#i also kin her but WERE NOT GONNA TALK ABOUT THAT!!!

[me-and-your-husband]

yours truly and forever || j. miller

summary: you find ellie and joel in need of help, desperately. you take care of the two, when affection for joel creeps up on you and you can’t shake it. he can’t stay, but maybe, if you don’t think too hard about it, that won’t matter. 

an extension from the end of episode six, “kin”. 

warnings: female reader, kinda reference to the events of the game, so potential spoilers for the season i guess?, angst, smut, smut with feels, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink (?), half proofread, not as feral as what i usually write? kinda soft sex. let me know if i missed anything.

word count: 5.6k (i think this is officially my longest fic???)

A/N: episode six destroyed me on a different level. didn’t stop my thirst tho. also, i am NOT a medical professional so the terminology and stuff is probably not correct. tried my best.

here’s my masterlist if you’d like to read more of my work!

“I think we’re safe.” Joel’s weak body slumped off the horse, falling into the snow. “Joel, no, no, no! Shit,” Ellie cursed as she dismounted the horse and scrambled to him. She called his name to no avail, using his hands to cover the festering wound on his abdomen. “Joel, open your eyes. Open your eyes. Joel, you gotta get up,” she pleaded. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I can’t fucking do this without you. I don’t know where the fuck I’m going, or what the fuck I’m gonna do. Joel! Please. Joel, please.”

She sat fisting his collar, pleading for him to open his eyes, when she heard the sound of hooves shuffling through the snow. She first thought Shimmer had run off. Whipping around, the horse was right where she left it. The panic that was already coursing through her became more potent. She reached for her gun, ducking in the snow next to Joel. She could almost taste her fear on her tongue as a figure on a black horse trotted over to Shimmer. Reaching out a hand to stroke Shimmer’s muzzle, the figure said, “Hey, girl. Where’d you come from?” It was a woman’s voice. Ellie clutched her gun, just the way Joel had taught her. The woman dismounted her horse, boots crunching in the snow as she walked around Shimmer. When her gaze trailed down to the young girl with a gun pointing at her, she brought her hands up slowly, non-threateningly. 

“Stay back!” Ellie shouted. She couldn’t see much of the woman, a bandana covering her neck, reaching under her eyes. She had a hat on, one of the ones Maria had worn in Jackson. She was well bundled for the weather, Ellie noted. Must live around here. 

“I’m not here to hurt you. Just saw a stray horse. Thought someone might need help, is all,” you said, hands still in the air. “And it looks like I was right.”

Ellie glanced towards Joel. “How do I know you’re not gonna kill us? Fucking eat us, or something?” She spat. 

You laughed, “I’m not going to eat you. That’s what my cattle and crops are for.” You told her your name. “I’ve got a house just a few miles up. I was doing a perimeter check before I found you, actually. It’s secure. I can help your dad there.”

Ellie didn’t bother correcting you. Instead, she contemplated taking you up on your offer. Well, if she didn’t go with you, Joel was dead. If Joel died, she might as well be dead too. “Fine.”

“Will you lower your gun so I can help him?”

She put her gun down, watching as you calmly moved towards Joel, hiking him up over your shoulder and situating him on top of your horse. You sat behind him, his weight fully leaning against you, as Ellie mounted her horse. “This way,” you said, pressing your calf into your horse’s ribcage to get her to go. Ellie followed close behind as you led her to your home. 

“Why’re you helping us?” Ellie asked when you were about halfway there.

You took a few seconds to answer. “There was a time when I needed someone to help me, but nobody would. This way, come on.”

You put the passcode into the keypad, opening the gate, gesturing for Ellie and Shimmer to go in first. You followed her, instructing her towards the large white house that sat in the middle of the property. When you got to the porch, you dismounted the horse and placed the man back over your shoulder, climbing up the steps. Ellie dismounted too, looking for some place to tie the lead. 

“Don’t worry about that. Fence goes all around the place. Come help me open this door,” you said, occupied with trying not to let him fall from your shoulders. His frame was much bigger than yours, making it difficult to balance. Ellie twisted the nob and pushed the door open. You found your couch immediately, laying him down as gently as you could, shoving a pillow under his head. “Stay here with him. I’m gonna go grab my kit.”

She waited there with Joel until you returned, squeezing his hand, praying for him to wake up. Praying that they were safe here. 

When you returned, you were carrying a giant leather bag. She had expected a simple first aid kit. At her puzzled expression, you said, “Normally, I’m doing surgery on the horses or cows, not men.” She nodded in understanding.

As you set up with bedpans, scalpels, scissors, gauze, anything you might need, Ellie took a moment to look around. Hung on your walls were portraits of anything and everything. She’d always loved art, never having the time to really explore it herself. This place didn’t look like it was home to someone who was gonna slaughter them. “I’m Ellie,” she said, making you turn from your stool by the couch. “That’s Joel.”

You gave a reassuring smile. “Nice to meet you, Ellie.” Now, you pulled down the fabric from your mouth and threw your hat down on the floor, shucking your jacket off too, hoping it would make you less intimidating to the young girl. “Might wanna get comfortable. This’ll take awhile. 

Ellie made herself a home on the loveseat adjacent to the couch Joel was on, taking her jacket off and laying it next to her backpack. “How did this even happen?” you asked as you sanitized your tools.

“He got stabbed,” she said, looking down at her hands. “He didn’t even notice at first. He…” she trailed off. You gave her a look of understanding.

You cleaned the area and got to work. You were happy that he was unconscious. All you had was horse tranquillizer, and you were almost positive that it would kill him. Joel twitched and squirmed a little, but you were calm as you worked.

Ellie’s eyelids were drooping and her head was falling when she heard you say, “All done,” as you wiped your bloody hands on a rag. She got up to get a look at Joel. His bloodied shirt and jacket were off, showing the wound on his abdomen, all stitched up. “See that area around the wound?” You said, fingers gently grazing over the skin. “It’s pink. Means there’s probably an infection. I’ll see what I have, but I don’t think I have enough antibiotics,” you said as you cleaned the blood from your tools. You saw a look of disappointment in her eyes. 

“But,” you started, “there’s an old pharmacy a mile or two from here. I can go tomorrow. See what they have.” She nodded, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Come on, help me get him upstairs.”

The two of you took him to one of the guest bedrooms, laying him down on the bed. You slid his thick jacket back on, but left it unzipped so you could easily redress his wound. “I can show you to the other guest room. Mind, I don’t usually have visitors, so it’s-”

“No,” Ellie cut you off. She flushed. “Thanks, but I’m staying with him.” You nodded. She didn’t want him to wake up alone. 

“Alright, then. There are blankets in the closet over there,” you pointed. “My room is across the hall, at the end. If he wakes up or something is wrong, come get me. I’m leaving for the pharmacy at dawn, so help yourself to anything in the kitchen. You can shower if you want, too. If he wakes when I’m gone tomorrow, don’t leave. I’ll need to give him those antibiotics as soon as I get back.” She nodded. You began to walk out of the room, but she stopped you by calling your name. You turned.

“Earlier, you said that there was a time when you needed help, and nobody would give it to you…?”

You sighed. “A while back, about ten years ago, before I settled here, I was travelling with some people and my little brother. He ended up getting shot. His leg. I couldn’t stop the bleeding and…they just left us there. Left him there to die,” you swallowed, looking down at your feet. She looked at you, offering a sad smile. “Night, Ellie. Get some sleep.”

You returned around noon the next day with the antibiotics for Joel. Announcing yourself when you walked in, Ellie came stumbling down the stairs. You took in her wet hair and changed clothes. There was hope in her eyes, but also urgency. “He woke up! Just for a little while. He was pretty out of it, but he asked where we were,” she said.

“And what’d you tell him?” You said as you took your outerwear off and grabbed your bag with the antibiotics. 

“I told him we were safe. He wasn’t awake long enough to give him the full story, but now he’s all sweaty, and mumbling and shit and-”

“Shit,” you cursed, rushing up the stairs past the girl.

“Wait, what is it?” she called after you.

“Sounds like he’s got a fever. Could have delirium, too,” you said as you entered the room Joel was in. He was clammy, sweating, chest heaving, body radiating an ungodly heat, mumbling incoherencies. You moved his jacket to the side. “Looks like the infection is spreading,” you mumbled. Grabbing the syringe and bottle from your bag, you filled the syringe, sticking it into the pink flesh of Joel’s stomach. 

“He’ll need another dose in a few hours. It probably won’t kick in until the second or third dose,” you said, wiping the sweat from his head and neck with a rag. You turned to Ellie, who’s eyes were fixed on Joel, yet distant. “Hey, did you eat yet?” She shook her head. “Let’s get you something to eat, then,” you said as you led her to the kitchen.

Four days passed before Joel woke up. Four days spent mostly at his bedside, reading some book in between administering his doses. Making sure Ellie was fed. On the second day, Joel woke briefly again, panicking. However, Ellie was able to calm him down, reassuring him that they were safe. On the third day, you got through to Ellie a bit more.

“So, what brought you two this far out?” you asked innocently, closing your book and resting it on your lap. She seemed to freeze.

“We, uh…we were looking for Joel’s brother. We ended up near the university and got ambushed,” she said. She was lying. That was fine. You couldn’t really blame her. You hummed in response. 

It was silent for a few minutes before she spoke again, “He’s not my dad, you know.”

You offered her a soft smile. “Okay.” You went back to reading your book.

On the fourth day, when Joel woke up, you were in the kitchen doing the dishes left from your lunch with Ellie. A few hours ago you had re-dressed his wound and given him another round of antibiotics. The angry pink of his skin was subsiding and he was no longer feverish, resting peacefully on the bed. You hummed to yourself as you scrubbed the plates in the soapy water. 

Hearing two voices from upstairs, you dried your hands on a dish rag and made your way upstairs. The deep, gruff voice halted as your footsteps sounded out against the hallway floor.

“It’s safe, I promise. I trust her.” Ellie’s voice, pleading. A grunt.

You turned the corner with a polite smile, resting against the doorframe. You took the man in, greying hair dishevelled, sat up, staring daggers at you. 

“Good to see you awake,” you said, telling him your name. 

“How long was I out for?” he asked, his voice a gruff southern accent, but still laced with distrust. He was on edge.

“Five days.”

He looked at Ellie, who nodded. He groaned, eyes training back to you. “Where’s my stuff?” 

“Ellie has it all in the other room. Your horse is in my stable.”

“Then we’ll be on our way,” he said, attempting to get himself up, a groan of pain ripping through his chest as you walked forward, pushing him back down by the chest.

“Hold on, cowboy. You were stabbed. You have an infection. You’re in no shape to go back out there. Besides, there’s a storm rolling in soon.” You reached to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of antibiotics and the syringe. 

He looked at Ellie. “She’s telling the truth. She found us when you fell off the horse. She brought us back here. Stitched you up and shit. She even went out to get you those antibiotics. She’s the reason the both of us aren’t dead. She’s been feeding me and everything,” Ellie said, then quieter, “I trust her.”

Joel looked you up and down. You held up the syringe, asking silent permission to give him another dose. “Fine,” he grunted.

It took a few weeks for Joel’s infection to heal and for the winter blizzard to pass. After about a week of bedrest, as prescribed by you, Joel was walking around with Ellie, going to the dining room for meals rather than you bringing them to the bed, and even helping you with small tasks. The truth is, Joel felt indebted to you for saving his life. For taking care of Ellie. For going so far out of your way to bring them safety. After a while, he was able to trust you. 

But there was more. As he helped you put away the dishes, your fingers would brush as he passed you a plate, the air between you two going still. You’d be silent for a few moments, continuing your task, before picking conversation back up as though nothing happened. You’d be out in the stable together, brushing the horses. One of them would whinny and you’d genty laugh. He found your laugh infectious, finding a smile spreading across his face and a chuckle falling from his lips. When you caught his eye, he’d flush, looking back at Shimmer. She’d nudge him with her muzzle, as if to prompt him to say something more to you. He never would. Or maybe it was the time you were eating dinner with him and Ellie, pouring yourself and Joel wine. You had reached over to give him his glass, knocking yours onto yourself in the process. You had cursed, lifting your shirt over your head, white undershirt untouched by the stain. You didn’t miss the way Joel looked away, warmth rising up his neck. Ellie didn’t miss it either, as she held in a laugh and nudged him suggestively, lifting her eyebrows. You didn’t say anything. 

Between the lingering touches, the fleeting glances, and the burning moments, you knew that there was something unspoken that hung thick in the air between you and Joel.

After three months, Joel was fully healed. The storm lasted about a month, the last winds finally subsiding. Ellie had slept in. It was just you and Joel having coffee. You leaned against the counter. He sat at the table, facing you. You were making light and easy conversation, as it usually was between you two.

He cleared his throat and looked into the liquid in his mug. “We’ll be outta your hair in about a week, if that’s okay. Don’t wanna overstay our welcome,” he said, avoiding eye contact. You began to protest, but he cut you off, “You’ve already done so much for us,” his voice was like honey, thick and smooth. There was some kind of resistance mixed in with it. “Don’t worry about us, darlin’.” The name rolled easily off his tongue. It was a recent development, always something endearing. You figured it was just his way of showing he trusted you.

You huffed. There was no arguing with him when his mind was set on something. “Alright, then. Take any supplies you need. We’ll load up your horse the night before you leave,” you said, pouring the rest of your coffee down the drain and leaving the kitchen. Joel caught the hint of…something, in your voice. Sadness? Anger? Loneliness? He recalled a conversation he heard you having with Ellie about two weeks back.

“Doesn’t it get lonely out here? All by yourself all the time?”

A brief silence. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Joel thought he was doing what was best by ignoring the searing touches and stolen glances, ignoring the feelings in the pit of his stomach. He thought that growing attached to you would only hurt the both of you. He knew he was right, but he began to wonder if you might be worth the pain.

That night, after you had bid Joel goodnight and Ellie was already asleep, you sat on your bed, in your thoughts, when soft knocking came from your door. “Come in,” you called out. The door opened and you looked up to see Joel. There was something behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. Guilt?

He approached you slowly, “May I?” You nodded. He took a seat next to you at the edge of your bed. 

How was he supposed to start?

“I, uh,” he sighed. “I’m not very good at this. And I know we aren’t leavin’ just yet. But I wanted to, uh, thank you. For helpin’ me. Us. We’d both be dead if it weren’t for you. And for your hospitality.” He looked at his hands resting on his lap. “You’re a real good person for that.”

You just shrugged and offered him a tight-lipped smile. Silence hung thick in the air between you two.

He cleared his throat, getting up from the bed. “Well, I guess I’ll get-”

“Why won’t you stay?” Your eyes met his, brows furrowed, something anxious brewing behind them. 

“I’ve gotta get the girl to her people,” was the only thing he could offer. He felt at a loss. You just nodded, standing in front of him. 

“Am I ever gonna see you again?” It was more of a plea than a question. 

Joel swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Your gaze drifted down to the floor. “What happens if you get hurt again, and there’s nobody like me there to help you?”

In an unexpected move, both by you and him, he grabbed your face with his hands. “I’ll be just fine, darlin’.” Your hands slid atop his.

“You don’t know that.”

He began to lean in. “I don’t know,” he said, his breath warm across your lips. “All I know is that now I’ve got somethin’ to come back for, someone I-”

“Don’t tell me you want me,” you cut him off. “Don’t tell me you want me now, when you’re about to leave.” He closed his eyes. Your hands fell from his. You moved out of his hold. “I can’t do this.”

The loss of his hands on your skin felt sore, wrong, but you knew that if you let him touch you, he’d hook you in, and it would hurt all the more to say goodbye in one week’s time. 

“Please,” you whispered, eyes closed, a single tear streaming down your cheek. You could feel the warmth of his body leave, hear him close the door gently behind him.

You didn’t rest much that night. 

Every day for a week, you rose early, making breakfast for Ellie and settling back in your room to sit with yourself. Peering out of the window every day, you couldn’t help but stare out at the snowy planes of Colorado, taking in the austere, frozen environment you’d settled in. The desolate feel of the earth around you only made you realize how lonely you had been before Joel and Ellie had showed up, longing for something, anything, but always left unfulfilled. In Ellie’s bright smile and Joel’s unspoken touches, you thought that you might’ve landed a few companions who could keep your soul warm in the winter. It felt like you had lost something when you realized that wasn’t the case. 

When you ventured throughout the house to shower, cook, or do household work, you found yourself tiptoeing, almost like you didn’t want to get caught. You savoured your conversations with Ellie, but you kept your words to Joel down to necessity. Short responses to his questions, shorter replies to yours. Never touching, in fear that the friction, like electricity, would spark something that neither of you could stop. Holding your breath when he was close to you. Avoiding eye contact. Never giving more than you had to. You both thought it would be easier to part this way, the fire growing in your insides unsatiated. 

The night before he was set to leave, you found Joel in the kitchen, rough fingers silently brushing over a map laid out on the table. 

He jumped at the sound of your voice, “I’m gonna go get your horse set with the things you’ll need.” He turned to you.

“I’ll come give you a hand,” he said, downing the last of his coffee and grabbing his coat. 

The walk to the stable was thick with tension, the dense silence lingering between the two of you. The sun was out, casting the image of your shadows on the crunchy snow. When you reached the large door, you slid it open, letting him go first. You still couldn’t look at him. 

You trailed behind him as he moved towards Shimmer, grabbing her saddle and slinging it over her back, fastening it. You knew Joel carried all of his guns on his person, so you began filling the saddlebags with medical supplies, ammo, water, cord, tape, anything you had stockpiled that might help him and Ellie get to where they needed to. 

“All set,” you said, fingers running over Shimmer’s mane. 

“Thank you,” Joel breathed. He was looking at you, searching for your eyes. You could feel it.

You nodded. “Don’t worry about it.” A few moments of rigid silence. “Leaving at dawn?” The question fell past your lips before you could think about it.

You saw him nod out of your peripherals. “Yeah.”

You give a nod, lips pursed. Still looking at Shimmer. Still avoiding his gaze. 

“Will you look at me?” He said suddenly, voice demanding, but ultimately soft.

You didn’t obey, looking at your feet instead. “Why?”

“It’s been a week. I know you’re givin’ me the cold shoulder, but at least look at me. Don’t act like you hate me. You’re killin’ me, darlin’.”

You blew out a puff of warm air. “If I look at you…” you started, nearly losing your gall. “If I look at you, I’ll forget that I’m trying to let you go.”

The words were thick, heavy. They hung between you two as if they were forbidden.

“Then don’t let me go,” he said, taking a step towards you. 

You said his name in a warning, taking a few steps towards the door. 

“You don’t have to let me go. I know I’m never gonna stop thinkin’ ‘bout you, honey. And I can’t promise that you’ll see me again, but I’m damn well goin’ to try to make it back to you.” 

You sniffled, “You don’t mean that.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I do. I mean it with all of myself,” he said, moving forward to press his forehead against yours. “Let me show you.”

Once again, you could feel his breath on your lips. His were just inches from yours, almost touching, but never quite close enough. You finally looked at him, tears brimming your eyes.

“I can’t give you much, but let me give you what I can,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead into yours harder, more desperately.

At that, you broke. “Okay,” you breathed.

He took that as permission to lean himself into you, the skin of his lips grazing yours, breath mixing with his. When he finally connected his lips to yours, it was like he breathed a warmth into your body, lighting every nerve. Your hands tangled in his hair, his cupping your face. The kiss started chaste, but became breathy and passionate. It ended with your lips red and swollen, both of you needy and desperate for something more. Always more.

The rush through the snow, through the front door and up the stairs to your bedroom was needy, your hand in his, dragging you behind him, nearly sprinting with anticipation. 

As Joel was locking your bedroom door behind him, you were fisting the collar of his shirt and kissing him. Your mouth opened wider for his tongue to explore, whines muffled by his mouth. The kiss was all the things you couldn’t say, I want you, I love you, stay.

He walked you backwards into your bed, falling on top of you when your legs hit the edge. Your hands found solace in his hair, tugging just right, making him groan into your mouth. He parted from you to grab the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. Now, your fingertips explored the expanse of his chest and soft stomach, soft pads tracing the scar that brought you to him. Kissing into your mouth, across your neck, sucking at your pulse point, his fingers grazed the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?” He asked between kisses to your collarbone. You nodded, lifting so he could pull it off.

“Take it off,” you said, left just in your bra. His fingers reached behind you to unclasp it, pulling it off and revealing your tits. He barely hesitated, taking one in his warm mouth and palming the other. Your hands fixed back in his hair, moaning. “Joel. Fuck, I need you. Please,” you whimpered. After weeks of building up the tension, of his fingers tracing your skin just for them to stop, staring at his lips and yearning, you needed him. More than anything.

Joel groaned. “Beggin’ so pretty already for me, honey,” he said as he moved down your body, undoing your belt, sliding it off with your pants and chucking them to the ground. His fingers smoothed over your panties, noticing the wet spot growing in the centre. He grinned, “Let’s see how wet you are, hmm?” Pushing the fabric to the side, he could almost moan at the sight of your drooling cunt. “Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through your slick folds, brushing your clit gently, sending a shiver shooting through your spine. “This wet already? All for me?” 

When you didn’t answer, he pinched the inside of your thigh gently, “Answer, honey.”

“All for you. Only for you, Joel.” You were breathless, nearly delirious. You’d give anything for him to touch you, to put you out of your misery. 

Joel eased one finger inside of you, then two, and began pumping them in and out of your slick folds. You moaned wantonly, all shame abandoned. “That’s it, pretty girl. Takin’ my fingers so well. Squeezin’ them so good. Can just imagine how you’re gonna feel wrapped ‘round my cock.”

You could feel the knot in your core get tighter and tighter every time his fingers hit that spot inside you, obscene noises coming from your cunt. He could feel you sucking his fingers in, growing tighter around him. He eased a third finger in and used his other hand, previously squeezing into your thigh, to rub circles on your clit. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you sputtered, getting closer and closer. 

“That’s it, honey. Cum on my fingers. There it is,” he said as you clenched around his digits, moaning his name like it was the only word you knew. He rubbed the flesh of your thighs as you came down, kissing the supple flesh of your thighs. When you caught your breath, you pulled him back up into you. 

