#and the way he sort of does it out of nowhere. falling back on the script he’s prepared. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blindmagdalena · 11 months

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Don't Fret Precious (I'm Here)

Summary: 18+ 8.1k homelander x reader, f!reader, mild sublander, immoral reader, off-screen murder, blood, attempted assault (not by HL), cunnilingus, lite comeplay, penetrative sex, fingering, dirty talk, breeding kink, marking, mild pain play.

During one of his evening patrols, Homelander overhears the beginnings of an assault. By intervening, he not only becomes your personal hero, but falls into a whirlwind of infatuation and obsession with you, and the supposedly ordinary life you led before he happened across you.

thank you @mari-thesimp, whose prompt inspired this monster of a fic! 🖤 AO3 Link.

To this day, Homelander doesn’t know why you were alone in that alleyway that night: he never thought to ask, and by now, it’s an irrelevant detail. He just knows that it was in a shady side of the city, nowhere near your work or your home.

That was where he first heard you. You were screaming in this shrill, throaty way that reminded him of how women in the movies screamed. You were the perfect little Hollywood damsel, trapped down a dark side street by a man twice your size with a brutish smile and clear intentions. It was almost too perfect of a stage, and Homelander found he couldn’t resist intervening.

Sure, there weren’t any cameras, but maybe you’d give a couple interviews and boost his ratings.

“S’aright by me, I like it when they scream,” the goon told you, pulling at you with dirty, meaty hands. Homelander could smell his rotten breath from a distance. It must have been like chopped onions in your face, stinging your pretty eyes.

“What a coincidence,” Homelander said from behind the man, voice full and confident. He placed his hands on the man’s shoulders. “So do I.”

He tightened his grip until tendons popped and bones groaned under his strength. The man screamed twice as loudly as you had, relinquishing his hold on you. Clearly not comprehending the sheer danger he was in, the man tried to retaliate, lashing out with swinging arms and legs until Homelander finally let him turn around, at which point the severity of the situation dawned clearly in the man's eyes.

“Homelander,” He realized, tongue thick in his mouth, words heavy with sudden fear. “It’s not what you think,” he said. He was taller and broader than Homelander, but it hardly mattered. He was shaking like a leaf in his hold. “We were just playin’,” he said, sweat prickling along his hairline. Homelander twisted the brute down onto his knees, and angled him to the side, focusing on you now. You, who were staring at him with wide, watery doe eyes. It’s no wonder you were hunted down by a predator. You looked… delicious.

“Is that true, miss?” He asked you in his best discerning hero voice. “Do you know this man?”

The question was followed by a tense beat of silence. He held your gaze, only for his to drop and watch your lips form the simple word, “No.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said with a chuckle. Before the man could protest, Homelander made a fist, and struck the back of the man’s head with the bottom of it just hard enough to knock him out cold. The thug crumpled to the ground, and Homelander stepped over him to make his way towards you. He gave you a cursory check for broken or fractured bones, but aside from being disheveled, you looked unharmed, slumped back against the brick wall.

One interesting thing he took note of, however, was the small gun tucked into your purse. Why hadn’t you been reaching for it? Panic, he supposed. Perhaps, though you had thought preemptively to protect yourself, your pretty little head had emptied the moment there was any sort of tangible threat.

You were like a little rabbit. Born to be hunted.

“You alright, miss?” He asked, offering you his hand. You took it, eyes as wide as saucers, lips tilted in an awestruck little smile. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t accustomed to, but it was sweet nonetheless. You were sweet, as soft in his hands as ripe fruit. Just the same, it would take so very little to bruise such a delicate thing.

“I am now,” you answered breathlessly, taking a step closer to him, your hand lingering in his long after he’d helped you up. “That… You were incredible. More amazing than I ever imagined.”

Homelander’s brows lifted curiously. “You imagine something like this often?”

“Yes,” you admitted readily, surprising him. “I’ve had a lot of fantasies about you.”

He laughed breathlessly at that, throat clicking on a dry swallow. You were standing just a few inches from him, but your only point of contact remained your hands. One by one, you began to loosely intertwine your fingers with his, drawing his gaze down. He had met hundreds upon hundreds of fans during his career, but rarely were they brave enough to be so direct with him. “Wow, you are, ah… forward,” he said, feeling heat prickle along his collar.

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked. He felt hyper aware of the slow way you squeezed his gloved hand, the gesture strangely enticing.

“No, no,” he said, licking his lips. “Always good to feel wanted.”

You smiled at him. “Good.” With a gentle pull, you eased him down. He felt certain you were going to kiss him at that moment, but instead, you bypassed his lips and brought yours to his ear. “Because I want you. Very, very much.”

Your words, your voice instantly pooled heat low in his gut. He found himself breathing shallowly, leaning into the faint, sweet fruit smell of you.

When you drew back, your eyes met. You smiled, still squeezing his hand as you did. Your soft little breaths were warm on his lips. After a split second hesitation, Homelander kissed you. He kissed you again, and again, and again. He would kiss you many, many more times after that.

At first you were just a pretty little thing. A secret indulgence with sweet tasting lips, soft skin, and a seemingly endless propensity for adoration. You were removed from the blood and corporate grind of his day to day life. Before him, your life was simple, mundane, and predictable. It seemed like a lonely and bleak thing to him.

Perhaps that’s what made it so easy for him to become your sun, and coax your entire world into revolving around him. He saw his own loneliness mirrored back at him in your glossy eyes. To you, he is salvation. To him, you’re convenient.

Homelander particularly enjoys the way your breath catches with palpable excitement when he drops in on you unexpectedly. It doesn’t matter the time of day, be it midday or in the earliest hours of the morning, you welcome him with open, warm arms. Stepping into your comedically ordinary apartment is like watching The Wizard of Oz in reverse, wherein Dorothy retreats from the vulgar, brightly colored Oz to the quiet sepia of her humble little farmhouse.

Here, his only care in the world is the gentle coo of your voice in his ear. Your heart is a steady, soothing rhythm. The first night Homelander found himself in your bed, he was surprised you didn’t accept him as a trophy fuck the way so many others liked to. Instead, you had stilled his greedy hands, and settled them around your waist. You slowed him. At the time he assumed you were still shaken from your encounter in the alley, but even then, the choice had seemed calculated.

You have a way of making him wait. Making him crave. You held him through the night, fingertips tracing patterns along his scalp, hands cupping his face, touching him as if you were trying to commit every detail of him to memory.

He was enraptured. He still is.

It’s what brings him back to you night after night after night.

Tonight, you’re awake when he slips in through your sliding glass door. It’s always unlocked for him. He would scold you for it if you didn’t live several storeys off the ground. To this day, he cannot shake the image of you as a vulnerable creature, watery eyed and terrified in that dark alleyway. It feels good to hear the skip of your heartbeat at the sound of your door opening, only for your breaths and pulse to calm at the sight of him.

It soothes his frayed nerves. The rest of the world is full of vicious ingrates who love him when he serves them, but who continuously prove themselves eager to tear him apart at the slightest provocation. Not you. Never you.

“My hero,” you sigh as he sinks into your arms. You never ask him about what’s going on in the news. This place–the warmth of your embrace–is a sanctuary from the noise of it all. “I missed you,” you tell him. You always do. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar smell of you. His hands settle on your hips, neediness spilling through in the way he grips you, twisting the fabric of your clothing in his grasp. Homelander doesn’t respond right away, choosing instead to brush his lips along the bare skin of your neck, following the line up to your ear. You tilt your head, giving him greater access. You’re always giving more and more of yourself. You’ve done nothing to dissuade him of his possessive thoughts, the ones that whisper he is owed every breath and inch of you. If anything, he could swear you stoke his fires knowingly.

“Are you okay?” You ask gently, coaxing him to look at you with your hand on his cheek. He complies, pulling back just enough to meet your stare. You cup either side of his face, stroking his skin with your thumbs. The sound of your thumb pads catching against the faint bit of stubble on his face is soothing, like scratching an itch deep in his ears. “What do you need?”

“You,” he answers at last, leaning closer.

“You have me,” you say. He can feel your smile against his lips when you kiss him. “Forever. And always,” you say, punctuating each sentiment with a kiss. “What else do you need?”

“Nothing,” he says, voice sinking beneath the weight of his building desire, the heat of it radiating through his body in slow waves. “Not a goddamn thing. I don’t… I don’t need anything or anyone but you,” he whispers, clawing more purposefully at your clothing now, resentful of the barrier they create between him and the warmth of your skin. Too many things that have kept him away from what he desires, what he deserves. Your cheap cotton blend clothes won’t be among them. “Me neither,” you breathe, guiding his hands up your sides, helping him to strip away your shirt. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ve ever needed.”

Your words drip like sweet nectar. He swears he can taste the heaven of them on your lips as he kisses you. He follows the imaginary drip of it from your lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck. He relishes the low moan you give. You push your hands into his hair, wringing a matching note from the back of his throat with the way you grip it. More, he thinks, insatiable. Give me more.

His gloved hands slide down your sides, mapping out the curves of your body as he has a hundred times before. His thumbs hook on your pants, and he pulls those down, too. He smiles at your bare skin beneath, leaning in to press a kiss to your pelvis, just above the thatch of hair there. “No panties?” He rumbles, helping you step out of your pants.

“I was hoping you’d come,” you say through a smile, hooking your leg over his shoulder, hand braced in his hair. He nuzzles in, lips brushing against your already sensitized clit. He gives a tonal sigh, opening his mouth to inhale the musky-sweet smell of you, his tongue snaking out to glide from your velvety, slick cunt to the gently throbbing nub of your clit. He closes his lips around it, opening his eyes halfway to meet your gaze from between your legs. He’s pleased to see you already staring down at him, admiring him openly. You’re flushed with heat, pupils blown wide. He purrs for the way you smooth his hair back with your fingers, his eyes falling shut so he can focus solely on the taste of you. He cups your ass in his hands and lifts you onto his mouth, hitching your other leg up over his shoulder as well.

Homelander holds you up and drinks greedily from you, coaxing your sweet wetness with slides and thrusts of his tongue, panting into the welcoming heat of you. Drool and slick coat his mouth in equal measure, dripping down his chin, wetting him so thoroughly he can almost pretend it’s sweat. As if he could exert himself. As if he were anything less than a god putting the light of heaven into the space between your thighs.

His favorite part is the way your pussy clenches around his tongue every time he pushes it into you, knowing you’re aching for more. For him.

“Nnngh, baby,” you moan, locking your ankles behind his back, rocking your hips. He squeezes your ass, egging you on. He can almost taste your swelling climax. He moans into you, meets the sway of your hips with eager dives of his tongue. “I’m–hahh, ahh, oh, there, there, mm, baby, you feel so good, m’gonna come,” you moan, prompting him faster, deeper, riled up by every aching praise that falls from your lips.

You pull his hair sharply when you come, and his eyes roll back into his skull with it. He revels in the way you smother him, literally and figuratively. Since the beginning, your affection, your attention, has been an endless, all-consuming thing. There was a time that he believed there would be no one who could stomach the depths of his emptiness, and yet here you are. With him, you form an ouroboros. Neverending mutual consumption.

Homelander laps at you until your shivering body goes lax, and you slide down into the strength of his arms. You kiss him, heedless of the mess you’ve made of his mouth, hands clumsily working to open the top of his suit. “Take me to the bed,” you tell him. The authority in your voice sounds effortless, despite the reedy quality your orgasm has given it. “I need you inside me.”

I need you. The words echo in his ears on a loop like a broken record that he never wants mended. He stands with you secure in his arms, licking your own taste into your mouth as he walks. He sets you down gently, but he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise. He wants to see the evidence that you are as changed by him as he is by you.

He shrugs his top off. Before it even hits the ground, you’re slipping your hands up beneath the hem of his undershirt, purposefully skating his ticklish sides with your fingertips, surprising a giggle out of him. The shirt comes off of his head with a flourish, mussing his hair into a splay of blonde locks. You smile at one another, secretive, as if this intimacy between you is something stolen.

Homelander often behaves as though it is. More times than not, this happiness feels like borrowed time. Like something he is owed, but was never supposed to have. It leaves him feverish for it, clawing at every second of it he can get his hands on.

You help divest him of his pants next, metal belt hitting the ground with a thud. He steps out of his boots, and back tight into your space, grazing his teeth tantalizingly along the line of your neck before he sucks a dark mark just beneath your earlobe.

Your sigh of pleasure is music to his ears. His own breath catches when your hand slips between his legs, grasping his aching cock. You give a couple of leisurely strokes, but the tunnel of your fist is so loose, he knows you’re teasing him. He thrusts needily against you. “Sshhh,” you hush, guiding him to the bed. “Sit.”

He does, dropping onto the edge of the bed with a bounce, lips parted, breathing his excitement in shallow huffs. Initially, you confuse him by turning your back to him, but he catches on quickly when you put your hand on his thigh, and lower yourself slowly into his lap. He takes hold of your waist reflexively, aiding your descent. His grip on you flexes at the first glorious, wet press of your cunt against the throbbing head of his cock.

