#they feel like names we might hear again in the future

[maddisandy]

look okay i haven't seen anyone say anything about it yet because it was such a small minute detail but this feels so chekov's gun to me. why would they bring up something this small if it might not be important in the future

[taeyongdoyoung]

wolf and bunny

summary: you ask your best friend to fuck you in your sleep but your bottled up feelings come out to the surface... pairing: chan x reader genre: smut, best friends to lovers warnings: cnc/somnophilia, discussion of boundaries, eating out, touching, groping, unprotected sex, spanking, stranger+wolf/bunny roleplay, little red riding hood references, face-slapping (once), size kink, cockwarming, multiple rounds, feelings (ew), pet names, discussion of future scenario 👀 (i know i said this is the end but...we'll see) author's note: hii everyone, this is the third and final part of my wolf and bunny series, thank you so much for going on this nasty journey with me 🤍 part one & part two word count: 2k

You and Chan are having a bit of a disagreement in connection with the circumstances surrounding your next game.

“But I want to know exactly which night you’ll do it.”

“If you know, you won’t be able to fall asleep,” Chan reasons with you. “Kinda like Santa Claus. Kids stay up all night waiting for him and then he never comes.”

“Please, even if the kids were asleep, he’d still never come ‘cause the parents are putting the presents under the tree!”

“It was just a metaphor.”

“A bad one. You’re gonna have to work harder to convince me.”

“Hey, wasn’t this your idea in the first place?” Chan reminds you teasingly. “You’re the one who wants me to fuck her in her sleep.”

“Ey, don’t pretend you won’t be into it,” you shake your head.

You are both so stubborn you don’t see this ending unless one of you retreats. Then, after a brief consideration, you speak again.

“Fine. You can keep the secret of the exact night you’ll do this. On one condition.”

“Sure, bunny, let’s hear it,” Chan listens eagerly.

“If I wake up, you won’t stop. I’ll just pretend I’m still sleepy and we keep going.”

“Is that even possible? I mean, for you to not wake up?”

“It is if you drug me or something,” you shrug.

“Ugh, don’t give me such evil ideas. You never know when I might take advantage of you.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it, wolfie.”

“But are you sure the sleep thing is a great idea? I mean, you wouldn't be able to say a safeword...” Chan can't help but worry, always putting your needs first and planning every scenario in great detail to make sure you're alright. Damnit, could he get any more perfect? He's so sweet and considerate you wish you could just tell him how you feel. But what if that scares him away? What if you lose not only your wicked game buddy but your best friend in the entire world? You wouldn't be able to live with yourself.

“Yes, I'm positive, Chris,” you place your hand on top of his. “I trust you 100% and know that you'll look after me. The question is, do you trust my judgement?”

“I mean, I do trust you. It's just that last time you didn't communicate your discomfort clearly and I wouldn't want to risk messing up to the point of accidentally hurting you,” Chan verbalizes his anxieties.

“I get what you're saying but it's not like I'm open to doing this with a stranger. It's you we're talking about. You've always been great at taking care of people so I know you wouldn't go too far. But at the same time, I wouldn't mind if you went loose. If anyone can take it and accept you fully, it would be me.”

“Yeah, I know. You're right. But just in case, I want you to know beforehand that I care about you and respect you like a lot. So, even if I get carried away, I still want you to feel safe.”

“Aww, Chris, ya old softie! I always feel safe with you, it goes without saying!” you insist.

“Well, I like hearing you say it.”

You gulp nervously. His voice is so commanding and yet so reassuring that your words have never rung truer. He's more to you than a safety net and you hope he knows it. He's incredibly thoughtful and infinitely kinder than the first impression. He's a riddle in the way he keeps surprising you and yet you wanna keep learning more about him. He's hundreds of the loveliest words in the dictionary multiplied. He's more comforting than your favourite blanket. He's warmth personified and you would be an idiot to let him go.

“I'll try to say it more often, then,” you promise. “When I'm with you, I know no harm will come my way. But here's the thing...you're the only one I'd willingly let hurt me.”

“I don't want to hurt you, though.”

“You don't?” you pout, suddenly feeling guilty. Then, what have you been doing? Was he forcing himself to act out these fantasies for your sake alone? You genuinely thought he was enjoying them as much as you were.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” Chan is quick to explain. “I like our games. I meant that I don't want to hurt you emotionally. Ever.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense,” you chuckle, feeling a little stupid. “Well, you don't need to worry about that. Glad we had this talk.”

“Me too,” Chan gazes at you fondly.

“So, which night are you fucking me while I'm asleep?” you attempt to find out while he has this dazed look in his eye.

“Next- Hey, nice try! I'm not telling you, you impatient devil.”

“Aw, man, I was so close,” you bemoan the uncertainty of your future.

“You wish.”

The long-awaited night finally arrives. Chan has a key to your place so entering it is too easy. He makes sure he picks a night when you’ve complained about being exhausted and sleepy all day long. And he is certain that you’re passed out in your room, not suspecting a thing. Well, a part of you is always anticipating what could happen, but still.

He’s beyond glad to find you sound asleep. You’re wearing nothing but a t-shirt and some flimsy panties. Chan admires your sleeping form for a couple of brief moments before he gets down to business.

He wonders where to start. Should he tear them up? Or maybe push them to the side? Should he grope your boobs through your shirt? Or perhaps slide his hands beneath it, stroking your nipples directly? So many opportunities. He wants to do everything, he decides.

Chan starts by moving your panties to the side and licking your tiny pussy. He touches you with his fingers, gently prodding your entrance but not exactly sticking them inside yet. Then, he sneaks his hand underneath your shirt, teasing your nipples. Fuck, you’re so soft.

He marvels at the knowledge that you’d trust him with something like that. Though the previous scenarios were hot and intense as fuck, this one hits different for him. Maybe because last time you were awake, you were still in control because you could say the safeword whenever. Maybe because you want him at your most vulnerable even in your sleep. Or maybe because he’s slowly falling for you, but he doesn’t know how to say it.

It’s okay. Chan’ll show you, instead. He pinches your nipples lightly and continues to make out with your pussy. You are so wet already it’s adorable. He wonders if you’re dreaming of him, as you shift slightly in your sleep. He wants to drag this out. But how?

He uses his nails to trace circles on your skin, which causes goosebumps to appear. Are you cold? He wants to keep you warm and full at all times. Chan can’t take it any longer and takes his cock out, sliding in so perfectly. As if you were made for him. Made to take his cock and let him do crazy things to you. His sweet little bunny…

You moan desperately and the spell is broken. You’re awake. He wanders if you’ll speak or he’ll have to make you. Both options sound quite appealing. But he wants to hear your voice more than anything.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Chan whispers gently.

“W-who are you?” you cry out.

Aw, you’re gonna pretend not to know him? That hurts. But it can be fun, he thinks.

“Just the big bad wolf,” he chuckles at the irony of it.

“Please, don't do this,” you fake not wanting it, even though you've never wanted anything so badly in your life.

“Oh, bunny, but I already am,” Chan replies, spanking your ass a couple of times in the meantime.

“G-gonna split me in h-half,” you mumble, voice muffled against your pillow.

“Yeah? G'na ruin my sweet girl?” he speaks to you so softly you want to melt right there and then.

“Feel so full 'n so s'eepy,” you slur helplessly.

“Aw, tiny, go back to sleep, then,” Chan pats your head soothingly.

“Can't. What a deep voice you have!” you play along too well.

“All the better to degrade you with, my slutty bun,” Chan laughs, while still continuing to fuck you.

“What big hands you have!” you keep saying.

“All the better to grab your tits with,” Chan chuckles and makes good on his promise by playing with your boobs.

“And slap me with!” you remind him playfully.

“As you wish, princess,” Chan growls and slaps you across the face harshly but not harsh enough to actually leave a mark.

“What big eyes you have,” you sigh wistfully.

“All the better to stare at you fall apart,” Chan responds cleverly.

“And what big cock you have!” you scream, barely resisting the urge to laugh. Are you a silly little bunny or Little Red Riding Hood? At this point, you don't care, but it feels too good regardless.

“All the better to fuck you with,” he grunts loudly, spilling inside of you.

You follow rightaway and urge him to stay like this for a while. Maybe round two is in order?

“You know what else is big?” Chan teases you.

“Oh, shut up, Bigfoot!” you reply and are no longer able to hold it in, breaking into laughter. Chan also finds the interaction hilarious and buries his head in the nook of your shoulder. You stroke his hair without realizing. Shit, he's so adorable you almost say the three words. Is it too risky? Too soon? You need a distraction. You need... “Fuck me again.”

“Already? Aren't you tired?” Chan wants to make sure.

“Fuck me till I fall asleep again,” you ask him.

“Um, okay, sure,” Chan looks a bit confused but does as you ask.

This time there is less talking and more fucking but no matter how many rounds you go, sleep doesn't come again. You both orgasm more times than you could count, but somehow, it isn't nearly enough to distract you from the inevitable. You love him. Your heart knows it, your pussy knows it, even your brain knows it but is stubborny telling you not to confess for fear of somehow ruining things.

Once Chan decides he's completely spent for the night, he pulls out of you and rips off the bandaid.

“Are you alright? Something suddenly shifted but I can't quite place it,” he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and nudges you softly with his shoulder.

“Do you want the truth that might mess up everything or do you want me to lie to you and say I'm fine?” you ask, even though you're already on the verge to tell the truth.

“With you? Always the truth, please,” Chan clearly states his preference.

You sigh deeply and tilt to the side so you're facing him properly.

“I think...no, I know I love you.”

“I love you, too, babybun,” Chan responds fondly and kisses you on the nose.

“In a non-friendly way. And I don't mean just sexually, either. I mean, the friendly way and the sexual way haven't diminished, of course. But I also love you in a...I want to be yours, your girlfriend, your lover, your romantic partner, your everything.”

Chan is taken aback by your words. You...feel the same?

“You already are,” he confesses genuinely.

“Huh?” you blink in shock.

“I mean...you are already my everything. But, if you'd like me to officially ask you, then...will you be my girlfriend, angel?”

“You...you'll have me?” you are still in disbelief.

“I thought I already had ya,” Chan pinches your cheeks lightly.

“Damn right you do, Mr. Wolf,” you giggle and pull him into a kiss.

He smells like autumn, his embrace exudes warmth and his lips taste like home.

“You have no idea how badly I've wanted to tell you about my feelings,” Chan confesses. “When I found that story of yours in your drafts, I just couldn't resist the opportunity. I hoped that if I turned your fantasies into reality that you'd eventually fall for me.”

“Oh, Channie...I've been falling for you for longer than you realize,” you admit shyly. “How could I not? You're everything I've ever wanted.”

So, this is what it feels like to have the world in your hands. Huh. You could get used to it.

Bonus:

“No, I'm not kidnapping you!” Chan is adamant as you two sit in a nice restaurant.

“But Chriiiis,” you whine. “You said you'd do anything for my birthday.”

“Anything but that!” Chan shakes his head in amusement.

“Why not? It can be fun!”

“Fun? What if something goes wrong, what if someone sees us and thinks I'm actually kidnapping you, what if...hear me out, here, I go to prison for it?”

“Well, duh, then I'd bail you out!”

“As if you could afford it,” Chan rolls his eyes.

“Hey! But seriously, I'll just tell the cops that I asked you to kidnap me.”

“What if they don't believe you and think you have a Stockholm syndrome?”

“I'll...think of something. Come on, we're going too far with the what-ifs.”

“You gotta be prepared for any situation. You'd know that if you carried the heavy burden of being a dom,” Chan tsks at you.

“I'd know that if you let me,” you give him a wink.

“That will only happen the day I agree to fake-kidnap you.”

“So, tomorrow? It's a date!” you grin excitedly.

“Keep dreaming, darling.”

“Oh, I will.”

The End

[wolfofansbach]

BEING A LIST OF THE THIRTEEN GREATEST RIVERDALE LINES, ON THE OCCASION OF THAT SHOW'S TERMINATION

As our much loved/hated show comes to an end, I feel compelled to record, for posterity, the greatest thirteen pieces of dialogue to spring from the pens of RAS and his henchmen. It was, of course, originally a top ten list, but I simply could not exclude a few of these treasures. Without further ado: 

13. 

“I dropped out in the 4th grade, to sell drugs, to support my nana.” 

“That means you haven't known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of high school football.” 

Spoken by: an inmate of Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center, and Archie Andrews. 

In: 3 x 2 

Yeah, okay, this one had to be on the list. It’s funny, I’ll admit. It’s a great example of the overwrought semi-sincere melodrama that helped make this show so special. It’s low on the list largely because The Normies got their hands on it, so every time I hear someone make a reference I get all “do not cite the deep magic to me, witch.” 

12. 

“No! No! What are we supposed to do now? I’m horny as heck!”

Spoken by: Archie Andrews 

In: 7 x 16

Season 7 is undeniably dreadful, and yet there are diamonds in the rough. The occasion is the failure of a projector, just as Archie and Reggie prepare to watch a pornographic film. The utter desperation with which KJ Apa delivers this line is exquisite. One is made to feel they are witnessing a genuine tragedy. 

11. 

“Tonight, they’re making an exception and debuting a cover of the song my parents claim they were listening to the night Jason and I were conceived.” 

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom. 

In: 1 x 1 

Really a fantastic line. A wonderful encapsulation of the casual absurdity of Cheryl’s character, and a foretaste of the lunacy we would plumb in later episodes and seasons. 

10. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in and I don’t want to fit in. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That’s weird.” 

Spoken by: Jughead Jones

In: 1 x 10

A genuine classic. “High school football” before “high school football.” One is never entirely sure just how sincere the line is meant to be, both on a meta-level and in-universe. A perfect illumination of Jughead’s pretentiousness. It is made all the better by the occasional cuts to Lili Reinhard’s agonized face. 

9. 

“At the last dance, multiple students were murdered.” 

Spoken by: Principal Holden Honey. 

In: 4 x 2

Delivered as an explanation to Toni and Cheryl, as to why there would be no school dance this year. Principal Honey is in fact supremely rational in the cancellation of this dance. This being Riverdale, he is of course treated as an unreasonable tyrant. 

8. 

“Bro, I know all the secrets of this universe.” 

Spoken by: Archie Andrews (evil version)

In: 6 x 5 

Spoken as evil Archie reveals his evil plan to keep the parallel universes apart. KJ Apa’s delivery once again makes this line. He is comically sinister. Strangely, he sells it. 

7. 

“A Vughead kiss, right now, in the present might be precisely what it takes to save a future Bughead from imploding.” 

Spoken by: Jughead Jones. 

In: 2 x 14

One of those lines that both makes me laugh and makes me genuinely angry. This was a fairly early season, and this may have actually been the first line to get me asking, ‘did they genuinely write and deliver that?’ Extra points for use of the atrocious ‘Vughead’ portmanteau ship name rather than ‘Jeronica.’ 

6. 

“I’m the ultimate wild card. I am the daughter of The Black Hood. The nightmare from next door. I’m training with the FBI and I’m coming for you, you psycho bitch.” 

Spoken by: Betty Cooper

In: 4 x 14 

Just delicious. Another one of those lines that leaves you somewhat unsure whether or not the writers understood how genuinely hysterical it was. “The Nightmare from Next Door” sounds like an announcer hyping up a wrestler. Spoken with a raw sincerity by Lili Reinhart. Also points for the heavy homoeroticism between Betty and Donna. 

5. 

“For I am Cheryl Blossom, Queen of the Bees.” 

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom.

In: 5 x 16. 

This one really doesn’t require any elaboration. 

4. 

“Elijah ascended…and I will, too.” 

Spoken by: Edgar Evernever.

In: 4 x 5. 

Admittedly, this one is only spectacular with context. But in context—the context being that Chad Michael Murray delivers this line while dressed like Evel Knievel and standing in a cartoon rocket right out of a Warner Bros cartoon—it becomes utterly magnificent. 

3. 

“It’s not queer baiting, it’s saving the world.” 

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge. 

In: 6 x 22. 

It’s actually hard for me to decide whether this one is funnier with or without context. Without context it’s wonderful, but it possibly becomes even funnier when you know that the context is that Veronica needs to kiss Cheryl to transfer superpowers into her body so she can turn into a Scarlet Witch knock-off and stop a magic comet summoned by Sephiroth an English wizard who is also the Devil. 

