#i wrote this on no sleep
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I think Deku has a bit of a mean streak, actually. he’s no Bakugou—that’s for sure—but he’s not this innocent, sweet angel baby that the media has painted him out to be. but you only catch it when you least expect it, when you’re pushing his nerves, when the stakes to everything around him are high, when he’s tired of endless sleepless nights and just—snaps.
“Oh?” you go, grin unfurling like some grinch, chin resting on your hands as you leer at him from across his expansive desk. “You’re mean.” your words are teasing, a snarl that curls your mouth up. Deku stutters, eyes going wide, jaw snapping shut in surprise as he tries to think back on how rude he just sounded.
“No, I’m not—I mean, you wouldn’t stop and I just—there’s a lot on my plate right now—and you just—you keep on—I’m not—I’m not mean.” He’s sputtering, hands all over the place, the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose falling even lower with how he jabbers on and on. it’s endearing really, to see how he tries to upkeep his image of being so kind and understanding, even though his nostrils just flared at you. and his eyebrows turned down and he gritted at you, his hands were balled into fists, his words were so nasty, so ugly, so unbecoming for Deku.
you liked it. loved it even—vowed to get him like this every single fucking second that you could.
you pick and poke at him whenever you see him, teasing him and pulling at him. pushing him around even though the hero is so much stronger than you, so much bigger. and he lets you, tries to defend himself but—that’s not what you want. you want the ugliness, the snark, the mean.
he snaps, eventually, when you least expect it. grabs you up in black whip when you go to push him against the wall for the third time in only a minute, his eyes suddenly dark, the aura of the room suddenly charged.
“That’s what I was looking for.” you whisper to him, the grin spreading your face quickly dissipating in only seconds when you become the prey. when you become the one pushed up against the wall with teeth at your neck, a hand in your underwear, bullying your hole with too thick fingers.
“Why do you want me to act like this? Be so mean to you, huh?” he sounds so frustrated with himself, with you, growling and nipping and licking when you don’t answer quick enough. but your breath is caught in your lungs because finally—finally, did you get what you wanted. it just took a little bit of pushing, you suppose.
#omg I wrote this idea down last night and couldn’t even type it up#bc I took some sleep meds and it put me out SO FUCKING QUICK????#usually I don’t lay down until like an hour and a half or two#but it was literally like 40 mins and I was DONE!!!!#but I finally wrote it :D#there’s also been so much talk of him on the dash and i am. very much so liking this#I miss him bc I don’t think about him enough#but I also think he can be. so mean. like NASTY mean when his limits are pushed enough#ohhhh my god I wont him so bad#okay gn I took more meds bc my pelvis has been in so much pain????#just the right side too??? omg AM I DYING GELP#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#deku treats! 🍬
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Y/N, looking at Azul’s baby picture: Oh wow, you were so shaped. So squishy and soft. Full of so much chub to love.
Azul: What are you talking about?? I was a fat, ugly octopus!
Y/N: Fat? Yes. Ugly? No. You were a proper butterball, of whom I would have held and kneaded like dough. Bake you right into an adorable cutiepie.~
Azul: I don’t know what is wrong with your brain and eyes, but I most certainly was not adorable as a kid! Now give me that- *tries to swipe back the picture*
Y/N, dodging him: Nope. You were lovable and round and oh-so baby.~
Azul: I was unlovable! Not like I am now!
Y/N: Oh shut up, that’s just the insecurities and unresolved childhood trauma talking!
Azul: My younger self would ink himself if he saw me now!
Y/N: You peaked in your childhood and will never reach that same level of endearment until you reclaim the chub you so foolishly threw away.
Azul: . . .
Y/N: Your childhood longing is calling, Azul. Answer it.
[Jade and Floyd watching this all go down in the doorway]
Floyd, shoveling popcorn into his mouth: Yeah, Azul, answer it!
Jade: Yes, heed their words, Azul, so that we can partake in your chub too.~
#Twisted Wonderland#TWST#Azul Ashengrotto#Floyd Leech#Jade Leech#Azul Ashengrotto X Reader#GN!Reader#found this old thing and found it stupidly funny#I think I wrote this at like 3AM when I couldn't sleep or something..?#I know I wrote more short joke fics and they're all on my phone somewhere in my notes but I can't find them
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We need more weird historian rep in Doctor Who. The companions are too normal when faced with the prospect of time travel. I want a companion who makes a list of super specific historical destinations related to their dissertation. I want somebody whose first reaction to finding out that the Doctor is a time travelling alien is to create a Microsoft Word document and ask, “What caused the Late Bronze Age collapse?”
#i know ian’s a history teacher but i want a little freak working on their phd. caffeinated and sleep deprived and broke#i haven’t seen a ton of old who though so please let me know if someone does match this description#and my memory of most of moffat’s era is fuzzy at best#edit: BARBARA’s the history teacher i’m sorry i wrote and queued this at 3 AM#doctor who#whoniverse#original post
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。10:07 PM — AL-HAITHAM.
al-haitham asks you to marry him before he even realizes himself what he’s just asked. it’s a random tuesday night. you’re in worn out pajamas, he’s still got slight damp hair from his shower, and the both of you are curled up on the couch.
you’re rubbing his chest and his arm’s wrapped around your waist when you murmur, “we should get a place with more windows.”
he raises a brow, turns to look at you and scan over the side of your face. it’s familiar, the way you look so pretty under the dim light, on the same couch against the same walls in the same living room. but it’ll still feel like the first time even if it’ll be his last.
“is the design of our current home not up to your standards?” he asks, making you giggle.
“it’s nice,” you hum, “but it needs more windows. and a bigger kitchen. and maybe a backyard.”
“this home is conveniently close to our place of work,” he argues, fingers creeping up from under your shirt and rubbing circles into your hip. it’s soft—your skin, it’s warm and familiar under the rough pad of his thumb. it’s a touch that’s routine enough that you don’t squirm in surprise anymore when he finds your bare skin, and then he wonders for a moment if there are other routines waiting for him.
maybe he’ll watch you wait for him through the window as he comes home. maybe you’ll dance in the kitchen as coffee’s being made. maybe there’ll be picnics in the backyard as the sun sets. maybe, when you have a new house but the same home, he’ll find more of you in the walls and the corners of every room.