“Slow,” you remind him, your own excitement turning your voice thin and airy. Homelander grits his teeth, caught somewhere between impatience and dread. He’s not sure he’ll last long, not with the taste of you so fresh on his tongue and the hot, drenched pull of your body sucking him in. He wants to slam in and flee all at once, caught paralyzed in the middle.

Luckily for him, you’re wholly in control. You grip his wrists and sink down slowly, tipping your head back with a moan as you take every inch of him, settling fully in his lap. Homelander keens, pressing his face between your shoulder blades. You’re so tight and wet, it makes his head spin. The throb of your body alone could make him come, he’s certain of it. Your heart beat is a drum in his ear, one he can feel every pulse of in the velvet walls of your cunt.

“Please,” he moans, adjusting subtly. Even that makes his balls ache.

“I have you,” you assure him, reaching back over your shoulder. You push your hand into his hair, guiding him to rest his chin on your shoulder as you massage his scalp with your fingertips. He wraps his arms around your waist, fighting the desperate urge to slam up into you, to break you apart and spill into the deepest parts of you. There is such violence in every part of him. It would be foolish to think it would not bleed into his love.

Instead, Homelander remains perfectly still, panting into the crook of your neck while you grip his hair, grounding him. “I love you,” you sigh, to which he screws his eyes shut, exhaling a rough little noise. “It’s okay. I want you to feel good. I want you to fill me up. Give me all of you,” you murmur, reaching down between your legs. You cup his balls in your palm, gently massaging them as you begin to lift, but only barely, fucking yourself down on his cock in deep, sharp drops.

“You’ll do that for me, right, baby? Always make me feel so good. Let me feel you come,” you coax, voice too sweet for the wicked way you seduce him. His balls are tight in your grasp, heavy, his cock weeping precome that’s lost amidst the wetness of you.

Still, he holds back. He adjusts himself to take hold of your breasts, massages them until you moan. He kisses the mark he left on your neck, teases your skin with sharp teeth. He almost bites down when you squeeze his balls, making him jerk up into you with a keening moan.

“F-fuck, mm, like that, do that again, baby,” you urge, tightening your grip on his hair while you continue to fondle his balls, eager to feel them unload inside you. In the midst of it all, he’s rapidly coming undone. Your tone breathy and low in his ear, you moan, “My sweet, perfect boy.”

Homelander chokes on his own sharp inhale, baring his teeth as something primal overtakes him. He locks his arms around you and in one, two, three, four sharp thrusts, lets out a guttural moan alongside the sweltering rush of relief and pleasure that erupts throughout his body. You make all kinds of sweet noises alongside him, surprised every time by the sheer force of his release.

The two of you rest like that, your body slumped back against his, his arms encircling you, keeping you pressed tight to his chest.

You’re spent, but he isn’t finished with you. He doubts he ever will be. You and your ordinary little life are unremarkable in every possible way, yet he clings to you now as though it is your strength that keeps him upright. For a long time, Homelander had believed the crux of his divinity was his distance from humanity. Now, he’s not so sure.

Never has he felt more like a god than he does with your words of worship furling sweetly within him, your body enveloping him in the warmth of your reverence.

Somewhere along the line, though Homelander finds himself unable to pinpoint when or where, your presence in his life shifted from something convenient to something he needed.

It would scare him if he wasn’t so convinced you need him twice as badly. It compels him to ensure you never forget it, to show you that there will never again be anyone or anything in your life that changes it, enhances it the way he has. The more he needs you, the more you must need him.

It’s what drives him to eventually lift you from his lap and lay you on the bed, to nestle between your legs and lick up the mess he’s made of you. Eating his own come out of you tastes like possession, like familiarity, like love. Your moans, even muffled by the press of your inner thighs to his ears, are divine. He slips his fingers into your dripping cunt both for your pleasure and to push the spill of his come back inside, sucking on your clit while you rock against his fingers.

He loses himself to the fantasy playing behind his eyelids, imagining that this time, the seed takes. That it makes a mother of you. His baby growing in your belly, fattening up your breasts and making you glow with the radiance of it. You would carry the child of a god with incomparable grace, heavy with the weight of his legacy. You’d be bound to him beyond pretty words and carnal embraces. A baby would be his gift to you, and you would accept it without question, he assures himself.

Your cunt spasms around his fingers, pulling him back to reality. He fell so deep into his own bliss, he nearly forgot what he was doing. His eyelids flutter open, dazed and utterly at peace between your legs. Your orgasm hits his tongue beautifully, rhythmic thrums that have you clenching your thighs tight on either side of his head, arching up into his mouth. He slows the thrust of his fingers, licking you leisurely through the aftershocks, until you eventually relax and give his hair a gentle tug, prompting him to crawl obediently up the length of your body.

You kiss him with hunger. He leans back slightly just to see if you’ll give chase. He’s pleasantly surprised when you do, following his lips and pulling him greedily back down into your arms, bringing him flush to your chest. You hitch your legs over his hips, arms sliding around him, holding him like you have the strength to keep him there.

Someday, perhaps, he’ll come to terms with the power you have over him.

“I love you,” you whisper. The sentiment unspools around him and ties loose knots around his every muscle, soothing him until his weight rests fully upon your body. He nestles in between your breasts, brushing his lips along the swell of one. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, voice soft. He feels utterly lost to this marriage of sex and intimacy, secure enough to relax, to let go of the impulse to hold you tightly in place. He knows you will not try to leave him, try to reduce sex to a transaction to be completed and disregarded. It feels good to slip his arms loosely around you, and hold you with the knowledge that he need not fight to keep you.

Instead, it is you who holds on tightly. You entangle your fingers in his hair and cross your ankles over his back, locking him in place. It adds a kind of giddiness to his smile to, for once, be the one clung to.

More and more of Homelander’s day begins to revolve around you. When he isn’t with you, he’s thinking of you. He wakes to your text messages. He gets through the flash and pomp of his day to day life for the sake of returning to your arms. He grows increasingly territorial over his time, irritable when his position in the world forces him to be gone from you longer than his typical schedule calls for.

It’s a difficult feeling to describe. He’s never had something to look forward to outside of the validation of being Homelander.

It begins to manifest in frustration. He’s twice as curt with his responsibilities and those who assign them.

“You’re getting sloppy,” Stan Edgar warns him after a particularly messy incident. “I don’t care what you do in your personal time, or who you do it with,” he says. Homelander’s gut clenches. The words are too pointed to be anything other than a threat. “But here, on my time, you will perform as expected. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” Homelander answered through his teeth, hands locked tight behind his back, beneath his cape, where the world couldn’t see the subtle way they shook.

That night, in your creaky bed, he fucks you missionary–simple, intimate, face to face–and begs to hear your approval.

“More,” he pants desperately, one hand gripping the headboard, the other in a tight fist against the bed, above your shoulder. “More, fuck. Please.”

“My hero,” you croon, cupping his face in your hands, breath hitching with every slow, deliberate thrust of his hips. “They don’t deserve you. They don’t know how good they have it. How good you are,” you say, your words a soothing balm against his scorched ego. “Mm, even now, you’re making me feel so good. I love you so much, I wish you were all mine, only mine,” you say, drawing him down into a messy kiss.

“Only yours,” Homelander echoes through a broken moan, fucking into you harder, faster. He doesn’t miss the way you flinch at the pace, but you don’t tell him to stop. Instead, he feels you clench down hard around him, lips parting on a silent gasp.

“Only mine,” you repeat like an encouragement, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your headboard is slamming loudly against the wall now, each beat of it a step closer to the climax building between you. If you give a fuck about your shitty bed or the thin dry wall behind it, you give no indication of it. Instead, your eyes are locked completely on his, oblivious to the world around you.

He wants to lose himself in that stare.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m–”

An out of place bang against the wall abruptly knocks Homelander out of his delirium. He looks up, and hears a voice on the other side of the wall holler, “Some of us are trying to fucking sleep!”

Homelander bares his teeth, and without a thought, his eyes flare crimson. Two high intensity laser beams cut straight through your wall and into the adjoining apartment. Deafening silence follows. Homelander blinks the light away, staring for a long few seconds at the two holes before he looks down at you, uncertain of what he expects to see. Shock at best, horror at worst.

While your eyes are wide, it’s neither of those he sees.

“Don’t stop,” you tell him breathlessly, thrusting up against him. You look wild with it, heart pounding with adrenaline and arousal in equal measure. Not an ounce of fear. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He obeys immediately, driving into you so sharply it knocks the wind from you. He doubts you’ll ever hear from that neighbor again.

Homelander comes harder than he ever has before. He leaves you tender to the touch from the force of his thrusts, fucked raw. He offers apologies, but you don’t accept them as they’re spoken. Instead, you guide him down to kiss the marks his passion has left on you. Even then, he recognizes that it is not reconciliation you seek. You’re showing him his work, appreciating the canvas he has made of your body.

“Never apologize for this,” you tell him. “For leaving me with so much. It keeps you with me even when you’re away from me.”

For that alone, he would fuck you a dozen more times. It makes him want to sink his teeth into you, leave you with something more permanent. It makes him ache, wishing you could do the same. He never desired the capacity to be wounded until you taught him the beauty of bleeding for love. He finds himself viciously envious of the bruises blossoming on your skin in the shape of his touch. He imagines you idly pressing on them through the day, remembering with that dull ache how thoroughly he had fucked you.

“I wish you could do this to me,” he admits feverishly, tracing the pattern of his hand bruised onto your hip.

You’re quiet for a moment. “Maybe I can,” you say, causing him to pick up curiously. He watches you cover his hand with your own, and bring it to his forearm. His brows furrow slightly. He looks to you for an explanation, but you’re focused intently on wrapping his own hand around his arm, your fingers lined up with his. “Squeeze,” you tell him.

Understanding dawns. Licking his lips, Homelander flexes his grip on his forearm. At the same time, you kiss him, squeezing your hand tight over top of his. “Harder,” you say. He obliges, squeezing until pressure builds into a more alien sensation: pain. His instinct is to stop, to shy away from it, but before he can he feels you cup your hand between his legs, grasping his barely-hard cock. He gives a startled little moan into your mouth, and his hand retightens on his arm.

“Good boy,” you say wickedly, stroking his cock in slow, firm pulls. “Nice and tight. I want you to remember me, too.”

“I will,” he rasps, folding in against you. “I will, I will, fuck, hhahhh…” he moans, taken apart not only by your touch, but the ease and eagerness with which you fulfill his every wicked thought. Is there any part of him you will shy away from?

He makes a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure, his skin discoloring around the press of his fingers, swelling up between them. At the same time, his cock fills out steadily with your every stroke. The pressure of it is not unlike the grip on his arm, a gradually building sensation that he wants to shy away from as much as he wants to dive into head first. The contrast, the contradiction of it, is intoxicating.

“So good for me. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” You ask, smiling fondly. He nods fervently, refusing to relinquish his grip while you’re still squeezing his fingers down tight. He never could have fathomed that pain might feel like love.

“Yes, yes, anything,” he grits out, the tips of his fingers beginning to tingle. He lets out a rough breath when you begin to pump him faster, firmer, before he comes hard into the narrow tunnel of your fist, hips jerking while he dutifully maintains the painful, vice-like grip on his arm. You stroke him through it, milking him so thoroughly of his orgasm that he nearly misses when you loosen your fingers over his hand, and prompt him to release his hold.

Once the skin settles, what Homelander is left with is a throbbing ache, and the unmistakable outline of his grasp imprinted in the burst vessels of his arm. He stares down at it, dumbstruck for a long moment. He has known pain, he’s even known injury, but never like this. He’s still coming down from the euphoria of his release, unable to process what he’s looking at, when your hand slips over top of the bruise, settling nicely into the shadow of it. You press it gently, and though it doesn’t hurt per se, it is different. Strange. It makes his stomach flip unfamiliarly.

“How does it feel?” You ask, tipping his chin up to kiss him.

“Weird,” he answers, distractedly reciprocating.

“How do you feel?” You continue, helping to settle you both down into bed, pulling the covers over your naked bodies.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“That’s okay,” you say, voice dripping over him like honey, warm and sweet. You lift his arm and turn it, kissing each sprawling line of the bruise he inflicted on himself. The mark he has given himself in your stead. No one has ever… “Do you like it?” He asks, hating how small his own voice sounds.

“Yes,” you sigh, looking at him, your cheek pressed lightly to the palm of the bruise. “Very much.”

Slowly, he smiles. “Kinda fucked up.”

You smile, too. “Good.”

The bruise lingers for several days. For as indestructible as he is, once the damage is done, his body heals at an uncomfortably human rate. It would set his teeth on edge if not for the fact that this mark reminded him that he is yours. He finds himself touching it absently during his day to day, thumb pressing into the fabric of his suit while he zones in and out at various meetings and interviews.

Every day he has it, it reminds him of where he’d rather be.

That same territorial irritation that got him in trouble with Stan Edgar returns tenfold. Every job and press conference feels more arduous an endeavor than the last. The flash of the cameras sting his eyes more than ever, their questions like endless needles pricking his eardrums. Their mindless adoration feels so shallow, it barely registers anymore.