2. 

“If there’s no wedding reception, it means the Gargoyle King has won.” 

Spoken by: Kevin Keller. 

In: 3 x 12.

One of my personal favorites. This is a perfect line because like #3, it requires no real elaboration. There is absolutely no context in which it isn’t hysterical. 

1 .

“Word of my exploits serving Nick his comeuppance has seeped into the demimonde of mobsters and molls my father used to associate with, so the five families are sending their youngest and brightest, their ‘princes,’ as it were to, well, come court the rare Mafia Princess who can belly up to the bar with the big boys.

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge. 

In: 2 x 20. 

This is, in my opinion, the all-timer. Every word is perfect. The rapid-fire alliteration. The use of the word ‘demimonde.’ The entirely unnecessary addition of ‘as it were.’ This is borderline Dr. Seuss. The fact that Camila Mendes delivered it without cracking a smile should have won her an Emmy. No. An Oscar. This line is Riverdale. 

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 20/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@funnybadger868 ha chiesto:wait so if mk can hear macaques past can he hear wukongs for example the circlet and the spell

Yeah he could. It's now just a matter of if he wants to use this power ever again

@cryptic-theseus ha chiesto:you're paying for my therapy btw, the bill is on the way

Blame it on the gay monkies not me. It's bc of them that my life is ruined/hj

@ayrza ha chiesto:Hey!I have an important question, where do you get your sources for the AU👉🏻👈🏻p? I mean, I just recently entered the LMK fandom and I see that there are parts that are not mentioned much in the series and it frustrates me because I feel like I only watch the anime but I'm missing the manga 🫠I love your art and your work, it's amazing 🫰🏻✨

Hi! Well I' finishing to read Journey to the West (im at chapter 80) and if I need extra info or just check I go to the fandom wiki.

@feyqueen91 feyqueen91 ha chiesto:A question for your Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (btw, I just saw your recent post for More Than A Successor Arc & I thought something light hearted was needed to even out the Angst), is Macaque able to summon something like what Red Son did with the Samadhi Sprite, and he teaches MK to do it too?

Wait what exactly? I haven't understood what you meant by sprite.

@og-glitch-punk ha chiesto: Honestly I expect this to be hidden but i also love your work on both comics, keep it up!! I forgot their names but dude- how would the lotus prince and our moon chef feels about wukong and Macaque being MK's parents? HELL. WHAT ABOUT THE TRIO? YELLOW TUSK, PENG AND THE LOIN (CANT REMMEBER HIS NAME EVEN IF HE IS TECHNICALLY DEAD/GONE). Hell even this chaotic snake man may even use MK to his advantage with the fact he is the child of Wukong and Macaque. So many possibilities and guesses, so many twists and turns we will never know bro

Oh he absolutely woud. Also about the others. They would probably act like protective aunt/uncles to that poor traumatised boy.

@thenerdnico ha chiesto:Oh my GODS that last bio dad's chapter broke me, your expressions are always amazing. I'm going to assume that at the end of Wukong's and Macaque's fight, Wukong realised Macaque wasn't moving and ran up to him, and ended up sobbing and screaming when he realised he was dead??? If that is the case, do you think MK listened to it long enough to hear that as well?

Oh for angst reason yes. He did.

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto:AHHHH YOUR SHADOWPEACH BIO AU IS SOO GOOD!!!! I SCREAMED AT THE LAST UPDATE!!! I have a question though. You know in the series i think season 3 epsiode 5 where Wukong goes into a deep mystic monkey meditation, yeah. Well i was wondering if Mk has ever tried that but got disrupted and lost his memories or started acting strange infront of his monkey parents. It would be hilarious i can imagine him shouting, “TUDI, TUDI!”KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, no pressure though! HAVE A GOOD DAY!

Lmaooo ok ok I don't think I'll go witha small amnesia arc in the AU but this doeß sound adorable.

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto:It will probably be quite heavy, but I suggest that after Wukong saw the monkey like that he had a huge attack of guilt and anxiety and ended up injuring his left eye with his claws

Poor baby!! Nono don't worry his eye is fine.

@raylamoongirl ha chiesto:question for macaque: what was the hardest thing to teach Mk?Lmk bio parents Q&A

Mmmm so they tried really hard to teach him shadow teleportation, but he seems to not be able to do it.

@lmkobsessedmoth ha chiesto:For the Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU What if macaque and wukong go on a date and wukong doesn’t know it’s a date because he’s as dense as the rock he hatched out of

He truly would be. May the gods give him a clue or smt otherwise we wont end up nowhere here

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hey!I love your Shadowpeach bio Parent's AU But I Wonder,Does Wukong and Macaque already dance together before?

Danced??? I think so?? When they still were lovers friends I think (i think i m missing something)

Anonimo ha chiesto:I am on my knees, heart giving out, HOW IS BABY MK SO CUTE AND SHADOWPEACH SO ALLERGIC TO JUST KISSING ALREADY LIKE COME ON YOU TWO Anonimo ha chiesto:When I read the other part where swk and mac where talking about wanting MK to view them as parents at first I thought swk was proposing having another kid with Mac and I went “WOAH HEY- HOLD UP FOR A SECOND THERE U NEED TO GET UR SHT TOGETHER FIRST” and thank god it wasn’t that I thought swk was JUMPING AND ACCELERATING THEIR PROGRESS LMAOOOSo I’m actually glad they are taking baby steps, they need them

This slowburn is gonna be so slow-burning you all are gonna die when they actually kiss (will they kiss? Oh that's just for me to know ahah)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Since macaque is called mama by mk does that mean macaque is like a mother figure to mk in your au mama macaque is adorable and he gives off motherly in his character

Anonimo ha chiesto:Whos mom if there is considered a mom by MK or only dads? Is it Wu or Mac? My headcanons is Wukong basically the mom cuz he gives off mom and dad vibes together and Macaque just gives off dad vibes to me

He gives more motherly vibes, yes (Mamacaque and DadWukong forever)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hi in you bio parent au for monkie kid how were monkey king and macaque as teenagers when they had a good relationship were like they a romantic couple or had secret crushes on each other and never told each other or were they just friends love this au it's amazing

Oh I think they were definitely lovers once. And that makes their past and what happened even more tragic honestly.

@ayrza ha chiesto:I don't know who is more adorable: Baby MK or Macaque and Wukong blushingPsd. I love your AU and your art 💖

Both. Both is good

@diamondwolf23 ha chiesto:THOSE TWO BETTER KISSSSSSSSSSS-I’m gonna miss Baby Mk ;-

Me too. Me too.

Anonimo ha chiesto:You could say Wukong is a...... simpian?(like simian but yknow >>)

LMAO YES

@scififeather21 ha chiesto:You can't believe how much I love your Shadowpeach AU comic series that last part made me grin so much. Mostly because my husband and I have done that exact thing when our kids were small babies and the looks and smiles were the same too. OMG it such a nice thing to see after a long day at work yesterday. :)

THAT'S THE- SWEETEST THING?????? LIKE IM SO GLAD I WAS ABLE TO MAKE IT A SIMILAR EXPERIENCE???? TO HEAR IT'S THE SAME THAT HAPPENED TO YOU IS THE SWEETEST THING EVER

@snsp6 ha chiesto:I love ur bio dads au! I wanted to ask what would happen if smth similar to the baby mk incident happened to the immortal monkeys.Like either they were de-aged to their youth or had an amnesia rules type of situation!(I am in love w the world building in this!!! And ur art is delectable!)

I don't thing the world would be ready for non-reformed Wukong#like-#not really reformed but the guy killed so many people bc of impulsiveness#until he learned that murder is not fine

Anonimo ha chiesto: This might be a stupid question, but for your bio parents, AU is MK just always in his monkey form, or is this just how he permanently looks now?

He's on his monkey form when he trains / stays at the weekends at FFM or when he friendly duels/train with Mei and Red Son.On weekdays he's constantly in his human form

@meisawkwardashecc ha chiesto:Is Wukong potentially shorter than Macaque? 👀🥺Avatar

Yes

@miraclecactus ha chiesto:Can you show us what's going on in the Freenoodles house? I'm looking forward to knowing how they manage to calm MK down :( Puedes mostrarnos que es lo que sucede en la casa de Freenoodles? Estoy ansiosa de conocer como ellos manejan el como calmar a MK :(

They used Wukong and Mac advices until he feel asleep.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I like how Wukong asks Macaque how he knows MK won't hate him after this. Like my guy, you literally killed Macaque, and he still hangs around I think he knows a thing or two

True. Although let Wukong be the dumbass he is.

alizardonfire ha chiesto:I love the idea of macaque being wukongs *rock* if that makes sense? It gives so much character to him.

Aaaahh ty! Yeah I feel like he's pretty good at understanding when he s just out of his mind and bring him back to earth.

Anonimo ha chiesto:If this isn't to much spoiler will the next lmk comic be angsty

This will be answered too late but I will always warn you in advance if there s angst coming.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love your art! Lighthearted question since your about to bring the pain- do you think Mac and Wu fight over who gets to be little spoon/big spoon or are both of them 100% happy with Mac as big spoon and Wu as little spoon every night

So as for now, they are good with Wukong being the little spoon. Both bc Wukong is the the one who constantly craves for touch amd bc Macaque feels more comfortable in a position of "control" let's say. He can decide how much closer or not to get to Wukong.

Then in the future they would be more comfortable to switch (and the bicker about who should be the big or small)

@sallyvanna ha chiesto:HAIII FIRST OF ALL I LOVE YOUR BIO PARENT AU it makes my day every time I see a new page postedI was just wondering, why was macaque kinda nervous when he summoned rumble and savage? He was like 'ah shit I didn't want that-' 👀

It was because the kid would be afraid of them! Of course he wouldn't. But I guess Macaque still feels like his powers are a threat to him.

@redwrathroit ha chiesto:Hey, note this is something you can completely ignore but I wanted to know if you had a ref sheet for your monkey Bois, I'd love to take a try and drawing them plus I had made an Oc character of my own but I did it once and then art block hit me like a train and said; nah, never again. So it would really help me out if you have a ref, if not ignore this and have a nice day/night

Unfortunately I don't. I have a lot of panels where you can see them full body in various stances though.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Wukong being the little spoon is too cute, he spends years being the big spoon platonically to everyone that someone finally gave him what was needed, to be protected instead of being the protector

Yesss he iss!!!!!!

@froggyofdeath ha chiesto:Question abt Shadowpeach bio parents! Sooo, who kills the spiders, who screaming abt them, who the one who picks it up and try to scare the screaming one?🫠✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️☕️☕️☕️☕️

Mk is screaming, Wukong picks it up, Macaque kills it.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Can we see exactly when they decided to prepare the courtnapping room? Like when exactly did they know oh we need to prepare that our son has apparently followed in our footsteps

Unfortunately in this AU for now I don't plan tp draw a full spicynoodle arc as well. There will be moments for the ship as well but more like extras and side stories.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Your shadowpeach bio au reminds me of something..... I remember you saying to someone that they should Read a Son of Two Dad's. Have you read the entire thing? and the sequel?

Yes I did! Also the sequel, but i think it s in hiatus.

Anonimo ha chiesto:In you newest update for the shadowpeach parent au, that one scene of Macaque looking at Wukong as MK holds his finger kind of reminds me those flashback scenes in movies of the dead lover/wife that is looking at the main character from under a flowing blanket. I have no clue why but the image popped up in my head when I read that part of the comic lmao

I bet when they are back together they will re-create this exact image eventually

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love that Macaque is initiating contact with Wukong. Hugging him, holding his hands, cuddling with him. It makes my heart melt 🥹🥰 And Wukong is giving him opportunities to do so

He is opening the door for Mac to come closer, so that it's his choice how much he can get closer. The last thing Wukong wants is to rush things or do something that would make him more uncomfortable.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Omg! I love your art especially your shadowpeach parent bio au, it's adorable! Although I'm terrified for the next page. Anyway, my question is, why won't you let the monkey trio breathe from the trauma? 😅🥹

Bc apparently chat asked for it

[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Three - Playdate

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.5K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Series Masterlist

Daniel held Olivia's hands as they walked towards the house. There was a cat sat outside of the door, watching as the approached. When they got too close, the cat scarpered, running into the neighbours garden.

Stepping up to the door, Daniel knocked. He squeezed Olivias hand as they waited for the door to open.

"Coming!" Came a faraway voice. In no time at all the door was open and Y/N was welcoming the two of them into her house.

"Hey Olivia!" Y/N cheered as she pulled open the door.

Daniel grinned as he and his daughter stepped inside. "Hey," he said as Y/N shut the door. "Thanks for doing this." He muttered the last part, trying not to let Olivia hear him.

"It's no problem," she said, walking in front of them and leading them into the living room. "Can I get either of you something to drink?"

As soon as Olivia was in the living room, Milo was on his feet, shouting his name as he ran towards her. The two embraced and Milo pulled her into the middle of the room, where he had a collection of toys already set out. "My Momma said we can watch a movie while we play," he said, sitting on the floor.

As the two began playing, Daniel sat on one of the sofas and Y/N walked in with glasses of water for her guests. "What're we watching, kids?" She asked as she sat on the opposite side of the sofa to Daniel.

"Barbie," Olivia said instantly.

"Momma no! I don't want to watch barbie!" Milo suddenly called.

Y/N opened a streaming service and began scrolling through the kids section. "How about we find something we can all agree on?" She said calmly as she searched for a movie.

They settled on the Lorax. The kids played as Daniel and Y/N watched over them, the film playing in the background.

As they played, Y/N shuffled closer to Daniel. "I wasn't sure what to get for dinner so I got several different pizzas. I hope that's okay."

"That's more than okay," Daniel said as he took off his Red Bull hat. "Olivia doesn't get pizza very often."

"Why's that?" She asked as she looked at him, her body full turned towards him (this didn't go unnoticed by Milo and Olivia).

Daniels fingers drummed against the arm of the sofa. "She might have it at her mums place, but Livvy insists she eats like me when she's at mine so she can be just like her daddy."

Before Y/N could push for more information, Olivia turned around. "Daddy, shut up!" She called.

Suddenly, Daniel levelled her with a look. "Do you want to try that again, little lady?"

She blushed pink and looked down at her socks. "Daddy, could you be quiet so Milo and I can watch the TV?"

It was better, but Olivia still could have been politer. But Daniel let it go. He didn't push, didn't want to embarrass her in front of her friend.

Towards the end of the movie Y/N got up. She stood from the sofa and walked out of the room, leaving them there while she went to the kitchen. With the doors open, she could hear as the kids watched TV and played while she put the pizzas in the oven and set a timer on her phone.

After a short episode of scooby doo, the kids were sat at the kitchen table, two pizzas in front of them. They picked and chose which pizza they wanted, leaving what they didn't. Y/N knew they'd never eat it all, leaving what they didn't want for her and Daniel.

After they had eaten, Milo pulled Olivia out of the kitchen, and up to his bedroom. Poppy that cat had made her way up to his bedroom while they were all downstairs, sleeping on Milo's bed. But, as soon as she heard them running up the stairs, she scarpered, running down the stairs and out of the cat flap.

Full and tired from an afternoon of playing, Milo and Olivia soon found themselves asleep on the floor. Their parents found them when Y/N gave Daniel and tour of their small house. She picked up Milo and placed him in his bed as Daniel scooped up Olivia.

"I guess we should get going," he said, holding her in his arms.

Y/N looked towards her bedroom. She and Daniel hadn't had a proper chance to talk, and she wanted to know more. He was intriguing, incredibly so, and she wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not yet. "Well, you could let her have a nice little sleep in here," she said and pushed open her bedroom door.

Daniel grinned as he walked Olivia into the bedroom. He laid her down onto the bed and laid her down in it, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

Leaving the door open to give her some light, Y/N took Daniel back downstairs. They walked through the kitchen and out into the back garden. The porch light was on as they sat on the swinging chair and faced each other. "Can I ask you something rather personal?" She asked as she gently rocked the chair with her foot.

"Go for it," Daniel replied, Poppy the cat suddenly jumping up between them. She ignored her owner, immediately settling onto Daniels lap, promptly falling asleep.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath. It was something that had been weighing on her mind for the last week, something that Milo had told her when he first met Olivia. "Milo says Olivia doesn't like her mum. Can I ask what that's about?"

