#sigh...they'll grow back..

[cetoddle-archive]

had a gripping the sink moment in the bathroom before my interview got catcalled at the library received lots of compliments on my outfit took another necklace to get fixed and they didn't charge me again drove home in a violent rain storm that lasted maybe three minutes almost got absolutely obliterated by some asshole at a 4-way stop shut my hand in my car door broke three nails and had to trim all the rest down. it's been a day. zzzz

[juniepops]

[northernlion reading chat] "hey NL if you started estrogen would you let your hair grow back or commit to still shaving it." [sighs and puts his hand on his chin] you people gotta-- you gotta come up with new material. you act like it's your first day seein' a bald man. [suddenly sounding actually for real angry] you come into MY chat like you own the place and make bald jokes thinking i haven't heard 'em before! you think you fell outta a coconut tree! [immediately calms down again] you're on notice, pal. i see your name around here again you're gettin' the audit. [spends several minutes focusing on the game and talking about the gameplay, then gets distracted during a puzzle] and JUST to be clear. IF i started estrogen... i mean yeah i'd probably shave my head. it's actually more groundbreaking for a woman to be bald these days. but you wouldn't catch a guy like me doing that because i'm comfortable with myself in a way the average twitch viewer is scared of. [starts backtracking in the game without realizing it] "you don't have to become a woman to take estrogen." i mean, yeah, you don't, but it's about principles you feel me? i'm tryin' to get my female viewership up, if they hear i'm taking estrogen but not even becoming a woman they'll feel disrespected. they won't want nothin' to do with me. [looks at chat for several seconds of silence] "progestuah estrogenize that thang." sure i'll plus two that.

[areislol]

"i'm gonna marry mama when i'm older!"

pairings. argenti, aventurine, blade, boothill, dr. ratio, gallagher, gepard, dan heng/imbibitor lunae, jing yuan, luocha, sampo, welt, jiaoqiu, moze x afab/fem! reader

warnings. fluff, wife! reader, use of "mama", "papa" and "mommy" and "daddy", [c/n] = child's name, sampo being sampo, lots of girl dads

a/n. baby fever hit me. #foreverwithmybabydaddy

wordcount. 4.7k

synopsis. how do they react to their child wanting to marry you, his wife?

playfully teases your child

sampo —

✧ "well, well, seems like i've got a little competitor! but you’ll need more than charm to steal your mom away from me!"

✧😐😐 <- how he actually feels inside

✧ listen, sampo LOVES his little him to DEATH. but for some odd reason hearing his son suddenly burst out saying that he was going to marry you made his face go all sour and ugly.

✧ but he knows that he you would never allow that and that it was all fun and games, still, his smirk grows larger as his son barks back. "nuh uh!! mama loves me more than you, so i will marry mama first! not you!"

✧ a loud, audible, dramatic, heartbroken, gasp can be heard from sampo's wide open mouth, letting out a strangled noise. "you!! never!! my wife loves me more than you!" you let out an exasperated sigh, watching as your husband and your son bickered back and fourth on who you loved more.

✧ "c'mon!! tell him that you love me more than him!" "that would break his heart, sampo! absolutely not!" "but... he's breaking my heart..." ah, there goes his little pout and his puppy eyes that always magically work on you.

✧ "come on... please? pretty please? I'M BEGGING YOU I'M LOSING THIS ARGUMENT TO OUR SON!!!"

✧ your eyes flicker between sampo and your son. sampo is begging you, clinging onto the hem of your shirt as his kneels down while your son on the other hand is staring at his father in confusion and.. embarrassment? you stifled your laughter back, the sight of your six-year-old child giving his own dad a stink eye was hilarious.

✧ "are you laughing at me...?" sampo looks up at your face, eyeing your expressions and follows your gaze, turning his head he faces his son who stares right back at him. "oh..."

✧ "daddy why are you always doing weird things?"

aventurine —

✧ aventurine would laugh heartily and say, "oh, planning to take my spot, are you? well, you’ve got some big shoes to fill!" he’d probably challenge his child to a fun, friendly competition to see who can win over their mom’s heart.

✧ he knows that his child actually has no chance in marrying you, but hey, it's worth a shot to see how far they'll actually go.

✧ "babe!! little [c/n] here wants to marry you~" he says, beckoning for you to side beside him, your child's eyes sparkled at the sight of you sitting down beside him, they grip on your leg, hugging it tightly.

✧ "can i really marry you when i'm older?" you cock your head to the side, eyeing aventurine and your child. "what's all this about?" you asked, aventurine simply pulled you in close to him, his arm wrapped around your waist as he hoists his child up and onto his lap. "mmm... nothing really. so, who do you want to marry, me or this little kid here?"

✧ you caressed your child's hair, letting out a hum in thought. "well... [c/n] i'm already married to daddy..." you replied, and gosh do you feel your heart crumble into a million pieces when you see your child pout, their chubby cheeks prominent. b—but..."

✧ "it's alright sweetie, you can still try, but i don't think mommy will ever marry you—" "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" "WHY ARE YOU—"

✧ in the end you calm your baby down with aventurine who's gripping his shirt over his heart. both you and aventurine settled on letting your child compete with his dad in trying to prove themselves to "marry you one day". once they're put to sleep in their room, aventurine hugs you from behind, his arms snaking around your waist.

✧ "you only want me, right?" he sighed, face nuzzling in your neck. "well of course you're my husband. but don't get their hopes up too high okay? or else they might start crying in your ears again." you laughed. aventurine only let out yet another sigh, leading you away from your child's room.

✧ "child or not i don't want anyone else who wants to be with my wife."

moze —

✧ moze immediately perked his ehad up at the sound of his daughter's voice.. wait.. did he hear her correctly?

✧ though his face remained stoic as ever, the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. he turns to his child, raising an eyebrow with his typical quiet intensity. "you want to marry your mother?" he asks, his voice low but carrying just the right amount of teasing. "you’re going to have to be real smooth if you want to outshine me."

✧ his gaze flicks to you for just a second, a glint of warmth in his otherwise composed demeanour. then, in true moze fashion, he quickly shifted gears, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, as he continued to joke around with his child.

✧ "do you even have a plan? flowers? chocolates? you’re up against some serious competition here," moze adds, his tone dry but playful.

✧ despite his typically reserved nature (but over time you got to really know the true moze and not the 'crow feathered weirdo'), moze had a way of making these rare moments with his family feel special. he ruffles his child’s hair, his smirk widens slightly. "maybe i’ll teach you a thing or two, but you’ll need to practice. being this smooth doesn’t come easy."

✧ moze glances at you again, his silent affection shining through in the way his eyes softened when they landed on you. though he wasn’t one for long speeches or grand gestures, his love for his family was always clear in these moments.

✧ he continues keeping his child entertained with more jokes and a rare display of his dry wit. though he acted cool and composed, these were the moments that he held onto, the ones that made him forget, if only for a while, about the covert world he was usually immersed in.

✧ "seems like i've got competition.. i won't easily be beaten though."

overprotective about you

gepard —

✧ gepard would likely have a soft, almost tender smile when he hears his child say they want to marry you, their mother, his wife. his voice would be gentle, filled with a mixture of pride and love.

✧ "marrying your mother is an honor and a responsibility. you must be ready to protect and care for her, just as i do."

✧ he would explain that love is about more than just affection—it's about commitment, duty, and being there for each other through thick and thin. kneeling down to his child’s level, he places a hand on his child’s shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze as he speaks.

✧ "if you're willing to do all those things then i think mommy wouldn't mind if you proposed to her." and oh does he thank the lord every day for blessing him with his child whose eyes sparkled at his encouraging words. "mhm mhm! i will!" and such chubby cheeks too.. he pinches them affectionately, a tender smile on his face.

✧ even after the conversation ends, he gazes lovingly at you, feeling grateful for the family you've built together.

✧ gepard stands behind you, arms snaked around your waist, his much larger and warm palms resting on your stomach, he hums softly on your head, kneading the soft fabric of your shirt. yeah, he could definitely get used to this life.

✧ "maybe [c/n] wouldn't mind another sibling, hm?"

blade —

✧ blade’s initial reaction would be a mix of surprise and seriousness. (though your daughter probably can't read his expression) you were out shopping and left your child an your husband together in her room, it was trashed with toys, toys and more toys...

✧ blade was subjected to his daughter's antics, but of course he allowed her to do her thing (reluctantly). out of nowhere, she spoke, her words catching him off guard.

✧ "i'm gonna marry mama!" "...no you won't." "i will!" "...."

✧ "......................................................"

✧ blade leans down slightly, his intense gaze locking with his child’s eyes. there’s a seriousness to him, one that contrasts with the lightheartedness of the situation. his voice is calm yet firm

✧ "love is not something to be taken lightly," he begins, his tone gentle but unwavering. he wants his child to understand that while the sentiment is touching, the reality behind such words is far more intricate. "when you say such things, make sure you understand the weight of your words."

✧ weight?? of your words?? what does that even mean???? <- your poor, confused child. blade sighs, what was he thinking? could this little child of his understand his words?

✧ blade watches his child closely, looking for signs of understanding despite knowing that inside the depths of his daughter's eyes, is nothing. just pure bliss and not living naively in the world.

✧ he’s aware that she's still young, that the world of love and marriage is something that shouldn't concern them (blade is never letting his precious daughter marry anyone let alone DATE). yet, he also knows that these early lessons are important. he wishes to prepare her, to ensure she grows up strong and resilient.

✧ blade’s gaze softens just slightly, though his posture remains firm. he’s not one to easily show affection, but there’s a quiet tenderness in the way he holds himself at this moment. his child’s innocent declaration has stirred something within him, something he rarely allows himself to feel. ✧ "alright alright, fine. stop sulking."

✧ "YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!"

boothill —

✧ "you’re serious about that, huh? well, you’ve got to be strong and steady if you want to take care of someone like your mother."

✧ gosh, he's just so elated with the fact that little him gets him!! like, who wouldn't want to marry you? exactly!!! he gets it!!

✧ his rugged exterior momentarily softened by their innocent declaration. his voice would be slightly gruff, but there's an underlying warmth that shows how much he cares.

✧ when his child suddenly declares that they want to marry their mother when they grow up, he doesn’t make a big show of it. instead, he quietly observes the interaction, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of his lips. boothill gives his child a small and gentle squeeze on the shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly, acknowledging the sweetness of the moment, but he doesn’t say much.

✧ but deep down, boothill just wants to lunge himself at his child, smothering them in his love, but refrains from doing so, remembering your words. "don't tackle him or anything, he's still small and fragile!!"

✧ ruffling his hair, boothill picks up his son up in his arms, a grin forming on his lips as he feels the all too familiar grubby hands gripping his hat, tilting it to the side, a fit of giggles erupted, apparently the sight of his hat covering the side of his face was hilarious.

✧ "is it really that funny, junior?" he sighed, carefully hoisting him up to make it more comfortable for the both of them. "ah whatever, let's wait for mama to come back from shopping alright?"

✧ at the mention of your name your son's head perks up, stopping his giggles. "mama!" he exclaims, this time fully yanking his hat off. boothill shakes his head at his actions.

✧ he knows that love is complicated, something that can’t be fully understood at a young age. to him, this is a reminder of the purity of a child’s love—something untainted by the complexities of adult life.

the romantic

jing yuan —

✧ "ah, you’ve got good taste, my little one. but remember, love is a journey, one that requires patience and understanding." he’d likely share a romantic story or two, expressing his deep affection for you, his wife.

✧ jing yuan would smile warmly at his girl's declaration. how sweet of her to be wed to you, although he knows it's impossible, he couldn't break his sweet child's heart.

✧ jing yuan would chuckle softly, his hand ruffling his little one's hair as she gazed up at him with bright, innocent eyes. "you've got quite the ambition, my dear."

✧ his golden eyes would soften as he exchanged a warm glance with you, his wife. "i think mommy might like that idea," he’d tease, his deep voice carrying a note of affection.

✧ kneeling down to his child's height, jing yuan leans in closer, his smile widening. "but you know, love isn't just about weddings or promises. it’s about cherishing someone every day, even in the little things."

✧ he’d pull you both into a gentle embrace, his strong arms encircling his family. "besides, your mother already has my heart. but maybe… just maybe, you can help me take care of her, too."

✧ the child would beam, feeling proud and important, while jing yuan would place a soft kiss on your forehead, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "looks like i’ve got some competition," he'd say playfully, causing you both to laugh.

✧ later, as he tucks your little one into bed and he whispers, "you’ll find your own special someone one day, but for now, let’s make sure mommy knows how much we both love her."

imbibitor lunae —

✧ a soft, knowing smile would spread on his face, his ethereal gaze settling on his child with a tender warmth. "ah, to marry your mother… a noble thought indeed. the bond between two souls is sacred, built on trust and mutual respect," he’d say, his voice as serene as a breeze.

✧ he then turns his gaze to you, his eyes reflecting centuries of love. "your mother is a rare treasure indeed, and i’m glad to see you understand this at such a young age." His words are gentle yet profound.

✧ kneeling down gracefully, he’d gently lift his child’s hand, brushing a thumb across their tiny fingers. "but love is not something to be rushed. it’s like the moon in its cycle—waxing, waning, yet always returning to full."

✧ imbibitor lunae would most likely recite a beautiful verse from an ancient text, encapsulating the sacredness of love and family: “like the stars embracing the night sky, so too shall our hearts stay intertwined across the ages.”

✧ with a chuckle, he’d then stroke the child’s cheek softly. "but until you’re older, why not help me look after her? there’s much to learn in the way of love and care."

✧ he’d then pull both you and your child close, his comforting and grounding presence enveloping the moment in peace. "together, we are strong. perhaps one day, you’ll find your own soul to cherish as I do your mother."

argenti —

✧ argenti throws his head back with a booming laugh, his hand ruffling his child’s hair with infectious enthusiasm. "ah, such noble sentiments! you wish to marry your mother? how valiant!" his eyes would gleam with pride, and he’d turn to you with an exaggerated, theatrical gasp. "it seems i’ve been bested by our own child!"

✧ with a dramatic flourish, he’d lift you off your feet, spinning you in a playful circle before setting you down (with you playfully smacking his arm), his voice filled with lightheartedness.

✧ "but alas! your mother has already claimed my heart, dear one."

✧ to celebrate his child’s declaration (yes, have i ever mentioned that argenti is absolutely dramatic??), argenti would likely organize a spontaneous "family adventure." he’d gather some flowers from a nearby meadow or call forth a small spectacle of radiant lights from his sword, creating a miniature show. "we shall offer these as a tribute to the queen of our hearts—your mother!"

✧ he would encourage the child to present the gathered flowers or lights to you, his smile proud as his child participated in the grand romantic gesture. "together, we shall shower her with the love and admiration she so rightfully deserves!"

✧ later, as you all relaxed beneath the stars, argenti would point to the sky, his voice soft yet brimming with passion. "you see those stars, little one? each one shines with the love i have for your mother. and someday, you will understand how to shine just as brightly."

✧ argenti has never been prouder of his little one. "for now, my brave one, let’s continue showering her with love, for the greatest battles are not won with swords but with the heart."

the pragamtist (will break your child's heart)

welt —

✧ welt smiles slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in that thoughtful, knowing way of his. "that’s very sweet of you," he’d say, his voice calm and reassuring. "but your mother and i are already committed to each other."

✧ uh oh. he can his child's bottom lip quiver.. wait.. no.. he didn't mean it—wait—!!

✧ "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHY DID YOU TAKE MOMMY AWAAAYY" ah.. there it is.. oh woe is welt. and so as your child wails and fat tears roll down his cheeks your ears perk up, obviously worried for your child who is quite literally screaming his lungs out.

✧ you walk out of your room and into the living room where you see welt trying his best to calm down his son, majority of the time welt does an amazing job in soothing him to sleep and cease his yowling but today? right now? it seems like no matter what welt tried it was to no avail.

✧ "what's going on?" you asked, raising a brow at this odd scene before you. taking a seat beside your son he quickly wastes no time in latching onto you, his chubby arms barely wrapped around your waist, his head squished against your thigh.

✧ you give welt a look. he sighs, staring down at his son who has successfully calmed down. "you see, [c/n] wants to marry you when he's older..." he begins, watching your reaction. "mhm.." you hummed, signalling for him to continue. "and i told him that we were already married."

✧ "... is that so..?" you giggled, looking down at your son who's gripping onto the fabric of your pants. "is that right, [c/n]?" your son slowly lifts his head up, an adorable pout on his lips. he stares at you before pointing at your husband.

✧ "daddy took mommy away!" he yells angrily, if it was possible, there would be steam coming out of your baby's ear.

✧ welt winces at the voice his child uses before speaking up. "you see, love is about understanding and growing with another person. it’s not just about wanting to be with someone—it’s about supporting them, no matter what."

✧ ??? "???? welt you're speaking to him as if he can understand."

✧ "oh, right." welt clears his throat, holding his son's much smaller hands in his own. "son, i understand that you love your mommy very much but..." he glances over at you. "me and mommy are already.. together. and mommy can't marry you because—"

✧ "WHY CAN'T I MARRY MOMMY" yet another session of crying begins. welt is practically dumbfounded.