He just wants to be done with it all.

It’s this headspace that leads Homelander to fucking up the worst he has since he was a goddamn teenager.

The flight back to your apartment feels longer than it ever has. Most of the blood and viscera either dries down or flakes away, but every inch of his exposed skin feels tight and itchy with it. He can feel it caked in his hair, too.

He should return to the tower. There will be press. There will be speeches. There will be a cleanup job that sees him at the center stage.

He should return to the tower he tells himself again and again.

But he wants you.

Your balcony door welcomes him, unlocked as always. He hesitates briefly, staring at his glove. The color of it would mask the blood if not for how dark it has turned. His stomach churns as he steps inside. He wishes the bruise had not faded, that he could press on it now and feel the dull, aching assurance of your love.

He has kept this animal inside him far from you. It’s time to see whether or not you’ll withstand the blood-soaked bite of it. Whether or not you meant it when you said give me all of you.

Homelander steps inside. It’s late, nearly 11:00, but he knows you’re awake. He can hear tinny music playing from your phone, reverberating off the bathroom wall. He can smell the lavender of your bubble bath even over the copper tang of blood in his nostrils.

His stride through your hallway is uncharacteristically slow, footfalls heavy. He hears the water of your bath slosh, and then the music goes silent. “Homelander?” You call, trepidation in your voice. It churns his gut to hear, even if he knows it’s the unusual cadence of his steps you’re reacting to. He knows he sounds like a stranger. Part of him feels like one. He should have showered, washed away the filth until he was your hero again, shining brightly and walking as if the weight of the world did not sit upon him. He still doesn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

An awful, warped part of him wants you to see the bloody mess hiding underneath. His throat is tight, twisted up in sickly anticipation. He does not answer your call. He wonders if you’ll scream when you see him. Another slosh of water, followed by the slap of your bare feet against your bathroom floor. He makes his way to your bedroom, listening to the quicken of your heart.

Answer her, he tells himself. You’re scaring her.

Good, answers another thought. It’s time to know, once and for all, what she’s truly made of. To know whether or not all good things come to an end. She should be scared.

Homelander listens to you move from your bathroom to the soft carpeting of your bedroom, hears the hushed, quick way you begin to rummage about. He stands in front of your bedroom door, one blood crusted hand resting on the doorknob. He hesitates for a second, in which everything goes quiet, save for the shallow sounds of your breath, and the quick, rain-drop pattering of your heart.

He opens the door. He barely registers the gun in your hands–or the sharp, focused look in your eyes–before you fire. The sound of it rings almost painfully loud in his ears after he had been listening so intently to the race of your pulse. He blinks several times, glancing down at the bullet wedged between the carved musculature of his suit.

“Homelander,” you gasp, lowering the gun. Since the first day he met you, he knew you owned it. He just didn’t expect you to be any good with it, not after the way you failed to defend yourself with it. Had you been practicing? He can’t remember ever smelling gunpowder on your hands. He plucks the bullet from the chest of his suit, examining it. That shot would have killed a man. You didn’t hesitate long enough to even recognize who stood before you. You knew precisely what you were doing.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. Gone is that keen killer stare. Your eyes are wide, mortified. He watches you register the state of him, taking in his expression, the blood. You haven’t moved an inch. Why haven’t you come to him yet? He drops the bullet to the ground, and extends his hand out to you.

“C’mere,” he says, voice low.

You look at his hand, but you hesitate. The surge of anger it ignites within him is white hot, making his gut churn violently. “Come here!” He snaps. Your eyes shoot back up to meet his gaze. He can’t read the expression on your face, which only adds kindling to the flames of frustration and anxiety burning him up from the inside out.

He wants to grind himself deep into the marrow of your bones, find sanctuary in the hollow of them. Your body, your mind, your soul, which you have emptied into a haven made for him alone, has become the greatest solace he has ever known. The notion that you might deny him now–might deny him ever–is more horrifying a thought than he can bear.

The handful of seconds it takes before you begin walking feel like hours. Your steps are tentative, like a deer navigating the underbrush silently so as not to disturb the wolves. You look so much like you did that very first night: like you were made to feel the sharp teeth of a predator.

You slip your lavender fresh hand into his bloody one. He closes his gloved fingers around it, gentle with you despite the thrumming tension in his body. He can feel the corners of his mouth twitching with it, his breaths shallow. For once, it’s his own heart thundering in his ears.

“Sshhh,” you hush softly, barely a breath. His brows furrow, dried blood cracking apart on his skin. You lift your free hand to his face, palm lightly ghosting along his jaw. He cups your hand in his and turns his head to push fully into it, lips pressed to your palm, eyes falling shut. He can’t stomach that unfamiliar look on your face.

“I didn’t… they weren’t supposed to be there,” he begins to explain, readying a contingency plan. An explanation you’ll believe. Something to say that will make your face recognizable to him again. However, before he can continue, the press of your thumb to his lips quiets him.

“It’s okay,” you say, coaxing him from his downward spiral. “I don’t care.” “What?” He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“I don’t care what you did,” you clarify, squeezing his hand in yours. Slowly, you begin to pull him down, towards you. “I don’t care whose blood this is.” Just as you had that very first night, you bring your lips to his ear. “You are all I have ever cared about.” Goosebumps erupt across every inch of his skin. He lets go of your hand and wraps his arms around you, sinking down against you in sheer relief for the way you slip your arms around his neck, fingers carding up into his hair, matted as it is with blood. He exhales roughly, squeezing you too tight. He can hear it in the strain of your breath, your chest compressed to his, but you don’t fight him. You endure him.

That alone is more than anyone else has managed.

Over your shoulder, Homelander stares at the gun resting atop your bedside table. For the first time, he wonders who truly ensnared who.

Drawing back, he takes hold of your jaw in both hands and kisses you desperately. If you mind the taste of blood, you give no indication of it, opening for his tongue and meeting him readily with yours. “I thought you would–I thought you were–” Fuck, even as his pulse steadies, he can’t get the words straight, can’t get them off of his tongue.

“I’m here, I’m here. I wasn’t,” you manage to say between the fervent presses of his lips, sounding as relieved as he feels. It’s as if you’ve heard his thoughts. “I love you. I love you.”

A treacherous little whimper crawls up the back of his throat, but he chases it with a groan. He takes his hands from your face to your arms, itching to feel every inch of you, to remind himself that it’s all real. That you’re real.

“Come with me,” you say. I will. Anywhere, he thinks. You step backwards, and he follows. At some point, the towel slipped from your body. Your damp skin has become a canvas of bloodied impressions ranging from his hands to the texture of his suit. Piece by piece, you begin peeling away the soiled suit from his body. He lets you work, though he cannot keep his hands from you, particularly once you remove his gloves. He pushes his hands into your wet hair while you unbuckle his pants, kisses you hungrily while he steps out of his boots.

It is a maddening thing, to be loved when you are at your most unloveable.

The bathwater sloshes over the edges as you both sink down into it, all tangled limbs and devouring kisses. The blood stains the soapy lavender pink while your hands leave messy crimson handprints on the ceramic tub. You straddle his lap, and with wet hands, begin working his blood crusted hair wet and loose. Leaning in, Homelander settles his hands on your ribs and kisses a trail down the valley between your breasts, turning his head to lap and suck at your right nipple.

You encourage him with a low moan, nails dragging along his scalp. You cradle his head to your chest, retaliating by rocking your hips slowly down against his, pinning his stiffening cock between your bodies. “Listen to me. There is nothing you could do that would drive me away,” you tell him, punctuating your words with sinuous slides of your hips, wringing tight, needy little moans from him. Your own voice is breathy, the pitch of it gradually climbing. You reach down between your bodies, and take a firm hold of his cock, steadying it until you can sit astride it, and slowly sink back down.

With your mouth at his ear, panting noisy little breaths, you whisper, “I would kill a dozen, a hundred more men if it made you mine.”

What do you mean more?

The thought doesn’t linger long. It’s impossible to focus on anything other than the molten hot clench of your cunt seizing all around him, swallowing him up like it was made to. Homelander slides his hands to your hips and takes a tight hold, meeting the roll of your body with sharp thrusts up. “Nnngh, aah, fuck, I love you–I’m–fuck, I love you, you’re so–so fucking perfect,” he growls through his teeth, dull nails biting crescent marks into your skin while he holds you, pulling you down into every jagged, desperate snap of his hips. Each deep thrust knocks a noise from you, has you gripping his hair tight. Without leverage, all you can do is take it, your moans growing louder and louder, your pussy squeezing him tighter as he fucks you with inhuman precision. Homelander picks up his pace, dying to feel you come for him when he’s like this, messy with the worst parts of himself and wholly at your mercy, whether you know it or not.

“C’mon,” he grits out, though where he means to have authority in his voice, it comes out like a plea. “Come for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock. F-fuck, please, let me–let me feel you,” he says, trailing off into a moan before he buries his face between your breasts, flexing fresh bruises into your skin while you prettily pant and whimper in his ear from the sheer force he fucks you with.

“I will, I–I–” That’s as far as you get before you come, before you double over against him and scream his name loud enough for your entire apartment complex to hear. It tips him right over the edge with you, has him crying out as he arches his back, flooding his release deep into your tight, quivering pussy, thrusting weakly through the aftershocks.

By the time the two of you settle down against one another, your breaths calmed, the majority of the bathwater is outside of the tub. The night air is cool on your naked bodies, but you’ve never been cold in Homelander’s arms. He traces absent patterns on your skin while you recover, your thighs still shaking.

“We should shower,” you say eventually, a slight slur to your tone. It makes Homelander smile. He loves feeling, seeing, and hearing all the ways in which he has ruined you. “Let me finish washing you.”

“Can you stand?” He asks. It’s an earnest question. “Carry me there,” you say.

He stares at you warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkled with the width of his smile. “ ‘Kay.“

The shower is slow, less frenzied. You lather shampoo into his hair, washing away the remnants of what had come before this. You work body wash into his skin until he smells like coconuts instead of blood and viscera. He nuzzles into your touches, kisses you whenever the impulse strikes. There is no way to describe the unparalleled feeling of sharing space with a body that not only welcomes your touch, but also houses a heart that loves you. Once the two of you are sufficiently towel dried, the two of you settle into your familiar creaky bed. You draw the covers up over your bodies, and he draws you into his embrace, kissing the top of your head. He intertwines his fingers with yours, absently rubbing your skin with his thumb, his mind drifting.

“Say,” he begins eventually, stirring you from your near slumber. “The night we met… What were you doing on that side of town, down that alley?” His voice is low, curious.

There’s a pause. He can’t see your face like this, while you’re nestled into the crook of his neck, but he can hear your heart clear as day.

“I was looking for you,” you answer eventually, pulse as steady as a metronome.

At that, he smiles. “I love you,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.

“I love you, too,” you answer, your own smile audible in your sleepy voice. “And I always will.”

Don't fret precious I'm here Step away from the window Go back to sleep Lay your head down child I won't let the boogeyman come Counting bodies like sheep To the rhythm of the war drums Pay no mind to the rabble Pay no mind to the rabble Head down, go to sleep To the rhythm of the war drums

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #IT'S DOOOONE AAAA #i can't believe how long this turned out lmao #anyways i am exhausted please enjoy #smut #dark fic #my writing

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thenightwolf51 · 9 months

Text

So i originally had this idea when i reblogged this post by @saphushia but i wanna just seperate it out as its own little prompt.

A quick context is that Danny seems to be roaming around Gotham like some homeless cryptid, kinda Bus to Nowhere style but with more vigilante interaction and casual offerings of first aid. And the batkids are keeping their adoption bait First Aid Cryptid(tm) secret from Batman.

One set of tags in the reblogs from @little-pondhead caught my attention

I came up with both funny answers and an angsty answer for that "#why?" but here's the angsty one (though i promice i actually envision it to be more hurt/comfort with a lot of family fluff)

Actual Prompt⬇️⬇️

Something happens, maybe a reveal gone wrong, maybe he got capture by the GIW, maybe he lost Jazz and his parents somehow.

Whatever it is, it leaves Danny with a need to escaped to a new dimension which just so happens to end up being the DCU. He winds up in Gotham and is just trying to start over, easier said than done but at there's plenty of heros around so he doesn't need to go ghost and he can still patch up the local vigilantes to feed his obsession. He's just not up to being Phantom yet and he's still recovering from whatever happened in Amity, whether it be mentally or physically.

Plus these vigilantes are kinda fun to mess with. Danny can practically see the gears turning as they try to put together and make sense of his little "lore drops", that Red Robin almost reminds him of Wes in a way.

Its not like he really needs to hide anyways. There's no GIW here, no Anti-Ecto Acts, if it really comes down to it he could probably pass as meta and fall under those protection laws. Judging by Signal, Danny's pretty sure Batman's bluffing on the whole "hating metas" thing anyways.

It takes awhile before Danny actually does meet the big bat himself and the reaction he gets is nothing anyone was expecting.

