#not quite sure how I'm feeling about these and how they turned out

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Stuck like glue

Request: "I'm going to scream your domestic character joining coop on his travels from her cabin is SO good 😭 I was wondering if you would write something with the same character in her cabin when coop turns up from nearby having taken one too many bullets? Or maybe he's sick and needs some jet. Some hurt/comfort fluffy sweetness" A/N: Thank you to the awesome anon who sent the idea! Maybe not AS fluffy as we wanted, but there's for sure some soft Ghoul going on in here. And, oh yeah, the reader has a dog now. No description of said dog has been given, so please imagine as you'd wish. Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence, brief mentions of sexual interaction. Summary: Your favorite Ghoul needs to be patched up after a spat with some Raiders, and you always know just how to make him feel better.

Word Count: 2.0k+

Gif credit to @elisefrost from this set

You’re outside attempting to hang clothes to dry when you hear it. 

The soft but distinct sound of jingling metal comes from behind your cabin. You set one hand on the pistol strapped to your thigh and walk in that direction, eyes peeled for any movement. A bark echoes the sound from your porch, and you snap at your four-legged companion in an attempt to get him to stay. 

“Tiger!” You hiss. “Quit!”

 He relents with an indignant huff and returns to the porch, while the metallic noise keeps up in a steady pattern, akin to the cadence of a slow walk. You tilt your head at the thought and eventually move the hand off your pistol; only one person would dare tread this close in broad daylight with such carelessness.

“Coop?”

You don’t see him anywhere, but you’re almost certain it was the sounds of his old spurs that caught your attention. 

“Cooper if you’re tryna scare me, you know I'll gut you.” The threat is an empty one, but saying it gives you some hope that it’s indeed him and not a Raider or Slaver looking to score some loot. 

“No need, babydoll.” His voice sounds ragged, tired. “Don’t think I could scare a bunny rabbit at the moment.” 

You follow his voice to your left, and find the Ghoul leaned up against a tree. He’s practically swaying in the breeze, very apparently unsteady. You rush over just as he slides down and collides with the dirt.. 

“Cooper! What happened to you?” 

Your hands flutter up and down his arms, brusquely checking for any injuries. Nothing obvious jumps out at you, but he heals fast and external wounds are rare. A wheeze claws its way up his throat and morphs into a hacking cough. You recognize the sound as the need for a Vial, and grab at his bag. 

“Do you have any on you?” 

A stuttered cough answers. “Fresh out… s’why I came here.”

Your stash of Vials had been growing just about as long as you’d known Cooper. When you traveled together, he’d hand some off to you for safekeeping, and there always ended up being extras. Upon your return home, he’d tell you to keep them. It wasn’t shocking, given that he found his way back every couple of days.

“Alright, come on.” You crouch down and position yourself beneath Cooper’s arm. 

You can tell he’s weak by the way he leans into you, knees wobbling relentlessly as you pull him up. Another round of coughing wracks his body and you squeeze him reassuringly. 

“Couch isn’t far.” You chose your words carefully, avoiding any inkling of pity. Having an already deteriorating Ghoul is enough, let alone a defensive one who hates being pitied. 

Cooper does his best to keep up with your steps, but his movements are sloppy and uncoordinated. You can feel the heat radiating off of him through his jacket and hear him wheezing beside your ear. Stepping onto the porch gives him some trouble, but you manage to haul him up and inside the door. Tiger whines nervously, circling the pair of you as you trek inside. The Ghoul collapses onto the couch as soon as it’s within reach. 

After making sure Cooper’s not going to slide off the couch, you continue to the med-kit in your makeshift kitchen. The Vials are hidden at the very bottom, wrapped in cloth for extra cushion to prevent shattering. You decide there’s more than enough for him to take two, and carefully extract the mysterious chem. 

Cooper’s laid out on his back when you return with the Vials. One arm is thrown over his eyes and the other dangling off the side of the couch with Tiger perched beneath. The dog nuzzles his favorite person’s hand for attention, and it elicits a chuckle from you. Even as the only conscious person in the room, you were still second in Tiger’s eyes. 

“Coop.” You shake his shoulder gently. “Hey. Hey. Where’s your inhaler?”

You nudge his hat away and he blinks slowly. “Mmm.”

“Ok then.” You mutter and pat down his jacket, searching for the contraption he always carries. The coat yields no results, and you pat down his pants until you feel it tucked away into the pocket at his hip. “Finally.”

Cooper shuffles ever so slightly when you slip your hand into his pocket. “H-hey now. I know you love me, baby, but I-I ain’t got it in me right now.”

An errant smile pushes its way onto your lips. You snap the meds into place on his inhaler 

“Open up.”

He fails to heed your instructions, and you ultimately end up forcing the inhalant into his mouth. It never works instantly, but within a minute or so of administering it there’s movement. One of Cooper’s hands lifts to cup yours, puffing on the inhaler again. 

You release your hold on it and rock back onto the balls of your feet. It’s then you take note of the holes in his clothing, and run a hand down his chest. There’s numerous holes, some as big as your finger and others no larger than a pinhead. 

“Cooper, what happened to you?” You sit on the edge of the couch beside him as he takes his first deep breath without Chems. 

“I just turn’d in a bounty and some Raiders jumped me.” He looks down at your hand on his chest. “Bastards shot me ten or eleven times. Damn buckshot got me good.”

You nod. “I can tell. You were in a bad way, Coop.”

The Ghoul sits up slowly beside you so his legs can swing off the couch. “I’ll be good as new, soon as this stuff starts workin’ good.” 

Tiger hops up on the couch next to him, tail wagging with excitement. The dog licks your cheek on his way to Cooper and pushes his nose into the Ghoul’s shoulder. You chuckle at the interaction, patting the dog’s shoulders. Coopers are still hunched with exhaustion, and his deep-set eyes look even more so. 

“Well until they do, you rest.” You stand, glancing out the still-ajar door. “It’s getting dark anyway.”

Cooper, as usual, opens his mouth to protest. If there’s anything he hates, it’s feeling useless. 

“No arguments.” You point a finger at him. “I mean it.”

He grumbles, but relents. “Fine. Only if you turn somethin’ on that ol’ TV of yours.”

The television turns out to be a perfect method of relaxation. You have to remove Cooper from the couch temporarily, but wrestle it into the pullout bed form and line it with blankets. The Ghoul had given in to his exhaustion rather easily at the prospect of a comfortable bed and kicked off his boots to climb all the way in. You hung his coat on a nail by the door, but made sure to leave his guns, lasso, and assorted weapons within arm’s reach. The TV played some old soap opera from before your time while you snagged a couple of hard candies- a luxury item, as the nearest settlement called them- and made to settle in. 

Cooper had managed to prop himself against the back of the couch, feet kicked out down the length of the thin mattress. Tiger, seeking attention as per usual, is curled up against his right leg. A wet nose rests just beneath Cooper’s knee and twitches in interest when you unwrap the first candy. 

The Ghoul might as well be a dog himself for the way his ears perk at the sound of a wrapper. 

He watches intently as you very gracefully clamber to sit next to him. You pop the fruit-flavored candy in your mouth and scoot around until you find comfort. In this case, it’s leaned up against the Ghoul beside you, head dropping onto his shoulder. His breathing is still shallower than you’d like, but a vast improvement from where it was when he’d shown up. 

“You ain’t gonna share?” 

You open your fist and offer up one of the candies. “I suppose I could. But only for you.”

A smirk twists the corners of his scarred lips. You poke at the candies and attempt to read the labels to no avail. 

“I’d offer you a choice of flavor, but…” You shrug, looking back up to your Ghoul. “Slim pickings.”

He lifts a bare hand to your chin, tilting up. “I think the pickin’s are just fine.”

You smile and lean in to meet him, lips falling into a familiar dance.The hand on your chin slides down to grip your nape and holds you firmly in place. It’s not long before the candy is gone from your mouth. Its remnants remain, mingling with the taste of gunpowder and smoke. A few moments pass before you decide to separate

“Miss me much?” You inquire, cuddling yourself down into his side. 

His arm raises to accommodate your body and lowers it back down to encircle your shoulders once you’re settled. “I always miss you darlin’. For a variety of reasons.”

You hum softly, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Cooper’s hand trails up and down your arm, leaving wide trails of gooseflesh. “Well, the main one happens to be the lack of entertainment.”

You scoff. “I’m your entertainment?”

“Fuck yeah, you are. ‘Specially when you’re hollerin’ at scavengers and shootin’ anything that moves.” The Ghoul chuckles to himself. “Or trippin’ over a sleeping yao guai.”

You shove him playfully. “That was one time, and I shot it dead anyway.”

Cooper pulls you towards him, and you shift until you’re between his legs, chest pressed against his back. “That you did, sweetheart. I ain’t forgot.”

He grabs the nearest blanket and tosses it over your entangled bodies. You curl to the side and rest your cheek to his chest. Tiger shuffles his body with a huff, apparently frustrated with the lack of attention.

“What would you do without me?” You tap his chest gently, relishing in the warmth he produces. “Other than get eaten by a yao guai?”

The Ghoul scratches Tiger’s head. “Prolly go feral. Chase around some folk to scare em’.”

You know he’s joking, but the thought of losing him to ferality scares you to no end. Particularly since he’s just shown up on death’s door and almost hacked a lung onto your floor.

“Don’t say that.” You lift your head to catch his eye. “Please.”

Cooper may be a gruff old Ghoul with a dreadful outlook on the world, but he softens ever so slightly at your words.

“You know I don’t mean it, sugar. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

Two scarred fingers hook beneath your jaw and pull you back up to his lips. It’s tame at first, but the Cooper you know wastes no time making an appearance. His teeth nip at your lip gently and one rough hand slides up your side until it cups your breast. You press into him eagerly, climbing upwards until your thighs slot around either side of his hips. He responds by grinding them into you, delicious friction warming you from head to toe.  

Tiger decides he’s disgusted at this point, and hops off the couch with a comical groan.

Unbothered, one of your hands latches onto the lasso that is tossed on top of his pile of weapons. You loop it around his neck, gripping either side of the rope and pulling him in. Cooper smirks against your mouth. 

“Oh I love being stuck with you, Cowpoke.” You whisper against his mouth, earning yourself a quick bite to the bottom lip.

The Ghoul grins and quickly shows how much strength he’s regained by reversing your positions. He snatches the rope faster than you can react, and wraps the fingers of one hand loosely around the column of your throat. There’s just enough pressure to shoot a pang of arousal between your legs. Cooper knows you’re squirming, and presses a knee there to relieve some of the ache. 

“Glad t’hear it.” He murmurs into your neck, “‘Cause I sure as hell ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-------------------

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

#Cooper Howard #Cooper Howard x You #Ghoul x Reader #fallout imagine #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x f!reader #The Ghoul x Reader #the Ghoul x you #cooper howard x oc #fallout tv series #lucy maclean #walton goggins #fallout fiends #possessive!cooper howard #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout new vegas #ghouls deserve love too

[etheries1015]

Virgin Lilia who talks a lot of game about eating your pussy but the moment he is given the opportunity to do, he does these timid licks as he cries out how good you taste

YYYEEESAAAAAHHHHHGHAHAHAH I LIKE YOUR FUNNY WORDS, MAGIC MAN. EENNNGYHHHEHEHEH

I like to imagine Lilia being overconfident in himself...who has claimed to you in the heat of dirty talk that he could make you cum simply by using his long dexterous tongue, how he wants to be covered in your fluids and watch you writhe in pleasure from the talent his cheeky mouth can do.

Lilia...who ends up looking at videos upon videos online before actually engaging in the act with you. He's afraid he got a bit carried away when talking dirty to you...but how hard could it be? You just ...lick it, right? The videos he watched seemed simple enough, he felt confident he could easily make you tremble beneath his tongue.

Wrong. Oh, so very wrong. His cock is as stiff as can be, as his teeth graze your skin and snakes down your body, he tugs down your bottoms to reveal your soaking wet pussy. His heart thumps in his chest so loud he fears you may be able to hear it, his face flushed red and gulping in anxiety yet great anticipation. He holds your legs open and lowers his mouth upon your bud, only to pause when his tongue pressed against your wet skin. He blanks on every video he watched, leading him to pathetically kitten lick your throbbing cunt and an embarrassingly loud high pitched whine escaping his lips.

"My pretty bat...you're absolutely delectable." His movements were small and unsure, yet feeling his cock throbbing harder and painfully against the cloth of his pants.

He has heart in his eyes, leading from small strokes of his wet muscle to suddenly acting ravenous. There isn't much method to his actions, only seeing a desperate man wanting nothing more than to indulge in his new found favorite hobby: eating you out.

He cums simply by eating you out. You taste so good and the idea his face is quite literally drenched in your fluids drive him absolutely. Insane. He can never get enough of your taste, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer. He is almost tempted to ask you to sit on him, but far be it for the old fae to embarass himself further through this inexperienced and pathetically desperate display.

All that talk of being the best, and it turns out he was no more than a man overestimating his skills only to end up a trembling mess at the mere sight of your pussy and the slightest contact of his tongue against your flushed skin...but, I'm sure he will be getting a lot of practice 😉🤭

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcannons #twst headcannons #lilia #lilia x reader #Lilia vanrouge x reader #Lilia smut #Lilia x reader smut #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut #twst x reader smut #twisted wonderland x reader smut #afab reader

[natsaffection]

Mafias Mistress pt. 3 | N.R

MafiaBoss!Natasha x CivilianYounger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22), Gore, guns, heavy BDSM themes, restraint to a chair (sexuell), Begging, multiple orgasm, strap on (r receiving) oral and fingering (r receiving) overstimulation, passing out during sex (Natasha’s Intension)

Word Count: 5,1k

A/N: next chapter will be the reveal 0.0

As you immerse yourself in your work as a journalist, you prick up your ears at the rumors about the presence of mafia gangs in the area. The rumors of danger and intrigue sent a shiver down your spine and aroused a feeling of unease that you couldn't quite shake.

Your colleague Jake leaned over from his desk, a worried look on his face. "You've heard about all this stuff, haven't you? It's crazy what's going on right now... mafia activities? Here?"

You nod and frown worriedly. "Yes, I've heard things too. To be honest, it makes me a little nervous." Jake's eyes widen with curiosity. "You don't think it could be related to your recent investigation, do you?"

You shrug, a worried look darkening your features. "I'm not sure. But I can't shake the feeling that there is more to this story than meets the eye."

With a heavy sigh, you turn back to your computer, your fingers flickering over the keyboard as you scroll through the latest reports. The headlines were emblazoned with violence and corruption, painting a grim picture of a city in turmoil.

But amidst the chaos, your thoughts turned to the task at hand. You waited, determined to uncover the truth behind the rumors and shed light on the dark underbelly of the city's criminal underworld. And as you delve deeper into your investigation, you know that you are treading on dangerous ground and risking everything to get to the bottom of the truth.

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In the cozy confines of your shared apartment, you and Natasha moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, the pleasant scent of herbs and spices filling the air as you prepared dinner together. The soft glow of the candlelight warmed the room, bathing everything in a soft golden hue.

As you worked side by side, chopping vegetables and stirring pots on the stove, Natasha couldn't help but notice the concentrated frown on your forehead, a telltale sign that something was on your mind.

"Is everything okay?" Natasha asked in a low, worried voice as she looked over at you. You took a moment to steady your hands before continuing your work. "Yes, everything is fine," you said in a tone that was not to be disdained.

Natasha raised an eyebrow questioningly, her gaze lingering on your worried expression. "You seem distracted. Is something on your mind?" You sat, put down your knife, and turned to Natasha. "I... I was doing research for work... and found out a few things that... I don't know..." you admitted, your voice sounding uncertain.

Natasha's curiosity was piqued. "Research? About what?" You hesitate, unsure of how to broach the subject. But when you met Natasha's eyes, you knew you couldn't keep the truth from her any longer. "It's about the recent increase in mafia activity in the city," you confess, your words hanging heavy in the air between you.

Natasha's expression darkened, a shadow cast over her features as she processed your revelation. "Mafia activity?" she repeated, her voice tight with concern. You nod solemnly. "Yes. It's been all over the news lately. There have been reports of violence and corruption, and... and I wonder if there's more to it."

As the heaviness of your words washed over her, Natasha's mind raced to the dangers lurking in the shadows. She knew the risks of getting caught in the criminal underworld all too well, and the thought of you being caught in the crossfire filled her with a sense of dread.

"Y/n," Natasha began, her voice sounding concerned as she gently touched her cheek, "I don't want you to get any more involved than you already might be. It could be dangerous..." But your expression hardened, your eyes meeting Natasha's with steely determination. "I have to, Natasha," you insisted, your voice firm. "This story needs to be told. People deserve to know what's really going on out there."

Natasha felt panic rising within her, the fear of losing you to the dangers lurking in the shadows threatening to consume her. She knew she had to do something, protect her lover from the dangerous path they were determined to take.

"Y/n, please," Natasha pleaded, her voice laced with desperation as she gripped her hands tightly in her own, "You don't understand. It's not safe out there. You could get hurt, or worse." But you stood your ground, your resolve unwavering in the face of Natasha's pleas. "I know the risks, Natasha," you replied, your voice remaining firm despite the turmoil of emotions raging inside you.

"I have to," you insisted, your voice unwavering. "This is my job, my responsibility. I can't just walk away from it." Natasha felt a wave of frustration rise within her, her instincts urging her to assert her dominance over you and force you into submission. "Y/n, I won’t-!“

A wave of emotion washed over Natasha, causing her to step back and reconsider her course of action. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down and push aside the overwhelming urge to assert control over you. She knew she would have to be gentler and more understanding if she wanted to convince her to abandon her dangerous endeavor.

"Y/n," Natasha said quietly, her voice free of the earlier sharpness, "I know you want to make a difference. But there are other, safer ways to do that. Please don't put yourself in danger like that. I couldn't bear to lose you." As she spoke, Natasha reached out to take your hands in hers, her touch gentle and comforting. And in that moment, she knew she would do anything to protect the person she loved, even if it meant standing by and watching them leave the fight.

With a forced nod, "You're right. I'm sorry." Your words rang hollow, even to your own ears, but you knew you had to appease Natasha for now. Natasha's expression softened, a hint of relief crossing her features as she squeezed your hands gently. "Thank you, Detka," she murmured, her voice laced with gratitude and concern. But as they stood there, locked in a silent embrace, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that was gnawing at you. You knew you were lying to Natasha, knew you couldn't just run away from the truth you were seeking.

