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toomanystoriessolittletime · 3 years

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My Flower

Summary: Falling for the Prince of Dorne after he took you in, letting you work as his maid, was not something you (or him) planned. But when he found you sleeping in his bed, wearing his cloak, you were about to find out that maybe it wasn't just you who had fallen in love.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Maid Reader

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warnings: pining, s o f t Oberyn, smut (fingering, unprotected sex)

A/N: Oberyn seems to be my soft spot cause no matter how hard I try, he's just a big old softie. Hope you enjoy x

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You knew that you had more freedoms than other maids in the castle. But that didn’t mean you would ever neglect the work you had to do. The prince of Dorne had been gone for a while now, yet you kept his chambers ready for him so everything would be just as he liked when he finally returned.

You were grateful that you got to serve for the House of Dorne. You weren’t born here but taken in without question. You would always remember the day you ran into the prince unknowingly on the streets. All you wanted to find was a shelter for the night, having worked on the fields the whole day.

You were terrified once you noticed who exactly you had run into.

The royalty where you came from was always cruel, not thinking about their citizens. But you would grow to learn that this was different here.

He offered for you to stay in the palace, his smooth voice sending shivers over your whole body. He personally instructed one of his guards to bring you to the chambers of the maids where you would get work on the next day, should you wish to. And offer you couldn’t refuse.

Over the past years, you became his most trusted maid. You did everything for the prince. Taking care of his chambers, his laundry, his food. Taking care of him. Just not in the way you imagined you would.

And he has been nothing but respectful towards you. Of course you didn’t miss the way he looked at you, his eyes dark and full of longing. Sometimes he asked you to stay after you brought him the tea he always drank before he went to sleep. Of course it was a berry tea. He would read to you, or tell you about his travels. He would ask you about your home town, or how you envision your future.

You got to know Oberyn in ways you thought no one knew him.

His touch, no matter how innocent it seemed, left goosebumps over your whole body. No matter if it was the brush of his hands as you brought him your tea, or his hand on your shoulder, giving you a small smirk, thanking you for always taking care of him.

Your favorite moments, which were also the moments you dreaded the most was when you helped him prepare for his travels. You would instruct some other maids to help you pack his things, yet he would take some time to come to you, finding you alone, to help him dress properly. He could do this on his own, you were sure of it. But over the last year, he seemed to find ways to spend more time with you.

“Are you going to wait for me here, my flower?” he would ask as you stand in front of him, smoothing his golden robes with your hand, brushing over his chest, your fingertips only ghosting over his warm skin, while you tried to not flush. It seemed to get harder the more often you found yourself so close to him, to let him go. Even though you knew you didn’t have the right to think this way.

“Always my prince,” you would whisper with a sad smile.

“Fear not, I will be back before you know it so we can continue our.. Conversations, my flower,” he would kiss your forehead before he turned away and left.

You knew that the prince was a very passionate person. No matter if it was about his kingdom, his children, or his partners. You had your fair share of run-ins at the beginning of your time at the palace. You would never forget the way you saw the prince pleasure not only women but men as if it was his last dying wish.

You could only dream of finding a fraction of that passion in your life. The only sexual accounters you had were less than satisfying, leaving you frustrated and having to take care of your pleasure yourself.

Yet the longer you worked here, the fewer visitors the prince seemed to get. His brothel visit seemed to get less too. When you asked him about it in one very brave moment as you were laying with your head in his lap as he read to you he only smiled, his fingers brushing over your temple.

“I’m not getting younger, my flower. While I do enjoy seeking pleasure in the arms of others, I find myself craving for more lately.”

“More?” you had asked, wishing you would find a little bit more of your braveness to reach out and straighten out that wrinkle between his eyes as he looked down at you. Yes, the Prince was older than you, but you didn’t care about it.

“I want to have arms to come home to every night. Someone who waits for me and is happy to see me for me, the man. Not me, the prince of Dorne. Of course I have had my share of lovers, but they leave me longing for more. I guess in a way I want to find someone to pleasure my mind too, my flower,” he said and you sighed.

“You, my prince, are getting old,” you teased, overplaying the warmth spreading to your cheeks at the way he looked at you with those warm brown eyes you grew to love.

“And you, my maid, are the only person who is brave enough to talk to me this way, my most trusted friend,” he tiredly smiled down at you.

“I like that,” you had smiled at him. “Being your friend.”

“Maybe one day we can be more…” he had whispered, giving you a look you couldn’t read.

“Such as?”

“You will know once the time comes…”

Cryptic speeches were the prince’s expertise. After almost three full moons of seeing him for the last time you were dying to hear him talk about things you wouldn’t understand, but listen to because you loved to hear him talk.

You were growing worried if something might have happened to him. You missed him, beyond words. The whole staff was taking pity on you and trying to lighten your mood by baking your favorite pastries.

You know you loved the prince as you had never loved anyone before. And you also knew that this love was something you could never have in your life. A maid and a prince? That would be right down scandalous. At least you told yourself so.

The prince brought a smile to your lips when you only thought of him, and you had to stop yourself from looking like a lovesick pup. That everyone around you including the prince could see it anyway wasn’t something you were aware of. And you also weren’t aware of the prince looking at you with the same look in his eyes.

Sighing to yourself you found yourself in his chambers after the sun had set, reading the book you had picked earlier this week. You were allowed in his chambers no matter when, so when one of the maids brought you dinner to his chambers with a small smile, you were surprised but thankful. You hadn’t eaten the whole day.

When the night grew colder you picked one of Oberyn’s well-loved coats, imagining it was him warming you. Taking the book you made your way over to his bed, content on finishing the book before you would go to sleep in your chambers. The coat smelled like him. Like cinnamon and berries. You found yourself wondering how his lips would taste after he’d eaten some. Groaning to yourself you focused on reading, falling asleep in the prince’s bed not long after.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you woke up with a start. It was dark as night, someone must have blown out the candles, but that wasn’t what woke you.

Strong arms were around your waist, a warm body pressed against your back. You panicked for a moment.

“Sleep, my flower…” Oberyn whispered sleepily against your neck and you sighed in relief.

“You’re back,” you whispered, letting yourself melt against him.

“That I am. Now sleep. We have much to talk about in the morning,” he kissed your neck and your smile got wider before you drifted off to sleep again.

“Hmmm… You smell like a summer morning my flower…” you felt lips on your neck and hands brushing over your upper thighs. Fluttering your eyes open you were pretty sure you were dreaming until you felt him suck on your skin.

“My prince…” you whispered, biting your lip.

“I counted the hours until I finally could get back home…” another kiss.

“Imagine my surprise to find you laying not only in my bed but wearing my coat…” he sucked on your earlobe and you shivered.

“I was planning on surprising you but this might be better my flower…” you could feel him smile against your skin, his hand wandering down your thigh, pushing his coat out of the way.

“Tell me, did you ever think of me while I was gone?” his finger slowly traveled over your revealed skin on your thigh.

“Of course I did my prince. I was worried sick.”

“I will make sure to send a raven the next time so you don’t have to worry my flower.”

“Oh. Thank you, my prince.”

“Oberyn. You can call me Oberyn,” he whispered. You turned in his arms then, wanting to look into his eyes.

“This isn’t right. I should leave,” you said without any intention to get up.

“What is and isn’t right is thankfully something we get to decide for ourselves so tell me, my flower. Do you wish to leave me?”

You looked at him then. Only seeing the contours of his face in the early light of the day. A face you dreamed about. A face you wanted to look at for the rest of your life, even if it meant not finding your happiness in the arms of another.

“I could never leave you Oberyn,” you whispered and he hummed before he closed the distance between you and kissed you softly. You closed your eyes, probably stopped breathing as his lips caressed yours.

“Breathe my flower,” he whispered against your lips and you couldn’t help but smile

“I dreamed about this…” you confessed, looking at him. His arms came around you pulling you closer to his chest.

“Tell me,” he breathed.

“I… I dream about a life where I could be with you. The man who reads to me in the evenings. The man who eats more berries than I ever have seen someone eat before. The man I can touch without the fear of judgment around every corner. Because in my dream you’re not the prince and I’m not the maid. We are merely a man and a woman who love each other,” you said quietly.

“Should I tell you about my dreams?” he asked.

“Of course,” you nodded. You felt one of his hands caress your cheek before he spoke.

“I wish to spend every waking moment with the woman I love. To not have to find reasons for her to come and visit me in my chambers. Though I’m fairly certain she doesn’t wish to leave me in the first place. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be sleeping in my bed just because she misses me while I was away…”

You gasped while he continued to look at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“We couldn’t…”

“Just for once follow your heart, my flower,” he whispered.

“What about tomorrow?” you asked.

“Do not think about tomorrow. Think about now,” he smiled before he kissed you again and you sighed, finally bringing up your hand to touch his face. He hummed against your lips, his arms pulling you closer.

“Oberyn…” you moaned against his lips, as his hands slowly wandered down your back.

“Ahh my name on your lips is going to be my new favorite thing…”

You smiled, kissing him again, one of your hands coming to rest on his chest.

“Why are you wearing my cloak?” he asked, his lips slowly kissing down your jaw. You felt your cheeks growing warm.

“I… I missed you and… I imagined it was your arms around me…”

“Hmmm… And what do you prefer? My cloak or my arms?”

“Your arms, my prince,” you whispered. He playfully bit your neck, making you moan.

“Oh I like this sound. I wonder if I can make you sing for me, my flower,” he grinned up at you as he slowly pushed his cloak to the side.

“What a naughty little maid you are…” he chuckled as he found you only wearing your undergarments. You bit your lip as he pushed you down to lay on your back before he took his time, kissing down your body. No one ever has taken the time to explore you like that. He kissed the skin over your ribcage, making you giggle.

“Ticklish, are we?” he kissed you again and you pulled at his hair. It was his turn to moan as he looked up at you with dark eyes. Without breaking eye contact he pushed up your breastband, his lips making contact with the tender skin of your breast before his lips closed around your already hardened nipple. The moan that escaped your lips was downright filthy and you shivered. His tongue was flicking over your nub, driving you insane.

“O… Oberyn…” you sighed, one of your hands lightly pulling on his hair, your other hand fisting the delicate sheets you were laying on.

“So responsive… I wish I could take my time but you just smell so… divine,” he hummed, kissing down your stomach and your breath hitched. You brought your hands to his cheeks, stopping him. Biting your lip you hesitated.

“I’ve… No one… Has ever....”

He seemed to understand, his eyes softening and he kissed your stomach before he came to hover with his face over yours, kissing you softly.

“We don’t have to..” he began and you put your finger over his lips to silence him.

“I want to. I just never… I’m not as experienced as you are Oberyn…” you said shyly.

“It’s not about experience, my Flower. It’s about feeling each other…” his arms came around your back, pulling you up until you were kneeling in front of him, his chest against yours. He brought your hands up to his face and you smiled up at him. With his hands on top of yours, he slowly ran them down his neck, his shoulders, under the thin shirt he was wearing, stopping on his chest.

“Feel that?” he whispered squeezing your hand above his heart. You felt his heartbeat.

“My heart has been beating for you ever since I first laid my eyes on you.”

You smiled softly, breathing out shivering, before you slowly used your hand to push his shirt over his shoulders, both your hands exploring his sunkissed chest.

“You are beautiful my prince…” you whispered, kissing down his collarbone.

“”Not as beautiful as you are..” Oberyn’s hand ran down your back, his fingers slowly dipping underneath the panties you were wearing before he slowly pushed them down, grabbing your ass with both of his big hands and you moaned.

“I walked in one time on you with another man…” you whispered against his ear as you let your fingernails lightly scratch down his chest.

“I had to go back to my chambers and touch myself after…” braver than ever before your hands followed the dark trail of hair, leading down to his cock. He hissed against your ear when you didn’t waste any time and your hand found his hard cock, lazily wrapping your finger around it.

“And what did you think of when you touched yourself?” he asked, his voice lower. You felt one of his hands sneaking between your cheeks. You whimpered when one of his fingers massaged your puckered hole before he dipped lower, finding you soaked, dipping one finger inside of you.

“I… thought of you doing exactly this…” you whimpered against him, letting yourself fall against his chest while you slowly continued to stroke his cock. You felt him smile against your cheek and you cried out when he added another finger.

“And how did it feel?” he kissed your neck.

“Nothing ever felt as good as this…” you whispered, your other hand coming up to grab his hair, crashing your lips against his.

“I want you inside of me, my prince…” you whimpered while he continued to pleasure you with his finger.

“Patience, I want you to let go for me my flower.” He looked down at you, changing the angle and you felt your legs shake as he found a spot no one ever had before that made you see stars.

“Oberyn…” you gasped.

“Cum for me…” he rasped in your ear, biting your earlobe and you cried out his name as your orgasm made your whole body shake. You grabbed his hair, pulling harshly at it and kissed him again, while he fingered you through your orgasm. A smirk played in the corner of his lips. You let go of him, letting yourself fall back into the soft covers of his bed and he laughed. You always loved his laugh.

“I might need a nap after this…” you smiled up at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“But first…” you pushed your panties down and he helped you pull them off. Parting your legs you didn’t feel shy at the look he gave you. The sun was just rising behind him, diving the room into soft light, making him appear like a god. He understood, pushing his pants down and you bit your lip finally seeing his thick hard cock. You wondered if it would hurt, but thought that every bit of pain would be worth it in the end.

“Words fail me to tell you how beautiful you are…” he leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his thick length teasing your entrance.

“Then show me, my prince…” you whispered against his lips, your eyes not leaving his as he slowly pushed inside. It seemed to last hours, the pain of him invading you making room for sheer pleasure that seemed to suck the air from your lungs.

You both moaned when he was settled fully inside of you, your hand coming up to frame his face, looking at him with nothing but love in your eyes. He smiled softly, kissing you again before he began to move. He rolled his hips slowly, taking his time as if to cherish it forever. You never felt so good. His slow pace driving you to the edge of insanity. One of his arms wandered in between your bodies, finding your clit. Closing your eyes you threw your head back, biting your lip as he began to circle your clit.

“That’s it, my flower. Come on you’re prince’s cock…” he groaned, his lips attacking your neck, nibbling, biting, sucking on your skin. Marking you for everyone to see.

He didn’t fasten his slow strokes, there was no need to. You were falling apart beneath him, crying out his name as a wave of euphoria washed over you starting from your belly, letting your whole body shake.

“Beautiful,” he kissed you then, his movements slowing down until he stopped. You looked up at him in question, noticing that he hadn’t found release yet. He seemed to read your thoughts, kissing you softly.

“I intend to keep you in my bed the whole day, my love. And I won’t find release until you found yours at least once more.” You sighed, about to complain when he bottomed out and thrust back in hard, making you moan loudly.

You didn’t leave his bed until the next day.

#my writing #oberyn martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction #adult tag

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malfoys-demigod · 4 years

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Curious - Draco Malfoy x Reader

*redoing it again because i accidentally deleted the text

requested by the lovely @the--queen-of-hell request: So imagine Draco coming to visit you in your room, but just as he's about to knock on the door, he hears voices inside the room so he realizes you're not alone. You had invited your friends over (let's say Hermione and Ron are there keeping you company). Draco hears that they're both asking you and talking about HIM, so he stays a little bit longer, curious what you have to say. And they ask if Draco is in any way horrible to you, if he's mean to you. But you actually get overly defensive for your boyfriend. You tell them that they will never know him like you do, and that he's extremely sweet, and lovely. That no body really gives him a real chance, that he deserves love and comfort as everyone else... So, time passes and you go out of your room and think about visiting draco, since you haven't seen him all day. You knock on his door, and once he opens it, he just pulls you in for a deep, but soft kiss. And then he pulls over and holds you in his embrace, then he whispers something like "thank you so much, for being in my life... for being by my side, always" fasjfklsmflksfj ;_;

It was a beautiful Saturday morning in Hogwarts. The sun was shining, the air was breezy, it was a sweater weather, and it was a beautiful day for Draco to take you on another date at Hogsmeade.

The two of you officially showed the world that you two were a couple during the first weeks of the current school year. Sparks only started flying during the summer before the school year. His family and yours being close ties with each other decided to travel over the summer together. Being the only teenagers during the whole trip leads you to getting to know each other.

With each quiet walk at night together or sitting together during meal times or trips to destinations, it showed that you started taking an interest in each other and later on fancying each other. It only took that very special night to finally express your love for each other.

During one of those free days your parents had given you during the trip, Draco asked permission from both families if he could take you somewhere else for the day, including the night. During the day, he didn’t schedule any tours or guides for the day - no, he knew you wanted a free day wherein there were no tour guides or following authorities around. He found a nice garden for the two of you to walk around and lay on the grass and talk about literally anything. He opened up so much with you that you realized that he wasn’t exactly the resident bad boy of Hogwarts. He was a kind and loving person just like anyone else. For the night, oh, you were really lucky you wore something formal enough because this man booked two seats at one of the most fanciest places in the city you were visiting. Your table being in a secluded place gave him the privacy to start expressing his love for you, asking if you would like to take the relationship to the next level. Without thinking about it, you nodded, telling him you felt the same way.

Now that school started, you both showed the world that you two were a thing. With holding hands, to small kisses around people, it told them that you, Y/N Y/L/N, were madly in love with Draco Lucius Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, that everyone either despised him or were scared of him.

Of course half the school had the opposite thoughts that you were hoping not to hear. But you didn’t care and neither did Draco. It wasn’t their problem and they couldn’t manage to break you two up. Draco would personally have his father hear about any issues involving his son’s life and his girlfriend’s. You were technically family to the Malfoy’s already so Lucius would be willing to stand up for you.

As it was a beautiful Saturday in Hogwarts, you got dressed up, enhanced your appearance, and began styling your hair. Placing the finishing touches to your appearance, you heard two knocks from the door. Assuming it was Draco picking you up earlier than expected, you started rushing your touches a little bit. “Hold on, Draco, just finishing a few touches to my appearance.”

Expecting to hear Draco come up with a way to compliment you, you were replied with a different voice which stunned you a little bit. “Oh, it’s not Draco,” said a feminine voice, “It’s Hermione.”

“Hermione?” you asked with curiosity.

“Yes, along with Harry and Ron.”

All your final touches came to an end when you started walking up slowly to open the door to three slightly uncomfortable students in your year. The Golden Trio weren’t exactly the closest to you. Sure, you had moments where you’d talk to them, ask them how it’s going, and casually walk with them in Hogsmeade but not close enough to be an honorary member and tag along in their activities. So, it was a little uncomfortable for you to have them in your room as well. Nevertheless, you opened the door wide, and motioned for them to come in.

“Have a seat anywhere.” you welcomed them in.

“Thanks.” they all said in sync.

“You look nice.” Hermione spoke, “Going somewhere?”

“Yeah, Hogsmeade, with Draco. But it’s a tad bit early so I’m not leaving yet.”

“Excellent, because we were hoping to talk to you.” Harry said. He stood up from your chair and walked toward you slowly. He looked unsure of his actions but wanted to show you the level of importance of the conversation.

At the same time, Draco was walking towards your door, but quickly enough to hear a familiar voice just speak from your room. Thinking it was coming from the other room, he ignored it, but that voice… it was masculine, and really familiar. He slowly placed his ear on the door and started listening.

On the other side of the door, you started speaking again.

“Oh. Well, what is it Harry?”

Harry? Draco was angrily confused to hear Harry Potter in your room. Thinking it was just him and you alone, he was right about to storm in and scold Harry until another voice spoke.

“It’s about Draco!” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Harry who took a mere three seconds to say his enemy’s name. “We wanted to talk to you about your relationship with Draco.”

“Oh,” you crossed your arms, “What about him and I?” you started sounding upset as you were quite aware of their standings with him. “I suppose you’re going to tell me how awful it is to be with him and that I should break up with him, don’t you?”

Hermione gave pitiful eyes as she thought you were reading a bit of her mind. She walked towards you and placed her hands on your shoulders and sighed. “We just want to know if he’s any way horrible to you, Y/N. This is Draco we’re talking about, he’s been nothing but vile and cruel to everyone in Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, and we’re just surprised that you wanted to date the most bloody evit git in school. Is it some arranged thing your parents have going on with his? We can help get you out of it.” Ron added.

Hearing all this monstrosity, Draco decided to put your relationship with him to the test and stay, as he was curious to what you would say next. He trusted you of course but he just wanted to hear your comments about this without him being exactly there.

Upset, you threw Hermione’s hands off your shoulders and jumped a step back from her, resulting in her doing the same thing. “Merlin’s beard!” you screamed. “You just never give him a chance, do you?”

“I-I don’t follow, Y/N.” Harry terrifyingly spoke.

“Being with Draco has been the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. You actually don’t know how much of an extremely loving, caring, and sweet person he can actually be because you always throw fights and awful things to him the second you see him. You know, when I first had the chance to interact with him last summer, I wasn’t even hesitant of avoiding him because I actually sensed that underneath his black suit, he was a great person to know more of and I’m lucky that I didn’t treat him the way you guys do because you know, people want to be treated the way they treat people. If I wanted respect, I gave him respect. He deserves love and comfort like anyone else in this entire world and I’m glad to be filling that empty part of his life that he’s been craving for.”

Right after your triumphant speech, Draco quickly rushed all the way to his dorm because as a matter of fact, he was starting to tear up and what better way to hide his softness from the entire school body than run back to his room to hopefully stop crying. But he couldn’t. It was really difficult for him to because throughout his entire life, he has never had somebody like you to defend him as a person. He really couldn’t believe he finally had someone like you in his life. If people knew how soft he was, he could have opened the door and started crying on his knees, telling you how much he loves you. But the stupid golden trio just had to be there, he thought.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Well, that was a surprise.”

“Yeah, he totally didn’t give her amortentia.” Ron joked, which only resulted in Hermione and you looking at him deadly. “What?” he innocently asked.

“I’m really sorry I had to lash out that way. It’s just-”

“No, we get it,” Hermione said, “I’m really glad he has someone. Maybe he can actually soften up in school. I hope you can keep it that way.” she smiled.

“Believe me, he’s really a soft person. But I think I can foresee him softening up in school, you just have to be around to see it.” you joked.

“Excellent, truly. You have to stay with him, Y/N, we’re counting on you to see a changed Malfoy over the years.” Harry smiled, giving you a small pat on the shoulder.

“Bet he’ll actually call you a friend by the end of our Hogwarts year?” you asked.

“Bloody hell, I’ll definitely keep my grades up in order to see that.” Ron looked at you with a surprise.

