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clockwayswrites · 5 months

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A Broken Sort or Normal, Epilogue

WC:1383, Masterpost

Danny glances up from his fight to fit the cufflink into the sleeve of his rich blue suit and smiles at what he sees in the mirror.

“You know, it’s supposed to be bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

Wally grins, easily, from where he leans against the door frame. “I’m the one in white so I think I’m the bride, in this case.”

“Oh, so putting the bad luck all on me?” Danny asks as he turns to appreciate how his fiancée looks. Wally really is stunning in his white on white tux. Danny hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of traditional black and white tuxes, not with Phantom still being such a raw wound. Wally hadn’t minded in the least going with a brighter color palette.

“Never,” Wally promises. “We’ll face whatever comes together.”

It’s a vow that Danny unquestionably trusts. Since the curse broke, Wally has been there for every step of it— and Danny has needed a lot of help with steps. Danny’s weakened core not only handicapped him as a ghost but as a living. Many days Danny is able to pass through it all relatively unaffected, other than the cold ache that has settled into his bones, but other days are harder. Other days Danny walks with canes braced against his arms. Other days Danny needs his wheelchair. Other days he can hardly get out of bed unless he goes ghost. And through it all Wally has done everything that he can to make things easy for Danny.

They have a house now, one story and carefully renovated so that on the days Danny needs the wheelchair he can still move around easily. There are electric blankets and soft pillows and this ridiculous massive bean bag that’s big enough for them to both sink into on the bad days.

And there are good days too. There are days where the aches are just a background note, days it all doesn't hurt so much, days where he can fly. Oh how Danny had missed flying. Of all the things that came with being a halfa, flying is what Danny had missed most– not because he could help or be a hero, he missed flying just for himself.

The first time he had felt stable enough to fly, Wally had whisked them out to that same field their first date was in and let Danny loose. Danny had flown for hours, darting around, doing tricks, and floating among the clouds. When he had come back down to earth, Wally had been there, picnic waiting and the biggest smile on his face.

So like everything in Danny’s life, it’s all a balance: the good, the bad, the effort… Danny loves it all.

He loves it not just because it reminds him of how much living means, but because of how deeply it shows that Wally cares. Wally’s love is one thing he can never question. It’s a certainty that Danny has needed through all of the aftermath.

Once Danny had been released from the Watchtower’s medical, he had started small dealing with it all. Coworkers were easy to reply to and he could trust that informing a few would spread the news to the rest. They didn’t push for more than he was willing to give, though he had known he would come back to questions and rumors.

Everyone else was harder.

He had set a video call with Sam and Tucker at the same time. It was maybe a little unfair to not give them each their own call, but he just didn’t have the energy for that. They weren’t kids anymore and hadn’t been for a long time.

“God, Danny,” Tucker started at the same time as Sam said his name.

He held up his hand and their mouths shut with a clack. His smile was tinged with sadness, but it was a smile. “Don’t. You two didn’t do anything horrible.”

“Dude,” Tucker said and for a moment Danny was back in high school. Tucker looked good, still in bright colors and with his hair expertly shaved on the sides with a little pattern. “We forgot about you.”

“We left you alone to deal with all that,” Sam said. Her hair was a more natural shade of black now and her smoky eye an expertly done wing. It was odd to see her lips red instead of purple.

“Because of a curse. You forgot because of a curse,” Danny said, “and then you just did what anyone does, you went on to have a future. It’s not like we had some big fight or anything, you both just moved on with your lives.”

“That still had to hurt,” Sam said.

“It did,” Danny said honestly. He didn’t see the point of pretending the past hadn’t happened. “But that doesn’t mean it was either of your faults. The last thing I want is anyone doing anything for me out of guilt, especially since in this case it’s misplaced. It’s okay that you both grew up. I did too.”

It hurt and it would always hurt, at least a little, but Danny didn’t want any false care now.

Sam chewed on her lip and Danny smiled a little at the sight of the old habit. “I’m still sorry.”

“Me too,” Tucker said.

“Thanks, that does mean a lot, but it’s okay, really.”

There was a level of peace from that talk. Sam and Tucker both asked if they could reach out sometimes, and Danny said yes but with zero expectations. They were different people than they were as children and Danny knew, because he had lived it, that without Phantom there wasn’t much for them to talk about. And Danny had no plans to talk about Phantom. That part of him had ended with a wish seven years ago. He didn’t want to rehash or relive it now, even with them.

Jazz… Jasmine was harder. Sam and Tucker losing touch was just part of growing up. His own sister ignoring him though, that wasn’t the same at all. If it wasn’t for his nieces, Danny didn’t know if he would even be trying with Jasmine, even as apologetic as she was. There were some things that were too hard to come back from.

“Are they here?” Danny asks and looks back down at his stubborn sleeve.

Wally steps forward and takes the cufflink from Danny. He’s gentle as he fits it into the slot and secures it. “They are. And all our friends are here too. Just remember that you don’t have to talk to them any more than you want to. It’s okay to be taking things slow. It’s okay to decide that you can’t do this with her. You know I’m with you whatever you decide.”

Danny raises Wally’s hands to brush a kiss across each set of knuckles. “I know. I’m so lucky to have you. Is it bad that part of me making an effort with them is so that my nieces have family other than their moms and our parents?”

“Nope. I think that makes you a really good uncle. I mean, where would I be without Aunt Iris? Family like that can mean a lot and if that’s the only reason you have for dealing with your sister, then that’s enough,” Wally assures him.

It helps Danny relax some.

“Okay, good. We’ll just… see how it goes. I’m not going to focus too much on them today, not when today is about me and you.”

“I think that’s all good. You’re just wrong about one thing though,” Wally says, his grin just a little mischievous. Danny loves that grin.

“And what’s that, Mister West?”

“Well, soon to be Mister West,” Wally says, “it’s that I’m the lucky one. I could have lost you so many times and so many ways and despite everything, today I get to marry you. I don’t think there’s anyone luckier than me today.”

“Well, not to have our first fight,” Danny teases, “but agree to disagree.”

“I think I can live with that.”

Danny laughs. There’s nothing funny about that, but the laughter bubbles up in him all the same, not from humor but from joy. “Living, that sounds like a very, very good plan.”

---

AN: Aaaaaah we are done!! Not everything is perfect, but Danny is alive and living and Wally is going to be with him for all of it <3. Thank you all for coming along for the ride on this! It's been unexpectedly delightful to write these two together and I'm glad to finally wrap it up with (hopefully) a nice bow.

And yes, this will be going up on ao3 but I need the brain functions to go back to the start and give it a good polish! I'll likely do it chapter by chapter weekly to give myself and my darling beta @mokulule time.

Until then or the next thing here, stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #quick death ship #danny/wally #abson

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dejwrites · 1 year

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀recovery, nanami kento

the shibuya incident shook the sorcery world (and japan) drastically and nanami kento is slowly transitioning back into the world. the dreadful feeling of not being able to help the youth he worked to protect sits heavy in his mind as his scarred hands tremble to do simple tasks. but nothing causes his stomach to twists in the most horrendous knots until he have to face his five year old daughter and the world again with his new battle scars. but as a good wife

♔ ˖ ✧ — general warnings: female reader, her/she pronouns, female anatomy described, black reader written in mind, physical descriptors, canon verse but also a what if nanami survive au, jjk spoilers, established relationship (reader and nanami are married), mentions of ptsd, mentions of scars and burn scars, cane usage, mentions of therapy, reader and nanami have a daughter named yu, same reader & nanami from family affairs series, first half is told in 2nd/reader pov & other half in nanami’s pov // smut warnings: cowgirl/riding position, breasts play, pet name usage (baby), finger sucking, praise kink, // word count: 4.4k, minors dni.

OCTOBER 31ST WAS A DAY THAT CHANGED YOUR LIFE DRASTICALLY. You remembered dropping your five-year-old daughter Yu off with a friend after an emergency call for many sorcerers to the Shibuya district. You remembered kissing both sides of your daughter’s cheeks because whenever her father wasn’t with you to drop her off, he always told you to make sure you gave her as many kisses as he would give her until she was a giggling mess begging for you to stop. You recalled how your fingertips were imprinted with the fragrance of blood despite you wearing latex gloves the whole time—with the number of deaths you marked down, perhaps that scent just was in your mind. You remembered having a drag of your first cigarette (complementary of Shoko) after the long day of horror—you hated it. You thought it would ease your growing anxiety when you didn’t know where your husband was at. You recalled how you noticed Shoko’s whole demeanor changed as her quick strides towards you seemingly were used to push you further away from seeing the horror that was soon displayed in your view.

You remembered how disoriented you felt. You couldn’t keep much food down and practically slept at the hospital. You just didn’t feel like yourself—but who would when they knew that the events at Shibuya had nearly killed their loved one? It broke your heart lying to your own daughter. Your tongue stinging, even uttering out the words that mommy and daddy had to take a work trip and will return as soon as possible. Your daughter thought you were away at work, but here you were, staring at the monitor in Nanami’s room beep. You didn’t want to lose him; you didn’t know what to do without him. You didn’t know what Yu would be without him, she was such a Daddy’s girl, and it would crush your soul for her first love to be taken away from her.

Nanami was strong. He pushed through. He wouldn’t be the same, but he pushed through. It was quite a journey of physical therapy, support groups, and even him deciding to stay at a hotel for a while, fearing how his daughter would react to seeing him like that. It took him two weeks and your constant encouragement until he finally decided to return home. Even when he decided to let his daughter see him eventually, you still basked in silence in the car, waiting until he was comfortable. Although your daughter wasn’t home yet, Nanami hadn’t stepped foot into your shared home in what seemed like a year—when it only had been a couple of months. The words of what he would say to his daughter swirl around his mind like a carnival carousel curling around. He had to do this. He couldn’t avoid being in his daughter’s life because of the triggering aftermath of Shibuya.

He refused to give Mahito that much power over him.

“I’m just afraid of how she’ll react.” Nanami lets out a sigh as he packs up his clothes. His scarred hands trembled as he folded his clothes to put them in his suitcase neatly. Nowadays, it takes him longer than usual to do simple tasks like buttoning his shirt, and he now attempts to fold his clothes.

“Our daughter is extraordinary; she’ll understand what we do when we explain it to her fully.” You grabbed Nanami’s trembling hands to get his full attention. “We told ourselves that we want her to enjoy her youth. We’ll protect her just so she can do that, but she‘s growing and becoming more curious—we can’t shelter her from a life that she could soon be interested in pursuing.”

You watched as Nanami’s lips formed a straight line. He couldn’t argue against your words because they were true. His daughter was five. It was no point to stir her away from the lifestyle her parents (and a good portion of people she interacted with) were so familiar with, especially when she could possibly already see the ghoulish creatures that haunted his nightmares when he closed his eyes.

“You’re still her father, Ken,” You mumbled as your eyes glanced up at him. “No matter how you look right now, she will still know it’s you because of this.” Your index finger pokes his chest where his heart is.

During some moments within the day, you watched Nanami do simple tasks around the house as the two of you were waiting for you to have to pick up Yu from your friend’s house. Deciding to do what you guys usually do on a bright Sunday morning: clean the house. Your eyes couldn’t help but shine in worry seeing his right-hand shudder while he tried to do something like help you cut up vegetables for dinner. You knew this took a toll on him because cooking dinner together was your thing. A form of love language created when you first started dating blossomed into a tradition—it was just something you two did together. Even after long days of work and raising a very bright personality five-year-old—you two always met in the kitchen, whipping up dinner together and sharing subtle kisses here and there.

Your lips parted to ask if he needed help, but it was as if he read your mind—Nanami shook his head as he continued to cut the vegetables. This time he had a better grip on the knife and was doing it perfectly. If you looked closer, you could even see a twinkle in his eye at him being able to do such a task. Your lips curve into a small smile before you return to doing what you were doing. The two of you moved in sync in the kitchen as if you were competitors in a cooking show—managing to finish dinner and set the table just in time for you to have to pick up Yu. You kissed Nanami’s cheek, mumbling about how you’ll be back as soon as possible. Your friend only lived about fifteen minutes away and didn’t mind dropping Yu off, but you felt it was best for you to talk to her first.