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As tensions in the criminal underworld continued to escalate over the next few weeks, Natasha was faced with a difficult decision. The other gangs became increasingly aggressive, making small but calculated moves to undermine her authority. It was clear that they saw her refusal to accept her offer as a sign of weakness and were determined to use it to their own advantage.

With each passing day, Natasha felt the pressure mounting, the weight of her responsibility tightening like a vice on her shoulders. Blood stained the streets, a grim reminder of the violence that lurked just beyond the city's facade. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, a constant presence that lingered in every shadow, every dark alley.

Natasha gathered Maria and a select few men she trusted most and called a meeting, the dim light casting eerie shadows across the room. As they entered the room, their faces grim and determined, Natasha felt a surge of pride rise within her. These were her allies, her comrades, and together they would face whatever challenges lay before them, no matter what the cost.

"Thank you all for coming," Natasha began, her voice low and commanding as she addressed the group. "As you know, the situation has become increasingly tense over the past few weeks. Our enemies are growing bolder with each passing day, and it is clear that they will stop at nothing to see us fall."

She paused, letting her words hang in the air like a death sentence before continuing. "But I refuse to let that happen. We have worked too hard and sacrificed too much to allow our enemies to dictate the terms of this war. It's time to show them that we are not to be trifled with and that we will fight tooth and nail to defend what is ours."

A murmur of agreement ran through the room, the tension palpable as everyone in attendance prepared for what was to come. Natasha could see the fire in her eyes, the hunger for vengeance that mirrored her own.

"we will strike in the morning," Natasha declared, her voice cold and unyielding. "We will show them no mercy or pardon. They brought this on themselves and will pay the price for their arrogance." Her words hung heavy in the air, a silent promise of the carnage to come. Yet amidst the darkness, there was a glimmer of hope, a chance that peace would reign again.

As Natasha's words hung heavy in the air, a tense silence filled the room. Yet amid the silence, Natasha noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. One of her men reached for the gun tucked into his waistband, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Instinctively, Natasha's hand reached for the holster at her side, her senses on high alert. "Don't even think about it," she growled, her voice deep and dangerous, looking the would-be attacker in the eyes.

The man froze, his fingers hovering over the gun, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "I-I was just..." he stammered, his voice getting quieter as he searched for an excuse. Natasha's gaze bored into him with unrelenting intensity, her own hand ready to draw her gun at a moment's notice.

As you entered the room with your usual cheerful demeanor, your eyes roamed over the assembled group, pausing briefly at the tense expressions that greeted you. You felt the palpable tension in the air and frowned in confusion.

"H-Hey, everyone.." you greeted, her voice laced with a hint of uncertainty as you took in the somber atmosphere. "Did I interrupt something? I-I'm sorry!"

Natasha's gaze softened as she met your eyes, her heart aching at the sight of her innocence in the midst of her world of shadows and violence. "It's okay, I thought you were coming later? Did something happen?" she said in a soft voice as she stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I thought I'd surprise you by coming early..."

But even as you said those words, Natasha couldn't shake the unease that was gnawing at her insides. She knew she couldn't keep you in the dark forever, couldn't shield you from the harsh realities of her world. "We're almost done here, wait for me in the living room, okay?"

As you looked around the room, your eyes lingering on each person in turn, Natasha felt a surge of protectiveness wash over her. She would do anything to protect you, to keep you safe from the dangers that lurked right outside your door. And as she met your eyes once more, she silently vowed to do whatever it took to protect the person she loved, even if it meant facing her own demons.

A few hours later, as the last of her colleagues left the room, Maria stayed behind, watching Natasha with an unreadable expression on her face. Feeling the unwavering gaze of her right hand, Natasha straightened her shoulders, preparing herself for the conversation that lay ahead.

"Natasha," Maria began, her voice soft but firm, "who was that person earlier? And why is she here?" Natasha's jaw clenched slightly, and a hint of anger flashed in her eyes as she intruded on her personal affairs. "It's nothing, Maria," she replied curtly, her tone brooking no argument. "Just someone passing through."

But Maria was not so easily deterred. She stepped closer to Natasha, keeping her gaze unwavering as she continued to pursue the subject. "I know you," she said calmly. "You don't just bring anyone to our meetings. There's something you're not telling me."

Natasha's grip on the edge of the table tightened, and her frustration bubbled to the surface. She had always appreciated Maria's loyalty and discretion, but there were some things she just couldn't share, even with her closest confidant.

"Maria, I said it's nothing," she snapped, her voice sounding annoyed. "Believe me, it's better for you not to know." But Maria wouldn't let up. She leaned closer, her eyes searching Natasha's face for signs of weakness. "Natasha, eyes don't lie, you know?" she insisted, her voice soft but insistent.

For a long moment, Natasha wavered, torn between her desire to protect you and her loyalty to Maria. But in the end, she knew she couldn't hide from the truth, not from someone who knew her as well as Maria did.

With a heavy sigh, Natasha gave in, her resolve crumbling in the face of Maria's unwavering determination. "Fine," she conceded, her voice barely above a whisper. "That... She's important to me. More important than anything else in the world.”

Maria’s eyes softened with understanding as she received Natasha’s confession. “I understand,” she said quietly, her tone full of compassion. “Thank you for trusting me. I won’t press any further.”

Maria also made her way to the exit, but just before she did she turned back to Natasha, "And Natasha?" Maria began in a soft but determined voice. "I promise you, I will do everything in my power to protect her too. Whatever it takes."

Natasha's eyes flickered with gratitude as she met Maria's, a wave of relief overtaking her at the certainty of her right hand's unwavering loyalty. "Thank you, Maria," she murmured in an emotional voice. "That means more to me than you know."

With an approving nod, Maria reaffirmed her commitment to her cause and her determination in the face of all the challenges ahead. "We are in this together," she said firmly and with conviction. "And I'll be damned if I let anything happen to either of you."

With a final nod of approval, Maria said goodbye and stepped out into the night, leaving Natasha alone in the dimly lit hallway.

Natasha took a deep breath to calm her nerves, turned around and walked back into the living room, where you waited with a worried look on your face. Despite the gravity of the situation, Natasha couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth as she saw your concern for her.

As she approached, you smiled sheepishly, your attempt at cheerfulness not quite hiding the underlying tension. "I'm sorry for storming your meeting," you began, your voice laced with a hint of nervousness. "I hope I didn't cause too much trouble."

Natasha shook her head, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth as she sat down next to you. "Not at all," she reassured you, squeezing your hand in a gesture of comfort. "You know you're always welcome here, no matter what."

You let out a nervous giggle, the tension in the room easing a little as you made light of the situation. "Yeah, well, it's not every day I walk into a room full of serious-looking men," you joked with a playful glint in your eye. "I thought I'd stumbled into a secret society meeting or something."

Natasha laughed at your joke, grateful for your ability to lighten the mood even in the midst of uncertainty. "Believe me, it's not as exciting as it sounds," she replied wryly, her tone laced with amusement. "Just a bunch of old men fighting over territory and power."

You nodded in understanding, your expression softening with genuine concern. "Well, whatever it was, I'm just glad you're okay," you said sincerely, your eyes meeting Natasha's with unwavering support. "And if you ever need someone to look after you, you know where to find me."

The warmth from your words washed over Natasha like a comforting hug, filling her with a sense of gratitude and reassurance. Natasha couldn't help but find your concern endearing, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she leaned closer to you, your bodies almost touching. "You're sweet when you try to protect me, you know," she murmured, her voice low and husky with desire. "But I think I can take care of myself, darling."

Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement at Natasha's words, your heart pounding in your chest as you met Natasha's intense gaze. "I-I know," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"But I... I just can't help but worry about you."

A playful grin tugged at the corners of Natasha's mouth as she leaned even closer to you, the heat of her breath mixing with yours. "Well, if you're so worried about my safety, maybe you should show me how much you care for me.." she teased, her voice dripping with desire.

Your breath caught in your throat at Natasha's suggestive words, a shiver running down your spine as you felt the heat of her closeness. With a boldness you didn't know you possessed, you stand up from the couch, your movements fluid and deliberate as you rock your hips in a subtle but unmistakable invitation.

The air crackled with electricity as Natasha's eyes darkened with desire and her pulse quickened at the sight of your sensual movements. A devilish grin spread across her face. "You look tense. Let me help you relax." Natasha stood up and walked past you.

As your bright eyes questioned her, Natasha reached for one of the long silk scarves lying on the velvet sofa. "Do you trust me?" she asked, raising a piercing green eyebrow. You swallowed and nodded hesitantly.

Clicking her tongue over her teeth, Natasha slowly approached you and wrapped the silk around your delicate wrists. She tied the young woman up, tied her up in that moment. Your breath caught as the silk tightened around your skin and the knot bound you securely to a chair.

"Natasha, what are you doing?" you whispered amusingly, your eyes shining with a seductive mix of fear and excitement. Natasha's lips curled into a playful smile. "You'll see, Detka. Just relax and let me take care of everything."

She hovered behind you, resting her fingers on your neck and gently massaging away the remaining tension of the day. The sensitive skin there grew goosebumps under Natasha's feather-light touch. You let out a trembling sigh, your eyelids fluttering.

Natasha's fingers danced over your shoulders, your soft moan guided Natasha's fingertips. It felt as if an electrical impulse echoed through the room, binding them together with an invisibly frayed rope. Her touch grew bolder, caressing the rise and fall of your chest.

"O-Oh..," you hissed through your teeth, your eyes trained on the fireplace as Natasha's hand slipped under your silk blouse.

The scorching touch of her fingers made your skin glow and her thoughts evaporate. "Relax, just let it take you," Natasha whispered hoarsely, her teeth scraping against your ear. You felt your resistance melt away, leaving you completely. Your head fell back to hit Natasha's shoulder, and you sighed again.

This time you surrendered.

Natasha's hands moved further down, sliding past your navel. She could feel your stomach clenching in anticipation. Natasha's fingers dipped beneath your lace underwear and she giggled darkly at the feeling of the soft, damp curls greeting her.

Natasha teasingly ran her fingers over your most intimate flesh, noticing every shuddering exhale, the way your whole body clenched with desire.

"Should I keep going?" she murmured in your ear, her breath hot and heavy. "Or would you rather I make you beg for it?" Your voice trembled. "K-Keep going..."

Natasha giggled, a low and sinful sound. She slid two fingers inside you, gasping as Natasha began to explore your depths. You clenched around them, muscles fluttering around her invading fingers.

Natasha began to pump them in and out, drawing a whimper from you. Your bodies moved in unison: the thrust of Natasha's fingers, the arch of your hips.

Natasha increased her pace, relentless and raw. Enjoying the intensity between them, she pulled at your earlobe with her teeth and murmured, "That's right, baby. Ride my fucking hand.”

“Oh God, yes!” you whined. Your body shook and trembled, your nipples stiff and pressing against the soft fabric of your silk blouse. The pain between your legs was sharp and insatiable. You needed Natasha inside you…now.

“Natasha, please!” you screamed helplessly, writhing against your bonds. “Fuck m-me! I need you inside me!!”

Natasha slowly pulled her fingers out of you, eliciting a moan from the bound woman. She pressed soft, long kisses to your neck and murmured, “Patience, darling. I promised you would like it.”

As she slid lower, Natasha teased and teased your pert nipples with each tantalizing breath. But that wasn’t enough. She dropped to her knees and pulled your lacy underwear down, past the curves of your hips and thighs, until it landed in a whisper-soft heap at your ankles. And then Natasha leaned forward.

Her breath was hot against your body, moistening the sensitive skin that cried out for touch. Anticipation licked at your limbs, your muscles tensed with inexhaustible desire.

Without further ado, Natasha's tongue made contact, swirling around your already stiff clit. The deliberate, sensual act elicited a loud gasp from you. You clenched your hands into fists as best you could while she was still bound, your toes curling in the delicate heels you wore.

The sweet feeling intensified as Natasha flattened her tongue, devouring every inch of you. You couldn't hold back any longer, your orgasm washed over you, a raging wave of pleasure that took your breath away.

"Oh, G-God!" you screamed, unable to suppress the cries that escaped your lips. Release washed through you in waves, every muscle in your body tensing before relaxing deliciously. The orgasm left you shaking and staggering, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

You breathe in gasps and raise your head to see Natasha grinning proudly. Before you could fully compose yourself, Natasha stood up and began to undress.

"You want more?" Natasha purred, unbuckling the belt of her pants. It fell to the floor with a sensual whisper. You nodded desperately as you looked at Natasha's fake cock, already drooling. Natasha was not only powerful, she was also captivating. Once she set her mind on something, she was never going to be stopped.

Natasha towered over you, commanding and captivatingly dominant. The sight of Natasha's bare chest, glistening with a light sheen of sweat, ignited a corresponding hunger in you. With a mischievous grin on her lips, Natasha unclasped your bra and tossed it aside to expose the stiff tips of your nipples.

She immediately lowered her head and took one into her mouth, teasing the other with a flick of her thumb. You arched up from the chair, your back arching with a ragged gasp, "f-fuck..!"

Natasha didn't let up. She continued to suck and tease, giving each breast equal attention before moving further down to taste the sweetness of your desires.

You squirmed in your bonds as Natasha's tongue entered you, exploring every inch as if she was memorizing the contours of your body.

Her teeth gently grazed your clit and a wave of pleasure washed over you, making you cry out in ecstasy. Natasha was relentless in her assault, bringing you to the brink of orgasm again and again before sending you plunging headfirst into release, a release so intense that the world around you faded into insignificance.

Your cries of pleasure echoed through the living room, bouncing off the walls and mixing with the distant symphony of horns and traffic from below. Your legs trembled, still bound to the chair by the silken bonds. Each new sensation catapulted you higher than before, and Natasha showed no signs of stopping. If anything, she became even greedier as she feasted on your most intimate flesh.

"Please," you finally pleaded, your throat raw. "I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me, Natasha." Natasha grinned, relishing the power coursing through her. She released you from your bonds and threw you onto the nearby couch.

Your breath caught as Natasha paused before entering you deeply, filling you with a moan of relief. The feeling of possession was intoxicating for both of you, your bodies melding together in raw, unbridled passion.

Natasha couldn't help but growl as she began to thrust, her hips slamming into your body with such wild pleasure that the couch slipped millimeters beneath them.

You lost yourself in a haze of pleasure, your spine arching as Natasha continued to thrust into you, your shared breaths ragged and blending into one. With each thrust, your orgasm tightened inside you.

Your bodies slammed together, raw and unyielding, and you screamed Natasha's name, pushing her closer to the edge.

Natasha could feel it building between you, the tension radiating like a living thing. Her thrusts became erratic, every muscle tensing as she surrendered to the maelstrom of pleasure that consumed her. Every nerve ending in her body hummed with life, pulsing with ecstasy as she gave up control and collapsed on you.

Her breathing became labored, your soft gasps mingling with Natasha's hoarse breaths. Natasha could taste the faint salt of sweat and the sweetness of your desire mingling on her tongue.

Her hands roamed possessively up your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps. With a sinful smile, she gently caressed the curve of your hips and sank her fingers into her lover's soft flesh, squeezing and kneading it lightly as you whimpered under her touch, trembling with exquisite sensitivity. He thrust again,

"Shit, Y/n," Natasha moaned. "You're so fucking hot and tight, baby. I can't believe this is all mine."

"O-Only y-yours," you gasp in response. Natasha continued to pleasure every sensitive inch of you as if it were her own canvas.

You felt your inhibitions slipping through your fingers like sand. The calm of Natasha's relentless pursuit awakened an insatiable hunger within you, an unquenchable burn that no ordinary man could ever quench. Only Natasha could make you feel so strong, desired and adored.

She was the mistress of your body and knew exactly which buttons to push and when. Every cell in your body ached with electric tingles as Natasha took command and squeezed you into her couch.

Natasha leaned down and nibbled on the soft skin of your neck before whispering, "I want you to scream my name. I want you to beg for more and never forget who you belong to."

You arched beneath Natasha, whimpering in anticipation. Your heart pounded against your chest and your breathing was rapid. You felt a shiver run down your spine as Natasha's fingers moved to the top of your thighs with an unbearably light touch.

Natasha's grin widened as she dipped her fingers between your wet folds and found your clit swelling with need.

She began to circle them with just the right amount of pressure, drawing a moan from you. "God, yes," you breathed, lifting your back off the couch.

Natasha increased the pace of her fingers, pleasure writhing deep in your belly. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to another orgasm, your breathing becoming more and more ragged as you clung to Natasha's shoulders. "A-Ah, Natasha!" you screamed again as release washed over you.

But Natasha wasn't done yet.

No, she wanted to keep driving you to the edge until there was nothing left but pure, unadulterated pleasure. She slid down your body, kissing and licking her way down until she reached the soft curls between your legs. Natasha inhaled deeply, savoring your musky scent before diving in with unbridled abandon. She swirled her tongue around your clit, enjoying the gasps and moans that escaped her friend's lips.

Natasha's fingers penetrated further into Di, who writhed in pleasure and pushed back against her lover's hand. With her free hand, Natasha reached up and ran a finger over your nipple, stiff with desire. She pinched it playfully between her fingers as you moved your hips, desperate for more. Natasha increased the rhythm of her tongue on your clit, enjoying every gasp that escaped her lover's throat. You were close, Natasha could feel it.

She penetrated her lover deeper, feeling your muscles tighten around her fingers as you came ever closer to another explosive climax. Natasha swirled her tongue faster, bringing you to the brink of ecstasy. And just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Natasha curled her fingers inside you and hit the sweet spot that made your body tremble and twitch with pleasure.

"N-Natasha!" you screamed, your voice hoarse from the intensity of her climaxes. "I-I can't... I can't a-anymore!"

But Natasha wasn't done with you yet. She continued to pleasure you, driving you to the brink of insanity with every flick of her tongue and every thrust of her fingers.

Your legs trembled violently, your toes curled as you felt another orgasm building inside you. It was too much, too intense, and yet you never wanted it to end. A sinful grin spread across Natasha's face as she watched you fall apart under her touch. Her power was intoxicating, addictive, and you surrendered to it willingly.

