#she was determined to find a way to help him even with the threat of erzsebet and drolta constantly looming

[gloomybadger4life]

Azula remembers something her uncle said once: all old people know each other.

She supposes mother should count as old.

The crew has new orders. Find Jeong Jeong the deserter. Do not turn him in, do not capture. Request an audience.

Jee can see the gears turning in Azula's head. He never planned to go against the firelord but, losing a son in the war, nearly losing his own life. And the princess has been so... He hesitates to call her warm, or kind. She is practical. Maybe she does not care for them on an emotional level. But she does so in the practical. She reminds him of his own son, always focused, determined.

......

Zuko dashes through the starlit caldera rooftops. His mission is clear. A low ranking colonel has been spotted talking to known traitors. There is little physical evidence. There is no need for it anyway. Zuko grips the standard issue army dagger and slits his throat.

The man is no more.

Ozai is pleased as he receives the report of mutiny, apparently a lowly soldier took it upon himself to end the colonel's life.

Zuko is shedding the last of his stealth armor when his father walks into his room.

Ozai: A job well done.

Zuko: thank you father. The mission was important.

Ozai: indeed. I have another assignment for you. One of utmost secrecy.

Zuko kneels and Ozai smiles.

Ozai: within the earth kingdom there is a general. His name is Fong. The fire nation needs him dead before we can capture Omashu. This is a long mission. Fret not. Even if you have to cut your hair. Your honor will not be sullied. Dismissed.

Zuko bows and stands, continuing the process of getting ready for bed.

Ozai quietly slips out of the room realizing he dismissed Zuko out of his own room. The kid did not blink an eye or question it.

....

Azula arrives at a small town, talking to a man named Chey.

Azula: I am here to see Jeong Jeong. I come in peace. No weapons, no traps. I only wish for an audience.

Chey: You look young. Are you what. Fourteen?

Azula: you look whatever age you are. Look. I am... Politeness is not my strong suit. bind my hands if you must. The...

She pauses for a moment. Old people. Uncle Tea freak. Something he said once to a merchant.

Azula: the white lotus opens wide--

Chey: follow me.

......

Zuko arrives at a fortress, short hair, a set of burn scars drawn on his arms and face. His eyes are somewhat covered by a hood.

The night is eerie, cold, dry.

Through shadows and corners he sneaks in, patrolling earthbenders startled but dismissive of what sounded like an otter-squirrel burrowing.

The two sentries die from poison tipped senbon, which are immediately extracted.

Their uniforms stolen.

A third earthbender is held under threat of fire dagger to the throat. He buries the other two and makes a hole for himself.

Zuko covers him with a tarp.

In uniform his rampage is not needed. As he mimics their salutes and mannerisms he makes his way into the main barracks.

A fire starts inside Fong's room. One that is aided by some clever use of bending to create thicker smoke. Zuko is by no means a prodigy. But he knows how to make soot and dirty fire.

The general passes in his sleep. The fortress is on fire.

Zuko slips out only after making sure the body he stashed burns with the building.

He will book passage to Yu dao the next day. Once he arrives he is to get himself arrested. From there his second in command will handle exfiltration.

.....

The old firebender stares at who he recognizes as princess Azula.

Jeong Jeong: you know of the white lotus

Azula: my uncle is obsessed with pai sho. It was a calculated risk. I'll level with you. My father cannot rule anymore. The war. Well. You see how old I am and where I am. My crew will follow me.

Jeong Jeong: are you... Deserting.

Azula: and seeking your help to find my mother.

JJ: why

Azula: because Zuko is going to end up a monster if I dont. Do you rememeber Zhao? Your student. He has risen to commander. Last time I checked he is planning something. All I heard was si wong desert and find a library.

JJ: But why are you deserting.

Azula lifts up her tunic revealing the burn scar on her midsection.

JJ: Ozai.

Azula: after I fought him. Long story. Are you in or out? Or do I have to find uncle and bribe him with enough Jasmine tea for an entire ship.

Jeong jeong laughs out loud.

JJ: you have guts.

Azula: i have no other choice.

JJ: i'll help. On both accounts.

....

@chaosmagetwin @wingchunwaterbender

in an au where zuko and azula swap narrative places i think the series is three episodes long because azula just Fucking Kills Ozai and damn the consequences

[wesleysniperking]

Yasopp could be one of the reasons for increased attention on Usopp's spotlight (tl;dr)

I know I keep bringing up Yasopp, and it may seem redundant, but I want to emphasize that there’s no reason we shouldn’t get at least some answers about him. One of the most important questions is: Does Yasopp know Banchina is dead?

This is a game-changing question because it would reveal whether Yasopp was keeping tabs on Usopp, how much he knows about his son’s journey, and whether he was aware of Banchina’s illness. Why did he leave, knowing she was sick—despite her encouragement for him to follow his dream? Was there something dangerous about his presence in Syrup Village? Was he forced out, with Shanks as his only option? Because if he was simply hanging around in a nearby island/village but never reaching out to his sick wife and child, that paints a much different picture of his character. And we don’t have enough information to confidently say Yasopp is a bad person. But answering whether he knows about Banchina’s death would provide key context.

Another major question: How and why did Shanks seek out Yasopp?

In Strong World Episode 0, it’s mentioned that Yasopp was already well-known for his sniping skills, which means Shanks deliberately recruited him. But why? Was it purely because of Yasopp’s skill, or was there more behind it? Did Shanks help him escape something in Syrup Village? Did Yasopp have a past that made him an ideal crew member? Understanding this would not only shed light on Yasopp’s decision to leave his family but also reveal more about Shanks’ mindset when forming his crew.

And that ties into more significant questions:

- When did Yasopp develop Observation Haki? We know when Usopp awakened his, but did Yasopp always have it?

- Why did Yasopp want to become a "brave warrior of the sea"? Did he have a background similar to Usopp’s, or was it something else?

- Why was Banchina so determined for Yasopp to chase his dream, even at the cost of leaving his family? She was a good woman, so something significant must have happened for her to support his decision.

- Why is Yasopp so loyal to Shanks? This could explain why he was willing to leave his wife and son behind in the first place.

A crucial emotional question is: Why is Yasopp afraid to meet Usopp?

In his filler encounter with Daddy Masterson, Yasopp seems convinced that Usopp would hate him. That suggests guilt—but guilt for what exactly? Just for leaving, or for something more? Understanding this would clarify why Yasopp never tried to reconnect with his son.

When did Yasopp find out Usopp was on Luffy’s crew?

It’s likely he learned after Usopp’s bounty became public, as we see in Dressrosa when he’s holding a newspaper and laughing. But did he know before that? Did he recognize Sniper King?

And then there’s Usopp’s perspective on Yasopp—which is strange because Usopp almost never mentions his father. After the Syrup Village arc and a few minor moments (like the deleted Water 7 scene with Garp), Yasopp’s existence barely comes up, even from Luffy.

- Does Usopp secretly resent Yasopp? Not necessarily in an “I hate you for leaving” way, but perhaps in a “I’ll never measure up to you” way.

- Does Usopp realize he has Observation Haki? Given his personality, he might not even fully grasp it, despite using it at Dressrosa.

Back to Yasopp:

- Does he know Banchina was sick? If not, why didn’t he check in? If he did, what was so dire that he still chose to leave?

- Did he leave to protect Syrup Village? Was his presence a threat to Banchina and Usopp? Did he sacrifice his reputation for their safety?

Lastly, a fun but potentially meaningful question: Does Sniper Island actually exist?

While it might never be confirmed, it could tie into why snipers are so crucial in pirate crews. Three out of four Yonkos have snipers—why? Is there an underground sniper network? Why was Usopp hesitant to take on the role?

So, the big question is: Which of these revelations would truly change the game and redefine Yasopp’s character?

[drolta]

CASTLEVANIA DYNAMICS 2/?: ANNETTE & EDOUARD

“I am a creature of nightmares.”

“Not there, Edouard. Everyone on Saint-Domingue has had nightmares much more terrifying than you. And you’re beautiful. Everyone will see how beautiful you are. Including your bass player. There will always be a place for you, Edouard. Saint-Domingue would be empty without you.”

[monstersholygrail]

Wild Domination

Lion Hybrid bf x Antelope Hybrid fem!reader— exhibitionism, voyeurism, rough sex, aftercare

Your Lion Hybrid bf not choosing a Lion for his mate had been a very controversial choice within his pride. But he had stuck by it. Stuck by you, his Antelope Hybrid mate.

And you were gonna stick by him through it all too. No matter how often the other lion hybrids looked at you like you were their next meal. But not in the way your bf always did. Or how they whispered cruel words as you passed them by.

Though while you were determined to make friends, thinking if they loved you they’d be more accepting of you, your bf knew only one thing would work.

Dominance.

He had to show them all who was still leading his pride and that no disrespect to his mate would be tolerated. Because you were his love and the one who would be leading alongside him. So in a way you had to show your dominance. Or be dominated.

You shyly follow behind him as he gathers everyone to address his pride. The entire lot of you all standing in the large dining room of his home.

“I hear there is some uncertainty on the claim I have made to my mate,” your bf rumbles out, a subtle threat to his tone. They all avoid his gaze.

You blush as he brings you to stand in front of him. His hands on your shoulders and the comforting presence of his heat on your back helping to calm you. His hands draw down your body with desire, sliding along and groping at your delicious curves, feeling the flesh give away under his intense affection.

You don’t mean to but you end up meeting the eye of everyone at the other end of the table, seeing varying degrees of displeasure.

“I’ve brought you all here to clear any remaining doubt.”

You feel a light pressure on our back and you instantly submit, following your bf’s silent instructions. But your eyes widen as you find yourself bending over on top of the table, cheek squished against the glass.

“Love, what’re you doing?”

He doesn’t respond and for a moment you worry he hadn’t heard your breathless question. Then he flips up your dress and kicks your knees a part so that he can fit snuggly between your legs even with your tail. Any lingering questions fly out of your head the second he pushes your panties to the side and you feel his wet tip pushing through your folds.

“So that you know her heart is mine, her soul is mine, her body is mine, and most of all her perfect pussy is mine,” your bf says with a blissful sigh and he pushes into you.

With a growl he refuses to hold back, wanting everyone to understand the claim he has on you and that you have on him. His hands return to your shoulders as he starts pounding away at you, tail flicking furiously. You moan wildly, struggling to push back against his every thrust when he’s pinning your body down. But knowing you need even more of him.

The other Lion Hybrids look on, acceptance and denial in their expressions. Yet no matter what the smell of arousal was clear from both sides of the room. Your own bliss grows at the sight of them all enjoying the show and you cry out when your bf starts hitting those special spots inside of you, his length spearing through your gummy walls till your toes curl.

“Look at how well she takes my cock. Made for me to be inside of her. No one else- no one else can make me feel like this,” your bf snarls loudly, his voice echoing throughout the room as he keeps pumping his cock inside your tight cunt.

By now you can see just about everyone at the other end of the room touching themselves to the sight of you and your bf. It makes your skin buzz and your pussy flutter around your bf’s dick.

Your bf growls again and a second later you feel his hot breath on your neck. You shiver, leaning into him and his relentless thrusts. The new angle hitting even deeper inside you.

“You like this, sweetheart? Having our pride watch as I take your soaked cunt and stretch it with my cock,” He whispers in your ear and you can’t help but clench down on him, moaning raggedly.

He chuckles as if your reaction had given him all the answer he needed. His thrusts start to turn sloppy and erratic and you know he’s close. Wanting to feel you milk his cock, your bf grips your sensitive horns and guides your body back. You cry out, jerking in his hold but not wanting him to stop.

