Just cute moments throughout the years with your family as I’m terrified for the season final
Part of the children universe so references to the haram with Rhaenyra and Harwin. Daemons daughter!reader. Not proofread
“Stop kicking me.” You mumble sleepily, just wanting to sleep. Daeron having been waking a lot in the night since moving in with you and the baby in your stomach isn’t helping.
“I’m not.” Gwanye mumbles back, hiding his face in your shoulder as he cuddles you. Your husband having been the one to get up with Daeron most nights as the boy won’t settle for the nursemaids.
“I know you’re not.” You say back, thinking the sleep deprivation was getting to him as his hand is where the babe is kicking.
“Oh, is there anything I can do?”
“No.” You say, just having to accept it as you try and get some sleep. Daeron then letting out a cry as if he knew you were just about to sleep. “Not it.”
“Why not?” Gwanye whines while untangling himself from you.
“I’m with child.” You sass, moving your pillow so you can get more comfortable.
“Fair enough.” He says stumbling out of bed to reach the boy. “What’s all this noise for little prince?”
-
“Dove!” Little Daeron shouts while sat on the floor playing with his wooden toys.
“What?” Gwanye asks the boy, swearing the boy just said his first word.
“Dove!” Daeron shouts again giggling hitting his toy on the floor.
“Love! Daeron has just said his first word!” Gwanye shouts for you, happy you’re just in the next room. You immediately wading through as fast at you can. “Look.”
“Dove!”
“Oh my gods.” You say covering your mouth in shock, eyes welling up with tears as you sit on the chair behind the boy who clambers into your lap. “Aren’t you such a smart boy.”
“Why do you think he’s saying dove?” Gwanye asks smiling, so happy he was able to witness the boys first word.
“I’m not sure love.” You respond kissing the side of your boys face making him giggle, his ginger hair a mess.
“Dove!”
“Oh.” You both say in unison, him trying to stifle him laughter while you giggle. Now knowing he’s trying to say love.
-
“Baby.” Daeron demands laying on your bed with his toys while you place Aerion in his crib. Daeron being absolutely fascinated by his little brother.
“He’s sleeping Daeron.” You say loving how much he loves the boy but also finding it a bit inconvenient as he always wants to hold him.
“Baby.” He whines dramatically flopping back into Gwayne who was leaning up against the headboard reading.
“You’re still a baby.” Gwayne tells the boy, placing his book beside him so he can pull the boy closer and tickle him.
“Nooo.” Daeron giggles loving when Gwanye plays with him like this.
“Yeees.” Gwayne teases, the boy still giggling in his arms.
“I no baby.” Daeron says back shaking his head.
“Are you sure about that?”
-
“Gwanye what are you doing?” You laugh, finding your husband reading a children’s book on his own. Him even doing the voices for different characters.
“Daeron said I don’t do voices as well as you do so I’m practicing.” He responds clearly embarrassed as his cheeks flush red. Not noticing you look at him with complete adoration in your eyes, him being so perfect you almost don’t think he’s real.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” He smiles, holding an arm out for you to join him. “Now come help me.”
-
“Are you alright?” You ask Gwanye seeing his pull an exaggerated look of confusion. You all having a picnic as the weather is nice and sunny.
“My strawberries keep disappearing.” He responds grin on his face as he doesn’t even like strawberries that much. Your son’s loving them, Daeron especially.
“How odd.” You say pretending not to hear the giggles coming from your sons. Both boys clearly having been eating strawberries as their chins are red and sticky. “We must have a thief on our hands.”
“We must.”
-
“Nyra has asked if she can visit.” You tell Gwanye as you get into the bath with him. Your husband having snuck off when you were putting the boys to bed, wanting a bath.
“That sounds good.” He says kissing your shoulder when you lean into him, his hands picking up the soap to clean you. Despite the fact you already bathed earlier. “When are they coming?”
“Next moon.” You answer moving your head so he can keep kissing your neck. “Laenor, Jace, Luke and Harwin will be coming as well obviously.”
“That’s good, Daeron and Aerion will be happy to have others to play with.” He answers, knowing the boys will be happy to see Jace again. You not having seen each other in over a year, her having given birth to Luke a few moons after you left. “What chambers will they be staying in?”
“Jace and Luke will be in the nursery, I was thinking we could put Rhaenyra in the chambers next door.” You say turning to give him a look, the man just smirking him response.
“That’s a brilliant idea my love.”
-
“How’s our girl?” Gwayne asks a few moons later, Rhaenyra and her family having stayed with you for five moons before the king called them back.
“We don’t know it’s a girl.” You say resting your hand on your stomach as the babe moves. You having been knitting Aerion a new dragon snug, the boy wants to match his dragon.
“It’s a girl, I can tell.” He says giving you a soft kiss, loving the look of you carrying your child.
“She’s doing well, she’s not as active as Aerion but I don’t think it would be possible to be more active than him anyway.” You answer, letting out a small laugh at how much Aerion moved. The boy still unable to keep still even now.
“That’s true.” He responds sitting next to you and stealing some of your food. “What did the maester say?”
“Normal movement, she’s growing brilliantly.” You reassure, both of you slightly worried given the girls lack of movement compared to her brother.
“That’s good.”
“What about our boys?” You ask, going back to your knitting, knowing that Daeron will want one to match Tessarion when he sees it.
“Both finally napping.” He says, having been the one on nap duty while you saw the maester. “They demanded three stories.”
“Both of them or Aerion?” You ask raising an eyebrow knowing it’s not Daeron who’s the bossy one out of the two.
“Aerion, he’s a very bossy boy.”
“He gets it from my father.” You muse, knowing that the boy is very much like his grandfather in attitude. “Whereas Daeron gets his sweetness from you.”
“I wonder what our girl will get from you.”
-
“Daeron what are you doing?” You ask when you hear the door open and a little voice telling his toy dragon to be quiet.
“I can’t sleep.” He says, cuddling his toy close. Having just woken up from a nightmare. “Can I sleep with you?”
“Come here then just don’t tell your brother.” Gwayne says lifting the sheet so the boy can slip in. Him knowing it was wishful thinking that he’d get a night with you all to himself.
“Don’t tell me what?” Aerion asks having followed his big brother when he heard him get up. The boy not wanting to miss anything.
“Nothing, I take it you’re also sleeping in here tonight then?” Gwanye sighs knowing that the boys will sleep in the middle of the bed and that Aerion kicks in his sleep.
-
“She’s boring.” Aerion announces looking at his sleeping sister. The ginger girl only a fortnight old and swaddled in a pink blanket.
“She is a newborn sweetheart.” You say, smiling down at the sleeping girl in your arms. You all sat in the family solar.
“When can I see Jace again? He’s not boring.” Aerion asks going back to his toys. The horses having declared war on the dragons.
“Don’t be mean.” Daeron tells his little brother, the boy sat next to Gwayne practicing his reading. While you rest, Aerion making that rather difficult. “You used to be boring too.”
-
“My father is coming to visit.” You warn your husband, having just received word from Laena. Her being the only one to give notice, your father preferring to just show up.
“Does he have too?” Gwanye whines, looking forward to seeing Laena as he’s become friends with the woman but finding your father annoying. Especially when Ormund is also there, the men constantly bickering.
“I’d like to see Laena and the girls also Laena would like to meet Lynesse.” You say knowing what he was going to ask. You having already planned a nice trip for Ormund to take to highgarden so he’s not here to argue with your father.
“Then can’t they just come and leave him at home?” Gwanye tries, knowing he’ll be polite as he always is with your father.
“We can only hope.”
-
“Hello Baela.” Aerion says to the girl having missed her almost as much as he misses Jace. Them both being his best friends. “Do you want to play tag?”
“I’d love too.” She says smiling before running away from the boy knowing he was just about to tag her. Neither child caring that they haven’t greeted the other’s family’s yet.
“Father.” You say smiling at him, despite all his many faults you still loving the man.
“Daughter.” He greets giving to a gentle hug before nodding to your husband. “Hightower.”
“Prince Daemon.” Gwayne replies before looking at Rhaena who clearly doesn’t know what to do. “Daeron why don’t you go show Rhaena where she’ll be staying with her sister.”
“Yes kepa.” The boy says with a smile at the girl, not wanting her to feel left out as he knows how much Aerion is obsessed with Baela. “Come on Rhaena.”
“Congratulations.” Laena says smiling at you, pulling you into a hug. Happy for you having a daughter. “You look incredible.”
“So do you.” You respond smiling having missed your friend. “How’s your mother doing?”
-
“Ormund would like the dragons in the gardens.” Gwayne tells you almost a year later when you’re packing for a trip to kingslanding, Rhaenyra wanting to see you.
“Why?” You ask in confusion, checking you’ve packed the boy’s favourite blankets.
“He wants their kennels cleaned.” Gwayne responds with an eye roll, thinking his cousin crazy.
“Please stop calling them kennels.” You say giving him a look. “And he does know we’re going to kingslanding again soon doesn’t he?”
“He knows, he’s looking forward to all the cleaning that can get done.” He replies with a smile. “And what else am I supposed to call them?”
“Point taken.” You say letting your husband pull you into his arms. Both of you needing a break. “So shall we have a picnic this afternoon then?”
“That sounds like a good idea.” He says softly, pulling you into a kiss.
You can't recall exactly when or how you first came into contact with the billionaire and his sons, but if you could, you would go back in time and prevent that meeting from ever taking place. In a heartbeat.
Sitting obediently on a glass table tucked in the center of a crowded Wayne Enterprises boardroom, you find yourself ensnared as Bruce Wayne diligently delivers a familiar presentation, each sentence having been painstakingly practiced during the car ride over. Having overheard his repeated rehearsal with Alfred, you find yourself unconsciously mouthing along to every word. The tight black and green collar around your neck only worsening your discomfort, its stiffness constricting your movements and snagging on your freshly groomed fur.
The man continues on with his presentation, his polished demeanour and authoritative tone captivating the attention of the surrounding investors and executives. However, you find it difficult to focus on his words, the ridiculous knitted Nightwing sweater pressing against your back causing an uncomfortable itch. You shift slightly, wincing as your freshly combed coat brushes against the stiff fabric.
The weight of Bruce's unwavering gaze lands on you like a furnace, and you can almost picture that infuriatingly fond smile plastering his face. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with disgust. Your tail swishing side to side in distaste.
He continues to drone on and on; and you find yourself struggling to stay still, the uncomfortable position, itchy sweater, and the heavy weight of Bruce's stare making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything he's saying. The only thing you want to do is scratch the infuriating itch, but the tight collar around your neck and Bruce's looming presence ensure that you remain obediently still. You know better than to cross them. How willing they are to punish you, so you stay still.
Your thoughts drift to a time when you were still unburdened by this enforced domestication. A pang of longing and bitterness settles in your chest as memories of your previous life come flooding back. You remember the simple freedom of being able to move about unmonitored, the comfort of lounging in the sun, unbothered by the Wayne families suffocating grasps.
Your paws effortlessly propel you across the icy rooftops, leaping and bounding with a careless grace. The cool night air brushes through your untamed, unhindered fur, the wind whistling past your ears. A bag is clenched between your sharp teeth, the fabric muffling your breathing slightly as you scale each building with purpose.
The city's neon glow stretches out beneath your paws, the distant lights casting a soft, surreal hue on the urban canvas. Free to go wherever you please. You could spend minutes, hours or even days just wandering under Gotham’s starry sky, with no one to tell you what to do or where to be.
You pause your journey and arrive at the edge of a dark alley, peering down at the scene below. A woman holds two teens hostage, a pistol pressed against their shivering frames. Your tail involuntarily fluffs up, matching the tension in your body as your slitted eyes dart to each potential escape route. A hiss escapes past your teeth, and you set the package down at your side before delicately pawing at a loose brick in the wall. You slide it from its position just enough to create a domino effect, the brick falling directly onto the woman's gun-holding hand.
A small, satisfied mewl leaves your throat as the woman wails in pain, her broken wrist cradled protectively in her grip. The two teens immediately seize the opportunity to make their escape, scrambling out of the alleyway. The gun slips from the woman's grasp, and she drops to her knees clutching her wounded hand. Your ears fold back and a low hiss escapes your lips at the sight, but you remain perched on the roof-top, unmoving. You slowly lower back down to take your package, then turn away. Your paws hitting the nearest rooftop with a small thump.
Your paws carry you further and further away from the robbery, the events replaying in your mind like a vivid, disjointed dream. You launch yourself from roof-to-roof in a series of quick dashes and leaps, your body seemingly on autopilot as you weave through the city's darkened backstreets. The silence of the rooftops envelops you like a comforting blanket, the city below finally at rest. A cool night breeze caresses your untamed fur, rustling its unkempt strands. Balancing the package carefully in your mouth, you bound toward your home’s familiarly cluttered balcony.
Your eyes scan over the cluttered balcony, taking in the random assortment of books, clothes, and trinkets strewn across the small space. Your padded paws land quietly on the rough wood, a subtle thump breaking the silence. Your muscles relax ever so slightly as the familiar surroundings wash over you. Without a second thought, you make your way to the edge of the balcony, lowering the package with your paws before curling up beside it, your ears folding back in an almost contented manner.
Your eyes had just shuttered closed as you basked in the soothing midnight breeze, when the sudden crash of metal yanks you from your reverie. Your ears perking up and pivoting towards the source of the disturbance. A low, frustrated huff escapes your snout. You stretch out your limbs, your tail flicking in annoyance as you lower yourself from the edge of the balcony and peer over the side.
Peering down from your perch on the balcony, your eyes widen in surprise. It’s...a boy? Wearing a skin-tight red and black bodysuit with a vibrant yellow cape. A flicker of familiarity sparks in your brain; you’ve seen this one before. Red Robin.