“See you around, Y/N.” Hermione said, giving you a small hug, only for you to give a bigger hug as she chuckled.

“Bye.” you said to them as they exited the room.

Well, that was quite a way to start the morning. All that lashing out got you to lay down in bed and actually forget about Hogsmeade for a second only to remember how you dressed up nicely for today. Standing up quickly, you started getting your gloves and ran out to Draco’s room immediately.

When you arrived at his door, you knocked twice, waiting for him to open the door. There was no response. So you tried again and knocked twice.

“Draco, it’s me. Y/N.”

The door immediately swung open as you saw Draco with slightly pink eyes and light bags under his eyes. Without hesitation, he pulled your waist for him to softly kiss you in the lips. As your lips and his were playing around, he wrapped his arms around you tighter, as he was trying not to forget this feeling of true love.

When he pulled back, you cupped his teary-eyed face with carefulness as you wiped a tear off his right eye. “Draco,” you cooed.

Having a hard time containing the emotions he was feeling, he embraced you with a bone-crushing hug, only for you to give him the same. You weren’t exactly sure why he was sobbing but he deserves a giant hug anyways. Giving him all the patience to speak up, he finally did, and it started out with a weak, “T-thank you.”

“For what, sweetheart?”

“For everything.”, he said, “"Thank you so much, for being in my life, and for being by my side, always.”

“Oh, Draco.” you said, rubbing his back, “You and me? This is forever.”

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco lucius malfoy #Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy x Y/n #Draco Malfoy x you #Draco Malfoy fanfic #Draco Malfoy fanfiction #Slytherin #Draco Malfoy oneshots #Harry Potter #Harry Potter x Reader #Harry Potter Imagines #Tom Felton x Reader #Tom Felton

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ginazmemeoir · 3 years

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for @gopikanyari - i couldn't draw them but i did write this fic.

tagging @taareginn @momo-all-the-way @dragonfairy1231 @aadyeah @weird-u @holding-infinity-and-a-book @aloomu @carmen-riddle @mango-pickle

Everything slows down. All I feel is my breath, the sweat trickling down my face, and the tension in my hand dissipating as I release the knife and let it fly. It strikes the dummy with a ‘thwack’, and I keep staring at it. Miss. Again.

My father didn’t consider educating his youngest child, a girl, in the art of warfare. So after getting married to five men, all brothers, in a strange twist of fate, having near death experiences in the forest and at my husbands’ home in Hastinapur, I decided to instruct myself. Swords made me feel confident, bows and arrows made me feel like a hero in an epic, but knives? They made me feel like a toddler playing pretend. And yet, Drona, my husbands’ mentor and father’s sworn enemy, insisted on teaching me in “the art of the blade”.

I lean against the wall, wiping the sweat off using a cloth, and head for a bath. As I exit, my maid Malti approaches me, her face writ with worry. “Um… uh… Your Majesty…” she stutters. I place my hand on her shoulder and calm her down, “What happened Malti? Something in your family?” I ask. Instead, Malti hands me a card. I take it from her, beaming at the seal – a dolphin encircled by a peacock feather – Krishna’s emblem. I greedily tear the elaborate wrapping, desperate for the kind of raucous and “unladylike” interaction that I only got with Krishna. My eyes skim over the letter’s contents, and my heart sinks. “Impossible,” I mutter, clutching the letter in my hand, “my husbands promised me complete fidelity. They cannot remarry again.” Malti, her voice trembling, then uttered the words which my feeble brain couldn’t read, “Your Highness, the invite was delivered by a member of the Dwaraka council. Prince Arjuna is getting married to Subhadra, Lord Govinda’s sister.”

The streets of Hastinapur are jubilant with celebrations, as their prince returns with his new bride. All over the city, repairs were done, and frivolous, expensive structures were erected, all in an effort to show the audacious wealth of the Kuru empire. The cheerful, flower and gold bedecked exterior hid the internal deformities. Suyodhana’s maternal uncle, Shakuni, or as everybody called him in the land – the snake – fumed at what had transpired (from what I gathered Suyodhana was to be wed to Subhadra, who had eloped with my husband); King Dhritarashtra boiled in silent anger, while Queen Gandhari taunted and cried out her distress every now and then.

Arjuna arrived on the gates of the palace, his new bride at his side, followed by my other husbands (his brothers) and Krishna. Both bride and groom were bedecked in the finest of clothes and jewels, looking like overstuffed dummies. Even from here in my balcony, I could clearly see the bride’s discomfort in wearing the heavy jewellery and silks preferred by the Hastinapur royalty even in the scorching summer. All the ceremonies and rituals were performed with due tradition, thus amounting to an hour or two, and then only did the entourage enter the palace. I hurry down to meet the party, when I see the newlyweds walking towards me. Anger floods every pore of my body. Had I had my way, I would have scorched the palace with the same fire from which I was born. What kind of man is this cruel, taking his second wife to meet his first? Disgusted I slam the door on their stricken faces, and bury myself in my misery. Was I never destined to be happy?

The years pass by, and an unlikely bond forms between Subhadra and I – the kind of bond shared by mothers. It took six pregnancies to break the barrier between us, and she had approached first. That would always be a guilt I would carry – that I hadn’t extended my hand earlier, blinded by pride and anger. Soon, awkwardness gives place to an unlikely friendship, with her teaching me the various wonders of the world she had seen on her various trips; Greece, China, the Golden Isand of Lanka, she had seen it all. Meanwhile I taught her how to wield a sword , and helped her navigate the tricky waters of politics and party throwing. It was a rare, pure friendship – one spent wearing a cotton sari under a scorching sun, eating mangoes with sticky hands and giggling, one I had never experienced before.

I walk towards my palace. Or, not my palace, since Duryodhana owns it now. Nothing is left, not even my pride and dignity. My dishevelled appearance, torn sari, entangled hair and bruises make for a frightening appearance apparently, stunning everybody into silence. I don’t feel human anymore, just a husk slowly inching its way before it collapses, for my soul was stripped along with my clothes in that den of gamblers and cowards. I seethe with a burning hatred against my husbands, pretentious motherfuckers cowering behind their false dharma and “code of chivalry”, which conveniently vanished when they took multiple wives and yet made me marry all five of them against my will. I want to rage and burn and destroy and drink the blood of Dushasana and use Duryodhana’s skull as the cup. I thought my city, this magnificent city of Indraprastha, loved me the same way I loved it. And yet, in my darkest hours, none came to stop what followed, except perhaps Vikarna, a brother of the man whom I didn’t consider human. Subhadra was in the guava orchards with Abhimanyu, when she saw me. She quickly put him down, and rushed towards me, trying to cover me with a scarf, as if I cared anymore. She took me inside, and drew a bath for me. That day, I scrubbed my skin raw till it turned red and almost tore my hair from my scalp, trying to rid myself of Dushasana’s filthy touch. She then gives me some khus, which I drink gingerly, my tears mixing with the sweet green concoction. At first, she looks stricken, unable to believe what had transpired. Disbelief gave way to pity, which gave way to anger. “It’s useless Subhadra. Nothing is left. And I will make sure, that nothing will be.” I console her. I see the fear in her eyes then. Good. People had forgotten who I was, but I’d make sure I’d remind them in the years to follow. They blamed me for what had happened right, that I was too weak or too proud? Well then I’d like to prove them right. I am Draupadi. Paanchali. Yajnaseni. Born from fire, born to wreak havoc, born to change the fate of this cursed land of Jambudweep, where the roll of a dice values more than a person.

The 13 years that follow are spent in agony. Twelve years of wandering in the forest, facing arrogant saints and malevolent creatures. I keep wondering of Subhadra and my kids. When she had heard the news, she had slapped an unsuspecting Arjuna, and taken Abhimanyu and my kids with her to Dwarka, safe and secure, forbidding him to show her his face until he proved himself worthy. Arjuna soon parted ways with us in the forest, going off on some adventure, finding new beauties to marry and accumulating more powers for the war to follow. I meet Hidimba in the forest as well, Bhima’s first wife. I envy her freedom and her life. And then comes the dreaded year of agyaatvasa – living in the shadows, for fear of recognition. Yudhishthira becomes advisor to King Virata of Matsya, Bhima a cook, Nakula the master of stables, Sahadev a shepherd and I, the mighty Draupadi? A hairdresser. How cruel life was, making the woman who kept her hair unkempt and open as a reminder of her revenge, a hairdresser to a queen. Arjuna also returned, but as the eunuch dancer Brihannala. Even here, peace eluded me as the queen’s brother Keechaka turned his perverted gaze towards me. But this time, I had enough. And so I invite him to a secluded spot and then have his skull crushed by Bhima.

It’s the time of war. Vultures and hyenas gather in the fields of Kurukshetra in anticipation of the feast to follow. I reside in the camp with the other ladies and children of the house. I am unable to recognize my own kids at first, how quickly they’ve grown and how much they have changed. They greet me with the same love and respect, but something has changed fundamentally in our relationship, a cherished bond that would never be the same. Subhadra is there by my side, making me live their childhood through their mischievous stories and their life at Dwarka, and yet my mind wanders to our six sons – wearing their armour and lifting their weapons, barely on the cusp of manhood and yet already thrust into a war that isn’t their own. I stopped believing in gods long since, and yet I pray to any that might exist with a shred of mercy in their heart towards me – let my children live.

Abhimanyu’s mutilated corpse greets us on the thirteenth day of war. His body looked so gruesome, even Yamraj would have shuddered. Subhadra’s wails pierce through the sky, reverberating more than the clang of metal and steel. She reaches for Abhimanyu’s body, hugging him close, with his head on her lap, embracing her son for a final time before the fires engulfed him. I am too shocked, and Subhadra too bereaved, to either comfort or be comforted. There is no sermon, no balm, no magic for this loss. His loss permeates into every single cell of our being, and stays there. Subhadra cries the entire night, her eyes red from crying, consuming neither food nor water. I stay by her side all along. The other ladies comfort his wife Uttara, in the final month of her pregnancy, devastated by the destruction of her own small world before it could begin. Finally, when dawn breaks, and her body is devoid of tears, does Subhadra arise, but she’s not the same. She goes with the Pandavas to cremate her only child, and returns back. She utters not a single word, conveys not a single emotion. She doesn’t rage like fire – she is instead like the oceans near her home. A turbulent storm rages within, which the calm face doesn’t give away.

I come back to my tent having exacted my revenge. The sound of Dushasana’s arms being ripped off, his skull cracking open echo in my ears. My hair drip with his blood, my face smeared with sweat. I thought I would feel victorious, at peace now that I had avenged myself, avenged Abhimanyu’s death. But then Subhadra gazes at me, and a single gaze is enough to communicate everything in my heart. Is this who I am now? What more atrocities would be committed in this war?

The war has come at an end, as Duryodhana lies dying in agony, his thighs shattered. I go with everybody to cremate the fallen and pay my respects to Grandsire Bhishma, as he too draws his last breath upon his bed of arrows and leaves this world. All the bodies are collected in a massive mountain of rotting half eaten flesh, and cremated. The fire blazes high, an inferno reaching for the skies, taking the souls of everybody within it towards Indra’s court, which receives anybody who dies fighting. The flame reminds me of my own birth, which seems like a lifetime away. I return back to camp, weary from all the death that surrounded me, and am instead greeted by a fresh nightmare. My brother Dhrishtadyumna’s head hangs at the gate, his decapitated body beneath him, hands closed around his sword even in death. I rush in to find everybody dead – physicians, maids, cooks, attendants, charioteers, guards, everybody. I enter my sons’ tent, fearing the worst and that is when I see their corpses. They were still in bed. Sleeping. They were supposed to ride out tomorrow to Indraprastha, their true home. They were supposed to grow up and live their life far away from court or war. They were planning to finally visit the fabled Palace of Illusions, swimming in the Mirror Lake, plucking fresh fruits from the orchards. Sutasoma intended to devour all the books he could lay his hands on. Prativindhya wanted to try wine. Srutakarma wanted to learn pottery and sculpting. Shatanika wanted to try make up, while Shrutasena wanted to learn music and painting. My children were robbed of their lives and their futures in their sleep. Now I truly knew the meaning of loss. I would rather die a thousand times over just so I could bring them back. I collapse, the last thing I hear is Subhadra shouting my name. I don’t feel the ground as I fall.

It is in this hell on earth does Subhadra’s daughter in law Uttara give birth. She screams in pain as she tries to push her child out of her womb, the last child of a massacred dynasty, when the room suddenly fills with a scorching white light. It disappears as suddenly as it arrived, and everybody immediately figures out what happened. The Brahmastra, the strongest weapon in the universe. Aimed directly at Uttara’s womb and her unborn child. It is an unspeakable crime. The death of his grandnephew makes Krishna goes insane, and for the first time in my life, I see him become the angel of death. He picks up the babe, and proclaims, “If I have been a truly righteous human, let this child come to life.” The child, a boy, gasps and cries, strong and powerful. I have stopped believing in miracles, but this is one I admit. Subhadra reached for her grandson, and cradles him in her arms. Her tears drop on his forehead, as she smiles at him. As she hands the baby to me, there’s an understanding in our eyes. An agreement. A promise. Never shall this child know suffering. Never shall this child know pain. He will have what we could not. He will have a childhood, a future, a life.

We make this oath to ourselves. Sisters, united by pain, suffering and hope.

#draupadi #subhadra #paanchali #panchali #mahabharat #mahabharata #india #hindu mythology #mythology #story time #vasu

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svtkillua · 3 years

Text

milk and tea > 1

rating: [pg-13 / angst] genre: soulmate au pairing: todoroki shouto x reader warnings: cursing, heartbreak, angst! word count: 5k

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chap 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 [final]

Some people related gold to beauty, to the shade of the sun when it reflected off of water in the summer. They associated the colour with the way the wind blew the warm toned leaves off of trees in the fall, pictured sunlight peeking through scattered blooming branches in the spring. Gold was the tone of wealth and wonder, a shade so beautiful that it was coveted as royalty, as otherworldly in design. It was the shade that flickered in the middle of a fire, it emitted the feeling of whimsy, of something bigger than it appeared. For you however it made your heart sink, the colour that filled your gut with dread and turned your blood to an icy sludge. You’d liked it at one point, had admired the way the tone shined in a straight line from the base of your palm straight up to the tip of your middle finger. But now it made you feel alone, hollow, like a constant shimmering reminder of the life you were meant to live, completely by yourself.

A reminder that while the rest of the world had a soulmate, you had no one.

It was funny how something you’d loved about yourself when you were younger had become the glaring marker of things you disliked now. The golden slash on your palm had been something you showed off to friends, comparing soul marks with the other kids on the playground, giggling about the possibilities of who you could match with. You used to all day dream about it, if one of you would pair up with the prince or princess of a country, if one of you would marry a celebrity and become a famous duo. The magic around it hadn’t begun to fade until your friends all got paired off one by one, birthdays starting to fill you with pain rather than the giddiness of a child. Looking at your palm was like staring at a ticking clock, one counting down to the moment everything you feared became the truth, the moment your twenty second birthday started and any chances of finding your soulmate were gone.

Soulmate marks didn’t do much, almost serving like a tattoo you couldn’t get removed or cover with makeup, the skin varying in pigments and shapes from person to person. You didn’t taste what the other tasted, didn’t feel what they felt or know what they were thinking, you just saw them, matched their mark, and knew. Everyone spoke about feeling like they’d been hit by a tidal wave of emotions the first time they saw their other half, like the world stop spinning and all the things that didn’t make sense before suddenly had answers. You didn’t know how it felt, to meet your soulmate for the first time, to see them and feel that gush of emotions everyone spoke about so vividly it made you desperate to find it. You thought you had once, imagined for a few seconds that the way your heart started pounding and throat caved in that you had found him, the person made for you.

He was beautiful, his duo-coloured locks a complete mess as the wind blew straight through the sweater you’d tossed on that morning. He’d spilled his coffee all over you as you both dashed through the park to get to opposite trains, his eyes wide when you looked up into them, lips parted and ready to spew out agitated jabs, but they’d never came. You thought you’d found it, tasted the possibilities of where things could go next, pictured yourself tracing your fingers over his pale skin as he stared right back at you and the noise of the park fell silent. You let yourself imagine a future with him, one where you’d finally get to be the friend that told everyone you’d found your person, your soulmate, the one who made your lungs give out and pulse pound so hard it bruised and broke apart your rib cage.

But then you saw his palm, his mark not golden but navy blue, the shade just slightly darker than that of a bundle of blueberries. His mark was not one line but one with multiple added on the sides like a tree spreading it’s branches out to each finger tip. It was it the same place as yours, the same straight edges. It was similar to yours, yes, but not the same.

He was meant for someone, just not for you.

Looking at him now you could still picture him from three years ago, could still feel the way your heart sped up just staring at him sleeping on your bed like it’d done the day he poured coffee all over your front. He wasn’t meant for you and yet your soul still breathed for him, he wasn’t designed to occupy your thoughts and despite that he was all you ever dreamed about. He was the thing that kept you up at night and greeted you when you fell asleep, the person that gave you even the smallest taste of what it could feel like to be someone’s something, even if all of it was only in your head.

Shouto Todoroki.

His hair was draped across his forehead as he mumbled into the pillow bunched up beneath his temple, lips apart as a breathy sigh fell from them while his knuckles bent, fingers digging into the duvet. The moonlight shining brightly outside casted through the windows and onto the planes of his face, accentuating the way his chest rose and fell like the weight of the world was, for once, not on his shoulders, the gentle pitter patter of rain meeting your eardrums and melting into the somber sensation in your veins. It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t yours. It was cruel that you got to be so close to him but didn’t get to love him freely, that your birthdays ticked by year after year with no soulmate in sight when someone so perfect was close but off limits.

You had to meet them before you turned twenty two, that was the rule with soulmates, the reality not many had to face. If you didn’t meet your someone by then, you didn’t have one. It didn’t happen often, the cases of it far and few between, but still prevalent enough for facilities to offer counselling for people like you. People who were meant to be alone, people destined to spend forever without someone there next to them in the mornings when they drank their cup of coffee. People made for no one but themselves, left to wonder what exactly they were worth if they weren’t worth the universe giving them someone to love.

Todoroki had come over because he knew that even if you kept insisting you were fine you weren’t, that the minutes ticking by that day weren’t like the normal ones because they were the last ones you could spend with an ounce of hope left. It seemed almost fitting, that you’d be alone when the clock struck twelve, that the sky would have opened up and started pouring buckets just a few minutes before your birthday officially began. Your time was about to be up, the digital clock on the bedside table glaring a bright red 23:57 at you when you took another glance at Todoroki, whose arm had sprawled out and now hung slightly off the too large mattress.

You two had gotten lunch that day he crashed into you, neither of you mentioning the solid minute of silence that had passed after you laid eyes on each other in the park, pretending that neither of your chests had deflated when you looked at the other’s palms and weren’t met with the mirror of their own. He’d insisted on paying you back for the sweater and after some convincing you let him, that apology lunch turning into another, and another, until eventually you found yourself calling each other at two am to talk about how confusing life seemed to be. You felt connected to him, attached almost from the second you first heard him speak, like your heart had decided it belonged to Todoroki even though it wasn’t supposed to be. He’d become your constant over the past three years, your best friend and the only person who ever filled your day dreams, the one who was proving to be your ‘almost’.

You two spent all your time together, it was almost like you wanted to make yourself hurt, like you adored to make believe the two of you could have a happily ever after when it wasn’t ever going to happen. For a while you’d grown selfish, thinking that maybe neither of you had a soulmate and in turn you could become each other’s, pretending that the stares you’d catch him sending your way meant more than the friendly half smiles that followed. You’d wondered if maybe he was silently wishing for it too, hoping that the universe had made a mistake and not made your marks match. That perhaps you’d end up together after everything was said and done and the pain of thinking you’d end up alone would have been worth it, because you would have had him.

And then he’d met her.

His soulmate.

Your eyes fell shut at the thought of her, body shifting back towards the large-paned windows of your apartment as the rain splattered against them, oxygen leaving you in shaky puffs of held in emotions. You never liked to think about her, didn’t want to focus on the girl that was allowed to love Todoroki in ways that you weren’t. You couldn’t hold his hand, couldn’t touch him in public past pats on the arm or brushes when you passed each other in a crowded hall. You didn’t get to hold him at night or whisper quiet ‘I love you’s’ that made his thin lips spread into dazzling lazy grins. You didn’t get to love him and she did, and you hated how angry you were at the girl when you’d never even spoken to her, despised that you weren’t happy for your best friend like you were supposed to be. Just because you were meant to be alone didn’t mean he had to be, and yet in the bottom of your heart it didn’t feel right, like you’d spent so long convincing yourself maybe you could have each other that reality was a pill too tough to swallow.

Momo Yaoyorozu was stunning. The midnight black hair that cascaded over her shoulders when she walked, a delicate smile that looked like that of a doll’s, a pleasant voice that flowed like a feather in the breeze. She was beautiful, and from the few bits Todoroki had told you about her, she was incredibly kind and smart, finishing up a degree in teaching so she could work at her own preschool someday. Her family was wealthy, about as wealthy as Todoroki’s was, and it was almost laughable that he’d end up being meant for someone so cookie cutter perfect for his parent’s standard.

Todoroki and his family hadn’t always harboured the best relationship, the family focused more on how things looked than how they felt, caring more about Todoroki’s potential future and life than his now or his heart. Maybe they had good intentions, deep down, just wanting their son to live a safe life, one with stability and comfort rather than hard work, freedom and passion. They wanted him to go to college and he decided not to. They pressured him to become a hero like his father. They pushed and he pulled back, a constant cycle of a someone trying to grow but being shoved back to the ground, like a flower in a garden trapped under a rock.

You were someone they’d never cared for, not since the first time the pair of you bumped into them at the store during your lunch breaks from work. His father had shook your hand with a smile that turned stiff after a once over, your ears picking up on his mother’s not so subtle ‘you should stay away from her, people will get the wrong idea‘ as you excused yourself to finish shopping. Todoroki hadn’t listened, clearly, filling his afternoons and evenings with you most days, the pair of you near attached at the hip.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

His voice made you jump, eyes peeling open but body not turning as his fingertips skimmed the edges of your elbows, tone raspy from the sleep still thick in his throat. It made your stomach twist, feeling the heat of his body so close, his thin white shirt doing little to prevent it from radiating out of his chest. He was always hot, like the sun that kissed his skin was living inside his body, pouring out warmth and life that made you revolve around him like he was the center of your universe.