As the intensity of their lovemaking reached its peak, your senses were overwhelmed, your body succumbing to the overwhelming waves of pleasure that washed over you. In a dizzying whirlwind of sensations, you felt yourself slipping away, your consciousness sinking into the depths of blissful oblivion.

With a soft moan of ecstasy, your body went limp in Natasha's arms, your breathing shallow and unsteady as you surrendered to the ecstasy of their shared passion. As Natasha continued to move in a primal rhythm, your eyelids fluttered closed, your mind drifting into a hazy, euphoric fog.

For a fleeting moment, you teetered on the edge of consciousness, your body flooded with a feeling of weightlessness and euphoria. But as the sensations overwhelmed you, you lost touch with reality and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

As Natasha felt you go limp in her arms, a wave of concern washed over her, her heart pounding with fear at the thought that she had pushed you too far. With gentle hands, she cradled your unconscious body against her chest, her touch tender and soothing as she whispered words of comfort into the silence of the night.

Despite the urgency of the situation, she couldn't help but linger by your side for a moment longer, enjoying the calm that surrounded her in the silence of the night.

With a soft sigh, Natasha gently pulled away from your embrace, careful not to disturb your sleep. As she stood next to the couch, a twinge of guilt tugged at her heart, knowing she was leaving you behind once again, without explanation or reassurance.

Natasha brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, her lips lingering on your skin a moment longer than necessary. "Forgive me," she whispered softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I promise I'll be back before you know it."

With a heavy heart, Natasha turned away from your sleeping form and made her way to the door, her steps purposeful and determined. As she slipped out into the cool night air, the weight of her responsibility was upon her once again, driving her forward with a sense of urgency that brooked no delay.

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🏷️ TAGLIST:

@kipitou @thalia-is-not-ok @queen2234 @sgm616 @dorabledewdroop @natsxwife @natashaswife4125 @loneliestafterparty @jenniferjareauwife @maggieromanov @doveromanoff

#natasha x reader #natasha smut #natasha romanoff #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

[korlkorl]

YAY! i greatly enjoyed your shoujo au!!! it was amazing to read, ty for your contribution to humanity u r doing god's work frfr!!! would you be willing to write a hanahaki au for the twst second years? (preferably an angsty ending, but if you would prefer something happier, that's 100% fine with me!! i'm not picky!!) 🤭♥️

hanahaki + second years

hanahaki: a fictional disease caused by unrequited love in which you vomit blood and flower petals (flowers tend to relate to the person you) and although there is an option for treatment, you become numb to emotions. if you don’t get treatment, you die.

(I decided to add how the twst seconds years would treat the disease— will they get treatment or not?)

not very good angst warning under the cut!!!

riddle rosehearts

riddle grew up alone, mostly. every time he seeked for comfort, for company, it’ll fall apart. it would always go wrong, he’d lose everything the moment he got too greedy.

riddle still struggled to properly face trey and chen’ya after all those years, even if he got better with it. it was too embarrassing, too lame. he felt like a loser. a sore loser who deserved nothing. oh sevens, did the world have something against him?

things were looking on the bright side. he was out of his mother’s furious grip, he has more freedom than he ever did (even if he goes by strict rules) he could make as many friends as he liked and hang out with them as much as he liked.

he still preferred being private, however. he liked his friends, you included. they were more understanding of him than any other member of the school. although he’d twist and turn in bed when he thinks back to his overblot (how embarrassing of me! he thinks) he would still much prefer being with those who accepted him a long time ago.

you weren’t too big on sweets. you liked them, sure, but the more you ate the more your mouth felt itchy. knowing riddle’s sweet tooth, sometimes, you’d secretly pass your unfinished slice of cake or unfinished strawberry tart to him. riddle rosehearts, the strict, germaphobic, lowkey a dictator, heartily took it.

if it were anyone else, he’d just stare at them in disbelief. but the thought that you bit into the very sweet treat, it threw him over the moon. he’d read of indirect kisses before, in cheesy romances he read in his spare time. he doesn’t know if this is actually an indirect kiss, but don’t make fun of him, he’s still learning!

riddle has a lot of firsts, like the first time he tried that strawberry tart, or the first time he learned that playing with friends is fun, or the first time he ever overblotted, or the first time he fell in love.

you were his first love.

he turns red when alone, imagining your face and your laughter and your joy. your silly mishaps that he has no heart on lecturing you over, or your inability to understand some of the assignments. he finds all aspects of you cute— wonderful? he doesn’t know how to describe what he’d feeling, but it gets him all giddy.

he’s frustrated often, the way he started blushing violently when you ever get in close contact with him and how you always, always seem to be unaware of this. oblivion would send you to hell.

he’s been feeling quite nauseous lately, probably because of his failed attempts of clumsily sending you signals about how he feels.

it was to a point where he threw up… petals? petals…??????? oh my god, he’s throwing up petals!!!

riddle distinctively remembers reading about this during his first year, a disease of romance, love, and failure.

his heart sinks. maybe that’s why you failed to notice.

things never go his way, riddle thinks. he’s always feeling alone. every time he gets greedy for comfort, he loses it at the highest point of his life. when things are getting better, it takes turns for the worse. that’s why riddle likes to follow the rules.

by his third year, riddle’s back to being his strict, controlling prefect. except something’s different, he’s not as angry anymore.

that’s to be expected, though. ever since the surgery, riddle has never been the same.

ruggie bucchi

he has grown up to treasure everything he has.

ruggie isn’t as financially stable as others, he wasn’t lucky to be fortunate enough to get what he wants, whenever he wants.

so when he does get what he wants, ruggie makes sure to keep it close to his heart like it means everything. most of the time, it does mean everything, all of it. his life.

he hardly gives away his things (please don’t mention the kids at the slums, he’ll turn awfully shy.) and takes anything he’s given.

when you would give him the tiniest amount of food, he’d gladly snatch it from your hands and walk away snickering.

easy target for food is what you are, he thinks.

most of the time, when people give things away to him, ruggie just assumes that it’s unwanted. he’d take leftovers no problem. it’s only when you’d constantly hand things to him, always have something to give him and remember he exists, does he think you’re odd. I mean, he’s fine with taking the forgotten leftovers, but what could he possibly do when you don’t forget him?

watch ruggie clumsily fiddle around with his fingers, scanning the area for your presence. he has learned to not worry, as you always manage to come find him everyday without fail. he feels noticed.

he starts to crave for that attention.

ruggie treasures things. he keeps them close in his heart very carefully. but what would he do when you steal his heart instead? where can he hide all the things that mean everything to him?

somehow, he doesn’t mind. he wants you to see him more, ruggie bucchi, his true self.

the crave he has for you is for some odd reason, unmet. you’re oblivious to his shy antics, the way his ears turn flat when you walk away or the way he holds onto the hem of your shirt just for a second longer.

notice him.

notice him.

notice him.

when you see the way he unconsciously covers his mouth whenever you meet eyes with him, or the how he’s constantly going to the infirmary, will you finally notice him?

there’s a trail of your favourite flowers.

ruggie bucchi keeps all the special things close to his heart. when you take his heart away, how else can he express his pathetic, unrequited love? by coughing up a disease ruggie would’ve called embarrassing and shameful if it weren’t for you.

azul ashengrotto

azul is sensitive. he notices things way too easily. the tiny, insignificant details of someone and how they react, he will notice. that is how azul finds out how a person truly feels about him.

even if azul and that other person were considered close friends, azul would still notice the tiny little details that make him unlikable to them even just a little. it’s been a habit for as long as he could remember.

everyone always had something they disliked about azul. it was fine with him, that was normal. everyone dislikes everyone about anything. it’s not like it deters long lasting relationships. azul shrugs it off, it doesn’t bother him. it’s comforting, even, knowing what people think about him.

so it was obvious to say it was near-horrid when no matter how much time azul spent time with you, he could not spot anything off about you, anything that said you didn’t like him.

as much as azul notices how people act around him, he also notices other people. he knows all their flaws, their good sides and their bad sides. even if he couldn’t read your thoughts about him at all, he still expected to see something out of the norm about you, a bad trait, something that made you human.

to him, you had none.

were you god? how come you were near-perfect in his eyes? during cold months, the tips of your nose and ears would flush pink like a cute plum while azul turned embarrassingly red. he thought it was ugly and didn’t make him look good, but there nothing to prove that you thought the same. he couldn’t tell anything about you at all.

you were like a confusing puzzle piece to him. unsolvable, unreadable, flawless. perfect.

it took a while to adjust, but his unwavering respect for you turned into wavering thumps of his heart and dodging eyes. maybe you weren’t perfect after all, maybe azul just likes you.

the terrible urge to impress you grew stronger everyday.

he wanted to look as perfect as you did to him.

but how can he possibly ever look perfect,

when he is sick?

hovered over the toilet, azul clutched his chest as petals slid out of his mouth as if it were apart of him. well, it is apart of him, I guess. his love for you is one with him after all.

azul is sensitive, but he tries not to show it. not only is he good at catching the little things, he’s quick to anger or get hurt. the best he can do is hide them. so he hides the feeble emotion he calls love and comes back after winter break just as the same. he’s dutiful and runs his business like he normally would, and still hangs out with you time to time. he just feels more… empty? you’ll never know why he seems to be this way, no one really knows about the surgery.

jade leech

jade is often avoided by many people.

people find him creepy, odd, off-putting, unnerving… and more comments he hasn’t bothered to find out about.

those names don’t really bother him. in fact, he enjoys it. he loves watching people squirm in fear over something he says out of the blue. It’s exciting to watch a person try to decide if they should run away or not, unaware of jade’s capabilities.

he’s used to people avoiding him. for the sacrifice of entertainment, he isn’t all that popular. jade leech is used to it.

you were different, however.

your simply didn’t find him creepy. anything he said that was weird, you’d laugh it off and say something weird back too. jade’s height, creepy smile or the way he talks, it doesn’t seem to throw you off at all. you’d smile and wave at him when no one else dared to, you’d easily graze your skin against his and pay no mind, you’d approach him without second thoughts. It was like mutual trust, something jade has learned is difficult to find when you’re him.

so you meant everything. you were just as new and exciting, a pleasant surprise from the predicted fear everyone else has. you made him feel… seen for the first time in his life.

soon, everything you did was like a horror movie (weird analogy, I know. but it’s jade leech we’re talking about!) the intensity of when the killer would approach, or when the character is alone and vulnerable, his heart pumps like wildfire as he watches expectantly to see what the new surprise would be. his favourite feeling was when the victim would die or escape, the tightening in his chest releasing as he excitedly watches what would happen next. that was you. you were his favourite feeling.

he loves the way your eyebrows moved in expression when you talked, he loved when you sneezed and looked around expecting a “bless you,” he loved the odd ways you attempted to hold your mug comfortably and most of all, he loved you. he love you very, very much.

jade leech is used to all kinds of things. he’s used to people avoiding him, he’s used to his brother’s tendencies to groan and complain at everything, he’s used to azul’s creepy capitalist tactics.

what he’s not used to, however, are the bubbly, excited emotions he feels when he gets to experiment with his beloved mushrooms, the way you took over his thoughts like the plague and most of all, he wasn’t used to the flowers spilling out of his mouth.

this was odd, per say. jade knew of the hanahaki disease. he knew of all the downsides of it. but he never worried, because, how could he, jade fucking leech, ever love someone so pathetically?

he hoped that you’d love him back too. he oh-so deeply wished he was just as new and exciting to you as you were to him.

the blood meticulously dripped amongst his fingers, flower petals sticking to it alike. he laughed at himself. he’s always imagined that if he’d ever possibly get this disease, it’ll be flowers related to the water like lotuses or water lilies. he never thought he’d start coughing up such pathetic land-dweller flowers.

it was fine, though. jade would get used to it, eventually.

because after all, he’d rather die than stop loving you.

floyd leech

floyd is scary, he knows that. He’s quick to anger, moody, tall and intimidating. He’s doesn’t really care, though. He just does what he wants. He doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal.

he likes fun surprises, something new, exciting. he thinks you meet that of that.

you’re not as scared as others, you respond to his pranks and squeezes positively, you respect his mood swings and he even caught a few glimpses of you defending him. he thinks you’re so cute!

it’s not odd to talk about the leech twins without mentioning you. floyd follows you every and jade just goes wherever floyd goes. it’s like a little trio.

you don’t get scared like others when he gets upset, return his squeezes (hesitatingly…he hugs tight!) and find him rather silly than scary.

jade thinks you were almost made for floyd, considering how well you two get along. although jade has been with floyd the longest, he can only tolerate to a certain point for you, however, it seemed to go endless. you were so much more patient with floyd then with anyone else. although floyd made be subtle about it, he’s grateful.

floyd adored you. you were everything he loves, for he loves you.

loved you.

loved? (love)

floyd started to ignore you. you’d tilt your head in confusion— you were upset. why would your best friend suddenly act like you weren’t even there? he wouldn’t even get mad, he’d just turn the other way.

it was only so long ago when floyd was hunched over in his bed from a terrible stomach ache. jade was horribly surprised to see bloody petals staining floyd’s bedsheets.

floyd never bothered with these things. for the first time in a while, he read a book out of his own volition to figure out what it was, only to rip the pages apart when he read what hanahaki was.

childishly declaring that he loves you no more, floyd would stay away from you like the plague, whilst secretly filling his system with flowers that will kill him for ever loving someone so deeply.

floyd is gonna disappear from your life completely eventually. you’d wonder what caused your best friend to suddenly hate you, while his family mourns over the loss of a loved one, as floyd refused treatment, because he foolishly decided to love you.

kalim al-asim

kalim grew up very sheltered in a loving family. The only concept of love he has is of his parents, who hold hands tightly and gush over the cutest things. they often warn him of the danger of love, and that he must be careful about the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

kalim, although clumsy and stupid, always kept that in the back of his mind.

you were like a breath of fresh morning air. growing up knowing very little, you were the newest, most brightest experience there was. kalim was sure you were the one. he was completely sure, why else would his heart thump so fast?

he’d hug you and hold your hand, give you gifts you could never even imagine having and tell you how much he appreciates you.

kalim hasn’t gone around to mouthing the word “love” yet, but he knows that you know anyway.

so when he started coughing up petals, jamil was quick to inform the al-asim family. kalim was confused, he didn’t understand. this love wasn’t unrequited, there was no way!

it doesn’t matter, though. he’s gonna continue loving you, you and him are gonna be happy together someday, eventually. maybe not in this universe.

kalim woke up in a hospital bed, his heart heavy.

he loves you. but he forgot what that feels like. he loved you. somehow.

jamil viper

jamil is smart. he’s smart and knows his worth. this is why he hates being in second, he knows he deserves so much more.

why does he always to have do worse than kalim? why does he always have to be second place? jamil is smart enough to know his potential. he also knows how much he’s holding himself back for the sake of hierarchy. he hates it.

it’s not a surprise when jamil finds himself unconsciously doing slower than certain people to appear normal. his main purpose in life is to not stand out, hide in the shadows, survive. like predator hiding from prey because if found, it will be caught by the silly humans.

you’re completely different from him, though. you’re as normal as a person can be, yet you aim to reach for the stars and hold it close to your heart. jamil understands your desire to outshine people all to well. he’s been in that spot, is in that spot. he pities you.

so he sticks around. he’d casually follow you, hang out whenever he can, help you with assignments so you can be the best version of yourself. he’s voraciously living through you. if you achieve your goals, that’s enough for him. at least he was apart of something meaningful for once.

it catches him off guard, however, when you encourage him to reach for his goals as well. it’s like you’re holding his hand and pull him amongst the galaxies to gently place your hands onto the hot touch of a star.

he knows that’s near impossible to reach, from the moment he was born, his life was chosen for him. but he thinks he could reach the small goals.

jamil secretly pats himself on the back for grazing against your skin for a second longer than usual, treat you to a nice meal or help you ace a test. he hopes that at least one of the goals he could reach in this lifetime is to be with you.

jamil is smart enough to know that he’s not just sick. not when blood trails down his chin to his arms, as flowers spill from inside him.

he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could have something for himself for once. not hold himself back, grasp tightly to what he wants the most.

jamil is smart enough to know his own worth. he’s definitely not worth enough to you.

silver

silver likes the little things. he enjoys the way birds chirp in the early morning, or the way the dandelion petals flow against the wind as he watches you scrunch your nose and blow on it. and then both of you guys start sneezing. ah, summer pollen, a reminiscent part of nature.

he loves the way you hold your pencil, the way you like to tie your shoelaces, how you cut your sandwiches. these small, unnoticeable traits catch his eye quite often, and he’s developed a fondness for them.

he’s a man of little words. silver doesn’t talk much, so when he thinks of these things, he never says it out loud. maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice how he felt about you.

he was so calming, and so gentle, it tugged at your heart when he’d smile softly and tilt his head ever so slightly so the cute birds could carefully place a beautiful flower crown on his head. he’s so princely, you think. a perfect knight in shining armour, loved even by the nature.

often you’d tell him how lucky any girl would be to be loved by him. your comments made silver hopeful.

silver is a man of little words, he likes to spend his days watching rather than showing. when he does finally speak his true thoughts, he genuine, honest. his words roll off his tongue so easily and smoothly, perfect fit for such a princely man (as you call him)

so when silver does finally open his mouth to speak, talk, say of what he felt in that very moment, he throat closed up. maybe he was nervous, maybe he was lame, because to both of your guy’s horror, blood spilled.

he didn’t really know what was happening. only when he felt the urge to throw up in the infirmary did he realize what was going on.

he was familiar with hanahaki. his father always told him stories of how fae would love so strongly to humans who hated them, that those who were unlucky would be induced to vomiting flowers.

when silver thought he was fae, just like his sweet old father, silver swore to himself that he’ll never love a human. now that he knows that he is, in fact, human, silver starts to doubt himself. maybe is, in a way, a fae.

it’s alright, though. silver is man of few words. he likes to watch rather than show. he doesn’t mind what could happen to him, he won’t tell anyone. he’ll just watch you from afar, filling his heart with melancholy love until he reaches his end. which might be soon, for he loves you so strongly.

a.n: my phone is on 6% as I type this I will edit this tomorrow morning when I wake up. sorry for replying so late I had tests coming up and I had to study!!! </3 thank you so much for the kind comments and I’ll catch up to requests soon! feel free leave any requests :3

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #hanahaki #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #kalim al asim #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #silver twst #silver x reader #twst second years #twst fic

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem. But now, it might as well be a dream come true.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings.

