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futureman · 5 months

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his favorite girl, part ii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: keeping things professional only works if both parties are in agreement. after a heated first lesson, it's clear you and joel aren't.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher!joel, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, smut, angst, m&f masturbation, mentions of regret and shame

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist | part i

Adrenaline hasn't stopped pumping through your veins since you left your guitar teacher's house. Joel's house.

It's hard to even think his name now that you know what it's like to moan it for him, to feel his body tense and tighten like nylon strings as you tune him to your pitch. The things that man could teach you with all of his experience and endless patience...wait, no. No.

How to play guitar—that's the only thing you need from Joel Miller. Nothing else. God, what the hell is wrong with you? That stupid daydream has been running through your head on a loop ever since you got home and it really shouldn’t be. It was a mistake, one that almost cost you your entire future, and yet you’re still so hung up on it.

On everything you learned during your short, disastrous guitar lesson, the intimate knowledge you’ll never be able to forget. Like the fingering for the chord he showed you, or that he makes the neediest sounds when his body's pressed up against yours and his fingers are so close to where you need him, inches away from—

Stop.

The freezing cold shower you just took is about to be rendered useless at the rate you're going, and tomorrow’s lesson won’t be far behind if you can’t get your shit together.

But you can’t stop yourself from wondering—how much of it was real? You toss your hair over your shoulder, ignoring the icy droplets trickling down your back, and the bruise you’d imagined he left isn’t there. Instead, the mirror taunts you, reflecting smooth, unmarred skin that only serves as a harsh reminder of your fuck-up.

You’re more disappointed than you should be. It would've been the only piece of physical evidence you had proving what happened earlier wasn't all in your head. That maybe he reciprocates even a fraction of what you feel. But it's for the best. Now you can move on and focus all of your mental energy on staying present tomorrow so he won't rescind his offer to continue your lessons.

You'll have to keep things totally professional. The diligent college student, eager to learn and dedicated to her studies—that’s you, all right. It shouldn’t be that hard to stay focused for one measly hour, not when those thick, talented fingers of his are so captivating and capable of so many useful things. Guiding you through the next few bars of that song, slipping beneath the waistband of your—

Fuck it, you're doomed.

There's no way you can handle this. He's just too distracting, and you're way too easily distracted. Judging by the way he reacted to your inappropriate behavior earlier, you're starting to wonder if he can handle it himself. He was a little too quick to touch you, to sit so close that you could feel every instruction he gave you rumbling in his chest.

That familiar heat’s starting to build in your belly, and you know it’ll boil over the second he’s within reach again. You have to get this in check before you see him tomorrow or you’ll be royally screwed, and not even remotely in the way you’d like to be.

But it’s getting harder by the minute. It’s all too fresh in your mind, and you can practically still feel the drag of calluses across your skin and the weight of his arm slung over your shoulder. His fingers twitching in your desperate grasp like he was just itching to trace a knuckle down the soaked fabric between your legs.

You don’t remember how or when you got into bed, but you suddenly find yourself lying on top of your damp, unfastened towel, your bare breasts exposed to the cool air of your bedroom, and your fingers grazing your hardening nipples as you snake them down your body.

The second your fingers slide through your embarrassingly wet folds, you're a lost cause. God, that's good. You're so wet for him, and he's not even here to see you, to feel what he does to you.

You press down on your clit and pretend it's his solid chest tucked against you instead of your shitty dorm mattress, and his rough fingertips swirling masterful circles around your slick nub before dipping achingly slowly inside you.

Shit, you're going to cum soon, so much quicker than you normally do. But maybe this is exactly what you need to get him out of your system. Maybe cumming as many times as you can to the thought of your hot, middle-aged guitar teacher is all it'll take for you to finally get over this stupid, dangerous schoolgirl crush. To get on with your life and earn your fucking college degree.

Joel Miller. You erupt around your fingers with his name hot and heavy on your lips, but it’s…not enough. It's fine, that's totally fine. You'll just go again. As many times as it takes.

But by your third orgasm in as many hours, you realize you’re only making it worse. The aching emptiness you feel every time you cum is almost unbearable. Even as you fuck yourself on three of your fingers, desperately trying to fill yourself up the way he would, it's still not enough.

It’s not him.

God, what are you supposed to do now? Can you really face him tomorrow knowing that you spent the entire night gushing around your fingers, pretending they were his?

And what if he tries to touch them again? Shit. Shit. You just keep making dumber and dumber decisions when it comes to him.

So...maybe you can forgive yourself for making one more. You know that you couldn't have imagined everything earlier. That dark, hungry look in his eyes when he told you flat out that he didn't pull away from you on purpose—he has to want you as much as you want him. Right?

He just needs a nudge in the right direction. A green light so he can push aside those polite, southern manners just long enough for you to both get what you need. Then, you can continue your lessons distraction-free.

After all, you did your finger exercises tonight just like he told you to, and teaching is always more effective with a little positive reinforcement.

Yeah, this will totally work.

Joel’s been rock hard ever since you left his house.

He’s still sitting on the couch in the same spot you occupied just a few hours earlier, his mind running a mile a minute, hands clenched painfully at his sides so he doesn't touch himself.

Christ, you're young. Much too young to be this desperate over or to consume his every thought the way you have since you shoved his hand between your thighs, moaning his name like his fingers were already buried in your tight cunt.

He can't do this. His own fantasies are starting to concern him. He's never this vulgar. Not since he was a stupid kid in high school, picking up girls and bragging about it to his buddies. But that's how you make him feel. Like a stupid, horny kid.

C'mon, dirty old man. Get your shit together.

This is why he never should've agreed to start taking on students. The second you walked through his front door, he should've known he was in for it. Those bright eyes, ever-observant and eager to learn, and delicate hands, clutching the handle of a guitar case much smaller than his own. He wanted to help you with your class, he really did.

Wants. He wants to help you, but he feels like he can't trust himself around you anymore, if he ever did in the first place. Still, he made his old bandmate—your professor, now, he guesses—a promise that he didn't intend to break. Not until he actually met the student in question and discovered, to his horror, that you were his every wet dream come to life.

When you picked up your tiny guitar, a baby version of his own Taylor six-string, and began to strum clumsily with your beginner's touch, he couldn't help himself.

All he could think about were those dainty fingers wrapped around his cock. Teaching you how to stroke him just right, his hand guiding yours up and down his length the way yours were shifting up and down the neck of your guitar as you hopped from fret to fret.

Shit, he's fucking hard.

It's not going away anytime soon, either. Maybe if he just...takes care of it. Jerks off, quick and dirty, thinking about the smooth pad of your thumb circling the head of his cock while he leaks precum onto your fingers. He'd cum so quickly imagining himself splattering his release across your plush lips, his name on the tip of your tongue.

His jeans are halfway down his thighs before he can think twice about it, and he hisses in a sharp breath when he finally begins to pump himself, tight and focused toward the tip just like he'd tell you to.

He was right. He's not going to last long. That's probably a good thing. The faster he can get you out of his system, the better, and then he can forget all of the things he did to you. He's more than ashamed at how quickly his balls start to tighten when he remembers how intimately you let him touch you. How fucking crazy you drove him.

The living room fills with the echoes of his stuttered groans and skin slapping against skin as he frantically fucks his fist, lost in the memory of his lips dragging across your bare shoulder and the heel of his hand grinding into your soaked, clothed pussy.

Then, he hears it so clearly through the haze of his pleasure—your voice whimpering his name, begging him to take care of you. He barely has enough time to tug up his shirt before he's cumming hard across his stomach and dribbling down his knuckles. Christ, you'd look so fucking good on your knees right now, sucking the release off his fingers.

Not good.

What the hell is happening to him? This desire, this need, it isn't who he is. And all of it over a beautiful girl. A very, very beautiful girl. He sighs, running his clean hand frustratedly down his face, fighting to ignore the cum drying uncomfortably on his skin.

It's not just that, and he knows it. It isn't your youth, either. It's...your passion. Your kindness and determination, even in the face of adversity.

It's you.

But he can't have you, no matter how much he aches to. You deserve better than an old, washed-up musician with bad knees and high blood pressure. You need someone who can really take care of you, and he's already decided that isn't him.

Come tomorrow, he'll keep things professional like he said he would. He'll keep his distance and teach you everything he has to offer. Be the guitar teacher he should've been from the beginning.

You're both adults, perfectly capable of controlling yourselves long enough to get through an hour-long lesson.

Yeah, this'll work.

You're late.

Not a great start to your second lesson, but then again, that seems to be your M.O. these days. Not this day, though. Today, all of that changes.

You take a deep, steadying breath before your fist connects with sun-bleached oak, and do your best to focus on the warm, mid-September breeze instead of the impatience and anticipation threatening to swallow you whole.

Now that you're back here, standing on his porch, you're beginning to realize you're actually excited to see him. The anxiety you felt last night has given way to a strange sense of relief and a fresh wave of want. It's like your body can sense him and all of the things you're about to learn and experience.

His broad figure comes into view through the foggy glass paneling of his front door, and then after a strenuous 24 hours, your guitar teacher is within reach again—Joel. His name is Joel. You’re going to have to get used to saying it without your breath catching in your throat or he’ll know. He'll see your intentions clear as day and you'll never get to moan it for him again.

“Hey, you, uh...ya made it," he says breathily, frowning down at his watch. He's panting, and there's a gentle flush spreading from his cheeks down to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his navy blue T-shirt. “I was startin' to get a little worried there."

You smile apologetically, turning to nod back at the piece of shit Chevy parked in his driveway. It's old as dirt and somehow always manages to act up when the weather gets too hot.

"I had some car trouble," you tell him sheepishly, throwing a disdainful look over your shoulder before facing him again. "I should've called. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, offering you a small, if not subtly strained, smile in return. You can tell he's relieved you didn't call, even if he's too polite to say it.

"S'alright, m'just glad you're here now," he says tightly, shifting from one foot to the other as he continues to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

Well, this isn't good. You can take a pretty decent guess as to why he's acting so strange, but you're not sure how to even begin diffusing the situation. Inviting yourself in wouldn't be a terrible first step, but he already seems nervous as hell, and you're afraid he'll spook.

He's still thinking about yesterday. It's evident in his stance and the tension visibly building in his biceps and shoulders. What you wouldn't give to relieve some of that stress—but you can't do much of anything while you're still stuck at an impasse, sizing each other up for two very conflicting reasons.

Hiking your guitar case higher up on your shoulder, you gesture as delicately as you can to the door he's still hiding behind.

"Is it okay, um—should I...come inside?" you stumble over your suggestion, your words conveying none of the confidence and allure you'd hoped for.

Come on, buck up. Be the girl who made him question his self-control; the girl who made his eyes turn so dark, you thought you'd lose yourself in them and never find your way out. You meet those same eyes again with a playful darkness of your own.

"Or did you wanna continue what we started yesterday out here on your porch?"

He does startle at that, but luckily it's the push he needs to finally let you into his home.

"Y-yeah, yes. M'sorry, 'course ya can," he mutters, shaking his head as if he'd been in a trance the entire time. "Didn't mean to keep ya standin' there. Come, uh...Christ, come on in."

Good. Entranced is good.

He holds the door open for you like a perfect gentleman, and your chest drags across his as you squeeze past his large frame and into the entryway. It’s an unsubtle and potentially cheap move, but neither of you pretends it wasn’t on purpose. He sucks in a harsh breath, seizing up until you're past him and taking in the quiet comfort of his living room.

Last time, you'd been too distracted to notice all of the little details and odds and ends that make the space so distinctly Joel, but now that you're really paying attention, it's...charming. The stacks of CDs next to his guitar stand, some in cases and some not, and the varying brown tones of his shag rug and leather couch feel warm and inviting. Just like the man who spends his days and nights here.

Being here suddenly feels intimate in a different capacity than before. Heat begins to bloom in your chest instead of between your legs at the idea of creating music together, a variation all your own, heavily influenced by the history all around you. The abrupt shift takes you by surprise, but it's not unwelcome. If anything, it increases your sense of urgency.

So you let it draw you in, back to where your next lesson and, hopefully, everything you have in store for Joel will take place. That same cushy spot you dreamt about all night while you fucked yourself with your fingers, and that he, unbeknownst to you, lingered while he fucked his fist to thoughts of you.

Looking back over your shoulder, you catch him watching you. There's a curiosity there and an undercurrent of something darker that makes your stomach swoop. He's still flushed, even more so than before, despite his AC kicking to cut the heat and oppressive humidity you brought in with you.

But then he blinks and it's gone again. Left in its place are the kind, if not extremely guarded, eyes of your patient guitar teacher. He's so good at that. Maybe a little too good.

You twist around, heaving the soft case off your shoulder so you can plop down on the couch. He winces out of the corner of your eye when you land on his spot, and his fingers twitch restlessly at his sides as you pull out your guitar and set it across your lap. Lifting an eyebrow, you wait for him to make a move, but he seems stuck in place. Conflicted, almost, like he's fighting himself.

You need him closer. You need him to loosen up. Most of all, you need those thick, insistent fingers inside you before you lose your damn mind.

"Joel? You coming?" you ask expectantly, moving your hands into place over the frets and strings.

At that, he downright grimaces but nods nonetheless. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like self-admonishment as he putters across the room to pluck his guitar from its stand.

Instead of sitting beside you, he pulls up a chair in front of you, putting enough distance between himself and the couch so you can heed his instructions, but not be tempted to touch. Whether that's for his benefit or yours, you're not entirely sure, but you shiver at the thought. He notices.

"Y'need me to turn down the AC? 'Cus I can handle that real quick before we get started," he sounds a little too eager to get away from you again, so you hurriedly reach out to grab his hand before he can make his escape.

"Woah, hold your horses. It's totally okay. I'm not cold, I promise," you try to reassure him with a chuckle, attempting to soothe the palpable tension in the air. Those rough, time-hardened fingertips brush against the delicate skin of your inner wrist, and you instinctively tug him closer.

But he resists. He carefully pulls out of your grasp and sits back down, returning to a safe distance and refusing to make eye contact.

That's not a good sign. At all. You can't help but feel a little ashamed at his reaction. It was never your intention to push him, but you also hadn't expected him to be repelled by just the sight of you.

Maybe you misunderstood your last conversation? Or maybe it really was all in your head, even after you stopped daydreaming. It's entirely possible you only saw what you wanted because you wanted him. You bite your lip anxiously, shifting away to offer him more space.

"Hey, is everything okay? You seem kind of...off today," you press him hesitantly. "Look, if this is about yesterday—"

"S'nothin' like that. We agreed it was water under the bridge, right? Two adults keepin' things professional," he cuts you off, kindly yet firmly dismissing your concerns.

He meets your eyes again, and they're clearer, now. His voice, too—unwavering and more sure than it's been since you got here.

Oh. This is a reminder. A gently worded warning for both of you.

Okay, that's totally okay. It has to be. He's right, anyway. You keep forgetting how important these lessons are, and he's just being the reasonable, responsible adult who wants to keep you on track, no matter how nervous you make him.

Shit, you wish that didn't turn you on so much. You tell yourself to ignore it. Your mission's a bust, anyway, and he's clearly not interested. You ignore how badly that hurts, too, while you're at it.

"Yeah, of course. Totally professional," you repeat back dejectedly, and you will yourself to mean it. But he never makes it easy, does he?

"That's my girl," he smiles so, so handsomely, and you're forced to bite back a frustrated groan.

How he manages to look so genuine and innocent while he says things like that, you'll never understand. What's worse, you have no doubt he actually is.

Joel Miller. 56 years old. Your generous guitar teacher whose only goal is to share his craft in that syrupy sweet twang that sounds like the sweetest music to your ears.

Just your luck.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iii <3

(dividers by @saradika & @inklore)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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captainremmington-13 · 2 months

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A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova.

SUMMARY: The 10th Annual Hunger Games begin, and things quickly dissolve into chaos. Bellova grows increasingly furious about Coriolanus’s dedication towards Lucy Gray Baird. When she realizes he has cheated just to keep her alive, she decides to ruin him once and for all.

Warnings: spoilers for TBOSAS, death, violence, cursing, overall dark stuff (it’s the Hunger Games franchise so that’s sorta a given)

A/n: I am using a combination of the movie and book version of the events that occur in this chapter. I sort of streamlined the events to make the chapter less boring. Also, I highly recommend listening to “…Ready For It?” and “Look What You Made Me Do” while reading this chapter.

Other than Sejanus throwing a chair at the screen and screaming that everyone in the room was a monster, Lamina killing Marcus in an act of of mercy, and Lucky’s stupid commentary, nothing much had happened yet.

Bellova was disappointed that her tribute was dead. Not because she cared about her, but because it meant she was missing out on the mentor experience. The thrill of having a say in someone else’s survival seemed quite exciting.

If she wasn’t so pissed at Coriolanus for his behavior towards Lucy Gray, she would’ve reconsidered his proposal to work together.

When the day was coming to an end, the majority of Academy students started to leave for their homes. Only a handful remained, consisting mostly of the mentors.

Bellova stifled a yawn, leaning back in her chair. Things has gotten dull, with the tributes doing nothing but finding places to hide from each other. She hoped that Dr. Gaul had something exciting in store for them soon, or people would start switching to Billi Bumble’s horrible comedy channel.

She picked up her Academy satchel and stood up from her seat. She noticed that Coriolanus was still present and slumped over on his desk, his head resting on his hand. He looked so peaceful asleep, his long golden lashes fluttering slightly. The light from the ceiling made his light blonde curls glow ethereally.

He looked like an angel.

Bellova suddenly felt a strong urge to wake him up. She had avoided him for the entire day out of spite, but was starting to miss interacting to him. It was routine, bantering and bickering every day. Not talking felt…weird. And lonely.