“haitham,” you huff, “a little extra walk won’t kill you. we should find our dream home.”
“our?” he asks after a moment, like he’s shocked. you only nod against his chest.
“of course, silly,” you chuckle, “i certainly won’t be house shopping with the general mahamatra—”
“we should get married,” he blurts.
“what?”
“my grandmother left a ring,” he instantly explains, “it’s a very nice ring, i promise. you won’t have to worry about having a bare finger—”
“that’s not what i meant—”
“and it can be a small ceremony,” he assures, “it shouldn’t take much planning. but if you’d like something fancier, i don’t mind either, it’s your wedding day just as much as it is mine—”
“that’s sweet, but wait—”
“and if you’re worried about time off for the honeymoon, as the former acting grand sage, there’s still a few strings i can pull for us both. i hear inazuma is nice during spring, so that gives us—”
he’s rambling. he’s figuring it out right here and now and it’s the last thing you expect of him, not having an elaborate plan—and it takes you by surprise. but he’s breathless and his eyes are wide and his chest is warm and his arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist.
and you couldn’t dream of saying no.
“you think you want all this?” you ask gently, “with little old me?”
“there’s no one but you,” he mumbles, holding you closer. and if there’s a slight bounce in his knee as he waits for your answer, you pretend you don’t notice.
“so you want to get married?”
“i want to marry you,” he corrects, “i want you. marriage is just the means of how.”
“okay,” you say with a hitch in your throat. after a moment of silence, you let out a shaky chuckle, eyes watery as you meet his. “okay. let’s get married.”
“okay,” he nods slightly, swallowing thickly.
“and we can have a house with more windows,” you add.
“and a bigger kitchen,” he agrees.
“and a backyard.”
“maybe a bigger study,” he adds thoughtfully.
you grab his face at that, with enough desperation that his cheeks are squished in your hands as you turn him, pressing your lips to his. you taste him, feel him pass through you as a breath of air, hear him ring through your ear as a muffled grunt.
he’s a part of you. he’s every inch of you. he lingers on your skin and knits into your bones. he’s yours now and somehow….somehow he’ll be yours forever.
“i’m going to get married,” you sniffle. “how exciting.”
“i’m going to marry you,” he murmurs, like he’s still processing the fact that you’re here, and his, and you’ve said yes.
“i love you,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his.
his eyes close and his arm squeezes you gently. “i’ll always love you.”
edit: everyone stop fucking commenting about the authors note it was a joke and the comments are getting old :/ why don’t you actually leave feedback on the fic itself for once and show writers some support as you consume content
you people don’t fucking understand how insanely in love with him i am i want to make a fur coat out of his pubic hair and wear it on a cold winter day idc
#i had a dream about this so i woke up and wrote it and now i’m going back to sleep#teepods.writings#drabbles.#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x you#alhaitham fluff#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin fluff#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact fluff
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The meeting is supposed to begin in four minutes, and you’re late again. With a box full of papers in your arms, you sprint towards the elevator, but its doors are slowly closing.
There’s someone inside, though. He is dressed in camo and wears a mask, which doesn’t surprise you since such apparel is a common sight in this building.
He tilts his head to the side, peeking to see the maniac shouting at him to “hold the door.” He jams his foot between the doors to keep them from closing, and steps to the side as you burst in.
You’re panting, trying to catch your breath, but you thank him. He nods.
The doors close, and the elevator starts its ascent.
He asks which floor you’re going so he can push the button since your hands are full. You swallow and tell him you’re going to the “seventeenth, please.”
You both turn to look at the panel; your floor is already selected.
He points at the box in your hands. He says that it looks heavy and offers to hold it for you. You politely decline, explaining that the files are confidential and you shouldn’t let anybody else touch them.
He side-eyes the files and states that he can clearly see what’s written at the top. Maybe he’s trying to diminish your credibility. Perhaps it’s just his dry sense of humour and a way of making small talk.
You joke back, telling him you’d have to kill him now that he’s read what’s on the file. He looks down, huffs, and turns his attention to the numbers panel.
The elevator stops, and the doors open.
You prepare to step out first, but he puts his hand in front of the box and stops you. He leans in between the doors and takes a look at the corridor. He turns his head to the left, then to the right. He looks back at you and motions with his head that it’s okay for you to go out. You look at him, confused, and explain that nobody will attempt to harm you inside the CIA premises. He chuckles, reminding you that you just threatened to do that to him a few seconds ago, and assumed that “It was a thing in here”.
You roll your eyes and exit, walking towards your meeting room. He’s following you.
You tell him that you “don’t need his services anymore,” and he explains that that’s not why he’s behind you; he, too, is looking for a room.
You both stop in front of a door. A sign with the words “meeting in progress” is hanged on it.
You look at him. He returns your gaze.
“Y-you must be...”
He stops you and points to the file at the top of your box that bears a name: Simon “Ghost” Riley.
“Your file didn’t have a picture of you,” you explain, “so I didn’t recognise you.”
He places his hand on the door’s handle and rotates it.
“Well,” he says, swinging the door open, “how about we get to know each other now?”
#a silly lil blurb I wrote cause I couldn’t sleep#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#call of duty#modern warfare 2#simon riley#cod mwii#simon ghost riley fic#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley x gn!reader#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon riley x y/n#ghost cod#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost mw2
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For the angst prompt thing: Steddie and "Don't fucking touch me."
Hello! Thank you very much for sending a prompt, I'm sorry it took me so long to post, but I do think this one is my favorite out of all the fills I've done for this prompt list <3
[No warnings; Unnamed Freak (who apparently got a name in the most recent novel, but I didn't know that at the time) is named Oliver]
Angsty-ish Prompt List
-
“I’m gonna step outside for a minute,” Steve leans in to murmur in Eddie’s ear, even though the music isn’t that loud.
“Yeah, sounds good.” Eddie nods, and only just keeps himself from turning to catch Steve’s mouth in a kiss when he feels the brush of his lips against his ear; it’s not his fault he’s developed some kind of Pavlovian association between having Steve’s mouth anywhere near his skin and receiving kisses – but they do have company.
Said company is just Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver, but still. Eddie has some decorum.