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men | @nerdisthenewcool | @lilypadmomentum | @1dkneo | @kitsunechan707

Chapter 31

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“I… I feel like I need to push,” you grunted out.

Your doctor ran to your bedside.  “Okay, dear, okay, follow my lead, alright?”  She assisted in turning you on your side, adjusting your various tubes to better accommodate your position.  “Like we discussed, okay?  This position will help reduce the pressure on your pelvis and make it much easier to push.”

You nodded, your expression contorting in a grimace as a much stronger contraction ran through you in waves, lingering in your muscles like radiation. Your hands were curled up by your head, lacking anything to hold on to, so you resorted to fisting the white cotton sheets covering the mattress below you.  It felt mildly uncomfortable, but as soon as you were settled, you felt like your muscles were able to work much more effectively.  You breathed out a pained sigh, the pressure in your lower abdomen increasing in waves.

“You’re starting to crown already,” another nurse spoke up.  “Your body is already so primed for delivery!  It’s like you’ve been practicing.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume this was your third or fourth baby!”

“I’m going to hold your hand, alright?” your doctor asked, confirming with you on what would make you the most comfortable.  “How bad is your pain?  We can get you started on an epidural.”

“It’s…”  As soon as the contraction ceased, another one followed in its place.  You were outrageously close.  “It’s pretty bad,” you confirmed.

“I’m impressed, when I gave birth to my first, I almost passed out.  The pain was so bad!” one of the nurses at the other side of your room called out.  “You have quite the tolerance!”

You flashed a weak smile.  If only these nurses knew.

Your doctor rubbed your head reassuringly.  She really did feel like a mother in her own right.  “We’ll start that epidural.  Once that’s in place and you’re stable, we’ll begin pushing.  Can I get you anything?”

Your eyes wearily glanced up at her calm, reassuring face.  “I know it’s a long shot but… can you call my husband?”

—

The second lung was almost fully detached.  Over halfway through the surgery now, it had been much faster and more successful than anyone thought it would be.  Alongside a few breaks that were taken by the staff to relieve themselves and stretch their backs, sterile orange juice breaks sipped through plastic straws, and brief physical therapy for the unconscious patient to make sure his blood continued to circulate properly and his skin wasn’t damaged, the operation was going very, very smoothly.

And thank goodness.  Law needed some good news right now.

Among the beeping sounds of the patient’s heart monitor, the wrrr of the bypass machine, and the soft chatter amongst the team as they worked, a new sound infiltrated the space.  In the farthest corner of the room, Law’s hospital pager went off.

“What was that?” one of the nurses asked.

“My pager,” Law responded.  His voice was laced with anxiety.  He was barely keeping it together, and who knows why his pager might have been going off in the middle of an operation.

The circulating nurse took it upon herself to snatch up the small device, pressing the response button.  The best, or arguably worst, thing about the pagers was how loud they were.  Everyone could hear the voice that came through the other end.

[Dr. Trafalgar Law?  Dr. Trafalgar?]  It was a woman’s voice.

“I’m listening,” he shouted back.  The nurse stepped slightly closer with the pager in her hand.

[This is Nurse Kaya from Labor & Delivery, your wife is crowning.  Just wanted to let you know.]

Spoken far too casually for the news that made Law’s stomach drop like a brick.  He was missing the birth.

“FUCK,” he suddenly shouted, his hands still carefully working at the lung’s connective tissue.  It was as if his body and his mind were on completely different wavelengths.  So much for operating room etiquette.  The air in the room had gone completely cold as nervous glances among the team were shared.

“Doctor, I’m not opposed to relieving you with another on-call surgeon.  I know this is a huge ordeal, but we’re almost done and… this is a special case,” one of the head nurses spoke up.

He was clearly deliberating heavily in his mind.  He wanted to run, carry himself as fast as his feet could handle, and get to your side.  He needed to be there with you.  He was missing the birth of his first child.  A lump developed in his throat.  The protective husband side of him had the stoic, focused surgeon side pinned against the wall with a knife to his throat.

“Get the on-call surgeon here immediately and have him gowned and sterilized,” he finally barked, passing his tools off to his assistant and stepping away from the body.  A few relieved gasps were shared amongst the team as the circulating nurse brought Law out from the theater and into the prep room where she assisted in frantically undressing him from his surgical scrubs and passing his phone and pager back into his possession.  His operating room attire was quickly disposed of in a biohazard waste bin while he quickly washed his hands in the nearby basin.

“Doctor, good luck,” she said with a smile, her eyes crinkling under her mask.

Law could only pass her a faint grin as he shrugged on his white coat, stuffed his phone in the pocket of his slacks, and sprinted out of the prep room.  On the way, the on-call surgeon passed by and planted a reassuring smack to Law’s shoulder before replacing him.

Law was breaking every hospital rule there was.  Sprinting through the hallway, his feet hammering against the tiled ground as he fought his way through the hospital’s expansive campus, past patient rooms, nurses’ stations, and waiting areas.  Why did L&D have to be so far away?!  His eyes followed the signs on the walls pointing him in the right direction, his muscle memory leading the way.  He scaled two flights of stairs two-at-a-time, the muscles in his legs screaming at him to stop.  He was almost positive he would tear a muscle with how fast he was running.  But that didn’t matter.

Finally, finally, he pushed through the doors into the maternity ward, flashing his badge frantically at the nurse behind the check-in desk.  He was panting, barely able to catch his breath, one of his hands shaking as it supported his weight against the desk.

“My… Trafalgar… where… shit…” he panted, beads of sweat pilling on his forehead below his ragged bangs.

“Down the hall, take a left, then a right,” the nurse instructed, her voice pleasantly calm.  She must have seen this a lot.

He barely uttered out a ‘thank you’ before he was off again, pounding down the tiled hallways past delivery and recovery rooms, past the expansive NICU and small groups of families and doctors.  He had tunnel vision.  He needed to get to you.

Take a left.

Then a right.

He almost sprinted past the door to the delivery room you were in, only backtracking when he caught the pained sound of your voice from within.  He flung the door open, nurses surrounding you jumping from shock at the sight.

“Dr. Trafalgar?!” one of them exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Law ignored her.

Your eyes went wide, your hand being held by the doctor who had admitted you.  Tears immediately brimmed in the corners of your vision as a pained smile broke out on your face.  Law took the spot of your doctor instantly, almost throwing himself at you as he littered your face with kisses, grasping your hand and holding in his pain as you squeezed harshly against his bones, the force of another contraction gripping your body.  You were laying on your side, one of your knees tucked upward toward your chest as far as you could manage to allow the baby more room to come out.  You had an epidural tube sticking out of your spine, your upper body barely covered by blankets and the open-back hospital gown to accommodate for the birth.

“You made it…” you wheezed, torn between the attention on your husband and the baby coming out of you.

“I couldn’t miss it… I couldn’t…” he wheezed.  He was still very winded, his lungs shuddering for breaths.  Any longer and he would’ve been the one needing a dual pulmonary transplant.

“Ready for another push?” shouted one of the nurses at your bedside above the noise.

You nodded, biting your lower lip.  Your face was glistening with sweat.  Your body tensed up, gripping Law’s hand like a lifeline as you pushed, a pained groan emanating from deep within your throat as your eyes pinched shut.

“How is she doing?” demanded Law, gazing at the doctor who took her spot at the end of your bed where your legs were parted.

“She’s doing great, both babies are in cephalic position, her blood pressure is good and her heart rate is even better, it’s unlikely she’ll need emergency intervention.  I’m incredibly pleased considering her medical history,” the older doctor explained.  “Come over here.”

Law gazed at you, a fond smile on your lips as you released his hand so he could join his extended colleague at the foot of your bed.

“Delivering on her side helps lessen the pressure on her body as well as the baby’s,” the woman explained.

Law’s breath caught in his throat.  Emerging from you was a head of fuzzy black hair, slicked with amniotic fluid.  One of the nurses called for another push, and your lower body tensed up, your muscles clenching as hard as they could while you pushed the baby out more.  Law quickly returned to your side, grasping your hand once more.

“Baby… how are you doing?” he asked, desperate for your personal opinion, his lungs finally settling as he took in your exhausted appearance.

You grimaced.  “The epidural has been helping, but it hurt like a bitch going in,” you groaned.  “I’ve been having contractions since 2 in the morning.  I just want them to be out already.”

“Once the head is delivered, the rest will be easy!” one of the nurses called, a bright smile on her face.

Law felt himself smile as well.  Being a delivery nurse must have been incredibly rewarding on the best days.  He glanced at the clock on the far wall.  It was almost 10 in the evening.  His heart panged in his chest.

“You’re doing amazing, baby, you’re amazing,” he whispered in your ear, planting another kiss against the soft, sweat-soaked skin of your forehead.

“One more push, dear!” the doctor called.

Your eyes squeezed shut, your muscles contracting with all your might at the count of the nurses assisting you, your hand clamping down on Law’s.  He held in his grimace of pain, supporting you as best he could.  Some slight hand bruises were nothing compared to what you were experiencing.  How chivalrous of him.

A sudden rushing feeling emanated from your body, a wet sensation prickling your skin through the numbness of the epidural.  Your heart rate picked up, your eyes growing wide as you worriedly asked, “What was that?!”

“Your water broke, dear!  Everything’s alright!” a nurse responded.

You moaned in pain.  “It’s about damn time.”  Your grip on Law’s hand released slightly, and you watched as a small smile appeared on his lips.

With one more push, the pressure in your groin finally dissipated somewhat as a nurse pulled your first baby out of you.  With the collapse of the amniotic sacs, it was much easier to deliver the rest of its body, much to your relief.  As soon as the contractions stopped, however, they began again.

“Keep going, darling, just one more to go!” the doctor called.  “It’s right there!”

You barely had the energy to pick your head up to look, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as Law examined the nurses huddled around your baby at the foot of your bed.  It was placed in a small portable incubator, being hooked up to machines to assess its condition.  35 weeks was still pretty early, so it made sense.  Its umbilical cord was clamped about two minutes after emerging from your womb.  Law tried to keep his anxiety repressed as your body shuddered with another contraction.

“The second baby is always easier, darling, you’re already fully dilated from the first,” explained your doctor, giving a reassuring pat to your ankle.

“First baby’s stable!” called one of the nurses.  “It’s a girl!”

Law felt his chest clench at the news.  His eyes lit up as he gazed at you, a smile pulling on his lips.  A weary smile formed on your own face as you were instructed to push once again.  Much to the room’s relief, the second baby did indeed come out much quicker than the first.  The loss of the amniotic fluid from your uterus and the stretching that your pelvis had endured with the first made it worlds easier for your second baby to emerge into the world.  The process repeated- a quick cleaning, a clamp after two minutes, and a quick check of vital signs.

“Another girl!” one of the nurses called, assessing the second in another small incubator.  “Also stable!”

You were helped onto your back in somewhat of a hurry, the two boxes containing your babies pushed toward your bedside where they were quickly gathered in bundles of blankets and placed on your chest.  It was all happening so fast, the world was practically blurring around you.  As soon as your babies touched your skin, it was as if a deep-rooted instinct emerged from you.  Law watched with pride as you nestled your newborns into your chest, your gentle hands holding their backs as they took in their first breaths as living humans.

Holy shit.

The room had quickly gone quiet around the four of you, a few of the nurses cleaning you up and reviewing your condition while additional nurses left the room to prepare suitable beds in the NICU for your newborns.  Even though they were both healthy and stable, they needed some extra time to grow.

“Law…?” you asked weakly, turning your head to look at your husband.

Law’s golden eyes were wide, frozen, large, salty tears streaming silently down his cheeks.  His chin was quivering as he gazed over you.  His three girls.

His girls.  He had two daughters.

Your husband huffed out a laugh that sounded more like a weary sob as he moved closer to you, stroking your head with his hand as he gazed warmly over the two tiny bodies on your chest, making their first contact with their mother.  He wiped his eyes clumsily with the sleeve of his white coat, inhaling a gross-sounding sniffle through his nose.

“I’m sorry I’m crying…” he blubbered.

“Don’t be…” you replied, your own tears welling in your eyes.  “You’re finally a daddy.  I’m happy you’re crying.”  You quietly laughed as Law reached forward with his hand, wiping your tears away from your cheeks, followed by another tender kiss against your jaw.

A nurse quickly stopped by your bedside, slipping small white cotton hats onto the tiny noggins of your daughters before leaving the four of you alone for a few more moments.  The skin-to-skin time was crucial for their attachment to you, and once that was established, they’d be able to go into the NICU for their extra care.

Both of the girls, despite being only around 35 weeks, had near-full heads of hair.  It made you wonder what they would have looked like being born at full-term.  The one over your left breast had tiny black curls that still stuck to her head.  The one over your right breast had thinner, straighter wisps of a lighter brown color.  They’d come into their own in a few more months as they grew, but even just from first looks, they were both clearly their father’s daughters.

—

The minutes following the birth were quite nasty if one were to ask you.  Law thought they were an interesting few moments, but you weren’t listening to him.  He was biased.  And frankly, you hated the way it felt when two placentas ejected themselves from your body.  It was like having another two babies but slimier and worse.

Your epidural was removed and you were cleaned up and helped into a cotton gown to rest in.  Your legs were weak from your long labor, but you were rewarded with some light food that didn’t taste like hospital sludge.  The third best piece of news you received was that, by some miracle, you didn’t tear a bit, and your uterus had completely and successfully done its job.

Finally.

You passed out very soon after your placentas were delivered, exhausted and completely spent after delivering two babies.

Law took the opportunity to retreat to the NICU and oversee his daughters as they were hooked up to breathing tubes and heart monitors to ensure that their good conditions remained that way.  They had their hand prints and foot prints taken by gentle nurses who were cooing over how cute they were, a sight that brought a smile to Law’s eyes.

“Dr. Trafalgar,” the voice of the doctor who oversaw your delivery shook him from his blissful state.  “Congratulations.”

“Dr. Linlin,” he replied as he turned to face her, shaking her hand.  “It’s good to see you.  Thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me, dear,” she hummed.  “I’m a veteran of the motherhood game.  It’s all in a day’s work for me.  I’m so glad to see you happy and healthy, and with a wife even.  I remember the first day I met you, that skinny, scared looking post-grad doctor forced to speak in front of a huge crowd.”

Law groaned, rolling his eyes as the memory.  “One of the worst days of my life, for sure.”

The woman laughed, a hearty, bouncy chuckle.  She hadn’t changed a bit in the 20-some-odd years, probably even longer, that she had been a doctor.  “But look at you now.  A huge, monumental surgery, and now twins.  All in one day.”

“I’m going to sleep for centuries after all of this settles,” he added with a small smirk.  “After helping my wife, obviously.”

Dr. Linlin gave Law a hearty smack on his back, right in between his shoulders, making him lurch forward slightly.  “Your daughters will stay in the NICU for 24 hours for observation, and then they’ll be transferred to stay with the two of you in postpartum.  Let me know if you need anything, alright?  In a few hours, I’ll be back in your room to help you two sign the birth certificates.”

Law watched as the woman walked down the hall, her own bright pink doctor’s coat trailing behind her.  One of the only things Law knew about Linlin was the amount of kids she had.  It seemed like she popped out one every year, and yet she still had the time to be a labor and delivery doctor.  He shook his head, trying to ignore the logistics of it, before walking back to the postpartum room you had been transferred to.

You were awake and staring at the ceiling above you, your hands clasped around your belly.  You were still quite swollen, having been told that it would take a bit for your stomach to return to its pre-pregnant state, but you were already trying to come to terms with the fact that you would most likely never look exactly the same ever again.  Not after carrying and shoving out two humans.  When Law entered your quiet room, you smiled, all your anxieties melting away at the sight of your husband.

He wasted no time in crossing the space between you, leaning over you to plant a loving kiss against your lips.  All the emotions he had been holding in throughout the day, all the tension that arose during his mad dash through the hospital, and all the worries that the two of you had shared during your pregnancy struggles flooded between your exchange.  One of your hands traveled up to caress his cheek, your fingers trailing across his sideburns and into his slightly greasy black hair, pulling him ever closer to you.

“I’m happy you didn’t tear, or need anything else, really,” he whispered, pulling away from you.  “After everything you went through, you needed an easy birth.”

You grinned.  “I like to think our two other babies, somewhere out there in the universe, wanted it to be easy for us.  For once.”

Law pulled up a chair and sat beside you, leaning against your bed and dropping his head onto your shoulder.  You gently caressed your fingers through his hair in the way you knew he loved, watching with a fond smile as his eyes closed.

“What did they say about the NICU?” you asked, your voice tired and weary.

“24 hours.  Then they’ll be transferred here to stay with us.”  Law kissed your hand cheek.  “They’ll be eligible for discharge after they’re able to eat, stay warm, and breathe efficiently.”

“Speaking of which,” you stated, slowly moving yourself to sit up despite the aches in your bones.  “I pumped for the first time when you were looking at them.”

“How quick were you?” he asked with a joking tone.  “I didn’t think I was gone for that long.”

“It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, but I also didn’t need to give that much milk.  One of the nurses helped me, and they’ll be able to feed them in the NICU.  At some point in another hour or so, though, she told me I’ll have to visit them there so we can make sure they can latch on their own.”  One of your hands traveled up to painfully grab at one of your breasts.  “I’m already feeling so achy in my chest.  It’s gonna be a rough few months.”

Law grinned, dipping his head back down.  “But you’ll have help.  Don’t forget that.”

You hummed in response.  “You’re right.”

After a few extra moments of silence, you added.  “Names?”

“Hm?”

You chuckled.  “Names.  We have to name our girls.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Law muttered.  He had completely forgotten one of the most important parts of being a new parent.  “What were you thinking?”

“Cora and Rose,” you said, matter-of-factly.  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.  And now we know they’re both girls.”

Law smiled, a rare, genuine expression that reached his eyes.  A smile he only ever showed you.  “Cora and Rose… which one is which?”

“Rose is the one with those little black curls.  Cora is the one with the lighter hair,” you confirmed.

Another tender kiss was planted on your forehead.  “I couldn’t ask for anything better than that.”