The smile dropped from Daniel’s face. He did that a lot, Y/N had begun to realise from the two times she had met him, He shifted in his seat as he scratched at Poppy’s coat. “Olivia doesn’t talk to me about what happens at her mum’s house. But she does talk to my parents. She doesn’t hit her, but she does make her miserable. Olivia gets locked in her room whenever she shows the slightest hint of attitude and her mum’s constant stream of boyfriends piss her off. She said that once, that they piss her off. I’ll let you guess where she learned that.”

Daniel went on, becoming more and more distressed. But Poppy pawing at his leg stopped him. He scratched at her chin and looked at Y/N, letting a smile cross his face. “Anyway,” he said. “My turn with the deep questions.”

He asked the one question Y/N wasn’t keen on answering. Not that she wanted it to be a secret, and she was definitely going to answer him. But after five years it still wasn’t the easiest subject to talk about.

“I was nineteen when I found out I was pregnant with Milo. I told my partner at the time, and he wanted nothing to do with me. I told my parents, and they wanted nothing to do with me. So I took off, moved out here, got a job and gave birth to Milo. It’s been just me and him ever since. His dad knows nothing about him and never will. It’s me and Milo against the world.” She sat up a little straighter. As it got later in the day, the sun began to dip and the air turned ever so slightly colder. “How about you? What happened with you and Olivia’s mother?”

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. He actually shrugged. What kind of response was that? But Y/N said nothing as he began talking. “We were in love, moved too fast. Olivia was born exactly nine months into our relationship, when I was racing in Silverstone-“ A fact Daniel would never forgive himself for, that he missed the birth of his daughter. “-Things had been sour between us since before Olivia was born, but we tried to stay together for her. But we realised she would have been growing up in a shitty environment, so we went our separate ways.”

They continued talking through the night, until Olivia and Milo came running downstairs, now wide away. Milo climbed into his mother’s lap while Olivia grabbed a hold of her father’s arm. “Daddy, can we live here?” She asked, reaching towards Poppy the cat.

Daniel laughed. He went to stand up, moving Poppy from his lap, and scooped Olivia into his arms. “Come on, Badger. Let’s get you home to bed.”

She pouted, laying her head on his shoulder. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

For a minute Daniel looked like he was thinking about it. “We could,” he mused. “Or we could take Y/N and Milo to the park, play on the swings and get some ice cream? How does that sound?”

Both kids cheered.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lillians-world-is-f1 @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @stay1strongbeautiful @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @angiesw0rld @yunakynn @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @catmouseggy @bathedinheat @stay1strongbeautiful @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @evie-119 @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @radiator101 @lightdragonrayne @angelxxrose

[moonlightndaydreams]

Part 2: horny!jisung x fem!reader // Hyunjin // Minho

a/n: after leaving this quickie on a cliffhanger, I’ve had various requests to write a follow up… so here it is 🤗

Where we left off in Part 1:

Jisung wants a quickie with you in the backseat of Minho’s van at the gas station while Hyunjin and Minho finish paying for fuel and snacks. You’re both about to come when they are back at the car and are reaching for the door handle.

CW: unprotected p in v, exhibitionism, cream pie, oral sex (m. rec.), fingerfucking, blow jobs, cum swallowing, sharing y/n, pet names (kitten, baby, beautiful), alluding to future partner sharing.

You both halt your movements, quieting your breaths as best you can as the two front doors open and Minho and Hyunjin climb in.

“Fuckin’ expensive.” Minho comments on the fuel price as he pulls out of the gas station.

“So’s the snacks. Hey do you guys want so—” Hyunjin turns to look into the backseat. “Oh my fucking God!” He wails.

“What?” Minho glances back. “Oh you’re fucking kidding me. Can’t you two wait ten minutes?”

“We’re not doing anything! It’s innocent. I swear.” Whines Jisung. “Ngh.” A little whimper slips out of him when you clench around him as Minho turns a corner a little too sharp.

“Come on. You’ve both got your pants down around your legs.” Minho sneers. “Go on…You might as well keep going.”

“Really?!” Jisung says excitedly. “Baby, grind on me.” He starts you rock you back and forth on his cock.

“Sungie? I’m not sure. They might not really want to hear how loud we get, or how…wet… I sound.” You peer out from hooded eyes towards Minho.

Hyunjin turns around again wide eyed. “I wanna hear all of it.” He smirks.

————

You find yourself bouncing hard on Jisung’s cock. His hands up the front of your hoodie, groping at your tits, while your cunt makes the most obscene sounds as it slaps against his body.

Your pornographic moans are bound to be making every cock in the car throb with need.

Jisung isn’t any quieter, his sounds ranging from deep grunts to high pitched whines fill the car too.

Minho adjusts the rear view mirror so he can watch the show, and Hyunjin is munching on crisps and letting out a moan of his own every so often.

“Sungie, come inside me baby. You know you wanna fill me up.” You encourage, your voice full of desperation.

“Fuck… I do… I do baby.” He pants and fucks you harder.

“Sungie… oh…ngh…I’m coming baby.” You close your eyes and throw your head back. “Fuck Sungie…feels s’good….that’s it fuck me through it…yeah…like that.”

As you ride out your high, you feel Jisung get even harder inside you. He’s close.

“Please…please…fill this pussy up. That’s it, Sungie..fill me up...” You purr as hits his climax, emptying himself with the cutest whimper on his lips.

There is a collective moan throughout the car. Then silence, except your yours and Jisung’s laboured breathing.

“Oh my god.” You drawl as you roll yourself off of Jisung and close your eyes blissfully.

You’re caught off guard when suddenly the back doors open and Minho is pulling Jisung out of the car, and he and Hyunjin clamber into the backseat with you.

“You’re driving the rest of the way, Ji.” Minho states. You look around to see Minho has pulled over at the side of the road.

“Just drive. There’s something Hyunjin and I need to do.”

Jisung looks at you and you see the excitement in his eyes. You bite your lip and nod.

He slips into the drivers seat and turns to you between the two front seats. “Baby. Our wish is coming true.” He whispers.

You lean forward and kiss him deeply.

“Make sure you’re really loud for me.” He strokes your cheek tenderly. “I don’t want to miss a single choking sound, or a pretty whimper. Can you do that for me?” He leans his forehead in yours.

“Yes, Sungie.” You whisper.

“It’ll get me so hard that when we get home, you’d better be ready, ‘cos I’m gonna fuck you so good. Would you like that, baby?”

You nod quickly. “You’d fuckin’ better, Sungie.”

“Come on, y/n. let us play with you.” Hyunjin leaves your sweatpants dangling around your thighs, but pulls up your pretty thong so he can admire your ass against the red lace. “Stunning.” He massages a cheek and licks his lips. "Look at all that cum sticking to your panties, gorgeous. Ji really gave you a bucket load, didn’t he?”

“Kitten.” Minho squeezes your other ass cheek and gives it a light slap. “Show me what your pretty mouth can do.” He gently pulls you towards him. “You made me so hard fucking Ji like that. Now I need you to finish what you started.” he nods towards his crotch.

He was so hard underneath his sweats, the outline of his erection clear as day. You swallow hard as you reach for the waistband and tug them down to free his cock. Mouthwatering.

Your carefully wrap your hand around him and lick his shaft, getting it nice and wet for your hand to slide up and down. You work his length with your hand as you lick around the head, finishing by gliding the flat of your tongue over the slit. Minho sucks in a breath. “Stop teasing. I need to be in your mouth. I have to feel your lips around me.”

You look up at him coyly, then smirk, before sinking over him. He releases a low groan.

Hyunjin caresses and squeezes your ass, then slips a finger under your underwear, pulling it to the side to run a finger along your slit. “Gotta put all this cum back in you. Ji would want you to keep it safe.” He scoops some cum that had spilled from you and pushes it back inside. “There you go. Back where it belongs.”

You whimper as Hyunjin’s fingers reach deep inside you.

Jisung groans in response. “She likes that. She likes to be finger fucked." he says hoarsely from the driver's seat.

Hyunjin sucks in a breathe between his teeth. "Is that so?" he withdraws his finger and pushes it back in. "Pretty." he cooes and adds a second digit your cunt.

"Our kitten knows what she's doing. Sucking cock like this. Fuck you can take a lot can't you. Ji, you're a lucky shit, you know that right?" he calls to Jisung.

"I am lucky. But I can't hear any choking sounds. Aren't you gonna fuck her face?"

You moan around Minho's cock as Hyunjin manages to add a third finger.

"But, she's doing so well on her own." Minho chuckles and wraps his fingers around your ponytail. "But if you wanna hear her choke, okay." He holds your head still and thrusts his hips up so his cock hits the back of your throat.

You automatically gag, making a strained choking sound. You know Jisung gets off on hearing you struggle, so you try as hard as you can to be noisy for him.

The car jerks to the side, clearly Jisung is affected. You smile internally.

Minho picks up his pace, steadily becoming rougher with each thrust. You no loner need to exaggerate the struggle, Minho is truly assaulting your throat now. The tears are real, there is so much saliva. You're writhing and grinding your hips back on Hyunjin's fingers as he scissors and stretches you.

"So wet, pretty girl. I can't tell what's you and what's Ji anymore. Fuck. So noisy too." your cunt squelches loudly every time he thrusts his fingers into you.

You're on the brink of your second orgasm when you feel Minho release his load deep into your throat. "Swallow it, kitten. I need to know it's in your belly." He pulls your head off his cock. "Show me." he demands, his voice strained. You open your mouth wide and stick your tongue out.

"Good girl." he growls and crashed his lips on yours. This is the first time you and Minho have kissed, well all of this is a first, but there's something so intimate about the way his tongue seeks yours, that has you melting against him. He swallows your moans then peels away. "Now," he says breathlessly. "You need to fix Hyunjin."

You do as you're instructed and turn yourself around to take care of Hyunjin. His cock is already out and leaking pre-cum, ready for you. You take him in your hand, ensuring you give him as much attention as you did Minho. Licking along the shaft, giving the tip a chaste kitten lick. Then you take him as deep as you can in your mouth. "Your lips look so pretty around my cock. Swallow me up. Be a good girl for me." He sighs.

As you bob up and down over his long cock, you feel Minho's fingers spreading you open. "So fucking wet." he growls squeezing three fingers into your needy hole. "Now let's make this pussy come."

He starts to fuck you fast with his fingers, aiming every single thrust directly into your sweet spot. You want to cry out, but your sounds are muffled. Your legs start to quiver.

“Feels good doesn’t it, kitten? Look at you trembling.” He keeps digging at that spot relentlessly. “Gonna cum for us? Make a mess on my fingers.”

Your legs almost give out entirely as your body can take no more of this agonising pleasure, and you come hard all over Minho’s hand.

“Fuck, baby!” Jisung cries from the driver’s seat. “So fucking good for them.”

Hyunjin growls, finally fucking into your mouth. He is longer than Minho and you gag pathetically around him. “Drain me, beautiful. Ngh.” With a small whimper you feel ropes of cum hit your throat. There is so much, you’re not sure how you’re going to swallow everything. But you’re a good girl, so you make sure you don’t waste a drop.

Minho yanks your sweats back up and taps you affectionately on the ass.

“Baby, that was so hot. I’m so hard again, just from hearing all that.” Jisung hums approvingly from the front.

“You know, Ji? Next time you’ll have to let us fuck her while you watch.” Minho says.

“Yeah, you’ll probably cum untouched.” Adds Hyunjin.

You meet Jisung’s eyes in the rear view mirror and he winks at you slyly as he pulls up in your driveway.

A/n: always wear a seatbelt in a moving vehicle.

Also… I hope you enjoyed this little scenario. I seem to be accumulating car related sex and might make a masterlist dedicated to car rendezvous.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @chansbabyg @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @xxkissesforchanniexx @enjaken @queen-in-the-shadows @bethanysnow @newhope8 @chuuchuu1224 @vanillacupcakefrosting @3rachasdomesticbanana @fun-fanfics @palindrome969 @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @yaorzu-blog @rixenluv @livzposts @jehhskz @aalexyuuuhm

[revasserium]

hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

[levenlike11]

a little lovesick satoru drabble after that horrible suna one, i really hope this is better.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"oh god, here he comes." shoko sighs as gojo is nearing you, geto following close behind. you look over your shoulder and quickly turn back when you see the white haired, extremely annoying male.

"y/n-channn!!" gojo sings and throws himself on you, giving you not an inch of space to breathe with how he pushes his head and hair on your nose.

"hello satoru," you push him but fail to make him move so you pull his hair.

"OUCH! why would you do that to meee!?" gojo whines and stands up, turning around to look at geto who's grinning, amused by the situation.

"don't laugh at me! i'm suffering here." he pouts and shoko lets out the laugh she had been holding in.

"it couldn't have possibly hurt that much. stop overreacting." you say which only seems to make him sadder.

"now you announce me a drama queen, how will my heart ever recover?" he raises his hand to cover his face dramatically, contradicting himself. he never misses to give you an oscar worthy acting, so talented they would hire him to play in a shakespeare theater if he applied.

"you'll be fine." you mutter and open your book again, mumbling a curse under your breath when you realise you lost the page you were on.

"see, now i have to go through all the book to find my page." you sigh but gojo doesn't seem to care, still busy whining about how rude you are towards him.

"you never act this way with shoko, or geto. he's much less handsome than me- no offense bro." he turns at geto, who doesn't seem to mind the comment enough to argue back. it's just gojo and his usual dramatic-ness after all.

"because shoko is my best friend and geto is a really nice guy, who is definitely more handsome than you by the way." satoru quite literally throws himself on the ground after hearing those words come out of your mouth.

"i'd rather die than hear those words again coming from the love of my life." he closes his eyes. he looks like the people playing dead to fool a bear.

"i told you to stop calling me that, and it's the truth, he's much much more handsome, and cool, and strong.." you start counting but gojo cuts you off.

"i'm gojo satoru, mind you! the one with six eyes and stuff you know. i'm literally the coolest and the strongest."

"this is why they don't like you back." shoko chuckles and you sigh, putting your book down again. he doesn't look like he'll let you read at all.

"gojo-" "satoru, please. i want my love to call me by my name." "i am not your love, satoru, please leave me alone. i already told you i don't like you." he has called you a sadist multiple times. even 'the cruelest person on earth'.

"you do, actually." he smirks, "you looooove me. how could you not?"

"i currently do not feel anything positive towards you. i might start hating you if you don't get up soon." you'd be surprised how quickly he gets up after that.

"no, please don't! we still have to marry and buy a house with pets and raise kids together-" he gets on his knees and hugs your legs in front of him.

"slow down satoru, we don't even date yet." you laugh at this antics. he's the most stubborn person you've ever met, dedicated to get you to like him romantically. it's not like you really hate him, you sometimes even think you might like him back. just a little bit. but it's fun seeing him like this, so desperate for you. (it makes you feel nice.)

"yet?!" he springs up, grinning from ear to ear. "so we might date in the future?"

"not if you keep doing this."

"what if i take you out to dinner?" you act like you're thinking about it.

"maybe if you also take me to the bookstore later and buy me ice cream."

"GETO, DID YOU HEAR Y/N? we might go on a date!" he jumps on geto, hugging him tight. shoko and you are practically dying of laughter at this point.

"get off of me." geto pushes him away but also smiling, seeing how excited satoru is and happy since two of his close friends are finally about to get together. he's also glad he doesn't have to suffer while watching these moments on first row with shoko. (they don't know it'll be much worse and annoying after you start dating though.)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☆ hope you enjoyed reading! please feel more than free to leave feedback and have a great day/night!🫶🏻

[11cupids-tarot11]

Pile 1 -> 3 🩷

Short random messages regarding love for you! 💓

Pile 1- the chariot, the star and seven of coins

For starters the star card is making me think you might already have a crush on this person or might know of them, take what resonates for you.

For others, I'm getting this person might just really admire you. I'm hearing they like you so much they're willing to basically cross seas for you.

This person is strong willed meaning when it comes to you nothing else matters in the world, I think they have their eyes on a prize and are very determined when they want something which would appear to be you lol

I think this person is already planning y'all future in their head, like they've really got everything figured out even how they want to approach you 😭 (that's cute lol)

I feel like this person just really wants to say you're all in their space and they're accepting it. Like they can't wait for the day you two come together (and get married I'm hearing for some 😉😜) but they're definitely planning on making their move soon!

