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cobragardens · 7 months

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The Colors of Crowley

Black is the color Crowley uses to cover himself, red is the color that represents Crowley to himself, and yellow is the color that represents Crowley to Aziraphale. What each color symbolizes and how it's used give us important information about Crowley (and to some degree Aziraphale) and about the ineffable relationship.

I feel kind of dumb writing this post because I'm sure it's glaringly obvious to everyone else, but there's this Metro UK article of all things (the Metro is owned by the hardcore rightwing Daily Mail, btw, so please don't link to it) that mentions the red stitching on Crowley's gloves in 1867, and it made conscious some details I had only subconsciously noted, so fwiw to anybody else, here are my notes on the colors associated with Crowley in Good Omens and their significance in the context of the way each one is used.

I don't think we need to cover black-as-evil in Western color symbology. [And yet here's a long-ass paragraph about it anyway! --Ed.] Light:dark::good:evil has been a thing with Christianity since before Christianity was even Judaism. The Israelites picked it up from the Zoroastrians way back before YHWH had subsumed El as 'God,' which may have been before they were Israelites as well; I mean it was a LONG time ago. Good Omens has been using black and white to represent Hell and Heaven, respectively, long before the show. In the UK, the book was published in paperback with a choice of black or white cover with an illustration of the contrasting character in the contrasting color: Crowley illustrated in black, Aziraphale in white. The current hardcover is grey.

Crowley wears black, and the Bentley is black. At the metanarrative or authorial level this is obviously for the purposes of the black/white demon/angel contrast, but on the intra-narrative level, the Watsonian level, it's interesting to note that Crowley doesn't have to wear black. He's obviously not free to choose from the full color palette, but Furfur's shirt and sash are is dark emerald green, Dagon is in ultramarine (as befits a marine Elder God), and Shax has only been on Earth for four years before she's wearing head-to-toe oxblood. When she shows up later in battle dress she's got a lot of oxblood there, too. And yet Crowley wears black.

Authorial reasons aside, black suits Crowley for a couple intra-narrative reasons. For much of history, black was the most expensive color to dye and maintain in clothing, and as a result it has always been fashionable. And for several centuries in Christendom, wearing black was also a sign that you were in mourning, which was a social and religious obligation when someone close to you died. Whether you could wear other colors with it depended on how long ago that death had occurred.

Again: black is what Crowley chooses to cover himself, and as there is a sharp distinction between how Crowley presents himself to fulfill his obligations and who he thinks of himself as being, there is likewise a distinction between the colors that represent those two quantities as well.

Red is the color the show uses to represent Crowley to Crowley. The most obvious reason is his hair. This is another change from Book Omens, where Crowley is described as having hair that is "dark." A lot of fans in the UK hated the change when S1 came out because fans hate change and the British have a thing against gingers, but Crowley's red hair suits him better than dark imo because the Mother of Demons in Jewish religious literature, Lilith, is traditionally depicted with red hair. Red hair has been associated for more than a millenium in the Middle East and England and Wales with sorcery, witchcraft, demonic influence/possession, and satan-worship.

Crowley wishes his mom was this cool with snakes.

A good case can be made that Crowley genuinely likes the color red in addition to considering it demonically appropriate. I say this for three reasons. Firstly, because when he has a (limited) choice of (again, demonically appropriate) colors, he always chooses red. The marble of the desk in his apartment is not green or grey. He can have any color stitching on his gloves or lining of his jacket collar he wants, but it's always red. Secondly, it's not only red he chooses, it's almost always bright red.

We know Crowley's red isn't supposed to represent blood or violence, because we have another demon character whose use of red represents just that, and it's not the same red:

Compare Shax' oxblood and burgundy to

and

Crowley's red isn't just red, it's lipstick, cherry, crimson red. And in case we weren't sure that we should read this red as symbolizing passionate, romantic love:

Romantic symbolism aside, bright red is also the color of passion (romantic or otherwise), optimism, heat, vitality, life, (hell)fire, and warning.

Red and black says don't fuck with Jack.

The third reason I think we can safely say that Crowley actually likes the color red is that he hides it. It's always tiny little touches, some of which you have to look for to see. (I still don't know where they snuck in the red on his Elizabethan habit, e.g.) And we know this color is a risk for him, and that he is right to hide it, because Ligur, who doesn't approve of any of Crowley's less-than-fully-demonic embellishments and may share Hastur's opinion that Crowley has gone native, comments on one of Crowley's more noticeably colorful items.

And I think the red tells us one more thing about Crowley, too.

Bright red is the colorest of colors, you know? When we can choose only one color to represent all colors, to represent colorfulness itself, we choose bright red (even in cultures where red symbolizes other meanings than it does in Western art).

Remember how Aziraphale gives Crowley's jacket a tartan collar when he swaps bodies with Crowley and impersonates him in Hell because Aziraphale feels the need to maintain some small secret token of his identity, some tiny unremarked sign of something he loves and thinks is beautiful, when he is down there alone in the gloom among enemies?

Crowley is down there alone among enemies every second of every day and night, whether he's in Hell or on Earth. And he's already had his identity stripped from him once. If you were someone who said

about this

and then you got recruited by the fash downstairs bc the fash upstairs threw you out for not being fashy enough and you had to start wearing nothing but dark colors and more importantly had to hide everything that made you feel warmth or softness or joy, and that was it, that was the deal for eternity, but you could add one (1) little touch to everything you wore to remind yourself that there is some beautiful part of you left, something you loved once, that no one has yet been able to steal or brutalize out of you...what color would the stitching on your gloves be?

Lastly, Yellow represents Crowley to Aziraphale. I'm going to skip the chain of evidence for this bc I think it's obvious, but the way it's used also lends itself to some inferences supported in other areas in the show.

Here's where I think changing Crowley's hair to red from Book Omens' dark is a good decision in another way. Crowley always has red hair, and if he has any color in his clothes it's going to be red. Red is eye-catching; it always stands out, but it doesn't stand out as demonic. And yet the color Aziraphale associates with Crowley and calls "pretty" isn't red.

I suspect that when Aziraphale says he can make Crowley an angel again, Crowley hears "You're not good enough for me to accept you as you are, let me fix you" because these are words Aziraphale has said to him many times, and has meant some of those times. But

tells the audience differently. The color Aziraphale associates with Crowley, the color he calls "pretty," is the color of Crowley's only overtly demonic feature. Aziraphale doesn't love the angel he knew who isn't Crowley, he loves Crowley, the demon, the person he is now, his yellow demon irises.

Yellow appears in three other places in S2, and they're all symbolically significant, and in fact serve to establish another symbolic significance to the color yellow in addition to that of Yellow Is the Color of My True Love's Eyes.

One of them is a feather duster:

Crowley reacts to a feather duster like a cat confronted by an unfamiliar object

The other three are private conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley:

The walls that surround Crowley and Aziraphale when they speak openly about their situation and how they will handle it are drenched in yellow, and that is super interesting, because in Western color symbolism yellow is the color of fear. The archangel of whom Crowley and Aziraphale are both (rightly) terrified wields a tool the color of fear. The color of fear saturates the backdrop of conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley when they have to discuss their situation and their actions openly.

Remember how Aziraphale's voice shakes here?

Crowley realizes the crows have just handed an angel evidence the angel can take to Hell and use to have Crowley killed

Even the Bentley, that clear sign of Aziraphale's love for Crowley, is also a yellow coffin enclosing him. For Aziraphale, thoughts of Crowley are always entangled with fear, because Crowley is not just Crowley, he is also Crowley's Fall.

And I think fear is what Crowley's eyes themselves represent. For Crowley, fear is now a fundamental part of his perception, his nature, his identity.

The angel Aziraphale once knew is not Crowley, and yet from what we've seen, the chiefest difference in character between this sweetheart and this mischief-maker--

--is that the Starmaker does not know yet that he should be afraid, and the Serpent does. That knowledge and its fear has, shall we say, colored his view of the world.

Aziraphale learns that fear early by observing others rather than Falling himself, and knows enough that by the first time we meet him in the Before, he is already afraid.

Pink was once symbolically equivalent to red; in modern Western color symbology it is a color of innocence, youth, beauty, and first love. Hashtag just sayin'.

The cruellest thing this suggests to me is that, rather than rebellion or his propensity to ask questions, rather than the knowledge of good and evil, the Starmaker's Fall was caused by his innocence. it wasn't the questions that were the problem: it was that he didn't know any better than to speak them out loud.

Y'all, Crowley and Aziraphale do not suffer from communication problems. Despite both being male-coded and British, they don't even seem to lack emotional intelligence. What they do have is a universe of silence and fear they have to communicate within and around. What they lack is the safety to speak and love freely. The true color of Crowley is crimson, but someone gave him those eyes, and Aziraphale either watched that happen or knew about it, and now Crowley covers himself in black--which btw is also the symbolic color for mystery and secrets--and only lets Aziraphale see him as he really is now, because Aziraphale won't judge him for his yellow eyes (or punish and forsake him for his questions). Because Aziraphale carries that fear with him too.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens analysis #good omens crowley color analysis #good omens crowley color #crowley #good omens colour analysis good omens crowley colour #good omens colour #good omens meta #angel!crowley #starmaker

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i23kazu · 8 months

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PAPA OF THE MELUSINES

characters. neuvillette x gn!reader genre. domestic romantic fluff. an. this will be ooc... practice will be the way i get to write neuvillette! so please don't comment things like "no he would not say that" because fanfic will be fanfic! neuvillette is 100% the melusines' father. the melusines act like kids okay please let me have this PLEASE. i beg | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

neuvillette never thought he would ever hear anyone call him 'papa'. between juggling his life at opera epiclese, as well as his, well, dwindling social life... there really wasn't any time to father anyone, let alone find a partner. it was an archon-blessed miracle that he even managed to find you, amongst fontaine's population. and even then? neuvillette never thought he would ever hear anyone call him 'papa'.

that didn't stop from looking at the five or so (more) melusines clamoring to be on his lap, their paws standing on tiptoes to reach his knees.

"papa! iara always gets to sit first!" the littlest of them all, puca, cried. a steady hand reached down to smoothen her hair out, soothing the distressed girl.

"take turns, iara. you've had your turn this morning," neuvillette offers, his voice not unkind. the melusine in question huffs and hops off papa's lap, stepping behind her sister and watching her get lifted up by neuvillette instead.

"come here, iara," you smile, gently patting your own lap. the young melusine tippytaps her way over, quietly settling for yours instead.

your fingers start to run through iara's hair as you watch the older melusines, lutine and mela, run up to neuvillette and puca – their hands full of decorative supplies. it's become somewhat of a daily habit at this point, you reminisce.

the two start to gently tug on neuvillette's hair, your husband wincing but masking it as well as he could. the first time your girls noticed that he was in pain was something to remember – the both of you spent an hour comforting and soothing the distressed melusines, both of whom couldn't bear to send their beloved father into a fit of pain. neuvillette now chooses carefully which emotions to show to them, even as a father. especially, as a father.

by the time lutine and mela are finished, both melusines are in fits of giggles while admiring their handiwork. a long braid of hair cascades down his back, full of beads and ribbons and colourful hair ties adorning his locks. the girls seem to have attempted to sequence the colours of the hair ties in a rainbow formation, but the blue and yellow seem to have been swapped – intentionally or accidentally, is another thing.

puca leans over neuvillette's shoulder to see the results, and the model of the day smiles as the older girls excitedly describe what they've done – handing him a pocket mirror after.

"you two are getting better at this, day by day." neuvillette gives them a reassuring smile. the beams that return seem to make your living room even brighter.

"thank you, papa!"

yes, neuvillette never thought he would ever hear anyone call him 'papa'. he'd have to get used to it someday.

reblogs w/ tags & comments appreciated !!!

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @softcosmixs @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki (send ask to be added to taglist)

#[📝 stewardess' notepad!]#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x gn reader #genshin fluff #neuvillette fluff #genshin x reader sfw #neuvillette x reader sfw #melusines #genshin melusines #dad!neuvillette #found family

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thatsnotahoodjason · 2 years

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bruce allowing a reporter to do an article on him and wayne manor. so he shows the reporter around, and shows them the kids bedrooms.

starting with dick's old room, its fairly messy with a lot of photos of his friends and gym equipment. the reporter makes a joke about how most of the photos are redheads. bruce explains how dick stays here a lot so he leaves a lot of his stuff here but doesn't actually live here anymore.

then they go to jason's room where bruce just pretends to be super sad the whole time. emotional moment. the reporter like, gets down on her knees and does a little prayer for jason and jason is just, hiding in the cupboard trying not to laugh because he forgot he wasn't meant to be here today.

then tim's room. where tim is currently playing video games with cassie, bart, and conner. the reporter makes a comment about the bi flag above his bed and tim just stares at her threateningly in case she was about to say something homphobic, the distraction causes tim to die in the game, kon starts to swear as he was teamed up with tim, making bruce threaten to call his dad (kon: which one?) the room is also an absolute tip, and bruce basically just argues with tim about tidying up.

then to duke's room, which he has only just started moving into so its filled with boxes, but it is very overwhelmingly yellow and a little banner on the door that says "y'all need therapy, not me tho. im totally fine." and the door is covered in bee stickers (courtesy of steph, damian, and tim)

then to damian's room, where he is very casually sitting stiffly on his bed with a sword. the reporter is just. very confused. and damian turns his head and tells bruce to kick tim's friends out the house, and bruce is just like, "you're meant to be in school!?" and damian just utters the word "useless" and just carries on staring at his sword until they leave.

they then go to cass' room which has a little flippable picture of her (one side is her smiling, and the other is her with an angry face- basically just telling ppl if she wants them coming in the room- the sign is on the angry face one) and they enter to find her making out with steph. a lot of awkwardness and panic. steph goes on a rant about privacy and disrespect for wlw couples and calls bruce an "entitled, homophobic, billionaire brat." bruce makes them leave the door partially open and cass just rolls her eyes then shuts it fully when they've left.

later on in the tour, they go to the library and jason is just there reading. so jason does an absolutely terrible english accent and pretends to be alfred's grandson, offering them tea and calling them tossers. the reporter somehow buys it tho and they move on.

in the kitchens is duke, kate, and dick arguing about who's actually been kicked out the kitchen as someone threw away the list of ppl with kitchen bans. so now dick is burning stuff in the oven which kate is trying to salvage and its basically that scene in community and they're just full on panicking.

in the living room is luke helping to fix a wheel on barbara's chair. haley (dog) is scratching the sofa while trying to get into a comfy sleeping spot and a very disturbing horror film is playing on the tv super loudly. while bruce and the reporter are in the room, the main character survives and luke and barbara boo the tv repeatedly.

then when the reporter is leaving, alfred is behind them as they go out the front door, holding onto a cow with damian behind him shouting at him for not letting him have the cow inside.

the reporter is just. so so confused. she never goes back to the manor and doesn't submit the report because who would actually believe this is the bruce wayne's daily life??