Steve stands from the couch and the arm he’d had slung around Eddie’s shoulders slides away slowly, his hand brushing warm and heavy over the back of Eddie’s neck, thumb stroking once, familiarly, along the side of his throat before disappearing entirely as Steve moves towards the front door. He doesn’t do so great with groups of people in small spaces anymore; the noise gets to him, and the heat generated by so many bodies in close proximity tends to give him a headache, so he takes breaks now and then, just to give his brain a few minutes to unbend.
The door swings open on silent hinges (Steve had attacked it with a can of WD-40 and a look of determination earlier today, insisting he couldn’t stand the squeaking anymore; he’s always doing things like that around the house – little repairs, organizing, picking things up, even though Eddie insists he doesn’t have to. He says he wants to, the endearing little weirdo) and Steve steps out into the cool evening, leaving Eddie and the boys behind in the warm light of the trailer’s main room.
“So,” Jeff says, looking up from his spot on the floor and gesturing vaguely at Eddie with his beer can, “how’s that going for you guys?”
Eddie blinks at him. “How’s what going?”
“The whole thing between you two,” Jeff clarifies, and Eddie raises a skeptical brow at him.
“You wanna talk about me and Steve having sex?” Eddie asks.
Jeff’s nose scrunches in distaste. “What? No.”
“Not ever,” Gareth jumps in.
“I mean…” Oliver says with a shrug, flinching when Gareth pelts him with a balled-up napkin.
“No,” Gareth reiterates.
“I refuse to apologize for simple curiosity,” Oliver sniffs, and Eddie, seated next to him on the couch, gives him a shove.
He’s glad his friends are accepting – supportive, even (he’d like to say he wouldn’t hang out with them if they weren’t, but let’s be real: nerds could be hard to come by in their neck of the woods, and as long as they were the quiet type of homophobic, Eddie would probably still play D&D with them. But he’s glad they’re not), but he does have some boundaries.
Like, one or two, maybe.
“I just meant the whole… dating thing,” Jeff says, taking a sip from his beer. “Because I’ll be honest, I really didn’t see it at first, but it actually seems to be working out.”
“Dating?” Eddie parrots blankly.
“Yeah. You guys are in, like, some kind of never-ending honeymoon phase or some shit,” Gareth says. “Hasn’t it been over two months?”
“Uhhh, no, I think you gentlemen are confused,” Eddie drawls. “Steve and I are not dating.”
This declaration is met with a moment of silence.
“Seriously?” Oliver finally says.
“Yep,” Eddie replies easily. “No relationship shit here. Strictly a friends-with-benefits-type deal.”
“Seriously,” Olver says again, flatly this time.
“Yes, Oliver, seriously,” Eddie huffs, reaching over to give him another shove, only to have his hand pushed away.
“Eddie, he was practically sitting in your lap just now,” Jeff says. “You two are all over each other.”
“Constantly,” Gareth adds.
Eddie shrugs. “It’s not like this is a big couch; we gotta squish. Anyway, Steve’s just a touchy kind of guy.”
“He doesn’t sit like that with any of us,” Gareth points out.
“Yeah, well, you guys aren’t the ones receiving benefits,” Eddie says. “You want him to sit on your lap? You could ask.”
Gareth lets his head hang back with a noise of frustration. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”
“Don’t you two go on dates?” Jeff asks. “I’ve seen you at the movies. You talk about going out to eat, doing other shit…”
“Yeah, see, that’s the friends part of friends with benefits,” Eddie snarks. “Friends hang out sometimes, I’ve been told. We are all, in fact, hanging out right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m dating any of you.”
“You don’t see the way he looks at you?” Oliver asks, and Eddie can’t help but scoff.
He appreciates the fact that Oliver is passionate about pretty much anything he does, but it also means he’s given to romanticizing. He doesn’t usually manage to drag Jeff or Gareth in with him, though.
“Pretty sure he looks at me like a friend, because that’s what we are.” Eddie rolls his eyes before offering a smarmy little grin. “I mean, I’m sure he looks at me as an exceptionally attractive friend, but that’s it.”
“Genuinely can’t tell if you’re fucking with us, man,” Jeff says, rolling his eyes.
“Genuinely, I am not,” Eddie promises, taking the last viable swallow from his beer before getting up and heading for the kitchen, wiggling his empty can at the others with a raised eyebrow in question. Gareth raises his own near-empty can with a shrug and Eddie nods. “Look,” he says as he ducks towards the fridge, “Steve isn’t the kinda guy you have a relationship with, anyway, you know?”
Eddie doesn’t mean this in a negative way, just as a matter of fact. Steve just doesn’t seem to be a relationship kind of guy. Nancy had been something of an outlier, in how long she and Steve had lasted, and it had become clear after the dust from the Upside Down had settled that he really doesn’t have any interest in pursuing her further. Just the other day, he’d mentioned to Eddie how difficult relationships can be, and about how glad he is they have their thing together instead.
“Being with you is just… easy,” Steve had said; he hadn’t been looking at Eddie at the time, his face instead pillowed on Eddie’s chest, hair sticking to his naked skin where the sweat was still cooling from their last round, but Eddie could see the edge of a smile on his lips.
And Eddie doesn’t have much experience with relationships himself, but he knows that being friends with Steve is easy and that the sex feels equally easy and that the way he’d agreed with Steve and carded his fingers through his hair had sent Steve right to sleep with that same smile still in place.
Easy.
Now, Eddie shoves his head into the fridge and reaches for the beers that have somehow gotten pushed to the back. “It’s nothing major, okay?” he calls back towards the living room.
“Eddie…” Gareth calls back, an edge to his voice.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Eddie waves vaguely, making sure to grab a second beer. “Anyway, Steve’s a good friend, and he’s really hot, and we’re just having fun.”
The bang of the front door against the frame startles Eddie so badly he nearly smacks his head on the underside of the freezer as he stands, a beer clutched in each hand like he might be able to use them as projectiles.
There is no threat, though – just Steve, who had apparently failed to catch the screen door before it had shut too quickly behind him. He doesn’t seem to have noticed; he’s just standing there, staring at Eddie, color rising high in his cheeks, eyes wide and shocked, like he’s just been slapped.