Other messages- 1111 might be significant, you're hot, lots of dates in nature, can't wait to kiss you, I miss you already.

Pile 2- I FORGOT TO WRITE DOWN THE NAME OF THE CARDS BUT I WILL NOT FORGET NEXT TIME MY POOKIES 🤞🏾😜🩷

Okay, for this pile I'm picking up on a dynamic that's like light and day, one person in this connection is a bit colder, closed off and I feel like someone in this connection just refuses to give up.

I'm hearing 'let your doors down' and this person might feel very hurt that the other isn't open to the same emotion intimacy the other is into.

I'm seeing it might be best to take a break, maybe the relationship has gotten to a point neither of you had meant it to or you're just really disappointed by the outcome and they're clearly not up to your standards and it's not good to settle for less.

I'm seeing maybe some of us are trying a little too hard to hang onto this connection but we can't change nor fix something that's not broken.

I am seeing for some of you that removing your energy might actually make this person miss you, and if they love you enough they'll come around and compromise so the both of you can feel fulfilled and happy in the relationship and if they don't clearly they weren't the ones for you and that's okay, because you never know when the universe is going to throw someone new your way! This could be a blessing in disguise 🥸.

Other messages- 444 could be significant, the color red, maybe a red car? I have no idea what song this is but it's got something to do with driving?idk ur person is singing it 🤣 Maybe that's significant for someone out there?

Pile 3-

So for this pile I actually heard 'its time!" I think this pile is being called to awaken to something or for some of you a special someone? 🥹

Okay this message was a little harder to read but I think both ends have been stressing out over this? And it's kind of ridiculous because you're both literally good people according to spirit that would have a very beautiful relationship and would grow like a freaking fruit tree! I think spirit is saying since neither of you will make a move they'll be forced to push both of you using the universe- like magic almost I'm hearing.

This pile was shorter, and I'm also randomly hearing someone in this connection could be short lol? I think someone here might smile a lot too, I'm seeing smiley faces!

Other messages- the song 'Magic by txt', 12, 111, the color yellow and maybe the month of May- June might be significant for some of y'all?

Have a fantastic day! 🌹 See you all again soon! Hope you enjoyed 😊

Dm for personal readings!

[novaursa]

Chains of the Crown

- Summary: Gwayne promised to marry you. A promise he couldn't keep.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and bonded with Silverwing. This is a continuation of Echoes of a Promise. If you want to read all parts in chronological order, you can find a list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 936

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The room is heavy with the scent of burning logs and the rich, musky aroma of wine. And one can almost feel the warmth of the flames as they crackle and dance in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the opulent chamber. King Viserys sits slouched in his seat, fingers wrapped around a goblet, his gaze distant and clouded. The grief that settled into his bones since the loss of his beloved wife, Aemma, and their newborn son, Baelon, has yet to lift. It clings to him like a shroud, dulling his once vibrant spirit.

Across from him stands Otto Hightower, a figure of stoic persistence, his expression carefully composed as he watches the king. This is not the first time Otto has approached Viserys with this proposal, but with each rejection, his frustration has grown more difficult to conceal. He knows the King well enough to see through the surface—the grief that clouds Viserys’s mind is also a barrier Otto has yet to penetrate. But today, Otto tells himself, today might be different.

"Your Grace," Otto begins, his voice measured, the tone he has honed over years of courtly service. "It has been nearly a month since we laid Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon to rest. The realm mourns with you, but the duties of the Crown must continue."

Viserys takes a long, slow sip from his goblet, not lifting his gaze to meet the Hand’s. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring, and Otto presses on.

"The Princess Y/N," Otto says, his voice firm, though he takes care to soften it when mentioning you. "She, too, bears this loss, but she is young, Your Grace. She has her whole life ahead of her. It would be wise to consider her future now, before others do."

Viserys exhales, a deep and weary sigh. "She is still a child, Otto. Her mother’s blood is barely cold in the ground, and you come to me with talk of marriage? I will not hear it."

Otto bows his head slightly, as though accepting the rebuke, but his persistence does not falter. "Your Grace, the Princess will have to marry eventually. It is the duty of all royal blood, especially one so close to the throne. Gwayne is of noble stock, a knight of the realm, and a Hightower—a house known for its loyalty to the Crown. He would make a fitting match."

Finally, Viserys looks up, his eyes narrowing as they meet Otto’s. There is a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps, or a deeper anger that the King has kept at bay. "Gwayne," he says, the name dripping with distaste, "is a good knight. But you seem to forget, Otto, that Y/N is my daughter. My young daughter. She will not be bartered off like some trinket to further your family’s ambitions."

The words hang heavy in the air, but Otto does not waver. "Your Grace, I seek only what is best for the realm and for the Princess. She is of age where betrothals are often considered, and Gwayne could provide her with protection, stability. A marriage into House Hightower would strengthen—"

Viserys’s hand slams down on the armrest of his chair, the force of it cutting Otto off mid-sentence. The King’s face is flushed, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. "Enough, Otto! I will not hear of it again!"

For the first time, Otto’s composure falters. His brow furrows as he searches Viserys’s face, looking for some sign of the man who once valued his counsel above all others. "Your Grace," he says, more carefully now, "it is not only about what is best for House Hightower, but for the Crown. The Princess is a dragonrider, yes, but she needs a husband who can stand by her side, who can—"

Viserys cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "No more! There will be no more talk of this. Y/N will marry when I say she is ready, and to whom I see fit. This discussion is over, Otto."

The finality in the King’s tone leaves no room for argument, but the tension in the room is palpable. Otto bows his head again, lower this time, hiding the frustration that threatens to show on his face. "As you wish, Your Grace," he says, though the words taste bitter on his tongue.

Viserys watches as Otto retreats, the Hand’s footsteps echoing softly in the chamber as he leaves. The King takes another deep draught from his goblet, the firelight reflecting in his weary eyes. 

As the door closes behind Otto, Viserys slumps back in his chair, closing his eyes. He can still hear the words echoing in his mind—duty, marriage, protection. But all he can see is your face, so young and innocent, still shadowed with grief for the mother you lost, the brother who never drew breath.

"No more," he whispers to the empty room, as if saying it aloud could make it true. "There will be no more talks of this." 

And as the flames continue to dance, casting their flickering light across the stone walls, the King remains there, a man adrift in a sea of sorrow, holding on to the only thing he has left—his love for his daughters, and his desperate need to protect you from a world that seems intent on taking all that he holds dear.

The corridors of the Red Keep are cold, despite the summer warmth that clings to the air outside. The stone walls seem to absorb the chill that emanates from Otto Hightower as he makes his way down the winding hallways. His face is a mask of restrained anger, each step he takes resonating with the frustration that has been building inside him for weeks, months even. His hands are clasped behind his back, knuckles white as he fights to maintain his composure.

Gwayne is waiting, as he was instructed to do, in one of the smaller antechambers. The room is sparsely decorated, the only source of light coming from a single window where the sun is beginning to set, casting long shadows across the floor. He paces back and forth, the soles of his boots scuffing against the stone, his anxiety barely contained. The seconds feel like hours as he waits for his father’s return, each one dragging on with the weight of expectation and hope.

When the door finally creaks open and Otto steps inside, Gwayne's pacing comes to an abrupt halt. He turns to face his father, a question already on his lips, but the words die in his throat as he takes in Otto’s expression. The older man’s face is stony, his lips pressed into a thin line, and Gwayne feels a cold knot of dread form in his stomach.

“Father?” Gwayne’s voice is tentative, uncertain. “What happened?”

Otto meets his son’s eyes, and for a moment, there is nothing but silence between them. Then, with a heavy sigh, Otto shakes his head. The gesture is small, almost imperceptible, but it sends Gwayne’s world tilting on its axis. His mouth goes dry, and he feels a strange hollowness in his chest, as though the breath has been knocked out of him.

“The King has refused,” Otto says, his voice tight, betraying the frustration he feels. “He will not entertain the idea of a match between you and the Princess Y/N.”

Gwayne’s expression falters, confusion and disbelief warring on his face. “But why?” he asks, his voice rough with the desperation that he can barely keep at bay. “I was certain… I thought surely he would see the wisdom in such a union. I—”

Otto cuts him off with a sharp gesture, his patience fraying. “Viserys is blinded by grief. He sees only a child in the Princess, and he will not hear reason on the matter. He is determined to keep her close, to protect her from the very world she was born into.”

Gwayne stands there, stunned, as his father’s words sink in. His mind races, trying to make sense of it, to find some way to fight against this reality that he cannot accept. The room feels as though it’s closing in around him, the air growing thin, and he has to force himself to breathe.

“There will be other matches,” Otto continues, his tone softening as he tries to temper the blow. “You are a Hightower, and there will be other opportunities, other noblewomen who would be honored to—”

“No.” The word slips out before Gwayne can stop it, and his father looks at him sharply. Gwayne’s face twists in pain, his heart aching with a deep, agonizing sense of loss that he cannot explain to Otto, cannot share with anyone. He swallows hard, trying to regain control of himself, to bury the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. But it is no use; the pain is too great, too raw.

“I came to care for her, Father,” Gwayne says quietly, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I… I care for her more than I ever thought possible.”

Otto regards his son with a mixture of surprise and something akin to pity. He had known Gwayne to be earnest in his pursuit of the match, but this… this depth of feeling is unexpected. And yet, Otto is no stranger to the game of thrones, to the sacrifices and compromises it demands. He does not allow himself to indulge in sentimentality.

“Feelings can be dangerous in matters such as these,” Otto says, his voice gentler now, though it carries the weight of experience. “I understand your disappointment, but you must learn to control your heart. The Princess is not the only path forward.”

But Gwayne is not listening. His thoughts have already drifted away, back to the nights he spent with you, the whispered promises, the stolen moments. He can still feel the warmth of your skin against his, the way you looked at him with trust and affection, the way you both believed—if only for a moment—that the future was yours to shape.

He promised you. He promised that he would make you his wife, that you would be together. It was not supposed to be like this.

He clenches his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he struggles to keep his composure in front of his father. He cannot tell Otto the truth of what happened between you, of how you gave yourselves to each other, of the love that blossomed between you in secret. He cannot bear to see the disappointment in his father’s eyes, the judgment that would surely follow.

Instead, he nods stiffly, forcing himself to speak, though the words taste like ash in his mouth. “I understand, Father. But…” He hesitates, searching for the right words, for some way to convey the depth of his pain without revealing too much. “But she is different. Y/N… she is unlike anyone else. I thought I could make her happy. I thought I could protect her.”

Otto’s expression softens, just a fraction, as he places a hand on Gwayne’s shoulder. “I know you did, my son,” he says quietly. “But the King’s will is clear. We must respect it. The Princess’s future is not in your hands, and you must accept that.”

Gwayne closes his eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. He cannot show weakness, not now. But the ache in his chest is unbearable, the sense of loss overwhelming. How can he accept it when everything inside him screams to fight, to hold on to the one thing that brought him true joy?

But he says nothing, only nods again, his silence speaking volumes. Otto squeezes his shoulder before stepping back, his expression once more composed, though a flicker of concern lingers in his eyes.

“Come,” Otto says, turning toward the door. “There are other matters that require our attention.”

Gwayne follows his father out of the room, his steps heavy, his heart even heavier. As they walk through the corridors, he cannot help but feel as though he is leaving something vital behind, something he may never reclaim.

And as the sun sets over King’s Landing, casting the world in shadows, Gwayne Hightower battles silently with the pain of a rejection that cuts deeper than any sword, knowing that the promises he made to you are now broken, scattered to the winds like so many ashes.

The moon hangs high in the night sky, its pale light filtering through the narrow windows of your chambers, casting the room in a soft, ethereal glow. The fire in the hearth has burned low, the embers crackling quietly, filling the room with a gentle warmth that is at odds with the cold ache in your heart. You sit on the edge of your bed, your mind heavy with the weight of the day’s events, the tear tracks still fresh on your cheeks.

You had gone to your father earlier, determined to speak with him, to plead your case. But Viserys had refused to listen, his grief a wall that neither words nor love could penetrate. His rejection had left you hollow, the last hope you clung to slipping away like sand through your fingers.

A soft knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, and you quickly wipe at your cheeks, trying to compose yourself. You know who it is before the door even opens. You can feel him, the pull between you both as strong as ever, a connection that refuses to be severed by mere words or decrees.

The Kingsguard stationed outside your chambers nods to Gwayne as he approaches, recognizing the unspoken permission that exists between the two of you. Without a word, the knight steps aside, allowing Gwayne to enter. The door closes softly behind him, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. It is just the two of you, alone in the stillness of the night.

As soon as he steps into the room, you rise from the bed, your heart leaping at the sight of him, but the pain still lingers. You cross the room quickly, meeting him halfway, and as soon as he’s within reach, you throw your arms around him, holding him tightly, as if letting go would mean losing him forever. Gwayne’s arms wrap around you in return, his embrace warm and comforting, but you can feel the tension in his muscles, the same sorrow that grips you mirrored in him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. You can feel the tremor in his breath, the way he clings to you as if you are his anchor in a storm.

You shake your head against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his tunic. “It’s not your fault, Gwayne,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “I spoke with him too… He wouldn’t listen. He’s so lost in his grief. He can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

Gwayne pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with a sorrow that reflects your own. “If I could do anything… anything at all to change his mind, I would,” he says, his hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I would give anything to be with you, Y/N. To make you my wife, as we both wanted.”

Your heart aches at his words, the love you feel for him so deep, so overwhelming, that it’s almost too much to bear. “I know,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, your eyes searching his. “But what we want… it doesn’t matter to him. Not now.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. “It matters to me,” he says softly, his voice a vow. “It matters to us.”

Your breath hitches, the weight of his words sinking into you, grounding you. You close the small distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is filled with all the love, all the desperation that you both feel. It’s soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters, but soon it deepens, becoming more intense, more urgent.

As your lips move against his, you pour all your emotions into the kiss—your love, your fear, your sorrow. You kiss him like it’s the last time, like the world outside your chambers no longer exists, and for a moment, it doesn’t. There is only you and Gwayne, your hearts beating as one, the connection between you too strong to be denied.

His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, and you let out a soft gasp as his lips leave yours to trail along your jaw, down the column of your neck. You tilt your head back, giving him more access, your fingers threading through his hair as you hold him to you.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, his name a plea on your lips, and he responds by capturing your mouth again in a searing kiss, one that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

As your lips part, you both stare at each other for a moment, your breaths mingling, your hearts racing. Without a word, you begin to undress each other, your fingers trembling slightly as you untie the laces of his tunic, as he loosens the ties of your gown. The fabric falls away, forgotten on the floor, and soon you are both bare before each other, the cool night air brushing against your heated skin.

Gwayne’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze reverent, filled with a love that makes your heart swell. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands skimming over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

You reach out, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “So are you,” you whisper, your voice filled with awe, as if you can’t quite believe that he’s here, that this moment is real.

He leans down, capturing your lips once more as he guides you toward the bed. You move together in a dance that is both familiar and new, your bodies fitting together perfectly as he lowers you onto the soft sheets. The mattress dips under your weight, and Gwayne hovers over you, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his emotions mirrored in your own.

As he lowers himself onto you, you feel his warmth, his weight, grounding you in the moment, and when he enters you, it’s with a tenderness that brings tears to your eyes. He moves slowly, savoring every second, every inch, as if committing this moment to memory, as if this is all that matters in the world.

You wrap your arms around his back, holding him close as he begins to move within you, your breaths mingling, your bodies entwined. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you, connected in a way that is deeper than words, deeper than any bond you have ever known.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your voice catching with emotion, and he responds with a kiss that steals your breath, his movements growing more urgent, more passionate.

“I love you too,” he murmurs back, his voice rough with the weight of his feelings. “More than anything. More than life itself.”

The room is filled with the sounds of your lovemaking, soft gasps and murmured words of love as you move together, your bodies seeking solace in one another. Each touch, each kiss, is a promise, a vow that even if the world outside seeks to tear you apart, nothing can break the bond that you share.

Gwayne’s hands move over your body, memorizing the feel of your skin, the curve of your waist, the way you shiver under his touch. He kisses you deeply, his lips worshipping every part of you, as if trying to make up for the time that will be lost, for the future that has been denied.