#also the reporter seeing tim and damian start fighting each other while both falling down a super large grand staircase #luke and alfred's grandson in one of the bathrooms comparing their muscles (luke wins by far)#duke and cass following bruce and the reporter around. everytime the reporter looks at them they whistle. look away. lean on the wall #dick and babs in the back garden nonstop doing rock paper scissors to see who gives a mud covered haley a bath #the reporter and bruce are in the garden for like 10 minutes and dick and babs are doing it the entire time.#batfamily #dc #bruce wayne #batfam #dick grayson #barbara gordon #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #luke fox #jason todd

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girlboypersonthingy · 2 months

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Hazbin gals reacting to their s/o saying "I love you" for the first time? (totally not self-indulgent, not at all)

Hell Yeah, indulge baby!!! I love me some sapphic hazbin fluff. The only ‘gals’ I write for are Charlie, Vaggie and Velvette. I hope that’s cool 🙂 👍🏼 if anyone wants part two with other characters… *cough* Lucifer *cough* let me know �� ENJOY ANON~

TW: swearing, Vaggie in lingerie, Velvette gets a little assertive 😉 mostly fluff tho

Hazbin Gals- First ‘I Love You’s 💘

Charlie ❤️‍🔥

Sitting on one of the couches in the lobby of the hotel, you watch with a content smile as your girlfriend paces back and forth, rambling on about her plans to save sinners and her mixed feelings about having a meeting with heaven. Charlie takes a few steps and pivots around before taking a few steps the other way, her fingers nervously fiddling with each other all the while her smile never fading.

“I’m just…I’m feeling so…AH! Ya know?” She finally scurries over to you and plops down on the couch, resting her hand on your knee. “Well I’m very proud of you, babe.” You respond with a smile but your eyes are fixed on her hand on your leg right now. As she continues her ranting, her words start to sound more like a song, the actual words not computing in your brain any longer. It’s just her pretty voice accompanied by her gentle touch. As if you couldn’t lose focus anymore, her hand shifts a bit, further up your thigh.

Her words stop abruptly, the silence causing you to look up at her. Her smile shrunk just a bit as she watched you, tilting her head to the side, her long hair swaying as it followed her movements. “What’s up, babe? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

“I-I uh…I love you.” It tumbles from your lips before you can stop it, before your brain can even register that you are speaking right now. The damage is done. All you can do now is stare at the gorgeous blonde in front of you with wide, expectant eyes and a worried, tight-lined frown on your lips.

Her face was…hard to read. Which is strange because the princess was usually so loud and dramatic and over exaggerated and so animated with her facial expressions. But this expression was one you’d never seen before. Her mouth was hanging open slightly, revealing her pearly white fangs. Her light yellow eyes were wider than you’ve ever seen them and the apples of her cheeks were nearly glowing red.

“Charlie? You…okay?” And like a switch being flipped, her expression changes completely. Now, her eyes are squinted up tight due to her huge, giddy grin. She’s holding her hands together tightly, slightly bouncing in her spot in front of you, soft giggles starting to sound from her.

“AWWWWW (Y/N)~” Charlie drags out saying your name, diverting her gaze elsewhere then bitting her lip shortly after. “I love you too. WOW!!! It feels so good to say that out loud and know you feel the same.” Her pale hands reach out for yours, squeezing your hands slightly as she looks into your eyes. “I love you.” She repeats at a much lower volume, making sure the words really sink in. Then she yanks you forward, wrapping you in a tight hug as soft giggles and dreamy sighs leave both your lips.

You’re not sure when she started crying because her body was once shaking from happy laughter and now, her body shakes as a soft gasp sounds from her, sniffling following shortly after. You pull away quickly to see her still sporting a big, goofy smile but with tears running down her cheeks. “You-you really l-l-love me…? AWW WWHAAAAA.”

Good job. You’ve reduced the princess of hell to a puddle of happy tears right in your lap. What else did you expect from the drama queen herself? Get ready for an all night cuddle session, complete with on and off kissing and crying.

Vaggie ⚔️

“Hey, hun. Good morning…” Vaggie mumbled softly to you as she groggily strolled towards you. This was a daily occurrence, a normal start to your morning- both of you getting ready in your own rooms then meeting in the lobby to say ‘good morning’ and then continue your day together. You had been dating for a good minute now but still haven’t moved into the same room. You decided a small boundary would be good for now until the relationship feels ready to move forward.

Today, a Saturday, you both thought it’d be fun to stay in your pajamas and have a lazy day. There were no solid plans today and you’ve been missing your girl so when you brought it up to her last night, Vaggie was more than happy to spend a lazy day with you. But holy hell…you’re at a loss for words when you realize her pajamas weren’t just pajamas. She had this absolutely gorgeous little white nighty on, a thin silky dress that barely covered her crotch and ass, hardly leaving anything to the imagination. Was she wearing it for this occasion, just to impress you? Or…is this what she always wears to bed?

All your blood rushes to your face within seconds, even your ears were fire red as your eyes stayed stuck to her frame in that night dress. She normally dressed pretty feminine and cute but you never expected her to wear such adorable lingerie to bed. Vaggie seemed to catch on immediately, looking down at herself briefly before looking back at you with down turned lips and furrowed brows. “Too much?”

“Oh shit, I-I’m sorry. No! Just caught me off guard with your…pajamas. You’re just so cute. Shit, sorry, lemme stop talking now.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, eyes frantically scanning over her small but toned little body. You felt like such a perv, suddenly looking away and trying to hide your embarrassed and ashamed face in your hands.

Vaggie sympathizes, understanding that you’re flustered but also very into her but also trying not to stare. She steps closer, gently grabbing both your hands in hers. She lifts both your hands up and gently interlaces her fingers between yours. Your clasped hands were sweaty as hell against hers, making her smile grow a little bigger. “I can go change.” She mumbles softly, her eyes scanning your expression, waiting for you to make eye contact with her again.

All you could muster up is a low hum in response as you shake your head ‘no’. “Oh so you like it then?” She steps even closer, her barely clothed body nearly pressed against yours now. You swallow thickly, your lip quivering ever so slightly as you inhale, scrambling to find the words to reply to her.

“Oh y-yeah, I love it actually! I love you.” Your hand comes to your mouth as if trying to shove those last three words back in. You can’t help but stutter your way through a second response, but Vaggie throws her own reply in as well. “You do?” Vaggie is nearly whispering now, watching as you panic. “Fuck! No, that’s not what I meant. I mean-Well, wait…I-I…” She can tell you’re malfunctioning and probably very close to imploding in on yourself as you decide what is the right thing to say next. You shake your head vigorously, waving your hands in the air as if trying to clear your foggy brain. When you finally take a breath and look back to her face, Vaggie is smiling sweetly, looking as though she might just melt straight down into the carpet below you.

“Oh, (Y/N/N)~ I love you too.” She closes in on you fully, her arms quickly finding themselves comfy around your neck, her blushy face just inches from yours now. “Hmm…you think it’s too much for everyone else to see?” She has a smug smile on her face now. She was trying to tease you at this point, seeing just how far she could take this before you’re collapsing into her arms.

“Are you suggesting we go some where more private?” You try to flirt back but your voice cracks and you can’t maintain eye contact for longer than a second or two. Your attempt at flirting yanks a loud laugh from her, making her throw her head back momentarily before she pulls back and grabs your hand. She begins leading you towards her room, replaying your voice in her head over and over as you said ‘I love you’. She’s gonna ask you to say it again once you’re in private.

And you just can’t stop glancing down at her barely covered ass and her fully exposed legs in that cute nighty as you follow behind her. I mean who can blame you?

Velvette 💀

Your girl is going off right now, having just gotten into some stupid fight with Valentino. You’re so super sure he’s the most toxic being you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting and it irked you even more that he was her business partner, her roommate. This is a regular occurrence- Val barging into Velvette’s studio drunk as hell, yelling and smoking the whole room up. And every time, Velvette gets pissed and instantly starts spewing rude names and swear words at him. It’s honestly pretty frightening to have to sit back and watch, eyes darting back and forth between them as you cower in your seat, knowing that if you even try to intervene you might end up double dead.

But now, Val has been gone and out of sight for at least ten minutes now but Velvette is still completely irate. She’s now sitting beside you on a couch, just the two of you taking up space in the studio. You watch as she rants and rambles, her expression full of rage, her voice booming with a slight growl to it. You weren’t sure how to talk her down from this one, you don’t think you’ve ever seen her so…stressed.

You decide maybe a gentle touch would help pull her attention to you so you can further try to calm her and get her mind off Val. As your hand slips into hers, she holds it firmly but continues to vent, telling you all about her feelings. “Like what a fucking dickhead! Ugh! I don’t storm into his studio and interrupt his fuck fest.” Your other hand moves to join the one that’s already holding Velvette, gently rubbing up and down her arm. “Yeah, Im sorry, V. He’s the worst…”

Still, Velvette is talking at a rapid pace but her voice has become much softer, her face seeming to relax a bit as her eyes move to focus on the gentle hand on her arm. “Is there…anything I can do to calm you?” You try to interject, hoping to stop her train of thought from going crazy and derailing. “No, darling. No. It’s alright. I’m sorry you have to see me get so nasty and ugly like this. I just can’t control my temper sometimes. Oh, I’m so ashamed.” She turns her face away from you- this is a side of Velvette you’ve never seen before. She gets mad often, she does have a fiery temper and you’ve seen that well enough by now but you both know she’s never been this pent up and pissed off. The more she calms down, the more insecure she becomes…a side of Velvette no one has ever seen.

“Oh, no! Don’t apologize. I know you’re not yelling at me, you’re more…yelling to me. It’s good to vent, to get it all out. Don’t worry, babe. I love you-“ and her head turns so fast, you’re concerned about her neck for a second. It’s almost like she processed your words before you did. “Did…you just say you love me?” She leans back, not to get away from you but to get a better look at your face right now.

And now you’re burning up, feeling sweat start to form under your arms and on your forehead. Oh and your hands? Yeah, They’ve been sweaty! “Uh no, no…I uh…” You can’t even come up with an excuse or any kind of comeback before Velvette is on the move, slowly crawling over you with a devious smirk on her thin lips…excruciatingly slow…

“Nah ah ah. Don’t lie to me, darling.” She continues her pursue on you, pushing you back into the couch as she towers over you now, her hands on your wrists as she pins them back against the cushions. “Say it again.” With her so close to you, fully on top of you now, it’s becoming extremely difficult to avoid her gaze or try to escape the situation. “C’mon, I wanna hear it again.” She teases, leaning in to gently tap her nose on yours. Your breath catches in your chest, your stomach feeling warm and bubbly as you close your eyes, focusing in on her soft breaths wafting across your lips.

“I love you…” You finally get it out again, not daring to open your eyes. You’re pretty sure if you opened your eyes and looked up at Velvette right now, you’d completely erode away from embarrassment right before her eyes, just a pile of dust. Hearing the words again sends a jolt of electricity to Velvette’s brain and all her courage suddenly swells in her gut and she leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s quick and soft and somehow better than every other kiss you’ve ever shared. Maybe it’s just the heat of the moment.

Finally, she got you to open your eyes again. The shocked look on your face makes her want to go even harder, tease you even more, turn you into a bright red jittery idiot right here right now. “I love you too, my darling little angel baby.” Velvette loves to call you that, she figures she’s more evil you’re more good, you balance each other out, yin and yang. Aaand yep! She was right, calling you cute pet names would break you even further.

Velvette sits back on the couch, cackling, gasping for air, trying her best to keep her eyes open through the tears so she can see your face. She’s not making fun of you…but she’s kinda making fun of you. She’s so very flattered you love her but you get so jumpy and shy when she presses you like that, she can’t help but take advantage sometimes. She adores the hell out if you and often wonders how a soft, gentle, kind heart like yours could truly be in love with a heart like hers.

“I love you more, (Y/N).”

Aaannddd cue the make out sesh

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dailyyellowcharacters · 22 days

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Daily Yellow Character 75;

Keeby from Kirby

Requested by; @rivertheclown

#daily yellow character #KEEBY<333 #love their name sm #keeby #yellow kirby #keeby kirby #Kirby #kirby series #nintendo #nintendo kirby

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lyomeii · 1 year

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never forgetting about you

->warnings: yandere themes, manipulation, angst, maybe this can be read without being yandere at all? Spoiler from the main story ending

-> request by anon! Hi 👋 I know I requested the same thing, but I forgot to add some details. Can you do a yandere sung jin woo where the reader is from the real world but falls in love with sung jin woo even though the reader knew that he was going to fall in love with who I forgot her name is so the reader gives him a yellow tulip flower ( which I think means love from one side ) and then the reader goes back to the real world and after some years sung jin woo brings the reader back and keeps them with him (sorry English isn't my first language :) anyway have a good day ♥︎~

->a/n: have a good day too anon! I loved writing this one since i never got a request like that before :) it was kinda of a challenge, but trust me that only made me more happier when I finished this. and I changed the flower, since i do know that yellow roses means friendship.

-> maybe this was all a dream, a really realistic one, yet you don’t seem to find a way to awake from it no matter what. you are living in a apartment in south korea, that’s fine and you can handle it, you are a grown up adult inside a teenager body who knows to take care of yourself… but the huge portal in front of your ‘home’ was what caught you off the guard.

-> the design was similar and didn’t took much time to realize you are inside the world of solo leveling, as much that sound exciting and a little weird, you felt something bad coming up. Could that be since you know how the story is going to end? Probably so, but it’s a dream so why not spend your short time here to met this new place?

-> you didn’t care if it a school day or not, you dressed in comfortable clothes, got your backpack and began walking around the streets while admiring every corner. Even with you being incapable to enter the portals for oblivious reasons, seeing such new environment is enough to make you wonder if this truly a dream, not to mention the delicious desserts that you brought during you little journey til sun dawn.

-> the next day, you got scared when you realize you still inside of this new world, where your new parents discovered you ditch class to walk around. That’s don’t sound well neither the grounding you received it from them, you felt bad with how worried they look and the many tears in their eyes, making you feeling so guilty about it. Such a great way to find out you are stuck in solo leveling forever.

-> getting used to this new life and world is actually fast? studying is now easier since you were a graduate in past life, your slowly gained your parents’ again and continue to have what you consider a normal life if you don’t count the many portals and hunter you saw in daily bases, since one of your parents is an A-rank healer and the other one works for the Korean Hunters Association, in which area? You never bothered to ask.