She sighed. On rare occasions, she wished she could go back in time and change the way they formed their relationship. Instead of it being based on competition and rivalry, it would be full of support and affection.

Then, an unpleasant thought hit her.

He had only stayed so late to ensure nothing happened to Lucy Gray while he was away.

Now utterly furious, she slung her bag over her shoulder and started towards the door. ‘He’s such a pathetic sap,’ she thought. ‘He’s acting like a fool, I really should stop associating myself with him.’

But she found herself glancing over her shoulder to look at him one last time. And she knew, deep down, that she’s always come back, no matter how much he pissed her off.

She’d never be able to stay away from him.

Not for long, anyway.

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Bellova passed out as soon as she climbed into bed, and didn’t wake until nine hours later. She hadn’t slept well in nearly a week, as she was still recovering from her injuries. This was the first time she was able to achieve an uninterrupted night of sleep since before the bombing.

When one of her maids woke her up, it was already 8:00. Usually Academy classes started promptly at 8:00, but because of the Games, the schedule had been loosened a bit. And Bellova, who didn’t feel like interacting with anyone, was in no rush to arrive on time.

After eating a breakfast of fruit and assorted pastries, she slowly pulled on her uniform. She has always hated the Academy uniforms, but with the right accessories and makeup, she had learned to make it presentable by her standards.

Bellova checked her makeup one last time in the mirror and then headed downstairs to meet her driver at the front of her estate. He opened the passenger’s side door for her as she slid into the seat.

“How are you this morning, Miss Bellova?” he asked, starting the engine and taking off towards the main road.

“Fine,” she said, leaning against the window. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope that once the Games are over, you can rest up properly.”

She nodded. “That would be nice. As much as I like the Games, they’ve caused quite a lot of stress this year.”

He laughed quietly. “Most certainly. Everyone was so worried about you when you were hospitalized, your father most of all. I haven’t ever seen him so upset in my twenty years of working for him.”

Bellova sighed. She and her father, Julio Augustus Reginelle, had a nice relationship. But he was rarely home, for he worked almost ten hours a day and often didn’t come home until Bellova was asleep. She cherished the rare moments she had with him. He had taught her to be proud of her wit and her combative nature, even if it sometimes got her into trouble.

“You are much more like your father than you realize, Miss Bellova,” her driver said.

“How so?” she asked.

“You are both kind until someone disrespects you. You are incredibly intelligent just like him, and pursue your goals relentlessly.” He paused for a moment. “And, you seem to have the same disdain for certain other Capitol families.”

Bellova raised an eyebrow. “Which ones?”

“Well, he’s not fond of the Cardews, as you know. He thinks they hold too much power for how little work they actually do.”

Bellova laughed. “That’s true.”

“He has never gotten along with the Creed family. He finds them irritating and foolish.”

She smirked. “I’m not surprised. Festus can be insufferable. Who else?”

Her driver sighed. “He despised Crassus Snow.”

Bellova felt her stomach twist. “Really?”

He nodded. “I don’t know exactly why he hated him so passionately, but I’ve heard they were rivals during their Academy days.”

‘I suppose I really do take after him then,’ Bellova thought, remembering her and Coriolanus’s worst arguments. ‘Crassus’s son gets under my skin nearly every day.’

Her driver pulled onto Scholars Road and stopped in front of the Academy’s main building. He stepped out of the car to open the door for her, and she gave him a nod of thanks.

“I’ll see you later, Miss Bellova,” he said, bowing slightly and getting back into the car to drive off.

As Bellova walked to the auditorium where the mentors were undoubtedly already at work, she pondered what her driver had said about Crassus Snow and her father. She was eager to know more about their history, but didn’t want to pry too far. Her father had a temper just like her, and she didn’t want to be on the wrong end of it.

When Bellova reached the room and walked through the doors, she immediately noticed three things: one, that Coriolanus looked exhausted and distressed, two, that he has brought his cousin Tigris to watch the Games, and three, that Sejanus was missing.

She grabbed a spare chair and sat next to Coriolanus. He didn’t greet her or even glance look at her.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asked, looking at the large television screen in front of them.

He scowled. “I’m not in the mood for your snide remarks, Bellova.”

“Clearly something happened. Either tell me or I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Coriolanus gave her a sharp glare, but sighed in defeat. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Satisfied, Bellova turned her attention back to the Games. According to Lucky Flickerman, one tribute, Bobbin, had died overnight. However, there was no footage shown of him perishing.

Bellova found that awfully suspicious. There was such a lack of action in the arena that the gamemakers would have undoubtedly shown the death of a tribute.

When Bobbin’s death was announced, she noticed Coriolanus tense ever-so slightly. The average person wouldn’t have noticed, but she had learned to read his body language as well as the back of her hand. Clearly, something about his death made him nervous.

She decided to cast it aside for the moment. She’d pry the information out of him later.

“They aren’t showing us what happened to that little boy,” Lysistrata Vickers said. “He clearly was killed right there. There’s cameras everywhere. It doesn’t make sense.”

“They said they were old cameras, Lyssie,” Festus responded. “Probably just another one of Coral’s.”

“Festus, sit down,” Lucky Flickerman ordered. “Same seats.”

Festus scowled but did as he was told. He and Lucky clearly had some animosity, and it was quite amusing to witness their petty interactions.

Suddenly, after a few moments, Lucy Gray appears on screen, looking horrified. Bellova had to bite her lip to refrain from grinning. It seemed that the songbird’s luck was finally running out.

Jessup emerged a second later. He was clearly not well, he looked much worse than he did before the Games.

“What’d you do to me?” Jessup shrieked, backed Lucy Gray against a pile of rubble.

“Nothing!” she responded, her eyes wide with fear.

“Lyssie, what is he doing?” Bellova heard Coriolanus asked frantically.

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata replied, bewildered. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

“Jessup going after Lucy Gray,” Lucky commented.

“Stop running!” Jessup demanded. “What did you…” He groaned mid-sentence. “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Lucy Gray insisted.

“Both tributes from District 12. The same district folding in on itself.”

“Wait, look. The foam,” Coriolanus said.

“I think it’s rabies,” Lysistrata said, clearly disturbed. “That bite. From that train.”

Coriolanus stared at the screen, looking helplessly at his tribute who was nearing her inevitable doom. Then, he turned back to Jessup’s mentor.

“Send him water.”

“Wait, what?” Lysistrata asked.

“You remember the posters in the war? Rabies. It makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone.”

“That’ll scare him,” she protested.

“Yes. Away from her,” he insisted.

Bellova stood up. “Coriolanus-“

“Bellova, be quiet,” he snapped, not even bothering to look at her. “Jessup is done. Lyssie, you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

Lysistrata clearly didn’t want to, but with a few clicks on her computer, water was being sent to Jessup by a drone.

“Thank you,” Coriolanus whispered.

Within minutes, Jessup was dead, and four lethal tributes were cornering Lucy Gray.

“Oh, look at this,” Lucky Flickerman said. “The Pack doing what they do best. Packing it in. Lucy Gray is swarmed, cornered. Mizzen, propellering his net.”

It looked again as if she was done for, but then-

“Mr. Snow going for his communipad,” Lucky continued. Bellova saw him send nine - no, ten drones towards Lucy Gray.

Bellova knew exactly what he was doing. He was using the drones to give her a chance to escape.

The drones came flying into the arena, causing The Pack to scatter. A few of them got hit, causing them cry out in pain and tumble to the stone-covered floor.

“These drones are not very good,” Lucky commented, as if it weren’t obvious. Some of the students who had caught onto Coriolanus’s plan started to jeer at him.

“Hey!” Vipsania Sickle said indignantly. “You can’t attack the tributes.”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus said casually, as if he was completely innocent.

After gathering her bearings, Lucy Gray scrambled into a tunnel with Coral on her heels. She managed to pull the vent closed just in time, the metal door nearly crushing Coral’s fingers.

Bellova positioned herself a few inches away from Coriolanus. She was seething, but it didn’t show on her face. She simply looked indifferent, despite all of the violence that had just occurred in the Games.

“Snow, do you that time before the Dark Days when you pulled on my pigtails, so I slammed your face against my school desk?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus said, furrowing his eyebrows. “What about it?”

Bellova smiled crookedly, the violent glint in her eyes making Coriolanus visibly uncomfortable. “I’m about to fucking do it again, and this time, you’ll have more than a bleeding nose.”

He straightened his posture, smoothing out his Academy blazer.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Bellova’s hands twitched. She knew that decking him in front of the majority of the student board would get her in severe trouble, but it was very tempting.

Instead of punching him, she started to storm out of the auditorium.

“There goes Miss Reginelle. Clearly, the violence on screen has finally gotten to her-“

“Shut the fuck up, Flickerman, before I snap your microphone in half!” Bellova hissed. She threw up open the doors, and made sure to slam them behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova sat in the hallway outside of the auditorium, leaning her head against the wall behind her. Her anger was threatening to spill over, and her father would be very disappointed in her if she murdered someone on Academy grounds.

She had vowed to make Coriolanus pay if he pulled any more strings for his little songbird. And he had by sending that fleet of drones after her attackers. But clearly, nobody batted an eye at that. He had not been punished, or even reprimanded.

The thought of Coriolanus thinking longingly about Lucy Gray was almost enough to drive her mad.

Before she could do anything drastic, she heard the speakers inside the auditorium amplifying Dr. Gaul’s voice. Curious, she stood up and pressed her ear to the doors.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss, one that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has, this morning, succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.”

Bellova felt her heart drop. Felix wasn’t all that bad, when he wasn’t bragging about his life at least. She had even gone to the end-of-year Academy gala with him a couple of years ago. They had a wonderful time, and she was gifted a priceless gold necklace by him at the end of the night. She had worn it for a week straight afterwards, which delighted the young son of the president.

“Out there in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such a victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games.”

She gasped. She knew Dr. Gaul well enough to know she was completely serious. If she wanted someone gone, she’d stop at nothing until they dropped dead.

Mere moments later, Coriolanus burst through the doors, nearly slamming right into Bellova.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, scowling at him.

He sneered down at her, beginning to walk away. She followed him, despite knowing he really didn’t want her to. “As if I’d tell you.”

Bellova sighed. “I told you earlier, Coriolanus, if you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out on my own-“

“Fine!” he huffed. “I’d do anything to shut you up at this point. You’re insufferable.”

“The feeling is mutual, Snow. Now spill it, what’s going on?”

Coriolanus, against his better judgement, told her everything. Well, almost everything. He told her about how he retrieved Sejanus from the arena, but omitted the part about killing Bobbin. He explained that he needed to see Dr. Gaul immediately, for the stitches in his back from the previous evening were coming loose.

Bellova frowned. She briefly felt bad that he was in pain, but couldn’t bring herself to actually care. She was still angry at him.

She also noticed he said was being very vague with his details. He was definitely hiding something.

“What’s that face for?” Coriolanus asked as they approached the Citadel, which housed Gaul’s laboratory.

“What face?”

“That scowl. You’re clearly not pleased about something, so what is it?”

She smirked. “As if I’d tell you,” she said, mimicking his words from earlier.

Coriolanus’s jaw clenched, which satisfied Bellova immensely. She loved seeing his patience waver, it was strangely addicting.

“Will you ever learn to keep your bratty mouth shut?” he asked, his voice raising a touch.

“Bratty?” Bellova scoffed. “I’d prefer it if you called me a bitch.”

Dr. Gaul’s lab was just a few corridors away at this point. Bellova knew that causing a scene here wouldn’t be wise, but she honestly did not care. She could easily talk her way out if it.

Coriolanus glowered at her, his blue eyes icier than ever. “Go back to the auditorium, Bellova. I know you love watching the Games, and you’re probably missing all of the action.”

She laughed. “So all of a sudden, you want me to be happy. Seriously, Snow, if you want to get rid of me, just say so.”

He smirked at her condescendingly. “Then I will. Get out of here, you have no place in Gaul’s lab anyway. It’s too much for your pathetically shallow brain to comprehend.”

Bellova stared at him for a moment. It has been awhile since he’d said something quite that harsh. It was normal for him to question her intellect, but calling her dumb? That was low, even for him.

Coriolanus was obviously anticipating a slap to the face. He was not prepared, however, for Bellova to swipe her claw-like nails across his face like a wild animal.

Stunned, he watched Bellova walk away as the new gashes on his face began to sting. As she reached the end of the hall, she screamed “You’re such an asshole!” before disappearing from Coriolanus’s sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova sat in the stands instead of with the mentors, watching as Dr. Gaul’s “rainbow of destruction” engulf the remaining tributes in the arena.

She had no idea that when Dr. Gaul said “rainbow”, she was referring to hundreds of colorful, deadly snakes.

She watched, entranced, as the beautiful mutations smothered the tributes, picking them off one-by-one. She had never admired the “mad” scientist more. Her work was truly beautiful.

Wovey, Reaper, Mizzen, and Coral were soon dead, lying lifelessly beneath the swarm of snakes.

“Now, all colors lead to Gray,” Lucky Flickerman said.

Coriolanus stood watching the screen, amazed at his own success. “She’s… She’s won. It’s over, she’s won.” He looked over to Dr. Gaul, who was standing to the side. “She’s won, let her out.”

The doctor smiled. “Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow.”

Bellova bit back a laugh when Lucy Gray began to sing. At least she’d be able to get in once last performance before her vocal chords went slack.

“Dr. Gaul, she won!” Coriolanus repeated, desperation seeping into his voice. “It’s over, let her out.”

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” someone asked.

“Must be the singing,” Coriolanus replied. “It’s calming them.”

He really was a terrible liar.

“She can’t sing forever,” Festus said.

Bellova noticed some of the students around her begin to cry as they watched Lucy Gray sing shakily. ‘Pathetic,’ she thought.

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus begged. “Get her out. Get her out!”

One by one, the Academy students began to chant “Get her out! Get her out!”, almost overpowering the sound of Lucy Gray’s singing.

‘No,’ Bellova thought desperately. ‘Don’t. Just let her die.’

Then, Coriolanus said, “Who will watch the Games if there’s no victor?”

The chanting came to a halt.

Dr. Gaul looked around, seeing that she was vastly outnumbered. “Get her out,” she murmured just loud enough to be heard.

“She’s won! Lucy Gray!” Lucky Flickerman cried over the roar of the student body. “Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th Annual Hunger Games!”

Bellova’s face burned with fury, her patience finally snapping after days of wearing thin.

She was no longer willing to overlook Coriolanus’s behavior. She had let him get away with too much.

It was time that he faced some real consequences.

As she exited the hall quietly, she smiled, a cruel, twisted smile. She knew exactly how she would make him pay.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! This was another decently long chapter, and I believe it has been the most intense one yet. Stay tuned for Chapter Six!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x oc #original character #thg prequel #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #dr gaul #lucy gray baird

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boyfhee · 1 year

Text

⋆ POPSICLES · lhs

synopsis · you're cold and heeseung knows the perfect way to warm you up

genre · established relationship ( 1.2k )

notes · we love reposting, pt 2 the sequel !! i have so many fav works from old blog

“who even eats popsicles in winters?” you snicker, letting the flavour conquer your mind along with the cold ice that sends slight shivers down your spine.

“there’s no right or wrong time to eat popsicles,” he replies, and you find it funny. just ten minutes ago, heeseung was scolding you for not carrying a scarf and not having your jacket zipped up when you should be taking care of yourself in this cold weather.

there are times when he doesn’t make any sense. like back when he told you he doesn’t like cats, but you can still spot him having a fun time with the ones living by your street. or when he said he hates writing essays, but stayed up till one in the night to write yours because you weren’t feeling well. if you’re not mistaken, he also told you that he isn’t interested in relationships, only to ask you out just four days later.

you’re damn sure, heeseung doesn’t make any sense, but neither does love.

“if i get sick, i’m blaming you.” you speak up, a faint laughter falling off his lips before his eyes settle on your satisfied grimace as you devour on the delicacy.

“for someone who’s against eating popsicles in winters, you sure are enjoying it a lot, ” he holds back a laugh. “

“i’m doing it so that you don’t feel bad,” he laughs, saying something along the lines of ‘thanks, i’m honoured,’ before you both break into giggles. suddenly, the weather doesn’t seem as cold anymore. well, it has always been like this. heeseung has always been warm, literally and figuratively— and it’s something he takes pride in. just like now, his hand is wrapped around yours as an excuse to keep you warm when you know very well that he just wants to hold your hands and relive the feeling of your fingers intertwined in his’ over and over again.

and as much as you appreciate his ‘concern,’ heeseung uses that excuse a little too much.

because when he stops in his tracks, looking at you with a soft yet mischievous gaze, your heart speeds up a little as if you’re about to run for your life. and when heeseung takes a step towards you, inching closer to your lips before capturing them with his, the time ceases to exist, the minutes hanging like autumn frost on rose petals.

and you just look at him with a love-struck gaze, a question floating in your eyes; however you don’t voice the mess that your thoughts are. you don’t need to, he knows about them already.

“well, your lips looked cold, so I thought i could warm them up.” he clarifies as he continues on his path once again as if nothing happened. as if he didn’t just kiss you in the middle of the street, on a freezing winter night, and even though you both have the same flavour of popsicles, you can swear cherry never tasted so good before.

“you’re not helping, hee. i’m still cold.” you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool because if he can pretend nothing happened, you can too. ( and you both know it’s childish but one of you cares enough about it )

“is that so?” this time, he didn't wait.

instead, heeseung simply snakes his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer into a kiss, again. it feels euphoric the way his lips move in synchrony with yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. a faint gasp escaping your mouth that dissolves immediately into your breaths mingling together.

he pulls back, much to your disappointment, looking at you with love sick eyes and dust of pink sprinkled on his cheeks. “are you still cold?”

you press your lips into a thin line, nodding in acceptance. “maybe if you kiss me again, i won't be cold anymore.” and once again, his lips land on yours, your cheeks heating up a little as you smile in between.

the popsicles are long forgotten in your hands.