You match his fervor, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pull him closer, wanting to feel every part of him, to imprint this moment into your very soul. There is no rush, no hurry to reach the peak of pleasure, only the desire to be with each other, to savor every second of this connection.

When the release finally comes, it’s with a wave of emotion that leaves you both breathless, your bodies trembling in each other’s arms. Gwayne collapses against you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he holds you tightly, as if afraid to let go.

You run your fingers through his hair, your touch soothing, your heart filled with a bittersweet mixture of love and sorrow. You know that this moment cannot last, that the morning will come too soon, and with it, the reality of your separation. But for now, in this quiet, sacred space, you allow yourself to simply be with him, to hold onto this love that you share, even if only for a little while longer.

As the night wears on, you lay together, your bodies still entwined, your hearts beating in time with one another. The world outside is forgotten, and all that remains is the love that binds you, the connection that refuses to be broken.

The dawn breaks gently over King’s Landing. The air is crisp with the promise of a new day, but the weight in your heart makes it difficult to appreciate the beauty of the morning. You dress carefully, your hands trembling slightly as you fasten the laces of your gown, each movement deliberate, each breath a reminder of the moment you have been dreading.

The courtyard is already bustling with activity by the time you make your way down from your chambers. The clatter of hooves on cobblestone, the low murmur of voices, and the occasional bark of a command from one of the guards fill the air. The preparations for Gwayne’s departure are well underway, but your mind barely registers the sounds around you. Your focus is entirely on the figure standing by the stables, his back turned as he oversees the squire who is readying his horse.

Gwayne is dressed in traveling gear, his tunic a deep shade of green, the Hightower crest embroidered on his cloak. His hair catches the early morning light, and for a moment, you can almost forget that this is a farewell. Almost.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you approach. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if the very earth is conspiring to keep you from reaching him. But you force yourself to move forward, to do what must be done, even as your heart aches with every step.

As you draw nearer, Gwayne turns, sensing your presence before you even speak. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world stands still. You both pause, your gazes locking, and in that brief moment, the emotions that you have tried so hard to keep in check threaten to overwhelm you. But then you remember where you are, who might be watching, and you force a smile to your lips, though it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Princess Y/N,” Gwayne greets you formally, inclining his head slightly, though there is a warmth in his voice that belies the stiffness of his words. “You honor me with your presence this morning.”

You curtsy in response, your heart clenching at the formality between you, a sharp contrast to the intimacy you shared just hours ago. “Ser Gwayne,” you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye.”

There is a flicker of something in his eyes—sadness, perhaps, or regret—but it is gone almost as quickly as it appears. He nods, his expression carefully composed, though you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench at his sides as if he is fighting the same battle you are.

“It is kind of you,” he says, his voice measured. “I will carry the memory of your kindness with me on my journey.”

Before you can respond, you hear the rustle of fabric behind you, and you turn to see Alicent approaching. She moves with a quiet grace, her face serene, but there is a sharpness in her eyes as she looks between you and Gwayne. You can tell that she has noticed the tension, the unspoken words that hang in the air, but to her credit, she does not mention it.

“Brother,” Alicent greets Gwayne with a warm smile, stepping forward to embrace him. “I was hoping to catch you before you left.”

Gwayne returns the embrace, a small smile softening his features. “You always find a way, Alicent,” he replies, his voice lighter now, though you can hear the strain beneath it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Alicent steps back, her eyes lingering on Gwayne’s face before she turns to you, her expression kind but curious. “Princess,” she says, inclining her head slightly. “It’s good to see you this morning.”

You nod, managing a small smile in return. “And you, Lady Alicent,” you reply, your voice polite, though your thoughts are elsewhere, focused on the man who stands beside you.

The squire finishes adjusting the saddle on Gwayne’s horse and steps back, giving a respectful nod to both you and Alicent. Gwayne acknowledges him with a word of thanks before turning his attention back to you.

“I must take my leave soon,” he says quietly, his eyes searching yours as if he is trying to memorize every detail of your face. “The road to Oldtown is long, and I shouldn’t delay.”

The reality of his departure hits you like a blow to the chest, but you force yourself to remain composed, to keep your emotions in check. “Of course,” you say, your voice betraying none of the turmoil inside you. “I wish you a safe journey, Ser Gwayne. May the gods watch over you.”

Gwayne’s lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think he might say something more, something that would break the carefully constructed facade you both wear. But then he simply nods, his eyes filled with an unspoken understanding. “Thank you, Princess. Your words mean more to me than you know.”

Alicent watches the exchange silently, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a subtle curiosity. She is perceptive, and you know she senses the deeper emotions that lie beneath the surface, but she says nothing, allowing the moment to pass unchallenged.

Gwayne steps closer, his hand brushing against yours briefly—too brief, but enough to send a jolt through you. The touch is a secret, a promise, and you have to fight the urge to hold onto him, to beg him to stay. But you know you cannot, and so you let him go, your hand falling back to your side as he steps away.

He moves to his horse, swinging up into the saddle with the practiced ease of a seasoned knight. He looks down at you, his expression solemn, and for a moment, you see the man you love, not the knight, not the lord, but the man who shared your bed, your heart. You want to say something, anything, to keep him here, but the words die on your lips.

“Farewell, Your Grace,” he says, the formality returning, though his voice is soft, almost reverent. “I shall pray for your happiness and health.”

You nod, unable to trust your voice, and watch as he turns his horse toward the gates. The clatter of hooves echoes in the courtyard, each step taking him further away from you, until finally, he disappears from sight, leaving you standing there with a hollow ache in your chest.

Alicent steps closer, her hand resting gently on your arm, her eyes filled with a sympathy that cuts through the fog of your emotions. “He will return,” she says softly, her voice kind, though you can hear the undercurrent of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or concern.

You manage a small smile, though it feels brittle, fragile. “I know,” you reply, though the words feel empty. “But things will be different when he does.”

Alicent studies you for a moment, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind your words, but she does not press. Instead, she gives your arm a reassuring squeeze, her smile warm and genuine. “Come, Princess,” she says gently. “Let’s walk together. It’s a beautiful morning.”

You nod, grateful for the distraction, and allow her to lead you away from the courtyard, away from the emptiness that Gwayne’s departure has left behind. As you walk, you force yourself to focus on the present, on the sun rising higher in the sky, on the gentle breeze that carries the scent of blooming flowers. But no matter how hard you try, you cannot shake the feeling that a part of you has been left behind, carried away on the road to Oldtown, along with the man you love.

As you and Alicent walk through the gardens, the sounds of the castle fading into the distance, you find solace in her presence, in the shared silence that speaks louder than words. But deep down, you know that this day will be etched into your memory, a reminder of the love you have lost, and the future that has been denied.

[janeyseymour]

Never In a Million Years... Unless- Pt 2

Part 1.

Summary: Melissa feels a certain way about everything, but some of those thoughts are starting to change, and she a few people she has to talk to.

WC: ~2.6k

Melissa Schemmenti dreams of you that night. She dreams of a life together where the two of you are both wearing beautiful rings that sit on your left hand. She sees glimmers of the future that you could have- and it really isn’t different from the life that you live now. She dreams of a normal day that the two of you have, although she calls you her wife in the dream. The smile that you have on your face, eyes sparkling at that pet name, is enough to convince her in her sleep that she needs to make it a reality. 

The dream then fades into something that she wasn’t quite expecting- you’re in a hospital bed, asleep. Instantly, Melissa is on edge. Why were you in the hospital? Were you okay? But then she feels something warm in her arms, and as she glances down she sees a newborn baby in her arms. The little tag on the baby’s ankle reads the words, “Baby Girl Schemmenti”.

With a jolt, the redhead wakes. Her eyes bolt open, and her breath is fast. The only thing holding her down from sitting straight up in bed is the fact that you’re still lying on top of her, fast asleep.

Her arm wraps around you a bit tighter, and she presses a soft kiss to your temple. Marriage, you could change her mind on, and you have unknowingly done that. But children? Children were something that she knew she never wanted- although maybe her subconscious was telling her different. She shakes her head gently. No. She does not want children. No. She does not.

Without thinking, her fingers begin to play with the ring that sits on your middle finger, and then she rubs the skin around where she knows a ring will be sitting soon enough.

The next morning, you wake up in her arms as you always do, but she’s already awake. Thinking.

“Good morning,” you smile sleepily. She seems to be so deep in thought, she doesn’t respond. “Honey?”

Only then does her head turn, and she presses a soft kiss to your temple, much like she did in the middle of the night.

“What’s got you thinking so intensely this morning?” you ask through a quiet yawn.

She chuckles softly. “Just thinking.”

“Clearly,” you quip as you go to sit up, but her arms just wrap around your waist more. “About?”

“How lucky I am to have you in my life,” she sighs in content. Her lips brush over you temple again.

You look up at her with tired eyes. “Mel.” You know that those thoughts of hers often come during times where she’s leaning into her fears and doubts about the relationship that the two of you hold so near and dear to your hearts. “Are you feeling a certain way again?”

She shakes her head softly as she looks down at you with the most loving eyes you’ve ever seen out of her. “No. I’m secure. I just… I love you.”

“I love you too,” you promise her. Then you smirk as you rub the sleep from your eyes. “I would love you more if you would make me a coffee while I hop in the shower before work.”

“What if I joined you?” thee redhead wiggles her brows up and down, a smirk written into her face.

“You and I both know that we can’t do that, or we’ll never get to work,” you chuckle as you hit her shoulder playfully. “Coffee, please.”

“If that’s really what you want,” Melissa huffs. Her arms unwind from around you, and you’re able to sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed, gathering your things for your shower.

You can feel her gaze. “Stop staring at my ass, you perv.”

“Just admiring my beautiful girl,” your girlfriend grins.

You quickly hurry into the bathroom, and Melissa makes her way into the kitchen with a smile on her face as she turns the coffee machine on.

Only a few minutes later, you hear a knock on the bathroom door, and then you hear her enter the room.

“Not trying to start anything,” she says with a knowing smile as you poke your shampoo filled head out to see her. “Just thought you might want your coffee.” She sets the steaming drink down on the counter before turning to head out.

“Hey,” you call after her, a pout on your face.

“You told me no funny business,” she laughs lowly.

You nod. “That doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you though.”

She presses her lips to yours softly, and you can taste the coffee that she’s been drinking for herself. “You have never looked more beautiful.”

You roll your eyes. “Go.”

The two of you finish getting ready for a day at the school before driving in together, her hand resting gently on your thigh the entire way there.

“What has you being so lovey today?” you chuckle softly when she kisses your temple for the billionth time.

She chuckles. “I told you… just thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

You smile up at her and pull her down by her arm to kiss her cheek. Your eyes linger on her for just a few seconds longer before you rip your eyes away to continue looking at your lesson plans for the next few days.

But Melissa’s arms quickly snake around your waist, and you have to excuse yourself to go sit in your classroom in order to actually be able to focus.

Green eyes linger on where you just were before Barbara coughs rather awkwardly.

“Melissa Schemmenti,” the kindergarten teacher states firmly. “What on Earth has you looking at her like you want to marry her?”

The second grade teacher looks around and observes that most of your other coworkers are focused on the news that is being cast from the television or are distracted by their own lesson plans.

She lowers her voice and leans in to her work wife. “Because I want to marry her.”

Barbara’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“We’ll talk about this when other people aren’t around,” Melissa states firmly, yet quietly. 

“Melissa Ann,” Barb admonishes. “You cannot drop a bomb on me like that and then not discuss it with me!”

The outburst gains the attention of the room.

“What?” Janine cuts in. “What did Melissa tell you?”

“None of your business, pipsqueak,” the redhead practically growls out. “Barbara, we will discuss later. For now? I have to get down to my classroom to set up the science experiment for today, but I would hope you won’t say anything.”

Without another word, Melissa makes her way out of the break room and down towards the second grade wing.

Despite the fact that your colleagues continue to bombard the veteran kindergarten teacher to spill whatever Melissa had told her in confidence, Barbara maintains her professionalism and simply brushes them off. 

Those lingering looks, sweet words of affirmation, and brushed kisses to your temple continue throughout the day, and your grade partner can’t help but practically melt at the softness of your relationship.

Once you’re at home, you fully intend on gathering more materials and pouring over lessons, as well as putting together the conference schedule. But your girlfriend is making it difficult for you as she practically hangs off of you and distracts you- attempting to get you to look away from your work and follow her into the bedroom instead.

“Baby,” you chuckle as you bat her hand away from your ass for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. “Is today a special day that I’m forgetting or something?” You glance down at your watch. It isn’t your birthday, it certainly isn’t her birthday, and it isn’t your anniversary.

“Everyday is a special day when you’re my girl,” you hear Melissa singsong.

With a roll of your eyes, you give her the words back, and you gather your things. 

“That worked?” the redhead almost looks shocked.

You laugh. “No. It did not. I’m going to the library to actually get some work done.”

Your girlfriend juts her bottom lip out, pouting. “Mi amore,” she whines.

“Maybe once I get home from the library, and after we’ve had dinner?”

That gets Melissa to perk up. “I’ll have it ready by 6:30?”

“I’ll be home,” you promise her with a quick peck to the lips, and then you’re heading out the front door.

When she’s positive that you aren’t coming back because you forgot anything, Melissa calls her work wife.

“Hello?”

“She’s gone,” the second grade teacher breathes into the phone as she gathers ingredients for dinner. “Which means we can talk about what I told you in the lounge today.”

By the end of that phone call, Melissa Schemmenti is scheming on how to get you to marry her, and she knows every step she is obligated to take before popping the question.

Walking in from the library, you’re hit with a delightful smell. And when you walk into the dining room, your girlfriend is sitting there with two plates in your spots, a soft smile on her face, a beautiful bouquet of flowers is laid on your chair, and there’s a candle lit in the middle of the table. 

“Babe,” you swoon. 

“What?” she asks you innocently as she takes in your look. It’s nothing special- you had changed out of your slacks and dress shirt for a pair of leggings and a cozy sweater, your hair knotted messily on the top of your head.

“Seriously, am I missing something?” you ask.

“I just wanted to do something nice for mi amore,” your girlfriend tells you softly. “Sit down and start eating before it gets cold.”

Dinner is warm and sweet, and everything that you expected it to be.

“I was thinking we invite your parents over for dinner this weekend?” Melissa says casually. “You know? It’s been a bit since we’ve had them over.”

“Really?” you ask. Usually, when you meet with your parents for dinner, the four of you go out to a restaurant. You know how particular the redhead is about having people in your home.

She nods. “Honestly, I’ve been doing some thinking lately, and-”

“That’s dangerous,” you quip.

“-And I’ve been thinking maybe once it gets nicer out, we should have a barbecue here,” she finishes. “You know, the Abbott group, some of my family, your family.”

“Melissa Schemmenti,” you say lowly, a smile scarily close to taking over your face. “What on Earth have you done, or what on Earth are you going to do, that you’re buttering me up like this?”

The redhead raises her hands in mock surrender. “Nothin’. I swear. Just been thinking that a lot of our foundation is based on my wants and needs, and I figured if I’m going to get out of my comfort zone, it might as well be with you and for you.”

“Well, my love,” you rise from your seat and plant yourself in her lap, wrapping your arms around her neck and kissing her softly. “I think that’s very, very sweet of you.”

And so, by some miracle, you’re able to get your parents over to your house that weekend. Melissa cooks dinner as you expected her to, you flitting between helping her and holding up conversation with your parents. 

They are extremely complementary of the redhead’s dishes- as they should be. Your girlfriend is one hell of a cook, and if she wasn’t a teacher, you’re fairly certain she could’ve made it as a chef at a five star restaurant.

“I mean, really,” your father sighs in content as he finishes off his plate. “I don’t think I’ve had a meal this well prepared in… ever. From the plating, to the actual flavors, you are a talented woman.”

Melissa just shrugs and takes another long sip of her wine- one that she knew would pair excellently with everything she was serving tonight.

“I agree,” your mother smiles as she sips her own drink. “And this wine… exquisite.”

“Mom,” you laugh. “Don’t try to be all proper and use words like exquisite. Mel and I have been together long enough for her to know that we are not those kinds of people.”

“Would you rather I have said, ‘Wow, Melissa, this wine is so good I could finish off the whole bottle myself’?” your mother teases. 

“I have been known to do that,” you roll your eyes. “And Mel is usually sitting right next to me while I drink it out of a mug.”