“Now I want you to cum and prove how much of a slut you really are for me.”

You immediately explode over his cock, your orgasm crashing through you as if just waiting for him to let you release. A long mewl leaves your lips as you unnaturally bend so you can feel him as deep inside you as possible. Your body shakes as your bf continues to snap his hips into your squeezing cunt and with how damn tight you are he can’t hold back his own climax for long.

It only takes a couple more snaps of his hips before he’s following after you, filling your pussy with every last drop of his cum he can. Moans from the other end of the table echo down the way but neither of you pay them any more mind.

He sits down in a nearby chair and pulls you into his arms. Cradling your plump frame in his broad chest and sagging against the piece of furniture. Your bf dares to relax before remembering the rest of the pride down the room. He gruffly dismisses them and as soon as you two are alone he sighs and buries his face in your neck.

“You’ll probably have to give a different version of that speech again. I don’t think anyone heard you,” you comment, lazily reaching up to brush your hands through his mane. A gentle rumble passes through your mate’s chest.

“Oh, I plan to rehearse this speech as many times as you can take me…”

[hazelira]

the smallest peace

Ni-ki shifted slightly, his arms growing heavier from holding the baby for so long, but he didn’t mind. She was so small yet solid, her weight warm and reassuring against him. However, her constant squirming made him raise a brow.

The little one stirred again, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she kicked her pudgy feet. She switched sides without warning in her sleep, leaning her entire body onto Ni-ki's chest with an audible thud. He grunted quietly, the breath leaving him as she settled against him once more.

“You’re a little troublemaker, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath, though his voice was laced with amusement.

She shifted again, her chubby cheek squishing against his shirt while her tiny, grabby hands fumbled for something to hold onto. Her fingers latched onto the fabric at his collar, tugging it in that oddly strong way babies had. Ni-ki glanced down at her, only to find her lips slightly parted, her breathing even as she finally seemed to fall into a deeper sleep.

Still, her constant squirming didn’t stop. She wriggled like she had an entire world of energy, flipping her face to the other side of his chest, and this time, Ni-ki couldn’t help it.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he carefully reached down and pinched the softest part of her chubby cheek—just a tiny, gentle squeeze.

Her cheek was so pudgy it practically bounced back, the softest thing he’d ever felt. He let out a breathy chuckle he didn’t even realize he was holding.

“What are you made of?” he whispered, his voice soft, afraid he might wake her. He moved his hand again to gently press his thumb against her squishy arm, marvelling at her chunkiness.

The baby made a slight sound of protest—a sleepy whine—before nuzzling her face even deeper into his chest as if claiming him altogether. Her tiny hand shot out to grab his necklace again, and Ni-ki froze for a second, watching her determined little fingers pull at the chain.

“Hey,” he murmured, exasperation mixed with fondness as he carefully pried her fingers away. “This isn’t for you.”

The baby made a tiny huff in her sleep as if annoyed by his interference, and Ni-ki couldn’t stop the smile that broke through his usually composed demeanour. His thumb traced lightly along her rounded arm again, feeling the warmth of her little body pressed against him.

He let out a soft sigh, his gaze shifting toward you as you slept peacefully on the bed, oblivious to the quiet scene. You looked serene, your chest's faint rise and fall calming him in ways he didn’t understand.

With the baby still curled against him, Ni-ki leaned his head back, his eyes flickering to the ceiling momentarily. The heaviness of the night lingered—lingering threats, open windows, and worries—but all of it dimmed with the baby in his arms.

“You’re lucky,” he whispered to the sleeping child. “You’ve got your mama’s patience. I’m the one you’ll have to watch out for.”

The baby stirred again at his voice, her mouth opening in a small, sleepy yawn before smacking her lips softly. She wriggled again, making Ni-ki grunt as he adjusted her weight again.

“You’re heavy for something so small,” he muttered, though he couldn’t deny the faint warmth in his chest as he watched her settle again.

As he carefully smoothed a hand over her wispy hair, Ni-ki’s features softened, and his thumb gently brushed over her chubby, flushed cheek once more. She didn’t stir this time, her breathing calm and even.

With the faintest smile lingering on his lips, Ni-ki leaned back again and closed his eyes. The weight of the night still lingered, but in this small, quiet moment—with you peacefully asleep nearby and the baby snuggled securely against him—he let himself feel it:

Peace.

A fleeting, fragile peace he didn’t know he’d been searching for.

[venusbyline]

Jacaerys Velaryon — Nine Moons.

chapter two

(previous chapter)

(next chapter)

— summary: After Lucerys' death and the arrival of the dragonseeds, Jacaerys no longer wants to be betrothed with Baela. He wants to marry his twin sister, even if it means going against Rhaenyra's decisions and sealing suffering in your life and his.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin sister!reader

— type: dark, sequel to Sleep (but can also be read as a standalone series)

— word count: 2.5k

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, dark!Jacaerys, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), forced pregnancy, mild angst, pregnancy kink, manipulation, sexism, possessive behavior, toxic relationship, verbal abuse, sadism, dark content, referenced underage sex, crying, threats of violence, forced marriage mentioned, marriage of convenience mentioned, minor Jacaerys Velaryon/Baela Targaryen, referenced Targaryen/Velaryon Incest (cousins), minor Addam Velaryon/reader, jealous!Jacaerys, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: Nine Moons is a shortfic, sequel to the one shot Sleep, written for Kinktober. Both Nine Moons and Sleep can be read as standalone.

— author's notes²: Each chapter will have its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes³: Happy Holidays guys <3 <3 <3 I hope 2025 will be an amazing year for all of you. Thank you so much for supporting me this year and my fics. Despite some spam and haters, being able to share my stories with you and interact here were my favorite experiences in 2024.

— high valyrian words used: Idaña (twin)

— crossposting: AO3

❥ Nine Moons masterlist • Jacaerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

During the fifth moon of your pregnancy, the whispers around Dragonstone continued in full force. Jacaerys was busier than ever with the development of the war, preferring to constantly fight with his mother and the Council about the situation of the Dance of the Dragons than to sit for hours inside a stupid library with Baela.

Rhaenyra was determined to keep her son close to her stepdaughter and prevent him from having too much free time to visit his twin sister in the private chambers. Whenever Jace tried to spend more hours than necessary with you, she would find a way to give him some order, whether it was something about Baela or a political opinion.

No matter how much you tried to reassure Jacaerys, the boy was always grumpy and complaining about your mother, complaining about her ridiculous interference between the two of you.

That was why when Baela and Jacaerys were forced to fly together, he did not make any effort to even discuss something with his betrothed. The only sound on the hill being the typical noises made by the dragons after their riders descend at the tip.

As the minutes of silence passed, Baela felt her jaw clenched, watching her cousin sit down on the floor and look away from her, seeming more interested about the sight of the horizon.

Poking the inside of her cheek with her own tongue, the princess finally opened her full lips to speak. "Remember when we were younger? We always used to fly together... Train together..." Jacaerys looked at the girl with some disapproval, ignoring her words and looking back at the sky. This angered Baela again and she pushed him a little more. "You wanted me a lot back then."

Jacaerys snorted, his body still sitting up, but his mind quickly wandered to the days where they had fun together, taking advantage of the fact that Daemon and Rhaenyra were always too busy with their own relationship to worry about whether their children were doing something morally wrong or not.

Either way, not that there were many things morally wrong from the Targaryen family's perspective.

"I was young and brainless. Any tight cunt delights an inexperienced virgin little boy."

As bitter as his words were, Baela could not help but chuckle. "Oh, so now you admit my cunt is good?" She teased, not caring about the furious gaze the prince gave her. "Do not be so surly, Jace. There was a time when I was your favorite girl."

It was Jacaerys' turn to scoff, his face beginning to flush, both from the sun's rays hitting the hill and from the anger that began to course through his veins, fire burning in his eyes as he stared at her, his jaw hard almost like a stone. "My favorite girl has always been my twin sister. You were a cunt for me to fuck and use as I wished. Nothing more than that."

The amusement in Baela's face disappeared immediately, her eyes widening with a mixture of indignation at the lack of respect and hurt at his harsh words. Despite her abrupt silence, Jace did not look guilty at all, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "What is that? You do not look as tough as your father anymore, dear betrothed." He mocked the nickname that was supposed to be sincere and affectionate. "You sound a lot more like your mother now. Two melancholic and annoying women. Always the second option. Never truly chosen and loved. But at least Laena was useful as a broodmare for Daemon, something you did not even get from me."

Baela's eyes darkened, thousands of thoughts running through her mind, from angry insults to possible ways to push Jacaerys off the damn hill. However, anything about those thoughts could just end up with her dead afterwards, and that was out of the question.

Instead of retaliating against his cruel behavior, Baela bit her lip, choosing to follow his gaze to the horizon too and feeling the wind slightly messing up some strands of her white braids.

"Your nausea seems to have subsided, Princess." Addam Velaryon's voice echoed inside the dining room, your head turning so you could face him, pausing your meal for a while so you could continue talking. It was good to have someone other than Jacaerys to talk, even if it did not last long.

"The Maester said that they started to subside from the fourth moon, and now during the fifth it is really easier than before." You wiped your lips with the white napkin, and then pointed to the chair in front of you. Addam nodded, giving you a soft smile and moving to join you at the table. He was not the biggest appraiser of blackberry jam, however, asking the castle's servants to prepare something more nutritious only for him did not seem like a good idea, so he tried his best to hide his discomfort, using the knife to spread some on the toast. "You do not like blackberries so much, do you?"

Addam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but his lips pulled into an embarrassed smile. "Unfortunately you are right, Princess. But I do not mind eating a little bit just to enjoy Your Grace's company."

A chuckle escaped from you and you put your hand up to cover the mouth, still chewing on a piece of toast. "My apologies for that, Addam. My brother Jace has been very strict with my diet since I was pregnant.'

Despite the playfulness in your tone, a glimmer of concern crossed Addam's face, and he tried to hide it by clearing his throat and pointing to the glass of almond milk next to your hands. "There is a belief that some foods and drinks help with breast milk production." He said and your gaze dropped to the glass and then back to him, waiting for him to keep telling you about the curiosity. "I mean... I do not know if it is true, Your Grace. There are many foolish beliefs that continue to be told and reproduced from generation to generation... But many times I have heard women whispering among themselves about this subject. And apparently both almond milk and blackberry were on their list."

As random as the topic was, you could not help but smile at Addam's knowledge. You watched him while he went back to eating his toast with blackberry jam, trying to hold back your laughter when you noticed the slight frown on his eyebrow. As much as you felt tempted to ask the servants to prepare something different for your cousin, you just kept thinking. "You seem to know a lot about pregnancies, Addam. Do you have any children we do not know about yet?"

Addam chuckled after hearing his joke, coughing a few times after he choked on the piece of toast. "No... Gods, I do not. Not at all." And chucked again when he managed to breathe, awkwardly wiping his lips. "I do not believe I would be a good father or even a good husband."

Your excited facial expression faded, your eyes widening slightly and your lips parted, thinking about something to say. Even though Addam's tone was playful, you were feeling a hint of insecurity and self-loathing in what he was saying.

Without thinking so much, your fingers reached out to try and hold the man's hand and say something reassuring about the whole situation. However, the sound of the dining room doors opening made you step back, straightening up in your chair as Jacaerys and Baela entered the room.