You began to notice the firm tent pressing against you. Surely, he was begging for release, too. Who were you to deprive him of that? 

“Your turn,” you said.

Flipping him over, you began to undo his belt and slide his pants off, laying your head on his thigh, when he stopped you, resting a hand on your jaw.

“Honey, if you put me in your mouth, ‘m not gonna last,” he says, slightly flushed, chest heaving just as bad as yours. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked similarly to how he did when he was feverish. Delirious. “Just wanna be inside you. That okay?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathed, crawling back onto him. This time, he flipped you over, caging you between his arms. He shuffled his boxers off, his hard length springing out and hitting his lower stomach, tip weeping precum. You couldn’t help but whimper. “Fuck, you’re big.” He chuckled, flushing a little. “How’re you gonna fit inside me?”

“Relax, honey. I worked you open. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch,” he assured you, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Need to feel you. For so long.”

He lined himself up with your entrance. You held your breath, letting it out in a moan as he sunk into your waiting cunt. He groaned when he was fully sheathed inside you, the sound coming deep from his chest.

He kissed you as you took him in, your body accommodating his length. “Move. Please,” you moaned into his mouth. He pulled out, sliding back in with the help from your slick. He set a slow but hard pace, clutching your body to his as he speared in and out of you. His lips barely left yours, sucking in each other’s moans and converting them to breath. 

“So tight, fuck,” he moaned. “Already clenching around me. Feels so good around me, pretty thing.”

You moaned his name, a needy, desperate call for him to go faster. He picked up his pace, breath becoming erratic, a slight sheen of sweat breaking out across his skin.

“Not gonna last long, honey,” he groaned. 

“Neither am I. Cum inside of me, please. I want all of you,” you begged, too out of it to think of the consequences. He let out an obscene moan at the request.

“Want me to fill you up, yeah?” He said as he roughly fucked into you. “Fill you up so good that it’ll still be leakin’ outta ya tomorrow?” He was delirious, almost pussy drunk. You were both chasing your release, clinging to each other like there was no tomorrow. Because there wasn’t. Not for the two of you.

“Joel, I’m…oh, fuck!” you moaned as your orgasm hit you, knocking you into hysteria. 

“Right behind you, pretty girl,” he said, grunting. “You’re squeezin’ me so good,” he moaned, finally spilling into your cunt. He pulled you back into him as you both finished, moans muffled by each other’s tongues, sucking, biting, licking, kissing.

When the ecstasy ended and he could feel you squirming underneath him, he pulled out gently, taking care not to brush your clit too roughly. He watched as his cum leaked from your puffy hole, taking two fingers and shoving it back in. You whimpered a little at the contact. “I know, honey. Just makin’ sure I’m gonna stay inside of you.”

He finally laid down next to you, bringing you into his chest. You shoved your head in the crook of his neck, taking all of him in. 

You didn’t have to talk about tomorrow, or think about it. You just needed to be here, in this moment with him, face nuzzled into his neck, his seed still leaking out of you.

Tomorrow could wait.

You woke like you normally do, to the rays of splendid sunlight shining in through your thin curtains. Stretching, you remembered last night. Your hand reached for the spot you left him in, finding the bed cold. The cold of the sheet travelled through your fingertips, up your arm, through your shoulder, into your chest, and hit your heart. You scrambled out of bed, throwing on whatever you could find, and scrambled downstairs. 

There was no evidence that he had ever been there, except for the two pieces of paper that sat on the kitchen table. 

Your breath hitched as you picked the first one up, tears threatening to spill. It was a drawing done in simple graphite. A drawing of you sitting next to Joel, who was laying in bed. She had done it when he was still feverish. In the bottom right corner, she signed:

“Thank you for everything. I know it will work out. -Ellie”

You clutched it to your heart as you picked up the second one. A letter. It read:

My girl,

I hope you can forgive me for leaving you no room for a goodbye. Part of me thought it would be easier this way, not having to think about what you were going to say, or what you should have said. The other part of me wanted to stay in that bed with you, cozied up in your arms, until the two of us were too old to get up. I want you forever. 

But I made Ellie a promise a long time ago. She’s got nobody left. She’s just a girl, and I can’t leave her on her own. The guilt would eat me alive a lot quicker than any infection could. I have to get her to her people. When I’m done, I promise you that I’ll come back. I’ve marked your little farm on my map, there’s no chance of me missing it. Before you, I would’ve laughed at the idea of forever. Forever seemed like too long living in this world. Now, all I want is forever if I can spend it with you in my arms.

Thank you. For more than you know. I’ll see you soon.

Until we meet again.

Yours truly and forever, 

Joel Miller

part 2

permanent taglist:

@idkwhattonamethisblogs​

@winters-fairy​​

​

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader angst #hbo's the last of us #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x reader smut #pedro pascal x reader angst #pedro pascal x reader fluff

[argreion]

A Pretty Little Mouse You Are

Dragon-shifter Leon x Female Reader smutty drabble.

Warnings: Tiny gore talk. Dragon munch Leon, him having sensitive horns and doing a little grinding... I'm really passionate about this, shut up. Low-key monster fucking.

Val Here — We don't get banners, we get pussy ate. IM GOING THROUGH A 2AM PHASE RN. SHITTY SMUTTY WRITING MAKES THE WORLD GO AROUND Y'ALL! I need to make s'mores with him you don't understandddd! We love stupid crappy endings too. cbyushajkcn. It's literally 4AM, and I'm just gonna say again so sorry if the writing is shitty I'm not proofreading I'm TIREDDDD!

Was it easy to be a 'mate' to a dragon? Being shipped off like those cliché stories. Yeah, uh, thanks to the village, you got thrown on a horse. Having to watch as this 'dragon' feasted on it, gore covering his face. Next, wanting to look at you with ravenous eyes. Oh, how this would be fun...

Fun that you would be put to such torture. Feeling his burning tongue swipe against your bundle of nerves. Your hands curling around those rough horns; ridges against your soft hands. The dragon-kin bucking against the sheets he often ruined. Letting himself get lost in your sweet taste.

“S-stop...” You moaned, weak from the overstimulation. It was like he never lost any energy. Infinite stamina for a beast that was alive for so many fucking years. Couldn't remember what he told you, the only thing that mattered was that skilled tongue he had—both in quick-wittedness and sex.

Only hearing a grunt against your lips, already got your answer. A stubborn no, as he pushed his tongue inside your weeping hole. Causing you to tighten your grip on his horns, head tossed back.

Leon couldn't help that you were so pretty. Arriving on that horse, crying your eyes out and your screams muffled. Watching you struggle as he grew closer to your form. All vulnerable, soon to be become his little pretty jewel. Painted in claw marks and bites. His little mate.

He also couldn't help his hips as he ground against your shared bed. Well, more like lazily thrown together nest. With the help of Leon, 'graciously' stealing pillows and a fancy blanket for you. Luxurious for a common girl from a village.

Hearing him mutter words in her mother tongue against your folds almost made you cum on the spot. Watching as he stared at you, staring at that fucked-out look on your face. Made his hips act up more, jutting his hips against the bed harshly.

“Make those noises, make those pretty little mews.” Leon hissed, suddenly biting into your thigh. Forcing a moan to come from your lips. Fangs threatened to make blood pour from the bite if he so desired. Pretty little human cries...

“My pretty little human.”

Already gotten what he needed, he finally let you cum on his tongue. Feeling the roughness grind against your pussy, fangs tracing against your folds. Sucking on your clit and pulling off with a pop. Watching as you would squirm, your hips thrusting into his mouth at the very last seconds. High impending on you as you heaved through your noises, before cumming with a high-pitched cry. Followed by expletives, and by expletives, many of 'em.

The look on his face, covered in release. Cloudy fluids leaked down his face, from his cheek to his chin. Licking the small drop on his lips with a satisfied hum. Watching as you faded in and out of consciousness. In the irk of temptation, he brought his hand up and brought it down against your mound. Making you yelp in surprise, bringing you out of the haze.

“What the fuck was that for!?” You yelled, yanking your head up to glare at him. Watching as he chuckled, gently caressing it as a nonverbal apology. Shifting to lay beside you, letting his tail lay across your stomach.

“Mmmm, you're cute when you squeak, like a mouse.” He purred, vibrating from his chest to his throat. Snuggling against you with a gentle, loving kiss to your temple.

“My pretty little squeaky mouse...”

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you

[nexusnyx]

Lost The Game

SUMMARY: The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man’s after battle consequences.

The only thing it doesn’t explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.

The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.

⚠️ Minors DNI. Smut.  Explicit depictions of sex. | 🏷️ 8.3K , fluff, established relationship, part three of three, reposting this ‘cause some people missed this one and asked for it.

• PART TWO •

In his world, there was no Avengers.

The bad thing about his inter-dimensional trip he had was this—Peter got an idea of what other worlds looked like and parts of him wished for a supernatural helping hand, sometimes, or maybe just someone who understood him. He had allies, but very few friends on this side of his life. This is why when Peter is almost killed by Kingpin, a decision that he's been dreading for months becomes easy in the snap of a finger.

Do I drop the last vail or do I not?

All of his excuses as to why not fly out of the window when Peter's bleeding to death and realizes that none of it matters. All of life is dangerous, on this or any other planet, and if he's always putting his own damn life — personal or not — at risk for the sake of saving a city, he might as well do that and let the woman he loves kiss him with the lights on while he's at it.

He swallows the metallic and thick taste of red in his mouth, reaches his trembling hand up, and knocks.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap.

"Peter?"

The fright in your voice is what startles his eyes open.

"Peter!"

God, he loves your voice so much.

A lot less when it drips in worry like this, but the love is there nonetheless.

"Peter, open your eyes. What—oh my god," you choke on your words, and he feels you pulling his body inside your room.

Guiding himself by memory, Peter helps the way he can, letting his body slide down your bed.

"Gonna get your sheets dirty," he mumbles.

"Oh, for the love of god." There's the feeling of his suit being unzipped at the back, and even through the fogginess, Peter notices how your hands are cold. Shaking. "Peter, what happened?" It's a breathless whisper, and it makes his chest ache more than the bruises did because it sounds so small, and nothing about you is diminutive.

"Kin—ow—Kingpin." The ruthless man's minions might still be stuck in webs hung meters above the ground, but Wilson, Kingpin, that man needs no henchmen to do any damage. It was the point he had to prove today—more to Matt than to Peter, but because Peter had decided to help, he got mingled in the mess.

After a heartbeat, he hears. "Who's Matt?" you ask.

Wait—was Peter talking out loud?

"Oh, god," this time, it's a choked-up sob. "Peter, I think you have a concussion."

Y/n is going to be a doctor, so the probabilities of her being right are very high. He probably does have something on his head—Kingpin grabbed Peter's head in his hand, that enormous, gigantic hand that engulfed all of Peter's skull and smashed it against the nearest thing, which happened to be iron polls.

He's still unsure of what the tension and underlying secret were between that man and Matt, but there was so much anger in there tonight.

"Peter..."

He feels weak, but he still has some strength left and Peter had made up his mind before he arrived at the staircases of your apartment.

If he went to the hospital, Aunt May would have a heart attack.

If he came to you, Peter would have to let you see him.

With the taste of blood polluting every inch of his mouth, it was a surprisingly easy decision to make.

He ignores the strain and the pull on the sides of his body as he reaches up for the mask, and he hears you gasp when he pulls it off in a clean sweep.

"Peter."

"Hey. That's me." He can't laugh right now — or open his right eye that much — but he can smile at you. A weak, bloody thing. At least it's an honest one. "Hi. I think I might blackout."

"Peter," are you crying? Good gods, Peter would clock himself on the face if someone else hadn't beaten him to the punch. "I don't—I don't know if I can take care of all of this."

"It's just—the one on the back. I think I'm losin' lots of blood 'cause of it..."

"What's on your back?"

"Open gunshot wound closed with webs?"

"Peter!"

"I didn't sh... shoot it, baby." He knew she'd be mad the second he threw the webs at himself. "The rest will... it'll fade. Soon."

There's a moment of silence where Peter hears rapid, short breaths. He opens his left eye as much as he can as sees you breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth quickly, then feels the bed dipping when you leave it with purpose. He knows you're going for the first-aid kit, so he already does the job of turning around.

When he hears your footsteps coming back, the last thing he hears is what makes him smile against your duvet.

"I'll take care of you. It's okay. It's gonna be fine, Peter."

While he's aware you're hyping yourself up to believe it more than talking to him, the words are like anesthetic all over his body.

Peter inhales the scent that is acutely yours, and blacks out.

If he were anyone else, Peter would remember close to nothing of his hours alternating between consciousness and not.

Lucky for him, he's part spider.

At first, all he feels, sees, and hears, are small tidbits of you moving things in and around him.

There's the distinct — and nasty — feeling of a needle threading with nylon through his lower upper back.

During that moment, nothing else passes through.

He's distantly aware of your mumbling and whispering, the soft and comforting words not reaching his ears, but the sense they bring drape over his skin almost like a blanket.

Then, when he has a silver of consciousness again, he recognizes through the stinging pain and the dull, throbbing aches all over his body, that the heat he registers is not of his own blood anymore, but of your warm hands along with a warm towel washing him.

That's when he allows sleep to come for the first time.

He wakes up somewhere in the middle of the day judging by the light streaming through your window, and he's happy to access that his body's doing most of the healing by now.

The feeling of a gaping hole is gone, and so is the smell of blood.

Peter wants to look around a bit, but while the throbbing has passed, it's left a dull, sore ache in its place.

You're not there, either.

He knows that because Peter's spidey senses have almost a direct link to you, and you're not in the room.

It takes him a couple of minutes with the taste of sand at the back of his throat and that pounding on the back of his head for him to realize he can open his eyes.

There's a glass of water right next to him, and he smiles.

Of course you'd do that.

Even after he's ruined your nice duvets — after promising he'd never spill blood on your blankets again, shit — Peter still gets the kindest side of you.

And then he remembers—you saw his face.

The lights were on, he was a mess, and fuck—you saw him.

You saw him and saved his life, one more time.

How many times would you have to do it?

Why was his life so dangerous?

Peter's stomach starts to resemble something alive, something with tentacles and it's reaching up, so he swallows it back down.

After gulping the glass of water, he hears it.

Distant sounds of conversation.

Felicity's voice is what registers first. It's not as familiar to him as yours is right now, but it is the reason it brought him to you in the first place, even if Peter hates thinking about that. He ignores your roommate and the things he keeps hidden from you like most people would ignore a spider in the upper corner of their bathroom.

It hurts to try to hear the conversation.

The gun blasted too close to his ear, and Peter's not the biggest at eavesdropping, so he just lets his upper body lay down again and allows the darkness on the corners of his mind to take over the rest.

Next, there are the hours in-between.

As the sun goes down, Peter drifts between the land of dreams and this one, enjoying both of them very much.

In here, there's you with a warm, wet cloth cleaning his wounds that need tending, and in his dreams, there's you sitting next to a blond girl, smiling at him.

At some point, Peter opens his eyes and sees you sitting on your chair in front of your computer desk.

Your eyes widen and you slide the chair closer, looking at every inch of his face with furrowed eyebrows.

"Peter," it's the softest you've ever said his name. "Is there anyone you'd like me to text? About your whereabouts?"

Aunt May.

"You can go back to sleep right after, but you came without your backpack, and it's been almost a day—do you want some pain medicine? I can get it for you."

He nods.

You nod back, then get up and exit the room. Peter takes the opportunity to grab the notepad you have on your nightstand, write down Aunt May's phone number and name and a message underneath it.

I'm at Y/n's. Be back soon, aunt May. Love you <3

It's an ugly scribble, but your handwriting is far worse than anything he could dream of producing, so he sits back against your headboard and waits for you and the pills.

When you come back with them, Peter almost swallows it down without the water, but he's still so damn thirsty that another glass goes in a gulp.

He feels your eyes on him the whole time, and while he wants to talk, he prefers to wait for his body to finish using all his strength in stitching his insides up before he tries any conversation.

You grab the glass from his hand, place it on the nightstand and sit on the bed right next to him.

"Are you cold?" You ask, pressing your palm and the back of your hand to his forehead, neck, cheeks.

He's shirtless. Well—it's not anything you haven't seen before.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. The desert has left the back of his mouth, but the aftertaste of rust is still there.

"I'm sorry." He can say that, at least. "I am really sorry, Y/n. For coming to you like th—"

A hand tapes his mouth shut—your hand, and looking at your face in the bedroom light knowing you're looking back at his is not as terrifying as he made it out to be in the countless scenarios where he thought about this before.

"What's the alternative?" You ask him with a shrug. "You bleed out on the street because some drug lord had some beef with a Matt dude and you tried to help your friend?" He misses the heat of your hand as soon as it's gone. "I prefer you bleed on my death start duvets than on the streets, buddy. These ones I can wash."

Buddy.

'Don't call me buddy—I'm not your buddy. Fuck, I swear you say these things just to get a rise out of me. Do your buddies do this, huh? Touch you like this? Make you this wet? You get so wet for me, baby—'

'Peter.'

'Yeah, exactly. I taught you my name for a reason. Don't forget that.'

After a heartbeat, Peter licks his dry lips and looks away from yours. Those memories make his blood rate rise, and he's sure that's not good in the state he's still in. "I'm still not your buddy," he says. His voice comes out raspy, and he watches your gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips.

Peter's in love.

The way you look at him.

The way you look at his tall and graceless body already drove him insane, but the way you look at his face?

Parted lips and that distance gaze of someone who's getting lost in memories and the present?

Peter loves it. He's been in love with you, but seeing the softness and adoration mixing with desire on your face has put the cherry on the cake.

"Good to know that," you whisper back.

I'm happy to know this doesn't change things, he hears.

He scoffs. "I would suck at being your buddy."

"Yeah? Why's that?" You're smiling now, and as a reflex, so is he.

Peter frowns. Isn't it obvious? "I've bled on your bed more times than I can count, you've put your fingers inside me in more ways than you can count, and I'm pretty sure that if I tried to stay away from you, your lips, or that pretty brain of yours for longer than two weeks, I'd have withdrawal symptoms." He's sure of it, actually. He tried staying away from you, and it sucked. "I can't be your buddy, baby." He chuckles. "We're not meant to be buddies. I already explained that to you."

Your lips quiver, moving upwards in a smile, slowly.

"Right." The way you bite on the bottom lower one tells Peter all you need to know about where your mind went.

His body leans forward as if there's a magnetic poll right on the center of you pulling you towards him.

Unfortunately for him, he's still healing from a very big pound.

He makes it only a few centimeters away from the headboard before the muscles inside him sting like a sharp hook and he stops—"Ah."

"Don't move." You're on in an instant. A comforting — and silently demanding — hand on his bicep, scooching closer to him in the bed. "You still need... I don't know how much longer you need, actually." A chuckle. "I still haven't got a clue how your healing works, Spidey. Just... lay down. Stand still until you're not moving won't rip apart the stitches I so beautifully made, 'kay?"

That brings Peter's hand and eyes to the work at hand.

He inspects the stitch-up work and—you're right. It's beautiful, neat, and professional work.

He can almost hear the praises of your teachers during class, as well as the envious looks of your colleagues who have three times less practice than you in the matter.

(Truth be told, Peter's aware you'd have gotten to this point with or without him as a guinea pig because while you may feel or say like everything around you is collapsing, studying is a ball you've yet to let it drop. You do it and do it well. 'If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do it well, huh? you had told him. Peter believed a lot of it was innate talent, but he might be biased to speak of you.)

"Grade A work, Y/l/n."

"Thanks, Spidey."

When he looks up, Peter takes a punch to the chest.

There you are, looking at him again.

Damn.

He's frozen.

Have you lied to him all this time? He's pretty sure this is the effect of actual superpowers and not just the way your eyes glint under the light of the day.

It must have something to do with the frizz in your hair that gives you almost an angelic aura—there's gold, orange, a touch of pink and lilac touching your cheeks and the soft, dopey smile you have on your face, and Peter stands there with his hand hanging halfway to his lap, as frozen in the air as he is looking at you looking at him.

You can see him, and Peter has never felt more comfortable feeling this exposed.

This vulnerable.

"Hi," he whispers.

Instead of answering, your blinks seem to slow down in time.

One of your hands reaches up to his cheek, and Peter finds himself leaning towards the hand.

Magnets.

When the soft, velvety touch of your palm meets his dry skin, Peter takes in a deep breath.

Closes his eyes.

Your hand cups his cheek, and caresses his face, as slowly as you are breathing.

Then, Peter's spidey senses feel the vibrations and electricity on your skin inching closer, and he thinks the slow-motion of your delicate, almost afraid, and calculated moves are making the energy and waves that travel between your body and his twice as real.

He might get shocked.

Peter feels when your lips are mere inches away from his. He wants to dive in, but he lets you dip your fingers in the water and go as you want.

He can feel how much you're feeling right now.

Seeing him is not only affecting him, and that's perhaps why his body is rendered at your mercy.

When your lips press against his, they're as plump and tender as always.

He exhales, at last, enjoying the sensation of warmth that spreads through his body when yours connects to his in any intimate way. Usually, it takes a little bit more for the tingle to travel from head to toe like this, but something about the kiss and the way you're keeping still and yet he knows you feel it, just as he does, it makes it even better that he's all buzzing.

Peter's underwater, and it's almost a reflex when he exhales and presses harder.

Closer.

With abandon, Peter lets his body relax on yours, not wanting to push it any further than it can go, but wanting to melt against the welcoming and familiar heat of your body.

His right hand goes up to your hair, and he gets a few more soft, tender presses of your lips on his, as well as the sensual and slow drags of your mouth against his in between them before you move your head back a few inches, still keeping your hand on his face.

Peter swallows the knot in his throat.

"I... should get you food," you whisper.

He's too busy staring at how pink your lips are for a few seconds.

Eventually, he hums. "That'd be nice."

"I got soup." You lick your lips. There's a color on your cheeks, and Peter is definitely in trouble. He hasn't gotten the instinct to draw in a long time, yet here he is, trying to figure out what's the correct shade of your cheeks. "From the deli shop you like."

"Oh." He loves that place. "I love that place!" He whispers excitedly.