Concern wells up from Eddie’s gut, and he opens to his mouth to ask what’s wrong when Steve finally speaks.
“Yeah,” he croaks, “I’m not having fun.”
Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion, the beginnings of cold dread trickling into his veins well ahead of any conscious thought.
“I think I– I think I should go,” Steve says.
He grabs his keys from the side table by the door, where they’ve lived next to Eddie’s and Wayne’s for the last few months whenever he’s been at the house, and then he’s gone again, the screen door banging shut once more behind him.
And Eddie has no idea what just happened, but he knows it wasn’t good. He drops the beers on the counter and bolts out the door after Steve.
Steve is nearly to his car by the time Eddie scrambles down the front steps, and he’s paying absolutely no attention when Eddie calls after him.
“Steve,” Eddie tries again, stumbling to a stop right behind him as he jams his keys into the driver’s side lock. “Steve, for fuck’s sake, what–” he reaches out, wrapping one hand around Steve’s bicep, and Steve jerks out of his grip.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Steve snaps.
Eddie pulls his hand back, but doesn’t step away, entirely baffled by the sudden turn the evening has taken. “What the hell happened back there?”
Steve goes still, grip going lax on his keys. “I heard what you said, Eddie.”
“About – about what? Are you mad I was talking to them about us sleeping together? Because, Steve, they already knew,” Eddie insists, a little incredulous. “You said you were fine with them knowing! You were practically feeling me up in front of them!”
“I don’t give a shit if they know we’re having sex!” Steve hisses, finally whirling around to look at Eddie. “I meant the rest. About how I’m not the kind of guy you have a relationship with.”
Eddie’s stomach sinks. He hadn’t realized that was such a sensitive subject. “I – shit, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, I just didn’t think you wanted–”
“About how we’re just having fun,” Steve cuts in, and if he’d sounded raw before, his voice is practically ground down to nothing now.
That brings Eddie up short. “…aren’t we?” he asks after a moment.
Steve says nothing.
“I mean, shit, Steve, it’s not like we’re in a relationship,” Eddie says, offering a little laugh, because even Steve would have to admit that the idea is a little silly.
Except.
Except Steve just glances away, staring at the ground beside Eddie’s feet, and – oh, shit.
“Oh, shit.”
Steve is still unnervingly silent, one arm curled around his middle while the other hand comes up to pinch briefly at the bridge of his nose. He still won’t look at Eddie.
“You… you thought we were,” Eddie says dumbly, and Steve shrugs.
“Can you blame me? We spend all our time together, Eddie. I’m here more than I’m at my own house, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve slept in my own bed in the last month. We go out and do things together, I try to keep things nice around the house because I want Wayne to like me, we have, like, a lot of sex, and– we… I mean, we kiss and touch and just – do shit like that even when it doesn’t lead anywhere.” Steve shrugs helplessly, finally looking up. “I mean, Christ, Eddie, what did you think we were doing?”
“I thought we were friends!” Eddie insists. Steve throws him an incredulous look and Eddie amends, “With benefits!”
“Right.” Steve’s expression flattens back out, going cold and hard and unlike anything Eddie’s become used to from him. “Because I’m not the kind of guy you’d want to have a relationship with.”
“I said that because I thought you didn’t want to be in a relationship!” Eddie snaps. “It’s not like you stay with anyone for very long, so I just assumed you didn’t want to be with anyone.”
Some of the ice retreats from Steve’s face, leaving a watering kind of hurt in its stead. “Do you listen to me at all when I talk?”
“What? Of course I do!” Eddie might have gotten turned around in certain respects, but he will not have his merits as a friend called into question; of course he listens to Steve.
“Are you sure? Because I talk about you an awful lot. I talk about doing things with you, about doing things in the future with you,” Steve says pointedly, “about how I want to stay with you.”
And Eddie had wanted Steve to stay with him, too. He’s just been thinking – well, he’d thought it was because they get along so well, that Steve had wanted to stick around. That it had only made sense.
“We never talked about… being anything else,” Eddie says, the protest a little weak even to his own ears. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.”
Steve pulls a sharp breath in, pinching at the bridge of his nose again; he leaves his hand there this time, eyes scrunched shut. “Just a few days ago, I told you how much I liked being with you. How good and how easy it felt compared to anyone else I’ve ever been with,” he says, barely more than a rough whisper. “And you said…”
I like being with you, too.
Eddie had said that.
He’d meant that he likes being around Steve, likes being his friend, definitely likes having sex with him, but he’d said it while combing his fingers through Steve’s hair, while cuddled up with him in bed, and – okay, yes, he can see the mixed signals there. He can see where Steve might have gotten the idea that they didn’t have an arrangement, that they were just together.
“I– I didn’t mean–”
“Obviously,” Steve snaps, dropping his hand from his face and turning back towards his car.
Eddie tsks, frustrated, and reaches out to grab Steve’s wrist – not pulling, just trying to keep his attention.
“Don’t,” Steve warns him, pulling back from his grasp for a second time.
“I didn’t mean to lead you on,” Eddie tries desperately. “I really… I really didn’t.”
“Yeah. I can see that. But Eddie…” Steve is quiet for a moment, posture so tense and still that Eddie suspects he’s not even breathing. “I’m probably the best-qualified asshole around to tell you that you really have to fucking think about how what you’re doing affects the people around you.”
Somehow, that stings more than any screamed insult Steve could have thrown at him.
“Steve…”
“I’ll come get my shit out of your place tomorrow,” Steve says, low and sharp, before getting into his car and slamming the door behind him.
After that, Eddie has no choice but to step back or get run over, and he watches until Steve’s taillights are no longer visible.
He can hear the hissing of some whispered conversation just beyond the door as he trudges back up the front steps, but his friends fall conspicuously quiet the moment he steps inside.
“…hey,” Gareth finally ventures after several seconds of awkward, sticky silence.
“Hey,” Eddie says flatly.
“Do you… want us to stay?” Jeff asks.
Slowly, Eddie shakes his head. “I think I should… I need to– think about shit.”
The boys all nod, throwing him variously sympathetic glances and clapping him on the shoulder on their way out. Oliver pauses, as if he’s going to say something, but Gareth gives him a shove and gets him out the door before he has the chance. Probably for the best.