✧ you click your tongue, lifting your son up into your arms, cradling him and patting his back. "shh, it's okay. daddy knows nothing... you can marry mommy if you want!" you cooed.

✧ "what—"

dr. ratio —

✧ raising an eyebrow at his child’s declaration he closes his book, his attention now fully on his child. " so you want to marry your mother, huh? well, while your intention is admirable, there’s a lot more to it than just saying 'i do.' you see, relationships are like a complex equation—variables, constants, and sometimes, unknown factors."

✧ 😐 dr ratio your child can barely answer do division calm down

✧ 'this is a great opporunity!' he thinks as he starts pacing, hands waving in the air as he speaks. "now, love, that’s the x factor! you can’t quantify it, but it changes everything. you might think it’s simple, but oh no, it’s much like trying to balance a chemical formula—get one thing wrong, and, well, it could blow up in your face!" he’d smile, amused by his own analogy.

✧ turning to you with a smirk, he’d nod. "your mother here—she's like the most elegant solution to the most complicated equation in my life."

✧ he’d then sit down beside his child, crossing his legs and leaning forward as if revealing a secret. "one day, you’ll find your perfect match—your own variable to balance things out. it’s like an ongoing experiment in life. but don't rush it! you’ve got plenty of time to gather data, test hypotheses, and figure out what works best for you."

✧ "and if you ever need help, your dad's here for you." with a grin, he’d ruffle their hair in a show of affection. "for now, though, we’ve got a pretty solid family unit here. no need to add more variables just yet." he hums.

✧ as he continued to ramble, you entered the room, finding your husband somewhat lecturing your child. he turns to you with a softer gaze. "our little one will understand it all someday. love is just like… oh, I don’t know, maybe quantum entanglement. two particles, forever linked no matter the distance."

✧ "what wont they understand?" you asked, wiping your hands off of the towel. "also dinner's ready. eating butter chicken today!" you chirped, walking back out and beginning to set the plates down on the table.

✧ eventually, dr. ratio would lean back, satisfied with his explanation. "do you understand?"

✧ your child nods their head eagerly, a wide and happy smile plastered on their face. "mhm!" but dr. ratio knows better.

✧ even if your child doesn't understand their father, that's fine. dr ratio loves them much more than others... he wouldn't mind giving them extra lessons to fully wrap the logic around their little head.

gallagher —

✧ though slovenly but content, he smiled gently as he listened to his daughter’s declaration. he was dressed in his usual disheveled manner—shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, and an apron stained with coffee and whiskey splashes.

✧ “marry your mother, huh?” he’d say with a soft chuckle, glancing over at you with warmth. "that’s quite the bold statement, kiddo." his daughter does nothing but gaze up lovingly at her dad, awaiting his advice.

✧ the three of you were seated in his usual haunt, a cozy corner of his bar where he’d brought you along for some family time—though even now, he remained courteous, casually nodding at a few patrons who passed by.

✧ wiping down a glass, gallagher would take a moment to think, his vigilance never fully dropping even in such a relaxed setting. "marriage," he’d begin, wiping his hands on his apron, "it’s not something you just do because it sounds nice."

✧ he’d glance at you with a half-smirk, then return his gaze to his daughter. "you see, love—it’s like making the perfect cocktail. you’ve got to find just the right ingredients, mix ’em carefully, and sometimes let it sit before you know it’s ready. rushing it? well, that’s how you end up with a bitter drink."

✧ there goes gallagher and his cocktail analogy.

✧ he tosses a rag over his shoulder, leaning forward, resting his arms on the table. "someone who fits with you like how your mother and i fit together. but don’t go ordering the drink before you’re ready for it, you know?"

✧ you smiled at your daughter, ruffling her hair. "why do you want to marry me, [c/n]?" your daughter turns to you, eyes sparkling with admiration. "because mama is pretty!"

✧ "🥺🥺 oh baby..." brb you're gonna go bawl your eyes out now.

✧ as you hoist your daughter into your arms and hug her tightly, gushing about how adorable she is and that you're the luckiest mother alive, gallagher finishes drying the glasses and watches the both of you with such a soft gaze that siobhan isn't sure if this is the gallagher that she knows, but everyone has their secrets.

✧ "for now," he says—interrupting your little moment— before sliding another glass your way, "we’ve got each other, and that’s more than enough. we’re a solid team. although I'm not sure if i appreciate you trying to steal my wife from me..."

"what did you just say"

jiaoqiu —

✧ jiaoqiu’s ears twitch the moment he heard his daughter’s innocent declaration, his sharp hearing picking up every word. "what did you just say?" his tone shows a hint of jealousy, his eyes narrowing slightly before he caught himself, realizing who had spoken.

✧ this was his daughter, after all—still innocent, still sweet, and still adorable as ever.

✧ clearing his throat and quickly composing himself, jiaoqiu smiled ever so softly, despite not being able to see, he had become accustomed to pinpointing where exactly a person was.

✧ "that is so sweet of you," he say, his voice now softening with affection. his tail flicks in amusement, but there would be no mistaking the tenderness in his tone. "your mother is truly special, isn’t she?"

✧ he pats his daughter's head, his expression full of warmth as he hears her giggle. "you’ve got good taste, of course. but let me tell you, your mom’s already been swept off her feet by someone else—yours truly."

✧ he pulls his daughter close, jiaoqiu ruffles her hair, his grin never fading. "keep that loving heart of yours, and i promise, one day you’ll find someone just as perfect for you. Someone who may or may not outweigh me in terms of cooking.."

✧ jiaoqiu lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he hears his daughter giggle, shaking her head. "just make sure you bring them to me first. i’ll need to give them the old ‘jiaoqiu test,’ alright?"

✧ "oh and make sure they have good taste in food, otherwise they aren't worth it. haha, just kidding.."

luocha —

✧ his green eyes widened slightly at the innocent declaration, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he processed what his daughter had said. luocha gracefully bent down, just enough to meet his daughter's gaze, his golden hair cascading over his shoulders like threads of light.

✧ the tender amusement in his expression didn’t hide the warmth in his eyes as he replied, “you want to marry your mother?”

✧ he paused for a moment as if savouring the sweetness of the moment, before gently pinching her cheeks. “that’s incredibly sweet of you, and it makes me happy to know how much love you have in your heart.” his voice was soft, as though he were speaking a secret known only to them.

✧ with a slow, deliberate motion, luocha brushed a strand of his daughter's hair back, tucking it neatly behind their ear. “but marriage,” he continued, his tone calm, “is a commitment, a bond built on trust and mutual care.”

✧ he glanced over at you (who is smiling like an absolutely mad woman), his smile deepening. “your mother is someone truly remarkable, isn’t she?” he let the words linger each one carrying its own weight. "i’m glad you see how special she is, just as i do.”

✧ luocha took his child’s small hand in his own, his long fingers curling gently around theirs. "you’ve got so much love to give, and that’s something to cherish. always hold onto that kindness, that love."

✧ standing tall again, his coat swaying behind him like a quiet whisper, luocha’s eyes softened even more as he gently lifted his child into his arms, holding them close. “for now,” he said, his voice tender but filled with certainty, “you’re already surrounded by love. our family is your home."

✧ he turns toward you, carrying your child effortlessly in one arm, his other hand reaching out to you. you gladly take it, the familiar warmth blossoming in your body as you feel his sweet gesture.

✧ luocha clears his throat. "that doesn't mean you can marry a boy, okay? boys are good for nothing.." "luocha!!" you frown, slapping his arm. your husband looks down at you, a sweet and innocent smile on his lips. "hm..? i didn't say anything," he hums before planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

ote: if you would like to be added to the honkai star rail taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

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another note: sorry for the delay guys..

[unintentionalseductress]

More spamming for LaDs, but spicy...

NSFW HCs: Favorite non-traditional space to enjoy a good romp other than a bed for each of the boys... and maybe why it is their favorite?

Unconventional Romp Spots

This took a while but here we are! Loved the creativity of this request and let's face it, all of them are down so bad for reader that they'll do whatever she wants. 🤭🤭🤭 Warnings: MDNI, exhibitionism, PIV sex, clit play

Zayne’s favorite spot to make love to you apart from the bed was the couch. Was it incredibly unconventional? Not really but the couch was firm and warm, the place you and he sat snuggled together during those rare times he wasn’t working, countless movies and snacks shared, and drinking your morning coffee in each other’s company.

So why shouldn’t it count as a perfectly good spot to make love?

Your fingers tangle into his silky locks of hair as he kisses you, his large body hovering carefully before he lays down, his hips now flush against yours as he sensually licks your lips before parting them with his tongue. A contented sigh escapes you as the wet appendage dances with yours, sending jitters of excitement running through you as you slip your hands under his shirt, enjoying the warmth and scent of his skin. 

A hum emanates from his large frame as you reach the middle of his back, your nails scratching him just hard enough to send a rush of arousal skittering down his spine, heat gathering in his veins as he drinks in the sight of you, flushed and hazy, beneath him. You help each other remove the barriers of clothing, savoring the intimate skin-to-skin contact. You nuzzle his neck then trail a line of kisses down the side, watching his eyes darken with desire. 

With care, he pulls off your bra, tossing it aside and kneeling, the low couch creaking slightly as it took your weight. The TV remote lay forgotten on the coffee table as Zayne swirls a hardened nipple into his hot, wet, mouth, sucking patiently. You cradle his head as pleasurable shocks zip straight to your core. Your clit throbs in need as he tweaks your free nipple between his fingers. You writhe and moan, your hips pressing against his to seek friction.

Expertly you undo the belt of his buckle and his zip, rocking your hands against the hard heat of his erection and he releases your nipple to groan needily, his eyes flashing dangerously. Not needing any further encouragement he slides your panties off your legs, his hand coming up to cup your mound and gathering the moist heat leaking from your core onto his fingers, spreading it up towards your clit. You’re helpless under him, his long, thick, middle finger sliding so teasingly into your core while his thumb circles the little bundle of nerves.

Sighs and longing moans of need escape you as he builds up your arousal, those keen eyes watching your face for signs of your impending climax, and when you finally begin to clamp down with that familiar pattern onto his fingers, he crooks his inserted finger up into that spongy patch of delight. You erupt, a wavering moan escaping your lips as the orgasm rips through you, your clit and core spasming in pleasure around him. He pulls out his fingers, licking them clean before aligning himself between your legs.

You awkwardly part them, trying to find a comfortable angle on the narrow space of the sofa before he grabs you by the ankles and wraps your legs securely around his waist before entering you in one, long, passionate, stroke. The air grows balmy as his hips undulate, the fill of him inside you bringing all your primal needs to the surface. Your nails leave scratches on his back, and your eyes close as the sound of his ragged breathing overtakes your senses. Your eyes meet and you stroke his face, gently tracing the outline of his lips, caressing the corners of his eyes before he gathers your close, his grip leaving indents in your skin as he gives all of himself to you. 

Oh, this sweet-looking man is the wolf in sheep’s clothing. He won’t hesitate to take you anywhere, anytime. His unconventional spot is his desk at the office. He loves how naughty it makes him feel.

It’s past office hours and everyone has gone home, but Xavier had been making excuses to get you to stay late since lunch. Now, finally alone he boxes you in against his desk, your body blocked from escaping by his tall frame. His gloved hands shamelessly slide under your hunter’s uniform as he gropes your tits, palming the mounds of flesh possessively, satisfaction coursing through his veins as your nipples harden under his palms. His tongue traces hot trails down your neck as you squirm against him, feeling hardness gather between his thighs.

You whimper as his teeth scrape the front of your throat, your blood humming in your ears. Xavier undoes the buttons and buckles on the uniform and your clothes slide to the floor, leaving you in bra and panties. A stain of moisture has gathered on the crotch and Xavier’s sapphire eyes become luminous with hunger at the sight. 

“I’m guessing you’re just pretending when you say you don’t like me taking you at the office.” He helps you hop onto the desk and then kneels between your thighs, his nose brushing against the smear, inhaling the musky scent of need leaking from your core. He pulls apart your legs, helping you balance your feet at the edge of the desk then hooks his finger into the gusset of your panties, pulling them to the side and giving you a teasing lick that makes your hips thrust up. 

Xavier chuckles and sticks his tongue into your moist hole and you moan, the noise escaping into the quietness of the office, only seeming to sound louder than when it was full. Lewd slurping noises can be heard as Xavier goes to town, sucking every drop of your essence he can find, his tongue drawing circles over your sensitive bud as your hips instinctively rock against his mouth. Xavier’s cock throbs painfully inside his slacks as he steadily builds your orgasm, your every movement and noise only adding fuel to the fire. He frees one hand from it’s glove and probes your entrance, watching your fluttering hole suck his fingers in, clenching with desire around the long digits.

Every nerve in your body is begging for release, your head turning to one side, seeing all the empty desks of your colleagues, none of whom will have a clue of what happened on the desk next to them when they get in the next morning. The thought causes heat to gather in your belly, your abdominal muscles tightening in anticipation until Xavier pushes you over the peak, your breath tearing from your throat as you gasp out in ecstasy, pulse after pulse of satisfying pleasure flooding your senses. 

Xavier licks his fingers clean then quickly undoes his pants, his cock finally springing free of its confines, leaking precum on its tip. He guides himself towards your warm, wet, cunt, gently splitting you apart as he fills you up. The stretch of muscle is welcoming, and he rolls your knees onto your chest, making you impossibly tighter around him as he starts to thrust. 

As the air fills with your quiet whimpers, he sighs and settles into a comfortable rhythm, ensuring he bottoms out each time, dragging his length along your inner walls as he withdraws. 

“Maybe next time we should do this on Tara’s desk instead of mine. Imagine her look of confusion when she comes in and sees all her paperwork is stained.”

The beach. He enjoys the noise of the water lapping onto the sand as he pulls you away to a hidden spot on the sandy dunes. Was it really his fault that you wore that sexy little bikini, the one that showed just enough of your sweet ass and lacked just enough support that it didn’t prevent your boobs from jostling around when you walked?

Surrounded by a craggy wall of privacy, his eyes glitter mischievously as he squeezes every part of your body, enjoying the way your face becomes flushed and your kisses become sloppier as he teases your nipples through the bikini top, the peaks visible and hard. He grins unashamedly as you stretch out on your stomach on the beach blanket he’s laid out, and starts to undo the knot at your back. His lips kiss the back of your neck and trail down your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine with each touch. You’re humming lazily, then roll over to expose your breasts to him, sand dotting your collarbones and belly. 

Rafayel dips his head and suckles a pert nipple, groaning. “Oh, you’re all salty babe…from swimming in the ocean. Oh delicious…” He switches to the other one, savoring the taste of the salt and your skin as you moan and reach over to palm him through his swimming trunks. He’s rock hard and throbbing as you stroke his erection and his hips snap forward with each movement of your small hand. 

The sound of the waves crashing down onto the shore and the call of the seagulls disguise the moans and noises of sweet pleasure the both of you are making as Rafayel hooks a finger into the elastic of your bikini bottom and pulls it down. The ocean breeze caresses your body and goosebumps erupt all over your skin. Rafayel chuckles and covers your body, his warmth seeping comfortingly into you as your hands tickle down his back, leaning up to give him unhurried kisses down his happy trail. Unable to hide your enthusiasm anymore, you loosen the drawstring of his swim shorts, tugging down the fabric and freeing his hard meat. It pops up proudly, leaking droplets at the tip. 

You swirl your tongue generously around it and Rafayel bucks almost delicately into your mouth, the moist heat welcome against the chill of the air. He clicks his tongue in dismay as you let go but surprise him by rolling him under you, and quickly changing positions so that your pussy was tantalizingly visible over his face. You go back to eagerly slurping his generous length and feel the wet slip of his tongue lick a hot stripe along your cunt and hum in gratification as he hits your clit. He tasted salty too, and you suck on his tip like a lollipop trying to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could. Saliva drips from your mouth and onto the crevices of his thighs as you pleasure each other. You let out a keening moan, muffled by his cock as he inserts two fingers into your fluttering hole and starts petting your gspot. Your hips rock against his face and when his lips seal over your clit your concentration slips, his cock falling from your mouth as you rest your cheek on his thigh and writhe, all your inhibitions flying loose.

The relentless actions of his tongue and fingers bring you to a satisfactory orgasm, the punch of ecstasy pulsing through you as your fingers find purchase in the sand, bracing yourself and letting out shuddering whines as you ride the dizzying high. 

Rafayel laps at the fluid leaking from your core, and the feeling jolts you into needing more, the clenching of your cunt almost becoming unbearable. You scramble off his face, resting on your knees as you drag your pussy down his chest, then tease his swollen cockhead with your drooling hole. Rafayel hisses at the sensitivity and before you could react he thrusts his hips and sheathes himself inside you. 

Full and in a haze of need, you ride him, feeling his hands firmly grasp your fleshy ass, gently prying apart your cheeks as you bounced so that he can see the way your hole slides over him, enveloping him in that sweet essence.

“Ahh fuck…” Rafayel’s thrusts get sloppy as the slap of skin on skin gets more urgent, your moans mingling in the salty air as you push him to the edge. Rafayel grits his teeth as your pussy spasms around him, milking him dry as he unloads, his milky seed flooding your channel like sea foam washing up on the sand. 