You hated to admit that you were afraid of how Yu would react at the sight of her father—especially considering that you never went into detail about what you two do. She knows you’re a doctor and heal people, but that was it. She had no clue about curses, cursed energy—any of that. Was it wrong to shield her from that, considering that her parents would die? Maybe. But you and Nanami wanted to do everything to protect her youth and her ability to be young. When you picked Yu up, you couldn’t help but smile, seeing her bright smile as she skipped out of your friend’s house with her belongings in one hand and taiyaki. She hugged your leg as you opened the car door, rambling about her adventures with your friend. You helped her in her booster seat and strapped her in before climbing back into the car and returning home. Your mind is running with thoughts of telling your daughter that her father was back from the work trip, but he got hurt. He didn’t look like the last time she saw him.

“Yu, we have to talk.” You said while stopping at the red light. You look in the rearview mirror, watching her snack on the sweet treat. Mentally, you’re cursing your friend for giving her sweets so close to dinnertime—but maybe that would help her process the burdening news.

She glances at you with a smile. A toothless one because Nanami lost one of her front teeth after biting an apple while she was going. Another moment Nanami has missed. You broke eye contact with her to continue to drive, and you could even see the familiar driveway of your home.

“Is daddy finally coming back?” Yu asked. You could hear her kicking her feet, and you simply sighed.

You were turning into the driveway and parking the car. You unbuckled your seat so you could turn to look at her. Her curious expression looked rather adorable with the taiyaki crumbs on them. You knew you couldn’t lie to her. Ignoring her question, you exited the car and helped her out. You figured it would be better to be closer to her when you dropped the colossal bomb that could alter how she sees her father. Closing the car door and kneeling to her height, “Sweetie, I need to tell you something about your father.”

Yu’s head tilted in confusion, and her eyes shone with curiosity and fear. Your hands would give her a comforting squeeze, tugging the coils out her face that fell out of the red headband Yuji brought her on one of his free days from being a sorcerer student.

“Daddy got hurt badly at work.” You tried to explain, but your voice seemed to crack in the back of your throat as you tried not to cry. This hurt.

“Your dad was hurt really bad, and I just wanted to let you know that you must take it easy on him. He’s still your dad, who will protect you no matter what.” You rubbed your thumb against her cheek brushing away any crumbs off her face.

Yu only give you a nod. The five-year-old had to comprehend that something happened so quickly that she didn’t even know if she should be asking more questions. She was one curious kid that always had a question about something. You opened the front door holding onto Yu’s hand, and the house seemed too quiet other than the sounds from the dining room. You glance down at Yu and lead her to the kitchen; you can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

Nanami set the table slowly; he didn’t even notice that two of his favorite girls had returned. You felt Yu grip your hand harder at the sight as you cleared your throat to get his attention just in time as he set the last place at the table. When he looked up and saw the two of you, you gave him a reassuring smile. It was okay. It was a huge step, but it was okay. The skin on the right side of his body was bare and burnt and could be considered quite distracting to people who walked by him when he went to physical therapy. His mangled scars traveled up from the side of his face and down to his foot. His right eye was covered with a black eye patch as he stared at his wife and Yu.

Yu’s mouth gasped open as she clutched to your pants leg. You didn’t want to nudge her forward; you were aching to know what was running through your daughter’s mind. Yu’s eyes seemed to be eyeing Nanami, who was standing before them. Nanami feared what his daughter would do and how she would react. He was afraid that his daughter wouldn’t recognize him due to the permanent scars he now had on his body. His palms grew sweaty at the silence in the kitchen. He still remembered the conversation you two had before all of this. He couldn’t shutter away in fear in a situation like this, and it was something Mahito would want.

Yu finally detached herself from your pants, dropping the snack she once was eating and running to hug her father’s leg. The sight shocked you as you watched Nanami lift her in his arms and pull her close. Yu’s small arms wrapped around Nanami’s neck as she started to cry. Your eyes began to burn with your tears, quickly going to swipe them away before you became an emotional wreck. You were happy to see her show that emotion to you and Nanami.

Yu lifts from the crook of Nanami’s neck to say through sniffles, “Daddy, I can’t believe you’re a pirate now.”

You chuckled at her statement before speaking, “How about you two go get cleaned up, and I’ll put the food on the table.”

Nanami put Yu down, and he extended his hand for her to take so she could lead him to the bathroom so they could get ready for dinner. A warm feeling overwhelmed your heart watching Yu drag him away, but she did it so gently, considering that Nanami still used a cane to help him walk better to his destination. You let them get cleaned up while you cleaned up the snack your daughter dropped and finished setting the table.

Dinner felt like a nostalgic feeling—a nice nostalgic feeling that made you smile so hard. Yu was telling you about all the adventures she went on while you were away, from going to the countryside with Nanami’s parents to going to a pig cafe with your friend. She had so many stories to tell that she must have been holding in to tell the two of you.

“And I lost my tooth.” She grins at the two of you as she lets her tongue glides across the place where one of her teeth once was.

“I’m sure the tooth fairy came and visited you,” Nanami adds.

“Yeah,” Yu placed her fork down to dig into her pockets, and she pulled out her yen bills. “Then I also made a new friend at school.”

“You’re one social butterfly,” You said aloud, sipping your water.

“He’s so nice but has an ugly imaginary friend.” Yu shoved her mouth with vegetables leaving both Nanami, and yourself stunned at her words.

“Sweetheart, it’s not very nice to call someone ugly. Even if it’s an imaginary friend.” Nanami glances at his daughter, who lets out a familiar dramatic sigh he has heard from you.

The blonde-haired male tends to forget that his daughter had a carbon copy of your personality. He watches as she pushes her vegetables around her plate before speaking again, “It’s just his imaginary friend who makes weird noises, and it looks like they make my friend unhappy.” Yu explained

Nanami’s head tilts in curiosity, hearing his daughter describe something he was acquainted with. His hold on the fork tightened as he realized what his child was describing, and his stomach formed the most monstrous knots. He took a sip of water as he watched you grab hold of his hand and give it a nice squeeze.

“How long have you been seeing this imaginary friend?” You asked.

“Hm, since Monday,” Yu admitted.

“How about we invite your friend over? Hm?” Nanami asked.

“Really?” Yu questioned excitedly.

You made eye contact with Nanami. You didn’t want him to push himself so much that he was uncomfortable. “Are you sure about that?” You questioned as you collected Yu’s plate in front of her.

“It’s okay.” Nanami gives you a grin. “We’ll just have to ask the little guy's parents, that’s all.”

Dinner continued with laughs and stories. Yu was so excited just to see her two parents together again. She couldn’t stop discussing everything she wanted to show you and Nanami. Even as you wrapped up dinner and told her to get ready for bed—she begged Nanami to help her. Due to Nanami being the girl dad he was, he couldn’t resist that charming smile and the puppy dog eyes Yu gave him when she wanted her way.

“I’ll meet you in our room when I’m done. Make sure she brushes her teeth.” You smile as Nanami pecks your lips and watches him disappear towards the stairs with your energetic daughter.

NANAMI’S FINGERS GRASPED AT THE FLUFFY PINK TEDDY BEAR AFTER HE HAD TUCKED YU IN. Nanami Kento hasn't done this in months. He hadn't tucked his daughter in and placed a soft kiss upon her forehead in months, and the feeling felt so foreign to him even though he had held her so close when she was only a tiny baby. Or the fact that he witnessed her take first steps towards not him or his lovely wife Y/N, but freakin’ Gojo. Then Nanami couldn’t forget holding her hand as he walked into her first dance class.

Yu looked at him as if he was the whole world—as if he was her protector and knight in the fairytale world that she dreamt about. Now, the guilt and the harsh stab in his heart hit him that he possibly wasn’t strong enough to protect her however he wanted. How can he protect something he promised to protect when she was just a baby now that his scarred hands shook doing simple tasks like tying his shoes, and when he closed his eyes, his nightmares were filled with him.

“Daddy?” Yu broke the blonde-haired male out of his thoughts as she looked at him. “Where’d you go? Mommy said you went away for work.”

He sits on her bed, and his weight causes the mattress to sink. He felt that question was coming; she just didn’t feel comfortable asking just yet. “Yes, I did. I just got hurt while doing so,” His lips form a reassuring grin that he hopes she will return.

Instead, her chocolate brown hues only lit up in curiosity. It was a look he had seen in Y/N’s eyes many times when he stepped into the medical room at the Kyoto school. Yu snuggles closer to the teddy bear in her arms before asking, “Does it hurt? Mommy can make you feel better with her mommy powers, or Auntie Shoko can help you..” She then flashes Nanami a smile, and it just hits Nanami that his little girl was missing one of her front teeth.

She extended her hand, and Nanami’s scarred one held on to it. He watched her small thumb rub against his hand with a small smile. “I missed you, Daddy.” Her eyes start to water, and the waterworks begin.

He cradles her in his arms so tightly, similar to when she was only a tiny baby in his arms years ago. Nanami didn’t want to let go. He held onto his daughter until she fell asleep with dried tears staining her cheeks. When he tucked her in tightly with her favorite stuffed teddy bear next to her, he placed a kiss on her forehead.

“I will protect you forever, no matter what, princess.”

After those words, he knew she probably wouldn’t remember, he turned off her room light. The only thing that illuminated Yu's room was a nightlight plugged up near her bed while Nanami closed the door just a bit for it to be cracked.

Nanami settled in bed after showering. With one of his favorite books in his hand, he didn’t even notice that Y/N had skipped into the room after checking on Yu one last time before bed. The oversized Star Trek shirt that once was owned by Nanami hugged your figure, and with each step, you took to climb into bed—Nanami could get a glance at the cup of your butt.

Y/N climbed into bed, and Nanami expected her to snuggle up close to him like she usually does when he reads before bed. She’ll always tell him how comforting his voice is when he reads aloud to her. Subtle jokes about how he could have been a speech coach or something instead of fighting curses. He wished his life was as simple as that. Instead of being scouted to go to a school to fight curses, he would have lived an everyday life. He would meet Y/N in a hospital in another life because now that he’s been married to her for years, he couldn’t fathom another life where she wasn’t a part of it.

Nanami’s chocolate brown hues scanned over the words of the book he was wearing as he felt the weight of Y/N climbing on top of him. Her tummy was now supporting his book as she glanced down at him, and when his eyes finally looked up from his book—his lips formed a crescent moon-shaped smile at the sight. She hadn’t wrapped her hair yet, so her kinky coils were sprawled all over her head like a golden crown.

“I missed you, you know? I missed this.” She says as her teeth grind against the plump lower lip.

Nanami folded the corner of the page; he stopped reading and closed the book. He placed the book on the oak-colored nightstand, and his hands found comfort on Y/N’s waist. “Me too.” He answered truthfully.

“I can tell, Ken,” Y/N says lowly as her hips rock against Nanami’s bulge, which displays how much he had missed his wife since his months of being away.

His fingers tiptoed up the shirt, but he soon snatched his scarred hand away in embarrassment. The insecure feeling of his rough and tainted fingers caressing something so soft as his face grows red. Y/N’s eyebrows raised in confusion because he didn’t want to touch her. She didn’t take offense to it, considering that she knew this was something Nanami would have to get used to. That half of his body was permanent with scars that she would help him love.Y/N tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it on the floor. Her hand grasped Nanami’s scarred one and she kissed his knuckles before placing his hand on one of her breasts.

“It’s okay. I want your touch. I crave your touch.” Y/N says. She guided Nanami’s hand up and down her soft brown skin before she began to rock her hips again. She knew Nanami was enjoying because, through the curls that fell in her face with each rock of her hips, she saw how his chocolate brown eyes lit up. “And I can tell you’re craving my touch also. You’ve missed me so much, didn’t you?”

Nanami’s words were so caught up in his throat that he didn’t even know how to respond. His mind couldn’t focus on everything all at once because he wanted to do so much for Y/N. His scarred index and middle finger rolled her nipples in between them, gaining a moan from her, and it hit him hard at how much he missed this. He missed seeing how Y/N’s eyes fluttered close in pure bliss when he touched and kissed her. He’s so eager to get out of his boxers that he didn’t even catch the way she had some shit-eating grin on her face.

But it was another thing that Nanami adored. He adored seeing that expression on Y/N’s face when he finally slid in. The way she would chew on her lower lip to muffle a moan when he had only slipped his tip inside her. Which only would cause Nanami to finally shove his cock further inside her just to hear her yelp out his name and have that dreamy expression on her face.