Eddie feels numb as he trudges back towards his room, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
He flops down on his bed, face landing in a pillow that smells entirely too much like Steve’s shampoo. Probably because it’s on the side of the bed that Steve always takes. Next to the nightstand with the small stack of sports magazines that definitely aren’t Eddie’s. And the spare pair of glasses that also isn’t Eddie’s.
With a low tug in his gut, Eddie realizes how much of Steve’s stuff has crept into his room, into the trailer, into his life – how much Steve has become a part of his life, how much of Eddie’s day has been built around him, how much he’s come to lean on his presence, has come to want him there.
And Steve is going to take it all back sometime soon. Take all of his things away before he removes himself from Eddie’s life, too, because Eddie hadn’t been thinking and he hadn’t been careful and he hadn’t realized–
Eddie’s pretty sure he just broke up with Steve.
He’s also pretty sure he hadn’t wanted to.
His main consolation, as he curls up on his side, nose still buried in Steve’s pillow, is that as soon as Robin hears what happened (and she will hear, he has no doubt), she’ll probably come murder him.
At least he won’t have to wallow for long.
Part 2
#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#smallspaceplant#eddiesteve#listen Steve is u-haul lesbian flavored and Eddie is I know we're married but do you like me? lesbian flavored - you feel?#anyway I shouldn't be allowed to use tags on less than six hours of sleep!#answers from solar#solar wrote#hurt no comfort#edit: now with a continuation that will eventually include comfort
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Can't help falling in love
summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings
warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert
words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)
1.
Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.
His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.
It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.
And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.
Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you're standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.
"It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?" a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.
There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:
“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.
“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.
That’s until you both hear a loud cry:
“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.
She sprints decisively in your direction:
“It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”
And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.
”Y/N didn’t interrupt a thing,“ he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.
The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.
Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.
”Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,“ he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:
”Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.“
He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.
Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn't feel lonely anymore.
2.
It's been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn't left the bed once. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn't an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn't bare the thought of stepping out of the room.
His mother wouldn't leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn't help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.
That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He's only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.
He's startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human's silhouette — and then another few to realize that it's you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.
You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.
“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.
"They told me no one was allowed into your chambers," your hushed whisper burns his ear. "The silliest thing I've ever heard!" you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. "I knew I had to find a way to come see you."
You examine his face, frowning at the scar that's still healing.
"Does it hurt?"
He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won't be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.
Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit.
"I will take his eye," you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might've heard it wrong.
"...Whose eye?"
"Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours," you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.
Aemond shakes his head:
"You shouldn't," his voice quiet but firm. "The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed."
"Well, maybe he is too old to think straight," you retort. "You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail," you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.
And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.
And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:
"Are you sure I can't take his eye?"
At that moment, he can't stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it.
Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can't lose you.
He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke's eye isn't worth the trouble.
3.
By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince.
His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.
You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.
Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid's persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.
And then he opens it — and it's you standing in front of him.
Aemond barely has time to register what's going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can't see it, he's grinning from ear to ear.
“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly".
"I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval," he sneers and you stick out your tongue.
"While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers," you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.
"I am friendly enough!"
“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.
Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you're clasping in your hands.
“You come bearing gifts?”
“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing".
It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you're talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand:
“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”
There's a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure:
“Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”
He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.
“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.
“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”
“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,'” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.
“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.
Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn't sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.
You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:
“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.
"The gem compliments your eye very well," you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.
"We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is."
"This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks," you chide him lightly. "And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?"
At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you're too concentrated on something, and Aemond can't help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface.
He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glaring at him with something akin to fondness.
He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.
He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.
4.
Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn't seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone's counting). It's not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn't leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.
Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to the King's Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon's birthday, but Aemond didn't care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond's sympathy for you.
“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.
“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.
“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider Y/N part of the family.”
Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.
The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.
His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.
It’s not a drastic change, it's all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.
“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.
“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.
As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.
The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days. Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say:
“It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”
He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you. Aemond hesitates:
“I thought you quite liked it.”
“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.
Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:
“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add: “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”
And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.
A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?
So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.
Maybe he should have.
5.
By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.
Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can't hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can't think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.
So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.
“My dear, I think you must talk to Y/N,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.
Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:
“You don't seem surprised.”
“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe Y/N is the only one who doesn’t see it.”
“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.
Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them.
“You should tell her the truth.”
Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.
Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:
“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.
Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him:
“Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.”
The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.
You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.
“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.
“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”
Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...
“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.
Aemond gives you some time before asking again:
“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.
You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.
“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.
Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.
“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”
“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.
“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”
“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.
“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.
“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:
“Me”.
You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute.
“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.
“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.
In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You're looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.
“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face. Taken aback, you inquire:
“You pity me?”
He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.
“You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can't get his head around what just happened.
“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.
Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.
“Y/N, I only meant to say that I —”
And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.
“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.
... 1.
He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.
Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.
And so he does.
“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,“ he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.
"Yes, I remember it pretty well," you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.
"The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack," there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. "Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you."
He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.
"Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories."
You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying.
"Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her," the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.
"Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in," he can’t take his eye off you.
Your face expression melts into a stunned one.
"I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness," he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.
"When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine," you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.
"I think you actually enjoyed it", you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.
"I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you."
You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.
"The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar," he pauses, catching his breath. "You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you".
You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.
“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.
“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:
“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.
You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm's length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you're in, you look so beautiful, it's mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence:
"Aemond, please don't give me false hope," your heartbeat is too loud, you don't hear your own voice. He does.
"I do not wish to marry you out of pity," Aemond takes the last step. "I want you to be my wife because I'm in love with you," he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. "I've been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually," his voice gets low. "For what feels like an eternity," Aemond murmurs.
"Why haven't you told me?" you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.
"I was afraid you didn't feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?" his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.
"Tell me that I am wrong," he whispers, begging.
You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.
Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.
You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.
Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.
"Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices," you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.
“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.
“When we were thirteen, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”
The air around you tense, and you are enchanted by each other.
“Did that help to prove you wrong?”
“I may need some convincing,” his breath fanning over your lips.
“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth.
His favorite memory will be this.
And every other moment with you that's to come.
author's note: I'm sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I'm a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don't want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it)
anyways, I hope this was bearable, thank you for reading!
💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me)
💞 my masterlist
🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley's song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there's also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well.
P.S. I'm also on AO3 (lol, who isn't), in case you prefer to read fics there.
English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!
#aemond targaryen#got the idea out of the blue (oh the things I do instead of sleeping...)#wrote it in two days#pretty sure it's once in a year kind of miracle#my expectations are low though and I will probably never write anything like this again lmao#anyways I think I should get back to actually adding the tags and shut tf up#here’s a SPECIAL tag that I call 'the woman Aemond is in love with stands up for him'#I already used this trope twice and WILL use it again watch me#my stuff#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond one eye#aemond one eye x y/n#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fanfics#aemond targaryen fics#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfic#hotd fanfiction
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im just gonna come right out and say it:
pretty much everyone in this fandom portrays Silver as this perfect, flawless, polite, beautiful, princely, romantic gentleman who can do absolutely no wrong in his life ever. which is… not really accurate at all.
he’s odd. he struggles with showing emotions and doesn’t understand social cues very well. his dorm uniform vignette is literally about how people find him strange and unapproachable due to his lack of expressiveness. in his lab coat vignette, Jamil straight up calls him weird to his face and he fully agrees without hesitation.
and in one of his voice lines, he calls Yuu strange just for wanting to hang out with him. stop and think about that for a second. he considers himself boring and doesn’t expect anyone would want to spend time with him. maybe he used to try and make friends, but people kept avoiding him, saying that he wasn’t fun to be around.
he’s not the handsome guy that everybody in the school falls for, he’s the quiet kid who doesn’t say much or has any friends outside of his own personal circle. and i think that has a lot of potential for angst.
#if u reply to my post with smth like ‘oh but he IS perfect and flawless and princely’ i will actually fucking block you#youre free to disagree with me ofc but please dont be annoying about it#read a vignette instead of an x reader i am begging you#i wrote this on zero sleep so if i seem annoyed or my wording is off thats why#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twst silver#twst analysis#diasomnia#chemy’s concoctions 🧪
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welcome to the show!
summary: vox sends you as a spy to the hazbin hotel. alastor decides to give him a show.
tw: voyeurism, biting, blood play, fingering, valentino mentioned. english isn't my mother tongue.
you're thrown in hell - quite literally. the fall from purgatory and its beasts was long, arduous, and painful.
you've led an ordinary life. woken up. worked. slept. repeatead. same old decaying matter as everything else. you didn't think too much of it, of course not. you were twenty something and rising slowly, steadily in your company as an esteemed lawyer. memento mori didn't ring a bell. maybe it should've.
now you're in hell, and you're burning with sheer, unbridled rage, because how dare they throw you in there? (you're all in hell for a reason. all of you, fangs and bad intentions bare to the world.)
you take up your old job at vox tech. lawyer for a corrupt company. old habits die harder than you do. there, there's the thrill of probing the opposing companies and sinking your fangs into them, corrupt little fox with a too wide smile on your face.
what you gather is this: velvette's sense of fashion involves too much purple, valentino is the embodiment of everything you hate and vox... vox is obsessed with the radio demon. he's disappeared not too long after being asked to join the vees. you'd know, you're the one who wrote the contract he refused to sign. bastard.
could've been fine, really. but they work you to the bone and treat you as little less than a glorified secretary. when valentino throws the cup of coffee you brought him to a board meeting with the other executives of the company, you slam the door on your way out and don't look back.
it goes like this: you've been in hell for a while, and you're done playing the part of the sinner. so you tell charlie morningstar when she greets you at the hazbin hotel.
she accepts you, welcomes you with, out of all things, a song. too much trouble for dear old you.
"nonsense! everyone deserves to be given their rightful importance!"
that one hit close home.
you don't have the time to thank her before she's introducing you to the staff and the rest of the hotel.
vaggie, staring you down with a suspicious eye, fingers itching to reach for her spear. ah. an angel. fascinating.
angel dust. you have to thank him for being here. after you murder him for calling you an enticing little vixen and winking at you.
husker. former overlord. sold his soul to the radio demon in a bad game of poker.
your hair stand at the back of your neck. static crackles in the air. your ear twitches. alastor's entered the game.
"alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure my dear!"
he brings your gloved hand to his lips. even through the thin leather, you can feel the warmth of his breath, the press of his teeth like a warning.
his grin deepens when you introduce yourself in turn. a glimmer of recognition flashes in his eye.
shit.
**
you've always liked to cook. there's something about the glimmering edge of a knife cutting thin slices of meat that appeases you. tonight, you crave some rabbit.
somewhere in the kitchen, the clock ticks the minutes away, time bleeding out. doesn't matter when you have eternity to atone for your sins.
the watch at your wrist flashes. 2:37. of course, insomnia had to follow you down to hell. it served you at voxtech, back when you were pouring over contracts and meaningless paperwork.
you make your way towards the fridge, hoping to god you'll find something to satiate your appetite.
"ah, feeling peckish my dear?"
you startle.
alastor.
you turn, back facing the counter, resisting the urge to bare your fangs. there he is, slithering out of darkness, a spectre in red. you wonder if it's a reminder of the blood he's shed.
"what do you want?" you snarl.
he laughs, static buzzing in your ears. you blink. when your eyes open, he's inches away from your face, craning your neck towards him - he's tall, that fucker.
"why so aggressive, little vixen?"
his fingers dip down your shoulder, down your arm, until they close on your wrist. his teeth press against the bracelet of your watch, scraping the skin beneath, drawing a drop of blood. the screen glows, a faint blue light in the penumbra of the kitchen.
your breath catches in your throat. he's gorgeous, blue light draped over his hair like threads of moonlight.
he hums, the vibration settling low in your gut.
"i just want a little taste..."
you shiver at that. at the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you, consume you whole. at the way his tongue presses on the cut, lapping at the blood. you tense, biting back a soft, needy little sound.
his leg pushes your thighs apart. you don't realise you've been humping against the warmth of him until his hand settles on your hip, claws digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood.
"behave, little spy."
you laugh at that, baring your throat.