"Dear sister..." Your twin greeted you, cold eyes wandering between you and Addam, an eyebrow raised at the somewhat unusual scene.

"Idaña." You forced a smile at Jace, finishing cleaning your lips dirty with the crumbs from the meal. "Did Vermax and Moondancer have fun?"

Since the last few weeks, you have felt forced to stop asking directly if Baela and Jace were having fun, due to the rudeness your cousin and future sister-in-law said whenever you asked something like that after the tense and obligatory flights. Then, the only possible option to make some effort to lighten their mood was to focus on the subject of their dragons.

"You could say that." Baela muttered without any real emotion, pulling out a chair to sit at the table as well, but far away from you and Addam.

Silence followed while Baela and Addam were eating their toasts and you were drinking the remaining almond milk in the glass. Despite the effort between the four of you to avoid eye contact with each other, you could feel that Jace remained standing in front of the table, probably waiting for you to finish eating so that both of you could have some time alone.

When you placed the glass on the table, a maid came with a tray to remove the used utensils. You murmured an acknowledgment with a soft smile, trying to get up from the chair, the strange twinge inside your belly making you stop immediately, whimpering and placing your hands tightly on the corner of the furniture.

"What is wrong, love?" Jacaerys asked confused, practically moving with the speed of a dragon towards you, his hands on your shoulder to form you back into the chair safely. Addam had stood up and walked around the table, keeping a respectful distance between both of you. Baela continued to sit in the other corner, but her attention was focused on what was happening too. Even the maid was worried, the tray still in her hands as she waited to understand what had happened and call someone else if necessary.

Jacaerys' fingers immediately approached your round belly when he realized you began to hold onto it, your face remaining in a frown, trying to understand what was happening. When your brother called your name louder and more worried this time, you blinked and looked at him with wide eyes. "I... I do not know. I felt some strange twinge, like something was moving inside me."

Jace parted his lips, frowning and about to ask if it hurt too much, but Baela's voice caught everybody's attention. "Your baby moved."

Her words made everyone else in the room look at the younger Targaryen princess. Jacaerys remained with his hand on his stomach, staring at Baela with shock, just like you and Addam. The maid did the same, but soon her face became a little excited, wanting to explain the situation about what was happening in the princess's body. "It is normal to start feeling your baby moving inside your womb from the fifth moon, Your Grace. They are softer than the next ones to come."

"Will they be even stronger?" Your question came with rosy cheeks and wide eyes, looking down and thinking about what it would be like until the end of the pregnancy. You were carrying a true strong boy or strong girl.

After the maid and Jace made sure you were okay, your twin decided to take you to breathe some fresh air in the garden, walking arm in arm with you as if the two of you were a perfect couple, straight out of the romantic tales that people told you when you were younger, always making you blushing, giggling and kicking your feet.

When you were still a little girl. Younger. Even more naive. Even more vulnerable.

An easy target for Jacaerys' obsession and manipulation.

"I am happy that our baby is developing very well in your womb. I bet it will be healthy and brave. An admirable future king or queen." You raised an eyebrow at Jacaerys' ramblings. "It will be merciful to the loyalists, kind to the people, and fearless against those who do not support it, and—"

"What would be disloyalty to you?" The question stopped him. You did not want to continue arguing about the fact that your brother would be sentencing your child to a similar fate like both of you, Lucerys and Joffrey, four kids always being mocked by a large part of the own family for being "legitimized bastards". You had tried to explain it for many months and you were already giving up on bringing some rationality to Jacaerys's mind and his heart.

The boy seemed to think about your words for a while, furrowed brows as you walked and sat on a bench in the garden. "Well, I would say that disloyal will be those who do not bow down to my choices and opinions, those who dare to try to contradict me or those who stand in my way and make it difficult for me to achieve my goals. When I become the King, I will not be merciful in the face of these people."

You agreed silently, despite finding his thoughts a bit extreme for a future king. Considering that no one on your mother's own council seemed to agree with the heir's peculiar actions committed as a way of marrying who he truly wanted, you could not help but worry about their well-being.

Of course you chose not to say anything about that, thanking the Gods when Jace mumbled something off topic. "Since when did you and that mongrel become friends?"

The offensive nickname caught you off guard and you shrugged. "Addam and I are not exactly friends. I barely talk to him. We just sat together today for breakfast. And it was cool, I supposed..."

Jacaerys nodded without enthusiasm, his hand clenched into a fist as he looked at the garden, thinking of something to say and allowing you to admiring the flowers. He liked to stay like this, enjoying the minutes by your side to rid his mind of the hateful thoughts against your family in the last few weeks and be able to be with you, no worries about whether Rhaenyra would curse him later or not.

However, the moment of peace was not going very well, not after your recent sentence. Jacaerys changed the focus of his concentration, stopping admiring the flowers so he could grab your arm and pull you closer to him. It was not exactly a rough or aggressive movement, but it was sudden, making your eyes widened and a few brown strands of your hair swaying against the soft wind, messing up your braids.

"I know very well what Addam is trying to do. Keep allowing it and I will rip that bastard's tongue out with my own hands, Idaña."

Jacaerys' verbal sadism cut like a knife, the cruelty in emotionally threatening you seeming scarier than the violence about the hypothetical act. Even though your eyes remained wide and a single tear ran down your cheek, Jacaerys did not bother wiping it away, a smirk playing on his lips before he placed a kiss on your forehead and walked to the halls, leaving you in the garden, standing and looking at his back. For a moment, you could almost swear your skin felt like it was on fire due his kiss...

Being with Jacaerys was like being burned alive little by little every day, never free from his fire, never free to breathe fresh air, but also never warm enough to allow yourself the peace of dying.

[sanjisleggy]

the warlord and his bodyguard (sir crocodile x reader)

req: Could you do a Mihawk or Crocodile x Marine reader. Like it's her job to watch them on missions or be in contact with the Warlords. And whoever you pick fell hard for the Marine but knows he shouldn't. Maybe he flirts with her and she tries to remain professional because she could get fired or way worse. But the man is determined

a/n: aaaa!! this was one of my earliest requests but i held off on writing it since i wasn’t sure if i wanted to write for Mihawk or Crocodile :’) luckily since then i’ve got to meet Crocodile again in the impel down arc so i feel a bit more comfortable trying to write for him :D i tweaked the plot a little to fit the ideas i had so i hope the requester doesn’t mind!

contents: reader is a not a good marine (lol), Crocodile is kinda down bad, pining, reader has devil fruit powers, a somewhat graphic depiction of violence, near-death experience (not violent), some fluff, very little angst

wc. 2.3k

wanna be on my taglist?

i. 

“tell me,” the imposing figure says, his voice so deep you swear the ground beneath your feet trembles ever so slightly. “did the World Government send you to mock me?”

Crocodile taps his hook against the surface of his mahogany desk, his heavy-lidded eyes peering sharply at you as he awaits your response. though he may be one of the Seven Warlords, you find it difficult to feel threatened by him, having faced and escaped more dire situations in your past as a cadet. besides, it’s rather rare for your potential cause of death to be so visually appealing.

“i should say no but both of us know that isn’t truly the case.” your response seems to have caught him off guard, his eyes widening ever so slightly. to your surprise, Crocodile follows it up with a smirk, all the while keeping his lit cigar held firmly in between his teeth.

“so what is the reason you’re supposed to tell me?”

as though reciting a script, you share how out of the goodness of the World Government’s hearts, they’ve decided to begin a new initiative to improve relations between the Warlords and the Marines. “thus, every Warlord will be provided with a bodyguard.” you’re unable to hold back the contempt in your tone and Crocodile picks up on it instantly.

“think you’re too good for the job, officer?” he replies in a disinterested manner.

“no, the job’s fine,” you admit, seeing no reason to be dishonest, “i just think they could’ve at least tried to come up with a better lie. i am glad i was assigned to you, though, and not Gecko Moria or Donquixote.” you can’t help but scoff.

the Warlord’s laugh catches you off guard. the fact that the sound alone causes a stirring in your chest alarms you even more.

what an interesting woman you are.

“so what will it take to keep your mouth shut?” Crocodile gets straight to the point, already fully aware of how your daily duties include a report back to headquarters on his activity. in all honesty, he’d meant it partially as a joke or, perhaps, a final attempt at sending you a message: you’re no threat to me.

“i don’t know,” you reply, taking a few steps to get closer to his desk before you lean forward slightly to level your eyes with his, “what’re you willing to offer?”

the Warlord can’t tell if you’re joking–and he’s not sure how he feels about that.

ii.

two months go by and business at Rain Dinners has been the same as always.

contrary to Crocodile’s expectations, your sudden arrival hasn’t impeded his progress on the casino and Baroque Works. his initial concerns over an influx in Marine officers storming Rain Dinners or a Vice Admiral showing up to tear down his secret organisation quickly go unfounded when it dawns on him that you’re truly not interested in taking him down.

if anything, he’s been enjoying your company. you’re an intelligent person whom he’s surprisingly able to have pleasant conversations with. you seem to have a keen sense of perception, knowing when to simply watch events unfold and when to interfere–though the latter instances have been rare considering his status in Alabasta deters trouble-making in his place of business. 

after the first few weeks of having you trail behind him everywhere he goes, Crocodile finds himself getting used to being in your company. today, however, marks the first time the Warlord feels a need for something more.

though the Warlord is surrounded by beautiful women all vying for a crumb of his attention–a common occurrence when he makes his occasional appearance at his own casino’s bar–he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if you’re the one sitting beside him instead. not the kind of man to let his imagination run wild, however, he quickly reminds himself that you’re standing a distance away behind him as you always do.

before Crocodile can fully return to enjoying his evening in the presence of the women around him, though, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a familiar sense of danger snaps his attention to the lady on his right side. within the span of a second, he readies himself to activate his devil fruit powers but before he can even fully register what she’s trying to pull, you make your move.

recognising the stained needle held in between the woman’s fingers as being composed of sea prism stone, your body reacts on its own volition.

“shave.” 

to nearby onlookers, a blurry figure shoots its way across the room before you reemerge right behind the wannabe-assassin. without any warning, you place your right palm against the back of her head.

“twist.”

with a sickening crunch that reverberates throughout the once bustling casino, the woman’s body from her neck downward begins to turn a full 360 degrees whilst her head remains completely still in the palm of your hand. as her corpse flops to the ground, you hear the combined sounds of onlookers retching and gasping–but no running. the only one seemingly completely unbothered by the cold blooded murder is the assassination target himself.

“i could’ve handled it myself,” Crocodile sighs, puffing a cloud of smoke from his cigar, “though admittedly i am impressed by your efficiency.”

“were you aware the needle was made of sea prism stone?” your question catches him off guard; and he’s only further surprised when you bend down to pick it up from the floor with your bare hand.

“poisoned? i figured,” he admits, “but made of the stone? truth be told i was not aware.” the Warlord’s eyes travel slowly from the tiny needle held in between your fingers up to your face. as expected, you’re affected by the sea prism stone–he can tell from the droopiness of your eyelids and the way you furrow your eyebrows. “i could kill you right now,” Crocodile adds, unable to help his curiosity in what your response might be to such a suggestion.

“feel free,” you reply, a tired smile appearing on your tired face.

“don’t be ridiculous.” he shoots a glance at a random employee and gestures to the corpse. once it’s been taken away, he nods at the now-available seat. “take a seat, drink with me… and throw the needle away.”

iii.

three weeks later, you come storming into Crocodile’s office unannounced. normally he doesn’t tolerate such behaviour–the guest he’d been hosting even flinches outwardly, as though steeling himself to witness your impending death–but once the Warlord’s eyes lay on you, all anger flies out the window.