-> they are pretty busy with their job, yet they always made time to spend with you growing up and letting you choose what path in life you wish to have. Many people were somehow disappointed when you told that you have no desire to become a hunter like your parent, much to their happiness, knowing that you are save from dangerous situations and seeing you following your dreams to reach whatever is inside your mind.

-> what they don’t know is that your dreams ( as much it sound stupid ) is to meet the many characters you adore from the story. It don’t need to be a full interaction or get to met them and friend them, just to be near them already make you feel happier. However it didn’t took much time to met some of them as you expected.

->first you met no other than the chairman of the hunter’s association, Go Gumhee, who turned out to be a closer friend of one your parents, how much you wished to learned more about your family prior of this meeting. The old man was what you expected, someone kind and somehow fun to be around, not to mention he treats you as a family member and his wife enjoy your presence.

-> and when you grown up to leave school and to get a properly job, the old man offered one at his work, but you denied and decided to enroll in the university in order to get a degree for one of the courses there. Life going normal, yet one day you manage to met another character you love, the protagonist himself, Sung Jinwoo.

-> he is already taller and more mature by appearance, meaning the incident already happen and now he is in his way to become the strongest hunter of all times, that only make you even more excited to let him and that what you do in the first opportunity.

-> with the excuse to visit one your parents at work, you manage to met with the chairman and he introduced you to the most recent S-hunter of south korea. Honestly, you don’t know how you didn’t pass out nor asked for an autograph, could that be you were to shocked to believe in your eyes?

-> that moment happen so fast and of course, you expect to never met the protagonist again nor have a great importance in his life, regardless of being thrown inside of this world, you don’t have any special skill that make you different than most people, yet something manage to bring you two together as closer friends.

-> it was weird, to befriend the main protagonist who everyone wants to be closer, but you just got enough luck to be considered someone important in his life. Jinwoo even introduced you to his sister and mother, both who adore you in their life, not to mention the many dinners you had with them.

-> stupidly you were in love with Jinwoo, well who wouldn’t fall in love with a man like him? Gorgeous, cares about his family, good personality and an amazing cook? You did and so did —-. You can’t really blame her neither the many girls who fall over his charms, however you always knew you didn’t stood a chance with the person he is going to end with, the story is already finished when you got inside this world and you fear that you might be here one day.

-> in what seemed to be another day in your life, you gave Jinwoo a yellow rose to him before he left to another dungeon. His cheek went little red, mostly due the fact that none has ever gave him a flower, his sweet smile almost melt you immediately.

-> he thanked for such gift and left after hugging you while speaking how much your existence to him meant a lot and how he wishes to never loses you. Oh. that was weird, did something bad to Jinwoo to say something like this? Maybe, but your head is spinning so much that you can’t even think about that now.

-> the moment you stepped inside your apartment, you vision where fully black and you couldn’t hear anything nor feel when your body hit the cold ground. There is something holding you back from waking up and opening your eyes, but the sound and smell did help you recognize where you are. A hospital.

-> for what you thought to be ages, you finally open your eyes to confirm your suspicions. Laying down in a hospital bed and to make things even more crazier, you are back to the real world, not inside solo leveling. Was all of that a dream? It felt so real and you live there for years, but, according to the doctors, it was probably a dream since you were only in a coma for a few days.

-> you really don’t know what to do. was that all a dream? Those moment you had with yours parents from that world were fake? Like the people you interact there such the chairman, Jinah and even Jinwoo himself are nothing but part of your mind, still you keep those memories inside your heart, regardless of being real or not, you enjoyed every second at their side.

—

-> Jinwoo panicked when hearing the news from your parents. You just vanished from your apartment, your classmates nor coworkers saw for a few days and now you are considered missing.

-> how could that happen? you gave him that flower to him and disappear from earth, he told many of his shadow to search for you in all place of the world and yet, no sign of you anywhere. Just like you never existent at all, like you were part of their imagination, but the memories he and many others have means that you are real, just missing.

-> he desperate wants to look after you to find answer to why you vanish and where you are now, but with so many things happening right now. The monarchs are going to attack soon and he have to be there to stop them, Jinwoo has no other option than searching for you after the whole situation get solved.

-> and that he does, when he uses the cup of reincarnation, jinwoo spend years fighting the many the monarchs and monster send to defeat him, only to him being the victorious one. when he did return and began a normal life, he start looking for a way to look after you with the help of his shadow and that ‘person’ that has connections with the rulers.

-> his shadows didn’t find a trace of you and your parents even married in this new timeline, they didn’t have children, leaving bothering the rulers to know why your existence ceased and being scared, they told Jinwoo the true.

-> honestly, he never saw that coming, hearing that you are from another world and that you are back to your world almost broken him down in instant. He loves you and you left him so easily, is there any way to bring you back? Any way to use his power to make you stay at his side?

-> the rulers saw no other option than answering him and of course told him a way to bring you back with a relic of them, of course Jinwoo didn’t hesitate to bring you back to this world using the said object. And in minutes, you are back to this world, almost.

-> you exist now in this world, but you are laying down in a hospital bed in a coma that doctors fears that you won’t wake up soon. for what he knows, someone find you in a terrible state in their way to work and brought you to the closest hospital, where you are now staying. without any information about your identity or family, a doctor from the hospital and their significant other, a businessperson. those two were your parents originally in this world.

-> everything is going back together, except for you and him, Jinwoo feels that even you are back in this world, he feels empty and lonely. He can spend his time at your side, but can’t hear your sweet voice nor you laughs when he tells a stupid joke.. was this a mistake? Bringing you back in such state? Were you happier in your original world? He hopes to learn more about your true self when you finally wake up.

-> but for now, the doctors and your legal guardians wonder who is responsible for leaving so many gorgeous flowers in your room daily.

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

#yandere headcanon #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere manhwa #manhwa x reader #yandere solo leveling #solo leveling imagine #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo imagine #yandere sung jin woo #sung jin woo x reader

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 4 months

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Sunset Bedroom (18+)

FastForward!Leonardo x reader

A/N: Just me wanting to make a smut in the Fast Forward setting, heh💙

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Sex with Leo in your shared penthouse guest room💙

All characters are aged up.

Warning: Spelling, oral, female receiving, dirty talk, light choking, unprotected sex, Leo being a tease.

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The future wasn’t as bad as one could fear it would be. It was much nicer and much brighter than you had imagined. But that could very well be because of the many windows in Cody’s penthouse. The food was good, if not a little strange, but you liked it nonetheless. The entertainment was also pretty good. Way different than what you were used to, but still good. But if there was one thing that stayed the same, no matter the time, being it the past, present or future, was Leonardo.

Your sweet terrapin boyfriend stayed the same, even after an accidental time travel into the future, and that was just the way you wanted it. Even after the sudden chance from sewer to penthouse, he stayed humble and caring. He still looked out for you in small ways, like placing a hand over the corner of the table when you were walking by, or always making sure there was a full glass of water by your side. He still cuddled you close at night and kissed you at every opportunity he got.

Even 99 years into the future, Leo still insisted on spending his planned time with you, just as much as he insisted on his training. The big difference being that Leo now had the opportunity to take you out, instead of planning dates in the lair, in your apartment or on your roof. But even in futuristic restaurants Leo would still hold your hand and keep his famous eye contact with you, while listening to you speaking.

But there was one thing that had changed between you and Leo; your sex life. Never before had you and Leo been able to get intimate so often, without interruptions. Though 2105 wasn’t without its dangers and villains, it was generally much more peaceful, which gave Leo and his brothers extra time to kill. And luckily for you, that meant getting fucked your brains out on a pretty much daily basis.

Tonight was no different. You and Leo had retreated into the big spacious bedroom Cody had given the two of you. Located on the western corner of the penthouse, with big open windows, you and Leo had one of the best sceneries in New York City. And of course the two of you have had sex several times with the city and the sunset as your background. There was just something about watching your face covered with the warm glow of the setting sun, as you begged Leo to make you cum with your sweet taste on his tongue, that made his mind spin ecstasy.

You were laying across the big soft Alaskan king sized bed, your hair cascading behind you on the mattress. Your pants and underwear had been discarded long ago, laying somewhere on the floor and out of your side. Your bra was on the edge of the bed, having been taken off by Leo the moment you got onto the soft sheets, and your shirt pushed up over your chest, revealing your breast to Leo and the air in the room. Your cheeks were flushed, your breathing was heavy and moans were escaping your lips. Thank God that a luxury penthouse in the future meant that the bedrooms were soundproof, because otherwise you would be getting in big trouble.

The sight between your legs was enough to make you roll your head back in pleasure. Leonardo, naked without any of his high tech gear or bandana, had his face buried between your thighs, with the tip of his skillful tongue rolling against your clit. Your legs hung over his shoulders so your calves were laying against his shell, with his strong arms wrapped around your thighs pulling them apart, giving him more space to devour your dripping core. His blue eyes held your gaze, making you shutter in excitement. All of this, bathed in the orange and yellow glow of the sunset, was an image you would never forget.

“Oh, fuck, Leo”, you moaned, your hands finding their way to the top of Leo’s head, pushing him further against you. He hummed against you, his hands gripping tighter onto your thighs, no doubt leaving a new pair of marks. His tongue started to do slow flat licks up your folds, running all the way from the bottom to the top, before giving your clit a flick with the tip, causing you to jolt underneath him. Leo chuckled against you before doing it one more time.

Leo took in the sight of you wiggling against his lips and the sounds escaping your beautiful plump lips, and started to grind his already dropped penis against the sheet underneath him, causing him to moan lightly against your center. The vibration shot through you, making your back to arch slightly.

“Please, Leo”, you continued, trying to push your hips closer to his face with the help of your legs on his shell. Leo however pulled back slightly, a small grin appearing in his face, as he watched you wriggle in frustration underneath him, without his tongue connected to your folds.

“Please what?”, he asked smugly, using his thumb to spread you open for him, enjoying the sight of your cunt glistering with a mixture of your own juices and his spit. It was a lovely sight, especially in the sunshine. It made it almost look like honey. You sighed in pleasure as he moved the thumb up towards your clit, pushing down you ever so slightly. Leo knew exactly what you wanted, but he wasn’t going to give it to you just like that. No, he wanted to work you up for it, have you beg for it. Have you beg for him. And you knew exactly that’s what he wanted. That had never changed and will never change, not that you were complaining. It was incredibly hot to be in this position under him.

“Please just fuck me, Leo!”, you cried out, your toes curling against his shell as he started to rub slow circles against you.

“You have to be more specific, sweetheart”, Leo said, his breath fanning over your wet opening. “How do you want me to fuck you? With my fingers? With my tongue? With my cock? Whatever you want, you just have to tell me, darling” He punctuated every option with a small flick of his thumb, making you jolt each and every time. God, you loved this man so much, but sometime you wished he would just fuck the life out of you.

“Your cock, Leo!”, you cried out once more, your hips chasing his thumb as he moved it around. “Please! Fuck me with your cock!”

Leo chuckled as he did one last circle over your clit, before sitting up with his erection showing off proudly with a slight bit of precum leaking out at the tip. “Your wish is my command”, he said, grabbing a hold of your legs to pull you closer across the bed. You yelped as he pulled you in one hard tuck, before giggling as he leaned down over you, feeling his penis just ghosting over your entrance. Leo’s lips found yours, his tongue quickly gaining access to the inside of your mouth. You moaned at the taste of yourself on Leo’s lips, lifting your hips in hopes of gaining some frictions against his rode. Leo’s right hand went to your hips, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. His left hand made quick work, catching both of your wrist and pinned them on top of your head.

“What happened to ‘your wish is my command’?”, you wailed frustrated, trying to push against his hand. Damn him being so fucking well trained, all though it looked good and proved amazing in bed.

Leo smiled. He really had no reason for doing it, other than to hear you wailing a little but. Nothing new there. He had always been a tease in bed, enjoying your whimpering and squirming. “I never said I would do it straight away”, he smiled, his lips finding their way to your jawline, slowly kissing their way up to your earlobe.

“Your fucking tease”, you breathed, tilting your head to the side, giving him space to work on.

“And you like it”, he murmured against your ear, smugness dripping from his every word, sending shivers down your spine.

He was right; you did like it. Scratch that, you loved it. He would build you up over and over again, until finally giving you that earth shattering orgasm you had been waiting for. Begging for, even.

But you couldn’t ignore the burning need building between your legs, as Leo continued his slow assault on your jaw and neck, feeling his cock touch you folds every once in a while, almost making you go mad.

“Please, Leo!”, you begged, struggling against his hand. “Please just do it! Fuck me, Leo!”

You could feel his breath against your skin as he huffed out a chuckle. “Have you been teased enough?”

“Yes!”, you exclaimed, your head nodding wildly in agreement.

“Really?”, Leo asked, letting go of your hip to take a hold of his aching cock, slowly sliding it through your folds, yet another idea popping into his head. “How badly do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

“So badly, Leo! Please!” Fuck this man and how easily he made you beg as if it was about your life.

“Good girl”, Leo praised you, before slowly pushing into your entrance. By reflex you curled your legs up around Leo, closing your eyes as you felt the stretch of him slowly filling you up. “Fuck”, Leo breathed into your ear, feeling his length being absorbed into you. “Always so tight”.

“Please move, Leo”, you whimpered, nudging him with your foot against his shell.

“As you wish”, he smiled, giving your cheek a kiss before he slowly started moving his hips against you. He pulled until he was almost out of you, before pushing back in. Both of you moaned at his movements, enjoying the pleasure it brought the both of you.

Leo’s thrusting started picking up, making you turn your face against your restrained arm, closing your eyes as you took in the pleasure he brought you.

“No”, Leo mumbled, using his free hand to turn your face towards him. His face contorted in focus, his gaze burning into yours and his mouth agape. “Look at me. I want to see you”. This always did something to you. It did not matter how many times Leo told you to look at him during sex, with him buried deep inside of you, it always did something to you. Made your stomach tighten and tingle in excitement, feeling the climax he had been building inside of you being brought closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful”, Leo mumbled, moving his hand from your face to your throat, holding you still as he stared into your eyes, his hips getting faster at the sound of your moans and whimpering. The way you said his name, begging him to bring you closer to the edge. At this point the sun had just dipped below the horizon, replacing the orange glow outside with the dark sky and the shining starts, the neon glow of the city casting colors throughout the dark room, lighting up you face, letting Leo see your reactions as he fucked you harder with every thurst.

Leo let go of your wrists, using his left arm to bring your leg up, so it rested against his arm, giving him space to curl his leg up and making it easier for him to thrust into you at a rapid speed. Your hands flew to him, on around his neck, the other holding on to the arm of the hand that was increasing its grip slightly, forcing your airway open and making your moans louder.

Leo groaned at the feeling of your tightening around him, pushing your leg up onto his shoulder, so he could use his arm to support himself.