Your smile widens. "I know." With a quick, delicious peck of goodbye, you get up from the bed in one quick motion. "I'll be back. I'm gonna text," you pick up the paper from the nightstand and read it. "Aunt May. Wait—you want me to text her this? Will she know who I am? Aunt May knows me?"

Peter laughs. "Of course Aunt May knows you."

In your few blinks Peter sees the surprise. "Right." You turn around sharply, cheeks pulled up from the smiling. "Text. Soup. Then sleep. I gotta go run a few errands, so I'll shut the windows for you." More seriously, you add. "You should really get some rest. You look a bit... pale."

"It's the caucasian in me."

You snort. "God, it's horrible when you try to be funny."

"Yet, you're smiling."

"At you." You get up and regardless of what you say, the nose scrunch proves that Peter amused you, to say the least. "I'm gonna get your food. Stay put, Spidey boy."

"Man, Spider-Man."

He's arguing now more for the sake of your smile than because your 'boy' has gotten a rise out of him.

It used to.

The first time you said it, Peter recalled the tingling on his body and that desire to correct—not a boy, I'm a man, you'll see, I'll show you.

Did he feel silly two seconds afterward correcting you when he saw in your face that you'd be pulling his metaphorical pigtails? Maybe. Luckily for him, the mask hid it back then.

Now, it's just a skit between you two.

The teasing back and forth is almost like the sea tide.

You come back with the soup and sit back down on your desktop chair, returning to your books and papers while he eats. Peter recalls the day when he asked why you never eat when he's there and, on the occasion when you gave him food, why didn't you stay close to him while he ate.

'You're distracting when you're eating.' You had said.

'What? I'm distracting? How?'

'You make all these little noises when you're enjoying it. And your lips get super pink 'cause you keep licking them. It's distracting.'

'From what? You're not even doing anything.'

'I don't need to be doing something. It just... is.'

Later, he realized it was distracting because it made you want to kiss him. To take away the plate in his hands and replace it with your body instead.

He's content to share looks with you over the bowl of warm food and watch your profile as you read and type. The concentrated crease in your brows and your lips set in a firm line are distracting too, he thinks, but he enjoys it.

Peter finishes the food and the result of some protein, carbs and nutrients making their way inside him is instant—his eyes get heavier, and blinking is a bit harder, and all he wanted was to cuddle you. Slide under the blanket, say goodbye to the world.

It's when he lowers the bottom half of his body that Peter feels he's still wearing his suit.

"How come you haven't kicked me out of your bed yet? I'm gross," he says.

Even though his voice is softer and lower than before, you turn to him.

Smiling, you shrug. "I've been gross before. You're forgiven because of circumstances." Then, something happens—you blush. You were looking at his body before but when you look up, Peter recognizes the flash of 'oh, it's him' that passes fast as lightning in your eyes. "Also, you're pretty," you add in a whisper. Your peachy cheeks darken, looking good enough to eat. "Pretty privileges."

Peter feels it—the heat on his face. He laughs, ducking his head down. He's not used to people complimenting him like that, but coming from you it makes it three times worse. "So it is a real thing."

"Oh, it definitely is."

"Good to know." He hates to know he's making your small piece of safe haven dirty, but he'll make up for it. "As much as I'd love to stay awake and watch you study and be gorgeous for the next couple of hours, I think my brain's about to shut down in the next few minutes."

"Sleep, Spidey." If there's such thing as magic through the voice or words, Peter believes you have it. The gentle softness with which you say those two words are better than any of your blankets. "I'll be there soon."

That's even better. God, I love sleeping with you.

He hears a giggle.

"It's mutual, Peter."

He loves the sound of that, too.

If Peter believed in something, he'd have beautiful religious metaphors to use about the way you look in the mornings.

He'd maybe talk about how waking up with you next to him is the only sanctuary he needs, and for a Jewish boy who's missed so much of what one looks or sounds like, he's sure it felt something like this.

If Peter believed, he'd have more words to say about the way your tenderness makes him feel like he's holy.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Good. I'm glad... d'you wanna take a shower? I can separate some clothes for you."

"Are you coming with me?"

Peter would have words for what it feels like to sit in your loft's bathroom in his bloodied, mended superhero suit, his feet touching the freezing cold floor and his body still running as hot as ever because he can hear you walking around the place in your fuzzy socks while you wait for the water to warm.

How can he be so at peace like this?

He's beaten himself up for much less, but the seriousness in your tone when you told him to stay put while you changed the sheets only made him warm.

It made him feel cared for and nothing more.

Peter removes the rest of his suit. It comes off with difficulty—the sweat's stuck the material to his skin, and it still hurts to move, but he manages.

He feels the fresh tissues inside of him.

His heightened senses tell him the main wound is still healing, but everything else is almost okay. Peter needs maybe a good meal and a couple more days to be brand new, which is more than he'd expected when he left the bay area with webs sticking his skin together.

When you come back and see him already naked, Peter's happy that his eyes' swelling has done down.

He'd hate to miss the lust in your gaze.

To miss the obvious way your eyes travel up and down his body.

"You could've gone inside already," you whisper.

It's barely nine in the morning, there are only you two in the place and Peter has no idea why you'd think he wants to go anywhere without you.

"Was waiting for you." He's more at ease sitting naked on your toilet than he's been in three, maybe four years. That means something, right?

You start taking off your pajamas, and Peter gets up to help.

Not that you need it. He just loves removing clothes from your body.

The steam takes over the bathroom and by the time you two are immersed underneath the water, wet as rain, Peter already feels new.

Not even the best prayers could do that.

He loves the showerhead here because the water pressure is great and it's big enough to almost give space to the two of you. Almost.

That's why he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body.

He wants your warmth much more than the water's.

That's when he feels it—the shaky, interrupted way you breathe. Your arms come up around his middle so fast that he almost has to take a step back to keep himself in place, but he's rooted there.

And you're crying.

"Y/n?" Peter looks down.

You shake your head in three quick motions. Not yet.

Peter's not an idiot, and while he may be a little slow to the mysteries of his own heart, the loud and physical thumping of your heart against his ribcage is right there and doesn't lie.

He can feel every beat of it, and maybe there was something in that container that Kingpin had dropped on his head and all that mysterious blue sand inside of it, but Peter's sure he can see the black clouds exiting your head.

He sees the darkness of worry and fear leaving you.

Peter clings on tighter, letting you cry silent tears into his chest. He hopes the kisses he presses on your temple and your face make any worries left to be gone easier. Quicker.

He kisses the parts he can reach of you, and refuses to let go.

Eventually, you pull back against the hold of his arms and when you look up with those swollen, red eyes, Peter realizes what it all means.

What being so comfortable around you, laughing so easily, coming to you many more times even though he knew he shouldn't, watching you sleep, and all those minors or big things that made him stop and go—it means something, right?

It means Aunt May was right.

She was right when she said the world goes on regardless of how much we want it to stop sometimes, and right now, Peter's world is you.

When your lips, trembling just like your chin is, open and say, "I was terrified," in a whispered confession, Peter knows.

He'd give up anything for you. He'd conquer anything for you, as well, which he imagines lives on the other side of that coin.

"I am so sorry, baby," he tells you, blinking through the sting in his own eyes.

You shake your head and his heart almost falls to the ground before you pick it up. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Pete. I know—" you swallow a visible knot, sniffle, and then try again. "You have a responsibility. With your power, and... with what you believe."

With great power, comes great responsibility.

He nods.

"And please don't take this wrongly—don't shut down, or stop coming. God—if you stop coming I swear I'll die of worry—"

"Y/n." He interrupts because he knows when you're about to spiral as much as you know when he's about to go on a ramble. "I'd never. I—you're allowed to be scared. I'm not gonna go into martyr mode and make that decision for you. If you want me gone, I'll be gone. I know I'm a lot. I know my life, and how scary it is to be around it, but I think I also know you and if I take away your choice of being around me and all my mess—" he shakes his head. "I don't fancy that ass-whooping."

You laugh.

It untangles all the messy knots and webs inside his chest that formed when he saw your eyes puffy, and Peter breathes in what feels like clean, fresh air.

"I'm happy you're smart," you say.

He shrugs his shoulders. "It's what my teachers say."

"Is it?"

With your head tilt, he notices—he's nearing territory he used to avoid before.

Peter breathes in again, reaches behind him in the shower, and grabs your shampoo.

"Can I do your hair?" he asks.

Your face remains the same as you nod, but he sees you breathing out. Accepting his silence. The change in subjects, as it usually is.

When he's got enough bubbles forming, he massages your scalp and starts. "I got a scholarship for Biophysics, so I guess I am pretty smart, but it wasn't 'till one of my teachers at ESU told me my paper was 'informative even through the minors detours it took, which funnily enough, were informative as well' that I knew I had a good head for more than just web-developing and stuff like that."

Should he tell you about the time when he traveled between Universes and met the other versions of him?

He'd love for you to know how clever Peter 1 is.

Peter knows if it weren't for that experience, exactly four years after what happened at the clock, he'd be in a much worse place now.

I wouldn't have met you, he thinks.

"What d'you wanna do with the degree?" you ask him.

"Mmm. I don't know yet. Working with genetic mutation is not too on the nose, is it?" he chuckles.

You turn around, smiling wider than ever before.

"Are you for real?" you laugh.

"I am!" He laughs too.

"Gimme that," you take the shampoo from his hand, pour some on your hand, and look up expectantly at him. Peter ducks his head in silent permission, and you start doing the same to him. "I think that while it's a bit on the nose, it also makes a lot of sense, and given your personal experience, you could make breakthroughs no one else would. Your circumstances give you a lot of room."

"My dad was a Biochemist." The information slips out, and Peter opens his eyes. When had I closed them? He gives you a sheepish smile, and closes his eyes again. "I lot of what I know came from his research."

"Did it have anything to do with spiders?" you ask with a giggle, thinking you're being funny.

Here's to hoping. "It did," he answers.

Your movements halt for a second, then start again. "Oh." You stay silent for a moment. "Big brain runs in the family, so I imagine you'll make breakthroughs he's only dreamt of. Just... make sure you pick an area 'cause it's what you want to make yourself happy, you know?"

Peter wonders how many people have the luxury of having someone care for them this way.

"I will." He smiles when you pull him under the water stream. When the shampoo is rinsed, he opens his eyes. "And you? D'you have an area you wanna work at?"

Hearing you talk about your hopes for the future while showering makes Peter notice it's the first he's been thinking about the future and what paths he could take for it.

You two laugh a lot in there, and the only moment when somberness takes over the steamy bathroom is when your fingertips graze over the black nylon that still peaks out of his lower stomach.

Peter ignores the tingle your touch brings, and kisses you instead.

He distracts you by asking you more about residency, school, tests, and anything that comes to mind.

Your voice is one of his favorite things.

In your bedroom, Peter gets dressed in the sweats that now are basically his—one of his designated clothes from when he's around.

Now though, he can wear the sweater and shake his wet hair all over you.

He can pull you to his lap on the bed and kiss you filthy with the sun shining on both of you.

Lights on, face out in the open, nothing to hide because there never was.

When he starts grinding his hips upwards, seeking the friction of your heat—and god, you're already burning on his lap, and he doesn't need to touch your panties to know that you barely put them on and he's already ruined them—but you stop him with a hand around his neck.

"You're gonna bust your stitches," you say, mouth still close to his.

He groans. "Baby, c'mon..."

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. "As much as I want to, you'll have to wait a day more, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You're hurting me right now," he whines, grinding on you. He hisses, not because of how hard he is from just a few minutes of making out with you and having his mind spin with how good you smell, how dizzying it makes him have you like this, no barriers whatsoever, but because he feels his insides protesting with the sharper thrust.

You give him a look that says I know what you're hiding. "Peter." While you ask him to stop, Peter's yet to feel you stop enjoying the ministrations of his hips. "Hey," you lean in closer and whisper in his ear. "You can enjoy fucking me like you've never fucked me before now... and you're gonna waste that first time of ours by not being able to do all that you wanna do?"

You are evil.

Peter moans. Hides his face in the space between your boobs, and kisses them since he's there already.

"So what you're telling me is that I should take you for a coffee and some breakfast and a few days and then we can come back here?" he asks.

"Yeah," you smile.

"And then I can take my time with you?" he confirms, his kisses going up. He loves the column of your throat. Loves the way you bear your neck for him, breathless and surrendered every time.

"Yeah..." this one comes out breathier, and Peter smiles before sucking on the skin of the space that's really sensitive.

"I can make you cum in all the ways I like?" Peter knows it's just torture at this point, but he keeps doing it. Keeps moving his hips in small little circles, and groans when he feels you meeting his movements. "On my tongue first... then on my fingers..."

"Only if you let me suck you off 'till you cum in my mouth."

Sneaky. "No." Peter hears your brain gears halting at it.

"Peter!"

"No!" He laughs. "Listen, I don't know what my—"

"—if you call your cum something weird again I'm leaving your lap right now."

"...my semen."

"Ugh. That's somehow worse," you laugh.

"I don't know what's in it! It's mutated, okay? What if you get pregnant from it? I am very fast. My sperm can be too."

Holding yourself with your arms around his neck, you stare at him with the blankest look.

The smile obviously hidden in the corners of your lips is where the truth lies, though.

"You know I'm right," he shrugs his shoulders.

You sigh. Heavily. "Ugh. I hate that I'm paranoid enough to buy your bullshit," you push him backward hard, and he falls into the bed in surprise, laughing. Leaning forward, you cage your arms around his head. "I wanna do so much to you," you whisper.

Just like that, the temperature's closer to the Sun again.

You have powers.

The power to make him religious. To make a conversation shift between the Sun and the Moon, just by laughing or speaking in a different tone.

Peter feels the tip of his cock dripping in his boxer, and he closes his eyes, exhaling from his nose. He grabs you by the neck and pulls you to a kiss, which turns messy and needy the second you moan in that pretty way he loves. Like a kitty, or like someone's squeezing you hard, just the way you like it.

He's grabbing you by the neck, squeezing and letting go, trying to gather his damn thoughts into coherent sentences and not the mess of I want you so bad I love you so much, so all that he can do is rub his forehead on yours.

Bring your body as close to his as possible.

That's what happened.

All these months culminated in this—Peter being unable to stay away, to him smiling in the corridors of his college, to the unfathomable infatuation with your legs, or the way you snort when you laugh really hard.

Into him loving you.

He's suddenly overwhelmed by the truth of it:

Peter is in love with you. He loves you.

Loves you for your brain, your skilled hands, the way you hate the Giants and love music he's never heard of. Loves you for all the ways you're you and the ways you remind him of his very first love too, but more than anything, because he knows he'd love you even if nothing was similar.

He swallows the knot in his throat and pulls you to a kiss.

You feel the difference in it—he knows you do because you hold his face with gentle hands, but answer the kiss with the same devotion.

You let him take over the kiss, let him taste his tongue on yours until he's got no oxygen left in his lungs and has to pull back.

He sees it in your face that something's taken over you, too.

"You can do anything you want. Anytime," he says. He feels your legs clenching around his waist as a response, and thinks to the hell with it. "What if you did all the work, hm? I promise I'll stay still. I'll web my own wrists to the bed if you want, just—please?" he begs.

"Peter..."

"I wanna feel you, baby." It's not even about the sex, or about cumming. It's about being as close to you as possible. He needs to be as close to you as possible. "I just wanna feel you. Wanna be inside you." Peter grabs your face again, smashing his lips on yours. "D'you have any idea how fucked I'd be without you? It just—" he's barely breathing, and he knows you feel why. "I realized just how much I adore every goddamn inch of you and I wanna feel you." He kisses you again, and again. "I owe you my life, baby."

You shake your head at his words and Peter moves his hand down to your chin, holding it still.

"Yes, I do. And I love that," he smiles. "I fell in the best hands of this city... and your hands are just one of the reasons why I'm in love with you."

"Peter." This time, it's you who smashes your mouth on his.

The first time he heard his name coming out from your lips, he thought he'd cum on the spot. He remembers feeling his dick twitching inside of you just at the mention of it—his name, and you.

He loved it.

He lets you kiss him to your desire and when you pull back with those puffy lips, he smiles.

You're looking at him like one looks at something they barely believe it's true. He's seen looks like this a few weeks ago when he went to the museum with May and he saw people staring at what he assumes is their favorite art pieces—nothing but attention to detail and a shine in their eyes.

He feels naked, even though he's not.

"I've been in love with you since the day you told me you had glass shrapnel all over your body because Mrs. Levinson was gonna take the fall for Castle's collateral damage, Y/n, I couldn't have that." You shrug like it's easy, like you haven't just given him the present of a lifetime and stolen every last bit of anxiety and sadness he had hidden in the corners of his mind, then kisses him.

Softly press your lips on his, once, then twice.

When he feels your hands sliding down his body, Peter warms up.

Powerful. From Moon to Sun, there he goes again.

There his body goes.

Peter knows standing still will be a bit of torture, and everything will be heightened from how little he can move, but he's okay with that.

Whining under the ministrations of your hands might be one of his top three activities ever. Peter watches you get off from on top of him so you can take off your sweatpants, and he groans under his breath when you slide your leg over his waist again with the panties still on.

"Just slide it to the side—fuck. Yeah, like that, baby. I love it like this."

Your attention to detail is unmatched.

When you learn something he likes, you never let it go. As soon as Peter feels your hand slipping inside his boxer and getting his cock out there, he's already moaning.

"Stand still," you tell him.

He nods, eagerly. Peter watches you pull your panties to the side, guide the head of his dick to your entrance and when the tip slides in, he feels you coming back, caging him between your arms.

You slide down painfully slow, taking your time with it.

To have something to hold on to, he grabs your ass with one hand and your face with the other. Having his hands on you is a must if he's gonna be good for you.

He might've said he could web his hands to the bed, but if he did that, he'd have to web his hips as well.

"Ahhh." Peter feels the walls of your pussy clenching around him, and he closes his eyes at the feeling.

You move back up, then down again until you're fully seated on his lap and he's fully buried inside of you.

"Use me, baby," he tells you. He might be out of his mind already—has it always been this hot to be inside you? "Fuck—you're always so wet for me. How are you this wet—oh."

You slam your hips down, pulling a grunt from him.

"You make me this way and you know it," you whine to him.

Peter admires you for keeping up with a gym routine, but he admires more the benefits it reaps: the way your legs can hold the weight of bouncing up and down as slow or as fast as you like.

He pulls your head closer until he can kiss you.

"You're gonna use me, hm?" Peter asks between kisses, grunting at how tight you are. "Use those thunder thighs to drive me insane?"

"Peter you feel so fucking good," you breathe out.

The praise warms him up even further. Peter's eyes close in response, and he whines at how hard it is to keep his hips on the bed and not pistoning up to meet your delicious thrusts. "You feel better," he mutters, a bit drunk on the wetness pouring out of you. It's so damn hot in and all around him. "So tight for me, baby."

"Oh, god."

"Hhnh—fuck. Fuck, do that again," he whines.

You do it—you move all the way up until he almost slips out, then slams those hips down again. And again, and again, and again, until the room is nothing but the sound of your skins slapping on one another and your mouths breathing on each other, grunting and moaning.

Peter loves swallowing your moans almost as much as he loves swallowing the slick from your pussy.

"Fuck, if I had a little bit more strength in me I'd ask you to sit on my face after this," he says.

You moan even louder now.

Peter smiles.

He loves it when you two are alone. Loves when you let go, especially if it's to use him to your pleasure.

Peter holds your hip instead of your ass now and tries to help you. While you don't need it, the strength of even just one of his arms is appreciated, and he watches as you let go of all pretenses and just fuck yourself on his cock.

It's when you grab him by the chin and look him in the eye that Peter feels you're fucking him too.

You clench around him. Purposely.

Peter moans as loud as you, and plants his feet on the bed.

The change in angle makes you scream, and as a response, you smash your lips on his again.

He knows you're close by the way you start whining into the kiss.

Peter lets go, too. He kisses you back, all tongue, teeth, bites and moans of your name. Uncoherent sentences and babbles about your pussy and how fucking good you make him feel, and he feels the tension building up in his groins before he'd imagine.

He hates coming before you. Peter makes it a habit to make you cum before he does, but he's in heaven, he's in you, and you're staring at him.

It's that which does it.

"Baby I can't hold it—oh fuck, Y/n, don't do that," if you keep clenching around him just to get a rise of him you'll get more than just that, and he whines because of it. "I'm close. I'm so so close, you feel too good."

He moves his hand from your head in direction of your clit, but you grab him by the wrist and pin his arm above his head, holding tight onto his wrist. While he could break free easier than breathing, feeling how tightly you're gripping him makes his head spin.

He's at your mercy, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Y/n, please." Please stop bouncing so fast, please slow down, baby, please don't clench again.

Your hips slow down just a fraction, and you move until your lips are almost touching his.

Then you ask. "Who has your heart, baby?"

Peter blinks, opening his eyes. His mouth hangs open, jaw wide for a second before he answers. "You."

You move your hips in the way a dancer would, circling like you're trying to spell his damn name or something, and then slam all the way down. "You're mine, baby?"

Peter's head is somewhere too far for him to reach, but he still manages to nod. "All yours."

"I love you so fucking much," you cry on his lips, and then you start again—the merciless speed of your hips against his while your hand holds his arm up and your other is on his neck.

"I love you more," Peter cries back, reaching for a kiss that you give with all the desire in the world. He kind of wants his hand free to hold your face, and kind of wants to see how much you'd fight him to stand still, but neither one happens because you start to speed up and Peter's moans grow louder and louder.

Being as attracted as you are by his sounds, your legs start shaking and squeezing around him.

"Cum for me, Y/n, please, please, please," before I lose it and cum inside you, please.

"Cum inside me first."

"What?"

"Cum in me." You sound as out of it as he is, and Peter's only human at the end of the day. "Please. Do it. Do it, Peter. I wanna feel you. Please, Spidey, c'mon."

Peter cums with a yell, and his hips can't take it, bucking up to meet your thrusts in the last seconds, and it must be the strength with which he fucks into you, the angle, the way he's crying out your name or just everything together, but you cum right with him.

Both of your bodies shake and tremble together, in a peculiar and hard-to-achieve glorious moment.

He'll need many minutes to recover, and you'll need even more to gather the strength and will to let him come out from inside of you, but none of that matters for the time being.

