#[miracle's writing tag.]

[lauraneedstochill]

Can't help falling in love

summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert

words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)

1.

Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.

His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.

It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.

And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.

Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you're standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.

"It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?" a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.

There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:

“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.

“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.

That’s until you both hear a loud cry:

“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.

She sprints decisively in your direction:

“It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”

And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.

”Y/N didn’t interrupt a thing,“ he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.

The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.

Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.

”Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,“ he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:

”Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.“

He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.

Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn't feel lonely anymore.

2.

It's been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn't left the bed once. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn't an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn't bare the thought of stepping out of the room.

His mother wouldn't leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn't help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.

That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He's only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.

He's startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human's silhouette — and then another few to realize that it's you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.

You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.

"They told me no one was allowed into your chambers," your hushed whisper burns his ear. "The silliest thing I've ever heard!" you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. "I knew I had to find a way to come see you."

You examine his face, frowning at the scar that's still healing.

"Does it hurt?"

He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won't be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.

Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit. 

"I will take his eye," you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might've heard it wrong.

"...Whose eye?"

"Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours," you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.

Aemond shakes his head:

"You shouldn't," his voice quiet but firm. "The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed."

"Well, maybe he is too old to think straight," you retort. "You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail," you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.

And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.

And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:

"Are you sure I can't take his eye?"

At that moment, he can't stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it. 

Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can't lose you.

He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke's eye isn't worth the trouble.

3.

By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince. 

His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.

You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.

Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid's persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.

And then he opens it — and it's you standing in front of him. 

Aemond barely has time to register what's going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can't see it, he's grinning from ear to ear.

“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly".

"I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval," he sneers and you stick out your tongue.

"While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers," you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.

"I am friendly enough!"

“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.

Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you're clasping in your hands.

“You come bearing gifts?”

“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing".

It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you're talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand:

“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”

There's a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure:

“Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”

He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.

“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.

“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”

“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,'” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.

“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.

Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn't sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.

"The gem compliments your eye very well," you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.

"We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is."

"This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks," you chide him lightly. "And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?"

At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you're too concentrated on something, and Aemond can't help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface. 

He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glaring at him with something akin to fondness.

He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.

He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.

4.

Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn't seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone's counting). It's not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn't leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.

Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to the King's Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon's birthday, but Aemond didn't care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond's sympathy for you.

“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.

“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.

“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider Y/N part of the family.”

Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.

The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.

His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.

It’s not a drastic change, it's all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.

“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.

“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.

As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.

The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days. Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say:

“It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”

He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you. Aemond hesitates:

“I thought you quite liked it.”

“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.

Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:

“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add: “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”

And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.

A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?

So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.

Maybe he should have.

5.

By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.

Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can't hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can't think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.

So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.

“My dear, I think you must talk to Y/N,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don't seem surprised.”

“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe Y/N is the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.

Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them.

“You should tell her the truth.”

Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.

Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:

“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.

Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him:

“Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.”

The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.

You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.

“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.

“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”

Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...

“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.

Aemond gives you some time before asking again:

“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.

Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.

“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”

“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.

“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”

“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.

“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.

“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:

“Me”.

You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.

“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.

In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You're looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.

“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face. Taken aback, you inquire:

“You pity me?”

He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.

 “You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can't get his head around what just happened.

“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.

Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.

“Y/N, I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.

... 1.

He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.

Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.

And so he does.

“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,“ he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.

"Yes, I remember it pretty well," you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.

"The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack," there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. "Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you."

He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.

"Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories."

You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying. 

"Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her," the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.

"Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in," he can’t take his eye off you.

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

"I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness," he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.

"When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine," you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.

"I think you actually enjoyed it", you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.

"I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you."

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

"The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar," he pauses, catching his breath. "You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you". 

You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.

“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.

“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:

“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.

You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm's length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you're in, you look so beautiful, it's mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence:

"Aemond, please don't give me false hope," your heartbeat is too loud, you don't hear your own voice. He does.

"I do not wish to marry you out of pity," Aemond takes the last step. "I want you to be my wife because I'm in love with you," he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. "I've been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually," his voice gets low. "For what feels like an eternity," Aemond murmurs.

"Why haven't you told me?" you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.

"I was afraid you didn't feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?" his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.

"Tell me that I am wrong," he whispers, begging.

You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.

Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.

You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.

Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.

"Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices," you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.

“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.

“When we were thirteen, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”

The air around you tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fanning over your lips.

“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth.

His favorite memory will be this.

And every other moment with you that's to come.

author's note: I'm sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I'm a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don't want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it) anyways, I hope this was bearable, thank you for reading!

💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me) 💞 my masterlist 🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley's song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there's also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well. P.S. I'm also on AO3 (lol, who isn't), in case you prefer to read fics there.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

#aemond targaryen #got the idea out of the blue (oh the things I do instead of sleeping...) #wrote it in two days #pretty sure it's once in a year kind of miracle #my expectations are low though and I will probably never write anything like this again lmao #anyways I think I should get back to actually adding the tags and shut tf up #here’s a SPECIAL tag that I call 'the woman Aemond is in love with stands up for him' #I already used this trope twice and WILL use it again watch me #my stuff #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fics #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfiction

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: dismemberment / ]

I think a lot about how Leo’s rescue could have easily ended in him losing a leg as the portal snaps shut on the Krang still clutching the limb, or, alternatively, only having Leo’s right arm make it out, still held dearly in his brother’s hand as the rest of Leo is left behind. (The latter hits even harder, as it directly parallels his future self in the worst of ways.)

I think a lot about how so many things could have gone wrong during the course of the movie with even a little bit of a change, but it really is harrowing how much of a coin-flip the entirety of the Prison Dimension rescue was.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #rottmnt headcanons #rise leo #dismemberment / #if literally any part of the prison dimension rescue was different it would have ended Very Badly #mikey came in clutch for doing the impossible in the first place #raph grabbing leo and not once letting go was vital #and donnie directly hitting the krang was essential #hell leo having the ability to reach out at all in the state he was in was a miracle #listen I think about the prison dimension a lot if you couldn’t tell #for the next tags: #strangulation mention / #physical trauma induced mutism / #potential death mention / #potential sibling death mention / #barely it mainly focuses on if he lives but / #I also think about how Leo’s trachea could have easilyyy given out as Raph (krangified) was choking him #can you imagine the last words raph hearing from his little brother being I’m sorry? #he’d likely live as the hamato bros are built different but imagine if he straight up can’t talk again after #the bros having no idea what Leo’s plan is but they suddenly feel him disappear with the portal #or also #imagine all he gets out in his hoarse voice is to beg Casey to close the portal before his family HEARS the sudden silence like a knife #even if he gets saved his voice may be wrecked or even gone for good #what am I writing wait- #also for my point on leo losing his arm paralleling his future self #imagine fate being a thing in this world but a VERY situational thing #imagine it makes it so that leo has to lose a limb #but not just that - it also ties his presence directly with the Krang’s - so if the Krang’s somewhere else…so is he

[prettyboykatsuki]

are you awake yet

is it time to talk about boot humping bakugo

safe with you | k. bakugou

✮ cw ; afab + gn!reader, boot-humping but loving akjdkjd, mutual masturbation, facials, the title sir, sub!reader, soft dom!bkg , praise and adoration bc its bkg <3 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k (??)

✮ a/n ; i am awake sorry this came at 3am though ajhjdjk. also they have a very established switch for switch dynamic. writing my yearly dom bkg content lmao

also this is not the most original concept but its my iteration so i hope thats alright

It's not even that he's being particularly demeaning to you. You'd have to initiate it, because Bakugou always has been a simple person during sex. He's always busy but he's home today after early dismissal. Has on those thick, black boots with hefty rugged soles.

He's cleaned them off after coming from his job. So clean the light of your living room is bouncing off the bronzey metal.

And you're sitting on the floor of your living room. You come crawling towards him mostly to rest your head on his lap or just give him a nudge. You notice he looks good. He always does. Has the most handsome face even when it's twisted into a scowl - at home it's relaxed. The soft curve of his jaw, the pull of his lips - all flat nose bridge and pretty, straight lashes.

Clean, shiny boots. His costume is still on. Mask is pulled up and pushing his hair back. He hasn't even taken off his gloves today, not yet. His arms are muscular stretched over his head in exhaustion. enough to see his midriff coming through. Wispy blonde hairs in a trail above the low hand of his pants.

You rest your chin on his knee and he looks at you fondly. Lovingly. even though he usually looks so mean there's a warm, watery look to his eyes as he reaches his hands out towards you. He rubs your cheek with his gloves on. Pets your head so tenderly it makes you feel like you'll melt into the floor.

"Hey," He hums, a small smile on his lips. so full of mirth you can't breathe "Miss me so much?"

"Stupid question."

"I'm rubbin' off on you more and more everyday," He says. You laugh because it's true.

"You look really good right now," You offer bluntly. His face splits into a grin. A smirk, really - the kind where it barely flashes his teeth. In another life he has canines, fangs sharp enough to rip through you.

"That right?"

This part of him, so riddled with confidence, always makes your stomach feel like it's burning. So often Bakugou is rational and relative. A little irritable, a little ridiculous. It's been a long road, and he's finally at that place where the confidence is well-earned. No longer misshapen inferiority tacked together with anger.

But real, unshakeable confidence. He believes you when you tell him that he looks good. He gets a little cocky about it, and it only ever makes him sexier. Only he could ever pull it off. A wave of desire washes over you, a heat. You nod absently, and it's like something switches in him. A tenderness that's sharpened with love, with want.

"You wanna do something about it?" He gathers, maybe from the look in your eyes. You nod and he smiles again, a little fiercer this time around.

"And what's that? Gotta tell me or i won't know for shit."

"On your boots. Wanna—"

"Wanna hump my fucking boots?" And he laughs, breathless, a tent pitching that you can see from where you sit "Really?"

"Uh-huh. Can I?"

"I'd never say no to you, sweetheart." he says, clicking his teeth like it's the most obvious thing in the world "Go ahead. Do it like you fucking mean it."

"Yes, Sir."

A switch flips off in him. You can see it on his face, the realization washing over him. He laughs a little to himself. So it's like that, written all over his face. You rest yourself on his leg, a feeling welling up inside of you that you can't describe.

You scoot a little. Line yourself up along the edge of his boot, your clit touching the roundest part. You're glad you're wearing shorts, even though you're so certain that they're going to be soaked through because the direct contact might too much. You're worked up and wet and aching.

Bakugou is gentle. He's kind, a sort of pride rolling off him in waves as he guides your head to his leg. You press your cheek against his thigh.

"Want somethin' to watch, baby?"

"Yes. Please." You answer back. Small and simple. He laughs a little but abides your request. You watch carefully with your head tilted, as he pulls his cock out from his pants.

Half-hard, thicker than it's long with the tip and aching red that leaves heat crawling up your neck. He reaches forward to you, cupping his palm and giving you a tilted smile. The removal of his gloves is so painfully deliberate. Calloused hands, but beautifully thick fingers. You spit in his palm obediently, staring as it drips down his shaft. He goes slow, palms fisted around the base of his cock as he strokes it.

"Go on," He encourages, tender but teasing "Make yourself feel good."

So you do. It takes a little effort to work up to the right rhythm. You have to hold onto his leg - feel the hardness of as you anchor yourself up enough to roll your hips. It doesn't feel good until it does. Until there's enough pressure on you that you moan out. Your eyes are fluttery as you stare Bakugou.

And he's watching you so intently, fixed on the sight of you underneath him. There's something that always borders on obsessive when you get like this. Makes his chest swell up with pride that you want this, want him enough to hump against the steel toes of his work boots. You look damn good doing it, eyes hazy and shorts slowly riding up - curve of your ass and the bend of your knee making it hard for him to breathe.