That same expression she had on her face right now that Nanami’s cock was inside of her. A look of affection that the retired sorcerer missed so much. His hand grasped her waist, guiding Y/N’s hips in a pleasurable, rhythmic pace for both of them. Y/N props her hand on Nanami’s chest to help her balance upon riding him. Moans trembled out her mouth with each roll of her hips, and she had only had Nanami on her mind. It was quite strange how he could plague her brain like a catchy summer tune. That was just the type of spell he had on her.

Nanami tried his best to thrust upward just to hit the spot that had Y/N speaking one of the languages she knew, but it had only taken a toll on his body, and Y/N noticed immediately.

“I got it, Ken. Just relax.” Y/N’S leaning down, kissing at the corner of his lips (specifically the side that’s decorated with burn marks and soon his lips as she cocked to bounce upon his cock. “I know you want to ensure I’m getting more out of this than you.” She adds.

“Y/N…” Nanami breathed out. “I just want to make—”

His words were cut off by her, “Make sure I orgasm; when do you not make me orgasm?” She glances down at him.

“Can I take care of you for once? Hm?” She asked that question with a roll of her hips for each word and syllable that left that pretty mouth of hers.

And Nanami’s brain turned into mush, his face got so hot, and his balls grew heavier. The only answer he could give to Y/N was, “Fuck.”

“Good answer.” She cockily responds before her hand reaches at the headboard to help her ride him some more.

The mess built between their naked bodies was driving Nanami insane but in a good way. After months of being touch-deprived due to surgeries and physical therapy, he needed this. He relaxed under Y/N; he let her take control until he could feel himself about to cum.

“I’m about to—Shit,” Nanami uttered. Before he could say anything else, Y/N could feel the thick ropes of cum shooting inside of her. She’s leaning down, capturing his lips upon his and slowly grinding against him to ensure his cum stays inside of her.

When the kiss broke apart, Nanami looked up at his wife as if he had hearts in his eyes. “I fuckin’ love you.”

“I love you too,” Y/N giggles through her subtle pants.

With the Star Trek shirt back on Y/N’s body, which was now stained with the scent of Nanami and sweat, she glances over at her husband, who is sincerely thinking about something. She hoped he still wasn’t thinking about the scars on his body. “What’s on your mind?” She glances up at him through her eyelashes.

“Yu can see curses now.” Nanami looked at his wife. “She’s only five.” He adds with a sigh.

Y/N hated to admit that her assumptions of what their daughter told them during dinner were accurate. She felt like Yu was too young to see them and finally realized that her world was much different than her friends in class. But Yu had two amazing parents. Two parents would guide her through this. Due to Nanami being the wonderful husband he was, it was as if he read Y/N’s mind.

With a sly grin and a quick, playful peck on the tip of Y/N’s nose, he says, “We’ll guide her through it, though.”

━━ ♡ // @maydayaisha @eiflawriting @unknownspecies @violxtbxbyy @kama-star @superluckystar @minniecums @neesiewrote @lisia-primary @plopifuee @discobeachbarbie @yeagerfushiguro @dontmockwhatilove @omb-lnn @sukunasdirtylaugh @zu8her @loveupeople @atiny-dazzlinglight @p00pdev1l @macxera @onlybambibambi @dior-fawn @sleepysnorlaxsblog @mstsukii @jujutsukaisenfan @adcree @aichaaa @sexlapis @syomi @si00p @madness1999sworld @pt6dio @daisynik7 @woahhajime @blaxxbutterfly

thanks for reading, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #anime x reader #anime smut #black reader #x black reader #jjk x black reader #anime x black reader #female reader #fem reader

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cripplecharacters · 1 month

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Do you have any tips (or previous posts) about how to write a young person who’s first-time cane user? This one is for a character who escapes a lifetime of being experimented on, and learns in the aftermath of being rescued that this rather compromised her ability to walk well again. I’ve written characters with other mobility devices for getting around. But never canes. I myself am physically disabled but have never needed anything like these before. I’m always eager to learn.

Hi!

If your character is a first time cane user, here's some things that could happen:

She will need to learn how to walk with the cane first. When you're starting, it's easy to mess up (though it could be my dyspraxia speaking) and overfocus on how you should walk because you're just getting used to it. She could randomly stop and correct her gait, or look down a lot to check if she's still doing the motion (left arm and right leg forward, or the other way around).

She's probably gonna drop that thing a lot. Especially if she has a weaker grip in the cane hand - now, I don't have this problem (the opposite, rather) - but the overall thing is a really common occurrence for most of us. Walking and hit the smallest pebble imaginable? Cane on the ground, somehow. Tried putting it against the wall or table? It's on the ground. And then you need to reach for it... it's a struggle sometimes.

If she's not helped in picking the cane, she will spend some time figuring out what grip and height are comfortable for her. (Grip depends on personal preference, no one's preference has ever been the doorknob handle, height is generally to the person's wrist from the ground up.) I think that this could be an interesting opportunity to talk about disabled communities - maybe she's frustrated with the process and goes to an older (more experienced) cane user to help her?

If it's during the winter, her hand is gonna be freezing - and the opposite in the summer - and she might not be prepared for it. The handle can get HOT and it can be an issue. Depending on what her actual disability is, she might try switching which hand to hold it in. If she's able to do that, another character could warm up her cold hand :)

The first couple of times walking with a cane are an Experience. You feel way better, but also everyone is suddenly staring. Some people care about that, some don't. But it can be somewhat overwhelming either way.

Spatial awareness is gonna suck at first. She will bump into what feels like everything with the cane. Especially doorframes. It's always doorframes for some reason. Or mess up and have her cane slip down because she hasn't realized how close to the curb she was.

She will hit her shin. It will hurt.

She's probably going to be speedy with that thing! Getting a cane is like getting a speed boost. Without it, I have episodes where I'm extremely slow (my highest, extreme-pain speed would be slower than a person walking very casually) and with it, I'm faster than a lot of able-bodied people! It's fun and she would have fun with it.

She will not know what to do with the cane when she doesn't need it. For me, using backpacks always cause issues because I don't know how to hold it without dropping it, but I also need to swap hands, something gets stuck on the handle... it's a whole process that takes a comical amount of time at first. Same when going to the public bathroom, where are you putting it when you aren't using it...? It's a lot of trial and error and a lot of "eww, my cane just touched the dirtiest surface humanly imaginable".

In the real world, people are (overly) interested in young cane user's business and tend to stare a lot. Now, it doesn't have to be like this in your story, but it's often just an annoying part of life. Your character might feel awkward and feel like she needs to explain herself, but this goes away after some time. You just get desensitized after a while.

In the real world, people are sometimes interested and nice about it! For example, a lot of older people can be insecure about using a cane, exactly like younger people. I've heard stories about older people asking younger users where they got their cane from, how are they so confident with it, etc. Another opportunity for a disabled community moment!

I hope that my suggestions were helpful, it's been a while since I was a first-time cane user so I wrote down what I still remember, haha.

Mod Sasza

Hi!

I agree with Sasza on pretty much every point and wanted to add some things from my own experience.

It's really, really hard to hold both a cane and an umbrella at the same time. Sometimes I'll give up and get wet. Sometimes I'll give up and store the cane. She might do either of those, depending on what she hates more: being wet or walking without the cane. Or she could get a raincoat if that works for her.

Speaking of umbrellas, sometimes you need your umbrella and you need your cane and you also need a free hand. This Sucks. What I do for this sometimes (and maybe she or other people have better, smarter, more useful solutions than this) is shove my umbrella into my shirt or backpack strap or something, so the umbrella is Held Up by it. This is not very effective, and will not last long. But if I need to look up a map on my phone or adjust something on my clothes or get my keys, it can work. Sort of.

Just like mod Sasza said, people will take interest in your cane, younger and older alike. I've had people of all ages compliment my cane (it has flowers) as well as people of all ages tell me I'm too young to need a cane or ask what's wrong with me. An older woman once asked me where I got my cane as she had been wanting a 'pretty' one, and that was a nice moment.

She might develop a new awareness of mobility aid users. When you're new at using one and trying to figure it out, you're probably going to be frustrated, because it's a new skill like any other. But it might make her (like it made me) notice more people using canes. It's not that I never saw them before, but that they were more common than I ever thought, and I never would have noticed how common it was if I hadn't had to slow down and practice my skill.

Cane tips get dirty, and cane tips wear out. These both depend on where your character is using her cane (outdoors vs indoors, scratchy asphalt vs smooth wood) as well as how often. A cane with a worn-out rubber tip really sucks and is more unstable and if the cane is made of aluminum and the tip is worn out and you hit the cane the wrong way, you can damage the cane. Ask me how I know.

That's all I can think of right now that I had to learn to deal with when I started! As you can see I still don't have a solution to the rain thing and it's been like two and a half years...

- mod Sparrow

#mod sasza #maybe-its-beyond-words #canes #mod Sparrow #mobility aids

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 11: I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), lots and lots of death and destruction, literally nothing good happens in this chapter don't even read it, a Wolfman sighting, a wild Alys-Whent theory appears, more witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 2 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Why isn’t Aemond back yet?”

You’re standing in the Dragonstone rookery with your arms crossed, brow furrowed, ravens pacing through straw and flapping their dark captive wings inside the cages. Through the window, you are watching the waves break against rocks where the Narrow Sea meets the shoreline. Outside it is overcast, misty, grey, cold. When you stepped into the gardens this morning—while Aegon was still sleeping, something he does with ever-increasing frequency, though you aren’t sure if it is more of a physical necessity or mental escape—frost crunched beneath your boots. Lord Larys Strong has shuffled into the room, his cane tapping on the stone floor; that is why you have spoken.

“Perhaps my sister was wrong about Daemon being at the Gods Eye,” he offers demurely. He is trying to be helpful; he is trying to comfort you. But you remember how vividly Alys showed you Everett being murdered by a mob in King’s Landing. You remember his screams, his flailing arms, men ripping the rings off his fingers and women stabbing the blades of their rusty kitchen knives into his eyes. Alys has never met Everett; she could not possibly have known what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, without gifts beyond what you once believed to be possible. Her sight is true and terrible.

“No,” you reply softly, still gazing at the iron-grey ocean. Any minute I’ll hear Vhagar flying over again. I’ll see her vast, reptilian shadow and know that Aemond has won and the war is all but over.

“Perhaps Aemond felt compelled to go south immediately after defeating Daemon and Caraxes. Perhaps he’s with Prince Daeron now, and they’re burning Northmen in the Reach. Perhaps he wants to return with Cregan Stark’s severed head.”

There’s no logical reason why this can’t be the case; but in place of relief, what you feel instead is a heaviness like stones being piled up, like ships filling with seawater. You turn to Larys. “If the king asks about Aemond, I want you to reassure him the same way you’re speaking to me right now.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

“But I want you to do it more convincingly.”

Larys startles a bit, then regains his composure. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Is Aegon awake yet?”

“He was just getting out of bed when I checked on him.”

And that’s what you’re always doing now, you and Larys and the maesters and the guards: always looking in on Aegon, always making sure he’s not in too much pain, reminding him to eat, distracting him, soothing him, lifting his spirits. “Good. Have the cooks make something that will give him strength.”

“Not crab?”

“No. Something heavier. Beef, venison.” You recall the feast in King’s Landing to celebrate Rhaenyra’s taking of the city, slabs of rare meat glistening with blooddrops like rubies. Red like war, red like the banner of the house you were born to. “Boar, if the kitchens have any.”

In his bedchamber, the king is gazing out of his own window, but slumped in a velvet-cushioned chair instead of standing. He’s sipping a cup of red wine languidly, glazed eyes and slow blinks. There’s a dagger on the table beside him, the one he uses to cut his hair when it starts to grow too long. There are locks of white-blond hair scattered around him on the floor like a thin dusting of snow. Outside, grey clouds churn and waves shatter when they meet jagged boulders and cliffsides, the earth’s own bones.

Aegon glances over at you and says thoughtfully: “Where’s Aemond?”

“He’ll be back soon. I know he will.” He has to be. We can’t win without him. You go to Aegon and kneel down on the floor beside his chair. You lay a palm on his thigh, light as a feather, like you’re just a ghost or a memory. He places a hand over yours. Seconds tick by, late-autumn wind rattles the glass of the window.