Peter's content to stay inside you for now, just as you are to lay on his chest.

He lets the sound of your hearts beating like hummingbirds bring him back to Earth.

There's a smile on his face, and with minimum inspection, he feels there's a smile resting on his shoulder, too. Your lips press kisses on the exposed skin there, and he feels your grin when the kisses stop.

Peter's not a very religious man, but he might have just found his heaven on Earth.

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#usernexusnyx #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x oc #tasm peter parker #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter x you #tasm peter #tasm fanfiction #tasm fic #tasm smut #tasm peter smut #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter x oc #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #andrew!peter smut #andrew!peter x you #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter imagine #andrew!peter fanfiction #andrew garfield x you

[captain-hen]

i have an issue with the show i am not sure what to think about. i see people saying athena is a strong black female character and therefore awesome. but i just don't like her. i think she's a bully and constantly abuses authority. on multiple occasions she puts being a cop above the safety of her family (the bad stop, recently with harry being a victim of racism). she literally hit her own traumatized child. people keep talking about chimney punching buck, but everyone seems to forget athena hitting harry. idk, i also love some characters that are problematic, but i feel very iffy about such an uncritical approach just because a character is not a white cishet guy

okay, so...let me start off by saying i hear you, and this is an issue that i and most people have had with athena's character. that being said, conversations about copaganda have happened, at length in this fandom. it's not as common these days, but more so during the season 5 era—and i'd also like to add that the scene where athena slaps harry got a lot of pushback when the episode aired, and people were pretty outraged about it. i think it's just that this show has had a lot of copaganda since s1, and it doesn't look like that's about to change anytime soon.

i don't fully agree with what you're saying about athena, but, again, i get where you're coming from. i think the show's tendency to portray the police in the manner that it does often conflicts with how they choose to write athena as a character outside of her job, if that makes sense. that's why you get episodes like next of kin, worst day ever, rage, athena begins, desperate measures etc that make her look like an outright bully who has no regard for procedure or abuse of power. do i think this is gonna change? no. it's been like this since the very first episode and i don't see it changing.

the thing about 911 is, when it gets something right, it gets it really right. the flipside is when it gets something wrong...oh boy. that's how you can have important moments like michael talking to harry about race that feel very well-written coincide with insane scenes like athena playing devil's advocate for the racist cops who nearly shot her son.

honestly, i don't know how to approach this, mainly because i'm not american, and while i come from a country whose law enforcement has major, major issues, i'm obviously at the same time coming from a very different cultural context and lack of sufficient knowledge concerning the history, etc of policing in america. so i really don't know what else there is that i can say on this topic.

#neethu answers #anon

[calliesadeckis]

Hey Jaiden!! I hope ur doing well today, I wanted to ask if you could write a Robin Buckley x reader where reader has to watch from the sidelines as Robin pines over Vickie and doesn't realize reader is right there. Then reader starts talking to simeone else (to distract herself from Robin because she believes it's a lost cause) and Robin's like maybe i do like reader?

Thanks:)

i'm doing well, thank you for asking <3 and oh my god, of course. i love robin so much, she's everything to me

—

and i despise my jealous eyes

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader, and minor robin x vickie & steve x reader

summary: having a crush on your girl best friend was... complicated. even when knowing that she's attracted to girls, just one girl particularly, and that girl was not you

cw: many cups of angst, one sided pining turned two sided (because they're idiots), jealousy (on both ends), happy ending

a/n: robin is everything to me, she's a version of me as well because i kin her so bad, i just felt like she was created for me (as well as for other neurodivegent sapphics out there). also title is lyrics from lacy by olivia rodrigo and i thought it fit here

masterlist

you knew and have been friends with robin buckley since middle school and during that time, you've been inseparable. your parents would say how much you're both attached to each others hips, which was quite the understatement.

when the both of you were close enough, she came out to you. trusting you enough with who she really is and has not told anyone else. of course you'd understand, maybe not entirely for your 13 year old brain, but.... how could you hate your best friend, your ONLY friend for who she loves? you thought people hating on someone for that was dumb, yet again, you're young, you don't know much of the world and why they act the way it does. but nothing was ever gonna change on how you viewed robin.

once you started high school together, you've experienced some changes yourself. that you found yourself going through an experience that your friend was a couple years prior, but at the time, it didn't mean anything important. and you though, 'this can't be a coincidence that i'm attracted to girls, as is my best friend' and speaking of that best friend.... through this discovery journey, you started seeing robin a different light. she was still your best friend of course, but these feelings were just growing into more than friendship, and that feeling never went away.

you were unsure about your sexuality for most of your high school experience, up until senior year. robin was in band, and she met this cute girl in band, vickie, and it made your just a little bit angry. and it's not just the fact this girl is taking time away from your best friend, but it was the fact robin was looking at a girl like that, and that girl wasn't you.

it's not like you hated vickie, you don't even know her, it was just possessiveness that got to you. everything was just so fucked and you didn't wanna talk about your feelings because you weren't exactly the best at communicating your emotions. especially when you don't like talking about them to begin with.

so, the second best option was to move on, though that probably would take multiple year and not over a span of a few days. you needed some type of distraction, of course. so you decided to hang out with steve harrington. and you a a freshman would be confused and wouldn't believe they'd be friends with steve harrington during your senior year.

and we'll, you were in luck. steve was looking for someone to take as a date to lucas' championship game so you took the opportunity to volunteer. and getting to know steve, he wasn't exactly your type but he was sweet, and yeah, a bit dumb, but he had heart and cared for others. and obviously this wouldn't be a permanent thing for you, but you felt kind of sad for steve because he's been mentioning about finding a girl who isn't leaving out of state to go to college, to find someone who isn't gonna be some boring one night stand and never speak to you again. you knew he wanted something real with someone, maybe it wasn't you but... you wanted to help.

to be honest, he was a gentleman. it wasn't even a dinner date, it was going to a high school basketball game and the two of you were sitting in the bleachers. he did buy you some food as you watched the game, you weren't overly invested since you didn't know much about basketball, but you wanted to support lucas.

during the game though, you and robin occasionally gave one another glances. this had made your heart beat a little too fast, but you ignored it.

the game was over and you and steve were walking towards his car to take you home, then you made a pretty dumb move and kissed him. obviously you didn't like him like that but... distracting yourself in anyway with anyone felt good, but it made your stomach twist up in knots. that had gotten progressively worse that robin was watching the entire thing by the time you pulled away. and she was walking away heartbroken and you were just standing there frozen til steve snapped you out of it by clapping his hands together to get your attention, "hey!" and you looked at him, and you knew, that he knew, "go after her, okay? i'll be fine."

"i'm sorry, steve." you felt awful for using him like this, he was your friend and you took advantage. but he brushed it off, "it's fine. i'd rather have robin be okay than me." and you smiled at him before running after your long time best friend. and you called out to her, "robin, can we please talk?"

"there's nothing to talk about, alright." she didn't turn back to look at you and just kept walking, "i just want you and steve to be happy. i don't wanna get in the way of that." but you managed to catch up to her, making her face you. "that's not what that was, okay? he's not my type." and you got her full attention, "like i won't deny he's easy on the eyes and i think he deserves a girl who'll make him happy, but that's not me. i kissed him because i wanted to distract myself from my feelings. and i'm bad at talking about my feelings. so i just push them down and pray that they'll disappear over time but... some stuff just stays."

robin was trying to understand what you meant, she couldn't exactly understand who you were referring to, "so what are you saying exactly?"

"i like you." you blurted out, "maybe even love you. you're my best friend, and i didn't wanna ruin years of friendship because of how i felt about you. and you have a crush on vickie, which is cool. i'm happy for you, but i just... can't go on without being honest with myself. and i'm sorry if i'm talking too much and i-" but the buckley had cut you off with a kiss. and this time around, it felt great, and it felt real. the feelings and emotions were all there on both ends. she pulled away a few inches to just rest her forehead against yours, "i feel the exact same way. for years, actually."

you gasped in surprised and lightly and playfully punched her shoulder, "are you serious? why didn't you say anything?"

"i didn't think you'd feel the same." and she pulled away from your face with a big smile on her face, "especially since i thought you were straight and i didn't wanna ruin our friendship." and the two of you giggled like idiots. you brought her into another kiss before hugging her tightly, "we're both such idiots."

"yeah, pretty much." she chuckled.

#stranger things #stranger things x reader #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x y/n #jaiden writes things #peepshake

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

It bothers the hell out of me when no one talks about what George stacy? (whatever his name is) (gwens dad) pulling out a gun and was (probably) going to harm his own kid?? why is no one talking about? why is that scene so overlooked?? it's so fucking overlooked, call me whatever, but my gut has been screaming to me about it, it's so weird how overlooked it is, And I know it's not just me, but I also feel kike I know why and it sucks, I feel bad for gwen, I don't think she'll ever look at him that way and it's not being talked about as much.

NO DEADASS REALLY FOR REAL DEADASS

Like the implications of that scene are insane - if we question what he would've done, like it gets sickening.

Because he let out a warning shot, he's going by procedure. So if Gwen hadn't complied, what would he have done? If she 'resisted arrest' is he really ready to use force - A GUN on his own daughter.

He KNOWS she Spider-Gwen now. He's see what she can do - Gwen could probably dodge a bullet if she knew she was being shot at. Knowing that, he was doing that to get her to submit in fear, that hopefully his place as a cop would scare her into WHAT?? Giving herself up.

Gwen CAN'T.

This is NYC mind you.

If you get arrested in NYC they send you Riker's Island while you wait for trail. Riker's Island being the jail that inspired ARKHAM ASYLUM.

It's considered one of the foulest facilities in the country. Gwen is what, 16-17? Wanted for murder - the cops HATE her, the courts could easily trial her as an adult.

Was he REALLY ready to throw his 16 year old daughter into the most dangerous neglective hellish place the city has to offer? Was he ready to shoot her or worse?

WHAT WAS HE GONNA DO??? CAUSE WHATEVER IT WAS...HE SEEMED COMMITED TO DOING IT.

SIR WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO INFLICT UPON YOU INNOCENT CHILD - HOBIE GET THE GUITAR

No wonder she was gonna leave without talking to him. If Hobie hadn't come over, she would've rather been homeless on the streets rather than try and face her dad again - knowing it can end up MUCH worse.

Not knowing if he's looking for her to apologize or throw her in a cruiser he makes me SICKKKK BRUHH ITs NOT EVEN FUNNY AT THIS POINT

As soon as he started talking she had an attitude because she's still pissed about there. There's so much sadness there but anger too, cause like

How you deadass pull a gun on your only family??????????????

How you deadass about to send your daughter to a detention center or a jail OR MORE LIKELY COMPLETE SOLITARY. Consider her powers.

Like..... These movies want me to pat him and Peter B. on the back for a job well done when they BOTH let Gwen down. And Gwen has to come TO THEM to fix it (which I understand for her dad but Peter r u deadass)

Meanwhile Jefferson is doing TWENTY THOUSAND TIMES BETTER WTF

FUCK GEORGE STACY ALL MY HOBIES HATE GEORGE STACY JEFFERSON DAVIS IS A KIN

DO YOU THINK HED EVER PULL A GUN ON MILES NO!!!!!

#Sorry but MIles42 should punch Gwen's dad :) #Like he's normal now but he Must Repent #gwen stacy #spidergwen #spider gwen #george stacy #atsv discourse #atsv analysis #atsv #spiderman #spider man #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #miles morales

[svftloving]

૮꒰ ྀི◜༝◝꒱ა yandere! lumine general headcanons

warnings! yandere themes, overprotectiveness (directed towards reader), obsessive behavior, clingy behavior, force affection, kidnapping, mentions of violence (not towards reader), paimon attempting to be a wingman (but ultimately failing), if you feel like anything else i should add, just comment! <3

notes! couldnt forget about lumine, of course. love her just as much. also, just like aether's, these headcanons take place as if you were traveling with lumine and paimon (since like, before the actual story). enjoy! <3

archons, this woman is absolutely obsessed with you. there's practically no words that could that she could ever formulate out that would even match to how much you truly mean to her. she tries, she really does, but it always feel...insufficient.

while traveling throughout each region in pursue of gaining information for her kin, she gets...very clingy. while she definitely get (over)protective and jumps at any opportunity that strikes her to protect you, lumine's (physical) affection for you grows throughout your journey. it's inevitable, but are you really gonna blame her? she already lost her brother, could you imagine how much she would lose it if she lost you too?

unlike what her brother would do, she's taking you wherever she goes (commisions, simple side quests, places involved in the pursuit to find her brother, etc). and while that may seem nice, it's not. you're practically glued to her and she refuses to let you go. of course, she doesn't take you places that she assess as too dangerous (you're going in the serenitea pot if that's the case), but other than that, you're dragged along wherever her and paimon go. if something ends up going wrong (such as enemies blocking your way, a flirty passbyer, etc), though...she'll end up revoking your privileges and you're stuck in the teapot for 4 to 5 months a while. paimon attempts to have your back and fight for your freedom, but lumine is able to convince her otherwise. give the poor girl some props she's trying her hardest :'(

speaking of paimon…she’s the worse wingman ever. according to lumine, atleast. she appreciates paimon's efforts and all to try and woo you for her, but it always ends up making her look bad in the long run. unintentionally attempting to show off lumine's battling techniques as she breaks the bones of a innocent person for flirting with you, trying to convince you of how amazing lumine is as if she hasn't stated casually how she's willing to kill the entire population of teyvat for you, etc.

anyway, anyway. i really want to point out how willing she is to kill for you. like, her reasons might be even worse than the ones i stated in aether's general headcanons. she's swiftly pulling out her sword and holding it up to the poor guy who's trying to sell flowers as if you both aren't in public. she doesn't usually think either in her attempts to protect you (or stop whatever, or whoever's, making her feel the way she does) and just takes out her sword and gets to swinging.

on a more...obsessive note, she's (indirectly) very dependent on you. while she attempts at not showing too much of her love for you in an attempt to not scare you off more then she probably has despite the fact that she's forcing you along her search for her brother and technically keeps you imprisoned from time to time which is a good enough reason to be afraid, it definitely slips out often she would like. while she's not going to threaten to harm herself if you left (ahem, aether), her words to show off her love for you reveal how dependant she is on you (lumine: "have i ever told you how much i love you? *insert atleast four to five hour rant of how you changed her life completely and how devoted she is to you* ...anyways, wanna go get some hash browns?").

if you couldn't tell, words of affirmation (or literally just talking about anything in general)are her love language. yeah, of course she wouldn't refuse the opportunity to hold your hand and gain other (physical) affection from you (...or just taking it by force), just talking to you makes her day. and more specially, she loves hearing you talk. of course, if you rather not (which is totally fine because you probably want to be anywhere else than by her side), then she doesn't mind talking to you instead. fair warning though, the topics she talks about tend to become a bit...obsessive but that's neither here or there. and that's all fine and dandy, right? :)

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere lumine #yandere lumine x reader #yandere traveler #if you notice some things look similar to aether's headcanons #then yeah i did that on purpose :p #“hey! these headcanons seem longer than aether!” no they don't #YES she has one less bullet point than aether's I'M SORRY-

[edelfan]

Trigger warning: suicide attempt

I'm sorry for this. I'm going through a rough time myself and this just wanted to be written.

It was way past midnight and the hallways of the Naval hospital were deserted except for the night nurse who kept making her turns. One room though was filled with people, all gathered around the pale figure lying in the bed and being kept alive by the countless machines he was connected to.

I'm sorry that it has come to this, but then it's not like you guys are gonna miss me anyway.

Admiral Kazansky had used the power of his rank as COMPACFLT to make sure that they could stay with him 24/7 - especially after learning that there was no family or other next of kin to be called.

My father was right. I'm not good for anything, not even when I brought home straight As, not even when I get those meaningless medals.

The room was small. The only two chairs available were occupied by Phoenix and Rooster. The rest of the Daggers were lined up along the walls, Bob having a supporting hand on Phoenix's shoulder. Maverick was standing at the foot of the bed, leaning on the rails as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.

I know I've been an asshole most of the time. It's the only way I managed to survive for this long. Don't show weakness, don't let them come close because you'll only be hurt in the end.

"Anybody, but him... I mean if I'd only known how he really felt," Phoenix mumbled, clumsily wiping at the tears that kept coming. Without saying a word, Bob wrapped her in a hug from behind.

Maverick was right in not choosing me. Rooster was right when he said that I lead people to an early grave. Funny that in the end it seems to be my own.

"The doctors said that the next 72 hours are critical. He needs to start breathing on his own or else..." Maverick sighed, laying his hand on the blanket over Jake's legs in hopes that the young man could feel that he wasn't alone. "Damn it, kid. Not like this, you hear me, son?"

I really thought that I had proofed myself by saving Maverick and Rooster. I had really hoped that I found a squadron, in which I am not the one on the sidelines. I had hoped that maybe we could be friends...

For a long time there was silence in the room - except for the hissing ventilator and the beeping heart monitor.

But I keep fucking up. I keep running my mouth and I keep making the same mistakes over and over again.

"I shouldn't have said those things to him the other day. Hell, I know how it is up there... Fuck, Jake, I'm sorry." Fritz's voice was hoarse as he let himself slip down the wall, ending up in a heap on the floor.

Tell Javy that I am sorry. I'm just too tired.

Javy was standing by the window, looking out into the darkness. Ever since he had helped Rooster and the medics getting Jake into the ambulance, he hadn't said a word.

Tell Rooster Bradley that I am sorry. I am sorry for what I did the first time we met at Top Gun. I shouldn't have pressured you so much into... well, you know what I'm talking about. If only... who knows, we could have been quite the power couple, right? No matter what I said back then, I still love you... so much.

Bradley was a mess. He hadn't left Jake's side since breaking open the younger man's door and finding him on the floor. Sitting next to the bed, he held Jake's hand while also caressing his hair. Too many people had left him behind already, he wouldn't let Jake go, he couldn't let him go. "You damn idiot... Why didn't you say anything? I still fucking love you, too. You can't leave me, baby, please..."

See you on the other side.

#hangster #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #the dagger squad #top gun angst #top gun drabble #my writing

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

In the season of the holidays, let's talk about the Clan Culture of Gift-giving!

There are many different kinds of things that Clan cats give each other as gifts. I will show some of the different categories, feel free to ask about anything in them.

Flowers (for all intents and purposes, most flowers are no longer toxic to cats)

Flowers are a very common gift amongst the Clans. Different flowers also have different meanings. Lavender is given as a general "wishing you peace" as the scent has a calming effect. A rose is seen as a VERY bold gift, as they are mainly found in Twoleg gardens, and posses thorns. Stems, petals, and leaves are all seen as gifts themselves, but all parts of a flower have the same culture.

Scorchfur brought Snowbird tulip petals while they were courting. Quite brave and romantic since they come from Twoleg gardens!

Tree brought Needlekit and Rootkit daisies while they were small. Oops, that's a gift younger cats tend to give older cats. Thankfully they liked the smell.

Palebird liked giving heather to Woollytail, which is seen a nice, generic gift in Windclan. In any other Clan, it is pretty much seen as just friendly. Heather flowers were Woollytail's favorite though,

Generally, they are given to from any cat to any cat, but have their own meaning unlike human flower language.

Stones/Shells

Since shells are nearly Riverclan exclusive, I'm gonna throw them into this category.

Stones are seen as adult gifts. You don't give them to kits, they are given to fellow warriors. If a mentor gives one to their apprentice, it is seen as a HIGH compliment. Longtail gave a lovely smooth pebble from the river to Swiftpaw. Cloudtail buried it with him. Rainwhisker gave a jagged little stone to his friend Spiderleg, which he uses to help cut up mushroom pieces, good useful gift!

Shellheart, true to his name, gave shells to Rainflower while they were courting. She threw them all out when they split up. Crookedjaw gave a shiny shell to Willowbreeze when they got together. Silverstream kept it and it is now in Blossomfall's possession, as Blossomfall is Silverstream's daughter now.

Berries/Mushrooms/Nuts

Snacks! Snacks are great gifts! Anyone can give these out to anyone, and some have basic messages. They quite different from straight up meals. They are very often given from parents to children, especially nuts.

Acorns are very common in Thunderclan land, and Squirrelflight liked giving them to The Three for them to eat and play with.

A large beech nut tree grows on Riverclan land, close to their Windclan border. Beechfur would leave small piles of beech nuts for Gorsetail to find and give to their kits.

Mushrooms are more mature, since they have tastes that young kittens may not enjoy. They are most common found in Shadowclan's beautiful marshy land, but grow in other areas too. I'll be doing a post on the different mushrooms that grow in WCR. FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES THE MUSHROOMS USED IN THE STORY ARE NOT TOXIC TO CATS.

Toadstep made fried mushrooms (beefsteak mushroom) for Featherpelt during an Aftergathering while she was pregnant.

Berries are also incredibly popular! Whether for fur dye, food, or bait for hunting, every cat is happy to get gifted berries. They are most popular to give to cats you are either kin with or have mentored/been mentored by.

Puddleshine likes to give sloe berries to Shadowsight, as a bush grows on the Thunder-Shadow border.

Strawberries grow near the Wind-Thunder border, and strawberries are Leafpool's favorite snack, so Squirrelflight does her best to get lots for Leafpool, and got some for the Three.

Snowtail likes to give lots of blackberries to his mother Speckletail, as blackberries are both their favorite.

Feathers

Feathers are a lovely gift! They are often used in nest building or as toys for kits. (Or, if you for some reason make the hike up the mountain to the Tribe Of Snowy Peaks, used in sculptures) (except eagle feathers, which are only for nesting because of their stiffness being perfect for keeping nests together)

Note: You do not give Cuckoo feathers as gifts. Ever. It is seen as incredibly disrespectful. They are NOT gifts.

Icecloud likes to give robin feathers to her mom and dad, she makes sure they have nice nests, and knows that Dustpelt really likes the colour of them.

Ivypool found a large crow feather once and gave it to Blossomfall, who especially appreciated to softness while recovering from having their kits.

Tigerclaw gave Firepaw cuckoo feathers, because he knew Firepaw wouldn't know what they meant.