The room is so thick with lust you can taste it in the back of your mouth. Bakugou strokes his cock, melting into the couch - head thrown back but always looking at you. He reaches a free hand out to touch you, using his thumb to wipe drool from the corner of your lips.

"So damn messy," He say, tucking his thumb into your mouth "You're gonna ruin my work pants, baby."

"Sorry." You hum. He chuckles.

"Making a mess of my boots too, probably." He hums, low as you suck his thumb "Gonna 'em all shiny, huh?"

A whine escapes your throat, a garbled and desperate sound as something gets all knotted up inside of you. The descent is slow and impatient. Makes your breath hitch hard with such utter need. You can feel it, how good you're feeling. How wet your getting, how even through the material there's more of a slip than it would be. And every time you open your eyes up - Bakugou is staring at you.

Peering at your needy expression with red eyes, thumb over slit and shivering from his sensitivity. It's the sight of you that he's using to get off. He's excited watching you be desperate, watching your expression change into one of utter devastation.

You're his favorite, messy angel. The sweetest thing in the whole world when you're like this. It makes Bakugou want to take care of you. Guide you gently, patiently towards the edge. Pushes all of his pride down and replaces it with devotion hard enough to swallow you - to make the glassy look in your eyes feel so fucking earned.

He does earn it. Earns his titles, always. Like Sir is just as important as Mr. Dynamight. Always earns that sweet fucking face you make when he fucks you into a stupid mess. You're beautiful like that, really. Beautiful when you're ruined, when you give him the wheel to take you where you need to go.

He softens his voice for you, just enough timbre to make your insides hot and sticky. "You wanna cum, don't you? Wanna cum humping my fucking boot."

"Yes, Sir."

"So well-mannered when you want something." He praises, though it sounds a little mean "Look at you. Didn't even get to take my work clothes off."

You want to say sorry. You're too close to think of the fact he's teasing you and that part of you makes him wrought with affection.

You feel hot as you whimper.

"C-can I cum, Sir? P-please, oh, pleaseplease."

"Close your eyes, sweetheart." He says, a tremor in his voice "Let's cum together."

You close your eyes and listen well as you let yourself go. It takes you a minute to get there, but the minute you pulse the first time - you feel something hot spill out against your cheek. You think it gets on your clothes too but you can't really tell. You're too busy cumming with him, all of you unravelling as you pulse and thrash and hold on so tight to Bakugou like your life depends on it.

You cum hard - eyes still closed. You hear Bakugou mumble something above you as you catch your breath. Some plastic crinkling and the feeling of something wet wiping off your cheeks. You wait until he's done to peel your eyes back open.

"Still with me? Feeling okay?" He checks in. You yawn but don't move.

"Yeah. Wanna say here for a bit though."

He laughs, petting your head.

"You look real comfortable."

You laugh with him.

"I am. I kinda see why you do this so much."

A flush spread on his face.

"Shut up."

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou smut #bnha smut #writing tag #return to sender #its a miracle i managed to write this without collapsing into a fit of dust

[lovesickeros]

can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"

#asks #sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #yelan #furina #ei #THIS DIDNT SHOW UP IN MY INBOX UNTIL LIKE #NOVEMBERBIM SORRY IM ANSERRING IT SO LATE?????? #tumblr working right is a miracle that will never happen #anyway can u tell i have. biases. there r so many characters I wanted to write for this (shenhe.........) but I forced myself to limit it #to 4 for my own sanity and everyones elses #also didnt know if u wanted just yan or sagau so I went for my specialty 🧍‍♂️ #was gonna include my beloved cryo archon but decided against it #ei the pathetic lesbian that u r....mwah #I'm sorry this took so long it took me 50 yrs to figure out yelan.. 😭 #i am still not confident abt my characterization of her but shes so good at her job even im confused abt her #reading her lore crying and sobbing in the corner. shaking her like a can of soda #checks note idk uhh cocky doesnt let herself form personal relationships charismatic uhhhhhhhh #idk dont ask me i just started praying and hoping for the best here #i think she'd get a kick out of getting reader into like. fudging rolls and shit. create an absolute menace out of reader #set them loose and see what chaos happens #just kicks back and watches it all unfold internally laughing her ass off #i didnt know whether to just do headcanons in uh. bulleted list or like #full on drabbles

[truth-01001001-liar]

Ilabael Muhr of Jora’ruhn

#jora’ruhn isn’t a canonical place in the games or the lore #it’s a headcanon ig #listen what else was Vivec’s archcanon gonna do except build a city on the ruins of his and name it after her spear #her spear whose name means ‘she betrays’ #of course it could also mean he betrays or they betray it’s fucking unclear but this is wraith so of course it is #anyway Ilabael is one of the warriors from Jora’ruhn #it’s an awkward collection of ‘dunmer who happened to by some miracle survive the red year on vvardenfell #because they were-say- in a cave that stayed standing or a family tomb so #yeah weird collection of individuals living in Jora’ruhn and not very many of them #Ilabael is the child of an exiled ash lander of erabenimsun who fell hook line and sinker for wrath’s bullshit #*wraith’s #im not re-writing that whole tag to fix that one word #anyway #thanks for reading my rambling #tes #morrowind #TruthiLiar’s art #headcanon #tes oc: ilabael

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Dangerously close to plotting a real Skyrim/Lord of the Rings crossover for after Keeping Count because my secret desire for Leara/Glorfindel has reared its head again

Shhh Don't question it.

#look look now i must explain #the explanation is that leara simply works well with literally every male character I like at least for the most part #anyway #it'd be funny #i wish i could write a leara/astarion fic but i do NOT understand d&d at all alas #I understand lotr/silm on a crazy level so i guess sunshine hero elf it is #this is fine actually #actually what i really need to do is edit and finish my funny Skyrim/hobbit crack fic but that's a ten year old project #no really #I do NOT KNOW i am just having thoughts and i'm sharing them on my blog because it's mine and I can #also i was in the glorfindel/ofc tag on ao3 like five minutes ago and it looks empty and sad #so Leara can fix it #one day there will be more leara ships than there are for hermione granger jk maybe #i should make a list #I am talking out of my hair it is unlikely that i'll ever do anything the fact that keeping count even exists is a bloody miracle #mod post #oc: leara roseblade

[duusheen]

How can he be so sweet?

#ts4 gameplay #ts4 challenge #ts4 legacy challenge #ts4 screenshots #Every time I start a new gen I'm afraid I won't feel attached to the heir but that wouldn't be the case with Jay 😭💖 I love him #pollock legacy #gen4 #i keep writing gen3 in the tags lol #jay pollock #miracle holm #he's not proposing YET still too poor for that 😩

[critrolesideblog]

"... and quietly started to dance his way all the way back home. The end." Caleb closed the picture book and set it softly on the bedside table. "Alright, time for sleep."

"But I'm not even tired," Luc protested through a  yawn. His tiny form was almost swallowed by the pillows and blankets of his mother's four-post bed, and one of the Tower cats, Benji, was curled up in his arms.

"Alright, if you're not tired, just rest your eyes a bit, and I'll come check on you in exactly ten minutes."

"Okay," he relented with another yawn,  eyes already closed. "I'm just resting my eyes." He squeezed Benji tightly to him, and the fey cat purred loudly in response.

As Caleb walked softly out of the room, he heard Luc whisper, "Are you a prince, Benji?"

#it's date night and Caleb's babysitting #miracle of miracles I HAVE gotten work on my WIP done on this glorious WIP Wednesday #but I had this little drabble floating around my brain the past few days so here it is in the meantime #my writing tag #caleb widogast #luc brenatto #it's bedtime somewhere

[kangofu-cb]

Last Line Tag Game

Tagged by @mightymightygnomepriest (why won’t it let me tag???) Thanks lovely! Sorry I’m so slow to respond to these!

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

“If that kid is dumb enough to accept one of Clint’s sad attempts at cooking, that’s his problem.”

That’s… too many words. Low pressure tags: @awheckery @claraxbarton @flawedamythyst @there-must-be-a-lock @carcrash429 @flowerparrish @drgrlfriend and anyone who wants to play!

#yes i have started something New and Different #it is as usual Clara’s fault #winterhawk #IN SPACE #for a given value of space i guess #cb writes #which is something of a miracle #tag game #author memes

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

Spill out your Quiet One Au Jesse Thoughts now

Reffing to this in case anyone is like whuuuuut

SO when the Great Devourer first starts wreaking havoc at the rally, Harumi manages to convince the Fuchsia Ninja to assist her before they all can see the snake heading for the hospital

Antonia runs to the beach for safety with the rest of the evacutees, Fuchsia follows Harumi, and none of them meet Lady Iron Dragon for a very important pep talk

Fuchsia and Rumi make it there just in time to call for an organized evacuation, with Harumi and her parents getting out nice and safely, while Fuchsia takes it upon himself to get the rest of the inhabitants out of the apartment building

But while doing that, The GD (having already destroyed the hospital) loops around to the east side and sets its sights on the buildings. This drives the crowd into a frenzied panic, with Jesse getting caught up in it, and he winds up herded into The Elevator against his will

Elevator drops and shatters, Jesse is the one that winds up with the face scar, and Lloyd winds up pulling himself from the rubble instead. Despite the injury, Jesse's still present to assist in officially taking down the GD...

...but then upon returning to his family, discovers Miranda's ultimate fate due to the destruction of the hospital (wherein which she wasn't evacuated in time because Jesse wasn't there), which, y'know, breaks him

During the following guilt-induced Outburst (which freaks out his already grieving family who know nothing about his powers), Jesse manages to redirect all his self-blame unto Lloyd instead, as none of this would've happened if he hadn't released the snakes, yadda, blablabla, nothing new there. (But, it's all mainly to stop him from blaming himself)

Winds up running away from home because a) can't handle the guilt and b) can't control his Outbursts anymore

Harumi, meanwhile, is doing great! Remains the same girl she'd been throughout S1, keeps her parents, doesn't get tangled in her uncle's web, and doesn't ultimately feel betrayed by each and every one of her friends!

Jesse, meanwhile, seemingly vanishes off the face of the earth, with everyone in the friend group worried since they all knew he was at least present for the battle (Antonia may or may not be present for his ultimate Outburst though)

(he actually crashes with Mystake, who winds up sharing all her Surprise EM secrets + what Miracle Make is + her own backstory being an Oni and everything), wherein is how Jesse ultimately learns of the Oni Masks

He eventually returns to school, charming his way out of answering any and all questions about where he's been or what happened. And with little left to lose, he starts acting aggressively confident towards everyone (acting like Bess, his Garmadon-created clone anyWAY–)

While biding his time, he searches for what remains of Miranda's Elemental Compendium and combines it with Mystake's intel, helping to build his future plans...

