#I am pinching his cheeks and ruffling his hair | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ichorai · 11 months

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water dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

the sequel to little dragon!

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; aemond loved his wife and his children more than anything. to lose one of them... that would bring nothing but war to the seven kingdoms.

words ; 10.3k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), heavy angst, established relationship (married), parents au

warnings / includes ; major character death (please proceed with caution), blood & cheese, descriptions of violence/blood, unprotexted sex scenes, sex in the rain, jealous!aemond, foul language, you and aemond have three children (syraena, kyrion, myra), cameos of the rest of the hotd characters, syraena experiencing gender dysphoria :( aemond being a good father/husband (most of the time), kyrion is a dragon dreamer, aegon being gross and touching you inappropriately, so sorry if the valyrian isn't completely correct </3 the timeline for this fic is a bit shifted so that king viserys dies a couple years later than he does in the show (so the children have more time to grow) lots & lots of foreshadowing !! there will be a part three.

main masterlist.

A dull, heavy thud resounded across the training yard when Criston swung his morningstar at Aemond yet again, its thick spikes missing his cheek by a hair’s breadth as he gracefully spun away, the ball landing onto the ground. Before his mentor could strike him again, Aemond darted around him in the blink of an eye, slanting the longsword’s blade against Criston’s throat.

“If we were enemies on a battlefield, you would be dead,” the Prince murmured.

The Dornish knight raised his hands in surrender. “Then I am grateful we are neither enemies nor at battle.”

With a hum, Aemond let the sword retreat back to his side, turning to place it back on the weapons rack. Only, he found his gaze falling on a small girl amongst the onlookers, her e/c eyes wide, curious, and eagerly dark.

“Syraena? What are you doing here?” he asked his eldest daughter, striding up to her and staring her down with the most stern expression he could muster. It was an hour past noon, and that meant she was supposed to be at her embroidery lessons with the Septa. Or perhaps it was dancing lessons? Aemond couldn’t quite recall. Either way, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Upon further inspection, he noted that her wispy hair was far shorter and more scraggly than usual, small bits of silver strands littered over her scrawny shoulders.

“What did you—did you cut your hair?” Aemond accused, his single eye narrowing as he knelt down in front of her. “Gods, your mother is going to have my head.”

“Do you like it, Kepa?” Syraena replied, wildly ruffling the short silver tendrils with a wide smile. “I found a sharp shard of glass by that broken window beside the mess hall… and I cut my hair with it!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Aemond blew out a long, exasperated sigh. Though this wasn’t the first time Syraena had startled her parents, prone to impulsive recklessness, it didn’t make her proclivities any less hard on Aemond’s heart. “Darling, that is wildly careless. Don’t ever do that again, you understand me? Come on—you shouldn’t be here, your mother must be worried to death searching for you.”

Swiftly, he wound his arms around the six year-old, lifting her up so she would sit over his waist. Of course, Syraena being Syraena, pulled a sour face and began reaching out for Criston, who was observing on with an amused expression.

“But I want to watch you spar!” she complained, twisting in his grasp and kicking at his stomach. Aemond had to bite down on his tongue to swallow his groan of pain, but he held onto her tight nonetheless. “Kepa, let me down! Let me go!”

“You should be in your lessons,” Aemond chastised, striding up the winding stairs back into the Keep.

Pouting, Syraena let herself flop limply against Aemond’s shoulder. “I hate lessons. I hate the Septa. I hate being a girl.”

Raising a brow, Aemond glanced down at her before softly patting the back of her head. Though he hadn’t a clue what it was like to be a woman in Westeros, he could understand her feeling of not belonging amongst others who seemed to belong so easily. Syraena never got along with other girls her age, who were often afraid of her callousness and her tempestuous nature. In that respect, Aemond supposed his daughter was just like him.

“I’m sorry, my sea dragon. Perhaps I’ll let the Septa know that you no longer wish to dance.”

“And embroider!”

“Hm. That, as well.”

Syraena grinned widely—her curved lips reminiscent of yours.

“Kepa?”

“Mmh?”

“Don’t tell mother I cut my hair,” she whispered, eyes shining with worry.

It was hard for Aemond to suppress his smile. “I’m sure she’ll notice regardless of whether I tell her or not, darling,” he gently told her.

Her expression dropped. “I didn’t mean to cut it this short. I just don’t like my long hair.”

“You’re very beautiful either way, Syraena,” he easily replied, before stopping in front of his chambers, where he knew you were watching over their baby daughter. “Alright. You go on inside—I’ll go speak to your Septa.”

He set his daughter down on her feet. She loitered by the door, dragging her feet glumly.

With a bark of a laugh, Aemond nudged her forward. “Go on. Your mother won’t be angry. Not that much, at least.”

Aemond’s only son, Kyrion, was a quiet boy. Only five years of age, born less than eleven moons after Syraena, he was already of greater intelligence than most far older than him, growing a knack for reading and drawing. The maesters would often express that his mind was developing much quicker than what was deemed normal.

Not only that, but he was quite handsome, as well, with strikingly sharp features akin to his father, and a head of snow-white curls. His eyes were a pale shade of purple, always distant and clouded over with thought. From as soon as he began to talk, Kyrion often spoke in strange, twisted riddles, mystifying both you and Aemond to no end.

King Viserys, as sickly as he was, had claimed him to be a dragon dreamer. Alicent had hushed him then, thinking he was on another one of his senseless rambles, and gently asked the two of you to step out so he could get some rest.

Now, as Aemond sat with his son in the library, he pondered the possibility of it all. Perhaps Kyrion had a divine gift—the ability to see glimpses of the future. He would have to speak with you about it, see what you thought first.

Even if it were true, Aemond didn’t want to put any kind of unnecessary pressure on his son. Kyrion was only five, after all, no matter how startlingly intelligent he was.

“And what does this say?” He tested the boy, tapping his finger against the dusty Valyrian book.

Immediately, Kyrion replied in his soft, far-away voice, “Zaldrīzoti mērī ipradagon parklon. Dragons only eat meat.”

“Hm. Good.”

“It should be more specific,” said Kyrion, hands fidgeting beneath the table. “Dragons only eat cooked meat.”

A ghost of a proud smile hovered over Aemond’s lips. “That is correct—this book is old, from a time before maesters were able to record accurate, detailed information about dragons.”

Kyrion didn’t reply, flipping the worn, yellowed page.

“What does this mean?” he eventually asked, pointing at an unfamiliar word.

Aemond glanced over at the book, before blanching, and cleared his throat hastily. The paragraph was depicting a few different maesters’ debates on the mating practices of dragons—a topic of which Aemond was not too keen on broaching with his five year-old son.

“Mmh… nothing of importance. Keep on reading, my water dragon. You’re doing very well.”

Blinking up at him with his large, pale violet eyes. He seemed to sense his father’s discomfort, so he let the matter drop, returning his attention to the book. Aemond blew out a relieved breath—he’d surely have to tell you about this later tonight.

Myra Targaryen, the youngest of Aemond’s children at three years of age, was a sweet little girl with a soft heart, always wearing a gentle smile. She loved all things in nature, and had a near unbearingly kind soul. She loved singing and dancing, a stark contrast to Syraena, who turned her nose away at such activities. At times Aemond wondered how Myra could possibly be his kin, for she was far too pure and he was… certainly not.

Unlike her sharp-faced siblings, Myra’s features were much softer and healthily plump. Her hair was a shade darker than them as well, the curls a silver-gold hue of blonde. Though Aemond was hoping for another daughter that bore your beautiful eye color, Myra was born with his dark purple irises, nearly blue in certain lighting.

As you had left to soak in a bath, Aemond had taken it upon himself to put his river dragon to sleep, tucking her beneath a fleece blanket and brushing her flaxen away from her drooping eyelids, heavy with exhaust from the day.

“Ēdrū sȳrī, Myra,” he whispered, brushing a kiss upon her forehead. Sleep well.

“Night-night, Kepa,” she responded, grinning sleepily, dimples indenting her chubby cheeks. “Today I saw a butterfly in the gardens!”

“Mmh, was it a large butterfly?”

“No. It was very small—smaller than my hand! I named it Hūra, because it was white, like the moon.”

Finding her grin contagious, Aemond felt a smile flicker over his usually stoic demeanor. “A lovely name. Your Aunt Helaena loves butterflies, as well. Perhaps you can tell her all about Hūra tomorrow.”

Myra enthusiastically nodded, before sitting up against her feather-pillows, reaching up to her father to press a sweet kiss against his scar, just below his eyepatch.

By the Gods, he could nearly feel tears prick the corner of his vision, but he managed to subdue them for a minute, not wanting to weep in front of his young daughter, lest she grew worried for him.

“I like Kepa’s scar,” she mumbled as she settled back down to go to sleep. “How did you get it?”

Aemond was silent for a long while, unsure of what to tell her. “An accident,” he simply replied.

“Does it hurt?”

It did, at times. Not as often as it used to, but there were instances he could still feel phantom pains throbbing behind the leather patch. “Not anymore,” he lied, voice quiet.

If Myra had any other questions, she didn’t get the chance to ask them, already drifting off into slumber.

Aemond hummed, before rising onto his feet, making his way out of her chambers. To his surprise, you were hovering by the doorway, arms crossed and affection written plainly over your expression.

“I just put Kyrion to bed,” you whispered, leaning into his touch when he cradled your face with his palms with a quiet greeting. “He was speaking in riddles again—something about a deal with a stag?”

The two of you began making your way down the hall, to your shared chambers. “Stag?” he asked. “Baratheons?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head, sighing. “I worry for him.”

Aemond slipped into the room after you, shutting the door behind him. He gathered you in his arms, capturing your lips with his in a chaste kiss. When he pulled away, he studied your concerned features—just as beautiful as the day he’d met you.

“We’ll be fine, dōna embar,” he reassured you, leading you to bed with a protective hand resting over your lower back. You loosely smiled at the nickname—sweet sea. “The dragon-trouts are strong. No house, stag or otherwise, could ever lay a hand on them.”

Instead of responding, you kissed him again, your nose bumping against his in your haste. The both of you laid down on the tall mattress, the promise of sleep whispering sand into your ears.

Before you could fall into a dreamless rest, however, Aemond quietly murmured, “I’m assuming Syraena didn’t tell you she cut her hair with a shard of glass she found by a broken window. Kyrion also asked about mating practices whilst we were in the library. And Myra wanted to know how I got my scar.”

Startled at the sudden barrage of information, you abruptly sat up, eyes wide, sleep suddenly the very last thing on your mind. “What?”

The next morning was dreary.

It was a rare thing for rain to grace the capital, as it was usually arid and warm. But the skies were grey and thunderous, miniscule pinpricks of water beginning to fall from the dark clouds. You stood on your chamber’s balcony, enjoying the cooler temperatures and the light drizzles dampening your skin, your hair, your sleeping shift. It’d been several moons since it last rained—compared to your original home, the Riverlands, King’s Landing simply paled in comparison. How you missed the feeling.

Aemond, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to the change in weather. He stepped out to join you, one of his spindly hands reaching out to grasp the damp fabric around your waist, the other moving upward to tilt your chin so you’d look at him.

“How beautiful you are, ābrazȳrys,” he whispered, trailing kisses down from the corner of your lips to your jaw. The Valyrian word for wife was uttered with an extra husky tone. “The hour is quite early—the children are still fast asleep.” There was a rough, needy scratch to his voice, indiscreetly conveying his lustful intentions.

With a wanton grin, you replied breathily, “Fuck me in the rain, Aemond. Fuck me until I can’t wa—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Aemond was already shoving you up against the stone railing, his hot mouth slanted desperately over yours. You kissed him back with just as much vigor, curling one of your legs around his waist. Already, you could feel his length hardening, pressing against your lower stomach.

You moaned lewdly into his mouth when the hand that had been under your chin snaked further downwards to grasp at your breasts through the drenched shift, his nimble fingers pinching at your sensitive peaks. His other hand relinquished his grasp on your waist, slipping beneath the fabric between your thighs and running a finger through your folds. The action made you cry out, grasping his forearms for dear life.

“You’re already drenched for me,” Aemond susurrated, pulling away from your lips, which you had chased after with a sigh, littering kisses against your bobbing throat. “Ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love.

“Please, Aemond,” you croaked, needing more. “Please, I need you inside me.”

With a hum, Aemond swiftly shoved your damp shift up to bunch around your waist, leaving your lower half completely bare for him.

“Who am I to deny you, embar?” he whispered, biting the outside of your ear, before slowly sliding his leaking, throbbing length into your cunt. “Fuck! Mmh—you take me so well, sweet wife.”

Slowly, he began rocking into you, prideful at the way you rolled your eyes into the back of your head. Your shift, clinging against you like a second skin thanks to the rain, made the motions of your heaving, bouncing breasts all the more enticing. He ducked his head to freckle kisses over your chest as he thrust into you, murmuring praises into the wet fabric.

A clap of thunder drowned out the obscene noises the both of you were making.

Wildly, Aemond tore himself out of you, extinguishing the fiery complaints on the tip of your tongue by turning you over and pushing your stomach into the railing, so you could face the city. You were far too high up for anyone to clearly see, but the thrill of it was there, nonetheless.

Your husband slid back into you with a deep groan and a string of curses, sloppily pounding you from behind as he neared his peak. He wound an arm around you to languidly stroke at your pulsing clit, which had you bucking back into him with a surprised choke of his name.

It wasn’t long until you collapsed against him, your cunt clenching around his cock like a vice, white stars bursting out in front of your vision. Not too soon after, Aemond spilled himself within you, his hot cum dripping out of your core and down your thighs, panting against your shoulder.

“Mmh,” you moaned once he slowly pulled out, so as to not overwhelm you with overstimulation. “I do hope it rains in King’s Landing more often.”

“If it leads to more of this, then so do I,” Aemond replied, turning you around with gentle touches to kiss you soundly. “For now, how does a hot bath sound?”

Myra’s shrieks of laughter echoed across the large chambers as she clumsily ran away from Syraena, who was enacting a large, hungry dragon searching for her prey.

“Kepa, help me!” she screamed, scrambling to hide behind her father’s legs. Amused, Aemond picked up his youngest girl, setting her on his hip. His eldest clung to his shin, forcing Aemond to drag the both of them across the room as they squealed in delight.

“Faster!” Syraena ordered. Aemond made a mental note to tell Criston he was most likely going to be late for training today, knowing his girls probably wouldn’t let go of him for the next few hours.

On the other side of the chambers, you sat by your son next to the fireplace, sipping on a chalice of spiced apple cider. Kyrion was sprawled out on the expensive chaise, the corner of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated on drawing on a piece of parchment with a coal-tipped pencil.

“Mother, look,” he said, pulling your attention away from your husband and the excited girls. The paper was pushed onto your lap, covered with black smudges and hastily drawn lines. “This is what I see in my dreams.”

You blinked, studying the drawings closer. “What is it, honey? Are those trees?”

His white hair flew every which way as he vehemently shook his head. His small hand pointed at the six figures, hovering a few inches above the uneven ground. “Those are people. They didn’t bend the knee.”

Horror’s dark fingers wrapped around your heart, and you reared back to stare at your son. “Kyrion, what is this? You… have you seen this?”

His pale violet eyes met your terrified ones. “In my dreams,” he repeated, voice soft and tame, as if he hadn’t just drawn a picture of six lords hanging from the gallows. “You don’t have dreams like those?”

Still in shock, you shook your head, mute.

Kyrion studied you for a moment longer, before grabbing another sheet of paper to start drawing again. “You’re lucky, mother. Sometimes I feel it.”

“Why is that, Kyrion? What else do you feel?”

The little boy shrugged. “The milk curdles, the blood spills.” He fell quiet after that, clearly done with the conversation.

Struggling for words, you blew out a long breath, before looking back at the parchment. You leaned forward to press a kiss to his head, patting down his short white curls, before standing up and making your way to Aemond, his drawing in hand. Myra had somehow ended up on his shoulders, yelling for help as Syraena jumped around, trying to catch her little sister’s flailing feet.

“Mama,” the young river dragon cried, reaching out to you with tearful purple-blue eyes. “Syraena bit me!”

True to her word, there were shallow teeth marks imprinted in her chubby shin. Syraena grinned at her handiwork, looking none too apologetic.

“Aemond!” you sharply reprimanded, which made your husband flinch at the sudden attention, puzzled as to why the blame was placed on him instead of Syraena. “Gods, did you just stand by and watch as your daughters mauled each other?”

“I was outnumbered, darling. They are vicious little things, our girls,” Aemond lightly replied, letting go of the golden-haired girl so she could cling onto you, sobbing into your neck. At your stern expression, Aemond added on, “Syraena, say sorry to your sister.”

With a quick tongue, she quickly said with years of rehearsed practice, “Sorry, Myra. Can I come watch you train now, Kepa?”

Before he could reply, you stepped in. “Ah-ah, Syraena. You need to go to the Septa and apologize for running away from your lessons yesterday. You may be excused from embroidery and dancing, but that doesn’t give you the right to be rude.”

Glum, Syraena glanced at her father, who only beckoned her along. “Listen to your mother.”

With a heavy exhale, the silver-haired girl stomped out of the room to do as she was bid.

You traced your hand along the bite mark on Myra’s leg. “It’s not too bad, sweetheart. Go on—go ask your brother if you can draw with him.”

Sniffling, Myra slid down from your arms and waddled off to sit by Kyrion, who wordlessly scooched over to make space for his little sister.

“What’s wrong?” Aemond asked, noting the worry in your expression. The once light-hearted atmosphere seemed to dissolve away in an instant.

Pursing your lips, you handed over the drawing.

“Kyrion said he saw this in his dreams. People hanging… he said they didn’t bend the knee,” you whispered.

Aemond studied the coal-streaked parchment, eye narrowed. “Perhaps that’s all it was… just a dream.”

“Or it could be a vision. Your father said it himself—our son is a dragon dreamer,” you responded, gripping his forearm. “Aemond, I’m worried that war is upon us. Sooner than we think it is.”

There was little Aemond could truthfully say to comfort you, and so he simply drew you close, breathing in your homely scent—pleasantly noting that he could still smell the rain on you.

“It’ll be alright,” he murmured sincerely. “I won’t let anything happen to you, or our family. I’ll keep you safe.”

Blinking away the tears stinging the corner of your eyes, you pressed your nose against his throat. “I’m not sure you’d be able to, husband. Not in a war for the iron throne. Nobody is safe from that.”

Your law-sister, Helaena, had always harbored a gentle, sweet soul—a direct opposite to her brother and husband, Aegon. The very thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage, made to squeeze out heirs for a monster of a man was already nightmarish enough… you couldn’t fathom what it was like for Helaena to endure such a life. Nonetheless, she was often as happy as one could be, dreamily smiling and murmuring unintelligible words to herself.

That evening you found yourself having tea with her, listening to her speak about the strange weather and the bugs she had found washed up in the gardens due to the rain.

“Many worms, yes,” she mumbled, fiddling with a wooden carving of a cockroach. “Worms and drowned ants. Ants and drowned worms. Beetles, as well, yes.”

You smiled, glancing at her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, playing with yours—though Kyrion wasn’t really playing with his cousins, more just standing in the shadows and silently watching his sisters play with them. He truly was a copy of his father, after all.

“The poor creatures,” you surmised. “Rid of their homes and families just because of a bit of rain.” A bit of guilt twinged within your chest—just earlier today, you had told Aemond you wished for it to rain more.

“Oh, it’s not all that bad,” Helaena hummed, looking up at you with a mild grin. “Death gives way to more life. There will soon be new worms, new ants, new beetles. It’s simply the way of nature.”

You nodded, setting down your teacup. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just a shame that it has to happen in the first place.”

To your surprise and none of Aemond’s, all the childrens’ dragon eggs hatched within their cradles. They were growing larger and larger every day, being looked after by the dragon keepers before the children could ride them.

Today, Aemond took them down to the Dragon Pit, where his children were going to bond with their respective beasts. You were invited to come, as you always were when Aemond went off on his excursions with the kids, but you had wrinkled your nose and turned back to your book.

“I have no taste for stinking of dragon today, thank you,” you curtly replied, grinning down at your book. “Don’t you think Myra is a bit too young to bond with her dragon? She’s only three.”

“It doesn’t hurt to get acquainted,” he swiftly replied, before bending at the waist to slant a sweet kiss to your hairline, before taking his leave to head out of his chambers and wrangle his kids down to the Pit.

They were excited to go, Syraena most especially, practically sprinting down the corridors. He called out after her to slow down, but she paid him no mind.

The Dragon Pit smelled of smoke and charred meat and something distinctly dragon.

Keepers brought out the three dragonlings, playfully nipping at each other’s wings and yipping as if they were young pups.

The largest of the trio was named Aerion—Syraena’s dragon. He was a slender beauty, with shining black scales and sharp, crimson wing membranes. With the Keeper’s nod, Syraena confidently marched forward, stroking her dragon’s head, a toothy grin plastered across her lips. Aerion seemed to purr beneath her touch, plumes of grey smoke falling from his nostrils.

Next to come forward was Kyrion’s dragon, his rippling scales a dark shade of green and sharp eyes a molten amber. “Tyvaros,” Aemond heard his son mumble his dragon’s name. “Tyvaros.” A bit more timid, Kyrion hesitantly stepped forward and, with the Keeper’s approval, he reached out for the small green dragon. He was the calmest of the three, leaning forward to gently nudge his head against Kyrion’s shoulder.

The smallest of the hatchlings was Goldentooth, a pale, cream-hued dragon with aureate spikes running down her back and along her tail. She was Myra’s to claim, having been the very last to hatch.

“Go on, Qelbar.” He gently nudged his flaxen-haired daughter forward. River, he affectionately called her. “Don’t you want to bond with her?”