"was it really that obvious?"
he hums, clawed finger trailing down the column of your flesh, pressing against the jugular. he can feel your pulse, staccato little thing beating wildly as you look up at him, lips parted with want.
his smile stretches, impossibly wide.
"vox wouldn't have let his precious little lawyer go." his claws tap against your watch. "and i'd be a fool not to get a taste."
he kisses you. he kisses you, teeth nipping at your mouth until you can feel static against your tongue, until you arch your back against him. you whine, claws digging in his shirt, eager for more. of course, he pulls away. bastard.
"patience, my dear. all good things come to those who wait."
you scoff.
"because seven years and s'more weren't enough?"
a pause. his lips trail down your throat.
"i suppose that's fair."
he bites you, teeth sinking at the junction of your throat and shoulder. you keen, a breathless moan of his name as you feel him grind against you. you shouldn't let this happen. shouldn't revel in the warmth of him, body going limp in his grasp. shouldn't drag his hand towards your aching core, let him press his fingers against your slit and chuckle at how wet you are. you can't let him finger you on the kitchen's counter, can't mewl like a wanton whore.
you do.
you do, his name like a prayer on your lips, hips stuttering, desperate for release. you feel him against you, lapping at your flesh like a starved hound. when he lets you go, there's a spider-web thin string of blood connecting him to your shoulder.
the sight of him takes your breath away.
there he is, eyes half lidded, looking at you. there he is, blood, your blood, dripping down his lips, his chin.
he leans closer, watching you, the way your shiver at his every touch, as his free hand digs in the tender skin of your breast and sinks into the flesh.
oh.
something snaps in you - you're on fire, head thrown back in a silent cry of his name.
on your wrist, the watch flashes blue. alastor grasps your wrist in his hand, bringing it up. it's easy for vox to see you. you, disheveled, red fur a mess of sweat and blood, panting, cheek pressed against alastor's chest. you, nightgown hiked up to your hips. you, legs wrapped around alastor's waist, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder to muffle your moans as he drills his cock into you.
vox groans at the sight, pants growing too tight.
the radio demon smiles.
"hope you enjoyed the show, old pal!"
#obticeo writes#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x y/n#hazbin hotel x you#alastor x y/n#alastor x you#alastor smut#hazbin hotel smut#i wrote this instead of sleeping#alastor what are you doing to me my god#stop
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oh my god. pro hero Bakugou who was shortly dating someone and accidentally got them pregnant, but for some reason, after having the baby they leave. he’s fucking devastated—how is he supposed to continue his career now as a single dad? how can he care for baby? save the world and still have to stay up at 2am when they’re fussy bc he hasn’t held them all day?
his mother helps as much as she can, his father too. but they’re getting older and they shouldn’t have to raise another baby at their age.
in comes you, a stay-in nanny. he researches the fuck outta you, frowning at you all the while during your interview. it doesn’t scare you much tho, as he’s patting the tiny baby back with only two big fingers. he wants to see how you react to baby, your stance on teaching them, how you’ll aid them.
he internally caved immediately when the baby started crying and he couldn’t get them to quiet down, so you took them from him. hugged them so sweetly to your chest as you rocked them, spoke quietly to them, a calming aura surrounding you.
it helps that you’re pretty, when he hires you. but he knows he can’t be selfish—you’re here for the baby and the baby only. he has no other place in your life. (unless you want him to?)
#wrote this sluggish on sleep meds#hope it makes sense when this posts!#if u couldn’t tell I’m on a high for dad bkg I fear#something about beeg man handling such tiny bab that melts me#bakugou treats! 🍬#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#dad bkg
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revstar emu save me
#please watch revue starlight#project sekai#pjsk#prsk#emu otori#proseka#Im so mad i wrote 8 million tags stream of consciousness style and then aposted this to the weong account#im not rewriting all that. you get NOTHING.#actually i will say again i have no idea why this kind of blee up on twit please WATCH TEVUE STAKRIGHTBTNGL#i KNOW 4 thiusand of you did not watch it Watch revue starlight Do not speak of yuri unless you partske in the revue#sorry. anyways#the jist of it was ahh the assignments -> making cosplay -> might post it here if i can take a bice photo for once in my life#because im proud of it. as mortifying as it is.#my best friend is cosplaying an im the clown Two lesbians walk into the metro convention centre(is that where toronto comicon is????)#Oh right i was thinking of making little drswings of pjsk charas or at least exs and printing them out in bulk on a dheet of paper#and coloring them in w markers and giving them to people at the pjsk meetup or vendors i get merch from..#i thought itd be fun. Also i swear to god i have a sheet of like MAGNET paper somewhere i want to make people emu magnets#Ok i fucking for real have to go to sleep i have to get up for class in 5 hours. wuit your college join my emo(daily affirmations)
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in early spring
#the other one had a typo pls why am i like this........... anyway#omg the way i wrote the two times TWICE. i need to sleep#im not fixing that ignore it <3#my writing
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"Stabby!" Damian heard the white haired teen call out to him as he jumped behind the younger vigilante, "Defend my honor!"
Damian looked at him, perplexed as Red Robin rushed towards them, "I said I was sorry!" The boy behind Robin practically growled, "You ruined my binder! Ruined!" The boy almost threw his hands in the air at the last statement but seemed to catch himself last minute and continued to cover his chest and what Damian deduced was his otherwise bare chest.
Damian had enough decency to divert his gaze.
Black bat chose this moment to come to thier rescue with a black binder with little stars and constellations on it. "How did you know I liked stars?" He asked, baffled, then a moment later, "How did you know my size?!"
Black Bat didn't answer and instead signed at him to try it on.
The white haired kid quietly agreed and bolted over to where batman had been hiding in the shadows. He let out a surprised, "Hm?!" as the possible meta slipped into Batmans cape and used it as a glorified changing room.
Red tried to approach but was stopped by Robin raising his sword, "I fully intend to defend his honor if I need to."
"Oh my God! It was an accident! I swear!"
"How?" Black bat asked quietly."