But beyond that, he plays his role basically the same, keeping all his resentment buried. The only real difference is that he never gets together with Cole because of his "new" and technically worse personality (though both probably still have lingering unresolved feelings, woop)

Fast forward fourish years, Jesse doesn't directly form the Sons of Garmadon—instead, he convinces the others that there's a (fake) group out to capture the Oni Masks (which he creates the illusion of being real via his After Image ability, sending most of group on wild goose chases while gathering all the masks in one place), and successfully manages to get Lloyd alone to hunt for the final mask

(Which, while ofc needs someone with Oni blood to remove from the pedestal....there's also the added caveat of it only being able to be wielded by a Descendant of Surprise. Which, while Jesse is an Inheritor, he technically isn't a Descendant)

Which is where Baby Wu comes in, as he and Lloyd both still fit that criteria (but Jesse certainly isn't going to give the mask to Lloyd to wear) but ofc Cole is in Dad!Mode about Baby Wu which leads to a probably emotionally-charged confrontation accumulating with Jesse committing a kidnapping whuh

Shenanigans happen and Jesse begins the resurrection ritual—but instead of trying to bring back Garmadon, he's going to bring back his sister—

...except Harumi interrupts and/or sabotages the process, which winds up summoning Zombie!Garmadon anyway, which enrages Jesse but decides to roll with this and manipulates Zombie! Garmadon in order to get everyone out the way so he can attempt the ritual again

More vague shenanigans, he once again gets Lloyd alone, reminding him of how everything always stems back to his actions. Lloyd points out that Miranda wouldn't have wanted him to do this, which ofc sets him off into a Outburst and forces Lloyd to watch as he attempts to kill the Core Four + Baby Wu (in which they get sent the First Realm)

(...Miranda actually gets sent with the guys to the First Realm in S9!Legacyverse proper; here it would be Harumi instead)

Extra angst on Lloyd, woo! But, this finally makes Jesse question his own actions. Not enough to stop, but, y'know.

Then as Zombie!Garmadon leads a legion to protect Jesse as he struggles to begin the ritual again; it's a race against time for the Resistance to snap him back to his senses + not summon the dead again

Zombie!Garmadon starts getting a little too high on power as Jesse starts getting more and more desperate—he just needs a little more time, a little more prep—but the less and less he's able to distance his fault from his actions and it starts to eat away at him

...which the Resistance uses to their advantage, using Mystake's shape shifting abilities to get close to Jesse to cuff him with Vengestone (at least on one wrist) and calm him long enough to get through to him. Jesse then tries to call off Garmadon, but Garmadon takes this as a betrayal and goes on the attack, destroying several buildings in the process.

The group attempts to escape the building they're on, as Garmadon attacked that too, but Lil Nelson (who is also here because Antonia's here and Antonia's here because I say so) gets trapped/left behind. Jesse goes back for him, managing to get him to Antonia and save him in the way he couldn't for Miranda. But then, ofc, the same exit is cut off for him, forcing Jesse to run to the roof so he can attempt to fly/warp/escape that way.

...except, he's still got that Vengestone cuff on that he can't take off, soooo—

Jesse dies, crushed by a collapsing building, ultimately meeting the same fate as his sister. Spooky parallels, uh?

Bonus if Lloyd digs through that rubble trying to find him too

#info tag #content tag #ninjago au #ninjago ocs #legacyverse #oc: jesse marvell #harumi hutchins #lloyd garmadon #ask me if i should tag anything but #it's not like this isn't stuff that happens in the show proper :V #Stuck on deciding whether or not he comes back as the Vengestone Buyer #(because that would be counterintuitive to him as an EM) #and i can't see him gelling with the C.O.C.K. lololol #but maybe he survives via using Miracle Make at the last second #therefore losing his powers (and then also allowing him to be near vengestone for long periods) #wow this writes itself #butterfly effect babyyyy #long post

[mymarifae]

can we talk about something.

because. okay, look. the way that i’ve come to understand dess’s disappearance is:

she went into the bunker.

inside the bunker is another dark world. the “original” dark world, so to speak.

i believe she discovered the dark world on her own, after fiddling with and eventually breaking the lock on the bunker doors over the course of several days. she was just curious about what was inside. excited, she tried to bring asriel, noelle, and kris along to show them the amazing world inside the bunker. due to circumstances i’m about to get to, only kris and possibly noelle made it in with her.

something went wrong, and only kris (and noelle, if she was there, and for the rest of this post i’m going to just roll with the idea that she was) made it out. noelle ended up repressing most of the incident, while kris retained enough of it to try to tell people about the world inside the bunker. no one believed them, but the place just... feels a bit haunted now. it was already creepy enough before it became associated with dess’s disappearance. i’m more or less certain that if snowy hadn’t interrupted them, monster kid would have said, “what if there’s really another world in there?”

side note: i think there’s a good chance that kris, until recent events, was starting to believe the world in the bunker was just a dream, too. but now they know it really was real. now they might know where dess is. (double side note: i don’t think kris is the knight who opened the fountains in the supply closet and the abandoned classroom. that was someone else. who? idk. they might have been the one who opened the fountain in the library, though.)

the night of the bunker misadventure just so happened to be the night of one of the worst blizzards hometown has ever seen.

the snow started coming down about halfway to the bunker. dess reassured everyone that they would be fine and could wait it out there; they just needed to hurry; she seemed so confident and so sure, that everyone chose to trust her judgement. unfortunately, the storm got worse very quickly. it became hard to see, and for little kris and noelle, it was hard to keep up in the wind. the group began to separate. kris and noelle ended up at the bunker with dess, while asriel got turned around and started walking back towards town, where he ran into the frantic search party comprised of all their parents, undyne, and some other adults.

i’m pretty insistent on dess’s disappearance coinciding with a snowstorm but not really having anything to do with it because, for one, it offers an explanation for noelle’s seemingly trauma-related response to the cold (that one customer in the store saying she sometimes just stands with the freezer door open, staring inside). and if there was a snowstorm the same night she vanished, then—well, it’s easy to declare the cause for her disappearance, isn’t it? it’s strange that a body was never found, but if monsters in deltarune turn to dust after death (i’m still not convinced they necessarily do), then maybe it’s not so strange. in the strong winds, her dust would have been long gone. or: who knows what wild animal could have gotten a hold of her?

that’s just the official declaration, though. that doesn’t mean everyone in hometown buys it. but that’s besides the point.

and mainly i insist on this because now we have a very interesting parallel to draw between her and berdly in the snowgrave route. both “vanish” in a terrible, terrible snowstorm. (i don’t think it’s a coincidence that the visuals for snowgrave look like a blizzard.) but i was thinking about it, and we can take the parallel further actually.

we are all more or less in agreement that it’s pretty damn likely that dess is stuck in the void/code of the game like gaster is. there’s a good chance that she’s the voice in the strings that’s calling for help. so, going off of how i interpret her disappearance—if she’s just in a dark world, that doesn’t make much sense, right? how did she get into the void from there? and even if no one believed kris’s story, the bunker would have been searched. like, the “world inside the bunker” bit sounds like a stretch, but any reasonable adult would conclude that the kids probably tried to take shelter in there. but if the bunker had been searched, then they would have discovered the dark world in there, right??

okay, well. what if the fountain had been sealed?

i’m not sure who/what/how. i’m leaning towards some kind of freak accident. it seems that kris’s process for sealing the fountains is pretty automatic, so maybe if they were just... brought too close to it. maybe this is where their issues with their soul started. i don’t know. what i do have an idea of is this: the two times we’ve seen a fountain sealed, it “cleans up” a bit. the lightners are brought back into their world in a way that makes sense, either to them (noelle and berdly thinking they’re waking up from an accidental nap) or to anyone who might walk in on them (kris and susie looking like they just hung out in the old classroom playing chess and old board games). it’s a combination of intent and whether the lightners believe the dark world is real or not. so when dess uses all of her strength to pick up noelle and kris and shove them out of the world that’s crumbling away into nothingness, at her own expense, they are quite literally shoved out of the bunker and into the cold snow outside, quickly falling unconscious due to shock and because they probably hit their heads, and the double doors of the bunker swing shut behind them.

and dess is swept away with the dark world. she’s now stuck in-between the worlds of light and dark. she exists, and yet, she doesn’t. she has gaster for company, and yet, she doesn’t.

the snowgrave route has raised the question of what happens when a lightner’s soul is stuck when a dark fountain is sealed. what if the popular theory for dess’s fate is our answer? i think berdly’s case would be different in a lot of ways, for a lot of reasons, but the core of it remains the same. he’s stuck between existence and nonexistence, able to be reached through what is—from our perspective but who knows what it is from an in-universe perspective—the code of the game.

perhaps because he is a lightner, he is a little more There, a little more consistent, than gaster’s fragmented self. dess has someone to talk to. someone who happened to be her little sister’s close friend, someone who can tell her about the person noelle has grown into over the years. someone, who can tell her that something is wrong.

could be interesting if, together, they found a way to tear through the boundaries of reality and broke into a future dark world. i’m not sure how they would manifest, because while i’ve settled on dess retaining her body, years in the void has caused her to become a little more..malleable. kinda like mr. goop-i-mean-gaster. and the idea with berdly is that because his body was frozen in the dark world, his consciousness/soul/self/whatever you want to call it was separated and thrown into the void. he’s not physical, at all. but all that just opens the door to some fun design possibilities, doesn’t it? :)

#finally. an interpretation of That part of the snowgrave route that doesn't make me so upset i get nauseous. god #deltarune #berdly #dess #december holiday #snowgrave #hehe. normally this is the part where i write a secret second essay in the tags but i think i got out everything i wanted to say in the post #it's a miracle! that never happens! #definitely going to be tinkering with this concept here and there. because like. it's way easier on my brain and i can handle it #and i like the idea of berdly and dess becoming void-bound buddies quite a lot.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

HOLIDAY DASH GAME

I was nominated by @hobbitsdoitbetter (tysm💖 dear!) to quote any Christmas story or any story of mine that I wish got more love. As it's well past the holidays, I'm going with my beloved, Strangebatch WIP, 'Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight'.

Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC)

Since his return from that last mission, an unspoken urgency had flourished between them, which threatened the pattern of caution they’d been following to keep their secret safe.  Each time they slipped away now into their private world, Stephen had grown incrementally reckless, his need for her pressing him always forward.  Teyla counseled him to proceed with greater care, but was helpless as he swept her along, unable to decline his will for them.

Stephen’s recklessness had brought them to this alley tonight; his hot need to hold her, to touch her, to have her, overriding cooler reason.  Teyla had offered no defense, allowing him to pull her into the darkened alley without protest, within minutes of them meeting up.  He honestly hadn’t planned it this way, but the result was still the same.

Their bodies were pressed tightly together, with Teyla’s back against the coarse brick wall as she submitted herself to his hungry, bruising kisses.  She stretched her neck, humming deep in her throat at the greedy way he latched onto her tender flesh; her neck, throat, collarbone, all reddened in the flush of her desire, and from the rub of his goatee against her skin.  She flexed one hand in Stephen’s hair, and slid the other onto the delicious dip between his shoulder blades, holding him as close as the layers of material between her body and his would allow--their bodies housing no secrets from one another despite those maddening barriers of cotton and denim. “Oh my dearest…my love…,” she cooed, and then gasped his name when he palmed her breasts through her blouse. 

It wasn’t enough for him, could never be enough for him now. 

Stephen needed to rake up her top and feel the contours of her ribs on his way to hold her ripe little breasts fully in his hands—yet he hesitated, knowing the wall at her back would be too rough against her exposed skin.  “Do it,” she urged him, reckoning his need from his thoughts alone, “Touch me as you will, my love.  Your need is my desire as well…”  She trailed off into a heartfelt moan as he slipped both hands beneath the cloth and cupped her smoothly, rubbing her stiffened nipples with his thumbs and making her whimper helplessly. 

Teyla arched her back as he fondled her, arched into his hands, seeking his firmest contact with her virgin flesh.  He cursed inadvertently against her ear, at the sudden, gratifying heat that flared in his palms and thence to his wrists, up his arms, to course through his blood and fill his body with a flame which felt as though only she would be able to quell. Instinctively, Stephen knew this was her energy, pure as her heart, passing into him; there was no pain in this spectacular sensation, only the hunger to give back to her the same, from the depths of his heart.  “How is this happening?” he rumbled against her cheek.

“Because I love thee, Stephen,” she answered, lapsing into a patois of a Hadeethan mixed with English.  When his mouth recaptured hers, and she accepted the eager thrust of his tongue so she might suckle it luxuriously—the thrill of that intensifying the throbbing ache for her in his groin—Stephen realized he was hearing her in his mind.  'I love thee…I love thee…my heart, it is thine.' This startling intimacy awakened a need in him, a possessiveness, that shocked him.