—

You didn’t expect breastfeeding to be as euphoric as it was.  In less of an immense pleasure way, and more of a ‘holy crap, it feels like my breasts are losing 25 pounds’ kind of way.

Your girls were already so good.  Cora latched instantly, one of her tiny, weak hands curling slightly upward to grasp at your skin.  Both of them were still curled in a fetal position, and it would take them a bit longer to finally stretch out and look more like usual babies, but right now, they were the perfect size to swaddle and nestle into your skin.

The neonatal intensive care unit was a surprisingly colorful place.  You always imagined it would be rife with anxiety, desperation, and sadness, a bunch of little, sick babies fighting for their lives, but the second you and Law finally entered to see your daughters, all those expectations flew out the window.  Their corner was bright and colorful, with rainbows painting the walls and a fairly large window with a view of the surrounding city below.  It was pitch black out, just past midnight, but you imagined the daylight would flood the room with a warm, natural light.

Your daughters were already so warm, kept insulated by their little cotton swaddles they were bundled in, and their tiny beanie hats that covered their fragile heads.  The sight warmed your heart.

A breastfeeding specialist (which was a job you had no idea existed until then), helped situate you in a chair, accommodating your sore and spent body.  She assisted with adequately positioning your daughters, one for each nipple, and gave you tips on how to make sure they latch and stay on while nursing from you.

You had an additional blood test a few hours after the birth, when your girls were done with their first natural feed and were now sleeping calmly in their incubators.  It was looking like you’d be able to go home within the next 24 hours, if everything continued as normal.

While you were taking a light nap in the chair beside your daughters’ beds, Law used your phone to snap some pictures of Cora and Rose in their tiny beds side by side, smiling as he pulled up your text messages and sent them off to Shachi, Penguin, and Ikkaku.  He didn’t think they’d respond, with it being so late, but their messages rolled in almost instantly, bringing a fond smile to his face.

Ika-chan OMGOGMOGMGOMGOMGOGMOGMGOGMOMG

Ika-chan TWO LITTLE GIRLS

Ika-chan ARE THEY HEALTHY????????

Ika-chan ARE *YOU* HEALTHY?????????????

Shachiiii Still cant believe those things came out of you whatthefuck

Shachiiii Must have hurt like a mf

PenPen Shachi’s next to me sobbing his eyes out

PenPen I’m crying too.  But I’m stronger than him

PenPen Fuck no im not.  Im soaked over here.  

It was then that his pager beeped.  He forgot he still had it on him.  Technically, he was still on the clock.  He gently placed your phone on the small table beside you to not wake you up before reaching into his coat pocket and procuring his pager, stepping out into the hallway to not disturb his three sleeping beauties.

“This is Dr. Trafalgar,” he said into the small device.

Some slight static came through the speaker.  [Hey, this is Operation Triple Organ Replacement calling in from the OR!  How’s our best doctor doing?]

Law couldn’t fight the smile that formed on his lips.  “Before I answer, how was the rest of the procedure?”

Some small chuckles and a few mildly annoyed groans were heard.  [Patient did absolutely amazing.  He’s in recovery, stable, and is slowly being woken from anesthesia.  They’ll be able to take his intubation tube out in a few more hours, but that’s out of our hands.  Soooo…?]

Law felt relief fill his lungs.  A successful operation was everything he was hoping for, and now he felt he could finally rest easy.  “I have two daughters, Cora and Rose.  Everyone is happy, healthy, and resting.”

He needed to pull the pager away from his face as a cacophony of garbled cheering was heard.  A distorted [FUCK YEAH] echoed through the speaker.

“Are you guys still in the pre-op room?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

[Yeah, we’re all cleaned up and everything, but we were waiting for the right time to page you.  We’re abusing hospital equipment, we know, but this is CRUCIAL.]

Law couldn’t blame his team in the slightest.  It was past midnight on May 13th, and they had just completed the biggest surgical procedure of their lives, probably the most daunting surgery their hospital would ever see.  They deserved to rest and relax, and yet here they were, still in the pre-op theater, celebrating their lead doctor.  

The black-haired surgeon smiled, pressing down on the transmission button with his thumb.  “You guys go clean up, alright?  Treat yourselves.  Everyone did absolutely amazing today.”

[Copy that, Doctor.  Tell your wife we said congrats!]

Law slipped the pager back into his pocket before reentering the NICU room.  His stern, golden eyes softened instantly upon seeing you awake, leaning over the side of Rose’s bed and idly trailing your thumb softly over her chubby cheek.  Beside Rose, Cora’s arms were already outstretched far enough that she was almost encroaching on her sister’s space.  Soon enough, the small oxygen tubes taped to their fresh faces would be gently removed, and they’d be able to go home and sleep in their cribs, in your apartment.  Law leaned over you and kissed the crown of your head, rubbing his inked hand between your shoulder blades.

“Hey, baby?” he whispered, gazing down at you.

You leaned into his side, melting at his touch.  “Yeah?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #one piece x reader #law x reader #op x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #i'm losing you

[baldval]

idk if u like writing him so if u don’t feel free to ignore!! but picture this, adam with a higher up reader with high authority that kinda acts like beelzebub?? like adam sees them for the first time and expects them to be all wholesome and kind but she’s actually just a hardcore party gal! which kinda matches his frat boy persona too🌚 and maybe she even resembles bee a bit? UP TO U! i just love ur writing and thought of this

-🎞️ anon

ALTITUDE!₊˚⊹♡

characters: adam x gn!reader

wc: 1.9k

warnings: cursing, mentions of one night stands

A/N: i'm sorry if i failed you in the whole party-fun!reader aspect i just went on a different direction and when i realised i like this a bit too much. hope you like it too anon!!!!! 🫶

You weren’t ever too sure about Adam. He just seemed a bit problematic, loud, interruptive, and he never took things seriously. Not that you were the chillest person on heaven, quite the opposite, but still, there was something about Adam that threw you off. You felt like that was all a faced. You knew that, when he wanted to, he could be kind, and was actually very enthusiastic regarding his job at heaven. Not that he would ever knowingly admit it. So when Sera partnered you two for a, quite important job, you didn’t know what to expect, or how to feel. At first you thought he might try to run the shop by not letting you contribute any of your ideas. He thought you were a tightass that would try to make everything boring (exactly what he said to Lute).

However, both of you were surprised once time went on, and you got to know each-other better. He realised you were actually quite fun, he might even say careless. He found himself in shock, and partially offended, when he realised you actually hosted parties every few weeks. You found out that he was deeply misunderstood. And actually really cute and charming. And you also promised to invite him to your next party, once you had finished the long task Sera had appointed you.

"Adam? Will you read that to me again?" You sat cross legged on the carpeted floor of Adam’s basement, chewing on the end of your click pen. Adam was too busy trying (and failing) to get basketballs on a net at the top of his wall to notice you’d called out to him. Dropping the pencil down on your notebook, you let out a frustrated sigh, standing to get his attention.

"Adam!"

Startled, he stopped short, turning towards you with his eyes wide in surprise.

"Yeah? You alright?" He asked, putting down the basketball and appearing in front of you.

"Yes Adam, I just wanted to get this part done," you explained, rolling your eyes in annoyance. “Besides, why do I have to work? I would also love to be able to play with that fucking basketball." It wasn't that Adam didn't work, he just got distracted easily.

"Ha! As if you could play." You felt deeply offended even though you knew you did NOT know how to play basketball.

"Wow. Just wow. I thought you would've known about my years in the angel's basketball team. I used to be one of the bests." You lied, trying to defend your dignity.

"As if! I was on the angel's basketball team. Never saw you there." "It must've been waaaay before you got in. I've been here for longer, you know."

"Alright then, prove it."

"Prove what?"

"Prove you can play." He handed you the ball and you held it.

"I'm a bit rusty." You smiled at him as you saw him grin. He could see right through you and your lies, what he didn't figure out was that you could also see right through him. So instead of shooting towards the net, you hit Adam with the basketball right on top of his head. Watching it bounce on it only to later hit the floor.

"Ouch! What the fuck was that for?" he ran his hand through his hair.

"Get to work or I'll hit you again."

"Hey! That's toxic workplace behaviour, I'm gonna have to report you now." You groaned in annoyance. "What will it take for you to work on this with me for an hour? Do we have to make a deal?" You joke with a light chuckle. Adam jumped at the opportunity to compromise, knowing that he could work if he really wanted to, and that the deal would then be in his favour.

"A deal hey?" He asks, resting his chin in his hands, looking up at you with sparkling eyes.

"Yes, whatever you want for 1 hour of your precious time," you scoff, picking up your pen again to work. As a higher ranking angel, you knew better than to be stubborn. You didn't mind having to sacrifice a little something. Besides, the end was in sight, meaning you wouldn’t have to deal with him for much longer - however, you struggled to admit to yourself that it would actually make you sad not hanging out with Adam as much as you were right now, worrying you would go back to the stranger treatment you had with each other before.

"I’m not gonna tell you until the hour is up," Adam teases, retrieving a book full of sinners' names for your work from the couch and opening it to a dog-eared page.

"Okay read it again for me, and this time slowly," you emphasise on the word “slowly”, watching him let out a small laugh, shifting on the floor to get comfortable.

"Okay, ready?"

"Yes, Adam."

"Okay," Adam takes a deep breath before beginning, you’re skimming over your notes, making sure all of them make sense. Adam tries to memorise some of the names before you write them, wanting rather to watch you work than have his eyes glued to the book.

Adam rests his hands in his lap, noticing the way your lips part and your tongue juts out only slightly when you concentrate. He notices you fiddling with the edge of your notebook, your fingertips grazing the spiral as it winds to bound the book. He notices how effortlessly pretty you are, and how committed you’ve been to this assignment. He thought it was so funny that you were so oblivious to his blatant staring. He suddenly lets out the breath he didn’t notice he was holding in.

"Adam?" You ask, the same annoyance bubbling inside you from when he didn’t pay attention before.

"Right," Adam shakes his head from his thoughts and returns to reciting the book.

You hadn’t noticed you’d leaned slightly into Adam, your shoulders brushing. Adam suddenly feels warm, his shoulder tingling where you were touching him. His heartbeat hammered in his ears as he licked his lips, readying himself to read the next part.

He thought of how cunning his side of the deal was, and how much more tempting it got the longer you touched him. It was a gamble, but it was one he was willing to take.

Adam rested his hand on his thigh, inching his fingers closer to your joined knees.

You look up at him, finally noticing how close the two of you had gotten, but doing nothing about the close proximity. Something felt different, the air was harder to breathe, and your stomach felt like it was housed by a million butterflies. His eyes shun as they looked into yours, your faces inching closer and closer.

Adam finished reading and silence filled the room, accompanied by the small pants of your breathing, you pulled your body away, sitting up straighter and looking more alert.

"Good reading Adam," you let out a small cough to cover the awkwardness that had just washed over you. Fuck, you were so close to kissing him, and you didn’t know why. You scowled at yourself for being so cliche, and put down your notebook. Adam bit his lip in a smile as your cheeks blushed red because he knew you’d felt that too.

"Okay, deal time?"

You know you asked for an hour, but a break right now didn’t seem so bad.

"Okay," you say, as he scoots his bottom across the floor to face you.

"One kiss," he says finally, your jaw swinging open in shock. A kiss? Was he serious? Did you hear that right?

"A kiss?" You repeat, chuckling. At first you thought it was a prank - classic Adam. However, his face was dead serious, as serious as you had ever seen him. You hadn’t read that Adam felt anything for you, the same way you hid having a big fat crush on him by being sort of mean.

"Come on, you know you want to." He teases suddenly changing his behaviour and body language as he realised he had been perhaps a bit too vulnerable for his liking. But you has already seen him. You knew his true intentions when he asked that and you knew they matched what you wantes, so why weren't you kissing him?

Your lips form a tight straight line as you contemplate your choices. Give up the tough guy act now and cave to your feelings, or don’t. It was like Adam was giving you the perfect opportunity to do what you always thought of doing.

"Okay, only one," you narrow your eyes at him as he gives you a curt nod.

“Of course, whatever the lady wants,” he sends a wink on your direction and you can't help blushing as you try to hide the redness with a laugh.

You lean forward, securing a small kiss on his cheek, almost too close to the corner of his mouth as it curled into a small smile. Your lips linger there for a moment, before you pull away, just slightly, your face still so close to Adam’s. You contemplate whether you should just go for it. But before you could decide what you wanted to do, Adam does it for you, connecting your lips in a soft, passionate kiss.

It takes you aback, but you compose yourself quickly, cupping his cheeks in your hands, as his secure to your hips. He pulls you closer, until you’re practically in his lap, straddling his hips with your thighs. His tongue prods at your lower lip, and without another thought, you open your mouth, letting his tongue explore where no one else has. The feeling was magical, and after all those nights you lay awake thinking of this moment, it finally came in full force.

You had to pull away with a gasp when Adam’s hand started to cup your bare ass under your shorts, your hands resting comfortably on his shoulders as you stared at each other.

"Fuck I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-"

"No! It’s fine, I just, I... I kinda like you? Adam... And I mean, I don't care if you want to just fuck or whatever. But... I guess I just don't want that." you let out a nervous laugh, wanting so badly to crawl into a hole and die from your confession. "It's not you! Well, I guess it is you? I don't mind one-night stands, I just..." Adam interrupts you by letting a small laugh, the back of his hand coming up to caress your cheek.

"I get why you assumed that. I mean, I am THE Adam, THE original dick, why would I settle down?" You roll your eyes at his cockiness and his expression softens. "But I do like you. I like you just in the way that you said it, truly."

"Really?" You ask him, your voice only just louder than a whisper.

"Yeah! I mean- you’re so smart and pretty, and we’ve spent a lot of time together, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, wouldn't mind getting to know you better. The whole of you" he moves his hand towards your waist.

“I’ve felt the same way,” you reply, pulling Adam in for a hug, resting your head in the crook of his neck. He holds you close, before you sit back down on the floor across from him.

“So… you think I’m pretty?” He asks, shooting you a cheeky wink. You roll your eyes again, letting out a small laugh.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #adam x you #cursed cat alastor #adam hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin adam

[vikkirosko]

Hi! I really love your work. Like man you have me kicking my feet like I'm 12 again.

Anyway to the point, I was wondering if I could request a Cubby Reader with insecurities and how each chatcter would handle that. (Lucifer, Vox, Asmodeus + Fizzi, Emily and any other you might want to inculde) It's my first time ever requesting something, I hope I did it right.

Thanks you so much, and again I really love your fics.

Headcanons Self-doubt

🖥 Vox x Reader 📱

You have worked for Vox for a long time and often you have worked with him, as well as with Velvette and Valentino. Despite this, you were quite insecure in yourself and because of this you had problems. Vox knew you better than the others, because you were dating, and he knew what you could really be in a comfortable company, and therefore he helped you feel more confident

Vox often rebuked his friends when they said rude things about you, covering it up with a joke. He knew that you could take their words to heart and he wouldn't be surprised if that was their goal. That's why he acted as your protector, knowing that you needed help sometimes

He saw how confident you were when you were alone. You were open and confident when you spent time together. He tried to help you behave as confidently with the others as when you were alone, but so far you haven't had much success

Vox knew that he couldn't be with you all the time, so he tried to help you become more confident and be able to defend your views. You were in Hell, which meant that you needed fortitude and self-confidence if you didn't want everyone to take advantage of your insecurity

🍎 Lucifer Morningstar x Reader 🐍

Lucifer and you met at the hotel. He saw that you were uncomfortable talking to him and he thought that the reason for this was that you were afraid of him. However, everything turned out to be wrong. From his daughter, he learned that you were quite insecure and because of this it was difficult for you to communicate with strangers. That's why you were so nervous when you talked to him

Watching you, Lucifer realized that you were a really good person. He saw how you sincerely smiled at your friends and helped them. Charlie and Vaggie cheered you up, which made your self-confidence grow. He tried to get along with you at the request of his daughter, and the more you talked, the more open and confident you became. You were changing right before his eyes and he liked to see you confident in yourself

Lucifer has started to help you become more confident. He praised your work, supported you and reminded you how wonderful you were. He wanted you to see yourself the way he saw you and realize that even if someone says bad things about you, they weren't right

The King of Hell knew well what it was like to lose self-confidence. He remembered how he felt when his dreams crumbled to dust. Lucifer didn't want you to go through this, so he tried to help you become more confident. He was sure that through the joint efforts of you and your friends, your confidence could become stronger

👁 Emily x Reader ✨️

Emily did a lot for others. She sincerely wanted to make others happy, including you. You were one of the people closest to her and she truly cherished you. You were kind, attentive and caring, but you were insecure, which caused difficulties in your life

Emily knew you had a lot of potential. You could do a lot of things and you had wonderful talents, but you doubted it. At such moments, Emily would vividly remind you that you were really wonderful and that you were talented. She was ready to shout about it to convince you of it and protect you if someone said something bad about you

Emily helped you become more confident in yourself. She came up with different exercises that you did together so that you would believe in yourself and your strength. Most of the time, these were verbal exercises, but they were also important so that you would doubt yourself less. Seeing how every day you become more confident in yourself, she couldn't help but rejoice

Emily sincerely cherished you and wanted you to be happy. She was trying to help you. Emily wanted to see how you courageously communicated with others, how you defended your opinion and were not shy about sharing your ideas. She knew that it was still a long way off, but she intended to continue to help you

🎪 Fizzarolli x Reader x Asmodeus 💕

Fizzarolli and Asmodeus knew that you were insecure. You were cozy and caring, but because of your self-doubt, you couldn't be as brave as Fizzarolli and even more so Asmodeus. That's why they tried to be there for you to remind you how wonderful you were

You and Fizz often spent time together. He was preparing for the performance and you were cheering him on. At such moments, he returned compliments to you. When Ozzie had free time, he would join you and help Fizz make you think better of yourself. Asmodeus saw that it made your life difficult, so he supported Fizz when he tried to help you become more confident in yourself

They both knew that you had many wonderful qualities, but you didn't seem to notice it. You tried to fight your self-doubt and were grateful to them for trying so hard to help you. You really appreciated it

You cherished Fizz and Ozzie and their support. They were the most important people to you and you really became more confident around them. You were ready to move mountains for them. To support and protect them, you were ready to become much more confident in yourself

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel headcanons #Vox #Vox x Reader #Lucifer Morningstar #Lucifer Morningstar x Reader #Emily #Emily x Reader #Asmodeus #Asmodeus x Reader #Fizzarolli #Fizzarolli x Reader #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss x Reader #Helluva Boss headcanons

[redrum-alice]

A.B.A x Human Paracelsus fanfic ideaaaaaaaaa...