Myra nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“I can’t see a reason why she wouldn’t like you,” he calmly responded, patting her back. “Your brother and sister are getting along with their dragons just fine. It took me a long time to bond with a dragon, as well. You’ll get there, eventually.”

His words seemed to instill some courage into her, and so she shuffled along to the last Keeper, murmuring hello to her dragon. It wasn’t long until the fear subsided, and the small dragon was already climbing all over her arms and shoulders.

After an hour of bonding, the Keepers were hoarding the dragons further down into the Pit for feeding, and in turn, Aemond took the children back up into the Keep. They all stank of dragon, something you definitely weren’t going to be happy with, but had wide smiles on their faces nonetheless.

There was a hearing carried out on the subject of the heir to Driftmark (which was settled in an unsettlingly gorey manner, courtesy of Daemon Targaryen), which meant Princess Rhaenyra and her sons were back in King’s Landing for quite a while, to Aemond’s displeasure. You, on the other hand, bore no ill-will to the Princess, and were rather excited for the royal dinner to be held the next day.

The night after Vaemond’s beheading, Kyrion had tugged on your skirts and asked if you could accompany him to the library so he could return his book.

“Alright,” you told him with a small smile. “But we must be quick about it—the hour grows late, and I can see how sleepy you are.”

The purple-eyed boy nodded, taking your hand as the two of you made your way down the dark corridors, to the library. When the both of you turned the corner, you nearly ran straight into Lucerys, jumping back in surprise.

“Oh, Gods! My apologies, my Princes,” you exclaimed, flustered at the sudden appearance of Rhaenyra’s sons. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Lucerys tilted his head. “No need to apologize, Lady Tully.”

“Targaryen. Tully is my maiden name—I’m married to Prince Aemond now,” you gently corrected.

“Evidently so,” said Jace, glancing at your son with a polite smile. “This must be my little cousin. Kyrion, isn’t it?”

The white-haired boy stared up at him with his pale eyes. “Ice and fire. Arrows and seas. Pacts and death. I saw you in my dreams.”

“Kyrion,” you hastily reprimanded, mortified that your son was speaking of death in front of Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest son, gathering the small boy up in your arms. “Sorry, he must be tired. It’s his bedtime—”

“He doesn’t look much like you, does he?” Lucerys observed, finding it eerily strange to be staring at a little boy that was a near carbon copy of the bane of his childhood.

Brows furrowing, you hesitantly replied, knowing the stale animosity between him and your husband, “I… I suppose not, my Prince. He takes after his father. My daughters, too.”

“Ah, then we must arrange to meet them. I’m sure your children would enjoy playing with my little brothers, Aegon and Viserys. They must be around the same age,” said Jace in an amicable manner.

Before you had a chance to respond, a familiar voice spat, “And why, pray tell, do you think I would ever allow my children near you and your filthy kin?”

Aemond appeared from out of the shadows, features set in one of cold fury. Both Jacaerys and Lucerys took a step back, shoulders stiffening. They had seen him training earlier today—it didn’t go past their notice that he had become incredibly skilled in combat over the years. In no way would either of them be a match for him.

Wary not to allow a fight to break out, you reached out to place a calming hand on his arm. “Aemond—” you gritted out.

“Leave us,” he growled.

Teeth gnashing together, you shook your head and whispered, “Aemond, I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us.”

“Take our son and go,” he said, more gently this time. To you, Jace and Luke were just boys—sweet boys with kind hearts. To Aemond, however, they were the monsters who took out his eye. They were a threat to him and his family’s safety.

Exchanging a worried glance between him and Jacaerys, who nodded at you to take your leave, you blew out a frustrated breath, before hastening away with Kyrion in your arms. It seemed the two of you would have to take a trip to the library another day.

Lowering his voice, Aemond calmly told the two brothers, “Speak to my wife or my children again, and I’ll have the both of you fed to my dragon.”

Luke swallowed nervously, but Jace stood his ground.

“Is that all, Uncle?” he challenged, eyebrows cocked.

Aemond fixed a sharp glare on them, nose upturned. With an irritated grunt, he turned and strode off after you, leaving the two bastard boys stunned and mildly confused in his wake.

Once he had made sure his girls were safely tucked in their beds, Aemond paid his son a visit, sitting by his side.

“I apologize for interrupting your trip to the library, water dragon,” he murmured, patting down the boy’s messy white curls.

Kyrion chewed on his bottom lip in thought. “Why don’t you like them, Kepa?”

Aemond’s single eye searched his son’s gaze, completely sincere in his curiosity. “A story for another time, when you’re older,” he replied. “Your mother said you’ve been drawing what you see in your dreams. Can you tell me about them?”

“Which ones?” he asked.

The one-eyed man felt sick at the thought of his little boy having to watch a thousand lives pass by in his visions, most having to inevitably end in death. It was a curse to be a dragon dreamer, he thought with a grimace. A burden.

“Whichever you want to tell me about, tresy.” Son.

Kyrion’s pale eyes seemed to mist over, and he fixed his gaze on a random candle across the room. “I see you wearing a crown. You sit on the Iron Throne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

It seemed his son had mistaken Aemond’s befuddled expression for anger, as he shrank away from his father with a frown. “I’m sorry, Kepa. Don’t be angry with me.”

Aemond softened. “I’m not angry, Kyrion. I was just… shocked.”

Not all of Kyrion’s visions came true, did they? Aemond tried his best to wrack his mind for the dozens of times his mystic ramblings lead to nowhere.

“I also see mother sailing away on a ship with Syraena and Myra. She looks sad,” he quietly spoke. “I don’t like that dream very much. Can I go to sleep now, Kepa?”

Blowing out a small breath, Aemond mustered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his worried eye. “Yes, of course. Sleep well, little dragon.”

Hastily, he stood back up on his feet, blowing out the candles around Kyrion’s chamber, before striding out the door. His head was spinning with a million thoughts at once, his son’s wispy voice echoing within his mind.

A crown on his head. His wife and his girls on a ship. Seven hells… what was to become of his family?

Myra was humming a sweet song of summer, chubby cheeks rosy with the warm breeze that blew through the Godswood. She was seated in front of you over a yellow blanket situated on the ground. In your hands, you were weaving the little girl’s golden hair into an intricate braid, small wildflowers slotted in between the crevices.

A little ways away from the both of you, Syraena was running circles around the Weirwood tree, fighting off invisible enemies with a long, wooden stick she claimed to be her sword.

“There you go, darling,” you said, patting Myra’s shoulders once you were done. “Syraena, come here! I want to fix your hair!”

Your eldest girl huffed and puffed as she stomped over, her short silver strands sticking up every which way. “What’s there to fix?” she grumbled, plopping down in front of you.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t foolishly sliced it all off with a shard of glass, it wouldn’t resemble an uneven rat’s nest sitting upon your head,” you reprimanded.

Giggling, Myra clapped her hands. “Rat’s nest!” she parroted.

Syraena scowled. “It’s not fair. You let Kyrion have short hair. I want to be a boy, like him.”

“If you wanted short hair, you could’ve just asked. Lailena would have gladly cut it for you,” you said, brandishing a wooden comb to gently run it through Syraena’s thin silvery strands. “Do you want to know what your father said when I was first pregnant with you?”

Syraena shifted with a grimace as you yanked at a knot in her hair. “What?”

“He said he didn’t care whether you were a boy or a girl. That you were his blood, regardless. His tempestuous sea dragon,” you said with a small smile, mimicking a sour face at her nickname. “And Kyrion came next, our tranquil water dragon. Then lastly, Myra, our sweet river dragon.”

When you were done, you had Syraena turn around so you could inspect her hairline, brushing back any stray bits of hair that escaped your comb. “All finished. Beautiful, handsome… I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, sweetling.”

She chewed at the inside of her cheek, nodding. “Can I go play knights with Jaehaerys now?”

“Go on,” you lightly nudged her away, an exasperated smile tugging at your lips, knowing full and well her hair was going to be all mussed in no less than half an hour of playing.

Before Syraena could get up and scramble away, however, a figure approached the three of you. She was clad in a black cloak, detailed with fine red thread in embroideries of flames and dragons. Golden jewelry decorated her pale skin, her long hair like sheets of pure snow.

The Princess Rhaenyra.

“Princess,” you breathily greeted, mind flashing back to last night, when you had bumped into her sons.

You were about to get up to bow, but Rhaenyra quickly said, “No need, Lady Y/N. My apologies, I wasn’t aware the Godswood was occupied. If you’d like to be alone—”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright, Princess. It’s a space to be shared, after all,” you said with a courteous smile.

Rhaenyra studied you carefully, her purple eyes taking in your form. It was a strange thing, she thought. You were married to her half-brother, and mothered her childhood friend’s grandchildren. A childhood friend that was her friend no longer.

With you, however, perhaps the story could be different.

A genuine smile graced the Princess’ lips. “These are your girls?” she asked.

The taller and older of the two most certainly took after her father, with her sharp features and silver hair, though she bore your eyes and your smile. The younger was plump with a softer face, and had more blonde than white hair, her large eyes a deep shade of violet.

“Yes, this is Syraena, my oldest. And this is Myra,” you told her. “My son Kyrion is in the library at the moment, with his father.”

“His father,” Rhaenyra echoed quietly, voice distant. The memory of little Aemond in front of her, eye slashed out, and Luke cowering behind her with a bleeding, broken nose flashed into her mind. Clearing her throat, she reeled herself back into the present by saying, “Your children are very beautiful. Have you considered any potential suitors for them yet?”

Your eyes widened simultaneously as Syraena’s head whipped up to stare at you.

“No,” you replied, a tad too quickly. “I don’t think I’d want to subject them to that until they come of age. Or until they want to.”

The Princess tilted her head to the side with a mild laugh. “If your daughters were anything like me when I was a teenager, then you’d find the latter quite a challenge.”

“Yes, Queen Alicent has told me of your youth… how you rejected nearly all the contenders for your hand,” you replied. “I can’t say I could relate. Aemond was my first and only suitor.”

She hummed in thought. “I only asked because I just had my sons betrothed to their cousins.”

Right. Jacaerys and Lucerys were to wed Baela and Rhaena.

So that was why she asked. She wanted to know if Alicent was scheming, just as she had been. Betrothals and weddings were equivalent to political currency in times of war.

“I don’t plan on wedding my children off any time soon,” you reassured her. From the corner of your eye, you could see Syraena’s shoulders loosen up. The prospect of marriage was not one she was particularly interested in.

“I see,” Rhaenyra said, though her face was much more relaxed now than before. “I shall go wash myself before supper tonight. I look forward to seeing you there.”

With that, she turned to take her leave. Myra looked up at you with a toothy grin. “Can I come with you to supper?”

“It’ll be past your bedtime,” you said, rising to your feet and picking her up to place on your hip. “But I promise we can spend the entire day together before that. Come on, Syraena, I’ll drop you off at Jaehaerys’ room.”

That evening’s royal supper was a disaster.

It started off well enough, with several toasts from the adults, and an additional one from Jacaerys dedicated to his uncles and his cousins’ good fortune. The King gave one long, hunkering speech on unity and the togetherness of the dragon’s house, wheezing through his words all the way.

Only then did the feast begin, consisting of a large assortment of roasted meats and soups and plates of steaming bread. There were also cold platters of appetizers passed around, full of cheeses, figs, and grapes. Viserys had barely eaten a bite before he had to be escorted back to his chambers, past his point of exhaustion.

Aegon had spent most of the dinner tormenting Jace and Baela on their future marriage. When he grew bored of his nephew’s stoic demeanor, he turned to you, his good-sister. It was evident the Prince was quite drunk as he blathered on and on about the most trivial topics as you gingerly drank your hearty soup, though you didn’t have much of a stomach for it anymore.

The last of the toasts came from Helaena as she congratulated Baela and Rhaena on their betrothals, subtly dunking on her husband before she drank with a dreamy grin.

Not too long after, music started playing, a symphony of strings and bells, and Jace had offered his hand to Helaena, much to Aegon’s dismay.

In an effort to retaliate, Aegon leaned close to your ear, placing a hand on your thigh beneath the table. You had jerked away from his touch, glancing at Aemond, who sat on your other side.

“Care for a dance with me, good-sister?” He smelled of wine and a general foul dampness.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “That’s quite alright, my Prince. I don’t think you’re in a state to dance with me.”

“Nonsense, Lady Y/N, I am as sound as the day I was born!” he drunkenly hiccuped, words slurring together. His hand found its way back to your thigh, fingers gripping tighter this time. You tried to yank your leg away, nearly standing up with the effort.

Sensing your discomfort, Aemond growled out, “Leave my wife alone, brother.”

The song drew to a close, and Helaena returned to her seat, beaming brightly.

“Or what?” Aegon cackled, clearly enjoying seeing his brother get riled up. Thankfully, his hand slipped away from your leg to grip another chalice of wine. “What will you possibly—”

Before he could finish, Jacaerys stood between you and Aegon, offering his hand.

“If I could have this dance, Lady Targaryen?” he asked, emphasizing the family name in memory of your correction last night. His expression bore one of concern, obviously coming here to offer you an escape from Aegon.

Sparing a glance to your husband, who had taken to silently bristling, you nodded once.

“Of course, my Prince,” you said, taking his hand. Much to your satisfaction, Aegon had looked like he was struck across the face.

Off the two of you danced—spinning and twirling and laughing the entire time. Aemond was never too fond of dancing during the celebrations, always cautious of the stares, much preferring to dance with you in the privacy of your own chambers. Watching you openly have such fun with Jacaerys, however, made jealousy coil tight within his abdomen. You were smiling so widely—a smile that he had the joy of seeing every morning. To see it elicited because of his bastard nephew kindled an envious, green flame inside him.

Then came the pig.

And Lucerys’ none-too-discreet giggling.

Something in Aemond snapped.

The music halted as he slammed his fists onto the table, and his wife hastily stopped dancing with Jacaerys to see what the commotion was.

Of course, Aemond simply couldn’t help himself. In front of the entire family, he called his nephews Strong boys.

Pandemonium broke out. Jacaerys had let go of you to storm forward and land a punch on your husband, which seemed not to affect him in the least, shoving the brown-haired boy to the ground.

Aegon, eager to join the chaos, had grabbed Lucerys by the scruff of his shirt, shoving him into a searing platter of fish. “A gift for the new Lord of Driftmark!” he announced with a wild, manic grin.

In the end, Daemon had been the one to put a stop to the scuffle, staring down Aemond with raised brows. With a frustrated hum beneath his breath, your husband stormed out of the mess hall, making his way upstairs to your shared chambers.

You scrambled out after him, lifting your skirts to give you space to run. It was improper to leave without bidding the rest of the family goodbye, but then again… nothing about the dinner had been proper at all.

Once you had rushed into the room, Aemond roughly slammed the door shut, pushing you up against it. His fingers were already undoing the laces on your back, his lips sealing shut over yours.

“Aemond,” you murmured against him, lightly pushing at his chest. “Stop, for just a minute.”

Your husband pulled back at your request, single violet eye ablaze.

“What… Gods, why would you do such a thing? Why would you go out of your way to torment them?”

“You know very well why,” he quietly gruffed, reaching behind to pull off his eyepatch, tossing it onto a small table by the door, the sapphire in place of his lost eye gleaming dully beneath the moonlight. Your lips parted to ask him something else, but he cut you off by gripping your chin, whispering in a possessive fashion, “Hush, ñuha dōna embar. Seven hells, you’re more beautiful than ever. And you’re all mine.” My sweet sea.

“Don’t hush me!” you hissed, brows knitting together. “Aemond, Jacaerys will one day be the crown prince when Rhaenyra ascends the throne. It is not wise to provoke them in such a manner.”

Blowing out a heavy sigh, Aemond stroked your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “They’re bastards, my love. The throne is not theirs to take. And my sister… the realm will not accept her as their ruler. You know this, jorrāelagon.”

“They swore an oath! Our families swore oaths to her. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on becoming an oathbreaker,” you reminded, softening beneath his touch. “Aemond, I don’t want to fight with you. I just don’t want you to do that again. If not for me, then for our children. Don’t go picking fights where it’s not needed.”

Aemond shut his weary eye. If Myra had seen him tonight, she would surely be afraid of him.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry. I got caught up in my anger.”

You leaned forward to kiss him, soft and gentle, and Aemond wasted no time in reciprocating, pressing you back against the door. Off came your dress and down came your styled hair with Aemond’s skilled fingers. In no time, Aemond had your legs wound around his waist, his coat unbuttoned and shirked off somewhere behind him. Your drenched core was pressed right against his throbbing length, rock hard and leaking with pearly beads of precum.

“I love you, more than anything, more than life itself,” he murmured against your throat, gently nipping at the skin there. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Aemond,” you moaned wantonly when one of his hands snaked down to thumb at your clit. “Please, I’m yours, please fuck me.”

With a satisfied hum, Aemond planted a deep kiss onto your parted lips, a groan rumbling from his chest when you bit into his bottom lip, eyes hooded. He lined his cock up, before sinking into you with one smooth motion, his forehead falling into the crook of your neck.

You held onto him for dear life when he began to rock into you, scratching faint crimson lines down his toned back. The pain seemed to only spur him on, and he shifted his angle to pound into you deeper, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the pleasure.

“Fuck!” he bit out. “So good, ābrazȳrys. Feels so good around me.”

He moaned when you clenched around him, his breath hitching when you slid your hands up into his hair and yanked with no abandon. In no time, he could feel you coming undone around him with a litany of colorful curses, shaking almost violently in his hold. In turn, Aemond came inside you with a shout of your name, rocking into you once, twice, thrice more.

Slow, he pulled out of you, watching the cum drip out of your spent cunt with great satisfaction. He kissed you sweetly, nose nudging against your cheek.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he softly said, carrying you across the room to set you down on the bed. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Mm, I love you,” you murmured. A ghost of a warm smile etched into the corner of his lips. He repeated the sentiment to you, but you had already drifted off to sleep before you could hear it.

King Viserys was dead. Rhaenyra and her children were gone, having flown back to Dragonstone earlier in the day.

And already, Aegon was to be crowned King.

You were none too happy about the turn of events, but you were to turn the cheek and play the part of the faithful wife, for the sake of your family and their safety. The lords who had refused to bend the knee to Aegon were either thrown in the dungeons or hanged, labeled as treasonous traitors to the realm. It was just like Kyrion had drawn, as he claimed to have seen in his dreams.

“A beast beneath the boards,” Helaena had constantly murmured, which frightened you to no end.

It was only worsened when Kyrion would reply with, “Bursting red, red in the sky, the sun in her mouth.”

Syraena was rupturing at the seams with a constant stream of questions—questions you had no such answers to. And your youngest daughter was crying the entire day, sensing the tense, fragile atmosphere. Your husband had gone to find Aegon in the slums of King’s Landing, who had unsurprisingly disappeared in thin air.

Not before long, he was dragged back into the Keep, and the coronation commenced above the Dragon Pit. The beast beneath the boards broke out only minutes after the crown was placed on his head. Hundreds of commoners and smallfolk were killed in the commotion. Princess Rhaenys rode her scarlet dragon, the Queen That Never Was mounted on the Red Queen of Dragons.

Aemond had shoved you back, protectively standing in front of you, though there was very little he could do. The both of you were immensely grateful the children were left in the castle with Lailena, safe from the chaos and the havoc. If you were to die today, you’d be dying in Aemond’s arms, knowing your children were safe for the time being—what better way was there to die?

But neither of you died that day, for Meleys had only screeched out a shrill warning, before clambering out of the Pit, and absconding to the clouds. Red in the sky.

Aemond had ushered you to the Keep, before hugging you tight in the secluded privacy of your chambers, genuinely terrified that he could’ve lost you.

The next day, he was already leaving again. He was to go to Storm’s End to broker a deal with Borros Baratheon: a marriage proposal between his brother Daeron and one of the Lord’s daughters. It seemed that betrothals truly were the realm’s political currency now.

“I want to come with you, Kepa,” Syraena said, staring up at her father with narrowed e/c eyes. “Let me come with you!”

Expression softening, Aemond ruffled her already-mussed hair. “It’ll be a quick trip. You can come to the next one, Syraena.”

The next goodbye was for his son, who hugged his father loosely. “An eye for a pearl,” he mumbled, too quiet for Aemond to hear.

Clutched to his leg, sobbing hysterically, was Myra, her cheeks damp and her dark, plum-hued eyes red-rimmed. “Oh, river, don’t cry for me. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

Finally, he turned to you, his hand on the back of your head as he kissed you, chaste yet passionate, and rested his forehead on yours. “Stay safe in here, my dear sea.”

“Storm’s End is wet and cold and… obviously stormy. Keep yourself warm. Don’t get struck by lightning, is all I ask, husband.”

“As you wish, love,” he whispered, before ducking his head to kiss your cheek. With a laugh, he pried his sweet girl away from his leg, lifting her up to chastely peck her forehead, and then handed her bawling form over to you. She was always this way when Aemond had to leave for longer than a day.

The four of you watched Aemond head out of the Keep. Unease roiled within your stomach with his absence.

“Three days for the pearl to wash ashore,” said Kyrion. There was a pallid tone to his skin, and he glanced at you with his large, pale eyes. “Mother, I’m scared.”

“Come,” you quickly said, ushering the children to their chambers. “Let’s go play with Auntie Helaena and Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, yes?”

It was late the next night when Aemond returned. The moon glowed in a sliver of its regular size, the crescent unnaturally bright in the dark sky, void of any stars. You were standing out on the balcony, sleeping shift rustling with the warm wind when the doors behind you creaked open.

Rainwater dripped from his cloak as he stepped in.

Drip, drip, drip.

His single eye was wide and haunted, expression so far that it seemed like Aemond wasn’t even in the same room as you.

“Aemond?” you called out, stepping back into the chambers and crossing the room in quick strides to greet him. “Gods, you're sopping wet. Are you alright?”