'You are mine,' he thought back to her, spellbound by their connection; mine, he thought over and over.  'Mine tonight…and tomorrow…and always.  Let it be always, my sweet, little angel.  Good god…please…'  

And surely she heard him, even in the relentless depth of that kiss.  'I am, my darling…for as long as thee shall desire it of me,' she promised him.  Incredulous as much from the bond of their minds, as from the miracle that she loved him as he hadn’t dared to dream anyone could, Stephen gently pulled away, to study her face.  Her eyes remained shut as she panted softly, her beauty the same pure radiance he had witnessed in her astral form.

Understanding why he paused, feeling his disbelief that he was worthy of such devotion, Teyla leaned her head back enough so she could gaze up into his eyes.  Mercifully, tenderly, she reminded him, “My love, I am yours.  I have been, from our first kisses. Mayhap even before that night…”  Pictures flickered through his mind as she showed him how she had come to love him. Teyla laughing at something silly he had said; Teyla looking up at him empathetically, on the corner of Bleecker and Mercer; Teyla sobbing in his arms on her father’s kitchen floor.  In a half dozen heartbeats, she showed him a slew of little moments, wherein he was simply being himself, and all of them illustrating how her heart had fallen irretrievably to him—though in those moments he hadn’t had the eyes to see that amazing truth.  There he was, on the Sanctum roof with her in the moonlight, kissing her hand with sweet reverence; there he was kissing her mouth, on one of their secret excursions from Kamar-Taj, with her face cupped in his hands, and a patience that belied how much his blood had come to burn for her.    

Overwhelmed, Stephen hung his head down, feeling Teyla’s sweet breath whisper against his cheek; he splayed his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, trying his damnedest to collect himself.  Allowing him his silence, she waited upon him, threading her fingertips through his hairline at the nape of his neck, the palm of her hand blessedly cool upon his flushed skin.  She nuzzled his ear, to whisper against it, “Did you not know this, Stephen?  Your lips marked me as yours, on our night beneath the moonlight—as I am forever now, if you would have it so.”

Her confession left him weak and filled him with joy—tinged with a trace of shame for the physical hunger that threatened to overrule his better nature. He wondered if she read his lust as well as she read his tenderness for her.  Did she understand how his body cried out to take her—to tear through the material that guarded her innocence, to finally breach her after the countless encounters that had sent him to his bed, unable to calm himself except by lengthy meditation?  Some nights lately, even that discipline had failed him, and he could only find sleep by picturing her lying sweetly beneath him, beckoning for him to do whatever he desired, while his scarred hands worked the deed he yearned to do inside of her.  Would she still adore him if she knew that dirty secret?...

I nominate @strangelock221b @hithertoundreamtof23 @mckiwi @mousedetective @bakerstreethound @aelaer @couldntbedamned

#tag games #my writing #Of Magic Miracles and Moonlight #student/mentor to friends to lovers #older man/younger woman #romance #Stephen Strange #Teyla of Hadeeth #OFC #OC #stephen strange x ofc #stephen strange x oc #doctor strange x ofc #doctor strange x oc #doctor strange fan fiction #doctor strange fanfiction #stephen strange fanfiction #stephen strange fan fiction #Doctor Strange #Stephen x Teyla #streyla #Strangebatch #My Eternal Muse #Benedict Cumberbatch

[prettyboykatsuki]

fuck your inhibition. | k. bakugou

♢ tags ; very big age gaps (19 years), questionable ethics, ex deliquent / runaway reader (22), fighting / violence, brief mentions of living on the streets, retired pro-hero bakugou (41), emotionally charged sex, afab + masc!reader, top!reader, bottom bakugou, reader is really rough around the edges, backstory for reader, arguing, oral (both receiving),rimming (m!recieving), strap-ons (not a dom thing. no particular power dynamics), prone-bone, dirty talk, size difference (reader is smaller but no specifics), happy endings sort of.

no explicitly gendered terms for reader. usage of words like clit / cunt for readers body parts. reader is implied bisexual.

(also while this fic is certainly intended to be read as masc., it can just as easily be read as completely gn.)

♢ wc ; 10.2k (two days. this is so alarming)

♢ a/n ; happy birthday to my favorite guy. sorry in advance. this fic is so disgustingly self-indulgent. str8 self-inserty ngl. i simply dont want to look at it djskfgdf. this fic is pretty tame tho age gap aside. been a while since ive written for him. title is from "lemme know" by vince staples

♢ synopsis ; who knew that the boudoir pictures you've been getting off too your whole life would look so much better in person?

You’re not convinced there’s any way to get used to getting your lights knocked out. 

At this point, your fighting prowess is good enough that you can dodge swings from even heavy handed opponents. Just agile enough to bob and weave. Your reflexes are good too, from years of getting into with cops or otherwise. So getting absolutely dusted in a single, swift motion is not a frequent occurrence. 

That’s why you are sorely caught off guard when it happens to you in the back of an alleyway, tucked into a corner of Osaka—a long ways from home.

You were fucked from the minute you stepped foot off the train; you knew that instinctively. You haven’t been back in years and it’s not like you’re here for leisure. And sure, you took the job knowing there was some possibility you’d run into some old foes but shit. They couldn’t’ve waited till the week was over? 

3 days in and your life as a runaway comes back to bite you in the ass. Worse, they catch in front of the very storefront you were  working up the nerve to visit at the end of the week. If that old man catches you 1. making a ruckus in front of his cherished bakery and 2. fighting like those “worthless punks” that he openly detests, he’s definitely gonna be on your ass.

It’s amidst conflict, you decide to take the beating and wait it out. Hopefully, whatever higher power is looking over you will let you get out without busting your lip. 

But fuck, this last hit is leaving you worse for wear. You blink your eyes open and you’re still surrounded by him and his bunch of goons. What was this dudes name again…? Aka…Aka-something, you think. Without warning, you get another punch, a clean left-hook  - this time to your side. You cough at the sensation. 

Ah, life is so unfair to you. 

He grabs you by the front of your collar, dragging you upwards until you’re nose to nose. This fuckers breath is hot. Something warm slips down your nose, a rivulet of blood over your lips. You grunt. 

“I should’ve beat the shit out of you the first time.” 

You blink slowly as you regain your vision and sense. Despite many transgressions and altercations, your time in Osaka as a fugitive is notable. This bunch of fiends are a somewhat half-assed motorbike gang. It’s an old story. You stole and ruined  not one, not two, but four of their bikes total. In your defense you were a young kid scrounging for change - hotwiring and deconstructing for parts was always  pretty profitable. And stealing flashy bikes was a hell of a lot easier than scratching up your knees in the scrap yard. 

Ah, there was that other thing too. Why you’re pretty sure this guy has held such a grudge against you for god knows how long. Irritable with a bad sense of self-preservation, you give up on behaving well. 

“Yeah? No need to sulk now, right?” You grin, hands practically itching to throw him onto the ground. A familiar sense of adrenaline burns in your stomach. You should just hit him, but you don’t - instead opting to aim where you know it’s gonna piss him off most “How’s your little sister by the way?” 

Red flashes in his eyes, nose puffed like a bull. Despite your self-satisfaction, you close your eyes and pray to god he doesn’t actually kill you. There’s still some ass you have to tap before you die and it’d be a real shame to die only inches away. You cover your face when his fist winds up. Riling him up was probably a bad move.

Before you get your lights punched out forreal, an angel comes to rescue you. 

“Oi, you fuckin’ punks—go take this shit somewhere else or I’m gonna singe every last goddamn hair on your head.”

You smile, almost drunk on the adrenaline. An angel, indeed. A cursing, blonde, abrasive angel. 

“Oh, shit—we gotta get outta here. That dude Dynamight doesn’t fuck around”

Before you know it, said group of miscreants disperses like a swarm of flies. You find yourself stumbling back against a bunch of crates, back hitting them and sliding down, snagging in your work clothes. The leader says something about “not being finished with you yet,” but you don’t catch it with how your ears are ringing in your skull.

You rub your eyes and groan, seeing double. When you open them again, your favorite blonde old man is standing in front of you. Arms crossed over his chest, sporting that signature glare you’re so fond of. 

Your head is throbbing. Fuck it hurts. 

You only manage one sentence before promptly blacking out. 

“Did I die and go to heaven?”

— 

You wake up in a familiar bed. 

A bed you spent a lot of time resting in when you were out at on the streets here, something like four  years ago now. The memories of the time aren’t entirely pleasant - being a homeless runaway was pretty shit. But meeting your life long hero (and getting your rocks off in his bed) are quite fond regardless. You’re surrounded by nice, white linen sheets that you’re pretty sure cost more than you make in a month. He’s not really much of a flashy character despite his career, but he does have an eye for the finer things. 

You haven’t been back here in a while. Since moving to a different prefecture, you haven’t had any good reason to come see him. This week was a good excuse for just that. Didn’t exactly plan on it happening like this, but you can’t really win 'em all. You’d consider being back here a win on your part regardless. 

The fact that you’re here instead of molding in the pouring rain means that he dragged you up there by himself. A fact you try not to put too much stock into, because he’s still a pro even if he’s retired. What makes it hard not to feel giddy about it is the fact you’re all cleaned up. Bandaged wounds and all, he even took off your shoes. Jeez, he’s gonna kill you one of these days acting so cute. 

You turn to lay on your back, reaching your hand to the ceiling and making a fist. Your knuckles are still pretty bruised up but it’s clear he took some time to check over them. You drop your hand down, squeezing a fist over your chest and sighing. You roll over again. 

“Still giving me so many mixed signals.” You say, half in jest, trying not to be too affected by it “Ah, fuck, this is bad. Gonna end up doing something weird just like old times.” 

Before you commit another act of degeneracy in the bed of your long time crush and childhood hero, you sit up with your legs over the edge. He took your pants off too, a pair of boxers hung low on your hips. Your back is fucking killing you. 

You stand to your feet, scratching the back of your neck as you turn to examine yourself in the mirror. You pull your tank up over your side, a bruise the size of a melon developing on you. It goes from just under your chest all the way down to above your waist. You press your finger to it and wince at the sensation of pain, dull but throbbing so deep in your nerves you can’t help but feel it. 

You examine the rest of you, turning to either side. Work tomorrow is gonna fucking blow, but considering you don’t have any broken ribs - you think it’s not the worst it could be. No stitches either, so a win overall. If the rest of the week passed by silently that’d  be perfect. 

You look around the room for your things. They’re in a neat chair in the corner of the room.  Bakugou’s cat is over there too, asleep on your uniform. You can hear something faint from downstairs, the sound of a T.V. playing. You should drop down there since you’re awake  but you’re reluctant. You wonder if he’ll chase you out since you’re up. If he still has as much of a soft spot for you as he used to, it couldn’t hurt to test your luck. 

You open up the bedroom door and shut it quietly before padding down stairs. 

You end up finding him where you’d expect him.  He’s in the kitchen with an apron on, a fitted gray shirt with a piping bag in hand.

 He looks older every time you see him. His hair isn’t all gray yet but the platinum is starting to turn brilliant white. There’s lines in his face that weren’t always there, even with the scars and fine wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He’s still as jacked as he used to be, but it’s softened up. Mostly it’s his personality, you find, to be mellow. Only someone with patience could take up such a tedious hobby after an entire life out in the field - killing baddies and chasing thugs and whatever other shit hero’s do. 

It’s kind of ridiculous that he’s piping delicate little designs onto some pastries, but unfortunately for you it only adds to his charm. You lean against the wall coming into the kitchen, in the frame. Half-dressed with your lips quirked up in a coy smile. 