You observe him silently from your vantage point, tilting your head to the side as your eyes rove over his frame. He lets out an exaggerated groan, grappling awkwardly with an unfamiliar piece of gadgetry. A low, scoffing hum leaves your throat and your tail lightly thwaps against the wood, twitching in amusement. You had only seen him in pictures before, but damn, they didn’t lie. He looked absolutely ridiculous.
You lower yourself with a single, fluid motion onto the metal stairwell, feeling the rough surface scraping against your little paws. A small hiss of displeasure escapes your throat, but you brush it off and continue. You approach him curiously, taking a moment to inspect him. Your nose twitches as you sniff at his cape before finding a comfortable spot to sit and look up at him expectantly.
He doesn’t immediately notice your approach, his mind seemingly occupied by the malfunctioning gadget in his hands. You watch as he fiddles with the device for a few moments before his attention finally snaps to you. He visibly jumps, startled by your sudden proximity. He lets out a startled breath, eyes widening. You had gone to him.
You let out a snort of derision. Him, a vigilante? A detective? Unlikely. The thought of him trying to solve a case or outwit a criminal is absolutely absurd. You let your gaze wander over his costume once more, imagining how differently he would react if you were in your human form right now.
He slowly lowers the gadget, his eyes fixed upon you as you recline before him, behaving like an awaiting house cat. He observes you with quiet, analytical interest, his gaze roaming over your small form, taking in your twitching tail and reasonably-groomed fur. He seems to ponder the sight of you, weighing in on your not-quite stray, yet not-quite pampered appearance.
You gingerly shift closer, standing on your hind legs before pawing at his pants. A small indignant huff of disappointment escapes your lips as the material refuses to tear, the tightly-woven fabric holding firmly against your claws, unable to even tear the slightest thread, but you mask it with a small, almost cute "mew". Nevertheless, you are determined to make the most out of this situation. Planning on coaxing all the pets you possibly can out of this man.
He shoots you a curious look, tilting his head to the side. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. He then slowly reaches out a gloved hand, hovering it over your head hesitantly, waiting for your response.
The end of your tail gives a happy flick, betraying your eagerness for his touch. You press your cheek against his knuckles, enjoying the sensation of his fingers against your fur. Instinctively, your ears fold back, granting him better access to run his fingers further through your soft fur. Sucker.
A soft, delighted purring sound fills the air as your eyes flutter closed, your purrs becoming a constant, steady low rumble in your chest as he continues to gently stroke your head and down your neck. Oh, this is heavenly. Your tail swishes contentedly, and you lean into his touch, almost shamelessly seeking out more.
His gloved hand is much bigger than your entire head, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against your fur. Yet, his touch was gentle and deliberate, slowly tracing the outline of your ears and down your spine, causing a blissful shiver to run through your small body. Your eyelids droop further, nearly closing completely, your purring becoming louder as you relax into his touch. You don’t notice the pleased knowing grin that crosses his face.
The weight and warmth of his gloved hand was almost soothing, his fingers weaving between your fur with a sort of rhythmic motion. You let your body go limp, your head rolling back to further expose the underside of your chin, silently begging for more of those slow, careful caresses. Your eyes are almost completely closed now, a small rumble in your chest the only sound you remember how to make. God, you haven’t been pet in weeks.
His hand moves from your spine to the base of your tail, and a low sigh of pure contentment leaves your mouth. He seems to sense your delight and focuses his attention there, running his fingers through the base of your tail, causing you to involuntarily arch your body towards him, purring in approval.
He seems to know exactly what to do, his touch deliberate yet tender. A little too well. It's as if he's somehow mapped out each and every spot that you secretly adore and is now exploiting it to great effect. The constant caresses, pets, and scrabbles have worked you into a sort of euphoric, almost trancelike state, your mind becoming blissfully devoid of conscious thought. All you can focus on is the warm, firm touch of his gloved hand.
The moment is shattered, however, as deep voice from his comms shatters the sweet, blissful moment. Your little pointed ears perk up, instinctively responding to the sudden intrusion of sound. “Tim? Why does it say you’ve stood still?”
You pull yourself from your blissful state with a reluctant huff, the sound of the deep voice in his comm jarring you back to reality. Your ears flick back, annoyed at the interruption. Tim– Red Robin seems to tense up, his hand frozen in mid-pet. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, looking down at you. "Sorry, I got…distracted."
Your tail lazily swishes against the stairwell, silently expressing your irritation at having been interrupted. You can practically hear his sheepish, nervous chuckle, can practically sense the tension in his frame. "Distracted?" The voice in the comm questions, but you huff, tuning out the conversation.
You let out a small, frustrated huff before turning your focus back onto Tim's still form. Ignoring the man's comm conversation, you push your little, fluffy face against his leg, letting out a needy demanding mewl to regain his attention. You're not done yet, damn it.
His eyes flick back over to you, a mix of apology and amusement evident in his gaze. He resumes his prior motions, sliding his hand down your spine with a soft, comforting caress, tracing the same path he'd followed before. All the while, his other hand is fiddling with the comms device, probably replying to the man on the other end. Good. As long as his hands are still touching you, you don't particularly care what he's doing. “You found them?”
You sigh and let yourself relax once again, the soothing motions of his fingers against your fur quickly working you back into blissful indifference. You let your eyelids flutter closed, sinking back into the soothing rhythm of his touch. The only sounds you can focus on are his breathing, the soothing rasp of his glove against your fur, and the low hum of the comm conversation. This is nice.
He continues this motion for what feels like an eternity, the blissful sensation of being pet taking over your senses and dulling your brain into a euphoric, mindless state. You find yourself leaning heavily against his leg, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the low rumble of his voice against the comms acting as an oddly soothing background noise. Damn, you could get used to this....
Gradually, you become aware of him shifting, his hand leaving your spine. A low whine escapes your throat, your eyes opening to look up at him with a mixture of annoyance and pleading. Come back. You meow, demanding.
You let out a low grumble of complaint as he stands and picks up the device once more. Irritated at the interruption of your moment, you bat at his leg with your small paw, then quickly scamper away, leaping back onto the balcony from before. Now alone, you let out a sigh and circle the small space multiple times. The wood scraping against your claws sharply.
With a quick shift, you transform back into your human form, the small package clutched delicately in your hands. Turning, you slide open the door to the balcony and step through, the cool night air rustling against your clothes.
Tossing the small package onto the countertop, you drag yourself over to the couch. Your limbs ache with exhaustion as you collapse into the cushions with a thud. You bring the well worn blanket with you, wrapping your tired body in its familiar comfort. Your muscles are screaming out for rest. Which you happily oblige.
You're wrenched out of a fitful sleep, eyes fluttering open as the familiar, infuriating sound of construction greets you. Fuck. A loud, frustrated groan escapes your chapped lips. You pull a nearby couch pillow over your head, desperately trying to muffle the noise. With bleary eyes, you squint at the digital clock reading 5:42. You want to die.
The relentless hammering, banging, and drilling outside the thin walls of the apartment pierce your eardrums. You swear you can feel each blow of the hammer, every screech of the drill, deep in your bones. Make it stop. You press the pillow more firmly against your ears, trying in vain to block out the incessant din. You silently promise yourself that if you ever meet the city planner responsible for approving this construction, you'll kick him square in the nuts... Or right in the vagina– whatever. Now is not the time to debate over this.
With a groan of irritation and an abundance of hissing, you force your tired body into a sitting position as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You take a moment to rub your temples for some relief from the dull ache forming behind your eyes.
You open your red rimmed eyes and swing your legs over the side of the couch. The exhaustion from last night feels ten times worse now after being woken up prematurely by the construction racket. You mentally curse whoever’s in charge here, and their entire bloodline. Silently wishing for the noise to stop. Maybe you can sleep in the bathtub later...
You brace one hand against the side of the couch as you use it as support to rise to your feet. A series of satisfying cracks and pops resonate down your spine. By the sound of it you’re a chiropractors wet dream.
You let out a low sigh of relief as you straighten, your back now less taut than it was a few moments ago. Small mercies, right?
With your hands clamped tightly over your tender, sensitive ears, you stumble into the kitchen. You begin searching through each cabinet with a desperation that borders on violent. Your mission? Find the strongest headache pills you have.
After hastily flinging open each cupboard and shelf, you finally find what you’re looking for. A small, white bottle filled half way with little white tabs. With a quick twist, you pop the lid open and pour two pills out into your palm, before downing them dry.
You lean against the kitchen counter, eyes squeezed shut as you press the heels of your hands firmly into your temples. Come on. Work already..
You wait in silence, only the buzzing of the refrigerator and occasional hammering outside filling the air. You press your palms against your temples, as if physically willing the pills to work faster. The tension between your shoulders tight as piano wire.
You let out a frustrated groan, turning the tap on, lowering your head under the rushing water. You gulp down a few mouthfuls, letting the water run over, through, and past your lips. The noise of the tap muffling the sounds of the construction. The coolness of the water temporarily soothes the ache behind your eyes.
You let the water slide past your lips, closing them to savor the cool sensation. Your mind grows blank as you lose track of time, lost in tranquility despite the racket outside. Then, with a shaky hand, you turn off the tap, stepping back as you reach for a tea towel to dry your face and neck. The cloth rough against your tender skin, but the motion is calming, and your shoulders loosen the slightest bit.
You lean back against the counter, the cold marble seeping through your shirt, almost numbing any sensation on your skin. You take another moment to towel dry your hair, the rough material scraping against your scalp, and sending a pleasant shiver down your back. The small action temporarily distracting you from the pounding in your head.
You drop the towel, letting it fall onto the counter behind you. A long exhale escapes your mouth, your shoulders dropping as you relax. For a moment, the water seems to have worked. Unfortunately, the relief is short lived as the headache slowly creeps back in. A low growl escapes your lips. Ugh.
You scan over the bottle, reading the small print. Only twenty minutes before the damn things start to kick in. Shit. You shove the container back inside the cupboard, a frustrated huff leaving your lips. You drag your body over to your room, every step a tedious task.
You stumble into the room and collapse onto your bed, face first. You let out a low groan as your body lands on the soft, fluffy mattress. It welcomes you with open arms. You let yourself go limp, letting the comfort and softness of your bed lull you into a quiet state of half numbness. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of rest, or the pills finally starting to work, but you’re suddenly feeling incredibly woozy.
With a sluggish effort, you shift your head up, wincing at the sharp, persistent thrum in your skull. Despite the throbbing, you slowly extend your arm to reach for the pair of shorts laying on the edge of the bed.
With a weary sigh, you shuck off yesterday’s cargo pants and pull the new shorts up your legs. The simple motion feels like climbing a mountain. Deciding that the headache pounding through your mind was too much to change your shirt, you collapse back onto your bed. The sheets cool against your overheated skin.
You lay there for a moment, letting the comfort of your bed take hold. Despite the headache still pounding through your head, exhaustion slowly starts to take hold of you. Your eye lids flutter as sleep slowly creeps in. But just as you’re about to doze off, your stomach lets out an obnoxious gurgle, the sound piercing the silence. Great.
You let out a frustrated sigh as you shift up from the bed, grimacing as you do so. Your untamed hair sticking up in random directions. You rub your temple, as your stomach lets out another loud grumble. You let out an annoyed whine as the realisation sinks in. You’re out of groceries.
With a disgruntled huff, you haul yourself up for the second time. Reaching for your jacket as you quickly make your way towards the front door. This time choosing to forego the balcony and just walk like a normal person. You swing open the front door and step out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzz annoyingly overhead.
You step into the hallway, your shoes slapping softly against the tiled floor. The sound of the construction is no longer muffled, the endless banging and grinding now clear as day. You wince as the onslaught suddenly becomes unbearable. You quickly make your way to the staircase instead of the elevator. You can’t handle being jammed into that tiny space with the sounds of hell right now.
You take the steps of the staircase two at a time, just wanting to get out of this damn building as soon as possible. Each step echoes with a rhythmic thudding against the cold concrete as you make your way to the ground floor. The headache pills have finally started to work, but the pounding construction outside is slowly undoing their efforts.
You stride past the workers, shooting each of them a murderous glare. It’s not their fault they’re just doing their job. But goddamn it, the headache is worsening and it’s all you can do to not snap at them. Instead, you settle for shooting them a glare that could rival Batman himself.
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the angry words building within you. Just keep walking. It’s fine. They’re not at fault here. It’s stupid to be angry at them. You repeat the mantra in your head like a broken record as your legs carry you further down the street. Further away from that blasted construction noise.
You keep walking, your shoes thumping against the concrete as you go. The further away you get from the construction, the more the headache starts to abate. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath of relief as you glance around at your surroundings. Barely anyone was out at this hour, the streets still mostly asleep.
After walking another ten minutes or so, you pause in the middle of the street and let out a string of quiet curses under your breath. The stores won’t be open for at least another four hours, and your stomach is starting to demand sustenance again.
Frustration builds inside of you, your teeth clenched tight together as you shuffle in place. You can’t go back to your apartment because of that goddamn noise, and all the stores that aren’t run by mobsters are closed.
You sigh, resting your tired body against the graffiti-filled wall behind you. There was another option you could try. But whether or not you were desperate enough to do it was something else.
You chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. You hadn't eaten much more than a small yogurt cup yesterday, and your stomach was protesting it's emptiness in a loud, gurgling complaint. You release a long sigh, doing a quick glance around to ensure no one was nearby before shifting into a cat.
The transformation is swift and graceful as you shift into the form of a sleek cat. Your body shrinks, limbs elongating and changing shape as soft multicoloured fur sprouts from your body. You stand on four paws, tail swaying languidly. You give yourself a quick shake, licking your little paws for good measure before looking around again.