It was as if he didn’t hear you, staring at the ground with parted lips. There was an unfamiliar, raw sort of terror blanketed over his features, you could see it clear as ever. Your brows indented together, and you reached out to softly graze your fingers along his damp face.

At the gentle touch, Aemond snapped his gaze to you. His hands were shaking.

Finding yourself at a loss for words, you roped him into an embrace, clutching his drenched form tightly against yours, uncaring that you were getting soaked in the process. This seemed to break him out of his reverie, as he began to tremble violently, and his chest thundered with silent sobs. His nose went directly to your neck and you hushed him with your free hand stroking the back of his head.

“Aemond, my love, what happened?” you asked again.

This time, he tried his best to answer you. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what, darling?”

“Vhagar didn’t listen to me. I tried to stop her,” he croaked, pulling his ashen face away from the junction of your neck, searching your comforting face frantically. “I… I killed him. I killed Lucerys.”

Your lips parted in shock. There was little you could find to say—for what could you tell your husband, now a kinslayer? No amount of comforting words could fix a situation such as this.

When Rhaenyra would inevitably find out about her son, war would rain down upon you and your family.

With a thick throat, you tightly hugged Aemond again, tears gracing the corners of your own eyes.

The days passed in a blur. Aemond was quieter than ever before, regret painted over his sharp features each and every time you glanced at him. Once he told his mother, she had nearly gone down the same manic spiral, but steeled herself to deal with the Green council.

When Aegon heard of his nephew’s death, he threw a large, grand feast, inviting all the Lords and Ladies at court.

Neither you nor Aemond attended.

The fourth night after Aemond had returned from Storm’s End, you were in Kyrion’s chambers, brushing away his ivory curls with tender hands as he settled beneath his fleece blanket to go to sleep. Aemond was putting the girls to bed by reading them a story, as the both of them were more restless than usual as of late.

“Kyr, baby, I have a question for you,” you said, voice soft and hesitant. Should you really be asking your son this? When Kyrion tilted his head in a silent motion for you to continue, you cleared your throat. “In your dreams… Did you see what happened to your cousin, Lucerys?”

Your son nodded once, biting at the inside of his cheek, a habit that he seemed to share with you.

Before you could ask him what he saw, there was a sudden, dull thud heard outside, followed by the familiar screech of steel. Fear wound its cold, dark hands around your pulsating heart.

The door flung open so quickly that the hinges whined in protest. Your eyes fell upon the two guards in front of Kyrion’s chambers, sprawled over the cobblestone floor, dark ichor leaking out of slit throats. Two looming figures stood in the doorway. One large and burly, the other short and thin as a twig.

You had no time to react, for a second later, the small one had darted forward, seizing you with surprising strength, brandishing coarse rope from thin air and binding your limbs together with tight knots, doing so with just one hand as his other was tightly sealing your mouth so you wouldn’t be able to scream for your husband, for more guards, for anyone. The other large man slammed the doors shut and barred them with one of his many swords he was carrying. The one holding you roughly gagged you with a cloth as soon as he pried his hand off, tying the ends around the back of your head. You gagged when your tongue registered the taste of coppery, day-old blood and sweat.

Despite the hindrance, you screamed your throat raw through the cloth anyway, kicking furiously and struggling in desperation against the small man, who was adamant on keeping you rooted to one spot. Your yells came out muffled and guttural, but not nearly loud enough to alert anybody outside, seeing as the closest people to the chambers were now dead.

Your son whimpered out for you, but he remained quiet after that, his pale mauve eyes wide as he fixed his gaze upon the large, brutish man who slowly approached him.

“Don’t be scared, little fish,” the mousy man sneered gripping your cheeks so you’d be forced to watch your little boy cower further beneath his covers. “We’re simply debt collectors, you see. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We just want ‘im. Won’t hurt one hair on your pretty lil’ head, ey?”

“NO!” you sobbed, struggling thrice-fold against him, to no avail. “Take me! Please, not my son!” you screamed, though it sounded like nothing but incoherent wailing through the dirty cloth.

You could do nothing but watch in horror as the large man tightened his grip on his longsword. The other hand reached out for your son, dragging him out of bed by the scruff of his sleep shirt so he dangled nearly a meter away from the ground.

“Don’t look, mother. I don’t want you to see it,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear through the thundering of your pulse in your ears, making your knees buckle. “I saw it in my dreams.”

With one strike, the man lopped Kyrion’s head clean off.

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment. You screamed through the cloth, sobbing as you painfully crumpled to the ground, the gangly man finally releasing you. The blood… your son’s blood… his bed was covered with it. The walls behind him, the floor, the books on his desk…

Red, everywhere…

The two monsters had taken Kyrion’s head, the large man’s crimson-flecked fist gripping your son’s pearly-white curls, both fleeing the chambers in a blink of an eye.

You sobbed against the ground, inching your way to your son with your bonds digging into you. You didn’t care. It was nothing compared to the pain within your chest.

“Kyrion,” you wailed through the cloth, using your shoulder to roughly shove it down your lips, letting it fall around your neck, tearing the corner of your mouth in the process.

The entire Red Keep seemed to awaken with your grief-stricken scream. You kneeled your head against your little boy’s decapitated body, sobs wracking through your entire form.

That was what Aemond had rushed into, hearing the echoes of your cries from far away. He’d locked the girls’ rooms before coming, fearing the worst.

Upon seeing you on the ground, hovering over his murdered son, Aemond collapsed to his knees beside you, gathering his broken, shaking wife in his arms as he tugged you away. With trembling fingers, he undid the ropes around you, allowing you to throw your arms around him freely.

“Look away, jorrāelagon,” he said, voice uneven as he began to cry with you. “Look away.”

His words made you sob even harder… your son had told you to do just the same.

When Criston Cole came rushing in with Alicent Hightower, Aemond had immediately got to his feet, murderous revenge painted across his features. He helped you up, still crying hysterically.

“Mother, escort Y/N to our daughters’ chambers. Get a dozen guards to man the door. I’ll find our son’s murderer, and I’ll kill him myself.” He began striding away, Criston hot on his heels.

You called out for him, voice hoarse with overuse.

Pausing in his steps, Aemond turned his head ever so slightly, but didn’t meet your gaze. He blamed himself, of course he did. He was ashamed, because it was his fault his son was dead. It was his fault he couldn’t protect him—that he couldn’t protect you.

It seemed that Aemond was far too blinded by his rage to learn from his mistakes.

“I need you here, please! Please, Aemond, please don’t go,” you sobbed, leaning your weight against Alicent, who had taken to cradling you against her chest.

A muscle in your husband’s jaw jumped. A tear slipped down from his only eye, and he continued to walk away, determined to bring justice to his son. It felt as if a searing hot knife had pierced through his chest and twisted when he heard your despaired cries ricocheting off the stone halls of the Keep.

Revenge, was all he could think of, cold anger dancing along the dark shadows of his face. If it is a war they want, it is a war they shall have.

a/n ; hey !! thank you for reading this fic until the end <3 means so much to me! i made some picrews of what i visualize the kids to look like so here you go !! they're all aged up, ofc.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond fluff #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fluff #aemond targaryen fic #aegon targaryen x reader

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munson-blurbs · 4 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 12 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, allusion to smut, contractions, water breaking, labor and delivery, and Eddie wasn't there, epidural, medical emergency, lots of fluff

WC: 4.3k

A/N: I could not have written this piece without @the-unforgivenn 💚 everything accurate in this fic is because of her, and everything inaccurate is because of me. I love you, Annie. Thank you for asking my random birth-related questions at all hours.

Divider credit to @saradika

November 4, 1999

At nine months pregnant, everything hurts.

Perhaps that’s why when you wake up for work with an extra pinch in your back, you cast off any worries. Or maybe it’s because you still have over a week until you’re due, and first babies tend to take their time arriving, so there’s no possible way that today is the day.

You shrug on a sweater and your most comfortable pair of maternity jeans, your body heavy with pregnancy and fatigue. Your movements are sluggish, even more so than usual, and Eddie notices as he stands out the counter, shoveling a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into his mouth.

“You okay, Sweetheart?” he asks, tongue darting out to swipe a drip of milk from his lower lip.

Nodding, you massage just above your tailbone in a meager attempt to ease the pain. “Mhm,” you lie, grabbing two granola bars from the pantry. You unwrap one and take a big bite, letting the chocolate chips melt in your mouth. “Just ready to have this baby.” Another lie, or possibly a half truth; while you’re eager to have your body to yourself again, the prospect of labor and delivery terrifies you.

Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead, his palms gently rubbing your bump. “Eleven more days and then we’ll be a family of four.”

“Baby Brother is taking forever to get here,” Harris laments from his seat at the table, spearing a banana slice with his fork. He glances at your stomach with impatient eyes. “Can’t you do something to hurry him up?”

You cough as your husband’s cheeks flush pink; he rakes a ringed hand through his curls. No doubt he’s remembering last night when he’d innocently lifted your belly to relieve some of the pressure, only to find himself hard as a rock as his fingers lightly dug into your skin. I’ll go slow so I don’t send you into early labor, he’d remarked with a teasing wink.

“Gotta be patient,” Eddie says now, seemingly having recovered from the brief flashback. He slurps the remaining milk from the bowl and stifles a belch, reaching for his jacket and keys. “Have a great day at work,” he kisses you, smiling against your lips, “and school.” He ruffles Harris’s hair, and just like that, he’s out the door.

Harris finishes his breakfast, placing his empty plate in the sink and scampering to the door to put on his sneakers. You watch enviously as he ties them with ease; you’ve been relegated to slip-on shoes until your feet are no longer swollen.

“Come on, Mommy,” he says, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I don’t wanna miss the bus.”

You silently pray that the short walk to the bus stop will ease your muscle tension, taking careful steps as you trail behind the far-too-energetic-for-8 AM little boy.

Eleven more days. Only eleven more days, you tell yourself. The reminder has tears prickling along your lash line in a double-edged sword. You don’t think you can handle eleven more days of this discomfort, but will you truly be ready to have a newborn baby in less than two weeks? Once you give birth, you can no longer shield your baby from the world’s dangers and cruelties. Will your love be enough? Will you be enough? And how can you possibly figure it all out in just eleven days?

Your mantra of eleven more days turns out to be just six hours. Since Will became a teacher two years ago, the two of you have made it a habit to spend time together after the students’ dismissal. You’re preparing art materials for tomorrow’s class when you feel it—a trickle of liquid sliding down your leg.

Your eyes widen, heat crawling up your neck and into your face. I peed myself at work. It had happened once last month, but it was preceded by a sneeze, and you were already in the parking lot about to go home. When you’d told Eddie that evening, the two of you laughed so hard that you’d wet yourself again.

But this feels…different.

“Oh, no.” There’s another small stream, but it isn’t accompanied by any relief on your bladder. Your worried murmur gets Will’s attention, and he looks at you with concern. “I think my water broke, but I don’t know…it might just be pee…” Your voice trails off before you can speak in circles.

Will leaps to his feet. “Okay, what do you need me to do?” The pair of scissors he’s been using to cut out paper stars clatter to the table as he rushes to your side.

“Call Eddie,” you mumble, gripping your bump as a cramp—most likely a contraction, you realize—squeezes at your pelvis. “Tell him to—shit—to get my bag from the apartment and bring it to the hospital.” You bite your lip to stifle a groan. “I’ll call Wayne and ask him to get Harris from the bus.”

He nods, dialing from the classroom phone as you rattle off the record store’s number. You pull your own Nokia cell phone—a purchase Eddie had insisted upon after you got pregnant, wanting to make sure you and Baby Munson stayed safe.

“So, um,” Will hesitates after you’ve hung up with Wayne, ending the conversation with a promise to let him know as soon as the baby is born, “Eddie was in the middle of a guitar lesson, so I left a message with one of his employees—”

Please don’t say Ev, you wordlessly plead. Anyone but the stoner who can barely remember to show up to work on time.

“Ev, I think?”

Shit.

Will hooks his arm with yours, providing you with the stability to stand up. “Let’s get you to the hospital, all right? Maybe it’s a false alarm or something.”

You nod, but deep down, you know that this baby is on his way. Call it mother’s intuition, you muse wryly.

After a quick stop in Principal Sinclair’s office to explain the situation, Will helps you into his Chevy Impala, grimacing along with you when another contraction hits. “Should we be timing those?”

You grit your teeth. “Shit, y-yeah. I completely forgot.” All those birthing books you’d read cover to cover to prepare for this moment, and you hadn’t even remembered to time your own damn contractions. “We need to track how long they last and the amount of time between them.”

Will remains unfazed. “We’ll just start now,” he says simply, flicking his wrist to check his watch. “It’s 2:32. Let me know when you get another one.” He turns the key in the ignition, taking your hand before putting the gear shift into drive. “It’ll be okay. Eddie’s gonna get the message, and he’ll be here soon.”

It’s as though he can read your mind, and you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. He’s right; if you are in labor, it’s still early enough that Eddie won’t miss the birth.

You hope.

Your contractions are one minute long and twelve minutes apart by the time you reach Hawkins General Hospital, growing slightly stronger with each wave. Will relays the information to the receptionist, his voice wavering with nerves and excitement despite his best efforts to remain calm.

Before you know it, you’re being wheeled into a room, a laminated bracelet with your personal details dangling from your wrist. The clock on the wall indicates that it’s just past 3 PM, which means that Eddie should be here in a few minutes.

As if on cue, the cell phone in your purse chirps its familiar ringtone. Harris had insisted that you change it from the standard option, choosing one that sounds like birds chirping. It normally reminds you of springtime mornings; right now, you’re ready to throw it through the window.

Will passes it to you, and you punch the answer button with an impatient, “hello?”

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Eddie’s carefree demeanor wafts through the speaker, “just wanted to check in and see if you’re feeling any better. Did you want me to pick up something from the store on my way—?”

Dammit, Ev. “Eddie, my water broke at work. Will called earlier and left a message,” you manage, maneuvering around the heart rate monitor to brace for another contraction. “I’m—ughhh, shit—I’m at the hospital.”

“What?!” You can hear his sudden shift to panic; the phone drops from his grasp and clatters on the counter before he retrieves it, uttering a slew of swear words. “Okay, I’ll be right there. Your bag’s at home, right? Oh, and Harris! Shit, let me—”

“Wayne’s on it,” you tell him, hopefully putting an end to his mile-a-minute thoughts. “I just need my bag and my husband.”

There’s a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. “I can provide both.” His humor peeks through his fear in subtle reassurance. “Be there ay-sap. I love you so fucking much.”

“Love you, too.” A soft click tells you that he’s on his way, probably simultaneously scrambling for his keys and shouting at his employee.

Nearly an hour later, there’s still no sign of Eddie. Will blots the perspiration on your forehead with a cloth; out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching the clock as well. “He’ll be here,” he says as though reading your mind. Or maybe he’s scared that he’ll have to stand in for Eddie throughout the entire process. “In the meantime, I’ll flag down a nurse so we can get you that epidural.” His words are even, but his smile is uneasy, both of you well-aware that he is out of his element. Though he’ll deny it vehemently, you know you owe him. Big-time.

“Why don’t you grab yourself some food from the cafeteria?” You’d heard his stomach growling just before, and he can certainly use a break.

Will nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do you want anything?” he asks out of habit, cheeks tinged pink as you shake your dismal cup of ice chips. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He ducks out of the room as a nurse walks in.

“Are we considering an epidural, Mrs. Munson?” she asks. Her bright smile is one you’ll be unable to return until after the pain medication takes effect.

“Y-Yeah, please.” You shift uncomfortably while she examines you and announces that your cervix is four centimeters dilated. Part of you is relieved that labor is progressing at a pace where Eddie should arrive in time for the delivery; another part just wants this baby out of you, now.

The nurse makes a note on your chart. “I’ll let the anesthesiologist know.” Another unreciprocated grin and she’s gone, off to poke and prod the next patient.

Alone for a moment, you relish the quiet, save for the soft beeps of the machines you’re connected to. With great care, you caress the swell of your stomach where your son has developed from a microscopic speck to a full-term baby.

“Your daddy will get here soon,” you murmur to your sensor-covered belly, “hopefully before you do.” You laugh for a second until another contraction squeezes you from the inside, shifting your expression from amused to pained.

The anesthesiologist and Will arrive at the same time, the former pausing to let your impromptu birth partner enter first. He walks with more enthusiasm now that he’s eaten, though his meal threatens to reappear when he sees the doctor pull out the comically oversized needle.

“Just lean forward,” she says to you, “you’ll feel some pressure, but once the medication kicks in, it’ll be worth it.” She offers you a kind smile before turning to Will and explaining, “you may need to help her.”

“Mhm. Sure.” Will mumbles, avoiding looking at the needle. You clasp your hand in his so you can sit up. The cool air raises goosebumps on the sliver of flesh no longer covered by the gown, but the chill is quickly replaced by a stinging sensation that has you gripping Will’s palm. You don’t realize the strength of your grasp until you hear him mutter, “ow,” but you don’t let go until the burning ceases.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, watching him shake out his hand. “About all of this. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your afternoon.”

He shakes his head and guides you back against the pillow. “Maybe not, but I’m glad I can be here for you.” Now that the threat of broken fingers has passed, he truly means it.

5:46 PM.

You’ve been in the hospital for nearly three hours, and there’s still no sign of Eddie. Will’s casually flipping through a copy of People magazine that’s so outdated, Nick Nolte was just crowned the Sexiest Man Alive. He’s visibly more relaxed now that the medication has eased your pain, chattering teeth a welcome replacement for your anguished moans.

Your concern that Eddie will miss the baby’s birth has hardened into pure fear that something has happened to him. What if he lost focus while driving and got into an accident? The weather was overcast when you’d arrived at Hawkins General; it could have started raining since then and created slippery roads, perfect for hydroplaning. The thought of him hurt while you’re unable to help him has your insides churning, and for the first time, you’re grateful for an empty stomach.

Maybe you should call Wayne and find out if he had heard from his nephew. But if he hadn’t, then both of you would be stuck worrying and answerless; even worse, if he had and didn’t want to relay bad news while you’re in such a vulnerable state–

“I’m here!”

Relief surges through your veins, Eddie’s panting voice music to your ears. You roll from your side onto your back to see your husband standing by your bedside. Sweat drips down his temples and pools under his arms with the pungency of someone who’d just completed a marathon. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, a jacket haphazardly tossed over his shoulder and your bag clutched in his hand.

He swoops down and places his lips on yours in a series of frantic kisses, his free palm cupping your cheek as though ensuring that the moment is real. He only pulls back when you do, getting a glimpse of your face.

“Where were you?” Not an accusation, but a question threaded with genuine care.

His nose nudges yours as he sneaks in another peck. “Did you know that Chief Hopper retired?” Your brows furrow in confusion at his non-answer to your question. “Well, he did, and the sheriff’s department decided to throw him a parade. Today. Closed off a bunch of the side streets and backed up traffic on the main ones.” He coughs out a terse laugh. “Glad I quit smoking, or my lungs would’ve given up before I hit a half-mile.”

You mull over his response for a moment before it finally clicks. “Wait…did you run here?”

He tugs at his shirt fabric in an attempt to create a breeze that will cool him down. “It was more like a walk-run combo, but…yeah.” He shrugs, no big deal. “Parked my car in a random lot and just…booked it.” His shoulder gently sag as the adrenaline from his adventure wears away. “I gotta sit.”

It’s then that he notices Will, rising from the chair and placing the gossip rag on the table beside him. “Byers, holy shit,” Eddie looks at him incredulously, “have you been here with her the whole time?”

“He has,” you answer for him, managing a grateful smile in your friend’s direction. “And I can’t thank him enough.” Will returns the gesture and pulls Eddie in for a hug, wishing you both luck before slipping out the door.

Eddie brings his full attention back to you, lacing his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes the side of your hand, bringing small but strong comfort with each gentle touch. “Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry–”

“Eds,” you interrupt before he can continue his apology, “you’re here now.”

“Yeah.” Soft, distracted, overthinking. You can practically see the gears in head spinning, His second child and the second time he’d nearly missed the birth. He clears his throat and shakes away the thought with a toss of his hair, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. “How are you feeling?” He takes in the sight of you, his wife, the most beautiful being his cynical eyes have ever seen. “You look pretty damn good for someone about to have a baby.”

You laugh. “That epidural is a miracle from above.” You’ll gladly take the chattering teeth and the itchiness over the sensation of your pelvis imploding. Eddie doesn’t share in your amusement, still focused on his own shortcomings. “Hey,” you say quietly, pulling him out of his mind with just one word. “Don’t think about the missed message or the traffic. We’re having our baby today.” You bring his hand to the apex of your stomach in the final few hours that it houses the life you two created together.

“I love you.”

His eyes shine with emotion. He’s here, not only in this moment, but throughout the entire pregnancy. He didn’t bury himself in music or booze or other arbitrary distractions. He’d read What to Expect When You’re Expecting cover to cover, had gone to all of the doctor’s appointments, made sure to keep the kitchen stocked with your cravings and free of your aversions. He’d picked up the household chores (and delegated some to Harris) to ease your workload and wiped your tears when you’d cried while watching two squirrels play in a tree.

You never asked him to do any of it; you never needed to.

“I love you, too.”

It all happened so quickly.

One minute, Eddie’s watching the monitor spike with a contraction, utterly bewildered by the power of pain medication.

“You really can’t feel that?”

“Just some pressure, but nothing like earlier. I told you; it’s a godsend.”

After hours of strategic breathing, a plethora of ice chips, and a steady outpouring of love between you two, you’re about to tell him that you feel the urge to push.

And then a nurse rushes in.

“Mr. and Mrs. Munson,” he begins, urgency evident even through his calm exterior, “your baby is experiencing late heart rate deceleration. We need to begin delivery immediately.” He glances at Eddie, then at you. “I’m going to check your dilation to see if we’ll try a vaginal delivery or prepare for a cesarean birth.”