“Why would I have woken you up?”

“Because it’s your birthday.”

Your head turned slightly at that, eyes focusing on the digital clock now blaring a bright red 00:04 that reflected off the glass topped table while you shrugged. He was staring at you, you could feel the way his eyes followed yours when you turned to look back out the window, focusing on the beads of water rolling down the damp panes rather than how delicate his touch was as his palms encased your folded forearms. You wanted to melt into him, wanted to fall back into his chest and savour the feeling of him so close to you while you could. You were silently desperate to pretend that he was your soulmate, that when you woke up in the morning he’d still be there in the bed next to you and not back at his house with her.

“Happy Birthday.” He was being quiet, like if he spoke too loud you would crumble to pieces, his arms inviting themselves to snake around your waist and pull your back into his chest when you hesitated to do so yourself. His hair was tickling your cheek as his chin dipped down to rest on your shoulder, your lashes fluttering as your lids clamped shut and lungs deflated, memorising the way his heartbeat faintly pounded against your flush skin. It felt like a gentle melody, like a soothing thumping that reminded you he was real and not just a perfect mirage in your head.

It was intoxicating, being in his arms, feeling the heat from his skin spreading through his shirt and into you, aware of his breathes as they barely skimmed the side of your cheek and neck. You wondered if he could tell how rapidly your pulse was pounding, if he knew that even when the world felt dark he was like the lone candle still flickering on, refusing to go out and plunge you into an abyss. You questioned if he knew just how much he meant to you; if he knew just how completely in love with him you were when you’d never uttered a single word about it.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, hands raising to just barely skim his knuckles before you were pulling from his grasp, taking a few steps away from the window to sit down on the edge of your bed. You looked at him finally, focusing on the way his chest rose and fell while he followed you over to the mattress, his body sinking down beside yours and making the bed dip, your thigh scooting flush into his from the gravity. “I don’t know if I’d exactly call it happy though.”

“I know.” He sighed and flopped back onto the mattress, hands resting on his lower stomach as his shirt bunched slightly. You looked down at him, admiring the way his hair fell off his forehead still messy from sleep as it fanned just barely around his ears, watching his jaw clench and relax as his mind worked languidly, taking yet another note of the scar that donned his left eye. The rain was creating odd shapes on his front, like moving shadows that couldn’t sit still, creating darkness on his light in its stagnant state, his body a canvas for the night sky to paint upon.

He didn’t like to try and comfort you with words, usually, never forced out vague reminders that everything would be okay even if you didn’t have a soulmate. He knew that you loathed it, that the pity filled glances of people watching you grow to be alone made your skin crawl with frustration. Todoroki never babied you, never forced out whispers that he knew how you felt when in reality he never could. He still was there for you though, still calmed the waves of self doubt that churned in your gut with gentle brushes of his palms on your arms, silenced the screams in your head with his light laughter and fingers lingering on your hand longer than necessary. He’d been with you a lot more than usual lately, and you weren’t sure if it was because of your impending expiration date or if he simply didn’t feel comfortable yet sharing a place with Momo.

They’d just moved in together a few weeks ago, the next natural progression in the relationship given his parents pushing for Todoroki to not hesitate so much with things. Momo and Todoroki had barely known each other for a few weeks before their families were urging them to move faster, to be thinking about marriage rather than getting to know the little intricacies about each other. The entire world was watching, waiting to make sure they followed the rules, that they weren’t fighting against something that was required by law to follow. He had pushed back against it for a while, wanting to take his time, to get to know the girl he was supposed to be with, but also had a hard time ignoring the pressure dumped on his shoulders. The place was nice at least, you’d seen it before they got their furniture moved in, let yourself imagine a world where the quaint home was for the two of you and not him and another girl.

It was hard to think about, Todoroki being with Momo, his lips touching her lips and his hands touching her palms. It made you want to vomit, imagining them together, to picture the closeness the two of you shared then mimicked between them, only more intimate, between lovers rather than friends. It stung to picture him bending down on one knee to ask her to marry him someday, burned a whole in your chest to envision him on his wedding day and you not be the one walking down the aisle to greet him. Sometimes you wanted to run away, to leave and move to a different city just so you wouldn’t have to be here when those moments happened, just so you could avoid the inevitable all ending heartbreak that was growing closer by the minute.

His palm encased your knee fleetingly, drawing your attention away from the shadows dancing across his stomach, focusing on his eyes as his lips spread into a gentle smile. He looked incredibly handsome, perfect skin seeming to glow even in the dim cool toned lighting, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he blinked, weight being pushed up onto his elbows as he nodded once past you. You hesitated to look away, wanting to stare at him a while longer, wanting to memorise the way his lazy grin made your heart feel, wanting to follow how his eyes darted across your features like a painting only he had realised was a masterpiece.

“Open your present.”

His fingers left your knee to instead tap your elbow as your head turned, Todoroki sitting up beside you as your vision landed on a white box resting on your bedside table. You hadn’t noticed it before, the bow on top a pale grey that blended in with the pale light, fingers clasping around the box as you moved it onto your lap, peering down at it. It seemed dangerous, like the small container was actually a bomb in disguise, like it was nothing but false hope for the dreams inside your head when he did things like this. He always got you birthday gifts, always remembered to call and make sure you got home okay after a night apart, always texted you to check in when he went out of town or was too busy to see you. It was like he was unintentionally stoking the fire that burned for him in your gut, like he almost wanted you to stay so attached to him, so desperate to be next to him that you thrived off the morsels affection he’d pass your way.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Shut up and open it.”

He laughed faintly when you rolled your eyes, your lips parting at the delicate necklace that laid inside the box. It wasn’t anything fancy or grand, a simple silver chain with a small moonstone pendant dangling from the centre, but it made your chest sear like it had been scorched. It felt like he’d grabbed hold of your lungs and squeezed with all his might until no air was left within them, like he took a needle and was sewing his own initials into your heart. You could tell he was staring at you, could feel his eyes burning holes into your cheek as your fingers traced over the delicate gem, pulling it from it’s confines and up further into the light, watching the way it glinted as it swayed.

“Wow.” Your speech came out breathy, like it was a part of your natural breathing, eyes drifting from the chain pinched in your fingers to Todoroki, who was smiling like he’d never felt more relaxed in his entire life. “You shouldn’t have, Shouto.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it.” You looked at him when his hands encased your own, focus drifting over his features as he took the necklace and reached around your neck. It made your heart pound, feeling his thumbs skimming the sides of your throat, being so close to his lips that you could have leaned in and tasted them. “People just might get the wrong idea if they found out you bought it for me”

“I don’t care.” He shrugged, smiling faintly at you when his fingers brushed the back of your neck, fiddling with the clasp until he moved his palms down to rest on his lap, the pendant landing just between your collarbones. You instinctively reached up and touched the surface of it, eyes flickering up into Todoroki’s as he watched you closely, like you were under a microscope. It made your lungs shrink in your chest, made your brain seem to malfunction as his calloused fingertips brushed along your knuckles, gentle as a breeze in the summer.

The silence that fell was comfortable as you glanced down at your fingers, his own weaving through yours before your palms moulded together, the soul marks that were mismatched flush against each other. Your eyes followed his thumb as it moved back and forth over yours, tingles shooting up from your wrist to the top of your elbow, like fireworks were going off in your nerves simply from being so close to him. His free hand rose from its place beside your connected fingers and landed on your cheek, your gaze shifting up as he tucked your hair behind your ear, watching how his lips parted as a heavy exhale exited his body. You wondered what he was thinking, questioned if he could feel you swallow harshly when his touch skimmed over your jawline and made its way slowly along the side of your throat. You wondered if the small proximity between the two of you did the same thing to him as it did to yourself, if his heart was screaming for him to fall into you just like your own was begging him to do.

“Thank you.” His lips tugged slightly into a smile when you spoke, head bobbing in a nod and causing a few of his long strands of hair to fall further onto his forehead. You wished you had his camera there now so you could capture how stunning he looked, hoping he had at least some idea of how breathtaking he could be while he focused on the beauty the rest of the world held.

“You’re welcome.” He hummed, fingers caressing the necklace that hung from your neck, knuckles brushing your bare skin in the process. His gray and blue eyes only danced away from your own for a moment, thumb never once stopping its movements along your own as he reconnected your gazes with a blink of his eyes, grip on you tightening. “It looks beautiful on you.”

“I meant for staying.” Your voice was just above a whisper, scared of disturbing him or making him move away, like if you spoke too loudly he’d realise how little space there was between you. You didn’t want him to move away, didn’t want to feel a centimeter further from him ever again, not even for a second.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Being so close to him felt like you were in front of the sun even with the rain drizzling just out the window, like you were being baked by the heat and letting the worries melt off your skin. Todoroki was dangerous, because he was so incredibly perfect to you, even in his flaws. From the way he ignored everyone when he was trying to do paperwork to his the gentle humming he did when he fell asleep on the sofa that jolted in volume from his odd snores, you adored every single thing you’d ever found out about him. He was like a walking day dream you’d never get to really feel, like a perfect ice cream cone on the hottest day you’d never get to taste. He was everything you wanted and couldn’t touch, the man you desired who belonged to someone else.

The man who was made for another woman.

The man you loved to the very core of you, with every single cell in your body.

The buzzing of his phone in his pocket was what pulled you apart, the quiet vibration drawing his eyes away before your own, hands fumbling with the object as his grip on you vanished. You knew it was her when he moved to stand and look out the window, voice quiet but loud enough for you to pick up a few words. Momo probably wanted to know when he’d be home, with how late it was, not to mention he got off work hours ago. You couldn’t blame her, even if you hated the thought of him leaving, even if you loathed the times like now where the bit of daydreaming you allowed yourself got ripped away. It was like reality came to smack you back into place, like it wasn’t cruel enough to let you stay happy with Todoroki too long, because the ending was one you knew and kept ignoring nonetheless.

He sighed when he hung up, shoving the phone back in his pocket as he stared past the glass at the dreary world down below, your body rising from the bed to stretch, ignoring the ache in your soul knowing that he had to leave, knowing that you’d be alone here and he’d be at home with her. He turned to look at you with his lips pressed into a thin line, your vision barely able to make out his features with his body blocking the light as he bent over to grab his jacket off a chair. You wondered if he meant what he said before, if he really would rather be there with you than anywhere else. You questioned if he meant it with the entirety of his heart attached like the sentiment would mean from you, or if it was empty words from a friend trying to patch up holes in your already sinking ship.

“I gotta get going.”

He didn’t say why and you didn’t ask, because you already knew, and you imagined perhaps he wasn’t saying why because he knew how much it hurt you. You wondered if he had any idea how in love with him you were, if he hesitated when he kissed your forehead on the way out because he was aware of how desperately you wanted to feel closer to him. You questioned if he paused when he went out the door to turn and promise to call you tomorrow because he could see how lonely you already felt without him inside, if he waved from the street below up to you in the window because he knew how sickeningly much you wished he was going to be in bed with you when you woke up. But he didn’t stay, he couldn’t stay, because he wasn’t supposed to be with you in the first place.

He was supposed to be with her.

And when you looked down at the shimmering gold on your palm, the straight line that caught the small bits of light refracting through the glass panes of the window, it made your throat tighten, eyes feeling as wet as the raindrops dripping from the sky. Because it was a reminder that while he was driving off to be with her, with his soulmate, you were here. It was a reminder that he got to be with someone, got to love someone fully, that the rest of the world got to have someone who cherished them and held them and longed for them with every cell in their body. Because it was a reminder that he was meant to be for her and never would he belong to you. Because it was a glaring reminder that you had only been meant for one thing.

To be alone.

[next chapter]

#todoroki shouto #shouto #todoroki #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #todoroki angst #todoroki fluff #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #milk and tea fic

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kalee60 · 3 years

Note

i wish you would write a fic where jock!bucky seduces twink!steve, maybe he hits steve with that pec flex guys do that is both dick-ish and insanely hot at the same time?

Oh Manda - you absolute gorgeous gem! I very much like what you're asking me to create here 😘 I also love, love, love that you sent me a prompt!

I immediately think of sun, summer, ice cream, boys at the beach playing frisbee and our gorgeous Smol!Steve and Jock!Bucky as friends mutually pining (Ha - it's me, it was never going to be anything but this story!)

Once again, my quick little drabble (that I wrote today when I woke up {thanks to my sprinting buddies in discord}) turned into a 4k fic... But I mean - I think that's okay (more stucky for us - right?)

I hope you like where I took this, maybe in a slightly different direction than intended - it's also on ao3 here (with all tags necessary) if you prefer to check them out and read there instead, it'll be part of my stucky bingo fills - Beach and rated M for mild sexual content 😉

If you'd like a fic - here's the post - I wish you'd write a fic... (It might take me a little bit to write - but I will get there!)

Steve was in hell, literally. It was hot, he was sweaty and he was being tortured. Honestly, Steve really loved summer, but at the same time he loathed it. And most of that had to do with the fact he had to sit around in his large group of friends and watch Bucky fucking Barnes sans top and wearing only a small pair of running shorts frolic over the sand at the beach.

Life was unfair.

How could somebody like Bucky actually exist in real time? He was a complete jock for starters, his looks and size perfect for being naturally great at sports, earning him a football scholarship of his choice (of course). And Steve, well Steve Rogers was as far from a jock as anyone could get. Not that he was horrible in the fitness and muscular department, but he was too little and his asthma still played up to join rugged contact sports. Being 5’4 also didn’t particularly endear him to any of the coaches at college who were scouting for star players. Plus studying to be a high school teacher probably wasn’t sporty enough, and he was leaning towards a specialist English role, not Gym.

So Steve joined the campus gym instead of a sporting team, did weights and classes and enjoyed it immensely. It was where he met Natasha, and that fateful meeting brought him to Bucky and his dickish jock ways and friends.

Though if Steve was to be fair (of which he was - usually) not all jocks were dicks, even if Steve had preconceived notions from high school what college boys would be like. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find that the captain of the football team was not only gorgeous, cocky and a bit of a douche, but also very smart, kind and had a smile that could make Steve’s legs turn to jelly with only a small half tilt.

But it was as he sat on a towel under the shade of a large umbrella that Carol had stolen from her parent’s garden shed, that Steve really felt the heat, and it had nothing to do with the blazing sun above him and the burning sand beneath his feet.

It was all Bucky Barnes and his chest, his slim waist, his tanned olive skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his sinewed and muscled thighs that tapered down to calves that bunched up as he jumped and landed to grab the frisbee aimed at him.

Steve sighed heavily as his gaze lingered on the brunette. Bucky Barnes was every mans wet dream, every girls perfect prince, and Steve pulled his dark sunnies over his eyes again, ignoring the pounding in his chest, the throbbing in his groin as he watched Bucky behind dark lenses spring up and prance over the sand, laughing with a wide mouth that could do sinful things to Steve’s body. The worst part was that Bucky was doing all of this with no knowledge that Steve harboured the biggest crush of his life.

It really was unfair.

Sitting back to lean on his hands, stretching his legs out, he saw Bucky glance over at him, and gave a smile. Bucky grinned back and then grappled Sam to the sand to yank the frisbee from his grip. Life wasn’t unfair because Bucky didn’t date guys, he did, very much so, and girls too from what Steve had seen, it was just the guys Bucky dated were typically more like… jocks.

Steve hunched over, trying to not stare too long and inadvertently get turned on, finding it an impossibility as his eyes wouldn’t tear away from Bucky’s frame as he bounded effortlessly over the soft sand, something Steve couldn’t do. He’d almost lost a lung from the trek over to their secluded spot earlier that day. Soft sand was the enemy - that was fact.

“Heads up.”

Startled from his thoughts by Bucky’s deep voice urgently calling out his way, Steve looked up only to see the frisbee coming straight for him. With a reaction that even surprised himself, Steve raised his hand and caught the flying disc with nary a blink of an eye.

Bucky was skidding to a halt on his knees before him a second later.

“Shit, Steve. That was epic, you sure you don’t want to play? You can be on my team - my secret frisbee weapon.”

Steve’s mouth went dry as he tried to listen to the words leaving Bucky, because the delectable man was less than two feet away and the smell of sunscreen, sweat and something virile and uniquely Bucky entered his senses. Steve knew that if sitting next to Bucky in the dining hall was torture when Bucky was wearing his spicy cologne, he’d keel over being enveloped in his sweaty beach scent for longer than a minute.

God he wanted Bucky to fill him, everywhere. Make him forget his name, take him over and over.

He realised that he still hadn’t answered and heat crept into his cheeks, managing to blurt out, “I’m good for now. Nat’s grabbing ice creams and I don’t want to get a stitch.”

Steve then gave Bucky what he hoped was a soft and cheeky winning grin, but the way Bucky faltered, swallowed tightly, face impassive made Steve wonder if he’d missed the mark on trying to be flirty.

He really was as hopeless as Darcy continually told him.

Steve’s eyes trailed down to Bucky’s broad and lightly haired chest, finding himself breathing quicker, wondering if he’d remembered to pack his inhaler. No, he was sure it was in the pocket of his backpack. Thank god, he might need it in the face of Bucky’s glorious muscles moving in his vision all day.

“If you’re sure,” Bucky finally said in a deep steady voice.

“Maybe later,” Steve stammered, holding up the frisbee with a shaky hand. He had to get a grip.

“Alright, later then, I’m holding you to that.” And Bucky took the disc from Steve’s grip and was off bounding towards Sam, Carol, Thor and Maria.

While Steve recalibrated his thoughts, Nat came back holding only one ice cream cone, licking it slowly with a sparkle in her eye as Clint trailed behind, wearing Nat’s beach bag and carrying the rest of the ice creams, and Steve worried she’d overestimated his balancing skills. But if Nat asked, Clint would do - it was kind of amazing the power she had over him without even trying. Although they weren’t dating (yet), Nat was never cruel, she was playing the long game and really liked Clint, but had been hurt before by some Russian asshole, and Steve knew that Clint, when Nat finally agreed to go out with him would never be the same man again. He’d be lost in deep shock and joy. They were perfect for each other.

A pang went through his gut as Steve watched them, taking a cone from Clint, wishing he had someone that wanted him as much as they wanted each other.

“Vanilla,” Nat commented with a scrunch of her nose at Steve’s choice as he took a lick of the creamy goodness, the chill on his tongue welcome under the heat of the day. “You’re so very basic, Rogers.”

“Hey there is nothing wrong with that. I happen to love vanilla.” A rich voice said from right in front of Steve as Bucky flopped down on the sand, kicking up little grains that stuck on Bucky’s thighs where he was sweating. Steve shut his eyes against the picture before him, once again pleading to any God or Goddess that would listen that it wasn’t fair, that they had to find him someone one day. He just hoped it would be soon, else his dick drop off from Bucky unwittingly giving him blue balls.

“You’re one to talk, you didn’t even want ice cream, just a soda. And a club soda at that.”

Bucky looked over to Nat, flashing her a wide grin, and Steve immediately started to lick his ice cream just to do anything but stare at the crinkling in the corners of Bucky’s eyes, or to watch his lips as they wrapped around the bottle tip. He only half listened to their banter as they kept teasing each other, Nat and Bucky having been best friends from childhood, the reason how Steve inadvertently fell into the group of jocks, for a lack of a better term to encompass all the fit people he was now surrounded with.

Nat had introduced him to everyone after they’d hit it off at the gym in first semester, and Steve had waited for the inevitable teasing to commence about his small stature, but it never came. He was always included, never mocked (unless it was called for, because he was a facts man and couldn’t help correcting people when they were clearly in the wrong) and it was such a novel experience, so how could he not fall immediately in lust with the football captain? One who had smokey blue-grey eyes, sinfully full lips made for kissing among other fun activities and a personality that you could fall into and live inside forever.

“Err, Steve… your ice cream, it’s ummm, dripping.”

“What?” Steve asked, realising that he’d been swirling his tongue over the top of the soft confectionary and that his fingers were now completely sticky as the ice cream dripped over them on to his thigh. “Oh shit.”

Steve immediately switched hands and started to lap at his fingers, tongue darting between them to catch all the creaminess, sucking them into his mouth one by one, only looking up when he heard a muted groan. Bucky was moving before him, squirming in the sand, and as his eyes landed on Bucky, he startled, surprised to find Bucky’s hooded gaze directly on Steve. But his eyes hadn’t landed just anywhere, they were trained to Steve’s mouth, and as Steve swiped his finger through the sweetness that had dribbled on his thigh, Bucky’s gaze followed that finger's movements. Steve without thought, heart thumping hard, confusion and awe flowing through his veins, stuck the digit in his mouth, licking off the stickiness.

Thankfully, Steve had his sunglasses on, hiding his expression, but he knew his face was burning red at the brash and overt display. Bucky was watching him intently, the rise and fall of his gloriously thick chest heaved, and Bucky’s skin flushed from the exercise or maybe the sun. Steve wasn’t sure.

But it was as Steve licked around the base of the cone again, the ice cream melting quicker in the heat than he could swallow, Bucky’s pecs twitched.

Steve stopped all movement, caught at the tick of flesh, the way it bounced taut, watching with abject lust and desire as Bucky did it again - knowing exactly where Steve’s eyes were trained.

It was such a fucking dick move, a power move to get attention and Steve hated jocks who flexed like that, but on Bucky… on Bucky it was god damn mesmerizing. And it was after the third time Bucky’s pecs jumped, Bucky stood up abruptly and fled saying in a higher pitch than usual that he was jumping in the water, that Steve realised he might not have been doing it on purpose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bucky was dead, he was going to die from being hard for... how long had he known Steve Rogers, six months maybe? Well, that was how long he’d survived with a non-stop boner for the blonde man. And he was at the end of his tether.

Steve was everything Bucky ever wanted in a partner, smart, strong, intense, funny, handsome and a person that he could fall into, spend time with - love.

So it didn't help his little issue to be at the beach that day, watching Steve sit under the huge umbrella on brightly coloured towels in his swim trunks and a loose tank with arm holes so big he could see all the way through to his muscular chest and pink nipples. It was driving him fucking insane.

Sure he’d seen Steve wearing an array of items at the gym, but he’d never witnessed him so carefree as he was at the beach. He was smiling more, relaxed, joking while big sunglasses hid those gorgeous eyes that would give the ocean a run for its money as to what was bluer.

But what killed Bucky that particular day over every other day he lusted after Steve, what made him clench and twitch all over was watching Steve lick up his ice cream. It was downright obscene, Steve shouldn’t be allowed to do that in public, or at least he should have a warning sticker on his person.