“Leo! Baby! I’m close!”, you cried out, feeling that familiar feeling build up inside of you.

“Let it go, babe”, he groaned, tilting your head slightly forward so he could look directly at you. “Cum for me, (Y/N). Be a good girl and cum around my cock. Show me how good I’ve fucked you”.

That was all you needed to be pushed over the edge. With a scream like moan you came, the leg over Leo’s shoulder tightening up and your nails digging into his skin, in a way that made him moan in pleasure. Yet Leo’s speed didn’t falter. He fucked you through your high, egging you on as he watched your face. He would never stop loving the sight of your face whenever you came. Your beautiful face contorted in pleasure - pleasure he had given you.

Once through your high, Leo pulled out of you, leaving you heaving for your breath on the big bed. But you weren’t done. You knew that. Leo had never stopped after drawing one orgasm, and he never would. So you weren’t surprised when he shoved you onto your side, pulling you close with one of your legs up against his plastron. He stared at you with a mischievous yet yearning look in his eyes, covered in the neon blue light from the city outside. You would be lying if you said the sight didn’t get your heart going like crazy, holding your breath in anticipation.

“That was one”, he said, tugging himself a few times before lining up against your still pulsating entrance. “Let’s see how many we can do before sunrise”.

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eoieopda · 1 year

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Can you please do a jungkook being dad or to be dad ?!?🥹🫠they’re freaking cute

aaaaaah! i love writing dad!bangtan 🥹

ft. established relationship au, unmarried jk & reader, mention of unplanned pregnancy, matching timbs.

No part of your life proceeded as planned.

Somehow, everything you ended up with fell right into your lap before you could think to seek it. One of those sudden discoveries was Jungkook, your now-boyfriend, who crashed into your life four years ago in the most literal sense — on a bike, right into the side of your car.

Things escalated from first aid on the sidewalk to compensatory japchae at a nearby restaurant. When his nose stopped bleeding and your bellies were full, the conversation kept flowing until the restaurant staff begged to be able to close for the night.

You didn’t expect him to stick around for all of that, but you were glad he did.

He became a recurring character in your life after that; promoting himself to series regular in the same way your sporadic coffee dates became part of your daily routine. From the café up the block to your jointly-purchased kitchen table, he was present at your side.

Your pregnancy came about just as unexpectedly. Only a year into your relationship, you pissed on a stick to confirm a hunch. You — perhaps unfairly — expected a negative reaction to that positive result, but what you got instead was partnership. Jungkook’s presence once again communicating his promise to stay.

And shit, did he make good.

For someone who didn’t plan to become a father at twenty-three, he was as good at this as he was literally everything else. A quick study, he could change a diaper faster than you could blink.

Jungkook made it all look easy, too; not exhausting, not frustrating, just natural. He soothed Jungsoo’s crying with minimal effort — usually with a song — and he was especially adept at keeping that smushy face smiling.

Best of all, you couldn’t identify a single moment in which the work felt unequal. He was adamant that parenting was a team sport.

True to form, he turned the dreaded, late-night wake-ups into a competition against himself. He’d set new personal records in both his response time and his resolution time. He’d be back in bed, wrapping himself around you before your sleep-steeped brain fully processed his absence.

Working full-time from home meant that you got to marvel at his talents in real-time. Watching the two of them interact throughout each day, you fell more impossibly in love with both of them. With their unbridled imaginations; their special, shared language; the eerily familiar way Jungsoo buffered through his confusion.

Because of your beloved boys, your house was full of laughter — every single day. You didn’t have to miss a single second.

Sitting at your kitchen table with your laptop open in front of you, you were halfway through today’s project. Jungkook had taken over the finger-painting session so you could meet your deadline without issue. At some point, though, you noticed a quiet you weren’t used to.

It was too early for nap time, so where was the giggling? The sing-alongs that made up the soundtrack to your day?

In the laundry room down the hall, you heard the door to the garage open and shut again. It was followed by slow, careful footfalls up the wooden steps; then an odd, metallic clatter that prompted you to stand. Before you could investigate further, there they came:

Jungkook, holding a step stool and a shopping bag from the hardware store. The pair of them must have slipped out unnoticed during your conference call earlier.

Jungsoo, holding his father’s hand while keeping plastic safety goggles on his face with the other. They coordinated perfectly with the toy tool-belt wrapped around his waist, and the yellow hard hat on his head.

Both were wearing Timberlands, though the smaller pair had zippers on the sides for ease of use.

“What are you two handymen up to?” You giggled as you placed your hands on your hips. Truly, the sight of them had you swooning; it would’ve been impossible not to smile.

The twenty-six-year-old exchanged a look with his three-year-old colleague; then the former held up the shopping bag. “The playroom ceiling needs a new eyeball.”

He said it matter-of-factly as if his explanation didn’t require one of its own. Jungkook noted the way you blinked slowly back at him, then he cleared his throat with a laugh.

“Sorry — lightbulb,” he corrected himself as he gently patted the top of your son’s hard hat. It shifted slightly at the contact, but Jungkook was quick to fix it. “I’m studying up on Jungsoo-ese.”

At the mention of his name, Jungsoo’s entire face lit up. His nose scrunched as he smiled, leaving his two front teeth on full display. You lovingly tapped the tip of that crinkled nose with your index finger, “I need lessons, apparently!”

Jungkook nodded, then knelt down to consult with his partner. He whispered something that you didn’t catch, and then Jungsoo went rocketing off to the playroom with a whoop. As soon as he was gone, Jungkook stood, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you in for a kiss that left you breathless.

“I can tutor you, baby,” he promised with a cheeky grin, “But my expertise doesn’t come cheap.”

“Oh?” You smirked, “Name your price.”

He kept his eyes fixed on you as he nodded, much more serious when he spoke again, “We can negotiate specifics after bedtime, but I think this construction crew would benefit from a little expansion.”

Leaning up onto your toes, you carded your fingers through his hair and kissed him deep. You pulled away only to murmur against his lips, “There are more eyeballs in this house than there are hands to fix them…”

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theloveinc · 4 months

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if i didn't care (more than words can say) - a dabi / touya todoroki x reader fanfiction—NO QUIRK!college-ish!AU

wc: 7.3k — my longest to date :')

sum: a beautiful but notorious shadow keeps following you home. over the course of some weeks, you eventually get to know him.

a/n: more than anything, this is really just a huge ode to my hatred of graduate school, though since the start of writing this, i admit it has gotten a lot better—hence there being a mixture of characters and ocs included. i don't think i was able to nail this exactly the way i envisioned, in clarity and thematically (and it's wordy as all hell)... but i am still delighted by this concept. i hope it tickles you, as well!

a MAJOR thank you to my beloved @weird-dere-writes for beta-ing this! twyla is a a real one whom i adore like the shining sun.

warning: lighthearted in spirit but DARK CONTENT! features stalking, physical assault and mentions of sexual assault, miscommunication, suicidal ideation, talk of death, gore + general sense of unhappiness/unease. gender neutral but some of the pet names include: pretty, sweetheart, lollipop, cookie, hon, baby + etc., also I think you might have a purse?, HAPPY END!

(read on ao3 - coming soon!)

title credit goes to the ink spots.

enjoy!

The sun has just barely set by the time you leave your final class of the day. Fog seeps from over the distant hills that surround your city, subway tracks murmur from underneath the thick concrete, and car high beams yellow in the fading light of the sun and slate blue sky.

Your classmates—those who have all left the lecture hall before you to give each other rides home—laugh, their voices echoing throughout the campus plaza as they disperse; the last students of the night to begin their trek home, down the hill that is your campus, and far, far away from you.

You don’t mind.

…or you tell yourself, at least.

Your walk home is pleasant enough, not so close that it doesn’t feel like a trip worth making, not so far that it feels like you’re a freshman again, tearing out of class just to run to catch the bus in time. It’s the perfect temperature where walking is comfortable, and if timing allows, you’ll get to enjoy the sunset as you go. Maybe today you’ll see the funny looking tuxedo cat that stares at you sometimes from the ground floor apartment window of one of your neighbors; you only recently found out that they have a little tortoiseshell, too.

Besides, while it’s not as though you enjoy your time alone any more than you enjoy anything else in life, home has become a sort of sanctuary, the trip to-and-from, a ritual, from school and the tension that sears your nerves on a daily basis. You still can’t help but wonder why it is that you’re only ever regarded by other students with hateful looks or by plain being ignored, sitting in the front corner of every classroom, freezing from both the weather's cooling breeze and the fact everyone just happened to ice you out by sitting in the back.

It's no surprise that nor can you ignore it, either.

For as much as you try, which is almost as often as you open your eyes in the morning, you simply haven’t succeeded. Hence why, with the cold air nipping at your cheeks and your fingers numbing from a chill you know will only get worse the longer you stay outside… you suppose you should finally start heading back, too.

You notice them first when you stop to adjust a faulty earbud.

A figure behind you that stops. Waits. Lingers. More than a block away, under the newly darkened sky and opaque clouds. A street light illuminates their body as they appear to dawdle; awkwardly hovering about a pole, staring at something you don’t see on the ground, trotting a couple steps, and then looking up at the sky.

You glance at them, the way one glances, with one hand pressed to your ear, the other gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you turn your head ever so slightly to look out of the corner of your eye and pray the movement isn’t noticed.

The figure, of course, freezes–like it’s not obvious, like it’s possible you won’t pick up on the sudden shift from dance to pause, autonomous to marionette, breath to stone. You can’t make out much about them aside from their long, dark clothing as their face is hidden by dark glasses and a hood, but when your stomach knots with something sour, nerves that twist and scream, you know nothing good will come from standing around and waiting to find out anything more.

You let your eyes shift back to the paved street in front of you slowly, as if you just found yourself caught up in the frustration of skippy music. Then, you start walking again, hoping it was all just some coincidence, illusion, pretending that if you were to look back, the figure would have since simply turned the corner and left you behind, like most people almost always seem to do.

But you look again. Peek, from the corner of your eye, briefly, like you normally would when no one is there and you just want to make sure… but this time, someone is, and by the time you really catch sight of them (closer now, like they were walking fast, jogging maybe, red light, green light), you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself and turn back before you can make things any worse.

Your heart beats. Your breath shudders. You flex your fingers where they’re held, stiff with terror, wondering: is this really happening? What should I do? Am I crazy?

It’s five more blocks until your house. Three stop signs, then two traffic lights. One liquor store, and an empty cafe that has already closed for the day, filled with stacked chairs and little mice you sometimes catch scuttling by the edge of the curb. You live by a school, but since it’s already dark, there will maybe be a total of four cars that pass you by. Maybe. Then there’s a trek up a short hill before you finally reach your street.

You wonder, not once slowing your step, if this is something you need to be worried about, if you’re really being stalked like you’ve always been warned of before, if anyone would even care if you didn’t show up to class tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that… and then, despite the whisper of your unconscious telling you not to be so self-involved, no one wants you, anyway, you increase your step. You want to look back, confirm what you think is happening, face a fight you don’t think is fair but haven’t yet decided whether or not you want to win.

But you don’t, thinking you can almost hear their footsteps now, though maybe you’re just confusing them for the wild thump, thump, thump of your heart and the catches of your breath. And when you check back, they’re half a block away but feel closer than ever, eyes on you and hands halfway around your throat though they’re still hidden deep in their pockets.

You feel a little like hurling, a bit more like giving up and letting them have you (though you’ve only ever written a suicide note, never a will)... but the creature of fear in you ends up prevailing, throwing it’s tentacles up through your gullet into your brain and dragging you into the depths… just as you say a prayer for the first, or any, god willing to listen.

And then you start running.

Heft your bag over your shoulder, suck in an icy breath and charge forward into the night, past the three stop signs and through the red of each stop light that blares at you, really the only thing that seems to acknowledge you as you refuse to waste any time looking back.

Self preservation is one hell of a drug, you only manage to briefly think in between gulps of air, your cheeks stinging with the breeze and your feet beginning to grate and blister against the friction of shoes that aren’t meant for running. You figure at this point you’re more likely to trip and crack your skull open on the pavement than be caught and dragged away by some freak with a violent agenda. Would that really be so bad?

But your answer quickly arrives in the form of making it home and climbing the stairs so fast you manage to forget the thought entirely, along with most of the rest of the world aside from the few people you come up with (and proceed to scratch out) when determining who, if there's anyone, you can call for help.

It's inside, silent and alone in the dark, you try to process what just occurred for so long that eventually your roommate comes home from their shift at the bar. It’s only at their surprise from seeing you still awake (ghostlike, on the couch) that you realize hours have passed in the span of what felt like only seconds, minutes, the metronome of a few steps home–and that you hadn’t actually processed anything at all.

You go to bed that night, not having eaten but not hungry, still feeling the phantom sensations of your bounding footsteps on hard concrete, cold sweat sliding down the slant of your neck, and the feeling of a man just inches from your putting his hands on your back.

The next day during lecture, you are awoken from a hazy daydream by a notification on your phone.

Campus Creeper Found Passed Out in Uni Plaza.

You blink, exhausted after an adrenaline crash made worse by your night of haunted sleep, eventual overheating, and your roommate taking a shower at four am. You were happy to even drag yourself out of bed this morning and make coffee just tolerable enough not to spit out all over your kitchen floors.

Local man, you read after clicking, deemed the “campus creeper,” was found passed out on the Student Union steps early this morning. Identified by a member of student patrol at Mustafu University, the man’s name has yet to be released to the public as it appeared he was suffering from a number of wounds, mostly external.

Despite condition, students have taken to social media to express their relief, as the man has reportedly been following students—

You stop reading, having hardly even processed the words, really, as you try to shake off the fog that keeps you from really understanding what the words are telling you.

A tightness settles in your stomach, heavy and painful with a nausea you can’t shake, a question you don’t yet realize: is this the same person, same man, who scared you half to death last night by trailing you all the way home? It’s unclear from the article, the timing, the picture with his blurred out features… and the fact that he must've been dragged all the way back up to school because he was found nowhere near your home.

While you assume you’ll be more excited once the new sinks in and the nerves turn to consolation (and the person to your left stops chattering into the ear of the person sat behind you), you can’t help but shoot to your feet and run to the closest bathroom in a panic, trying not to hyperventilate looking at yourself in the mirror in between splashing water on your face.

The day has once again fallen into night. Your bag is heavy with the weight of books and pens and your schedule notepad that has all your plans for the rest of the week and even the month beyond that. Today, however, the clouds don’t creep and instead, you see stars, maybe only a handful or so, one airplane too, as the sun descends in a tender calm and the windchill greets your cheeks once more.

You walk, out of class and down the ancient steps of the building, start descending the hill down to the first busy intersection of streetlights where the president of your school was once hit by a car.