The blood drains from Eddie’s face as he processes the information, the lighthearted energy completely zapped from the room. “Is…is she…are they…”

The nurse finishes the examination, removing his rubber glove. “Ten centimeters,” he announces. “I’ll page the doctor.”

It’s a whirlwind, with almost no time for panic to set in. The doctor and the other nurses arrive immediately, and when Eddie takes your hand, you can feel him trembling.

He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be strong for you. Your face says it all: you’re terrified, and you need him to be your rock.

“You’ve got this, Sweetheart,” he whispers fiercely, pushing past the lump in his throat. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know, and I’m so lucky that you’re having my baby.” He kisses your forehead; out of the corner of his eye, he sees the medical staff preparing for delivery. His heart skips a beat, and the realization hits that he’s about to be a father of two.

You’re exhausted, a salty mixture of sweat and tears decorating your face. Gritting your teeth, you push while Eddie coaches you, reminding you to breathe and allowing you to swear at him without even batting an eyelash. It’s mostly a blur, with all of your energy concentrated on getting this baby out, but you vaguely recall telling him that he’s not allowed to even think about touching you again.

“Almost there,” he cheers, flashing an awestruck smile so wide that his cheeks ache. “C’mon, you can do it! Oh, my god, you’re a goddamn superhero.”

Three giant pushes later, you hear the telltale newborn wail as a nurse coos, “Happy birthday, little man! Here’s your mama!” She gently places your tiny baby on your chest, quickly wiping off the vernix covering his body.

“He’s here!” you manage through simultaneous laughter and cries. You carefully hold him against you, kissing the wisps of curls on his scalp. “Hi, baby boy!” Turning to Eddie, you blink away the mist coating your eyes. “We have another son,” you choke out.

He just nods, relishing in the wonder of becoming a father again. His pointer finger grazes the baby’s little half-closed fist, only looking away when the nurse asks him if he’d like to cut the umbilical cord. “Y-Yeah. Please,” he awkwardly adds, doing exactly as he’s instructed.

As the baby is lifted from your torso to be assessed and measured, Eddie kisses you with a passion you’ve never felt before, even from him. You can see that he’s crying, too, and he wipes his cheeks haphazardly.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, punctuating the statement with another kiss. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mother for my kids.” His nose rubs yours tenderly.

You smile at him. “Do you want to call Wayne? I won’t be up for visitors until the morning,” you add, “but I just want to let him know that the baby’s here, happy and healthy.”

“In a bit,” he murmurs, watching the nurse carefully swaddle his newborn son in a hospital blanket. “I just wanna hold him first.”

Eddie takes your baby from the nurse, shifting to support his head. “Hey, buddy. I’m your dad.” His body slowly sways as he rocks back and forth. “You gave us quite the scare just now. I see you’re following in your big brother’s mischievous footsteps.” He swears his heart melts when the infant opens his mouth to yawn. “Yeah, you’ve had a busy day. Same here. But it was worth it, huh?”

He wears fatherhood so naturally, so perfectly. You wish you could capture this feeling in a jar and save it forever. For now, you settle for watching him fawn over his newest son, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Eddie murmuring, “and let me tell you: you have the best mommy a kid could ever ask for.”

Morning arrives after a restless sleep. You know the nurses are just following protocol when they examine you every hour, but that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it.

But the next knock on the door is one that you welcome willingly. Harris and Wayne stand there, waiting for permission to enter. You smile when you notice Harris shuffling his feet and shaking his hands in an attempt to expel some excess energy.

“Come on in,” Eddie whispers, beaming, “there’s someone very special we’d like to introduce you to.”

Harris rushes to your bedside, peering at the bundle in your arms. “My baby brother!” he squeals, jumping up and down.

Eddie puts a finger to his lips. “He’s sleeping, so we have to be quiet, okay?” He ruffles Harris’s hair as the boy nods. “Do you wanna hold him?”

“Yeah! I mean, yeah,” Harris lowers his voice, sitting down on the bed. You scoot over, careful not to move too quickly, and he melds into your side. He’s always been small to you, but compared to his baby brother, he seems so grown up.

“Okay, hold out your arms like this,” Eddie instructs, demonstrating the correct position, “and you’re gonna make sure to keep his head nice and safe, because he can’t hold it up on his own yet.”

Harris sports a look of concentration as you and Eddie work in tandem to place the baby in his arms. “He’s got the teeniest nose I’ve ever seen.”

Wayne laughs at this, watching his older grandson snuggle his youngest. “Does this little fella have a name yet?”

“Oh, right.” Eddie chuckles. “Gentlemen, this is Hendrix William Munson. ‘Hendrix’ after one of the most talented guitarists to grace this planet, and ‘William’ after an amazing friend and substitute birth partner.”

“Hendrix,” Harris repeats incredulously, never taking his eyes off of his brother. “I’m Harris. I talked to you when you were in Mommy’s tummy, remember?” Hendrix lets out a long exhale, like he’s acknowledging the question. “I know you’re still too little right now, but when you get big, we’re gonna play together all the time. Except when I’m at school.” He looks over at you expectantly. “Can I bring him to school with me? Like for show and tell?”

“Maybe when he’s older,” you say, lacking the bandwidth to point out the logistics of his request.

Harris wrinkles his nose, but his expression quickly softens. “Yeah, you’re right. He can’t even do any tricks yet.”

It’s quiet for a moment, everyone focused on the two Munson boys. Surprisingly, Wayne is the one who breaks the silence.

“You two have one beautiful family,” he muses, an arthritic finger grazing Hendrix’s blanket. “Y’should be proud of yourselves.”

Eddie gives his uncle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Couldn’t have done it without ya, Old Man.”

Wayne knows this, accepting the compliment with a bashful grin but saying nothing further.

Peacefulness surrounds the five of you, soft conversation seamlessly weaving its way into the calm. You can’t kid yourself; most days will be pure chaos, balancing spit-up and school plays, field trips and feeding schedules. And once Hendrix starts walking—and running—you’ll need all cylinders firing.

But today, right now, you soak in the serenity. Just you and your boys. Your family.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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heart-sized · 6 months

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𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 — gojo satoru

★⺌◞. gojo satoru x f! wife reader

plot. satoru loves how tiny you're compared to him

cw. established relationship, fluff, height difference, not proofread

a/n. idk what is this i miss satoru <3

masterlist // satoru masterlist

“toru!” you whine from the kitchen, dressed in an apron. it was one of the few days where you had no job and you decided to cook breakfast for your husband yourself.

“yes, my love,” he grins at you, “why are you being so whiny in the morning?”

throwing daggers at him, you point towards the shelves. “can you stop putting everything on the top shelves?” you huff, “you know i am not tall enough to get it myself.”

“is it so?” his toothy grin widens as he bends down to ruffle your hair which you protest with a loud ‘hey'. “is it really my fault that you're vertically challenged, sweet?”

“huh?” you clenched your fist, glaring at satoru who was very much grinning ear to ear. “what did you just say?”

“aw,” he pouts as he pinches your cheeks. why are you so adorable? all he wants to do is to cuddle with you. who needs a plushie when he has you. “you're like a kitten. so small and adorable and cute!"

“you know what? i will ju—HEY!”

your speech is left hanging as he picks you up over his shoulders, as if you weigh nothing. “what do you think you're doing, toru? i need to cook!”

“you can cook later, my sweet,” he whispers near your earlobe, “i want my sweet plushie sized wife to give me some hugs and cuddles right now.”

#seducity #gojo satoru (suzu’s version)#jjk satoru #gojo saturo #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojo satoru #gojo sensei #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo fanfic #gojo fluff #gojo fucking satoru #gojo family

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spacebaby1 · 3 months

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MY BEAUTIFUL SON (PART 2) (Gojo Satoru × Mom!Reader Ft: Megumi)

"Gumi, come here," he ran towards you jumping in your arms, your four years old was already impatient to run around in the huge backyard and play.

"Ahu, he can't stop running?" Gojo chuckled walking towards both of you and ruffling Megumi's black hair, your son groaned but giggled followed when his father messed his already messy hair, "Don't do that to his beautiful hair," you fixed Megumi's hair; to no use it kept standing up like it was since he was a baby. "Ya, my strongest boy." Gojo gently pinched his son's cheeks. You slapped his hand away, "Don't hurt my precious little boy," you pouted, earning a pout from Megumi as he laid his head on your chest.

A hand on your shoulder made you flinch awake to look around; you were in Megumi's bed. You turned towards the person who woke you up, Gojo's mother, "you need to eat something, the guests are gone." You shook your head still holding Megumi's uniform shirt in other hand, "I am not hungry, Ma." She sat on the bed beside you and gently took your empty hand in hers, "My Dear, there aren't enough words to console a child's loss. Megumi was-"

"Please don't say was, don't talk about him like h-he like h-h-he's g-gone," your breathing hitched as you tried to speak in a low voice, you looked at her with puffy tearful eyes, "I want to hold my son in my arms again, I just need to see him smile, i-i-i would give my life for him, why not me? Why him? He's a kid-?" You burst into painful cries. Gojo's mother hugged you, gently caressing your hair, "I want my son back, please."

Gojo's mother insisted she stays with you but you told her that you need to be alone and she can go home since she's probably tired, you entered the living-room and sat beside the wall staring at the picture of Megumi with all the flowers around it; he loved flowers so much even though no one knew that about him, your silence was cut short when someone entered the living-room at first you thought it was Gojo but it was Yuji and Nobara; they still haven't left even if it was already ten at night, in all honesty they were scared to leave you alone.

"You didn't go home? It's late" you spoke barley a whisper, you cried your voice out. They both sat beside you on either side, "we didn't want to leave you a-alone," Nobara spoke and you could tell she was fighting back tears from the way she spoke. "Can we stay a little longer, please?" You know they won't leave even if you told them so you nodded and sat there in silence, Nobara was sobbing at this point trying hard to not be loud with her sobs; the kids were tired as much as you were if not more.

Nobara laid her head on your lap, sobbing on your skirt. You tapped gentle hand on her shoulder while Yuji leaned his head on your shoulder crying, and you placed your other arm around his head; letting both kids cry on you. They too missed Megumi and loved him dearly. "Shh, don't cry, you are strong Nobara and Yuji you are my strong boy; don't Cry or Megumi will be angry at both of you." You tried to chuckle but that made them cry even more.

Yuji hugged your side and cried hard, "I am sorry Auntie that I wasn't strong enough to save Megumi, please forgive me-"

Nobara sobbed hugging your lap "I am sorry I wasn’t there, forgive me Auntie."

"Hussh! None of that! Don't you dare think it's either of your fault, don't say those things ever again." You spoke trying hard to not cry yourself, "I could never blame any of you, don't break my heart with such words." They both cried themselves to sleep on your lap that night, Carefully you got up trying to not wake them up, leaving the living-room you saw Satoru sleeping on the doorsteps of the living-room; he was here the whole time and didn't leave your side just too scared to come near you and that you will push him away like you did earlier; you tried to tell yourself that it wasn't fair and he lost a son to but who's plan was it in first place to take Megumi in the fight?

You walked past him and went to your room and brought extra pillow and blankets for the kids; you came back and carefully placed pillow under their heads and blanket on them so they won't get cold; you placed a blanket on Gojo too; you weren't that heartless, just in pain.

Sleep didn't come easy to you and the night felt long just staring at the picture made your heart numb, your phone buzzed and you avoided it but it kept buzzing nonstop, without taking your eyes of the picture you answered the call, "Hello?" Your voice low and full of exhaustion. You were expecting it to be Gojo's mother or one of your friends, but the voice on the other side made your heart stop for a minute when you heard a low answer, "Mama? Where are you?" Your eyes widened and hands shaking in confusion, unable to think if this was a dream or reality. Were you dreaming again? You held the phone with both hands now trying to stop your hands from shaking, "G-Gumi? Megumi? Baby? Is that you?" There was a shuffle, and this time it wasn't Megumi. It was another voice you recognised well, "Y/n? It's shoko, come down to hospital now, I called Satoru but he's - "

"S-Sh-Shoko was th-that, I-" you got up hurried out of the room almost tripping over your feet when you shook Gojo to wake up him up and immediately he jumped awake noticing your shaking figure infront of him with your phone in your hand, "Sa-Satoru tak- the the the hospital-Shoko, she she i- Gumi I he-heard hi-Megumi, my, ou-" you could barely breath let alone speak and it was terrifying Satoru as he held you gently, "Hey, calm down, shh, Hey," he brushed your hair off your face, "Breath darling, Breath-" you shoved the phone in his hand and he finally noticed it was on call, "hello? Shoko?" You noticed how his tired eyes widened, "W-we'll be the- Come on, Darling, are you okay? Breath," he shut the phone before helping you stand and you urged him to walk. He glanced inside the living-room; the kids were asleep, he grabbed your hand and ran out of the door barely able to process what Shoko just told him over the call.

You were shaking in the passenger seat as Satoru drove insanely, luckily there weren't many cars at two in the morning, Satoru could hear your loud hitched breathing. The ten minutes drive to the hospital felt like hours until Satoru parked the car in the most uncommon way before getting out and help you out as you both literally ran inside the hospital to where Shoko was.

You got closer to the door and felt your legs go numb breathing heavily you pushed the doors open and felt your heart stop for a minute. There stood Shoko beside your son; he sat on the table dressed in hospital gown; your Megumi, your son was sitting infront of you looking absolutely exhausted, his eyes were barely open, you felt as if you will just wake up and it will all be a dream but you kept walking with heavy steps feeling your legs numbing with each step but that feeling stopped when Megumi smiled at the sight of you and you ran to gather him in your arms.

"Gumi, oh my boy, why did you leave? Why did you make your Mama cry?" You cried holding him closer, Megumi knew that the deal he made with Sukuna whatever it was, it was worth it because he was back in his mother's arms, "Oh my child, My beautiful boy, you scared me." He hugged you tight, "I'm so sorry Mama, I would never do it ag-"

"OF COURSE THERE WILL BE NO AGAIN!" You pulled away and looked at him, he smiled weak at you and you planted kisses all over his face, forehead, and hair over and over the hugging him, "I was so scared Mama, I w-was so sac-"

"Shhh, you're here with me, Mama is here," Megumi couldn't shake the fear and the darkness that he felt for the last few hours. Is this how it feels to die?

Megumi looked behind you as he lifted his head from your shoulder, he saw his father standing there, eyes coverd in tears not saying a word, he had the look of guilt, fear and relief in his eyes all together, "D-Dad," Megumi called causing you to gently to pull away from Megumi to turn and look at Gojo.

Gojo sobbed worse than Yuji and Nobara when he took Megumi in his embrace, "Gezz old man, don't remember seeing you cry like that before" Megumi joked hugging his father back resting his head on his chest, "I'm sorry Gumi, my boy, I am so sorry I am an idiot an absolute useless of a father and I'm so sorry I let that happen to you, oh God. I am sorry please forgive me, I should've known better, I should've never let you near that damn school that damn life. I'm so proud of you, I love you and I would die for you in a heartbeat if you tell me to do that right now. Gumi! Please don't you ever leave me again like that, I will die without you, don't do that to your Mama, I don't want to see her in pain like that ever again."

Megumi held on Satoru's jacket and cried, he never seen his father upset let alone sob like that; it broke his heart to see his father like that. "It was my fault, all mine, I should've left when you told me to, I would never disobey your words Dad, I was so sacred."

"You went there on your own?" You asked in a whisper and Megumi nodded looking at you still holding on his father, "D-Dad told me to leave again and again b-but I wanted to help, I-I couldn't leave Dad alone, I'm sorry." All this time and everything you said to Satoru and not once he said that he wasn't the reason Megumi was gone; even when he's son wasn't there Satoru refused to rat him out on you, this made you remember all the times Gojo took the blame from things Megumi did; especially accidentally breaking things.

Gojo pulled away letting Megumi reach for you and hugging you, "You'll never ever, ever do a thing like that ever again, I can't lose you again, Megumi, I can't." Shoko had gathered some clothes for Megumi to change before she went away after you talked for a while; she too had a long day. Few minutes later Megumi got out and immediately hugged your side as the three of you walked to your car.

"Mama, can you stay with me here? Please?" Megumi asked as you helped him to backseat, you looked at Gojo and he nodded before closing the door when you got in beside him, he immediately nuzzled into you; it was clear that Megumi was still scared. Gojo took of his jacket and placed it over Megumi before getting in the drivers seat and starting the car, you swear that you saw a faint black line on Megumi's arm that disappeared as the moment it showed up as you were holding his hand and he had his head nuzzled on your shoulder. Satoru made sure to drive carefully this time.

You really didn't want to wake Megumi up when you reached home, so you sat there in the car for few minutes before Satoru turned to you and nodded, carefully you woke Megumi up, "Sweetie, we are home," he blinked nodding as he got up.

Megumi was holding onto you as he walked still limping a bit and few faint bruises on his face that were still there, Gojo races to open the door but it was flung open, "MEGUMI!" Both Yuji and Nobara pushed Gojo away and jumped to hug Megumi earning a grunt from him as they both lunched on him crying their eyes out. Shoko had texted Yuji when he woke up to find both of you gone and she told him everything.

"WHERE DID YOU GO?" Nobara sobbed

"WHY DID YOU LEAVE US?" Yuji cried.

"WE ARE SO SORRY MEGUMI!" They both cried. Megumi hugged them both even though he wasn't able to move a lot, "WE LOVE YOU, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE US, MEGUMI." Nobara cried causing Megumi to chuckle, "I'm Home, don't cry you two silly, I won't go anywhere." You hardly were able to help him walk since Nobara and Yuji refused to left go of Megumi as he walked; they basically held him inside and he stopped when he saw his picture covered with flowers in the living-room; people came for him?

"I'll remove that in the morning," Satoru placed a gentle hand on Megumi's hair, "you need to rest now, okay?" He nodded when Nobara and Yuji walked him to his room as you followed behind. When the kids were gone you grabbed Satoru by the hand and walked inside the living-room shuting the door behind you, and you slapped his shoulder causing him to jump in confusion and you slapped his shoulder again and again, "W-what did I do?" He asked, confused. "Why didn't you tell me? Why? Why didn't you tell me that you told "Megumi to leave"? Huh? Why did you not tell me the truth?" You asked, trying to keep your voice low, and it cracked when you asked him, "Why did you let me say all those things to you, Satoru?" You grabbed his jackets collar, "I was so mean to you, I screamed at you, said horrible things to you," your hand let go of his collar and now rested on his face as he sat on the couch arm looking at you, "I would never want to blame our son, never." You hugged him to your chest, "I am sorry I said such horrible things to you. Please forgive me-"

"Darling, I love you." He kissed your hand and you smiled with tears in your eyes, "I love you, you idiot." He chuckled, playing with your finger he spoke, "Let's go, leave this place, somewhere far away, I am done being the strongest, I am done sacrificing my life and I los-i almost lost our son for nothing, let's go, okay?" You nodded hugging him, "Yes. Satoru, we'll leave as far as we can. I just want to be with my two beautiful boys." You kissed his hair before resting you cheek on his head.

Megumi was sitting in the middle of his bed while Yuji and Nobara had their arms wrapped all over him on his either side; he seemed so unbothered with their actions; instead he had his arms wrapped around them both as they spoke to him.

Even when they wanted to stay awake it was already early morning and Nobara was half asleep on Megumi; still not letting go of him, "Ha, Yuji you should sleep and we should let Nobara sleep too, she can barely keep her eyes open." He gently tapped her head to which she shook her head groaning, "N-No, we can stay awake," Yuji got up and helped Nobara up as you and Satoru got their futon in Megumi's room because he asked you too and they were for sure not leaving him anytime soon, "Yeah, you need to sleep and we should let Megumi rest." You Told Nobara to which she nodded before getting on her futon and you placed her blanket on. Yuji came round to hug Megumi one last time before going to his bed, you came and sat beside Megumi's bedside, "you okay?" You brushed his hair to side and he nodded, "I'm just happy to be home,Mama." You kissed his forehead, "I'm happy you are home, sleep well sweetheart. Call for us if you need anything, okay sweetheart?" He nodded before he got under the covers and with the the three of them were fast asleep.

Every move, every word made Sukuna fum with anger. How could you be so nice? How can a mother be this sweet? Megumi was too tired to feel it when Sukuna took over, and got up making his way towards the living-room, he sat down and scoffed at all the flowers that were placed for Megumi, Sukuna knew that people in his village probably celebrated when he was killed and sealed away.

You were fast asleep when you opened your eyes to find Megumi making his way to the living-room so you got up looking at the clock it was still four in the morning and pretty dark outside. The lights were off in the living-room but you could make up that Megumi was sitting on the floor in front of his picture; unaware that it wasn't your son but the king of curse himself; Sukuna. He saw you made your way beside him and gently resting your hand on his head before sitting beside him, "couldn't sleep?" You asked looking ahead just like him, he didn't dare to speak but just shook his head, you hummed motioning for him to rest his head on your lap; he turned his face to look at you and you did the same but luckily for him, you couldn't see much in dark. Your eyesight problems prevents you from seeing anything in dark even the dark marks on your Son's face that belonged to Sukuna but he saw your gentle smile and without thinking he placed his head on your lap, as if it was Megumi's body reacting on your words; after all you were his mother.