It excites Sylus to take you on his private balcony. It’s just secluded enough not to give away everything that's happening but open enough that a passerby might hear or see something they weren’t expecting. The excitement is enough to get his blood pumping, a heady rush swooshing through his body as his head fills with illicit thoughts on how to get you to lose control. 

“Sylus please…” You whine helplessly as his head buries itself between your parted thighs, his tongue licking a sinfully pleasurable line from your dripping hole up to your clit. Your hands grip the railing as you moan into the open air while he crouches, a powerful jaguar that wasn’t going to leave you until he’s had his fill. The dim lights of the N109 zone surround you, passing cars and the faint noise of the few people that dared to walk on the streets breaching the edges of your senses.

His hot tongue pushes into your dripping hole and your legs wobble from the heady rush of desire that surges through you. Sylus’s chuckle is muffled and he withdraws, only to replace his tongue with his long, thick fingers. You lean over the edge, trying to steady yourself and Sylus firmly wraps his arms around your middle.

“Please what kitten?” He curls his fingers up into your gspot and pops of color appear behind your closed eyelids as you twitch, your ass jiggling as you dance on his fingers. The air is punctuated with broken moans and Sylus’s eyes gleam in satisfaction at your broken state. “That’s not nearly loud enough. You’ll need to mewl harder than that to even be heard over the traffic.” He gives a teasing lick to your clit and watches your hips jerk. The puffy folds of your sex are leaking copiously, coating his fingers with your slick.

How delightful to have you at his mercy, to have the whole N109 zone hear the pretty noises you made for him, to establish his dominance everywhere. Sylus nuzzles his nose in between your sex, inhaling the sweet musk of your pussy and you reflexively push against him. “This smell when you get so needy for me…it’s intoxicating.” Caged between Sylus and the balcony you’re helpless to do anything else but accept his kisses and licks, feeling him swirl the tip of his tongue on your clit while his fingers work inside you to bring you over the edge. 

When your orgasm finally peaks you sob, your body shaking uncontrollably, all thoughts of not being discovered flying out of the window as pleasure pulses through your body. You bear down on his face, pleasing him immensely as you ride out the dizzying spiral of delight. Once you calm down, Sylus gets to his feet, then to your shock, roughly yanks open the front of your blouse, your tits open to the night air. The taboo of the act brings forth a surge of fresh arousal as he palms the mounds of flesh and you hear the soft noise of a zipper being opened. His cock pushes apart your folds, the engorged head notching into your messy opening and filling your empty canal. You choke out a desperate sound, lost to the noise of the city, but more follow as he thrusts smoothly, his hardened meat kissing your cervix with each stroke.

He offers you his finger and you suck on it for comfort, whining your muffled pleasure as he continues the mutual gratification. 

“That’s a good kitten. Keep purring for me, sweetie.”

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume

[pathologicalreid]

hi!!! totally up to you if you want to write it (it maybe too self indulgent ahhhhh). but i was think of bau!reader (or bau!adjacent) who has known spencer for forever and has watched him "glow up"/become more confident and is now dating him, but is now more self-conscious that he will realize that he is totally out of her league since women are now hitting on him all the time and he is able to basically flip men in the field. something like that if you get the vibe? just a girlfriend who is worried her boyfriend will outgrow her and is scared they'll breakup. feel free to ignore! love your work sm!!!

a league of your own | S.R.

as your boyfriend seemingly evolves, you grow increasingly aware of the feeling of being left behind

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst (heavy on the fluff, more like internalized angst) content warnings: in a bar but neither spencer nor reader are drinking, follows the events of 14x12 "hamelin", discusses the pronunciation of asmr word count: 1.4k a/n: self conscious reader is so important to me. this is for everyone who has a hard time naming their feelings. thank you for requesting!!

“He flipped him over the table?” You asked, raising your eyebrows as you looked up at Tara, who was talking about your boyfriend’s maneuvering of Arthur Brodie in the field. In passing, you had heard about the mark left on the suspect’s forehead, but you hadn’t heard the story of how he had gotten it – until now.

Bringing her cup to her lips, Tara nodded at you, her expression clarifying that it was as impressive as it sounded. You sighed at the newest addition to Spencer’s ever-evolving personality, it was hard not to think of them as grievances against you, but that’s what it felt like.

You looked over your shoulder to the bar, trying to scope out where he had disappeared to before you spotted a familiar mess of brown curls. From where you were standing, you could see him holding two drinks in his hands, but it wasn’t until he shifted his stance that you saw the girl that he was speaking with. “And that’s three,” Luke observed, shaking his head in disbelief as he watched the same scene as you.

Emily asked what he was talking about, but you tuned them out as you watched the interaction. You already knew this was the third woman to hit on him since the team entered the bar thirty minutes ago.

There was no mistaking it, your boyfriend was easy on the eyes, and you weren’t naïve enough to try to deny that fact. Still, you were having a hard time adjusting to seeing him garner exponentially more attention from people at the bar. “You better go get your man, or she might steal him away from you,” Luke taunted, nodding his head in the direction of the bar.

“What?” Your head snapped back in the direction of the bar, eyes wide as you peered across the bar where Spencer was talking animatedly to the blonde in front of him before he looked behind himself and gestured to you, prompting you to wave timidly at the both of them.

The girl sneered in your direction before spinning on her heel and trudging away, freeing your boyfriend to return to you at the table. “They didn’t have any limes, so they put a lemon in your Shirley Temple,” Spencer said apologetically, dropping a kiss on the part of your hair as he set the glass in front of you.

Shaking your head, you smiled up at him, “That’s fine, thank you.” You told him, placing your hand on the glass and spinning it to better access the straw.

If he noticed anything odd, he didn’t comment on it, instead deciding to contribute to Tara and Rossi’s conversation on ASMR.

As the team continued to chat around you, you just continued spinning your glass on the oak table, becoming more and more conscious of the way your thighs stuck to the leather booth. Your eyes only flicked up when you noticed people staring at you, “What?” You asked, heart racing as you had been caught daydreaming.

The five remaining members of your team at the table were all looking at you with similar curious looks, “Rossi’s headed out. He was just saying goodbye,” Penelope said, reaching across the table and awkwardly patting your hand.

“Oh,” you responded meekly, “Have a good night. Tell Krystall I said hi.” You shifted in your seat, the sound of your legs unsticking from the seat seemingly amplified tenfold in your self-conscious state.

As Dave made his way out, Spencer gestured for you to move over so he could sit next to you. Tara got up to get in line for the restroom and Luke and Garcia weaseled their way into one of their patented bickering matches, you nearly jumped when you felt Spencer’s hand settle on your thigh. “Alright,” he muttered, turning his head to you, “What’s up with you tonight?”

Frowning, you looked up at Spencer, brown eyes studying your face as he hunted for even the slightest hint of what had gotten into you. The only problem was you didn’t have a name for it yourself. It could be perceived as jealousy, but you weren’t concerned with anyone actually taking Spencer’s attention away from you, you were just feeling feelings. Unnamable feelings.

You brought your glass closer to you, the condensation being a welcome relief on your warm skin, pinching the straw as you took a sip of your drink. “Nothing’s up,” you said, stirring the lemon wedge around in your glass.

“Are you sure? You look flushed,” he said, pursing his lips thoughtfully before he gently pushed his water in your direction.

Brushing off his concern, you turned your attention to watching Luke and Garcia in an animated discussion on how to pronounce ASMR – Penelope insisted she was right, and Luke didn’t necessarily care either way. You only moved your gaze when the blonde from earlier passed by again, dragging her palm over Spencer’s shoulder, causing him to lean into you.

Flustered, you took a long sip of your drink before setting it back down, “Can we go?” You asked Spencer, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you looked at him expectantly.

As he began to put puzzle pieces together, he nodded, standing up and gathering your glasses to set them on the bar. You said your goodbyes before leading the way out and flipping Luke off as he called out something about protection, something that would have previously left Spencer embarrassed and stammering, but now made him chuckle as he held the door open for you.

Part of you was grateful for this sort of evolution in Spencer, he was, after all, more confident in every aspect of his life. Now waiting for the metro, you looked at him, longer hair, his work shirt unbuttoned at the top and pushed up to his elbows. The light breeze in the tunnel moved his hair as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “Are you alright, love?”

Your shoulders drooped helplessly at the pet name, “You shoved a guy on a table?”

His face fell, “Is that what this is about? Me using force against a suspect?”

Quickly, you shook your head, “No, no. He pushed Tara, it’s not that at all,” you scrambled to reassure him, knowing he was afraid that his time in federal prison had made him a violent person. “It’s just… you shoved a guy onto a picnic table and you’re getting hit on by people in bars and you’re dressing differently and I’m just… me.” You hold your hands out as if you’re on display, looking down at the sundress you had thrown on and the sneakers you wore for comfort instead of style.

“Are you jealous that I’m getting attention from other people?” He asked, “Because I’ve never encouraged anyone.” That was true, last week a deputy sheriff had made a move on your boyfriend, and the only thing he had gotten in return was an earful on how you had made the deduction that eventually solved the case.

Bowing your head, you regretted ever saying anything in the first place, “No,” you groaned, “What’s that term for someone who can’t name their emotions? That’s me. Right now. At this moment.”

Spencer chuckled at your frustration, “It’s called alexithymia, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I’ve watched you change in front of my very own eyes in the last year, and I guess I’m just feeling left behind,” you admitted. “You’re a changed person and there’s nothing different about me.”

He tilted his head to the side curiously, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” you said desperately, hoping to get to the bottom of your conflicting emotions.

“Did you love me before?”

You froze, looking up at him, “Of course.”

He raised his eyebrows, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “And you love me now?”

Nodding, you stepped closer to him, “Very much so.”

“Then there’s nothing else I could possibly ask of you,” he told you, smiling as you blushed. “You don’t need to change in time with me, and – since we’re being honest – I’ve always felt like I’m the one lagging behind you. So, maybe I’ve just been playing catch-up.”

You frowned, moving even closer to him as the platform grew crowded, “Well, now I feel ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous,” he murmured, “Just human,” Spencer amended.

[alchemistc]

"He wants to take me golfing," Buck pouts, and Tommy raises a brow.

"Evan, I'm doing some of my best work, here." His breath brushes over a nipple as he shifts, and Buck still absolutely wants him to keep doing what he's doing but also, he wants to complain.

"I didn't even do it on purpose! I - the tackle was instinct, okay, I should have just -."

"Yes, please tell me how you should have just let Gerrard play out a Final Destination death in your firehouse, you cold blooded killer."

He nips at Buck's chest, tips the sharp edge of his chin against Buck's sternum. Buck sighs. They'll get back to the other stuff.

"Okay of course I don't want him to be dead. I just also don't want him to be grateful to me for saving his life."

"You don't have to say yes," Tommy intones, and Buck sort of wishes he'd heard that six hours earlier. Tommy blows out a breath of laughter. "You already said yes."

"What else was I supposed to do? He was lying there all pathetic and - and pale and mustachioed!"

"You looked that up to make fun of Eddie."

"Of course I looked it up to make fun of Eddie, it just worked out that I have two freaks with mustaches in my life."

"So that's a no go on me growing out my own whiskers."

Buck tucks a finger sideways over Tommy's top lip and squints. "Stop trying to distract me from my rant."

"But I really want to distract you from your rant."

"Fine. I feel stupid for agreeing to golf with that asshole and if you grow out a mustache I'd prefer the whole beard so until you retire I'm gonna have to settle for clean shaven."

"Settle?"

"You can go back to doing what you were doing."

Tommy looks like he's considering it, but instead he digs a finger into Buck's ribs. "Settle?"

"The 72 off stubble on day three is nice," Buck admits, and enjoys the rasp when he slides a hand over 36-hours off growth. "Let me enjoy all the manly things I find attractive about you."

Tommy looks like he wants to argue, so ever the contrarian, he instead returns to mapping out the dips and hills of Buck's ribcage with his mouth. Buck thinks he hears some grumbling about 'show you settle' but he's too busy winding himself back up to fully catch it.

Tommy's lips catch the underside of one pec and Buck shifts. "It's just - I don't even like golf." and Tommy just sighs and shifts his weight up into one elbow to make himself a present audience for Buck to whine some more.

[ozzgin]

Pyramid Head x Reader

Featuring Pyramid Head and a reader with amnesia lost in Silent Hill. This is Pyramid Head as originally intended for Silent Hill 2, so expect a lot of game-based immersion. Warning: NSFW, dubious/non-consent, violence, gore

[Horror Masterlist]

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

You grunt and slap the wheel, hoping your defiant act of violence will somehow convince the car engine to start again. It remains quiet. You run a hand through your hair and sigh. The palm is mildly sticky with moisture and you realize you've been sweating a fair amount. No wonder, you're stuck in this shithole. You couldn't see a damn thing ahead with all this fog. The only discernible object was a rusty, run-down sign showing "Silent Hill". You've never heard the name before, but reading the letters and allowing the words to escape your lips has brought you an unexpected wave of panic. You quickly began hyperventilating and your arms involuntarily twitched and twisted, pulling the wheel of the car along with them and causing the car to swerve into a street barrier. And now it refuses to turn back on. Fantastic. 

You hesitantly grab the door handle. After a deep breath in, you open the door and step out. Given the car crashed sideways, you can no longer tell which way is back and which way is forward. You can only see the first few inches of the barrier in both directions, but everything else vanishes under the thick clouds of mist. You rub your temples, becoming increasingly upset with yourself.  What were you even doing, driving all the way to-

Wait. Where were you going in the first place? You recall leaving from...home? But where is that supposed to be? No, don't do this. Not now. You walk back to the car and open the glove compartment, angrily pulling out a thick stack of documents and spreading them out onto the chair. You scan over them, growing more impatient. You don't recognize anything. The names and words and addresses don't hold any meaning. You glance up to the rear-view mirror in an attempt to detect some trail of blood seeping from your scalp, as a concussion might explain your sudden memory loss, but your appearance is fresh. Almost as if you didn't just crash your car in a strange place in utter confusion. 

You check your phone. Even if you can't remember, there has to be someone in your contacts that will come to your aid. The screen glitches briefly when you unlock it and the menu is empty. No contacts, no messages, no apps. No matter, emergency will do. You type in the digits and lift the phone to your head, but quickly remove it when loud static assaults your eardrums. Why is nothing working properly? You're tempted to just slam the junk into the pavement, but find enough composure to stuff it back in the pocket for now. 

All that's left to do now is to find another human. You begin walking. The road has to lead somewhere, that's for certain. And soon enough the barrier is replaced with a different kind of fencing that you use as guidance. It seems to be a small bridge. Just a few steps further and you discover the first signs of modern, populated world: a bus stop. Behind the waiting bench is a brief map of the area and you trace the plaque with your fingers, mumbling the path to yourself. "Now let's see...This is Nathan Avenue...Rosewater Park ahead...Ah, the Silent Hill Fire Station should be very close."

You can't wait to be done with this mess. They'll call for a tow truck and get you out of here. You almost sprint to the next block, expectantly. In fact, you can already spot someone right outside the building. 

"Thank God! Listen, my car broke down before the bridge. My stupid phone is also...huh." 

Just as you mention it, the same static as previously erupts from the speaker. You're startled and fumble for your phone. You're about to apologize to the person in front of you, but upon lifting your gaze you instantly stop in your tracks. 

'Person' is a strong word for it. It resembles one, or maybe it was one long ago. What's crawling towards you, however, is not how you'd define it. The arms are melted into the torso, mimicking a straight jacket of skin. The bony, crooked legs are dragging themselves in an unnatural, unnerving way. The creature has no face, save for a gaping hole, a bizarre cavity deforming what should be a head. Your mouth grimaces with disgust, followed by fear. Terror. You have the choice of returning to your damaged car, or attempting to find actual help deeper into the town. You run ahead, praying that someone's out there. The dissonant sound of a siren can be heard, diffused into the persistent fog.  

By the time you reach the next building, you're gasping for air. You didn't expect to run this far. You went all the way around Toluca lake, avoiding the side streets. The center was swarming with those abominations. Each turn and each corner would eventually reveal its revolting murmur, that pathetic shuffle of disfigured limbs. Thankfully they're not fast, nor smart. A little distance and they lose their interest to pursue you. You fall against the brick wall of this small house and read the poster. "Silent Hill Historical Society". Doesn't look too promising, but it's surprisingly devoid of any monstrous being. At this point you'd be more grateful for emptiness. It's safer. 

You tiptoe your way in, wary of potential attackers. There's a faint buzz echoing from afar, but other than that no immediate danger. You examine the lobby and notice the paintings and old photos hanging from the decaying wallpaper. It smells slightly rotten. One of the art pieces catches your attention and you stop in front of it. "Misty Day, Remains of Judgement". 

The abstract character depicted on canvas reminds you of an executioner. The more you stare, the clearer you can feel some kind of guilt knotting inside your stomach. Your shoulders are heavy and you're overwhelmed by the same anxiety of a child about to be punished. Awaiting the belt. The calloused hand of an unforgiving father. Your throat is dry.

Your musings are interrupted by the static that - as you've since learned - warns you of approaching creatures. The rooms are cramped and the walls are narrow and you dislike the idea of calculating your escape within this claustrophobic maze, but it's preferable to being dead. You jog along slithering paths, unsure of where they lead. The threatening turbulence of your phone goes up and down, like a sine wave, with each turn into uncharted territory. In your frantic efforts to flee you don't see the large hole blocking your way, or at least not fast enough. By the time you figure out the outlines of this pitch black well, you're flooded with the light sensation of gravitational force, stretching and compressing your innards as you fall. Is this how you end?