“Whatcha makin’ old man?” 

“Don’t break my concentration you noisy brat,” He says straightforwardly “Sit down and shut up.” 

“So cranky,” You muse,  but ultimately comply, sitting at a chair on the kitchen island. Looks like he’s on his last round of whatever he’s making. 

You get by on staring at him. It’s pretty typical for you even now. Sitting here in front of him doesn’t feel as awkward as you expected, which is worth something. When he’s finally finished, he puts the piping bag on the counter and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. 

“Permission to speak, sarge?” You ask, sarcastically. He frowns at you. 

“Not granted.” 

“Cold as ever huh,” You say, leaning your elbow on the counter - palm on your cheek “Thought distance was supposed to make the heart grow fonder?” 

“That only counts if there’s fondness in the first place.” He says with ease. This time you scoff at him, but he cuts you off before you get a chance to reply “You wake up with any pain?” 

“Worry about yourself, you old bastard,” You say impudently. You see the corners of his lips twitch as he stares at you “‘m fine. Got a nasty bruise on my side but my ribs aren’t broken. Work tomorrow is gonna suck.” 

“That why you’re back here?” 

“For about a week, yeah.” 

“Confidential?” 

You shake your head and lean back. 

“Nah. Bodyguarding some rich dude’s kid. Birthday tomorrow. Spent the first two days being a lousy maid but the pay is good so I can’t complain.” 

“Shit. The party is tomorrow? I have an order for tomorrow.” 

“Guess you’re not senile yet, old man.” 

“Fuck off,” Bakugou says, not bothering to hide to his expression “How old’s the kid?

“A little younger than me I’d guess. 19 or so.” 

“Isn’t this a good opportunity to get laid?” He suggests like he’s purposefully trying to irritate you. He already knows how you feel. Why he insists on pretending is beyond you but it never fucking fails to piss you off. 

You shoot him a glare. 

“Nevermind. You’re definitely senile. Might wanna try some puzzle games to keep your shit in tact before you start peeing in public and buying ten pairs of the same pants.” 

“You’re still just as mouthy as I remember.” 

“Learned from the best.” 

A comfortable silence settles as a weird feeling overtakes you. Fuck, you’re still pining your youth away after all this time. Maybe getting laid would fix some of your issues, but no one is gonna hold a candle to having the real thing. You rub your temple in preemptive apprehension. Bakugou starts working on cleaning up the kitchen, and you resign yourself to thinking about what you’re gonna do. 

It catches you off-guard when he talks to you first. 

“Earlier,” He says, opening up the fridge to rearrange it “Why weren’t you fighting back?” 

You don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry hearing him ask. You don’t feel like softening the blow with your usual shit, so you give it to him straight. 

“It doesn’t suit a tactical genius to play dumb, old man.” 

He stiffens, then sighs. 

“Still hung up on that, huh.” 

Oh now you’re gonna get pissed. 

“Don’t.” You warn, low and indifferent. He sighs, sliding a tray into the fridge and “Don’t piss me off, alright?” 

“Hey. You shitty punk. When are you gonna get it through your thick skull I’m doing this for your fucking sake? Stop—”

“Next time, just leave me in the rain.” You seethe, venom in your voice, making you numb and agitated. He stops, breath hitching “I don’t give a shit if you’re a retired  hero. I’m serious. Leave me out in the alley next time if you’re gonna pull the mentor act again..”

Man this sucks. 

Not like you were expecting some heart warming love story out of a guy like him but still. You didn’t think he wouldn’t budge at all. You can feel yourself getting angry just thinking about it. It might’ve been better not to come. Mentor or not, his whole dismissal never fails to annoy you to your core. You knew that before the week started he might be like this. Maybe if shit went your way - you could’ve had a regular reunion. But now, he just had to see you getting beat up on purpose and he just had to fucking ask about it. 

Seriously, where’s his decorum? Prick. 

“Kid.” 

“Don’t—I needa get outta here. I shouldn’tve—fuck, this blows.”

You stand to your feet before you have a chance to look back. You feel kind of pathetic running away again but it’s still the preferable option to having this fight a second time. It’s something you’re just too sensitive about to deal with head on. Getting rejected twice by the guy you’ve been in love with since you were nineteen is bound to fuck you up abs you don’t have it in you not to drink yourself into a fit. 

So you’re practically running up the stairs, but you can hear him calling behind you. You go into the bedroom to get your things and Bakugou follows you into it predictably, shutting the door.  You turn around to him, annoyed. 

“Get outta my way.” 

“No. Not while you’re all pissy. Gonna get yourself hit by a car.” 

“What’d I just say about cooling it with the mentor act, man?” 

“It’s not a fuckin’—it’s not an act.” He says, with a sigh that almost makes you feel bad, “I haven’t seen you in two years.” 

“Two years is nothing. Old age is making you soft,” You scoff, arms crossed over your chest “But I don’t need your sympathy. My feelings haven’t changed.” 

“Kid.” 

“I’m not a kid anymore, alright? Cleaned my act up, got a job and a license and a place. Haven’t slept in a cell in two years. Been off the streets that whole time just like you told me to do.  The least you could do is take me seriously.” 

“I didn’t want you to do that shit for me. I wanted you to do it for you.” 

“Too bad,” You reply back almost immediately, pinching the bridge of your nose “Save your lecture for the next injured bird you raise up and leave me out of it.” 

“I’m trying to put you on the right path, you ungrateful little jackass. Don’t act like—“

“Spare me the goddamn lecture.” 

There’s a quiet silence befalls the both of you. Shit is going nowhere fast and you both know it, Bakugou as much as you do. Memories of your last argument come back to you almost instantly. 

After you turned eighteen, you were run out of the orphanage you’d spent part of your adolescence at. It’s a pretty regular sob story and you’re quite the sad sap. A dead mom in Mustafu and an absent father. You had a strong quirk, and hell maybe if you grew up different - you could’ve been a hero. 

Shit didn’t  work out that way, so at 11 you were thrown to the wolves. It’s not a fun time to look back on and you figure there’s no use thinking about the past. You did whatever you had to to survive which mostly meant being in and out of orphanages and running away whenever the next worthless schmuck tried to take advantage of you. You always got away by the skin of your teeth, and made money doing whatever you could. If it put food on the table, you’d have probably done it at least once.

It’s something of a cliche, but Dynamight was your idol. You liked that he wasn’t like other heroes. He was crass and hardcore and liked to talk shit. He was cool. You spent a lot of time hanging around T.V. stores watching him through the glass, watching interviews on your first hand-me-down phone. Even though he didn’t really have the tragic backstory, you always thought he was courageous and honest. 

A celebrity crush and idol combined, you stole more of his pin-up magazines than you’re entirely comfortable with. A lot of them you still own, shoved into the back of your closet. 

Once you’d turned 18, your life of petty crime had brought you all the way down to Osaka. It was also the worst year of your life. Social agencies seem to get off on tossing kids into the streets as soon as they can and with a criminal record like yours, there wasn’t a whole lot you could do. 

You spent the first 6 months knee deep in all sorts of shit. That’s when you ran into that biker gang for the first time. You hung around bars and slept with strangers for a place to sleep. A lot of bad shit happened and it wasn’t getting any easier. 

It was a cold, rainy day when you met Dynamight for the first time. The worst day of your life, more accurately. You got mugged and lost your job all in the same few hours and you were pretty sure god himself was spitting at your face. 

But it wasn’t all bad. Cheesy as it sounds, meeting your hero was worth the trouble. 

He was different off camera. That was the first thing you thought when you talked to him. He had a softer way of speaking and he was weirdly perceptive. He didn’t talk much, either - at least not at first. You spent a lot of time in comfortable silence. The first time, you didn’t do much more than share a meal. He asked you about your life. He gave you money for a hotel too. The only thing you could think to do was ask when you could see him again. 

He was 36 at the time. Hadn’t retired yet, either. 

That was the beginning of your long relationship. To this day, you don’t know why he decided to involve himself with you. It’s a mystery you’ve yet to get answers for and maybe you never will. Sure he was a hero, but you’re sure he’s seen a lot worse. Why take pity on you in particular? Whenever you ask him about it, he usually just scoffs. Sometimes he’ll tell you that you reminded him of someone. Who that person could be is lost on you even now.

It was a gradual relationship. You were young and persistent, but he never turned you away either. Sure he’d been a good influence, but stopping a life of crime wasn’t easy. You got arrested for some months after meeting. Bakugou took you in when you were 19 and homeless - let you stay with him. He retired at 37, opening up a bakery in Osaka. The place you’re staying in now is just over it. The same one you spent two years of your life falling in love with the old bastard. 

It was hard not too. You’d admired him for a long time, and he managed to supercede your low expectations. It wasn’t the first time you fell in love but it was definitely the strongest sensation. You tried to ignore it for a while but that didn’t work out for shit either. 

You confessed to him on your 20th birthday. Made a whole big deal with flowers and candles and shit. And again - it’s not like you were expecting romance out of the motherfucker. A flat-out rejection would’ve sufficed. 

But…that wasn’t what you got either. 

The whole reason for your fight wasn’t just because he didn’t have feelings for you. He made it a whole big fucking deal trying to tell you about your feelings. That you needed to get your shit together and grow up and that it was a phase that you’d grow out of. That he “really cares about you, kid” and that he’s just trying to do what was right by you as an adult. 

(“You’ve got no idea what the fuck I’m like either. Been through some tough shit and you latched onto me, alright? So don’t go wastin’ your time.”) 

You don’t really give a fuck about how old he is or about his status. None of it matters to you in the slightest. What was pissing you off all that time was him not taking you seriously after everything you’d been through together. Trying to tell you would fucking grow out of it and that it was a waste. You got into an argument after that, and like you’ve been doing your whole life - you ran away. Back to Shizuoka where you started to get your life together. 

Hit the books and studied your ass off, graduating late from a night school and then picking up a vocational school to fall back on. Some old connections got you a job in security and you bounced from place to place in the meanwhile. You even got your license and bought a beat-up cruiser that you fix-up when you have the chance. 

You grew up so to speak. You came back here trying to prove that. Being dismissed so fucking quickly makes you feel rage beyond reason so you’re trying to step back. Seriously, two fucking years and nothing. Not even a pity “I’m proud of you.” 

“Just admit it,” You sneer, inching closer to him “It’s not about any of that shit, is it?”

He widens his eyes as you stalk towards him.

“The fuck are you—“

“Don’t play stupid. You feel guilty, right? Feel all wound up cause you know it’s not nothing. This isn’t nothing”

This time he goes silent. Fucking bullseye.

“You thought I forgot? How you kissed me all tipsy? Thought I didn’t notice you looking?”

Oh it feels good to let it all out. He shrinks, this time unable to say anything. You both know it’s true. 

“Look—“ He puts hands on your shoulders as you back him into the wall “You’re too fucking young for all this. And about me, you don’t know—”

You lean into him, face inches apart. You already know what he’s gonna tell you, almost word for word. Trying to maintain some innocence you hardly have anything left of. 

“You sure? I heard you through those walls plenty of times. You take dick like a champ.” 

“Shut the hell up. This is for your own good, we can’t do this.”

You can hardly believe he’s still being like this. 

“I used to know you were home. When I brought people over,” You whisper low against his skin. His eyes widen “You heard me too, I’m sure. So, be honest Mr. Dynamight, you think I can’t give you what you want or are you too afraid to find out?”

“You’re such a fucking punk.” He grits out. Still not denying your words. 