Clay

Clay pots, bowls and plates are all very good things. Most often given to Medicine Cats or Cooks since they get the most use out of them, they are the most frequent recipients. Each is very unique and has a different vibe.

Briarlight made a small plate for Jayfeather while she was in recovery, using her claws to make lots of different textures.

Bristlefrost made bowls for Rootspring and Shadowsight, they both still have them. They have her pawprint in the middle.

Curlfeather made Frostpaw lots of bowls, each with curly, looping designs on them...

Wood

Woodworking is difficult, but since the discovery of Fire, was revamped with woodburning. Tools and decorations are made, but while decorations are for anyone, tools are not for apprentices (aside from inheritance).

Pieces of wood are cut with sharpened stones and bone tools, then shaped as best as the WCR cats can get them.

Tools are important to the Clans, and inherited and passed down until the tool breaks, to which it must be replaced by the cat who broke it. Tools are a very high-value gift and a huge honor to receive.

Ashfur gave Ferncloud a small decoration, he burned a small pattern into it for the nursery to smell nice. She threw it out after his death.

Breezepelt gave his first litter (Smokehaze, Brindlewing and Needletail) their own tools when they were apprentices, despite the pushback he got.

Food/Meals

Food is always an amazing gift, especially when you know someone's favorite meal. You can always expect a meal gift if you are close with a cat who likes cooking, such as Sparkpelt, Strikestone, Featherpelt, Firefern, and Graymist.

To apologize to Daisy, Spiderleg made her favorite dish: scrambled egg. It was burnt in one part, undercooked in another, and not enough shell was in it, but Daisy told him it was the best meal she had ever had.

Spicy Chub Soup is Hawkfrost's favorite meal, so his daughter Cloudsnap learned to make it for him whenever he looks stressed out.

Squirrelflight makes Fried Squirrel for her family members, often drizzling it with honey as well.

All in all, giving gifts is done all year round, but a lot of gift exchanges happen at Gatherings or Aftergatherings.

Happy Holidays, whatever you celebrate!

#warrior cats #warrior cats rewrite #warriors #wcr #clan culture #palebird #crookedstar #puddleshine #blossomfall #jayfeather #briarlight #curlfeather #frostpaw #ashfur #cloudsnap #bristlefrost #squirrelflight #shadowsight #snowkit #leafpool #toadstep #featherpelt #speckletail #spiderleg #daisy wc #silverstream #longtail #cloudtail #dustpelt #ferncloud

[bunny-heels]

Ahti may be all goofy looking and very sweet in-game but in a short film??? Holy shit gramps gonna make me whimper in Finnish, perkele saatana.

Anyway what do you think of him!! What's his connection with Casey?? So many thoughts!

I. LOVE. LOVE. LOOOOOOOOVE. AHTI. [platonically]

so mind yall i got into Remedy via Control in earlymid 2021 and my Finnish friend played it for me so i got the little insights of what he was saying [which most of the time still made no fuckin sense] and i. fucking. LOVED Ahti. my boyfriend kept commenting on how he's a lot nicer in AW2 but he's still a big sweetheart in Control! the nightmare the Hiss puts Jesse through where Ahti kept showing up outside the Director's office encouraging her to keep going and in the last loop [or spiral i guess] he goes "i knew i picked a good assistant". and him literally telling Jesse in the beginning of the game that if the Board didn't pick her he would fucking kill them like.............. Ahti may talk to Alan and Casey like they're his old friends but he talks to Jesse like he's her actual grandpa and he's so so so sweet and silly and one of the reasons i'm deciding to kin Jesse among other things

also his connection to Casey is not what i expected at all. i thought that if they were to meet it would be in-game and maybe he would refer to Casey as a different name [maybe as Sam]. i didnt expect him to apparently know a FINNISH 60s ACTOR VERSION OF CASEY. i mean who knows if they even actually met, maybe that was Scratch fucking with the story and mocking Alan like i mentioned in the last ask. or maybe he DID know a Finnish Casey but he just wasn't an actor and instead was an actual detective and that's why he asked him about the FBC, and Scratch just used their connection to each other and made it seem like it happened in a movie instead of in real life. that honestly seems more plausible, cause honestly if the film really did exist then i would think the FBC have it kept away somewhere and maybe have a document of it but there's literally nothing.

i hope in the Night Springs DLC, if you do get to play as Dark Place Casey, that you get him to meet Ahti. i really wanna know what he says and thinks about him and ESPECIALLY what name he refers to him as. or better yet, Ahti meeting Dark Place Sam. i need that SO bad.

#the bun answers #alan wake #alan wake 2 #alan wake ii #control game #control remedy #control 2019 #ahti the janitor #alex casey #aleksi kesä #remedyverse #remedy entertainment #remedy connected universe

[rubberduckyrye]

So I saw your flowerfell post and it's actually true, it was ruined by shippers and they disrespected the creators wishes by doxxing them sending death threats and tons more, there is year old video on YouTube that talks more about it. I think it's called how shippers destroyed an au. I could be miss remembering the name of the video. Sorry 😔

Oii. You're gonna go make me watch that damn video huh? Just to prove a point? Mkay, I'll bite.

And you're going to regret getting me to bite.

First of all, this is the video in question you are referring to:

And immediately, the creator of the video proves to be wrong. And fuck you for making me give this video a view, because it really doesn't deserve it for spreading misinformation.

The original fanfiction, "Overgrowth," was posted to Ao3 by the user SociopathicArchangel, which you can find an archive of here. In before you suggest that SociopathicArchangel was a reposter of the fic, I want to point out that looking for their username on Ao3 brings up a shocking and alarming amount of people crediting them for the Flowerfell Fanfic. This is a bit too much of a coincidence for SociopathicArchangel to be a reposter, especially since Archangel doesn't have an Ao3 anymore.

Also, this video reading the fanfic credits Sociopathicarchangel. So you know.

The content creator who made this video refers to Sociopathicarchangel as... I think it's spelled, Lividicus??? Correct me if I'm wrong here, but I'm assuming Archangel changed their username. I'll be referring to them as Socipathicarchangel or Archangel for this ask though.

Disregarding that, if you are to look at the Archive.org link of Overgrowth--the original fanfiction was tagged as Frisk/Sans, or Frans. So yeah the argument falls apart when you actually look at fandom history. Flowerfell was a Frans AU. Whether or not the original creator intended it to be and their friend Archangel took it out of context is kind of moot point--the main explosion of the AU came from the fanfic made by Archangel, thus meaning the AU was a Frans AU. Or at least, gained traction from the fic which gave the assumption that it was a Frans AU.

This is important to note because the framework of this video is already severely flawed. So I'm not looking forward to seeing the rest of this hot garbage.

Oh I love how they didn't credit the actual composer of Secret Garden. They just showed a Fan PV on screen. Nice!!! They don't even say the composer's name for credit! Love (See: Hate) to see it.

About the kinning: I vaguely remember this drama when it started, and how the creator of Flowerfell was very Anti-kin. Which is. Uh. We see that as a shitty thing now, right? I know that having someone kin """Your""" character (Sans nor Frisk was never their characters to begin with) might seem a bit uncomfortable at first but like. Man, just leave fiction kins alone. They get so much shit for everything.

The evidence provided to prove that Kins were sending the creator hate for not making their Headcanons canon--I mean. Where's the evidence for that. Please show that. No? Okay...

I have absolutely no idea what the hell the OC stuff is about. People stole the og creator's OCs to use in their own stuff? Would love some context and evidence for that. But this video shows no evidence of these things what so ever. Ugh.

Anyway.

In the video, the content creator used this snippit from the fic to prove that Frisk was "Canonly a child in the AU" and "this was not a Frans AU"

Pointing out the actual context here--this snippit? It's talking about Toriel. Toriel, who had gone mad from seeing children before Frisk disobeying her and dying.

This is not saying Frisk is a child. This is saying Toriel has gone mad from seeing children before them die to the hands of other monsters.

Not really important, but this is just an example of why the content creator who made this video just. Is not to be trusted. They used this as "proof" Frisk was a child in the original Fic. Which is not the case.

And again. This video, as I'm going through it, is giving no evidence over anything that happened. Absolutely nothing. Go figure.

Also, listening to the clip that the content creator put in their video--I heard that. I heard that little flub. "An--asks we would get" I don't know, sounds like they were going to say antis there--as in, Anti-shippers maybe Hmmm. That is speculation, granted, but still. Worth noting it.

But also, now I have to go listen to the whole audio clip because it sure sounds like this wasn't a "poor Creator of Flowerfell was a victim in this uwu" but it sounds like Sane (I think is how you spell their name) became bitter, vindictive, and started fighting with people about their AU.

Like yeah, that's going to end well.

Anyway, onto the audio clip.

A lot of this is testimony so far. (And again, calling Frisk a child, that's not canon, I am Screaming) I don't think these people understand what fiction kinning a character means, because they are basically being Anti-kin right now. I don't know if there were actually any kins disrespecting the creators by saying they knew the characters better than they did, or if they were just saying "Hey!!! I am Flowerfell Frisk!!!!!" And these people took it the wrong way. I need references--aka, evidence that Kins actually were being disrespectful little shits, or shut up. Please for the love of god does anyone have any evidence. I am Begging.

Also the misconception that Sane owned Flowerfell because they created the AU is absurd. Please, for the love of god, if you make an AU of a canon franchise, unless you like, get super special privileges from the creators themselves, or are licensed to produce that content--you do not own that property. I am screaming into my hands. I am Tired.

I listened to the rest of the audio clip after that note because I knew it was going to be a very emotional audio clip. However, for as much as I feel for Psi (the person who recorded this audio) being stuck in the situation they were in... No, Shippers were never the main issue.

Here's what I think happened, after listening in and going over everything:

Flowerfell was created. Overgrowth was created. It got very popular as a Frans AU because it was tagged as a Frans AU on Ao3. Maybe some Fans got upset at the original creator because the Ao3 fic was tagged as the ship and the AU was not the ship, thus making them feel lied to, but from the sound of the audio clip it seems like the shippers and anti shippers were actually not that big of a problem. (Which is a surprise to me--antis are the ones who basically erased what actually happened from fandom history, like the content creator you referenced. They screamed "Anti" to me in that video at least) Even the thieves stealing and reposting art and the fanfic didn't seem to be the main issue here.

The biggest problem came about from Sane's paranoia of someone stealing their ideas and getting into arguments with fictionkins, and getting backlash from being frankly from what I can remember, very anti-fictionkin. And judging from the way Psi phrased things in this audio clip--yeah, I can easily imagine they were being extremely anti-fictionkin and that probably pissed a bunch of people off. And that, in turn, made them spiteful, which made Sane more bitter and spiteful because they didn't know how to deal with such a huge audience and a huge amount of backlash.

Either way, no, it was not the Frans Shippers that "ruined the AU." What ruined the AU was the fact that the main creator, Sane, didn't know how to handle such a large fanbase that was given to them overnight. They didn't know how to react or behave when fans were making them uncomfortable or being inappropriate. They were encouraged by peers to be spiteful and angry and only grew more bitter and paranoid because of it. As they became a worse and worse person, more fans started getting angry too, and wanting to take the AU for themselves since the creator was being a bad person for how they were treating their fans.

The AU wasn't ruined by the Frans shippers. It was ruined by Sane themselves--and by the people who were encouraging Sane's bitterness and paranoia. The only person who could ruin a creation is the creator themselves, after all. I'm pretty sure even Psi acknowledged that in their audio clip at the end--that it was all up to Sane.

So enough with the "Frans Shippers Ruined Flowerfell" Shit because that is not what happened from what little evidence I've seen/gathered. If you got actual proof that is the case, be my guest! But nothing concrete has been present to me thus far.

So yeah.

#Flowerfell #Frisk #Sans #Frans #This was such a random ass ask to get #Kind of an annoying one too #Like this was so random did you like #find me in the tags from months ago or something???? #Oh well

[nonuggetshere]

I loved reading all of that. It's so funny how PK's sibs, and at points his dame, tease him. I love it so much 😆

It also got me thinking.

Would it be possible, in another AU (maybe like wayward royals or somewhere waaaaayyy down in FAaF), for Flower them to run into WLs Father. Or, maybe Flower gets separated and meets him by accident. Would he realize their kin or just see him as a territorial threat?

THANK YOU it's one of my favourites, writing family dynamics is so entertaining

AND FUNNY YOU MENTION THAT because I actually have an AU where they meet both of their grandparents! But first, some info about Quercus, then more info about the AU itself

This is gonna get super rambly bc I'm copy-pasting mine and Integrity's messages from discord

His name is Quercus and he is old as balls

He had Amanita when he was very very old too and these two were particularly close because she was the only surviving seedling. She's never seen his persona face to face but they talked a lot and he took great care of her (I think I already mentioned how roots grow up and how he's like with his children)

The kingdom he resides in is quite literally built around, on and into his giant ancient root body. He hasn't fully abandoned his former form like his daughter had and resides in a sort of in-between, which roots can do. His smaller form is connected to his body and is more residual from ages long past when he used to properly rule the kingdom. Now he's retreated from this role and many of the kingdom's peoples don't even realise that the higher being whose body they live in is still alive

He keeps his body beneath the ground, in a chamber he dug amongst his roots, where he mostly resides in and feeds on any poor schmuck that decides to venture into (and get lost in) the twisting, long tunnels amongst his roots

It's been a long time since he's communicated with anyone face to face, which he doesn't mind, roots aren't particularly social and are quite literally built to remain stationary with very little outside stimuli for a very long time

A mortal would have probably go insane if they spent their human lifespan's equivalent in isolation like he did but he's quite literally built different

And when I say ancient I mean ANCIENT

When he had Amanita he probably would be like the human equivalent of a 110 year old

But roots don't die of old age and he's strong and healthy so he's still kicking

The few AUs where he and Adamas meet they do NOT get along its actually so funny

Worsties in law

SO THE AU

I've mentioned that higher beings in my AU have the ability to sense who is their kin and it's especially strong in rootfolk, it's needed considering how they reproduce to avoid inbreeding

LONG story short, Flower needed a fucking break from Everything, ended up getting lost, ended up chancing upon their grandma and almost got their ass beaten by her before she realised they're her kin, after they left she had a bad feeling and decided to follow to keep an eye on them, they arrived at their grandfather's former kingdom and decided hey checking out these tunnels that supposedly nobody came out of alive would be a good idea, Adamas obviously sensed this ancient god in there and followed to keep Flower's dumb ass safe, bullshit ensues when she interrupts him excitedly introducing himself to the first grandkid he's ever met and asking about his daughter

And the two get into a massive argument. Because it just didn't occur to them that their children could EVER end up together

And Flower can't get a word in to explain

Adamas might not be a god but she's so willing to square up against one about this, Flower is HER kin so you can go fuck yourself you overgrown carrot

Flower: Fucking hell, now I get why my parents are Like That

Quercus: they’re clearly a root!

Adamas: they’re clearly a wyrm!

Flower: I—

Adamas: where’s their vines and roots and flowers than Hm? You’ve gone mad in old age

Flower: hey guys—

Quercus: Bold words from a mortal

Adamas: I might not be a god but I still don't mind kicking the ass of one!

Flower: OKAY! Alright! Enough fighting! Here's a wild idea; I am both of yours grandchild

Quercus: ...No

Adamas: Impossible

Quercus: Why would any of my children lower their standards so much as to take something as beastly as a wyrm for a partner?

Adamas, bristling: What could a root even provide for any of my clutches, besides sustenance after ripping into one? You're all soft, lazy pushovers

Flower: Fucking hell–

Flower: what if I ditched you both and left. What then. What if just leave

They just. Ditch their grandparents but of course Adamas goes to hunt them down

Adamas: Didn't your sire and dame teach you it's rude to sneak away like that?

Flower: I didn't sneak away, I even said goodbye, you were just too preoccupied with tour squabbles. Why do you keep following me anyways?

Adamas: It's not often I get to meet my grandchildren, let alone one's so careless or stupid enough to not only wander into another wyrm's densite but to also march into an ancient, hungry God's open maw. Somebody has to teach you self preservation because clearly whichever of my children had you failed at that

Flower: Oh, joy...

Adamas: …which one was it anyways?

Flower, who doesn’t even know PK or WL’s name: ….. the pale short one?

Adamas, also pale and kind of short: .......Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?

Adamas, starting to list names:

Flower: I don’t know his name

Adamas: ??????????

Adamas: Are you serious?

Flower: ...Does the Pale King of Hallownest ring a bell?

Adamas: You only know him by his title?

Flower: It's a long story, don't dodge the question

Adamas: I suppose I've heard of him, wyrm kingdoms aren't that common nowadays- isn't he a god? One of my children is an actual god?

Flower: Wh- how did you hear of him but never realised he was your son? You have no right to judge me holy shit

Adamas: So it's decided, I'm going back to Hallownest with you and beating your parent's ass

Flower: HUH WHAT

Adamas: Fucker can't teach you how to take care of yourself and makes you use their title, I'm setting their ass straight if that's the last thing I do

Flower: WHO'S DECIDING THIS WE DIDN'T DECIDE SHIT I DO NOT AGREE TO THIS

SORRY GOT OFF TOPIC

Point is, Quercus would recognise Flower (and any other grandkid) and would ADORE them, especially if he knew they came from his little princess. But PK and his part of the family? Yeah uh. The old man does Not like nor approve of them

I think the only thing Adamas and Quercus would agree on is that Flower's parents kind of suck

Especially if they find out about the whole vessel thing

#thylacines can talk #asks #faaf au #my ocs #OH I FORGOT TO TAG THE LAST POST TOO GONNA HAVE TO EDIT THAT #oc: quercus #oc: adamas

[thecameronchronicles]

Getting Even

TW: Smut. Language. Soft Domination. 

SUMMARY: After learning about your boyfriend, John B, having cheated on you with your best friend, Sarah, you go to the only friend you have left, as he makes a proposition too tempting to turn down…

WORD COUNT: 2300

*Requested*

Getting Even

You should have known by the way everyone silenced within The Chateau that something was amiss and yet, you were too excited to see John B to read further into it. College acceptance letter at the edge of your fingertips, you moved further beyond the core pogues as JJ suddenly sprung to his feet, broadcasting your name as if it was being used as some type of warning. 

“What are YOU doing here!?” You narrowed your eyes before rolling them, blaming either alcohol or weed for his behavior before advancing further towards your boyfriend’s bedroom. 

“You’re HERE. Now. Outside John B’s bedroom door…Getting ready to go in….” He continued to announce as you watched as Pope could no longer meet your gaze and Kiara was in view as if preparing for nuclear fallout. 

The idea was maddening as you made your way beyond the bedroom door to find your boyfriend on the edge of his bed, quickly dressing. You offered a smile, holding up your letter, before that very exuberance fell to dismay at the sight of your best friend, Sarah, also getting dressed at his back. His hands motioned to you as if this would be enough to calm you as you were enraged. 

“Can we talk about it without you-” Using the closest item to your side, which happened to be a book, you threw it at him, casting a final baleful glare to Sarah who was riddled with shame, before marching through the chateau, unable to look at anyone else for even a second. 

The tears in your eyes made it difficult to make out the road before you, and yet from some subconscious pull, you were suddenly before Tannyhill. You explained to yourself that this was out of habit as Sarah would have been the first person you’d go to if this were to happen. Only now, it happened BECAUSE of her and you were left in tears in her driveway. 

"Sarah's not here. If you're looking for her, she's probably with her pogue-" Your eyes shot to Rafe, the usual arrogant smirk not twisted into amusement before noticing your expression.

"Did everybody know BUT me?!" 

"Know what?" He was sincerely confused before putting the pieces together while you explained what happened in quick detail. 

"Come inside, I'll let you in and you can go trash her room or burn a sweater or something…" Although you had no intention of doing either of those, the idea of being alone was too painful to bear. For that reason, you accepted. 

"Here…" He paused while leading a glass across the counter top of the kitchen, pouring in a few different types of alcohol and finalizing it with a straw. 

"I just don't get it. My best friend and…God I'm the ultimate cliche aren't I?" You shook your head, watching his jaw clench before he silenced himself behind a drink. 

"What?"

"Nothing."

"It's never 'nothing' with you.. What?" You egged as he tossed his shoulders a few times before deciding to speak his thoughts aloud. 

"It's just…Pogues are just that. Scum. Leeches and-"

"Rafe-"

"What I'm trying to say is you deserve better. He was only ever gonna drag you down." A part of you knew this was right. But you loved him-or at least admired him. You loved the carelessness of his wild heart and the comfort in words even the ones he wasn't certain of himself. He always had a way of easing you with them. But that's all it was now that you looked back on it, pretty words and a reciprocated crush apparently superficial. 

"Holy shit-" He suddenly noticed the letter on the counter. The letter that anyone who had a conversation with you in the last six weeks knew meant so much to you. And yet, your parents and not your supposed friends had even bothered to ask. But Rafe knew how important it had been. 

"You got in, didn't you? Of course you did, they'd be stupid not to take you-" He spoke these kind words with such indifference it was almost as if they weren't the truth. But they were spoken this way because they were so true, they were effortless behind his lips. 

"Yeah…well…I was supposed to celebrate but…the two who were supposed to do that with me are too busy fucking each other to-" You stopped once realizing you had become a bit too passionate about your words. 

"Sorry-"

"No…let it out.. But you're still gonna celebrate."

"I'm not really in the mood, Rafe-"

"Well I am. So you have five minutes to have this little party of self pity and then I'm taking you to celebrate." He finished his drink and retired upstairs for a change of clothes as you followed behind, managing to catch a glimpse of his muscles before he saw you. 

There was an odd comfort between you and Rafe. There were never tension but also rarely flirtations. You knew he hated pogues and he berated them with cruelty and yet at this moment, you understood why. But where the majority found Rafe to be unbearable for his dramatics and lack of solid direction, the way he treated you had always allowed him a merit. Always kind. Always welcoming. And always noticing small details that made you feel important. But you never considered anything beyond that as he was Sarah's brother. You had respected her too much to risk a friendship that clearly didn't mean the same to her. 

"Maybe we can go to The Wreck and raise a little hell…find some rebound for ya…rub it in his face?" He offered, sitting on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes as epiphany lit up your expression. 

"You're right."

"Never get tired of hearing THAT, but care to elaborate?"