It's not so easy. 

As soon as you open your eyes, a burning pain metastasizes through the head, digging deep into your brain. You grab onto your scalp and press your fingers over the skin, hoping for a small relief. In your debilitating migraine you don't hear the agitated flutter of limbs. They're minuscule, but so many. Thousands of sclerotized joints frothing around your limp form. You lift yourself off the rusted ground and yelp voiceless at the sight. Cockroaches. The pile of vermin lets out a deafening, high pitched screech with every movement. You drag your elbows in an attempt to get away, but the creepers almost ignore your existence. They seem to be running away from something, retreating in masses.

You don't have to wait long in order to witness their source of fear. Heavy footsteps, muffled by the grating friction of metal against metal. A corroded stench invades your lungs and you cough. Whatever is coming has instilled the utmost dread in your very bones. You want to get up and run, until your legs give up and your body collapses of exhaustion, but your limbs are petrified in panic. Your chest constricts and throbs, as if your heart is trashing to escape this prison condemned to unknown doom. 

Finally, the fiend comes into view. A tall, large man wearing a leather apron layered with grime and encrusted blood. His skin is scarred and discolored, and a bulky, dense pyramid structure rests on his broad shoulders, concealing his face. He seems to be dragging along a great knife of sorts, although on closer inspection it looks like a halved pair of oversized scissors. The edge is dulled and has splattered visceral leftovers mattifying its surface. You remember the painting you've seen upstairs. Is this what it is? Your Retribution? 

You lower yourself until your forehead touches the rusty floor. Like an animal awaiting to receive the final blow from its hunter, like a prisoner resigning to his fate under the guillotine. If only matters could be dealt with so simply! Your neck is clawed into a tight hold by the large gloved hand and you're crudely pulled back up so that you can properly face your Punisher. There's a vague grunt coming from underneath his bizarre helmet. 

He carries you to the nearest wall and slams you against it. The great knife drops to the floor with a loud crash, and the other hand, now freed, begins to search your lower clothing. You can feel the seams of the garments tear and snap with no resistance. You want to vocalize a protest, but your throat is crushed under the forceful pressure of his clasp. At best, you can exhale in what sounds like a whispered wail. His apron is nonchalantly flipped to the side and your thigh lifted over his forearm, so that his hand can adjust itself securely under your bottom for support.

Abruptly, a prickling ache crosses your entire body as if you've just been split in two. Tears automatically begin forming in the corner of your eyes and spill down your cheeks and over the pyramid that's now pressing tightly against your quivering form. It's too big and you want to push away, but with each renewed plunge you grow weaker. The small tears and rips that blossom around your abused intimacy turn into bleeding wounds. You want to sleep. 

A creature of pure instinct, serving as a reminder of human perversions and immoral desires. Travesty, corruption, sin. And what about it? Before you know it, a small moan escapes your dried lips. You throw your arms around your captor's shoulders. The sharp edges of the helmet scratch your skin, waking you back into consciousness. Your lower muscles start to relax around the massive member and allow for a smoother glide in and out. The numbness is gradually replaced by pleasant sensations. The throbbing reverberates inside your abdomen and your other leg wraps around the creature's hips, asking for more contact. Once your compliance is confirmed, the hand pinning you by the neck wanders to other parts of your body in starved desperation. Your voice returns and more lewd whines roll out one after another. If only you had a mirror so you could look at yourself in this moment. What shameless expressions are you wearing on your face? You're clinging to your violator in feverish depravity. And in return, the creature responds to your cravings with increased intensity. He seems to resonate with your wishes and stiffens his hold on you with newfound obsession. His thrusts become almost feral, with a certain possessiveness to it. 

As you're about to reach your peaks, your mind once again travels to the painting. You wonder if you'd be hung and framed just like the prisoners behind their executioner. Pleasure mixed with guilt. 

What sin is eroding your entrails? 

[ghouljams]

Sometimes I like to imagine Ghost!Reader being bolder by putting her hand down Ghost’s pant to cup his cock when he has company. Or maybe sliding her hand up his chest to twist his nipple😏😏 It’s not like he’ll be able to grab her before the witching hour. Maybe she gets a kick out of watching his eyes get just a little wide before he schools his face. Or the way his breath increases just slightly when she starts to pump her hand up in down just to tease while he’s talking to one of the guys.

Our poor ghost!reader is fairly repressed in terms of their sexuality, I don't know if they'd be so bold...

The boldest they'll get, really, is intruding on Ghost's time in the shower. The bathroom off the main bedroom is the one room in the house that Ghost has updated with more modern fixtures, it's a nice spot. A big shower with glass panes, the shower head tall enough to accommodate him, the clawfoot tub moved to the guest bath and the pedestal sink replaced by something with counter space and cabinets. It did give him pause ripping out the wallpaper but he prefers the clean white tile he laid, likes that it doesn't grow mold.

And you don't step foot in there. Especially not when your husband is in there. You hear the water run, you see the steam that pools under the door, and you keep to yourself. Except with the memory of his hands lingering on you, the blood stain that still sits brown on his crisp pillowcase, and the warmth of his skin still blearily clinging between your legs, you hazard a knock at the bathroom door.

To no answer, of course.

Still, you squeeze through the door, trying not to look like you're intruding. Not that your husband takes any notice of you. He never takes notice of you unless you're on top of him. That doesn't mean you don't take notice of him. Try as you might to keep your eyes averted they're drawn to him like magnets.

He's just so big, it would be hard for anyone not to look at him. Not to watch the way he presses his hand to the white shower wall and hangs his head under the spray of water, the way rivulets of soap and spray trace down his arm, down his back, outlining musculature in perfect form. Yes it would be hard not to watch the steady rise and fall of his broad shoulders in the wafting steam. To keep your eyes off the cut of his hips and the lines of his veins as they sweep up his forearms.

He tips his head back with a sigh and scrubs his hand over his face, drops it down to cup his cock. You're sure he's just washing it, dragging a soapy hand over his balls, his fingers wrapping around the soft length to pull back the foreskin. You're sure it's nothing that should make your cheeks heat like this. It's just that you keep thinking of the way the ruddy head had looked between your legs, the way it had shot white over his stomach. The same stomach that wears the red lines of your nails, his fingers so carefully tracing over the marks, his eye twitching at the sting of soap and hot water.

You're so cold and the water looks so warm, and you let your feet carry you closer even if you know you should be running far, far, away. Only because you want to enjoy the steam, nothing more. You just want to feel some of the warmth that he is, even if your eyes are tracing over the jagged pink edges of the scars that litter his body. Holes and slashes, raised and red in some places, others a shiny white, any other time you might wonder how he got them all. You're more interested in the way his lashes clump together, the water that rolls down his face, that diverts course over his crooked nose- has your husband's lip always been split like that, with his teeth just starting to show where the scar pulls?

You reach your hand to touch his cheek, your head tipping as his does. He's warm.

He slaps his cheek where your fingers graze the skin, looks at his palm with a sour expression. Must be a fly in here. It makes you jump, makes a shiver roll through you, your body snapping some synapse you don't have a name for. It makes you want to touch him again, makes you want to drag your fingers down the same path they laid last night and see if he feels the same sting.

His eyes pin you in place as the steam swirls around you. Unblinking. Unnerving. You watch a drop of water slip over his lash line, his eye giving its best effort to keep from twitching shut at the irritation. Looking.

You feel so painfully naked in your thin chemise, standing in front of your husband in a room you have no business in, watching him in a private moment. Your eyes dart to the heavy length between his thighs, still as demanding of attention as it was last night even limp.

You feel his arm wrap around your waist in a flash, pulling you against his chest to feel the water cling to your skin, soak through your night-dress.

You disappear, as ephemeral as the steam that held you, and Ghost sighs. He drags a hand down his face, rubs at his eye. Place must still have mold.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Menor's Halloween

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: The second of my Halloween-centric fics

Alexia grins as she looks at herself in the mirror, straightening out her skirt and putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

The family Halloween party has been a staple ever since her childhood, bringing the family back together every year without question.

It was basically a rule at this point, something no one could get out of and chosen to take place on a day when no one has an excuse to be elsewhere.

"Are you ready yet?"

It's Olga's first time at the party, unable to make it the past few years. She's gone fairly conservative with her outfit, a generic Halloween costume of a zombie cheerleader.

Alexia can forgive her though because originally Olga hadn't been able to come until her meeting in Madrid was cancelled last minute so she had to buy the unpopular costume from the store.

Alexia, on the other hand, has had her costume planned out for months with everything ironed to perfection.

"Ready!" Alexia calls out," I just need to find-"

"The bag is on the table where you left it last night."

Alexia grabs the bag from the table, swinging it over her shoulder before slipping into the driver's seat of the car.

Family events like this one normally end up with a lot of drinking and, while she wouldn't usually partake, Alexia's already planned to allow herself a few more drinks than normal.

Olga's decided to take up the driving home duty to let Alexia drink however much she wants.

"I'm nervous," Olga says, straightening out her cheer skirt and rubbing at her face - though she grows a little annoyed when the face paint rubs off onto her fingers.

"Don't be nervous," Alexia says," You've met everyone before."

"I know but...Halloween party seems more official."

"They'll probably already be drunk," She replies," And try to ply your with pizza. Or paella. Depending on if my aunt cooked or my uncle convinced her to order in."

"Sounds delightful."

"That's the spirit!"

Alexia knocks on the door, greeted by the slightly tipsy face of her cousin when it opens.

He giggles a little, a sure-fire sign he's been drinking. "I-I thought you were already here." He bursts into more hysterical laughter after that and Alexia gets the feeling that she's not in on the joke.

"And you've brought the wonderful Olga! Come in! Come in! Can I interest you in some pizza?"

"So Tio convinced her?"

"No. Mama cooked. Papa just ordered in anyway! Off you go now, Ale. I want to talk to your girlfriend!"

He pulls Olga away without another word and Alexia rolls her eyes.

"Gee, I love you too. Typical."

Alexia rolls her eyes fondly, easily losing her cousin and girlfriend in the crowd of family members either halfway to drunk or already firmly there.

A giggling hiccup has Alexia turning to see another one of her cousins by the fridge.

"I could have sworn you were already here," She says, giggling and Alexia sighs.

"Alright, what am I missing here? You're the second person to tell me that."

Her cousin giggles again, downing another vodka shot and shooting Alexia a drunken smile. "Just that I could have sworn you came with Tia Eli today. Though...you did seem a little shorter."

She giggles off before stumbling away but she's already given Alexia all the information that she needs.

She picks her way through her family members, stopping briefly to say hello to the aunt and uncle who are hosting and then her mother before finally seeing who she's been looking for.

"Is that my shirt?!" She demands," And my armband?!"

You turn around, eyes wide. An answer is on the tip of your tongue before you take in what she's wearing.

"Is that my skirt?! Are those my rackets?!"

"Don't change the subject!" Alexia says," You've dressed as me for Halloween?!"

"You dressed as me!"

"That's different."

"How?"

"It-It just is!"

Alexia takes you in as she steps back. You've got your hair done up in her usual ponytail rather than your regular braids. You've got her full Barcelona kit on along with the armband and her boots. You've even brought a football with you just in case people didn't realise who you were meant to be.

Alexia, on the other hand, had gone out of her way to dress like you. She's wearing one of your tennis skirts and your Nike shirt. She's got her hair in your usual braid with your Barcelona cap and even the gold shoes Nike gave you for your Olympic run. She's got a racket bag over her shoulder, full of the old rackets you'd left at home before your move abroad.

You seem to be taking Alexia in just like she's taking you in before nodding.

"Those are the replica shoes, right?" You check.

"Yeah. They cost a lot though. You're quite the superstar. That isn't one of my hattrick balls is it?"

"No, just one of the ones you leave lying around at Mami's."

Alexia nods. "Good. You look good though."

"Thanks, I practiced your haughty look a lot."

Alexia rolls her eyes. "I don't have a haughty look."

"You so do all 'I'm Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona, the best team in the world'."

"But I am Alexia Putellas and I am captain of Barcelona which is the best team in the world. I won the Ballon D'or twice, you know."

"Yeah, well I won all the Grand Slams. And the Olympics."

"Now, now," Alexia says," This isn't a bragging match. Because if it was, I'd win." She reaches for you, trapping you in a headlock and rubbing her knuckles against your head. "Which one of us has more awards?"

"Only because you're an old woman now. By the time I'm your age, I'm going to be the greatest tennis player in the world."

"Yeah," Alexia teases," Aim high."

You grin at her, shoving her away before trying to tackle her to the floor. She doesn't move an inch but you had been expecting that.

"I guarantee I can score more goals on you than sets you can win against me."

Alexia laughs.

"The garden's free. Want to test that theory?"

You grin. "Well, don't start crying when you lose."

[obsessedwithceleste]

You Can Say You Love Me Now

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: A little fake dating trope, just in time for Valentine's day

word count: 3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

It was the perfect plan really. Or it had seemed like it at the time. When fueled by frustration, love, and desperation, what could go wrong? Theo had loved you for as long as he could remember and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. To himself at least. But to you, well, that was a bit more challenging.

Coming from a pure blood family, a sacred 28 family no less, Theodore’s fate had been sealed long before he was even born. Destined to marry another rich, pure blood heiress, have children, and secure the Nott legacy another generation. All ridiculous nonsense if you asked Theodore. What was the point of tradition anyway? Pretty much everyone who cared was already dead, so what did it matter?

Unfortunately for Theo, his father was not dead and had been trying to find a suitable match for what felt like years at this point. Names of witches that Theo couldn’t even match a face to had been floated by, but Theo had spoiled each and every potential match and his father had been growing increasingly more agitated by the day.

That’s when it had struck him. Kill two birds with one stone. Get his father off his back and gain the perfect opportunity to win over the witch of his dreams. Was it a bit short sighted? Sure. But he wasn’t left with many options at this point and this was as good a plan as any.

“Please principessa, you know what my father’s like. And it would only be a few months.” Theo begged, following close behind you as you make your way through the labyrinth that is the Hogwarts library.

“I am not going to pretend to date you for a few months Theodore. Or at all. That’s actually insane. Besides, no one would believe it anyway. We’ve known each other for how long? No one is going to buy the idea of us just now deciding to go out. Especially not your father. Do you know how long my mother has been trying to set us up?” you sigh, plucking another book off the shelf.

You had known Theodore practically your whole life. The two of you had been best friends since before you could walk. Your earliest memories involved waddling around the gardens of his family’s manor as your mothers watched on in thrilled bliss. There was simply no way the two of you would be fooling anyone.

“Well that’s just it isn’t it? Father has been hounding me to court you for ages, he’ll be too relieved to care,” Theo replies, an air of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, And what do you suppose we'd tell them hmm?" You ask.

"Don't know. We wanted it to happen naturally or some other sappy story. They'll eat it up."

You give your friend a pointed look. This was not the first time he had presented you with a half-baked plan that was certain to go wrong at some point.

“You’re being so ridiculous right now Theodore, this easily makes it on the list of your top ten stupidest ideas.”

“You keep a list?”

“It’s alphabetized.”

Theo has the nerve to look offended.

“Please principessa? I know your family has been on you too. This will buy us both a little time at least,” Theo protests. "Just think, we tell them over winter break, string it along awhile, and then after we've gone our seperate ways we're just too broken hearted to even consider any other possibilities for the future."

In all fairness, the boy was right. Your family had been bothering you for months now, asking if you’d found a special someone. You'd known when Theodore's father began ramping up the pressure for him to find a match that your family wouldn't be far behind, but it was honestly starting to get to be a bit ridiculous. And exhausting.

"It's not even completely incomprehensible. We've been mistaken as a couple before." Theo continues to press.

You glare at your friend, eyes rolling at the mere memory.

six months prior

It had been another one of your mother's usual, stuffy garden parties. The sun had been beating down on you all morning and all you really wanted to do was throw your blasted shoes across the lawn. Who thought it was a sensible idea to be out on the garden's cobblestone paths in scorching heat for hours at a time? This was not your idea of a good time.

"Principessa," Theodore greeted, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

"Don't even start, Theodore," you grumbled, leaning into the boy. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and if my mother tries to make me join one more conversation about the Ministry or some such I'll set the whole garden on fire."

Theodore just laughed, pulled you closer.

"C'mon love. We can sneak off to the lake I reckon. Berkshire just arrived so the mums will all be too busy throwing him at the Greengrass sisters to notice."

Had you felt a bit bad leaving Enzo to the wolves? Sure. But still, you had let Theodore lead you down the path to the lake, collapsing onto the lawn sofa that was perched almost picturesquely on the patio overlooking the glassy water.

You had closed your eyes, feeling yourself relax into Theodore as his fingers combed methodically through your hair. You didn't know how long the both of you had been sitting there simply basking in each other's company when an excited gasp jolted you from your peaceful bliss.

"Oh! Oh my!" the shrill voice of one of your mother's airheaded socialites tittered. "I wasn't aware the both of you were courting! Oh your parents must be so pleased- what with your families being so close and all-"

"We're not courting." You interjected, holding your hand up to stop the women mid sentence.