You take a moment to get used to the new body you’ve assumed. Everything felt a tad bit more sensitive in this form. Your ears swivel around at minuscule sounds as you sniff the air with your sensitive nose, picking up on the various scents floating through the street.
You decide to try your hand at pity first, before resorting to thievery if your first plan fails. You slink down the street, your paws silent against the pavement beneath you as you search for some poor unsuspecting soul to assist you.
You stalk down the street, ears pricked and head tilted as you listen for the sounds of anyone making their way through the quiet street. You make yourself as adorable as possible: wide, begging eyes and sticking out your chest. A pitiful meow leaving your little cat mouth every so often, just for good measure.
You make your way through the city, heading towards the more upscale side of Gotham. You sway your tail idly behind you, the appendage brushing against the concrete and gathering the dirt that sticks to your fur. You make sure to rub up against some objects, gathering enough dirt and debris to make yourself appear slightly disheveled, but not enough to set off your instincts to want to groom yourself immediately.
You reach a neighbourhood of opulent high rises and well manicured lawns, plush houses and gated communities starting to become more frequent, a stark contrast to the graffiti-filled blocks you had passed before. Your fur is dusted with enough dirt to look untidy without feeling uncomfortable, and you let out a small meow as you glance down the street, scouting for a likely target.
You spot a man of considerable height, around 6 foot tall, with an intimidatingly built physique. His shirt clings just slightly too tightly against his chest, leaving little to the imagination. A scar mars the side of his face, making him look even more menacing. But you’ve seen far scarier looking men loitering at the end of your street. Saying that, doesn’t mean you’re any less scared of his imposing figure. So you quickly duck under the nearest parked car, attempting to conceal yourself beneath it.
You watch in trepidation as the man begins strutting towards the vehicle you’ve hidden yourself beneath. He kneels down in an unhurried, smooth motion, and peers right under the car. His gaze instantly locks onto you, your eyes widening in response to his intense stare. For the briefest of moments, you could have sworn there was a look of softness in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to see you.
“A cat?” The man lets out a small huff, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief. His gaze drifts to your disheveled appearance, taking in the dirt that clings to your fur. He lets out a low hum, continuing to watch you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His muscles slowly relax. A smirk appearing on his face as he studies you closer.
Your tail sways behind you, your ears perking up at his relaxed gaze. A sly little grin of satisfaction threatens to rise to your face, but you hold it back, instead letting out a pitiful meow as you slowly shuffle closer to him. He doesn’t move away, watching your every movement with unwavering eyes.
You lower your head, slowly moving towards his boots. You let your body press against the soles of his shoes, a soft purring sound escaping your little feline mouth. The dirt from your fur slowly coats the previously clean material of his boots, but he doesn’t seem to mind the mess.
You continue to press your body against the hard leather of his boots, leaving behind a dusting of dirt. He crouches down, gently reaching out a big hand, careful not to scare you off. You can see the muscles in his arms flex with the action, the veins prominent on his knuckles. He gently runs a finger over your head, scratching just behind your ears.
The feel of his big hand against your head is gentle, his touch unexpectedly tender as he lightly scratches at the skin behind your ear. You let out a rumbling purr, unable to fight the comforting sensation that slowly starts to take over. Despite his intimidating appearance, he’s surprisingly sweet towards you.
He’s a hard-looking man, his appearance disheveled and weathered, a white streak through his jet black hair. His wide physique is almost intimidating, but you can see his heart already start to soften after a few moments. It seems even he isn’t immune to the charm of a pitiful stray cat begging for food and affection.
"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" The man's deep, slightly grating voice calls out as he continues to gently scratch behind your ear. He's staring down at your small form with an odd expression of concern on his face, his eyes drifting over your disheveled fur.
Your ears perk up at the sound of his voice. Something suddenly seems terribly familiar about it. You tilt your head, glancing up to get a clearer look at the man’s face as you try and place where exactly you’ve heard his voice before.
You look closer at the man, studying his features with a furrowed brow. There’s no mistaking it now, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere before. You’re sure of it. But there’s no way you’d ever know anyone this big and intimidating before… right?
The man stands, gently scooping you up into his arms. He gives you a light pat on the head before he starts to move. “Come along then, I don’t need that little shit on my ass for leaving their little obsession stranded so far from home,” he mumbles, as if he’s talking to himself and not you.
You’re left blinking in surprise as you’re lifted from the ground, cradled in the man’s arms. You look up at him as he starts walking down the street with you, a bewildered look on your face. Obsession? Stranded? What the hell is this dude on?
The man continues walking, his stride even and unhurried. He glances down at you and scoffs, as if he’s amused by the sight of you. He mutters something under his breath as he walks, something that sounds like “God dammit, B.” He brings his hand up to give you a gentle scratch under your chin, the gesture almost affectionate.
Your stomach chooses the perfect moment to let out a loud grumble, the sound amplified by being so close to the man’s hand. You can feel his hand twitch against your belly slightly, and he lets out a low chuckle.
“Hungry, huh?” The man drawls out. He stops his stride for a moment, pulling out his phone as he keeps you cradled in one arm. You can’t see anything from this angle, but you can hear the sound of him making a phone call.
It’s only a few rings before someone picks up on the other end. You can faintly hear a voice chatting softly on the other line, even though you can’t make out what they’re saying. The man lets out a small huff of annoyance before holding the phone up to his ear, shifting you in his arms to keep you comfortably balanced against his chest.
“Hey,” he says into the speaker, his voice gruff but surprisingly soft. “Yeah, I’m out on the east side. I found something.” There’s a pause as the person on the other line responds, and you can faintly hear them say something, although it’s muffled and indistinct. The man snorts, his eyes drifting down to you for a moment before he continues.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m bringing ‘em back. Relax,” The man responds to the person on the other side of the line, rolling his eyes. You watch the side of his face as he talks, your ears pricked, ears catching snippets of the conversation. Relax? What do they mean by that? Are they talking about me?
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” the man says, shifting you around again as he begins to resume walking. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The person on the other end says a few more words before there’s a beep signifying the call’s been cut. He shoves his phone back into his pocket before bringing his hand back to keep you cradled against his chest.
You huff softly, feeling a strange mix of irritation and intrigue swirling inside of you. In an attempt to distract yourself, you reach your small paw up, lightly tapping it against the man’s cheek.
It’s a small action, intended to be nothing more than a curious little jab. But against the rough, scarred skin of the man’s cheek, your tiny little paw seems almost affectionate. He glances down at you at the contact, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.
He studies you for a moment, a look of almost curiosity on his face. It’s a far cry from the gruff, hardened exterior he had been portraying up until now. He stops his stride for a moment, lifting you closer to his face to look at you more closely.
He seems almost… fascinated by you. His eyes rove over your soft fur and little face, taking in every detail. He lets out a low hum, slowly reaching out a hand and gently stroking your back. “The kid’s is gonna kill me for letting you get all dirty.”
The hand stroking gently down your back is surprisingly soft, despite the callouses and ridges of his fingertips. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, probably trying to deduce what to do. “You’re a mess,” he mutters, his gaze drifting over your disheveled coat.
You can feel the urge to roll your eyes at the man’s words, the comment practically begging for a sarcastic reaction. But you hold it back, reminding yourself of the delicious meal you’re hoping to get out of him. Better hold back on the sass, for now.
Instead, you let your tail flick idly, trying to appear as innocent and pitiful as possible. Come on, man. Have a heart. Feed me.
The dude glances down as your tail continues to flick against his arm, almost as if you’re trying to lure him into doing something for you. A light snort escapes his mouth, his fingers trailing down to give you a little scratch on the head. “You’re a sly little bastard, ain’t ya?”
His statement is more of an off-handed comment rather than an actual critique. He continues to scratch behind your ear, seemingly unable to resist giving you a little affection. His gaze drifts over your disheveled form, taking in the dirt-matted fur and slight exhaustion in your eyes.
He lets out a soft grunt, his touch gentle as he runs his hands through your fur. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, his eyes never leaving your disheveled appearance. “How long you been out here all alone, huh?” he mutters, his voice gruff but strangely sympathetic.
The man lets out a low huff, glancing down at you with an almost sympathetic look on his face. “It’s earlier than we planned,” the man mutters, a hint of regret coating his words. His hand still softly stroking through your fur. “But the renovations are nearly ready,” his eyes taking in your exhausted form. It’s hard to say if he’s talking to you or to himself, a note of assurance in his voice. “So soon, kid.”
You look up at him with a bewildered expression on your face, your little mind still trying to make sense of his words. What is he talking about? Renovations? Who’s he talking to? Who are the people he keeps mentioning? What is even happening right now? But you quickly cover it up and let out a tired-sounding meow, hoping he won’t notice the hint of confusion in your little feline face. He glances down at you, his hand slowly rubbing a soothing circle on your back.
“Don’t worry, little one,” he murmurs, his voice still gruff but the tone softer this time. “You’ll be safe soon enough.” He gives you a gentle pat on the head before resuming his stride. You can feel his arms cradling you against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost lulling you into a sense of security.
Even as your mind races with unanswered questions, the beat of the man’s heartbeat seems to soothe you, acting as a strange form of comfort. His warm arms keep you tucked against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest steady and unhurried. It’s an almost reassuring presence.
The man carries you down the street, the rhythmic sound of his footsteps and steady rhythm of his heart slowly lulling you into a trance-like state. The exhaustion from the past few days is finally catching up to you, a small yawn escaping your little mouth before you can try to fight it.
You can feel your eyelids growing heavy, exhaustion taking over your small body. The steady rhythm of the man’s heart combined with the gentle rocking of his arms as he walks send a wave of fatigue through you. You try to fight back the overwhelming tiredness, but another small, squeaky yawn escapes your little mouth.
With a soft contented sigh, you stretch out your little paws, making yourself comfortable in his arms. The man lets out a low chuckle as he watches your little legs extend, giving you a gentle pat on the back.
It’s strangely comforting, being held in the man’s strong arms. The sound of his laughter rumbles through his chest, and you can almost hear a hint of affection in the gesture. You feel the weight of your fatigue start to increase, your eyes slowly blinking shut against your will.
You blearily blink your eyes open, suddenly finding yourself lying on a soft cushion. The fabric feels luxurious against your fur, the plush material enveloping you in a comfortable embrace. You dazedly look around, trying to recall how you ended up on this soft surface.
Your little ears fold back as you look around, slowly taking in your surroundings. A brief moment of confusion washes over you as you realize that you had fallen asleep in the man’s arms. But seeing him still here, you let out a relieved sigh, your entire fluffy body moving up and down in the process. Thank everything that he didn’t leave me on the side of the road.
He glances over at you, noticing that you’re now awake. “You finally back with the living?” he says gruffly, his voice tinged with amusement. You can see a hint of a smile on the man’s face, betraying his hard exterior.
You lift your chin up in a defiant huff, letting your tail flick against the soft cushion as an additional statement of irritation. The man lets out a snort, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at your small act of feigned irritation.
“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he mutters, his voice taking on a slightly amused tone. He reaches a hand out to give you a small pat on the head, his rough fingers gently stroking your fur.
Your chest lets out a soft rumble, purring at the feeling of his hand stroking through your fur. Your gaze drifts around the room, your nose twitching as you pick up on a delicious scent. Food, your stomach rumbles. Please, be food.
The aroma is tantalizing, making your little stomach grumble loudly in response. You wonder if it's your imagination, or if the man actually has food nearby. The man lets out another amused huff as he notices your nose twitching and your stomach rumbling. “Impatient little thing, eh?” he mutters, lifting his hand from your head to look at you with a slightly entertained expression. Your little paws twitch slightly, as if you’re preparing to go searching for where the wonderful scent is coming from.
He chuckles at your eagerness, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Calm down, bud,” he says gruffly. “Food’s coming in a minute. Ain’t gonna starve ya.’” He gives you another gentle pat on the head, his hand large enough to practically cover your entire body.
You let out a dissatisfied huff, your gaze still darting around to try and find the source of the delicious scent. You want to rush out and find the food immediately, but the man's large hand keeps you pressed firmly on the soft cushion. You squirm a little impatiently, your tail flicking idly against the fabric. Your cat instincts taking over.
He lets out an amused laugh at your squirming, your restlessness making it hard for him to keep you in place. “Hold still,” he says gruffly. “You're making it hard to keep you in one place.” He reaches his hands out again and gently holds you down, preventing you from moving around any further.
You’re not a fan of this guy keeping you down, your instincts flaring up in defiance. Despite the delicious promise of food in the air, you’re tempted to lash out and scratch him just for holding you in one spot. Release me, your inner self growls.
You pause in your struggle, your little ears perking up and your whiskers twitching as the clink of dishes and the soft sound of footsteps approaching comes from nearby. Your nose twitches with anticipation, the delicious smells in the air becoming more concentrated. Food.
You crane your head to get a better look at the approaching figure, your little body shifting slightly on the cushion. The man holding you down also looks up, watching as someone walks into the room carrying a tray of food. Your little mouth starts to salivate, the enticing scents wafting over to you and making your stomach rumble loudly.
The guy releases his grip once you stop squirming, letting you move freely again. You can feel your instincts taking over your little body, your tail curling around your side as you focus your attention on the tray of food being presented in front of you. “Here you are, Master Jason.”
Your eyes are almost glued to the tray, filled with the most tantalizing smells that you've come across. The man– Jason watches you quietly, amused by your little display. The person holding the tray sets the food down in front of you, the various dishes arranged in an almost tempting manner.
You want to purr in delight as you look at the food laid before you. Thank god there’s none of that dreadful cat food in sight. You've had your fair share of people trying to feed you that horrible kibble in the past, and you're definitely not a fan. This food smells a million times better than anything that ever came out of a can. Meat.