“Aemond used to talk about us not being real Targaryens,” Aegon tells you. His voice is faint and dreamy. His eyes are still cast outside—miles away, years away—where he is willing Vhagar’s monstrous shadow to appear. “When we were very young. The Hightowers don’t have any Valyrian blood, they’ve been here in Westeros forever, since men lived in caves and worshiped…” He gestures flippantly with his wine cup, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t care, sticks or rocks or whatever. That bothered Aemond. He felt that made us less than Rhaenyra and Daemon. Our father rejected us, he ignored us, he broke every precedent to keep us from the throne. Being a Targaryen…it didn’t matter to me.” He smirks wryly and looks down at the flurry of silver hair around his chair. “I didn’t want it anyway. Sunfyre was the only part of my inheritance I didn’t think was a curse. But Aemond needed that legacy. He always wanted to be a hero. He was willing to put in the work, he had the discipline, he had the skill. It meant so much to him, and I…” Aegon shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have said those things before he left.”

“He didn’t think you meant it. He knew you were speaking out of pain and frustration.”

“I have to be able to apologize to him.”

“You’ll get the chance. He’ll be back soon.”

And Aegon’s eyes—huge and shimmering and a tumultuous blue like the ocean—drift to yours. The words are there, though you don’t hear them aloud: Will he really?

You have to divert him. You have to make him smile. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll bring your favorite swamp witch with him.”

Aegon laughs; crinkles spring up around his eyes, pink rushes into his pale cheeks. “Oh, seven hells. He better not expect us to host her here while he flies south to roast the Stark men.”

“You don’t enjoy her company?” you tease.

“I’d throw crab shells at her. I’d make her sleep in a tree.” He sighs. “Borros Baratheon is going to be furious.”

“I suppose we don’t always get much of a choice in who we fall in love with.”

“No,” Aegon agrees. “We certainly don’t.” He sets his wine cup on the table, leans down to cradle your face with both hands, draws you in close to him and kisses you, deep and tender and slow. He tastes like wine, and weakness, and heat that he is fighting desperately to keep kindling. Everything he does now is full of effort, even just speaking, even just love. He moves like his arms weigh a thousand pounds, like his jaw is iron and his spine is lead. But he lifts it all for you, for you.

Your palm skates to the apex of his thighs. He is hard, he is hungry for you; but he breaks the kiss and covers his face with both hands, moaning. “Aegon?” You thread your fingers through his choppy hair, tuck his braid behind his ear, bring your lips to his forehead. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He chokes out: “I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m just this scarred, crippled, useless man. And everyone I touch is ruined by me. I can’t let anything bad happen to you. I don’t understand how you could still want me.”

“I do want you,” you swear, taking his hands from his face: the tears glistening there, the rough red burn on his right cheek. “You and no one else.”

Aegon stares at you with his wet, wounded eyes. “You can’t just give in because you think it’s something you owe me. We can’t allow this to become something that’s poisoned.”

Poison. You think of the tea you brewed Baela, of the milk of the poppy in the glass bottle on Aegon’s bedside table across the room. You think of the night you surrendered to Aemond for nothing, no gain, no strategy, no heir, just treason that grows heavy and unmistakable within you like a child would. “It’s not poison with you, Aegon. It’s the only time I feel pure.”

Aegon staggers to his feet and kisses you again as the wind howls outside. His tongue darts between your lips; his arms circle around your waist to help him keep his balance. He follows you to the bed, a moon chasing its planet, and helps you shed your gown of emerald green velvet, just one of your many skins. He’s lying beside you, he’s touching you everywhere, he’s nipping ravenously at your throat, your breasts, down to your belly, your hips. He’s parting your thighs like pages in a book. He’s dragging his tongue through your drenched folds. And then it flashes in your skull like lightning: memories of Aemond, of betrayal, shame and nausea and scalding blood rushing into your face.

“Come back,” you murmur, and Aegon obeys. But then he does something strange. He heaves himself up with great effort, repositions himself behind you, kisses the bumps of vertebrae down the back of your neck as the scars that riddle his chest scratch against your shoulder blades. When you try to roll towards him again, Aegon stops you.

“No,” he pleads in a whisper, hushed and desperate through your hair. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.”

And before you can protest, his fingertips have skimmed over your hip to stroke you where you are warm and slick and aching, and you are gasping helplessly, begging for more, and his cock slips into you with slow, powerful thrusts that he battles not to break the rhythm of until you’ve come. But in the midst of the pleasure, you are aware that just like the moon in its withering phases, Aegon is somehow less, and so are you, and so is everyone, and so is the world itself.

When it’s over, Aegon doesn’t hold you like he usually does. He doesn’t sink into sleep like deep water. He rolls over, fumbles for his bedside table, pours himself a cup of milk of the poppy with shaking hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the bottom steps of the stone staircase, your bare feet in cool wet sand. Your gown is scarlet velvet, a bear fur cloak clutched around your shoulders. You are reading a book from the castle library about the medicinal uses of berries. Across the beach, Aegon is trying to coax Sunfyre into eating a goat that the guards have brought for him. The dragon is sluggish and flightless, and his own blood stains his muzzle; but he peers at Aegon with pained golden eyes like he wants so desperately to please him. And for the first time, you are at last able to see dragons as something more than animate destruction. You see intelligence in them; you see what might even be love.

There are distinct footsteps approaching as Larys descends the staircase, his cane tapping ever-closer. News of Aemond? News of his victory? You twist around to greet the Master of Whisperers. “Do you bring something to lift our spirts, Lord Larys…?”

But no; his face is grim, and he’s holding a bundle of fabric under one arm. He lowers himself down onto the step where you are perched, sets his cane aside, and grasps the bundle with both hands. He stalls for a moment before he speaks. He is in shock, he is terrified. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that I must inflict great heartache upon the king.” His eyes flick to you. “Perhaps you could help me. I don’t even know how to begin.”

Your veins feel icy; your pulse is thundering in your ears. Aemond? Vhagar? “What’s happened? Is it…about the Gods Eye…?”

“No.” Larys gives you the fabric, folded into a neat square. You pull it apart to examine it.

“What is this…?” But then you know. It is a cape. It is not a regal emerald color, nor a deep envious viridescence; it is a vibrant seafoam green, bright and bold and showy. The clasp is still attached, a gold that glints like the dragon ring on Aegon’s left hand. And the cape is riddled with dark maroon smudges and places where the fabric was singed away, leaving only a gash like the puncture mark of a fang. It smells like smoke and the coppery sickness of blood. Soot rubs off on your palms. “Daeron,” you breathe.

Larys nods gravely. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“How? How did you get this?”

“I have informants in the Reach. After the battle, one ensured that this made its way to me. It should be preserved. It should be given to his mother when we are reunited with her, I believe. Perhaps it will bring her some small consolation. It is the only relic of him she will have to bury.”

“Daeron,” you say again, and you can see him like he’s standing in front of you: daring, arrogant, brave, capable far beyond his years, cunning blue eyes, a shock of silver hair that he was so proud of. Alicent has lost two children. Can she survive this? Will she want to? “I don’t understand, what battle…?”

“Cregan Stark and his men met the Hightower army at Tumbleton,” Larys explains. “Addam Velaryon returned on Seasmoke to join the Blacks and prove his enduring loyalty to Rhaenyra. Perhaps the bastard was genuine, perhaps he only wanted to convince Rhaenyra to free poor Corlys from the Red Keep’s dungeons. It doesn’t matter which now. The boy is dead.”

“Dead,” you repeat. Addam Velaryon may have been a boy, but he fought for Rhaenyra. He fought for Cregan Stark. And you say before you can stop yourself: “Good.”

“Daeron on Tessarion, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, and the Velaryon bastard on Seasmoke tangled in the sky above the battle. Vermithor was killed by a scorpion bolt fired by the Northmen. Seasmoke was killed by Tessarion. Daeron fell from his dragon in the midst of the clash. Once the Blacks emerged victorious, Tessarion was found alive but mortally injured, and she was shot to death by Stark’s archers.”

“And Cregan Stark, he’s…he survived?”

“Yes. He is unharmed. But the Hightower army was devastated.”

“What about the other Betrayer? Ulf the White? Could he and Silverwing—?”

“Ulf slept through the battle. Drunk to the point of unconsciousness, I’ve heard. He was slain afterwards. The riderless Silverwing has vanished.”

No Tessarion. No Vermithor or Silverwing. Sunfyre is dying. The only Green dragon left is Vhagar. You can’t believe it. You won’t believe it. “But…but Aemond was supposed to fly south after the Gods Eye, he and Daeron were supposed to fight together, and if Vhagar was there this never would have happened—”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Larys concurs somberly. “But evidently, Aemond has not yet left the Riverlands.”

You study the cape, this ash-and-blood tapestry of the youngest Targaryen brother’s demise, the fifteen-year-old boy who was so much like Aegon. Where is Aemond? Still waiting for Daemon and Caraxes? Holed up inside the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with Alys? Where the hell is he? We need him. We need him. We can’t win without him.

“Your Grace,” Larys says gingerly, like trying not to creak floorboards. “I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable.”

If the Greens lose, Aegon will be executed. You shake your head. “No.”

“I don’t say this to cause you distress. I do it to save your life if that time ever comes. The king would want you to survive, and so would Alicent.”

You hug the mangled cape to your chest, your throat full of embers and your eyes blurring with tears. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“To Claw Isle?” Larys suggests. “The Blacks believe you to be innocent. Your family would take you back.”

“Clement is the head of my house now. He idolizes Cregan Stark, I think he loves him more than he ever loved me. If Cregan is still alive when the war is over, Clement will give me to him. How can I marry a man who fought against Aegon’s cause? Who murdered Greens?” Who is, at least in part, responsible for his death?

Larys scrambles for another solution. “I could try to send you somewhere far away. Dorne, Essos.”

“And then what?” you demand; and Larys cannot answer. You do it for him. “I’d be a woman alone in the world. I would be vulnerable and friendless. I have no idea how to fend for myself. Autumn knew it.” And you remember what she told you before she accompanied you to Dragonstone, a journey that feels like a lifetime ago: I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.

“You read, you write, you study medicine,” Larys says, rather frantic now. “Perhaps I could arrange to have you taken to the Citadel and you could train under the maesters there…I could try to contact some who are sympathetic to the Greens, and if they agree you should depart immediately—”

“I won’t leave Aegon.”

“Your Grace, if the Greens lose this war…I fear the king will not survive. He is already weak. He is already ailing. There is very little you can do for him now.”

“I won’t leave him,” you hiss fiercely. “As long as he breathes, I belong where he is.” He’s risked his life to save mine. He’s taught me the joy that can be found in marriage. I will never stop repaying that debt.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys concedes. Then you refold the cape and walk barefoot across the beach to meet Aegon.

Sunfyre has at last appeased the king by setting the goat ablaze with a sickly gasp of flames. Now he is gnawing listlessly at the corpse. His golden eyes catch on you and track your steps as you approach, dully curiosity but with no malice. Aegon takes his leave of the dragon with a gentle pat of his angular face, struggles to his feet, and joins you under the bleak grey sky. Once he could not step into the sunlight without it burning him; now the sun rarely shines at all. He knows there’s something wrong. He can read it on you like clandestine letters.

“Angel?” Then he sees the cape that you’re holding. “What is that, a banner? A blanket? My bitch half-sister’s funeral shroud, I hope.”

You give it to him. Aegon shakes the cape open, surveys it, then gasps, a sharp inhale like the whistle of a blade through the air. His knees buckle; the fabric flutters to the wet sand. You drop down beside Aegon and embrace him, shelter him, shield him. He grabs at you desperately, like a drowning man clawing for scraps of buoyant wreckage in the waves.

“It was quick,” you murmur as you hold him. “He fell from Tessarion. He didn’t suffer.” You don’t know that, you have no idea what Daeron’s final moments were like. “The battle happened at Tumbleton. The Northmen are in the Reach.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aegon rasps. “I don’t want to be the king. I never wanted it. I want to go back to before everything happened. I want to give Rhaenyra the throne. She can have it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Can we go back to when my father died? I’ll let Rhaenyra have the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t care what Otto and Mother and Criston say. They wouldn’t fight for it either if they knew what would happen. All of us are dead or broken. It’s not worth it. Nothing could be worth it. I don’t want to be the king. I don’t need the Iron Throne. I need everyone I’ve lost back. And I need you.”