It’s not three blocks into the way home, however, that a shadow appears once more. Distantly, though you’re sure it’s calculated enough so as not to ring as intentional no matter how much you know it is, and can feel it in your bones.

You thought he had been caught. The creeper.

You hadn’t realized you were so relieved by the thought. It slipped your mind, the celebration over as quick as it started under the weight of all your schoolwork and the dirty looks your classmates sent you after you came back from dry heaving into the bathroom sink. Maybe it was a different guy they caught, you wonder, then kick yourself for being so naive as to think that maybe you’d been spared.

Of course not, you think. It’s never that easy, is it?

Panic once again bubbles up in your throat, anxiety pooling in your stomach like something hot melting through stone, and tears start to sting at the center of your eyes. You do your best to ward away the urge to collapse, instead trying to focus on the fact that everything was fine yesterday and tonight’s just another dream you’ll wake up from again tomorrow…though by now you know it’s not.

It is easier, this time, however, to begin to run, to bounce on your feet with a purpose you hope isn’t any more transparent than your fear. You’re happy that today you managed to pack light, skipped filling up your water bottle, and happened to put on your sneakers instead of your slip-ons, as if you didn’t spend half of your entire morning trying to convince yourself that potentially saving your own life was a good thing.

By the time you make it to the door, chest heaving with a wheezing heat as your hand shakes the key into the padlock, when you turn back to look one final time before ducking inside, still gasping for air, the shadow is no longer behind you.

The creeper is getting braver, you notice.

It has been weeks since the shadow appeared and the following began. One week of that same distant trailing which had you sprinting like some sort of track star, two weeks of running only the last block home, locking every single bolt on your door (then unlocking when it was time to let your roommate in), and three in total of squinting behind you in stinted moments and wondering what you see.

You think his hair is white.

Now though, tonight, he stays not a block or two behind you but rather, less than fifty feet. You can make him out—see now the faded black of his jeans and the red of his chuck taylors, dirty. He’s young-ish, you think, more noticeable than before, and skinnier–though maybe your eyesight has just gotten worse, or the memories have faded in trying to spare you from another trauma, maybe even from awakening any of the first ones.

You wonder how he was able to speed up, where he was waiting for you, where he came from that first night, the second, and now. And you wonder why you’ve stopped running as fast, even if you’ve been trying to leave campus earlier and earlier as if that will keep you any safer from walking home at night.

(You had remained after class one night to ask your professor a question you no longer remember, and a wispy haired girl sneered at you so badly you ended up weeping on your way out the door. Not only did it kill your urge to ever stay longer on campus than you needed to, it also caused a wane to your desire to even arrive home at all).

One day, the creeper catches up.

Reaches, like he’d be able to touch you, smiles, like his canines are sharp enough to chew through you…hopefully in one bite if he was even able to swallow that much. Maybe he is.

But you swat back when he does. Hoist your bag in close. Glare over your shoulder. Then speed up, and your lungs tighten into stone almost immediately when he speaks.

“Hey—”

“Get the fuck,” you screech, turning back just enough to say the words despite not knowing if you’d even be brave enough to let them out, to get away unscathed, “away from me!”

The shadow, however, instead of shrinking into disparagement like you so hoped… laughs, skipping towards you, laces flying, smiling wide.

“Aw, c’mon,” he jeers, to which you wince as you try to stomp away from his pull. That is, in between your attempts at keeping your eyes on him so that he doesn’t pull anything else fast, or deadly.

“I swear to fucking god. I will call the cops.”

Another laugh, his footsteps now lighter, his voice switching to something airy and cool.

“Don’t be like that, pretty.”

You barely look, but you see a flash of red as he kicks out his foot, the curl of a grin pulling one side of his lips lopsided as he lazily trots to match your hurried pace.

You want to start running, to disappear, dissolve—anything to stop things from developing further into a conversation and your possible demise—but he catches up to you again before you can even try to skirt away in any direction other than forward.

“You noticed quicker than I thought you would,” he almost hums, the words exposing the soft, pink tissue of his gums. “‘didn’t think you would.”

There is a question in his statement, though his voice doesn’t lilt and only his eyebrows give it away, quirking, stretching, falling, the piercing on his left one along with it, when you slow down (hardly, still breathing rough and nervous, not wanting to look) but don’t respond.

“Most people…” he shakes his head, “eh.”

“What?” you stop your stride, more out of surprise than want, and stare at him despite how distinctly you avoid catching his eyes. “Like people don’t know when they’re being followed?”

“Nah,” he says, his mouth remaining open after, humorously, like you’re supposed to get the joke, think it’s cool, that he’s a zombie, maybe. Something. “Like I thought you wouldn’t care.”

You cross your arms, blink at the ground in trying to hide what is most likely a stupid looking pout in your failing attempt to get hot and angry. You shouldn’t even be speaking. “I care when creepy people follow me.”

He laughs again, raspy and free. “It’s been weeks.”

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but you look at him anyway. Truly focus on the mop of messy white and black streaked hair atop his head, the stained, canvas jacket with extra pockets and copper zippers, and his smile; the delicate, creased skin of his jaw that fades smoothly up his cheeks and down his neck. He isn’t bare of a good amount of piercings, either: he’s got all sorts metal in his ears, nose, and dimples, as far as you can tell by simply looking at him

He’s not really all that creepy-looking after all. To your surprise (and slight disgust), in fact, you find he’s somewhat… handsome.

You swallow.

“It’s been three.”

“Hm, baby?”

You tense, the claws returning, this time aiming for your heart, shredding it open, every insecurity lighting aflame when he smiles that smile again.

“Three weeks. That’s how long you’ve been stalking me,” you say.

There’s a pause, a shift, something you don’t catch and can hardly read. Then, he rolls his eyes, shoving his white knuckled fingers into the pockets of his coat. He doesn’t move otherwise, doesn’t even look angry, or as though he’s going to take any steps backwards or forward, and not like he’s going to lunge at you as if you’re prey and there’s an animal in him that he’s already promised food.

You feel otherwise, though he shakes his head with a ‘tsk. “I’d say stalking is a little harsh.”

You’re not sure why you object, “But–”

“I don’t stare into your window,” he taunts, “don’t have your number, don’t send you stupid love poems every night and every morning that say,‘I love you, be mine!’” He pretends to sing-song,

You can feel the irony, hear the chuckle but turn anyway to resume your walk into the night. Briskly. Refusing to look back and acknowledge the stranger you’re not sure wants to kill you.

“I don’t throw rocks at your window,” he continues to call after you, “or approach you in cafes and pretend you’re crazy when you scream.”

“Then leave me alone,” you shout, hoping the wind carries it far enough behind you to reach him, though you shiver still.

You don’t see it, but he shrugs. And surprisingly stays where he’s put, watching you try not to look like you’re peeking at him before nearly tripping on your own feet. You’re not sure if it’s a relief.

It’s the first night since first learning of him that you’ve walked home alone.

Later, you learn the creep has two names.

It’s been five weeks now, just after winter’s turn, the clouds not so big anymore but often dense with the slightest bit of rain you enjoy only when you wake up in the middle of the night too scared to go back to sleep.

The creeper, the shadow, your stalker, basically lives behind you now, grinning whenever you glance, dancing whenever you glare; it’s like he soaks up your, any kind of, attention like a bonfire being doused with gasoline. You’re still scared, unknowing of what he wants, but now that you’ve spoken, there’s somewhat of a static that’s settled, too; it’s tense and awkward, but the horror of it all is stagnant in build, in wait for the spark to light and set your whole world ablaze.

Though he finds you again, two red lights in, halfway to your house.

“Hey,” he says, following with your name.

You immediately shudder, jerking away from him in surprise as if there’s anything else you could do, but he just laughs that laugh of his, undisturbed he’s now talking to your back.

“Where’d you learn that?” you snap, but you can practically hear his grin when he responds.

“Got classmates, don’t you?”

Most of your classmates ignore you half the time, the other half just roll their eyes. Most of your classmates laugh whenever you speak, the ones who don’t have made you cry in front of your professors.

“They wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.”

“I would,” he says, pausing as if he’s some sort of pensive, then giving you a look that assures you he’s up to no good, “and they gave me your name. Ibara, Setsuna, Yui–I could go on, you know?”

You’re surprised. You’re disgusted. At him, at them, and you gape, the only thing you can think to do under a circumstance that implies no one has any regard for your safety and yet, hardly leaves you surprised. “I think I’d rather just die.”

“That’s not true,” the creeper laughs, seeming oddly sure of the answer. You’re too nonplussed to decide if he’s right.

“I hate you,” you try instead.

“You don’t even know me.”

And it’s no nice to meet you, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“So, what’s your name then?”

He hesitates, sucking on the piercing on his bottom lip before letting it pop back out in a sneer that shows pointed teeth. You’re not sure if he’s meaning to come off as upset or pensive, bitter or just plain rude.

“Dabi.”

The words fall off his lips, snappy and hot, like you’re lighting the burner on an old stove, or flicking a match against a matchbox for the first time and getting surprised when it sparks.

You pause, peeking over your shoulder. “‘gonna cremate me once you kill me?”

This time, he doesn’t laugh. “Maybe,” he says, then when you don’t react, “no.”

Your foot taps the ground when you look forward again. “You should really think about changing it, then.”

There’s a pause, a shift in clothes and in breath despite the pace at which you walk. You feel nervous, awkward the way one does when someone catches you with bad hair, or wearing the last clean clothes in the house on laundry day. You’re not sure why you care so much about a man who clearly does not care about you. Or does… in the same way a farmer fattens up a chicken for slaughter.

“Call me Touya, then,” he says, his eyes dark. “That’s what my ma calls me.”

“Touya,” you repeat, sounding the word out on your tongue soft and slow. Lamp. Arrow. A name from his mother. Your lips wrap around it, caress the warmth of the dip, the bend, the aim… and his face breaks into that knowing, wolfish grin.

��Yeah, sweetheart?”

You freeze, one foot freezing in the air, and he bursts into a rasp of laughter so loud your eyebrows immediately shoot up and almost off your head entirely. You go in to shush him like you would as if you were accused of something embarrassing, your expression morphing into a deep frown, and his own lightening with humor but still twisting with something hidden, something you really hope is not satisfaction. His lopsided smile falls just the slightest when he sees you readjust your bag and start, almost, stomping away.

He lets you find distance, of course, he’s always been a shadow not a stable fly, but Touya once again resumes his lazy trailing, joyously humming now, the sound echoing in your ears much longer than it probably should as he falls into a careful step behind you just as he always does… until you eventually make it home.

At six weeks in, he finally drops you off at your house.

Normally Touya stops his trail about a block or two before you make it, today, however, by the time you’re on the stone steps leading up to your front door, he’s a mere ten feet from your side like a chivalrous date making sure you get home safe (or like someone intending to grab your hands when you’re opening the door and rush in after you, as if to mount you right there on the floor). Your knees wobble on the first step when he speaks, though he remains standing politely next to the fire hydrant by the curb, playing with an unlit cigarette in between his fingers.

“Got any roommates?”

You stop, keys dangling from your fingers as you refuse to turn back and look.

“Yeah,” you say, staring at the chopped firewood on your porch as you let the silence sprawl. You would’ve said the same even if you didn’t.

“Good. Smart cookie.”

Your stomach twists. Your face burns. He bounces on his heels. You can’t move.

“That bakery down the street,” he begins again, nodding his head when you peek at him, barely. “It got food?”

You squint, your stiff hands cold and tight, his in his pockets.

“Um.”

He waits.

“It’s got mice.”

Then he bursts into laughter, quickly quieting to suck his teeth and kick a foot forward like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. There’s a part of you that knows you need to stop indulging this man, for your own safety and sanity, but there’s another part that also doesn’t flip when you think of the possibility of dying. Instead of going inside, you kick your own feet out and ignore your trepidation.

“Why?”

“Wanna get dinner?”

He grins, and you hate the thought as soon as it arises, but it’s lovely; he has the smile lines of someone who has lived a happy life, and he looks so pretty you almost want to cry.

(Today he’s dressed in dark, stained jeans and dirty boots. His hair is still a white and black mess and his smile is boyish and toothy. It sends a current up your spine that makes you jerk when you turn back to face your front door.)

“Piss off.”

You shove your key in the lock to ignore the way he responds with a chuckle as his farewell, goofily waving when you manage to get the stupid thing to turn and yourself inside (which you notice only when you turn to slam the door closed and the curtain ripples).

But later, when you spare one more glance, the way one glances, out of the window of your living room as if to merely check the weather, Touya is smoking his cigarette on the street corner.

Campus Creep Caught Hanging Around.

Busted, but this time, not blue! The attacker who was dubbed the “campus creeper” by Mustafu University students was spotted once more about a mile away from the local school. A local cafe owner claims he saw the man being followed by another of a similar size, but is unsure if the two men are of a related circumstance or other.

He reports that the neighborhood has been in good spirits lately, so this comes as a shock. As we continue to find out more, the public will be updated—

Today your shadow is waiting for you at the end of the block. You spot him from out of the third story window of your classroom, feet sticking halfway off the curb and a lit cigarette between his lips that curls pretty, silver smoke into the golden blue light of the nighttime air.

“Hey, need a ride home?” one of your classmates asks beside you, the one that has your same name, shocking you out of your stupor as they tap the fingers of one hand against your table and swing their car keys around in the other.

You can barely tear your gaze away from the window to look at them; their flushed face, their short curls, tight and bouncing, and their awkward, half-assed attempt at generosity. You wonder if this is some kind of exercise they were told to practice in therapy.

“I heard about the campus stalker,” they continue without prompt. “Shihai and Kinoko are coming too, but you can squeeze in the middle, if you want.”

Their smile looks almost pitying.

“Uh,” you blink, a little stupefied, a little shy. “It’s alright, but thanks.”

They raise their eyebrows. “Isn’t your neighborhood a ways down by that cafe?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pausing to flick your eyes upward, “But I, uh...my friend is gonna walk me.”

You point toward the window, where your shadow, Dabi, Touya, whoever, has stopped smoking and is now bent over (teasing, most likely, with a gray-tinted shoelace) one of the mouser cats owned by the keepers of the small temple that sits snug at the back of your school.

You’re not exactly sure when he morphed into your friend. You don’t even think he has yet… but the words feel natural, eager, and easier than sliding onto leather seats in between two people who have never once looked your way with a nice expression and probably never will.

“Oh good!” same-name laughs, tipping their head back in a way that almost seems exaggerated. “I was scared someone might try to nab you. Not anymore, though.”

You’re not quite sure if they’re joking, but you try to smile and nod along anyway.

By the time he catches up to you that night, he’s half out of breath.

“There you are,” he says, grinning that stupid, wolf-like grin. “‘thought maybe you’d left out the back. Would’ve had to run to catch you.”