You see theres one little detail danny couldn't have been warned about, and its that there just so happens to be a version of Jazz here.

Except this Jazz lost her Danny when they were in high school, as in full on dead and gone Danny, no halfas here, the portal simply did not work and it was just regular ole lethal electrocution that hit her little brother.

What if she grew up with a young Bruce somehow, whether it be because CPS took her from the Fentons after her Danny's death or Amity Park simply doesn't exist in the DCU making Gotham the city with the thinnest veil and thus where the Fenton's chose to settle down.

This Jazz is an adult in her 40s but was once a kid smart enough to go to Gotham Academy on scholarship (or maybe the Fenton's had enough money from patents?). A kid who took one look at young Bruce's grumpy little face and decided he needed a honest friend, one that wasn't after status or money.

This Jazz grew up being a secondary voice of reason for Bruce, ganging up with Alfred in their own crusade to enforce healthy habits on him in between their weekly tea sessions.

This Jazz lost her brother and could not only understand Bruce's resoning on a minor level but encouraged his planned "journey of self discovery and healing". (Though the bat costume he made when he came back was unexpected and she gave him a look to rival Alfred for it)

This Jazz grew up to be a social worker because if anyone had cared enough to take her away from the Fenton's sooner then her brother might've still been alive

This Jazz being the one Bruce calls when he first gets Dick because holy shit he has no idea what hes doing and "Jazz, i just became a father, help!"

This Jazz being a sort of aunt to all the Batkids and is a major influence that has led to their dynamics being similar to Wayne Family Adventures

Bruce goes pale and later calls Jazz after he finally gets a glimps/meets the so called "First Aid Cryptid" his kids have been obsessed with. Because this kid that he's looking at with the barely visible lichtenberg scars... that's a face he hasn't seen in little over 20 years, that's his old friend's long dead baby brother.

Bruce sees danny and his mind rapidly jumps to all sorts of possibilities. Is this a clone? Is this a trap? Are the Lazarus pits involved somehow? Time travel? He does consider a ghost but this kid is too solid and they're nowhere near the old dilapidated Fenton Works building

Eventually, down the line when they get the full story of Danny being from an alternate dimension, Jazz might try to adopt him. Which has potential to be unhealthy but i fully believe Jazz would be aware enough not to project her decades old grief on this Danny, who is so similar but so different to her brother.

(Because I think a Gotham raised Danny would've been similar to a young Jason in street smarts so this Amity raised Danny is noticeably different)

Danny on the other hand... not sure if i could say the same, especially if he just lost his Jazz before winding up in the DCU. But again, this is an adult Jazz in her late 40s with professional experience dealing with traumatized kids, and she'll do her best to help him through it

Im imagining Jazz and Bruce to have a more platonic friendship, maybe even see each other as family, but you could go with Parent Syndrome if you want

(And because i love to see other peoples ideas and opinions, @omnicrafts @ailithnight @atiyasnake @hdgnj @nelkcats @nerdpoe @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @dcxdpdabbles. Sorry i tag you guys so much but i like your writing, im eager to offer ideas, and your posts have been major sources of joy while ive been hyperfixating on DPxDC)

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton #batman #jazz fenton #bruce and jazz know each other #bruce and jazz are childhood friends #at least in another dimension #jason reminded jazz of her danny #she did her best to help with the bat kids #writing prompt #fic prompt #found family #is it found family if one person is your biological sibling from another dimension?

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luveline · 6 months

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I love the KBD universe 🩵🩵. It’s so soft and comforting. Idk how you always write such gentle slice of life moments that stay soft even when there’s moments of conflict.

I was rereading the series, and in one scene Steve asks reader if they wanna make out, but Avery comes in before they can. Can I request a scene where they do get to make out (nothing super spicy) and spend that time with each other? I know it’s got to be difficult with four kids.

kisses before dinner —you and Steve languish in some rare alone time. mom!reader, 1k

"Hello," you whisper.

He looks up in surprise, eyebrows lifted. That surprise quickly melds to a soft-boned happiness as you sit in his lap —he's splayed sideways on the armchair, and you have to sit sort of sideways on him to meet his eyes.

"Everybody's sleeping," you say, brushing a stray strand of hair from his eyes as the TV light paints him a blur of multicolour. "Even Wren."

He looks up. "How'd you do that?"

You told him to relax for a bit before bath time. He must've gotten distracted by the TV, which he doesn't often get to watch lately, and so you hadn't really minded. Full time childcare is exhausting. It comes to something when you're nearly happy to go to work, though coming home every night is still what you wait for, and it's thanks to him that you can drive home in excitement.

"I'm multi-talented." You nestle your way under his chin, his arms curling around you as though they have a job to do. Firm. Immediate. "Wren went down like a miracle. I only had to rub her back."

"Avery?" Steve asks.

Avery's under the weather, so you let her skip bath time and tucked her in, sending her to sleep with little more than a forehead kiss. Beth was similarly eager for bed, knocking out after half of a story, her hand insistently in yours. Dove, in contrast, took three times as long to settle, but was convinced by the pad of your pinky finger as it traced up and down the bridge of her nose.

"Tactile creatures, your girls," you murmur.

"Where do they get it from?" he asks as he begins to stroke a quarter circle into your back. "Tokyo Olympics called again. Team USA needs you on their roster."

He's declaring you impressive for such a feat as tonight's solo bed time. "The answer's still no. I don't think anyone wants to see me in a leotard."

"I do," he says, kissing the top of your head. His lips soft, his voice the same, he hugs you closer still. "I so do. You look nice in everything."

You could fall asleep like this, in his arms, his lap, your face drifting down his chest as you curl into his warmth. There's nowhere else you'd rather be (besides possibly bed, but even then you'd need it to be with him). "Thanks, Steve."

"You're welcome."

The room is quiet. The house stirs and rain lashes the darkened windows every now and then with the indecisive winds, whistling through tree branches far away. You shiver at the sound and Steve sets your goosebumps right with bigger strokes of his hand, a familiar up and down pressed into your back. Pressure to distract the senses.

"Thanks for doing bed time."

You wave it away. It's nice to be appreciated, but in the face of everything he does you don't want any thank yous tonight. "I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Yeah?" he asks, sinking lower into the armchair, the majority of your weight following down onto his abdomen rather than his legs.

"I really…" missed isn't the right word. You missed him while you were at work, and time spent with him and the girls is just as worthy and sweet as time alone, but that doesn't mean you can't want both. "I've been thinking about you."

Steve doesn't flinch at your odd wording, the opposite. He knuckles trail loosely to the small of your back, a smugness to the curve of his lips as he smiles, and says, "I've been thinking about you."

Steve usually looks handsome. You've seen him bedraggled, dishevelled, and exhausted, of course, but he puts a majesty into nearly everything he does. He can take a plate down from one of the kitchen cabinets or hike one of your sweethearts onto his hip and you'll remark to yourself about how pretty he looks. This isn't taking into consideration how attractive you find his heart (that list is endless —compassion, dedication, loyalty, etc). The stuff you love about Steve goes on and on and on.

You curl a hand behind his head and card through his hair, not sure what to say. His eyes meet yours. "They don't have a word for how much I love you, H."

His voice rasps with a low pleasure, "I could think of a bunch for you. Only if you want. I'm smart like that."

Your lips twitch. "Please," you say, giving his scalp a playful scratch.

"Endlessly," he begins. "Eternally. Overflowingly." He leans forward to touch your noses together. "Fuck," —he laughs as he searches for another— "started so strong. Uh… infinitely. A whole fucking lot?"

"Loads."

You both laugh, the heat of the others breath like a phantom of a kiss between you.

"Loads," he agrees. "Wickedly."

"Deviously?"

"Ambitiously. A shit ton."

You kiss him gingerly, not worried he won't kiss back but wanting to stay in this moment for as long as you can. "Love you loads," you say against his lips.

With your eyes closed you can't see his expression, but you can guess at what he's doing. Steve likely has his brows sewn together, a grimace on his lips that might suggest the opposite of what he's feeling.

He acts like kissing you is the only thing that he could ever need, that this intermission is painful but absolutely necessary. "I love you," he says. He whispers your name, raising his hand to cup your cheek. His marriage finger rubs a mindless little shape into the soft skin under your eye. "I love you."

You wrap your arms around his neck and hook him closer, smiling into a second and much less ginger kiss.

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yuri-is-online · 8 months

Text

Missed Connection Section of the NRC Gazette (Floyd, Leona, and Ruggie)

While cleaning the Ramshackle guest room, the prefect occasionally finds items that remind them of their guests. Sometimes that is because those items actually belong to them and need to be returned, other times it's just a happy coincidence. Either way, the item needs to be delivered, might as well invite them over again? Or just chase them down, whatever is most convenient.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, Yuu is implied to be short, based off the personal items you can find in the guest room and a line from Floyd's dormwear card, title inspired by a country song that has nothing to do with the subject of the fic. I got a request for the 300 followers event, but since it's closed and I had this kicking around for Floyd anyway I added the other two requested characters. If you liked this you can read my other fics here.

Grey Scarf

"Floyd." Azul has a boring look on his face, all grimacy and angry and not worth Floyd's attention. Unfortunately he is very close to his face making it a tad impossible to ignore. "Where is your scarf?"

"Dunno." He says. "I ain't wearing it."

"I can see that." Snaps Azul. "You need it for your shift, you look sloppy enough as it is. You scarf is a part of your uniform! How can you be so careless with it?"

Because it's ugly. Sure, it matches his dorm uniform kind of but his socks get to be a snazzy purple with a cute octopus pattern, why'd the scarf have to be such a boring grey? Rules are rules though, and he does need it to work so he drags himself back over to his room and starts looking around. Normally, he would just steal Jade's and wait tables until he figured it out and forced Floyd to take the kitchen off his hands, but Floyd really didn't feel like cooking today. He didn't feel like waiting tables either, but money was money and Azul paid well. Only if he could find his stupid scarf apparently which was nowhere he could see, and he was far from happy about physically looking. Jade opens the door as he's halfway through emptying his bedside drawer on top of his bed, alongside all the laundry he'd had scattered across the floor.

"Looking for your scarf?" Floyd throws a pillow at him which is quickly returned with a pointed look that dares him to escalate things further just obviously enough Floyd doesn't want to do it. Instead he falls face first into the pile of laundry and nick nacks he'd been sorting through, making Jade sigh in disappointment.

"'s not here." Floyd grunts, muffled by an ok smelling t-shirt.

"Have you tried retracing your steps?" Jade is saying it just to be annoying but it is ok advice. Floyd tries, he doesn't usually wear his dorm uniform outside of school stuff, so it would have to be somewhere on campus. He hauls himself up from the pile and shuffles past his brother, the walk out of the mirror and towards the main campus passing by in a blur. There's a vague memory of club practice, but that could have been from any day this week, and it's not like he wears it to classes. Floyd chews on his lip in annoyance, he feels like he remembers where the last place the scarf was, but his bad mood is keeping him from sorting through his memories intellectually. It also keeps him from looking where he's going, smacking him directly into a very tiny, very familiar looking person who pointedly ignores his angry snarl to shove something in his face. Something very familiar, very boring, and very clearly the only reason either of them had left their dorms this evening.

"Seriously," the little shrimp has to stand up on their tip toes to throw the scarf around his shoulders "you have got to stop leaving your things at my dorm!" He thinks they're angry. That would explain the look on their face, but it's making his heart do weird flips between his chest and his stomach that keep him from thinking straight. A smile finds its way to his face, wide and unbidden coupled with outstretched arms that can't catch them fast enough, like he's reaching through honey even though he finds his mark and tugs them thrashing into his embrace.

"Awww," the words that come out of his mouth don't really feel like his "was little shrimpy wooooried about me?" He should say thank you. That's what Mamma Leech would say, and it's not that he doesn't want to, it's just there's a weird weight to the words he can't quite figure out. Something that wants to be said, but not just yet. They deserve a better tone, a better mood.

"No!" Yuu yells, muffled by his squeeze and unaware of how struggling is only going to make his hold tighter. "You just always burst in and whine about being bored-" Floyd nuzzles his cheek against theirs, trying to ignore the pushing against his chest as he sets them down.

"It's ok little shrimpy, you don't have to be so modest. Good shrimpies get rewards, I'll make sure to bring you something after I get off work, make sure to leave the door unlocked for me~" Or maybe don't, he could find his way in anyway he's sure of that but there's something about the fantasy of them wanting to see him (it's not a fantasy, they've invited him over before he knows that they don't fear him as much as they should) after work that's going to get him through the shift. Maybe he'll ditch the scarf again and make them come running after him on purpose this time, he thinks to himself with an uncharacteristically gentle smile.