Steve had a mouth made for sucking cock, and Bucky wanted, no, he needed to know what having those lips wrapped around him felt like. Christ, he wanted to know what it felt like to be buried in Steve, maybe even have Steve press into him. Fuck.

There was only one thing for it.

He had to seduce Steve, and he had to do it soon.

But that begged the question - how?

How did Bucky capture the attention of the smartest, funniest, quick witted and grumpiest man on campus? Not only that, but to have Steve take him seriously? Bucky was aware that people thought he was only a dumb jock, that all he had to offer the world was to play ball and shit talk other teams and work out in the gym. Which, yeah of course he did all of those things - but he really was so much more. He was studying economics, was thinking about trying to specialise and work as an international trade specialist after college, and although Bucky really loved playing ball - it wasn’t his whole life. He’d never go pro - well, not without a hell of a lot of luck and persistence, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to take something he enjoyed and make it a living in that way. He’d seen how broken some sports stars bodies were after a career, and he still wanted to be able to walk at forty without having had three knee reconstructions.

But Steve, Steve saw through all of that, he spoke to Bucky like an intellect, like he had something worthy to say, to add to the conversation. Even at the gym after Nat had introduced them (Bucky begging to know who the gorgeous guy she was chatting to on the rowing machines was) Steve and he worked out together, had fun catcalling each other for being weak and helped each other with their forms - something Bucky largely did just to get hands on Steve even though Steve’s form was perfect.

Bucky had been taken with the slight man from the first moment he’d seen him, always under the impression that Steve was too smart to even think about dating a meathead like him, even if he truly wasn't what his physique made him. So he stuck with friendship, but now he wanted more. Was going to ask for more.

“Whatcha thinking?” Nat asked as she swam out to float in the water next to him.

“Nothing much,” He replied, ignoring her knowing hum. He hated that they’d been friends forever and she knew all his tells.

The much needed cold water had soothed his itching skin, and from his vantage point he could look back at their rag tag group of friends, able to stare unabashadly at Steve as he laughed with Clint and Thor about something, staring up at Thor as he... as he fucking flexed in front of Steve.

“Easy boy,” Natasha grabbed his bicep that was taut from clenching his fists, “Thor’s with Jane remember? Steve’s not interested in someone like Thor anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes swung to her immediately. “What do you mean? Because he's a jock?”

Nat let out an exasperated sigh. “No you idiot. Because he’s interest lies elsewhere.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s chest squeezed tight, wondering who had Steve’s undivided attention. And he couldn’t help but watch Steve as Carol held out a hand to pull him to his feet, and suddenly Bucky forgot his disappointment when Steve pulled his tank off, revealing a gorgeous toned body in all its glory. Bucky’s dick stirred. Thank fuck he was hidden in the water.

“You are a colossal idiot. You know that right?” Nat deadpanned.

“I have to ask Steve out,” he blurted. “I need to… I need to be with him.”

“I know,” Nat said with a smirk, and Bucky looked at her gratefully, if she helped he would be fine. “But that really sounds like a you problem. Have fun with that.”

“You horrible cow,” Bucky sniped back, ready to splash her, but she was already under the water stealthily swimming up behind Clint, only to dunk the unsuspecting man.

Bucky’s attention suddenly caught on movement on the shoreline as Steve stood knee deep, testing the water and with no further hesitation, dove in, coming up for air not far from where Bucky floated. Bucky watched mesmerized as the sun glinted off Steve’s wet eyelashes, before he wiped the droplets from them, smiling at Bucky.

“Oh god, this water feels amazing.”

“So would you,” Bucky whispered.

“Huh?” Steve asked.

For a long moment, Bucky stared at Steve, realising that sound carried over water differently and Steve most likely caught what he said. Seducing someone was hard, even though he hadn’t even tried yet.

Instead of answering, Bucky ducked his head so his mouth went underwater and swam towards Steve like a shark, deciding that he just had to ask him point blank, no messing around with seduction. Slipping up out of the water at the last moment he put on his most predatory smile, Steve’s eyes widening and he looked around, face flushed and Bucky hoped he wasn’t looking for an escape.

He quickly darted behind Steve, wrapping his arms tight around his lithe body, trying not to linger too much as Steve was the perfect fit, felt so good against him; and when he heard the small gasp from Steve’s throat he launched him into the air. Flinging Steve into the water a few feet away.

“You fucker,” Steve exclaimed laughing as he came up for air, and Bucky smirked.

Suddenly with a smirk of his own that made Bucky inhale sharply, Steve disappeared under the water, Bucky feeling him come up underneath his body and with a strength that belied Steve’s small stature, completely turning Bucky on more than it should, he was pushed up out of the water, throwing him completely under as well.

“Jesus, Steve. You should join the team.” Bucky spluttered when he came up for air.

Steve grinned back, pushing wet hair out of his eyes and Bucky stared, lost in how stunning Steve looked in the sunlight, that he was there before him alone in the ocean full of people, “I mean they already have you and Sam as Captains. Wouldn’t want to put either of you out of a job.”

Bucky laughed, “I don’t doubt you’d do it too, Stevie.”

And when Steve stopped smiling, Bucky realised what he’d said.

“Shit, sorry - you don’t like that? Nicknames?”

“No I... I do…” Steve answered softly, and Bucky became lost in a blue that matched the water they were treading.

“Would you get out with me?” Bucky blurted.

“Sorry? Get out of the water?”

Bucky internally facepalmed himself. “No, I mean go out.”

“Out. With you?”

Bucky nodded.

“Err, why me?” Steve asked in a small voice lost on a gust of wind.

Looking at Steve, who stared back at him with questions in his eyes, Bucky wanted to explain how much he’d desired it for months, to tell Steve all the ways he wanted to make him happy, and as a multitude of words sat on his tongue, Bucky suddenly understood Steve might not listen to his reasoning, might not believe him. So he decided to show his intent instead, and swam closer. Steve’s eyes were wide, guileless, Bucky seeing a small spark of something more, and hoping he wasn’t triple jumping over a line, he swam up behind Steve. He felt Steve tense up, anticipating to be flung into the water again, but instead, Bucky pulled him closer so that Steve’s back slotted against his front and leaned in, mouth only an inch away from Steve’s ear.

“Why you? Oh Stevie, you have no idea how gorgeous you are. How much I want you.” Bucky pressed his nose against the back of Steve’s ear and inhaled deeply, sunscreen, salt and Steve’s shampoo filled his senses and he lost his head for a moment, especially when Steve let out a high pitched groan and wriggled back into Bucky. “I want to spread you out beneath me, I want to lick all the sweat off your body, sweat that I'm going to cause from working you hard, making you work extra hard for my dick, because Stevie - I want you, I want you bad, and I think you might want me back just as much.”

Bucky hoped he wasn’t completely off base with his desires, that Steve really was just as interested, and when Steve ground back against him, skin sliding against Bucky’s, letting out another moan at the friction when he felt Bucky hardening up underneath him, Bucky knew it was going to be ok.

“Yes…” Steve whimpered as his shorts caught against Bucky’s dick, pushing backwards.

“You want that baby?”

“Fuck. Yes, I do.”

“How much?”

Steve spluttered, and Bucky couldn’t help chuckle at the noise. “What do you mean?”

“How much do you want it?” Bucky knew he was being a prick, making his pec’s tense against Steve’s back, pulling him onto his lap as they floated in the water, before wrapping a leg around one of Steve’s pulling it to the side, making Steve gasp gorgeously.

“A normal amount,” Steve husked back.

“Oh, you want me a normal amount - is that all?” Bucky smirked before licking a sloppy stripe up Steve’s neck at the same time as he snuck a hand down the front of Steve’s swim trunks, gripping his dick tightly, feeling the impressive length and girth for the first time. Fuck, he was definietly not taking switching of the table. But not anytime soon. First, he wanted to take Steve apart in every way conceivable.

Steve meanwhile, was liquid in his arms, going slack as Bucky took his time to explore while they floated in circles not far from the shore, but far enough out they wouldn’t get in trouble. He hoped.

The moans tearing from Steve’s throat were getting louder though, Bucky loving every noise punched out of Steve as he stroked harder under the water, the friction and pressure of the water making him slower and more languid than usual. And Bucky wanted to make Steve call out with no thought or boundaries, nothing to stifle his pleasure, he needed Steve coming in his arms, again and again.

“I think you might just want me a little more than that.” Bucky rasped against Steve’s neck, sucking a bruise onto his pink skin, giving Steve’s dick another sharp tug and before he knew what was happening, Steve was shaking in his arms, whimpering out a release and Bucky was speechless. Utterly speechless as he continued to stroke Steve slowly, carefully as he jerked in his hand.

“Holy fuck, you’re stunning, gorgeous, the absolute best,” Bucky rambled into Steve’s neck, nipping kisses and pressing his lips against him in absolute awe at what had just occured.

Suddenly Steve moved, spinning himself around to straddle Bucky and he went under for a moment as their weights shifted and came back up spluttering, only for Steve to launch himself so his lips pushed against his. Steve took over, devouring his mouth, and although Bucky was the one in control, holding them both up, he’d never felt so out of control as Steve writhed and ground down as best he could in the water. Shit, Steve was going to be a handful and Bucky was there for it.

As he kissed back, grabbing the back of Steve’s head, holding him still as he pressed his tongue in deeply, a huge beach ball smacked into the side of his face. They jumped apart with a gasp.

“Don’t make me go get the hose!” Nat yelled out as she and Clint swam around nearby. “It’s about time you dolts wised up, but this is a public beach with you know - families.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s face flushed a perfect shade of red, and he couldn’t help but grab him again, giving him a quick intense kiss, claiming Steve until he struggled for breath, to show Bucky’s intent was clear and true. It was pure perfection.

“We’ll pick this up again later.” Bucky promised.

“Later.” Steve replied breathlessly.

Suddenly Steve pushed himself away from Bucky, grabbing and throwing the beach ball, hitting Clint dead on the nose. The surprised yelp from both Clint and Natasha made Bucky laugh.

“Oh it’s so on, James,” Nat yelled out.

Steve piped up from his side, “you wish, Romanoff - we’re gonna take you down!”

Bucky beamed.

“Yeah!” he called over to them, dodging the ball that came directly for him as Nat and Clint shit-talked. And as he and Steve swam out to retrieve the ball floating behind them, Bucky turned to Steve and gave him an overtly salacious wink. “And once we take them down, I’m going to take you home and show you what going down is all about.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Really? That was incredibly lame, especially for a savvy sex-crazed jock.”

“You’re not interested in my proposal then?”

“Oh I’m interested,” Steve grinned, licking his lips and Bucky caught his breath. “But if you’re going to use dad jokes on the regular - I might have to start calling you something else in the bedroom.”

Steve then threw the ball, Nat ducking at the last minute, and Bucky didn’t even feel when the returning pitch slammed into his head; Steve’s words creating a delicious cacophony of images and filthy thoughts in his mind instead.

Bucky had always known that Stevie Rogers was going to be both the life and death of him, and as he rubbed his head, grasping the ball in one hand, ready to throw it, he couldn’t wait to see where their adventure would take them.

But first - Clint had to pay.

#stucky #mywriting #friends to lovers #college #bottom Steve #implied switch #beach and fun #melting ice creams are a real issue for libidos #gift for Manda - the best and brightest of them all #prompt game #kalee answers

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓

"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.

A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.

Read the rest below or on ao3!

There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.

Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.

On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.

____

“Dad, are you sleeping?”

Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”

“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”

“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?” While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.

“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.

There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.

In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.

“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”

With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.

Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.

“Dad?”

“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.

“Aaron.”

“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.

“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”

Emily .

The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.

“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.

But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.

“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.

It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”

“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

…

“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”

“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.

“Word travels fast.”

“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”

JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”

“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

...

The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.

“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.

“The ICU.”

He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.

“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.

Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.

“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.

“So you haven’t met.”

“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.

“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”

“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.

“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”

“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.

“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”

“JJ didn’t tell you?”

“Just that there was an accident.”

Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”

Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.

“When will that be?”

“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.

“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”

The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.

“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”

The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.

“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”

Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”

“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.

“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”

It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.

She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.

Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”

...

“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.

“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.

Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”

“Yeah.”

Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .

Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”

It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.

…

“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”

It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.

“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.

“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”

He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.

Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”

“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”

“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”

“I certainly had no idea.”

“No one did. It never really came up.”

“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”

His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”

Twenty-Four Years Ago

Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.

Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.

She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.

They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.

Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.

“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”

“Who said anything about being miserable?”

“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”

“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.

“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.

He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”

“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”

“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.

“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agent …”

“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.

“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”

“Are we that transparent?”

“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”

“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”

“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”

“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.

“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”

“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.

“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.

It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.

“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”

He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.

“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.

He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”

His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”

“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?

“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.

“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.

Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”

“Is that so?”

“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”

“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.

“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.

There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”

…

In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.

Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.

His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.

“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.

“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”

“Silver Spring.”

“I thought you said DC.”

“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”

It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.

“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.

Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.

“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.

“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”

They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.

“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”

“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.

“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.

“Someone like me?”

“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.

It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”

“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”

“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.

“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.

“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”

“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”

“So what happened?”

“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”

She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.

“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.

“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”

“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”

He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”

“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.

“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We don’t have to be.”

“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”

“Who says?”

“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”

“Is that so?”

“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air. “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”

“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.

He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”

Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.

He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”

“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”

“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.

She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”

“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”

“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”

“And?”

“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”

...

“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.

“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.

“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”

“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. “He’s from New Jersey.”

“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”

The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”

She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.

Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.

He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.

They name the baby Jack.

In some ways, the stars aligned.

He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.

…

Present Day

“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”

Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.

“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”

“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”

“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”

“You and Krystall made a choice?”

“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”

“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.

“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.

Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”

…

The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.

“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”

The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.

“We’ll be right here.”

Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.

“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”

Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”

“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”

—

Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.

Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.

“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.

“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.

Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”

“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”

“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”

Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”

It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”

“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”

“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another, their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.

“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.

“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”

“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”

“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.

“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #young hotchniss #Aaron Hotchner #Emily Prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #Aaron x Emily

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poorcinderelly · 3 years

Text

Perfectly Fine

Author: poorcinderelly

Rating: PG13 (language mostly)

Fandom: RPF

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Disclaimer: This work is purely fiction and not-for-profit fan activity. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here.

Word Count: 3,491

Notes: Soooooo....I have never written an RPF fic before and especially not one that involves Tom Holland. I got inspired to write this after listening to Taylor Swift's song, Mr. Perfectly Fine on loop for the past few days. Fair warning, Tom is not really kind here. I mean, he's not the worst, but he's also not the greatest either. Part of me also really wants to do a part two to this, but I guess it will depend on how it's received and honestly, if I feel like it, lol.

Here's the AO3 link, too.

Enjoy!

It takes everything in me just to get up each day But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

You rolled over in bed and picked up your phone. It was almost 11:00am. You knew you had to get out of bed. Brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Eat something.

But your energy was gone. Everything felt so heavy.

The last communication was over a text message. Tom had asked when you were going to come by to get the rest of your things from his apartment. At first, you told him you weren't sure yet. He responded asking if he should just have them mailed to Jessica's, your best friend's place. You had been staying with her since the break-up.

You eventually told him that you would come to get them. But that was two weeks ago.

You opened your messages, a small part of you hoping to get a new one from him. But there was nothing.

You opened Twitter, mindlessly scrolling through, not really reading anything that was on your feed.

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her And I never got past what you put me through But it's wonderful to see that it never phased you

That was when you saw it. A video of Tom, with his new girlfriend. They were caught by paparazzi coming out of a restaurant. You watched as they held hands, making their way down the sidewalk. Tom was chatting them up as usual; it was something he did to try to make what's a typically stressful situation go as smooth as possible. It was something he did when he was out with you.

A lump swelled in your throat and you tried your best to blink back tears.

He seemed totally fine. It's like he has completely moved on, even though it had only been two weeks. You started seeing photos of him and her together shortly after you broke up. You thought it was odd that he had moved on so quickly, but you also suspected that he may have been talking to her for a while, even while you two were still together.

How wonderful.

That thought made the dam broke and you started to cry again. It felt like you had been crying non-stop since things ended. You were so tired of it. Jessica, being the best friend that she was, told you it was okay to cry and that it was okay to feel. "You've been through a shock," she said. "What Tom did caught you by surprise."

She was right of course, but it still hurt.

You closed Twitter and went back to your messages. You opened the thread you had with Tom and wrote the following:

I'll come pick my stuff up today.

You closed the app and rolled over, facing the window. The sun was out and you could see the leaves from the trees rustling in the breeze. It was a beautiful spring day.

Then you heard your phone ping. You reached over to the other side of the bed and picked it up.

Tom replied.

You took a breath and opened the message.

Okay. Just text when you're on the way.

You saw through that immediately. It was so obvious that he was trying to make sure she wouldn't be there when you came. "How considerate of you."

You didn't even bother to text him back.

You set your phone down on the table and even though it felt like it took all of your strength, you rolled out of bed.

"Time to get moving."

- * -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -

Mr. "Perfect face" Mr. "Here to stay" Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away" Everything was right Mr. "I've been waiting for you all my life" Mr. "Every single day until the end, I will be by your side"

You and Tom met at a red carpet event for a summer Hollywood blockbuster. He already had two Spider-Man movies under his belt by then, but you were an up-and-coming actress. You were aware of him and he was aware of your work, but you had never met or spoken to one another before. However, when you saw him outside the theater, it was like sparks went off. Despite being surrounded by the press and screaming fans, all you could see was him.

Once you both were inside the venue, he asked if he could find you at the party afterward. You said "yes," trying your best not to show how eager and excited you were. Once the movie was over, you made your way to the after-party. Walking in, you felt like you were in a fairytale; a princess trying to find her prince in the crowd.

Tom found you first; he made his way from the other side of the room and offered you a drink. You never left each other's side that night; you danced, ate, drank, and left to go back to his hotel together.

You hoped that the one-night stand would turn into something more and it did.

One month turned into six, then a year, and another year. Tom was everything you wanted in a person; kind, funny, smart, and attentive. Even though you both had extremely chaotic schedules, you both made it a rule to coordinate a FaceTime every night before you went to sleep, no matter where you were in the world.

It did not take long for the press to catch on about your relationship. Since your career was not as established as Tom's, having everyone in the world find out about you made you incredibly anxious. But Tom was supportive and patient; he was also a private person, which helped. He promised to protect you.

Tom was good for you and you thought you were good for him, too. He made you feel safe and loved. You had been waiting for a relationship like this one for a long, long time.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart" Mr. "Leaves me all alone," I fall apart

You couldn't pinpoint when exactly things changed, but it occurred over the span of a few months.

Tom started to snap more during your FaceTimes. He assured you that it was stress from having to film three movies back to back. But you knew something was off; you just couldn't tell what it was. Not long after that, your FaceTimes were getting short. The same thing would happen: Tom would lose his patience, you would get defensive, a fight would happen, and both of you would hang up.

Tom barely answered your FaceTime calls after that fight. He would always say he was busy or tired, but you knew better.

And throughout this time, the anxiety kept building up. Every day, you asked yourself what you did to upset him and if there was a way to fix it. Your communication with Tom was mostly through text messages, and you were starting to notice that when you told him you loved him, he didn't say it back.

The first time you saw him after that was in November. It was the start of the holiday break for the both of you and you wanted to have a few weeks to yourselves before having to travel to see each other's families. You arrived at the apartment you both shared in New York. After you dropped your suitcases in the bedroom, you texted him asking if he was on his way.

Hours went by. He never responded.

You heard the doorknob click around nine-thirty that evening and Tom made his way inside. He tossed his keys on the counter and went into the kitchen, not saying a word. You could tell he was tired; you were tired too. You knew better than to do this, but the anxiety and frustration that had been building up for the past few weeks finally got released.

It resulted in the biggest fight you had. You asked why he didn't respond to your text; he snapped and asked why you were always breathing down his neck. You just wanted to know what was going on; why things have been distant between you both. But Tom just kept deflecting, saying that nothing was wrong. But your anxiety wouldn't let you believe it; something was different and you knew fighting wasn't going to solve the problem. But it just didn't stop; it quickly escalated to more screaming, more crying, and slamming doors.

Tom left the apartment that night; he left you sitting on the living room floor, crying. Right before he slammed the door, he said, "I need to get away from you right now."

Hours went by and you were waiting for him to come home.

He didn't.

You ended up sleeping on the couch.

Mr. "Never told me why" Mr. "Never had to see me cry" Mr. "Insincere apology so he doesn't look like the bad guy"

Tom returned the next day. You heard him come in around the early afternoon. He was wearing the same outfit he wore yesterday. You wanted to know where he was, but you didn't ask, afraid that it would set off another fight.

Your mind wandered to what he said the night before.

"You're always nagging on me."

"Why do you think something always has to be wrong?"

"You're so fucking crazy."

"I need to get away from you."

Tom saw that you were on the couch and came to the obvious conclusion that you slept there and had not moved. He crouched down in front of you and brushed some loose strands of your hair out of your face.

"I'm sorry."

You could not tell if his apology was genuine. It honestly felt like he was only apologizing just to apologize, not because he truly meant it. But you were so tired; you wanted this to be over.

So you accepted it.

Hello Mr. "Casually cruel"

Things did not get better after that. Typical small arguments turned into big ones and minor disagreements turned into personal attacks.

It amazed you how Tom had so many casually cruel comebacks for you in his arsenal. But you were not so innocent either; some of the things you said to him surprised you.

You started to not like who you have become; you were anxious all the time now and truthfully, you really did not like hurting him. You weren't sure if you could say the same about Tom, though.

One night in February, you were sitting out on the balcony, looking over the Manhattan skyline. You were sipping your tea and heard the sliding door to the balcony open. Tom sat in the chair next to you, running his hands through his hair.

"I think..." he sighed, "....I think we need to break up."

You knew it was coming, but you still were not fully prepared. Tears swelled in your eyes and you squeezed the mug like it was your lifeline.

"We just can't keep doing this, babes," said Tom. "I can't keep doing this."

In your head, you begged him to stop. You pleaded that it was not in fact over; that you just needed to talk things through. You could definitely work through this; it was just a rough patch. But you could not say the words - because a part of you knew that he was right.

You could not keep doing it either.

Both of you sat out there for a while, not saying a word. You still squeezed the tea mug, but the tears you were holding back were falling freely now.

It was over.

- * -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -

You found the energy to shower, blowdry your hair, and get changed into a white t-shirt, jeans, and green jacket. You grabbed your phone, wallet, and keys and tossed them in your handbag.