“I’m so sorry, Aegon.” Your fingers are snared in his windswept silver hair; your heartbeat is thudding against his. There’s salt on your cheeks: his tears, your tears, the spray of the ocean. “It’s not your fault. Rhaenyra had the chance to end the war. She was offered terms and she refused them over and over again. Daeron’s blood is on her hands. She will pay the debt.”

And a tiny voice inside you says: Hasn’t she already lost four children? Hasn’t she paid enough?

The answer is dark and resounding. No. Nothing will ever be enough. But her life is a start.

“Where was Aemond?” Aegon sobs. “Where the fuck was he? Daeron wasn’t supposed to face the Northmen without him. He was a kid…just a goddamn kid…”

“I don’t know.”

“Are Daemon and Caraxes still alive? Is Aemond at Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know, Aegon. We haven’t heard anything.”

“I should have been there.”

“You would have been if it was possible. But you’re not able to fight. Sunfyre isn’t either.”

“I’m useless,” he weeps bitterly. “I can’t win the war. I can’t save anyone.”

And you brush his hair back from his face and feel his forehead for fever as you say: “You saved me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s she like?” Lord Bolton asks as he and Cregan Stark warm their large, weathered hands by the fire, their breath foggy in the wind and the stars glimmering in a cold cloudless sky.

The Northmen are still clearing dead and wounded from the battlefield at Tumbleton. Split bones must be forced back into place, infected limbs amputated, gouges scrubbed and stitched, burns treated, corpses buried, soldiers who cannot continue evacuated back to Winterfell via the Kingsroad. All of this must be attended to; Cregan Stark is a man of honor, and honor demands that he care for those who have pledged their lives to him. When the task is done, the Northmen will begin their assault on King’s Landing. The riots must be put down, the rightful queen must be protected, the succession must be secured. And Cregan must find and claim the woman he has been promised and yet denied by the wickedness of the grotesque, amoral, soulless Usurper.

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Cregan says. He speaks in subterranean rumbles, dark and rolling like thunder, booms and quakes, always a little louder than he means to be. He takes up space; he bends the light and gulps down the air. He smiles wistfully, remembering. “But that’s not the important thing. She’s clever, she’s tough. She’s not afraid of gore. I’ve seen her help set a compound fracture that pierced straight through the skin. She had blood all over her hands.” He grins and holds up his own, stained with earth and ash and half-dried maroon that looks as black as ink in the firelight. “We are made for each other.”

Lord Bolton whistles admiringly, his breath like mist. “She is a rarity.”

“Like treasure, like gemstones.” Cregan lays his blade across his knees, a longsword taller than some men and with a hilt carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. He cleans it, he tends to it, it is a part of him as immutable as his spine or his heart. “But she is not prideful. She behaves like a true noblewoman. She is quiet and modest. She defers to her father, to her brother, to me. She obeys.”

“That is essential,” Lord Bolton notes. “Nothing breeds discontentment like a willful wife.”

“She will give me sons with Valyrian blood. She is fertile, surely. Her mother bore six children.” Cregan polishes his blade, his unruly dark hair blowing in the night wind. Now he is pensive. “Her maidenhood was entrusted to me. It was a great honor, a great responsibility. It was something only I ever should have had. It is not her error, but she is less now.”

“You are a good man to still take her, the way she is now. The very best of men.”

“I cannot seem to forget her,” Cregan muses, quiet in a way that is rare for him. “I dream of when I first met her at Winterfell, snow in her hair and pages of books rustling beneath her fingers.”

“What will you do when you capture the Usurper?” Lord Bolton asks; this is the part that most interests him. “Burn him? Gut him? My men have brought their flaying knifes with them from the Dreadfort. They are eager to use them.”

“No,” Cregan says firmly. “No flaying. It is against the laws of war.”

“What use are laws to animals like Alicent Hightower’s children?”

“They preserve us. They safeguard our own humanity, our own honor.” Cregan holds his longsword aloft and scrutinizes it, gazing at his own reflection in the glinting blade. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“So you will do it yourself,” Lord Bolton says with grudging awe. His own flaying knives are suddenly very heavy in his pockets; his fingers itch to use them.

Cregan Stark—the Warden of the North, the new Kingmaker—nods under the starlight. “Yes. I will end the Usurper. It can’t be anyone but me.” He sheaths his longsword, gliding it into its leather scabbard, thinking of his long-awaited wedding night with the woman whose purity was stolen from him like pieces of gold thieved from a vault. “And I will enjoy it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In bed, surrounded by candles that flicker when cold drafts blow in through the crevices of the castle, you read to Aegon from a book cataloging all the bones of the human body. He doesn’t care about the content, you know that; he just likes to hear your voice. As you read, Aegon—his arms linked around your waist, his chin resting in the dip of your clavicle—interjects with drowsy commentary. “I’ve broken that bone,” he says. “Oh yeah. That one too.” “Grandsire almost cracked my radius in half when I was ten and I replaced his beard cream with cake frosting. He put it on just before going to sleep and woke up assailed by stray cats.”

You chuckle, a lightness that lasts mere seconds. Now Lord Larys Strong has appeared in the doorway, the orange-gold glow like dusk on his face. He rests both hands on the handle of his cane like he often does, but his expression is one you have never seen before. He is not just mournful. He is paralyzed, he is shattered. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, blank. He swallows noisily. He opens his mouth, but no words escape. He closes it again.

“Don’t tell me that,” Aegon says, deathly quiet, winter still. He pulls away from you. You shut the book and place it on the bedside table beside his glass bottle of pearlescent milk of the poppy. Then you watch Larys.

The Master of Whisperers takes a deep, tremulous breath. “I have received word that both dragons disappeared into the skies above the Gods Eye, and then—”

“No,” Aegon whispers. “No, he’s coming back.”

“Your Grace…”

“No, he’s coming back!” the king roars. “He has to, he has to, you know we can’t win without him!”

Aemond? you think, terror-stricken.

“I have three separate reports. They all agree. Caraxes and Vhagar destroyed each other. They plummeted into the lake and sank, along with their riders.”

“No—”

“Both of their riders,” Larys says.

Aemond??

“The reports are wrong,” Aegon counters. “They have to be.”

You can picture Aemond: smirking, teasing, bitter, brilliant, thoughtful, visionary, blind. How can he be at the bottom of the Gods Eye, eternally chained to Vhagar’s saddle, fish nibbling at his fingers and lips and the gristle between his ribs? “Aegon,” you begin, reaching for his hands; but he flinches away from you.

“No, no, he’s coming back!”

Larys says gently: “Your Grace, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss.” But of course, it is every Green’s loss. Who is left to stand between them and Cregan Stark’s army of archers, cavalry, Boltons with their flaying knives? The Baratheon men? And does anyone truly believe they can defeat the Northmen, assuming they arrive to wage war at all?

“He’s coming back.” Aegon is hysterical. His murky blue eyes stream like riptides. “He has to. We need him, Larys, you know how much we need him. It’s a mistake. Aemond is okay, he’s coming back, he’s coming back, we can’t win without him!”

You try to take his hands again. “Aegon, it’s not over yet, we’ll—”

“Don’t touch me!” he cries, breaking down in breathless sobs. Then he covers his face, ashamed, broken. “Everyone I touch dies. I’m a curse, I’m a monster. I ruin people.”

Larys rushes to comfort the king. You retreat from the bed, watching Aegon as he howls and moans, feeling that although there is one of Alicent’s children left alive, all of them have already been taken from you.

The witch, you think, poisonous, venomous, bloodthirsty. She led Aemond to the Gods Eye, and now he’s gone. He’s dead, he’s nowhere, he’s doomed us all.

What had Alys said before she returned with Aemond to Harrenhal? I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.

You dart to the table beside Aegon’s favorite chair, cushioned with deep red velvet, and snatch the dagger he uses to cut his hair. Clutching the hilt of the weapon, tears searing in your eyes, you bolt from the room and out into hallway. Dragons of stone and steel, fire crackling in their gaping jaws, watch as you flee past them towards the bedchamber Aemond always used when he visited the castle. You can’t fathom that you will never see him again. He was a weed that grew into you and put down roots, he became a part of your landscape. He was dandelions, he was clovers, he was ivy, and now he is earth scorched to ash.

I’ll never speak to him again. I’ll never see him again. How is that possible?

Blood. You need blood. Would there be any in the kitchens? Should you have a goat or a boar butchered?

No, no. Your mind is a maelstrom of storms and rage, fire and blood. I can’t wait.

You go to the closed door of the room that was once claimed by Aemond. He never owned anything; he only took things and penned his name to them in void-black ink. You take the blade of the dagger and rip it down the length of your left palm. Then you write on the wood of the door two words in a rust-colored scrawl, one on top of the other: Alys Rivers.

You ball up your bloodied fist and knock on the door three times. Then you throw it open. And in a black mist, there she stands: onyx gown, obsidian hair, black moonstone eyes, tears of blood that fall in a torrent down her alabaster cheeks. She is grief-stricken. But you have no compassion left for her; your mercy was once an ocean and has now receded to a creek, a puddle, sparse raindrops that people pray for during droughts.

“You told Aemond that Daemon and Caraxes would be waiting for him at the Gods Eye. You encouraged him to go.”

Alys shakes her head, an inhumanly slow motion. Her voice is deep and echoing, like a shout through a long tunnel. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“You see things, don’t you?!”

“Not everything,” Alys sobs. “I saw him take flight. I didn’t see the rest of it. I didn’t know. I never would have let him go if I’d known.”

“And you killed him. You murdered him, you ruined him, you might as well have driven a blade into his heart.”

“Aemond went of his own volition,” Alys says. “I told him the truth of what I saw. He was certain that Caraxes could not meet Vhagar in battle and emerge unbroken. And he was right. Caraxes did not survive. But neither did Vhagar.” Her blood-streaked face crumbles again. “He was stabbed through the eye. His beautiful sapphire eye…”

“You’ve doomed us. Vhagar was our last adult dragon, Aemond was our best warrior after Criston died. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed us.”

Her glare turns hateful. “You are not such a stranger to killing.”

“Careful, witch,” you warn. “Or when Aegon sits the Iron Throne, we will send men to the rubble of Harrenhal to burn you alive.”

“No. My son and I will live. And I’ve seen your children, too,” Alys says, and for all the times she did not intend to be cruel, now she is grinning with savage madness.

Panic rises in you; you try to conceal it. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have children.”

“Oh, you will,” Alys insists gleefully. “You will. I’ve seen it. Snow in your hair, furs around your shoulders, children who are dark and rugged, wolf pups with dirt and ash on their faces.”

The North. The Starks. “No,” you say, horrified. I can’t marry Cregan Stark. If I’m given to him, that means Aegon is dead. “No, no, you’re lying. You’re lying!”

“You are not a woman who motherhood will come easily to. It will take time to conceive, but you will give the Warden of the North heirs. He will enjoy putting them in you. He will have to try often.”

Your voice is hoarse and helpless. “You’re just trying to hurt me, it’s not real—”

“Wolf pups,” she says again, insistent. “After Aemond died, I saw them all in a row. And my son,” Alys continues dreamily, tracing her belly with one palm, not showing yet but full of potential like blue-white lightning flashing from inside a storm cloud. “My son will be a knight of House Whent.”

“There is no House Whent, you lunatic.”

“No.” Alys smiles, leers, gloats. “But there will be. I will be driven from Harrenhal, but they will reclaim it. And a Whent will marry into Tully, and a Tully will marry into Stark, and your blood will mix with Aemond’s after all. Isn’t there a certain poetry in that?”

Your hands have flown up to cover your ears. Aegon can’t die. I won’t survive it. “No, no, no!”

“The blood of wolves will always sing to dragons. And that is because of you, I think. The mind forgets, if it ever knew at all…but the bones remember. Pieces of you threaded into the marrow. Murmurs of your voice in their dreams. Do not attempt to resist it. This is your fate, and it could be far worse. The wheel goes around and around, and we all take our turn being crushed. Be grateful you’ll still be alive. Be thankful you had the time you did with your broken king.”

“No!” You slam the door shut. The blood on your palm is drying; the slit you cut there burns.

She’s lying. She’s mistaken. She’s a witch and a madwoman and I don’t believe a word she says.

And before you can dwell on how little comfort this brings you, you hurry to return to Aegon’s bedchamber.