“why’d you do it?” you ask, clutching a crumpled letter in your hand as you make your way to his desk. with a wave of his hand, he dismisses his guest and remains silent and still until the two of you are left alone in the large room.

now that he’d had some time to take a closer look at you, the expression on your face screams less anger and more confusion–contrary to the way you’d nearly kicked down his door to get in. eyes flickering to the letter in your hand, the familiar material of the paper reminds him of a particular event that happened just a week ago.

“something troubling you, Miss Bodyguard?” the Warlord asked while in the midst of handling a mountain of paperwork.

“my village is in danger,” you’d replied without hesitation, not seeing any need to hide the truth from him–it was a trait he very much appreciated in you. “we used to always get harassed by pirates but lately it’s gotten worse and the berry i send home isn’t enough to keep them away anymore.”

a part of him expected you to drop a subtle plea for help but you never did. once you’d answered his question, you went back to being silent, eyes trained on the crumpled piece of paper held in your trembling hands.

“what’s the name of your village? and on what island?”

“remind me what you’re accusing me of?” Crocodile replies in his usual monotonous tone.

“you sent people to my village,” you say almost breathlessly, unable to help the tears welling up in your eyes as your heart pounds within the confines of your chest. “you’ve been protecting them, haven’t you?”

“yes.” 

“why?”

i hated seeing you worry.

“you wouldn’t be a very efficient bodyguard if you’re constantly thinking about your home, would you?”

for a long while, you simply stare at him in silence, your widened eyes glued to his deep-set ones. your gaze is so intense it’s almost as though you’re trying to peer straight into his soul; for a split second, the Warlord wonders if you’ve perhaps passed out while standing up with your eyes open.

“thank you,” you say softly with a smile on your face–the mere sight of which sends what the Warlord thought had been dead and cold in his chest into overdrive. for the first time in years, his heart races not from anger or adrenaline but from something else he’d long forgotten the feeling of.

iv.

four days pass by and Crocodile once again feels a strange sensation in his chest but this time it’s from worry.

within the course of an evening, you’d gone from perfectly healthy to deathly ill. first you’d collapsed after dinner–nearly hitting your head on the cold tiled floor had he not been fast enough to catch you–before a dangerously high fever started to set in. without hesitation, as he carried you to your quarters, the Warlord demanded for the best of Alabasta’s doctors and nurses to make their way over immediately.

now as the moon hangs high in the desert sky, its light shining through your windows just enough to illuminate your room barely, you find yourself accompanied by the Warlord himself. sitting quietly in a chair set beside your bed, you watch him as he reads a folder full of documents, using only the moonlight casting in as his source of light.

you feel terribly hot and extremely cold at the same time as you lay under the weight of your comforter, a wet towel resting on your forehead. your throat feels dry no matter how much water you drink so you’ve long since stopped asking for more–now only drinking when he periodically offers a glass to you.

in your fevered haze, you faintly recall some instances after you’d collapsed: the feeling of strong arms carrying you away, holding you close to a warm chest; the anger in a familiar voice it barked orders at others; the feeling of a large hand caressing your cheek as you laid barely awake.

“she will be okay, thankfully we made it in time to pump all the poison out of her system,” the leading doctor shared with Crocodile outside your bedroom door after a grueling few hours of medical care.

“poison?” the Warlord furrowed his eyebrows.

“yes, Sir Crocodile, we found a large trace of various poisonous substances in her stomach. frankly, she’s lucky to be alive.”

“is my face really that amusing to stare at?” he asks in a tone that lacks any bite as he directs his attention to you.

“you are quite handsome,” you admit with a weak smile. he feels his face warm up and hopes it at least doesn’t show on his skin. “you frown too much, though.”

“oh, really?”

“yeah. especially tonight.” you slowly take in a deep breath only to start coughing uncontrollably when the air gets lodged in your throat. Crocodile responds quickly but without haste, handing you a fresh glass of water as you sit yourself up. you drink it all before continuing to speak. “you’ve been frowning in a sort of angry way ever since the doctors left… what’s wrong?”

the Warlord takes a moment to look at you. there’s a thin sheen of sweat covering your skin and the bags under your eyes look the darkest they’ve ever been since he met you, frankly you look terrible but at least you’re alive. as much as he wants to pretend he doesn’t know why your survival makes him feel so relieved, he’s too smart to be fooled even by himself.

“you nearly died from an assassination attempt.” Crocodile hands you the folder he’d been pouring over while you rested. “i sent my best agents to investigate after the doctors told me you’d been poisoned.”

although your eyes burn with exhaustion, you managed to scan through all the documents with ease. you feel your already-weakened heart twist in a bizarre mixture of sadness, indignation and resignation as you learned the truth of your near-death experience.

“the World Government must’ve thought i was quite the threat to send Cipher Pol 8 after me, huh?” you say, laughing half-heartedly as you hand the folder back to Crocodile. “i guess i must’ve defected without realising.” you speak with an air of nonchalance that piques the man’s interest.

“knowing the World Government, you’ll probably have a bounty on your head once they realise you lived.” 

“i know,” you sigh, “the smart thing to do would be to leave Alabasta once i’m all better, don’t you think? i will miss keeping an eye on you, though.” the way you’re looking at him as you wait for his response is strangely playful and he feels the initial pang of disappointment morph instead into a tiny bit of hope. 

“join me,” Crocodile says exactly what he knows you want to hear. “i happen to have grown quite fond of being watched by you.” you smile widely and it sends his heart into a fit.

“join Baroque Works?”

“no.” he reaches out to grab your clammy hand, engulfing it with his much larger one; with an uncharacteristic gentleness, the Warlord brings it up to his lips before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “not Baroque Works, join me. stay by my side.”

“i’d like nothing more.”

—

taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost

[that-one-ostrich-friend]

stormy night

older!sirius black x reader - stormy night

word count: 3.5k

summary: sirius and y/n find themselves stranded in a town after a failed mission. one bed trope, only one room left at the inn trope (bc i’m a whore for those tropes so sue me)

warnings: shared bed, kissing, cuddling, shirtless sirius (he’s such a manwhore and i love him)

a/n: i went insane with this. did i make myself incredibly flustered while writing this? yes, yes i did… as i said, i am a slut for older sirius black

The rain came down in sheets, relentless and heavy, soaking through every layer of clothing until it was impossible to feel anything but cold. The cobblestone streets of the small, sleepy village were deserted, save for two figures trudging side by side beneath the dim glow of flickering street lamps.

     Y/n clutched her cloak tighter around herself, the wet fabric clinging uselessly to her arms. Her boots splashed through puddles, water seeping in and chilling her feet. Beside her, Sirius Black walked with a determined stride, his long hair plastered to his face and neck, water dripping from the ends. His sharp, angular features were shadowed under the dim light, his expression unreadable.

     They’d been walking for what felt like hours, though it had likely been less. The failed mission weighed heavily between them—a lingering frustration neither had voiced aloud. The people Sirius had hoped to recruit had been polite but dismissive, unwilling to take a stand against the growing threat of Voldemort.

     “You’d think they’d care more about the world burning around them,” Y/n muttered, her voice cutting through the steady rhythm of rain.

     Sirius glanced at her, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Cowards rarely think beyond their own doorsteps.”

     The silence stretched on as they walked, the storm soaking them to the bone. Y/n shivered, trying to ignore the chill seeping into her limbs.

     “We need to find shelter,” Sirius said, his voice low and firm.

     She huffed a humorless laugh. “And where exactly do you suggest we find that? We’re stranded, and the portkey’s gone.”

     “Have a little faith,” he said, his lips quirking into a faint smirk.

     She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her own lips. Sirius had a way of making even the bleakest situations feel slightly less suffocating.

     They turned a corner, and a flicker of light in the distance caught Y/n’s attention. A small inn stood at the end of the street, its sign swinging in the wind. Relief washed over her.

     “There,” she said, quickening her pace.

     Sirius followed without a word. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp wool and wood smoke. The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, shaking water from their cloaks. Behind the counter stood a balding man with a thick mustache, a book in his hands. He looked up as they approached, setting the book aside.

     Sirius rested his hands on the counter. “We need rooms for the night.”

     The man studied them for a moment before nodding. “You’re in luck. Last room just opened up.”

     Sirius paused, his shoulders stiffening slightly as he absorbed the words. “One room?”

     “One room,” the man repeated with a nod.

     For a brief moment, Sirius hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, he fished a few coins from his pocket and slid them across the counter.

     Y/n caught the faintest flicker of something in his eyes as he took the key—an acknowledgment of the situation they were walking into, though he didn’t say a word. Instead, he turned and gestured for her to follow him up the creaky staircase.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

     The room was modest, with a single bed pushed against the far wall and a small fireplace flickering weakly in the corner. The air was cool, the rain pattering softly against the window.

     Y/n dropped her bag by the door, her eyes immediately landing on the bed. She swallowed hard. Of course. One bed.

     Sirius surveyed the room with a neutral expression, though she didn’t miss the slight twitch of his lips—a smirk he was trying to suppress. “I’m going to shower,” he said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the back of a chair.

    He pulled his shirt, miraculously dry from being under his coat, over his head. His muscles flexed smoothly as his arms fell back to his sides. He held the shirt out to her.

     “Yours is soaked,” he said simply.

     She hesitated before taking it, her fingers brushing his briefly. “Thanks.”

    Sirius disappeared into the bathroom, and the sound of running water followed moments later. Y/n stripped off her wet cloak and shirt, leaving herself in just her underwear before slipping his shirt over her head. It was soft and worn, the faint scent of something distinctly Sirius clinging to it.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

     The bathroom door creaked open, and a wave of warm, humid air escaped into the room. Y/n glanced up from where she sat on the edge of the bed, and her breath caught in her throat.

     Sirius stood in the doorway, his body backlit by the light from the bathroom. His dark, damp hair curled slightly at the ends, drops of water sliding down his sharp jawline and clinging to his collarbone before cascading down his chest.

     And what a chest it was. His toned muscles were defined but not overly bulky—lean and honed, as if shaped by years of instinctive strength rather than deliberate effort. A faint scar slashed diagonally across his abdomen, a reminder of the life he had lived. The flickering light of the fireplace cast shadows over his skin, accentuating the ridges of his abs, where droplets of water gathered before slipping lower.

     Her gaze followed the droplets, watching them trail down his torso, past the slight dip of his navel, to where the towel hung low on his hips. Too low. The rough fabric clung precariously, teasingly, to the sharp cut of his hipbones. The sight sent a wave of heat rushing to her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, her pulse racing.

     Sirius ran a hand through his damp hair, dislodging more droplets that rolled down his shoulders and arms. His voice broke the tension in the air.

     “Don’t suppose you’ve got a comb in that bag of yours?” he asked, his tone casual, as if he didn’t look like a god carved from marble standing in front of her.

     Y/n blinked, her brain taking a moment to catch up. “Uh… no. Sorry.”

     His lips curved into the faintest smirk, his gray eyes locking on hers as if he were reading every thought in her head. He tilted his head slightly, the movement making a drop of water fall from his jaw to his chest.

    “Like what you see?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, filled with teasing warmth.

     Her breath caught. There was no denying the heat rushing to her cheeks or the way her heart thudded against her ribs. She should look away—say something, anything to deflect the question. But she couldn’t.

     “I—” she started, then hesitated, her throat suddenly dry.