You shoot him a glance of appreciation before hopping onto the table, greedily pouncing on the food in front of you. You dive right in, devouring the food with gusto, your little tongue lapping at the meat hungrily.
You pay no mind to him as you feast on the delicious meal laid out in front of you. The smells, the texture, the taste; it’s all absolutely heavenly. You eat like you've never eaten before, your little body almost shaking with contentment. This might just be the best meal you’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.
Meanwhile, Jason watches your little display with a slight smirk on his face. He doesn’t say anything, just watching as you devour the food on the plate in front of you with relish. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, quickly taking a picture of you digging into the food to send to the family in case they ask how you're doing. He lets out a soft huff of amusement at your behavior, a hint of fondness in his eyes.
You're so lost in the food, you don't even notice the older man taking a picture of you. All your focus is singular, eating as much as you can before it’s taken away. The man watches you with a mix of amusement and something else that you can’t quite place. Too absorbed in your meal to notice his reaction.
Once you’ve practically licked the plate clean, you finally feel a sense of fullness, your little belly pleasantly satisfying. You give yourself a little shake, a little bit of food still stuck to your whiskers. Jason chuckles slightly, watching your little satisfied display. He breaks the silence as you finish cleaning yourself off.
“Had enough?” he asks in a gruff voice. His words are gruff and blunt, but you can sense the touch of amusement within them. You let out a little huff, feeling satisfied but also a little bit embarrassed at how fast you had eaten. Too much food, you think, your little stomach feeling a bit bloated.
The next thirty minutes pass by in a blur, your mind fuzzy and filled with the sensation of being inside Jason’s leather jacket as he mounts his bike. He doesn't have a bag or carrier to keep you secure, so you cling onto his shirt for dear life, your little claws digging tightly into the fabric. The wind whips through your fur as the bike roars to life, the force of the breeze making you instinctively cling even harder.
You had assumed that Jason was simply taking you back to the spot where he had found you under the car. After all, there was no chance in hell that you were going to poke your head out of the top of his jacket to check yourself. However, as he stops the bike and unzips the jacket, revealing your familiar surroundings, your tail begins to fluff up in surprise. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re at home, as in, right outside your apartment. The fur on your back bristles, ears folding back. You’re quick to jump off of the vehicle, backing away. What the fuck?
You scramble off Jason's lap and onto the sidewalk, your little paws almost slipping in your haste. The moment you land on the pavement, you take a few stumbling steps back, your tail puffed up and your fur standing on end. How could he possibly know where you live? You hadn’t given away any indication that you lived here, or anywhere for that matter. You had been so careful to stay out of sight, blending into the shadows. There was no way he could have known. And yet… here you are, outside your home. You take a tentative step back, your little feet moving instinctively. Your instincts are screaming at you to run, to get away from this guy who seemingly knew too much about you.
Your eyes dart from the man to the building behind you, your mind racing. Everything inside you is telling you to run, to flee and go hide. You were supposed to be so careful, so cautious about keeping your identity a secret. And now this man standing in front of you, this guy you barely knew, had just pulled up right outside your home. How the hell did he know where you lived? Run, your instincts yell. Run, run, run.
You take another jerky step back, your little paws almost slipping on the rough pavement. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You almost trip over your own feet, your mind flooded with a mix of fear and confusion. How does he know? How the fuck does he know!? You’ve been so careful, covering your tracks, making sure no one followed you home. But here he is, standing in front of you, looking all too calm and collected. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he knows where you live or how calm he seems about it.
You don't waste another second, your little feet moving as fast as they can. Your instincts are screaming at you to run and get away as fast as possible. So that's what you do. You take off like a shot, darting away from the bike, from the man, from everything. Your focus is on nothing except getting away, getting somewhere safe, somewhere away from this guy who apparently knew more than he should. You dart upstairs faster than you thought physically possible, breath coming out laboured as you panic, not bothering to check if anyone’s nearby as you shift back to human, unlocking your door and slamming it closed behind you.
Jason let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he watches you scamper off. "Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, watching as your small form quickly disappears from sight. "I didn’t think that through." He scowls, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected you to panic quite that much.
Your knees suddenly give way, and you collapse to the floor with a thump. Your hand instinctively moves to press against your chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. Your mind is racing, your body shaking from the adrenaline and panic of the situation. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing, your chest heaving as you gasp in sharp breaths.
You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making it feel like it’s about to explode. You can barely breathe, your gasps for air coming in quick, sharp pants. Your head is swimming, the world around you seeming to spin and tilt with each jerky movement. You can’t think straight, your mind filled with a swirling mix of panic and confusion. It feels like everything is closing in on you, the walls of your apartment suddenly feeling claustrophobic.
You try to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths come out ragged and uneven, each one feeling like a struggle. Your chest is heaving, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you’re starting to wonder if it’ll burst. You drop your head down, resting your forehead against your knees, trying to steady yourself. Your mind is racing, thoughts and questions and doubts swirling in a confusing mess.
You desperately try to calm down, to ease the frantic beating of your heart. But nothing seems to work, the panic and confusion making it nearly impossible to think straight. Your head spins as you struggle to take deep breaths, each one catching in your throat like a lump. You can feel your body trembling, your muscles tense and coiled like a spring about to snap. The thought of the man outside your door, the man that knew where you lived, makes your stomach twist in knots.
It feels like your privacy has been invaded, your safe sanctuary no longer feeling so safe. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a small, trapped animal. Your mind races, trying to come up with some kind of plan, some kind of solution to this messed up situation. But you’re too lost in your own head, too focused on calming your panicked breathing to come up with anything coherent.
You feel like you’re drowning, your body overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and the physical response. You need to get yourself under control, to get your thoughts sorted out and figure out what the hell to do. But it feels like your mind and your body are in a constant tug-of-war with each other, neither one willing to give in. It’s like being stuck in a nightmare that you can’t wake up from.
You’re suddenly aware of the silence in your apartment. It’s an eerie stillness that seems to echo the chaos in your mind. The only sound is the soft rush of your own breathing, the beat of your heart a steady drum in your ears. It’s too quiet, and yet it’s almost deafening at the same time. You stay slumped on the floor, your head still against your knees, too overwhelmed to even think about getting up. You can’t breathe.
Your lungs feel like they’re on fire, each breath a struggle against the tight feeling in your chest. Your body is shaking, the adrenaline and panic having physical effects that you’re powerless to stop. You try to focus on calming yourself down, to get your breathing under control, but it’s like trying to hold onto water. Your lungs seizing up with each gasping breath. You try to focus on your breathing, trying to steady the erratic rhythm. But it’s like your body won’t obey, each inhale sharp and uneven, each exhale ragged. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your temples, echoing the desperate rhythm of your heart. You need to get yourself together, to calm down. You need to calm down.
You try to mentally force yourself to calm, to slow down your breathing, but it’s like every part of your body is working against you. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, swirling around in your head like a storm. Your heart is still racing, the panic and fear making it almost impossible to concentrate. You try to focus on something, anything to try and control the chaotic mess that is your mind. But your thoughts keep slipping away, dancing just out of reach every time you try to grasp them. You can't think, you can't breathe, you can't move.
You’re trapped in your own mind, your own body. You feel so small, so helpless, so utterly alone. The silence in your apartment is deafening, adding to the feeling of isolation. You try to will yourself to move, but you’re stuck, paralyzed by your own fear and panic. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, the erratic beats echoing in your ears as you try to force your lungs to take slow, steady breaths. You need to calm down. You need to.
You force your shoulders to relax, your eyes fluttering open. Okay, okay… You can do this. You try to remember the steps you learned for managing panic attacks. Breathe in for four, hold for… You can’t think. Your brain is fuzzy, filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories. You try to remember the proper way to do it but your mind refuses to cooperate. Four or seven? Or was it nine? Exhale for eight. Fuck, I can’t think.
Your mind is a blur, your thoughts chaotic and tangled. You can’t remember the step-by-step process. Something about breathing in for a certain number of seconds, holding it, and exhaling for another number of seconds. But the details are a hazy mess, your panic making it impossible to remember clearly. You try your best, sucking in a shaky breath and holding it for what you think is the right amount of time. But your heart is still racing, your hands still trembling. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Why the fuck isn’t it working?
Jason stands against his bike, his gaze fixed on the window of your apartment. He's on the phone with Bruce, his voice low and filled with frustration. "I know, I know…" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admits, grimacing at his own carelessness.
He listens as Bruce responds, his eyes never leaving the window. He can feel the weight of his mistake sitting heavily on his shoulders. He should have known that you'd react the way you did, and he should have stuck to the plan. But he didn’t. He just acted, without thinking. Just like always, his conscience needles him.
Jason sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as Bruce continues to speak. He knows Bruce is right, he always is. He’s good at saying the things that are hard to hear but desperately needed to be said. It’s part of what makes him great, but it also makes him irritating sometimes. Like right now.
"I know," Jason replies, his voice slightly sharp. "I get it. But what am I supposed to do now?"
There’s a pause as Bruce replies, his voice muffled over the phone. Jason’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as he listens. Yeah, yeah. Be patient. Easy for you to say.
"I know,” he repeats, his voice strained. "But the kid bolted before I could even get a word in. Now they’re probably scared shitless in there."
There's another pause. Jason can hear the steady timbre of Bruce’s voice on the other end, his words blending in a stream of low, soothing murmurs. He rolls his eyes, bristling at the older man's calm, steady tone. It always makes him feel like a kid being lectured, even though a part of him knows it’s not entirely untrue.
He lets out another sigh, his body sagging against his bike. "I’m trying," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up, alright? I’ll give ‘em time to cool off." He glances back at your apartment, a pang of something he can’t quite identify tugging at his chest.
He nods along to whatever Bruce is saying, his eyes flickering back to your apartment window. He wonders if you're watching him from behind those blinds, if you’re scared, angry, confused. Probably all three, his mind supplies.
He winces at the thought, his hand tightening around his phone. He hates the thought that he might have screwed this up before it even really started. Bruce is probably right, he should give you space. But the thought of just leaving you alone and confused chafes at him, makes him want to just go in there and fix things already. He knows Bruce can feel his tension, can sense the turmoil roiling beneath his stoic exterior. Damn Batman and his stupid emotional intuition.
"Yeah, I get it," he mutters into the phone, his voice tight. "I’ll back off, give them space. But I don’t like it." There's another pause as Bruce responds, his voice low and steady.
It soothes something in him, a part of him that still yearns for guidance and approval, even though he knows he’ll never admit it. It’s a part of him that he usually denies, pushes down, but moments like these have a way of bringing it to the surface.
He's silent for a moment, letting Bruce speak. The older man's voice is steady, a low, grounding murmur that somehow manages to both soothe and irritate him at the same time. He's always been good at that, somehow finding the exact words needed to either calm him down or piss him off even more.
Jason clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together in frustration. He’s torn. Part of him wants to just march up there, kick down the door and force you to talk to him. But he also knows that would just make things worse. He’s not good at the whole patience thing, but he knows that just charging in like a bull in a china shop is only going to make things more difficult. Damn it. He swings his leg over his bike, settling onto the seat. He takes one final look up at your window, his gaze lingering there for a moment. He can almost feel the weight of your fear and confusion from here, like a tangible thing. It makes his stomach twist into knots, his hands clenching on the grips.
But he knows he needs to let you be, to give you the space you clearly need. So, with a heavy sigh, he revs the engine and pulls away.
You wake up with a start, your body jerking out of a fitful sleep. Your body is covered in a cold sweat, your clothes sticking to your skin in an unpleasant way. You sit there in the darkness, your breathing heavy and your heart thumping hard in your chest.
Your room is still, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft sounds of the city outside your window.
Three long weeks have passed since you last saw Jason. The days have slipped by in a blur of routine and monotony. You go to work, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. It's like you're living your life on autopilot, your thoughts often drifting to the man who showed up at your door that night.
Since that night, you haven’t shifted. Something deep inside you, some instinctual feeling, tells you that it’s not safe to do so. So you stay human, your animal form buried deep within you, a constant low hum of unease. The feeling of something bad happening if you shift is a constant nagging in the back of your mind, a feeling you can’t shake despite your attempts to dismiss it as paranoia.
The longer you stay human, the stronger your instincts become. You catch yourself acting cat-like in subtle ways: tilting your head to the side when you're listening, twitching at sharp noises, even finding yourself kneading at your shirt when you’re frustrated. It’s a constant internal struggle, your instincts demanding to be let out while your rational mind tells you to keep them contained. You know it’s not healthy, not sustainable, but you can’t shake the feeling that shifting is just too risky right now.
You’re acutely aware of how unhealthy this is. You can feel the tension building within you, the constant battle between your human side and your animal side wearing you down mentally and emotionally. Your thoughts are constantly consumed with the need to shift, the need to be in your animal form, the need to let your instincts take over. But something inside you is holding you back, some primal fear that won’t let you let go. It’s a constant struggle you can’t escape, a constant mental strain that's slowly but surely eating away at your sanity.
You groggily stumble out of bed, the cool night air hitting your skin like a refreshing splash of water. It’s late, the digital clock on your bedside table reading 2:47 AM. You shiver slightly, your muscles tight and cramped from your restless sleep. Despite the chill in the air, you can’t help the feeling of relief as you step out onto your balcony. The city is quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of the day replaced with a soothing, almost eerie calm.
In a moment of clarity, you realize you’re being ridiculous. You’re tired, you’re frustrated, and damn it you’re tired of living in constant fear. You’ve been tormenting yourself for weeks over this, letting your instincts fester and your body ache from the strain. And for what? What's going to happen in the middle of the night on a Wednesday? Nothing, that’s what. And you’re not going to keep making yourself ill over some bastard stalker.