“That’s right,” You muse, words heated and heavy “I’m a worthless street punk trying to fuck the old man upstairs ‘cause I don’t know any better.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve kissed Bakugou in your life. The first time was when you came over to his place tipsy. In front of all the other pro-heros you had admired so much. It’s different this time. Not only are you both shockingly sober, there’s an aggression in it that wouldn’t be there before. No matter how begrudging he acts, he’s still kissing you back just as hard as you’d expect him too. His lips are softer than you thought they’d be, arms wrapped around your neck. Fuck he’s still so huge. How much does he work out to still be this jacked?

You can’t even imagine how that’s gonna look when you finally get to fuck him. Shit, just thinking about it sends electricity through your spine. You groan a little into his mouth, your hands tucked on his nape and tugging at the fine hairs. You push your incisors into his lower lip and tug, pulling away just slightly to intake how fucking flushed he is.

 He looks like a pornstar,

You pull away, hand cupping his jaw and forcing his mouth open. You’re gonna lose it if you stare too long. 

“You’re so fucking sexy.” 

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” He mumbles. You laugh lightly at him. 

“Your cocky attitude is pretty sexy too,” You hum, amused. You kiss him one more time, hands reaching for the thickest part of his waist. He’s built like a trunk, but his reactions are almost girlish. The contrast is making you twitch. 

“Can’t say the same for you.” He spits. Your grin splits your face as you pull away from him, teeth nipping at his jaw. You can feel the scruff of his skin, unshaved as you let your tongue travel over it. 

“Aw, what? You don’t think I’m sexy.” You nudge a knee between his legs feeling the half-hard outline of his cock. You shudder “You sure about that?” 

“What the hell are they feeding brats like you?” 

“Liquor and cigarettes.” 

“Since when do you smoke?” 

“Helps me relax after work,” You whisper against the shell of his ear, teeth tugging at the lobe before “I get pretty stressed out. Sure you know something about that.” 

“Hngh, fuck. Fuck you.” 

“Do you even know how? Not like that thing gets much use, huh?” 

You reach down to cup his cock through his jeans, hard against the palm of your hand. He pushes his hips up slightly, sharpened glare. He pants. 

“You sound, shit, so fucking sure.” 

“I am sure. I’m looking to fuck you, not the other way around. Not sure how that’s gonna work since I don’t got my stuff on me.” 

You’re not sure what you’re expecting him to say. This whole thing is feeling like a fever dream you can’t wake up out of. Maybe he’ll give you a suggestion on what else to do.. But instead of that, a blush crawls onto his face. It leaves you floored. He looks away from you. 

“...Your shits still where you left it.” 

It takes you a second to register what he means. When you do, you can feel your brows hit your fucking hairline. There’s no way he’s saying what you think he is. 

“You’re shitting me.” 

“Shut the fuck up. I thought you’d come to pick it back up but you never did, and I went to go move it into some boxes. I didn’t have any reason to toss it.” 

A thought crosses into your mind. 

“Hey. Old man. Where is it?” 

He stares at you. You grasp onto him firmer, making him gasp. You can feel how heavy his cock is in your hands, rubbing it through the cloth of his sweats. You whisper harsh into his ears. 

“If I open your goddamn drawer right now, tell me, am I gonna find my old strap in it? Clean and getting use? You been fucking yourself with the thing I used to lay dick with?” 

When he doesn’t answer, pure glee ignites in you. He can’t answer, apparently. But his face is a harsh, permanent red now and his cock is painfully hard. You want to rail him into the fucking floor just for that. You wouldn’t make up some shit like that in your wildest dreams, so the fact that he’s not denying it makes your insides feel like they’re melting. You rub yourself against him, feeling how slick and hard your clit is just thinking about it. 

“Go lay down.” 

“Are you telling me what to do?” 

You grab his ass as hard as you can before landing a hit on it that makes him nearly topple over. Even though he’s bigger than you in more ways than one, he reacts like that. His anger only lasts so long before it morphs into want. 

“Of course I am. And you’re gonna listen.” 

“What makes you so sure about that, huh? You think you can satisfy me?” 

“You think you’re gonna intimidate me into backing down? After knowing you fuck your tight little ass to the thought of me? Fat chance.” 

“I didn’t say anything like that.” 

You laugh “You implied it. Now go lay down. Where’s your lube?” 

He frowns at you. 

“In the same drawer.” 

You give him a knowing grin to which he shoves your face away. Ultimately though he listens to you, lying and making himself comfortable in the sheet as you grab whatevers in his little sex drawer. He wasn’t kidding about the strap, the lube seated next to it. You grab both quickly and join him, hovering over him. 

You opt not to talk, slowing your pace to appreciate the view. You think he’s says something. Asks about what you’re doing and why - but you tune the words out as you run your hands over the curves of his body. He’s a wall of fucking muscle, his arms especially with a torso just tight enough for you to grab. The fabric of his shirt doesn’t leave much for imagination, but you’re still overwhelmed as you pull it up over his waist, his chest, his arms. The fabric comes loose and it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’ve got plenty of porn mags in your back pocket and even more boudoir shoots from him that you’ve stared at for hours. 

But seeing it in person is completely different. You can see the rise and fall of his chest - the raised skin of a scar and plenty of over scratches and wounds. Fuck, he is so sexy and you are so drunk on lust you almost feel sick. 

“Somethin’ catch your eye?” 

His voice draws you out of the trance you're in, a lazy smirk spread on his face. You laugh. 

“I get why you’re such a show-off,” This time you lean forward to kiss him - a hand wrapped around his throat, spare going to grab his chest. His tits are soft, they look like hard muscle and sinew but the fat is squished in your palms to perfectly for that“Fuck.” 

“You’re acting like a horny teenager.” He says flatly.  

“Been thinking about fucking you that long, so I guess so.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Why’re you so shocked?” You make work kissing down his neck slowly, down his chest, one tweaking his nipple while your mouth makes work on the other one He swears above you, another wave of heat pulsing in your body “Don’t you hear shit like that all the time?” 

“Shit that feels—I didn’t think you were, hngh—serious.” 

“Obviously not. I still have all your slutty ass photos in my apartment somewhere.” 

He pants. Makes the prettiest fucking sounds for you as you grope and squeeze and touch his body. You bite, hard, into his tits leaving a red mark of teeth that makes him shudder. You need to do it all over again. 

“Haah, fuck. What the fuck?” 

“You’re way sexier in person if that’s worth anything,” You groan, a shudder passing through you “Like way sexier.” 

He looks like he wants to say something to you but the words die in his mouth. You laugh as you peer over him. His reactions are fucking adorable. Face is hot with a flush, watery eyes. Pretty. As much he’s rugged and strong and downright handsome, he is annoyingly fucking pretty. Having him underneath you is making all the power go to your head. Nothing feels more appealing to you right now than the idea of wrecking him completely. 

You kiss down his body until you’re at his waist, taking his pants off unceremoniously. You have half a mind to rip them but you’re sure they’re expensive. He lifts his legs for you anyways, leaving a tight pair of boxers that leave nothing for the imagination at all. 

“What the fuck,” You mumble, getting face to face with it. You pull the boxers off slowly, kissing his hip as you do. His cock pops out slowly as you pull it down. What an asshole. His dick is impossibly big too. A tuft of well trimmed blonde hairs sit neat at the base and the tip is a harsh red. There’s a little drop of pre-cum dribbling down the shaft that makes your brain feel fuzzy. It’s veiny too, tight balls sitting net at the base. 

Another shiver wracks through you, as you reach your hand out to touch it tentatively. He groans sharply. You stick your tongue out, licking up from base to tip. He tastes of salt and skin, but it isn’t bad. You let your tongue lick at the slit, elated looking at him squirm underneath you. 

“Nice dick.” You say back plainly. He snorts. 

“Fuck off.” 

‘’m serious,” You add, letting your eyes lid to look more serious “I don’t blow just anyone.” 

You open your mouth wide, pulling lips over teeth as you ease the tip slowly. It’s hot. Hard as steel and intrusive against your tongue, you can feel it throb. Pulsing relentlessly, you lower yourself onto it slowly - taking as much in as you can. It’s difficult and messy, tongue out to cover as much as you can. You suction your mouth slowly, hollowing your cheeks. There’s something that feels so good about having him in your mouth, something even better about watching the faces of pleasure he makes above you. 

You hum in appreciation and the vibrations prove to be too much as he nearly thrusts his dick into your throat. You brace yourself for it happening again - setting an even pace. He looks good like that, drowned in pleasure and unsure of what to do with himself. You wonder if it’s been a while since he’s acting so fucking cute about it. You assume as much. 

What he said before, you wonder if he was picturing it. If he felt guilty about it. The idea of him jerking off in shame over the thought of his dick in your mouth makes your spine tingle. You cup his balls in your hand, squeezing gently as you get into a steady rhythm. You feel him above you trying to hold it all in, the muscles in his abdomen tightening each time you manage to get down further. It’s hard to breathe, the back of your throat feels narrow. Your skin is on fire. 

“Fuck, fuck—where’d you learn how to—fuck!” 

You feel him getting ready to cum, so you pull off swiftly. A delicious, needy whine comes out of his throat that leaves you mesmerized. 

“What the hell?” He mumbles, heaving. You laugh. 

“Hey,” You hum, lifting his hips until you can see his hole - pink and twitching “Every had someone eat your ass?” 

“Are you offering?” 

“Yeah.” You say back, kissing the insides of his thighs, gripping the muscle “I wanna know if it feels good for you.” 

For whatever reason, this statement in particular makes his skin tinge pink. You hold back a laugh internally. 

“So fucking weird.” 

“Is that a no?” 

“Do whatever you want.” 

You chuckle at that. You sink your teeth into him again, this time working on the build up. His muscles give tension to your incessant biting, hard bone against muscle as you mark up his thick thighs. His ass is nice like you’d expect, tight and muscular. You work your way towards his hole slowly, thumb circling the tight ring of muscle first to gauge his reaction. He shudders, making you hold back a laugh.

“Kinda sensitive,” You say amused. You can feel him glaring without having to look “You can’t cum without it now, right?” 

You’re mostly saying it in jest but the prolonged silence leaves you at a loss for words. Your eyes snap up at him, watching him huff and puff in embarrassment. Heat rolls through your body. 

“It’s not like I fucking can’t ever, alright?” 

“You’re too cute for your own good.” 

“Don’t fucking call me cute you shitty little brat.” 

“But you’re acting kinda adorable, old man,” You say slyly. You stick your tongue out, licking a long stripe against him. He shakes “Blushing up a fucking storm. Been a while?” 

“Not really.” 

“Oh, so it’s just ‘cause it’s me then?” 

He looks like a fucking cherry. You laugh. 

“To think you were so against it. How’d you hide your expressions that long? Did it help you to masturbate to the thought of me fucking you?” 

“Would you shut up?” 

“I don’t feel like it.” 

Before he can scold you any more, you let your tongue slip against the exposed rim. The reaction is tentative at first, slow licks trying to gauge if this is something he’s even into. You do it again and again, burying yourself deep. He makes a noise that you recognize to be a muffled moan. You groan in appreciation, repeating the action - letting yourself dip into the tightness of it. You can feel the muscles of his body go taut as you grip him - hands over the tops of his thighs. The action is more shameless the longer you let yourself indulge.

You’ll have to fuck him open anyways before you actually get on top. You think doing this much will make everything easier. Mostly you’re doing it because you like seeing him embarrassed. The gap in appearance vs expression never gets old. Seeing like this repeatedly proves to be novel and fuck knows if he’s gonna let you do it again any time soon. You’re more than determined to squeeze out every last ounce of his pride. 

You want to see everything. 

And frankly, pleasuring him like this is driving you all kinds of crazy. Not like you’ve ever been a selfish lover. Always aiming to please or whatever. But he’s got such a raw fucking sex appeal looking the way he does it’s making you drip. You’re pretty damn sure you’ve soaked through everything you have on and you’re not sure how much longer you’re gonna make it without touching yourself. 