     The corner of Sirius’s mouth twitched into a wider smile, a flicker of confidence lighting his expression. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement but softer now, as though he wanted to savor her reaction.

     The room felt warmer, the tension between them humming in the air. For a moment, neither of them moved, and Y/n felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them—the unspoken words, the charged silence, and the undeniable pull that she had tried so hard to ignore.

     After a moment, Sirius broke the silence, his voice still low. “Well, I’d hate to keep you distracted for too long.” He gestured toward the bathroom. “I should probably put something on.”

     With that, he turned and disappeared back into the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.

     Y/n exhaled slowly, realizing only then that she’d been holding her breath. She was left to process the rapid beating of her heart.

     Y/n sank back onto the edge of the bed, her fingers instinctively gripping the soft fabric of Sirius’s shirt where it hung loose against her frame. Her heart was still pounding, the sound thunderous in her ears as she stared down at the uneven grain of the wooden floor. But it wasn’t the rain outside or the long day weighing on her mind—it was him.

     She bit her lip, heat rising to her cheeks. This was Sirius. Sirius Black, who she had spent the last year arguing with, working alongside, exchanging half-buried glances and stolen moments that she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on. And yet here she was, practically squirming at the memory of him dripping wet, grinning at her with that maddening confidence.

     Like what you see?

     The truth was, she didn’t just like it. She wanted more. More of him, more of the heat that seemed to follow him wherever he went, more of the way his voice dipped into something warmer, softer, when he spoke just to her.

     Her fingers tightened on the edge of the bed as she tried to steady herself. It didn’t help. Not when the image of him kept replaying in her mind, more vivid and tantalizing than before.

     And Merlin, she hadn’t even seen him smile like that before—like he’d caught her off guard and liked it. Like he knew exactly what effect he had on her.

     “Damn it,” she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible over the storm outside. But the storm inside her was louder. Much louder.

      Sirius stepped back into the room, the door to the bathroom creaking as it closed softly behind him. He was dressed now in nothing but a pair of black boxers, the fabric tight around his hips. The towel he had worn just moments ago was now gone, and the air in the room seemed to hum with the subtle tension that lingered in his absence. His damp hair clung to the back of his neck, a few errant strands curling slightly at the edges, a look that somehow made him seem both casual and impossibly alluring.

     He cast a glance at y/n as he walked across the room, his eyes lingering on her for just a moment longer than necessary. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her back straight, her hands resting in her lap, as if she hadn’t just been lost in thought about him a second ago.

     Sirius grabbed the pillow from the bed, holding it in front of him as if it would serve as some sort of shield from the tension that hung between them.

     “I’ll take the floor,” he said with a soft shrug, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked almost too at ease for someone who had just walked out of the shower in nothing but his boxers, as if he were used to making her heart race without even trying.

     The words hit y/n like a splash of cold water. She shot him a glance, disbelief in her expression.

     “What?”

     “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he repeated, this time with a more serious tone. His eyes met hers, the warmth from the shower still radiating off his skin. “I’m sure it’s more comfortable for you.”

     “You can’t be serious.” Her voice was a little sharper than she intended. She couldn’t believe he was actually going to sleep on the floor after everything that had happened.

     “I’m always Sirius.” Sirius’s tone was teasing, though there was a slight edge to it. “I’m sure you’d rather have your space.” He fluffed the pillow in his hands.

     “Sirius, no. You don’t need to sleep on the floor.”

     He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable without me crowding you.”

     “No, I mean it,” she insisted, meeting his gaze. “I’d be fine. Really, I wouldn’t mind sharing the bed.”

     Sirius looked at her for a moment, a small, skeptical smile playing on his lips. His gaze lingered on her—on the way she was sitting there, wearing only his shirt and underwear. His eyes followed the shape of her legs, the way the fabric of the shirt barely hung off her shoulders. There was a quiet pause. He couldn’t help but notice the way the oversized shirt fit her—it seemed to frame her body perfectly. His eyes flickered to her collarbones, exposed and soft in the dim light, before traveling down her bare legs once more. There was something about her in his clothes that was utterly magnetic, and he found himself appreciating the sight more than he probably should.

     Y/n caught his gaze lingering and cleared her throat, suddenly self-conscious, though a part of her couldn’t ignore the way his look made her feel.

     “Are you sure you’re comfortable?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly soft, still watching her intently.

     She nodded, her smile widening. “It’s fine, Sirius. Really. We’ve been through worse situations, haven’t we?”

     Sirius chuckled lowly at that, a deep warmth in his chest. He wasn’t sure what was happening in this moment—whether it was the exhaustion from their trip or the quiet intensity of the night—but something was making it hard for him to look away. He glanced at the pillow in his hands, as though he could convince himself that sleeping on the floor was the more sensible option. But then he met her eyes again and found himself unable to deny the pull between them, the way her presence in his shirt, her bare skin, and the slight teasing smile on her lips all seemed to unsettle him. He finally sighed, tossing the pillow onto the bed with a soft thud.

     “You’re making it really hard to resist you, you know that?” he said, his voice taking on a more serious note.

     Y/n raised an eyebrow, but her grin was teasing. “I think you’ve already given in, Sirius.”

     He smirked lightly as he moved closer to the bed and said, “You know, I think I like the shirt better on you.” His tone was teasing, but there was an undeniable sincerity to his words, and his gaze flickered briefly to her legs, then back to her face.

     Y/n felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, but she fought it off, not wanting him to see just how much his compliment had affected her. “Is that so?” she replied with a raised eyebrow, her voice playful. “I’ll have to remember that.”

     He chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I’m sure you’d look good in anything, but...” He paused, “I guess it’s my fault for giving you my shirt.”

     “I’m not complaining,” Y/n said quickly, her smile softening, but her heart was pounding.

     Sirius finally settled into the bed beside her, the soft sheets rustling as he adjusted. He shifted, clearly still a little hesitant about this whole sharing-a-bed situation, but he didn’t object again. The bed, which had felt comfortably spacious when Y/n was alone, now felt considerably smaller with the two of them in it. Y/n glanced at the space between them, only to realize it was almost nonexistent.

     “It feels smaller now that there’s two of us in here,” she commented, her voice light and easy, but with a hint of curiosity.

     Sirius’s lips curved slightly at her words. He knew what she meant. The space between them felt suddenly much more intimate, closer than he would’ve thought—closer than he had ever expected it to be. He was barely inches away from her now.

     Without thinking, Y/n shifted closer, moving in search of warmth. She found herself gravitating toward the heat emanating from his body. It was a natural pull, almost as if she couldn’t help it, and before she knew it, she was pressed up against him. The warmth of his body seemed to seep into her, chasing away the chill in the air.

     Sirius couldn’t help but admire her in the stillness, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way she fit so perfectly against him. It was intoxicating. Before he even realized it, his hand moved on its own, sliding down to rest at her waist. It was an innocent gesture, but it was also something more. He pulled her a little closer, feeling the soft press of her body against his. 

     “You’re cold,” he murmured, his voice low and soft in the dimness of the room.

     At the sound of his voice, Y/n couldn’t help it—she turned to face him. Her body instinctively moved as her eyes locked with his, the space between them almost electrified. Y/n’s hand found its way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Her thumb traced small circles on his skin. The gesture was casual, almost absent, but she didn’t pull away.

     Both of them were aware of the closeness, but neither of them had said anything—until Sirius did.

    “Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his voice a little hoarse, as though he had been waiting for this moment to finally arrive. The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he didn’t regret it, even as his heart picked up its pace.

     Y/n’s breath caught at the sound of his words, her pulse quickening. The question hung in the air between them like a spark. She met his gaze, and for a moment, neither of them moved, both searching for the answer in the other’s eyes. She didn’t want to hold back anymore.

     “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with certainty.

     And with that, Sirius leaned in. His lips brushed hers softly at first, tentative, as if they were testing the waters. The kiss deepened almost immediately, the air between them thick with tension and anticipation. What had started as something gentle turned into something far more desperate, more desperate to feel the other, to finally let go of everything that had kept them apart. Their lips moved together in a seamless rhythm as if they had been kissing like this forever.

     Sirius’s hand slid up her back, pulling her closer still, until their bodies were flush against each other. Y/n's hand moved to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with the same intensity.

     Time seemed to lose its meaning in that kiss. It felt like hours, but in truth, only moments had passed before they finally pulled apart. Their breaths were ragged, and both of them were flushed, eyes lingering on each other as they caught their breath.

     Sirius stroked his thumb gently across her cheek, his eyes soft as he looked at her. His words were barely above a whisper.

     “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his thumb caressing her skin as if to memorize it. His voice was thick with emotion, as though saying it aloud somehow made it more real.

     Y/n’s eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment at his words, her heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. She could feel the warmth spreading through her chest, and her own fingers brushed lightly against his skin, tracing the lines of his jaw.

     “I... I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” Sirius continued, his voice soft but filled with a yearning that he had never dared to speak of before. “I never thought it would happen like this.”

     Y/n looked up at him, her heart racing. She could feel the weight of his words, the truth behind them. There was no turning back now, and she didn’t want to. This moment, this kiss, had been waiting for both of them.

     Sirius cupped her face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing her cheek as he looked at her, his expression soft and sincere.

     “I mean it,” he said quietly. “You’re beautiful.” 

     Sirius kissed her again, slower this time, as if savoring the feeling of her lips on his.

     After the kiss finally broke it left both of them breathless, their bodies still tangled in the heat of the moment, each kiss leaving them both hungrier for more. But when they finally separated, Sirius didn’t pull away far. Instead, he softly pushed Y/n onto her back, guiding her gently with one hand on her shoulder, his touch more possessive now, but with the tenderness of someone who didn’t want to rush.

     Y/n’s head fell softly onto the pillow, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Sirius hovered over her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her lips, as if he still couldn’t quite get enough of her. His eyes traced the lines of her face.

     Rather than kissing her again, he slid down, his body shifting closer until he was nearly on top of her, his hand curling around her waist. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as if it was the air he needed to breathe.

     Y/n instinctively reached up, her hands finding their place on his back, stroking absentmindedly as her body relaxed under the weight of the moment. It felt strangely comforting, the soft, needy way he curled into her.

     Sirius nuzzled closer, a small sound of contentment escaping his lips as he settled himself in her arms. “This is nice,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin.

     The vulnerability in his touch, the way he let himself completely soften, was new to her, and it made her heart flutter in ways she wasn’t ready to admit.

     Sirius’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her just a little closer. His breathing evened out, slow and steady. He sighed again, a peaceful, content sound. She couldn’t help but smile softly to herself. This was a different side of Sirius, one she didn’t expect but found herself drawn to.

     “Good night,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

     Y/n didn’t answer at first. She let the silence fill the room, only the soft sound of their breathing filling the space. She felt a wave of warmth wash over her as she nestled closer, her hand still tracing gentle patterns on his back. He was right. This was nice.

     “Good night,” she finally whispered back, her voice just as soft, and with that, they both drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in each other’s warmth.

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

[ladybirdswritings]

Pretty Thing - Cooper Howard (Ghoul) x Reader

Summary: You're a shiny, pretty prize worth more caps than can be counted on ten hands altogether. There's something special about you, and the Ghoul is determined to figure out just what it is.

Notes: I caved, so here is part 2 <3! Lmk if u love this and I'll write more (feel free to leave me lots of comments and interactions, they motivate me!!)

pt. 1 | A03 | masterlist

pretty thing | 2…

“Please kindly rectify that you did not kidnap this innocent lady and you’re just— borrowing her.”