Summary: Human Paracelsus may be in a human body, but he can't help his thirst for blood. Just so happens that his wife accidentally cut her finger-- the smell of mercury doesn't stop him though :)

Warning: a bit NSFW-ish? Blood kink too-- Idk :P [Post Strive]

_____________

After a long search, A.B.A was finally able to find a body suited for Paracelsus. Just seeing him in his new form had her madly in love again now that he has arms to wrap around her...or so she thought.

While Paracelsus "appreciated" her gesture (albeit loosely), he can't help but to feel strange about this human form- so many sensations that are too overwhelming to comprehend. Flesh that he sought after in violence now plastered on this feeble yet lean body, something A.B.A wished for. After agreeing to make things better with his partner, he took his share of work and helped A.B.A live out her domestic fantasies, starting off with cooking meals after they found an abandoned cabin.

A.B.A isn't much of a cook in terms of what she serves. She understands and quickly learns about how it works, but using ingredients that are not suited for one another is what hinders her, often cleaned up by Paracelsus so she wouldn't get upset about her mishap.

One morning, he woke up to a delicious smell. Perhaps his wife finally grasped the fundamentals of basic cooking, but he wagered it'd be a risk if he went to try her concoction blindly. Having acquired a human sense of smell and taste, he needed to exercise them with better options rather than risking it with something foul.

Heading towards the kitchen, he saw the homunculous trying her best to whip up a a meal along with piles of dirty dishes on the sink that is wordlessly assigned to him. On the table were what humans call "scrambled eggs", but it seems that it had bits of shells left on them.

But besides the whole mess, he noticed that there's something in the young woman that he didn't quite notice before he acquired a human body.

Never had he viewed her as someone who has a venusian charm; her figure could be compared to those statues of women whose arms are cut off to expose their ample bosoms. He supposed that this is a human experience, one that is alien to him, for he had never got the concept of "attraction". His so-called wife, however, had showed him examples of what it is to be attracted to someone, which what got themselves into this situation.

"Dear, you're awake!" A.B.A turned around to her husband, snaping him from his daze. "I do hope your new form is not so much of a burden..."

"I'm fine, A.B.A." he lied, not wanting to upset her.

The homunculous only responded with gleeful demeanor and returned to her task. "I'm sure you're experiencing hunger for the first time...after days of walking to find shelter." She hummed sweetly. "I-I'm trying to make something to replenish you..."

Paracelsus stayed quiet and proceeded to sit on the chair. When they entered the cabin, all the furnitures were blanketed with dust, including the table they occupied. To his surprise, it was clean and it even had a vase of fresh flowers that she must've picked outside- it was a small silent countryside after all. He assumed that A.B.A did all this while he was sleeping. He'd be lying if he didn't admit he was impressed. She did always go above and beyond to provide for them.

All of a sudden, he heard a squeal.

"Eek!" She screamed, followed by a sound of metal clanking on a wooden board.

"A.B.A! Are you alright?" Paracelsus stood up and rushed to his partner. "What happened?"

"I-it's nothing, dear..." she reluctantly responded. "Y-you should prepare the plates..."

Not buying a word, he beckoned her to show what she was hiding in her arms. A.B.A eventually complied, not wishing to disappoint her husband in fear that he would get frustrated and walk out of the door, seeing that he can now freely go anywhere he wish with those limbs. She hesitantly gave her hand to him, hoping he wouldn't think of her any less for a simple mistake of cutting her finger by accident.

"I-I should have been more careful, dear. I'm not fit to be a good wife if I keep being reckless." She shuddered, an instinct that Paracelsus know all too well when she's stressed. The crimson red substance pooled from the slit on her pale finger down to her palm.

He shouldn't have looked directly at it.

Paracelsus knew that his cravings for blood won't be diluted even if he was in a human body. He is a demon after all. But it was a strange feeling that wasn't akin to hunger, but something else. Yes, it is true that A.B.A had a mixture of mercury in her blood, but its color was as fascinating as that of a human blood.

He excused himself and wasted no time in finding a first aid kit, but the girl halted him by grabbing his arm. Paranoia was something she could not get rid of, even if it jeopardizes her in dire situations.

"No wait! I can fix it!" She insisted as she tugged on his arm, carelessly rubbing her wounded hand and letting her blood smudge on his skin. He gulped, feeling how wet and warm it seemed.

"Please dear, I can handle it! Let me wrap it myself. I'm sorry to have made you worried." A.B.A tugged on her bandanges on her leg, neverminding if it exposes her further.

All of these happening in front of him was driving him insane: his wife's intoxicating blood, her sweet panicked face, and her leg that teased him as soon as those bandages were repurposed to aid her wound.

Before she could wrap it on her hand, Paracelsus grabbed her injured hand and inspected it. What comes next was something A.B.A herself found shocking.

He licked her wound and begun sucking on it.

The sensation was so overwhelming that she was certain she nearly forgot the ability to speak. A.B.A watched in astonishment until she felt her legs wobble; only then she regained her voice.

"D-dear...?" She found herself having difficulty expressing her thoughts. Paracelsus kept sucking on her blood, not minding how it burns his tongue. What a pathetic flesh, he thought.

As if his fighting spirit also got converted into a human equivalent, he soon finds himself grabbing A.B.A closer to him and eventually trailing his free hand dangerously close to her plump ass. The young female homunculous couldn't help but to admire what her generous and loving husband is doing to her, evident by how her breathing quickened.

Soon, he carried her and pinned her down on the table. Screw the eggs, he was hungry for something this new body was craving for- her flesh. His ravenous side earning the upper hand as he starts to kiss his bride harshly on her lips, making A.B.A fluster more than she usually does. Those kisses turned into full on lip-locking, pooling their mouths with each other's saliva. His kisses soon attacked her neck, ripping off the bandanges that was blocking him from giving his sweet wife the pleasure she deserves.

It was no doubt that even in human form, he was still susceptive to primal urges such as blood, but this time, it was mixed with carnal desire.

And it seems he wasn't the only one enjoying it. A.B.A was more than eager to reciprocate this affection. She was more than ready to finally do it with her husband after years of solitude.

Oh how sweet it was to finally consumate their marriage.

Er...to be continued on ao3? This is just a stupid fanfic idea 💀🔫

Tagging @l00nwizard and @weeko bc of your replies. Sorry if this one is not too wholesome, but its a ficlet ig 💀😭🔫

#aba x paracelsus #aba & paracelsus #aba guilty gear #a.b.a x paracelsus #a.b.a guilty gear #paracelsus guilty gear #sorry im lame #im bad at stpry telling lol #ao3 fanfic #fanfic ideas

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone! This is my first 911 ficrec post (I'm usually over here if ill-fated hunters and their angel husbands are your jam) but I've been DEEP in the Evan Buckley hyperfixation throughout April so come with me for what I've been reading!

This is a combination of Buddie and Bucktommy and buckeddietommy (aka buckeddie and meatballs, heh!)

26 April 2024

tell me about despair by @hattalove was the first fic I read, specifically because I wanted to get inside Eddie's head more as on first viewing I found him a little trickier to grasp...but yeah...that might just be because I am he and he am I. This fic was an wonderful way in to understanding his inner workings. His queer awakening and the associated traumas he has to work through were handled with such care, and the character voices were just gorgeous. "Eddie's not entirely sure he believes in getting help, at least not for himself. There's only so much healing to be had for a body torn apart by bullets, for a mind that's only half there, for a man who's been leaving pieces of himself behind all his life with nothing to take their place. Except, as it turns out, falling apart happens in increments, and healing does, too"

evan, elated and euphoric by @gayhoediaz 16500 words of bucktommy first time smut anyone?? "Buck likes it - not just being with Tommy, being with a man - that part is obvious, but he… likes that he likes it. He loves that he likes it. Truthfully, he doesn’t think that he has ever felt more at home in his own body than he does in this very moment." This is such a delightful exploration (through copious amounts of sizzling sex) in Buck feeling fully present and fully himself in his sexuality, and it's gloriously decadent as well as sweet and sexy as hell. I loved this characterisation of Tommy.

Both Bermuda and Golden (Lost but Doing Just Fine) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels all hail the threesome fics! In which the correct answer is always - Both? Both is good! This one is gloriously kinky and sexy and I love the 'guiding hand' aspect and how both Buck and Eddie allow themselves to be led. "It's not that Buck's not happy with Eddie. It's just that being with Tommy taught him things about himself, things he wants, and he doesn't quite know how to ask Eddie for those things. He shouldn't have underestimated how well Eddie knows him, or how willing Tommy is to lend a helping, instructional hand."

Heart of Flowers / Heart of Gold by @elvensorceress is a gorgeously written allegorical tale with PEAK Buddie and Christopher family vibes set between S4&5. "In the aftermath of the sniper attack, Buck has to keep going without his partner while sorting through the layers of everything they are to each other, while Eddie fights for his life and through all his internalized trauma and regret for everything they never managed to say. aka After nearly losing each other, Buck and Eddie find their way to each other and their family’s happily ever after." My absolute favourite thing about this fic is the thread with the bedtime story that Christopher and Buck have created together. Just beautiful.

five ways to fall in love with the man in the mirror by @buckttommy is a bucktommy fic but crucially a Buck absolutely revelling in the poetry of getting to know your own identity. It also crucially gives me Jay Hulme vibes (iykyk) "Buck meets God at a gay club. He finds him in an oil-slick puddle on a damp night, neon lights reflecting off the kaleidoscopic liquid in the parking lot. or; Evan Buckley falls in love with himself."

and i know how i feel by @middyblue is a very sweet Buck coming out to Bobby fic, written I believe between 7x04 and 7x05. ALL the Dad!Bobby feels. "Buck stares off over the hills of Los Angeles, hugging his knees. He half wants to take out his phone and start playing Nine Simone (it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me, and I’m feeling - ) and half can’t bear to drown out the thin peace of bird calls in the quiet blue of the morning. Footsteps scrape on gravel behind him and he turns, half-expecting another hiker, but it’s Bobby, carrying a coffee tray with two to-go cups and a paper bag."

Short and sweet fic:

For All Occasions by @storybelle FIREFAM FEELS! In which of course, as per tradition, Hen makes the 118 a cake. I neeeeeed Hen and Buck queer camaraderie show, I need it, and just like this!

Wedding Bell Blues by @klutzygirl - much needed supportive parents actually fic! "Margaret and Phillip meet their son's new boyfriend when they arrive in town for Maddie's wedding." it doesn't go how Buck would expect, in the best way.

PS - if you have any henren authors/fic recs I should check out PLEASE let me know! I'm new and I love them!

#biasbuck recs #911 fic #911 ficrec #911 abc #911 on abc #buddie #bucktommy #kinley #tevan #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard

[acourtofthought]

Regarding Lucien’s scars. I think it’s basically a headcanon in the fandom that Lucien still has the scars on his back from being whipped, but if those are present in canon too, that could be interesting. Howeverrrr… the facial scar must be kind of a big deal for Lucien. Amarantha attacked him 50ish years ago and then within a few days she organized that masquerade ball “in Lucien’s honor” - the masked theme was a scheme to help him basically hide what she did to his face. Then the masks were plastered to the faces of everyone in Spring Court because Tamlin didn’t accept to sleep with Amarantha. So here’s Lucien, hiding his scars for 50 years no matter how uncomfortable the whole mask situation may have been… but now his facial scar that he cannot hide anywhere (unlike Azriel’s hands) is just in full view for anyone who looks at him. I think there is no question about it. He must be self conscious about it, especially since he thinks Elain is the most beautiful female he has ever seen and she doesn’t reciprocate anything yet. People have been writing about it here on tumblr recently but I really hope SJM explores Lucien’s character from this perspective too. I assume he must feel very inadequate compared to Elain. She has so much (family, friends, connected to the IC, safety and security, beauty, etc.), whereas Lucien refers to himself as a whole lot of nothing. He doesn’t have a home or even a court, he’s basically all alone in the fae world, his closest allies are two humans who so far don’t have much power or influence in Prythian. I assume he is probably also unhappy with his looks after such a traumatic experience. I hope SJM explores this, I think that would be a really cool addition to Elucien’s healing journey. Even though Lucien is quite snarky and cocky outwardly, his inner monologue seems very self conscious. Ahhh SJM give us the angstttttt

I AGREE!!!!!! I think while there are sincere aspects of Lucien's personality that are (hahaha, I just accidentally typed snocky which was my brain getting confused on whether I wanted to type snarky or cocky first) snarky and cocky, I also feel it's a default mechanism too. Lucien is known to take care in his appearance and he is aware of appearances. Even in book once he was a bit of a fashionista, commenting on how Feyre's tunic wasn't as pretty as a dress and being amazed at how positively fae she looked when she did finally put one on. There's also this: Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this" - he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-" surely we're not so miserable to look at. Lucien must be constantly aware of others looking at him and I'm guessing he's never sure if it's about the eye or if his scars are unappealing to them. For someone who does care about appearances, whose job it is to talk to High Lords and make friends to be a successful emissary, there is definitely an inner discomfort he's trying to brush off through his nonchalance and jokes about his appearance. I think you're right. Elain is beautiful to the point that people talk. Eris somehow heard across courts that Lucien's mate is a real beauty. She had heiresses jealous of her at barely thirteen. Her mother commented that if her beauty held, she'd be able to secure them a decent match on the marriage market (Elain was 11). So Lucien comes along and not only is he given this super special, sacred bond with her but she turns out to be the most beautiful female he'd ever seen all while knowing that she's in love with someone else. And there he is, with no home, no family name, a scar running down his face and one eye. I would take Lucien in a second and we know that many in the ACOTAR world reference his good looks but you can see how he would struggle with his appearance. You can see how Elain literally took his breath away and she did not seem effected by him (I imagine we'll find out that wasn't the truth in her POV but it's how he perceived it at the time). He thinks she doesn't want him or need him and I definitely think we're going to find that he's been feeling very insecure about her perception of his physical appearance.

#lucien vanserra #pro elucien #pro lucien vanserra #elucien

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 3

Synopsis: Alastor disappeared for 8 years, leaving you confused, crushed, and angry. You spent those years building up your new self and protecting the haven from dangers left and right. What will happen when he returns to the new changes? Will he return anytime soon? Could you even go back to the way things were?

Previous part

Part 3: missing time

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Please don't be upset," I begged Reagan.

"I'm not!" She sounded too chipper as she stepped up onto the newly finished porch. Alastor and Husker were talking a few paces behind us. I noticed Alastor's attention focused heavily on the expanded haven. He had yet to know how much more there was than what he could see.

Reagan left the front door open and skipped the stairs two at a time. I let out a sigh as I walked over to the broken frame on the living room floor. I knelt down and casted the glass together, melting them in place and refurbishing the wood frame.

I placed it back in its rightful place as Alastor walked in. His cane tapped the floor as he crossed the room. He looked different than how I remember him, somehow. His features seemed sharper and the air about him was different. Or maybe it was because it has been too long since I last stood in the same room as him.

"I would love to hear what happened in my absence." He gently gripped my fingers and placed a kiss on the back of my hand. "We now have all the time in the world."

"Mère?"

Alastor turned sharply at the French word for mother. Standing at the base of the stairs was Nym and Thatcher. Their hands were clasped firmly together and Thatcher hid slightly behind his older sister.

"Who is he?" Nym asked Reagan, who stepped into view from the stairs.

Ah, this was why she had been chipper.

"Who are they?" Alastor hissed. "How do they know that word?"

"I taught it to them," I said calmly, walking over to the young pair.

"How do you know that word?"

"One of your books." I knelt down beside Nym and Thatcher and held out my clawed palm. They habitually placed a free hand on it. "This is Mr. Alastor, my dears. He is my soulmate."

Their eyes turned to him, uncertain and unsettled. I didn't blame them. His appearance wasn't a kind one, even though gentlemanly, and it made me think back to when we first met in the alley. How long ago was that? Twelve years?

"Quite a pleasure to meet you two." His free hand touched his chest as he gave a very short bow of his head. He made no move to come near them.

I stood up and let Thatcher clasp his sister's hand again. Nym suddenly looked up at me and asked quietly, "I thought we didn't like him."

My eyes immediately went up to Reagan. She grimaced before meeting my intense stare. "I told them my feelings about him when they asked." She held up her hands in pretend surrender.

"We'll speak later." I knelt down again to be level with Nym. "He has been gone for a while and we weren't sure when he was coming back. But we do like him."

That last sentence felt strange, almost forced. I pushed off my knee and asked Reagan to make them breakfast. She silently obliged in an effort to get back on my good side. I didn't blame her for her feelings towards Alastor, but I did blame her for involving the two youngest family members in matters like this.

I noticed Lucas waiting at the top of the stairs. I thanked him for giving us space and let him walk into the kitchen to help Reagan. He gave a curt nod to Alastor who didn't return the gesture.

He put his cane behind his back, claws gripping it dangerously tight. "I see you've filled the house with new souls."

"I had to fill the void after you left." The comment made his ears nearly flatten. I stood an arm's length from him and stuffed my hands in my pants pocket. Still in my plain night clothes, I felt oddly out of place in front of him in his usual suite and bow tie.

My anger and hurt lingered, and something told me it was going to stay that way for awhile.

"I wasn't expecting you to..." he trailed off in an effort to find the words.

"To create a family?" I offered.

"I suppose that's a way to put it."

I could feel our bond had already reattached itself. Yet it wasn't the same as it had been before. I still couldn't hear his thoughts and his feelings felt far away. Even so, I felt an ugly emotion hidden somewhere inside him.

Husker, Charlie, and Vaggie came to the rescue a moment later. They too had mixed feelings of his return but Charlie seemed the happiest out of all of us. The tension between Alastor and I felt tight enough for a knife to slice right through it.

"Come see what we've done with the place." Charlie urged him out the door. I let her take him out of the house and went to talk to Reagan.

****

Alastor walked absentmindedly behind Charlie. None of this had happened the way he had expected.