She had stuttered awkwardly after that before finally shuffling off. Had you been a bit harsh? Perhaps. But you simply hadn't been in any sort of mood to deal with the notion of dating your best friend.

Theodore hadn't said a word, but you could feel him recoil ever so slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice if it hadn't been you. And things were a bit, strained, for the following days. If you could even call it that. And then things went back to normal as if nothing had happened.

You would have forgotten the whole thing, brushed it under the rug as something to laugh about in a few years, if it hadn't left a nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

You had never even allowed yourself to think that you could ever end up with your friend. Sure, years ago your mothers had shared the fantasy of the both of you ending up together one day. You were sure your mother was still convinced it might happen. But no. He would be auctioned off to the family of some wealthy heiress and you would be matched with some boy your parents deemed suitable. It was just how things worked.

Your feared your father was wearing going to wear through the carpet at any moment with the way he was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. Your mother sat twiddling her fingers on the sofa across from you, watching your father in exasperation.

Theodore was quite pleased with himself. To be completely honest he really didn't think he'd get this far. But sitting smugly on the sofa of his father's office, arm wrapped securely around you as he faced not only his own father, but your parents as well, he felt on top of the world.

"Well? Is it true? Are you?" your mother asks, finally breaking the silence as she had apparently given up on your father being the first to speak.

Your father had stormed off to Mr. Nott's office before you could even let out a breath, and by the time you and Theodore had finally slunk into the room, your mother was already doing a piss poor job of hiding her excitement.

It had always been a dream of hers for the both of you to end up together one day. It was hardly a kept secret. Maybe Theodore had been right and their blind excitement would stop them from asking too many questions because this was truly horrific.

"Of course it's true! It better be! The way I found him all over y/n," your father interrupts.

Mr. Nott just gazes on, eyes seemingly boring into your soul as Theodore meets his father's stare with cool, nonchalance. The smug bastard.

"Oh it's all we ever hoped for!" Your mother gushes, eyes falling onto the portrait hanging on the wall of the late Mrs. Nott.

"Well. That settles it then. They'll begin courting. Or whatever it is they call it these days," Mr. Nott says finally. "But there will be no more of this, nonsense. Not under my roof."

a few minutes earlier

"After further reassessment, this is the stupidest idea you've ever had," you hiss. Glaring at the brunette boy in front of you.

You were currently perched on one of the many desks lining the library walls of Nott Manor. Theodore was pressed up against the side, warm hands on your thighs holding you securely in place and sending shivers down your spine.

"Hush amore. How else will they be convinced we've been hiding a relationship, hmm?" He asks, slowly guiding one of your arms up to wrap around his neck.

"Oh I don't know. Suppose we just tell them? Ever think of that?"

"Yeah, and how would that go? Hey mum, I've been secretly seeing the son of your dead best friend who you've been trying to set me up with for ages. This is definitely not a distraction. Please believe us." Theo scoffs.

"I'm being serious," you respond, giving the boy a light whack on the shoulder. "When I agreed to the whole 'pretend to go out' bit, this is not what I had in mind."

"We've kissed before," Theo drawls, all nonchalance.

"You know that's not the same Theodore."

Before Theodore is able to respond, likely with another of his dry quips that you had grown to adore (not that you'd ever admit it), the door of the library swings open, footsteps echoing on the marble floors.

You don't even get the chance to fully take in the reality of the situation before Theodore's lips are on yours. It's slow and soft and warm as you feel his thumb softly brushing circles on your inner thigh. A soft gasp escapes you as you melt into the boy.

"What is the meaning of this?" Your father's cutting voice calls out, breaking you from your trance.

You jolt away from Theo, eyes snapping up to meet your father's, face flushed with embarrassment. Theo on the other hand looked quite self-satisfied. Oh you were going to kill him later.

"Both of you. Into the office. Now." Your father snaps out, looking like he was wishing he could obliviate himself in that moment.

"How long are we going to keep this going?" you ask, eyes not quite meeting Theo's as you lean your head against him. It was another warm night in which you and Theodore had managed to sneak up to the astronomy tower.

Your visits to the astronomy tower had started back in fourth year. It seemed like forever ago. And now you looked forward to nothing as much as nights spent with Theodore gazing up at the sky. The nights were different now though, you supposed.

It had been what? Five months now? You were almost certain it was five months, but those months seemed to have flown by in bliss. You hadn't realized how easy it would be. You and Theodore seemed to have been carefully tip toeing the line between friendship and more for years. You simply hadn't put the pieces together. It had been a bit clunky at first sure. Awkward maybe. But this was perfect. Standing in Theodore's arms as the stars above you seemed to go on forever. Perfect.

three-ish months prior

"Shut up. Shut. Up. You're joking," Daphne squeals, eyes locking onto your fingers which are tightly interlocked with Theo's as you enter your dorm room.

Something you seemed to have overlooked when agreeing to Theodore's dating scheme, was the fact that an integral part of the plan involved selling the lie to your closest friends.

It was much more difficult than you had anticipated.

You had spent the first initial month spending all your free time with Theodore, never really leaving his side. Apparently this didn't seem out of the ordinary. The flowers sent to your dorm didn't elicit a single reaction from your roommate, nor did Theodore's constant pet names. No, what really did it apparently, was the hand holding. Scandalous.

Your friends never failed to miss an opportunity to humble you.

"Took them long enough. Don't know why you're so shocked Daph," Mattheo replies dryly from his spot on the floor, papers scattered around him. He doesn’t even bother to look up.

"Well duh. We all knew they'd end up together eventually. Just didn't think they'd figure it out while we were still in school." Daph responds matter of factly. “Ugh. I owe Pansy 25 galleons now.” She groans, a frown appearing on her face.

"We can hear you, you know," Theo drawls, raising an eyebrow.

"Well it isn't as if the two of you have been subtle about it. Always holed up together in the library for hours at a time doing gods knows what."

"We study together," you reply, feeling the need to defend yourself.

"You’ve also attend every single ball together since, ever," Mattheo adds.

"Better that then go with whatever tossers our parents dig up."

"I've found the both of you asleep in Theodore's bed on more than one occasion."

"As friends."

"Right. You'd sleep together as friends, but drew the line at hand holding." Daphne says dryly. "You're both hopeless."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y/n, I damn near saw you hex Theo's hand off in fifth year when he tried to hold your hand, and even that wasn't solid proof that you two weren't already going out." Daphne snorts. "Hopeless."

"C'mon Daph, let's leave the love birds to it then," Mattheo says, gathering his papers. "Make good choices. Don't do anything I'd do," he calls as the two of them make a quick exit.

As soon as the door slams shut, you turn to look at Theo as if to ask 'what on Earth was that about?'

“They make fair points,” he says with a shrug, pulling you onto the bed with him.

"We weren't being obvious about anything Theodore. There was nothing there to begin with." You reply, allowing him to pull you onto his chest.

You knew there hadn't been anything there before, or at least you thought there wasn't, because this was all very new. Sure before you might've fallen asleep in the same bed after staying up until 3 am studying for your charms exam, but you'd certainly never seen Theodore look at you like this before. And you'd certainly never felt his hand creep under your shirt to rub soft circles across your rib cage. You'd definitely never felt your heart try to beat out of your chest like this. Or maybe you had.

"Is it really so absurd to think we've always been so close?" Theo asks, eyes very clearly focused on your lips. Not that you noticed of course.

"Maybe not," you reply, letting your head fall to rest on the boy's chest.

This was nice you thought to yourself as Theo's lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"How long do you want to keep going?" Theo asks after a moment.

"Don't know," you reply, feeling his eyes on you as you continue gazing out at the sky in front of you.

"Another month?" Theo asks carefully, pulling you ever closer.

You can feel your heart begin to race at the idea of it all ending so soon. You shake your head.

"You want to end it sooner?" Theo asks, voice wavering ever so slightly.

You shake your head again. You hear Theodore's sharp breath as he realizes your implication and you feel yourself growing increasingly more nervous as the silence stretches on.

You'd really, truly never allowed yourself to consider the idea of ending up with Theo. You knew that simply wasn't how the world worked. And frankly the idea of rejection couldn't even be a possibility. You couldn't allow yourself to lose your best friend. Or maybe you could. This was all his idea to begin with after all.

"What if we just kept going?" You ask finally, feeling the weight of the world lift off your shoulders.

Theo's arms tear away from you as he turns you to face him, hand holding your chin firmly in place, forcing your eyes to meet.

"Don't play with me like this, principessa," he says, voice all seriousness as his eyes scan your face, searching for anything that might suggest you're joking with him.

"I'm not."

And just like that, Theo's lips are on yours once more. They seemed to find themselves there a lot lately, melting your mind to absolute mush as he pulled you closer. You could feel your back, now pressed up against one of the marble pillars of the tower as Theo's lips moved slowly from your lips to your jawline, and carefully down the side of your neck.

"You can say you love me now," He whispers into your ear, his warm breath giving you chills as his hands continue to wander.

"I love you," you gasp out.

"Sorry, who?" he pushes, leaving little pecks across your jawline once more.

"Theo. I love you, Theodore," You say finally, just as Theo presses another kiss to your lips.

"And I love you, amore."

Did I start this well over a year ago? Yes I did, thank you for asking. Did I change the title three different times? Absolutely I did. Am I posting this before editing? Also yes. Cope.

[nerdygirlramblings]

totally not at all inspired by a real life snowboarding injury, I present poly!141 x injured!reader

cw: hurt/comfort, accents attempted

You're sat in the hospital bed doing your best not to cry. You hold the tears at bay not because you're fine. Not because you're proud. Not because of the shock running through your system. No, you try hard not to cry because you don't know how your boyfriends will react if you're in tears when they show up.

The spill was the most ridiculous accident, comical in its cartoonish nature: ice on the steps. You were rushing to catch The Tube, desperate not to be late. You knew if any of your men were home, they would have chided your footwear. The pink heels were absolutely impractical, but they matched your pearl grey dress so perfectly. On a normal day, you would have worn something sensible and simply brought the cute shoes to wear around the office.

But today was not a normal day. Today was your anniversary, and you had lovely dinner plans with your men scheduled. You wouldn't be able to come home after work, so you needed to look perfect all day.

You were almost home free when the last step ruined everything. Your foot slid, your bag fell, and you put your hands out to stop your forward momentum. So many bad ideas all in a row.

You felt something pop, heard a snap, and knew immediately you were very injured. Pain radiated all the way up your arm, leaving fire in its wake. Signals weren't making their way from your brain to your hand; it flapped, unresponsive, in your lap.

Thankfully your neighbor, Mrs. Gillen, was on the curb, and while she couldn't help you when you fell, she called 999 for you. She asked if your men were upstairs, and when you shook your head, she called John. You knew she had everyone's number, but as she'd learned, a call to John usually got everyone.

As they loaded you into the ambulance, you heard Mrs. Gillen ask an EMT where they were taking you, only to relay that information into her mobile.

So now you wait in A&E, arm in a sling, hooked up to an IV of fluids and pain meds, to see just how bad things are. You hear your men before you see them, John's voice low, demanding information on you. You don't hear a response, but John's growled response means he didn't get what he wanted.

Next you hear Johnny, frantically shouting your name as A&E techs try to shush him for the benefit of other patients and their families. A nurse comes in, unease in his eyes, and says there are several people asking for you. He tells you they have a code they can call if you're not safe, if the people looking for you need to be directed elsewhere or handled by the authorities.

You roll your eyes and assure the nurse it's okay. You pass him your phone, open to a picture of the five of you on holiday in Majorca last summer. "They're mine," you tell him ruefully. "Best let them back if it isn't against protocol, otherwise you'll be dealing with a big ruckus."

He eyes you hesitantly, despite the evidence on your phone. "Really," you say. "We're together. They'll be harmless if they can see me."

He steps into the hall and you watch him talk with a doctor and a man in a security uniform. They all come in and you have to explain your unconventional relationship, all the while listening to Johnny's shouts grow more panicked and Simon's rumble join John's. The only one you don't hear is Kyle, but you sure it's because he's restraining Johnny, who would be running through the halls pulling open doors if he could.

Finally the nurse, doctor, and security guard leave. Within moments the door bangs open so hard it strains the hinges. The hall light is blocked by a mass in the door, breathing heavily.

"Hi, Simon," you say sheepishly. He steps into the room, strides eating up the distance to where you are. You watch his aborted attempt to hug you. You raise your uninjured arm and he quickly shuffles into the space, pressing his face to your hair and breathing deeply.

"Oh, darling," you hear John sigh, "what happened?"

You feel your face heat and won't meet his eye. His gaze tracks from your injury down your dress to your legs. And those pink heels. You see the realization hit. "Please tell me you did not leave the flat in those shoes." His voice is muffled by the hand he's dragged over his face.

"I wanted to look perfect for tonight," you reply. "And now I've ruined it all," you sniffle.

"Och, hen," comes Johnny's voice. "Ye didnae ruin anything," he coos, coming over, elbowing Simon out of the way to press kisses to your hair and cheek. "We were so worried when Mrs. Gillen called. We jus' wan' ye safe. Yer already perfect." He kisses you again and again.

"Ya mind if we wait with ya, love?" Kyle asks, sitting in the chair next to the bed.

You were nervous about being in A&E alone, scared of what damage you did to yourself. "I wouldn't want you anywhere else," you tell him.

They boys take up various positions around the room, Simon looming behind you, eyes crossed, watching the door; John in the chair near the door, looking at your chart; and Johnny on the bed with you, your uninjured hand in his.

When the attending finally comes in, she pulls up short at how full the room now is. She looks at your men, then at you, and says, "Do you want this medical information shared, or shall we ask everyone to wait outside?"

Suddenly the room feels smaller, the air stuffier. You know it isn't harder to breathe, but your men are expansive, and the idea they might not be welcome as the doctor tells you the extent of your injuries is too much.

"No, doctor," you say, trying to head off a confrontation. "They're with me. And it's best they hear whatever this is from you." You look at John and add, "I'm sure they'll have questions."

The doctor holds your eye for a long moment, and you see the moment she decides to trust you. She comes to the end of the bed and holds her tablet out, waiting for John and Kyle to come around and join Simon behind you.

She brings up the first scan of your forearm and you see it before she says anything, the glaring black line across the solid white bones. Combined fracture of the radius and ulna. She brings up a second scan of your shoulder where the injury is less obvious. There's no bone break, but the doctor points out where you tore the ligaments in your glenohumeral joint.

The more she talks the more the words blend together. You hear surgery. Physical therapy. Weeks of recovery. John's voice joins the doctor's. Then Simon's.

You tune them out, worrying about what this means for your job, for taking care of the house when your men are on deployment, for the burden this puts on the others.

You feel a warm weight on your thigh and glance down to see Johnny's hand, thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth. The sharp line of his jaw digs into your uninjured shoulder enough to get your attention. You turn your head to glance at him. He leans forward, breath warm against your cheek as he whispers, "Stop thinkin' so hard. Takin' care a ye isnae hardship. Hell, it's gunna mean ye cannae tell us tae stop."

You frown and whisper back, "I'm not supposed to be a burden," mouth twisted into a frown.

He scoffs. "Ah dare ye tae tell LT or the Cap'n yer a burden."

A throat clears, and you look away from Johnny. The doctor looks resolute; John's eyes are full of pity. They both seem to wait for your reaction, but to what? You were spiraling until Johnny drew you back to them, but what had John and the doctor said to make them look at you like that?

Your eyes dart between them, mouth opening and closing in your best imitation of a fish until the doctor saves you further embarrassment. "We can't do anything more today. The bones in your arm can't be set until the swelling goes down, so we can only put you in a temporary splint until a real cast goes on in about a week. And I don't want to schedule the surgery until the bone is in a cast, and preferably not until it's healed, but I need more imaging on the ligament to determine how quickly it needs surgery. I'm going to have to send you home with pain medication only. You're going to need quite a bit of help for a while."

At first, the most you manage is a small, "Oh." You clear your throat and try again. "Thank you, doctor. Er, when should I schedule the imaging for? And how should I do that? Oh, and where do I go for the actual cast?"

The doctor sighs and looks at John first before the others. "I gave your, er, friend all the contact information for the orthopedist and imaging specialists. He said they'd make sure you have your appointments set. I also gave him your script for pain medication to help you manage these first few days."

You thank the doctor again as your boys escort you home. You hold the tears at bay on the drive home, waiting quietly in the car when Kyle takes your prescription into the chemist. You make it up the stairs in Simon's arms, cradled against his chest like a fragile bird. It isn't until you're back in your flat that the tears come.

A torrent of pain snakes down your arm, stealing the breath from your lungs when you try to shrug your jacket off. Simon is only a step behind you, and he lunges forward, hands under you as you crumple, sobbing, to the floor.

A pair of warm, calloused hands gently cup your face. You can't see through the tears, but you smell sunshine when Kyle shushes you, telling you they're there.

"I don't want to be a burden," you cry between sobs. Your lungs are beginning to burn, everything throbbing in time to the ache in your arm. "Now I've messed everything up!"

You're picked up, gently, from the front hall. The smell of gunmetal tells you it's Simon. His soft steps thud along the floor. There're too many steps for you to be heading for the den, you think. The realization strikes that you must be going to the bedroom. The arms holding you deposit you in front of them on the bed.