You gently soothed his hair, and hummed a song then you softly spoke, "From the moment you were born, you became the sunshine in my life I was so happy when I found out I'm gonna have a baby, from the moment they put you in my arms, it became my life's work to keep you from harm," you chuckled, "you were so little and I was scared that a harm will come to you but you are strong just like your dad and even more, don't tell him I said that. I never had much in my life, never had the love of a parent in my life, you changed that but I wanted to give you all my love, I never want anything to happen to you, and I know you're grown now, but my heart doesn't realize that. In my heart, you will always be my sweet baby boy, my sweet boy. I want you to know how proud I am of you and how much you mean to me, You are the best gift I've ever received. God blessed me with you, and I would want to be your Mama in every lifetime." You leaned down and kissed the top of Megumi's head, but Sukuna was the one who reserved it. He blinked when he realised that he had tears rolling down his eyes. Why was he crying? Is it because his parents never wanted him in the first place because he was a monster? He wanted to snap your neck then and there; he knew that was a lie. You were a perfect mother that he didn't have.

"...Ma," he whispered and you soothed his hair, "yes, Darling?" You answered to which he shook his head and just snuggled to you as you hummed to him till he fell asleep, slowly the dark lines faded away from Megumi's face as he slept.

#jujutsu kaisen #angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru #jjk megumi #megumi angst #child megumi #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu megumi #gojo satoru angst #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #dad Satoru #reader is megumi's mother #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #Sukuna Megumi vessel

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eilidh-eternal · 5 months

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Today may have been a Holy day, but lord am I having some unholy thoughts about Simon and Johnny and their pretty little dancer who doesn't even know she's theirs. 18+ MDNI

Johnny convinces Simon to go to the ballet, Swan Lake specifically, whilst home on leave for the holidays. They spend Christmas and the new year together, even make the trip to London to celebrate with Price and Gaz--just in time for the English National Ballet's opening night of their annual Swan Lake production. There are billboards and advertisements for it everywhere in the city, and Johnny pesters Simon relentlessly, always pointing out the pretty little bird the ballet company chose for their advertising campaign. Always saying "C'mon Si, it's a classic. Just this once, just so I can say I've seen it."

And finally he gives in. Tells him to get tickets and make the arrangements so he'll stop nagging him about it. The night of the ballet they go to a swanky bar at an upscale hotel because Simon needs a bourbon if he's going to spend the rest of the evening with Johnny at the London Coliseum, theater packed with unfamiliar faces that care little to hide their staring or to mind his personal space. And the Bourbon is doing wonders to take the edge off, the burn of the liquor as it slides down his throat warming him from the inside out and blanketing his mind in a similar hazy warmth. It's done the job so well in fact that it takes his brain a moment to catch up with his senses when someone who isn't Johnny presses into the narrow space between them at the bar to flag down the bartender.

You wave them over and step up onto the foot rail to lean across the bar top, half-shouting your order over the noise of the other patrons. When the bartender hurries off to mix your drink you take a step back from the bar to give the two burly men their space but lose your footing when another patron bumps into you unknowingly from behind, and you find yourself nearly falling into Simon's lap.

Johnny has his arm around your waist to hold you up, and a steadying hand on your shoulder. "Nearly took a tumble. Are ye aw'right hen?"

You try to form a response, tell him you're sorry, that you're usually not this clumsy, but the words can't seem to find their way past your lips as your brain stumbles over the sudden warmth in the pit of your stomach and you're left staring up into his concerned eyes.

Another large, warm hand splays across your back between your shoulders and an even deeper voice rumbles from behind, "Are ya hurt, love?"

The bartender appears to deposit your drink, snapping your attention back into startling focus, and you quickly right yourself, pulling away from the embrace of the bright-eyed and sturdily built man you're currently chest to chest with. And if he is sturdy then the only way to describe the man who's hand still lingers at your back is massive, a veritable tower of muscle who's staring down at you with the same concerned pinch of his brows. You wonder at the reasoning for the black surgical mask, but now isn't the time to linger on thoughts of handsome strangers in crowded bars.

"I- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- "

"No harm done, lass, no need to get yer feathers ruffled. Here," the dark-haired man assures you and kindly passes your drink to you from the bar, eyes traveling over you in appraisal as you take your drink with a shy 'thank you'. "Interesting choice of attire," he says with a gesture to your athletic shoes, yoga pants and oversized jumper.

"I uh... I'm not staying long. Just came for a little liquid courage," you explain.

"That's a shame. 'S not everyday a pretty dove falls into our lap."

Our? You're suddenly aware of the hand still on your back and you feel heat creeping up into your cheeks. Oh- oh. You take a step back as that heat creeps all the way to the tips of your ears. "I'm sure all the- um... I mean- surely you could have your pick of anyone here." He laughs at this and leans over to his... friend?

"Ye hear that Simon? Pretty little bird thinks we'd want just anyone." His friend doesn't say anything, gives no indication he's heard him except for the subtle tilt of his head and the upward cant of a brow as he turns round to see you better.

You're about to apologize, say you hadn't meant it like that, when there's a hand on your elbow and a familiar voice calling your name.

"Come on! We're going to be late for call time!"

You look between your friend, dressed similarly in athletic attire and shouldering a small duffel at her hip, and the two men at the bar. If you don't leave soon you are going to be late and that isn't how you want to start this night. You down the rest of your drink and stretch forward to slide your empty glass on the bar top between them. "I um, I'm gonna be late if I don't- I hope... I hope you two enjoy the rest of your night," you manage to say before your friend is pulling you away by your elbow, leading you towards the lobby.

Johnny watches with quiet amusement as your friend, wearing an identical jumper to yours, drags you away and ushers you out of the bar. He turns to Simon and finds him still watching the same direction you had left in, a hint of shared amusement reflected in his eyes as they meet Johnny’s.

Simon has a hand on Johnny’s back, guiding him through the crowd slowly dispersing from the theater. The ballet hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought it would be. He’d actually quite enjoyed the storytelling of it all and lamented that they hadn’t been able to see the orchestra in the pit. He’d have liked to have been able to watch the musicians, to see how they also moved in time with the music. And though he had certainly never seen the show before, not even on video, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something about it had felt… familiar. Especially when he paid more attention to Odette.

“I dunno how they move like that, it doesnae seem natural,” Johnny rambles as the two of them make their way through the house doors. “I can barely get my leg up and over the hurdles for PT. Cannae imagine gettin it to go above my head, that looks bloody painful-”

Johnny stops speaking abruptly and comes to a halt beside Simon, nearly causing a collision with the older couple behind them. Just as quickly as he’d brought them to a halt he was moving again, but not towards the exit. He was pulling Simon towards a small crowd gathered near the promotional display for the show.

“Johnny, what- where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps pulling Simon through throngs of people, shouldering a path forward until he reaches the edge of the small crowd. He lets go of Simon’s hand to move closer, and his brows furrow in confusion and growing irritation as people paying little attention to their surroundings bump into him.

A flash of movement above the heads of the crowd captures Simon's attention immediately, and his muscles tense, heart hammering in his chest, until he sees what exactly his attention has caught on. Feathers. White feathers. Johnny manages to shoulder his way to the front and Simon swallows his discomfort as he presses in behind him, but the feeling of unease gives way to something else when he see’s why Johnny’s dragged him here.

A dancer poses among the faux scenery, a small-scale recreation of the lake, wearing large, white wings, and smiling for pictures with small children. When the dancer changes position for another photo with another family, Simon sucks in a breath as he glimpses their face—your face.

The children smile and their parents take a few too many photos before scampering off to allow the next family their turn, and you shift from your pose, perched up on your toes with a leg high in the air behind you, akin to a swans tail, back down on two legs again and turn to greet the next family. Your eyes widen, and recognition flashes over your face when you have to look up at Johnny and Simon.

“Hello, little bird.”

Masterlist | Places!

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#call of duty #simon riley #johnny mactavish #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader #soap x ghost #ghoap x reader #ghoap #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost #soap #soap mactavish #cod fanfic #cod

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cheonstapes · 7 months

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LASER TAG (various characters)

saw this on pinterest and isnsjsjesisisiaisj😊😊😊😊😊😊.

also first post omg!! lil bit nervous icl ＾＾　enjoy, feedback is appreciated!! s not proof read- it’s 5 am and i am tired🤗

wc; 500+

pairing; any char x reader

cw; gn! reader (use of princess), suggestive, dry humping, making out, betrayal, reader is shorter than character, reader being dramatic (me fr)

soft pants left your lips as you surveyed the area, bright neon lights dancing around the darkened maze. with the laser gun held tightly in your hands, you take a few steps forward, the loud music muffling your movements. you peek round the corner, a puff of air leaving your nose as you spot a figure moving closer.

he pauses- looking around lazily before his gaze settles on you. you can’t see him, your back against the edge of the wall, as he stalks towards you- a teasing smirk on his lips. you freeze as the sound of ruffled clothes nears closer, immediately jumping out from behind and pointing the laser gun at them. “hey! back the fuck- babe?” you slowly put the gun down as you stare at him, a beat passing before a mischievous smile graces your lips as you raise the gun again.

“any last words?” you smirk, head tilting. he lets out a low chuckle, closing the distance between the two of you. the gun is pressed against his firm chest as he looks down at you, eyes hooded and his lower lip tucked between his teeth. “that’s how it is, hm? not gonna give your man a pass, princess?” he leans into your face, breath fanning against your skin. his hands caress your sides, pinching at your exposed skin.

“n-not a chance. it’s a game, babe, i‘m not fucking loosing.” your words catch in your throat as his hands trail lower, teasingly brushing over the curve of your ass. he grips your plump cheeks tightly, pulling you flush against him. a wicked grin stretches his face, his hands working eagerly against your flushed skin. “mm, y’know i’ll always root for my baby, anyway.” he moves his hands to your waist, murmuring softly. “gimme a kiss ‘fore you kill me, at least.”

you roll your eyes playfully, wrapping your arms around his thick neck, pulling him down to your face. he wraps both of his arms around you, lifting you up to press you tightly against a wall, connecting your lips in a hot kiss. his tongue teases yours, hands squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs as he grinds his hips into yours. the bulge in his pants throbbed as you pushed yourself harder against him, breathy moans mingling with his grunts. saliva drips down your chins, the room suddenly feeling 100 degrees hotter as you run your hands through his hair, tugging on the strands to deepen the kiss.

he pulls away abruptly, flashing his teeth as he holds you tightly. your gun lay abandoned on the floor next to you, your eyes locked onto his- his face making you weak in the knees as he smirked down at you softly. “thanks for that, baby.” you smile, giggling as you lean into his touch. “mm, you’re welcome, handsome.”

“‘n sorry for this.” your brows furrow at his words, leaning back slightly as you look up at him in confusion. “huh? sorry for what-“ you gasp as you hear the loud *beep* that sounds from his laser gun, the light on your jacket flickering out as the announcement of your elimination rings through the room. you gaze up at him, disbelief coating your words. “you fucker! what happened to rooting for me?” you smack his chest, pouting angrily as he laughs that deep laugh of his, crossing his arms and looking down at your annoyed self. “well, it is a game, babe. ‘n i’m not fuckin’ loosin’.”

- bakugou katsuki, gojo satoru, renji abarai, eren jeager, childe, tetsuro kuroo, meguru bachira, ryusei shidou

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estrellami-1 · 11 months

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Steddie Week 2023

May 28th Prompt: Free Space

Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6

@steddie-week

(Warning for queer slurs, but spoken in love, if that makes sense?)

“I hate you,” Robin hisses, eyes glassy. She covers her mouth, shakes her head. “Steve. Holy shit.”

He’s looking at her with an unreadable expression. His eyes are also glassy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna love it. Fuck. Fuck you, dingus, I didn’t want to cry today.”

He laughs, then, and gathers her into his arms. “Thanks for letting me practice on you, Robbie.”

“I’m never doing that again. Holy shit.”

Steve smirks. “It’s alright. I promise to cry whenever you practice on me for Vickie.”

She pinches his side. He elbows hers. “Let me know when you decide to do it, yeah? I’ll steal Jon’s camera.”

Steve snorts. “Just borrow it like a normal person, Robs.”

“Literally when have I ever been normal.”

“…Fair point.” He shifts. “You think he’s gonna like it? For real?”

“If he doesn’t like it I’m taking your nail bat and practicing with his head.”

“Robin, oh my god.” He laughs, probably more than the joke warrants—especially considering he’s not entirely sure she’s joking—but he’s so relieved. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, dingus. Just tell me when.”

“Um. Tomorrow night, actually. I’m taking him back to Hawkins, to the quarry.”

She makes a face. “Why there?”

“It was our first date. We had a picnic.”

“Oh my god,” Robin says, then her eyes widen. “Wait. Steve. Steve. You have a ring.”

Steve laughs, digs his hand into his pocket. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she says, grabbing at his hand and peeling his fingers open, grabbing the ring as soon as she can, turning it and inspecting it. She frowns a little, looking intently at the inside. “What-”

Steve smiles. “I love you in Elvish.”

“You’re both suck dorks.” She looks up at him, smiles. “He’s gonna absolutely love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know he’s head over heels for you.”

Steve blushes. “I still don’t know how.”

“Because you deserve it, dingus, you’re a good guy. A really good guy. And, according to everyone who likes guys, you’re extremely attractive.”

Steve laughs. “Thanks, Robin.”

“You’re welcome.”

A key in the lock startles them, and Robin slips the ring back into Steve’s pocket a second before the door opens. “Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie says, smiling at Steve, before turning to smirk at Robin. “Hey, freeloader.”

She squawks and launches herself at him, clinging on like a koala. “I’ll show you freeloader.”

“Oh my god get off of me you weigh a ton, Stevie, baby, help me!”

Steve just laughs. “You brought this upon yourself, babe.”

“Ah!” Eddie winces. “Jesus, Robs, elbows! In my spleen! How the fuck did you even do that, you fucking contortionist?”

“Dick.”

“Dyke.”

“Faggot.”

“Jesus fuck,” Steve mutters, eyeing the two of them. “It’s impossible for there to be peace when you two are together, isn’t it?”

They both look at him and answer simultaneously. “Yes.”

They both laugh as Robin drops off of Eddie, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she ruffles his hair. He grins and kisses her forehead before moving to embrace Steve, wrapping him in a hug and kissing his temple. He sighs, long and content. “It’s good to be home.”

Steve chuckles. “Was today that bad?”

“No, just long. Dinner?”

“In the oven.”

Just then the timer dings, and Robin races past them, yelling over her shoulder, “I’ll get it!”

They both chuckle, then Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“We’re going to Hawkins tomorrow.”

Eddie’s brows scrunch up. “What?”

“Hawkins. Tomorrow. I’m the one with hearing loss, babe.”

“Actually, with your hearing aids, I’m pretty sure you can hear better than I can.”

“Fuck off.”

“Mmm, no. Something about how you love me.”

Steve softens. “Something like that,” he agrees, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips, swaying them in place, like they’re dancing. “I already called off for you. And for me. It’s overnight, but just for a night. We’re gonna drive back the next day.”

Eddie smiles. “Am I ever gonna understand what goes on in your head?”

Steve laughs. “You already do. Sometimes you know me better than I know myself.”

Eddie nudged Steve’s nose with his own. “Something about how I love you.”

“Something like that,” Steve agrees, then lets Eddie seal their lips together.

That is, until a knitted potholder flies into their faces. “Dinner time,” Robin says brightly when they break apart, like she isn’t the reason for the airborne potholder.

“And you’re sure you can’t tell me why we’re going to Hawkins?” Eddie wheedles for what feels like the millionth time.

“Nope,” Steve says happily, popping the p. “You’ll just have to wait. Enjoy the suspense. I am.”

“You’re only enjoying it because you know where we’re going,” Eddie argues.

“Exactly,” Steve says, then takes Eddie’s hand. “You’re gonna love it, Eds. Please stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying,” Eddie says, then slumps when Steve just turns an eyebrow on him. “Okay, maybe I’m worrying a little. But only a very little!”

Steve chuckles. “Sure, babe.” A few minutes later, he reaches up to turn the radio down. “How’d you feel about no music for a while?”

“Okay,” Eddie says immediately, looking at Steve. “Are you okay? Headache?”

Steve smiles, brings Eddie’s hand up to his mouth to kiss it. “No headache, I’m okay. I was actually wondering if you’d read to me for a bit.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “You brought a book?”

Steve hums. “In the backseat, blue bag.”

Eddie reaches back and rifles around for a minute, then looks at Steve with a delighted expression. “I’m kissing you as soon as you stop driving.”

Steve chuckles. “Duly noted. Start wherever you want.”

Eddie blinks. “I’m in the middle of this one.”

“I know.”

“You won’t have any idea what’s going on.”

“I like listening to you.”

“You’re a sap,” Eddie says, even more delighted. “Holy fuck, I love you. Okay, um, I’m on chapter ten. The choices of Master Samwise. Frodo was lying face upward on the ground and the monster was bending over him, so intent upon her victim that she took no heed of Sam and his cries, until he was close at hand. As he rushed up he saw that Frodo was already bound in cords, wound about him from ankle to shoulder, and the monster with her great forelegs was beginning half to lift, half to drag his body away.”

He continues reading, getting more and more into it, affecting accents for the different voices, slowing down for some parts and speeding up for others, and Steve thinks his heart might burst for how much he loves this man.

They arrive in Hawkins before too long, and the first thing they do—just like every time they have to go into Hawkins for whatever reason—is visit Wayne.

Eddie blinks when he opens the door. “What the fuck?”

Steve and Wayne share a look borne of knowing Eddie. “You alright, Wayne?”

Wayne waves him off, makes a face at his cane. “Fine. Slight accident at work, fell wrong, banged my hip. I still get around fine and I didn’t want you two worryin’ none.”

“That’s our job, old man,” Eddie says, pulling Wayne into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you boys, too.” He hugs Steve next. “C’mon in, make yourselves at home, y’know the drill. Steve, you wanna grab us some beers?”

“Love to,” Steve replies with a chuckle, following Wayne inside.

They talk and catch up for a few minutes before Eddie excuses himself to use the restroom. “Your stuff’s in the pantry,” Wayne murmurs to Steve. “Want to run it out to the car before he gets back?”

“Oh,” Steve says, like he just realized. “I asked after you’d fallen, didn’t I?”

Wayne hums noncommittally. “Not like I minded. Was just about goin’ stir crazy with the time off work.”

Steve chuckles, leans in to hug Wayne, and goes to put the bag in the car.

A few minutes later they’re hugging goodbye. “Robin’s here to take pictures,” Steve murmurs in Wayne’s ear. “I’ll get her to drive you up to Indy for the dinner tomorrow.”

“‘Preciate it,” Wayne says, clapping Steve on the back before turning to Eddie. “Get in here, boy.”

Eddie laughs and hugs his uncle. “Love ya, Wayne.”

“You too, kid. Take good care of ‘im, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “We’ll see you later.”

“Mhm. You kids have fun.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve as soon as they’re back in the car. “That wasn’t what we came down here for.”

“Nope,” Steve agrees. “You’ll see soon enough, Eds.”

Eddie sighs and collapses back into his seat. Steve just grins, wholly in love.

Soon, though, he sits up again, interest piqued. “Are we going to the quarry?”

“Got it in one.”

“Steve,” Eddie says slowly, suspiciously. “What are we doing here?”

Steve doesn’t answer for a few minutes, just plays with Eddie’s fingers with one hand, the other on the wheel, his eyes never leaving the road. “Remember the first time we went to the quarry?”

“Must’ve been eight years ago, now, huh?”

“Just about,” Steve agrees. “We were just kids, terrified and halfway in love and no clue about how our lives would turn out. But we made it. Against all odds, we made it.” He glances at Eddie, smiles. “Thought it would be kinda poetic, coming back here.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees softly, rapt attention on Steve.

“So,” Steve continues, shrugging. “There’s some stuff in the back. Thought it might be nice to have a picnic again. Just to take some time off and remember how it was back then, think about where we were versus where we are.”

“Ugh,” Eddie says, glassy-eyed. “What have you done to me, I used to be cool.”

Steve laughs. “You’ve always been a nerd, babe. Pretty sure I’m the only one who thinks you’re cool.”

“Well, joke’s gonna be on you when we have a kid and they think I’m the coolest dad ever.”

Steve blinks, smiling even as Eddie freezes beside him. “I bet they will, Eds.”

That small sentence is enough to release the tension coiling inside Eddie, flowing out and leaving him looking at Steve, besotted.

Steve parks and they make their way to the edge, a mirror of all those years ago. Steve unfolds a blanket and lays it out, thrusting the bag at Eddie. “Here, start getting the food out, please.”

Eddie’s eyebrows steadily climb higher as he unpacks. Sandwiches, fruits, brownies, and drinks. Both of their favorites, and Steve makes a mental note to do something for Wayne soon, because nobody deserves the actual angel that is Wayne Munson.

They eat and talk and joke around, and kiss—a lot—and just as they’re finishing, the first raindrop splatters down.

Steve looks up, dismayed, to see dark clouds all around them.

Eddie whoops and jumps up, packing everything up and stuffing it back in the car, before running back to Steve and swinging him around in a hug, laughing. “What,” Steve says, but he’s laughing too, because he can’t not be happy when Eddie’s happy.

Eddie stops, sets him down, and grabs both his hands, looking Steve in the eyes. “Do you remember a few days ago when we were watching Singing in the Rain?”

The last time they’d seen the movie was at least four months ago. “Sure.”

“And you were sighing, all forlorn, and I asked what was wrong? And you said you thought you would’ve liked to dance around with someone in the rain?”

Steve can’t help the laugh. “I’m in love with your brain. That was at least five years ago, Eds.”

Eddie frowns. “No, that can’t be right, that was like, a week ago.”

Steve laughs harder. He can’t tell if the water on his cheeks is rain or tears. He doesn’t really care. “It was at least five years ago,” he assures his boyfriend.