You frown, readjusting the weight of your bag on your shoulder like always, distracted as you multitask trying to make sure your water bottle hasn’t leaked as you run through a list of things to remember as well as double check that you haven’t forgotten anything inside.

“The north wing is halfway around campus,” you purposely avoid mentioning you took the long way to skip the corner where Touya usually stands. Instead of his face, you stare at the ground instead, by now resigned to the torture of waiting for your end… even if you’re secretly a tad disappointed he hadn’t brought the cat with him.

“So?” Touya doesn’t look perturbed when you finally face him, almost as if he was waiting for you, “’woulda caught up eventually.”

You make a note to add that to your list of things to remember, raising your eyebrows.

“Why?” you ask, and then before he can tease, “Why bother, I mean?” and you can tell he must think you’re joking by the way he doesn’t answer, instead responding by flattening his face–his eyes sinking back into the cozy crevices where they rest and the skin of his chin tightening with exasperation as dry as tinder.

You try not to be too perturbed by it, instead of pressing him for answers, simply turning to set back off as if that will stop the eye roll he’ll give you behind your back and change his mind about following you home. But, as always, or at least, as of more recently, Touya waits a mere five steps before starting right along behind you like the shadow his is.

“What do you want from me, Touya?”

You ask the question one day, finally, two and a half months in. Classes aren’t over yet, but the end of winter semester is fast approaching. The words seem to scratch at your throat, their destination apparent even if you find they’re hard to spit out and burn on their way out.

“What?” he asks, falling into a perky step beside you. He’s been that close everyday for the last two weeks now. And now, pressed up against you, near hopping like you’ve been friends for years, he doesn’t back away from the inquiry.

You’re tired. Sick of waiting. Sad that you let this whole thing last so long when you’ve been quite aware of your impending doom (not that you ever told anyone, not even your roommate) and have done little to try and stop it.

“You wanna kill me or something? Take me home so you can fuck me then run me over?”

Touya’s footsteps slow, and he halts (for the first time ever of his own volition) a little ways behind you. He’s not as tall as you initially thought him to be back when he kept his distance, but you’ve also since learned that his eyes are the prettiest cyan you’ve ever seen, and his scarred skin is soft and pink. Silver piercings adorn his cheeks like dimples, scars cutting the two different textures right in half.

“No,” he says, then half heartedly and calm, “you know I’ve done enough of that, already.”

You glance at him, pulling your head back in a half-horrified glare. But instead of the only half-serious expression you’re so used to seeing on him, however, you find a shit-eating smirk on his face that tells you he’d laugh if he weren’t so obviously trying to yank your chain by not doing so at all.

Still serious, he jumps at you though, eyes opening wide, hands outstretched and twitching like a monster in a cartoon out to grab you, and you hop back like he’s on fire. No sooner does his face fall that he glances at you as if waiting for some kind of reaction, positive review, happy Halloween (even though it’s ages before Halloween).

When you stay silent, the hands on your chest not falling, your expression still one of terror but to him quite bitter, he rolls his eyes so far up that only the white are showing.

“I’m joking,” he says, his baby ocean blues coming back down to settle right on you. “Obviously.”

You pause, standing still, trying to breathe, comprehend the, the, the predator that has been following you so closely for what you finally conclude has been months now.

All those torturous moments, since that first night of running, all amounted to something even he won’t name. A silent end, for someone as lonely and pathetic as you; it’d almost be fitting, except for the fact that there’s no specific reason for it to be you. You’re a nobody, friendless and unhappy, waiting for the day you finally graduate and can leave this shitty city behind. It’s not like it ever kept you safe.

“Then what?” you ask.

You feel resigned, defeated, undermined… yet he looks at you dumbly, as if you’re supposed to know something you clearly do not, and while you’d normally be embarrassed, you find you’re too worn down to care. Touya raises his brows sharply, the bruised-looking (but delicate) bags under his eyes shifting slightly with the tension of an annoyed frown as his voice strains to mock you. “What do you mean, ‘then what?’”

Your face goes slack, and you think you’d try to hit him if you knew that wouldn’t end up with you on the ground or sobbing alone at home. “Seriously, Touya? We both know you’re stalking me.”

He laughs dryly, one of the few times you’ve seen him so serious (the last time when he pointed out something dead on the pavement you had to stop him from trying to pray for. ‘I don’t even go to temple,’ he had said at the time, sounding so offended that you decided to drop the subject altogether and just let him go for the little dead bird he said he wanted to give to a friend). “I’m not.”

“You are. I know you are. You…”

“I can assure you, hon, if I were stalking you, you’d already be roadkill,” he twists one of his earrings, making a show of staring at the painted nails of his other hand, dark purple, before tsk-ing at you, sassy. “Not like you run from me, anyway.”’

You feel your stomach turn in embarrassment, in shame. You know he’s partly right, but you’re not about to admit that to the man who started it in the first place, who chased you home that whole first month, who, despite the familiarity you share now, still takes pleasure in your pain.

“Because, because no matter what I do, you won't quit chasing me. I’ve been running from you. ‘Cos you won’t leave. Me. Alone.”

Touya rolls his eyes, then sighs like you’re being a hassle. “If you really didn’t want me here I woulda left. I’m not stupid.”

“But I don’t want you here. I never did. You show up out of, of, fucking nowhere, acting like you know me—”

“I’m keeping you safe, lollipop,” he interrupts, though the words hardly register.

“Safe? As if it’s my fault you can’t leave me alone?”

You think of all the nights that had you near paralyzed with terror, from that first day onward, of rubbing your feet raw in your shoes, of wishing someone would come save you, of puzzling why you never ended up dead, to now. You never once thought, realized–

“Not your fault. His. The neighbor stalker.”

You can barely respond, your arms shaking at your sides, eyes watering with distress.

“But you, you’re…”

He smacks his lips with a yawn.

“Yeah, I beat him black and blue, maybe. But only cuz he was trailing you, I wouldn’t…” he shoves one hand in the pocket of his coat, waves the other dramatically in the air, “go after someone unless—”

“Touya?” you question, your throat rough, your swallows heavy and thick with a syrupy confusion.

“They did something real bad, like messed with a—“

“Dabi.”

He finally looks at you, the sheen in his eyes, for once, solemn, as if he harbors a genuine concern for your safety all brought on by your confusion.

“What?”

It’s a question he asks a lot, but this time, he seems to mean it.

“Dabi,” you repeat, “you mean… you’re not the campus creep? The one on the news?”

He gawks at you suddenly. The silence stretching, the night suddenly looming, the breeze even seeming to laugh. His disinterested expression begins to fade into a blank, unreadable nothingness… and then he howls. Hoots. Yells. His smile returning then, wide, blazing, hot.

He laughs like you’ve never seen anyone laugh before, guffawing joyously and jollily, slapping his hands against the ripped holes of his jeans as his chest heaves underneath today’s thin, white tee.

It’s almost contagious. Almost.

“And here I thought we were bonding.”

You prickle like a cat, digging your toes into the tips of your worn out shoes. “Stop it. I’m being serious.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he manages in between snickers, “you thought I was the creeper this whole time?”

“You’re not?”

“That guy?” Touya straightens up to wipe his eyes, and you finally notice the crow’s feet that crinkle around his eyes, “Hell no. You think I do this for fun? Wear fuckin’ ugly hats and shit to terrorize pretty students at the school my ass of a little brother attends?”

You say nothing. He starts laughing again, clapping his hands and keeling over. Even in jest, his voice still has that soft, raspy charm as he hoots at the ground.

“Dabi. Touya. Whoever you are,” you plead, the first time ever you think you’ve voluntarily gotten closer to him, grabbing the rough shoulder of his jacket and tugging. He stumbles, maybe more on purpose than because of your grip, closing the distance between you such that his chest is pressed against yours and his hands are on your hips. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”

He snorts, the only difference in sound now that it’s muffled by the closeness of your lips, but responds slowly nonetheless.

“I beat the snot,” he emphasizes, exposing teeth, “out of your stalker. And you didn’t even know he wasn’t me.”

“But…” you say, hesitating against him, your hands slipping from the stiff collar of his jacket to the front of his chest, confused. His eyes are as cold as ice but set you on fire when you meet his gaze. “You didn’t have to. I mean, I woulda been fine, right?”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You tell me, when you’re the one still trying to walk your stupid ass home alone at night.”

You flush, cheeks heating the skin all the way down to your neck. Touya seems to have clocked you far better than you ever knew it yourself–that he was never the enemy, that you were trapped in a self pity so deep only he could drag you out of it before choking, that dying, being tortured, being stalked, was far from the punishment you needed to get that kind of smoke out of both your lungs and your head.

And, if anything, that you were lucky to have him.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care.” Touya steps back only to purposely step gently on your toes. When you glare at him, hand still stretched out to link the two of you together somehow, he only grins. “Buy me dinner to make up for it. Or kiss me sometime. With tongue. Either’s fine, cookie.”

It’s been six months. Summer is just about to begin, your roommate has already left on vacation, and the closer you get to the end of the season, the more you feel your worries begin to melt off of you like layers upon layers of frost on an icy window of a warm cabin.

The shadow still walks you home, but he no longer trails behind you, and you no longer call him a creep. You call him Touya–now your lamp, now your arrow–and sometimes Dabi (that is, when you feel like he’s not listening).

Though the sun now sets a whole hour later than it did during winter, excusing as much of a need for Touya’s presence in your routine, you have now welcomed him into it, (even if you spent the first couple months of your real relationship trying to make up for your initial confusion at his presence with bowls of soap and burnt bread from the cafe near your house.)

It is a Thursday when a wispy-haired classmate comes up to you on the steps that lead away from campus. She’s the one you knew vaguely from elementary school in your distant home town, and who made herself reacquainted by sneering at you once for eating a candy bar in class; she bared fangs at you like she herself had never been hungry, and then ignored you every time you saw her after (even during assigned group work, when you realized she wasn’t even that intelligent).

But, now, you know, Touya can sneer, too, and sneer for you in ways that light a fire in the hearth of your existence… and he does so, sharply, arrogantly, when she approaches underneath the fading light of the sun and slate blue sky. She looks almost scared, even more so of his smile, big, wide and scary—that is, until you interrupt the moment by calling out to her from behind his back.

“You ever heard about the campus creeper?” you ask, to which she nods anxiously, big, wet tears welling in her eyes as she hobbles right over to your side, Touya already barking into the warming night air as he begins to walk you both home.

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #oh m god. i want to do another read thru so bad but i am just going to press post.#please please heed warnings but enjoy #i promise it's not so scary #i love you #caitie fic #gen #caitie post #dabi

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flowerandblood · 7 months

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Daughter, Lover, Sister (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[description: Aemond is sent to Storm’s End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother’s army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]

[warnings: masturbation, angst, sexual tension, rape attempt, violence, kind of incest but not actually]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond’s words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm’s End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter tells the story of what happened between the events of the Brother, Lover, Son oneshot, which is from the same AU.

Part two of Brother, Lover, Son oneshot: To desire, to love, to care

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm’s End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

_____

When the first year had passed since his father had sent him to Storm's End to train in the arts of warfare under the tutelage of Lord Baratheon, he himself did not know how he felt about it.

On the one hand, the anger and sadness that had been churning in his heart when he had arrived at their fortress was still alive in him, but on the other hand, he was catching himself thinking that he had become used to this place, to its sounds, its smells, his bed and his chamber.

He had become accustomed to training daily with Royce under Borros' guidance, usually accompanied by his youngest daughter learning archery alongside them. When their sparring was over and Aemond went to rest Royce would stay with her sometimes, training her in sword fighting.

He had also become accustomed to her presence.

If he had to describe her he would say she was wild and bubbling with energy, everything pleased and excited her, Royce said she had the nature of an explorer and he partly agreed with him.

He was surprised to find that she remembered exactly what he said to her, including when he talked about something concerning King's Landing or his heritage, and sometimes she would ask him about it, wanting to know more.

"Who chooses the dragon's egg for the newborns?" She asked one day as she lay on the floor of the library next to the table at which he sat, she had scattered sheets of parchment in front of her on which she had drawn various characters and scenes with coloured pastels in sweeping, sure movements.

He looked down at her from his book, wondering where the question had suddenly come from.

"Parents." He replied dryly, returning to the paragraph he had finished on.

"And how do they know that the one they chose is the right one?" She asked further without even looking at him, wiggling her legs, wondering which shade of yellow would best match the colour of Cassandra's hair, which she had just portrayed with straight lines.

She finally decided on a warm, sunny shade and with intense movements began to apply the colour around her head, not caring too much about the accuracy of her hairstyle.

He looked at her, thinking about this question. He had never given it much thought and found it actually quite an interesting issue. He shifted in his seat and grunted, embarrassed that he couldn't give her a confident answer.

"I don't know. They just have a hunch." He muttered finally, deciding that was the best explanation.

He tried not to think about the fact that perhaps if his father had chosen a different egg for him, a dragon would have hatched from it. However, that was no longer relevant.

Now he had Vhagar.

He heard her mutter with curiosity, turning her head, considering his words.

"From your egg hatched Vhagar?" She asked finally, leaning over her pastel box again. He pressed his lips together at her words, frustrated; he had been pretending to read for several minutes, involuntarily focused on their exchange.

"No." He said coolly, turning the page with a sudden, aggressive movement.

He felt her glance at him, sensing his frustration, and she spoke no more, all around them only the sound of pastels rubbing against parchment.

When his Name Day had come, he hadn't expected anyone to know about it. As usual, he got a gift from his mother, who gave him some new books, he also got a new leather belt from Ser Criston.

He was surprised, however, when Lord Borros summoned him to his chamber. He had never been in his quarters before.

As he entered, Borros rose from his chair standing right next to the window and commanded him with a movement of his hand to come closer. Aemond saw that there were five daggers of various lengths on the table, each with a different handle, but all containing a dragon motif. He blinked, surprised to feel his heart pound hard as Lord Baratheon began to speak.

"Each of these daggers symbolises something. The qualities every boy must have to become a true men. Honour. Courage. Wisdom. Justice. Humility. May each of these daggers remind you of these things. They are my gift to you." He said in a low, throaty voice, and he swallowed loudly, stepping closer to the table.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen such beautifully crafted weapons, the dragon-like figures wrapped around the handles in different ways, but when he took each one in his hand they were comfortable and light, he spun them easily between his fingers.

He didn't know what to say, so he simply thanked him.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he had been looking at them all day, enthralled by their detail, watching them closely. For some reason he felt proud, he felt noticed, seen. He had no idea how he knew that today was the day, but he felt grateful that he had shown him some kind of fatherly affect and interest.