Your hair is maneuvered over your uninjured shoulder and you hear the rasp of the zipper as it slowly descends. Simon carefully manipulates your good arm out of its sleeve while Johnny kneels to take your cute shoes off. Then Kyle and Simon work together to carefully, cautiously shift and support your arm to get your other sleeve off. You have a momentary flash - I'm glad A&E didn't cut my dress - before it's overwhelmed by the agony of getting your other sleeve down.

By the time the top of your dress has been slipped off, you're practically panting, teeth clenched tight to prevent the scream from clawing its way up your throat. The boys get you the rest of the way undressed and into your pajamas.

You look around and notice John isn't in the room. You look behind you to Simon, the one most likely to give you a straight answer, but when you ask about John, he pretends not to know him at all!

John walks in a moment later with some flowers you recognize from the vase in the kitchen. "I know you're disappointed, dove. We all are, but not because we think we're missing out if you're not there." John gets down onto one knee. "This isn't what we talked about. This isn't where we wan'ed to do it." He pulls a ring box out. "Was gonna do this at dinner, but I think you need ta remember, dove, you're our world."

You blink back more tears as Simon's voice vibrates your ribcage. His voice rumbles, " Wan' ya to be ours fully."

You look at Kyle and see the giant grin splitting his face.

You don't have to look to see Johnny's sitting, energy practically vibrating off him in waves, waiting as patiently as a kid on Christmas morning.

Your eyes land on John again, still kneeling. Silly man, putting himself through hurt for you. "Marry us, dove?"

Despite the unfounded hopelessness seeping into your bones. Despite the self-pity drowning you under waves of all you haven't done yet. Despite the agony rippling through your arm to the rest of you. Despite all that, you're answering before he fully finishes his question.

"Yes!"

[luimagines]

Maybe a scenario where the chain is female hero's Era and they meet her era's link which is her little brother of like 6 and she confesses that the quest was actually for him.

LITTLE LINK!?!!?!?!? MY LOVE, MY LIFE, MY SON!?!? ABSOLUTELY!!!! XD

Everybody get ready for more Lucky. I will never have enough of this boy. ^.^*

Side note: Reader is written as Gender Neutral per the rules of the blog, but this isn't really about them anyway. :D

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

"Just a little closer." You say under your breath as you push aside the surrounding foliage. You step into a well beaten path. there's roots sticking out of it and the dirt is bare and dry, but you know that it's safe to travel along and that it'll take you straight to your destination.

"We've been walking for hours." Legend groans. "Are we there yet?"

"Almost." You hold the branch open for the others to pass through.

"This Link of yours must be a pain in neck to get to if his lives this far out into the middle of nowhere." Hyrule spits out a leaf.

You snort, keeping it vague for the sake of keeping him safe. They'll know the truth soon enough and frankly, you're scared to see the aftermath. "It's just up the path."

"Finally!"

"Come on! Let's go!" Wind cheers and takes off running, following swiftly by Wild, Wolfie and Four.

You try to keep a leisurely pace, knowing you're going to need all the energy you can reserve for when you arrive. You want to run just as much as the others, but you know better.

Time seems to have caught on and gently smacks your shoulder. "You never said how you happened to meet him."

"I didn't?" You smile, playing it coy. "Strange."

"This is it?" Four asks with a skeptical look.

Just beyond the hill is a run down cottage. There's holes in the roof and the fence is broken in many areas. The forest and meadows around it are about to over take the small house and return the woods of its skeleton back to where they came from.

You try to hold back a bitter smile and the way your heart swells at the familiar sight. You pat Four on the shoulder and keep walking towards the cottage. Putting your fingers to your mouth, you let out a shrill whistle and keep walking.

A beat passes, setting the young men behind you on edge before the door of the cottage all but bursts open. You can feel some of the boys reach for their weapons but they hesitate when you start hollering in excitement.

Your calls are answered back by a small body that comes running out of the cottage at full speed. It comes out like a shot and b-lines for you with the intent to tackle. You catch the familiar mop of blond hair and laugh, peppering the small boy with kisses and tickles.

The group behind you is stunned.

"Bubbah! You're home! You're home!" The child cries.

You smile, getting a little teary as you hold the child closer. "I get to stay for a little bit this time before I travel again. I wanted you to meet some friends of mine. They've been very excited to meet you."

The little boy looks over your shoulder and gasp, a bright grin covering his face. "New people! Hello! Welcome to my house!"

You set him down with a proud smile as he runs to the Chain. He stops in front of them, holding his hand out like the polite gentleman he's growing up to be. "My name is Link, what's yours?"

Twilight bites the bullet and kneels to his level, shaking his hand. "Why- My name is Link too! It's great to meet you!"

You sighs and look back to the house. Your grandmother must still be inside. Age has not been kind to her.

The introductions are going on behind as your brother gets more and more amused that they all share the same name. He laughs, bright and joyfully and still the child you've fought so hard to keep. "No wonder you wanted to meet me too!"

"Yeah.... That's why." Legend clenches his jaw in a tight smile. He catches it quickly, the mark of the Triforce of Courage already on his little hand. Legend points to his hand to show that he has the same mark. "You have that too?"

Link, your brother, nods and proudly shows it off. "Bubbah says it's because I'm special. They had to leave home after it showed up though. They saved me from the monsters and told me to take care of grandma."

"Then I'm sure you're doing an incredible job." Time says gently. "That mark is special. I'm sure your grandma is very proud."

Warrior makes it a point to step aside, roughly grabbing your arm as he speaks in a hushed voice. "What is the meaning of this?"

"This is my home." You try to keep the growl out of your voice. "Link is my brother."

"Tell me you're joking."

"I wouldn't be the one traveling with you if I was."

"Bubbah!" Link calls for your attention. "Can they stay for dinner?!"

You slap a grin onto your face and wave back to him. "That was the plan, short stack! You mind going to tell grandma we have company?"

"Oh yeah!" He grins and runs back to the house right as your grandmother has reached the door. She sees you and sighs of relief that you've returned safe and sound.

You wave from where you are and blow her a kiss. You try not to look at the other boys around you.

You can feel them staring holes into you head as it is.

This is going to be a long story.

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART II)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Smut (MDNI 18+), incest, step-sibling incest, gangbang (-ish?), nipple stimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, getting caught, mentions of death, alcohol consumption, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said.

WC: 5.0k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

As war brewed in Westeros, the land of Dorne basked in the golden sun and its sweeping dunes. The ravens from House Targaryen had been met with little favour, and House Martell found their desperation rather amusing. 

In the Old Palace of Sunspear, Princess Y/n and Prince Elyas Martell lounged in the Solar, a secluded chamber reserved for their idle indulgence, always with a cup of wine in hand. The space, bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the thin organdy curtains, was filled with the scent of magnolias, a flower that so rarely thrived in the harsh conditions in the desert. 

The siblings had been raised under a veil of extravagance, tasted the rarest delicacies, worn the most exquisite fabrics, and known pleasures that most could never fathom. Yet, they sat in the heart of Old Palace, gazing out at the unchanging arid scenery before them, left with a lingering sense of disillusionment. The world outside their palace walls offered little more than echoes of what they had already experienced, and each new day arrived with the inevitable savour of anti-climax.

The company of the siblings was never without their sworn protectors, the bastard sons of Prince Qoren, Casymir and Leoran Sand, whose presence was like the shadows of the Prince and Princess, mostly unnoticed, but part of them nonetheless. The twins were leaning on the double doors, their golden spears placed against the wall as they listened to the Prince and Princess' idle conversations with a hint of amusement on their faces. 

"Can you believe them, sister?" Elyas licked the wine off his lower lip. He was slumped on the settee with Y/n’s legs resting on his lap. "Asking for your hand through a raven? That boy of three-and-ten from House Briar showed more courage than those Dragonlords," he chuckled, remembering how the young lord showed up by the gates of the Old Palace with nothing more than the promise of a life free from hardships and an heir that will make Dorne even more prosperous than it already was.

"That boy looked like he still fed on his mother's tit," Casymir, the older twin laughed.

Princess Y/n merely rolled her eyes, too tired to jest with them. She took another sip of wine as her eyes lazily stared at Elyas' hands gently massaging her legs. 

"What bothers me is that Father is still taking his time to send ravens back to those Dragonlords," she muttered. "He usually wouldn't bother to respond to any plea for support involving other houses, so it's possible that he might be considering our alliance."

"You read both messages Father sent them, he clearly refused any deal they proposed," Elyas' hands crawled to her thighs, disappearing under the silken fabric of her dress and began kneading her lean muscles.

"Of course he did. He wouldn't want to make it seem like we yield so easily," Y/n traced the edge of her cup with her finger. "Father is many things, but he's not a fool. He knows that they're expecting him to refuse. The longer he plays this game, the more desperate they'll become, and... mayhaps he sees more value in keeping them on edge."

"And what about the Velaryon boy?" Leoran asked.

"What about him?" She sighed, growing irritated as the past few weeks' conversations seemed to circle back to the Targaryens.

"How does it feel to have the future king of the realm seeking your hand?" He asked.

"He's no different from the others. A man is still a man, no matter his title. And so far, they've all shown me nothing I haven't already seen," Y/n’s gaze drifted out the window, her expression indifferent. 

"Be truthful now, sister," Elyas teased, moving his hands even closer to her womanhood as he continued to massage her thighs. "Don't tell me the idea of marrying a dragon rider doesn't excite you."

"Those dragon riders tried to conquer our lands before, why would I want to marry one of them?" She asked with a hint of annoyance, realising shortly how Elyas was just trying to provoke her. She took another sip of wine. Although it was typical for her brother to irritate her on purpose, she still enjoyed the touches that came along with it.

"So you wouldn't even consider marrying him?" He parted her legs slightly, snaking his hand between her thighs as began to tease her clothed slit.

"No," she frowned, growing frustrated as Elyas kept teasing her, knowing all too well how to pull her strings and make her surrender under his touch. 

The twins' eyes were fixed on them, a smirk spreading across their faces as they watched her grind her hips against his palm. Y/n sat up and Elyas got on his knees, hiking up her dress and fully exposing her legs to them. Leoran began to palm his cock through his trousers at the sight of Elyas peeling away Y/n’s undergarments, his eyes never missing the thin string of her arousal that clung to the fabric. He pushed her legs further apart, making sure that the twins could see how her tight hole clenched and unclenched, welcoming even the slightest touch.

"Even if he's the Crown Prince?" Elyas purred. He felt his erect cock painfully straining against his trousers as his fingers sunk into the soft flesh of her ass, pulling her closer to him until her cunt was merely inches away from his face. He was tempted to delve his tongue into her needy hole, yet he resisted and began to nip and suckle on her inner thigh. "Answer me, sister," he demanded, his dark eyes looking up at the Princess.

Y/n huffed at his words, growing impatient as she knew that Elyas was going to keep up his sweet torment until he heard what he wanted to hear.

"Even if he's the Crown Prince," she echoed his words, her skin prickling as she felt his hot breath fanning on her entrance. 

The Prince seemed to have been satisfied with her response as his tongue lapped at her wet folds without a warning, tearing a moan from her as his nose occasionally nuzzled against her clit, making her buckle her hips against his face. 

She lazily tore her eyes from her brother and fixed her gaze on the twins, whose trousers and breastplates were already discarded on the floor, exposing their lean muscles akin to a bronze sculpture. They were pumping their cocks at the sight of her wet cunt being feasted on by Elyas, who was still fully dressed, as he was too lost in devouring the sweet taste of her juices. When the Princess made eye contact with them, they nodded and stood up, understanding her silent command. They sat on either side of Y/n, their cocks twitching as she placed her hands on their thighs. Then she turned to face Casymir, cupped his cheek and stared up at him with half-lidded eyes before leaning forward for an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue swirling around hers. 

Leoran tucked the Princess' hair back, exposing her neck. He began to trail wet kisses from under her ear and stopped at the hollow of her neck as he fondled her breast, teasing her erect nipple with his fingers through the thin fabric of her dress. Still unsatisfied, he pulled the strap down, partly exposing her chest. Leoran pressed his face against the soft flesh, taking in her sweet scent before he brushed his lips against her nipple and began suckling on it like a hungry babe. 

Casymir slipped the other strap off her shoulder, and her dress bunched around her waist, fully exposing her chest. The warm breeze caressed her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Imitating his younger twin, Casymir's lips latched on to the other nipple and pulled, almost painfully, and he released it with a loud pop before repeating his actions. When he was finished tormenting the sensitive bud, he took as much of her breast in his mouth, hungrily swirling his tongue around the soft flesh.

As the twins sucked on each of her tits and Elyas had his face buried in her cunt, Y/n reached down to grab the twins' cocks that jolted with her touch, already oozing with precum. She began stroking their lengths, feeling how the thick veins pulsated against her palms. 

Y/n’s eyes rolled back in pleasure, unable to bear how they feasted on her flesh as if she were a lamb being devoured by wolves. No one in the room was holding back their moans, filling the space with obscene noises. The Solar, which had just been meticulously tidied by the servants, had now turned into a chaotic scene of disarray: cushions from the settee were scattered haphazardly, some thrown onto the ground, whilst their cups of wine had tipped over, leaving dark red stains that seeped into the rugs.

Feeling the fire pooling low in her abdomen, she knew that it was up to Elyas whether she got to cum or not.

"Swear it to me, sister," Elyas stopped sucking her clit, only to slide two fingers into her weeping cunt. "Swear to me that I'll be your betrothed. You and I shall rule Dorne together."

He alternated between curling his digits and pumping them in and out, hitting her sweet spot with ease and causing her to arch her back in delight. At that moment, the Princess only sought the pleasure of her own release. Enslaved with the rush that was coming, she parted her lips, ready to seal the promise.

"I—"

Just before she could finish speaking, the doors of the Solar flung open with a loud crash. 

The four of them snapped out of their trance, their faces clouded with irritation that someone had dared to interrupt the high they were chasing. Ser Domeric Uller, the informant of House Martell, stood unimpressed at the wanton scene before him, already used to the siblings' shenanigans.

"My Princess, my Prince," Ser Domeric began, "Rhaenyra Targaryen is in the Hall of the Sun, and your presence has been requested immediately."

The unexpected arrival of the Targaryens on dragonback had been received as a threat of battle. When the Dornish sails spotted the winged beasts tearing the clouds apart, their hearts pounded with dread. The three dragons shattered the peaceful Dornish skies with their deafening roars, sending shockwaves of terror through the port city of Sunspear. The smallfolk, who had never seen such creatures so close, scattered back to their homes, their fear spreading like wildfire.

Princess Y/n muttered under her breath as she made her way to the Hall of the Sun, trying to compose herself as she had barely taken a moment to ensure she didn't appear dishevelled. Her previous dress had been crumpled, forcing her to hastily throw on another while urging her handmaiden to make her hair look presentable. With each step, she could still feel the uncomfortable cling of arousal on her thighs. She was closely followed by her brother and their sworn protectors, who weren't any less irritated than she was, as they fumbled with their trousers. 

Their youngest brother, Prince Farien, was already waiting for them outside the hall with Ser Domeric, who couldn't stand still.

"Is everything alright, Farien?" Y/n asked the boy.

"D- dragons..." he whispered. "They brought dragons..."

Y/n and Elyas exchanged a look of concern, but her eyes widened, catching how Elyas' chin was still glistening with her arousal. 

"Wipe your chin," she hissed.

Elyas complied, wiping his face with the sleeve of his tunic, staining it in the process. The siblings and the twins stared at each other, ensuring that there was no trace of what had just happened moments ago. With one final nod, Casymir and Leoran pushed the doors open, clearing a wide path for Prince Qoren's children.

The three Martells, adorned in their house's colours and draped in golden jewellery that chimed with each step they took, resembled the radiant rays of the sun. Y/n and Elyas sauntered across the hall with their heads held high, feeling the piercing gaze of the Targaryens they had yet refused to look in the eye. Elyas' eyes swept over the hall with a dismissive air, trying to mask the dread running down his spine as he heard the dragons' deafening screeches nearby for the first time, while Prince Farien ran across the hall and jumped onto his father's lap.

There was no way to read Prince Qoren's expression. How must he have felt at that moment? The Targaryens, their rivals, had arrived in Sunspear unannounced with three dragons, no less, inciting fear among his people and sparking rumours that they had come once again to conquer their lands.

"Father," Y/n greeted Prince Qoren with a quick peck on his cheek. 

Prince Qoren hummed in response as he rubbed his youngest son's back to soothe him. Even at his advanced age of five-and-sixty, Prince Qoren's striking features weren't any less noticeable. If it weren't for the shadows in his eyes that had seen countless battles and tribulations, and his silvering curls that were once as black as ink, he would've been easily mistaken as his son Elyas in his youth.

Y/n perched herself on the armrest of her father's seat, while Elyas casually leaned on the other side. The four Martells stared at the Targaryens, their poised, disinterested stance akin to a nest of vipers, coiled and ready to strike at anyone who dared come too close.

"House Targaryen, you stand before the presence of Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear, Prince of Dorne; Princess Y/n Martell of Sunspear; Prince Elyas Martell of Sunspear; and Prince Farien Martell of Sunspear," Ser Domeric announced, his deep voice reverberating through the hall. 