“Borros Baratheon will expect you to take his daughter as your wife,” Larys is telling Aegon. “He was promised a royal marriage. With Aemond and Daeron both gone, you are the only suitable Targaryen left.”

“I won’t do it,” Aegon says quietly. He looks bloodless and haunted; he looks half-dead.

“Your Grace…please…failure to appease him might inspire Borros to withhold his military support from us. His army is the only substantial force the Greens still possess. It is not a personal decision. It is a strategic one. And without having an heir with the queen, her political utility is minimal…”

“No,” Aegon snaps. “I will not be parted from her. Do not ask me again.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys yields, bowing deeply. You know he does not act out of ill-will towards you. He is an advisor, and he is trying to advise. You are not the logical choice. And if Aegon loses, you will reap no rewards because he chose to call you his queen. The world will end for you as well.

“What is that?” you ask, and they both jolt to see you in the doorway; but you aren’t looking at Aegon or Larys. You are peering out the nearest window at pinpricks of firelight that dance over the waves. Larys shuffles to the window, his cane rapping against the floor. With agonizing effort—though he refuses your help—Aegon crawls out of bed and stumbles across the bedchamber to join you and Larys.

“It’s her,” Aegon says; and you can hear the vicious satisfaction in his voice like glistening strands of saliva dripping from the jaws of a ravenous animal, a wolf or a bear or a dragon. The fire is from the glass lanterns they carry. There are no signs of Syrax or Sheepstealer, not even little Tyraxes, no squeals or shrieks or shadows that pass over the moonlight.

Stepping off a tiny boat moored at the end of the pier—attended by only a handful of servants and tugging her white-haired son along behind her—is Rhaenyra Targaryen.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

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bengiyo · 4 months

Text

Last Twilight Ep 12 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last week, we learned that Day’s surgery was unsuccessful. We time skipped over his mom figuring out things to see that Mhok is having anxieties about Day and conflating them with Rung. Mhok has become overprotective even as Day has begun using his cane and exercising more independence. Mhok lied about a job opportunity in Hawaii and upset Day. Day reacted in the most extreme and broke up with Mhok.

So…we’re just skipping over the aftermath of that fight? They really just broke up and now it’s years later and Day is graduating? That whole journey ended on one lie? Be serious.

Did they really try to fake me out like Mhok might be the groom for Porjai? Be serious now.

Man, they really want this escalator scene to give It’s All Coming Back to Me Now, but I just don’t think you can earn that in a time skip this abrupt.

Suddenly Aof cameo.

Mixed feelings about Mhok assisting Day like this. At least he revealed himself at the end? It’s giving Revenge of the Nerds (1984) or The Goonies (1985).

Day has had Mhok blocked for three years???

Are we really just gonna start flirting after three years like this? Come on, now. What has changed??

All the meddling is cute, but I’m still at the three years no contact.

Unbelievable. Mhok says he did a bunch of emotional work and then thanked Day for breaking up with him, only for Day to say, ‘I’m glad we can discuss this as adults,’ without saying anything else. “This is real damn ridiculous. This is belemptious.”

Mom, why aren’t saying any of this to Day???

I do appreciate that Day and Night worked out their issues, but everything with the supporting cast feels like it’s all happening between scenes. Like why is the dad here? Are he and the mom going to reconcile? Do we care about this in any way specific to these characters?

Aof seems to like when one of his leads is holding back really hard for some reason, but Day is just not a good execution of that at all. I am not on his side the way I was with Phupha, Jim, or Pran.

If Mhok gives up the work and life he’s built for himself for three years to be with Day, I’m going to be just as annoyed as I was at the end of Enchante with Akk having to work his way to Paris to be with Theo.

So…Day has done no emotional work on his issues with Mhok in three years? I don’t even think Mhok’s issue was about even pitying Day. What the fuck is this?

That car is about to get towed!

I just know Namtam had a good time running around in an airport wearing a wedding dress.

We’re doing this whole reunion scene, so has Mhok just…processed his grief about Rung? We’re just gonna get back together now? Mhok is still talking about his mistake? We’re just gonna take over the aftermath of Night and Porjai’s wedding?

Eye donation? Oh…..this is about to take a turn.

I don’t like timing this to right after the unearned romantic reconciliation. This is a bad look. I had seen some posts earlier, and this is as bad as described.

I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with Day getting his vision back, but putting it in the finale like this and rushing over the other conflicts makes it feel like a reward. It also has them quickly advancing past any other developments in Day’s life as he potentially reapproaches things he had before.

I’m feeling conflicted about them returning to the mountaintop, because there was so much acceptance in that first scene. I don’t know that there’s good mirroring here of any sort for this.

Final Verdict: 5, This Was a Huge Miss. I’m not sorry for this low rating on an Aof show. I cannot in good faith give this a 6 as decent but boring. The imbalanced writing between the romantic leads left me extremely dissatisfied for most of the back half show, and quickly showing your blind character adapting and even thriving in his circumstances just to have him monologue about being normal again at the end was so not the moment. @lurkingshan has already covered what this show messed up as a good starting point, and I want to state plainly that I will no longer be grading Thai BL on the curve of what the show is trying to be. It’s been ten years of Thai BL, and decades of BL and yaoi before it. These shows will be graded for what they are.

Jojo and Aof had big misses in the last year. Tee dropped the ball multiple times. Golf had a weird outing. New Siwaj failed me completely. We cannot worship these creators. They are just trying to make cool stories and help sell the juice. Sometimes they make really cool pieces that we love forever. Sometimes they flop. Aof tried something here and it didn’t reach the heights we expected of him. Directors are not gods. It’s fine for them to flop. There’s enough BL airing that a few shows being letdowns doesn’t leave us with nothing else to watch for weeks.

Still, I will say that I liked the chemistry between Jimmy and Sea, and I thought Mark and Namtam made a decent pair. When this show was good, I liked the moments.

#Ben watches #last twilight #last twilight the series #last twilight meta #thai bl #bl series

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volturissideslut · 5 months

Note

Hii!! Can you do Jane x reader where she’s Jane’s mate but still human. One day some important information gets leaked out and everyone in the volturi thinks the reader leaked the info. (Aro can’t read her mind) So they question her for a long time and when she still says that she didn’t do it they make Jane torture her with her power. As Jane is torturing her someone walks in and says that she didn’t do it. By the time Jane stops the reader is passed out. Everyone and mostly Jane regrets what they’ve done. The reader doesn’t wake up for a few days and Jane is in absolute sorrow. And when she finally wakes up she doesn’t even look Jane in the eyes bc of the betrayal she feels. Just a lot of angst yk:))) Buuut they make up in the end. Thank youuu🫶🏻

𝕵𝖆𝖓𝖊 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎

This is more of the aftermath than anything. Mentions of looking thinner

"Get out"

Though your voice was hoarse, it didn't lessen the impact. Not one bit. Jane didn't think it was possible to vampires to have panic attacks, yet what else could this be. Why was her chest so tight? She doesn't need to breathe. And though she can't sweat he skin feels clammy behind all her layers. She's a vampire, their brains go fast - she could finish a novel in five minutes, but this feels too fast. It's making her dizzy. It's making her sick.

"Please-" her mouth feels dry. Is she panting? Why does it feel like Felix is cracking her chest again? You two can get through this. You can move past this. The thought is the only thing keeping her semi-rational right now. "I can't even look at you right now. Please leave, Jane. I can't see you anymore" and god you look so broken. And she did it. Your skin looks sickly, at least seven shades yellower. And your eyes - so dull - are dragged down by the bags she gave you. Are you thinner? You look thinner, you look malnourished. Definitely unhealthy.

It's the shakey movement of your hand accompanied by a wince that pulls her from her intense observation. And she remembers what you want. She wants to stay - absolutely has to - but she can't ruin this even more. She needs to save this and even now she recognises that her being here will be detrimental to that. So she does leave.

Out the door, she sits on the floor and stares at the ceiling. Not that her eyes are recognising anything though. No. Her head is leaned back against the big double door to your shared chambers and all she can bring herself to do is listen intently to your heartbeat. You're still here. You're still safe.

You, on the other side of the door, can no longer bring yourself to stifle your own sobs at the betrayal. Your mate, your love, the one who promised to always protect you, had actually been the only vampire to hurt you. The only one you ever truly trusted. Though her gift is mental, the rough treatment had still hared you. But it was hard to tell what hurt more - the mental scar on the one on your heart.

Could you even stay?

Maybe it was time to leave

--------

That night you packed, leaving through the window. Were you as strong as them? No. But could trust Jane and be in the same place as her? Also no.

It was killing you just to be in that room, with all of them memories. All of them were now tainted, and now you could see all the similarities between her room and the dungeons.

Bag at your side mainly just filled with your previous belongings you couldn't part with, you climbed out the window only to be face to face with Alec. For fucks sake.

"You shouldn't be here," his tone was more concerned than accusing. Was he actually worried for you, though, or was he more bothered about his sister? that seemed like the more likely answer. "come. Ill walk you back" he takes the bag for you and begins to guide you gently back, hand delicately on your arm as if you were made of porcelain. He looked guilty. Remorseful even.

He led you back the longer way round as if he was giving you time. He even sat with you in the garden for a few minutes - until Jane cane storming through.

"There you are! Your heartbeat grew faint and the window was open and I-" and her hand are on your face. She stops speaking when you flinch back, heart dropping to her feet, until she feels you lean into her.

Damn mate bond and damn exhaustion because you let yourself fall into her. She can feel your heart rate speed up in fear but feels frozen when you make no effort to move away.

"Let's- let's get you to bed, yeah?" she turns her head, face frightened as she mouths a 'thank you' to Alec for keeping you here and safe. He just nods, head down as he shares part of her shame. A drop in the bucket compared to hers, though.

--------

Here she lay, back in your shared chambers, sat up against the headboard of the bed while you lay on their lap asleep. Icy fingers comb through your hair and scratch lightly at your scalp.

"We'll be okay, right? We'll be okay."

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winter2468 · 1 year

Text

The Dracula ballet shows the aftermath of Dracula's harm in such a clever way.

After he returns to England, Jonathan needs a cane to walk, and he can't dance. He clearly wants to dance with Mina, but he's too ill, and Van Helsing dances with her instead.

After being fed on by Dracula, Lucy tries to act like she's fine, and tries to dance with Arthur, but she quickly collapses, unable to dance.

Being fed on by Dracula means that the characters can't dance - they can't perform their expected behaviour with in the medium of ballet. It's a really clever way of showing the isolating effects of the trauma brought on by Dracula's abuse.

#this is not a dracula quote #dracula #dracula ballet #jonathan harker #lucy westenra #mina harker #arthur holmwood #van helsing

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kurogane2512 · 8 months

Note

Head empty just Langley who's obsessed with chiefs cock like.....it's kinda scary

They've been together for a while, but chiefs noticed that after he and Langley had their first time in her office that faithful night shift, Langley couldn't seem to get her boyfriends well endowed member out of her head....or keep it out of her an example could be right now with you the cheif in Langleys office, door locked and both your pants and hers discarded as you sit in her office chair and she bounces on your cock like a professional and moaning like a whore of how good it feels inside her or how it always hits her cervix just right to make her toes curl

And, of course, this type of behavior isn't exclusive to just work. Even on dates, Langley will cling to you and rub herself against you, her aching cunt drenching her panties as she whimpers for you to drag her to a secluded bathroom or alley...hell even the back seat of her limo and fuck her stupid

Could you make a short fic with this

I'm trying to spread the sub path to nowhere propaganda😈......will you help me?

HMMM LISTEN I HAVE THOUGHTS FOR THIS—

Okay so while I can't see many of the PtN women subbing, I can definitely see them getting needy and frustrated that they want a good railing from their s/o— AND LANGLEY— she needs that a lot but she's too disciplined to straight up turn into a slut BUT BUT— OKAY LEMME JUST WRITE IT

18+ CONTENT MDNI

Game: Path to Nowhere

Characters: Langley x gn!reader (has a cock)

Type: Smut (footjob, dry humping, creampies, basically lots of filthy sex)

Dating your boss had both pros and cons; at first, you thought it would be a bad thing and affect your reputation in the agency negatively but you and Langley had managed to remain quite discreet and carried on your roles as always. Langley didn't show favoritism to you- at least not in public. But there were sides to her that only you knew when you were together in private.