With a rush of determination, you finally give in. You let your instincts take over, your body shifting and contorting into your animal form. The relief is immediate, the tension in your body melting away as you shed your human skin. The cool night air is even more refreshing in this form, your senses heightened as you take in the night around you. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again, the weight of your human anxieties falling away like a heavy coat. You felt free.
The world looks different through your animal eyes, the details sharper and more defined. Your ears twitch, picking up sounds you'd never notice in your human form. Your muscles twitch as your animal instincts kick in, a low purring sound rumbling through your chest. It's been so long since you've let yourself be like this, since you've just been. It's exhilarating, freeing, like coming up for air after being stranded underwater for too long.
You pad over to the edge of the balcony, your paws making almost no sound on the wood. You look out at the city, the glittering lights and silent streets a stark contrast to the chaotic hum during the day. It’s quieter, calmer, a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in ages. You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs and making your fur stand on end. You feel more alive here, more yourself, than you have in weeks.
Your muscles ripple under your fur as you stretch, arching your back and tilting your head back. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in your chest, the contentment filling you almost overwhelming. You close your eyes, letting the sounds and smells of the city wash over you. You’ll deal with everything else in the morning. For now, you’re going to stay like this and enjoy the freedom.
You sit there for a while, enjoying the cool night air and the sensation of being so deeply in tune with your instincts. The city sounds become a soothing background noise, a comforting hum in the air. You roll onto your back, stretching out your body and letting your limbs go limp. Your tail swishes lazily back and forth.
You roll onto your stomach, your muscles coiling as you prepare to spring. With a powerful leap, you propel yourself onto the nearby roof. Your paws touch down silently, the soft pads muting any sound. Your heart is racing now, the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you break into a run. Running as an animal is different than running as a human. It’s more instinctual, more right. You can feel the ground underneath your paws, the muscles in your legs bunching and releasing with every step. You tear across the rooftops, feeling more alive than you have in weeks. The night air whistles in your ears, the city passing by in a blur.
Your stride is effortless, muscles straining as you push yourself faster, the wind ruffling your fur and making your tail fan out behind you. You leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, your body a blur of motion. You’re not even thinking about where you’re going, your only focus is on the sensation of speed, the feeling of freedom. Gotham flashes past you in a dizzying array of lights and shadows, your world narrowing down to your heartbeat and the rhythm of your paws hitting the roof.
Time seems to blur together as you run, the hours flying by like seconds. The city blurs past you in a wash of colors and sounds, the lights of Gotham like stars in a night sky. You don’t focus on how long you’ve been running, or how far you’ve gone, or even where you’re going. For once, none of that matters. All that matters is the wind in your fur and the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins. Your body is sore and your heart is racing, but you feel alive.
You're so focused on the run that you don't notice the black boots in your path until you're upon them. You slam on the brakes, your body slipping and sliding as you come to an undignified halt in front of a pair of long, outstretched legs. You hiss in surprise and frustration, your heart racing from the sudden stop. You glare up at the figure towering above you, tail lashing.
Nightwing chuckles, a soft, amused sound that you can hear clearly even over the pounding of your heart. He lowers his eskrima sticks, holding them loosely by his side as he kneels down to your level. The hero's eyes are sparkling with mirth, his smile slightly crooked.
"Well, hello there." he says, his voice smooth and rich.
He tilts his head to the side, studying you with a curious gaze. You're still panting from your run, your body tense and braced for a fight. Nightwing's smile widens at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.
"You're pretty fast," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice. He extends his hand towards you, the black, latex covering his fingers gleaming in the low light. He stops just millimeters from your face, allowing you to sniff and inspect him for a moment. His scent is clean and crisp, a hint of something sweet mixed in.
After a few seconds, he starts gently petting you, his gloved hand scratching behind your ears in a soothing motion. “You’re even prettier in person, kitten.”
A wave of unexpected pleasure washes over you as he starts petting you. His touch is firm yet gentle, just the right amount of pressure to soothe the tension in your body. His hand moves from behind your ears to scratching behind your chin, the soft hiss of latex against your fur the only sound in the quiet night. The petting feels ten times better after not shifting after such a long time. You lean heavily into his palm.
“You’re a runner, huh?” Nightwing murmurs, his voice a soft rumble. “Bruce isn’t gonna like that.”
His words are casual, almost conversational, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to them. He continues to pet you, his hand moving in a slow, soothing rhythm.
“Running around Gotham like this,” he continues, his tone dropping lower. “It’s dangerous. You should stick to the rooftops, little one. Makes it harder for the baddies to get to you.”
As your attention is occupied with looking up at Nightwing, you don’t recognise the second pair of boots that approach. You’re jolted out of your thoughts as another pair of warm hands suddenly scoop you up, grabbing your stomach and lifting you off the ground. The sensation is so sudden and unexpected that you don’t even have time to react. A startled yowl escapes you as you’re lifted off the roof and held against a broad chest.
Your body stiffens in surprise, a low hiss escaping your clenched teeth. Your instincts are screaming at you to flee, to lash out, to fight, but the hands have you in an unbreakable grip.
Nightwing straightens up, sliding his eskrima sticks into their holsters with a practiced flick of his wrists. He casts you a glance, his eyes softened with concern as he looks at your tense form in Robin’s arms.
"Careful, Little D," he says, a slight edge to his voice. "The kitty hasn’t been out in a long time."
Damian just scoffs in response, his grip on you tightening. His body is tense, his hands clenching in your fur, but there’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes that betrays his indifference. His voice is as haughty as ever, a touch of impatience in his tone. "I know that, Grayson. I'm not a child."
Nightwing hums at Robin’s attitude, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against a nearby AC unit with a slight sigh.
"Sure you're not,” he responds back to Robin with a playful tone of annoyance.
Damian just huffs, tightening his grip on you, causing you to let out a surprised, muffled meow in response. His eyes dart down to you, a slight flicker of fascination in his cold, calculated gaze. He loosens his hold subconsciously. Petting your head in a silent apology.
The younger boy doesn’t respond to Dick’s remark, motioning for him to hurry up already.
With a grin, Dick holds his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. He reaches into his utility belt and procures a small, emerald green and black collar. A symbol you can’t recognise embroidered onto the back where the latch is.
This isn't any average collar that you can find at a pet store. This is high-tech, bordering extravagant. There's a small, golden bell hanging from the front, jingling softly with every little movement made, and there’s a silver, gold-edged tag already attached with some information you can't see yet. But what catches your eye, and fills you with a sense of dread, is the blinking red light on the centre, where it latches onto your neck. With these hook-like latches all around the inside that look all too much like they’ll pierce into you.
Before you can even think to react, Nightwing's already moving. He's faster than you can even register, the collar snatching around your neck in the blink of an eye. It tightens automatically, locking into place with a soft click. You can feel the hooks pierce into your fur and you let out a strangled whine.
As the collar locks into place, the bell on the front gleams in the low light, a soft jingle sounding as you jerk your head back in surprise.
Nightwing steps back, taking in the sight of you in the collar with a critical eye. He reaches forward and gives the bell a couple of light taps, the sound chiming softly in the night air.
"Looks good," he comments, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Tim did good."
Damian hums in agreeance with a slight nod, his grip on you still firm and unrelenting. He casts a scrutinising glance over your form, his eyes lingering on the collar for a moment before moving back to you. He brings his thumb to the latch, pushing into the embroidered symbol. “What was the cast?”
As Damian brings his thumb to the latch, pressing into the embroidered symbol, you hear a soft click, followed by a low chime. You feel the collar loosen around your neck, but it still stays in place. For a moment, you consider trying to tear it off, but a warning tug from the collar's hooks and a glare from Damian stop you short.
Dick grins. “It’s our kittens name, D.”
Damian scowls, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes studying your form intently. It's almost unnerving, the intensity of his gaze.
He presses his thumb against the seal harder, his voice a murmur as he utters your name. When you feel the collar tighten around your neck, you try to jerk your head back out of the way, but the collar holds fast, the hooks attaching themselves deeper into your fur. You try to resist, but the more you struggle, the more your mind grows fuzzy. An intense drowsiness rushes over you, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Your vision starts to swim, the world around you growing dark at the edges. As the collar locks into place, the hooks latching more snugly into you, you suddenly feel trapped. Your legs buckle underneath you, sending you sprawling into Damian's arms. The latch on the collar is gone, replaced by a solid, unbreakable ring. There is no way to take it off.
The collar appears deceptively normal, made of a thick dark green leather-like material with a simple golden buckle to secure it. The only thing that gives away its high-tech design is the absence of a latch to clip it open. Most people would overlook it, mistaking it for a regular, ordinary collar.
As you black out and lay heavily in Damian's arms, Dick coos softly, bringing a hand out to rub along your fur. His touch is gentle, his tone affectionate.
"Aren't they so cute asleep?" he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks at your unconscious form.
Damian nods silently in response, his embrace around you tightening just slightly, tugging you closer against his chest. He brings his face down, gently nuzzling his chin into your soft, multicoloured fur, hiding the hint of a smile on his lips.
Dick steps forward, a smile on his face as he watches his younger brother hold you close. He reaches out to ruffle Damian's hair affectionately, before speaking up.
"Let's go home."
Guess who spent three days working on this
Anyway, it’s finally out! Send a comment or msg if you would like to be @ in chapter two and for any anon answers that I do for the fic
I had milk and warm cookies while making this, like a child.
Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!
No prayers for the fire
Aemond Targaryen x Sister! Reader
Summary: Alicent raised her youngest daughter to not commit the same sins as her first two children. But behind her back, an intense devotion already existed between you and Aemond, one kept strictly secret until an accident forced the prince to choose the fire in his veins and the love for his sister instead of duty and obedience.
The Girl With The Bronze Dragon
Aemond x Targaryen!reader
Synopsis: Aemond grows up obsessed with his cousin, Vermithor’s chosen rider. When she returns stronger than ever, the pull between them becomes undeniable. Even after learning she’s Daemon’s daughter, he refuses to let her go.
The middle of war
Aemond x Valyeron!reader
Summary: the reader was taken right under Aemond's nose. He's determined to get her back, no matter the consequences.
aemond with an oral fixation
Perfect soul
Aemond x plus-size!Reader
His Precious Secret
Aemond Targaryen x whore!Reader
Summary: Aemond Targaryen has a secret. One so delicate and shameful that he would kill anyone on the brink of finding out. He was the perfect son, a trained warrior and skilled dragon rider. And yet, he has fallen in love with a whore and, even worse, a bastard of his house— you.
what the storm keeps
aemond targaryen x (f) reader
Summary: aemond returns from the gardens carrying anger he never speaks of. later, in the quiet of his chambers, you remind him what warmth feels like.
Crashing Waves
Aemond Targaryen x Niece!reader
Summary: During your visit in Kings Landing, your uncle's eye refuses to leave your body, tension comes to a head when you interrupt him masturbating while bathing.
Stupid Song
Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader
Synopsis: Prince Aemond wanted you more than any stupid song could ever say.
Primae Noctis
King Aemond x Strong Reader
Synopsis: To be king means you are gifted with the power to take all you want. King Aemond the Absolute now had the power to take you.
Cregan Stark loves his spoiled, pampered, heavily pregnant wife
cregan stark x wife!reader
cw: (mdni+18), fluff fluff fluff, pregnancy, lactation, banter, crack, cregan is obsessed with his wife, fondling, breast play, slight dirty talk, (2.5kw).
“I curse you.”
Cregan didn’t even lift his head at the words, the only tell that he had heard his wife being the slight twitch at the corner of his lips as he continued to glide ink on paper.
He could hear you waddling, huffing, and puffing up a storm as you closed the door to his solar, making as much noise as possible to draw him to pay attention to you, no matter how much work he had to do.
And who was Cregan Stark if not a mere supplicant to all and any of his wife’s whims?
“Curse me?” He spoke, lifting his eyes towards you, the curl of his lips deepening into amusement as he observed how endearing you looked, heavily pregnant and shooting daggers his way. “To what possible end, my love? You had but seen me for the first time today.” Cregan said, arching one bushy brow, leaning back in his mahogany chair to get a better view of his beloved treasure of the North. “What have I done to earn such a harsh punishment?”
You scowled, stepping closer, your gait more akin to a mother duck than anything else, making warmth bloom in Cregan’s chest, letting his eyes sweep over you from the soles of your feet to the top of your head, taking you in, gorging on the sight of his pretty wife, all plump and heavy with his babe. He will never cease to pray to all the Northern Gods for this blessing, dropping to his knees in front of the weirwood tree, forehead pressed to the cold ground as he thanked them profusely for letting him cast his gaze upon such divinity.
“You have done plenty,” you scoffed, scrunching your nose in his direction. The closer you got to his desk, the more the resemblance between you and a disgruntled kitten became more and more apparent, making him hum. “My feet ache, my belly is too big, I’ve eaten a dozen lemon cakes in one sitting, and I can barely walk.”
Cregan pressed his lips together to suppress a splitting grin, way too amused and enamored with his crimes that he had apparently had a hand in, unbeknownst to him. How can a man like him even dare to stand there and not be swiftly punished for such wrongdoings? Other men were beheaded for less.
“Are all those ailments my doing?” He asked, feigning innocence as he waited for you to approach, letting you decide whether you wanted him near or not right now. “How could I have been such a cruel husband, hm?” Cregan continued, fingers twitching with the need to touch, to pull, to hold, but he relented, knowing the wrong move could earn him an even grumpier wife, and that is not what he wished for at the moment.