Their voices were a muffled, incoherent sound. Like ocean waves, rising and falling into pocketed parts of your brain.

“Well sweetie, I could go on n’ lie to you if it helps ya’ sleep better. Then again, I don’t much care how good you sleep.”

The sound of hissing air being breathed in with a moan, and exhaled with a grunt followed those words. The voice was familiar. Sudden, hazy flashes of the Ghoul circling you like a shark reentered your hectic mind. The other voice… it belonged to the doe-eyed brunette.

“Coop, kidnapping is wrong. Besides, what use do we have for another responsibility? What’s left of the NCR would have gladly taken her in as one of their own. Another vault, even, a good one! You’re robbing her of that choice!”

A gruff, deep hum left the Ghoul’s lips.

“Doll, I don’t give a rat’s ass bout’ the NCR. I ain’t no saint, vaultie. Rough economy these days n’ she looks like a useful lil’ thing, don’t she? Besides— she’s in a far better place than the one those underground skillet boys you like to fuck had her holed up in.“

Warmth was encasing your wounded skin, prickling at your senses. It was the most alive you’d felt… the closest you’d been to consciousness in months. Yet, you couldn’t quite pry your gaze apart.

“It’s just wrong…” the brunette whispered after a long moment’s pass.

No matter how wrong it was, well, the Ghoul didn’t much care. He knew well that Lucy would be on her way soon and he couldn’t do much to stop her. Now, he had been a lone wolf for centuries but— there was something about company that made him feel less ghoulish and more— human.

Silently, he liked that.

“You find that tin-lover of yours?” The Ghoul asked, hoping to steer Lucy’s mind away from her moral dilemmas. It worked, because her gaze lit up once more.

“Nope! But I did find some leads. Once we make our way to the city where we were headed, I’ll detour for approximately four days and then if all goes well, I’ll find you again! But with Maximus… doesn’t it sound amazing?”

The city?

“Hm. Guess so. Only thing is, tin-man could be dead by time we get to the city. Now— if I was you, I’d get gone and find him fore’ those roaches start to pick him apart.” There was a mischievous kind of joy at the idea of it, and it was laced proudly in his voice.

Silence again, warmth prickling stronger. Closer.

“But what about you, Coop?”

His laugh was a hoarse, aged and cold sound. As if to say everything his words could not. Lucy understood it immediately. She knew well that the Ghoul could hold his own. He’d done it for 200 and some years, after all. Perhaps she’d grown comfortable working as a team. Perhaps…

But Maximus…

“You’re right. Better to get a head start… what about the girl? She’s high profile. You know those keepers are gonna come right after you and they won’t stop. Us vault-dwellers can be incredibly persistent about the things we are passionate for.”

You couldn’t see it— not while you slumbered, but the Ghoul could only smirk at sweet Lucy’s words. Proud and mangled.

“Oh I know, sweetie. N’ don’t you worry bout’ pretty thing over there. She’s gon’ be well taken care of.”

A threat? A promise? An idea? Perhaps all three— perhaps all at once.

“…right. Look, I grabbed this on my way out. It’s a file— her file. Maybe you’ll figure out what you should do after you read it.”

As if the Ghoul hadn’t figured it out entirely already.

Pretty thing was worth something.

You were worth something. So? He’d do whatever he needed to so to get whatever the fuck made you so special out of you, and he’d drown in caps for it. Enough caps to buy him another century worth of yellow vials. Another century to find his family.

“Mm. Get goin’, MacLean.”

With a nod, she did— bidding farewell to dogmeat and sparing her partner another cautious glance before the sandy dunes engulfed her. Off to the city.

For the second time since you’d met him, you found yourself all alone with the mangled Ghoul. Only, you weren’t strong enough to truly see him just yet…

Pity. Cause he? Well…

He was looking right through you…

🏷️’s @isabellekenway

[seelie-regent]

Omegaverse CorrodedKing au

So Steve was close friends with the whole group throughout elementary and middle school. You literally never saw Steve without at least one of them. They did everything together and knew everything about each other. They didn't keep secrets from each other and were never apart for more than 12 hours at a time. When they formed Corroded Coffin in sixth grade Steve was their vocalist.

Steve's parents didn't exactly like it but didn't do anything about it. Figuring Steve would grow out of them. Mature and realize they weren't up to par to be around someone with the status of a Harrington. Figuring that when Steve presented as an alpha like they expected their little group would fall apart. Except Steve doesn't present as an alpha. He presents almost a year later than he was expected to as an omega less than a month before he's supposed to start high school.

His parents are furious. Especially since the rest of the band has already presented as alpha's. His parents forbid him from seeing them again. Steve tries to argue but it's shut down almost instantly with a threat to have him sent to an omega finishing school out of state. Not even a week after Steve presents his parents are looking into ways to hide his designation while seeing if there are any alpha's to marry Steve off to once he's of age that will benefit them.

So with no choice but to bow to his parents wishes he's forced to cut contact with the band and go on suppressants and wear false scent patches to make him seem like an alpha. He's forced into befriending Tommy and Carol who are the kids of his parents 'business partners. They force him to toss everything related to the band. Pictures, clothes, gifts, books, and everything related to D&D.

On top of everything Steve is made aware that Tommy and Carol are to report everything he does back to his parents. So he knows he won't get a chance to explain anything to the band.

Come the start of Steve's freshman year and the bands confused and devastated for Steve's "abandonment" of them. Their hurt turns to anger that they take out on Steve in whatever ways they can. Constantly talking about how they should have expected it given Steve's parents. Steve, desperate for a distraction, throws himself into sports and partying. Which the band uses as further "proof" of Steve being evil.

It doesn't take long for Steve to develop rejection sickness from the bands constant taunts. Not that he blames them. He knows how it looks. He wishes he could explain. But he can't. Better to be around them and see them even if they hate him then to never see them again.

It doesn't take long for Carol who's also an omega to realize what's happened. And to Steve and her own surprise she does her best to help him. They might not be able to go against their parents but they can redirect Tommy and his friends attention. They can be there for each other.

Steve does end up dating Nancy still. Seeing bits of the boys in her. She's nerdy like them, albeit in a different way. She's got the same big eyes and fluffy curls Eddie has. She's got Gareth's anger that she desperately tries to hide. She's got Jeff's determination. She's got Doug's sense of humor. And Steve misses them so much. And at this point Nancy may as well be as close as he'll ever have to having his boys, his alpha's, back.

Things still fall apart. Steve finds the courage to break away from Tommy except this time Carol goes with him. And he still tries to cling to Nancy, to the pieces of his alpha's that she has, and it's still bullshit come Halloween. What Steve isn't expecting when he comes into school the day after Halloween though is for his secret to be out. For Tommy to have told Billy as revenge when he saw Carol leaving with Steve and trying to comfort him. For Billy to have told the whole school. He and Carol leave as soon as they hear people talking about it. Scared to deal with the fallout of this.

The band started putting the pieces together as soon as they heard what everyone was saying. The more they think about it the more pieces they realize they're missing. It's when they really start to think about what they remember of Steve's parents. That they finally look back and think about Steve constantly looking at them. The longing in his eyes every time. How the looks of pain they always agreed were just wishful thinking when he would watch them. How they had written off the look of Steve's face every time one of them made a comment. How Steve always seemed a little off. How he seemed sick more often than he ever was when they were kids. And all the pieces they're putting together make them almost sick with regret. Desperate to fix it but horrified to realize they don't know how.

Dustin still stumbles upon Steve however Carol is with him this time. So it's Steve and Carol who face the demodogs to protect the kids. When Billy shows up and Steve tries to make him leave he propositions Steve. Steve laughs in his face, because seriously who did he think he was, which only serves to further piss Billy off as he storms into the house. Steve still gets beat to shit but Carol breaks Billy's nose when throwing things at him to try and get him away from Steve giving Max the distraction to knock him out.

Come school the following week everyone has heard some version of the story or another. The band can't decide which version is worse. The one closest to the truth, that Billy attacked Steve while he was babysitting after he turned him down, or that it was Steve's parents furious that the secret had gotten out. Steve's fairly certain the only reason that one isn't true is because he parents still haven't returned home. The band is desperate to apologize but still can't figure out how. Even if they wanted to the Party is keeping Steve so busy that they wouldn't be able to get a minute alone with him. Which might have been Carol's fault. She had accidentally let slip that the band was why Steve had rejection sickness while at the hospital and the kids had misunderstood and taken it as the band had done something to hurt Steve. Any time one of them tries to get Steve outside of school one of the kids suddenly pops up needing something. Dustin, Max, and surprisingly enough Mike are the worst ones about it.

Meanwhile Steve has no idea. He has no clue the party is keeping his away from Corroded Coffin. And he has no idea that his boys are trying to apologize. After several weeks Corroded Coffin starts to think Steve does know though. That it was Steve's idea. (It was Mike's) That Steve really doesn't want them around anymore and that this time it's their fault for being so casually and constantly cruel to him. So they back off.

Then comes summer. Steve and Carol working at Scoops. Carol falling for Robin. Robin oblivious and falling for Carol. And Steve and Robin becoming Steve&Robin one day early in summer when Steve accidentally tells her about Corroded Coffin and the truth of his rejection sickness. Then come the Russians. And truth serum. And Carol and Robin getting together. And Steve talking about how he dated Nancy because of everything she reminded him of. Completely unaware of the fact that his boys were right there.

Eddie has smelled Steve a scent the whole band was familiar with thanks to school and hanging around Scoops. Eddie had followed and seen Steve once more beat to shit and rushed to get the rest of the band so they could try and help their omega. Because maybe Steve didn't want them around but they couldn't just leave him like that. So the band walks in at the perfect moment. To hear Carol and Robin pull the full story from him. They're overjoyed to be proven wrong and devastated to hear what Steve says.

The rest plays out more or less the same and the band drags Steve to the hospital. Once he's released they finally talk things out. Steve refuses to accept an apology for any of it and they refuse all of his.

It's not till they tell the kids that the band learns complete truth. The kids are pissed that Steve would date the band much to Steve's confusion. He ends up learning about the small misunderstanding sprouted from Carol's poor explanation. After that the kids are completely on board with the relationship. Dustin latching onto Eddie and Will deciding Gareth is his favorite.

A year and a half later Steve's parents show up having finally found out about the last several years of Hawkins chaos. However they can't do anything. Steve had mated the band and moved out almost year before they show up leaving them with nothing to hold over Steve's head.

Steve can't imagine a timeline where he's happier. He has his boys back. His alpha's. And he gained a best friend, platonic soulmate, and a small pack of chaotic teenagers. There's nothing more he could imagine wanting.

[fanged-fanfics]

Hello! If it's not too much to ask, can you do the TFP Decepticons with a femme Cybertronian [(S/O) or platonic] that's like Rouge The Bat from Sonic? In terms of personality and her being a thief?