#—approved.#enhypen #k-labels #heeseung x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen scenarios #enhypen reactions #enhypen drabbles #heeseung drabbles #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fic #enhypen fic

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gaysindistress · 7 months

Text

As Good a Reason - seven

pairing: ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️ x reader

summary: when Brock Rumlow picks a fight he can’t win with the White Wolf, he drags his Snake back. Six years after she ran away, Y/N Rumlow is faced with a choice to make; do as she’s told and kill the White Wolf or overtake her father instead because spite’s as good a reason to take his power?

warnings: ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️, cursing, blood, more character deaths, smutty moments but not full spice

word count: 2.6k

Tag list @kandis-mom @casa-boiardi @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @cakesandtom @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @vonalyn @emerald-writes

a/n: AHHHH HERE'S THE FINAL PART OF AS GOOD A REASON!!!! I know I went MIA for a minute but I'm back. I started a new job and moved states so it's been an absolutely crazy week for me. Going forward, I'm going to be slower with updating and fics will probably only come out once a week. I've been focusing on editing Divine Violence and catching up on my reading stack (my poor kindle is overloaded) but I promise I won't forget about all of you on tumblr <3 <3 <3

six | series masterlist

Victoria is silent during the drive, keeping her stare ahead and out the front window without so much as a single glance to her sister or brother. Y/N keeps shooting glances at Niklaus for explanation but he offers nothing.

“Vic,” she says softly, touching her sister’s shoulder and she flinches at the touch, “Vic what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer at first but the second time that her sister asks, she briefly looks back at her and whispers something.

“What did you say?”

Clearing her throat, she says the unthinkable, “Brock made me do it.”

“What did he make you do?” Niklaus says as he leans towards the front seat.

“I didn’t have a choice. He….he said if I loved him, I would do it.”

Steve glances over in concern from the driver’s seat, “What is she going on about?”

“I know just as much as you,” Y/N scoffs before turning to her sister, “Vic what did he make you do?” “He said that if I was a good daughter, I would do it,” she mumbles to herself as she pulls something from under her loose sweatshirt. Steve looks over at her again and slams on the breaks in efforts to stop her from pulling out the weapon. The sudden stop sends everyone flying forward as well the knife Victoria had started to pull out. Steve snatches it up before she can with one hand and has a gun pointed at with the other. The car behind them, the one that Sam and James are in, slams to a halt as well as the two men clamor out.

“What the fuck?” James hisses when he approaches the driver’s side. He narrows his eyes at everyone inside the car and lets out a disappointed sigh when he sees the knife and a shaking Victoria.

“I expected more of you, Victoria Marie,” he scolds her as if she is a child and nods to Sam and Steve. Sam rips the backseat door open and pulls the other two triplets out as Steve hands him the knife.

“What are you doing?” Niklaus sneers at Sam and James but neither of them answer. Y/N tries her hand at getting an answer but again gets nothing aside from a stern look from James. Steve exits the vehicle next as the two are dragged back to the second car. He grabs hold of Y/N who fights him tooth and nail to get out of his hold but it’s useless.

As they’re shoved into the car, they hear a gunshot. Both gasp and let out cries of anger, rage, pain, sadness, anything at all that they’ve felt in the last six years. James joins them in the car, cleaning the barrel of Steve’s gun off on his pant leg. He says nothing as Sam drives off.

The car where Victoria should be in is starting to smoke as flames try to lick up the sides. Y/N looks at him in horror but no reaction.

Two Rumlows gone in the span of two hours.

Who is next?

Five days pass before Y/N leaves her room.

She guarded the door with any piece of furniture she could find and refused to open it unless absolutely necessary. Niklaus, of course, had been the only expectation however he too rarely left his room.

That was until Steve pounded on their doors, demanding that they be downstairs in 15 minutes for a reunion dinner. Y/N scoffs at the idea of having a reunion dinner when all her and her brother want to do is grieve.

Another pound on the door brings her attention back and she takes a sharp breath in before opening it. A black box sits on the ground in front of the door and it takes everything in her to not stomp on the fragile lid. She picks it up and tosses it onto her bed, staring at it as she sits on the floor. It’s similar to the box she got that first night days ago.

Weeks ago.

Months ago?

Honestly at this point, Y/N couldn’t remember how long it had been since she was dragged back to this hell hole of a city and had her life turned upside down. All she knows is that the grip that James had on her is growing tighter everyday. It’s becoming suffocating, squeezing out any breath that she tries to take and that box on her bed is a physical reminder of the hand that’s always wrapped around her throat.

She climbs to her feet and hesitantly takes a seat next to the box, contemplating whether or not she should let the hand control her even more. A thought crosses her mind, one that chills her to the bone.

What would James do to Klaus?

Her fingers quickly flick open the box and the lid slides back to reveal a gold necklace sitting on black tissue paper. She lets out a deep sigh at the theatrics that James puts into everything that he does. Picking up the necklace, Y/N scoffs as she looks it over. Of course, he would ask…command her to wear a necklace with his name on it.

However as her fingers pick it up, they catch on the paper to show a bundle of black gleaming fabric. She pulls the paper back even more and takes out the dress he’s also silently demanding that she wears. It’s a mid length square neck dress that will no doubt show off everything she wants to hide from men like James.

Sneering at both disgusting gifts, she throws them back into the box and shoves it off her bed. It clatters to the floor as she stares at it in anger, a deep feral anger that needs to be released. This anger accepts only one payment though and that is blood. More specifically that of the White Wolf’s.

Only the sounds of clanking silverware and the occasional conversation between James and his men. Niklaus and Y/N stayed silent from the moment they saw each other in the hall. He glared at the dress and necklace she wore and she wanted desperately to tell him it was all a facade but she couldn’t without tipping off the men around them. She could see the palpable anger in his eyes, the hurt that flashed when he read the name that claimed her throat. She tried to convey with her eyes that it would all end tonight but he looked away too quickly and went back to eating.

The dining room is much like the rest of the house, black and devoid of any emotion. She wants to make a remark about it mirroring the inside of the owner’s heart but one quick glance to the head of the table keeps it locked behind her painted lips.

James, ever the regal mafia leader, is leaning back in his chair as he watches over his subjects. Surprisingly he’s only wearing a half buttoned black short sleeve and black slacks. Y/N pretends to trail her eyes over the tanned skin that is on display and when she lands on his face, there is a smirk welcoming her heated gaze. He takes a swallow of his favored amber liquid without breaking eye contact with her. A shiver of disgust wants to wash over her body but she suppresses it as Sam speaks. He drones on about whatever useless business he and Steve dealt with today, no doubt so insignificant that if Klaus or Y/N tried to use it against them, it would do nothing. She knew this routine well; dangle pieces of information before their enemies in efforts to get them to strike. Brock had done it time and time again to the point that the remaining Triplets knew it well. Well enough to not take the bait.

Dinner slowly comes to an end as servants take away the empty places, leaving all of the guests to glare at each other. Y/N’s fingers tap lightly on the steak knife that remains, drawing attention to it and Steve motions for it to be taken away. James chuckles under his breath as he watches the interaction but says nothing. Y/N smirks on the inside but puts on a face of frustration.

Both her and the White Wolf knew that if she was going to try something, she wouldn’t have been so obvious as to grab a steak knife. No, James knows that it’s a distraction but he wants to watch her plan unfold before stopping her.

His sharp eyes meet hers again and they pin her to her seat. She sees his mouth move but she can’t hear the words that come out. She guesses that he dismissed everyone from the way that everyone clears out of the room , leaving them alone. Niklaus shoots her a glance before Sam pushes him out and she gives her brother a small nod.

I’ll be okay.

Niklaus doesn’t fight Sam because he knows that she will be but it does little to calm the rising fear. He nods back.

Be careful.

She smiles at him, covering her sinister plan with sibling love.

Once the door is closed and they are finally alone, Y/N settles her gaze back on James who had been watching the interaction. He sits his glass on the arm of his chair as he looks her over. A twinkle of something positively feral flashes in his eye when he takes in the necklace and dress she is wearing.

“I figured it better to comply,” she offers as she takes a sip of her wine.

“Comply?” he questions, “You make it sound like I’m a tyrant.”

“You’re far worse.”

James lets out a deep laugh that’s more animal like than human, “If I were then your brother’s head would’ve been served for dinner.”

Y/N takes another slow sip of her wine to hide her seething anger at the suggestion.

“And then I would’ve taken you in front of the others.”

She turns to narrow her eyes at him, “What if I said no?”

“You won’t have.”

“How can you be so sure?” The glass of his cup clinks on the table as he sits it on the table before him, “Look at what you’re wearing. I’d say that is a pretty good indication that you wouldn’t say that to me.”

She rolls her eyes at him and sits her own glass on the table. Taking a deep breath, she prepares herself for her next move. Before James can say another vile thing, she quickly stands and walks to the head of the table. Perching herself on the table just beside him, Y/N gently pushes at the arm of James’ chair. Taking the hint, he moves back an inch and takes her by the hips to pull her in front of him. She had only been this close to him a handful of times but every time it’s just as terrifying as the last. His cold attitude extends to the air that circles him and now her. His scent of leather, guns, and blood engulf her and caress the sides of her face as he watches her every move.

In another life, she knew that she would’ve fallen for him. She could see the charm and confidence that he would use on her to get her into bed. She could see the way that he would shower her with gifts to the point where she would have to beg him to stop. She could see how he would laugh when he kissed up her neck, claiming that she would never have enough and would never stop giving her the world.

However now with the predatory look in his eye, she’s not sure that he would ever be the James that she pictured in her head. This man, the White Wolf, is the image of pure evil down to the way that he lazily smiles up at her, a dark look swimming in his equally darkening eyes.

“Don’t pull anything stupid, little snake,” he murmurs to her as he drinks in the way his name lays on her breasts.

“Who said I was going to do anything?” she murmurs back as she leans down into his space.

“I know that look.”

She bats her lashes at him, fiending innocence and he laughs again, that deep rumble in his chest squeezing the air from her lungs. His right hand makes a slow climb up her arm as she leans down and finds its place on her throat, just above where his name sits on its golden chain. His thumb rubs her jaw, tipping her face down by her chin so he can look at her better. His tongue swipes his bottom lip as he appreciates the red painted on hers.

“We both know you’re not some stupid innocent doll,” he whispers to her, “You’re my little snake, clever and deadly.”

“Are you my White Wolf then?”

James smirks at her question and draws her closer, “That depends.”

“On?”

“If you plan to keep trying to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she whispers against his lips before kissing him. His soft lips move against hers in a slow but domineering way, control every slide and move they make. The hand around her neck slips into her loose hair while his other hand pulls her by the hips onto his lap and slips up on her lower back. Under her, she can feel the hardness forming in his pants and she stifled a moan at the feeling of him moving against her. One of her hands tangles into her hair, pulling at it so his head falls back and she descends upon his neck.

Y/N leaves wet kisses on his jaw and down his neck as they move against each other, gasps and moans leaving both of them. In their desperation to devour each other, James didn’t notice that her other hand was nowhere to be felt on his body nor did he see the flash of silver in the fire light.

“Fuck,” he chokes out when that flash of silver hides a place in between his sixth and seventh rib. Y/N quickly pulls the small dinner knife out and plunges back into the same area. The shock of her attack and the pain that is growing hot in his side stop him from pushing her off or defending himself in other ways.

She pulls away, still sitting on top of him with the bloody knife in her hand and gives him a small smile. He breathlessly chuckles at the sight, “Wouldn’t dream of it?”

“It’s not a dream anymore,” she offers with a small shrug.

James drops his hands from her body as she slides off and lets her knife on the table just out of his reach. The attack on his spleen will cause him to bleed out slowly enough that he will feel every moment of it but fast enough that there would be nothing anyone could do to help him. They both know it and he wants to laugh again at the situation but the pain prevents him from doing so.

“Why?” he asks, almost too quiet for her to hear but she does. She pauses at the door to answer him.

“Spite.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #mob au #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #as good a reason bucky barnes #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader

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two-white-butterflies · 11 months

Text

summer | h. strong/r. targaryen

Description: The years in between the children and Harwin's inevitable death.

Rating: 16+ [suggestive themes, death by fire]

Author's Note: If you love this fic, feel free to visit the main fic.

coaxed you into paradise v2.

Rhaenyra loves everything about him. His deep voice, his velvety tone - everything about him seemed to be made exactly to her liking, with Harwin, everything was pure and true - nothing like the carnal desire she had over her uncle. Her days thinking about him - weren't spent with her fingers down her cunt, unlike those with Daemon.

"How is the babe?" he asked, reaching down to press his palms on her swollen belly. A smile paints her lips - believing that fatherhood suited him well. "The babe is well," she replied - placing both of her hands down her tummy.

The mere thought of his seed inside her belly made her swell with joy. The thought that they were made for each other - it settled wonderfully with her system. "- and his mother?" he inquired - eyes meeting those of his lover. "She is well, now that you are here." she smiled, pressing a soft kiss on his lips.

His hands reach for hers - entwining their fingers together.

"How are the gold cloaks?" she asked, leading them both into the warmth of the bed. Harwin's face dropped to the floor. "As usual - they still speak of your uncle," he huffed - a little disappointed with the lack of respect that his men held for him.

Rhaenyra's face softened, staring at his dejected face.

"They will soften in time, I know that you'll do a better job than my uncle." she encouraged while pouring herself a glass of water. "I feel as if I share everything with your uncle," he complained, staring deep into her lavender hues.

There were nights that they spent together talking about love - before they were together. The first name that spilled out of Rhaenyra's tongue was those of Daemon. That she fancied him as a child, but he never reciprocated those feelings. Her hands snake towards his chest - wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I am yours, Harwin." she breathed in his scent of sandalwood and oranges. She belonged to the man inside the commander.

She would never forget Alicent's sour face once she saw Joffrey. "He looks just like Princess Rhaenys," she mumbled bitterly, eyes darting back and forth between Rhaenyra and her sworn sword.

"He has Laenor's nose," Viserys commented, holding his grandson close to his chest. The child in front of them was void of any Targaryen features - but she knew that her Lucerys was a dragon.

"The birth was swift, and he came without a fuss." Rhaenyra smiled, peeking through her father's shoulder to gaze upon the visage of her second-born. The child was filled with sweetness, round cheeks and a bright smile - like her sister. "I am glad," Viserys smiled.

Rhaenyra's smile deepened, pulling Laenor closer to her body.

With both of the men beside her, there was nothing she couldn't do. She could move mountains, and drain entire rivers.

All because of them.

Her boys. The very reason for her existence.

When the news of Harwin's death came to her - the entire facade broke down. The love of her life was murdered and swallowed by fire. "Mother," Jacaerys finds his place beside her, grabbing her forearm as she collapses on the floor. "It cannot be," she cried, feeling the air run out of her lungs.

Harwin was her joy - the sun of her life.

"He was burned, my lady." her handmaiden announced, keeping her eyes on the floor - in respect of her lady's grief. "Burned by whom?" she interrogated - feeling all of the anger in the world crash down on her. She would kill for him - die for him.

But right now, she needed to live for him.

"There are rumors, my princess - but none of them have been proven true." the handmaiden replied, lips pursed into a thin line.

The tears kept flowing out of Rhaenyra's eyes.

There was a time before him, a time during him - but she couldn't believe that there would be anything after him.

"I don't understand." she mumbled, knees sunken on the floor.

How could she take on the world without her sun?

Without the only man that made everything possible?

author's note: i apologize because all of the blurbs are sad asf, also yes - rhaenyra did like daemon (confirmed) but he didn't notice her.

taglist: @watercolorskyy @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @schniiipsel @mirandastuckinthe80s @areaderinlove @i-yam-awesome @ladystardvsts @gracielikegrapes @sweethoneyblossom1 @issybee0611 @tato0od @delaynew @thisbihreadstoomuch @plutoscosmoss @immyowndefender @marvelescvpe @batmans-love @luanasrta @tesha-i-guess @valeridarkness

#coaxed you into paradise blurbs #harwin strong x rhaenyra targaryen #harwin strong #rhaenyra targaryen

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nocturnal-bishop · 4 months

Text

"I'll Go Anywhere With You"

Pairing: Papa Emeritus III (Terzo) x Bishop Dante (OC)

Warnings: None

Words: ~1350

Summary: Finding a ritual that would allow him to visit Terzo in the afterlife, Bishop is eager to pounce on the opportunity, and finally gets to say goodbye.

The bishop sits on his knees on the hard floor, his pale face illuminated only by the dim glow of the candles surrounding him. He finishes drawing the necessary symbol on the floor, then picks up the book he had found in the Ministry's expansive library. Tucking his black bangs behind his ear, his eyes skim over the page he had bookmarked, his lips moving silently to the words. He has been practicing this every night for the past two weeks now; it was finally time to put the practice into use.

The previous Papas have all been dead for a handful of months now, and Copia had taken over as the new Papa Emeritus, leaving Dante to look after him now. But even with the intensive work of looking after the new Pope and making sure his transition from cardinal went smoothly, Dante couldn't help but be preoccupied in his grief of losing the man he had fallen for: Terzo.

The bishop had already attempted to bring Terzo back to life, which proved unsuccessful as all he managed to do was summon a Ghoul rather than bring anyone back to life. Either it was impossible, or Dante simply lacked the knowledge to fulfill such a task, so he decided to look for some sort of alternate option. And that was how he stumbled across this. A ritual that would allow Dante to temporarily traverse the afterlife, just to allow him a few more minutes with his love.

He just wanted to properly say goodbye.