He certainly wasn't expecting his soulmate to be angry with him. He had been hoping she would be grateful, relieved, and happy to see him physically back in this realm. Although, he should've expected some type of negative reaction given her sensitive nature.

Which seemed to have faded quite a bit.

He wanted to know more and fast. She went through a serious amount of change, as much as the haven, and he wanted to get to know every inch of her new personality. Why couldn't time move faster?

He would need to have a discussion with her regarding the two new children, as well. He never liked children, which was odd given that he started to fall for his soulmate when he saw her tender love towards them, and having them under the same roof as him made something prickle uncomfortably under his skin.

The haven had turned into a city. He was shocked to see stores, restaurants, apartments, and more. They had progressed in such a short timeline, shorter than he'd ever seen a group of people do. He wondered about the community. He could see Demons and Humans alike being friendly towards each other as he walked down the street.

How close was everyone? How communal were they? How did they resolve disputes with greater numbers? The answers to these questions and more wouldn't come until he spent time around this city.

He had never been bothered by the vastly growing civilizations, cities, or towns in previous centuries. Even in Hell it never bothered him to see construction complete a project within a couple months or years. He had always been an observer, a journalist, and information gatherer.

However, this time he actually felt left behind. It made his smile turn ugly.

The stares and slightly more crowded streets further down didn't go unnoticed. He could hear the shocked whispers and the quick explanations from parents to children of his persona. It soothed his pride to know these people were aware of his reputation, as well as his connection with their great protector.

Dragon Demon, hm? he noted to himself. Certainly better than Snake Demon.

Finally—finally—Charlie finished chatting closer to noon and allowed him to return to the house. He caught sight of the two children running down the hill. They casted worried glances at him as they passed.

If Reagan was bothersome, he could only imagine what those two must be like in the house.

Vaggie, Reagan, and Lucas said goodbye as soon as we heard Alastor walk in. Husker remained behind with me, tail wrapped several times around my own, as Alastor's red figure came into the kitchen. I felt more on his level now that I was adorned in my usual dress pants and light colored top.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"Of what?" He placed his cane in front of him, claws folded over and gripping the red cover.

"The haven."

He turned his head as if viewing it from here. "It's grown an impressive amount."

There was an awkward silence between the three of us. I wanted to spew everything at him. I wanted to talk nonstop, to explain everything that has happened, to tell the finest details.

But there was a piece of me holding back. Not with the words, but with actions and emotions. Hurt was still an overwhelming feeling despite his explanation of his disappearance.

"Why the children in the house?" he suddenly asked.

"Nym and Thatcher?"

He nodded. His smile was showing his teeth.

"They were trouble cases. I grew attached the more I worked with them and the house was too empty."

"Do you intend to keep them as you've done with Reagan?"

"You hate children?" I inquired.

"You could put it that way," he lifted a single claw and let it tap back on his microphone.

"That was something else I didn't know," I said slowly, "But yes, I intend to let them stay. At least until they're older."

His movement made me jump, quickly moving from his spot at the counter to right beside me, hand extended. "Perhaps you should tell me more. I would love to hear what has happened."

I looked between his eyes and his claw. It felt like a dream still, like I was going to wake up feeling even more crushed by his absence. Husker tightened his grip around my tail, seemingly grounding me in reality.

Surely this was real.

He lifted one eyebrow. He's trying.

I placed my black claw in his palm and watched as his red claws slowly encased my hand. His skin felt tough yet smooth and his claws were smooth and cool to the touch. A zip of energy bounced between us, making our hearts race higher than normal.

It felt like he was being incredibly careful. He wasn't really pulling me—more like guiding me—to the bright living room. I wasn't fragile but it seemed that was how he was treating me.

My protest fell short when he brought me over to the couch. He sat down so we were facing each other but I made sure to keep an inch of distance between us. Husker sat on the chair closest to the window, his presence not going unnoticed by his master.

Alastor hadn't let go of my hand. He rested his cane on his lap and locked eyes with me. A single claw gently rubbed the back of my hand.

"I have been waiting to hear your voice. Please, enlighten me about the past eight years."

My mouth opened but no words came out. I had wanted to tell him about everything but when the opportunity fell at my feet, I was silent. So much had happened, where did I even begin? It felt awkward, too, sitting there with his full attention on me. He felt familiar yet strange. Why was this such a problem?

I casted a glance to Husker for help but he wasn't willing. His tail whisked about his feet as he leaned forward on his knees for the sake of his wings. When I looked back to Alastor, his smile seemed strained, if not nervous.

"Perhaps a look into your memories would suffice? At least to start," he offered. I nodded without thinking. It was too late to reject the offer as his mind gently but firmly melted with mine.

I tried to block off a few memories but that seemed to alarm him. He tried pressing for those memories and when he couldn't get through, he looked at the events around it.

"You made a deal with someone?" he demanded, suddenly pulling out of my mind. My ears pinned at his tone. "Who?"

My mouth did the thing again. I clasped my claws tightly together and hugged my tail suffocatingly around my leg. My eyes glanced up to Husker for aid.

Alastor turned sharply to his servant. His gaze wasn't questionable — it was murderous intent. He stood abruptly and slammed his cane loudly on the floor. Husker's eyes went wide, fur stood straight up, and claws dug into anything he possibly could to give himself momentum.

He lunged for freedom but it was no use. Alastor barely lifted a claw to send him choking to the ground, tentacles pinning his limbs to the hard floor. I jumped in front of Alastor and grabbed hold of his hand, my magic attacking his own.

He let go of Husker and instead grabbed my arm in return. His magic bolted through me too fast and without warning to put up any proper boundaries. I felt exactly where he was searching, and right as he found his answer, my cell phone started to ring.

He withdrew from my mind as his head slowly turned towards the front door where the phones lay hidden in a drawer. He stared for a moment, the house utterly quiet except for the horrid ringing that felt like the seal of my death.

His eyes found mine out the corner of his eye. "You have ten seconds to explain the confines of this arrangement." His grip was crushing my wrist.

"I-I...I'm...I defend Vox's stations and he...he promotes the Haven. He's not allowed...to go...he can't come into the Haven at all. Physical or technological."

He was silent for a moment.

His eyes were staring at me, his head still turned away but single eye locked with both of mine. The phone had finally silenced and now all that could be heard was Husker's ragged, scared breathing and the ticking of the clock on the mantle.

I gently pulled my hand towards my chest and he let go. He said, "Last I remember you refuse to make deals with anyone."

"I made deals with you," I reminded softly.

"Aside from me."

I looked down at my claws. "Things changed. I needed to find ways to keep the haven safe."

"And giving your soul to Vox was going to do that?" he shouted, spinning to face me.

"Yes!" My head snapped up at the aggression. "Promoting the Haven meant we could have more people to defend it and more people to believe it's important enough to leave alone. It also keeps Vox on our side rather than against. He's a pain in the ass to deal with but he has the resources."

Alastor's snarl grew.

"Besides, I didn't give my soul to him. It was a soul binding contract for both parties."

His shoulders lowered at that. He casted his eyes to the side in thought. I reached down to help Husker back up to his feet. I gave him a reassuring squeeze on the paw and let him disappear out the kitchen door, leaving Alastor and I alone.

He had one hand on his cane and the other covering his eyes when I turned back to him. His antlers were still big, meaning he was incredibly frustrated still.

"I'm sorry." I kept an arm's distance between us. "I did what was needed to survive."

Gaze still casted away, he withdrew his hand from his face and held it out to me. I calmed my shaking before place my hand in it. He pulled me close then let go of my hand to put it on the back of my head. He pressed his lips to my forehead and took a slow, long, deep breath.

His antlers shrunk back to their normal size.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"I've missed so much time with you," he mumbled against my skin.

"We live for centuries. There's still time." I tried for a lighter tone.

He let out another breath. "I suppose you are right."

I flicked one ear up. "Say that again."

"Say what?" He pulled away to meet my eyes. Was he always this much taller than me?

"You never say that. Say it again."

His eyes stilled as he thought to the conversation. His realization was obvious when he lifted his eyebrows. "No."

"Say I was right. Say it again." I stepped closer so I was invading his personal space even more so.

"No." He moved his claw from the back of my head to my face and gently pushed me away.

"But it was so sweet of you," I laughed and pulled his hand off.

The phone rang again. I grimaced as he turned his head like an owl to stare at it.

"Maybe you'd like to see your old pal again?" I offered, "He's been obsessed about your return."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

oooooOOoooOooOOoooO

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette @masochist-downfall

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open

[crimeronan]

Oh, the great maker of trauma for the beans that are part of Princess Luz Au, heed my query and answer me:

Did Luz get any big bad evil guy energy or skill from being raised by the waste of space previously known as Belos?

I mean as we all know Luz is a precious bean, but I think she deserves to be a little evil towards bad people, like I assume that Hunter is already planning how to murder (or worse) Amity's parents, even if he isn't fully aware of it/is in denial that he is planning the horrors on the for making Amity, but I stay with me for a moment and imagine the verified cinnamon roll Luz Noceda Wittebane putting the fear of Titan into Odalia after learning that she abused Amity.

Also, her snapping out of it after Odalia faints out of fear (and pain), and panicking that she is just like below only for her parteners to be like, 'nooo~ it was hot normal and perfectly sane thing to do'.

this answer Might be disappointing in some ways, mainly: i don't Think luz would be physically violent with them without provocation, and i also don't think she's likely to lose emotional control around them. she'd want to be just as poised around amity's parents as she always was around belos and always is around the coven heads.

HOWEVER. as for the questions of "does luz know how to be scary" and "did she learn that from belos": UNEQUIVOCAL yes. to both.

i've been wanting to play with luz in this space with amity's parents for A While, actually, so. have a little fic :)

-

"Oh, Amity is my pride and joy," Odalia says, placing a hand over her heart. "I taught her everything she knows."

"Yes, I did get that impression." The Empress smiles, rising to her feet. "It's incredible how much she's accomplished in spite of you."

Odalia's breath catches around a shocked, bitten-down laugh. "Your Majesty, begging your pardon, I believe you meant 'because of-'"

"In spite of," Luz repeats, very firmly. "It's fortunate that Lilith Clawthorne has taken such an interest in her wellbeing."

Odalia's smile doesn't waver, but it does remain frozen for several seconds before she says, "I suppose Amity feels the need to invent an adversary. Some great trial she overcame to earn her place here. It's understandable. Children often lack the foundation to understand the sacrifices their parents make. She had a very privileged upbringing."

"Amity has never spoken unkindly of either of you," Luz says, although this she seems to mean more for Alador, whose face may give more away.

She steps lightly down the stairs from the throne, joining the pair of them on the ground. "Amity rarely speaks of either of you at all, actually. That isn't why I've called you here."

Odalia's voice turns cool, corporate. "Then how can we help you, Your Majesty?"

"Did you know that Blight Industries has a higher rate of workplace accidents than..." Luz slides a folder out of her tunic, flips it open, and raises her eyebrows. "...any other company on the Isles?"

This time, Odalia's laugh covers something else. "That's - that's preposterous. Our workplace safety records are excellent. Why, we haven't needed a single intervention by the Healing Coven in... oh, is it three years?" She taps the side of her mouth, frowning. "Four? Five?"

"That's fascinating," Luz says. "Not even for a scrape?"

"Abrasions heal quite well by themselves, given time."

"Absolutely fascinating," Luz repeats. "Did you know that it's illegal to purposefully deny people healing services?"

Odalia scoffs, incredulous. "For scrapes?"

"I know," Luz says pleasantly, "I was surprised, too. There are a lot of laws like that, it turns out. Text on paper that hasn't been enforced in half a century. From what I understand, this one is a holdover from early Empire anxieties. People were terribly worried about not having access to personal healing magic anymore. So healing services had to be protected."

Odalia's smile has become more teeth than pleasantry. "What a fun little history lesson. I'm sure you know all sorts of facts about the early Empire."

"It turns out that it's very easy to put laws in writing," Luz says, "without the intention to enforce them. My father, may the Titan bless him, had precious little interest in the rights of individuals to be seen by healers. But this isn't his Empire anymore. And I find the topic just captivating."

Odalia has stopped trying to hide her impatience, now. "So you'll fine us for not having healers on hand to wave away every little paper cut. That's fine. I apologize for the oversight. We'll settle up and make sure that going forward-"

"Mr. Blight," Luz says, ignoring Odalia entirely, "would you kindly remove your gloves for me?"

Alador startles.

Odalia doesn't glance at him. Her eyes are fixed unblinking on Luz. She speaks through her teeth, nearly a hiss. "Don't feel compelled to do that, dear."

"I assure you, I can compel him to do that," Luz says. Then, in a tone that would almost pass for apologetic if it wasn't so practiced, "I am sorry to compel it of you. I try not to compel my subjects very often. But if you find it difficult to remove your gloves, my scouts would be happy to assist you."

The scouts around the base of the throne don't move. Odalia's eyes slide uneasily over them anyway.

"That won't be necessary," Alador says, speaking for the first time. He pulls the gloves off without fanfare, holding up his hands.

Half of his left ring finger and pinky are conspicuously missing.

If Luz is uncomfortable with this revelation, she sure isn't showing it. "Oh, that's so interesting," she says, leaning forward to get a closer look. "The Healing Coven keeps meticulous records, and I'm certain a partial amputation was never reported to them. You were born with all five fingers, yes? I'm sure Amity will attest to that."

"This was from an accident in my personal lab," Alador says, with the mechanical precision of something rehearsed. "The severed digits were not... salvageable."

"It's so amazing that you were able to make that determination," Luz says, "without even needing to consult the Healing Coven. You must be a very proficient magician."

Alador blinks.

"Regardless," Odalia interrupts, "it happened outside of Blight Industries. The company isn't liable. You haven't 'gotten' us."

"Do you ever test Blight Industries products in your personal lab, Mr. Blight?"

"Prototypes," he says.

Odalia makes a sharp, exasperated gesture. "Alador!"

"That seems like company business to me," Luz says, still pleasant, still conversational. "Now, I will be fully transparent, before you accuse me of anything with regards to prejudice - it is true that I hate you both. It is true that I've hated you both for a while now. If you feel like I'm targeting you because I hate you, then you're very astute."

Odalia's fingers twitch, threatening to curl into fists.

Luz continues, "However, it's also true that there is no bias where my judgment is concerned. Not legally, anyway. So it doesn't matter whether I hate you or not. Whatever I decide to do with you is the Titan's will. Government is amazing."

Odalia exhales sharply.

When Luz doesn't waver, she shakes her head. For the first time, her voice cracks - properly cracks. There's a tiny tremble in her hands.

"Amity won't forgive you if anything happens to us," she says - but there's no bravado, no power, only pathetic uncertainty. "Regardless of any... petty grievances she may harbor. Family is everything to a Blight. She won't forgive this."

"I know that," Luz says. "I promise, I have no intention of doing Amity any unkindness. It's not her fault you two have chosen to be what you are."

Another sharp exhale. Odalia's breathing is ragged, audible. She's clearly not a woman accustomed to fearing for her own safety.

"That's fantastic news!" she chirps.

Luz's smile is beatific, magnanimous. The serene expression of someone who's never questioned the divine right of kings.

"Unfortunately, I'm not wholly opposed to doing an unkindness," she says, "if we can't seem to reach an agreement. It's really up to you how this goes."

She looks from Odalia to Alador and back, tilting her head.

"So. How badly do both of you want to live?"

#luz is obviously bluffing in some places here re: her willingness to abuse her own power #but you wouldn't know that without being close to her. she knows what kind of impression matters. #if you want a little fic about her making odalia actually literally fear for her actual literal life. Here We Go!!!! #toh #princess luz au #my writing #lumity #odalia blight #alador blight #luz noceda

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #2] Park Jimin

warnings: alcohol, clubbing, smut, spanking, protected sex, taken from behind, desk sex, reader is bratty, jimin enjoys it, reader doesn’t finish :(

soundtrack: streets - doja cat, babydoll - ari abdul, sex money feelings die (slowed ver) - lykke li

wc: 3.2k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

You're three Purple Starfuckers deep when Park Jimin first catches your eye. You don't mean to stare, it's just that the way he moves is unlike anything you've ever seen before. There's a sensuality to his hips, a charm to his lips and - fuck it - maybe you do mean to stare. Maybe you want him looking at you too. Assessing. Undressing.

He's in all black. Black slacks, black shirt, black liquid in his cup. No idea what he's drinking, but you're wasted and think you'd quite like to taste it, too.

The thing about Park Jimin is that he's an absolute tool.

He knows he's hot. Knows when people are staring. Knows what to do, when to smile, how to glance over, look in your direction. Look you up. Look you down. Look away. Bite his lip. Returns his gaze. Focus 1...2...3. Look away.

It's a fine art. He mastered it young, and has been using it ever since. Can bed whoever he wants, whenever he wants. 

And right now? He wants you.

You're ignorant to the rest of the club as he makes his way towards you. You're hot and clammy, skin a little sticky from sweat and spilt drinks. He doesn't mind. Finds it kind of hot. Likes to imagine that's what you'll look like in his bed too.

There's no real formal introduction - why would there be? He's not after your number; just wants to add to it. 

Somewhere between the shitty base and the pressure of his lips on yours, he asks if you want to get out of Dionysus. Says he could do with some fresh air. 

Jeongguk doesn't see you leave. A few hours later, he'll watch as Hoseok and Danbi dance around like lunatics to the final song of the evening, but they'll be missing their very own disco ball. It will be a shame, but Jeongguk will chalk it up to nothing of any significance. Will hope you got home safely. 

The ride back to Jimin's is quiet. 

His hand is on your thigh, and you're thankful to not be kissing him anymore. It's not that you didn't enjoy it - you just find kissing so... personal. So intimate. Fucking? Whatever. No big deal. But kissing? Something about it just puts you on edge.

It also does edge you slightly, but he'll reap that reward later.

"My room's at the far end," he says as he guides you into his apartment. It's dark, and he doesn't bother turning the lights on. No point. "I'm just gonna freshen up quickly. Meet you in there?"

You smile. Say yes. Are pleasantly surprised by a guy who -for once- seems to know he should really wash his hands before getting intimate with a woman. Perhaps you should do the same, but you don't really plan on getting that well acquainted with him.

It's no secret that this is just a hookup. A one-night thing. A craving settler. Frustration reliever. 