It’s all material you’re committing to memory, either way. If anyone saw him like this, you’re pretty sure they’d fall head over heels just like you. It’s hard not to give him everything he’s ever wanted Not to want to fuck him within an inch of his life, just to see his big muscular frame curl in on itself. He’d look so good all messed up, all knotted with pleasure. 

You can feel it again this time, another wave of desire that makes his cock twitch. You wrap your finger around the shaft, holding it around his balls so he doesn’t cum without asking you. He lets out a noise of disapproval that you ignore, pulling your mouth away. Pre-cum dribbles out of tip. You use your finger to swipe it up and lick it. 

He looks scandalized. 

“Not bad. You eat clean huh.” 

“You’re going to kill me someday.” 

“You’re too young and too healthy to die.” 

He makes a face of disapproval at you. You toss him the lube before grabbing the strap. 

“Think you can work yourself open for me tough guy? Normally, I’d do it myself. Edge you out nice and slow, get you all soft. But I’m dying to fuck you already and I wanna make you cum on my cock.”

He looks at you exasperated. 

“Where’d you learn to talk like that?” 

“Casual sex and porn mags. You don’t like it?” 

“It makes you sound your age.” 

“Want me a little more suave? Tell you that I’m gonna make love to you?” 

He snorts. You take off your boxers and sit up on your knees as Bakugou opens the lube in his hands. You watch him idly, mostly focusing on wiggling yourself in the harness and making sure it’s comfortable enough to fuck in. 

He takes a deep breath, and you watch him reach between his legs. How it’s difficult since he’s so muscular. You almost want to help him, but instead you get between his legs again. Stood on your knees with a heavy bit of silicone weighing you down. You connect the tip to his, watching him push a finger in slowly. 

“Not if you say it like that.” 

“Having trouble there?” 

“You piece of shit.” 

“A worthless punk or something. C’mon, just say it. Ask me to finger your ass so I can fuck you. Or you want me to say something more delicate?” 

“Fuck, c’mon just, help me already.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

“....Please, you worthless asshole.” 

You grin, grabbing the lube from the bed and squeezing it into your fingers. You laugh, leaning over him. 

“Got some manners left in you after everything, huh?”

You pull him down towards him by the waist, pulling his legs up. You kiss the inside of his knees, nudging his legs apart as you position your hands, warming the lube between your fingers. He’s surprised by your strength, but you don’t do anything but grin. 

“Keep your legs up for me, yeah?”

He scoffs but doesn’t go against your will. He looks good waiting for you like that, so you don’t take too much time trying to split him open. His hands are thicker than yours, so your first finger slides in like it’s nothing. He’s soft and hot on the inside, and the way he accommodates you lets you know this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

It doesn’t irritate you as much as you think it should. Maybe you’re a little screwed up to think it’s sexy but the idea of him getting fucked at any point is turn on. Once you’re down to the knuckle and you can pump in and out of him easily, you use a second finger to stretch him further. There’s more resistance so you slow, feeling up against his walls for the place you know it’ll feel good. 

You know you find it because his whole body tightens up in front of you. His eyes shoot open and he’s all breathy and fucked out. You relish in it. 

“Right there?” 

He must be feeling good with how little he’s combating you. 

“Y-yeah.” 

You lean forward to plant a kiss on him again but this time it’s tender. He must feel really good because he wraps his arms around your neck to keep you there. You moan in surprise and when you pull back he looks hazed out of his mind.

“Didn’t know you could make a face like that.” You say, amused. He frowns at you. 

“I’m not happy about it either.” 

A laugh falls out of you and you catch the faintest whisper of a smile on his lips that has you kissing the corners of his mouth. He catches himself before he leans into it too easily, but you notice before he can shy away. 

“Looks like I’m making your heart flutter. Forget the ethics for a little and let me.” 

“I should toss you out of a fucking window.” 

“You’re not gonna though.” 

This he doesn’t reply to. You slip a third finger while he’s distracted and he gasps. This time he’s almost stretched completely. You give him a minute to breathe, swallowing up the little sounds he makes with a hearty grin. It’s so fucking good just doing this. Incredible. Way better than you could’ve ever imagined. 

“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you,” You say, bemused. He’s delirious enough to laugh. 

“The stamina of youths scares the hell outta me.” 

“I don’t wanna hear it from a retired pro.” 

This time he grins. You find yourself pleased with the development. 

He’s stretched now, and restless. You pull your hand away and rub the remaining slick onto the tip of your cock, giving him a look. 

“Do you know how you want me?” 

“It’s your fantasy fuck,” He says, semi-sarcastically “Do whatever you want.” 

You laugh, tapping his ass lightly. 

“Turn over and stick your ass up a little.” 

“Don’t wanna see my face?” 

“Wanna see how you swallow my cock up like it’s nothing, more like.” 

He curses under his breath. You feel accomplished. He turns over just like you’ve asked him too and fuck the sight of him is way too much. You can’t get over it. He’s big and strong and trembling with desire and it’s driving your sex-drive as high as it can possibly go. You move so your knees are on either side of his thighs. Leaning forward, you lick up from the small of his spine all the way up his shoulder, before sinking your teeth in the junction in between. 

He groans underneath you, and your hands make themself present around his hips. Most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The fucking arch and the scars and the ruggedness of all of it. 

“You’re damn gorgeous.” You say, with utter and sincere appreciation “It’s driving me fucking crazy.” 

“Save your smooth talk.” 

“I’m bein’ serious,” You say, pulling his ass apart with your palms “Like. Woah.” 

He snorts “Real poetic.” 

“I barely graduated school, asshat.” 

In the midst of your bantering, you let the tip of your cock slip into him slowly. It steals the words of reply out of his mouth in an instant. You can feel him melt underneath you. At the intrusion, at the feeling. At every single sensation. You feel the phantom of it in your spine. Like there’s fireworks in all your nerve-endings, just watching how his ass looks around it. Just the tip with no movement, no adjusting. 

He’s silent, shuddering - holding onto a pillow. A bead of sweat rolls down his spine. He has little dimples in his back. You groan. 

“Shit. Look at you.” 

The praise seems to make him keen. He’s always been one to like the attention. You roll your hips, fucking another inch into him agonizingly slow. He moans like he’s deflating, breathing ragged and voice raw. You rock back and forth until there’s no longer anything to resist, then push in and in and in. 

Once you bottom out with his ass against your pelvis and your hips on the back of his thighs, you lean forward and press your weight on top of him. You think he’s expecting something else, because he seems surprised. But you let yourself weigh upon him, then with a heavy grunt - cup his jaw and tilt his head to kiss him. 

“You like that?” 

“Shut up.” 

“C’mon. Be honest. You look like you like it. Ears turning so red.” 

He groans. 

“In your fucking dreams.” 

“Still not gonna budge huh?” You say. anchoring yourself at his sides with a deep sigh “So stubborn.” 

When you feel stable enough to move, you don’t hesitate to fuck him with all of the expertise you have. You give it to him in just the right way, measure up to where he needs you but don’t give in quite enough. It’s a strenuous affair but you keep it at. A steady pace that’s hard and deep but not good enough to make him cum. Something to leave him on the edge, you fuck him just like that. The sound of skin hitting skin and short, broken moans echo in the room. 

You focus on taking him like that, making sure each and every thrust is precise and calculated until he gets where you want him to be. You can practically feel when it’s starting to really get to him. When he can no longer hold himself up, so resigns to smushing his face against the pillow and going limp. You lean up, moving so you can pull his hips back with you - hovering off the bed on his knees instead of laying on his stomach. 

This time you reach deeper. His whining gets louder, more in tune with everything. You laugh as you reach around him, hands gripping at the base of his cock. It takes patience to unravel him like this, matching your hands to your movements until everything is in a slow, steady synchronization. Fast but not fast enough. Hard, but not hard enough. Close but not close enough. 

He lets out a heady groan that reverberates in his chest, opening his mouth finally. 

“C-c’mon. Just. C’mon.” 

“Aw what?” You say, rolling your hips up against him, where you know he wants you most “What is it, hm? Did you want something?” 

“Fuck. Just. Fuck me already.” 

“I am fucking you, though?” 

“You know what I mean!” 

“Oh, you want me to fuck you harder? Make you cum? I thought you didn’t like it.” 

He groans, dropping against the pillows again. 

“I didn’t say that. C’mon just. Please.” 

His voice is hoarse when he asks. You laugh against his shoulders, listening to his requests. Giving it to him how he needs it. Harder and a little deeper, you can feel it now. How you knock into the place inside him that leaves him trembling and shaking. You can read his cues now, when he starts getting close. But of course it’s not gonna be that easy. 

You keep the pace stand, putting your hand on the tip of his cock. You rub your thumb over the slit and hold it there. He sucks in a breath, whining a little. 

“Wanna cum so bad?” You offer, mouth twisted in a feral grin “Tell me you love me.” 

This knocks the wind out of him. 

“What?” 

“Say you love me with all your heart and I’ll let you cum.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking with me.” 

You fuck into him hard right where he needs you. He moans. 

“Nah. My fantasy fuck, remember? Right now, we’re playing love birds.’ Like’ works too, I guess. If you’re too scared,” You half-way mock, starting a pace now that borders cruel “Now say it nice and sweet and I’ll let you cum.” 

“You’re such a—agh, fuck,” He shudders against the bedsheets, repeating himself as you pound him. It’s easy to piston your hips. He’s so sensitive to begin with that it doesn’t take much “You’re insane.” 

“C’mon, old man. Confess your feelings to me like we’re sweethearts.” 

“In your dr—oh, shit.” 

“What was’at? Did you wanna say something?” 

You can practically feel him turn it over in his head. You’re mostly doing it to mess with him. Punishment for all of his beating around the bush and bullshitting. Getting to fuck him has been more than enough. 

So you’re not expecting him to stop you. To turn over flat on his back and lay with his legs spread and wrap his arms around your waist and stare at you through hazy, flushed eyes. This time you’re really looking at him. At the lines on his face and the scruff and an expression torn with time and desire and lust. Your heart nearly falls out of your fucking ass when he wraps his arms around your neck, palming your nape and pushing your foreheads together. 

When you’re nose to nose, he looks very serious all of a sudden. You swallow something in your throat, unsure of what else to do. 

“Gonna say this one fucking time, only. So listen up cause I’m not gonna repeat myself.” 

He’s got to be fucking with you. 

“Love you..I love you or whatever.  But that doesn’t mean—” 

Before he can finish his sentence, you put your hands up under his knees and fuck him for all you’ve got. Half-way as revenge for the shitty confession and half-way because if you think too long about what he’s saying you’re pretty sure you’re going to collapse. 

He sounds good under you, as you fist his cock and laugh in absolute fucking delight. You stare at him hard. At his fucked out expression. You’re gonna cuss him out as soon as this shit is over, you swear. What an asshole. 

“O-oh, oh fuck, I’m gonna, g-gonna cum.” 

You goad him cause you aren’t sure what else you should do at this point. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock? Show it to me. Let me see what you look like.” 

The words are enough to push him over the edge. He gets unraveled right before your eyes, his whole body pulled like a bow before losing all the tension. You can feel his cock twitching hotly in your palms. Thick strings of white covering your fingers as you fuck him through it. He sounds so perfect like that, so fucking good for you. You can feel your whole body ready to give out just watching. 

When Bakugou finally finishes, he releases you from his grip. You pull out only seconds after, staring at his flushed state in wide-eyed disbelief. 

“Were you serious?” You ask, because it’s the only thing you can think to ask. He sighs, tired. 

“Yeah.” 

Where the hell is this dudes class? 

“Fuck.” 