Grand Wallet

Contrary to what he would say out-loud, Leona does think that the Ramshackle Prefect is quite smart. You do not survive as a magicless student from a different reality without some flexibility and raw intelligence. The consistency with which they could pick up on things and see through concealed intentions demands respect. But, he supposes as he idly thumbs through his bill fold disappointed to find it just as thick as when he left it, they are also... he decides to go with nice. The concerned way they stare at him is nice, Leona likes positive attention. He just wishes it wasn't from the nicest person he knows, is it so wrong to wish he had some reassurance that there was someone willing to be only nice to him? There's an ugly sort of suspicion they might have refused to steal from him out of fear, he's certainly more of a threat to them than he is to Ruggie.

"Well I guess I owe you a reward huh?" They jump, not helping the accusation (unvoiced) that they're only doing this out of fear.

"No?" Yuu says, looking around them probably to make sure that bratty cat monster isn't within earshot. Leona doesn't care about rewarding Grim, this is between him and the prefect, not some gluttonous bastard who is half the reason he was expecting to be stolen from in the first place. "You- Just stop forgetting things at my place!" He smiles slightly at that choice of phrasing just as they cringe at it. It almost makes him sound like a normal guy, if a Prince was leaving things around someone's place that would invite speculation; and Leona knows better than anyone that speculation invites scandal.

"Real shame no one ever does things out of the goodness of their hearts these days." His voice drawls as embarrassment settles over their face. They look almost mouse-like, if they try to speak Leona just knows they'll squeak and they clearly know it too. "You're really twisting my arm here, pretty shameless, prefect." That does it, the deep breath they take does nothing but really accentuate the harsh contrast of the squeaking to their normal voice.

"I did not," Yuu is so mortified they can barely get the words out, if he can't be the only recipient of their kindness he will satisfy himself with batting them around in his paws until they can pull together some nerves and force him to stop "return your wallet just for a reward. It's yours it belongs to you and now it is back where it belongs. Which isn't my guest room on top of a fucking couch seriously Leona-" Mice still have claws, even if the dent they leave is just a little scratch to such a big cat, he finds himself pleased with the annoyance of Yuu finding their voice. "It was like you were practically begging to be robbed. What if one of the Leech twins found that huh? Would you be getting it back?"

"Only after I paid the finders fee." He can ignore the tickle caused by the unsavory image of an eel inviting itself into your personal space. "Which is what I am doin' now, you're demanding it remember?" He tunes his ears to their footsteps as he walks towards the cafeteria, content with how quickly they jump to follow. The typically steady beat of their heart is skipping in tune with the directions of their thoughts. Good, the mouse is smart contrary to what the trapped lion thinks, so let them; they'll realize the hold they have over him soon enough.

Empty Lunch Box

This was really starting to annoy you, but no matter how much you turned the whole thing over in your mind you couldn't figure out why. You had been tempted to try and ask someone about it, but you could already tell what the general reaction to the situation would be.

The "situation" being that simply put, Ruggie liked to hang out in your guest room. That wasn't the issue. You liked having Ruggie over, it's actually really nice. Sometimes he brings small projects from some odd job or another and you'll work on them together while having a chat. He likes to ask you things about your world, it started as just small talk about the sort of jobs you'd had in your world but evolved into much more meaningful talks about your hobbies and the family you missed. You had even had a lengthy conversation about death and the difference between cultural beliefs about where you go after you die. Yes it was very nice and domestic even but then you made the mistake of trying to be nice.

Ruggie liked to bring a lunchbox with him when he visited. Sometimes it had food in it, and while he hadn't shared it with you at first, but then you started talking about your families and he had slightly warmed up to the idea of sharing snacks. You hadn't taken anything from him until he explicitly offered, and when he forgot the now empty lunch box you had pulled some of your personal savings to get him something from the Mystery Shop. It was supposed to be a cute surprise for him to find when you returned the lunch box, and it worked. Granted you had intended for him to find it after he got back to his dorm, but he had sniffed it out as soon as you handed it over. His reaction was cute, he was cute, it was almost like he thought he was dreaming with just how excited he had been to receive some packaged pastries. When he came over later in the week and left the lunchbox again you had done the same thing. Fair is fair, he gets you jobs and shares his food and you give a little food back in return. Lately though something has been different. Ruggie has still been coming to hang out, he still brings work, you still talk, and he still leaves that damn lunch box. But he hasn't been sharing anything, meaningful; personal information or foodwise.

Maybe it was the death conversation. If you had revealed you were an orphan and that you never knew your mom to someone you had a crush on (not that Ruggie like likes you no matter how much you might might want that) you would be pumping the breaks too. But it still kind of hurt, it felt like a rejection of something that you knew hadn't existed in the first place.

"Y'know you don't have to give me stuff." Ruggie had come over today too, with shitty plastic garbage that needed packed into boxes. He's either read your mind or noticed you brought the remainder of the packaged goods out to snack on while you work. You try to asses him from behind your pile of card stock, he's overly focused on his task. Reflective maybe? He is almost pouting.

"I wanted to." You decide to stick with honesty, sure Ruggie might be sneaky but he deserves that much, doesn't he? "You share with me, I share with you. Fair's fair, right?"

"Right." Ruggie says, audibly disappointed to your confusion. You have never seen him so... gloomy over the concept of someone owing him a favor. Especially one paid back in food. "You do that for everybody, yeah?"

"Yeah?" You say, pausing in your work for just a second to try and collect yourself. Up until a few seconds ago you had been under the impression that had been one of your better qualities.

"So like," he isn't looking at you and his ears are saggy, tugging at your heartstrings painfully though just a tiny part of you is starting to hope- "if Leona left no that doesn't make sense. If Jack left his lunch box here and it was empty would you buy him a snack?" You think for a second.

"Did he share his lunch with me?"

"Yes." Ruggie's looking at you again, like he has a bone to pick.

"Maybe." You don't really have to think about the answer, as much as you like returning the favor Jack would probably just be happy to find his lost item and leave it at that. "If we were hanging out and he wanted something from a vending machine I'd spot him."

"But you wouldn't go out of your way to get him something?" Ruggie's stopped working now, he's really staring at you almost like he is trying to sus you out as if he hasn't been friends with you for a while now. As if he doesn't know more of your secrets than anyone else.

"I-" for some reason what you want to say gets stuck on your throat, maybe it's because Ruggie leans across the couch to get a bit closer to your face. Maybe it's because you are suddenly a lot more aware of what your little actions might have meant to him as your previous conversations play over in your mind "no. You're the only person I've really gone out of my way to get food for. Well except for maybe Grim but he doesn't really count..." You both let out sharp breaths, your eyes fall down to your work, hands going back to the task out of habit and desire to distract yourself.

shishishishi

Ruggie is silent and back in his perch across from you once your head snaps up to look at him. His small grin is intoxicating, his tail is swishing in pride like he's just won a great victory in some war you had no idea he was fighting. It is a smug look, too smug for someone who just put you through a few days of mental torture.

Maybe you'll make him some food next time, you'll see who is smug after that.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #when i realized leona leaves his whole ass wallet at your guest room i screamed #the soul of ruggie bucchi became my stand #and we had a spiritual experience with the amount of horror we felt at the idea of a fucking PRINCE LEAVING HIS GODDAMN WALLET #WAS YOUR DRIVER'S LICENSE IN THAT LEONA? EVER THINK OF THAT #FORGET THE CASH AND CARDS YOUR FUCKING LICENSE??? LEONA???

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vodika-vibes · 20 days

Note

hi hi! for your follower event, can i request hunter with peridot or topaz? either one, you can pick! maybe something fluffy on pabu or the marauder?

This Love

Summary: There’s not a lot of space on the Marauder and most of the time Hunter bemoans that fact. Sometimes, however, he loves how little space there is.

Pairing: TBB Hunter x F!Reader

Word Count: 785

Prompt: Topaz - Affectionate Love

Warnings: Uh...suggestive at the end.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @clonethirstingisreal (tagging you because Hunter took over this story and I think you'll like it)

A/N: So this was supposed to be soft and sweet, and it still is. But someone added some chili powder to the sugar giving it a little kick at the end. Sorry.

The Marauder is a small ship.

Originally designed to carry four men, it now carries five men, one woman, one child, and a dog.

And while Hunter would be the first person to say that he’s thrilled to have his family around him, sometimes the lack of privacy is…annoying. It means that he doesn’t actually ever get any alone time with her, his cyare.

Well, sort of. The lack of space means that he gets to share a bed with his cyare every night. Simply because there’s nowhere else for her to sleep. And while she probably could have shared Omega’s bunk, Hunter is more than happy to be able to sleep with her pressed against his side.

Even better, she put her foot down and made little curtains to give all of the bunks some privacy.

Originally it was just for Omega, but then Crosshair wanted one. And then Echo.

And in the end, she plopped herself on a crate in the cargo bay and sewed enough curtains for everyone to have one. And then she bullied Tech into adding curtain rods to everyone’s bunk.

It’s the closest thing to ‘“privacy” that they’ve ever had.

Taking her with them on the Marauder was probably the smartest thing they’ve ever done. Even if she does have more enemies than a woman her age should.

Hunter’s gaze drifts from the ceiling of his bunk, to the woman nestled against his side. They’ve long since worked out that Hunter sleeps better when her back is against the wall and he’s able to act as her shield, even while in the safety of the Marauder.

She stirs, as though she can feel his eyes on her, and blinks sleepy eyes at him. It’s really too early to be awake, for either of them, but Hunter just smiles at her and reaches over to brush some hair out of her face.

“Morning,” He murmurs as he allows the pads of his fingers to drag lightly down her cheek.

“Mmmorning,” She shifts so that her head is resting on his shoulder and she rubs her nose against his neck, “What time is it?”

“Early.” He replies as he lightly shifts so that he’s laying on his side and facing her, smiling apologetically as her head falls back to their shared pillow, “You can go back to sleep.” He lightly trails his fingers down her bare arm, a small smile pulling his lips up as she shivers under his touch.

“With you looking at me like that?” She asks, her voice hushed.

Hunter chuckles and shifts one more time, until he’s half laying over her, “I’m not looking at you in any specific way.” He murmurs as he presses his forehead against hers.

“Are you sure?” She teases, the exhaustion slowly leaving her gaze as Hunter allows his fingers to trail over her body.

“This is how I always look at you.” He confirms.

Her arms come up to circle his neck, and a light tug encourages him to press his chest against hers, pinning her to bed beneath him, a pretty smile crosses her lips, “Good morning, Hunter.” She whispers.

Hunter chuckles and lightly presses his lips against her jaw, before dragging them, slowly, to rest under her ear, “It is a good morning,” He agrees, “You know, I’ve been toying with letting you get enough money to buy a bigger ship. But I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t share a bed with you.”

“Who says that we’d have to stop sharing,” She murmurs, her head tilting slightly to allow him more access to her neck, “Between me an’ Tech, we could get enough money to get a ship with private rooms-”

“Tempting,” Hunter lavishes the spot under her ear with lingering kisses and nibbles for long enough that she releases a heavy breath, and then he moves to press his lips against hers, “I’ll talk to him about it.” He nips her lower lip, “Last thing you need, cyar’ika, is another cartel after your head.”

“I’m not worried, you’ll protect me.” Her fingers tangle in his hair and she tugs lightly, though even that light tug was enough to knock the breath from his lugs.

“Kriff, you can’t do that cyar’ika,” Hunter rasps, “My vod’e are on the other side of the curtain.”

Her lips curl up into a teasing smile, “Well then, you’d better be quiet. Hm?”

He groans quietly. “Ka’ra, I love you.”

Her smile widens, and she lightly kisses his jaw, “I love you too. And, when I’m done this morning, you’re not going to remember any basic.”

And Hunter grins as excitement heats his blood.

Stars, he really is a lucky asshole.

#star wars #tbb #vodika vibes 500 followers celebration #tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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jelluf1sh · 7 months

Note

In that case, can I request Sukuna (if you’re comfortable writing for him I understand if not), Gojo, and Geto with a smol partner? Like they’re all decently tall and their s/o is so short and how would they feel/interact with them because of it

Thank you again! And I hope this new start treats you very well!

𖦹˚ ✩ . ❝what's the weather like down there ?❞

★ synopsis. your only purpose in life now is to serve as your boyfriend's armrest.

★ includes. satoru gojo, suguru geto, ryoumen sukuna.

★ formatting. headcanons.

★ notes. established relationships, gn! reader, reader is roughly '5"0 for reference, excessive amounts of harassment from sukuna, gojo being insufferable as per usual, suguru being the only supportive person here, slightly toxic behavior (from sukuna).

꒰— ๑ author’s note. ryker ! hello, you !! always so good to see you in my inbox. im sorry this took me sm longer than expected.. ahaaaa so here the thing. i've tried writing for sukuna a couple times, but i don't think i'm too good at his character: i'm trying again, just for you, so you can let me know yourself, okay? >_< and ty for the well wishes!!! i hope my new start treats me just as kindly as you do.꒱

★彡 SATORU GOJO.

Don’t feel bad — everyone’s an ant compared to the 6'3" Satoru Gojo.

You’re his special ant, though! Useful and cute as a button!

(I say 'useful' because, unfortunately, you are no longer Y/N, the epicenter of Gojo's heart, but instead Y/N, the glorified rest for his chin and lanky arms.)