Jessica was in the kitchen eating a piece of toast. You saw how elated she was when she noticed that you showered and changed clothes. She offered to make you breakfast, but you refused.

"I'll just eat something when I come back."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened. "Where are you going?"

"I, uh...I'm going to Tom's...to get the rest of my things." You picked at the end of one of the drawstrings on your jacket.

"Will she be there?" Jessica asked.

You shook her head. "I don't think so."

Jessica nodded; you noticed that she looked a little relieved. "Well, do you want me to drive you? Just in case you see some paps along the way?"

"Oh. Them," you thought. It did not take long for the media to catch on that you two had broken up. It was partly why you had been hiding out at Jessica's for the past couple of weeks. As much as you wanted her to come with you, you knew this was something you needed to do yourself.

Jessica said she had to work tonight, but promised to come home straight after for a full report, which you laughed at. You said your goodbyes and made your way out of Jessica's building.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that there were not any paps around. You hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address to Tom's apartment. Your old apartment.

You leaned back in the seat and pulled out your phone.

I'm on my way.

You tried not to think too much about it. If you thought about it, you would surely cry. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

The cab pulled up to the front of the building. You paid the fee and got out. You said your hello to Tony, the doorman (who was surprised to see you), and made your way through the lobby, up the elevator, and down the green carpet hall to your old unit. Room 4J

Your hands were shaking a little now, but you tried to brush it off. You turned it into a fist and lightly knocked on the door. It was just starting to hit you that this would be the last time you would set foot in this place, but you interrupted the thought.

"Damn it, you are NOT going to lose it!"

You heard movement from the other side of the door and the jiggle of the doorknob.

There was Tom.

He was wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and socks. His chestnut hair was curly and he had what looked like a cup of tea in his hand.

"Come in."

He did not smile when he saw you; you were not expecting him to, but it stung a little.

You began to scan the apartment, trying to find anything that belonged to you. Then you heard Tom clear his throat.

"Uh...everything's in the guest bedroom," he said.

You looked at him, confused. Since when did he have a guest bedroom?

"We turned it into a spare bedroom after..." his voice trailed off near the end.

Their now guest room used to be your craft room. It had all of your paints, markers, fabrics, and colorful paper that you used to make gifts for friends, co-workers, and loved ones. Of course, all of that was packed up and in storage now.

You sighed a little and made your way down the hall to the guest room. You opened the door and saw a full bed, a dresser with a small television on it, and a bedside table with a lamp on it. In the space between the bed and the dresser was a single medium-sized cardboard box with your name written on it in big, black letters. The handwriting was Tom's.

You crouched down and opened the box. Inside was your favorite tea mug, a spare cell phone charger, some headphones, a scarf, and a paintbrush set you left behind. At the bottom of the box, was a small, red photo album.

You knew immediately what that was. You bit your lip and swallowed. "I'll open that another time," you thought.

You folded the box back up and tucked it under your arm as you got to your feet. You made your way back to the living area and saw Tom sitting on the couch, with his arms crossed. When he saw you enter the room, he got to his feet.

"Do you need help with that?" he asked.

You shook your head. "No," you answered, shortly, "I got it."

Tom let out a small sigh and followed you to the door. You wanted to get out of there. You could feel the dam was about to break. Just as your hand was about to twist the doorknob, you heard Tom's voice let out a small, "I'm sorry."

You bit your lip and lowered your head. "Don't do this! Not here!" you begged yourself. "You don't have to apologize, Tom," you said, surprised that you were even able to get that out of you. Your hand was still clenching the doorknob.

"Y/N, can we please talk?" Tom asked. "I just need to clear the air on a few things."

You could tell he was a little desperate for this. Part of you wondered if this was something he had planned all along. You knew you did not owe him anything, but part of you wanted to hear him out.

You turned around and set the box on top of the kitchen counter. You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Do you want to sit down?" Tom offered. You shook your head. "No thanks."

And it's really such a shame It's such a shame 'Cause I was Miss "Here to stay" Now I'm Miss "Gonna be alright someday" And someday maybe you'll miss me But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

So Tom stood too. He looked you in the eye the entire time he spoke, but he also twiddled his fingers.

"I'm sorry that we ended things the way we did. I'm sorry for the way I treated you, how I yelled at you and insulted you. No one should ever have to hear those words, and I know I should have treated you better. I'm truly sorry."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and bit the inside of your cheek. This was all you wanted - a genuine apology. Now that you finally got it, you weren't sure how to process it.

But you knew you better say something, too.

"I-I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for how I treated you, too. I said some horrible things to you, too, and I wish I could take them back. I'm sorry."

The damn started to break now. A few small tears started to roll down your cheeks. You wiped them away with your sleeve, hoping it would hinder the rest.

There was so much more that you wanted to say to him, but you knew if you did, you would not be able to control yourself. Tom took a step closer to, with the intent to give you a hug. But you held your hand up to stop him, which he respected.

That was when you took a step closer to him, stood on your tiptoes, and kissed him on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Tom," you said, your voice cracking. "Thank you." "I wish you well."

You did not give him the time to speak. You quickly turned around, grabbed the box from the counter, and walked out the door.

You pushed through the doors of the building and walked out into the street. You got lucky again and immediately hailed a cab before saying goodbye to Tony.

On your ride home, you watched people pass on the sidewalk. The box was resting in your lap. The tears you had been working so hard to hold back were starting to fall. But you did not feel any tinge of sadness, anger, or any pain. The feeling in your chest was mostly bittersweet.

You accepted that that was probably the last time you were ever going to see Tom, and you were beginning to feel okay with that. You were also beginning to feel happy that he was fine. Despite the pain that the both of you endured, you truly just wanted to see him happy. And now you finally knew that he wants the same for you too.

You reached up and wiped away the tears that were still rolling down your cheeks. A part of you will always love Tom, but after today, you can finally take the steps to move on.

You know you will be perfectly fine too someday.

Goodbye Mr. "Perfectly fine" How's your heart after breakin' mine? Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby Goodbye Mr. "Casually cruel" Mr. "Everything revolves around you" I've been Miss "Misery" for the last time And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine" You're perfectly fine

Click here to read Part II (Changing Minds)

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #taylor swift #mr. perfectly fine #mr perfectly fine #fic: perfectly fine #fandom: rpf #rpf: tom holland #ch: ofc #ch: reader

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acahope311 · 3 years

Text

Alone Together

Sleepover request

burning-quesadilla said: Can you do Fluff #3 for Glorestor? Also the sleepover idea sounds really fun, I love it & can't wait♥️ ((She/he/they) don’t compare to you. No one does.)

A/N: SOOOOOOO... Hi haha! I am back! I now have more free time to just get back into writing-- I forgot how fun it was to do this. @burning-quesadilla I am sososo sorry it took so long to do this 😭 but I hope you can forgive me and I hope you like it as well. This is technically my first only canon characters fic so... I really do hope I do them justice. But thank you so much for sending this request in! I had such a blast writing it!

Warnings: Death (but as a flashback/dream); sparring; falling; big booboo bruise on the forehead; fluff.

The evening darkness seeped into the glowing halls of Imladris. Although the hour grew late and everyone had retired to their respected quarters, Erestor’s mind continued to storm in the clear summer night. Tossing and turning in his bed, the poor elf could not relax.

“How can I rest knowing that a dark evil has arrived at our door?” He asked already knowing the answer.

His restlessness traveled from his mind to his palms, he needed to busy his idle hands, hoping that in doing so, his mind would calm. Silently, he stood and headed towards the training grounds. Now, normally, Erestor was not one to blow off steam through physical exercise, being a strong advocate of "brain over brawn", but even he knew how therapeutic it was to hit something with a sword- be it wooden or real.

Arriving on the premises, his slender fingers gripped a training sword. It had been a while since he'd gripped anything bigger than a pen, but it was not a strange sensation-- although a scholar, he made sure his body and movements were as sharp as his mind. Facing the wooden post, Erestor practiced his movements, swift and precise.

Lunge. His foot extended forward, bringing him towards his target.

"What is the next move?"

Sidestep. Quickly turning on his heel, he spun and landed a side strike-- chipping the wood.

"How can we defeat this growing malice in the east?"

Deflect. Imagining an enemy, Erestor held his sword up in hopes of stopping an imaginary attack- strangely enough reeling in the process.

"The halflings cannot take this evil alone."

Advance. Focusing once again, the lithe elf ran towards the post, preparing to land the final blow.

"What help can I provide?"

As he was about to land the finishing blow, his ankle caught on a mound of dirt he did not realize he’d formed with his movements. Instead of finishing through, his body toppled over and his face ate dirt-- literally. After a few moments-- thanking Eru that no one was alive to see that--Erestor turned over and laid on his back, in pain and frustration… and maybe a twinge of embarrassment. His chest heaved with difficulty from his exercise, but also with exasperation.

“What help can I provide?”

Still deep in thought, he failed to register the sound of another person moving through the ground to lay next to him. When the other elf laid down next to him, staring at the sky, Erestor jumped.

“Glorfindel?”

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

A horrendous screech echoed through the stone cliffs, wracking the very bones of the elf warrior as he stood, steadfast, against his foe. The balrog of Melkor was no small enemy-- literally. Standing heads above Glorfindel, the creature surged forward with heavy but strong steps, driven with the determination to obliterate him. Under normal circumstances, anyone- with a sound mind- would turn tail and run for their lives. Not Glorfindel, not the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. The mighty elf swung his sword with precision, slicing the thick horn of the balrog. A pained roar blasted the elf back to the edge of the cliff. Looking back to his followers, Glorfindel could see his kin terrified of the events.

“GO! I WILL HOLD IT OFF! KEEP OUR KIN SAFE!” He yelled, his command piercing the howling of the beast and the wind. Turning back to his enemy, he saw the rabid look in its eyes, angered by its wounds. Invigorated by rage, the balrog lunged at him once again, hands outstretched, teeth in a snarl. It was as if evil embodied had come down to smite the golden elf. However, Glorfindel was not one to be tested so easily; quick as a flash, the ellon sheathed his sword deep in the chest of his enemy. It happened so fast that even the balrog itself had no idea what had occurred, rather its body reacted on its own. Black spots danced in its vision as it began to fall over the cliff, into the jagged peaks below. Glorfindel was the victor. A sigh of relief escapes his lips as he looks to the sky sending a silent prayer to his maker.

“Thank Eru.” He closes his eyes and revels in a moment of respite as he feels the wind whip around him and through his golden hair, making it dance wildly in the air.

“Finally, I need to help-” Suddenly the world goes black as a sharp and heavy tug pulls his head abruptly in an inhuman angle towards the abyss after his enemy.

SNAP

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

Glorfindel jolts awake in a pool of sweat. His chest is heaving as he gulps down air. His throat is stinging as he touches it, making him assume that he was screaming. Luckily, his rooms are in their own separate side of Rivendell away from the other citizens.

A dream… No. A memory. Trying his best to steady his breathing, Glorfindel runs through the events of the past few days to anchor him to his present, reminding him that he is not in the First Age, that Balrogs are no longer in this era.

Strange… I’ve not had that dream in such a long time. The air turns cold as he feels like he is being watched. Suddenly he remembers his escapade of saving Frodo from the Nazgul.

The Ring. A restlessness--no, an uneasiness-- falls on his entire being.

“I need to do something,” Glorfindel says out loud. Jumping up, he dresses in training clothes and heads to the training grounds.

A good spar will do me some good.

As he nears the grounds, he hears grunts, pants, and growls. Confused as to who would be here, his first assumption would be Legolas or Estel.

Good, I’d prefer a real sparring partner to a wooden doll.

As he rounds the corner, his eyes widen at the sight of Erestor, the librarian, destroying the wooden doll with such precision and speed that even he was almost impressed. Almost. He noted the fluid movement and purposeful strikes, but he pointed out the lack of determination-- he was distracted.

If he does not pay attention, he’ll- As though reading his thoughts, his dear companion decided that the ground would be his next victim as he fell, face first, into the dirt. The sight of the fallen elleth was enough to lift his spirits up, but he knew he needed to make sure that he was alright. However, Glorfindel is not a cruel man, so instead of letting loose a string of guffaws, he stealthily, walked to Erestor’s panting form on the dirt. As he laid down next to him, a sigh of relief escaped him.

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

“Hello, Erestor. Fine night to lay under the stars.” The golden eldar said calmly. His very presence made his companion even more flustered from fear of having been seen in his tumble.

“What are you doing here?” Glorfindel chuckled as he folded his arms behind his head and sighed contentedly.

“I was taking a stroll, and heard a noise coming from the training grounds. At first I assumed it to be the prince of Mirkwood, but imagine my surprise when I see the counselor of Rivendell flailing a stick around like an elfling trying to wave off an imaginary orc in the night.” His baritone chuckle reverberated through the cool breeze, sending a shiver down the brunette elf’s spine-- not sure if it was because of the chill or his voice. Blushing furiously, he asked,

“Why are you lying on the ground?”

“You face planted. So I am lying next to you just in case someone were to pass by, they’d think we were just resting from a night of sparring.” His answer caused Erestor to choke on his breath.

He saw! An embarrassed moan is pulled from his mouth while Glorfindel smirks.

“Don’t worry, I understand. What weighs your heart that it distracted your training? He asked without looking at him. Erestor is silent for a bit

“I am weighed down by the worries that the halflings bring, Glorfindel. I need to propose a plan of attack and defense. I need-” Erestor’s rant is cut off with his companion’s hand on his mouth.

“You need to rest. Your mind has done more work than your body-- and it is showing with that huge bruise on your forehead.” Self consciously, Erestor covers his bruise.

Cute.

“And there is no use being worried and burdened at the same time, then your punishment is prolonged and double-- believe me. I know.” The tone in his voice held a twinge of sadness that Erestor did not miss.

“Why are you here Glorfindel?” He whispers. When did they move closer?

Silence again. Closing his eyes, the golden elf sighs and confesses his dream.

“Oh Glorfindel… We need to go to the healers, they can maybe give you something for sleep.”

“No, I just… just stay here with me. Your company is remedy enough.” Glorfindel says softly, almost vulnerably. His request pulls at Erestor’s heart and mind.

“I am no healer, Glorfindel. I cannot heal you.” Erestor says, turning to him and propping his head on his arm to better look at him.

“I don’t believe so, our healers are great- do not misunderstand. But to me, they don’t compare to you. No one does.”

Still not looking at him, Glorfindel closes his eyes and just basks in Erestor’s presence with a small smile. A comfortable silence passes, so long, in fact, that the morning birds are beginning to wake. Noting the peace that falls upon Glorfindel’s face, it dawns on him that he should have given him some time to spar.

“I should leave you alone.” Erestor says reluctantly, pulling away. Before he could get far enough, Glorfindel’s hand gently pulled him back.

“I think you could use some alone time as well. So why not let us be alone together, melethen.”

Erestor smiles and nods. Laying back down, the two elven lords lay on the ground, under the dawning sky as the city around them slumbers. Erestor’s mind calmed and his heart felt lighter. A chuckle escaped his lips.

“You know… We should be alone together more often.”

Taglist: @elvish-sky

#glorestor #glorfindel #erestor #tolkien #lotr elves #fluff #writing #fanfic #sleepover #burning quesadilla

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themonotonysyndrome · 4 years

Text

Successors to the Future

I like to get lost on Tumblr when work becomes frustrating and I was immediately inspired by the Second Wive AU from @tri3tri!

If you’re a TW’s fan and enjoy reading yandere content, you just gotta check @tri3tri out. They’re one of the best yandere content creator for the TW fandom!

And since I’ve been playing Blazblue Centralfiction a lot lately and love badass girls, this plot bunny won’t leave me alone and so I want to add a little something to their amazing AU.

FD/N = First daughter’s name/Renata Draconia (half-human, half dark Fae Princess. Malleus & MC’s eldest child)

SD/N = Second daughter’s name/Sherrie or Cherry Draconia (half-human, half-dark Fae Princess. Malleus & MC’s middle child)

S/S = Son’s name/Lucien Draconia (half-human, half-dark Fae Prince and the heir to the throne. Malleus & MC’s youngest child).

MC/S = MC’s surname

“Oh. My. God. What did you do!?”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I got it all under control!”

“Under control - the pasta is on fire! How the - ”

“I can fix this! ...I think?”

“Move. You’re a human disaster, you know that? I told you to wait for me if you’re planning to cook dinner! Now the kitchen looks like an eldritch god just threw up! Mama is gonna be so sad when she gets home.”

“I tried yelling for you, but you were too busy livestreaming Among Us to hear me! Now help me scrap the pasta off the pot while I clean the counter before Mama gets - .”

“Sweethearts?”

Both teenage girls yelp at the sudden voice and instantly turn around. The pot of burned pasta clattered on the dirtied floor. MC looks around her kitchen in exasperation. She was wondering why none of her children didn’t greet her as soon as she got home from work. When she heard bickering from the kitchen, she saw her daughters were frantically cleaning up the mess that was Renata attempt at cooking dinner.

But instead of being upset over it, MC just shakes her head fondly.

“Did you use your fire magic to cook the pasta, sweetie?”

Renata sheepishly scratch her cheek in embarrassment. “I thought it might boil the pasta a lot faster...”

Her younger sister gape at her admittance. MC just smiles as Sherrie proceed to lecture her older sister about using her magic to cook while Renata slowly inch closer to her so she could hide from her sister’s wrath behind their mother.

MC will never get tired of seeing her children so comfortable and vivacious in their own home. A stark difference when they were all living at that place back then. She could still remember how Renata barely smile, barely interact with anyone that wasn’t her parents and little sister. Her Sherrie weren’t any better. Back then, she was too young to understand why the castle’s servants would whisper that the King’s daughters were imperfect because of their human halves. Why their lingering and judgemental eyes would upset her so.

MC could bear being a pet bird living in a gilded cage, could bear Sebek’s condescending remarks, Lilia’s cruel smiles, Silver’s guilty passiveness and even Malleus’ lack of empathy. What she couldn’t bear was how her daughters were treated at the castle. They expected their Princesses to be as aloof and noble as their father, but refused to acknowledge that they were children first and foremost. Refused to accept their human side.

And when the announcement were made public that Malleus would take a second wife to provide him a male heir at the behest of his council, MC decides that it’s time to leave.

Especially when she saw how the news broke her eldest child. That night, she was frightened at how intense Renata hatred of her father. While she could care less about Malleus taking in another woman into the castle, MC never thought that his second marriage would be an act of betrayal to her daughter.

At that moment, MC knew that if they were to stay in that place any longer, she would’ve lost her daughter to her own hatred. They needed to go, they needed to escape.

And so in the dead of the night while the entire Valley of Thorns were celebrating over their king’s second marriage and superior wife, MC and her children scurried away to the only place she could think of.

Night Raven College.

She didn’t know when Lilia or anyone else in the castle would realise her and their princesses’ disappearance, so she begged a stunned Dire Crowley who thought she had died when no one could find her after Malleus graduated to send her home.

The headmaster finally came through for her and her confused, distraught children. Crowley had quietly explained that he already found a way to send her back to her own world years ago. However, she disappeared before he could tell her. A quick glance at the two little girls alongside her and he couldn’t help but grimace with deep guilt.

As atonement, Crowley hurried to grab a few books and journal that he can find about the fae court (both dark and light) and their magic. He pressed the materials into MC’s arms and explained that after she and her daughters step into the mirror, he will shatter and destroy any remaining fragments so that Malleus and his men could never find them ever again. However, MC must teach her daughters about their Fae side and how to glamour their otherworldly features from humans.

MC tackled the headmaster in a hug with tearful eyes, grateful that he could help them. They were then ushered into the mirror and finally, finally, her nightmare was over.

Years have passed since that night. With each passing seasons and being able to explore the world without Malleus’ oppressive court, the castle servants and his retainers, her daughters flourish into amazing young girls.

Their little brother equally so.

As Renata try to persuade Sherrie to allow her to use her magic to clean the kitchen up, MC asks, “By the way, where’s your brother? I’ll just order some takeaway for dinner. They should arrive soon.” As she said this, she already whips out her phone to order their food.

“He was napping in his room.” Sherrie reply her as she wipes the stove clean. Renata grumbled under her breath as she was made to mop the floor manually.

Mc thanked her and left the kitchen to wake her son up. Her son was the unexpected gift that they were blessed with after they crossed to her world. She didn’t expect to be pregnant, but consider how feverishly Malleus made love to her as his way to console her that the other woman and his second marriage would mean nothing to him and that she would still be the only woman he truly loves, MC really should have known.

It was so difficult to hide her joy that with the presence of a second wife, it would mean that Malleus would focus more on the other woman. Which meant Lilia would also need to make sure that she would learn all the proper court etiquette and Silver and Sebek would need to arrange the proper security for her as Malleus’ concubine.

The arrival of her son was unexpected, but dearly welcome by her and his older sisters. Although MC was not able to give her daughters the childhood that they should have, she made sure that her son - Lucien - was raised in an environment that allowed him to be a normal child.

Well, as normal as a half human and half fae could be.

Shaking the lump underneath the thick duvet, she receives a tired groan.

“Wake up, dear. Go freshen up. We’re having dinner in a little while.”

Worming his way out of the duvet, Lucien poke his head out and smile blearily at her. “Welcome home, Mama...”

MC pressed a quick peck on his forehead before ruffling his dishevelled hair. Her son looks so much like Malleus except he inherited her eyes and soft heart. While her oldest daughter is a carbon copy of Malleus and her second daughter looks exactly like her but with Malleus’ green eyes.

She’s so happy that she can provide her children that life that they deserve.

Dinner that night was as lively as usual. Renata was still riding high from her sweet sixteen birthday party that they just had last two days ago. It was quite a celebration and it ended with the revelation of her Unique Magic. Since it was a warm Summer evening, the small family enjoy their meal at the garden outside.

“ - we should totally play Among Us together! Including you, Mama! I think you’d love it!” Sherrie gushes after she pushes her glass of water away.

Renata gasped as if affronted. “Are you trying to tear this family apart!? The moment we suspect someone is the imposter, it’s anarchy unleash!”

Sherrie rolled her eyes at her oldest sister need for the dramatics. “Oh please, you live for the anarchy. You’re the one who started the fire when we played last time.”

Lucien winced as he recalled their last gameplay. “It was a mess. Everyone couldn’t stop accusing one another. My classmates even swore they wouldn’t dare to play with you ever again.”