"I DO need someone to get over it…someone who will hurt them like they hurt me….a little payback…" He nodded. 

"That's my girl…whatever it takes to get over it…So let's go find you one lucky son-o-fa-bitch." He was truly excited for you before trying to move past you, your hand catching his polo-clad bicep as he was stilled by your motions. 

"I mean YOU, Rafe." He froze, the words confusing him. 

"You…you know we could just SAY we did…we don't actually have to- '' You retracted your grasp. 

"You don't want to…" You spoke this as more of a realization than a question before turning to leave as he let you make a handful of steps before taking your waist into his hands and turning you to face him. 

"I just want you to be sure."

"Do you want to fuck me, Rafe?" His lips parted, brows raised in intrigue, but only silence left his mouth as he tried to find the words. 

When you could tell this was from an inner struggle between remaining chivalrous and taking what he wanted, you collected his cheeks between your palms before ultimately kissing him. It was a slow kiss as you savored the softness of his full lips and the way they were submissive to your guidance. But when your fingers fisted his shirt for more, he was quick to follow orders as he pulled you towards him with soft conviction. 

You were pulled into his bedroom and onto his bed immediately, his strong fingers rounding your ass before taking you into a straddle. Once comfortable, he descended your neck with deep kisses, ones that took your breath away for how thorough he suctioned onto your skin, certain to leave bruising of his visitation. 

"I don't want to be a rebound to you…" He explained with winded conviction as you smirked against him. 

"Then be memorable…" You teased before he nodded, licking his lips, taking hold of your cheek, and leading you against him. 

Taking your shirt off rather quickly, he ran kisses across your breasts, kneading each one, before lifting his eyes to observe the way you allowed your head to fall carelessly. He couldn't help himself as he collected those tresses and tugged them even tighter, dragging his teeth along your jaw, and groaning to how your core teased his own with the motions made in adjustment and reaction. 

"I'm going to make you feel so fucking good you'll forget you even met thst asshole-" And he already had. From the second your lips bonded, you hadn't thought of John B or even Sarah or the pain left in a blaze by their selfish actions. Instead, you thought only of Rafe. His touch. His kiss. His breath. His cock. Everything made you breathless and needy. And you needed more. 

You were quick to remove his shirt, allowing you the chance to dote on his physique, fingers running soft claws over his torso, before you were spun onto your back. 

"Take them off." He ordered, a sudden flare of dominance deepening your need for him as you obeyed, lying before him in nothing but your lingerie. But as you expected him to undress or request you to finish until you were naked, he would only stare. Beginning at your feet, he took note of every detail of your body from the perfectly polished toes to the hair rustled from his grip. And it drove his observation into question. 

"What are you doing?" You inquired with a chuckle. 

"Trying to figure out what the fuck he was thinking…" He shook his head in true astonishment. But before you could respond, he was over you, hand in hair and fingers sliding into your panties as your breath shuddered from his touch. 

"But it doesn't matter. You won't even remember his name by the time I'm done with you." You were flipped onto your stomach, his fingers returning to your clit as he joined you on the bed, taking his time with those slow strides made of his motions, before quickening them as you fisted the sheets beneath you. 

"Bet he didn't even take proper care of you, did he? Probably selfish and made you only get him off…" You remained quiet as this wasn't necessarily true. But even with John B’s greatest skill in the bedroom, it paled in comparison to Rafe’s worst. 

"You need to be taken care of…you want me to take care of you?" He asked, a grip made around your neck, having now pulled you up enough to have your back flush with his chest. You nearly arched against him as his fingers curled inside of you, his thumb making flicks and pinches of your clit, as you moaned and whined over him. 

"You deserve everything I'm gonna do to you…" Your eyes pulled into a roll before he forced you face down on the bed. 

"Gonna make you feel so good-" The surprise of his tongue was enough to warrant a snap of your hips that he would then steady with his hands to your thighs. 

"Has he ever tasted you?" 

"Rafe…"  You whimpered, not wanting to think of John B, let alone talk about him. 

"Wanna know if I'm your first…"

"You're not…" He paused before you aided the blow to this confirmation, "But you're the best I've-" He lunged back into you by the confirmation, proving his point further as he led his fingers back into a curve as his tongue flicked and scheduled in certainty and conviction. He knew exactly how to please you and he did it well. 

"Oh my God, Rafe! I'm close!"

He nodded into you, fingers eating into your skin to offer you stability, before he ultimately carried you over that edge. Lapping up his reward through your high, he then lifted his lips over your ass and along your spine until stabilizing to the back of your neck. 

"Rafe…" 

He turned you on your back, pressing a kiss of care to your lips, before leading your knee to a bend against your chest as he positioned himself at your entrance. 

"I want you to say my name every time I thrust-I want it to be the only thing you say-the only thing I hear…" 

"Rafe-" He trusted, a gasp and a wince suddenly in your expression as he smiled. 

"Good girl." His depth was painful from your overstimulation, and yet pleasing to the sweetness in everything else. His touch. His grip. His moans. Even the way he had done so with dominance was more in the need for you than strictly the need to have you. 

"Say my name, sweetheart." He commanded into your ear as you breathed his wish in your next series of exhales. 

"Good…keep going…" He grunted, almost in a growl before you began to mewl beneath him. Countless thrusts and a sheen of perspiration acquired as a second orgasm threatened its release. 

"Rafe I'm gonna-You're gonna make me come again!" He nodded into you as he took hold of your jaw and pressed his forehead to yours.

"Come with me. Let me make you feel so good for me…" He groaned as you nodded, his forward motions having deepened even more from his actions as he tightened every grip, every muscle, and his jaw as he spoke your name in ecstasy. 

Once he unfolded you, a single kiss of confirmation having validated how he felt more care for you than simply lust, he pulled you into his chest. 

"I'm glad he cheated on you-" You shot up from his chest, scowling at him as he only continued to smile. 

"Because it finally brought you to me…" He mended his words, running his palm softly across your cheek before taking you to a tender kiss. He was a new beginning for you, and absolutely anything but a rebound…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-Is

#rafecameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafecameron #outerbanks #obx #outer banks smut #obx fanfiction

[softspiderling]

period troubles

Summary: when they found out that their daughter got her first period, all their abilities to dad flew straight out of the window along with their common sense.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Author’s Note: as usual, this got out of hand.

Warnings: mention of period blood, cursing

Word Count: 1,7k

Jake was collecting the clothes from the hamper in their bathroom, a permanent scowl etched on his face. He hated doing the laundry. Hated it.

When it came to chores, Jake typically liked to do anything that didn’t involve laundry. Unloading the dishwasher? Sure. Vacuuming the house? Get him some headphones and gladly. Wiping off the yard furniture? It wasn’t his face thing to do but when Bradley asked him to, he’d do it.

Bradley knew that Jake hated doing the laundry, so he did it most of the times, because he didn’t really care. But Bradley was helping Pete moving Amelia into her new apartment and Jake has been looking for his favorite shirt to wear to the family barbecue. It’s been some months since Jake and Bradley have seen any of the guys, so they’ve been looking forward to that.

jake: have you seen my favorite shirt? the blue one?

bradley: it’s still in the hamper, haven’t gotten around to doing it yet, sorry babe.

Well, that answered that. Jake already was trying to come up with something else to wear, when his phone chimed again.

bradley: actually, can you do the laundry while you’re already at it? Kinsley’s new dress is in there and she wants to wear it to Savannah’s birthday party tomorrow. I’m not gonna have enough time to do it before we have to leave later.

fuck.

So now Jake had to deal with the stupid laundry. He seriously contemplated asking Kinsley to do it, but he couldn’t possibly ask his barely teenager daughter to do the laundry, right?

Jake pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead as he leaned against the hamper, before heading upstairs, knocking on Kinsley’s door.

“Come in!”

Jake entered his daughter’s bedroom, and of course she was sitting at her desk, looking at him.

“Hey Kins, I’m about to do the laundry. Dad says you need a dress washed.”

“You’re doing the laundry?” Kinsley asked with furrowed brows, standing up to grab her laundry hamper, pushing it in Jake’s hands.

“Yeah, dad’s not going to make it in time before we have to leave for the barbecue,” Jake replied, putting up a forced smile. “You all set?”

Kinsley stared at the laundry for a second before nodding, turning back to her homework.

“Thanks dad.”

“I am in the basement if you need anything,” Jake said before closing the door, heading down to said basement. Setting down Kinsley’s hamper, he started tossing everything in the washing machine, pausing when something odd caught his eyes. It was one of Kinsley’s shorts. Well, it wasn’t the shorts what made him pause. It was the stain. It was dark red, almost brown, but it was unmistakably blood.

At first Jake nearly had a heart attack, at the thought of Kinsley having been hurt, to the point where she was bleeding this much, but she looked fine when he was just talking to her. Jake was about to head back upstairs to ask her about it, when he saw a pair of underwear scrunched up at the bottom of the hamper, also stained with blood. That was when he realized.

//

Jake wasn’t sure how long he had been pacing when he finally heard the front door open. He didn’t even give Bradley enough time to take off his shoes before he grabbed his husband by the shirt and dragged him into the living room, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey, give a guy a second to breathe. And isn’t Kinsley right upstairs?” Bradley asked with a smirk, rubbing Jake’s arm, but Jake only stared at him in confusion before rolling his eyes.

“What? No, get your mind out of the gutter, we’re not having sex, we have a problem. I was doing the laundry and Kinsey’s clothes were stained in blood.”

“Wait, what?” Bradley turned on his heel, but Jake grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking his head.

“Her shorts and underwear were stained.” Jake said, staring at Bradley with a frown, before Bradley finally understood.

“Oh. Oh. Jesus, already?”

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell us, do you think she’s embarrassed?”

Bradley let himself plop down on the couch, running his hand through his hair. “Did you talk to her?”

“What? No, I didn’t know what I was going to tell her. I was scared that I’d say something stupid and embarrass her,” Jake sighed, starting to pace again. “What are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never-”

Bradley quickly broke off when the door opened and Kinsley came in, stopping in the doorway when she saw her dads.

“Oh. Hi dad. Didn’t hear you come home.”

“Hi honey. I just came home,” Bradley said, smiling at her and she just glanced between her dads.

“You guys weren’t doing anything gross, were you?”

“That happened one time and we promised it wouldn’t happen again,” Jake groaned, his cheeks flushing every time Kinsley brought it up. Also, she was barely five years old when that happened, Jake didn’t understand how she still remembered that.

“Good. I just wanted to ask when we’re going to leave.”

“Uh, probably in like an half hour or so? I still need to jump into the shower and I am not sure if dad’s already done with the laundry…”

“No, not done yet. We’ll call you if it’s time to leave, okay?”

“Okay,” Kinsley said, but before she got the chance to disappear again, Jake called her back.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Kinsley looked at him with narrowed eyes as she nodded slowly. “… Yes. Why?”

“Your dad’s just worried,” Bradley cut in. “You know you can talk to us about anything, right?”

“You guys are being weird,” Kinsley said flatly before running back into her room.

“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Jake sighed with a glance to Bradley, who only shrugged helplessly.

//

By the time they reached Pete’s house, they still haven’t talked about it. It was so great to see all of the guys together again, but he just kept thinking about Kinsley and by the way Bradley was holding onto his beer bottle while watching Kinsley talk to Payback’s daughter.

“You know, staring at her like this is not going to make her open up to us,” Jake said, nudging his husband gently. “It’s probably doing the exact opposite.”

“I know,” Bradley sighed, taking a swig of his beer. “I just can’t believe that she’s growing up so fast. Remember when she was little and used to call me daddy rooster?”

“It was kinda cute. But also kind of stupid, I am glad she grew out of that.”

“She used to tell us everything. What changed?”

Jake didn’t know how to answer that, so he opted to stay leaned against Bradley. They just there for a while, in silence when Phoenix- Natasha walked up to them eyeing them.

“What’s gotten up your guys’ asses?” she asked, clearly regretting her words as soon as they left her mouth. Jake wasn’t even able to say what he wanted to say when she aggressively shook her head. “You know what I meant, Hangman.”

“Kinsley got her first period,” Bradley answered instead, jutting his lower lip out. “And she didn’t tell us about it.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding understandingly. “She’s going to tell you when she’s ready.”

“She should’ve told us as soon as it had happened,” Jake interjected and Natasha only shook her head.

“Why?”

“We’re her dads. Her parents. Who else is she supposed to tell?” Bradley said glumly and Natasha snorted.

“Probably her friends? She’s growing up, it’s normal for girls her age to confide in her friends. Doesn’t mean that she’s keeping it from you.” Natasha looked at them, daring them to tell her she was wrong, but Jake pouted.

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” Bradley said, pressing a kiss on Jake’s cheek. “She could’ve tossed her stained clothes out. But she put them in her hamper, she knew that we were eventually going to find out about it.”

Jake sighed, nodding slowly. “I guess you’re right.”

//

“Today was nice, hm?” Bradley said, wrapping his arms around Jake. “It was nice to see all of them again.”

“Can’t believe Bob grew mustache,” Jake mumbled. “Yours is way better.”

Bradley laughed, pressing a kiss into Jake’s neck, said mustache tickling his skin. A knock on the door made the two pause, exchanging looks.

“Are you guys decent?”

“Yes, come on in,” Jake called and Bradley untangled himself from him, sitting up when Kinsley came into their bedroom.

She was already in her pajama, wringing her hands. “Um. I have to tell you something,” she started.

As Jake opened his mouth, Bradley pinched his side, causing him to glare at the brunet, before turning his attention back to their daughter.

“I kinda got my period,” Kinsley admitted, looking at her dads. “I was scared and I didn’t know what to tell you, because you tend to freak out a bit, but uh. Yeah.”

“Do you need like, chocolate or something? I am not really familiar with this, so if you need stuff, you need to tell us, Kins,” Jake said and Bradley nodded.

“If you want, we can go shopping tomorrow, to get you everything you need. Pads, or tampons. I think I read something about a mug?”

Jake elbowed Bradley in the side.

“Ow!”

“It’s called cup,” Kinsley corrected him with a grin. “But yeah, I guess we can go shopping. But only if you don’t make a big deal about this, I don’t want dad tearing up while buying tampons.”

“She’s talking about you,” Jake and Bradley said at the same time and Kinsley giggled, crawling on their bed to give them a hug.

“Night dads.”

“Sleep tight.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite ‘ya.”

Kinsley walked to the door, gave them a small wave before leaving, shutting the door behind her.

“I can’t believe you called it a mug.”

“Oh please, don’t act like you knew the correct term for that,” Bradley retorted, moving his hands down Jake’s sides, where he knew he was ticklish.

“At least I didn’t call it a mug.”

“You’re a mug.”

“You love my mug,” Jake smirked and Bradley only rolled his eyes fondly.

“Can’t believe I’ve been putting up with you for so long.”

#hangster #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #sereshaw #rooster x hangman #hangman x rooster #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin #jake seresin x bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick

[nwlyvs]

relationship with 25-ji

feat. mizuki akiyama, ena shinonome, kanade yoisaki, asahina mafuyu.

sfw, obviously. fluff.

afab s/o, but reader’s gender isn’t mentioned.

a/n: OOOkay, I kin all 25-ji characters and, of course, I love them w my heart! I have sm hc about them and ideas..

a/n 2 LOL: HELLO?? maybe i need to do this type of reactions scenarios etc w the fandoms i am rn🐱🩷 HELP WHHSBSBSB

Thanks for being with me, dear. . . .

“Just. . . Thanks for being with me, (name). .”

this girl oh woah

KANADE loves all of you, your personality, hair, eyes color, skin, height.. EVERYTHING ‼️‼️

she will gladly help you to know yourself and your identity, if you have problems or are confused about it.

loves spending time with you, especially when the two of you are alone. She tends to be more charismatic (not really) with you when she realizes that there is no one else around.

KANADE loves to write poems dedicated to you, mostly written with feelings from within.

KANADE is the type of girlfriend who would dedicate songs to you, writing the text “i was listening to this music and uhh I noticed the lyrics and i was thinking about you”. once you open the link, you will see that it is a love song (or in relation to how grateful she is that you are in her life ej)

she absolutely loves cuddling with you (she just don’t show it often), watching a show or listening to music together and then you two falls asleep (really).

“[reader], thanks for this. Really... with you, i know that i can continue to do this and be able to save people you did w me, i’m so glad to have you here right now, by my side・・・・ Thank you.”

when MAFUYU expressed her feelings to you, she was confused fr,,, she never had a feeling like ‘this’ (her words)

all she knows is that she doesn’t want you to leave her side, she has finally found someone with whom she can feel comfortable to the point of almost taking her ‘true’ feelings out on you. so please, [reader], don’t be cruel and don’t leave her alone (or im gonna be her next gf)

MAFUYU doesn’t express an ‘i love you’ in words, but rather in actions.

although it may not seem like it, she loves being with you. to be honest, i think that MAFUYU’s love language is quality time + acts of service. doing some homework together, in bed about to sleep while you watch something on TV, +. .

For MAFUYU, your silhouette alone is enough to make her feel safe and comfortable wherever she is. you have become her safe place since she knew she could trust you thanks to your actions

remember something‼️‼️: she will be infinitely grateful for all the times you were there for her, like when she revealed some of her true emotions in front of you while crying and you gave her words of support, while you hugged her protectively,,

she realized that you shared some of her true feelings, such as the desire to disappear from all the anguish. she realized that behind that beautiful smile there was also a person empty in emotions, however you were getting to know you little by little and she would use this as support to do the same until she rediscovered herself.

“[reader], thank you for everything you have done for me..

— made me feel somehow ‘alive’.. I want to thank you for everything, the only thing what i want now is to be with you as long as you allow me... without you, i don’t know what would have become of me....”

you met MIZUKI at school, a year before you moved. after coming back, you could see them more confident and you felt so proud of it. mainly for knowing that previously, they took it out their feelings on you

believe it or not, MIZUKI had feelings for you even before you moved in. and seeing you return, omg, they knew their feelings had never left

not only were they fans of your aesthetics, voice and appearance, they also loved your personality and acts. they knew that what they felt wasn’t just attraction once when talking to you someone started teasing them about the way they dressed, and you stood up for them.

“hey, who do you think you are to talk about someone’s dress like that? why don’t you look at yourself better? it’s your life. MIZUKI needs respect, like everyone. i don’t want to see you here, go away.”

lol they still remembers that day, and every time mizuki does they repeats in their head: “mizuki from the past would be screaming if they knew that I’m in relationship with [reader] now... AAAAKY&HJJKG-” u cant see but mizuki is SCREAMING and THEIR FACE RED ASF.

they love spending time with you and reminding you every day how much they love you, mentally thanking you for standing up for them past and present.

MIZUKI love language is quality time + affirmation words! maybe physical contact too.

MIZUKI invites you to their house most of the time, and it’d become routine that from friday to sunday you stay at their house all day (u know their sister btw, she LOVES YOU). they tend to fall asleep much faster being with you by their side, why? eeeaajwjaasy. knowing that they are with you, they feel much safer and more comfortable. they feel that you are protecting them from nightmares and practically everything bad (ofc)

whenever they have a bad day, they remembers YOU in their mind and a little spark of peace begins to sing in their head.

“H-Hey [reader]... I just want to tell you; thanks, thanks for everything. i can’t say how (w) much i love you. ever since i met you, you have always been there for me.

— defending myself, making me feel sure of myself. Really, i have so much to do to be able to show you how much I love you, and if i did, i’m sure it wouldn:t be enough..... thank u so much”

ENA was your best friend since you entered at Kamiyama High School, you met her thanks to Mizuki and Akito

thanks to your actions and words, she began to trust you. and believe me, she still remembers those days from years past when you encouraged her to keep drawing because you knew she would achieve whatever she wanted to achieve

DAMN she fell in love with you fast (n hard, literally can do ANYTHING for u)... she really considered you, considers and will consider you as her safe place 4ever

when she declared her feelings to you, she did it by means of a letter giving it to you herself, and then running away

我が神よ、 東雲えな、愛してる・・

まあ、彼女はと ても愛情深いです・・・そして、嫉妬深いので、注意してください。

anyways, she really love spending time with you. you are what she calls “motivation”

doesn’t know what to do to thank you, tbh

she called you just so she can tell you how much she loved you

— love! How are you, ENA? Did you eat something?”

— “oh oh, later! Don’t worry, and you... did you eat?”

— fufu, yep,,, ENA, you can’t tell me something like that. i need to be worried about you, since you always asking me if i eated, how i am, yknow”

— “uhhu [reader], that’s because i loooovee you. i called you because i just want to tell you i love you with my heart, you always cared about me, you always supported me, always telling me how good i am at drawing, hah. [reader], thank you so much. i don’t know how to make you know how much i love you!”

— ENA... i love you too, my silly..”

— woah, honey, it’s late. you said you have an exam tomorrow, so uhm. honey, sleep and sweet dreams, my love!”

then you heard a kiss on the phone

I LOVE THIS GIRL.

#pjsk mafuyu #project sekai #mafuyu x reader #asahina mafuyu x reader #kanade x reader #kanade yoisaki x reader #mizuki x reader #mizuki akiyama x reader #ena shinonome x reader #ena shinonome #mizuki akiyama #25 ji nightcord de #Nightcore at 25:00 #fluff #project sekai x reader #project sekai x you

[damn-stark]

Chapter 6 The white wolf & The white dragon

Chapter 6 of Sandstorm

A/N- since it’s my birthday I released it earlier. Also I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE THE NEXT CHAPTER, some things are gonna change from what’s on the show, be ready!

Warning- Y/N has a son, swearing, fluff, incest, ANGST, slowburn, talks of pregnancy and abortian.

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

Episode- 8x02 & only small part of 8x03

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

What is a lion without its pride?

Nothing but a lonely wanderer vulnerable to other lurking predators.

That’s what Jaime is now, nothing without his sister or father to keep him from death.

“When I was child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story,” Daenerys interjects in such a venomous tone that frightens you for obvious reasons. “About the man who murdered our father.”

Yeah because he was such a great guy. Please.

“Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor,” she continues. “He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp. Your sister pledged to send her army north.”

Jaime nods, “she did.”