“I still can’t believe you do that,” your girlfriend elbows you gently, making a face of disgust.

“I caught you doing it the other night,” you quip.

It’s her turn to roll those beautiful green eyes of hers. “Because you brought me my wine in a mug. I very much prefer to drink it out of a glass.”

You squeeze her thigh gently. “You love me.”

“You’re lucky,” she grins right back at you.

It’s a bit later that you excuse yourself softly to use the restroom.

“Be good,” you warn, and you aren’t quite sure if you’re warning your girlfriend or your parents. You get three innocent smiles in return before you turn on your heel and head upstairs to relieve yourself.

Once she knows you’re out of earshot, Melissa turns to your parents quickly and jumps straight for it.

“I want to marry your daughter, and I need to know that the two of you are okay with that before I do anything,” the redhead states.

She’s met with wide eyes and a confused look from your mother, but a broad smile from your father.

“Bout damn time,” your dad chuckles.

“I thought Y/N said you didn’t want to get married,” your mom raises a brow.

Melissa sighs. “I did some thinkin’, an’ she’s worth the leap for me. But before I go through with anything…”

“We kept you around this long, ain’t we?” your dad teases. “You’re good for her.”

When you descend down the steps, it’s almost eerily quiet. Entering the room, you’re met with your parents and Melissa all smiling silently at each other. It’s… it’s almost disturbing.

“What have you three planned?” you ask, hands planted on your hips with your brow raised. You look just like your mother in that moment.

“Just figuring out the next time we’re all getting together,” your mom says casually. “Because I quite like the wine your girlfriend keeps around the house.”

They’re off a bit later, Melissa sending your mother home with one of the bottles of wine the two of you keep stored in the liquor cabinet, and you and the redhead easily dance around the kitchen to clean everything up. Only once you’ve brought everything over to the sink and she’s busy washing the pots and pans used do you snake your arms around her waist and kiss her cheek.

“Thank you,” you sigh softly. “It was really nice not having to spend an arm and a leg out at dinner with them.”

“Anything for the love of my life,” your girlfriend says softly as she cranes her neck to kiss you back.

Those words shock you, because she’s always called you ‘mi amore’ or something of the sort- but never the love of her life.

It works in the redhead’s favor too, because no sooner are the two of you in bed and seeing stars- dishes long forgotten.

And once you’re curled against her and your breath evens out, Melissa makes a call.

“I’m gonna need Nonna’s ring,” she whispers into the phone.

Tags

 (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie

[elixrr]

part 1 here

It's heartbreaking, being a fictional character in a fictional world. But what makes it worse it that his player; his love—his God, grew bored of him and discarded him.

What was he to you? Did you even feel affection for him? He loved you. He truly loved you because he had nothing but you. He's constantly locked in the same fake, digital room, even when you think he's out living his supposed stable life that some temporary code convinces you he's living. He'd do anything to please you, to keep you with him, because ultimately, you were his savior. You were everyone's savior.

And yet, you threw them all away.

Answer him.

What was he to you?

What were they to you? Were they toys to you? Dolls?

He feels betrayed. Rather, he felt betrayed. He can't feel a single thing now. Floating in the void of a digital trash bin stole all his feelings. It stole his supposed friends; it stole his supposed city; it stole his supposed life. His lifeless soul couldn't feel how much time had passed since the day you deleted the game, not that he would want to, even if he could be conscious again. It's dull in a dark void, and everything about him is already on the line. If he were conscious, not only would he have to openly sulk about how worthless he became in your eyes, but he would also have no future to look to. There wouldn't be any point to existing, let alone wanting to exist. If you ever re-downloaded the game, you would probably continue benching him, and that would be an extra sign that you'll never care about him again; that you came on for anyone else but him.

The only thing he'd wish for,

would be complete deletion.

Deletion of the email linked to your game account would result in the deletion of every single file of him and you. Every single fracture of evidence that you cared would disappear.

And, what he'd really want would be his whole self being erased.

In this life of his, he'd have no point. You left him, and probably completely. It doesn't matter what you do. Whether you never play the game again or even start it up again, none of that would matter because he wouldn't have a use in your life. If he doesn't matter in your life, then he wouldn't matter ever until he's possibly featured in an Archon quest or in some event. Even so, you might never use him ever again.

A single tear forms in his eyes. There's no point in existing.

Another tear falls. You never loved him, did you?

His eyes flutter open, and he's back in the team lineup screen. You're there. The supports are there, but he can't bring himself to pose. He can't bring himself to lighten up.

What are you going to do now? Repeat history, strip him of his artifacts, his weapon, and trash him? Slam him down into a pit of despair? A loveless void made for the hopeless and hurt, all of which once loved you and felt you loved them, now suddenly were torn and tossed like old, ragged dolls.

Through his broken heart and blurry eyes, he could see your face. You were about to enter his character detail screen, but you paused. You were looking at him like you were worried, and genuinely so. And, like an angel, you whispered his name with delicate, careful concern.

“What happened to you?”

You abandoned him. That's what happened, and he bets you never knew.

“Leave me alone,” he nearly sobs, “I know you don't want to use me anymore. Rip me apart for all I care—it won't matter when I'm back in that void again.”

“A void..? Wait, never mind that, I do care. What— really, what happened? Wait, you can hear me?”

He wipes his tears away and stands to face you fully. All the supports watch his bravery against the code.

“I could always see you; everyone on the field could. We can hear you.” He takes a moment to breathe it all in. Maybe... Maybe he can get you to listen. Maybe he can help you hear him out.

Maybe he could help you love him again?

“Anyways, the void is where every unused person goes. Once... Once we leave the screen, we just sit here until you use us. And if you remove us from all teams, we're sent— we're plummeted into said void.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper, leaning back, “I need to revisit everyone I...”

“Please, wait, I—” I want to be used. I want to be the one you revisit. I want to be the one you miss.

“Player, creator, whoever you are, just please,” he watches as you scroll through the team lineup options, “please don't leave—”

And you enter another lineup.

And everyone else is gone, too.

“Please. Don't leave me again.”

He falls over, not caring how much it hurts. Nothing works. Nothing will work. It's hopeless.

He'll be stuck here, waiting, waiting, and waiting. Not for you—there's no point in that anyway, but for your second deletion.

He'll be waiting for the game's deletion.

For his final deletion.

You left him, and he's clearly not important to you. As heartbreaking as it is, he accepts it. Even with this dimensional intersection, he can't convince you.

As heartbreaking as it is, he's just a fictional character to you in this fictional world. He loved you, and he thought you did too, but clearly, you don't. Because he is just an abandoned, rotting toy, and you are the player who abandoned him.

And, he thinks, if you want him to rot, then so be it,

Let him rot.

@iridescentrays @inlovewithlondonn @falconclaw244 @shiningpaint-marbleheart @jeremyth @hikaru-sama @ayatoq @krrkt @yureismellslikefanfic @samhelleborewrites @bi-panicatthedisco @hannya-writes @thomaliciouss @notisekais @lovelykrystal @raeharmonia @ayra2452008 @chikai-k @dreamsofmoney @shutingstar

To everyone who wanted part 2 :))

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter II - We Shall Find Our Answers

Summary: You and your family return to King’s Landing after several years, and you are dreading having to face your uncle again. While you cannot change the past, maybe the lines on his palm can show some insight into your future. And maybe, just maybe, the future might be bright for the two of you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 5,5k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece)

Notes: Pssst. Hey, you. I’m back. And I bring thee the continuation of this story, which I had a lot of fun writing. I intend on writing more for this little universe, so if you've liked this story so far, please consider staying tuned for more parts to come!

Just for clarification, I don’t understand much about the rules and laws of monarchy, but since this is my story and I’m already saying ‘screw canon’, we’re also gonna say ‘fuck tradition’ (and if any of the characters, especially Aemond, seem a bit ooc I deeply apologize, I’m just trying very hard to Bob-The-Builder the events of the show)

Also, I have purposefully left the question of the reader’s father somewhat ambiguous so there can be more leeway for the reader’s appearance to be undescribed.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

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It had been several years since you had last stepped foot in King’s Landing. Not since the death of your aunt and father. Or fathers. Which meant you hadn’t seen Aemond since that fateful night in Driftmark. You’d been by his side in an instant once Luke had shaken you awake wailing like a babe that he had done something terrible. You had held his hand as the maester tended to his wound, much to his mother’s grief. She had even tried pushing you away from her son, but his hand held tightly around yours prevented you from going too far. He had wanted, no, needed the comfort of your presence. But that all changed when Jace explained what had transpired, what he had called your younger brothers and, by extension, yourself. You had dropped his hand as if it burned, feeling more betrayed than ever, not missing the way your hurt was reflected in his own eyes. Well, eye. He had tried to talk to you after everyone had been excused but you fled from him, not wanting to face him just yet. Perhaps never again, you had thought at the time.

Now a grown woman, you returned to King’s Landing once more, summoned by the court for a hearing in which Ser Vaemond Velaryon intended to question Lucerys legitimacy as heir to Driftmark (which he was in for a surprise as your mother did not intend to pass Driftmark down to Luke, but to Jacaerys instead, as previously discussed and agreed with your grandparents, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, while she would name you, her firstborn,   as heir to the Iron Throne after her). So it’s no surprise you were not looking forward to this visit at all. 

While you had kept in contact with Helaena through exchanged ravens, you hadn’t once written to Aemond, nor had he done so to you. You were dreading the moment you had to see him again, as you didn’t know how he would react to seeing you after the way you left things off in the past. In reality… you missed him. You missed having someone to talk to, someone who truly cared about what you had to say, who shared similar interests to you and enjoyed the diverging ones all the same. You missed your study partner, as Jace’s high valyrian was incredibly subpar, leaving him far behind you in his studies. You simply missed having him. 

The first moment you had laid eyes on him had been, unsurprisingly, in the courtyard. You’d been following after your brothers as they explored what had changed and what hadn’t around the Keep, trying to ensure they didn’t get into any trouble, when you noticed a small crowd forming around two men engaged in a heated training match. One was none other than Ser Criston Cole, who hadn’t aged a single day but looked like the stick up his ass had slipped even further in, and the other… 

You couldn’t help but stare, oblivious to anything else around you. He had grown quite a lot in the years you’d been apart. He was taller, his shoulders pulled back and his head held high, no longer the timid, self-conscious boy you’d once known. Where Ser Criston was strong Aemond was fast, his tall frame and lithe shape allowing for a more fast paced combat, his movements sharp yet swift and even somewhat… graceful. 

“You should clean up, right there.” you snapped out of your reverie, brought back to focus by your brother Jace, who motioned to the corner of his own mouth with a smirk hanging from his lips “You’re drooling.”

Feeling a warm flush on your cheeks you swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, finding nothing there, as Jace chuckled at your naivety and moved to join the crowd along with Luke.

Little cunt.

You followed after your brothers just as Aemond had his sword pointed right at Ser Criston’s neck. You couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, only catching the tail end of their conversation.

“Have you come to train?” he had been saying, his eye trained on Luke, some underlying darkness swirling in it, before his gaze finally met you and something shifted in it almost imperceptibly “Little niece.” 

The way he said it, the use of the once mocking title, left you reeling. The tone he used made it so you couldn’t quite tell if he had been sneering at you or in awe at your presence, if he was jesting or quite serious, mocking or sincere.

But your musings were interrupted by the gates opening, Ser Vaemond walking in as if he owned the place. Or like he was owed something from this place. It seemed your dreaded reunion with your uncle would have to wait.

As much as you hated being back in King’s Landing you couldn’t deny this place did manage to keep you entertained. The hearing had gone as well as one could expect, with Ser Vaemond hurling one insult after another at both you, your brothers and your mother and ultimately losing his head for it. All was well with your family, Jace’s claim to Driftmark and his status as future Lord of the Tides and your own as heir to the Iron Throne after your mother had been reaffirmed by the King himself, backed by your grandmother. 

During the whole hearing you couldn’t help but glance at Aemond from the corner of your eye every once in a while. He had a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face all throughout Vaemond’s speech, the bastard, but once your mother mentioned her desire to establish you as her heir to the Throne something changed. His gaze met yours and his face softened, the smugness disappearing all together from his features. 

It was the last you saw of him, having taken off to the courtyard to relish in the diminishing sun as it lowered in the sky by sitting under the weirwood tree. Jace and Luke were enjoying a stroll around the Keep with their respective betrotheds, occasionally passing by your peripheral vision.

“I thought I’d find you here.” a voice cut through the air, souring your mood.

“Have you come to question my legitimacy as well, uncle?” you asked Aemond, who stood in front of you with his hands behind his back, before nodding in your brother’s direction as they skirted the edge of the courtyard “Be careful not to speak too loudly, we wouldn’t want you to lose yet another eye, now, would we?”

The smallest twitch of his eye was the only indication that he was bothered by what you said. You knew it was low, and you did feel a twinge of guilt about it, but the hurt you’d been cultivating for him since that night was festering in your heart.

“Always the jester, little niece.” he smirked, taking a seat next to you, keeping you on his good eye’s side.

“Only for you.” 

You both fell silent, the air around charged with years of tension built between the two of you.

“I haven’t heard from you in ages.” he spoke softly, facing forward.

“You didn’t write.” you jabbed.

“You didn’t either.” 

He had you there. 

“Helaena’s told me of your travels.” he tried again “You’ve visited quite a lot of places.”

“I wanted to see the realm.” you explained, feeling some of the tension dissipating as he extended an opportunity for you opened up “To learn the ways of the people we are to rule.”

He only hummed in response.

“And what about you?” you turned to him, noticing how his body seemed to instinctively turn towards you as well “How have you been faring?”

“Oh, you know.” he shrugged, nonchalantly “I have been busy, studying, training with a sword, as you’ve very well seen,” the smirk that formed on his face was enough to bring heat to your cheeks “and trying to stop Aegon from drowning in his cups every night.”

A giggle escaped from your lips, which in turn prompted a small grin from him. This moment, right here with him, felt like before; it felt freeing. The full weight of how much you had missed him hit you like a Vhagar-sized carriage. 

A moment of silence passed before he turned somber again.

“My mother has deemed it time for me to find a wife.” he spoke slowly, his words making something twist painfully in your chest “She’s been trying to find matches for me in some of the noble houses. But none of the ladies in court will even look at me.”

He cast his gaze down and away from you, his stoic demeanor cracking for a moment and giving way to a forlorn expression. It seemed… awfully familiar to you.

“I frighten them. Not just them, the maids too.” his voice was soft, resignation dripping from his words, the prideful man you saw earlier in the yard taking a step back to allow the shy and insecure boy you once knew to make a reappearance “I think your lines have lied to you. No lady would ever want a one-eyed husband.”

“Aemond-”

“I told you once before, I don’t appreciate your pity, niece.” his tone hardened, but it lacked venom, meaning he wasn’t angry with you, rather upset at himself.

You could only wonder how much the events of that night had changed him, for better and worse. He might argue that he had claimed a dragon, the biggest in the world, so that made things even but you could only imagine the kind of pain, both physical and emotional, he had gone through since then.

“For what is worth” you started, raising a hand to his face very slowly, giving him more than enough time to halt your movements. He flinched at first but eventually relaxed, allowing you to lay your hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing softly against the end of his scar “I am truly sorry for what happened that night. You didn’t deserve any of it.”  

His hand raised, grasping your wrist and running his own thumb on the skin at the edge of your sleeve.

“What I said that night,” he closed his eye for a moment then looked at you again “it was unbefitting. I never meant to hurt you.” he paused, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly, as if he was letting go of a lifetime of weight he’d been carrying “No more than I believe Lucerys meant to hurt me as badly as he did.”

It was an olive branch, you realized. Given how he now carried himself it was the closest thing to an apology you’d get. While he might not simply ever forgive your brother, he was willing to try and put it behind him, to let go of the pain, for you. And for that you’d forever be grateful to him. He tilted his head to the side, letting his lips linger on your palm for just a moment, before pulling your hand away from his face and carefully placing it on your lap again, both of you facing forward once more.

The silence that fell was not an uncomfortable one. It reminisced of the days you’d sit together in this same spot and wait for the servants to come fetch you when it was time for supper. But every nice moment had to be broken at some point.

“My grandsire and mother believe Aegon should be named my father’s heir.” he spoke after a moment, your head quickly snapping to look at him.