☆ Stolen Sparks — TFP Decepticons x Fem Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff || she/her pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: There's more than just Megatron in the post I promise I'm just using him as the fic image cause I couldn't find a picture with all the Decepticons I included 😭

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Megatron:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Despite his attempts, Megatron could never seem to track you down for long. You kept evading his notice, working as a rogue and stealing from whoever you please. It annoyed him at first... but he found his feelings shifting

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He was intrigued by you before long. What did you want for, were you working for someone else or purely yourself? A faction of thieves, maybe? He became determined to get to know you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 To your surprise, he could out-maneuver you. Turns and tricks that usually worked would get you caught, and you found yourself intrigued above all else. Though you loved to give up a chase, you couldn't resist humoring his conversation

ᯓᡣ𐭩 If he were being honest, it was more than just your efficiency to fulfill your own gain that pulled him in. It was the glances, the claws you'd trail against his plating, the flirting. It consumed his processor entirely, and he felt a drive to be close to you because of it, to experience it all over again every day

Starscream:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Starscream was a bit harder to charm, he saw you as a direct threat to his reign and someone who could bring down what he's been working so hard to build

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Your cooing and little snarky comments made him irritated the most, and he was determined to find a way to stop your meddling. He talked about you constantly, always thinking about your next move, and always thinking of you over the littlest things

ᯓᡣ𐭩 It took some external prodding from Knockout for him to come to the sudden realization that he'd become infatuated with you. He couldn't help it, but he had no idea how it managed to sneak up on him. How you so effortlessly stole his spark like you'd done to countless treasures

ᯓᡣ𐭩 It wasn't long before you could pick on him about fumbling in battles and suddenly losing what little composer he had. He just couldn't focus anymore, because now when you got in his face to tease, all he could think of was the proximity of your frames

Soundwave:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You thought it a fun challenge to see if you could get some sort of reaction out of the notoriously stoic Decepticon, but he never once spoke a word to you, no matter how many little jabs you gave him

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He spoke more with actions. He always knew your next move, and had plenty of Cassettes to set you back if you got out of line or threatened Megatron's cause. Other than that, he seemed more passive towards you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You were surprised when you began finding trinkets and treasures being practically gifted to you. They were left out in obvious spots around your usual stops, and sometimes you'd catch a glimpse of the Officer warding off other bots who tried to pick them up before you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You would start back up chatting at Soundwave, noting the little signs he gave in body language and his gifts that he'd been paying attention to your preferences. He didn't respond to any flirting outwardly, but definitely never shied away from your words

Shockwave:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The logical but completely amoral, getting ahead of Shockwave was nearly impossible. He didn't rise to any of your bait, disabled any traps, and even mocked back when you goaded him

ᯓᡣ𐭩 With his unyielding stoicism, you were more than a little convinced that you were always the winner of your little play-fights, since he seemed to completely miss any hint you threw at him

ᯓᡣ𐭩 What you learned after he won a small scuffle between you two is you weren't the only one playing this little game. Intellectual challenges are where Shockwave excelled, and him letting you win was to prolong this habit you shared, of challenging the other into doing their best

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You both agree to mutually maintain this system for as long as possible, chasing each other in this friendly war of tactics that honestly has made you feel closer to the scientist than ever, especially when he reciprocates your sly remarks

Airachnid:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Running into the spidery fembot was a dangerous bet— you'd heard plenty about what she was capable of, and you always tried to keep on your best wits when around anything she considered her territory

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When Airachid inevitably did catch you, she was surprisingly not keen on the though of tearing you apart. Instead, she told you all the potential she saw in you, and all the success you two could have when working together

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Whether you agree or deny, she's always in your plans from that day forth. Either by aiding your work and complimenting your efficiency, or by undermining your plans the same way you always do to others

ᯓᡣ𐭩 In cooperation or opposition, you two are evenly matched. Airachnid knows how to trip you up, and you know how to evade her fangs. No matter what you pick, she finds you alluring, and desires to someday have you as her own little treat

[dark-l-angel]

can i request for a olderbat!damian wayne x reader whose his controversial young wife :3

feel free to ignore if not comfy for ya😚

Sorry for the title 😕 pls help me in the comments 🙏🏻 😭

I couldn't find a title

Olderbat!Damian wayne x controversial young wife!reader

The Batcave was unusually quiet that evening, save for the soft hum of monitors and the occasional shuffle of papers. Damian Wayne, now in his late thirties and fully embodying the mantle of Batman, stood at the central console, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reviewed the night's surveillance footage.

The Batcomputer blinked with updates from across Gotham, detailing the latest criminal activities and potential threats. It was a routine night in the eternal battle against crime, yet Damian's thoughts drifted, uncharacteristically distracted.

A soft rustle behind him broke the silence, and Damian turned to find (Y/N) leaning against the Batmobile, a playful smile gracing her features. She was a stark contrast to Gotham's darkness—youthful and vibrant, her presence a beacon of light in the cavernous depths of the Batcave.

"You're up late," she remarked, her voice echoing softly in the cavern. "Anything I can do to help?"

Damian's gaze softened as he took in the sight of his controversial wife. (Y/N) had been a whirlwind in his life—a breath of fresh air amidst the shadows that had long defined him. Her free-spirited nature and unwavering optimism had challenged him in ways he never expected, yet he found himself drawn to her energy like a moth to a flame.

"I could use your perspective on this," Damian admitted, gesturing towards the array of screens displaying Gotham's ongoing turmoil. "There's been an increase in gang activity near the docks. It's unusual for this time of year."

(Y/N) stepped closer, her eyes scanning the data with a keen interest. "Maybe they're planning something big," she mused, her mind already racing with possibilities. "What if they're using the docks to smuggle in weapons or drugs?"

Damian nodded, impressed by her quick grasp of the situation. Together, they delved into analyzing the patterns and potential motives behind the criminal surge, their minds synchronizing in a way that spoke volumes about their partnership—both in crime-fighting and in life.

As they worked, Damian couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had led them to this moment. Their relationship had sparked controversy and raised eyebrows among Gotham's elite, who couldn't fathom why someone like Damian Wayne would choose a partner so different from the expected mold.

But to Damian, (Y/N) was everything he never knew he needed. Her optimism tempered his cynicism, her boldness challenged his cautious nature, and her unwavering support anchored him in the storm of Gotham's relentless challenges.

They had met unexpectedly at a charity gala, where (Y/N)'s sharp wit and unyielding compassion had captivated Damian's attention. Despite their age gap and the world's scrutiny, they found solace in each other's company—a refuge from the expectations and demands of their respective roles.

And now, as they stood side by side in the heart of the Batcave, Damian felt a surge of gratitude for the woman who had reshaped his world. (Y/N) had not only accepted the darkness that defined his nights but had embraced it with a courage and determination that mirrored his own.

"You know," (Y/N) spoke up after a moment of shared silence, her voice gentle yet filled with conviction, "they'll never understand us, Damian. But that's okay. We didn't choose the easy path, but we chose each other."

Damian turned to her, his heart swelling with a love that defied expectations and surpassed words. Without hesitation, he reached out, pulling (Y/N) into a tender embrace—the kind that spoke of a lifetime of battles fought and victories won together.

In the quiet of the Batcave, surrounded by the echoes of Gotham's chaos, Damian Wayne and (Y/N) found peace in each other's arms—a love that defied the darkness and illuminated their path forward, together.

And as they stood, united against the night's endless shadows, Damian knew with unwavering certainty that with (Y/N) by his side, he was stronger than ever—a Dark Knight who had found his light in the heart of Gotham's perpetual storm.

☆ I hope you like it ☆

[freedomfireflies]

any chance we can get asher back for mine!harry blurb? i miss my pookie :(

Summary: The one where you're not feeling so hot and Harry and Asher just want to help.

Word Count: 1.1k

Content Warning: 18+, very brief smut, very brief daddy kink, lots of fluff, not suitable for Ramadan!

“That’s it…good. Take it…fucking take me, mama.”

With every thrust and drive of Harry's hips, you can’t help but whimper. Nails scratching down his broad back while his nose dances along your cheek. You feel whole. Connected. In tune to his pleasure as you tighten your legs around his hips and kiss him.

“So fucking wet, sugar,” he exhales. His thumb finds your clit and he rubs in fast, determined circles. “S’it feel good? My baby’s cunny just needed some attention, hm? Needed me to fill her up?”

You nod—about the only coherent response you can offer—and melt into the feel of his mouth moving to your chest. It feels good. This is what you needed. You’ve missed him. And you needed someone to scratch this itch and make things right again.

And then, a throat clears.

Not yours. Not Harry’s.

Asher’s.

He’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching. His kind eyes are now suspicious and deviant. And he’s not looking at Harry. He’s looking at you.

And you know why.

Harry doesn’t mind the audience. He continues, strong hands cemented to your hips as he tugs you up in order to get a better angle. “You all right, Ash?” he calls.

Asher raises his chin. “Tell him,” he says to you. Resolute. Unwavering in a way that suggests he won't be letting this go.

You hesitate, stomach dropping as the threat of punishment hangs heavy in the air. 

Harry smirks. “Tell me what?” 

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you whisper before shooting a pointed look toward the door. “Nothing.”

“Sweetheart,” Asher warns, crossing his arms before leaning against the frame. “It’ll be worse if I have to tell him.”

Now Harry seems to understand and begins to slow his thrusts, offering you a curious expression meant to calm you. “What’s wrong, mama?”

You chew on your lip. You don’t want to tell him. You want this and you attempt to clench around his cock in order to get him to continue.

He smiles.

“She had a fever this morning,” Asher finally says and you bite back a groan. “She’s been dizzy all day and nearly fainted earlier. I told her to stay in bed and rest. Not do anything too strenuous. But I have a feeling she didn’t mention that to you.”

Harry’s grin instantly fades into disappointment and you know, undoubtedly, that you’re in rather big trouble now. 

The one thing they prioritize more than anything is your health and safety.

“Sugar,” Harry starts, and you feel your heart skip, “are you not feeling well?”

You squirm beneath him. “I’m…I’m fine. I’m okay to do this—”

“Were you sick this morning?”

“…I was just…I mean, maybe a little, but—”

“Did you know you were going against Asher’s request when you begged me to fuck you?” he says firmly, and your skin feels like it’s on fire. You hate upsetting him. “Were you purposefully disobeying him?”

Shit, shit, shit. “I…I wasn’t trying to, I just…I missed you.”

And it’s the truth. You have missed him. You weren’t trying to be defiant, but you love Harry and you wanted to feel him. And you figured an orgasm could be just what the doctor ordered. 

His features soften now as he dips down to kiss your nose. “I know, mama. I’ve missed you, too. But you know better than to disobey, don’t you?”

Regretfully, you nod.

“Then, I’m gonna ask you a question and I expect the truth. Is that understood?”

Another nod.

“Are you unwell right now? Do you feel tired or feverish or even the slightest bit uncomfortable?”

You could lie. You could tell him that you’ve been fucked back to health. That you rested and now you’re replenished.

But he’d know. And you’d know. And Asher would know.

So, you thread your fingers through his curls and whisper, “I’m…a little tired. And sore."

His expression falls. He’s gutted to know you're in pain but proud of you for finally admitting it. “Good girl,” he says before he kisses your cheek and begins to pull out. “All right then. Are you gonna let us take care of you now? The right way?”

Almost begrudgingly, you nod once again and melt into the mattress as he and Asher discuss the best way to help.

They run you a bath and help carry you to the tub. Harry joins you in the warm water and pulls you between his legs so he can sweep a washcloth up and down your clammy skin. Helping you feel clean and calm.

And when you're through, Asher is there with a big, fluffy towel to wrap you up in. Drying you off gently before bringing you back to bed and kissing your temple sweetly while tucking you beneath the covers.

“Thank you,” you say faintly as he runs his thumb over your cheek. “Even though you’re a snitch.”

He laughs. “Mhm. And I’d do it again.”

With that, he leaves you and Harry alone for the evening, something Harry is more than all right with.

He crawls into bed beside you, quickly pulling you to his chest before taking your temperature and offering you medicine and water. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish,” you whisper as he’s turning out the light.