His heart beating nervously in his chest, Dante inhales slowly through his nose as he sets the book off to the side. No more delaying.

Shutting his eyes, Dante begins to recite the incantation that he had taught himself from the book, an old Latin phrase that should transport him to the other side. After the last of the words leave his lips, the man keeps his eyes shut for a lingering moment, afraid to open his eyes and see that the ritual had failed him. He couldn't handle another disappointment, another failure.

A shiver runs across his body, and Dante suddenly finds himself shivering and cold. He wraps his arms around himself, then finally blind his eyes open to find himself standing in an empty, dark void. Fog snakes its way up to his waist, his feet disappearing in the thick clouds as he looks around and begins to walk. His footsteps echo, filling the void with the loud sound and nothing else.

"T-Terzo? Are you here?" Dante calls out to the darkness, pausing his steps to listen. The silence that follows engulfs him, and an overwhelming feeling of disappointment fills the bishop. Once again, he had failed. All he had wanted was to just see Terzo one last time, just so he could have a sense of closure. But it seemed that even that was asking too much of the universe.

As Dante was about to fully give up and throw in the towel, the tall male feels freezing hands come from behind and rest against his chest, making him aware of a presence behind him.

"Tesoro….what are you doing here?"

Though Dante had initially gone rigid upon feeling the hands on him, that familiar voice instantly sets him at ease as his heart swells with happiness and relief. "Terzo…" He exhales in a whisper. "I've missed you….I had to see you." Dante's voice quivers slightly. "I…I never even got to properly say goodbye to you…."

"Oh, I've missed you too, my darling bishop…"

Dante turns to face the other, and chest Schindler as his eyes fall upon the short male and the familiar features he knew all too well. Though the deceased man appeared a bit more pale and translucent, it was unmistakable. It was him.

"It's really you." Dante murmurs, his gloved hand cupping Terzo's cheek and rubbing his thumb underneath his eye.

Terzo leans into the touch, his hand resting over Dante's. His eyes shut for a moment before shifting up towards the bishop's. "I was certain I would never see you again, amore….But this is no place for you. My time has passed, but you still have much life to live."

"You should still be alive!" Dante retorts. "If I had only done better to protect you, to keep you from harm-"

Terzo presses a finger against Dante's lips, silencing him. "Do not start talking like that. It is no one's fault. My death served the Ministry, so that my brother could take over…Even if you don't agree with it, it's what was right for the Ministry, for our mission." A low sigh escapes him. "I don't like it either…I had thought I was doing well as Papa, but….I've accepted that Nihil and Imperator had different plans. My only regret is…not being with you."

"I can join you!" Dante chirps eagerly. He takes Terzo's hands into his own, giving them a squeeze. "I can join you here….My life, my purpose is here with you, not there…I would be willing to give my life just to spend eternity with you…."

Terzo gazes at Dante for a moment before lowering his eyes to their intertwined fingers, then exhales and pulls his hands away. "As much as I would like that, I could never ask you to end your life for me…"

"But I want to, Terzo….I want to be with you…"

At Dante's insistence, Terzo shakes his head. "No." He responds firmly. "You will not do anything of the sort….You are needed. Copia needs you….Our time will come, but not for a long while yet, Dante…."

With a trembling lip, his eyes burning with the threat of tears, Dante drops to his knees in front of Terzo, taking one of his hands and burying his face into the other male's pant leg. "I can't go back without you….I can't suffer anymore without you by my side…" His voice turns to gasping sobs. "I can't live without you, Terzo….I love you…"

Terzo watches the man crimple to the ground, sighing and pushing a hand through the bishop's hair. "I know you want to stay, Dante…But I could never ask you to do that."

Dante tilts his teary face up towards Terzo, and the pope cups his cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears from his slender face. "Don't cry." Terzo murmurs. "We will be together eventually…but you still have purpose…."

Dante shakes his head, tears spilling over Terzo's thumbs. "I can't…" He insists. "I need you, Terzo…"

Terzo leans down, bringing his face closer to the bishop's. "I understand that. But you need to listen to me….If you truly love me, you need to go back…" A remorseful sigh leaves his lips. "I love you, my bishop…but it's time for you to head back…."

Dante grasps onto Terzo's shirt with a strong grip. "No, I just got you back! It hasn't been long enough!"

"This world is not made for the living, Dante. I need you to leave…." Terzo presses his lips against Dante's forehead, planting a lingering, sweet kiss to his skin. "Now go."

Dante takes in a shuddering breath, nodding and rising to his feet once again. "I…I understand…" As much as he yearned to stay here with his love, Terzo was right. Dante still had duties and responsibilities in life. It was too soon for him.

"I will always be waiting here for you, Dante…I love you…." Terzo holds Dante's hand, offering a small smile and kissing the bishop's knuckles, and just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone, and Dante found himself back in his bedroom.

Heart burning with pain and mourning, Dante gazes at the symbol he had etched on the floor, the candles surrounding it now reduced to small, smoking piles of wax. With the lingering feeling of Terzo's touch on his body, Dante lowers his head with a heartbroken sob.

"Ti voglio bene, mio amato…."

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khasiehondra · 11 months

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It Can't Be...Can It? Chapter 2: A Snake in the Garden

Alice

Alice was frozen to her place in the doorway. Sebastian's gaze held hers and it was then she knew her and Annie's lives could change. She could tell him now. It was obvious Annie was quite taken to him and she didn't want to hurt her daughter by saying he had to leave them alone. "Annie seems to like you. So I do believe it would be nice to have you around."

His smile was the same. Even though his jaw was now cut and his voice deepened more than she recalled, he still grinned like a schoolboy. "Why don't you both join me for lunch next Saturday? I live in a townhome near the south end of the city. We actually passed it on the way here."

Alice gave a curt nod and Sebastian turned to walk down the road. "Sebastian," Alice called after him without thinking.

"Alice?"

"This doesn't mean I'll fall for you again. Just because Annie seems to be taken with you doesn't mean you'll get me to open my heart to you again. I accept your apology. But we are in our mid-twenties and I will not be swayed like I was in school." She gripped the doorframe tight. He would always be working on missions. Alice didn't want Annie to learn her father was an Auror who risked his life to keep the peace.

For a moment, Sebastian seemed disappointed. Before she could really see what was happening he perked back up and laughed. "I don't believe I made you fall for me last. But if you do, I hope you'll bring your best. Remember what I told you when we first met? 'You give as good as you get.'" And with that he continued down the road and apparated away.

All week Annie had been on her best behavior. She was beyond excited to hear that she would be seeing Sebastian again. It was non stop talking about their time together or asking why Alice had never brought him up in the first place. Relief hit her when Ominis and Poppy came by on Thursday evening. The two lived in a smaller town around the Scottish Highlands and visited almost weekly. "Ominis, you can take over for me while you're here."

He furrowed his brow and pulled back from the embrace he had given her. "What do you mean? Has something happened?"

"An annoying something. I should tell you inside. Juels prepared our tea in my library." Poppy looped her arm in Alice’s and they fell in to a conversation about the newest addition to their magizoology care center. Once everyone's tea was poured and the tiny cake brought out, Ominis couldn’t take the suspense anymore.

Yet all his questions were answered when Annie burst into the room. "Oh, Uncle Ominis maybe you can help me! Mama won't tell me anything about Sebastian, but he said he is your best friend. You'll tell me won't you?" Her big brown eyes were so pleading. Ge was so capable that it was easy for Annie to forget he was blind.

"So this is why you said I can take over." He looked to where he knew Alice always sat. "That explains his owl.”

“Annie, how about you and I go find Winston and take him to play with the nifflers.” Poppy reached out her hand for the little girl to take and they exited the library.

Ominous crossed everything he could, his legs, his arms, and his attitude. “He isn’t a disease, you know. Alice, he is Annie’s father. You literally named her after Anne. His owl was asking all about your daughter. Are you trying to keep him in the dark forever?”

“No.” She put down her tea cup with a loud clack on the saucer. “I just don’t want Annie hurt. She wants a father around. You know everyone believes I was widowed. She looks nothing like Sebastian so I can bid myself some time to figure out if he actually will stay in her life.”

“You know Sebastian. He can become a tad…obsessive.”

“That’s being generous.” She stood to walk toward the window looking over the road to the manor.

“Fair but I have kept up with the man. Before he returned to Europe he tried finding you, but couldn’t. It was so difficult to keep it from him that I knew where you were.” Ominous’s voice became agitated. “In our seventh year you told me you wanted your child to have both their parents around. Well, now you have that chance.”

“Don’t act like I don't know that!” She didn’t mean to shout but she was just scared. “I can’t make a promise to her that he would come home. We’ve had plenty of comrades that have died being an Auror. I don’t want her to meet him and then he die the next day.”

Her greatest fears were now in existence. They weren’t as invincible as they felt all those years ago. Ominis’s jaw twitched as he recalled their friends who never made it home. “I understand you are scared, Alice. But this isn’t fair to either of them. If you won’t tell Sebastian, I will.”

Winston bounded into the room, Annie close on the dog’s heels. Poppy ran in after them, panting. “You’ve got yourself a very energetic child, Alice. I think you’ll need to warn the school that she may give them a run for their galleons.”

“I honestly think if I told Professor Weasley ahead of time she would quit on the spot.” Alice smiled as her little girl held onto the corgi and sat on the settee.

“Annie, would you like to hear of how Sebastian and I played a prank on my sister so that she was stuck to the moving staircase for hours?” Her eyes lit in awe.

“Ominis, love. Don’t give this little troublemaker any ideas.” Poppy sat back in her chair and reached for a scone.

“Oh Merlin, help me.” Alice ran her fingers through her hair and placed an exasperated hand on her waist.

Nothing was going right on Saturday. The hippogriffs were going wild, her hair wouldn’t stay put, her research was misplaced, and Annie came back from the meadow vivarium soaking wet. “Annie! Are you alright darling? You’re not hurt are you?”

Alice ran over to the shaking girl and checked her head for any bumps or cuts. “No, mummy. I saw a pretty moonstone in the creek and I leaned too far over. I’m sorry.”

The tiny tears streaming down her face flow steadily. Alice cupped Annie’s freckled face in her hands and brushed the tears away. “It’s fine, darling. I’m just so glad you’re safe. Let’s get you into a warm bath so we can go see Seabstian.”

Half an hour later, Annie was clean and dried. Thank Merlin for Witch Weekly. Father was wrong, some of the dumb spells were useful. I didn’t want Annie going outside with hair. She added a wool coat over Annie’s red and black plaid dress. “Ready to go?”

Annie nodded and took her mother’s hand and walked to the carriage. The townhome was covered in ivy and was in a very nice part of the city. A few children played in the streets and Annie looked out longingly. “Mama, could Claude come over soon?”

“Do you miss your friend?” Alice looked out with her. “Maybe we can convince Sebastian to go to the park. There may be some children you could play with there.”

“Yes! Claude is coming home from his trip soon right? The Prewett’s still live in London but they can stay for a while, oh please.” Brushing Annie’s hair back she gave her a soft smile.

“I’ll send Samantha an owl. When we get home, you should try meeting some of the other children at the surrounding estates.”

The door to the townhome opened before she could knock. Damn that face. He looked absolutely smart. His windowpane black trousers clung to his legs and his grey vest hugged his now broad chest. “Welcome, come inside I’ve started some tea while lunch is finishing up.”

It was very different from his house in Feldcroft. The tiny one room house was bland and barren. This was full of personality. Books on spells, beasts, and stories lined the wall in what looked like a sitting room. A piano played itself as they passed. The walls were green and the natural oak wood gave the home a warm feeling. He led them to a glass covered sunroom at the back of the house. It was filled with muggle and magical plants. A table had been set with a tiered dessert stand and a porcelain teapot and ornate tea cups. She smiled at the green design. He always prided himself of his Hogwarts house, but he never realized that it had an influence on his personal taste. “Lunch should be ready in fifteen minutes. Annie, you must try these cauldron cakes. There is a hidden wizarding alleyway about five minutes up the block. The sweets there are almost as good as Honeydukes.”

“Isn’t that the store in the village you told me about, mummy?” Annie grabbed a cake and placed it on her plate. “You got a box of pumpkin pasties delivered from them for my birthday one year.”

“Yes it is, Annie.” She poured herself a cup of oolong and added her splash of cream.

“Your mother and I would go to the store every time we visited Hogsmeade. The village holds a special place in my heart. It was the second time I had the pleasure of dueling with your mother.” He must have said something wrong because the little girl stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.

Taking a bite of her cake she looked toward her mother and whined. “You told me dueling was unbecoming of a proper lady.”

“You can duel once you get to Hogwarts. While we live in muggle society you can’t talk to the others about dueling or owls or the nifflers. They…they just don’t understand magic.”

“You said my father was a wizard. And Lottie knows that we have magic.” It was hard seeing Annie so confused.

“Maybe one day we can let more people know, but Lottie is different. She is married to Arden, remember? He’s a wizard. He wanted to be able to tell his wife about his abilities. Some muggles know, but not many. If there is someone you deeply trust then we can work on how to tell them together.” Her mother’s words started to sooth the young girl.

Sebastian flicked his wand and lunch started to float over from the kitchen and onto a secondary table. “Lunch is served.”

It was a pleasant Saturday. Sebastian gave them the tour of his place and even let Annie hold some of the artifacts to be collected from his travels. “This here,” he said as he handed the tooth to Annie, “is the tooth of a Swedish Shortsnout. Once got loose while I was in France and this was lodged into the tree it tried to throw at me. The poaching ring was all arrested and the dragon was taken to Romania.”

Annie absorbed his stories like a sponge. It almost hurt Alice to see her daughter and her father together. Neither of them knew that this is everything she had imagined when her and Sebastian were young and in love. It came to the point she had to excuse herself to take a quick stroll along the streets. Sebastian’s worried look made her eyes glassy as she closed the door behind her.

Sebastian was at their estate the next week. On Wednesday he had apparated on their doorstep and Alice threw open the door when she heard the loud crack. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry for the intrusion, but I was wondering if you would fancy a walk in your garden? I would like to offer you a proposition.” She looked back contemplating if she could leave her research for a while.

“Alright, Annie is in her lessons, so she can’t join us.”

He nodded and held out his elbow for her to take. “That’s alright, it’ll be better this way.”

Looping her hand into his elbow, they took the route to the garden and she anticipated his proposal. “So, you have mentioned that Alice is taken to me and in all honesty I am fond of her as well. I think that I should spend some time with her on a weekly basis. You mentioned that her father was never in the picture and I think having a stand in would be beneficial to her.”

Did I hear him correctly? “Sebastian, I don’t think I am following. If this is about you feeling guilty about what happened all of those years ago, I’m over it.”

The hedges were sad in the fall. No flowers bloomed but the greenery was still calming. They made their way to a bench and Sebstian took her hands in his. “This isn’t about atoning how I treated you. This is about helping you take after your daughter. You know I don’t normally like children but I always wanted a family of my own. I think that it would be nice to have a meal together a few times a week. I can take her to the park or zoo. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. Ominous told me that your parents helped you but I doubt you ever took a break.”

She was on the eb of tears. He wanted to be there with them. It would all be pretend though. Everytime they were together he would leave them to go home. But Annie would be happy. “I will agree to these terms if and only if you don’t plan on leaving Scotland for an extended period of time. Devastating her isn’t what I want.”

“I shouldn’t be needed outside of the country unless something dire is happening. Which it won’t. I do want to know, why do you always seem so sad whenever I am with Annie?” He leaned down to try and sneak looking into her eyes.

“Because when I see you with Annie, I see everything I ever wanted. And memories are sometimes the worst wounds.”

Sebastian

The wizarding alley, Hedfords Line, was busy that Friday. Sebastian had taken time off work to take Alice and Annie there, hoping they could meet more of their kind. It was almost impossible to keep up with the little girl. She didn’t wear a cloak like many of the other children and the satin teal ribbon on her head made her more discernible. When he finally caught up to Annie he hoisted her up and carried her back to where he had left Alice. Except she wasn’t there. He spun around until he saw her through a shop window. She would be in a bookstore. He stopped after one step. Years had passed since he had seen Issac Cooper.

Alice was talking to him and she was smiling. Not like the normal smile she often wore but a smile he had known all too well. “Sebastian, is mummy talking to the quidditch player from the Montrose Magpies?

All of Slytherin house knew that Issac was going to be a professional athlete. He was a natural at quidditch and even Imelda couldn’t compare to his skills. He took a gulp to try and put out the fire in his throat. “Yes, he was in Slytherin house with me. Your mum was a stand in for the Ravenclaw seeker a few times. The bloke was always getting himself into detention. Issac caught the snitch but it was a close match. She was only fifteen when she learned to fly a broom and she almost beat someone you see in the papers.” She was smiling at him and Sebastian’s heart swelled with affection. I wonder if this is what your mother was like at such a young age.

“If you were in the same house, could we please meet him?” Sebastian wanted nothing to do with Issac. In all honesty, he wanted to rip Alice away from his tousled hair and perfect smile. “Please, Sebastian! I saw a quidditch store back the way we came. If I get a pennant do you think he would autograph it?”

How could anyone say no to this girl? Defeated, he sighed and replied chipperly, “Fine, I’ll buy you the pennant but only if you do me a favor.” He leaned toward Annie’s ear and whispered a small plan. “Think you can do that?”

“Yes, sir!” Sebastian carried her the entire way to the quidditch shop and then tried to quickly locate Alice and Issac. They had made their way out of the bookstore and into the street.

“Okay, Annie, just like I told you.” She nodded and skipped over to her mother. Sebastian knew this was petty. But he didn’t know what else to do. He had heard what the others had said about his girlfriend. Issac was one that said he would try to court her if I ever lost her. He didn’t think that would still apply years later. Watching his plan unfold was satisfying. Annie’s overly excited voice made it all the way to where he was standing and when she mentioned his, Issac faltered and rubbed his neck with his hand. Time to step in.