He was surprised once again at their evening feast, in addition to the usual hot dishes he saw large platters of cakes, Borros thundered that today they were celebrating Prince Aemond's Name Day, and then each of his children came up to hand him gifts.

He did not open them, accepting them only and laying them down beside him, embarrassed and confused, not knowing what to say or where to look, never before had anyone celebrated this important day for him so pompously.

At the very end, Borros' youngest daughter approached him, a large piece of paper in her hand. She took a chair that stood not far away, moved it with a loud sound of wood rubbing against the stone floor and sat down next to him, evidently recognising that she had to explain to him exactly what he was about to look at.

She placed a sheet of paper in front of him which was all filled with drawings. He recognised himself in the figure with the blue hair and the eyepatch; he was in each of the scenes.

"Here you are flying through the skies on your great dragon burning your cruel enemies." She said pointing her finger at his figure riding dragon in such a tone of voice as if she had just been explaining war strategy to him, something very serious and requiring focus. He felt his lips involuntarily twitch in a smile, but tried not to laugh.

"Here we are you, me and Royce, here you are when you are sword fighting and you are very focused then. Here are you and me when I jump on you suddenly and you get very angry, oh, and here, here are us as you read to me in the library about dragons that time." She spoke quickly and paused after a moment, reminding herself that she had to swallow her saliva.

"And here is all our family." She finished her explanation and looked at him proudly, a wide smile on her face. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and although he felt amusement at seeing these naïve, simple, childlike drawings, he also felt a tightness in his throat at her words and the way she introduced him.

Here is our whole family.

She didn't position him sideways in the drawing, he was standing among them, next to her and Royce, and although his face was the only one that didn't express contentment, he felt some kind of warmth from this portrayal, he knew that she had put all her effort and abilities into it, wanting to give him something of herself.

He thought with surprise that he was somehow touched.

"Please, do you mean that you want to give our prince these scribbles? Give it to me, forgive her, my prince, don't laugh at her, she's just a child." Cassandra said impatiently, as if she had just chastised her own child, her sister pressed her drawing to her chest crumpling it, horror in her eyes and tears at her words.

"No, I drew it and it's my gift!" She mumbled in despair, hurt by what she had said and that she thought her present was unworthy of him when she had clearly put her whole heart into it.

Borros told Cassandra to sit down and leave her little sister alone. Aemond looked at her uncertainly, but she didn't give him back his gift, just took it and ran out of the hall with a loud, distraught sob, Royce stood up with a loud sigh saying he would follow her.

He ate his cake to the end and then said he would retire to bed. He returned to his chamber with all the rest of the gifts he had received and began to unwrap them.

From Royce he received a war-themed book, from Cassandra an embroidered handkerchief, from Maris an ornate wooden box, from Ellyn new black leather gloves and from Floris a lock of her hair.

He wondered if Royce had already reassured his little sister.

He heard a quiet knock and, fearing it was Floris, answered nothing, but heard Royce's voice a moment later on the other side of his door.

"May I come in?"

He got up from his bed, putting the book he had got from him aside and opened the door, letting him in. For a moment he seemed troubled and didn't know how to put into words what he wanted to say.

"Listen. I know it's her childish invention, but she's been excited about drawing it for you for days. She threw out some of her drawings saying they weren't good enough and that this one was perfect. I understand it's probably just a scribble to you, but right now she's suffering terribly thinking you share Cassandra's opinion, but even if that's the case, just accept it, put it away, do what you want with it." He said, shrugging his shoulders, and he sighed heavily, rolling his eye.

As Royce left he moved towards her chamber and knocked loudly.

"Go away, Royce!" He heard her angry mumble, clearly still reliving her painful humiliation.

"I came for my gift. It's rude to give and then take away." He said loudly and coldly, heard her get up suddenly and run quickly to the door. She opened it, her big eyes looking up at him, her face all red. She looked at the piece of paper she held in her hands with an expression of hopelessness.

"I crumpled it up a bit…then, at dinner and…I'll draw a new one, alright?" She muttered, and he held out his hand with an expression of impatience on his face.

"I want this one. Give it back or I'll take it from you by force." He said angrily. She whined in despair and gave him back her work, starting to cry loudly again, closing the door in front of his face with a loud slam.

He returned to his chamber and sat on his bed, looking at the crumpled sheet of paper with representations of his figure. He folded it in half and tucked it under his pillow, sometimes looking at it when he missed King's Landing, feeling a kind of comfort then.

A few years passed and his Name Day was always celebrated in a similar way. It frustrated him that he was then required to interact more than usual, nevertheless there was something pleasant about the fact that they always remembered about him. Especially as he was no exception, the Name Day of each of Borros' children, including himself, was celebrated.

However, when the Name Day of his youngest daughter arrived, when she had finally reached an age where she could attend feasts and dances organised by her father, and young boys could vie for her hand, Borros organised several days of hunting, which would end with a great feast and revelry.

Although he had witnessed how she was changing, how she was slowly ceasing to be a child and becoming a woman, it was only at this point that it occurred to him that this transformation had already happened.

He was surprised to find that her shape had already become girlish, the outline of her breasts had become clear and full, her hips wider. Although she still looked like a child next to her sisters, it was from her that he could not turn his gaze away.

During the hunt, she ran up to him when she saw that he was going to pour himself some water in the stream, joining him, apparently wanting to say something to him in private.

"I have an idea what gift you could give me for my Name Day!" She called out cheerfully, smiling from ear to ear, contentment and warmth in her gaze. He raised an eyebrow, putting his beaker in the water.

"Indeed?" He asked ironically, rising, taking a few deep sips of water. He wanted to avoid her, but she moved behind him, speaking further.

"I want to fly on Vhagar's back into the skies!" She said lightly, as if she was talking about what she was going to eat for dinner.

He choked in surprise and started coughing loudly, covering his mouth with his hand, looking at her in disbelief. She wanted to pat him on the back, but he moved away, shaking his head.

"You've gone mad. What kind of insolent demands are these?" He asked frustrated, but she didn't seem to care about his reaction. She stepped closer to him, her eyes shining.

"It's not a demand, it's my dream. And when is a better time to fulfil it than on my Name Day?" She asked softly, and he shook his head and snorted, chuckling under his breath in disbelief.

"I'm not here to fulfil your desires. I'm surprised you're not embarrassed to ask for something like that." He growled, sidestepping her by bumping his shoulder against hers, her quiet hiss answered him.

What was she thinking?

Who was she to ride his dragon with him?

Her sisters had begged him for years to take them to her liege, but he had never agreed, and she thought he would let her fly on her back?

She saw that she had upset him and stayed away from him all day, talking to her father and her brother. He felt a sense of frustration, however, seeing her stopped by one of the tents by a lord who had been watching her all day.

A cocky young lad whom he remembered well from Borros' feasts in Storm's End.

He knew he had a similar attitude to women as Aegon, and she was innocent and naive, unable to see the subtext in his words and gestures.

He felt shivers of discomfort pass through him every time the boy leaned over her, whispering something in her ear. She looked at him puzzled and laughed, clearly not knowing herself what she thought of his words.

Only after a moment did he realise that his hands were clenched into fists, that he had been looking at them for a long time like an imbecile.

He figured it wasn't his problem, turning away, reminded of how much she had taken him out of balance, taking a deep sip of wine from a metal goblet.

However, he felt a tingling in his fingers when he heard his laughter, his hand on hers, saying something to her quickly, pulling her towards the fire, clearly wanting to show her something.

He clenched his teeth, feeling anxious and uncomfortable, tense, as if something was about to happen. He thought he wasn't her brother, but the idea that this boy could do to her what Aegon was doing to his servants made him feel a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

He was immensely relieved when he saw her move towards him, leaving the boy alone, apparently figuring out his intentions at last.

He grunted loudly, taking another sip of wine greedily, pretending not to feel his fingers trembling, his heart pounding like mad as she sat down beside him on the large wooden bench at the huge oak table, her father's vassals on the other side drinking wine.

He swallowed quietly without looking at her, feeling a surprisingly pleasant shudder when her thigh pressed against his, her arm against his shoulder. He figured there wasn't much space on the bench and that was why she'd done it, that there was no undertone to it, but he felt a painful pulsing in his trousers anyway.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to offend you." She said quietly, and he hummed under his breath with his gaze fixed ahead.

He didn't dare to look at her.

"Will you forgive me, my prince?" She asked softly, using the right phrase at last, usually calling him simply her brother.

Satisfied with this change, he nodded and felt her body move closer to his.

He did not move away.

He fought the strenuous urge to place his hand on her thigh and cursed in his mind, wondering what the hell he was thinking, what right he had to touch her like that.

Their relationship went back to normal, which meant that the two of them were talking to Royce at the same table. Her father gave permission for her to try wine for the first time and Royce decided that they would accompany her on this new experience. He poured her a full cup without a second thought, and Aemond looked at it with raised eyebrows.

"Isn't that too much?" He asked uncertainly, Royce laughed out loud.

"After all, if she doesn't want to drink to the end, she won't. Nobody's going to make her. Here here!" He said, raising his cup, Aemond and she also took a sip, both of them watching her reaction curiously.

She coughed, wrinkling her brow, uncertainty on her face as to what she thought of the taste that had just melted in her mouth.

"Tart. And I feel like it's warm in my stomach right now." She said in surprise, looking questioningly at her brother, for the first time feeling the intoxicating effects of alcohol. Royce took another deep sip from his goblet with amusement.

"Oh, you're going to get very warm." He laughed and indeed she did.

Although she didn't drink much, her tongue soon began to tangle, Aemond watched from the sidelines as she danced with her brother by the fire along with other couples to the music of local musicians and fiddlers.

She seemed more joyful and happy than ever, sweat droplets on her face from exertion, she and Royce complemented each other perfectly in the dance, moving with energy and vigour.

She said something in Royce's ear and pointed to the woods, Royce laughed and nodded, clearly understanding that she had to go there to settle her needs quickly.

Royce asked one of her cousins to dance and Aemond, meanwhile, led her away with his eyes. He pressed his lips together as he saw the same boy she had spoken to earlier following her into the darkness.

He stood up suddenly, furious, the alcohol bubbling in his head, making the figures around him seem indistinct. He walked off into the forest, walking between the trees and looking around, hearing the sound of a river not far away. After a moment, someone's mumbling reached his ears.

"− oh, I can manage on my own − no − please don't −" She muttered wearily, he saw her silhouette and above her his, trying to untie the fabric of her trousers, her hands clenched on his wrists in a helpless gesture of defence, she was barely holding herself up.

Aemond walked up to him and slammed his head with all his might against the tree trunk she was leaning against, he heard her loud squeal of terror, she looked at him with big eyes. Only now did he realise that she was breathing loudly, shaking all over, looking at him in horror.

"− I didn't − I swear I didn't − it's not what you think − he −" She mumbled out, and he felt a tightening in his throat at the thought that she believed he'd accused her of wanting it, of being guilty.

She squealed as the material of her trousers began to slide off her hips and she caught it quickly, almost falling over, barely catching her balance through the alcohol.

He caught her with his heart pounding, feeling a strange kind of pain in his chest, seeing her so vulnerable, helpless and terrified, her breathing uneven and loud, on the verge of crying.

He helped her tie back her trousers and readjusted her chemise. Pushed by some sudden, hot feeling he blamed on alcohol he pulled her close and snuggled her into himself, sinking his hand into her hair, her fingers tightening on the material of his leather jacket.

"Did he touch you?" He asked in a trembling voice, and she shook her head.

She sniffed with her nose, drawing in the air loudly, he could hear her crying, her body soft and warm, smelling of her scent and the wine that made his head spin. His manhood pulsed hard feeling the closeness of her body, his semi-conscious mind wondering if she felt it.

He looked with a cold, indifferent gaze towards the boy, who began to rise from his knees with a quiet hiss, clutching his head.

"Lord Baratheon will find out about what you were trying to do." He hissed, lifting her up by her hips, allowing himself to be embraced by his neck, heading towards the camp.

The boy behind him exclaimed that he hadn't done anything and that she was the one encouraging him, but he decided he would deal with it later, feeling her all quivering in his arms.

"− don't tell father − what he will think of me − please −" She whispered helplessly in his ear, her cheek nestled against his face, he was hot, pleasant tickling shivers ran through his whole body.

He headed towards her tent from behind, walking in the shadows between the trees so that no one would notice them. He waited until the guards had passed to the other side and slipped inside.

He walked with her to her bedding spread on the soft grass and slowly laid her down on it, but her arms still held him close, wrapped around his neck.

"− you have to let go of me − I have to leave −" He whispered, but at his words she hugged him even tighter, his nose against her cheek, he could smell the pleasant aroma of her soft hair.

They both breathed through their mouths, he could feel their bodies trembling. He knew they were both drunk, however he couldn't help what he felt, the fact that he had become completely hard lying like this between her thighs, feeling the warmth of her body beneath him.

Her grip finally eased, her hands falling inertly on either side of her head. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her, her face far too close to his, her pink, glossy lips parted slightly, her gaze dreamy, tender, warm. He thought it was the alcohol and that he should get up, but instead he looked at her fighting with himself and what he desired.

"− sleep −" He said coolly, getting up at last, deciding that no one could find them in such a position. He rose, her gaze watching him vigilantly, her chest rising and falling slowly, her hair scattered in disarray around her head.

He thought with pain that she no longer looked like a child, but like a woman, a lover, gentle and soft, he imagined how warm she must have been inside, that her kisses would have been sweet and hot, moist with her saliva.

He felt ashamed of his thoughts, anger and frustration building up inside him. She was one of Borros' daughters, he could have chosen her as his wife.

So why did it seem inappropriate to him?

Everyone expected him to choose Ellyn, she was his equal, beautiful and clever, humble and sweet, perfectly mannered, she would certainly fulfil the role of his wife with full devotion.

But Ellyn was too fragile in his eyes, too delicate, she was afraid of his harsh answers and cold disposition, she thought he treated her that way because she had done something wrong or he wasn't fond of her, when in fact that was his way of being.

It was her youngest sister who really understood him, she could read his expressions accurately, guessing when he was content, tired or frustrated. She reacted to his anger with laughter, she wasn't afraid of him despite the fact that he was much taller and stronger than her.

His stern, harsh words didn't impress her and didn't seem to hurt her because she knew they didn't stem from his feelings for her but from his nature.

He was not a pleasant, cheerful or talkative person and he did not want to be. He knew that Ellyn would live in the hope that she would change him, that with her he would become a gentle, laughing, joyful man. He realised that this would never happen, that they would both tire of each other.

He felt nothing for her, except a kind of brotherly concern.

This stood in stark opposition to what he felt now, looking at her, completely drunk, standing in her tent, watching her face, her gaze fixed on him, yet there was something in him that he had not seen before, something he was hot from, some kind of desire and affection that he wanted so badly to see.