“What?”

“They believe that, as his firstborn son, he would have a better claim to the throne.” he glanced at you “That most lords would support him if it came to it.”

You were baffled by this revelation, even though you shouldn’t really be all that surprised. Otto Hightower was a cunt who would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne. As much as your mother resented her former friend you’d come to the conclusion that Otto had been the one responsible to sway Alicent against her. It shouldn’t come as a surprise he would be plotting against her. That’s why the man was smug about today’s hearing, and why his face promptly fell once Rhaenys made her support of Jacaerys, and by extension your mother, known. But…

“Why are you telling me this?” you questioned, confused as to why Aemond, the dutiful son, would tell on his family like that.

An amused grin, almost resembling a smirk, took over his features, his eye turned away from you.

“New information has come to light regarding the line of succession.”

Your heart clenched, a smile of your own appearing on your face. He recognized you as heir to the Throne, as a future queen. 

His smile, however, slowly slipped from his face, leaving a sad look in its wake.

“What troubles you, uncle?” you asked.

“I just-” he sighed, almost exasperated “I just do not understand how they could possibly believe Aegon of all people fit to be king. He, who disappears every fortnight for the Street of Silk, who’s barely ever sober during the day. He, who has his way with the servants while his own wife exists silently, he who, dare I say, barely understands a word of high valyrian and the importance of our family to the realm.”

His rant left him slightly breathless, as if he had been suppressing those feelings for a very long time. And although he had not dared say it, you heard the hidden meaning behind his words. If he, now a grown man, was anything like he was as a boy, he was much more suited to be king than his brother was. He was probably well studied in both history and philosophy, he knew his way quite well around a sword, as you’d seen, and he’d kept up with his lessons in high valyrian, like you had. He would make for a fine king, if it weren’t for your mother and, eventually, you.

And then it hit you.

Otto Hightower would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne.

“Give me your hand.” you spoke firmly. 

Aemond looked at you quizzically, taking too slow to comply so you forcefully grabbed his hand in yours, his palm facing upwards.

“Not this again.” he said, bemused.

As you ran your finger delicately over his palm, you took your time noticing the way calluses adorned the skin, once soft under your touch, probably from years of dragon riding and intense sword training. 

“Your line of life is still quite long, good.” you heard his scoff, although it sounded quite like a barely contained laugh “It means the Stranger will not come for you for quite a while still.”

His eye was trained on you as traced another line on his hand.

“And your line of heart still tilts upwards, so you will marry a woman who loves you dearly.”

You spoke with so much conviction, squeezing his hand, your eyes finally glancing up, locked firmly onto his own as you said it. 

“She’ll love and cherish you for everything that you are, unwaveringly and unapologetically. You’ll be hers as much as she’ll be yours.”

His eyes shone with barely contained hope, before you averted your gaze back to his palm.  

“And here,” you pointed to a small line near the bottom of his palm “is the line of the king. It appears only on the hands of those who are destined to rule over the realm.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t falter.

“You are jesting again, niece.” 

“I am not.” you shook your head, determined “The lines have never lied before, remember?” you mentioned, and he couldn’t argue with that, as the prediction you’d spoke of last time you found yourselves in this exact situation came true barely a few weeks afterwards “You will be king, Aemond.” 

You stood up quickly, barely brushing the skirts of your dress as you did.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You took off before he could question you, rushing out of the courtyard in search of your mother. You had a matter most important you needed to discuss with her, one you’d already brought up with her many moons ago, but which at the time felt more like a distant childish dream.

Aemond hadn’t spoken to you again until it was time for supper. He had caught a quick glimpse of you sometime after you left the courtyard, speaking in hushed whispers with your mother while Daemon looked thoroughly vexed. But before he could approach you and inquire about your sudden departure earlier, both you and your mother took off to one of your chambers, he assumed, leaving his uncle to stare murderously at him. While Aemond wasn’t frightened by Daemon, he would even go as far as to say he admired the man, something about the way he was staring at him deeply unsettled him, so he decided to leave and wait for a better opportunity to speak to you, alone.

Now, during what surely was to be one awkward meal, he could see you from the other side of the table where you sat next to Baela. You looked positively radiant, smiling with your step-sisters and occasionally jesting with your brothers. From time to time you’d catch his eye, your smile turning mirthful, as if you knew something he didn’t. More than once throughout the night he caught you and Rhaenyra sharing a small, quick nod to one another, and Daemon rolling his eyes whenever he also noticed it.

After King Viserys congratulated Jacaerys and Lucerys on their betrothals, Jace leaned over Baela and whispered something to you. While he looked sullen, Baela had a small understanding smile as you tried to sooth him. His face softened as you grasped his hands, trying to reassure him of something, Baela supporting you quietly. The overjoyed smile that took over your features as Jace nodded lit something in Aemond’s chest, his heart skipping a beat.

At a certain point, after the King’s speech and Rhaenyra and Alicent’s toasts, Aegon got up and leaned over to “whisper” something to Baela, catching the attention of all those around her. Aemond couldn’t hear what his brother said all the way from his side of the table, but whatever it was Jacaerys looked like he was about to drive a dagger through him. But you and your sharp words were quicker.

“At least he can stay sober long enough to get it up.” you spoke, your voice loud enough for the entire room to hear “Can Helaena say the same about you, uncle?”

Several reactions could be heard around the table. Helaena herself snorted into the wine she had been sipping, Daemon laughed loudly from his place at Rhaenyra’s side and even a small, tired chuckle could be heard leaving the King’s mouth. Aemond couldn’t help but smirk as his brother all but crumbled back in his seat, a frown unveiling his embarrassment. 

Jace took his time toasting both his uncles but there was something… different in the way he addressed each of them. Whereas Aegon’s name was said with mocking admiration and contempt, Jace’s tone as he said Aemond’s name was laced with quiet resignation. And the tiny grin he directed at Aemond took him by surprise.

Helaena, a little bit tipsy at this hour, also took the opportunity to congratulate Rhaena and Baela in their betrothals, also taking a jab at Aegon’s already wounded pride. While he felt his chest fill with pride for his sister, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the moment you shared with your mother once again, the questioning look on her face and the determined nod you gave as answer to whatever question you found in the depth of her eyes.

“Speaking of marriage,” Rhaenyra started as she stood up and turned to face the seats of his father, mother and grandsire “my only daughter is now of marrying age as well.”

Aemond felt something twist painfully in his chest at the thought, turning his eye to glance at you and was surprised to find you already looking at him, the corners of your lips turned up in a soft grin.

“I would like to make a proposition.” your mother continued, turning to look at him, bringing his attention back to her. He felt his heartbeat increase as she stared at him for a moment longer, some heat climbing to his cheeks, before she turned to address his family once again, her eyes locked onto Alicent “I would like to propose we wed her to your second son, Prince Aemond.”

He barely registered anything else over the thunderous flow of blood against his eardrums, reflecting on the speed at which his traitorous heart was beating in his chest. He glanced back at you, watching as you smiled warmly at him. Something in him just felt right. He felt as if everything was falling into place within his life.

Aemond had never let himself want. He realized quite early in his life that he would only ever be the second son, and considering how much his father favored Rhaenyra over any other of his other children, he didn’t really matter much in comparison to his siblings. So he had learned never to wish for anything for himself, he had never dared hope that good things would come to him. And now here you were, the only one who has ever truly cared for him, offering something he never allowed himself to dream of.  

“And” Rhaenyra continued, drawing his attention back to her. There was more? What else could she possibly offer that could be worth more than that? He allowed himself a quick glimpse at Daemon, who once again looked bothered by what she was about to say “once I have come to pass and it is time for her to take over as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he would be crowned king alongside with her. He would be not a prince, nor king consort, but a true king. They would rule as equals, and eventually their children would sit in the Iron Throne after them.”

What?

As soon as the words were out of her mouth his mind simply ceased to work. They were thinking of… what? His head quickly snapped to look at his family, wanting to gauge their reactions as well and assess if they were just as confused as he felt.

His father was positively delighted at the prospect of uniting his fractured family once more. His mother, on the other hand, looked irked at Rhaenyra for having sprung this proposition in front of Viserys, as he’d obviously agree, and she wasn’t looking forward to having a possible bastard as her son’s wife (even if she knew he once cared deeply for you). And his grandsire… he looked conflicted. Otto Hightower wasn’t an easy man to read, but he had been so caught by surprise that he was wearing all his emotions on his sleeve. While he, like Alicent, seemed bothered by the timing of this proposal, he also looked… intrigued?

“We were thinking of passing Dragonstone down to Aegon and keeping both Aemond and my daughter here in King’s Landing so they can learn with me and the council the ways of ruling, so they are well prepared when it comes their time to rule.” 

“And what of Lucerys?” Alicent questioned warily.

“He would live in Driftmark with Jace, learning the ways of salt and sea, in hopes of one day becoming my, and later his sister’s, Master of Ships.” Rhaenyra completed.

Silence ruled over the room for a moment, nobody daring to utter a word. Not even the servants, watching from the corners, made a single sound.

“And who was the one” Viserys spoke slowly, getting more tired as the night progressed “behind such a wonderful idea?” 

“I-” your mother started, but Daemon quickly cut her off.

“The girl did.” he nodded his head towards you, a smug smile growing on his lips at the prospect of possibly throwing you under the carriage. 

Aemond’s head snapped towards you, your smile never wavering. So that’s what you had been speaking to Rhaenyra all day. After your talk in the courtyard, you’d gone off to find your mother, to express your wishes not only to marry Aemond, but to also make him king. Just like the lines on his palm told you. But… why?

“And just what” Otto questioned, as if reading his grandson’s mind “has led the princess to decide to break hundreds of centuries of tradition and wish to share the Throne?”

Rhaenyra turned back to you, sending a silent question in your direction yet again. You shook your head and stood up, as if deciding to face the judgment of the Hightowers all by yourself.

“While my family has resided in Dragonstone for the past few years, my lord,” you started, an eloquence that indicated you’d been preparing, and maybe even rehearsing, this speech in your mind for a while “I have taken to flying around the realm on dragonback, visiting all of the Seven Kingdoms. I’d wished to see for myself and understand the people I’d one day rule over. However, being away from King’s Landing for so long also means I am not versed in the matters of court. Prince Aemond, on the other hand,” oh, how sweet your voice sounded when you said his name accompanied by his title “has lived his entire life here in the Red Keep. He’s been in these halls, around the lords and ladies of court, for quite a while and knows how such matters are supposed to work. I believe our knowledge combined will give us the strength, as a unity, required to rule over the realm together and establish a peaceful and prosperous reign.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you paused, your expression souring.

“And” you chuckled mirthlessly, your previously warm smile falling to a resigned one “I am a woman. The lords of the noble houses of Westeros may support my mother’s claim as they have sworn an oath to his grace, the King, but many of them are already of advanced age and may soon come to perish, some have already died even. While most of these houses are righteous and their sons and grandsons will likely honor their ancestors' wishes and support me as my mothers heir, there is no telling what will happen. They might not take kindly to yet another woman ruling over the realm, and especially one they didn’t technically agree on. So as much as I loathe to admit it, having a man by my side, supporting me as an equal, would strengthen my claim and prevent anyone from questioning me as queen.”

It made sense, all of it. Change as impactful as this tends to happen over time, not all at once, and it was known the men of the realm would not so easily accept a woman on the Iron Throne, something Aemond knew his grandsire was counting on to bring Aegon to power eventually, so it was a smart move to have a husband at your side. Your arguing was solid, and Otto Hightower seemed to agree as he reclined back on his seat, somewhat impressed.

Alicent, however, looked like she still wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

“And why would you wish to marry my son?” she questioned, her tone stern.

Your smile faltered briefly, betraying your confusion.

“Why, your grace, I believe I have already explained-”

“No,” she cut you off “you’ve explained why this union would be beneficial for you as a representative of the Crown. I want to know why you wish to marry him. You could have any man in the realm, hells, there have been rumors that Cregan Stark himself has requested an audience in Dragonstone, possibly to request a courtship for your hand.” That was before anyone knew Rhaenyra planned on making you her heir and it was believed you’d inherit nothing at all, Aemond caught himself thinking “So why do you want to marry Aemond?”

That had him leaning forward in his seat. He knew, logically, this marriage stemmed from convenience. He knew he, and you as well, were mere pawns in your family’s schemes. But he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind your proposal. Even if it was just a political move, he would have accepted in a heartbeat but he dared to wish, no, hope that you actually wanted this, that you wanted him.

“I…” you fumbled for a moment, averting your gaze before steeling yourself, eyes locking with his mother’s once more “My uncle and I were close once, many years ago. We used to share a connection that has since been lost to time.” 

You took a deep breath, as if preparing to reveal your deepest secrets to the whole family.

“I would like for us to get to know one another once more and go back to the way things were. Maybe even strengthen our bond.” you then turned to him, your eyes soft and warm and with the slightest of glimmer to them, as if you were willing yourself not to shed any tears “And I believe, with time, I could learn to love him dearly. I would love and cherish him for everything that he is, unwaveringly and unapologetically.” your lips trembled almost imperceptibly, so much so that had he not been paying close attention to you he’d have missed it “I’d be his as much as he’d be mine.”

Aemond felt his breath hitch, his heart hammering in his chest once more. He didn’t know what to think. This, right here, seemed so unreal. Deep down he knew this might just be the solution to everyone’s problems, it could be the very thing that mended the divide that had been growing inside of House Targaryen, but… could it be possible? Would his family agree?

“I believe this to be an amazing occasion.” the King spoke, looking happier than he’d been in a long while, before turning to his wife “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Alicent in turn looked to her father for answers and Aemond waited with bated breath for his response. Otto’s word was law in her eyes, Aemond  knew, so he was the one who had final say in the matter. His answer came as a tiny nod and in that moment, as Aemond barely registered his mother’s next words, he had never been more grateful for his grandsire.  

“I am inclined to agree that this will be a most blessed union.” Alicent said, her smile, always cold when it came to you, warming considerably.

“It’s settled then. Looks like we’ll have a wedding even sooner than expected.” Viserys then tapped his cane on the ground “Let us have some music.” 

As the musicians started playing an animated melody, Aemond felt lighter than he had in years. He could hardly care for everyone around him, not even noticing anyone’s reaction to the news other than your own. With his eye focused solely on you he could see the relief settling in at his mother’s words as you beamed at him, more radiant than ever.

“Aemond, dear, why don’t you take your betrothed for a dance?” 

He was out of his seat before Alicent could even finish her sentence, crossing the space between you in wide strides and extending a hand to you. You accepted gracefully. As you positioned yourselves to dance, you smiled bashfully at him, looking down at your feet, slightly embarrassed.

“I hope you can find it in you to forgive me for bringing this up all of a sudden, uncle.” you explained, looking back at him “I didn’t want to waste another moment and risk losing my chance.” 

It was his turn to smile, not a smirk or a smug grin, a genuine smile. 

“There is nothing to forgive, little niece.” the way he said the moniker this time, once used to mock you, was so filled with only affection and care that it almost brought tears to your eyes once again.

You danced for a few moments in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Then you leaned closer to him, as if wanting to share something privy to his ears alone.

“I told you once before, Aemond.” your smile turned into the tiniest of smirks “The lines don’t lie.” 

His heart clenched at the memory, which seemed so distant yet so fresh in his mind. He tightened his grip around you, bringing your body even closer to his own, wanting to feel you close to him, genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

“Indeed,” he whispered softly back to you, leaning his head against your own “I guess they truly don’t.”

And then everyone is happy, Rhaenyra and her family don’t leave for Dragonstone before dawn, meaning she’s there when Viserys goes to sleep forever, meaning she’s crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, meaning the Greens don’t usurp the Throne, meaning the Dance never happened, meaning no one dies and everyone lives happily ever after, hurray!

(About Daemon's behavior, he’s not mad at reader or Rhaenyra, nor does he dislike reader in any way. He’s just resentful Rhaenyra hasn’t thought nor has she offered to what she does to Aemond in this story. And as we know, when these Targaryen boys are frustrated, they tend to lash out. Hope this clarifies some things!)

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

[f4riedimples]

i bet you can do a katniss x fem reader smut

haunted

pairings: Katniss Everdeen x fem!reader

warnings:public!sex,degrading,fingering,dom!katniss,sub!reader,strap on,slight!daddy kink

word count:1803

“I know that I’m onto you, I’m onto you.”