How sweet of him. ♡

The kind of boyfriend to make you ask him to bend down for a kiss, even if it's just on the cheek.

Also the kind to hold cups and books and whatever else you happen to have in your hand above your head, snickering like a child at the way you try (and fail) to get your things back.

Satoru is actually the king of short jokes. Please punch him. It's permitted. It's not even funny how good he is at slipping them into perfectly normal conversation.

“You're not happy? Which one are you, then?” (It's a seven dwarves joke. Please laugh.)

Yuji likes to call you out on it just as much as his teacher does, pointing and laughing as Gojo's elbow plops atop your head and he leans on you.

“Gyahahahaha!! Sen…Sensei — hehahaha — you look like an angry armrest…!”

He’ll sort of just hoist you up out of nowhere — it’s kind of scary, but it gets more exciting once he starts running through the halls with you on his back like a maniac.

Receiving hugs out of nowhere is also a big fat trap. Don't fall for the way his eyes sparkle as he reaches out to embrace you. He’s full of trickery and bad intentions.

“Hey, you.” And like an unsuspecting idiot, you squeeze him back, wrapping your tiny arms around his big torso. “What's up, baby?”

“Oh, y'know. I'm just appreciating the little things in life.”

“We’re done.”

“WAIT—”

★彡 SUGURU GETO.

Geto is pretty sizeable himself. He may not show it too often, but he does preen a little at the fact that you have to look up at him.

Unlike a certain blue-eyed sorcerer, he won't be half as teasing about it.

He'll reassure you whenever and if ever you feel insecure about your height.

"No, no, you're never too short for me. You're just right."

"Your height just makes it easier to hold you."

"I love you just as you are."

(RRRAAAAAAHHGHHHHHSHDJ)

Honestly, you’re the cutest thing to him.

You're so precious, just look at you.

Despite that, Geto really isn't one to coo at you like Gojo other men might.

When the mood strikes him, he may rest his chin on your head, bending down to coil his arms around your waist, or he may just pick you up entirely.

Suguru likes to keep you in that sitting position, hoisting you up to where your bum is in the crook of his elbow like a 5 foot tall piece of equipment. He'll just carry you around like that, too.

Adores holding you while you sleep. It's usually you on top of him, sprawled out across his chest like a small starfish.

"You know, this is how Mimiko and Nanako used to sleep with me."

AAAAUUUGGGHJSJJD I NEED HIM TO HOLD ME

★彡 RYOUMEN SUKUNA.

Ha!

There was no chance in hell he’d ever let himself be smaller than you.

See, Yuji would probably make you feel better about your height (or lack thereof), tell you you're still just as cute, but Sukuna and Yuji are a far cry from each other, so instead, you get bullied.

"Me, have to look up at someone so puny and incompetent as you? Just who the hell do you think I am, y'little brat?"

(He says that as if he resents you, but he calls you a brat with affection. Don't take it too hard.)

Sukuna actually cannot handle when you stare up at him with those big doll eyes. He can't. He's gone soft, unfortunately, and he will kill you if you tell anyone.

Joke's on him, actually. Being '5"8 just means you've earned yourself a (very cranky) piggyback ride.

"Huh? ...What’s that? Can’t hear you from all the way down there."

He’s just as bad as Gojo with the short jokes, except he doesn’t stop when you whine at him to.

Will pick you up one way, and it's tossing you over his shoulder like a potato sack. You don't get the princess-carry, you don't get to wrap your legs around his stomach: you're a potato sack, got it?

Sukuna absolutely relishes in getting to look down at someone, especially his significant other.

#moots. ★#STOP being nice to me before i cry #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jujustsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #I FORGOT GETO WAS 6"3 UM..#ahaaaa chuckles in five foot five inches #ryker you sweet soul i sincerely hope you enjoyed this #i will write thousands of sukuna pieces for u #“geto's pretty sizeable” UM NO HES THE SIZE OF THE EIFFEL TOWER..#꒰🪼꒱ jelly writes.#꩜ inbox. ✉️#did u know gojo's fingers are each 6 inches long OK IM LEAVING IM LEAVING

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sturnioloshacker · 7 months

Text

silent treatment - a vinnie hacker short

a/n: requested by anon; lowercase intended

summary: reader gives vinnie the silent treatment after he breaks a promise but they eventually make up

8:54pm

where in the blue hell is he? makeup applied carefully, outfit picked with confidence and pride, i sit at my dining room table with my phone tightly in my hand. i was promised to a date by vinnie, tonight at 7:30. we were both supposed to be going to the restaurant that we had our first date at to celebrate reaching 1 million subscribers on youtube.

“it’ll be an amazing night for us.” he murmured to me the night before while tracing shapes on my back.

“i know i’ve been busy with multiple fashion week events, but i’ll make it up to you sweetheart.”

i sigh, unlocking my phone to see i’m still left on delivered. time slowly ticks by as i grow more upset over my boyfriend breaking his promise. in a state of frustration and sadness, i head up to vinnie’s bathroom and begin my night routine, my patience hanging on by a thread. after ruining my makeup and crying in the shower, i flop onto my side of the bed.

“princess!” i hear vinnie shout as he barges his way into the house and up the stairs, sounding frantic and out of breath.

“oh you’re here, thank the lord.”

i didn’t turn to face him, i didn’t want to face him. i stay rolled over facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. did i forget, vinnie thought, or was i genuinely asleep? brushing the thought away, vinnie stripped himself of his clothes, shimmied his plaid pyjama pants over his legs and slipped in beside me under the duvet. whispering goodnight to my ‘sleeping’ body, he reached around to wrap his arms around my torso to pull me closer. feeling my body tense, he knew i was awake. usually, when we cuddle, i relax in his embrace but tonight he pushed my buttons and i’m not having it.

“y/n?” he murmured.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” i muttered under my breath.

i get up out of bed and take my pillow with me.

“hey, wait!”

“i don’t want to wait anymore! i waited almost an hour and a half for you and where were you?! nowhere to be seen!”

i feel my chest cave in at the anger i’m feeling. i don’t want to look at vinnie, not even be around him. after weeks of not seeing him, he promised me one of the best date nights only to let me down. silence falls upon the both of us as I walk out of vinnie’s bedroom and to the couch in the living room.

i didn’t get much slept last night, multiple thoughts raced through my mind. vinnie didn’t get much sleep either. the guilt was taking over his body, eating away at him as he groggily rolled out of bed. he couldn’t fathom the fact that he had broken his promise. time had just slipped away as he was trying on different outfits for the fashion week he just came back from.

“morning.” he mumbles as he makes his way into the kitchen.

i don’t reply, i just leave the kitchen to head to the living room to eat my breakfast.

vinnie was hoping that i would leave all this behind and just talk to him like i normally do but i had other ideas. it’s not that i wanted to over dramatise the situation but i’m so hurt that i don’t want to sweep how i’m actually feeling under the rug and just forget about it. i’m used to him going to get fitted for the fashion week events he gets invited to but he’s normally back home at a certain time, especially when he has things planned for us to do. as much as i support him for what he does in his life, i want him to do the same thing for me but i feel like he's not.

“we need to talk.” vinnie said, disturbing my silence as i bit into my toast.

“baby, i’m not doing this silent treatment shit. i know i broke my promise to you and i’m so fucking sorry and i just need you to talk to me so we can sort this out. please, i need to hear your voice, i miss you.” the desperation in his voice echoing throughout the room.

“what’s there to say, vincent?” i snap.

his eyes widen as i use his full name.

“you broke a promise that you know real well meant a lot to me, to both of us. i was all dressed up for you, my makeup was applied the way you like it, i wore the heels that you adore, i doused myself in the perfume you love, i was ready to celebrate 1 million youtube subscribers but you weren’t here, vinnie, and that broke my heart. you should know that i cried, i drowned myself in my own tears while i showered my happiness away. i'm happy for you when it comes to your modelling career and your fashion event status but i also want you to be happy for me in my youtube success and support me just as much as i support you. i feel as though i'm not getting that and it really hurts.”

the words hit vinnie like a truck, the guiltiness growing even more, just eating away at him like a flesh-eating animal.

“i know i did, and i said i’m sorry. i understand that i hurt you and i didn’t mean to. there was just so many outfits and i lost track of time. it’s not like me to lose track of time, especially when i plan things. i'm truly sorry, my love. i want to be apart of your youtube journey, i want to support you the same way you support me. please let me make it up to you, please.”

the tears welling in his eyes, the sincerity in his words and the heartbroken look on his face had me tearing up.

“were the outfits nice?”

“honestly, yes. i’ll wear one to our date to celebrate your 1 million subscribers.” a smile tugging at his lips as he remembers the one particular fit that he knew would have you giggling like a little schoolgirl whose crush noticed her on the playground.

“i was just upset, you know?”

vinnie nods, reaching out to take my hands in his. a light squeeze of my hands motions for me to continue.

“we haven’t seen each other in a couple of weeks and haven’t spent a night together in so long. i was all dressed up for you and i was ready to celebrate this amazing milestone of mine with you..”

i laugh at how pathetic and embarrassing i sound.

“sorry, i probably sound so stupid right now.”

“no you don’t, sweetheart.”

taking my plate from my hand, vinnie places it gently on the table in front of me and carefully pulls me up and into his arms. it felt nice to be wrapped in his arms again like this. i missed it so much. he presses a soft kiss to my temple before speaking up again.

“i’m so sorry, princess, it won’t ever happen again, i swear.”

all is forgiven with a sweet kiss on the lips and everything goes back to the way it was: absolutely perfect.

#vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker angst #vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker x y/n #vinnie hacker fanfic #vinnie hacker blurb

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hollythius · 9 months

Text

of red cheeks like pomegranate halves

lyney x reader. multi-chapter. (hopefully)

holly’s notes: sorry guys. i just think he’s silly. now you have to deal with it. i haven’t played much of genshin lately, nor have i ever heard a voice line of this man, so please bear with me. 🙏

tldr: pining. so much pining. sort of friends with benefits, implied ‘relations’ if you know what i mean, bad attempts at poetry, kisses, angst + fluff, reader is technically a poet but isn’t expanded on much, hidden/secret relationship. I WROTE THIS IN LIKE 30 MINS HELP. does anyone want a part two. i will write it. i prommy.

“archons, lyney— let me go,” you huff. his arms wrap tightly around your waist, his long-sleeved pajamas brushing against your bare skin. your partner barely hums, his attention nowhere but in the pleasant dreams you’re certain he’s having.

his fingers trace gently along the dips and curvature of your body, wandering a path familiar to him only. lyney is ever the risk taker, having you here. in his room, his siblings not far off within the confines of the house. you groaned again at the thought of finding your clothes on the messy floor and trekking out the window to the chilly morning weather.

but it’s the agreement between you two. he is your magician, and you his poet. his lips kiss only yours. your fingers only pull and tug at his ash-blond tresses. you blow off a little steam, and then return to the cold, shocking morning.

lyney is always clingy. it’s how he is. you don’t dare fight it, lest it worsens for you. he’d almost blown your cover numerous times; his voice too loud, his gestures too grand, or the look in his eyes too longing.

“lyney, i need to leave,” you say again, this time almost begging. finally, your midnight lover relents, rolling over in bed to grant you room to exit. you huff, figuring that was far easier than normal. you spend no extra time gathering your clothes and slipping them on, only to climb down the window.

when lyney wakes, the bed is cold. he finds himself feeling impossibly empty, a feeling that has become more prominent as of late. he finds it ironic— your absence has left the magic dulled, and he longs to create prose adequate to describe his emotions. perhaps one day you’d teach him to rhyme in ways that didn’t make readers cringe.

his eyes drifting to the pillow, imagining your sleeping face still resting there. maybe, if he was lucky, you’d flash him a grin with just a little too much teeth. then, he’d laugh at you softly, place a hand on your cheek, and kiss your lips. that would remain a dream, however, until he’d gathered the courage to profess his undying love for you.

and now, as he dresses himself for the day’s magic show, he smiles. you’ll be there, like you always are. toting around a notebook, jotting down scenes to describe in future poems. lyney glances at the bookshelf in his room, at the few volumes of your poetry that reside there. he keeps them lined in order of publication. you’d never seen them, or you’d never made it known that you had.

but lyney was content. whatever you had, whatever situation yours was, he was perfectly fine with keeping it. he greets his siblings with a big smile, gleaming and ready to perform. lynette shrugs him off, and freminet gives a shaky grin back.

lyney can’t wait to see you again, eyes on him and engrossed in his show. gasps falling from your lips as you watch from the front row of seats. he smiles again, heart fluttering. he’d have to do something about these feelings.

#.hollies #lyney x reader #lyney x y/n #lyney x you #lyney x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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zyinn-corner · 6 months

Text

I have procrastinated this long enough that I should just post it

Demon Molly, Cat witch Caleb, and Vampire Essek! Below is just some setting/ story that was brewing in my mind while I was drawing this. If you want to read it, beware of grammar mistakes that I have probably made. I'm not that good with language/writing and it's kinda long?