“Huh,” Eddie says, shrugging. “Okay, well, I waited and waited and waited and it never worked out. It either always rained while we were asleep or while we were at work, or if we weren’t either of those things, it was a thunderstorm, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna take you out in that. So.” He grins, wide and unashamed, and bows, offering Steve a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Steve’s going to die and it’s going to be Eddie’s fault. His heart is just going to give out one day because it can’t take how much he loves Eddie. “Of course,” Steve answers, taking Eddie’s hand, and Eddie lights up, dragging Steve into a crushing hug and pressing their lips together in a bruising kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against Eddie’s lips. His breath hitches. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much,” Eddie responds softly, wiping away Steve’s tears. “Happy?”

“Beyond,” Steve answers, floundering for a way to tell Eddie exactly how he’s feeling. But then Eddie smiles at him, and his smile is wobbly, and Steve suddenly knows Eddie knows exactly how he’s feeling.

They sway together for minutes or hours or days, Steve doesn’t know or care, letting the rain on the leaves and the ground be the rhythm they move to, an unhurried dance that somehow means everything.

The rain eventually lets up, and Steve pulls away after a few minutes, so they’re holding hands. “I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve known each other for a little over eight years now. We saved the world and managed to fall in love in the middle of it. The Shire was burning, we defeated Sauron, and I carried you out of Mordor. Against all odds we made it out alive, and against all odds we made it out of the Shire, and against all odds we made it together. It’s been eight years and every one’s been an adventure. Every day has been an adventure with you. And I may not know what our lives may hold next, but I know whatever the adventure is, I don’t want to do it without you by my side.” He kneels, pulling out the ring, and Eddie gasps, tearing up.

“Stevie-”

“So,” he continues. “Eddie. I know we can’t legally get married. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to, but I don’t care. I don’t need the government to tell me who I can and can’t marry. I love you, baby, and if you’ll have me, I’ll love you forever. Will you fuck the government and marry me?”

Eddie’s shaking. “That,” he manages after a minute, “was metal as fuck, baby.” He sniffs, shakes his head, and laughs. “Of course. Of course I’ll marry you. We’ll flip off the whole of the government together.”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says, grinning, and stands. “Before you put the ring on, though, there’s something I want you to see.” He turns it, points out the inscription on the inside, and Eddie tackles him with a yell, and they both go down laughing.

“Baby,” Eddie manages after a minute. “Holy shit. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks rhetorically, and they both watch as he slides the ring onto his fiancé’s finger.

It’s a perfect fit.

#steddieweek2023 #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #robin buckley #steve and wayne #eddie and wayne munson #wayne munson #did I scare y’all at first?#did I make y’all cry?#I hope so #i hope y’all like it #starambles

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

Text

What Are You Waiting For Then? (Daemon x Reader)

Hey guys sorry for keeping you waiting, one of my friends was visiting so I was all day doing tourist activities, this was actually so exciting and refreshing to write!

“Nathaniel! Mother come quick Nathaniel is back!”

All Daemon saw was young woman ran barefoot heading towards his fellow soldier, Nathan was a man that got recruited to fight alongside Daemon to the Stepstones, he was a brave and honourable man that was shipped to the Stepstones under the fellow banners of the noble house resided in Lys named “Fyresteel”, they were the first to respond to the call for aid, the young strong man truly embedded their words

“None shall be left behind”.

The woman crushed her body to the knight almost knocking him over, she had wrapped her arms around him like her life depended on it, her clothes were semi tarnished and the hem of her dress dirty from the mud.

A few moments after she pulled away in arms length, examining Nathaniel with her eyes, the look she had on her face showed how close of a bond they shared, tears clouded her eyes as she gripped on to his biceps.

“You are back, safe and sound”

“If I died there would be no one to mess with you dear sister”

The woman did not respond, she only hugged him one more time to which the knight responded with the same warmth. Daemon was astonished by the tremendous declaration of emotions, he loved his family yet he had never been that close to his brother, if Daemon were to be back Viserys might share a hug however there would be no engulfing nor tears shed for his safe return.

“My boy! Oh my boy is back!”

A middle aged woman paced in their direction with her arms wide open. The younger woman reluctantly pulled away from her brother to make room for what Daemon guessed was the boys mother, she wiped her tears with her hands as she sniffled.

“I apologise, it is just we have not seen our brother in such a long time, I am (y/n)”

“Daemon and no need to apologise, you should be proud of your brother, he fought fiercely and was one of the most trusted soldiers in battle”

“You should thank me for that, Nathaniel always liked to wrestle with me in the mud when we were children”

“Come on, don’t stand there they are probably hungry, come inside”

Daemon was stunned by their hospitality, they had no idea who he was, no clue of his heritage yet they welcomed him with open arms to feed him just because he appeared with their family member.

It was a small cottage, mostly made out of wood and stone, it was warm from the fireplace that burned under a big pot, the smell of home made food hit Daemons nostrils like a brick, his stomach rumbled with anticipation and his tastebuds begged for something warm.

“Does your friend like goat?”

“Goat is excellent my lady”

“Oh bless you young man, I have not being called lady since I gave birth to Nathaniel”

“Mother please!”

“What? This tall handsome boy was at the same size of a little kitten when he was born, he gave us all a fright we thought he would not survive”

Daemon chuckled at the comment that made Nathaniel hide his face behind his hands. Nathaniel was the only man that followed Daemon at his crazy plan of invasion, now he had to withstand his mother ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks with endearment.

To be honest Daemon did not care much about that, his eyes were set on (y/n), the girl had the same energy of her brother, noble, altruistic, bright, as supper was served he got caught in a trance that was her voice, he could listen to her speak about anything all day, the affability that radiated off from her was addictive to say the least, if you combine it with the earthy scent he was in true bliss, surrounded by people that took care of one another and honoured the word “family”.

Daemon had stayed with them until the moon turned, he would go around the farm with (y/n), not allowing her to lift a finger or doing her daily chores, to see a Targaryen prince milk a cow and gather chicken eggs was truly a surreal sight for anyone, Daemon felt at peace with being just Daemon, he was not “the rogue prince” nor “prince Daemon Targaryen”, his name sounded the best when it rolled off (y/n)s tongue.

“I will marry you one day”

“Will you take me back to the castle? be a princess of the seven kingdoms while I twirl in pretty dresses?”

“No, I will give you your own castle, you will be the queen of my heart and the ruler of our family”

“What are you waiting for then?”

Daemon flew to Kings landing at dawn, to bend the knee in front of the iron throne and beg for his marriage to be annulled, to humbly request to wed another now that he proved himself worthy and honoured the kingdom.

“Annulment? I thought you were a bit loose in the brain but this is a new type of madness even for you brother”

“I won the war against the crab eaters, I led the army to victory”

“And you assumed that it would make you invisible, you swore to be with this woman until the end of your days”

“Your grace, I am sure you are aware that the wedlock I am under was not a burden I chose to carry”

“Burden!? The lady Rhea is a respectable lady, you stand there and ask me to make Runestone our new enemy so you can marry a common beggar?”

“She is not a beggar”

“She is nobody!”

“She loves me! I do not know why but she chose to love me”

“My starlight, you are ravishing”

“Daemon, we are to attend a funeral”

“You will be ravishing at the funeral”

“I hope so, this is the only dress that fits me”

(Y/n) had given birth to 5 children already, to squeeze out children one right after the other meant her body had changed since they got married, her breasts had swell from breastfeeding their youngest son and the weight had managed to get comfortable.

Daemon could not keep his hands off of her, he found her new curves to be tempting, she looked like a well taken care of woman, the woman that blessed him with creating a home and children inside her, the goddess that put herself in danger to expand their family.

After moving to Pentos to elope against the kings wishes Daemon wanted to fulfil his promises, give her a castle and make her his queen.

(Y/n) was a marvellous wife and confidant, Daemon had spend all his life fighting for a place at the table, to be seen as worthy as his noble brother, the heavy weight of competition was suddenly lifted by (Y/n)s magical touch that showed him what it truly is to be accepted, to be nurtured and cared for with compassion and respect, Daemon would often watch her sleep while she rested her head on her pillow and just admire her, how could she be so… good to him?

“You are the most wonderful woman I have ever laid eyes upon”

“Seems like you are the only one that thinks like that, they are all eye balling us like we are their lunch”

With that mention from how beloved wife Daemons focus shifted from the diamonds (y/n) held for hues to observe what was behind him, to his displease he found the people from his bloodline gawking at his family, to the point that the eldest son Maelor of theirs clung a little closer to his mother, grasping her clothing with his fist for comfort and protection.

“Listen to me, stay close to your mother and myself and everything will be fine, understood?”

“Yes father”

The second born child, their first daughter Melody responded, Melody had a soft spot for her father, ever since she could walk she would wobble behind her father and wait for him to pick her up and spin her around. Daemon pinched her cheek before he took his wives free hand -since she was holding their youngest babe Aelor with their other arm- to lead his family to the place the ceremony would be held.

Daemon had promised his wife that he would not leave her alone, he guarded his partner and offsprings during the whole ceremony, choosing to stay far back than get close to his immediate bloodline members Viserys and Rhaenyra, he was content with sitting down on the bench and play with their fourth child their daughter Hera on his lap.

“I know my sweetling, I know”

(Y/n) cooed at the babe that was starting to get fussy, (y/n) had done her best to keep the babe comfortable however no one can predict when the babe wants to feed, only thing we know it’s babes are hungry often and they do not like to wait.

“What is the problem starlight?”

“I must feed him”

“Go on then”

“Daemon we are not home, if I start feeding him-“

“You will be a mother that is taking care of her babe and does not scoff in the natural way by having other woman nurse your kin”

“We know that stands true, they do not”

Daemon puffed out a breath before he reluctantly let his daughter off his lap to stand up and take (y/n)s cape to create a little curtain around his wife, as a way to assist her with putting her mind at ease so she can breastfeed that youngest member of their family.

“What is happening?”

“She must be feeding the babe”

Ottos face squirmed up in disgust at the sight of the babes own mother pulling her breast out for the babe to suckle on and in such a prestige setting, Alicent on the other side was certainly intrigued to say the least, not for the feeding part but to how attentive the rogue prince was to her, the man that had a heart made of steel was now pulling silly faces to make his children laugh and shielded his lover from invasive looks of disapproval like the one her father had.

“I think he is finished”

“Let me do the rest starlight”

Daemon had done this multiple times, their children had been very close in age so sometimes Daemon had to do the digestion process while the older one was in their “I only want my mother” time of age, so in order to relieve his wife he gracefully took his youngest son in his arm to pat his back so he can digest his food.

“Father, why is mom a starlight?”

“Often times I had to travel at night with Caraxes, the light that came from the stars gave me hope and guided me to safety”

Their daughter was a sucker for fairytales, so to listen to her father talk in such a poetic way for her mother compelled a weak smile dance on her lips, (y/n) reached to tuck a small strand of the toddlers dark hair out of her face until Melody wrapped her arms around her mother to hide her face in her mothers neck.

“What a beautiful scene, you have grown to be a wonderful father”

Viserys interrupted the precious moment by slowly approaching with his cane. Daemon instinctively took a step to stand in front of his wife, his natural need of protecting her kicked in and even though Viserys was his brother he did not take the chance.

“You honour me your grace”

“we are brothers Daemon”

“Mayhaps, long time ago we were”

“Daemon”

“Maelor why don’t you take your mother and siblings to play at the shore? I’ll be with you in a moment”

“Oh yes! Come on mother let’s go”

Maelor was smart but not witted enough to figure out why his father allowed him to lead his mother away from this interaction, the young boy was too excited to notice the stern look (y/n) shot to her husband as she took the small babe from Daemon to give him and his brother some privacy.

“I know we had our differences howbeit I come with good intentions”

“I am sure you do, until Otto whispers accusations against me”

“We mustn’t hold grudges, I am here to offer a sumbol of peace”

“Which is?”

“Your children are unfortunately considered illegitimate, I own up to the mistake of not treating your lovely wife as equal, after the funeral I shall announce to the court that we affirm your wife and children as such, let us become a family again”

“My children are my family, my wife is my family”

“And your brother is willing to acknowledge that”

Daemon let his gaze fall upon his children, (y/n) was chasing around their children while they laughed along, all of them adored their mother, every time he would watch their faces light up and (y/n) smile it was equivalent to floating around the clouds, that was the reason he took them to Pentos, to ensure they were safely tucked away in their own world, no harm, no ill minded people, just pure and utter bliss.

“I would deeply appreciate that, I however have nothing to offer you in return of that favour”

Daemon was rudely awakened by his wife bursting in their room, clearly disheveled she stared at him as tried to catch her breath, (y/n) would often wake up in the middle of the night to make sure her children are alright, this time it seemed she was right about it.

Daemon was on his feet in no time, silently he followed her and she was making it difficult since (y/n) was basically running.

“Maelor!”

“I am alright mother, I cannot say the same for Aemond”

“What happened?”

“I wanted to go for a ride and I found them fighting so I called for help, I did not get involved I promise I just called the guards”

“I am not mad at you sweetling you did the right thing”

“Right thing? He ran away when my son was been beaten”

“He called for help”

“It was too late for that”

“What would you rather have him do? Fight off all the others and risk his own life”

“So it is better than my son is the only one that got injured?”

“I did not say that-“

“Stop! All of you. We are family”

“It was my sons that were forced to defend themselves your grace”

The young woman spoke up as she stood in front of the two brunette boys and one of them was also stained by blood. If she had to be honest she did not care about what happened, only that her children had no part in any of it.

“He called us bastards”

The young one explained, the room grew cold all of a sudden, like someone had stolen the light out of everything. Daemon stepped a tad bit closer to his wife, the word scratching his heart enough to irritate him, it stand true but unfortunately his children could technically be called such ridiculous words.

“Where did you hear such lies Aemond?”

“It was Aegon”

All eyes were on the boy with the king white hair who was somehow dumbfounded by the accusations. The king, even though he was frail and had almost withered away approached his son, Daemon could detect some type of fury on his weak and dissolved face.

“Now you tell me… boy, why did you say that? Aegon!”

“We know father, everyone knows. I do not understand why is there a problem with it, prince Daemons children are also bastards”

“Careful now young man, we do not want you to miss an eye as well or a tongue”

Daemon was taken back by his wife threading a prince, he also noticed how her hand clenched Maelor shirt compelling him to get closer to her. (Y/n) was his wife, his love, his body, mind and soul belonged to her, she was aware of how devoted Daemon was to their family, still to hear such vile insult made her blood boil.

“My father offered for your children to become legitimate, so for the time being and the past few years they were considered b-“

The only thing that interrupted the prince was Daemons footsteps that approached Aegon, he did not touch him, he just stood right in front of him and eyeballed him right into his soul. Aegon by just pure instructed had shrunk as much as he could and avoided making eye contact with Daemon.

“Finish your sentence, go on”

“Daemon I can handle my son”

“I disagree brother you can allow your children to dig their claws into one another until the only thing that is left of them is bones but I refuse to let this idiot speak like that about MY children. With that, we shall bid you goodnight, we will be departing at dawn and hopefully we will not hear from you ever again

Requests are open!

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seeingivy · 5 months

Text

all too well

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

an: ladies and gentleman, we are so back. the french is google translated, to the french speakers, I apologize (@cutiejg I am looking at you)

content: BIG OUCHIES

songs mentioned: little freak by harry styles, not mentioned explicitly but all too well by taylor swift (the name of the chapter)!

previous part linked here

You knock hard on the door, knuckles pounding wearily on the wood, as you push into the room to find Hange and Levi, hunched over their desk. They’re pouring over the storyboards with the script up at their side, talking in hushed tones.

Levi, as always, looks up first and sets his pencil down as he beckons for you to come in. You awkwardly amble up to their desk, as Hange pulls up a chair in between the two of them, and you settle into the space. You can smell both of their distinctive smells in the air - Levi’s freshly brewed tea and the smell of Hange’s inky ballpoint pens.

“Hey kid. What can we do you for?” Hange asks, resting a hand in your hair to ruffle your locks. It’s well past three in the morning, the frigid December air raising the goosebumps on your arm with Eren’s hoodie doing little to help your chills.

You’re not sure why, but that soft, soothing tone that Hange always sports when they talk to you has the tears violently rushing to your eyes, the warm wetness spreading across your cheeks. Both of their demeanours suddenly change - Levi’s suddenly increasingly attentive, a hand on your shoulder, while Hange coos into your ears - that aching pain in your chest pulsating.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” Hange asks, eyebrows knit in concern.

You try to subside your hiccuped breaths, wiping the wetness on your cheek onto the back of your hand, as you open your swollen eyes, your line of vision obscured.

“I-It’s kind of complic-cated.” you respond, frowning at the two of them.

“Did Eren do something?” Levi asks, voice stern.

Hange smacks his shoulder, rolling their eyes, as you can’t help but laugh. At Levi, for suggesting it. And at Hange, for defending Eren.

“No. No, he’s great.”

Levi narrows his eyes, giving you his most soul piercing stare.

“Are you sure?”

You laugh, not missing the way Levi’s lips slowly turn upwards, the makings of a smile on his face as his shoulders relax.

“Yes, Levi. I’m sure. It’s Eren.”

“Well. What’s got you so worked up then, kid?” he asks again, squeezing your shoulder.

You look down at your hands, knitting your fingers together, as you fumble through the words. Through that bubbling pit of emotion, sitting in your throat, that’s been bothering you for the past few days. That you’re going to be leaving the set for three years and they won’t be at your side, lifting you up for what you’re going to do next.

That without them, you’re going to fail. Horrendously.

“I’m really scared to do this all without you guys. And I really, really don’t want to fail you both, but I think that I’m going to because I don’t know how to do this alone.” you mumble.

“Huh?” Hange asks.

“I just mean. You and Levi have gotten me this far. Holding my hand at every turn, coaxing me into things when anyone else would have pushed me. Or kicked me out for not having the guts. You put me with Eren when you know he’d support me. And it-I feel like I’m going to flop out the second I leave.”

You watch Levi pinch his lips into a straight line, his gray eyes glaring into yours.

“I couldn’t have done it without you guys. And I am so thankful for it, I-I want to make you guys so proud. But I just…I feel like I’m going to fail the second I try something on my own. That there’s this big, looming anticipation around me and it’ll amount to nothing.”

You swallow hard, darting your eyes between the two of them, not missing the shared look they give each other, before Levi breaks the silence.

“You’re really stupid kid, you know that?”

You frown, glaring at him.

“Leave it to you to invalidate my feelings.” you grumble, crossing your arms on your chest, making it a point to avoid even looking at him.

“I’m not invalidating your feelings, just invalidating the fact that you quite literally give yourself no credit. That you have zero faith in yourself.”

“Great. Thanks, Levi.” you deadpan.

“He means…anything you’ve done is of your own merit. Don’t put everything you’ve done on us.” Hange states.

You swallow hard, shaking your head.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, your support helps me, pushes me forward. I can’t imagine being able to do anything without it.” you murmur.

“You know we aren’t going anywhere, right?” Levi states.

“I know that. But it won’t be the same.”

“First and foremost, you don’t need anyone to do great things. You’re plenty great on your own. And second, it may not be us who's the closest to you, but there will be plenty of people in your arsenal, backing you up. Unfortunately for you, I don’t think Eren could leave you alone even if he tried.”

You laugh through the snot, lightly shoving Levi and Hange’s laughs vertebrate in your ears.

“Okay. Just, if I flop out, you can’t be mad at me, okay?”

“We’d never be mad at you kid. You mean the world to us.” Hange states, wrapping their arms around you as Levi follows suit.

And when you look over your shoulder, you see the framed picture on Levi’s side of the desk and know, in earnest, that it’s true. That in some way, Levi and Hange will always be at your side, always your fiercest defenders.

And that at his core, Levi Ackerman is a sap. For having a framed picture of you and Hange, front and center on his desk. There’s a rapid knocking on the door, followed by a very sleepy Eren standing on the door.

“There you are. I was looking everywhere for you.”

You wipe the last of the wetness off your face as he shuffles up, locking his hands around your neck and resting his chin right on top of your head. He leans down and presses a light kiss at the top of your hairline, as he starts groaning.

“S’cold. What are you doing down here? And with my jacket, mind you.” he murmurs, mid-yawn.

You sniffle, which has Eren securing his hands around your cheeks and angling your face up so he can look at you. And at the sight of your blotchy skin and red eyes, his eyes immediately wash over with concern, his thumbs rubbing into your skin.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

You give him a halfhearted smile, which he returns.

“Nothing, I just wanted to talk to Levi and Hange.” you respond, standing up as Eren tucks you into the side of his arm.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow and go back to bed now. It’s really late. You should sleep.” he murmurs, as you give him an affirmative nod.

“To bed. In your own beds, mind you.” Levi states, giving the two of you a weary eye.

Eren’s eyes go wide, a sheepish laugh falling out of both of your mouths as Levi rolls his eyes.

“Oh, totally. Totally in my own bed. Because obviously, there is no one in my bed. Except for me! Well, not right now but you know what I mean.” you mumble, getting a laugh from Hange.

You and Eren sneak out of the room, hand in hand, as you giggle while sneaking up the steps. He squeezes your hand three times as he pushes you into his room, tangling under the sheets with you and burrowing you straight into his arms.

“You’re really okay?” he murmurs against your hair.

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t.” you whisper, as Eren presses his lips against your forehead in response.

“Okay, ma lune. Go to bed.”

“Eh? Who taught you that?” you ask.

“What? Was it wrong?”

“No, no, it’s right. You’re trying to say my moon in French, right?” you ask, cheeks burning.

“Yeah. I asked Falco. Since you call me mon chérie, it’s only fitting that my nickname for you is French too.”

“Mielleux.” you respond, tracing the side of his cheeks, right near his dimples as you laugh.

“Huh? Don’t insult me in French, that’s cheating.”

“That was an insult. I was calling you…intelligent.”

“Right. And Connie’s six foot four.” he responds, sarcastically.

“I just called you cheesy. Quit whining and go to bed now.”

His laugh, vertebrating in his chest, is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter closed.