He turned and walked away, feeling that he was on the verge of doing something very bad.

He did well to do so, for he ran straight into a terrified Royce, his eyes wide open.

"Have you seen her anywhere? I've been looking for both her and you, but she's nowhere to be found…"

"She's in her tent. She felt worse and I led her there. She's sleeping." He said lowly, turning his face away, trying to sound indifferent, his fingers rubbing against each other nervously.

"I'm worried about something else, though."

He couldn't hide a mischievous, dark smirk of satisfaction when Borros burst furiously into the tent of the boy's father, who was trying to insult and abuse his daughter.

Borros as far as his children were concerned was like a great, enraged bear, capable of tearing apart anyone in his path. He ordered them to leave the hunt immediately.

He said that he would remember this insult forever and that they had nothing left to look for in his fortress.

When it was all over he surprised him by coming up to him and patting him on his shoulder.

"Thank you for going after them, for protecting her. I've never been more proud of you, son." He said lowly, somehow touched, and he looked at him wide-eyed, not expecting those words at all, completely frozen. He merely nodded and returned to his tent when Lord Baratheon told him to rest.

He thought Borros would have killed him if he had known what he was thinking about as he fucked himself with his own hand lying on his bedding.

That he imagined he had not left her tent then, but stayed with her, that he had kissed her, that he had touched her neck with his lips, her soft breasts, that he had touched her with his fingers, down there, and then sunk between her thighs and listened to her sweet moans that ripped from her throat with each of his thrusts.

He came hard panting loudly, his semen spilling down his hand, his whole body trembling, sweaty and welted, filled with fulfilment and pleasure.

Never before in his life had he come so hard.

The next day, he and she avoided each other's gazes at the breakfast they ate with Borros and Royce, knowing that what had happened between them was not entirely innocent. He figured they would both blame the alcohol for sure and simply not revisit the subject.

That's exactly what happened.

The last day of her Name Day celebrations was a big feast where she was finally officially allowed to sit at a table, drink and dance like a grown woman. She entered through a side entrance and he felt his throat tighten at the sight of her.

The cut of her gown caused its fabric to hug her waist beneath her breasts, covered only by a thin white chemise, her sleeves tied to her dress with coloured ribbons had slits from under which the white fabric shone through.

He thought with amazement that at the same time it was a very daring choice, even defiant, on the other hand she looked proud and magnificent, her gown shimmered pearly and was embroidered with bright stones.

He looked away, taking a deep sip of wine from his cup.

In keeping with tradition, she was asked to dance again and again. The right of her first dance was of course with Borros and Royce, but then various lords and knights began to approach her, demanding to experience the same pleasure with her.

She accepted their hands with joy and delight, radiating happiness, dancing with verve and lightness. He tried to divert his attention from the sting of jealousy every time he looked at the hands of the men lying on her waist, touching her palms.

He didn't recognise himself, but fought strenuously against the thought of asking her to dance, even though he hadn't done it with any of her sisters and knew they would take it as an insult.

He hesitated, assuming on the one hand that he had been close with her and Royce forever, on the other hand he feared that the guests would take it as an expression of his will, his proof that he had already chosen Lord Baratheon's daughter whom he wished to marry.

He shuddered as Royce leaned over him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I ordered a beautiful dagger for her with a deer motif on the hilt. She's always dreamed of one, I'm curious to see if she'll like it." He said excitedly, running a hand over his chin, and he hummed at his words.

Gifts for her sisters were always chosen by his mother, and usually it was jewellery or gowns from King's Landing.

For her, however, he had decided to choose the gifts himself, and had ordered some interesting books for her from the Citadel about dragons flying through the centuries in Westeros, with beautiful, rich illustrations, knowing that she wanted to expand her knowledge on the subject.

He swallowed loudly when he saw that she had approached them with a smile, all welted and settled over them, warmth, contentment and fatigue beaming from her face, her breasts hidden under the thin material of her white chemise rising and falling with effort, making him unable to look away.

"I see you're not complaining about the lack of dancing, sister." Royce said in amusement, she laughed heartily and shook her head, taking the goblet from him, taking a deep sip of wine.

"No, but I'm terribly hot. I've come to hide with you, to give me at least a moment's peace." She said softly, standing between them, placing her hands on the backs of their chairs and sighed loudly.

Borros, seeing her, stood up and walked over to her, grasping her face in his large, rough hands, looking at her proudly.

"My beautiful child. When did you grow up like this? Who will you dance with now? Has our prince already asked for this honour?" He asked with joy, and he almost choked on the sip of wine he had just taken, looking at him shocked, his daughter shook her head quickly, turning suddenly pale, feeling the discomfort of the whole situation, knowing that he had never danced with anyone.

"Father." She laughed, trying to turn it into a joke, Royce pressed his lips together, turning his gaze away, not wanting to look at it. Borros blinked as if he didn't understand what she meant, that she wished him to stop discussing it.

"As I understand it then, our prince does not consider you a sufficiently worthy partner for him." He said coldly, the atmosphere suddenly becoming very heavy, he pressed his lips together at his words, feeling the tension throughout his body, his heart pounding like mad.

"Father, please." She mumbled, horrified and ashamed of his words, of the fact that he was trying to force him to do something he didn't want to do.

He stood up furiously, reaching his hand out to her, and she shook her head.

"Are you refusing me?" He asked with a sneer, saw that her eyes had turned red, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled slightly.

It wasn't her fault and he knew it, but he was furious anyway.

She placed her hand on his palm and together they descended the stairs to the stone floor, as he had feared, causing a general sensation and confusion.

"Forgive him, please, I don't know what's gotten into him." She whispered in a trembling voice, he could feel her fingers shaking in his hand, he stood before her and bowed, music echoed around them.

They took the right position, their two hands entwined above their heads, two lying on their waists, they rotated to the rhythm, changing to the opposite position every few bars, moving the other way.

She looked at him and cried, and he felt an ache in his heart, felt that he wanted it and didn't want it at the same time, she looked so beautiful and so helpless, her gown shining silvery in the torchlight.

"Don't cry." He whispered a little more softly, moving back towards her to the rhythm of the music and grabbing her again with the embrace of his arm, he felt the touch of her hand on his waist again. "Don't cry."

They turned again, this time he pulled her closer to him, so that if he leaned in more their foreheads would touch, her misty, sad gaze fixed on him, only on him.

"Forgive me." She whispered with difficulty, and he pressed his lips together, wondering if she was apologising to him for being forced to dance against his will, or for some other reason that she, like him, hid deep in her heart.

If he could, if they were alone, he would have leaned over and kissed her wet cheek, and then the other, and then he would have sunk into her soft lips, thus showing her how wrong she was, how much she did not understand the reason for his frustration and anger.

He found with some kind of despair that the music had ended too soon, too abruptly. They bowed to each other, and, following good manners, he escorted her to her seat.

She threw him one quick distraught, apologetic look, and he didn't know what he could say, so he said nothing and sat down again next to Royce, taking a deep sip of wine. Royce grunted loudly.

"Forgive our father. He…"

"Let's not talk about it." He interrupted him mid-sentence, and Royce sighed heavily and nodded, knowing that getting anything out of him would have no effect.

The feasting and dancing continued, his gaze drawn to Floris, who stood up after a moment, moving towards her youngest sister. He saw her leaning over her, whispering something in her ear, pain, humiliation, disbelief running through her face, her brow arching in shame. Whatever she said to her made her get up and leave the hall.

She did not return.

Borros became concerned when he noticed her absence and, as usual, Royce was the one who went to check on her. Aemond looked intensely at Floris, who gave him a brief, satisfied look and smiled. He clenched his hand into a fist at this sight and looked expectantly at Royce when he returned, sitting back down next to him.

"She won't open the door for me. She said she was unwell and wanted to rest, that it was because of the wine." He explained to his father, and he nodded.

Aemond knew it wasn't the wine.

As he walked back to his chamber he stopped in front of her door, listening for any sounds, but all he heard was silence. He wondered whether to knock or ask her what her sister had said, but decided in the end that it was none of his concern.

He was already about to move on, tired and discouraged, when he heard the sound of the lock clicking open and the door opened, she stood in front of him in nothing but her nightgown and she jumped up, terrified.

He stared at her with wide eyes, at the barely visible silhouette of her naked body, and was unable to look away, his voice caught in his throat, he had no idea how to explain what he was doing at her door. She seemed as shocked as he was, so for a moment they just looked at each other.

"Something happened?" She asked uncertainly, apparently wanting to understand for what reason he was still standing there and not moving. He licked his lips involuntarily, feeling that they were dry from anxiety, and swallowed quietly.

"What did Floris tell you?" He asked feigning indifference, pretending not to feel his heart pounding as he played with his fingers in a gesture of nervousness and insecurity.

She pressed her lips together at his question and tensed all over, lowering her gaze. She was silent for a moment.

"…that I'm a whore. That she heard I went with a men alone between the trees at night while hunting. And that she knows I asked my father to persuade you to dance with me." She said in a trembling voice, shaking her head. "But that's not true, I…"

"I know." He replied dryly, clenching his hands into fists, not wanting her to explain herself to him.

"Get dressed in your training attire. I'll be waiting for you at the side entrance to the courtyard if you still want to see Vhagar." He said finally and set off ahead, not even giving her time to think, not waiting for her answer.

He had no idea what had possessed him to propose this. He didn't have a clue why the words suddenly burst out of his mouth, but he realised that after what had happened between them on the hunt, what he had felt, he wanted to be alone with her, without Royce, without her father, without Floris.

Just him and her.

To see how he would feel about it.

He waited for her in his long, black leather coat. He finally heard her uncertain footsteps, she had tied her long hair in a braid to keep it out of her way, her gaze uncertain and excited.

They moved ahead without a word, the night was clear and beautiful, moonless, only stars above them.

"Do you still want this?"

She swallowed loudly, looking at him surprised, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

"What are you asking?"

"About whether you still want to ride the dragon."

She pressed her lips together at his question, tears in her eyes, though he did not know for what reason. She nodded her head quickly, in her eyes some kind of gratitude, tenderness and warmth that made him hot.

He felt her small fingers grasp his hand uncertainly, he felt that her skin was cold, so he thought nothing would happen if he warmed her, he deceived himself that this would speak well of him as a man.

He intertwined their fingers thinking that he had to keep her close, that he couldn't let her get sick or Borros would kill him. He did not look at her, thinking only of how soft her skin was.

When they finally reached the hill where Vhagar had just rested, sleeping a stony sleep, they both stopped a short distance away so she could admire her silhouette from afar.

He felt her fingers squeeze his skin tighter, she hugged his arm and he stroked her hand with his thumb, as if this reassuring gesture towards her was the most natural thing in the world.

What was he doing?

Vhagar sensed his scent and slowly raised her large head, turning towards them, warm steam escaping from her nostrils as she exhaled. She knew there was a stranger with him, and looked curiously at the small figure standing behind him, for he had never yet allowed anyone but himself to approach her.

He felt her body pressed against his side and he glanced up at her, her eyes wide, disbelief painted on her face, one of her hands entwined with his fingers, the other clenched on his arm. He thought with satisfaction that she could not get a word out.

"Lykirī, Vhagar." He said aloud, glancing at his dragoness, who was watching them vigilantly, her head raised high in the air resembling a great hill, her eyes glowing uneasily in the starlight.

"Come." He whispered to her and they moved ahead, led away by the gaze of her reptilian eyes, heading towards the ropes that hung from his saddle positioned on her back.

"You have to climb up there. Do you think you can do it?" He asked quietly, and she nodded. She grabbed one of the ropes and slowly began to pull herself up, clasping her legs against her large dragon scales.

"Won't she start breathing fire?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Not unless I order her to, so you'd better not get on my nerves and concentrate on climbing." He said dryly, and she snorted at his words, continuing to climb.

He belayed her from below, and when she finally climbed onto the seat, he climbed behind her with a few sure, quick movements, sitting down behind her. He wrapped a few ropes around her waist, sighing heavily, hoping it would be enough to keep her from falling.

"Hold on to the front of the saddle and don't scream so you don't distract her. Do you understand?" He asked lowly, trying to concentrate, gripping the ropes he was guiding her with in his hands and trying not think about how her buttocks were pushing against his manhood, which had already become hard the moment he sat behind her, the closeness of her body making it impossible for him to gather his thoughts.

She nodded, doing exactly what he had condemned, tense and excited.

"Sōves, Vhagar!" He thundered, and the dragoness rose lazily on her great paws, spreading her wings, beginning to run ahead, everything around them trembling and shaking, the wind in their hair, he saw that she curled up in front of him and pressed her face against his saddle, clenching her eyes.

He felt like laughing at the sight.

Suddenly, with a single, powerful movement of her wings, she lifted herself with difficulty into the air, then higher and higher, until finally as they rose above the clouds he commanded her to level flight and they began to glide through the skies. Only then did he realise that he had pressed his face against her neck, that his whole lungs were filled with her scent.

He couldn't help how pleasurable it was.

"You can open your eyes. The worst is behind us." He said loudly knowing that she could barely hear him over the wheezing wind around them, she uncertainly lifted her head and looked around in disbelief, breathing unevenly, her whole body quivering.

She dared to look above her and saw only stars, beautiful, luminous, spreading across the black sky.

He felt her move back, laying her head on his shoulder so that she could still look up, their wind-cold cheeks pressed against each other, their hair flowing. He felt something wet on his skin and when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye he saw tears running down her cheeks, her lips slightly parted.

"Whenever I was a child I always imagined that my mother, after her death, became one of the stars and shone in the sky." She choked out with difficulty, and he felt a tightening in his throat suddenly understanding why soaring into the sky was her dream.

She wanted to be closer to her.

"Since everyone says that good people go to the heavens and live among the gods, that means she is there." She whispered, and he involuntarily put his arms around her waist, hugged his nose to her face, and they lasted like that in this amazingly tender close embrace, the kind she had only shared with Royce so far.

Looking at them he wondered what it was like.

And now that she was so close, he only dreamed of pressing her lips to his own.

He shuddered as he felt her hands on his, her fingers thoughtfully beginning to run over his skin, shivers ran through him at her innocent, tender touch.

He had never been so close to anyone.

He had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted her at this moment.

"Thank you, brother." She whispered, looking up at him, and he felt a tightness in his throat and a rage, a helplessness at the thought that this was how she saw him, that she didn't see him as a men, just another Royce.

He imagined slipping his tongue between those wonderfully glossy, full lips, clinging tightly to her mouth and sucking on its fleshy texture, the tips of their tongues licking each other in a lewd, sticky kiss.

He swallowed loudly and pressed his forehead to her temple.

He didn't want to be her brother.

He wanted to be her lover.

_____

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