Cat witch Caleb who lost his memories of quite a large chunk of his life and for some reason that he can't remember, can't hide his cat ears and tail to have his full human form back. Which he knows instinctively that he should be able to do. He has been living a quiet and kind of isolated life with his cat familiar in a forest under the protection of vampire Essek. One day a lost demon, Molly, somehow gets past the protective barrier that Essek has set around Caleb's area to hide and protect Caleb from people who appear in Caleb's nightmares who might be real, who will want to hunt Caleb down and hurt him. Caleb can't seem to retain the memories of the appearances of those people who appeared in his nightmares. Molly asks Caleb's help to find a specific rare flower for his best friend and to help lead him out of the thick forest. After some convincing and promise that he will protect Caleb and his cat, Caleb agrees.

Caleb hasn't really spent any time with a demon before (or if he had, he can't remember) and Molly who is not careful enough (is he really though? Or does he do this on purpose?) accidentally entered into a pact with each other. Essek, who had a verbal pact with Caleb, is not that pleased about the situation. He stays by Caleb's side more often now, being protective because he is worried and he doesn't trust this demon that comes from nowhere, yet. Essek knows that Molly is hiding something. Caleb and Essek have been pining for each other for a while now. After spending some time with Molly, Caleb realizes he is starting to fall for Molly too. Molly who had loved Caleb before Caleb even realized it, has a talk with Essek, and they both agree that they can share Caleb, as long as Caleb is happy with the arrangement. So yeah, Caleb has two purple boyfriends here! :D

If you are wondering, Molly did know Caleb during the years that Caleb lost. He tried to save Caleb and sort of half succeeded? He did manage to get Caleb out of the bad situation but also lost him in the process. He had been trying to search for Caleb for quite some time now without much hope. The last time he saw Caleb before they were separated, Caleb was on the cusp of death. I imagine Caleb was in the care of Essek for at least 4 or 5 years before Molly stumbled upon Caleb again.

Molly is hesitant to bring up the past after learning Caleb doesn't recognize him and also doesn't remember what happened during those years. He is not one that likes to bring up the past anyway.

The only reason Molly manages to get past the barrier without having to force his way in is because subconsciously, Caleb still trusts Molly. Essek had set up the barrier so that only people that Essek or Caleb trusted could get through it without problems.

Also, do I tag this as shadowidomauk when technically it's widomauk and shadowgast? Essek and Molly are not really in a romantic relationship with each other here.

#mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #widomauk #shadowgast #critical role #critical role fanart #critrole #critical role art #zyinn art

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dante-mightdie · 5 months

Note

You mentioned bluecollar!simon would do some sketchy shit to make money when needed, out of morbid curiosity, what sort of stuff?

After reading that ask about Simon getting laid off it got me thinking

Even though your working full-time now to support the both you and Simon, you’re nowhere near making the same amount of money Simon was when he was working full time (idk I imagine reader having a job at like a petrol station behind the contour, it’s sketchy, the customers are sketchy and the pay is shit but at the end of the day it’s all that’s she’s got)

It’s getting to the point where you both are having to eat less/not until your satisfied but you can’t afford a weeks worth of food as well as water, electricity, rent, petrol, ect,ect,ect so you both just have to do the best with what you’ve got at the moment

Like you said, Simon is a very proud man and watching the love of his life have to eat as little as possible, shower as fast as possible and not use the heater because they can’t afford it breaks, not just his heart, but his ego

When reader first met him she made him swear up and down that he would stop doing sketchy shit for money, she helped him get away from those people who were leading him down the wrong track and made sure he didn’t get himself in trouble. So he started making money in a more adorable way, but now times are tough and feels as that he has no choice

He could feel their relationship start slowly falling apart and he just could have that so he called up one of this old sketchy mates to help him get back into making money like he used to

Of course he does this behind readers back because he swore to her he would never go back!! But what else was he meant to do? Let his sweetheart suffer? Watch her work herself to death 7 days a week 12 hours a day and do nothing? His a provider, his a problem solver and he’ll be damned if he lets down his baby in a time of need

He starts doing his sketchy job again, telling reader his just picked up some good contract work from an old friend that “owed him for a favour”

The money starts coming in and it’s good, really good actually. Bills are being payed mostly by him again, food is not really an issue anymore and his almost back to where he was before he got laid off. Reader and his relationship is back on track, no more big stresses or arguments anymore. Life is good

But it’s so so so hard for him to go back to normal blue collar work, his making a little more money now then he was working out in the elements sweating with aching muscles. OH and on the construction site AS WELL AS went behind readers back and continued his side hustle!! GOD HE WOULD BE SWIMMING IN IT!!!

Aghhhhh it’s so hard for him all he wants his for his beautiful baby to have the life she deserves, he would never want to break her trust but god just the thought of living somewhat comfortably financially makes his heart flutter.

I would LOVE to hear your take on that if you have the time. His so unethical but it’s from the heart. All he wants is for you to live happily and comfortably. Your worry’s only being what warm dinner to put on the table for when he gets home and if you should put the white loads or the dark loads on first in the washing machine.

Personally I think his sketchy gig world probably have to do with dealing some illegal substances, I know it’s a stereotype that blue-collar works use substances, idk but it definitely is in my country. But yeah I could imagine him liking to indulge before he met reader as well. SORRY IM RAMBLING BUT YEAH LOVE YOU HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS

- 🎀

listen listen he is 100% a fucking weed dealer

content warning: weed, drug-dealing, illegal activities, mentions of guns...

used to deal it to the lads on the site before he met you. was only something he did for a bit of extra cash but it spiraled and he was getting in to deep to that lifestyle. started dating you and decided it was time to get out of that life after you a found a gun in his flat...

hated the scared look on your face as you stared down at the weapon in your hand never wants to see you that exposed to that kind of lifestyle again. so he dropped out. got a steady job, moved in with you, living an honest life...

but then he got laid off and he was desperate...

started selling weed again, maybe even started smoking it again to deal with the stress. and he can't deny it's nice to be able to spoil you again, bring you home little treats and presents, small date nights...

being able to take all the stress away from you made the risk worth it. no longer having to deal with hearing you crying in the bathroom because you're stressed about which bills you can pay this month eased the pain in his chest

and once he goes back to having a steady construction job again, he can't help but enjoy the extra spending money. actually being able to put money into a separate savings account, even starts looking at engagement rings and getting a bigger flat...

#mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #bluecollar!simon

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vhagarlovebot · 1 year

Text

THE WAY I FEEL INSIDE.

pairing: modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

summary: you’ve been in love with aemond targaryen ever since your second year at boarding school, the only problem is that he doesn’t know it and you’ve never been good at lying to him.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, pining, hurt/comfort, love confessions, mentions of alcohol, swearing, basically two idiots in love. it is a little bit long.

note: hello, lovely reader ! i just want to say a few things before you start reading. this was one of my first works here on this app but in a different blog way back when i used to write for the marauders. this was actually written thinking about remus lupin and i edited it the best i could, so you’re probably still going to see some very poor grammar and it’s because i’d just started writing in english and because of that it is completely normal for me to still have problems writing in a language that isn’t mine. i really hope you enjoy! reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

THE GREAT HALL IS A MESS in the morning and does not help with the migraine you woke up with, therefore you can’t focus on an essay that’s due today. it does not help that your friends are laughing and talking with each other either, it’s not like you’re good at paying attention to one thing when there’s a lot going on right next to you, so your attention shifts away to them not really listening to what they’re saying.

you’re still with your hands on your head looking directly at the book you have in front, trying to sort out the mess, when cregan’s voice startles you.

“you alright, love?” he asks from his seat in front of you, the hint of a smirk on his face.

“jus’ trying to finish this essay.” you say softly, closing the book and rubbing your tired eyes with the palm of your hand.

“i thought you finished it last night.” baela says, turning her head, body facing cregan. “you need help?”

“not really,” you give her a tired smile. “m’just tired, i didn’t sleep well last night.”

whatever baela says you can’t hear it because from the corner of your eyes you see aemond’s tall body getting closer to the table and sitting next to you. twenty minutes ago he was sitting at that same spot but left without saying a word, causing everyone to worry.

“here,” aemond gives you something, looking down you see a white pill in his open palm. “s’going to make you feel better.”

you don’t say anything, you just stare at those bright blue eyes and blushed cheeks. and he stares back, not paying attention to anyone but you.

you didn’t think aemond could do anything else to show how much he cares about you, but you were proved wrong. something as simple as this has your heart beating fast and tears filling your eyes, and you’re extra aware that he can hear the thump thump thump of your heart as much as you can see the frown that has taken over his face.

and you’re also aware your friends are watching, so you take a deep breath and the pill still sitting on his hand.

“always taking care of me, aem, thank you.” you mumble, laying your head on his shoulder.

you walk slowly through the halls, head in the clouds.

you were able to finish the essay on time, the migraine long gone, and the only reason you managed to do it was thanks to aemond because if he hadn’t gone to the infirmary then you’d still be sitting in the great hall eating your brains out.

at the thought of your best friend a smile makes its way on your face.

ever since you have known aemond he’s always been extra careful with you, extra attentive, extra caring. and you’re pretty sure it started during second year in boarding school when your parents sent you a letter saying they would not be home for christmas, which meant you had nowhere to go and no other option but to stay at the school alone. aemond was sitting close to you that day and saw the way you tried to hide your sadness with a small smile but weren’t able to keep the tears from falling, and when you left in such a hurry that you didn’t notice you had dropped the letter on your way out, that’s exactly when he decided to persuade his friends to stay. he didn’t mind lying or spending christmas at the school, he just wanted to see the pretty girl smile again.

you met the targaryens on christmas day your second year at boarding school when they were some of the few students who stayed too, and it was one of the best thing that ever happened in your life.

you fell in love with aemond targaryen on christmas day your second year at boarding school, though at that time you didn’t know and refused to accept it until fifth year.

you two fell into a routine in which you were a walking mess and he was right there next you ready to help you, or be a mess with you. always making sure you eat all your meals after he saw how on fourth year you stopped going to breakfast choosing to go straight to classes and how you always stayed at the library until there was no one left, so you were free to go to your dorm without worried glances from your friends. that was until you came down from the girls dormitories one morning, knowing everyone was at the great hall, everyone except aemond who was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs with an apple and a juice box in his right hand, and a shy smile on his face. always making sure you understood everything your professors said. always waiting for you after one particular class you two did not share once he witnessed some girls being mean to you. and you were always happy to lie next to him when he was feeling grouchy and scared, giving him comforting words and tracing the scar on his face, making him hide under his pillow with blushed cheeks; he looked after you and you looked after him, that’s your friendship. you always tried to convince yourself it was just a friend worrying for a friend, when in fact you were head over heels in love with the boy.

there have been a few occasions where all you wanted to do was tell him how much you love him; a lot more than a best friend should love her best friend. but every time you decided to finally do it, still afraid you would ruin the friendship but unable to hide how much you were feeling, something that would leave you with scattered pieces of your heart in your hands happened. because with each passing year while the feeling inside of you grew, and it grew and it grew, aemond showed you he didn’t feel the same way. and you knew he never did it on purpose, how could he if he didn’t know you were in love with him while he snogged different girls, running to talk to you about it and breaking your heart. you didn’t think you’d hate lying so much, but every time he sought advice from you, you hated every word that came out of your mouth, you hated the forced smile on your face, you hated how your eyes welled up with tears when he told you alys rivers stopped him after classes to tell him how handsome he looked that day, batting her eyelashes then coyly hiding behind her books. you hate how your chest physically aches when there is a party in the common hall because it means you’d have to see him flirt with a different girl all night. and that’s exactly why you stopped going to parties, giving a different excuse every time someone asked.

so you convinced yourself that everything you could ever have from aemond is his everlasting friendship. and that is better than not having aemond at all.

your walk comes to a stop when you see your friends sitting in the grass at the rugby pitch, in the distance cregan is giving his team a talk before the game, looking rather annoyed.

“cregan’s going to kill you if you don’t take this game seriously.” you say looking at your raven-haired friend, tossing your bag and sitting next to helaena. at this, jace throws you a half-eaten chocolate before taking his things and jogging to his friend.

“where were you?” baela asks, titling her head.

“professor gerardys wanted help with something, i said yes for a few extra points.” you shrug, bringing the chocolate to your mouth while looking around. instant regret crosses your features at the sight of your best friend sitting a few meters away with a bunch of people, his arm around alys river’s shoulders.

luke follows your gaze. “it looks like she finally took the courage to ask him out.”

“she asked him out!?” your voice comes out a little too loud for your liking and you really don’t like the look of pity that comes into your girl friends eyes. “well, it was about damn time.” you chuckle, though your friends know the reality behind those words.

“you coming tonight?” helaena asks, changing the subject and rubbing your arms, but looking straight ahead to baela, who is making fun of something luke said. “i think it’ll make you feel better,” her smile is pleading. “y´know you need it, forget the books for one night.”

you look at aemond one more time. “i think i deserve it.”

you are laughing as baela explains to two boys how jace was the one who helped win the match. “no, no! you don’t understand how important it is that jace did that,” she exclaims. “if he had gone to the left, then we wouldn’t be here.” the silver-haired shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink.