MC smiles to herself as her children chatted with one another. It always warms her heart to see how close the siblings are to one another. From the stoic and hateful little girl, Renata had grown to be a playful and brilliant young woman. Brilliant in terms of magic. Even from a young age, Renata could control her elemental magic well. MC still remembered how wide she would smile whenever Malleus praises her during their training. After coming to this world, she continued to mastered her magic with the helps of the materials that Crowley provided them. By the age of 14 years old, MC realised that her creativity had led her to combine her elemental magic into an arsenals of powerful spells.

They decide to celebrate her newfound skills out to dinner.

And with the recent discovery of her Unique Magic - Observer - their family is aware that Renata has been experimenting with it almost every day.

“Oh yeah, uh, Mama?” Renata suddenly broke MC from her train of thought. Beside her, Sherrie and Lucien are comparing their two favourite games.

“Yes, dear?”

“Umm... Last night I Observed myself and something came up.” Renata began to explain and she started to fidget in her seat.

MC grows concern over her daughter’s hesitant expression.

“What is it dear? Is something wrong with your Unique Magic?”

“No, no, everything’s fine! It’s just that, well, so you know my Unique Magic give me the ability to observe my possibilities, right? Well, 99% of my possibilities shows that I’m going to participate in Night Raven College’s entrance ceremony soon.” Renata explains.

“Say what?” Sherrie suddenly intervene, eyes wide in surprise. Their own conversation paused.

MC could feel her blood froze at her daughter’s words. Suddenly, she no longer has any appetite for dinner.

“Night Raven College?” Lucien asked, confused at the sudden tension in the air. “I remember Mama said she studied at a place call Night Raven College.”

MC wanted to spare her son what she and her daughters had been through in Twisted Wonderland. But at the same time, she didn’t want to hide their past from him. So he told her all about Twisted Wonderland and Night Raven College. Of the good friends she made during her time at the school. About all sorts of shenanigans they got themselves into.

About a dark fae that she could see herself falling in love with at the beginning of their friendship, but that became a distant dream when Malleus let his fear of her mortality and his selfish, draconic desire to hoard her all to himself overwhelmed him.

No matter how much she tried to pleaded with him, reasoned with him, Malleus refused to yield. He threatened to harm her friends should she ever think of anyone other than him and gave her all the luxury in a world while locking her up in castle full with creatures who believe they’re superior to humans.

Lucien was stricken when she told him everything. In the end, all MC could do was smile sadly and told him that while Malleus might have love her and his children, in the end, it doesn’t mean anything when he allow his own council to dictate that Renata was not suitable to become his heiress just because she’s a girl.

In the dead of the night when Renata couldn’t sleep after they settled down in this world, she went to MC and with tearful eyes yet resolute face, her daughter informed her that she never wanted to be Malleus’ heiress. Having a taste of freedom, everything that this world has to offer to her and the loving support of her family, Renata knew she could be so, so much more than a mere Queen to a backwater country and its people.

And so the thought of her going back to Twisted Wonderland - where Malleus would no doubt still be searching for them - scares MC.

“Is there a way to prevent it?” MC quietly asks, though in her heart, she knows the answer to her own question.

Renata regretfully shake her head. “I can’t make the 1% where I don’t go back to Twisted Wonderland into a reality.”

“And why not?” Sherrie demanded.

“Because in that possibility, I’ll die here from Overblotting.” Renata dryly reply.

That’s the drawback of her daughter’s Unique Magic. While she could observe her every possibilities and acknowledge one and turn it into a reality, Renata can only see hers and not other people’s. Not only that, she cannot changed the many paths that had been laid in front of her. She can only observe and choose. Not altered.

Both Sherrie and Lucien flinch. MC shove the image of her daughter dying as a monster into the back of her mind. Renata lowered her head slightly.

“I... I don’t want to go back there.” Renata whispers. “I want to stay here. All my friends are here.” She raises her head when MC hold her hand and squeeze it comfortingly.

She needs to be strong for her children. Being a single mother wasn’t easy. They used to live with her parents and they were pillars of endless support to MC and her children. They didn’t turned her away when she appeared out of nowhere after months of disappearance with two horned children in tow. Instead, they helped raised and care for her children when she’s out working under long corporate hours.

The kids adore their grandparents and were heartbroken when they passed away.

But by that time, MC was financially secure to move her family into a new house and support her little family all on her own. She understood what it meant to be strong for her children and she will continue to be just as strong.

So with a sigh, MC narrowed her eyes and said, “If we can’t change the outcome, then we will do out best to prepare for everything that will stand in your way, Renata.” All three of her precious children jerk their heads towards her. She press on, “Each one of you posses your own strength; and I don’t mean magical capabilities. Your oldest sister’s greatest strength is her creativity when it comes to magic, Sherrie possess an intelligent mind for planning and strategising and you, my son, I’ve seen how big your heart is. You understands that compassion isn’t a weakness and that’s something the faes from the Valley of Thorns can never understand.”

Sherrie interrupt her speech with an abashed expression. “Uh, I don’t think me playing Total War: Rome II counts as a mastermind, Mama.” She sheepishly said.

Her attempt at the joke lessen the heavy mood a little when Lucien giggle and Renata crack a smile. It’s amazing to see how much her children have grown.

MC playfully roll her eyes. “Be that as it may, what I’m trying to say was that we can help Renata survive in Twisted Wonderland by doing our damn best to prepare her.”

Renata nodded eagerly while Sherrie and Lucien cheer.

And so MC clap her hands once and her children sat straight. “Let’s turn this into a family project. Now, sweetheart, do you know when the Ebony Carriage will pick you up?”

“Hang on, lemme check again...” Renata’s scleras suddenly tinted black and her green eyes glow brightly as she activates her Unique Magic. While she Observe all her possibilities, SD/N left the table to fetch her tablet while MC explains a bit more what being a student of Night Raven College would mean for Renata. After Sherrie sat back down at the table, Renata blink and her eyes return to normal. “I’ll be at the entrance ceremony two weeks from today. The headmaster is going to be so shocked when he sees me.”

MC hums. “Two weeks... we can work with two weeks. We need to prepare a countermeasure when it comes to your father. Words will surely spread that someone that looks like him is attending Night Raven College.”

“I can Observe further ahead what he will do once he realised that I’m there.” Renata said and furrowed her eyebrows, contemplating. “I need to test my magic against other people so I can see if I’m able to fight him or not.”

“Actually, I think I might have an idea on how to handle that.” Sherrie intervene. She’s holding a stylus pen and is scribbling something furiously on her tablet. Lucien crane his neck to see what his sister is writing, only to tilt his head in confusion.

As the family continue to brainstorm into late in the evening, MC silently swore to herself that she won’t leave her daughter all alone to defend herself in Twisted Wonderland. She doesn’t know how, but she will be there with her and still keep her children safe.

And then, the fateful day arrives.

“Next student, please come forth!”

“State thy name.”

“Renata MC/S...”

She said nothing when she heard Headmaster Crowley gasped beside her. “You - how!?

The Mirror of Darkness ignores him. “You were born with a different name, but live proudly under your mother’s legacy.”

“Damn right.” Renata smirks. “I’m my mother’s daughter first and foremost. I’ll continue to live as free as her.”

“Such conviction. You possess a deep desire to protect your loved ones which is both admirable and ambitious with the power that you were gifted with. Becaue of that, the shape of thy soul is a blazing green fire and towers of thorns that serve as your shield. You belong in Diasomnia.” The Mirror of Darkness declare.

The headmaster mutter something about fate playing a cruel joke on his once poor prefect.

And when the current Dorm Leader of Diasomia greeted her, he took a step back when he sees her face and horns. His eyes wide with shocked and words failed him. For every Diasomnia member had seen the tapestries of their previous Dorm Leader and especially one as great and terribly powerful as Malleus Draconia.

“Nice to meet you, senpai. My name is Renata MC/S.” She said as politely as possible. “I’ll do my best not to cause any trouble to this dorm.”

Renata tilt her head and pretend to look confused when her Dorm Leader continue to gape at the sight of her. Whispers of her true heritage and family began to circulate among the crowd.

At that moment, she recalled the advice given to her by her family:

“Don’t show off your spells. Ever. Lay low as much as you can. We can’t really control the rumour mill so let it travel on its own. While you’re there, gather all the intel you can about father and the current affairs in the Valley of Thorns. Anything that can be used against them. Also, you need to watch Bungou Stray Dogs with me. You can learn a thing or two from some of the characters in that anime.” Sherrie had said while showing her tablet and a messy flowchat of her plan. She tapped her stylus pen on the ‘Phase 1’ section with great importance.

“You need to keep your cool, big sis. You like to set the things that irritate you on fire. Like that girl’s handphone after she copied your test paper.” Lucien reminded her. Renata stucked her tongue out while Sherrie laughs.

“You need to make good friends, sweetie. Friends that can help you from the sideline. I have a list of people that might be able to help you against your father. I think it’s safe to assumed that their kids would also be attending Night Raven College too. Though some of them need to be offered a reward or be persuaded to help you first. Don’t worry, I’ll write down on how you can win them over.” MC assured her.

With her family supporting her even from another world, confidence in her magical abilities and a plan already in motion, Renata would not let her other so-called family trapped them ever again.

“It’s showtime...”

Did I really based Renata off Nine the Phantom? Hell yeah! I love her fighting style in the game. I HC that Renata is as badass as her.

I like to continue part 2 to this oneshot next week if my workload isn’t so crazy. I’m having so much fun writing for this wonderful AU!

#twisted wonderland #fanfic #twst mc #malleus draconia x mc #twst kids #Malleus and MC kids #yandere malleus draconia #Draconia Family series #Second Wive AU

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underappreciated-bee · 3 years

Text

Incompatible Intentions

Chapter Two

A/N: This is a Sokka x female!reader and Zuko x female!reader. This is one of my first stories so please enjoy. Also, Y/N is 10 years old in this chapter, making Zuko, Sokka, Azula and Katara 11, 10, 9 and 9 respectively. The year is 94AG.

Can be read on both A03 and Wattpad (same username)

WARNING: mention of a dead body, somewhat hand to hand combat

Also sorry for any spelling mistakes or typing errors. I have proofread this, but sometimes it just skips over my head.

Status: IN PROGRESS

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Y/N- your name

Y/F/N- your father’s name

Y/L/N- your last name

If you’re on Chrome, you can use this extension to personalise your names.

WC: 3.8K

It had been weeks since Y/N had last seen Azula or Zuko. Summer break was over and school was back in session at the Royal Fire Academy.

Despite her numerous pleas to her father, Y/N wasn't allowed to join the rest of her classmates back in school.

Why he had decided to do this; she was unsure. Her father had always seemed to be a patriotic man, proud of the Fire Nation and what it stood for. Recently, however, he seemed different. She even attempted to convince him to let her join him at work. But again, he refused.

Y/N was never one to question her father and mother when it came to most things. She would always listen and do what she was told. But once her father had prevented her from seeing her friends; she wholeheartedly disagreed.

Of course, she didn't do anything drastic for a while. She listened patiently to him- hoping that he had a reason for all of this.

During the first week, she took the opportunity of her confinement to practise her firebending. During her first month, she hung out more in her room, trying to learn traditional Fire Nation Dances. And by the third month, all of her motivation had vanished: she preferred to lay in her bed the entire day.

But on the first day of the fourth month, Y/N had decided enough was enough. And now, she was getting dressed. She changed into her school uniform, readying herself to sneak out and finally go to school. It had been almost five months since she had last seen her friends and she couldn't be happier to hug them again.

It was hard to deny that Y/N missed her friends extremely. Not seeing them for so long left her feeling less than perfect. But every time she missed them, she would look down at her wrist, remembering the meaning of the jewellery that she wore: that no matter where they went; no matter how far apart they'd be from one another; they'd always be best friends. It had been almost a year since that day she thought as she solemnly began to wonder: why hadn't they visited her?

Y/N and Zuko had been friends for just over a year; spending every moment together. Well, that was before her father had isolated her from the rest of the nation for 'whatever reason.'

Unbeknownst to her, her father hadn't agreed with many of the Fire Lord's more recent plans and policies; and instead of allowing his daughter to be surrounded by such ideologies, he chose to shield her from them.

Fire Azulon had plans to raid the Southern Water Tribe, and capture every waterbender there was. The Fire Lord believed this to be the easiest way of reaching Fire Nation supremacy; by destroying all other benders of the elements.

Of course, his plan started long ago with the murder of the Air Nomads- ensuring the permanent destruction of the Avatar. As the Earth Kingdom and Northern Water Tribe proved more difficult to conquer, the Fire Lord believed that the Southern Water Tribe was the next easiest target.

Admiral Y/L/N disagreed strongly with these new plans, arguing that this was genocide. It came to no surprise that these newer, more invasive plans were courtesy of Fire Prince Ozai; his plans for the Fire Nation always seemed more intense than the rest of the Royals. Of course, Fire Lord Azulon agree with his son and dismissed the Admiral's concern.

And even though the Admiral may not have been able to say it aloud, an old family friend lived in the Southern Water Tribe; an old friend whom he didn't wish any harm upon.

Chief Hakoda and Admiral Y/L/N had met when they were children. Their grandfathers' long-lasting friendship transcending generations. Admiral Y/L/N would recall his grandfather telling him stories of a pre-war world of peace and prosperity. Their friendship began during the reign of Fire Lord Sozin, both Y/F/N's and Hakoda's grandfathers had been best friends. When the two had children, it was only natural for their kids to meet and become friends. And that happened, for a while.

And then the Hundred-year war began, and the two friends saw each other less and less; consequently, as did their children. But as the kids grew up and began to reminisce fondly on the memories of one another; they found ways to communicate. And it wasn't long before Hakoda's and Y/F/N's fathers introduced them to one another. The two adults would converse as their children would play, momentarily forgetting the chaos of the conflict that separated their two nations. And as they aged, it became rare for the two to talk: the unwavering concern that the Admiral would be found and killed for treason due to their friendship remained ever-present.

Not too long after the Admiral's objection, the Fire Nation began preparing for their raiding of the Southern Water Tribe: The Admiral continued to advise against the plot that Prince Ozai had put in place, but it was too late.

-------

Y/N was in a different year group to Zuko and Azula and therefore were in separate classes. She wouldn't be able to see them until lunch. Annoyingly, her classes dragged, and as she waited for the lessons to end- she often found herself staring at the clock, hoping it would make time go by faster.

Despite the excitement she had felt for the better part of two hours, Y/N soon began to grow worried at the thought of seeing her friends again.

What if the reason they never visited her was that they didn't care about her? What if they didn't want to be her friend anymore?

Y/N's mind filled with troubled thoughts and she soon began to dread seeing her friends, debating whether or not she should go home.

Why would she think that they cared about her if they never visited her? They probably forgot all about her by now. There was no use in her being there. She should probably go home...

After her class had finished, Y/N slowly made her way to the courtyard, scared to see Zuko and Azula again. She sat down on a bench and pulled out her favourite book; figuring she needed a distraction. It wasn't long before the yard had filled up: occupied by running children playing with one another.

A few minutes had passed when the sound of her classmates gasping and shouting snapped her out of her trance. A concerned look brushing over her features as she stood up, intrigued by whatever was going on. A crowd of children had rushed around two boys; Y/N recognised one of them immediately.

Zuko.

Instantly, she rushed over and joined the others in the crowd. Her heart pumped rapidly inside her chest as she tried to make sense of what was going on. Zuko had a bruised lip, his knuckles appeared swollen; he seemed disorientated. Y/N had to hold herself back as she watched from the shadows. She couldn't get involved. Her parents would be called then she'd be caught, not to mention that Zuko maybe didn't even want her help.

Similarly, the boy Zuko had been fighting looked just as badly injured. Y/N struggled to recognise him until she realised she had seen him before. He was a boy from her history class.

His left eye swollen, much like Zuko's knuckles. His eyebrow had a cut and a bruised had formed on his left leg. Y/N slowly walked closer as she tried to get a better view of the fight. Zuko had knocked the boy to the floor, turning his back to him and walking away.

"You're not worth it," Zuko mocked.

People soon began to lose interest walked away. But Y/N stayed; this felt too easy.

The boy swiftly brought himself up off of the floor, steam blowing from his ears, and spread his legs apart in a fighting stance; taking a deep breath. Y/N gasped quietly, instantly realising what the boy was about to do. All of her responsibilities quickly dismissed as she ran to tackle the boy to the ground.

With full force she landed on him, stopping the lightning bolt he was about to shoot at an unsuspecting Zuko. The lightning shot past his arm barely missing him. The crackling of the electricity made the young prince turn around briskly, a panicked look on his face. His eyes landed on Y/N, as her body held down the boy who he had moments ago pushed to the ground. Instinctively, Zuko ran towards Y/N.

"Y/N what the hell was that?" he asked his worry rapidly turning into anger, at the realisation of what his friend had done, " Why did you do that? He could've hurt you!"

"Yeah well, he was about to shoot lightning at you." she retorted, picking herself up off of the ground. "I'm sorry for trying to protect you." She stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I don't need your help." his words coming off harshly through gritted teeth.

They were more severe than he'd first meant them to be, his face dropping in realisation. Y/N's anger had faded at Zuko's cruel words and she quickly turned away, starting to speed walk back to her bench. Zuko swiftly ran after her.

"Look Y/N I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

She scoffed at his words as she quickly picked up her book, shoving it in her bag, refusing to look him in the eye.

"I was just worried about you. And seeing you on the floor after you tried to save me, well I. I didn't mean it. "

"You sure sounded like you meant it when you said it a minute ago Zuko." she spat back, her anger and betrayal seething through her words.

"Y/N, please," he begged once more, but she refused to look up at him. Giving up on trying to reason with her, Zuko instead opted to question her.

"Where have you been these past four months?" his voice laced with concern.

She took a moment to process, almost as if she couldn't believe what she had heard, "Maybe if you'd bothered to come to find me, you wouldn't be asking that question." Y/N's pain evident as she placed her bag on her shoulder aggressively, before staring Zuko directly in the eyes.

It clicked.

Zuko suddenly realised why she had refused to look at him the entire time they'd talked. It wasn't until that moment that he finally saw the betrayal she hid behind her beautiful E/C eyes. The hurt and anguish she felt by being abandoned by her best friend.

She looked away from him for a second, catching the eyes of everyone that had been staring at them. Briefly, she made eye contact with Azula, seeing her beside two girls, she recognised one of them as Mai, her partner in music class.

Y/N hadn't realised that they had attracted this much attention. Rapidly, she looked to the ground, then back at Zuko.

"I'm leaving."

As she turned away, Zuko intrinsically grabbed onto her wrist. For a short moment, she looked back at him, the tears that had welled up in her eye threatening to escape, before she snapped her wrist away from him and walked home.

This was a mistake.

---------

Arriving home, Y/N slowly walked into the house, carefully and quietly in case someone was inside. She quietly tiptoed towards her bedroom and closed the door behind her; a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

Effortlessly, she got changed into her nightgown before throwing herself on her bed. The cool of the sheets finally grounding her and she began to forget all the problems today had brought with it. She snuggled tightly into the sheets and closed her eyes; a little nap wouldn't hurt.

Abruptly, Y/N opened her eyes. Her heart was beating rapidly as she heard the distant voices of her parents. Seemingly, they were having a conversation about something and had seemed to be doing so for a while.

Y/N rubbed her eyes gently before getting discreetly out of bed. She walked to her door and turned the handle slowly, leaving the door with a slight crack in it so she could hear what was going on.

Despite the open door, she couldn't hear what her parents were talking about any better; they had finally quieted down and were now speaking in hushed murmurs. Y/N immediately became more intrigued as she tried to open her door further to hear what was going on. But the door creaked.

Agonisingly, Y/N looked up and made eye contact with her parents.

Dammit.

"Ma' what's going on?" she asked, her concern quickly turning into panic at the sight of her mother. Had she been crying?

"Y/N sweetie it's ok. Everything's going to be ok." she rushed to her daughter's side and enveloped her in a tight hug, " I promise you it's all going to be ok."

Y/N was remarkably confused. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips pursed.

"Ma' please what's happening?" she looked into he mother's eyes, examining her, hoping she could find out more.

"Y/N, baby, can you go to your room and pack some stuff quickly; only the absolute essentials, ok?" she looked at her daughter to make sure she understood.

Y/n nodded, walking back into her room she glanced at her father who had now sat down at his desk: was he writing a letter?

--------

It had been nine days since that night. Y/N's parents had refused to tell her what was going on, but she was a smart kid. It didn't take long for her to realise what had happened.

What she had yet to figure out was why it had happened; why had they been banished from the Fire Nation? Her mind would often wander back to that day, questioning if it was her fault. Strenuously, she would think back to that night as she desperately tried to remember if she had heard anything that her parents had said: but nothing ever came to mind.

It was a long and tiresome journey, which Y/N had slept for the majority of. She remembers walking a lot and being on a couple of boats, yet nothing stood out to her. It was almost as if she went numb in the following days. Her mind refusing to believe what was happening, yet her body happily obliging to her father's orders: following him wherever he went.

They first travelled to the Crescent Island, the closest land of Fire Nation territory to the Earth Kingdom. From there, they travelled south towards the Chin Village. And there they met him: Hakoda. He was taller than Y/N first imagined. But then again, everyone is when you are a nine-year-old child. Hakoda had arrived on a small boat, accompanied by other members of his village, and soon they began their journey home.

Upon their arrival, the Admiral and his family weren't greeted with pleasantries: as expected. No one felt truly comfortable around the Fire Nation family, which was understandable.

Despite Hakoda's pleas of reasoning, no one wanted to trust them-not completely anyway. This, surprisingly, applied to Hakoda's children. Despite their similarity in ages, and the long-standing friendship between the two families. Y/N found it hard to bond with Sokka and Katara.

As their parents would talk and gossip, Y/N would watch on as Sokka attempted to sword fight, and Katara tried to move a droplet of water from her bowl. Even though she too could bend, Y/N was scared to do so. Scared that if people in the village saw her abilities, they'd cower in fear more greatly than they already had. That they'd isolate her more strongly from the village- if that were even possible. So she held back. She watched on gloomily as the two siblings would bond and play, and she'd be left staring blankly at the snow. But she didn't blame them. Of course, she wouldn't. Why would she, when Zuko and Azula had done the same to her before?

--------

Six weeks had passed in the Southern Water tribe, and Y/N slowly started to feel at home again. Sure it wasn't as warm as her old home, but she found it to be more comforting- even if no one trusted her or her family. Rumours and whispers had started to spread: gossip from other neighbouring villages.

