was requested by and is dedicated to @be-the-bravest​, my name AND birthday twin. The poor thing dealt with appendicitis and an appendectomy on her birthday and a few following days. I’m so incredibly sorry that you had to go through that on your birthday of all days, Erin, but I hope this makes your recovery a little better. This is some incredibly fluffy, sweet goodness and you can’t convince me that Spencer wouldn’t do this for someone he loves. Hope you all enjoy some fluff to start your week and happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 1,796

This wasn’t exactly how you’d planned your birthday.

You’d been excited about your birthday for months. You’d been dreaming about a day filled with spending time with friends, family and your boyfriend, Spencer.

You were too old for parties—not that parties were necessarily a bad thing—but you were one who much preferred eating out and going on adventures.

You’d planned an entire day; brunch with your family and Spencer at your parents house, browsing yours and Spencer’s favorite book stores, dinner with Spencer’s work family and then a movie marathon with him that night.

Spencer had even taken a day off of work, something he rarely did. Having a job in the FBI meant demanding work and you admired how passionate he was about his job. According to him, this was the first time he’d taken time off in well over five years. It was touching that he did it just for you.

When you were younger, the thought of getting older scared you. You’d realized with each year you turned a new age, you’d never get back any of those previous years. Now though, you viewed it as a celebration of another year filled with ups and downs—and making it through the year, especially when you got to celebrate it with the people closest to you. Besides, the older you got the less you worried about aging; you were only as old as you felt after all.

All of your anticipated plans evaporated as quickly as a snap of fingers.

The pain had begun the previous night, a dull pain in your stomach. You were expecting your period at any time, so you chalked it up to that. You went to bed early with a heating pad and no second thoughts. By the time Spencer had come to bed, the pain had eased a bit to the point of uncomfortable, but bearable pain and you didn’t consider anything else.

The bright, early hours of your birthday changed your opinion though.

You and Spencer didn’t have to be at your parent’s house for brunch until 11 am, but you woke just before 7, the pain in your abdomen more than you could bear.

You cried out as you tried to sit up in bed.

Either Spencer was just finely tuned to know when something was wrong with you or he’d slept incredibly light last night—something pretty unusual for him.

He was up in an instant, concern written all over his face as he checked on you. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Definitely in tune with you.

“My stomach is killing me,” you groaned, “What time is it?”

He peered at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. 

“6:49. Why don’t you lay back down? We still have a few hours before we have to be at your parents’.”

Spencer helped you lay back down and took your heating pad.

“Do you need me to reheat it for you?”

You nodded, in too much discomfort to talk.

“Get some rest,” he said, kissing your head before heading downstairs.

A few minutes later, he returned with the newly warmed heating pad, wrapped in a hand towel and placed it on your lower stomach.

“Has the heating pad helped any?” he asked, recalling that you’d slept with it last night as well.

“It was last night. But now it doesn't even touch it,” you whimpered.

You’d never given birth, but you were certain this is what labor felt like.

The pain was like internal sharp pin pricks, but then it’d ease off into a more mild and dull sensation. No matter what you did though, the pain was still persisting.

“You look flushed,” he commented, worried.

“I’m about to burn up,” you said, tossing the heating pad aside.

He felt your forehead and looked even more concerned.

“Where exactly does it hurt, Y/N?”

You motioned to your lower abdomen and then to an area slightly to the right.

“We need to get you to the emergency room now,” he said, his mind made up.

“What? No! I’m fine!”

You tried to sit up and cried out at the sharp pain, tears forming in your eyes.

“Babe, it could be anything from an ovary issue to gallbladder issues. It might even be appendicitis, you need to get it checked out now.”

You knew better than to argue with him. Whatever plans you’d had for your birthday had just gone out the window.

•

You sat hunched in the emergency room as Spencer checked you in. You were in so much pain now, you couldn’t talk.

Unfortunately, it was a wait, but at least you were on the high priority list.

You sat, half hunched, half curled into Spencer, whimpering and clutching his hand the entire time you waited.

“I know honey, I know,” he whispered.

He alternated between rubbing your back, kissing your head and murmuring softly to you.

It took over two hours, but considering the normal wait time, you were pretty fortunate.

Things moved pretty quickly after that.

You were taken back, a full exam and blood work being done. Next, came an ultrasound.

An agonizing amount of time passed as you waited for the results of the ultrasound while still in a good amount of pain.

Spencer didn’t leave your side though. He tried his best to distract you and take your mind off of your pain.