Ser Domeric finished introducing the Martells, their faces refusing to betray their racing thoughts, showing nothing more but contempt in their dark eyes. 

"House Martell, you have been graced by the presence of Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men; the King Consort, Daemon Targaryen; and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the Crown Prince, who have travelled all the way from Dragonstone."

The Targaryens strode to the centre of the hall, followed by three guards who never stopped pointing their spears at them, though that didn't prevent them from exuding the same air of superiority that marked their bloodline. Rhaenyra took a step forward, and Daemon and Jacaerys dutifully bent their knees in reverence to their queen.

A suffocating silence fell over the hall as the Martells remained motionless.

"Bend the knee and show respect before your Queen," Daemon commanded, his gaze defiant against the Martells.

Y/n and Elyas shared a quick look before bursting into laughter, their father joining in until his face turned red. 

"Have you forgotten where you are, my King Consort?" Prince Qoren asked with a deep, mocking chuckle, unbothered by the palpable tension brewing in the hall. "We Martells refuse to bend the knee for you, Dragonlords. Never have, and never will."

Daemon Targaryen's face twisted in indignation, not tolerating the blatant disrespect. Had they been in Dragonstone, their heads would no longer be attached to their bodies. His fingers tightly curled around the grip of his sword, but Rhaenyra's subtle gesture made him stop. 

"Has your independence also prevented you from learning manners, Prince Qoren?" Daemon asked through his teeth. 

"Mayhaps our independence has spared us from the Targaryen's arrogance that comes with sitting on the Iron Throne too long," he raised his cup at him.

"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken..." Rhaenyra recited House Martell's motto, trying to defuse the tension. "Prince Qoren, we are well aware that House Martell has proudly stood on its own. We have respected your sovereignty throughout the years, and we have no intention of disturbing that peace. We did not come here to conquer, but to forge an alliance."

"Yet you arrive in our lands with three dragons, ready to reduce Sunspear into ashes at your command?" Y/n raised her brow, her gaze locked with Rhaenyra's, each daring the other to look away.

"If we intended to burn Sunspear, Princess, we would have done so already," Daemon retorted.

"Oh, so now we're to be grateful we're still alive?" Elyas scoffed.

"Prince Qoren, let me ask you, you would not want history to repeat itself, would you?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Is that a threat?" Prince Qoren asked back, any trace of amusement in his face now gone.

"I am merely stating that once the Greens win this war, they will seek to bring the whole of Westeros to heel, and Dorne will not be spared."

"We have successfully stood our ground in the First Dornish War. What makes you think we can't do it again?" Prince Qoren asked.

"No house will be safe from Aemond's wicked hand, my Prince," Daemon stated. "That boy honours nothing but cruelty, and is seduced by the promise of his own ascent."

"Doesn't sound so different from the rest of you," Prince Qoren scoffed. He reached for another cup of wine, taking a swig before he continued speaking. "Greens, Blacks... What does it matter? Why would we want to get involved in this war in any way, if we could just sit back and watch you burn your own house to the ground?"

As they bickered back and forth, Y/n and Jacaerys shared a look. The Princess couldn't deny the Velaryon boy was rather pleasing to look at, but she already had her fair share of good-looking lords who met the same fate as the rest of her suitors. 

"Prince Qoren," Prince Jacaerys spoke for the first time, "I know that with the history of our houses, it is easy to dwell in the past, but we did not travel all the way from Dragonstone to reopen old wounds. We came here to heal them. We intend to make amends for the past and to forge a new path forward, one that begins with my request for the hand of your daughter, Princess Y/n," he rose from the ground, his eyes defiant.

"And you couldn't come alone, boy? Did you need your mother to hold your hand while you do so?" Prince Qoren chuckled, his eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "Prudent of you, I suppose. But Dorne has danced with dragons before, and I would sooner sleep with scorpions. However, if it's the hand of my daughter you seek, she will be the one to decide whether or not you are worthy."

Prince Jacaerys clenched his jaw, trying to ignore Prince Qoren's attempts at ridiculing him. 

"I know the Princess must have faced countless suitors and is growing restless about their never-ending courtship, all promising her wealth, power, and lands she already possesses in abundance. But let me ask you, Princess, have any of them offered you the chance to become the Queen?" 

"How bold of you to ask for my sister's hand without first proving yourself worthy," Elyas spoke in his sister's stead, seeing how she didn't seem completely opposed to the Velaryon boy's proposal. "The Princess wouldn't entertain any proposal without a trial by battle, as you may have noticed from the rotting corpses of her suitors in the desert," he taunted the Velaryon boy.

Y/n shot her brother a sharp glance and he merely shrugged back, as if to say that it was his duty to put the arrogance of the Crown Prince in place.

"It's a tempting offer, my Prince, but I don't care much for titles. I'm of sun and sand, and my duties lie here in Dorne," Y/n said, examining the young prince before her. He stood with confidence and poise, yet there was a naive glimmer in his eyes as if he believed his proposal would be accepted without question. "However, if you wish to seek my hand, I won't deny you the chance, but as my brother said, you must prove your courage in battle if you wish to be taken seriously. You've shown me what you're willing to offer, but what are you willing to sacrifice?" She smirked, challenging the young prince.

Jacaerys stiffened at Y/n’s words, feeling the weight of her challenge. He recalled the lifeless body of a boy from House Briar in the desert, just one among countless lords from other houses who were once known for their swordsmanship skills but had been reduced to nothing more than a feast for crows. His expression faltered for a moment, the confidence he had displayed wavering under the pressing gaze of the Princess. He glanced at his mother and Daemon, seeking reassurance, only to realise they also shared the same look of uncertainty.

"I came here to forge an alliance, not to shed blood," he replied, his voice steady despite his heartbeat thundering against his chest. "But if it is courage you seek, then I will show you that I am not one to shy away from a challenge," he said, forcing himself to meet Y/n’s gaze. 

"Very well," the Princess replied, a satisfied smile curling on her lips. "The trial shall commence on the morrow. I trust the Prince is weary from his long journey, so let him rest well."

It was the hour of the wolf, and the unease in the Old Palace was palpable. The restlessness wasn't only confined to its walls as even the smallfolk were on edge, since word had spread that war was imminent. The distant screeches of winged beasts echoed through the night sky, stirring memories of the First Dornish War.

Prince Elyas kept glaring daggers at the back of his sister's head as he followed her to the Council Chamber, where their father awaited them.

"What was that?" Elyas grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to face him. "What happened to not considering his proposal, sister?" 

Prince Farien, who walked hand in hand with his sister, cocked his head as he watched his older siblings exchange words heatedly. 

"Are they going to feed us to their dragons if you say no to the Prince?" He asked, looking up at his older sister. 

"You'll be the first one they'll be eating," Elyas muttered, causing the boy to shudder. 

"Don't listen to him, Farien. I won't let that happen," she cupped the little boy's cheek and glared at Elyas.

"I could see it in your eyes, sister. You were tempted to agree," Elyas kept pressing her, trying to mask the pain in his voice with anger.

"Mayhaps your jealousy is clouding your judgement, brother," she said, continuing her stride and not giving him the satisfaction of engaging with the argument. "The Prince is merely another suitor, like the many lords who have previously sought my hand. It's only fair that I give him the same opportunity as the others."

"Then let me fight for you this time, and once I defeat him I shall finally take your hand like we've always planned. I've waited far too long, sister."

"This isn't your battle to fight, Elyas," she muttered, entering the Council Chamber as Casymir and Leoran remained outside, guarding the doors.

"Father," they said in unison, taking their seats around the golden table. 

Prince Qoren rubbed his greying beard, lost in thought, with an empty cup in hand. Y/n caressed Farien's wild curls as he plopped himself on her lap, his legs barely able to reach the ground. 

"I wish to speak with Y/n, alone," Prince Qoren said.

After a moment of silence, Elyas stood up begrudgingly, never tearing her gaze from his sister, who didn't shy away from glaring back.

"Very well, Father," Elyas replied, taking his younger brother in his arms, and trying to not let his father's dismissal affect him. 

The doors closed behind them, leaving father and daughter alone in the Council Chamber.

"Is something the matter, Father?" She leaned back into her seat, taking the cup of wine that her father poured her. 

"I must admit, I'm at a loss," he sighed, defeated. "Gods... how has everything come to this? These bloody Targaryens have nothing better to do than start wars they can't finish on their own," he sighed as he shook his head. "We always used to laugh at the Old King Viserys, but he would've never allowed this to happen. Twenty-six years! That old man has given us twenty-six years of peace, only to be disrupted by his children's tomfoolery!" he took another swig from his cup, wiping the droplets with his sleeve. "I truly had no intention of taking part in this war, but if the Triarchy is involved, then we are left in an extremely vulnerable position."

Y/n nodded her head, listening intently to her father, already knowing where his argument would take a turn.

"Tell me, daughter. What do you think the Greens offered the Triarchy in exchange for their support?" He asked.

"The Stepstones," she replied firmly. "Up until Daemon's conquest, the Stepstones haven't belonged to anyone. But if the Triarchy ends up getting a hold of it, then they would have the leverage to disrupt our trade routes and invade our territories."

Prince Qoren hummed with satisfaction at his daughter's words. 

"What are you implying, Father?" Y/n asked.

"There is no way out for us in this war, Y/n," he said in resignation. "It only leaves us with two options. Join Rhaenyra, or face the Triarchy once their war is over."

The Princess pursed her lips, refusing to accept either of the choices they had.

"We'd be fools to wage war against the Triarchy," the Princess shook her head. "And if they have the Greens' support, whatever fate befell them in this war could easily become our own. As the Blacks have blockaded the Gullet, they could just as easily set a blockade in the Narrow Sea."

"So that leaves us with—"

"There must be another way. How could you even think of that, Father?" She cut him off, unable to control the anger that was bubbling in her chest. "You wish to aid the house that tried to burn ours to the ground?"

"And you think I haven't dwelled on that already?" Prince Qoren asked. "They're offering us to make an alliance, and we have the upper hand—"

"They want to make us think that. We don't have the upper hand if they're doing it on their own terms, Father. It should be us who set the conditions, since they need us more than we need them," Y/n slammed her fist against the table, standing up, not expecting her father to give up so easily. 

The Princess took a few deep breaths, feeling guilty after raising her voice at her own father.

"Forgive me, Father. I overreacted," she looked down. "I appreciate your trust for only letting me hear your thoughts, but I don't think Elyas nor the rest of the council would take your stance well, either."

"Your brother needs to learn from you. He has a long way to go, but his unruly temper will be his demise."

"Truth be told, we aren't much different from one another," she smiled sadly. "But please, Father. We must tread carefully. I know these are dire times and we can't keep running away from conflict forever, but there must be a way around this."

"Listen to me, my dear daughter," Prince Qoren looked at the Princess with solemn eyes. "Your great-grandsire had told me about the First Dornish War when I was merely a boy of five. He still recalled how his father, Prince Nymor, told the events as though they were a tale of glory. But he saw things differently. He saw things as they truly were. Our people paid in blood, and the sands of Dorne were stained red with the lives lost during those dark years.

When Aegon Targaryen and his sisters came to our lands, they brought a storm of fire and death. Countless were burned alive in their homes as they ran for their lives. The dragons did not distinguish between soldiers and children, between the rich and the poor, and mothers watched their children burn as fathers tried to protect their families in vain.

And yet, despite all this, we endured. But at what cost, Y/n? At what cost did we keep our independence? Hundreds of thousands of lives were lost, families were destroyed, and our lands were left in ruins. The legacy of that war is not just our freedom, but the memory of the suffering our people endured. That is the burden we carry, the price that was paid. 

And if what they say about that boy Aemond is true, if he plans to bring the whole of Westeros to heel, then I fear that'll be the beginning of the Second Dornish War... and as your father, that is something I don't want you, your brothers, and our people to ever live."

Once Prince Qoren stopped speaking, his eyes were filled with sorrow, and Y/n couldn't help but reach for his hand.

"Why are you telling me this, Father?"

"You are to become the Princess of Dorne once I pass," Prince Qoren smiled sadly. "I wish I could carry the burden of this choice, so you won't have to bear its consequences but..."

"Father, I—"

"Tomorrow's trial will determine more than just your marriage with the Velaryon boy. It will shape the future of Dorne. We may well find ourselves bound to a war that is not our own, or face the Greens and the Triarchy, marking the start of the Second Dornish War. I'm truly sorry that you have to bear this burden, but the decision rests with you."

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I want to thank you all for the overwhelming support on this fic. I already have a couple of ideas for Chapter 3, and we will be seeing even more action!

Some of the lines might sound a bit familiar, for example, 'each new day arrived with the inevitable savour of anti-climax,' which is inspired by TGG when Nick was talking about Tom Buchanan, and I thought it perfectly described the life the Martells siblings had been living.

Another one is 'Dorne has danced with dragons before, and I would sooner sleep with scorpions,' which is actually Prince Qoren's reply to Otto Hightower's letter when he was asking for support during the Dance of Dragons (according to the asoiaf wiki).

Also, idky but at first I was imagining Qoren Martell as Mario Cimarro (Pasión de Gavilanes, anyone?) because I can just totally see him playing the role of someone being a super sarcastic bossbitch ruler while having a soft spot for his daughter. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on which actors the rest of the OCs remind you of, especially the twins and Elyas! And if I have time, I might do one of those 'get to know your OC' posts hehe.

If you wish to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form for easier management.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Until next time ;)

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a @yohanseyebrowmole @dracaryxzs @ladyofvelaryon @burningwitchobject @lovelyteenagebeard @redtragedyarcade @dragonrider-3000 @labellapeaky @winter-soldier-101

[mintmatcha]

"You guys are so lucky."

Ochako takes Izuku by the hand, that sweet, rosy smile filling her cheeks. The whole table whoops and hollers as Izuku brings her hand to his mouth and places a kiss directly on the engagement ring.

"I think we're pretty lucky too," Izuku whispers. Sero gags, finger in his throat, and Denki collapses into giggles. From across the table, Iida joins in, covering his smile with the back of his hand.

Tomorrow night, they'll be married. The ceremony is small, just a handful of friends and family, so most of you here won't be attending. You're fine with that- a couple of fancy cocktails is enough celebration for you.

"High school sweethearts," you sigh, "How romantic. I wish someone liked me in high school."

Sero snorts and Ochako sighs; you immediately know something is up. When you glance around the table, everyone is either avoiding your gaze or sniggering, partaking in some sort of shared secret. Turning to Iida for information, you find that he's the worst of them all, adjusting his glasses over and over again.

"You mean someone else," Denki says after a while.

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Denki jerks his head to the side with a conspiratorial grin, "Iida was rock hard for you all through high school."

The man in question sputters-- hard. Iida chokes on his beer and dissolves into a round of coughs, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he tries to gather himself again. The rest of the table is a cacophony of sound: Izuku thumping the poor man's back, Sero and Denki are howling with laughter, Ochako scolding the gang. You want to laugh too because the idea feels impossible -Iida, the collected, calm, polite one of the group, certainly couldn't have been 'hard' for you-- but then you see his face.

"I-" Iida's glasses are halfway down is his nose, "That is not--"

"Oh my god, dude-- you're bright red!"

Iida really is scarlet. It runs down to his chest, shirt unbuttoned just enough that you can get a peek. He can't meet your eye, looking up and down aimlessly. You've never seen him like this before-- not with his exes, not with crushes; that makes something inside you flutter.

"Are you guys just teasing me?" You manage to laugh.

"You didn't know?" Izuku asks.

"No!"

"Are you kidding? Everyone else knew. This guy-" Sero pats Iida's broad chest, overly familiar - "Would lament about you all the time. About how you walked, how you dressed-"

"Sero Hanta-" Iida chides.

"-how you rolled your skirt after training," Denki finishes.

"I did not!" Iida quickly defends himself. His hands are wringing around his beer, tracing the same pattern over and over again as he glances around the group. His eyes never make it your way.

"Oh, you kinda did," Ochako cuts in with a giggle.

"Sorry, Iida. You did," Izuku agrees.

"Well, it wasn't- It's not because I thought you were--" he huffs, "The school dress code said skirts had to be past fingertip length, and yours were- You rolled the hem and--"

Iida swallows hard and finally meets your eye. He looks miserable, lips drawn into a straight line.

"Well, I wish you would have told me you liked me-"

"I did not like you."

"I would have rolled my skirts shorter."

The table breaks into laughter again, but Iida just grows pinker.

[takes1]

Hi. Could you do a Kuroo x reader? She’s Nekoma’s manager and she collapsed during practice and has to have emergency surgery? Kuroo has had a crush on her for a while and Kenma is tired of him dancing around it?

prayyyying you like this one. because this felt incredibly niche, but i know u a real one so that's why it got done. also: i've got some experience with dehydration, and found it an easier plot device, so i just went with that. i feel like i hit all the beats regardless?

warnings. injury/blood/hospitals, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / very angsty, then fluff / hurt-comfort fic / manager!reader / pining!kuroo / kuroo crushing on you / reader gets hurt trope / kuroo has to deal with big feelings / kenma is a great friend and wingman / nervous!kuroo / confession fic / flirty!kuroo but it's not the focus / 2.8k words

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

The heat was getting to you.