The Fire Nation had arrived.

Upon hearing the news, former Admiral Lee had snapped back into action and quickly dragged all of the abled men and women into one of the igloos, no doubt to prepare for battle. And even if no one had told her, Y/N knew too; she knew they were coming.

When the day finally arrived, all Y/N could do was hide. As her parents and the rest of the men left to defend their home, Y/N hid away inside one of the farthest igloos.

She remembers seeing her parents that morning, waving them an ecstatic 'Good Morning' before running off to play with the penguins. She didn't return until she heard Katara's shaky voice call out to her.

In the past few weeks that Y/N had been there, Katara never dared to talk to her; rarely ever even looking at her. But as she ran up to the young girl, Y/N could see the panic that was plastered on Katara's face. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

The two girls ran inside an igloo, as they hid with Sokka and their grandmother. Neither Y/N's parents nor Sokka and Katara's were anywhere in sight. Were they here? Had the Fire Nation arrived?

Desperately she tried to get answers from Kanna, but the old lady wouldn't budge. Only ever daring to speak to shush or comfort the children.

Then it happened. Then Y/N heard the horn of a ship she never thought she would have to hear again.

A Fire Nation warship.

Subconsciously, Y/N snuggled deeper into Kanna's arms as she tried to comfort herself. She didn't know why the Fire Nation could be here. What could they want? They had banished her family and they left without a fight. What more could they want?

Impatient and worried, Y/N was the first to run out: Kanna's grip too weak to stop her unrelenting determination. She was going to find her parents. Sokka was next, following Y/N outside of the igloo as he ran towards a boomerang on the ground and picked it up.

He wanted to help fight against the raiders. He was a man now- well, he sure thought he was. Highly improbable that a nine-year-old boy would be considered a man. Katara was next, slipping through her Gran-Gran's fingers and running outside into the cold air. Frightened, they all looked at one another as they saw the 'black snow' falling on them.

Y/N swiftly ran towards the front of the village as she tried franticly to search for her parents. Having two fire bending parents was always a great thing in Y/N's eyes. But now, now that they had to use that fire bending to fight against their home nation? Now, she wasn't so sure.

She briefly saw Katara run in the opposite direction, in search of her mother, no doubt. Sokka, though, was right behind her- boomerang in hand- ready to fight.

It wasn't long before she saw her mother. Her ferocious and powerful nature present as she took down Fire Nation soldier after Fire Nation soldier. A proud smile grew on Y/N's lips as she watched her mother take down men twice her size. She had always hoped that one day she'd be as skilled as her.

However, her smile quickly vanished when she saw the tears that had begun to cascade down her mother's eyes; the liquid covering her rosy cheeks.

Y/N abruptly looked in the direction that her mother had not pried her eyes away from; praying she wouldn't see what she thought she would.

But she did.

A distraught whimper left Y/N's lips as she stared at two Fire Nation soldiers, carrying her father's limp body onto the ship.

As she watched the horrifying image play out in front of her, Y/N found it hard to breathe. Her voice stuck inside of her chest as she tried to talk, to scream, to have any sort of reaction. But she couldn't.

Hearing Y/N's cry, Sokka looked away from the group of warriors he was studying and glanced at her.

His body tensed as he saw a single tear drip down the side of her cheek. Following her line of sight, Sokka saw two men boarding a ship with her father's body in their arms. Startled and anxious: he watched as Y/N cried silently, gawking at the ship her father had just been taken to.

He could be alive he thought. He could be alive and only unconscious. They could bring him back. He could be okay. But even he knew that that would be wishful thinking.

It wasn't until Y/N heard a thud on the ground that she finally ripped her eyes away from her father.

Her mother was on her knees, arms behind her head as soldiers cuffed her arms. Y/N looked towards her confused, staring at her for an answer. Then it clicked.

She was surrendering.

Her mother- the most stubborn person she knew, one of the most powerful firebenders in the Nation - was surrendering, and she couldn't do a thing about it.

But she had to do something. She had to go in and help. She had to save them. It was unachievable, that she knew. But she had to try. She couldn't just-

Her thoughts were interrupted as she saw her mother be moved. She was pushed forcefully onto the cold metal of the ship, spitting disgustedly at one of the soldiers. Then, he reacted the only way he knew how- a bright orange flame scorched her mother's skin as she screamed in pain.

The sparkle in her mother's eyes was slowly dying, and as she looked up and at her daughter, they shared a moment of adoration.

They looked at each other for a little while longer until her mother mouthed a final 'I love you' and 'I'm sorry' before being dragged away deeper inside the hull of the ship.

A gut-wrenching, uncontrollable scream escaped her lips as she watched her parents get taken away. The harrowing cry echoed from her chest as she dropped weakly to her knees. Sokka swiftly, dropping down beside her in an attempt to comfort her.

He instinctively stroked her hair and shushed her as he tried to calm her. Long ago, he had given up on trying to fight. His father didn't need him: Y/N did. He brought her closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder- muffling her cries from the Fire Nation soldiers in an attempt to keep her hidden.

His eyes were glued on to her, his mind muddled with ideas on how to help her. If only he had looked up to see his mother get dragged away towards the same fate.

TAGLIST:

@iris-suoh

@sokkaandzukosimp

@kaylove12

A/N: remember to like and share! It shows me you are enjoying the story :)

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cordonia · 3 years

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Lovelink: Hugo Hornsby (Bored)

Rating: PG Word count: 1603 Summary: Hugo Hornsby is late, and Isadora can’t help but feel herself slipping out of his life. Maybe some love fizzles out just like this; tired and bored.

"The games you played were never fun You'd say you'd stay but then you'd run"

Bored. Isadora hunched forward over the diner counter and rested her cheek against her fist, very slowly rolling her eyes. He was late, again, and that was becoming an unfamiliar habit. She was getting bored. The last time she had seen him, she was walking around her apartment in her underwear, making him a coffee while he awaited on the couch. He stared at her hips while rambling on about planetary disease and she just nodded along. Two weeks later, he was...

"Late. So late. I know, I'm so fucking sorry." Hugo Hornsby scrambled onto the neighbouring stool and tossed his wallet down on the counter.

Isadora both cringed and laughed inside when his voice dropped to a whisper as he swore, then rose again with an emphatic sorry.

His cheeks were ruddy and the brown sugar hair upon his head was unkempt. He slept in. And regardless, she was charmed, hidden deep beneath her impatience. Hugo Hornsby was sort of ravishing.

"Good morning, Hugo."

"No smile for your best friend?"

She frowned, deeply, just in time for a waitress to set a cup of coffee in front of Hugo with a lightly toasted bagel with too much butter. They'd only gone to this diner for a few months, but everyone knew their orders quite quickly. It was just far enough from the city that they almost forgot about the real lives waiting for them back home. Almost.

"I'm starting to get the feeling that you don't have time for friends, Hugo. You bailed on Taylor Thursday night too." He flinched, and Isadora braced herself for a pang of guilt, despite its truth.

"Taylor was a mistake, I already talked to him about it. If you two aren't dating anymore, why does he talk to you so much anyways?"

"Bitter-bug." If he was going to act like a child, so would she.

"What did you call me?" His brows furrowed, a crease forming behind the bangs that kept falling in his face.

"You're bitter that Taylor thinks I'm cooler than you. And why we talk is no longer your business, we're allowed to be friends. You introduced us to each other, it's not our fault we're close."

The dating ruse had been fun while it lasted, but soon it became clear that there was a lot more complexity to Hugo and Sally's relationship. They'd been so close, Sally almost gave in. But even if she had, would Hugo have chosen Isadora after everything that had happened? She wasn't sure she would have settled for being a rebound if it was Sally's decision to leave.

"I suppose that one is on me. And I am sorry I'm late, I spent my Friday night marking thirty science tests in my least favourite unit."

"You don't have a least favourite unit," she said bluntly. "How was date night with Sal?"

Hugo shrugged sheepishly, a bit guilty but mostly embarrassed by his lie. She knew he missed their original date night that week because there was no obligatory Instagram post about it. She hated that she knew the inside workings of his whole life. He was very predictable, even if he wasn't calling her as much anymore.

"I wanted to take her to the restaurant her parents brought us to when we graduated, but it was three hours away. We drove all of the way there and it was closed, then got stuck in traffic the whole way home. She's back to not talking to me, again."

"She should have killed you."

"Isadora?" He stared at her so earnestly her heart began to slow, anticipation like a heavy rock on her chest. Time was slow around Hugo, love took a lot more patience than she ever dreamed. "What am I doing?"

Breaking my heart, she silently lamented.

"You're living whatever life you chose for yourself. Very few people choose, Hugo. Don't you feel lucky?"

Maybe it was cruel, but she couldn't look at him as she said it. She wanted him to recoil, to show a glimpse of misery or regret for what could have been. She just didn't want to see it, it would make her too sad to sit next him and know he hurt just as much as her. For what? That was a good question.

Maybe the only look on his face was content and at peace with his choices. Maybe he wasn't hurting like her at all. She couldn't bear to see that either.

"I'm very happy for everything I have. I suppose I could consider myself lucky."

When she finally looked, she really couldn't read what he was feeling. All she knew was that she was soaking up every ounce of exhaustion clinging to the air like radiation. And it all came from Hugo. Who was he these days? Was everyone losing him like this or was it just her?

"I've been thinking about something lately. You don't text me anymore, I know we hang out here and there. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I miss waiting to see your name pop up on my phone during a long shift. It used to make my day, talking to you about the little things. Once upon a time we were just friends on an app and nothing else mattered." Back when it was hopeful to fall in love with him, when he made promises.

Not promises, she supposed, declarations maybe. Ideas. Dreams that turned into bad ideas.

"I miss you too. I know it's been different for a while, I've been torn in so many directions I don't have a brain left to communicate with some days. It's a lousy excuse, but I know how different it's been. It's not just... I really do miss you, I promise."

"Just text me, if you think about me some days and have the time. You don't have to waste any thoughts on me, ever. But if you do," she shrugged.

Hugo rubbed his eyes, sighed a little. "No thought of you is ever a waste, and if I were to text you every time I thought about you, you'd swear I was obsessed with you."

A sad smirk curled Isadora's lip and she leaned a little into his side. They sat facing the kitchen, not looking at each other, shoulder to shoulder.

"Not if I answered back to every one. Then we'd both be obsessed, that would be pretty pathetic I suppose."

"Incurably pathetic." His voice was smooth with a gentle authoritative tone that came from years of teaching.

The romantics dream, a very simple foundation to it at least, is to find someone who actively chooses you. Hugo Hornsby woke up some days and chose Sally, as he had for about a decade prior to meeting Isadora. Then there were other days, when he came over for dinner with her favourite snacks in a bag and sleek button up shirt, almost always green, with a smile just for her. And she swore, however delusional she may have been, that he chose her over and over again.

And then he'd leave. Rinse... repeat.

"Taylor mentioned that they have more auditions on Monday night, I was hoping you'd have time to binge Ito's new cooking show. Netflix gave him a wicked budget; there's a whole episode about trying to teach the prince to make desserts for his fiancee."

Hugo's dimples framed a wide smile, his deep blue eyes sharp under the harsh diner lights. "That sounds perfect! How about I bring some of the wine Sally and I made last summer?"

Isadora nodded, despite the notion of drinking that wine seeming slightly sacrilegious. They'd only ever gotten drunk together one other time, and during a particularly harsh wind storm. She fell asleep on the couch and woke up at 4am, holding Hugo's hand from where he laid unconscious on the floor. No matter how tight she had squeezed, he hadn't woken up. Isadora had cried silently for what seemed like ages, wondering if it was her first and last time to ever hold his hand.

She could never hold his hand in public, never kiss his lips in private, never feel his body curl around hers in a bed they couldn't share. Hugo Hornsby was not her fiance, or boyfriend, or lover.

He was just her friend, shoulder to shoulder with her in a diner on the off-beaten path outside of town.

"If you're bringing wine, I'll provide the cheese. Actually, I'll grab some back up wine too, the temperature drops Monday and we're in for a cold night."

"Perfect!" He cheered excitedly, earning a dirty look from a rather tired looking waitress.

"You're perfect," Isadora smiled. She swore Hugo even blushed. Did he blush for Sally? Did she ever try to get such a reaction from her partner?

"Isadora?" She stared at him expectantly and wondered if she could ever get sick of hearing him say her name. Her arm was still pressed tightly against his side, to the point that she was almost falling off of the stool.

"Yes, Hugo?"

"The butterflies don't go away," he whispered. Those blue eyes were dimmer, dimples disappearing into a tightened jaw. Isadora looked away and rested her head on his shoulder, for just a second. She pretended it was to comfort him and not herself.

"Everything dies, Hugo. Especially the butterflies."

He should know that... it happened with Sally, didn't it?

"And when you walk out the door and leave me torn You're teaching me to live without it"

#lovelink #hugo hornsby #lovelink fanfiction #hugo hornsby fanfic #fanfiction

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an-ambivalent · 4 years

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For Our Friendship [Yandere! Prince! Bakugo Katsuki]

Warning: As this is yandere fiction, this deals behaviours that may be uncomfortable or triggering to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional, I do not condone this behaviour irl.

A/N: This is like meant to be yandere from a platonic perspective but idk I think it can be perceived as romance too so up to you how you interpret it.

Word Count: 3K

Friendship

Katsuki did not live a sheltered life per se. In fact, he was privileged with freedom that many of his status were never granted. Instead of being brought up to be scornful towards those below him in the social status hierarchy, he was encouraged to mingle and interact with children in his age group from all sorts of backgrounds. This was so he would be exposed to different people and their life experiences, learn and grow from them, and become an empathetic ruler who would make decisions that would be best for all of his people and not just a certain demographic.

Even though his mother was feared for her seldom bursts of her brashness and fiery temperament, inhabitants knew of the kind and caring woman she was underneath her exterior. For that reason, they respected and loved her. The King was just as loved for his compassionate and understanding nature. With two wonderful parents like they were, people often wondered how Katsuki ended up as the way he did.

It was evident to everyone from his toddler days that Katsuki had something akin to a superiority complex. Granted he used to attack others with insulting jeers and emphasise his own importance above theirs, but no one ever really paused to spare it too much thought. After all, with how his parents was, certainly he would turn out to be a fine young man someday. He would not be a cruel and selfish King like Endeavour from their neighbouring Kingdom. He would be just like his parents, kind and thoughtful, there was nothing to worry about.

If only everyone had known.

In his group of friends and friends of friends alike, they would meet at the outpost that was just beside the castle but was never used for anything essential. In the evening, when the days were longer in summer, 5 pm meant the sun still shone heavily and burnt on people’s skin. It was easy to sweat from simply sitting idly. 5 pm was just an hour or so before the temperature transitioned from being hot and icky to the relaxing and soothing evening breeze and the sky being painted with soft pastel shades of pink, purple, and blue. 5 pm was generally when majority of the people’s responsibilities and work hours for the day started to come to an end, and children, like the freaks they were, bustled with energy and excitement to play together.

Of course, seeing as how Katsuki was the heir to the throne and was going to lead this country one day, it made sense that he was the leader for his friends’ group too. Sometime in the future, they would come to serve him and he was going to be their authority. It only made sense that his lackies established their positions now so they knew where they would stand with him in the future.

They were going to play KING again because it was Katsuki’s favourite game to play. It was the perfect fit for him. Being the most important and strongest person who killed all the bad guys, saved the pretty princess and remained victorious — it enthralled Katsuki.

The blond pointed the tip of his toy sword towards the only girl who ever bothered to hang out with them. Little [Name]’s eyebrow started twitching in annoyance before Katsuki had even opened his boisterous mouth.

“[Name]’s the princess, I’m the king, and the rest of you are the evil goons I’m gonna beat up!” Katsuki exclaimed proudly, puffing out his chest and grinning ear to ear. There were collective sounds of groans and complaints heard throughout the small crowd of children. While they understood that they should do what Katsuki wanted, playing the same game over and over again with the same roles was beginning to become boring.

[Name] was the first one to speak out.

“I don’t want to be a princess again. You make me sit out on the action each time. I want to be the evil goon this time! Be the breeder of darkness and cause mayhem!” she claimed excitedly, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. In response, Katsuki’s eye twitched in annoyance and he opened his mouth to respond. However, he did not get the chance to speak because following [Name]’s example, others began to speak out too.

“Yeah! I don’t want to be the evil goon again, I’m sick of being on the losing side. I want to be the king and be the winner for once!”

“No I will be the king! I’ll do a better job in fighting than you!”

“No! I want to be the king!” and so on everyone started to claim. It turned into chaos as one tried to shout over the other, and tried to justify why they would be the best suited for the new role they wanted to play. For the first few moments of the chaos, Katsuki simply watched others make their claims, his eyes shifting back and forth between different people. However, after the claims turned into yelling and they began to become louder with each passing moment, what was happening finally occurred to him: his position of authority and power was being challenged. Not only that, but if someone other than him played the king, then that meant they would be the one who would end up rescuing his [Name]. She was his best friend, only he deserved the honour to protect her.

Truthfully, no one cared about protecting [Name]; they were simply fighting to be the king because that was the cool position. But that was not how Katsuki perceived it. In his eyes, they were all challenging him because they wanted to replace his self-proclaimed position of [Name]’s best friend.

Anger boiled in him and he gritted his teeth. He exhaled slowly and while doing so, he scrunched his nose. This was a clear sign that conveyed he was about to unleash his fury.

“SHUT UP DAMMIT! I’M going to be the king, no one else!” he bellowed. The loudness of it caused everyone to halt and turn towards Katsuki. By this point, majority knew that an angry Katsuki was not an ideal Katsuki to be around. Slowly but surely, fear began to appear on his ‘friends’ faces and they all started to back away. Katsuki jumped from the empty beer barrel he was standing on and onto the ground, before he glared at them. He was going to go off, however before he could, [Name] stepped up in front of him.

Momentarily, when her eyes gazed into his, his eyes softened. But they hardened in annoyance again once she spoke.

“Katsuki you’re being unfair,” she pointed out. Instead of giving her a verbal reply like everyone was expecting, Katsuki growled. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist in a tight grip and dragged her away from everyone else.

Katsuki made them turn into a secluded corner where they would have their privacy, before he cornered [Name] into a wall. Rather than being intimidated by him, [Name] held her stance, although she was frowning.

“You think I’m unfair?”

[Name] was about to answer, but Katsuki shook his head. He stepped closer to her and put both his hands beside her head. Feeling uncomfortable with having her personal space invaded, [Name] shrunk into herself.

“Don’t do that ever again, don’t question me ever again. I’m the only one you will listen to, and who protects you. You’re my friend. No one else’s.”

Enemies

It was well known that Katsuki had a fiery temper, and lost his patience easily; and it was also known that when it came to [Name], he was more relectuant in losing his temper, and compared to others, he was more generous and patient with her. But even Katsuki had limits that she should not have crossed. Granted that these limits that Katsuki considered generous would be viewed as toxic and harmful behaviour by an average person’s standard. However, that was not the case for him. In his eyes, he was one of the kindest and sweetest to [Name]. That’s why it really pissed him off when she pushed him past his limits.

Ironically, it was a beautiful sunny day for the events that had taken place. Gone were the carefree days that consisted of childhood laughter and playing until the sun went down. Now, they were older, and forced to mature through inevitable responsibilities and needing to contribute their own part to the country. In terms of lifestyle and the occupation that fed them, some were more fortunate than others. While her occupation was not the most ideal, [Name] never pondered over it too much because it helped her live a decent life and she did the best she could with it. She always reminded herself that it could always be worse.

Being a maid at the royal castle was not the worst. Sure, she had to spend most of the hours in her day doing chores and other things she did not like, but it was tolerable. She did not need more, she got enough to support herself and everyone she worked with was nice to be around. She was okay, even if Katsuki did overstep professional boundaries was intolerable, and did not leave her alone like she wanted him to. She reassured herself that she was fine despite her distaste for his overbearing tendencies and how he always bullied others if they ever interrupted ‘[their] time together’. She continuously tried to affirm to herself that her powerlessness against him did not bother her, or the fact that he always tended to pick on one of her closest colleagues in particular.

She could only be in denial about her issues and avoid dealing with them for so long.

It was on that one particular sunny day when she found that Katsuki was hovering over her closest friend, Izuku. There was a crowd consisting of other maids, butlers, and common workers of the castle surrounding them. Some even refused to look Katsuki’s way, and others had their mouths hung open in horror. They were left speechless due to the unbelievable gruesome sight that they had seen.

[Name] had rushed through the crowd and made her way to the front. She gasped when she saw Izuku lying on the floor with many bruises and wounds covering him, and blood gushing out of him. Right away, her eyes averted to Katsuki who was looking down at Izuku with a bright grin on his face, seemingly looking proud of what he had done.

“That should teach you to not play the hero and tell me how I should be treating [Name]. Learn your place, and stay away from her. And stop bothering her when she’s spending time with me,” Katsuki went on to proclaim. However, he was not given the chance to speak any further because [Name] had roughly pushed past him and ran towards Izuku’s beaten up body on the floor. She dropped to her knees so she could be closer to Izuku’s eye-level. Then, she started to rip bits of her apron and began to use those bits to wrap whatever wounds of his that she could. At the sight of his barely conscious form, tears welled up in the corner of her eyes.

An expression of fury had appeared on Katsuki’s face when [Name] pushed past him, and when he had noticed that it was her, his eyes had softened momentarily. But when he saw that her attention was focused on the dumb good-for-nothing Deku, instead of him like it was meant to, he became prepapred to unleash his wrath.

He stomped up to her and grabbed her roughly by gripping her upper arm.

“What the hell are you doing?! I thought I told you stay away from him!” Katsuki snapped.

Despite the tears in her eyes, [Name] only looked at Katsuki with cold eyes that were etched with revulsion.

“I’m staying away from you,” [Name] hissed, as she yanked her arm out of his grip. Subsequently to this, she picked up Izuku gently, in order to take him to the infirmary.

“You disgust me. Don’t come near me or my friends ever again,” she seethed, making Katsuki freeze due to her hurtful words. As a result, he simply watched her carry Deku out of his sight with feelings of betrayal, sorrow, and anger weighing heavily in his heart.