“Oh, I apologize. I didn’t know that you were with someone.” Issac looked like a lovesick schoolboy.

“Oh, Sebastian is showing us around. But if you have somewhere you have to be, I could send you an owl.” It was her invitation to Issac that made Sebastian’s blood boil.

“He can’t leave before I get his autograph on my pennant!” Annie was bouncing in front of him and held up the back fabric to Issac. He took it and magically attached his signature into the cloth.

“I won’t impose. But I will happily be awaiting you owl, Alice.” He grabbed her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles just as Sebastian came up.

He held out his hand and put on his winning smile. “Issac, nice to see you. Can you believe Ali lives in Scotland now? I’ve had such a pleasure being their guide. Reminds me of when I took our little wise girl here to Hogsmeade.” It was petty. He was trying to establish the hierarchy of importance.

“Nice to see you, Sebastian.” Issac pursed his lips and gave them a final nod as he turned to leave.

The daggers from Alice’s glare was worth it. Maybe the silent treatment she was giving him was a bit annoying, but he was in this for the long game. She declared she wouldn’t fall for him again. Fate is funny like that. It pushed them back together that day in the cafe. Destiny created a way for them to fall into each other’s lives. At the ice cream parlour Annie was talking to another little girl who was looking out the shop’s window. Taking this opportunity, he faced Alice. “Out with it. You’re angry at me for what I said to Cooper.”

Normally rage and anger is associated with fire. He loved fire, really. That’s why his favorite spells were normally offensive fire-based arsenal. But Alice’s eyes were like looking into a snowstorm. “I can talk to whomever I please, Sebastian. We were just talking. You don’t own me and you sure as hell do not need to pull Annie into your antics. If you are resorting to using an eight year old as your accomplice then you know it is bad.

“I’m sorry, I just came here with the both of you and I wanted to be a bit selfish. But look over there.” He pointed to where Annie was talking to a group of children around her age. “Looks like she made some new friends. How about we say hello to their parents.”

“You are not her father, you don’t have to say anything.” The words were like venom to his heart. Sebastian hated how badly her words affected him. In a different life they would have been married and he would have shaken the hands of the fathers and mothers that his daughter made friends with. Alice seemed to realize what she had said as both hands flew to her mouth. “Sebastian, I didn't mean to…I was just so angry…and I..I’m so sorry.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “No, you’re right. I’m overstepping. Once again I am telling you what to do and expecting you to go along with it. I can watch the bags. Go, make friends.” He gave her a sheepish smile and watched with a heavy heart as she introduced herself to the table of ladies.

Annie had fallen asleep in his arms on the carriage ride to the manor. The last few hours had been awkward and draining as he and Alice danced around each other’s tempers. But holding Annie as if she was the most precious thing in the world made everything better. “You have yourself a wonderful daughter, Shaw. If you had told her father that she was coming, I bet he would still be here.”

Her eyes were downcast, voice shaky. “As I’ve said before, I was young and stupid. I loved him, but I couldn’t take away his dreams. If our relationship had stayed cordial I think I would have told him.”

“Do you know where he is? It is never too late.” The little girl squirmed from their hushed voices, but she stayed fast asleep. The angelic devil made him smile.

“I do, but it’s been so long that I don’t know how to tell him.” The sad and shaky voice was still there. Sebastian saw that Alice’s hands were trembling.

“Alice, I want to say that being with you two the last few weeks made me realize I want a family of my own one day. You’re such a strong woman to raise a child by yourself. I’ll do all I can to help take that stress from you. Who knows when I will find anyone. If I even can. All I thought when I met women during my rotations was that none of them were you.”

He looked up and saw her dab at her eyes. “Alice, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just that it has been a lot. I’ve had much on my mind these days.”

“You can tell me anything.” He was serious about that. He wanted her to lean on him again.

“Maybe one day, but we just arrived. I need to put Annie to bed.” Taking her daughter she carried her all the way to the walnut doors and Sebastian watched her disappear.

Meeting Ominis was easy enough. He apparated in front of the Three Broomsticks to get away from anyone he would know back in Edinburgh. He wanted to think clearly. No reminders of the day he just had. Ominis was already at a back table. He got a drink from Sirona, who was beyond happy to see him, and made himself known once he had approached the table. “You said you wanted to se me?”

“Sit down, Sebastian. Trust me you’ll want to be seated.” He pulled out the wooden chair and took a sip of his beer. “Poppy informed me that you, Alice and Annie have been spending an immense amount of time together. Alice seems to be conflicted and I wanted to tell you that there is something rather large that you are missing.”

“What do you mean?” Sebastian wrinkled his brow, trying to understand. “I know I’ve asked you some questions but Annie’s father is not in the picture. I just want help finding him so he can meet her. Once he meets her then maybe they could help Alice. Alice claims she doesn’t love him anymore. But I can’t imagine how difficult it is being alone. Even with her staff, they have jobs!”

Ominis stayed quiet. Sebastian knew his friend well enough that he was trying to formulate whatever he was trying to say. “Have you ever wondered about Annie? I think you keep asking everyone the wrong questions.”

“What do you mean? She’s eight years old, she didn’t grow up with a father figure, and she looks exactly like Alice.” Sebastian had no idea what Ominis was trying to insinuate.

“Think harder. Everything that Alice has told you. What you’ve noticed about that little girl.” Ominous was trying not to bridge Alice's trust and keeping him in the light of what was going on.

He thought long and hard about everything. Wait, Annie is eight…did she get pregnant right after we stopped our relationship? Did she think she would fall in love again and he left her? I’m going to kill the bastard.

“Don’t hurt yourself. Just…think about what is happening. You’ll kick yourself when you realize what has been happening under your nose.” Ominous threw back the rest of his beer and quickly switched topics.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow x playable character #sebastian sallow x reader #smut #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian x reader #sebastian is a dad #Seb daddy

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rambheem-is-real · 2 years

Text

One Last Night

Relationship: Alluri Seetharamaraju/Komuram Bheem

Rating: T

Tags/warnings: soulmarks, slight angst from audience pov

CelebRRRation Day Two - Soulmates ~ Misunderstandings ~ Animals

Bheem’s heart races as he quickly but steadily pours his herbal concoction into Raju’s mouth. He knows the danger is gone, that the poison in the krait bite has been neutralized, but it hurts to think about how close Bheem was to losing his best friend. If Raju had gone anywhere other than the area Bheem was at, he would’ve died in the next few minutes.

Had he known? Bheem wonders. That I would’ve been able to save him from a poisonous snake bite?

No, there’s no way. Bheem had been careful to conceal his identity, even lying about his soulmark.

His heart starts beating faster at the thought, this time out of hope and excitement. As he was checking Raju’s right arm, he had glanced upon his visible soulmark. Usually both he and Raju kept theirs concealed, like many others in the world, but this time both of Raju’s arms were uncovered. Glistening upon Raju’s right wrist was his own true soulmark, an Indian elephant. He sneaked a glance at Raju’s left arm to find a Sumatran tiger.

At the time, Bheem put it out of his mind in order to save Raju, but now, as he deposits Raju onto his own bed, he finds that he can’t stop thinking about it.

Raju and Bheem are soulmates.

He had hoped so much in the initial days of their friendship that they shared the same soulmark. He and Raju seemed to connect in a way that Bheem had never done with anyone back home. Raju was an enigma, a source of knowledge. He was good at many things, and a great teacher. Raju could also be short-tempered, stubborn, and was absolutely shitty at cooking, but Bheem loved all parts of Raju’s personality.

He was crushed when he had shyly asked about Raju’s soulmark, and Raju had answered that his own was a horse, while his soulmate’s animal, on his right wrist, was a persian cat. Bheem did not have a horse on his right wrist, nor a cat on his left wrist. Raju had hesitantly asked about Bheem’s in return. Knowing he couldn’t reveal his true marks, Bheem had lied and said he had a rabbit and a peacock on his left and right wrists, respectively. Raju seemed disappointed, but the topic was quickly forgotten.

Bheem had put the incident out of his mind, resolving to just love his Raju from a distance and show him nothing but true friendship, until today, when he saw his own soulmark on Raju’s wrist.

Raju had lied about his soulmark, too. Why?

It didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, their soulmarks matched. He knew Raju saw him as a close friend, given he had made his way over to Bheem when he thought he was dying, and he probably would be happy to know Bheem was his soulmate.

But they couldn’t keep going on a relationship of lies. It was Bheem’s duty to tell Raju the truth about himself. If he couldn’t trust Raju, the man he loved the most, then who could he trust?

He clasps Raju’s hands as he starts talking. “Anna. I’m not Aktar, nor a Muslim man.” Bheem watches Raju’s eyes widen, but he’s not worried. Even if Raju was angry at him for lying, he knows once Raju finds out he’s doing all of this to save a child, Raju would be on his side. He’s seen the way the other man panicked when he saw a little boy in water and was willing to do anything to save him. Why wouldn’t he feel the same for a little girl being kept in a cage?

“Bheem.” His own name is jarring to say, after months of keeping it from Raju, but suddenly he longs to hear it from Raju’s mouth. How would it sound, the name of one of his gods?

“I’m a child of the Gonds.” He knows there’s pride in his voice, but he can’t help it. He’s excited to share this part of himself, to his soulmate. He can’t wait to show Raju his traditions, his tattoos.

He explains about Malli and his mission, and he assures Raju everything will be fine once he comes back. Raju is looking at him with a lost expression as he leaves, and Bheem assumes it’s the shock of this newfound knowledge. It’s okay, the man had just gotten poisoned. Raju will fall asleep soon, Bheem can complete his mission, and they can all talk in the morning. He can introduce his soulmate to his sister, and figure out what to do next since Bheem will be a wanted man.

Maybe Raju can come with him to his tribe? He has never seen Raju talk to anyone other than his babai, so it doesn’t seem like Raju has friends or other family. The Gonds would love him, especially Krishnammavva. She would remark on how thin Raju was, Bheem thinks fondly, and try to feed him extra laddoos. Surekha would be ecstatic that there would be another wedding in the tribe soon, and his favorite mamas would tease Bheem endlessly over how he met his soulmate and then lied to him.

Bheem leaves the house with a smile on his face, knowing this night will change his whole life.

@celebrrration

#rrr #rambheem #celebrrration2022 #celebrrration2022entry

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eclipses-of-the-heart · 1 year

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A bad night turns into a bad morning turns into a bad day, luckily you have someone to help.

Eclipse centric with sprinkles of sun and moon.

Tags: minimal dialog / non sexual intimacy (they give you a shower and help you get dressed) / romantic connotations / no use of y/n / reader dissociates a little / hurt comfort

It starts with a night of tossing and turning. With too much going on in your head for you to be able to find a comfortable position and shut out the thoughts. When you do finally manage to drift into sleep it transfers to a new mistake.

Turning your alarm off in your sleep.

You oversleep nearly an hour before a hand, warm and gentle as ever, rouses you with more worry than you can bear.

You try your hardest not to be cross with him as you scramble out of bed. It's not his fault, never his fault.

But you can't help the anger that wells up at yourself for being so careless, so stupid.

You rush through a shower, deny your suns offer of a quick breakfast and brush out the door hoping you haven't been fired.

Luckily your manager buys your pitiful made up excuse about traffic being terrible and you live to see another day in retail.

Of course this only makes your day worse. You spend too many hours being overworked and underpaid. Too many hours taking more abuse for people who didn't understand how to treat minimum wage employees.

You spend your time thinking about how everyone should mandatorily work retail.

You try not to think about the disappointment on his face when you skipped his breakfast.

You try not to think about the fact that it had already probably been ready for you and was now rotting cold in the fridge. Or worse, tossed out.

Your day passes slowly and uneventfully. The yelling and griping from members of the public has long since been droned to background noise in your day. It drags at you sure, but it is typical.

You're used to it.

You're used to a lot of things these days.

You clock out more tired and sore than you were this morning. It's nothing new, but it weighs heavier on you than it used to.

Everything did these days.

You stop on your way home to pick up a treat. Some ice cream and a pack of stickers, hoping it would make up for your terrible blunder this morning.

He won't blame you.

He never does and something about that hurts you more than if he would be cross with you.

You pull into your driveway only fifteen minutes past your usual arrival time. You pretend not to notice your blinds shift as he peeks through the curtains to see if you were heading inside already or not.

You don't.

You sit for a few minutes slumped forward with your head pressed against your steering wheel, waiting for this wave of guilty nausea to pass so you didn't have to look him in the eyes while it was still fresh.

It's only the fear of your ice cream melting that finally pushes you from your car into the cold of the evening.

You hurry through to the warmth inside your house. The lights are still on, a good sign.

"Sun, I'm home."

You try so, so hard to keep the exhaustion from your tone.

He does not reply back, but a noise shifts ahead of you.

You are not greeted by him.

You are greeted by them.

Eclipse towers over you on a normal day, but with your slumped posture almost seems that he is touching your ceiling.

You try to keep yourself from immediately assuming that their combination has happened because you upset your Sun this morning.

It doesn't work.

You feel yourself crack just a little more around the edges as the wave of guilt you so successfully shoved down returns on a new tide.

"I brought ice cream."

It's all you can muster as you look up at them, lifting the bag in your hands and desperately trying not to let the cracks show through in your voice.

Too many hands come towards you.

One snags the bag from your hand, another snakes over your head to close the door and bar the cold back to where it belongs. Two more scoop you from your spot by the door, cradling you in a way that makes you crack in another way. Two more find your coat, peeling it away and letting the warm air of the house hit your goosebumps.

Six today, you note idley.

One, now free of its duty with the door brushes through your hair, another plucks the bagy of stickers from the grocery bag.

You barely register the excited exclaim that your sun makes through their voicebox.

You don't notice the rumble of your moon shushing him.

You simply float as Eclipse moves you from one room to another.

The ice cream is carefully shut into the freezer for later. A plate is collected from the kitchen table and then you are moving rooms again.

The living room blurs around you, try as you might nothing comes into focus except the pinpricks of contact that Eclipse makes with your skin.

The tv flickering on only adds static to the fog you feel yourself drift to and fro in.

The scratch of metal against porcelain startles you, brings you back to the present enough to see a fork hovering just in front of your face, a bite of rice balanced carefully on the prongs.

You do not fight this either. Letting each bite of food and gentle push and pull of warm, warm hands settle you back into yourself.

By the time the plate is scraped clean your head feels clear once more. You are sore, tired yes, but no longer feel as though you are swimming through television static.

The hands don't stop. Even after you have relaxed against Eclipse's form they pet at you, drawing gentle touches down your sides, over your arms and through your hair.

They whisk you away to help you do all the things that feel out of reach. The plate is deposited in the sink while you stay tucked close to them. You rest your chin over their shoulder as they drift to another room.

The shower is turned on, water adjusted to temperature. There is no asking before they carefully help you shed your clothes.

The warm water mingles with the warmth of their body as they hold you under the spray. Your eyes drift close as large hands drag through your hair and smooth a rag over your body, soothing away the aches and grime of the day with the scent of fresh linens and sunflowers. Lavender rains down your shoulders as fingers scrub away the itches in your scalp.

Just as quickly as everything else this evening the warmth of the water cuts and you are whisked from the shower. Never sat down, many hands simply shift your body, drying you and wrapping you in the softest towel you own.

Extra hands make drying two bodies easy, though silicon does not hold water as tight as skin. Once they are sure their deeds will not be left behind in the hallway, even steps carry you away once again.

The bedroom it seems has already been prepared.

Fairy lights keep the room lit but not too bright. The soft hum of a heater buzzes, warming the room comfortably while you stay in nothing but your towel.

Finally you are set free from their hands. Perched on the edge of the bed where you are left to wait while they move to the dresser, pulling open several drawers at once to retrieve the items they wanted.

"Hands up~!"

Their disjointed speech no longer bothers you. In fact it is almost easy for you to tell now which one of them had more control over the words they spoke, or when they connected true and well.

Your sun spoke to you now, but Eclipses gentle face still smiled back at you.

You raised your arms for them.

You are dressed with gentle efficiency, hands lingering perhaps a bit more than they needed to as they smoothed your shirt into place and held underwear still for you to push your legs into, but you didn't mind.

You never minded anymore.

"Stay," your moons voice grumbles from their shared voice box once you are sufficiently dressed.

They were gone for only a moment, returning with the carton of ice cream you had purchased and a pair of spoons. You didn't question it. It seemed like a good night forgo bowls to you too.

The bed creaks in protest at the weight of them settling into the mattress behind you. You had long since forgotten your bed frame. It had snapped in two the first night they had crawled into bed with you, a night much like this, but they had been the ones frightened and seeking comfort.

They didn't have dreams of the fire much anymore.

A mattress and box spring on the floor was perfectly fine with you anyways you preferred the closeness to the ground.

You settled back against them when they were fully situated in bed with a leg tucked around either side of you.

Hands gently bundled you into the blankets of your bed, tucking you expertly to lock in as much of their warmth as possible.

Another fished your phone from the bedside table, and a third handed you your spoon.

The container of ice cream was cracked open as you focused into your phone for a moment, idly pulling up a streaming site and selecting a movie you didn't care too much about.

You absently noticed Eclipse take a spoonful of ice cream themselves. Listened to the creek of their mouth sliding open and the faint hiss of their internal combustion system destroying their first bite.

You wondered if ice cream was sugary enough that they wouldn't need to charge tonight.

You don't ask.

Instead you took a spoonful of ice cream yourself, and let yourself get lost in their warmth, and the quiet mumble of the movie on your phone.