“Utterly cruel,” you affirmed, lip curling, baring your teeth at him as you stopped next to his chair, your pregnant belly brushing his arm, making his breath hitch, the wonder of such a miracle never quite ceasing. “You brought this upon me.” Your lips pursed into a pout, indignant and fussy as you continued. “If you weren’t so relentless in giving me your seed, I would’ve never resembled a thousand-pound duckling right now.”
Thousand-pound duckling.
Cregan couldn’t stop the huff of amusement that slipped past his lips even if he tried.
Smack.
“You dare laugh?” You gasped, affronted and utterly offended that your husband was finding your grievances even remotely entertaining, hand making contact with his broad shoulder again and again.
It truly only served to heighten his grin even more, eyes crinkling at the edges for a few moments as he let you hit him to your heart’s content, the slaps no more than a kitten batting its paws at a great wolf, Cregan cataloguing them more as pets than anything that could bring any harm.
“I laugh,” he started, tone woven with amusement, but achingly fond now as he watched you, lifting one hand to clasp yours, bringing it to his mouth to press a soft kiss onto the back of it, halting your fussing. “Because my wife is being ridiculous,” and he could already sense the protest on your tongue at his words, so he was quick to preempt that by continuing, turning your palm to press his lips to the inside of it now. “And she does not look like a thousand-pound duckling, but the most beautiful woman I, and the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen.”
You huffed, your scowl lessening.
Watching you melt gradually from his words was always one of Cregan’s joys in life, chest puffing with pride in being able to will his irritable wife into mellowness, that pretty face of yours warming whenever he “had the nerve,” as you often say, to be tender to you.
“You’re only saying that to appease me,” you protested, but moved closer, nudging him with your knee, indicating that you wished to be closer, to be tended to. A silent demand that your husband knew as well as breathing.
Cregan’s chair screeched quietly onto the hard floor as he made space for you in front of him, broad thighs parting to coax you near. He patted one meaty leg with his palm, head tilting as he watched you, lips softening at the corners, amusement bleeding into fondness. “Come here, to your husband, sweetling.”
“Are you certain you can hold the weight of me, husband?” You challenged, even as you stepped into his space. “Perhaps I am too hefty, even for you.”
Utter nonsense, Cregan thought. He knew you knew how strong he was. How easy it would be for him to hold you and not break a sweat while doing so. As if he doesn’t train and work himself to the bone whenever he is allowed a moment from the droning of courtiers to hone the muscles you secretly favour. Cregan could carry you in his arms through Winterfell’s walls for a handful of hours, he wagers, before the need to stop and take a breather would catch up to him.
“Hm, you reckon?” He rumbled, his hands finding purchase on your hips, smoothing over the flowy material of your dress. Gods, he loved the garments you’ve been adorning as of late—warm colors, soft fabrics, all cascading in rivulets down your soft, lush body. He had given word for more of such dresses to the seamstresses, without your knowledge. You didn’t have to know of his plans yet. Nor were you aware of how he made sure the hearths were lit periodically in every room you frequented, so the need for more than a cloak over your soft silks, satins, and linens was not necessary. It would’ve obstructed his view of you.
You squirmed just a bit, just enough to show resistance, even when he could feel you melting like honey in his grasp as he slowly turned you around, your back to his chest, seating you right onto his lap with a pleased, content groan. The solid weight of you, of the babe you were carrying, leaning back against him, trusting him to hold it all, made something pleased and animal bloom into his chest. If he were any more wolf in anything but sigil and tradition, he was sure he would’ve purred like a content beast right now.
“There you go,” Cregan said, broad palms using their grip onto your soft hips to hike you up higher until you were flush against him from hips to shoulders. “My pretty wife,” he murmured, leaning in to nose at your throat with a satisfied sigh, inhaling the scent of your bath oils, milk and you. “Smelling like a treat here on my lap.”
Cregan knows you would taste even better, but the time for that is not now. He loves to savour you most later in the night, when he has you all pliant and drowsy next to him, bundled up in the furs and pelts from his latest hunts, huffing and whining about all the pains and aches that plague you. And it is your husband’s duty to mend them with his tongue, hands and cock, in any way his lovely wife sees fit.
“I do not feel like a treat,” comes your response, leaning your head back against his shoulder as you grumble. “And it is your doing.”
Ah, of course. Anything that ails you is always Cregan’s demerit, be it truth or fib.
“Apologies, sweet wife,” he whispers against the warm skin of your neck, nuzzling there as a hound would its owner for clemency after being scolded. “How shall I repent for my wrongs at present, pray tell? I am yours to command, as always.”
Truth be told, Cregan could provoke you, could throw your whining and complaining back at you, as he often did, but he had found himself powerless to do such a thing in the moons since you have been with child. How could he muster even a modicum of bravado against the woman who now carried their babe? His heir. His little pup, as Cregan often called them, to your dismay, even tho he knew you did not mind the moniker in the slightest, especially when he was kissing all over the taut skin of your belly in the soft light of mornings, whispering sweet nothings to your stomach, as if the babe could hear him.
"Let me, my love." His broad palms smooth up from your hips, just enough to cradle the bottom of your pregnant, heavy belly and lift, supporting some of the weight himself, holding steady and firm. “There you go.”
The relief is instant.
You melt back into him with a soft sigh, as if a great burden has been taken from you, being gifted a moment of relaxation, where your husband was bearing the heavy load of your unborn babe. He had done this countless times since the nearing of your term, only more than a moon away until you were to be surrounded by midwives and maesters.
“It is a boulder,” you fuss, but your eyes flutter in delight, the ache in your back easing the more Cregan bears the brunt of your belly. “One I shall never have to haul around again, Gods be good.”
He hums at your words, knowing them not to be entirely founded, for he knows you are quite fond of the idea of having more than one set of little legs running around Winterfell in the years to come, but he keeps the quip to himself, mindful of your repose.
“I cannot abide by having to change my garments every few hours because I’m dripping milk like cattle.”
Dripping milk.
Cregan freezes for a moment before tipping his chin onto your shoulder to peer down your chest, and truth be told, there they were, your words sounding truthful.
Pebbled nipples peeking through damp material, where milk had stained the fabric, your heavy breasts full of milk, ready to nurture the future babe.
Your husband’s breath caught at the sight, tongue unconsciously poking out to wet his lips, as if wanting to taste the patches of wet silk and suck them into his mouth so he could relish the flavour of your nourishment.
“My poor, sweet wife,” Cregan crooned, one palm still supporting your pregnant belly, while the other slowly travelled upwards, caressing the soft fabric of your dress, until he could cup one full breast, making you huff. “So full of milk already,” he continued, thumb brushing over the damp peak of your nipple through the silk, eliciting a breathier sound this time, which made him hum. “Ready to feed our babe.”
He expected you to squirm, to fuss again at him, but you arched into his touch, limbs melting onto his lap, as if his touches were the flame to melt wax onto paper, willing you pliant and malleable.
“They ache,” you complained, pushing your chest into his palm, urging him to aid you in your grievance, as any husband should. “They’re too full.”
“Too full?” came your husband’s voice, lower, more gruff, as if your words had affected him more than he wished to admit. “And no one to suckle on these pretty tits yet, isn’t it?” He said, palm shifting, covering your breast fully, fingers dimpling the clothes’ softness as he squeezed gently, fondling the lushness slowly.
Again and again and again.
You didn’t mind the rhythmic press of his palm; on the contrary, you relished it, each one accompanied by one of those sweet sighs of content that Cregan drank in like the finest Arbour gold.
With each squeeze, the material of your dress dampened, your husband drawing out more and more milk, wetting both your dress and his palm. He groaned at the feeling, fingers dimpling the flesh harder, but never enough to hurt. “Gods, sweetling, you’re leaking everywhere,” he rumbled, pupils blown wide as he watched the way the silk darkened as more and more sweetness dripped from your pebbled nipples. “Makin’ me want to suckle at it like a babe.”
You gasped, one of your hands lifting to swat at the one he had around your breast, which only made him squeeze more. “Don’t be dissolute!” You reprimanded, but did nothing else to stop his fondling, weaving your fingers through his against your heaving tit, aiding him as you continued. “Just keep going.”
Cregan groaned, tilting his head to the side to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, the scent of sweet, warm milk already permeating the air around you, making him dizzy with the need to dip his head low and mouth at you until you couldn’t resist any more. “You’re a cruel woman,” he rasped, mouth parting, tongue poking out, as if tasting the air would suffice, as if that would even come close to having your milk on his palate. “All lush and ripe like a summer peach, sitting on my lap, dripping all over me,” he growled, feeling his palm dampen more with each squeeze. “And not letting me put my mouth on you.”
It was torture to sit there and not take what he wanted, but he knew that you’d give in soon. Only a matter of time until Cregan would crawl over you, tugging down at your neckline to slobber and mouth at your milk-heavy tits until he was drunk on the taste and you were pliant and lax under him, mewling and squirming.
And probably offering him your other breast to suckle at as well, if you were in good spirits, and he prayed dutifully to the Gods that day.
Summary: You were worlds apart, living lives that were never supposed to cross.
But somehow, circumstances pulled you and Din Djarin into the same Orbit.
A story about a Mandalorian, a mechanic forced to leave her home behind, and the unexpected connection that forms somewhere between the quiet moments and the chaos of the Outer Rim.
Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader
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!! disclaimer- this is written in second person pov!
this is a SLOW BURN!!
‘reader’ has no given name and is referred to as “you.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖
author's note:
hi!! this is my first time writing, so thank you for reading! <3
this started as a small one-shot idea and unexpectedly turned into a space western romance.
no smut, just fluff, emotions, and a journey through the galaxy :)
⊹ ࣪ ˖
Navigation:
Chapter One • Chapter Two • Chapter Three • Chapter Four
Chapter Five • Chapter Six • Chapter Seven • Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine • Chapter Ten • Chapter Eleven • Chapter Twleve
Chapter Thirteen • Chapter Fourteen •
✦Prologue
You were never meant to be a part of a bounty hunter’s story.
You weren’t a Mandalorian. You weren’t a fighter. You weren’t someone who belonged among blasters, bounties, and the endless battles of the Outer Rim.
You were just someone trying to survive. Someone who never expected to end up so far from home.
Naboo was where your story began.
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As you began adulthood you were working as a mechanic at your father’s repair shop. All you knew was repairing ships, speeders, and old machinery.
You preferred machines over people, they were a lot easier to understand.
The sun shined bright over Naboo, making your forehead glisten with sweat.
You were finishing up a repair for a long time customer Tavian Rell, he’d been a friend of your fathers for many years.
“It was the repulsor coil. It had started failing, which is why you were feeling the speeder pull to one side.”
You explained, turning around as you spoke to the tall and slender man standing beside his speeder.
“I swapped it out and ran a few tests. Everything’s working again, but I’d keep an eye on it. Old speeders have a habit of finding new ways to break.”
He nods his head, sticking out a handfull of credits.
“Thank you, I appreciate the help.”
Before you were able to say or do anything you heard blasters going off and people running.
You took a quick glance out of the window to see your beautiful home become almost unrecognizable.
Quickly, you helped Tavian get his belongings and leave on his newley repaired speeder.
As you locked up shop, you could hear the destruction of Naboo around you. The streets that were once filled with familiarity and comfort, now raced with chaos and fear.
This was everything you had ever known.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
A few hours have passed, the streets of Naboo have become empty besides the faint whistle of wind rushing through the empty streets.
You stared out at the two moons you’ve looked at your whole life, Ohma-D’un and Rori.
Distracted by the moonlight glistening on the water of Paonga Lake, you didnt realize someone walked into your shop.
“Excuse me. Are you a mechanic?”
You turned around as fear ran through your veins, but that fear quickly turned into intrigue.
A Mandalorian stood in front of you, with a little green creature secured at his hip.
Cautiously, you respond to the Mandalorian.
“I am yes, can I help you?”
He tilted his helmet, studying you in the moonlit shop.
“My ship needs repairs.”
You nodded your head signaling him to take you to his ship.
Once you two reach the Razor Crest, you immediately notice the ship.
“This ship has been held together by repairs for so long, I’m not sure where the original ends and the replacement parts begin.”
The Mandalorian shrugged his shoulders.
“It still flies.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖
An hour of being silently stared at later, you finished the checkup and started on repairs.
The Mandalorian and the creature had stayed nearby the entire process, you could tell they were silently making sure you were doing what you were supposed to.
“The power coupling was starting to fail, and your hyperdrive motivator wasn’t looking much better. I replaced both, ran a few tests, and everything seems to be working again.”
You waited for a response, not getting one as he walked around you to take a look at the Razor Crest.
“But your hull plating has taken some serious damage. It’s holding for now, but I’d get it repaired sooner rather than later. You don’t want to wait until it becomes the thing keeping you from getting home.”
There was a beat of silence, before the armor-clad man turned to you.
“You make it sound worse than it is.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Your hull plating is damaged, your power coupling was failing, and your hyperdrive was barely holding together.”
A pause.
“So yes. It is worse than it sounds.”
He looked back at the Razor Crest.
“It still works.”
“That is not the same thing.”
You started repairs on the hull plate, the Mandalorian heard something around the corner and went to check.
You heard voices and in an instant, the situation around the corner escalated.
Blasters were going off, you heard voices screaming and footsteps getting closer.
You began to panic. You weren’t a fighter, you were a runner.
Before you could find an exit, The Mandalorian rounded the corner.
“Get on the ship.”
Without giving you a chance to argue, he grabbed your arm and guided you aboard the Razor Crest.
You had spent your entire life repairing ships, you never expected one would be the thing that carried you away from home.
In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.
A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.
genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // smut, Jace takes MCs virginity, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.
chapter 2 word count: 3253
notes: Honestly, chapter 1 is doing so well I’m dropping Chapter 2, if this one does as well I'll go ahead and drop 3 tonight or early tomorrow :)... This one I could read over and over again, I'm so proud of myself and the way the story is going here.