One of which was how needy and downright thirsty she was....

Your first time with her was relatively normal, you tested the waters together and concluded you were a great fit. What you didn't expect was the aftermath, the days after that you spent together changed drastically. Like today, when you two had come out for a private dinner at one of the most luxurious restaurants in Eastside.

"Stay still, rookie, if you don't want to be caught~" Langley whispered in your ear before swiftly shifting in front of you, her back facing you as you stood in a crowded elevator heading up to the restaurant. You were pressed against the glass wall at the extreme back with Langley in front of you and resting her body against you as well.

It was a bad situation, a wrong time for you to be aroused. But Langley had other plans. She shielded your figure from the rest and leaned on her cane slightly to tilt her body making her ass rub against your crotch, you shuddered and tried to move away but there was no space at all- not to mention that Langley wouldn't let you even if you tried.

She looked at you over her shoulder and smirked before beginning to rub against you, feeling your shaft become hard and press between her thighs. You quickly grabbed her waist and tried to stop her movements but that only made it easier for her, you hissed and tried to step back but she came even closer and trapped you in the confined space.

You had no choice now. You held her hips tighter and grinded back into her, rubbing over her slit through her dress. The fabric of your pants rubbed over your tip and you sought it further, unknowingly humping between her thighs. You were still nervous of the place and tried to keep your voice down as much as possible, while Langley was thoroughly enjoying it all the while keeping herself calm and collected.

Then all of a sudden, all friction was lost as the elevator reached its destination and everyone moved out. Langley grabbed your hand and started walking out in her usual elegant manner, while you desperately tried to hide your hard-on from the people around. You hated whenever she did this, toying with you for her own fun and never relieving you. Even now she left you hanging and didn't give you your release.

You somehow suppressed your urges and sat on your booked table facing each other as the waiter's started serving wine to both of you along with appetizers. It was a lavish place with few tables situated in a big hall, and Langley had booked the most private table for you both. Well, there was clearly a reason for that which you found out soon enough.

"What's wrong, rookie? Not liking the taste?~" Langley asked with a smirk, feigning ignorance at your deliberate state.

"It seems a bit overpriced...."

"Haha~ Get used to it, rookie. This is just a private dinner between us but I have to attend many public gatherings like this as well. If you want to make a good impression as my partner then you better learn some etiquettes~"

You nodded and picked up the cutlery to cut a piece into the meat and begin eating when a surprising sensation was placed on your crotch. You looked down and saw Langley's foot on your crotch, then met her smirking face with a nervous look. You swallowed thickly and continued eating while maintaining your composure but your boss clearly had no intention to let you.

You felt her foot start rubbing across your clothed length before clenching it between her toes and grinding more. You trembled in your place and attempted to move away but she suddenly pressed down on your length and you almost jumped up in your seat, making the silverware clank from your action. Langley's grin widened but she removed her foot now and let you eat dinner in peace, until she dragged you to the bathroom later....

"Get moving, rookie, we are still left with desserts~"

Langley bent over the sink and you wasted no time to flip up her dress then unzip your pants to take out your throbbing cock and align with her folds. You pumped your cock a few times then sheathed inside her in one go, burying it to the hilt in her hot walls and Langley let out a low moan at the penetration. She had made you so impatient the whole night, but you knew she did it intentionally because she loved how rough you'd become when held back.

You pressed her back and pushed her further down then pounded into her with no mercy, thrusting in and out in a quick pace and making her moan loudly. You squeezed her hips and pulled her into you making her grind back as you drilled into her, your thrusts harmonized with each other as she felt your cock continuously hit her cervix.

Messy and loud moans echoed in the bathroom, you grabbed her leg and pulled it over your shoulder to sheath deeper and continue thrusting. You gritted your teeth and shifted closer to pound more, her body feeling weak from your hard and rough movements. She looked in the mirror to gaze at your intense face, feeling more pleasure seeing how aroused and focused you were.

"R-Rookie.... come on.... is that all you got? Mhm~"

You hissed then turned her over to lay her on her back and wrapped her legs around your waist before making her lean against the counter as you drilled deeper and faster. She wrapped her arms around your head and grasped your hair before shooting her head back in ecstasy, your lips planted kisses on her exposed neck and bit down to make your marks. Her walls tightened on your shaft and you both came together in no time, your seed filling her up to the brim.

You breathed out together for some time but were pounding into her yet again. Clearly, you were going to have your fill of dessert right here

#path to nowhere #ptn smut #ptn x reader #langley #ptn langley #ptn langley smut #ptn langley x reader #langley x reader

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 9 months

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Who We Are and Who We Want to Be [Enemies to Lovers Trope]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Female Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Enemies to Lovers dynamic 1. Two characters overcome their differences/misconceptions about each other, realising they are actually in love. Often with phrases like 'I didn't know where else to go.' and 'I don't hate you, I never hated you.' "After leaving your abusive boyfriend, you end up in the one place you never thought you would - the home of your arch nemesis in both law school and the courtroom, Matt Murdock."

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Female Reader. Mentions of physical abuse to reader (not by Matt. No details of the incident are described, just the aftermath is mentioned.)

WC: 4,350

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

The rain was falling even harder than when you had left your apartment. Every hit of the heavy drops did nothing to help the pain swelling in your left cheek.

You weren’t exactly sure where you were going, you just knew you needed to leave where you had been.

Sure, he’d shown signs of some anger issues before, but tonight he crossed a line. You knew how the statistics ended and you didn’t want to be one of them.

You couldn’t see more than a foot in front of you. The chill in the air clung to your skin through your soaked clothing. With a shiver, you paused for a moment, seeking refuge under an awning to take a moment and finally assess your next move.

The gold letters of the sign in front of you jumped out at you like a beacon of light in the dark, rainy night.

Nelson, Murdock, and Page

Attorneys at Law

Goddamnit.

Of course cruel fate would lead you here. Sure, let the universe make your boyfriend go full-abusive asshole and land you right in front of the office of the guy who had been your nemesis since law school, all in one night. What higher power did you piss off to deserve this?

There was no indication the rain would let up soon, so you made your decision with a shake of your head and turned the handle of the door in front of you.

ONE DAY EARLIER

Hate was a strong word to describe the relationship that you and Matt Murdock had with each other. Your time together at law school had always been tumultuous, to say the least. Each of you tried to outdo each other in both academic success and extra curriculars and were constantly at each other's throats both in and outside of class. Things had cooled off a bit in the years since, only interacting with each other when you’d occasionally face off in the courtroom, though he still found ways to drive you absolutely bonkers given the opportunity. Anyone who knew the two of you could feel the tension anytime you’d have to be in the same room together.

The tap tap tap of his cane against the marble floors alerted you he was walking towards you, giving you plenty of time to compose yourself and not make a dramatic scene in a public place where the kind of outburst you wanted to have towards him would get you either fired, disbarred, or arrested.

Court had been dismissed for the weekend. The judge determined the trial needed to carry into next week for even more evidence presentation before the jury would be allowed to deliberate.

“You know, not presenting all evidence to the defense during the gathering phase is technically illegal. That little stunt you pulled while my client was on the stand was cute, but if I report it, it could get you a mistrial.”

As Matt spoke to you in the hallway just outside the courtroom, you tried not to notice how his cologne was the perfect blend of spiciness and lumber. You also tried not to notice how his suits fit better and better every time you see him, unlike how gangly and awkward he looked in second-hand sports jackets in law school. Curse his suave attractiveness, always winning over juries and influencing judges.

“I did give you all the evidence we had at the time. It’s not my firm’s fault the DA’s office is slower than molasses and got us these files after the evidence gathering stage. We submitted it as additional evidence as soon as we got our hands on it. You also have the capability to pull public records, Matthew. So don’t pretend my firm has some sneaky, unfair advantage in this case.”

“I’m sorry that I use my Columbia education to actually help people. Nice to know not everyone from our graduating class was immune to the appeal of taking big law firm money to make sure corporations can take advantage of as many people as possible.”

A dry laugh escaped your lips. You tried not to raise your voice, as judges and reporters walked by, all rushing to leave work and begin their weekend plans.

“Is that really so bad, Matt? I’m just doing my job, trying to use the law to help my client. Same as you are.”

An exasperated sigh left his lips as he tilted his head skyward, also trying to put aside past tension between the two of you for the sake of professionalism.

“Have a good weekend.” he said, before turning and walking away

“I… I didn’t know where else to go.” was the first thing you stuttered out as the low light cast him in a harsh glow in the dim office.

Head cocked, listening in to figure out exactly who was in his office at this late hour, Matt crossed the room in three steps to stand in front of you. The water dripping off of you hit the musty carpet with a splat. He continued to not speak, only listen, as you breathed heavily in front of him. Even though you knew he couldn’t see you, you’d still never felt so exposed in front of someone.

He ran a hand with feather-like softness over your face, ghosting his touch against the bruise forming there.

“You’re hurt.” he finally spoke

“I… how can you tell?”

“My dad was a boxer. I patched him up after matches a lot. I know what a bruise feels like, especially a fresh one. What happened?”

“My boyfriend… he um…” but the words died on your lips

“I couldn’t stay. I just left and ran and the rain and…” you rambled “I ended up here.”

“Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?” he asked

“No.”

“Then you’ll stay with me. For tonight at least, until we can figure something out for you.”

“Matt, I can’t ask that of you.”

“You're not asking, I’m offering. Besides, Foggy and I work on domestic violence cases all the time. We know a lot of people and can get you in touch with a lot of resources.”

You were warry. Matt and you hadn’t exactly gotten along in the past and now he was the opposing counsel in the biggest case of your career. Why was he suddenly so keen to be kind to you? But you truly had nowhere else to go tonight.

“But in the morning.” he continued “It’s late. There’s an Ethiopian place on my block. I could even order some sambusas for you. I know you like them with spiced chicken.”

“How do you know that?”

“Our second year of law school. Professor Hardwick made us pair up on the debate team together. When we’d all be in the library late, it was what you always ordered.”

“I can’t believe you remembered that. Matt, that was so long ago.”

2010

The floorboards of the old building creaked as you stepped, making your way down the hallway to your very first lecture of law school. You couldn’t contain your excitement. Finally done with undergrad, finally at your dream school, finally taking the first steps towards your dream career.

A few students had trickled in already and you took a seat next to a young man wearing sunglasses. He was chatting to his sandy-haired friend, both giving you a smile as you took your seat and removed a few essentials from your backpack.

“What did you think of the readings?” the dark-haired, blind student turned to you

“The readings? Shit! I didn’t know we had any!” you lamented

“It’s okay. I’m sure a lot of people forgot or didn’t know.”

“What were they on?” you asked

“First amendment. Mostly just covered a few cases relevant to section 9.2. I think the cases were Blair v. USA, USA v. Madden and Turner Broadcasting, and Zurcher v. Stanford Daily. We’ve got 15 minutes until class starts, I bet you could give them a quick read through.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re a life saver! Thank you!” you responded, flipping open your textbook and frantically searching for the case summaries.

“I’m Matt, by the way. Matt Murdock.”

You introduced yourself hurriedly just as you found the first reading and he returned to whatever he and his friend with the bad goatee were discussing.

Sure enough, the professor arrived 15 minutes later and began class. It was a rather standard first day - syllabus review, absentee policies, essay submission rules.

Then he asked “Can anyone summarize one of the cases assigned in your readings?”

You raised your hand eagerly and were selected.

“USA v. Madden and Turner Broadcasting established clearer defined rules for who is considered a journalist and who is able to keep sources confidential in a court of law.”

The professor paused, staring you down.

“That’s true. But the assigned readings were on section 10.2 of the First Amendment. Doctrine on Freedoms of Assembly and Petition… You know close and thorough reading comprehension are essential skills for a lawyer.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks at the professor’s lambastation. Another student was called on, and the professor began the lecture, but it was all drowned out in a mental spiral of embarrassment and shame.

“That was incredibly cruel Matt!” you whispered to your neighbor “Giving me the wrong readings just so I’d embarrass myself!”

“I didn’t! I did the wrong ones too!” he rasped back

“Uhuh, sure you did!”

“Is there a problem?” the professor spoke up, causing the whole lecture hall to turn and look at you and Matt, embarrassing you for the second time

You shook your head no, stared at your notebook, and tried to focus as the professor returned to his lecture once more.