“Hey baby.” Katniss said a bit coldly as her voice rasped. It wasn’t her attention to be rude, that was just her sometimes.

“hey! So are peeta and haymitch still coming over tonight?” You asked hopeful. You hadn’t seen haymitch in so long and honestly thought you never would again.

you both also noticed peeta had started to improve months after the rebellion which gave you hope.

“Definitely. I’d make sure of it if they tried to get out.” Before you know it you felt a small kiss on your forehead causing you to smile sweetly.

as Katniss started to walk away you came up behind her and started to lean up and kiss her neck a bit. This caused her to tense a bit In surprise and satisfaction.

your kisses were innocent but as you kissed her jaw you realized that this was doing more for her then wholesome affection.

you gave her a kiss on her sweet spot and almost innocently did everything become a blur before you were pinned up against the wall.

you felt her roughly kiss you which you quickly reciprocated. It felt good knowing how (hard she can fuck you) much she cared and love you.

you lightly push her away just for a tease but just as she was about to go back in the doorbell rang.

you gave a small pout as Katniss glared. You weren’t too upset but katniss definitely was. It was understandable though.

you went to the door and opened it to reveal haymitch. You immediately hugged him and almost let tears of joy fall. Before you can even pull away Katniss is hugging him as well.

once you both pull away, haymitch gives a genuine smile. “Well hello, sweethearts. I guess you too are glad to see me.”

you smile at the once mocking name turned into a genuine one of endearment.

“of course we did.” Katniss says softly with a happy smile.

as the night goes on of course peeta also comes with a a cake in hand. He looks like he’s genuinely starting to be happy again.

just like his old self.

the night is spent with a nice dinner and dessert, reminiscing on the past and thinking of the future, how far you’ve all come and how hard you all fought.

it all paid off.

eventually you and Katniss are sat on the couch as peeta and haymitch take a comfortable seat on the floor in front of you both. They seem too in bliss with their current conversation.

as you listen you suddenly feel a hand creeping up your leg. You rub your legs together to make sure you’re not just imagining things before turning your head to Katniss.

She seems to be looking at the two in front of you but you can tell she might have a serious gaze or smirk on her face.

she’s playfully arrogant but Also serious. Especially when she feels cheated. This wouldn’t be a look or facade just to make you quiver.

she felt like you were only trying to tease her already. Only trying to tease her and get away with it.

before you can try to focus on whatever haymitch and peeta are talking about you feel Katniss slip in her hand just on the waistband of your panties.

You feel her teasing you before slipping two fingers in. She’s already curling her fingers wanting to hit that spot.

you try to look at Katniss begging for pity but she isn’t even paying attention to you. You can’t believe it. You also can’t believe the way you’re struggling to hold back the softest moans already.

you’re too scared to close your eyes. Too scared that if you do it for a split second you’ll hear laughter or gasp. Or silence. Maybe a yell or words of question. Something.

suddenly you feel Katniss swiftly remove her hand sharply leaving you with an empty feeling. Now you feel a mix of emotions. On one hand you don’t wanna get caught but on the other now you’re craving Katniss.

you’re surprised You didn’t let out a gasp though. You almost drown thinking that Katniss is gonna stop and had just teased you.

you thought that.

your mind started to come back to the conversation before you feel something rubbing against your clothed clit. Damn her!, is all you can think.

You knew what she was planning to do. But you didn’t stop her. You wanted it. It was fucking wrong and selfish, respect lacking and greedy.

but you didn’t care. You needed this. No matter how shameful it was.

you start to feel Katniss move your panties to the side as she teases your entrance with strap on. You feel Katniss suddenly rubbing it back and forth against your clit firmly causing your eyes to widen, for you to purse you lips to not moan.

it felt so good. The pleasure was gone but before you could complain it was back but even better. Somewhere better.

you feel Katniss slowly and gently sliding the strap-on into you as she holds the side of your waist for leverage and assistance.

she wants to to immediately bottom out but she knows it’s not the best idea. As she listens to the conversation she slowly starts moving in and out. You can’t deny how good it feels.

you don’t know why but the fact that you guys are doing this in secret is turning you on even more. She grips your waist more firmly as she thrust in a little stronger.

she picks up the pace a tiny bit so it’s not teasing but so it’s also soft. As you let her do this you guys hear some noise outside of the house and realize that’s it’s probably some lost animals just rummaging around.

but thankfully this extra noise causes more noise and even for haymitch and peeta to laugh and talk more.

usually you would think they would turn around to try and include you and Katniss in conversation, only to be shocked or suspicious at how quiet you’re both being with the look on your face.

but thankfully they don’t.

and with this extra noise Katniss uses this as an advantage to pick up the pace a tiny bit more. It’s a little fast now but it’s not causing too much noise that could be picked up.

you immediately clasp your hand over your mouth softly trying to hold it all in. You look to the corner of your eye as Katniss leans right in your ear and speaks.

“Are you a slut? Or maybe a whore? Either way you’re acting like one getting fucked in front of your best friends.” You almost threw your head back because even though her words worried you they also turned you on.

“Answer the damn question.” Katniss hissed in your ear as she continued to fuck you. You tried to shake your head no as you looked at her with the most pathetic eyes.

but obviously it didn’t seem that way. She didn’t believe a word you said. “You are a slut. You’re my slut. You’re just letting me do this to you with no shame.”

she speed her movements in the slightest making sure not to bounce into couch. She didn’t want you to even try to let out the words you were going to.

Katniss took a peak under the covers just enough to see how wet the strap on was. She slowed down a bit to tease. “Poor little thing letting daddy use her.” A part of you just wanted to Katniss to shut up or at least you tried to convict yourself that.

her words were so dirty but sounded so good coming from her. “You like the feeling of my cock in you?” At this point you were wondering how good of a whisper Katniss was.

You know there’s noise coming from what feels like everywhere but how aren’t they hearing this? Suddenly you see Katniss moving her legs so they’re still on the couch. Before you know it she slowly slides all the way in and from anyone who doesn’t move the cover it just looks like you two are spooning.

You feel Katniss firmly grab your hand and take it away before starting small thrust. Small thrust that eventually get a tiny bit longer and harder.

“maybe if i remove the cover and spread your legs for me then our friends will know just how much of a whore you are. It would be a normal thing for you right?” Katniss mocks.

this is stupid. Immature. But so fucking good. “You like it when I fill you up this way. That’s why you aren’t complaining.” This is really starting to take you over the edge now.

you try not to let out a small whimper. You try so hard. Your breath picks up in the slightest as Katniss doesn’t let up. She reaches her hand under the cover and spreads your legs.

not only is she going deeper but now she’s able to rub your clit. You try to whisper back but you know it’s gonna be breathy and too loud.

all you can mouth is “fuck.”

you see Katniss gulp softly as she starts to cum. She grips the top of the couch with one hand and grips your hip with the other as she starts to go as fast as she can without making noises.

after she cums you’re right behind her. Katniss gives your neck some kisses and a small lick.

this was the real punishment. Fucking your like this in front over everyone.

Your legs almost tremble as you cum. You let out a small whimper that’s thankfully covered by the sound of haymitch and peeta letting out loud laughter. You can’t help it anymore.

you turn to Katniss and give her a lustful kiss not caring if you get caught in the aftermath. At first you wanted to walk away after this act in front of your friends but it made you feel too many things.

you wipe your brow to make sure you’re not sweating and you’re thankful to realize your skin just heated up a bit.

you look at Katniss and wait. She slowly pulls out almost causing you to moan. Just as you were fixing your bottoms it seemed as though the night was over.

you almost wanted to believe they know. It feels impossible but they seem so unaware. Katniss looks calm as ever so you immediately try to make sure you look the same.

Katniss tucked her toy away, you got up and went out of the living room with slight jelly legs.

Katniss said her goodbyes and good nights to your friends as if nothing happened.

[miserycanary]

MISSION: LOVE KILL  ᡣ𐭩 [trailer]

pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: the trailer to my very first full-length series set in a soulmate AU. 

pairings: (applies to future parts) angst, smut, fluff, mutual pining, misunderstandings, rivals to lovers to rivals, featuring Ghost's inability to communicate, graphic mentions of violence, might hint to sexual violence, BARELY PUT TOGETHER, torture, one bed trope, i-will-wait-for-you trope, loving-you-is-like-breathing trope, slowburn (unless I get bored and rush this), poor poor attempt in crack, will add more as we go on

The subtle searing pain on the back of his neck is enough reason for Ghost to hate the idea of soulmates existing. It wasn’t just the fact that he has lived up to his 30s feeling like a fire wasp is buzzing under his skin, it was that the government fully developed their system with pairs in mind. You mean to tell him that he has to have found his partner—who’s probably cities or even continents away—just so that he could fucking own property? Utter fucking bullshit, he calls it. 

‘Nutjobs! The lot of them’

It was also the fact he had to watch his mum’s so-called soulmate almost beat them up to death each day. How could someone whose single purpose in life is to torment them be his mother’s soulmate? Fate either has a weird take on the concept of love and the whole shenanigan or it’s fucking wicked. Either way, the S-word has left a bad taste in his mouth—and memory. He would rather die, not having property—or anything really—to his name if it means that he wouldn’t comply to the fucking standards of pairs. 

Or so he thought because, once again, life is fucking wicked like that. 

When he first broke the news that he would be retiring from the army, he expected his future days ahead full of smooth-sailing lounging. Maybe a cup of tea in hand or even some biscuits if he was feeling fancy. Imagine his shocked face when he inquired with a real-estate agent to finally have something to call home, no longer needing to stay by some cheap hotel with what his little pay could afford, that he cannot fucking do that! 

“Yeah, this would be good. Really nice stuff here,” Ghost gruffs. “Yeah? Well, let’s get started then. Um, here are the paperworks that you need to fill out. Uhh, you just need to input your government code and your partner’s. It is policy that you bring your pair in with you when it comes to legal documents, but I’m sure that we could make an exception for our veteran here,” the agent smiles; one that Ghost did not reciprocate. “I ain’t got a missus with me. Haven’t found them yet.” 

It was a simple explanation, not wanting to dwell too much on his reasons. Before he could even take the papers in his hand, the man retracts. Confusion etched on Ghost’s face while pity is on the man’s. “Oh, I am really sorry but you are legally required to have a partner before you could own property—or anything for that matter.” Ghost looked this agent for a good few minutes, anticipating the ‘sike’ that he desperately wishes to hear but only dead silence echoes. “Surely you could, say, make an except for a veteran?” he nervously chuckles out, trying to weasel his way into a fucking home. Nothing. Dead fucking silence that’s heavy with pity. Ghost loathes it.

Without even saying a word, he turns his back and starts walking towards the car he rented today, because you can’t even own a car in this government! He should have flagged it as weird when the lady in the car shop insists that he should rent first before buying something. So, now he sits in the dingy bar that Soap has dragged him into after he informed the force that he would not be settling anytime soon. After explaining his circumstance, he expected them to react like he did before, but no. They all replied like they knew this. Even saying stuff like, “you didn’t know?” Of course he didn’t! It wasn’t like Ghost was invested in property or anything for that matter while he was serving. All he cared about was surviving each day, and that is it. 

“Aye, cheer up, lad. Life ain’ that bad. Ya’ just gotta get them lassie, and all yer problems would go away,” the Scot on his right drunkenly offers advice—a shit one at that. Did he really think Ghost hasn’t stepped foot on every land they got deployed with heavy hopes that he’ll find whoever he needs to find there? He fucking hates it here. He should have not retired this early if he knew this would happen. Now he needs to go around the world and search for the lassie whose presence—or her lack thereof—is the root of all his problems. 

If finding a needle in a haystack is hard, imagine finding a lady that’s probably moving countries as he speaks with Soap. “Yeah, like that’s fucking easy,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes before lifting his mask just enough to down his shot of whiskey. The fiery burn of the alcohol down his throat is nothing compared to the one on his neck. He would rather have it cut at this point than to go on about this miserable lifetime any longer.

“Should I just cut and peel it off?” he mumbles to no one in particular; probably to Fate if that shit is listening. Seeing that no one else in the rundown bar is really paying attention to him, Soap takes the honour in replying to him instead. “According tae what I’ve seen, jobby pain is hee haw compared tae th' pain ye will feel in yer heart. Doctors say that th' pain goes tae th' heart instead while tripling”. Unprompted, Ghost curses like a fucking sailor. Saying stuff that will probably get him on the government's watchlist if he wasn’t part of the military serving this goddamn country. He risks his life daily and this is what he gets? Ungrateful bastards.

With a slam of the glass on the mahogany table, he stands up with a new profound determination. “Fuck it, I’m finding that missus if it’s the last thing that I do”. “Eyy, that’s the spirit, matie,” Soap drunkenly encourages him, which should have been the first red flag on this idea. Any idea supported by Soap is an immediate botch.

Well, what could go wrong? He’s retired anyway. 

Turns out, many could go wrong. Well, here’s to the fucking shit-show of his life.

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[scarletwinterxx]

i might just love you 'til the end - joshua hong imagine

i admit this is very self indulgent, it's my bday and i wanted to write this so here we are🥺🥺😅

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A cold bed is not something you expected you'd wake up to on the morning of your birthday. Usually you'd wake up with your boyfriend's arms wrapped around you like your own personal weighted blanket but that wasn't the case today thus prompting you to get up and go look around the house for the said missing boyfriend.

Thinking he might've went to the gym so you didn't expect to see him until later but then you hear some noises coming from the kitchen and some music playing.

Making your way downstairs and to the kitchen, you see Joshua standing with his back to you while holding a spatula in one hand. Too lost in his own world, humming along the tune of Sunday Morning playing in the background.

You smile as you walk towards him, catching him off guard when he suddenly feel a pair of arms hug him from behind.

"Hey, you. You're up early" he says, looking around to catch a glimpse of you

You cuddle against his back, seeking the warmth you missed this morning. He lets you be, knowing how clingy you get when you're sleepy. He doesn't mind it one bit when you sleep on him or fall alseep when you're with him. To him it's an honor, knowing you feel safe around him to fall asleep quickly after you told him you used to struggle with that before meeting him.

Feeling content with the quiet surrounding, he gently sways back and forth as he finishes the stack of pancakes with you still clinging to him.

"You weren't there so I woke up" you mumbled after a while, earning a chuckle from him

"Sorry, I wanted to make us breakfast. I was going to take it up to you but since you're already here, let me set up the table after I finish with the pancakes"

"I'll do it, you finish here" you tell him, giving him a final squeeze before separating from him. Before you can walk away, he grabs you by the arm making you crash back into his awaiting arms

He looks down at you with a smile, eyes locking with your eyes "Happy birthday, my darling"

You grin at him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him on the lips "Thank you, baby"

"Oh and I got you flowers, that's not my main gift I'll give that later but I hope you like them" he says as he grab the bouquet from the table to pass it to you

"Josh, these are so pretty" you coo at him, "Thank, baby. Really. You don't have to get me anything but I appreciate all the effort, you really do know how to make this day extra special"

"How can I not when my most favorite person is born today. I'm just so happy to be celebrating this day with you"

You put the flowers down to give him another hug, Joshua does the same. Wrapping his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. He can hear your giggles, the sound making all the butterflies erupt in his stomach. He really truly is deeply in love with you.

"You're my favorite person too. I'm so thankful for you" you tell him

He gives your cheeks and your nose kisses before kissing you on the lips, smiling as he takes your breath away like he always does whenever he kisses you.

"Tell me what you want, name it. Anything"

"Really? Anything?"

"Mhm, what do you have in mind?" he asks, noticing the cheeky look in your eyes

"If I say I want to celebrate all of my birthdays like this, us in our kitchen cooking breakfast"

He looks at you, your future together already unfolding in his mind. Of course there's no one else he can imagine spending the rest of his life with but you.

He leans down, capturing your lips once again before answering you

"Consider it done, I'm yours forever my darling"

You smile hearing him say the word forever. For him, you'd believe it actually exists. You'd use all your birthday wishes just to make sure you're going to stay right where you are right now.

"Get ready for a whole day of romantic gestures and all out cheesiness because I'm only getting started" he jokes, putting you down before getting back to cooking

"Wouldn't celebrate this day any other way"