Tomorrow was a new day and they would help you weather it, no matter what may come, but for now. This was all you needed.

#fnaf eclipse #drabble #y/n x eclipse #Been going through it so I wrote a fic about it. Sorry my first drabble here is hurt comfort #No beta I wrote this on my phone at 4am #Can figure out the read more thing on on phone so it's all one long post sorry about that #daycare attendant

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tartt9 · 9 months

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okay fuck it heist au

jamie is nine when he first joins his dad, denbo, and bug on a job. no one expects a nine-year-old, see. mummy doesn’t know where he is, and jamie knows better than to tell her. he doesn’t want to see that disappointed look in her eye. jamie’s just gone round to the pub to watch the footy with his dad, he hopes she thinks. but jamie is nine, and he doesn’t think about it, he just does what james says - he stands watch, he uses his quick fingers when he can, he ends up handing over a bracelet that he’s not sure is worth anything to james.

jamie doesn’t know what james does with the objects jamie manages to get his hands on. rings, watches, bracelets. he’s managed a necklace or two, because people like the way he looks, and he can get away with being a distraction. he’s not the smoothest talker, but he’s fourteen, and who really is the smoothest talker at fourteen? he looks older, his dad says. sixteen, maybe eighteen, if he’s pushing it.

there’s a heist in amsterdam. jamie doesn’t speak about amsterdam.

when they get back, jamie finds himself more and more frustrated, working for his father, not having anything to show for it himself - he barely gets a hundred quid out of jobs that he knows are worth more. he’s googled the fucking rolex he just lifted, he knows its worth. he’s getting tired of being pushed around. of being called names. he’s about to give up on the whole fucking thing, to find a real, important job like mummy has, when he gets a call from rupert mannion.

jamie’s never heard of the man in his life. who the fuck would have heard of rupert mannion? that’s the whole point. mannion says he’s heard about jamie. that kind of freaks jamie out, because who’s been talking about him enough for word to get all the way to london? but mannion’s heard, and he’s offering him more. a place to make a name for himself. luxuries of his own. he’ll never have to set foot on an estate ever again. but what about mummy? he doesn’t say that.

he just says yes.

jamie moves to london, tells georgie that it’s for a job opportunity - something big, something important, something like what she does. jamie is wholly unqualified to be a nurse, or to really do much of anything. he bombed his gcses, he’s always been shit at school, uni is out of the question. he promises he’ll visit, he promises he’ll be back, he promises he promises he promises–

working for mannion is no better than working for his father. it’s different, of course; mannion’s hands-off while his father was controlling, obsessive. mannion’s got fucking wealth, his father somehow managed to piss away their spoils at the pub every weekend. but mannion and james tartt are both fucking snakes.

jamie does his job, of course - and he does it fucking well. he’s a smooth talker, he’s a good distraction, but jamie has always - always - been known for one thing. his speed. he can grab a watch from someone in half the time it takes others. and, once he’s got it, he’s gone in the blink of an eye. some people swear that jamie could keep up with a car if he put his mind to it. mannion uses that speed. jamie works with him, and his team, for four years.

he’s twenty-three, and he actually does have a home of his own, now. it’s nothing extravagant, just a little flat that he can afford the rent for - it feels proper. it feels like home. mannion offered to buy him something more, but jamie denied the offer; he wanted something of his own. and mannion doesn’t know his fucking address.

so when jamie leaves, he’s safe. he’s done. he’s out. he’s done belonging to anyone but himself. he was under james tartt’s thumb from the time he was nine until he was nineteen, and under rupert mannion’s until he was twenty-three, and he’s ready to be his own man.

jamie takes up a job at a bar. it’s some fucking wanker’s place, it’s got a name above the door, but everyone’s always called it 8’s. he’s a good bartender, still just as fucking fast as he was in his previous life. and - the thing about jamie tartt - he’s a good fucking listener. he always has been. people don’t know he’s listening, but he is. and he has a fucking great memory. he loves being a bartender. it’s fun, it’s easy, he’s paid well and tipped even better. he’s got a pretty face and a northern accent and a jawline to kill for.

parker’s fucking obvious. she doesn’t think she is, and the people she’s nicking from definitely don’t notice, but jamie does. he asks her one night what the fuck she thinks she’s doing. tells her that the people she’s taking from won’t hesitate to get her thrown back in prison. she asks how he knows where she comes from. isn’t it fucking obvious to everyone else? denbo has the same fucking energy about him. but, jamie supposes, not everyone knows a denbo cullens. especially these fucking wankers. he tells her to cut it out. that he’s not in charge of her, but she can’t lift here - not at 8’s.

see, the thing about 8’s is that it’s a place where jamie’s heard just about anything. he hears about the big premier league trades before they go through. he hears that there’s some rugby man who got caught with his manager’s wife. he hears this and that and everything, and he hears that rupert mannion and rebecca welton have gotten a divorce.

he’s twenty-four. he’s been out of the business for a year. good for welton, he thinks. better off without that old shriveled up wanker.

he’s twenty-four. he’s been out of the business for a year. what’s that itching at the back of his neck, the longing in his chest, the energy in his fingertips, in his toes?

he’s twenty-four. he’s been out of the business for a year. why the fuck does he almost envy parker of her lifting off of 8’s patrons?

he’s twenty-four. he’s been out of the business for a year. rupert mannion and rebecca welton have gotten a divorce.

he makes a phone call.

they call him 8 after that.

#verse: eight !#you can once again blame flora im sorry but i am not sorry

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aebi12 · 1 year

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“Sinful Desires” Chapter 2

His mother is a sad woman.

From an early age, Aemond was aware of the shadow of loneliness and hopelessness that surrounds Alicent Hightower. Maybe that's why he always sought to please her and never add to the heavy burden she already had with Aegon and his father.

But more than that, his mother was always his only ally. The only constant in his life, the only one who fervently defended him when he lost his eye, the only one who seems to love him unconditionally.

And Aemond would do anything for his mother.

So, when he notices the look of concern on her beautiful face, his first instinct is to fix whatever is bothering her.

“A raven came. Rhaenyra will come to King's Landing to defend Lucerys position as heir to Driftmark."

Aemond understands her mortification immediately. The last time his mother and his half-sister were in the same room the situation had become volatile. That had been the only time Aemond had seen Alicent lose control of her temper.

And it had been because of him.

"I thought you and Grandfather had agreed that Sir Vaemond is the best choice to take Lord Corlys's place."

Although Aemond did not attend the meetings of the Privy Council, Alicent kept him informed of the most important matters of the realm. Thus, the young prince was aware of the delicate situation caused by the wound that the sea snake had received.

“It is what's best for the realm,” Alicent replies, “But this visit is most inconvenient. Prince Daemon will surely cause trouble, and I will need your brother to rise to the occasion.”

“I'll make sure to keep Aegon at bay.” Aemond holds his mother's hand, and she gives him a brief smile before her eyes flit to the scar he now hides with an eyepatch.

Aemond has been using it for some years now to avoid the hateful scrutiny of the ladies of the court. Although at first it was difficult for him to get used to the patch, now the feeling of the leather on the scar is like a second skin. Additionally, it gives him an intimidating appearance that he enjoys projecting on courtiers. And occasionally on his older brother.

“This visit will be difficult for all of us” continues his mother, “With Viserys so ill and the situation so delicate that it will be discussed. Aemond, you probably feel the presence of your nephews as a provocation, but…”

"Rhaenyra’s children will be here as well?" Aemond asks and his mother nods.

"Her entire family," Alicent sighs.

But what she continues to say, Aemond doesn't hear.

He can't hear it because the inside of his head just screams one name.

Alyssa Velaryon.

Aemond hasn't seen his niece in years. He has heard practically nothing from her since that fateful night in Driftmark, since their last disastrous conversation where he had been carried away by the anger and resentment he felt towards her...

He knew that at some point their paths would cross again because, after all, they belong to the same family. But Aemond was unprepared for the wave of bewilderment that runs through his body at the thought of seeing Alyssa again.

Because she wouldn't be his Alyssa. Not the girl eating cakes with him under the weirwood tree. This would be a different Alyssa Velaryon, maybe even opposite to the one in his memories.

A woman.

"Aemond, are you listening to me?" the soft touch of his mother returns him to the rooms of the tower of the Hand, where they had dined that night

“Don't worry, mother. I'll make sure my brother cooperates. Now, if you'll excuse me…”

Aemond doesn't wait for his mother's response and leaves the place as he strides toward his rooms.

His mind is still replaying memories of a simpler and perhaps even happier time. But his emotions are contrary. The anger, the resentment, the disappointment that have accompanied him since that night have not gone away, if in any case these feelings have only increased over the years. Only now they are mixed with a new sensation... a kind of expectation, of possibility, of desire to find her.

Aemond's thoughts are interrupted for the second time that night when he finds Helaena and her children in his bedroom. The children quickly run towards him, claiming his attention as they cling to his legs. His sister has an apologetic expression on her face

“They insisted on saying goodnight to you”

Aemond nods and drops to his knees, taking them both into his arms. The little twins are the best possible distraction.

“Are you okay, little brother? You look… "

Helaena doesn't finish her sentence, and he shakes his head, “Nothing of importance. Now, come on, let's put these two to bed."

"So old and yet such a lousy liar" replies his sister giving him a sweet smile and taking her son Jaehaerys in her arms.

***

The arrow hits the center of the target and Alyssa smiles, pleased, while Lucerys at her side makes a small noise of annoyance. He's still not good at arrow shooting.

"I think that's enough for today" says his brother

“I think you're still a sore loser,” she retorts, but she places the bow on the ground.

"Prince, princess, your mother needs you," announces Sir Steffon Darklyn, Rhaenyra's personal guard.

“Thank you Sir Steffon”

The guard walks away, and Alyssa turns to Luke, who is looking out to the sea with an uneasy expression. "Worried about tomorrow's trip?" she asks as she grabs her quiver and bow

"I wish I didn't have to be in the middle of that dispute," Luke admits as they start walking toward the castle.

"Nonsense. The throne of Driftmark is your birthright,” she replies, linking their arms together, “You must go and fight for it.”

"Lyssa..."

He doesn't say anything else but he doesn't need to. Alyssa is able to read Lucerys very well. She knows he doesn't feel prepared to take Lord Corlys's place, and she's knows this is perfectly understandable. But there is much more at stake than just the throne of a powerful house. And her brother knows it as well as she does.

"You'll be back very soon, I'm sure" she smiles at him and adds "So I can continue to humiliate you every time we practice"

Lucerys snorts, "You're just better than me at shooting arrows, you know I manage to disarm you with the sword every time."

“And Jace disarms you, so don't brag too much, little brother. A race?"

Alyssa doesn't wait for Luke to answer and starts running towards the castle that has been her home for the last eight years.

Dragonstone is the opposite of King's Landing. And that turned out to be of benefit to Alyssa, because, away from the court and its tedious customs and gossip, it was easier to be free.

On Dragonstone—and funnily enough thanks to Daemon's influence—Rhaenyra allowed her daughter to cultivate abilities that would have been denied for her in the capital.

"If she's not a dragon rider, then she must have some weapons in her favor," her mother's new husband had said. The same option had been put to Rhaena, her cousin, but she had politely declined training with the boys.

Alyssa would never be the best swordsman in the realm, but she was grateful for her lessons and for putting aside the tedious hours of embroidery.

Her mother was waiting for them by the stone table. Alyssa arrives gasping for air, Luke hot on her heels.

"Racing again?" asks their mother with an expression that is half exasperated and half amused as her hand caresses her swollen belly.

"Did you need us, mother?" asks Jace walking into the room

“Yes, I have an announcement for all of you” Rhaenyra approaches her children, “A raven has arrived from Driftmark. Princess Rhaenys will also be traveling to the capital. So, I've decided that Luke won't be the only one traveling with me tomorrow. We will all go to Kings’ Landing”

"But…"

Rhaenyra interrupts her children, “We need to present a united front as a family. Besides, my father is very ill and apparently, his situation is worse than we imagined. It will be a good opportunity for all of you to see your grandsire once again”

Her mother's tone admits no excuses. Jace and Luke look at each other, and Alyssa notices that her twin looks relieved now that Jace will be by his side. The boys begin to make plans and talk about the trip as they leave the room, completely oblivious to the storm that has raged inside their sister.

"Alyssa?" Rhaenyra places her hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“Just tired,” she lies, “and I need a bath. If you'll excuse me, mother, I’ll be in my chambers”.

***

That night Alyssa is haunted by memories she has fought to keep suppressed for years. When she finally gets to sleep, her dreams are plagued by red leaves, shared laughter and, above all, pain. Alyssa hasn't forgotten the pain of ending up her friendship with Aemond caused her.

When Lucerys enters the room, she is still in bed.

"Why aren't you ready for the trip?" asks his brother

"Why are you here so early?" she sighs, feeling that she has only slept a few minutes

"I have good news" the boy sits on the edge of her bed, "I managed to persuade mom to travel together"

"Luke..."

“Arrax is strong enough to carry both of us” continues his brother, “Besides the flight will be very short. And so, you won't have to go by the sea”

“Thanks, brother” she gives him a smile as she takes his hand, “But I don't mind going by the sea. Actually, I prefer it."

And besides, she needs it. Alyssa has to collect her thoughts and prepare herself mentally before facing whatever awaits her in the Red Keep. Her brother, however, seems hurt by her response.

“You know I don't doubt you or Arrax,” she continues, “I just think it's better to go by ship. It will certainly be less embarrassing."

At that, Luke doesn't know what to say. Alyssa notices the blush on his cheeks, her brother clearly sorry about her lack of a dragon situation and looking embarrassed. "Sorry, I didn't think of it that way"

"It's okay, Luke. I'm used to the comments" she tells him trying to cheer him up, "Now, go, I have to get ready before the trip"

Luke nods and leaves her alone.

Alyssa lets the maids help her change, and when the time comes, she and Rhaena board the ship.

Her cousin tries to talk to her a couple of times, but Alyssa is too nervous to follow their conversation. Eventually Rhaena gets tired and she decides to go see Rhaenyra's young children, who travel with their handmaidens.

Alyssa meanwhile remains on the deck watching the calm sea, so different from her thoughts.

How much had Aemond changed over the years? She can't help but wonder. She knows she shouldn't be interested in the answer, she knows he hates her, that he sees her as nothing more than a bastard, an inconvenience. He had told her himself, he had called her a burden and he had tried to hurt her brothers.

And yet Alyssa was still, despite the years, regretting the loss of her childhood companion.

How much had he changed over the years? She wonders again as she tries to imagine him as the man he is meant to be now. She has seen her brothers grow and mature, but for some reason she doubts that Aemond is as gentle and considerate as Jace or Luke. Not after growing up under the influence of Alicent and Otto Hightower, who her mother and stepfather say are just poisonous cockroaches.

The ship stops and a carriage receives them. Her mother and siblings are already there, having arrived much faster on their dragons.

"Daemon and I are going to visit my father first," Rhaenyra explains as the Red Keep appears before them, "You guys feel free to explore the palace."

Alyssa nods, knowing full well there will be no exploring for her. Now that she is so close to her old home, the uncertainty of what awaits her overwhelms her and she prefers to avoid any meeting that is not necessary.

When the carriage stops at one of the entrances to the Fortress, the place is empty except for a few guards. Only Lord Caswell appears to meet the princess, greeting her profusely.

Alyssa excuses herself to her mother by feigning discomfort from the ship trip and says goodbye to her family before following the maids to her assigned room, which used to be the one her mother had before she married Laenor Velaryon.

When night comes they dine together in the princess's rooms, although the atmosphere is usually not as lively as usual. Her mother seems very affected after her visit with the king, Daemon looks thoughtful and her brothers whisper to each other about something they seem to have witnessed in the training yard.

Alyssa doesn't try to talk to anyone and she eats in silence until it's time to go back to her rooms. The hearing before the Hand is scheduled for the following morning, so her stay in the capital will not be long.

As she walks through the halls on her way to her room, Alyssa hears footsteps. Scared, she stops in the middle of the corridor and turns to check if someone is following her, but she is alone.

“It's just your imagination” she tells herself as she speeds up her strides, although the feeling that someone is watching her is still there.

***

Aemond can't help it and follows her.

Meeting her is not fortuitous. Since he saw his nephews in the training yard, he knows that Alyssa Velaryon is also in the castle. And though every logical part of his brain tells him that he should stay away from her, he seeks her out.

He knows exactly what rooms her mother put them in, so he excuses himself from dinner early and decides to wait until she comes out of Rhaenyra’s room.

And she does not disappoint him.

Her niece walks through the dark corridors of the Red Keep, and Aemond is content to watch her from a safe distance. The little light projected by the torches on the walls does not allow him to appreciate her properly, but he does not care. He knows that tomorrow they will meet face to face once again as his mother and grandfather insist that his entire family be present during the hearing.

In the meantime, he settles for appreciating her tall, slim figure, her long hair that reaches down to her lower back. His heart skips a beat as she stops suddenly and turns around, but she can't see him. He is too fast and hides in the shadows.

Alyssa hurries off and Aemond continues to follow her until she reaches her rooms. There are no guards at her door and she is all alone inside of her bedroom. The thought of entering her quarters haunts his mind, but he dismisses it. That would only scare her and it's not what Aemond wants.

What are you really doing here? asks that hateful voice in his head. Aemond doesn't have a clear answer. So, he watches the door behind which her niece rests for a few long minutes before turning his back on him and leaving.

***

The next morning someone is waiting for her at her door.

"Lord Caswell" Alyssa greets the man with a friendly smile

"Good morning, princess," the man replies, "Allow me to introduce Lorent, my son and heir."

"Good morning, sir." Alyssa nods at the young man.