#prompts#dpxdc#fanfiction prompts#how did red robin destroy dannys binder?#danny phantom#danny fenton#tim drake#damian wayne#cassandra cain#cassandra wayne#batman#i woke up and wrote this now i will go back to sleep. hopefully#red robin#yum#robin#danny covering his chest with his arms and is big mad about it#trans danny fenton#trans danny phantom#or freaky ghost stuff going on#you decide#batmans cape just being used as a changing room is what woke me up from the dream
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#soapghost#ghostsoap#ghoap#call of duty mwii#simon ghost riley#john soap mctavish#just a little train doodle#i just realized i prob drew every ship i ever shipped being sleepy together#and wrote the literal sleeping together trope into every fic as well#hmmmmmmmmmmmm#anyway#soph arts#id in alt text
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𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ˚◞♡ ⃗ dad!satoru gojo
𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ when gojo comes home, he’s delighted to see his daughter applying makeup to his wife's face.
𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. you & gojo have a daughter (obviously). established relationship (married). the reader is referred as “mommy” by the kid but other than that there’s no use of fem terms.
𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚.┊i completelyy overdid it, this was supposed to be under six hundred words but oh well
late at night, with the moon casting a soft glow, gojo wearily steps into his home. all he wanted now was to unwind. his body was sore and he craved food, a hot shower, and then sleep. as fast as possible. which he was sure would be put on hold because of you and his daughter. two people he trusted were still awake — who always stayed up just to see him.
he laughs to himself, remembering the countless times he scolded you and your daughter for sacrificing your sleep. but in truth, he loved the surprises he came home to. whether it was you two baking together, with him joining in, or watching a movie where he'd have to catch up on the first 30 minutes, he cherished those moments spent with you and your daughter. it was a family thing.
he quietly slips off his shoes and places them on the wooden rack, the only sound in the house. "they must be sleep," he reasons. he couldn't help but frown. carefully tiptoeing to the kitchen, he heads straight to the fridge, first thing on the list of unwinding being food.
just as he's about to open the fridge, a symphony of giggles dances down from upstairs.
his brows furrowed, hand hesitating on the fridge handle, and glancing towards the stairway. after about thirty seconds of silence, he's convinced that he must've misheard it. but to his surprise, he hears it again.
a smile spreads across his face, knowing his girls were indeed awake and waiting for him.
his mind races as he weighs the options: dinner or investigate the source of the giggles? though deep down, he knows it's a pointless battle. especially when without a second thought, he finds himself practically skipping upstairs. anticipation intertwines with exhaustion, knowing that his loved ones awaits, ready to embrace him in their hold.
thankfully, the sound was so loud that it led him straight to the room where the laughter was coming from. as he approached his bedroom door, voices began to replace the laughter, growing louder and more distinct.
“hmm…what should we do now?”
“well, you’ve got a lot of options.”
his curiosity piqued, he tiptoed closer, skillfully avoiding the creaky floorboards he knew so well. with a gentle touch, he pushed the door open just enough to create a small crack, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the scene inside.
there, in the softly lit room, his daughter sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by an array of colorful makeup. the girl’s tiny fingers carefully picked up an eyeliner pencil, her brows furrowing in concentration.
"okay, eyeliner is next mommy!" she declared.
you chuckled softly, leaning closer to her. "alright, my little artist, show me what you've got.”
sitting face to face, eyes locked in a shared moment of love and trust, she delicately traced the pencil along your eyelids. her movements were a mix of focus and excitement, her small hands guided by an invisible artistic instinct. as the lines took shape, her face brightened more and more.
"you're doing great, my little artist," you whispered, voice filled with pride.
she just poked her tongue out from the corner of her lips.
even by only looking through the door, gojo’s heart swelled with a mixture of pride and tenderness watching the scene unfold. it was a simple moment, yet it held so much love. and he loved that.
just as he started to close the door, a sudden creak reverberated through the room. damn it. he stands frozen, desperately hoping that neither of you had noticed. but his hopes were dashed when his daughter's voice rang out, "daddy, is that you?"
his nerves tingled, and he hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage before finally responding, "yes, sweetheart, it's me."
he slowly pushes the door open, finally revealing his presence. your eyes lock, and a silent conversation unfolds, filled with unspoken words and understanding. it was as if he wanted to say he should've let you know he was here, but before he could speak, the girl infront of you interrupted.
"daddy, come join us!" she exclaimed.
he quickly took a seat beside you, watching as his daughter moved from you to him with the eyeliner in hand.
gojo playfully shook his head, teasing his kid, "no way, kiddo. eyeliner isn’t my style." though once she pouted, he couldn't resist her charm, and with a smile, he relented, "alright, just this once."
"maybe twice," she added, dragging the pencil gently along his eyelid.
“maybe twice.” in his head, he was more than happy to let her do it as many times as she wanted.
groaning, you stood up. “well, you two have fun."
gojo shut his eyes, "hey, how ‘bout a little photoshoot after this?" he suggests.
you place a kiss on his head, "yeah, no, tough pass." and with that, you retreated into the bathroom.
soon as gojo heard the bathroom light flicker on, he peaked open an eye, a playful grin on his face. "looks like it's just me and you now, kiddo.”
“close your eyes!” she huffed.
he obediently replied, "yes ma'am," as she closed his eyes for him.
it didn't matter to him if his eyeliner was smudged or if he hadn't done his nightly routine as planned. what mattered was him getting to add another midnight memory to his collection of family moments.
for the most part, he didn't really care if you three stayed up late if it meant he could add more. actually, scratch that — and put an emphasis on "the most part" because he is fucking exhausted.
#(っˆ ³(ˊ ᵕ ˋก ) ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ࿐ྂ#i had to physically take a break from writing this bc the amount of fluff is unbearable#wrote this instead of sleeping#gojo x reader#gojo fluff#gojo angst#gojo x you#gojo headcanons#gojo scenarios#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#jjk gojo#jjk x you#jjk fluff#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen headcanons
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!! Please do not reupload my comics anywhere. Thank you. !!
/ orv epilogue spoilers
[Story, 'One Who Is Loved by All', has begun its storytelling.]
!! Please do not reupload my comics anywhere. Thank you. !!
#is this ooc.. im worried. i wrote this script while being very sleep deprived and delirious#orv spoilers#orv#omniscient readers viewpoint#omniscient reader#omniscient reader fanart#orv fanart#kdj#kim dokja#han sooyoung#hsy#doksoo#hankim#1863 han sooyoung#crit's art: orv
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