You were slower, quieter, and had to pause often to catch your breath after standing up.

After carrying a case of water across the gym, your vision was getting splotchy again, and you placed a heavy hand on the wall. It was a nice, quiet, empty corner of the crowded gymnasium.

Kuroo had been watching your heavy-footed shuffle to the door ever since you dropped it off to Nekoma's distracted, tired players.

You had been less vocal, less silly, the way he liked to talk to you.

He called to you, thanking you, but you didn't hear him.

Your breathing was horribly loud in your own ears. Real ragged and difficult to just inhale. Your heartbeat was pounding against the sides of your head, adding to your near-permanent headache. The grip on the wall slipped, thanks to your sweaty palm, and you doubled forward.

The room started to spin as you did so.

"(Y/n)!"

"Woah-woahwoah!!"

Kuroo didn't wait to just standby, to watch you collapse. He was already moving when you didn't answer him. He just had too much distance to cover before your limp body smacked the hardwood floor.

He was first to get you by a mile-- he rolled you over and flinched at the sight of blood from where your head hit the floor.

"Coach!! Hospital!!"

It started an echo, and a lot of quieter questions. Coach Naoi was sprinting over as Kuroo, scared but steady with adrenaline, pulled off his jersey to put pressure on the gash.

"Ice!" He swallowed the wobble in his throat, "I need some fucking ice- somebody get ice!"

The matches on the far side of the gym were not effected, but one closest had to be paused because of so much confusion.

About five guys, some from Nekoma, some from Karasuno, were ready with ice in 20 seconds. Your eyes were a little bit open, you were breathing, but were otherwise unresponsive. Not even a gasp at the cold.

There was only so much room in the car. The whole team wanted to come with, but only Coach Naoi, Kuroo, and Kenma were able to.

"Back up- Back up!" Kuroo barked at the growing crowd around you as he took you in his arms to carry you outside.

Coach Naoi had the car as close as he could get it; Kenma sat in the front seat, giving him directions, while Kuroo kept your head supported in the backseat, careful to keep pressure on you. Kenma passed him the extra ice bags he managed to stuff in his bag last-minute.

Having to sit in the waiting room was much worse than holding you.

At least, back at the training camp, or in the backseat of the car, he knew he could have an active role in getting you better, if he could see you, touch you.

Their trio sat in limbo, waiting for any news.

Naoi glanced down at the incessant tapping sound. His sigh was short and bothered.

"She'll be okay."

Kuroo made no indication that he heard him, nor that he cared. His heel kept thudding and his knuckles stayed white, gripped to the sides of his arms.

"Kuroo- I'm sure she'll be okay. I've seen worse. They'll get her up, they'll get her hydrated."

It was quiet, except for the sound. Kenma scrolled through the digital schedule they had all received of the training camp, trying to answer his own questions: How had it spiraled to this level? They didn't see you as often as each other, and somewhere along the line, they lost accountability of your health.

"'S'been 40 minutes," Kuroo immediately regretted saying anything, because now he felt nauseous.

Naoi cleared his throat.

"She's probably got rhabdo. When you get that dehydrated for that long, your veins are harder to stick an IV in. It's got something to do with that, I'm sure."

Their assistant coach seemed like he understood what was going on. Kuroo looked down at his own forearms, and for a moment, his foot stopped tapping. Naoi's face lightened with a longer, softer sigh.

His veins looked as plump as ever. He squeezed his cold, shaky fingers and watched how it changed the muscle under the skin.

The door opened and his head shot right up.

He was first to stand, first to go through the doors, trailing a little too close behind the aggravatingly slow nurse.

As they navigated the winding, twisting hallways, he was living in the past, wishing, he had said something about his feelings sooner.

He saw you every day. Multiple times a day. He could name 300 instances where he could have told you he liked you, and still didn't. He thought he would have all the time in the world to. But you were on the ground in seconds, and it was suddenly ripped away, an option he might never have again.

Why would he ever assume it was just something he'd always be able to? That you'd always be around?

They pulled up two chairs next to the hospital bed, sitting as close as possible without getting in the mess of wires on the floor. Some were connected to you, some not. Kuroo paid close mind to the IV in your arm, the clear bag hanging- he glanced to your vitals on the monitor many times.

You looked not great, but way, way better. He took what felt like his first breath in two hours. He prayed Kenma and Coach Naoi would never mention -better yet, forget- his intense, and ugly panic attack in the car.

You were looking at the needle in your arm, too. Sleepy, and slow.

"How are you feeling?" Kenma asked, just before he could.

There was no rush to his words. It was for the best. If Kuroo had asked, it would have sounded interrogative.

You smiled, a precious sight for him, "Uh... really gross."

They laughed, but it was more at the opportunity, in relief, that you were speaking and aware, again.

Coach Naoi's voice could be heard just outside. You turned your head to see him carrying a clipboard with some paperwork to fill out. He thanked the nurse at the doorway and entered, wagging his finger at you.

"You're a lot of trouble, you know that?"

Your frown wasn't the reaction he was after. He patted your ankle, good-natured, with his signature smile that made everyone feel a little better.

"I'm jokin', kid," He chuckled, taking the pen to scribble some information down.

"They'll have you out of here after you get through two of those. If you look good to go, that is."

'Those' must've been referring to the bags of fluid getting pumped into you.

"No stitches, either," He drawled, halfway distracted by his writing, with just a small glance to the tape and bandaging on your forehead, "That's good, that's goood,"

He furrowed his brows, squinting at the third, then fifth page. A silly moment of quiet.

"Alright, uhh, I'm gonna go finish this b.s. out there. Keep her awake, fellas."

"Will do."

"Thanks, Coach."

Your headache kept you feeling fuzzy. You assumed you hit your head at some point, thanks to the bandages and how Naoi alluded to it, but you still weren't sure how, or when.

Kenma filled the momentary quiet.

"So, what happened?"

Again, it felt like you were guessing, trying to piece odd fractions of an incomplete puzzle together. The last three days of the training camp were beyond busy on the admin side. You had your own training to keep up with. Things had gotten away from you.

It was a struggle to get your words out. You looked mostly at Kenma, because he looked like he actually wanted to know- Kuroo looked like he was waiting to interject.

"I guess-... um, I haven't eaten, in a while--"

Kuroo looked completely beside himself. His anger was out of place over his usually calm, collected features.

"Why-wh-what-?! Why not? Why would you not eat when you--?"

"Kuro," Kenma pushed on his forearm.

One look told him to back off- he was being way too loud, way too much, way too emotional. Your passive, ghostly voice was only scaring him more.

His nostrils flared. A big, shaky sigh- he had to stand up, pace around in a circle, and rub his neck.

The fear screwing up his brow, tightening his jaw, glossing over in his eyes, was brand new. You didn't know that he was capable of a volume, like that. It made you feel horribly guilty for what was an honest, albeit stupid, mistake.

Kenma watched him walk out, angrily wiping his eyes.

It was quiet again for a few minutes.

"He cares," Kenma lightened your dark spiral with just a couple of words.

All you felt was frustration. It hurt to speak, and more-so to think hard enough to explain yourself. His demands were out of your range of abilities at the moment, and he was somehow dissatisfied? After all the work you had been putting in for the team, you halfway felt like you didn't owe them anything at all.

"I wish he wouldn't sound so angry about it," You muttered.

A light shiver at the cool sensation pooling in your forearm, and you were meeting Kenma's downcast eyes again, with a feeling that you, somehow, said something wrong.

"He carried you out."

Shock hit you in big wave of nausea. You swallowed, dry. You didn't remember that at all, and could only speculate how scared everyone must've been.

What could you even say to that? This was all a big, stupid, accident that too many people were concerning themselves with. The guilt was so thick that you were wishing he would walk back in, so you could apologize.

A lighter, shakier tone this time, "I'll- make sure to tell him thanks."

Kenma looked like he had more to say, something on his mind, but only gave you a hesitant sigh to work with. His company was enough. Thanks to the IV and the medication, you were feeling better, so you tried to lay back, close your eyes, and enjoy it in silence.

He let you rest for 10 minutes, squeezing your shoulder every once in a while for a reaction, to make sure you were awake.

Kuroo was generally very sweet to you, and you thought you had a good rapport, but nothing tangible enough to get him this upset. You chalked it up to whatever happened while you were out of it.

When he returned, you were on your last bag of fluids. Kenma had his Switch with him, so you were watching him play, giggly, and in better spirits.

It must've been a cosmic-like trade, because he looked like a wreck duct-taped back together. You tried not to stare.

"Kuro, take my seat--,"

He threw him a look. Kenma explained as he stood up, "Dude I gotta pee, I'll be right back."

They linked arms. You couldn't hear what was said, but you did watch, as Kuroo leaned down to listen to Kenma, telling him something quietly, in his ear. You desperately hoped it wasn't about you, but knew deep down that it was wishful thinking.

In his friend's absence, he sat, unsure, of what to say, or what to do. His eyes were dry from his second, thankfully less intense, episode in the bathroom down the hall.

Part of him didn't realize the extent of how much he cared about you, until there was a reason to.

Kuroo tried to hand you the Switch. It was halfway an attempt at conversation, halfway an apology. It begged something to be done, or said, at least.

You shook your head and made your best effort to be kind about it, "No, thanks."

It was impossible to look him in the face, "I'm not as good as Kenma. Wouldn't be very fun."

He chuckled, but it sounded sad, and only existed on the basis of filling empty space.

Odd, unnatural, mutual silence. You glanced at each other. Neither able to address it or ignore it enough to talk about anything else.

He was biting the inside of his cheek, looking around the room, every exhale sounding like a soft sigh.

"Kenma told me that-," You cleared your throat, "Uh- you, carried me."

When he looked at you, it was filled with an attachment you had not been conscious for. You faltered under the sudden pressure, tired heart picking back up again.

"Thank you. I'm sure it was hard."

His brow furrowed as he, first, took you literally- after he realized you meant it as a concept, or maybe emotionally, he smirked. He tilted his head a little, like he always did before he teased you.

"Well, you know I work out, right?"

A genuine laugh left your lips. His goofy, disarming humor so ill-timed, but so desperately needed.

He smiled at you, soft, and comfortable again.

"You know what I mean," Was a familiar groan that he loved generating.

"Yeah- yeah, I know," He moved to place the Switch in the empty chair next to him, and was reminded that he only had a short time alone with you. His hand lingered in the space above it, just for a second, enough for him to make up his mind.

You jumped a little at the warmth and weight of his palm in yours.

"It was."

Kuroo didn't look you all-over like you did to him; you were trying to find the joke, or the punchline, in his body language, but he kept his sincerity incredibly clear and unwavering.

His thumb rubbed, light, against your skin.

You looked down at your joined hands, panicked, chills all over your body, "Kuroo-?"

"I know this isn't a great time, but I realized-- I-I shouldn't keep waiting around, for nothing, like I was. We could die tomorrow, so like- what's the point? You know?"

You adjusted to sit up straight, getting warmer, a little dizzy, at his words.

"I-h," He looked at you one last time, taking in the shock on your brow, the slack in your jaw, and knew he shouldn't stop talking, because he'd never be able to start it up again if he did.

"I really like you. I tried to wait for it to go away. Then, I just... didn't want it to."

This smooth-talking, silly, composed guy was falling apart, piece by piece. You didn't realize his super-nice demeanor had anything to do with a crush, but hindsight as it is, found your obliviousness a little embarrassing, now.

Your voice failed you, "You've had a cr-ush on me?"

He snorted at your voice crack, but looked no less infatuated. His other hand was pushing back some hair from your face.

"For a long time."

DING DING, DING DING, DING DING--

You yelped at how loud the alarm was, right next to your head, and how serious it sounded.

A very high, constant ring came from something electronic that you were hooked up to. The source was ambiguous and reason to be very concerned.

Kuroo had a better view of the screen. As you craned, shaky and weak, to see, he squeezed your hand.

His laugh helped to calm you down, "It's just your heart rate."

"One-fifty," He trailed, his pretty, proud grin audible, "Nice."

A nurse rushed in, followed immediately by your coach, then Kenma- you were quick to try and demonstrate that you were fine, but there were not many methods at your disposal, other than waving your free hand.

"I'm okay! I'm- I'm just nervous."

You shared a glance with Kuroo.

It was impossible to keep either of your laughs down once he started giggling.

The nurse could tell what was up immediately-- she muted the machine with a half-concealed smile, then left when she saw you still had some more to go with the IV.

Naoi was a little more clueless, but saw your hands, and made it his business to not know what was going on by taking his own leave. One tiny look told Kuroo everything as he turned- the good, old, 'keep it professional' look.

Kenma stayed, waiting with arms crossed, until it was just you three again, and spoke over your nonstop giggling.

"I told you so."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu. (new) my imagines. requests open.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Taking Quinn home to meet your parents for the first time? Could the reader have a little brother who knows who Quinn is? Pretty please? 🎀

"Oh, be warned, mom is probably going to give you a kiss."

From the driver's seat, Quinn gave you a peculiar look as he rounded the last corner before finally arriving at your parent's house. He didn't know what to do with the tidbit of information you had given him, which prompted you to elaborate. You knew you should have probably declared that a lot earlier, but it had simply slipped your mind. It had been quite sometime since you had brought anyone home since moving away.

"Just on the cheek! She's...just really affectionate!"

Returning his eyes to the road, Quinn's tone dropped, "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Daddy will look at you like he wants to shoot you...but only for a few minutes."

It was a nervous laugh that came out of Quinn's mouth. "Yeah, that's uh-- that's good to know. Thanks-- babe."

"Oh, stop! You'll be fine!"

It was obvious Quinn was nervous, and while you tried to reassure him that everything was okay, he still looked at you with unease after parking the car. This was supposed to be a fun day, and you felt responsible for the sudden shift in the overall mood.

"I promise they'll love you!" You reached over and touched his hand. "I promise."

Quinn gave you the softest smile before following you out of the car. He shuffled silently behind you, up the sidewalk and to the front door where after a short moment, your mother answered your knocking.

"Oh, you finally made it!" She hugged you first before zeroing in on Quinn, who still was lingering on the porch. "You too, Quinn! Come on!"

While he got the mother treatment, you made your way over to your dad, who was getting up from his chair.

"So this is the guy, huh?" He wasn't the most affectionate man, nor the most chipper when it came to who his daughter was involved with, so you didn't take his lack of warmth too personally.

"Be nice! He's sweet, you'll like him. And I'm happy to see you, too!"

His grumble was to be expected. He had yet to "like" any of your boyfriends; his standards just seemed too high. "Mhm, you've said that before."

You'd roll your eyes before leaving him to go rescue Quinn. "Mom! Let him breathe!"

"Oh, he's fine! It's good to finally meet you! Y|N has told us quite a bit about you, but I'm sure she's been holding back!"

Yours and Quinn's cheeks flushed with pink; yours because your mom had just revealed how often you talked about him, and Quinn's because he was being talked about... Before either of you could open your mouths to say anything in objection, your little brother came running from his room upstairs. The sounds of his rapid footfalls made everyone turn towards the thuds. He had just turned fourteen and was loving being the only child in the house since you had moved out.

"Whoa, what is Quinn Hughes doing in our living room?" He had come to a stop in the middle of the staircase, and was staring at Quinn, mouth slightly open at the sight of the hockey player standing there.

"How do you know who he is?" Questioned your mother, confused by the sudden change of events. She looked from your brother, to you, and then finally at Quinn. He was smiling, hands in his pockets as he hated being the center of attention for anything.

"He's the captain for the Vancouver Canucks, mom!"

"The who?"

Your brother threw his head back as he sighed, still the drama queen you realized. "Hockey, mom! C'mon!"

"Attitude," barked your dad, growing more annoyed with the back-and-forth. Now was about the time that he took his afternoon nap, and like a toddler, he was getting grumpy. Your brother, ignored the fact that he was being reprimanded, an made short work of the rest of the stairs to stop right in front of Quinn. He had yet to even acknowledge you were standing there!

"You're like the best defenseman in the league! I can't believe you're in my house!"

"Meet your biggest fan, Quinn," you teased as your brother eyed you like he had caught you in the act of theft.

"You're dating my sister? What the heck?"

Quinn smirked despite the family dynamic being a little chaotic at the moment, "Yeah, for about a year now."

Your brother didn't know how to respond to what Quinn had said, and opted to give you another judgmental stare instead. He had been around ten when you moved out, and neither of you had been real close whenever you had lived together. Now, however, you felt like complete strangers; he only seemed interested that you were home because of who you had brought along.

"Gross! You could do better!"

"Parker!" Hissed both of your parents in unison. You stifled a snort at him getting double-teamed; poor Quinn, however, looked lost at sea.

"What? It's true!" He snickered, looking back at Quinn like he was going to somehow agree with the childish statement. "Hey, do you think you could sign one of my sticks?"

Breaking up your brother trying to be the center of attention, she turned back to Quinn, "Y|N said you played hockey, but we didn't realize you played professionally! You're so young! And Parker, leave him be, alright? There will be plenty of time for all of that later. They've not even taken their coats off! Come on, you two. Let me make you both something to eat. I'm sure you're hungry."

Parker couldn't get over the fact that he had just met his sports idol, your boyfriend no less. He couldn't wait to tell the team at practice. They weren't going to believe him!