Daenerys scoffs. “I don’t see an army. I see one man, with one hand. It appears your sister lied to us.”

Yeah well is anyone really surprised? You definitely aren't.

“She lied to me as well,” Jaime interjects. “She had no intention of sending her army North. She has Euron Greyjoy’s fleet and 20,000 fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for…”

You scoff at the sound of his words that only proved your concern right about not trusting her.

You look over at Jon to share your proud look after being right, but just as he feels your gaze and looks, he quickly averts his gaze and stiffens.

Did something happen between last night and this morning? He never came to your chambers at night like he said he would, he didn’t attempt to talk to you earlier either, he’s been…cold, distant.

Maybe the news of the baby did actually upset him now that he’s had time to really think about it.

And if he is, he only needs to say the word…

“We?” You catch Daenerys snap back to something Jaime had said.

“I promised to fight for the living,” Jaime explains to her, “I intend to keep that promise.”

Daenerys looks over at you, and you slowly look over at her to share the same angered look.

“Your Grace, I know my brother,” Tyrion cuts in, causing you to snap your gaze over to him and snap back.

“Like you knew your sister? You don’t get to speak on this matter. He is your brother.”

Tyrion lowers his gaze and sighs deeply before continues regardless. “He came here alone, knowing full well how he’d be received. Why would he do that if he weren’t telling the truth?”

“Perhaps, he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat, or stabs my family through the back.” Daenerys counters spitefully.

“You’re right,” Sansa pitches in. “We can’t trust him. He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours.”

“Don’t you want me to apologize?” Jaime interrupts, making you furrow your eyebrows and narrow your gaze deeper. “I won’t,” he continues. “We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I’d do it all again.”

You scoff before you lean forward on your chair and clasps your hands on the table to then interject. “So you’re saying you’d break your promises, sacred oaths? You would let my family get killed all over again? All for what?” You spat. “Three seconds of glory?”

“The King was mad, he would have—”

“I don’t give a shit about King Aerys,” you cut Jaime off, and earn a side glare from Daenerys. “He was a cruel man. Mean to his own kin. It’s said my own father planned to overthrow him. So I don’t care about that old fucking King, I am talking about my family, my mother, my five year old sister and baby brother, Ser Jaime.” You slowly stand up as you begin to scowl. “The ones you promised to protect,” you continue to spat, causing Jaime to blink rapidly and go rigid as you catch him off guard with your comment.

“Tell me,” you say and lift your chin to look down at him. “Tyrion Lannister, what is it that happened to my family? What is it that your father order happen? What is it that Ser Jaime Lannister let happen?”

Tyrion clears his throat, “I wasn’t there, Princess.”

“Say it,” Daenerys commands him.

Tyrion let’s out a deep sigh and parts his lips to speak, “it’s said that…the Mountain smashed prince Aegon's skull in the wall in front of his mother. That Princess Rhaenys was dragged from under her fathers bed and stabbed fifty times…and that Princess Elia was…raped and murdered.”

You hum and tilt your head as you keep holding Jaime’s stare. “Yes,” you mutter. “So Ser Jaime, would you let that happen again? Would you break that promise?”

Jaime’s gaze falls, and now he has nothing to say back in his own defense. It makes you proud that you can cause such an effect on such a proud man, that you can leave him speechless.

“The things we do for love,” Bran suddenly interjects, making everyone around the table including you to look at him.

And he doesn’t add anything else to his comment, he just awkwardly leaves it at that; Jaime doesn’t say anything either, so you just take a seat and let out a small sigh to try and keep the bad memories away.

“So why have you abandoned your house and family now?” Daenerys asks.

“Because this goes beyond loyalty,” Jaime responds and glances at his side. When you follow his line of gaze you see him looking at Lady Brienne—“this is about survival.”

You hum at his comment and sit back in your chair, catching in that moment Lady Brienne stands up.

“You don’t know me well, Your Grace, Princess,” Lady Brienne adds and walks to the center. “But I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once. But when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me. And lost his hand because of it. Without him, my Lady, you would not be alive,” she says and glances over at Sansa. “He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he swore an oath to your mother.”

You break your gaze away from Lady Brienne to drift your gaze to Sansa, seeing her gaze drop and her face express distraught.

“You vouch for him?” Sansa queries and blinks to look at Lady Brienne.

“I do,” she says.

“You would fight beside him?”

“I would,” Lady Brienne says with confidence, making you feel…indifferent about her. Not in a bad way, just different. Maybe more respect for her.

“I trust you with my life,” Sansa continues. “If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay.”

Daenerys snaps her head in Sansa’s direction with disbelief, wanting blood as revenge and not pardon.

“What do you say about this Princess?” Daenerys asks you as she looks ahead at the man in trial.

You blink and look at Jaime too, you play Lady Brienne’s words in your mind, as well as Sansa’s. Even if anger wants to get the best of you, even if you crave to also burn him alive, you step back and don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment. You couldn’t.

“If Lady Sansa vouches for Lady Brienne,” you interject with a sigh. “Then…I second it. He can stay. Besides, we will need men for the battle to come. I do hope you keep your promise now, Ser Jaime.”

Daenerys shoots you another side glare before she hesitates for a moment, and then finally adds her last word. “Very well.” She then looks over at Greyworm standing at the other end of the table, and with her look alone, he grabs Jaime’s sword to hand it back to him.

The meeting is disbanded after that, Jaime bows and gives his thanks to the Queen, and Sansa leaves the hall first. Daenerys turns to look at you, but you quickly avert her gaze and look at Jon. Yet he hardly meets your gaze before he walks past you without a single word. He just leaves. Daenerys leaves after that, leaving you to stand alone at table with two options, walk after her and argue about this affair, or go after Jon and interrogate his weird behavior.

Yet as much…as you care for Daenerys, he means more to you. So you go after him.

Thankfully he doesn’t make it far, but when you see him down the hall you do see him talking to Sansa.

“Princess,” she greets and ends whatever it is she was talking about with Jon when she spots you approaching. “Or should I call you sis—” she cuts herself off as she catches Jon’s pointed glare due to her lack of discretion. “Princess,” she corrects herself with a teasing smirk.

You stop just beside them and glance at Jon one more time before you meet his sister's gaze and greet her back.

“Lady Stark.”

“I admire your choice,” Sansa says. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy. And for that I’m sorry.”

You clasp your hands together and offer her a gentle smile. “Thank you, and it wasn’t easy. But my uncle Doran, would say not to let my vengeance cloud my judgment. No matter how much I wanted Ser Jaime to burn alive.” You scoff. “Besides I also like to think about Rhaenar, what my actions teach him.”

Sansa hums and offers you a kind smile. “I like that.”

You shoot her a smile. “Thank you,” you mutter.

“Hm…” she trails off and looks between her brother and you before she continues. “Well, I will leave you two be.” She begins to smirk and steps back. “I hope we can talk later, Y/N, so you can show me your dress.”

You smile wider and nod eagerly. “Of course, I would love that.”

Sansa smiles softly one more time before she turns and walks away. Once you can no longer see her anymore you look to your betrothed and add a comment hoping that can break this weird tension. “She seems excited.”

Jon hums and slowly meets your gaze with a very strained smile. “I haven’t seen her this excited in a long time, so maybe I should thank you.”

You scoff and shake your head as you feel flustered by his comment. “I try my best,” you tease him, and earn a more genuine smile. But even then he can barely hold your gaze, so you immediately probe and don’t hold back anymore.

“What's wrong? You’ve been distant, kind of cold, did something happen?” You want to ask about the baby, but it’s dangerous to ask in such a public hall.

Jon knows that and grabs your hand to walk you down more stone halls, past doors, down steps, until finally he reaches his chambers and walks you in there. When he closes the door though he remains quiet, distant still.

“Jon,” you whisper and keep your distance. “What’s wrong? If this is about the ceremony we can have it some other day…” you blink and sigh. “And if it’s about the baby then…the maester said I should talk to him soon if I change my mind.” You flicker your eyes up and see him averting his gaze.

“Jon,” you whisper and finally approach him. “Please talk to me.” You grab his hands and he finally blinks and meets your gaze with a deep frown and a melancholy look that makes you catch your breath.

“It’s not about the baby…” he says. “It’s about me….Sam told me about my true parentage last night.”

Has he been brooding about that? Is that why he never went to your room?

“Really?” You sigh with relief. “That’s good. I mean…right?”

Jon swallows thickly and continues without expressing any sort of happiness. “My mother,” he says. “My mother is Lyanna Stark….”

Your own relief begins to dwindle and your heart strings begin to twist as you wait for the next part, the part of the father…because there’s so many answers that can be said.

“And my father. My true father is…Rhaegar Targaryen.”

You blink in disbelief and pull your hands away from Jon’s as you feel your heart sink to your stomach at the sound of his revelation, at the meaning behind it.

Rhaegal…that explains that.

And your father…he…While you and your family were trapped in the Red Keep belittled by the man he called father, he was out having a child with her….he was…what? Enjoying his life? Breaking his vows to your mother?

“I know—”

“What?” You cut him off sharply with tears stinging your eyes as you held them back. “Did they marry, or did he take advantage of her? Can Sam tell you that?”

Jon sighs and averts his gaze. “They married,” he whispers.

Stupid fucking bastard.

Your mother, Aegon, Rhaenys, they died, you almost died because he was chasing after some younger woman. Because he preferred her.

“I’m sorry,” he says as if he’s the one to blame for the discretions of his father and mother.

And maybe you should blame him too, hate him because he was born out of that love they kept a secret. But in all honesty…maybe you’re a fool because you can’t…you can’t bring yourself to hate him, only them.

“It’s not your fault,” you assure him quickly and meet his gaze without tears brimming your eyes. You just can’t cry or get angry about this subject in front of him.

Also there’s matters to consider now, like how Jon is your half sibling….

Not like it bothers you whatsoever though. By law he is still a bastard, marriage or not his mothers marriage to Rhaegar doesn’t count. The people are probably willing to turn the blind eye just to have him be King, but if they follow the law then the marriage doesn’t matter. Plus, he wasn’t raised by Rhaegar, he only knew of his true father until last night, so it shouldn’t bother him—then again people from the North are different, they don’t share the same…morals you do as a Valyrian.

“So…then does it bother you?” You ask and go serious. “That we share the same father?”

Jon lets out a deep sigh and walks past you to watch the flames dance in the fireplace. You turn and watch him brood for a second before you walk after him, but keep your distance for his own sake.

“He never raised me, I never even met him,” Jon argues. “Ned Stark raised me, he is my father, but…”

He’s going to say he can’t isn’t he?

“…doesn't it bother you?” He suddenly asks and turns around to face you with his face contorted in that same sad look he always seems to carry.

You blink and look at the floor as you clasps your hands together. “Rhaegar may be blood of my blood, we may share the same name, he may be the reason why I am here, but I don’t respect him.” You look at Jon and face him with tears in your eyes now.

You just can’t hold them back.

“He’s the reason I don't have my mom, my sister, my brother, he’s the reason I had to escape home,” you continue. “He destroyed my life…he will never have my respect. My uncles are the father he never could be. So no, it doesn’t bother me…but you,” you utter unsurely. “You can’t just stay with me because of the baby, I can’t make you do that, so tell me the truth, be honest, does it bother you?” You ask with a fearful gaze.

Jon lets out a deep breath and keeps his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he looks at your belly, and then drops his gaze.

Out of fear of his response, of his reaction, you begin to fiddle with your rings and hold your breath in hopes he doesn’t break what you do have, that he doesn’t break the promise of an eternal life together.

“Why don’t you care?” He mutters and meets your gaze. “Knowing who I am means I am now a threat to Daenerys, to you and Rhaenar.”

“Right now?” You say softly. “Because my love for you means much more than a stupid iron throne.” You breathe out shakily and see his eyes soften. “If you were to tell me to leave it all behind, if you asked me to stop fighting and have a life here, I would. It all means nothing without you. I don’t want to lose you. That’s why.”

“I am not Stark, not really, nor am I a Targaryen, I don’t think I would ever consider myself that. I have no reason to go against Daenerys or you, nor do I want you to stop fighting because of me,” he says and takes a step closer to you, making your heart finally begin to unclench. “So…no…it doesn’t bother me. I don’t want to lose you. Or our family.”

You smile softly yet you don’t find relief yet as you do remember about your other problem.

“And what about Daenerys?” You press seriously. “Will you tell her?”

Jon sighs and nods hesitantly. “I have to. I’d rather she hear it from me. So please let me talk to her.”

You nod as you find trust in his words, only because you don’t want to face her wrath when she finds out. It’s a miracle she accepted you to be at her side knowing you are her brother's offspring, “the rightful heir”.

Then again it’s not like she had any other blood family besides Rhaenar and you…she’d be foolish not to let you in.

“All right,” you sigh but squeeze in one last question. “And your family?”

“I’ll talk to them too. Soon.”

You let out a relieved breath and let your eyes linger on him for a moment before you both give in to desire and close the gap and crash your lips together. He grabs your waist, and you grab his cheeks and linger in the feeling. As he does too.

Your heart flutters, and your body finally untenses as you’re no longer frozen with fear.

“So,” you whisper against his lips. “Am I still wearing that dress or should I look for someone else to marry? The Baratheon bastard isn’t so bad on the eyes, hm.”

Jon scoffs in distaste. “Yes, the ceremony is still happening, I’m still going to marry you.”

You grin softly and tilt your head as you caress his cheek.

“Rhaenar is excited,” you mention. “I told him last night, he’s excited to present me to you.”

Jon smiles softly. “That’s good.”

You hum and let your eyes linger on him for a moment longer before you pull away from him. “I need to go to my chambers and do some stuff. Maybe rest for a bit.”

Jon's eyes instantly express concern as he glances down. “Are you okay?” He asks.

You nod. “I am. These early stages are just hard, so I need to rest for a moment.”

Jon caresses your cheek and nods in comprehension. “All right. I should go too before people come looking for me.”

You press one last kiss on his lips before you pull away again for good this time and leave without another word. He doesn’t follow, nor does he ask to walk you—not like you want him to walk you. You want to be alone. You need to be alone. The anger you feel for your father still burns fiercely within you, the truth still hurts you. The realization of what happened after he left stabs deeper into your heart, welling your eyes with more and more tears the closer you get to your room.

Yet you don’t let those tears out in the hall, you clench your jaw and breathe heavily. You don’t run to try and reach the intimacy of your room faster, you just stride there quickly and see every bit of your surroundings blurry.

That is until you reach your room. Those tears you held back come out as an angry sob, and those deep breaths begin to tremble. All you want to do is lay down and cry, cry until you can't shed another tear. Yet right away you’re reminded of something you had held dear to your heart.

You swipe a blade from your desk and storm over to the end of your room to uncover your fathers painting.

And now as you see his face, as you see his eyes, all you feel is utter disgust and burning fiery. That spark that was the love you held for him was completely blown out leaving nothing. Not even the good memories you cherished. Nothing.

So it’s easy stabbing the blade through his face, it’s relieving slicing the stupid painting over and over again until his face can no longer be put together, until it’s no longer recognizable. And not an ounce of guilt hits you when you grab it and examine the damage. You actually smile as tears come out of your eyes.

“I will get whatever you never could, father ” you mutter to the shredded painting. “For me. For my mother, my sister, my brother. Not you. Never you,” you spat and lift your gaze to watch the flames dance in your own fireplace.

The flames brighten your eyes and the smirk on your face.

“I hope you’re burning in all seven hells,” you grimace before you throw the painting in the flames.

You wipe the tears off your face and watch the painting wither away until there’s nothing but ashes. After that you clear your throat and walk over to look at yourself in the vanity.

Your face is red, and your eyes still gleam from the tears you had shed. The heartbreak is clear. Luckily, the coldness disguises your redness as simply that. And the heartbreak that is so clearly featured within your gaze can just be worry.

And people believe that, when you step out in search of Rhaenar no one bats an eye, not even those who you had traveled with. Not even Rhaenar himself.

Then again you wouldn’t let them see you down, they can’t see you down. And as of your son, well he was busy reading with Ser Jorah.

“Am I interrupting?” You make yourself known.

Both Ser Jorah and Rhaenar look back at you, and the boy quickly smiles, but doesn’t ask any questions.

It’s good though, to tell him the truth about his grandfather is something you don’t need him to know yet.

“Mother!” He greets you happily. “And no you’re not, Ser Jorah was just helping me with my studies.”

Ser Jorah stands up and nods as he smiles timedly. “A good prince needs to be well taught of his country's history.”

You nod in agreement. “Yes. Even if that boy doesn’t much like to study.”

The orange dragon, Helios, flaps to the little boy's shoulder and tilts his head as he sees you.

“Well,” Rhaenar scoffs. “There are better things to do.”

You roll your eyes and Ser Jorah chuckles quietly.

“I hope I can take my son if that’s okay,” you interject.

Ser Jorah nods right away. “Of course, Princess. We have been studying for quite some time, he deserves a short break.”

You hum and step aside to watch Rhaenar run out of the library with his dragon on his shoulder. You offer Ser Jorah a small smile before you follow your son out to the hall and begin to lead him towards the chambers where the dragon eggs are kept.

“Mother,” Rhaenar asks as you walk down the hall. “Why is it…” he pauses and lets out a deep sigh. “Why is it that the people here don’t like talking to me? I mean the Stark’s do, but the others, their people…they give me weird looks all the time, and all the other kids avoid me, even when Helios isn’t with me.”

You blink rapidly in disbelief and swallow thickly.

All the dirty looks, the looks full of judgment and hate is something you noticed, but after riding here you just ignored them, there was no point. And it’s like Jon says, they’ll warm up with time.

Yet hearing that Rhaenar gets those same looks, hearing that he’s been avoided because of who he is, what he looks like lights an anger within you that is unlike any other.

However, you can’t let that grow bigger. No matter how much it tempted you.

“Well,” you mutter as you come up with a good answer. “People here don’t normally see people like us. That’s all.” You glance at him and see him stare down as he listens to your every word. “You just need to give them time, okay? Continue to be kind like you are already, and if anyone dares to say anything tell me right away.”

Rhaenar looks up at you and gives you a partial smile as he nods in agreement. “All right,” he whispers. He then blinks and begins to smile. “When are Sarella and Elia coming? I want to see them. I want them to see Helios.”

You scoff softly, “soon.”

The chamber now stands dead ahead, and two Unsullied stand guard out the door. It’s a miracle Daenerys didn’t keep them in her quarters, she took them as if they were actually hers, when it wasn’t even her dragon who birthed them.

“Why are we here?” Rhaenar asks as the guards grant you access. “Did one of them hatch?!” He exclaims and runs to the heating pots. Yet when he opens them he finds both of them still over the kindling. “Oh.”

You clasps your hands in front of you and make sure that you don’t hear anyone approaching before you interject, “if you could pick between the blue or the silver one, which one would you pick? Hm?” You ask and slowly walk to the end of the table.

Rhaenar lifts his head and furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Mother,” he mutters, whilst his dragons hops on the table to approach the pots. “I already have a dragon.”

You scoff softly and nod. “I know that,” you tell him. “But if you could pick one for someone else, which one would you pick, hm?” You begin to smile wider and slowly put your hands over your belly.

Rhaenar blinks and keeps still for a second before he turns on his heels to examine both dragon eggs.

He looks at the one that gleams silver, and then looks at the blue one that gleams like a beautiful sapphires. His dragon leans his head in the pot of the blue one, and doesn’t even react to the steam that blows out.

“I suppose,” Rhaenar says slowly and walks towards the blue dragon egg. “This one. The blue one.”

You grin and hum. “That’s a good one. I know it will be a beautiful dragon.”

Rhaenar blinks and looks up at you to meet your gaze. “Why do you ask?” He probes.

You peer back at the closed door and hear if anyone is approaching. When you hear no approaching footsteps you walk to him and begin to whisper so the guards won’t hear.

Alas, maybe you should have checked, because sometimes there are steps that aren’t heard echoing on the ground when someone wants to be discreet.

“Well…I recently discovered something…soon enough, in nine months or so, you will be a big brother.” You begin to fiddle with your rings and watch him lower his gaze as he thinks of what you said.

“A brother,” he whispers and hums before he lifts his gaze and slowly begins to smile before he wraps his arms around you.

You sigh in relief before you giggle and immediately return his embrace. “Does that make you happy?” You ask.

Rhaenar nods and pulls his head back to meets your gaze. “Yes! Yes! It means I finally won't have to be alone. And I can ride my dragon alongside my brother.”

You scoff. “My Sunspot, we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet. Not until it’s born.”

Rhaenar shrugs. “It doesn’t matter! It means I will have someone to talk to.”

Hearing him not be disappointed over the news makes you happy. For so long he’s been the only child that you worried he’d take the news badly. Then he still doesn’t know who you’re with.

That’s what he realizes now too.

“And…” he lowers his voice as his smile begins to fade. “Who is the baby’s father? Is it Jon? Is that why you’re getting married?”

You smile softly and nod. “Yes. That’s one of the reasons.”

Rhaenar grins again and jumps back to look at the blue egg. “That’s good. I like Jon. He’s very nice.”

“Yes,” you agree, “he is, isn't he?”

“Can I show him the egg I chose for my brother?”

You roll your eyes and scoff at his insistence, but don’t correct him anymore. “Yes, you can.”

“And aunt Dany! I’m sure she’ll love to know—”

“No,” you snap and crouch down to grab his shoulder and turn him not face you. “You may not tell her or anyone else, not even any of the Stark’s. Jon will tell his family, I will tell ours when the time is right.”

Rhaenar goes serious and quickly nods in agreement. “Yes, mother.”

“Swear to me,” you insist. “Swear you won’t say a word. I’ll tell you when you can speak of it. Okay?”

The boy sighs and nods in comprehension.

“Good,” you sigh. “Now let’s go. There’s plenty to do, and people will come look for us.”

Alas, just as you walk out of the room you catch Jon approaching the room. When he spots the both of you he stops and faces you with a sad look on his face, as if he just received the most terrible news.

“What is it?” You ask right away as you approach him.

Jon lets out a sigh and mutters, “the dead are coming.”

——

“They’re coming. We have dragon glass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many. Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel….”

Perhaps illusion is what kept you thinking they’d somehow take months to get here, blinding illusion. But they’re here now. Only hours away. And with their arrival the plans to marry are foiled.