A year passed. A year of stolen moments and desperate kisses, of secret signals and whispered promises. A year of loving Jacerys Velaryon with everything you had while knowing it could never be enough.
You were seventeen now. He was eighteen, and tonight would be different.
The plan had taken weeks to arrange. A trusted handmaiden who owed you a favor. A carefully constructed alibi about feeling ill and needing rest. A cloak borrowed from Helaena's wardrobe, dark enough to blend into shadows. Every detail had to be flawless because tonight, you weren't just stealing an hour in the gardens.
Tonight, you were stealing the whole night.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as you slipped through the hidden passage that led from your chambers to the lower levels of the Red Keep. The stone was cool beneath your fingertips, the air damp and musty. You'd walked this path a hundred times before, yet never like this. Never with this sense of purpose, this trembling anticipation that made your whole body feel alive.
The gardens were silver-washed in moonlight when you finally emerged. Summer had settled over King's Landing like a warm blanket, and the air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and roses. Your secret spot, the alcove hidden behind the tall hedge, beckoned like a sanctuary. This place had kept your secrets for years. It would keep this one too.
Jace stood beneath the flowering tree, his back to you, hands clasped behind him. Even in silhouette, you knew every line of him. The breadth of his shoulders. The way he held himself, caught between the boy you'd grown up with and the man he was becoming. Your chest tightened with love so fierce it almost hurt.
"Jace," you breathed.
He turned, and the look on his face, seven hells, the look on his face. Relief and desire and something deeper, something that made your knees weak. In three strides, he crossed the distance between you and pulled you into his arms.
"You're here," he murmured against your hair, breathing you in.
"Where else would I be?"
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding down your arms to capture your hands. In the moonlight, his eyes were dark, intense. "Do you know how lovely you are?"
"Please I-"
"No, I mean it." His gaze roamed your face like he was memorizing every detail. "Sometimes I look at you and I can't believe you're real. That you're here. That you love me."
"I do love you," you whispered. "So much it consumes me."
He kissed you then, and it was different from every kiss before. There was no hesitation, no fear of being interrupted. This kiss was claiming, possessive, a promise of what was to come. You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest to curl around his neck. The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him with a soft gasp.
Heat pooled low in your belly as his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel every hard plane of his body through the thin fabric of your dress, and the sensation made you dizzy with want.
"I brought blankets," Jace said, his voice rough. He gestured to a pile you hadn't noticed before, carefully arranged on the grass beneath the tree. Thick, soft blankets that would cushion you from the ground. "Wine too. I wanted tonight to be right."
"It already is," you said, though you let him lead you to the makeshift bed he'd prepared.
The blankets were soft beneath you as you settled onto them, and Jace sat beside you, close enough that your thighs touched. He poured wine into two cups, his hands steady despite the intensity in his eyes. You took a sip, the sweet liquid warming you from the inside, though you hardly needed it. Your whole body felt like it was on fire.
"To us," Jace said, raising his cup. "To tonight."
"To us," you echoed, and drank.
He set the cups aside and turned to you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "I've dreamed about this," he admitted. "About you. About us like this, with the whole night ahead of us."
"So have I," you confessed. "Every night."
His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and you couldn't help but part your lips, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. He made a low sound in his throat, then he was kissing you again, bearing you back onto the blankets.
The weight of him above you felt right, true. His hips settled between your thighs, and even through layers of fabric, you could feel the hard length of him pressing against you. The sensation made you gasp into his mouth, your hips rolling up instinctively to meet his.
"Seven hells," he breathed against your lips. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Then we'll die together," you said, and pulled him back down for another kiss.
His hands began to explore, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips. When his palm cupped your breast through your dress, you arched into his touch with a moan. He squeezed gently, his thumb finding your nipple and circling it until it hardened beneath the fabric.
"I want to see you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "All of you. I've imagined it so many times, I need to see you."
"Then look," you said, sitting up enough to reach for the fastenings of your dress. "Help me."
His fingers joined yours, working at the small buttons that ran down the front of your gown. There was something intimate about this, the two of you working together to bare your body to him. When the last button came free, he helped you slide the dress off your shoulders, down your arms, until it pooled at your waist.
You wore only a thin chemise beneath, and in the moonlight, you might as well have been naked. The fabric was nearly transparent, showing the dark peaks of your nipples, the curve of your breasts. Jace's breath caught, his pupils dilating as he drank in the sight of you.
"Exquisite," he murmured.
His hands came up to cup your breasts, and even through the thin fabric, the heat of his palms made you gasp. He explored you with reverent touches, learning the weight of you, the shape of you. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress a moan.
"Does that feel good?" he asked, doing it again.
"Yes-" you breathed. "Yes."
He lowered his head, pressing kisses to your collarbone, your throat, the swell of your breast. When his mouth closed over your nipple through the fabric, you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair. The sensation was overwhelming, wet heat and gentle suction that sent pleasure shooting straight through you.
"Jace," you gasped. "Please."
He lifted his head, meeting your gaze. "Please what? Tell me what you want."
"I want to feel your skin against mine. I want-" you tugged at his tunic. "Take this off."
He sat back on his heels and pulled his tunic over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The sight of him, bare-chested in the moonlight, all lean muscle and smooth skin, made your mouth go dry. You'd seen him shirtless before, during training or swimming, never like this though. Never with the knowledge that you could touch him, that he was yours.
You reached out, your palms sliding over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your hands. His skin was warm, smooth except for a few scars from training. You traced them with your fingers, learning every line of him.
"Your turn," he said, his voice rough. His hands found the hem of your chemise, and you lifted your arms, letting him pull it over your head.
The night air kissed your bare skin, raising goosebumps. Though, Jace's gaze was hotter than any summer breeze. He stared at you like you were something precious, something sacred. His hands hovered, uncertain, until you took them and placed them on your bare breasts.
The first touch of his palms against your naked skin made you both gasp. He explored you with careful hands, learning what made you sigh, what made you arch into his touch. When he lowered his head to take your nipple into his mouth, no barrier between you now, you moaned his name.
He lavished attention on your breasts, his mouth and hands working in tandem until you were writhing beneath him, desperate for more. Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, feeling the flex of muscle beneath skin. When you reached for the laces of his breeches, he groaned against your breast.
"Are you sure?" he asked, lifting his head to look at you. "We don't have to, if you're not ready,"
"I'm sure," you said firmly. "I want this. I want you. All of you."
He helped you with his laces, then he was kicking off his breeches, his smallclothes, until he was as bare as the night sky. You couldn't help but stare. You'd felt him pressed against you before, seeing him was different though. He was hard, thick, and the sight of him made heat pool between your thighs.
"You're staring," he said. There was no embarrassment in his voice, though. Only warmth, and desire.
"I'm allowed to stare at what's mine," you said, echoing words he'd spoken before.
Something flashed in his eyes at that. "Yours," he repeated, voice rough. "I am yours. Always have been. Always will be."
"I'm yours too," you said. "Completely."
He reached for the skirt of your dress, still bunched around your waist, and you lifted your hips to let him pull it down your legs. Your smallclothes followed, until you were both completely bare beneath the stars.
For a moment, you just looked at each other. There was vulnerability in this, in being seen so completely. There was also rightness, though. This was Jace. Your Jace. The boy who'd held your hand when you were ten, who'd kissed you when you were fourteen, who'd told you he loved you when you were sixteen.
The man you loved with your whole heart.
He settled between your thighs again, and the feel of his bare skin against yours was almost too much. You could feel every inch of him, the hard planes of his chest, the muscles of his stomach, the thick length of him pressed against your core.
"I love you," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "I need you to know that. This isn't just- I love you. With everything I am."
"I love you too," you whispered. "Show me. Please, Jace. Show me."
His hand slid down your body, over your stomach, your hip, until his fingers found the heat between your thighs. You gasped at the first touch, your hips lifting instinctively. He explored you carefully, his fingers sliding through your wetness.
"Seven hells," he breathed. "Is this all for me?"
You moaned. "Only for you."
He found the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex and circled it with gentle pressure. Pleasure sparked through you, building with each stroke of his fingers. When he slid one finger inside you, you cried out, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
"Does that hurt?" he asked, stilling immediately.
"No," you gasped. "It feels, it feels good. Don't stop."
He worked you carefully, adding a second finger, stretching you, preparing you. His thumb continued to circle that sensitive spot, and the dual sensation was overwhelming. Pleasure built in waves, each one higher than the last, until you were trembling beneath him.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Let go. I want to watch you come apart."
The peak crashed over you like a wave, stealing your breath, making stars burst behind your eyelids. You cried out his name, your body clenching around his fingers, pleasure rolling through you in endless waves. When you came back to yourself, he was watching you with such tenderness it made your chest ache.
"Lovely," he murmured. "You're so lovely when you unravel."
You pulled him down for a kiss. "I want you inside me," you whispered against his mouth. "I want to feel you. All of you."
He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of him pressing against you. "Tell me if it hurts," he said. "If you need me to stop,"
"I won't," you promised. "I want this. I want you."
He pushed inside slowly, carefully, and you gasped at the stretch of it. There was a moment of sharp discomfort as he breached you, it faded quickly though, replaced by a sense of fullness, of completion. When he was fully seated inside you, you both stilled, breathing hard.
"Seven hells," Jace groaned. "You feel, I can't-"
"Move," you urged. "Please, Jace. I need you to move."
He pulled back and thrust in again, setting a slow, steady rhythm. The discomfort faded completely, replaced by pleasure that built with each stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he moaned your name.
"Harder, Jace. Please."
His hips snapped forward, driving deeper, and you cried out at the sensation. He set a faster pace, each thrust hitting something inside you that made pleasure spark through your entire body. The sounds you made together, gasps and moans and whispered endearments, mingled with the night sounds of the garden.
"I love you," he panted. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," you moaned. "You're mine, Jace."
"Yours," he agreed.
His hand slipped between your bodies, finding that sensitive spot again, and the dual sensation of his fingers and his cock was too much. You came apart with a cry, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later with a groan, spilling inside you.
For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts racing, bodies slick with sweat despite the cool night air. Jace pressed kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips, soft, reverent touches that made your eyes sting with emotion.
"Are you alright?" he asked finally, pulling back to look at you.
"More than alright," you said, smiling up at him.
He withdrew carefully, and you winced slightly at the sensitivity. He noticed immediately, concern creasing his brow.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No," you assured him. "Or, maybe a little, it's normal though. It's fine, Jace. Better than fine. That was everything I'd hoped it would be."
He settled beside you, pulling you into his arms and arranging the blankets over your cooling bodies. You nestled against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling more content than you'd ever been.
"I wish we could stay like this forever," you murmured.
"So do I." His fingers traced lazy patterns on your shoulder. "In another world, we'd be married. We'd have our own chambers. I'd wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep holding you every night."
"Tell me about it..." you said. "Our other world."
He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "We'd have a home by the sea. Somewhere we could fly our dragons every day. Somewhere far from court politics and family expectations. Just us."
"What else?"
"We'd have children. At least three. They'd have your eyes and your spirit. They'd be brave and kind and free."
You laughed softly. "They'd have your stubbornness."
"Probably," he admitted with a smile you could hear in his voice. "We'd grow old together. I'd love you when your hair turned silver, well, more silver, and when your face had lines from smiling. I'd love you until my last breath and beyond."
"That sounds right."
"It does, doesn't it?" His arms tightened around you. "I hate that we can't have it."
"We have this," you said fiercely. "We have tonight. We have each other, even if it's in secret. That's more than nothing."
"You're right." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm grateful for every moment. Every stolen kiss. Every secret meeting. Every time I get to hold you like this."
You tilted your head back to look at him. "Make love to me again."
His pupils dilated. "Are you sure? You must be sore,"
"I don't care," you said. "We have all night, and I want to spend every moment of it loving you."
He kissed you deeply, and you felt him hardening against your hip. This time, when you made love, it was slower, more exploratory. You learned each other's bodies with patient attention, what touches made him gasp, what kisses made you moan. You discovered that he was sensitive behind his ear, that kissing down his chest made his breath hitch. That saying his name made him melt into you. He learned that you loved when he sucked marks into your neck, that you came apart when he whispered how much he loved you.
You made love again as the night deepened, this time with you on top, learning how to move, how to take your pleasure. The sight of him beneath you, head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted in bliss, was something you'd treasure forever.
Again near dawn, with desperate urgency, knowing your time was running out. This time he took you from behind, his chest pressed to your back, his hand between your legs, whispering in your ear about how right you felt, how much he loved you, how you were his and he was yours.
When the sky began to lighten in the east, you lay tangled together, exhausted and sated. Your body ached in new ways, marked by his touch, his kisses, the evidence of your lovemaking. You could feel the pleasant soreness between your thighs, the tender spots on your neck where he'd sucked marks into your skin.
"We should get dressed," Jace said reluctantly, though he made no move to let you go.
"Not yet," you said. "Just a few more minutes."
Those minutes stretched as neither of you could bear to be the first to pull away. Eventually, the sky grew too bright though, and you knew you had to return before your absence was noticed. You dressed slowly, stealing kisses between each piece of clothing. When you were both fully clothed again, Jace pulled you close one last time.
"When can we do this again?" he asked.
"Soon," you promised. "Maybe next week? In my chambers, if we are quiet."
"I'll count every hour until then."
"So will I." You cupped his face in your hands. "I love you."
"I love you too." He kissed you one last time, deep and thorough.
You slipped away as the sun crested the horizon, your body aching, your heart full to bursting. You'd given yourself to Jacerys Velaryon completely, irrevocably. You were his, and he was yours. No matter what the future held, no one could take that away from you.