You swallow hard, shaking the memory from your head before knocking on the door firmly, as that pulsating wave of anxiety bubbles in your chest. Because whoever answers that door, is going to bring an all consuming, complicated wave of emotions that you’ll have to resolve in all but twenty seconds before you have to talk to them.

The door swings open, with Hange and Levi standing in the center of the doorframe, leaving you with a mess of anger, sadness, and dejection.

“Hey kid.” Hange states, spreading their arms open as you melt into their arms. That faint smell of ink is lingering on their clothes, the dark marks smudged along the side of their hand indicating that they must have been stuck in that room with Levi, workshopping the script.

“Hi Hange.” you respond, swallowing hard, as you turn to look at Levi.

“Y/N.” he states, voice devoid of any emotion. But you can tell from that unshakable burning in his eyes, that something is rumbling in Levi’s chest, similar to your own.

“Levi.”

The three of you quietly walk to the kitchen, that awkward tension hanging thick in the air as Hange and Levi start rummaging through the cabinets and you lean against the counter. You take a second to stare at the polaroids, a mix of familiar faces and ones you’ve never seen at all pressed to the fridge. But the one that catches your eye the most is of Falco, smiling brightly at a girl, with short, brown hair.

Hange walks up to your side, holding the bowl of food up in front of you, as you shoot them a thankful smile.

“Whose that?” you ask, pointing to the picture.

“Oh, that’s Gabi. She’s one of the new cast members.”

“I’m taking it she’s good friends with Falco.” you state, smiling at Hange.

“Oh, the best.” Hange states, giving you a knowing smile.

You settle into the chairs across from the two of them, your brain buzzing from being here, in this kitchen with them again. At being in this house again, so vastly changed from the last time you were here.

The last time you stood in this kitchen, you and Eren were giving each other teary goodbyes, everyone holding each other for too long. And now you’re here, sitting alone in the kitchen with Hange and Levi, with everyone nowhere to be found. Least of all Eren.

Levi’s characteristically silent, focused on steeping his tea bag in the water and avoiding any sense of eye contact or communication with you. Which you were expecting, since Levi was always one to hold a grudge.

“How are you, Levi?”

“Okay.”

The response to others would be seemingly nothing but it stings violently in your chest. Because it isn’t uncharacteristic for Levi to be withholding information, especially personal in nature, but it is uncharacteristic for Levi to be that way with you. And perhaps you were increasingly harsh the last time that you talked to him, but surely you’ve both moved past that. Because it was months ago and at this point, there is nothing you can do about it.

“Are you still mad at me, Levi?” you ask.

“Are you still mad at me?” he utters back, the tone biting.

You sigh. Straight into the thick of it. Levi was always straightforward like that.

“I mean, I still stand by what I said but that doesn’t mean I’m ma-”

“Great. So when everything goes to shit, you’re going to hold it over my head and blame me for it, right?”

You swallow hard, taken aback completely by how aggressive he comes off, straight off the bat. Levi had always been this way and you’d seen it firsthand, from how strict he was on Eren when it came to acting when you were younger. And every time you told Eren to be stronger, look past it, because Levi was doing it out of a place of love.

But from the way he’s angrily scorning you right now, over a decision he betrayed you by making, one thing is evidently clear to you. That Levi’s not acting out of love.

You swallow hard, pushing that disgusting acidic feeling in your throat, as you give Hange a look before talking.

“Okay, Levi. I never said that-”

“The second Falco’s feelings get hurt, by god knows what, you’re going to come to me and say that it was my fault. My fault because I was the one who casted him in the show.”

“Well, that would be true. I explicitly asked you to remove them from the show after I found out you gave him the part. So if something happens to them, it is going to be your fault. Because you didn’t listen. You’re the reason they’re here.” you murmur.

Levi groans, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as Hange moves to his side, a firm hand and a pleading voice urging him to calm down.

“Is that what you’re trying to say? Are you trying to blame me for everything that happened?” Levi asks.

“I didn’t even say that. I just meant-”

“Isn’t that what you said though? You said by casting Falco, any hurt feelings he has from any backlash he could hypothetically get is going to be my fault. It’s going to be my fault because I cast him. And it’s fairly obvious you’re having some pent up feelings, because-”

You swallow hard, the tears burning your eyes and your chest aching.

“This isn’t about me. You know how hard I’ve fought to protect both of them from all of this. And you’re just going to forsake all of that, everything I’ve tried to shield them from, because you want them here for god knows whatever reason?”

“They’re here because they want to be here. They saw the casting call and auditioned together. As the person who is making this show, I had to pick the people who were best for the part. That was the same thing I did for you. And everyone else.”

“Oh, shut up, Levi. I know that you weren’t the final say in who picked me, it was Eren.”

“I was the one who put you in the top three. I knew you could be great at this. The same way I know that Falco and Colt can be great at it too.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they can be great at it, I’m sure they’re phenomenal. But they can’t handle the rest of it. And I’ve tried so hard, I already dragged them into all of this by literally being related to them, but the fact that you’re holding their hand and walking them right into this lion's cage, knowing damn well what’s waiting for them, is what’s making me mad.”

You see Levi’s eyes twinge for a second, before he scoffs and stirs his spoon in his tea. And the sound of the metal hitting the porcelain is enough to aggravate you even more.

“Nothing that happened to them is your fault. And trust me, they know exactly what they’re getting into when they come here.” Levi responds, sighing.

“Right. Because throwing that brick through my window totally would have happened regardless of the fact that I’m famous. That was my fault, plain and clear. And they can think they know what they’re getting into, but I can promise you for a fact. Falco isn’t strong enough to do this.”

You hear something drop behind you, only to find Falco and Colt standing there. Falco’s bright eyes are filled with tears, swiftly falling down his cheeks, as he runs off and Colt calls for him.

“I-I’m going to talk to him.” Colt responds, sighing heavily, as he shuffles away.

You turn back to Levi, glaring at him.

“Are you trying to punish me, Levi? Is that what this is?”

“What?”

“You’re trying to make me feel shitty. For not talking to you for so long, for-for pulling away. You’re trying to make me fucking regret it.”

Levi glares, walking up close to you, as he flares his nostrils.

“Are you trying to punish me?”

“Levi-”

“Surely, you must be. You really think that I would do anything, for even one second, to hurt you? That I find joy in hurting you even more when letting everything happen is one of my biggest regrets?

You swallow hard, taken aback by Levi’s admission. You reach forward, to place your hand on his shoulder, but he flinches away from your touch entirely, the frown on his face fixed.

“You clearly know nothing about me, Y/N. Nothing.” Levi states, angrily storming out of the room.

Your tears are burning, wet and hot and neverending as you bring the heels of your hands up to your eyes. You’d entirely forgotten Hange was there, until their hand comes up around your shoulder and squeezes hard.

And it makes you cry. That Hange’s here to comfort you. That the one person who you’ve looked u pto you, maybe the only reason you’re even standing here, is the one who sees you at your worst. And holds you anyways.

The realization hits you in full flesh. And it’s cruel.

That filming this season is going to be entirely different than any of the last.

The feeling isn’t like any other.

That deep seated pit of rage, of jealousy, of hurt that Eren can only associate with Zeke. And while he’s able to push it down, swallow it down when he’s ready for it, the one place he can’t do it is here. Because watching Connie prank Zeke in between takes, seeing him get along with Levi and Hange, there’s some part of it that taints the entire premise of things together.

Eren pushes down the piano keys, his fingers nearly shaking from the anger, until he feels it. Warm hands looping around his side, accompanied by that flowery smell and your head falling onto his shoulder. Your right hand is on the keys, brushing past both of his as he sighs.

“Hi Eren.”

“Hey.”

Eren can feel your prying eyes, big and wide watching him. And Eren knows that you can see it all over his face - the anger sitting in his jaw, his flushed cheeks - and it embarasses him even more. That you’re here with him, when all he can do is feel rotten.

“Are you writing a song?”

“Mhm.”

“Tell me your writing process. I’ve never written a song before.”

Eren turns to you, giving you a pointed look, because he knows all too well what you’re doing. His own parents have used this tactic on him a hundred times, when he’s panting and heaving from crying so hard. He figures that they think the distraction is helpful, that it’ll subside the wave of emotions in his chest. But sometimes it feels to big, too vast - like an ocean wave he has no capabilities of taming.

“I know that can be kind of a personal thing to ask. I don’t mean to pry, I just wanted to know.” you murmur.

Eren looks over, only to find your eyes cast downward towards the piano and the slightest flush of pink creeping up your neck.

You’re embarrassed. Embarrassed for asking him something personal, for crossing a line you feel you shouldn’t have.

Eren immediately takes his book off of the stand - filled with his ramblings, lyrics, and everything in between - and places it right in your eager hands. And Eren can’t help but feel a warm, simmering in his chest when your downtrodden look is replaced with a bright smile and your hand squeezing his.

Three times.

There’s something entirely bare about doing this with you, like he’s giving you the key and letting you walk right inside of his mind. But he does it regardless, watches your eyes scan over the pages, your fingers running over the marks he’s indented into the paper.

“What song were you just playing?” you murmur, flipping through the little leaflets. You eye the little pictures taped into the pages - one of you next to the words Sweet Creature - that you tuck away to pry about later.

“Ah. This one.”

Eren braces his hands against the piano, the light piano tune filling the air.

I was thinkin' about who you are Your delicate point of view, I Was thinkin' about you I'm not worried about where you are Or who you will go home to, I'm Just thinkin' about you

Eren stops himself short, that block in his throat itching, only to turn to his side and find you smiling at him, his little book of thoughts tucked into your arms, right against your beating heart.

“Eren. You’re a really good singer.” you murmur.

He can feel his own skin flushing, as he brings his hand up to his neck and nervously scratches.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Do you mind me asking what the song is about?”

“I know you know, Y/N.” he responds, leaning his face closer to yours.

He feels you set the book down, returning it back to the stand, and watches you lace your arm through his. You’re holding him close to you as you nestle your cheek into his skin, running your hands over each of his knuckles.

When Eren looks over, he can’t help but smile to himself. There’s something about it, this tiny frown that you sport, that Eren sincerely adores. Eren can’t help but want to touch your skin then and there, to smooth those little creases away with his fingers until you smile again.

And naturally, it’s very irritating for Eren that you still look pretty when you frown. And when you smile. And every other expression in between.

“I know. But you should still tell me anyway.” you murmur.

“I’m okay, Y/N.”

“Eren.” you whine.

“I know you know. And it’s okay…it’s complicated.” he sighs.

Eren doesn’t know how to explain the vastness of it to you. That Eren can simultaneously be mad at his brother but want nothing more to be around him. That he can hate him for what he did, for pulling away, when Eren had no intentions of leaving him alone. That he never wants to see him again, that his presence is aggravating in itself.

“You…you promise it’s okay? That you don’t want to talk about it because-”

Eren leans forward, his eyes burning as he looks into yours, your lips a few feet away from one another.

“You’ve got me, right?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got me, if I need you?”

“Of course, I do.” you respond, not even a beat in between your words.

“Good. Then, I’m okay.”

Eren gives you a warm smile, one that leaves you in a fit of your own confusion, as he braces his hands against the piano again, playing the light tune into the air. And when you walk away, giving him one last squeeze on the shoulder, before leaving him alone on set once again, Eren scribbles his last thought into the book before walking away.

That he thinks he loves you.

Eren’s shaken out of his own memory, leaving it in his graveyard of other haunting memories, as he hears the pitter pattering of footsteps behind him. He looks up to find Gabi and Falco, sitting together on the floor, knees to his chest.

Eren can immediately clock that Falco has been crying. And Eren realizes immediately that Gabi ran to his defense. It almost feels like the two of them are mocking him, though watching them interact even in the slightest had Eren feeling that ..

Gabi, the horrifying menace that he is, is possibly one of Eren’s favorite people ever. Not only is she determined, bold, and stubbornly loyal, but she is quite possibly the only person who could be considered a bigger fan of you than Eren was.

Which was saying something.

“Falco. It’s okay. You-you didn’t hear the entire conversation.” Gabi coaxes, a soft frown on her face.

Eren’s well aware that he sees himself and you a little bit too much in Gabi and Falco, but the fact that Gabi quite literally sports the same frown that you do is enough to give him a chill. And annoy him even more. Even if he tries to forget, Eren has no choice but to remember.

He supposes some part of it is romantic, almost. That no matter how far you are, Eren can see you everywhere. That opening the fridge reminds him of the time the two of you danced in the kitchen, that driving reminds him of all the times he had to commandeer that shitty bike with you, that the moon rises into the sky and that it makes the tattoo on his skin burn.

“I heard enough. She doesn’t even believe in me. Not even in the slightest.”

“Falco. You’re amazing. And she knows that. Maybe you should talk to her about-”

“I get that she’s hurt from everything that happened. But does that give her any right to be mean to me? To think I can’t do this because-”

Eren walks up, sitting criss crossed on the floor across from the two of them. Falco gives him a halfhearted smile, infinitely better than any interaction he’s had with Colt in the entire three weeks they’ve been here, as Eren hikes his knees to his chest.

“Hey Falco, Gabi.”

“Hi Eren.” he sniffles, Gabi’s hand still firm on his shoulder.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not really.” he grumbles.

“Shame. You know, I can be quite wise sometimes.”

“Yeah. He’s got hobo wisdom.” Gabi adds, eliciting a laugh from Falco.

Eren reaches forward to flick Gabi on the forehead, which she immediately swats off. A rather affectionate term Gabi had coined, for the rather unfortunate makeover that Levi had given him for the Marley arc.

Eren’s half convinced Levi made everyone look better and him worse as his final act of vengeance on your behalf. Because even Eren’s not stupid and is well aware that Levi will be enacting some mildly annoying revenge on him for the rest of his life, for hurting you for even a second. Which he can take. Because he deserves it.

“I had a fight with Y/N.”

Eren swallows hard, throat dry at the fact that the person they were talking about was you. Meaning, you were back, only a few feet away from where he was sitting right now.

“Falco’s misinterpreting it, I think.”

“Leave it to you to side with my sister, Gabi.”

“Hey. I’m just trying to play devil's advocate. You need that sometimes.”

Sometimes being the devil's advocate is being on your side.

Eren shakes your voice from his head, as he focuses back on the two of them.

“Y/N doesn’t want me to be here. She had a fight with Levi when she found out he picked me and Colt after we auditioned. She thinks it's the ultimate punishment that I’m here, that she has to share this with me.”

Eren swallows hard. And immediately back tracks on your behalf, because if Eren knows one thing about you, it’s that fighting with Falco must be tearing you up in more ways than one. That being here alone is hard enough for you, but your one source of comfort being ripped couldn't be helpful either.

Eren’s also positive that Levi is smoldering somewhere. That his great plan is backfiring. Because Levi did cast Falco and Colt because they were the best audition, but he also cast them because he knew having them here would make it infinitely easier for you.

Or so he thought.

“Your sister doesn’t want you to be here. But it’s not for some selfish reason or because she doesn’t believe in you. Trust me, your sister is your biggest supporter.” Eren states

“Yeah, Falco. You know that she loves you.” Gabi adds, giving him a weak smile as she laces their hands together.

Eren wonders if Gabi squeezes Falco’s hand. If she squeezes three times, because saying I love you, the thought of sharing that is so suffocating that she has to do it that way.

“The only reason she doesn’t want you here is because she doesn’t want you to suffer. She-she loves you how you are. Excited, energetic, you-you’re very lively, Falco. Some people see that and they…they want to stamp that out of you.” Eren says, voice burning in his chest as he talks.

“Your sister just wants you to stay you. And you, quite possibly, are the only thing she can’t afford to lose. You mean too much to her.” he adds.

“That’s not true. She felt that way about you too.” Falco adds.

Falco’s eyes immediately go wide, cheeks pink, as he reaches forward and places a hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that in an insulting way, I meant that as-”

Eren smiles. At times, Eren feels almost like the entire time he had spent with you wasn’t real. It’s so far off in his mind, the situation so convoluted and messy now that at times it feels like it’s all a figment of his imagination. But the small reminders - a fan account, Falco’s admissions - they’re enough to remind Eren.

That he’s not crazy. That you loved him and he loved you.

It’s a double edged sword. He’s not sure if it’s worse to know he loved you and lost you or to have it feel like your love was never real at all.

He supposes he’ll have his answer when he inevitably sees you, in the flesh again. Not stricken by grief, somewhat in full feeling again.

“I know what you meant, Falco. Do you know what I meant?”

Falco sighs.

“I…I want to. But she literally said, Falco isn’t strong enough for this. She thinks I’m weak.”

“Or…she’s been through it herself. And she knows that people will push you, past your breaking points and expect you to keep going. It’s not about whether or not you’re talented, it’s…it’s almost that you’re too talented. She knows people will love you. That they’ll watch you and see you as something like that.”

The pit of it is burning in his stomach. The information that he’s sitting on, that he could share with Falco right now. But he knows that it’s not the right time. That it would require him to throw Lana under the bus, that he isn’t even ready to say everything all together, that he’ll tell you, and Falco and Armin when the time is right.

“But she knows that this is something that’s hard to stomach. And it’s less that she thinks you’re not strong enough to handle it, it’s that she doesn’t want you to have be.” Eren states.

“Good shit, Eren.” Gabi states, giving him a wide smile. Falco laughs at her brashness, the smallest makings of a smile on Falco’s face.

Falco’s ruminating over his words this time, some semblance of them sticking, as he gives him a sigh and a halfhearted smile before standing up.

“How about we go eat something, Falco? You can think about everything Eren said. Everything I said and we….we can just take a walk after.”

If you and Eren’s thing was biking and getting slushies, then Falco and Gabi’s was walking and talking.

“Okay.”

Eren watches the two of them walk off into the distance, the way their hands brush against each other as they amble towards the door, how they never link together, and swallows hard.

At the fact that not only would his memories be constant reminders, but that Falco and Gabi are going to be a constant representation.

Of what he had. And what he had to give up.

You march down the hall, feet dragging you to your childhood bedroom, as the waves of the argument have subside in your chest. You can feel the skin around your eyes stinging, your cheeks swollen and pink, as you turn to the signs with Connie’s handwriting and groan.

Jean and Mikasa (please fuck quietly)

Eren and Y/N (y’all are fucked up for this)

You must have been too loud, because suddenly both doors are swinging open, Jean coming out of one and Connie out of the other.

“Princess! You’re back!”

You pull back, resting your hands on both of his biceps as you squeeze. At Connie, less grief-stricken and pale, but more lively and loving.

The way he used to be.

“Hi Connie.” you respond, giving him a smile back.

“I’d know that moaning groaning sound anywhere.” Connie states.

“That sounds inappropriate, Connie.” Jean grumbles, giving you a smile.

The two of them stand in front of you, towering over you, as they give you smiles. Which is when you realize that they both look drastically different.

Connie’s hair is significantly balder. And Jean has a fucking mullet.

“Oh my god. You have a mul-”

“Before you say ANYTHING, he is very gorgeous to me.” Connie states, giving you an accusatory finger.

“Con-”

“I don’t care WHAT you say. He’s in the top three of my tentative glow-up ranking for this season.”

“Nothing you just said was English. Like not even one sentence of it.” you state.

“Have you read the script yet?” Jean asks, giving you a helpful smile.

“No, they haven’t given me mine yet.” ‘

“Well, we’re doing a big time skip. And to sell the image - even though we’re literally not teenagers anymore - they’re all giving us different haircuts.”

“I hope for Armin’s sake that he’s at the top of that list.” you murmur.

You hear a set of footsteps behind you, only to find Mikasa and Sasha with bags hanging from both of their arms, the pair of them panting and heaving. Jean’s quick to take Mikasa’s bags, which has Sasha berating Connie for not running to do the same.

“Princess! Welcome back.” Sasha states, pressing a wet kiss to your cheeks as Connie - making his annoyance very clear - takes the bags from Sasha and sets them down in Mikasa’s room.

“Thanks, Sash. I love your hair.” you state, giving her the warmest smile you can muster.

“God. I am fucking starving. First of all, these stupid fucking dress shops give out the measliest little chocolates. Like, we’re there for six hours, the least they could do was give me the whole box. And every time I asked for seconds, Mikasa’s stupid maid of honor started giving me a whole lecture about it.” Sasha grumbles.

You swallow hard.

Mikasa’s maid of honor.

You turn to your left, to find Jean with a rather awkward look on his face, as Mikasa’s eyes go wide. You try to shake off the discomfort, the annoying tears that are trying to pool in your eyes, as you turn to Sasha.

At the fact that Mikasa found a replacement for you.

You’re in the kitchen when Mikasa approaches you, the light glow on your cheeks making you smile so hard that it hurts.

That Mikasa is engaged. The ring is glimmering on her finger, as you beckon for her to walk closer to you and you take her hand in yours.

“I didn’t get a second to properly admire it with all those idiots around.” you murmur, her soft hands in yours.

The ring is simple. A circular cut diamond with a gold band. And entirely Jean and Mikasa. You recall Jean harassing you at nearly turn leading up to the day, but seeing it here and now, on her hand instead of that stupid plastic mannequin, you can really see Jean’s vision.

That it’s perfect for her.

“It’s beautiful, Mikasa.”

“I know you helped him. God knows he was probably having a panic attack at the store.”

“Oh, he totally was. But he picked that one out on his own and fully stopped entertaining other ones when his eye caught that one. He said he knew it was the perfect one for you.”

“Jean can be really cheesy.” Mikasa states, her cheeks dusted pink as she pushes down the pleats of her dress.

“I think it’s really sweet. You’re made for each other.”

She smiles hard, her eyes watery again.

“You really think so?”

“Are you really asking me that after you already said yes, Mikasa?”

“I mean, I’m sure of my decision. But your opinion, what you think means a lot to me. Especially if you’re going to be my maid of honor.”