He also was kept busy by keeping everyone updated. Between your parents and the team from the Behavioral Analysis Unit, his phone had hardly left his hands.

Your friends and family were amazing, sending you birthday wishes, videos to lift your spirits, even some of their kids had made drawings for you. It helped some and you were eternally grateful for Spencer as he kept showing you new well wishes with a smile on his face.

The diagnosis came back quickly, when they saw the ultrasound. Just as Spencer had suspected, it was appendicitis.

“You’re in luck, our surgeon is going to be able to fit you in for this evening. We need to remove the appendix as soon as possible to avoid any further complications,” the doctor on call—Dr. Martin—told you.

“Happy birthday to me,” you mumbled.

After Dr. Martin left, a nurse was the next to come in. She administered antibiotics to help fight any infection and told you the anesthesiologist would be there soon to prep you for surgery.

The day had simultaneously passed in a flash yet crawled at a snail’s pace. You no longer cared that it was your birthday, you just wanted to feel better. You were exhausted, in severe pain and wanted to cry, as if that would make you feel any better.

“I’m sorry you feel so awful, baby,” Spencer frowned, stroking your hair from where he sat next to the hospital bed.

You mumbled your thanks sleepily and yawned.

“You should try to sleep,” he frowned.

“I would if it didn’t feel like there was a knife lodged into my abdomen,” you groaned.

After the anesthesiologist arrived and administered your medicine, you didn’t remember much. With your exhaustion and the drugs both combined, the world blurred increasingly around the edges. Just as you were about to give into the seduction of sleep, you heard Spencer say something to you.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll be right here by your side the moment you’re out of surgery.”

•

The next thing you remembered was waking up in recovery.

“Surgery went well, Y/N,” Dr. Martin said, “You should be good as new in two weeks.”

You gave a groggy groan and fell asleep again. It dawned on you that you hadn’t even checked to see where Spencer was, but before you could open your eyes to look, sleep took hold.

-

Your eyes opened again and it was dark outside. Only one light above the bed illuminated the room besides the moonlight that shone through the window.

“Nice to see you awake again,” you heard the familiar voice of your boyfriend.

You looked over and saw Spencer refilling your water cup for you.

“I got you some jello,” he grinned.

“Ugh, ew,” you groaned, turning up your nose.

You were definitely not a fan of jello—much to Spencer’s dismay.

“Hey, I resent that,” Spencer chuckled, “Technically I asked the nurse for some for you, but in reality I’m gonna eat it.”

He walked over to your bedside, leaning over and kissing you.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired and sore. Hopefully I get some good pain medicine,” you smiled weakly.

“Oh you will. Your nurse was just in here ten minutes ago and administered your first dose. She said it should be kicking in within a half hour.”

“Thank God,” you mumbled.

Your eyes raked over your boyfriend who—like he’d promised—was still at your side. He looked tired and rattled but relieved to know you would be okay.

“How are you, Spence? You’ve been up since 7 this morning,” you commented, worried about him.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he frowned, putting a hand to your cheek, stroking it gently, “I’m just glad you’re okay. I hated seeing you in so much pain.”

“Guess we won’t be having kids then,” you joked.

“Y/N,” he gave you a look, but he was smiling.

“Pretty sure I can survive labor if I survived that pain,” you said, “At least with labor you get an epidural. Spencer, invent an epidural for appendicitis, stat.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling, a trait you loved about him.

“I think you need to rest, honey, you’re clearly sleep deprived.”

“I don’t want to,” you pouted, “Can you cuddle me?”

“I’m not gonna risk hurting you,” he said adamantly.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s my birthday still, right? I want cuddles.”

His face softened, any trace of his earlier humor gone.

“I’m so sorry you had to spend your birthday like this, Y/N,” he said, frowning.

He pushed a piece of your hair off your face and sighed, seemingly resigned to something.

“Alright, you win. Scoot over.”

You smiled, moving slowly and carefully over in the bed in an attempt to make enough room from him.

He spread out next to you, positioning himself to face you.

“Better,” you said.

You smiled your first real smile of the day then.

“You know, I may have had a shitty birthday, but I’m glad it was another birthday spent with you. You hardly didn’t leave my side.”

“I’ll always be by your side, no matter what you face.”

He took your hand, bringing it towards his lips and kissed it gently.

“I love you,” you smiled up at him.

“I love you too.”

 He returned your smile, placing an arm very gently over your waist.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

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