"Princess", the young man tries to smile at her, but ends up lowering his head

There are a few seconds of awkward silence before Alyssa speaks.

“I would like to continue talking with you, but my family is waiting for me in the throne room”

"Yes, yes, of course," Lord Caswell says, "Perhaps Lorent can guide you there."

Alyssa can't bring herself to decline the offer

"Sure, why not" she replies.

The young man, clearly embarrassed, offers his arm and Alyssa places her hand on him. Lord Caswell looks extremely pleased as he excuses himself and heads in the opposite direction.

The young couple begin to walk in silence until Alyssa sighs and turns to her companion.

"Do you frequently visit court, Sir Lorent?"

"Not often, princess. I spend most of my time in Bitterbridge"

"I've heard it's a very beautiful place," Alyssa replies politely, though all she knows about the place is that it's somewhere in the Reach.

"Certainly, very different from the capital" the young man smiles and seems to gain more confidence because he adds, "If at any time you wish to visit us, it would be an honor for my house to receive you in Bitterbridge, princess"

Alyssa doesn't get a chance to reply because a mocking laugh interrupts them.

"Are you trying to seduce my niece, Caswell?"

Alyssa's heart stops at the sound of that voice.

The girl doesn't need to turn around to know who has spoken because a very tall figure appears in front of them. Alyssa feels Lorent Caswell tense beside her, but she can't say anything to calm him because she herself is too surprised by Aemond's sudden presence.

"Well, Caswell?" insists his uncle with a tone that no longer sounds playful but rather threatening

“My prince, I…”

The voice of his companion sounds clearly nervous. And Alyssa is not surprised. Aemond is no longer that little boy she knew, but a slim and strong prince. A man with one eye hidden behind a patch that doesn't completely cover the scar he got so many years ago.

But there's something else, Alyssa realizes. Her uncle now seems to exude confidence and security. And danger.

"Sir Lorent was just being polite," Alyssa replies after clearing her throat.

Aemond sets his gaze on Alyssa and her eyes meet for the first time since the exchange began. Alyssa meets his hard gaze and it seems that his expression softens momentarily, but suddenly he smiles lopsidedly.

"Niece" he greets

"Uncle," she replies in the same curt tone and turns to sir Lorent, "Let's continue our way, sir, my family is waiting for me."

Alyssa squeezes Lorent Caswell's arm with her hand and feels Aemond's gaze drift to that spot.

“I am going to the throne room. I'll take the princess there," Aemond interrupts.

"No, that won't be necessary" she replies immediately

Aemond ignores her, fixing his menacing gaze on Lorent.

"Caswell"

It's all he has to say, and Alyssa knows that Lorent Caswell won't put up a fight.

"My prince," the young man nods before smiling sadly at Alyssa and walking in the opposite direction.

Alyssa snorts and begins to walk away without looking at Aemond. Of course, it doesn't take him too much effort to reach her.

"I don't need your company" she says trying to walk faster

“I don't know, niece. I'd hate for you to get lost," he replies.

“I lived here for many years, in case you forgot. I know perfectly well how to get to the throne room."

Alyssa suddenly feels his hand land on her arm, forcing her to stop.

"I haven't forgotten," he says simply before breaking contact and continuing to walk.

Alyssa watches him walk away and his words keep replaying in her mind. Did she imagine it? Or his answer sounded for an instant like a promise.

***

Aemond can't stop looking at her.

Meeting her that morning had ignited a spark in him that he had rarely felt in his life. And seeing her with that imbecile of Caswell caused an unfamiliar, bitter feeling.

As Sir Vaemond and his half-sister make their case, he only has eyes for Alyssa Velaryon. And if she notices his scrutiny, she hides it very well, because not once does their gaze meet.

The court erupts in whispers as his father, in pain and ill, enters leaning on a cane and wearing a mask to defend the rights of his half-sister. But he still keeps looking at her.

And it is not until after his uncle Daemon cuts off Vaemond's head, that he notices Alyssa's flushed look, her mouth forming a perfect o in surprise and her chest rising and falling rapidly at the horror witnessed moments ago; that he understands.

He desires her.

[Read more chapters in A03]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42996300/chapters/108246759

#aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #fanfic #a03 tags #hotd

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boyfhee · 2 years

Text

⌕ POPSICLES | lee heeseung.

PRECIS. you're cold and and heeseung knows the perfect way to warm you up

fluff + established relationship + mentions of kissing ! ( wc. ≃ 0.66k )

“who even eats popsicles in winters?” you snicker, letting the flavour conquer your mind along with the cold ice that sends slight shivers down your spine.

you’re damn sure, heeseung doesn’t make any sense, but neither does love.

“if i get sick, i’m blaming you.” you speak up, a faint laughter falling off his lips before his eyes settle on your satisfied grimace as you devour on the delicacy.

“for someone who’s against eating popsicles in winters, you sure are enjoying it a lot, ” he holds back a laugh. “

and as much as you appreciate his ‘concern,’ heeseung uses that excuse a little too much.

and you just look at him with a love-struck gaze, a question floating in your eyes; however you don’t voice the mess that your thoughts are. you don’t need to, he knows about them already.

“is that so?” this time, he didn't wait.

he pulls back, much to your disappointment, looking at you with love sick eyes and dust of pink sprinkled on his cheeks. “are you still cold?”

the popsicles are long forgotten in your hands.

taglist in the rbs.

#—approved.#enhypen #heeseung x reader #kflixnet #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen scenarios #enhypen reactions #enhypen drabbles #heeseung drabbles #heeseung scenarios #enhypen heeseung

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19thsentry-blog · 2 years

Text

In The Shadows

Miraculous Ladybug Fanfic (Lukanette Endgame)

Chapters

Prelude | Chp 1 | Chp 2 | Chp 3 | Chp 4 | Chp 5 | Chp 6 | Chp 7 | Chp 8 | Chp 9 | Chp 10 | Chp 11 | Chp 12 | Chp 13 | Chp 14 | Chp 15 | Chp 16 | Chp 17 | Chp 18 | Chp 19 | Epilogue | Worlds Not Our Own | Timeline

Chapter Three: Roman Holiday (AO3 Link)

Chapter Snapshot

The plane was the least of her worries; she could just as easily turn into Astrobug and jet through space to get home if she wanted. The problem was that she had two heartbroken Kwamis in her purse and would have almost a dozen more back home if she didn't do something, stat. She hadn't had time to have a private conversation with Tikki and Kaalki since this morning, but it was clear they were upset about not having any leads to finding their friend Sass. And of course, there was Chat Noir back home, who was eagerly waiting for any information about her mission. She had seen him just a few days ago when her little black kitty figurine began to buzz, indicating that Paris needed her to save the day, but she hadn't had any information for him. His look of disappointment stung, too.

"She's fine, Rose," Alya laughed from across the room where she was touching up her eye shadow for tonight. "Our girl here did something very brave today."

"Is this about the guy in the record store?" Juleka asked in her quiet, husky voice. Marinette buried her head in her hands--why was everyone so interested in her love life?! It probably didn't help that from the tender age of 14 she had been asking their advice and begging for confidence and assistance in plans to get Adrien to fall in love with her, but still, give a girl some room to breathe!

Marinette was dry huffing for the 5th time since this afternoon. She had signed Jagged's latest record for a hot guy. She had given her number to a hot guy. A hot guy from abroad, who she would probably never see again and who likely thought she was presumptuous and embarrassing and an absolute mess. And he would be right. What was it about New York that made her act stupid? Whatever it was, she felt the need to hop on the next plane to Paris and never come back.

Considering the Luka Incident, it was fortunate that her time in New York would shortly be over. On the flip side of that coin, she still had nothing on the Snake holder after she and Alya met with K’din a few nights ago. Worse, the girls wanted to hang out tonight and celebrate their last night in New York, which meant she wouldn't even have time to keep investigating. Ladybug would be going back to Paris empty-handed, and Marinette would be going back feeling like an idiot.

"Marinette? Are you okay?" Rose knelt in front of Marinette from where she was sitting on the bed, her big puppy dog eyes staring up at her. "You look nervous. Are you scared about the flight home?"

"She's fine, Rose," Alya laughed from across the room where she was touching up her eye shadow for tonight. "Our girl here did something very brave today."

Zoé’s blond head popped out of the bathroom from where she’d been fixing her hair. "Guy, what guy?"

Now even Zoé was in on it. Marinette groaned. "Girls, please--"

Alya regaled them with every detail, colorfully embellishing some points on how flustered she'd been (at least she hoped they were colorful embellishments, not fact) --and the girls all 'oooh'd and 'Aaah'd in just the right places.

"Has he called yet?" Rose asked, the first who wanted to know. For a group of people that were devoted to listening to me talk about Adrien, they sure moved on from him fast, Marinette thought bitterly. Her feelings couldn't just be brushed aside so quickly, even if she had been totally wrapped around Luka's finger. Even thinking that he was looking at Juleka like his heart was breaking earlier had been enough to rumble up some jealousy--and the relief that he'd been thinking about his sister made it clear she was way more invested in this than she should be.

Marinette looked at each of her friend's excited faces, a very stupid idea brewing in her head to solve at least one of her current problems. It was pathetic. It was bad. And it would probably have some consequences. But that didn't stop her. "A-actually…"

Rose squealed, immediately jumping up to dance on her tiptoes. "Oh, Marinette! It will be just like Roman Holiday! You have to go meet him!"

"W-w-well, I didn't want to ditch, it's our last night in New York…" Marinette bit her lip. God dammit, this awful lie was actually going to work.

Alya’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me? Marinette, this is novel-worthy romance!”

“Or he could be a serial killer,” Juleka said from her spot on the far-right bed.

Rose scowled. “Oh, hush, he is not! He looked adorable. Marinette, come here, we need to get you dressed.” She squealed again, taking Marinette’s hands. “Your first real date! Oh, I’m so excited!”

Marinette tried to work up the right level of enthusiasm while the girls primped and pampered her, pretending that her ‘first proper date’ was actually a proper date, and not just another Ladybug cover. It did burn a little bit, but whatever, she’d let go of more. Wasn’t she still having dreams that she was already a real designer under Audrey, instead of passing up the opportunity and staying in Paris? This was baby stuff in comparison. She was going to find that smug son of a bitch (which had officially become his name in her head, as long-winded as it was) and get that Miraculous back.

Dressed lovingly in a light pink sundress, Zoé's black leather jacket and boots, and a makeover from Alya, the girls all packed in the limo Zoé's dad had rented them for the night. They were insistent on dropping her off, which meant she had to plan her own date and then pretend to be too embarrassed that her date would see them drop her off, forcing them to agree to leave her half a block away. Because. You know. She didn't actually have a man waiting for her.

Marinette had to admit that in all the fuss her overactive imagination had started to pretend it was real, and every time she remembered it wasn't she felt stupid and disappointed all in one go. It had been a bad move to give Luka her number. She already had enough on her plate without juggling a fake or real boyfriend.

Not only that, but he hadn't texted, and Marinette's heart was a little bit broken.

The girls dropped her off near the Hard Rock Café, waving and cheering and making her promise she would text them throughout the night so they knew she was safe, and so they could come to pick her back up. Then they drove off, and she was left to figure out where in the hell she could find a place to transform into Ladybug. New York was bustling like Paris, but she knew Paris and all its quiet spots. She did not know New York. She wasn't relishing the thought of wandering around, but at least she was going to be doing it in boots and not high heels.

She stomped down the sidewalk, looking for a suitable alleyway or deserted area. Marinette genuinely believed there was something about her that invited disaster. She never really felt lucky--some days she wondered if Master Fu had gotten it wrong and that she should have been the unlucky black cat. Of course, Chat Noir sometimes acted like he didn't have two brain cells to rub together (which was clearly a ruse) and tended to leap into things without thinking (definitely not a ruse), so maybe Master Fu had it all worked out for the best. And hey, maybe it was some kind of cosmic joke that she was stuck with crappy luck. Either that, or the universe was telling her that what she didn't want was what was best for her, and she was lucky that the things she wanted never panned out.

Whatever it was, the situation she found when she rounded a promising alley was one of those times she felt very, very unlucky. It had looked perfect—just out of the way enough no one would see the flash of light or remember the girl who had disappeared down it to begin with. But then she saw him; a huge, hulking purple man stood at the end of the alley, fist raised as if he were about to pound open the steel door that led into the leftmost building. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, making it rather clear by the set of his jaw and the flex of his hands as he leered at her that he was not a nice man.

"Um--heh--so, je ne d-dirai, I mean, I won't tell anyone y-you were here, if, y'know," Marinette backed up by several steps, hands up, as the giant sneered at her and took a thundering step towards her. Oh, God. This was going to get bad. She took another cautious step back, yelping when she bumped into something that was directly behind her.

Just as the mass of muscle began tearing its way down the alley--and woah, could that thing move--whatever was behind her scooped her up and she felt herself being launched into the air. She let out an involuntary but embarrassing screech that stopped just as soon as whoever was carrying her landed on the lip of the building on the left of the alley. Marinette looked up, preparing herself maybe for Majestia or Nightowl, or some other New York hero who would make the man below not her problem.

Instead, she felt an incredible and immediate flush of irritation. "YOU!"

The smug son of a bitch she hadn't been able to find hide nor hair of was holding her in a bridal carry. Although he didn't look smug right now--actually he looked pretty stupid, staring down at her wide-eyed like he wasn't sure what was going on. And he wasn't letting her go, even though they’d stopped. What was he even planning on doing, blinking like a dopey, stupid, jerk head? She wasn't going to wait to find out. Marinette squirmed in his arms and pushed against his chest until she flopped to her feet.

"Are you working with him?!" She asked, pointing down to the alleyway where the Purple Hulk was staring up at them with malintent.

He just kept staring at her. "What…?" was all he said in return, rather uselessly. He might have looked cool and mysterious in his black scales and sharp mask, but he was definitely a moron. There must be something about black costumes that made their wearers prone to these sorts of things. Just as she was starting to march up to him and start yelling, the building began to shake under their feet as the purple THING started to punch it with its meaty fists.

"Stay here," the man said, striding to the edge of the building. He glanced at her once more with what might be considered concern before flipping his hood back up and jumping down to face the beast.

"Like hell I will!" Marinette muttered. She quickly turned and looked around the rooftop, assessing her surroundings. There wasn't much around in terms of cover, just a couple of patio chairs and a glass patio table. Several feet away was a door that led into the building—she spun on her heel, bolting toward it. She was not losing this chance to corner him, and the idea of the purple muscle man wandering around throwing his fists into buildings didn't sit right with her either. It was past time for Ladybug to arrive on the scene. Marinette yanked the metal door open and hid inside, closing it firmly behind her. She was in a brightly lit stairway, and she peered down to try and see if there was anyone else around. Didn't look like it.

"Marinette!" Tikki and Kaalki burst out of her bag.

"I know," she said, feeling confident. This was it. She was going to make good on her promise. She took the sunglasses out of her purse and set them on the ground. "Tikki--transform me!"

Becoming Ladybug felt like being drowned in sunlight, and for just a moment she swore she smelled the sweet scent of summer and fresh-cut grass. She was enveloped in it completely like a comforting cocoon, and when it was done, she felt strong and in control, like she could make everything right. Now in her protective red and black spotted suit, Ladybug grabbed Kaalki's sunglasses and put them on, pushing them up on top of her head so she could see clearly. She shot directly down the stairwell and landed neatly on her feet.

Ladybug made her way through the back hallway of what she now realized was a bank, not pausing as she shouted “Sorry,” and “Excuse me!” when she jumped over desks and narrowly avoided careening into bankers or their clients to get to the opposite side of the building. Dashing through a hallway she skidded to a stop, seeing an exit sign above a side door. Ladybug could still hear the clashes of a fight outside and around the corner when she flew out of the building, but then it turned eerily silent. She swung around the building with her yo-yo to peer into the alleyway from the opposing direction. The purple guy was on his back, not moving, her prey standing above him with a hand on his hip.

Ladybug threw her yo-yo and felt it catch on a pipe across the street at the end of the alleyway; she dropped and began to swing, intent on drop kicking him in the head. He must have heard the whirring of the wire, because he dodged without looking and she had to brace against the far wall of the alley with her feet, kicking off it to land in front of him--now exactly where the purple guy had been when he'd wanted to charge her. How the tables turned.

He was giving her that same vaguely confused and concerned look that he'd had on his face when she was Marinette. Ladybug twirled her yo-yo in loose circles, playing with it more than anything, before catching it in her hand. His eyes watched her the whole time, slightly narrowed now, a bit suspicious. "I've been looking for you, you know," she said. The whole angry, avenging angel gig felt good to lean into.

Now the smug smile appeared. "I'll be honest, I'm not sure if I should be happy to hear that."

"You probably shouldn't be. Thieves usually aren't excited when they get caught." The change was barely perceptible, but she could see his body tensing for a fight.

"Not sure what you mean, unless you're referring to this," he replied nonchalantly, kicking the boot of the purple hulk on the alley ground. It groaned. "I'd share, but you didn't do any of the work."

She was more than ready to release a can of miracle whoop-ass on this guy, but her curiosity won out. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not sure who tipped you off, but this guy has a reward on his head for two grand. I beat him up, ergo, the money's mine. The police are already on the way."

"You're seriously using the Snake Miraculous to make money?!" Her mouth gaped open. Sure, the thought had been considered a lead at first, but she hadn’t expected it to be real. Here she was, saddled with a life-altering destiny to protect Paris and be the Guardian of some of the most powerful beings of the universe, and this asshole was seriously telling her he was using his Miraculous to make quick cash?!

For his part, he just looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. "Well, yeah, I gotta make money to eat somehow. But if you're standing there trying to tell me you're actually looking for this…" he held his arm up, the bracelet gleaming as he did so, "…then unfortunately we're going to have some problems."