You drop the knife in your hand against your plate, eyes wide as you look at her. At the way the light is catching in her hair, at the smug smiley look on her face.

“No fucking way.”

“You can’t be serious. It was always going to be you…you’re like my person!” she states, wrapping her arms around you. You squeeze her tight in her arms, earning a groaning sound from her, as you feel the excitement course through you.

“Mika. I would love to be your maid of honor.”

“Well, good. Because there’s no one else who could do it. The only person I want being up there with me is you.”

You realize now that the premise is world’s away. Which was a given. Mikasa had gone all the way and had an entire engagement party, meaning she needed someone to fill the role. And it wasn’t like she could exactly tell you, you barely even gave her the time of day when things were going down.

“I’m hungry too. I’ll come down with you in a second, yeah?”

She gives you an affirmative nod, as she skips down the hall and down the steps. You turn to Connie and eye your bags still in the hall.

“Do you know who Colt is sharing a room with Connie?”

“Galliard.”

“Who?”

“Ah, the Brit. He’s real funny, I think you’ll like him.”

“Ah, okay. Well, I think I’ll ask him if he can share with Eren instead. And I-”

“Y/N. You can still share with Mikasa.” Jean states, eyes wide.

You swallow hard, the embarrassment coursing through you.

“No, I-I insist. You guys should share. You-you are getting married and all! Wouldn’t want to rain on your parade and all that. And Colt’s my brother, I’ll be comfortable with him, so-”

“I’ll help you move your bags.” Connie states, dragging your bags down the hall.

You’re eternally grateful for Connie and him catching on fast enough. Jean follows in tow, giving Mikasa a look over his shoulder, as the two of you stand awkwardly in the hall. You turn to look at her.

“You didn’t get a haircut?” you ask.

“Ah. Um, Levi and Hange are actually letting me use a wig.”

“That’s right. Jean always imagined you with your hair long at your wedding.”

Mikasa smiles, so wide, that you swear there’s tears gathering in her eyes.

“I didn’t realize he had told you that.” she murmurs.

“Jean can’t help but talk about you. He mentioned it to me in passing once.”

You both awkwardly swallow, as you rub your hands on your biceps. There’s a tension in the air between the two of you, one that you weren’t really expecting, that settles deep into your bones.

“Well, Sash is probably waiting so I’ll-”

“Yeah, yeah sure. No problem.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Mika.”

“You too.” she responds, as you swallow that salty feeling in your throat and pad down the stairs.

Eren is interrupted by an incessant pounding on his door, only to find Armin standing there with an excited look on his face.

“Hey. What’s up, ‘Min?”

“Erwin gave me a really cool gift, do you want to see?”

Eren nods, opening up the door, as Armin pads into the room. You and Mikasa are sprawled on Eren’s bedroom floor, the two of you typing away at something on Mikasa’s laptop, while Marco and Jean play a very intense game of go-fish.

Armin gestures for everyone to join him on the floor, as everyone lazily turns their head towards them. He opens up the box, filled with stacks of polaroids, and sets the camera on top.

“What is it?” you ask, as Armin excitedly runs his fingers across the pictures.

“Erwin just gave it to me. He said that when he went to the SHWA, one of his favorite things to do was capture all the memories, so that he’d never forget them.”

Eren digs his hand into the box, the first polaroid he pulls out being one of Levi and Hange, significantly younger. Hange’s excitedly pinching Levi’s cheeks, while he all but glares at her.

“Woah. This one is of Levi and Hange.”

“Is this before they were dating?” you ask, turning your eyes towards Eren.

“Mhm. They’re way younger here, they only started dating after La La Land.

Eren watches your eyes swell, as you run your fingers over the picture.

“Wait, that’s so sweet. That they have all these pictures together, before they were even in love. Like..like they were always meant to be together.”

Jean leans forward, flicking you on the forehead.

“You’re a sap.” he states.

“Says you, asshole.” you respond, glaring at him.

Eren ignores the two of you, digging into the box with Armin as the two of them run their fingers over all the pictures. Of Satoru Gojo, holding a hand out over Levi’s head to mimic how short he is, Erwin and Nanami drinking tea on set, Shoko and Miche smoking a cigarette.

“The first picture that Erwin ever took on the polaroid was this one.” Armin states, handing it to him.

The picture is of him and Levi, the two of them sitting on the floor with their knees hiked to his chest. Unlike any of the other ones, Levi and Erwin are actually smiling, as opposed to their usual smoldering looks that they sport.

“I want the first one I take to be of us, like this.” Armin states, giving him a bright smile.

Eren excitedly nods, tapping on Mikasa’s shoulder, and breaking her out of the pictures she was looking at with Marco.

“Mika.”

“Hm?”

“Can you take a picture of us like this?” he asks, handing her the picture.

She smiles wide, reaching for the camera as she angles it perfectly and flashes the bright light in both of their faces. Armin and Eren laugh as they reach up, itching their aching eyes, before Mikasa holds both of the pictures out to them, side by side.

“God. You’re like their little proteges.” Mikasa states, handing them the pictures.

“Do you need help?” Eren asks.

Armin turns his head, eyes wide and filled with a twinge of detachment that Eren absolutely despises. He’s been finnicking with his polaroid camera - the new one that Eren had bought him - for the past twenty minutes.

“I have extra film if you need it. It’s a weird way to kind of load it in these cameras but-” Eren says, standing up to reach for the camera.

“Well, I’d be able to do it if I still had my camera, wouldn’t I?” Armin seethes, glaring at him as he sets the camera down and angrily paces to the other side of the room.

Eren swallows hard, the sting burning as he swallows hard. Eren prays that Hange and Levi show up any moment to give Armin his script, so that he can retreat to the room with the two of them for the rest of the day and finish writing the script with them.

“I’m sorry.” Eren adds, for what feels like the hundredth time.

Granted, Eren doesn’t think there’s a quantifiable number, a tangible amount of times he could say sorry that Armin would forgive him. And Eren, in earnest, can’t even blame him because he can barely forgive himself.

For getting so carried away.

Eren lifts the camera, dislodging the film from the camera, before inserting it correctly. There’s a click as it slides into place and Eren gently puts the camera down, as Connie walks up to his side.

“Hi Eren.” Connie states, giving him a very hard smack on the back.

“Ow, Connie.”

“My bad. It’s just my humongous fucking biceps, I can’t even cont-”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, Connie. Pipe it down like the notches.” Eren states, shoving him off to the side.

Connie settles into the couch next to Eren, as Eren can’t help but nervously shake his legs, from Armin’s pacing around the room. He’s picked up the camera from the table, fidgeting with it in its hands as he gets used to the new settings.

No matter how much Eren tried, he couldn’t find the same brand of camera that Erwin had bought Armin all those years. Of course, Erwin had opted for something vintage and of course, something that Eren wouldn’t be able to replicate. Eren had opted for the next big thing, the camera models that Erwin had designed with the polaroid company, as a special.

Because if he can’t have the exact camera Erwin gave him, he can still tie it to him in some way. And it in no way takes away what Eren did, but he hopes it rebuilds the tiniest of bridges between them.

“I like the new camera, Armin.” Connie states, giving him a smile.

Fuck.

“It’s kind of shitty. It’s not really working.” Armin states, Eren’s skin burning at the seething look that Armin’s giving him.

“Well, we’ll help you figure it ou-”

“What’s your deal, Connie?” Armin asks.

Connie’s taken aback, awkwardly laughing, as he lifts his hands up.

“Huh? What ever do you mean, good sir?” Connie asks, mimicking Galliard’s stupid British accent, an increasingly irritating habit of his.

“What kind of shitty game are you playing right now? Pretending like things are fine.” Armin asks.

Connie sighs, Eren sensing the tiniest bit of frustrations in Connie’s shoulders. In the past few months, one of the only things that Connie had been looking forward to was coming back here. An opportunity for him to get back into his roots, to be around people who would support him, before he got back out there.

Before they all did. In a way they never really had before.

And it was increasingly frustrating and even debilitating for Connie to realize that things were different when he got here. Because Armin was still harboring his hatred for Eren, he found out that Mikasa had taken Y/N out of her wedding party, that Y/N was coming back later than everyone else, that really the past few years had caught up to everyone the way they had to him.

Except he was the only one, besides maybe Eren, who was trying to go back for it. And it was increasingly frustrating for him, when no one met him where he was.

“Look, Armin. I think we should all just cool down and talk about-”

“Talk about what? About how you’re being naive as fuck right now?” Armin asks.

“Forgiving isn’t naive. And there’s a lot that you don’t-”

“How can you even stand Eren, in good faith? He’s the reason that you had to go to rehab, Connie. The reason that you had to stop acting, that you stopped talking to me and Sasha and Marco and-”

“That wasn’t Eren’s fault.” Connie states, doing little to deflate the stupid welts of shame Eren was feeling. It’s one thing to have a shitty voice in your head telling you all the things you’ve done wrong. And it’s an entirely different one to have the entire world echo it back to you.

But worst of all is realizing your best friend echoes the same thoughts, shares the same sentiments that are buried in the shittiest parts of your brain.

“How was it not Eren’s fault? He decided to start working with horrible people, he was the one who decided to date Hyla and backstab Y/N and-”

“Armin. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about so how about you just quit while you’re at it?”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re the one who's forgetting everything that he did. All the shitty things he said-”

“Is that what you’re going to play victim about? I can promise you, that measly little argument we had out there where he broke your camera is fucking childsplay to half of the shit that Eren and I saw when we were there. You’re lucky that you left the second you did because-”

Armin shoves Connie into the wall behind him, which has Connie shoving him back. Levi, who has cosmically perfect timing, yanks Armin off while Eren grabs Connie, bracing his hands on his shoulders.

“Connie. Quit it, man. You’re better than this, he doesn’t-”

“What right does he have to say that to us, Eren? He doesn’t even know what it was like being there, with those people and-”

“I know, I know, man. Just, he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t mean it, he’s just hurt about-” Eren whispers, as Hange walks Armin out of the room and Levi joins them at their side.

“Are you okay, Connie? Do you feel like you have to-” Levi asks, not daring to say the word.

“No. No, I’ve been good for today, but I just-”

“Okay, Connie. Let’s not talk about it. We should head to set anyways, they’re going to be filming soon. We can watch.” Eren states, his hand firm on Connie’s shoulder as the two of them trot out of the room.

Sasha trots into your room on an odd Thursday night. You and Eren are nearly tangled up in the bed, his hand brushing through your hair as she gives you a meek look from the doorway. She has a rather meek look on her face, almost shy.

“Hey, Y/N. Do you have a second?”

You look up, Eren’s warm hand on your neck. And it’s the fact that she’s here and not wreaking havoc with Connie, with that awkward look on her face, that sets off the first alarms to you.

“Yes. Eren, get out.”

“Um. What happened to please? Please, oh sweet love of my life, sunshine boy of mine?”

“Eren, love. Get out. I’m being serious.” you respond, giving him a narrowed look with your eyes.

He catches on quickly, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and Sasha a squeeze on the shoulder as he pads out of your room. You tap the spot to your left where Eren was just sitting, as Sasha climbs onto the bed next to you.

“Ew. His spot is all warm.”

“Yeah. He’s like a human heater, sometimes I have to shift away from him while we’re sleeping because I literally start sweating.”

Sasha lies down flat on the bed, eyes fixed on your ceiling, as you follow suit and cross your own hands across your chest. The silence hangs in the air between you, as you wait for her to break first.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Y/N?” Sasha asks.

“What? Of course, I think you’re pretty.”

“I-I don’t mean in a friend way. Do you think guys think I’m pretty?”

She turns over on her side, resting her face against her arm as she looks at you. You mimic her motions again, noting the welling of tears in her usually bright eyes, as your heart drops.

At sweet Sasha, asking you something like this.

“Sash.”

“I was online earlier. And I-I guess I never noticed that everyone on the cast seems to be…coupled up. Or at least the girls are.”

“That’s not true, Sasha. What about Historia?”

“Yeah, but that’s different. Reiner had a crush on her. Ymir still does and-and people like her. Really like her. You can’t really say the same about me, can you?”

You sigh. Because you know, deep down, that the thing she’s talking about is one you can’t relate too. And that anything you said could be a deeper salt in the wound. The two of you sit in silence, as you wrack your brain the hardest for the best thing to say, when Sasha tangles her fingers in with yours.

“Thank you.” Sasha murmurs.

“Huh?”

“I was kind of expecting you to do that whole…shitty you’ll find love someday thing. It’s nice to just have someone here sitting with me, letting me feel it.” she states.

“You’re valid in how you feel. And I-I know I’m not the best person to come to about this but-”

“No, but it’s nice. Just to have someone acknowledge it. Sometimes it’s so shitty when people just expect you to be so optimistic about love, expect it to come when you’ve been waiting forever and you just want someone to fucking hold you or something.”

You open up your arms, which she rolls her eyes at, before smiling and tangling into your arms. It’s then that you see the picture of you and Levi taped on the wall and remember his letters, the one’s he gave you to write the song with for the vow renewal. And the idea springs to your mind.

You dig the letter out, the one where Levi detailed how special Hange was to him, that she made him feel real and loveable and give it to Sasha for the night. And when she trots out of your room, you immediately head to Levi’s room and knock on his door to ask him for what might be your biggest favor yet.

Naturally, he obliges. And takes Sasha out on a date, to make sure that her standards are set straight, whenever someone does come in her life.

You try to fight the embarrassingly large smile on your face as you watch Sasha from a distance, with the tall haired blonde who you’re told is Nicolo. And you know you’re not reaching, because it would be obvious to anyone with eyes that something was going on there.

Things were drastically different. But some of them are for the better.

You hear a set of footsteps behind you, only to find Falco and Gabi, the girl from the polaroid, standing behind you. Falco has a rather awkward look on his face, surely from the fight not fight the two of you were having, while Gabi has her hands behind her back.

You give the two of them a warm smile, and notice Falco visibly deflate, as you tap the floor in front of you. You’re only halfway through the script, not having reached the scenes they were filming today or even your appearance in the show.

“I’m Y/N. Falco’s sister. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“I-I know who you are.” she states, her voice awkwardly rambling as her cheeks flush pink.

“I know who you are too! Something we have in common.” you respond, giving her a smile.

She reaches forward, shaking your extended hand, and you notice how clammy her hand is against yours. Or really, that her entire demeanor seems to be off. This seems less like the Gabi you had been hearing about, bold and confident on the set.

“I have something…really weird to tell you.” she states, mumbling.

“What’s up?”

“Please don’t think this is weird or anything. But you’re a really big role model for me. And-and you always have been.”

Oh. Oh.

It’s at this moment that you realize what’s happening. And it’s only something you can recognize because you too used to be that awkward mess of feelings for Hange. Your heart warms in the biggest of senses, that she wasn’t in that group of people who hated you, at least you didn’t think she was from the way she was acting.

“Gabi. It truly means the world to me that you say that.” you respond, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing.

“Really? I-I was so scared I was going to weird you out and you were going to hate me. I-I was most excited to see you when I got here, I’ve been listening to your songs since I was little and I feel like you’ve helped me through so much that I just-”

“You haven’t weirded me out at all. This is very special to me, that you-you feel this way. I’m glad that anything I have done was able to reach you, even if it was in the smallest of ways.”

She deflates, that awkward tension in her shoulders leaving and being replaced by tears wellington in your eyes. You’re not sure why but the entire reaction has tears welling in your eyes, as you open up your arms which she all but dives into.

“Can I ask you for a weird favor?” Gabi asks, climbing out of your arms as she returns to her seat next to Falco.

“Anything.”

She pulls out the sleeve from behind her back and you try your best to swallow that disgusting, acidic venom in your throat. She hands you her copy of The Lucky One vinyl, the vinyls that were specifically distributed without your permissions.

Vinyls that you didn’t even make a cent off of. That put millions of dollars into the pockets of the two people that you hated the most.

“I have signed copies of all of your vinyls. Except for this one. I was wondering if yo-”

“Sure. Do you have a pen?” you ask, fighting the discomfort in your skin.

You open up the sleeve, ignoring the picture of all of you on the front, as you write.

Gabi,

I feel like I’m the Lucky One for getting to meet you. I can’t wait to see where you go from here.

Love,

Y/N

You shut the vinyl quickly, handing it to her, and murmuring something about being hungry as you shuffle away to the snack table. You don’t miss her excited face, the way she excitedly grabs onto Falco’s shoulder, as she reads it to him.

Levi rings the bell, calling for them to take their cues, as you settle into the chair. Colt, Gabi, Udo, and Zofia stand on their marks, as Zofia crawls under the rock placed there. You can see that she’s coated in set makeup, blood running down the side of her face, as Levi yells action.

“Get up, Gabi! Udo!” Colt screams, picking up the two of them in their hands.

There’s tons of extras running in the peripheral, the sound loud and jarring as they all scream.

“Stand up! Hurry!” Colt says.

Gabi turns her head, a quarter of the way, to where Zofia’s laying under the rock, and that’s when you realize it.

That Zofia’s character just died.

“Zofia?” Gabi states, her voice so painstakingly grating that it makes you flinch and your throat immediately dry.

Udo runs to the side of the rock, bracing his hands on it, as he screams and you realize too quickly what’s about to happen.

“Hurry, we have to lift this!”

Except the extras march perfectly around Udo, just to knock him down, before they all mimic running over them. You quickly notice the makeup team run in as the camera focuses on the people running, and what you assume is going to be Eren’s titan, as they drench Udo in red dye, cacking it onto his porcelain skin.

And when you hear it, it’s enough to make your stomach hurt, to have the contents in your just about ready to come up.

It’s Gabi. Sweet, soft Gabi letting out an ear splitting scream, as Colt holds her close. The looks on both of their faces are so blank, so dead that it’s enough to sprout tears to your eyes, that quickly fall down your cheeks.

Levi quickly calls cut, as Udo and Zofia stand up from their marks, and come out laughing. They’re both still caked in their red makeup, giving each other high fives, when all you can do is clutch your chest in pain, at that painstakingly painful feeling in your chest.

And you’re not sure what exactly it is. That’s bringing this up for you. Until one of them says it, in passing. And you know they’re just kids, that they mean well, but it hits you so hard that the entire events of the day come crashing down in one second.

“God, Udo. You’re messed up. This is a horribly fucked up version of the Lion King.” she states, placing her hands on her hips.

“Shut up, Zofia. We both know that your death was way worse than mine. You basically suffocated to death under that lame ass rock.”

Udo and Zofia remind you too much of Marco. Too much of filming that scene, all those years ago and being blind sided by it. By walking into the set thinking you were going to watch something normal, only to watch one of your best friends pretend to die.

Only for him to really die years later. By suffocating to death, under the crush of the metal.

Your cries are muffled by arms coming around you, quickly rushing you out into the cold air of the set as they continue to film inside. The embrace is warm, accompanied by soft words you can’t even barely hear, with the sound of the blood rushing in your ears.

It’s all consuming. That’s the shitty thing about your grief. It’s buried deep into the pits of your heart and just when you think you’ve moved past it, when it’s standing behind you and you’ve grown past it, it hits you in full flesh when you least expect it. Leaving you debilitated, paralyzed.

Alone.

You only clock that it’s Eren from the smell. It’s clean and minty - a mix of his laundry and the deodorant he wears - as he only brings his arms around you harder, his voice finally coming into recognition in your ears.

“Y/N. You’re okay. It’s okay, you-”

You try to respond, only to let out a garbled sound. Eren pulls back slightly, the entire image of him, that overwhelming pounding in your chest and him catching you off guard.

“I’ve got you. No one saw, we don’t need to go back and-

Eren’s hair is long. So long that it’s secured into a small bun in the back of his hair. And as always, his eyes are washed over in concern, his hands rubbing small circles into your skin as he all but stares you down.

“Er-”

“I know. You don’t have to say anything. It reminded me of him too.”

“I just-”

You come up short on words as Eren expectantly looks at you, waiting to hear what’s on your mind. And you can’t even fathom that feeling into words if you wanted to.

“I don’t want to go back.”

“Okay. Let’s take lunch.” he states, gesturing to you to walk towards the townhouse with him.

You give Eren a meek nod, as the tears continue to pour from your eyes and that hollow feeling fills your chest. The two of you walk in silence, Eren not taking his hand off of your wrist as you pad back into the townhouse, completely deserted.

Eren’s quick to move, shuffling around the kitchen, as you lean against the counter with your head in your hands.

“Do you want me to get you anything? I’m making ramen but it’s still boiling.” he asks, setting a glass of water by your side.

“No mushrooms, Eren.” you state, glaring.

“I remember, Y/N.” he says, so softly that it stings.

And a few minutes later, the two of you are sitting side by side at the table, with the steaming bowls of ramen in your hands. And the entire events of the say, each stinging thorn in your side, are the only reason you can fathom as to why you talk to Eren, of all people.

“I feel like I’m trying really hard to be my old self again, Eren.” you state.

You look over at him and he doesn’t respond, only giving you a nod, like he’s asking you to keep going.

“I-I want to be how we all used to be. But it’s like that person I was, those feelings I had, they’re all buried somewhere deep in my head and I can’t find it. And I hate to think that she’s gone. That she has no place here anymore.”

You move your chopsticks around in the bowl, through Eren’s perfectly diced vegetables and sigh.

“Every person I look at, all I can do is remember everything. How it used to be.” you state.

Eren looks to his left, at you staring at him with your big, tear filled eyes, and swallows hard. And thinks hard and deep, at everything that’s changed.

He leans forward, crushing your hand in his own, and hopes that the message gets across to you. And when you lean your head against his shoulder, he’s positive that it does.

Eren relishes in the one thing that seems to remain. You, sitting next to him.

next part linked here

an: ALRIGHT BABY GIRLS. buckle in. the next chapter is called the new romantics! dare I say....the next chapter has the F word.........FLUFF WITH A CAPITAL F

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