That night had been yours. And there would be more nights, you promised yourself. As many as you could steal before the world came crashing down around you. For now, that was enough.
akotsk men react when he and reader have a fight, then reader ignores him for daysss to he has to grovel a bit to get back into her good graces (bc ofc he cant stand not having her attention) 😋
Akotsk men when you ignore them
this might be my fav ask thank u wishes! in reality i definitely could not ignore these men. im whipped
hcs of aerion, daeron, duncan, valarr
Aerion - Aerion woke up the morning after the fight feeling justified. She'll come around, he told himself. She always does.
He went about his day. He attended a council meeting. He snapped at a servant. He sharpened his dagger. He did not think about you.
By midday, he was pacing.
By evening, he was sulking.
You had not come around. You had not sent a note. You had not even looked at him during dinner. You sat at the far end of the table, speaking to everyone except him, and he sat there, jaw tight, watching you ignore him.
"Fine," he muttered. "I don't need her."
He absolutely needed you.
He spent the next three days snapping at everyone, slamming doors, and glaring at the walls. He did not apologize. He did not come looking for you. He existed, angry and miserable, and he made it EVERYONES problem.
The irony was not lost on him. He had called you needy once. Who was the needy one now?
On the fourth day, he found you in the garden. You were sitting on a bench, reading. He stood there for a long moment, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"You're still ignoring me."
You turned a page.
He stepped closer. "I said-"
You looked up. "I heard you."
"I don't like this."
"I don't care."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he sat down on the grass beside you.
"What are you doing?" you asked.
"Waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For you to stop ignoring me."
You turned another page. He sat there and didn’t move. The servants were so confused looking at it. You were walking him like a dog.
"This is pathetic," you said.
"You're the one who's been ignoring me for four days."
"Because you called me needy."
He winced. "I was wrong."
"Say it again."
"I was wrong."
You finally looked at him. "You're very bad at apologizing."
"I know." He reached for your hand, pulling it into his lap. "I can’t do that, it’s just… not my thing."
"That's not a good thing."
"I know." His grip on your hand tightened. "But I'm here. I'm sitting on the grass. I look ridiculous. Can’t you see how sorry I am?"
"You do look ridiculous."
"Will you stop ignoring me now?"
You looked at him and his desperate eyes, his stubborn jaw, his hand holding yours like you might disappear.
"Fine," you said. "I forgive you."
He let out a breath. Then he moved, pulling you down onto the grass with him, wrapping his arms around you.
"I am not needy," he declared.
"You're literally holding me like I'm going to run away. I’m not going anywhere."
"Shut up."
He held you tighter and you let him, he earned it, of course.
Daeron - Daeron had drunk too much. Again. You had gone to fetch him from the tavern, like you always did, and he had mumbled something stupid about you controlling him, about you always telling him what to do.
You had left him there.
He remembered stumbling back to his chambers. He remembered sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the door. He remembered the horrible, sinking realization that you weren't coming.
He spent the next day in his room, too hungover to move, too sad to care. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He just lay there, replaying the fight in his head, wondering how he could have been so stupid.
By the second day, he started trailing after you.
It was pretty pathetic. He would stand in doorways and watch you. He would follow you down corridors, keeping a careful distance. He would sit at the far end of the table during meals, stealing glances at you.
He didn't wanna approach you. He didn't speak. He followed you. Was it creepy? Yes. But it’s the only thing he felt he could do, the mortification in his soul was far too great.
You caught him outside your chambers one evening.
"Daeron."
He froze. "I wasn't-"
"You've been following me for two days."
He looked at his feet. "I didn't know what else to do."
"You could apologize."
He looked up. "I don't know how."
You sighed. "You apologize like a normal person. You say 'I'm sorry, I was wrong, I shouldn't have said that.'"
He stared at you. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have said that."
You waited.
"That's it?" you asked.
"I don't know what else to say."
"You could say you're an idiot."
"I'm an idiot."
"And that you'll stop drinking."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'll try."
You looked at his tired eyes, his messy hair, his desperate face.
"You're pathetic," you said.
"I know."
You opened your door and stepped inside. He didn't follow. He stood there, looking at you for permission.
"Are you coming in or not?" you asked.
He followed you in. He was going to make it up to you. In fact? He would be delighted for you to control him.
Duncan - Duncan had made a joke. It was early morning, before you'd had tea, before you'd even really woken up. He thought it was funny! A harmless ribbing about your... well, he couldn't even remember now. Partly because trying to remember makes him so sad. All he remembered was the look on your face.
Incredibly bad taste.
He had apologized immediately, but you were already walking away. By midday, you were avoiding him entirely. He didn't know how to fix it.
So he asked for help, and found Egg in the courtyard.
"I need help."
Egg looked up from his book. "With what?"
"Flowers. Honey. I need to-" He gestured vaguely. "I need to apologize."
"Why honey?"
"Because she likes honey."
"And you're bringing her honey?"
"I'm bringing her wildflowers and honey. A peace offering."
Egg stared at him. "You want me to help you pick flowers?"
"And find honey. There's a hive by the old oak."
"There's always bees."
"I know."
The trip was a disaster. The wildflowers were easy, Duncan had brought a sack and filled it quickly. The honey was not easy. The bees were territorial. Aggressive. They did not appreciate him reaching into their hive.
He got stung. Everywhere. While Egg stood a safe distance away, watching.
"You're doing great," Egg called.
"Shut up."
"Your ear is swelling."
"I know."
He emerged victorious, clutching a dripping comb of honey. His face was blotchy. His hands were swollen. He looked ridiculous.
He found you in the garden, reading, more like pretending to read, actually. He could tell because you were holding the book upside down.
He set the wildflowers and honey beside you. You looked up. Your eyes widened.
"What happened to you?"
"I got you honey."
"Your face!-"
"I got stung. A lot. There were bees."
You stared at him. He stared back, his face red, his eyes desperate.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said what I said. It was in bad taste. I'm an idiot. I'm sorry."
You reached up, touching his swollen ear. He winced.
"You did that for me?" you asked.
"I’ll do anything for you."
You sighed. Then you stood and pulled him into a hug.
"I forgive you," you said. "Now let's get you to the maester."
Valarr - You asked for space. Valarr nodded, why wouldn’t he? He said he understood, and gone back to his work.
He thought he would be fine. He was respectful. He could give you space. He was not the type to hover or beg. He had self control.
He was very, very wrong.
He attended meetings. He read documents. He signed things. He did everything he was supposed to do. He also made mistakes, tiny ones at first, the kind that made his clerks exchange glances like "What’s wrong with him?" He signed a document upside down. He called a servant by the wrong name. He walked into a room and forgot why. He was staring at the same page for an hour without reading a word. By day three, he was losing track of conversations mid sentence. He was not fine. He was not content. He was cooked. And may or may not have been caught writing you love letters instead of doing his work.
The worst part for him was seeing you.
Every time you walked past, there was a lump in his throat. Every time he caught a glimpse of you in the corridor, his mind went blank. He would stand there, frozen, watching you disappear, his heart aching in a way he didn't know how to name. He had thought he could handle distance. He could not handle distance. He needed you near him like he needed air.
Three days into your silence, he found you in the library. You were reading, and it had to be a book that HE recommended.
"Can I sit?" he asked.
"I asked for space."
He stood there, not moving. "I thought I could do it. Give you space. Be respectful." He swallowed. "I can't. I can't focus. I can't think. I keep making mistakes-"
He stopped, running a hand through his hair.
"Your space is important," he said quietly. "But so are you. And I don't know how to function without you."
You looked up. He looked very different from the usual. He was rumpled, tired, his mismatched eyes red-rimmed, either from lack of sleep or maybe crying.
"Valarr."
"I signed a document upside down today."
"You what?"
"I signed it upside down. The clerks are very confused."
You stared at him. Then you laughed. He almost smiled but then he remembered the current predicament.
"Please," he said. "I know you asked for space. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm just asking you to talk to me."
You sighed. "You're impossible."
"I know."
You set down your book and gestured to the chair across from you.
"Sit."
He sat. He reached for your hand and held it, his thumb tracing circles on your palm, and for the first time in three days, the lump in his throat loosened.
anyways (I say this as someone who is deeply critical of the united states government, military, unchecked capitalism, police, etc) I am SICK of people treating america as if it has no cultural value or positives so….. I love u 85 million acres (bigger than italy) of national parks. I love u harlem renaissance. I love u groundhogs day. I love u sweet tea and fried chicken and jambalaya. I love u apple cider donuts and maizes on crisp autumn days. I love u 95k miles of coastlines and new england fisherman and hand knitted sweaters. I love u halloween where millions of people dress up and give candy to strangers and carve jack o’lanterns. I love u small talk and small towns and potlucks and bringing over casseroles to your struggling neighbors. I love u cowboys and ranch hands and arizonian cactus. I love u appalachian trail and dirtbikes and divebars. I love u sparklers and fireflies. I love u mark twain and toni morrison and emily dickinson and henry david thoreau. I love u rock n roll i love u bluegrass and hippies i love u jimi hendrix and nirvana and CCR and janis joplin. I love u victorian houses and jonny appleseed and john henry and mothman and bigfoot. I love u foggy days in the pacific northwest and neon signs and roadside attractions. I love u baseball and 1950s diners and soft serve. I love u native american art and pop art and poptarts. I love u blue jeans and barbecues and jazz musicians
I would genuinely love to hear what a resident of china or russia loves about their home bc I’m not a fucking bigot and I know a government doesn’t define a culture but thanks for ur exposing yourself babe xoxo
Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!
kiss
van augur x gn!reader
summary: Augur tends to get a little… too excited.
Blackbeard Pirates x Reader
Summary: reaction to their crush falling asleep on them
It's not what it looks like!
Caesar Clown x f!reader
Summary: The ship has taken on a few more guests, the overcrowded Straw-Hat vessel now struggling to accommodate the number. Offering your room to the prisoner, Caesar Clown, you returned to find a sight you were ill-prepared to meet. Caesar had found your secret, and had them over his nose and mouth while chasing his high into his gloved fist.
Sick with jealousy
Caesar Clown x gn!Reader
Summary: Caesar is so jealous that swears he gets sick.
Surprise! ... Or Not
Caesar Clown X Reader
Summary: He's just so attached to you for some reason, so it's hard to slip away and make him a gift...
Choke
Caesar Clown x Female Reader
Summary: You knew your taste in men was questionable at best, downright bad most of the time. But Caesar fucking Clown, now that was an all-time low, even for you.
Still, how could you resist the pretty scientist? It was truly an impossible task.
Caesar Clown x female reader headcanons
A Beauty And Her Reptilian: Chapter 1
Crocodile x fem!Reader
Starling
Alpha!Crocodile/Omega!Reader
Summary: You were the darling of the Red Line - The Starling. An untouched omega who endured the terrors of unassisted heats for the entertainment of the Celestial Dragons.
Until it finally breaks you.
Poor shattered bird, taken from your gilded cage. Just what will you find between the teeth of a Crocodile?
Beauty and Beast Effect
Crocodile x FemReader
Imagine Getting Baby Fever with Crocodile
fur & feathers
crocodile x afab!reader x donquixote doflamingo
Summary: You tried your hardest to stay out of their way this time. Unsurprisingly, you ended up sandwiched between them instead. (18+)
private party
donquixote doflamingo x afab!reader
Summary: It's too goddamn hot out, so Doflamingo surrenders his strength to join you in the pool. (18+)
Young Master
Doflamingo x afab!reader
summary: You don't worship the ground Doflamingo walks on, and it turns him on a little too much.
Doflamingo having a mommy kink
Soaked Sheets and Open Lines
King x reader
Summary: He answers a den den mushi mid fuck without stopping. You try to be good, quiet, obedient, but when his hand wraps around your throat and you moan involuntarily… the line goes silent.
Tobi Roppo x reader
Summary: Reader who’s got a service kink and is sorta with the crew but also just kinda the glory hole
Four encounters
Arlong x freed!slave Reader
Swimming with Sharks
Arlong x F!Reader
Under your Spell
Sun Pirate!Arlong x human!reader
get you some arlong
Arlong x Reader 18+
Saltwater and soft hands
Arlong x gn!human!Reader
Summary: Arlong, barely alive, is getting treatment of a HUMAN. He hates it. But oh, (g/n) Y/N has quite the soft– No, he can't break. Can he?
reverse harem, isekai, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn
You awaken one day with virtually no memories. The only thing guiding you is some strange system that likes to dictate your every move, and for some reason, it insists that you make certain people fall in love with you. Desperate for answers, you decide to go along with its demands. After all, how hard can it be?
00 — prologue
01 — starting from scratch
02 — rank up
03 — heterochromatic
04 — progressing backwards
05 — deja vu
06 — school is cool
07 — a new task
08 — first kiss
09 — enemy status
10 — tenderness
11 — confounding memory
12 — the bakugou household
13 — fearful encounter
14 — good luck charm
15 — overexertion
16 — after the exam
17 — immeasurably powerful
18 — not that easy
19 — clearing trials
20 —suppression
21 — be optimistic
22 — flirting with death
23 — captivated
24 — yakuza hangout
25 — self-invite
26 — back to school
27 — aflame
28 — two systems
29 — forehsadowing
30 — shopping date
31 — under the spotlight
32 — obstacles
33 — manifestation
34 — forever mortified
35 — a necessary discussion
36 — brief respite
37 — concern
38 — rival faceoff
39 — acknowledgment
40 — friendship
41 — save your tears
42 — caught in between
43 — tentative ally
44 — meet the parents
45 — familiar feelings
46 — glimpse of the past
More chapters are available on Wattpad and Ao3!
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