Which is probably something stupid to be angry over, but it was a beautiful desire.

“We can’t beat them in a straight fight,” Jon continues to say to those gathered around the table.

“So what can we do?” Jaime asks.

“The Night King made them all. They follow his command. If he falls…getting to him may be our best chance.”

You sigh and clasps your hands together to begin fiddling with your rings as you interject, “if that’s true, he’ll never expose himself.”

“Yes, he will,” Bran cuts in, making everyone look over at him by the fireplace. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many Three-Eyed Ravens.”

Whatever that’s supposed to really mean.

“Why?” Sam asks what everyone is thinking. “What does he want?”

“An endless night,” Bran answers, creating chills down your spines. “He wants to erase this world, and I am it’s memory.”

You swallow thickly and begin to clench your hands to fists.

“That’s what death is, isn’t it?” Sam continues to say. “Forgetting.” He looks around the table, and you all slowly look at him. “Being forgotten. If we forget where we’ve been and what we’ve done, we’re not men anymore. Just animals. Your memories don’t come from books. Your stories aren’t just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you.”

He’s got a nice way with words you have to give him that.

Maybe that’s why he wants to be a maester.

“How will he find you?” Tyrion cuts in to ask Bran.

“His mark is on me,” Bran answers and lifts his sleeve to show off a red bruise formed as a handprint. “He always knows where I am.”

“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest,” Jon assures his brother.

Yet his brother rebuttals.

“No. We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys all…..”

You stop fidgeting and slowly look up at him….

There’s heavy sheets of snow on the ground, the sky is dark; in the middle stands a large weirwood tree, around it are skulls. Dead.

“In the Godswood,” you interject.

Bran might’ve not been in your dream, but this…this is what the dream means.

Bran and everyone looks over at you, and the boy nods.

“Yes,” he says, “exactly.”

“You want us to use him as bait?” Sansa snaps, grabbing your attention.

“We’re not leaving you out there,” Arya also chimes in.

“He won’t be,” Theon suddenly cuts in. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn. I took this castle,” he says and looks at the boy. “Let me defend you now.”

Without a word Bran nods in agreement, and Theon does as well, bringing a silence that lets you continue to focus on the next plan.

“We’ll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can,” Ser Davos inputs.

“When the time comes,” Tyrion adds. “Ser Davos and I will be on the walls to give you the signal to light the trench.”

“Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own,” Daenerys counters him. “You’ll be in the crypt.”

If it were up to you he could stay up and fight, he may be smart, but he hasn’t been so lately.

Regardless, Tyrion seems to find offense to Daenerys' command and awkwardly turns to face her to try and persuade her otherwise. “Your Grace, I have fought before, I can do it again. Alongside the men and women risking their lives.”

“There are thousands of them and only one of you,” Daenerys cuts him off. “You can’t fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You’re here because of your mind. If we survive, I’ll need it.”

“May I be with Ser Davos?” The young voice beside you interjects.

You scoff and look down at your son as he keeps his gaze fixed on the map. “No,” you quickly answer him. “No. You are the heir to Daenerys, and far too young, you’ll be in the crypts.”

The boy shoots you a narrowed look. “But mother, I am not a boy any more. I can help as well.”

You keep your mouth shut and just raise your eyebrows as you shoot him a pointed glare.

He parts his lips to argue, but as he watches your look he shuts his mouth and just huffs.

“I’m sure they will need you down at the crypts,” Jon tries to assure him, pulling your gaze to him. “Whatever happens, you can keep them safe. You and your dragon.”

Rhaenar keeps his eyes down and just sighs, “I suppose.”

You share a soft thankful look with Jon and lets gaze linger before he looks away.

“The dragons should give us an edge in the field,” Ser Davos breaks the tension between Jon and you.

Jon looks back at the table and interjects. “If they’re in the field, they’re not protecting Bran. We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won’t come.” He exhales deeply. “But close enough to pursue him when he does.”

You hum in agreement, and Jon passes you a displeased look when you do.

“Dragonfire will stop him?” Arya asks and looks to Bran.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “No one’s ever tried.”

Well that’s assuring.

“We’re all going to die,” the big ginger man, Tormund interjects bluntly, pulling your immediate attention. “But at least we’ll die together.”

You scoff in amusement, and muster a partial smile.

Yet as you do smile Daenerys passes you a judgemental look that makes you go serious.

“Let’s get some rest,” Jon says and ends the meeting, letting you grab Rhaenar’s shoulder to walk out with him, catching from the corner of your eye Jon following close behind.

Since the people are all walking out and following you both, you make sure to walk somewhere discreet, somewhere far from curious eyes and passersby to meet up.

Once you’re isolated Rhaenar breaks away from you and turns to face Jon with a grin.

“Jon!” He exclaims. “Guess what?!” He says with his eyes wide with excitement. “I picked a dragon egg for my brother.”

Jon eyebrows furrow as he retorts, “brother?” He scoffs. “What if it’s a girl?”

Rhaenar scoffs and brushes him off. “It will be a boy, I’m sure.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but smile.

“Well, we’ll see when the baby is born,” Jon counters him. “Won’t we?”

“Sure,” the boy shrugs him off again. “But will you want to see the egg I chose? Maybe after the battle is over?”

Jon smiles softly and nods. “Of course I would love to see it.”

Rhaenar smirks and steps away from Jon and you. “Now may I prepare for this battle? I have new armor I want to wear.”

You nod, and the boy runs off, leaving Jon and you alone. And right away he expresses that displeasure he felt before.

“Mayhaps you should go to the crypts too,” he suggests—no actually not, he's giving a discreet order.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you and the baby.”

You check if anyone is nearby, and when no one is you step towards him and fix the collar of his shirt as you meet his gaze. “Eraxis won’t fight unless I’m with her, and we need her out there. You need me out there. I can’t just sit back and listen to everyone risk their lives, I can’t sit and just let you risk your life. What if I lose you because I’m down there? What then?” You argue. “You’ll have me raise this child alone?”

“You’ll have Sansa, Arya,” Jon interjects with his gaze on yours as if that is meant to assure you. “The entire North. And you’ve done it before and you’ve done a great job.”

You shake your head and grab onto his jaw now. “The baby will need their father. I need you,” you snap softly.

Jon caresses your face and leans in to rest his forehead against yours. “Swear to me you’ll be careful,” he says.” The moment you see things go to shit you run the other way.”

You let out a deep sigh and nod, even if you really don’t intend to run. You just can’t argue all night.

“So…” you change the subject. “I suppose the wedding is off then?”

Jon scoffs and smirks softly. “It doesn’t have to be. I mean we probably won’t have a wedding night or a feast.”

You giggle. “No wedding night? Well then it’s a damn good thing we’ve had that already.” You grin and press a kiss on his lips, feeling him grab onto you tighter before he pulls back and faces you.

“If you want we can marry right now, I’ll gather my siblings. You can gather Rhaenar, and we can marry, if it’s what you want.” Jon suggests.

Marry amongst the chaos, moments before battle?

You may never have dreamt of a perfect wedding because the truth is you never expected to choose your suitor. When you met Jon, when you accepted his love and let yourself love, there was a picture in your mind, but now….

Now in the middle of this chaos, not knowing whether either of you will survive the night, the promise of forever under the eyes of the gods sounds like the sweetest bliss. Perhaps the only one you’ll ever feel.

“Okay,” you whisper with excitement. “I want to do it. Let’s do it.”

——

*LATER*

“Beautiful,” Sansa whispers and smooths out one more invisible wrinkle on your cream colored skirt. “Truly.”

You look away from your rings and meet her glimmering gaze. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Sansa studies you one more time, she takes her time to study the beautiful work of the skirt, the soft red flames designed to the bottom of the skirt, the long train that spread out over the floor, the small embroidered dragon on the bosom of the dress and the sun that it wraps around demonstrating two of the houses you’re a part of. She looks at your reflection, at the dragon wings embroidered on your back, and then looks back at your face.

“I’m sure you’ll give Jon a heart attack,” Sansa teases.

You smile softly. “If he doesn’t have one what’s the point?”

Sansa laughs softly and takes one step towards you and unhooks a wolf pin from her dress to pin it on a sleeve of your dress.

“There,” she says and presses it as she meets your gaze. “Now you’re ready.”

You look down at the silver wolf and feel your eyes sting.

“Why?” You whisper in disbelief. She’s shown not to like Daenerys for what she demands from Sansa, you are on Daenerys side, why is she so nice to you?

“Why what?” She queries.

You lift your gaze to meet hers. “Why be kind to me? I mean it seems that you don’t really like Daenerys, so why be nice to me.”

Sansa scoffs, “you were the first one to truly tell me you felt sorry,” she shares softly and holds your gaze. “Back in King’s Landing. Everyone else didn’t say a word, they hated my family, so they treated it as a victory. There were even some who said they were sorry but never meant it. Not you though, you were really sorry, perhaps the first one to be sorry for me. You were kind when I needed it the most. That’s why, because you are a good person.”

Your breath gets trapped in your throat at the sound of her sincerity, and more tears gloss over your eyes, real tears that really hurt your eyes not to let fall. She didn’t answer your question regarding Daenerys, and it seems she won’t so you leave it be and offer her a soft smile before you can’t help but wrap her in an embrace.

Sansa gets surprised, but after a small exhale she returns your hug and squeezes tight.

“Be good to my brother,” she whispers as she keeps you in her arms.

You scoff softly and nod. “I will, I swear. He’s…very special to me.”

Sansa pulls back and offers you one last smile. A knock then raps on the door, and you slightly stiffen hoping it won’t be anyone unwanted, but muster the courage to get the door; Seeing that it’s only Rhaenar.

“Come in,” you say and step back to not been seen in case anyone passes by.

“I’m ready,” he says and closes the door for you. “Are you…” he trails off as he lays his eyes on you and smiles a very sweet smile. “You look very beautiful mother.”

You grin brightly and feel your heart skip at his sweet comment. “Oh, why thank you, sweetling. And you look very dapper yourself in your armor.”

Rhaenar scoffs but can’t help his little smirk.

“Are you ready?” He then asks.

You let out a soft nervous sigh and nod. “I’m ready.” You look at Sansa over your shoulder and probe. “Are you sure they won’t see us?”

Sansa nods right away. “I’m sure,” she assures you. “But if anything, here,” she trails off and walks to a rack to grab a long cloak. “Just so you can feel assured.”

You take it from her and throw it on, making sure that every inch of the dress was covered in case you do run into someone that can’t know quite yet.

“Okay.” You say again, but for the final time. “I’m ready. Let’s not keep him waiting anymore.”

Rhaenar shoots you an excited smile, and Sansa is the first one to walk out, letting you and Rhaenar follow after her through more discreet halls that lead outside to the Godswood where Jon is waiting.

And luckily her path is short, you don’t run into anyone, but…now all you feel is your pounding heart, your spinning mind, and your nervous and shallow breaths when you step outside to the evening that slowly brought the night.

It seems that Eraxis can sense your high stressed, and excited emotions because she flies overhead and begins to circle the Godswood. If she could she’d probably land within the grounds, but she’s far too big to do so, so all she can do is circle from above and keep a watchful eye.

“Here,” Sansa sort of startles you as she comes to a stop just outside the entrance into the Godswood. “I can take the cloak now.”

You scoff softly, “right,” you whisper and slide it off your shoulders, filling the coldness nipping at your sleeveless arms.

“It’s okay, it will be okay,” Sansa assures you as she notices your emotions.

You meet her gaze and hum.

She smirks and steps back. “I’ll see you in there.”

You hum again and watch her disappear within the grounds of the woods. And once she is gone, once you make sure you won’t run into her you let out one last deep breath and expel all your nerves, after all Jon isn’t a stranger you’re suddenly matched with, you know him, you love him already, he’s the love your life…a comfort in the chaos…

You smile softly and glance up at Eraxis one last time before you meet Rhaenar’s gaze. “Ready?” You probe.

Your son offers you a sweeter smile and nods eagerly before he turns to face the Godswood, and then walks you inside.

The walk is not long or rushed, it’s calm. For what awaits everyone tonight, it’s all forgotten right now at this moment as you walk down the snowy path to the Heart Tree, as you see Jon there waiting in front of that red leaved Weirwood tree with his eyes soft and full of love the moment he sees you. There’s only peace, solace. No war, no Night King, no one else but you and him as you walk to him.

Once you do reach him, once you stand close you don’t feel nervous anymore, not even if you see his family, Theon, his friend Sam watching and his very pregnant…wife? Paramour? By his side. You feel at peace and excited, smug even when you see Jon catch his breath.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this evening?” You hear Arya ask, and finally notice that she had stepped forward.

“Y/N,” Rhaenar announces like he was told to say, “of the House Targaryen and House Martell. Whoms here to be wed. A woman grown, generous, true born, and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

You smile softly and watch Jon take a step forward, leaving his white wolfs side. “Jon, of House Stark,” he says, “Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. Who gives her?” He asks as he keeps holding your gaze.

“Rhaenar,” your son shares happily. “Of House Targaryen. Heir to the Queen.”

“Princess Y/N,” Arya interjects. “Will you take this man?”

You take a step forward and grin brighter. “I take this man,” you agree without hesitation.

Jon lips tug wider as he gaze lingers for a moment longer as he takes your hand. You gently secure yours around his to walk closer to the Heart Tree and kneel before it.

You both then bow your heads as a token of submission, and join in prayer.

It’s not something you’re accustomed to but you only think of a simple prayer in hopes that his life nor the lives of the ones you care about get taken tonight, and that this baby within you is born healthy. That’s all.

After he’s done with his prayers he helps you to your feet and turns to face you with your hand secured in his. He caresses your face gently before he steps back to take off his fur cloak and walk behind you to carefully place it on your shoulders.

Supposedly what follows is him carrying you to the feast, but well that can’t happen tonight, so he stands before you and shares a lingering and enamored gaze before you close the gap to steal a sweet and deep kiss he quickly returns.

He cups your cheeks and deepens it more, making sure to savor what could be your last kiss ever. When he pulls back the few people that are gathered clap, and you remain in front of one another and press your foreheads against each other to cherish this moment. This blissful moment that is soon filled with the sound of Eraxis song, and Jon’s wolfs soft beautiful howl.

“I love you,” you murmur.

Jon smiles softly. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

You cup his jaw and caress his cheek one last time before you both pull away and face your families.

“Congratulations,” Sam is the first one to tell Jon as he walks to him and gives him a quick embrace.

Jon scoffs softly and pats his friends back. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sams paramour approaches you with a beaming grin and curtsy’s. “Congratulations, princess.”

You grin in amusement and offer her a thankful nod. “Thank you. You’re very sweet.”

The woman offers you one last smile before she steps away, letting Jon speak now.

“Thank you for attending, now I hope you all can keep your promise and keep the ceremony a secret until we can tell the Queen and everyone else.”

His family share a knowing look, and Arya is the one that speaks for her siblings. “Of course we will.”

Jon's eyes drift to Theon, and the man offers Jon a stiff but assuring nod. When he looks to Sam, he immediately nods and assures him too.

“I swear. We swear.”

Jon nods, and now the reality of what you’re going to face hits again. That beautiful short lived bliss wears off and doom and dread hits you harder than ever.

This might be the last time you ever see Rhaenar and Jon. This might be your last day.

“Jon,” you call out before you can leave the Godswood.

He looks over and stops in his tracks as you slow down to a stop.

Rhaenar catches you fall behind and looks back.

“It’s okay, go, get Helios and meet me in my chambers.”

The boy nods and begins to walk off, but Jon then stops him. “Wait.”

Rhaenar is caught off guard, but waits where he is and watches Jon approach him.

“I just want to wish you good fortune,” Jon says as he stops before the boy. “You’ll be down protecting people at the crypts so it’s my last time seeing you until the battle is over.” He hesitates but after a small breath he cups the back of the boy's head and offers him a gentle smile. “It’s okay to be afraid, remember?”

Rhaenar sighs shakily and nods in comprehension.

“I hope you make it,” Rhaenar tells Jon. “And kill that ice bastard.”

You and Jon chuckle as Rhaenar smiles.

“I will,” Jon assures the boy and pulls his hand back to step away. “Now go on, listen to your mother.”

Rhaenar steals a glance at you one more time before he walks off, letting Jon face you again.

“Will you tell me that it’s okay to be scared,” you whisper as he gets close to you. “I’m meant to be the face of bravery, I’m a princess, a dragon rider, I am meant to inspire people, but…I’m scared.

Jon offers you a sweet smile and grabs your fidgeting hands. “That means you’re not stupid,” he says and lifts your hands to press a kiss on your knuckles. “And people will understand your fear, we’re fighting the dead. As long as you fight, the people will follow.”

You lower your gaze and let out a soft shaky sigh. “Will you promise me that you’ll stay alive?” You ask for comfort.

Jon cups your cheeks and whispers, “I will try.” He then lowers his hand and rubs your belly. “By the way, you are breathtakingly beautiful.”

You grin shyly and meet his gaze. “Thank you,” you retort and lift your hand to cradle his cheek. “I’m glad that the truth didn’t change us.”

“I told you,” he sighs. “I won’t consider myself a Targaryen. Never.”

You begin to smirk. “Not even now that we’re married? You can be Jon Targaryen, husband to Y/N Targaryen.”

“You would like that wouldn’t you?” He quips with a partial grin.

You nod. “Very much.”

Jon grins and then steals one last lingering kiss from you, making your eyes instantly fill with tears.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. “So much.”

You swallow thickly as you hold back your tears and reply, “I love you too.”

Jon pulls you in for one last lasting embrace before you break away and go your separate ways before the battle begins.

Now rather than wearing a wedding dress you have armor protecting your body. How sad is that?

Instead of a feast you’re holding your son tightly in your arms with tears welled in your eyes for what could be the last time. He usually complains that he’s getting too old to be treated like a child, but today as you wait for those horns to blow to announce the beginning of an end, he lets you cuddle with him. And his little orange hatchling nuzzles himself in between the both of you too

“Will you sing to me?” You ask Rhaenar quietly as you stroke his curly hair. “One more time.”

Rhaenar lets out a small breath before he begins to sing the song he loves in High Valyrian.

His voice quietly carries throughout the room, lolling his hatchling to sleep, blocking out the shouts from outside as people still worked, as they gathered. He had a way to make you forget for a moment the dread, and the violence that ensues.

For a moment there was peace as he sang the song. For a moment.

And then reality broke the short peace as horns were blown.

“You have your weapons right?” You ask as you both stand to your feet.

Rhaenar points to his dragon glass sword and pats his dragon glass daggers, and nods in confirmation. And you study his new shiny silver armor to check that everything was strapped and tight.

“Good,” you whisper and brush his bangs back.

“You?” He probes. “Do you have your weapons?”

You smirk and point to your double bladed dragon-glass spear by the door and pat your daggers, and nod in confirmation. “Yes I do.”

“Okay,” he sighs and walks out first, making sure to take Helios and grab his spear on the way out. You take yours too and walk him all the way to the crypts first, even if his guards were going to escort him and be with him until the battle was over.

Once again, he would’ve minded any other time, but not tonight. Tonight he hesitates to leave your side when you do reach the crypts. He looks down at the torch lit pathway and lets out a deep sigh before he turns to throw his arms around you.

“I love you, mama,” he mutters.

You laugh softly and hug him back tighter. “I love you too, my sweet boy.” You put on a brave face so he won’t feel as afraid and pull back to take in his beautiful tan face, his sweet brown eyes, his dark curly black hair, and his sweet brave smile before you press a kiss on his forehead and linger there for a moment longer. “Take care, swear to me.”

Rhaenar pulls back and offers you an assuring nod as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I swear,” he murmurs. “And you take care too. And keep my little brother safe.”

You chuckle breathlessly and nod as you step back before you stay down there with him to make sure he makes it throughout the night. “I love you my sweet boy.” You tell him one last time and wave before you turn around and head for Eraxis.

And luckily on your way out you run into Daenerys and Jon going to the same place. However, the moment Daenerys sees you she looks at you up and down before striding away faster.

You quickly look to Jon to ask what happened in a speechless manner, and all he does is sigh deeply and frown, letting you know that her reaction wasn’t due to anything good.

He probably told her about his parents, who he is.

Why couldn’t he wait if there is a tomorrow? At least then things wouldn’t be so tension filled at the moment of battle.

However, once you’re on Eraxis’s back flying over the armies formed in front of the castle, that anger you knew she held, that tension, none of it mattered. It all ceases to matter. Especially when you land on the snowy hill that overlooks it all; the castle, the armies that await for the dead, especially when all you hear is nothing but a dreadful silence.

All that matters is the dead, and you.

Even if you can’t see them below due to the darkness that envelopes the land, you know that now nothing stands between you and them. It was now or never, this fight.

You try to pump yourself with hope and desperation to win this fight. As flames light the Dothraki’s weapons below, that hope only grows.

Alas, when the Dothraki ride forward and every single flame gets snuffed out that burning hope falters. Once there’s darkness again, you’re rattled, more afraid. Yet anger also begins to take root.

That same anger is something Daenerys displays right away without a fault when she sees her people dying. And when she tries to act on it and get on her dragon to join the battle Jon stops her.

“The Night King is coming,” he tells her as he grabs her arm, making you narrow your gaze as you can’t help your jealousy from sprouting.

“The dead are already here,” Daenerys snaps back and yanks her arm away to turn away. She meets your gaze briefly but doesn’t add anything and continues towards Drogon.

Once her back is turned Jon and you meet each others gazes and share one last lingering and longing look before you climb on Eraxis.

You proceed to strap yourself on to secure yourself on your saddle, and then pat your dragon's neck for comfort as the wind brings the sound of the dead’s growl and groans the closer they get to the castle.

Now there’s no escaping them. They’re here, and you’re ready.

“<Fly,>” you order Eraxis.

.

.

.

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A/N- Daenerys knows who Jon is, imagine when she finds out her niece is pregnant with his baby, and that they got married in secret 😗🫣 dance of dragons 2? 😗

Tagged: @watercolorskyy @jessimay89 @cecespizza01 @theroyalbrownbarbie @crybabyatthediscooffandoms @neenieweenie @midnightpantherxo

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