However, even in the dark, you can anticipate his frown. “Sugar…finishing is not the goal for me. You know that. I like to finish with you, but I don’t fuck you for that. I fuck you because I love you. I want to be close to you. I want to feel you and make you finish.”

You run your fingers down his chest and sigh. “I know, I just…I like when you do. I like that I can do that for you.”

You feel his lips brush across your forehead before he’s wrapping you between his arms. “I know, mama. I’ll make you a deal. Once you’re well again, I’ll fuck you as many times as you want. Make you cum over and over and over again. Until you’re all sensitive and overstimulated.”

You grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you’ll take it, won’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Mhm. That’s what I thought.” He chuckles before there’s a long, silent lull. “I love you. You know that?”

Your heart just about explodes out of your chest. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Another kiss. Soft. Gentle. “Horny little thing. Even got Asher to tell on you.”

“I know,” you laugh. “I was kind of surprised. But to be fair, I didn’t really disobey him. I was on bed rest. We were doing missionary, and you were doing all the work. All I had to do was lay there.”

Harry laughs and the sound is beautiful. “And you’re sneaky, too, hm?”

“Hey, an orgasm a day keeps the doctor away.”

“All right, that’s enough out of you. Go to sleep, yeah?” He pinches your hip. “We’ll discuss this when you’re better. But something tells me Asher won’t be so willing to let you off the hook.”

You smile.

“Good.”

Okay fine I missed Asher, too 😭 HE IS CUTE WHEN HE WANTS TO BE!!

~ Mine Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @acesofspadess @stylesfever @caynonmoondreams  @virginvirgo @pagesfalling @creativelyeva @char112244 @snwells @armystay89 @oh-my-hecky-padalecki @blackbookwhore @nellylayhoohoo @22fallenangel22 @watercolorskyy @ilovedilfs32 @nicodoesntexist @lelenikki @happypoptart 

[darkdarkstucky]

Enchanted, S. Rogers and C. Kent.

SUMMARY: In a world where Omega's were scant and decent alpha's even more so, you think you're one in a million to be in a relationship with Alpha's who not only take care of your every whims and need, but also love and respect you unconditionally. However, your marital bliss of two years is interrupted by the concept of ‘true mates’.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Clark kent.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst.

A/N: imy guys!!!!!

CHAPTER FOUR

“What are you going to do, dollface?” Natasha asks, a worried frown on her face. “You know i will fully support you in whatever decision you make, but i worry about you.”

This is the only life you know about; Were the words left unsaid. Safe in their arms and shielded from the horrors of the world, you were carefully treasured at the palm of their hands, never truly knowing what it meant to suffer any form of grievance.

How will you ever live otherwise? Well, spite was a powerful thing. Heartbreak too. What do they say about women who were scorned? Never to fuck with them.

And right about now, you were feeling extremely vengeful and inclined to doing something extremely stupid. Although, for the sake of being fair and the years you shared with your husbands, you were leaning towards a peaceful resolution. One that was being refuted by the small voice you tempered down with reason.

The tears have gone dry, and the omega inside of you was itching for revenge. Wanting to give your alpha's a new one. A reason for them to truly look the other way.

She surprised you. Normally, she takes their side no matter what happened. Never finding fault with Steve nor Clark, always whining for their attention and barely holding any sort of grudge. But now she's steaming with anger and egging you on to abandon their sorry asses.

You figured it was a betrayal that ran deeper than flesh. You were on the prepice of being replaced, of being abandoned. Your base instinct was rebelling against the idea of being tossed aside, and urging you to flee before you truly get replaced. A self preservation instinct, if you will.

“To be honest, i don't know either.” You whisper, biting your lower lip in thought. “They have told me absolutely nothing. Acting as if i was a merely a decoration in their lives. It's so frustrating because they treat me as if i don't matter, like i was a stranger in my own home.”

Natasha bites her lower lip, sitting herself close to you and holding your hands in earnest. "Tell me how to help you."

Your shoulders were tense and your expression quickly shifted from that of hurt and heartbreak, to a blank one. Determination was squarely set in your gaze as you come up with a resolution for you.

"I need to leave."

***

"I could kill you." Steve's booming baritone welcomes Clark as he pressed the phone to his ears. He expected the other Alpha to have a good nose when it came to such things; all matters concerning you were their top priority so it didn't come as a shock.

Clark maintains he'd never do anything to hurt you, and that oath holds him true to this day. Yet the circumstance had him on a short, tight leash in navigating that promise. He was duty bound, no matter how cruel it sounded.

An omega just for him. One that was his genetic match. In paper.

"Nice of you to check in." He waves the rest of his staff away, knowing the conversation to be personal with threats of every kind being thrown about in the mix.

"You better have a good reason as to why you're housing a bitch." Steve bit the word off like he was utterly disgusted, and a growl ripped through Clark's chest.

"Mind your words, brother." He warns, jaw clenching. No matter how mild-tempered he was, the other alpha's implication had him defensive. He rested his back on the swivel chair, sighing "I don't take kindly at your implication."

"I'm not implying anything, Kent." Steve hisses, "I can take my wife away. Make it so you'd never even see her—"

"I dare you, Rogers." Clark tenses, the menacing growl cutting through the silence in his office. "She is as much bound to me in matrimony."

Steve and Clark were both powerful in their own right— their wealth and affluence were second to none, and they were the unspoken kings of New York. While they exercise dominance in many aspects of their life, it would be unlikely they bring the same menacing attitude home.

No, at home, they were merely your husbands. Parallel in their desire to keep you satisfied and happy, like any alpha with their bonded mate. Their base instincts craved to see you comfortable, well loved and safe under their careful care.

It was as surprising to the rest of the world when such dominant alphas could share a sole omega; even so, because Steve and Clark barely intersected if not on a business setting. While sharing among packs were commonplace, neither Alpha's belonged in the same faction, with Clark being hailed from Smallville and Steve in Brooklyn.

They were as civilized as they come. Polite, educated, over-achieving faces of their prime designation. However, anybody would tell you that propriety and forgiveness does not hold any single ounce of sway in their lives once somebody as much steps on their toes.

Being possessive and selfish came with that territory, so while their arguements were few and far between— measured and handled with like responsible adults, there had indeed been times where they almost rip eachother's head off unbeknownst to you.

"You have to believe that i have her best interest in my heart." Clark grounds out, trying to temper down an outburst. He tries his best to rationalize; He wasn't trying to justify a so called affair to him, or get away with something unspeakable.

Clark knows he would react the same, if not with a tentative explosion aimed to snuff out Steve; he shared the same protectiveness when it came to you, afterall, yet he was designated to become the necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. He needed to be the executioner of the dirty work lest... lest it touches you.

"Trust me." Clark emphasizes, tone set with certainty and self-assurance; his was a confidence that had won him everything in life. "You know as much as i do what needs to be done."

There was a pause in the other line.

"Make it quick." Steve's agreement was strained, a hint of relent in his visage. Things had spiralled out of their control a few dozen things ago, and he was desperate to have a shred of control. "It does not touch her, Kent. Not ever."

"You don't need to tell me twice." Came his prompt response, "Safe skies, then. You wouldn't want me to have all the fun, do you?"

[yanderes-galore]

in love with the platonic yandere aegon ii and the greens too, will you please write more? 🥹💖 i cant imagine the thrill he’d feel when you bond with a dragon, and maybe even actively seeking him out and being there for him when the maesters treat him. i would love to see reader be so caring for helaena and their little sister, training to fight for the purpose of protecting them from harm. i can also see reader being inquisitive of their lineage as a targaryen, asking their uncle aemond to let them see vhagar and learn about their family. i can also see queen alicent being weirdly caring like seeing reader as another chance of being a better mother?

This is extended thoughts based on the Darling in this concept I'm linking here. Kept Darling Female as she was in the previous concept.

Based these extended thoughts on the Anon comments you made ^^ I don't mind making a few other cute ideas. Sorry it isn't all that yandere, I wanted to make cute content with the subtle echo of a threat without forcing unnecessary conflict.

Yandere! Platonic! Team Green Extended Thoughts

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Overprotective behavior, Isolation, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Fear of loss, Violence, Dubious companionship.

While Aegon is nervous about it, a good Targaryen princess and queen needs a dragon of her own.

So eventually you'll be given one of your own.

Dragons are rideable rather quickly, so within a year and a half you'll have a rideable dragon.

It's a hatchling of your own with pretty scales and piercing eyes.

Aegon himself would want to teach you the ways of having a dragon.

Although he often comes off as arrogant with his explanations, using Sunfyre as an example as he shows you how to properly command a dragon.

Uncle Aemond may be the one to teach you High Valyrian to not only hold conversations and mess with Aegon... but to give better commands to your mount.

Even if Aegon was burned, he still asks for frequent updates on your progress.

Of course the burned king feels thrilled to see and hear you able to control a dragon of your own.

While he was anxious at first, he feels quite prideful to see his eldest daughter prove herself.

Aegon loves you the most out of his children, even if laws limit you due to being a woman.

You're just so determined to do good for your father.

Aegon usually doesn't want you to see him suffer when the Maesters treat him.

Yet you often go out of your way to show up and stand beside his bed.

You love him even if Aegon tries to isolate you from the world.

Aegon only wants you to focus on your family....

It makes him happy even if he's pained when you hold his hand.

You're loyal, staying by your father's side as he's treated after being burned.

Although, eventually, Aemond will call you away to teach you more.

Be that swords or ancient languages and history... Aemond takes a great deal of enjoyment when becoming your mentor.

He even offers to help you with your dragon bonding, showing you Vhagar and teaching you how to treat your own mount.

Aegon would hate you being shown Vhagar but Aemond knows he can't do anything about it.

Since you've been taught to care for family, you care for Helaena after the death of one of her sons.

You often help her parent your younger brother and sister, sitting quietly in her chambers as you watch the two babes coo to each other.

You beg Aemond to teach you more in order to protect your family.

Your uncle is amused yet teaches you of course.

Sometimes people wonder if Aemond is trying to gain your favor instead of Aegon...

Aegon was never into history or very dedicated to swords or language.

Which means Aemond spends a lot of time preparing you.

Your grandmother, Alicent, may wish her sons taught you like a proper lady.

Despite it, Aemond usually ignores her and gives you the lessons you desire.

Speaking of Alicent, you're right when you'd say she'd want to parent you to try and be a better mother.

You may be Aegon's kid, yet she finds herself also attentive to you.

She usually visits Helaena's chambers when you're there to interact with both you and your mother.

Alicent loves you too... and with how you're being brought up... she's happy at least one Targaryen seems to have their heart in the right place.

Even though Aemond, Helaena, and Alicent are usually the ones who have your attention... you still return to Aegon.

You lay beside him as he rests, telling him of your progress as a young Targaryen princess.

Aegon is pleased with it all... you're almost fit to be a queen... you just need a husband...

Although Aegon dreads the idea of promising you to anyone.

Sure, you'll have heirs of your own someday...

Yet for now Aegon wants to keep you to himself for a while.

You're his promising princess... more precious to him than anything...

The rest of the family feel a similar way, you're like their trump card.

None of them would ever let anything happen to you.

Blood has already been spilled in this war, so them executing anyone else in your name isn't too unheard of.

The last thing The Greens want is to let The Blacks have you.

They don't want you being tempted and betraying them... or being kidnapped... or worse.

So, for now, Aegon and the rest want to keep you isolated...

If you ever got captured by The Blacks... or were tempted to leave your family by other means...

Fire and blood will follow.