All you knew after that day was Matt Murdock was not to be trusted if you wanted to find success for the next three years at Columbia.

Matt’s apartment was cozy. Full of textures, though you supposed if you couldn’t see the place you lived, that’d be the thing to do to make it feel like home.

You weren’t surprised, then, to find that everything else there was too – the loofa in his shower, the plush towels you used to dry your now steam-warmed body, and the gray sweatpants and navy Columbia law shirt he handed you afterwards.

“Why is a brilliant lawyer like you putting up with a guy like that?” he asked over half-devoured takeout containers

“You think I’m a brilliant lawyer?”

“I always have. But that wasn’t the question.”

“Okay, counselor.” you jested back

You didn’t want to get into it tonight, to relive all the failings of your love life and how you ended up here. But you did; afterall what else did you have to exchange for his kindness except your vulnerability?

After you finished, the story concluding in the present moment, there was silence. It hung between the two of you as Matt chewed on your words.

“Do you remember our law dissertation class in our third year?” he finally spoke

“Yeah.”

“You gave a closing statement about the case we presented,

‘Legislative judgements of the court serve as constant reminders that, in the view of all-male decision-making bodies, life should be arranged in a way only they see fit for the rest of us. We must constantly use the law to dismantle their notions, in order to create a society that is legally inclusive for all it applies to.’

“Yeah I remember that. What about it?

“I have it typed up in braille, on this little frame on my desk, back at the office. I read it over sometimes. Helps me remember just exactly who the law should be for. For everyone, not just the powerful. I would think the person who said that wouldn’t put up with a jerk of a boyfriend.”

Laughter erupted throughout your body and you felt yourself smile, a real genuine smile for the first time that evening.

“Matt. I didn’t say that. I mean I did but it was… I was quoting Ruth Bader Ginsburg. It seemed relevant to pull a statement on the matter from one of our supreme court justices at the time. It was like in a letter she wrote to Scalia about one of their favorite operas or something. Wait, you thought I thought of that?”

“I actually did, yeah. It was such a strong closing statement, I figured only someone as smart as you could have come up with it.”

“Smart? I’m sorry Matt, did you just compliment me?”

“I did.” he said with a chuckle “But don’t get used to it.”

“And for the past, what like, 12 years you've had that sitting on your desk, thinking of me every time you read it?”

“Yeah,” he sighed “Go ahead, make fun of me.”

“You know what, I will spare you just this one time from my mockery. Only because I think it’s sweet. I can't believe you remembered something I said in law school. You hated me then.”

“I never hated you. Admired you for sure. Jealous at times, absolutely. But I never hated you.”

“Huh, I always just thought you did.”

2013

“Matthew Michael Murdock! Open this door right now!” you screamed as you banged on the door of Matt and Foggy’s dorm

Matt opened it cautiously, already knowing the reason you were about to chew him out.

You stepped up, nearly nose to nose with him.

“How could you? This is low, even for you Murdock.”

“Please, just let me explain…”

“No. I don’t need your shitty explanation. I know we haven’t gotten along since day one, but even so – you know I’m an excellent student, you know I’m gonna be a good lawyer, and yet… Why did you tell Jeremy Landman I wouldn’t be a good fit for the internship?”

“Because you wouldn’t be.” Matt responded, coldly

“Are you fucking serious? I would be an amazing fit at that firm! I work twice as hard as you two chucklefucks in every single class,” you indicated to Foggy, who was sitting listening intently on the bed behind Matt. “You’ve been interns there the whole year, I just wanted a summer internship while I study for the bar! I got the rejection call this morning. And they said it was your fault. Because you told your boss I wasn’t a good fit.”

“Listen. I’m sorry. I know that internship was important to you, but I was being honest. You wouldn’t be the right fit there.”

The tears started flowing down your face as Matt remained emotionless before you.

“Don’t you dare ever speak to me again, Matthew. I want nothing to do with you!” you shouted, turning on your heel and rushing back down the hall, determined not to clue Matt into just how hard you were crying.

Matt closed the door with a sigh.

“Jesus Matt, she’s right. That was really shitty of you.” Foggy said

“Look… I had a good reason.”

“Was the reason because you hate her, because if that’s what it is, I’m gonna come over there and hit you, Murdock.”

“No. The reason I told them not to pick her for the internship, Jeremey Landman is… look, he’s been a great mentor this year but he doesn’t necessarily treat the female interns and employees with as much… respect.” Matt explained

“Okay, so why haven’t you said anything? To HR. To her?”

“I didn’t want to stir the pot, you know, mess things up for us. I was worried if I said anything, they’d just fire me and I worried you’d get thrown in the mix too.”

“Okay, but at least tell her…” Foggy indicated toward the door

“No. She’ll find something better. She’s right, she’s gonna be a good lawyer. She’ll find an even better internship at an even better firm.”

Matt’s sheets were luxurious to say the least. Cool and calming against your skin as you slumbered under the glow of the billboard and the sounds of the heavy rain still beating down hours later.

You didn’t notice the shadow sneaking out of the apartment through the roof access door, nor did you notice when it returned a few hours later. You slept peacefully as the blood from his fists ran down the drain, as the rain-soaked crimson suit was tucked back into the worn trunk, and as the exhausted lawyer crept back through the living room and tucked himself into the worn leather sofa.

The ring of your phone happened far too early for your liking, an unfamiliar number popping up on your screen as you rubbed your bleary eyes.

Matt tried not to eavesdrop, a difficult task with his precise hearing and the echoing ceilings of his loft.

The words “Nearly comatose” and “Mysterious circumstances” shouldn’t have caused the grin that spread across his face, but they did.

“I’m sorry, but he and I actually broke up. I’ve been staying with a friend, so I have no idea what happened. Please remove me as his emergency contact and reach out to someone else.”

And then you hung up the phone.

You clued Matt in over a cup of coffee as the sun rose in streaking beams across the brick walls of his home. He listened with concern, trying not to let on to the fact he knew why you’d received that phone call or that he had been the cause of it.

“Don’t act like he didn’t deserve it.”

“Wow, how very Catholic of you, Matthew.”

“So you’re staying with a friend huh?”

An arrogant smile spread across his annoyingly handsome face. How typical of him. He heard your phone conversation and still let you ramble on for at least ten minutes and had the nerve to throw your own phrasing back in your face.

Still, he had been nothing but kind and gentle to you the past 12 hours, so you owed it to him to at least try and not be annoyed with him. You took a deep breath.

“I mean, you let me stay with you last night. And you heavily implied you and Foggy are going to get me some resources to help me. That’s something a friend would do.

“It’s nice. Being your friend. It’s a good change.”

“Yeah I guess it is. Look, Matt… I know I’ve been kind of harsh on you. Sometimes.” you said, extending a metaphorical olive branch

Matt chuckled and shook his head, holding out an open palm to stop you.

“Water under the bridge.”

“But really. Thank you.”

“Can I ask you something?” he inquired

“Yeah”

“When we were in law school… why did you never give me a chance?”

“Matt, you had a new girlfriend like, every month. I don’t think there was ever an opportunity for me to even try!”

“I… that wasn’t at all what I was asking. I just meant why you seemed to hate me from the get go. Wait, did you want to… you know, give me a chance in that way?” he asked

“No. I mean, maybe at one time. Like when I first met you, I thought you were cute. But then I got to know what a jerk you were…”

“I was a jerk? What about you?! You literally rented the one braille book on Civil Procedure from the library a week before finals just so I wouldn’t be able to study!”

“That wasn’t why I rented it!” you argued back

“Why else would you?!”

“Because I was trying to learn braille!”

“With a law book?!”

“I was trying to help you! You’d missed so many classes that semester and then your girlfriend broke up with you and it just seemed like you were really struggling and I actually felt bad for you for a change and thought maybe I could help you study.”

“By renting the one book I needed?”

“My thought process was that it might be easier to study if we could read from the same book but since you can’t see, I wanted to learn braille so I could help you better… then I caught that awful flu that was going around and I couldn’t get it back to the library before finals.”

His pink lips parted, tongue darting out as he rubbed his chin in contemplation.

You thought about how he looked almost like the Matt you knew back then. So used to seeing him in sharp suits in court rooms these days, his morning ensemble of sweatpants and a simple black t-shirt reminded you more of the heartbroken Matt you knew from late nights in the library and off-campus parties. Even then, you rarely got to admire how the light reflected in his hazel eyes, usually covered by glasses. How unlike him, you thought, to not wear his glasses in front of you. It’s almost as if he was trying to match your current state of vulnerability.

“I had no clue you had a thing for me back then.” he said

You nearly spit your coffee across his countertop.

“I’m sorry, I did not say I had a thing for you. I said you were pitiful enough to make me want to do something nice. That is not a ‘thing’ Matthew.”

“But when I asked why you didn’t give me a chance, that’s where your brain went. You said I was cute.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he couldn’t see the gesture of annoyance.

“Then Matt. I said you were cute back then.”

Matt smirked, hearing the wavering of your heartbeat to know it was a lie. You thought he was cute now. Using that information to push his luck, he continued

“You know I sort of had a thing for you too.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am! You were smart and so stubborn. You smelled nice. And your laugh… It’s always the one thing I can pick out of a crowded lecture hall or busy courthouse.”

“Wait, Matt are you saying you had a crush on me?”

“Yeah.” he confirmed

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought you hated me.”

“I never hated you.”

“Oh come on, you absolutely did.” he argued

“No. I didn’t. You were just always so arrogant. You still are. In law school, you got any girl you wanted and you usually did. You charmed all the professors into liking you, meanwhile I worked my ass off and barely got noticed.”

You picked up your coffee cup and took a giant swig, black liquid fueling your rambling.

“And it’s the same these days with judges and juries. It’s not like you aren’t a good lawyer, I know you are. I just get so jealous sometimes that the blind thing seems to get you sympathy and special perks from the get go, plus all the suave personality that I don’t have usually gets people on your side even without all the solid evidence against my prosecution you usually gather.”

“So, you’re jealous?”

“I guess. But Matt, I promise, I don’t hate you.”

“Well you might, for what I’m about to say.”

“Okay. What could you possibly say that could make me actually hate you?”

He rested his forearms on the kitchen counter, leaning in as if he was about to share a secret, even though it was just the two of you in his apartment.

“Give the case you’re working on to someone else.” he spoke, low voice rumbling in his chest as the seriousness of his request hung in the air.

“What?!”

“You’re in no state to show up in court tomorrow.”

You hadn’t yet dared to look in a mirror to see if there was physical evidence from what happened with your boyfriend last night. But you knew Matt wasn’t just talking about that, it was the emotional component too.

“Are you serious?! You’re telling me to drop the biggest case of my life because my boyfriend was an ass? All in some weird ploy so that you can win?”

“Really? You think I give a shit about beating you in court? This isn’t about that. It’s about making sure you’re okay!”

“You liar! You just want to win this case!” you shouted back

“Are you ever not the most stubborn person on this planet?”

“I am when I don’t have to deal with you.”

He rounded the kitchen counter to stand in front of you, all caution thrown to the wind as he cupped your jaw and pulled you close to him.

“Just shut up.” he murmured before his mouth was on yours, soft and tender and full of years of pent up desire.

You didn’t resist, leaning into his warm, plush lips as they opened up to you, deepening the kiss.

You weren’t sure who pulled apart first, but neither of you dared to separate much, staying close enough that you could feel his labored, warm breath on your face.

“If I promise to give the case to Foggy, will you promise to give your side to someone else at your firm? Then we can spend this week getting you a new place and a restraining order.”

You nodded, not sure what else to say.

He kissed you once more, a seal on the agreement the two of you just made.

You just got out of possibly the worst relationship of your life and now the last man you thought you’d ever go out with was offering you a new beginning. What did you possibly have to lose by taking this leap?

“Maybe…” you finally spoke up “you can take me to dinner. To celebrate if we get all of that done.”

“Okay.” he agreed

Maybe one day, he’ll tell you what really happened that night after you fell asleep in his bed. Reveal to you what he does in the dark, why he started this double life, intent on protecting people just like you. But for now, he’s content to just share a warm cup of coffee and a kiss in the morning, and the promise of more mornings like this on the horizon.

#daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #charlie cox #nmcu fic #mcu fic #daredevil fic #matt murdock x you #marvel daredevil #daredevil imagine #trope de sept #enemies to lovers #trope #netflix daredevil

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