My sweet

Approximately, two weeks had passed since [Name] had seen Katsuki beating up Izuku which had resulted in her cutting her ties with him off for good. Although, she had done that, seeing Katsuki was inevitable since she did work at the castle. Fortunately, because her colleagues had witnessed the entire situation with Katsuki, they were understanding of her position and went out of their way to support her. Her superior made sure to give her shifts when they knew Katsuki was preoccupied with his duties and studies. This lessened the chances of him going out of his way to corner her. [Name] was also assigned to work in parts of the castle that were far away from Katsuki as possible, and whenever someone saw him turning a corner, her colleagues made sure to hide her and help her get out of his possible line of sight.

[Name] was grateful for everything they did for her, and she felt blessed with how thoughtful and brave her colleagues were; rather than leaving her alone out of possible fear from what Katsuki may do to them, they had reunited and chosen to support her. It strengthened their bond; however, surprisingly, their efforts weren't needed. To everyone's surprise, Katsuki had left [Name] alone like she had told him to. While that was something [Name] was thankful for, somewhere in the pit of her stomach, she could not help the inkling feeling that Katsuki was simply biding his time. The Katsuki she knew would never back off so easily. Pondering on such thoughts left her feeling jumpy and on edge.

Presently, [Name] was mopping the floors of one of the many hallways of the castle when she was approached by one of the butlers, who wore an expression of unease on his face. From the look on his face as he stopped in front of her, [Name] knew whatever he was going to say to her was not going to be good. Her stomach twisted itself in knots due to her rising nerves.

"[Name], Prince Katsuki requires your presence,” he said, and just after those words were uttered, [Name] felt her heart drop to her stomach.

“I, I-I’m presently preoccupied with my chores. Can I not see him sometime else?”

The butler shook his head and gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid not [Name]. He insisted that he needed to see you right away and that if you do not see him he can’t guarantee if Izuku will continue to receive his treatment.” This caused [Name]’s shoulders to tense and instantly she threw her mop on the floor carelessly, and quickly ran towards Katsuki’s room.

She threw his door open roughly. As she entered his bedroom and her eyes met his ruby ones, Katsuki clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“Make sure to shut and close the door gentler than how you threw it open,” he remarked sharply, narrowing his eyes. In response, while [Name] did as she was told, she still glared at him. Then, she stomped up to Katsuki until she was right in front of him, and started to roughly poke him in the chest with each word she spoke.

“What the hell is your problem with me?”

Katsuki grabbed her by her upper arms before he pulled her right into him. He wrapped his arms around [Name]’s waist tightly as he nuzzled his face into her hair. She tried to pull herself out of his grip, and she was close to succeeding. However, she halted in her movements when she felt Katsuki’s warm breath lingering near her ear, and he spoke the threat that made her freeze.

“Try to force yourself out of my grip one more time and it would be a shame if your parents were to suddenly lose their jobs,” he threatened. Even though [Name] had physically stopped, it did not mean she had given up entirely.

“You can’t do that. I know a heartless bastard like you would do that but your parents wouldn’t let you abuse your power like that,” she retaliated.

“I hate it that you’re right; they wouldn’t let me abuse my power. At least, not without a valid cause. But I think that you and I can both agree that it would be a shame if the essential royal jewels that recently went missing were suddenly found in your parents belongings, don’t you think?”

[Name]’s shoulders tensed and she snapped her eyes up at Katsuki in disbelief.

“You wouldn’t.”

Katsuki smirked. “Wouldn’t I? Do you really want to test me?”

[Name] gritted her teeth in anger.

“What the hell do you want Katsuki?" [Name] asked in a murmur.

Katsuki tsked at her tone of voice in displeasure.

"All I wanted to do was give my own personal maid a warm welcome and congratulate you for earning that position," he began in a soft whisper, as he tucked a lock of her behind her ear.

"What?" [Name] asked, feeling utterly baffled.

Katsuki sighed.

"You know [Name], when you went to Izuku instead of me and told me you weren't going to bother with me anymore, I must admit it really hurt. But, I was so hurt it made me keep my distance from you. And doing so, gave me time to reflect and think about how I could truly have you all to my myself, even if you wanted nothing to do with me.

"So I thought, well, why don't I just make you my maid? That way, you will not only get paid more but we can spend as much time as we want together without someone else interrupting us. This way, you'll have to do whatever I tell you to do and I'll have you all to myself."

#yandere x reader #bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo #boku no hero academia imagines #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere prince #yandere prince bakugo #yandere imagines #ambivalent writes

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 3 years

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random thoughts while i’m re-reading sansa ii and sansa iii.

but i haven’t yet written down properly for the project sansa thing

Sansa II

Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold.

Sansa II is about Sansa’s naive outlook in life. In here, she literally sees the world through gold tinted lenses.

The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind . . . and the knights themselves, the knights most of all.

"It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies.

The knights, most of all. This chapter should give us Sansa’s true knight, amongst all the false knights.It may even not be a knight, a she begins with this chapter quite idealistic but ends it knowing true knights are cruel (Gregor Clegane), and who wins the Tourney of the Hand is Sandor Clegane, who’s not a knight.

They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

Most likely, metaphoric for all of Sansa’s “true knight” candidates, or knights she finds through her journey. The Tourney of the Hand features in narrative order:

The seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled armor the color of milk, their cloaks as white as freshfallen snow. > Sansa’s tenure in King’s Landing. These knights follow Joffrey’s orders in abusing Sansa.

Ser Jaime wore the white cloak as well, but beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lion's-head helm and a golden sword. > Jaime Lannister stands apart from the other kingsguard, as he ignores Cersei’s orders to find Sansa and instructs Brienne to find her, giving her a lion’s head golden sword. He’s actually portrayed as a fool in this chapter, could be Dontos Hollard.

Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, thundered past them like an avalanche. > Petyr Baelish is narrativelly connected to giants.

Sansa remembered Lord Yohn Royce, who had guested at Winterfell two years before. > Sansa’s tenure at the Vale.

Septa Mordane pointed out Lord Jason Mallister, in indigo chased with silver, the wings of an eagle on his helm. > A winged knight, still at the Vale.

The girls giggled over the warrior priest Thoros of Myr, with his flapping red robes and shaven head, until the septa told them that he had once scaled the walls of Pyke with a flaming sword in hand. > A priest of R’hllor and the wall, along with a flaming sword in hand. We can think of Jon at the Wall, but we can also think of Brienne and Thoros of Myr proper as well considering the end of ADWD.

END PARAGRAPH. Chronologically, this fits the narrative. It may suggest these knights are the ones that shape Sansa’s journey. I’m not convinced of this because of how many other knights are mentioned after this.

The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. (...) His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one. (...) It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told herself. The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it.

As many have theorised, this may foreshadow Harry Hardying’s death. Indeed this guy dresses exactly like him, pretentiously with the Arryn coat-of-arms. Interestingly, Sansa says that she’d care if he meant something to her. Around the time Harry is likely to die, Jon is dead at the Wall. Sansa won’t care about Harry, but she’ll care about Jon.

Ser Loras (...) was the youngest rider on the field, yet he had unhorsed three knights of the Kingsguard that morning in his first three jousts. Sansa had never seen anyone so beautiful. His plate was intricately fashioned and enameled as a bouquet of a thousand different flowers, and his snow-white stallion was draped in a blanket of red and white roses. After each victory, Ser Loras would remove his helm and ride slowly round the fence, and finally pluck a single white rose from the blanket and toss it to some fair maiden in the crowd.

The ideal knight, dressed in blue, with the rose thematic. Interestingly, he fights against a Royce and wins. There have been many essays about Loras paralleling Jon here.

However, Brienne also dresses in blue, she wears a blue armour, and whose childhood features a bad memory about a Ser Ronnet offering her roses but was actually mocking her behind her backs. Jon is also thematically linked with blue and roses through his mother, who loved blue winter roses.

It is my conviction Sansa’s true knight is Brienne, not Jon.

To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." (...) She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off. When Sansa finally looked up, a man was standing over her, staring. (...) "You must be one of her daughters," he said to her. He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. "You have the Tully look." "I'm Sansa Stark," she said, ill at ease. (...) "Your mother was my queen of beauty once," the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. "You have her hair." His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away. By then, the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so the king decreed that the last three matches would be fought the next morning, before the melee.

If we take this all in a chronological order, we have all the knights listed, then Loras Tyrell (Brienne, who started looking for Sansa in ACOK / ASOS), then we have Littlefinger seeing someone else in Sansa but she’s sure of whom she is (Petyr taking Sansa to the Vale, as Alyane Stone), the night comes (winter).

Sansa and Septa Mordane were given places of high honor, to the left of the raised dais where the king himself sat beside his queen. (...) She could not hate Joffrey tonight. He was too beautiful to hate. He wore a deep blue doublet studded with a double row of golden lion's heads(...). Sansa looked at him and trembled, afraid that he might ignore her or, worse, turn hateful again and send her weeping from the table.

A raised dias over everyone else (Wall), Joffrey in blue (Jon as a “Stark”), Sansa is afraid he’ll turn hateful and send her away. This is actually legitimate fear, as Sansa would go to the Wall, yet still afraid Jon would send her away. Jon actually thinks doing this to Arya somewhere in ADWD, the Wall is no place for a woman. It’s also in chronological order with the previous paragraph’s interpretation.

Instead, Joffrey’s perfectly civil, but we must remember he’s Jon’s anti-parallel so whatever’s written about the former reflects in the latter either as a parallel or an anti-parallel and that’s kind of though to figure out.

He raised his hand to summon a servant with a flagon of iced summerwine, and poured her a cup. (...) The servants kept the cups filled all night, yet afterward Sansa could not recall ever tasting the wine. She needed no wine. She was drunk on the magic of the night, giddy with glamour, swept away by beauties she had dreamt of all her life and never dared hope to know. (...) And Joffrey was the soul of courtesy. (....) A thick soup of barley and venison. Salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Snails in honey and garlic. Sansa had never eaten snails before; Joffrey showed her how to get the snail out of the shell, and fed her the first sweet morsel himself. Then came trout fresh from the river, baked in clay; her prince helped her crack open the hard casing to expose the flaky white flesh within. And when the meat course was brought out, he served her himself, slicing a queen's portion from the joint, smiling as he laid it on her plate. She could see from the way he moved that his right arm was still troubling him, yet he uttered not a word of complaint. Later came sweetbreads and pigeon pie and baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and lemon cakes frosted in sugar, but by then Sansa was so stuffed that she could not manage more than two little lemon cakes, as much as she loved them. She was wondering whether she might attempt a third when the king began to shout.

This is similar narrative to Sansa I, especially becomes it features the “return of the trout” and the queen imagery. I proposed in my post on Sansa I that its subtext was about Sansa becoming queen and that Joffrey was a stand-in for Jon, and that their day together foreshadowed the northern campaign. I also mentioned Joffrey’s behaviour could be seen under two different ways, either parallel or anti-parallel, especially when Joffrey is a little shit.

Entrées: no fucking idea, but apparently it involves Jon offering a “snail in honey” to Sansa. I’m... I don’t know.

Fish Course: To remember from Sansa I: “ It was a day for adventures. They explored the caves by the riverbank, and tracked a shadowcat to its lair, and when they grew hungry, Joffrey found a holdfast by its smoke and told them to fetch food and wine for their prince and his lady. They dined on trout fresh from the river, and Sansa drank more wine than she had ever drunk before. "My father only lets us have one cup, and only at feasts," she confessed to her prince.”

I proposed it was interesting because it included conquering the riverlands (exploring the caves by the riverbank would be checking out riverlords for their cause, tracking a shadowcat to its lair would be chasing the lannisters back west, and dining on trout meant taking Riverrun). This time, “her prince helped her crack open the hard casing to expose the flaky white flesh within.” can be seen as foreshadowing a siege of Riverrun that goes well

Meat Course: To remember from Sansa I, Joffrey is humilliated and consequently never forgivies Sansa, so she’d never be a successfull queen married to her (if he was planning on that at all, since he jumped so easily to Margaery). I proposed that Jon as Joffrey’s anti-parallel would be humilliated in battle but he’d move past it (this is basically what happened in the Battle of Winterfell, he got humilliated and he saved her arse, and even expected him to be angry with her but he went all targ sibling on her forehead instead).

In here, we see what I proposed for Jon to go past it reflected, as Joffrey serves Sansa the queen’s portion, smiling as if all is forgiven despite the source of humilliation being present as “She could see from the way he moved that his right arm was still troubling him, yet he uttered not a word of complaint.” Nice guy Snow, thank you very much.

Dessert: No idea, but a few infamous ones are featured. The pigeon pie present in the purple wedding, cinnamon apples in one of Bran’s banquets (the one he’s given the king’s portion as well), and lemoncakes (three of them), magic number.

Sansa started as Joffrey laid his hand on her arm. "It grows late," the prince said. He had a queer look on his face, as if he were not seeing her at all. "Do you need an escort back to the castle?"

The nice atmosphere is broken because Robert is a dick and fights with Cersei. Joffrey then decides to be a dick as well. This also featured in Sansa I, a boy and a girl fighting, then Joffrey makes a dick of himself.

"You do not tell me what to do, woman," he screamed at Queen Cersei. "I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!"

Hopefully, that’s a metaphor for Aegon telling Daniella to go fuck herself, he’s the king of westeros and she does not tell him what to do. I did those dragon posts where Rhaegal (representative of Jon) seems to take take offence of Viserion (Aegon) getting trolled repeatedly.

Sansa could feel the Hound watching her. "Did you think Joff was going to take you himself?" He laughed. He had a laugh like the snarling of dogs in a pit. "Small chance of that." He pulled her unresisting to her feet. "Come, you're not the only one needs sleep. I've drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow." He laughed again.

Joffrey didn’t take Sansa back to Winterfell, but Jon did.

Sansa III

This chapter is completely “useless” at first glance, except for Sansa and Arya’s second squabble, which is when Ned has the ephiphany that Joffrey isn’t Robert’s kid. Other than that, it features a recap of the chapter before, two Sansa and Arya squabbles, and Ned’s "favoritism” (not really, just guilt over his sister) over Arya. So what is this chapter’s for outside of that? The subtext of course.

"Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey." She tried to smile bravely for him. "I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies." "Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me." (...)

"Stop that weeping, child," Septa Mordane said sternly. "I am certain your lord father knows what is best for you."

Urgh. lmao.

Ned promises Sansa a high-lord, who’s brave, gentle and strong, that he is no aemon the dragonknight. The latter is the “easier” one, because Jon will remembers much later that he used to say he was Aemon the dragonknight in childplay. Just one out of all that, doesn’t seem promising, eh?

After this, there’s Sansa and Arya cluing in Ned over Joffrey being a bastard aprading as the heir to the Iron Throne, which is the anta-parallel to Jon. As I said in Sansa I post, this could be foreshadowed in the sisters squabbling over Rhaegar’s rubies. It comes in chronologically order, the motifs of the fight at the Trident are similar to what’s used all over GOT, etc etc. So Jon is here again (he was present in that segment in Sansa I as one of Rhaegar’s ruby), for some reason.

Going back to the beginning of this chapter... the conversation is kind of odd, it goes all over the place. They talk of what happens in there, then Sansa randomly remembers a dream for no reason, and wanders in her mind over this and that. It’s kind of schizophrenic writing... unless it’s kind of awkward because it’s meant to say something else in the subtext... So...

“He wouldn't send Ser Loras," Sansa told Jeyne Poole that night as they shared a cold supper by lamplight. (...) Her father's decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she'd been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan's stories come to life. (...) And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father's decisions.

There have been plenty of essays comparing Jon to Loras Tyrell. This is especially important in Sansa II / Sansa III because Loras is wearing blue (odd choice, as his house colours are green) and roses, thematically connected to Jon’s mother. Ned thinks the kid is too young to be a hero, which is an interesting paralell to him refusing Jon to go to the Wall at first because he was also too young. We can also look at Ned taking Jon as his bsatard son, as taking away the chance to be the song hero. He went from a prince of roses (urgh) to a bastard.

That was when Lord Baelish had said, "Oh, I don't know, Septa. Some of her lord father's decisions could do with a bit of questioning. (...)" (...) He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow."

Ned’s decision of taking Jon as his bastard will be questioned of course and the truth will come out. Life’s not a song and Lyanna made Ned promise to protect Jon, because Robert would have killed him if he had found out. But Jon has a song, the song of ice and fire. Shut up Littlefinger.

"Ser Ilyn's the King's Justice, not Ser Loras," Jcyne said. "Lord Eddard should have sent him." Sansa shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, she shivered. He made her feel as though something dead were slithering over her naked skin. "Ser Ilyn's almost like a second monster. I'm glad Father didn't pick him." "Lord Beric is as much a hero as Ser Loras. He's ever so brave and gallant." "I suppose," Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward's daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn't been half his age.

(...) "I saw your sister this afternoon," Jeyne blurted out, as if she'd been reading Sansa's thoughts. "She was walking through the stables on her hands. Why would she do a thing like that?"

Instead, Ned chose Beric Dondarrion. There have been plenty of essays that compared Ilyn Payne to Ramsay Bolton (dead eyes and taking over the Stark legacy, etc), and Beric Dondarrion to Jon Snow (dresses in house targ clothes and was ressurrected by a priest of r’hllor, etc). The fact that Ilyn Payne is brought up by Jeyne Poole of all people and after an intermission with the white hart dream, she also mentions Arya, therefore it could be a heartbreaking nod to fake!Arya plotline.

As we also know, Ramsay and Jon have been locked into a bizarre war of wills up north, precisely over fake!Arya. Likewise Beric dying in the middle of his “mission” for the Starks and then ressurrected by a priest of R’hllor, Jon also died while he was going to retake Winterfell and save fake”Arya and its likely he’ll be ressudrected by a priest of R’hllor. In the show, Sansa took over fake!Arya storyline.

It’s interesting to note Beric is awfully old at “twenty-two”, because that’s Jon’s age give it or take it at ADWD if the timeskip between ASOS and AFFC / ADWD have happened (he’s seventeen or so then). It’s worth noting that Beric is said to be “brave”.

“I had a dream that Joffrey would be the one to take the white hart," she said. It had been more of a wish, actually, but it sounded better to call it a dream. Everyone knew that dreams were prophetic. (...) "He shot it with a golden arrow and brought it back for me." In the songs, the knights never killed magical beasts, they just went up to them and touched them and did them no harm, but she knew Joffrey liked hunting, especially the killing part. Only animals, though.

This one is interesting, because it’s sandwiched between the Ilyn Payne and Arya Stark, which could be a mention to the northern tug of war between Ramsay and Jon mentioned above. As we know though, Jon is one that would fit Sansa’s dream, because not only he protected the direwolves who are magical beasts, he took the white direwolf for himself. “Only touch them and not harm them”, dare I say... gentle? Not only that, the anti-parallel btween Joffrey and Jon is fuelled further since Jon took Lady (and later, he’ll be brigning the white wolf Ghost) back to Sansa while Joffrey took her away.

"There was a black brother," Sansa said, "begging men for the Wall, only he was kind of old and smelly." She hadn't liked that at all. She had always imagined the Night's Watch to be men like Uncle Benjen. In the songs, they were called the black knights of the Wall. But this man had been crookbacked and hideous, and he looked as though he might have lice. If this was what the Night's Watch was truly like, she felt sorry for her bastard half brother, Jon.

Yoren of the Night’s Watch and it’s self-explanatory, since Jon as a member of the Night’s Watch is even mentioned in this segment. It’s also worth noting that Sansa fantasises the Night’s Watch to be men like Benjen Stark, the black knights of the Wall... dare I say... strong?

It’s also worth noting Sansa’s disilusion with the Night’s Watch comes after a segment that may foreshadow Ramsay and Jon “fighting” over fake!Arya, then Jon being murdered and ressurrected. Which fits eprfectly with Jon’s own disillusion with the Night’s Watch that he felt in the beginning of AGOT but also in the show when he got ressurrected. Not a happy panda.

“And later these two brothers came before him, freeriders from the Dornish Marches, and pledged their swords to the service of the king. Father accepted their oaths . . . “

The Dornish Marches are slightly north of where Jon was born, at the Tower of Joy. Bascially, the next town towards the north is located at the Dornish Marches. In the show, Jon basically pledged his sword to Sansa (Ned’s narrative heir) as well, there’s even a close-in on his sword before they re-meet at Castle Black. Strangely, Sansa IV features Sansa believing Ned’s plans to take her back to Winterfell and the promised match is a hedge knight which is a freerider without a knighthood.

So, in summary, Sansa reports on three men “auditing” Ned. Loras Tyrell, the true hero, which Ned refused and could correspond to Jon as Lyanna Stark’s son due to the narrative uses of blue and roses and refusal. Beric Dondarrion, Ned’s chosen hero, and could correspond to Jon and Ramsay’s tug-of-war with Arya. Finally, Yoren, and could correspond to Jon defecting the Night’s Watch for being disillusioned after being killed by them, something that was rpesent in the show’s foreshadowing all the way back in season 3. Not only is the story presented chronological, after Beric being “brave”, Sansa randomly recalls the white hart dream (”gentle”) and Jon as a black kngith of the wall (”strong”).

So, Jon could actually be lurking in the subtext of that bizarre conversation between Sansa and Jeyne Poole.

The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya.

The dessert again.

The next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch Lord Beric form up his men.

The men preparing to war. Still goes on well chronologically with the conversation before. It had stopped at Jon quitting the Night’s Watch and pledging to Sansa.

"Liar," Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers. "Go ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap. "You have juice on your face, Your Grace," Arya said.

So from the subtext from Sansa I and Sansa II, I’m convinced Sansa will become queen MUCH sooner than in the show. This squabble over here is interesting, because Arya calls her “your grace” as if she was already queen. So in the subtext that may correlate to that.

This of course, comes with a very strong imagery of wedding consummation. Sansa is wearing a white dress, that gets stained by blood orange juice (red in colour) at the lap (crotch area). Are they related?

The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. "I hate her!" she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night's fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.

In addition, this white dress has red blood, but it also has black fire when it’s thrown into the ashes of the hearth. The words of House Targaryen are fire and blood, the colours are red and black.They’re all there, in this white dress. So it's a Targaryen (virgin, ehem) wedding dress... for Sansa. There are only two male left for that to happen and only one of them has been lurking in the background.

And after this, comes Ned’s covnersation about Sansa’s true match. So Jon’s all over the subtext, of a chapter with wedding consummation imagery and Ned Stark’s promise of the “true one”. Why, if not to marry his arse to Sansa? I do not know.

#return of the trout #this is important because i care about the riverlands #jonsa heavy

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