He laughs, laid down before poking his head back up to stare at you. 

“You didn’t cum yet.” It’s more of a statement than a question. You shake your head. 

“Not yet. I can take care of it.” 

He clicks his teeth.

“No way. Come ‘ere.” 

You undo the harness of your strap before crawling over to where he’s laid. You end up standing on your knees. He props himself up on his elbows, and you look down at him absolutely mesmerized. He crinkles his nose at you. 

“That fucking lovesick look on your face is gross.” 

“Been like this for four years.” 

He flushes. 

You stand in front of him, bare on your knees. He reaches forward, brushing the hair over the hood of your clit gently.

“You’re so wet.” He murmurs. You laugh. 

“Yeah, no shit.” You say, too tired to do much arguing “Lemme borrow your mouth,” 

He snorts “Got it.” 

You fist your hands into his hair and tug, bringing his open mouth to your clit with a sigh. Your cunts sort from being pushed into and neglected. Even the barest brush of his mouth is making you shiver. Bakugou must know a little something about this, because he latches onto you without thinking twice. The sudden added pressure has heat building your stomach at the speed of light. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so on edge in such a short period of time. 

Plus looking down at him while you hump against his face is enthralling. 

“You’d make a cute little wife, old man,” You say thoughtfully, dull pleasure aching as you tuf his hair at the root “You can cook, clean, bake and you know how to use your mouth fucking perfectly.” 

He gives you a look of exasperation, but the warmth down his neck tells you he likes it. You laugh, throwing your head back. The visible sight of arousal flowing down his chin and making his face messy is making you more horny than you know what to do with. You don’t have the energy to cum more than once but you’re sure when you wake you you’re gonna be horny all over again. 

You try not to think too hard about it as you feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter before unraveling all at once. Your insides are hotter than lava, the entire lower half convulsing as the strength in your thighs and legs gets lost gradually. Bakugou sucks until you’re nearly overstimulated, and you have to pull him away before it really gets to be too much for you. 

“You taste good.” He says thoughtfully. You laugh. 

“Got plenty more if you want it.” 

“We should clean up.” 

“You’re not kicking me out?” 

“I’m not a villain, damn it.” 

“You feel like one for that loser ass confession, but I’ll let it slide. I need a fucking nap though. Getting my ass kicked and having incredible sex in the same day is exhausting.” 

He laughs as you lay down besides him, sitting up. Even in your half exhausted state, you catch the feeling of his lips on your forehead. 

“Get some rest you brat.” 

__ 

You wake up in a familiar bed. 

If the sore feeling of laying pipe wasn’t in your hips, you’re pretty damn sure you just woke up out of a dream. What the fuck just happened to you? Your back and body is sore, but you’re clean like you’ve been wiped down. You’re stark naked though. 

The idea that he could give you a wipe but not dress you makes you laugh. When you sit up, all of your clothes are sitting still on a chair. There’s some new clothes on top of them though, his clothes. You stand to your feet, your back cracking as loud as possible as you examine the wounds. You have some hickies now (when the hell did he leave those) and when you turn there’s some scratches on your back. You feel self-satisfaction as you get dressed. You should hit the showers when you feel less lethargic. 

When you’ve reconciled with the fact you didn’t just conjure up what happened a few hours ago, you trek back into the living room. You find Bakugou where you expect him, bent over the stove making dinner. You lean on the frame of the door with a grin before walking over to him. 

You don’t hesitate in sliding your hands on his waist under his tank top. Better, he doesn’t react like you’ve shot him dead. A laugh blooms in your chest. 

“Morning grandpa.” 

“You fucking—if you don’t sit down.” 

You snort, but sit yourself down at the counter like you did a few hours ago. 

“Whatcha making for dinner.” 

“Grilled fish and rice. There’s sides.” 

“Sounds healthy.” 

His ears turn red. 

‘“You have work tomorrow but you need to recover.” 

You couldn’t smile more if you fucking tried. 

“We gonna talk about what just happened,” You ask, pouring yourself a glass of water as you sit down. You take a long sip “Or are you gonna pretend to keep washing rice?” 

He sighs, putting down the dry rice and the cup to measure. He almost looks furious, but he’s too cute for it to mean anything to you. You grin. 

“Hey. Fucking. Look. Alright. You’re way too fucking young. I’m old enough to be your father a-and you only just barely got your life together, so yes I told you whatever I told you. But no fucking funny business until you’re at least 25 and your brain is developed more than a peanut.” 

You nod.. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda a coward old man?” You say thoughtfully. He looks pissed again but it’s too funny for you to care “What’s funny business? Sex? Cause if it is, I’ve got bad news.” 

“We just. We have to be careful.” 

“So I can kiss, hug, fuck you in private but keep it outta the press?” 

He stares at you, scratching his neck. “Yeah. Basically.” 

You give him a thumbs up, grabbing a snack off the tray on his table. Chips, the fancy kind. They’re good. 

“Got it. Can I stay over? I don’t feel like driving down to my hotel this late.” 

“....You’re not pissed?” 

You laugh. 

“Are you kidding? I wasn’t mad the first time cause you rejected me, I was mad cause you were acting all fucking ethical and holier-than-thou. I figured it was gonna be something like that anyway. And I’m not much of a romantic, so dates and shit are whatever to me,” 

“Forreal?” 

“Yeah. Having sex and staying over to hang out for a while is cool. It was your fat head worrying about it, not mine. Did Mr. Deku managed to talk you out of your crisis while I was asleep?” 

He gives you a look. Bullseye again. 

“You two keep in touch?” 

“He’s a good dude and he buys me a meal when I’m short on change. Jealous?” 

He turns away from you before answering. His ears are burning. You feel your heart squeeze. 

What shit taste you’ve got being head over heels for this old bastard, you wonder. 

“Just shut up and eat your chips.” 

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #writing tag #age gap cw #the craziest part of this is me reading this back and thinking. oh man. i could make this so much longer #im tainted beyond repair #the fact this is ONLY 10k is quite literally a miracle

[zukkaoru]

wip number 6 aka um ? ?? is so real. what is it about 👉👈

oh my god i'm actually so happy you asked about this one because this wip is 100% wholly and completely your fault.YOU put kunichuuranzai brainworms in my mind and now i am being forced to neglect my other wips in order to expel them (/vlh) have an excerpt <3

Ranpo tears the package open and shoves three Pocky sticks into his mouth. He chows through half the package before setting it aside and shifting so he’s facing Kunikida. “What d’you want?” “I wanted to thank you.” The And I wanted to check in on you goes unsaid. “Okay.” Ranpo pulls out another stick. “Go on, then.” Kunikida rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite suppress the fond smile that crosses his face. “Thank you, Ranpo-san. For your hard work proving my innocence and also for coming to visit me while I was in jail. Sincerely, your words helped me greatly.” Ranpo freezes. Their eyes flick open and their cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, which they immediately cover by burying their head in their arms. The Pocky package crinkles as their grip on it tightens, and Kunikida chuckles lightly.

#when i saw you asked about this one i was like YES. YES MY PLAN WORKED #<- the 'plan' was 'add this wip to the list and hope by some miracle lena is the first one to ask about it' #also i reread your kuniran post from the other day like four times while writing this scene trying to make sure i got their dynamic right #anyway. this is like. a little over halfway(?) done. and whenever it's posted i'll probably gift it to you on ao3 #bc it IS entirely your fault. and also i love gifting fics <3 #lena tag #ask game #grace's writing tag

[the-tired-commander]

i did promise cursed thoughts about sylvari this is way messier than my normal way of writing about sylvari cause its partially made up of messages i sent to a chat Also most of these thoughts are nsfw so keep that in mind (if you're in that chat, hiiii i am back on my bullshit <3)

thoughts detained under the cut where they belong

I'm starting with the least cursed and things will only get worse as it goes on

Sylvari being plants raises questions about how they experience feeling, like actual physical sensations Plants are very much aware of different temperatures and they do "feel" things in a different way to us And there are very specific areas in which plants are more sensitive to sensation For example: tree trunk, not feeling much. venus fly trap hairs? absolute sensitivity, same with the growing tips of plants such as ivy which grow way faster when they realise they're touching something So I think sylvari are sensitive but only in specific places, and they're really sensitive there It might even very depending on sylvari type, maybe leafier ones are more sensitive than bark based ones? Or at least in a broader range of places

I would also raise the question, do they have more feeling in the places they glow? Because that depends entirely on what makes them glow If its thinner areas of "skin" then i think I would be (but it could be an entirely different way of the bioluminescence showing, i'm still working on that one)

Since sylvari are plant and flower based, I am putting forward the information that very few (if any) flowers have only one stamen. Do with that information as you like :)

And the most cursed thought I had

Most plants do not bloom for the entire year. Would sylvari go into "bloom", so to speak?

Oh a bonus edited thing that maybe 2 people will get at most: Please consider xandrian/luminan junk for sylvari

#no one look at me #for someone that does write about this fairly often i do get weirdly shy sharing it jdfsdjkdf #should this be tagged mature #maybe #if anyone thinks it should be i will tag it #even though people asked for this i am too embarrassed to tag them in it dsjfsd #i sure am just yelling things about plants huh #if i don't get too embarrassed and delete this by tomorrow it will be a miracle #how the hell younger me used to write and post fic is beyond me #that dude had no fear apparently #god that reference is something i haven't engaged in in fucking years #yes i did just have that thought and edit it in #its fine #i do not remember what the fandom called them #it was one of those two names

[crtalley]

The Deck of Miracles — CAMP NANO '23

→ ya fantasy / standalone / april goal: 30k // → cobblestone slick with early morning fog / a window box herb garden in a monastery / statues that look like they could breathe / reaching out to hold someone's hand only to remember they aren't there //

Mallow is cursed. Of that—out of all things—she's certain. Why else would people turn to stone the moment they meet her eye? Why else would those closest to her be hurt by her very existence? She does what she can to mitigate the damage: the blindfold keeps her safe; the dampening wards around Heathrynge House keep her safe; the money she brings in from stage shows, dressed in ragged robes with gilt cards in hand, keeps her safe.

→ the deck of miracles is real // → no one else knows / no one else believes / but he sees her there on stage with the cards in hand and even from a distance he can read them better than the heathrynges ever could //

James Liddell has spent his entire life in transition. Place to place, home to home, school to school, name to name—he's not allowed to tell anyone the name his father gave him. Instead he reaches out with a venomous bright grin and a pleasant Jamie, please. He's not allowed to tell anyone that the blood in his veins is streaked with gold, so instead he shows them, leading the people around him to ruin with a bat of his eyelashes.

→ he could make a world that loves him // → he could make a world that loves her // → he could make a world where he's not a third son and he's not a shadow of greater things and he's not— //

Nothing. Torin de Merchien is nothing compared to his brother or his sister. He's been nothing since he was twelve years old and got shipped off to his first monastery school—since he was fifteen and decided he hated every face of God, every statue, every passage he was made to memorize—since he figured out that the only way to make people pay attention is to make it impossible for them to look away. There's no difference between an embarrassment and a legacy; if his name is ruined, that's all he ever deserved, anyway.

→ three teenagers fuck around with spacetime // → and damn do they find out //

gen taglist → lmk if you want to be added or removed!

@metanoiamorii @glitterandstarshine @crookedwritings @seasteading @avi-why @hekat-ie @localdeadlylaser @jadeywrites @aubergineanathema @quadraphonictypewriter @lasbrumas @cheshawrites @eloquenceandemphasis @asablehart @arctic-stars @worldbuildng @dovebeast @uppoffringar

#wip intro #wip: the deck of miracles #wtwcommunity #my writing #my wips #insert other fam tags here because honestly it's been so long i've forgotten every tag i use / track #camp nano 2023