“i think they get it, baels.” you roll your eyes, rubbing shoulders with her. “don’t you, boys?” they nod eagerly, hiding their faces behind the cups filled with liquor.

your conversation is interrupted by someone leaning against the wall next to you. “hey, you.” aemond speaks after a moment of silence. “i didn’t think you’d be coming.”

“if you want i can go back to my dorm.” you mumble, trying to avoid his gaze. you know you shouldn’t be so cold with him, after all he’s done nothing to have you reacting this way, at least not something he’s aware of.

“that’s not what i said.” you’re not looking at him but you can sense the frown on his face. “i’m happy you’re here, i can’t remember when was the last time we party together.”

“well, i’m here now.” you clear your throat. “were you with alys rivers today?” you definitely shouldn’t have asked, you don’t even want to talk about it. you would rather hear about how jace is the best player on his team than to hear about how the older girl is stealing your best friend’s heart when you wish you were her. you want your heart to stop hurting and your mind to stop creating scenarios in which it is you who’s feeling the warm emanating from his body, the owner of his laugh… his heart.

“you saw us?” he doesn’t sound surprised.

“s’not like you two were being quiet.” you shrug, taking a sip of your beer.

“we all saw you.” baela explains, interrupting the conversation in your favor. “are you two like… together?” she asks what’s been going through your mind all day but were too afraid to ask.

aemond goes silent and all the blood leaves your face. that’s it, this is the final confirmation you needed to let aemond go—not like he was yours to lose—and you don’t want to hear it. your heart has been crushed so many times through the years you don’t think you could handle it one more time.

you straighten your shoulders and smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “if you’ll excuse me.” you try to fight the feeling that has settled in your belly, pushing away the pain in your chest, but it gets harder every second. you would think time would make it easier.

you try to hide the sound of your heart breaking by walking away, but aemond is having none of it. he grabs your wrist and you’re forced to stay right where you are. but you’re afraid. you fear that the longer you spend with aemond, the more emotionally unstable you become, eventually exposing yourself and your true feelings.

baela excuses herself, leaving you and your best friend alone, though the common hall is full, it feels like it is just the two of you.

“are you feeling alright?” he asks, confused. “you want me to go to the infirmary again? i’m sure they will ha—”

“jus’ stop it!” you cut him off, pushing him away.

he whispers your name. “i’m just trying to—”

“i didn’t ask you.”

“well, ouch.” aemond takes a step back, looking at you like you have two heads coming out of your body. “i know you didn’t ask me, but i want to.”

“m’not your fucking problem.” you mutter bitterly to yourself, but he hears it.

“did i do something to upset you?” he asks, genuinely worried. you can see the gears moving inside his head, like he’s really trying to remember what did he do.

you know you’re acting this way guided by your feelings and aemond has nothing, but everything actually, to do with it.

you take a deep breath. “i’m sorry, i’m not feeling well today.” you shake your head, taking two careful steps towards him. “you did nothing. i just need to lay down, i’ll see you in the morning.” you assure him with a smile.

but again, he’s grabbing your wrist before you can walk away. “i can go up with you.”

“you should worry about your girlfriend.” you nod, looking over his shoulder at alys rivers, who’s not even trying to hide the scowl on her face.

he doesn’t even look. “but you need me.”

he doesn’t deny it.

aemond doesn’t deny she’s his girlfriend.

“i don’t need you.” you get out of his grip and he doesn’t stop you.

once you are out of sight, you let all the tears fall.

you don’t know what time it is, but you still hear the music echoing. sighing, you roll on your back ready to go back to sleep when you hear what woke you up again. you can barely hear the thud coming from outside the dorm and the first thing that comes into your mind is that one of the girls is trying to open the door but is too drunk to do it, so you get out of bed.

there is, indeed, someone drunk behind the door. but this person has silver hair and blue eyes that, you are sure, look into your soul.

you suddenly remember you cried yourself to sleep and if he weren’t too drunk he’d notice how red your eyes are.

“what are you doing here, aemond?” you ask, helping him to his feet and inside your dorm.

“why do you hate me so much?” he drags the words, and you can smell the whisky every time he opens his mouth.

“i don’t hate you, silly.” you couldn’t help but laugh, carrying him to your bed. “maybe i do hate you a little bit right now. how much did you drink?”

“don’t know, lost the count.” he smiles while looking at you. “would you lay down with me?”

“okay, jus’ let me take off your shoes.” he keeps staring at you while you help him get rid of his jacket and shoes, he even smiles every time you make eye contact.

once you’re lying on your bed again, aemond turns to you. “why were you crying?” it doesn’t surprise you, really, he’s always been extra observant.

“i had a bad migraine.” you shrug, avoiding his gaze. but his slender fingers on your chin make you look directly at him. you try to steady your heart, pounding in your chest so hard you know he can hear it.

“yea’ right.” aemond mocks you. “after that pill i gave you this morning there’s no way you still had it.”

“maybe it wasn’t as effective as you thought.”

“would you stop for a second?” he grimaces, bringing his hands to his temple. “i can’t think straight and you already have my mind going in circles.”

“what does that mean?”

he sighs, caressing your cheek. “you don’t even notice.”

“notice what?” you ask, confused. he’s drunk and talking nonsense, and having him so close to you isn’t helping.

“that i’m—” he whispers, not breaking eye contact, air tick between the two of you. a part of you hopes his next words are the ones you were dying to hear for so long. you also hope you’re not dreaming when you see him lower his gaze to your lips. you’re extra aware of the proximity, you feel his breath on your face, combination of alcohol, cigarettes and just aemond. he parts his lips and you instantly close your eyes. “m’going to be sick.”

“what?” you open your eyes only to miss his warmth.

aemond rushes to the bathroom, face pale. you know he’s throwing up before you even get out of bed, and it doesn’t take long for you to be by his side.

aemond whines when you try to get closer, a wet cloth in hand. “don´t.”

“i’ll always hold your hand, aem.” you whisper, reminding him of the words he’s said to you a bunch of times. when you get closer again he doesn’t say anything and just lets you do your thing. “this is goin’ to make you feel better.” you say quietly, filling a glass of water and kneeling beside him.

aemond groans, resting against the wall behind him. you do the same. “you know,” he turns his head to you. “you are really, really pretty.”

your cheeks go red immediately and you know aemond notices that too, so you try to look somewhere else but his hands on your jaw don’t let you. and so you find yourself looking straight into his blue eyes, full of something you can’t figure it out. but he stares at you for a long time, or maybe it's just seconds, but you feel like he spends hours smiling at you with his eyes slightly closed, like you’re going to vanish if he stops and leave him there on the bathroom floor feeling pathetic.

“and you are really, really drunk.” your voice is barely a whisper, still looking at him.

“you don’t believe me? you don’t believe me.” he shakes his head, the smile growing. “you’re so oblivious.”

“m’not!” you complain, pulling his hand away.

you really don’t know what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t need to know that. he also does not need to know you’re feeling those familiar butterflies in your belly, the ones that appeared the first time he held your hand, leaving your entire body tingling.

“i should kiss you right now to see how oblivious you are after.” aemond says casually, as if he didn’t just say what you think he did.

“wh—what?” this time your eyes are fix on the bathroom floor; the tiles are more interesting than his eyes. oh but you know if you look at him again you’ll be completely lost. you know he’s drunk and saying things he doesn’t really feel because he doesn’t feel that way about you, right? suddenly, your eyes are on him again. “don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“but i mean it.” his eyes dart to your lips. when he looks up again, he realizes he’s been caught. “do you want to kiss me, sweet girl?” aemond moves closer, his face inches away from yours. of course you want to kiss him, you’ve been dreaming of it for years, and even in those dreams, it didn’t feel this surreal.

“why don’t you ask me again when you’re sober?” you shake your head, a smile making its way on your face. “and your breath stinks, by the way.”

aemond laughs, resting his head on your shoulder. your heart skips a beat because he doesn’t say anything, and when you are going to speak again not knowing exactly what to say but wanting to hear something from him, anything that could tell you how he really feels, aegon appears in the doorway.

“hey, lover boy, it’s time to go.” he kneels in front of you and his brother just groans, hiding behind your hair and inhaling your perfume.

“you smell nice.” the smile on his face is one of drunkenness.

and when you witness how aemond can barely stand, your heart breaks into tiny pieces. maybe aemond was just drunk, maybe he just wanted to kiss you because you were the only girl with him. you weren’t aemond’s first choice; you were his last.

you wake up feeling a little optimistic. you don’t know if aemond really meant what he said, but you are ready to face whatever his words may be, even if those words break your heart.

none of your friends are in the common hall when you go downstairs and, in all honesty, you don’t want to look for them, there's only one person in your head and you’re going to find him before all bravery leaves your body.

you are smiling widely when you step into the great hall, familiar faces sitting at the table but not the one you’re looking for. your smile falters when you get closer to your friends, all of them laughing and talking about the party last night. maybe he’s still asleep, maybe you’ll grab some food and bring it to him. maybe you could do that if he wasn’t sitting next to alys rivers at her table.

tears fill your eyes as you hear helaena’s voice calling your name, but all your attention is on aemond and the smile adorning his face. all you can hear before running out of there it’s his laugh. of course he wasn’t thinking straight, what were you thinking? he’s so charming and handsome, always helping others, always smelling good, always flirting with pretty girls in the hallways, always enjoying his popularity. he’s tall, agile and strong, smart; of course he needs a girl that can match with him, his needs. and you’re not that girl. you’re not popular, most of the time you are running late to classes, asking help from others, you don’t do sports and it shows, it’s a miracle if a boy flirts with you and if a boy does it, most of the time it’s because him or his friends want you to introduce them to your girlfriends. you are not that pretty either, you have bags under your eyes, you barely do make up and your hair is a disaster. what could aemond targaryen possibly like about you?

you barely make it to the stairs leading to your dorm when a hand grabs your wrist, heavy breathing behind you. “wait!”

“sorry, i forgot something,” you say quickly, wiping your tears with your free hand. “i’ll be back in a minute.”

he lets you go and you run to the stairs, before his words stop you. “i was really drunk las’ night, wasn’t i?”

“yes.” you say with a bitter laugh.

“shit— i think i threw up in your bathroom.” he laughs, and you hear his footsteps getting closer. “sorry ‘bout that.”

“it’s okay.” you smile even though he can’t see your face. “i need to grab this thing before class, you know how profess—“

“i’m sober now.”

your heart stops beating, everything around you stops. did you hear him right? you don’t dare to move, you can’t.

what could aemond targaryen possibly like about you?

“but i saw you with al—”

“she’s barely a friend.” he explains. “i don’t know if what you said last night was because you didn’t know how to reject me,” he starts saying, moving closer and closer to you. “but i’m here anyway. i can’t hide what i feel inside me anymore.” and that’s when you turn around.

he’s a few feet away, fidgeting with his hands and looking at you with that same something you saw last night.

“i’ve loved you since the first time i saw you. when—”

“when we met on second year.” you interrupt him, cocking your head to the side. of course you remember, because the letter you got from your parents that year was the reason your whole friendship started. you just can’t believe what you are hearing. now the tears streaming down your face have a different reason, one you did not think was possible.

he smiles sheepishly at you. “no—that was not the first time i saw you.” he scratches the back of his neck, meeting your gaze. “i saw you the first day of school, on the train. you were sitting next to baela and i remember thinking ‘god, i’ve never seen such a beautiful girl before’” he takes one step forward. “i remember thinking i was seeing an angel.” he chuckles, his face red and eyes glistening. “i’m seeing one right now.”

you can’t see due to the cascade coming from your eyes, you try to wipe it, only for them to be replaced with more tears. you didn’t think you could smile this big, to feel this happy, to feel this loved.

“i remember seeing you in classes, in the hallways… always so pretty.” he takes another step, this time only looking at your eyes, not fidgeting with his hands, not uncertainty in his words. “i was a silly, silly boy back then and didn’t know how to talk to you, so when on second year you got that letter,” he looks shy, his eyes meeting the floor. “i took it and convinced the boys to persuade our parents to stay. i wanted to stay with you, i wanted to see you smile again and—when i saw the smile you gave me, it was all worth it.”

you rush to him, face wet and blushed, and a heart beating so fast you think it’s going to explode. locking your arms around his neck, you softly press your lips to his in a kiss full of unspoken words, full of passion and love and tenderness. you are both crying and it’s wet, but oh so perfect.

“you love me?” you ask, smiling with teeth. you have never been so happy before, you have never felt so safe in someone’s arms as you feel in aemond’s; you have never felt so in love with aemond targaryen as you feel right now.

“i am hopelessly, irretrievably in love with you.” aemond murmurs, lips curled in a grin, arms around your waist making you feel those butterflies you’ve experienced through the years once more.

“and i am hopelessly, irretrievably in love with you, aemond targaryen.” you say softly, caressing his cheek. a new set of tears already falling down your face. “always have been.”

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