His bedroom, disappointingly, is as you expect. A little bland, a little minimal. It doesn't excude the same sensuality that he does, but you're sure that when he returns, he'll have enough of that to fill the entire room.  

There's a double bed in the centre of the back wall, and by the window, there's a desk. Not much on it. A laptop stand - the laptop of which is on his bed - and some pots full of pens. Books, too. Interior Design Anthologies by the looks of things - which is ironic, given how boring his room is.

You don't waver when you hear the click of Jimin's bedroom door. You smile, back turned to him, toying with the pens on his desk. His blinds are open, moonlight silhouetting you. The glow of silver satin makes you look ehteral; other wordly. If he wasn't tipsy, he'd admire it. Admire you.

Jimin's silent as he walks to meet you, the tips of his fingers sinking onto the satin above the flesh of your hips. The rigid metal of his rings against the smooth material of your dress is lethal. Has you thinking of all the little deaths you'd like to have. 

He doesn't pull you back towards him. Instead, he draws himself closer to you, until his crotch rests against your ass. It's his belt buckle you feel first. His hardening cock, second. 

Lips tender and plump, they trail down your neck, leaving a trail of his saliva. The cool air hits against it, the sensation giving you goosebumps - or maybe it's just him. You find yourself gasping, leaning into his touch. 

You ignore him - or at least you try to - still tinkering with things on his desk. Disinterest turns him on a little. You're playing him well. Getting him right where you want him.

When he reaches your ear, his teeth graze against your lobe. "Stop playing with my pens, gorgeous. Need them for work."

You smile, wrapping your fingers around one of them. It's a fineliner, 0.3 nib. Nothing remarkable. You have the same brand in the art cafe you work at. His hand immediately reaches for it. Wraps around yours. 

"Uh-uh," he hums. Removes the pen from you grasp and puts it back in it's holder. "That's my favourite. Can't lose it."

There's a pout on your lips. A soft moan escapes. Pretty, he thinks. "I like having my hands full."

Jimin's teeth graze your neck. Bite down. He sucks gently as a kiss is pressed to your skin. He's leaving a mark, and both of you damn well know it. 

His hips push against your ass. You're trapped between him and the desk, his bulge undeniable. Has you wanting to bend over. You half think you might.

And then he whispers in your ear, "I think I have something you can fill them with instead."

He feels your ass move against him, the satin of your dress riding up ever so slightly. The hand of his that had put the pen back finds a new home: the top of your thigh beneath your dress. He pulls you back against him. Presses his stiff crotch to your ass slowly. Withdraws. Repeats. Slow. Deep.

You smirk. "I'd rather you fill something else."

There's a tenderness to the way Jimin pushes the skirt of your dress over your ass. Your underwear is black; lace, barely there. His finger hooks beneath the top of the waistband and slowly pulls it tight, the material taut against your soaked core making you gasp.

His other hand drops to your ass cheek. Grapples. Strokes. "Ask nicely."

You're whining a little from the friction he's still controlling. Your hips roll a little as your body sinks to lay flat against his desk, arms outstretched above your head. The tips of your fingers can reach his window. It's steamy. Covered in condensation. 

Your silence is noticed. 

You ask for nothing, for you're after a very specific something and - fuck - Park Jimin knows how to deliver. His hand pulls away from your ass, meeting it again with a sharp crack. It stings. Makes you gasp, but he can hear the satisfaction in your throat. Knows it's what you wanted. 

"I told you to ask nicely," he reminds you, voice soft as he strokes against your ass again.

You don't. Instead, you repeat your movements. Slow, and languid, Jimin's trying his hardest not to just pull his cock out and start fucking you like he so desperately wants to. 

But you're being a fucking tease, and he's not one to give into power dynamics all that easily. 

And so his hand meets your ass again, the tips of his fingers digging in where they meet your skin. 

"Fuck."

"Not the right answer," he tells you, spanking again, a little harder this time. Your hips are rolling so desperately that Jimin thinks it would be kind to put you out of your misery - but he also knows you can do it yourself. 

You know exactly the right thing to say to get his cock pushing into you. 

And yet you don't. 

You enjoy this too much. Enjoy that he'll be the one begging soon.

It comes quicker than you expect - three more spanks, to be precise. Jimin's so hard he think he might cum in his fucking pants if this goes on for much longer.

His fingers sink into your hot core as he says, "Gotta fuck you, gorgeous. Gotta- uh, fuck. So fuckin' wet, aren't you? I made you this needy?"

Why the fuck he thinks you'll give him the answer he wants is beyond him. 

You like a challenge far too much.

"Me? Wet? Baby, this is nothing," you tell him. 

And just like that, it's all on your terms. He wants to prove himself. If this is nothing (it's not, you're soaked), then he wants everything. 

You're in control of it all; the way Jimin can't control himself, the way he asks to fuck you raw but you insist on a condom, the way he pushes his thick cock into you so slowly that you can't help but whine. It's all orchestrated by you. 

You think it's cute that he thought he had authority for a little bit. He still does as he thrusts his hips against you, the sound of skin slapping together echoing around the room. His cock burns and cools in the same stroke; filling you, and then leaving you empty. He's got a good pace. A good rhythm. Enough to have you moaning.

"Take me so well," he husks, before letting his palm crack against your ass again. You whine, and so he does it once more.

Again, very cute that he thinks he's in control. 

You're whining cause you know it means he'll just do it again. And he does, and -fuck- you're close. He really had edged you with his teasing. His hand wraps around your ponytail, pulling your torso up. It's arched, and fuck if it isn't the sexiest thing Jimin's ever seen.

"You're gonna make me cum, gorgeous," he groans. "Gonna make- Oh fuck. You feel so fucking good."

It's been a while since you last felt like playing the role of a cum slut, but the idea of him spilling himself onto you has you mewling. You want it. Have missed feeling used like this. 

Hoseok isn't the only one who's recently been through a change in relationship status; you're just dealing with it a hell of a lot better.

Or at least you're telling yourself you are.

"On my back," you tell him - and he needs no further instructions. He fucks himself into you - fast, frantic, fraught - until he's grunting. He pulls out, tears the condom from his leaky cock and wanks himself all over your spine. His cum is warm against your skin, his body shaking from his release. Thick. Well placed. 

Credit where it's due, you think. He's got a great pull-out game. Makes sense, considering how much he'd pleaded to fuck you raw. Must have had a lot of practice. 

"You fucking loved that," he tells you, spanking your ass one final time, and it makes you laugh. He's cocky, and it suits him well, but it still amazes you that he thinks he was in control. 

"Just what I needed," you flirt regardless. You'll give him the ego boost. It's not like you actually came, but it was enough to satisfy a craving. "Appreciate it."

"Pleasures all mine," he smirks as he reaches for the tissues by his bed. If he were truly a gent, he'd clean it up himself. The angle is awkward for you, twisting uncomfortably to reach it. Fuck knows if you get it all. He pulls off his shirt and begins to actually undress himself, now. "You're welcome to stay."

It's a nice offer. Not one that you'll accept. The idea of snuggling up with a stranger makes your skin crawl. "Can I just charge for my phone for a bit? I'll order a taxi back to mine."

Jimin shrugs. He doesn't give a shit if you stay or go, but he does enjoy post fuck intimacy. Whenever Jimin discusses his hookups with his housemate, they're always confused. 

They hate post fuck intimacy with strangers. Just like you. They like to shower; get the feeling of filth off of themselves. 

Jimin isn't like that. He revels in it. Thinks it's the most humane feeling in the world. What we were built to do.

He yawns, clearly wiped out from the alcohol and mumbles something about 'wake me if you need me' - and then he's dozing off. You haven't even found his charger yet.

The clock on his desk reads 5:07 in the morning. You really do just want to go home. Get a couple hours sleep in. You're working the afternoon shift in the cafe today, so you'll be fine, but you'd still rather not crash here. Rather go home, sober up, have a shower. 

Now that the haze of sex is gone, you're less enthusiastic about the way the skin on your back feels tighter; the remains of his fun drying out.

"Psst," you hiss, trying to get Jimin's attention - but he just snores a little harder. Is dead to the world. Always is after a few too many.

You don't want to turn the light on just incase you wake him, so you head towards the sitting room instead, hoping maybe there'd be a charger in there. You'll plug your phone in for a few minutes, enough charge to ensure you can make it home, and then that'll be it. 

Park Jimin will be all but a memory. Not a bad one. Not a significantly great one either. Just a  reminder of your reckless youth.

You're still in your heels, thanks to Jimin's decision to take you bent over his desk, so you try your hardest not let them click against the tiles. You're a little tipsy, but you think you're doing alright - that is, at least, until you realise you have no idea where the light switch is.

"Shit."

And then you're on the floor.

You hadn't meant to trip over the side table, but it was so low down that it had been hard to see. Already unsteady on your feet, it hadn't taken much for you to fall - taking the games console controllers resting on it straight down with you - but on the plus side, you've just found the floor switch for a lamp.

So busy trying to figure which wall socket to switch out, you don't notice the click of a door. It's from down the hall, the opposite end to Jimin's room.

Jimin's flatmate pads along the tile flooring, scuffing against them slightly. He's in nothing but a pair of boxers and socks. He's silent, bringing the heel of his palm to his eyes, rubbing slightly. Having only just fallen asleep, he didn't take too kindly to the rude awakening - but knew Jimin was a liability after a few too many. Nothing to be too annoyed about.

"Watcha lost?" he croaks, before you manage to flick the light on and his gaze falls on you. "Oh."

His brow pinch together, eyes scanning you. He blinks once, twice. Sneers a little in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

You stare up at him, eyes wide as you take him in; hair ruffled, exposed torso shining in the warm lamp light, tattoos trailing up his arm and spilling over onto his shoulder. 

You're still in your party dress. What little makeup you did still have on when you left the club is now smeared around your eyes. Your ponytail isn't as sleek as it once was thanks to Jimin's earlier grip on it.

And then he notices the hickey, too. Ah. That explains it.

You furrow your brows right back. "Could ask you the same."

You wonder what brings him here at such an hour. Perhaps he's dating Jimin's roommate. Perhaps she was at the bar too, and he just went home with her? Perhaps you misread his flirting and it's not a 'she' at all?

His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek as you stand, straightening yourself out a little. You're awkward as you get to your feet, legs bowing a little. Your eyes are all big and wide, like they were when you thought he could smell smoke on you earlier. He feels a little bad. 

You half expect to hear a 'baby, come back to bed,' from whoever he's sharing one with. 

But instead, Jeongguk simply says, "didn't realise I needed permission to be in my own apartment."

Your eyes close as your whole entire body winces from the cringe. Of course. It makes perfect sense.

"Running out on him already?" Jeongguk smirks. It's arrogant. Feels like he's judging you. Taking it personally. "Cold."

"Places to be," you shrug. "He's out cold."

"Yeah," Jeongguk nods. "He does that. Sounds like Jimin."

There's silence for a moment. Neither of you know exactly what to say. Early morning is breaking, and it's casting the most glorious orange hues onto his toned abs. You've no idea what he does in the gym, but you know he must be there every waking moment to have a physique like that.

"Sorry-"

"I was just-"

Again, you both pause, a little bashful. Red in the cheeks. Heartbeat in your throat. You look down, and give Jeongguk the room to talk.

"I thought Jimin was looking for something. Sorry. I'll let you get on."

"Oh, no," you smile. "It's fine, I'm sorry for waking you. Was just about to leave."

"Only been home for about twenty minutes. Didn't wake me."

Your face turns a ghostly white. He laughs.

"Didn't hear anything, don't worry."

And now it's as rosy as his lips, which are breaking into a smile.

"Clear off," he says tenderly. "There's a taxi rank next to the CU across the road. I'll tell Jimin you had to get home. No biggie."

You nod. Bow because that somehow feels appropriate. He's laughing at you again, and you're laughing too and - fuck - you want to die. This is not how you thought your night would end. Didn't even get an orgasm from Jimin to make up for the awkwardness of such an encounter.

"Thank you."

"It's cool," he says as he shrugs, walking to the door with you in a casual silence. It's awkward but not uncomfortable - although it is a little funny, 'cause even though his roommates been inside of you, you somehow feel like you know Jeongguk a little better.

He says goodbye. Reminds you to text Jimin to let him know you're home safe (not that you have his number) and smiles as he says, "See you around, trouble."

And you know you shouldn't, but you really hope you do.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

#by holly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk #jungkook x reader #jeongguk fanfic #bangtan #jungkook fluff #bartender!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #jeongguk fic #bad decisions #dappleddaisies

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen

AO3 Link

Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!

Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You

Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.

Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”

“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.

Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.

On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.

“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”

“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.

Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”

“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,” Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”

Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.

She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.

As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.

The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.

Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.

Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.

“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”

“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”

As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.

The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”

As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother’s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.

The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.

Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.

“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”

The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.

“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.

“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.

“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.

It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.

Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.

It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.

“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.

“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.

“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”

“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”

“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.

“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”

The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.

No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.

Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.

“Abrogail.”

Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.

The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.

He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.

“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”

“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”

“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”

“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”

She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.

Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.

Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”

Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.

“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”

“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”

Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?

Alone now, save for Larys.

‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.

This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.

Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.

“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby’s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.

Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.

“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”

Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.

“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”

Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.

“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.

“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”

Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.

“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.

“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.

“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?

This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.

“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.

“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.

“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”

The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.

“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”

Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.

She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.

‘He’ll have to lose an eye’.

“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?

“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.

Or if he were lonely.

“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.

The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.

All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.

The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.

Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.

Half fire.

Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.

Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.

Half fire.

‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.

She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.

“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.

“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.

Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.

His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.

“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”

He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”

A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”

She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.

Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.

On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.

“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”

“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”

Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.

Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”

The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.

“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.

“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”

Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”

Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.

It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”

Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.

“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.

“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”

Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”

Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.

“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.

And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.

Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them. Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.

#hotd fic #hotd oc #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #house targaryen fanfic #jacelaena #my fics #oc: abrogail strong #otp: do not go far from me #aegon x abby #abrogon

[multifandombullshitbabes]

21

24

27

And

30

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

thank you so much, I shall answer these prompts NEOW

21: Fics you wish you could find more of?

Oooohhh more fics involving Gwen, that's for sure. When she's written right she's one of the strongest, most relatable characters imo, 'cause all she wants is for the world to be right and just and kind and everything wants to prove her wrong, but she won't back down from her views. I would also adore more Elyan, just in general. And complete rewrites of the show 'cause the one I'm reading right now is so good I might do one as well. Also modern au's where they're all like secret badass spies or smth, 'cause those are so fucking cool (i am accepting fic recs for ALL of this, please feed me y'all)

24: Everyone knows that fandom doesn’t like uther but what are your feelings about gaius?

I think 1) we need more concrete info about how he was when he was younger, but 2) i think he is severely complicated and wanted what was best of merlin and morgana, but failed the two while also giving them a ton of love. With morgana, he just didnt want her to pursue her power lest she become uther's next victim, cuz gaius cares for the pendragon siblings like his own. With merlin, he was just trying his best with his overpowered nephew, who alos has a destiny regarding his people's genocide's son, and he just doesn't know what to do half the time, kinda like merlin. I didnt like how he lied to merlin n morgana, how he gaslit her and how he made merlin hide and become so anxious abt his magic (and we see what that looks like season 5), but i get it. I really get it. I dont know what i wouldve done if one wrong move could mean the death of two kids he considers his own. I bet he was scared all the time and hated himself for it.

27: Modern Merlin headcanons, if any?

OH BOY. OHHHH BOY. So many. It really depends on what au i have for modern merlin, but I'll give you a few generals:

he's a teacher of sorts; i like the idea that he's kinda collecting magical anomalies and teaching them how to understand their powers and being, since he knows what its like to be afraid of urself, so he's a personal magic teacher. I also rly like my magic elementary school au, since its merlin teaching magic to a bunch of kids, which is adorable

he has officially one cat, a black one called Midnight, that accidentally became immortal along the way and now hes severally attached. I say officially since hes also friends with any other animal that he might come across and they recognise him if he passes them again. disney princess fr

he's figured out his gender and he can turn into a woman if he wants; she looks exactly like merlin, same height, same weight n muscles, the hair is longer cuz merlin likes it that way and her voice is deep and gorgeous

his favourite weapon is a staff or any long distance fighting weapon of the sort; also he looks cool as fuck fighting with it, but thats just a bonus

I'll stop here but i have SO MANY MORE

30: Side character death that makes you the maddest?

Elyan. There was, quite literally, no need for it. I was gonna say Lancelot, since we did not get enough of him, but his death made sense for his character. Elyan? What the fuck was that? It was just for pain and nothing else. What did it add to the story if not just a sad funeral scene and thats it? It just felt like they wanted him gone n found a way, and that pisses me off. I feel like him saving gwen and living would've given such a complex situation when she turns evil, 'cause what if she "confides" more n more in her brother, creating a rift between arthur n elyan, which then creates a rift between arthur n the knights, which would just isolate him further n make him suffer, which is what morgana wanted!! we couldve had protective brother elyan! I think i just wanted more knights in general.

Thank you so much for this ask, I yapped a fuck ton but it was funn

#merlin #bbc merlin #come get yall headcanons #hey look i posted a thing #merlin prompts #this was so fun

[thelassoway]

Jason Sudeikis as Ted Lasso Seasons 1-3 » T-shirts

#Ted Lasso #Theodore Lasso #Jason Sudeikis #*mine: gif #tedlassoedit #ugh you idiot with that face #stop staring at me swan #I think I got all the T-shirt moments for Ted. Can you guess the two scenes I forgot and had to go back and add??? #I've also kept these in order of season/episode appearance and it feels kind of telling #not quite sure how I'm feeling about these and how they turned out #these are all from 2160p video files (I've only worked with 2160 one other time) and the timing of these frames looks off #I did my best to fix and readjust them #to the 5 to 8 people that read these tags let me know if I should keep trying/working with 2160p or just stick with 1080p #can we see a major difference in the image quality? I'm using all my same edit settings here #@chainofclovers I saw your tags about the black Joe Arthur shirt I was/have been thinking the same thing #I'm glad I got my o.g. laptop to power up to finish this gifset (definitely a power button issue) #will I ever make that mirror gifset idea??? probably not but I got a couple of mirror moments here #I almost used the other mirror moment from episode 7 but I wanted a different angle/view #this gifset could've been a lot more of Ted in bed wearing T-shirts tbh #¯\_(ツ)_/¯