"Yeah, I'd say we are," she replied under her breath--she wound up her yo-yo and let it loose, aiming for the arm with the bracelet on it. He ducked beneath the yo-yo and dropped to the ground, rolling to the right of the lump on the ground, and ran down the alleyway toward her. He was fast, and worse yet, he seemed to know exactly what to do to corner her. She was far less adept at close-quarters fights when she couldn’t get a proper wind-up on her yo-yo, and he did everything he could to stop her.

Still, she wasn’t going to give up when the Miraculous that had been lost so long ago was right at her fingertips. Ladybug feinted with her yo-yo and then tried to sweep his legs out from under him, but he jumped back in time to dodge her. She pressed on the attack by going for a punch to his left cheek while he seemed unsteady, but instead of feeling it connect with that damn face of his, she felt his palm slam into her right shoulder, throwing her back a few feet. She braced her back up against the back of the alley, standing more shakily than she liked. It was like she wasn't even a superhero, and it really, really sucked.

"Looks like you’re out of juice," he said. The urgency he'd shown during the fight was completely gone, as if she no longer warranted it. Ladybug ground her teeth and prepared to charge forward again. And of course, queen of unlucky timing that she was, her yo-yo began to ring, and her stomach dropped.

Shit.

The smug son of a bitch raised an eyebrow. "And out of time?"

Chat Noir would only be calling her if it was an emergency--if she hadn't responded to the black cat figurine pager. What were the chances she could wrap this up before Paris took too much damage? Or, God forbid, before Hawk Moth managed to steal Chat Noir’s Miraculous while he was fighting alone, with no one to watch his back. Plagg had once managed to make dinosaurs go extinct, and she’d seen firsthand the kind of damage a Cat Miraculous holder could do to Paris if they wanted to—she still had nightmares about Paris underwater.

The only thing she could think to say made her feel like a two-bit villain. "This isn't over," she said, flicking Kaalki's sunglasses down onto her face. "Kaalki--transform me!" The transformation to Pegabug was a quick one, and she wound up her shoulder and called Voyage, the portal to Paris now reflecting against the alley wall. She could hear sirens coming closer to the alleyway (he had mentioned he’d called the police, although she kind of wished they were coming to arrest him instead).

Her new nemesis watched her go with a tilted head and thoughtful frown, arms crossed. Even if he’d technically won the battle, all wasn’t lost. She’d seen him. She’d fought him. It would only make it easier to find him next time (she hoped). Pegabug leaped into the portal, not sparing him another glance.

An hour and a half later, Luka was wandering around the streets of New York, thinking about the mystery Ladybug holder and Marinette. Sass had been understandably concerned about the girl with the Ladybug and the Horse Miraculouses; while the Horse’s power had been incredible, the Ladybug Miraculous was infinitely more powerful, and it would be far worse if it had potentially fallen into the wrong hands. Seeing another holder appear out of nowhere was jarring, to say the least. After years of searching, he had all but given up on the idea that any other Miraculous had survived the night The Order fell. Then he'd found Mullo, and it felt like his world exploded open again. Still, more time passed, and there was no hint of any others. How many other Miraculous had been spread around the world like dandelion seeds on the wind? It was the age-old question that never seemed to die.

The portal the Ladybug holder had gone through had shown the Eiffel tower and she had a French accent, so after chasing down this cure for Mullo, Paris was sounding like a good next destination. The silver lining was that there was a certain someone he had met today who lived there… Although he wasn’t too sure Marinette wanted to see him right now.

Why had she been so upset at him when he was transformed versus when he was just himself? Luka was left racking his brain, wondering if she could know somehow who he was, and if so, if that's why she had been so mad--because she knew who he was beneath the mask and that he hadn't called. Would not calling after 6 or so hours warrant that kind of reaction? He didn't know. Worse still was that when he went back to try to find Marinette on the roof she was gone, and he couldn’t find her anywhere around the area either.

Luka sighed, realizing that unconsciously his footsteps had taken him right back to Rough Trade. His apartment was in the exact opposite direction. Luka was a moment away from turning back around until then, right at the intersection of West 49th and Avenue of Americas, he saw her: a girl with black hair in two buns wearing a pretty pink dress, sitting with a dejected pout on the lip of the fountain that centered on the plaza right outside the record store. He was half a step towards her before remembering how she'd yelled at his alter ego. Now might not be the best time. Maybe he should leave her be--but if she was upset at him, maybe he should apologize… Luka ran through every potential scenario in his head, frozen in an attempt to make the right choice.

His decision was made for him when she looked up, precious features marred in shock when they locked eyes. Marinette lifted her hand and began to wave, something like a smile on her face, and man--he just couldn't help himself. She was like a magnet, drawing him in and something in his brain warned him that he would always give in to the pull. Luka jogged across the street. Marinette stood to meet him--now that she wasn't yelling at him, he could take the time to look at her. She was beautiful, and very purposefully so. His mind stupidly wondered if she was dressed so nicely for him before remembering he hadn't called her. Why hadn't he done that? He was an idiot.

"Funny meeting you here," he said, loud enough to counter the crashing of the water from the fountain as he approached her.

"Yeah--lucky," Marinette said back. She messed with her bangs, something like "I think" coming out of her mouth, almost too quiet for him to hear. While she had looked fine from far away, something was off. The delightful bundle of energy was tamped down, quiet, and looking sad around the eyes. Her eyeliner on the bottom lids of her eyes was slightly smudged. Had she been upset enough from earlier to start crying?

Luka had faced the full brunt of Marinette's emotional spectrum today, and boy did the girl have range. But as long as she wasn't swinging at him, he felt fairly capable of handling it. "Are you meeting somebody?" he asked tentatively.

Marinette shook her head. "No, well--not anymore at least. Tonight's our last night here, my friends and I were going to celebrate. I just didn't feel like it."

Luka was at a crossroads between the head and his heart, and he had a feeling his heart was going to win. No, cross that out, he knew his heart was going to win. "Hmm, sorry to hear that," he said lightly, a stupid idea brewing in his brain. If he hadn't been so relieved that she didn't seem to be upset at him in particular, he might not have even said it. "If that's the case…, do you want to hang out with me for a while?" His heart pounded in his ears while he waited for her response, almost hoping for the rejection to come now rather than the pain that would come down the road.

"Uh…you mean like, i-if you and I…" She fumbled over her words, but not as bad as she had when she’d been trying out her English.

"Like a date--if you want." He guessed by the veracity of her blush that she probably wanted to. He held out his hand and Marinette paused for a brief second before taking it.

"I have to warn you…I'm kind of a mess," Marinette said, peering at him nervously from beneath her eyelashes.

Luka laughed--loudly and with more joy than he'd felt for a long time--pulling her closer to him while interlacing their fingers. "Don't worry, I think I can handle it."

They began to walk down the avenue, hands slightly swinging while intertwined. When was the last time he'd done this? Had it ever turned out right? Did that matter? Luka could hear the fresh start of a melody tumbling around in his head, trying not to hum it aloud as he led her down the New York streets, chatting about this and that and whatever else came to mind. He wanted to make her happy, make this a good night, just like their all too brief meeting in the record store. Something good to keep in his pocket, to turn around and look at and examine years down the road, something to point at and say, That there--you see that? That's proof I was here, I held her hand and made her laugh and that was real.

He had become too familiar with the habit of walking down a street of concrete buildings with flashing, glowing ads that burnt your eyes if you stared too long at the screens, thinking about how he shouldn't be there. That maybe he had died with a fever in Scotland in the 1800s with his mother and his sister and that was that. The shade that was ambling about with a guitar on his back was nothing real because he was no longer the real Luka Couffaine. He was his ghost, haunting the earth for one single purpose, and nothing else much mattered in the face of it.

But then Marinette would smile at him, and he felt his heart tug towards her like a ship finds the light of a lighthouse in the foggy mist. He had nothing in mind when he asked her out for the evening--just moving along with whatever felt right. Ice cream first, because she told him about Andre the ice cream man and awkwardly alluded to the fact that she never had a date to take there unless it was one of the girls. A visit to the Top of The Rock at the Rockefeller Center, because she'd wanted to go but she hadn't found the time during the visit, followed by browsing a bookstore and a walk through The Channel Gardens.

Any passing interest she mentioned, he pursued it. He was used to doing whatever suited him these days, indulging his own curiosities between bouts of pursuing his own life’s work (or was that, perhaps, not something new but something old? A leftover from his late Victorian roots, when earnestness in responsibility and indulging in excess co-habited in the chaotic, swift changing tides of England?). He had all the time in the world, a sharp contrast to Marinette, whose stories were all about not having enough of it.

She reminded Luka of a particular jazz band he had heard one night in the prohibition days. He was sitting in a dimly lit hole in the wall (literally, it had been concealed so cleverly you wouldn't know it was there if you hadn't been told about it), drinking something hard and sharp and very necessary. The band wasn't even on a stage--they could have just been a few guys who were there for a drink and burst out the instruments for all anyone knew.

It had sounded awful, discordant for several minutes, his head bursting with too much all at once and the alcohol hadn't helped. But then it kept going, each instrument on their own tune, and he began to hear the same high note they occasionally seemed to return to before turning away. And then those high notes got closer and closer together, and the improvisational tune he'd thought was a mess had been leading him into something sweeter and altogether more beautiful because he had heard what it used to be and what it was now. The tragedy of the first several minutes made the tune smoother, it gave it depth, and it hadn't been expected. That was when he fell in love with jazz, and if he had to peg Marinette as anything, it was discordant tunes that were building to something much sweeter in the end. He never wanted the song to end.

"So, now that you've been, how do you feel about New York?"

"It sucked!" Marinette replied fiercely, the temper he'd seen earlier in her flaring as she frowned. He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched her stomp around the paths of the Channel Garden. "I mean, some parts were okay, this in particular is uh, very good and nice and unexpected," she tacked on quickly.

He laughed again, "Well, I'm glad I could make it better. So, you're not itching to come back anytime soon?" The words tumbled out of his mouth just to continue to flow of the conversation before he realized he had more of an attachment to them than he'd like.

Marinette didn't seem to notice, still in the world of her mind that no doubt was as colorful as she was. "No, but I will," Marinette said the words with all the dread of a kid who didn't want to do a chore but knew they would have to anyway.

They were still holding hands, and before he could help it, he gave hers a squeeze. "Meaning, I might have more unexpected run-ins with you that could make New York more palatable?"

When he saw the blush run up across her face and her lively (hopeful?) eyes turned to his, a breathless, "You'd want to see me again?", he immediately remembered why he shouldn't have said that. Sass. Mullo. Paris. The Miraculouses were always going to have to be more important than a beautiful girl that made his heart sing and his fingertips burn, was always going to be more important than anything, he'd already give up too much for that to be anything less than the absolute truth. Marinette must have caught wind of his hesitancy and that internal battle because her hand slipped from his and she turned from him.

"If we see each other here again, yeah," he heard himself say and he hated it. As if she wasn't important enough for him to make plans with, only good enough to bump into at the grocery store. Awful. Stupid. This was why this was always a bad idea. "I um…I might not be in New York much longer."

Brown hair tumbling down her shoulders, she tilted her head. Fingers fiddled with a cigarette, tongue running across the bottom row of her teeth. "That's how this shit's supposed to go, ain't it?" Half-lidded sloe eyes regarded him carefully, sorrow drenched. "Just keep runnin' and runnin' till there's nothing left."

Luka watched as Marinette wandered from him, more towards the end of the manufactured little garden by the street. Maybe this was the right thing. Stop this here, never see her again, stop the blade from digging too far into his flesh until it was too late to do anything about it. But that's not what Luka wanted (it didn't really feel like he was deciding what to do anymore, his body and heart were doing things without really telling him).

Luka took a few steps after her. "The truth is, I was actually thinking about visiting Paris for a while." Marinette froze instantly, and despite himself, he saw her as a squirrel listening for the next branch to break near her to hightail it out of dodge. "I didn't want to say anything and make you think I was following you or something weird. My friend needs me there, and since he's important to me and you gave me your number and live there, I thought…must be fate."

Apparently, it was his turn to ramble anxiously. He couldn't help it, though, because as he was talking, she was slowly turning back and there was color back in her face and she started biting her lip, and then he was thinking about her lips and that was leading him to think of other things… "And then I saw you again today and…everything just kind of went out the window." He finished his speech rather lamely and waited for her to say something.

"So…you do want to see me again?" She asked like she still wasn't sure--how could he ever make her feel unsure how much he was burning for her?

"Of course!" Words maybe said too eagerly, too desperately, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Her mouth parted slightly as if mulling that over. All she replied with was a small, "Oh." Although the shattered look was off her face, replaced with something else he couldn't parse out. They were interrupted, almost mercifully, by one of Jagged's incredible guitar riffs from Love Pirate, and the tension seemed to melt as they laughed. Marinette dug her phone out of her purse, her face turning to abject horror as she stared at it. "Oh no!" she gasped. She tapped the phone quickly and put it up to her ear, only to pull it away when a voice screeched out from it.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW CLOSE I WAS TO CALLING 911?!"

Luka blinked at her while she giggled nervously, hazarding to put her phone up to her mouth. "Alya, I'm sorry--I forgot to text you that I was alright. I'm sorry, I just got caught up--"

There was a cacophony of sound coming from the phone and Luka couldn't be sure if it was a groan or a yell or a sigh--probably all three, because there were now multiple voices chittering in Marinette's ear.

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm sorry," She kept saying, then she paused at what one of the voices was saying and clutched her phone to her chest (now that they had returned to a normal level of speaking, he couldn't hear them and didn't want to eavesdrop). Marinette looked up again, once again worrying her lip. He tilted his head, silently asking what she was thinking. "Um…I'm…I'm definitely going to see you again, right…?"

Luka was helpless, and he most certainly wasn't about to say no. So instead, he repeated what he'd said earlier but calmer and less desperate, no longer afraid of losing her, even if he should have been. "Of course."

She smiled at that softly, taking it into consideration, before remembering the phone and putting it back up to her ear. "Yes, still come pick me up--"

Luka heard her talking, but some part of his less respectable side (not the heart, definitely not the head), wondered what he'd just missed out on, and if he should've replied differently if it meant… But that was stupid, and he chucked that thought out the window. Marinette hung up and stashed the phone back in her purse, then nervously adjusted her bangs as she took a step forward.

"My friends," she explained, knowing it was obvious but saying it anyway just to have something to say. "They're really close by and are coming to pick me up."

Luka nodded and fondly held both her hands in his, feeling the weight of her small hands and examining the sparkle in her pink nail polish as it reflected softly against the streetlights. If he had been at a crossroads this morning, his path was starting to feel increasingly set in stone. "Thanks for humoring me tonight. I haven't had that much fun in a while."

A dusty pink flush appeared under the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose and cheeks. "Me either."

They stood together smiling for a moment before he internally began to panic. This was where he kissed her, wasn't it? This was the time? Except it had been a long time since he'd done any of that, and he didn't know where to start, and her eyes were so beautiful, and the streetlamps were reflecting golden light in her eyes-- "What was that song again? The one from your ringtone?"

Marinette was taken completely off guard, blinking. "O-oh, y'know. That one Jagged song from his first album--"

"Right!" Luka pretended like a light in his brain turned on, as if he hadn’t heard Love Pirate a thousand times since it debuted in ’96, and squeezed her hands just a little tighter. "How's it go? Under the moonlight, by the sea…?"

"Kiss me!" she replied instantaneously, moving towards him just a touch out of excitement--it was cute—as if she'd gotten a trivia question right that put her in first place.

He couldn't help a sly smile, as if he was just acquiescing to her demands instead of his own burning curiosity about what kissing Marinette Dupain-Cheng would be like. "Ah, well, if you insist," Luka said, waiting to ensure she knew exactly what he was going to do on the off chance she didn't actually want it. But the way she leaned in, the way her blush deepened, the way she bit her bottom lip slowly and let go while she looked at his--

"Marinette!"

Both Luka and Marinette turned to the sound of the intrusion, Luka's heart pounding in his chest, feeling like he'd been shot with a shotgun. A limo had pulled up on the street and two girls were popped out of the skylight to their waists, waving with both hands. He could see more faces from rolled-down windows, giggling and pointing.

Well, no one could say he hadn't tried. Luka looked down to Marinette who looked torn in two--Luka-limo-Luka-limo-Luka-limo--. He chuckled wryly, squeezing her hands for the last time before letting them drop. "I guess I should let you go, huh? Plane to catch?"

She did at least look visibly disappointed, hands shooting up to her chest to nervously play with her crossbody purse strap. "R-right, I should get going." Marinette almost took a step away before she stopped. "Um…you'll text me, right?"

He took a deep breath in, taking an emotional step back even though it seemed like a foolhardy action, especially after tonight. "It may take me a while to," he heard himself say cautiously. "…Would you wait for me?" (What kind of question was that? As if they were lifelong lovers preparing to be separated, like they were Romeo and Juliet, not two people that just so happened to meet in the crowded streets of New York?).

Marinette's eyes scanned his face as if trying to memorize it, every line and every curve. "Of course," she said back softly and slowly, as if she was bewitched and wasn't even aware of what she was saying. Coming back out of the spell, she gripped her purse strap harder, gave one look to the limo and back, and then quickly kissed him on the cheek and ran.

Unlike the last time Luka watched her run away, he didn't have to wonder if he'd fucked it all up. Because for once, he was so, so sure he hadn't, and that high was enough to let her go, and when he turned around and floated back to his hotel, he was already fantasizing about an early checkout.

#in the shadows mlb #alternate universe #lukanette #marinette dupain cheng #rose lavillant #alya cesaire #juleka couffaine #zoe lee #luka couffaine #Nat's Monster In The Box

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